Date: 2021-07-25T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Adventure; Humour; Fiction; Fantasy
Description: Home. It is time to go home, but home changes. Erin Solstice is going home, but everyone else seems to be leaving. The Goblin Lord is following Rags and Garen Redfang to the mountain of Goblins where the Great Chieftain, Tremborag waits. Ceria and Pisces are far from home, the home of [Mages] where they once met. Wistram Academy. Under winter's umbrella, the two meet, and explore how they were first friends, and enemies in Wistram Days, as well as what forced the two apart. Ryoka Griffin runs north, and her travels lead her to meet possible allies, or at least...another friend from home. The f

Winter Solstice

The Wandering Inn, Book 4

pirateaba

© 2021 pirateaba

Cover art by John Anthony Di Giovanni.

Cover design by Shawn King.

This novel is the e-book version of the free web serial. You may read the entire ongoing story at wanderinginn.com free of charge.

*Best read on Kindle dark mode due to font coloration.

3.26 G

When he was young, he had always dreamed of walking among other races. But now all he dreamed about was death and fire. The Goblin King burned city after city to the ground, damning the screaming inhabitants by death and fire. Across the ocean, his Goblin Lords led similar crusades, pillaging, slaughtering.

There was only war. The peace he had sought for so long was a false lie. That was what the King realized. His armies burned across the continent, fighting Drakes, Undead, Antinium, Gnolls and Humans alike. They could not be stopped. There was only death in his heart, and the fury to destroy the world. With it he slew the greatest of heroes they sent against him.

Rage. All consuming. It burned him and he howled it as his warriors fought and died and leveled. He would kill them all.

----

And then Rags woke. She started, still tasting smoke and blood, still full of the Goblin King’s fury. She slipped and nearly fell—the Carn Wolf she sat on shifted and Rags clung to its fur, eliciting a mild noise of complaint. But it had been trained too well to protest.

In a moment, Rags was sitting upright. She blinked around and realized that they’d stopped. After nearly two weeks of nonstop marching, they had arrived.

Where, exactly?

The young Goblin sat up on her mount, letting it—him—pace restlessly ahead. She was riding in the center of the army.

Her army, supposedly. Rags frowned as she looked around. As ever, a group of Hobs walked with her, as did several of Garen’s elite wolf riders. And past them?

A sea of Goblin heads flowed past Rags, and the noise of their passing washed over her. Goblins were by and large fairly quiet as a people; they preferred gestures to words and they had learned to be quiet long ago, lest they attract attention.

But thousands of marching Goblins, armored warriors who rattled with every step, noncombatants who carried packs, horses and mules and donkeys, animals liberated from Human farms, and Goblin infants, uncharacteristically quiet for babies but still occasionally noisy—all produced a din of their own.

It was an army worthy of any Chieftain. More than worthy, in fact. Rags knew her own forces, that was to say the former tribes she had personally subjugated and now controlled, were mixed into the lot. But she only commanded the huge mass. The assembled Goblins were not hers, and that was an important distinction.

Still, they didn’t fight or quarrel, and that was important. Disunity could be death here, in the heart of Human lands.

Not that there were any around. Rags looked and saw only trees. They’d been marching through a forest full of annoying trees with burrs the size of walnuts that clung to clothing and pierced skin with their sharp needles. Tall stone loomed ahead of her, and snow mixed with rotting leaves lay underfoot. Only the trees, brown and lifeless, made any impression on the landscape.

They were close to the mountain. Rags stared up at it grimly, knowing they had to be close. This was their destination, after all.

Long ago the flat grasslands had given way to forests and hills, and then to an area of rocky land where a lone mountain sat high above everything else.

It wasn’t much of a mountain to Rags, who’d grown up in the shadows of the High Passes, staring up at peaks so tall that no one had ever climbed them. But the mountain was their destination, and it seemed that after staring up at it for days, they’d finally reached the base of it.

Rags sat astride the large Carn Wolf and stared up at the massive cliff face that met the edge of the forest. She had no idea why they were here, so far from home. Well, she had some idea, but Garen Redfang had been reluctant to tell anyone his full plan when he’d told them where to go when they marched north.

Perhaps she should have argued harder. But Rags had known at the time that he was right. It was just that she couldn’t stand the long days of not knowing what was going on! The assembled tribes needed an ally in their war against the Goblin Lord, that she knew. But would they find it here, near Invrisil, where adventurers roamed in great numbers and slew any monster they found?

Rags hoped so. Or else they would all die here. She shivered in the cold and drew the fur coat more tightly around her. She remembered. This was not a memory of times long past; it was her memory, fresh and vivid.

----

The Goblin army was a black mass that swarmed up the walls of the Human city, climbing ladders, fighting with the Human defenders among the broken gates.

Black armor. That was what set these Goblins apart from ordinary rabble. Also, no tribe would have dared to attack a Human city. But these Goblins did not fear the burning fire and lightning that the enchantments on the walls spat down at them. Their arrows flew upwards, catching the mages who tried to burn the dark shafts out of the air.

Humans fell and died. It was simply that there were not enough of them to man the walls and stem the black tide that attacked from every direction. This was a Goblin army, superior in numbers to any other force.

The knot of desperate men and women slowly grew smaller around the north gate. Soon the Goblins would gain a foothold there, and then they would be in the city, too late to stop.

Now was the time. Rags raised her hand.

Now.

The first wave of Goblins hit the black-armored Goblins at the same time as the rain of arrows and crossbow bolts fell from the sky. Elite Goblins mounted on Carn Wolves tore into the unguarded backs of the Goblin Lord’s forces, causing havoc while Hobs strode next to their smaller kin, besieging the bewildered Goblin force from behind.

From where she sat Rags smiled grimly. The Goblin Lord’s forces hadn’t expected to be attacked, much less by their own kind.

Crush them against the walls.

Rags ordered more forces into the fight, reinforcing places where her forces were weak. But there wasn’t much for her to do; she’d already positioned countless archers and her Goblins armed with crossbows where they could rain death down upon the Goblins.

They were outnumbered in truth. But Rags’ forces were aided by the Humans fighting on the walls and the fact that they’d cornered the Goblin Lord here. And one more thing ensured their victory.

“Redfang! Redfang!”

A streak of crimson. A Goblin warrior sitting astride a huge wolf. Garen Redfang’s warriors howled as they plunged into the ranks of the enemy, following their leader. Rags watched Garen carving his way through the enemy, feeling both jealous and relieved at the same time.

They were on the same side, and she knew he belonged at the front. But she wished she could be fighting too, rather than stuck overseeing the battle.

And yet, this was it. Rags watched, viciously pleased as the Goblins in black armor began to rout. They’d done it. They’d won!

But where was the Goblin Lord? Rags hadn’t seen anyone remotely like a leader in the army—at least, not like the image in her head. She’d expected a warrior like Garen, or a spellcaster full of magical power. But she hadn’t seen anyone like that. Perhaps the Goblin Lord was like her?

Below her, Goblins fled. Goblins died. But Rags could feel little pity for these invaders who wore another tribe’s colors. She had seen what they left in their wake. These Goblins slaughtered villages, put crops to the torch. They were destroyers, not scavengers. They didn’t fight to survive, they fought to kill and pillage.

And rape. She had seen that too. So Rags cut down the stragglers and wiped this army from the face of the map. And as she stood with her small band of guards witnessing the last of the violence, she felt uncertain. Because the battle was won, but she didn’t know if the Goblin Lord had survived the battle.

Her answer came when Garen rode towards her, covered in blood, still wild-eyed from the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Rags strode towards him. She was nearly hopping with impatience.

Goblin Lord. Where?

She wanted Garen to say he’d killed the Lord. But Garen just stared at her strangely.

“This was not the Goblin Lord’s army. This was just one of his warbands.”

And then the ground fell out from beneath Rags. She stared at the devastation, at the Human city broken by this army. But it was not a true victory for this was only a fraction of her enemy’s strength. She had underestimated the power of a Lord and so for the first time—

She felt fear.

----

A warband. Rags shivered at the thought. Or maybe it was just because she was cold. She sneezed and wiped her hand on the Carn Wolf’s fur. That was the convenient thing about riding the wolf, for all they were hard on the butt and bounced Rags about. Their fur was nice and easy to wipe hands and feet clean on, although the wolves tended to bite if they noticed you doing it.

Perhaps a Human – like Erin – would have just shrugged and said ‘so what?’ upon hearing that this was a Goblin warband. But Goblins understood how their kind made war. There was a simple, almost instinctual way they organized, and so from this Rags understood the dangers of the Goblin Lord’s main force.

No one had ever taught Rags about percentages, so she thought of it like this. Goblin armies were always a huge mass, but they always fragmented their forces in order to attack most efficiently. Around two thirds would constitute the main force which moved slowly from place to place, devouring and razing everything in its path. But the remaining third would break down into warbands and raiding parties that spread out in the path of the main army, seizing supplies, recruiting other Goblin tribes, and clashing with smaller forces.

A warband constituted around a tenth of the actual army’s force, so that it could be easily replaced if lost. The same went for raiding parties, which were less than a hundredth of the size of the actual army. But what that meant was that if this warband Rags’ forces had crushed numbered in the thousands, the Goblin Lord’s army numbered in the tens of thousands.

All together, the combined tribes of the High Passes numbered little less than two thousand warriors. Rags had known in an instant what would happen if they were to lead their forces against such a huge enemy. Any Goblin could figure that out, really.

Except maybe Garen Redfang. He thought they could skirmish with the Goblin Lord’s forces, but that was because he was used to a small tribe with groups of elite mounted warriors. If all the Goblins tried that they would be very dead, very quickly.

So Rags had ordered their forces north, against Garen’s objections, to buy time. It had taken some doing but she’d pointed out the obvious to the surly Goblin Chieftain. If the combined tribes around the High Passes were equivalent to one of the Goblin Lord’s warbands, they had no hope of facing his main force.

So, north. Surprisingly, once Garen had accepted the idea he had been the one to lead them to this spot. He claimed to know where another Goblin tribe was based, one strong enough to help fight the Goblin Lord.

It had been a long journey, although not necessarily a difficult one. Rags had been more concerned with affairs inside the tribe rather than any external threat. The most exciting thing that had happened had been when they’d spotted the magical carriage. But it had gotten away.

And the trip had been helpful for Rags in another way. She’d gotten to know her tribe better—that was to say, she now knew who was loyal to her and who was not. And she’d gotten stronger.

Rags had leveled many times over the journey. Not so much as a [Mage] or [Tinkerer], and certainly not as her old class – [Scavenger]. But through Garen’s intense training she’d leveled up as a [Warrior], gained two levels as a [Tactician], and more than ten as a [Leader]. Soon, the other Chieftains told her, her [Leader] class would turn into a [Chieftain] class, unique to their race.

That was the good bit. But Rags knew the bad bit started and ended with one simple fact: somehow, in some way, she’d suddenly lost her position as leader over all the tribes. Not that she’d ruled over all the tribes to begin with—this was a coalition army. But…

She was not in command here. In battles, yes. The few times the Goblins had had to defend themselves all the other Chieftains had obeyed her orders quickly and without complaint, as had their warriors. But they were not here, joining together because of Rags. And it was not her authority they respected.

It was his.

Garen Redfang appeared out of the trees, riding his huge rust-red Carn Wolf mount. Rags pulled at her wolf’s head gently, forcing it to slow down. She stared up at Garen, and not for the first time, resented his physique.

He looked like what all Goblins dreamed of being. Garen was strong. His muscles stood out on his bare chest and he looked like he barely noticed the cold. He was covered in scars, he had a magical sword at his side and a mighty beast under his command—he looked like a proper Chieftain, not Rags.

That was the problem.

Garen Redfang and his tribe were under Rags’ command. She had beaten his tribe, and so it was part of hers now. That was how it went, but somehow Garen had made a mess of that simple fact.

He had lost, but somehow, he hadn’t lost. Rags knew he’d thrown the fight, but a defeat was a defeat in Goblin society. She should have taken his tribe and obtained his unquestioning loyalty unless he challenged her.

But he didn’t obey. Garen glanced down at Rags and smiled. But not just in greeting—there was something patronizing about his smile, and indeed his attitude. It was as if he was obeying Rags because it was convenient, not because she was Chieftain.

Frankly, it made Rags furious. She jumped off her mount to give her stiff legs a chance to move. She glared up at Garen, ignoring the way his wolf sniffed at her. If it licked her, she’d punch it in the nose.

Report.

He blinked at her, almost as if he was surprised by her tone. But he answered her casually.

“We are here. This is the place where the other tribe lives.”

Here?

Rags glanced around the miserable little forest. This was hardly the place she’d have chosen for a tribe. But Garen just nodded.

“Here. In the Human lands.”

They are strong?

Rags wanted to know all the details he’d withheld from her. But her question seemed to amuse Garen. He laughed loudly, and she flushed. Other Goblins would watch them talk! Garen hadn’t dismounted. Did he not understand how to behave in front of his own Chieftain?

Garen pointed at the mountain.

“There. There is where they live. And they are strong, yes.”

He raised his voice. Rags saw Goblins’ heads turn as he spoke loudly. Garen gestured to the sky.

“This is the land where Goblins are strongest. The Humans have built grand cities and their adventurers fight with all monsters. But the Goblins remain, and fight. This is the place where Goblins are mighty.”

Rags had never heard of the tribes living to the north. But she had never ventured out of the area around Liscor, never known more than her miserable existence in her small tribe before this. She looked at Garen.

Strongest Goblins live here?

He shrugged, as if he actually wasn’t sure.

“On this continent. Aside from Goblin Lord. Others live across the sea. On islands. They are strong too. But here? Yes.”

Across the sea?

There were other Goblins on other continents? Rags couldn’t imagine it. But Garen nodded. He had seen the world Rags couldn’t imagine.

“Some live on Terandria, but fewer. Some on Chandrar too; strong tribes, that live in their own places. Few on Baleros. Fewer still on Rhir. Too much death there. Overwhelming death.”

One of the worst kinds of death. Rags shuddered. Garen nodded darkly, baring his teeth in a scowl.

“We live in other places. But the enemies find us wherever we go. The last Goblin King came across sea. Many did. They fought greater enemies than Drakes and Gnolls and Humans.”

But tribe here. It is—

Rags hesitated. Inwardly, she cursed the fact that she still couldn’t speak the common language like Garen could. The Goblin tongue was so…so…hard to use! There were countless words for death, but few words for what she needed.

It is strong? Leader is strong? Will help?

“He is. And he may help. We will see.”

How?

Garen shrugged. Rags wanted to punch him, but he sat too high up. He looked towards the mountain and nodded to Rags.

“I will go. To prepare. You follow.”

That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Rags was supposed to order him to do that, not the other way around! She opened her mouth to shout that at Garen, but he was already wheeling his wolf, letting it lope towards the foot of the mountain.

Disgusted, Rags watched him ride away, already calling out to other Chieftains and his warriors. Not good. She was losing more control over him each day, she felt. What would happen if she lost what control she had left? She didn’t know, but she feared the result, especially as she prepared herself to meet this new Chieftain.

----

Goblin politics. As Headscratcher and the band of Redfang warriors had observed, the situation between Rags and Garen Redfang was anything but ordinary. The Flooded Waters tribe, Rags’ tribe, was the largest tribe in the coalition of fifteen or so tribes by a good margin. And the strongest, Rags felt.

They had nearly eight hundred warriors and several thousand Goblins in total, and over ten Hobs, the most out of any tribe by far. And yet, Rags didn’t count the Redfang tribe when she thought of her tribe. They were with the Flooded Waters tribe, but like Garen, they were separate.

He still gave orders to his tribe, although it was Rags who made sure the warriors were fed. She’d taken over, organized them efficiently and taken the burden off of Garen’s beleaguered Hobs, who’d had to do all the work because their Chieftain was a terrible leader when it came to such matters. And yet, if it came down to it, Rags was fairly certain they’d listen to Garen and not her if they butted heads.

Not good. Garen had lost, but he didn’t seem to regard losing as being less superior in any way. Normally, Rags would have killed or exiled him for disobeying her orders, but she couldn’t because Garen was too strong. If she challenged him, he would beat her easily. Ordinarily Rags would have just sneered and had several Hobs beat him up—a Chieftain ruled by more than just force!—but Garen was quite capable of taking down any number of Hobs she sent at him.

And if she used her Goblins, his tribe would defend him. And if Rags made it a battle between tribes, it wouldn’t end until one side was dead and the other crippled. And if that happened, the other Chieftains in this tenuous alliance of tribes would choose sides and either way, it would end in disaster.

This Rags knew, but she didn’t like it. She could only grit her teeth and bear the humiliation and slights Garen offered her seemingly without thought. He was too strong.

She didn’t have to order anyone to follow Garen. He rode off with his warriors and the other Goblins followed. Grumpily, Rags left her wolf—another Goblin would ride it if they could get on without it biting them—and strode off.

She needed to know things. What things? Anything. Garen had told her nothing. But who could she ask? Telling other Chieftains she couldn’t command Garen was as good as shooting herself with her black crossbow, Rags knew. She had to ask someone from her tribe. But who?

Rags had conquered four tribes with her small one. She had made all of them hers, and she knew most of them thought of her as a proper Chieftain. At least two tribes did. One was…well, she’d absorbed them only a few days before meeting the Redfang tribe, and so she hadn’t gained as complete control over them as the others. They respected Garen’s strength more than her cunning.

But it was the Chieftains Rags thought about, the former Chieftains, that was. They were hers, too. Chieftains were smart, some of them, and some knew a lot. So could she ask one of them?

Rags thought. The first tribe she’d attacked was…the Rockjaw tribe. She’d killed their leader herself. Oops.

Well, he was out. What about the second tribe? The Still Grass tribe’s leader was alive, but he was young like her. And like Rags, he had risen to power early and his tribe was weak, only having had one Hob when she’d crushed it. She doubted he knew anything of the world.

The third tribe was the least loyal to her, the Fire Bite tribe. Their Chieftain, a Hob, was hard to control. Rags couldn’t talk to him.

She ground her sharp teeth together. But wait! There was one last tribe.

The Gold Stone Tribe. Rags hesitated. She’d conquered them literally seconds before the Redfang Tribe had attacked, but to their credit, their Chieftain had instantly thrown all of his support behind Rags like a proper Goblin, when backstabbing her would have led to her instant demise.

Could she trust him? Rags closed her eyes and remembered.

Rags didn’t even see him swing his sword. She only saw the Hob next to her move, and then the Gold Stone Chieftain was in front of her, taking the one-handed slash meant for Rags.

Yes, she could trust him. Rags opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. For a second she was still in the past, heart beating rapidly as she stared up at Garen Redfang, sure this was the end. Then she was back in the present, standing on muddy ground as Goblins walked past her.

It was getting easier to do that. Rags had found recalling past events was simpler now that her tribe had grown. She still couldn’t ‘look’ back that far in time, but what she could see was easier, and she could will the visions to happen most of the time.

And it helped in matters like these. Rags began walking through the snow. She didn’t have to search to find the Gold Stone Tribe’s former Chieftain. He was part of her tribe and assigned to managing them on the march, being the most competent Hob at the job.

She found the Gold Stone Chieftain munching on something as he rested near a tree. He was waiting for the Goblins around him to keep moving forwards—Rags had passed by a pile of Goblins. One idiot had slipped and the others had all fallen down because of that.

Rags eyed the former Chieftain as he chewed contentedly, scratching at his belly. He was a classical Hob, fat, trusting in his extra body mass to shield him as much as his armor. But like all Hobs he was strong and Rags knew he was fairly good with an axe and shield.

She was about to yell at him for eating—it wasn’t meal time! Hobs had to respect her rules and stay away from the rations, the same as everyone else. But then she saw what he was eating.

Pine needles. The Hob was chewing them down slowly, letting the sharp tufts stick out of his mouth. He had a handful of the green needles and, as Rags watched, he shoved some more into his mouth.

She had to admire that. The pine needles were easy to get on the march, and it was a good snack. If you could handle the pricking, that was. She saw several other Goblins around the Chieftain trying to imitate him and spitting out the sharp pine needles after a few moments. But the Gold Stone Chieftain just chewed determinedly, grinding the tough fibers into mush.

He turned as Rags marched over. The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded his head towards her—Rags felt better about that. It wasn’t as if Goblins had to salute her or bow, but they did acknowledge their Chieftain.

You. Question.

That was all she said. As far as she knew, the Gold Stone Chieftain had no name. His tribe had no [Shaman] – they were rare – and so he lacked a name. She just thought of him as the Gold Stone Chieftain, which might be how he thought of himself.

Chieftain.

His voice was a rumble. The Gold Stone Chieftain said that word and nothing else. He just chewed his food, waiting for her to say something.

Rags pursed her lips, trying to figure out how to ask her question concisely. She could speak in the Human, or rather, common tongue, but it hurt her throat to try. She pointed at the mountain.

This place. Tribe. Is strong?

It was a question with a lot of nuance, which Garen should have understood when Rags asked him. The Gold Stone Chieftain heard Rags’ question and the layers beneath it. Properly translated, her stance, the context in which she was asking and the current state of the tribes meant she was really asking: ‘How dangerous is this tribe? Are they likely to betray us? Why has Garen taken us here, and what can I expect?’

At last, the Gold Stone Chieftain nodded. Rags waited with bated breath for his response.

Is strong Goblin. Goblins here is strong.

That was the problem with other Goblins, even other Chieftains. None of them were particularly verbose, which made sense given their language. All he was telling her was that the Chieftain was as strong as his tribe, which was apparently very. She eyed him dourly, and the Hob shrugged as if apologizing.

Talking wasn’t his strong suit. Rags turned to go, deciding she’d have to figure out what to do herself. But she heard a grunt, and then a rumble, and words in a language that was not Goblin.

“Chieftain. You. Chieftain?”

She turned, eyes widening. The Gold Stone Chieftain stared at her pensively. For a second, white-hot fury flared up in Rags’ chest and she debated taking the shortsword from her belt and stabbing him with it.

But she didn’t. It was a question, not an attack. Rags was so angry she didn’t reply in Goblin, but again in the common language.

“I…Chieftain. I always…Chieftain!”

She glared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain met her eyes—not afraid, just searchingly. Then he bowed his head and nodded slowly.

Is so. Will not ask again.

She stared at him, but the Hob just went back to chewing his pine needles. Rags looked around. Other Goblins immediately bowed their heads and pretended to be busy kicking snow, picking nostrils, or throwing prickly burrs at each other. But they had heard.

Was the Gold Stone Chieftain questioning her too? No—as Rags left and calmed down she considered what had been said. He’d questioned her, yes, but when she’d declared herself as Chieftain he’d acknowledged her in front of the others.

Maybe, just maybe, she had one supporter she could count on. The other Hobs were loyal to her as well, but she had known they could turn on her if dissatisfied, as one of them had when they were losing to the Redfang Tribe. But the Gold Stone Chieftain…could she count on him?

Rags didn’t know. But then she found herself striding up to the mountain, and saw where Goblins were streaming into fissures in the stone, caves leading into the mountain. She walked upwards and found herself in another world, in the heart of a small kingdom of Goblins. And there she met the one who called himself Great Chieftain, the Chieftain above all others.

----

Her cold feet left snowy tracks that melted on the rough stone floor of the city within a mountain. Rags saw other Goblins stumbling on the rough ground; though places had been worn smooth, this was no place of architecture and masonry. The vast tunnel they walked down had been hewn out of the very rock one chip at a time.

By degrees, the darkness of the caverns lightened, as bits of fire appeared overhead, lighting the way. Lanterns hung from rough hemp rope or were strapped to lengths of wood dangled off of balconies, sputtering with the cheap animal fat oil.

The smoke of such flames drifted upwards, to the walkways made out of stone and the bridges of rope and timber where dark shapes scurried about. Upwards, and ever upwards the Goblins looked, for the crisscrossing tunnels and passages led up into the heart of the mountain.

At first, they saw the guards, hidden in alcoves or behind barricades disguised as piled stone. Arrows glinted, but the Goblins watched them carefully without putting any to their bows. They wore steel armor which made even some Hobs look on in jealousy.

Next, they saw other Goblins dragging in a dead bear’s carcass, and next to it, the cub, both riddled with arrows. A rat darted out of the shadows to lick at the trail of blood. Another Goblin grabbed the rat, and a few of the roaches which clung to a wall. All things lived here, and all things were eaten.

Upwards, then, traversing stone steps and an open bridge where bat droppings had made footing treacherous. Goblins carrying wood – both firewood and quality pieces cut for the purposes of crafting passed them by, heads bowed, moving fast. There was a rhythm to this place, and a structure.

Then they passed by the huge furnaces which expelled black smoke upwards and felt warmer. The Goblins and Rags saw how the embers in this place never died, being fed coal and wood almost constantly to warm the cavern. And from the fire all things came. Meat was cooked and food made with embers taken from that massive blaze, and metal hammered or the crudest of reforgings done by Goblin [Blacksmiths], whom Rags had never seen before.

And then they reached the heart of the city, and Rags gazed in wonder at the buildings. For after centuries of neglect and habitation by Goblins, the former city of stone still showed traces of what it had been.

Perhaps it was Dwarves who carved into this place, building grand monuments and smoothing the stone. But it was Goblins who broke down windows and walls and strung bridges and rope everywhere that they might travel more easily. As Rags watched, a Goblin climbed higher, headed towards a ledge higher up that led into another passage. The Goblin’s grip slipped as he or she reached for the next part of the rope. They tried to stabilize themselves, failed.

The small body fell, and was soon dragged away.

“This is the hall of the Great Chieftain of the North.”

That was all Garen Redfang said as Rags walked with him. She stood with him and all the Chieftains of the allied tribes at the head of their army. Most of the other Goblins had stayed behind—going somewhere else—but hundreds still followed the Chieftains, warriors and other Hobs, going to the heart of this place.

Where else could it be but the throne room? Here Rags saw the places meant for statues, smashed and turned instead into more places for Goblins to move about freely. But there was still a majesty to the double doors that stood wide, and as she entered the huge hall, she saw the Chieftain of this place.

It was just a glimpse. Rags saw him past the tables and detritus of the room, sitting on a throne of cloth and dirty pillows. A fat, huge Goblin twice as large as any Hob. But her eye was drawn to the long tables, the seats made out of stone that had been dragged up here. This was no throne room after all, but a banquet hall.

And there were Goblins in it, enough for a feast. But Rags didn’t think there was going to be any party, unless it was the bloody kind.

These Goblins were ready for war. They stood next to the dais and the huge Goblin Chieftain, armed warriors, equal in number or perhaps a little more than the Goblins that had entered with Rags and Garen at their head.

Rags immediately noticed the quality of these Goblin’s arms. Steel, again, or iron. Some wore complete sets of plate armor, scavenged from some adventurer’s corpse. Others held swords which glowed—they had magical weapons!

And Hobs. There were a lot of them. Rags blinked as she saw tall Goblins, standing next to their smaller bretheren. So many! She counted over thirty before she stopped, and there were far more in the room. Far more.

By that standard alone these Goblins were superior to the trespassers. And it clearly was a message: we are better than you. We are stronger. For all that, Rags felt that Garen’s Redfang warriors were no less powerful than the best of the warriors who stood assembled here. And of course none of the Goblins could match the legendary Garen Redfang, not the mightiest Hob warrior among them.

Except perhaps their leader. Rags fixed on him as she walked slowly forwards with Garen. The massive Goblin had not bothered to stand; she wondered if he could, fat as he was. But his huge head was intent as he stared at her. Rags shuddered as she saw his crimson eyes looking towards her, and she sensed his authority. But then the Chieftain’s eyes fixed on Garen.

Garen stopped two thirds of the way into the room, and the Goblins stopped behind him. Rags walked past Garen, which made him frown in annoyance. She ignored that; she was the Chieftain, after all.

The huge Chieftain’s eyes flicked to Rags for a second, and his lips moved upwards in amusement. But he looked back at Garen. While Rags was wondering what to say, his huge mouth opened and he spoke.

“Garen Redfang. It has been long since you trespassed in my lands.”

Rags jumped in surprise. He was speaking in the common language! And fluently! Even Garen didn’t speak like that!

And he had addressed Garen. Rags glared. She had to reply back, teach this arrogant Chieftain who the real leader was.

But then Garen spoke. As if he didn’t realize what he was doing, he smiled and replied back, claiming Rags’ authority in front of the other Goblins.

“It has been long. But I am here for war.”

At that the other Goblins standing next to the Chieftain stirred. Rags froze, and she put her hand on the crossbow which she always kept slung to her back. A second and she could have it out and firing. But the Chieftain sitting on his throne only laughed.

“War? Against us? If you wanted that, you would have brought three times the numbers with you, and no children and females.”

To Rags’ outrage the big Goblin pointed at her as he said that. She heard a murmur from the Goblins behind her, but dared not turn to see if it was in support or agreement with the Chieftain. Garen only smiled.

“I have brought many tribes. Strong ones. Smart ones. The one standing here is known as Rags. She is unique.”

He had named her, as if she was lesser! Rags nearly exploded, but the Chieftain laughed hugely. He peered at Rags, rising a bit from his bed of softness. She didn’t flinch as she met his eyes.

“Hah. Yes. She is small and young, a child still. Do you bed her, Garen Redfang? Or is it because she is your child that you give her power?”

That was it. Rags felt something snap. As she heard the Goblins standing around the Chieftain on the dais laughing, she raised her hand to her back.

The black crossbow was heavy, but Rags could lift it with one hand for a few moments. She pulled it out, cocked the crossbow with one pull that took all her strength, and had a heavy quarrel on the string before the laughter had stopped.

Rags swung the black crossbow up and pointed the bolt straight at the fat Goblin’s massive stomach. The entire room went still.

I am Chieftain here. Not Garen Redfang. I have come with my tribes here. I am Chieftain! Show respect!

She said it loudly, letting her voice ring out through the room. Rags stared up at the huge Goblin sitting on his throne fearlessly. The warriors around them had their hands on their weapons, but she only had eyes for him.

Two crimson eyes blazed in anger. Slowly, ignoring the crossbow trained on him, the Goblin Chieftain stood up. And when he did, Rags realized how huge he was. He was a giant, tall as a Minotaur and bigger still! His voice boomed as he pointed down at Rags, filled with anger.

“I am the Great Chieftain of the North, Tremborag! I met with the Goblin King ten years ago. When he came to Izril, he came to my tribe with his armies! I have seen his face. I know his name. Velan the Kind, last King of our people. You dare to come into my domain and challenge me? Know your place. Kneel!”

His last word thundered in the cavernous room, and the pressure that hit Rags and the other Goblins had to have been from a Skill. Garen gritted his teeth and grinned fiercely as Goblins around him dropped to one knee or cowered.

Rags felt her legs buckle, but she did not kneel. She looked around and saw most of the other Chieftains kneeling as well. Only three—a tall, female Hob and a normal-sized Goblin, both with the second most powerful tribes after Garen’s, refused to kneel. And, surprisingly, the Gold Rock Chieftain. He stood steadily on his feet, blinking and scratching at a layer of fat as he stared at Tremborag.

The crossbow was heavy in her hands. Rags lowered it, but kept the point trained on Tremborag’s feet.

I am Chieftain too. You offer disrespect! Know your place.

Dead silence followed her words. Then Rags heard a voice. Garen, standing behind her, laughed. He laughed loudly, and then spoke to the Great Chieftain.

“See? She is fearless! And she is a Chieftain! My Chieftain.”

That made all the Goblins standing with Tremborag go still with shock. Rags felt countless eyes on her, but stood proudly. She was Chieftain. That could not be taken away from her.

But Tremborag managed to do it with a dismissive glance. He looked at Garen.

“You? Gave way to her? Why?”

The Hob warrior grinned.

“She can lead armies. She is smart.”

As if she wasn’t here! And he—Tremborag had the gall to suggest Garen had let Rags defeat him on purpose! The worst part was that he was right. Rags ground her teeth, but the conversation went on and she couldn’t break into it.

“A Chieftain to lead warriors while you fight in the front! I see! Clever! I would expect nothing less from Garen Redfang!”

Tremborag laughed hugely as he settled back down on his throne. Garen grinned too, but there was a spark in the air between the two Goblins. They were fighting for dominance, and everyone in the room felt it. The trouble was…well, that it wasn’t Rags doing the fighting. And she sensed like all the Goblins that both Garen and Tremborag were matched in their way.

“So. You have a leader and many tribes. Why have you come here, then, Garen Redfang? Did you not swear never to join the Goblin Lord? Did you not fight them, or were you too afraid and fled here?”

From behind Rags she heard Goblins shouting angrily at this—probably Garen’s warriors. But the Hob was calm, and replied coolly.

“We did fight. We fought an army. Goblin Lord’s army. Thousands strong. We slew them all. But it was warband.”

Silence. All Goblins could understand what this meant. Tremborag lost his grin and nodded. His face grew serious. He looked past Garen, and his voice deepened further, if that were possible.

“When the Goblin King lived, his raiding parties were tens of thousands strong. So I have heard. A Goblin Lord stands second-highest to a King. He is strong.”

“Strong. But he is no true Goblin.”

That came from Garen, and it was damning as it was shocking to hear, even though Rags knew his opinion. Tremborag gazed down at Garen silently, and nodded.

“He is not. But I ask again. Why do you come here, Garen Redfang?”

Everyone knew the answer, but Garen had to say it. He bared his teeth.

“To fight against the Goblin Lord. Together.”

Rags held her breath, forgetting for a moment that it was she who should have made the offer. Tremborag nodded closing his eyes briefly. But when he looked at Garen it was with another one of his smiles, as if he was playing some huge trick on the Hobgoblin.

“You say to ally. But here I sit in my kingdom in the mountain. My Goblins are strong. Why should I ally with you, you who has abandoned his home?”

Now Rags could answer. She opened her mouth, but to her outrage Garen stepped past her and spoke in her place. He gestured at her and the Goblins behind him. Rags had her hand on her sword, itching to stab him.

“I am strong. My tribe and other tribes—under Rags—is strong. And she is smart. She can lead armies to battle.”

At least he said that. Tremborag’s eyes focused on Rags briefly again, assessing, discarding.

“So? I have armies and strong and smart warriors of my own.”

Garen nodded. He touched something else, something hidden behind his armor. Rags stared at it, knowing what it had to be. A little key.

“I have something else. A prize. You know what it is.”

Tremborag stared at Garen’s hand. He nodded. Spoke quietly.

“Yes. I know what you have. And that false Goblin to the south shall not have it.”

The two stared at each other for a long minute. Then Tremborag nodded. He rose, and laughed. Then he spread his arms wide.

“So be it! Garen Redfang, we will fight together! This Goblin Lord will not rule us. And he will break his teeth upon this mountain if he should come for battle.”

A moment’s breath as Goblins understood this, and then thunder rang out as hundreds, thousands of voices shouted out. Rags realized the throne room, the banquet room, wasn’t just filled with warriors. Goblins, ones who were lesser warriors or not fighters at all, filled the upper balconies dug out of the rock or stood clustered around the entrance to the throne room.

Garen strode forwards, and he and Tremborag met. They didn’t hug or shake hands, but they stood together and so it was done. Rags knew it. And she also knew something else.

She’d lost her power here. Garen had taken it without a fight and without saying so, but he had taken it from her.

She just didn’t understand how.

----

She confronted him as the banquet room was filling with thousands of Goblins. Tremborag was as good as his word, and he had declared a feast to celebrate. Huge baskets full of food, cooked meat and raw, and many other foods, vats of bubbling soup, were being taken out to feed the hungry mass of Goblins.

Rags wasn’t eating just yet. She stopped Garen as he finished peeing in a corner where other Goblins had done the same by the smell of it. He looked at her and grinned.

“Little Chieftain.”

That was it. Rags aimed a kick at the thing dangling between his legs. Garen frowned and blocked the blow.

“Painful. Don’t do that.”

I am Chieftain!

She shouted it at him. Garen just pulled his pants up and shrugged. He looked at her as if he’d done very little wrong; an inconsequential thing she was getting worked up over.

“You are Chieftain. But I am Garen Redfang. And I am strong. So I am Chieftain too, in a way.”

“That is not…how…it works!”

Rags hissed at him, practically stumbling over the words. Garen just shook his head.

“You need me. I, Tremborag respects. Not you.”

It was true, but it didn’t stop Rags from trying to kick him in the same place. Garen just laughed and moved out of the way.

“It is time to eat. Eat, and then we shall talk, Chieftain.”

She watched him go, despairing inside. Well, Garen had said it. He wasn’t under her command. He just pretended to be because it was convenient. Now she knew. And she…

She had to do something about it. Instantly, Rags stopped thinking of the Redfang tribe as being hers. It was not. Her tribe was smaller now, and weaker. And it was in a place where one tribe reigned supreme.

But she was still Chieftain. Filled with that knowledge, Rags returned to the banquet room. Countless Goblins were tearing at food, eating in groups or alone – as alone as you could get in such a crowded room anyways – but the place of choice seemed to be reserved for the Goblins sitting at the massive table in front of the dais.

In truth, it didn’t make sense to Rags. Goblins didn’t use tables! Not unless they had a lot of food and the ground was really dirty, at any rate. And they didn’t do…formality. But these Goblins, Tremborag’s tribe, had clearly adopted the other species’ way of doing things.

It was just another thing that didn’t make sense to Rags, but food was food. She walked towards the table. The seats were almost exclusively filled by Hobs. Some elite Goblin warriors of regular size were there too, but it was clearly based on hierarchy. She saw her fellow Chieftains sitting at the table already, halfway up, and Garen at the far end.

But where did she sit? Rags saw a Goblin hurrying to intercept her. They had Goblins waiting on the table? True, Goblins always brought her food if she wanted it, but this—

Rags frowned as the meek Goblin pointed to a place on the table. Far down the table, near the end. It was where some of her warriors sat, including the Still Grass Chieftain. And it was not where she belonged.

Even if Garen and his tribe were not hers, Rags knew she belonged near the head of the table. She looked towards the throne and saw Tremborag, huge and inescapable, sitting there with Garen and a few of his warriors. The Great Chieftain was watching her. He was eating what looked like the entire bloody leg of a cow, and laughing at something Garen had said. But he was staring at her.

He’d put her here. Rags stared at the empty seat waiting for her. It was a deliberate insult, Rags knew. She stared up at the head of the table, where Garen sat next to Tremborag. Rags didn’t blush; she didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. No, the only thing in her heart was anger.

Rags didn’t take the seat. She turned from the meek Goblin and strode towards the head of the table, ignoring the looks she got from the other Goblins eating. They were watching her too. Of course they were. Probably most of the room was watching her, seeing what she did. That was Goblins for you. They watched everything. But Rags had never known a day where her actions mattered as much as now.

She stopped at the head of the table and looked around. Garen was sitting next to Tremborag, who was seated at the head of the wide table. And across from him…

“What is wrong, little Goblin? Are you lost? Your seat is over there!”

A Hob, battle-scarred and confident, sat in the chair across from Garen. He was holding some kind of crude mead in his hands—no doubt made in this very mountain—and laughing at her.

Rags just stared at him. She walked over and pointed to his seat.

My seat. Move.

He blinked at her for a second, and then roared with mirth. The Goblins who’d heard Rags laughed as well, as did Tremborag. Garen was smiling and just watching Rags.

She calmly watched the Hob instead. He was laughing at her. So were the other Goblins, Hobs and normal ones alike. They didn’t respect her.

Was Rags angry? No. She’d gone far beyond that, into a realm where the words furious, incandescent, and wrathful were the soft option. The pure quill of rage was burning in Rags’ chest, which is why she did what she did next without thought for the consequences.

The Hob was still laughing as Rags looked at the table. It was rather high up, so she placed one hand on it. Then she swung herself upwards and stood on the table. Ignoring the dishes, Rags walked across the table, kicking plates out of the way and scattering mugs to the displeasure of their owners. The Hob sitting next to Tremborag blinked at her—

And she kicked him in the face.

It was a good kick. Solid. Rags put her entire body into it. It snapped the Hob’s head backwards, and he tipped backwards in his chair. It struck the ground with a thump, spilling him out of it.

And the noise—

Stopped.

Fighting wasn’t unusual at any mealtime. Any number of brawls or petty squabbles could break out and Goblins would ignore it or get clear or join in without raising an eyebrow. But this was different.

The entire hall went silent. The Hob surged to his feet, angry.

“You. Weak Goblin female! You challenge me?”

Did they all speak the common tongue? Rags stood with both feet planted, ignoring Tremborag’s grin and Garen’s eyes on her. She stared at the Hob and spoke loud enough for all to hear.

I am Chieftain. This is my seat. Will you fight me?

Silence. The Hob stared at her incredulously. Then he snarled.

“I will beat you and take you for myself. You are weak!”

That was it. The hall, which had already been quiet, went still. He had challenged her, a Chieftain. Normally Tremborag would have stopped him, or supported the Hob, but he wasn’t about to do so, Rags knew.

And in that case, her tribe would defend Rags as their Chieftain. She waited. But heard only silence. Goblin culture demanded her Hobs and elite warriors would rise to her defense. But no one moved. Rags felt her heart freeze over. If they did not follow her—

A chair moved back. The Gold Stone Chieftain, sitting far down the table, stood up lazily, as if he was getting up to stretch his legs or pee. And as Goblins saw him stand, Rags saw the Still Grass Tribe’s Chieftain stand, full of nervous energy.

Three other Hobs stood as well, two females and a male. Three, out of the many she commanded. And the Fire Bite Chieftain remained sitting. But it was enough. Rags stared at the Hob, ready to fight. She would claim her authority right here and now, in blood and death if she had to.

The Hob snarled. He raised a fist and moved towards her. Rags called magic into her hand, ready to burn his face. She wouldn’t use her crossbow here; he was too close. Her sword. She had to prove—

“Rags is my Chieftain.”

Garen Redfang pushed back his chair suddenly. The Hob turned, suddenly wary. Garen smiled, his teeth glinting as he raised his voice.

“My Chieftain. You disrespect her.”

Rags stared with narrowed eyes at Garen. He’d stood up late. He wasn’t supporting her, not in the right way. But it was good for Garen. Now the Hob had to take him on; he couldn’t back down. The warrior hesitated, but then he came at Garen, fist swinging fast at the other Goblin’s head.

Too slow for Garen, though. The other Hob waited until the fist was close to his face before he lashed out. He leaned back and kicked the other Goblin in the chest.

Garen hit him so hard Rags could hear the Goblin warrior’s bones crack. The Hob stumbled back, sat down. Then he lay down and didn’t get back up.

“Here. Chieftain.”

Politely, Garen pulled back the chair. Rags stared at him in silence. Then, ignoring the fallen Hob who a few smaller Goblins ran over to drag away, she hopped off the table and took a seat.

“Well. You have claimed your seat, and your faithful warrior has protected you. Good!”

Tremborag said the words loudly, and noise resumed as if he had commanded it. He grinned down at Rags, and she saw how he could easily bite her head off with one chomp of his jaws. But she just stared up at him without flinching.

“She is brave. I told you she would not sit there.”

Garen sat back down, grinning as he tore into a bloody piece of meat. Tremborag laughed.

“Yes. You did. Well, we shall talk, little Rags and Garen Redfang. Talk, but only about small things. For now we eat!”

And as he spoke a plate was put in front of Rags. She stared down at it, askance; who used plates? The crude, clay plate sat in front of her, insultingly stupid. The table was fine—but she took it anyways. Rags grabbed as much food as she could reach, standing on the table much to Tremborag’s amusement.

And so Rags ate her fill, which was unusual for a Goblin. It usually meant everything was well, but as she found her tribe after the banquet and learned they had been assigned their own part of the stone city, and her Goblins had already been assigned tasks to fulfill, she knew all was not well.

Garen Redfang and Tremborag. Goblin legend, former Gold-rank adventurer and Chieftain. And a Chieftain who ruled over an actual palace, who claimed to be Great Chieftain among Goblins and spoke and acted like a Human.

Rags knew that she could not trust them.

Either of them.

----

It was dark when Rags was finished familiarizing herself with the new role her tribe was filling in Tremborag’s domain. She didn’t like that her people were being split up, given new roles and places to sleep, as if they weren’t her tribe anymore. She didn’t like it, but she knew she couldn’t do anything about it right now.

She wanted to get out and explore this place, this massive city that spoke to her of past glories before the Goblins had claimed it. She wanted to learn more about Tremborag and join in on whatever he and Garen were planning. She wanted to think about her tribe and what she was losing or had already lost.

But two figures stopped her at the entrance to her quarters. Rags had her hand on her shortsword, but she stopped when she saw one of them.

The Gold Stone Chieftain stood lazily next to the door, chewing on something. A bone. He was munching it down, marrow and bone and all. Were his teeth made of iron?

Chieftain.

He nodded to her. Rags nodded back, and stared at the other Goblin. He was a Hob, one of hers. Why was he here? Why was the Gold Stone Chieftain here?

I am going.

She wanted to be alone. But the Gold Stone Chieftain just shook his head at her. He tapped his chest slowly, and spoke after a brief pause with a deep frown on his face.

“Should go with. Dangerous…alone.”

He had to use another language, because what he was saying was so foreign to Goblins. Rags couldn’t believe the implications. She might be attacked? Her? A Chieftain welcomed into another tribe’s hold?

She stared at the other Hob and then at the Gold Stone Chieftain. Two Hobs? She needed…?

Slowly, a dark feeling began to steal over Rags. She remembered the Hob’s comments, the one she’d kicked, and Tremborag’s. She wondered what the Gold Stone Chieftain had seen that made him come here. But she knew one thing.

He was loyal. Rags looked up at the Hob, who’d resumed crunching on his bone. She looked at him, and spoke the words that were in her heart.

This place…is not Goblin. Not Goblin.

She felt it already. The other Hob stirred, but the Gold Stone Chieftain just nodded silently. Rags nodded as well.

They are not Goblin. But I am.

It was a declaration that meant a thousand things, and it was one which meant war if anyone else were to hear. But they were alone. The Hob warrior looked nervous, but he stood with Rags. And the Gold Stone Chieftain just tossed the last bit of bone aside. He didn’t say much, but he knew exactly what to say.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

3.27 M

When she woke up, it was like any ordinary day. But Mrsha knew it was special because she could smell the crepes.

She liked crepes. They were hot and chewy, and sometimes burned when Lyonette made them. Other times they were still runny, but they were always good because they came with honey.

The small Gnoll with white fur sat up in Lyonette’s empty bed, wriggling out of the covers she’d stolen again last night. Her short, bushy tail beat the ground hard, and in a few moments she raced downstairs.

Food! It wasn’t at all like the bloody meat she used to eat in her tribe’s camp, or the hot and filling stews. Those were spiced and tasted good, but they were made for everyone and sometimes there wasn’t enough. But here, in this inn that smelled of new wood and strange bug-men, Mrsha could always eat as much as she wanted.

And she could eat honey! The Gnoll drooled as she ran downstairs on all fours. She slipped near the bottom on one of the steps, though. Mrsha made a small sound of alarm, tried to catch her balance, failed, and tumbled down the stairs.

“Mrsha!”

It was the first word of the day, and it was hers. Mrsha uncurled from the protective ball she’d made and looked up. Hurrying across the big, empty room was a familiar face. The Human girl known as Lyonette rushed over to the Gnoll, already fretting out loud.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? I told you not to run down the stairs! Oh, let me check—”

Mrsha turned her face up so Lyonette could see she was well. It was an odd thing the Human girl did, the Gnoll had found. She had to inspect Mrsha all over to see she was well. A Gnoll would have just sniffed to make sure there was no blood—Mrsha had fallen many times over the course of her young life and learned quickly not to cry over small things.

But Lyonette cared. She cared so much that it made Mrsha feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Already the Gnoll knew she’d get extra honey on her crepes—more than she usually got, which was already a lot. Because Lyon was a nice person. She took care of Mrsha. She took care of the inn while Ryoka and Erin were away.

That was what Mrsha understood. This was Ryoka’s home, and the home of the girl who made delicious things. Erin. But it was also Lyonette’s home, and she took care of it while they were gone.

It wasn’t Mrsha’s home. It wasn’t. But it was a good place, and it made Mrsha feel happy most of the time. And Lyonette always fed her here, although some of the things she made tasted bad.

She wasn’t a good cook. And she fussed about things like the cold and bugs and washing. And she couldn’t smell, at least, not like Mrsha could.

But she was kind. She fed Mrsha every day and she always asked Mrsha how she was feeling. She hugged Mrsha often and sometimes cried, but never when she knew Mrsha was around. She smelled of guilt and her hands had blisters from scrubbing and working now.

She was almost as good as a mother. But Mrsha’s mother was dead. And her father. And her tribe was dead too, every last one.

She was alone.

The black thoughts broke through Mrsha’s happiness suddenly. She sat at one of the tables as Lyonette fussed over her, suddenly filled with emptiness. She remembered.

Perhaps Lyonette noticed Mrsha’s suddenly drooping tail and ears, and the way she stared at her white fur. Maybe she didn’t. But in the next moment she had—

Crepes!

Mrsha forgot about what she’d been thinking on purpose. Her stomach rumbled and she wagged her tail and panted as the crepes came on a big plate next to a bowl filled with sweet honey. She reached for the first steaming one, but Lyonette grabbed her paw.

“Ah, ah! You know what to do first, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll child hesitated, and then saw another empty plate. She pulled it towards her, and Lyonette nodded encouragingly.

“And the silverware?”

Mrsha found a fork and knife as well. She put it next to her plate. Then she looked at Lyonette pleadingly. The girl smiled and nodded.

Instantly, the Gnoll grabbed a crepe off the plate. Ignoring the silverware and her own plate, she bit into it happily. Then she took the bowl of honey and poured some over her plate. She wiped some of the honey onto her crepe, took another bite. Sweetness and the electric rush of energy made her practically vibrate on her seat.

Sitting next to her, Lyonette laughed and tried to make Mrsha eat ‘civilized’, which was to say, slower, and with a knife and fork. But Mrsha was too hungry and why should she use a fork? Paws were faster.

That was breakfast, on a day like any other. But it was a good breakfast, and special because she wasn’t in the city. It had been nearly a week since Mrsha had left the Drake who made all the rules, Selys. She had come here, to a better place. She might have called it a home, but how could it be?

After she was done, Mrsha sat on her chair, snuffling at Lyonette’s plate, wondering if she had room to lick up crumbs or whether Lyonette would let her lick the plate clean. What would happen next?

It was a mystery. Some days Lyonette was busy and she’d go around cleaning up dust or cooking more food. But other days she’d play with Mrsha, or bathe her, or groom her hair. Mrsha had toys now. They were hers; the bossy Drake had given them to her. She wanted to play with the ball outside if Lyonette would throw it. Or maybe she could look at the wriggling thing? It was still sitting in the bowl; Mrsha could smell it. Maybe Lyonette wanted to play in the snow?

But then Mrsha smelled something different. Her head turned towards the stairs, and she went still in sudden fright.

It wasn’t a normal day after all. Because coming down the stairs, yawning, was a Drake. Not the bossy Drake, or the one who played chess.

Someone else.

Instantly, Mrsha was out of her chair and hiding behind Lyonette. But the girl only stroked her head and smiled at the strange Drake.

“Oh! Mister Shivertail. You’re up early.”

Shivertail? Mrsha’s ears perked up at the words. She looked at the Drake, and remembered that he was the one who’d come last night!

Zel? Mrsha remembered it because she’d never heard of anyone with a ‘z’ in their name before. Cautiously, she padded around the table and circled Zel Shivertail warily.

“Mrsha! Don’t be rude to a guest!”

Lyonette tried to chase Mrsha away, but she was slow. The Drake only laughed though, as he took a seat.

“I don’t mind, Mistress. Gnoll cubs are far easier to deal with than Drake hatchlings. Do I smell breakfast?”

“Oh! Let me get you a plate. I’ve made crepes—unless you’d like something else? I can do eggs and bacon…”

Mrsha perked up at the words, although she still felt full.

“Crepes will be fine.”

Lyonette hurried into the kitchen. When she came back with crepes and a glass she hovered around Zel while he ate, making contented sounds and Mrsha padded under the tables and chairs nearby, still watching the Drake and sniffing at him with keen interest.

She remembered something about him, didn’t she? He smelled like the sheets of the inn of course, and she could tell he’d travelled for a while because the odor of dried sweat emanated from his clothes. But there was something else, something familiar…

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything to drink but milk and water. Um. Are Drake children really so hard to manage?”

“Water is fine—milk would be quite nice if you have it.”

Zel waited until Lyonette came back with a cooled pitcher of milk. Sneaking up on the Drake from behind, Mrsha listened to him talk to Lyonette with one ear as she kept sniffing.

“Children? They’re awful. I’ve never had any, but Drakes at a young age are temperamental and they bite. Of course, I hear Gnolls do too, but I’ve never had one of them bite my tail.”

Mrsha stared at Zel’s tail. It was curled around a chair leg. She wondered what it would taste like…

“Oh, well. I wouldn’t know. I’m new here. I mean…”

“It’s quite unusual to see any Humans here. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get the full story last night. You said this inn is run by a Human [Innkeeper] who settled here, didn’t you? But how did you come to be here? Did you move from one of the Human cities?”

Mrsha could hear Lyon hesitate as she crept closer one step at a time. Slowly, stealthily—like she was hunting butterflies. She crept along, towards the Drake’s back so he wouldn’t see her, still smelling something so familiar it hurt…

“It’s a long story.”

“If you have time, I’d like to hear it.”

“You’re not busy?”

“I don’t have anything I have to do right away. My…companion is probably still hungover from last night. I heard him say he’d be drinking the cold away and I’m not that keen on meeting him in any case. These crepes are quite good with this honey! Are there beehives around Liscor that have popped up in the last few years? I didn’t hear of that.”

“Oh, well, the bees are…um…it’s part of the long story, you see…”

Mrsha rolled her eyes silently; she didn’t want to hear a story she already knew! She wanted to hear Ryoka’s stories. But it meant both adults weren’t paying attention to her. Finally, Mrsha could crawl right behind the Drake’s chair.

There it was. The smell. She sniffed very quietly at the Drake’s claws. Something was lurking past the ordinary smells of unwashed scale, dirt, sweat, and so on.

Then she smelled the blood, faint and old on his claws and the deeper scents of oil and steel. And she remembered.

He runs out of the swirling snow, armor battered, unarmed. But he runs like a giant, and the Goblins attacking Ryoka and the Gnolls hesitate when they see him. And at his back, an army of Drakes appears as if by magic, howling and shouting with fury as they race towards the Goblins.

The Drake slashes out with his claws and tears through a Goblin wearing black armor as if the Goblin had worn nothing at all. He cuts down another Goblin—a Hob with a battleaxe—and charges onwards. At his side, a Drake with a sword that shines with magic cuts down two Goblins with one slash.

They run past Mrsha, and for a moment her heart leaps in her chest. But the Goblins are everywhere, and then a group of Hobs charges towards them. And she hides in the snow, cowering, wishing everything would go away. She is afraid, paralyzed by terror. Afraid, afraid—

“Mrsha?”

She shook, and then realized Lyonette was staring down at her. For a second Mrsha was still afraid, but then she realized she was in the inn. She felt exhausted, and she stared up at Lyon as the girl looked anxiously at her.

“You were shaking. Are you alright? Why were you hiding underneath the table? You should sit with me.”

She reached for Mrsha, but the small Gnoll suddenly lashed out in anger. She nipped at Lyonette’s hand and the girl pulled back with a cry of pain.

“Ow! Mrsha!”

Filled with hot shame, Mrsha retreated back from the Human girl. She hid by another table. So tired. So afraid! She remembered, and looked past Lyonette to stare at the Drake who was eying her.

He was there. He had been there when she had lost her tribe. He—

He didn’t recognize her. At all. Why?

Because of her fur. Mrsha stared down at her white paws as Lyonette stepped back, looking hurt.

“Sorry about that. I guess Mrsha’s just a bit grumpy today.”

“So I see. I might have upset her—Gnolls can be very territorial. It’s strange though. I’ve never seen a Gnoll with white fur before.”

“Oh? But you’ve heard of Gnolls with white fur? I thought Mrsha was unique.”

The Gnoll backed slowly away from the two as Lyonette turned to Zel eagerly. Her heart was beating too fast and she still felt—he had been there. And because he had been there, Mrsha felt like she was back there, too.

“I’ve heard of it. It’s more of a rumor than anything else, but the Gnolls believe certain colors have meaning. White, for instance, is not a natural color for Gnolls of any tribe.”

“But it means something? Ryoka was saying that she thought it had a meaning, but none of the Gnolls would tell her what it meant.”

“I can tell you what I know, but it’s just rumors…”

Mrsha turned away. She covered her floppy ears with her paws. She did not want to hear. She knew what her fur meant.

It meant her tribe was gone. And it meant it was her fault. Mrsha knew that. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how much she wanted to.

[Last Survivor]. Level 8. That was what the voice had told her. It had told her she was the last.

There was no one left.

The knowledge crushed Mrsha, pressed down on her heart until it seemed like there was no air to breathe, no place to exist. They were dead. Her tribe—the Stone Spears—

Were dead.

Because of her.

It felt like suddenly the world was darker, the ceiling lower. And Mrsha was smaller, and it was hard to breathe. She gasped and trembled underneath her table as voices echoed overhead, weirdly distant.

She had to leave. She had to get out. Mrsha stared towards the door, and then ran for it.

“Mrsha! Where are you going?”

Lyonette turned to the Gnoll as she reached up for the handle. Mrsha froze guiltily, but the girl went on.

“Going to the outhouse? Alright, but come back quickly! And don’t try to crawl down there! Remember last time?”

Mrsha didn’t turn. She just opened the door and escaped into the powdery snow. Immediately the world turned bright and white, and cold. Mrsha with all her fur felt cold, but she didn’t care. At this moment she couldn’t bear to be in the inn, not near the Drake who smelled of death and reminded her of what she’d lost. Mrsha looked around the snowy landscape.

There was only one place to go, really. The city. As young as she was, Mrsha still knew the dangers of being alone in the wilderness. So she began to run through the snow, barely visible in the morning light. She was a white patch of color amid a scene dedicated to the very same color.

So perhaps it was no wonder the Drake on guard on the southern gate didn’t notice her. He was standing at attention, but idly. And he didn’t have the nose of a Gnoll, so Mrsha slipped past him with no effort.

And then she was in the streets, staring around at the buildings curiously, and at the many Drakes and Gnolls—and the few Humans—walking down the streets. A thousand scents assaulted Mrsha’s nose at once, and she breathed out slowly.

Better. She could forget. Only—after a few seconds, Mrsha realized she couldn’t forget. Here too was a bad place that drove her backwards in time. Because of the staring.

They stared at her. Drakes and Gnolls. But while the Drakes did it idly, wondering perhaps whose child Mrsha was, or at her odd fur coloring, the Gnolls were different. They stared and they knew.

It was too much to bear, so Mrsha ran again. She ran through the sea of legs, turned down the first alley she came to.

Quiet. Alone. That was what she wanted. She didn’t want—

Mrsha’s claws pulled at her fur. She pulled at it, as if she could get rid of it. Some hairs came out, and she felt pain, but she pulled more out, biting at her fur, savage, angry.

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t her fault!

But it was. And as the despair flooded over Mrsha again, she thought of home. But home was gone. And the inn wasn’t her home. Ryoka wasn’t there, and she—

She wanted to go back.

Again and again. It felt like Mrsha was turning in circles, and she chased her tail in the wet alleyway, turning about until she was dizzy and wanted to throw up. But it was better than remembering. Anything was.

What now? She couldn’t stay here. Last time she’d run away from Selys, the Watch had found her because she’d tried to hide in alleyways. Mrsha had to go somewhere.

But where? Inn? No. So…

Something swirled on the breeze and Mrsha’s nose twitched as she caught a scent. Gnolls had powerful noses, but their children had far stronger tracking abilities. And so what Mrsha smelled was faint, mixed with a thousand scents, but she still caught it.

A familiar smell. Someone she knew. Instantly, Mrsha padded out of the alleyway and onto the streets. But she paused then, realizing one thing was giving her away.

She was on all fours. It was faster, but in her tribe Urksh had been teaching her to walk on two legs. Mrsha did this now. It was hard—and slower! But she had to blend in, at least a bit. A Drake [Guardsman] would stop a Gnoll child who was alone and on all fours, but if she walked like this, they would think she was older.

No one stopped Mrsha as she walked hesitantly down the street, pausing to sniff or steady herself against a wall or passing object. Perhaps the patrolling Watch members she saw would have paid attention to her, but they were too busy eying the Humans.

There were a lot of them in Liscor, or rather, Mrsha saw at least one Human down every street she walked. But that was many for the citizens of Liscor, and Mrsha saw how the pedestrians avoided walking near the Humans, especially the adventurers who walked in groups of their own.

Down the street. And then left—sticking close to a wall to avoid the rumbling wagons that went down the middle. The smell grew stronger the more Mrsha followed it, and soon she was able to identify what it was.

In Mrsha’s mind an image of a taciturn Human, sitting in a corner of the inn while Erin chatted to him, surfaced. She blinked in surprise and nearly fell forwards.

She knew him! He was the grumpy Human, the one who smelled like leather and alcohol and arrow glue! Mrsha knew what that smelled like. She’d always hung around [Fletchers] as they made arrows—until they chased her away, that was. But this man was different than the [Hunters] of her tribe. He didn’t smell like dead animals, but other things. He killed strange creatures Mrsha could not dream of.

The smell was coming from a big building in front of her. Mrsha blinked up at it. It was an inn, like Erin’s but very full of people—all of them seemingly Drakes. But Halrac’s scent was coming from within, along with the smells of alcohol and food. Mrsha hesitated. Should she go elsewhere?

But she had nowhere else to go. And she liked the grumpy Human. So Mrsha fearlessly entered the inn full of Drakes. She looked around and immediately found the Humans because they were sitting in a corner of the room, and most of the Drakes had their backs to them.

Mrsha glanced around, but none of the Drakes were looking at her. It was because she had a Skill. [Natural Concealment]. Carefully, she crept over to the table where he sat, arguing with three other Humans.

“—I’m telling you, we shouldn’t stand for it!”

He sounded angry. Halrac’s voice rasped as he argued with a big man in armor—Mrsha stared at his bulging arms—and a young woman who smelled like cotton and cloth and an old man with a staff who smelled of magic. Magic to Mrsha was the smell of burned ozone, the sharp tang of electricity, and a whiff of something else that defied explanation.

“We paid good coin for those rooms. I don’t care if that damned [Innkeeper] is offering us another set of rooms. How do we know he won’t kick us out of those as well?”

“Because, Halrac, we pay more than any of his other customers.”

That came from the girl with stitches around her wrists. She smelled of magic too, but it was the cloth scent that came strongly from her that intrigued Mrsha. The Gnoll stared at her as she edged closer to the table, sniffing to see if there were any scraps. Was her entire body made of cotton? That couldn’t be right, but that’s what it smelled like.

A man with a big, gray beard leaned across the table to pull a plate of the spicy flat cakes the Drakes loved to eat towards him. He took one and ate it as he spoke, sounding wise and calm, or like how Mrsha imagined wise and calm people spoke.

“It cannot be helped. The Drake who came by is a Lord of the Wall. To Drakes, that would be the equivalent of a major [Lord] or one of the Five Families turning up. We should count ourselves fortunate that he didn’t reserve the entire inn.”

“Arrogant bastard. I recognize him—he’s a commander as well. Did you see his arms and weapons? We don’t have enchantments of that quality. If it came to a fight, though—”

“We’re not at war, Halrac.”

That was all the big man said. Mrsha saw the [Scout] slowly nod, although he still looked angry.

“I say we should leave. It’s not worth the coin we’re paying to stay here.”

The girl with stitches and dark skin drawled as she sat back in her chair.

“Say I agree with you. I’m getting tired of being sneered at behind my back too, but where would we go? There aren’t any inns not full to bursting in this city and we can’t kick anyone out, unless we’re willing to pay more than we are now.”

Was she a [Mage]? Mrsha crept a bit further under the table, hiding under Halrac’s chair. She wondered if any of the adventurers would drop some food by accident, or if she could steal a snack. Probably not.

“There’s one inn that’s empty. I told you about it before.”

“Your little watering hole. Right. Well, it can’t be worse than waiting thirty minutes for food to arrive.”

The Stitch-girl made a face. The big man exchanged glances with the man with the beard, and then leaned forwards.

“You told us the [Innkeeper] vanished a while back. Has she returned?”

Halrac shrugged.

“I don’t think so. But there’s still a girl in the inn. A [Barmaid].”

The man with the beard looked amused. Mrsha wondered if it got in his way. Gnolls had fur, but not beards. Wouldn’t it get messy when he drank soup or ate food?

“An inn without an [Innkeeper]. Still fancy moving, Revi?”

Revi, the girl, frowned.

“Maybe. It’s empty, you said?”

Halrac nodded. The big man looked unconvinced.

“If the beds are empty, it’s probably for a good reason.”

The [Scout] rolled his eyes expressively. He jerked a thumb at a passing [Barmaid]—who glared at him behind his back.

“A place to sleep—even if it does mean we don’t get waited on hand and foot—is still better than paying ten times as much to be stared at like we’re pariahs.”

“Fine.”

Revi sighed. She looked at the man with the beard.

“Typhenous?”

Beard man paused and stroked said beard.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit more inconvenience if it means cheaper rates. If we’re planning to stay for as long as I fear we are, we should attempt to conserve our coin.”

Revi and Halrac nodded; all eyes turned towards the big man.

“Ulrien?”

“I don’t really care.”

His voice was deep. Mrsha could smell blood on him—not a fresh wound, but the traces of it. She knew this because she was staring right at one amazingly muscled calf. She longed to poke it, but she knew she had to be quiet.

And then—noise! Footsteps approaching. And silence—an audible drop in the background babble of the inn. Mrsha peeked out from her table and immediately hid when she saw the other three beings approaching. She didn’t think they were Human.

“Jelaqua.”

“Ulrien. Is there room at your table for us to sit?”

Mrsha, curled tightly around the center of the table, heard Ulrien reply after a moment of hesitation.

“I don’t see why not. We’ll have to grab chairs and move—”

“Watch the Gnoll cub or you’ll squish her.”

Mrsha froze in surprise. She heard a rustle, and then Halrac’s glaring face peeked below the edge of the table with the other three adventurers. They all looked surprised, and the…woman…named Ivirith laughed.

“You didn’t notice the Gnoll child? You’re losing your touch, Halrac.”

“I didn’t think we’d be spied upon. You there…Gnoll! Come on out!”

Cautiously, Mrsha did just that. She stared up and immediately shrank back when she saw the newcomers. But they didn’t look angry…

“Halrac, you know this Gnoll?”

“She’s from the inn. I don’t know why she’s here.”

“Perhaps she’s grown attached to you. I have heard of stranger things.”

The weird-echoing voice came from one of the new adventurers. He looked like he was part crab or part…Mrsha had never seen anything like him before. She stared wide-eyed at the man, before looking up at the giant whose head was nearly touching the rafters.

“What do we do with her? I don’t suppose the [Innkeeper] would summon the Watch to bring her home.”

Revi frowned at Mrsha, and then smiled. Mrsha glared at her; she could tell when adults were pretending to be nice!

“Where are you from, little one? Shouldn’t you be going home?”

“She’s mute, Revi.”

The Stitch-Girl drew back and sighed.

“Pity.”

“Oh, let her sit here. Where are those chairs? Oh, thank you, Moore.”

The half-Giant casually lifted the chairs over. Mrsha blinked at her seat, but then sat in it. Her head barely peeked over the table. She stared, wide-eyed at the one who had spoken.

A woman with dead-white skin stared back at her, lips turned upwards in a smile. But Mrsha didn’t smile back.

The woman was dead. Mrsha could smell it on her. She was dead, but something lived inside her. It was frightening, and Mrsha edged away from the dead woman as she reached out to pet Mrsha on the head.

“Keep away from her, Jelaqua. You’ll scare her.”

Halrac said this irritably, catching Jelaqua’s hand. She glanced at him in annoyance, then looked at Mrsha’s wide eyes.

Jelaqua stopped, sighed, and withdrew her hand. She smelled like death, but she still moved as if she were alive. Mrsha’s fur stood up on end as she scooted her chair away towards Halrac’s seat.

“Aw, don’t be like that little Gnoll. You’re the only one of your kind who hasn’t walked twenty paces wide of me since I’ve been here.”

The woman pulled the plate of snacks across the table and pushed it gently towards Mrsha. The Gnoll hesitated, and then grabbed one greedily. Breakfast seemed an age ago.

“Here. Have one of these. And—[Barmaid]! Drinks for the table, if you would! Ale!”

The pale woman turned and called out to a passing Drake, who nodded, eyes wide as she stared at the woman. Unperturbed, Jelaqua turned back and nodded to Ulrien.

“We’ll pay for what we order, don’t worry.”

Ulrien waved a big hand.

“Forget it. Coin for food and drink is hardly something Gold-rank adventurers need to worry about.”

Jelaqua paused, and then nodded her head to him with a wry smile.

“We’re used to arguments over it. And with how much Moore can drink, well, it’s good to get that out of the way, especially when we’re trying to negotiate.”

“Negotiate? About what?”

Halrac stared suspiciously at the three adventurers. Typhenous rolled his eyes and stroked his beard with one hand.

“There can be only one thing. The dungeon.”

Jelaqua nodded.

“Of course.”

“If you think we’ll give up our claim—”

“Halrac.”

Ulrien’s word silenced the [Scout]. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We’re not here for that. Rather, we’d like to team up.”

“Really?”

The adventurers on Halrac’s side seemed surprised, although Mrsha didn’t understand what was actually happening.

“It’s only practical. It’s too dangerous by ourselves.”

That came from the huge giant, Moore. He had a surprisingly soft voice and he nibbled at one of the doughy discs very carefully.

“We’ve gotten scratched up twice going in there. Both times we didn’t have the numbers for a clean fight. And I’ve heard every other team that’s gone in has run into all sorts of hellish traps, same as us. Those that make it out, that is. If we want to make real progress, we need to work together.”

“Seborn is right.”

Jelaqua took a mug from the tray the Drake [Barmaid] was carrying, ignoring the way the Drake flinched as she stared at the Selphid. Jelaqua took a drink, grimaced.

“Dead gods. This isn’t good stuff. How much do you pay to stay at this inn? Anyways, the last time we went into the dungeon we ran into a pit trap the length of the entire corridor and fifty feet down. If Moore hadn’t cast a spell we’d be dead. But after we landed—guess what was at the bottom of the pit? A colony of Metalbite Slimes.”

Halrac and the other adventurers made noises of dismay. Ulrien shook his head.

“That’s…bad.”

Jelaqua drained the rest of her mug, grimacing. She did not call for a refill.

“Right? But I’ll bet you ran into just as bad a trap. Did you see what chased the last group of adventurers out? The Children. There are entire colonies of monsters in that dungeon, branching pathways that seem to change each time we go in, and traps both magical and mundane—we can’t handle it alone. The Halfseekers are already understrength, but we thought if we combined forces we might stand a chance of getting somewhere in this dungeon. What do you think?”

The team of Griffin Hunt turned and conferred silently. After a moment, Ulrien nodded.

“We could use the extra help.”

Typhenous and Revi both nodded. All eyes turned to Halrac, including Mrsha’s. Revi frowned at him; the [Scout] did not look happy as he shifted his attention between the three half-Humans.

“Halrac?”

He grimaced.

“I have no reason to object. My [Dangersense] is screaming at me every step I take inside that place. Someone else to check for traps would help.”

All the adventurers relaxed. Jelaqua smiled, and Seborn nodded at Halrac soberly.

“Even together, I fear that we will not progress quickly. But it will be reassuring to work with another expert.”

“A team, then. We can haggle over distribution of spoils later—”

“No need. We’ll split it evenly.”

Jelaqua’s brows rose in surprise, but then she was smiling as she clasped hands with Ulrien over the table. She looked around the inn and sighed.

“I’m relieved. If I’d known you would be so open to the idea I would have come earlier. A team. It’s been a long time since our group joined forces with any other party. On that note—do you know if this inn has any openings? We just got kicked out of ours.”

“Really? Why?”

“You have to ask?”

All three Halfseekers smiled crookedly. Mrsha wriggled in her seat. She was getting bored! She watched Jelaqua’s pale lips moving, wondering why she didn’t rot when she was dead.

“Selphids aren’t popular on Izril—less so than Baleros, incredibly. All the rumors about my kind lead to suspicion and paranoia. As for Moore…someone with a quarter of a Giant’s blood in him is hard to feed, let alone find a bed for. Oh, and apparently Seborn smells like fish.”

“Untrue. But arguing doesn’t help matters.”

Mrsha’s stomach rumbled. She probably shouldn’t have eaten so much. But it was so tasty! She looked around as the adventurers spoke about boring things.

“We just got kicked out of the best rooms in this inn too. No help here, I’m afraid. But Halrac’s been telling us to visit another inn—you know, the one outside the city where we had that—”

“Really? Do you think it’s still empty? I was wary of being outside, especially since it seemed like there was some drama to do with the Gnolls. And that skeleton! But if we’ve no other choice—it would be good to work under the same roof…”

Mrsha was powerfully curious about the Halfseekers, it was true. She’d love nothing more than to sniff at Seborn and Moore, but she knew it wouldn’t be polite. She could sit here and eat more food maybe, but—she didn’t want to sit here! Now that she’d been caught, the fun was over. Mrsha wriggled in her seat, and looked towards the open doors. Time to go. She grabbed another spicy, doughy treat and slipped off her chair.

“Hey now. Where are you going young Miss?”

The big half-Giant, Moore, turned to Mrsha and she froze. But he looked concerned rather than angry. Mrsha edged away from him, ready to bolt, but Halrac stopped Moore as the half-Giant moved to rise.

“Leave her. The last thing we need to be accused of is harassing a child. The inn’s not far from here and the streets are safe.”

“But is the inn safe? I would hate for a child to be put in danger. The monsters around the city can be dangerous, especially if some escape from the dungeon. It is waking up.”

“The Watch patrols, and they’re as good as—better than teams of Silver-rank adventurers. I saw one of them—a Drake. He knows how to fight!”

Seborn frowned at Jelaqua, although only the fleshy half of his face moved.

“They patrol within the city. But if you’re really suggesting we sleep outside of it—are there any guards in this inn, any enchantments? Or will we be sleeping with one ear to the ground?”

Mrsha scampered out of the inn as the adventurers continued to argue. She didn’t know what they were talking about. Mrsha seldom did. But they were busy and Halrac seemed sad. He always seemed sad, which is why Mrsha felt a bit drawn to him.

Maybe he knew what being alone was like.

Disappointed and lonely, Mrsha wandered back onto the street. There she remembered why she’d gone inside. The Gnolls stared at her. A passing trio of Drakes—a child and mother and father slowed as they saw Mrsha. The child pointed to her.

“Why is her fur white?”

Because she was the last. Mrsha turned and ran down the street. Where now? Back?

No—there was someone else. The bossy Drake. She would be nice to Mrsha. The Gnoll raised her nose to the air and sniffed.

There? No—there? It was hard to pick out her smell on the streets. Mrsha would have to search to find her.

But something else smelled familiar to her. Mrsha looked up and saw a familiar person.

Pawn! The Antinium was walking down the street. Mrsha immediately ran after him, but he had a lead on her and it was hard for her to follow through the crowds of people. When she did catch up with him, she found herself on an abandoned street—

And staring down into a hole in the ground. That was what it looked like. Suddenly, an entire street just…vanished. The cobblestones ended, and a sloping path of dirt led down into darkness. Mrsha halted on the edge of it, uncertain. Strange smells were coming from below—the same smells as that of the huge Soldiers who’d come from the inn.

But Pawn had gone down there, she knew. And the Soldiers were nice! So, bold and unafraid, Mrsha ran down the dirt tunnel, into the darkness.

It wasn’t fully dark. Glowing patches of moss lit up the tunnel immediately, but it was still far too dark for a Human to see. Mrsha could see just fine though. She ran forwards eagerly, but froze when she realized she was surrounded.

Standing in the walls, huge, silent, were Soldiers. They stepped out as one, clenching their fists in a clear sign of aggression. Mrsha backed up as she saw more Soldiers appearing behind her! It was a trap!

The Soldiers were ready to kill, but not ready for the sight of a small Gnoll. They stared at her. But then they started forwards again, hostile, and so Mrsha ran.

She ran. The wrong way, as it turned out. In order to get away from the looming Soldiers Mrsha had to race into the dark tunnels. They chased after her, but while they could have blocked a Human, Drake, or any other species quite easily, Mrsha was too small and slipped between their legs. She dashed forwards—

And found herself in a huge network of tunnels, filled with shadows in the dim illumination. Crisscrossing openings, paths leading up and down—

And Antinium. Hundreds of them, all marching in an unending current. Mrsha froze as they all turned and stared at her. A group of Soldiers turned towards her, and she heard the ones behind her running. Mrsha dashed forwards, unthinking, and hurtled down a tunnel, past Workers who stood aside from her.

Where was she going? Away! Mrsha had no idea where she was, she just ran from all the Antinium she could see, especially the soldiers.

Left, left, right! A dark shadow came out of a side passage—Mrsha turned the other way.

She ran downwards, then right, took another right, and another—but she wasn’t where she’d started when she turned right again. Instead, she found a opening at the end of the passageway. Mrsha ran through it, too frightened to stop—

And found herself in a gargantuan room, staring up at the Queen of the Free Antinium under Liscor. The massive Antinium—more insectile than humanoid—paused as she lifted a morsel of what might have been food to her mouth with feelers.

“What is this?”

Soldiers. They appeared next to Mrsha. They’d been guarding the doorway! She turned to run, but they were blocking the entrance, boxing her in! Their hands were raised to bludgeon her to death, but a deep feminine voice rumbled.

“Hold.”

The Soldiers froze instantly. Mrsha raised her head cautiously; she’d been cowering on the ground. She turned to the Queen, and heard a rumble like a sigh.

“Child of Gnolls. You should not be here.”

Carefully, Mrsha padded forwards. The Queen’s full body was obscured in the partial darkness. Mrsha only had the impression of a bulbous, huge abdomen and…body parts that were feelers and antennae rather than arms and legs.

“So now the people living here are fearless enough to let their young intrude into the Hive? I should feel glad—but I do not. Only death awaits trespassers here. You should know that child, or your parents should.”

Mrsha could only hold still as the massive presence regarded her.

“White fur? How intriguing.”

She knew. Mrsha bowed her head. In this place, she couldn’t run. Her ears perked up as she heard hammering footsteps, and then another Antinium ran into the room. He had to pause—the Soldiers barred his way, but after the Queen gestured, they moved aside smoothly. She recognized Klbkch on sight.

“My Queen! I arrived as soon as I heard of the intrusion. Where is—”

He stopped when he saw Mrsha.

“You?”

“You know this Gnoll, Klbkch?”

“She belongs at the inn, my Queen.”

“The one with the girl Erin Solstice.”

Another sigh echoed throughout the room. Mrsha saw Klbkch staring at her. He slowly walked in front of Mrsha as if shielding her.

“It seems this innkeeper causes trouble even when she is not here.”

“This child does not know the rules of Liscor, my Queen. I am sure her trespass was accidental.”

“Perhaps. But the rules must be kept. Make sure other visitors to the city are aware of this. And this Gnoll…”

Again, Mrsha felt the Queen staring at her, and this time it was with more than a hint of malice. She trembled, hiding behind Klbkch, feeling the need to pee.

“I am sure the citizens of Liscor would be greatly disturbed if she were to be harmed.”

“I am not a fool, Klbkchhezeim. Very well, take the Gnoll cub away. But while you are here—tell me, what do the others do?”

Klbkch relaxed slightly. He bowed his head towards the Queen.

“Nothing, as of yet. They are resting. It has been a long journey; some marched for over a week with little rest.”

“Hm. You are attending to their needs?”

“Of course.”

“…Xrn is here.”

The name meant nothing to Mrsha, but she saw how Klbkch’s posture changed when he heard it. He nodded.

“Her presence is extraordinary. But perhaps it is a sign that the Grand Queen is open to your ideas at last?”

“Or perhaps she has directed her attention here for another reason. Perhaps she seeks you, Klbkchhezeim.”

Silence from the Antinium in front of Mrsha. She saw the Antinium Queen shift posture, heard her voice deepen ominously.

“She cannot have you. The Grand Queen will not take you from me, Klbkch. My Slayer.”

“I am loyal.”

That was all Klbkch said, but it was not enough. Mrsha felt so. The Queen’s voice was almost hesitant as she addressed the Revalantor of her hive.

“Ah, Klbkch. You say that, but…do you regret it? Do you regret that we fled while the others stayed and fought? Do you think we wasted the lives of your brothers and sisters, that we have failed in the long years since arriving here?”

For a long while he was silent. Klbkch looked down at his feet, and then up at his Queen. When he replied, it was softly.

“You have done well, my Queen. You and the others. You rebuilt with what you had; I cannot begrudge that. I only regret that I was too weak to finish the battle on Rhir. It is myself I blame.”

Then he turned, and walked out of the vast room. Mrsha turned to look back just once; she saw the Queen had her head bowed. Then she walked faster to catch up with Klbkch. Mrsha had a bad feeling in her stomach. She wondered exactly how much trouble she was in.

----

“She was lucky she was not killed.”

Klbkch said that to Krshia as the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] glared at Mrsha. The Gnoll cub had tears in her eyes; a spanking did that to her, and Gnolls didn’t believe in light punishments. Now Krshia was letting Mrsha lie on her front while she and Klbkch sat around her table on two couches.

“I am grateful, yes, that you were here, Klbkch. I shudder to think what would have happened otherwise.”

The Gnoll bowed her head deeply and poked Mrsha hard. Mrsha sat up and bowed her head too, rubbing at her stinging bottom.

“I have brought her to you so that you may impress upon her that venturing into the Hive is dangerous. I do not know if she fully understands me.”

“She understands. And if she does not understand fully how foolish she was, she will remember the spanking, yes?”

Krshia glared at Mrsha and the Gnoll immediately nodded her head. Klbkch stared at her, and then looked at Krshia.

“I have noticed her unique coloration. I have also noticed how other Gnolls react to her fur. What does it mean?”

Antinium did not do small talk. Nor did they care about feelings. Or rather, they found them hard to understand sometimes. Mrsha froze, but it was Krshia who put a gentle hand on Mrsha’s head. She stroked Mrsha gently, and the Gnoll relaxed, feeling a familiar presence of a Gnoll adult reassuring her. But it still hurt because it was not the same.

“You ask about things which are not easy to discuss, Klbkch.”

“Yes.”

“Hr. Well then. The white fur is a mark of fate, dire fate, to Gnolls. Some claim it is a curse. Others—a sign of disaster. Those who look so bring misfortune to their tribes and all they encounter, or so it is said, yes?”

“I see. And is it true?”

Krshia shrugged. Mrsha stirred, looking at her face, but the Gnoll’s expression was calm, if slightly troubled.

“How can we know? Some, a few, are born with the fur, and others…others lose their color after terrible things occur. Like Mrsha. Did they cause it or not? I do not know, but my people fear such individuals regardless.”

“Ah.”

Klbkch ate a cube of raw meat and said little else. Krshia eyed him, and then muttered.

“Myself, I think it is just superstition. The Stone Spears tribe were doomed the instant a Goblin Lord led his army upon them, regardless of fate. Young Mrsha should know this as well, but other, more foolish Gnolls will say differently.”

“It is well that she stays outside the city then. Can you ensure no one tries to attack Mrsha, or is this a matter for the Watch?”

“I will ensure it. No Gnoll will slay another Gnoll while I live.”

Krshia growled the words and Mrsha felt better. Klbkch nodded, and they fell silent again. She sensed that the two of them weren’t losing track of the conversation as much as understanding things silently.

“How is business?”

“I rebuild. Slowly.”

“But I gather from your words that your authority among the Gnolls within Liscor is lessened due to recent events. Is this so?”

“I wait for Ryoka Griffin to return. She has something promised to me, and until it arrives I remain…antsy. As do the Gnolls who listen to me. But I have my paws full in the meantime. I must run a shop regardless if it is smaller, and I have a worthless nephew to take care of.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. I wonder, since you are here. Would you be willing to take a look at him? He is suffering, and it may be the Antinium can provide aid.”

“It may be so. Is he here?”

“Resting. Brunkr!”

Krshia raised her voice and called out. Mrsha went very, very still when she heard the name. She hadn’t seen the Gnoll—Krshia’s cousin and warrior of the Silverfang tribe—since…

A door opened slowly in Krshia’s apartment. Mrsha immediately smelled something bad. She tried to get up, but Krshia gently held her on the couch. Klbkch turned as Brunkr entered the room.

The Gnoll warrior was tall, powerful, a classic tribal warrior. Or at least, he had been. The sweaty, unkempt figure that reeked of rot was foreign to Mrsha, and as he stumbled into the room, she heard Krshia snort. Because Brunkr reeked, and the odor was not pleasant.

“Ah. You are injured.”

He smelled like sweat and pain, and something worse. Mrsha backed away as she located the source of the foul odor. Brunkr clutched at his hand, oozing, raw, a foul odor coming from beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around it.

“Aunt. Who is this?”

“A [Guardsman] of the Watch and warrior of the Antinium. He is important, yes? Be respectful.”

Brunkr focused on Klbkch. He nodded slowly.

“I am Brunkr. And I am injured. My hand was bitten. Now…”

He raised his infected hand.

“If I had a quality healing potion—or if my Aunt would buy me one—I would be able to test you in battle, Antinium.”

“Fool! A healing potion will do you no good, no. Rest and cleansing is all we can do now, unless the [Healer] I have asked for will brave the roads.”

Brunkr made a disgusted noise. He was clearly sick. His eyes were unfocused—he didn’t seem to have noticed Mrsha yet.

In his seat, Klbkch nodded at Brunkr.

“A healing potion cannot heal an infection. Miss Krshia is correct. It will only exacerbate the symptoms.”

“Can you help him?”

Krshia looked concerned, for all she snapped at Brunkr to sit and stop messing about. The male Gnoll did so, collapsing onto his seat and grimacing as he held his hand again. Klbkch hesitated, and then shook his head in regret.

“There are serums and substances the Antinium use, but they do not have the same effect on other species. Would a [Healer] not—”

“There are none. None who can help me. The first I brought my hand to said I should burn the wound. I did. But it grew worse, and the others—they tell me it is too late.”

Brunkr gritted his teeth. His eyes refocused, and he stared around, and finally saw Mrsha. His face twisted into a snarl and he surged to his feet.

“You. Doombringer! See what you’ve done?”

Mrsha tore away from Krshia in a panic as Brunkr lurched towards her. Instantly, Krshia and Klbkch were on their feet. Both held Brunkr down and made him sit.

“Nephew. You forget yourself! She is a child!”

“Please calm yourself, Brunkr.”

“She did this! She! She has taken my hand, just like she took her tribe. Cursed one! Deathbringer! Calamity!”

The words broke something deep in Mrsha’s heart. She had felt it all day, but hearing it now was too much. It was all true. She couldn’t run from it no matter how hard she tried.

But she did try. Mrsha turned and leapt off the couch. Krshia grabbed for her, but the Gnoll was too slow. Mrsha dodged around her and the Antinium, who spun and tried to scoop her up. She ran between his legs and though he turned and nearly had her, he wasn’t ready for her to leap off of Krshia’s balcony.

Mrsha landed heavily on all fours. It hurt, but she raced off, ignoring Krshia’s shouts for her to come back. She ran and ran. But she could not outrun the truth.

----

Mrsha cried as she left the city behind. Brunkr’s words cut at her. The Gnoll’s stares pierced her. And the words haunted her.

[Last Survivor]. Level 8. As if she’d asked for this. As if it was a reward.

She just wanted to go back. Back to the inn, where Ryoka would be waiting. Then the girl could tell her a story and Mrsha could—could—

Could pretend she was back home. Her real home, where the fires burned bright every night and where she knew everyone. Where she could run about with the other children and play until Urksh yelled at her. If she could go back, she never would have gone to help gather herbs. She would have stayed in the camp forever, and the Goblins would never have found her. They would never have come and everything would be fine.

Her vision was blurry, but it didn’t matter. Mrsha could smell where she was going. She ran up the hill, towards the inn.

And then away from it. Not there either. She couldn’t be near the Drake, or Lyon with her concern and caring.

The past tugged at Mrsha. Seeing other Gnolls reminded her of the people she’d never see again. So she ran far from them, into the snowy landscape, up hills and down valleys, heedless of the danger.

It was a long time before Mrsha finally collapsed, too tired to move any more. She lay in the snow, panting.

No home. Nowhere to go back to. The inn? It wasn’t—Mrsha’s heart hurt. Lyonette wasn’t—

Those who cared about Mrsha got hurt. Or died. Like Ryoka. She’d lost her fingers. She’d gotten hurt for Mrsha and the tribe had died because she’d fallen. Mrsha knew it.

Everyone who tried to help Mrsha died. That was why Ryoka had left. She had left so she wouldn’t die. Because Mrsha wasn’t worth saving.

The Gnoll curled up in the snow, still crying. It was all her fault. All hers.

She barely heard the crunching of snow before the sound was right on top of her. Mrsha uncurled and stared around as she heard the faltering footsteps approaching. She looked around, bewildered, seeing nothing against the white snow.

Then she saw him. Slowly tripping towards her. Stumbling, faltering. Almost falling down. But still in one piece. Still alive.

Toren.

The skeleton looked almost like Brunkr in the way he moved. It was as if he was exhausted, if an undead being could be tired. He seemed as if he would fall apart at any moment.

But the purple flames in his eyes still burned in their sockets. The fire was weak, guttering. But it burned brighter when Toren saw Mrsha. And it was hatred that filled the young Gnoll with terror.

She turned to run. She heard the skeleton rush forwards, but she was dashing away as fast as she could. She raced up a hill and knew the skeleton was in hot pursuit.

Run, run. As fast as you can. But Mrsha had run so far today, and she was exhausted. She slipped going over the crest of a hill, and tumbled down. She scrambled to her feet, and ran forwards—

And nearly fell into the rift in the earth. It was dark, a gaping fissure made nearly invisible by the slight incline in the snow. Mrsha scrambled away from it—

But Toren was right behind her. The skeleton had a bared sword in his hands. He advanced towards her, swinging the sword menacingly. Mrsha backed up, the chasm behind her. She tried to watch Toren and the opening, but he was moving too quick. Mrsha backed up another step and her back paw slipped.

She slid backwards. Mrsha grabbed desperately, and her paws latched onto something beneath the powdered snow. Toren halted, sword in hand, staring at Mrsha as she dangled over the abyss.

Mrsha’s eyes were wide, her arms straining as she tried to hold on. She could barely keep her grip, let alone haul herself up. And the skeleton was just standing there. Just watching her.

He had lowered the sword in his hands. He walked forwards, until he stood right above Mrsha. She waited for him to stab her, but the skeleton just stared down at her.

As if thinking.

And Mrsha wished Ryoka were here. But she knew the girl had left. Gone, far away.

Just like everyone else.

She wanted to go home. But home was gone. And she was alone.

Maybe it was fate. Mrsha felt her claws loosening their grip as the snow fell around her. The skeleton was just staring at her, sword in hand. He took a step forwards.

Chased by bad things. Falling. It was how it had happened last time. But there was no Ryoka anymore. She’d left Mrsha too. And that was a good thing. Because she could not suffer because of Mrsha.

All her fault. White fur. Cursed one. Doombringer. [Last Survivor]. Mrsha sighed. She looked up at the sky.

And then she let go. For a moment she saw the skeleton staring at her, the flames in its purple eyes flickering. It reached out—

But too slowly. The world dropped away from Mrsha and she was tumbling, down, down, into the darkness. The air whistled around her and she closed her eyes.

Mrsha fell.

----

“Mrsha?”

Lyon searched the inn, but she couldn’t find the Gnoll. She tried the outhouse, but Mrsha’s tracks led away from there. She ran through the snow. She went to the gates—tried to get in. But Mrsha had left the city. She’d disappeared.

The girl searched. Mrsha was gone. But Lyonette kept searching. She went out into the wilderness and called for the Gnoll until she’d lost her voice. As the cold numbed her, Lyonette kept looking.

“Mrsha? Mrsha! Are you there?”

“Where are you?”

----

It was dark when Mrsha woke up. Dark. Hot. Everything hurt.

She cried out. It was the first sound she’d made in a long time. She couldn’t move. She hurt.

And someone was calling for her. Mrsha heard the voice, carried by the wind. A familiar voice.

She wanted to call to it. But something stopped her.

Fear. If she called out the voice would die.

She couldn’t do that. Better to die here.

But it hurt. Mrsha cried. She tried to move. Something was around her. Bad things lurked in the darkness. They were coming.

She had to run. But the voice. Only the voice could save her.

Mrsha looked up. The light was so far away. It seemed like a memory. But she believed the light, the sky was still there.

She wanted to be saved. Mrsha wept. Even if it meant—she just wanted to live.

So she raised her head. Mrsha took a breath and howled. The sound was wordless. It echoed in the dark place she’d fallen into, the dungeon. It went through the skeleton who stood in the darkness, watching her. It travelled up through the rift in the earth and went into the sky.

And Lyonette heard her. Mrsha knew that. She howled and howled, calling out. For salvation. For forgiveness. For another chance.

For life instead of death.

And then she ran, because the things were chasing her. But Mrsha believed she would be saved. She clung to it. That word she barely understood. That feeling in her that was all that stood between her and despair, her and the darkness.

Hope.

----

They stopped her at the gates, a Gnoll and a Drake. But she battered at them with her hands, screamed.

“You have to let me in! I need adventurers! I need help!”

But they held her back. The Gnoll’s face was openly hostile, the Drake’s put upon. They spoke to her, but Lyonette didn’t care.

“Please! Mrsha—she’s down there!”

They didn’t understand. They tried to take her away, force her back. Lyonette hit them. She bit and struggled—even when the Gnoll unsheathed his sword. She would have taken it through her heart if it meant someone would listen.

But the hand that closed over the Gnoll’s arm and pulled the sword away required no sacrifice. Zel Shivertail looked down at Lyon as the Drake [Guardsman] gaped in awe.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

----

The Drake [General] strode through the streets when he heard what had happened. He brought Lyon into the city and summoned the Watch. She ran to the Adventurer’s Guild.

No one there would help her. No one, but a [Scout] who raised his head when he heard her plea. He left his group, and someone came with him.

The Watch called out for aid. They found it. Klbkch walked down into his Hive and spoke to someone waiting there. She and he walked towards the surface.

Lyonette was hurrying towards the gates when the Gnolls appeared. She was afraid, but one of them walked towards her. Krshia had no love for Lyon, but the bow in her hands was not meant for the girl.

And so Lyonette ran through the snow, followed by six people. Six. She prayed it was enough, but there was no time to ask for others. She ran desperately, heart pounding out of her chest. Iron was in her mouth; she seemed to breathe fire each time she inhaled. But she ran faster so that she would be fast enough.

“There.”

She almost cried as she pointed down into the crevice. Zel stared at it grimly.

“Deep. That’s at least a hundred feet down—”

“Far more.”

Halrac stared into the darkness, face grim. He turned to Lyonette.

“Are you sure you heard her down there? If she fell—”

“I’m sure. Please, you have to help!”

“The dungeon is down there.”

Klbkch said the words flatly. Halrac and Zel stared at him, one in alarm, the other confused.

“The dungeon? Are you sure?”

“Yes. This place—the location matches a part of the dungeon. And I believe it goes straight down into the heart of it.”

“We can’t go down there unprepared. It would be suicide.”

Halrac bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he said it. Lyonette stared at him in desperation. But the woman standing next to Halrac gritted her teeth.

“The hell we can’t. I’m going, if you can tie that rope to something secure. No—don’t bother. Just hold it as I go down, Halrac.”

Jelaqua Ivirith hefted the two-handed flail in her hands as she stared at the dungeon grimly. Zel eyed her.

“Aren’t you a Selphid?”

“So?”

She glanced at him challengingly.

“I have a soft spot for children, and those shunned by others. And it seems like this young Gnoll is both. Let me help find her; I’m a Level 33 [Iron Tempest].”

“What class is that?”

“It’s a class derived from [Flailmaster]. I have the Skills to fight a pack of foes at once, if that’s what’s lurking down there. Are you coming or not?”

“I will go.”

Zel nodded at once. Lyonette was nearly in tears—he gripped her hands reassuringly.

“I will enter as well.”

“As will I.”

Two Antinium said that. Klbkch, and an azure one Lyonette had never seen before. She held a staff in her hands and watched Zel as carefully as he ignored her. She inclined her head to him.

“Zel Shivertail. Will you permit me to lend my aid here?”

“Just this once, I will accept your help.”

He said the words coldly as he stared into the darkness. Zel turned.

“Can we anchor the rope to something? Let’s move! Mrsha could be in danger as we speak.”

“Almost done.”

Krshia was helping Halrac fix anchors in the ground for the rope they’d brought. She stood up, bow in hand, and nodded to the rope.

“We will have to hold on, very tightly, going down. Or else we will fall.”

“No need for that. I will cast a [Featherfall] spell and slow us.”

The mysterious Antinium said that. The others looked at her in surprise; none of the others had realized she was a mage.

“Going up will be slower, then.”

“Up can be slow as it must. Down is most important. So let us hurry, no?”

Klbkch hesitated as he looked at Krshia.

“Are you sure you wish to risk this, Miss Krshia? The danger—”

She bared her teeth at him and he shut up.

“She is in danger, and my responsibility. At least in part. I will go.”

“Gather around me.”

Zel, Jelaqua, Klbkch, and Krshia did as Xrn ordered. Jelaqua glanced sideways, and grinned at Halrac.

“Change of heart?”

He just shrugged, face grim.

“If I’d have known we were going into the dungeon, I would have brought everyone. Girl, go back into the city and tell them what’s happened.”

“I will. Thank you! Please—bring her back!”

“We will.”

Several of them said it at the same time. The group looked around and Zel had to bare his teeth ruefully.

“It occurs to me I don’t know who any of you are. Well, the non-Antinium at any rate.”

“Indeed. I hesitate to suggest this, but some of us are more capable than others.”

Klbkch nodded at Zel. Jelaqua just laughed.

“Don’t worry about me fighting in close quarters. I can handle myself.”

“Names, then.”

Halrac grunted. He eyed Xrn as the Antinium whispered and raised her staff. No lights flashed, but magic was done.

Slowly, the group walked over to the abyss. They spoke as they stood staring at each other.

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

“Jelaqua Ivirith.”

“Zel Shivertail.”

“Krshia Silverfang.”

“Halrac Everam.”

“Xrn the Small Queen.”

They leapt, and dropped slowly into the crevasse. Mage light bloomed around them, lighting up the rocky walls as they fell further down.

Lyonette watched them go. She prayed, although the gods were dead. She prayed to nothing and everything that Mrsha would be safe. Then she ran towards the city.

----

She heard the call echo in the darkness. Mrsha raised her head, nearly banging her head on the small alcove she was hiding in. Then she howled, as loudly as she could. She heard the answering howl, and then hid herself, curling up to hide from the bad things.

They found her an eternity later. Mrsha flinched when the face moved downwards, but the Drake only smiled wearily when he saw her.

“There you are. Come on, Mrsha. It’s alright.”

She was out of the alcove and in his arms in a second. Zel Shivertail held her as she cried wordlessly into his scales.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She was fine. Oh, Mrsha had bruised herself all over and cracked bones bouncing down, but she was alive. [Lesser Toughness] had saved her life.

They carried her out of that place. That was all Mrsha knew as she clung to Zel. They were all around her, strangers and friends. Halrac stood with his back to an Antinium whose staff glowed blue. He drew an arrow that glowed with the light of sunset and fired it into the distance. A thump and the roar of an explosion matched the lightning that thundered from her staff.

Jelaqua fought the shadows, flail whirling, striking as she created a deadly curtain of spinning spikes around her. Beside her, Klbkch was a dancing whirlwind of silver blades. Krshia loosed her own arrows, snarling.

And Zel? He carried her past a huge, red worm-like monstrosity. It was dead. It had been torn apart and he walked through the blood as the others fought. And then there was a rope, and a platform conjured out of magic. Zel stood on that, helping Krshia to haul the platform up as Xrn held it in place. Below, Klbkch, Halrac, and Jelaqua climbed rapidly, Halrac pausing to occasionally shoot at something below.

When they saw the light, Mrsha heard a scream. She felt Zel step onto the snow, and then Lyonette was hugging her. The girl crushed Mrsha to her chest, squeezing the breath out of the Gnoll. Hugging, kissing, scolding. Then the others came up and Lyonette prostrated herself before them.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Mrsha stared up at the faces. Adventurers stood outside the rift in the snow, along with the Watch. Many people were gathered here. Some pointed to the abyss and screamed about danger. Others said it was a way in, a chance.

And many were mad at Mrsha. Some scolded her. Krshia boxed Mrsha’s ears as she checked to make sure the Gnoll was alright and called for another healing potion. And Lyonette was telling Mrsha she’d never, ever let her go out of her sight.

Selys arrived late with Olesm, almost out of her mind with worry. And some people recognized Zel and exclaimed. The strange blue Antinium left in the chaos, and Jelaqua stood alone except for when the others praised her. Lyonette told her to stay at the inn and Jelaqua just smiled. So did Halrac, awkwardly, as if it hurt.

And Mrsha? She looked around and saw many people, happy and sad. But no one was dead. No one.

Not even her.

Lyonette hugged Mrsha again, crying. Mrsha stared at her, and felt something break in her heart. But it wasn’t a bad thing. The thing that broke was a wall, or maybe it was fear itself. She hugged Lyonette back and felt hot tears trickle into her fur. And Mrsha cried too. Because she was safe.

She was finally home.

3.28 G

Sometimes, in the silence of her own mind, Rags knew why her kind was so despised across the world. Privately, she could acknowledge the bitter truth.

Goblins were weak. They didn’t level as much as other races—because they were cowards, too. They lived hand-to-mouth, eating their own dead, fighting each other over scraps. The strongest tribes were still forced to raid the more successful races to survive. Goblins were not creators; they only destroyed.

That was what she had been told. That was what she had known all her life; the contempt of other species. And Rags had believed it. But oh, if they could see what Goblins had wrought here. In this mountain, Goblinkind had built something greater than their miserable existences. They had created something vast, something new.

A kingdom. Or perhaps, a new sort of tribe.

That was the only way Rags could think of it. She stared down from the balcony, down a mile to the bottom of the place the Great Goblin Chieftain had claimed as his own. Twisting corridors built into spires of rock that stretched upwards, countless bridges made of rope and stone, and always, always, the hanging lanterns, some unlit, others shedding faint light in the darkness. That was what she saw below her; a vast anarchy stretching downwards, like some strange spider’s web.

She shivered, feeling a chill from respect as much as awe. Never had she ever seen something like this. This mountain had been hollowed out and made into a dwelling place for tens of thousands of Goblins. It had been built, under the leadership of Tremborag, or perhaps he had stolen it and claimed it as his own. Either way, it was a marvel.

And it was also a mystery. How could one tribe be so huge and yet, be ruled only by a Chieftain? This was the first of the things Rags pondered on her second day living in this mountain. Her tribe—and all the tribes around Liscor—had officially allied with Tremborag, and now lived in his home. There was plenty of room to spare.

But back to the Chieftain. Tremborag. He was only the sixth Goblin that Rags had ever known with a name. His tribe was known, fittingly, as the Mountain City Tribe. But Rags had heard him more often referred to as the Great Chieftain’s Tribe.

Great Chieftain. Rags frowned and spat over the edge of the balcony. She didn’t know if she’d hit someone—no doubt she had. One of the dangers of living in this place was that a careless stone or object dropped from on high could turn into instant death for the Goblins moving about below.

How could it be? There was no such thing as a Great Chieftain, at least, as far as Rags knew. To be more precise, such an existence should have been impossible.

Some things all Goblins knew, even odd ones like Garen. You had your tribe, and you were lead by your Chieftain. But…there were other Goblins whose existence was greater than Chieftain. Rags could feel it.

A Goblin Lord was superior to a Chieftain. Their presence unified tribes, drawing Chieftains to them like a magnet. Unless you opposed one with all your might, Rags was sure any Goblin would end up following a Goblin Lord, even a powerful Chieftain.

And a Goblin King? Rags knew without a doubt that if one existed—and one did not, she was sure—every Goblin in the world would follow such a person. The desire for a King, a leader, was built into every Goblin deep down.

So it followed that all Chieftains would eventually become Goblin Lords, and into a Goblin King if they grew strong enough. It wasn’t a choice they would make; it was just nature asserting itself, like how fire burned or how you had to poop after eating.

But then why had Tremborag not become a Goblin Lord? He could become one, Rags was sure. Like the Goblin Lord to the south, he had a tribe too vast for any Chieftain. Yet he was not a Lord. She would have felt it.

It made no sense. Like much in this place, really. Rags turned away from the balcony and walked down into a stone corridor. Two shadows walked after her.

Hobs. The Gold Stone Chieftain and a Hob from his tribe. They were Rags’…bodyguards.

Again, a foreign concept. But Rags had grown to understand that protection was necessary in this place. For while this tribe was Tremborag’s, it was anything but peaceful.

There were…factions in this place. Not other tribes; Tremborag’s had been the only one until Rags and the others had arrived. But the various sub-Chieftains who managed parts of the tribes or led their own bands of warriors fought with each other for influence.

Tremborag was in charge, but there were Hobs and normal Goblins below him who had huge amounts of control over other Goblins. It boggled Rags’ mind to think of it that way, but it made a twisted kind of sense.

There was no way a Chieftain could manage tens of thousands of Goblins. But…if you assumed he was ruling over other, lesser, sub-Chieftains then it might work. It obviously worked. But it made no sense.

“Not Goblin.”

Rags growled the words out loud. The Hob walking behind her flinched, but the bigger, fatter one, didn’t. The Gold Stone Chieftain followed Rags silently, crunching down some rock salt as he walked. He was an odd Hob. He always had something to eat, and he rarely said a word. Actually, that wasn’t uncommon for Goblins, but Rags had noticed the Gold Stone Chieftain’s face rarely changed. He seemed unperturbed by anything.

But he was loyal. Rags was fairly certain of that, and grateful for it. It meant she had some power in this place.

Of course, Rags still ruled over her tribe. Only…where was her tribe? She recognized some of her Goblins scurrying down the corridors, carrying wood, helping butcher animal carcasses—or Goblin bodies. But they were scattered, already becoming absorbed into this place. In a very real sense, Rags no longer had a tribe, only her own small faction.

In some ways, Rags was the exact opposite of Ryoka and more like Erin. She didn’t waste time wondering how all this had happened, she just dealt with the facts. She’d lost her tribe. Tremborag wasn’t her ally and Garen was Garen. She was on her own and she had to find a way to survive in this new place.

As always. In fact, Rags took this new situation to be a challenge, and so dealt with it calmly and in true Goblin fashion. The first thing she did was go exploring, after making sure she wouldn’t be stabbed in the back. The two Hobs helped in that regard.

The mountain was vast. From the outside it was obviously huge, but that was in a climbing sense. Inside, Rags couldn’t help but feel she was in an entirely different world. There was so much space! Goblins had taken what was apparently an abandoned Dwarf city and slowly chipped away at the rock walls and ceiling for decades, perhaps centuries, enlarging this place until it was larger than Esthelm or Celum. Perhaps larger than Liscor.

And like any city, there were places to sleep, places to eat, and places where going to the bathroom was acceptable and places where it was not, although it had to be said Goblins usually didn’t pay attention to that last part. Rags already knew where her and a lot of the new Goblins’ sleeping quarters were; they were higher up near the top.

She sensed this was another slight, or a sign of their weak position in Tremborag’s tribe. Of course, normally higher meant better, but all the really good things like the exits, the main eating halls and the cooking places and forges were further down, which meant Goblins living near the top had further to go. Plus, it was more dangerous high up where you could fall thousands of feet before you went splat on the ground.

Rags didn’t mind the height. She kept away from any place without railings or where she might slip. In short order she located another important place in the mountain, one that was again foreign to most Goblins.

The armory. Rags stared curiously at the four Hobs who stood guard around the doors. She understood vaguely what they were here for. But the presence of the armory itself baffled her.

She took a step towards the doors and the Hobs tensed. Rags raised her hands to show them she wasn’t trying to get in. They relaxed, and a smaller Goblin came scurrying out, waving his arms frantically.

“Can’t go in! Go away!”

He seemed to be in charge of managing the items inside. Rags pointed.

Why? Why needed?

He looked archly at her.

“For worthy Goblins.”

Rags frowned at his disdain. She’d spoken in Goblin and he’d refused to use it. It seemed almost every Goblin in this place spoke the common tongue, however broken. Speaking in the actual Goblin tongue was looked down upon, it seemed.

And worthy Goblins? Rags supposed that fed into the idea of factions too. Any Goblin with Tremborag’s favor—or a lot of influence—could get what they wanted. Anyone else had to fight for what was left over.

“What is in?”

The small Goblin—small compared to the Hobs, that was, he was still a bit taller than Rags—shrugged.

“Can look.”

The small Goblin meekly approached one of the Hobs. He snorted in irritation, but when he saw Rags and the two Hobs standing at her back he grudgingly opened the door for her to peek inside.

What Rags saw made her eyes widen. Racks of carefully placed swords hung in order of value, from high-quality steel to blades that looked like the metal had been forged by a true master of the craft.

Rags had never heard of Damascus steel, but if Ryoka had been here she would have recognized the superiority of some of the blades. Yet these were less important than the few arms that glowed or sparkled or shone in Rags’ vision as magical artifacts. There were few of these, but the swords were just one section of the armory.

Maces, axes, shields—a collection of bows and armor in all shapes and sizes! Rags saw a pile of books that had to be magical before the Hob shut the door. She stared at him, noting his superior armaments.

“Very good. Tremborag say, you take. Otherwise—not!”

The small Goblin ushered Rags back. She took a few steps and pointed towards the doors.

“Why not give to all Hobs?”

Why not distribute these weapons among all the warriors? Rags knew they could be of use; for every Hob she’d seen walking around with steel weaponry, she saw ten or twenty warriors with little more than sharpened sticks to fight with. If she equipped a force with what she’d seen inside they’d be many times more powerful.

“Only worthy Goblins. Only.”

“Makes no sense.”

Rags frowned at the Goblin, but he just shrugged and motioned her away. Reluctantly, she left. Did Tremborag fear Goblins would attack him if they had those weapons? Or was it just because he wanted to keep them fighting over such riches? Rags could understand that, but it still felt stupid to her. He was hurting his own tribe by keeping such treasures locked away!

No sense. Nonsense. It wasn’t the first time Rags had had that thought here. This mountain was so foreign, and Tremborag’s tribe so alien to her.

Some things made sense. Rags found the huge storage rooms filled with food, preserved by the cold temperatures, and magic runes in a few store rooms! She discovered areas devoted entirely to fletching, or where Goblins would hammer dents out of metal equipment, or clumsily craft things like the lanterns on poles. And of course the huge forge works and kitchens were equally impressive.

But always Rags was reminded that this place was not united. She saw some Goblins wearing ragged armbands, or tattooed with inks on certain parts of their body to differentiate themselves. All of the [Blacksmiths] seemed to be wearing a bracelet or necklace made of chain, for instance. Clearly they were in some faction that had a monopoly on manufactured arms.

And the divisions were clearer when Rags ate that night. She ate again with Tremborag and Garen at the head table—this time no one contested her seat, although she felt hostile glares which she easily ignored.

After a few minutes of eating, Rags glanced at Garen and Tremborag. Both had looked at her a few times, but neither had spoken to her directly. So she raised her voice above the din and spoke to both now.

“When fight Goblin Lord?”

Instantly, the length of the table—all those who had heard Rags—went still. All eyes turned to Tremborag. He looked down at Rags and grinned around a mouthful of bloody meat.

“Ah, you are impatient. Good. But foolish! I have told Garen Redfang this and I will tell you now: if the Goblin Lord comes here we will fight. Otherwise I will not move. It is easy to defend here.”

Rags saw other Goblins nodding at this, but she frowned. She understood the logic—this mountain was a natural stronghold that would take vast numbers of enemies to crack open. But Tremborag really intended to let the Goblin Lord gain strength while he hid here?

She looked at Garen. The Hob had shifted in his seat when Tremborag spoke, but he hadn’t openly opposed the Great Chieftain. Rags did, though. She grabbed some cheese and bit into it, chewing and speaking around her mouthful.

“Should go. Send army. I will go. As leader.”

It was a blatant challenge. Rags would gladly fight with an army against the Goblin Lord and level if Tremborag was too cowardly to. But he just laughed hugely, making his layers of fat vibrate and bounce.

“Ah, but who would follow you into battle? One or two Hobs? Your small tribe’s warriors?”

Tremborag pointed down the table at the Gold Stone Chieftain eating with the few Hobs and warriors loyal to Rags.

“The Goblin Lord would swat you like a bug, small Rags.”

He laughed and everyone at the table besides Garen laughed too. Rags bit her tongue. She had seen the bugs that lived around Liscor. Some were acid flies and they exploded when you swatted them. But she waited for Tremborag to finish laughing. He gestured at his hall full of Goblins.

“You can do nothing, not even with the legendary Garen Redfang. But I have an army as strong as the Goblin Lord’s. Stronger.”

She wasn’t sure if that was true. But Tremborag’s words had roused his warriors. They banged on the tables, shouting until he raised a hand. The Great Chieftain pointed at Rags, his voice booming.

“You want to fight the Goblin Lord? Well then. My warriors, my Hobs! Who would fight with Rags? Who would give her their warriors to command?”

Not a single one of the Goblins sitting at the high table moved. Rags didn’t blush; she just narrowed her eyes at Tremborag as he grinned toothily at her.

“You see? You have no power here.”

“I…lead. I am smart. I lead armies!”

She retorted. Tremborag laughed.

“You lead? Yes, you have [Tactician]. Garen said. Good. Then we shall see if you are as skilled as Redfang claims. Later.”

He waved a hand, and the conversation was done. Rags sat and pushed the rest of the cheese into her mouth, washing it down with some kind of pulpy juice, fuming. That was how it was, was it? Tremborag had just told her she had no power.

She was angry, but the rich food cheered Rags up. Clearly rank had its privileges here. Rags could look at the other Goblins in the huge throne room and see far less sumptuous food available to them. Indeed, some of the hungrier-looking Goblins glanced longingly at those eating at the high table. They had to make do with raw mushrooms, rats, and mass-produced soup that looked like the worst of the meals Rags had eaten when she was young.

Now that she was more able to take in her surroundings, Rags looked around and counted Hobs. Yes, a lot of them. Over a hundred. Perhaps hundreds of them walked Tremborag’s halls, given that not all Goblins ate at the same time. It was a huge force, but again, a fractured one.

And most of the Hobs were young. As were most of the Goblins, in truth. In this place which was relatively safe, Goblins still didn’t have long lifespans.

Then again…Rags had never seen an old Goblin, and she knew some, like the Gold Stone Chieftain, were over ten years old, which was old for a Goblin. But they looked like any other Hob—they didn’t really show their age.

Except for one. Rags’ attention was caught by a Goblin sitting in a corner of the room. He was seated not at a table but on the ground, a sign of his inferiority. But he—

He was old. Rags saw he actually had a beard. Some Goblins had hair, but she hadn’t known Goblins could grow beards. But it was white and scraggly and dirty, and it kept getting into the bowl of soup he was eating with his bare hands.

She wrinkled her nose as she watched the old Goblin eat. He was messy, even by Goblin standards. He had a few teeth, but many were missing. He ate the scraps served to him greedily, laughing and chattering away with the filthy Goblins around him. For some reason, they all looked female.

Another…faction. She supposed only a very weak one would want a Goblin like him. But it was a sign that some Goblins could live for a long time in this place. Outside, elderly Goblins would simply fall behind or die to monsters or in battle as a matter of course. Again, not that Rags had ever seen one remotely as old as him.

At the table, the feast was still going on, but Rags wasn’t hungry. She had a smaller belly than any of the other Goblins at the table. She was young. And small. And no one was paying attention to her. That was how she’d been relegated, Rags realized.

Tremborag and Garen kept their own council and talked to each other in private, and Rags apparently wasn’t important enough to be included in any other discussions. Not that there was anything important happening since they weren’t going to war yet.

The Great Chieftain and Garen seemed more interested in the little key he possessed. Rags could sense they had some pact of their own, although neither one of them said anything. They just laughed and ate hugely, boasting of their abilities and achievements as they ate.

She had to admit, she didn’t have the qualities to attract a following out of sheer might. Rags thought about this as she idly sipped more of her drink. She was smart and her tribe was strong, but that mattered little here it seemed. If only she was better with a sword or magic! She was learning both, but slowly. Meanwhile, the two sitting ahead of her were far more powerful than she was.

Garen was as strong as any Gold-rank adventurer, despite only possessing a magical sword and no armor or rings she could see. Mounted, he was a nightmare to fight thanks to his Skills, and it was clear that he was probably the most powerful Goblin in this place besides Tremborag himself.

As for the Great Goblin…he could probably just roll over and crush any adventurer he came across. Rags had no idea how strong he was, but she guessed that if she’d shot him with her black crossbow, the bolt wouldn’t have gone through all his layers of fat.

After dinner, Rags went back to her quarters and sat, dismissing the Gold Stone Chieftain and Hob. She had to think. Here she was in a new environment, and she needed to gain influence. It wasn’t about war and fighting any longer—it was about being respected.

She’d never had to worry about that in her tribe, even when she wasn’t Chieftain. Rags stared at the stone ceiling, feeling odd. When she was just a Goblin, even if things were bad she was still a Goblin like anyone else. If they were running they all had a chance. There was only the Chieftain and the other Goblins. Other warriors didn’t have more…rights. If they ate more food it was because they fought and needed the energy, not because they were special.

Rags had seen warriors eating scraps in that room along with normal laboring Goblins. It was all about power, here. Power, which divided a tribe against itself.

She didn’t like it. But she didn’t have to like it to use it to her advantage. Rags rolled over and slept, dreaming of ways she could gain influence in this mockery of a tribe.

----

The next day, Rags met the chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe. Or rather, the [Shaman] found her. It was surprise visit, but when Rags saw the female Hob wearing paint on her mostly unclothed body and little else, she immediately made time for her.

She was very nearly naked. Rags had never met another Goblin shaman, so she had no idea if this was customary, but it didn’t seem practical unless they all stayed indoors in the winter. Paint—some kind of chalky colored substance—decorated the female Hob’s skin, creating exotic patterns that hypnotized the eye.

And other body parts, it seemed. For all the male Goblins the [Shaman] passed—and a good deal of the females—stared with acute interest at her, both at the parts seen and the parts hinted at.

Rags was young, so she didn’t care. But she was suddenly acutely aware of how other Goblins cared about looks. The Gold Stone Chieftain grunted approvingly as he stared at the [Shaman]’s backside. Rags didn’t see the point so she only scowled when the Goblins impeded their progress with appreciative ogling.

This was a type of power too, and the [Shaman] flaunted it. That made Rags a bit wary when the Shaman led her to her large and sumptuous quarters, making the two Hobs wait outside.

She had pillows, lots of them. And part of her room was clearly devoted to her craft; Rags saw a lot of items that wouldn’t have looked unfamiliar on an [Alchemist]’s table. She gazed around in interest as the [Shaman] talked with her.

“You are Rags. A new Goblin and a Chieftain. So young!”

Rags nodded, meeting the other Goblin’s gaze calmly. She had power too, Rags sensed.

“You had no Shaman in any of your tribes. Have you never met a Shaman before?”

“No.”

She was very fluent, while Rags had to struggle to make herself understood. The [Shaman] smiled sadly.

“It is not good. Shamans make a tribe strong. Without us, there is only Chieftains and all they can do is hit things.”

That made Rags smile. The [Shaman] whispered a word, and a ball of light floated from her hands, colors—red, white, green, black—blurring together in a light show. Rags stared at it appreciatively.

“We have power. We take it from the tribe. You know this?”

“Yes. Magic. Like this?”

Rags raised her hand and cast the [Light] spell. The [Shaman] gasped as an orb—perfectly mirroring the one she’d made—floated out of Rags’s palm. The Goblin smiled; she wasn’t so easily impressed by parlor tricks.

“You have magic. No one told me this.”

Which told Rags that she was being gossiped about. She shrugged.

“[Shaman] magic. Is like [Mage]?”

“Yes. And no. Different. My magics are basic, but strong with numbers. I can cast lightning and burn and create shields. And heal.”

“Heal?”

That attracted Rags’ interest. Pisces had taught her the fundamentals of magic and he had told her that healing spells were extremely advanced spells for mages.

The Shaman nodded.

“Close flesh. Restore blood. Not fix a missing arm, though. Still useful.”

“Very.”

Rags thought about how many healing potions she could save with a [Shaman]. She pointed to the female Hob.

“Only you? One Shaman?”

“I am Ulvama. Another five [Shamans] are in the tribe, but I am strongest by far. They can throw fire. I can scorch the earth.”

So you could have more than one if your tribe was big enough. Rags wondered if she could persuade a [Shaman] to join her tribe, or if Ulvama could teach someone. Could she learn?

“It is good that you think.”

Ulvama interrupted Rags’ thought. The [Shaman] leaned forwards and smiled at Rags, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.

“You are smart. And brave. I saw you challenging the Hob. But Tremborag does not think you are important.”

“No.”

Rags scowled. Ulvama smiled deeper.

“But I do. You need support. Allies. I can be your ally.”

Rags held still. She eyed Ulvama cautiously. A [Shaman], much less the chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe would be very useful. But why did Ulvama want to help Rags? Did she really see something in her, as she was hinting?

Or did she do this to all Chieftains? Was she just playing the odds or did she want something? Rags didn’t know, but she wasn’t one to spit on an offered hand.

Unless it was someone she hated, like Relc.

“Ally is good.”

“Yes. I can speak to other leaders for you. They are not certain if you should be followed or fought. But I can persuade them.”

Rags was under no illusions as to how Ulvama would do that. She frowned; she’d had the birds and bees explained to her by Erin of all people, although she had no idea why birds would mate with bees. But would the offer of sex really persuade so many?

“Will work?”

Ulvama laughed.

“You are young so you do not know. But it will work, especially since you have a name. That makes you special.”

Rags nodded proudly. A name was rare, even if the tribe had a [Shaman], she had learned. It was a mark of influence, and here, of power.

“One thing is strange, though. You have no Shaman but you have a name. Did you come from another tribe? Or did your Shaman die?”

Rags shook her head.

“No [Shaman]. Human gave it to me.”

Ulvama’s eyes widened. She stared at Rags, and then she shook her head sadly.

“Then it is not a proper name.”

Rags stared at Ulvama, shocked. She hadn’t liked the name Erin had given her, but it had stuck and she had long since taken it as her own. It was her name!

“Why not?”

“Only Shamans can give names. Not Humans.”

Ulvama said it as if it were obvious. Rags didn’t think this made sense and said so.

“My name.”

“I can give you a better one.”

“No. My name.”

The two stared at each other, the good mood in the room evaporating like dew. After a moment, Ulvama looked away. She spoke more directly and with less smiles.

“You will need to gain support from other warriors. Find strong ones; make them your allies or make them yours.”

“How? Give things?”

Rags had an idea of how to gain power. Bribing followers, rewarding the faithful, demonstrating ability in combat and elsewhere—but Ulvama shook her head dismissively.

“Use that.”

To Rag’s surprise and outrage she reached out and poked Rags between the legs. The Goblin closed her legs instantly and glared at Ulvama.

“That is mine.”

She had no interest in sex, especially the way Erin described it. Goblins knew about the link between sex and babies of course; it was hard to miss the connection. But while Rags would have been considered a fine age for giving birth, she didn’t want to. It seemed like a pain.

“It is the best way for females. Do not be stupid.”

The Shaman was waspish. She stared at Rags and the Goblin glared back.

“Sleep with others. Garen Redfang if you can. He will help you for that—all do. Do not be—”

She was reaching for Rags’ legs. Rags slapped Ulvama’s hand down. The Shaman gasped in outrage. She raised a hand to strike Rags.

And Rags kicked her.

Kicking was better than a punch, mainly because people often watched your hands. Rags’ foot slammed into Ulvama’s stomach and the Goblin doubled over, coughing in pain. Rags sneered as she stood over Ulvama. The other Goblin was soft, lazy for all her power.

“No.”

When the Shaman looked up there was murder in her eyes. Rags stared down at Ulvama coldly, ready for a fight. She did not want to sleep with anyone, and she had no intention of being told what to do. Ulvama’s eyes blazed. She gathered magic to her in a wave, hissing with anger, ready to blast this upstart Chieftain.

But Rags had a hand on her sword and the [Firefly] spell burning in her hand. The [Shaman] looked at Rags and the smaller Goblin knew she was wondering if she would be quick enough with her spells, or if Rags would stab her first.

“Get out.”

That was all Ulvama said. Rags nodded. She doubted the [Shaman] would be cowardly enough to strike her from behind. She walked towards the door. Then she turned at it.

“I need no name. I have one.”

The door slammed as Rags left.

----

Rags felt upset and annoyed for hours after meeting Ulvama. She’d been hoping so badly for help, and Ulvama had offered it! But not only had the Shaman denied her name, she’d tried to force Rags to do something she didn’t want to, as if she had no choice. She was no true ally, and Rags had been right to not join up with her.

But however good it had felt to kick Ulvama, the consequences of Rags’ actions were immediately obvious. When she received the summons to meet Tremborag with the other Goblins to plan a raid on a Human settlement, Rags found a room full of Goblin warriors standing around a map.

In this, Rags could find no fault. She stared appreciatively at the map of the local area and, of all things, crude figurines arranged around a town on the big stone table. It was a tool for planning attacks, and Rags saw Garen leaning over the table as Tremborag spoke with a Hob who was pushing pieces around.

When he saw Rags, though, Tremborag grinned at her. She saw other Goblins in the room turn to laugh at her as well and felt uneasy.

“Ah! Fake Name Goblin! Come.”

Rags froze mid-step towards the table. She stared at Tremborag. The Goblin laughed at her with his eyes and mouth. She glared at him.

“I am Rags.”

“That is not what Ulvama said. She said your name was given to you by a Human.”

So, this was the Shaman’s revenge. Rags gritted her teeth, but she knew arguing was pointless. She pushed her way towards the table and stared at the pieces.

“Attack?”

“A raid. A Human town has many supplies and much food for the winter. I want it. But it is defended by many soldiers and some adventurers. See.”

He pointed to the map. All business now, Rags listened as another Goblin explained the rough layout of the town. It wasn’t an easy place to attack by any means, she could tell. Stone walls, enchantments on the gates and even a tower spelled to hurl fire—add the Human defenders and she would have avoided it with her tribe.

But Tremborag had the forces to take the town, and he wanted what was within. He pointed towards the board where a self-satisfied Goblin had arranged the pieces in a rough circle around the city, their means of attack.

“What do you think, Fake Name Goblin? Garen says you are the best strategist. Can you come up with a better plan?”

In an instant she could. Rags took one look at the proposed formation and swept it aside. The Goblin made an outraged sound, but she knew his plan had been terrible. All he wanted to do was attack from every side, as if that would immediately overwhelm the stout defenses of the town.

In this, Tremborag’s Goblins were equal to any other Tribe. Rags sneered as she moved the pieces around. In short order she had a plan of attack that had Garen nodding approvingly. Feint a heavy assault on the gates while other forces surrounded the city. Then—feint a second attack with lots of Hobs on the west wall while the east side saw Goblins snipe the defenders there and rush ladders up with the main strike force.

There were all kinds of other details of course, and Rags went through each phase of the plan. She paused when she came to the defenders, though.

“Adventurers in city?”

“A few. Not nearly as many as the soldiers, though.”

Tremborag grinned at her. He’d been watching her work in silence. Rags carefully added a few groups of Goblins and Hobs to suppress the small group of adventurers and stood back.

The other Goblins in the room stared at her plan of attack with grudging approval. Garen grinned openly and nudged Tremborag.

“You see?”

“I do. Well then, small Goblin. It seems you are capable of being a Chieftain after all.”

Rags bared her teeth at the backhanded compliment. He wasn’t going to call her by her name ever again, was he?

Tremborag smiled as he stared around.

“Get ready for battle, my warriors! We will attack with many Goblins—and I will go as well.”

This caused a stir among the Goblins in the room, and in moments all were volunteering to go with Tremborag. He chose only enough for the force Rags had proposed and then looked directly at her.

“And you will come too. After all, it is your plan.”

She nodded. Rags felt a bit of excitement burning in her, along with guilt. She’d be killing Humans. But this was a chance to prove herself! She looked Tremborag in the eye and bared her teeth.

“Of course.”

----

They mustered outside of the town just before evening. It wasn’t far to go, hence Tremborag’s desire to attack the town and the Goblins moved fast anyways. Rags found herself relegated to one of the side units, away from most of the fighting. She resented that, but comforted herself in the knowledge that this was her plan.

Rags stood in the snow, shivering a bit in the leather armor she was wearing—it was very cold—and staring around. A group of warriors, including Tremborag, had been gathered for the decisive actual attack on the eastern walls. They were hiding in a copse of trees. Garen Redfang would attack the western walls with some Hobs so he was not present.

In truth, neither Tremborag nor Garen were needed for this battle. Rags had gone over the plans; they had brought two Goblins for every one Human, and only some of the defenders could fight. It would be a slaughter either way; it only depended on how many Goblins their side lost in this battle.

To Rags’ mild surprise, the group she was leading—one of the groups that would go into the city and tie up the Human soldiers—contained a spellcaster like herself. Only, the drooling Goblin who had to be prodded along by one of Tremborag’s warriors was very unlike her.

For one thing, he had no ears. Someone had cut them off of him, leaving two earholes instead. Rags felt angry when she saw that; she knew some adventurers earned money from Goblin ears. Maybe one of them had done it to this Goblin.

The Goblin stumbled towards Rags and stared at her blankly. She looked at him in disgust and turned to one of the warriors in her group.

“Why bring?”

The warrior shrugged as he examined his chipped sword.

“Stupid. Head is bad. But can cast spell.”

Rags stared at the drooling Goblin in doubt. He turned his head blankly towards her and grunted.

“Ah. Ugn.”

She wrinkled her nose and turned away. Ahead of her, Tremborag gave the signal and wild horn calls suddenly rent the air around her. The attack had begun.

The Human town had been peacefully going about its daily routine, safe in the knowledge that so many soldiers and adventurers were gathered here to guard it. But in moments a savage Goblin attack shattered their bubble of complacency. The soldiers on the walls shot down at the masses of Goblins with shields, doing little damage. Goblins swarmed all around, but the Human commander, whoever he was, quickly realized the main push was coming from the western walls.

Horns blew, men and women shouted orders, and the Goblins in the trees saw the bulk of the defenders go to fight off the Hobs that were assaulting the west side. Now was the time.

Standing in the back of the ranks of Goblins, Rags only heard the cut off screams as Goblins with high [Archer] levels shot the Humans on the walls and more Goblins rushed forwards with ladders. Tremborag shouted, and suddenly everyone was running.

Rags raced with her group to a ladder and climbed it nimbly. Above her a warrior choked as an arrow caught him in the chest; he fell and nearly knocked the dimwitted Goblin down with him. Rags cursed and had to pull the stupidly grinning Goblin up.

Then they were on the walls and in the main town itself. Rags ran with the warriors and two archers down one of the streets; they would stop any of the soldiers trying to help the others.

In less than a minute Rags saw the first soldiers breaking away from fighting at the gates and walls to fight the Goblins in the city. But they were fragmented, caught off-guard. More of them rushed at the Goblins who’d braced themselves in the streets.

Goblin archers shot at the soldiers. So did Rags. She still had her black crossbow, and it killed one Human, sending him flying backwards and making the others raise their shields in alarm. But she didn’t have time to reload it so Rags drew her sword and shield instead.

Before the diminished Human force could clash with the Goblins, the dimwitted Goblin was thrust forwards by the others. They shouted at him and he smiled and pointed towards the Human advance. Rags saw his hands light up—

And then bolts of electricity shot across the street, striking the Humans, making them cry out in agony. Rags was surprised, but the other Goblins had waited for this moment. After the stupid Goblin lowered his hands they rushed forwards, shouting.

Sparks of electricity crawled over the Humans in armor, making their arms weak as their muscles spasmed from the shocks. Rags shouted as she ran, and threw a [Firefly] spell at the Human in front of her. He screamed as the flying fire burned him, and then Rags cut his leg and slashed his chest.

It wasn’t a clean kill. She cut him eight times, dodging backwards as he struck at her, screaming. But like the other Humans he was soon dead, overwhelmed by the Goblin’s knowledge and superior tactics.

Satisfied, Rags and the other Goblins stepped back, some of them retrieving better quality weapons from the dead. She looked around. Two Goblins had taken injuries, one fairly bad, but none of them had died despite fighting so many Humans. True, they were strong warriors for Goblins, but this was easy.

Then Rags heard the shouts and felt the earth shaking. She turned and saw the adventurers.

There were only a handful of them, Tremborag had said. Only a handful. But when Rags saw the Goblins who went flying like leaves her heart caught in her chest. Somehow, in some way, the Goblins who had scouted this city had failed to mention one crucial fact, or perhaps Tremborag had failed to mention it to Rags.

These were Gold-rank adventurers, not Silver.

As Rags watched, a roaring man with a battleaxe swung, and the ranks of Goblins sent to hold him back went flying. They were like children before his strength, even the Hobs. At his side, a huge woman with a hammer crushed a Hob’s head, smashing right through the shield he’d held up to guard himself.

They were going to tear right through the Goblin forces in the city! Rags was paralyzed by indecision. They had to be slowed. But the Goblins with her couldn’t manage it! They had to get to Garen, get him into the city with as many Hobs as possible—

Then she heard a roar which made the two Gold-rank adventurers freeze in fear. Rags turned.

And saw Tremborag.

At first, Rags didn’t recognize the Goblin. That was because the Hob had changed entirely. A gargantuan creature, made of muscle and rage charged down the street. Eight feet tall, huge legs cracking the cobblestones as he ran at the adventurers—

It was the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. Yes, it was. Some of his features were the same. But all the fat had been changed to muscle, and he had become powerful, quick—

The warrior with the hammer raised it with a shout, but she was too slow. Tremborag caught her as he charged and smashed into a house. Rags flinched as wood and stone exploded like hail, and the warrior rushed in after his friend. She and the other Goblins heard shouting, then a scream. A female one. Then a man’s choking voice—

In the localized sphere of silence, Tremborag walked out of the destroyed house. There was blood on his hands and around his mouth. The Goblins around Rags backed away as he walked towards her.

“How?”

That was all she said to the Goblin who stared down at her. Not a Hobgoblin, not a normal Goblin—something else. Some aspect of Goblin she had never heard of before. Tremborag smiled at Rags, and she saw the flesh caught in his teeth. His voice hadn’t changed much, but it was rougher, harsher, as if speaking came harder to him in this form.

“There are more things in this world that you do not know than know, little Goblin. I am one of them.”

Then he turned and ran towards where the sound of battle was thickest. Rags stared at his back. She said not a word as the slow Goblin laughed and pointed at something.

Her knees were shaking.

----

When she saw Tremborag again, he was fat and normal, as if what she’d seen was an illusion. He stood, laughing and eating something amid his cheering warriors. They’d killed the last of the Humans and the rest had either fled or—

Rags still heard screaming, from female voices. She knew what was happening and it bothered her although she felt it shouldn’t. But she was more concerned with Tremborag right now. She approached hesitantly.

“Ah! There you are.”

He turned to her almost jovially as Garen Redfang joined them, covered in blood and lightly wounded, but steaming in the cold air with battle lust. Tremborag greeted Garen and then turned to Rags, smiling condescendingly down at her.

“Not bad, little Goblin. Not good either, though; you underestimated the adventurers. They are stronger than the ones you know.”

She hadn’t been told about them being Gold-rank! She should have assumed, but this had been a setup. Rags bit her tongue; she didn’t feel able to talk back to Tremborag after what she’d witnessed.

The Great Goblin Chieftain stared down at her, musingly. He was in a good mood from the easy victory, and so he was magnanimous towards her.

“You are useful, as Garen said. You have my respect. Pick first and claim whatever you want before the others.”

He waved his hand to indicate the city. Rags just nodded and turned away. She avoided the places where she heard Humans screaming and Goblins shouting in delight and searched among the dead, feeling wrong on different levels.

To her annoyance, anything remotely magical had already been claimed by Tremborag or one of his Hobs. Rags hunted about and found a wicked axe made of steel, a valuable weapon. But she didn’t keep it for herself.

Instead, upon returning to the mountain with all their spoils, Rags searched for the Gold Stone Chieftain. He hadn’t been included on the raid. But she gave the steel axe to the Gold Stone Chieftain, who immediately discarded the somewhat blunted iron axe he’d been using in favor of this one.

It was a good move, Rags knew. It showed the other Goblins she rewarded her followers, and that she wasn’t greedy like others. She felt proud of her decision—and immediately angry that she had to make it to fight for influence here. And she still felt a bit wrong.

Because of the Human women.

They’d been captured, over a hundred of them. Many civilians had fled or been killed, but some had been captured. The men had been killed, or so Rags believed. But the women—

They were somewhere in the mountain. Somewhere, being raped. That was what Rags knew, and she tried to not think about it too hard.

It wasn’t her business. Some goblins did that. Garen’s tribe didn’t and she hadn’t had to face the issue with her tribes yet, but—

She was too busy fighting for influence here to worry about Humans! Rags considered her new state of affairs as she grumpily ate food by herself. She had declined to go to the throne hall to feast; she was instead eating in a smaller room where Goblins could choose to take their meals.

The battle had been a victory, a huge success, it was true. But somehow, it wasn’t her victory. Rags had planned the battle and it had gone well, and for that she sensed her value as a strategist had been established.

But Tremborag had altered perceptions by tricking her! Instead of a flawless battle, she’d been portrayed as stupid to forget the Gold-rank adventurers, lessening her worth. She had still gained from this, but—

Rags looked up as a Goblin stumbled into the room she was sitting in. No Goblin had chosen to eat here but her; they were all gorging themselves in the throne room with Tremborag. But someone had decided to eat here.

The dimwitted Goblin. He looked around vacantly, holding a bowl of soup in his hands. He spotted Rags and lurched towards her, smiling stupidly. Rags gritted her teeth, but she didn’t kick him away as he sat near to her. He gulped his soup greedily, his eyes unfocused.

She tried to ignore him. Rags was still thinking about the Human women. She’d seen them, although she hadn’t intended to, forced along at sword-point, some naked. A few had tried to kill themselves fighting rather than be taken, but they’d been overwhelmed and—

Not her business. Rags gritted her teeth. She stabbed angrily at the bloody meat on her plate. It was from a sheep and it was hot. She should eat it and find Ulvama. Maybe she could beat the stupid Shaman into—

“Flowing Water Chieftain. Will you speak with me?”

Rags jerked in surprise. She twisted, and saw the dimwitted Goblin without ears looking at her. Straight at her. And his eyes were no longer unfocused. Her hand went to her sword, but the other Goblin hadn’t moved to hurt her. She stared as the mindless, gibbering wreck suddenly sat up and stared at her with keen, piercing intelligence.

“You.”

“I.”

He agreed, smiling at her. Rags stared at him warily and slowly let go of her sword.

“Act.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Rags’ mind worked at the speed of light.

“Why pretend?”

“Hiding. I am [Spellcaster] to them. Weak. Stupid. But I am [Mage] to you. Stronger than I seem.”

“Why speak to me?”

“Because you are different. I am taking risk. Would like to give you advice.”

Rags paused. She stared at him and thought of the difference between his approach and Ulvama’s. She nodded slowly.

“Tell.”

“Do not sit with Tremborag tonight. Do not be proud. Be humble. Small.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

He smiled at her, exposing missing teeth.

“Is better that way. You are too smart, too quick. You may be threat, you foreign Chieftain. And if you are…Tremborag will crush his enemies with more than fists.”

Rags considered this. It made sense. Tremborag was deliberately testing her, diminishing her worth. It might be a better move to pretend to be cowed by his displays of strength, although she hadn’t considered it before. She narrowed her eyes at the other Goblin. And yet…

He was strong. If he was a better spellcaster than he pretended to be, he was on the level of any Hob in terms of value, perhaps more. He could be powerful. She pointed at him accusingly.

“Why you not fight? Why not stand proud? Why…coward?”

“I tried.”

He tapped his ragged earholes and grinned at her. Rags paused. She stared at his ears.

Adventurers cut off Goblin ears. For that, they were monsters. But she had never heard of Goblins doing it to each other. Goblins killed one another as necessary. They did not mutilate. They did not torture.

But they did rape Humans.

She banished the thought. Rags stared at the Goblin [Mage] and nodded slowly.

“I will think. And not tell.”

“Good. Think hard, strange Chieftain.”

That was all he said. She and he went back to their meals. When they were done, Rags stood up.

The Goblin stared at her. His eyes were unfocused again and he grunted seemingly in surprise when she moved past him.

“Ugn.”

He stared at her vacantly. This time Rags was not fooled. She nodded to him and strode off, thinking hard.

That night, Rags didn’t go to the high table. She instead ate with the Gold Stone Chieftain in a far more crowded part of the hall, as if she was cowed and humbled by her mistakes. She sensed countless eyes on her, but did and said little. She was thinking and watching instead.

Next to her, the Gold Stone Chieftain ate his food as stolidly as ever. He didn’t react to Rags’ presence; he’d just scooted over when she’d walked over without a word. Only one thing he’d done had surprised her that night.

When they’d been eating the Gold Stone Chieftain had stopped a passing Goblin. The old one. He was…or had been…a Hob, but he looked pathetic compared to all the others. But the Gold Stone Chieftain had called out to him nevertheless.

Old one. Sit.

And so Rags found herself sitting across from the old Goblin. He ate messily, burped loudly, and said little; he annoyed Rags more than anything else because he kept staring at her. So did all the other Goblins, to be fair.

She could tell that her absence from the high table had been noted. By everyone. Rags hoped the other Goblins just interpreted it as her being ashamed and going to her actual position in the hierarchy.

Meanwhile, the ranks of the Goblins were stabilizing as the new additions to Tremborag’s tribe were assimilated. And it was his tribe, Rags realized. They were becoming his.

Already the Redfang warriors sat at the high table. A good number of them sat high up, bearing new scars from quick duels to assert their superiority. But as always Garen sat right next to Tremborag, clearly displaying his dominance.

She’d heard what had happened. Garen had killed another Hob, one of Tremborag’s stronger followers in a quick fight. He already had his own band of followers, and Rags wondered if he’d picked a fight with the unfortunate Hob on purpose.

But that wasn’t the only big news of the day. As Rags slept and woke, she heard the second big impact of yesterday’s battle circulating through the mountain. Namely, the Human women who’d been captured.

They had been taken to a part of the mountain Rags had never visited. A dungeon-like place, where Goblins could come and go. Here too, access was restricted to those with favor. Normal Goblins couldn’t enter, but more influential Goblins could access the women.

It bothered Rags more than she could say. But to her delight, it didn’t bother just her.

While her tribe was somewhat ambivalent if not confused about taking Human women to have sex with, the reaction of Garen’s tribe had been far stronger. They were upset about it, and Rags heard through the grapevine of Goblin rumors that a group of Hobs and warriors had gone to Garen to complain. Apparently, their tribe took pride in not ‘sinking to that level’, and they wanted Garen to stop it.

Perhaps he could have, but Garen was disinclined to go against Tremborag on this, especially because Rags knew some of the Human women had gone to the Great Goblin. So the message had come back to his tribe from Garen:

Deal with it.

The next night Rags didn’t eat with the main host of Goblins. Instead, she waited until later. The Redfang Goblins had been given the important duty of guarding the mountain due to their combat prowess, but that meant they ate and slept at different times.

They were not happy that night and ate in sullen silence, or started fights among each other. Rags didn’t say much—she just ate with some Hobs and elite warriors who stared at her silently. She knew they were wondering why she was here, but she didn’t do anything else. She just ate until one of them poked her softly in the side.

Redfang would not listen.

She looked at the one who’d spoken, a Goblin with a scar across his face.

“No.”

He bared his teeth angrily and struck the table. The Hob sitting next to the warrior stared at Rags. He was a powerful warrior; they all were. Garen’s tribe might not have been individually as mighty as he was, not close, but they were elites among Goblins.

Is not right.

Another Goblin said that. Rags nodded her head fractionally, and knew they were looking at her, gauging her reaction. But then the Hob who stared at Rags spoke.

“Gold Stone Chieftain. He goes to visit Humans often.”

She paused. Rags’ mind went blank. Often? Did that mean—had the Gold Stone Chieftain known about the Human women before now? They hadn’t all been captured in the town. More were there from other villages, caravans raided, travelers abducted.

Often?

She stared at the Redfang warrior, and didn’t know what to say in reply.

----

On the fourth day, Rags decided to join one of the raiding parties. Like the Goblin Lord—like any large tribe, really, Tremborag’s tribe had to constantly scavenge and hunt for new food or risk starvation, especially with so many mouths to feed. Rags knew the Goblins grew mushrooms and harvested the native rat, bat, and bug populations, but that was hardly enough.

These raiding groups had the hardest jobs of any of the Goblins in Tremborag’s tribe. They had to abandon the safety of the mountain to go out and hunt monsters, animals, or raid Human settlements. It was…well, frankly, it was being a Goblin and Rags relished it.

She fell in with one of the lesser factions in the mountain. Curiously, it was a group of mostly female Goblins. They resented being seen as mates by every male Goblin who came along, and they were of the opinion they fought just as well as male warriors.

They did. If not with as much strength, then with a good deal of savage cunning. Rags participated in an attack on a Human village—no capturing women, just taking animals and food while the Goblins scared away the Humans. She had a chance to talk with one of their leaders, a Goblin who used two daggers dipped in a concoction made from poisonous plants.

“Faction is weak.”

The other Goblin looked at Rags angrily, but relented when she saw Rags was just stating the truth.

“Weak, but we are united.”

“Other Goblins do not treat females well?”

“Not as warriors.”

The female Goblin bared her teeth.

“We are strong as males. When we fight, we prove we are equal.”

Rags frowned. She didn’t think that was true. It seemed like this band of female warriors was being exploited by Tremborag and the other goblins to do dirty work with no real reward.

She said so. The female Goblin nearly drew a blade on Rags, but Rags had demonstrated that she knew how to fight, and so it didn’t come to that. The female Goblin wiped her daggers clean as she spoke harshly.

“Someday, many Hobs like us. Many.”

They wanted to become Hobs. Rags understood that. Being a Hob was power in itself, and if they had many in their faction they would be respected. But until then, they would live on scraps and fight the hardest battles. Rags shook her head.

Interestingly, she saw that the old Goblin was part of this band of female warriors. Rather, it was more like they tolerated him and gave him their protection. He actually fought, with a rusty greatsword that looked like it was more rust than sword. Rags wondered if he could keep up with the younger warriors.

But he had a lot of fighting prowess to make up for being older. Rags had seen him step on a Human’s foot, shove him down, and then kick the Human unconscious without lifting his weapon. She supposed with age came experience. He grinned at her a few times as they returned to the mountain. She just stared at him and wondered what she was doing wrong.

She had to gain influence. Power. Rags became obsessed with it. On the night of the fourth day she paced back and forth in her room, wondering how to get a lead on all the other Goblins. Because, obviously she could do it.

She was smart, cunning, and Rags knew she was twice as competent as any of the other Hobs with their own faction. In a few weeks—a month perhaps—she would be able to amass as much power as the rest. And then…

It was all about finding the right allies. Rags had already decided who to approach first. So she summoned the Gold Stone Chieftain to her room after they had eaten dinner.

“Redfang Hob. One with mace.”

He nodded as Rags spoke to him in the privacy of her room. That was one of the most influential Hobs in Garen’s tribe, by far the strongest. The Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags impassively. She looked at him and remembered he visited the Human women. Often.

“Go. Be…nice to him. Gain trust.”

She would gain his trust and then take Garen’s tribe from him. Then she would attack more villages, gain more victories using only their force. With that influence she could—

“No, Chieftain.”

Rags halted, mid-thought. She turned and stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain.

“What?”

“No, Chieftain.”

“Why?”

She demanded it of him. The Gold Stone Chieftain pondered and then replied, looking at the ceiling.

“Not Goblin.”

That was an insult, one of the worst among Goblin kind. Rags recoiled and then became outraged.

“Obey! I am Chieftain!”

“Not if this is order.”

The Gold Stone Chieftain stared back at Rags, quietly defiant. It was too much. She could not lose him, her one supporter. Rags grabbed for her crossbow in fury.

“If you challenge—”

He moved fast. Rags had only been meaning to threaten, but the Gold Stone Chieftain moved towards her before she could raise the crossbow. She pulled the trigger and the crossbow bolt loosed—and missed. It shattered, against the stone next to his feet. The Gold Stone Chieftain grabbed the crossbow and tore it away from Rags, hurling it onto her bed.

Her sword. Rags had it but then it too was pulled away. The Gold Stone Chieftain hurled it aside and Rags stumbled back, suddenly afraid.

He loomed over her, huge. Rags suddenly realized how fragile she was, how weak. Without her weapons she was practically helpless. Her [Firefly] spell would only enrage him.

He visited Human women often.

But the Gold Stone Chieftain did not reach for her. Instead, he took one look at Rags and sat back down on the floor. He popped some rat jerky into his mouth and began to eat.

Stunned, Rags stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain spoke slowly to her.

“It is not Goblin. What you ask. Staying here is bad. If you stay, I will go. I will become Chieftain and leave. With my tribe.”

It was the most she’d ever heard him say. Rags stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain, stunned, and then absorbed what he’d said.

“Leave?”

He wanted her to leave? But this was the one place safe from the Goblin Lord! The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded, though.

“Bad place. Not Goblin. You said.”

He hurled the words back at Rags and she couldn’t respond to that. She could only come up with feeble excuses.

“Not strong enough. Need support. If wait…gain power. Influence—”

The words sounded hollow to her, weak. They didn’t sound like what a Goblin should say. She wasn’t speaking in Goblin. Rags met the Gold Stone Chieftain’s eyes and looked away, ashamed.

He stared down at her, disapprovingly. It didn’t look much different from his normal blank expression. But Rags realized—it was on purpose.

And slowly, sitting in that room, unable to meet the gaze of one of her subordinates, Rags understood. She put together the old Goblin, the Gold Stone Chieftain’s knowledge of this place, and everything else together in a sudden conclusion.

“You. Lived here, in past?”

She stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded. Sighed.

“Once. Long ago.”

That was why he could speak the common language! But why had he left? And why did he want to leave now?

Rags could understand. She could understand the way this place made you do un-Goblin things and fight amongst yourselves, and how it took away tribes and the meaning of loyalty to the Chieftain. But was that enough to risk death fighting the Goblin Lord?

“Why?”

It was all she asked. And the Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags, weighing, judging. And then he stood up.

Follow.

----

It was a dark place where the Goblins held the Human women. A dark place, a former building in the Dwarven city. Dark.

And made darker by the crying. Rags thought there would be screams, but too many were broken by this place. She looked into rooms—for some reason the Goblins gave the Humans rooms, as if privacy mattered. She could hear well enough.

There were over two hundred women there. A large number. But for thousands, tens of thousands of Goblins—

Too many. And part of Rags stared at what went on here, at Goblins biting, grabbing, forcing—part of her tried to forget as she saw.

But she focused on one thing. She focused on the Gold Stone Chieftain. Because he visited the Human women often. He took one into a closed room with him, she flinching, afraid. Him impassive as always.

And so. This is what Rags saw. She saw the Gold Stone Chieftain let go of the Human woman. He walked over to one wall and sat down. And he pulled a carrot out and began to eat it.

He sat with his back to one wall. Just sat. The Gold Stone Chieftain chewed slowly as the Human woman stared at him. She stood far across the room, shaking. Then—slowly—she realized he was not going to do anything. While he sat here, she was safe.

Standing at the door, Rags saw how the woman lost her fear. She screamed at the Goblin, let out the rage and hurt. Then she retreated to a corner, wept. He sat and ate.

Visited often. He had fought for the privilege to be here, Rags had heard. Smashed another Hob into a wall. He had known this place existed because he had been here once.

And he had left.

Sitting with the Human woman weeping in the background, the Gold Stone Chieftain looked up at Rags.

“Too weak, Chieftain. Too weak. Too small. Still too small.”

He nodded to her once. Rags stared at him, and then the woman.

Then she went outside. Rags stared around. Her ears were keen and she heard every sound that went on in this place. Heard the begging, the cries—

And she wondered what she would have done if one of the captured women or girls was Erin. What if it was her?

And once that thought was had, Rags couldn’t unthink it. She stared at a girl who stumbled back into her cell and saw Erin’s face on hers. Rags turned away.

She covered her ears. She tried not to imagine how many women would have come here over the years, how long they would have lived. Rags told herself Humans did it to each other. She told herself that Goblins did it to survive, that it wasn’t different than killing Humans.

But they all looked like Erin to her. The young, the old—they all had the girl’s face. They were all—

She ran.

----

Factions. Infighting. Power struggles and politics, all hidden in the depths of this mountain. A place where Goblins were safe from all but each other. That was what Rags had found here.

But it was not her place. This was not a world meant for her. It was wrong. And she feared she was losing herself the longer she stayed here.

So Rags sat in her room and thought. She was a genius. She knew it, in the same way she knew the sun was hot and the snow was cold. There were things only she could do, only she could think of and dare to achieve.

So Rags thought about what she could do if she could not stay here. She thought, and the answer seemed so obvious. How had she missed it before? She had been trapped, that was why. If not physically, then in her mind. It had taken the Gold Stone Chieftain, taken memory and guilt and seeing this place for what it was to break its hold on her.

There was only one course. Only one thing to do. So when the Gold Stone Chieftain had finished sitting and eating, she summoned him back to her room.

It was late. In a few hours it would be dawn. Perhaps now was not the time—but Rags knew it had to be now. She told the Gold Stone Chieftain what she wanted and saw him smile. Just once, but she knew she was right.

“Can you—”

Rags paused. That was not what a Chieftain should say. She looked at the Gold Stone Chieftain and thought of the risks. That was her job. So when she looked him in the eye, Rags was certain.

“Do it.”

He nodded and smiled again, briefly. Rags let him go to find all the Hobs he knew that would listen to him, and walked out into the mountain.

She kicked awake Goblins she knew, and had some of them find the Goblin with no ears. Then she found the female Goblin and her band and kicked them too. Some she sent to find the Gold Stone Chieftain. The others she told to go eat with the Redfang Warriors who were having what was lunch for them in a smaller mess hall.

When she was done, she found the Gold Stone Chieftain again. She looked at him as he pulled out an onion and bit into it. The smell made her eyes water, but she was surprised when he broke some off and offered it to her.

“Ready?”

She asked him quietly as she chewed. He nodded. Grunted.

“Four Hobs. Not many.”

“And the other?”

“More Goblins. But all busy. Very easy. I can do myself.”

If he said so, she believed him. There was nothing more to do before the moment, then. Rags stared at him and asked a question that she’d always wanted to know.

“Why name tribe Gold Stone?”

He shrugged, still chewing.

“I like gold. Gold that is not gold. I like it too.”

Rags knew what he was talking about. There were pretty stones that looked like gold you could find in caves with other minerals. It was valuable to Goblins, not just because it sparkled, but because it was a good alternative to flint and steel.

She looked at him, a silent giant. A Hobgoblin, a Chieftain who said little and sometimes did little, or so it seemed. But one with depth. One with a heart, who looked at what was and decided that it was wrong. Someone who wanted to be stronger but could do nothing.

“Why not you? Why not you…Chieftain?”

He looked at her, calmly.

“Not smart. Strong, but not smart. A good Chieftain is smart. Strong is easier, but not all are strong. Smart knows that. I am not smart.”

“You are.”

“Not enough. And cannot be Lord. Do not want to be. Like Tremborag. Too small.”

With that, he answered all of her questions and went back to eating. Rags stood beside him and then turned with a sudden impulse.

“Pyrite. I name you Pyrite.”

He stopped chewing and looked at her. Rags stared back. Pyrite was the name of such stones. It was a Human name.

“Not Shaman.”

“Do you care?”

She challenged him. The Hobgoblin thought about that for a second. And then he laughed. Pyrite smiled at Rags and nodded to her.

“See you later, Chieftain. Do not die.”

“I will meet you outside. You do not die. Chieftain’s orders.”

She left him behind. Rags made one trip to her room. She slung the black crossbow on her back, took her sword and shield, the buckler badly dented, but still hers. She had been given it by Erin. A Human.

And when Rags left her room, she was smiling. Because at last, she knew exactly what to do.

----

The Redfang warriors were disgruntled by the sudden influx of Goblins during their lunch shift. But they grumbled only a bit; they were more sullen than anything else. And they recognized a good deal of the Goblins who’d entered. They were part of the Flooded Water tribe and some of the other tribes the Redfang warriors had journeyed north with, so they were allies in a sense.

Still, the Redfang warriors were angry. Some of the Hobs in here were Tremborag’s warriors and they longed to pick a fight with them. But they couldn’t. They felt muzzled here, like the Carn Wolves who they had to tether in pens in the city and not allow to roam free. Their mounts howled in distress and the Redfang warriors were angry.

And then the double doors leading into the mess hall opened and a Goblin strode in, wearing leather armor. The Redfang tribe recognized her at once. She was Rags, and she…had…been their Chieftain. Not anymore, somehow.

But she was dressed for war. And it made all the Goblins who saw her sit up. Was something wrong?

Rags strode into the center of the room. Slowly, the eating around her stopped. She gazed around the room and saw Tremborag’s Goblins, some of them. The ones she thought might respect her. She saw the Redfang tribe, sullen, angry, but wondering. She saw the Goblin with no ears sitting next to a group of Goblins who glowed with bits of magic. And the female unit of Goblins and the grinning old Goblin still eating happily in the silence.

The small Chieftain of the Flooded Water Tribe took a deep breath and then shouted. Not in the common language, but in the tongue that was hers. Goblin.

I am Rags! Chieftain!

Every Goblin paused when they heard this. They stared at Rags, thousands of eyes watching her. She stood proud. She stood taller than she ever had walking this place. As if she was ten feet tall. So she looked down at the other Goblins as she spoke.

I am Goblin. This place is not. If you are Goblin, follow me!

It was a declaration of war. Rags heard the susurration go through the assembled Goblins as the damning accusation left her tongue. It could not be unsaid. Even now she knew the Gold Stone Chieftain was attacking, cutting down Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe with the others she had sent him.

It was war.

“Traitor!”

A Goblin, one of Tremborag’s, shouted that. He leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. But a bolt of lightning caught the Hob as he leapt for Rags. He fell, and Noears grinned as the Goblins seated around him drew their weapons.

And then the hall erupted into violence. Rags lifted her sword and fought. If she died here, she would die as she had lived.

A true Goblin.

3.29 G

The mountain was silent when Garen found Tremborag. The Hobgoblin had to pass by patrols of warriors who moved in grim silence, weapons drawn and ready for a fight. But their attentiveness was in vain.

The battle was long over. It had been over before Garen had been awoken, and what he was seeing now was the aftermath.

Surprisingly few Goblin bodies lay in his path. Garen noted a few cut down here and there, usually in clumps—the losers of the rapid pitched battles in the night—but not many. True, some were being hauled away to be used as food even now, but it had been bloodless for what had occurred.

Rebellion. Or perhaps it was a choice, paid for in blood. When Garen saw Tremborag’s face, he knew what the Great Goblin of the North would have called it.

Tremborag stood in front of two double doors, staring into a room Garen recognized. The armory. Approaching carefully, Garen saw the four Hobs at the doors were all dead. Two had been felled by blows with amazing strength. He suspected an axe. The other two were cut to death, probably from multiple blades all at once.

“They took everything of value.”

That was what Tremborag said when Garen joined him. The Hobgoblin stared into the empty armory and nodded.

It was empty.

Oh, a few of the racks still held arms in them, but they weren’t magical, only steel. Everything else had been looted, stripped away by the Goblins who’d fled the mountain.

Rags’ tribe. And not just her tribe—

“How many?”

Tremborag shrugged, face blank as he stared into the armory. He kept looking at the empty racks, and Garen wondered how powerful some of the enchanted blades had been. Probably very.

“Two thousand. Four thousand? Six thousand? I did not count the non-warriors. But her tribe followed her, and much of yours, Redfang. And she took several hundred of my warriors and some of my Hobs with her.”

“Mm. Bad.”

Garen was no linguist, even though he spoke the common language. He saw Tremborag turn towards him.

“Is that all you have to say?”

The Hob nodded towards the armory.

“Took weapons. Anything else?”

“Food. Supplies. Most of your wolves—the ones who belonged to the warriors who left—and the women.”

That made Garen smile. Tremborag stared at him.

“You think it is funny? They are all gone, Redfang. One of the Hobs—one of the ones you brought here—killed all the Goblins there and let the women free.”

Garen Redfang just shrugged.

“Human females are not important. Less important than the arms.”

“Oh, but they’ve taken arms! And killed my Goblins! They have rebelled against me, Garen Redfang! For that they will die.”

Garen held back from pointing out that only a few had rebelled against Tremborag. Most had just followed Rags as she was their Chieftain. But Tremborag was looking back into his precious armory. His body was quivering with rage, and Garen watched with interest the way it made his fat wobble.

“Tell me, Redfang—”

And here Tremborag turned. Garen tensed as he saw the depths of fury that spilled from the Goblin’s crimson eyes. The Great Goblin seemed to grow larger in front of Garen. No—not seemed—his appearance took on the other form Rags had seen in the Human town. He stared down at Garen.

“Tell me. Give me one reason why I should not kill you now. You brought that little Goblin here, that Rags. Why shouldn’t I kill you since she has taken more than you have given me?”

It was a question that would lead to one of the two’s deaths if answered incorrectly. Garen grinned fiercely, grasping tightly the hilt of his sword.

“If you could. I have my fang.”

“Your magic sword does not scare me. Without your wolf to ride, you are slow. And your warriors have left you. Why should I not kill you?”

“Because I have the key. And I know where the other is.”

Tremborag paused. He stared down at Garen and the two locked eyes. Then Tremborag stood on his two feet, fat, angry, no longer the being he had been before. Garen was disappointed to see that, but it was better than dying.

“You knew? Then why have you waited, Redfang? Tell me, and I will take it, no matter if it lies in the heart of Invrisil, behind one of the Walled Cities, or at the bottom of the sea.”

“It is in a worse place than that.”

Garen told Tremborag where the key was. He saw the Great Chieftain sigh.

“That is worse. Far worse. But I will take it all the same. As soon as I hunt down the small Goblin and eat her alive.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a quiet promise, and Garen knew that Tremborag meant every word. He said nothing. But he hoped that wherever Rags was, she was running far and fast. She could still be useful.

But what a waste. That was what Garen thought, and it was why he remained in the mountain. One kind of Goblin had left, the other stayed. Which group was right? Who was truly Goblin?

There was no one to care. The Goblins lived and died. The other races paid little attention to them, save for when the Goblins became a threat. No one remembered who the Goblins had once been.

Not even them. But some dreamed. Some looked back as the past called to them. But only the Kings knew the truth of it.

----

Death. Death and blood and sometimes fire. It was what followed her wherever she went. Rags accepted that fact. It was her nature, the nature of Goblins. She led the Goblins following her through the mountain, fighting any groups of warriors they came across. But the Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe were lazy, secure in this place. The alarm hadn’t even begun to spread as she met with Pyrite and the Goblins she’d sent to them.

Some carried magical weapons. Others, bundles of supplies. But the largest group was leading hundreds of Human women, most naked or wearing practically nothing. Rags shouted at Pyrite to find clothes now—not for decency’s sake but because it was cold outside.

She began ordering the Goblins around her, taking command and organizing her Goblins, fighting for each second so they could flee before Tremborag’s forces awoke and overwhelmed them. Then they were running, dashing out into the snow as the Redfang warriors whooped and shouted, and their wolves howled, breaking a path through the snow—

When Rags woke up, her tribe was still on the move. This did not surprise her.

Goblins were perhaps unique among all the races of the world in that when they wanted to move, they could cover distances most armies could only dream of. Every Goblin learned to run away quick, and even if they weren’t as fast as a horse or Human in the short term, they easily outdistanced everything in the long term.

How it worked was like this: if a tribe had a wagon and animals to ride or pull it, some would sleep on such vehicles, waking up to give other Goblins a turn. The animals had to rest occasionally of course; when they did they were normally eaten if the Goblins were in a real hurry. Otherwise, other Goblins would just push the wagons, sometimes with the horses crammed on top of it.

On foot it was different. Goblins would just collapse where they were and sleep, before waking and running to rejoin the tribe. That way they slowed their pursuers by offering free targets and a snack if the pursuers were monsters or other Goblins. Either way, the tribe would keep moving. They could cook, eat, pee, and do whatever they needed to do while marching.

And it worked well when it came to outrunning pursuers. So well that as Rags sat up in the crowded wagon, digging herself out from a pile of Goblin bodies, she saw the mountain was a good distance behind them.

How long had she slept? Probably at least six hours, Rags guessed. One of the benefits of being a Chieftain was that no one poked you awake and made you keep walking. It didn’t stop other Goblins from lying on top of you and farting in your face, but no Chieftain could prevent that.

Stretching on top of the piled up Goblins, Rags yawned and ignored the grumbling under her. Someone tried to shove her leg off their face—she stomped and then climbed off the wagon.

The instant her feet touched snow, Rags realized it had snowed again. How annoying! But when she looked up she had to smile. Because it was a wonderful day.

The sky was very blue. Rags stared up into the winter morning, breathing in and smiling faintly as the sun rose overhead, warming her from head to toe. It felt like it had been a very long season, full of cold and wet. But in a month or two it would be the shortest day of winter. And then the frost would end.

And a good thing too, because Rags had a tribe to lead. An even bigger one than before. Rags stared around. Goblins shambled past her, moving quick but all clearly on autopilot. She remembered what it was like, and considerately didn’t disturb them except to get pointed towards food.

The Goblin approach to ingenuity was always effective, if not entirely sane. That was how Rags found a cooking pot bouncing along on top of a wagon, over a burning pile of wood on top of the wagon. In fairness, the Goblins hadn’t set the actual wagon on fire, preferring to spread a layer of dirt to build a cooking fire on top of, but every now and then they had to put out fires caused by errant sparks.

All that meant was that Rags got a hot bowl of porridge seasoned with cinnamon, butter, and sugar of all things. She frowned, but ate three bowls greedily as befitted any Chieftain. Apparently, her Goblins had seized a lot of strange foods from Tremborag’s stores in their mad bid to escape the mountain.

Sugar was a delicacy. One Rags had only really tried at Erin’s inn. But it was also fairly useless to keep since it wasn’t filling like grain or meat. Thus, Rags wholeheartedly approved of using it now.

Belly full, Rags turned to the next important thing on her agenda: finding out where the heck they were. She walked towards the head of the tribe of sleepy Goblins and soon found the Hob who’d taken charge while she was asleep.

Pyrite looked pretty much like he always did, albeit wounded. Several deep slashes had cut into his flesh—two around his belly, one on his arm. But none were too bad, and his fat had shielded his internal organs from harm. Even so, Rags resolved to find Pyrite a healing potion once they had sorted out their supplies. She’d always had an emergency stash in her old tribe’s setup.

“Trouble?”

She asked Pyrite as she fell into step behind him. The Hob glanced at her and shook his head. He wasn’t eating anything for once. Rather, he had a stick in his mouth. He was chewing on that and spitting out pieces of wood now and then. Rags supposed he liked to feel like he was eating even when he wasn’t.

“No one follows yet.”

“Good.”

They still spoke in the common tongue. It was just…easier. Some ideas were expressible in that language whereas the Goblin’s tongue always felt like it had holes in its vocabulary. But even in this language, body language, facial expressions, and context made up a lot of the conversation.

Rags turned to stare at the winding trail of Goblins following in their wake.

“Spread out.”

The Gold Stone Ch—Pyrite just shrugged. He took the stick out of his mouth and pointed with it to each side. Rags saw riders on the infamous rust-red wolves pacing alongside the Goblins. Scouts. She nodded, feeling reassured.

“Humans?”

That was the next issue on her mind. Rags assumed they were around somewhere. Again Pyrite pointed and she saw they were marching separately from the Goblins. She frowned; most were riding in wagons pulled by the animals the Goblins had liberated.

“Slow.”

They were keeping pace, but what she meant was that they were taking away resources her tribe could use. It was a criticism as well, but Pyrite just shrugged.

“Cannot survive alone. Must take. Too hurt to move, many.”

Rags glanced again at the Human women. She couldn’t see much, bundled up as they were with whatever the Goblins had managed to take but—she believed him. She scowled, but made no further objections. She glanced at Pyrite. There was a lot she could have said. Thank you, for one thing. But Goblins didn’t really do that. So she just nodded at him.

“Tired?”

He shrugged.

“Walking.”

She nodded. Hobs were tough, and he was fairly tough even for a Hob. She could respect that.

“You keep walking. I…think.”

He smiled, once.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags grinned as he put the stick back in his mouth. He always knew what to say, even if it was nothing. She walked next to Pyrite, the two moving in silence. It was easy. Rags just let her feet take her forwards while her mind wandered.

What did she have to do now? Well, she’d established that there was no immediate danger, so she had to start planning for the non-immediate danger. That meant Tremborag’s fury, the issue of them being exposed and in the wilderness where they might run into Humans, monsters, or something else, finding a new food source, a base, managing her new Goblin recruits, figuring out what to do with her tribe next…

Ah, it was good to be a Chieftain again! Rags smiled, even as she thought of all the things she had to do. It was hard work, yes, but she was certain that she could handle it. And if she couldn’t, probably no other Goblin could. She was Chieftain, and part of being Chieftain was believing you were the best.

By her calculations, they had only one or two more hours at most before Tremborag’s forces would be in hot pursuit of them, if they weren’t already. The Great Chieftain might have a vast following, but it was slow to mobilize for the same reason. Getting together enough supplies and warriors would be tough, and they wouldn’t be much faster than her tribe.

Then again, they didn’t have to be. They would easily be able to follow Rags’ tribe from the wake they’d left in the snow, and Goblin warriors could march longer than normal Goblins. It would come down to a battle sooner or later, and she had to find the best place for it.

Or did she? Rags frowned. What she really needed was a place to rest her tribe. Just for a little while. Her Goblins were used to rough travel, but the Human women were not. Plus, some of her warriors were injured and had to be exhausted after last night.

Last night. Rags remembered it clearly. She’d walked into the hall, afraid she’d be cut to pieces, that no one would follow her. She’d raised her sword and called for Goblins to follow her—

And they had. Oh, they had. Some had fought, but the majority had seen what Rags had. They had made a choice and chosen to be a tribe that lived and died free. They had chosen a Chieftain, rather than a faction under a Goblin who didn’t care for their lives.

They had fought.

And they had won. From the mess hall, Rags had taken her Goblins, now a sizeable force and rampaged through the unguarded halls of Tremborag’s mountain. That late at night they had been able to overwhelm what few soldiers were up. And such was the clamor of a Goblin mountain that the fighting hadn’t actually woken that many. They’d grabbed food, tools, even fought their way to the place where the animals had been kept.

It had been a nightmare trying to get the Redfang warriors to control their wolves and prevent them from going on a rampage or eating the other animals. For that matter, trying to get a horse in the presence of wolves to behave was a bad idea. But Rags had done it. And then she’d linked up with Pyrite, who’d met her with hundreds of Human women and the loot from Tremborag’s armory.

Rags had planned the entire thing. If she was going to break away from Tremborag, then she was going to do it in the most Goblin style possible. And that meant a raid. She’d sent Pyrite many of the warriors she was sure of, to help him free the captives and take weapons out of the armory. That was a prize too good to pass up.

Then they’d fled. They’d run into the snow, the mountain only now coming alive behind them. Some Goblins had tried to pursue them, but the Redfang warriors had covered their retreat. Out in the open they were ideally suited to engaging the enemy and retreating to join the others.

A victory. It was a great one, and now Rags just had to make it stick. And to that end…

She glanced at Pyrite. He was nearly down to the end of his stick. She watched, wondering what he would do when he’d chewed it to bits. Sure enough, the Hob spat the pieces into the snow as he passed. Then he reached into a bag at his side…

And pulled out another stick to chew. Rags gave up. She poked him and he looked down.

“Chieftain?”

“Who is…local? Who lives here?”

The language Humans and other species used was so much more precise, even if it wasn’t theirs. Pyrite considered this and found a Goblin to poke. That Goblin wandered off and poked some other Goblins who all did the same…in a few minutes Rags had a Hob and two yawning Goblins in front of her.

She recognized them. One was the Goblin with no ears. Another was the leader of the female Goblin raiding party who’d joined Rags. And the last was the old Hobgoblin who grinned at Rags and the others, looking not the least bothered by their forced march.

“Chieftain.”

The old Goblin said it first, bowing his head deeply to Rags. She saw Noears hesitate, then nod deferentially to her. The female Goblin hesitated, then copied Noears.

“Stop that. No bow.”

She pointed to the old Goblin. She was not Tremborag, to demand such things. But a nod was appropriate. He straightened and grinned at her.

“Where place to rest?”

She looked at the three. The female Goblin was first to answer. She knew the landscape and told Rags of a nearby place that might be good. Rags nodded. She called out to Pyrite. He listened to the female Goblin’s directions, found a messenger to poke, and in minutes the entire Goblin convoy was changing course.

It was easy. One Goblin poked another, both Goblins poked another, and so on and so forth. Within twelve pokes you generally had all the tribe’s attention. And the Goblins at the front were the only ones who had to know which way to go, so if you had a halfway intelligent Hob up there, things ran smoothly.

Only the Human women failed to get the message. Some of them who were awake looked alarmed as the Goblins seemed to turn right as one. They stopped in their wagons, some pulling at the horse’s reins to wake the others up. That was pointless in Rags’ opinion, but then she saw some of the ones who looked like warriors were holding weapons under their blankets and clothing.

She frowned. Humans could be a problem. But to her surprise she saw Pyrite stump over to the Humans in the snow. They let him approach—some of the women clearly recognized him and others knew he’d freed them. It took Pyrite a few minutes, but the Humans followed the Goblins quickly enough when they realized what was going on.

And where had the Goblins gone? Their destination was already in sight, albeit camouflaged against the horizon. They were walking towards a hill.

The hill was just a hill. It was a nice workout for the legs to climb to the top, and it afforded a good view of the surrounding landscape, but that was all. The Goblins being Goblins, declined to bother to summit the hill and instead camped in the lee of it, sheltered from the wind. Rags still made a few Goblins go to the top to keep a lookout, but she was more interested in just letting everyone get a few hour’s rest while she planned things out.

She had to figure out a way to deal with Tremborag’s forces. This wasn’t a good place for a stand, but Rags still wondered if she had to fight. She might lose a pitched battle even with the new weapons from his armory—especially since she had no idea how any of the magical ones worked. Obviously you could just use one as a weapon, but what if its magical effect was emitting an aura of flame, or creating some kind of special effect? One wrong swing and you’d fry your side.

How could she get rid of Tremborag’s retaliation force? Rags went through all the Goblin fallbacks. Fighting was no good, she couldn’t outrun them, she doubted she could hide their tracks or her tribe…bribing wasn’t going to work. Surrender meant death. But what if she—

“Chieftain.”

Rags looked up with a scowl as she sat in a patch of cleared dirt. Who was bothering her? She saw six Goblins waiting for her and immediately sat straighter.

These weren’t any ordinary Goblins. If the tribe Rags had led out of the mountain had factions—and if it did she’d get rid of them soon enough—these were it. More accurately, they were the factions from the mountain.

Six Goblins. Rags saw Pyrite, looking impassive as ever, Noears, the female Goblin leader, and the old Goblin. But two other Goblins had joined them.

One was a Hob that Rags recognized. He was – had been one of Tremborag’s warriors who sat at the high table. He was a good warrior as far as she knew, but not outstanding. He was at the bottom of the rung since he didn’t have a huge faction behind him, and she suspected he had joined her simply because he didn’t want to have to fight for influence with the others Hobs. He probably represented the Hobs who’d lived in the mountain.

The other warrior was a normal-sized Goblin with a scar over his face. He was one of the elite Redfang warriors and Rags had already privately dubbed him Redscar. Of all the Goblins present, she was only really concerned about his faction. The others were smaller or behind her all the way like Pyrite. But the Redfang warriors were an independent lot and she didn’t know if they trusted her or she could trust them.

Rags stood. The Goblins waited for her to speak. She nodded, and then spoke in their tongue.

I am Chieftain.

It needed to be said. The other Goblins nodded, the mountain Hob and Redscar slowest of the lot. Rags noted this, and went on.

This tribe is Goblin.

Another easy statement, and all the nods were quick this time. This tribe was Goblin. They’d fought for it. Only Rags’ leadership was disputed. She thought about this, and then pointed in a random direction.

“If you not like…go over there.”

All the Goblins turned and looked. Rags shook her head.

“Not there. Go away.”

It was an unusual statement. Normally Goblins didn’t abandon their tribes no matter what. If they had an issue they challenged the Chieftain or left with as many Goblins as they could gather to form a new tribe. However, since this was in itself a challenge the breakaway Goblins usually had to fight to leave their tribe. But Rags was telling the others to just go if they had their differences.

All the Goblins present considered this. Rags looked from face to face, frowning when she saw the old Goblin. Why was he even here? But maybe Pyrite had brought him. He seemed to know the old one. And after meeting Noears, Rags realized some Goblins were hiding their true natures.

Noears. There was another thing to think about. Rags knew nothing about him other than that he could cast powerful spells and he had once been targeted by Tremborag. Was he loyal?

Time would tell. Rags pointed to Pyrite.

“He is big Hob. He tell my orders.”

Pyrite looked vaguely surprised, but the other Goblins looked willing to accept this, even Redscar. Every Chieftain needed a few Hobs who were competent enough to follow orders. Pyrite was the best choice.

That done, Rags waited for the other Goblins to speak. Something had brought them here. At last, the mountain Hob spoke.

“Chieftain. Will we fight Tremborag’s forces?”

He had the same clear diction of the other Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe. It was too Human-sounding for Rags’ taste. She scowled.

“Hope not.”

“Chieftain. Where are we going?”

“Away.”

“What will we be doing?”

“Goblin thing.”

This answer clearly didn’t please the Goblins who’d lived in Tremborag’s tribe. But what did he expect? Pyrite just smiled and the old Goblin cackled. Even Redscar grinned.

“This is how Goblins act. She is true Goblin, Goblin Chieftain Rags!”

The old Goblin slapped the younger Hob on the back. He turned and glared, but Rags just nodded.

“I am Chieftain. I decide. You go. I think!”

This was how Goblins worked. The Chieftain made decisions—sometimes at random, and the tribe adapted. Some Chieftains were better than others—Rags knew Garen was famous for his split-second decisions which forced his Hobs to scramble to keep up. But she would have a plan. A good one.

If only she could figure out what it was.

While she waited for one to appear, Rags took a circuit of the camp. The stolen weapons were piled in a wagon, not touched by any Goblins yet although she saw some warriors eying them. But they were smart enough to realize that they would probably get weapons in the end and that stealing them would earn a thumping from one of the Hobs who had an eye on the wagon.

Next? Cooking. Rags found a brunch being cooked up from one of the horses who’d broken an ankle in the snow. She regretted losing such a valuable animal, but it did taste good.

And last? Rags went to see the Human women.

They’d entrenched themselves a ways away from the Goblins. They were a bit pathetic, in Rags’ opinion. They huddled together, sitting at one of the fires that the Goblins had had to build for them. And they didn’t want any Goblins coming near them, especially not any males. The only ones who could approach were female Goblins with food…or Pyrite.

Rags approached them now. She saw one of them—a Human adventurer by the looks of her—holding her sword, but she didn’t flinch. She walked up to her, as she seemed to be the one in charge.

She was battered. She must have been captured in the attack on the town. Rags had no idea if the woman was a Gold-rank adventurer, but she’d been attacked by the Goblin warriors who’d hit her repeatedly. She was still recovering, although Rags thought some Hob might have given her a potion for her injuries.

The woman stared at her warily with the rest of the women. Rags stopped in front of the adventurer and held out her bare hands. The woman saw Rags was unarmed and released the grip on her sword hilt.

“Mm. Understand me?”

All the Humans jumped. Rags rolled her eyes. How could they not know Goblins could speak? The adventurer stared at her.

“I…do. Who are you?”

Her voice was hoarse and she had to cough as she spoke. Rags pointed at her chest.

“Chieftain.”

Another incredulous look. They stared at Rags, and then at Pyrite, sitting and eating fried horse meat by a fire. The Goblin sighed again. Humans. Did they think biggest was always best?

She gestured to the camp, speaking slowly so they could understand.

“Not harm. No harm. Follow. Eat. Live.”

“Why?”

The adventurer stared at Rags, wanting to hope, but not quite daring to. Rags smiled. She tapped her chest.

“I am Goblin. True Goblin.”

They stared at her as if they didn’t understand, but Rags was used to that. She’d dealt with Erin more than enough times. She stood up and left. So long as they didn’t cause trouble, that was fine.

Human women. After meeting them Rags was decided. She had to ditch them as soon as possible. She was aware of what they’d gone through and even sympathetic—saving them had been the right move. But they were slow, suspicious, and they ate food Rags’ tribe would need. In short, they were fairly useless to Goblins.

But they would be useful because they were Humans. And Rags’ tribe hadn’t harmed them. In fact, they’d rescued them. The beginnings of an idea stole into the young Goblin’s mind and she smiled.

It was time for a daring plan. She went to Pyrite. He was sleeping. So Rags found Noears instead. He was busy eating and chattering to another Goblin with a band of feathers tied to a staff. Another magic-user? Rags would investigate later. She pointed at Noears.

“Where Human cities?”

He stood up and showed her. It turned out that Noears had taken a detour from the others when fleeing the mountain. He hadn’t gone for supplies or anything else—instead, he’d gone to the war room where the Goblins planned their attacks and stolen all the maps. Rags cackled with glee as he spread them out on a wagon.

“Here, here, and here, Chieftain.”

The map was the first real picture Rags had ever seen of the continent. She stared avidly at it, noting how the Human cities were all dispersed a good distance away from each other—except in the north, where they were quite clustered in some places. There were far less cities the closer they came to the High Passes, indicative no doubt of how far the Humans had settled.

There were several cities close to them. Rags looked at Noears. He was watching her intently, gauging her, she guessed.

“Most dangerous?”

He thought and pointed. Rags looked at the cities nearest to their position, shaking her head at some, nodding at others.

“What kind of death?”

That was a very Goblin question. Noears answered it in a very Human way.

“[Knights] and [Riders], Chieftain. Very fast. They run down Goblins with lances. Strong mages, but not many leave walls. Cities have armies. Riding patrols are common.”

Rags frowned. That was a lot more than she’d grown accustomed to around Liscor. Patrols were regularly sent from the city, but only to weed out monsters. They didn’t have mobile forces.

Still, if her idea worked they wouldn’t need to fight any Humans. And if they did…Rags patted at her pouch. She still had the gem of [Terror]. She hadn’t had much call to use it against Goblins—it was ineffective—but it could give the Humans a good scare.

“Good. We move soon! Go tell others!”

She gave Noears the task of poking the others awake and getting the tribe moving. It was time to put her idea into action. They headed straight for the nearest Human city, a few hour’s march away. It was going to be a dangerous plan, but almost all Goblin plans were dangerous.

Behind her, a vast army of Goblins was no doubt on its way to kill Rags and her tribe. Well, so what? She sneered at Tremborag’s might. He could kill Gold-rank adventurers in seconds…which was really scary and impressive. But she didn’t need lots of muscles. She was going to beat all his elite warriors with her head.

----

The Human city was named Merendia, or perhaps Balum. Or was it Ostegrast? Rags didn’t know, and she was annoyed by the way the other Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe argued about it. Who cared what it was called? It was a Human city. That was all the context you needed.

And it had a lot of Humans in it. And high walls. And as Rags stared up at it, she couldn’t help but notice all the Humans with bows who shouted and raised the alarm as they saw the Goblin tribe appearing out of the plains and marching towards them.

They thought it was an attack. And even as Rags watched, a mounted force rode out of the gates. Men and women in armor, armed with the long lances she’d heard of but never seen in person. A mobile force, quite unlike the forces Drakes employed. They didn’t get along as well with horses.

It was a formidable force, even without the adventurers Rags spotted on the walls, practically aglow with magic. More than one Goblin in Rags’ tribe gulped, especially the ones who weren’t actually warriors. But Rags ordered them to move forwards without fear.

In the ordinary way of things Rags guessed the Humans would have let them approach while they blasted them with spells and rained arrows on their heads. The cavalry would hit the tribe from the flanks and the adventurers would kill scores of Goblins and all the Hobs themselves.

It would be a massacre. If Rags were stupid enough to attack the city. Which she wasn’t.

She laughed with delight as the Humans stared at her tribe crossing the main road leading out of the city. Why did the Goblin army cross the road? Quite literally to get to the other side. But why hadn’t they done that away from the city? Already the Humans were reconsidering their approach. The mounted force was circling Rags’ tribe at a distance. They weren’t about to let this many Goblins get away where they could attack smaller villages or settlements.

A [Mage] on the walls was getting ready for a big spell, Rags could tell. She tensed, wondering if the Humans hadn’t seen yet. She didn’t want her tribe to lose any Goblins today—

A cry went up from the mounted force as they circled Rags’ marching Goblins. A cluster of them raced towards the town, their riders standing up in their stirrups and shouting at the Humans on the walls. In Rags’ vision the [Mage] stopped casting the spell and she sighed in relief.

Why did the Humans not attack this tribe? The answer was simple. From their perspective, the Goblins had hostages.

Hundreds of Human women, no doubt captives of the Goblins, made to do unspeakable things. That was broadly true, and Rags did consider the Humans as valuable shields. But not a shield in the sense of having hostages.

The Humans had stirred when seeing the city. They’d begun to look hopeful, but as they’d seen the army pouring out of the gates, they’d begun staring at the Goblins, wondering if they were going to be held captive. Rags saw the female adventurer leading them looking at the Goblins and at the cavalry, clearly wondering if she and her friends could make a break for it.

That was why Rags had positioned her tribe so they were in front of the Humans in the city. She rode towards the women on her Carn Wolf as they halted in place. They stared at her in fear and the adventurer gripped her sword.

“Goblin. We wish to go to that city. Do you understand? If you let us go, we will promise not to attack your tribe.”

The woman called out to Rags, looking from her to the walls again. Rags stared down at her, and then nodded genially.

“Good. Do.”

The adventurer’s head turned back towards Rags and her face went slack as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. She clearly hadn’t expected Rags to agree that easily. She looked at Rags.

“Do you want…money? Food? A ransom?”

“No. Go. But off wagons.”

Rags had no intention of letting the Human women keep the horses or the wagons. She made gentle shooing gestures even as the adventurer stared at her.

“Go, go. No need for Humans. Too slow. Eat too much. Also ugly. Go, go.”

Half the women stirred at that, but Rags just kept waving her hands, repeating her gestures. The adventurer stared at Rags, but after a moment she seemed to realize that the Goblin was being genuine, even if the reasons escaped her.

What must the Humans on the walls of the city think, to see the Human captives dismounting and slowly forming a group which marched towards them, away from the evil Goblin tribe? Rags had no idea. But she had her tribe march double-time, crossing the road and moving further into the wilderness.

It was purely a diversionary tactic. Distracted by the Humans, the city was only too willing to avoid a fight. As soon as a good bit of distance had been put between the tribe and the women, the cavalry immediately closed in. They formed a wall between the tribe and the captives, which handily let Rags’ tribe go on its merry way. The Humans on the walls were shouting, rushing about, no doubt preparing to receive these women.

But another cry went up when they saw the lone Goblin turn from the already distant tribe of Goblins and ride towards the women. Humans gripped their bows, but they didn’t fire. Because, of course, this was one lone Goblin, hardly a threat even if she was riding a Carn Wolf. And the Humans were gripped by a trait of their species, which was curiosity.

Rags rode back towards the Human women, ignoring the mounted warriors who spread out, encircling her. They might have tried to pull her off her mount—in which case Rags had the gem of [Terror] clutched in one sweaty hand ready to use—but the adventurer called out and stopped them.

“See? Humans go.”

That was what the Goblin said as she pulled her Carn Wolf to a stop a few paces away from the Human woman. The wolf huffed and sniffed at the adventurer, but she looked up at Rags without fear.

“You let us go. And the other Goblin—he liberated us in that mountain. Why?”

“True Goblins.”

Rags said it again and this time the adventurer seemed to understand. She hesitated, and then bowed her head.

“We owe you a debt. But you are Goblins…”

In short, still scum to be exterminated from the face of the earth. Rags nodded, still genial. Then she pointed at the Human adventurer, at her bruised face.

“Bad Goblin did this. Bad Goblin.”

The woman stiffened. Then she nodded. Hatred burned in her eyes.

“Yes. He lives in the mountain. I will remember his face.”

Rags pointed the way they’d come.

“Mountain Goblins. Yes. Big tribe. Big leader. Great Chieftain. Tremborag.”

The woman started.

“Tremborag? A Goblin with a name?”

“Yes.”

Rags nodded energetically. She waved her arms to show the other Humans—warrior types who’d drawn closer out of curiosity and their squad’s leader, who looked fiercely interested in what she was saying.

“Tremborag. Very scary. Strong. Fought in Goblin war. With Goblin King.”

A susurration went through the Humans. Rags liked that word. Susurration. It was a word that meant gasping and muttering and meaningful looks to one another. The adventurer looked pale.

“Thank you for telling me this. He will be…we will do what is necessary.”

They’d make a big army and attack him. But Rags wasn’t done. She pointed in the direction of the mountain, visible in the distance.

“Mountain. Great Chieftain.”

“Yes?”

The woman frowned, clearly wondering why Rags was repeating herself. Rags grinned and pointed south.

“Goblin Lord.”

Another gasp, but this time there was less surprise. Rags saw the Human woman frowning, and then reaching a conclusion.

“They’re…going to join forces?”

Close enough. The look on the other Human’s faces was priceless. Rags nodded, pretending to look concerned. Then she waved at Human.

“Goodbye.”

“What? Oh—you’re going?”

Rags nodded. She eyed the riders. They clearly weren’t sure if they should let her go. Honor was one thing, but she was a Goblin after all. The adventurer looked from Rags to the mounted warriors and called out.

“Please, let her go. She rescued us. I don’t think she’s…hostile.”

“But Miss—”

“You heard her. I’ll make an exception. I take full responsibility for this decision. Part ranks!”

Their leader called out. The riders moved aside and Rags nodded to the adventurer. The woman stared at Rags, searching her eyes.

“Before you go—who are you? Do you have a name?”

Rags paused. She turned as she guided her Carn Wolf around and grinned at the woman. She pointed at herself.

“Rags. Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe.”

Then she kicked her wolf and after he glared at her, he shot away. She left the city behind as the gates opened and the Humans rushed out, demanding to know what had happened. Much was happening back there, much drama and crying and confused explanations no doubt. But that was the Human’s problem. Rags had done what she came for.

She caught up to her tribe a few miles past the city. They were still marching, headed towards a forest on the map. It looked like it had a lake nearby, which would be good for water and fish. There might be monsters, but it was a good place to set up for a few days.

And they had a few days! Rags rode her wolf through the ranks of Goblins. As she did, a huge cheer went up that made the wolf snort in surprise. But the Goblins understood.

Rags had done it! Without a single shot loosed, without a single Goblin dead, she’d managed to lose whatever force Tremborag had sent after them. Tremborag’s Goblins might be fierce, but even they’d hesitate to go right past a city. A battle would be inevitable, and even if they overcame the city’s walls and defenders—and they might—it would be costly and attract too much attention from the Humans.

For that matter, now that Rags had let the Human women go, there would be serious repercussions for Tremborag anyways. His mountain was exposed; the Humans had seen the inside, seen how many Goblins there were. And if they thought he was going to help the Goblin Lord—a Great Chieftain of the Goblins who’d fought with the Goblin King? What could be more dangerous? They’d send out a force to attack him right away.

He’d probably survive. But in the meantime Rags would be free. So she sat on her wolf’s back and laughed and laughed in the cold air. If there was anything Goblins liked to do, it was gloat since they seldom had a chance to try it.

“Time to make tribe better.”

That was what she said to Pyrite as she rode up beside him and hopped off to walk. Her crotch and butt hurt when she rode the wolf for too long. He nodded at her, smiling faintly as he crunched on something. Rags stared at him.

“Rocks?”

Pyrite spat the bits of stone out and shrugged.

“Tastes like rock.”

“Why?”

“Keeps teeth sharp.”

That was true enough. And it wasn’t like he was in danger of losing any; Goblin teeth fell out and regrew anyways. Rags shrugged.

“Forest. We organize properly.”

He nodded.

“Good.”

“And get healing potion. For you.”

He shrugged.

----

There was a reason why Rags was a Chieftain so young. There was a reason why even Garen Redfang needed her. True, part of that reason was very confusing and involved a girl named Erin Solstice, but mostly it was due to Rags being smart.

Everyone knew this was true. Rags was a genius. If they knew the word for prodigy, the Goblins might have referred to her as one. But they didn’t, so she was just smart.

Very smart, as it turned out. As soon as the Flooded Waters tribe arrived at their destination, Rags began organizing the tribe, much to the surprise of Tremborag’s former Goblins.

Normally a tribe just let any Goblin do what needed doing. Hobs rounded up Goblins who were close to them for tasks, without any particular rhyme or reason unless the Goblin was known to be good at that particular task. But Rags disapproved of such inefficiencies. She craved order, so she created it.

Division of labor. Rags already had the practice of dividing Goblins by skills, but now she formed multiple groups that would work in the day and night. Like the warriors. They were by nature fairly lazy when not fighting in order to conserve strength, but Rags put them on rotating patrols, day and night shifts, and assigned them to groups she could call upon on demand.

It was very complicated, but only for the one in charge. The individual Goblins only had to look up to one particular leader and hang out with one group, so it was simple and easy for them. Rags immediately set about fortifying this location, spreading out her camp so that the warriors had places around the outside while the largest camp was in the inside. She ordered the Redfang warriors to scout the area while she had another group of Goblins check out the lake.

When the warriors reported that the most dangerous creatures living nearby was a few Mothbears, quite able to kill any other intruders into their domain, Rags sent a group of warriors to hunt the bears while she sent foraging teams in every direction. While she did that, she pondered what to do with the mages.

There were four of them, including Noears. They weren’t really warriors in the sense that Rags wanted them on patrol, but they had useful abilities. Some could start fires. Noears was good at shooting lightning, but all the [Mages] wanted was to practice magic and eat. Rags eventually decided to attach them to warrior groups, which went over pretty well.

The Redfang warriors were delighted to have something to fight. They came back with only a few wounds and six Mothbears ready to be skinned and eaten. Rags had already decided they were going to be a core of her fighting force…

If she could figure out what that fighting force would be.

Here was the problem. Rags sat in the middle of her camp where all her Goblins were busily cooking, eating, sleeping, or doing all the important tasks she’d set them to. The only issue was that there wasn’t actually that much to do. She hadn’t sent out raiding parties and cooking and scavenging only took a small part of the tribe.

The rest needed direction, and Rags needed better warriors. She knew it. She’d left Tremborag’s mountain with essentially her same tribe plus Garen’s warriors. Well, they were certainly stronger for the inclusion of all the Redfang warriors, but the rest of her forces were just…Goblins. That was to say, they could probably overwhelm a small village, but without the Redfang warriors they had all the fighting ability of a squishy sponge.

And that was bad, especially up north. Rags had already seen that Gold-rank adventurers were far more common here, and the Human forces were nasty and well-armed and trained. She needed to give her Goblins an edge.

Thus, her dilemma. What Rags had were a lot of resources, a lot of Goblins, and a lot of enemies. All of that theoretically translated into a strong tribe to fight said enemies, but Rags had to work out how to get to that point.

What could she give her warriors? Rags already had some warriors testing out the weapons they’d stolen from Tremborag, which mainly involved one Goblin hitting things while the other Goblins stood far away and ducked whenever something happened. But magical arms did not make instant warriors, Rags knew.

Something else. What did Rags have? Well…she had crossbows.

Rags stared around at her Goblins. Many of them still had the crossbows she’d constructed with the goods taken from the Human city. Yes, that was a good thing.

She’d come up with the stone crossbow to provide her Goblins with an easy weapon to use both for hunting and fighting. It was the perfect tool for a weak Goblin tribe with limited resources, and she still kept the crossbows around for her foragers.

But what Rags needed were good weapons now, something to add to the regular force of Goblins. She could…build more crossbows?

They certainly had the parts. Right now they had around a hundred crossbows, but Rags grew excited as she thought about what would happen if they had five hundred, or a thousand. She didn’t need to give them to her warriors either—the best idea would be to give them to all her Goblins who didn’t normally fight! Crossbows were easy to use and aim. Why, she could have a thousand bolts raining down on her enemies before the battle had even begun!

The idea burned bright in Rags’ mind. She immediately ordered Goblins to start chopping down the tall fir and pine trees of the forest so she could make more crossbows. They’d have to get a lot of metal parts and things like screws of course, but she had a lot of tools already. Rags went to Pyrite excitedly and told him her idea.

He was sitting with Redscar and the old Goblin, overseeing the work while they ate from a small pot. Rags stared into it. It looked like they’d found a few squirrels. She took a bowl and chattered to them, explaining what she wanted.

Redscar looked intrigued by the possibilities, but the old Goblin—Rags was going to call him Whitebeard since that was what he had—scratched his chin, looking amused. And Pyrite just frowned.

“Arrows.”

That was all he said. But it immediately shattered Rags’ grand plans.

Arrows. Or more accurately, bolts. Crossbows used a different sort of ammunition than regular bows, that was fair enough. But making said ammunition wasn’t exactly easy, especially since you needed a good fletcher and glue.

Rags knew her Goblins could make a lot of bolts, especially with all these trees around. But they’d be wooden ones, not as powerful and would probably break after the first shot. Plus, what about fletching? A couple of thousand of birds didn’t just sit around waiting for you to pluck them. And there was the issue of glue…

And the bigger issue, the one that made Rags grind her teeth as she bit into the hot meat in her stew, was carrying all the ammunition everywhere. It would be cumbersome, and they’d run out fast if they had to keep resupplying a thousand crossbows at once.

A few hundred? Very doable. Smart. But a thousand? It might work for a Human army, but Goblins didn’t have an industry capable of supporting them. Rags scowled at Pyrite, but knew he was right.

“Less crossbows.”

But enough to pound her enemy. Rags wanted at least a few hundred Goblins capable of firing into her enemies in every battle. Pyrite nodded, but Redscar looked up.

“Chieftain. Need better warriors.”

He was stating the obvious. Rags scowled at him. But Redscar just jerked a thumb back towards the city they’d passed, far away.

“Strong Humans. Cavalry is…”

He hesitated. Rags saw he didn’t want to say they were as good as or better than the Redfang warriors. She stared at Whitebeard. Perhaps Greybeard was a better name.

“Cavalry. Better than wolves?”

“Mm.”

Greybeard smacked his lips appreciatively as Pyrite filled his bowl with more squirrel stew. He looked thoughtfully at Redscar and Rags as he chewed.

“Dangerous, Chieftain. Very. Wolves is good for surprise and raiding. Horses is good for charging. Hard to stop.”

Pyrite nodded at that. Redscar looked upset, but he had to agree.

“Have to have way to stop if fight, Chieftain.”

That was all he said, and thrust the how onto Rags. She scowled. She had no idea how these mounted warriors fought, that was the problem! She was too young, too inexperienced for all her intelligence.

Then Greybeard looked up from his bowl and stared at Rags.

“Can remember, Chieftain.”

She paused and all the Goblins looked at him. Greybeard poked a nail into one ear, looking casual.

“Is big tribe. Probably can remember.”

That was right! Rags could use the memory of Chieftains! She was surprised she hadn’t thought about it herself—and slightly surprised Greybeard knew about the Chieftain memories. Then again, he was old.

That night, Rags lay on her back around snoring Goblins and closed her eyes. She had found something for the Goblins to do after all—she’d had them begin felling trees. It was tough work, especially since the trees were hard. But the magical axes were wonderful in that regard. Many were enchanted not to break or to be resistant to damage, and so they made wonderful tools for her woodcutters.

Rags had the idea they could build a fortress here, or maybe a village. It was just an idea, but more wood never hurt to have, especially since she was going to have her Goblins build some more crossbows anyways.

But the memory. Rags frowned as she concentrated. She knew how to recall the past, although sometimes it came to her unbidden. All she had to do was go back—

He was a warrior, a Hob Chieftain of the Biting Blade Tribe, one of the strongest tribes of the northern plains. He stood on the open battlefield, roaring as his tribe clashed with the force of Humans. They were strong. All the Humans in the north were strong. They had come to his tribe, his lands to take it from the Goblins who lived here. Some tribes had fled, the cowards. But so long as he lived, he would resist them.

A flash of light off of metal caught the Goblin’s attention. He turned and saw the [Knight] riding towards him.

Yaltes Byres. One of the great [Knights] who had slain countless Goblins. He wore silver armor, just like the rest of his famed house did. The Hob Chieftain bared his teeth. He had a big hide shield in one hand and javelins in the other. Even as the [Knight] charged him, the Hob cast his first javelin.

It was a powerful throw, one boosted by his Skills. It could kill even a normal Hob at range and pierce armor. But the [Knight] avoided the throw, urging his horse to gallop left. A miss. The Chieftain roared and threw another javelin.

This time the [Knight] took the impact with his shield. It was heavy—the Hob saw the mount falter briefly. But Yaltes came on. He was a worthy foe.

This was it. No time to throw again. The Chieftain briefly regretted not hitting the mount. But the [Knight] was so agile! His riding Skills let him dodge around a group of Goblins who came to protect their Chieftain, and mounted as he was, he was out of reach for all but Hobs. And his warhorse was armored as well.

Damn him. There was more to a warrior than just the quality of their armor. The Chieftain raised his javelin, roaring as he charged. He just had to take the first charge. He could see the silver lance pointed at his heart. He raised his shield—

And Rags sat up the next day, heart pounding, listening to the birds singing in the trees. They stopped singing fast as Goblins shot at them and claimed the eggs out of their nests. She rubbed at her eyes and cursed in Goblin.

She hated to remember her ancestors dying. It didn’t hurt, but it was scary. And real.

So, even a Hob Chieftain had fallen to a mounted warrior? Rags was under no illusions as to why he’d lost. Regardless of level or equipment, the truth was that the lance was a deadly weapon. She saw that now.

All that reach! On horseback it was capable of hitting anything with so much force that Rags doubted even Garen was capable of blocking it. Your only option was to dodge or take the rider out first. But if they had armor that was hard. And what if you were fighting in a huge group? Then you were a pretty stationary target, ready to be run through.

No wonder Redscar had been so concerned. Rags immediately got to work thinking of countermeasures as her tribe woke up and got back to work scavenging, cutting down trees, and in the warrior’s case, training.

Rags watched with interest as the Redfang warriors sparred and did odd things like exercise before they ate. No wonder they were different from regular Goblins.

She should probably train too—it had been a while since Rags had trained with Garen. But later. She found Redscar and got him and a few other Redfang warriors—and Pyrite, the female Goblin and Greybeard—together for a thinking session.

Their conclusions were fairly simple. The time-honored way to stop a horseman was with a long, pointy stick, preferably in great numbers. Pikemen were a common sight in armies, and if you backed that up with a shield wall you could counter a lot of things.

Rags was only too willing to get her Goblins to start fashioning long, wooden pikes out of the trees they’d felled, but she had a feeling she was making some sort of mistake. Yes, pikes were good and useful and they’d stop a charge. But the easy counter to that was to shoot the pike holders, blast them with magic, or just send a bunch of infantry at the pikes and shields and break them up so you could ride them down.

That might not be a problem if Rags had a Human army—she’d just make sure they were the best around and wouldn’t break no matter what you sent at them, and would keep a group of archers in reserve. But she didn’t have Humans. She had Goblins. And they couldn’t deal with a face-to-face pitched battle with Humans on foot.

There had to be a better way. Rags supervised her Goblins with carpentry Skills cutting the trees into pikes. She scowled when the best [Woodworkers] among them started competing with the one [Carpenter] to see who could make the longest pikes.

Twenty-foot long pikes? Rags kicked the Goblin who smugly showed it to her. No Goblin could carry that! She doubted most Humans would be able to use it effectively!

But then Rags paused and reconsidered. No lance was going to beat a pike that long. And if two Goblins carried it…

It still didn’t help with the issue of the pikes being stationary and weak to ranged attacks. Plus, the gloomy Rags saw that a group of ten pikes all lined up was great and pointy—but only in one direction. She sighed. It took three or two Goblins to lift each pike, too.

They were giggling and nudging each other as they held the pikes in place. They weren’t warriors. Rags snapped at them and pointed. She told them to put the pikes with the other weapons. The Goblins grumbled, but swung the pikes up and then let them fall in the right direction. Then began running with them held horizontally—probably because that was a lot easier than holding them straight up and catching them on the branches of the few trees that still stood.

And they nearly killed a score of Goblins on the way. Rags watched all the Goblins in her camp shouting in panic as a—a wall of pointy death came straight at them. The Goblins holding the pikes laughed merrily, running full-tilt as Goblins dove out of the way. Everyone was shouting at the Goblins to stop, but no one could quite manage it. A Hob found himself in the path of the pikes and even he was forced to dive aside or risk being skewered.

And Rags stared at the Goblins causing havoc until Noears walked over and tripped them all up. In the ensuing confusion—where the offending Goblins were beat up by everyone they’d scared—Rags had another great thought.

----

Later that day, the Redfang warriors were intrigued and amused to be ordered to spar against a force of regular Goblins in a mock battle. Their new Chieftain, Rags, had apparently come up with a new weapon or formation she wanted to try against them.

A group of sixty elites lined up, laughing and joking. They held blunted practice weapons—bundles of sticks or crude swords made of wood—while another group mounted Carn Wolves.

It would be a slaughter, no matter what Rags had done. They had many levels and Skills on the other warriors, and even if they had real weapons, the Redfang Warriors would beat them into a pulp with sticks alone. Unless they were carrying the magical artifacts, that was. But that would be cheating.

To their amusement, the Redfang warriors saw Rags had created a traditional wall of pikes, about forty in a tight wall of Goblins. There were two Goblins or more to every pike out of necessity—they were so heavy only a Hob could lift them!

The Redfang warriors laughed hard. The pikes were dangerous, yes, but all they needed to do was fight past the tips of the pikes or flank them. If you got past the tip of the pike—which was dangerous, granted, a good [Pikeman] could run you through with one solid thrust—then you were fighting in close quarters and the pikes were useless.

Lazily, the Redfang warriors advanced while the mounted warriors sat back on their Carn Wolves. They had no desire to charge that.

The Redfang warriors were still joking when they realized something was wrong. The pikes were moving. Towards them. And not just slow—the warriors blinked and then got worried when they saw the wall of pointy pikes was coming at them at a dead run.

The Goblins were charging! That wasn’t fair! And they were moving in pretty good formation—it was easy for Goblins to move together. The Redfang warriors faltered, and then moved quickly to the left.

The pikes swung left to target them. Now the Redfang warriors were getting really worried. They backed up, tried to form a shield wall. But just one look at the twenty foot long pikes rushing at them and they had a terrible premonition of how well that would work.

The Redfang warriors hesitated, turned. They tried to split up, but the pikes just split up to follow them. They were coming closer, closer—

The warriors broke and ran. The Goblins cheered as the other Goblins fled the prodding pikes, cursing. It was at this moment the mounted Redfang warriors, irate at their companions’ disgrace, leapt into action.

The Carn Wolves howled as they charged around the pikes, seeking their rear. Fast they might be, but these cocky Goblins wouldn’t laugh so hard when they got a few sets of teeth to their backs—

The pikes, which had been pointed in the opposite direction, rose up as the riding Redfang warriors watched. The two or three or four Goblins assigned to each pike hauled it up fast, and then lowered it towards the riders. The riders immediately pulled their mounts away—the wolves were already shying away from the new wall of points that had appeared in front of them.

The riders broke up, circled. But the pikes came up, and suddenly they had formed a square with pikes in every direction. And then one wall of pikes came at a rider, making him curse and the Carn Wolf run yelping—

Sitting on a felled stump, Rags grinned as she stared down at the mock battle. In the end, the Redfang warriors won. The pikes were susceptible to a charge from the side if the enemy surrounded them. But this was a new group, after all, barely trained. What if you had multiple groups of pikes, all ready to charge in any direction? You could turn them fast if you trained hard enough, Rags was sure.

She glanced over at Redscar and Pyrite. The Redfang warrior was clearly unhappy, but Pyrite was smiling slightly.

“Well?”

They turned to her. Redscar grumbled.

“Weak to arrows. And magic.”

Pyrite nodded. But he looked at the Goblins. They weren’t hardened warriors like the Redfang warriors. They weren’t even proper warriors, most of them. They were just Goblins. They ran as one and moved together because that was natural to them as breathing. He looked at Rags and she knew he was seeing what she was seeing.

“Lots of pikes?”

She nodded at him. Rags stared around at the lovely forest she’d chosen to settle in. Tall trees created a canopy of pines, dusted with snow. It was a tranquil place, a place to rest and find oneself. A place where animals could live, where nature was peaceful.

A nice place. Rags eyed the trees and grinned at Pyrite.

“Get chopping.”

3.30

Some days Erin woke up with a smile on her face. She yawned, sat up, and felt the quiet of the morning wash over her.

It wasn’t like how she lived back on Earth, back home. There Erin needed alarm clocks to get up, and the instant she was awake she had a phone to check, things to do. But in this world things weren’t as pressing. Or maybe it was just that Erin took the time to appreciate what she hadn’t before.

The cold of winter still had not let up and Erin shivered a bit as she threw off the thick wool blanket. It was scratchy, and there was no central heating in the inn. But she slept soundly each night, from being tired as much as anything else.

Yes, in some ways this world was better for her. In others—Erin touched her chest and remembered all she’d left behind.

Some days she would cry. Others she would laugh, or just try to forget. But Erin couldn’t forget what she’d lost. She still remembered a house in Michigan, her mother and father, neither of whom could play chess well.

Some days she imagined her mom would wake her up because Erin had slept in till eleven or twelve. She’d be upset because Erin missed the breakfast she’d made and tell Erin not to stay up looking at chess games online, especially because it was bad for her eyes. Then her father would grow serious and talk about how Erin was pursuing her passion and how they should support her—

Erin dressed and went downstairs, caught in the memory. She only came out of it when she found herself in the kitchen and realized she had to cook.

What to make today? Erin was used to cooking for many people by now and she moved on autopilot. Biscuits and gravy, yes, that would be good. She could make a thick sauce with the remains of the meat she’d used for last night’s dinner. Thick and full of energy from all the fat and stuff. That would be good. And eggs. Everyone always liked to eat good eggs.

That was how Erin spent around thirty minutes, cooking before everyone else woke up. She was brisk, efficient, and inhumanly quick in the kitchen now. Erin wondered if a professional chef would be able to make a meal faster than her.

“If I go back home, I’m definitely going on Iron Chef and kicking everyone’s butts.”

She smiled to herself as she looked at the large pot of meaty gravy and the biscuits she’d taken out of the stone oven. They were hot and steaming. She took a bowl out, filled it with gravy, and dipped the biscuit in it.

“Mm.”

It was good. Erin ate it, and then another biscuit while she listened to people waking up above her head. Miss Agnes would be down soon, slightly annoying and cheerful as always. Erin…didn’t feel like dealing with her today.

She’d done what needed doing, anyways. The pot of gravy could serve a small army, which is pretty much what descended on the inn for breakfast most mornings anyways. And the biscuits were easy enough to make that even Miss Agnes had a hard time messing it up. Unless she let them burn in the oven, that was.

And if she did, too bad! Erin filled a basket with thirty of the biscuits she’d made and found a smaller pot and a lid for the gravy. As an afterthought she looked around for a drink as well, but there was nothing portable. She wasn’t about to carry a keg.

That was what this world lacked, Erin reflected. She left the inn and walked down the snowy cobblestones, out of the inn before anyone came in or went downstairs. It was still very early, so Erin made good time through Celum’s streets.

This world lacked…certain things. Good containers, for one thing. Oh, sure, you could transport in bulk pretty well with barrels and so on, and they were remarkably waterproof, but what about water bottles, or…or covered pitchers? Then again, who would need it that badly?

“Globalization? Or is it industrialization? Modernization? Convenience?”

Probably all of the above. When you had the time to think to yourself that a mid-sized container built specifically to hold liquids was a valuable time investment, you probably had too much time on your hands. But it was convenient.

Erin sighed, and took another bite of one of the biscuits. It tasted good. But—it was sort of flat.

“Needs baking powder.”

How could a world live without baking powder? Erin was sure there was a substitute the people of this world used, but she hadn’t found it yet. In the meantime, she had to live without vital necessities like cake. Or delicacies like cake. Or what Erin considered essential for mental health: cake.

It really was a shame. Erin sighed and watched her breath trail upwards, the vapor dissipating over her head. No cake. She could make cookies, though. But wait—didn’t that need baking soda or something?

“Drat.”

Erin glared at the ground, but without any real anger. She still felt pretty good.

Baking soda, baking powder. What was the difference between the two? One made things rise and the other…did the same thing. But there was a difference!

If only Ryoka was here. She might know how to make it. Then again, Ryoka had told Erin flat-out that she couldn’t replicate half of the things from their world for lack of funding, resources, or interest. Or all of the above. But baking soda was critical! If Erin could sell cookies she’d rule the world.

Who could help her in her quest to create more unhealthy things to eat? Erin passed by a few people walking down the street, smiling at them but saying nothing, and then turned down another street. She’d gone this way so many times she didn’t need to think about it.

Who made baking powder in her world? That was a really good question now that Erin thought about it. Baking powder…companies? But who invented baking powder to begin with?

“Chemists.”

Erin hazarded a guess. She knew it had some weird stuff in the powder, which is why she couldn’t just grind up a rock or something to make it. But if she needed this world’s equivalent of a chemist, then—

For a few seconds Erin blinked. Then she slapped herself lightly in the head and nearly dropped the basket of biscuits and pot full of hot gravy. She caught herself and kicked open the door of the shop she’d arrived at.

“Octavia!”

Some people were morning people. Other people were not. Erin saw a comatose form draped over one of the tables jerk at her loud voice. Octavia raised her head and glared at Erin.

“Go melt yourself.”

“Don’t be grumpy. Wake up! It’s morning. I’ve got food.”

Erin looked around. Octavia’s alchemy shop was the usual clutter of magical potions and mess it normally was. She went into the kitchen and came out with a mostly clean bowl. Carefully, she poured some gravy into it and put some biscuits on the table in front of Octavia.

“Do you have any water? I wanted to bring something to drink, but there was nothing I could take back at the inn.”

Octavia blinked slowly at the food in front of her, still not quite focusing on the world. She took a biscuit and stared at it as if it was foreign to her.

“Water? I’ve got some…I think. Do you need to drink it? What’s for breakfast?”

Erin took that as a sign she shouldn’t drink anything in Octavia’s shop at the moment. She pushed the bowl towards Octavia.

“Gravy and biscuits. Eat. Also, I’ve got a job for you.”

That made Octavia sit up.

“Really? How much does it pay? Do you want potions or alchemical items? If you need to defer payment I can give you extremely reasonable—”

“Shut up and eat. I want baking powder. And soda. I’ll tell you what it is—you be quiet.”

Erin scowled at Octavia, but this too was part of her day. She was used to Octavia and she liked the other girl, although neither she nor Octavia would ever admit that out loud. Some people Erin just couldn’t quite gel with. Especially if they kept trying to sell her stuff like Octavia.

“Seems doable.”

That was what Octavia said as she finished the biscuits. She wiped her finger in the bowl of gravy and licked it—Erin winced a bit because Octavia hadn’t washed her hands. Then again, the [Alchemist] was scrupulously careful about washing ingredients that got on her hands off before she ate, so she was probably fine.

“I’ll take your offer up. Business is slow thanks to all those damn Goblins out and about and if you’re right about people buying this baking powder from me, I’ll gladly let you finance me.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Good. I’ll give you two gold coins to start with. And why is business slow? Wouldn’t tons of people be buying your potions if they’re fighting Goblins?”

“Five. If they were fighting, I’d be selling everything on my shelves. But the cities are waiting, not sending out armies, Erin. Fighting Goblins is a lot easier when you’re on top of a wall and Esthelm falling scared everyone. Once this Goblin Lord’s main army and smaller ones are located, everyone will breathe easier. Until then…”

Erin nodded.

“Three gold coins. And eight silver ones. And no arguing!”

Octavia chewed on her lip, but nodded in the end.

“I can survive on that, I suppose. Barely. But I’ll need you to make dough for me and tell me if it’s rising right.”

“You’ll be able to tell. And making the dough is easy. I’ll teach you the recipe. Stop complaining—it’s just like alchemy!”

“Hah!”

In the end, Erin paid Octavia and felt good about it. She wandered over to one side of Octavia’s shop, where the usual clutter had been cleared aside and the potions on the wall had been stored somewhere else.

“Anyone come by last night? I mean, after I left?”

Octavia shook her head.

“Nope. And no one’s come by—not after I started charging people for lingering in the store.”

Erin smiled.

“Well, if anyone does come by—”

“I get to sell them stuff if they won’t wait for you in the Frenzied Hare. Got it.”

Octavia was already poring over her ingredients, searching for the things that might work as leavening agents. She barely turned, but she did glance out of the corner of her eye as Erin walked over to the innocuous wooden door that had been set into the wall.

It was just a door, and it couldn’t possibly lead anywhere given that behind it was solid stone. And yet—Erin swung the door open, and suddenly she was staring up into the sky. She blinked a few times and tried to get her brain to understand that she was looking up at the sky because the door this one was connected to was lying on the back of a wagon. Then she took a deep breath and stepped through and up and—

The door closed behind Erin. Octavia shook her head, blinking a few times to regain her own sense of balance. The [Alchemist] had a very strong stomach due to all the things she had to handle and smell. But that sight made her stomach lurch a bit. And yet, it was still incredible to her.

“What a door.”

That was all she said. Then Octavia got to work. And Erin travelled many miles to a bumpy wagon travelling down a snowy, empty road towards Liscor. And the best part was that she didn’t spill the gravy.

----

Some things in this world were slow and wonderful. But the fast, magical moments were just as great too. As Erin stepped through the magical doorway in Octavia’s shop, she stepped upwards, into the sky. That was disconcerting, but Erin knew what to expect and didn’t stumble as the world twisted around her and she was suddenly walking the right way onto the back of the wagon.

“Woog.”

It still made Erin want to puke a bit every time she did it. But the experience of it—walking through a portal made by magic—was still novel.

And it was so convenient. Erin looked around the wagon and saw several people who’d been huddled in their cloaks or with a blanket and pillow look up hopefully at her arrival. She smiled brightly and raised the pot and basket.

“Good morning! Anyone want breakfast?”

“Morning, Erin.”

“Food!”

“Good morning, Miss Solstice.”

“Food! Oh. Morning, Erin.”

Yvlon, Pisces, Ksmvr, and Ceria all sat up and smiled or stared at the food Erin had brought—or did both. Pisces and Ceria both seemed especially keen for breakfast, but Yvlon and Ksmvr both eagerly accepted the food Erin had brought. The adventurers who were now the new Horns of Hammerad clustered around the pot and began sharing out the biscuits.

“Good morning, Mister Termin! Would you like some biscuits and gravy? They’re hot—I just baked them!”

The wagon driver gave Erin a gap-toothed grin as he accepted some of the food she’d brought.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Solstice. This is the finest journey I’ve ever had, riding along with you serving such good food morning, noon, and night.”

“My pleasure. I’ll bring you all lunch too, if you’re not planning on stopping and eating at a village or something.”

“No fear of that.”

Pisces mumbled around a mouth full of food as he ate appreciatively. He gulped, and went on, ignoring the disgusted look Yvlon was giving him. Ceria was eating just as fast.

“Why should we stop? With a constant supply of food, we need not rest—”

“Except to give the horses a break.”

Yvlon leaned towards Ksmvr as Ceria tried to cram a biscuit covered in gravy into her mouth. The Antinium was the only person who ate with good manners on the wagon. Two hands delicately held a biscuit up for him to nibble while a third hand held the gravy pot out for the others to dip into.

“Don’t you worry about that, Miss Byres. My Skills will keep these two old plodders moving all day. A good night’s sleep and rubdown is all they need, don’t fret.”

Termin smiled as he pointed to the two older horses that were pulling the wagon this early in the morning. Erin eyed them as she found a place to sit with the other adventurers in the back. The horses, Erma and Fox, looked old, but they both had feedbags on and seemed happy enough to eat and walk along. Besides, the wagon wasn’t going that fast.

She smiled and sat with her friends. They ate and she leaned back. It was colder outside the city, where the wind could blow right at you. But the air felt fresher here, and the sun helped warm her through the layers of clothing she wore. There was no smell of poo that sometimes came with people living in a medieval city and using chamber pots. The scents of crowded living were gone, and there was just the empty smell of winter on the breeze.

It was a good day, and Erin was happy to be alive. She was in a good mood, although the Horns of Hammerad were decidedly less well-rested.

Ceria yawned as she finally stopped eating and stretched out. She rubbed at her back as Erin apologized for not bringing anything to drink.

“No worries. We can get water easily enough. We just need some mugs. I think we brought some with us…there they are. Now, some snow—”

“Allow me, Captain Ceria.”

“Oh, thanks, Ksmvr.”

The half-Elf let Ksmvr take the mugs, hop out of the wagon, and briskly fill them with freshly fallen snow. Erin watched appreciatively as Ceria handed Pisces half of the mugs. Both mages concentrated briefly, and in moments the snow was melting as they warmed the cups. Ceria handed the steaming mugs around and Erin passed one to Termin in the front.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Too hot. Springwalker, did you have to boil this water?”

“It beats drinking something nasty, Pisces. Warm isn’t good enough, even with fresh snow.”

Ceria bickered with Pisces as the two mages sipped from their drink. Erin declined her mug—she’d already drunk enough. She smiled again.

“That’s so cool you can do that. It’s so easy—what spell did you use?”

Pisces scratched one ear, looking pleased, haughty, and somewhat embarrassed for the genuine enthusiasm Erin had.

“No spell. It is hardly necessary—true, most magics require spells, but the most basic of cantrips require no spells to utilize. True, if we wanted to increase the heat emitted we would have to learn a spell, but any [Mage] with a basic understanding of the theorems of spellcastings could do the same.”

A somber silence followed Pisces’ pronouncement. Ceria rolled her eyes as everyone else deciphered his statement.

“Oh.”

That was all Erin said. She sat back as the others sipped at their drinks. After a moment, Erin felt moved to speak again.

“Did you sleep well? I can bring more blankets or pillows if you need it.”

“We’re fine, I think.”

Yvlon nodded and so did the others, although Pisces closed his mouth so suddenly Erin wondered if he had been about to ask for another pillow or three. The woman with perfect blonde hair, beautiful features, and metal fused into her arms stretched slowly, looking as if she had some back pains of her own.

“Too bad we couldn’t sleep in the inn.”

“I’ll say. A covered wagon is hardly appropriate for—”

Ceria kicked Pisces and he scowled and continued.

“—Adventurers of our caliber. Why we had to stay—”

This time Yvlon raised her foot and Pisces shut up. She glanced at Termin, but the wagon driver affected not to have heard Pisces’ comment.

“Just because we have a magic door that doesn’t mean we can waltz off whenever we feel like it, Pisces.”

“But if we remained in the inn, could we not—”

Ceria scowled at Pisces.

“We made a deal, Pisces. Sleeping in a bed in an inn over thirty miles away from here is not the same as staying with the wagon. If there’s an attack, every second counts. The same goes for the road. We have to stay with the wagon in case of trouble.”

“We could rotate a member of the group out to relax while the other three—”

“No.”

Ceria and Yvlon chorused as one. Ksmvr looked between the members of his group and nodded obediently along with them. Pisces sighed and threw up his hands. Erin had to smile—again—and Ceria grinned too. The half-Elf glanced at Erin sideways.

“Besides, there’s no inn to sleep in now. You moved the door, right, Erin?”

“It’s in Octavia’s shop now. Nowhere to sleep, Pisces, unless you fancy sleeping under one of her tables.”

The [Necromancer] opened his mouth—probably to say that was more comfortable than sleeping in a wagon in the open—and closed it. Pisces could tell when arguing was pointless. Well, sometimes.

“And have more individuals approached you about requisitioning the door for their use? I hardly feel that a lone [Alchemist] can adequately protect such a valuable means of transport.”

“I think Octavia’s pretty good at it, actually. She’s started charging people who wait around in her shop. And you know her—if anyone comes in they’ll either buy half a dozen potions or have their face explode before they go.”

Everyone smiled at that. It turned out that Yvlon and Ceria knew of Octavia by reputation, although neither adventurer had bought directly from her. Yvlon drained her mug and tossed the rest over the side of the wagon.

“She’s probably better at selling potions than she is at making them. There’s no better watchdog you could ask for.”

“Really? I thought Octavia was a really good [Alchemist]. She’s one of three.”

“In a city like Celum? Erin, that’s a lot of [Alchemists]!”

Ceria laughed at her friend. She shook her head.

“Octavia’s good at making potions for cheap. And—I guess she can make some high quality ones, but she stints too much on her ingredients, or so I’ve heard. Then again, it’s expensive to be an [Alchemist].”

“She’s naturally thrifty. Too much so. But I’ve never heard of her making a defective potion—only overselling some to gullible people.”

That made Erin feel better. She nodded as she tugged a blanket over. She’d taken them from Miss Agnes’ inn after a bit of persuasion.

“Well, she tried to charge me a fee for putting the door there, but I talked her out of it. I think she sees how valuable it is.”

“And it will be safe in her shop?”

Ksmvr looked dubious, but Ceria snorted.

“Who’s going to steal a door, let alone one attached to the wall? Besides, that’s just the anchor point. The real artifact is here.”

She rapped a fist on the plain wooden door sitting in the wagon. Everyone else nodded, and Erin patted the door appreciatively.

“Ow! Hey, does this thing have splinters?”

“Not as of such. It’s too well enchanted to break. It’s a hundred times stronger than you are…so in the worst case scenario you could rip your flesh off on a rough patch of it.”

“Aw!”

The door. Erin’s door. She rubbed at the sore palm of her hand as she stared at it.

Yes, magic was a curious thing. Some spells seemed very mundane and just like things Erin had in her world, like Ceria’s trick with warming the mugs. But some things couldn’t be copied, and were just as amazing in this world as they would be in Erin’s.

Like the door. The magical, awesome, incredible, stupendous, phantasmagorical—

Erin frowned. Was phantasmagorical the right word? Anyways, the cool door. It was Erin’s now, and that was wonderful. It meant she could go anywhere with it, conveniently and easily. At least, in theory.

It was only the second day since the door’s incredible useful properties had been harnessed by Pisces and Ceria, but it was already the center of a minor power struggle in Celum. Of course, when Erin and the Horns of Hammerad had first stepped back through it into the Frenzied Hare in Celum, everyone had been dumbstruck. News of the artifact the Horns of Hammerad had recovered had spread like lightning.

You’d think everyone would be happy a magical teleportation-portal door had been created. But the first visitor Erin had received as she and the Horns of Hammerad were having a great dinner that very night in the inn had been a man, a wealthy [Trader] who told Erin he saw big possibilities in her door. He wanted to buy it for a hundred gold coins.

She refused. He upped it to two hundred, and then six hundred coins when she kept refusing. In the end he had to leave, disappointed. That was the start.

The next person to arrive was a rather more influential [Merchant] who told Erin he represented the Merchant’s Guild in the city. He offered her six thousand gold coins for the door immediately, and when she refused he tried to strike a deal with her.

The merchants and traders and indeed, shopkeepers and craftspeople of Celum wanted to use the door as, well, a door into Liscor. If it could be kept open they would reap huge profits that they would share with Erin, all assured her. But just as Erin was considering this, a Runner had come to her inn demanding to speak with her.

Fals, the nice Runner guy that Ryoka had told Erin about came with Garia to plead their case with Erin. They did not want her to let the merchants use the door for anything. After all, it would totally destroy the Runners Guild’s traffic between Celum and Liscor. The last thing Erin wanted was to put anyone out of work, but then the Mage’s Guild had come by to tell Erin that if she wanted to gain a monopoly on messages between Liscor and Celum, she had another thing coming. And then—

And then Erin had clocked one of the merchants and everyone had sort of backed up a bit. But the issue over the door was clear: it was a valuable object and everyone wanted to use it. So that night Erin had had to fend off multiple people wanting to talk to her, people she had never met before except for Garia and Fals.

Fals was nice, and the [Merchants] and envoy from the city’s council had been sickeningly fawning. The [Mage] was full of himself until he realized Pisces and Ceria might actually have more levels than him—plus they were Wistram graduates and he was not. Then he was so obsequious Erin wanted to throw up.

Relief had come from Pisces of all people. Undeterred by the argument, he’d managed to affix the anchoring spell or whatever it was to an actual door and harness the teleportation spell to create a portal rather than just transport people. Apparently it wasn’t that hard, or Pisces was just as smart as he said. According to Ceria, it was a bit of both.

What Pisces had discovered was that powerful the door might be, but it drank more mana than a sponge. It could teleport someone back and forth many times, and even a group of people. But eventually it would run out, and when it did it would take a long time to recharge.

Not only that, but the amount of mana required to activate the spell was understandably high. Both Pisces and Ceria had tried to recharge the door and only managed to juice it up enough for the Horns of Hammerad to make a one-way trip to the wagon to guard it overnight. And they’d still had to use a few mana potions.

So what was the conclusion? Well, the Merchant’s Guild still wanted to use the door as a faster way of transport, the Runner’s Guild and Mage’s Guild were afraid Erin would bulk transport things like letters which didn’t have much mass and could be teleported easily, and Erin realized she didn’t trust Miss Agnes with the door in her inn.

So she’d told everyone to go away and put the door in Octavia’s shop. As for the rest…

“I promised Fals and Garia—the Runner’s Guild—that I wouldn’t transport any letters or deliveries. Only personal stuff I’m using. I said the same thing to the Mage’s Guild so they’re happy. But the city wanted to use my door for emergencies, they said.”

“The city or the mayor? Is Celum ruled by a council or a mayor? I thought they were like Remendia and Ocre and had elected leaders.”

“Nope. Mayor. And guess who wants my door?”

“A lot of [Merchants] and guild leaders?”

Erin nodded miserably. Pisces snorted and Ceria rolled her eyes.

“So they want to take it from you. Predictable.”

“Not take…but they want me to pay fees for using it. Or…I could let them use the door if they need it to, I dunno, transport supplies or do something really important. They’d be able to use it in case of emergencies, they said.”

Pisces looked as if he was ready to spit. He pursed his lips and sniffed before wiping his nose on his robe.

“Hah. If you agreed to that, then no doubt every day the city would face a crisis of unprecedented severity that required usage of the door.”

Erin nodded sadly. She had to be selfish or the door would be useless.

“I told them it’s mine and they can’t charge me because I’m not going through the gates.”

Yvlon’s eyebrows rose.

“Really? And what did they say?”

The [Innkeeper] fidgeted on the cart, avoiding anyone’s eyes.

“I uh, hinted that you, the Horns of Hammerad, would be really upset if they did. So they backed down.”

Silence. And then Ceria laughed.

“Hah!”

Pisces and Termin guffawed and Yvlon smiled. Ksmvr just looked around, confused.

“I do not understand the joke. Pisces, please explain it to me.”

Ceria shook her head, and Erin blinked as her hair caught the light. She was still beautiful, too much so for this world. Otherworldly.

“Well, that settles that. I guess the only thing you’ve got to worry about is it being stolen, although Pisces is right. Anyone with a brain will see that the door’s useless if they steal the anchor. People without a brain are the ones you should be worried about, though.”

Erin looked away as Ceria smiled at her.

“I don’t think that’s a problem. I talked with Wesle and the captain of the Watch and they told me they’d keep an eye on Octavia’s shop. Plus, no one likes to try and rob an [Alchemist] because all kinds of things can happen with all those potions lying around.”

Ceria nodded.

“That’s true. Good thing you’ve got a [Guardsman] for a friend. In Celum, I mean.”

“Excuse me, but I still do not understand the joke. Pisces, will you explain it to me?”

“Former [Guardsman], actually. He quit his job.”

“Really?”

Erin smiled as the Horns of Hammerad exclaimed.

“Yeah. He says he’s earning a ton more than he ever did as a [Guardsman] and he likes acting better. He wants to form a troupe—a group that goes from city to city to perform. They’re stuck in Celum now, but since I can go back whenever, I’ll teach them more plays and they’ll keep practicing.”

“That’s wonderful, it sounds like you’ve really had an impact on the city, Erin.”

“Yeah! And with this door I’m gonna get a lot of customers when I get back. I have big plans—but you were saying it might be useful in other ways, right?”

“Comrade Pisces. I do not understand the j—”

“Shut up!”

Pisces shouted at Ksmvr. The Antinium fell silent for a second.

“If I am silent, will you explain the joke?”

He got along well with Pisces, in the sense that he was the only person who annoyed Pisces and not the other way around. Erin waited patiently, grinning as Pisces laboriously explained the joke to Ksmvr who had a weak grasp of humor at best.

“Ah. I see. This is more humor to raise morale. I will remember it. Thank you.”

Pisces somewhat huffily adjusted his position as he lounged on a few pillows.

“You’re welcome. Now, as I was saying, this door is useful. I have no idea if it has an upper range, but I suspect with a modicum of effort on my and Springwalker’s part we could form multiple anchoring points for usage.”

“What? You mean I could go to all kinds of cities?”

Erin was enthralled by the idea. But Pisces raised a cautionary hand.

“A few. Very few, I believe. Connecting to multiple points risks entanglement, and that could result in a tangled web of magic that could have any number of effects. I would hesitate to create more than four focal points. But I suggest that if you link the door to two more cities for very sporadic usage, you might consider giving one anchoring point to our group.”

“Really? Why?”

“Remember how Pisces said the door could be used as an emergency getaway, Erin? Well, if he can make something easy to carry, we could use the door to get away if we’re ever in trouble, in a dungeon, say.”

Erin paused. She looked over at Ceria and her eye caught on the half-Elf’s skeletal hand. Erin couldn’t help it. She knew it was rude to stare, but sometimes she did stare at Ceria. Her hand, and her friend. Erin didn’t have many friends and she’d been overjoyed to see Ceria—and Pisces and Yvlon and Ksmvr again. When she thought of the dungeon, of Skinner—

“Of course I’ll let you have one. If it works. I mean, would it work for multiple people and if you’re far away or underground?”

Pisces sniffed all-importantly as eyes turned towards him.

“Of course there will be necessary experimentation. And yes, such a fallback would have limitations. But better to have it than not, agreed?”

Everyone nodded. Erin felt happy at the idea—not only could she go to more cities, she might be able to help her friends! But she’d have to be careful with the door, definitely. Maybe she could put it upstairs, so people didn’t use it by accident? Or—could she build a basement in the inn? Surely Klbkch could help her with that, right? She had the money to pay the Antinium now too.

And then it happened. Erin was sitting up in the wagon, about to ask Pisces whether the anchor stones would work if she’d exhausted the door’s power for the day, or whether she’d need to always keep a reserve—when she felt the world explode.

Erin had been in a fire drill, countless fire drills and earthquake drills in school. Even when she knew one was scheduled, she hated the moment of fear and panic that occurred when every single bell started ringing as loudly as possible. But that was only external sound, loud and frightening but only that. Bells in your head were a different matter.

It was as if every alarm clock, siren, fire alarm and noisemaker suddenly went off in Erin’s head at once. She doubled over, clutching her head and crying out in surprise and fear. Dimly, Erin heard Ceria and Termin doing the same.

“Miss Solstice? Erin, is something wrong? Are we in danger?”

Ksmvr was shaking Erin by the shoulder. She tried to explain, tried to speak past the terrible fear in her head.

“Something’s—”

And then she saw someone standing in the cart’s way. Instantly, Ksmvr let go of Erin and reached for the blades at his side. The Horns of Hammerad leapt off the wagon, the genial atmosphere of moments ago forgotten. There was danger, and here was someone who had not been standing there a moment ago.

“Teleportation? Ceria, how bad—”

“Ceria?”

“Bad! It’s—we have to retreat.”

“I will attack first. Please, withdraw if I am slain.”

“What’s happening? My [Dangersense]—wait, is it coming from him?”

A confused babble of voices broke through the ringing in Erin’s head. She managed to make the sound lessen, and stood up on the cart as the horses neighed, sensing the alarm around them.

A man was standing in the middle of the snowy road. He shouldn’t have been there. The roads were practically deserted in the wake of the Goblin armies roaming about, and what travelers there were didn’t dare move alone unless they were Runners.

And this man—was no runner. Erin’s eyes widened when she saw him. He stood over six feet tall, a giant. He was powerfully built, imposing, with the body that every man probably dreamed of having. He looked like a superhuman athlete, and yet he was old. He had a white beard, white robes that were brilliant, made of some incredibly rich fabric that seemed brighter and cleaner than the snow itself—

And two eyes of mismatched color. Cerulean and heliotrope. Blue and violet, shimmering colors like celestial bodies shining forth from his pupils. Erin hesitated because she thought they looked so familiar…

But he had not been on the road a moment ago. He had appeared and that was terrifying in itself. One second the road was empty, and in the moment between looking elsewhere and turning back, he was there, as if he’d been there all along or he’d been in the peripherals of your vision and you hadn’t noticed until now.

And the [Dangersense] in Erin’s head blared. It was telling her of danger, immediate and pressing. She stared at the man as he stood silently in front of the wagon. Danger. Danger. Danger. It was a cacophony of ringing alarms.

The message was clear: do not fight this man. Run away. Do not fight.

You will die.

And yet the Horns of Hammerad formed a semicircle around the cart, weapons raised. Yvlon had no armor, Pisces and Ceria had only the magic that shimmered around their palms. Ksmvr held weapons in the three arms he possessed. They were shouting.

At Erin?

“Get through the door, Erin! You too, wagon driver!”

“You there. Identify yourself.”

“Don’t attack! Not yet! Pisces—”

“Through the door, Erin! Now!”

Erin wanted to move, but she wanted to stay as well. It was just an old man. True, one that looked like—well, looked like no actual Human being she’d ever seen but—was he dangerous? How could he be?

The old man was just staring at her. Her, out of all the others. He was looking up at the blue sky, around at the snowy landscape, the empty road, at the wagon, and then at Erin. As if he was taking in the sights. But he seemed to be annoyed by all the shouting. He raised one hand.

“Silence.”

And there was. Because everyone was waiting to see what he was going to do next. Erin saw Termin trying to soothe his horses. She looked at the door, and knew she could seize the handle and be in Octavia’s shop in a moment. But what about her friends? And couldn’t he follow them?

“Greetings, Human.”

Ksmvr spoke in the silence, ignoring the annoyed look the man gave him. He lowered the short sword and daggers in his hands as he nodded to the old man.

“We are Silver-ranked adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad. May I ask why you have blocked our path?”

“I wish to speak with her.”

Erin felt a jolt as his finger pointed straight at her. The reaction of her friends was immediate. They closed ranks in front of the wagon.

“May I ask why?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Ksmvr seemed to freeze up as the multi-colored stare swung towards him. And then Erin saw another aspect of the old man. He stared down at Ksmvr as if he was, well, a bug. He looked at Ceria, Yvlon, Pisces, all clearly adventurers, with the same casual disdain for their existence. Only Erin he looked at with…

“Move aside, adventurers. Or I will move you.”

That was a threat. Erin felt herself shiver. Ceria’s voice was very serious as she held a hand up.

“We don’t want…to fight. But unless you tell us why you want to speak with Erin—and we’re sure you don’t intend her harm—we can’t let you do anything, Human.”

“I intend to explain nothing to you, half-Elf.”

There was no compromise in his voice. Erin saw Ceria tense.

“You don’t have a choice here. Tell us why you want Erin.”

“Otherwise?”

The question caught everyone off guard. The old man looked at Ceria. She hesitated.

“What—do you mean?”

“Otherwise, what? If I refuse, what will you do? Will you prevent me from speaking with this girl?”

“If necessary. If you refuse to cooperate, we will have no choice but to fight.”

Yvlon called that out. She was holding the sword in her hands without a sign that the metal in her arms was bothering her. And her gaze was intent on the old man’s face. She sensed it too, Erin realized. Whoever this old man was, he wasn’t—normal.

For a moment the old man sighed. He looked impatient, annoyed—but not the least bit intimidated. He cast his gaze towards the sky, thought for a moment, and then…nodded.

“That would be the quickest way. Very well.”

What happened next was too fast for Erin to follow. In the moments afterwards as she ducked and Termin yelled in fright beside her, Erin realized what had happened.

The instant the old man had said that, Ceria had acted first. She’d raised her skeletal hand and fired a spike of ice straight at his midriff. It was a killing attack, but it hadn’t touched him.

Instead, the spear of ice had shattered midflight, filling the air with shards of ice that bounced off the wagon. Erin dared to peek her head up and saw the Horns of Hammerad staring at the old man.

He hadn’t moved from that spot. He’d only raised his hand. Erin saw three fingers pointed at the spot where the [Ice Spike] had been shattered by something.

“[Stone Dart]. A low level spell, but all I am capable of here. However, it seems only ah, Tier 2 spells will be necessary here at any rate.”

That was all he said. Erin felt the Horns of Hammerad pause—and then Ceria raised her hand and attacked and the battle began.

“[Ice Dart]!”

Erin had never seen Ceria fire so many ice darts so quickly. They flew at the old man like a rain of missiles—and he blocked them. His hand moved up, caught and shattered a piece of ice flying towards his face, one towards his chest—

So quick! How was he doing it? Erin saw the old man step backwards casually among the hail of missiles. Then he raised his other hand and spoke.

“[Mud Slap].”

A splash of dark brown liquid spattered across the distance between him and Ceria. Erin saw her friend cry out, but it was just mud. In her eyes. But it made the rain of darts stop and then Erin saw what the old man had been blocking them with.

A rock. Just a flat stone. The old man tossed it on the ground.

“[Call Object]. Next?”

He had only a moment to say that. From his left and right Ksmvr and Yvlon came charging at him, blades swinging. The old man nodded, swept his hands out. A flurry of snow blew at both warriors.

“[Frozen Wind].”

They ran through it, half-blinded, but still ready to strike. But then something happened. Erin saw Yvlon and Ksmvr both go down, crashing to the ground but she didn’t see how. And then Pisces—

He was raising the dead. Termin cried out and his horses tried to drag the wagon around as eight skeletons burst out of the ground. Pisces grinned as they tore themselves out of the earth—

“[Stone Dart]. Bludgeoning type.”

The old man pointed and eight stones appeared and struck each skeleton. Not in the head or ribs, but at their spines as they attempted to form themselves. The stones shattered bone and broke the delicate assembly process. Each skeleton collapsed onto the ground, the animation spell failing in an instant.

“Pisces! I’ll—”

“[Stone Dart].”

Another bit of stone struck Ceria in the head as she wiped the last of the mud from her eyes. She crumbled, and the old man sighed.

“Do modern mages not know any protective spells? Or are you truly untrained amateurs?”

He turned to point at Yvlon who was getting to her feet—

And leaned backwards as a burning sword nearly ran him through. Pisces drew back the rapier in his hands as magical flames danced along its length. Erin gasped—she hadn’t seen him move, but he’d covered the distance between him and the old man in an instant!

“[Flash Step]. And a variation of [Flame Rapier]. Well, interesting.”

The old man commented as he stepped backwards. Pisces thrust, but the old man raised his hands and ten [Stone Darts] flew from every finger. Erin heard a curse and Pisces seemed to appear several steps away. His robe and the arm beneath it were cut, but he was uninjured.

“Come, then.”

Pisces took a step to run the old man through—

And tripped.

This time Erin saw what had happened. As he moved and his form vanished, a tiny, twisting loop of grass had sprung up in the snow. It snagged his foot as he moved forwards at lightning speed. The grass strands broke, but it sent Pisces crashing and tumbling to the ground.

“[Tripgrass].”

The old man said it belatedly, as if announcing the spell was an afterthought. The old man walked over to Pisces. The young [Necromancer] snarled and raised his hands—

And the old [Mage] kicked him in the head. Erin shouted, but Pisces just fell back unconscious. Not…dead. He couldn’t be.

The old man turned towards Erin. Then he glanced to one side.

“Ah.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr charged towards him, the Antinium throwing one of the daggers in his hands. Again, a precise strike from the [Stone Dart] easily deflected the dagger. But they were closing in. Yvlon raised her sword with a cry, and the man clapped his hands together.

“[Flash].”

This time Erin went blind. She clapped a hand to her eyes and tried to blink to see. She heard shouting, and then a choking sound. When she could see past the spots in her eyes she looked again and saw Yvlon on the ground. The woman was choking. Choking on—snow?

“[Snowball]. Or is it [Create Snow]? Ah, either one works.”

The old man had hit Yvlon in her open mouth with snow. It was filling her throat and she was trying to throw up, get it out. Ksmvr was the only one left on his feet.

“Die.”

He swung his blade towards the old mage’s head. Flames engulfed him.

“[Flame Jet].”

The old man’s voice came from the center of the flames. Ksmvr scythed forwards, but the flames hadn’t just burned him. They’d screened the old man and he walked past Ksmvr on the left, raising his hands again. As the Antinium turned, ten shards of ice pierced his chest. Not deep, but they sent him staggering back.

“Throw down your weapon, insect.”

“Never.”

Ksmvr raised his blade and then a blast of water struck him in the face. It made him overbalance and stumble back again. And a stone was right behind his left foot, hovering there. Ksmvr fell backwards. He tried to roll over—

And couldn’t. Erin saw grass growing all around him, looping around his arms, pulling him to the ground and holding him there. Each blade of grass was weak, but together it enmeshed him so thoroughly he couldn’t move.

The old man walked over to Ksmvr. The Antinium spoke to him, lying flat on his back.

“If you let me live I will not cease until you or I lie dead.”

“Yes, your kind is like that.”

The old man pointed down at Ksmvr. He opened his mouth and then tilted his head sideways. The dagger flashed past his head, missing completely.

Erin gaped. The old man flicked his attention to Ksmvr, and then stepped away from the Antinium. He nodded at the dagger which was now buried in the snow.

“Hm. You have a Skill, don’t you? But perfect aim is meaningless if you allow me time to dodge. Without more Skills you would not be able to strike even a cat with such a throw.”

He sounded so nonchalant. He’d taken apart her friends with basic spells in an instant and—

On the wagon, Erin hesitated. Part of her told her to run, to get away and be safe. Her sensible self rationalized it. He wanted her for some reason. If she ran, the old man might let her friends live.

But not Ksmvr. So Erin clenched her fists. She leapt from the wagon with a yell—

And tripped as something snagged her leg going over the side. Erin had only a moment to yelp before she smacked into the ground hard. She groaned—she hadn’t landed in the snow, only on frozen ground. And falling from a wagon headfirst hurt. If she hadn’t managed to catch the fall on her arms she might have broken her skull, but she felt like her arms were broken instead.

“[Tripgrass]. Again.”

Erin had to get up. She pushed herself up groggily and saw the old man looming over her. She yelped, threw a punch with all her strength.

He caught it. It was a [Minotaur Punch] and he caught it. Erin blinked at the incredible strength in the man’s body. True, he looked like he was strong enough for it, but—

He released her, and Erin stumbled back. She stared at him, fists half-raised. She felt like she had long ago, in front of Gazi. As if anything she did would be useless. The old man stared around, and then at Termin. The wagon driver was sitting white-faced in his driver’s seat.

“Will you try to fight as well?”

Termin stared back, paralyzed by fear. The white-bearded stranger nodded, and turned to Erin. She tensed—

And he held up an iPhone.

“You are Erin Solstice, aren’t you? Explain this to me.”

Erin stopped. All processes went on immediate halt. She lowered her hands. Her mind went blank. She stared at the small, metallic object in the old man’s hands. Its screen was glowing, and it looked so familiar to her. But—

She stared at the old man. At the iPhone.

“That’s an iPhone.”

“Yes. It is. And it seems to be malfunctioning, although I copied it completely.”

“That’s Ryoka’s iPhone.”

The world had stopped making sense. Erin stared at the old man while she waited for someone to wake her up from the dream she was having. He nodded to her, impatient.

“A copy. See—this.”

The old man pointed to the small, glowing screen. Erin peered down at the app his finger was pointing at.

“Oh. Safari. That’s an…that’s the internet app.”

“Is it?”

The old man frowned at Erin. He tapped the app and a screen popped up, glowing, white, before the typical ‘no internet’ page flashed on screen.

“You see? I am missing something for it to work. What connection do I need to obtain?”

“Um.”

Erin stared blankly at the screen, and then at the frowning face in front of her. She felt like her brain was trying to work a million miles a second while crawling along at a snail’s pace. She answered automatically as best she could.

“Well, you need internet. But uh, you don’t have internet here. No one in this…this world does. So…it’s not gonna work.”

“I see. That is inconvenient. Well then, am I to assume these other functions do not work for the same reason?”

The old man clicked a button and the iPhone went back to the menu screen. Erin peered at the iPhone, nodding her head.

“Youtube? Oh—that’s for watching videos. Yeah, it needs internet too.”

“But there are videos on this device.”

“Oh—those are downloaded. Uh, they’re part of it. Youtube needs…the internet.”

“Ah. And the store? This one?”

“Spotify? Yeah. Same problem.”

“I see. How tedious. Is there any other function I may have missed?”

“What?”

“I have listened to every song and watched every ‘video’ on this device. I have solved the riddle of this particular function—”

“You mean the app? 2048? The game?”

“Ah, that’s what they’re called? App. Hm. And yes, it was a quite entertaining game, or rather, logic puzzle. But is there anything else I can do with this device?”

“Well, you could—hold on.”

Erin raised her hand and stared at it. Then she slapped herself as hard as she could. Her head rang a bit.

“Ow!”

“That looked painful.”

“It was. Sorry. Well…you can take notes with the iPhone. See here?”

“Ah yes. And record what is spoken. A useful function, no doubt.”

“And—oh, Ryoka had Triple Town. See—”

Erin found the iPhone nearly snatched out of her hands. The old man stared down at the screen, eyes bulging.

“How did you do that? I couldn’t fathom how I did it once. But you’ve changed the screen!”

“Hm? You didn’t know? You can change the screen since there are more apps. See? You swipe left. Like this…”

“Swipe left. Fascinating.”

Erin stared at the old man as he clumsily moved his fingers across the screen. She felt compelled to reach for the one straw of rationality she had in this moment.

“I’m surprised…Ryoka didn’t tell you how the iPhone worked. Because this is totally something she gave you, right?”

“Hm? Candy Crush? Intriguing. Oh yes, I received this from her.”

“Ah.”

The young woman nodded a few times. The old man was mumbling to himself, mostly along the lines of ‘fascinating’, or ‘yes, this certainly deserves closer study’. Erin stared at him.

“What’s your name?”

“Teriarch. Mm. I can see there is much I have yet to explore. Tell me, I encountered a terrible problem when I went here. To settings, see? And I pressed—”

“Ooh, yeah. Reset. Don’t do that. It gets rid of everything.”

“So I had noticed. But why does it exist?”

“Um. So you can put other things on the device? If you had the internet I mean.”

“Really? How?”

Erin stared at Teriarch. She stared into his multicolored eyes and wondered if today was a good day or not.

“Uh, well, you can’t here. It’s impossible.”

“Ah. Well then, I shall make do with these new…apps. Thank you for your help, Erin Solstice.”

“Oh. No problem…have we met before?”

Teriarch paused. He raised his head from the screen he’d been staring at obsessively and looked at Erin. For the first time he looked into her face, rather than just at her as an object to be interacted with. And he frowned.

“You do look…familiar. How odd. I should know anyone I have encountered. But I…hrm. I think we have met.”

Erin nodded slowly. He seemed familiar. But from where?

“Well…you’re a friend of Ryoka? Or she knows you?”

“She has performed tasks for me before, yes.”

“Oh. I see. You’re her…mysterious client?”

Teriarch frowned, and Erin realized she might have violated Ryoka’s contract of silence or whatever. But Ryoka had never told her who Teriarch was, just that she’d met with someone who was powerful and could cast magic. Teriarch studied Erin slowly and nodded.

“Yes. I am a…mage. Of quite significant ability.”

“I can tell. Um. Are my friends going to be alright?”

Teriarch looked dismissively at the Horns of Hammerad. Erin saw Yvlon was on her knees, still coughing. She thought Pisces had one eye open, but both were closed when she looked again. Ceria was still out and Ksmvr was watching them silently.

What should she do now? Teriarch was clearly absorbed in the iPhone. He kept asking Erin what various apps Ryoka had downloaded did. Ryoka had quite a few games on her iPhone. More than one Erin was tickled to know Ryoka played, or had played in the past.

It was surreal. Teriarch was just…interested. He kept harrumphing importantly, but he was keenly fascinated with the iPhone. He had just beaten up her friends, but he’d left them alive. He didn’t seem evil. More like…odd? And Erin kept staring at him, feeling that tickling in her memory.

But something prompted Erin to break off from her explanation of how to play Angry Birds and frown. The warning bells in her head hadn’t died away. Rather, it was as if they had faded during the fight to let her think and act without being overwhelmed, but now that it was over they were still blaring loudly, telling her—

“Are you um, going to kill us?”

Teriarch paused and stared at Erin with a mixture of indignation and confusion.

“Me? Why would I kill you?”

“Well, you attacked us.”

“Yeah.”

That came from behind Teriarch and Erin. She turned and saw Ceria was standing upright, supported by Pisces on one side and Yvlon on the other. Ksmvr was still tied to the ground, calling out for aid now that the danger had passed.

“Help. I am stuck to the ground.”

“Ah. See, Erin Solstice? Your friends are alive and mostly unharmed.”

Teriarch gestured as Ksmvr sat up. Ceria blinked a few times at him, eyes partially unfocused. Erin hoped she didn’t have a concussion—Ceria just looked woozy.

“You attacked us. Why?”

“You were in my way.”

The sky was blue. The grass was green. It was a matter-of-fact statement that made Yvlon grit her teeth angrily. Erin just stared at Teriarch, feeling that same disconnect. He went on, arrogant, trying to score three stars in a level of Angry Birds.

“Explaining would have been a waste of my time. And this was entertaining, however easy it was.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at Teriarch. He frowned as one of the pigs escaped destruction.

“How did you do it?”

Pisces was next to speak. He stared at Teriarch wide-eyed, with more respect than Erin had ever seen in him in his life.

“You—all you were using were Tier 2 spells at best. But the style of your spellcasting—”

“Elementary. Any competent mage should be able to do as much, if not so quickly or with the same mana supply. You should be ashamed of yourselves not to have any counters against such low level spells.”

Teriarch shrugged. He nodded at Ceria.

“You should go to Wistram, half-Elf. With a decade of studying you may become a powerful mage yet.”

“We did go to Wistram.”

“Really?”

Teriarch’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. He stared at Pisces but seemed to ascertain that the mage was not lying. Teriarch snorted angrily.

“Standards have fallen greatly, then. Your spellcasting was beyond inferior. That was a decent attack with a sword I suppose, but unless you are a [Spellsword] or some other mage-warrior hybrid, I suggest you focus on magic.”

“Um.”

Erin raised her hand. She just felt like it was the thing to do. All eyes focused on her. Erin tapped her head.

“My [Dangersense] is still going off. Are you really not going to kill us, Teriarch?”

“Me? No. But…hrm.”

Teriarch stared off into the distance. His lips moved soundlessly, then he nodded.

“Ah. That explains much of your hostility. Your senses were alerted by a nearby Goblin Army. It is passing this way.”

“An army?”

The Horns of Hammerad went pale. Erin felt a jolt of fear in her chest, but she looked at the wagon. It was Termin of all people who wailed and clutched at his hair.

“Goblins! What will I do? Fox and Erma will be eaten for sure!”

Fox and Erma? Erin remembered those were Termin’s horses. She stared at the animals, feeling a jolt in her chest. Could they push the animals through the door? But if they did—what if the Goblins opened the door? Could they seal it off, then? But how would they get back?

Teriarch raised one eyebrow as Yvlon tried to convince Termin they had to leave his mounts behind. Pisces already had the door up and was yelling at Ksmvr to help him find a spot to hide it from the Goblins. Erin saw Teriarch tap Ceria on the head when no one was watching. Ceria frowned, blinked, and seemed to regain focus.

“Um, Mister Teriarch.”

He glanced at her, still holding the iPhone in one hand.

“Yes?”

“Can you help us? I dunno, somehow evade the Goblins?”

“You should be able to do it yourselves without my help. Unless—are you really planning to flee?”

“What would you do?”

Ceria stared at Teriarch. He looked incredulous.

“This is winter. The Goblin army is marching this way, but they are hardly filled with adept trackers and they do not know you are here. Conjure a snowstorm and evade them.”

The half-Elf shook her head instantly.

“We can’t do that. Pisces and I—neither of us know [Snowstorm] as a spell, and we’re not nearly high-level enough to cast it, let alone to affect such a large—”

“What are you talking about?”

Teriarch looked impatient. He began to lecture Ceria, much to Erin’s incredulity.

“[Snowstorm]? Why do you need to create snow? If you were standing in a jungle I could see the need, but you have an ample supply of snow right here. Use that. Even a Tier…1 spell should do.”

“How?”

Ceria’s ears drooped slightly as Teriarch’s glare pierced her in place.

“Are you really Wistram mages? Here. Like this. You—[Necromancer]! Come over here and help your friend!”

Pisces ran over as Teriarch walked over to a large expanse of snow and began ordering Ceria about. Erin stared at him as Yvlon and Ksmvr and Termin all stopped what they were doing to watch.

There wasn’t too much happening. Teriarch was just pointing to the ground at something the two mages could see and berating them. They kept flinching as he grew more and more impatient with them.

“There. Anchor the spell there and cast multiple incarnations of it—no, not like that! Why are you using your mana so poorly? A proper spell is efficient! And you—half-Elf! You’re wasting the energy of your spell with uncontrolled winds. The two of you cast in tandem like—well, that is barely acceptable.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew up, carrying a huge amount of snow with it. Teriarch nodded as Erin and the others gasped. The wind began to blow, and as he lent his power to the wind spells, it began to blow down the road. Erin turned to Termin, and pointed to the wagon.

“Um. Let’s get out of the way?”

He stared at her, face pale as the snow began whipping into the air. Then he scrambled towards the driver’s seat with the others.

----

The Goblin army was a massive force, thousands strong. Black-armored warriors marched with the undead, grim, sullen because they hadn’t been able to find any easy prey to kill and eat. Marching in the winter was bad enough with armor, but the stench of the undead made the Goblin warriors upset.

And what was worse, they’d run into a snowstorm. The Goblins grumbled and their scouts withdrew to form a tight perimeter around their army. If they ran into anything in the storm they’d kill it. But they could still follow the road so they pressed onwards until they reached the other side. It was a brief snowstorm, the Goblins reflected. But they took no more notice of it; they had Humans to kill, and other Goblins too for that matter.

----

Far away, the wagon Termin was driving rumbled to a stop as Erma and Fox panted in the snow. Erin hopped off the wagon and slowly walked up to the small ridge to see the last of the Goblin army disappearing in the distance.

“Wow.”

That was all she said. She turned back and saw Teriarch, sitting austerely on top of the wagon with an iPhone in hand, looking more out of place than anything she’d ever seen as Ceria and Pisces tried to ask him ten thousand questions at once.

“How did you learn to use magic like that? I’ve never seen spellcasting so—refined! And the way you do it…”

“It is one method of practicing magic. I consider it to be the most efficient. It is certainly superior to your…attempts. How have you not been taught the various schools of magic if you studied at Wistram?”

“We were expelled. We studied for years but…we never fully graduated.”

“We came close. I daresay we were as good as most mages, but Spingwalker is right. Yet we were allowed to claim the name. We are recognized Wistram mages still.”

That was Ceria and Pisces’ guilty confession, but it was hardly as surprising to Erin as the revelation that Teriarch was some kind of super-mage. Or an Archmage. Apparently magic, which Erin understood to be like math in some respects, was all about understanding spells. And Teriarch had shown Pisces and Ceria some shortcuts in magic, or things which he considered basic and they considered miraculous.

“Hmf. Even then. Any first-year student would have had such things drilled into them. At least, if Wistram is acting as a proper institution for education. What happened to Archmage Zelkyr? He would never have let mages sink so low.”

“Archmage…he’s dead. He died over a century ago. Two centuries, I think.”

“Oh…”

Both Pisces and Ceria had that huge-eyed, slack jawed expression of disbelief Erin was used to getting from time to time. She supposed she should be behaving the same way. Did that mean Teriarch was really old?

“Well, refine yourselves with what I have shown you. Your Skills and…classes should do the rest. You, half-Elf, study the spell I marked in that spellbook. It should compliment your ice magic skills. And you, [Necromancer]…”

He somehow knew what magic both Ceria and Pisces used at a glance. Teriarch sighed.

“We hardly need more necromancers. But I suppose your control of magic is quite good for one so young. Keep practicing.”

He stepped off the wagon. Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at him. Teriarch nodded to Erin. She hesitated.

“Oh. You’re gonna go? Um. Thanks?”

Was that the appropriate response? Teriarch nodded regally to her.

“And thanks to you as well for showing me how this device works. Farewell, Erin Solstice. We shall not meet again.”

That sounded sort of weird. And ominous. Teriarch began to stride through the snow, but Pisces leapt off the wagon and chased after him.

“Master Teriarch! Sir!”

Pisces flung himself at the snow at Teriarch’s feet. The old man looked more annoyed than anything else.

“What is it?”

“Please take me on as your apprentice! To learn from someone who lived during the time of Archmage Zelkyr—I would do anything for such an honor!”

Teriarch stared down at Pisces as the young man looked up hopefully at him. Erin’s jaw was open. Ceria looked like she was considering doing the same thing. Teriarch stared down at Pisces.

“No.”

Then he turned and walked away. Pisces ran after him, but it was as if Teriarch was suddenly walking at a different speed than Pisces. He strolled along, but then his form grew further and further away, until he was a speck in the distance. Then he was gone, and Pisces and the others were left alone in the snow.

In the silence that followed Erin wondered whether this was all a dream. She pinched herself.

“Ow. Nope.”

She turned to Ceria, who was pale-faced, clutching the burned spellbook in her hands. At Ksmvr, who was scratching at one of his antennae. At Yvlon, who was staring at where Teriarch had been, and at Pisces, standing forlornly in the snow.

In the end it was Termin who spoke. The older man sucked in his lips, and then shouted as loudly as he could.

“Who the hell was that?”

----

In his cave, Teriarch released the spell controlling his Human form at range and settled back into his cave. He created another image of the old man with the white beard and had it pick up the iPhone. The dragon hummed to himself as he flicked through the screens, staring at all the lovely new apps. He muttered to himself as he did.

“Is this what adventurers have sunk to? Ah, well. Perhaps they lied about being Silver-rank adventurers. And it was quite enjoyable to be out, although the outside was so busy…and the light was far too bright. Hmf.”

He paused as a thought came to him. Erin Solstice. He’d only gone to her because Ryoka had been at Reinhart’s estate and hard to reach without dealing with her at length. But she had recognized him and he, her. Where?

The Dragon’s eyes widened.

“The girl.”

For a brief second he considered sending himself out into the world again, to ask the girl how she’d found him. But then Teriarch hesitated, and stared at the iPhone.

The outside was…the outside. He preferred his cave. And he had so much to entertain himself with now. Teriarch put Erin out of his thoughts and went back to tapping buttons on the iPhone.

“Now what’s this? Cookie Clicker?”

The Dragon stared at the screen as it changed colors. He frowned, pondered, and then began to tap.

3.31 G

This is what she heard in the silence of the night.

[Tactician Level 16!]

[Conditions Met: Leader → Chieftain Class!]

[Chieftain Level 15!]

[Class Consolidation: Scavenger removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Tinkerer removed.]

[Skill – Tribe: Fleet Foot obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Tinkering obtained!]

It was like thunder in her mind. The words thundered in Rags’ head, waking her up instantly from her deep sleep. Unlike other times she’d leveled up, this announcement came towards the end of her rest. But once she had awoken, sleep was only a memory.

She had leveled up. Not only that, she had changed classes. She was a different person than she had been last night. Rags felt it. She was now a Chieftain, both among Goblins and in the eyes of the world.

Oh, sweetness. Rags made herself smile toothily as she sat up next to her personal campfire. She had been waiting a long time to hear those words.

In this world, leveling up was more important than a birthday. It was far more special than any holiday, and in fact constituted an occasion for rejoicing in itself. And so Rags told the rest of her tribe what had happened, knowing full well what would occur next.

A celebration.

Even Goblins partied, rare though such occasions were. It was a mark of a tribe’s wealth that they could celebrate anything. As wrong as Tremborag’s Goblins had been, they’d captured something in their huge banquets that represented Goblin society as a whole.

As dawn broke, the Flooded Waters tribe opened their stores of plundered food and piled wood on the embers of their fires. Goblins ran about, ate, drank what alcohol was available, had sex…

There really wasn’t much to a Goblin party. But it was a time when they could all relax, except for those few unhappy souls who had to keep watch. Rags sat in the center of her camp, content to eat and do little else. That was what being a Goblin was like she reflected; a happy moment was one where you didn’t have to do anything.

Of course, there was some attention paid to her as the center of this celebration. Rags was offered the choicest cut of meat and the best cooked food—although as Chieftain she generally got that anyways. She had her own seat which wasn’t crowded and other Goblins made way for her—again, standard for any Chieftain. But it was enough and appropriate. The only other thing Goblins did was stare at Rags and pat her approvingly as she passed—that got annoying fast for her.

Tremborag’s former Goblins were a bit more formal, however. Rags entertained several groups of Goblins who all congratulated her briefly and gave her small trinkets or choice bits of food. It was ceremony and she scowled at that, but made no comment.

It was just—Rags didn’t feel that good. She sat next to Pyrite, letting him munch on the food she’d been given, trying not to glare as a group of Goblins ran past her, fighting over a large kebab one of the Goblins in front was trying to keep away from the others. She longed to shout at them to share and stop running in case one of the Goblins lost an eye on the poking stick—Goblin parties could have casualties if they got too wild—but she knew that would be pointless.

Rags felt bad and couldn’t explain why. She knew there was reason to celebrate and liked the change in her class. It wasn’t as if she was officially a Chieftain thanks to getting the class, but the Skills and title did help. It was a good thing.

She didn’t feel happy, though. Accomplished—yes. Triumphant—yes. But happy?

No. Rags couldn’t bring herself to smile and rejoice over it like the other Goblins. Not today. She just felt…

Tired. A bit tired, and almost melancholy, which was an odd emotion for a Goblin to have. But whatever feeling was in her, it overwhelmed whatever euphoria Rags should have had.

Why? Perhaps it was because for all this day was a triumph, it wasn’t enough.

Creating crossbows, rebelling against Tremborag, learning how to use pikes, gaining the [Chieftain] class…today Rags could only think how small each of her accomplishments were. She stared moodily into the fire and didn’t gorge herself.

And other Goblins noticed.

It was the consequence of being around so many people who knew you so well, from the way you walked to how you smiled and breathed. Rags could see Pyrite eyeing her as he sat and ate, and she had noticed how other Goblins looked at her before going back to celebrating. They knew their Chieftain was upset, even if they didn’t know why.

But where Goblins differed from Humans and other species with similar characteristics was how they treated Rags. No Goblins went over to hug Rags or ask her how she felt. They left her alone to brood, and that made Rags feel better in itself. It was her problem, and Goblins didn’t like to get involved in problems.

----

The party lasted for around three hours until it ended all at once. Goblins stopped eating, mainly because they were full, and the mood in the camp returned to normal in minutes. Sensing the change, Rags stood up and began to shout orders. It was time to get to work.

The first order of the day, which she’d been planning on without the addition of her [Chieftain] class, was testing out her tribe’s warriors. Rags had a new tribe, forged out of many disparate groups. She had to know who she could trust to fight or go hunting, and who she had to keep an eye on and command directly.

So Rags organized a fight. Other races might have called it a sparring session, or a test of arms, or a mock battle. But Goblins knew a brawl when they saw one.

The rules were simple. Rags told all the Goblins to get rid of their armor, their weapons, and grab a stick or non-jagged rock. They formed into whatever groups suited them—some Goblins because they belonged to a group like the Redfang warriors, others because they were friends or family. Then Rags gave the command and all the various groups of Goblins ran at each other and started fighting.

It was not training. Training involved deliberately honing skills or practicing with weapons to become better in combat. Most Goblins didn’t bother to train, although the Redfang warriors were an exception. But this was just a chance for Goblins to settle grudges without killing anyone and a chance for Rags to observe.

She sat on a tree stump as Pyrite sat next to her, chewing on some leftover gristle from the morning. She’d exempted him from the fighting and so he organized Goblins who dropped out of the brawl.

In this case dropping out meant the Goblins had had enough of being pounded on and walked away. Or they were carried if they’d been knocked out. Some of the pregnant female Goblins and younger ones—and ones not inclined to fighting—helped with this. The rest just hit each other.

Rags nodded to herself as she stared into the seething mass of green bodies. Her keen eyes could pick out individual Goblin’s faces in the mass and so she saw what few others could.

The Redfang warriors were in the center of the battle, laying about with sticks and enjoying themselves immensely by the looks of it. They were easily dominating any other Goblins who came at them. However, they were outnumbered and so part of their group got split up. The Redfang warriors bashed their way through the Goblins, aiming for the edge of the fray where they could defend themselves more easily and wait to regroup with their friends.

Rags saw them reach another competent group of fighters. The all-female Goblin group was doing well against regular warriors, fighting with ferocity if not the same skill as the Redfang warriors. Rags paused though, as she saw a familiar head standing out among the rest of the Goblins.

The old Goblin. Rags frowned as she stared at the Goblin with the white beard who was happily tripping other Goblins up and kicking them while they were down. She’d told Pyrite to forbid Hobs from joining in the fight since they were too strong.

“Hey.”

She reached over and poked Pyrite. He grunted—she’d gotten close to one of his potion-healed belly wounds. Rags glared at him and pointed at the old Goblin.

“Why he there? Hob.”

“He is old. Doesn’t fight fully.”

That was all Pyrite said. It wasn’t a full explanation, but Rags took it to mean Pyrite was looking out for Greybeard. She shrugged and watched his group. Her ears were good enough to hear him. He was pointing and talking to the female Goblin warrior who lead the group.

“Mm. Go this way, leader? Is good way.”

Rags narrowed her eyes as the female Goblin warrior hesitated, and then led her Goblins left as the old Goblin had suggested. In the chaotic melee, her band of female Goblins somehow ended up in a perfect flanking position to the Redfang warriors. They helped another band of Goblins drub the elite Goblins until some more Redfang warriors ran into the backs of the Goblins and drove them apart.

That was odd. Had he known which way to go in that chaos? Or was it luck? For that matter, why did he belong with the female Goblins anyways? Rags knew he’d been in their faction in the mountain to survive, but it seemed odd their leader would accept his suggestions.

“He is smart.”

Pyrite told Rags when she asked, and the female Goblin said the same thing as she and her warriors stumbled away from the battle.

“Crafty old one. Worth feeding.”

That was that. Rags watched as the other Goblins kept fighting. It looked like the warriors from Tremborag’s tribe who’d joined her were a bit above her regular warriors in skill, but only just. It still ended with a loss for every Goblin but the Redfang warriors, at least in the sense of who had the most bruises. But Rags was pleased to see Garen Redfang’s best didn’t get out completely unharmed.

That done, Rags let the Hobs do the same thing, only this time they had to fight completely unarmed and all the other Goblins watched. Pyrite declined to fight, but almost all the other Hobs were up for scrap. Rags watched them beat each other energetically and privately agreed with Pyrite’s decision; the old Goblin would have gotten smushed battling these ones.

Hobs were strong. They had to be to be Hobs. Whether they were fat or thin, adept at long-ranged weapons or comfortable with a club, they were simply on a different level than normal Goblins. It bothered Rags a bit, as she watched them. Any one of these Hobs could kill her. If she had her crossbow and sword and shield she might have a chance, but if she missed—

She was a bit weak, wasn’t she?

Troubled, Rags watched the Hobs hit each other until they got bored. She let everyone break and eat lunch while she thought on her seat.

She now had a good idea who her best fighters and leaders were, and which units of Goblins excelled at what. So without further ado, Rags decided to divvy up Tremborag’s cache of weapons and armor right then and there.

Her Goblins hadn’t been idle testing out their new weapons. More than one sword had been blunted by hitting things, which was a pity, but a good whetstone would fix that. More importantly, Rags had an idea of which weapons were truly powerful.

There were only five. A wooden shield with faded paint showing some sort of flower on a field was unbreakable as far as her Goblins had been able to tell. They’d tried to burn it by dropping it in a campfire, had a Hob hit it, and let one of the felled trees drop on it. It didn’t break.

Another sword shocked anyone that touched the blade, fairly badly. It wasn’t a powerful enchantment per se, but it never stopped shocking and never ran out of magic. Any warrior with metal armor trying to block that would soon be numb.

A mace seemed to have the weight of a sledgehammer behind it. Another sword threw molten fire when you swung it hard—Rags eyed a badly burnt group of Goblins and decided not to give that one out. And one chest plate seemed to fracture any non-magical weapon that struck it, breaking the blades badly on impact.

Of course, there were plenty of other lesser magical artifacts. Some were sharper than they should be, others seemed unbreakable or burned or froze or in one case, made whatever they cut really itch. But the best artifacts were those five.

Rags was only slightly disappointed. She knew Tremborag had probably given the best artifacts out, but these were plenty good enough. They were of a higher quality than steel, which meant her warriors were outfitted as well as or better than most city militias. Even Liscor’s City Watch didn’t have magical weapons.

Dividing up the weapons among all of her eager warriors was a chore, though. Rags ended up giving both the shocking sword and the set of armor to Redscar, mainly because he was the highest-leveled warrior. He needed good equipment and besides, none of the Hobs could wear the chest plate. It was big on Redscar, but he could wear it more or less easily.

She would have given the armor to Pyrite if she could. Rags offered him the mace instead, or the sword, but Pyrite declined both. He preferred his axe. So she gave him the shield and he seemed quite pleased.

The last mace went to one of Rags’ Hobs, not one of the Redfang Warrior Hobs. This was purely to appease the Goblins who were upset the Redfang warriors got the bulk of the magical gear. Shields, high-quality armor, swords, and so on went to the delighted warriors. It made sense; they were Rags’ best fighters, but the other Goblins were unhappy.

There were still factions. Or perhaps the Goblins would have been unhappy in any case, but Rags appeased them by making the Redfang warriors give up their original gear and share it with her other warriors. That way, they still received an upgrade in their equipment.

That done, Rags finally let herself have lunch. She took a block of cheese and melted it over some meat and slapped some bread on it and ate it messily by her fire. While she did, Rags gauged the mood of the camp.

The Goblins who’d been upset about not getting magical weapons…were only upset. They sulked for a few minutes and then brightened up at their shiny new steel ones. The Redfang warriors were happy, and Tremborag’s former Goblins…

Seemed content. Some looked a bit disgruntled as they eyed the empty cart where only a few weapons remained—the molten fire sword and a shield that seemed to give any Goblin who held it a rash. Also, a spear that sprouted thorns everywhere except two specific handholds; none of the Goblins could remember where they were and kept getting their hands spiked. But Tremborag’s Goblins understood that giving the weapons away was better than locking them up.

And Noears? Rags saw him eating happily and shooting lightning to impress a female Goblin—he hadn’t cared about the weapons at all. Mages were like that.

Then Rags turned and saw the old Goblin. He was sitting next to Pyrite. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on him, the one oddity out of an otherwise predictable day.

He only acted stupid, Rags felt. She watched as he chattered to Pyrite, eating and laughing hugely as the other Hob ate in silence. That informed her next decision, much to the surprise of all Goblins.

Rags found that Goblins were best when they were led directly. Even under supervision, she required local group leaders to implement her orders. So she took her Hobs and divided them among her various groups. Some Hobs were in charge of leading hunting groups, others took over control of various warrior Groups.

A few Goblins were capable of leading too, of course. Redscar commanded the Redfang warriors as Rags’ mobile attack force and vanguard. And the female Goblin warrior—Rags had learned her nickname was Poisonbite thanks to the two poisoned daggers she wielded—Rags put in command of another group.

Her tribe had order. It had leaders. But Rags felt she needed one last thing. She was restless. And after watching the brawl…angry for no reason she could explain. So after a brief consultation with Noears and Poisonbite she struck camp.

Goblins usually organized fast, but all of Rags’ new policies and grouping caused delays. Still, it was best to iron out problems now and get her people used to the new system rather than later, so Rags gritted her teeth and dealt with the slow pace.

It was just hard to get everyone moving in the right formation. Rags wanted order when her tribe marched. Warriors would surround the noncombatants and valuable supplies and move in their units, rather than mix with non-warrior Goblins. It was a good idea, but hard to implement.

The new pikes proved to be another problem. The tribe had felled countless trees and fashioned hundreds of them, but they were just cumbersome to carry. They were obviously long and though they were actually lighter than they looked for being so tall—Rags guessed they were only around thirteen pounds in weight—they were still far heavier than a sword. Goblins had to work to carry them together, or if they were strapped to a wagon, they were so long they were in good danger of smacking Hobs or other obstacles as the wagons moved.

Rags sorted it out. Some Goblins could carry, and she had a few wagons modified to carry hundreds of pikes at one time. She yelled and bossed Goblins about and in the end she got her tribe moving.

They had to keep moving. It was just what Rags felt was right. She was missing something important. Their tribe finally set off, moving fast. Half again as fast as normal, in fact. To Rags’ delight, her skill [Fleet Foot] made her tribe move across the snowy ground with ease. She immediately tried to figure out how to use it to outmaneuver her enemies while marveling at how quickly her tribe could go.

And it meant they would definitely get where she wanted by tonight. Their destination was a well-known location to all of Tremborag’s Goblins, an area relatively uninhabited by Human settlements. For good reason. When Rags had heard of this place—a small village—she’d immediately wanted to see it for herself.

All of Tremborag’s former Goblins had objected, Poisonbite and Noears most stridently of all. But Rags had been adamant.

“Want to see.”

That was all she told them, and Rags overruled all the objections. But she was lying and she knew it. Rags just wanted to kill something today.

On the march, Rags summoned Noears and made him tell her and Pyrite all he could about the surrounding area. He was happy to do it and Rags found she liked how intelligent he was and the breadth of his knowledge.

“Learned much while acting stupid, Chieftain.”

He grinned at her and then pretended to be dumb, eyes losing focus, letting his mouth fall open as he drooled on himself. Pyrite grunted and grinned as he chewed on some frozen tree sap. Rags smiled despite her mood.

“Good. Other tribes?”

Noears nodded. He counted on his fingers, listing off several big Goblin tribes.

“Tremborag is biggest by far. But strong Chieftains live here.”

“Have to be strong. Or run or die.”

Pyrite added. Noears and Rags both nodded.

“Strong Chieftains. Not run. One—big Hob with tribe of many Hobs. Another—[Witch]. Knows fire magic. And a tribe with many thieves. Sneaks into places and steals…”

Rags listened, nodding appreciatively at the information. These tribes certainly were a cut above the ones around Liscor. She wondered if there were Goblin tribes in the south who were just as strong, besides the two she knew of. Had the Goblin Lord absorbed all of them into his army?

She was also curious about one of the Chieftains Noears had mentioned. A Chieftain who was also a [Witch]? Rags would love to meet her, but they were too far away. Going to visit their territory would mean a long journey, careful planning, scouting and fighting against monsters and Humans…and besides, after Tremborag, Rags was a bit tired of meeting new tribes.

That was how Rags occupied herself on the first part of the march. The second part as they crossed an open section of ground filled with untouched snow was devoted to fighting and avoiding monsters.

Golem!

The cry went up among the Goblins. Rags immediately kicked her Carn Wolf and shot forwards. She saw Redfang Warriors racing towards her waving their arms, at the same time she saw the Snow Golem.

It was…about the size of a hill. That was to say, it was around two hundred…two hundred and sixty feet high. And it was nearly as wide as it was tall. The massive abomination of snow groaned, the sound echoing for miles, the product of shifting tonnes of snow and dirt and rock.

Rags stared at the Snow Golem. It was no classic snowman built by Human kids anymore. It was more like a squat, vaguely pyramidal horror with long arms that scythed around aimlessly as it moved. Slowly.

It hadn’t noticed the Flooded Waters tribe yet. Rags immediately shouted and her Goblins changed course, moving perpendicular to the Snow Golem to keep well away from it.

Snow Golems. Goblins knew countless monsters thanks to their tribal memory and experience living in the wilderness. But Snow Golems were usually one of the few monsters Goblins didn’t fear. After all, a normal one wasn’t that big unless the kids that made it were really ambitious and all they could do was smack you with their twig arms.

True, they could hit you hard enough to draw blood, but they were just snow. Hardly a threat unless they smothered you. Of the Golem species, Snow Golems were weaker than Mud Golems or Sand Golems, which was…embarrassing, really.

It was only when they got this big that Snow Golems got less funny. In the Winter, Snow Golems could get very big very fast, and hill-sized ones like these were to be avoided at all costs. So long as you kept your distance though, you were still pretty safe. All a Snow Golem could do at range was hurl part of itself at you. That was a concern with such a huge one, but they had terrible aim.

Giant Snow Golems weren’t too dangerous…unless you happened to walk past one while it wasn’t moving. Then the Snow Golem would grab you and swallow you whole. The stones, shards of ice, and crushing pressure of the Golem’s body would grind you into paste quite quickly.

Oh, and cities, Rags supposed. If a Snow Golem found a city or village it would have to be slain quickly or lured away. Otherwise the city would be destroyed.

But all in all, it wasn’t a threat. Rags was just relaxing as the Snow Golem became a distant mound slowly moving on the horizon when she heard another call go up.

“Attack! Monster!”

It was Noears who delivered this report. Rags turned left and saw something coming at her tribe through the snow, leaving a geyser in its wake.

Yes, most monsters usually fled a huge force of Goblins. No lone Mothbear would attack a vast tribe, even if it was starving. But some monsters could prey on Goblin tribes, attacking fast and taking away their victims. Other monsters were just insane.

Which kind was this? Rags couldn’t see the monster amid the churning snow, but she shouted and the nearest group of warriors rushed forwards. They all had pikes she was glad to see, and they formed a wall, aimed at the approaching monster.

Rags waited, tense, astride her snarling wolf. More Goblins were rushing towards her, but they’d get here after the monster. She had to weather the first assault. And now, as the monster charged her Goblins, she saw what it was.

Half of a thing. At least, that’s what Rags thought. The creature was dark green, skin full of crags. It looked…like half of a body. The upper half.

Huge, terribly long and powerful arms with massive claws that dragged it forwards. A torso of some dark green hide armored with what looked like scales of metal. But no lower half. And no head. Rags saw a gaping mouth where the neck should be, but no eyes.

It was some kind of horror, some monstrosity. Rags felt her Goblins shudder, but she shouted at them to hold position. There was no time to load her crossbow—Rags pointed at the thing and cast [Firefly].

The flaming insect-bird burned as it struck the monster, but the searing heat seemed to do nothing to the monster’s thick hide. Rags pulled the gem of [Terror] from her belt and held it up. Only briefly—it would affect her Goblin warriors too. But though they shuddered as the effects struck them, the crawling thing only dragged itself forwards again, ignoring the magic.

Hold ground!

Rags screamed it at her warriors, and then the crawling monster crashed into the rows of pikes. It didn’t slow, and it didn’t stop. Rags saw the wooden tips of the pikes breaking as they snapped under the monster’s charge.

But some stuck into the creature. It jerked as two rammed deep into it, drawing viscous green blood. But it still kept coming.

Goblins screamed and the formation broke as the pikes failed. The crawling thing snatched up five Goblins and pressed them against its oval mouth full of teeth. Rags saw the Goblins screaming, flailing—then only blood.

“Chieftain!”

Lightning struck the crawler as it dropped the remains and crawled towards Rags. She pulled her mount back as Noears ran forwards and zapped the crawler. It didn’t flinch as it kept coming.

“Redfang!”

Another cry. Redfang warriors on Carn Wolves sped forwards, slashing at the dark green hide of the crawler’s back, drawing blood. But their weapons failed to cut deep as well, and the crawler swung at them, knocking one Goblin off his wolf.

“Surround! More pikes! Get Hobs!”

Rags screamed at her Goblins, trying to organize them. She brought every pike she could to bear on the thing—giving her Goblins a chance to hurt it as it charged them. She had crossbows pelting it, but still the crawler kept charging into the ranks of her warriors, heedless of the horrible injuries it was taking.

In the end, her Hobs had to wade in and bash it to death. The one with the mace managed to break something in one of the arms, and the others held the second down while Pyrite and the strongest Hobs beat at the thing. It took a long time to die.

When it was over, Rags counted the dead. Thirty five Goblins had died, eight of them Redfang warriors. She felt disgusted at herself and angry at the thing—when Noears told her it was a good battle she nearly struck him.

“Killed too many!”

He just shrugged. He was sweaty from casting so many spells, but he looked better than her Hobs. All of them had taken wounds, especially the ones who’d had to hold down the thing’s good arm. Rags shouted at one to get a potion and the Hob gratefully went to get one from one of the wagons. She glared at Noears.

“What was?”

He shook his head as he stared at the dead green thing, lying in a puddle of its own gore in the stained snow.

“Crawler. Armored one.”

Rags eyed the dead monstrosity. None of the Goblins were willing to get near it, although a few with pikes kept poking it to make sure it wasn’t faking.

“What is?”

He didn’t know. Some kind of failed mage experiment maybe? Whatever the original had been, it had found a way to multiply over the years. It was just one monster among the ones around Invrisil, if a rare breed. The crawlers were suicidally aggressive. They’d attack anything edible, regardless of the danger. That they were still around was a testament to how hard they were to kill.

Rags stared at the dead Goblins, already going to a wagon to be chopped up later for food. She looked away.

She hadn’t participated in the battle. Oh, she’d organized her tribe, but Rags had only cast one spell. She’d had to lead, not fight. And her Goblins were dead because of it. It made Rags feel sick to her stomach, but she could only move on.

The Goblins left the crawler behind. None of them wanted to try eating it, and Rags wasn’t sure if it would be safe. She had the Goblins who’d gotten blood on them scrub the places clean with hot water, and then she marched on. They weren’t far from the village now.

It was late in the evening when Rags saw the village, a collection of rundown buildings in the snow, looking for all the world like an abandoned settlement.

She wasn’t fooled, though. As soon as she saw the village Rags immediately ordered all the non-warriors to pull back a few hundred feet with a good-sized detachment of warriors to guard them. The rest of her warriors she took with her.

To battle.

The Goblins who lived in this part of the continent shuddered as they approached. They knew what this place was. The other Goblins picked up on the mood, but Rags kept them going.

And as they approached the village, the keen eyes of the Goblins began to pick out the inhabitants. The villagers wandered among the ruins of their home, shambling, ignoring the freezing snow.

Zombies.

It seemed like the light was darker around this place, or maybe the sun was just setting more quickly. But this was a famous spot. A village of the dead. A place where the dead could not die.

Zombie villages weren’t unheard of. If a horde killed off an entire village, they could soon all become shambling undead creatures. But this one was…unique. Because these zombies didn’t move from this village. They guarded their former home in death as they had in life.

No one knew why. But though adventuring teams had been sent and monsters had clashed with the undead, no one had been able to raze the village once and for all. There were simply too many zombies. With each death, a new one rose to join their ranks so that this village was small, but Rags knew hundreds or more than a thousand zombies had to be hiding in the snow, or in the houses.

No one came here. There was too much death. Overwhelming death. That was the consensus among Goblins and Humans, it seemed. This village of the dead was a beehive waiting to be disturbed. And once it was, it would consume whomever was foolish enough to trespass here.

But Rags wanted a fight. She had her sword and buckler out and she was leading her Goblins herself—against her commander’s objections. Pyrite was walking next to her, axe on his shoulder. He’d only nodded when she said she wanted to test her forces against this village.

Rags called a halt as she saw the zombies take notice of her warriors. She began organizing them, putting pikes out front, having her crossbows move to the center while she pulled the wolf riders back for quick attacks. She was going to attack this army of the dead with her new formation and see how well it held up.

It felt wrong to make her Goblins fight after the crawling thing, but Rags had decided to do it anyways. The way they’d broken when it had gotten past the pikes proved that she needed to drill them, to make them into a unified fighting force.

The zombies came in a shambling mass. They didn’t run, but they moved faster than Rags would have liked. She eyed them, watching for the telltale sign of Ghouls or other undead stalking along the mass of zombies, but found none around the outskirts of the village.

More were rising from the snow. Rags looked at her Goblin warriors. She had a good box formation—a phalanx if Rags had known the word—going on. But she didn’t want to remain stationary.

“Pikes!”

They stiffened as Rags raised her voice. The Goblin warriors holding the pikes were not elites. They didn’t like being in front without Hobs, but Rags wanted to prove to them her new tactics would work. She shouted at them and they tensed, leveling their spears at the sea of dead bodies coming at them.

“Charge!”

Rags pointed her sword and the Goblins around her ran forwards, screaming in both fear and rage. She ran too.

The pike Goblins hit the zombies hard. Rags saw bodies being impaled on the spears, and those that survived ran into the Goblins in the formation with swords who hacked at them. Rags shouted, and the pikes fought for a few seconds before attempting to disengage.

It was hard. She ran forwards, cutting and found Pyrite and other Goblin warriors were at her side. They forced the zombies back and the Goblins ran, some abandoning their pikes despite Rags shouting.

Rags thrust her short sword into a zombie’s head and watched as it fell. But only seconds after it had fallen she saw it trying to get back up. She cursed. This wasn’t what she’d thought would happen at all!

This village of the dead refused to die. Zombies came back to life…in a manner of speaking. When killed, they would reattach their severed limbs, regenerate burned skin. Rags had heard it was possible to kill them by disintegrating them or chopping them up into really small bits, but it was hard to do that when countless more of them were attacking you.

She’d thought it would be a good group to test her warriors on. But these zombies came back to life fast. Rags burned the corpse with [Firefly] and shouted at her warriors to retreat.

They did so, the Hobs moving back last. They were far stronger than zombies and easily cut the dead apart. But they kept coming back.

This truly was a village that no one could use. Necromancers couldn’t control these strange zombies, and it was pointless to try and eradicate the bodies. They just kept reforming, making the dead villagers and victims over the years into a truly immortal force. And if it were just zombies it would be fine. However…

“Ghouls!”

Rags heard the cry go out. She looked over and saw Poisonbite shouting. Crossbows loosed and Rags saw darting shapes streaming out of the village stumbling, but more came on. She shouted and the Goblins around her started running in a true retreat.

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard Pyrite and turned to see a Ghoul leaping at her from the left. She cut at it and dodged it. The Ghoul landed, one arm dangling uselessly. Rags stabbed at it. She got it in the throat, but the Ghoul just impaled itself further on her blade as it rushed at her. Rags bashed it with her buckler, but the Ghoul cut her. It ripped at the leather armor on her stomach and Rags gasped as she felt something slice her belly. Then it struck her on the head and the world went dark.

“Chieftain!”

Something shook the ground around Rags. She stumbled, flailing with the buckler but the Ghoul was gone. Rags fell back. So. She couldn’t kill one Ghoul? She really was…

She felt someone pulling her back. Away…

When Rags woke up, her tribe was marching quickly. She sat up groggily, but it was dark. She realized they were marching away from the village and dropped her head back to whatever she was lying on.

Rags slept.

----

When he was young, the Goblin King often caught the many varieties of insects in his jungle home. He would study each one he caught before eating them. Some were brightly colored beetles, others worms with wings, or biting insects made far too large. Many were poisonous and kept him sick. Others were actually tasty, or had beneficial effects.

The Goblin King learned which were good and taught his friends and tribe. So it was that he became a [Healer] long before he became a Chieftain of his tribe. And he never forgot, even when his [Healer] class was merged into his [Chieftain] class…

Rags sat up. She covered her aching head in her hands and then realized she was healed. She was healed—

And she was in camp. It was late at night, very late. Goblins were camped…where? Rags looked around.

They were sitting in the middle of the snowy plains. Far, a few miles away from the village. Far enough that Pyrite must have decided they were safe. He’d saved her.

Rags remembered what had happened in jolts as she struggled to her feet. She felt tired—weak. And ashamed.

“Chieftain.”

Someone came towards her. A huge shape. Pyrite. He saw Rags was up and immediately called out. A Goblin ran over with hot meat on a stick. Rags tore at it greedily as Pyrite led her to a fire where the ground had been cleared to sit.

Goblins were lying or sitting in small groups in the cold night. Many of them glanced up as Rags passed by and then looked down. She couldn’t meet their eyes and the food in her hands cooled as she lost her appetite.

“Eat. Sit.”

Pyrite sat Rags down. She found herself sitting at a small fire with the Hob and one other Goblin. Greybeard smiled at Rags as he chewed on some tough meat.

There was something in Rags’ eyes. It made her stare at the fire and it was in Pyrite’s gaze and Greybeard’s as well. Not reproach; that would have been easier.

“How many dead?”

That was all Rags asked. Pyrite thought.

“Less than a hundred.”

He didn’t lie, but Rags didn’t want to know how many less than a hundred really was. Ninety nine? She stared into the fire.

“My fault.”

None of the Goblins around her replied. They knew it was true. Rags had made a mistake. She’d taken her Goblins here to fight—because she’d wanted to fight. She’d wanted to prove she was a good warrior and a Chieftain. All she’d done was get Goblins killed.

“Chieftain wants to be a warrior. Is not one.”

Greybeard cackled and Pyrite poked him hard, making the older Goblin yelp. Rags said nothing. She bowed her head.

A bit of envy. A bit of frustration. She did want to be a better warrior than she was. She liked being a Chieftain, but it hadn’t been enough, had it? So she’d killed over a hundred Goblins today with her pride.

It was painful. And yet Rags still felt the same desire in her chest. The urge.

“Too weak. I am weak.”

She looked at Pyrite. He paused, and nodded.

“Best leader is smart. But strong is also good.”

“I must be strong.”

Greybeard nodded. Pyrite nodded. Rags knew the Goblins pretending to slumber around her agreed. A Chieftain could be cunning, but she had to be strong enough too. Strong with her head, strong with her body—Rags desired both.

“Tell me about the Goblin King.”

Rags said it suddenly. She looked at Greybeard and the old Goblin froze. Pyrite looked at Rags.

“Long time ago.”

“Yes.”

Long for a Goblin. But not for a Human. Many had been alive when the last Goblin King had, and Tremborag had fought with him. Surely this old Goblin knew the King. Rags remembered the Goblin King as a small Goblin, foraging in a jungle and was suddenly consumed by curiosity.

“Who was he? Why did he kill? What does it mean to be Goblin?”

The Goblins fell silent. What few that had been eating paused, and Rags knew that they weren’t pretending to look away. All eyes turned to Greybeard.

And he—lost his usual grin. He stopped eating and stared into the fire. And when he spoke, his voice was deeper. It wasn’t crackling and merry, but somber. Quiet.

“The Goblin King was a peaceful king for many years. Six years he ruled and we lived without fighting.”

Rags stared at him. She had never known that.

“Without?”

“Without.”

Greybeard tossed an unchewed bone into the fire and watched it crack.

“We made peace with the Humans, Gnolls, even Drakes. On this continent. On Baleros we forged alliances. While he lived, Goblins were only hunted in a few places, and most of us prospered.”

He only acted stupid. Rags stared at the old Hobgoblin and looked at Pyrite. He looked at her, calm and unsurprised. He knew Greybeard was smart. How?

“You remember?”

Rags saw Greybeard turn. His face was caught by the dim firelight and she saw a younger Goblin there. How old did you have to be to have your hair turn white? He grinned at her, exposing his remaining yellow teeth.

“Know him? I saw him die. I was there. I remember the Goblin King, Velan. And as the Humans and other races named him: Velan the Kind. And I remember the King before that. Curulac of a Hundred Days.”

Silence. Perfect, so quiet you could hear the snow fall. No Goblin here had known the last Goblin King. And Rags had never known the one before him.

Curulac. Who had he been? The oldest memory she had experienced hadn’t hinted of him. She could only look back to the Goblin King’s youth now.

“What were they like?”

Greybeard paused. Then he pointed up and smiled.

“Like stars.”

Rags looked up at the night sky. She stared as some clouds shifted and the stars emerged. She understood. Distant, radiant things, untouchable. Unreachable.

“How can I become a better Chieftain?”

“Learn.”

That was all Graybeard said. Pyrite stared at Rags and shrugged. He fished the bone out of the fire, cooled it in some snow, and began to chew it to bits.

Rags got up and walked away from the fire. She walked around her camp once, twice. She checked on the wounded, but Pyrite had given potions to those that needed it. She watched the sun rise, and then found the Redfang warriors.

They were quiet too from last night’s battle. But few of them had died, and they were already beginning to train as the sun slowly rose. Rags stopped before Redscar with her buckler and sword. He was doing pushups. He paused, and then turned his head sideways as Rags got down on the ground and copied him.

“Chieftain. Bad form.”

“How?”

“Like this.”

He corrected her arms, made her place her hands wider, straighten her back. Rags grunted as she struggled to hold that position. She was fit, but not like he was. After a while her arms began to hurt, but she kept lowering herself to the ground and lifting herself up slowly.

“Good. Slow. Do twenty more.”

Redscar supervised her as Rags did more pushups, determined not to cry out. She knew other Redfang warriors were watching her. When she was done, she was sweating with exhaustion in the cold.

“What now?”

“Now—other exercises. Want to try?”

“Yes.”

Rags followed Redscar as he performed various stretches and moves which made her muscles burn. When he was done Rags felt as if she’d never been more tired. She hadn’t known just doing things like lifting her legs over her head could get so tiring.

“Chieftain is not bad.”

Redscar grinned at Rags. He had a sword in his hand. She eyed it as she sat up.

“What now?”

“Now? Sparring unless moving.”

Rags made a face. She hated sparring. She’d done it with Garen and leveled up, but only a bit. She pointed at the other Redfang warriors. They were locking blades, letting each other parry blows, strike at each other. When they were actually intending to hit each other they used dull, wood weapons.

“Does it work?”

“Works. You will level.”

“Haven’t much.”

Rags caught a tossed practice sword and hopped back as Redscar slashed at her. She held her buckler up and jabbed at him, keeping him away. He slid forwards and nearly broke her guard with a heavy blow.

“Garen Redfang only beat you up. Training means winning too.”

Pyrite and Greybeard found Rags training with another Redfang warrior as the rest of the Goblins finished packing up the camp. Rags was exhausted. She’d lost to Redscar every time they’d sparred, but won twice against some of the weaker Redfang warriors.

Greybeard cackled as he saw Rags bash a Redfang warrior in the head and then poke him hard in the gut with her wooden sword.

“Hah! Chieftain is strong! For Goblin.”

“Not for Hob.”

“True.”

Redscar watched approvingly from the side. He and the other Redfang warriors had observed Rags’ progress and she felt they were more accepting of her than they had been. She wasn’t nearly as good as they were, but she had kept up with them.

“Will train every day?”

Pyrite glanced at one of the Redfang Hobs who was dueling four Goblins at once. Rags nodded. She saw Poisonbite and Noears had come by as well. Poisonbite was watching some of the male Redfang warriors who’d stripped down to almost nothing with interest. Noears was watching the female ones with interest.

“Will train. Pyrite, you will too. All warriors will.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags nodded appreciatively at him, but Poisonbite scowled. She folded her arms, looking unhappy at the idea of that kind of exercise.

“Goblins do not train.”

Rubbing her sore arms, Rags eyed her. Poisonbite was one of the typical Goblin warriors. She liked fighting, but didn’t like practicing fighting. You either fought or rested. She answered the female Goblin shortly.

“My Goblins will.”

“Is it Goblin?”

The challenge came as Rags was picking up her short sword. Rags whirled, fury in her eyes. It wasn’t a direct attack, but it was as close as any Goblin had come. Poisonbite flinched a bit, but she didn’t back down from Rags.

“It is Goblin. Goblins must be strong.”

“Training is not Goblin.”

Poisonbite didn’t quite dare meet Rags’ eyes. Rags hissed. Why were Goblins like Poisonbite so small? So…?

She had her sword in one hand. Rags longed to raise it, but someone hurried in front of her. Greybeard. He had a bowl of soup in his hands and cackled at her in that deceptive tone of his.

“No angry, Chieftain. Calm, yes. Eat food. Is tasty. Eat.”

She stared at him. Two innocent eyes stared back. Greybeard was pretending to be…senile again. With a noise of disgust Rags seized the bowl. She found she did feel better after a few mouthfuls of food, but she still eyed Poisonbite angrily.

“Did the Goblin Kings do that?”

“Do what, Chieftain?”

Greybeard stared at Rags innocently. She stared back.

“Did they do it? Train?”

“If they did, it was Goblin.”

It was a non-answer. Rags made a noise of disgust and hurled the empty bowl at Greybeard. He caught it and cackled.

“Training is good! Makes Goblins strong! If Chieftain says so, is it not Goblin?”

“It is good. And it will make Goblins live.”

That was all Rags said. She stared at Poisonbite—the other Goblins refused to meet her eyes. But Noears calmly nodded.

“Yes Chieftain.”

That would have to do. Rags nodded. But Redscar intercepted her as she went back for a second helping of food.

“Chieftain. Where now?”

Rags stared at him blankly. Then she remembered. They were camped out here, with provisions depleting with each meal. What should they do now?

She only had a vague idea. Rags hesitated, then pointed south.

“Go home. Fight Goblin Lord. Make base.”

Redscar nodded.

“Old Redfang base? Good. Defensive.”

“Maybe.”

Rags pondered. She was more concerned about the immediate march.

“Must hunt. Get food. Also—Humans.”

The Goblin bared his teeth, making the scar on his face twist.

“Lots of Humans, Chieftain. To kill?”

Rags hesitated. That certainly seemed to be their only choice. But…

Too weak. Rags felt the same pang in her chest. How could she lead her tribe when she couldn’t be fighting in the front? No—how could she order them to fight Human adventurers, who might kill hundreds of them?

She was not Tremborag. But she was a Chieftain now. She had the class. Rags felt it. The thing she’d felt since waking yesterday.

Pressure. And a bit of fear that she wasn’t good enough.

But she was Chieftain. Rags squared her shoulders and stood tall. She looked down at Redscar, though he was physically taller than she was. But Rags stood ten feet tall. She was a Chieftain. And inspiration flickered in her mind as she stared across her vast tribe, thousands strong now.

“We will go south. And Humans? I will beat them all.”

“You, Chieftain? How?”

“With head. Not arm.”

Redscar stared at her. Then, he smiled.

“Good. That is why we follow you.”

Rags grinned in reply.

----

It was a large adventuring group that found the Furgather Tribe in their home. Over forty Bronze-rank adventurers and six Silver-rank adventurers attacked the tribe’s camp at midday. They slew the Chieftain and fought the Hobs with overwhelming numbers while the others held the Goblins at bay.

They had come to wipe out the tribe. The Goblins were pressed up against a cliff wall, unable to escape. Old Goblins and children fled the adventurers with blades, who cut down all Goblins without distinction. If some hesitated when they saw the infants, well, they were new. The Silver-rank ones had taken more than one extermination request.

The Furgather tribe wasn’t a strong one. They had preyed on villages, stolen rather than killed. They were weak, the weakest of monsters in a place where only the strong survived. Now, the remaining Goblins cried out as they formed an ever-shrinking core, trying to defend their friends and families.

They cried out for someone to save them, knowing that no one would come. Knowing there were no gods, and certainly none for Goblins. But someone did hear them.

A wolf howled. The adventurers heard the sound and some turned to look. They saw a wolf sitting on a distant hill. One of the adventurers with [Keen Eyes] cried out and pointed.

“Mounted Goblin!”

There was indeed a Goblin mounted on the back of the Carn Wolf. She had a crossbow in her hands and she was aiming it at the adventurers. Instantly, they turned—ten Bronze rank adventurers keeping the remaining Furgather Goblins pinned while the rest spread out. Where there was one Goblin, they knew there would be more.

But they were not prepared for the army that came over the hill. Goblins, a huge mass of them, flooded over the hill. Not just any wild Goblins either; the adventurers saw a row of pikes forming a wall aimed at them, while the rest took positions behind them.

Thousands of Goblins. Some sat on the backs of huge red wolves, others were the dreaded Hob variants, tall as any Human and far stronger than most. And the Goblins standing on the hill all had crossbows trained on the adventurers.

They had height, numbers, and everything else on their side. The adventurers froze with fear. They saw huge Hobs, a match for any Silver-rank adventurer, among the Goblins’ number.

They were going to die.

But the Goblins didn’t attack. They held position, waiting. And then the Goblin the adventurers had first seen rode slowly towards the tribe. She was small. Young. But she was their Chieftain.

And she saw what the adventurers had done. The Goblin looked at the dead bodies of the Furgather tribe’s warriors and sighed. Then she looked at the adventurers. There was something cold in her eyes. But all she said to them were two things.

“Drop weapons.”

The adventurers stared at her. Rags pointed at one of them—a Silver-rank [Ranger] with a bow.

“Drop. Or die.”

She hesitated. The other adventurers waited for her cue. Did they fight and surely die, or surrender and…? They knew what Goblins did to women.

The [Ranger] chose to fight. She swung her bow up, but lightning struck her and eight arrows struck her before she could draw the arrow in her bow. She fell, and the other adventurers cried out—eight arrows had struck the [Ranger], but stray shots had landed among them.

“Surrender.”

That was all the small Goblin said. The adventurers threw down their weapons, realizing they had no chance. The Furgather Goblins rushed forwards, crying out with rage, but the Goblin on the wolf shouted something at them in their own language.

It was a strange group of forty nearly naked adventurers who ran from the place where the Furgather Goblins had lived. Their armor was gone, as were their weapons. But they were alive, which was more than could be said for many of the Furgather tribe. They sat, mourning their dead as some were made into food.

Rags found one of the Goblins who might be in charge. He stared up at her, afraid of her Carn Wolf and her strange tribe. She nodded to him.

I am Rags. Flooded Waters Chieftain.

He gabbled his thanks at her. Rags cut him off. She pointed at his tribe.

“Can rebuild. Or follow.”

Then she turned and rode away. Her tribe followed. The Furgather Goblin stared at her back for a second, and then called out. His Goblins followed Rags’ tribe.

----

An hour later, a large caravan moved down the road, headed towards the city of Ostegrast. It was a large caravan as they went. Over thirty laden wagons rumbled down the road, protected by a force of nearly a hundred [Guards] and [Mercenaries]. Around these lands, there was safety in such numbers. The [Traders] and [Merchants] in the convoy sat comfortably on their mounts, secure in the knowledge that few monsters would dare attack them.

But then they heard the drumbeats. At first, it was just an odd sound that made some of the Humans pick at their ears, wondering if they were hearing things. But then they heard the sound grow louder, and knew it was no illusion.

“An army?”

The [Merchant] in charge of the caravan rode up beside the [Mercenary Captain], a tall man who used a broadsword and shield. The man frowned as he looked towards the horizon.

“I haven’t heard of one. And they wouldn’t be beating the drums. There’s no war going on!”

“Then what—”

The question went unasked. The drums suddenly grew louder, and more sounded from the opposite direction of the caravan. It slowed as all of those riding had a terrible premonition.

“Can we get off the road?”

“Too late.”

The mercenary drew his sword and shouted orders. The caravan moved into a circular formation and the guards spread out to guard their charges. And all the while the heavy beats grew louder and louder.

The drums thundered. They sounded more like crashing metal than a conventional drum. The rhythmic thumping went through the bones of the Humans who stared around in fear.

Then they saw the Goblins. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They seemed to appear from nowhere out of the snow. And indeed—some of them were sitting up and brushing snow off of their bodies. They had been lying there, waiting for the caravan.

It was a trap! The [Guards] closed ranks around the frightened [Merchants] and [Traders]. They held their weapons up as an act of defiance more than anything else; against so many Goblins and surrounded as they were, there was no hope of survival.

A Goblin rode forwards. Rags had the gem of [Terror] in one hand, but she didn’t want to use it. She wanted those horses and the cargo—intact.

The Humans were waiting for death, but they weren’t prepared for the Goblins on the other side of the road to part ranks. They stared as the opening formed and at Rags with suspicion and fear.

“Leave wagons. Run. Live.”

Rags grinned at them, her black crossbow resting on her Carn Wolf’s head, much to the beast’s annoyance. The Humans hesitated.

Goblins? Acting like bandits? It was unheard of. Goblins would rather just slaughter all of them, surely. But this Goblin was giving them a way out.

The mercenary captain was first to move. He cautiously called out, and his soldiers shuffled towards the gap. The [Merchants] and [Traders] shouted at them to stay, but no one in the convoy was going to die for nothing. Soon, all the Humans were standing away from the wagons. They stared at Rags, as if afraid she was going to order her Goblins to attack now.

“We can leave? You swear it?”

One of the Humans called out uncertainly. Rags rolled her eyes she waved her hands.

“Shoo. Go away.”

She gestured, and the Humans slowly backed away towards freedom. Only when they were past the last Goblins and dared to race away on their horses did Rags signal her Goblins to move in.

The cargo was full of food and other goods, a bountiful shipment meant to keep the Human city well supplied and make the [Merchants] and [Traders] rich. Rags grinned as she and Pyrite inspected the boxes.

“Lots of horses.”

She liked horses. They were good at pulling things and tasty, too. Pyrite was also smiling. There was some dried jerky in the crates that he was already tasting.

“Do again?”

Rags nodded. She figured she had one day before word got out. Goblins raiding the roads was bad for business, and surely an army would be sent to destroy them. But by that point she’d be going south, to war with the Goblin Lord.

And perhaps…perhaps the army sent would be slower than most. Because Rags had only killed five Humans today. Only the ones who would rather die than give up their goods or throw down their weapons.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was her plan. Goblins could be like bandits, who were more like people than Goblins. And she could win battles with her head and without losing a single Goblin, which was better than them dying.

She smiled at Pyrite. He chewed some jerky and offered her some. She waved it away.

“Is this good Chieftain thing?”

He shrugged.

“Scare the Humans. Good plan. Is fun.”

Rags nodded. She stared towards the sky. It was daytime, so the stars weren’t visible. But she wondered if the Goblin King had been like this. Once upon a time. Had he wondered if what he was doing was right? Had he made so many bad mistakes?

She didn’t know. Rags could only trust herself. So she called out and her Goblins cleared the road. They could raid one more caravan. Then they’d be heading south. Towards Liscor. Towards war and death, Rags knew. But also to a small inn she’d missed. And an innkeeper that Rags wanted to speak with, to talk with. To ask her questions and hear her reply.

South.

Back home.

Wistram Days (Pt.1)

“You have been accepted to Wistram Academy. Present yourself on the docks in South Harbor, Belan, Terandria two weeks from now. Do not be late.”

Ceria Springwalker still remembered the words the examiner had spoken to her. And now here she sat, on the salt-crusted docks in South Harbor, in the city of Belan, one of the southern port-cities on the continent of Terandria. She was not late.

Still, the half-Elf could not help but look around nervously now and then. She had no idea what to expect, but she only knew that she’d been waiting for this day for over forty years and she was terrified of making a mistake.

She was 58 years old, and while that was quite a lot of years for a Human, Ceria was still considered a young adult by her people. But she was old enough to be independent and so there was no one to see her off.

The same could not be said of the other people gathered on the docks. It was an odd assortment. Ordinary citizens, respectably dressed, stood next to men and women dressed in expensive clothing that practically reeked of the aristocracy. In point of fact, neither group stood next to one another—there was usually a well-dressed manservant in the way.

But it was here that the rich and poor had come alike, to see their family and friends off. This was the one day in the year when the isle of Wistram opened, and they accepted new students.

Ceria’s palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her trousers and hoped no one would notice. Already she was attracting some attention. It was rare for a prospective student to be alone, especially given the entrance fee.

Twenty gold pieces. That was the price for attending Wistram Academy for a month. It was a ridiculous sum, and Ceria had spent the best part of a decade saving enough money to afford the cost. But it had been worth it. Would be worth it.

She knew other families probably didn’t have that much money. The nobles and merchants, yes, but the other families had to have sold off heirlooms or borrowed heavily to meet the cost. But assuming they had that much money, anyone could enter Wistram.

Anyone with magic, that was.

Ceria had proven her abilities by showing the examiner a few of the spells she’d taught herself. [Stone Dart], [Flame Jet]—and of course, the spell that had saved her life many times. [Chameleon].

They weren’t high-Tier spells. In fact, all of these spells were barely Tier 2. But it was powerful magic for someone who’d never had the luxury of owning a spellbook, and that, added to the steep entrance fee, had bought Ceria a place on the ship.

It was a tall vessel, the Errant Traveller. Two massive sails stood furled as the ship floated in its berth. Ceria had already noticed the sailors and [Captain] bustling around the ship, so she predicted they’d be underway soon enough.

“Are they about to set sail?”

Ceria’s pointed ears perked up as she heard a young man—no, a boy, really—talking excitedly to his parents. He was with a family seeing off a woman – a merchant’s daughter by the looks of her – as they excitedly scrutinized the ship. The young boy tugged harder at his mother’s hand.

“Can I go too? How will they get there? Is the ship magic, too?”

“Hush. Let your sister say her goodbyes in peace. And who knows whether the ship is magical? When you’re a [Mage], I expect all sorts of wondrous things are possible.”

Ceria had to smirk at that, although she turned away so no one would notice. Magic ships? Maybe if they were enchanted, but she very much doubted this one was. The family seemed to think this was some special ship, but it was just an ordinary vessel to Ceria’s eye.

After all, students from around the world would be making the journey to Wistram this day. Rather than keep a fleet of their own, the mages doubtless found it easier to simply hire ship captains to transport students for them.

And as if her thoughts had summoned him, suddenly the [Captain] was striding down the gangway, speaking loudly.

“The Errant Traveller is ready to go! All students are to come aboard one at a time. Tell me your names and I shall cross you off the list!”

The people on the docks stirred. Several young men and women darted towards the gangway as if being last meant you wouldn’t be allowed on board. Ceria saw last goodbyes hurriedly exchanged as she stood up.

A long queue of bodies was already stretching down the dock by the time Ceria joined the line. She saw only Humans standing behind each other. Quietly, Ceria took her place behind a young man in expensive clothes, trying to ignore the looks the other people gave her.

The line moved forwards slowly, but Ceria passed the time thinking of what would happen next. The journey by boat would take several days assuming the weather held. And when they reached the isle, she’d probably have to wait through an introduction. After that she had just over a month to prove herself and be accepted—

Or sent home.

“Next!”

Ceria walked forwards and realized she was standing at the entrance to the ship. The Captain stared down at Ceria. His eyes flicked to her ears, but he made no comment.

“Name?”

“Ceria Springwalker.”

“Yes, I see your name on the list. Go on and find a place down below. Cause no trouble and cast no magic while you are on my ship.”

Was that last line for her? But Ceria dimly recalled the others being told the same. She nodded and stepped onto the deck of the ship. It took her a few seconds to get used to the gentle rocking of the boat and then she was fine.

Glancing around, Ceria saw some of the new students stumbling around, much to the amusement of the sailors watching them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw only ten or so more people waiting in line. The Captain was slowly running his finger down the list as he stared at a scrawny young man dressed in shabby clothes.

A list? Was that all he was using, people’s names on a piece of paper? What if Ceria had claimed to be someone else? Was it really that easy to steal a spot on board?

Most [Captains] could read well, but Ceria was still surprised that anyone would use such an uncertain system. Then, as she passed by the Captain she saw that he was holding a piece of paper with her face printed on it. It was so lifelike Ceria nearly gasped, but as the Captain went down the list the paper changed, showing the face of the next student attempting to board.

Magic.

She grinned and walked below decks. The sudden darkness was a stark change, but light shone through port holes. And as Ceria’s eyes adjusted she saw that this ship was well-equipped for transporting so many people. Instead of the hammocks sailors used, small cots had been set up with pillows and blankets to make sleeping on the hard wood easier.

Most of the new students had congregated near the center and already chosen a spot. Ceria looked around for somewhere secluded. Her arrival had not gone unnoticed though, and the eager group of young men and women turned to look at her.

That’s when the whispers started. Ceria had expected it, but it still made her stomach clench. The people who had noticed her pointed and exclaimed, and then began to talk amongst each other.

“Hey. Is that…?”

“No. Really?”

“I think it is. One of them.”

“Ugh. They let that apply?”

“Half-Elf.”

It was a word spoken like a curse. Ceria ignored the voices and dumped her belongings in a corner of the ship. The young woman who’d chosen a place three spots over stared at her in disgust and moved away. Ceria stared out one of the portholes, keeping her face calm and blank.

Half-Elf. That was what she was, and that was the reason for the distrust from the other Humans. The reputation of half-Elves was well known on Terandria. They were untrustworthy, thieves, criminals and bandits at the best of times. They lied, cast harmful magics, preyed on good, innocent folk, and they stole children out of cradles at night.

In truth, everyone knew that last claim was false. Most half-Elves wanted as little to do with Humans as possible, and no one wanted to raise a stinking Human brat. Half-Elves kept to their own communities, on the edges of society, and they were tolerated because they were useful and some half-Elves had valuable Skills or high levels. But they were not liked.

On this continent, at least. Ceria sighed as the whispering subsided. Terandria was not kind to most non-human species, on a continent where the populace was overwhelmingly Human. Maybe another continent—Izril or Baleros, perhaps—would be different where Humans were just one species among many.

But it seemed that while these Humans were prepared to leave behind their home and families to learn magic, they still brought their hatreds with them. Ceria only hoped Wistram would be more open to her.

It was hard to hide being a half-Elf, anyways. Ceria knew her unearthly complexion stood out even in a crowd, and besides that, she had pointed ears. It was almost as bad as having a scar on your forehead to point you out and it had already ostracized her from the others in the hold.

“Ah, hello? Is this seat taken?”

Startled, Ceria looked up. She’d already begun organizing her small pack so she’d be sleeping with it to her back in case someone tried to steal from her. She looked up and saw a young man’s face, a nervous smile, and a shock of brown hair. It was the smile that surprised Ceria the most.

“Is this seat taken? I don’t believe it is, but I would like to check before putting my belongings down here.”

The young man repeated the question. Ceria blinked at him and then found her voice.

“What? No, it’s not. But uh, do you—”

Too late. The young man was already dumping his rucksack on the ground. Ceria eyed his belongings skeptically. She’d thought she had brought only the bare minimum, but this young man only had a few changes of clothes, a small bar of lye soap, a toothbrush, and—

A rapier.

Ceria blinked. It had a long leather sheath, but it was unmistakably a rapier just from the hand guard and grip that stuck out at the top. She’d never seen any warrior using a rapier—it was the weapon of [Lords] and the aristocracy. What was a boy like this doing with one?

And he was a boy. Oh, he might have been closer to sixteen or seventeen, but to Ceria this young man and most of the passengers below decks were children. Only a few men and women were among students and they kept to themselves.

“Are you sure you want to sleep here?”

Ceria had to raise her voice to make herself heard. All of the students were below decks now, and their voices were overlapping with the shouting of sailors above and the creak of the ship.

The young man looked startled at being addressed. He nearly dropped his rapier and brushed hair out of his eyes.

“Well, yes, I mean, I do apologize if I’ve disturbed you. It’s just that I saw this spot was open and I thought I could take it. If you want to be left alone I can—”

He looked around wildly, but almost all of the other beds were taken.

“Stop that. I meant, are you okay with having me as a neighbor?”

“You? Why would I—”

The young man’s eyes widened as he looked at Ceria’s face and he saw her ears. She sighed internally and waited for him to exclaim in disgust.

“Are you a half-Elf? My word, I’ve never—may I shake your hand? I’ve never met one of your kind before. I’m delighted to meet you! My name is Pisces!”

Ceria blinked as she found a hand in front of her face. She took it uncertainly and felt her hand being shaken rapidly.

“I’m uh, Ceria. Ceria Springwalker.”

Pisces beamed at Ceria as he sat next to her. As the ship began to move he began chattering and Ceria, almost unconsciously, began replying.

“I must confess, I was quite alarmed when I found a mostly Human crowd. I was under the assumption all species travelled to Wistram to study, but I suppose those departing from Terandria would be mostly Human, don’t you?”

“Um. Yes. I suppose so.”

“Are you attempting to study magic at Wistram, or are you in another field? Alchemy, perhaps?”

“Uh, no. I want to advance further in the [Mage] class.”

Wistram didn’t just train [Mages], although that was the bulk of their graduates. A fair number of students would end up specializing in related fields like [Alchemist] or even [Blacksmith]—so long as magic was involved, any study was acceptable. But Ceria just wanted to become stronger. To have magic, to have power so she could—

“I’ve learnt several spells, but I’m only a Level 14 [Mage] at the moment. I’m told that’s quite high given that most students don’t know anything about magic, but I hope to improve myself beyond measure during my stay here. My focus is on basic elemental magic and some minor reinforcement-type magic at the moment, but I want to study every field I can. What about you?”

“Me? I’m just—I know a lot of attack spells, that’s all. I mainly focus on earth and fire spells. They’re my specialty.”

“Really? So you’re an adventurer? You use your magic for combat?”

Pisces seemed impressed. Ceria rolled her shoulder and nodded.

“I’m a Bronze-rank adventurer. I thought that I might be able to earn some money if I can learn more powerful spells at Wistram.”

If she wasn’t accepted as a student, she could at least try to learn one or two Tier 3 spells. Then at least she wouldn’t have wasted her money in vain. Pisces nodded energetically as the boat began to rock up and down. He didn’t seem to even notice the rocking that was making Ceria’s stomach churn slightly and had already made one of the Humans vomit.

The two kept talking as the Captain appeared below to announce that the trip would take two days if the weather held. Apparently, they’d hit a fast current and the weather was good. He told the Humans and Ceria that they’d get three square meals a day and that if they went above they were expected to stay out of the way of the sailors. Then he left them.

Ceria had no desire to go upstairs, but she noticed several people eager to stare at the ocean. A young man—a noble’s son with expensive clothing and even a wand she doubted he could use—was leading several other teenagers up the stairs already.

“So why did you decide to attend Wistram? I heard all half-Elves are far more talented than Humans at magic.”

The half-Elf shrugged uncomfortably.

“That’s only half true. Half-Elves are gifted at magic—we’ve got more in our bodies—but we don’t learn spells any faster.”

Of course, it was to their advantage to suggest that half-Elves were more powerful than they actually were. Ceria knew she was still an amateur as a mage, though. She was just barely strong enough to kill a few weak monsters with her spells. Something like Silver-rank was way beyond her still.

“So you want to improve your magic? I can respect that. Myself, I just find magic so exciting, don’t you?”

Ceria smiled briefly.

“I suppose it is. But I want to defend myself. With my spells, I can’t do anything but run if I meet a dangerous monster.”

“I’ve never fought a monster before.”

Pisces said it as he sat against one of the ship’s walls with Ceria. She glanced at his rapier. It was nearly hidden under his bedding and Pisces hadn’t referred to it. Nor had he really told her where he was from. They were munching on the hard biscuits and salted cod that was their dinner. To Ceria’s surprise, the meal had even included cheese and butter for their bread. It was no feast, but this was better than the rough fare she’d expected.

“How many monsters have you slain? A hundred? Or do Bronze-rank adventurers mainly just act as backup for stronger adventurers?”

Ceria coughed lightly to hide her embarrassment.

“I’ve uh, slain a few monsters myself. But we mainly work in teams.”

She’d fought a few Goblins and cleared out any number of rats, but she could count the real monsters she’d fought on one hand.

Of course, that still put her far above the other new students in terms of ability.

“Astounding. Now, I know we can’t practice any magic while aboard the ship, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the efficacy of spells in combat? I know only a few such as [Frozen Wind], but I was wondering—”

Pisces broke off and Ceria looked up as they noticed some other people coming their way.

“Well, I heard Wistram accepted everyone, but I thought they drew the line at freaks and trash.”

A young man followed by a gaggle of other teens approached in the manner Ceria had come to recognize as the prelude to harassment. He stared down his nose at Ceria and Pisces.

“I am Charles de Trevalier, scion of my house. You would do well to address me with respect.”

He was wearing the rich clothes to match, and he even had a shortsword buckled to his belt. It looked like it was purely ornamental, but Charles rested one hand on it as if he would like nothing better than to unsheathe it should the need arise.

Ceria raised one eyebrow. She wasn’t intimidated by Charles, although she disliked him on sight. Moreover, unless he had quite a lot of levels in some combat class—which she doubted—she could put a [Stone Dart] through his eye before his blade even cleared the sheathe.

That made it slightly easier to listen to him speak.

“You—the one who was foolish enough to consort with the half-Elf. You would do well to stay away from such creatures.”

Pisces blinked up at Charles and frowned.

“I will measure her worth independent of any outside opinion, thank you. Moreover, I don’t understand why you feel the need to come here and insult Miss Springwalker to her face.”

His diction was actually more polished than Charles’. Ceria saw it took the young lord back, and saw him reconsider his next words.

“Are you of the lesser nobility? Or a self-taught common citizen? Either way, only a fool would not know how insidious and untrustworthy the lesser species are.”

Lesser species. Ceria gritted her teeth. Charles was talking about her as if she wasn’t here. Pisces glanced at Ceria and his lips thinned.

“I believe you should go. If your aim was to have me remove myself, you have failed. Kindly do not disturb us again.”

“Ingrate!”

One of the young men standing behind Charles called out. He stepped forwards, a hand on his sword as well. What was with all these students and carrying weapons? Didn’t they know they were here to become mages?

The other young man glared down at Ceria and Pisces. He pulled his sword slightly out of its sheathe so they could see the costly steel blade.

“You dare insult one of the high nobility? I should have your head for that.”

Charles smirked and Ceria cursed inwardly. She didn’t know the countless aristocratic houses on the continent, but that explained why Charles already had a crowd around him. His family was undoubtedly as rich as they were powerful; his companions must have already been trying to suck up to him.

She expected Pisces to back down or deflect the anger, but instead he stood up. He had the rapier in his hands.

“I do not believe we have done anything that warrants a threat. This is a place for mages, not barbarians with metal sticks.”

The young man flushed. He unsheathed his blade—clumsily, Ceria noticed. He held the sword towards Pisces in an uncertain grip.

But even that was enough to silence the rest of the other students below decks. A bared weapon was dangerous, and the sword the young man held could kill no matter how inexpertly used. Ceria clenched her fist. She felt the magic flow into her hand. She didn’t want to use a spell and risk being thrown off the boat, but if it was that or Pisces getting hurt…

It didn’t come to that. Pisces stepped back and unsheathed his rapier—quite a lot faster than the other young man had and with more of a flourish as well. Charles and his cronies stepped back as they saw the rapier, and uncertainty flicked in the sword-wielding youth’s eyes.

“I would reconsider any attempts on our persons. Note the blade, please. I have levels in [Fencer] and I will not hesitate to defend myself.”

The people around Charles backed up. He had his hand on his sword, but he was clearly unprepared for actual violence. He looked at the other young man with a sword and licked his lips before facing Pisces.

“You fool. Timor du Havrington is an experienced warrior who would cut you to bits. He has many levels in the [Warrior] class.”

Timor nodded, but his eyes were on Pisces’ rapier. He didn’t hold himself like a warrior.

“Lower your blade, peon.”

“Not until you do.”

“I’m a [Warrior] and a [Lord]!”

His voice trembled. Pisces sighed. He reached into his pocket.

“If you will not reconsider your actions—then listen.”

He pulled something out of his clothing. A silvery bell. It rang, a clear, high-pitched note. Once, twice.

Timor’s face went pale. He leapt back from Pisces as if the other young man had struck at him. He stumbled into Charles and the two nearly fell to the ground.

“Stay back! We’re both armed! Charles and I can take you on, regardless of your rank!”

Pisces held the rapier out calmly, facing sideways towards the two as Charles unsheathed his sword and faced him uncertainly. This had gone far further than Ceria had intended. She wasn’t sure what the bell meant, but she couldn’t let this continue. Ceria stood up.

“Back off. We’re all on a ship going to Wistram. If you start a fight you’ll get thrown off if the Captain doesn’t kill you himself. And if he doesn’t—I will.”

She raised her fingers and concentrated. Flames erupted from her skin and danced around her hand. Charles and his followers backed away as the other students murmured and pointed.

“We have magic too!”

A few of the other people raised their hands and produced sparks or flames from their fingertips. None were nearly as vibrant as Ceria. She held her fiery hand out towards Charles until she heard pounding feet.

“What are you doing on my ship!?”

The flames around Ceria’s hand went out as she saw the [Captain] storming down the stairs, roaring at the students with two brawny sailors at his back. In moments everyone was separated and he was shouting at both Ceria, Pisces, and Charles and Timor, ignoring the latter two’s complaints.

“I should toss you all overboard myself! You two are lucky we’re far from port, or I would put you ashore and damn the list! You, boy, put that away before I throw that blade in the sea!”

The Captain shouted at Ceria and Pisces as he sheathed his sword.

“We were defending ourselves.”

Pisces protested, but the Captain was too incensed to listen. He glared at Ceria.

“I won’t have any magic on my ship! Cast another spell and I will toss you overboard myself! And you two, start trouble or draw a blade and I will cut you down, lords or not!”

He ignored the outraged noises the two boys made and stormed back up the stairs. Charles and Timor hesitated, but they stiffly walked away from Pisces and Ceria with only a parting glare.

Ceria sat back down with a sigh, heart pounding.

“That could have ended far worse.”

“Or far better. He threatened to throw away my blade!”

Pisces grumbled as he sat back down with Ceria. He was still glaring over at Charles and Timor, who’d joined the majority of the other students and were laughing loudly and not looking at Pisces and Ceria.

“Well, you were threatening two of his passengers.”

“Only because they drew steel on us!”

Pisces was indignant. Ceria sighed.

“If you hadn’t stood up to them, they would have left us alone soon enough. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

The young man looked sideways at Ceria.

“I didn’t feel it was right, that’s all. We’re all aspiring to become mages, proper mages, that is. If we can’t treat each other with basic civility, we’re no better than ignorant fools for all our power.”

Ceria smiled at him. It surprised her more than it surprised Pisces. Here she was, getting along with a Human of all people. He grinned back at her.

“Well, I enjoyed the looks on their faces when you stood up to them. Thank you.”

Pisces blushed and waved his hand.

“It was nothing.”

Ceria smiled again. She pointed to Pisces’ pocket.

“What does the bell mean? Those two backed off fast when they saw it.”

His cheeks were still flushed, but Pisces shook his head as he hid the rapier back under his bedding.

“It’s a token used by duelists. It means I’ve reached a level of skill recognized among anyone who practices the same craft.”

“Oh.”

It was obvious that he wanted to keep that a secret, so Ceria let it drop. Pisces muttered to himself as he rearranged his bedding.

“I dislike arrogant nobles and the like intensely. I thought I would be rid of them, but I suppose even in Wistram wealth speaks.”

“We’ll see if it holds true in the academy.”

“I’m told that there’s barely anything on the isle other than Wistram Academy and a pier. I wonder if they import all their goods? How do they feed themselves?”

“They probably grow what they need with magic. Somehow.”

“Still. How many new students will be like us, do you think?”

“Don’t know.”

“And how many will pass the exam?”

Ceria was silent. The exam. It loomed in her thoughts, a vague, terrifying specter.

It was true that anyone with a bit of talent and enough coin could travel to Wistram. But staying there was far harder.

Twenty gold pieces was the price, but that only bought each student a month’s time to study in Wistram. They would be taught basic magic and be given the run of the isle, but after that month they would have to prove their worth…or be sent home.

It was extraordinarily expensive to live in Wistram if you weren’t a mage offered a scholarship by the academy. Students would have to pay hundreds of gold coins to study there, which was why most who went to Wistram hoped they could pass the exam and stay for free.

Wistram Academy was always looking for talented mages, so the exam was designed to allow students to showcase their talents. Anyone with a high level or better yet, some kind of unique spell or Skill would be allowed to study. It was what both Ceria and Pisces hoped to do; pass the exam and become full students.

But what the exam might actually be, and what they would learn in the time before then, neither Pisces nor Ceria had any idea. They had no idea what Wistram even looked like; it was in the middle of the ocean, and visitors to that isle were understandably rare.

Eventually, the light coming out of the portholes almost completely faded, and Ceria closed the one closest to her and Pisces so they could sleep. They still had another day and a bit to go, and she wanted to conserve her strength.

She slept soundly, until the storm began and rain began to pound the deck overhead.

----

It was a sea storm, the kind of horrific maelstrom that only emerged in the middle of the ocean. Huge waves battered the Errant Traveller as she sailed on through the dark clouds and pouring rain. Wind threatened to blow the sailors scrambling to lower sails and obey the Captain’s orders as the man himself fought with the waves at the head of his boat.

Below decks, the students huddled in fear, listening to the crash of the waves and talking in quiet voices. Ceria sat with Pisces, watching through the window as the ship would go up and then come down with stomach wrenching force.

“Are you sure this boat can survive this storm?”

Pisces shouted in Ceria’s ear. He was clutching his belongings as he stared out at the water.

“I don’t know!”

Ceria shouted back. She tapped the window.

“This is glass. The ship must be newer, so it should hold!”

“It had better! I can’t swim!”

“What?”

The idea that anyone couldn’t swim baffled Ceria, until she remembered that many Humans from Terandria lived inland and never saw a large body of water. Not that it mattered. Ceria had had ample time to learn how to swim over the fifty years of her life, but she was certain she wouldn’t last ten minutes in the frothing waves.

“We’ll be okay!”

And then, as if to mock her, Ceria heard the hatch leading above slam open. A sailor pounded down the steps as wind and water blew in. He shouted.

“Sea Serpent to the starboard! Stay below!”

The people in the hold began to scream. Ceria’s gut clenched in fear, but then the sailor was running towards her. He ignored the rocking motion of the ship as he seized her.

“You! Half-Elf! Do you have any spells that can fight off the serpent?”

Ceria stared at him, mouth open.

“Not a Sea Serpent!”

The vast monsters of the ocean were far more terrifying than those on land, at least in terms of size. A Sea Serpent was twice the length of a warship—and that was only on average. Bigger examples of their kind could take down an entire fleet. Ceria’s [Stone Dart] spell would be as effective against it as spit.

“Fine. Stay here and pray it loses interest! The Captain’s used a scroll to send for Wistram for help—maybe those damn mages will be able to do something from there!”

The sailor ran back up the stairs. Pisces turned a white face towards Ceria. She was already staring back out at the churning sea.

“There. There it is!”

In the distance, Ceria saw a rippling form scything through the water. The Sea Serpent shot out of the water head-first, a massive jaw and burning eyes the only impression Ceria received before it plunged into the water. Its serpentine coils followed it, and Ceria’s heart froze in her chest when she realized the creature was four times as long as the Errant Traveller.

“Does it see us?”

Pisces gripped Ceria’s shoulder. Even in the middle of her fear and panic, the touch filled Ceria with revulsion. She stared at his hand and had to fight to resist stabbing him. He was a Human male—no, he was Pisces and he was frightened. She pried his fingers loose and shook her head.

“Not yet! But it looks like it’s hunting!”

It was true. The Sea Serpent was questing about, diving through the waves as if it barely noticed them. It seemed to be searching for something. It dove, and then Ceria gasped as it came up with a struggling fish in its jaws. It must have been a massive fish, too, because it was clearly visible at this distance. It was only slightly bigger than the Sea Serpent’s mouth, but that already put it at least twenty feet across.

The serpent shook its mouthful and then disappeared again. Ceria prayed it had gone, but then its head shot up and it stared right at their ship.

Someone screamed. The Sea Serpent dove towards them, and then Ceria saw a huge mouth with teeth as it reared above their vessel.

She heard shouting overhead, and saw what looked like arrows shattering on the serpent’s scales. Two harpoons flew through the pouring rain, but they only lodged superficially in the creature’s scales without even drawing blood.

People were screaming and crying all around Ceria and Pisces. She just stared out the port hole. Pisces was mumbling to himself, clutching at his rapier.

“…not fair. I just wanted a chance. Is this how it has to end? Can’t even find a body to use…nothing big enough…”

“What’s that?”

Ceria muttered the words to herself. The serpent was roaring overhead, a vast alien shriek that sounded like death. Pisces looked up.

“What?”

“There’s something out there. In the storm. It—”

Lightning flashed. The world went white a millisecond before Ceria and Pisces felt the thunder that made the ship list sideways and travelled through their bones.

Boom. It was more of a feeling than sound. Ceria tumbled backwards and Pisces cushioned her fall. She scrambled upwards, ignoring the screaming, and saw the Sea Serpent twisting in agony.

“The lightning hit it!”

Indeed, part of the beast’s scales near its neck were blackened and torn away, exposing red flesh and blood that stained the waters. The serpent twisted and opened its jaws towards the ship, but then lightning struck again.

This time the roar of the bolt striking the serpent coincided with the light, so Ceria was blinded by the sight of a bolt of energy hitting the Sea Serpent as she was hurled to the deck. Pisces helped her up as he stared outside.

“It looks hurt! The lightning hurt it!”

Ceria rose to her feet slowly. She crouched, trying not to tumble over as she shouted back.

“That’s not lightning. That’s a spell!”

“What?”

“There!”

The half-Elf pointed, and Pisces gasped. In the sky, far overhead, the two mages could see a small figure hovering in the storm. The only reason they could pick her out was that the air was flashing around her, and electricity was crackling off her body.

“A mage? From Wistram?”

It had to be. Ceria stared at Pisces and saw his face was alight with the same hope in her chest. But then her heart sank.

“They only sent one person?”

Indeed, it seemed that way. The small figure was alone and she—yes, it was a woman—floated high in the air, facing the ship. But she was woefully small compared to her opponent, and now the Sea Serpent had seen her too. It roared and lunged out of the sea, snapping towards her.

The woman flew backwards, and Ceria felt the serpent hit the ocean, missing by only a few feet. The resulting wave turned the sea and sky into a confusing mess as more water rained around the ship, but then she looked up and saw the female mage dodging through the air again as the serpent chased after her.

“Look at it go! It can’t catch her!”

Pisces stared out another port hole as the woman flew through the air, the serpent launching itself at her time and time again. It couldn’t easily strike her while she was flying, and every time it shot out of the water she would spin out of the way. It was a wild, insane dance with death, but the mage flew around the serpent as if she was having fun.

The serpent snapped upwards and the woman dodged just in time. She flew right by the side of the ship Ceria was on and the half-Elf caught a glimpse of her face just for a second. She stepped backwards.

“What is it?”

Pisces stared at Ceria. She stared as the mage finally stopped, hovering just in front of the ship and facing the serpent. She had raised her hand and the serpent was charging towards her, unstoppable. It would hit the ship, but now electricity was crackling around the woman again.

“She’s…laughing.”

Ceria only saw her back now, but she knew what she’d seen. The woman raised her hand calmly as the serpent approached, as if she had all the time in the world. Ceria heard something shouted above the storm, and then the mage cast a spell.

Lightning flashed from her palm, a coruscating bolt of pure electricity. Ceria saw the afterimages as it struck the sea serpent, once, twice, three times, and then with so many bolts that the entire world went white.

Ceria covered her eyes as the explosion rocked the entire boat. She fell backwards and Pisces caught her. When she’d scrambled to her feet and peered back out the window, the woman was gone. The sea serpent’s body floated belly-up in the water, smoke rising as the rain pelted the massive corpse.

“Dead gods!”

The serpent was dead. Very dead. Its head was almost completely blackened, and only a stump remained where the gaping maw had been. Ceria and Pisces heard cheering from above, and then the ship was moving again.

“She killed it! Just like that! She was just toying with the serpent until now!”

Pisces shouted the words as the storm continued to rage around the boat. Ceria looked at Pisces. His eyes were shining with excitement. She knew she had a gigantic smile on her face, but she couldn’t wipe it away.

Almost all of the other candidates were screaming or still huddled in shocked silence. But the half-Elf and young man sat together, staring out the windows at the massive beast. It had seemed so incredible, so impossible to defeat. Even a ship full of trained sailors had been helpless before it, but a single mage had killed it in a matter of minutes.

Magic.

The boat lurched again and Ceria heard splattering as one of the students lost their lunch again. She saw something in the distance to the ship’s left—a dark silhouette jutting out from the sea. And then the ship was turning towards it, moving forwards.

That was when the storm cleared. All at once, the ship ceased rocking as it entered eerily calm waters. The raging wind and rain of the storm seemed to hit a wall, and then the boat was beyond, sailing underneath clear skies and above blue-green waters that sparkled in the light.

Ceria’s mouth fell open. The Errant Traveller sailed into the heart of the storm, a magical bubble in which the weather ceased. The waters were suddenly smooth, and then the ship turned again and Ceria saw it clearly for the first time.

Wistram. The Isle of Mages.

The tall castle stood on top of a cliff—no, rather, it was built into the island itself. Tall rocky cliffs gave way to grey stone and Ceria saw that the castle was more like a citadel, not one building but a few interconnected ones, joined together by a thick wall and bridges that rose into the sky.

The spires and buildings rose out of the ground, impossibly high. Ceria had never seen any structure so tall—it seemed as though it were surely impossible, and from an architectural point of view, that had to be the case. Fat, round domes sat on top of narrow spires and entire wings of the castle stood out over the sea with seemingly no support.

It had to be magic; and indeed, Ceria could see shimmering lights in the air, and glowing runes visible to the naked eye hovering in the air around some windows, and more magic still. One tower looked like it was engulfed in fire, and another part of the castle was frozen, windows and part of the wall covered in creeping vines.

Ceria felt their ship slowing, and then spotted the dock. A huge, white dock made out of stone was their destination. Already two other ships were moored in the harbor, and one more was heading in, covered in rain from the storm. The mast on that ship was broken, but Ceria saw people on top of the deck, staring at Wistram.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the ship stopped and then sailors were securing ropes and the Captain was shouting at the students to gather their belongings. Almost numbly, the prospective students gathered their things and filed out of the ship.

Her breath caught in her chest the instant Ceria saw the castle in its entirety. A long stairway led up and up to two massive metal doors, and the castle towered higher still, glowing with magical light even in the daytime.

Pisces stood next to Ceria, just as entranced. They walked past the Captain, and Ceria only just remembered to thank him for taking them to harbor safely.

“Don’t thank me. I’ve been paid for the trip, although this one was hardly worth the coin. That Sea Serpent would have broken my ship and all of us to bits had the mages not come to our rescue.”

The Captain shook his head as he stared at the second ship coming in to dock. Ceria hesitated.

“Do you know who that mage was? The one who slew the serpent?”

“Only one person it can be. That was Archmage Amerys. One of the King of Destruction’s Seven.”

Pisces gaped. The Captain shook his head.

“It was a stroke of luck, having one of the Archmages so close and inclined to help. Even so, it’s an omen for you who want to become mages. A good one or bad? Who knows. Be off with you, then, and best of luck.”

He turned away, and the two mages exchanged a look. They hurried after the students walking up towards the doors of Wistram. They were slowly opening, and people were coming down to greet the arrivals.

That was how they entered Wistram Academy. To the new students, it seemed as if nothing could top that first harrowing voyage through the storm, but they soon realized that they hadn’t the first inkling of the true mystery that lay within the ancient citadel.

----

The first thing Ceria noticed when she stepped inside Wistram’s massive halls was that the castle was, in fact, massive. In fact, the word massive was itself too small for Wistram. It would have gotten lost in the entrance hall, and that was already a place big enough to hold an entire village comfortably.

“It didn’t seem this big on the outside.”

“It must be magic! Some kind of spatial magic or—or we’ve been teleported!”

Pisces looked around the massive hall as Ceria eyed the lights hovering high, high overhead. Multiple floors overlooked the students as they filed into the center of the huge room, and Ceria could see people on the walkways connecting overhead.

“Tree rot. That’s stone up there! They’ve built bridges inside a room! This place must be enormous!”

“Yes indeed. Wistram is far larger than it appears from the outside. Mages have built high into the air and far underneath the isle. It takes a while before you stop getting lost, and even then you’d do well to stick to the main areas.”

Ceria and Pisces turned, and saw a tall man staring down at them. He had only a shirt on, probably because his lower half needed no clothes. He was a Centaur, and he grinned broadly at their surprise.

“It’s always the same. New students stare up and never even notice us. We could rob you all blind and you’d still be staring. Not that that would be a very nice greeting after the journey you’ve all had, would it?”

“You saw the Sea Serpent?”

Pisces exclaimed excitedly, and the Centaur laughed.

“The entire academy saw it. We were placing bets on whether Amerys would reach you in time. But you all made it, which I am glad for. My name is Calvaron, young mage. I am a full student of Wistram, and I’ll be showing you around.”

The Centaur mage offered both Ceria and Pisces a bone-crushing grip, and then raised his voice.

“Prospective students, this way! Your group will follow me to put your belongings away. Step quickly now, Humans! The next group will be following you soon!”

Heads turned. Ceria was pleased to see that Charles and his group of friends visibly hesitated when they saw their guide was a Centaur, but Calvaron ignored their looks. He began to trot down one of the large corridors, speaking loudly as he went.

“Congratulations on surviving your voyage! Not many people get to meet a Sea Serpent and live. But you’ll find life in Wistram just as exciting—if you stay, that is. We have you all for a month, and then the exam will see if you remain or have to go. Unless you can pay your way, that is. I hope to see at least some of you afterwards.”

Ceria had to hurry to keep behind the Centaur. He moved quick, and she saw Pisces was red-faced as he tried to juggle his belongings and keep up. He’d put his pack down when they’d entered, and now he was trying to put it on as he half-ran after them.

“Excuse me, Calvaron, can you slow down?”

“What? Oh, excuse me.”

Calvaron glanced over his shoulder and saw the Humans were struggling to keep up. He paused and Pisces looked gratefully at Ceria as he finally put his pack on his shoulders.

“I forget how slow you people are. But if you can’t keep up at Wistram, you might as well leave right now. Then again, other mages might have different opinions. Come on, you slowpokes! We’re nearly there!”

He bellowed at the stragglers, and then led them into a large room. Ceria froze the instant she entered and Pisces bumped into her. She stared up into the carved face of a seven foot tall Golem.

It had to be a Golem. Ceria only knew of one type of monster that had stone for skin, and no Gargoyle was carved to look like a beautiful woman dressed in clothing. Then the Golem moved, and Ceria gasped as she saw the robes shifting and moving with her, as if the solid rock were nothing but cloth.

“Greetings, young mage. I trust you are one of the new students?”

“I—I—”

“She is, Cognita.”

Calvaron stepped in smoothly for Ceria, as the other Humans entered the room and had similar reactions. Cognita, the massive Golem nodded graciously in turn until everyone had entered, and then spoke. Her voice was deeper than normal, and had a weight that made even Charles and Timor listen with rapt attention.

“I am Cognita. I am a Carved Golem, or rather, a Truestone Construct designed to oversee Wistram and its mages. I and my kindred maintain and preserve this building and will assist you for the duration of your stay. In a few moments you will be led to your rooms, but before that I must tell you of the rules of Wistram.”

She stared down at each person in turn, her emerald eyes serious.

“Firstly. You must never venture into the high parts of the castle or the lower reaches unaccompanied and even then, only with great cause. Dangers lurk within Wistram, ancient magics and spells and creatures called here and never destroyed. Too, the very enchantments keeping this citadel intact sometimes fray. Only a mage with true power is allowed into such places. Second. Some of the Golems here were made as I am, but most lack any form of intelligence and simply obey orders. Do not attack or obstruct them in any way or they may react unpredictably. Third. Anyone attempting to cast area-wide magics must first consult with I or an experienced mage. Unpredictable results may occur if a spell affects a wide area of the academy at once. Is that understood?”

She stared down at the students and then nodded.

“That is all. Follow me, and I will lead you to your rooms and give you your keys.”

She walked through the doorway and Calvaron indicated that everyone should follow her. Ceria, Pisces, and Calvaron slipped to the back of the group as the other students filed out of the room.

“I’m surprised she didn’t have more rules. Like, don’t kill other students or not to steal.”

Ceria whispered to Pisces. Calvaron laughed when he heard that.

“Those are also against Wistram’s rules, but Cognita was created in a different time. She only cares if you study magic, and she only tells you those rules so you won’t get killed by accident. We’ll tell you all the rules later.”

“Calvaron. Will you lead these students to the dining hall now or later?”

Cognita had paused before a doorway. Calvaron nodded.

“Put your things away and take a moment to relax. In fifteen minutes I will bring you all to our dining hall to eat.”

The procession moved on, Cognita led each of the students to a door and handed them a key, or a stone, or sometimes just whispered in their ears. Ceria was bewildered, but then she and Pisces were left.

“This room shall be yours, Ceria Springwalker. Here is a key to the lock. It can be picked, so be wary.”

Cognita handed Ceria a key made of iron. Then she turned to Pisces.

“The door to your room is spelled. Speak your name into the lock and it will open for you alone. Be cautious that you do not lock a companion within.”

She turned, and left. Bemused, Ceria looked at Pisces as he wandered over to his door and spoke into it. The door swung open and Pisces blinked at the inside.

“Why are the locks different? And why are the rooms different?”

Ceria found her room was wide and spacious, filled with an old four-poster bed and a mirror and dresser in her room. Pisces had a much smaller room, but for some reason his came with a balcony that extended outside. He and Ceria looked at Calvaron who only shrugged.

“Lots of people worked on Wistram, and each person had their own style. Some doors have locks, while others use magic or a stone as a key. You got lucky, Pisces; a balcony spot is pretty nice to have. I imagine you could trade yours if you wanted.”

“I believe I will be content with my lodgings. Ah, did you say there was food available?”

Calvaron laughed as Ceria tossed her belongings on the bed and turned the key in the lock.

“Indeed there is. Let me gather the rest of your group and then we’ll eat. No one can learn magic on an empty stomach, right?”

----

Ceria and Pisces stared up in the great hall of Wistram, craning their necks to see the ceiling.

“Are those mage lights permanent, or are they just temporary enchantments?”

Calvaron looked up. He was sitting with both mages at one of the tables, crunching down on a meal that was mostly carrot, but had quite a bit of beef. He popped a chunk of carrot into his mouth as he spoke thoughtfully.

“I’ve never really asked. My guess is that it’s like a lot of the lights in the castle. They can be turned on and off, but the enchantment remains. Mind you, most mages will toss up a globe of light if it gets too dark and leave it there for a few hours.”

“Or a few days.”

Ceria turned. Sitting across from them was a dark-skinned woman wearing armor. What was unique about her was that her head and said armor weren’t attached. She was spooning pudding into her head on the table. Calvaron seemed perfectly at home with this, but neither Pisces nor Ceria had ever seen a Dullahan in the flesh before. Her name was Beatrice, and this was about the third thing she’d said throughout the course of the meal aside from ‘Hello’ and ‘Nice to meet you’.

Ceria stared around the vast room she was sitting in as she cut into her steak. The great hall was filled with long tables—and short ones. Like much of the castle, it seemed like any furniture was used, and so she’d found herself and Pisces sitting with Calvaron at a low table on some couches, rather than the long tables with chairs most of the students were dining at.

This was probably because the lower table allowed Calvaron to kneel on the ground while he ate. Ceria still couldn’t quite focus on her food, though. The floating orbs of multicolored lights, the tables filled with all kinds of food—and especially the chatting, gossiping, laughing groups of every kind of species at every table was overwhelming her. She was surrounded by mages, and every few seconds Ceria would see someone cast a spell or illustrate their point with a cantrip.

“Stop staring, Springwalker. This food won’t eat itself and if you want seconds, you’ll have to eat fast.”

Ceria blinked at Calvaron, and then realized her steak was getting cold. She added some butter, watched it melt, and began scarfing the meat down.

Pisces was already eating as if he’d been starving. Neither he nor Ceria had the best table manners, but Calvaron and Beatrice didn’t seem to notice.

“Where’s all this food come from? Not magic, surely.”

“Hah! You think it just appears out of nowhere?”

Calvaron looked extremely amused. He pointed off to one side, towards the long buffet tables where they’d all collected their meals.

“Golems and [Chefs] do most of the cooking. Wistram hires the best, and what we don’t eat they preserve for another day.”

“It must be handy, having a bunch of constructs to do most of the lifting and work around here. I don’t know how you can deal with them so easily, though.”

Calvaron shrugged. He’d walked right past two of the huge, lumbering Stone Golems on the way here while Ceria and the others had walked as far away from them as possible.

“You get used to them pretty quick if you stay here. Beatrice used to hate all the enchanted armor around here. For two whole years she kept thinking they were other Dullahans and calling out to them.”

He laughed at Beatrice and she paused in feeding herself long enough to scowl at him. Pisces looked around.

“I appreciate that we are being fed immediately upon our arrival, but are you sure there’s no welcoming speech? No introduction?”

“Do you want one?”

Calvaron waited until Pisces shook his head.

“Most mages don’t care about new students. It’s only the Expansionists and Revivalists that are interested in making sure there’s a system, although every faction usually contributes in some way.”

“Expansionists? Revivalists?”

Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance. Calvaron nodded.

“You’ll hear more about them soon enough. But Wistram isn’t one unified place. What you’ll learn quickly is that there are factions in here. Mages either band together or go it alone depending on their personalities.”

Ceria was surprised by that.

“So there isn’t a formal ceremony where we choose where we want to end up? I thought we’d be assigned to a group or…a faction or something.”

Calvaron laughed into his food and even Beatrice’s head smiled.

“Don’t be daft. Who’d be stupid enough to publicly announce which side you’re on? Not to mention that you can’t just put people into groups like that.”

He snorted and pointed at the new students.

“If you’re smart, you’ll choose wisely and tell no one at all if you do join a faction. Mind you, word will spread soon enough, but at least that way you’ll have a chance. And I hope you sell your loyalties wisely. It takes a strong mage to survive in Wistram alone, but better that than becoming a slave.”

He pointed down the hall, towards a small group of mages who were sitting alone. Their robes were clearly magical, and one was raising his voice and pointing at an illustration he’d conjured out of the air.

“See them? They’re Isolationists. They’d prefer that we stop accepting new mages into Wistram altogether, and have aspiring mages find their way here. It would weed out the casual applicants, true, but imagine how much business we’d lose!”

Beatrice scowled.

“Foolish. Wastes money.”

Calvaron rolled his eyes.

“Beatrice is a Revivalist. She’s part of the faction that thinks we should throw open our doors and usher in a new era of magic like in centuries past.”

“And you? What group do you belong to?”

The Centaur grinned.

“I’m undeclared, at least for now. I’ll probably join up with some faction or other, but I’m not important enough for them to start putting pressure on me yet. What about you, Pisces? Would you be an Isolationist or a Revivalist, given the chance?”

Pisces nodded to himself as he thought.

“Well, I am uninformed as of yet to all the nuances of the discussion, but my position would be—”

Ceria kicked Pisces under the table. He yelped and she glared at him. Calvaron laughed again.

“You’re learning quick, aren’t you?”

She was just planning to ask Calvaron about the different factions in Wistram when Ceria heard a sound. She turned her head and stared at one of the entrances to the great hall. A young man in disheveled robes burst into the great hall, shouting.

“Ghouls! They’re flooding the west hallways!”

For a second all was stunned silence, and then all of the new students started screaming. The young man fled into the hall, and then Ceria saw them.

Ghouls. They bounded out of the corridor, dead bodies leaping forwards with incredible strength and agility. Their eyes burned with unholy light.

She didn’t even pause to think. Ceria stood up and pointed her finger at the Ghouls. Without a wand she couldn’t cast strong magic, but she’d honed this spell until it was as deadly as an arrow.

“[Stone Dart]!”

A jagged piece of stone shot from her fingertips and caught one of the Ghouls in the chest. He stumbled, but came on. Ceria’s heart sank. Ghouls were far more dangerous than Zombies, and they were coming so fast! They’d be on top of the new students before they could flee.

“Stop screaming. [Ice Lance].”

Someone spoke up from behind Ceria. She turned her head just in time to see a massive block of ice shaped into a point shoot past her. The wind blew her hair and Ceria turned back to see the Ghoul she’d struck and three more had been smashed to bits by the spell.

“[Silent Sickle]!”

Another mage across the hall pointed without even getting up from his meal. One of the ghouls was sliced to bits by transparent scythes and another lost its legs.

“[Earth Cannon]!”

“[Invisible Arrow]!”

“[Slippery Floor].”

All around Ceria, mages pointed or waved their wands or used their staves to cast spells. The Ghouls practically disintegrated under the combined mass of spells until all that was left was a completely ruined floor as ice spells and fire spells created steam and sticky and slippery substances mixed on the ground or began to dissipate.

Calvaron laughed as he tugged Ceria back down into her seat.

“Nice spell, new student. But leave the fighting to the older mages, alright? We can handle ourselves.”

“Is that normal? The Ghouls?”

Pisces pointed to the remains of the Ghouls—a single hand and a few stains on the stone floor. Already a Golem was lurching over to the mess with a mop and bucket in hand.

Both the Centaur and Dullahan shrugged.

“It’s not usual that we get monsters that come as far as the dining hall, but accidents happen. I wonder how the undead got here? Teleportation spell gone wrong?”

“Dead corpses?”

Beatrice scratched at her head. It was more of a massage since she could scratch every spot at will. She pointed at the distraught mage who’d ran into the room.

“Probably an experiment with some bodies. Too much magic. Must’ve reanimated them.”

“True. I’ll ask later. Anyways, bear that in mind, you two. If you want to stay at Wistram, you’ve got to be prepared for anything. Sea Serpents are the least of your worries here. Do you think you can handle it?”

He looked both Ceria and Pisces in the eye. She hesitated, but then nodded with conviction.

“I’m staying.”

Pisces nodded. He swallowed a huge gulp of food and wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

“So am I!”

“That’s what they all say.”

Calvaron laughed with Beatrice, although she just chuckled. Then he grew serious.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got some bad news for you two. This year there are nearly twice as many prospective students as usual. I’m afraid that unless you’re over Level 20 or you’ve got some new spell or talent, you’ll be hard-pressed to pass the exam.”

He paused as both new students exchanged a dismayed look.

“Well, unless you have a patron to sponsor you.”

“A patron?”

“A high-level mage.”

Beatrice translated. Calvaron nodded as he crunched on another carrot.

“Someone who will vouch for your abilities. That would allow you to skip the exam altogether.”

Ceria eyed Calvaron.

“I don’t suppose you…?”

“Sorry, I don’t have the influence to help anyone. We’re all novice mages here. Only one of the teachers or one of the older mages can do that, and they don’t usually interfere with the exam. Plus, a lot of the ones assigned to teaching duty this year aren’t too happy.”

“Like Illphres. She’s angry.”

“Who?”

“The mage who cast [Ice Lance]. That’s her, over there.”

Ceria looked over and saw an older woman dressed in robes sitting with the group Calvaron had identified as the Isolationists. She was scowling at another mage as he spoke. Calvaron lowered his voice.

“She’s going to teach you some elemental magic. But ah, she’s…temperamental. She’s one of the best [Cryomancers] in the academy, though.”

“Is [Cryomancer] the same as [Ice Mage]?”

“Different names. Sometimes different specializations, but usually the same.”

“Oh.”

Ceria kept staring at Illphres. She’d cast a Tier 4 spell – [Ice Lance] in mere seconds, without even using a wand! Ice magic wasn’t Ceria’s specialty, but she was still impressed by the spell.

But it seemed not everyone shared her opinion. Reacting to what one of the mages had said, Illphres said something angrily which earned her a scoff and a flick of the hand from the talkative mage. Ceria saw Illphres raise her hand and then the mage who’d been talking was blasted off his feet by a huge swathe of snow.

He went flying into another table. Ceria winced as she saw the mage smash into plates and cups and splatter the diners sitting there. One woman calmly wiped food off her face, and Ceria’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized Amerys, the mage who had slain the Sea Serpent.

Amerys looked across the room at Illphres and raised a finger. Ceria ducked and the lightning bolt exploded against the icy wall Illphres had conjured, sending fragments of ice into the air like hail.

More screaming erupted as the Isolationists all surged to their feet. Amerys grinned and the mages around her began casting spells. Ceria watched as a full-blown fight erupted between the mages in the hall as more and more joined in. She could hear shouting as well, from other groups of mages who were just defending themselves or staying outside of the conflict altogether.

“Take cover!”

“Damn it! It’s Amerys and Illphres again!”

“Careful! You nearly hit my plate!”

“Someone put up a shield spell before those students get killed!”

Calvaron chuckled as Beatrice threw up a magical barrier that caught an incoming bolt of magic. He glanced over at Ceria and Pisces as they stared at the magical war breaking out among the mages.

“Don’t worry. People hardly ever get killed. They’re just having a disagreement; I doubt they even realized you lot were coming in today. Just don’t disturb them while they’re working, don’t wander off into far off parts of the isle, ask for help, don’t choose a side right away, and never get in the way of the Golems.”

He paused and scratched at his head as one of the mages shot a stream of purple bubbles out of a wand that immobilized an entire table of students.

“Anything else they should know, Beatrice?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t die. And welcome to Wistram.”

Wistram Days (Pt.2)

Where did the magic come from? It came from the air around her, the hard wooden desk she sat at, and herself. It flowed through her blood, ran through her hair—it was in her. Ceria reached into her inner self and found magic there. With each breath she took, with each pump of her heart, the magic lived through her.

She drew a portion of it out now, and gave it shape. She pushed, and made the magic condense into a small ball, drawing in itself. Becoming…

Water. The clear liquid flowed into existence, forming a shaft of brilliance in the sunlight. And then, as Ceria held it in place in the air, she froze it.

Water pooled and stiffened, the clear liquid clouding, becoming solid. Ceria watched as the pointed tip of the icicle gleamed, ready to be launched. It was a small missile she’d made—barely longer than her middle finger, in truth. But the [Ice Dart] spell had been designed for rapid-fire attacks en masse. With it, she could turn a Goblin into a pincushion or overwhelm another type of monster.

This dart was of better…construction…than most. That was to say, when Ceria usually used the spell she was concentrated more on speed than aesthetic or form. As a result, some of her darts would have jagged edges or be angled awkwardly, as if the icicles had bent while being frozen. That could cause them to veer off from their targets, or fail to do as much damage.

But this? This was an ideal form of the spell. Ceria stared at the frozen missile floating in front of her and smiled. It was the perfect example of her magical talents, and her superior half-Elven heritage. She’d barely felt the effort of making the spell. That would prove—

“And just what do you call this?”

A hand reached out and touched the floating shard of ice. Ceria blinked as a rather tall, dark-haired man in robes lifted the product of her spell up and regarded it with disdain. He sniffed at it, and then snapped at her.

“Focus, Springwalker. Your [Ice Shard] spell mixes the cold and water aspects together. You are freezing the water you create rather than forming the shape and solidifying it as separate stages.”

His hand didn’t glow red, but for a second the air rippled with heat around his hand. In a moment, Ceria’s [Ice Shard] was gone, evaporated in a puff of steam which instantly dissipated.

“Try again, and this time concentrate. Your spells need to be well-formed, not leaking pools of wasted mana.”

“What? What’s wrong with my spell?”

She couldn’t help the words as they burst from her mouth. Ceria glared indignantly up at the [Mage] who’d dissipated her spell. He stared back, eyes cold and annoyed.

“Your composition was weaker, due to the air trapped within the icicle as you froze the water while making it. In addition, the spell itself was not straight—it deviated slightly near the tip. Finally, the point was unsharpened; merely a blunt tip.”

“But—”

Ceria knew it was true. Even so, she felt the need to deny the criticism.

“It’s almost fully correct! Those are just minor details!”

Another sniff.

“Details are what set apart true mages from amateurs. If you wish to lower your standards, Wistram is not the place for you. Try again, and this time concentrate properly.”

Ceria heard laughter around the class and felt herself going red. Blood rushed to the tips of her pointed ears, but she said nothing. She ground her teeth as she focused again on the spell, trying to tune out the world around her.

The man who’d admonished her so casually—the senior [Mage] in charge of this class’s magic lesson named Rievan Forstrom—walked on without a backward glance.

That had been humiliating. And unfair! Ceria tried to focus on her spell again, but this time her concentration was shot. The magic in her and around her was harder to control, and she was having trouble condensing it into a physical form.

There were still people chuckling in the large room Ceria was taking her second class of the day in. She heard one particularly obnoxious voice laughing louder than the rest.

Charles de Trevalier made no effort to conceal his glee at Ceria’s upbraiding. Worse, Rievan didn’t seem to mind. The mage walked over to another student and began talking in a loud voice, lecturing the unfortunate girl about the quality of her spell, a bundle of sparks that was supposed to be the [Electric Jolt] spell.

After he’d gone, and the other students were talking again, comparing notes, complaining, or just making conversation, the young man sitting at the desk next to Ceria leaned over. Pisces lowered his voice so only she could hear him as he whispered.

“I thought the spell was appropriately formulated. I rather think the true crux of the issue is that he doesn’t like you.”

He nodded to Rievan, and Ceria saw their instructor was showing the Human girl how to do the spell properly. Neat, focused webs of lightning flashed from one of his palms into the other. He was certainly critical of the girl, but he wasn’t being nearly as sharp with her as he had been with Ceria.

She made a face. Yes, their instructor for the new students taking the Magical Foundations class did seem to have it out for her. And she was under no illusions as to why.

He was Human. Ceria was a half-Elf. But more importantly, she thought that he might be a Human who’d originally grown up in Terandria, which would explain his dislike for her.

“As if he’d ever tried casting a spell while fighting off a Goblin tribe.”

She grumbled as she tried to form the spell again. Maybe she should give up and try [Stone Dart] or [Flame Jet] instead? But no, he’d probably just reprimand her for giving up on the spell. Pisces looked sympathetic as Ceria tried to spin the water out from her fingertips and hold it in position before she froze it again.

They were in class. It was slightly odd for Ceria to be sitting in this neat room at a small desk—she’d never gone through anything like this growing up—but Wistram taught countless students each year, and they’d developed a process to teach their students as a whole.

One of these ways was giving the prospective students a variety of mandatory courses to take during their first month. Each day, the students had countless lessons and magical theorems and basic spells hammered into them by various mid-level [Mages]. And in one of those classes, this one, the basics of magic were being re-taught to Ceria, much to her displeasure.

Basic magic. Pure magic. People had many names for the subject, but this class had been introduced as elementary magic by their instructor. Ceria hated it.

The study of basic telekinesis, magical composition and fundamental aspects of magical theory like spellcraft were lumped into one category by most mages. It was a branch of magic few practitioners focused on, outside of learning how to levitate small objects and refine their mana flow and so on. Nonetheless, it was vitally important for any mage who wanted to cast spells, and so most mages grew passable at forming their spells properly. A bent [Ice Shard] spell would be far less effective, just like how a poorly-made warding spell might not block all the arrows properly.

It was important, yes, but tiresome. Mages specializing in this rare field liked to refer to it as ‘pure’ magic. Others, Ceria included, thought of it as boring magic. And she was all the more angry because her spells were good, damn it!

She didn’t need to work on her [Ice Shard] spell. What Ceria wanted was to start learning more advanced spells, but she was stuck. Probationary Wistram students took all the classes they could, and Ceria knew that the efficacy of her spells would be tested during the examination process at the end of the month. So she gritted her teeth and reapplied herself to forming the best [Ice Shard] spell she could.

At the desk next to her, Pisces focused on his own spell. He didn’t know any Tier 2 combat spells, so he was casting [Electric Jolt] as well. Rievan had taught the entire class the spell, but he’d insisted that anyone who knew a higher-Tier spell should practice that instead. The more complex a spell was, the more a mage benefited from working with it.

The young man let a spark of electricity jump between his fingers, almost in a straight line. He seemed focused and at ease at the same time—eager to learn, and not at all bothered. He kept talking as Ceria labored over her spell.

“I really hadn’t considered the implications of altering a spell in its base state. Had you, Ceria? Certainly it makes no sense to significantly alter basic constructions and increase the complexity, but had you considered what would happen if you turned your [Ice Shard] spell into, say, an orb? Wouldn’t that completely change the nature of the spell?”

Ceria grunted irritably as she tried to make the point of her shard sharper.

“The mana cost’s the same, and so is the amount of water you can work with. What’s the point? A ball of ice isn’t useful, and round shapes are harder.”

Pisces grinned.

“Well, I was just thinking, if we can alter basic spells like that, what’s the point in learning spells at all? We could just learn basic fundamental magics and extrapolate from there. It might take a long time, but if we could teach ourselves magic—”

“I see you have time to talk rather than practice.”

The loud voice made Pisces and Ceria both jump. She cursed as her attention wavered and the water she was holding in place lost its form. The young man sat up quickly as Rievan loomed over his desk, looking down his sharp nose at him.

“You are new, are you not? Your name is…Pisces.”

“Yes sir.”

Pisces looked ahead respectfully while Rievan scowled at him. He didn’t appear intimidated, just alert and wary. And confident. Ceria didn’t see a bit of doubt in his posture.

“You have not yet been admitted as a full student to Wistram. I suggest you dedicate yourself to studying, while you have time. But since you do not feel the need—show the class how far you have progressed with your [Electric Jolt] spell.”

The other practicing students looked over as Pisces raised his hands. Rievan was clearly expecting Pisces to make a mistake and pounce on it, but to his surprise—and Ceria’s—a steady stream of purple-blue lightning crackled from one of Pisces’s hands into the other, looking for all the world like a bright river of electricity.

Drops of water spattered on Ceria’s desk and evaporated as she lost control of her own spell. She was gaping. Just a bit. Pisces’ control of the spell was immaculate. Both she and Rievan knew it. After a moment, the mage nodded. He looked at Pisces with a hint of respect and addressed the other students as a whole.

“Acceptable. Observe, class. Young Pisces has managed to divert the whole of the spell into striking his other palm, without letting the individual threads of magic separate as the electricity desires. Emulate his example. Learn from it. We will focus on the same tomorrow, by refining your basic levitation spells. Class dismissed.”

He whirled and walked towards the door. Pisces paused, letting himself smile a tiny bit. Then he turned to Ceria.

“Shall we go?”

----

“How did you do that?”

“It’s just a matter of adjusting the spell.”

“I know that—”

Ceria snapped as she hurried after Pisces. She had to walk fast to keep up with him—Pisces was taller than she was, and he had an effortless stride despite the small bag he carried. She was carrying a similar one, and Ceria didn’t like the weight it put on one shoulder. The strap was digging into her flesh. Why didn’t Humans use backpacks? They were more practical, if not as easily accessible.

They were walking through the corridors of Wistram, leaving the class they’d just been in. Ceria and Pisces stopped in a large corridor and found a number of other students—all young, prospective students like them—milling around there.

They were in one of the sections of Wistram devoted to teaching. As such, a branching corridor led to several hallways with classrooms, and it was the intersection here where students could find a class, or walk to another intersection to go elsewhere in Wistram.

“Why are you so amazed? It’s not as if the spell was Tier 3, or even Tier 2. Your [Ice Shard] spell was far harder to maintain.”

“In terms of mana, maybe. But your mastery of the spell was nearly perfect. Even the teacher left you alone! Are you sure you didn’t know the spell beforehand?”

“Very sure. I just don’t find Tier 1 spells that challenging, at least in making them work in the most optimal way. It’s like having a map with your destination circled; it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“Well.”

Ceria blew out her cheeks, partly exasperated, but mostly impressed. Pisces certainly was gifted. She looked around the other corridors and frowned.

“Where to next?”

Pisces frowned. He stared at one of the windows. The sun was nearly directly overhead. Wistram had other ways of telling time of course, but this was the easiest to use.

“Um…illusion class, I think. After that’s destruction magic.”

“So we’re free?”

“Unless you’ve figured out where the illusion class is being held yet?”

“Nope. You?”

Pisces shook his head. Ceria looked around and saw the other students were milling about, equally confused as to where to go. She gritted her teeth, annoyed.

“I can’t believe there aren’t any signs.”

“Or a map. That would be quite helpful.”

There was a trick to Wistram. Actually, more than one trick; it was like walking into a dungeon full of traps, really, but there was a trick to being a student that Ceria had quickly realized. And it was that being a student meant you had to learn everything. Not just magic. Even basic things like directions, where the bathrooms were located—all of that vital information you had to find out for yourself, because no one would teach you.

Class, for instance. Ceria had heard of royal academies some nations had founded to train [Strategists], or [Scholars] and even [Mages] of their own, but where those places were neat, highly-regulated affairs, Wistram clearly believed in finding things out for yourself.

Case in point. The first day Ceria and Pisces had been in Wistram—the first full day, not counting their exciting voyage and rescue—they’d been given a tour of Wistram, as well as supplies to be used during their time here. Ink pots, quills—even a low-level spellbook of their own! Calvaron had been one of the students who’d shown Ceria where to go and not to go, and what places were off-limits to new students like her.

Only, it appeared that while older students like Calvaron had been only too willing to show the new students around the first day, they hadn’t pointed out specific classrooms. Thus, when class had actually started, Ceria had had to run around with Pisces, walking into classes in session before they found the one they were assigned to.

This was embarrassing, but not the worst part. Some classes were easy enough to figure out, and the teachers had even posted directions on the large message board next to the dining hall. But no matter how hard Ceria and the other students had searched, they still hadn’t found some of the other classes they were slated to attend. The illusion classroom was supposed to be somewhere on the ground floor, but no one had found it yet.

Ceria was certain that was some kind of twisted joke. She scowled as she wondered what she might be learning if she was in the right class—she didn’t know any illusion spells, and she would dearly love to learn one or two. But she yawned once, which prompted Pisces to yawn as well.

“I don’t wish to seem lax, but I very much doubt three more hours of unsuccessful searching would do either of us any good, do you?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I shall return to my room for a quick rest. Would you like to…?”

Ceria thought about it as Pisces eyed her hopefully. Her instinct was to say ‘no’, but it wasn’t as if Pisces was inviting her into his room. And besides—

“Fine. Let’s go.”

She and Pisces began walking out of the intersection. Their departure seemed to make up the other new student’s minds, and they began to leave too. Soon, the wide corridors were packed with busy people, some tripping over their robes.

Robes. Ceria snorted as she walked along in her normal, practical leggings and tunic. Over half of the new students were wearing long robes, usually dark blue or black. They’d bought it along with a low-quality wand, as if it were prerequisite for being a [Mage]. All it really did, in Ceria’s opinion, was make you look like an idiot. The older students, Calvaron and Beatrice included, didn’t wear robes. Then again, Calvaron was a Centaur and Beatrice was a Dullahan, so perhaps that was an unfair comparison.

This time Ceria took the lead, which meant that she could set the pace. Pisces walked next to her, easily keeping up as they turned left and right and went up a flight of stairs. Both had to concentrate on where they were going—there wasn’t much traffic in the hallways except at the busiest of intersections, but Wistram was a labyrinth. It was all too easy to get lost and turn the wrong way and find yourself quite a ways away from where you wanted to be.

“I thought that was a rather informative class, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Ceria grunted as she walked along. She made a face. She was still sour over being reprimanded.

“I certainly benefited from someone showing me how to cast the [Electric Jolt] spell, and the way our teacher optimized the spell was quite interesting.”

“That I’ll grant you. Still, learning to make a weak spell slightly more effective wasn’t why I came here.”

Ceria stopped at an intersection where two paths split off diagonally from each other. It was odd architecture, and Ceria couldn’t remember which way led to their rooms. Pisces pointed.

“I think we go right here. Well, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought we’d be picking up higher-Tier spells, not working on the basics.”

“I would like that. But we are new students, aren’t we? If we don’t improve on our fundamental abilities, we wouldn’t be able to cast better spells anyways.”

That was true. Ceria knew [Ice Shard], but she could barely create more than twenty darts before she had to sit down. That was a far cry from a good mage’s capabilities, let alone a Gold-rank [Mage], for example.

“I guess you’re right. Still…”

She scowled, not wanting to put her feelings into words. She walked briskly forwards, and Pisces stepped a bit more quickly to catch up.

She knew they had to make an odd pair. Ceria was a half-Elf, and Pisces was…well, a young man who looked more like a peasant than a student. There were odder pairings, Calvaron and Beatrice for example, and Ceria had seen Drakes and even a Selphid walking down the halls just this morning. But it was strange to be talking so familiarly with a Human, given where both came from.

Pisces cleared his throat.

“I noticed the lecturer was ah, slightly hostile towards you, Ceria. Maybe it’s because of your…”

“My race, you mean?”

Ceria grimaced as she twitched her ears in annoyance. Pisces made a noncommittal sound.

“Straight ahead here, I believe. Do you think he’s from Terandria?”

She shrugged.

“He could be. If he lived in the north or eastern parts of the continent…or not. It doesn’t really matter—half-Elves don’t have a good reputation anywhere.”

“Really? I know that some nations in Terandria ah, don’t have the best relations with your people, but everywhere?”

“You’ve heard the rumors about half-Elves, right? We’re thieves, we can’t be trusted, we hate Humans—”

“But those are rumors, surely. Just like how you can’t let a Selphid into a graveyard, and a Gnoll will bite your face off if you offend them.”

“Yeah. I mean—yes. Come on, it’s this way.”

Ceria turned away from Pisces. She wasn’t used to someone taking her side, and it was uncomfortable.

“Okay, maybe in other parts of the world we’re more welcomed, but half-Elves keep to ourselves no matter where we go. And if he is from Terandria, there’s bad blood. Lots of it. Centuries of conflict.”

“Indeed. I just didn’t think he was being that fair in his critique of you, that’s all.”

“Well—thanks.”

They walked on. Ceria began to recognize their part of the citadel as the view in the windows changed. She and Pisces occupied some sort of overlook right above the rocks of the isle, and as she stared out at the calm, peaceful bubble of water surrounding Wistram, she spotted their rooms.

“Here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.”

Pisces nodded to Ceria.

“I’ll ah, take a nap. Would you like to have lunch together later?”

“I—guess so. Okay. See you later.”

He nodded, smiled, and yawned. Ceria yawned too, and she found herself fumbling with the lock in her keyhole. She tossed her heavy bag onto a chair, wincing as she heard a sealed pot of ink clink against the wood, and rubbed at her shoulder. Then she yawned again.

It was strange. Ceria was exhausted, and the day wasn’t even truly begun. Five hours had passed since they’d woken up. Well, six, but the first hour had just been comprised of dressing, eating, and finding their way to class. The other five had involved studying.

Maybe if it was just studying in the sense of reading books and listening to someone talk Ceria would have been more awake. But in Wistram, studying also meant casting magic. She’d been taught several basic spells and forced to use her mana to prove to her teachers that she could perform basic incantations. That wasn’t hard, but she’d had to do it again and again.

Repeatedly casting spells, even low-Tier ones, was extremely draining. The result was that even at midmorning of their second day, both Ceria and Pisces felt physically exhausted, if not mentally. They wandered into their rooms and fell asleep for a few solid hours before waking bleary-eyed and restless.

Of the two, Ceria was the most exhausted. She barely managed to rouse herself for a very late lunch after Pisces knocked on her door, and she stumbled into the grand dining hall with a scowl as she got her food.

Raucous laughter greeted both her and Pisces as they sat at one of the tables. Calvaron and Beatrice were seated at a large table next to the couches, and they waved the two new [Mages] over. Ceria hadn’t seen them much yesterday, but she saw the two older students were studying at their table while they ate.

Spell books, expensive, magical, and sometimes literally glowing with the spells inscribed on them, were carelessly propped open by bowls and mugs. The Dullahan and Centaur looked like they’d been eating and sitting for a while, judging by the mess on their table. Calvaron swept some dishes aside as he called out to Ceria.

“Your hair looks like a tangled spiderweb, Springwalker! Did you get a bit of rest after all the magic practice this morning?”

She glared at him as she put down her food—thick slices of roasted mushrooms in a sauce and what she thought was pork—on the table.

“I’d laugh—but I forgot that I don’t like jokes.”

“Ooh, touchy. Are you in the same class as Ceria, Pisces? I’d sit far away from her if I were you, or she might bite your head off.”

“I can leave. Or throw these mushrooms at you.”

Calvaron ducked his head slightly as Ceria raised her fork with one of the dripping mushrooms.

“Don’t, please. I hate mushrooms.”

“I’m allergic to mushrooms.”

The Centaur, Human, and half-Elf all looked at Beatrice. She was calmly eating some peas, chewing without much expression.

“Sorry. I can take them away if it’s a bother.”

“Just don’t drop them on my armor.”

Ceria nodded and settled down as she began to eat her meal. Calvaron wasn’t done teasing though. The Centaur grinned at the two others.

“Did you just wake up? Exhausted, are we?”

“Quite.”

Pisces nodded as he stuffed his face full of meat. He’d completely ignored the mushrooms as well.

“I had no idea—mnph, this is good—that the lessons could be this intense. Will they always be so hard?”

Beatrice looked mildly disgusted at Pisces’ display of eating. She moved her head off the table and onto her lap as Calvaron nodded and laughed again.

“Everyone always complains on the first day. Have you two never been taught by another [Mage] before?”

Ceria shook her head, ruefully.

“I learnt all my spells from books. I taught myself.”

Pisces hesitated before replying.

“There was a local [Hedge Mage] in my…village who agreed to teach me.”

Calvaron nodded as he reached for a drink of dark purple juice. Ceria smelled grape and wished she’d gotten some.

“The first lessons are always the hardest. Once they’re sure you’re not making novice mistakes in how you form your spells, the teachers will go easier on you.”

“I hope so. But do we have to take classes at all? I thought Wistram let mages study how they pleased.”

Scowling, Ceria bit into another mushroom, chewing hard. Someone hadn’t cooked these thoroughly enough. Beatrice and Calvaron shrugged in reply.

“Some people just study by themselves. But until you’re sure that’s the way you want to go, I’d pay attention in the lessons and try to impress the mages assigned to teach you.”

“For the exam.”

“Exactly!”

The Centaur grinned as Ceria’s stomach gave a small lurch and Pisces paused long enough to look worried.

“Will we learn any complex spells before then?”

“Some basic ones, yes, but complex? Not unless your teacher’s quite odd. You lot are only here for a month—all of your courses are the most basic ones.”

Beatrice nodded.

“Boring classes.”

“Golem creation, scroll scribing, trap spells and enchantments—all of that only gets taught when we’re in our second years at the earliest. Most students don’t get to those kind of lessons until year six. Talented ones get there sooner, but…”

“Wonderful.”

Ceria muttered as she drank her own cup of water. Pisces looked dispirited as well, but then he turned to the older students hopefully.

“If you’re going to be helpful, mind telling us where the illusion classes are being taught? No one’s found the classroom so far.”

“Oh? Illusion class?”

They laughed. Well, Calvaron laughed and Beatrice chuckled. Ceria frowned at them.

“What’s the joke?”

The Centaur scratched at his head and smiled enigmatically at the two of them.

“I…could tell you how to find it, but I’m afraid I’d have to charge you two for that.”

“What? You’d ask us for money?”

Ceria was outraged—she’d thought the Centaur and Dullahan were friends, or at least friendly!—but Calvaron was shaking his head, trying not to chuckle.

“No, you see—ah, Beatrice, what should I do? If I explain it, I’ll lose the chance to charge them for that as well. Do you think we should just give away a secret like that?”

The half-Elf had no idea what they were talking about, but Beatrice paused for a second before nodding her head with her hands.

“It’s not a big secret. You should tell them to be friendly. Or she’ll throw mushrooms at us.”

Calvaron glanced at Ceria. She was indeed considering heaving her dish at his head. Pisces just watched the other two thoughtfully. At last, Calvaron sighed, sounding put-upon.

“I suppose we can. Okay you two, you’re about to learn a bit more about how Wistram works. For free, no less.”

“What are you talking about?”

Beatrice sighed.

“They are a currency. Secrets.”

Calvaron paused, mouth open and looked over at Beatrice with a frown. Ceria and Pisces just stared at the two of them.

“Thanks for ruining my moment, Beatrice.”

“Welcome.”

The Dullahan shrugged impassively. Ceria stared at her and the resigned Centaur.

“What?”

“You heard her. Wistram runs on secrets, not coin around here. You would have figured it out sooner or later, but…”

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s very simple. If you want something—a spell, a favor, or even another secret, you have to pay for it. Unfortunately, or fortunately for those of us without money, the most valuable thing around here is secrets.”

“Secrets.”

Ceria felt like she was speaking another language. Calvaron wiggled his eyebrows as he smiled at her.

“That’s right. Secrets about where treasure’s buried, unique classes, spells no one’s heard of—I say secrets, but it’s more general knowledge in most cas—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Secrets, Springwalker! Secrets!”

Pisces stopped Ceria from getting up and kicking the table over. He smiled at her.

“I believe Calvaron is saying Wistram uses a bartering system.”

“What?”

It took a while, but with Calvaron to explain and Pisces to clarify—and Beatrice to nod silently—Ceria finally got it.

Wistram used secrets like coins. Small secrets, big secrets—they were what [Mages] and students alike traded each other for favors, or even real objects.

“Like coin? You could trade a secret for a—a bag of gold coins?”

Calvaron nodded happily as he ate something yellow and strange he called a ‘banana’. It looked disgusting to Ceria.

“That’s right. Wistram doesn’t have much use for coin, although there are always merchants sailing in to harbor…but secrets and magic are the real coin around here.”

“But how does that work? Are there really that many secrets there? No—how could you keep that many secrets for so long? How could a system like that keep functioning?”

The Centaur shrugged.

“It works because it has to. We need some kind of currency, and money isn’t good enough. And secrets have a weight of their own. True, if you went around telling everyone then the secret’s worthless. But if there were a room only you and someone else knew about—or a part of the academy that you have to have a password to get into—”

“Which there are.”

“—Which there are, thank you Beatrice. The system might not work anywhere else, but Wistram has so many secrets and hidden surprises that even now people are finding new things out. Just the other day, someone found a wall that disappears if you say the right words.”

“Oh? And what was behind the wall?”

Pisces was curious, but Calvaron just waggled a finger at him.

“If I told you that, you’d have to give me a secret. A small one to know and a big one for the actual words, which I don’t in fact know. I’d have to trade some secrets for it, you see.”

“That is the stupidest way of—”

Ceria rubbed at her head. This had to be a joke. She closed her eyes and came up with a flaw after two seconds of thought.

“What if—and hear me out here—what if someone traded you for a secret, and then didn’t pay up? How would anyone prove you’d lost anything?”

“Truth spells.”

“Oh.”

“If someone doesn’t make good on your favor, all you have to do is go around telling people they’re a lying backstabber. No one will trust them, and your problem’s solved.”

“Something that can only work in a place where magic users are as common as dirt.”

Pisces looked approving. Calvaron grinned as he nodded.

“Of course, some people have more secrets to trade than others. Some people just use secrets when they have to—they trade gold for secrets, or get someone else to make all the trades for them. Like me.”

“You?”

“I’m a broker. I have a lot of secrets in my head, and even more that I don’t even know myself. Spelled parchment that erases itself when opened—that was popular a while ago. Messages in bottles, that sort of thing.”

Ceria eyed Calvaron slightly askance.

“And you trade secrets, is that it? If I have a juicy one, I can trade it to you for something else?”

“Anything you want to know. I accept all kinds of minor secrets; if you’ve got gold or gems I’ll take that too, but I prefer secrets.”

He grinned at both half-Elf and Human sitting at the table. After a second, the half-Elf rolled her eyes.

“This place gets weirder by the second. Okay, remind me to never ask you for a favor.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Look, because we’re friends I’ll share a secret with you. On the house.”

Both Ceria and Pisces eyed Calvaron dubiously, the former with considerably more suspicion than the latter. Calvaron laughed lightly again. He looked around and muttered something—Ceria saw his fingertips flash for a second—before he spoke to them in a quiet voice.

“Here’s a free secret for you new students: most magic-based classes require at least ten levels in [Mage] to learn. A lot of them take at least twenty levels. That’s why most classes just teach the basics—they want you to have a high [Mage] level before you try to specialize.”

“Is that really true?”

Ceria wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or not. It was probably true, but was that really a secret worth trading?

“This would be a small secret, wouldn’t it?”

“Pretty small, unless you knew the exact requirements for a class. That would constitute a large secret.”

“And you’re just giving this one away because we’re friends, huh?”

“Just a sample. Now, if you want to know anything else, we can negotiate.”

Pisces frowned.

“That’s very mercenary of you.”

“Hey, we’ve all got to eat. And if I can build up a bit of credit on the side—”

“So you’re not going to tell us anything else unless we pay you.”

“That’s right.”

Ceria frowned.

“That’s not fair. Tell us at least one more secret—an obvious one.”

Calvaron raised his eyebrows, looking mildly exasperated.

“I just gave you a secret for free.”

“Yeah, a pretty useless one. We’ll get our classes no matter what happens—who cares about what’ll happen ten levels from now? Tell us something we can use in Wistram.”

She frowned at the Centaur and he frowned back, but he did seem to consider her suggestion. He nudged his friend gently in the side of her armor.

“I don’t know. Beatrice?”

She shrugged.

“Mushrooms.”

With a put-upon sigh, Calvaron nodded.

“Fine. Here’s another one, but this is the last secret. It’s about your books.”

“Our books?”

“You got new spellbooks on the first day, right? Come on, let’s see them.”

Reluctantly, Ceria and Pisces pulled out their spellbooks. They had indeed been issued mostly-empty books for apprentice mages. The first few pages had been filled with notes and spells in another person’s hand, but the majority was blank. Calvaron chuckled as he showed the students the empty pages.

“Thought so. Here’s something the academy does all the time. They take old books—the ones left behind by students—and give them to new students. You’ll never find anything beyond a Tier 2 spell in the spellbooks, because the older mages will sort through the lot to make sure they don’t give anything good to the new students.”

“Huh. So there are better spellbooks out there?”

Calvaron and Beatrice nodded.

“Yup. You’ll be able to read them as you rise in, well, status. You can take out books from the libraries, but only experienced students know where the good books are hidden.”

“And you would know where they’re kept, I presume?”

The Centaur raised his hands.

“Me? Perish the thought. If I could trade for that secret, I would. But the locations of the secret libraries and tomes are among the biggest secrets you can trade for.”

“And that’s your big secret. Again, it sounds more like something you could’ve just told us to be friendly.”

Ceria crossed her arms, annoyed and slightly disgusted. She saw Calvaron exchange an amused glance with Beatrice, and scowled fiercely.

“All of your ‘secrets’ sound pretty useless to me, Calvaron.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He avoided her gaze, an amused smile on his face as he snagged a slice of pork from her plate.

“All knowledge is useful to someone else. And there are secrets and secrets. For instance, the fact that Miss Springwalker here is a half-Elf? Not really a secret. But the knowledge that Pisces here has a rapier and a silver bell? That’s important knowledge. Someone might ask where he came from, knowing that.”

“How did you—?”

“And that this morning, Pisces managed to impress even Rievan during class? And that he didn’t like Miss Ceria?”

“Calvaron—”

The Centaur cut Ceria off. He looked directly at her.

“And of course, there’s your origins. The records are sealed of course, but anyone can look up old records. And half-Elves have long histories. In fact, if you looked back at certain Terandrian city arrest warrants, you could find a small bounty on a certain half-Elf kid for theft, property damage and—”

Ceria slammed her hands on the table, cutting the Centaur off. He stared at her surprised. She was shaking, and Ceria saw Beatrice grab Calvaron’s side warningly. But she didn’t say or do anything that would start something else. Without a word, she stood up and walked away. Calvaron called out after her, but Ceria ignored him. She stalked off, leaving her unfinished meal behind.

“Ceria? Ah! Ceria, please wait!”

She heard the voice calling out after her as she stomped away. At first Ceria just walked faster, but the voice kept shouting her name. In the end, she grudgingly slowed to let Pisces catch up.

“What?”

The young man slowed and panted—theatrically, Ceria thought—as he caught up with her. He smiled nervously as she glared at him.

“I ah, I just wanted to walk back with you.”

“Did you?”

“Well—”

Ceria started walking again, and Pisces hesitated before matching her pace.

“Calvaron is, uh, apologetic.”

“Good for him.”

She gritted her teeth. Pisces paused again before he adopted a placating tone.

“They were trying to help us, or so I feel. I understand that they went too far—”

“I came here to learn magic, not to find out secrets about other people and trade favors and gossip like a pack of simpering [Noblewomen].”

“As did I.”

Pisces took two strides forwards, and looked at Ceria. She glared at him, emotions running hot.

“What?”

“Nothing. I would just like to opine that, well, we are new to Wistram.”

“So?”

“So, rather than get too upset—why don’t you forget Calvaron’s transgression, and have a drink with me instead? It does no good to get too worked up right away, in my experience.”

“Oh really? Well, how much experience have you had?”

“None.”

Pisces grinned at her widely, and Ceria’s face went slack before she laughed unwillingly. The anger drained out of her as quick as it had come, leaving her feeling more than a little silly.

“Okay, okay. I should…rot, I should apologize to Calvaron. I didn’t mean to storm off like that. It’s just when he brought up my past—”

The young man interrupted with surprising tact.

“I shouldn’t worry about that. Calvaron feels he went too far. I think he’ll be the one apologizing when you two next meet. Until then, we should really have a drink.”

“A drink? Here? But they don’t serve free beer.”

If they did, Ceria would already have downed a few mugs to take the burden of the day away. But Pisces just gave her another smile.

“They do not. But there are places where it is sold, quite cheaply too. All one has to do is trade for the secrets…”

He waggled his eyebrows and Ceria snorted.

“Don’t tell me you traded Calvaron for one of his secrets.”

“Not as of such. I ah, may have told Calvaron that I would intercede on his behalf if he told us the best place in the isle to find alcohol, preferably for free. He informed me of a party that should be beginning tonight. Would you care to join me?”

Ceria thought about it, and then smiled slightly wickedly.

“You’re telling me you blackmailed Calvaron for free beer?”

“He’s not as good at negotiating as he thinks he is, and I do believe he wants to be friends.”

The two began to walk off in another direction. Ceria was smiling against her will and Pisces tried to tell jokes and speculated on what secrets might be worth trading for. She found herself answering back, wondering about the illusion and destruction magic classes, and before she knew it, they were talking again.

Just like on the boat. And best of all, she hadn’t made a scene—well, not that big of a scene—and ruined a potential friendship with Calvaron and Beatrice. And thanks to Pisces, she was going to be drunk, or at least tipsy tonight.

Pisces. Ceria glanced at him sideways as the mage tripped over his robes. He was coolheaded when she was not. And he had a quick tongue and a fast mind. He was also a talented [Mage]; in short, all the things that should have made him the competition for Ceria. But he was also friendly, and helpful. He seemed like a good…friend. A Human friend? Now, wasn’t that an odd thought.

----

A week later, Ceria had gotten used to Wistram’s quirks and peculiarities. She had gotten over the system of secrets, resigned herself to at least one class with a teacher who didn’t like her, and surprisingly enjoyed and learned quite a lot from all her classes. True, she wasn’t exactly learning how to cause earthquakes, but there was a whole basis of magic she had never understood until now. Maybe this was why Wistram Mages were always considered better than other mages; they might not be higher level, but they knew how spells worked.

The other thing that the half-Elf had learned after spending some time in Wistram was the architecture of the building. It really was simple, once you got over the varied passageways. There was a general, central area containing dormitories, classrooms, general storage—everything a new student needed. Central hallways branched out or spiraled upwards leading to these individual sections, but the higher levels and the lower recesses of Wistram were off-limits.

There were actual magical barriers in some places, locked doors or Golems standing guard duty near stairwells in others. They were there to stop new students from going too high or too low, where more dangerous magical experiments still ran wild, and the most powerful of mages worked and lived. In short, that was where the real magic happened, but until she got to that point or even became a full student, Ceria was content just to find her way around.

And it was a good thing she could get to places on time, because Pisces certainly couldn’t. The young man had to follow her to get to all their classes, and on a day like today where both of them were rushing, Ceria was just glad for his long legs.

“Are you sure this is the right way!”

“I’m positive! And if you’d bother to memorize the way to class, we wouldn’t be late!”

Ceria snapped over her shoulder as she and Pisces ran down a corridor, running past a plodding Golem made of stone and amused older students who called out to them as they passed by. Pisces muttered as they rounded a corner and went straight down a seven-way intersection.

“Why don’t they have signs?”

“Because that would make it too easy. And being a [Mage] is hard work. Come on, we’re nearly there!”

“Why are we going to class? We just finished Rievan’s lecture a half-hour ago!”

“I don’t know! Cessic just told us to get to the classrooms.”

“Cessic? You trusted him?”

“Has he ever lied?”

“Well—”

Cessic was another one of the new students Ceria and Pisces had gotten to know. He was a Lizardman, and as such, he’d naturally gravitated towards Ceria when they’d been in class together. The Humans—the overwhelming majority of new students—tended to stick together, and Ceria still felt a lurch of anger when she saw Charles and his group strutting around their circle. But the non-Humans had their own cliques, and Ceria had sat next to Cessic more than once.

“Here we are!”

The two mages skidded to a halt and found a large group of students, both prospective and older ones—waiting outside of one of the classroom doors. Ceria blinked. This classroom she’d never been in, and she was fairly certain none of the teachers had used it before. She spotted a tall Lizardman with multicolored scales and edged over to him.

“Cessic! Hey, Cessic! What’s going on?”

Cessic turned his head and fanned his neck frills out slightly as he spotted Ceria and Pisces.

“There you two are! You’re just in time—I think we’re about to get our first class in destruction magic!”

“Really?”

“You’re kidding!”

The two mages stared at Cessic in disbelief. Although they’d taken quite a few classes, they still hadn’t managed to find the class that taught illusion magic (Pisces had suggested that such a class didn’t exist and it was a prank pulled on new students; Ceria had agreed), and as far as they’d known, the teacher in charge of teaching combat spells hadn’t shown up to any of her classes.

“How do you know?”

“Look around.”

Cessic pointed to the other students.

“Apparently, the Council—the leaders of all the mage factions in Wistram—chewed out the mage in charge of this class—told them to start teaching right away. I got the tip-off from Calvaron; he sold it to me cheap, since word spread so quick.”

“Of course he did.”

Ceria sighed, although she wasn’t actually that mad. She’d gotten used to Calvaron selling secrets, and she’d even bought two off him for small favors and secrets in return—one to find out where the bathrooms on her floor were, and another for a shortcut that saved her several minutes getting to the banquet hall each day. Apparently, a rather irate [Illusionist] had grown fed-up with waiting in line for the bathroom each day and enchanted her own private restroom, until word had spread of its existence.

“Who’s the mage? Are you sure they’re coming?”

“Fairly. I mean, if they didn’t offer the class they’d be punished, and I don’t think they’d want to risk—”

Cessic cut off and the hubbub around Ceria died. She looked and saw the door to the classroom slowly opening. She held her breath, not sure whom to expect. What she saw was a tall, older woman—perhaps in her late thirties—stepping out of the room. It was actually hard to place this Human’s age, because although her hair was slightly greying, she had no wrinkles. Her face was smooth and flawless so Ceria supposed her hair was just naturally grey. What the woman did give off though was an aura of cold, both in mannerism and temperature.

And Ceria recognized her, vaguely. She was the woman who’d cast [Ice Lance] on the first day at the Ghouls. She was…

“My name is Illphres. I specialize in ice magic, and I’m assigned to teach you all some spells to use in actual combat.”

The woman spoke abruptly and without any hint of welcome. She raised her voice so the silent students could all hear her. Ceria exchanged a glance with Pisces. This sounded like the introduction the other teachers had given a week ago! And why were they all here? Was she going to teach all the students at once?

Illphres’ eyes swept over the assembled students once. Then she spoke again.

“However, I don’t want to be a teacher. I was forced to take this job by the Council, even though I have better things to do. So I’m going to give you a test. Pass it and I’ll teach you magic.”

So saying, Illphres turned and pointed towards the open doorway.

“[Ice Wall].”

The students in the crowd stepped back as ice rose from the ground, forming out of the suddenly misty air and freezing into a thick, impenetrable wall that sealed off the entrance to the classroom. Ceria heard confused voices as she felt the temperature in the corridor drop so suddenly she shivered. People moved back in front of her, stepping away from the extreme cold.

Illphres didn’t seem bothered by the chill. She was wearing light robes, and she touched the ice as if it were just stone. But she had confidence in her spell as well, because her next words were a challenge.

“Melt the ice. Gain entry to the classroom and I will teach you. Do it yourselves, without an artifact or another mage to help you. That is all.”

Without another word she stepped aside. The students stared at her incredulously. So did Ceria.

“That’s it?”

One of the students, a young Drake, stepped forwards angrily. He pointed to the wall of ice.

“You expect us to melt through that? How? We came here to learn combat spells! Some of us don’t know any flame magic!”

“Not my problem.”

Illphres stood with her arms crossed, waiting for someone to make a move. Ceria hesitated. She knew her best flame spell, [Flame Jet], wasn’t nearly good enough to melt through a wall of ice. Maybe if she had time—

She was too busy staring at the wall to see another student stride up to Illphres angrily. He was corpulent—fat being too general a term. He was wearing robes and by the looks of him he was an older student, given that he was brave enough to call Illphres out to her face.

“This isn’t fair! We’re supposed to be taught by you unconditionally! You don’t get to impose a restriction like—”

He cut off sharply as the temperature around Illphres lowered. Ceria felt it lower from where she was standing; she saw the student’s robes suddenly frost over, and then he was stumbling away, sobbing, his clothing crackling with frost.

Illphres flicked a bit of frozen spittle off her robes as if nothing had happened. She spoke quietly, calmly to the other students.

“I’m allowed to test you. So I am. I don’t feel like teaching children who can barely cast [Light], so this is my condition. Pass it or fail; it matters little to me.”

“Fine then.”

Another student moved up. He was a Dullahan, and his fingers burned with flames as he put his head on his shoulders. He raised both his hands and aimed it straight at the wall of ice.

“[Flaming Swathe]!”

Ceria watched as a long stream of fire blew outwards from the mage’s palms, licking over the door and raising the temperature in the corridor several degrees. She exchanged a look with Pisces—he looked impressed as well. It was a [Flaming Swathe], a Tier 3 spell, but the student held it for over twenty seconds, which had to have taken quite a bit of mana.

When he eventually lowered his hands, the Dullahan was panting, sweat standing out on his head. He wiped it away with one gauntlet and smiled confidently as the smoke cleared. But then his face fell.

The barrier of ice stood in the doorway, not even slightly melted by the fire. Illphres shook her head as she looked dismissively at the older student.

“A Tier 3 spell. Not even a good one at that; if you want to clear snow, use that spell. For this, you’d better have something better.”

She stared at the panting Dullahan. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he stepped back. Illphres looked around.

“Anyone else want to try? No? Then I’m going.”

She began to walk away. Silence followed her footsteps. Ceria couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Before she knew it, she’d raised her voice.

“We came here to be mages!”

Ceria shouted it at Illphres’ back. She couldn’t help herself. She raised her voice in outrage as the woman turned and regarded her silently.

“If you don’t want to teach us, take it up with the Council! But we’ve just started learning, and we need help, not an impossible task!”

A few students around her raised their voices in agreement. More spoke up, and then they were all shouting at Illphres. The woman just stared at them all without expression. She didn’t smile or frown—she didn’t even blink. It wasn’t just having a still face; it was as if her own face was frozen in place. It was so unnerving that after a few seconds, the noise had faded from the hallways once again.

When Illphres spoke, it was in a flat voice as she met Ceria’s eyes.

“Real [Mages] don’t need help. They forge their own paths. If you want someone to hold your hand, find another teacher.”

She turned and walked away. Ceria clenched her fists, helpless, as the blurred shape of Illphres disappeared down the corridor. Pisces patted her on the shoulder, and Cessic said something Ceria didn’t quite catch.

Slowly, the students began trooping down the corridor, not saying much. But they paused when they saw a ten foot high wall of ice right as the corridor opened up into the intersection. The wall left a foot of room near the ceiling, but besides that it was impenetrable.

In consternation, the students stared at the wall of shimmering ice. One student disbelievingly put their palm against it and found it stuck. As the shouting started, Ceria stared at the wall, and then at the mage standing at the far end of the intersection. It was hard to see the woman’s face through the distorted ice, but Ceria could swear she was smiling slightly. Then she turned and walked away.

Pisces stared at the ice as Cessic and Ceria just stood there in silence. He looked at Ceria.

“…How are we supposed to get out?”

----

“We’re going to die here.”

Cessic made that announcement after twenty minutes had passed and the fifty-odd students had made no progress breaking down the wall of ice magic. Over half the students knew at least one flame-based spell, but no matter how they’d pooled their spells and attacked in unison, the icy barrier had resisted all the flames.

“It has to be a Skill! A normal [Ice Wall] spell would melt, however slowly. But this ice is practically resistant to flame!”

Pisces looked as happy as she did. Concerned, he stared at the ice. Ceria just glared. Her spells had washed right over the wall without doing anything to it; and none of the other students still blasting it with low-level spells were having any better luck.

They couldn’t touch the ice, either, or they’d risk getting stuck to it. Several students had already tried climbing the ice, but they’d stopped after leaving good bits of their skin on the frozen surface. Now, most of the students were just standing around and talking, waiting for a higher-level mage to come by and rescue them.

“We’re all going to die.”

The only problem was that some people couldn’t handle waiting. Cessic was pacing back and forth, hyperventilating as he panicked. Ceria sighed and edged away from him; the Lizardman was apparently claustrophobic, and he gave off fear that was starting to spread to some of the other new students.

“We’re not going to die, Cessic. Stop pacing. Just—stand over there and don’t look at the wall, okay? Look out one of the windows?”

“Do—do you think I could jump out of one?”

The Lizardman looked hopefully at one of the windows. Ceria shuddered and grabbed his tail.

“Don’t. It’s a long way down. Just wait, okay? Someone will melt the ice soon enough.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to…I’ll just put my head out the window.”

Cessic staggered away. Ceria and Pisces stared at him until they saw he was just looking out the windows rather than climbing out, and then they went back to sitting. In silence.

“I really don’t like her.”

“She does appear to have a most objectionable personality, doesn’t she?”

Pisces nodded to the other wall of ice blocking off the classroom. Ceria scowled and flicked a bit of dirt off the floor. She looked around and saw most of the other students were seated—save for a knot of furious students in robes. They were all older students, a group of five, the Dullahan, and the fat Human who’d gotten frosted by Illphres. They were talking fiercely, and Ceria couldn’t help but edge over a bit to listen.

“We’re third-year students! Illphres was supposed to teach us as well, but the woman doesn’t even respect other mages!”

The overly-pudgy mage was talking to the others angrily, and they were nodding as they stayed out of spit-range. The Dullahan was wearing a sour expression as he stared at the ice wall.

“If I had a Tier 4 spell, I could have melted that ice. I wish I could have wiped that smug expression off of her face.”

“Well, if you want to learn it, there’s always the book. If we could pay someone to get it for us, then—”

The older students looked around, and saw Pisces and Ceria standing not-too-subtly near them. They broke off immediately. After a second of scrutiny, one of them raised their voices.

“You two, you’re new students, aren’t you? Shame you got Illphres as a teacher.”

Ceria and Pisces walked over. The other students introduced themselves.

“I take it this isn’t what normal teachers do?”

“Hardly.”

The overweight student snorted. He gestured towards the classrooms.

“Last year we had proper teachers, but this year the Council decided to make the selection process random. Hah! This is what we get. It looks like you two won’t be learning any combat spells unless you pass your entrance test.”

Dismayed, Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance. The older students nodded in agreement. One of them grinned at the new students.

“Still getting to know the academy? I remember how confusing it was when I was a new student here.”

“That’s right. We still haven’t found where the illusion class is being taught.”

“Hah! Good luck with that. You could get the location from Calvaron, but he’ll charge you an arm and a horse’s leg for it.”

The older students laughed again, but the Dullahan paused as he stared at Pisces.

“You’re that Pisces, aren’t you? If you trade me a rapier and a bell, I’ll tell you where the illusion classes are being held.”

“Ah.”

Pisces blinked in surprise, and then smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, but my personal accoutrements are not for sale.”

“Pity. Well, until we get this damn barrier melted, we’d best save our mana rather than waste it on this.”

With a flick of the hand the Dullahan indicated the ice barrier. He jerked his head and the other students walked away, saying goodbye to Pisces and Ceria. They found a secluded part of the corridor and began to speak intently again, this time making sure no one was near them.

“That was an odd offer, don’t you think?”

Pisces and Ceria stood in front of the ice wall, talking. Pisces nodded as he looked over to the other students.

“An offer to tell us where the illusion class was being taught for a duelist’s, that is to say, my, bells. That was the most direct trade I’ve heard so far, I believe.”

“Maybe you should have taken him up on the offer.”

Ceria joked, but Pisces just shook his head. He was very intent as he studied the older students from the side.

“Did you notice his companion’s expressions? They clearly didn’t expect his ruse to succeed, once again adding to my theory that the illusion class is, in of itself, an illusion.”

“Why offer if it wouldn’t succeed, then?”

“For the bell. Another clue. If he wants that for simple directions—well, if the class were so easy to find, it would be a very one-sided deal.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows.

“It’s that valuable? That little bell?”

“It is, to some at least. I—”

The young man broke off, shaking his head. Ceria knew he didn’t want to talk about his past, and let the matter drop. Instead, she perked up her pointed ears, trying to listen to what the students were saying. She caught only a fraction as the conversation from other students entered a temporary lull.

“…spell book. I’m sure it has at least one Tier 4 spell in it, but the protections—”

Then the babble rose and Ceria lost the thread. She sighed. More secrets, and this one sounded promising. A spellbook?

Pisces was looking repeatedly over to the group of students as well. Ceria saw him tap his lips thoughtfully, but he didn’t make a move to sidle over. She thought she saw him whisper something, but it might have just been a trick of the light.

As Ceria turned to check on Cessic, she saw a dark shape flit towards the older students. She turned back quickly, but whatever it was had gone the instant she looked.

“See something?”

She shook her head at Pisces and made a face.

“Great. There are rats trapped in here with us.”

“Rats? Are you sure?”

Cessic said that, coming over from the window to rejoin the other two. Pisces frowned as he looked around, and Ceria did too, although she couldn’t spot the dark shape.

“Either that or some large bug.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bug or a rat if that’s all we’ll be eating. You know, I skipped lunch for this.”

The Lizard moaned as he rubbed his stomach. Ceria was about to tell him to suck it up or go searching for the creature in question when Pisces suddenly called out.

“Hello? Is anyone there? We’re trapped here; we could use some help!”

Ceria turned and saw a tall figure through the distorted ice. It stopped and walked over towards them. Ceria held her breath as she saw a porcelain face, and saw the seven foot tall creation move as gracefully as a dancer. She heard Cessic gulp and the other students go quiet.

Pisces smiled in relief at the stone woman who looked as though she had traded stone for flesh. Cognita’s smooth face smiled slightly as she looked down at them.

“You are Cognita, yes? I hesitate to ask, but we’ve found ourselves trapped, you see. A [Mage] made this barrier and we can’t break through it.”

The Truestone Construct, the Golem who acted like a person, nodded. She regarded the ice wall as if she was staring at a speck of dust as she spoke.

“Ah. This is the work of Illphres. Stand back please, and employ any protective spells you know. I will remove this barrier.”

So saying, she let the students scurry backwards twenty feet before she lifted one delicate arm. Her dress rippled as her stone fist casually punched straight through the wall of ice with an impact that sounded like an avalanche.

Ceria and Pisces gaped as bits of ice showered down around Cognita. She raised her hand and punched twice more, and the wall collapsed. With ease, the Golem kicked the ice fragments aside and nodded to the students.

“The path is clear. I will have the rest disposed of soon enough, although the binding spell has already been broken.”

She nodded politely at Pisces and walked away. In silence, the students watched her go. After a minute, they began to file out, avoiding the jagged bits of ice.

Cessic paused after he’d cleared the broken ice wall. He put one hand against the stone wall, looking pale.

“I think I need to go have a lie down.”

Ceria and Pisces agreed with the sentiment, even if they weren’t so ill as Cessic. They slowly began to walk towards their rooms. Ceria stared at the broken ice, and wondered if she’d ever be able to match any of the beings who walked these halls.

----

The two mages were tired after their small adventure, so they had agreed to take a brief rest before going to dinner. Ceria wanted to have a drink to wash away the stress, so they had agreed to find another party afterwards.

The funny thing about Wistram was that while all the mages studied magic, there was always at least one mage not studying and instead imbibing as much alcohol as possible. Something about rigorous and intense concentration brought it out in people, and the new students were only too happy to drink as much free liquor as possible until someone started throwing spells around.

But there was nothing in Ceria that really wanted to have a drink and relax. She stomped into her room, teeth clenched. She’d been in a bad mood all day, ever since she’d met Illphres. Now that she was alone, Ceria could give vent to her feelings at last.

“Aargh!”

She screamed as loudly as she could in her locked room. Ceria hurled her possessions around and then raised her finger and started shooting [Stone Dart] at one of the walls.

“That stupid—arrogant—mold-headed, sun-baked piece of tree fertilizer! That inbred—”

Shards of stone broke as the rapid stone missiles shattered against the enchanted stone. Ceria felt some fragments strike her and stopped as one cut her.

“Ow! Damn it!”

That just made her madder. She punched the bed, and then started ripping the covers and pillows off and stomping on them.

“Real mages? Real mages? I’ll show her a real mage! I’ll—”

She began kicking everything on the floor before she moved on to punching her bed and then a wall. Ceria let out her aggression on anything in sight—she normally found a quiet bit of forest to raise hell in when she was angry, but Wistram was extremely forest-deficient.

She’d always had a temper. As a child, Ceria could remember getting angry enough to burst and then chasing woodland animals around, punching foxes, biting sticks in half—

“Ceria? Ceria, are you okay? I hear noises.”

Ceria looked up, part of her pillow in her mouth. She spat out the feathers and called out, somewhat sheepishly.

“I’m—fine, Pisces. Sorry.”

“Ah, do you want to talk?”

“Um—”

A few minutes later, Ceria edged out of her doorway. Pisces only caught a glimpse of floating feathers and a very ransacked room before she practically chased him back into his room.

“Sorry about that. Did you hear—much?”

“Not in so many words. Just…noise. I was concerned.”

Pieces offered Ceria his bed, since he only had one chair. She sat on it, and looked around. His room was different than hers; he had a large bed and an actual balcony on his, but besides that his room was very clear—almost austere. His rapier sat in one corner and Pisces had a few clothes in a pile on one side of the room, and nothing else.

“Nice room.”

“I shall take that in the spirit it was intended. I ah, notice you redecorated yours just now.”

Ceria grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry. Was I that loud?”

“Allow me to say it this way: you were audible through the stone. Was that ice mage that upsetting to you?”

The half-Elf shrugged, turning a bit red.

“It’s—okay, yes, she was. But it’s not just that. It’s just—I thought when I got here things would be different. I thought I’d learn magic, not get involved in petty…politics.”

“I must confess, our entry here has been a bit different than what I expected.”

Pisces murmured as he sat next to Ceria. She flicked a feather out of her hair and laughed softly.

“I guess. I shouldn’t be surprised. But doesn’t it feel like we’re not learning everything we could be? I mean, our basic magic classes are fine, but without combat magic—learning that was the entire reason I came here.”

“Mm.”

Pisces nodded, his expression troubled. Ceria let out her breath, giving vent to more of her hitherto unspoken worries.

“And we don’t have that much time, Pisces! If we had a year—or even half of one I could relax. I could prove myself but we have one month. And I don’t know what their exams are, but I can’t just believe they’ll take me because I know a few spells and I’m a half-Elf. I have to be a student here and I just don’t have anything special to offer.”

“Neither do I.”

“Oh come on. You’re the best in our class at our lessons.”

“Best in a class full of new students. That is hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“…True.”

Both students sat together gloomily. Ceria rested her head in her hands, wishing she’d had a real book of spells to study, or that she’d apprenticed under the half-Elf spellcasters back in her village. Pisces sat in his chair, head bowed, apparently lost in thought. Then he slowly raised his head and spoke in a low voice.

“What if there was something we could do?”

“What?”

Ceria looked at him. Pisces’ expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched and his foot jiggled with nerves. He looked at Ceria and licked his lips.

“I uh, well, you know when we were listening to those older students talk? Before they spoke to us, one of them mentioned a spellbook in conjunction with a Tier 4 spell.”

“I remember that.”

Ceria frowned as she remembered.

“Yeah, they said that. But so what? If they’ve got one—”

“Ah, but they don’t. Have one, that is.”

Pisces raised a finger as Ceria stared at him. He licked his lips again.

“I—happened to overhear the rest of their conversation.”

“How? With a spell?”

Ceria looked at him in disbelief. Her ears were far better than any Human’s and she’d been standing right next to Pisces. He hesitated.

“Something like that. A spell, yes. I’d prefer not to say.”

“Okay.”

Pisces was acting oddly, but Ceria was intrigued now. She scooted over on his bed as he lowered his voice again. No one could hear them in the room, but both felt the need to be secretive.

“I heard the rest of their conversation. They were talking about a spellbook, yes. A book they do not have. There is a book in a hidden part of the library—in a secret section. The students have located it and they are sure it has potent spells, but the book is warded. If they try to take it, it will kill them.”

“Yikes.”

Ceria’s hair rose at the thought. A trapped book? Wistram had more than one library section, but all the books she’d found were normal books or the lowest-level spellbooks full of cantrips. No wonder the other sections were secret if the books had wards like that.

Pisces nodded.

“I also…happened to overhear where the section is, and how to get in. We could gain access to that section.”

“And look around for other spellbooks?”

Ceria’s heart lifted at the thought. But then she thought of the dangers and hesitated. And Pisces was shaking his head.

“Not just that. If we gain access to the library, too many things could go wrong. We aren’t allowed to read higher level spells as new students, and besides, there could be more warding spells. But if we could somehow obtain that particular book they were talking about—”

“You mean steal?”

The half-Elf looked at Pisces in disbelief. His lack of a response was her answer.

“I have a plan. I hesitate to carry it out, but I am sure it would work. I just don’t know whether I should try.”

“It is stealing after all.”

“True, but—it is not as if these students own that book. It is in the library, for anyone to take.”

Ceria slowly let out her breath. Something was tickling her stomach, the same feeling she’d felt back when she was younger.

“Anyone with the courage. And the intelligence to get it without dying.”

“Precisely. It may not be safe. And if we are caught—well, I doubt we will get into that much trouble. But there is danger, especially if the other students find us as we are retrieving the book.”

“And getting it in the first place.”

“Yes.”

Pisces waited. Ceria considered their options, and then shook her head. But not to say no.

“The way I see it…we’ve only got a month—three weeks, really. We can either play the good students, or we can take a risk.”

The young man’s eyes gleamed with excitement as the half-Elf smiled at him, showing teeth. He reached out a hand and Ceria took it.

“Tonight?”

“I believe so. If we wait, the other students may attempt to retrieve it earlier. And I can execute my plan quickly. We just need time, and the right moment when no one is around.”

“Okay then. What if we—”

Ceria turned her head, and paused as she saw an irregularity out of the corner of her eyes. She turned her head.

Something moved in the corner of Pisces’ room, by the dresser. Ceria sat up instantly. She only saw a flash of grey fur before the creature darted back out of sight.

“There’s rats everywhere!”

She stood up, annoyed more than she was upset. She’d eaten rats before, but she didn’t like the disgusting things. She went to the dresser, but Pisces stopped her.

“No need.”

“Oh come on. Where there’s one there could be a dozen. We need to destroy the nest before—”

“I have taken care of it. Don’t worry, Ceria. We have more important things to do.”

She blinked.

“Oh. You got them?”

“Ah, yes. I had a small infestation of mice in my room. This one must be a straggler.”

“Had?”

Pisces blinked.

“Have. Excuse me. I must have neglected to round up all of the vermin in my last sweep. It should be of no consequence.”

Ceria hesitated. She pointed to the dresser.

“Are you sure? One [Flame Jet] and they’re cooked. It’ll smell bad for a while, but—”

“I’m sure. I have my own methods of disposing of such creatures, and we mustn’t waste time. Let us go to dinner, and then we’ll begin the plan.”

He ushered her towards the door. Ceria nodded reluctantly, but she stopped Pisces as he closed the door to get ready.

“Just be sure it isn’t a rat. Mice will leave you alone, but some of the nastier kinds of rats will nibble your nose off as you sleep.”

“I have everything under control.”

Pisces shut the door as Ceria went back into her room to clean up in the few minutes before they left to eat. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then scowled as a small shape slowly climbed up his dresser.

He stared at it. The ‘rat’ stared back with hollow, unblinking eyes. It was no rat. It was a mouse. And it was dead.

Pisces raised a finger, and the mouse scurried over to him. He carefully picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of his robe. And then he opened the door and walked into the corridor.

“Ceria? Are you ready?”

“Coming—just got to stuff the feathers back in here.”

Ceria emerged from her room, blowing away some more feathers. She smiled at Pisces and his heart skipped a beat.

“Ready?”

“To dinner, then. And afterwards…”

“Let’s go grab a spellbook.”

Wistram Days (Pt.3)

The stone halls were dark at night in Wistram. True, the mage-lights provided decent illumination, but the magics that controlled them dimmed the intensity of light that each floating orb of light or eternally burning torch gave off.

Many mages didn’t care to wander outside of the thick walls that made up the citadel that was Wistram academy. Thus, this change in ambient light was the only clue some had that it was time to sleep. In parts of the citadel where there were no windows, mages could wander for hours without ever seeing the sun.

“I hear it’s dimensional magic. Very complex stuff. I wonder how big Wistram really is. Has anyone ever tried to measure it from the inside and compared it to the outside?”

“Shut up!”

Most mages preferred to walk the halls at night with orbs created by the [Light] spell. However, the two new students who crept from shadow to shadow used no magic now. They were trying to be quiet.

And failing.

“I’m just saying, who created this place? It had to be an [Archmage], but how many additions were made over the years?”

“Pisces, for the love of leaves, shut up!”

The half-Elf in front snapped at the young man creeping along behind her. Pisces closed his mouth, and she prayed he’d keep quiet.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way? I thought we should have gone left back there.”

Ceria hissed with annoyance and straightened up. She paused in the shadows between two globes of light and looked around to make sure no one was walking down the corridors.

There wasn’t anyone. They were safe. Mages did like to stay up at odd hours, it was true, but this wasn’t a particularly well-travelled part of the academy in the day. Most students up this late would be drinking or having a party elsewhere. As for the mages, they’d be studying books, or doing the same thing as the students.

Still, Ceria lowered her voice as she spoke to Pisces.

“We’re trying to be stealthy here, don’t you get it? And the oval library with the staircase is this way, I’m sure of it!”

Pisces frowned, but Ceria knew her sense of direction was better than his. Wistram was confusing, but she’d gotten used to wandering around forests where every tree looked like the last one.

To his credit, Pisces kept his voice low, but he still kept chattering. Both he and she were nervous, and so he kept talking while she led them onwards.

“I don’t see why we’re hiding. It’s not as if we’re doing anything wrong.”

“We’re going to steal a book from other students. And we’re going to one of the restricted libraries to do it!”

“Well…it’s not their book.”

Ceria knew what she was doing might well get them kicked out of Wistram. But she was sick of sticking to the rules. She’d had to deal with Rievan, the rude, arrogant Human teacher who seemed to hate half-Elves, and Illphres, who had refused to teach them magic. She hated Wistram’s stupid secrets and the way everything was give and take around here.

And she was afraid she would fail the exam that was only a couple of weeks away. So Ceria had decided to break the rules and help Pisces steal the magical spellbook.

“They didn’t expressly forbid us from entering this section of the academy.”

Ceria frowned at Pisces.

“They told us this place was off-limits!”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I believe that may have been a warning rather than an inviolable rule. From all we’ve seen, I surmise that these restrictions are meant to test how we react to such impositions, not actually stop all of us.”

“What? Stop using complex words!”

Pisces paused. He chewed at his lip and rephrased his statement.

“We can break the rules—if we’re not caught. They’re expecting us to.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ceria thought about that and nodded.

“Makes sense. Okay, let’s get in there. Why couldn’t you have just said that from the start? You always use too many complicated words!”

“But I like complicated words.”

Pisces muttered as he and Ceria snuck down the empty side-corridor. She knew he was right, at least in a sense. It didn’t seem like Wistram had many totally absolute rules. But still, she had to point out a flaw in his reasoning.

“The problem isn’t whether we’ll be caught by other mages and get punished. It’s whether anyone sees us and sells someone else the secret that we were sneaking about right before a spellbook got stolen.”

“Ah yes. Secrets. That would be problematic.”

Behind Ceria, Pisces grimaced. Here in Wistram everyone’s actions and words were carefully noted by people around them, to be used and traded like currency. Secrets were the lifeblood of the mages here, and it meant their presence in this part of the academy would be noted by anyone they met.

Ceria peeked around an intersection and then moved down it when she saw no one was there. She glanced up at a painting on the wall—some relief showing a bunch of adventurers battling a Goblin Lord. That meant they were close.

“You’re sure the other students aren’t going to try and grab the book tonight?”

“They said they were going to talk to another mage who specialized in dispelling wards. I think we’re safe. The magic killed or nearly killed one of their friends. I don’t think they’ll be too eager to try again without preparation.”

Ceria stopped. She turned to look at Pisces. He was nervous, but his pale face also looked excited. She was less sanguine.

“One of them got killed? Are you sure this plan of yours will work?”

He hesitated.

“Fairly. I believe there will be no risk to either one of us, even if it fails. The only thing we have to fear is being seen.”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“I wish you’d explain.”

“Too many ears back in the banquet hall. And I’m still not sure the older students don’t place eavesdropping spells in the hallways. I can tell you now if you want, but it’s faster this way.”

“Tell me later, then. We’re close.”

The two moved onwards. Ceria knew her footsteps were almost inaudible, but Pisces shuffled around a bit in his cheap robes. Still, she didn’t expect anyone but another half-Elf or a species with good hearing to pick up on the faint sounds.

“How did you know what they were saying, anyways? Do you know a listening spell?”

She had to ask. Pisces hesitated. When he spoke quietly, his voice seemed uncertain.

“Something…similar. Suffice it to say I heard every word they spoke. Now…is this it?”

They’d reached a pair of double doors, set right next to a diagonal intersection of three corridors. Ceria stared at the doors and then at the way the wall ended a few feet ahead of the doors. Architecture and the laws of space didn’t seem to matter in this place.

“This is it. Keep an eye out and make sure no one’s coming.”

Pisces nodded and looked around while Ceria put her ear to the door. She knew the room beyond the doors was large, but she listened hard for any sounds of people moving about. After a minute she’d still heard not a sound. Satisfied the room was probably empty, Ceria opened the door and she and Pisces slipped inside.

The oval library with the staircase was one of a multitude of libraries in Wistram. Most contained books, as befitted libraries, but some were dedicated to one subject, or all comprised of books from a certain era. One library had a pool of water in it, and all the books were waterproofed to let mages read and bathe.

Wistram was very odd. But this library was fairly normal, as libraries went. The room was indeed ovoid, and a central staircase led up to four walkways around the room where shelves of books sat side by side.

Ceria had never seen so many books before coming here. This place alone easily held a fortune in old, sometimes cracking books of dust and ink. She coughed and Pisces sneezed as they walked into the room.

“Rot. Golems haven’t dusted in here for a while.”

Pisces nodded. Eyes watering he sniffed and pointed.

“Too many…books. Ah, but look. You can see someone’s been here.”

Indeed, Ceria could see places where the dust had been disturbed. She and Pisces made their way up the staircase, following the cleared areas and found themselves on the second level, staring at a wall of books.

“Is there some kind of mechanism here? Some activated spell?”

“I think so. But let me see…hey, these are all real books!”

Pisces pulled a few tomes out of the shelves. Ceria stared at them. It looked like this entire shelf was dedicated to Human history. She spied different genealogies, historical accounts, and personal bibliographies, all from Human kingdoms she’d never heard of before. She frowned at Pisces as he flipped open a book and stared at the writing inside.

“They’re real, yes. So what?”

“Well, apparently if you do this—”

Pisces pulled one of the books from the shelves and switched it with another book higher up. The instant the two books had been pushed into place, the entire bookshelf suddenly faded. Ceria gasped, and Pieces whistled quietly.

“Truly impressive. They’re books that were all spelled with the same enchantment.”

He waved a hand, letting it pass straight through the bookshelf. Ceria stared through the intangible books. There was a tunnel in the wall, one that leads straight into another room.

“A second library?”

“Yes. That’s where we’ll find the spellbook.”

The two students stepped into the secret tunnel cautiously. Ceria gasped as she looked around the circular room occupied by a shelf full of books, and of all things, a bed and dresser! There was a small table and mirror which were both covered with dust.

Pisces sneezed and raised a small cloud of dust, and Ceria coughed and wiped at her eyes.

“Dead gods. Is this some secret bedroom?”

“Looks like it.”

“Who’d make a secret passageway into a library of all places?”

“Someone who values their privacy?”

Pisces sidled away as Ceria kicked at him.

“Or someone who likes books. Or…”

“Or?”

He nodded towards the passageway that led back to the main part of the library.

“Or perhaps this library was ideal for whomever lived here. Most of the books seem to be largely historical in this section. Few people would bother to peruse the stacks. So whoever lived here might have constructed this hiding place in a time when the mages of Wistram were less…amiable towards each other than they are now.”

Ceria shivered at that thought. She imagined mages fighting each other, sneaking about in hidden passages like this.

“You’ve got a twisted imagination Pisces, you know that, right?”

He shrugged self-consciously.

“I prefer to think of myself as pragmatic. Now…my plan should be working as we speak. We just need to find the book.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Ceria walked over to the bookshelf.

“Ah—don’t touch any of them!”

Pisces cautioned Ceria as she reached for a book. She snatched her hand back.

“What? I thought the books were spelled against opening.”

All the spellbooks she’d heard of were warded against being read, but Pisces shook his head.

“The one we’re after apparently killed the student who tried to take it out. And we cannot be sure the other ones aren’t trapped in the same way.”

“Dead gods. Who’s so paranoid they’d use a spell like that?”

Ceria groused as she and Pisces studied the books on the shelf at a respectful distance. It wasn’t too hard, just difficult to see the covers with all the dust clinging to the books. Pisces suggested blowing it away with a spell, and after that it was much easier.

“I’m assuming this is a personal spellbook, right?”

“Correct. There should be no title on the spine. And if we use [Detect Magic]…aha! These two books seem to be the most powerful.”

Pisces pointed to two of the tomes. One was thick and it looked to Ceria’s untrained eye like the spell on it wasn’t that powerful. She guessed it was just a valuable book of some kind, warded against tearing or decay. But the other book shone in her vision, not brightly, but with an intensity that made it seem realer than the other books in the room.

“That’s the one. I’m sure of it.”

“I think so too. Now, what was your big plan? Pry it out with something? A pair of sticks, maybe?”

“Don’t be silly. The spell might activate! No, we just have to wait—”

“Hold it!”

Ceria held up one hand, suddenly alarmed. Her ears twitched and she put a finger to her lips. Pisces went still and Ceria crept back towards the entrance of the tunnel. She whispered to Pisces.

“I hear footsteps.”

They must have been loud, for her to hear them. Ceria held her breath as she realized someone was definitely coming towards this very library. She looked at Pisces, suddenly worried.

“The students?”

“No—I think it might be someone else. If it’s who I think it is—”

“Who?”

Pisces opened his mouth, but the door opened before he could tell Ceria. She flinched back into the tunnel, realizing too late that they’d left the transparent bookshelf! Anyone would be able to see something was odd in an instant.

But the being that walked through the doorway was no mage, and certainly no student come to take the spellbook. A tall, inhumanly perfect woman made of grey stone seemed to glide through the doorway. She was eight feet tall and the stone clothing she wore rippled as she walked, as if she was alive.

Cognita turned and stared around the room. Her eyes found Ceria, hiding behind the transparent bookshelf, at once. The half-Elf jumped and shuddered, but Cognita just strode towards her with the same look of calm on her face as always.

“Ceria Springwalker. I hope you are having a good night?”

“What? Um, yes. Yes, I am. Cognita. Uh—”

Ceria stammered and took a step back as the Truestone Golem stopped in front of her. She was enormous. Ceria had no idea why she was here, but Pisces stepped forwards and Cognita’s head nodded fractionally.

“I have just received your note, student Pisces. May I ask what is the matter?”

The young man coughed and stood a bit straighter as Ceria’s head turned from him to Cognita rapidly.

“Yes, thank you Miss Cognita. I was hoping you could help me retrieve a book, you see. It’s warded with some kind of spell, but I would like to study it to advance my grasp of spellcraft.”

“I see.”

Cognita’s face changed slightly as she stared down at Pisces. Ceria saw something shift in the Golem’s usually impassive features. Was it curiosity? Then the eyes shifted to Ceria and the half-Elf felt a jolt in her stomach.

“I assume your friend is here for the same reason?”

“Ceria? Yes, she’s just here for ah, moral support. The book is this way. If you would…”

Pisces gestured, and Cognita stepped forwards. He smiled up at her, letting the tall Golem bow her head to enter the tunnel. He would have followed, but Ceria pulled him back and hissed at him.

“You called Cognita? That was your plan?”

Pisces looked blankly at her.

“What’s the problem with that?”

“Well…”

Ceria spluttered, unable to explain. How could she convey the unease she felt when she looked at Cognita, or rather, felt the Golem’s eyes on her?

The eyes of the Truestone Golem had been sculpted to perfectly mimic the eyes of a Human woman. But they were not alive. They moved as if they were, though, and Ceria knew there was some intelligence controlling the thing that called herself Cognita. But it was not the same as living and it scared Ceria.

She knew other students in Wistram felt the same or more strongly. Some mages avoided Cognita in the hallways. Ceria could get along with the Golem because she was helpful and acted quite normally, but she didn’t like Cognita’s eyes.

Pisces however acted as though Cognita was no different than Ceria. He walked after her as the Golem studied the shelves and looked around the room.

“You see Cognita, we ah, happened to learn about this room you see, and I note that its previous occupant is probably long since deceased…”

“Yes.”

Cognita nodded once and looked back at the two students.

“This is the residence of Nemistra Verdinan, a Selphid who lived here for many years in hiding. She is long dead, but it is good to see her room has finally been discovered. I will have other Golems collect the lost books and return them to their proper locations.”

Both mages blinked up at Cognita, caught off-guard by the matter-of-fact response. Pisces coughed.

“Yes, well, I am, ah, glad. But could I trouble you to ask whether taking her former spellbook would be permissible? It’s the one on the second shelf from the bottom you see—”

“Yes. I see it.”

Cognita studied the tome, eyes unblinking. Ceria and Pisces held their breaths. When the Truestone Golem turned, she nodded again.

“The tome is guarded by several wards that would melt the flesh of anyone attempting to retrieve it. I can remove it without issue to myself, following which the wards would be broken.”

“Excellent!”

Pisces rubbed his hands together happily, but Ceria was uneasy.

“So you’ll just give us the book? Really?”

Cognita paused.

“That is acceptable. However, Wistram law now dictates that mages below the third year only be allowed one personal spellbook for their use. You have already been issued one. If I give you this book, you must return your spellbook.”

Ceria groaned. Of course. There had to be a catch. But Pisces was undeterred.

“Very well, Miss Cognita. I would happily trade in my spellbook for this one. Would you ah, like me to retrieve it before…?”

“No need.”

The Truestone Golem turned, and the stone woman calmly pulled the book out of the bookcase. Ceria held her breath, expecting something dramatic to happen. But all she saw was a slight ripple in the air as Cognita pulled the book out—then she calmly turned and held it out to Pisces.

He was reluctant to take it. Pisces’ hands trembled a bit as he reached for the book, and Ceria saw him visibly brace himself. But when he gingerly grasped the book and Cognita let go, nothing happened to him either. He nearly dropped the book in surprise.

“The wards have been broken. It is safe to read.”

“Many thanks!”

Pisces stared delightedly at the spellbook in his hands. He beamed at Cognita.

“I cannot thank you enough. Please, accept my profuse gratitude for your help rendered in—”

Ceria kicked Pisces in the shins. He yelped, but she just smiled at Cognita.

“Um, thank you Cognita. This was a big help. We couldn’t have gotten the spellbook alone.”

“No. You could not.”

Cognita’s eyes found Ceria’s, and the half-Elf saw only cold marble there. But there was something in Cognita’s tone that suggested the Golem understood what she’d done. And she’d done it anyways, knowing it would help Ceria and Pisces.

“Most mages would not have turned to me for help. Your decision to do so is interesting.”

Ceria had no idea what to make of that. She cleared her throat nervously.

“Um, well, Cognita, about this. We’d prefer to keep this secret—would you mind not telling anyone you helped us?”

Both she and Pisces held their breaths as the Golem pondered for a moment. Cognita shook her head.

“I care little for squabbles between mages. I am bound to be truthful, so I shall be. Thus, I shall relate all I have seen here.”

Ceria closed her eyes and Pisces groaned aloud. Cognita continued calmly.

“If I am asked about these specific events, I will share what I have seen. But only then. I suspect your secret will be safe, young mages.”

She nodded at Ceria and Pisces. The half-Elf and young man saw the Golem’s lips curve upwards slightly, and then the Golem turned.

“I must be going. I have other duties. I am pleased to have been of assistance to the two of you tonight. Sleep well.”

She walked away quickly, leaving Ceria and Pisces at a loss for words. They stared at her back, and then jumped as the Golem closed the double doors with a click. Ceria immediately began hurrying towards the doors, but Pisces called her back.

“Wait! We’ve got to cover our tracks! Let’s get this bookshelf back the way it was.”

“How?”

“I think we just replace the two books in their original positions.”

Sure enough, the instant the two books were in the right spot, the bookshelf became real again. Ceria and Pisces pressed on the books and shelf, but it refused to budge.

“Impressive magic.”

“Admire it later! Let’s go before someone sees us!”

The two hurried out of the library, closing the door securely and moving quickly back towards their rooms. On the way, Ceria questioned Pisces, who was trying to walk and stare at the pages of the spellbook at the same time.

“That was—did you know Cognita could do that?”

“I had an inkling after she shattered that ice wall. If she can break Illphres’ enchantments, why not the trap spells on a book? And it seemed easy enough to ask her for help. After all, the Golems of Wistram are bound to help the students, are they not?”

Ceria had to agree with that, although she would have never considered the idea. She doubted the older students would have either. She frowned as she led Pisces down a passage and flight of steps.

“How did you send Cognita a note?”

“Secret.”

He grinned at Ceria impishly. She glared at him and he raised his hands.

“Really, it is a secret Ceria. I…it’s rather complicated. I’m sorry.”

She frowned, but let the matter drop. Soon, they were back in Pisces’ room and only then did Pisces open the spellbook on his table and let Ceria peer at it.

“Dead gods. Look at all the spells!”

Pisces had a wild grin on his face as he and Ceria flipped through page after page of uneven handwriting. Whoever had written the book had done it in a foreign language, but the nature of the magic spells was something any mage could decode with enough effort.

“I can’t understand what that spell does. Do you see…?”

“No. But I’m sure it will come in time. And look! This is clearly some kind of flame-based spell. Can’t you tell from the way it’s formed here?”

“You’re right!”

Ceria was giddy with excitement. They had a spellbook! A real spellbook, not one filled with useless spells! Her excitement faded a bit as she realized it really wasn’t her spellbook, though.

“I guess you’ll be able to learn a lot, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

Pisces turned to Ceria in surprise. He held the book to her.

“This was a joint effort, Ceria. This book is as much yours as it is mine. We can take turns reading it—”

“No, it’s yours. You didn’t need me at all! You could have done all of this by yourself!”

Pisces shook his head, offering the book to Ceria as she backed away.

“Not true. Your expertise in subversion and stealth were quite essential. And the addition of another pair of eyes and another mind to cross-check my conclusions were invaluable.”

“What does that—”

“Look, we worked on it together. And I want you to study it as well. If we can learn some spells from this, we might stand a good chance of passing the exams at the end of the month! This is an opportunity for both of us, Ceria.”

Slowly, it began to dawn on Ceria that Pisces had intended to share the book with her the instant he’d figured out how to take it. She looked at him awkwardly, not sure what to say.

He was a Human, but he was genuine and clearly wanted to help her pass. She smiled at him, and Pisces grinned back in delight.

“Well—okay. We can study together. Two arrows are better than one. But it’s your book, okay? After all, you’re going to have to give Cognita your other spellbook.”

“True. I’d better pretend I lost the other one.”

Pisces nodded at Ceria. But then he smiled widely again, overcome with delight.

“Let’s see how many spells we can identify! I’m sure there’s at least one Tier 4 spell in here!”

The two got back to poring over the book. Ceria squinted at the magical writing, guessing some of the spells with Pisces.

“Hey. Isn’t that…[Stone Fist]? That’s a good Tier 3 spell!”

“Really? I thought it was Tier 2?”

“I think it’s Tier 3. You see, when you use it you create this rock armor around your hand.”

“Isn’t that really heavy?”

“You’d think so, but I saw a [Druid] using it once. He cracked a boulder like it was nothing!”

“I bet we could learn that in time for the exam. What do you think?”

“Maybe. But look here. This is some kind of movement spell, I’m positive of it! Can you see what the nature of it is?”

Ceria bent forwards to look at the spell Pisces had pointed to. In doing so, she realized that she was sitting in a room in the middle of the night. With a young Human man.

A few years ago—she would have put an arrow in Pisces’ head, or run away. But now she was sitting next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Ceria paused.

He was a good person, albeit a bit clumsy and wordy. But she liked him, and thought of him as a friend already. In fact, she quite liked him. Ceria had no idea how she felt about that.

----

The next day, Ceria had trouble keeping her eyes open in all of her classes. She was exhausted from staying up and trying to puzzle out the spells in Pisces’ book. She nearly fell asleep twice in her class studying basic enchantments and how to decode magical auras, but she didn’t dare close her eyes in Rievan’s class.

“I trust you’ve all memorized the lessons from yesterday?”

He stared around the classroom, staring at each student in turn. When he met Ceria’s eyes Rievan’s nose wrinkled slightly and he looked past her. He pointed.

“You there. Pisces. Where is your spellbook?”

Pisces jerked upright, blinking rapidly.

“My spellbook?”

“Yes! Where are your notes?”

Pisces folded his fingers together as Ceria tried not to stare at him.

“I lost my spellbook, sir. But I can recall my notes from last class quite well.”

“Really?”

One of Rievan’s narrow eyebrows rose as he glared at Pisces.

“Then you will surely be able to recall my statement regarding the dangers of overabundance of mana in the system? Repeat my words back to me.”

Ceria winced, but Pisces just cleared his throat, looking quite calm.

“Mana, sir, may over accumulate in any living being’s body as a result of a spell or influx of mana in a charged environment, but more often than not it is a result of imbibing a mana potion improperly. For a mage, casting any spell will usually resolve the issue, but for those without mana, time and rest are the only usual solutions. A competent mage may attempt to drain the excess magic from a person, but this action is not without risk. And in high concentration, excess mana may well lead to rupturing of blood vessels or parts of the body overloading or shutting down.”

Ceria and the other students in the room gaped as Pisces delivered a perfect summary of Rievan’s lesson from yesterday. The [Mage] stared hard at Pisces as the young man finished and sat down.

“Very…good.”

He said it grudgingly, and turned away from Pisces without another word.

“We will continue our lessons from yesterday! Clear your desks and begin forming your spells again. I want to see more attention to detail, Springwalker! And you—Elkrin, is it? Your control of your [Fire Orb] spell is abysmal! Focus your flames or don’t bother to cast the spell at all!”

The lesson ended without incident, which was to say Ceria ended up being scolded for her lackluster performance. But she was more concerned with Pisces. After it was over, she walked down the corridor with him.

“I can’t believe you memorized all of that!”

“I paid attention in class, and I have a good memory.”

Pisces scratched at his hair self-consciously as they entered the banquet hall. Ceria saw Calvaron and Beatrice at their usual spot and waved to them. She got her food and made her way over. She and Pisces had to pause as an older man carrying a tray nearly ran them over. He grunted and without a word of apology went to sit at an empty table.

“Stupid Human. I nearly dropped my plate!”

Ceria grouched as she sat down. She’d taken some pork chops roasted in a sauce that smelled like peanuts today. Pisces had a more balanced meal; he’d taken one of the pork chops and several sweet red fruits that tempted Ceria. He stared after the man, frowning.

“Isn’t that poor Elkrin? He seems upset.”

“Shouldn’t he be? You two were in Rievan’s class just now, weren’t you?”

Calvaron laughed and cleared part of their table so Pisces could put his food down. He and Beatrice were nearly finished with their meal—some kind of small, round pasta-like food drizzled with a thick sauce and accompanied by steamed vegetables.

“That’s right. Rievan tore a strip off of Elkrin for his spellcasting.”

Ceria nodded as she began to cut her meat apart. She still felt grouchy from having to deal with Rievan. She paused and narrowed her eyes at Calvaron.

“Wait a second. Isn’t that a secret I should be charging you for?”

He laughed and slapped at the lower, horse half of his body.

“Not everything is a secret, Ceria. Something as normal as that is just juicy gossip. But it looks like Elkrin’s not taking the dressing down well, is it?”

Ceria half-turned in her padded seat to look. Elkrin did have a murderous scowl on his face and no one was sitting with him. Calvaron shook his head as he tsked.

“Attitude problem. He may be a good adventurer, but you have to be willing to learn if you want to stay here. I bet he’ll be gone within the week.”

Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance at this. They could understand not liking Rievan, but leaving because of that? Wistram was their dream.

Calvaron noticed the look.

“Only a few people actually quit, but they’re usually only adventurers. Some of them—even the good ones like the Gold-rank adventurers who come here to improve their craft—they don’t like being told the magic they practice is inefficient. So they leave.”

“Stupid. Arrogant.”

Beatrice put that in. The Dullahan was spoon-feeding her head on the table as usual, and she seemed content to let Calvaron do all the talking. Ceria had to agree with her, but she yawned as she opened her mouth. That made Pisces yawn too.

“Oho! You two look tired! Did you keep each other up at night, or is it just a coincidence?”

Calvaron dodged the rolled-up napkin Ceria hurled at him. He twisted his fingers and the ball of cloth flew back at her, forcing Ceria to duck or let it smack her in the head.

“Don’t throw things unless you can catch them when they come right back at you, Springwalker. Telekinesis and levitation spells come later in the year though, I’m afraid.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to heave my plate at you when your back is turned, then.”

Ceria growled as she picked her napkin up from the floor. Calvaron just laughed again. He was always ready to smile, which made Ceria wonder if all Centaurs were so good-natured. Beatrice on the other hand was as prone to smile as a rock.

“How were your other classes? Did you like learning about enchantments? I always found that class dull, myself.”

Ceria shrugged and Pisces smiled.

“Our teacher—Fedric—is fairly good at saying as little as he needs to.”

“Fedric? Oh, he would be. Dullahans are like that, aren’t they, Beatrice?”

Calvaron nudged Beatrice’s body, and her head on the table scowled at him.

“I say what I have to. I don’t run my mouth, Calvaron.”

“I’m surprised to see so many Dullahans in Wistram. No offense, but I’d barely heard of your people before coming here.”

Ceria looked at Beatrice with interest. Fedric, their teacher for their class on enchantments, was an old male Dullahan. She’d seen a number of them in the corridors as well.

Beatrice just shrugged her shoulders as she swiveled her head to talk to Ceria.

“Not too many. But all good spellcasters get sent here from Baleros. One continent means lots of Dullahan applicants.”

“True enough.”

Calvaron nodded. He pointed across the banquet hall, and Ceria saw a group of six Centaurs walking down the hall. They were far bigger than most students, and so they had to walk single-file to get in line.

“My people don’t usually go in for spellcasting, but like Beatrice said, the best come here and there are a lot of us on Baleros. That’s why you’ll see quite a few species that are rare in most places. Selphids, for instance.”

Ceria and Beatrice shuddered a bit at the mention of that race. Ceria had seen the deathly-white students walking the halls, dead bodies controlled by their parasitic owners. Calvaron shrugged stoically.

“They’re not so bad when you get used to them. I know they get a bad rap back home, but the ones here are all very polite.”

“Wistram truly does have more species than I’ve ever seen before.”

Pisces wiped at his mouth with a napkin. Calvaron grinned.

“We’re way more diverse than most cities, it’s true. Anyone who can become a mage or learn a magical class is welcome here—if they’ve got talent and coin. Of course, not all races are as gifted as others. That’s why you won’t see many Minotaurs, although I’ve heard they can make good mages. But most Minotaurs don’t like to use magic, so they’re not inclined to study here anyways.”

“And I bet some species aren’t as numerous or trusting of Wistram.”

Ceria said that thoughtfully as she chewed on some cow’s tongue she’d found under one of her pork chops. Calvaron grimaced and looked away as he replied—he hated to eat identifiable body parts, although he was surprisingly unconcerned about eating cows. Ceria had wondered if he would have been bothered by meat, but apparently Centaurs were far enough away from cows to eat them without guilt. She wondered how they felt about horses.

“You mean half-Elves, Ceria?”

She shrugged. She’d seen a few half-Elves roaming the halls, but they were far from common. She’d been tempted to talk with them, but it wasn’t as if she was back on Terandria and she had to stick with her own kind. Plus, she was a new student and she wasn’t sure if she’d make it past the exams.

“I know my people are naturally good at magic. But…I can’t say I’m surprised there aren’t many around. We’re not exactly welcome to strangers.”

“You and the Gnolls. You know, of all the species in the world, the only race who won’t set foot on Wistram are the Gnolls?”

“Really?”

Both Pisces and Ceria frowned at Calvaron. Ceria tried to think of a Gnoll, but only had a vague image of a furry dog-like person, similar to one of the Beastkin tribes from Baleros. She’d never seen one in person before; she heard they lived on Izril and seldom ventured as far as Terandria.

The Centaur nodded, frowning a bit as he explained.

“It’s a real pain too, apparently. A lot of Gnolls are famous [Merchants] and [Traders], you know. They’re pretty resilient and their tribes like to move about exchanging goods. But none of them will do any kind of business with Wistram, even through middlemen. It’s some kind of grudge, although I’ve never heard what it was about.”

“Really? A Gnoll grudge? I hear they keep those for lifetimes.”

“Too right. It’s a shame too, because I’d bet their tribes would benefit from having a few of their number learn magic. But…”

Calvaron shrugged. Beatrice raised her head so she could get everyone’s attention.

“A Gnoll did come here to study once, though. About a decade or two ago.”

“A Gnoll? You’re pulling my hoof, Beatrice.”

“Nope. He came but dropped out before his first year was up.”

“Why?”

The Centaur leaned towards Beatrice, but the Dullahan closed her lips in a slight smile.

“Secret. Pay me and I’ll tell.”

Everyone chortled at that. Calvaron was fairly rich in secrets Ceria had learned, and many students and mages came to him to exchange tidbits for goods and services. But Beatrice had her own collection of secrets, as any longtime mage in Wistram did.

“I don’t know if it’s worth a juicy secret. Would you consider a trade for something else? How about other goods and services rendered…?”

Calvaron wiggled his eyebrows at Beatrice and she smiled a bit wider.

“Not worth my time.”

“Ah, you!”

They liked each other. It was quite obvious from the way they flirted. Calvaron did it openly, Beatrice with deadpan remarks that might be serious or a joke; you could never tell which.

“Looks like you’d better cough up a secret if you want to know, Calvaron. Me and Pisces don’t have enough to cover the costs.”

“I’ll pass. You don’t collect as many secrets as I do by spending them frivolously.”

Calvaron waved a hand. Pisces looked intrigued and leaned forwards over the table.

“Just how many secrets have you obtained during your stay here, Calvaron?”

“That’s a secret in itself, my dear Pisces. But suffice it to say, I’ve got more than one person’s little tidbits locked away in my head.”

The Centaur tapped his head importantly. Pisces looked impressed as he nodded, but Ceria thought the Centaur was full of it. She raised her eyebrows.

“You mean, you’re a secret keeper? Ooh. Fancy.”

Pisces snorted. Across the table, Beatrice choked on her food. She had to place her head on the table while the rest of her body pounded on her chest. Ceria and Pisces nearly fell over themselves laughing as Beatrice’s face contorted and Calvaron had to reach over and slap her on the back a few times. When she was done, the Dullahan turned her head with her hands so she could glare at the two.

“Not that funny.”

“It was pretty funny. No one calls people like me secret keepers or—or shadow brokers or anything like that, Ceria. I’m just a broker, a middleman. Or middle-Centaur if you like. It doesn’t roll off the tongue as smoothly. I buy and sell.”

“And make a good profit, I’ll bet. You’re rich!”

“Wistram rich, my dear half-Elf. It’s not the same as being actually rich. If I left this small isle no one would know my name. Here I have a bit of power.”

“Which explains why you maintain your independent status. Any faction in the academy can treat with you without fear you’ll trade their secrets away. It’s a valuable position to be in.”

Pisces observed that as he glanced carefully at Calvaron. The Centaur’s eyes focused on Pisces and he gave the younger man a nod of respect.

“Sharp, aren’t you?”

“He hides it well. Tell us more about these factions, Calvaron. How did they pop up?”

“I don’t know. It’s a long story…”

Calvaron glanced at one of the windows that let bright sunlight into the room. Ceria knew this was just theatrics; the Centaur had very few classes she understood, and he liked to lounge around in the banquet hall with Beatrice.

“Come on, you’ve got time and we don’t have classes for the rest of the day. Give us new students a bit of history.”

The Centaur grinned as he popped another grape into his mouth.

“What, for free? This isn’t just gossip. Some of this stuff is important. I can’t just give it away! You know how it works. Secrets for secrets.”

Pisces and Ceria both groaned at the same time. Ceria was going to tell Calvaron she didn’t want to know that bad when Pisces raised a finger.

“Would a small one do?”

“For general history? I suppose.”

Calvaron’s eyes sharpened, and the Centaur leaned forwards. Ceria saw Beatrice’s hands move; the Dullahan’s head whispered something and Ceria felt magic around the four of them. Some other students looked around, but most seemed used to what was going on.

It was an exchange of secrets. Calvaron and Pisces spoke to each other, but Ceria only saw a blur around their mouths and heard nothing. The Centaur had pulled a small crystal out of a belt pouch; it glowed bright red as Pisces spoke. The Centaur nodded, and in the next moment the bubble of silence dissipated.

“Well, I’d say that qualifies. How did you find out?”

Pisces smiled enigmatically at the Centaur.

“Secrets for secrets. To learn my method, you’d have to pay quite a lot, my dear Calvaron.”

“I suppose I deserved that.”

Ceria was dying to know what Pisces had told Calvaron—it could be just pointless information, but how had Pisces found out? She knew she wouldn’t get an answer from the Centaur though, so she pointed at the gem that the Centaur was putting back into the pouch at his waist.

“Is your truth crystal broken? It glowed red when Pisces spoke.”

He shook his head, grinning.

“Nope. It’s a little trick. Most truth spells glow green or blue or white when someone tells the truth, right? I’ve enchanted mine to do the opposite. Sometimes you can throw someone off with it.”

Pisces nodded as if this was perfectly sensible, but Ceria just rolled her eyes again.

“Everything in Wistram seems like a trick or mind game.”

“That’s just because you’re new. You’ll get used to it quick enough. Now, I believe I owe you some history?”

All four students took the moment to refill their plates. Ceria took some cold cubes of ice and splashed them into a sweet drink of fruit, delighted at the luxury of it. She sipped at her drink as Calvaron began speaking.

“I suppose you know Wistram has been around for thousands of years. It was founded oh, way back, when a lot of nations were at war and mages wanted a place to learn and teach in peace. Well, Wistram may have gained and lost power over the years, but it’s always been independent. No nation controls us—we have an army of our own here and only a truly grand fleet could make it to our shores with weather spells raised against them.”

“Not to mention Wistram provides many services.”

Beatrice put that in. Calvaron nodded proudly.

“We do provide the best spells and mages. You can trust a Wistram-certified enchantment. And we can enchant weaponry and other artifacts as well. We do a booming trade with adventurers who want better gear or to have something analyzed—”

“Yes, yes. Wistram is great. That’s why we came here.”

Ceria cut in, impatient to get to the good part.

“What does this all have to do with factions? From what I’ve heard, they didn’t always exist.”

“No, Miss Busy half-Elf, they didn’t. And if you’d let me explain, you’d know that a few centuries ago, mages competed in Wistram quite fiercely. It was every mage for himself and they formed their own groups—but there was no faction. Instead, powerful mages attracted people to them. One of them was Archmage Zelkyr. Mind you, he wasn’t just an Archmage, but an actual [Archmage].”

“He obtained the class?”

Pisces’ eyes were shining, and Ceria scooted forwards on her seat. Calvaron nodded, looking just as excited by the idea.

“It’s a matter of history. The class does exist, and he and the other [Archmages] who ruled Wistram at the time all had them. But Archmage Zelkyr was the best. He was a Drake – famous, you know, for being able to damage one of the Walled Cities’ walls. But he was more famous for his ability to create Golems.”

“Cognita.”

Beatrice said it quietly. Calvaron nodded.

“Her and an entire army of Golems. They eventually made it so that Zelkyr was in undisputed control of Wistram. He alone explored the higher reaches of the citadel, searching for ancient magics left behind by the greatest mages in Wistram’s history.”

“Higher up? You mean, there’s places not yet explored in Wistram?”

Calvaron nodded as if it were obvious.

“Of course. How many mages do you think lived in Wistram? The greatest of them—legends who could cast countless magics—all settled the highest floors. If you go exploring higher and higher you’ll run across their creations, spells, and maybe their rooms. But imagine the amount of traps and dangerous spells up there! Just trying to break into a former mage’s room is deadly.”

“But Zelkyr had the monopoly on that, right?”

Ceria was beginning to understand what had happened, and why the upper floors were off limits now.

“He did indeed. Zelkyr ordered his Golems to guard the entrances to the upper levels and seal it off so only he could learn from the mages above. Of course, the other mages didn’t accept that and there was a huge battle. But in the end his surviving Truestone Construct—Cognita—imposed a new order on the surviving mages. They could live and study in Wistram, but the upper levels were for Zelkyr and the few he trusted alone.”

“Hence their current inaccessible state?”

“Exactly.”

Calvaron pointed a finger at Pisces as he stole a grape from Beatrice’s plate. She jabbed him with a gauntleted finger.

“Gah! Damn it Beatrice, it hurts when you do that!”

“Then don’t steal. Yes, Pisces, the upper levels are closed. The top three are only off limits for new mages, but after that—there is a door. Cognita and many golems guard it. It leads further up.”

“Okay, but why hasn’t anyone gotten Cognita to open it? Zelkyr is dead, right?”

“I’m getting to that! Hold on!”

Calvaron took a long drink, enjoying making Ceria and Pisces wait.

“One day, Cognita came down from the upper floors and announced that Archmage Zelkyr was dead. Ever since then, she and the other Golems have been maintaining Wistram. They still fulfill his orders by helping us, taking care of the academy, fighting off intruders and so forth, but his other order still stands. No one may venture above. So while Wistram is safe—”

“The higher magics are off-limits?”

Pisces looked dismayed at the thought. Calvaron waggled a finger at him.

“Just the ones that belonged to the greats. There’s plenty of mages here capable of casting Tier 5 spells, or even Tier 6. But higher than that…? You’ll have to get past Cognita first, and that’s pretty much impossible. If you challenge her, you’ll be fighting her and Zelkyr’s best creations.”

Beatrice’s armor shuddered a bit and she turned the corners of her mouth down.

“Golems. Scary.”

Ceria thought that was ironic coming from a Dullahan, but she had to admit that for all Beatrice was a disembodied head and a body covered in light metal armor, she was clearly alive. Cognita and the other Golems were not. There was an important distinction there.

“So Cognita’s not just a nice, friendly Golem?”

Calvaron snorted.

“She’s as nice as a Golem can be, which is sort of. But try to get past the door and…you’re dead. No one’s gotten past her since Zelkyr died.”

“And so far no one’s tried?”

“And so far no one’s survived.”

Beatrice said it quietly. Calvaron nodded soberly.

“Of course, countless mages challenged Cognita and the Golems in the past. Some did it by themselves, others attacked in groups or tried to catch the Golems off-guard. None succeeded. The Golems are powerful, and Cognita’s the strongest of them all. I’ve never seen her fight personally, mind, but there are other guardian Golems that Zelkyr made. Occasionally some group of mages decides to challenge them, but they’re always killed.”

Both Ceria and Pisces shuddered. Beatrice looked between them and shook her head with her hands.

“Don’t worry about it. So long as you never try to get past the door, you’ll be fine. And there are other places below the door that are still unexplored.”

“Like below. There’s plenty of passages unexplored there, although we do have a problem with the undead. There are a lot of bones stored in the catacombs and they sometimes reanimate people who get killed down there.”

“Lovely. And…wait, how does this have anything to do with factions?”

“I’m getting to that. You’re the most impatient half-Elf I know, Ceria.”

“I’m the only one who’ll put up with a Centaur like you, Calvaron.”

“Hah! True. Anyways, the factions in Wistram popped up because there’s no one mage who’s powerful enough to really control everyone like there used to be. Now our Archmages are just the greatest mages among us, not those with the actual class. And factions are just mages with similar ideals.”

“Like the Revivalists. My faction. You two should join if you pass the exam.”

Beatrice smiled at Pisces and Ceria. Calvaron rolled his eyes and tipped her head over.

“Stop that, Beatrice! Ignore her, you two. You don’t want to get wrapped up in factional politics before your exam. That could really hurt your chances to get in.”

“Why? Surely if we pledge to one faction, they could help us succeed?”

Pisces seemed curious. Beatrice took the moment to respond—she’d cast a spell that made all the hairs on Calvaron’s horse-half stand up, which the yelping Centaur was having to dispel.

“They might. But other factions don’t like giving one strength. So it’s a bad idea. Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Calvaron gasped as he managed to remove Beatrice’s shocking hex. He glared at her, but she gave him a satisfied look and he decided not to escalate the situation.

“You won’t have to deal with them too much. Just know that some mages belong to a group with certain ideals. They differ in how they agree of course, but they stick together when it comes to voting or pushing their agendas. Illphres, for example. Remember her?”

Ceria ground her teeth together. She was still sore about not being taught any combat magic all this time she’d studied here.

“I do.”

“Well, she’s an Isolationist. Thinks we should only allow mages who are already strong to join and that we should be reaching for greater heights in magic. That’s why she didn’t want to teach you.”

“Can’t the other factions force her to teach?”

“They can…but Illphres is stubborn and it’s not worth the battle. They’ll use her not teaching to their advantage instead; the others will be able to say the Isolationists don’t contribute their fair share and be able to vote against them. So Illphres is harming her own faction, but she’s too influential for anyone to stand up to her.”

“And meanwhile we suffer for it.”

Ceria angrily stabbed her cold pork, but Calvaron just shrugged.

“It’s bad luck I’m afraid. Sorry. But there are other factions in Wistram you should know about. Your good friend Rievan, for instance, belongs to the Libertarian group. They want us to start taking sides with different nations and throwing our influence around.”

“Sounds like a bad idea.”

“Don’t let any of the Libertarians catch you saying that. A lot of them are from Terandria, and they take a deep interest in the politics from there.”

“So factions are something else we’ll have to worry about?”

Ceria didn’t like the thought of that, but Calvaron just chuckled.

“Not for a while, and certainly not until you pass your exam. And if you get strong enough, you might be able to deal with factions on your own. The more important you are, the less your connections and factions matter. Then it’s just about who you are as a [Mage].”

“But it sounds like unless I’m a powerful mage, I’ll need to join a faction or be in danger.”

Ceria pointed that out and Pisces nodded in agreement. Calvaron paused before shaking his head.

“Not necessarily. You see, the factions keep each other in check so that the independents like me can function. How can I explain it? Okay, let’s say someone—a certain angry Elementalist teacher for instance—wanted to harass you. Because he doesn’t like your ears.”

“He doesn’t like me because of my ears.”

“Yes, but he’s not actively trying to harm you or get in your way, is he? That’s because if he did start attacking you, the Revivalists and the Preservationists would be all over him. They don’t want him to alienate your people—or spread the rumor that Wistram is a speciesist institution.”

“Preservationists? That’s a long name, isn’t it?”

“They chose it, not us. Anyways, Mister Angry Elementalist would have to have a lot of support from his faction to get at you. He’d also have to consider your friends, and how much the other factions would retaliate if he went at you. Mind you, you’re hanging out with second and third-year students who aren’t powerful. Beatrice is a [Runeshaper] and I’m just a generalist [Mage], so we don’t have much clout.”

“You study runes, Beatrice? You never said.”

Beatrice nodded. She tapped at her armor where Ceria now saw some carved symbols etched into the metal.

“Working on some personal enchantments. Rune magic is very popular among Dullahans. But not powerful in faction.”

“Right. But don’t worry—Rievan’s not going to try anything. It would be too much trouble if he did and you’re not worth it.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s just politics. Like how you got stuck with Rievan and Illphres anyways. That was due to a squabble with the factions.”

“Really? Would you mind explaining how that happened?”

Pisces was interested, although Ceria wasn’t. Calvaron shrugged.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I’ll tell Pisces and you can just eat your dead pig, Ceria. Now, the current mages teaching are mostly mages who like doing it. Some mages earn their keep and just live here by teaching. It’s not going to make them influential, but it is necessary and so they keep doing it. But a year ago, Tshya, the old Drake who taught me and Beatrice, died.”

“Poor Tshya.”

“He had scale rot. Very nasty odor. He never cleaned himself right near the end.”

“Calvaron!”

“Well, he didn’t! Remember the smell? And he was old. But he was in charge of a lot of lessons, and so the council wanted another of the oldest and most inactive mages to take on the job. Unfortunately, that would have meant choosing Belfore—he’s a Preservationist, just like Yim, the other teacher who was taking on a lot of classes. But that would have meant that the Preservationists were essentially doing all the teaching, and they didn’t want to let that happen in case it became precedent. So they insisted that the teaching be taken up by mages from all factions, which led to, among others, Rievan getting tapped for the job.”

“He’s not that important. So he got the job.”

“I see. But what about Illphres? You said she was important?”

“Yes, well, the Centrists—they’re the ones who want us to make every mage in the world part of Wistram and declare ourselves a nation—they’re always fighting with the Isolationists. And they really don’t like Illphres, so they nominated her. And she’s got a lot of enemies so they passed the vote and made her take the classes.”

Beatrice smiled.

“Simple, right?”

“No!”

Ceria clutched at her head while Pisces nodded and kept asking more questions. Ceria went off to get dessert—a lovely bread with sugar baked into the crust and glazed with honey. Mages ate well at Wistram, but this was a treat. She returned to the table and suffered through more discussions of politics. Pisces looked hurt when she suggested they leave.

“You don’t find this interesting? There’s so much depth here!”

“Depth is for people who want it. I came here for magic, not politics.”

Ceria groused. But she had one thought. She turned to Calvaron and Beatrice.

“What about Amerys? Does she belong to any faction?”

The two older students blinked at her. Calvaron slowly shook his head.

“Amerys? Some factions wouldn’t have her simply for what she’s done. Others might, but Amerys has never approached anyone. The mage of the King of Destruction’s Seven stands alone.”

“She has friends.”

“More enemies than friends by a long shot. No, Amerys is alone, for all she’s an Archmage. I’d walk clear of her if I were you. No one forces her to do anything. And she’s unpredictable at best.”

“Like when she went out to fight the Sea Serpent. That was a surprise.”

“Not really. You know she likes battle, Beatrice.”

“I thought she did it to gain favor with the Revivalists, or maybe the Centrists.”

“Her? Hah! Never. Now, I can see one of the other Archmages doing that. Old Verdan Blackwood for instance could have taken down the Sea Serpent, but Amerys volunteered. Do you know what happened after that? Pisces, you’re not going to believe this…”

Somehow, it was dinner time before the conversation ended. Ceria and Pisces loaded up their plates with more food and chatted with Calvaron and Beatrice for another hour until Ceria decided they really did need to get back to their rooms to study.

“I can’t believe we talked for six hours!”

Ceria exclaimed out loud as she and Pisces headed back to their rooms. He only smiled, looking as happy as she’d ever seen him.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it? This place is such a haven of learning. I feel like I’m right at home when I have discussions like these.”

“More like a place to get fat. I ate too much.”

“Good food, magic, and interesting people to talk to. What’s not to love?”

“Rievan. And Illphres. And Charles de Trevalier.”

“Well, besides them.”

Both students laughed as they went back to Pisces’ room. There they pulled out the spellbook and stared at it. Ceria wanted to learn another combat spell, and Pisces was still staring at one spell he claimed to half-understand already. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“They’re betting on us.”

Ceria raised her head with a frown.

“Who are?”

“Beatrice and Calvaron. I heard they’ve put money that both of us will pass the exams.”

“People bet on who’ll pass? Wait, of course they do.”

Ceria sighed. She felt annoyed that Calvaron and Beatrice were treating her getting into Wistram so trivially, but Pisces took the opposite view. He smiled at her.

“Don’t be angry. If they didn’t like us or care they wouldn’t have made the bet. I think they’re trying to help us. They give us tips and secrets for free all the time, don’t they?”

“I guess. It’s just—we’re going to need more than a bit of help if we want to be sure we’ll pass.”

Ceria sighed, dispirited. Pisces raised his eyebrows and tapped the book in front of them.

“That’s what this is for. Look here—I’m certain this spell is in fact [Flash Step]. I had to get to one of the encyclopedias to look it up, but the spell’s description seems to match this spell exactly!”

Filled with sudden interest, Ceria peered at the spell. She nodded.

“You could be right!”

Then her face fell.

“But there’s only three weeks left until the exams. Not enough time for either of us to learn it.”

“I think I can do it. At the very least, I want to try.”

Ceria stared at Pisces. She knew he was smart. But this? [Flash Step] was a Tier 3 spell.

“You’re going to try?”

“Of course. And you can learn [Stone Fist] as well. If we work together, we’ll pass the exams.”

Pisces grinned at her. Ceria felt her heart pounding in her chest. Just heard it. She smiled at Pisces, and held up a fist for him to bump his cautiously against.

“Definitely.”

Wistram Days (Pt.4)

Wistram was a world unto itself, with a different set of rules, a different kind of people. And yes, Ceria thought to herself as she cautiously opened her door, a different sense of time.

This early in the morning the hallway was empty. Seemingly empty. But Ceria knew better than to step out incautiously. She whispered a spell as she stared hard at the floor and ceiling.

“[Detect Magic].”

The world faded. Colors became less vivid in Ceria’s eyes, while others sprung out at her, as if they were the only real things in a blurred reality. And so when she looked again, Ceria could clearly see the hex that had been drawn on the flagstones in front of her door.

“Of course.”

It was a spell that would make the ground slippery like grease. Ceria moved to destroy the hex and then paused. She glanced suspiciously around the hex, and then peeked her head around the doorjamb. That’s when she saw the second, far less obvious spell about to go off.

She gritted her teeth. Ceria pushed mana into her hands and raised it. A jet of flame scorched the stone and disrupted the fragile matrix of the trap spell. The half-Elf grimly watched both spells disappear as she dared step outside at last.

“A shock spell? Dead gods. Those damn Human—”

She caught herself. She didn’t know it was a Human who’d cast the spell. But she was pretty sure it was.

“Charles de Trevalier.”

Ceria muttered his name as she stalked down the corridors towards the banquet hall. She was in no mood to wait for Pisces to get up—he usually woke up late unless they had class in the mornings, anyways. So Ceria contented herself with grabbing some fruit and a piece of cheese and eating alone at one of the tables.

Two weeks had passed since she and Pisces had stolen the spellbook, or rather, reclaimed it from the library with Cognita’s help. It wasn’t really stealing, actually. True, other students had found the book and probably intended to retrieve it, but as Ceria and Pisces both pointed out to each other, they hadn’t gotten to it in time.

Therefore the book was rightfully theirs, or rather, Pisces’ property. Still, neither student had told a soul about what they’d done, even Calvaron or Beatrice. A secret like that would be worth a huge amount and Ceria didn’t want to risk having a bunch of older students angry at them.

Especially not at this time. There was less than a week left until the exam that would decide everything for Ceria. In five short days, she’d be tested on her magical abilities and Skills, and demonstrate what spells she’d learned while studying here.

In truth, this was as much of a test of her abilities as a student as it was her prowess as a mage before she’d arrived at Wistram. Ceria had heard from Calvaron and Beatrice just what the tests measured.

“They’ll look to see how powerful you are and whether you picked up on the lessons. If you’re talented in either respect, you’ll gain points. So a good mage could get accepted on their abilities or someone who’s mastered every lesson could get in solely based on that, but it’s best to be outstanding in both areas.”

They’d be measured in many different areas, from their ability to control fundamental magic, to how they analyzed enchantments and held their cool in battle. There were several tests Ceria had practiced for, but it was the last one, a grueling obstacle course where the students would be allowed to use attack spells to get to the end quickly, that she was focused on.

After so long, Ceria knew how she ranked among the prospective students in Wistram. It was common knowledge; the entrance exams were the subject of quite a number of bets and power games, again according to Calvaron.

Your ranking was critically important, but Ceria knew it wasn’t the only key to passing the exams. How much wealth you had—or your family had—and whether you were well liked by any influential mages could also be key.

Unfortunately, Ceria hadn’t made any strong connections with anyone but Calvaron and Beatrice. She had no wealth besides the money she’d scraped together for the application fee. So all she could rely on was her talent.

And to be fair, Ceria wasn’t bad at magic. She had a higher level than most new students, and she was also quicker than most at picking up each lesson. However, the key here was ‘better than most’. Ceria wasn’t at the top of her class; she was only gifted.

That wasn’t reassuring. And to make it worse, Ceria knew someone who was consistently at the top of any class he took.

Pisces.

She hadn’t realized it at first, but after nearly a month of hanging out with the young man and becoming friends, Ceria had realized he truly was a prodigy at magic.

Pisces could pick up a spell twice as fast as Ceria could. Worse, he had a finer control over his magic. His lightning didn’t spark all over the place, and he could remember almost everything he was taught in class with his memory alone.

It made Ceria incredibly jealous at times. She knew Pisces couldn’t help being gifted anymore than she could give up her race’s affinity with magic that let them channel mana better than any other species. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel that in a few days he might be the one to stay while she left.

Hence, her decision to wake up so early. Ceria glumly chewed down the last of her fruit and finished the cheese. She normally liked to eat meat—morning, noon and night and for a snack—but she couldn’t have a full stomach for what she was about to do.

Leaving her dishes where they were—a Golem would come by and pick them up if some other students didn’t levitate them to another table—Ceria headed towards the entrance of Wistram. In truth, she’d had little reason to leave the academy before now.

The half-Elf took a breath of the crisp morning air and then scowled as that crisp air turned out to be full of water. She spluttered as a wave crashing against the rocks of the isle sent a spray of water into her face.

“Nature.”

She groused to herself as she stomped down the winding steps that led down to the large stone pier. The isle that was Wistram was really very small, in truth. Aside from the towering citadel that seemed to reach into the sky, there was only the docks and a separate bay where other ships could disgorge their cargo. Both were built out of stone and could hold dozens of vessels at a time, but Wistram had no grass or open areas to speak of.

All that was inside. Ceria had actually seen a large plaza filled with grass and trees in one part of Wistram, the top open to the sky. The magics that made up the citadel were such that the finite building that represented the outside couldn’t hint at the full expanse of Wistram on the inside.

And yet today, Ceria left the steps and made her way down to a bunch of large boulders that protected Wistram from the direct impact of the tide. This early in the morning she saw only a few other mages about. Ceria found a secluded spot where she could stare out across the ocean and took a breath.

“Time to practice.”

The first thing she did was hurl a few orbs created with the [Light] spell. The shimmering spheres hovered in the air in front of Ceria, some relatively close, but others floated up to a hundred feet away. Ceria took a deep breath, and aimed carefully at the nearest one.

“[Stone Dart]!”

It was her favorite spell and the one she was most proficient at. The dagger of stone cut through the air with a whistling sound and pierced the center of the first ball of light. Ceria grinned triumphantly as it vanished.

She raised her hand and carefully aimed at the next orb. Ceria concentrated hard to make sure she was right on target; it wasn’t just that she had to aim with her finger. The image of the floating orb was just as important in her mind; it could inform the angle and trajectory her spell took.

A second stone missile flew, and again the orb vanished soundlessly. The seagulls circling about the isle cawed raucously and the ocean waves blew up gouts of water while Ceria lined up her next shot.

She was practicing for the combat trial. Ceria knew most of the new students knew only a few combat spells and only Tier 1 spells at that. But she’d actually fought before! True, she’d only worked as a Bronze-rank adventurer to make ends meet now and then, but she was confident she could demonstrate her abilities in that section of the exam more than any other.

She just had to make sure her aim was spot-on. Thus, Ceria was practicing hitting the targets as they floated in the air. She’d done it all the time back in the forests around her home, only then she’d hunted animals and shot leaves out of trees. Here she had to make her own targets; she wasn’t about to kill the seagulls just to practice. Unless one of them pooped on her head, that was.

Ceria found aiming at the nearest orbs of light easy. She could hit them in rapid succession once she’d gotten her mental eye in. But past fifty feet her aim grew worse and worse. The wind blew her spells off course and she had to hit each ball of light in the center or she wouldn’t destabilize the spell enough for it to vanish.

The final orb floated tantalizingly some one hundred and twenty feet away. Ceria cursed as she launched dart after dart at it, growing more tired with each shot. She could only fire about thirty or so before she had to rest and she was nearing her limit even with the short break she’d took.

But she was determined to hit it. Ceria waited for the wind to die down and then shot a dart across the ocean. She held her breath as she stared at the orb of light and then flung her arms out in success as it went out.

Only when she had finally shot down the last floating orb did Ceria realize she had an audience. She turned and nearly had a heart attack as she saw a cluster of mages, all far older than any of the students Ceria hung out with—watching her.

These were true mages, the ones who’d stopped being students and now either taught classes or studied magic on their own. Men and women in robes, Drakes, Lizardfolk—standing a ways away from the Drakes—a Dullahan and one of the Stitch People regarded Ceria silently. Ceria saw a bird-man standing next to two women she recognized.

Her heart stopped. There, standing with the mages was Illphres. And standing next to her, smiling slightly was none other than Amerys, one of the King’s Seven.

The Calm Flower of the Battlefield. One of the King of Destruction’s generals, who had conquered a continent and threatened the world. Ceria forgot she was a fellow mage for a second and froze in panic.

But these mages—why were they here? Had she broken a rule for some reason? Only, they didn’t seem angry. They were just watching her. Some looked amused, others, considering.

“Um.”

Ceria could barely breathe. The mages regarded her for another silent moment, and then they moved off, as if they were done. Several leapt impossibly high into the air and floated down to rocks closer to the waves—others simply walked off in different directions around the isle.

Only one mage stayed. Illphres. She approached Ceria, moving slowly, face unreadable. She passed a hand over her lips and then Ceria saw a smile appear. It was slightly mocking.

“Sloppy aim.”

“What?”

“Your aim is bad. You took far too long to hit that last target.”

Illphres nodded slowly to the ocean. Ceria felt herself blush hotly as she realized all the mages had seen her struggle to hit her final target.

“I got it in the end!”

She was angry that they’d seen her, but angrier at Illphres for lecturing her. The mage passed a hand over her face and Ceria saw her smirking now.

“You can hit a stationary target, but you don’t compensate for the wind. If that was a Goblin archer he would have shot you full of arrows by now.”

That stung because it was true. Ceria replied sharply.

“So I suppose you’re telling me you can aim better?”

“Of course. Watch.”

Illphres pointed, and Ceria looked up. She saw only the sky, and a flock of seagulls looking for scraps or perhaps a tasty mollusk washed up by the tides. The ice mage gestured, and one of the passing seagulls suddenly squawked in terror and plummeted towards the ocean. Ice had encased both of its wings.

Ceria bit her lip. That was a masterful shot; she’d barely seen the streak of light that had shot from Illphres’ hand to hit the bird. But killing an animal just to prove a point seemed wrong to her.

But the seagull never hit the water. A few feet before it would have smacked into the surf pounding the rocks around Wistram it suddenly flapped its wings and flew back upwards, still making sounds of distress. Ceria saw the ice on its wings flaking off, melting with rapid speed.

The gull flew off, and Illphres turned back to Ceria. She passed a hand over her face and looked expressionlessly at Ceria again.

“Everything is a moving target. You’ll never improve by aiming at stationary points.”

It was all true, but Ceria just couldn’t accept the lecture. She pointed at Illphres angrily.

“Teach me, then! Show me how to cast better spells!”

“Melt my ice first.”

Illphres looked at Ceria, and the half-Elf didn’t know what to say in reply. Illphres walked off, leaving Ceria alone to fume.

----

Ceria didn’t stay long after her encounter with the mages. She saw them standing on the rocks, doing something close to what she’d done. The only difference was the scale. Instead of sending out orbs of light, some created actual illusions of monsters or incoming spells which they in turn warded against or shot down with their own magic.

She saw Illphres shooting countless discs of frozen ice up into the air at extreme speed and then bolts of lightning catching each one and blasting it to bits. Amerys did that for about ten minutes before she switched and started conjuring birds made of electricity which Illphres shot down in turn.

So. Other mages did what she did? Ceria walked back to Wistram, thoroughly humiliated and not a little bit angry. It was still early and she debated going back to the banquet hall for a second breakfast and to meet up with Pisces before class today. But she paused when she saw him in the hallway.

He wasn’t alone. Pisces was talking with another Human—a young man Ceria recognized with a sinking feeling in her stomach. He had a pointy noise and far too gangly legs in her opinion, but he was attired in rich, colorful clothing like a [Lord]. Which he was, she supposed. It wasn’t Charles himself, but one of his good friends.

Timor du Havrington.

He looked condescending as ever, but what was he doing here talking to Pisces of all people? Ceria stared down the busy corridor full of students hurrying about. He and Pisces were talking while they stood next to an intersection. About what?

About her?

She didn’t want Pisces to see her. Ceria pressed her back against a wall and then realized that was stupid. Instead, she mingled with a group of students going one way, watching Pisces out of the corner of her eye as she walked.

“…happen to agree with you on that point, Havrington. However…”

That was all she heard as she passed by. Ceria desperately wanted to turn and look back, but she was afraid of being spotted. And afraid, perhaps, of what she might hear. She slowly made her way back to her room and only saw Pisces again during lunch.

----

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite half-Elf! Where’ve you been Ceria? We missed you at breakfast! Wait—don’t tell me. I already know.”

Calvaron’s cheerful greeting made Ceria want to pull his tail. She scowled at him and ducked as a flash of magic flew overhead. He and Beatrice didn’t seem to notice, but then, they’d erected a shield spell around their table.

“Hi Calvaron. Hi, Beatrice. What in the name of tree fungus is going on?”

She pointed across the hall at the circle of students watching two mages exchange blasts of magic, but Calvaron began laughing instead.

“What in the name of—did you hear that Beatrice? Did you hear what she said? Do all half-Elves swear by plants?”

“I did. Be polite.”

Beatrice slapped Calvaron on the shoulder and pointed towards the two fighting mages.

“It’s a duel. Seric and Zepheral are quarrelling over a wand one of them found in an unexplored room. The winner gets to keep it.”

Calvaron nodded.

“Want to place a bet? The smart money’s on Seric, but Zepheral could pull it off. I’ve got three-to-one odds on Seric.”

Pisces, eying the battle warily, ducked as a stray arrow of light splashed across the top of their shield.

“I’m ah, more worried about our safety. Do such duels occur often?”

“Worried? Hey, this shield spell won’t break from a stray shot! And yes, duels are fairly common. I’m surprised you haven’t seen any before, but then, the Council likes to ease you new students into life here. Can’t have fights breaking out on the first day.”

“And students duel for money, pride, what?”

“Anything and everything, Ceria! It’s like secrets; just another way for a mage to get ahead if they so choose. And you don’t have to fight with spells—there are spoken debates too.”

“Really?”

Pisces’ eyes lit up at that. Calvaron wagged a finger.

“Ah, ah. They’re usually decided by collective vote, so don’t go thinking the student who knows the most words wins, Pisces. It’s actually quite tricky, since you can’t rely on personal magnetism to win the debate. Those who vote have to answer under truth spell who made the more convincing argument.”

“All the more reason for me to attempt this. You say you can win money with this?”

Pisces grinned at Ceria, who had to force herself to smile back. Calvaron nodded, wincing good-naturedly as a cry went up from the crowd watching the duel.

“Students duel with magic and words in the halls of Wistram. Well, I say students, but all the [Mages] here do it. The older ones just do it with a lot more pomp and ceremony. Ooh! Looks like Seric’s going to win this one. Did you see that, Beatrice? [Air Volt]. Right to the chest! Zepheral’s not walking away from that one.”

“Looks like I win my bet. Good.”

Pisces and Ceria watched as the crowd began to disperse. Apparently Seric had won, and some students were helping to magically carry Zepheral—the unconscious Drake—away.

“Never a quiet moment in Wistram, huh?”

“You know it. But Ceria, I hear you had an interesting encounter this morning.”

Pisces turned, eyebrows raised and Ceria scowled at the Centaur.

“Dead gods, Calvaron! Do you keep your ear pinned to the ground or something?”

“Only when it involves my friends. And quite a few people saw you practicing outside. And how you ran into all the other mages too.”

Ceria covered her face as Pisces demanded and received an explanation.

“Why were they out there? I thought I’d be alone that early in the morning.”

Beatrice blinked slowly at Ceria as she scratched an itch on the back of her head.

“Don’t you know? All the mages inclined towards combat get up early to train. They probably wondered whether you wanted to join them.”

“Oh bark mold.”

Ceria put her head in her hands and groaned as Pisces and Calvaron laughed.

“Shut up! I didn’t know, okay?”

“Don’t fret, Springwalker. Look at it this way; attracting their attention can’t hurt you, especially if they think you might be an asset to the academy.”

“It can if they saw how badly I did! I was trying to get back my aim in secret!”

“Well, you should have practiced elsewhere. The rocks around the academy are a favorite spot for all mages to practice. Less bodies to hit if their aim’s off, you see.”

“I didn’t know you were practicing. Was it for the exam?”

Pisces looked at Ceria with a frown. She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Ceria’s got the right idea, Pisces. She’s rated high for passing the combat portion ahead of most of the students. You should just try and get top marks in other areas. Mind you, you might have a shot at doing well in the combat portion too, given that no one’s taken classes in combat magic so far.”

“Thanks to Illphres.”

“I hate her so much.”

Ceria mumbled to herself as she stuffed her mouth full of cottage cheese. Calvaron shrugged.

“It’s not good for anyone, but hey, after the exams I’m sure the Council will find someone else to teach you lot. They can’t have you not being taught for an entire year.”

“Too late if we fail.”

“You’re so pessimistic! But hey, speaking of Illphres, did you know that Charles de Trevalier got into her classroom?”

“No.”

Pisces and Ceria both stared at Calvaron in shock. He nodded.

“Apparently, your good friend Charles was seen in the classroom. He caused a big commotion, calling for Illphres to come and teach him.”

“So she taught him, then? How’d he manage to get past the ice?”

“That’s the thing.”

Calvaron’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“He got in, but apparently he got someone else to melt the ice for him. Anyways, it was obvious he hadn’t done it himself, so Illphres said it didn’t count. I heard she and Rievan were arguing about it and she nearly froze his face off. He’s probably the one who did it, although it must have been a struggle.”

“Rievan and Charles are working together?”

Ceria exchanged a horrified glance with Pisces. She’d noticed Rievan didn’t pick on Charles nearly as much for his failures, but she hadn’t expected the two people who hated her most to join forces. Calvaron nodded seriously.

“Oh yes, Charles is heavily in Rievan’s camp now. He’s part of the Libertarian faction for sure. They’ll love having someone with his family’s deep pockets and influence, that’s certain. And if they throw a bit of help back towards his family when they’re having their own political battles, well, everyone wins.”

“Great. Just great.”

Ceria put her head down on the table. Pisces patted her gingerly on the back while Calvaron and Beatrice discussed what they’d do with their winnings.

“I think this is a great time to break out that drink I just bought. Beatrice, can you get some more quiches? Or maybe some of those eggrolls—or just cold cuts of meat? I’m told this goes well with spicy food, but I hate spices.”

“On it.”

The Dullahan left the table as Ceria raised her head in time to see Calvaron producing two glasses and a bottle and placing them on the table. He had a very limited bag of holding that let him carry objects around.

“What’s this? Are you drinking at lunch?”

“Just a bit, just a bit. I made a good bundle betting on that duel. And this is a treat. Here—Pisces will you hold this bottle? I need to get this out…”

“What’s that? Salt?”

Ceria watched disbelievingly as Calvaron took out a small pouch of salt and began to add it to the rims of the glasses. He lined one and then poured some of the pale lime-colored liquid into the glass.

“There we are. Mm. This smells good. This, my dear Ceria, is called a Sand Tumbler—it’s an alcohol made with limes and lemons, I think. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. It’s a tasty drink—an alcohol I just bought from a ship captain who had a cargo full of drinks.”

“But salt?”

“It’s part of how you drink it. Again, don’t ask me why. But it—ooh, it does taste good! Here, Beatrice, you have to have one of these!”

Calvaron sipped from his glass with appreciation and delight. Beatrice, returned with a platter of food, reached for her own glass to prepare it like he had. Calvaron drank his, but objected when he saw Beatrice sprinkling the salt.

“Aw, Beatrice! Don’t put salt in the glass! A Sand Tumbler is supposed to have it on the rim. It adds to the taste!”

“I like salt. What about on the ice?”

“No, no! It’ll melt the ice and—look, let me do it, alright?”

Huffily, he showed Beatrice how to prepare the glass properly. When she was sipping it with apparent appreciation he turned back to Ceria and Pisces.

“I like to treat myself to the latest delicacy when I can afford it. Did you know this comes from Chandrar? It’s very refreshing—do either of you want to try one?”

Pisces declined. Ceria was sorely tempted, but she knew she had better spend all her time studying, not drinking.

“We’ve got to cram as much as we can right now, Calvaron. I’d love to stay, but unless you want to show us how to decipher complex enchantments—”

He groaned and Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“Dead gods, I’d rather let Illphres use me as a target than study that again. You two go study. Good luck!”

The two students left Calvaron and Beatrice to share their drink with a few students who’d drifted over, lured by the call of alcohol and snacks. Pisces was excited about the duel and Ceria was quiet, conflicted by her doubts.

“I do believe I might actually participate in a duel. Not a physical one—I’d rather not get hurt—but a verbal duel sounds promising! I might make some spending coin off of it. What do you think, do I have a chance?”

“If your opponent gets half as confused as I do, you’ll win for certain.”

Ceria smiled weakly at Pisces as they walked into his room. It had become their place to study, mainly because it was so convenient. And it had a balcony. He eagerly began spreading his notes over his bed and table as Ceria took a chair.

“What shall we focus on today? I thought we might work on our spell composition. I know that Rievan’s focused on it a lot already, but I think there’s room to improve.”

“Um, Pisces.”

He looked up as Ceria spoke quietly. Her heart was pounding, but she had to know.

“What is it?”

“Earlier this morning, I saw you talking with Timor. What was that about?”

She watched his face anxiously. Pisces wasn’t a good liar, Ceria knew. Or she thought she knew. He paused, and scratched at his hair as if trying to remember.

“Him? Oh that—nothing of consequence. I was just on my way to breakfast and he stopped me—”

“Pisces, please. I have to know.”

He paused, and then turned to look Ceria in the eye. Pisces sighed, and took a seat on his bed.

“Timor did, in fact approach me this morning to extend an invitation to me. To join him and Charles in their…faction. The Libertarians. They offered me quite a few incentives.”

Ceria felt a hand squeezing at her heart. It wasn’t what she’d feared, but it still made her worried.

“And? What did you say?”

“I refused him outright, of course!”

Pisces looked indignant and hurt that Ceria had to ask. He stood up, smoothing his robes.

“I told him no, but he kept pestering me. He wanted me to abandon my friendship with you so I could add my abilities to Charles and support him. I’ve apparently got good odds to pass the exam and the Libertarians want every new student they can get.”

“Why’d you say no? They can offer you a lot more than you’d get by being independent.”

“Hardly. You know what Calvaron said about factions.”

“Yeah, but…”

Ceria trailed off miserably. She didn’t want to suspect her friend, but she did. Pisces looked at her, and his tone softened.

“Ceria, I turned him down. I would never join with him. You are my…friend.”

He said the word cautiously. Ceria blinked up at him and Pisces colored. He turned and spoke rapidly.

“Besides, Timor’s offer was quite disingenuous, I felt. I am completely disinclined to subsume myself into a close-minded group that bows to the most influential member without discourse or free thought. Your company—and that of the other myriad members of each species—is far more pleasant for me.”

That was what he said, but his real meaning was far easier to understand. Ceria surprised herself by standing up and giving Pisces a quick hug.

“You’re a good friend Pisces, but you talk too much.”

He grinned at her, embarrassed, but pleased.

“So I’ve been told. Were you really that worried?”

“Not really—well, okay, a bit. Charles has it out for me.”

“I know he doesn’t like you, but do you really think he would try to get to you through me?”

Pisces frowned, but Ceria nodded with conviction.

“Positive. He doesn’t do anything openly, but you heard Calvaron. Charles is allied with Rievan and I think he’s been doing other stuff in secret. I’ve been finding trap spells and hexes around my room every few days when I wake up. I think he and his friends are planting them there each night.”

“I didn’t know about this! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pisces looked outraged. He eyed Ceria and then turned red.

“You thought I was the one doing it?”

“I was wrong, okay? Look, Pisces. I know you’re a good friend. I do. But you’re Human and there’s a history between my people and yours.”

“So I’ve been given to understand, but this much? Charles didn’t like you on sight, but why? Is there really that much animosity?”

Ceria nodded tiredly. She wasn’t surprised Pisces didn’t know; if he’d grown up away from half-Elves or in a different nation he wouldn’t have the same perspective.

“I’m a half-Elf. He’s a Human noble. At one time my people ruled over most of Terandria and enslaved Humans. It’s a longstanding grudge and it’s not as if Humans and half-Elves have gotten along splendidly since then. I’ll just bet Charles is from one of the Human families my people used to enslave.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Or it could just be he hates half-Elves. Some Humans just hate other species. Stitch-people are widely accepted although some people get freaked out by them, but half-Elves are much more disliked. Lots of Humans hate us just for being, well, half Elf.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re a bit strange.”

“Thank you.”

Pisces grinned. Ceria smiled at him and felt better. He cleared his throat, looking at his scattered notes.

“Not to change the topic, but regardless of whether Charles is planning something, if we don’t study we’ll fail the exams anyways. Should we get to work?”

“Absolutely. Come on, let’s practice. Show me how you get your lightning to go straight, will you?”

----

That night, Ceria slept more soundly than she had for a few days. But she was woken up just past midnight by a loud scream just outside her door. She sat up, heart pounding as she heard panicked voices outside.

“Aah!”

“What are they?”

Ceria heard shouting as she ran to wrench her door open. When she raced out into the corridor, hands ablaze with fire, ready to throw it at whoever was outside, she saw retreating shapes running down the corridor. They were being followed by a stream of…

“Ceria?”

Pisces yanked open his door, looking bleary-eyed and confused. He stared around, but now the corridor was deserted. A few other students were opening their doors as well, wondering what was going on.

“I think they were trying to put a trap on my door again. But something chased them off.”

“How strange.”

Pisces looked innocent. Too innocent. Ceria squinted at him suspiciously.

“You did something, didn’t you? What chased them off?”

“Mice, I believe. I ah, cast a spell to attract a few of them.”

Pisces grinned at Ceria and closed the door. She stared at it and smiled before going to sleep. If the next day Calvaron pointed out a few Human students with small bites all over their arms and legs, neither Pisces nor Ceria commented on it. Some secrets were just that: secret.

----

In the last few panicked days of studying, one last important thing happened as Ceria and Pisces were studying. Both mages poured over the spellbook they’d taken from the library each night before they went to sleep. Ceria had given up on learning [Stone Fist] in time—she thought with a week or two she might do it, but not when she had to devote her time to memorizing all her lessons.

But Pisces doggedly worked at decoding the spell he’d focused on. And as Ceria was sitting with her back to a wall in his room, trying to create the perfect [Stone Dart] to use as a model for her spells, he suddenly exclaimed and shot to his feet.

“I’ve figured it out!”

She looked up. Pisces was waving his arms about. He took a step—and suddenly blurred, appearing several feet forwards in an instant. She gaped. He turned to her triumphantly ecstatic.

“Look, look! Ceria, look! I can do the spell!”

He took another step and vanished. Ceria heard a yelp and saw him reappear and knock over the desk. Pisces jumped about and cradled his shin. She was dumbstruck.

“What? But how?”

“[Flash Step]! I told you I could learn it! It’s so useful! See—look at this!”

He took another step and appeared right in front of Ceria. She recoiled, but Pisces just grabbed her hands.

“I did it, Ceria! It’s so wonderful.”

He stepped away from her, disappearing and reappearing again. Ceria watched, open-mouthed. Pisces took a deep breath.

“It works. And I can use it. If I…”

He broke off, and began to mumble to himself. Ceria just stared at him. He’d really done it. And so quickly! It had been what, less than three weeks? She couldn’t imagine any other new student learning a Tier 3 spell so quickly.

But he’d done it. And now Pisces did something that made Ceria go speechless. He took another step and disappeared. Reappeared. He wasn’t teleporting, but rather moving so quickly around the room that he generated his own gusts of wind. But Pisces wasn’t doing it randomly.

He moved about the room, slower now. Ceria watched, mouth slightly open as she saw Pisces’ energetic leaping about turn into something else.

Was it a dance? Ceria had seen a waltz before, and what Pisces did now looked similar. His feet moved slowly, but with each step he flicked a few feet away. And yet, not once did he crash into a wall. Slowly, Pisces circled the room, stepping, turning, one arm on his hip, the other held outwards.

Turn, step, pivot, step. Pisces snatched up his rapier and then it was in his hands. He circled the small room, vanishing from sight and reappearing, facing off against some imaginary opponent. Just…circling.

If he hadn’t been using [Flash Step], Pisces would have just been moving about in a complicated dance of steps with rapier in hand, to better maneuver around his opponent. But with the spell he was suddenly impossible to predict. He moved about Ceria and she was sure that if she had a sword she’d be hard pressed to strike at him.

Still, that wasn’t what kept her eyes on Pisces. It was that he never hit anything. His room was large, yes, but even so, one careless step or moving a bit too far with the [Flash Step] spell would send him face-first into one of the stone walls. Yet Pisces never hit anything. He moved around gracefully, exerting perfect control over a spell he’d learned just moments ago.

Pisces walked for a long time, rapier held at the ready, doing a dance that made it appear like there were ten versions of him in the room at once, all flicking in and out of sight. Ceria watched silently, spellbook in hand. She stared at the young man, eyes closed, face upturned. She wondered who he was, who he had been before he had come here.

He was a genius. Pure and simple. And she envied him and delighted in the fact that he was her friend. A Human. A Human she could call friend.

She wanted to keep studying with him. She wanted to pass the exam. But when Ceria looked at Pisces, dancing about with flawless perfection, she knew she’d never be able to copy what he did. So Ceria bent down over her spellbook and got back to studying. She had to pass.

She had to.

----

The day of the exam, all the prospective students gathered in front of the double doors where their exam would take place. Ceria supposed finding the spot was an exam in itself; any student who couldn’t navigate Wistram’s halls by now deserved to fail.

All of the students stood talking or practicing spells by themselves or in small groups. Ceria was with Pisces. Neither student had had the stomach to eat much this morning. They’d already been wished well by Calvaron, Beatrice, and a few other students who were rooting for them.

Now Ceria stared at the two marble doors, wondering why anyone would bother making doors out of marble so she didn’t worry about how she was going to perform. There could be no mistakes, she knew. If she failed, or if she took more than one try to do something, it would be noted by the mages who’d gathered to watch.

There weren’t a dedicated group of examiners for the test. Some mages like the teachers had to attend, but all the mages had a voice in choosing who would pass and who would fail. That made Ceria worried.

Very worried, especially when she saw Rievan talking with Charles and a group of his friends off to one side. The young man looked too relaxed, and so did Timor and a few other of his friends.

“I bet they’ll pass one way or another. If Rievan can’t get them through, Charles and Timor can just pay their way in.”

Pisces muttered that to Ceria. She nodded, glaring at Charles. He looked over and saw her. Before Ceria could debate whether to look away he was approaching.

“Don’t fight, Ceria.”

“I won’t.”

She murmured it and then looked up to glare at Charles.

“Something you want, Charles?”

“That’s Charles de Trevalier to you, half-Elf. And this hallway is free for anyone to use, as is Wistram. Not that your people would know what being free meant.”

Timor sniggered behind Charles. Ceria saw some heads turn, but she was in no mood to spar with Charles. She shot back at the young man.

“Go boil yourself. You smell like rotted fish.”

Charles’ nose turned white with outrage, but before he could retort, Ceria walked away from him. Pisces followed, grinning happily.

“I do believe that was the most civil conversation you’ve had with him.”

“If I fail the exam, it’ll be the last. That would be the one silver lining.”

“It won’t come to that. We’ve studied.”

He squeezed her arm, and Ceria smiled at him. And then, before both students were ready, the doors opened. A mage stepped out, making the students go instantly quiet as if he’d cast a [Silence] spell.

“Come in groups of eight! Order has no meaning.”

The exams were beginning. Caught off-guard, some students fearfully retreated, not wanting to be the first ones in. Others decided that boldness might earn them points and headed in. Ceria and Pisces held back until the third group, and then took the exam.

----

“A large number of applicants this year.”

The mages who’d gathered to watch the new students take the tests were a diverse group, both in race and faction. Of course, every group in Wistram wanted to evaluate promising students, but some had come to support their candidate, or just to mingle and talk amongst themselves.

Some were here against their will, too. Illphres stood with a group of influential mages, both in power and status, scowling as she stared at the students casting magic under the instruction of a mage performing the test. A few feet away from her, Rievan hovered, not quite in the group which consisted of mages from every major faction, but unwilling to mingle with other mages. He kept interjecting comments or agreeing with a comment from one of the mages which several found quite annoying.

“Too many students is what I think. This is taking too long.”

Illphres folded her arms. The scowl on her face didn’t change until she passed a hand over her face and it returned to its expressionless stare. The mage standing next to Illphres, a tall Dullahan with his head held up to stare at the students, chuckled. He was unusually talkative and good-natured for a Dullahan, which meant he was about normal when compared to how much Humans acted out.

“You’d say that if we had one applicant, Illphres. But some of these candidates are genuinely talented. Look at those two. The half-Elf and the young Human on the left side. See?”

“I see. So what?”

A pale Selphid, hair dyed dark blue, stroked his beard thoughtfully as he studied Pisces and Ceria showing off their control of magic with the other students.

“A half-Elf? She’s not bad and they do have more talent than most. But the Human next to her—”

“Gifted.”

One of the Lizardfolk said that. She was a tall, sinuous woman with a head that resembled a cobra’s. Her arms and legs were longer than a Drake’s and she was distinctly reptilian, whereas the Drakes more closely resembled Humans and their draconic ancestors. She nodded at Pisces approvingly as he demonstrated his perfect control over the [Electric Jolt] spell.

“Ooh yes. I like him. He’s very good. We should accept him.”

Rievan raised his voice hurriedly as the others agreed.

“We haven’t finished the tests, Quexia. I think there’s still more considerations to be made. I told you, we’ve already seen some good candidates. Charles de Trevalier for instance is quite talented for being so new to the craft—”

“Shut up, Rievan. No one’s interested in a lordling with money. He can buy his way in if he wants, but he’s as talented as my left toe. Less.”

Illphres interrupted without looking at the mage. Rievan flushed angrily, but dared not reply. He glared instead at Pisces and Ceria, fervently wishing bad luck on them.

----

Ceria felt like she was making a mistake every time she cast a spell. She was so nervous her hands shook. It didn’t help matters that she’d spotted Rievan among the watching mages, and he seemed like he was trying to cast a spell on her with his eyes alone. Ceria was pretty sure that was impossible, but it added to the pressure she felt.

She felt herself getting tired and worried—and a bit lightheaded because she’d forgotten to eat enough! And always, she could feel Rievan’s gaze on her. It made Ceria make simple, stupid mistakes a few times and she berated herself for slipping up.

The exams were exhaustive. Even with eight or more students being tested at a time, they took a while. Ceria had to do everything from repeat lessons on magical theory to demonstrate spells they’d learned, or pick out dangerous artifacts from a lineup presented to her. Some of the tests were easy, just to make sure she knew what she was doing, but others were fiendishly hard, so that the best students could distinguish themselves.

Ceria did passably well at everything. She was proud of herself for picking out an artifact that would have caused horrible itching out of a lineup when everyone but Pisces had missed it, and mortified when her [Stone Dart] spell was found to have an imperfection in its composition. But she thought she hadn’t done anything too badly wrong, so Ceria kept going.

Soon, she and the other students were done with all but one of the tests and she had to lean exhaustedly against a wall as Pisces nervously paced back and forth around her. There was only one test left, and Ceria tried to gather all of her wits about her for it.

“Alright, the combat test is next. You, students. Twenty of you come with me. The rest of you will have to wait.”

Ceria’s stomach twisted into a knot as she heard those words. This was it. Time to prove she could fight as well as cast magic. She didn’t join the second group, but told Pisces she was going in the next one.

“I’ll go with you. Just don’t hit me with a spell, please.”

“You’ll just dodge it if I do. Are you going to [Flash Step] your way to the end? And why’d you bring your rapier? You won’t need it!”

He grinned at her nervously, hands shaking. He had buckled the rapier to a belt over his robes which made him look slightly ridiculous, but Ceria hadn’t told him that.

“I might. I have no idea what’s going to be on the test. Did you know, last year Calvaron said the examinees had to fight a Troll?”

“They did not! Who’d be stupid enough to pit new mages against a Troll? They’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

“I’m just saying—”

The doors opened. Ceria jumped, and walked towards the mage before he announced they were ready for the next group. She heard a groan as Pisces joined her.

“What, what?”

“Look to your right. See who’s joining us?”

Ceria turned and saw Charles and Timor and two of their friends standing with the mages. Her heart sank as they smirked at her.

“What are they doing?”

“I don’t know. They can’t interfere during the exam. Not with all the mages watching—”

“I guess.”

Ceria wasn’t so sure, but there was no time to do anything. The mage took them down a corridor, and then Ceria entered into a strange corridor.

The walls, the ceiling, the floor seemed…vaguely transparent. Ceria gasped as she saw the stones were actually ghostly replicas of the real thing. And yet, the mage assured them the corridor was solid.

“Mages will be watching from the outside. Ignore them. Your only job is to prove you can navigate your way down the corridor and pass the other obstacles with your own magic. If you fail, just say so and you will be removed. Your speed, ability to handle each obstacle, and resourcefulness will all be taken into consideration. You will begin when I say so.”

Ceria eyed the empty stone corridor with trepidation. She had no idea what was ahead of her, but she was bursting with nervous energy. Beside her, she felt Pisces tensing.

“Now!”

At the mage’s words the students started. Ceria took two steps forward and ducked as a fireball came hurtling down the corridor towards the group of students. Half of them screamed, one fainted, and Pisces vanished.

“Ceria!”

----

Standing together watching the students make their way through the first part of the combat test, the mages chortled as the fake [Fireball] spell burst harmlessly among the group, showering them with fire.

“I never stop enjoying that.”

“One of the students has fainted? Well, I think he’s out.”

“Did you see that, though? The half-Elf dodged most of the blast, but that young man avoided it completely!”

“[Flash Step]. At his age? Impressive.”

“Now, how will they do with the traps? Oh? Looks like that half-Elf is quite daring. Isn’t she the one I saw practicing in the morning?”

Illphres watched Ceria navigating the traps ahead of the others. She was doing well, avoiding or disarming the ones in front of her.

“She’s nothing special.”

“Well, she’s doing well enough. Oh, look. That Trevalier boy’s set off three traps. Hah!”

Rievan ground his teeth as he watched the students move through the hallways of traps. But he comforted himself, knowing what came next.

----

“Monsters!”

Someone screamed that, which made Ceria want to kick them. She dove out of the way as a shimmering bird that seemed to be made of light dove at her. Of course it was a monster! If you had the time to shout it, you might as well cast a spell!

“[Stone Dart]!”

She shot the bird through the head and it dissipated into fragments of light. All around her, students were fighting a swarm of magical creatures, the next part of the gauntlet that was their combat test. Ceria had gotten into the room first, but she’d been hard-pressed to progress. Some of the illusions were the circling birds who dove at you from overhead, but there was a huge Troll guarding the exit and she was wary of getting close.

“A damn Troll? Someone’s got a sick sense of humor!”

She growled as she shot down a huge wolf that was running at her, mouth open. All the illusions seemed so real! She’d already been hit twice, but instead of being injured, the apparitions had left bright, shining marks where they’d struck her.

Ceria was determined not to get hit again. She saw some students scream as a flock of the shimmering birds dove at them. Pisces was blinking around the room, dodging desperately and she saw most of the other students were huddled near the entrance of the trap corridor, throwing spells desperately.

This was her chance. Ceria called all the mana she could into her fingers and aimed at the swarm.

“[Stone Dart]!”

This time not one dart flew, but a score of them. Ceria fired the spell repeatedly, shooting jagged shards of rocks into the swarm, trying to hit as many birds as possible.

A score of the shimmering birds fell, the light-flesh of their bodies shattering and fading as they struck the floor. Ceria grinned as she ran forwards at the head of the group. There were still monsters left, but she had a clear shot to the Troll.

This was what she’d been practicing for! Ceria raised her finger, aiming for the Troll’s vulnerable eyes—

And felt something crash into the back of her head. She stumbled, and the world went dark. Something had hit her. But this was a test. What—?

----

“That damn brat! He hit the half-Elf on purpose!”

Some of the mages were calling out in outrage. Rievan was raising his voice, trying to placate them.

“It was an accident. A slip of the finger!”

“Was this your plan? If this is what the Libertarians call fair, I won’t have it! I demand a retrial!”

“Now? You’ve got to be joking. We saw the half-Elf go down by accident.”

“My tail it was an accident!”

“It’s too late to retry. We’ll just have to judge her by what we’ve seen. That’s fair. And as for that boy, I doubt he’s passing.”

“He’ll just buy his way in! This is outrageous—”

Rievan let the debate rage hotly among the other mages, sometimes shouting in support, but no longer trying to shift the argument. It was done. Ceria was lying on the ground. She couldn’t distinguish herself further in this trial. A redo of the test was unlikely, he knew. Some mages might shout, but no one wanted to give one student special treatment.

He stared at the examinees, smiling, but his smile faded when he saw what was going on. Illphres shifted her cold stare from Rievan to the students still battling the illusions. She passed a hand over her mouth, and then she was smiling.

----

Pain. Dark. Ceria felt herself falling—

And someone caught her halfway down. Ceria felt two arms encircling her, and felt herself being lifted upwards. She felt…safe. Someone was calling her name. Ceria smiled. So dark.

The world faded. When Ceria opened her eyes again, the exam was over. But in the time between then, someone carried her.

----

“That boy. What’s he doing?”

“He can’t be intending to carry the half-Elf to the end?”

The mages stared as Pisces lifted Ceria, dodging out of the way of the Troll’s illusory club. The Lizardwoman angrily turned towards a group of mages Rievan was standing with.

“See what’s happened? Now we’ll have to adjust for his performance as well. He can’t be expected to do as well carrying her!”

“What if we send a mage in to retrieve her? That’s simple.”

“Yes, but—wait a second. What’s that in his hands?”

The mages stared. After a moment one exclaimed.

“A rapier? Why’s he carrying that?”

“We told them it was a combat test. And I suppose some of them heard the rumor about the Troll—”

“If he wants to try and take it out with a rapier, that’s fine. But that’s not a display of mage combat—”

“Hold on!”

Some of the mages gasped as they saw Pisces blur with Ceria’s body in his hands. He stabbed backwards as the Troll lunged at him, and then ran the hulking beast through with his rapier. On one shoulder he carried Ceria’s unconscious body, in the other hand he held the rapier, thrusting it into the Troll’s eye.

“Good strike!”

“Look at that footwork! The Troll can’t touch him! He’ll take it down without a scratch!”

“That [Flash Step] spell is being used superbly! Does he have any [Warrior] classes?”

“He doesn’t need any. Look at his rapier.”

That comment came from Illphres. The mages stared, and after a second one exclaimed.

“A silver bell! Well, that explains that. If we’re looking at a [Swordmage] here, I say we accept him on the spot.”

“Even if he doesn’t want to be one, this is a splendid example of mixing magic with conventional proficiencies. I agree!”

Rievan stared helplessly as he watched Pisces run past the disintegrating Troll. Weapon in hand, the young man was speeding through the rest of the test almost too fast for the mages in charge to trigger the spells.

“Silver bell? What’s so important about a silver bell?”

“It means he is recognized as a true expert. It’s a Terandrian symbol of expertise.”

Rievan jumped. He turned and stepped backwards from Illphres. She was smiling at him and he didn’t like it.

“Indeed, Miss Illphres?”

“Yes.”

She nodded at Pisces.

“He doesn’t have to have a [Fencer] class. A silver bell is given to those who reach a certain level in [Fencer], true, but it’s also given to those who have proven themselves by dueling a master. It’s worth a lot of money to some.”

She turned back to watch Pisces. Rievan clenched his fists, but he comforted himself with the thought that even if Pisces passed, his performance would only serve to eclipse Ceria’s. Regardless of whether she finished the test, she had done nothing.

And then the exams ended. Ceria woke up in her rooms two hours after it had finished, and cried a bit before Pisces and the others checked on her.

----

“It really wasn’t your fault, Ceria.”

Beatrice said that as they sat together in Ceria’s room. It was hard to fit everyone in. Besides Pisces, Beatrice, and Calvaron, some of their friends and people they’d gotten to know had come, like Cessic, to cheer Ceria up.

The room was crowded, especially with Calvaron in it. He kept turning and finding nowhere to go. Now he stomped one hoof angrily.

“It was that bastard Charles! I wouldn’t have believed he would try anything—the Libertarians have really done it now! There’s a row happening and I’ll protest what he did to the Council.”

“I will too. But the mages won’t redo the test, Calvaron.”

The Centaur deflated slightly.

“No. They won’t. I’m sorry, Ceria. But they saw you during the first part, and you did really well.”

“Yes, you did. And I’m sure they’ll take note.”

Ceria tried to smile, and failed. She looked at Pisces. He was avoiding her gaze, toying awkwardly with the rapier in his hands.

“I hear you carried me all the way to the end. Thank you, Pisces.”

“And he set a record doing it! Dead gods, I heard about it! Some mages are using a [Mind Scene] spell to show others—Pisces was dodging traps left and right! He barely got touched by any! He’ll be sure to pass—”

Calvaron broke off, awkwardly. All the other students in the room fell silent, but Ceria already knew the truth. She looked at Pisces.

“Thank you. I’m glad you did it. And I’m glad you’ll pass. You deserve—you deserve to be here.”

Ceria choked on the words. She felt like someone was tearing out her guts. Beatrice patted her softly on the shoulder.

“You don’t know you failed. You did as well as anyone else. Better, in many parts.”

But Ceria knew it was over. She knew it in her heart. She bore with the words of comfort and vows against Charles and the Libertarian party as long as she could, and then excused herself. Beatrice and Pisces offered to go with her, but Calvaron managed to get them to leave Ceria alone, which she was grateful for.

All she wanted to be was alone. She’d failed. Her big chance had been right in front of her—

And she’d failed.

Ceria stumbled down the corridors of Wistram, deserted except for the occasional golem or older mage. All the students were celebrating or commiserating with one another. She used one cold stone wall for support as she wandering aimlessly.

It wasn’t fair. Part of Ceria was raging. She wanted to kill Charles for attacking her. But why hadn’t she been ready? Why hadn’t she guessed he’d do something like this and taken precautions? She could have learned a barrier spell, or watched her back—

“Stupid!”

Ceria pounded her fist into a wall. She hit it again and again until her knuckles bled, but it didn’t help. Ceria walked on, full of despair. She wiped at her eyes and saw her tears mix with the blood.

She wondered if she could ask Pisces for the spellbook when she left. Maybe he’d let her take it. That way, at least she wouldn’t have done all this for nothing.

It was cold. Ceria shivered, and then looked up. She looked at a wall of ice, uncomprehending, until she stared about and realized where she was. Her path had taken her to the classrooms where they normally studied.

This was the classroom Illphres had blocked off.

“Get through if you’re a real mage and I’ll teach you, huh?”

Ceria spat bitterly and raised her fist to punch the icy wall. But it would just freeze her skin and probably tear it off. She glared at the icy wall.

It wasn’t that cold. It was just ice, but Illphres had made it impossible to break or melt. It was an unfair test, just like the rest of Wistram.

Unfair. But what could she do about it? By now, Ceria knew Calvaron would have talked everyone into doing a bit of celebrating. She dreaded going to his room, where the party would be going on. He’d probably be pouring everyone a drink and showing them how to put salt on their stupid glasses—

Wait a second. Ceria stopped as she had a thought. It was crazy, but…her eyes widened and Ceria dashed off through the halls.

----

“You need what?”

Calvaron stared at Ceria as she panted and tried to explain. He and Beatrice were standing outside of the large room they’d chosen to party in. Ceria could hear loud voices through the stone walls, but she had no time for drinking.

“Please, Calvaron. I need to take some stuff out of the kitchens, but the [Cook] there said I needed to get permission from the head [Chef] or pay. And I don’t have the coin! Please—I’ll pay you back.”

“Can it wait? We’re celebrating, Ceria! You should too!”

Calvaron stared back towards the party. He pointed into the room.

“Pisces is already drunk. I had to practically pour a bottle of wine down his throat so he wouldn’t go looking for you. Come on, whatever it is, it can wait!”

“No, it can’t. Please, Calvaron. I know I don’t have anything I can trade you, but—”

Beatrice looked at Ceria’s pleading face, and then nudged Calvaron. He blew out his cheeks, but nodded.

“Oh—fine! Tell the [Cook] that you can take whatever you need. Put it on my account.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Tell Pisces I’m fine! I’ve just got to go!”

Ceria raced off. Calvaron watched her go and turned to Beatrice.

“What in the name of the Great Companies was that, do you think?”

Beatrice shrugged. She stared at the place where Ceria had been.

“Should we go after her? She’s very upset.”

“I don’t know. No—she’s got a plan. We’d better let her do what she needs to do and not draw attention. But see if the bookies will take another bet, will you? I’m thinking our dear Springwalker might have better odds than we think.”

----

Wistram was quiet the day after the exams. Most students and mages were too hungover to do anything, and the ones who weren’t suffering were disinclined to do anything when making loud noises could get half a dozen spells cast at your face. Thus, it was only a few mages who gathered outside to practice their spells by the ocean.

Illphres was raising pillars of ice and shattering them with the [Glacial Spear] spell when Ceria found her. The half-Elf panted as she raised a hand to touch Illphres.

“Miss Illphres—”

The woman turned faster than Ceria had ever seen her and stopped Ceria.

“Do not touch me. What is it?”

“Please, come with me.”

“Why?”

Illphres stared expressionlessly at Ceria. The half-Elf knew she was disheveled, hair mussed, and she knew she was grimy and still damp to boot. She tried to explain.

“I did it. I did it. I got rid of the ice just like you said so can you come and see? So I can show you? The ice?”

For a second Illphres just stared at Ceria, but then she nodded.

“Very well. Show me.”

----

No one was using the classrooms when Ceria led Illphres there. She had to slow her pace so Illphres could follow, although Ceria was bursting with impatience. Illphres didn’t move faster than a walk. The ice mage stopped though, when she saw the dripping hole in her ice wall.

“Hm.”

“I did it, you see?”

Ceria practically danced in front of the melted ice, half-hysterical from exhaustion. She waved her arms and nearly cried out. Her muscles were beyond burning—they felt torn, and her fingers and hands were raw and practically numb.

Illphres gazed at Ceria and then at the wall. She stared hard at the puddle on the stone ground, and noted the white stains on the floor. She looked at Ceria calmly and said one word.

“Salt.”

“Yes, salt!”

Ceria pointed triumphantly to the nearly empty bag of salt, a huge sack she’d practically depleted after she’d taken it from Wistram’s kitchens. It was so simple. Salt.

Salt melted ice. Ceria had used it to melt the ice, rubbing it on the frozen spell over and over and raising the heat with her own spells. She’d thought it was hopeless, but slowly, oh so slowly, the salt had helped dissolve the enchanted ice.

“I created this ice wall to be impervious to any spells below Tier 4. But I didn’t expect anyone to actually use something like salt.”

Illphres mused as she stared at the gap in her ice wall. Ceria stared at her, hopefully, desperately.

“But I thought of it. It’s not magic, but you didn’t say I couldn’t use salt. So I pass, don’t I? You’ll teach me spells?”

“There’s only three days before your probationary period ends.”

Illphres turned to Ceria, expressionless. Ceria’s heart sank, and then the anger in her bubbled forth.

“So? You said anyone who could get into your classroom you’ll teach magic! I’ll go in right now if you want!”

“Spare me. But what kind of a mage uses salt?”

“Me! I did it! I’ll do anything to learn magic.”

“So I see.”

“Please, teach me magic. I might not stay here, but I want to learn something powerful. Please, you promised!”

Ceria found herself begging to Illphres and hated herself for it, but she was at the end of her rope. This was the only thing she could think of, the last straw she had to grasp at. If Illphres would teach her something, maybe Ceria could earn money as an adventurer and try again next year. Or if she didn’t, she’d at least have something from Wistram.

For a long time the ice mage was silent. Her face was cold, like a mask, and Ceria could read nothing in her expression. For her part, Illphres looked the half-Elf in front of her up and down.

Ceria was as old or older than Illphres was but still a young woman by her people’s standards. Her hands were red, the knuckles and skin on her palms cracked and bleeding from the intense cold and friction. She was desperate, begging.

Illphres looked at the ice wall, the wall she’d created, sure that no student could break it on their own. Melted, not with a spell, but with salt and effort.

“Tell me, girl. What makes you think a real mage would stoop to this? A real mage would strive towards the height of magic on her own, not rely on anyone else.”

In front of her, Ceria took a deep shuddering breath. She looked up at Illphres, and there was a spark in her eyes of something more than determination.

“I know that. But I can’t become a real mage on my own. You told me that real mages don’t need help. To forge my own path. Well, I found a way to melt your damn ice, but I still need help. I want to become a real mage, but I’m not going to be able to stay here. So teach me something now. Please.”

Silence. Illphres stared at Ceria, and then nodded.

“Interesting.”

That was all. She turned away and began to walk from her classroom. Ceria jumped as the ice blocking it reformed in an instant. She called out to Illphres in despair.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

The ice mage made no reply. She walked away, and Ceria sunk to her knees in the cold corridor.

That was it. It was over.

Slowly, Ceria made her way back to her room. She crawled into bed and slept, too full of sadness to cry. She slept as she heard students stumbling outside of her door, slept and willed herself never to wake.

But someone did wake her. Someone hammered at her door and shouted when Ceria didn’t respond.

“Ceria! Ceria! Are you in there? Get up! You passed! You did it! You passed!”

“What?”

Ceria leapt out of bed. She shoved open the door and nearly ran Pisces over. He gabbled at her and then gave up and both of them ran down the corridors, past students celebrating and crying and hugging each other. They came to the entrance hall and stared up at the floating words that danced and spun about in the massive room.

It was a list. A list of names. Each one was a student. Ceria saw Pisces’ name on there, no last name given, and Charles de Trevalier’s, and Timon’s too. But she had no time for that. She looked up and down the list desperately, and then saw her name. It was right on the end, hovering in the air, slightly out of place, as if tacked on at the last minute.

Ceria Springwalker.

----

Ceria didn’t know what happened after that. She had a brief image of herself kissing Pisces on the cheek, hugging him, and then running to find Calvaron and Beatrice and hugging and crying some more. She only knew that at some point after the banquet and speeches and eating she found Illphres. Or rather, the mage found her.

The bathrooms in Wistram were magical as with everything else, but Ceria was far too drunk to appreciate them at the moment. She staggered out of one and nearly ran into Illphres. The ice mage was waiting for her, and scaring away all the other students who wanted to use the bathroom.

“I keep my promises.”

That was all she said. Ceria stared at her, and burst into tears. Illphres looked slightly surprised. That was to say, her eyes widened, although the lower half of her face didn’t change.

“Stop that.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me. You broke my enchantment.”

“But you—you—”

Ceria sniveled and Illphres rolled her eyes.

“Tomorrow, class will be held in my quarters. Find your way there. Do not be drunk or late. If any of your friends manage to melt the ice I will teach them too.”

“Pisces will come.”

Ceria said that instantly. Illphres paused.

“I see. Will all the other students come? It is a valuable…secret you have. It might be worth much. What will you do with it, let everyone pass my test?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do with it. I owe someone—but Pisces will come.”

“So you will help your friend, to pass my test? I wonder, will you drag yourself down by pulling other people up?”

It was a question that wasn’t really a question, but Ceria had an answer ready. She smiled through watery eyes at Illphres.

“Real mages help each other. We don’t abandon each other.”

The ice mage stared at Ceria for a long time. Then she passed a hand over the lower half of her face, obscuring her mouth. When she lowered her hand, Ceria saw she was smiling ever so slightly.

“So I’ve noticed.”

She turned and walked away. Ceria smiled at her back, and bowed ever so slightly. Then she ran to find Pisces. She had to drink more, and tell him—and maybe Calvaron—everything. After all, she didn’t want to be in Illphres’ class alone tomorrow. She wanted to learn everything with Pisces. At last, they had time.

At last, they were true mages of Wistram.

Wistram Days (Pt.5)

Of the many wonders of the world, the isle of Wistram and the academy of mages which rests upon it is not, in fact, one of the greatest. It is not the oldest relic of the past, not by far. The tall, dark citadel of stone does not shine with the colors of a thousand glittering ores smelted into metal like the fabled Dwarf-built towers in Baleros.

And neither is Wistram associated with power, at least not more so than any other ancient structure. The Walled Cities of Izril speak of an era long past, when Drakes fought their distant ancestors from atop those battlements. It is not the oldest building made, nor the grandest, nor is it the most isolated.

And yet, for every young mage in the world, no other place could capture their hearts so. Wistram Academy represents the pinnacle of magic learning and ambition. To them, it is a long-pursued dream, and to spend just a moment in those fabled halls is what some will work towards their entire lives.

Which is why leaving is all the harder. The day after the yearly exams finished, the isle of Wistram saw a slight increase in the number of seafaring vessels docking in its stone harbor. Experienced [Captains] chartered from around the world made their way to Wistram to pick up the failed students. Of the hundreds who had come, as usual, less than a tenth had passed.

The students departed silently, some weeping, others too disappointed for words. They stared at Wistram as the ships took them out of the calm bubble around the isle. As the winds and rain descended, the gray spires of Wistram’s citadel would be the last thing they saw.

That is what those who had failed saw. For those who passed, their celebration was nearing its third consecutive day.

----

It has to be said that mages know how to party. Aside from being able to obtain delicacies and goods from around the world, the students at Wistram had developed quite a number of spells specifically designed to add to a party. Some were amusing, like a spell that disguised a drink’s true nature until it had been imbibed. Others were simply dangerous, as in the case of one party which saw students play a game where they aimed spells at a moving target. Fifteen students were badly injured and one nearly died.

However, on the third day the partying had ceased to become an all-day affair, and life was returning to normal, although the night’s entertainment was rumored to be better than last year’s. For now though, the newly accepted students stumbled into the banquet hall to eat before class. Some of them jumped in surprise when they heard the cheering from the older students, and several of them flushed red with embarrassment. They were full students of Wistram now.

“Aw, look at them. They’re so awkward. It reminds me of you two when you passed.”

Calvaron laughed as he sat at his customary table with Beatrice, Ceria, and Pisces. The others glanced up as they noted the new students streaming into the hall. Beatrice stopped spooning porridge into her mouth and turned her head to look, and Ceria did likewise. Pisces was still engrossed in his book.

“How many passed this year?”

“Thirty-four.”

Beatrice answered this time. She frowned as a trio of people—Drake, Human, and Lizardman – passed by. They all had deathly pale bodies and they were clearly Selphids.

“Lots of Selphids this year.”

“So? Don’t glare, Beatrice. You’ll scare them.”

Calvaron grinned as Beatrice looked away. She turned her head to continue feeding herself, and Ceria nudged Pisces.

“Hey. Get your head out of the spellbook and take a look.”

“What?”

At last, Pisces blinked and looked up with a frown. He took in the new students being jeered, laughed at, and congratulated and blinked.

“Oh, are the exams over? That was quick.”

“Yes, it was. Stop reading and eat with us.”

Ceria yanked the worn spellbook out of Pisces’ hands. He protested, but gave in and pulled the cold plate of sausages and potatoes over towards him.

“You interrupted me just as I thought I was getting towards a breakthrough. I was close to figuring out the [Invisibility] spell, I’m sure of it!”

“You’ve been saying that all month. One break’s not going to kill you so shut up and eat.”

The half-Elf rolled her eyes as she levitated a tureen of gravy over while Pisces warmed his food up with a simple heat spell. In moments he was happily scarfing down his food.

Calvaron sighed and shook his head as he stared at the two second-year students sadly.

“It’s so sad.”

“Don’t start, Calvaron.”

“No, no! I have to say this.”

The Centaur pretended to be deeply troubled, sighing and clutching at his chest.

“I can’t bear to see it. How quickly you two become jaded – it feels like just yesterday you two were eager students, so happy to be admitted to Wistram! Didn’t you, Ceria, burst into tears at the table one year ago? And you, Pisces, I fondly recall you getting so drunk you thought you could cast the [Flight] spell and leaping off your balcony—”

He ducked as Ceria hurled one of Pisces’ sausages at him. Beatrice raised her head so she could glare at everyone.

“Stop that. Behave.”

Calvaron raised his hands and Ceria went back to her food. Pisces was busy eating. The four students were used to each other’s company after a year of studying together, and so in no time they were talking about the latest world news and gossiping over publicly available secrets. But Calvaron stopped and turned his head as someone new approached their table.

“Um, excuse me. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Ceria paused as she reached for her goblet of milk, chewing a huge bite of sausage. She saw a young Human staring anxiously at her, a young woman to be exact, bright red hair hanging in a loose ponytail down the robes on her back.

“Why certainly, miss. Have a seat, please!”

Calvaron ushered the young woman to one of the padded chairs that went well with the low table. He waggled his fingers at Ceria and she shoved Pisces’ plate over to make room, much to his displeasure.

“Ceria, I’m eating—”

Pisces looked up and took in the new arrival. He coughed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Ah, excuse me. Who is this?”

“My name is Montressa du Valeross. I’m a first-year student here.”

The young woman bowed her head slightly, practically radiating nervousness. She seemed intimidated by the older students, especially Beatrice, who was regarding her with her usual calm. Ceria found that amusing, and noted the slight smile on Calvaron’s face.

“Please, sit, Montressa. Are you here for me, or something else? I’m afraid I don’t have that many secrets to buy at the moment, but if you’re looking to sell a few—”

“Secrets? Oh—I mean, no. I’d just like to sit and talk and—”

Montressa stumbled over her words. Calvaron just laughed though, and with his usual charm broke through her awkwardness.

“Oh, just talk is it? Well, I’m good at talking. You’re one of the students who just passed the exam? Congratulations! Don’t let my dour companions put you off—Beatrice stares at everyone, Ceria’s always grumpy and Pisces doesn’t see anything when he’s eating.”

He winced as a napkin, sausage, and pinch of salt bounced off his chest. Montressa laughed, covered her mouth, and thus became part of the table.

“So, why are you here Montressa?”

Calvaron asked that after the young woman had begun eating the food she’d brought. Ceria saw her pause as she lifted a forkful of buttered peas to her mouth. Montressa put her fork down and glanced at Ceria and Pisces before replying.

“Well, I’m ah, new here. And I was just accepted to Wistram, but I actually didn’t take the exams. I got in late you see; I’ve only been studying for a week now.”

Ceria saw Pisces’ eyebrows rise and she blinked in astonishment herself. But Calvaron only nodded as if it were obvious.

“Your family paid the full fees for this year? Well, no wonder Wistram accepted you.”

Montressa blushed.

“I wanted to take the exam, but I wouldn’t have passed and I missed the first ship you see—”

“Don’t worry about it. A student’s a student. It’s just your good fortune you could afford to pay your way in.”

Ceria frowned.

“Du Valeross? Oh, you’re one of the Terandrian nobility, aren’t you? You wouldn’t happen to know Timor du Havrington, would you?”

“Me? No. I mean, I know of his family, but I haven’t talked to any of them.”

“Good. Otherwise we’d have to kick you out of the table.”

Calvaron smiled to allay the girl’s sudden panic.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s just that Ceria and Pisces here don’t get along with Timor du Havrington or his friends. I’d suggest you stay away from him as well. He’s a bad egg, you know. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like a bad egg to spoil an omelette.”

Montressa nodded seriously, and Ceria had to pinch herself hard not to burst out laughing. She saw the same humor in Pisces and Beatrice’s eyes; Montressa was so earnest she was taking Calvaron seriously.

They kept eating. Montressa explained that she was an aspiring mage—she’d been tutored since she was young, but to really start her education she’d been sent to Wistram by her family.

“My parents are of the lesser Terandrian nobility. They want me to become a great mage and apparently I have the aptitude, so they made a gift to Wistram for my enrollment.”

“And no doubt you’ve been approached by all the factions already. I hope you didn’t commit.”

The young woman nodded nervously.

“I was told to avoid making promises. And I’m just learning my way around here still—I only found out about secrets yesterday. I don’t want to take sides, just study.”

“Good luck.”

Pisces sighed, and Ceria made a face. She was still independent after a year, as was he. But pressure on them was mounting too.

“So you’re a new, keen student. That makes sense, but I have to ask, why sit with us? We’re happy to have you, but you seem to have approached us for a reason.”

Montressa fiddled with her fork.

“I um, heard you all were really good mages. I didn’t study with the other students for the first month, so I’m really behind—I was hoping I could ask one of you to tutor me. I could pay, but I don’t have that much coin on me and I don’t have any secrets, so…”

The older students fell silent. Calvaron stroked his chin as he glanced at Beatrice. She smiled slightly and nodded a bit—Ceria shrugged and poked Pisces. He was busy eating and didn’t notice.

“Well, Pisces here is probably the best for that.”

Pisces looked up.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Why don’t you help young Montressa with her studies?”

The young man swept a hand through his messy hair, looking distracted.

“Well, I am studying my [Invisibility] spell at the moment. It would be a time commitment but I…hm. I don’t think I’d fall behind in my own classes—”

“I’ll pay you. Four small secrets for helping, how about that?”

Montressa opened her mouth to protest as Pisces sat up and nodded. Calvaron waggled a finger at her.

“Ah, ah. Don’t object. You’re new and I have a soft spot for new students. After all—”

He clutched at his chest as Ceria rolled her eyes and smiled.

“—You’re only young once. Besides, Pisces really is the best mage in Wistram to help you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Don’t you know who you’re sitting across from? Pisces—wipe your mouth, Pisces—is a hero, nay, legend among his fellow students.”

Montressa’s mouth fell open as Ceria tried desperately not to burst out laughing. Calvaron continued, eyes twinkling.

“Do you know he finished his first-year exams by killing a Troll? He was passed unanimously by all the mages. He actually got money from Wistram to stay, if you can believe that. A natural genius; he’s the best second-year student at dueling, and debate and he’s one of only six students to have passed the Ice Demon’s class last year.”

“Ice Demon? I heard the class last year was hard, but the teacher for this year is nice. Who is the ‘Ice Demon’? Is she actually a demon? From Rhir?”

“Close, but even those demons would probably run from Illphres. You might know her as the grumpy Human who never smiles at anyone. She specializes in ice magic—she had to teach a class in combat magic last year, but it was so grueling that everyone who managed to take it dropped out. Only six students passed. Two of them are sitting at this table.”

Pisces straightened up importantly, and Ceria waved a hand. Montressa turned huge eyes to her. It was too much. Ceria stood up, balancing her dishes on top of one another.

“I’ve got to go. Don’t tell Montressa too many lies, Calvaron.”

He looked offended.

“Lies? Not at all. I may exaggerate the truth, but believe me, Miss Montressa, every word I say is absolutely true. Good luck, Ceria!”

She waved at him as she left the table. Pisces was still eating and he waggled his fingers at her. Ceria left, striding purposefully out of the banquet hall.

The Ice Demon? Is that what people were calling Illphres nowadays? Ceria supposed the nickname had started last year when she was teaching. It wasn’t entirely undeserved.

Balancing on poles while firing magic at oncoming targets, learning to cast while in pain or under stress, aiming at targets that were invisible – in the days after Ceria had won the right to take Illphres’ class, she’d sometimes wished she’d failed the exam altogether. Although she’d traded the knowledge of how to pass Illphres’ test to Calvaron for a good price—as payment for him helping her get the salt in the first place—almost all of the students who took Illphres’ class still dropped out.

The woman was vindictive, mean, uncaring, and frankly, rude. She’d made each student melt the ice with the salt by themselves while she watched, which eliminated over half who simply gave up from sheer exhaustion. And yet, Ceria had leveled up more from her tutelage than anyone else’s.

That was why Ceria stopped in front of the door that was lined with frost two floors up from the banquet hall and waited. She knew better than to knock; Illphres’ room was so cold that the door could tear the skin off of the palm of your hand. Nor did she try to get Illphres’ attention by shouting or calling out. If Illphres knew she was here, she probably wouldn’t come out.

Ceria was fairly confident Illphres hadn’t gone to breakfast yet, and sure enough, after only fifteen minutes or so of waiting, the door opened. The expressionless woman with dark hair paused when she saw Ceria. The half-Elf stared innocently back at her.

“Good morning, Miss Illphres.”

The woman just stared at her. Illphres sighed, and then walked out into the corridor. She moved past Ceria without a word, walking slowly and somewhat stiffly down the hallway. Students and some mages moved aside when they saw her, but Ceria just caught up to Illphres and began chatting naturally.

“I gained a new class today.”

“Oh?”

Illphres’ voice contained not a shred of interest. Ceria smiled cheerfully, forcing her mouth to move upwards.

“Yeah, I gained the [Elementalist] class.”

“How interesting.”

“I think it’s a good start, don’t you? It’s better than being a general [Mage], at any rate.”

“An [Elementalist] is just a mage who can’t commit to one specific element.”

That stung and made the smile on Ceria’s face falter, but she didn’t stop.

“Well…it’s still a class change. And I owe it all to you.”

“Do you?”

“You taught me how to improve my magic. You helped me learn so much last year. And you know, I am a second-year student now.”

“So I understand.”

“And I don’t have a master right now and I could really use some magical instruction…”

“And?”

She was going to make Ceria say it again. The half-Elf took a breath.

“Teach me magic.”

“No.”

“You did it last year.”

“Because I had to.”

“I would really like you to be my master. Please?”

“No.”

“Can I change your mind?”

“No.”

“What if I got you breakfast?”

“No.”

“What would you like to eat today? They’ve got mashed potatoes and sausage, but there’s also quite a good spread of greens today if you want—”

“Go away.”

“If you taught me magic, I’m sure I could help you out so much.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“What if I—”

“No.”

----

Ceria didn’t get Illphres to teach her magic that day. Or the next. Or the next. But every day she found herself standing outside of Illphres’ door, and every day the ice mage looked more and more annoyed to find Ceria standing there. But she never wavered, and Ceria never gave up trying to persuade her, much to the amusement of her friends.

“It’s not exactly uncommon, what Ceria’s doing. She needs a master, you see. Someone to teach her magic.”

Calvaron explained to Montressa as the young woman sat with them and studied. She’d quickly become a part of their group and sat with them when the students ate or studied—usually in Calvaron’s room. She was earnest, enthusiastic, and, Ceria was happy to find, not at all bothered by other species. She treated Ceria exactly the same as Pisces, which was a refreshing change of pace.

“Do all second-year students have to get a mage to teach them?”

Montressa, or Mons as everyone had grown to call her, looked up from her spellbook as Pisces muttered to himself and frowned over his spellbook. He’d managed to figure out how to turn himself transparent, but that was a far cry from true [Invisibility].

“Not at all.”

Calvaron shook his head and sat up importantly. He gestured to Beatrice, who was sitting next to him and leaning against his lower half. They were sharing a blanket.

“You see, older students like Beatrice and I, well, we have to have masters because it’s simply too hard to progress otherwise. There’s a limited number of spellbooks and besides, older mages can help us in so many ways.”

“But it’s hard. Masters don’t always need apprentices.”

“Exactly, thank you Beatrice. Many mages don’t want to have to teach younger mages, so we have to persuade them. Sometimes it’s with services we can provide—I can get my master almost anything he needs thanks to my connections and Beatrice helps her master with his spells. But it’s all variable. Some mages like my master have multiple apprentices and teach them all, and others have only one like Beatrice’s.”

“And some don’t want apprentices. Like Illphres.”

“But if she doesn’t want one, then why—”

“Ah, well, only Ceria could tell you why anyone would be crazy enough to want Illphres as a teacher.”

Ceria raised her head from her spellbook and scowled at Calvaron.

“I think she’s an excellent mage, okay? And I want a master who knows actual combat magic. Illphres is the only mage I actually know, and I think I can convince her.”

Calvaron winked at Mons.

“There’s a running bet on. Fifty-to-one says Ceria doesn’t manage it by the end of the year. But she’s doing her best, and it’s been done before. Bothering the older mages constantly is a valid tactic.”

“So long as she doesn’t freeze Ceria’s ears off.”

“She wouldn’t do that, would she?”

Ceria just shrugged.

“She might. But I think she likes me.”

----

The first month had passed in the blink of an eye, and the second was almost over as Ceria walked through the hallways of Wistram. She was looking for Pisces so they could get together and study after their class on enchantments. She passed by students and mages, nodding to some, smiling at others, wondering where Pisces had run off to.

This was Ceria’s life in her second year at Wistram. A lot had changed, but much had stayed the same. She still took classes, although they were harder, and she actively pestered Illphres every time she saw her. Being a second-year student only meant you studied more; a student was still a student and Ceria had already gotten used to classes and practicing spells day in and day out.

But one thing was different. Ceria found Pisces by following the excited voices. She heard a roar as she pushed her way through a crowd of students and saw Pisces, rapier in hand, pointing it at another young man who had both hands raised.

“My victory, Ramon.”

Pisces smiled at the third-year student. The other mage flushed bright red, but he reluctantly dropped the sword and wand in his hands.

“That was unfair! I never saw—”

“A victory’s a victory. Pay up.”

Pisces didn’t lower his rapier until Ramon tore a pouch from his belt and hurled it at him. The bag slowed in midair and Pisces snagged it. He sheathed his rapier with a flourish as the crowd began to break up. Ramon stomped away towards another group of Humans who glared at Ceria as she approached.

“Another duel? Dead gods, how many is that this week, Pisces? Six?”

“Eight, in fact. And you won’t believe how much I won this time. Six gold pieces and ten silver.”

Ceria whistled as she fell into step beside him. Pisces grinned widely as he added the coins to his bulging purse. He had come to this academy poor, but now he was rich in both coin and secrets.

“They must have been very certain they’d beat you this time. What did that Ramon fellow have? A wand?”

Pisces nodded.

“A dancing sword enchantment on one of the daggers and he had a wand with a frost spell attuned to it. He must have thought he could corner me with his sword, but he’s a poor fighter. It was a simple victory.”

“In that case, you’re paying for drinks tonight. Come on, I want to go over what we learned in class. Let’s go.”

Pisces frowned as he stowed his money pouch at his side.

“Where? A library? I told you I prefer solitude. Our rooms are back that way, if you recall.”

“Don’t be stupid. Montressa invited us to her room, remember? And it’s a lot less messy than yours and far bigger than mine.”

“Oh. Of course.”

It was now Ceria and Pisces’ custom to study with Montressa if Calvaron and Beatrice were busy. And the two older students often were. Aside from their more difficult classes, the two were officially an item now, which came as no surprise to anyone that knew them. Calvaron’s obvious affection for Beatrice made Ceria sick sometimes; not the affection itself mind, but the lavish compliments he heaped on her every second.

Pisces sniffed as he adjusted his robes. Ceria eyed him as she walked.

“You need to wash your robes again, or learn a cleaning spell, Pisces. Dead gods, if you can learn [Invisibility] in one month you’d think you could look up [Cleanse] or something!”

He looked down at his robes with a frown.

“I don’t think they’re that dirty.”

“I can see stains all over them! Go buy some new ones—I’m sure Calvaron could find you some nice ones enchanted against messes.”

“I prefer to save my coin for more important things.”

“Like what?”

“Spellbooks, Springwalker, spellbooks. Even with what I can earn in duels, obtaining a new spellbook will be extremely expensive. I need to save all the secrets and coin I can. Why, a wand would set me back—”

“Just don’t be surprised if Montressa kicks you out of her room for being too messy.”

“She wouldn’t do that, surely?”

Pisces looked worried. Ceria paused.

“No, I don’t think she would. She likes you, I think.”

“Really?”

He brightened. Ceria made a face at him.

“You can’t tell? It’s pretty obvious. And don’t tell me you haven’t seen Praemla making eyes at you in class.”

“Well, I—I might have seen, but you know—”

There was no accounting for taste. Pisces grew flustered as Ceria kept teasing him. He was fairly popular with the female sex it seemed, if only because he was a genius at magic. Ceria could only roll her eyes when someone brought Pisces up as a potential boyfriend. He was far too messy, distracted, and besides—

She poked him in the back. Pisces yelped and glared.

“What?”

“There’s rat dropping on your robes, Pisces! How have you not cleared those things out yet?”

“As a matter of fact, those are mice droppings, Ceria. I happened to run across a few briefly earlier this week.”

“Again? Do you seek out rodents in your spare time or something?”

“I—”

He faltered. Ceria glanced sharply at him.

This is what was different. In the time since they had become second-year students, Pisces had made a name for himself with his prowess in magic and dueling. He could beat students with several years on him thanks to his talent with a rapier. But he was also rich in secrets.

Very rich. In fact, Ceria sometimes wondered if Pisces had more secrets than Calvaron. It certainly seemed like Pisces knew everything sometimes. People could be whispering in the halls and he’d somehow pick up on it.

Naturally, everyone suspected Pisces of mastering an advanced eavesdropping spell, but no one could tell when he was using it or which spell it was. More than once Ceria had seen other students casting [Detect Magic] to try and observe him using the spell, but so far they—and she—hadn’t been able to figure out how Pisces was doing it.

“Something on your mind?”

“A bit.”

He turned down a corridor and Ceria saw him whisper a standard ward against listening. He kept talking casually with her, as if nothing had happened.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Ceria. There’s something I’d like to show you later.”

“Really? What?”

“A secret. A big one. Remember when we found the spellbook last year? Well—”

Pisces broke off and Ceria felt the ward around them vanish. He raised his voice and called out.

“Mons! Ah, good. We were just coming to see you.”

She hurried towards him, smiling widely, holding a stack of books in her arms. Ceria greeted Montressa and in a moment they were in her room.

Montressa had been given a large room—probably because her family had bought her way into Wistram. Ceria and Pisces sat at a wonderful table inlaid with ivory while they chatted in between periods of study.

“Did you go to Illphres again, Ceria? I can’t believe you stand outside her door every day!”

“It’s a habit. I think I’m getting to her—she’s started waking up earlier to try and avoid me.”

“I don’t see why she doesn’t turn you to ice. Everyone says she has a temper. She’s so scary!”

“Like I said, she likes me. And—uh, I think she might get in trouble if she does it. I hear she did it once and got in a lot of trouble with the Council. So I’m…probably…safe.”

“How many days has it been, Springwalker? Fifty six?”

“Yup. And I told you, stop calling me Springwalker, Pisces.”

He shrugged.

“As you wish. However, I must inquire. Isn’t there another mage with suitable qualifications that might serve as a master instead of Illphres?”

“There are. But they all already have apprentices or they’re like Illphres. I want a master who can teach me one-on-one, you know?”

Pisces and Montressa nodded. He frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table.

“I support your efforts, but it would be prudent to have a fallback plan. Illphres is…”

“I know. If I can’t persuade her by the end of the year I’ll give up. Frankly, I hope I can get her to give in before that or passing the yearly tests is going to be tough.”

“Yearly tests? No one told me about yearly tests! I thought there were only the entrance exams for new students!”

Montressa sat up, looking alarmed. Pisces chuckled and waved a hand.

“You need not worry, Mons. You see, the yearly tests only apply to second-year students and beyond. And they’re not so much tests as…qualification exams.”

“That’s a test, Pisces.”

Ceria sighed and rubbed her head as she closed her spellbook. She tried to explain to Mons.

“You see, at the end of the year all mages have to prove they’ve learned something while studying at Wistram. It can be anything from a spell they’ve learned to reciting something they’ve studied or presenting something they’ve made—it’s just to prove they’re worth keeping. Otherwise the mage might be forced to pay to stay—it can be only a bit for food and lodging, or a lot if the mage is a lazy waste of space like Charles de Trevalier.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Ceria doesn’t really need to worry that much, in truth, Mons. Second-year students don’t get tested nearly as harshly as older students like Calvaron and Beatrice.”

“That’s rich, coming from the mage who mastered [Invisibility] in one month.”

“Ah, well, all the better to spy with you see?”

“Just so long as you’re not caught peeping in any of the female students’ rooms, Pisces. I’ve heard some of them have learned anti-invisibility spells already.”

Pisces drew himself up indignantly.

“I would never stoop to such behavior! If you want to accuse anyone of voyeurism, try Quesm. You don’t think he’s taking scrying classes for purely academic reasons, do you?”

Both Mons and Ceria made noises of disgust. Talk turned back towards spells—this time on wards to prevent scrying and who might be willing to put them up in their rooms. Ceria never did get to ask what Pisces was going to say in the hallway, but she sometimes wondered if he would tell her.

She thought he would, eventually.

----

“There are more and more raids by pirates each week, it seems.”

Ceria pursued Illphres down the corridor. The mage ignored her. Doggedly, Ceria continued, trying to keep up a monologue.

“A lot of people think it’s the Drowned Men—not all of them obviously, but probably a few ships of them. They’re hitting all the major sailing routes, and some of the ships going to and from Wistram. Some nations have offered Wistram a reward if we destroy the ships. What do you think about that?”

“Pay for magic. That’s common. So what?”

“Well…I was thinking I might join in if the Council decides to send a hunting party. There’d probably be a lot of older students going, but it would be a good way to test my abilities in battle.”

Illphres turned her head to stare at Ceria.

“You? You wouldn’t last five minutes against a group of raiders.”

“Not by myself, but Wistram would hire a group of mercenaries and send a bunch of combat-capable students. Pisces said he might go. Calvaron and Beatrice wouldn’t, but it seems safe enough, don’t you think?”

“Arrogance.”

That was Illphres’ only comment. She walked out of the corridor and Ceria had to shade her eyes as she stepped out into the light. She found herself on a large walkway directly over the ocean.

This part of the citadel hung out over the calm seas. Ceria wondered why Illphres had come here. She stared down queasily into the water below. They were quite a ways out over the ocean—magic enabled the walkway to stretch far further than normal architectural engineering could allow.

Illphres stopped at the edge of the walkway. It had no guard rails, and so the mage could stare down straight into churning surf. She turned and passed a hand over her face. She was smirking a bit as Ceria halted a few steps back.

“You aren’t going to follow me over here like always?”

“I uh, don’t like heights that much.”

“I thought half-Elves all swung around on branches and lived in trees.”

“No, no…we don’t do that.”

Ceria cursed as her stomach roiled. Illphres was clearly enjoying herself. How had she found out Ceria was afraid of heights?

“Looks like the secret I paid for is true. You hate heights.”

“I—it’s more that I’m afraid of falling. Why did you come here?”

Illphres gestured to the open air around Ceria. She stared hard at the half-Elf.

“Four months you’ve followed me around. It’s annoying and you won’t stop.”

Ceria swallowed hard.

“No, no I won’t. Look, I know you don’t want an apprentice, but I need a master and you’re—well, brilliant. Please, won’t you teach me? I learned so much from you last year.”

Illphres considered this. She passed a hand over her face and her smile was slight and mischievous this time.

“I might. That’s why I’m testing you today.”

“A test?”

Ceria’s ears perked up. She was going to be tested? She took a deep breath, hope fluttering in her chest.

“I’m willing to do whatever I need to.”

“Really? Good. In that case—jump.”

Illphres said the word lightly as she pointed down to the ocean below. Ceria’s heart stopped.

“Wait, what?”

“Jump. And I’ll make you my apprentice.”

For a few seconds Ceria stared at Illphres. The woman was smiling at her. Just smiling.

“No. Hell no. That’s stupid.”

“Oh? I thought you’d do anything.”

“I’m not an idiot. Who’d jump just because you said so?”

Ceria glared at Illphres. The woman looked amused. She shrugged and walked past Ceria.

“At least you’re a bit intelligent. I wouldn’t teach you if you did jump. Be careful not to slip.”

“Slip? What do you m—”

Ceria turned to walk after Illphres and her foot slipped on a patch of ice. It was practically frictionless, and as Ceria windmilled her arms desperately and stepped back to keep her balance, her other foot slipped on a second patch of ice.

Screaming, she fell off the walkway down towards the ocean below. It was a long, long drop.

----

“Ceria, I really think you should stop. You did your best, but Illphres is never going to teach you.”

That was what Calvaron said to her the next day as Ceria sat at their table, sneezing and shivering. She’d survived the fall, but gotten a bad cold from treading the freezing water before someone had helped levitate her out. Given that it was mid-summer, she had Illphres to thank for that as well.

Glowering, Ceria shook her head and coughed hard. Her lungs felt full of phlegm and she resented the way all the other students leaned away from her when she did.

“I’m not gibing up. And why are you all hiding?”

“I don’t want to get sick.”

Beatrice replied as she placed her head as far away from Ceria as possible. Pisces nodded. He turned to the young woman sitting beside him.

“Colds are impossible to cure with healing potions, Mons. You will note that Ceria remains this way even though she is in the capital of magic? The cold is so troublesome that the greatest of mages find themselves susceptible to it. It is simpler to let it run its course, but of course the risk of contagion from Ceria is—”

“Shut up.”

Ceria scowled at Pisces. She shivered; she still felt cold.

“Ib gonna make her teach me. I will.”

“Well, before you do that, would you mind convincing Pisces not to join the pirate hunting expedition? And removing yourself from the list as well?”

Calvaron snapped exasperatedly at the two. Beatrice nodded.

“It’s not safe. You shouldn’t go.”

“Nonsense. This is a prime opportunity.”

Pisces waved a hand airily.

“We have no less than four experienced captains with their own ships, each with a crew of capable fighters. And with over twenty of Wistram’s best students, we’ll be sure to find these pirates who have been preying on traffic and—”

“Get killed. Horribly. Or ransomed.”

Calvaron interrupted as he buttered a roll. Beatrice nodded her head with her hands.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Nonsense. You’re exaggerating things. Ceria and I will be paid handsomely—”

“If it’s so safe, why aren’t the mages doing it? Why leave it open to the students?”

The Centaur frowned at Pisces and Ceria. She coughed and replied.

“Because it’s boring? We’ll be days at sea and might not find them the first time. But it’s fine, really, Calvaron. We can handle ourselves.”

“I think you two shouldn’t go. I really do.”

Ceria just shook her head. Her mind was made up. Calvaron opened his mouth to argue again, and paused as something flickered and flew past his face. He raised a hand to bat at it, and stopped as he saw the shimmering, fiery insect that flew past him to hover in front of Ceria.

She smiled as she saw the firefly—a literal fly made of glowing lights—hovering in the air. It spread its wings wide and she saw symbols and shapes flickering in the air.

“Oh? Is this from you, Mons?”

“I did it! I think I figured out the spell!”

Sitting next to Pisces, Mons’ face lit up with excitement. Calvaron stared at the flying insect and the message only Ceria could read and frowned.

“What’s this, Ceria?”

Pisces nodded. He straightened in his chair importantly as he explained.

“It’s a new spell Ceria and I developed. It helps us communicate at range and no one’s been able to decipher the messages.”

“So far.”

Beatrice studied the glowing message carefully. Pisces smiled confidently at her.

“I am sure no one will be able to break this spell. It is many times more complex than any [Message] spell you could ever devise, and it can be used up to several miles away.”

“Handy. Will you teach us how to use it?”

“Maybe…but only if you stop trying to dissuade Ceria and I. Our minds are made up.”

Calvaron threw up his hands in disgust.

“It’s your funeral.”

----

Two weeks later, Illphres found herself sitting alone at a table in the banquet hall. That was unusual for her, and she couldn’t help feeling something was wrong. Only when she understood that it was because she was used to having Ceria talking to her and pestering her did Illphres realize what she was unconsciously missing.

She passed a hand over her face and let her features change into a scowl. The half-Elf was gone on her adventure chasing pirates, and good riddance. She was far too annoying anyways, and now Illphres could concentrate.

That didn’t improve her mood though, and neither did the tall Dullahan who pulled a chair up at the table with her. He was named Jurix, and he was part of her faction, the Isolationists. That didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him.

Jurix raised his hands as he placed his head on the table across from her. Two plates of food and a cup floated down next to it. He ignored Illphres’ glare that told him to leave and began to talk to her, quite unperturbed. He was too cheerful for a Dullahan, which contrasted well with Illphres.

“Stop glaring, Illphres. We’re on the same side here. Or are you missing that half-Elf that kept following you around all the time?”

“I’m not missing her and she was a pest. What do you want, Jurix?”

“Nothing. I’m just here to tell you that Ophelia is on board. Totally.”

“Really?”

Illphres passed a hand over her mouth, and she was smiling when she lowered it. This was good news. Jurix nodded, pausing to smile as he fed himself with a hovering spoon.

“That’s right. We’ve got four now; if we can get one more mage on our side I think we’ll have a shot.”

“I’ll talk to Amerys again.”

“Try not to start a fight?”

“No promises.”

Illphres changed her features to a grin as she covered her mouth. She could have done it without covering her face; Jurix knew her secret. But she had grown used to doing it this way. She was about to ask Jurix what had changed Ophelia’s mind when someone began shouting a few tables over.

“What’s this now?”

Jurix frowned and picked up his head so he could see. Illphres turned and saw one of the mages shouting in panic as he raced into the room.

“It was a trap! They’re under attack!”

“Who are?”

Someone shouted, and Illphres looked towards the entrances to the banquet hall. She was expecting another loose experiment, or perhaps some of the undead from the catacombs under Wistram, but it seemed the issue didn’t lie within Wistram, but outside of it.

“The students! The hunting expedition we sent—it’s been ambushed! I just received a [Message] spell—there’s a fleet of nine ships attacking them! It’s not just a few isolated ships—it’s an entire armada!”

The banquet hall erupted into shouts at this news. Jurix turned to Illphres. Her expression hadn’t changed, but her eyes had locked onto the mage who had spoken.

“Isn’t that half-Elf with…?”

“Quiet.”

“The students say they’re outnumbered and the pirates have mages of their own! And their leader is far stronger than the [Captains]—he’s already slain two! Where’s Archmage Amerys? They need her!”

“She’s out hunting!”

The mage turned in desperation.

“One of the other Archmages, then! We need someone who can teleport or fly—if we don’t hurry the students will be dead!”

Jurix and Illphres saw the hall devolving into confusion. Some mages—those who could actually teleport—backed away, unwilling to expose themselves to danger. Wistram was full of mages, it was true, but only a fraction of their number was willing to go into combat.

For his part, the Dullahan stared hard at Illphres. She was seated, motionless in her chair. He knew she was thinking.

“Are you going to help?”

“She knew what she was getting into. All those students do. It isn’t our job to bail them out.”

“Very true. We should let them sort out their own problems. And if they can’t, well, that’s life.”

“Exactly. It’s not our problem.”

Jurix nodded understandingly. He reached for a plate, and stopped as Illphres stood up. She glared at him.

“Well? Are you coming?”

He grinned and pushed back his chair, already fastening his head securely to his neck.

“I’ll message Bastam and Ophelia. We’ll get her to teleport us, but it will take several leaps—”

“Hurry. I’ll go ahead. I’ll be faster.”

“Got it.”

Illphres strode away from Jurix. She saw heads turning towards her, but paid no attention. Students and mages cried out as ice spread in front of Illphres, but she just stepped forwards.

Her shoes were designed to stick to the ice, but only if she allowed them too. Illphres slid forwards on the ice, gathering momentum as she let the slick ice take her momentum. It spread across the banquet hall, making anyone standing on it slip or be forced to grab a table for support. Calvaron tumbled to the ground with a cry and Beatrice had to grab Mons to keep her upright as Illphres kicked herself across the ice, moving faster.

She shot down the banquet hall, smooth-soled shoes turning as she pivoted, zipping past a group of students. Illphres jumped and cleared the fallen Calvaron. She shot down a corridor and found herself headed at a wall.

Ice rose and curved. Illphres kicked off from one wall and shot up the ramp and onto the far wall. For a few seconds she was horizontal, skating on the far wall, then she dropped down to the ground and kept going, barely losing speed.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. Illphres ignored the shouting as her ice magic shot down the hallway, providing her with a passageway to keep skating down, moving faster and faster. There was no reward for this, at least none she cared for. She told herself real mages stood alone.

But she thought of Ceria. She scowled as she shot out Wistram’s front doors, blasting them open with a pillar of ice. Illphres felt herself falling, and gazed down at the steps as they came rushing towards her. The steps froze, and the ice turned the hill down towards the docks into a ramp. Illphres sped down it, gathering more speed. She created a ramp for herself at the end and flew out into the ocean, a missile.

Real mages stood alone. But the half-Elf wasn’t a real mage yet. And neither was Illphres.

Not yet.

----

“Get down!”

Ceria screamed as another volley of arrows flew overhead. Half of those who heard her threw themselves down, but the other half were too busy fighting to dodge. She heard screams as several arrows found their mark. One flashed past her head as she held still on the deck of the rocking ship.

As soon as she thought the worst of it was over Ceria was on her feet. She clutched at her arm; she’d been hit once already. The shaft stuck out of her flesh and Ceria felt faint.

But there was no time to rest or scream. The enemy was everywhere.

The deck of the ship she was on was filled with men and women with swords. Not just any men or women though; the Drowned People. They were a race created when parasites from the ocean fused with Humans or other species. Many were peaceful people, the products of an accident. But others were pirates.

And these were no ordinary raiders, no ragtag group of sea bandits. Someone had gotten their information very wrong, Ceria knew, because eight ships had ambushed the expedition from Wistram at sea. Now they swarmed the three remaining ships, wearing bright red bandanas. That way the archers on the other ships could avoid hitting their friends as they loosed arrows on the mages and mercenaries fighting for their lives.

At least the bandanas made them easy to hit. Ceria raised her hand and pointed three fingers at the nearest pirate.

“[Ice Dart]!”

Three shards caught the woman as she turned. Two bounced off the crustacean like shell on her chest, but the third hit her in the throat. She choked but didn’t fall. Ceria saw a mercenary turn and run her through—

“Ceria!”

She felt someone hit her from the side. Ceria fell and saw Pisces. He’d knocked her to the ground just in time to keep her from being run through by a man with a cutlass. He grinned and slashed fast at Pisces.

“[Flame Jet]!”

Ceria screamed the spell as she pointed her hands up. The man dodged back from the gout of flame with a curse and gasped as Pisces ran him through. The mage pulled his blade back with a grimace and helped Ceria to her feet.

“We have to run!”

He screamed it in her ears as he pointed to the side. Ceria dragged him back.

“We can’t jump! They’ll kill us in the water easily!”

“In that case—I’ll have to—”

He turned and swore.

“Look out! He’s coming again!”

Ceria turned and saw a ship shooting towards them, black hulled, the front reinforced with steel to create a ram.

The captain of these pirates stood at the head of the deck, grinning, bloody sword in hand. Ceria flinched as she saw him holding two heads. He’d already killed two of the [Captains] of the four ships and sunk one with his vessel. She braced as Pisces gripped the railing—

The impact splintered the hull of the vessel Ceria was standing on and threw her and Pisces apart. She got up groggily, and saw more pirates swinging down onto the deck, charging the outnumbered Wistram students and mercenaries.

Already half of the students had died. The rest fell back, fighting with spells but unable to defend themselves from the brutally efficient blades and arrows that assailed them. Ceria stumbled backwards, firing shards of ice desperately. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be doing the hunting. They could have taken any equal force with their mages, but this—

Fire erupted to one side, burning a group of mercenaries as the pirates cheered. Ceria saw a mage – a man with red robes – standing on one of the far ships. They had mages of their own.

She was going to die here. Ceria backed towards her friends, fellow students, and the mercenaries who’d formed a desperate semicircle on their deck. This was it. The pirate captain led the charge and she fought for her life.

----

Across the deck, Pisces found himself fighting for his life. He stepped backwards in a flash, parried a blade, and stepped again, thrusting desperately. But his opponent moved as fast as he did, perhaps faster.

“I have a Skill that’s a match for your spell, boy.”

The man who pushed Pisces backwards was no Drowned Man, but a Human, heavily tattooed on his face and arms. He cut at Pisces, making the mage duck and weave. Pisces muttered under his breath as he took five rapid steps backwards, flashing across the length of the deck.

“Rise, rise unto me—”

He cried out as the man cut his arm with a slash from his offhand. He had a dagger to match with his blade. Now the man stood, sword in one hand, dagger in the other. He beckoned with the dagger at Pisces, challenging.

“I see your bell. Shall we have a duel of it, mage from Wistram?”

Pisces grinned wildly as he cast a spell without words.

“If you want to try, be my guest.”

They spun away, each attempting to catch the other. Pisces leapt from the railing of his ship towards another one. He landed on the deck and the man followed, laughing. The pirates had butchered the crew of this ship and only the dead remained.

“Nowhere to run!”

“No. There isn’t.”

Pisces’ eyes glinted as something moved on the still deck. He brandished his rapier and circled the tattooed man.

----

Ceria saw Pisces jump, but she could do nothing to help him. She was fighting for her life. It seemed like there was a wall of blades around her. She expected at any moment to be run through, but fought for every second.

Two ships, now. The third was dead in the water, Pisces and the other pirate the only living souls aboard. Ceria saw the other ship approaching, and realized they were coming to help. But more pirate ships were all around, and they were trying to board the other ship. Ceria saw one ship coming dead on, attempting to ram—

“To port! Hard port!”

Someone screamed that. Ceria saw the pirate ship turn, but too slowly. She gaped as a huge blade of ice sudden crashed into the ship, a vertical guillotine that cut the entire vessel in two.

“What was that?”

The attackers stopped their assault as they turned to look. The pirate ship broke in two and began to sink. Ceria turned towards the railing and her heart stopped as she saw a familiar figure, skating across the waves.

Illphres. The ice mage froze the very sea around her as she dashed across the ocean. She moved faster than anything Ceria had ever seen on land, leaving a trail of disintegrating ice as she spun in the air and landed, skating backwards towards another vessel.

From her hands came ice, massive pillars of it that crashed into another pirate ship and broke the wooden hull. Illphres turned, and a wall of ice formed in front of her as one of the pirate mages blasted her. She raised a finger and hit him in the chest with a spike of ice.

“Mage!”

Ceria heard an incredible roar and turned to see the pirate leader. He was on his ship and it turned incredibly fast towards Illphres. Archers shot at her as she raised a second wall of ice to block them. Calmly, Illphres sent a second scything ice blade to cut apart the pirate leader’s ship.

The ice broke as it struck the hull of the black ship. Ceria, ducking back and throwing fire, saw Illphres pause and heard the captain roar.

“I sailed through storms that have sunk islands, mage! My ship and I are one! I am a [Storm Captain]! Come and fight me if you dare!”

Illphres raced towards him on the frozen sea. She leapt, and a pillar of ice threw her up onto the deck. Ceria cried out. It was a trap! There was no way Illphres could fight an entire crew of pirates and their captain alone. She leapt from the deck of the ship she was on and dove into the waters below.

----

Pisces remembered the past. With every step and thrust and dodge and parry, he remembered the lessons his father had taught him. His sword felt heavy in his hands, but he dared not stop moving.

“Tiring, mage? You have skill, but I have Skills.”

The tattooed pirate laughed at him as Pisces gasped for air. He was badly winded. Pisces knew he couldn’t continue. He stepped backwards, towards a place where the dead had been cut down in droves. The man advanced, laughing. He was coming for the finishing kill.

One slash nearly tore the rapier Pisces held out of his hands. The thrust with the dagger cut him across the ribs. Pisces hissed, and tripped backwards over a corpse. He raised his rapier as the man stepped over the body—

And it seized him by the leg. The pirate turned, stabbing at the man who rose from the ground.

“What is this?”

He was horrified to find the man who’d grabbed him was dead. The tears in his chest showed clearly where he’d been killed. But he still struck at the pirate, and another zombie grabbed him from the other side.

“Apologies.”

Pisces rose to his feet and lifted his rapier. The tattooed pirate stared at him with horror and fury.

“You coward! This is a duel!”

“Only to you.”

Pisces ran the tattooed man through. He turned, and took a deep breath. More pirates were coming, swinging onto the deck and stopping in horror when they realized who they were facing.

“Necromancer!”

“Ah, yes.”

Pisces stared sadly at the dead around him. They charged towards the living and he walked forwards, rapier in hand.

“I suppose there’s no hiding it now.”

----

Illphres and the [Storm Captain] fought on the deck of his ship, exchanging blows. For Illphres, each spell was a spear of ice, or a storm of frozen daggers that cut down pirate after pirate, merciless, tearing holes in the deck of the ship. But the captain of the pirates dodged each spell, moving with effortless grace and speed on the rocking deck.

And he was strong, too. Each time Illphres raised a wall of ice to block him, he would swing past the wall of ice or shatter it with his enchanted blade. It could pierce her thickest barrier, and she didn’t have the time to fight him and the crew that assailed her from all sides.

He caught her as she froze a score of pirates around her. The captain kicked Illphres off her feet. He tried to stab her through the chest as she lay on the ground, but she pointed and he dropped his sword, howling as it froze his skin.

He drew a dagger from his belt and threw himself at Illphres. She blasted him off his feet with a gust of frozen air, but he was back in a second. He raised his dagger with a yell—

And his foot came down on the patch of slick ice underfoot. Ceria shot an [Ice Dart] at the man’s head as she hauled her drenched body on the deck.

The captain’s boot landed on the ice and he turned and leaned out of the way of the shard of ice. He grinned as Ceria stared at him in dismay.

“On my ship, I cannot be tripped by air, water, or any other thing underfoot, girl.”

Then he turned and leapt out of the way. A flurry of [Ice Spikes] flashed past him, but each one missed. The [Storm Captain] lunged towards Illphres, and cut across her face.

Ceria screamed. But Illphres didn’t fall. Instead, her face fell to pieces. The [Storm Captain] froze as he stared at what remained and Illphres nodded.

“See what the face of a true mage looks like.”

Then the air froze. The deck froze. The captain raised his dagger and—

Froze.

Standing on the other side of the deck, Ceria felt the water on her freeze instantly. She cried out in pain and flailed about, hearing it crack. The cold was intense. She saw Illphres, kneeling on the deck.

“Illphres!”

It was minutes before the intense chill faded enough for Ceria to dash over to Illphres. She saw the woman kneeling on the deck, eyes closed, panting heavily. Ceria reached down to her, and froze.

“Yes.”

Illphres looked up, staring at Ceria. Blackened lips moved, but the rest of her face stayed still. Her jaw, her nose—the entire lower half of her face was blackened, the skin dead. Ceria had seen such symptoms before. It was the look of frostbite.

“Do you see?”

Illphres whispered it to Ceria. The shards of ice that had been the—the mask on her face slowly began to melt as the temperature on the ship began to normalize. Ceria could only stare.

“This is what magic looks like.”

----

“We’re just in time by the looks of it.”

The three mages appeared in the air over the sea. They landed on the choppy water, staggering. Their feet met the surface of the water as if it were solid earth, but the constant movement of the waves still made it hard to stand. One of the mages, a woman with stitching around her hands, gasped for air as the other two caught her.

Jurix, the Dullahan and Bastam, the Drake, turned towards the ships where fighting still continued. Jurix pointed.

“There! Two ships are still active. A third is—”

“Are those zombies?”

Bastam stared intently at one of the ships. Jurix shook his head.

“Look later. I’ll take that ship, Bastam. You take that one.”

“Got it. Go.”

The Dullahan spoke a spell as Bastam began to chant.

“[Whirlwind Leap].”

He shot upwards, propelled by a massive gust of wind that hurled him towards the ship he had chosen. Jurix landed on the deck of one of the enemy ships and began casting spells at once. A trio of pirates rushed at him, but their blades scratched uselessly at his now-impervious armor. The Dullahan struck one with his palm.

“[Tremor Impact].”

The broken body of the Drowned Man flew far over the railing and splashed into the water below. The other pirates backed up, but Jurix pursued them, using [Flash Step] to blink forwards and striking them with the same spell.

Caught by surprise, the pirates tried to swarm the ship Jurix was on. But one of their ships slowed as spells began to rain down from the sky upon it.

[Fireball] and [Lightning Bolt] spells struck the deck of the ship with deadly accuracy. Bastam, standing on the top of the ocean waves with Ophelia, hurled the spells hundreds of meters into the air, arcing them to hit the pirates on deck with deadly accuracy.

Three ships sunk and two more taken by the enemy, the pirates attempted to flee. Illphres sunk one by breaking the hull with [Glacial Spears]—the other two fell to combined attacks from the surviving mages.

And then it was over. Ceria stumbled across the deck of the deceased pirate captain’s ship as Illphres connected it to another ship with a bridge of ice. Ceria wanted to support Illphres; the woman stumbled twice as she walked, but the woman just shrugged her hands off.

“Leave me. Find your friend.”

Ceria hesitated, but then ran onto the other ship. She called out for Pisces, searching for him among the surviving mercenaries and student mages. Then she remembered he’d gone to the other ship.

“Pisces!”

The ship was full of people. How? Ceria shouted as the last surviving [Captain] turned his ship alongside the vessel. For a moment she thought one of the other ships had sent people to help Pisces fight, but then someone standing next to her cried out in horror.

“Zombies!”

They stood motionless on the deck, swaying slightly as the ship rocked back and forth. The undead. Some were mercenaries, others, Wistram students. More still were pirates, brought back from the dead after being slain. The ship was full of death.

And one living person. Pisces stood at the railing, a bloody rapier in hand. He was cut badly, but intact. He stared across the railing and then stared at the mercenaries and other mages. They all gazed at him, some vomiting, others backing away in fear.

Someone dropped a gangplank. Ceria saw Pisces step up. He walked across to her ship, and stopped in front of her. She just stared at him, not fully understanding. Not wanting to understand.

Pisces couldn’t meet her eyes. He cleared his throat, stared at the ground. He looked at Ceria at last, and there was guilt in his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you—”

Ceria took a step back. The corpses standing on the deck stared vacantly ahead. The head of one had been hacked nearly apart, but it stood, bits of gore and brain falling to the rocking deck. Illphres regarded Pisces silently as both sailors and the other students stared at him in horror.

But he only had eyes for Ceria. Pisces lowered his crimson rapier.

“Ceria—”

She backed away from him. Ceria felt weak. Her head was spinning. She took one more look at the undead that Pisces—her friend had created and threw up.

----

“Necromancer.”

It was the word on the tongues of every student and mage in Wistram. Even the dramatic battle at sea paled in comparison to the attention, anger, and hatred focused around one person.

Pisces. He stood in front of the Council, the assembly of mages presided over by the Archmages of Wistram, the body that governed the academy. Normally the Council voted on topics such as policy, Wistram’s stance towards nations, appointing new teachers, but it also served a rarely-fulfilled role as arbiter.

Standing on a balcony in the huge, circular room, Ceria stood next to Calvaron and Montressa as she stared down at Pisces, standing alone as he faced the Council. Beatrice had refused to attend the hearing. Or was it a trial? It felt like one.

The accusation was simple. Pisces was a [Necromancer]. It wasn’t as if Wistram had outlawed that school of magic explicitly—and yet, it was clear that they had. No sane mage practiced necromancy. It violated the dead. It was a tool used by crazed cults and madmen to create armies to assail the living.

It was wrong.

And yet Pisces stood in front of the Council and argued. Ceria heard his voice ringing through the chamber, confident, beseeching the other mages to understand. She stared at Montressa and saw the girl’s horrified face, and the grim look on Calvaron’s.

“Magic is pure! Necromancy is a force to be wielded for good or evil, not inherently biased in itself! And is Wistram not a place where all mages may study? Consider, I implore you, the case of Az’kerash! His name is infamous as the most powerful [Necromancer] of this millennium. He once studied here before he was slain on Izril. His sins are legion, that is undeniable—and yet, is he not an example to study and admire?”

Outrage. The rumble of voices in the room rose, but Pisces spoke over them.

“Yes, admire! I came here to follow in his footsteps, to see if anyone else understood necromancy as he did, or if he left anything behind. Az’kerash was evil, it is true, but he was also a master of magic! He gazed deeper into the heart of magic than any but the greatest [Archmages] before him. Is this not something we should accept? Necromancy is the equal of any other magical school!”

Mages sitting or standing around the room shouted at this, furiously denouncing Pisces. But he ignored them. His eyes were only for the Council. He spread his arms pleadingly.

“Wistram Academy is a place where the study of magic comes before all else. Before law, before morality or ethical concern. Here, magic is all. I came to study magic, to deepen my understanding of it. Wistram once held a single phrase to be true: ‘To ever strive’. I ask that you allow me to study, to be part of this institution and add to it as the one expert in my field. I have committed no crimes, despoiled no graves. I simply wish to learn.”

They debated. And argued. A few stood for Pisces. Amerys was one of them. But slowly, Ceria saw the Council and the opinion of the mages swing only one way. At the end of it, a man stood. He was old, one of the Archmages, and the only one besides Amerys that Ceria knew.

The half-Elf, the ancient mage who had represented Wistram for over a century. Archmage Feor. He stared down at Pisces and spoke quietly.

“Wistram will turn away no mage who seeks to learn and is worthy of it. But necromancy is not taught within these halls. It is not accepted. And if you choose to study here, Pisces, you will do so alone. We hereby revoke your scholarship. If you would stay, pay the full dues owed to the academy. Otherwise, you must leave. That is the decision of the Council.”

----

Pisces walked alone after that. He walked through hallways and rooms, but found no one who would speak with him. Some spat, others cursed him.

And when he found his friends, one would not stop to speak with him. Beatrice left. Montressa, Ceria, and Calvaron stayed, but all three looked at him as if he were different. Changed.

Evil.

“I have…one day to come up with the funds to pay Wistram. Or I must leave.”

Pisces’ voice shook with rage, pain, and anguish. Ceria wanted to hug him, but she couldn’t bring herself to. He was a [Necromancer]. He raised the dead.

It all added up. Already students were putting clues together. Someone had raided Pisces’ room, found the small army of undead mice he used to spy with. They had been burned, as had almost all of Pisces’ possessions.

“Do you have enough coin to pay? I know you had a lot saved up—”

Calvaron looked at Pisces with a trace of sympathy. Pisces shook his head roughly.

“Not—not enough. I need more, and a lot of it.”

“Well, I—I’m afraid I can’t lend it to you, Pisces. I could trade you secrets—and I’ll give you a good price for them—but I don’t think you have enough of those either.”

Calvaron didn’t meet Pisces’ gaze. Ceria didn’t look at him either. Montressa just stared at Pisces, as if she wasn’t sure who she was seeing.

“I know. I’ll trade you what I have. But I need more coin. So—this.”

Pisces fumbled for something at his side. Ceria saw him lift his rapier up. Calvaron froze as Pisces offered it to him.

“Would this be enough? If you sold it—it is worth a large sum to the right buyers. Is it enough?”

The rapier trembled in his hands, and the silver bell chimed once. Ceria stared at Pisces. Calvaron was silent for a long time before he replied.

“Enough to pay the academy’s fees? I can probably do that. But—are you sure?”

“I am.”

Pisces jerked his head. It could have been a nod. Calvaron stared at him, and then took the blade. Pisces stared at it, face white, and turned away. He stumbled as he walked out of the banquet hall.

No one went after him.

----

It was quiet when Ceria found Illphres. Somehow, the spirit of Wistram had been sucked out, or so she felt. Everything felt hollow, and empty. Even when she saw people laughing, it sounded fake and insincere.

The ice mage opened her door when Ceria called out. She admitted Ceria into her room and for the first time, Ceria saw the inside.

It was just a room. Cold, far colder than normal, but there was a bed and a bookshelf, and precious little else. Illphres only had time for magic.

The ice mage sat at a table with Ceria as the half-Elf shivered. Ceria couldn’t help but stare at Illphres’ mouth. The ice mage had restored her mask of ice, and her flesh looked healthy and normal. But now Ceria knew.

“You see, it’s why I have to alter my face to smile.”

Illphres showed Ceria, warping the ice around her face to change her expressions. The ice rippled and shifted unnaturally as Ceria watched, making her feel queasy.

“Far easier to hide it.”

The woman passed a hand over her lips and smiled bitterly. Ceria stared at her.

“Thank you for saving me.”

This was the first chance she’d had to say it. Illphres waved a hand over her face and changed it back to impassiveness.

“I suppose the fault is mine. I’m too soft-hearted.”

That made Ceria laugh. But that flash of humor was swallowed up by the hole in her heart. Illphres studied her.

“Your friend has upset the other mages. If he stays, he will only face their hostility. He will not be accepted here, not ever.”

“I know.”

“Did you know he was a [Necromancer]?”

“No!”

Ceria shuddered.

“If I had known—I think he wanted to tell me. But if I had known—!”

“You would have done what, stopped him? It is magic. He is a mage.”

“You think it’s okay?”

Ceria stared at Illphres in horror. She could still see the lifeless eyes of the dead people Pisces had brought back. Dead, and yet moving. Far worse than a golem; someone who had been alive once, forced to shamble about. Illphres just shrugged.

“It is magic. In his own way, your friend Pisces aspires to be what I yearn to be as well. A true mage. And you want the same thing, unless I am mistaken.”

“I do. But Pisces—I’m not the same as him.”

“He is a mage. And you are a mage. And I…I am a mage. But none of us are true mages. Not yet. I lost to that pirate captain. If you hadn’t bought me time to cast that spell, I would have died.”

Illphres said it matter-of-factly. Ceria nodded.

“But you saved me. You did what I never could. You’re a better mage than I am.”

“Yes. I am.”

The two sat in silence for a while. At last, Ceria asked the question, knowing the answer.

“Will you teach me magic?”

Illphres paused.

“Yes. If you truly wish it.”

It was the answer Ceria had been waiting half a year to hear. But it filled her with nothing. She looked down at her hands.

“Is it really okay? Is Pisces really…”

“The mages here would say one thing. I say another. Follow me and become a true mage. Then you will know the answer.”

Illphres held out a hand and Ceria stared at it. She looked at the woman, the mage, who hid her pain behind a mask of ice. She thought of her friend, who had hid behind lies. The person she barely knew. She saw what magic looked like, what it truly looked like.

Slowly, Ceria reached out and took Illphres’ hand.

Wistram Days (Pt.6)

On a controversial report published by one of the foremost [Emissaries], Trixal Therest in the year 2 EL.R, he listed Wistram as one of the most powerful factions in the world. Trixal’s report was issued to one of the Great Companies of Baleros who had hired him to write the primer, but it soon became widely disseminated across the world.

Other [Historians], [Diplomats], and other notable cosmopolitans soon voiced their outrage over Trixal’s report, which was claimed to be inaccurate and grossly misleading not to mention biased. However, while many charges were leveled at the characterization of other world powers, no words were spoken against Wistram’s position. For Wistram was an undisputed world power, if an often quiet one.

Mages. They worked for lots of gold and sometimes caused trouble, but they were indispensable. Of course, any organization that trained young spellcasters could be a threat, and other nations competed with each other to create their own institutions of magic now and then. But Wistram was safe from such politics, or indeed most wars due to its famed neutrality.

If the mages of Wistram did take part in a war, it was by declining to provide services, boycotting specific groups or countries, and so on. Few times in recorded history did mages fight on battlefields against a specific kingdom or empire. When mages did take to the field in numbers, it was against common enemies such as the Demonfolk of Rhir, or against a Goblin King or similar calamity.

Still, were it not for the benefits Wistram provided to all, it surely would have been taken over by one nation or other over the countless years it had existed. Wistram occupied a central point for all ships crossing the ocean, providing them with a place to trade, sell, and resupply. Yet few armies had ever taken Wistram by force, and none had ever breached the gates since the Golems of Archmage Zelkyr had been created to protect the isle.

But what kept Wistram alive? Trade was only a part of the mage’s economy, and that by itself would not allow mages to live in such splendor. No, it was the unparalleled quality of their education. A mage may be made of any fool with a basic grasp of magic, but of Wistram mages, it was said that the weakest of them was a match for any Silver-rank adventurer.

And that was broadly correct. A mage passed by Wistram was almost always a studied graduate of at least six years, capable of casting many spells and studied in a wide variety of fields. She or he or they owed it all to the rigorous training given to them by their teachers, older mages who imparted their knowledge to the new students.

That was the true value of Wistram. Its teachers. Each one defined the experience the students would go through year to year, and so it was small wonder the students quickly learned which teachers could be appeased, which ones were competent and which were barely able to convey their subject matter and of course, which ones were to be feared.

The teacher for basic combat magic this year was not happy. Few teachers saddled with the job were. Teaching magic to the newest students, those that had passed their entrance exams, was not an easy job, and the salary provided by the council was meager. It was a task mages fought to avoid.

Perhaps that was why this mage was angry. Then again, it could have just been her personality. All the new students knew was that their teacher was as terrifying as she was good at ice magic. And whenever they saw her in the hallways, or now, entering the banquet hall for breakfast, they took care to greet her deferentially while clearing a path.

“Good morning, professor.”

“Hello, professor.”

It was a title of respect. And fear. The students backed away from their magic teacher, letting her select her food and pile it onto a plate before moving away to their collective relief. The teacher stalked away towards a far table, face frozen with a hostility that her students had grown to dread.

“Hoi, teacher! Over here!”

Someone waved to her. The mage turned. Her face changed little, but she scowled as she sat down with a few other mages for breakfast. One of them grinned at her.

“Hi there. How’s it going, professor Ceria?”

Calvaron stared at Ceria Springwalker’s glaring face for a few more seconds and then burst out laughing. He howled with mirth as he pounded the table Beatrice and Mons sat at. Ceria kept glaring until the Centaur had finished.

“You done? Because if you’re not, I’ll shove an icicle so far up your—”

“Whoa there, don’t take it out on me! Please, professor, show mercy!”

The Centaur raised his hands in mock fright. He grinned at Ceria, still sniggering at her. She wanted to throw her plate at him, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Calvaron had been laughing about the title her students had given her since the year had started. She growled as she cut into the steak slathered with butter on her plate.

“I keep telling them not to call me that.”

“Yes, but you know students. They have to have a nickname for their teachers, and I think ‘professor’ suits you quite well. Don’t you, Beatrice?”

The Dullahan looked up from her plate and nodded her head with her hands. She had a book open by her head and was alternating between staring at that and nibbling on cheese.

“It’s a better name than Scaleslough. That’s what they called our old teacher.”

“Dead gods, I’d forgotten! We used to call old Tshya that all the time! That brings back memories.”

The Centaur smiled at the memory, but Beatrice did not. She looked at Ceria.

“How are classes going?”

“How do you expect? Badly.”

Ceria made a face as she forked a dripping piece of meat into her mouth. She wanted to grimace, but the hot meat made her too happy to properly grouch. Instead, she only sighed, sipping at the sweet juice in her cup as she stretched out on the comfy cushioned seats she’d grown used to.

“All these new students don’t know the difference between a fire spell and a water one, I swear. Their magical composition is terrible, they can’t compress their mana correctly, their aim is so bad I have to put up a ward or they’ll hit each other—”

The half-Elf broke off, affronted as Calvaron and Beatrice laughed at this. Mons had to smile too, although she tried to look away from Ceria. Ceria growled as she eyed her friends.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, Ceria. It’s just that—every teacher always says the same thing about their students.”

Calvaron chuckled as he explained.

“All the mages who have to teach say it. And all of the older students say it too. Why, not two years ago I heard all the older mages saying it about your year.”

“They did not.”

Beatrice nodded, smiling.

“Did too. And now you’re saying it. It’s funny.”

Ceria turned her head to stare at Montressa. The younger girl turned red, but she grinned sheepishly at Ceria.

“Calvaron and Beatrice said you’d complain, Ceria. But it’s a good thing you do, isn’t it? It means you care about your students.”

“Well…I’m their teacher. I have to care.”

Ceria hunched her shoulders defensively. Calvaron wagged his finger at her.

“Ah, ah. Don’t be modest, Ceria. I hear good things about your class. You may torture your students—”

“I do not—”

“—torture them with lessons harder than all the rest of their classes combined, but they’re learning a lot from you. The students can tell, for all they think you’re the scariest half-Elf they’ve ever met. You’re doing a good job.”

“Well.”

Ceria couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. She tried not to blush, but knew her ears had turned slightly red.

“It’s just a job. I didn’t want it. It’s a pain and it’s keeping me from studying—anyways, it’s fine. What about you three? I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to catch up with you all this year.”

The other students sitting at Ceria’s table shrugged. She eyed Calvaron and Beatrice, largely unchanged since she’d gotten to know them. The only real difference was that Calvaron was a bit heavier, having gained weight, and Beatrice had upgraded her plain metal armor with a new coat of paint and what looked like steel mixed in with the common iron.

They had grown. But so had Mons, and in far more dramatic ways than the other two. In the year after the infamous day when Ceria had been caught up in a battle at sea with a powerful pirate navy, the young girl had turned into a young woman.

Humans grew up so fast. In one year, Mons had finished most of her adolescence and become, well, as physically old as Ceria. She had grown two inches taller, and her hair had gotten longer. Her breasts were a bit bigger, she had a bit more muscle, and she was more confident than the girl Ceria had met.

Now Mons smiled at Ceria, the depths of her pale saffron-topaz irises glinting in the morning light. She looked rather strange to Ceria, with her red hair and bright eyes. Half-Elves didn’t have naturally red hair. Staring at her now, the half-Elf felt a pang in her chest. In one year, Ceria had barely changed, but Mons had transformed. How much different would she become by the time Ceria graduated?

“And you, Mons? How are classes in the second year?”

“Good! I’m really enjoying my classes on ward spells. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a real knack for casting them. I’ve gotten a Skill – [Layered Ward]! I think I could really specialize in that field!”

“That’s great news, Mons.”

Ceria smiled at the young woman while Calvaron and Beatrice made similar complimentary noises.

“You never told me you got a Skill, Mons! When was this?”

“Last week. And I told Beatrice, but I didn’t tell you because she said you’d just sell the secret to someone.”

Mons’ eyes twinkled as Calvaron spluttered and turned red. Ceria laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve learned how to put Calvaron in his place. I thought you’d be in real trouble with me gone.”

“It’s not been the same without you, Ceria.”

Calvaron sighed and shook his head.

“Mons and Beatrice try, but no one has your sharp tongue—or penchant for kicking and throwing things at people. I keep telling them, only you can kick like a real Centaur.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. Ever since you went off and had to become Illphres’ apprentice, things have been so lonely. How could you just abandon us like that?”

“You’re disgusting. Didn’t you win a bundle for betting I’d be able to do it when everyone said I didn’t have a chance?”

“Of course. But that’s that and this is this.”

Calvaron smiled smugly, causing Ceria to flick her fingers and spray a cloud of snow in his face. He yelped as the freezing snowflakes melted on his fur.

“Aah! That’s the Ceria I know and love!”

She had to laugh at that. Ceria eyed Calvaron as she finished her food. He really hadn’t changed much. And yet, she knew he had taken his own steps towards becoming a mage over the year.

“How’s your own work going, Calvaron? You’re in your sixth year, now. One more and you’ll be able to call yourself a mage. Excited?”

“Hah. Terrified is more like. I’m practicing my tail off for the exam, but really, I’m more worried about collecting secrets and coin right now.”

Calvaron flicked his fingers, making the water on his face and arms vanish in a puff.

“Being a mage means I’ll really get embroiled in faction politics. I want the coin and secrets to, well, keep doing as I’ve done. I figure that without classes, I’ll be able to establish myself as a really influential broker between all the sides in Wistram.”

“Or you could take one and keep studying instead.”

Beatrice turned her head to frown at Calvaron. He avoided her gaze and Ceria sighed. She knew he and Beatrice had been fighting about his future. Calvaron was content to earn a living and continue being the affable Centaur everyone went to when they wanted to sell or buy things, but Beatrice wanted him to join her faction, the Revivalists.

It was an argument Ceria wanted no part of, so she sat back as Calvaron cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m…not interested in their goals, you know that, Beatrice. I support some of their agendas, but other things they say—I can’t. Anyways, I need to be neutral. You know that.”

She said nothing, just narrowed her eyes. To break the tension, Mons turned brightly to Ceria.

“So, um, Ceria. How are things between you and Pisces? Have you seen him around?”

The mood at the table—froze. Beatrice turned the head in her hands to stare at Mons and the girl flinched. Calvaron covered his face with his hand and Ceria stopped eating.

“I haven’t seen him around recently.”

“Neither have I. I suppose he’s studying quite a lot. But you know, that’s how it is. We’re so busy studying—Ceria, how are lessons with Illphres going? Does she expect as much from you as you do from your students?”

Mons ignored Calvaron’s desperate attempt to shift the conversation. She stared at Ceria.

“I spoke with him the other day. He was teaching me about how to use the [Flame Arrow] spell more effectively.”

“Oh?”

Ceria looked at Mons, surprised.

“You still…keep in touch with him?”

“I see him at least once or twice a week. He’s busy—studying—a lot, but he could use some visitors. I think it might be good if you talked with him.”

Mons met Ceria’s eyes squarely. The half-Elf didn’t know what to say. Across the table, Calvaron fiddled with his fork and Beatrice turned her head back to her spellbook without a word.

“I’ll—think about it.”

That was all Ceria could come up with. Mons nodded, and the table fell into a deep silence.

Even after a year, there was one word, one name that couldn’t be spoken aloud.

Pisces.

Ceria closed her eyes and pushed her plate back a bit, no longer hungry anymore. Even now, after so many months—

It still hurt. It still made her stomach churn.

Pisces was a [Necromancer].

The entire academy knew about it, now. The new students learned this fact within days of arriving. There was a necromancer studying among them. A twisted, deranged madman who experimented with the dead.

What could be more abhorrent? What could be more wrong? Necromancers had existed since the dawn of magic, but today they were shunned and feared. Famous examples among their kind had been used to haunt children’s dreams for generations, and the tale of Az’kerash, the horror that had brought death to two continents for over a century before being slain, still lurked in everyone’s memory.

Necromancy was evil. Few species could look into the rotting, dead eyes of a corpse and see anything but wrongness there. Perhaps the Selphid students sympathized with Pisces, and maybe there were those who quietly thought he did nothing wrong. But they were silent and the rest of the academy turned their backs on him.

Including Beatrice. The first time he had come to sit with them after his trial she’d nearly attacked him herself. Calvaron had—he hadn’t attacked Pisces, but neither could he look the young man in the eye. Ceria couldn’t either. Only Mons had stayed by Pisces’ side.

“Do that.”

The young woman nodded to Ceria, looking around the table seriously. She still trusted Pisces, still talked with him. Ceria could understand—but not condone.

He raised the dead. If she came to grips with that, he had still lied to her about who he was. She’d known him for over a year and he’d lied to her.

“Well, I think I’m ready for an after-breakfast dessert. Anyone want something?”

Calvaron heaved himself up and Beatrice caught at his arm.

“You’ll get fatter. Don’t eat.”

“Beatrice—”

“Actually, before you go Calvaron, I did have some business to discuss with you.”

Ceria interrupted the upcoming squabble. She saw Calvaron brighten as he looked at her and saw Beatrice’s smile of gratitude. Ceria tilted her head slightly as Calvaron sank back down.

“I’m always willing to help a friend out! What did you need, Ceria?”

“A ring or amulet with enchantments that resist ice and cold temperatures. I need good stuff, Calvaron. Not a shoddy spell, but one with the best binding available—something I could use if I had other enchanted items on me.”

Calvaron’s eyebrows raised.

“You need cold resistant magic? What, Illphres is too chilly for you?”

Ceria scowled at him.

“I need what I need, Calvaron. The question is, can you get it for me?”

He looked affronted.

“Of course I can! But it’ll be very expensive, you know that Ceria.”

“Price is no object. The highest-grade enchantments you can get, Calvaron, so long as they have no magical leakage. And I’ll need two of them.”

“Two? What for?”

Calvaron was alight with curiosity, but Ceria clamped her lips shut. She wagged a finger at him.

“Ask me no questions and I…won’t freeze your face off.”

“Ooh. I’m so tempted but—very well. I’ll ask around. You’re sure two? And you’re good for—alright, alright, I trust you! Talk to me in a week or two and I’ll let you know what I find. Okay?”

“Thanks, Calvaron.”

Ceria smiled and stood up. Beatrice looked surprised.

“Going so soon?”

“I’ve got to. Sorry. Illphres doesn’t have that much time and I have classes to prepare for—you know how it is.”

“Well then, stop by another time Ceria. You know where to find us!”

“Will do. See you Calvaron, Mons. Beatrice.”

Ceria waved and walked away. She levitated her plates into a wicker bin designed to hold them—a new addition to the banquet hall after the [Chefs] complained they were running out of dishes since students would pile them up ten feet into the air rather than send them into the kitchen—and walked out of the banquet hall.

By now, Ceria knew most of the academy back to front. The only places she hadn’t gone were the highest levels and deep into the bowels of the academy. It was still dangerous to wander in those places incautiously, but Ceria knew all the best shortcuts everywhere else.

So in less than five minutes, she was standing outside a door from which cold emanated. Ceria rapped on the frozen surface, ignoring the chill that made other students and mages hurry past her. She’d long since learned several spells to help with the cold.

After a moment, the door opened. A woman walked out. She nodded to Ceria—Ceria nodded back.

“You have eaten?”

“Just now. Do you want to have breakfast first or—?”

“Let’s go.”

Illphres walked down the corridor slowly. Ceria followed. Her relationship with her master, Illphres, was a simple one. Illphres ordered and Ceria usually obeyed. They didn’t waste time with greetings or chitchat, mainly because Illphres had no tolerance for it.

“Hey master.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Illphres turned and scowled at Ceria. The half-Elf took the glare unfazed.

“I get called ‘Professor Springwalker’ because of you. If I get called names, so do you.”

Illphres paused. She moved her hand past her mouth, and when she lowered it, she was smiling.

“They call you that? Hah.”

“It’s your fault.”

Ceria scowled as the woman turned and kept walking slowly down the corridors. Illphres just shrugged.

“So?”

“Most masters don’t make their apprentices teach their classes for them.”

“They should. It’s convenient.”

Ceria glowered. That was the thing about Illphres. She didn’t care at all about your feelings, and in fact seemed to delight in annoying other people.

And she usually came up with inventive ways to do it. Not that she’d deliberately gotten herself a teaching position for another year on purpose—that was just politics. But it had definitely been Illphres’ idea to make Ceria do the teaching instead.

Most masters made their apprentices get them food, or clean their rooms, organize their notes, assist with spellcasting and so on. But Illphres hated for anyone to do any of that for her—she wouldn’t let Ceria pull her seat out for her. And yet, she had no problems ordering Ceria to spend half her day teaching and preparing her next lesson for students when it suited her.

“I’ve barely had time to practice with all my lessons, you know.”

“But you do practice, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

Illphres led Ceria to a well-used set of rooms, looking at glowing stones on the doors until she found one that wasn’t lit.

“In here.”

They entered into the practice room. It was just an empty room, really. Some had furniture or other objects that could be used for magic practice, but most were just empty. This one had a white marble floor—enchanted of course, to protect against the spells mages would test in here.

Illphres paused in the center of the room and turned to face Ceria.

“Now, attack me.”

There was no warm up, no preamble. Ceria just raised her finger and started casting magic.

“[Ice Dart]! [Ice Spike]! [Frost Arrows]!”

The spells shot from her fingers in the form of deadly shards of ice, some as long as Ceria’s forearm and twice as wide. They shattered harmlessly on the sheets of thick ice that had materialized in front of Illphres. The woman let the slabs of ice hover around her, creating a multi-layered shield Ceria strove to break.

Her [Ice Dart] spell did little to the thick ice, for all it was a rain of projectiles. Ceria’s newly learned [Ice Spike] spell created a few cracks, but the heavier shots didn’t do much. And her final spell, a storm of fourteen arrows that shattered against the ice barrier and left Ceria gasping for air—did nothing.

“All done?”

“Yeah.”

Ceria gasped for air and wiped at her brow, despite the chill in the air. Illphres let the icy barrier around her dissipate, the ice melting into water which vanished, and nodded.

“Not bad. If you ignore the fact that you’d be dead if any of your opponents knew magic of their own or had a bow.”

That stung. Ceria looked up, glowering at Illphres.

“Most students my year can’t cast a Tier 3 spell half as many times as I can! My offense is fine—”

“But your defense is terrible. Why didn’t you raise [Barrier of the Winds] before casting?”

“I don’t know it yet. You’re the one who told me to focus on ice magic! Why don’t you teach me [Frozen Shield] instead?”

Illphres’ face didn’t change, but the tone of her voice was definitely a sneer.

“Bah. [Frozen Shield] is a terrible spell. Just buy a real shield if you want to block something. You’ll be better off learning [Wall of Ice] when you’re at a higher level.”

The two mages continued to argue as Ceria and Illphres took a position facing the far wall. Illphres made colored targets of ice appear and Ceria hit them, Illphres correcting her as they bickered.

“Don’t I get a say in what I learn?”

“Of course not. You’re an idiot whereas I know what spells are best. Your [Ice Spike] spell is flawed—see there? Correct it.”

Ceria gritted her teeth as she did.

“Why won’t you teach me more advanced spells? I want to learn more, not keep practicing one spell over and over!”

“Mastery of the [Ice Spike] spell is key to learning the [Glacial Spear] spell. Besides, you don’t need variety—you need to perfect the basics first.”

Ceria grumbled under her breath and her ears drooped, but she finished practicing without any more complaints. Illphres was an excellent teacher even if she taught in much the same style as her element. Slowly, exactingly, choosing to perfect every spell before moving on to the next one. Still, Ceria couldn’t complain. She had an excellent teacher. Although she sometimes wondered…

As Illphres was walking towards the door without a word of goodbye, Ceria called out.

“Master.”

“Call me that again and I’ll freeze your toes off.”

Illphres turned, her face a scowl. Ceria shrugged insolently.

“…Master, why do you need two enchanted items to protect against the cold? I know it’s not for me.”

The ice mage scowled deeper, reshaping the ice mask on her face to do so.

“Of course it’s not for you. If you couldn’t handle my cold spells by now I’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“Then who is it for? I talked to Calvaron, but he says it’ll be a week or two before he can find anything.”

Illphres hesitated. Ceria waited, hoping she would get an actual reply. Illphres’ eyes pierced her apprentice, and she seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Maybe you’re ready. But—”

She glanced around the empty room meaningfully. There was no one to listen in, but Ceria knew that an eavesdropping spell might not be detectable even if they cast [Detect Magic].

“I will tell you later.”

Ceria nodded and asked no more. She felt happy Illphres was willing to confide in her. Usually the woman just gave her orders and suffered no question. But perhaps she was trusting Ceria more? They’d been master and apprentice for over half a year now, and Ceria felt like she knew Illphres almost as well as anyone in the academy.

Drained from her practice session with the woman, Ceria exited the practice room, walking slowly down the hallways. She did not walk back towards Illphres’ room where she now had her own quarters. Instead, Ceria took a familiar route, one she hadn’t used in a long time. She walked down to the first level, and soon found herself standing next to a familiar door.

Pisces still lived in the same room he had when they were first-year students. He had no master. Ceria knew the room she had used to live in—and indeed, most of the rooms around his—were empty.

She stared for a long time at the door. Thinking. At last, she raised her hand to knock. Ceria hesitated.

Then she turned and walked slowly away.

----

Ceria had no intention of talking to Pisces. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the meeting, it was just that she didn’t want to speak with him. But fate conspired against her, or perhaps it was the finite amount of space even in a place as large as Wistram.

About a month later, Ceria found a knot of students and raised voices that was the sure sign of a duel, either magical or verbal, going on in one of the hallways. Pushing her way into the group, Ceria saw the duel was of the latter kind, and going on between a fourth-year student and—

Pisces.

Ceria’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him. Pisces was standing across from his opponent in a ring of bodies, speaking loudly. He had changed much since she’d seen him last.

Gone were Pisces’ rapier and the silver bell. It now belonged to Timor du Havrington, Ceria knew. And gone was Pisces’ smile, and indeed his normally semi-neat appearance.

Now his robes were dirty, a sign that he had little time or inclination to clean. They looked slept in, and ragged. Pisces had no coin to buy new ones. Ceria listened as the other student, a loudly-speaking cross between a dog and man—one of the Beastkin—concluded his point.

“—and so your foul practice drags down the status of mages everywhere. No nation respects a [Necromancer], and thus, why should Wistram? Why should we condone a school of magic condemned by the entire world?”

A murmur of agreement ran through the students listening to the debate. Ceria saw Pisces draw himself up. His posture was different. He hunched his shoulders more, and glared at his opponent as he sniffed and launched his counter argument.

“Necromancers have no place in the world? Who decides such things? Popular opinion? If that is the case, I must inquire, what of Archmage Nekhret? Was she undeserving of her title despite being tainted, as you seem to insinuate, by the foul practice of necromancy? She was a true [Archmage], not some pretender to the class! She represented the soul of Wistram over a thousand years ago—her bones still lie in the catacombs below the academy itself!”

“She lived over a thousand years ago!”

“Age is immaterial! My point is that she was an Archmage, someone who represented Wistram. Should she be condemned? No—more broadly speaking, can any group of mages be condemned for the actions of a few? I put to you, what about the actions of the infamous Burning Killer, Calico, who was just caught and executed in Chandrar? Do his actions define mages as a whole? Should we look askance at every [Pyromancer] because of him? Let me ask to you this question—”

As she watched, Ceria knew Pisces would lose. His arguments were sound, but he had lost his audience, probably before the debate had begun. When they voted, the group of students chosen to listen to the debate all voted unanimously. Pisces had lost, and so the winner collected his spoils—a small bag that might have had coin or something else—and walked away without another word.

The students dispersed, leaving Pisces to stare murderously at the ground. Ceria approached half-unwillingly. She hesitated before she spoke, but she did speak.

“I hope you didn’t bet anything valuable on that debate.”

Pisces’ head jerked up. He stared at Ceria in disbelief.

“Ceria?”

She met his gaze levelly. The shock faded and Pisces’ expression returned to normal. Now it was a bitter scowl and a sardonic crook of the mouth that was supposed to be a smile. He turned away from her, brushing at his robes.

“Ah, you mean the debate? I wagered nothing of consequence, I assure you. I am…used to the bias of the masses even when presented with the most rational of arguments.”

“So I see. Why bother debating at all, then?”

He glanced back at her haughtily.

“I suppose it is to prove that I have a voice, and perhaps to sway opinions. They are bound under a truth spell to vote for whomever presents the best case, you know.”

“But they hate necromancy.”

“Not all! I have had a few vote in my favor—”

Pisces paused. He sniffed again, and frowned at Ceria.

“Not that it matters. Why, pray tell, have you sought me out?”

“I didn’t. I was just walking and saw a debate was going on.”

“I see.”

The two stared at each other. Ceria shifted from foot to foot as Pisces stared over her shoulder. It was…so hard to see him like this. At last, Ceria sighed.

“I talked to Mons a while ago. She says she studies with you.”

“Mons? Ah—she does. She hires me on occasion to provide her with instruction.”

“That’s good. For you, I mean.”

“Yes, it does…help.”

More silence. After a moment, Pisces cleared his throat.

“You know, I am studying combat magic in my spare time.”

“Really? I thought you gave up dueling.”

“Ah, yes, well, I cannot seem to find a match. I have no desire to duel practiced mages and I seem to be boycotted by all other students—but I am attempting to refine what spells I know. Mons claims to have benefitted greatly from practicing with me.”

Ceria tried to smile, but all she did was lift the corners of her mouth.

“That’s great, Pisces.”

“Indeed. You are—you would be welcome to join us if you had the time. I realize you may be somewhat preoccupied with your classes, but…”

Part of her wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t. Slowly, Ceria shook her head.

“I don’t think we’re friends anymore, Pisces.”

He looked her in the eyes then. She saw hurt and pain in his, but Pisces didn’t say what was clearly on the tip of his tongue. He was about to, but bit back the words. Then his eyes focused on Ceria’s again.

“In that case, are we enemies?”

He stared at her, searching for something, eyes gaunt and bloodshot, his robes dirty. Ceria felt a pang in her heart and glared at him.

“Don’t be stupid.”

She whirled and walked angrily away. But Ceria knew Pisces was smiling, just a tiny bit, behind her. She murmured under her breath.

“We couldn’t be enemies.”

----

Four days later, Ceria found herself sitting at a table with Illphres and four other mages. She was nervous, terrified out of her mind, and nearly knocked over her drink twice when she reached for it.

Illphres glared at her.

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I don’t see how she could, with you glaring at her so, Illphres.”

A tall Dullahan seated next to Ceria said that. His name was Jurix, and he was a powerful mage specializing in combat magic and physical reinforcement magic. Sitting across from Ceria, a Drake named Bastam winked at her reassuringly. Ophelia, the Stitch-woman, smiled at Ceria, and the last mage, another Dullahan named Qum, nodded impassively at her.

That made Ceria feel a bit better, but she was still on pins and needles in the presence of so many important mages. She was sitting in the banquet hall, but at one of the tables usually claimed by older mages. It was made of some kind of expensive wood and the chairs were clearly expensive, if a bit worn, but Ceria would have preferred cushions.

And yet, it suited these mages well, because these five were all individuals who commanded quite a bit of influence and power of their own within Wistram. Each one was old; Ophelia, the youngest, was in her early thirties and Bastam, the oldest, was in his sixties, although he didn’t look it.

Any one of them—including Illphres—could cause an upset if they threw their influence into a political fight. Three of them were Isolationists—Bastam, Jurix, and Illphres, while Qum was undeclared and Ophelia was a Centrist. That was surprising in itself, given the Isolationist and the Centrist’s longstanding rivalry, but apparently they had an understanding.

This was Illphres’ group of allies, and Ceria felt out of place and very small sitting with them. But she was here for a reason.

“This is my new apprentice. Ceria. She’s annoying, but she’ll help get the equipment we need.”

That was Illphres’ way of introducing Ceria to the group. Jurix laughed as the others greeted Ceria. He put his head on the table to reach over and shake Ceria’s hand—she remembered to stare at his head while she shook, rather than at the empty space where his head should have been on a normal body.

“I’ve seen you about, and of course I saw you fighting those pirates a year ago, Ceria. If you managed to convince Illphres of all people to take you on as an apprentice, I have no doubt you’re a capable individual able to do pretty much anything.”

Ceria blushed bright red, but Ophelia looked at Illphres with concern.

“Just so long as you’re not planning on making her our sixth. That’s not your intention, surely?”

Illphres passed her hand over her mouth to smile wryly.

“Hardly. I didn’t want an apprentice and I still don’t. But she insisted.”

“Good. No offense Ceria, but I don’t want you getting killed for nothing.”

Ophelia nodded at Ceria and, confused, the half-Elf nodded back. She hesitated, but then cleared her throat.

“Um, what is this about? I know Illphres said she needed the rings enchanted against ice magic—I have them right here, they’re about Tier 4 enchantments which is the best I could get—but what is it for?”

The mages stared at the rings Ceria put on the table, courtesy of Calvaron and a very large amount of gold, and then at Illphres. After a moment Bastam burst out angrily.

“Ancestors, Illphres! You didn’t tell her what we’re going to do?”

Illphres shrugged, smiling wickedly. She seemed to enjoy the others’ consternation.

“Should I have? Teaching her is all I have to do. Why bother telling her something that she can’t change?”

The others groaned and covered their faces, but none of them looked surprised. They too were used to Illphres’ way of doing things. Ceria looked from face to face, wondering what was going on.

“Okay, I’ll tell her. Unless you object?”

The others shook their heads and Jurix turned to Ceria. She heard Ophelia casting a ward against eavesdropping as Jurix put his head on his shoulders and smiled at her. Then he turned and pointed. Ceria followed his finger and saw a Golem, one of the most primitive types, a crude man made of brown stone slowly wheeling out more food on a table.

He put each dish slowly and carefully on a table as students flowed past him, some taking food right off the plate as he paused so as not to bump any of them. He was just one of the many Golems in Wistram, practically the scenery that Ceria had gotten used to.

“See that Golem, Ceria? Well, he’s our enemy. Him and every Golem in Wistram. At the end of the year, Illphres, Bastam, Ophelia, Qum and I are going to challenge Cognita. We’re going to destroy her and open the doors to the rest of Wistram.”

He grinned at her. Ceria turned to Illphres and stared into her master’s eyes. The ice mage smiled deeply at Ceria. Ceria blinked, looked at the Golem serving food, and then flipped the table.

“What!?”

----

Golems. They were a rarity in most parts of the world—unless you lived in a desert or if it snowed. Then they were more common, but you’d still only see the weakest, most primitive of Golems. Sand Golems, Snow Golems and so on were functions of nature, of excess mana and intention.

But Golems, the kind that were manufactured and sculpted or built and brought to life with magic, those were different. They were expensive, hideously so, to make, and only a powerful mage could create one.

Well, Ceria supposed even she could make a primitive, small one with work. But to create it would take months of study, and it would be hardly useful. She couldn’t imagine the effort needed to create a more advanced Golem.

The half-Elf walked through the halls of Wistram, distracted, hurrying past students without a word. Now that she looked, there were Golems all over Wistram. Okay, not many, not compared to the students, but too many.

A Golem passed her with a basket of laundry in his hands. He was a crude stone one, capable of following basic orders. She stared at him and shuddered as he passed. Okay, he was a simple one, but her idea of ‘simple’ had been skewed by living here.

A simple Golem? He was capable of obeying most instructions quite well! He could fetch and carry and fight or lift extremely heavy objects if need be. Forget simple, he was worth thousands of gold coins by himself, possibly ten thousand coins alone! An undying, tireless servant capable of killing lesser warriors with a body made of rock? He was powerful, not simple.

And he was the least of the Golems walking through Wistram. Ceria shuddered as she saw a suit of armor, gleaming and polished, meekly carrying a stack of books while he passed her by. He was a Golem built for war. His steel body was far more agile than the stone Golems and he had a sword and shield. If he used it—

But of course, he wouldn’t. Right? The Golems of Wistram had been made to protect and serve by Archmage Zelkyr. And enforce his will. But they were a valuable asset to the academy. They did chores, defended the isle against attack—

And kept the highest parts of the castle under lock and key. Ceria knew that—she’d known it since her first year. But she’d given little thought to it since then.

Wistram’s highest corridors and rooms were out of bounds. So what? There was plenty to do below it.

Only—there wasn’t. Wistram was only a quarter, or less of what it was. The true magics and real spells that would turn good mages into great ones were all above, locked behind a door guarded by Golems. That was what the five mages had told Ceria as she’d sat in the banquet hall in disbelief.

“You see, Ceria, there is a limit to the heights mages can reach here. Level 50, let alone Level 60, is the utmost limit we can strive towards. People like Archmage Feor or Amerys—they’re the top. And yet, it didn’t use to be this way. Once, we had real [Archmages].”

“Once we were true mages.”

Jurix and Illphres’ voice rang through Ceria’s ears. It wasn’t hard to understand what they were saying.

Cognita, the Golems of Wistram, they protected the academy. But they also held all mages within hostage. No one could reach beyond a certain level, not without more spells to study. Oh, a mage could study by themselves, but that meant their growth stagnated. In this place they had countless centuries—millennia of experience to draw upon, but it was all out of reach.

Guarded. By Cognita and four other Golems. Sentries, designed to be a test for mages to challenge. All those who had tried before had died, but once again mages had gathered. Five of the most powerful mages of Wistram had come together to challenge the Golem’s authority. And they would win or die.

It was too much for Ceria to take in. This was why Illphres needed the rings protecting against ice. She was going to fight alongside the others, and they needed protection from her deadly attacks.

Ceria had seen Illphres fight. She could freeze the air, raise huge structures of ice or hurl massive pillars of it at her enemies. She was going to use that magic to fight Cognita.

It was unthinkable to Ceria. She couldn’t believe—well, she could believe Illphres would keep it a secret. But the rest?

It was too much for her. That was how Ceria found herself at Pisces’ door, pounding on it and demanding to be let in. It took a while and she heard him bumping around inside, but eventually he opened it, glaring.

“Who in the name of—Ceria?”

He let her in, looking bewildered. Ceria stepped into Pisces’ room and found chaos. Dirt, mess, fragments of parchment and bits of food—that was the least of it. Ceria saw a pile of bones in the corner and nearly backed out of the room in horror.

“Is that—dead gods, Pisces!”

“It’s just mouse bones! Please, Ceria! I’ll—let me just clean this up!”

Pisces waved his hands at her, desperately shifting things about with gusts of wind and levitating them into corners or into his dresser. Ceria looked away from the pile of bones, shuddering, and didn’t ask where Pisces had put them when he told her she could come back in.

“I’m—sorry. I just—I need to practice, you understand, and I—”

“You’re not plundering the catacombs?”

Ceria eyed Pisces. She knew that quite a few mages were buried underneath the academy, even if she’d never dared go exploring for the crypts where their remains—if there were any—were interred. Pisces shook his head.

“I fear that would be…well, let’s just say I doubt others would take kindly to the knowledge that I were robbing graves.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t. But rat bones?”

“Mice.”

“Is there a difference?”

Pisces shrugged. He fidgeted on his bed as he faced her—he seemed barely able to believe she was here, talking to him.

Ceria had no idea why she was talking to Pisces either. She was so shaken by what she’d just learned she had to speak to someone. And she had unconsciously come here. Now that she was actually facing Pisces, though, she didn’t know what to say.

“Well. It’s been a while since I last came here.”

“Yes. It has.”

Pisces cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You look well.”

“You look—awful, frankly.”

He blinked, and then smiled at that. Ceria grinned shakily at him. Pisces looked around his dingy room.

“Yes, well, my circumstances have changed quite a lot since—before. My fortunes have fallen, so to speak.”

“Tell me about it.”

He sniffed.

“I hardly think you can make the same comparison, given—”

“No, I mean, tell me about it.”

He paused. Ceria looked at him.

“Tell me, Pisces. Tell me everything. And tell me why. And maybe—”

She didn’t say the rest. But slowly, Pisces relaxed his hunched posture. He straightened his back, and looked at Ceria like he used to.

“Well, if you insist…”

----

“Will you challenge them all at once?”

“We have to. The Golems fight together. Cognita will be there—and four others.”

Ceria stood with Illphres by the ocean, aiming at targets as the sun came up. Across the rocks, Bastam, Jurix, Ophelia and Qum were all doing the same.

She was a part of their group now. Not the same—she was the only apprentice and student among them—but they had no other confidants, no other apprentices to tell. Ceria knew, and this secret was one she’d never reveal.

“It might not matter if you do. But others would try and stop us or get in the way, or make it political. We’re doing this to end politics and factions once and for all.”

Illphres aimed at a target, an ice pillar three hundred meters away, the ice tinted red, and shattered it with a single spear of ice. Ceria nodded as she took aim at her own target.

“But I mean, why five of you? Is it because there will be five Golems, including Cognita? Is there a rule of some kind?”

“Rule? No.”

Illphres snorted as she raised more targets out of the sea.

“There’s no rule—other than that if you try, the test doesn’t end until you’re dead or the Golems are destroyed. We could attack them in the hallways if we weren’t afraid of all the Golems joining in. And every mage in Wistram could take on the challenge if they wanted to.”

“They why don’t they? Why only you five? If you got five more mages, surely—”

“They won’t try. They’re afraid of dying. Cowards.”

Illphres said it shortly. She shot a flurry of [Glacial Spears] out, shattering a dozen targets at once.

“They are afraid, and content to live like they have. Not us, though. All of us—the Isolationists who aren’t afraid to risk our lives and Ophelia and Qum—we see that mages cannot live like this. We want to grow, not die old at this level. We want to be true mages.”

“True mages.”

The word floated in the air between them. Ceria stared across the ocean and tried to imagine what lay beyond the door. But she couldn’t imagine the door itself.

“I’ve never seen the Golems. You said there are four of them, not counting Cognita?”

Illphres turned.

“Would you like to see?”

----

The door was stone. Not just any stone, but obsidian, shining and dark as night. Ceria could see it was warded as well. Across the room, it shone with a thousand sigils and runes, twining together to form the most powerful ward she could imagine.

She only dared look at the door from afar at the other end of the massive room, hundreds of feet wide and nearly forty feet high. That was because the guardians stood at the other end.

Three Golems. Ceria only saw three, but each one made her heart quake in her chest. Illphres stood next to her, which was the only reason Ceria didn’t run.

One was a Golem made of magma. It burned as the molten rock flowed around it, onto the floor, and back up, covering its body. It was fire incarnate, a core of something so bright it shone through the melting stone glowing at its heart.

The second was a creature of metal, something that looked like no species Ceria could ever dream of. Two thin, curved legs made it stand twenty feet tall. Each leg was incredibly thin and seemed to taper off into an edge like a blade. A narrow, metal body was its torso, roughly the same size as a normal Human’s, twenty feet up. It had two arms curved like the legs, half as long, and as sharp as scythes.

It had no face, and the way it stood so still made Ceria uneasy.

The third Golem was a simple one to understand, but no less frightening for it. It was a giant armored Golem, like one of the suits of armor but scaled up on a massive level. This Golem was a colossus, and it held a sword in one hand that was twice as tall as Ceria was and a shield of equal size and weight. It crouched, staring across the room at Ceria.

Only three Golems. Ceria didn’t see the fourth. The Golem made of shadows stood next to her, noxious breath wafting over her as its jaws hovered close to her head.

The room stank, despite being clean. It smelled to Ceria of death, or perhaps it was her own fear she smelled. She saw Illphres was gazing at the Golems and shuddered.

When they left the room and the doors closed behind them, Ceria had to sit down in the empty corridor. Her legs had completely given out.

“Terrified?”

“Y—”

Ceria couldn’t even form the words to say ‘yes’. Illphres nodded.

“Each Golem in there is a masterpiece. A nightmare. Only a true mage could create one of them, let alone four.”

“Four? I saw—”

Ceria closed her mouth as she remembered. She hadn’t noticed it, not at all, but one of the Golems had been standing right next to her. A thing of shadows and flesh and—

She threw up. Illphres stood next to Ceria dispassionately, but she did magic away the vomit when Ceria was done.

“You noticed it? Good. It took Bastam three tries to figure it out. It looks like a Shadow Golem—I’m not even sure if you could make such a thing to begin with, but it’s really a Flesh Golem. It’s only enchanted to be covered in shadows and mess with the mind.”

“Dead gods. It was right next to me and I—I—”

“Remember them. They’re the enemy. But also remember, Cognita will be there as well. And of the five, she’s the most dangerous.”

“Cognita?”

Ceria couldn’t imagine Cognita stacking up to the Golems she’d seen in that room, for all she was terrifying in her own right. Illphres nodded.

“Don’t underestimate her. Truestone Constructs are the pinnacle of Golem creation for a reason. I have no idea what she can do, but I think she’ll be the most dangerous. But the others will be just as deadly. At least the armored knight Golem seems easy.”

“Easy? That thing was as big as a house!”

“It’s not one of the original guardian Golems. I know because records show the original one was destroyed. That’s a replacement, one of the Golems that normally defends Wistram. It may look dangerous, but it’s not nearly as bad as the others. I could take that one out by myself with no problem.”

Ceria stared at Illphres, but she knew the other woman was serious. That was the difference between her and her master.

“You’re really going to do this?”

“I’ve prepared for this day for over a decade. I gave my life to magic, and I will give my life to this battle if I must. But I believe we will win.”

Illphres smiled then. She looked at Ceria, and the mask of ice betrayed her true feelings. Her cold eyes burned with life.

“This is what we will challenge, Ceria. Don’t you see? This is what it means to be a true mage.”

Ceria saw, but she was still afraid. Illphres helped her up. The woman’s hand was surprisingly small on Ceria’s arm.

“I gave up everything for magic, Ceria. Everything. You saw my face. I’ve made mistakes, hurt myself, but always, always, I strived to reach higher. This is the ceiling I have come against. This is what I must overcome. And I will do it. And when I do, this academy will change. We will change it.”

The half-Elf looked up into the Human woman’s face. She knew, she remembered the fearsome enemies that stood in that room, waiting for their challengers. But she looked into Illphres’ eyes and believed.

“How can I help?”

----

“Cast the spell, Ceria!”

Jurix screamed at Ceria as spells flashed around her in the largest of the practice rooms. She raised the wand he’d given her and gritted her teeth.

“[Fireball]!”

It was a spell she could only cast with a wand, not being wholly proficient at it. It streaked across the room at Illphres. The woman turned, raising her hands.

Ceria didn’t hear the word, but the fireball exploded, and when she could see, Ceria saw a huge wall of ice. Not just a wall—

A fortress. Illphres stood atop it, throwing magic down at the other mages around her as they besieged her. She raised walls of ice, froze the ground—

It was a battle between the best of mages. And it was only a practice session. Ceria watched as the other four mages slowly wore Illphres down, but it was hard, even for them. At the end she raised her hands in surrender and panting, they walked back towards Ceria to review.

“Those walls you make really are hard to crack, Illphres. I believe we might be able to lock down all the other Golems with it, save for the magma one.”

“And Cognita. She can shatter my ice.”

Illphres was sweating. She nodded at Ceria as the half-Elf passed her a flask of water. Ceria had food and drinks for the other mages, and they thanked her as they kept talking.

“You’re sure?”

“Ceria saw her smash through my barrier. It may be I can freeze her if I don’t give her room to move her arms—I can cast thicker ice walls than the one she broke—but I won’t bet on it.”

“Even so, if we can count on your abilities…”

Afterwards, Ceria talked with Illphres. The woman smiled as Ceria gushed over what she’d seen.

“It was incredible! You held them off, four other mages! Are you higher level? What was that spell?”

“[Fortress of the Ice Queen]. It has other names—it’s a famous spell. I’ll use it right off in our battle to shield the others.”

“Do you—do you think it’ll stop them?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll improvise. It doesn’t matter. We don’t stick to one plan. We’re all experienced mages and we’ll find a way to beat them one by one.”

“I can’t believe how powerful you are. Why aren’t you an Archmage yourself?”

“Don’t want to be.”

Illphres shrugged as Ceria gaped.

“I might be able to, but that’s politics and I told you, I don’t care. Amerys—she’s famous for fighting on battlefields, but I think she’s only got eight levels or so on me. Maybe six.”

“Six?”

“Enough. If it came down to a duel between us she’d win.”

That wasn’t what Ceria wanted to hear. Illphres just smacked her on the back of the head.

“Don’t look like that. It’s about our combat styles.”

“What do you mean? You two are friends, right? Why won’t she help you fight? I’m sure she’d love a chance to battle such powerful enemies.”

Illphres snorted and nearly laughed outright.

“Us? Friends? What gave you that idea? I can’t stand her.”

“But you train all the time! Every morning I see you two—”

“We’re competing. And yes, we sometimes train together. That’s because we’re a good match. She’s lightning and air and I’m ice and water. She prefers rapid all-out assaults and I use traps and fight drawn out battles. She doesn’t think and I plan every move.”

“Oh.”

“And she won’t join us. I asked.”

“Why not?”

“She’s waiting for her King.”

That was all Illphres said. She and Ceria sat in silence, staring at the melting ice. After a moment, Illphres spoke again.

“If I had a minute to prepare, or if it was a double battle—”

“Yes?”

“I’d win. I’m one of the best mages at fighting defensively. You saw my barriers. That will be my role in the battle. So long as I live, I will protect my teammates.”

So long as I live. Ceria shuddered at the words. They were a frank statement about what might happen. But she didn’t want to think of it.

----

To distract herself, Ceria went to Pisces more than once over the months that followed. Sometimes she came away happy, relieved that he hadn’t changed. Other times she stormed out of his room after a fight, or left wondering how the earnest young man she’d known had disappeared and been replaced by this thing. But it all came together a month before Illphres and the others planned to challenge the Golems, as Ceria let her anger explode at Pisces.

He was busy showing her the newest spells he’d learned. Ceria tried to focus; she knew Pisces had a terrible time obtaining new spellbooks or learning from anyone. But as her attention wavered from the brilliant [Flame Rapier] spell he had mastered, she stared at something covered with cloth in the corner of the room.

Pisces, engrossed in fencing with the flaming blade, whirled as he heard Ceria shout in surprise. She was backing away from the thing in the corner, the cloth in her hands.

“Ceria!”

She pointed, finger shaking.

“Is that—”

It was a deformed thing, barely recognizable. It was humanoid—barely. It had been made of wet clay that had dried and sculpted to look like a Human, but the sculptor, Pisces, was untrained and so the body was lumpy and the arms deformed. It had two stumps for legs.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my latest work. I was going to show you, but—”

“Pisces! What is it?”

He looked surprised at Ceria’s reaction.

“A Golem. One of my own creations. Don’t be alarmed; it’s barely functional. Worthless, really. Can’t you tell? I admit, the workmanship might be a tad shoddy, but—”

“Get rid of it!”

Ceria backed away from the clay thing. Pisces frowned at her.

“What? Don’t be alarmed, Ceria, it’s not animated!”

She rounded on him furiously.

“What are you doing, making a Golem? Aren’t there enough around here?”

He took a step back and stammered as Ceria shouted at him.

“Well, I was taught.”

“By who?”

“Cognita.”

The word doused the flames of Ceria’s anger in a second. She felt a chill in her stomach and stepped back from Pisces.

“Explain.”

“Well I—I’ve been talking with her, Ceria. You see, Cognita’s one of the only people—beings—in this academy who will give me the time of day. She’s quite brilliant, you know. She’s seen more magic than anyone in Wistram, and she taught me so many things about Golems and mage craft. She taught me how to make this Golem. Did you know that she thinks I have real aptitude? She even—”

“Don’t talk to her! Don’t go near her!”

“What? Why?”

“She’s the enemy!”

Ceria shouted at Pisces. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain. She stomped over to his Golem and punched it. The brittle clay broke under her fist and Pisces shouted.

“What are you doing? Do you know how hard I worked to—”

“Why are you doing this?”

Ceria turned to Pisces. She thrust a finger in his chest, making him stumble back. His face was red with anger, but she was even more furious.

“First necromancy, now—this? Why can’t you practice normal magic? Why can’t you just be a normal mage? Everyone would accept you then! Why don’t you get a normal master and stop—”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

Pisces shoved Ceria’s hand away. She blinked. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Pisces nearly shouted, his voice cracking with passion.

“I’ve gone to every mage—every one I know or thought would consider having me as an apprentice. I’ve asked—none of them were willing to teach me even when I told them I’d swear off necromancy as long as I studied under them! No one will teach me, and I’m not going to afford the fees for next year! Don’t you understand!?”

After his outburst there was silence. Ceria stared at Pisces and slowly sank back into his chair. He couldn’t look at her.

“Necromancy? That’s just raising the dead. Some might object, but it’s no curse. But the fools who claim to be mages here treat it as such. Thus, I suppose the curse is indeed real—though by the prejudices and limited understanding of others.”

“You’re going to leave?”

He looked at her, on the brink of tears.

“I have to. I have no coin, no one to speak for me. The only hope I have is a master, but who would take me as their apprentice?”

Ceria’s mind raced. The words came out before she could think about it.

“Illphres. My master. She might.”

Pisces stared at her, but then shook his head, closing his eyes.

“She will say no. I know Illphres—she would never agree.”

“I could ask—”

“She’ll say no.”

Pisces turned away. He walked back over to the broken Golem and stared at it.

“Leave me, Springwalker. I am—busy. I have work to do, especially if this year is to be my last.”

She stared at him, and then slowly walked out of the room. Only after she felt a bit of liquid dripping from her hand did she realize the clay Golem’s shards had cut her skin.

----

“Take Pisces on as an apprentice? No. Don’t be stupid.”

Illphres looked at Ceria as though she were mad when Ceria brought it up to her the next day. The two were sitting on the edge of the walkway above the ocean.

Just sitting. Ceria had gotten over her fear of heights, mainly because Illphres had made her come up here to practice. A mage could have no weaknesses, after all. She stared down at the sea below, fighting her belly.

“Why not? He’s smart, gifted—he needs a master or he won’t be able to stay!”

“Too bad, I guess. But I’m not teaching him.”

“Why?”

Illphres took her time in replying. She’d grown—not warmer, but maybe a bit softer towards Ceria over the year. In the last month, she was downright friendly at times. Both could feel it. The time of the challenge was approaching fast.

“He’s not my type.”

Ceria nearly tumbled off the bridge in shock. Illphres clarified after giving Ceria a smack on the arm.

“I mean that he will never be an ice mage. You might, or at least, you’ll learn Skills and change your class from what I’ve taught you. But that boy is a [Necromancer] through and through. I don’t feel like teaching someone who won’t follow in my footsteps.”

“But if you’d speak for him—”

“I don’t need to. And none of the others will take him on as an apprentice either, Ceria.”

“Why? Pisces is—”

“Don’t you understand? After the end of this month, none of it will matter.”

Ceria’s eyes widened. Illphres nodded.

“That’s right. After the challenge, i—when we win, all of the bickering , factions and the politics…”

She paused.

“Well, it’ll probably go on as normal. But we’ll be on top.”

“How? If you defeat the Golems—”

“We’ll prove that our way works. Mages will rally to us, and those that don’t will have to fight to venture higher. But we’ll be guarding the entrance. It might be a war, or it might be quiet, but the Council won’t sit and pass decisions any longer. It will be every mage for themselves, as it used to be. As it should be.”

Ceria tried to imagine it. She thought of Calvaron and Beatrice fighting for more power and shook her head.

“I think things might still be the same.”

“Really? You might be right. We’ll see. But one thing I can promise you: when we open the higher levels of Wistram up, I’ll use my influence. You, Pisces, and all the other mages who have a spine and a brain will stay.”

“As the Isolationists?”

“As mages. True mages.”

That was all Illphres said. Ceria stared at her, and realized that Illphres was the first Human she’d ever known that she truly looked up to. She’d admired Pisces for his brilliance, but Illphres was different. She was actually a bit younger than Ceria, but she felt so much older. She shone, and she stood higher than the half-Elf, reaching for the stars.

Ceria couldn’t say any of this out loud, of course. If she did Illphres would probably toss her into the ocean. Instead, she just turned and stared at the dark night sky.

“When the day comes, I’ll be waiting for you outside the doors. So make sure you finish the battle quickly, okay? I don’t feel like waiting long.”

“Insolent girl.”

Illphres’ voice was amused. Ceria didn’t look at her, but she knew the woman was smiling.

“I’ll take as long as I please. And when it’s over I’ll make you practice twice as hard learning all the spells you need to be halfway competent.”

“Promise?”

The woman was silent for a long time. After a while, she sighed.

“Of course.”

They stared out across the ocean. Ceria felt a humming in her bones, a tightness in her chest that didn’t go away when she slept. She felt as though she could run a thousand miles from sheer nervous energy, and that she didn’t want to move a muscle at the same time.

There was one month left. One month.

Until it would all be over.

Wistram Days (Pt.7)

Her name was Cognita. That was what she told the people she met.

Her name was Cognita. She had once been shaped and given life by Archmage Zelkyr, the greatest expert in Golem creation of his era. Perhaps ever. Because Cognita was a Truestone Golem.

The word itself was a symbol of her authority. Truestone Golems or Truestone Constructs as they were once known were thought to be the pinnacle of artificial creation. For if Cognita was not the strongest Golem that could be made, she alone had what other Golems lacked. Personality. Thought. Feeling.

Perhaps even a soul.

But who could tell? Few people found Golems reassuring, despite their usefulness. And Cognita was feared for reasons beyond just her nature.

She killed mages. She had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands. And yet she was subservient, helpful, polite. So those who met her were both terrified and confused by her, because a monster should look and act like a monster.

But what Cognita actually thought was a mystery. At all times her carved eyes judged and saw, but never gave away anything. She had seen countless mages, seen their triumph and their end. She looked at two more now.

One was a half-Elf, the other a Human. Both were young by the standards of their species. Once, they had been friends. The Golem saw traces of it still, even as they argued.

“They won’t ever let you stay. Not after what you said.”

“They haven’t accepted me thus far, Springwalker. Why should those fools change their minds now?”

“Don’t call me Springwalker! And you know damn well there’s a difference between keeping your head down and poking the beehive!”

Pisces and Ceria were shouting in front of Cognita, a rarity in itself. Few people raised their voices anywhere around the Golem, but Pisces knew Cognita. He alone had sought her out, asked her questions, befriended her.

Ceria just didn’t care. She was close to kicking the mage—again. He hopped away from her, glaring.

“Those philistines that make up the so-called Council—they are blind to what I proposed, but you at least should be able to consider the implications of what I’ve said!”

“Implications? You want to create an undead that can level, Pisces! You’re an idiot! If you succeeded you’d destroy the world, but that won’t happen because it’s impossible!”

He raised a shaking finger. He was angry. He was always angry, and hurt, of late. So was the half-Elf. Together, Cognita saw fury and fear on both sides clashing together.

“It is possible. In theory! Didn’t you listen to my proposal? If I were to create an undead by weaving the spells into it on a much more in-depth level than normal—something closer to how a Golem is created than a body is animated—it might work!”

“It’s stupid.”

“What’s wrong with that idea? I have all the pieces of the puzzle in my possession—almost. Cognita taught me the formula used for embodying Golems with sentience, don’t you see? That alone—”

“Only you would be stupid enough to ask! Cognita is—”

Pause. The half-Elf’s face shifted towards Cognita and the Golem saw her red cheeks pale slightly. She looked away rather than meet the Golem’s gaze.

“Sorry, Cognita. But Pisces—you’re a fool. It would never work. Why hasn’t a [Necromancer] done it before? Two reasons. One—it’s stupid and the second is that if the undead could level, they’d destroy entire nations!”

“I would only make one. And it is possible, but only with the correct base materials.”

Pisces’ voice was calm. He stared at his former friend, speaking with the conviction that was halfway into insanity. He glanced at Cognita too, but his gaze was burning. He looked at the Golem not as a threat or something to be feared, but as a challenge. A vision of what could be done.

“Golems require high-grade materials to be built. Mana stones, rock without impurity—Cognita, if I may refer to your construction, you are a product of both spellcraft and the superior base products from which you were given life. So why not apply that theory in the case of the undead? Most bodies are just that, bodies. But if there were a way to obtain superior parts—”

“Parts?”

Cognita turned back to look at the half-Elf. She was furious. And the Golem knew the conversation was over. Ceria pointed a shaking finger at Pisces.

“You’re—disgusting. And insane. And I don’t have time to argue with you. If you want to go spouting off crazy theories, go ahead. I’m going to practice real magic.”

She stormed off. Pisces called to her once as she left, but Ceria did not turn her head. He turned back to Cognita in frustration.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Cognita. Please, accept my apologies. I thought I could convince Ceria with your help, but she is unwilling to listen to reason.”

Cognita made no immediate reply. She could have told Pisces a thousand things, spoken from decades of observation. Some would help, others might shatter the young man. After a moment, Cognita made a decision and spoke while looking Pisces in the eye.

“She cannot accept what you do. And you cannot accept that she does not consider you a friend. Perhaps the question is then whether you value friendship or magic more.”

He was speechless. He opened his mouth to respond, but Cognita strode down the hallway after Ceria.

----

“Ceria Springwalker.”

If it had been Pisces or anyone else, Ceria would have ignored them or shoved them aside. But Cognita’s deep, inflectionless voice made her tense in sudden fear. She turned, trying to conceal the fear in her heart.

“Yes, Cognita?”

“I believe Pisces would like me to express his apologies in his stead. However, I will not do so. I would merely like to speak with you for a few more moments if you have time.”

Ceria paused. She was still furious at Pisces, livid. His presentation to the Council had set Wistram in an uproar, and he was now more of a pariah than he had been before.

That wasn’t the only reason she was so angry, though. The day Illphres would challenge Archmage Zelkyr’s Golems was only two weeks away. And so Ceria was angry, frightened, and nervous. But she tried to hide all that from Cognita.

The Golem was the enemy.

“Talk to me? I—sure, Cognita. Why do you want to talk?”

“Hearing your reactions and thoughts intrigues me. I was created to think and learn, and this topic—and your discussion—is interesting to me in a way few things are.”

That was extraordinary. And unhelpful. Ceria stared at Cognita as if searching for a weak point. But the stone woman was flawless.

“I guess I can talk.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

The Golem fell silent. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Ceria realized Cognita was waiting for her to speak. Ceria didn’t know what to say. She’d said what she thought. Pisces was insane. His idea was insane. But Cognita—

She glanced up at the Golem. Cognita’s face seldom changed, but Ceria could remember her smiling just once.

“Cognita? Did you really teach Pisces one of Archmage Zelkyr’s spells?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Truestone Construct—the thing that had a name and a mind—paused.

“He asked. And it was an incomplete spell. I believe Pisces has a chance of completing it. In his own way.”

Another revelation. This one hurt Ceria’s heart. It was one thing to know Pisces was smart, acknowledge that he could do things Ceria could not. He was a genius, but this? Pisces had a chance to do what Archmage Zelkyr could not. Cognita had said so. It made Ceria doubt the angry words she had spoken to him.

“Do you support him doing necromancy? Do you even care?”

“I see in his magic something akin to what mages do when they shape Golems, but different. I care not if they are dead bodies or clay and stone that is shaped. I believe his ideas are intriguing. I wonder if he will be able to do as he claims. Even for Zelkyr, the only creation he was able to imbue with true intelligence was a Truestone Golem, my kind. What base material would be equivalent among the dead?”

Ceria had no idea. But she shivered again to think of a walking thing, some shambling zombie with rotting flesh that could grow stronger. What if it could talk? What if it could think, like Cognita? A talking, leveling undead was too close to an actual person, yet indescribably far away from life at the same time.

“I don’t know if Pisces can do it. But I feel like it’s wrong. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She didn’t want to look at Cognita anymore. The Golem nodded.

“I will leave you to your business after mentioning one last issue. The day when your master and four other mages plan to challenge me is fifteen days away. I trust they are all prepared and aware of the consequences of failure?”

The breath caught in Ceria’s chest. She stared back at Cognita, eyes wide. How did the Golem know?

“That—that’s right. They know. My master knows.”

Cognita nodded once again.

“Please inform her that if she or any of the other mages desire to wait or change the appointed time, I would be happy to do so. Good night, Ceria Springwalker.”

She turned and began to walk away. Ceria took one look at Cognita’s back and fled.

----

“You told Cognita when you’d be challenging her?”

Illphres looked up with a frown as Ceria slammed the door behind her and stormed into the room.

“Told who?”

“Cognita!”

Ceria clutched at her hair. She’d run all the way to Illphres’ room. The mage shrugged.

“Oh, yes. We told her.”

“Why?”

“It’s convenient. It means she knows and won’t be busy, and it means we can’t back out.”

“But if she knows, she could set traps. Prepare—”

“She won’t. She never has and never will. But this way we won’t alert the entire academy when Cognita goes striding up to the top floor.”

Illphres was too calm. She was always calm. She held a book with a light blue bound cover in her hands, glancing at the page and at Ceria as she spoke. It was her personal spellbook.

“Calm down. Stop pacing. It’s annoying.”

Ceria stopped. She whirled and looked at her master.

“Tell me you can do it.”

Illphres sighed and closed the book. She stared at the ceiling, and then looked at Ceria.

“We have a chance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it was nearly done once.”

“Really?”

Ceria’s ears perked up. Illphres nodded.

“A group of mages nearly succeeded. So we can too.”

“But how do you know? Is there a history or—”

“A few records of challenges, but no. We can tell just from the Golems in the room. Sit. Think about how we can tell.”

Ceria sat unwillingly. She fidgeted, and then came up with the only explanation she could think of.

“The missing Golem. The one replaced by the armored knight one.”

“Exactly. That’s proof.”

“But that’s only one of the five Golems—”

“No, it’s a sign. Think.”

Illphres sighed as her tone grew waspish. She hated explaining things when she thought Ceria should understand.

“Any idiot could figure it out. Archmage Zelkyr made this challenge for any mages trying to reach the higher floors, didn’t he? He designed it to be challenged over and over again, which meant that he would expect his four guardian Golems—plus Cognita—to never be destroyed. They would fight in tandem and overwhelm their opponents without sustaining enough damage to be destroyed.”

“So the missing Golem—”

“It’s a sign that someone broke their formation. And nearly won, too. Because if they could isolate one of the Golems long enough to destroy it, it meant they could hold off the rest. None of those Golems would be easy to disassemble with any one spell.”

“And that means you can all do the same. Easier, especially if one of the Golems is weaker…”

Ceria sat up, eyes shining. Illphres nodded calmly.

“We can do it. There is a possibility.”

“That makes me feel better. I was talking with Cognita—”

Slowly, Ceria explained her argument to Illphres. The mage rolled her eyes when Ceria was done.

“I heard about that. Levelling undead? I don’t see why everyone’s so upset. ”

“But—”

“It’s no different from anyone else leveling up. A half-Elf can live for centuries if they want, how’s that different from an undead? It sounds like it would be hard to make more than one or two. If they get out of hand you can destroy them. The real reason you’re upset is because you hate necromancy.”

Ceria bit her lip and made no reply. Illphres sighed.

“Necromancy is magic. I don’t fear your friend. He reanimates the dead. I freeze people. And I hardly look better than the undead. You have seen beneath my mask. You know that.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No?”

Illphres raised an eyebrow.

“Magic is magic, and that boy Pisces was your friend, once. Does knowing he practices necromancy change all that?”

“Yes!”

“I suppose you weren’t good friends, then. Enough.”

Illphres waved away Ceria’s objections and levitated the book in her hands over to the half-Elf.

“Study the [Glacial Spear] spell. I want you to make at least some progress before the challenge day.”

“I’d learn more if you let me keep the book! Or made me a copy!”

Ceria complained as she bent over the pages of tightly-written text. Illphres laughed sardonically.

“Copy the book? I don’t know how to write magical spells down. That’s a specialist class, [Magical Scribe] or some such. And it would take a Level 40 one to write that spell down.”

“Really?”

Ceria looked up with a frown. Illphres nodded. She began lecturing as Ceria listened with one ear and read with both her eyes.

“Spellbooks are rare because they can’t be copied without extensive study by a powerful mage, or a class with similar Skills. And scribing a spell is only possible for someone of an equal or higher level than the spell itself. So a Tier 4 spells might be rare but findable in a given collection of spellbooks, but Tier 6 would be extremely difficult to locate. And Tier 8—”

“How would anyone learn the spells, then?”

“By piecing together clues left by other mages, following instructions in languages other than magic to come up with it. Or by leveling and obtaining it or coming up with such a spell themselves.”

“So this spellbook—”

“Is mine.”

“Can you let me borrow—”

“No.”

----

Two weeks was too long and too short for Ceria. She went through each day emotionally and mentally exhausted, and tossed and turned each night with nervous, physical energy.

That also led to her actively avoiding her friends, and them avoiding her. Ceria was waspish, irritable, and prone to snap at anything and everything. She confined herself to her room when she wasn’t with Illphres or the other mages.

Three days before the challenge, Ceria was in her room, almost out of her mind with the agony of waiting. She heard a knock at the door and snapped.

“Come in already!”

Pisces entered. Ceria snapped again.

“Get out!”

“Please, just listen!”

His eyes were sparkling and Pisces was rubbing his hands together. He looked like he had in the past, full of life and enthusiasm. Ceria couldn’t bear to see it, not now, not when she was so anxious.

“Pisces, I’m not in the mood—”

“Hear me out, hear me out I implore you! I was just talking with Cognita—”

It was the last name Ceria wanted to hear right now, but Pisces couldn’t know that. She tried to stare a hole in his face as he talked excitedly onwards.

“She and I were discussing intelligence, cognizance and how only she among all the Golems has it. I opined that it was a mystery why Zelkyr would have failed with other Golems when she revealed this to me! Archmage Zelkyr only imbued Cognita with the capacity for thought. But over the years the other Golems have achieved a low level of intelligence, at least communally.”

Ceria just stared at Pisces, arms crossed, trying to decode his words. He stared at her, practically shining with energy.

“Don’t you see what this means? The Golems in Wistram can think! They can learn to think, that is! And if there’s a possibility of them learning, why not in a creation designed for that capacity? Why, we know that feral Ghouls can think in a primitive hunter-predator sense, and other undead like Crypt Lords, Liches, and Revenants can all—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Ceria cut Pisces off flatly. He looked astonished. She stared at him.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Cognita—I want you to get out!”

Pisces stopped. He stepped back, looking hurt and offended. He half-turned towards her open door as if he was going to storm out, and changed his mind. Instead, he turned towards her, and spoke pleadingly. She didn’t want to hear, but his words washed over her.

“Ceria, I don’t understand why you’re not giving me a chance to speak. I’m trying to prove a point. I know you have objections to my—to what I do, but please, listen! My goal isn’t to destroy the world or create armies like Az’kerash. When I practice necromancy, the reason I started was—”

It was too much. Ceria interrupted Pisces with the only thing she could use. The truth.

“They’re going to challenge her.”

He stopped, frowning.

“Who?”

Ceria knew she shouldn’t tell him. But now the dam had burst and she let it out. It was a relief and terrifying to say it out loud.

“Illphres. Jurix. Bastam. Ophelia. Qum. They’re all part of a group—they’ve been training all year and they’re going to challenge Zelkyr’s Golems to go to the higher levels.”

The half-Elf stared down at her hands, at her bitten fingernails. She saw Pisces sit down hard on the side of her bed out of the corner of her eyes.

“When?”

“It’s going to be three days from now. Right before lunch.”

Her breath caught in her chest at the words. It was out. The secret was spoken, and now Ceria felt it pressing down on her harder than before. Pisces spoke quietly.

“Illphres and four others? They’re serious?”

Ceria nodded. Pisces went still. She could feel him close to her. A familiar presence. Comforting.

“I would advise you to stop them. If I thought they would listen. Cognita is—an unknown quantity. I believe she is more than a match for any of the Archmages of today by herself.”

“Yeah. She probably is.”

Ceria hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth a bit. She nodded and then shook her head.

“But they’re going to do it. Illphres is going to fight. I can’t stop her. I wouldn’t dare try. She has to do this, don’t you see, Pisces? If we can’t go above, we can’t be true mages. Wistram is stagnant. We don’t have real Archmages, just fakes! Don’t you see—”

“I know.”

Pisces cut her off shortly. Ceria looked and saw he was staring at his feet as he sat on her bed.

“I know. Wistram is decaying. Magic is not as powerful as it was before Zelkyr. Powerful, yes, and one could argue there are more mages being produced by the academy as a result of the Golem’s presence, but—I know. And I believe Cognita knows this too.”

“She does?”

“We have spoken about it. On occasion.”

Ceria grabbed for Pisces. He jerked, but she yanked at his dirty robes. Part of his shoulder and chest became exposed as he fought to loosen her death grip.

“Ceria—”

“Don’t warn her. I mean, she knows, but don’t tell her anything. She’s—”

“I won’t. It wouldn’t matter if I did. Cognita wouldn’t cheat. She’s waiting for a mage to—Ceria, please. I won’t tell anyone.”

Slowly, Ceria let go. Pisces adjusted his robes and the two fell into silence. After a few minutes, Pisces spoke again.

“Thank you for telling me. I won’t reveal a thing. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“And I hope—I most sincerely hope Illphres and the others defeat Cognita. I would like you to know that, Ceria.”

“I do.”

They stared at each other. It had been a long time since Ceria really met Pisces’ eyes. He looked older, she realized. In a few short years he’d grown older, from a late teenager into a young man. Older, more tired, more bitter.

But still him.

Pisces looked away first. He stood up, brushing himself off and then realizing he was in Ceria’s room and stopping.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll leave you to—we can talk later, Ceria.”

He began to leave but stopped. Ceria was holding on to the back of his robe.

“Don’t go.”

He looked back at her, eyes wide. Ceria stared at him. Slowly, Pisces sat back down.

“The door’s open.”

“Yes.”

Ceria said it without really caring. She and Pisces sat together with the open doorway leading out into the corridor. Part of her told her she was an idiot for blurting out all those secrets, but Ceria knew few people ventured down this hallway, especially at night.

She didn’t stand up to close the door. And neither did Pisces. Eventually, the door did get closed, by magic. But no one left the room until the next morning.

----

The day of the challenge Ceria couldn’t eat. Everything leading up to this day seemed like a brief dream, something someone else had experienced. But what was worse was the day itself.

It was too normal. It was too quiet. It was too—

Peaceful.

It wasn’t a holiday. Classes went on like normal, and mages gathered in the corridors, gossiping. They ate in the banquet halls, and walked about as if they had not a care in the world.

Ceria skipped all her classes. She’d skipped the last eight days in truth, spending all her time with Illphres and the other mages. Now she ate breakfast with them, or rather, watched them eat with her stomach trying to shove itself back out her mouth.

“Eat something, Ceria. We can’t have you fainting when we walk out of there.”

Jurix pressed an apple into Ceria’s hand. She looked at it and turned green. He snatched it away.

“Okay, don’t eat. I’ll do it for you.”

“Watch it, Jurix. Don’t eat too much. We’ll probably be moving around a lot.”

Bastam warned the Dullahan as he ate sparingly from a bowl filled with oats and honey. His tail was wagging back and forth faster than normal, but he appeared calm. So did the others. They were far too calm compared to Ceria, who looked as pale as a Selphid by now.

“I think I’ll pull out my stomach before we go in. I’ll be lighter that way.”

Ophelia murmured as she spooned some gravy sparingly over her breakfast of eggs and bacon. Did her hands shake a bit? She smiled at Ceria and the butterflies danced in the girl’s stomach.

“Bah. You lot don’t know anything. Dullahans know to eat a big meal the day of a battle and a small one later. Isn’t that right, Qum?”

Jurix stared across the table at the other Dullahan. He preferred to eat with his head on his shoulders, an oddity for a Dullahan. Qum nodded and spoke softly.

“Proper intake is key.”

Illphres glared at the two. She was eating sparingly as well.

“Just so long as you pass it before noon. If you think I’m fighting a battle alongside two constipated Dullahans—”

Everyone laughed. It was a rare joke—actually, not a joke since Illphres said it. But it was what they needed. Ceria tried to smile and failed. She fidgeted in her chair, and checked the position of the sun through a window. When it was right overhead, the challenge would begin. But it felt like it was frozen in the air! She looked back at Jurix as the Dullahan made a joke.

And then—it seemed to Ceria as if she remembered walking around with the others in a blur, listening to them talk. But suddenly, disconcertingly, she was standing in front of the two doors that led into the challenge room, as if the day had gone in an instant.

It was time.

The hallway was simple. Long and straight, it let people come up either stairway at both ends of the corridor. In the middle of the hallway, two double doors sat in the stone wall, the only entrance to the upper floors.

The five mages and Ceria gathered there, but not in silence. Each one was nervous now, and Ceria could sense it. But none of them gave voice to that worry. They joked instead, or stood calmly, or shook hands or claws. They formed up in front of the door, but not before stopping to speak to Ceria of all people.

She was their lone witness. The mages had told no one else that today was the day, and none of them had apprentices. Ophelia was the first to hold Ceria’s hand, smiling warmly. The stitches around her mouth pulled as she kissed Ceria on the cheek, to the half-Elf’s shock.

“Once this is over I might have to teach you a bit as well. It’ll all be different, Ceria. I promise. Mages will change. This place will change.”

“I’ll be waiting for you to shake my hand. So don’t go anywhere—this won’t take long.”

Jurix grasped Ceria’s hand tightly as he looked her in the eye. She nodded, throat too constricted to speak.

Bastam was next.

“You know, I saw your exam. I thought that you had courage then, courage and daring. I thought to myself, that’s what we’ve forgotten, all the older mages. I’ll show you we have it today.”

He passed her by and Qum was there. The Dullahan bowed his torso to Ceria and then held up his head. He regarded her solemnly.

“Luck to us all.’”

Illphres was last. She and Ceria stood apart from the others as the mages began casting spells. Ward spells, spells to increase their physical condition or protect against attacks. Illphres cast no spells. Hers was already active.

The walls of the corridor were already frosting over with ice. Ceria began to shiver and shake uncontrollably as the temperature around Illphres lowered and lowered again. The other mages weren’t affected—they all had artifacts to protect them against her cold, but Ceria didn’t have any.

Illphres looked at Ceria without an expression on her face, but then she let the ice reshape her lips into a smile.

“Seems like I need to increase your training if you’re cold from only this much. Remind me once I’m out.”

Ceria tried to smile, but her lips couldn’t move. Illphres stared at the double doors, and Ceria felt the chill around her grow deeper. It was so cold. But the mage’s voice was light when she spoke next.

“If I was an adventurer, if I had gone out into the world and fought monsters and gone into dungeons for a few years, maybe I wouldn’t be so scared now.”

“What?”

The woman turned back to Ceria, smiling.

“I grew up in Wistram. I spent my life here. But perhaps if I’d gone out into the world and gained more experience—well, I’d probably be scared all the same. There are wonders and horrors in this world, Ceria, remnants from the ages when gods still lived, memories of empires long gone. This is one of them. And today we will challenge the power of one of the true [Archmages] of Wistram.”

“I know you’ll succeed. I know it.”

Illphres just smiled. She put a hand on Ceria’s shoulder and the half-Elf shivered. Illphres looked deep into Ceria’s eyes as she whispered to the young half-Elf.

“Remember this, Ceria. For good or bad it matters not. In tragedy or triumph it is the same. Today you will stare into the heart of it.”

She smiled at Ceria. Her hand was cool on the half-Elf’s shoulder. Cold to the touch, but not freezing. The ice thickened on the walls around Illphres. She looked into the half-Elf’s eyes.

“This is magic.”

Then she turned away. Jurix stepped up to the doors and glanced to his left and right. Illphres stood next to him on his left with Qum further down, Bastam and Ophelia on the right.

“Ready?”

They nodded. Jurix took a breath, and then put his hands on the double doors. He pushed, and they flew open.

As one, the five mages stepped into the room that lay beyond. Ceria took a step towards their backs, but dared go no further.

The Golems of Zelkyr waited in the room beyond. She caught a glimpse of five figures, standing on the other edge of the room. A golem made of burning rock. A metal reaper standing tall and silent. A behemoth knight made of metal. A dark thing already bounding across the room, quiet, panting.

And Cognita, standing tall and proud against the obsidian doors, arms outstretched.

Welcoming the challengers.

Then the doors slammed shut and Ceria saw nothing else. Heard nothing else.

The challenge had begun and she could only wait. If there were any gods, Ceria would have prayed. But she could only hope.

----

It felt like time stopped after the doors closed. Ceria stared at them, and then wondered what she should do. Sit down? No—she wanted to be standing when everyone came out.

But how long would it take? Suddenly, Ceria was consumed by that question. She shivered in the freezing air as she stared at the double doors. Not a sound passed from the room beyond. She couldn’t tell what was happening. She could only imagine.

What would happen first? Would Cognita speak before the battle began, give the mages one last chance to turn back? Would Illphres or the others speak? She wasn’t one for speeches, but Jurix might say something, or Bastam.

How long would that take if they did that? Or—what if the fight began the instant the mages stepped into the room? Would it be over in seconds?

Surely not. Either way—Illphres would slow them down with ice. She’d create barriers. It would be impossible to kill her and the others in an instant. They were already warded and prepared for battle.

So how long would it take to destroy the Golems? Ceria guessed as she shivered in front of the door. The ice generated by Illphres’ field of cold was still coating the walls, overwhelming Ceria’s own ability to nullify the chill.

When would it be over? No—when would the mages come out? Because, surely, they might rest after the battle. Ceria tried to calculate the time it would take.

Magical battles were rarely long, but this one was different. So…five minutes? That was far too short. Ten? Twenty?

Ceria waited. She knew the minutes were passing as she tried to put a number to her fear. After five minutes she felt relieved. Or told herself she was relieved.

Five was too short. If it was over in five, it would mean they were—

No, no. Not five. Obviously not. Ten, then? It still felt too quick. Or was it too long? Ten minutes, with every mage in there throwing their best spells at the Golems?

After ten minutes, the fear in Ceria’s belly turned into spikes that tried to push themselves out from within. A little thought in her head began to whisper to Ceria. It was too long. They were taking too long. Wouldn’t she have noticed something, seen some change if the Golems were falling? If it was silent like this for so long, it would mean…

No, no! Illphres was an expert at drawn out battles. This was just playing into her hands. Ceria kept telling herself that. She’d be locking down the Golems with ice, creating fortifications they had to battle past. A long wait was good—they might have to wear down the metal knight Golem, or Cognita. It didn’t mean—

Drip.

It was a faint sound, but the only one in the corridor. Ceria whirled. She saw a single tear of water fall from the ceiling. It splashed with the faintest of noises in the corridor. She looked up.

The ice on the walls was melting. Illphres’ ice was beginning to melt, slowly gathering condensation into droplets that fell down around Ceria. A few fell around her, and then one landed on her neck.

She jumped as if she’d been struck. Ceria turned her attention back to the door, trying to ignore the melting ice. But it kept melting, more and more of it, as the chill lessened and the walls became slick.

The melted ice puddled on the stone floor, wet, cold. Ceria stared at the door as the last of the ice turned to water. Minutes passed, too many. She felt the water touch her shoes.

And she knew.

But she told herself she didn’t. Ceria lied to herself, promising her rapidly beating heart that the doors would open at any moment and Illphres and the others would come out, beaming, battered, but alive. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be.

But soon the fear in her heart turned to a suppressed panic in her chest. Ceria wanted to scream, but didn’t dare to. She wanted to run, but there was no one to run to. The lie in her mind became something else. So long as the doors didn’t open they were alive. So long as the double doors were closed, they were still fighting. They were still—

The doors opened. Ceria stepped back from them and nearly slipped. She blinked her eyes, willing the figures to be Illphres, Jurix, Ophelia, Bastam and Qum—

Cognita walked out of the double doors, her stone body whole and undamaged. Ceria stared at her.

And her heart broke.

The Golem saw Ceria standing by herself in the corridor and stopped. She stared down at Ceria, and said not a word. At last, Ceria looked at the doors.

“Are they—are—”

She had to ask, though she knew the answer. Cognita nodded. She spoke softly.

“They failed the challenge. They are dead.”

“It’s not true.”

Ceria started towards the doors. She couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Cognita could not be here, undamaged. She had to be injured, destroyed. She couldn’t be—

“Ceria Springwalker. I would advise you not to go within.”

“Let go of me!”

Ceria tried to push Cognita’s hand away, but the Golem was immovable. The half-Elf squirmed out of the grip and ran for the doors as Cognita let go. She pushed desperately on them, felt them give.

Ceria flung open the doors and stared at what lay beyond.

----

Pisces heard the scream and knew. In truth he had known thirty minutes ago what the outcome would be. It wasn’t anything the mages had shown him.

It was the look in Cognita’s eyes.

It was a small clue, but one the young man understood. He alone had talked to Cognita. He had seen how her face changed. Very little, but she too had expressions. She felt. And ironically, Golems were bad liars.

Cognita had feelings. She could feel passion for something, and he had seen her eyes change when he spoke of his ambitions, of what might be done with magic that had never been attempted before. He had seen the spark in her eyes.

But he hadn’t seen it as she strode into the chamber. She had known how the battle would end. She had taken the measure of her opponents and seen what would occur without fail.

If Pisces could have, he would have stopped the five mages. He nearly broke his spell of [Invisibility] to try, but one look into their eyes told him they wouldn’t be stopped. They didn’t care that he was there. They’d seen him, all of them, he was sure. And they’d known from his face what their chances were.

But they’d gone anyways. Because they couldn’t turn back. Because they were true mages.

And now they were dead. And Ceria—

He saw Cognita carrying the half-Elf out of the room. She fought the Golem, punching her, casting spells, but Cognita ignored her. Pisces heard Cognita’s voice as she told Ceria that if the half-Elf entered the room and fought the Golems she would be killed. And he saw her head turn and knew that was meant for him as well.

Pisces couldn’t look at Ceria as she collapsed on the ground. Instead, he slipped away when he saw the group of five lesser Golems enter the room and exit with bags of holding. He knew what they were doing.

He knew where they carried the dead.

Mages died in Wistram. Not as often as one might think, but enough so that it was not rare. Failed experiments, duels gone wrong, simple suicide or accidents like slipping down stairs—

And of course, those who failed the challenge. Pisces walked after the Golems, noting how other students passed them, oblivious to what the Golems carried. They were just things to most of the mages.

But the Golems had purpose, and they fulfilled all manner of tasks. Such as finding a place for the dead.

The catacombs of Wistram were extensive, dark, and off-limits for Pisces. For all students, really, but especially him. Two suits of armor stood guard on the entrance at all times, a hallmark of another time when the remains of one mage might be destroyed by an enemy.

But the remains of the recently deceased went to another room, where the process of decomposition was initiated by Golems. Only the bones would go below.

Pisces slipped into the room, unseen by the five Golems. He saw them emptying the bags of holding onto the stone slabs. The room was empty save for one dead student. Pisces saw a dead body with too pale skin and realized one of the Selphids must have evacuated it for whatever reason.

Six bodies, then. Pisces sighed softly when he saw the remains of the mages that had been alive not an hour ago.

Illphres, Bastam, Jurix, Ophelia, and Qum. Not all were recognizable. Not all were in one…piece. The Golems bent over their bodies, hands raised. Pisces realized with morbid fascination that they would disassemble the bodies without tools, only brute strength and unyielding fingers.

For a moment, the young man hesitated. He was uncertain, but he stood up as one of the Golems reached down for Bastam’s face.

“It is not right. It is not fair. But it must be done. So. Rise.”

The bodies jerked and came to life. The Golems paused, not comprehending as two of the six corpses in the room slowly stood up. Pisces felt the magic leave him and staggered. He drank a small potion at his side, cast the spell again. The mana in him burned as it left, but then six corpses were standing.

Not zombies. Not Ghouls, or any of the lesser undead. Burning eyes and flames in empty sockets stared back at Pisces as he looked at the six Liches, mages claimed by undeath to roam the earth.

Liches, yes, but more powerful than their skeletal counterparts. That was just magic used to reanimate long dead bodies. So close to death, these six fallen mages were stronger than Wights, more powerful than common Liches. They were as close to Revenants as he could make them.

The Golems turned towards the undead. They didn’t understand what had happened, but they had their orders. One reached for the thing that had been Illphres.

“Fight.”

The Golem fell backwards as a fist struck his chest. Pisces heard the stone crack and saw Illphres’ frail hands moving. She leapt at the Golem, faster than he had ever seen her move. Pisces saw the other Golems fighting now, reacting to the threat.

Too slow. Pisces let the undead knock the Golems down but didn’t bother trying to finish them off. Instead he turned and ran towards the door.

“Follow!”

----

Wistram was in uproar. Pisces ran down the steps, shouts and screams echoing behind him. The six dead mages followed closely, making no sound as they ran behind him.

He had hoped they wouldn’t be seen as he ran down the corridors, but there were too many students and mages about. But they’d made it. Pisces leapt down the last flight of stairs and gasped for air.

Ahead of him, a tunnel led up towards a gate, guarded by two huge shapes. Armored knight Golems. They blocked the way. Pisces pointed a finger and his undead leapt towards the Golems. They reacted swiftly, raising their swords and shields and charging into the battle.

Pisces ignored both sides. He ran on, using [Flash Step] to evade one of the Golems who tried to cut him as he passed. He had only one goal in mind as he broke the lock on the gate and ran through it.

The catacombs were dark. Ward spells shone in Pisces’ eyes, enchantments designed to prevent the dead from rising by siphoning the mana away. He ran past sarcophagi, alcoves in the wall, coffins and burial urns, searching frantically.

It had to be here. He knew it was here. All the books said—

There. Pisces stumbled into an open corridor and saw the tomb. It was a dark, thick stone slab covering a stone bed. There was only a single glowing line of text, written in an ancient language on the cover. Pisces couldn’t read it, but he knew what it said.

The grave of Archmage Nekhret, one of the true [Archmages] of Wistram. And the only one to be buried in this place. The others had died elsewhere, or left no bodies to bury, or at least no bones.

But Nekhret—Pisces stumbled over to the stone lid and heaved at it with all his strength. He couldn’t budge the heavy stone. Only when his four remaining undead ran towards him and pushed did the lid fall to the ground with a crash.

Pisces knew he had to hurry. He knew he had only minutes before the mages would come, or the Golems to protect this place. But his breath caught as he saw the yellowed bones and the grinning skull of the former archmage. It was just a body. Just a body.

But the bones still glowed with power. Pisces reached out with trembling fingers and then remembered. He took out the small bag of holding he’d stolen from the Golems and reached out to take the bones.

The instant Pisces’ hand touched the first bone he felt the world shift. He cursed, looked around wildly. Then he realized the magic was coming from the stone coffin itself.

Something was growing out of it. Pisces cried out in terror and shoved the rest of the bones into the bag of holding. He stumbled away, his undead forming a wall around him as something appeared in the air.

A shadow blacker than color pulled itself out of the darkness. From underneath the coffin, more…things appeared. They drifted upwards, taking forms that were vaguely like real shapes and at the same time not.

Pure black made up the blade one of the apparitions drew. The blade glowed in the darkness, or rather, made the darkness shine around it. It was the antithesis of light, the shadow in every ray of light.

Slowly, the other summoned creatures drew weapons as well. They were undead, or perhaps something greater. Pisces knew it as he ran, leaving the bodies of the former mages to buy him a second of time. Nekhret’s last curse on those who would plunder her tomb.

He should have expected it. But Pisces hadn’t thought. He’d only known this was his chance. Now he ran as the apparitions flew after him, screaming with voices that made him throw up as he used [Flash Step] to dash up the stairs.

The undead stormed out of the catacombs as evening drew into night. The students of Wistram and mages heard their screams and turned to fight. Golems and mages alike battled the dark apparitions in the hallways, classrooms, and banquet halls, fighting to save their lives.

----

Ceria sat in front of the doors leading to the room with the Golems, staring at it. Holding herself back from going in. She wanted to. She wanted to die.

Her master was dead. The other mages were dead. They had died, and the Golems remained. All of them. Each one was intact, each one whole. Ceria couldn’t remember—she had seen them lying on the floor—

The memory was too horrible for her mind to actively remember, but Ceria knew she had seen the four Golems before Cognita had pulled her back. Damaged, maybe, but all intact.

They were all still there. And the mages—her friends—Illphres.

Were dead.

Ceria wanted to go in that room. She wanted to cast her spells, fight for the few seconds she could. She knew she’d die. But she wanted to prove that Illphres had taught her. Prove she’d been right. Not that she’d done all this for nothing.

It was impossible. Ceria was just dreaming. She’d wake up and—and wake up in her bed. This was just a bad dream.

But it was reality. And although Ceria sat in the corridor for hours, wishing, praying, reality would not change for her.

In the end, it was someone else who made Ceria look up.

“Ah. You’re still alive?”

It was a voice Ceria had never heard, not once. She looked up and saw Amerys standing over her. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield. One of the King’s Seven.

“Go away.“

The woman stared down at Ceria as the half-Elf clutched at her arms, hard enough to bruise her skin. She looked at the doors.

“Well, Illphres is gone now, is she? Too bad. I’ll miss her for morning practice. She was always the best at making barriers.”

That casual sentence, the simple acknowledgement of everything Ceria was denying, was too much. She leapt to her feet.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Amerys looked at Ceria, calmly. Not with amusement or scorn, but with something as cold as Illphres’ ice in her eyes.

“She’s dead.”

“No, she’s—”

Ceria couldn’t lie. But she didn’t want to say it. Amerys studied her and shook her head.

“You know, she told me she was challenging the Golems tonight. She asked me to stop you from killing yourself if she failed.”

“She what?”

Ceria stared at Amerys in shock. The woman nodded.

“I would have come earlier, but I figured that you’d either be in that room by now, dead, or wallowing in misery out here.”

“But she—she didn’t think she’d—she was going to—”

“Change Wistram?”

Amerys snorted softly. Ceria choked. Now tears were falling from her eyes again. Amerys looked back at the doors and sighed softly.

“Perhaps she would have. But Cognita was too strong, wasn’t she? If I’d agreed to help, we probably would have died. Then again, maybe not. We’ll never know.”

“She asked you?”

“Oh yes.”

The woman nodded, meeting Ceria’s horrified stare.

“I told her no.”

“Why? She asked you and you said no? You—you coward! If you’d been alive, if you’d helped her—”

Ceria began screaming at Amerys. The woman shook her head, ignoring Ceria’s helpless fury.

“It was too risky. If there was a chance of me dying—I told Illphres I wouldn’t risk it. I told her to wait, even if it was for another decade, to challenge the Golems with ten times their number if they could. It turns out I was right.”

“She was brave! She was a true mage! She and Jurix and Bastam and the others—they had courage. You’re supposed to be a famous mage! Why didn’t you go? Are you afraid? Are all of the King of Destruction’s servants such cowards?”

It was only when Amerys’ eyes flashed with fury that Ceria realized who she was talking to. A living legend, the equivalent of any Named Adventurer. Amerys spoke softly, but her voice was filled with controlled…passion.

“Coward? I suppose that’s fair. But if I am a coward, it is for my King. Do not misunderstand me, half-Elf. I would go in that room and challenge the Golems alone if it were not for Flos, my liege.”

“Why?”

The woman turned away from Ceria. When she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes were shining with something similar to the look Ceria had seen in Illphres’ eyes.

“Because he is a king worth being a coward for. Because someday he will return. Make no mistake; someday I will be at his side and we shall challenge the Golems together. We will walk beyond those doors and see for ourselves the heights of magic. But until then I will do all I can to live until the day he calls for me.”

Ceria could say nothing to that. She let the tears run down her eyes as she stared at Amerys. The woman looked away and shook her head.

“Until that day I wait. Hah, it is hard to wait for him for so long. But he is worth it. My lord Flos is…and it isn’t as if there aren’t other dangers to fight in that time.”

“What do you…”

Only now that she was standing, looking at Amerys fully did Ceria see the cut on the woman’s leg. It had gone through her magical robes, cut into her flesh. It was bound tightly with gauze.

“You’re injured.”

“Yes, I am.”

“What happened?”

The Human woman looked at Ceria, not without a trace of pity. But only that. A trace. She pointed to the stairs.

“See for yourself.”

----

There were less than sixty dead in truth. Less than sixty, but over half as many wounded, some critically. To Ceria, descending the steps and walking through the hallways in numb silence, it was as if the rest of Wistram were a reflection of the death above.

The shades called by Nekhret’s spell had flown through Wistram, not hunting Pisces but setting upon every living being they could find with death and cold fury. The mages and students, unprepared, had fought back, but many of their spells had failed to affect the magical creations.

If it were not for Cognita, if it were not for the Golems and the Archmages and senior mages, Ceria later learned, the casualties would have been far higher. Most of the shadows and phantoms had flown into the banquet hall during dinner, and it was there the battle had been fiercest.

Only sixty had died. But one of those sixty lay on the ground of the banquet hall, amid the overturned tables and trampled food and drink. He had fallen mid-gallop, hands raised, a wand still held tight in one of them.

His face wasn’t calm. It was desperate, fierce. Ceria stared down at Calvaron’s body and looked into Beatrice’s eyes as the Dullahan held him.

“This is your fault.”

She told Ceria that, as Mons sat on the ground next to Calvaron. Ceria didn’t know what to say.

“What happened?”

“Pisces.”

Beatrice turned away. Ceria stared at Calvaron until the Dullahan screamed at her. She wandered away, mumbling to people who asked if she was hurt. At some point she saw Cognita, organizing Golems as they helped tend to the dead.

She saw Pisces just once. He was imprisoned in a cage of magic, guarded by Golems who were there to protect him from the angry mages and students. He stared down at the ground, face pale. He didn’t see her.

The trial began that night and lasted well into the next day. The charges were simple. Pisces had stolen the bones of one of the Archmages. He had plundered Archmage Nekhret’s tomb and unleashed her spell of retribution on the academy. All the dead were his fault.

The punishment was equally simple. The Council was split, many calling for banishment. Wistram had no jail. The others called for death.

Ceria watched the trial taking place, saw the outrage on the faces of the people around her. But she was numb to it all. News of what had passed above had spread, especially after it came to light how Pisces had reanimated the five fallen mages to break into the catacombs. That was a tragedy on its own, but the mages channeled their shock into anger against Pisces.

Many voices spoke up that night, all for killing Pisces. The mages that held out argued against the death penalty because it would tarnish Wistram’s image, because it was wrong in this day and age, because they didn’t have the stomach for it. None because they felt sympathy for Pisces. He kept his head bowed as students and mages hurled accusations against him, screaming.

Beatrice spoke, and then Mons. She didn’t plead for Pisces’ innocence. She just told the Council she had no idea what was happening, and asked that Pisces be punished. She didn’t say what that punishment should be. Montressa stared at Pisces as if he were something she had never seen before.

Ceria was the last one to stand. When she did, the room went quiet. The mages knew she had been Illphres’ student. They knew she had been there when they had challenged Cognita and the other Golems, and when the doors had opened. It was Illphres’ body and the others Pisces had used to reanimate. They waited for Ceria to attack Pisces. She wondered if they would stop her if she tried to kill him.

There was nothing in Ceria’s heart. She looked inside her for her soul, but found it missing. It lay back above, in a corridor frozen in time where the frost clung to the walls. And as Ceria stood before the Council she spoke what was in her heart.

“Ceria Springwalker.”

Archmage Feor, the hero of her people, stared down sympathetically at Ceria. She stared back blankly.

“You have known the mage known as Pisces the longest. He has wronged you perhaps most of all. Is there anything you would like to tell the Council regarding his fate?”

Ceria stared around at the august assembly of faces staring down at her. She nodded slowly. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but magnified by the spell so it filled the room.

“There is something. If my master—if Illphres knew what Pisces had done with her body…she would have laughed. She would have laughed, and she wouldn’t have cared at all.”

The room fell silent. The mages murmuring to each other grew quiet as Ceria continued.

“Pisces? I know him. He was my friend. Once. I hate him for what he did to my master—for what he did to the others. I hate him so much I think I might kill him. But I hate the rest of you even more.”

She looked around the room, eyes burning.

“You knew they were going to challenge the Golems. You knew. They asked you—each one of you to join them. You all said no. So they had to go by themselves, only five of them. If there had been six, or ten—they might have lived. But they went alone, because the rest of you are cowards.”

Shock. Anger. It was all the same to Ceria. She stared around the room and addressed the Council of Wistram to their faces, called them what they were.

“You are all cowards. Fearful, small people, living in the shadow of the Golems. You won’t ever find true magic, not here. Not while Cognita and the Golems are the true rulers of this place. I’m leaving—I won’t stay here, hiding from the truth. So long as the Golems live, there are no true mages in Wistram. None, except for the dead.”

She turned and walked away. Voices shouted after her, but Ceria was deaf. She sat down and saw the Council restore order, begin to vote.

One more person strode into the room, unannounced. But she brought silence with her.

Cognita. She stood in front of the Council, the death of mages on her hands yet no trace of it marring her smooth exterior. Perfect, wrought of stone. Immortal. And she spoke for Pisces.

“I would ask you not to vote to execute this young student.”

“Why?”

The answer came from Feor. Ceria looked at him, and saw a trace of that fear in his eyes. In all the mages’ eyes. They looked at Cognita and saw something they could not surpass, did not dare to challenge. She addressed them calmly, her voice booming throughout the room unaided.

“Because it would be unjust. There have been other mages whose failed experiments have killed far more. There have been other students here who have committed greater crimes and been expelled for it. The death sentence has never been passed down for a true mistake made by a student. I argue for exile, not death. If you pass judgment, let it be for what he has done, not what he is. Necromancy is not a sin.”

Feor stared hard at Cognita.

“And what will you do if we vote to kill him?”

She replied calmly.

“I will do nothing. My role is to protect and serve Wistram and those who live within. But if you do decide to execute him, I will expect you to kill every student who errs thusly from now on.”

The mages murmured as she left. Pisces raised his head to stare after her. He saw Ceria staring at him and looked away.

In the end, the Council argued for hours, but voted. It was close, but those who voted for exile were slightly more numerous than those who voted for death. Feor stood on the podium, staring down at Pisces with contempt.

“For your crimes, we exile you. You will never set foot on Wistram’s shores again, under penalty of death. And this shall be spread across the world—no true mage of Wistram shall treat with you, Pisces.”

The young man didn’t look up. Feor’s gaze turned to Ceria’s and softened.

“As for you, Ceria Springwalker. You must leave as well. Pack your belongings. You will leave Wistram with the next ship.”

----

A few things happened in between the time Ceria spent wandering Wistram and the day she left. The half-Elf was attacked by Beatrice for defending Pisces as the Dullahan saw it, only saved by Mons. She was an exile among the other mages, none of whom spoke to her.

But one mage thought of her, or rather, her master. Amerys stood in front of the door that was still covered with frost and tried the handle. It didn’t work.

In the end Amerys gave up on waiting for a key to be brought and blasted the door open. The thunderous sound drew other students to her room. They backed away when they saw her exit the room, holding something in her hands.

“Here. Give this to Ceria Springwalker.”

“Me?”

“Do it. Or I will find out.”

Amerys thrust the ice-blue spellbook into the hands of one of the students in the crowd. He recoiled, but after she glared at him, took the book with trembling hands. Amerys strode away without a backwards glance.

The unfortunate Drake held the book in his hands, hesitating. He started down the corridor, but never got to Ceria’s room.

A young man stopped him in the hallway with some of his friends. The Drake and he argued. Gold was offered, then secrets. In the end the book was traded and it went with the young man.

Charles de Trevalier walked through Wistram, upwards, onto a balcony where Ceria had sat with Illphres once before. He stood on the edge over the open, looking down into the sea. Then he let the book drop down into the sea.

It splashed when it hit the water, and Charles saw the book freeze the ocean around it. It disappeared beneath the waves, encased in ice that refused to float or melt.

He turned around, smiling, and saw the Dullahan staring at him. Charles’ smile disappeared, but Beatrice said nothing. She turned and walked away.

----

Two days later, Ceria found herself standing in the entrance hall, waiting. The ship was here at last, ready to take them to Izril. It wasn’t her choice. This was the first ship and so she had to be aboard it.

Someone else stood in the entrance hall, far away from her. Pisces kept his head down as he clutched the few things to his name. A spellbook, and a small bag. Ceria stared at him but he didn’t raise his head.

No one had come to see her off. Montressa had stopped by her room. Beatrice had not. Ceria had seen a few other students as well, but the rest of the mages had avoided her as well as Pisces.

This was it. Ceria stared numbly at the doors and realized it was time. She was leaving Wistram, a failure. With nothing to her name but a few coins and memories.

“Hold.”

The word caught Ceria as she started towards the doors. It came from a tall figure, Cognita. She strode towards Ceria and stopped before the young half-elf. Ceria stared up blankly. Cognita inclined her head.

“Ceria Springwalker. I regret the death of Illphres and the other mages.”

“Do you really?”

Ceria said it numbly. Cognita nodded.

“I do. But I was created to protect and so I shall.”

“In that case, I hate you. I’ll hate you forever and I think you’re a slave. You don’t have will. You’re just a thing that pretends to sometimes be alive.”

“That is your choice.”

Cognita accepted Ceria’s statement without a hint of displeasure. She bent down to Ceria. Her eyes were intent on the half-Elf’s face.

“But I see in you something worthy. So I ask that you accept what comes next, and know that it is a sign of respect, not mockery.”

“What?”

Cognita didn’t answer. She strode towards the doors and threw them open. Ceria and Pisces shielded their faces from the sun’s glare.

“Step forwards, you two. Side by side.”

Unwillingly, Ceria did so. She stared at Pisces and he looked down. Cognita looked at both students and raised her voice.

Her words echoed throughout Wistram. They weren’t loud, not a shout, but they travelled through the corridors, into rooms, making mages stand up and go to the windows. Those that were already watching were joined by other mages as Cognita spoke to the academy.

“Today Wistram will see two students depart from its shores. These two mages leave, one exiled, the other in contempt. They leave as failures by the reckoning of the Council. But the Golems of Wistram disagree.”

She swept an arm out. Shading her eyes, Ceria heard Pieces draw in his breath. She looked out, down the winding stone staircase that led to the stone harbor and gasped.

Golems stood on the staircase. Hundreds of Golems. Stone ones carved to look like Humans or other races, suits of animated armor, creations Ceria had only seen once or twice. A Golem made of pure emerald stood next to one that seemed to be made of the wind itself. It stood next to a being of wood with moss and flowers growing out of its body. It held a sword out, saluting the air.

Cognita’s voice rang out again, and Ceria saw students and mages appearing on the stairwells and bridges above the entrance hall. They stared down at her as the Golem kept speaking, stared at her and Pisces.

“I am Cognita, greatest of Archmage Zelkyr’s creations. Though I am no mage, I hold his authority, which supersedes all others so long as I remain. Thus, it is within my power to graduate you two on this day. Ceria Springwalker, Pisces, you have shown the qualities of a true mage of Wistram, both of you. Neither of you will fall behind any other mage nor disgrace Wistram’s name. I hereby name both of you full mages of the academy.”

Ceria stared up at the Golem, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Pisces’ face was pale as he looked up at the Golem. Cognita smiled slightly, and motioned them forwards.

It was a dream. Ceria slowly began walking down the steps, Pisces at her side. She looked at the rows of impassive Golem faces, and saw how they were turned towards her. Watching her. As if they were alive.

“Golems of Wistram! Salute these young mages as they go forth into the world! Though they may leave these shores, they pass from here not as students, but as true mages!”

Step by step, the two descended. Ceria’s ears were roaring, and she saw the ship ahead of her, drawing closer. She stopped with Pisces only once and looked back towards the citadel. The doors were thrown open and a tall woman made of stone stood there. She raised her hand and her voice carried clearly to the two down below.

“Go, Ceria Springwalker and Pisces. Walk proudly as true mages of Wistram.”

Then she turned and the Golems began to file back into the academy or walked into the sea. Ceria turned and caught Pisces’ eye for a brief moment. Then she turned and boarded the ship and sailed away from Wistram.

----

This is how the story ended. Ceria and Pisces took the ship for several days to Izril, seldom speaking, and not at all to each other. For their part, the [Captain] and [Sailors] treated the two mages with great respect. They had seen the Golems lining the stairs for the two mages—they were surely some of Wistram’s best.

The irony was not lost on Ceria, but she could only think about Illphres, about Calvaron, and felt the emptiness in her vanishing day by day. Not because she wanted to feel again, but because life was going on. It was as if she left that part of her with Wistram.

She knocked on Pisces’ door on the last day of their voyage, when land had been spotted. He let her in and she sat on a chair while he sat on the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

He said that at last, looking up at her. Ceria just stared back until he looked down again. There was nothing he could say, and nothing she wanted to hear. She eventually said what was on her mind.

“Once we reach the shore, we’ll part ways. I never want to see your face again, understand?”

“Yes.”

They heard sailors calling out overhead, guiding the ship in to dock. Pisces shifted, wiped at his eyes. Ceria saw tears. She had none herself.

“It truly—it truly was a wonderful place, wasn’t it?”

She looked at him. Pisces was crying.

“It was just like my dream at first. It was everything I had hoped for. It was the place where I wanted to be forever. It was worth waiting for. Worth giving everything up for.”

Slowly, Ceria nodded. She stared past Pisces, seeing friends and memory, stone corridors, magic and sadness and happiness in the moment before she blinked. Then she did and it was gone.

“It really was.”

They sat in silence as the rocking ship slowed and they felt it stop. Ceria stood up and looked down at Pisces.

“Goodbye.”

She walked away, carrying the rucksack filled with the few things she had to her name. Ceria walked away from the ship that had taken her from her hopes and dreams, away from the young man who had once been her best friend.

But never would Ceria forget. In her dark dreams, in the moments when she sat around campfires with the new friends she made, in the days spent walking, footsore and tired, searching for a place to rest, she’d always think back on it.

An isle in the sea. A citadel of dark stone, standing in a bubble of calm while storms raged around it. Hallways full of magic, impassive stone golems, students and mages of every race. A place of wonder, of magic.

The place where mages gather. The home of sorcery.

Wistram.

The half-Elf walked away, and was lost in the night. And after a moment, the young man, the necromancer, stepped off the ship. He looked back once, and then he was gone too.

3.32

The half-Elf walked off into the darkness, leaving Wistram behind. After a moment, Pisces stepped off the ship as well. He looked back towards the ocean where Wistram could no longer be seen, but where he knew it lay. Then he turned and was gone too.

The story ended. Ceria looked up from the depths of her mug and saw two watery eyes staring back at her. She blinked and leaned back a bit. There was a bit of snot mixed with the tears.

“Um, Erin? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine, it’s just—”

Erin reached for a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes. She had another one for her nose. Three, actually.

“And you never went back? Ever? You never heard from any of your friends, or—or sent a letter?”

“Never.”

Ceria shook her head, feeling the small gap in her heart aching a bit. But it was only a small rift, a faded scar that time had patched over. It had been a long time since she’d dared think about the past, but it had helped to tell someone at last.

“And so that Golem—Cognita is still in Wistram? And your friend Beatrice is all alone, and Montressa too? That’s so…sad.”

Erin blew her nose again and Ceria smiled crookedly. It wasn’t really a smile.

“That’s life. I wouldn’t be surprised if Montressa is a fully-fledged mage by now and far more experienced than both me and Pisces combined. But I don’t know. I never heard from them.”

“But it’s not fair! You weren’t the one who killed Calvaron! And neither was Pisces! I mean, it was his fault, but he couldn’t have known about the trap spell! And it sounds like the other mages treated him horribly!”

“He did practice necromancy.”

“Yeah, but still—he only became a jerk after everyone started being a jerk to him, right? I understand so much more about him now!”

“I—wouldn’t take all of what I said to heart, Erin. Pisces did change thanks to how people treated him later on, but he was always a necromancer. He always kept secrets. Even from me.”

“I get it. But it’s still so tragic. It hurts just to hear it.”

Erin put down the soggy handkerchief and Ceria drank down the last dregs in her mug. Around them, a few late-night drinkers were being shepherded out of the inn by Maran, but Erin and Ceria were safe at their table in the corner. After all, Erin practically ran the inn even when Miss Agnes was around and Ceria didn’t have anywhere to be.

Of course, many miles away a lonely cart was rumbling down the road where three other adventurers were probably trying to sleep, but Ceria didn’t have to join them. Not tonight.

It had been Pisces’ idea. Fed up by sleeping on the wagon each night, despite the hand-delivered food and copious amounts of blankets and pillows, the mage had demanded one member of the group be allowed to sleep in the Frenzied Hare each night.

Ksmvr hadn’t cared, but Ceria and Yvlon weren’t entirely immune to the allure of the idea themselves. So the three of them had drawn straws to see who would go back the first night.

It had been Ceria who’d won the straw pick. She’d come back and been feasted by Erin while she watched a new play—something about a girl with a thick accent learning to speak correctly—being put on.

But that wasn’t the important part of the night. The important part had come when Erin sat with Ceria and they had talked about the incredible mage they’d met. Ceria had asked Erin how she knew him, or rather how Ryoka knew him, and somehow that conversation had led back to the past.

To the past, and a story Ceria had never told anyone. How she and Pisces had first met, how they had become friends—

And how they had lost that and left Wistram. Now, in the quietest hour of the day, just past midnight, Ceria listened to Erin snuffling.

“It’s history now. If I could go back I’d do everything differently. But time travel is one of the things even the greatest of mages can’t do. My master, Illphres, died in the academy. I left because all that I respected and aspired towards died with her.”

“You didn’t want to stay? Even though…”

“Maybe.”

Ceria stared into the embers of the fire.

“Yes. I did. I regretted saying what I did to the Council. But—I still left because of what she said before she challenged Cognita.”

“What?”

The half-Elf shrugged, uncomfortably.

“It was just a comment. If she had been an adventurer, perhaps she would have known the danger she was walking into. That’s…one of the reasons I decided to become an adventurer. Illphres was far more powerful than most mages, far more powerful than I can dream of right now. But she died because she wasn’t used to fighting, not like adventurers are. We fight dirty and learn to run away. She and the other mages were proud. Too proud. I see that now.”

“But they sounded amazing.”

A sigh escaped Ceria’s lips.

“They were. I wish you could have met them.”

“But it sounds like Pisces was incredible too, wasn’t he? Before people knew he was a [Necromancer]—they really liked him, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They did.”

“I can’t really imagine that.”

Something like a laugh escaped Ceria’s lips. She turned to Erin, smiling in the dim light.

“It is hard to see, isn’t it? But just imagine Pisces without the sneer. Without any rude comments or—or his dirty robes. He is a genius at magic and Cognita herself acknowledged his skill. If we hadn’t fought those pirates at sea, if he had never been found out, he might be a powerful mage rising higher in Wistram right now.”

“Wow.”

More silence. Ceria saw the light in the room dim further, until Erin was just a dark silhouette in front of her. She could have cast a spell to light up the room, but this suited their conversation. After a while, she spoke out loud, confessing one last thing to Erin.

“That day, I think Cognita was speaking to Pisces, not me. He was the one who truly deserved to graduate from Wistram like that. I—I’m just a dropout. A failure. But I used the name of Wistram because it meant I could get work and it opened doors for me.”

“You’re not.”

Ceria shook her head.

“I am. A true accredited Wistram mage is a rare thing, with far more experience and a deeper understanding of magic. What that old mage said—you saw him trash us in moments. Regardless of whether the quality of mages has declined since Archmage Zelkyr, we’re still far below that standard. I am.”

Something touched Ceria’s hand. She jerked, but it was Erin’s hand. The girl squeezed Ceria’s hand gently. Her good hand.

“I don’t think you’re a failure. You went into Albez, didn’t you? And you came out.”

“Huh. I guess we did.”

Ceria smiled as the last light disappeared. She couldn’t see Erin’s face, but she knew the other girl was smiling too.

----

The next day, Erin treated Ceria to a huge breakfast. Not the usual kind either—she’d made spiced porridge seasoned with a bit of fruit to go with mulled wine. It was hot, filling, and it made Pisces stop complaining when they brought it to the cart to be eaten on the road.

Erin sat next to Ceria as they ate from bowls on the bouncing wagon. Pisces and Yvlon looked cold but awake and Ksmvr seemed happy to wolf down the gluten-rich food with no side effects.

“I appreciate the effects of this magical charm. I wonder if it may be duplicated?”

“Probably. It’s such a low-grade enchantment even Springwalker could do it.”

Pisces remarked testily and got a kick and a glare for it. He rubbed his leg as he continued.

“It is possible, but why would you need a second artifact, Ksmvr? My understanding is that you are exiled from your Hive. Unless you have plans to join one of the Antinium Hives in the south?”

Ksmvr went very still as Ceria glared at Pisces. He shrugged insolently. At last, the Antinium spoke quietly.

“It is true that I have been removed from my position due to my incompetence. But I would never join another Hive. My true place—and my Queen—is in Liscor. I hope to return some day, bringing gifts such as this charm to prove my worth. But until I can prove myself useful, I will adventure with you. If I may.”

Ceria nodded.

“Of course, Ksmvr. You’re a valuable member of The Horns of Hammerad.”

“And far better company than Pisces.”

“Hah. While Ksmvr’s presence may be more appealing, may I remind you that my abilities are unique within this group? No one can provide the unique skills and insights that I have at my—”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

“Yeah, shut up, Pisces! You were nicer back when you were in Wistram.”

“What?”

Pisces blinked. He stared at Erin as she frowned at him. Ceria sighed. She didn’t quite meet Pisces’ eyes.

“I told her about our time in Wistram last night.”

“Oh.”

Ksmvr’s head swiveled from Pisces to Ceria as the young man blinked at Ceria and then went red. The Antinium opened his mandibles but Yvlon nudged him.

“Why did you nudge me, Comrade Yv—”

She sighed, pulled him over and whispered into Ksmvr’s earhole while Pisces cleared his throat a few times.

“Ah, Ceria told you about our shared history?”

“She did. She said you were a really nice guy, once. What happened?”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“Well, if she told you the truth, you would know that it was because of the unfounded prejudice and intolerance—”

“Because other people were jerks to you. I get it. But you still became sort of a jerk yourself, you know.”

Pisces had nothing to say to that. He just looked at Ceria, angrily, as if she’d given away a precious secret. She stared silently at him, meeting his eyes, until he remembered and looked down. Remembering the past made it harder to sit across from Pisces so easily for Ceria, though she’d made her peace with it all.

Erin glanced between the two, seeing the tension. She raised her voice.

“Um. I do have a few questions. I didn’t ask last night Ceria, but…you know, I think you made some of your story up.”

Ceria frowned at Erin.

“I did not.”

“I dunno…Pisces, you were there. Did Ceria’s master—Illphres—did she really destroy six ships all by herself? And did you and Ceria really fight two Trolls during the entrance exams?”

Pisces’ eyes flicked to Ceria. The half-Elf colored and looked over the wagon’s side.

“I…may have exaggerated some details.”

“Clearly. However, Miss…Erin, I would impress on you one thing. If, that is, Ceria told you how it ended?”

Pisces grew serious. He looked at Ceria as if to ask her what she’d told her. She raised her hand and a fiery creature drew a simple message in the air, in the code only they could read.

Everything.

“—Mages aside. Pirates aside. The Sea Serpent—assuming Springwalker told you there was only one? Yes, that might be exaggerated. But there is no description that can truly convey the power of Wistram’s true rulers. The Golems. Cognita was, and remains, the most powerful being I have ever encountered in the world.”

The wagon grew silent as everyone thought of that. Erin looked back down the frozen road.

“Even that crazy old man with the iPhone?”

“Well, we saw very little of his power. But…yes. The quality of his magic is meaningless against the Golems of Archmage Zelkyr. They were built for war. Mages may cast spells of incredible destruction, but few are suited to combat.”

He met Ceria’s gaze and then looked away again. After another second, Erin piped up.

“You took the bones of the [Archmage], didn’t you? You put them in Toren.”

Yvlon’s head snapped up. Ceria winced, and Pisces drew in his breath sharply.

“I did.”

“Does that mean he was as powerful as an [Archmage]?”

“Hardly. And I didn’t use many bones. I only used four.”

“Four?”

Ceria stared at Pisces. He nodded fractionally.

“Four. I carved the spell into the bones, to restore the form I gave Toren no matter how badly he might be broken. They are…what makes him unique. But they consume too much mana for him to survive without a source.”

“I get it.”

Erin sighed. She sat back down in the cart and pulled a blanket over herself. She stared at the grey sky as no one said anything for several minutes.

“You sounded really cool, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. Ceria told me about how you used to duel people, and cast magic. You sounded cool.”

Pisces opened his mouth. He closed it, swallowed, opened it again, and closed it once more. He closed his eyes. Then he spoke quietly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The cart rumbled onwards, taking the Horns of Hammerad down the road. Occasionally they passed by wagons and called out greetings or asked about dangers on the road. But the adventurers just sat in silence, mainly, along with Termin who was used to just having the company of his own head.

It was a cold day, but they were warm enough. And so Ceria and Pisces sat on opposite sides of the wagon and remembered.

----

When the sun hit midday, the cart stopped to let the horses rest for a while.

“Even with a Skill they need a break, if only to eat.”

Termin explained as Erin happily patted one of the horses, Erma, on the head and she chewed her oats. Fox was busy trying to eat the food Erin had brought—warm bread and a spicy dip as a snack with cold meat and cheese for toppings.

“Shoo! You damn horse.”

Pisces waved it away as Ksmvr sliced cheese, cutting with little regard for the sharp blade of his dagger. Fox wandered away and Erin happily accepted a sandwich from Ceria before nearly dropping it.

“It’s hot!”

“Really? Sorry. I tried to tone down the heating spell, but it’s hard when one hand’s…”

Ceria waved her skeletal hand. Erin shook her head as she juggled the hot sandwich.

“No, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting it. Magic is really useful, isn’t it?”

“Best thing on a road.”

Yvlon smiled as she accepted a second sandwich from Ceria. She peered at Ceria’s hands as the half-Elf warmed another sandwich for Termin, trying not to scorch the bread.

“I thought you were a specialist at ice-magic, Ceria. Is it hard to cast flame spells?”

“I used to be quite good at earth and fire magic. It’s my master who taught me a bunch of ice spells.”

Ceria shrugged as she tossed Termin a sandwich. He bowed slightly to her and she grinned and waved a hand in reply.

“I have a few Skills that improve my ice magic, but it’s not like I can’t cast any spell I learn, Yvlon.”

“I see. Magic’s a mystery to me, so I wondered.”

“You never tried to learn?”

Ceria sat with Yvlon on the wagon, the only non-snowy surface, as Erin and Termin clambered on top as well. Yvlon shook her head.

“Not my thing. I had a tutor of course—most rich families have tutors who teach their kids all sorts of skills and find what they might be good at. I couldn’t figure out how to cast [Light] and neither could my older brother or my sister. Swinging a sword works well enough for me.”

“But it’s magic. If I could learn it, I’d be so thrilled!”

Erin sighed as she chewed her warm food. There was something special about eating in the cold and on the road, she decided. It gave her food…character. Then she remembered something else and slapped her head.

“I forgot! I was going to give you all some of my Corusdeer horn soup! My blue soup!”

The others eyed Erin.

“Your what?”

“Hang on! I’ll show you!”

Erin opened the door lying on the back of the wagon and crawled through it into Octavia’s shop. One of the [Alchemist’s] customers had a very nasty scare when he saw Erin crawling into the shop—from his perspective, it looked like Erin was crawling out of the sky, down through the doorway. But in a few seconds she had some of the soup she’d kept in a glass jar and was showing it triumphantly to the others.

Ceria and Yvlon stared hard at the soup adhering to the walls of the glass. It certainly looked blue, but that wasn’t a good thing. Blueberries were edible, and so was blue cheese, but there was something about blue soup that made it look particularly nasty.

The wagon driver shook his head the instant Erin uncorked the bottle and offered the soup around. All the ingredients had become a gelatinous mess from sitting in the bottle for so long, and the fact that it was still steaming didn’t make it any more appealing.

“I’m not eating that.”

“Aw, come on!”

Erin tried to get him to take a bite, then Yvlon. At last Ceria tried it, but only after Erin had taken a few bites and not immediately thrown up.

“It’s…dead gods, it’s not bad, Erin, but it doesn’t taste that great either.”

Ceria mumbled around the mouthful before she swallowed. The soup was hot going down, and that too felt wrong. But after a few moments, the half-Elf blinked and gasped.

“It’s hot!”

“See?”

Erin beamed around as the others stared at Ceria. The half-Elf’s cheeks had flushed and she was starting to sweat.

“It’s way too hot. Erin, is that soup magical? I have cold protection spells on—I feel like I’m in an oven!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Ceria shook her head as she examined the soup with renewed interest.

“You made magical soup? I can’t believe it.”

“It’s great! And I think I can make an actual dish next time, not just soup. But this stuff is going to be a huge hit—you can drink it and you won’t feel the cold even if you’re naked!”

“Tested it out, have you?”

Yvlon sighed but took a few bites. Termin did too, and in a few moments everyone was walking around and shedding clothes, standing in the snow and remarking at the way it melted on their bare skin.

“You’ll make a fortune off it—assuming you can sell a lot before the winter ends. Is it expensive?”

“Not too much. But I’ve got other soups and stuff as well! Funny—I always have to make it into a soup first. After that I can figure out how to combine stuff, but soup is easiest to experiment with.”

Erin offered Pisces the last bit of the blue soup. He declined, letting Ksmvr consume the rest of the enchanted food.

“Enchanted cooking is a rarity even in Wistram. I suspect your products will do very well, especially given the difficulty in reproducing a recipe such as this from taste alone.”

The innkeeper smiled wickedly.

“Yeah. No one’s stealing this recipe.”

“I feel like I could lie about in the snow all day. But I suppose I’ll settle for a nice breeze while riding. Time to be off!”

Termin clambered aboard the driver’s seat and called to the others. Erin, Ceria, and Yvlon got on top, but Pisces declined.

“I will walk.”

Everyone stared. Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr had all walked to stretch out, but up till this moment Pisces had refused to expend one bit of energy more than necessary. Termin just shrugged and shook the reins lightly.

“Your choice. Just don’t fall behind, necromancer.”

Erin laughed. Erma and Fox began pulling the wagon, faster than a walk but so slowly that Pisces would be able to catch up quickly.

But the mage didn’t immediately walk after the wagon. Instead, he stayed where he was. Sitting on the wagon back, Ceria frowned. She was about to call back at him when Pisces took one step.

Snow whirled. It flew up into the air in a gust, following the mage. He blurred forwards—too fast to really be called movement at all—and appeared right next to the back of the wagon.

Erin gasped.

“[Flash Step]! That’s the spell, right?”

“It is.”

Ceria watched as Pisces stood still next to the wagon, letting it continue onwards for about five seconds. Then he took a step and appeared next to it in a moment. He looked up, and his eyes met Ceria’s. Both mages looked away.

From her seat, Yvlon frowned at Pisces before looking at Ceria.

“I saw Pisces using that spell in the ruins and in the battle with that old mage. I didn’t know there was a spell like it until now. It looks incredibly useful. Do you know it?”

Ceria shook her head.

“It was one of his specialties. It’s a good spell for movement, but very hard to use. One bad step and you can break your foot or your toes.”

“Ah.”

Pisces continued to follow the wagon. At first Erin kept staring at him, gasping a bit as he blinked forwards with each step, but quite soon she grew tired of the spectacle. Ceria didn’t, though. She knew what Pisces was doing.

He was training.

With each step, Pisces kept pace with the wagon. It was slow, monotonous, and, Ceria knew, had to be mentally draining. But the fact that Pisces could keep performing the spell over and over was a sign of the skill she’d told Erin about.

What was amazing was the accuracy. At first it was off—Pisces would teleport too far ahead and spook the horses, or end up a few feet behind the wagon—but as time went on he eventually started appearing right at the back of the wagon, each and every time.

That was unusual, and Ceria knew both Yvlon and Ksmvr could tell how impressive that feat was. The wagon didn’t move at a uniform pace and the road wasn’t always straight. Pisces had to calculate how far to step at a distance in order to land precisely where he wanted to go.

After a while, Pisces added to the exercise. He drew his rapier from its sheathe and walked slowly forwards with it on the balls of his feet. Each time he stepped now, it was into a thrust, as if he were stabbing an opponent in the heart.

Now Pisces would step forwards into a slow lunge, fully extending his back leg while all the weight rested on the front. He kept his arm still as he held the rapier extended as far as he could go. Pisces slowly stepped out of the lunge, blurred forwards and moved into it again.

Slowly. Ceria could see his arms shaking the fourth time he did it, and he began to sweat despite not having had any of Erin’s soup.

After thirty minutes Pisces had to stop. He could barely raise his arms, despite alternating them while lifting the rapier. He collapsed onto the back of the wagon, panting as he pulled a blanket over to wipe his forehead.

“Wow. That looked really hard.”

Erin offered Pisces a pillow and he sank his head onto it, exhausted. He nodded, too tired for sarcasm.

“I am out of shape. It has been a long, long time since I last…”

“Not bad. You have excellent form.”

Yvlon handed Pisces a water flask. She looked at him with a touch of respect. He nodded wordlessly as he drank deeply from it.

“It is a shame the Antinium cannot learn magic. I believe I would benefit greatly from mastering such a spell.”

Ksmvr remarked as he stared at Pisces’ rapier. Ceria shook her head and saw Yvlon and Termin both doing it as well. For all she liked Ksmvr as a person, the thought of thousands of Antinium using [Flash Step]—or a basic spell like [Stone Dart]—was a nightmare.

Pisces shook his head as he handed the water flask back to Yvlon.

“Your species has a distinct absence of any kind of magical affinity, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium nodded calmly.

“Yes. This has been well observed and is a deliberate factor of our creation. Moreover, since the Antinium do not level greatly, magic has not been seen as a viable field to explore for our species.”

“Good. The last thing Wistram needs is Antinium mages running around.”

“I don’t know. I suppose seeing a few Antinium sitting in Rievan’s class would be quite amusing, don’t you?”

Pisces glanced sideways at Ceria. She couldn’t help but grin.

----

After a few hours Termin called out to the half-dozing adventurers and Erin sitting in the back of the wagon.

“There’s the city. I heard it was abandoned and then retaken. Should we go around, do you think?”

“What city? Oh—”

Erin gasped as she stood up on the wagon. Ceria reached to steady her, but then stopped as well. Yvlon sighed softly as she spotted the distant buildings. Familiar, and yet alien now.

“Esthelm.”

It was more of a whisper. Erin peered at the walls, clearly damaged from a distance, and the way many buildings were only partly standing.

“Whoa. It looks messed up.”

“Well? Go around or go to it?”

“I heard my brother had helped retake the city. I’d like to ask about him, if we can.”

Yvlon turned to the others. Ceria nodded.

“To the city then, Mister Termin. We can probably rest there for the night.”

“So long as they don’t look too hungry. The last thing I need is a bunch of starving folk trying to eat Erma and Fox…”

Termin grumbled as he drove them onwards. The closer they got, the more Erin could see the damage that had been done to Esthelm. The damage, and just as notably, the repairs.

“Looks like they’ve patched up the wall pretty well. And it’s manned.”

Ceria noted the Humans standing on the battlements with bows. Their wagon had already been spotted and she could tell people were eying her back as well. Esthelm was vigilant after two Goblin attacks it seemed.

“Not only that. Look—they’re reinforcing it.”

Yvlon pointed down the wall, where work was clearly being done to expand the fortifications and add onto them. Pisces sighed as he stared at the burnt and ruined buildings.

“I suppose we won’t be resting in luxury here. It might be best to camp outside of the city if all the buildings are in such a state of disarray.”

“We’ll see when we get in. But at least we can eat at Erin’s inn.”

“True! And we can stay there if Termin finds a place to put his horses for the night.”

“Oh no.”

The wagon driver crossed his arms firmly.

“I won’t sleep anywhere away from Erma and Fox. They get agitated if I’m not close by and I won’t risk them being stolen. One of you’s got to stay here at least.”

“I volunteer.”

“Good for you, Ksmvr.”

“Thanks, Ksm!”

“You are a valuable member of the team. Exceptionally useful, I must say.”

Ksmvr nodded modestly as the others thanked him warmly.

“I volunteered for the position because I believed I was most suitable for the job. Guard detail is a position of merit, but I will understand if anyone wishes to trade places with me.”

Soon, the wagon was in hailing distance of the walls. Termin shouted up at the people shouting at him and after much shouting and arm waving, the gates were opened and the wagon rolled in.

Yvlon spoke to the others before they got out of the cart. She’d tugged a cloak around her head, covering up her bright hair and covering her face.

“When we talk to people, let’s just mention we’re adventurers passing through on guard duty. If we can avoid using my name—or our group’s name—I’d appreciate it.”

“Why? Is it because of your brother? Ylawes?”

Ceria frowned at Yvlon. The young woman nodded, looking unhappy.

“I’d prefer not to meet him at the moment if we can. He could be troublesome.”

“Define troublesome, if you please. Dangerous?”

Yvlon shook her head, frowning at Pisces.

“No. He’s not a threat—so long as he doesn’t meet Ksmvr for the first time alone I guess. But he’s…”

Erin nodded.

“I understand. Lips sealed, right everyone?”

They looked at her. She sighed, exasperated.

“Don’t you get it? This Ylawes guy. He might be a nice guy and all, but he’s still her older brother.”

“So?”

“So he’s going to be an older brother.”

“Oh.”

Ceria and Pisces nodded in understanding, despite Ceria not having any siblings to speak of. Ksmvr just tilted his head.

“I do not understand. Pisces, please explain—”

----

“So this is Esthelm.”

Erin stared around at the ruined buildings, at the people in dirty clothes, helping to lift timber, board up buildings, repair, dismantle, clear rubble and make weapons. There were men and women and children helping to fletch arrows amid the confusion, and more still coming in with game they’d hunted.

“It’s a mess.”

Yvlon kept her voice low as she glanced with sympathy at the citizens. Many looked hungry, but none looked as if they were starving. If they had, Erin would have given them what she could, or gone to Celum for food, but the people here were…strange.

They were ragged yes, hungry, yes, and dirty. But they weren’t beaten. They worked together with purpose, helping to rebuild their city as the wagon trundled into the center of the city.

A man bustled up to the wagon with a few armed citizens following them. Ceria was worried how they’d react when they saw Ksmvr, but the man in charge—some former [Soldier] by the look of him, wearing thick leather armor—didn’t blink more than once.

“Adventurers? Are you escorting the wagon?”

“That’s right. Is the city…safe?”

Termin asked nervously. The men were inspecting the wagon, staring at the single door on the back of the wagon and the blankets and pillows in some confusion. The man in charge nodded.

“That’s right. We fought off the last Goblin army that attacked this place and we’re not going to let a third one get past our walls again. We’re surviving, but we need supplies. We’ve asked for help from the other cities, but Celum, Wales, Remendia…they’re all claiming the roads are unsafe to send supplies down. So until we can get help we’re on our own.”

“Oh. Is it bad?”

The soldier turned his attention to Erin. She was staring at some children hauling nails in a bucket to some carpenters. He shook his head.

“Not bad, Miss. But I’m afraid that we might have to confiscate your wagon’s cargo if you’ve got anything we can use. We’re in dire need of food, blankets—”

“There’s nothing in here, Umbral!”

One of the men shouted to the man in charge. He frowned and looked at the empty back of the wagon.

“You don’t have any food or supplies? Where’s your cargo?”

“It’s her.”

Ceria pointed to Erin and the young woman waved.

“We’re escorting her to Liscor. She’s an innkeeper, so she doesn’t have much coin. It’s a favor—”

“But we do have food! I can get some—and you can have all the blankets and pillows! I’ll get more as well!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ceria saw Erin pointing at the door and hoped that Umbral didn’t understand what Erin was saying. Fortunately, the man just looked confused. He tried to stop Erin when she started handing pillows and blankets down.

“We wouldn’t want to take your only supplies, Miss. We’re not robbers—we’ll pay a fair price—”

“Take it, please!”

“A place to sleep would be payment enough, sir.”

Ceria interrupted Erin and she saw Yvlon pull Erin back and whisper to her. The blankets and pillows disappeared fast, and Umbral directed them to some of the sturdier buildings in the city.

“Don’t worry about your horses, or your wagon. I’ll see to it that no one tries to make off with either. You can rest assured—we’re past thievery and attacking each other here.”

He waved them on. Ceria sat back with a sigh as Erin drooped into the wagon seat beside her.

“I can’t give them clothing and food and stuff? But they need it!”

“If they knew we had a door that could open a portal back to Celum, they’d take it, Erin. I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to use it tonight. It’s too risky.”

“I almost want to give it to them.”

“That would be an unforgivable waste.”

Pisces glared at Erin, outraged at the very idea. She sighed, but nodded in agreement.

“Too bad. I guess I’ll stay with you. Maybe we can help fix stuff? I can clean—I’ve got a Skill. Or maybe I can cook? I guess we can’t go sightseeing. Everything’s in ruins!”

“It wasn’t once. There used to be quite a lot of buildings here.”

Ceria looked around at the ruined facades, wondering if she could see where the Adventurer’s Guild had stood. Yvlon was silent too. The last time they’d been here was an age ago, when they had all met to debate going into Liscor’s dungeon. Back then Calruz and Gerial had been alive and…

In the end, the Horns of Hammerad found themselves staying in a former inn now housing citizens alongside visitors. They had to sleep three to a room and Pisces found himself sharing a space with Termin and Ksmvr, much to his distaste. Termin opted to sleep in the stables, though, and Ksmvr agreed to go with him.

For the rest of the night Erin helped the innkeeper—an overworked, balding man who had a big scar on his right shoulder that was still healing—manage the inn. He nearly cried when he realized she could cook better than he could and happily surrendered his kitchen to her.

There wasn’t much Erin could make with what few supplies were available to the city, but she made some potatoes and deer meat into a filling stew for everyone and found herself serving a vast number of people. When word got out she could cook, more food came in with requests that she make it for this group of people, or feed this family.

In the end, Erin only got to rest with the others when it was long since dark. She sat on a table, wishing there was a place to take a bath or shower in the city and knowing there was not.

“I can’t thank you enough for your help. Your stew went down excellent and you fried that meat to perfection.”

Umbral complimented Erin. She raised a thumb up and smiled weakly.

“Happy to help. How have you all managed to survive like this?”

He looked tired, but determined.

“It hasn’t been easy. We had a lot of help, mainly from our city’s savior. Ylawes Byres and his Silver Swords.”

“Really?”

Erin saw Yvlon sit up a bit. The woman cleared her throat carefully.

“Will you tell us what happened?”

Umbral was only too happy to, and once the other citizens realized he was retelling the story they had to add their own accounts of what had happened, arguing with each other over the details.

The story was simple. After the Goblin attack, Esthelm had fallen into chaos. People had killed each other over scraps in the city and bands of thugs had fought with each other. The undead began rising since they hadn’t been buried and a second Goblin army had come to use them in some twisted scheme.

And then, Ylawes had come in, a literal knight in shining armor. He’d rallied the hearts of the people in the city and helped them fight back both undead and Goblins. With his help—and a timely rescue by a group of adventurers led by the other two members of his Gold-rank group, the Silver Swords, they’d fought the Goblin army off and begun rebuilding the city.

“Wow! Your brother is a hero!”

Erin whispered that to Yvlon as the citizens led them to a monument in the center of the city. It wasn’t a statue—that was coming, according to Umbral, but there was a plaque celebrating Ylawes and his party.

Yvlon stared at the plaque silently. She seemed…distant, to Erin. Not unhappy, but not aglow over her brother’s success either.

“He’s always been a hero. I admire him greatly, Erin. Although I wish he’d not risk his life like this.”

“I guess I understand that. But he did save everyone. And—hey, what’s that?”

There was a second monument next to the one for Ylawes. This one was a grave of all things. Erin didn’t know how she felt about someone being buried right in the center of the city, but she was struck as she stared at the plain tombstone.

“Flowers?”

The grave was blooming with flowers despite the hard soil. Erin stared at it, wondering who it was for. There was no inscription.

“Yes. It’s the strangest thing.”

Umbral explained when Erin and the others returned to the inn and asked about it.

“It marks, well, a young woman. A…hero, I suppose. She fought and died fighting the Goblins. And she was…Human. I think. That’s what Ylawes said, and so we buried her as such. Her and the Goblins who fought for her.”

“Goblins?”

“They fought against their kind. And the undead. Don’t ask me why. But if it hadn’t been for them killing that damned skeleton with the purple eyes, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Umbral didn’t notice the way all the adventurers and Erin went quiet at this. He shook his head after Yvlon asked him whether Ylawes was still in the city.

“He went north, after leaving a group of those adventurers to help guard the city. Lazy pigs they are, too, not helping at all unless there’s a monster about. Not like Sir Ylawes.”

“Did he say why he went?”

“He was looking for his sister. Some adventurer—Yvlon Byres. Apparently he heard she was wounded and came south looking for her.”

Erin bit her lip, but Yvlon just thanked Umbral and changed the topic.

“Do you think we’ll get to Liscor tomorrow?”

Erin asked Termin before they all went to sleep. The wagon driver nodded, yawning and grinning at her.

“We’ll get there before nightfall, don’t you worry. I plan on having myself a good rest before heading back north. Maybe I can supply these folks with food and supplies? I reckon I could make a good profit. I don’t suppose you have room for me and my horses in your inn, do you?”

Erin smiled widely at Termin. She gave him a quick hug, making the old man blush.

“Of course I’ve got room! You’re welcome to stay as long as you want! I can’t wait to get back.”

As everyone retired to their rooms, Erin wondered if she should ask Yvlon about her brother. But Yvlon wasn’t in the mood for talk, and so Erin eyed the bed, trying to figure out if she and Ceria and Yvlon could all squeeze in or if someone was getting the floor.

As they all squeezed in together, Erin whispered to Ceria.

“Ceria?”

“What is it, Erin?”

“Are the people here going to be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ylawes is gone. What if the Goblins come back?”

“They’ll fight.”

That came from Yvlon. Her voice was calm, distant, bordering on the verge of sleep.

“They survived two battles with Goblins. Every citizen in the city will have levelled from that. People will have gained classes, levelled up, learned to fight…if a city doesn’t fall, it gets stronger from each disaster.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

After a while Ceria spoke to Erin.

“Do you think Lyonette survived without you?”

Erin shifted uncomfortably—sleeping with someone else in the bed was not normal for her, but the other two women were used to company when necessary. She started to shrug and stopped before she shouldered Ceria in the face.

“She might. I just hope all the walls are standing when I get there. Oh well. Once I’m back, everything’s going to be a-okay!”

With that in mind, Erin went to sleep. The next day, the Horns of Hammerad set out for Liscor. They arrived just before evening as the sun was beginning to set.

----

When Lyonette woke up, she knew today was going to be a busy day. That was because all of her days were busy now. But she didn’t groan or stay asleep. She just got up, smiled as she pulled the blanket over Mrsha and the Gnoll curled up into a ball, and got to work.

Now that the Wandering Inn was busy, Lyonette found that being an innkeeper, or standing in for one, was a ton of work. Rather, she’d realized how hard just keeping an inn afloat was before now, but now she worked from dawn to dusk without pause just to keep everything running.

The first thing Lyonette did was haul water from the stream. She did it before the sun had risen in the sky, swearing as she hauled the heavy buckets up the slippery, snowy hill into the inn. And then she went down and did it again.

Her new guests drank a lot of water. And while Lyonette could melt snow, it was faster to haul buckets up to get a good supply going. Then she had to rekindle the fire before she could start cooking and that took time too.

And then of course there was actual cooking. Lyonette sweated over food for the morning, but eventually made a big pot of pasta and sausage to go along with the assorted eggs, ham, and fried potatoes and boiled greens for breakfast.

It was a lot of food, but she now had many guests. And as Mrsha thumped down the stairs Lyonette saw the first of her guests come down now.

“Good morning, Mister Shivertail!”

“I told you to call me Zel. Mister and Shivertail aren’t my name at all.”

Zel Shivertail smiled at Lyonette. He sniffed the air and his tail twitched appreciatively. Mrsha’s was thumping the floorboards.

“Is breakfast ready? Don’t hurry on my account.”

“No, it’s ready! We’ve got pasta, fried potatoes, ham, eggs—Mrsha! Stay out of the kitchen!”

The Drake laughed.

“I’ll have some pasta for breakfast, why not? But first I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.”

“Oh—sure!”

Lyonette half-turned as she grabbed Mrsha to stop the Gnoll from running into the kitchen. Mrsha looked disappointed as Lyonette sat her at a table and got plates, utensils, and cups for both her and Zel.

“You sit, understand? You can eat with Zel—after you wash your paws!”

The young woman put no plate out for herself. She knew her other guests would be coming down the stairs soon, now that the smell of food was in the air. She just hoped she’d made enough!

Zel walked back into the inn with a gust of fresh air. Lyonette realized she’d forgotten to refill a bucket with water to wash with, and hurried to do that. She no longer questioned Erin anymore—

Lyonette corrected herself. She no longer questioned Erin just for being someone not born of royalty, but she had to wonder if the other girl had ever anticipated actually having guests in her inn.

Erin had a wonderfully large inn, magnificently crafted with glass windows no less, but it was missing some essential parts.

For instance, more than one outhouse. If there were more than four people living in the inn, having at least two seemed essential to Lyon, but Erin had never mentioned it. Plus, the outhouses were hardly big enough for some of her guests!

Poor Moore the half-Giant had had to find his own place to do his business for the first day, until Lyonette had talked to Pawn. The second outhouse was no bigger, but the third, temporary one was and Moore was quite happy with it.

There were nine private rooms in the inn, a very large number, but just enough for all the adventurers plus Zel, Lyon and Mrsha to sleep in if Mrsha and Lyon shared the same bed. Now that Lyon’s inn was full of guests, she found that once one person woke up, they’d all be up within the hour.

“Good morning!”

Lyonette called out as the first sleepy person tromped downstairs, lured by the food Zel and Mrsha were happily devouring together. Jelaqua Ivirith smiled slowly at Lyonette, and the girl smiled back, despite the slight chill she got when she saw that the Selphid’s host body had a bloodless open gash on her cheek.

“Good morning, Lyonette. Please don’t mind the injury. I know it’s distracting, but I didn’t have time to fix it last night.”

“Oh—it’s no problem! Would you like to have something to eat? We’ve got pasta, eggs, bacon, bread, potatoes, ham—”

“All that? I’ll have a portion of ham, then. With potatoes on the side. And can I get some of that honeyed milk? And some more honey on the side?”

“Right away!”

Lyonette bustled into the kitchen, calling out greetings as more adventurers descended. Some, like Seborn and Ulrien greeted her quietly, but others were grumpier in the morning. Revi and Typhenous looked upset to be awake; Halrac just looked grumpy.

“Good morning, Miss Lyon.”

Moore was always polite. Lyon smiled up at him and told him what was on the menu.

“Anything you can have the most of, Miss Lyon. I try not to be picky.”

That was one of the reasons why she needed so much food. Moore being half-Giant meant he ate three times as much as any of her other diners, hence her extensive preparations. But he never complained no matter what he ate; indeed, he was always polite, always seemingly grateful for the care Lyonette took to make sure he was fully fed.

Another thing Lyonette had noticed was each one of her guest’s personalities, their likes and dislikes, but also how they functioned as a group.

Griffon Hunt reminded her of the groups of elite soldiers she’d seen relaxing off duty in the palace or on the streets. Halrac and Ulrien were professionals, Halrac grumpy, Ulrien quiet and serious. Revi and Typhenous were typical mages in a sense, somewhat arrogant and condescending, not to mention picky when it came to relaxing, but equally competent at their job.

They argued a lot. Revi usually had a different opinion than Halrac, and the other two members had their own opinions. But Griffon Hunt settled their arguments by collective vote and for all their dysfunction, they were one solid team when it came to fighting.

The Halfseekers on the other hand were more like friends, and far more accepting of each other’s opinions. They had to be, Lyonette supposed. They were all outcasts in some way.

“Thank you for the food, Miss Lyon.”

Seborn nodded to her as she brought over his plate of eggs and bacon, and two pitchers of water. He drank as much as Moore ate, to keep his aquatic parts hydrated.

“No problem. Would you like more honey?”

“Please!”

Revi and Jelaqua raised their hands and then stared at each other. Jelaqua smiled and Revi looked away.

Honey was a very popular treat among all of Lyon’s guests. With Lyon too as well; sweet things were a luxury and she loved a bit of honey with bread, or in her milk, or with almost anything, really. But Jelaqua liked honey more than anyone but Mrsha and Revi. She claimed Selphids loved the stuff on Baleros.

Revi just had a sweet tooth. Lyonette came over to their table with a small gravy boat full of honey and smiled at the four adventurers.

“Everyone doing okay?”

“We’re quite happy, thank you.”

Ulrien gave her a rare smile which made Lyonette beam. Halrac just grunted and Typhenous blinked and scowled at his plate. Lyonette hesitated, and then asked a question that had kept her up last night.

“I hate to ask, but…is it Griffin Hunt or Griffon Hunt?”

“Huh?”

They looked at her. Lyon blushed a bit.

“It’s just—I’ve heard your name several times, but I kept wondering if it was spelled, uh Griffin or…”

It was Halrac who answered, with an even rarer smile. His was ironic.

“You have a good ear. We’re Griffon Hunt. Not Griffin as in the beast. We’re named after a breed of dog used for hunting, which is what we specialize in.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Revi leaned over the table, staring at Halrac.

“But you and Ulrien used to hunt actual Griffins.”

“Yeah. But we’re named after the dog.”

“Why in the name of silk would you do that? No one I know thinks you’re named Griffon Hunt!”

“It’s a play on words. I didn’t come up with it.”

All eyes turned to Ulrien. He raised his hands.

“Not me. It was another member of our group.”

“Who?”

“She’s dead. It doesn’t matter.”

Halrac scowled, and that was it for the conversation for the day, Lyonette knew. She let the adventurers talk and troop out of the inn while she went over to the Halfseekers with a jug of milk.

“Anyone want more milk? Or honey with that? How about seconds?”

“I think we’re good, thank you Lyon.”

Jelaqua smiled again, and Lyon beamed. It made her happy that the adventurers actually smiled while staying here. She knew she had never smiled during breakfast when she was young, only complained about the food.

But both groups of adventurers were happy here. Halrac especially—he and the team of Griffon Hunt were pleased not to be spending so much coin—she’d heard him talking about how they were getting better service for a fraction of the cost ‘that damned Drake’ had charged. And the Halfseekers were happy to find an inn where they weren’t treated with suspicion or fear.

But a good inn was in the end just a place where they could be safe and sleep. Within twenty minutes of sitting down, all the adventurers were ready to go. They trooped out the doors, headed for the city or the dungeon and Lyonette cleaned up. Mrsha carried some plates too—mainly to lick them when she thought Lyon wasn’t looking—and Zel carried his dishes and Mrsha’s to the kitchen, despite Lyonette objecting.

“I’ll be heading into the city too. Would you like me to drop off a list of anything you need bought?”

“Thank you, but I think I’m good for today!”

He nodded and went out into the cold. Lyonette shivered a bit, and then got back to cleaning.

Washing dishes and getting the kitchen ready was another exhausting task. At least she only had to make food for Mrsha and herself for lunch. Sometimes she had to feed everyone then as well, which was very tiring.

Lyon had a moment to spare around midday, which made her pause and sigh in relief. Normally she’d be sorting the things she’d had bought from the city—the Gnoll Runner usually carried it up on a sled about now.

Since that fateful day when Mrsha had fallen into the dungeon—the day Lyonette thought of as a near disaster and the rest of the city thought of as a momentous occasion where a new route into the dungeon had been found—she’d been sort of unbanned from entering the city.

It was tricky. Lyonette was fairly certain that if she went through the gates, no one would stop her. The Drake [Guardsmen] certainly wouldn’t, although she wasn’t sure if the Gnolls would. Zel Shivertail’s influence had granted her some kind of pardon, but Lyon didn’t want to test it unless totally necessary, so she just sent shopping lists into the city with coin when she needed food or supplies.

Now she bought directly from Krshia, and the Gnoll came over sometimes to talk with and teach Mrsha. She rarely said much to Lyon, but she had taken a greater interest in the young Gnoll, although she’d said that she didn’t have time to teach the young Gnoll much. And as Lyonette had learned, none of the other Gnolls were willing to get near Mrsha, much less teach her.

After a little while spent resting and then more time outside, playing catch with Mrsha and letting her run about after a small ball like a dog—although this one threw the ball back—Lyonette went back inside to fix a small problem she had.

It was that she had too much food. Ironic, that. Lyon bought in bulk now, in order to feed her guests. She had the funds for it—the adventurers and Zel paid a lot to stay here and none of them were tight with their coin. But there was a finite amount of room in the kitchen pantries to accommodate all the things Lyon bought, and she wondered if there was other space in the inn.

Zel found Lyon as she was opening a room she barely knew existed. He peeked over her shoulder as she stared into a supply closet.

“What’s that?”

She whirled, jumping in surprise.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry.”

He smiled at her without exposing his teeth. Zel sat down tiredly as Lyonette peered inside the closet.

“I think this is some kind of…well, it’s too small to be a proper storage place. I wonder why it’s here. Oh, are you done with your tasks in the city?”

“For today. But there’s going to be a lot more, if all the [Message] spells I’ve been receiving are any clue. I’ve had to talk with Zevara, the local heads of all the Guilds…it’s a mess.”

Zel sighed. Lyonette wanted to go get him some tea or something stronger, but she’d spotted a small crack along the floorboards. She peered at it suspiciously.

“Is this…because of the Antinium? The new ones, I mean?”

Lyonette didn’t know much about the new Antinium that had sent Liscor into a frenzy, but she knew the one with the blue chitin had helped save Mrsha. That made Lyon trust her at least, but she had also heard the stories of the Antinium Wars and was uneasy about this sudden development. As was, it seemed, the continent.

“Yes. All the cities want to know what’s going on. They’re arguing, and it’s getting very political with Ilvriss around. But I’m also meeting to discuss the issue with the Goblin Lord and this dungeon.”

“Are you part of this city? I mean, do you live here or…?”

“No, but I feel responsible. And I try to help where I can, so I do. It’s a pain, though. Drakes can’t do anything without arguing over it endlessly, and like I said, when it gets political…”

“A lot of Human kingdoms are like that too. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Hah! At least there they don’t declare war on each other when a council member insults the Captain of the Watch’s tail. Or do they?”

“It can get pretty bad.”

Lyonette grinned ruefully as she shifted things aside. Yes, the hairline crack was there, and on purpose. She had a feeling she knew what it was and tried to pull things out of the way.

There was a sack of flour and other miscellaneous objects piled up on top of it. Zel came over and helped Lyonette shift everything out of the small space. She smiled at him.

“Thank you. Now, what’s this…?”

There was a trapdoor in the small closet. No, not a closet, but an entrance. Lyonette pulled at the ring and after a moment the trapdoor came up.

“What’s this? A basement?”

Zel and Lyon stared down the dark steps leading down into, yes, a basement of all things! Lyon was amazed—she took a few hesitant steps down and then had to cast the [Light] spell. It was one of the few she’d been taught as a child and it illuminated the very big, very empty basement.

“I had no idea this was here!”

“You didn’t?”

The Drake general walked down the steps, staring at the empty stone room. He pointed.

“Look, there’s places to store grain, shelves…this place is huge! Why hasn’t it been used?”

“I didn’t know about it! And Erin—I don’t know if she did either.”

“Erin? That’s the innkeeper who owns this place, isn’t it? Why didn’t she know about the basement?”

“I don’t think she knew. Or if she did, she might have forgot.”

“I can’t say I’m too impressed with this innkeeper of yours.”

Zel frowned as he stared around the basement. He looked sideways at Lyonette.

“She seems not to care about leaving you—and Mrsha—alone for so long, and with no coin or help, no less!”

“She does care! She’s just—distracted. And she gets into trouble, sometimes. I think she just found something—or got into a problem—and couldn’t come back. I mean, she cares a lot even if she does weird things…”

Lyonette tried to defend Erin, although she realized her arguments were less than compelling. Zel frowned, unhappy.

“I’d like to have a word with her when she gets back. She is coming back, isn’t she?”

“That’s what Selys said. Um, would you mind if I asked you to help carry some stuff down here?”

“I would be happy to help. And you can tell me more about this strange Human.”

In the end, Lyonette told Zel about Erin while they carried a good amount of foodstuffs and supplies down into the basement. He snorted when he heard about her antics with the sleigh, Toren, and all of the other incredible and insane things Erin had done.

“I’ve fought alongside people like that. Distracted geniuses, prodigies without common sense…they tend to win some battles spectacularly and get torn apart in skirmishes they should easily win. I try not to have them in positions of command if I can. They’re not reliable in a pinch.”

“Well…she did save me. And though I was horrible to her, she never gave up on me.”

“That’s a redeeming trait, not an excuse.”

Lyon didn’t have an answer to that. In the end, they closed the basement trap door and only opened it when they realized Mrsha was trapped down in there.

“I told you not to play around!”

Lyon scolded Mrsha as the Gnoll raced back upstairs. Mrsha flattened her ears, but then glanced towards the door and sniffed at the air. Lyon put her hands on her hips.

“Hungry? I guess I should start making dinner, then! Everyone’s going to be coming back and probably starving after fighting monsters in the dungeon for so long.”

“Stressed out, too. It’s a hard job they have. This dungeon is filled with traps and rooms that keep changing. Even if they can bypass some of that and get into a new area, the way down is treacherous and there’s no easy escape. They need to take things carefully and meanwhile a bunch of inexperienced adventurers are going in and getting themselves killed or finding trouble.”

Zel explained the issue to Mrsha and Lyonette as she brought him a mug of ale. He drank it as Mrsha kept sniffing the air. Lyon was about to ask what was wrong when Mrsha suddenly sat up on her chair and howled.

It was sudden and made Lyon spin around in a panic. Zel was on his feet in a second. He stared out the window carefully, back against the wall.

“Mrsha, what is it, what’s wrong?”

Lyonette bent to Mrsha, but the Gnoll was suddenly filled with excitement. She hopped on the table and howled again, louder.

“It’s no monster. She’s not afraid.”

Zel relaxed as he observed Mrsha. Lyonette covered her ears—indoors the howling was insanely loud! Then he heard a distant howl from the city.

“Is that…Krshia?”

The other Gnoll had taught Mrsha how to howl, in some sort of Gnoll method of communicating. Lyonette didn’t know if it was the other Gnoll’s voice, but the instant Mrsha heard it she stopped howling.

“What was all that about?”

Lyon had no idea. She bent over the shards of the mug, picking them up gingerly, when she heard voices from outside.

“Oh? Are they back already?”

She started towards the door. But it was flung open before she could reach it. Mrsha leapt off the table and barrelled through it. Lyon heard a shout, a female voice, and then—laughter.

Her heart stopped and then began to beat faster in her chest. Lyon heard a female voice, a young woman’s voice, laughing, and Mrsha’s excited noises.

“Mrsha! Calm down. It’s good to see you! Please get off. Please?”

Lyonette saw a shape in the door. She walked forwards slowly, and then saw a young woman standing in the light. Erin Solstice beamed as she walked into her inn, holding Mrsha in her arms. She blinked when she saw Lyonette, and blinked twice at Zel, but then smiled at Lyon.

“I’m back! Hey Lyon, did you miss me?”

The girl, the [Princess] and [Barmaid] and single living employee of the Wandering Inn, stared at Erin in silence for a moment. Then her eyes filled with tears and she flung herself at Erin and hugged her fiercely. And as Erin yelped in surprise and the adventurers and wagon driver accompanying her exclaimed, and the Drake general inside laid eyes on the owner of the inn for the first time, word began to spread.

----

At first it came with the howling outside the city. Few Drakes heard it, but the Gnolls raised their heads. And they heard the howl coming from Krshia, and knew.

One of the Gnolls on duty mentioned it to Relc, who flipped a table and upset the card game he was losing badly at.

“Erin’s back! Hey! Call the game off! Erin’s back! Where’s Klb?”

It spread to the Watch Captain, who sighed, put her head in her claws, and groaned.

“This is all I need.”

It was already in the marketplace. Selys jumped up and down excitedly as Krshia smiled.

“She’s back!”

Across the street, a young Drake nearly knocked over an entire display he was helping his uncle with.

“Erin’s back!? I have so much to show her!”

Lism grumbled as he watched his nephew sprint off.

“It’s just one more damn Human. Who cares?”

The Antinium cared. Pawn, Belgrade, Bird, Anand, and Garry all heard the news as one of the Workers delivered it. They unanimously elected Pawn, the only free member of their group, to go above and see her at once.

“And bring back food. Please?”

“I will. And I will be sure to petition Klbkch that we all might go visit her!”

Of course, Klbkch already knew Erin was back. He’d known the instant she passed into the floodplains around Liscor. He sighed as he stood in his small room and looked up towards the ceiling.

She was back.

“I take it this is good news?”

Xrn studied Klbkch as they sat across from one another. He nodded at her.

“Yes. Very good news. A Human girl—the innkeeper I had told you about—has returned to the city. I am afraid we must put off your discussion so that I might greet her.”

“You astonish me.”

The other Antinium’s voice was frankly shocked.

“You would put aside a conversation between us—the reason the Hives have sent their delegation here in the first place—for a single Human girl?”

“Oh yes. Because she is important.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And her presence here means…well, I believe things are going to become interesting once again.”

Xrn looked at him askance.

“You mean they aren’t already?”

“Not yet.”

“You have visitors from four Hives, a Drake [General]—Zel Shivertail no less—in the city, a Lord of the Wall and a new dungeon plus two Gold-rank teams and Humans streaming into the city while a Goblin Lord roams the countryside. And this Human is what you think will make things interesting?”

“Yes.”

Klbkch smiled. He looked up towards the surface, and wondered, for the first time in a long while, what would happen next.

“She’s back. Erin Solstice is finally back.”

3.33

Erin Solstice had returned. That phrase meant little to most people living in or around Liscor. The vast majority of Drakes, Gnolls, and newly arrived Humans did not know this young woman. They would not have cared about her returning if they did.

But it was curious that in a city that housed over a hundred thousand souls above ground and almost the same number underneath how many people did know of Erin Solstice. And yet, that knowledge wasn’t consistent among species. Few Drakes knew. And of those that did, only a handful were friends with Erin.

More of the Gnolls knew of the girl, if only by name. But most had never met her. They simply understood of her existence in the larger framework of ambitions, triumphs, and failures that was part of their tribe’s struggle to justify their place in the city. The Silverfang Gnolls heard the howl, but they let their leader decide what would happen next. She was still the one in charge, even if much of her authority had been lost.

And the Humans? It could be said that of all the adventurers, the ones that mattered knew Erin. Two Gold-rank teams heard the news. One group was merely interested and wondered if their place in the inn would be compromised. But the others were surprised to see one of their members, Halrac, smile.

Less than a hundred people above ground knew Erin’s face. But below the earth, the Antinium knew her name. Even if they had never seen her before, every Worker, and now every Soldier knew her. Because she was significant. She had spoken to the Queen. She had made some Individual, and she was known to the Hive’s Revalantor. She was special.

But Zel Shivertail knew none of that. All he had were his eyes, the few things he had heard about Erin, and the things he had seen. The things that she had left behind. His understanding of her was formed by absence, by seeing what she had not done and the people who knew her.

So he stopped in the center of the inn, the Wandering Inn, and saw Erin Solstice return. He heard her laughing, and then her exclamation as Lyon rushed at her.

“Whoa! Hey, Lyon! Lyonette? It’s good to see you but—are you crying?”

“You’re back!”

“I am, I am. But could you let me go? And Mrsha—”

The innkeeper was caught between the young Gnoll with white fur who was climbing all over her, and the young woman who was almost beside herself with emotion. Fear, relief, surprise—

More people crowded the doorway. A half-Elf helped pry the Gnoll off of Erin while Lyonette let go and sheepishly stepped back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—you’re back!”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks, Ceria. And—wow, who’s this?”

The girl came further into the inn and saw Zel. She looked at Lyon and the girl hurriedly explained.

“That’s one of my—your guests! He’s staying here.”

“Guests? I have guests? You mean people are sleeping upstairs? Who?”

“Not right now—there’s actually two groups of adventurers sleeping upstairs at the moment. Every room is full—”

“What? You mean there’s no space for us?”

A male voice shouted from outside the inn, sounding outraged. The speaker stomped into the room, a Human young man in dirty robes.

“Calm down Pisces. There might be space—we could sleep in the common room. And even if there’s not, there’s plenty of room in the city. Probably.”

A female Human, a warrior by the looks of her, wearing light leather armor walked in after that. Zel noted her gear—worn material, but ill-fitting on her. Probably a new purchase. And the young man and half-Elf’s robes marked them as mages. Adventurers?

Then someone else followed the group into the inn. An ant-like creature with an armored blackish-brown carapace and three arms. Zel’s claws clenched together before he made himself loosen his grip.

Antinium. The thing made Zel want to leave, or start a fight. But he held himself back. Why was one here?

“Pardon me Captain, Erin, but Termin is asking where his horses can be rested. Is there a stable nearby?”

“A stable? Why would I have that?”

“Most inns have a stable, Erin.”

“Really? Oh yeah! Um. No, I don’t have one Ksmvr. I guess Termin’s going to have to put his horses in the city. Sorry!”

“I will convey that to him with tact.”

The Antinium walked back out. Zel couldn’t believe what he’d heard. That Antinium had a name? And it was—an adventurer?

Nothing made sense. But now the young woman was approaching him with a smile. Zel took a few steps and met her in the center of the room.

“Good evening, Miss. My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Zel Shivertail.”

Erin stared up at the tall Drake, blinking a few times at him.

“Whoa. You’re tall. Um. Hi. I’m Erin Solstice. I sort of own this inn, but I’ve been gone…wait, did you say Shivertail? Are you related to Selys?”

Zel’s nonexistent eyebrows rose.

“You know my niece?”

“Yeah, she’s one of my friends! That’s so weird!”

Erin stared round-eyed at Zel for a moment, and then came back to the topic at hand. She coughed a bit nervously. Zel realized he was looming a bit and tried not to. This young woman seemed, well, a lot like what he’d expected.

That was unfortunate.

“Well, I’ve been gone for a little bit. There was an uh, accident, but I’m back now! I hope Lyon—I mean, Lyonette’s been treating you well? Getting you food and cleaning the inn and stuff?”

It was a question, not a statement, and Zel noticed that too. He made himself smile at Lyon as the girl looked nervously at Erin.

“I couldn’t have asked for better hospitality while I’ve stayed here. Your employee has done an excellent job, Miss Solstice.”

“Call me Erin! And that’s great! Good job, Lyon. Let me just look around…um, make yourself at home, Zel! Ceria, Pisces, I guess put your stuff over there—I just want to check…”

She passed by Zel and he saw her enter the kitchen. Lyon followed after her, looking suddenly very anxious. Mrsha ran after both Human girls and Zel heard Erin exclaiming as he eyed the adventurers. They seemed to be discussing this new revelation near the doorway—the Human [Mage] was giving Zel the fisheye, although the Drake [General] doubted any Human would recognize him without an army at his back.

“Hey, nothing’s broken! And the inn isn’t burned down! Everything’s alright! Good job, Lyonette!”

Zel’s eyes narrowed fractionally. He glanced towards the kitchen and saw Erin come out of it. Lyon looked relieved. The girl was chattering to Erin as the young woman poked around the rest of her inn.

“I tried to keep everything like it was, but I had to put the blankets and…stuff on the ground somewhere else. I’ve been purchasing food, but I tried not to spend too much coin! Um, I kept it—”

“Yeah, cool. Did you make food? By yourself?”

“I did. It’s not very good…”

“See, I tried to teach you! Did anyone get sick? And wait—”

Erin stopped and stared at one part of the room. She hurried over and then exclaimed in horror.

“Hey! What happened to my flowers?”

She rushed over to the boxes of dirt standing at the windowsills. Zel saw Lyon grew pale. The girl hurried after Erin, wringing her hands as she tried to explain.

“I forgot. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t think of them until recently. But when I did I tried to water them, and some have started to sprout. But I found out something about the flowers. You see, when you were gone I was looking for food for the Antinium and—”

Erin interrupted the other girl brusquely. She fussed over the small yellow flowers, not looking directly at the girl. She was clearly upset, but she only bit her lip as she turned to face Lyonette.

“It’s okay, Lyon. I guess…you know what? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone. I can save some of them, I think. And I mean, I shouldn’t have expected you to…well, it’s too bad. That’s all.”

There was a tone of condescension in Erin’s voice that irked Zel. She was treating Lyon as if the girl were completely incompetent. Zel remembered Lyon saying she had been a fool before, but that was not her now. And Erin didn’t see that.

“I’m really, really sorry. But I managed to use some of the dead flowers! I have more honey—I can show you!”

Lyon wanted to get Erin to follow her back into the kitchen, but the girl had turned back to the flowers.

“Honey? I’ll go see in a moment. Why don’t you uh, well, why don’t you help out, Lyon? You can get some water or something. I’ll make dinner in a bit, and then I’ll talk to all these guests…you’ve been feeding them and making beds and stuff, right?”

“But I—”

Erin turned back to face Lyon, frowning now. She took a deep breath as Lyon went still, looking uncertain.

“Look, Lyon, I’m really glad you’re not being a jerk anymore, but let me finish with this, okay? I can see…whatever it is you’ve done in a bit.”

With that, Erin went back to her flowers, checking each one for damage. Lyonette stepped back and Mrsha ran around her legs. She opened her mouth, and closed it before looking at her feet.

She looked hurt. And that was what made Zel act. He walked over, wondering if he’d regret this when he got kicked out. But he had to say it. Erin was too busy fussing over her flowers, so Zel tapped her politely on the shoulder with one claw.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

----

Erin felt the tap on her shoulders and turned. Her heart jumped a bit in her chest as she saw the huge Drake, Zel Shivertail, Selys’ uncle, staring down at her. It wasn’t that he was a Drake, or really big that bothered her. It was more the expression of displeasure on his face.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

“Um. Hi. Can I help you?”

He was slightly scary. Maybe it was the scars, the places where his scales didn’t join together quite naturally, or Zel’s huge, muscular body. He wasn’t quite as…thick as Relc, but he was clearly a warrior as well. His green scales were tinted a bit grey, but what really distinguished him was his aura. In that, he had one.

He seemed like a rock. Or maybe it was a pillar? He projected something solid that made him hard to ignore, or forget. He wasn’t the kind of person you’d want angry with you.

But he was angry or upset with Erin, for some reason. She tried to smile at him, but he wasn’t smiling back.

“Is…something wrong?”

He was probably upset, even though he’d said those nice things about Lyon. Erin worried the girl had made a ton of mistakes while she’d been gone. True, the inn was in one piece and everything looked good, except for the flowers, but Lyonette had to have screwed up something. Had she borrowed money to keep the inn supplied? And why wasn’t Mrsha with Selys? Erin had countless questions she wanted to ask the girl in private. She had no idea why Lyonette had been silly enough to take in guests when she couldn’t cook or…or Erin wasn’t here.

“How should I put this?”

Zel stared down at her, frowning at Erin as she shifted uncomfortably. She saw Ceria looking up from her side of the room with a frown, but Erin waved a hand at her friend.

“What’s the matter? If it’s something Lyon did—I can fix it!”

“That is precisely my problem, Miss. I would ask you to please stop dismissing Miss Lyonette so casually. You do not understand what she has done, and you are acting quite rude to her.”

Across the room, the Horns of Hammerad went silent. Erin froze.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

The Drake’s eyes bored into Erin’s.

“I realize it isn’t my place to lecture you, but I cannot sit still and say nothing here. It is my understanding that you own this inn, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes—”

“In that case, why did you leave this young woman alone, without any guidance? You have been absent from your inn for weeks. While you have been gone, this young lady has had to do everything without you, and with barely more than a handful of coins. If she had not been so resourceful, she might have starved or been hurt. I trust you know she was banned from the city?”

“I—I do, but—”

There was no getting a word in edgewise, Zel rolled on, staring hard at Erin as he continued speaking.

“Lyonette took matters into her own hands. Yes, she made mistakes, but you owe her respect, not condescension. She took care of your inn in your absence. She obtained food, even stole honey from Ashfire bees. She looked after this young Gnoll—and she even rescued her when Mrsha was in trouble. She offered me a place to stay and she has kept this inn in business. I don’t suggest she has taken your place, but she deserves your respect and acknowledgment.”

When he was done, no one could speak. Erin’s gaze had gone past Zel’s—she couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked over, and saw Lyonette standing to one side, and lower down, Mrsha staring reproachfully up at Erin.

Lyonette’s face was beet red and she was avoiding looking at Zel or Erin. For her part, Erin felt her cheeks igniting. Because, although it stung and she felt a bit angry at being lectured, she knew Zel was right.

He was like a grampa, although he wasn’t as old as one. But he was like a grampa in the sense that he was reassuring, oldish, and calm—until he got mad. Then it was like Erin was a kid again, being scolded by an adult. Because she’d made a mistake and she had to be told off.

But what did she say now? The uncomfortable moment dragged on, no one speaking. Zel had folded his arms, and Erin felt like she had to speak.

But what could she say? Now that she thought about it—now that the exhilaration and relief at returning had worn off and she was thinking, she could really see that the inn was fine. Great. Extraordinary, even.

The tables were clean. The floor was clean. There was a fire in the fireplace. The dishes in the kitchen had all been washed, and the pantry and larder were full. In fact, everything was more organized than Erin had left it. Lyon had no Skills in cleaning, but she’d kept the inn clean, and found guests. And one of them had just told Erin off because she was treating Lyon like a nuisance.

Erin’s face felt way too hot. She looked at Lyon, and saw the girl glancing away. Embarrassed. They were both embarrassed.

“You’re totally right.”

Erin said that at last. She looked at Zel, and then at Lyonette.

“I’m sorry, Lyonette. I guess I thought—”

“No, no. It’s my fault. I was horrible before you left. I didn’t—you have every right to think I’d have messed things up.”

The girl interrupted hastily. She seemed so different, almost like another person. Erin had a hard time believing it. She hadn’t believed it before, which is why she hadn’t noticed. But Lyon wasn’t haughty, she wasn’t rude. She was thinner, and she looked tired, but happier than Erin had ever seen her.

And Mrsha was sitting by Lyon, clearly attached to her. Erin took a deep breath.

“I’m still sorry. You did a great job. Mister Zel here is right. I shouldn’t judge. And I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to, but…you did a great job, and I’m glad you kept the inn—and Mrsha safe. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

She trailed off. Lyon looked close to tears and Erin felt a bit emotional herself. She spread her arms.

“Hug?”

Lyonette hesitated, then hugged Erin. The two girls laughed a bit, and Zel turned his head, scratching at one scaled cheek. Across the inn, Erin thought she heard Pisces make a comment, but that was followed by a yelp as Ceria kicked him.

Mrsha ruined the moment by leaping from a table and onto the two girls. She made small sounds as Erin and Lyonette yelped and laughed. The Gnoll seemed wound up by Erin’s return, and she couldn’t stop sniffing at Erin, licking her, and running about.

“Okay Mrsha, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you too—how have you been?”

The young Gnoll stared up at Erin. She opened her mouth, paused, and then touched Erin’s leg with one paw. Erin bent down, and the Gnoll nuzzled her face. She was no dog, and there was something deep in her eyes that told Erin she understood.

“Sorry.”

Erin cuddled Mrsha, and then stood up. Zel was watching her.

“Thanks for saying that.”

He smiled, showing a few teeth.

“If you kicked me out for saying that, I wouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t my place, but I had to say something.”

“No, it’s—”

Erin cleared her throat, embarrassed. She had to get the conversation away from this. She looked back and saw Ksmvr helping Yvlon carry the door in. Lyonette and Zel turned to stare as the door came through the doorway.

“Is that…a door?”

Erin laughed. She smiled at Lyonette and Zel.

“I’ve got some crazy stuff to show you all. Come on, Lyon. We can help everyone get the stuff off the wagon—there’s not much—and you can tell me all about what happened while you were away.”

“And the door?”

“It’s so cool!”

Lyonette caught Zel’s eye as Erin eagerly went over to the door and the adventurers. He was staring at the door and giving her a quizzical look. She shrugged, helplessly. That was Erin. But Lyonette had to smile too. She felt that same sense of strangeness around the other girl. Strangeness, yes, but also excitement, adventure, new thoughts and energy. If she had just one word for it, it would be—

Change.

----

It was by coincidence that the Halfseekers met Griffon Hunt on the way back towards the inn. It wasn’t dinner time yet, but the Halfseekers were done with their efforts surrounding the dungeon today. Griffon Hunt on the other hand had returned early, due to Halrac hearing the news about Erin.

The two groups of adventurers nodded to each other when they met, but they were hardly inclined to strike up a conversation. They were allies for the purposes of taking the dungeon on and associates in the same line of work, but still strangers for the most part.

“I hear there’s a new innkeeper. Or rather, the old one’s come back.”

“So it seems.”

Revi nodded somewhat coldly to Jelaqua. The Selphid smiled and the Stitch-girl turned to Halrac.

“Is she really that important? Why are we returning now? Don’t tell me you like this Erin Solstice.”

Halrac looked irritable.

“No. I just want to see.”

“Fine, so long as we don’t have to pay more.”

Revi threw up her hands and walked back to talk with Typhenous and Ulrien. Jelaqua turned to the two members of her group.

“Hm. This Erin Solstice. Do we know her?”

“She’s the one who had that skeleton, remember? The one who punched that Gnoll warrior?”

Moore smiled a bit, and Jelaqua’s eyes widened in recollection.

“The one with the skeleton, right? Well, if she’ll tolerate us I’m fine with the undead wandering around. I really hope she doesn’t kick us out.”

“Hm. You did make her faint by opening your chest up, Jelaqua.”

“Damn. Was that her? Sorry, Moore, but you might not be able to get as comfy here as you hoped.”

“I’m sure she won’t be so prejudiced. Have faith.”

The adventurers reached the top of the hill, the Halfseekers arguing about what might change, Revi complaining and Ulrien and Typhenous listening. Halrac ignored the discussion and paused in front of the door. He pushed it open, and blinked.

“Hey there! Halrac!”

A young woman turned in the middle of the room, and a trio of struggling adventurers stopped wrestling with the thick wooden door to turn and look at the newcomers. Erin half-ran across the room and beamed at Halrac.

“You’re staying at my inn? Lyonette, you didn’t say Halrac was the one staying here!”

“You said you wanted it to be a surprise!”

Lyonette hurried over, smiling at Halrac and the other adventurers. They paused.

“Miss Solstice? We haven’t formally met. My name is Ulrien. I lead the team of Griffon Hunt.”

“Oh! Pleased to meet you!”

Erin started shaking hands. Revi came forwards, and Typhenous. Halrac grunted.

“My team. We’re staying at your inn.”

“I know, and that’s great. Come on in—sorry, I was in the doorway, wasn’t I? Come on in! There’s no food yet, but…oh! Are you the other Gold-rank team?”

Somewhat apprehensively, the Halfseekers stepped forwards. Erin was busy staring at Moore and Seborn, both of whom were used to the scrutiny, but the real test was Jelaqua. Erin smiled at the woman and then blinked and frowned as she saw the other woman’s deathly pale face.

“Hi, I’m Erin. Haven’t we met?”

“I believe so. My name is Jelaqua Ivirith. I lead the Halfseekers, who you see before you.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“Wait a second…you’re that chest-bursting lady! The Selfad, right?”

Jelaqua nodded, not bothering to hold her breath because she didn’t need to breathe that much unless she was talking. But she was nervous, until Erin stuck her hand out, beaming.

“Good to meet you!”

Bemusedly, Jelaqua blinked at Erin’s proffered hand. She hesitated; touching a dead body’s hand was not fun for any species. But there was no way to say that in a moment, so she gingerly shook Erin’s hand. The girl shivered, but not in disgust.

“Whoa. That’s cold. Oh wait, your body is dead, right? That’s so…well, weird, but I guess Humans are weird too, right? Sorry, am I being rude? Wait, was what I said racist? Sorry!”

She smiled at Jelaqua, and then turned to Seborn and Moore.

“And you’re a half-Giant? And a…Drowned Man? Are there Drowned Women, too? Come on in! Lyonette says she makes a ton of food for you, Mister Moore. I’ll see if I can buy bigger plates. And bigger knives and forks, too! Oh, and do you need a bigger bed? I can probably get one made…”

The Halfseekers blinked as Erin talked them into the inn, showing not a hint of fear, suspicion, or even awkwardness around them. She just seemed curious and excited by the adventurers.

“Oh! And here’s my friends. That’s Ceria, Pisces, over there is Yvlon, and that’s Ksmvr…they’re the Horns of Hammerad, an adventuring team like the rest of you!”

Both Gold-rank teams turned to look at the others. The Horns of Hammerad froze, suddenly thrust into the spotlight as they fussed with the wooden door. Ceria turned red as she realized Erin was putting them on the same rank as Gold-rank adventurers, and Yvlon looked like she wanted to swallow her tongue. Only Pisces and Ksmvr seemed at ease—Pisces staring back at the other adventurers appraisingly, and Ksmvr nodding politely.

“You’re an adventuring team now? And you’ve reformed your old party, is that it?”

Jelaqua went over to Ceria, smiling as she greeted the half-Elf. Ceria nodded somewhat warily.

“That’s right. We’re a Silver-rank team. We uh, escorted Erin back to Liscor.”

“From where?”

Halrac frowned at Erin. It was Pisces who answered.

“Celum.”

“How’d you get all the way there?”

Erin debated telling Halrac, but decided to wait until she had more time.

“It’s a long story. But I’m back, and so…these are my friends. They’re going to be staying here.”

“Where? All the rooms are full.”

Revi pointed that out, glancing idly at the other adventurers. She didn’t say anything else, but the implication was clear. The rooms were full, and she wasn’t sharing with anyone. In terms of pecking order, she and the other Gold-rank adventurers far outranked a new team of Silver-rank adventurers.

Erin frowned, vexed. Already problems were popping up! She knew Lyonette had done well to get the other adventurers to stay here, but where were her friends supposed to sleep?

“I guess you guys can sleep in the common room, maybe. I mean, it’s not very private…”

Pisces looked very unhappy at the idea, and Ceria and Yvlon nodded slowly. Lyonette bit her tongue, then spoke up.

“What about the basement?”

“Basement?”

The young woman nodded, blushing as Erin stared blankly at her.

“You do have one.”

“I have a basement?”

Erin thought about this. She vaguely remembered…hadn’t the Antinium built it? She followed Lyon over to the room and blinked as the girl pulled up the trap door. Erin walked down the steps and shouted in surprise.

“I have a basement!”

She came back upstairs, shaking her head in wonder.

“The things you learn…hey Ceria, do you think you guys could sleep in a basement?”

Ceria glanced at the others and nodded.

“Probably.”

“What? It will be cold down there! And what about privacy? I object!”

Pisces complained as he stomped over to stare at the basement in disgust.

“No problem. We can totally make this work. All I need are some blankets, a mattress, curtains—I bet we could even buy some bed stands in Liscor!”

“Or we could sleep in the Frenzied Hare. Isn’t that a far simpler solution?”

Pisces sniffed as all eyes turned to him. He gestured at the door.

“The Frenzied Hare—or a more reputable inn, perhaps? It would be far more effective than sharing elbow room down there.”

“I’m afraid you won’t find many rooms, even if you do know the owner of this inn.”

Typhenous called out to the others. He gestured towards the city through one of the windows.

“There’s far too many people here. Every building, loft, and apartment in the city is getting more crowded by the minute.”

Erin laughed, making the old mage frown.

“The Frenzied Hare isn’t here! It’s in Celum!”

Everyone stared at her. Revi spoke slowly.

“Are you planning on heading north right away, then? Because if you’re going a hundred miles to sleep at a different inn…”

The other adventurers chuckled, but Erin’s eyes just sparkled. She turned to the Horns of Hammerad.

“We’ve gotta show them. Come on Pisces, is the door ready?”

He sniffed.

“The door hasn’t stopped being ready. It’s merely placement I was concerned with—”

Erin brushed past him and ran over to the door, which had been leaned against one wall. She beckoned Lyonette, Mrsha, and Zel over. The Drake stopped playing ‘catch the claw’ with Mrsha and walked over to stare at the door.

“What is it, Erin?”

The adventurers sitting or standing around the room stared in bemusement at the plain wooden door—all that is, except for Typhenous and Moore. Revi was openly yawning until Typhenous nudged her and pointed. Then she sat up straight in her chair.

The rest of the Gold-rank teams picked up on the cue, and stared harder at the door. Erin stood in front of it like a circus conductor about to unveil the biggest trick of the night.

“Alright, brace yourselves, everyone. A little bit ago, Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, Ksmvr—they’re the Horns of Hammerad—they went into Albez with this map thing. And they found this. Well, they didn’t find this, but—”

Erin broke off as she realized she was losing her audience. She shook her head.

“Never mind. But they got this magical door. Look what it can do!”

She flung the door open, and spread her arms wide.

“It’s a portal door!”

There was no wall, behind the door. There should have been, but instead the amazed room of people stared straight into a second room, one filled with racks full of glowing potion bottles, workbenches with powdered ingredients and empty glass containers—

And sitting at one table, humming a song under her breath and putting a label on one bottle, a young woman with dark skin. She looked up, frowning at the sound of the door hitting the wall in Erin’s inn.

Octavia froze, potion bottle in hand as she saw the room full of people all staring at her. She stared at the beaming Erin, at the open-mouthed Jelaqua, at Moore, blinking down at her, and then yelped as a white shape bounded towards her.

“Mrsha, no!”

Lyonette grabbed for the Gnoll. She caught Mrsha a second before the young Gnoll could cause havoc in Octavia’s shop. The Stitch-girl slid off her seat.

“What in the name of exploding cauliflower is this, Erin?”

“Octavia! I’m back in my inn!”

The room—both rooms—erupted into sound as everyone began talking.

“Extraordinary! I can’t believe it!”

“A magical door?”

“In Celum?”

Everyone started clustering around the door. Erin stepped through and beamed at the others as Pisces tried to explain.

“Isn’t it so cool? I can go all the way to Celum just like that! And if I step back—”

She walked back through and spread her arms.

“I’m in Liscor!”

She hopped through again. Ceria frowned and opened her mouth.

“Hey Erin, that’s not the best—”

“In Celum! In Liscor!”

Erin jumped back and forth in rapid succession. Pisces turned and snapped.

“Don’t do that! You’ll exhaust the mana supply!”

“What? Oh—”

Erin half-turned to look back as Pisces as she jumped through the door again—

And the portal closed. One second the other room was there, full of noise, people—Erin could even smell them from Octavia’s shop—and then she was staring at a blank wall. Erin paused and then slowly poked the stone behind the door. Hopefully, she closed the door and opened it again.

Nothing happened. Sitting at her counter, Octavia smacked her forehead and groaned.

“You idiot.”

----

In the minutes after the door’s mana supply ran off, there was a lot of shouting. But adventurers being used to sudden changes, no one panicked too much. Except for Mrsha. Lyonette had to lift the howling Gnoll away from the door, and reassure her all was well.

Zel sat with her at a table as Lyonette coaxed Mrsha into sitting with her. The other adventurers were still standing around the door, although now an effort was going on to bring Erin back.

“Erin’s just gone for a little bit, okay Mrsha? It’s all okay. It was just an accident—no one’s hurt!”

“That was startling, though.”

Zel remarked as he stared back at the door. He eyed it, and the adventurers who were beginning to split off, leaving only the five mages to talk about what should be done. Lyonette thought his eyes lingered for a long time on Ksmvr.

“It’s a magical door. It must be incredibly powerful if it can teleport someone so far.”

“Yes. It’s an artifact worth—I can’t imagine. But it clearly has its limits, as your boss seems to have discovered.”

He did not look impressed. Zel turned to Lyonette.

“She has a very scattered personality.”

“It was an accident. She was—um.”

Lyonette stared at the door as the mages began to argue loudly. She saw Pisces standing protectively over the door as he and Typhenous began raising their voices.

“And what, pray tell, do you have to object to in the way I altered the enchantment? You will note I barely altered the matrix—”

“By creating a portal? That’s the element of the trap, don’t you see?”

Typhenous looked irritable as he poked the door with one finger, glaring at Pisces.

“It was clearly meant to open and reveal another room—thereby teleporting the incautious to another place entirely. But such a spell isn’t meant to safeguard the user! If it had closed on that young woman’s hand or leg she might have lost it entirely!”

Pisces turned red and Ceria interjected quickly.

“It was a mistake, but the key now is fixing it. If we work together we can probably—”

“We? Let Typhenous fix it. He’s the highest-level out of all of us.”

Revi interrupted, folding her arms. Lyonette winced as Mrsha turned to look. She knew conflict when she saw it, and this was the kind of battle she was used to back home. Not physical, but social, a battle of willpower and hierarchy.

“Oh, is that so? And I take it you are an expert in enchanting magic?”

Pisces drew himself up as Ceria let out a hiss of exasperation. Typhenous stared back archly.

“Not a master, but I am well-versed in it from years of practice and time spent in dungeons. I was educated in the college of magic in the capital city of Pheron for twelve years. And you are…?”

“Pisces. I, and Ceria here, are graduates of Wistram.”

Revi and Typhenous blinked. Revi looked frankly incredulous—Typhenous muttered what looked like a spell under his breath.

“You two?”

“Correct.”

Pisces stared unflinchingly back while Ceria mumbled something in agreement. Typhenous nodded slightly to Revi, and her demeanor changed.

“Well…we might not be Wistram mages, but I was tutored by an expert. We’ve got the experience here—we’ll alter the enchantment on the door before we draw the girl back.”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“I am fully capable of doing any needed configuration myself. Your assistance would be useful—”

“It needn’t be a competition.”

The deep voice came from Moore, making all the other mages pause. He had been quiet, but now he looked disapprovingly around at the other four mages.

“We are all experts in some way, aren’t we? I have never been to Wistram, although I have dreamed about studying there. But since none of us specialize in enchantments, let us pool our knowledge.”

“It’s not a question of pooling, Moore.”

Typhenous looked unhappy as he glared at Pisces.

“As I was saying, the enchantments need reworking. If you look at how much magical energy this door drained from just a few moments of being active—”

“My spells did nothing to inhibit the costs! Ceria, back me up here.”

“Let’s all calm down and—”

Across the room, Ulrien and Halrac sat together with Jelaqua and Seborn. They were used to mages, and as such, gave them room. Jelaqua stared at Ceria and Pisces, looking thoughtful.

“Wistram mages?”

Seborn nodded.

“It seems as though they are. Typhenous was surprised. I wonder why?”

Ulrien spoke quietly.

“Probably because he didn’t believe it. I’ve heard Wistram mages are a cut above most other mages, even at lower levels.”

“Well, we knew Springwalker was good. Her team might be important to watch. More importantly, where the hells did they find that door? I heard them mention Albez, but I heard that ruin was tapped out decades ago!”

“Why not ask?”

Lyonette saw the Gold-rank adventurers get up and begin talking with Yvlon, who looked overwhelmed to be speaking with so many higher-ranking adventurers. She turned to Zel.

“It looks like there’s a lot of competition.”

The Drake nodded.

“Adventurers work together, but they also compete for the same things. These groups seem pretty mellow, actually. I’ve seen things get ugly fast, although it might come to that if the mages don’t cooperate.”

“I’ll do something about that.”

Determinedly, Lyon stood up, letting Mrsha hop off her lap. Erin might be back, but Lyon could still be useful. The Gnoll followed her into the kitchen and in a few moments, came out chewing something in her mouth.

Lyon came out a few moments after that, holding a platter with cut cheese, some sliced bread, and sausage all sliced up. She approached the angry mages, holding the smorgasbord out in case someone cast a spell. They ignored her until she raised her voice tentatively.

“Excuse me. Would anyone like something to eat? Or drink?”

The bickering mages looked up. Like magic—a different kind of magic than was being argued over here—they stopped fighting as all fives mages eagerly grabbed the snacks off of the plate. Moore, who hadn’t really been that confrontational to begin with, smiled gratefully as Lyonette handed him a block of cheese she’d sliced into two parts and half a sausage on a plate of his own.

“Hm. Oh, thank you, my dear.”

Typhenous smiled at Lyonette, and Ceria and Pisces remembered they hadn’t eaten since breakfast as they shoved food into their mouths. Lyonette hurried back into the kitchen, and in a few minutes everyone was sipping from mugs and speaking far more calmly to each other.

“Yes, I see. I suppose we can simply concentrate our mana together to reactivate the doorway until a better solution can be found.”

Typhenous brushed some crumbs off his beard and nodded at Pisces. The young man inclined his head as well.

“How would you like to focus it? Neither Ceria or I have a focusing agent—”

“My staff would work well. Allow me.”

Moore gently raised his staff and touched the door as he put his plate on one table. Typhenous nodded. He reached out and grasped Moore’s other hand. Revi stood by Typhenous’ side; she linked hands with him.

“A good old fashioned link-up, is it? I haven’t done one of these in ages. Do they do these in Wistram?”

“Not much. They have fancy crystals that let mages link up at a distance. I once saw a mage eating in the banquet hall while he helped power a spell two floors up.”

Revi snorted as Pisces took her hand. Ceria offered her skeletal hand to Pisces, he took it, giving her a bemused look. She shrugged.

“Better conductivity.”

“Just so long as you don’t expect the rest of us to do a blood link.”

“Hah!”

The other adventurers, Lyon, Zel, and Mrsha all watched as the mages grew silent. Lyonette had to pick up Mrsha to keep her from wandering over; she had a feeling serious magic was being done.

If it was though, it only took moments and, disappointingly, had no colorful effects or sounds to accompany it. The mages let go and Moore carefully pulled the door open.

“I’m telling you, you’re not going to get it open even if you pour a thousand mana potions on it. Put that down!”

“How do you know? It might work. Let me try one!”

Octavia’s shop appeared in the doorway again, as if nothing had happened. Erin and Octavia were caught in the center of the shop, fighting over a green bottle. They paused and turned to the door.

“Oh hey, the door works.”

“You did it!”

Erin leapt through the door and beamed at the mages. They stepped back, looking slightly weary.

Revi flicked a bit of sweat off her forehead.

“That thing’s a mana sponge. No wonder it can’t run for more than a minute at best.”

“Thanks, guys!”

Erin beamed at the others, and then pointed at the door.

“Will this thing last for a while?”

“Longer than last time, if you don’t exhaust it by moving back and forth again.”

Pisces sat back into a chair and reached for another piece of cheese. Typhenous nodded.

“You have a wonderfully powerful artifact here, Miss Solstice. I would love to talk to you about it—and with you adventurers, if you have the chance. Perhaps over dinner?”

“Dinner! That’s right!”

Erin turned to the window in horror as she realized how late it was getting. She called out to Lyonette as the girl hurried over.

“Lyon, we’ve got to start making food! Tons of it!”

“I’ve got a bunch of it in the pantries, but there’s more in the basement. Should I…?”

“Great! Bring up whatever you need—I’ll start cooking! I’ve got [Advanced Cooking]!”

That made all the adventurers in the room, and Zel, sit up. Mrsha’s ears perked and the young Gnoll crept towards the kitchen to wait.

“Aw, you’re making food? Close the door before I smell it!”

Octavia groused to Erin as the girl began listing food for the appreciative crowd and accepting suggestions for what she should cook. Erin turned and smiled at Octavia.

“Why don’t you join us?”

“Join you?”

“Why not? Come on, lock up your shop and have a meal! You can talk to these guys while you wait—did you know everyone here’s an adventurer? Well, besides Zel and Mrsha and Lyonette—but these guys are Gold-rank adventurers?”

“Gold-rank adventurers?”

Octavia didn’t exactly teleport, but she was through the portal door in a flash. She offered a brown bottle filled with liquid that looked like it had tiny glowing fragments swirling around inside of it to Revi.

“Mana potion?”

“What? No, I don’t need—”

Revi tried to decline, but Octavia pushed the bottle into her hands.

“Free of charge. Complimentary. In fact, let me throw a stamina potion in as well. Have you tried my wares? Octavia’s the name. Please consider using my products if you’re ever in the area. I’d be happy to custom-brew anything you happen to need. In fact, I have a new line of defensive potions and items you might be interested in. Are any of you [Rogues]? I have this wonderful Smoke Sack—that’s what I’m calling it—that has incredible potency for the price. Let me just find you a sample…”

She began her sales pitch and Erin laughed as she walked into the kitchen. The night had gotten off to a bumpy start, but now? Now she felt like everything was beginning to be right.

More than right, in fact. Perfect. Lyonette was in the kitchen, already spreading out food on the countertops. She turned to Erin, looking pleading.

“Can I help? Or at least watch? I’ve got the [Basic Cooking] skill now, actually. I’m still no good, but—”

Erin smiled at the other girl and put a hand on her arm. She grinned, and after a moment Lyonette smiled back. In her corner, Mrsha smiled too, and stared at the food as she waited for the right moment to pounce.

Erin grabbed a knife. She had a feeling she’d need to make a ton of food tonight.

“Let’s get cooking.”

----

Klbkch walked up towards the inn on the hill outside Liscor, ignoring the cold snow that crunched around his uncovered feet. The Antinium didn’t have much use for clothes, but they were aware of their bodies’ inability to regulate extreme temperatures. Thus, Klbkch kept moving and only stopped in front of the door.

He hesitated. It would be good to see Erin again. But there was so much to talk about! What should he say?

Greetings first. Klbkch knocked and then wondered if he should have brought a gift. Wasn’t that customary after a long time?

Too late now. The Antinium waited, heart pounding a bit faster. He had so much that needed to be said, but perhaps it was Ryoka he should talk to? And yet, Erin was vital in so many ways…

After a moment, Klbkch realized no one had come to answer the door. He listened, and realized there was noise coming from inside. A lot of it.

Cautiously, Klbkch opened the door. A wave of sound, heat, and movement nearly overwhelmed his senses.

The inn was packed! Or at least, it was fuller than he had ever seen it. Klbkch walked into the room and saw Lyonette going from table to table with plates, carrying mugs, and Mrsha skulking between table legs, searching for scraps and occasionally stealing some from plates.

The room was filled with people Klbkch knew, and many people he didn’t. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad were occupying one section of the room, talking, arguing, laughing loudly. Across from them, a group of Humans and one Drake were eating, laughing and occasionally getting up to make some kind of speech. Klbkch was sure he’d never seen them in Liscor. Why was there a child with them? He was sitting with the female Drake.

And then—there was Selys, Krshia, a dark-skinned young woman he didn’t know and…Pawn? The Antinium looked up and paused when he saw Klbkch. He was sitting with the Gnoll and Drake—and Ksmvr, of all beings. Klbkch knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Ksmvr, but he hadn’t expected the two Antinium to be sitting together.

Ksmvr froze when he saw Klbkch, but Klbkch ignored him. He saw Zel Shivertail, making his way over to the table with the adventurers. The Drake froze when he saw Klbkch, and then kept walking, stiffly.

So many people. But where was Erin? Klbkch looked around and then saw her. She was coming out of the kitchen. He made towards her instantly.

“Erin.”

“Klbkch!”

She greeted him the instant she saw him. Erin beamed and hugged Klbkch—he hugged her back, gingerly.

“How have you been? No, wait—it’s good to see you! Do you want something to eat? Let me find you a place to sit!”

“Actually, Erin. I was hoping to converse with you about—”

“Sure, sure! But later, okay? I’ve got to keep serving—”

“Hey Erin!”

Someone raised his voice. Klbkch saw a man get to his feet unsteadily. He waved in Erin’s direction.

“You have to give—show us again how to do the chant! The one with the [Witches]! We can’t decide how it should be performed.”

“Oh, that one? Just a second!”

Erin called out and smiled at Klbkch, looking distracted.

“That’s from Macbeth. It’s a play. Oh, wait, you don’t know what a play is. I’ll explain it in a bit—just wait and I’ll get Lyonette to bring you some fried bee!”

She ran off before Klbkch could say another word. Forlornly, the Antinium stood in place, staring around the room.

“Hey, Klb. Over here.”

Someone addressed him by name. Klbkch turned, and saw Relc sitting by himself at a table. The Drake grunted as Klbkch sat down. He had a huge bowl of corned beef in front of him, and three tankards. He drank from the fourth as Klbkch stared at him.

“Noisy, isn’t it?”

“It is unusual. I did not expect to see you here.”

“Why? Because I’m a Goblin-hating jerk?”

“Yes. Did Erin react negatively towards your presence?”

“I think she was too busy to get mad.”

The Drake stared moodily at his food.

“She said hi. And she didn’t kick me out. I guess that’s good, right?”

Klbkch nodded. There was so much sound here! He was used to noisy taverns and inns—it was practically their only state of being. But not here. This was different. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Bee? Someone wanted—oh, hello Klbkch!”

Lyonette bustled over, a bee on a plate. She handed it to Klbkch and turned back to the kitchen. The Antinium stared at the bee, and realized he was hungry. As he ate, he spoke to Relc.

“You seem morose. Why? You being allowed to stay here seems to be a positive thing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Relc picked at his food. Klbkch crunched one of the bee’s legs in his mandibles, savoring the honey and butter coated onto the insect.

“It’s just…I feel like we’re not her guests, anymore, y’know? I mean, we’re guests here and we pay and get fed—and this is good grub, but we’re not her guests anymore. We’re just guests.”

“I see.”

Klbkch looked around the room. He looked at countless faces, all of whom knew Erin by name, and felt a sense of isolation in his chest.

“I feel the same way.”

“See? It’s not just me!”

Relc drained his mug. He waved for Lyonette to bring him another—and had to keep on waving because Lyonette was busy.

“I guess we didn’t know what we had. But remember when Erin was just by herself? We could come in at any time and she’d be sitting with us…”

“It was pleasant.”

Klbkch nodded as he tore pieces off of his bee. Relc smiled.

“Hah. Remember the pasta?”

“I do.”

“And now—well, now I can look over and see old man Zel sitting right there. Zel Shivertail. The Tidebreaker himself. Eating in this inn. It’s crazy.”

Klbkch nodded silently. He knew that Relc knew of his past history. Klbkch was as famous as Zel. More famous. At least among his own kind. But the extent of that fame was diluted among other races. Relc had only known him as Klbkch the Slayer at first. It was not the same.

“And over there—two teams of Gold-rank adventurers. Gold-rank. You barely see them in the best inns in big cities, and there are two staying here. I could take any one of them on by myself, of course—”

“Of course. Understand I merely say this to act as a friend, not because I believe your combat skills are that advanced.”

“—Shut up, Klb. But I mean, look at them.”

Relc lapsed into silence. Then he dug into his bowl with a spoon and munched down some beef. He wiped at his mouth, looking dispirited.

“Reminds me of when I was back in the army. It reminds me…nah, never mind. I just sorta feel like I’m out of shape, y’know?”

Klbkch nodded.

“I understand your sentiments.”

“I don’t. But I feel out of place and very worthless.”

The two looked over as Olesm collapsed into a seat next to them. The smaller Drake looked despondent as his light blue tail curled up around his chair leg. He slumped forwards onto the table, holding a nearly-empty mug in one claw. Olesm stared at the two guardsmen.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Go ahead.”

“You appear to be sitting already.”

“Thanks.”

The Drake sighed, long and loud. Relc poked him with a claw.

“What’s eating you?”

“I wanted to talk to Erin, but she’s busy. And there are so many people here—I feel like I’m not important anymore. I mean, to her. Not that I thought I was—I just want to talk to her, okay?”

“Join the club.”

“Indeed.”

The three sat in silence. The food was good, the company was acceptable, but Erin wasn’t here. Or rather, she was close, but too busy.

After a while, Klbkch spoke.

“It is unseemly to sit and be depressed because of Erin’s good fortune. I believe we should mingle and enjoy ourselves. We will be able to converse with her in time.”

“Mingle? And do what?”

Relc looked annoyed. Klbkch stood up.

“Let us find out.”

Relc exchanged glances with Olesm, but then they stood and entered the party. And it was a party.

“Look at this door! Look at this door!”

Five minutes later, Relc was drunk, laughing, and having the time of his life. He was throwing pieces of bread through the door—which had been laid flat on the ground—into Octavia’s shop, trying to land it in Wesle’s mouth. Thus, he was actually tossing the bits of bread down onto the door’s entrance, whereupon they flew out of the doors sideways, aiming for Wesle as he lay on the floor in front of the enchanted door.

The physics involved created a far trickier game than normal, and the others crowded around the door were laughing.

“Stop making a mess in my shop!”

Octavia was shouting at Relc, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You play so well! Have you been practicing?”

Olesm was dueling Pawn in one corner, and Typhenous, Ulrien and several other people were busy learning the game or playing it as well. Klbkch, standing to one side and eating his sixth bee, saw Erin move over to the game as if attracted by a magnet.

“Hey, I didn’t know you wanted to learn how to play, Lyonette!”

The girl blushed as she carefully placed pieces on the board. Her opponent, Krshia, was thinking hard as she scratched Mrsha by the ears. The Gnoll sat next to her, nibbling on some cheese, her belly round and full.

“Why don’t I teach you all how to play Go sometime? It’d be great!”

Erin was talking to Olesm and Pawn as Klbkch came over. Olesm looked confused.

“Go?”

“It’s a board game! Even more complex than chess! And it’s simple to make—well, sort of simple! I bet we could get a [Carpenter] to fix up a board for us in less than an hour!”

Erin shouted as she tried to explain the game. Olesm and Pawn crowded around Erin, and Klbkch couldn’t help but draw closer to listen too. Erin tried to share the general details of the game, but it was impossible to share everything in the noisy room.

“Later! We can do it later! I know how to play Shogi too…but I can’t remember what all the kanji on the pieces looks like so it’d be weird. But right now—does anyone want to play a game?”

“Me! Oh, me!”

Olesm practically begged Erin for the first game, and Pawn the second. Klbkch found himself playing Erin—but at the same time as she took on Typhenous and Olesm again.

And then—the party kept going. Some people had to sleep earlier, like Mrsha who was carried upstairs by Krshia, and others, like Jasi, left with her younger brother Grev because it was late. But no matter how many people left, Klbkch found that Erin was always talking to someone.

It was true, what Relc had said. Erin was no longer just his friend. Klbkch found that knowledge slightly painful.

He ran into Zel just once. The Drake had avoided him and all the other Antinium, choosing to hang out with the Humans, or other drakes in the room. But they bumped into each other while going to the bar for another drink.

“Zel Shivertail. Please excuse me.”

The Drake [General] stared at Klbkch with open hostility.

“Why do you know a Human [Innkeeper], Slayer?”

“I could ask you the same question. Coincidence, perhaps?”

“She seems like a decent enough Human, as they go. Foolish, young…but we were all young once. At least, I was. What I don’t understand is why she’d ever befriend the Antinium.”

Klbkch shifted. He was armed with his swords of course, but he had no desire to fight here. Especially because he would die in an instant. Well, it wasn’t the death that bothered him, but the time it would take to revive.

“I do not wish to engage in hostilities here.”

“I won’t break the truce. But I don’t have to pretend to like you.”

Zel turned and walked away. Klbkch let him go. After a while, the Revalantor walked out of the inn, leaving some coins behind on a table for Erin. He stood outside on the snowy hilltop and decided to wait.

----

Lyonette had never been busier, and in a way, never been happier than tonight. She was running about, serving tables, acting like a common peasant in short. But this peasant was leveling. And this peasant was liked.

By Drakes. By Gnolls. By the Antinium, even. Some part of Lyon still thought of Drakes as warmongering monsters, and Gnolls as overgrown dogs. But it was a part of her that Lyon knew was stupid. When she had been starving, a Drake, Olesm, had brought her food. And she loved Mrsha.

And she also loved this inn. There was electricity in the air that night, a charged room that kept everyone up long, long into the night. In fact, it was closer to morning when the last people staggered out and the adventurers went upstairs—or down into the basement—to sleep.

Lyonette found herself dozing at one of the tables, trying to pile dishes while her eyelids drooped. Erin yawned as she made her way over.

“You sleep. I sleep. Tomorrow we’ll…”

The sentence never finished. Erin just sort of wandered off.

“Here.”

Someone took the plates away. Lyonette looked up and saw Zel smiling at her.

“You’re awake?”

She said it stupidly. Zel grinned.

“What can I say? I like parties, and I’m used to staying up days without sleep.”

“Oh.”

Lyonette turned and looked upstairs. It seemed like a long way to go. Zel chuckled.

“Need a tail? Or—claw? What is it you Humans say, a hand?”

“Something like that.”

The girl grinned at Zel as she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Erin wandering into the kitchen. The Drake frowned as he looked in that direction.

“Is she going to sleep there?”

“She used to.”

Sure enough, the two heard a thump and then faint snoring as Erin immediately fell asleep. Zel shook his head and Lyon grinned.

“She’s a good…good…”

“So you say.”

He started helping Lyonette towards the stairs. But she paused as she put her foot on the first step.

“Something’s happening. Something is…weird…”

Zel paused. Then he frowned.

“Yes. I can feel it too.”

He turned. Lyonette shivered, and looked towards the fire. But it was still hot—and she realized she wasn’t shivering in cold, but rather trembling. The room was shaking.

“What…?”

“Earthquake?”

Zel looked around, ushering Lyonette towards a table. She stumbled towards it, but then realized something was wrong.

“No—look!”

She cried out as she pointed towards the walls. Zel turned and swore. The walls were trembling as well, and—glowing.

“What in the name of the Ancestors is happening?”

Lyonette held onto a table as she heard voices from above. People were waking back up, and stumbling around. She turned, and tried to run for the stairs.

“Mrsha!”

The light grew stronger. Lyonette cried out in fear, and then, suddenly, everything stopped. It was as if the world had been pushing, shaking as it moved towards something. But now the world had reached its conclusion. The inn returned to normal. The walls grew dark and still.

But it was not the same inn of a moment ago. Lyonette’s legs shook as she steadied herself on the staircase railing for support. She stood up, and stared around the room. Zel stared back.

“What—what happened? I feel…”

Something was different. It was in the air, in the walls, even in the ground. The atmosphere in the inn suddenly felt charged to Lyonette. Zel just stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Why did the shaking stop?”

“I don’t know. But can’t you feel that?”

He shook his head.

“Feel what?”

Lyonette stared at him. He couldn’t feel it, but she could. Untrained as she was, she could feel it in every particle she breathed, every step she took as she walked across the floor of the inn. She raised her hand and concentrated.

“[Light].”

An orb of light drifted upwards from her hand. It glowed deep blue, and then shifted to a murky green; the color of the ocean depths that she had seen only once before. It was just an orb of light—

But it was far larger than it should be. As the ball of light flew upwards, it expanded, turning into a sphere, a tiny green planet of its own. And more orbs of light rose upwards as well, from the ground, the tables, hovering in the air, a constellation of slowly shifting lights.

“What is it?”

Zel stared wide-eyed at the lights. He looked back at Lyonette, but she was pale-faced too. She had never cast a spell like this before. This—was closer to [Illumination], a spell far beyond her. But all she had cast was [Light].

“What is it? How is this happening?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it. It’s…everywhere.”

“What is?”

Lyonette held one of the softly glowing orbs out. It turned pure white, and she breathed the words.

“Magic.”

----

And she woke up, in the moments before the sun rose. Erin sat up as Lyonette and Zel stood in the common room. She stared at the glowing lights floating in her inn, and heard the words, the words that thundered in her mind.

[Innkeeper Level 30!]

[Conditions Met: Innkeeper → Magical Innkeeper Class!]

[Skill – Inn: Magical Grounds obtained!]

[Skill – Inn: Field of Preservation obtained!]

“Wow.”

3.34

It was still dark, still quiet, when the door of the inn opened. It was not night. But it was not day either. This was the brief moment before dawn, the quietest, most empty time. The sun had not risen, but the sky was no longer quite as black.

The door to the inn slowly opened, and someone came out. They moved very slowly; the rest of the inn was completely asleep at last, an hour after all the magic had occurred. As it turned out, even something as dramatic as an inn becoming a magical inn couldn’t keep people awake that much longer.

But the lone figure was still up. It closed the door and then peered upwards at the side of the inn.

This is what someone would have witnessed if they were waiting outside. A slight scraping sound, the sound of indrawn breath, scuffling. The figure climbed up onto the roof of the inn, muttering as snow cascaded down around them. But in the end, they were on top, and then quiet crunching followed their slow movement across the top of the inn.

A small flurry of snow swirled downwards as a small patch on the rooftop was cleared. After a few more seconds, the figure sighed as she took a seat, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the roof. Only then did she speak.

“Oh, hey Klbkch. I didn’t see you down there.”

Klbkch stepped out of the darkness and away from the wall he’d been standing next to. He nodded up at Erin Solstice.

“Good morning, Erin. I hope I did not alarm you?”

“I was about to scream, or throw something. I nearly had a heart attack. But why are you out here?”

“As a matter of fact, I was hoping to speak with you. But I did not anticipate you coming out here so early in the day. Or rather, late at night.”

The two spoke very quietly, their voices swallowed up almost immediately by the snow and night. But now Erin’s voice was filled with quiet amusement and astonishment.

“What, you were going to wait outside all night? That’s so weird. Why were you waiting? Come on up!”

It took Klbkch only a few moments to leap upwards and pull himself onto the rooftop. He was far more agile than Erin and stronger, too. She moved over and he sat next to her. Erin was still warm from the inside; Klbkch seemed like a cold block of ice.

“Was it something really important? You could have just woken me up.”

“No. That would be discourteous. And my issue was not so pressing…I simply found talking to you last night to be difficult, so I decided to wait outside while I determined what exactly I should say.”

“Oh.”

Erin fell silent. She turned her head and looked at Klbkch. He sat still, not shivering, more like a statue than a living thing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk. I really am glad to see you. It’s just I had so much to do…”

“I understand. And the fault is mine for expecting complete attention.”

“No it’s not. We’re friends.”

“…It is good that you are well, Erin. Your departure was alarming as it was mysterious.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Erin exhaled slowly, letting a small trail of vapor fly upwards. Klbkch watched it dissipate.

“I am told your skeleton was the cause.”

“Yeah. He was.”

“That is regrettable.”

“Yeah.”

Klbkch was used to maintaining both sides of a conversation. He had worked with Relc for years and was used to the Drake’s moodiness. But with Erin, he found it was easiest to wait. Or rather, he wanted to wait and hear what she had to say rather than talk.

“You know, I was surprised by Lyonette. She really changed while I was gone.”

“It was dramatic, certainly. I was not aware of her transformation until this point.”

“She really did do a whole lot. She helped save Mrsha, took care of the inn—she even learned how to steal honey from those evil bees. By herself! And she got me new guests to stay at my inn.”

“The Gold-rank adventurers are certainly a boon.”

“Yeah. I’m glad they’re my guests. But that Zel Shivertail guy? He’s important too, isn’t he?”

Erin’s face turned to Klbkch. He couldn’t see her exact features in the dim light, but he saw her eyes meet his. He knew what question was coming, or thought he did. If it were anyone else, Klbkch might have hesitated or considered an untruth or partial truth. But with Erin he just nodded.

“Yes. He is a Drake [General]. A famous one.”

She shrugged as if that made no difference. Erin stared out at the walls of Liscor to the west. They were gray, imposing, a darker blob of color amid all the snow.

“He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m irresponsible, silly, and sort of a jerk. Which is fair. But he hates you, Klbkch. I mean, really hates you.”

Klbkch stirred, looked at Erin.

“You could tell?”

She just smiled a bit.

“It was obvious. I saw him look at you a lot while I was serving food and chatting. The innkeeper sees everything, after all. Just like the butler, the maid, and the kids. It was obvious he didn’t like you—or Ksmvr or Pawn. And you—were the two of you enemies? In the war, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

The two paused, and then the conversation moved on. Klbkch looked at Erin, but saw very little behind her calm, somewhat tired expression. He didn’t know how she felt and was…afraid…to ask.

“There were many guests in your inn. I take it these were all acquaintances?”

“From Celum, yeah. It was good to see them, although they did get a bit crazy and trash Octavia’s shop. I was happy to see they were all doing well.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Jasi’s doing well. So is Grev, which is great. I mean, he’s not stealing anymore and he looks halfway cute now that he’s cleaned up. Even if he has a big nose.”

“I see. Will you tell me who Jasi and Grev are?”

“Oh—right. You don’t know.”

Erin looked sideways at Klbkch. He stared back. She smiled, and the night lit up a bit.

“There’s so much that happened. I mean, I know there’s a lot that happened with you over here—adventurers and dungeons and new Antinium and stuff. But would you like to hear what I did?”

“I believe I would.”

The two sat on the roof and talked for a while. It was the first conversation they’d had that was really between the two of them just catching up. Talking. Briefly, Erin told Klbkch the story of how she’d started putting on plays in Celum. Klbkch listened, nodding a few times and trying to imagine this strange activity Erin was performing.

“Such performances sound quite extraordinary, not to mention profitable. I would like to witness one if the occasion permits. Indeed, the city of Liscor may be receptive to such activities as well.”

“Would your Queen like it, do you think? Would that be one of the things which helps your Hive—putting on a play for her?”

He paused. And then he shook his head.

“I do not believe she would care to view a play. And if she did, I do not think she would understand it.”

“Really?”

Klbkch nodded.

“There are many things my people do not understand.”

“Like what?”

“Friendship. Laughter. Happiness. Ambition. Joy. Tears.”

“Really? You don’t understand tears? I mean, I know the Antinium don’t cry, but you don’t understand them?”

“I understand it is an action meant to express sadness. I do not understand why those who weep feel better after having done so.”

“I guess it’s because being sad helps. And crying is very sad.”

“Intriguing.”

“Isn’t it? Us Humans are so intriguing. Except that I think Antinium are way more interesting.”

“That is a rare perspective.”

“I know. A lot of people don’t like the Antinium. Well, everyone, really. When I was in Celum I heard terrible things. And I’ve been told you guys are evil by all kinds of people. You know Lady Magnolia?”

“I know her, yes.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I am aware.”

Klbkch felt Erin looking at him again.

“Klbkch, will you promise me to tell the truth if I ask you an important question?”

“…Yes.”

The Antinium closed his mandibles slowly. He gripped the tiles on top of the roof, hard enough to crack one slightly as Erin stared at him. At last, she asked.

“What do the Antinium want? Really want, I mean?”

“To live. We want to live.”

“Oh.”

The two sat in silence as the sky grew a bit brighter. Just a bit. Erin shivered and mumbled about bringing a blanket. Klbkch sat in the cold, feeling it chill his entire body.

“If you guys want to live so badly, do you think you could live in peace? Not go to war, I mean? Be…nice to other nations?”

“It is doubtful.”

“Why?”

Klbkch shifted in his seat, dislodging more snow.

“Understand I speak of all the Hives, not just my own. I may be unfamiliar with recent events that have transpired, but I understand the way the Queens think. For them, peace is a strange concept. We do not think in terms of peace and war. We simply build up to wars, the next conflict. We have only known war, never peace.”

“So this isn’t peace. You’re really planning on going to war?”

“Some Queens are. Others think we should ally against our true enemy.”

“Who? Wait, what about your Queen? Would she be friends with the Drakes and Gnolls and Humans?”

“I do not believe she knows how.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She does not understand friendship any more than I do.”

“But you’re friends with Relc, aren’t you?”

“I am his partner. And I have been so for years. I have accompanied him on many occasions, and yes, I consider myself his friend. But I do not understand how I came to be one. And my Queen has no friends.”

He heard Erin take in a slow breath.

“Not even you?”

“Not even me. What we have is different.”

It was more than five minutes before anyone spoke next. Klbkch could see Erin’s eyes and head drooping. She was tired. So was he, but neither moved to get out of the cold. At last, as the sky grew brighter, foreshadowing the dawn, Erin stretched. Then she stood up. She stood on the roof of her inn and stared around the wide, open plains filled with snow. Everything was motionless, as if she was looking at a painting rather than reality.

“The world’s gotten a lot bigger, Klbkch. I know it’s usually the opposite way around, but I feel like every time I think I understand things, it turns out I don’t really get anything at all.”

Erin paused, and stared at the cold, pale snow stretching in every direction around her.

“…Or maybe it’s that I was looking at the wrong things to begin with. Does that make sense?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“Not at all. Your statement was quite incomprehensible to me.”

“Well, good. I don’t think I understand it well myself. What I’m trying to say is—did you know I leveled up last night?”

“I noticed an odd phenomenon around your inn and surmised this was the case, yes.”

“I got to Level 30. I’m a [Magical Innkeeper] now. My inn is also magical, or it has a lot of mana in it.”

“Congratulations. This is a great accomplishment.”

Klbkch inclined his head to her. Erin smiled a bit, and then grew serious.

“Yeah. It’s great. But—it’s strange.”

“How so?”

She spread her arms wide, turning to take in her inn and everything around it.

“Just look, Klbkch. I’ve got so much now. A new inn, a magical inn, a helper, friends, guests, a lot of money—even a magical portal door. And that’s great, it really is. But it’s not as important anymore as it used to be. Money’s just…money, now. What’s important is something else.”

“And will you tell me what that is?”

“People. We went past Esthelm on the way here, did you know? It was attacked by Goblins.”

“I am aware. But the city repelled them and retook the walls, did they not?”

“They did. But they’re hungry, Klbkch. Hungry. A lot of people died and they’re afraid the Goblins will come back. They’re going to fight to the death if they do, but this Goblin Lord is hurting everyone.”

“Yes. Over fourteen villages have been destroyed and a Drake city took heavy casualties fighting off a Goblin army to the south.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“It is not a pressing concern. Such occurrences are common during calamitous events.”

Erin frowned at the sitting Antinium.

“No, you don’t get it. I didn’t know, but I wanted to know. I need to know.”

“Why? It does not impact your life here.”

“But people died. People are suffering. What happened to the survivors? Did anyone survive?”

Klbkch paused.

“I did not inquire. Such information would be obtainable I believe. Again though, I must ask why you wish to know.”

“Because I care.”

“You care about Goblins.”

“I care about a lot of people. I’d like to help them, if I can.”

“Why?”

Erin stared at the distant mountaintops, where something bright was rising.

“Before I went to Celum, I was really only concerned about surviving. But now—now I care about my friends. I care about people, Klbkch. I care about whether they live or die. I care that Jasi couldn’t find work and that Grev felt he had to steal to survive. I care about Rags and why people hate Goblins. And I care about the people in Esthelm, how they’ll do, and about Krshia and her shop, about Mrsha and Lyonette and you—”

“Why?”

“I guess because we’re friends? Or—no. Because they’re people. Because caring is important. Because I think I can help. Look at my inn. I’ve got money, friends…why shouldn’t I help?”

Klbkch stared at the young woman standing on the roof of her inn. He stood up and tried to see from her perspective.

“I do not understand, but I find myself admiring your perspectives. And yet, I must point out that aiding strangers has no benefit.”

“That’s a very Antinium thing of you to say, Klbkch.”

“Thank you?”

“Who cares if it doesn’t help me? If it helps them then I’m doing a good job. And then we might be friends.”

“Friends. How are friends created? How does friendship work? How do you make friends?”

Klbkch stared at Erin, wishing there were an easy answer. Something he could tell his Queen, tell the others, so he could change them. He did not expect a reply. But to his astonishment, Erin Solstice smiled and laughed out loud in pure amusement.

“Friends? That’s easy!”

“Really?”

She reached out and tapped Klbkch on the chest, right where his heart would be if he were Human. Erin smiled as dawn broke.

“All you have to do is give.”

“Give? Give what, precisely?”

“Something. Anything. Give your time to someone else to talk, give a bit of trust, or a helping hand. Give them a second, and maybe you’ll get something back.”

“But what if you do not?”

“Then you don’t. Maybe you’ll never get anything no matter how much you give. Maybe you’ll never be friends. That’s how it works. But to make a friend, you have to try. Just try.”

The Human and the Antinium stood on the rooftop for a while staring at each other. Klbkch stared at Erin, and then nodded.

“I believe I understand. If that is the case, anyone may be your friend. So then you care about everyone.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because they’re people too. Because I can.”

“I have not heard that perspective before.”

“Really?”

Erin turned and looked around. She walked towards the edge of the roof and stared back at Klbkch, perplexed.

“Why wouldn’t you think like that? Where I come from—well, some people think like that. We’re all people, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we help each other?”

“I have heard it said Humans help only Humans. I have seen Drakes help only their relatives. Gnolls help their species, but seldom others. Each race has their enemies, their rivals. The Antinium see nations and politics as a competition for resources.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Erin stepped off the roof. She landed on the ground and looked up at Klbkch.

“Come on. I’ll make breakfast, and then you can help me.”

He leapt off the roof and landed next to her.

“Do what, exactly?”

Erin smiled. It was a big smile, open and without guile. It was her smile, and it lit up the world.

“Something awesome.”

----

Lyonette woke up as dawn broke. She got out of bed, feeling her muscles aching and exhaustion on every line of her body. Mrsha was sound asleep next to her, snoring gently. Lyonette would have liked nothing better than to go to sleep, but she had to get up now. She had to feed all her guests, get ready for the day.

She trudged downstairs, automatically reciting the list of chores for the day when she heard the pop and sizzle of meat frying. She poked her head into the kitchen and saw Erin, frying and cooking away a storm in her kitchen while Klbkch sat on a stool next to her and peeled potatoes.

“Morning, Lyonette! I’ve got breakfast started and Klbkch got us a lot of water already. Do you want to bring in the rest of the dishes and help me wash them before everyone gets up?”

Lyon blinked at Erin a few times. Then she nodded and got to work.

----

“I can’t believe it. Can you sense the ambient mana in the air, Pisces?”

“I can and do, Ceria. It is simply astounding—when I consider the ramifications of such a Skill—”

The next morning, the inn was in an uproar. Well, a quiet uproar. Mainly confined to all the mages, really. The other adventurers just stared at their magic-using comrades when they exclaimed over Erin’s new Skill. Ulrien blinked constantly as Typhenous raved about the mana in the air, Halrac ignored Revi, and Yvlon plugged her ears rather than listen to Ceria and Pisces discuss what had happened.

To show solidarity, Ksmvr put two of his hands over his earholes. Jelaqua and Seborn listened to Moore out of politeness, but the Selphid’s eyes kept wandering in different directions.

In the end, the mages congregated at one table where they could properly express their amazement and get back more satisfactory responses.

“So? What’s the verdict? Is my inn cool or is it magical?”

Erin smiled as she brought over a basket of rolls to dip in the honey. Typhenous levitated the soft butter up and sliced some off. He accepted a roll with a smile for Erin.

“My dear, your Skill is nothing short of extraordinary. Why, I consider it quite an achievement to have created for all intents and purposes a magical leyline in your own inn. When I think of the positive applications…”

“Yeah, it’s cool, but I can’t do magic. Does this mean all your spells are super-powerful now?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as she regarded the mages with amusement. Ceria shrugged.

“It’s not as if they’ll become that much more powerful, but we could cast the same spell almost twice as many times here. And like Lyonette found out, if no one else is using the magic here, it can accumulate and boost a low-level spell to a great degree.”

“That’s super-powerful. Well, I’m glad it helps. I just hope it’ll recharge my door faster.”

“At the very least it will!”

Pisces seemed outraged by Erin’s lack of enthusiasm. He ripped one roll apart and dipped both ends in the honey, glaring at her.

“Do you understand—mph—what this—nmf—could mean? You could use the mana supply here to power any number of enchantments—”

“Ew. Don’t talk when you’re eating. You mean, like the [Field of Preservation] Skill?”

“It certainly seems that way.”

Moore smiled as Erin presented him with a roll that was more like a loaf. She thought about this as the mages’ conversation about what they might use the mana source for devolved into an argument over who would get how many rolls. But their conversation had given Erin an idea.

“Hey, Lyonette! Want to try an experiment?”

She called the young girl over and brought out an apple. It was a small one, and slightly wizened—not to mention expensive! Erin sliced it open and both she and Lyonette stared at the pale slice of apple.

After a while, Lyonette coughed.

“Um, shouldn’t we come back later?”

“Right…”

Erin slapped her head and left the apple. She bent down to catch Mrsha before the Gnoll could leap onto the table and grab the apple for herself.

“Hey there Mrsha, how are you doing on this fine day? Do you think my new Skills are cool?”

Mrsha licked at Erin’s face frantically, making the young woman laugh and let go.

“Hey! Stop that!”

“Mrsha, don’t bother Erin! You can play after breakfast.”

Lyonette pulled Mrsha back. As she put the reluctant Gnoll on the ground, she saw Erin giving her an appraising look, far different from yesterday.

“You’re pretty good at handling Mrsha, aren’t you?”

“Well…I suppose I have had practice.”

“Good! Actually, that’s great.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette, and the girl flushed with pride. Erin turned and frowned around her busy inn.

“Last night you told me you stole something else from those evil bees, right? Honey, dead bees, and…uh, what was it? A larva? Where is it?”

“Oh! I put it in my room so it wouldn’t bother anyone. I can go get it—”

“Why don’t you show me?”

The two Humans went up the stairs, Mrsha right on their heels. Erin peered at the fat, yellowish-white grub sitting in the bowl of slightly congealed liquid and shuddered.

“Aw. It’s so…gross.”

Lyonette giggled.

“Isn’t it? I was going to feed it to Klbkch, but then I got a [Beast Tamer] class! Um…”

“You want to keep it?”

Erin gave her the fish eye. Lyonette nodded.

“It grows on you. And it’s not hard to feed—I keep adding more royal jelly to the bowl. Actually, I’ll need a bigger bowl; it keeps getting bigger.”

Erin studied the slowly wriggling grub. She frowned at it pensively.

“Have you named it?”

“What?”

“You’ve gotta give it a name. How about Pudge?”

“Pudge?”

“Well, it sort of looks like Pudge, don’t you think? No? Okay, what about a bee name? It’s going to turn into a bee someday, so how about…Buzz?”

Lyonette frowned at Erin.

“I don’t know. Those names sound a bit…”

“Wait, I’ve got it! Beeyonce. That’s perfect! No—wait, that’s horrible. Let me try again…”

“It’s just a grub. You don’t have to name it yet.”

“Apis? That’s the word for bee in uh, Latin. I think. Buzzana? Buzzany? Is it a boy or a girl bee?”

Lyonette just stared. Erin tried out several more names, and then realized she was getting a funny look from Mrsha as well. She threw up her hands and walked away.

“Fine! You can name the bee whatever you want when it gets big. But for now I’m calling him Mr. Ugly Fat Worm. It is a him, right?”

Lyonette and Mrsha exchanged a glance. The Gnoll reached out to poke the big larva and Lyonette smacked her paw away.

“What are you planning on doing now that you’re a Level 30 [Innkeeper]?”

Jelaqua asked as Erin went around the room with a pitcher, refilling cups. Erin paused and then shrugged.

“I’ve got some ideas. I mean, I’m not going to expand or anything; this is plenty for me as it is. But I might do more with what I have.”

The Selphid raised her eyebrows.

“Oh? Such as?”

“You’ll see. In fact, you’ll see in five minutes if you wait. I might need your group’s help for something I have in mind.”

“Really now. In that case, I think I’ll have a refill.”

Jelaqua smiled and leaned back in her chair as Erin filled her cup and moved on. Seborn leaned over to her.

“What do you think she has in mind that involves us?”

“No idea, but I’m curious, aren’t you? I heard stories all over Liscor about the crazy innkeeper, but we missed all the action. I want to be up close and personal for this one.”

One table over, Zel turned his head to frown at Erin’s back. He wasn’t so positive as the Selphid, and his premonition only got worse when Erin marched back over to the table full of mages.

“Hey, can I ask you guys to do an estimate for me?”

“Of course. About what?”

Ceria frowned as Erin pointed to the door.

“Now that I’ve got mana coming out of the walls and stuff, how much do you think I’d be able to transport through the door? I mean, in pounds? Or is it kilograms?”

The mages glanced around the table and began to speak. Pisces was the first person to come up with a response that wasn’t immediately shot down.

“I would wager the door could transport, oh, sixteen to thirty bodies between Celum and Liscor on a daily basis. I say sixteen as a lower estimate given the increased costs based on weight and mass, you see. If you had a group of armed warriors, sixteen would indeed be…”

“Okay, that’s not bad. But what if you all added your mana to it? How many then?”

Pisces broke off, looking confused. Revi exchanged glances with Typhenous.

“Well, we could add a lot. If you mean like last night, to bring a lot of people through—”

“No, I mean as much as you can. What if you drank mana potions, and put in everything you had into the door? How many people could you transport then?”

Ceria frowned.

“At least a hundred. But why? Erin, you aren’t planning on actually turning your door into a big shortcut between the cities, are you? Because mana potions aren’t cheap, and neither are mages. We could do it once or twice, but adding our mana to the door isn’t that easy.”

“No problem. You’d only have to do it once. And I guess one hundred people is good, but not enough. What if you went and got more mages?”

“What?”

Erin leaned forwards and put her hands on the table as she stared at the astonished mages. The other Gold-rank teams had stopped eating and were listening closely. Klbkch, sitting alone at his table, raised his head and waited, uncertain of what was coming next, but certain that it would be ‘awesome’.

“Mister Typhenous and Miss Revi—can I call you guys Typhenous and Revi? You’re big shot adventurers, right? And so are you, right Moore?”

“I’d say so.”

“By some standards, yes.”

“Among local adventurers, we are somewhat well known.”

Erin turned to look at Pisces and Ceria.

“And you two guys are Wistram mages, right? That’s important too, isn’t it?”

The two Silver-rank adventures fidgeted. Ceria coughed, blushing slightly.

“Not as important as Gold-rank, Erin—”

“That’s fine. But if I asked you to, could you get all of the mages in Celum and Liscor to come here and charge the door?”

“Why?”

Everyone looked astounded, but Erin just grinned.

“I want to bring in supplies. And people! Adventurers, [Guardsmen], [Guardswomen] too—I know there are some in Celum, food, clothing, blankets, pillows…I want as much of it as this door can teleport, today.”

“Why? What is this all for? And where would you put it?”

Revi looked exasperated as she asked. Pisces’ mouth formed an ‘o’ of comprehension as Erin smiled at the Stitch-mage.

“Esthelm.”

The room fell silent. Halrac blinked, and Ulrien sat up at the same time Jelaqua nudged Seborn with an elbow. The Selphid’s whisper was quite audible.

“See? What did I tell you? Isn’t she great?”

“You want to send aid to Esthelm?”

“That’s right.”

Erin turned and met Zel’s eyes confidently. Revi frowned.

“No offense Erin, but why would you want to do that? Esthelm isn’t your home, is it? Why would you waste your coin and energy helping them out? I heard they already had control of the city, anyways.”

“But they need food. I went through there the other day—they might be in control, but their walls aren’t great, and they need blankets, supplies—more people. If Celum and the other cities are too afraid to send help down the roads, why not come up from Liscor instead?”

“There’s still danger on the roads, though. The area around Liscor isn’t safe from Goblin attacks.”

“Yeah, but what if we sent a huge Antinium army and a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers with all the wagons to protect them?”

“What?”

Halrac and Jelaqua said it at the same time as Zel. At opposite ends of the room, Ksmvr and Klbkch sat up.

“My Queen would never allow—”

“Erin, I do not believe I could persuade my Queen to—”

Both Antinium broke off. Ksmvr shrank down in his seat while Klbkch stared, until the Antinium looked away. Erin stared around the room, frowning slightly.

“Well, why not?”

“Erin, you can’t just ask an Antinium army to go marching—and you want Celum to just hand over all the goods? Your idea is…I mean it’s crazy…”

Ceria shook her head, frowning. But to her surprise, Yvlon stood up.

“Why not?”

Everyone looked at her. Yvlon looked at Erin.

“I think it could work.”

Revi raised her eyebrows incredulously.

“You do? Because I think it’s crazy too, like Miss Half-Elf said.”

“I think it can be done. Celum has the supplies and manpower to send—it’s just a matter of convincing their leaders to act. And if Ksmvr and Klbkch talk to their Queen—”

“Um. I am technically banned from entering my Hive—”

“And I do not know if I can convince my Queen.”

Erin stared at Klbkch. He was giving her an odd look. She walked over to him.

“Are you sure?”

He stared into her eyes. Klbkch’s face was inexpressive, but Erin could tell by the way his mandibles opened and shut repeatedly that he was troubled.

“I…could try. But I do not have high hopes of convincing my Queen.”

“And are we just going to ignore the part where you get an army of wagon drivers to take everything to Esthelm? Where are you going to get that? And are you going to pay for all of this, or do you expect Celum to foot the bill? I don’t think Liscor would pay to help Humans.”

Revi kept talking, determined to point out the obvious. She indicated Typhenous, Ulrien, and Halrac with one hand.

“And what’s this about volunteering us to guard the wagons? We might be guests here, Erin, but we don’t work for free.”

“I’ll let you stay for free if you help. And I can pay.”

Erin turned back to Revi, putting her hands on her hips. She stared challengingly around the room.

“Why can’t this work? Okay, it’s sudden, and okay, it’s crazy, but so what? There’s a city that needs help, thousands of people that could starve if someone doesn’t do something. Why not us?”

“Why should we do it?”

That came from Ulrien. Jelaqua glared, but Ulrien’s face wasn’t hostile. He was impassive, questioning. Erin stared at the big man without flinching.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I’ll make you a huge lunch for the road. Plus, you’ll be famous if you help.”

Ulrien thought about that for a few seconds, and then glanced at Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. Ulrien looked back at Erin and gave her a slight smile.

“We’re in. We’ll help—free of charge.”

“What?”

Revi cried out in shock, but Typhenous smiled and stroked his beard.

“Don’t fuss, Revi. This is for a good cause. Besides, I think this might prove to be quite an entertaining diversion.”

“We’re in too!”

Jelaqua shot to her feet, visibly disappointed not to be the first to offer. Moore stood up as well.

“This is a big undertaking for one day. Are you sure we can do it in the time given?”

Erin smiled up at him. Moore’s lips curved upwards in reply.

“I think we can do it. And if we split up, why not? All we have to do is get someone to yell at the Mage’s Guild in Celum—why not Revi and Typhenous and you? I bet you could scare the socks off of them. And if Halrac, Jelaqua, Ulrien and Seborn all go to visit the Council—”

“Do you think they’d listen to a few Gold-rank adventurers?”

Jelaqua frowned, but Ulrien nodded confidently.

“We’ve talked with city leaders before. It can’t be worse than persuading them to evacuate a neighborhood or muster the local army.”

Halrac was decisive. He seemed to be the most passionate, if his scowl was any indication.

“We can do it. Gold-rank adventurers have the pull, and this is an issue that the city-states agree on. They support one another or they all fall.”

“Huh. Using our authority and good name to influence others. Well, it’s never worked for our team, but I’ll try and help.”

Jelaqua grinned as she pushed her plate back. Erin turned to Klbkch.

“Can you go and talk to your Queen? If she can send, I dunno, some Soldiers and a lot of Workers to help, that would be great. And if your Hive has supplies they can spare like wood and stuff…”

Klbkch seemed torn. At last, he nodded.

“I will speak with her. I cannot promise you she will agree, but I will try, Erin.”

Erin smiled at him.

“Thanks, Klbkch.”

He stopped, wavered. And then Klbkch nodded firmly.

“Forget my last statement. I will obtain what is needed.”

“Thanks. And uh, I hate to ask, but I guess we need to talk to someone in Liscor. Do you know if Watch Captain Zevara could…?”

“Leave the Watch Captain—and the city leaders—to me, Miss Solstice.”

Zel Shivertail walked forwards. He didn’t look at Klbkch as the Antinium stood aside, but he smiled a bit as he stared down at Erin. He seemed bemused, but he too was smiling.

“I think I can get them to pay for a few wagons, at the very least. I’ll head down and talk with them now.”

“Oh, would you really? Thanks so much!”

Erin was full of gratitude, but Zel just shook his head slowly.

“I—it would be my pleasure, Erin. This is a good idea, and a good cause.”

He headed towards the door, catching Lyonette’s eye on the way over. Zel shook his head as she beamed at him.

“What about us, then, Erin?”

Ceria stood with Yvlon, Pisces, and Ksmvr. Erin turned to them, full of excitement and energy as the adventurers began to argue about how best to approach things.

“I need you guys to coordinate Liscor’s Mage Guild. They do have one, right…? Okay, so you guys can charge the door up as much as you can here—Pisces and Ceria, you know how to do that, right? And Yvlon and Ksmvr can help me organize the wagons. There’ll be goods coming through that door fast, so we need a lot of people to haul stuff away—”

“What about us?”

Lyonette came over, excited, Mrsha leaping from table to table as she did. Erin laughed as Moore snagged Mrsha out of the air and put the Gnoll gently down on the ground.

“You can help me clean up and cook more food!”

“Cook? But what about helping…?”

Lyonette’s face fell. Erin shook her head.

“We’ve got to feed everyone, right? All the people hauling food through from Celum and the wagon drivers—not to mention the Antinium and adventurers—we need to make food for all of them!”

The [Barmaid] paled at the thought and Erin laughed again. She turned to the others.

“Okay, let’s get to work! Spread the word if you can—we need all the help we can get! I mean, these are a lot of wagons, right? Even with the Antinium Klbkch can get, we need protection in case of monsters or Goblins or…Rock Crabs.”

Jelaqua raised her hand.

“Why don’t we go to the Adventurer’s Guilds instead of the city leaders? We could probably talk a good number into some easy guard duty, especially if the cities will hire them for a day.”

“Good idea!”

Yvlon nodded towards the door.

“And I’ll go find Termin. He’s sure to know all the wagon-drivers in the city.”

“In that case, why don’t I go find Garia and Fals? A few dozen [Runners] could carry quite a bit, especially if they made several trips.”

Ceria nodded towards the already open door as Halrac, Ulrien, Revi, and Typhenous walked through. Erin spotted Octavia trying to intercept the Gold-rank adventurers and they nearly ran the [Alchemist] over. The Horns of Hammerad headed towards the doors, the Halfseekers split up and in moments, the inn was empty save for Lyonette and Mrsha.

The girl and Gnoll stood together, staring around the room. Lyonette stared at Mrsha; Mrsha stared at the open portal door, and then at Lyonette.

“I guess we’d better get to work, huh?”

Mrsha nodded, and stood up on two legs to help carry plates. Lyonette smiled, and stared towards the door Zel had walked out of.

“I told you she’s weird. In a good way.”

----

The city was in an uproar. Which city? Well, Celum was mainly full of chaos, as all the normal day-to-day foot traffic and vehicles found themselves blocked off by [Guardsmen] who escorted rumbling wagons down the street. There was a lot of shouting and confusion. What was happening?

Word spread throughout the city. Apparently, aid was being sent to Esthelm! That news amazed all those who heard it. So soon? Of course, Esthelm needed help, but the roads were not safe! Had something changed?

But the wagons weren’t going towards the gates. Rather, they were going to a small but well-known [Alchemist]’s shop that looked like it was under siege. Countless people were going in and out of the doors, [Laborers] bringing in bag after bag of grain and crates of goods and [Runners] going into the shop but never going out.

In fact, as the day wore on someone created a second door in the shop, and then just knocked the entire wall in, much to Octavia’s displeasure. People streamed towards the shop, not just adventurers and workers, but [Mages] as well!

Something was happening. Something big. People could feel it. Why else would the newly famed [Actors] all rush over to the shop and disappear there? Why would Miss Agnes suddenly throw open her doors to her inn and announce drinks were on her for all the people helping to unload the wagons?

And what, in the name of the Five Families, did an [Alchemist] have to do with sending aid to Esthelm?

Some people knew, but most were out of the loop.

And that was only in Celum. In Liscor, the uproar was more like a furor in truth. The city had not turned out its warehouses to support a Human city, but it had commandeered every Runner, [Wagon Driver], [Rider], and transportation-based class that could be spared, all under the orders of the legendary Zel Shivertail himself.

Mages, drivers, runners, and a gaggle of adventurers milled about outside the city, shouting and being shouted at by a young woman who had developed quite the reputation in the city by now. A lot of the Drakes and Gnolls just resigned themselves to it; it was that crazy Human doing something weird again. But more stopped their work to watch the fun, and more still found themselves joining in when they heard what was going on.

Some were friends of Selys or part of Krshia’s clan, and found themselves lending a paw, claw, or hand to help. Others were more impressed by the legendary Gold-rank adventurers and Zel Shivertail, and helped because he was lifting supplies effortlessly into wagons. Some just cared about Humans, as odd as it was.

But all that was a backdrop, meaningless babble to what was going on below. The Queen of the Free Antinium under Liscor sat in her throne room, staring down at the strangers standing before her.

The Antinium of four Hives stood before her, each one in their own group. The Prognugator Tersk, leading the three Armored Antinium who had come with him. Revalantor Pivr of the Flying Antinium and his cohort of six. Two soldiers of the Silent Antinium, almost invisible in the darkness. And Xrn, of the Centenium, now a Prognugator to the Grand Queen with her six bodyguards.

Of this group, it was only Xrn that the Queen of the Free Antinium was interested in, and only her that she respected. But annoyingly, it wasn’t Xrn who was speaking right now.

“…And after my extensive surveying of your Hive, I have found only four of these so-called Individuals who have obtained formal designations. Moreover, they have not obtained any significant levels, Skills, or classes as of yet. In my role as Revalantor for my Queen, I must ask whether this is truly an accomplishment that merits the attention of the Hives.”

Pivr’s voice echoed throughout the Queen’s chambers as all the Antinium stared at him. It was hard to read the other’s expressions, but the Queen felt they were getting annoyed by him. She certainly was.

His voice was higher in pitch than the other Antinium, and he moved about restlessly, fanning his wings when he stood still. Was he showing them off? The Queen had seen the true winged soldiers of the Antinium, long ago. She wasn’t impressed by the Queen of the Flying Antinium’s half-baked copies.

“So you have said. Repeatedly. But my achievement is extraordinary regardless of number. In fact, the rarity of such Individuals proves their worth. How many Prognugators does your Hive have, Pivr? How many Individuals has your Queen created?”

He ignored that question, as he had the ones before. Pivr seemed uniquely gifted at ignoring things he or his Queen didn’t want to see. As the Queen, so followed the Prognugator.

“I must simply ask how feasible the use of these Individuals is. Surely, if their creation is a workable method, you would seek to convert the entire Hive thusly? I ask, on behalf of my Queen, what formal plan you would put before the Hives.”

She had no formal plan, just this one accomplishment as the Queen of the Flying Antinium very well knew. The Queen of the Free Antinium tried to keep her temper, but it was hard.

She was angry the other Queens could not understand what they were doing, that they doubted her commitment to the Hives. She was angry that not all of them had sent their Prognugators to witness what she had done, that they questioned, or at least, didn’t trust that what she was doing was significant. She was also angry that Pivr was a pus-filled sack, and she was trying to restrain herself from ordering him killed—or just picking him up and crushing him herself.

The Queen tried to come up with a reply that didn’t include some form of violence, but she was distracted by another matter as well. Klbkch. Why wasn’t he here?

She knew he had returned to the Hive thirty minutes ago, but he had not come directly here, despite her mental summons. What was so important that he would not help her get rid of Pivr, preferably by shoving a sword through the other Antinium’s head?

To mask her irritation, the Queen turned her massive head towards Xrn. The female Antinium—the only one in the room besides the Queen—was standing still, her blue carapace shimmering slightly from the swirling lights reflected in her eyes. How beautiful.

The Queen knew she was the height of creation, an untouched remnant of the original Centenium forms, but she couldn’t help but feel envious. She was so graceful, so perfect. She had been created to embody true perfection, not the flawed shells all the other Antinium here wore.

“What say you, Xrn of the Centenium? What opinion do you have of what has been created here?”

Pivr make a choked clicking sound from the side. But the Queen had addressed Xrn by her old title. It wasn’t exactly correct, but that definitely put her authority far above a Revalantor’s.

Xrn nodded slowly.

“I believe my Queen, the Grand Queen, will wish to explore what you have created a great deal further, oh Queen of the Free Antinium. At the very least, we will request one of the Individuals accompany us back to the Grand Hive to be appraised there. There is significance in this, even if the Individuals cannot be replicated on a large scale as of yet.”

That sounded quite nice to the Queen of the Free Antinium. But she could sense Pivr getting ready for another comeback, probably to discredit her. She was just about ready to tell him he could go back to his Queen and tell her to eat all her eggs when she felt Klbkch approaching. She cut off Pivr with one feeler.

“Ah, I sense my Revalantor returns. Klbkchhezeim will answer any questions you may have, Pivr.”

All heads turned towards the entrance. The Queen waited, hearing the faint footfalls growing louder. Klbkch strode into the room, twin sheathed swords swinging at his waist, light on his feet, slim.

So close to how he used to be. And yet, indescribably far away. The Queen watched Xrn react to Klbkch’s presence. Tensely, and then relaxing. Yes, she felt it too.

This was more like the old Klbkch, the Slayer. But ah, it could never be him, not fully. His form was lost. Lost…

But he was hers, now. The Queen felt satisfaction in that. Klbkch stopped in front of the gathered Antinium and bowed to his Queen first, before nodding to them.

“My Queen, Antinium of the Hives, I must render you all my apologies. I was unavoidably detained last night, and was not able to meet with you as I had hoped.”

She could never be angry at him, not for long. The Queen waved a feeler graciously.

“Your absence was noted, but as always you work for the Hive’s greater good, Klbkchhezeim. All of the Hives.”

The Antinium nodded. He looked up at his Queen, and she felt the slightest thought pass between them. The Queen went still. What was he….?

“This is so. And I am aware of the scrutiny of the other Hives at this instance, so I have attempted to reveal much of where the true effort of our Hive has gone. In fact, I hope you will join me on a small expedition to demonstrate the true value of the Free Antinium of Liscor.”

What was this? The Queen didn’t speak to contradict Klbkch, but her mind was awhirl. Pivr turned to Klbkch, ready to pounce on any imperfections.

“Indeed, Klbkch? Your absence speaks to a lack of resources in the Hive. Could not an Individual have performed such tasks? What is this errand which will occupy a Revalantor of the Hive when he is needed elsewhere?”

Klbkch gave Pivr a look that made it clear the other Revalantor was not worth the syllables in his name. He turned to face the others, especially, the Queen thought, Xrn.

“The nature of the upcoming mission at hand is simple. I, as well as a group of one hundred and fifty Soldiers and twice that number of Workers, are travelling north to the Human city of Esthelm, escorting a convoy of supplies. We will be staying in the city for several days to provide aid to the citizens there.”

The Antinium did not waste time on shocked silence. Instead, they all spoke more or less at the same time. Pivr was the first. He exclaimed, spitting a bit of venom in surprise.

“What?”

Xrn next. Her voice was flat.

“What.”

Tersk, spreading his arms, open, honest.

“I do not understand.”

And the Queen. She couldn’t help it. The word slipped out.

“What?”

Fortunately, no one noticed. Tersk addressed Klbkch, speaking for the others.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I would ask that you explain your Hive’s reasoning for sending aid to this city. I see no immediate merit in such an action.”

Klbkch nodded. He ignored his Queen’s furious mental probes and explained to the other Antinium calmly.

“It is true that the benefits of such an act will not provide us with any immediate benefits. However, there are intangible benefits to such an act, and it costs the Hive very little in terms of resources. What we give will be repaid in the form of goodwill, trust, and friendship. Concepts which mean little to the other Hives, but which I…and my Queen…have grown to understand.”

She could sense the Workers and Soldiers in the Hive moving already! So that was what Klbkch had done! The Queen fumed, but she couldn’t gainsay him, not in front of the others. Why was he doing this? She didn’t understand, not one bit. Rendering aid without reward to a Human city not affiliated with the Hive? Why?

“I see. In that case, I will follow and observe, if you will permit it.”

Tersk nodded. The Queen supposed that was a victory, but she dearly wanted the Antinium to clear the room so she could have Klbkch explain to her what was going on. But Pivr was already talking again, refusing Klbkch’s offer.

“I will not. I will stay and observe this Hive, and perhaps see what dangers lurk in this dungeon which consumes so many resources. An expedition is not what I came here to witness.”

A pity. But, the Queen thought to herself privately, she might be able to organize it so a monster broke through and slaughtered Pivr by accident. The Flesh Worms were quite lethal, even when she deployed many Soldiers to counter them.

“I will go as well.”

Xrn spoke up, and the Queen saw Klbkch’s mandibles part and raise in an Antinium smile. She really didn’t like that, but it was too late to stop any of them. She stared down at Klbkch.

“I wish you success on your task, Klbkch. Do not take too long, however. We have much to do…and discuss…when you return.”

He didn’t so much as flinch at the tone in her voice. Well, he wouldn’t. Klbkch bowed and left the room, leaving the Queen in the darkness to think.

And wonder.

----

“So tell me, is this what made you abandon our discussion last night and not return?”

Xrn’s tone was slightly acidic as she and Tersk—and their escort of lesser Antinium—followed him through the Hive. Klbkch nodded.

“There is merit in this, Xrn.”

“I understand that, even if your Queen and the others did not seem to. But I do not understand why you of all beings would see it.”

Klbkch made no answer. He clicked his mandibles together in embarrassment, the Antinium version of clearing his throat—although he could do that too.

“We will join up with the Antinium escort shortly. I have been specially approved by Liscor’s Watch Captain to take the force out of the city.”

“Oh? How exciting.”

“Yes. It is, in fact. As you will soon see. For this mission, I have chosen one of our newest Soldier units to escort the convoy. They are…uniquely prepared to foster goodwill and reduce alarm among the other species.”

That made Xrn pause, but she followed Klbkch out of one of the secret tunnels in the Hive and onto the snowy plain. The instant she and Tersk entered the sunlight they stopped and gasped.

All of the Antinium did. For a second, they paused and stared. Not because they hadn’t ever seen Soldiers before, but because they had never seen Soldiers like this.

Painted. Colorful. Some with every color of the rainbow—and several colors not of the rainbow—on their bodies, and some with only a few markings. But each one was unique. Distinct.

Individual.

Klbkch stopped next to Pawn, Belgrade, Anand, and Bird. They stood at attention, nervous, silent, in front of the ranks of Soldiers and Workers. Tersk and Xrn came forwards to inspect them.

“These are the Individuals? Well met.”

Tersk greeted the four. Belgrade, Bird, and Anand didn’t speak, but Pawn opened his mandibles until Klbkch shot him a look.

“These are Anand, Belgrade, Bird, and Pawn.”

“You did not introduce me to this Pawn before.”

Xrn spoke as she observed the Soldiers. Tersk had already moved past the Individuals, much to Klbkch’s relief. The armor-wearing Antinium’s voice was puzzled as he turned to Klbkch.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I am uncertain as to the reason behind decorating these Soldiers so. It seems to be a waste of resources.”

“Are you? I would assume the reason is obvious. They are Individual. Unique.”

Klbkch nodded to the Soldiers, not sure if he was lying or only telling a partial truth. Tersk’s breath caught and he closed his mandibles slowly.

“I see. I see. This changes much.”

“Everything.”

Xrn walked past the Soldiers as they stood in perfect ranks. Klbkch knew their attention was on her; the azure body of the Small Queen was as striking as their paint. She too was like them; completely separate from the nameless mass of other Antinium.

“I take it you approve?”

“I love it.”

She turned to him, and Klbkch saw the swirling colors in her eyes grow brighter. He opened his mandibles in a smile.

“I shall apprise you of the decision to paint the Soldiers as we march. We shall proceed, unless there are objections?”

She shook her head.

“None. Let us go see what defines the Free Antinium.”

----

Later that day, the road leading from Liscor north to the Human lands was empty. Empty, that was, except for one vehicle.

The lone wagon rumbled slowly down the road. It was a familiar group sitting in it. Ceria, Erin, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Termin all sat, eating a quick mid-day lunch as they headed north through the snowy landscape. Well, Erin, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Termin sat. Ceria and Pisces were more comatose bodies slowly chewing their food as they lay in the back of the wagon on some crates.

“I’m just saying, it makes no sense! Why wouldn’t you want to go see your brother at all? I get that you don’t want him to be annoying and fuss over you, but you don’t ever want to see him?”

Yvlon sighed and brushed away some crumbs Erin had accidentally spat on her.

“The instant he finds me, he’ll try to take me back to our home, no objections. He’s not just protective. He’d never accept me being—crippled and continuing to adventure like this.”

“Oh. But he’s got your best interests at heart. What if your family could help? I mean, with your arms…?”

Erin gingerly indicated the fused metal and flesh on Yvlon’s forearms, but the woman shook her head.

“If our family had a potion or artifact that could regenerate bones or limbs, we wouldn’t be a minor house in Izril. We’re known for having an adventurer or warrior in each generation—and having the first letter in our names be ‘y’. That’s all.”

“Well, I guess I understand. But you can’t run from your brother forever.”

“I don’t need to. As soon as he gets word of a village in trouble he’ll drop everything and run off. He is a [Knight].”

“Huh.”

“Hold up, you lot. There’s something on the road ahead.”

Termin suddenly called out in alarm, and Erma and Fox stopped in their tracks as he halted the wagon. All the adventurers immediately sat up, but they relaxed when they saw what it was.

“That’s not a monster!”

Erin chortled as she pointed at the creature that had caused Termin to stop his wagon. It was a beaver, sitting in the middle of the road.

“It’s a beaver. Why are you afraid of a beaver, Termin?”

Termin glared at Erin as he pointed to the beaver.

“That’s no ordinary beaver, Miss! It’s a Fortress Beaver, not one of your cute little rodents. See how large it is, even from here? It could bite my wheels in two in one go and probably take your leg off if you angered it. And where there’s one, there might be more. I’m not risking my wagon or my horses if I accidentally agitate it.”

Erin looked again, frowning. Now that she thought about it, the beaver certainly did look…big from so far away. It would be up to her chest—maybe up to her neck if she got close. She gulped.

“Okay, don’t pet the beaver. Well, can’t we get rid of it?”

Both she and Termin turned to look at the adventurers. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m not killing a beaver.”

“I volunteer—”

“No, no.”

Erin hastily pushed down Ksmvr’s hand and turned in her seat. She poked the person lying behind her.

“Ceria. Hey, Ceria.”

“Wuh?”

One of the two comatose bodies raised its head. Ceria looked pale and exhausted, drained from using up all her mana, but she managed to get up to stare at the beaver.

“Can you get rid of it? You can talk to animals, right? Can you get it off the road so Termin can keep going?”

The half-Elf glared in outrage at Erin.

“Dead gods. Erin. Just because I’m a half-Elf, doesn’t mean I…well, I do, but why do you always turn to me to—”

She looked around the wagon. Everyone was staring at her. Termin cleared his throat.

“Well, do you or don’t you? I don’t speak beaver.”

Ceria growled, and pushed herself up. Grouchily, she stood up and moved to the front of the wagon, grumbling under her breath.

“It’s not like I want to learn this stuff. Fine, I’ll get it to move.”

She cupped her hands and took a deep breath. Erin was expecting her to chitter to the beaver, or make whatever sound they made, but Ceria just started shouting. The beaver’s head turned as she yelled at it.

“Hey you! Yeah, you! Piss off!”

The Fortress Beaver stared as Ceria shouted at it. It seemed to think about what the half-Elf had said, and then waddled off of the road.

“There. Done.”

Ceria let her hands fall and turned. Everyone was staring at her, Erin with a betrayed look in her eyes. Ceria shrugged defensively.

“What? That’s how you talk to animals if you want them to move.”

She sat back down and Termin flapped his reins, shaking his head. Erin felt a rumbling on the ground and looked around.

“Hey, hurry up Termin. I think the others are catching up.”

The Fortress Beaver, which had considered going back to take a bite out of the wagon anyways, felt the rumbling and made itself scarce. A good thing too, because the army of marching Antinium would have squashed it flat if the sea of wagon wheels didn’t do that before them.

As Termin got his cart moving, carts appeared in the distance behind him. Carts driven by Humans, Gnolls, Drakes, and in one case, driving itself since the driver had fallen off but the horses kept going. Each one was loaded to the brim with food, supplies, and people. There were more than a hundred adventurers, [Guardspeople], and other experts such as [Healers], [Masons], [Hunters], and more who had come to aid Esthelm.

And marching to one side of the road came the Antinium. Rows upon rows of Workers, dragging primitive wooden sleds loaded with materials of their own—nails, wood, hammers, but no food since what they ate was disgusting—led by a group of Antinium including Pawn at the front.

Erin beamed as the massive group began to catch up. Termin had left with a good lead on the others, but everyone was moving fast. It wasn’t evening yet, and they were nearly at Esthelm!

“You’re lucky so many of these wagon drivers have movement Skills.”

Pisces commented to Erin as he raised his head from his bed in the wagon. Termin cackled.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, necromancer. Around here you either move fast or you get eaten by something sooner or later. A Skill like [Continuous Rolling] is common for all us folk.”

The necromancer sniffed.

“Well then, she was lucky you all decided the roads were safe. Why did you decide to take the journey, pray tell Mister Termin? Surely you are aware such a convoy would be at risk of being attacked? Why not travel with an army from Celum?”

“Hah! Any army the Human cities could put together wouldn’t be half as powerful as an army led by Zel Shivertail himself! Add two groups of Gold-rank adventurers to the mix, the famous Horns of Hammerad—not to mention the Antinium Soldiers, and the Goblin Lord himself would look twice before taking us on!”

Before Pisces could open his mouth again, Erin leapt up in her seat and nearly fell off the wagon.

“Oh look, look! I can see the city from here! Wow, it still looks terrible!”

Esthelm came into view, and as soon as their wagon approached, Erin heard people on the walls shouting. But as more wagons were spotted, the shouting grew confused, and then jubilant. People began cheering and streaming out of the gates before Termin’s wagon had gotten close—then they saw the Antinium and ran back into the city.

In the end, Erin drove up to the gates. The people of Esthelm didn’t exactly shut the gates, but they met her and the wagon at them. The [Soldier] who had met Erin and the Horns of Hammerad two days ago was there, with a group of armed men who looked incredulously at the approaching force. Erin waved down at Umbral excitedly.

“Hi! Remember me? Well, I came back and I brought a lot of stuff to help! And a lot of people!”

His jaw dropped.

“You? You’re that [Innkeeper]! But how did—”

“It’s supplies and a relief force! From Celum and Liscor! And the Antinium! They’ve come to help fix your walls and guard your city!”

“The Antinium? Here?”

He seemed unable to process it all. Erin jumped down from the wagon and then sat down hard. Her legs had gone to sleep.

“Ow. Um. Well, it’s a long story, but these Antinium are really nice. They’ve brought a lot of stuff, and we have food, blankets, pillows, and so on. We even have—”

She got no further, because Umbral pulled her up and into a hug. Erin heard the cheering begin again as word began to spread.

“Aid has come to Esthelm!”

“Liscor! The Drakes have come to help us!”

“Esthelm is saved!”

Everyone was being thanked, except perhaps the Antinium. But Pisces summed it up best. He smiled, perhaps arrogantly, but with genuine pleasure at Umbral as the man let go of Erin. He nodded to the huge convoy and then at Erin.

“You may attribute this delivery to Erin Solstice, proprietress of the Wandering Inn. We can discuss remuneration for goods and services rendered at a later—”

He got no further then that, because Erin kicked him.

----

The city of Esthelm was saved. Only, it had already been saved. In a sense, you could say it was saved again, at least from the pressing needs of hunger, thirst, and the need for shelter. Pawn considered that this was less glamorous than saving the city from invading monsters, but no less necessary.

He stood in the ruined center of the city with his group of painted Soldiers, staring in awe at the buildings, the people, and the broken sewers that stank beyond belief. It was all new to him. He had never gone beyond Liscor, never seen so many Humans, or seen a city this badly destroyed. He knew his Soldiers hadn’t seen anything like this either, and he was glad to have shown it to them.

And yet, Pawn was also uncertain. Because while the others who had come seemed to know what they were doing, he did not. And that was a problem, because he was in charge of the Antinium here.

Klbkch had explained it to him quickly, which was to say confusingly, a few moments before they had left. Pawn was in charge because Klbkch had to deal with the Antinium from the other Hives. He had to speak with the Antinium in armor and the beautiful blue female Antinium for reasons unknown to Pawn. Thus, Pawn was in charge.

Which again, would be fine if Pawn knew what to do. But he didn’t. Oh, the Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans seemed well-organized enough. They were already unloading the wagons, the soldiers and guardspeople keeping order while carpenters, masons, and other groups split off to help aid the city. But Pawn was standing with over a hundred Soldiers and three hundred Workers in the middle of the city with not a clue of what to do now.

He badly wanted to go find Erin and ask, but Pawn realized that might not be an option right now. He had to do something. So he cleared his throat and looked around.

What could be done? Well, what couldn’t be done? Pawn was no expert on cities, but he felt sure that walls shouldn’t be falling down, there shouldn’t be exposed sewers, and that Humans preferred a roof over their heads as they slept. He pointed randomly at a particularly bad section of the wall and turned to his sub-leaders, Belgrade and Anand.

“Our job is to assist in repairing this city. Thus, I think that wall is…a good place to start? Belgrade, Anand, if you will take that wall and uh, effect repairs on it? Reinforce it? Make it taller or something?”

“Certainly, Pawn.”

“It will be done.”

The two [Tacticians] nodded immediately and began walking towards the wall. Workers and Soldiers both streamed after them, making Pawn jump. Belgrade and Anand needed no spoken instructions to command the Soldiers. Somehow, they’d learned the trick of Prognugators, to command without speaking, mind-to-mind.

Well, that was easy. Pawn turned and nearly had one of his hearts stop when he found Bird standing right in front of him. The Antinium seemed…focused as he held a bow in his hands. An arrow was already nocked.

“There are many birds here. I must go hunt them.”

“Oh? Certainly, Bird. Go ahead. Ah, be sure to bring the birds back so they may be eaten, alright?”

“Yes.”

Bird hurried off, already staring at the sky. Pawn turned around, and then around, and realized everyone had left. Belgrade and Anand were already having Soldiers clear the rubble while Workers moved about preparing tools and forming neat rows to expedite the workflow.

Now Pawn felt lonely. He thought about what he should do next, and remembered something Erin had told him last night. He looked around, saw a familiar tail, and hurried towards it.

----

“I see what you mean. I see it.”

Zel Shivertail muttered to himself as he walked through the city of Esthelm, gazing at the destruction. He felt a small pang in his heart as he saw how much devastation had been done, but the rest of him just felt mystified.

Why was he here? How had he come to be here, in Esthelm, helping to distribute aid to the citizens? He could have sworn he was eating rolls with honey just this morning.

It was all because of that girl. Erin Solstice. It hadn’t been a unique idea, to help Esthelm. Anyone with at least one heart would have thought of that. And it wasn’t hard to think of a door being used to transport things like goods. That was an obvious use. But convincing two cities to send supplies and help, and asking the Antinium, the Antinium no less to render assistance?

“…Who is she?”

That was what Zel Shivertail asked himself. He could admit when he’d misjudged someone. He’d done that with Erin Solstice. He still kept part of his original opinion, but now he revised the rest. Something was off about that girl. Something was extremely off, in a way he could only attribute to one other Human before…

“Excuse me, General Shivertail?”

Zel turned. He expected to see one of the Drakes, asking for him to sign his tail or something silly like that, or a Human, asking for help. But he froze when he saw the Antinium standing meekly in front of him.

Instinct told Zel to rip the Ant’s head off. He restrained himself—with effort. Zel growled as he took a few steps back.

“What do you want?”

The Antinium nodded politely.

“My name is Pawn.”

“You have a name?”

Zel was incredulous. But he caught himself—this was one of the new Antinium, the ones all the damn Drake politicians and leaders were telling him to find out about. Pawn nodded.

“I do. I ah, have been sent to aid in restoring Esthelm.”

“Good. For you.”

Zel didn’t want to talk with any Antinium, even a new one. But Pawn clearly wanted to talk with him. The Antinium cleared his throat nervously.

“I was hoping I might converse with you, General Shivertail. I understand you are a famous General among the Drakes—”

“I fought in the Antinium War. Both Antinium Wars.”

“I know.”

The two stared at each other. Zel forced his fist to unclench. Pawn studied him carefully.

“I am not hostile towards you, General Shivertail. I do not wish to offend you either. I simply wish to talk.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Zel forced himself not to shout. Pawn tilted his head sideways.

“May I ask why?”

“You’re an Antinium. I saw your kind ravage my continent. You still do. You infest part of my home. I saw your Soldiers slaughter thousands of innocents.”

“Yes. They did. But I was created long after those wars. I am not like my people. I am not like anyone.”

There was something in the Antinium’s eyes—Zel looked away. He controlled his voice, spoke levelly.

“Look, An—Pawn. I came here to help the Humans here, because it was the right thing to do. Because it was a good cause, understand? And I tolerated your Hive sending an army here, though I’d rather kill you all, because you lot are helping too. I won’t pick a fight with your kind, but it doesn’t mean I have to like you, or talk with you. I lost too many friends, too many comrades to your species to ever think of you as anything but the enemy. Understand?”

Silence. And then Zel saw Pawn nod out of the corner of his eye.

“I understand. But I did not come here to be friends. I came to ask—you see, I have been placed in command of my own force. I am a…leader. But I do not know how to lead.”

“So? The Antinium lead themselves, or the Queens do, don’t they?”

“Yes, but she has entrusted that role to me. I must lead, but I do not know how. That is why I have come to you. You are a Drake [General], one of the greatest leaders on this continent.”

Zel Shivertail stared incredulously at Pawn.

“You want me to give you…advice on how to lead an army?”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why in the name of the Ancestors would I do that?”

The Antinium shrugged. He seemed at a loss in front of Zel’s questioning stare.

“I do not know. I simply hoped you would. Because you understand the burdens of leadership.”

Zel turned away in disgust.

“I’ve never taken on a pupil. If you want to ask for training, go find Niers Astoragon, or some Human [Lord] like Lord Tyrion Veltras.”

“They are far away.”

“I don’t care.”

Zel turned to go. Pawn called out behind him.

“One question, please. Answer me one question, General Shivertail.”

General Shivertail gritted his teeth and lashed his tail.

“If I do, will you go away and stop bothering me from now on?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Ask.”

Pawn was silent for a moment. Zel was about to snap when the Antinium spoke.

“What do you tell a soldier under your command when he is dying?”

The world paused. Zel turned back. Pawn went on.

“You see, I do not know what to say. I can only hold them, but I do not know what is supposed to be said. But there must be something. What do you say?”

The Drake stared at the Antinium. Down at the Antinium. He realized that Pawn was small. He wasn’t a Soldier. He was a Worker, no fighter. He didn’t even have a weapon at his side. For a second, Zel wrestled with himself, and then one part won. He sighed, and gingerly beckoned Pawn.

“Come on. Walk with me.”

Pawn hesitated, but then followed Zel. The Drake stared up at the sky, at the Antinium swarming over a wall and putting it back together bit by bit, and at the Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls all working together in this city. Because of a girl. Because of an innkeeper. And he walked side by side with an Antinium and told him what to say, what you could say, what you had to say when you held a soldier in your arms.

“You tell them this. You tell them they did a good job, that they can rest. That you’ve never seen anyone fight that hard, that it’s only a scratch. That it’s going to be okay—”

“Even if it is not?”

“Especially then. You tell them what they need to hear. And sometimes, what they need to hear is nothing. Sometimes you just hold their claw and say goodbye. Sometimes…”

----

Klbkch saw Pawn walking next to Zel Shivertail and couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost didn’t believe Xrn’s, but she had seen it too.

“What a strange thing.”

That was all she said. She hadn’t said much, just taken in everything on the march to Esthelm. Klbkch got the impression Xrn was saving up all her words for when she’d sorted out her feelings. Guiltily, he was looking forward to her reaction when it all came out.

But for now, Klbkch just walked with Tersk and Xrn through Esthelm, explaining things for the other two Antinium, but Tersk mainly. Klbkch kept having to pause and stare at the people working, though. He felt a little twinge in his chest every time he saw a Human look up, jump at the sight of him, and then gingerly wave, or at the very least, not flee screaming.

They came to an open square, where the smell of cooking was making Klbkch long for dinner already. He had already explained to the others that they would be eating Human, Drake, and Gnoll foods on this expedition—this seemed to have raised their morale quite a bit.

But now Klbkch saw Erin, standing in the center of the square, next to a grave blooming with flowers and a rather tall stone marker, speaking energetically to a small group of Humans, two Gnolls, and a Drake. She had found a [Flautist], a man with a crude bell that was probably used to sound the alarm, a man holding a harp, and a group of people who could sing.

“Revalantor Klbkch, what is that group of people doing?”

Klbkch paused. He was unsure, although he thought he knew.

“I think they’re—”

All at once, Erin broke into song. She sang loud and clearly, startling everyone around her. They stared at her as the girl started singing a song that Ryoka Griffin would have recognized instantly.

“Dashing through the snow, in a one-skeleton open sledge, o’er the fields we go, screaming all the way! Bells on Gnoll-tails ring, making spirits bright…”

She gestured, and the man with the bell began hitting it rhythmically. The Antinium watched as Erin tried to teach the rest of the appropriated lyrics to the others. He could hear her shouting.

“Come on, you don’t know this song? It’s famous! Don’t tell me you guys don’t have Christmas!? I’ve got so much to teach you all! Alright, on three, okay? One, two…”

“Revalantor Klbkch, I do not understand. What is the purpose of this?”

Tersk whispered it to Klbkch as the group began to sing. Klbkch heard the melody drifting throughout the city, caught by a breeze of wind. It was such a simple song, and yet it had a power of its own. People began to hum the song, or join in after a few repetitions.

“What confuses you, Prognugator Tersk?”

“What is the purpose of such an activity? Could not these people aid in some other task to better effect?”

“Perhaps. But this is important too. It will inspire others to work faster. And…it has a value of its own.”

“Which is?”

Revalantor turned his face up to the sky as the music began to spread. He smiled, and wished he could close his eyes. He could not, so he just said one word.

“Listen.”

3.35

In the city of Esthelm there was a slime. It oozed along the ground, leaving a trail as it went. It was a slime, a round little pebble of liquid with no real defining features besides its dark greenish brown insides, which pulsated as it moved.

But it was a slime, and as of such it attracted a young woman who followed it as it slowly roamed across the broken rubble of the city. Erin Solstice stared, captivated by the tiny slime. It was like a small puddle come to life, and it looked incredibly cute to her, even if she was inhaling a noxious odor from the nearby sewer.

She wanted to touch it. Erin was vaguely aware that even the cutest of monsters could be dangerous, but she assumed that a truly dangerous creature would have been destroyed on sight. So a touch wouldn’t hurt, right? She reached out to touch it.

Above the city of Esthelm there was a herd of faeries. They held their breath as Erin reached out.

“Erin! Don’t touch that!”

Someone shouted at the girl and the faeries released their breath in a collective sigh of disappointment. They watched as a half-Elf ran over to Erin, scowling. Erin turned, looking hurt.

“What? Why not?”

“Erin, you can’t just go around touching monsters—especially slimes!”

“Why? It doesn’t look that dangerous! What, is it acid or something?”

“Don’t be insane. Acid slimes? Dead gods, Erin, what a thought! No, this one is…look, do you know what slimes are? How they’re made?”

“Noooo….”

“It’s very simple.”

Ceria took a step back, pulling Erin away from the slime. It had begun rolling towards them, more inquisitively than with any real hostility. The half-Elf made a face.

“Look, slimes are…well, they’re closer to Golems than anything else, although they are alive. Actually, they’re closer to jellyfish. Um. Do you know what those are?”

“Of course I do!”

Erin looked insulted. Ceria shrugged.

“Some people have never seen the sea before. Anyways, slimes breed or spawn in bodies of liquid when the conditions are right. I guess some mana potions broke, or there were some already but—Erin, they take on the properties of their original liquid, get it? And this one clearly came from the sewer.”

The watching faeries saw Erin take a second to piece this together. Then they heard her horrified exclamation.

“Wait, you mean this is a poo slime? Aw!”

They laughed as she practically ran away from the small slime. It wasn’t as satisfying as if she’d stuck her hand in it—or if she’d fallen and put her face in the slime—but it would have to do.

The faeries flew across the city, pointing out more amusing sights for each other as they went. Esthelm was full of activity and four different species all trying to work together, which was a highly amusing sight for the watching fae.

That they didn’t swoop down and cause havoc or play tricks was perhaps the only sympathy the fae had to the people of Esthelm. At the moment they were content to simply be amused at mortal antics. What truly revealed their soft hearts though, was the fact that it had stopped snowing over Esthelm, even though fat snowflakes were falling several hundred meters away.

The fae loved children, sweets, mortal fools and heroes, and tricks. Other things too of course, but those were fairly universal aspects among their kind. Only a few, the old or the odd, liked actually interfering with the fates to any real degree.

Ivolethe didn’t like to meddle in mortal affairs, let alone Human, but she was of the mind it had to be done. And while she could watch Erin throwing rocks at the sewer slime forever, she reluctantly decided it was time.

She chattered to her fellow faeries and flew off. She had a mission, or rather, a cause. It wasn’t necessarily fun, but she knew it was important. The reason and end was important, even if the doing of it was a pain.

So the faerie flew away from Esthelm to a far more boring place. She flew up and up, and then sideways, and then in a direction not describable by words. Ivolethe flew through part of the world, and then flew through the air in the world and out of an empty bit of space behind a few books in a bookshelf. She sneezed and grumbled, brushing off dust from her wings as she circled the room.

It was a very large room, and very grand too, although decorations had been forgone for a more austere, solemn appearance. This was a library, and the towering bookcases were imposing, despite the rich wood that made up their frames. The books were all first-edition, spotless, and magical too. Ivolethe flew by them, seeing the spells worked into the bindings to keep the pages from dirt or harm.

And in that room sat a girl. She was Asian, dark haired, slightly darker of skin than most Humans on this continent, and taller than most Human females, if not Drake or Gnolls. She was athletic, her body toned, and could be considered attractive. Ivolethe personally thought Ryoka looked far too Human, but she had some affection for her ugly friend.

But that affection ended when she saw Ryoka was still reading. The girl was sitting in a chair, knees drawn to her chest, flipping through a large and rather heavy tome whose pages looked like they had been gilded with gold. The girl did not notice Ivolethe flying towards her at all.

“Stop reading, ye daft cow!”

Ivolethe screamed in Ryoka’s left ear. The girl jumped and tried to get out of the chair and twist simultaneously. The chair rocked backwards and she hit the ground.

“Ivolethe! Damn it, don’t do that!”

Ryoka swore as she picked herself up. She reached for the book and made sure it wasn’t damaged before she glared at the faerie. But the little Frost Faerie was full of far more wroth than Ryoka; she buzzed around the young woman, shouting angrily.

“Put down that book, fool! Go outside and do something! ‘Tis been forever and a day since you decided to stay here; stop dawdling and act!”

Ryoka scowled. She put the book back on the table and turned to it.

“It’s been only a few days. Okay…maybe more, Ivolethe. That’s not forever. Leave me alone and let me read, will you?”

“Forever is a thought, not a number, fool. And I will not let ye waste away! There are things to be doing! Anything is better than staring at dusk and dead leaves and ink of the past!”

Ivolethe sneered at Ryoka as she hovered in front of the girl’s face, getting in the way of the text. Ryoka swatted at her; Ivolethe danced aside and flew back in the way, impossible to touch.

“Fine. Let me just finish this passage and I’ll go. Happy?”

The faerie scowled and crossed her arms. She blew a stream of icy air upwards, but then acquiesced less than gracefully.

“If ye must. But promise to put aside the book! Promise it!”

Ryoka rolled her eyes, but she did promise. It was an oath made to a faerie, and she would not break that lightly.

“I will be done in thirty minutes. Is that enough?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

“One!”

“Twenty.”

“One!”

“Ten minutes, okay?”

“Well…fine. But hurry up!”

Ryoka sighed as Ivolethe floated back over to the bookshelves, to go see if Erin had found the dead raccoon corpse that was bobbing in the open sewer main. The young woman turned back to the book, frowning as she lost herself for a few more minutes in the tightly-written scrawl of words.

It had been over a week since the attack on Magnolia’s mansion. A week, and Ryoka had not left yet for Invrisil. Because she had had a thought. And that thought was…

----

I really don’t like faeries. I mean, okay, they’re nice to be around sometimes, and they’re wondrous beings of nature and otherworldly marvels and yadda yadda, etc. But they don’t read. I don’t even think they keep written records; they were around far before the invention of such things, after all.

So they have no patience at all with reading, except I guess if it’s about them. I can imagine a bunch of faeries finding a book about King Arthur or the fae. But they are like children in some respect.

Noisy, angry children who can turn a library into a blizzardy hell if they get bored.

Yes, I’m in Magnolia’s mansion. Yes, it’s been a week since she was attacked. The assassins are all dead, everyone’s patched up—hell, all the damage in the courtyard was gone the next day and I’ll just bet her sitting room is as perfect as it used to be. Magnolia and Ressa left the day after the attack, heading farther north to her estates.

She left me with promises of assistance, subtly dire threats, and Reynold. Apparently he’ll be my guide in Invrisil, which will open some doors I guess. I could go check out the city and get all I need done at any time; hell, I can even take the carriage since I’m going with Reynold. Apparently that’s the second-hand one; Magnolia went off in her personal vehicle which can probably fly and shoot lasers. There’s no one stopping me from leaving.

And yet, I’m still here. Yeah, that’s sort of surprising, but the reason I stayed is simple enough. Or rather, it’s a mix of reasons.

One. I don’t have to go to Invrisil…at least, not to get some good work done. The best thing about being in a mansion full of [Butlers] and [Maids] and [Manservants] is that you can get them to do things. Like haul a bunch of artifacts over to the most reputable [Enchanter] in the city to get them appraised. Magnolia even suggested that bit; she’s willing to foot the not-inconsiderable bill to get them looked at, although I’ll have to be the one to pay for any repairs or what have you. I guess she wants to know what Ceria and the others found.

As for all the deliveries, well, they can wait. A week of waiting for their delivery is still a lot faster than you could ask for, especially since they’re coming all the way from Remendia and because no one else was doing the run.

Right, so I don’t have to leave the mansion. But why would I want to stay? The answer’s simple for me, and I realized it the moment I saw Magnolia heading off in her carriage. When the cat’s away, the mouse has got to play*. Or in this case, the runner girl gets to poke around in her private home and find out all of her dirty little secrets.

*Damnit, I don’t want to be a mouse. How about a rat? I could live with being a rat.

…Anyways. I failed on that venture. Polite servants get less polite the more intrusive you get, it seems. And while Ressa the ninja-maid is gone, Magnolia’s got some scary maids. The Gnoll one is especially intimidating.

So I failed to pry, but then I remembered that Magnolia has something else which is priceless: books. Frickin’ books. To be more accurate, a library, which is not a common convenience in this world.

And she’s one of the most powerful women in the world. And this is her personal library. How could I not spend some time here figuring out, well, everything? My god, there’s probably more pieces of the puzzle of this world in this room than anywhere else. And…

Yeah. It’s sort of boring trying to do research here. I won’t lie. Ivolethe has a point. It’s been a week. I’ve skimmed through over a hundred books at least, and read from dawn till dusk. I want to burn down this entire library and never read a word of cursive again. If I find the asshole who thought curly writing was a good idea…

At least I have a way to read the books. I push back the pair of bulky lenses over my eyes as I peer at the book in front of me, trying to make the script out. I need these glasses, as ill-fitting and heavy as they are; they’re magical and can translate the multitude of languages in these books.

But somehow, they still don’t translate weird handwriting. I swear, this was written by someone with two left hands. Which, considering the species in this world, might not be too far off.

“‘In the fall of the Strygian Empire we find peace for a time. And yet, the dead still rise from every grave and haunt the few souls still living. Something still calls them back, and Ghouls are but the least of the undead who continue to reanimate. Fifteen Wraiths wiped out a village in one night, and I fear that the curse of the Untombed One still lingers on our land…’”

Heavy stuff. I’ve got a pile of history books around me, and I’m currently reading through an account of some empire which fell a few thousand years back around these parts. I flip past that section. As fascinating as the history might be, I’ve read countless stories like this one.

The history of this world is…vast. As far as I can tell, some accounts claim that civilization was flourishing even twenty thousand years ago. That’s incredible. You’d think that such a world would have entered into a modern or post-modern age, or at least come up with some sort of industrial revolution by now. And yet—

When you read through the accounts of histories, skipping past the triumphal bullshit and the rewritten bits that make out each [King] as the one true savior and so on, it’s a simple picture.

War dominates this world. War, and little else. Each record is the same. War. Peace. War again, after a few decades or just a year. A border conflict between two grand nations escalates; proxy wars break out in five different nations. War drags in an entire continent into war; a second continent begins to fight that one. War. An armistice is declared. More war.

War.

Few nations have the time to develop properly, I guess. Well, they might reach new technological heights, but that’s by this world’s standards, which means it generally comes in the form of mage-powered inventions, not science and steel. But in time, each nation or city will eventually find themselves fighting a battle to the death with someone else.

It’s not Human nature. It’s the nature of all these species. That’s the issue, as I see it. There are countless species in this world and while one species might be content with peace, the others are angry, touchy, prideful, jealous bastards who’ll attack if they think things are unfair, which is, of course, always.

And yet, by the same token, there’s never an end to the cycle, never a victor because it’s too hard. This world is far larger than our own; huge nations the size of the United States or Russia are normal countries around here, or even small. Forging a large empire that would put an end to wars by conquering everything in sight always fails due to a number of factors.

The first is size. It’s too hard to expand and keep supply lines going. Too, a larger nation faces a much greater risk of internal strife or dissent from within. And even if a nation gets a proper transport system and bureaucracy running, such empires usually fail simply because the [Emperor] or [Warlord] gets old and dies.

You can’t conquer the world in one lifetime, not here. And that’s the rest of the twist of this world; nations live and die by their rulers, not like the ones back at home. All the power of a high-level [King], well, once it’s gone a country is easy pickings.

The second factor, then, is probably levels. No nation can ever stay on top just by being bigger. They might have better gear, better training, better economy, but once a high-level individual pops up, even a tiny nation can turn into a powerhouse. Small rebellions that are easily suppressed turn into full-scale revolts as some [Peasant] becomes a [Hero].

Yeah. There were heroes, once. It’s a rare class, but apparently it does exist. I’ve read countless books, pored through them for useful details. One of the things I learned? There is a [Hero] class, even if none of the historians writing the books knows how it can be obtained.

And third? Technology in this world is not the same as in mine. In mine, people build industry and create ideas and inventions that can be built upon, permanent infrastructure like assembly lines and the technology to build steam engines. In this world?

Magic rules. But the problem with that is when an empire dependent on magical innovations loses all of its high-level mages, everything goes right back to the start. If they built huge factories and used machines perhaps the world would change. But I see how easy magic is to use. You can create a carriage that can outrun any vehicle from our world with magic. Hell, it could probably outrun anything but the Shinkansen bullet trains. But you can’t create a hundred, or a thousand. And once the mage who made it dies, so too does the means of creating it.

Stagnation.

The other things I’ve learned? I push the book back and sigh. Ivolethe’s coming back any time now and I’m not feeling too keen on hearing how the Strygian Empire crumbled away. Let’s do a refresher.

“Important things…important things? One. There are no gods. Ever.”

No mention of them. Not one, in over ten thousand years of history, as far as I can tell. It’s hard to figure out the chronological order of the books; they use a dating system based on events, so eras come and go fast. It’s damn annoying, and finding a reference book to make sense of it all is a challenge in itself.

But like I said, no mention of gods. Not once, in thousands of years. Oh, there are hints—references to someone trying to bring back the [Cleric] class, a faded relic here and there, but no gods are ever referenced directly. They’re dead. I wonder why no new ones were ever made? It’s such a discrepancy I can’t quite believe it.

“But that aside—Rhir. It’s always at war. And the Antinium are new.”

Really new. In this millennium new; in this century new, in fact. They just popped up out of nowhere, and that’s odd for Rhir.

Or not. Rhir is a scary place. The more I read about it, the more it seems it’s always been at war. There’s always a Blighted King or Queen, or Blighted Princes…it’s always fighting against some threat or other.

“But it changes. It damn well changes. The Demons are new, too.”

Five thousand years back they emerged, catching a prosperous set of kingdoms off-guard. But they should have expected it, even though they had several hundred years of peace to grow complacent. Because Rhir is always at war.

Sometimes they fight off the enemy—it can be races of any kind. There’s a reference to a Blighted Princess holding off a marauding army of twisted horrors with no real name, but there’s always something. The kingdoms of Rhir, or kingdom in this case, is always fighting a battle. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they lose and the horrors spread across the world.

Huge armies from every corner of the world have come to take back Rhir. They slaughter the monsters, take back the lands, put a nation back there. Everything is peaceful. And then…

I go back to one of the open books on the table, find the passage.

“‘The continent is secure. The last of the tide of Crelers has been purged, although the other nations report infestations in their lands from time to time. Yet Rhir remains safe, apart from a few disturbances reported in underground mining incidents each year. However, infestations of monsters are put to the sword the instant they are uncovered…’”

And then? Black slime pops out, begins mutating everything around it, and this kingdom gets destroyed. I wish I could say I’m making this up. But there’s something in Rhir that keeps creating new things to destroy with.

Something. A dead God. Like Klbkch said.

I shiver. How could no one have known? Well, they did know. People can figure out when something’s wrong. After they fought back the evil slime stuff, a huge army made up of soldiers from three damn continents went underground, searching for the root of their problems. None of them made it back, but one year later a bunch of abominations made from parts of people came out and slaughtered everyone.

What’s the lesson here? Avoid Rhir.

I push the book back, feeling vaguely sick. Ivolethe is right. There are no answers here. Just more things to keep me up at night. If there’s any consolation I have, it’s knowing a bit more about the world.

I knew a lot, or enough, rather. Five main continents. Rhir, Izril, Terandria, Chandrar, and Baleros. Each one with different species, although Humans are on all the continents in some form or other. But it’s the major world powers that are interesting. Aside from the various nations, there are some standouts, some big players.

One of the ones I didn’t know about are the Slave Traders of Roshal. It’s apparently a city, or an empire that keeps itself neutral. It’s based in Chandrar and it’s about as powerful as Wistram, although it’s actually neutral, rather than political like the mages.

Also, the Minotaurs have an archipelago. They feud with other nations—hell, they tried to take over the world a few times, although almost every species has done that over the course of the world. They usually go to war with a bunch of mysterious foreigners—I never found a book about them, but they might be like my world’s version of Japan, or the Philippines. They live at the ‘edge of the world’.

So this world has an edge? Or have people still not figured out that the earth is round? Is it round? I can assume nothing here.

What else? There are Dwarves. Good to know. They live on Terandria, although they used to be everywhere. There used to be harpies, actual intelligent ones with a nation of their own. They’re dead. There used to be a people like djinn—highly magical, part spirit. They’re dead. There used to be undead kingdoms. They’re gone.

There used to be Elves, but every reference in the books I’ve read only talks about half-Elves. When did the Elves die out?

Don’t know. But the Dragons are mostly dead, too. Every few thousand years one gets slain, but the occurrence of such entries grew less and less the more I read. I guess, in a sense, this world is stabilizing. In that species are dying. Perhaps someday, after countless thousands of years, it might be only one or two species left.

Maybe it’ll be Goblins. Because no matter how many times they get wiped out, they always come back. And the reports of what happens when a Goblin King emerges…

I read the book Magnolia told me about, the one about the Second Antinium Wars. Yeah. There were no winners in that war, but it was clear that it was more like the ‘Goblin wars where the Antinium, Az’kerash, and everyone else barely manage to beat him while fighting with each other’.

So much for historical accuracy. I rub at my temples. I have a headache. Is there anything else…?

“You said you would stop reading!”

The accusatory voice makes me look up. Ivolethe glares at me. I push the book back.

“I’m done.”

The faerie glares and points. A bit of frost covers the pages of the books. Just a bit; Ivolethe’s magic is apparently very weak inside, even if the library doesn’t have much iron in it.

“Now ye are. Come on! Time to leave this stuffy place! I crave adventure!”

“I crave a sub sandwich.”

I mutter as I leave the room. I feel old as I walk through Magnolia’s grand estate, passing by servants who make way for me. I feel old, out of place.

Like an intruder.

It’s still only been a few days since the attack. I’m the only other person in the mansion not in Magnolia’s employ—I did ask about the other people from our world that Erin met, but I got no answers. I’m the odd one out, and I feel it.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a bevy of maids and a man in a black suit coat hurry into the library. They’ve got a lot of reshelving to do. Do I feel guilty about that?

Only slightly.

Ivolethe flies happily through the corridors of the mansion, making people duck out of the way or hurry to one side. She seems to feel safe inside here, so long as Magnolia isn’t around, that is. And she quite enjoys terrorizing the people here.

In fact, one of her favorite targets is just up ahead. Ivolethe smiles widely as she spots him eating through one of the glass windows. I try to stop her, but it’s too late. I sigh and head outdoors. As I do, I smile, just a bit. Today I will go to Invrisil. Reading’s all very well, but I guess I’m just an active sort of person.

And I wouldn’t mind a bit of adventure myself, come to that.

----

Reynold the [Butler] was eating outdoors, despite the nip in the air. That was because eating indoors where he could get crumbs on the floors would get him in quite a bit of trouble with those assigned to cleaning. Right now he was enjoying a skewer of meat, still steaming in the cold air.

It wasn’t a very Human dish, but the people of Izril had adopted the foods of other species. This was a favorite food of Drakes, and it had spread across the continent. The kebab could have used some vegetables for flavoring, but Reynold had been late to lunch and only managed to snag one of the extras.

Still, the meat was hot, juicy, and Reynold was content to eat as he stood against one wall in the mansion. He was happy in life. That was, until he spotted the blue patch of indistinct light coming towards his face at speed.

Reynold ducked as the Frost Faerie flew past his head. But it wasn’t him that the faerie was after. He felt a tugging at the skewer in his hand and to his dismay, saw two chunks of meat disappear upwards into the air. Reynold watched in silent misery as the faerie began to devour a good bit of his meal.

“Ivolethe! Damn it, I told you not to steal food from people! Or at least don’t make it obvious when you’re doing it!”

An angry voice rang out in the small courtyard. Reynold sighed. So much for enjoying his lunch in peace. He turned and put on a polite smile as his profession dictated.

“Good evening Miss Ryoka. I trust this day sees you well?”

“Hey Reynold.”

The tall young women jogged over, pausing to stop in front of Reynold. She glared at the orb of blue light Reynold thought of as a Frost Faerie, a force of nature rather than an actual being. But Ryoka could apparently see such creatures, and talk to them. Reynold had spotted this particular faerie indoors, and he had been flabbergasted to see the true identity of these beings.

That still didn’t make him any less wary of them, though. Reynold eyed the fuzzy patch of light as it swooped closer to his meal. He would have given it up rather than risk the faerie’s wrath, but Ryoka swiped at the Frost Faerie, making it dodge away.

“Stop that. Leave the poor man to his meal. I’ll buy you something to eat when we get to Invrisil, okay?”

“Ah, so you are planning on visiting the city today?”

Reynold straightened up as the faerie flew back towards Ryoka. She nodded towards him, distracted. She stared at the faerie and scowled.

“What? Why do I…? He can’t even see you properly, why the hell should—okay, fine, fine. Shut up.”

She turned back towards him with a resigned look on her face. Ryoka pointed towards the hovering faerie’s indistinct form.

“Ivolethe is here. She wants to be acknowledged.”

“Of course. My deepest apologies, Miss Ivolethe.”

Reynold bowed in the direction of the faerie, according her the respect and proper tilt of the back due to a member of an aristocratic house. He couldn’t hear her of course, but Reynold got the impression the faerie was pleased.

“Glad you enjoyed that. Okay Reynold, I’m ready to go. One or two questions before we go, though. You said you brought all of the artifacts to an [Enchanter]. Any word on whether it’s done?”

“The estate has not received any communications to that effect, Miss. However, I am sure you could visit the mage in person to ask.”

“I might do that. Okay, next question. Are your orders to show me around the city, or can I only count on you for the ride back?”

Reynold answered carefully, remembering all the things Ressa had told him to say—and not to say.

“I am at your disposal, Miss Ryoka. I will accompany you as long as is needed—within Invrisil. I am not permitted to escort you anywhere outside of the city and my help is limited to an, ah, advisory role.”

“Meaning you don’t step in if I’m in trouble?”

Reynold winced.

“That is broadly correct, Miss.”

“Well, that’s fine. Okay, last question.”

Ryoka stepped forwards and was suddenly uncomfortably close to Reynold. She narrowed her eyes.

“Where are the others? The other people from my world.”

The unfortunate [Butler] swallowed.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me. I know they were here. Erin told me. Where did they go?”

The man let the silence go on till the count of five. That seemed like enough time—Ressa had told him to pretend to be reluctant to tell Ryoka.

“They…are learning to become adventurers, Miss. I believe they have been escorted southeast of here to—to train.”

“Train? You mean Magnolia’s hauling a bunch of kids to—damn, that sounds just like her. Are they going to get killed?”

“I don’t believe so, Miss. They have competent escorts.”

“But knowing Magnolia, they won’t step in unless someone’s about to die.”

Ryoka shook her head. She eyed Reynold and he wondered if she was going to ask him where they were—that was something he couldn’t reveal. To his relief, she seemed to abandon the idea.

“I don’t need to see them anyways. The city’s what I’m concerned about. Why don’t we head over there?”

He nodded, relieved.

“I will have the carriage prepped and ready to go within five minutes, Miss. If you will follow me?”

“I don’t need a carriage. I’ll run to the city and meet you inside. At the Runner’s Guild, say.”

The [Butler] hesitated.

“I’m not sure that would be the most efficacious use of time, Miss Ryoka.”

She stared at him.

“First, stop calling me Miss Ryoka. I’ve told you that. I don’t care what your [Butler] protocol says. Second, why would that take a long time?”

“The [Guardsmen] at the gates do a thorough check of all visitors entering the city, Mi—ah, Ryoka. The queue moves fairly quickly, but it would be easier to take Lady Reinhart’s carriage. Her servants and associates are never stopped on their errands.”

“The privilege of power, huh?”

Ryoka snorted and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter how long the line is, Reynold. I’m a Runner. I skip the waiting around at the gates.”

“Not in Invrisil. Customs apply to all people entering, even Runners. There is a separate line, but…”

“What, they check Runners too? Why? Don’t tell me they’re at odds with their Runner’s Guild.”

“Not as such. But Invrisil sees far more magical artifacts and potentially dangerous items entering and leaving the city than most locations. Prudence is necessary.”

“They really get that many deliveries that could be dangerous? What about the Runner’s claim to confidentiality? Don’t tell me they’d open all of my packages.”

“I believe they have spells for that. As for the rest, well, Invrisil is slightly…larger than you might be used to, Ryoka.”

Reynold smiled slightly and stroked his trim mustache to hide it. Ryoka gave him an arch look while Ivolethe flew around her head.

“We’ll see. Let’s take the carriage, then.”

----

Invrisil, the city of adventurers. It was one of the features of Izril, a place that would appear on any map of the world. Ryoka and Erin had both heard the city’s name during their stay in this world. It was a place of adventurers, the heart of the northern half of the continent, where Humans would come to find the strongest of adventurers, undertake the most dangerous of requests. And of course, visit one of the most prosperous cities on the continent.

After all, where adventurers thrived, there had to be a city of equal size and resources to support them. Inns and food to feed countless mouths, [Mages], [Alchemists], and [Blacksmiths] to supply warriors with any number of aids in battle, and [Merchants] to buy and sell goods looted, [Guardsmen] to break up fights between rival parties, brothels, gambling pubs, enchanters and healers, trackers and cartographers, bards and laborers…

It was a city to rival any modern city from Ryoka and Erin’s world. If the buildings weren’t as tall as skyscrapers, well, many of them were far higher than normal architecture would allow thanks to magically reinforced walls. And if there were no cars or planes, there were enough carriages, coaches, wagons, and carts to make up for that.

But the rest was the same. In fact, the rest was even more than Ryoka had seen in places like New York City. For while that city could boast over eight million souls, each one was Human. Not so in Invrisil.

String People walked down the street, chatting, poking at loose threads in each other’s bodies right next to Drakes, who strode around, keeping their tails from being trodden on by impatient Minotaurs who towered even over the heads of the Gnolls in the crowd. Humans dominated the scene, but they walked cheek-by-dead flesh with Selphids, did business with Drowned Men and Women, and argued hotly with bird-people, coughed as dusty travelers whose bodies seemed part sand walked past them—

Ryoka stared as the carriage drove down the streets, making good time despite the huge amount of people. Ivolethe, sitting on Ryoka’s head, stared around in delight, laughing and pointing at individuals in the crowd. But Ryoka couldn’t focus on any one thing.

The buildings! Some were made of wood and stone yes, but many had colored roofs in every shade, and still more had been painted or given artistic fronts. When magic could easily make any relief permanent, the most prosperous buildings paid for [Painters] and [Muralists] to create wondrous images. Ryoka saw a group of adventurers battling a hideously large Troll adorning three buildings, each one showing part of the complete relief. Then her eyes turned and saw the lights.

There was no electricity in this world. But who needed that when magic provided an even steadier, softer glow? The hanging orbs of crystal shone even in the day, and some had been enchanted to shift color steadily, to catch and bewitch the eye.

“See the guards on patrol, Miss Ryoka? They’re fine warriors, all of them. As fine as you’d see in any Drake city! Some of them are retired adventurers, and but for a few old wounds they’re as dangerous as they were in their youth.”

Reynold pointed out a group of men and women marching smartly down the street. They certainly did look older than normal, but Ryoka saw the confident way each one walked. She saw them pass by as the carriage moved onwards.

That was another thing. The city had a street and sidewalk. There were no wagons mixing with pedestrians here—there was a separate route for vehicles such that they could keep moving despite the flow of foot-traffic. Ryoka saw a [Guardswoman] directing traffic and wondered if there were street lights too. That would be too surreal.

“I smell goat meat! And cow meat! And rat meat! And spices! Thyme and rosemary and paprika and qerix and bablyous!”

Ivolethe shouted and leapt from Ryoka’s head. She skimmed to an open stall and laughed as the vendor swore and tried to protect his wares on display. Ryoka passed by one of the open markets in the city and saw countless stalls like the ones in Liscor, all open, all filled with [Merchants] and [Traders] doing business with people there.

“How many people live here?”

She shouted at Reynold as he drove the carriage up a street. He had to raise his voice to reply.

“I couldn’t say how many, Miss! This city is so vast—and there are countless towns and villages only a stone’s throw away!”

It couldn’t be a million. Ryoka was sure…but well, why not? She knew cities like Paris and London had boasted over a hundred thousand people in the middle ages. This city was surely as large—no, larger than they were. If you counted the suburbs and outskirts, why not?

“Unbelievable.”

She whispered the words as the carriage rode on. Now Reynold was taking her into the heart of the business district, as far as she could tell. Shops passed by on the right and left and she heard people calling out to her as she passed.

“Milady, a moment, please! Would you be interested in the latest wares from Baleros? A shipment has come in from T’vault, please see!”

“I have the latest treats from Terandria, right here! Try our fabulous new treat, a frozen delight! You won’t be able to say no to another lick!”

The man was talking about ice cream! Ryoka saw it being served in a shop—the man there was putting it on little gold platters for people to sample. She looked over to the other side of the street and saw a huge plaza pass by. The people shouting there seemed to be aiming for warriors, judging by the calls.

“Want a Shield Spider? Invaluable protection—don’t fear it turning on you! An expert [Beast Master] has trained it to fight and obey your every command!”

“Our group is seeking work! A [Jarl] and [Raiders] are willing to fight at your command!”

“I have a pot of Everburning Flame here! Make me an offer, quickly!”

“The Windfrozen Riders are available for commission—”

“Hire the Celestial Trackers and we will find your quarry or your coin back—”

The voices were swept away as Ryoka passed by. She turned her head to look and spoke to Ivolethe.

“I might have to get an Everburning Flame while I’m here. It could be seriously useful, especially if I can build a primitive steam engine or something. Hell, I could probably find a [Blacksmith] to make me the parts.”

The Frost Faerie laughed.

“Hah! Yon fool lies. That pot is filled with naught but oil. ‘Tis an alchemist’s trick—it will burn for a week before running out.”

“Damn. How can you tell?”

“‘Twas not magic. And I caught the odor of the burnt oil as we passed. How could you not tell?”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe, impressed.

“I’m going to take you when I go shopping.”

“After you buy me meat! You promised!”

“I need to take care of business first. Reynold, where’s the Runner’s Guild in the city?”

“We’re arriving at the largest branch now, Miss Ryoka.”

Reynold pointed, and Ryoka saw a large building to one side. It was painted like most of the buildings in the city—a light blue color, and she saw there were three sets of doors that were constantly in use as citizens came in to claim a package or have one delivered, and Runners went out to make said deliveries.

“Looks like that’s my stop. Should I wait for you there?”

“I’m afraid I will have to park this carriage at a spot designated for Lady Reinhart’s vehicles. Please do not wait for me. Instead, if you will accept this seal, I will locate you.”

Reynold produced one of Lady Magnolia’s iconic seals, half-gem, half-silver. Ryoka eyed the translucent sapphire melted together with shining silver metal into a single disc.

“Expensive. Are you sure I need it?”

“It will allow you unfettered access to many establishments, I think you will find, Miss Ryoka. Of course, Lady Reinhart asks that you not make any claims against her name with her token—lending it to you is an act of great trust.”

“And it has a tracking spell, doesn’t it? That’s how you’re going to find me.”

“Yes, Miss. This is most convenient in such a large city.”

Ryoka sighed, but took the token reluctantly.

“Find me as soon as you can and we’ll go visit that enchanter.”

“Yes, Miss Ryoka.”

“And stop calling me Miss!”

Ryoka shouted as she leapt out of the carriage and Reynold drove off. She sighed as Ivolethe flew down and landed on her shoulder.

“Are ye going to take long in yon building?”

“Not too long if I can get past the receptionists without too much fuss. But they’ll have to tally all the deliveries I’ve got…look, just get inside my pouch and wait, alright?”

“Ach, the things that friendship requires.”

Grumbling, Ivolethe flew into Ryoka’s pouch. The Runner adjusted her belt, and then strode into the Runner’s Guild.

Whatever she had been expecting, Ryoka hadn’t quite expected the scope of this Guild. She stared around for a second, blinking, as her eyes took in the main Runner’s Guild of Invrisil.

“Wow. That’s a lot of Runners.”

There had to be over a hundred people in the building. That was three times as many as Ryoka had ever seen in Celum’s guild at any one time, and this was only the main building? She saw Runners coming and going, people of all species. A Gnoll with a package tied to a sling around her chest brushed past her, and Ryoka realized there was a steady stream going in and out the doors.

Quickly, the young woman stepped towards the receptionists. There were quite a few of them, and they were dealing with Runners quickly, changing seals for coin, handing out deliveries, and so on. Ryoka stepped into line and found herself advancing in the queue at startling speed.

There was no waiting long in a Runner’s Guild it seemed. Ryoka could already see the brisk [Receptionists] talking with Runners at the front. They seemed older than the normal group of young women, and there were men in the mix as well.

Ryoka fidgeted as she reached for her Runner’s Seal and bag of holding carrying all the deliveries from Remendia. She still hated talking to new people, especially when it came to Receptionists. They were so chatty—

“Next! Over here, Miss.”

Two receptionists finished with their Runner at the same time. Ryoka walked over to a woman in her mid-thirties. She was a String Person, although interestingly, she had pale skin, rather than Octavia or Revi’s dark tone. She held out one hand where all the fingers had stitches where they met the hand.

“Your seal, please.”

Ryoka placed her personal Runner’s seal on the counter. The [Receptionist] snatched it up and produced a magnifying glass to study it in an instant. She only gave it a brief look before sliding it back towards Ryoka.

“Ryoka Griffin? You’re a long way from Celum. Are you transferring, or doing a delivery? We didn’t receive word you were heading this way.”

Ryoka blinked. This receptionist was far more business-like than Ryoka was accustomed to. She hesitated a bit on her reply.

“I’m not transferring. I—was in Remendia and had the chance to come here. I’ve got a bunch of deliveries from the guild there.”

“Really? May I see them?”

Ryoka produced her bag of holding. The [Receptionist]’s gaze sharpened and she held out a hand.

“Wait. Are any of the packages marked confidential or otherwise uniquely addressed in any way?”

“Not that I was told.”

“Very well then. Proceed.”

Ryoka carefully took wrapped item after item out of the bag of holding, piling it up on the desk. In the end the receptionist had to call for a bin—she began transferring each package into it with quite deliberate movements.

“Well, that accounts for every package we had coming this way. I suppose we’ll get less on the weekly delivery.”

The [Receptionist] idly commented as she peered at the bin full of deliveries. Ryoka had to smile a bit; she could see some of the other Runners staring jealously at her. The [Receptionist] nodded as she tallied up each delivery on a receipt and stamped it.

“Not bad. But a Courier could have done it just as quickly, or faster if they were heading here directly. If you’re going to make a long-distance trip in the future, please inform the Guild so they can send a message, Miss.”

The smug smile on Ryoka’s face vanished. The woman at the desk looked only vaguely impressed with Ryoka’s feat. She handed the receipt to Ryoka.

“You may exchange that for coin now or at any guild, as I’m sure you know. Now, was there anything else, Miss?”

Caught off-guard, Ryoka thought quickly.

“…There is one thing. Do you happen to know if the Courier Valceif Godfrey is in the city?”

The woman at the desk raised her eyebrows.

“Valceif? His usual circuit is closer to First Landing, but he comes here regularly for deliveries…I haven’t seen him of late, which is unusual, but I will ask about his location. If you return here later, I, or another receptionist at the desk, will know more.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Miss Griffin. Next!”

Bemused, Ryoka wandered away from the desk, seeing a rather battered-looking Dullahan step forwards. She heard him beginning to complain about being attacked by dogs again before she stepped out of the guild.

“I guess a big city means the Runners here are that much better.”

“Bah, ‘tis not as if they can run that fast.”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch as the young woman stood in the street. Ryoka shook her head; she thought the Runners in that building might all be at Fals’ level, or better. If that was the case, they were all nearly as fast or faster than she was.

“I’m starting to really feel like a country yokel seeing the city for the first time. Until Reynold finds us, how about we go look around? You can get something to eat, and I’ll…take in the sights, I guess.”

Ivolethe happily agreed, and so Ryoka set off down the streets. At first she was uncomfortable, but she quickly got used to the flow of the city.

This place reminded her a lot of New York. There wasn’t any stopping and chatting here, not with such a press of people. If you didn’t walk fast you got dirty looks—or pushed. The sidewalk was crowded, and when the wagons on the street halted to let pedestrians cross you moved fast or you got shouted at.

Ryoka had the insane urge to shout ‘I’m walking here!’ just for the hell of it. But that would probably get something hurled at her head by one of the drivers. They certainly traded insults with the foot traffic in a refreshingly familiar way. Although, Ryoka had to admit, she had never seen a pedestrian throw a ball of magic at a driver who shouted obscenities at him.

But aside from the city press, the city of Invrisil was still a city. And Ryoka had grown up in the urban sprawl. There were places to get food on the sidewalk, and in no time she was eating her own hot skewer and quickly sliding off hot chunks of meat to cram into her belt pouch from another.

Her pouch was going to get greasy and disgusting, but Ivolethe seemed only concerned about the food. Ryoka could feel her rustling around and making happy noises as she ate. And a happy Frost Faerie was one that wasn’t freezing your stomach and giving you horrible bowel movements.

“Where to next, I wonder?”

Ryoka stopped in a busy plaza, looking around for signs, perhaps to the market, or maybe to a specialized store specializing in magical artifacts. She had coin after all—a lot of it. It might not be enough for a powerful magical artifact, but it was time to buy a ring or—or enchanted clothing perhaps. What about a wand—

“Watch where you’re going, Troll!”

An outraged shout made Ryoka’s head turn. She saw a group of armored men and one woman—adventurers?—standing in front of…

Ryoka had to rub her eyes. It was a Troll. Or—no, not a Troll maybe, but a half-Troll?

There was no other word for it. Ryoka hadn’t seen a Troll before, but she imagined they’d be a bit bigger, a bit rounder and more…monster-like. But while this…person wasn’t a full Troll, they definitely had some Troll blood in them.

It was hard to describe. Ryoka’s first impression was that someone had taken this poor young woman—a young woman with far bigger bones than even Garia—and painted her a greyish color. But that alone wouldn’t account for her tough, almost pebble-like skin and towering height. She was over seven feet tall and she looked like a goliath. Not like a tall and lanky basketball player, no, Ryoka thought she looked more like a walking tank. Broad-shouldered didn’t even begin to cover it, and her arms were thick.

She was wearing rough, simple clothing that looked hand-stitched. The half-Troll was trying to step away from the angry adventurer she’d apparently run into. He wasn’t letting her go. He was angry, and, Ryoka thought, overly hostile towards her.

“Of course. Racism at its finest.”

“What is?”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s pouch, cheeks bulging. The second she saw the scene she went still. Ryoka shook her head as the adventurer began insulting the half-Troll girl.

He looked like he wanted a fight. Briefly, Ryoka considered stepping in. She had no patience for bullies. And she had a pepper potion and the other items Octavia had given her ready to be used. Except that this adventurer had a group of his friends backing him up. Ryoka eyed them and shook her head.

“Not my business.”

That was what Ryoka decided in the end. She could imagine what would happen if she picked a fight with real adventurers. She’d not only lose, but probably get hurt and maybe get thrown in jail. It wasn’t worth it.

“Don’t go! Stay! I want to watch!”

Ivolethe shouted as Ryoka turned to leave. The young woman frowned down into the pouch.

“Why? Do you want to help? I won’t stop you, but be careful. If they think that half-Troll girl is doing it, they’ll attack her.”

“What? Not the half-child, ye daft fool! I want to see what he does!”

Ivolethe pointed, and Ryoka saw to her surprise that the Troll girl wasn’t in fact alone. She hadn’t even seen the young man standing by her side; she sort of dominated the scene. But he was standing in silence, listening to the adventurer get angrier and angrier.

The adventurer was trying to pick a fight, Ryoka could tell. He had a sword and this half-Troll didn’t. He was a piece of crap, and she would have loved to drop-kick him and stomp on him a bit. But she had a feeling he’d kick her ass if she tried.

She didn’t want to stay and watch this unfold. And yet, she watched the adventurer continue to pick on the half-Troll with narrowed eyes, unable to just walk away.

“Enough. Please stop bothering my companion.”

The young man spoke up at last. He seemed to be talking to the entire group, rather than the belligerent adventurer in front.

“She did nothing wrong. If she walked into you while escorting me, I apologize on both our behalf. But you have no reason to attack her like this.”

The other members of the group seemed to accept this, but the man who’d been knocked into seemed to find this apology too weak, or perhaps he just wanted to cause more trouble for the pair. He swaggered up to the young man, glaring.

“Is she your bodyguard? In that case, you should apologize to us directly! Don’t you know who we are?”

The young man turned his head towards the adventurer, and Ryoka blinked as she saw his eyes were closed.

“I don’t know, or particularly care. Please move aside—we are trying to go about our business and you should do the same.”

“What, are you too good to look me in the eye?”

Outraged, the adventurer seized the young man’s arm. Immediately the half-Troll reacted. She reached for the adventurer to push him back. He immediately leapt back and his friends grabbed for their weapons. Protectively, the Troll girl moved in front of the young man.

“Don’t do that! He’s blind!”

A blind guy? Ryoka had seen few people with disabilities in this world. She wondered if that was because of a lack of pollution or other genetic factors—or if such people died out because they couldn’t defend themselves or contribute.

Either way, the young man’s lack of sight didn’t stop him from being a target. The adventurer began mocking both him and the half-Troll girl, much to Ryoka’s distaste.

“A blind man and a half-Troll! Hah! I suppose that’s the only person who’d put up with something like that!”

The gigantic young woman glared at the adventurer.

“Go away. If you bother Laken, I’ll protect him. I’m his—”

She got no further, because the man interrupted her with a sneer.

“Protect him? You couldn’t protect a fly! I’ve seen real combat, not like some half-monster country bumpkin.”

The half-Troll said nothing, but there was an unfriendly look in her eye, and one of her hands clenched into a fist. A big fist. Ryoka eyed it and wondered what would happen if she hit the adventurer with it. His buddies looked a bit worried, but the man in front was drunk on bravado.

“Do you know how many Trolls I’ve killed with this sword? I could etch another notch right here, and no one would care.”

The man put a hand on his sword as he stepped forwards. The half-Troll girl flinched, but then to Ryoka’s surprise the young man moved. He took a step forwards and turned his head towards the adventurer. He was clearly angry, and when his mouth opened the word he spoke echoed across the square.

“Enough.”

Ryoka felt something press at her chest and had to force herself not to react. The adventurer stumbled back as if something physical had hit him. He put his hands on his sword with a snarl and the half-Troll girl raised a threatening fist. Before the conflict could escalate into bloodshed, Ryoka heard a shout and thumping of boots.

“What’s going on here!?”

The Watch had come, and remarkably quickly too. Ryoka wondered if it had to do with the half-Troll being there—and then corrected her thought. Of course it did. She watched as the two sides explained what had happened from their point of view.

Predictably, the adventurer claimed that the half-Troll had nearly knocked him down and he had simply reacted to the provocation. The blind young man and the half-Troll claimed the opposite. The young man—he was named Laken apparently—was explaining things to the Lieutenant, who didn’t seem too inclined to listen to his side of the case.

“She did nothing wrong. Durene was guiding me through the streets when this man decided to take objection to her existing.”

“So you say, sir. But this adventurer and his friends—a Silver-rank team—claim otherwise.”

The young man’s brows drew together as he snapped.

“I may be blind, but I know what I heard. And other people saw what happened too. Why not ask them? Or better yet, use a truth spell?”

“I hardly think that this situation calls for that.”

The man in charge dismissed the idea as if it were silly. He glanced at the adventurer, who looked pretty damn confident for someone who was probably lying, in Ryoka’s opinion. The lieutenant glared up at the half-Troll, who was looking chastened as well as upset.

“I’ll let it go with a warning—for both of you. Be on your way sir, and you, Miss—”

He hesitated, made a face, and then went on.

“—Cause no problems in my city while you’re here. If I hear of any more disturbances, there will be trouble.”

The adventurer took that as his cue to go and swaggered off. Ryoka glared at his back, but the young blind man was still irate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Is this really fair, officer? You and I both know that Durene did nothing wrong. Is it because she’s a half-Troll that you’re blaming her? Or do you simply not care about justice?”

The lieutenant did not like being told off. His cheeks reddened and he put a hand on his sword until he realized the blind man couldn’t see the motion.

“I apologize if you’ve been inconvenienced sir. Now, move along.”

“Come on Laken, let’s go.”

The half-Troll pulled gently at the young man’s shoulder. He clenched his fists, and then relaxed his hands. His fury seemed to wash away in an instant and he looked resigned, rather than upset. Laken nodded and patted Durene’s hand.

“Very well, I suppose this guardsman is just doing his job. As we say in my homeland, fahr zur Hölle du Bullenschwein. Ah entschuldigung, SIE Bullenschwein. Good day, officer.”

The blind man spoke the words directly to the lieutenant, and then smiled at him as if what he’d said had been a compliment. It clearly wasn’t, but no one knew what he’d said. The lieutenant frowned, but didn’t make an issue of it.

But standing across the street, Ryoka Griffin’s eyes suddenly went wide. She felt as if her entire body had suddenly been shocked. She knew what had been said. But more importantly, she knew in what language that had been said. That was no foreign tongue from this world. That was German!

Ryoka’s heart beat rapidly in her chest as she saw the group of guardsmen stride away, leaving the duo behind. That had to be just a coincidence. Or was it? There weren’t any people who spoke German in this world, were there? Well, if everyone here spoke English, why not? Another country could have adopted other languages. And yet—Ryoka’s gaze fixed on the blind young man standing next to the upset half-Troll.

“Ivolethe. Why is that guy so special?”

The faerie’s voice was tiny in Ryoka’s ear.

“I see it on him. The mark of command. The old destiny of leaders.”

That made no sense to Ryoka. But she was distracted by the Troll-girl. Durene? She was bending and whispering to the young man, although her voice was quite audible to anyone listening. Ryoka glanced around. Not many people were. They were hurrying around and away from her, rather than stopping to listen.

“What did you say, Laken?”

He turned his head towards her and Ryoka saw him smile. She heard him clearly whisper to the half-Troll as she stepped closer.

“I’ll tell you later, Durene. Let’s just get to that Runner’s Guild first, hm? We can see about adventurers later.”

Hesitantly, the half-Troll took the young man’s hand. She cast around, and then began to set off through the street, easily clearing a path for him to walk by her. Ryoka hesitated.

She could ignore that and go to the enchanter. She couldn’t believe she’d find someone else from her world right here, just like that.

And yet—Ryoka glanced down at her belt pouch. Ivolethe had poked her head out, and she was chewing the last bit of meat. And her eyes were fixed on Laken. The Frost Faerie glanced up at Ryoka, and then away.

Coincidence? Or fate? Was she being led, or was this all some huge chance event? Ryoka didn’t know. But as the half-Troll and blind young man walked through the crowds, Ryoka slowly walked after them.

3.36

Day 49

My name is Laken Godart. I am blind. Also, I’m trapped in another world where reality seems to conform to the rules of some kind of game.

I could be a victim of some kind of elaborate prank or test, or a social experiment. I could see myself being an easy target for some kind of shady government project—if of course I’m not just crazy.

Right now, I’m not ruling out any options. The reason why I ended up in this world could be anything as simple as an alien abduction gone wrong to genuine magic. I’m leaning on the magic side, myself.

This place is just too…real. Too real, and I want to believe in it. In the short month and a half since I’ve been here, I gained sight. Of a kind, yes, but sight nevertheless. I found someone I loved, and I found something to fight for.

But I won’t forget to think about what I do. I’m no hero with a sword. I’m fairly certain I’d hurt myself just trying to pick one up. I can’t be a warrior.

But I can be smart. I can choose what I want to do and pick my battles, if there are any in the future. I have friends. I have a class.

I am an [Emperor], and I have responsibilities. That, more than anything, informs how I act. Even now, I’ve travelled to this place, this city, for the people under my protection.

“It really is a big city, isn’t it, Durene?”

I say that out loud and feel Durene laughing nervously through our connected hands. I can tell she’s next to me. I may be blind, but I have my other senses. Here is what I know. I’m holding Durene’s hand. Her palm is callused—rough. Almost like a shark’s skin? I touched one once at an aquarium—a small, non-threatening shark or so I was told. Durene’s skin is somewhat like that.

Her hand is warm. On this cold, brisk day, her hand is warm. And I can hear her every step. But I can also hear the voices.

Oh—the voices. I’ve been in huge cities before, heard cars passing by, honking, shouting, but there’s just something about a mass of people that seems large to me. Maybe it’s because I know each person has to be out there, each one an individual moving and talking and thinking on their own.

A hundred voices. A thousand, some shouting, others just talking as they pass by me and Durene. More still simply walk, and it’s that movement which really tells me that I’m in a city.

I can smell—dirt and stone. And sweat, musty odors coming off of winter clothing probably. But more strongly through the air, baked food. Hot tangy scents wafting towards me and making me hungry. Someone’s cooking food over to the left, and the wind’s blowing it towards me. Not a meat—something else?

They’re not the only ones. There are more food vendors all about. Smell, hearing—I’m being overwhelmed on both fronts by the sheer input.

However, I am used to it. I know better than to panic, and it’s hardly like I’m incapable of moving about. I let Durene lead me through the city at a good pace. I just wish—

I wish I could see all of this. Sound and smell only get me so far. But from what Durene tells me, this city is like nothing in my past world.

“Lizard people? Really, Durene?”

“They’re called Drakes, I think. I’ve never seen one before. Um, I think they live far to the south of here.”

“Amazing. Drakes. Draco. Are they related to Dragons, by any chance?”

“I don’t know? They um, have scales. And long tails. Some of them have green scales, others have red or blue or—that one’s yellow.”

Durene moves as if to point and stops herself. I nod to myself as we walk on. I’m trying to imagine what these creatures—these people might be like. But I don’t think in terms of sight, naturally. I have a rough image in my head, but I would love to talk to one of these Drakes, shake their…hand?

“Do they have hands?”

“Something like that. It uh, it’s more like claws. They look sharp.”

Claw hands. I try to fit that in and reconsider shaking hands. But if I could touch one—

And how would I do that? I’m assuming these other species have the same taboos and social norms—at least broadly—that Humans do. Durene didn’t think it was too strange for a city to have Drakes in it, for all she’s never seen one.

Maybe if I got to know one. Naturally I can’t just stop someone on the street—well, I could, but I have more pressing matters.

I am in this city for a reason. I speak to Durene, feeling her guiding me left to avoid something or someone.

“Would you say we’re close to that plaza you saw now?”

“I think so!”

She sounds excited and worried by turns. Excited, and overwhelmed by her first glimpse of a city, as I suppose anyone would be. I have to remember Durene’s never even left her village. This must be overwhelming for her. I have to keep the cool head.

And yet, I can’t help but feel like Durene’s the one who’ll be most useful in a pinch. She proved that when she stood up to those adventurers. All I could do was raise my voice and be useless.

Those adventurers…I sigh as I walk with Durene towards the plaza.

Bastards. Ditto for that lieutenant. But the insight into this city was helpful. There’s corruption here, or at least, casual racism against one type of species. Ironic, that. I guess in a city with countless races joining hands—or claws—there has to be some group that gets pushed out.

I have to understand the world around me to interact with it. That’s why Durene and I have been walking through the city this last hour, taking it in, finding the measure of it. Better that than rush off and make mistakes. And it was a very pleasant walk too—Durene described so many odd sights for me. And yet, I guess you step in dog shit at least once on the best of strolls.

“Ah, I can hear the adventurers shouting now.”

Yes, in my ears I can now pick out a different set of shouts, this one growing louder as Durene and I walk forwards. Adventurers.

“…the Storm Raiders will sell our axes to anyone in need of a strong arm! Make us an offer!”

“—the best, the mightiest! Our shields will block spell and fang alike! The Ironshield Vanguard!”

“We’re a group of [Soldiers] who fought in the Yelten-Grimmor conflict! We’ve over fifty kills between us! You want protection, turn to us!”

Ah, adventurers. Durene leads me forwards, and I can just tell she’s stopping to stare around.

“Do you see Gamel around?”

“No.”

Durene sounds worried, although she shouldn’t be. I can feel her shift—is she standing on her tiptoes? I imagine she would be able to see practically everyone in the plaza. Even these ‘Gnolls’ don’t sound as tall as she is.

“I don’t see him, Laken. Should I call out, do you think? Or—”

I squeeze her hand gently, reassuring her.

“Don’t worry, Durene. It was just a thought. I imagine he’s off in some other square. We did say we’d meet at midday. Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve a little bit of time before then.”

“Yeah. You did say—okay.”

“Let’s take a seat—if one’s available. I could use a few seconds to rest, and I’d like to listen to what all these people are shouting. You can describe them for me.”

“Okay.”

We make it a few more steps into the plaza, and then I feel Durene slow. She bends towards me and whispers something in my ear.

“Laken, I think that girl is still following us!”

I pause for only a microsecond, but then move forwards. Durene is stopped.

“I see. Keep walking, Durene. Don’t look back at her—or if you do, just glance past her, as if you haven’t seen her.”

“Okay, Laken. But what does she want?”

“You’re sure she’s following us and not going somewhere else?”

“I’m sure! We practically walked in a circle, and I keep seeing her!”

“Describe her for me again.”

Durene pauses. I can hear the nervousness in her voice when she speaks again.

“Um. Tall. Taller than you, Laken. A few inches taller? She’s…got black hair, darkish skin—I’ve never seen someone who looks like that. Is she a foreigner? Uh—she’s uh—beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

It’s an alien word to me. Beautiful is a word I associate with a voice, not with faces or appearance. But Durene’s voice is filled with a longing that tells me all I need to know.

“She’s beautiful. Sort of scary-looking, but beautiful. And—she looks like a Runner.”

“Hm.”

Durene spotted the girl following us a few blocks back. She pointed her out to me—well, described her to me—as one of the oddities of the city. A foreigner, someone not native to this continent.

It’s a…hard thing for me to think of. I know there are ethnicities in my world, of course. Nationality, race, gender…that’s easy to understand. But skin color? I don’t know what the color blue is supposed to look like.

Apparently, the folk of Riverfarm and this continent look predominantly like the people of my home continent, Europe. That is to say, mostly fair-skinned. This girl isn’t. She could be black or Asian or Latino—Durene’s descriptions don’t help me think of her in that way. She’s just clearly a foreigner, and one who stands out in this multi-species environment. No—more so because she stands out among her own kind, Humans.

And she’s following us. What does that mean? I frown as Durene worries next to me.

“Let’s get to a seat, and you can tell me if she stays in the area. If she doesn’t—well, we’ll know then.”

“Got it.”

Durene’s palm is slightly sweaty in my hand. Or is it mine? Because I hate to imagine it, but this could be an issue.

Why would someone follow us? A thousand reasons come to mind. They might be a prejudiced asshole like the adventurers. Or they might be interested in Durene. Or maybe it’s something to do with me?

I’m in a gaming world. Is this just a random event? Is this a scripted NPC? I’m sure this isn’t that kind of game, but why else would someone follow us? Is she aware of Riverfarm’s plight? Is she simply curious about an interspecies couple?

I don’t know. But I think. That’s what I can do in this world. Think. Think, and try to understand. Who is this young woman? What does she want?

And what should I do about it?

----

Ryoka Griffin gritted her teeth as she saw the half-Troll’s head turn. She slowed, but the tall girl’s head found her.

“She can’t have spotted me. She can’t.”

Ryoka muttered under her breath as the girl named Durene seemed to glance at her, and then hurriedly look past. It was the third time she’d done so in as many minutes. It made Ryoka worried.

And annoyed, because Ryoka really didn’t want to think she’d been spotted by a Troll. Half-Troll. Whatever. That would be embarrassing, and yet—

“She saw me. Damn, damn, damn…”

In writing, it sounded easy. Follow a blind guy being led around by a half-Troll. How hard could that be? It was probably wrong to think, but Ryoka had the impression that the half-Troll girl wasn’t exactly the fastest brick on the block. She seemed simple, somewhat timid, and gentle. A giant, in short, easy to follow without being seen while Ryoka listened to what the two were doing.

But the Troll—Durene was her name, wasn’t it?—kept looking around. Ryoka felt the half-Troll girl’s eyes pause on her again and tried to meld with a group of laughing Drakes. But the problem was that becoming one with the crowd only worked if the crowd was the same species as you were. And for all her varied interests over the years, Ryoka had never tried espionage. To be more accurate, she’d never tried following someone who kept pausing every few minutes to stare about.

In movies or in books, the protagonist following the suspect had the advantage of darkness, or an unaware target, or some convenient plot twist which would help them complete their mission. And at the very least, they could blend with the crowd.

But Ryoka stood out. She knew she stood out. She was an Asian girl who didn’t look like the other native Humans to this land, and certainly not like the other species. So she’d been spotted with disgusting ease. The blind guy couldn’t see her, but his helper could, and she kept staring around—probably to tell him what everything looked like!

That was one side of the problem. The Troll-girl saw Ryoka. She saw Ryoka, but Ryoka saw the man following the pair. That was someone the half-Troll hadn’t spotted.

And no wonder—he was completely bland. He had flaxen hair, a nondescript face—his clothes weren’t anything to blink twice over. And yet, he was following the blind man known as Laken and the half-Troll Durene as well, Ryoka was sure of it.

He was following them, and Ryoka wanted to know why. She kept eying the man as she walked into the plaza with all the adventurers lined up. They were an odd bunch. It looked as though each one had their space to, well, show off. Teams of adventurers—Silver-rank at best by the looks of them—were doing tricks with swords or just trying to give off a certain amount of swagger as their teammates or hired help extolled their virtues, trying to get them a job.

It was an odd way of doing things, but Ryoka supposed it was needed advertisement if you wanted a lucrative contract. In a place with so many adventurers—Ryoka saw one every block it seemed—people with requests could choose their team, which meant competition had to be fierce.

Now the human and half-Troll seemed to be stopping. They were headed for some unoccupied benches sitting in the shade of some trees in the plaza. Ryoka bit her lip.

She hadn’t gotten close enough to hear more than a few snippets of conversation and she’d already been made. Should she try to get close, knowing she was exposed?

It had just been a few words. In German. Just a few words—why couldn’t there be some nation based off of Germany, or some culture with Germanic roots? But Ryoka had to know.

So she walked closer. She looked around—where was that man in plain clothes? He was a master at being invisible. Ryoka would never have spotted him if she hadn’t noticed him following the pair like she was.

There. He was strolling ahead of her, right next to the half-Troll. Ryoka’s eyes narrowed. She watched as he approached, and then cursed.

“Son of a—”

----

It happened in a moment as we were walking towards the bench that Durene had found. I, walking by her side, felt her pause for a second.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“My fault, Miss. Please excuse me.”

An unfamiliar voice. Male. Pleasant. I frown and hear him walk away.

“What was that, Durene?”

“Nothing, Laken. I just bumped into that man.”

“Huh.”

Durene sounds at ease, but my frown remains. Something feels wrong. Bumped into her. Why does that…

Who would bump into someone as big as Durene? From what she’s said, she gets a lot of room even on a busy sidewalk. Who goes around bumping into people ordinarily, anyways? And the way he said it—

“Durene! Check your money pouch!”

I snap as thoughts come together in an instant. I’ve encountered thieves and pickpockets before. I know the scam. I hear Durene gasp and then her anguished shout.

“It’s gone! He took it!”

“Go after him!”

“But—”

“Go, Durene!”

I shout, letting go of her hands. That’s not just her money that was taken—Durene had the entire pouch of coin and gems I found by her cottage! If that thief runs off with it—

To her credit, I hear Durene hesitate only for a second. Then I feel her turn and run away from me. Then her voice.

“Stop! Thief!”

It’s a shout that drowns out all sound for a second. Durene has an impressive pair of lungs, and I can practically hear the thief’s heart stop as she runs towards him.

I stand in the plaza, not moving, fishing in the small rucksack I’m carrying for something. I pull out my foldable cane and extend it fully.

I haven’t had to use it in a while. I decided not to use it when Durene was walking me around—I trust her completely and it might have gotten in the way of all the pedestrians about. But it’s a useful tool now.

A quick check—I tap carefully in a circle around me and find the bench we were about to sit at. I move over to it and sit down.

It’s not as if I’m not panicking right now. A thief, taking all the money Durene and I have—the money meant for Riverfarm? That’s a disaster. But what can I do in this situation? Panic?

Durene’s chasing after the thief. Either she gets him or she doesn’t. I can only make things worse by shouting and running about. So I sit and try to think.

If she fails to get him—we have to talk to the Watch. But can we get our money back? It’s not like I had a credit card—that gold and those gems are probably as good as gone the instant they’re lost. And would the local law enforcement help us? The way they treated Durene—

I wrench my mind off of that train of thought. Consider the worst when it’s over. The real question is—why target Durene? Who steals from a half-Troll? I haven’t ever really laid eyes on Durene, it’s true, but a girl who towers over the biggest Human and who can probably bench press a horse is not someone I’d expect pickpockets to normally go after.

Unless that’s normal in this world. No—it can’t be. Did that cutpurse realize how much money she was carrying? Or—

“Damn. A Skill. It must be that.”

Why didn’t I think of it? It’s a reasonable explanation. If you assume there’s a class for everything, and that’s what Durene seems to believe, then there’s definitely a [Thief] class. And what better Skill than one that allows someone to pick out an easy mark? Or a rich one?

I clench one fist as I hear Durene’s shouting and the commotion growing more distant. Pray. Hope. And think about what to do if she doesn’t catch him—

“Excuse me. Is your name Laken?”

I start. A voice—a female voice comes from above and to my left. I turn my head.

“Hello. Pardon me, but have we met?”

“Not before. But tell me—woher kommst du?”

The pronunciation is terrible, and the words are stilted, spoken without fluency. But I stiffen nonetheless, because I know German when I hear it.

And I know that no one on this continent speaks German, as far as Durene or Gamel know.

So why is someone speaking it to me right now?

In the time it takes for me to clear my throat and respond, my thought process is simple. Who’s talking to me? It has to be the girl Durene spotted. Why?

Well, either she thinks I’m from her country or, more probably—

“Aus San Francisco. Und Sie?”

A sharp, indrawn breath is my only answer. But it’s the only one I need.

“Dieu merci. I am not alone.”

Can you feel shock, amazement, relief, and confusion all at once? I’m sure there is one, even if it’s not an English word. There are words in other languages for feelings that are never fully translatable into English.

The Norwegian word forelsket for instance—I feel that towards Durene every time I touch her. I suppose in lieu of a word now, I think I’ll go with ‘relief’ as incomplete as it may be.

“I am not alone.”

I feel tears spring into my eyes, gathering behind my eyelids. As strange as it may sound, I really did think I was alone up until this moment. Alone, in a new world.

But there’s someone else. I stand up, and hear someone take a step back. There’s noise all around us—has Durene caught the thief? I can’t focus on that. Suddenly, I’m in a small bubble with this girl.

“You’re—from home, aren’t you? Earth?”

“Yes.”

“My god. Excuse me, but who are you? I’m blind—are you the young woman who was following us around earlier?”

A pause. I listen, heart beating, before the young woman replies in a low voice.

“I am. I’m—a friend. My name is Ryoka Griffin. Tell me, when did you get here? Do you know why you came to this world? Who have you talked to—who’s that girl who was with you?”

The questions are like a storm, tersely delivered. I hear in them echoes of all the things I want to know.

“My name is Laken. Laken Godart. I came here a little over a month ago. I don’t know how or why—the girl’s name is Durene. She’s my guide, my friend. She found me when I first came to this world.”

“I see.”

“Where is she, do you know? She ran off—”

“After the thief. I think she got him.”

“She did?”

I’m astonished, but there’s a flicker of amusement in Ryoka’s tone.

“Yeah. She picked him up and threw him on the ground. I think she broke some of his bones.”

“Durene?”

I can’t imagine it. Well, I can, but I can’t imagine her doing that. But this strange young woman seems focused. I hear her moving closer and resist the urge to reach out to try and touch her.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time before your friend gets back.”

“Why would that—”

“Do you have a cellphone? Flashlight? Anything—anything from our world?”

The question catches me by surprise, but then I fumble at my pocket, and then remember and grab for my rucksack.

“I do. I have an iPhone—it’s practically out of battery, and there’s no signal obviously, but—”

“You can recharge it.”

“Really?”

“If a mage casts a [Repair] spell it’ll go back to full charge. Okay, listen. Did you get a call—no, you wouldn’t have if you were only here for two months…huh…”

I can tell she’s thinking hard about something. Myself, I’m just astonished. Mage? [Repair] spell? You mean I can charge up my phone in this world with magic? What possibilities might that unlock?

Then I hear Ryoka’s voice in my ears and jerk away. She’s so close! And she’s whispering, very urgently.

“Listen up. You’re not entirely safe with that iPhone. You might be tracked with it—there are people in this world who know we come from another one. If you get a call on your phone, don’t answer it. There are more of us in this world, but—”

“Hold on, hold on! More of us?”

I can’t process everything that she’s saying. Ryoka shakes her head—I know because her hair hits my face slightly as her head moves.

“I can’t give you the full details, not yet. Look, we need to talk. Why don’t we meet up later? I have something to do now, but I can meet you here in—an hour. Can you wait until then?”

My head is spinning, but I nod.

“I can. I’ll be here.”

“Good.”

She’s gone before I can give voice to the questions in my mind. At least, I think she’s gone. I tap around cautiously with my cane—she could be just out of range and I’d never know.

What was that? I sit back down on the bench; my knees are shaking. Before I can collect my thoughts, I hear a voice speaking to me again.

“Sir? Are you the friend of Miss Durene?”

For a second I think Ryoka has come back. But it’s not her—the speaker is different. There’s a bit of a growl to her tone that makes me think of a dog. And worry. Dogs scare me. I’ve been bitten three times while walking—I can’t tell where they are until I run into one, and if the owner’s not got a leash or isn’t attentive, some of them take objection to my presence.

But this is no dog. It must be a Gnoll! I stand up, turning my head in the direction of the speaker.

“Can I help you…Miss?”

“Yes, sir. My name is Raisha, and I am a [Guardswoman] on duty. I am told you are blind. Well, I would like you to know that I have recovered your lost belongings.”

“I got it, Laken!”

Durene calls out and I realize she’s standing with Raisha. I smile.

“You caught the thief?”

“Yes, your friend broke his arm and several ribs.”

An amused tone enters Raisha’s growling voice. She touches something which makes a metallic noise.

“He has been arrested and will be charged. However, I would like to confirm that this bag—”

She hefts something metallic with a strained grunt.

“—is yours. Is this so?”

I’m confused and say so.

“It is—but Durene, you were carrying it.”

“Yes, but…well, it is yours, Laken!”

That’s true, but I have to shake my head over Durene’s semantics. Raisha, the Gnoll [Guardswoman], doesn’t seem to care who owns what.

“I don’t need to know who was carrying what. The issue is simple, sir. I just need to prove that you are the owner.”

“How?”

Now I’m worried. It’s not as if I could prove anything. Raisha opens something with a snap and rummages around in some sort of purse.

“I have here a gem enchanted with a spell of [Detect Truth], sir. It will tell if you are indeed the owner of the stolen goods. Will you comply with this test?”

“Truth spell? Well—certainly. What do I need to do?”

“Place your hand out, palm up. Good—”

I feel something small and hard drop into my palm. It’s cold and I jump a bit. Raisha’s voice is calm.

“I will ask you one question. Please answer yes or no. Is this stolen pouch of coin yours?”

“Yes.”

I can’t help but feel worried. It’s technically mine by the uncertain rules of finders keepers, and it was on Durene’s property, which is to say, mine. And it was a byproduct of a Skill, but I can’t help but tense a bit. I wait for any reaction, but the cue must have been visual.

“You’re speaking the truth. Thank you sir, I just had to check. Your friend has your belongings now. Thank you for cooperating. I regret that you were the victim of this crime, and hope you will have a pleasant day.”

“Oh—thank you.”

Raisha leaves. Durene steps over, and bends down to talk to me.

“Laken, it was amazing! I ran after that thief—I thought I’d lose him, but I just kept on shouting and someone tripped him up for me! Then I grabbed him and threw him down—I didn’t mean to break anything, but I was just so worried he’d run away! And then Raisha ran over and said that she’d never seen a dumber [Thief]—trying to steal from me I mean, and—”

It’s too much for me. I sit back down hard. Unfortunately, I miss the bench and land hard on the paving stones in the plaza. That hurts.

“Laken! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Durene. It’s just…something happened when you were gone.”

“What?”

I have to laugh as Durene helps me sit down on the bench. How can I tell her? It’s actually easy to say, really. I met someone from my world. Six words. The rest is just speculation.

“I can’t believe it.”

I say it again as we sit together. Durene is silent, thinking. I told her what happened. I wouldn’t keep a secret like this from Durene. I don’t think I’d keep anything from her.

“Do you know why she found you? I mean, how?”

“I have no idea. I just know that she must have been watching us—she was talking to me in German, so she must have heard my comment to that guardsman earlier. It might have been coincidence or—she knows about me some other way.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Magic? Or maybe—she mentioned my iPhone might be used to track me somehow. I wonder, can they use the GPS…? I’d imagine it has to be on, but…”

I trail off. After a moment Durene speaks.

“What are you going to do, Laken?”

“Do? Wait for her. But do it intelligently. Before she gets back, I want to just sit—sit and think, Durene.”

“Okay.”

She’s a good listener. I have to smile, and when I reach out, she takes my hand. For a few seconds we sit together, sitting together, not just on the same bench. I feel myself calm down and when I have my thoughts in order, tell her what they are.

“We learned a lot, and not just that there are other people like me, Durene.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we had better find a bank—or some kind of moneylender. That thief didn’t go after you by chance. Also, I had no idea there were truth spells in this world until very recently.”

“You didn’t? I mean—of course you—but you have things like that in your world, right?”

“Nothing like that. Oh, we have something called a lie detector test—it can’t be trusted. There’s no certainty, no knowing if someone’s telling the truth like this.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Truth spells, huh? If we had that where I come from, politics might be a lot different.”

I shake my head, thinking about what that might mean. Fact: that guardswoman had a truth stone. Even if that’s only because this is a prosperous city, it means that a truth spell isn’t out of the reach of an affluent member of society. So…

“Things just got a lot more complicated, Durene. I think we’d better wait for Gamel and Ryoka Griffin right here, but in the meantime, here’s what I think we should do.”

“Yes?”

Durene’s voice is quivering with…anticipation. She doesn’t seem scared, only focused and ready to act. It seems like when the chips are down, she’s not afraid to be bold.

I admire that—I’m completely scared spitless by recent developments. But—I smile.

“I smell good food. If I hold down the bench here, you can get us lunch. And something for Gamel too.”

“Really? Food?”

Durene is incredulous. I shake my head.

“There’s no use thinking on an empty stomach. And believe me, we’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

----

“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn—”

Ryoka stalked down the street, cursing under her breath. She was upset. Not upset at what had just transpired, but she was—tense.

“Why are ye cursing? You spoke with the blind man while his protector was away, did ye not?”

Ivolethe piped up from her position in Ryoka’s belt pouch. The young woman paused and took a breath.

“I did. It’s just—hell, Ivolethe. Was that the right thing to do?”

The faerie’s answer was an eloquent shrug. She’d found a bug from somewhere and was holding the squirming insect as she pulled a leg off of it. Ryoka had to pause, with people passing by her from every side and giving her dirty looks, to admire that.

“You’re a monster.”

“Hah! You eat cows and sheep and birds! What’s a small insect to all that?”

“I don’t eat them live.”

Ryoka paled a bit as Ivolethe tore the twitching leg off and bit at the insect’s abdomen. She closed the belt pouch for a few seconds and collected her thoughts.

“He’s from another world. Fuck. Okay. He’s from another world. What do I do now?”

The Frost Faerie poked her head out and shrugged. She was licking something off her face—Ryoka looked away.

“Who says you have aught to do? ‘Tis not your business whether he lives or dies. Why not do what ye need to? You have duties. Your enchanted items, learning to run like the wind—”

“I know. I know, but—I can’t just ignore him. He could know something important. He could…I can’t just ignore someone else. It’s one thing to know about the kids Magnolia has, but she has no idea about Laken. I want to keep it that way, warn him.”

“A smart idea. Perhaps.”

Ryoka glanced down sharply at Ivolethe, but the Frost Faerie’s comment could have been just an offhand insult. After a moment, Ryoka nodded and resumed striding down the street.

“Let’s just find Reynold. I thought he’d catch up by now, but he might have had trouble parking that carriage. That was lucky.”

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Ryoka wondered if Ivolethe liked giving her ulcers, or if the faerie didn’t know what effect her words had on Ryoka’s paranoia. No. She had to know. Ryoka shook her head as she made her way out of the plaza—she saw as she went out, some farmer’s kid pleading with a group of adventurers.

“Sirs, please! My village is—it needs protection! We don’t have much money to spare, but—”

He got no further because the adventuring team—a rough-looking group of warriors led by a huge man armored like a Viking—turned away from him in disgust. The young man despondently hurried over to the next group as Ryoka shook her head.

Poor people, without money or friends. It was the same in every world; those who had neither got stepped on. She walked swiftly away, hearing him begin pleading with another group and hoping that he found someone who would listen.

After five minutes Ryoka did find Reynold, or rather, he found her. She was nearly back at the Runner’s Guild when she saw him walking towards her down the street. He…stood out.

A [Butler] walking down the streets of New York City would stand out, and Invrisil was close in nature to fit that analogy. Heads were turning as the trim and elegant Reynold proceeded down the street. He stopped and nodded politely to Ryoka; a grunt was his response

“Took you long enough.”

“My apologies, Miss Ryoka. I was unavoidably detained. May I escort you to your desired meeting with the [Enchanter] in charge of your artifacts now?”

“Lead on.”

The two turned and Reynold led Ryoka away from the business district, into an upscale area clearly occupied by the wealthiest individuals. It was still a place for work to be done, but these were clearly homes that doubled as working places. Ryoka was relieved that Reynold set a good pace; for a man who dressed like a Victorian-era servant, he certainly could move quick.

“I never asked, but you know how to fight, don’t you? Magnolia wouldn’t hire a normal [Butler]. Not her.”

“I do indeed have a few levels in, ah, auxiliary classes which inform my main class, miss.”

“Really? Were you a former adventurer?”

Reynold turned his head slightly. Ryoka met his gaze.

“No, Miss. Not an adventurer.”

There was a tone in his voice that shut down the conversation. Ryoka had used it countless times before. She debated pressing him further, but she couldn’t quite make herself be that rude. She sort of liked Reynold.

“Here we are, Miss.”

Reynold led Ryoka to a rather plain door. Ryoka blinked at the grey granite door and lion knocker. Reynold stepped up and rapped the knocker twice smartly. The Runner stared up at the building that looked like it had been carved completely out of a single block of granite and snorted. It stood out from the elegant facades and buildings covered in paint and architectural daring.

“I can’t say I admire this [Enchanter]’s sense of aesthetics. This building is an eyesore.”

“It is shaped to contain magic. Stone is a necessity to avoid leakage; paint wears away in no time. My dwelling is plain because I have shaped it for function, not visibility.”

A calm voice came from the doorknocker. Ryoka jumped as she saw the lion’s stone eyes had shifted to stare at her.

“You are Ryoka Griffin. And you are Lady Reinhart’s representative? Enter.”

The door swung out, revealing a far more impressively-decorated interior. Ryoka blinked at the rosewood floor and well-lit entryway. Then she stepped into the [Enchanter]’s house.

The door closed behind Reynold as the two walked down the corridor. The inside of the [Enchanter]’s house was no featureless stone building. The flooring, walls, and hanging glass globes of mage light were all extremely costly. But Ryoka’s eye was drawn more to the decorations on the wall.

Wands, swords, a shield, a helmet on a stand or a single metal gauntlet adorned the walls of the [Enchanter]’s home. Ryoka realized in a few seconds that these were ornaments as well as the merchandise; she still had to blink as she entered a living room where a massive greatsword hung over the fireplace.

“I am in my work room. Please, take the door across from you and proceed left down the hallway.”

A voice echoed throughout the house. Ryoka did as instructed, and found herself in a large room filled with oddities.

The first thing she noticed was a circle drawn in the center of the room, a complex diagram of countless lines that formed…well, a circle was the rough shape, but the pieces that made it up were countless symbols joined together—

They glowed white-blue as Ryoka stared at them and she looked away, blinking as her head began to ache. When she could see again she saw a man standing along one wall of the room, holding a sword in his hands.

It was one of the swords that the Horns of Hammerad had recovered. As Ryoka watched, he lowered it into a tub, a wooden basin holding…what?

Dust? No—iron dust, small fillings as fine as powder. The man muttered a word and Ryoka saw the sword’s blade flash in the basin. When the man pulled the sword out, the iron dust had clung to the blade of the sword in a strange pattern. It was clearly a magical symbol, and it changed as Ryoka watched.

“Clever.”

The [Enchanter] turned and the dust fell back into the basin. He nodded at her. Ryoka was surprised to see this man was barely thirty years old. He didn’t seem old at all, but he had a pale cast to his skin that spoke of staying out of the light far too often, and he was missing the ring finger on his left hand.

He was clean shaven, had pale orange hair, a nervous tic where he would tap an object twice with his left finger, and a businesslike attitude. He nodded to Ryoka.

“Yes, the iron dust magnetizes when exposed to the enchantments under the right circumstances. Not with all enchantments, but it is a preferable alternative to other sundry materials.”

He gestured, and Ryoka saw there were other basins in the room containing similar materials. This man also had an anvil and hammer leaning against the wall. No fire though—he’d probably conjure that, wouldn’t he?

“You have quite the setup.”

Ryoka nodded at the anvil. The man didn’t turn his head.

“I do. Now, you have come to have the qualities of your magical items explained, yes? I assume the nature of these artifacts may be shared with the servant accompanying you? And the…thing in your belt pouch?”

“How did you—”

The [Enchanter] tapped the back of his right hand with his left hand’s finger.

“All transactions and words uttered within my abode are private. They will not be shared; rest assured, my wards will keep out even the most powerful of mages from listening in without my knowledge.”

Ryoka glanced behind her at Reynold, who had taken a position by the door. The [Butler] nodded politely at the mage.

“Mister Hedault’s services are recognized as the best in the city. He is extremely competent, and does not reveal any information passed to him in confidence.”

Hedault made no reaction to Reynold’s words. He stared at Ryoka with a fixed, off-putting, focused stare.

“I put a question to you. Will you share the information with the [Butler] and creature you are carrying?”

“Yes.”

Ryoka muffled the outraged shout from her belt pouch. She stared around and found the items she’d given Reynold to have appraised. A silvery circular buckler with a hairline scratch, a sword whose hilt was burnt but had little else wrong with it, the blade of a sword—the metal deformed in two places, and a dagger. The dagger was curved and sharp; Ryoka thought the tip was reddish, but aside from that the weapons appeared like normal, functional killing instruments. But not magical artifacts.

Then again, what did she know? Ryoka spotted two other small objects—a pack and a small bag that looked like it held only a few objects inside. An adventurer’s pack and bag of holding.

“Did you analyze everything?”

“Yes. I shall list the properties of each artifact first, and then inform you as to the nature of any damages that may have occurred and the probable cost of repair. Please, do not interrupt.”

“Hold on. Do you mean—”

Hedault turned and stared flatly at Ryoka. The girl rolled her eyes and closed her mouth.

“Very well. To begin with, this sword. It is worthless.”

The man walked over to the sword blade without the hilt and lifted it to show Ryoka. He pointed at the melted bits of metal.

“See how the blade has been melted from the heat? The enchantments are broken. Unable to be reconstructed. There is no merit to using the blade; the magic is defunct.”

“Can anything be salvaged? Could you study the enchantment—tell us what it does?”

Another flat look. Hedault tapped the blade twice with his finger and replied testily.

“If there were any use for it I would have stated. I asked you to remain silent.”

“Yeah, but I like asking questions.”

This time Ryoka saw the man’s eye twitch. Hedault placed the sword blade back on the table without another word.

“Next, this dagger. It is unharmed from the fire damage. Curiously, it was not affected despite the enchantment not being warded against magical damages. I can only surmise luck played a role in this—”

“Do you want to know where these weapons came from?”

Ryoka couldn’t resist breaking in, just to annoy Hedault, really. He looked at her and she saw Reynold covering his face out of the corner of her eye.

“I do not have to ask. I know. These came from Albez.”

“You could tell?”

“The enchantment style matches the other artifacts recovered from that location. Moreover, rumor points to the Horns of Hammerad having found magical items in that ruin recently. It matters not; the enchantment speaks for itself. Do not ask another question or I will silence you with a spell.”

Ryoka shut her mouth and raised her hands. Hedault sighed and tapped the blade of the dagger twice.

“Note the tip. The blade is common steel, but it is warded against physical harm and heat. When a word is spoken, the tip will ignite. However, the heat will be contained. Thus, when using it like so—Terith.”

He spoke a word and Ryoka saw the tip of the blade began to glow red. But not a bright hot-red; rather, the color seemed almost illusory, a red overlay over the plain steel blade. Hedault turned with the blade extended away from him.

“Observe.”

There was a piece of firewood on the table. Hedault picked it up and touched the tip of the dagger to it.

The entire block of wood burst into flame. Ryoka recoiled and stared at Hedault’s hand, but the man had hurled the firewood away. It hung in the air, burning fiercely as he lowered the dagger.

“Termas.”

The color on the blade returned to normal. Hedault placed the dagger back on the table as the firewood burned in the air behind him. He waved his hand and the blaze ceased, leaving the wood charred but intact.

“As you can see, the flame enchantment is not for heat per se, but to spread fire. An important distinction. The contact radius of the flame is around…the volume of a tree, I should say. Or an Ogre. With it, it would be possible to immolate several targets at once, but the flames will be non-magical. Alternatively, it is possible to set fire to something like the surface of a lake, although the magical aspect of the flame will last for seconds—it will quickly extinguish if the material is not readily combustible.”

“Jeeze.”

Ryoka breathed the words, her heart still pounding.

“That was magic.”

Hedault stared at Ryoka. She bit her lip, remembering his injunction. But he smiled, turning up his pale lips for the first time since she’d seen him.

“It was. A competent spell. Too often the blades I see with heat enchantments are simply hot. But this? A useful tool for a mage to distract the enemy, especially if used with telekinetic spells to strike at range, as the old [Battlemages] often did. Now—”

He turned to the sword. Hedault sighed as he picked it up.

“An intact blade of weight. The enchantment is finer than most, but it is unremarkable.”

He turned and raised a finger to forestall Ryoka’s question.

“This is a common enchantment favored by warriors. It amplifies the weight of the blade when struck with. So—”

He raised the blade and tapped it on the wooden table, using the flat of the blade rather than the edge. The table broke with a crash that made Reynold and Ryoka jump. Hedault blinked at all the weapons lying on the ground and tsked.

“Well, this blade is quite powerful I suppose, but otherwise uninteresting. A valuable weapon for a warrior, I suppose. With this grade of enchantment…you could very well fight a creature such as a Wyvern and cleanly slice through its hide with the right swing. Next.”

He put the blade on another table as he levitated the buckler out of the broken wood. Hedault seemed to grow morose as he touched it, showing Ryoka a hairline fracture on the center.

“A shame. This shield is damaged and requires repair. However, the enchantment is largely intact—it will emit a field around the buckler of around three feet in every direction. It is hard to describe to a non-mage—consider it a moving barrier extending the natural shield, with it as the focus. Such a barrier is practically impervious to most weapons, although a strong blow may destabilize it. And of course, the true benefit of such a shield is that it is practically weightless—”

“A force shield.”

Ryoka breathed the words. Hedault cocked his head and nodded.

“Crude, but accurate. This buckler is highly useful, not to mention original. But as I said, it must be repaired first. I will inform you as to the cost later. Now, these conclude the weapons recovered. But this—”

He turned to the adventurer’s pack and flicked his fingers at it. It rose and spilled out its contents into the air.

“Those who recovered this pack were wise not to disturb it. However, there was no trap spell on the bag, merely one to prevent it being opened by the wrong user and reinforce the materials. I have bypassed that; here are the contents.”

He showed Ryoka a sheaf of very cracked and faded papers, a broken inkpot whose contents had spilled over some other objects including flint and steel, waterskin, small brush—a toothbrush?—sealed jars, a small gold ring…

“Most objects were mundane and of little worth. There was also a quantity of rotten food which I disposed of.”

Hedault shuddered and tapped his hand against the bag before levitating something up to show Ryoka.

“—This is what is valuable. These four potions are, in order, a healing potion, a potion to provide sustenance, and two potions which prevent the user from needing to breathe.”

He held out a hand, forestalling Ryoka, but this time the girl didn’t speak. Hedault eyed the smiling Ryoka and explained.

“The potion to provide sustenance is a rare acquisition that [Alchemists] may pay well for. It is not a common discovery in adventurer’s packs however, as they generally fail to stopper said potions correctly…this one is untouched. Drinking a small bit will forestall hunger for a day. Drinking the entire potion at once will provide sustenance for up to a month depending on the level of exertion, and the user will find it difficult to imbibe any other foods in the meantime although it is possible…”

“And the breathing potions?”

“Exactly what they sound like. Generally such potions have the efficacy to provide their users to hold their breath for…two hours. Note that the creation of such potions differ…you may wish to consult an alchemist, but a majority of the potions were made to be held in the mouth rather than swallowed. Swallowing such a potion may result in extreme indigestion. Explosive effects tend to ensue.”

Explosive? Ryoka could just imagine what that meant, and wished she couldn’t. Hedault placed the potions back in the pack dismissively.

“Next. The last items of value are this bag of pebbles and ball.”

He pulled out a bag filled with tiny circular, flat stones and a ball which was made out of leather. Someone had stitched an angry face onto the leather in red thread. Ryoka was tickled by it. Hedault gestured to the pebbles.

“Each one is enchanted to shed [Light] for twenty four hours before fading until exposed to sunlight for an equal amount of time. A useful tool I suppose. But this ball…is quite extraordinary.”

He had that look which told Ryoka it was more interesting than the rest. She stared at it. Hedault pointed to the face stitched in the leather.

“Note the symbol. This one is meant to provoke an opponent. If it is touched here, and then thrown—”

The instant his finger touched the ball, Ryoka saw the stitching contort. The face contorted, and then began to scream.

Instantly Ryoka clapped her ears to her head. Reynold did the same, but Hedault just tossed the ball. It immediately shot out of the room and rolled down the corridor, emitting that same ear-piercing shriek of noise. After a few seconds in which Ryoka shouted and Hedault calmly shook his head, the sound ended and to her surprise, the ball rolled back into the room. It sat at the enchanter’s feet, calm and inactive.

It took a few minutes before the ringing had died down in Ryoka’s ears to hear again. When she did, Hedault calmly picked up the ball and showed her where to press.

“It takes a rather strong force from a living hand to activate it. However, when used it will aggressively seek out any living creature in the nearby area, excluding those in a general radius of activation…if no quarry is found it will return.”

“Useful!”

Ryoka shouted the words. Hedault nodded and smiled.

“Innovative. That is all of worth in the pack.”

Ryoka put her finger in one ear and winced, wondering if she’d lost some of her hearing for good. She saw Reynold shaking his head and turned to Hedault.

“All of this…is this a good haul for a group that went through a dungeon? In your experience?”

He stopped and considered that, hand on the last item, the bag of holding.

“No. Some of these artifacts are indeed valuable—the shield and sword I suppose are most useful—but they are hardly impressive finds. Given the risk, I would say that this recovery is rather mediocre.”

Ryoka’s head lowered. Hedault smiled.

“—If you do not count the contents of this bag, that is.”

Her head snapped up, and Ryoka saw a smile flash over the enchanter’s face.

“You do have a sense of humor. Huh.”

He turned away from her and carefully opened the bag.

“Given the quality of the items recovered, I had assumed the Horns of Hammerad had broken into a competent but average mage for the era, perhaps an intermediary mage in their craft. However, when I finally managed to open this bag…it is clear now that the fire trap spell that triggered consumed many powerful artifacts. Yet this bag was completely unharmed; an appropriate measure given the artifacts contained within.”

Ryoka and Reynold held their breath as the enchanter reached into the bag. The room went silent as Hedault fished around inside and then pulled out…

Three rings and a wand. Ryoka exhaled hard as she stared down at the items in Hedault’s hand.

“Tell me looks are deceiving.”

Hedault appeared annoyed as he placed the items on the table.

“Always. These artifacts are all exceptionally valuable. Let me impress the reasons why upon you now.”

Ryoka gestured for him to go right ahead. The enchanter muttered to himself a bit and then tapped the table as he pointed to the bag.

“Firstly, the bag. It is superbly enchanted. By which I mean to say there is no magical leakage whatsoever. Do you understand the concept around magical interference between artifacts?”

“I get it from context. Leaky magical items conflict? Can’t have a sword and a shield if the enchantments are bad?”

“Yes. Such a combination would lead to a reaction in the worst cases, or a clash of magics which would unleash the spells, alter them in adverse ways, or simply break one or both of the enchantments. But this—this bag is perfect.”

Hedault sighed as he held it up.

“Despite the limited size—you may be able to fit twenty pounds of weight inside at most—it is stellar. A mage practicing magic may carry it without fear of any kind of magical interference.”

“Huh. Twenty pounds? Doesn’t sound that great.”

The look Hedault gave Ryoka said he was considering fitting her head in the bag and giving it a good kick.

“Bags of holding rarely contain more than a few hundred pounds of weight—and those bags are very magically unstable, let me assure you. This is the work of an artisan above my ability. You would be lucky to find another bag so well made.”

“Oh really?”

On a hunch, Ryoka pulled out her bag of holding, the one Teriarch had given her.

“This one holds a bit more than twenty pounds. I fit a bunch of chairs in it one time. I haven’t found the upper limit. Mind telling me how good this one is?”

“Hah. This is…this…”

Hedault’s voice trailed off as he took the bag from Ryoka. He peered at it, and then his eyes bulged. Ryoka snatched the bag back and smiled.

“Good to know.”

It was just a hunch, but why would a Dragon ever have a bag of holding that was less than perfect? Hedault stammered as he stared at her.

“Who made—where did you…?”

“What does this ring do?”

Ryoka lifted a ring up. Hedault had to visibly compose himself for a second—in the corner of her eye Ryoka could see Reynold writing something down. She turned with a frown, but he had tucked it into his waistcoat before she could see.

He was recording all of this down—not just the artifacts, but what she had as well! Ryoka bit her lip and made a note to have words with him afterwards. Hedault shook his head and turned back to the ring Ryoka was holding.

“It is inadvisable to touch something until an [Enchanter] has identified it. In this case, the danger is to me. Please hand it to me.”

Ryoka did. Hedault slipped the ring onto his finger and sighed, going back to his business-like self. Nevertheless, his eyes still glittered as he showed the ring to Ryoka.

“Note the circular diamond in the center.”

“It’s large. Flawless. My g—wow. And perfectly cut.”

“Yes.”

Hedault nodded, acknowledging Ryoka’s insight into the gem itself. Ryoka had seen valuable gems—she was aware of the difference between cheap cut stones and the really important stuff. The diamond was the latter kind.

“Pure. Without faults. And large—yes. This gem acts in tandem with the metal—it is not, in fact, silver but platinum.”

“You’re kidding me. People knew how to work platinum back then?”

“Oh yes. Platinum is a very powerful metal when used for enchanting or spells…in this case, it acts as a conductor for the spell with the gem. When the ring is put on the finger and the hand is flicked like—”

Hedault paused as he put the ring on his finger. Ryoka saw Reynold duck out of the way, and she herself felt uneasy the instant she saw it go on his finger. The enchanter stared around the room and shook his head.

“…If I used it, my walls would suffer damage. I shall avoid demonstrating it now. Know that this ring can be activated and deactivated. But when activated, a flick—”

He demonstrated after taking the ring off. It was a quick snap of the wrist.

“—will send a piercing spell flying at the target. I believe it would be…difficult to aim without practice, but let me assure you that this spell far surpasses any Tier 2 or Tier 3 spell of a similar nature. It would be…around Tier 4 in potency.”

“Blood on my grave, that’s nasty.”

Reynold muttered out loud and clapped a hand to his face as both girl and mage turned to him. He colored, but Hedault nodded.

“A powerful spell, designed to cut past any quick defense. A perfect tool for an assassin—or a mage disinclined to fight fairly in a magic duel. Very powerful.”

“So I see. And this ring?”

Ryoka pointed to one made out of wood. Hedault shrugged, losing interest.

“Very powerful. Very common. [Barkskin].”

“Do you mean literally bark for skin, or…”

“There may be some physical alterations given time, but only temporarily. The skin will indeed grow tough—not as strong as armor, but certainly far more durable which would be invaluable against daggers and to an extent, swords…but [Barkskin] also provides the wearer with a degree of cold resistance due to the thicker exterior, and of course, some users simply prefer it when travelling outdoors as the sun will provide them with energy…”

“Wait a second, you mean you’ll literally have bark for skin, as in, you can take in light like a plant?”

Hedault gave Ryoka a confused look.

“That is the implication with the spell, is it not? In any case, it is a valuable item, especially given that it is a permanent spell. Again, I impress on you the difference between temporary and permanent. [Stoneskin] is a powerful enchantment for instance, but I have heard of only a handful of cases where it was ever successfully imbued into an artifact.”

“Good stuff. Got it.”

“Yes, well, this ring is far more interesting.”

Hedault shook his head as he pushed the other two rings back and picked up the third. Ryoka’s eye was caught instantly by the way this one was clearly magical. It looked like it was made up of air. That was to say, it was practically invisible, but for shifting…waves in the air. It looked a lot like the shimmering that came off of pavement in the heat, only twisted into a band.

“A ring that allows the user to jump up to six times their height without consequence. Weight will affect the spell naturally, but this…”

The enchanter breathed the words out loud, eyes shining. Ryoka and Reynold blinked.

“Oh come on. That’s your powerful enchantment?”

Ryoka glared at Hedault. The mage looked insulted.

“This enchantment is splendidly made. And though it is not a physical enhancement, the use of gravity magic is—”

“It’s a ring of jumping. Tell me how that’s as useful as a ring that turns your skin into bark or shoots missiles?”

“Well, you could crush a man in armor with your foot if you put it on.”

Ryoka paused with her mouth open.

“Explain.”

“This ring does not simply allow you to ‘jump higher’. It allows you to jump higher and maintain the weight of your fall while protecting the user. To put it in simpler terms, this is not a ring that has a simple [Featherfall] and [Lightfoot] dual enchantment. This ring uses gravity. Thus, if a warrior in plate armor were to jump twenty feet into the air and land, the impact would—”

“Holy crap.”

“Quite. Do you understand? This is no ordinary ring. In fact, a ring of jumping completely misses the point. With it, a user could grab hold of say, a team of adventurers and leap to safety, or use it themselves to travel up a cliff without fear of falling.”

“But there are limits, right? You couldn’t just jump off a cliff and…”

Hedault raised his eyebrows. Ryoka gulped.

“Seriously?”

“The ring will come into focus the more its energies are exhausted. See, it is practically transparent? It will slowly stabilize and its true form—I believe it is a brass band—will emerge. Thus, a user will be able to calculate if it is becoming drained from usage. Although I doubt it would be drained from anything other than a powerful impact. And it will recharge within days at most…”

It was odd. Throughout her talking with Hedault, Ryoka had just marveled at the magical items, wanting to try one or the other, but without any real desire to use any of them. What was she going to do with a sword? Well, it would be fun to chop a few things apart, but…

But now she couldn’t stop staring at the ring Hedault held. She wanted it. Ryoka Griffin wanted it more than anything she’d ever seen in the world. She wanted to climb a cliff with it. Or a mountain. She wanted to jump. She wanted to fly.

“Okay, that one’s good.”

“Relatively speaking, it is the second-most powerful item discovered. But this—”

Hedault sighed and picked up the wand. Ryoka’s eye fixed on it. It wasn’t a wand made of wood. It was metal. Iron? The dark grey—almost black metal was twisted like it had been alive, though. It was fashioned as though it were a bit of wood taken from a tree, ending with a blunted tip.

The [Enchanter] looked at Ryoka as he cradled it in his hands.

“Before I inform you as to this item’s usage…I don’t suppose you would consider my offer? I realize it is completely unconventional, but I feel compelled to make it.”

“Which is?”

“Allow me to pay you eighteen thousand gold pieces to purchase this wand from you. I will not make this offer again, and if you desire to accept you must not ask what this wand’s usage is.”

Reynold sounded like he’d inhaled his tongue. Ryoka blinked a few times and put her hand to her ear.

“Eight…eighteen? Not just eight?”

“It is the number for silence, for not inquiring. The wand may be worth less, but this is my price. Will you take it?”

Ryoka gulped as she met Hedault’s eyes. She looked at Reynold—the man was blinking rapidly as his eyes fixed on the iron wand. There was quill and inkpot balanced on his hand as he held a small book in front of him.

The young woman turned back to Hedault and sighed.

“Damnit, if you knew me…I have to know what the hell that wand is. Sorry, no deal.”

Hedault nodded. He looked visibly disappointed—Ryoka supposed that was crying and weeping on anyone else. He stroked the wand and then looked at Ryoka.

“Very well. Then, an explanation first. This wand is not metal as you might surmise. It is iron wood—it comes from a rare tree that is extinct as far as I know. But inside the wand…there is something. A core.”

“You mean, the thing that gives it magic?”

“Yes. I do not know what it is.”

“You can’t tell?”

Hedault shook his head.

“It is something I have never seen before. Something…powerful. This wand is powered by the core—it is a classical wand. I suppose you do not know the difference between a classical wand and variation designed for spellcasting…? No, I see not.”

“Let me guess. One’s better?”

“Substantially.”

Hedault nodded. He indicated the wand he held.

“This wand has no spell attached to it. It is…well, I suppose you could call it an aid to spellcasting, but an aid hardly encompasses…it will boost any mage’s ability to cast spells immensely. Not like the modern wand. Those have cores of course, but these are almost invariably small mana stones. They are consumed with every cast of the spell embedded in the wand—you understand?”

“One’s temporary and helps cast a certain kind of spell, the other one’s good at everything and doesn’t run dry?”

“Exactly.”

Hedault nodded as he reluctantly let Ryoka inspect the wand. It was heavy she found—and the iron wood did indeed feel like wood. Cold, metallic wood.

“Such a wand is…valuable does not begin to describe it. Consider, please, the limits of modern construction. A—a wand made today would have to be of some high-quality wood. Perhaps meltwood, or cerabark? And the core might be unicorn hair or unicorn horn if you were so unimaginably lucky—it would be inferior to this wand by a substantial degree.”

Ryoka whistled as she held the wand.

“Ceria and Pisces are going to tear each other apart over this thing.”

“Any mage would. In fact, I advise you to take care in transporting it—it is not magically significant so a casual [Detect Magic] spell would not identify it immediately if concealed correctly, but any mage worth their salt would do almost anything to obtain such an object.”

Ryoka eyed Hedault.

“Why didn’t you lie about what it was, then? Seems odd you’d just tell me what it is after making one offer.”

The enchanter glared at her, outraged by the suggestion.

“I make my living based on my trustworthiness. I would not lie—even when sorely tempted to.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just—wow, this is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

Hedault grew silent as Ryoka turned the wand over in her hands. He sighed.

“Congratulations, Ryoka Griffin. I am told there are two mages in the Horns of Hammerad. One of them will benefit greatly—assuming the other does not attempt to kill them to possess this wand, that is.”

“We’ll see.”

Ryoka put the wand down and turned to Hedault. She felt lightheaded—possibly because she’d listened to him chatter on about magical artifacts for the better part of an hour. Or was it more? She couldn’t tell how long she’d been standing here.

“Was that it? You said something about repair costs…”

“Ah, yes.”

Hedault flicked his fingers and levitated the buckler up.

“This is the only object in need of repairs to function. The hilt of the sword enchanted with weight could use touching up, but that is a minor cost. Now, I estimate that this buckler can be fixed with a modicum of effort and time—say, five days? I could do it myself for a small reduction in fees.”

Ryoka nodded.

“And the price?”

Hedault tapped the buckler twice as he thought.

“I would think that the least I would ask is…one thousand and six hundred gold coins for the buckler, and four hundred…and fifty for the hilt. Now, understand that an error might occur in the repair process in which case the fee will be refunded, but the enchantment will in all likelihood be completely lost.”

He looked up and saw Ryoka had gone dead white.

“If you like, I can offer you a very good price if you would consider trading the wand—”

----

Outside, quite a number of streets away, Laken sighed impatiently. He was sitting with Durene and Gamel, both of whom were flicking crumbs from their lunch and snack at some inquisitive birds who’d flown down to look.

Laken knew he should be at the inn they’d found, feeding Frostwing. And he had business at the Merchant’s Guild—and the Runner’s Guild—and the Adventurer’s Guild. But he was waiting here for Ryoka Griffin.

“Where is she? I wonder if something’s happened?”

----

Across the city, one of the overworked [Receptionists] in the Mage’s Guild sighed long and hard as he got another message in. This one was addressed to a name he’d had cause to curse in the last few days.

He neatly took note of it, recording the sender and the addressee.

To: Ryoka Griffin

From: Erin Solstice.

This was the first message from this sender, but he had messages from…the [Receptionist] consulted the sheet out of idle curiosity.

Ah yes. From Krshia Silverfang, Selys Shivertail, Klbkch (no last name given), Lyonette (no last name given), Ceria Springwalker, Pisces (no last name given), and now Erin Solstice.

He wished she would turn up.

----

And last, but certainly not least, the female [Receptionist] at the Runner’s Guild grimly stopped talking with one of the Runners who’d come in. She was going off-duty for the day, but she left a message for all [Receptionists] on duty. She had a message for Ryoka Griffin too, and she was sure the girl wasn’t going to like it.

And outside, the snow began to fall. The winter was more than half-over. It had been a long one, but the longest day of the year was fast approaching. After that, the snows would linger for a while, but then melt.

Winter was ending. But there was a lot to do first. And much of it turned on a young woman who was currently talking about payment plans with an [Enchanter].

3.37

“Tomorrow, then. Or sooner if I can get a hold of the Horns of Hammerad by mage spell.”

“Very well. Please confine your visiting hours between dawn and sunset.”

That seemed like a fairly easy request, so Ryoka nodded to Hedault as she and Reynold left his house. She supposed that without clocks, appointments were a little harder to keep.

The [Enchanter] stood in his living room and gestured to make the front door swing open. Ryoka saw Reynold stop to bow and thank him. She was almost out the door, having said her goodbyes. From the look on Hedault’s face as he stared at the [Butler], he preferred succinct conversations.

Ryoka paused as she stepped towards the door and turned back to Hedault.

“One last question. Are any of your other artifacts for sale?”

She nodded to a mace neatly hung on a wall plaque. Hedault nodded.

“These are…competent examples of my craft, or artifacts I have purchased for study. I have a small selection of items that I may be willing to sell.”

“Got it. See you later.”

The young woman walked out of the door, Reynold following with another polite farewell. Once she was outside, Ryoka took one look at the sun and cursed.

“How long was I in there?”

“Around an hour an a half by my count, Miss Ryoka.”

Reynold stepped smoothly over to her side as the door silently closed behind them. Ryoka sighed.

“Well shit. Okay, I guess I need to run. Thanks for bringing me here, Reynold.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ryoka.”

“I don’t have anything in particular to do.”

“I see.”

“…You can go now.”

Ryoka stared at Reynold. The [Butler] did not move. He stood politely at attention by her side, back perfectly straight. He seemed to be attracting approving glances from a lot of the passersby, and not just because he looked good in a suit. These upstanding citizens probably employed or wanted to employ a man like Reynold, or rather, a [Butler] like Reynold. Then again, Ryoka hadn’t ever seen a Gnoll [Butler] or a Drake [Manservant]. Perhaps they didn’t take to it as well?

She coughed as she began walking down the street. Reynold followed her.

“I don’t need your help, Reynold. How can I put this politely…? Piss off.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Miss Griffin. My orders were to escort you around the city.”

“And I don’t need an escort anymore. Hold on—”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed as she put the pieces together.

“Magnolia told you to follow me everywhere, didn’t she?”

“That is correct, Miss. I am afraid my orders regarding you were quite specific. I must accompany you everywhere. On that note, shall we return to the plaza? I believe we are late for your meeting.”

The young woman and butler had been striding quickly down the street towards that very spot, where Ryoka had promised to meet Laken. But Ryoka stopped dead in her tracks and turned around.

“You bastard.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. He calmly met Ryoka’s eyes.

“I did not follow you, Miss Ryoka. But I am not the only person in Lady Reinhart’s employ who was given orders regarding you. Happily, the young man you met appears to be still sitting in the plaza, although he is growing restless. May I suggest we continue walking?”

Ryoka did, although now she was ready to do violence. Internally she was cursing. She should have realized Magnolia would set watchers on her!

“Why are you being obvious about spying on me? If you can set watchers so easily, why bother with an escort at all?”

Reynold’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Lady Reinhart expected you to put the pieces together, Miss Ryoka. I believe this is her way of assisting you—again, in her own way. But she did tell me to be open about her orders if you asked.”

“So I don’t spook and run, is that it?”

“I would not dare to make such an assumption, Miss.”

“I’ll bet.”

For a second, just a second, Ryoka thought about killing Reynold and dumping his body in a ditch somewhere. But of course, Magnolia would know if Ryoka killed her butler. And where would Ryoka find a handy ditch anyways? What about digging a grave? That would be hell in the snow, and Ryoka would have to lure Reynold far out into the countryside to do that…

It was just a passing thought. But it was tempting. She was furious, but Ryoka was already worrying about Laken. She’d given him away, hadn’t she? But he might just be another person from her world, hardly important—the key would be making sure Magnolia’s servants saw it that way.

She turned her head as Reynold kept pace with her down the street.

“Out of curiosity…if I knock you out, how badly do you think Lady Magnolia would react?”

Again, the [Butler]’s face didn’t twitch. It must have been a Skill.

“If you wish to try, I am afraid you may well succeed. I must tell you however that I am under orders.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Miss Ressa gave me precise instructions as to what I should do if you offered me violence, Miss Ryoka.”

“Ressa?”

Ryoka looked over at Reynold. He just stared at her. Slowly, Ryoka unclenched the fist she’d made.

“I really hate your boss, Reynold.”

“I believe the feeling is mutual, Miss Ryoka. I see we have stopped again. Shall we proceed?”

“Sure. Remind me to kick your ass when I’m done here, Reynold?”

“I shall make a note of it.”

----

In general, I’d say I’m a pretty patient guy. Well, I do like to keep myself busy, but being blind means that sometimes you’ve just got to wait and think about what you’re going to do next.

For instance, if you’ve lost your walking cane, and you’re in an unfamiliar place, well, you’d better stop and think or you might walk straight into a car. I’ve done that only once before, but believe me, patience is a life saver.

I know better than to hurry things along. There’s a time for action, but if it’s not that time, you might as well take it slow.

Still, I don’t like waiting too long. I shift impatiently on the bench as Durene and Gamel sit next to me. Well, I say sit, but Durene is too big to really share the bench with so she’s sitting on the ground and Gamel seems determined to stand at attention like some kind of personal bodyguard.

Lunch is done. We’ve all had a snack—some very fine Gnollish cooking, which came in the form of a marinated mix of beef and vegetables drizzled in spicy sauce. I was tickled to learn that instead of disposable paper plates, vendors in this city use cheap ceramics. We pay more for the dishes of course, but we get it back if we return our bowls undamaged.

Gamel bought the food and returned the dishes once we were done. He insisted—I would have liked him to rest since he’s been on his feet all day, but he wants to be useful.

Now I turn to him and sense him snap to attention. I don’t have to hear it; I just know he’s standing straighter and turning to face me. It’s so odd. Gamel is only a few years younger than I am, but he thinks I have all the answers.

That’s a dangerous belief. I frown, but put that issue aside for far later. Right now I only have one question.

“Do you see Ryoka, Durene? Gamel?”

“I don’t see anyone, Laken. I mean, there are a lot of people, but—”

“I don’t see any Runner with dark skin, sire.”

“Darn. Where could she be?”

A thousand and one answers come to mind. The first of which is that this Ryoka girl is setting us up for a trap and by waiting, I’ve walked us all into it. I sigh and stand up.

“Well, we’ve waited long enough. Let’s go.”

I grab my walking cane and reach out for Durene, but feel her shift, turn as she touches my hand.

“I—wait, I see her, Laken! That’s her alright!”

I stiffen. I can’t see where Ryoka is coming from, but Durene faces me the right way. I hear Gamel draw in his breath.

“What is it?”

“She’s not alone, Laken.”

Immediately, the paranoid part of me starts freaking out. But I keep my voice calm. A leader can’t look nervous. That probably goes triple for an [Emperor], shoddy one though I may be.

“Who is with her?”

“A…I don’t know. What kind of man is that, Gamel? He looks odd.”

“Odd?”

“Yes, Emper—Mister Laken. He has, well, fancy clothes on. They’re all black and white, and he has a bow tie at his neck. He looks like a rich man’s servant, sir.”

“A rich man’s servant…”

I frown. I almost imagine a man in a prison uniform when Gamel says black and white clothes. But they have stripes, don’t they? I don’t know. I think I read about that in a book somewhere, but I haven’t really read a description of prison uniforms in a long time. I always imagine people in that sort of clothing when I listen to news stories about escaped convicts and trials, though.

A servant, though…why would Ryoka have one of those?

“He’s with her?”

“Yes, and they’re—”

Durene breaks off as I hear someone walk towards me. There’s a moment of hesitation as I feel Durene let go of my hand and move. I can’t tell what’s happened, but then I hear the girl named Ryoka speak.

“Laken? I’m here.”

“Ah, Ryoka Griffin? Is that you?”

I don’t know what’s going on, but I opt for pleasant surprise. I listen very carefully to her as she replies.

“Yes. Sorry I’m late. Something came up. I—well, sorry.”

She sounds tense. And worried. Not at all like she did while talking to me before. That was a different sort of tense. This sounds like anxiety in her tone, which means that…

I think quickly and nod, putting a smile on my face.

“Of course. Thank you for coming back. Why don’t we chat over by the benches, assuming they’re not all taken?”

I turn and hear Ryoka cough.

“Your—friend is in the way.”

“Durene? Please let Ryoka past.”

“Okay.”

Shuffling feet. Then—I hear a man’s voice.

“Ah, pardon me Miss Durene, is it? I would like to introduce myself, if you would permit it.”

“Who are you?”

Ryoka’s voice.

“This is Reynold, Laken. He’s my escort. He’s a friend. A—hold on, let me look this up.”

Silence, shuffling. I hear Durene and Gamel murmur in surprise, but have no idea what Ryoka is doing. So I turn to the man named Reynold.

“Hello. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Are you Ryoka’s friend?”

“Not as of such, sir. I—I am a—pardon me, but please accept my most profuse apologies to greet you so rudely. Allow me to introduce myself as Reynold Ferusdam, a humble servant in the employ of Lady Magnolia Reinhart.”

I hear a gasp from Durene and a sound from Ryoka. It’s short, but it makes me think this Reynold fellow has done something. I hold still, but sense nothing.

“Please excuse my rudeness, sir.”

“Not…at all.”

I don’t blink, because I keep my eyelids closed all the time, but I am taken aback. Lady who? What’s this Reynold fellow got to do with Ryoka and why is he acting so formal? Wait a minute. I think I know what’s going on.

There are a number of ways I could reply. I opt for more genuine interest. I smile and extend my hand.

“Oh? Pleased to meet you. May I assume you are a—a [Manservant] or [Butler] of some sort?”

“Indeed, milo—Mister Laken, that is correct. I am a [Butler] currently given the task of escorting Miss Ryoka around the city.”

I feel a light hand—gloved—shake mine and then withdraw. I can tell this man Reynold is wearing some kind of cologne. Well now, I think I understand his odd reaction. Is there a way to make use of it? Perhaps not, but I also fear it might be giving me away a bit.

Someone clears her throat next to me. I hear Ryoka draw closer.

“Goddamn stupid…okay, I think I have it. Laken, Reynold is a friend of a friend. I know Lady Magnolia Reinhart—she’s one of the Five Families in the continent as I’m sure you know, a very powerful [Lady]—and she’s sent Reynold to help me out because I know her. Reynold is a friend. He’s uh—damnit. Freund aber Spion. Achtung. Sag nichts. Verstehst du mich?”

This is why having my eyes closed all the time helps. They don’t narrow and I keep perfect control of my voice.

“Ja.”

So that’s how it is? I smile at Ryoka.

“It’s good to meet someone else who speaks a different language.”

“Yes, it is. Around here everyone speaks English. Everyone. Weird, isn’t it?”

There’s a note of humor in her tone. I shrug lightly and turn towards Durene.

“I’m sorry, Durene, Gamel. I haven’t introduced you, have I? This is Ryoka—I met her today, but we, ah, come from the same place. I think of her as a friend, and I hope you will as well. I think she and Mister Reynold might be able to help us while we’re here.”

I hear people moving and murmuring greetings.

“Hello. My name is Durene. I’m Laken’s friend.”

“Charmed.”

Is it me, or is there not a lot of friendliness in Durene’s tone? I hear Ryoka mutter something and shift—were they shaking hands or something? But then Reynold walks over and I practically feel Durene flush. Listening to her stammer, it sounds like he bowed or kissed her hand.

Well now. Smiling a bit, I sit with Ryoka on the bench. Everyone else stands.

“So why are you here?”

Ryoka’s tone is warning, but I ignore it. Honesty. You can do a lot with honesty, especially when you pair it with omission.

“It’s a long story. Durene and Gamel and I are all from Riverfarm, a small village to the…east, I think. We’ve come here because an avalanche hit the village a few days ago. A good number of people died, and the rest are in trouble since the avalanche wiped out a lot of their provisions for the winter. Not to mention, there’s a danger of monsters, bandit attacks…”

I hear an indrawn breath. So, Ryoka really had no idea why I was here? She shifts on the bench next to me and sounds pained.

“That’s not good. But how are you going to get all those supplies? Buying all that in the winter would cost a small fortune, and that’s without hiring a [Guard] or two.”

“Indeed, sir. Would the other villages be able to assist you? A neighboring town or city, perhaps? Some provinces have local [Lords] or [Ladies] who take care of their subjects, but I’m afraid Riverfarm is not a claimed holding.”

I shake my head at the questions.

“Money isn’t an issue. It’s finding a good supplier of food and a trustworthy adventuring team I’m struggling a bit with. Reynold, you seem to know your way around this city—would you answer a few questions for me?”

“I should be delighted to, sir.”

“Good!”

I smile, and feel Ryoka shift on the bench again. But if she thinks I’ve said too much, she doesn’t do anything. I gather my thoughts. I really only need a few questions answered for the moment.

“Tell me, my good man—”

God, I sound like a pretentious idiot. It must be because I’m imagining a real [Butler] standing in front of me. I cough and adjust my tone.

“—I’m afraid I’m new to the city. To this area, really. I’d love to know more about this city. Is Invrisil an independent city-state? I’ve heard those are common around here, rather than nations. Who rules a place like this? A mayor?”

“Invrisil, sir Laken? This city does have an elected leader—Regisand Curle is the appointed [Mayor] for the moment. However, if I may say so, he is more of an administrator than one to set policy.”

“Fascinating. So if I were to ask who the real power behind the throne is…?”

“That would be Lady Reinhart, my employer, sir. Well, I should say Lady Magnolia Reinhart has the power to persuade the city to adopt new policies or to ah, see her point of view, but she rarely uses such authority. Day-to-day it’s usually just the Guilds and various nobles infighting, sir.”

“Really? The Guilds? No, wait—I see. I’ve heard of the Runner’s Guild, Adventurer’s Guild, the Merchant’s Guilds, and so on. How much power do they wield, politically and economically, I mean? Actually, do they have any standing forces of their own? And how would you compare that to the power of, oh, say, the average landed gentry, an average [Lord]?”

I hear Reynold gulp, but he replies quickly.

“The Guilds are a powerful force in any city, sir, although I would wager most [Lords] have just as much authority in their own way. Well, the average [Lord] doesn’t have the coin to match a large Guild, but he does have his own standing forces, and the Guilds usually don’t actively pick their battles. If it comes to blows they hire mercenaries or fight themselves if it’s the Adventurer or Runner’s Guild, but it’s rare for things to get that bad. Mostly, the worse that happens is someone gets assassinated, or finds themselves out of work or disgraced.”

“I see. Hm. So, correct me if I’m wrong, but a [Merchant] would have a bit of influence on their own, but only the most wealthy ones would be put on the same footing as one of the nobility. Is that right?”

“To an extent, sir. There’s an old saying in the north—‘even a [Shopkeeper] can sell a [Lord]’. The poorest [Trader] has friends, and they can boycott a [Lord] who’s wronged him, or lend money to a [Baroness] who needs it for a gala.”

Politics. I shake my head.

“Sounds like a mess. I had no idea it was this complicated around here.”

Ryoka comments sourly next to me. I’m in agreement with her.

“Is it like this everywhere, Reynold?”

“I do believe so. In Invrisil, First Landing—all the major cities have a hand in the politics of the continent, sir. [Lords] and [Ladies] of the Five Families maneuver with each other while [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] play the same game on a smaller level. I’ve heard the Drakes in the south do much the same thing, although I’ve heard their version of things is far more direct and…material. But politics is the lifeblood of every continent.”

As in our world, so too in this. I incline my head in his direction.

“Well, thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

So, if you’re a high-level person with a lot of coin—or you’re nobility, or you’re part of a big Guild you’re a mover and a shaker, but everyone else is subject to the power plays of the continent. I wonder what effect my actions might have, if any?

I stand up.

“If the Guilds have power, they’re the ones I need to go to. I was thinking of going to the Runner’s Guild—Ryoka, Durene tells me you look like a Runner. Do you know if they’d be able to get supplies out to Riverfarm? It’s a ways away, and I’d need a lot of supplies. I don’t think a few people can carry all that—how much would it cost to hire, say, fifty people? Or do the Runner’s Guild have wagons?”

“They’ve got bags of holding.”

I smile, delighted.

“No way. In that case, how fast could they travel, oh, thirty miles?”

Ryoka pauses.

“If you had the coin, you could have someone in Riverfarm within the hour I’ll bet. But…don’t go to the Runner’s Guild.”

“Why not?”

Gamel sounds astounded. It takes Ryoka another minute to reply.

“They’ve got bags of holding and they’re a lot faster, yeah. But if you need to buy supplies as well as have them delivered, the Merchant Guild might be able to cut you a better deal. They’re rivals with the Runners—they’re slow, but if you’re hiring protection as well, it’ll be cheaper.”

“Huh.”

Not something I’d expect to hear from a Runner, but I’m grateful for the advice. I smile around at everyone.

“I suppose that’s our destination, then. Durene, Gamel, we’re going to the Merchant’s Guild. I don’t suppose you’d like to join us, Ryoka, Reynold?”

“I am bound to escort Miss Ryoka wherever she travels. It would be my pleasure to accompany you if she so chooses.”

“…Yeah, I’ll go. I know where the Guild is—it’s a few blocks away from here.”

“I’ll help take Laken, Miss Ryoka.”

Durene’s voice comes from next to me. She sounds…a bit possessive. But Ryoka doesn’t budge.

“I’ve led blind people before.”

So saying, she takes my hand. I’m surprised, but I think quickly.

“It’s okay, Durene. I’ll walk with Ryoka for a bit. You can see the sights while we chat.”

“But—okay, Laken.”

I hear the hurt tone in Durene’s voice, but Ryoka pulls at my hand and then we’re off. It must be an odd sight as she leads me out of the plaza. I know Gamel, Reynold and Durene are keeping pace with us because I hear Reynold speaking to them, but then Ryoka begins talking.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?”

“Who?”

“The—Durene. She acts like you two are a couple.”

“We are a couple.”

“What?”

I speak sharply.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Hesitation. Ryoka sounds guilty.

“No. I—damn it, sorry. I’m just surprised.”

I say nothing in response. After a moment, Ryoka sighs.

“Sorry. She seems protective. She nearly broke my fingers when I shook her hand.”

“Really?”

“She thinks I’m a threat.”

“You did come out of nowhere. And even if you are from my world, that doesn’t mean much to Durene.”

Ryoka pauses, and I nearly run into her. I sense her turn.

“You told her you’re from another world?”

“Of course. I trust her.”

“—Okay. Fine. Sure. You told her. Does anyone else know you’re from another world? That Gamel guy, for instance?”

“No. Have you told anyone? Why is that Reynold fellow following you about?”

“He’s a servant of Lady Magnolia. And she knows. In fact, she knows everything. Her servants followed me—they were probably listening to us when we spoke the first time, and they’re probably listening now. Keep that in mind.”

“I will. But if they’re, ah, ‘friends but spies’, should I trust them or not?”

“…I don’t know. Magnolia’s not evil, but she’s not nice either. She might not care you’re from another world—she’s found other people like us.”

“Really? How many? Where were they?”

Ryoka gives my hand a squeeze.

“Just a few. Looks like a few other people got pulled to this continent. Maybe we all got hit by a rogue spell or something. There are five or six kids around our age—maybe a few years younger. But that’s all I know.”

Another squeeze. I gently tighten my fingers to let her know I understand. So Magnolia knows a lot, but not everything? How many of us are there? Why are we here?

I guess that’s a bad topic, so I go back to Magnolia.

“What’s she like? If she hires [Butlers], can I assume she’s rich?”

“Oh yeah. She’s one of the Five Families—they’re the richest nobles on the continent. She’s a [Lady] with an army of servants, tons of magical artifacts, a magical horseless carriage…”

“Are you serious? First bags of holding, now magical automobiles—are you going to tell me adventurers run around with flaming swords and shields of wonder?”

“Hah. Close. Try flaming daggers. But seriously—watch out for Magnolia. She might appear friendly and nice, but she’s devious. Imagine her as a—a—do you, I mean, did you watch Game of Thrones back home?”

I twitch a bit, but keep walking.

“I did. Watch is a bit strong, but I did a lot of listening to audiobooks and I listened to some episodes with visual description turned on.”

“Then imagine her as a Daenerys except older.”

“Sort of like Cersei Lannister?”

“Sort of. But…smarter. Less arrogant. Daenerys is a better analogy, especially given that she has one big thing in common with her. I mean, not as a mother, but a friend. And she’s twice as cunning as both Daenerys and Cersei put together—and she’s bold like Catelyn Stark, got it?”

“I get it. And she knows about you, or rather, us?”

“About everyone. She’s met people…like us, before. And she knows about one of my friends. Her name is Erin Solstice. She lives far south of here, in Liscor. She’s an [Innkeeper]…I’d like you to meet her sometime.”

“I’d be delighted. But I do have to help Riverfarm.”

“The village? Why? Because Durene lives there?”

“Yes. And because they’re good people. Well, fairly good. They’ll starve or die without help.”

“And you can do it?”

“I think so. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone from another world, though.”

“Neither was I. I just heard you speaking German and—look, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this.”

I shrug fractionally.

“Politics. I’d get involved sooner or later, especially considering…well, let’s just say that having your friend here and learning a bit about the city might be helpful. If this Lady Magnolia really is a friend to the people, I think she’d approve of what we’re doing here.”

Ryoka’s quick pace falters. I hear her take a breath as people shout at a rude wagon driver ahead of us.

“About buying supplies. Do you need help with getting supplies for this village of yours? If you need coin I…damnit, I’ve got some, but—”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Silence. Then Ryoka stops.

“I’ll try.”

I tap the ground experimentally with my walking stick, but feel no difference in the paving stone around me. Not that I really expected it.

“We’re in front of the Merchant’s Guild? How does it look?”

“Big. Fancy. They went all out on the architecture around here. Lots of gold paint.”

There’s a sneer in Ryoka’s voice. I hear the others catch up, and then Durene speaks.

“Laken! We’re in front of the Merchant’s Guild!”

Is it just me, or is she right between me and Ryoka? I smile up at her.

“I know. Ryoka, can you give us a second? I want to talk with Durene before we…”

“Got it. Hey Reynold, come over here.”

They retreat. I’m left alone with Durene and Gamel, although he’s standing further away. I whisper up to Durene.

“Do you not like Ryoka?”

“I—I don’t trust her, Laken. Are you sure she’s someone you know?”

“I think I can trust her. But tell me, is there anything I missed back in the plaza? When that man Reynold introduced himself, you and Gamel made a noise.”

“Yeah! When he was speaking he—he bowed to you, Laken! He bowed really low!”

“As one would to a…someone like me?”

“Someone like—oh, yeah!”

“Interesting. Don’t say anything about it for now, okay? It’s a secret. Tell Gamel that.”

“Okay Laken. But…”

I can practically see Durene’s face, upset with confusion and nerves.

“What’s going on? This is all so sudden! What are we going to do in the Merchant’s Guild, hire a bunch of wagons?”

“Close. I actually think we can get done most of what we need to while we’re in there. It’s going to be complex, Durene. But we can handle it. All you need to do is look impressive. I think you can do that.”

“But what should I do? I don’t know anything about—money or stuff like that. Are you sure I should come in with you?”

“What, and leave me alone? I need you, Durene. Will you come with me?”

“Yes.”

It’s a response without a second of hesitation behind it. Just one word, but it blows away my self-doubt and my own fears. I smile as Durene squeezes my hand with the utmost care. She’s with me, and she’s all the help I’ll need. How could I ask for more?

And yet, I have more. Gamel is right beside us, faithfully going along with all of this although he clearly doesn’t understand what I’m thinking. He trusts me. He’s loyal.

What an odd thought. But he is my subject and I’ll do right by him.

So it’s not Laken the confused guy who stops in front of the Merchant’s Guild, it’s Laken the [Emperor]. He’s listened and heard all of what’s going on and he has a good idea of the situation he’s in. And he has a plan.

I gesture for Gamel to come over, and we huddle together in front of the Merchant’s Guild as I explain what I want to do. Politics. [Lords] and [Ladies] and Guilds and [Merchants]. Well, I’m an [Emperor] so I trump all of them. I smile as I speak to my two followers, my two subjects, my two friends.

“Okay you two, here’s what we’re going to do. Durene, I want you to open the doors like this when we go in…”

----

As the blind young man known as Laken stood with his two friends, Ryoka waited a few feet down the street with Reynold. She pulled something out of her pocket—an iPhone—and tapped on the screen.

Ryoka glanced down at her iPhone and closed the encyclopedia app she had been using. It had been a long, long time since she’d last used it but she was glad to know that it could still work offline.

“Guess it’s not a waste of gigabytes after all.”

She tucked it away in her pocket and sighed. What a mess. She had no idea what Laken was about to do, but from the way the villager and half-Troll girl were reacting, it was going to be surprising.

“I have no idea what the hell is going on.”

“Ye never do.”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch, chewing on a walnut. She was actually eating the shell as well as the nut itself. Ryoka eyed the small blue faerie. She wondered if Laken could hear Ivolethe like Erin could. If so, that might be a better way of letting him know important details.

But what did he really need to know? Everything Ryoka knew about the other people scattered across the world, about Erin and the dangers of the Antinium and so on—that was for a much longer conversation, later. Right now she could only trust he wouldn’t blurt out anything important.

She didn’t think he would, honestly. She was surprised by how fast he’d caught on to everything.

“At least I got the message to him. Thank god for monoglottism in this world.”

Ryoka saw Ivolethe’s small head turn towards her and laugh.

“Hah! I heard thy terrible attempt at language. Deine Aussprache ist schrecklich.”

Ryoka scowled down at her belt.

“How the hell do you know what I—no, don’t tell me. I guess you lot were all over Europe back in the day, huh?”

“I travelled to many lands, and learned many tongues! You sound as if you were speaking with mud and worms in your mouth!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ryoka scowled and closed the belt pouch over Ivolethe, ignoring the tiny faerie’s shout. She turned her head slightly, and regarded Reynold.

She hadn’t had time to ask, but she was intensely curious to know why he’d bowed like he had when meeting Laken. The man was still pale and shaking a bit even after their short walk.

“Hey Reynold. What was that, back there?”

The [Butler] jumped as if Ryoka had shouted in his ear. He jerked his eyes away from Laken, and stared at Ryoka. Then he stepped over and hissed at her, completely forgetting about politeness or decorum.

“Who is that man?”

“Laken? I have no idea.”

“Don’t give me that! He is—I’ve never felt—”

Reynold’s cheeks were flushed. He kept staring at Laken.

“What did you feel?”

Ryoka eyed him closely. Reynold opened his mouth and shook his head.

“He was like—I suppose it was like standing before Lady Reinhart, or Lord Veltras. One of the high nobility, Ryoka. Only more intense. It’s a sense most [Servants] have—I felt as though I should have been prostrating myself at his feet.”

“Really?”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed. She stared at Laken and saw him step back from the huddle with Durene and Gamel. Durene carefully took his hand and they began moving towards the Merchant’s Guild.

“Hold on, here we go. Let’s see what he’s about to do.”

This was what Ryoka saw. She saw Durene march up to the doors and then let go of Laken. He grabbed hold of Gamel’s shirt instead, and waited as Durene stood in front of the two ornate double doors.

She attracted attention. For all the half-Troll girl was wearing rough clothing, Ryoka had to admit that she was impressive. Durene was the tallest person around, and when she stood tall and didn’t slouch she was a true giant. She grabbed hold of the door handles and flung the doors wide open.

“Now that’s an entrance.”

Ryoka commented as she followed Laken and the others inside. The dramatic opening had made the entire Merchant’s Guild go silent, or maybe it was seeing Durene come striding through the doorway. Either way, suddenly all eyes were on Laken and Durene and Gamel.

No, they were all on Laken. For all of Durene’s height, there was something about the blind man that drew the eye. Ryoka blinked and rubbed at her own eyes as she stared at his back. Was he…taller? No, but he seemed like it.

What was going on? She frowned hard as Laken walked forwards.

The Merchant’s Guild was as gaudy and plush on the inside as it was on the outside. It had [Receptionists] but other counters as well, places to exchange coin, sell goods, take out loans, and so on. Impressive brass scales were a fixture of the room, as well as other handy measuring tools and things like abacuses—all aids to calculating the worth of an item down to the last copper coin.

Ryoka expected Laken to march up right to one of the receptionist’s desks, but he didn’t do that. He took ten steps into the room and then stopped there. With all eyes on him and his companions Laken stopped and waited as Durene bent down to whisper in his ear.

“Of course. He can’t see.”

Ryoka murmured the words. It was necessary for Laken, but the effect it caused was impressive. There he was, standing in the center of a whirlpool of attention, waiting. The effect was also immediate.

It wasn’t a lowly [Receptionist] that came hurrying towards Laken across the floor, but a balding, portly man that Ryoka pegged as a [Merchant] or some higher Guild official. She saw him stop as Durene turned to block him, and then hurry forwards and seize Laken’s hand. After a few moments of discussion, they walked over to some chairs and a table set to one side of the room.

That was ordinary. But Laken was not. He sat politely across from the [Merchant], eyes closed, smiling as he talked. And Durene stood protectively next to him, a half-Troll bodyguard while Gamel stood on the other side, looking fiercely proud despite his simple clothing.

What was going on? Who was that man? Why did he catch the eye so? Ryoka heard the murmuring, and saw the people waiting in line or doing business sneaking glances over at Laken as the guild slowly began to get back to business. Some people took seats at tables next to Laken’s, others simply wandered over as they chatted quietly.

It was a Skill, or something about Laken. Ryoka watched, arms folded by the doors as Reynold scribbled in his notebook furiously. Laken sat and smiled as he talked to the [Merchant], radiating confidence like a beacon.

He did nothing dramatic, and his words were inaudible except to the people closest to him. And yet, he had a presence that weighed down on his surroundings and dragged every eye to where he sat. Slowly, the room began to revolve around him.

----

I sit with the [Merchant] named Merec in the center of his guild and thank god that they have padded seats in here. The bench in the park wasn’t bad, but after more than an hour of sitting on its hard surface, I could use some support for my backside.

Especially because I have the feeling I’ll be here for a while. I sit with my back straight in the chair, hearing quiet voices around me, people haggling, or buying goods in bulk, negotiating deliveries to other cities.

Doing business, in short. It’s not distracting to me, and I can tune it out, but it’s a reminder that we’re sitting in the open, in the center of the guild.

“Again, Mister Laken, I would be quite happy to seat you in a private room to discuss any business. I’m sure a man such as yourself might prefer the privacy.”

“I feel quite comfortable conducting my affairs out in the open, Mister Merec. I have nothing to hide, after all.”

The Merchant’s Guild has private rooms of course, although they might not be that private. I’d bet some of them have listening spells or peepholes…I smile in the general direction of the merchant. I hear him swallow, and then speak.

“Well then, I’m happy to get down to business. What ah, did you say the nature of your visit was about? Did I hear your—your helper correctly when she said you wanted to place a big order?”

“Indeed, Mister Merec. A large order. I would like to purchase food, supplies, livestock, tools, and so on for a village of around a hundred people. Of course, not just for one meal or two—I’d like to make a purchase that will last them the rest of the winter. To that end, I’d like to hire at least…twelve wagons, I suppose, and the appropriate guards to protect such a delivery. I was thinking at least two teams of adventurers might do.”

I don’t quite hear Merec inhale his tongue, but he comes close.

“S-supplies? For a village? May I ask what this is about, sir?”

“Riverfarm, my good man, Riverfarm.”

“Where…? I’m sorry, Mister Laken, but I’ve never heard of such a village.”

“Really? You haven’t? But their cabbage exports are a local keystone of the markets!”

I try to sound upset, but the truth is I’m laughing inside. I steeple my fingers and lean forwards over the table.

“I happen to be a great friend of the villagers there, Mister Merec. You may not have heard, but an avalanche hit the village and surrounding region not three days past. It was a tragedy, and many lives were lost.”

“I—I had heard something of the kind, sir. So these goods are for the village?”

“Yes indeed. I’m in rather a hurry, so if you could have the wagons loaded and sent out in, oh, an hour’s time that would be best.”

“I—well, hold on now.”

Merec tries to take back command of the situation. I hear saliva moving as he pauses, and then his tone becomes genial, professionally good-humored.

“We would love to fulfill your request, Mister Laken. But before we talk details, may I ask how you intend to pay for all of this? I hesitate to ask, but with such a huge transaction in mind—”

“Of course! Let’s not beat around the bushes, Merec!”

I raise my voice and feel the man wince. People around me go silent as I sit taller in my chair.

“Riverfarm needs aid, Mister Merec. Posthaste! Today, if it can be managed! I came to the Merchant’s Guild because I was told you could help me better than the Runner’s Guild.”

“Well, that’s certainly true, sir. We have the goods—those Runners would have to come to us for supplies. But about payment—”

I wave an impatient hand at him.

“Money is no object. Durene, would you please put the bag on the table so Mister Merec can see it?”

I hear Durene fiddle with her belt, and then a heavy thump. Merec’s chair screeches back, and then I hear him and voices around him gasp and exclaim.

“Dead gods!”

“Is that—”

“Are these gems, sir? And this—”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have time to convert it all into gold—but I believe exchanging gemstones is one of the functions of your guild, isn’t it? Well, I’ll leave sorting out the exact worth till later, but I assume this will be adequate?”

“Ah—ah—”

I think I broke the poor man. I tap a foot on the ground until Merec manages to speak again.

“Of course. Of course—you there! Bring over some chairs for Mister Laken’s escorts, now! And have drinks sent for—may I offer you some refreshments, Mister Laken?”’

“I wouldn’t say no, but I am in a hurry, Mister Merec.”

“Yes, sir. I completely—thank you. There’s just one matter I must attend to. I’m terribly sorry, but in cases like this—would you mind taking an oath on a truth spell? It’s just that in cases like this where we cannot be sure where this money has come from—”

“Are you accusing me of having stolen that money?”

I interject a note of frank incredulity into my tone. Durene makes an ominous noise.

“Laken didn’t steal that. All of this is his!”

Merec makes a very small sound, and I imagine him shrinking back as Durene towers over him.

“No, of course…it’s just a matter of protocol, see? I’d never question—please, Mister Laken—”

“It’s okay, Durene.”

I wave a hand at her and hear her step back. I smile brightly at Merec.

“I understand completely. Can I assume you have a stone of some sort I’d put my hand on?”

“Yes sir. It’s right here…if you just keep it close to your person, it will shine and uh, tell the truth.”

“Very well. In that case, allow me to go a step further so I may clarify matters.”

I reach out and find the stone on the table after a few seconds of searching. I pull it closer and speak carefully.

“This money is mine.”

I hear a murmur as the stone presumably lights up. I trust that I’m not being made out to be a liar and go on.

“I am a relative newcomer to this land, but I am deeply concerned with the wellbeing of the people of Riverfarm, who took me in and offered me hospitality during my time of need. My wealth comes from my, ah, class. It was not stolen from anyone to the best of my knowledge, and it is mine by right.”

More murmuring. I lift my hand away from the stone.

“I trust that satisfies your questions, Mister Merec?”

“It does indeed, sir. I apologize most sincerely for the inconvenience, but—ah—may I ask what your class is?”

“You may ask, but I may not answer.”

I smile at Merec. I hear him hesitate.

“You wouldn’t happen to be of the aristocracy, sir? Forgive my curiosity, but it’s very rare to have someone of your status in our guild. Most nobles send servants you see…”

I just smile. No reply. But I hear the small intake of breath, and know the crystal has probably changed color again. Tricky, that. But all to the better. An [Emperor] is the highest form of nobility, after all. I gently push the stone back across the table just to be sure I don’t trigger it again.

“Well then, now that the truth has been established, let us go back to business. Food, Mister Merec.”

“Of course! We can have a shipment prepared—at a very reasonable price, as well. Ah—however, I hate to mention this, but at this point in the year grain and meat and so on is very dear. I’m afraid you’ll be paying quite the steep rate for all of this…”

I raise a hand and the man falls silent.

“As I’ve said, money is no object. I know you would not cheat me or drive up the price unfairly, Mister Merec.”

“I would never—”

“I know. I don’t need a Skill, spell, or even eyes to see that. An honest price—and coin in your pockets for work well done—is all I need. I don’t fear being lied to, you see.”

“You…don’t?”

“Of course not. You see, liars and cheats have a way of revealing themselves to me, Merec. Which is why I trust you. After all, being blind means that when people try to pull the wool over my eyes, it doesn’t do a thing.”

I laugh a bit at that. After a second, I hear a polite, rather forced chuckle from Merec. I smile as if I’ve told a good joke. It’s all in the face. I keep it as open and as normal as possible, acting as if I’m talking with a good friend. It helps that I don’t have to do anything with my eyes.

Telling lies? I’m not telling lies. And I’m not dancing about with the truth either. I really don’t have a way of telling if someone’s lying to me. But I can make him think I do.

I’m just letting Merec and all the others do all the thinking and plotting and analysis of every word and move I make. The key is to make them think I’ve got depths, when in fact I’m about as deep as a puddle.

Mind games. From what Reynold and Ryoka said, the important people in this world like to play games with each other and read into every move anyone of power makes. My hope is that in a world of backstabbing, duplicitous schemers, they’ll never expect an honest man.

Well, semi-honest. Sort of. At least I make an effort.

----

Ryoka rubbed at her eyes as the discussion went on. Laken sounded exactly like some kind of antagonist explaining his modus operandi on a television show to her. She’d felt like cringing when he made that joke. It was an over-the-top performance, but, and she had to admit this reluctantly, it was working.

It was the way he said it that sold the acting, and that incredible presence he had. You could believe that Laken was some reclusive, eccentric nobleman helping out a village he had taken a liking to. Every eye was on him and some people were openly listening to his discussion, not bothering to hide their interest.

They were all probably wondering which royal house Laken came from, which noble family. Ryoka was wondering much the same thing, although her main question was how. She knew he…but the stone had…Ryoka’s head was hurting already from all the suspicions bottled up in her chest.

And yet, it was all working in Laken’s favor. His entire presence was a tantalizing mystery. Who was the strange man with the bag of gold and a Troll bodyguard? Ryoka could see the gears whirring in people’s heads and decided to give Laken a hand.

She looked over and saw Reynold still writing furiously in the notebook, dipping his quill quickly into the small inkpot he held. She had to admire that—pens were so much easier than having to balance ink and quill and notepad with just two hands. She moved over and elbowed him, making the [Butler] jump.

“Hey. Get in there.”

He stared blankly at her.

“What?”

She nodded toward Laken and Merec as they began to discuss prices and what exactly Laken wanted.

“Do something. Anything. Just enter the conversation, alright? It doesn’t matter what you say, only that you’re there, saying it.”

Reynold hesitated, and then shook his head slightly.

“Miss Ryoka, my job is to escort you.”

“And take notes.”

He flushed a bit and lowered his quill.

“Well I—I can’t just interfere in business like this. It’s not my place.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ryoka shrugged and walked away. After a few moments Reynold went back to writing down what was being said. He glanced over towards Ryoka and realized she was gone.

Reynold’s head turned frantically, but she wasn’t anywhere in front of him. Then he felt two hands on his back. He half turned—

And Ryoka shoved him.

She pushed Reynold forwards, sending the [Butler] stumbling closer to Laken and Merec. Reynold regained his footing and posture immediately and looked graceful while doing it, but now all eyes were on him. Ryoka looked the other way and twiddled her thumbs behind her back.

“Oops.”

----

I break off when I hear the scuffle of feet on the floorboards.

“Is someone there?”

I hear a man clear his throat, and then hear a familiar voice.

“Reynold, sir Laken. May I offer you my services in this matter?”

I hesitate, but only for a second. Why is he helping? No, don’t question it—just roll with the cards that are being dealt.

“I would be most grateful, thank you. Do you by any chance know how much I should be paying for forty bags of barley?”

I hear Reynold sniff delicately.

“Given the way the Merchant’s Guild does business, I would question whether the goods being sold are of acceptable quality. Master Merec, I trust these prices all reflect the condition of the wares for sale? I have heard of weevils and Harvest Devils being found in warehouses in the city as of late.”

Merec splutters.

“Our goods are beyond repute, sir. I can have a sample brought over—”

“A sample might do, but a personal inspection of random bags at the site would not be objectionable, I trust?”

“No—no—”

“Very well then. But I also trust you are not wasting Mister Laken’s time with trivialities such as individual item counts? The Merchant’s Guild surely has a list of the cheapest and most plentiful products on hand, does it not?”

“I—will have some sent for right away.”

----

Ryoka grinned as she watched Merec stand and hurry off to speak urgently with some harried employees.

“Not bad, huh?”

Ivolethe, munching down on another walnut, just shrugged in reply. Ryoka shook her head.

She didn’t know what Laken’s game was, not exactly, but she knew he needed to have the [Merchants] here thinking he was a big shot. And who better to help with that bit of fiction than Reynold the [Butler]? They might not know who he was on first sight, but Ryoka would bet every gold piece she owned that the people staring at him and talking behind their hands were trying to figure out which [Lord] or [Lady] he served. Once they found out he was Magnolia’s aide…

“Ooh, looks like they’ve put it together.”

She’d never seen a ruddy face go that pale that quickly. Merec made his way back to Laken with profuse apologies and offered him a frothy fruit drink. Ryoka could have used one herself, but only Laken, Durene, and Gamel were getting the deluxe treatment. The negotiations went on, and Ryoka shifted from leg to leg until she heard adventurers being brought up.

“We have several good teams, Mister Laken. There are Gold-rank teams I could hire if you—”

“I want those two teams, Mister Merec. The Celestial Trackers and the Windfrozen Riders.”

“As you say sir, but may I ask why those two…?”

Ryoka saw Laken lean back and smile mysteriously. She wondered if he’d practiced that smile or if he was just that good at acting. Or maybe that was just how he smiled?

“Here’s the thing, Merec. May I call you that? I need adventurers to protect Riverfarm, but I don’t want to hire people who just want coin or who will look down on the villagers. Why those two teams? Well, early today, I sent my…man out to all of the adventuring groups he could find earlier this day, begging for help. Of the ones he talked to, those two were the only ones who didn’t immediately send him off or laugh at him.”

Ryoka turned to stare at Gamel. Wait a second—she remembered seeing him doing that! He’d been approaching the teams in the plaza, begging for help!

“Clever.”

Laken went on, explaining his reasoning to an enthralled Merec and the audience around him.

“When I was young, I heard a story about a [King] who did very much the same thing. Well, the story has many forms, but it’s always the same. The [King] would go out, disguising himself as a peasant or ordinary man and talk with people, ask for aid, or challenge them to ascertain their worth. Only after he had gotten the measure of them would he reveal himself. For you see, people aren’t genuine when they know you’re rich or powerful. I want those teams, Merec. They might not be famous, but they do care.”

“Of course, sir. I will have someone go over to the Adventurer’s Guild this instant—”

The young man held up a hand and Merec fell silent.

“I want to hire them not only to escort the wagons, but to guard the village for at least a month. If they won’t agree, then I will find another team. You may post more guards and adventurers if you want, but I need at least two groups to protect the village. Now, if you will tell me the price I’d be paying for that…”

Ryoka turned and moved out of the crowd of onlookers, shaking her head as she left the Merchant’s Guild.

“Amazing. How the hell did he get all that money, Ivolethe?”

The faerie just stared up at Ryoka, cheeks bulging. She swallowed and didn’t answer. Ryoka scowled.

“Whatever. But at least I’ve got Reynold off my back. Well, there are probably other spies around, but I hope they like running.”

She left the building and began to jog and then run down the street. Back inside the Merchant’s Guild, Reynold stood to attention next to Laken. He knew Ryoka had gone, had seen her leave, but he couldn’t make himself abandon the conversation. Laken kept asking him questions and Reynold found himself pressing Merec hard on the young man’s behalf. He was stuck, and Reynold realized this might have been Ryoka’s plan all along.

----

Ryoka had intended to go to the Mage’s Guild to send the Horns of Hammerad a message, but she found herself in the Runner’s Guild first. It was just a thought. She wondered if the [Receptionist] had heard about Valceif yet.

But when she approached the counter, the young man on duty immediately asked her to wait. Confused, Ryoka found herself ushered to the side while one of the staff on duty went to go get the [Receptionist] she’d talked to.

When the woman came walking down the stairs, Ryoka realized something was wrong. It was written all over the woman’s face. The young woman felt a lurch in her stomach, though she didn’t know what the problem was.

“Miss Ryoka? You were asking about the whereabouts of Valceif Godfrey?”

The [Receptionist] led Ryoka to an unused counter to talk. Ryoka nodded, keeping her voice deliberately casual.

“Yeah, I was wondering. Do you know where he is?”

“I do, Miss. I’m sorry to say that Valceif is dead. He was killed two weeks ago on a delivery.”

Ryoka blinked. She rubbed at one ear and stared into the other woman’s grave eyes. She opened her mouth and slowly closed it.

“How? I mean—I mean—how? How did it happen?”

“He was killed on a delivery, Miss Ryoka. A group of [Bandits] waylaid him. It wasn’t an assassination or someone trying to intercept his delivery. It was simply—bad luck.”

A hole had opened up in Ryoka’s chest. She felt herself lurching, felt all the positive emotions drain out through a pit in her stomach and the void rush in.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Miss Ryoka.”

There was too much sympathy in the [Receptionist]’s eyes. She’d seen this before, told other Runners the same thing, Ryoka knew. She hated that. She hated…it couldn’t be true.

“Bandits did it. [Bandits]? How could they get him? Valceif was—he was a Courier. He could outrun a horse!”

“They used magic. When they were captured, the surviving bandits said that they’d used a [Sleep] spell on the road. Apparently they took him unawares, before he knew they were there. It’s rare that a Courier doesn’t have magical items to ward against such spells, but—”

Ryoka’s hand had gone over her mouth when the woman mentioned the [Sleep] spell. When the [Receptionist] got to the part about magical items Ryoka threw up.

----

Someone got Ryoka a towel and some water to wash her mouth out with. Ryoka stared at her hands as she sat at a table.

“It was my fault. I got him killed.”

There was a gasp. The [Receptionist]’s eyes flicked to the young man and other woman hovering around Ryoka. She glared at them.

“You didn’t hear that. Either of you. If I hear a word out of your mouths—”

They fled. Ryoka raised her head to stare at the [Receptionist].

“Why bother hiding it? It’s true. Valceif—he had—he had an amulet. A dreamcatcher that could shield him from spells. He gave it to me and I broke it. If I hadn’t—”

“I understand. But you must not say that openly.”

The woman stared at Ryoka.

“Why?”

“Because Valceif had friends. And family. And they might come here seeking vengeance if they hear the wrong things. Rumor would spin you as his murderer.”

“I might as well be. I killed him. I did it. I let him run off without protection—”

“Listen to me.”

The [Receptionist] tapped Ryoka’s arm, making the younger woman look up at her. There was kindness in the other woman’s gaze, but something made of steel as well.

“Valceif Godfrey was a Runner. He was a Courier—one of the best of us. He knew the risks of running without an artifact and he took it. His death was not your fault. He helped you because that is what we Runners do. The people who killed him are at fault, not you. Runners carry deliveries, but we do not bear grudges. We run and die and help each other. Valceif was a true Runner to the end.”

Ryoka stared at the [Receptionist].

“You were a Runner?”

The woman’s mouth turned up slightly.

“City Runner. Like you. I grew too old and slow for it. It’s too dangerous and I have a child. But I know what it’s like. I’ve lost friends too. Valceif probably thought he could outrun any mage before he bought another charm, but he made a mistake. That’s always how it happens. A small mistake or bad luck.”

Ryoka shuddered.

“But if—”

She paused and shook her head.

“I know. I know I couldn’t have known. But if—”

“If you could have, you would. But it was just bad luck.”

The two sat in silence for longer than Ryoka knew. Time lost its meaning for a while, but no one came over to bother the [Receptionist] and she ignored the queue at the desks.

After a while, the [Receptionist] thought she heard a voice. She looked at Ryoka, but saw nothing. It was a faint sound, almost indistinct. Then the woman saw a blue creature, a being of frost and ice standing by her ear. She stared at the Frost Faerie, but Ivolethe just whispered into Ryoka’s ear, quietly.

Time passed. All three sat in silence, then, Ivolethe sitting on Ryoka’s shoulder stared dreamily upwards. She did not weep, but there was something deep in the faerie’s eyes. A hint of forever. At last, Ryoka stood up.

“I’ve got to go. Thank you.”

The faerie darted towards her pouch and the [Receptionist] stood. She didn’t comment about Ivolethe, just walked with Ryoka to the doors.

“Come back if you need to.”

“I will.”

Slowly, Ryoka left the Runner’s Guild. All the energy she’d had before, all the excitement, was gone. She felt numb and hollow, and she remembered the feeling. She’d known it before.

Too many times. But this time Ryoka didn’t give into the feeling or allow it to overtake her. That was a luxury for later. Right now she walked and then jogged down the street, feeling as though she were shot or stabbed while she moved.

----

The man at the desk in the Mage’s Guild was only too happy to show Ryoka the many messages left for her. In truth, they were all short slips of paper, [Message] spells being far too expensive for long missives, but there were a lot of them.

Ryoka stood at the counter, aware of the man’s eyes on her as she flipped through message after message. Quite a few were from Krshia, asking when she would come back.

There is unrest. You must return soon. Do you have what is needed?

Ryoka remembered the book full of spells in her bag of holding. Another promise, long delayed. She shook her head and read the next piece of parchment.

This one was from Ceria.

…hope you can reply soon. Let us know. We hope all is well.

They must have been worried without a response for days. Ryoka felt something else stab into her heart, but it was already bleeding so it hurt only a bit.

The next message was from Pisces and more direct.

What’s taking so long?

Just that. Ryoka sighed and took the next bit of parchment out. She read it and froze. It was from Lyonette.

Come back. Mrsha misses you.

The void in Ryoka’s heart didn’t shrink, but now she could feel it hurting. She thought of Mrsha. How long had it been since she’d seen her? She’d just run off, looking for Erin—but Erin had come back and Ryoka hadn’t.

“I have to go back.”

The bored man at the desk looked up, but Ryoka’s eyes were on the pieces of paper. She pulled a lengthy one out from Erin and almost smiled at it.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, Miss? How can I help you?”

The man covered a sigh as Ryoka pulled out a bag of coins.

“I need to send a message to all these people in Liscor. Can you post an open response or something?”

“Certainly. What would you like to send?”

The man had a silver-tipped quill ready. He paused over a piece of parchment as Ryoka closed her eyes.

“Tell them I’m sorry. And I’ll be home soon.”

The man paused, and coughed.

“Do you mean for me to write ‘tell them I’m sorry’ or—”

Ryoka glared at him.

“No. Write ‘I’m sorry. I will return home soon’. That’s the general response. Now—I have specific messages I want sent to Erin Solstice, Krshia Silverfang, Ceria Springwalker, and…one for Mrsha, to be delivered to any of the people I just mentioned.”

The Mage’s Guild hired only those who could write as fast as other people talked. The man neatly wrote down each of the recipients as Ryoka mentioned them. Ryoka stared at his quill blurring over the parchment.

“Oh, and I want the messages sent right now. Yes, I’ll pay extra.”

The man coughed as Ryoka slapped down coins on the counter.

“Very well. May I have the first message, please?”

“Right. This one’s for Ceria.”

Ryoka closed her eyes and thought. Then she began speaking.

“This is Ryoka. I have had the items analyzed. Contents are as follows: magical sword, strong enchantment. Second sword: damaged beyond repair. Useless. Dagger—flame enchantment. Useful. Buckler: damaged but can be repaired. May have to sell one item to repair the rest…”

Her voice was low, but clear and precise. Ryoka dictated her message for Ceria, and then Krshia, and then left a message for Mrsha before pondering how to reply to Erin’s question. She thought about what she needed to get done in the city before she left, what she could say to Laken, and what to do about the magical items that Hedault was keeping for her.

It was hard, very hard. Every two seconds Ryoka remembered a grinning face, and a man who ran past her. She remembered his back, and the burning air in her lungs as she tried to keep up.

Just for a moment. It had just been a few days, but she had liked him. Ryoka closed her eyes as her breath caught in her chest, and the man at the desk looked up expectantly. But Valceif was dead. She’d mourn him later. Right now, she had a job to do. She had people counting on her, and Ryoka couldn’t let them down as well.

Slowly, painfully, Ryoka got back to work.

3.38

The word that travelled north was brief, but noteworthy. Amid the surge and ebb of tensions among the city-states and local aristocracy, it stood out.

Around the city of Liscor that marked the sole safe passage between the northern and southern parts of Izril, news was seldom good. The Goblin Lord was only the most recent of bad tidings; the Human cities were always facing some minor crisis. After all, they bordered not only the ill-tempered Drake lands, but the High Passes, from which bands of monsters occasionally emerged to wreak havoc.

In addition, the city-states that far south were far newer and less well-developed than their northern counterparts. Celum was a far cry from a northern city like Rectes, let alone a major hub like Invrisil.

But the whisper that came north by mage [Message] was hopeful. It was a simple line that made those in the know sit up:

Esthelm has risen.

Esthelm has returned.

Esthelm is not dead.

The city lives. The people rebuild the walls, and pledge to stay and fight rather than give way to the Goblin Lord’s armies. It was a small miracle, but what was far more miraculous was hearing where this sudden surge of life and hope had come from.

Esthelm had received aid…from Liscor of all places! No, not just Liscor—the Antinium of all species had come to help them. And somehow, Celum had sent a convoy down the roads without it falling prey to the Goblin armies.

Such boldness from the southern cities and generosity from the Antinium and Drakes was unprecedented. But with this, Esthelm might well recover and survive another Goblin assault and the remaining winter.

For a few seconds, hope blossomed in the cold. But just as quickly as it had been heard, the news of Esthelm would pass from the minds of all but a few listeners. Oh, some [Merchants] would mark down Esthelm as a prime target for business in the future if it survived, and a bold [Trader] might calculate the odds of making it to the city alive with a caravan, but no one else would pay attention to such news.

Almost no one. In fact, only two individuals of note paid attention to the news of Esthelm, despite their urgent business. The most powerful [Lady] on the continent listened to the news of the city’s revival and wondered, and the most infamous [Lord] frowned and adjusted his plans slightly to account for this discrepancy.

And then they too returned to business. Esthelm was put out of mind and the world continued to move onwards. Just for a moment though, it had shone brightly for all to see. For a moment, the world had stopped and stared at the small spark glowing there.

And who had lit the spark? It was a conflagration of many hands and claws it was true, but the young woman from which it had all started was a young [Innkeeper]. She dozed lightly as a wagon trundled down the road back to Liscor just before dawn. It was far too early for such a trip she felt, but the roads were clear, and Termin had wanted to go now.

“After all, that second army of Goblins has been raiding and burnt down a town not fifty miles north of here. If I’m moving my wagon, it’s with a convoy or clear roads or not at all.”

Thus, he’d persuaded the reluctant Erin to ride back with him to Liscor, escorted by the Horns of Hammerad as before. They lay asleep in the back of the wagon, exhausted from a day of work.

More traffic would soon flow south to Liscor. The majority of wagons would head back, as would the Gold-rank adventurers, Zel Shivertail, and a good portion of the Antinium who’d come north.

Only a day had passed since Esthelm had received aid. That was too short a time to effect that much change, although the Antinium had managed to repair a good deal of the walls themselves. But the convoy had done its job, and staying longer would do no good. Extra hands to help meant extra mouths to feed, and the food and supplies that had been brought would go to waste that way.

So the adventurers who had been hired would stay, the extra [Guardsmen], [Hunters], [Healers], and so on would lend their expertise, and a group of Antinium Workers and Soldiers under Anand’s supervision would stay to complete construction work. Everyone else would leave.

That suited Erin just fine. She woke up a bit as the cold air blew into her face. But after adjusting her head so she was sheltered by the wagon’s sides, she dozed off.

Woke up again. This time Erin saw Liscor in the distance. She blinked around blearily and decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt…

“Miss Erin? We’re here.”

A hand shook Erin gently. She groaned and then opened her eyes.

The wagon was parked right next to the hill the inn stood on. Erin looked at Termin, and realized he’d stopped here for her.

“Oh, thanks, Termin!”

He smiled at her, and dipped his head slightly.

“My pleasure.”

There was much more to say, but it was too early. Erin got up and woke up the other Horns of Hammerad by yanking the blankets off them. They swore at her—Ceria nearly hit Erin with her skeletal hand before she opened her eyes. But they did get up.

It was customary to tip drivers, even if they had been paid. Erin fished around for a coin but Termin waved her away.

“Treat me to a meal tonight, miss. You’ll be open? Then I’ll be there.”

He gently flapped the reins and Erma and Fox began to plod off.

“Bastard. It’s not a minute’s travel up the hill.”

Pisces glared at the wagon as it rolled through the snow. Erin glared blearily at him, shivering already despite the blanket she’d draped around her shoulders for extra protection.

“That’s a lot of work for his horses. We can walk. Come on.”

Silently, the adventurers trudged up the hill after Erin. She pushed open the door to her inn and they practically fell down the steps to the basement. Erin paused only to make sure they had enough blankets. Everyone but Ksmvr was already back asleep.

Silently, Erin wandered over to the fireplace and added a few logs that had been piled up next to it. The glowing embers set fire to the wood as she blew carefully at it.

The ash made her cough. Erin took a few steps back and stared as the temperature in the common room began to rise. She glanced towards the window.

It was still night. But there was light there, too. It would be dawn soon.

If she were back home, Erin would have been dead asleep—or going to sleep if she’d pulled another all-nighter playing chess online or studying games. She would have never contemplated anything remotely resembling hard work at this hour, and probably would have slept in till one.

“Huh. I guess I’m a morning person now.”

Erin smiled, and bowed her head as she shivered and sat at an empty table in her inn. She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake.

Yes, if she were back home, she’d be lying in bed with her laptop, covered with blankets as the snow fell outside. Maybe she would be thinking about getting a part-time job, or what college would be like next year. She’d be studying chess or chatting online with a friend and—

Memory.

It hurt. Erin bit her lip, so hard she nearly punctured skin. She stood up and sighed. Swaying on her feet, Erin frowned. She was still waking up.

“…not now. But it’s Christmas time. Time…?”

The mumbling attracted attention. Erin heard the creak of someone descending the stairs and saw Lyonette rubbing her eyes as she walked down. The young woman froze when she saw Erin standing in the center of the room, but then she relaxed.

“Oh. I thought—”

Erin nodded at her. Lyonette silently stumbled down the steps. Both girls stood in the room, staring at each other. Without saying anything, a consensus was reached that it was far too early for anything resembling conversation.

Erin sat back down. Then she stood up with a groan and went into the kitchen to prepare food for the masses. Lyonette went outside with a bucket for water.

Some things were easiest to do on autopilot. Erin mechanically made crepes in a batter and fried them up. She was munching on a buttery crepe before she properly woke up. The hot food was burning her hands, but it was food so she didn’t care.

The sun was coming up. Now Erin could think, she wandered back into the common room, leaving a heap of crepes in a bowl covered with a towel. They could always be reheated, and she had too much work to do to stay in the kitchen.

“Time to get to work.”

“Huh?”

Lyonette paused mid-bite, a piece of crepe halfway towards her mouth. She blinked blearily at Erin. The young woman waved at her [Barmaid].

“I said I’m going to work. A lot. Today’s going to be busy, Lyon. I think you’ll have to stay in the inn most of the time, but I’ll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

The young woman sitting at the table nodded. She paused, frowned, and woke up a bit more. Then she thought about what Erin had said.

“Do they actually do that?”

“What?”

“Chickens. Do they really run around when you…I mean, if you…”

Lyonette gulped. Erin paused.

“Maybe? I dunno, I’ve never actually tried it. It’s just what people say where I come from.”

“Oh.”

The two girls stared at each other. After a second, Erin coughed.

“We don’t do that all the time. It’s just…”

“No, I understand.”

“Right. Well then…I’m off to the city!”

Awkwardly, Erin edged out the door. She came back in to grab a money pouch and fill it with coins. She was feeling the rush of sugar and adrenaline now. She put a smile on her face and fixed it there.

“Do we need anything, Lyon? I mean, Lyonette?”

“Um. Lyon’s fine I guess. We need some more flour, a few tomatoes if you want to make that ‘cats-up’ stuff, and some salt. I think we’ve got enough for tonight.”

“Alright, got it! Oh, and one more thing—”

Erin poked her head back through the door. Lyonette looked at her expectantly.

“Christmas is coming.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a holiday! Everyone’s going to get presents and have fun, so…think of some gifts for people, okay? You’ll have to get presents for uh, two other people. It can be food, something small or fun or anything like that. Just think of something nice to give someone else.”

“Okay?”

“Thanks! I’ll explain the rest later!”

----

It was just a smile, but Erin wore it like a shield. Smiling helped. Smiling made you think the day might not be horrible after all. Not that she thought today would be horrible, but she had a lot to do, and she was going to do it cheerful or she’d kill herself.

Or someone. Like the sleepy guardsman at the gate. The Drake on duty just stared at Erin as she stood outside the closed gates. After five minutes he managed to get them open enough for her to slip through.

“I have so much to do!”

Erin groused to herself as she stomped across the streets of Liscor, trying not to slip on the snow-covered paving stones. There was practically no one up yet, but she found Market Street at least partially occupied. While pedestrians had yet to hit the streets, the shopkeepers were setting up, miserably trying to stay warm while they opened their stalls.

Erin found one familiar Gnoll grumbling to herself as she dusted snow off of her counter with a paw. Krshia Silverfang turned before Erin could call out to her. The Gnoll sniffed and smiled as Erin approached her small stall.

“Krshia!”

The young woman beamed at her. The Gnoll smiled and beckoned Erin closer. They huddled beneath her stall’s flimsy walls from the wind while they chatted.

“Erin Solstice. It has been far, far too long since we have spoken properly, yes?”

“Yes! How are you doing, Krshia? I know we talked a bit at the party, but there’s so much that has happened!”

“Indeed. We must catch up. But first—have you business with me?”

“I do! Here—oh wait, I don’t have a list. But I know what I need.”

“Hmm. Let me fetch a piece of parchment and charcoal, yes?”

Erin chatted with Krshia as the Gnoll wrote down her shopping list and told her it would be delivered to her inn by the end of the day. Erin put a few coins on the table and got three bronze coins in change. Then she took a deep breath and got to the real reason she’d sought Krshia out so early.

“Krshia, I know Lyonette’s um…well, I know she did a lot of things while I was gone.”

“That is so. Hrm. You say you have done much in Celum while you were away, yes? Well, Lyonette has…also done much here.”

Erin peeked up at the tall Gnoll’s face. Krshia’s expression was hard to read, but her ears weren’t flat. That was a good sign.

“I know you didn’t want her back in the city. But she came in, didn’t she?”

Krshia paused, and her ears did twitch then. But her voice remained level and calm. Or seemingly calm.

“She was allowed back in the city by Zel Shivertail, no? What is a Gnoll’s pride before the famous hero of the Antinium Wars? We will do nothing to her, not when the Council is against us.”

“I’m sorry. But she came back to—”

“Save the child Mrsha. I know. It makes it better, no?”

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. But she only did it because of that. She won’t come back otherwise. And I had a chat with her, and…well, she’s sorry and she’ll try to make amends.”

“So I have seen. But her debt is large, Erin.”

“I know. I just wanted to say that she’s going to try and stay out of the city unless it’s an emergency. And a bit of the money she gets paid—once I actually pay her—will go to you for your shop. It’s not much, but it’s what she can do. What I can do.”

Krshia blinked down at Erin. She didn’t immediately reply. Erin shivered.

“I know it’s not enough. But she’s trying, okay?”

“Hrm. I understand.”

Krshia shook her head. She looked tired as she flicked a bit of snow that had dared to land on her counter off onto the ground.

“That Human child is odd. Odd, but I see her trying. It is not enough, but it will do. Let us not talk of such things, Erin. You have just returned—again. Let us talk of good matters, or as much good as there is on such cold days.”

“Okay.”

Erin smiled at Krshia and saw the Gnoll bare her canines in response. After a second, Erin frowned.

“Krshia, what’s the Council? That’s the group that rules Liscor, right? Who are they? I’ve never seen them.”

The Gnoll shrugged. She glanced hopefully up and down the street, but Erin was her only customer. A few Drakes were starting on one end of the street, but it would be several minutes before they got to her.

“The Council is made up of important people in the city. It is a Drake thing. The foremost people sit on it and decide what must be done from time to time.”

“Really, who are they?”

Another shrug. Krshia frowned a bit as she replied, which made Erin think that Gnolls didn’t get much of a place on the Council.

“The head of the Adventurer’s Guild, the foremost [Mage], usually head of the Mage’s Guild…hrm, the Captain of the Watch, Zevara, the head of the Merchant’s Guild…Olesm…”

“Olesm!?”

“He is chief [Tactician] in the city. He must advise on matters that may be military. He has a voice.”

“Wow. I had no idea he was actually that important!”

“Well, it is a civilian council. While the army is away they leave such people in charge. You know Liscor’s army is a mercenary one? They are a power unto their own, but they rarely return to the city.”

“Huh.”

Erin thought about that for a second. Then she stared at Krshia. The Gnoll wasn’t shivering, but she looked miserable, standing in her small stall waiting for customers as the snow fell down again.

Miserable. Perhaps it was her stall. It was too small. Erin remembered how it had looked before, how many wares Krshia had had on display. Now…

“I’m sorry about your shop. Did I say that before? I’m really sorry about it. I know it was hard—and I’d like to help if I can.”

Krshia blinked at Erin and shook her head.

“You say it as if it was your fault. It is not.”

“But I need to say it. I hired Lyonette, and I know you were upset. It must be so hard—if I can do anything, I will. That’s what friends are for.”

The [Shopkeeper] just shook her head.

“I must have new wares to sell, and that costs money. To sell I must buy, and I have less coin than I did. My friends in the city and those from my tribe aid me. They lend me coin and I buy and sell with that. It is enough. It is not as if you can give me more business—unless there is something like those hamburgers I may sell?”

She looked inquiringly at Erin, but without any real hope. Erin hesitated, and then smiled.

“I do have some ideas. Maybe not things I can make, but—I’ll try.”

“It is all I ask, yes? But where does this spirit come from?”

“I did a lot of thinking. Well, mostly on the wagon ride to Esthelm and back. I think I can help, and not just by giving you a bunch of coin or anything. I just—I want to make sure my friends are doing okay. Which reminds me, where’s Brunkr? I heard he was sick from Klbkch!”

Krshia paused. She had been smiling a bit at Erin. Now the smile vanished into the cold.

“My nephew? He is poor. He rests in my home, Erin. He will…be better after he gains the courage to do what must be done, I think.”

“What’s that?”

Krshia looked uncomfortable. She shook her head and glanced around the street.

“Better if you see for yourself. I would let him explain or you see, but not say it. Hrr. Perhaps there is time before more come to shop. Would you like to see?”

Erin hesitated. Krshia was clearly upset. If she wasn’t saying…

“Sure.”

It was a quick walk to Krshia’s apartment. Erin opened the door and recognized the cozy home. Nothing much had changed since her last visit, save for what looked like a heap of rugs on Krshia’s couch. Then someone groaned and the pile of rugs turned into Brunkr, wrapped up in blankets as he lay in Krshia’s home.

“Brunkr? I have come back, yes? And brought someone to visit.”

Krshia spoke quietly to Brunkr. He made no reply. He was lying with the blanket wrapped around his huge frame. Something stank horribly. Erin made a face and suppressed the urge to gag. She peered at Brunkr, but couldn’t see anything, cocooned as he was.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Go away, Human.”

Brunkr’s voice was muffled but distinct. She saw him roll and then two dark brown eyes glared malevolently at her.

“Leave me, Erin Solstice. And take your cursed doombringer far away from me. Leave her yourself unless you wish to end up as I do.”

Doombringer? Erin frowned and then realized he meant Mrsha. Krshia frowned at Brunkr.

“Nephew! Be silent. Do not blame bad luck on the Mrsha child.”

Brunkr ignored his aunt. He sat up with an effort, groaning as his legs slowly unfolded and he shifted the blanket. The smell grew worse. It was the smell of…Erin’s stomach roiled and the crepes threatened to come up. The Gnoll warrior was breathing heavily and sweat was staining his fur as he stared at Krshia.

“Is it time to cut it off? Is that why you have come?”

“Cut? Cut what off?”

Erin blinked at Brunkr. He stared incredulously at her, and then snarled. He tore off the blanket from his frame and thrust his right hand at her.

Both Human and Gnoll recoiled. Erin saw yellow dripping pus, oozing around red broken skin covered in horribly stained fur—in an instant she realized where the smell was coming from. The blanket Brunkr had tossed to the floor was also covered in dried yellow gunk.

It was horrible. And disgusting. Erin swallowed hard and forced her stomach to stay still.

“What’s that? How did you…?”

“Your cursed one bit me.”

Brunkr snarled at Erin. He cradled his hand, unable to touch it as more yellow pus dripped slowly out of the infected injury on his arm. Erin couldn’t look away from the horrible sight.

Whatever Mrsha had done, and Erin vaguely recalled her biting Brunkr only a bit, that small injury had turned into a full-scale infection that had taken over a good portion of Brunkr’s forearm. It was horrible, and clearly not healing.

“That’s bad.”

Both Brunkr and Krshia stared at Erin. She gulped again.

“That’s real bad. Um, Brunkr. Mrsha did this? Have you—I mean, I’m sorry, but she didn’t mean to do that. Have you had that looked at by a [Healer]? Or gotten a healing potion or something? If you need to, I can pay for—”

The male Gnoll made a sound of fury and turned away violently. Krshia pulled at Erin’s arm and whispered to her as the two stood by the door.

“It is not something curable with a healing potion, and the [Healers] cannot fix such an injury, Erin. Not ones from Liscor—and not ones from Celum, I fear. It is too far infected now. Only magic might save it, and few know healing spells for this.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

Erin didn’t know what to say. She understood the problem. Maybe Brunkr would be okay in her world, but here a healing potion and [Healer] were the only types of medicine available. And neither one was specialized in fighting diseases or infections.

“It is my doom, brought upon me. It will fall on the rest of you as well.”

Brunkr stood in a corner, holding his arm, not looking at the other two. He had heard every word they had said with his acute hearing.

His arm. It was a ghastly sight, but Erin couldn’t look away for some reason. She kept waiting for Brunkr to turn so she could stare at it again.

Her right hand twinged. Erin stared down at it, and remembered a similar sight. She looked at Krshia questioningly.

“Back when my hand was all cut up Klbkch gave me a healing potion. It worked, even though it was sort of infected. Are you sure a healing potion—a good one—wouldn’t…?”

Krshia shook her head instantly.

“Light infections, perhaps. The body will fight it off in the end, yes? So a healing potion makes it faster. But deep rot such as this…no. It will only speed up the infection.”

“So what can you do?”

Krshia didn’t reply. But she stared at Brunkr and Erin saw the Gnoll’s entire body tense up. Erin went pale.

“No. Really?”

“He must—”

“No! Not yet!”

Brunkr’s voice was full of anguish. He bent over his hand, making a sound that was more animal than word. Erin saw Krshia staring at her younger nephew with deep sorrow—but also something cold in her gaze.

“It must be soon, nephew. Erin, even she can see your hand is gone, yes?”

“No!”

“No!”

The echo came from Erin’s mouth. Both Gnolls stared at her, Brunkr turning his head to look. Erin was shaking her head.

“No, Erin Solstice? But you see his hand. It must go or the rot will consume him as well.”

“No, it’s—maybe something can be done. Krshia, let me—I think something can be done.”

“Truly?”

“Impossible!”

Brunkr snapped at Erin, showing his teeth. Erin felt her heart beating faster, but not from fear. She stared at Brunkr’s hand and thought of doctors, hospitals. She had no idea—only a vague recollection of taking tablets and getting shots, but maybe…

“Let me try to help, okay? I think I have an idea. I’ll come back—”

“Do not lie to me, Human.”

Brunkr glared at Erin, seemingly more infuriated by her offer to help than his aunt’s words. Erin held her ground as he stumbled towards her. Brunkr’s voice was slurred by pain and grief, but he was still a warrior of a Gnoll tribe. He towered over her as he glared and Erin saw Krshia staring warily at her nephew.

“Humans—hrr. I hear Humans say try and give up in an instant. What can you do that my tribe—my aunt cannot? Can you save my hand? Tell me. If you lie, I will know.”

“I can try.”

Erin looked Brunkr in the eye. He stared at her. The anger was replaced by dull resignation in an instant.

“You will fail, and say you did all you could. Your words are empty.”

“I don’t give up that easily. Here.”

Erin stepped past Brunkr, to a pile of rags that smelled horrible. She found a bucket of water and washed the rags briskly as Krshia guided Brunkr back to the couch. Erin wrung the cloth and pressed it on Brunkr’s head. The Gnoll groaned and lay back. Erin turned to Krshia and silently the two females left her apartment.

“If you can help, I will give all to save his hand. But is it possible?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Krshia, but I know who I can ask.”

“Who?”

“Ryoka.”

That was all they said on the matter. Back at Krshia’s stall, Erin stood in front of it, feeling heavier than she had when she’d just woken up. She couldn’t get the image of Brunkr’s infected hand out of her head.

Krshia seemed equally weighed down, despite Erin’s assurances. She looked so tired. It hurt Erin’s heart. The girl cast around for something, anything that could make the Gnoll feel better, and then remembered one of the things she had decided to do. She put a smile on her face and made it stick by sheer force of will.

Lighthearted tone. Erin took a breath and did her best.

“I know Brunkr’s in bad shape, but can I tell you about something that’s going to happen a few days from now, Krshia?”

“Hm? What is this thing, Erin Solstice?”

Krshia eyed Erin as the girl tried to summon the powers of the holiday spirit. She spread her arms.

“Christmas! I know you don’t know what that is, but listen. Back where I come from…back from my world, we have a tradition. Every year, in the winter, just before the new year starts, we celebrate Christmas.”

“Hrm. The shortest day of the year, the winter solstice is yet a few days away. Before this is Christmas, you say? What happens on this day?”

“We celebrate. We give each other presents, eat lots of food—oh, and Santa Claus comes to give things to everyone!”

The Gnoll just stared at Erin. The girl tried to explain. She got most of the points across, although Krshia still didn’t understand why a fat man would run around with presents and coal to give to everyone. But the Gnoll was smiling when Erin had finished.

“So you intend to celebrate this—this day of giving soon?”

“Yes! Tomorrow, maybe? Or the day after? I know there’s not a lot of time to get gifts, but we can all try, right? But we have to do it before the new year’s. That’s very important. So…do you want to join in? I’m going to have everyone give gifts to two people so everyone gets presents. We’ll have a huge party at my inn and everything!”

Erin held her breath as Krshia thought about the idea. The Gnoll rubbed her face with a furry paw, and then smiled again.

“Christmas. Yes, it could be a nice thing to do. And I must give gifts to two others? Whom? Or will it be a surprise?”

Erin hesitated.

“I think that could get weird. I’ll come up with a list and tell everyone who their people are. I’ll uh, also make sure you don’t get Lyonette and she doesn’t get you. I guess I should keep Klbkch and Zel from being Secret Santas too.”

“Hrm. That may be wise, yes.”

Krshia bared her teeth in a smile. Erin smiled back.

“Okay. I’ve got to go. But I’ll be back. And—I’ll be back.”

“I know. Go safely, Erin. And have a merry…Christmas, yes?”

“Yeah!”

The girl waved and hurried off down the street. Krshia watched her go, and then sighed. The thought of her nephew was like a burden on her, a heavy stone. But somehow, she thought of it differently now. She managed to smile, and perhaps it was that which attracted a middle-aged Drake across the street to Krshia’s stall.

The Gnoll smiled wider, and began to talk with the Drake. Perhaps she was only there for a chat, but Krshia thought she could smell an opportunity here.

“Hello, Tesha. Have you heard of an interesting Human tradition? No? It is called ‘Christmas’. I tell you because it is coming soon, and you may wish to buy presents if you wish to partake. You see, on Christmas…”

----

So much to do, and so little time. Erin was trying to figure out which street to go down when she saw a familiar face and scales in the crowd. She called out at once.

“Olesm!”

“Erin? I was just going to see if you were back!”

The Drake beamed at her. They stopped in the middle of the street, the vapor trails of their conversation floating upwards as they talked and shivered.

“How are you, Olesm? We barely talked before—Lyonette says you were a huge help to her while I was gone. Thank you so much!”

“Aw, it was nothing—well, actually, it was sort of hard.”

Olesm frowned as he nudged Erin. They stood aside to let a grumpy Drake wearing armor and a group of other armed Drakes stomp by. The Drake wearing the most impressive regalia snorted as he saw Erin talking with Olesm.

“Humans.”

He passed by and Olesm shook his head.

“Sorry—what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was happy to help Lyonette. But it’s a good thing she managed to patch things up with the Gnolls so they’d deliver to her. My arms nearly fell off trying to haul all the food she wanted up to the inn every day! I don’t know how you do it!”

“You get strong. See?”

Erin tried to flex her arm to show Olesm, but all the clothes on her body made that futile. Olesm smiled and then fidgeted.

“I don’t suppose you’re free right now, Erin? I’d love to chat with you—I mean, there’s so much I’ve been meaning to show you, and I’d love to play a game if…”

Erin sighed and Olesm’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, Olesm. But I’m so busy! I have to go to the Mage’s Guild after this, and then…”

“I completely understand. I’ll ask again later.”

Olesm raised his claws and made to back away. Erin felt a pang as she saw how disappointed he was—and how hard he was trying to hide that fact.

“Why don’t you come to the inn after lunch? I’ll definitely have time to talk then. We can play a few games of chess and—oh, I can show you how to play Go!”

The blue-scaled Drake paused. His tail began to wag hopefully in the snow.

“Really? You mean it? I won’t be interrupting?”

“I’ll make time. It’s a promise, okay? After lunch. You can make it, right?”

“I’ll be there! No problem! Let me just—I’ll have to get my notes, and a bottle of fresh ink—and I can show you all the letters I’ve received. I’ll be there! At your inn, right? Definitely!”

Erin smiled as Olesm rushed off, practically jumping for joy. Then she frowned.

“After lunch? Gotta go faster, then.”

She stomped down the street, searching for the Mage’s Guild. In truth, Erin had never been there, but it wasn’t hard to find the place.

There wasn’t a line this early in the day, and the Drake at the counter was clearly bored. He didn’t seem any happier to have to serve anyone, but Erin gave him her best smile anyways.

“Hi there, you do messages by spell, right? Can I send a message to…Invrisil? How much would that cost, actually?”

The Drake stared at Erin, and grudgingly pointed his claw to a large sign with prices listed right above his head. Erin turned red and stared at them.

“Payment is up front. We don’t send packages by magic either; you’ll need to go to a Walled City or another city for that.”

The Drake’s voice was testy. Erin nodded a few times.

“Got it…not too pricy, huh. Okay, I think I’d like to send a message to my friend! Can I send it now, or do I have to wait?”

The Drake pointed to the sign again.

“There’s a fee for quick deliveries. Just tell me your friend’s name and I’ll have it addressed to her.”

Erin gave him Ryoka’s name, spelling it out for him as he frowned over the odd spelling, grumbling about Human names. Her message was simple, and was written verbatim.

“Hey Ryoka, this is Erin! I need help! I just spoke with Krshia—you know she’s got a nephew, Brunkr, right? Well, he’s got an infected hand and I was wondering—okay. Wow. That much? Um, Ryoka, lots of money to send this, so…how to heal infected hand? Also, when are you coming back? Christmas is soon. Come back soon!”

After that, Erin had to pay and wait for the [Clerk] to take the letter upstairs to the [Mage] on duty. She got a small receipt and her change—she was paying in gold coins since the Gold-rank adventurers didn’t seem to have smaller denominations.

Erin wondered if Ryoka would get the message. She was about to hurry back to her inn when the Drake at the desk suddenly called out after her.

“Miss? Miss Human!”

She came back to the counter. He was frowning at something that had just shot down a small tube from upstairs. It was a slip of parchment, folded up. He showed it to Erin.

“A reply just came back. It seems your friend has already received your message. She is at the Mage’s Guild in Invrisil this moment.”

“What?”

Erin stared at the [Clerk.]

“That’s a weird coincidence.”

He didn’t look as astounded as Erin felt.

“It happens. Normally we would take in her message with the rest as it comes in, but she paid to send a reply back fast.”

“Oh. Well then…can you tell Ryoka I’m here? Or do I have to send another message?”

The Drake paused. He looked reluctant to be awake, and more reluctant to have to speak with an uninformed customer, but Erin’s smile wore him down and he decided to be helpful.

“Why don’t I send a message requesting a two-way communication between you two?”

“Wow. You can do that? Thank you! But will it cost a lot?”

The Drake coughed, looking around the empty building.

“If you were paying for a mage to be on standby, yes. But it’s clear around here and I know Invrisil has mages to spare…we’ll deliver all your messages sent immediately for an upfront fee, and every message sent afterwards. It’s not cheap, but if you have the gold to spend you can get a reply right away.”

“In that case, let’s have a chat!”

Erin plonked gold coins on the counter and the Drake sighed only slightly before scribbling down on a bit of parchment. He had to talk to the [Mage] on duty—and then send a message to Invrisil to Ryoka and the people there. But in the end Erin found herself dictating responses to him and waiting for a response as Ryoka got messages back on her end and replied.

It was a thousand, no, ten thousand times worse than the most disjointed Skype call. Erin had to dictate a message to the [Clerk] and then wait for as many as ten minutes for a reply. She passed that time chatting with him and introducing the idea of Christmas to his world, but it was still arduous.

When all was transcribed and done, the conversation the [Clerk] had written down for Erin read like a chat session, albeit one marked down with ink on parchment.

[Erin] – Hi Ryoka! This is Erin! Are you okay? How are things? I’m in Liscor right now! The Horns of Hammerad brought me back! How’s Magnolia doing? What’s up?

[Ryoka] – Don’t waste money. What’s this about infection? Describe. How bad; symptoms. Any complications on return?

[Erin] – Sorry. No bad things! Met Teriarch—mean! Brunkr has tons of pus—yellow and stinky! Mrsha bit, now whole arm is bad! Krshia says choppy-chop. I say no! How to fix?

[Ryoka] – Will talk T later. Brunkr needs antibiotics. Can’t heal with time; penicillin is best bet. Can tell how to make, but too slow. Chop might be only way, but must make sure new wound does not spread. Let me think. Wait for response.

The message looked like Ryoka had had to spell out penicillin letter by letter for the poor [Clerk] on duty. Erin had to wait eight minutes for the next response.

[Ryoka] – P recipe: needs to let mold grow. If you know origin—poultice. Must grow greenish-blue mold on orange or bread. But must isolate. Not all molds are P obviously. Very difficult; hire O to do it. In meantime, best bet is disinfection and honey.

[Erin] – Honey? Really?

[Ryoka] – Yes. Honey can have antibiotic if natural. Clean wound thoroughly. Use hot, salt water. Clean area, apply clean dressing. Think germs. Change dressings regularly. Honey must be applied after cleaning.

[Erin] – Got it. Will try! And…new thought! What about matches?

[Ryoka] – Matches? Why?

[Erin] – Christmas! It’s Christmas soon! You must come back with presents! We will have party! Can you take carriage back? Tell Reynold he is invited too!

[Ryoka] – Will try. Much to do here. Matches—talk O. Needs P from Periodic Table for striking box. Powdered glass, P…striker. Combine with sulfur and other things for match head. Other ingredients can figure out. Understand?

[Erin] – Sort of. I know P from table!

[Ryoka] – Red P. Not sure if discovered. See if O knows. May be substitute. For striking box, understand? Can use sandpaper maybe instead.

[Erin] – Got it! When coming back?

[Ryoka] – Unsure.

[Erin] – Come, please! Party is in two days! Come for Christmas! Tell Magnolia she is Scrooge! Ressa is cool.

[Ryoka] – Will try. Leaving now.

Possibly there had never been such a confusing conversation for any [Clerk] to record. Both girls didn’t bother with grammar when delivering their messages and indeed, the only reason the words were spelled correctly was that the [Mages] couldn’t handle texting slang. Erin left the Drake at the desk with her money pouch lighter, but newfound hope in her heart. She strode out of the guild, muttering to herself and thinking fast.

“Penicillin, matches, and honey. I can get Lyonette to help with that, but Ryoka sure knows a lot. If she knows how matches work…hm…I should have asked about…wait, that gives me a great idea!”

Erin patted at her pockets, looking for something to write with, and then marched back inside the Mage’s Guild to borrow the [Clerk]’s quill for a second. She ended up going back to Krshia to buy an inkpot and ink.

It was hard to scribble on parchment and walk, and in the end Erin had to wait until she got back to the inn to write on the back of the piece of parchment. She’d already tripped once and stained quite a lot of snow black.

When Erin was hiking up towards her inn, she noticed a good deal more activity going on. That was confirmed by a ball of white fur that shot out the door as she got close.

“Hey Mrsha! I’m back! Whoops, don’t make me spill this on your fur. Let me just write this down…bicycle…there!”

Erin laughed, tried to fend off Mrsha, and get inside all at once. When she finally made it in, she saw that the Horns of Hammerad were up.

“Hey guys! Are the others not back yet?”

“They’re still on the road. But they should be back by tonight.”

Yvlon blinked at Erin, still looking tired. It was still early morning Erin realized. Everyone was having breakfast as Lyonette heated up Erin’s crepes.

Putting Mrsha on a table, Erin grabbed a crepe and devoured it with her gloves still on. Then she turned to Ceria.

“I just had a chat with Ryoka.”

“You did?”

All of the Horns of Hammerad sat up. Erin nodded as she gulped from a glass of water Mrsha rushed over to her. It was half-empty from being spilled as the Gnoll ran with it, but Erin appreciated the effort.

“I was talking with her! She was in Invrisil, and she sent me [Messages]! She’ll be back soon—in time for Christmas, I hope! She says she’s got messages for you too, Ceria! Apparently she identified all those items you found!”

“She did?”

The Horns of Hammerad were out of the door like a shot. Pisces only stopped long enough to grab as much food as he could hold; Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr didn’t even wait to do that. Bemused, Erin stood aside and watched them storming down the hill, slipping and sliding in the snow. She could hear Ksmvr shouting after them as he brought up the rear.

“What is Christmas? Pisces, please ex—”

“Hey, Pisces moves really fast with that [Flash Step] spell. He can eat and outrun Ceria! Wish I could do that.”

Erin stared at the figures rushing towards Liscor. She shook her head and then turned. Mrsha and Lyonette were staring over the remains of the half-eaten breakfast. Erin smiled at both and then clapped her hands.

“Lyonette!”

“Yes, Erin?”

“I need more honey. And bees.”

“Honey? You mean—we have half a jar left.”

“I know, but I’ll need an extra jar for something special. You told me we can get it from the hive without Toren. Could you show me how you do that now, or is that no good?”

Lyonette hesitated. Her eyes went to Erin, and then the door. She hesitated, swallowed hard, and then stood straight and nodded.

“I can do it. Just give me an hour or two and I’ll be back with honey.”

“No, I’m coming with you. It’s dangerous, right? I’ll do it with you.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette. The girl smiled back. Both girls went over to the box of faerie flowers.

“They’re blooming nicely. Wow, I see new shoots already! Do you think it’s the mana in the inn?”

“It might be. Um—I’ll need to take a few, but the dead ones work best I think. We just need to start a fire in front of the bee cave you see—”

“Got it. What happens if the flowers don’t work? Do we run or hide?”

“Yes.”

“And if the bees start waking up when we’re in the cave?”

“…”

“…Let’s take all these flowers, okay?”

Erin grabbed empty glass jars as Lyonette found the sharpest knife in the kitchen. Both girls were ready to go when they heard an anxious whine. They turned and saw Mrsha, huddling by the door.

Mrsha was shivering. Lyonette hurried over to her and stroked Mrsha’s head as she whispered comfortingly to the Gnoll.

“You don’t have to come. In fact, you’re staying far away. And no following me this time, okay?”

The Gnoll licked anxiously at Lyonette’s face and reached for her, but Lyonette made her sit. Erin watched the two hug before Lyonette got up. She was silent at first as they marched towards the cave in the snow. But then Erin felt compelled to speak.

“No one’s dying today. Right, Lyonette?”

“That’s right.”

The young girl’s face was set with determination. It was a long, hard march in the deep snow to the cave, but Lyonette knew the way and in short order she’d built the fire in front of the cave. There were ashes from the last one. Erin watched as she tossed the flowers in the fire and then both girls huddled in the snow outside of the cave.

It didn’t take long for them to hear the bees come after the fire—and then fall asleep. Lyonette hurried into the cave with Erin right behind her. The girl froze as she saw a sea of fallen bees resting on the floor, but Lyonette stepped past them towards the massive bee hive in the back. Despite harvesting from it several times before, the hive looked as obscenely bloated as before.

“Oh my god. I’d never have the courage to do that myself.”

Erin watched with admiration and horror as Lyonette began to slice into the hive, many times over as large as she was. It filled the huge cave, and Erin wondered how many bees were inside. She prayed they were all sleeping.

Then Erin remembered she had a job to do as well! She hurriedly fished around in the rucksack she’d brought and pulled out a pair of tongs. She began picking up bees and dropping them in the jars, counting as she did.

“One bee, two bee, three bees…this one’s twitching. Ew. Four bees, five bees, ooh, big bee! Seven bees…”

They worked in sweaty, quick silence until Erin had two jars of bees and Lyonette two jars of honey, honeycomb, and other parts of the hive. Then they hurried out into the snow.

“We made it! Are we okay?”

“I think so.”

Lyonette was pale, but triumphant. She was a mess, covered all over by the hive. She jerked her head back towards the inn.

“We should get away as fast as we can. The bees get really, really angry when they wake up. We don’t want to be anywhere near them.”

“Got it. Let’s go!”

Erin had to heft both jars as she struggled through the snow. They’d brought a small sled to carry the jars on, but the jars kept falling off no matter how the girls tried to lash them onto the sled—and they didn’t feel like trying to tie a good knot so close to the cave.

They made tracks, huffing and puffing as they tried to force their unwilling legs to move faster. When they were a good distance from the cave, Erin relaxed slightly.

“I think we might be okay. Lyonette, do you do that every day?”

“Yeah, but having someone else helps.”

Lyonette gasped as she panted for air. She looked at Erin with a smile of triumph and then turned pale.

“Erin. The jar…”

Erin looked down at the two massive jars she was holding and nearly screamed. The bees she’d put in the jar had woken up. And they were alive.

Normally they suffocated or died of the cold. But these bees, freshly put to sleep, were still able to move. And they did. They wriggled and tried to flap their wings obscenely in the crowded confines of the jar. The pulsating mass made Erin want to drop the jar, but she hung on for dear life, checking the lid to make sure it was secure.

“It’s okay. They’ll die quick. Let’s just put it on the sled and—I need to have a bath after this.”

“Okay.”

Gingerly, Erin lashed the two jars securely to the sled. The bees wriggled angrily and tried to sting her hands through the glass, but they could do nothing. Erin continued onwards, pulling the sled as Lyonette followed her.

“So you did this three times before I got here? That’s amazing!”

Erin was trying to be as congratulatory as possible, and she meant it. Lyonette really had turned over a new leaf, and this one was massive. The girl beamed with pride as they passed by a huge mound of snow sitting in the middle of a flat part of the snowy plains.

“I had to. Honey’s the only thing everyone really likes. It was so scary—I nearly peed myself the first time! But your flowers really are incredible.”

“I know. I’m wondering what else they might be able to do! I’ll do some experiments—hopefully I can grow enough so that—”

Danger. It wasn’t a word, just a thought, a bell rung at maximum volume in Erin’s head. She broke off and turned her head around immediately.

“Lyonette. Stop.”

The girl halted at once as Erin let go of the sledge and reached for the knife she always carried when she left the inn. Something was around them. She looked at Lyonette and the girl got the vibe at once. She drew closer to Erin as the [Innkeeper] eyed the ground.

“What is it?”

“[Dangersense]. But I can’t tell from where. Is it Shield Spiders? Are we at their nest or—”

A spark lit up Erin’s mind. They had just passed something. She hadn’t noticed, but it stood out to her suddenly. Why was a mound of snow in a flat plain—

She turned, just as the Rock Crab, camouflaged by the snow, stood up and sidled closer to her. It scuttled a few feet towards the girls, and then dropped down into the snow, looking like just another white part of the landscape. But Erin and Lyonette had seen.

It was less than fifteen feet away. Lyonette froze up and Erin felt her heart stop in her chest.

“Erin—what is—”

“Rock Crab. I told you—it’s too close.”

“W-what do we do? Run?”

“It’ll catch us.”

Erin knew that for a certainty. She clenched her teeth tightly, feeling the useless knife in her left hand.

“Seed cores would scare it away. But we don’t have any except at the inn!”

“In that case…”

“Just don’t move. I think it’s waiting for us to move. Let. Me. Think.”

Erin held very still as Lyonette shivered next to her. She knew the Rock Crab would strike sooner or later. When it did—

What could kill it? Adventurers. They were far away. Seed cores. Erin didn’t have any. Goblins? None around here since Rags was gone. Magic? No. Toren—

No. Erin closed her eyes. Fight while Lyonette ran for help? She’d be dead in a second. But if that was her option—

No. Wait. Something else struck Erin. She opened her eyes and stared at the sled she’d stopped pulling. At the things wriggling in the glass jars.

“Lyonette. Get ready to dive into the snow.”

“What? Wh—”

Lyonette’s eyes widened as Erin slowly, very slowly, waded over to the glass jars. Erin carefully lifted both jars of angry bees out of the sled, keeping her eyes on the mound of snow the entire time. Was it lifting up a bit?

She raised the first jar over her head and braced herself. Yes, the Rock Crab was moving. She saw it lift up, and then two long, flexible…

Were they eyes? Either that, or antennae. They stared at Erin and she stared at it. The Rock Crab hesitated, and then it lifted itself up, exposing a dark, red-brown body under its snowy shell and huge pincers that—

“Duck!”

Erin screamed and threw the first jar right into the Rock Crab’s shell. Inside of it, in fact. The glass broke and Erin heard a roar of buzzing as the bees were freed. She didn’t hesitate. She threw the second jar and then dove into the snow, digging herself deep as the bees buzzed in fury and the rock Crab clicked.

That was the sound. A deep, echoing click of a sea creature. It was a counterpoint to the thunderous buzzing.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick—

Erin didn’t know if Lyonette was alive. She could only hear the bees, the crab—and then silence. The buzzing faded, growing more muted, but never completely ceasing, but the crab…

After a while, Erin chanced raising her head out of the snow. She looked around and saw the crab’s shell, lowered to the ground. For a second she thought the crab was alive and her heart pounded wildly—but then she realized the truth.

“Lyonette.”

The girl screamed when Erin found her in the snow. But Lyonette realized it was just Erin and came up to see what had happened.

“It’s dead.”

Erin pointed shakily to the Rock Crab’s shell. She could see a few dead bees, smashed or in pieces around the shell, but only a few. The rest must have flown off. Lyonette stared at the shell and touched her ears.

“I can still hear buzzing though—”

“Yeah. The bees are inside the shell.”

Erin pointed to the shell where she could hear the dim thunder of wings as well. Lyonette grew pale as she realized what had happened.

The Ashfire Bees had stung the Rock Crab to death—from the inside. But they were trapped in its shell as well. Both groups were dead or soon to be dead if no one disturbed them.

Erin laughed, shakily. Lyonette looked at her as if she were crazy, but then uttered a strained laugh herself. Both girls laughed and laughed and then Lyonette sat down and cried while Erin went to find their sled.

It was smashed on one end, but one of the jars of honey was intact. That would do. Erin brought it back and she and Lyonette made their way back to the inn.

Neither one said much. Lyonette was sticky with honey and other fluids from the hive. Erin held the jar of honey as Lyonette struggled onwards, wiping at her mouth and spitting occasionally. She said not a word of complaint, but Erin saw her shiver more than once as the cold air froze her wet clothing.

When they got back, Erin let Mrsha leap on Lyonette as Lyonette hugged her and cried in relief. Erin pointed upstairs as Lyonette tried to stop Mrsha from rubbing her furry body all over her honeyed one.

“Bath!”

Both Gnoll and girl looked at her. Erin smiled.

“Go take a bath, Lyonette. Don’t worry about cleaning or anything else. Just have a nice time—and bring Mrsha with you too! She’s all sticky.”

“I can make it quick—”

“No, no!”

Erin mock-scowled at Lyonette.

“Bath time is a special time. It’s the most special time. You take a long hot soak, or I’ll fire you. I’m going back into the city—after I talk with Octavia. Go on! Shoo!”

She waved at Lyonette and then remembered what else she wanted to say.

“Lyonette?”

“Yes?”

“Good work. I mean it.”

“But we lost the bees and most of the honey—”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Erin looked sternly at Lyonette.

“You did amazing, getting us the honey. The Rock Crab…from now on, neither you nor I are leaving the inn without seed cores, okay? And we’ll be twice as careful—I’m going with you each time. But we survived.”

“Yeah. We did.”

They left it at that. Erin went to the kitchen with the jar of honey before she remembered what she had to do with it. She put the honey on a table and sat down for a second.

Only then did Erin let herself shake uncontrollably. She trembled so badly she couldn’t stand or hold the glass of water she’d poured herself; it slopped everywhere.

Just for a few minutes. One. Five. Then Erin stopped. She stopped shaking, stood up, drank the rest of the water in the glass, and sighed.

“I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive and—I need to get back to work.”

Erin stumbled towards the door. She had to come back and grab the jar of honey.

----

When she opened Krshia’s door this time, Brunkr was awake. Sort of. He was staring at his hand on the couch, not doing anything really. He didn’t look up as Erin came in.

“Go away, Human.”

“I have something that will help, Brunkr. I know how to help heal your hand.”

He looked up, full of hope and scorn. He frowned when he saw the huge glass jar of honey. Bits of honeycomb were stuck to the insides.

“What is that? Do you want to fatten me up before I lose my arm? Or is that for my aunt to sell?”

“It’s for you.”

Erin put the jar on the table, and turned to face Brunkr, hands on hips. She felt a bit better, although the smell of Brunkr’s infection didn’t help her stomach any.

“This honey is something Ryoka—do you know Ryoka? Well, it’s something that will help.”

“How?”

“What you’re going to do is—well, first, let me tend to your hand.”

Erin walked over to Brunkr. She’d brought a towel and a bag of salt. She put both down and he watched, confused and irritated as she found a basin. When Erin mixed some water she’d boiled in the kitchen with the salt he reacted poorly.

“You’re not splashing that on my hand.”

“I am.”

“No.”

He yanked his hand away as she reached for it. Erin glared at him.

“You need to get your infection clean. For god’s sake, why haven’t you cleaned it yourself? It’s disgusting!”

“It always comes back.”

He growled with gritted teeth as he backed away from Erin. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“I’m washing your arm. With that water.”

“No. I’m not having you pour that on my arm. I’ve suffered enough without your crazy Human remedies!”

“I’m not giving you a choice. Come on—”

Erin reached for Brunkr and he hit her. It was a fast punch that caught Erin on the side of the face. It wasn’t too strong—for Brunkr. Erin stumbled back and shook her head. Then she threw up.

Brunkr eyed Erin as she panted and stared at the mess on Krshia’s floor. He saw the Human girl look at the vomit puddle, and then at him. He snarled, full of hurt and anger. But Erin just turned away and went into the kitchen.

She came back with more water and a cloth. It took a bit of time for Erin to get the vomit out of the rug, but she had a skill. She tossed the dirty water out, cleaned her hands. Then she stopped in the living room and stared at Brunkr. He stared back.

Erin sighed. She took two steps over to Brunkr and he raised his hand threateningly. This time Erin drew back when he clenched his fist. She eyed him—

And then hit him in the stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Brunkr doubled over as Erin belted him. He swung at her, but she ducked. Erin stomped on Brunkr’s toe and punched him in the chest. He didn’t fall from that, so she kneed him in the groin and then hit him in the face.

He hit her back. Erin stared up at the ceiling and then got up fast. She kicked the charging Brunkr in the groin again and shoved him on the couch as he doubled over, howling in pain.

“Sit!”

She shouted it so loudly the house rang. Brunkr tried to stand up—Erin raised a fist. He halted. His ears flattened, and the fight went out of him. He lay back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Erin breathed in and out heavily, and then reached for the basin of salt water.

----

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. I need to get the wound clean, though.”

Brunkr hissed through his teeth as Erin carefully dabbed at his red wound. She pressed at it and she saw his claws sink into Krshia’s already threadbare couch—but he didn’t say a word.

“You’re doing great. I know it hurts, and I’m sorry. I really am. But you need to keep it clean. All this pus and nasty stuff? It can’t stay in the wound.”

Brunkr growled, vexation clear in his voice.

“I know that. But it keeps—agh! Keeps coming back.”

“So keep getting rid of it! Who’s tougher, you or pus?”

Erin scowled as she took away the dirtied rag and dipped it in another bucket. She sighed, and stared at his arm.

The red, gaping injury did look awful, but it was better than the oozing mess of before. She had—against Brunkr’s wishes—also snipped off a lot of the hair around the injury to keep it from getting in. Now Erin fetched the jar of honey.

“Why honey? It won’t work.”

“Have you ever tried using honey on your injuries?”

“Of course not. Who would—argh!”

Brunkr yelped as Erin began spooning honey over his infected arm. She coated his open flesh liberally, making sure it was all covered by a layer of glistening liquid.

“There. That looks right.”

“And this is supposed to do what? Heal me?”

“It’s a salve. It’ll help keep germs away. Um—keep the infection from getting worse, and make it better.”

Erin pointed to the jar as she got the bandages she’d bought out and began wrapping them around Brunkr’s arm.

“Don’t eat the honey, obviously. It’s going to get really nasty over time I bet. Lots of hair, dirt…actually, wash your arm before you put the honey on it. But just keep putting it on, okay?”

He eyed her.

“When?”

“All the time! When you’re awake, when you’re asleep—all the time! If you can, keep honey on the injury every second. After you clean, again. Clean at least three times a day, and then reapply the honey salve. It’ll help get rid of the infection. Here, I’ll show you how to wrap a bandage over it…”

She finished tying the bandage over Brunkr’s arm. He stared at it and shook his head.

“Don’t you think I’ve done all this before? I’ve put the poultice the [Healer] gave me over my arm—it did nothing. I ate all the different meat my tribe mates gave me, I drank as many foul stews as my aunt made. Nothing worked. I burnt my wound with fire—”

“What? No wonder it’s so bad!”

Erin glared at Brunkr. He glared back. He tried to put anger in his tone, but there was more defeat than anything else.

“Your cure isn’t going to work. What makes a Human trick better than my people’s knowledge? All you’re using is honey.”

“It may just be honey, but I know this honey works. Ryoka knows it works. It’s not some quack medicine, okay? Cleaning your wound regularly, using honey and salt water—it’s all part of the healing. You have to do it all or it won’t work. Have faith.”

He glared at her. Brunkr grabbed Erin’s arm as she rolled up the rest of the bandage. It was a firm grip, but not meant to hurt.

“Faith? In what? This—this is just a fool’s cure. Why should I believe honey will cure…”

His voice broke.

“I will lose my hand. After this, it must be cut off. Not just my hand—my arm as well. I will lose it, and I will be a cripple. Not a warrior of my tribe—a half thing. Useless. Good only for the easiest chores.”

Erin stared at Brunkr. She didn’t know him. She’d only met him once or twice, and it always ended up in a fight, or so it seemed. But she could understand his fear, understand what he was going through.

“I know it’s scary. I know it’s hard to believe. But believe.”

“In what? In Humans?”

“No. In me.”

Erin grabbed Brunkr’s good arm with her own. She squeezed it hard, looking the Gnoll in the eye.

“Have faith in me. I want to help. And I know what I’m doing.”

He stared at her, and she saw the hope in his eyes that she was telling the truth. But then he looked away.

“Everyone says that.”

“I know.”

Erin sat with Brunkr as he let go of her and stared dully at his arm. She began tidying up in silence. After a minute, she spoke.

“You know, back home we don’t have magic.”

Brunkr looked up.

“You don’t?”

Erin shook her head as she sat the jar of honey in one corner of the room, balancing one of Krshia’s ladles on the lid.

“Nope. Not at all. Not a single [Mage]—heck, no one knows a single spell. Wild, isn’t it?”

“How could your people survive? Even we have [Shamans]. How do you…do anything?”

“With technology. With things other than magic. You see, we study a lot of things. We’re not tough like Drakes or strong as Gnolls…we don’t have good noses or the ability to cast magic or anything else. But we think a lot. And we write everything down. And one of the things we write down is how to cure people.”

“Everyone does that. My people have cures—if I were back at home and it were summer, my aunt says she could have found the good dirt—”

“No, see that’s where you’re wrong. We’re not the same. Where I come from, we don’t have cures. It’s not a mystery whether people will get well or not. We know what causes what, and if we don’t know, we find out. We don’t say you might get better. We invent cures that work all the time, or nearly all the time. That’s why I know the honey will help, and the cleaning.”

“Really?”

Erin nodded. She sat with Brunkr on the couch. He stared at her like Mrsha did to Lyonette when the girl talked with her. He wasn’t an adult, but a child, needing to believe all would be well. So Erin opened a door in her heart and remembered.

“I’ve heard of people who were blind being cured. I’ve seen people who lost a hand—and then had it sewn right back on! Where I come from…we don’t use healing potions. We don’t rely on alchemy or magic. We use medicine. And this—this is medicine.”

She pointed to the honey.

“It will work. It has antibodies—and it’s useful for fighting infections. When you need healing, you keep the wound clean and don’t let anything get on it. That’s the basics. I’m going to talk with an [Alchemist] after this and see about getting better medicine made, but this will do in the meantime.”

“And you’re sure it will work? How can you be?”

Erin met Brunkr’s eyes.

“I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I’m not sure it will work. But I am sure that this is the only chance you have.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Brunkr looked away. Erin grabbed his paw. She waited until he looked back at her again.

“Believe me, please. If this doesn’t work, I’ll come back with a saw. Because you’re going to lose your hand otherwise. If you won’t do exactly what I ask…you’d better hurry up and chop your arm off before the rest of you gets infected. But until that day comes, I’ll tell you to do this. Because I know what I’m doing is right.”

The Gnoll stared at Erin for a long time. She could feel his pulse beating through his fur and skin.

“I wish I could believe you. I almost do.”

“Try?”

Brunkr hesitated. He looked away and sighed.

“I will try. I have nothing left to lose.”

“No. You have your hand to lose. But it’s not going to happen. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Understand?”

She hugged him. The Gnoll froze, but Erin wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. Brunkr made a small sound, but she just kept repeating the words.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be alright. It’s going to be okay. Your hand is going to get better. I’m going to come back and you’re going to keep changing your bandages, and it’s going to get better. I promise. It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

He said not a word, but put a paw on her shoulder. Erin felt him squeeze, and hugged tighter. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him, as tightly as they were holding each other.

He was trembling.

----

When Erin left the apartment an hour later, she saw Krshia waiting for her outside. Snow had piled up in the Gnoll’s fur, but she hadn’t come inside. She nodded at Erin.

“I heard what you told my nephew. You give him hope. But it is not certain, no?”

“I didn’t lie.”

Krshia nodded.

“I know. And I will trust. And hope.”

“There’s more that can be done. I’m going to try and find something else that’ll help more than the honey. I’ll let you know. Just—help him, okay?”

“I will. He has hope, thanks to you.”

Krshia hesitated. She bent closer to Erin and whispered, so softly that only the girl could hear it, not Brunkr, sleeping inside.

“I tell you, I did not believe when I gave him all those remedies before. I did not believe, because I thought his hand was lost. But you believe. I can smell it, and so can he. Thank you for that.”

“That’s just who I am. A silly believer.”

Erin smiled. She squeezed Krshia’s arm and the Gnoll hugged her briefly. Erin stepped away and walked out of the city.

She was tired. So tired. Erin yawned, and stared at the sun.

“Huh?”

It was just past midday. Erin blinked and rubbed her eyes. She felt so tired. So—incredibly tired. How was it only that early? But then she heard a shout.

“Erin!”

Someone—a group of someones were waving at her. Erin automatically waved back and saw Pawn, Belgrade, Bird…walking together with Klbkch and the wonderfully strange blue Antinium. Further away, she saw Zel and the adventurers making their way to her inn.

Something like a sigh escaped Erin, although she kept a smile on her face. More people, all of whom wanted to see her, or at least wanted to eat something hot cooked by her. She felt so tired, so endlessly tired.

But the day wasn’t over. And Erin had a job to do. She began to walk more quickly back towards her inn, and then stopped. She stared at the sky.

The sun was shining bright. It was shining in a sky full of clouds. Erin could see more on the horizon. Soon they would turn the world dark and grey, and pour snow down again. It would grow colder. The world would be washed away by ice once more.

But for a moment the sun shone. Then a cloud passed before it. Erin felt her spirits drop as the light faded. But it would come back. She had to believe that. She wanted to sleep a thousand years, but she looked at her friends and took a smile out of her heart and wore it bright on her face. Because if she didn’t smile, who would?

The sun would come out again. Erin knew it. She whispered as she walked back to her inn, feeling exhaustion in every line of her body. It was a simple thing. It was all you had to do, even when everything else was uncertain.

“Have faith.”

3.39

She didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn. No—it wasn’t that. Erin didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn and go inside. Or…no, it was more like she didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn, go inside, and then have to feed and deal with another crowd of people right this instant.

Maybe in five minutes Erin would feel good about that, but right now she could only sigh as she stomped through the cold snow, up the steep and unreasonably treacherous hill, towards her inn.

It wasn’t that she was tired. Well, she was tired, but it wasn’t a physical thing. Erin was used to being on her feet all day long and working hard. She could fight off Goblins and cook pasta while picking blue fruit in the snow. But she’d been working hard of late. Very hard. And Erin felt just a bit…

Here was the problem. Erin wasn’t just tired. That was a simple thing to fix. Tired was immediate, and solvable with sleep. It was a drain on the mind, a heavy little rock tied to the eyelids that made them close far too often.

Tired was simple. But Erin was exhausted. She just felt like—like—

“Like I need a holiday.”

Erin sighed as she trudged up the hill towards her inn. Everyone else had already disappeared inside; part of her was already thinking about what she could make for lunch. She hadn’t had time for that because she’d had to go to Brunkr. Erin didn’t regret that, but she knew the others would be hungry.

She was ready to apologize and get to work, but found to her great joy that Lyonette had already made something to eat!

“It’s well, it’s a fry-up with mushrooms and other greens. You can have it with fresh bread and I’ve got fried beef if anyone wants meat. It’s got a Gnoll sauce on it, so it’s a bit spicy…”

Erin sidled over as she saw the travel-hungry people lining up to fill their plates. Lyonette had put out a big dish of the fried veggies and meat for people to serve themselves buffet-style.

“You did all this?”

Lyonette nodded, smiling as she passed out plates. Erin resisted the urge to kiss Lyonette and instead hugged with one arm.

“You’re so cool. Best [Barmaid] ever!”

There was a plate, a fork provided by Mrsha, although it was covered with a few hairs, and hot food. For a few seconds Erin just chewed on crispy, crunchy green tubes and relaxed. The warmth went down into her stomach and made her feel alive again.

Then she looked around and took stock of her inn. It was a full room today. Not only had some of the [Wagon Drivers] stopped here to eat, but Pawn, Belgrade, and Bird and a small group of Soldiers and Workers were in line as well. Klbkch was conspicuous in his absence, as was the strange group of Antinium who’d followed him.

Erin went over to Pawn, thanking Lyonette in her heart—the girl must have figured out the Antinium might show up, hence the non-gluten meal she’d made. She smiled at Pawn and took time to welcome both Belgrade and Bird—she hadn’t seen them in what felt like forever!

The two other workers were almost shy as they bowed to Erin. Pawn was more relaxed, and showed the other Workers how to hold the plates properly—they had to do it for their Soldier counterparts, since the giant warrior Antinium couldn’t properly grasp the plates.

“I apologize, but I fear they will have to use their hands to eat, Erin. We will clean up any mess we cause.”

“Totally fine. Totally—don’t worry about messes. I’ve got a Skill! But if your uh, Soldiers have problems eating we can give them bowls.”

“That would help greatly. Thank you.”

A trip into the kitchen and the Soldiers had bowls to hold instead of plates. Erin smiled as she stood with the Antinium in line, watching the queue pass the buffet line. Everyone was hungry, but they’d stood aside to let the adventurers go first. And Zel. All the Drakes practically ushered him to the front, despite his reluctance.

“Klbkch sends his regards. He wished to meet you at the inn, but he has pressing business in the Hive. I believe he will attempt to visit you tonight, if his duties allow.”

“Of course he will.”

Erin sighed, but smiled at Belgrade. She watched as ahead of her, the Horns of Hammerad reached the table and began filling their plates.

“Silver and steel you two, eat something that isn’t meat or bread!”

Yvlon snapped exasperatedly at Ceria and Pisces. Both had gone for the sliced beef, completely skipping the vegetables. Ksmvr and Yvlon had a more balanced plate, but the two mages looked completely unapologetic.

“I’m a half-Elf. I used to eat leaves for breakfast. I’ve had enough of them for one lifetime, thank you.”

Pisces nodded.

“And I—”

He hesitated, eyed the slices of beef and added two more to his full plate. Then he turned and walked away. Yvlon rolled her eyes and made a disgusted face, but she followed her friends to the table.

“My body is dead, so uh, I can eat unhealthy.”

Jelaqua grinned as she emulated Ceria’s style. Erin saw Lyonette hurry into the kitchen—probably to cook what meat they had left. Erin resolved to order a lot more from Krshia when she went to the city again. Her feet were already aching.

“If you’re dead, why would it matter what you eat? Surely you can’t taste anything.”

That came from Typhenous. Jelaqua turned, pretending to be offended.

“I’ll have you know that I keep my body’s tongue in perfect condition see? Now, some other organs are a bit the worse for wear, but taste is something everyone likes.”

“True. Now move, you’re holding up the line.”

Seborn edged past Jelaqua. He and Moore had balanced plates, Moore with more vegetable and bread than meat.

Griffon Hunt came next. Ulrien, Halrac and Typhenous got their food without objection, but when Revi reached the head of the table she took one look at the spread and made a face.

“I don’t like mushrooms.”

Halrac growled at her.

“Then get the beef.”

“I don’t want to eat just meat for lunch.”

Erin hurried out of line, already slapping her I’m-sorry-you-suck smile onto her face.

“What’s the problem, Revi?”

“Nothing here really appeals to me.”

The Stitch-girl turned her nose up at the food. Erin kept smiling.

“Okay, why don’t I make you a sandwich? Toasted bread, cheese, some sliced ham and greens?”

“I suppose that will do.”

Revi sighed and nodded. Erin hurried into the kitchen, but not before she’d passed Zel and heard him mutter.

“Mages.”

It was the work of a minute to put together a lovely sandwich. No problem at all, really. But Erin had had to do it, which was what sucked. Lyonette was apologetic.

“I should have made something for Revi.”

“No, you shouldn’t. She’s just picky.”

Erin made a face as she used a pair of tongs to toast the sandwich to perfection by the kitchen fire. She pulled the sandwich away as her Skill told her it was done—it was like an egg timer going off in Erin’s head—and tossed it onto a plate.

“You know, I’ve heard that when [Chefs] and [Waiters] don’t like the people they’re serving, they spit in the food.”

“Ew! Do you think—do they really do that?”

Erin didn’t see why Lyonette was so upset, but the girl was staring off into the horrific abyss of recollection.

“They didn’t do that to my food—I’m sure of—but if I—”

She turned green. Erin waved a hand in front of her face and Lyonette came out of her trance.

“Well? I’m not saying you should, but…”

Both girls stared at the innocent sandwich. They shook their heads at roughly the same time.

“It’s not worth it. Besides, that’s disgusting.”

“Yeah. It’s not the sandwich’s fault.”

Lyonette nodded. She frowned, and then went over to the cutting board where some of the ingredients were left over. She took an unused mushroom and diced it up into very fine pieces, hiding them in the melted cheese. Erin smiled as Lyonette closed the sandwich.

“Hey Revi, you aren’t allergic to mushrooms or anything, right? If it touches your skin, you won’t break out in hives or swell up, because if you are—”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Revi took the plate from Erin without a glance and began eating it with a knife and fork. Erin winked as Lyonette came out of the kitchen with more food for the buffet table. That was a small victory in her books.

“Oh, you don’t need to eat the food here! I’m sorry, I forgot!”

She stopped Pawn as he was about to fill his plate. Lyonette hurried into the kitchen and came out with—

“Bees?”

The Drakes and Humans behind the Antinium took a step back. But all the Antinium perked up.

“I fried these in oil and then melted some cheese over them. Ksmvr says it’s good.”

Lyonette explained as she sat the Antinium at another table. With Erin’s help all of them had a few bees to eat, and Ksmvr came over as well to get his bugs. Erin sat next to Pawn and Bird, trying not to watch them eat as she slurped down her food.

Pawn was already pulling the legs off of his bee and crunching them down, but Belgrade and Bird stared at their food as if entranced.

“Well? Are you hungry? Or do you not like bees?”

“It is not that, Miss Erin. I have been waiting a long time for this moment. I wish to savor it.”

Belgrade stared at the bee dripping oil onto his plate. Bird stared at his bee and then picked it up. He spoke dreamily.

“They look like tiny birds. Bee birds.”

Erin glanced over, and saw Pawn and Belgrade shrug. She shrugged too, and began to eat. This was lunch. And since she hadn’t made it, Erin was a very happy [Innkeeper] indeed.

Work interrupted her before she’d finished eating, though. The door opened and a familiar blue-scaled Drake walked in.

“Erin?”

His face fell when he saw all of her visitors.

“If you’re busy, I can go. I’d hate to interrupt—”

“Olesm! No, I’m just finishing my lunch and Lyonette can serve everyone food and drinks. Uh, you can do that, right Lyonette? If you need a hand—”

“I’ve got two!”

Lyonette waved at Erin and smiled as she went past. Mrsha, trotting beside Lyonette, sat on her bum and waggled all four paws. Erin grinned and turned to Olesm.

“Want to sit? How about next to Pawn? You can eat mushroom stir-fry and tell me what’s happened, and then I’ll teach you all how to play Go!”

Olesm perked up and sat happily with Erin. He took one look at what the Antinium were eating and declined to have lunch.

“So, tell me everything that’s happened to you!”

“Only if you’ll tell me what happened! I heard a bit from Klbkch, but where did you go, Erin? That skeleton, Toren, did something, didn’t he?”

“You don’t know?”

A sea of Antinium and one Drake all shook their heads. Erin blinked.

“Okay. Then in that case, it all started when I was going to get more honey. I was in the sled with Toren pulling it and I took a tiny, teensy nap…”

Catching up with Olesm took half an hour of talk. Erin was aware of time passing and cut her story short, but she just had to pause when she’d heard what Olesm had done.

“A chess newsletter? That’s so amazing, Olesm! Can I subscribe? Oh—and what’s the latest puzzle? You do chess puzzles, right?”

Olesm’s light blue scales turned bright as he blushed. He traced on the table with a claw as Erin exclaimed over the letters he’d sent to other cities.

It was a simple collection of parchments, not anything like a magazine or newspaper. One was an annotated game—one of the ones she’d played, if Erin wasn’t mistaken!—and another was an explanation of how to read chess notation. Another paper held a chess puzzle someone had made.

“Ooh. Not bad.”

Erin solved the puzzle in three moves and handed it back to Olesm. His jaw dropped.

“You can’t have just—”

“I solved one like that ages ago. It’s good, though!”

“I got that one from the best [Strategists] in…oh, never mind.”

Olesm handed Erin another piece of parchment.

“Please, look at this.”

It was another annotated game, but not one Erin had played. To her eye, it was a fairly interesting back-and-forth between two decently skilled players. But what was really interesting was the attached commentary. Three full pages filled with comments from both players and two other [Tacticians] provided a decent analysis of every move made.

“Olesm, this is so cool. I’m so glad you’re doing this!”

“Well, I got the idea from watching you play. I sent some letters out and got a great response, so I’ve been sending more out each week! I’ve got over twenty readers so far, and I’m told my letters get passed around to lots more people! And it’s very profitable!”

Olesm puffed out his chest. Erin smiled. Internally, she was remorseful. She never had time to play chess anymore, or so it seemed! All that time in Celum and she hadn’t picked up a pawn once. Chess was her thing!

“Can you give me all your old letters? I’d love to solve a chess puzzle or two.”

“Erin, your puzzles are the ones I’ve been using!”

“Aw. No. Really? You’ve got to get more! And twenty people is great, but why not send this to [Tacticians] all over the world?”

“Don’t stop there. Is the inventor of chess not Niers Astoragon? He and the [Strategists] in Baleros might find your work very useful.”

Pawn put down the parchment he was holding and looked at Olesm. The Drake fidgeted in his chair. His tail lashed the legs of the table in his agitation.

“I wouldn’t dream of sending my small work to him, but perhaps if someone were to mention it to Master Astoragon—well, I’d need for a lot more people to read my work before I’d be confident sending it to Baleros.”

“Why? Because it’s expensive?”

“Well…[Tacticians] are held in such high regard there, I would hate to embarrass myself. Not that I think your games are anything but perfect, Erin! But it’s just…”

“You should do it.”

Belgrade stared at Olesm. Bird looked up from his bee.

“Yes. I agree with what Belgrade is saying. You should do this thing I know nothing of.”

Pressured on all sides, Olesm could only stammer about ‘improving the quality of his publication’. Erin laughed, and decided not to push him further. He, at least, seemed like he was doing well on his own.

“Maybe you can add this to your next newsletter. I’ll teach you all how to play Go while you’re here!”

“Really?”

Olesm, Pawn, and Belgrade all sat up. Erin nodded.

“All we need are some stones and a board. I figure we can make one—uh—”

The Antinium stood up, Workers and Soldiers. They immediately filed out of the door. Erin blinked, and then saw them digging in the snow outside through one of the windows.

“Um—okay! Let’s do this!”

----

“So, we have white and black stones. Two sides, like chess, see? And you’re capturing territory. You place the stones on the intersections, where the lines join like right here. Each stone can have up to four liberties—that means open spaces where a stone could go—in each direction like this. If you take away all the liberties, you capture the stone. Now, the goal is to get as much territory—as much of the board as possible—and as many captured stones as possible.”

Erin demonstrated, surrounding a black stone with white ones. She took it off the board and put it to one side.

“We call captured stones prisoners. And ooh, here’s something cool. You see these connected stones? Well, if they’re all touching each other we call that a string. And you can capture an entire string at once, but only if you take over all of their liberties. So that’s definitely something to watch for…”

Fifteen minutes later, Erin stood over a table where a bunch of white and black stones were sitting. They were freshly painted, and a bit tacky to the touch still, although a flame spell had baked the paint nicely.

The board for the game was carved into the table. It was just a huge block of equally-sized squares, nineteen lines long by nineteen lines wide. Erin didn’t mind sacrificing the table; you could still eat on it and she had a feeling a lot of games would be played in the future.

She was lecturing a crowd of people, not just Olesm and the Antinium. The Drakes and Gnolls were interested in this new game, and a few of the adventurers had come over to listen. Typhenous and Pisces looked particularly interested; Moore was jotting what Erin was saying down on a slip of parchment, and Ulrien and Halrac were listening while drinking.

The game of Go was simple, yet complex. It was all about capturing territory, which, when you got down to it, was at the heart of chess as well.

“Although chess is about completely eradicating the opponent’s pieces, I see many similarities in this game.”

“Yup. Most strategy games revolve around stealing an opponent’s territory. It’s pretty hard to lose all your pieces in a game of Go, but it can happen. If you suck. A lot.”

Erin smiled at Pawn as she demonstrated how the game was played to her audience.

“The thing about Go is that—and I hate to say this, but it’s true—it’s far more complex than chess.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. It’s very complex, but easy to understand. All you do is surround your opponent, but the game can take infinite forms. See, you can place a stone anywhere unless it means you’d lose it. So unlike chess…”

“There’s so much you can do.”

Olesm stared down at the empty board, seemingly daunted by its size. Erin smiled.

“I’m not as good at Go as I am at Chess, but I’m not bad. I used to study it and play games back home.”

“You did? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well…”

Erin shrugged. She remembered staying up late at night, playing games online. She smiled sadly as she picked up a rough stone one of the Soldiers had smashed to make smaller and put it on the board.

“I used to play all the time. I was close to the professional level—not that I played half as much as I did chess. But I loved playing. Chess, Shogi, Go…it’s too bad I couldn’t gamble, because I can play a mean round of Mahjong as well. Anyways. Does anyone want to play a game?”

There were no shortages of volunteers. Erin soon found herself having Halrac carve a second and third board into the tables for people to play as the Soldiers went out to search for more stones.

“We really need round stones to play properly. But this is fine, I guess.”

“May I request your assistance in teaching me this game, Erin? I hope to learn as much as I can before Anand returns.”

Belgrade intercepted Erin before Pawn or Olesm could. Erin smiled at the Worker.

“Sure. Is that a bit of rivalry I hear?”

She was just teasing him, but the Antinium nodded to her great surprise. Erin blinked.

“I wish to beat Anand at this game. He is a better player than I, so I must practice more than he does.”

“Really? But I thought you two were closely matched. You were when I played you last time. Has something changed?”

Belgrade paused.

“Perhaps it is the difference of personality. Anand is far more decisive and bold than I. That is why he was chosen to remain behind at Esthelm. His ability to react to new situations is deemed invaluable. I can only memorize patterns and repeat them.”

He looked downcast. Erin reached out and patted him on the shoulder. Then she gave up and gave him a quick hug. As she did, she saw Zel standing by a far wall. He was watching the Antinium. Not with overt hostility like he did with Klbkch, but very intently. He was staring at Belgrade and Erin was sure he’d heard what the Antinium had said. Zel looked away the instant Erin saw him.

“Well, if Anand is so good at improvising, all you’ve got to do is study every chess move until you’re used to every possible outcome. Following your style isn’t bad, Belgrade. You’ve just got to be able to adapt.”

She led Belgrade over to a board and began to explain strategy. He shook his head dejectedly as Erin tried to get him to experiment while playing her.

“I fear making mistakes in experimentation. I prefer known strategy. I fear I will be poor at this game.”

“No you won’t!”

“But known tactics fail in the face of innovation. Anand is spontaneous, I am not. How can I ever defeat him?”

Erin had a reply ready, but to her intense surprise Zel came over and answered the question for her.

“Just because someone can adapt, doesn’t mean their strategy is better than a set formation. It’s a longstanding argument between [Planners] and [Leaders]. One kind—[Strategists] for instance—likes to plan for every eventuality. They see patterns in troop movements and in battle and react accordingly. But [Generals] like me just see opportunities. We act according to instinct.”

He nodded to Pawn as he walked over and stood over the board. He didn’t look happy, but there was something in the way Pawn turned to look at Zel that made Erin think they had talked before. Zel studied the board, frowning at the intersecting lines on which stones had been placed.

“There’s some overlap of course; most leaders learn basic formations and strategy, but there are few who can lead from the front and fight a war in their heads. But specialization isn’t all bad—you get weird freaks with classes like [Shadow General] or [Lightningstrike Commander] who can use one type of tactic very well.”

“Then I may succeed by using my set methods?”

“If you can adapt them for every situation, yes. Who’s to say one method can’t be used in most situations? So long as you have others who can support you—or you know when to retreat—I don’t see why not.”

That was what Belgrade needed to hear. He sat straighter and began to play a far more competitive game. Erin still beat him, but she felt good doing it.

“May I try?”

Zel took Erin’s place, and Pawn took Belgrade’s. This time the game was short. Zel bowed out as it became clear Pawn was the far better player. He shook his head as he let Pisces slip into the seat.

“It’s just black and white stones to me. I’m used to battles where no one takes turns and everyone’s slipping on blood and guts. But if it makes you level, I’m sure every [Tactician] south of Liscor will be begging for a copy of young Olesm’s next newsletter.”

Olesm beamed with pride. He looked at Zel like a hero, Erin recognized. And the [General] was, wasn’t he? Erin had a hard time imagining it, but Zel was a big hero. One of the biggest, according to what Pisces had told her.

“You should send this with your next newsletter, Olesm. And what about sending it north?”

“North? Well…I sent a few letters to Invrisil and some [Tacticians] I’d heard of, but I’ve really been reaching out to friends I regularly correspond with. They’ve been spreading the word in the Drake cities. You really think I should expand so soon…?”

“Yes! Send it to us Humans…and Gnolls too, for that matter! Why not? You should send some letters to a bunch of Gnolls—I’m sure Krshia could tell you who might be interested. Yeah, send like a dozen letters out for free. If they like it, they’ll reply back. If not…”

Erin shrugged. She sat Olesm down at a table as lunchtime turned into board-game time. Lyonette was already hurrying out with drinks and a snack, and Erin saw those not interested in the game heading out for the city. It was only a little bit past midday. She had time. So Erin sat across from Olesm.

“Now, you’ve got a lot of good stuff, but have you considered having your parchment all stitched together?”

“Like a book? That’s costly.”

“No, not a book. It can be cheap. But you see, if you have a bit of color and maybe a little gossip, well, back home we call stuff like that magazines. I’m sure Krshia could find you someone who does a bit of artwork. You should have a little logo—ooh, and maybe a [Tactician] of the week! It’s good to reach out to your readers and get them involved. And while I’m on the subject, why not print a lot of issues of your newsletter and have them for sale in the Runner’s Guilds? If you do, then anyone can walk in and buy it. And if they don’t sell that well, it’s fine because you’re getting the word out. Now, my favorite part of newspapers back home is this thing called a ‘crossword’. It’s not chess, but…”

----

Things from home. Things she remembered. When you got down to it, that was what Erin truly had to offer to this world. She was just an average girl, but she’d brought part of the place she came from with her. That was what she could give, and that was what made Erin special, she felt.

Her memories of home.

Some of it was stupid. Some of it wouldn’t help. The people of this world took what they wanted, what was useful, and only that. No one had liked the idea of crossword puzzles, not even Pisces. The consensus was that if you were going to be silly about words, you probably had better things you could be doing with your time.

But not all of what Erin had said was pointless. She saw the value in it already, as Olesm strode out of the door, bursting with ideas for his newsletter. And she saw it in Pawn and the Antinium as they left for the Hive, already planning to introduce the game to the Workers there. A new board game had come to the city. It was a small thing, but it mattered.

Everything mattered. Small things became big things, like how a clean inn was wonderful. So Erin helped Lyonette clean up for half an hour after her guests had finished, and then told Lyonette she was heading out. Again.

Only this time, Erin didn’t take the door leading to the outside world. She took the door to Octavia’s shop.

“Hey Octavia! I’m—”

Erin stopped and stared. Octavia was standing at her counter and she had a customer.

The man at the counter gave Erin an odd look, mainly because she was staring at him like he was some new, undocumented species never seen before. He accepted a potion that bubbled brightly pink in a stoppered vial and hurried away.

“Who was that? Why was he here?”

“That was a customer, and he was buying a potion. What the potion was isn’t your business.”

Octavia scowled at Erin as the girl approached the counter. The [Alchemist] seemed irked today for some reason.

“Aw. You can’t tell me? Why not?”

“Confidentiality. [Alchemists] don’t reveal what they’ve sold on principle. You could be an adventurer or a [Barber], but some of what I sell—”

“Was it a love potion? Or…is it like a healing potion for something icky?”

Octavia ignored the questions. She glared at Erin.

“Do you need something? Or are you just using my shop as a rest stop?”

“I’ve got business! For you!”

Erin smiled at Octavia, but for once even the word ‘business’ didn’t make the Stitch-girl jolly. Octavia folded her arms. Erin’s smile slipped.

“What? Did I do something?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just waiting for you to figure it out.”

It took Erin a few seconds. She knew Octavia’s shop had been the delivery point for all of Celum’s goods and the people sent through, but it was for a good cause! So why—

Erin’s head turned and she saw the problem. The front wall of Octavia’s shop that led out into the street…was gone. Someone had knocked the entire wall down, and it was now patched up by a collection of plywood planks. It wasn’t a good seal. Wind was blowing into the shop through the cracks.

“Oh. Uh, is that—”

“They knocked it in. To fit a wagon into my shop.”

Octavia’s tone could have frozen boiling water. She pointed at the front of her store.

“I was reimbursed for that, but hardly enough. You may note how I haven’t had it fixed yet? That’s because the cost of wood is very high in the winter. And guess who gets to pay for that? Not the city. Me.”

“Sorry.”

Erin took a deep breath. She felt guilty, and changed what she’d planned on doing. She put her hands on Octavia’s counter.

“I’ll pay you back for that. But can we talk business?”

The [Alchemist] wavered. An epic battle between mercantilism and personal irritation lasted for all of fifteen seconds, before she grudgingly nodded.

“What do you want?”

“I need all my magical soups. You know, the ones you were holding for me for a ‘storage fee’?”

Octavia hesitated.

“I have them. I may have sold one or two—but I have your cut right here and I would be happy to reimburse you for the cost of—”

“Okay.”

Erin didn’t blink. Octavia looked at her, surprised, and decided not to question it. She went into the back of her shop and came out with a bunch of bottles full of soupy liquids.

“That will be—”

“Hold on, you can combine that with my next order.”

“Next order?”

“I want you to do some research! I think you can make this one thing I want right away—it’s called a ‘match’, and I need you to make it for me. Ryoka says it’s simple, but this other thing is really hard. It’s called ‘penicillin’, right, and—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Octavia glared at Erin.

“I said no. I’m not doing any more research for you. You’re trouble. Every time I do something for you, I end up with a melted cauldron, or a hole in my shop, or a hole in my wall. I’m not helping you.”

“What? But—I can pay.”

“Too bad. It’s not worth the cost.”

“I think it is. Here—”

Erin reached for her money pouch, but Octavia snapped at her.

“Erin, no. I have several orders I need to fill, not to mention a gaping hole in the front of my shop! I won’t just let you—”

She broke off as Erin produced a fistful of coins. She slapped them on the table. They were heavy, thick coins. All gold.

Octavia swallowed. Hard. But she held her ground, though the luster of the softly glowing gold had fixed her eyes on them.

“A few gold coins won’t—”

Erin reached into her pouch and pulled more out. Octavia’s mouth stopped working for a few seconds.

“Look, I have a job to do and—”

Erin kept placing gold coins on the counter. She had to pile them up; she was counting. It wasn’t like she was made of money, but she had to make this right for Octavia.

In the end, thirty six gold coins sat in neat stacks of six in front of Octavia. The [Alchemist] gaped at them, and then looked up at Erin.

“That’s for your door, and hiring you. You can sell what I’m going to have you make, but I want to hire you. Is that okay?”

Octavia stared at the coins, and then looked at Erin. She glanced over Erin’s shoulder at the hole in her wall, and went back to the coins. Coins, Erin, broken wall. And then she threw her arms wide.

“Always a pleasure, always a pleasure to help my best customer! Hole in the wall? What hole? I was thinking I needed a new front for the shop anyways!”

Erin smiled. She looked Octavia in the eye.

“I’m really sorry, Octavia. I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

Octavia paused, and grew a bit more genuine as she raked the gold coins into a drawer.

“Well, it’s not like it wasn’t for a good cause. And the publicity! I suppose I can let it go. Especially if you’re paying me like this. Actually, for this rate, knock another wall down whenever you want! Now, what’s this about some experimentation?”

Erin smiled. She opened her mouth and then stared hard at Octavia. The [Alchemist] paused.

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten yet! Don’t pretend! I can tell when you haven’t—Lyonette!”

Erin opened the door to her inn and yelled into it.

“Get me some leftovers for Octavia, stat!”

Five minutes later, Octavia was eating from a plate as if she hadn’t eaten all week while Erin explained what she wanted.

“So what I want is a match stick, see? The thing you strike and the match box. Now, Ryoka says that the thing to make the side of the box is phosphorus. Um, red phosphorus.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no idea. It’s red, and uh, a rock, I think. It’s good for…igniting things?”

Erin raised her hands as Octavia’s face clearly showed what she thought of Erin’s description.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know! Ryoka could tell you more—ask her if you need details! But the match head is simple. It’s sulfur and other stuff. It just…lights up when you rub it on something. Like this.”

Octavia watched with interest as Erin demonstrated. She already had a sketch of the matches and matchbox, and she was tapping her fingers thoughtfully as she turned to look around her shop. At last she nodded.

“I can do some research and see what might work like this ‘phosphorus’. But look, Erin. Anyone can make fire with a flint and steel. Or a spell. And fire starters do exist. Ever seen a blaze bomb? Nasty. It’s made with the scales of an Ignition Salamander and Corusdeer horns you see, and when it explodes it—”

“I know it’s possible. But I bet it’s not cheap, right?”

“No…”

“This would be cheap. Really cheap. And easy! Okay, maybe people can use magic, but how many people use magic? And flint and steel is a pain to carry. Matches are useful—and sort of fun! I mean, I liked matches when I was a kid. Just try it, okay?”

“You’re paying me.”

Octavia shrugged and reached for her cup. Erin smiled.

“Now, the second thing I need is for you to experiment with mold.”

“Okay. Which kind?”

Erin paused. Octavia stared at her expectantly.

“I’ve got several growing in the back if you want any one particular kind.”

“Of course you do. Well, this one’s green and sort of blueish, and it grows on oranges and bread…”

“How much do you want? I don’t grow that, but I think I’ve got a loaf of bread in one of my cupboards that probably has that kind of mold.”

“Just…wait a second, okay? I need something specific. You see, I need penicillin, which is a special type of mold. It works like this…”

Octavia frowned as she listened to Erin’s description. When Erin was done, Octavia was willing to admit that penicillin might be very useful, but she had no idea how to figure out which mold would work like that.

“I guess I can experiment on myself? No? Well, perhaps a test subject. I guess I can get a pig or sheep or something and…no? Aw, come on. How about a rat? Aw, Erin—okay, I’ll do all I can. But I still have to run my shop. And brew potions. Honestly, the brewing is easier than the shop keeping—I need to stay behind the counter at all hours. But that’s going to cut into the amount of time I can keep researching, just so you know.”

Erin blinked at Octavia and a little candle lit up in her head.

“I can help with that. Come to the inn tonight for dinner and we can talk details.”

Octavia eyed Erin and then raised a hand.

“No way. Sorry, Erin, but no. Honestly, I appreciate the thought, but you’re no expert saleswoman, and I can’t just turn my merchandise over—wait, where are you going? I didn’t finish! I’ll let you try to sell my stuff if you’re willing to give me a cut of—”

Erin waved at Octavia as she exited the shop. The [Alchemist] frowned as the door—or rather, hinged piece of plywood—swung almost shut. She went over to it and pushed it closed, muttering under her breath.

“Gotta improve the pitch, Octavia. You have to get them hooked faster. Fifty percent? Hah! Eighty percent cut, and then you start laying on the little extras. Market value purchase plus city taxation, labor costs, regional import fees, cauldron taxes…”

----

A minute after Erin had left Octavia’s shop she stopped and slapped a hand to her forehead. A passing horse and rider looked at her weirdly, but that was alright.

“Healing potion slimes! That’s right!”

Erin snapped her fingers and fished around for the piece of parchment to write that down. Then she went on her way.

There wasn’t enough time in the day for everything she needed to do. From Octavia’s, Erin made a beeline to the Frenzied Hare in Celum. She was a bit leery of inviting Agnes to the Christmas party, but happily the woman was out.

Unhappily, everyone was out of the Frenzied Hare. The doors were locked, and Erin had left her key to the building back in her inn. When she asked why it was closed, she learned that Miss Agnes had taken a holiday with her sick husband. That essentially meant spending all the coin Erin had helped her earn by staying at someone else’s inn and eating lavish food.

Erin just shook her head when she heard that and asked where she could find Wesle, Jasi, and the other actors. She was pointed to a building that had been bought out by the troupe of [Actors]—a freshly painted sign advertised nightly performances.

“Presents?”

Jasi blinked at Erin as she turned from their rehearsal of My Fair [Lady] to talk. Grev, hovering backstage with water and the scripts for the actors, looked up sharply.

“That’s right!”

Erin smiled at the younger Drake as she explained about Christmas for the umpteenth time. By the time she was done, Grev was a new convert to the dream of getting presents for free, and Jasi and some of the other [Actors] including Wesle were happy enough to join in Erin’s present-giving program.

“So you’ll tell us who we’re getting presents for, right? Can you tell us now? If it’s in two days, I’d like to get started shopping right away.”

“Uh—I’ll have a list by tonight!”

Erin promised the troupe as she tried to figure out how best to do that. She’d probably need a list. Or a diagram. She should have bought more parchment and ink!

Jasi caught Erin as the girl was getting ready to get back to her inn—this time to get ready for dinner.

“If you’re making everyone give gifts for each other in secret, do you mind if I ask that you let me buy a gift for Grev?”

“Of course!”

Erin smiled at Jasi.

“You’ve gotta get one for him, and I’ll make him get one for you! Anyone else you want to put on the list? Maybe Wesle?”

“Maybe.”

Jasi blushed and fiddled with her claws as she looked the other way. Erin had a thought.

“Or maybe Olesm! He’s a Drake, like you! Not that it matters, but it could be a good way to introduce yourself to him. I know you don’t know many Drakes since you live in Celum…”

“Maybe not, Erin. I mean, I don’t know other Drakes. I wouldn’t know what to buy. But maybe instead of Wesle, you could put down that Pisces guy? He’s handsome.”

Jasi smiled. The smile faltered as Erin gave her a look flatter than paper. Without a word Erin backed towards the door and then shut it. Then she opened it again to smile.

“I’ll do my best!”

She paused.

“But seriously, no. Pisces? No.”

She shut the door again.

----

That night, the Wandering Inn saw a record-breaking number of guests. Again. Word had spread about the game of Go, and Erin had more than a few visitors who came just to sit at the tables and play with the now vaguely-round stones.

There was a lot of competition, and Erin was touched to see the Antinium playing against Drakes and Gnolls with scarcely a second glance. Pawn and Belgrade were among the better players in the room, and that was including the mages and Olesm. Pisces seemed to have a knack for the game, but those who practiced strategy for a living still had an advantage over everyone else in the room.

Except for Erin. She was delighted beyond belief to have actually lost a game—an event which made Olesm race outside and dance about the inn for ten minutes straight—but she was still a better player than everyone else by sheer virtue of practice. But she was happy. Happy, though she was having trouble standing up. Her legs were aching and her arms hurt from hauling a bunch of frozen meat back to her inn.

Klbkch didn’t come that night, but Relc did. He slipped into the inn, hesitating a bit when he saw Erin. But she pretended not to see him at first, and instead helped Belgrade as he played a very close game against Olesm.

“Ooh, an apple!”

Relc spotted a plate with apple slices sitting on a table. After a surreptitious look around, he happily crunched down the slices, still as fresh and as crisp as when they’d been cut, which was yesterday.

Erin stared at Relc, and then smiled.

“Everything going well?”

“Hm?”

He jumped guiltily and then turned to her.

“Oh. Hey Erin.”

“Hey, Relc.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Then Erin gestured to the table.

“Want some food? Today’s dish is beef broth, mashed potatoes, roast beef, gravy, mushroom-and-meat skewers, boiled greens—those tube greens, you know—and honey-drizzled steamed carrots. What would you like?”

Relc gave Erin a pleading look.

“Can I have…everything?”

She smiled. Some things didn’t change. In this at least, she was glad.

“Sure. Coming right up!”

When he was eating happily, Erin sat with Relc and—talked. Just for a little bit.

“So you’ve really been good?”

He paused, licking the spoonful of potatoes with a long tongue.

“Can’t complain. That damn dungeon’s spitting out monsters now and then, but Captain Z’s got us guarding in shifts and we’ve built some fortifications. Really, the most annoying part is all the adventurers coming in and out.”

“Why, are they rude to you?”

“Yeah! They look down their noses on the way in, and on the way out they run to us with their tails tucked between their legs, begging us to stop the icky monsters.”

Relc laughed and Erin smiled.

“Sounds like a lot of work. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Well…you know me. I’m tough!”

Relc thumped his chest and looked sideways at Erin.

“You got rid of that skeleton thing, right?”

“Yeah. I had to.”

“Good. I mean, it was going to go bad. You can’t trust the undead.”

“I guess not.”

“And the uh, Goblins are gone. I didn’t do anything!”

“I know.”

Silence. For once, Erin didn’t have much to say. Relc was a friend. He had been a friend. But after a while, she stood up.

“If you want anything else, just yell. Lyonette and I can handle it.”

“Sure.”

Relc turned awkwardly to his food. Then he looked at Erin.

“That Gnoll kid you’ve got there—I heard some of the guys talking in the barracks about her. White fur’s bad, right?”

Erin hesitated.

“I think so. To Gnolls.”

“Yeah. But they’re stupid. It’s good that you took her in. Real good.”

Relc and Erin paused, full of words unspoken. Then Erin nodded and walked away. Someone was calling her name.

She chanced upon the Horns of Hammerad after she’d helped serve more alcohol. They were sitting at their own table, talking amongst themselves. The topic happened to be the items Ryoka had analyzed.

“We couldn’t get a reply from her, but what she said sounded good. Really good.”

Ceria told Erin as she slid into a seat. The half-Elf sounded like she was half-trying to convince herself. Yvlon nodded, as did Ksmvr, but Pisces looked less sanguine. Ceria began listing off the items, keeping her voice low as she whispered to Erin.

“A magical sword with the weight enchantment—a good one. That’s powerful. A buckler with a spelled defense? That’s Gold-rank gear right there, for Yvlon probably. And that dagger? Valuable. Pisces, you or I could use it, or Ksmvr could wield it in his off-hand…”

“And that’s all.”

Pisces took a deep draft from his tankard.

“That’s all, Springwalker. We don’t know more, so we don’t know if that’s it, or if Ryoka found something truly of worth.”

“She didn’t tell you anything else?”

Yvlon shook her head.

“She promised us that there’s more, but she was only willing to list those three weapons in case someone was reading our messages. I’d worry someone might try to steal the artifacts, but if she’s travelling in Magnolia Reinhart’s coach…”

“It might be that she was trying to spare our feelings.”

Pisces slumped in his chair. He seemed morose. Ceria shook her head.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not? Those are all of the weapons we recovered. Save for the sword blade—broken. What else could be of worth?”

“Plenty. There was that bag of holding—and the enchantments on the weapons are powerful.”

“I suppose they are.”

Pisces sighed as Ceria began listing the things that might be hidden inside the bag of holding they’d found, or the adventurer’s pack. Yvlon listened, occasionally adding a suggestion, and Ksmvr sat, looking from Pisces to Ceria.

The Horns of Hammerad were more nervous than happy about the items Ryoka had identified. Erin wondered if there really were more artifacts than the three weapons. It didn’t matter. Either way, her goal was to raise their spirits, so Erin interrupted Ceria and began explaining Christmasian theory. Again.

“Presents? I guess we could go out shopping. Only…”

“I’ll lend you some money. You can pay me back. I know you’re good for it.”

“Some adventuring group we are.”

Yvlon shook her head, but she was smiling at the thought of Christmas.

“You know, we did something similar. It wasn’t something as large as a present, but we’d get sweets during the winter solstice. I used to look forwards to that every year.”

“Sweets is a good present! Uh, especially since I didn’t make the list yet.”

Erin winced as she realized she’d have to run around and tell everyone who their secret two people were tomorrow. She left the Horns of Hammerad as she spotted someone else in the crowd.

“Selys! Selys!”

“Erin! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for ages!”

The two laughed and sat down at another table. Selys was just about to tell Erin all about her troubles managing the guild with so many new adventurers when Erin remembered her magical soups and hurried into the kitchen to get them. She called over Halrac and some of the other adventurers as she explained how they worked.

“What do you think? Can I interest you in any of it?”

Ulrien, Halrac, Seborn, and Selys all stared dubiously down into the jar of blue, thick soup Erin had opened. It did not look appetizing, but after a second Halrac picked up the jar. He sniffed it once, and then gulped a mouthful down. Selys shuddered. Halrac’s face didn’t change as he handed it to Ulrien.

“Not bad. We don’t need it, but I can mention it to some [Scouts] I know.”

“You think they’d want it?”

Halrac raised his eyebrows.

“This? Oh yes. If they can move around with less clothing on, it’s less to carry and less noise. They’ll buy it.”

“Adventurers too. Anyone wearing armor in the snow will want this.”

Ulrien made a face as he swallowed. He pushed the jar over to Selys. The Drake raised her hands.

“I can get grandma—uh, the Guild to sell this. But I’m not drinking it.”

“Aw. Come on Selys, it’s not that bad. And it works! Just try it!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No, Erin.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Well, okay. But wait until you see this potion! It makes your skin tough! Do you want to try it, Seborn?”

Sitting across the room, drinking some hot beef broth and wondering if she could get in on Erin’s business transaction, Octavia was just about to get up when a shadow blocked the light. She looked up and saw a Gnoll.

That wasn’t surprising around Liscor, Gnolls being a good percentage of the city’s population. But Octavia had met few Gnolls in Celum. She gulped as this one loomed over her. It—she—spoke in a deep, growling voice.

“Hrm. You are Octavia, yes?”

“Yes?”

Octavia squeaked. Krshia smiled, baring all of her teeth.

“I am Krshia. A [Shopkeeper]. I am told you may wish to let me sell your potions, yes? Let us talk business.”

“You? But I—did Erin—”

Octavia glanced helplessly towards Erin, but Krshia had already pulled out a seat. Octavia did her best to pull herself together. A customer was a customer, and she was a master at selling.

“Well, Miss, uh, Krshia, I’m one of the three best [Alchemists] in Celum. I don’t like to brag, but I’ve sold potions to Gold-rank adventurers and I get commissioned regularly to do research creating new potions. Now, my brews might not be the most standard, but I can assure you that my percentage is quite reasonable. A fifty percent cut of all profits is a good place to start, but I could—”

“Mm. What is your level?”

The [Alchemist] broke off nervously. Krshia was just staring at her, unblinkingly.

“My—my level? Well, I think that’s a personal issue, and as we all know, levels don’t always correspond to Skills of c—”

“I will sell your potions, but if they are lower quality, I must price them as such, yes? And then…well, we shall see. I have many levels in my class, and that must be weighed, yes? If I, a high-level [Shopkeeper], were to sell your potions, I should get a better cut, yes?”

“Well, yes, but no, but—let’s talk effort here. I’m brewing the potions—”

“But I sell them, yes? I must sell your potions. If I do not sell, no one will buy, yes? So which is more important?”

“Hold on—if I didn’t make potions—”

Octavia’s mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare take a sip from her cup. She was fighting for something far more important than her life. The battle for the bigger bottom line was fought quietly in one corner of the inn. Tears were shed, and a little bit of blood. But on the whole, Erin thought she’d done a good job, especially when she saw the look on Octavia’s face afterwards.

----

“It’s a pain in the ass.”

Halrac was talking to Erin at a table late at night. She was trying to look as attentive as possible. She hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with him since she’d come back, and she knew the man wanted to talk with her, even if he wouldn’t say it.

That was how the night was going. Sit at a table and chat. But don’t sit too long, because someone else would want to speak with her. Erin’s eyes hurt. She wanted to close them, but her friends were more important.

“How’s it a pain? I mean, this is a dungeon so I know there’s lots of monsters…”

“Monsters we could handle. If it were a nest we’d deplete their numbers and destroy their home. But this is a magical dungeon, one where the rooms keep changing. A trap room we disarm one day might be gone the next, and in its place an entirely new trap, or a room full of monsters.”

“And the traps are really bad, right? I’ve heard stories from Relc.”

“They’re some of the worst I’ve seen.”

Halrac shook his head, looking grimmer than usual.

“I’ve seen deadlier—the one that got your friends is probably worse than most of the ones in this dungeon. But there are so many that we can’t make any headway. And when we come back the next day…”

“They’ve changed.”

Erin whistled quietly and Halrac nodded. He took a sip of the drink Erin had made especially for him. There was just a drop of the faerie flower nectar in it, enough to take the edge of the day off.

“So far, a lot of kids have gotten killed and the others are making no headway. We’re the only group that’s gone in, and we have nothing to show for it.”

“Is there any hope? Or do you just…have to get lucky?”

Halrac shrugged.

“Right now we’re trying to identify all the rooms on rotation. If we can figure out the trick behind most of them, we might be able to break through to the next area. Then it’s just a matter of anchoring ourselves at that point. There are ways to stop a magical dungeon from changing. But it’s the crevasse the Mrsha child found that interests me. It goes straight down into another part of the dungeon.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Maybe.”

The [Scout] seemed incapable of optimism. For good reason, as he explained to Erin.

“The problem with that is if we go down there, we’re walking into an attack on all sides. Multiple traps with wide ranges might come at us, and there are plenty of strong monsters down there. The dungeon is infested. When we went down to save the child, we ran into eight different species, some of which were fighting each other. If we hadn’t all been high-level, we wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Thank you for doing that, Halrac.”

“It was nothing. You should thank Zel Shivertail instead. He was the one who killed the most monsters.”

“Do you think he’d like to go into the dungeon with you guys?”

Erin saw Halrac smile, just once. She smiled too; her mission was partly accomplished.

“Him? He’s no adventurer. I wouldn’t have ever expected to fight beside him, but it was…good to see. But he wouldn’t risk his neck down there. It’ll be us.”

“And it’s worth doing?”

“Who knows?”

Halrac raised his eyebrows.

“There could be nothing down there, or an artifact beyond our wildest imagination. But we’re going to look anyways, because that’s what adventurers do.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you like. And I’ll have good food and a warm bed for you—and I want to see if Pisces really can rig up some kind of emergency teleport stone. If he does…I want you to all have one.”

Halrac smiled.

“You’re an odd [Innkeeper], Miss Solstice.”

“I know!”

“Thank you. It’s…pleasant being here.”

Erin smiled at him, and felt her eyes threatening to close.

“That’s all I want to hear. Would you like a refill?”

----

And then it was night time. Somehow, everyone had vanished, leaving Erin alone in her inn. She sat at a table, head resting against the wall. It was dark. Snow was falling. Everyone had gone.

And Erin was beyond tired. She was so tired she had passed into that special realm where she was too tired to sleep. She stared out the window as the snow fell and made to bury the world. One last hurrah, before the weather turned and the world slowly began to warm.

“It’s going to be very, very deep tomorrow…I’ll have to shovel it…can’t open the door I bet…”

Erin murmured dreamily to herself, slurring the words. They were just fragments of thought, things she had to do. She had so much to do.

“I forgot to get a Christmas tree. Oh well. I guess I can try tomorrow…”

One day to get everyone to buy presents. She had to figure out who would get what first—probably before she talked to anyone. So now or before dawn. And Erin had to get presents herself, get ready for the party—buy more food, figure out traditional Christmasy foods, decorate the inn…

If she pushed the date back she’d have more time. But Christmas came before the New Year’s, didn’t it? And the winter solstice was…well, as close to a New Year as this world had. The Frost Faeries probably only cared about the solstice, anyways.

“Solstice.”

Erin stared out the window. She breathed and the glass fogged up. Erin wiped away the condensation and stared into the snowy landscape.

So tired. But she’d done good, hadn’t she? She’d brought a game to this world, talked with everyone, helped Krshia, Octavia…but she was tired.

So tired. She’d wake up in a few hours. Before dawn. She had a lot to do. So Erin should sleep. She knew that. But she was too tired for that. She just wanted—well, she wanted so many things. But right now she just wanted to sleep.

Was today a bad day? No, it was good. Then why did Erin feel hollow inside? Miserable? Why would she feel like that?

If you’re sad, just smile. Had someone told Erin that once? Or was it just something she’d grown up knowing?

Her lips twitched. Erin smiled, and then let it fade. She stared out of the window, resting her head against the wall. Not crying. Not smiling. Just staring.

She felt just a little bit tired.

At some point, Erin fell asleep. But she wasn’t quite asleep. She hovered between waking and slumber, so that reality became a dream, but she was still thinking.

Smiles. She’d seen them today. That was what she’d set out to collect, like Santa getting his presents or the tooth faerie flying from bed to bed. They were such brief things, smiles. But they were so valuable. And Erin had collected so many…

A smile from Krshia. Brunkr’s bared teeth, determined, hopeful. Mrsha’s big smile as she licked honey off a paw. Lyonette’s mischievous grin as she fed Revi mushrooms. Relc happily eating the apple. Octavia and her gold. Jasi, performing. Bird, eating bees…

Fragments. In her dream, Erin reached out and gathered the glowing shards to herself. They were the one light in a dark world filled with snow. But when she touched them, they melted and dripped from her hand. They fell down into the blackness and became stars. Erin looked down and found herself staring up into the sky. The clouds were gone, and the stars shone down. She smiled then, and she was smiling when Lyonette found her asleep the next day.

And the word that spread through the city, through two cities, was simple. It was a word never heard in this world before, a word that would not topple kings from their thrones or start revolutions. But it was a special word, nonetheless. It was something new, something that might be important, or might not. It was as important as people thought it was. But it was special to the girl who lay sleeping in her inn, too tired to lie down. It meant happiness. It was a word for joy, a word for the season. A word of power. A word from home.

A memory.

Christmas.

3.40

When Ryoka left the Mage’s Guild she found Reynold waiting for her. The young woman was not surprised; she let the [Butler] fall into step beside her as she walked slowly down the street.

Reynold was not smiling. Not that he was usually beaming; but he normally carried himself with professional impartiality. Right now he was not smiling and it was quite clear he was also not happy.

“Miss Ryoka. I trust your visit to the Mage’s Guild was eventful?”

“You tell me.”

“I trust I conveyed Lady Reinhart’s wishes to you earlier? My duty is to accompany you as an escort—”

“Yeah. But I’ll just bet that I had other people watching me while you were busy with Laken. Stop glaring, Reynold. I’m not in a good mood right now.”

Reynold glared, but he decided to shut his mouth after a second of wavering. Ryoka saw him glancing at her face. In truth, she wasn’t angry. She was more tired. No; tired wasn’t the right word.

Valceif Godfrey was dead. It felt like no one in the world knew or cared. But Ryoka did. She cared, but she had to finish her job here. Then she could go back and—tell everyone. Tell Erin, and Hawk, at least.

“How’d it go in the Merchant’s Guild?”

Ryoka frowned at the sky as she spoke. It was quite dark, although it shouldn’t have been so early. The clouds had completely obscured the sun and snow was beginning to fall. A lot of snow.

The [Butler]’s voice was testy as he replied.

“Mister Laken has concluded most of his business to his satisfaction. A shipment of goods and food has been paid for—and two adventuring teams have been contacted. If all goes well, they should be ready to begin transport this very night.”

“Good. Thanks for helping him.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Ryoka. It is my privilege to serve others in need of my assistance…whether I like it or not, apparently.”

“Hah. You’re a lot more fun when you’re upset, Reynold.”

Ryoka half-smiled as she turned to look at him. Then she looked up again. Ryoka frowned and prodded at her belt pouch.

“Ivolethe? Hey, Ivolethe. What’s with all this crap floating down? We’re already up to our knees in the snow; why do we need more?”

She saw the pouch at her belt rustling, and then Ivolethe poked her head out. The Frost Faerie grinned as she spread her arms wide at the dark, snowy sky.

“Ah, you see it? Do you see your doom, floating down from above? Prepare for wrack and ruin, ye mortals! This snowstorm will be the greatest in a century, nay, in ten thousand years! The snow will cover the earth and leave none alive! This is the dawn of a new age of ice and woe! Alack! Despair!”

Ryoka stared down at Ivolethe with narrowed eyes. The faerie stared back, blinking innocently.

“What does ah, Miss Ivolethe have to say, Miss Ryoka?”

“She says we’re all doomed.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

The two Humans didn’t react the way Ivolethe was hoping for. She scowled, and then answered in a sulky tone of voice.

“A blizzard comes. You will see it become strongest by nightfall. It will last two…nay, three days at most. If you hide in your small huts of wood and stone, you should be fine.”

“Thanks for the weather update. Buh-bye.”

Ryoka closed the lid on her belt pouch. Ivolethe made a sound of pure outrage; Ryoka winced as her pouch instantly frosted over. The faerie pushed the lid open as Ryoka turned to Reynold.

“Is Laken still at the Guild? I want to speak with him.”

“I believe he has retired to his lodgings for the moment, Miss Ryoka.”

“Okay. Where are they?”

“I regret to say that he did not inform me.”

“Okay. Where are they?”

Ryoka stopped and turned to face Reynold. She folded her arms and scowled at him.

“Don’t play games, Reynold. I know that someone followed them.”

He just shook his head, stepping to one side to allow a group of laughing Gnolls to pass him by.

“Miss Ryoka, you assume that other servants under Lady Reinhart’s employ would be following you. I regret to inform you that this is not the case. There are a finite number of people who serve her, and it is hardly useful to send a [Maid] or a [Waiter] to follow someone.”

Ryoka rolled her eyes.

“Look, Reynold. I don’t have to see someone to know they’re there. I know Magnolia’s type. Someone’s following me, and probably Laken as well by now. Now, we can wander around while you pretend you have no idea where Laken is, or we can skip that and just ask your friends.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Miss Griffin.”

“Right. In that case—Ivolethe? Where’s the nearest spy?”

The Frost Faerie, who’d been poking her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch, brightened up. She smiled wickedly at Reynold. He was shaking his head almost imperceptibly at her. But Ivolethe ignored that as she gleefully pointed a finger into the crowd of pedestrians.

“There!”

Ryoka turned her head and saw an old man with a horrible skin condition—some kind of puffy warts on the right side of his face—slowly moving down the other side of the street. She ignored Reynold as he tried to block her and strode right for the man.

“Hey, you.”

The old man didn’t notice Ryoka at first, but he eventually stopped when she stepped in front of him and blocked his way. He swayed back, staring uncertainly at her—and then avidly at her breasts. He looked confused as Ryoka stared at him.

“Eh? What do you want, Miss?”

The young woman ignored the scrutiny. She stared down at the elderly man as Reynold hurried to her side, looking anxious.

“Where is Laken Godart?”

“Who? I don’t know who that is. What do you want?”

He tried to move past Ryoka. She blocked his way again. Now the old man was looking anxious. He looked exactly like an old guy – he even smelled old, if old was a smell. Nonenal, Ryoka thought it was called. She glanced down at her belt pouch, suddenly not entirely certain.

“Ivolethe, I swear, if you’re messing with me I’ll be really pissed.”

“I’m not!”

“Miss Ryoka, please—”

Ryoka turned to glare at the [Butler].

“Shut up, Reynold. Look, I know you’re in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. Are you going to give up the act, or do I have to make a scene?”

Ryoka stared down at the old man, not quite making a fist. The old man glanced at Reynold. The [Butler] spread his arms helplessly behind Ryoka’s back. After a second, the old man sighed. He reached for a ring on one of his gnarled fingers and twisted—

A [Maid], wearing a frilled dress and peeved expression on her face, straightened up in the middle of the street where the old man had been standing. The people around her did a double take, but Ryoka just smiled.

“Nice ring.”

The woman was in her late twenties, or early thirties. She had a tight bun of dark brown hair and an expression that naturally lent itself towards severity. Or maybe she just had a Skill that made her look that way. She didn’t quite glare at Ryoka.

“This way, Miss Ryoka. Your friend is staying at the Crag Pig, quite a few streets away from here. If you will follow me…?”

----

It was a short and uneventful walk to the inn Laken was staying at. Uneventful for Ryoka, that was. Reynold kept his head bowed and shoulders hunched as he and the mysterious [Maid] walked ahead of Ryoka. She could see the [Maid] speaking to Reynold the entire way, and Ryoka was fairly sure what was being said weren’t compliments.

She felt a bit bad for Reynold. But just a bit. Ryoka was grateful for the speed at which both servants walked—they moved fast down the most crowded of streets. Their attire made them stand out, and Ryoka saw them getting a lot of looks as she followed them.

It was funny. Ryoka smiled as she walked. When the two of Magnolia’s servants turned back to look at her, they saw her smiling and staring down at the fat snowflakes swirling down from the sky.

It was a look seldom seen on Ryoka’s face. But Ryoka had just realized the silliness of her situation. She was following a [Butler] and a [Maid] down a street in a city that could have come from her world with a few alterations, carrying a Frost Faerie in her belt pouch.

It was just so silly. And sad. That Ryoka could smile made it a bit better.

She stared up at the inn as the [Maid] led them to it. Ryoka ignored the woman as she stepped away from Reynold and practically vanished into the next crowd of Humans.

The Crag Pig was an inn with the head of, well, probably a Crag Pig mounted on the front. This skull was quite, quite big, and had a pair of tusks that curved slightly upwards. They were long, jagged—and branched, like the horns of an antler. Ryoka wondered if that was because they were useful in the Crag Pig’s natural habitat, or whether the skull being here was a testament to their qualities.

“Well, I guess I’d better have a chat. Reynold, if you would?”

The [Butler] opened the doors and Ryoka walked in. Her first impression of the inn was that it was definitely not as nice as Erin’s. The Crag Pig’s owner must have thought that the name of his inn excused the dirt, or else the name was a warning.

Still, the room was packed and a fire was taking the chill off. Ryoka looked around and saw a man and a woman waiting the tables, but no [Innkeeper]. She shrugged, found the stairs, and headed towards them.

“Welcome, sir! Let me find you a table. Please—I’ll have a seat for you and a hot drink right away!”

To her amusement, Ryoka saw a big man—a former adventurer perhaps—hurry out of the kitchen and accost Reynold as he tried to follow her. The owner of the inn had scars all over his arms, and he was trying to usher the protesting Reynold into a seat.

There were flaws with being impeccably dressed after all. Not that Reynold’s attire would be so dashing if he sat down in one of the chairs in this inn. Ryoka shook her head as she went up the stairs two at a time.

“Now, where’s Laken…? Ah.”

It was the work of five seconds to find Laken’s room. Not because the door was open or Ryoka spotted anyone coming out; there was simply only one room that could conceivably hold someone of Durene’s size. It was probably the master suite.

Ryoka headed towards the door and knocked twice.

“Laken? It’s me, Ryoka Griffin.”

Someone had been talking inside the room. When Ryoka knocked, the voice stopped abruptly. Ryoka listened for sounds of movement, but heard none.

It was a surprise, then, when the door opened and Ryoka saw Durene staring down at her. For such a big girl, Durene could move quite silently.

“Hi. Durene, right? Is Laken inside? I want to talk with him.”

“He’s inside.”

The young woman nodded and tried to walk inside. But a very thick, grey-skinned arm shot out to block her. Ryoka looked up and saw Durene staring down at her.

“Please move. I’m just going to talk to him.”

“You ran away earlier. And you haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Yeah. I had something to do.”

Ryoka stared up at Durene. The half-Troll girl was hostile, but…Ryoka thought it was more than just wariness around Ryoka.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Okay.”

Possessiveness, that was it. Ryoka remembered how Durene hovered around Laken. She was treating him like…

A few thoughts flashed through Ryoka’s mind. Dependency? Probably. She could imagine what might occur when Laken had come to this world. Blind guy meets half-Troll. A reverse case of Beauty and the Beast. But the beast is actually a girl who was afraid of losing the one person who didn’t fear her.

“I’m not your enemy. And I’m not going to do anything to Laken. I just want to talk with him.”

“Why?”

Ryoka bit her tongue. Durene’s tone told her there was no good answer she could give. She knew that because it was the exact same tone of voice she used to use when talking with her father.

“Look, is Laken in there? Laken—”

“He’s sleeping. You can come back later.”

Durene shifted so more of her body was in the way. Ryoka stared up at her. Well, there were several ways this could go.

“Can you wake him up? I need to talk to him now. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but it’s urgent.”

“No. He’s tired. You can come back later. If you try to come in, I’ll stop you.”

One of Durene’s hands closed. Ryoka eyed it and put her hands on her belt. She knew Ivolethe was sitting in her belt pouch, but it wasn’t that Ryoka was reaching for. At her belt, there were several potions Octavia had given her. Ryoka put her fingers on one of them, second from the right.

“Look, I understand you’re Laken’s…protector. And girlfriend. I’m not here to do anything to him, but I need to talk with him. And you shouldn’t start a fight here.”

“Oh yeah? Why not? I could stop you.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

Ryoka sighed. She yanked the potion free from her belt in one move. Durene blinked down at it. Ryoka put her thumb on the cork—

And handed it to Durene.

“Here.”

The huge girl stared dumbfounded at the potion. She peered at Ryoka suspiciously.

“What’s this?”

“A pepper potion. Toss it at your opponent and they’ll go blind. Be careful—if it gets in your eyes you’ll be screaming about it all day. If you’re going to go around picking fights, at least get some magical items and a weapon.”

Durene looked uneasy as she held the potion.

“Were you going to hit me with this?”

“No, I’d use a spell and blind you first and then I’d hit you with the potion. Actually, I’d probably just blow up this entire corridor and run downstairs while everything burns down.”

Ryoka had two bags of compressed flour and the blaze potions. She didn’t know if it would actually hurt Durene that badly; she had a feeling that would only piss the girl off. But it made Durene stop and think.

“Keep the potion. You’ll probably need it. If it’s you—you could probably pour it on your hands and just punch people in the face. Not that they’re likely to get up after you hit them, but it’s a thought. Just don’t touch your eyes until after you’ve washed them thoroughly—with soap. Can I talk to Laken now?”

Durene just stared at Ryoka. She hesitated, looked down at the potion with bits of red pepper floating in it, and over her shoulder.

“Wait here. I’ll wake him up.”

Ryoka waited patiently. She heard Reynold come up the stairs—the [Butler] looked as though he’d had to tear himself physically away from the innkeeper.

A few voices muttered inside, and then the door opened. Durene let Ryoka walk in, but blocked Reynold.

“Ryoka can talk. Everyone else stays outside.”

Reynold protested, but Ryoka didn’t hear his conversation with Durene. The first thing she saw when entering Laken’s room made her stop in place. Because she’d seen Frostwing.

The baby bird was snoozing on a little platform made into a nest for him. He was surrounded by a warm blanket, and his ‘nest’ was more ripped-up shreds of fabric than actual cloth. It was also stained quite badly with his droppings. But the bird shone in Ryoka’s gaze.

“Wow.”

He looked like an eagle. Well, vaguely like an eagle. Ryoka had never studied bird species, but she knew only one kind of bird grew that big.

No—if size was the comparison, than Frostwing was more like an albatross than an eagle. Because he was clearly young, still a nestling, but he was almost the size of a full-grown chicken already.

And he was blue. That was the important thing. Frostwing’s feathers glittered in the light as he opened and flapped his wings, protesting this stranger’s intrusion into his home. Ryoka saw each feather glittering like a jewel; they had a subtle gradient that made the dark oxford blue of the inner part of each feather fade to a brilliant sky blue on the tips.

A blue bird. But not any bird. For a second, Ryoka was lost to the world. She was in another place, sitting on the balcony in her home, ten years old, holding a Gameboy and playing the video game that had defined her life at that time—

“Ryoka? Is that you?”

She looked up. Laken was sitting on the large bed, yawning and turning his head around the room. A young man was standing by his side, offering him assistance that Laken clearly didn’t need.

Laken, and…Gamel, was it?

“I’m here, Laken.”

Ryoka approached the bed. That was a bad move. She was still staring at Frostwing—too long. The bird may have been a child, but it had instincts that made it wary of anything that stared at it.

Frostwing shrieked his displeasure. Durene backed away, covering her ears as Gamel tried unsuccessfully to sooth the agitated young bird. Ryoka just stared as Frostwing spread his wings, shedding brilliant blue feathers onto the ground.

“Oh for the love of—here!”

Laken turned, frowning, and fumbled his way towards Frostwing. He reached out and the bird shut up as one of his hands found a piece of dried meat and offered it to the bird.

“Shh, Frostwing. Shut up. There’s a good bird.”

Laken stroked the crest on Frostwing’s head and the bird stopped shrieking. It tore greedily at the bit of meat and Laken turned to Ryoka, looking sheepish.

“Sorry. Pet bird. I’ve had to apologize to the innkeeper already. At least he wasn’t doing this in the middle of the night this time. It is daytime, right?”

“That’s right. I’m here to talk some more. Sorry about dropping in unexpectedly.”

“No it’s no problem—”

Laken rubbed at his face. He looked tired.

“Ah…Gamel?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you…get me something to drink? And a snack, maybe? Durene, did I hear someone else was here?”

“Yes. It’s that [Butler]. Reynold.”

“Mister Laken, I apologize for the intrusion. But—”

“Yes, yes. Okay, Gamel, I’ll handle Frostwing. He doesn’t need food—he just needs to take another nap. Durene, please guard the door? I think I need to talk to Ryoka. Alone.”

“Okay, Laken.”

There was something about Laken. When he spoke, things got done. Ryoka watched the protesting Reynold get slowly pushed out the door. She waved at him before Durene closed the door. Laken sat on the edge of his bed, slowly petting Frostwing as the bird rubbed its head against his palm.

“You have a bird.”

“Yes. Ryoka, meet Frostwing. Frostwing—don’t nip my fingers.”

Ryoka stared at Frostwing. Her eyes turned back to Laken.

“You have a bird. It’s blue.”

He frowned.

“Yes—yes I do. I found Frostwing near Durene’s cottage. I think his mother died of starvation or—something else. I took Frostwing in. I actually have a class from raising him. [Beast Tamer].”

“Oh?”

Ryoka stared at Frostwing. She felt like she had to repeat herself.

“It’s blue. I—excuse me.”

She reached for her pocket as Laken frowned. She knew it was stupid, but Ryoka had to do this. She pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and turned it on.

----

Laken was still a bit bleary from waking up, but he was trying to get his thoughts together quickly. Ryoka was here. That was good. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he had to be careful, didn’t he? He wasn’t sure of her. Not yet. But she was from his world. Or—and here his cautious self spoke up—she was pretending to be. Could this all be a ploy? Her knowing German meant someone had come from another world, but maybe she was using a Skill? Was that possible?

Ryoka wasn’t saying much. She seemed to be fixated on Frostwing. Was it really that special that he was blue? Laken tried to remember if there were other blue birds back home. Obviously he’d never seen any, but…blue birds, what about them? What made Frostwing stand out that much?

Then he heard something. It was faint, muffled, and familiar. Laken frowned.

“Ryoka? Are you there?”

No response. Laken hesitated, and then leaned towards the source of the muted music. His eyes widened.

“Is that…is that the Pokemon theme song?”

Ryoka pulled the earbuds out.

“No.”

“It is!”

Laken smiled and laughed.

“You’re a Pokemon fan!”

“I was. Once. A long time ago.”

Ryoka shifted, coughed. Laken couldn’t see, but she’d turned bright red. Laken grinned.

“Does Frostwing remind you of a Pokemon that much?”

“Yeah. He looks like Articuno, you know?”

“That’s a Pokemon?”

“A legendary. One of the legendary birds from the original one hundred and fifty.”

“Ah. I never actually played Pokemon growing up. Sort of hard when you can’t see anything.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ryoka coughed again, clearly embarrassed. Laken was smiling so hard it hurt. For just a few moments, he felt like he was back home, back in his world.

“You’re a fan. I had no idea. Did you play that new thing coming out? Pokemon Go?”

“I uh, a bit. It was a long time ago. Or it feels like it. I…was teleported here a few days after I downloaded the app, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation fell flat in an instant. Ryoka shifted as she glanced at Frostwing again. Laken blinked and gestured with his other hand.

“I’m so sorry. Please, sit. I don’t know where the chair is, but I’m assured we have at least two.”

“I see it.”

Ryoka dragged the chair over as Laken tried to make Frostwing go to sleep. He thought it worked, or at least, the bird had given up moving. He turned and sat cross-legged on his bed as he faced in Ryoka’s direction.

“I think Durene gave you some trouble as I was sleeping. Is that right?”

“Just a bit. She’s protective of you.”

Laken smiled wryly.

“She is. Thank you for not hitting her with that potion.”

Ryoka shrugged, and then remembered Laken couldn’t see any of her gestures.

“It’s nothing. Good thing we didn’t meet a month or two ago or I’d have gotten my head pushed through a wall.”

“Really?”

“I picked a fight with a Minotaur one time. That was one of the dumber things I’ve ever done.”

“Minotaurs exist in this world?”

“Yup. They’re touchy and prideful. And fairly rude, but they are honorable.”

“Fascinating. I’ve heard this continent has mainly…Gnolls, is it? And Drakes?”

“They inhabit the southern parts, yes. Invrisil is sort of an exception—it’s a major city so a lot of races come here. But you’ll generally find only Humans in the north.”

“I understand. Durene’s village is totally Human save for her.”

“Hm.”

The two sat in silence for another second. Ryoka sat still in her chair; Laken wiggled around, wondering if there was something that he was sitting on. A fork, maybe? Whatever it was, it was poking into his butt.

Unnoticed by the two of them, a third being was present in the room, listening. Ivolethe sat in Ryoka’s pouch, listening carefully. The Frost Faerie considered that her sisters would have hated the conversation between Ryoka and Laken. It wasn’t a thing of majesty or destiny. But it was important.

“I guess we should talk.”

“Yes, I guess we should.”

The boy and girl sat across from each other. They were old, but still young by the way the faerie reckoned such things. They had gone through sorrows, gone through trials. But they were still young. So young.

It was the girl who spoke first. She hesitated as she chewed at a lip, glancing towards the closed doors. Durene and Gamel stood behind it, but Ryoka knew the danger wasn’t something she could see.

“It’s complicated, you know? I want to say what’s on my mind but—”

“You did mention. Watchers and such.”

“Yeah. But if we assume we lost them or they can’t hear us—which I don’t—I’m fairly certain someone’s using magic to listen in.”

Laken raised his eyebrows calmly.

“Well, it’s not like we have anything to hide.”

“Hah.”

“Okay, fine. But how are you proposing we solve this problem? I have something I need to say which will clarify things.”

“I’m in the same boat. I can say that I have a friend—Erin Solstice who’s from our world straight off, but the rest is harder.”

“Someone else? You mentioned that—what’s she like?”

“Age wise? She’s twenty. Besides that, she’s…a normal girl. Sort of. She’s American, like me.”

“Interesting. I’m twenty-four. Not American. Can I assume you’re around that age?”

“Twenty one. You don’t look that old. You’re part German. Is there another half?”

Laken smiled.

“My mom’s German, but she married my dad in France. I’ve grown up all over Europe, though. As to my face—I’m told I have a youthful complexion.”

Ryoka had to smile. She glanced at the door and frowned.

“Good to know. I don’t think any of this is too bad to mention, but the rest…damn, I don’t know. Erin would probably come up with some special way of figuring this out. Flush out the spies with a crazy scheme and dispel the enchantments with an insane trick or just luck.”

“She sounds quite interesting.”

“She’s an [Innkeeper]. Look, I’m getting annoyed. Maybe we should just go for broke. What do you think? I doubt anyone knows German.”

“Wahrscheinlich. But can you speak it? I don’t want to be rude, but your pronunciation—”

“I know. But I’ve got a dictionary-encyclopedia. It’s an app—I might have to ask for spelling, but I can translate short sentences.”

“That’s…amazingly useful. In that case, translate this. Ich bin ein [Kaiser].”

It took Ryoka only a second to figure out what Laken had said. She didn’t need to use her iPhone. Instead, she dropped it. She fumbled around on the ground, heart beating wildly. When she sat back up she stared at Laken’s face.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I know it’s surprising, but it’s true. What about you?”

“I don’t have a class. I’m a Runner without the class. But you—get out.”

“It’s true!”

Laken smiled. He had no way of seeing Ryoka’s face, but her tone made her feelings clear.

“No, seriously, get out. Run away as far as you can. Do you have any idea how bad that is?”

“Bad? Why? Because of your—your Daenerys-like friend?”

“Yes! Not just her—Ivolethe!”

Ryoka shouted the faerie’s name. Laken jumped, and then gaped as the faerie floated upwards and spoke.

“What do ye want, Ryoka?”

“Go downstairs and flush out the spies. Please? And if there are enchantments, dispel them. Please. This is important.”

The faerie considered the request. Then she reluctantly nodded.

“I shall bring havoc! From the outside.”

She flew out the window as Laken tried to find words.

“Was that—a Frost Faerie?”

“You’ve met them?”

“Yes! Hell, I knighted a few of them. But they helped save Durene’s cottage from an avalanche—or caused it and spared her home. I’m not sure of which.”

“Well, I’m friends with one. Look, sit down. I’ll explain as much as I can—but the Frost Faeries probably didn’t cause the avalanche. They don’t kill, although they do pull horrible pranks.”

Ryoka and Laken sat down as, below them, they heard confused shouting. Ivolethe’s laughter was drowned out as she buzzed by the inn outside, but Ryoka could just imagine her hurling snow and ice into the building.

“Okay, let me begin from the start. The first thing you need to know is that I got here a few months ago. I’d say around…September? A while back. But Erin arrived before me. We don’t know how we got here, but I know there are other people in this world. I also know that not a lot of people know we exist. That woman I told you about—Lady Magnolia Reinhart. She employs Reynold and a bunch of other servants, and she’s one of the most powerful people on the continent…”

Laken listened intently as Ryoka whispered to him amid the sounds of the inn clearing out. He turned to tell Durene everything was fine when she told him the bottom half of the inn was covered with snow, but he mainly just listened as Ryoka gave him an abridged version of what had happened when she entered this world.

And then it was his turn. Ryoka didn’t just listen—she had her iPhone held in her lap, recording Laken’s every word as he spoke. She didn’t mention this fact, and neither did Laken or Ryoka ever mention certain key words aloud.

Words like [Emperor], gunpowder, iPhone, dragon, or a thousand other words from home. Ryoka was glad that Laken understood, and he picked up what she feared from what Ryoka never said.

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time without a class. I can’t say I understand that bit.”

“I don’t like conformity.”

“You think that’s an issue—wait. I think I get it. Game system, right? But is there a puppet master?”

“Probably, yes.”

“Oh, really? How do you know?”

Laken sat forwards. Ryoka hesitated, and then leaned forwards as well. Though she knew Reynold and the other spies in the building were probably gone, she whispered to him in German.

“Ein Gott…lebt.”

A slow frown was her only reply. Laken sat back carefully.

“How?”

“I don’t know. But I talked with someone who assures me it’s true. And I believe him.”

“In that case—that is concerning. But still, as far as I understand it, the system is essential. You can’t fight a…a monster without Skills.”

“Yeah. But do we lose anything if we have a class?”

Laken’s voice was thoughtful.

“I don’t know. And honestly, I’m not sure I’d be willing to try and find out, if it were me. But if you want to be the test subject…I’m glad. It’s good to have someone who might be impartial. Especially if what you say is true.”

“I don’t know if they’re connected, but it seems so.”

“Oh, I agree. But really…alive?”

“Yes. And apparently talking about them gives them strength.”

Laken shivered.

“That’s horrific. Terrifying. But it sounds like this—person—isn’t too active?”

“No. I shouldn’t say lebt. More like…hold on. Schlafen. Aufwachen.”

“Ah.”

It was as if he’d taken a drink of water after being dehydrated. Laken felt everything snap more into place.

“I think I get it. Or at least, I have a hypothesis.”

“So do I. Either way? It’s bad news.”

“But from what you say, it doesn’t seem like that’s the reason we’re here. It’s probably a spell?”

“Someone said that there was a summoning spell. In Rhir.”

“Something to look into. I guess.”

Laken frowned and scrubbed at his hair.

“This is all so complex! How are we supposed to figure this out? It’s not as if we can just ask, and we don’t have people we can trust to find out. I don’t, at any rate. You have your [Lady] friend, but I don’t trust her further than I can throw her either.”

“Yeah, I’m not too keen on asking. But those angry ant people I told you about? Their entire race is scared spitless of this one person.”

Ryoka chewed her lip, feeling the same urgent panic rising in her chest when she thought about—

A God. A real God, sleeping under the earth.

She expected Laken to share at least a bit of her concern. But the blind man refused to panic.

“I get the issue. But they’re on another continent, right? There’s not much we can do right now—except spread the word, I guess, and find someone who can do something.”

“So you’re saying we don’t even think about it?”

It was impossible to glare at a blind man successfully. Laken smiled.

“Look, if we’re talking about this—person as a threat, then all we need is a devil, right? Anyone tried blood summoning, chanting in Latin, or hooded robes? Or we could get a few angry atheists. Who knows? It could work.”

Ryoka stared at Laken and then burst out laughing.

“You cocky bastard.”

He raised his hands, smiling and laughing with her.

“Hey, it’s a problem. But it’s not immediate, is it? If I panicked over all of the big things, I’d never get to sleep at night.”

“Fine. I get it. Back to you, then. You’re in a bind. Assuming no one catches wind of what you do, you’re going to need help for that village of yours.”

Laken nodded. He wove his fingers together and tightened his grip.

“I think we’ve got food and protection, but if you know anything about…anything, I’d love to have some help.”

Ryoka had to confess her knowledge was limited.

“I’ve got some information, but it’s all scattered. Ruling a village—good luck. Other than that, technology’s tricky. I’m not giving you the recipe for…well, firearms.”

“Perish the thought.”

“—And I can’t tell you how to make anything too useful. Steam engines, light bulbs…not exactly stuff your village needs right now.”

“No.”

Ryoka frowned as she tapped a finger on her leg, letting it bounce against the floorboards. Laken found the sound slightly annoying, but he waited patiently for Ryoka to finish thinking.

“Greenhouses might help. If you can get sheets of glass for the roof, you can build the rest of the structure out of other materials. That would extend your growing season—let you get a head start on growing.”

“Really?”

“There’s glass in this world. If you can get panes, or one large sheet—could be tricky, could be worth it. I see some parchment over there. I’ll use that, okay?”

“Feel free.”

Laken heard Ryoka rustling about and then her fiddling with the inkpot.

“Let me do a sketch. It’s all about keeping the heat in, more than letting it out—on that note, what about agricultural implements? I’d have to do more thinking, but the heavy plough is a good invention to check on.”

“I’m familiar with a plough—sort of. What’s the heavy one do?”

“It’s really just a way to make it better. You have wheels and…nah, it’s really just the wheels that change it. It lets a farmer move faster, reduces the burden, et cetera. See?”

“No, I don’t. But go ahead.”

He heard a chuckle.

“Okay…I’m drawing a diagram, but just ask whether the [Farmers] in your village use wheels on their ploughs. I’ll write down what I know about crop rotation too—”

They continued in that vein for a few more minutes. Then Laken switched the issue over to protection.

“I don’t think a palisade’s going to stop a monster, do you?”

“It’s worth a shot. A wall would be better.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows as she sketched out the cross section of a wall. Laken had another thought.

“If we’re talking about walls, then what about trebuchets? You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“Hah. If you’re fighting monsters the size of castles, maybe. But they’re a pain in the ass to aim. Just build a catapult; you can probably figure out how. Actually, now that I think of it…a ballista might be easier than an onager.”

“Okay? What’s an onager?”

“That’s a catapult. The classic kind that hurls things like a spoon.”

“Oh. Yes, I could see that being useful.”

“I’ll write down how to make both for you.”

“And that’s not classified? I thought we were trying to reduce the spread of dangerous weapons.”

“I did my research. They’re already in use. The Drakes have them on some of their city walls, and they’re used around the world. The trick is that most people can’t build them. You have to have the [Engineer] class to build one.”

“Ah. No one bothers to learn. They just use a class.”

“Yep. But you can probably whip one together…just be careful with the tension on the rope. Build some prototypes and test them—carefully. Look, I’ll write this down and you can have someone read it. I’m sure your villagers can find some decent rope to use.”

“I’m sure they’ve got something. Okay, how about barns?”

“Barns?”

“Do you have a better way of building them, or something?”

“Good point. I can definitely tell you how to make a log wall…that’s just cutting the logs right. Uh…I don’t know about other building techniques. Let me get back to you on that. Shame there’s no metalworking industry or you could try mass-producing things like ring-shank nails…”

“You’re losing me here.”

Ryoka smiled as she bent over the parchment. She was running out of room. But surprisingly, she was enjoying her conversation with Laken. Did she trust him? A bit. A little bit.

An [Emperor]. She couldn’t imagine it. But he sat like one, or—perhaps the beginnings of one. She saw that now.

Emperor Norton. She remembered that story! The crazy guy who declared himself the Emperor of the United States. People might remember that story, but how many would think to do it here?

Not many. Ryoka had never dreamed of that. And it wasn’t just that. Could anyone really just become an [Emperor] by willing it? No. You had to have something else, or anyone could be an [Emperor], right? You had to have…

“The arrogance of a God.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. What was I saying?”

Ryoka went to dip her quill in the inkpot. She wished she had a pen. As she did, she glanced at the window, still ajar. She wondered when Ivolethe would come back—

And she was there. Ivolethe. She was hovering outside the window, watching Ryoka and Laken talk. Just watching. Ryoka froze, quill dripping blobs of ink.

There was something about the way the Frost Faerie stared at her. Something…

She was watching. Waiting. Ryoka felt a chill.

“Ryoka? Is something wrong?”

“I—I don’t know. I think there might be—”

How could she explain it to Laken? Ryoka was grasping at words, when she saw something move in front of her.

It was on the table she’d pulled up to write on. Her iPhone, still recording every word Laken spoke, began to vibrate. It shuddered on the wood surface a microsecond before Ryoka heard the familiar, annoying jangle of her ringtone.

Someone was calling her. Ryoka felt her breath catch in her chest.

“Is that—”

Laken reached for the iPhone, but Ryoka was faster. She saw the familiar calling screen, but there was nothing listed under the caller’s phone number, only the option to accept or decline.

“It’s my iPhone. I’m getting a call—”

“From who?”

“It has to be [BlackMage]!”

“Who?”

“The person who—I’m answering it.”

Laken held his breath as Ryoka gingerly tapped the glowing green phone symbol. Instantly, she heard a voice.

“—he’s not answering. Maybe try ag—hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

Ryoka traded glances with Laken. He missed. Ryoka tilted her iPhone’s speaker towards her mouth cautiously.

“I can hear you. Who is this?”

“Oh my god. Is this—are you [batman]? [batman]’s a girl?”

It was a young man’s voice, excited, with the touches of…an English accent? Yes, it definitely wasn’t American. Ryoka carefully put the call on speaker phone as she and Laken crowded around her device. She put a finger to his lips and he nodded.

“This is great! I’ve tried calling you before and you didn’t pick up. Hi there! This is [BlackMage]! From the chat? Do you remember me? Well, I was calling you to—”

“Fuck you.”

Ryoka heard [BlackMage] pause. She saw Laken glance at her oddly, but she didn’t care. Anxiety had become irritation and anger in a second.

“What?”

“Go fuck yourself. Do you know how stupid it is to call someone like this? What would have happened if I were in a dungeon, or trying to hide from a monster?”

“I—”

“You have compromised my damn phone! You know that asshole was trying to find out locations! Do you think he’s really not trying to track us down right now? I’d bet anything that this kind of call can be traced. Now people know exactly where you and I are.”

“Hold on! We don’t know anyone’s tracking this call. I’m with a bunch of [Mages] and they say—”

“Screw what they say. This is dangerous. Didn’t you get that from your call?”

“That’s why I’m calling you!”

The young man on the other end of the line was getting angry. He spoke quickly before Ryoka could insult him again.

“We—the mages of Wistram and I—are trying to find people across the world! I’ve called a bunch of people and we’re trying to bring them here. To Wistram!”

“That is the stupidest—how do you know you’re not revealing their locations?”

“We—we’re using magic in secret.”

“Oh? Well, that makes me feel better.”

“Look, if you’re going to be an arsehole about this, I can hang up.”

“No, it’s too late now.”

Ryoka tried to calm herself down. She took a deep breath.

“Okay, why are you calling? To invite me to Wistram?”

“Yes. We can send help. We can have money sent—or get in touch with a local [Mage] affiliated with us who can help you reach the isle. But I contacted you first because you managed to uncover that fake wanker—[Kent Scott] and warn everyone. Do you know who he is?”

“No. I have no idea. But I was suspicious from the start. Forget [Kent Scott]. How do I know I can trust you, or anyone?”

“I—look, you’re being fairly suspicious of me, don’t you think? I’m calling you—”

“And I don’t trust people who call me out of the blue. How can we prove that these people at Wistram are trustworthy?”

“We can’t.”

Ryoka heard [BlackMage] gasp on the other end of the line. Laken took the iPhone from her and spoke into it. She stared at him, wanting to signal him, but it was impossible to do visually. She tapped his hand with a finger—he waved his hand at her and then gave her a thumbs up.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

“Call me L. I’m from our world as well. I just met [batman].”

Laken kept his voice low as he spoke into the receiver. He was smiling as if he was enjoying his conversation with the flustered [BlackMage].

“Wow! You’ve met someone else? Where are you? Do you need help? What’s your class—I forgot to mention we’re keeping a list—”

“My class is secret. So is my location. If you can trace this phone call, well, good luck searching the continent. I’m sorry to be so secretive, but neither [batman] nor I are able to trust you, or Wistram at this point in time.”

“Why? Hey, we’re acting in good faith here—”

“Just think about it.”

Laken leaned back on the bed as he spoke carefully, choosing each word with deliberation.

“You say you want to help us. But how can we be sure that’s the case? Putting aside the reputation of Wistram, we can’t tell if you’re calling from there. You could be impersonating them—we have no way to tell. Telling you our location is dangerous, especially on what could be an unsecured call like this. You understand that, right?”

“I—I suppose I do. But how am I supposed to convince you I’m trustworthy?”

“That’s impossible at this moment. There’s no one in Wistram who could convince us, and a truth spell can’t be used. However…there is a way to tell everyone where to go and not reveal confidential information.”

“Really? How?”

Laken could feel Ryoka’s eyes on him, even if he couldn’t see her. He smiled.

“Don’t call anyone. But have Wistram—the Isle of Mages, right? Have them send out a proclamation, a message to every corner of the world. Something simple. Something anyone from our world could understand.”

“Oh!”

Ryoka nodded as she realized what Laken was saying. That could work. She spoke into the receiver.

“Say something like…‘To all the millennials, the Americans and citizens of the European Union and’—no, wait. That’s not right. Instead…send something in every language you can think of. One word. Come home. 家に帰る.”

“Nach Hause zurückkehren.”

“Ven a Casa. In every language you can think of. Understand?”

“I see!”

“But don’t stop there.”

Laken angled the iPhone towards his mouth and spoke urgently.

“Set it up so that anyone affiliated with Wistram will help someone from our world. But have them ask for confirmation. Something only someone from our world would know. Easy things, for every culture.”

“Like if you’re American—who’s the current president? Actually—shit. Be prepared for different answers. Someone might say Obama and not know who the current president is.”

“Good point! And some people might not speak English.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down!”

[BlackMage] was scrambling to keep up. Laken and Ryoka heard other voices, muffled in the background. She nudged him and he squeezed her arm. There were other people listening to the call.

“Okay, we can do that. Thanks for the advice!”

“No problem. Just be sure you know what you’re doing.”

“…How do you mean?”

Laken paused.

“If you do this, you’ll paint a target on your chest for the world to see. Understand—some people who’ve come to this world will not be friends. Just think about it. Assuming everyone who’s arrived is around the same age—you could get anyone from any part of the world. What if you got a radical extremist from ISIS?”

“Or someone from North Korea. Or a kid in a gang, a convicted criminal.”

“…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Be careful. If everyone’s heading to Wistram, then the real battle becomes getting them there safely…and figuring out who’s trustworthy.”

“We can use spells for that. And Wistram is almost impossible to take by force. There are Golems here, Archmages…”

“If it’s so safe, we’ll find our way there. Eventually. But don’t call us again, understand? If you have to contact us—do it by chat.”

“I understand. And I will…I’ll have to tell the other mages about this, and see what they think.”

“Good. In that case, we’ll end the call.”

“Huh? But there’s so much we have to discuss!”

Laken felt a warning tug on his hand.

“Unfortunately, we can’t be sure who’s listening in. Continuing this phone call is too risky. Contact [batman] later if you have to. Try to find a securer means of communicating. Until then.”

“Wai—”

Laken hung up the phone. He handed it to Ryoka and breathed out slowly. His hand was shaking. So was hers as she took it.

“Wow. That was…unexpected.”

Ryoka glanced sideways and saw Ivolethe flying away from the window.

“…Yeah. Good idea, by the way. That was a great thought.”

“It was spur-of-the-moment. But maybe this way word will spread and people won’t get kidnapped. You think it’s a possibility?”

Ryoka shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself.

“There was someone who tried to figure out where we were. Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah. And one last thing. I didn’t mention it to [BlackMage], but aside from other nations, other factions trying to attack Wistram…if we go there, we’d better have friends. Allies. So we can deal with the mages on equal terms.”

“Can’t trust them, can’t trust anyone, right?”

“Right. Well, some people will be trustworthy, but—”

“How do you find them?”

They sat in silence for a moment, hearts beating. Ryoka looked at Laken and smirked.

“L, huh? Nice reference.”

“What? I’m sorry, did I accidentally do something?”

She paused.

“Never mind. It’s a reference to a popular—it’s fine.”

Laken spread his hands.

“Okay. What now? That was dramatic. And scary. I may have wet the bed. Where do we go from here?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess you go back to your village and…do your thing. Gather strength, or something. I go back and tell Erin—and we meet again.”

“Just like that?”

“I guess so. Look, I want to help, but I have to go back. It’s Christmas, and Erin told me to get back in time for the party. And I have…other things to do there as well.”

“Christmas! My God, I’d forgotten!”

Laken slapped a hand to his forehead.

“I should celebrate that with Durene and the villagers! That would be—I wonder if I can get the Merchant’s Guild to find me a bunch of presents?”

“They’d wrap them for you, I bet. Look, I hate to just run, but I don’t know what else I can do. Erin lives so far away, and I never come up here. I can try and return now and then, but it might be we have to communicate by [Message] spell for the moment.”

Laken nodded.

“We can talk in code—or German, I suppose. I’ll probably be out of touch for…I don’t know how long.”

“We have our own places to be, don’t we?”

“It’s odd, but yes. I have a home now. A…”

An empire. Laken didn’t say it out loud. Ryoka stared at him, and wondered. He was likeable, smart, and he cared about people. But he was an [Emperor]. What would come from that?

They didn’t speak much about the future after that. Ryoka drew a bit more on the parchment, and discussed water mills with Laken. He offered her tips on dealing with Frost Faeries, and she convinced him to make Ivolethe an archduchess.

And then for an hour they laughed and talked about home. Laken told Ryoka about what he did for a living—he was ostensibly unemployed since his parents were fairly rich, but he worked with other people with disabilities and led blind tours as well. She told him about Erin and her own backstory. Mainly anecdotes of her run-ins with authority.

“An American rebel, huh? Tell me you ride a motorcycle and I’ll ask for an autograph.”

And then Durene knocked on the door, and Frostwing woke up, and the moment ended. Ryoka stood up, and Laken did too as he tapped his bird on the beak.

“Hush, Frostwing. Say goodbye to Ryoka. She’s got to go.”

“I’ll be in the city until tomorrow, I think. I have to do something quick. Hell, I might not leave until tomorrow night. You can find me at Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion…it might be better if you wait until I come into the city. I’ll find you tomorrow, how about that?”

“Sounds good. Durene? Ryoka’s going to go, but we have a lot to talk about. Can you call Gamel up?”

Ryoka paused next to Laken.

“You’re going to tell her everything?”

“I trust her. And the less secrets there are in this world, the better.”

She hesitated.

“I wish I could be more like you. But I can’t.”

He made a face.

“I think you’re fine the way you are, Miss Ryoka Griffin. Someone needs to be the cynical bastard who watches our backs.”

She laughed.

“I can do that. Good luck. See you later.”

And then she was gone. Laken sat back on his bed, and lay on his back as Durene came back into the room with Gamel. He didn’t look up as Durene sat carefully on the bed and everything tilted towards her.

“Durene?”

“Yes, Laken?”

“Where’s Wistram?”

----

Ryoka endured Reynold’s sniffling and very hostile remarks as she walked down the street. The snow was falling thickly around them, but that didn’t muffle his acidic comments.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Ivolethe would go that far. But I did warn you.”

“I’m simply doing my job, Miss Ryoka.”

“Yeah, well, take it up with Magnolia. Or Ressa.”

“I believe I’d rather follow you, Miss.”

“It’s your funeral. Look, it’s one last trip and then we can go home and you can sit in front of a fire.”

“Where to, Miss?”

“Back to Hedault. I have to do something.”

Reynold’s eyebrows rose, but Ryoka didn’t elaborate.

If Hedault was surprised to see Ryoka back so soon, he opened the door readily enough.

“Why have you returned?”

“I’m going to sell you the wand.”

It was refreshing not to have to beat around the bush with him. Ryoka saw Hedault’s eyebrows rise, but the [Enchanter] didn’t miss a beat.

“I can have the gold pieces prepared for you within the hour. I will also provide a second bag of holding as the first will not be able to support the weight—”

“Hold on. I’m not looking for gold. You’re going to pay me something else. Something more.”

Hedault paused. He stared at Ryoka, and then at Reynold, whose jaw was fully open.

“My price is final, and calculated on the wand’s probable value. I will not change it.”

“Don’t give me that.”

Ryoka sighed as she found a seat in the [Enchanter]’s living room and sank into it. He stared at her as she put her feet up. She felt exhausted. Ryoka stared at him.

“Well? Are you going to sit?”

He did, slowly.

“You seem confident that I will agree to whatever you ask.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I know what’s inside that wand.”

Hedault paused. Reynold scrambled for a quill and inkpot. The [Enchanter] stared hard at Ryoka, but didn’t call her a liar or scoff. He just asked one question.

“How?”

Ryoka patted her belt pouch.

“Ivolethe? Want to come out? I’m sure Hedault has some snacks for you.”

The Frost Faerie flew out of Ryoka’s belt pouch. Hedault’s eyebrows shot up and Reynold instinctively retreated to one corner of the room as Ivolethe gazed around the room, grinning with her pointed teeth.

Ryoka smiled at Hedault and nodded to Ivolethe.

“You want to know how I know? My friend told me. She’s a Frost Faerie. A Winter Sprite. She can see magic and she’s lived longer than everyone in this city put together. She told me what was put in the wand’s core.”

“I see. A Winter Sprite. Intriguing.”

Hedault glanced towards one of the doors and crooked a finger in his lap. Ryoka blinked as a saucer filled with dried prunes flew over to the table and settled down on it. Ivolethe made a noise of pleasure and began attacking the dried fruit, eating far more than her stomach should have been able to contain.

“If you know the contents of the wand, why offer it to me? Unless the value is lower than my estimation?”

“It’s not. In fact, it’s probably higher. But that’s why you’re going to pay me more. Not just for the wand itself, but for knowing what’s inside.”

“And why should I do that?”

Hedault crossed his arms. Ryoka grinned at that. The mage’s face hadn’t changed, but his folded arms spoke volumes about how much she was getting to him. She gestured expansively at the wand, which Hedault had brought out and put on the coffee table in front of them.

“Just think about it. You’ll never know what was inside, and you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it’s being used by some amateur that won’t appreciate it or utilize the wand’s full potential.”

“I ask again. If it is so valuable, why not give it to the adventurers who recovered it? They would surely desire it most.”

“I’m sure they would. But neither of my friends could use it to its full potential—it’s not specialized in the right area for them. But you could. And if you couldn’t, I’m sure you could find a buyer for it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the sort of wand an Archmage would want?”

Hedault’s eyes followed the wand. He spoke softly.

“A true [Archmage] would not. But the Archmages of today would certainly use a wand of this caliber if they had nothing finer. And if it is that valuable, I do not believe I have enough funds on hand to pay for it.”

Ryoka nodded, still smiling.

“I know you can’t pay for it. In fact, after talking with Ivolethe, I know you probably don’t have enough gold on hand to pay for this wand. But that’s fine, because what I need isn’t gold. It’s artifacts.”

She sat up, and put her hands on the table. She picked up the wand and felt its weight. Ryoka stroked the cold, metallic wood as she looked at Hedault. Part of her was screaming not to do this, but the rest of her was resolute.

“Here’s the deal. If I give this wand to you, you give me enough armor and weapons to outfit four adventurers. That means armor for two of them—they’re warriors, at least one more sword, maybe a bow, and two wands and a magical robe for the others. Wands, staves…hell, I’ll take a spellbook as well while I’m at it. And more magical rings. And two hundred gold pieces.”

He stared at her.

“Why? This is not a fair trade. Not for a wand of such value. You may approximate the value with lesser artifacts, but no true adventurer would make such a trade. Why are you doing this on their behalf? If this is an act of self-interest, then I will decline. I will have the answer you have failed to give me. Now.”

His eyes were serious. Ryoka met Hedault’s gaze. She thought he was an honest man. A good man, if he cared about adventurers he’d never met. She nodded abruptly.

“That’s right. It’s not fair. But it’s what my friends need. That’s why you’ll never tell anyone what’s in the wand. It’s why I’ll lie to my friends, though I’m giving them a fortune in artifacts. It’s why I’m selling it. Because this wand is powerful—but it’s not what they need.”

“Explain.”

“Come on. You understand, don’t you?”

Ryoka gestured impatiently to the wand she held. She thought she could sense something inside of it. Power. Pure power, untapped, ready to be used. It was so tempting. That was why she couldn’t bring it back.

“They don’t need a wand that will make them a target of every magic-user on the continent. They need armor, weapons—and money. They need the gear to become a Gold-rank team, not a bullseye on their foreheads. So you’re going to give me everything I ask for, and then you’re going to write down in a book, or somewhere important that you’ll never forget. The Horns of Hammerad. That’s who you owe. And someday, you’ll pay that back.”

For a while she thought he wouldn’t accept. Hedault stood up, paced around the room, and stared at the wand. He went to the racks of armor and weapons, inspected them, shook his head, and stared at the wand. He muttered to himself about gold and costs, trying to talk himself out of it. But he kept staring at the wand.

In the end, he sat with a sigh across from Ryoka and she knew she’d won.

“Say I pay your price. What arms and artifacts would you require?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know what’s best for an adventuring team that’s about to reach Gold-rank. But I bet you do. And I bet you can get everything I want by tomorrow.”

Hedault stared at Ryoka incredulously.

“And you would trust me to make such decisions?”

“I trust that you would be honest. You seem like you’ve been on a level so far. And I can check all the artifacts you give me, and make sure it sounds like a fair trade.”

Again Hedault went around the room. This time he came to a decision faster.

“One condition. Tell me what is inside. And then I will make my choice.”

Ryoka held her breath. She stared at Hedault, and decided that he wasn’t going to budge. So she judged Ivolethe as the faerie sat on the coffee table, still chewing down the much-depleted plate of fruits.

“Ivolethe? Do you mind doing this?”

The faerie looked up. She stared at Hedault, and then dropped the bit of prune she was eating. She stood up, and flew over to the wand resting on the table. And when she stood above it, she wasn’t the somewhat evil, somewhat playful faerie that lived in Ryoka’s belt pouch.

She was something else. Something older that stared down at the wand and touched it with a tiny hand. Ivolethe spoke, and her voice was far away.

“In a forest long gone, there grew a tree. It grew wild, and tall. And free. Ten thousand winters passed as it touched the sky. So tall. So very high. And when it shed the last leaf upon the ground it grew a single bloom. A child, a small one to grow out of the tree’s final doom. But they took it, they stole it, and sealed it away. Here to never grow, here to always stay. For magic thou art, thou small seedling hid. Magic to summon and wield as your owner bids.”

She looked at Hedault, at Ryoka, and Reynold who was staring with wide eyes.

“Ye wish to know what lies within? A seed, foolish mortals. A seed of a tree. A child trapped. The power of the earth, of that which stood through wind and storm and fire and axe. Unbreakable. For ten thousand years.”

Ryoka felt her skin tingle with goose bumps. There was something about the way Ivolethe spoke, about the way she existed that made Ryoka believe every word she said. She stared at the wand and felt her heart ache.

Magic.

“Living magic. That explains everything.”

Hedault slowly picked up the wand, and stared at it. He ran his hands down the surface of it, and held it as if he thought it would break. Then he looked at Ryoka.

She didn’t need to ask. Ryoka smiled, and stood up.

“I need to go back by tomorrow. Can you have everything ready by then?”

“Yes. It will not be enough, but yes.”

Hedault held the wand and looked at Ivolethe. She stared at it with ancient eyes, and then laughed and flew back to the prunes. He looked at Ryoka.

“I will give you what your friends need. But I will write down the debt, Ryoka Griffin. And when they need to call on it, they need only message me.”

She smiled. It was a tired smile, but sincere. It had been a long day, but Ryoka smiled. Her expression was unguarded, and for once, totally genuine. Both Hedault and Reynold felt a tug at their hearts. For different reasons.

“Thank you.”

Then she turned and walked out of Hedault’s home.

----

It was snowing harder outside. Ryoka stared up at the sky and got a big snowflake in the eye for her trouble. She’d seen worse snow days—

Actually, she wasn’t sure if she had. Ryoka stared ahead and found the snow was falling so thickly that she could barely see ten feet in front of her. Already most of the pedestrians were off of the streets.

“It’s disgusting out here. Let’s go to the mansion!”

For once Reynold was in complete agreement. The two set off at a brisk pace down the street, trying not to slip on the icy pavement.

To Ryoka’s unpleasant surprise, she didn’t get to go back to Magnolia’s mansion with Reynold after that. Instead, she and Reynold were caught by a Street Runner, a Dullahan boy who carried his head on a sling as he ran, as they headed towards the place where he’d parked the carriage.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin? You’re wanted at the Runner’s Guild now. There’s a client to see you!”

“A client? Tell them I’m not interested.”

Ryoka wasn’t in the mood, but the Street Runner was insistent.

“They want to see you now, Miss Ryoka! The [Receptionist] told me to get you or not bother coming back. It’s just six blocks away. We can be there in no time if we run. Unless you’re too slow and old?”

Ryoka glared at the Dullahan boy who turned his head to smile cockily at her. She knew it was bait, but that didn’t stop her from beating him to the Runner’s Guild by a solid ten feet. She flipped him off as she walked inside and saw him grin and race away to his next delivery. She quite liked him, on the whole.

The person waiting in the guild was not who Ryoka expected to see. She stared at Laken.

“I thought I was going to see you tomorrow! What gives?”

“Ah, Ryoka. I’m sorry about this, but it couldn’t wait. Have you seen the weather?”

Ryoka grunted sourly. She had snow all over her shoes and Reynold, wheezing a bit as he came in behind her, was brushing snow out of his hair.

“It’s coming down out there. Why?”

“Well, it’s going to be far worse tomorrow, or so I’m told. The snow’s going to cover the roads at least two feet deep—possibly as many as four on top of what’s already fallen if what the [Weather Mages] are saying is true.”

“Fuck. That’s not good. Reynold, how does your carriage handle in deep snow?”

“Fairly well, Miss Ryoka. We should be able to return to Liscor—slowly, but even in deep snow.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Laken shook his head.

“It may be to you, but Ryoka, the Merchant’s Guild is saying they won’t be able to deliver the food or have the adventurers escort us for at least a week until the roads clear!”

She stared at him.

“Can’t they melt the snow? Hire a mage who knows flame spells?”

“Too costly for me. If I had more money I could, but—no. And we can’t leave right now.”

“So you want to hire a Runner.”

Ryoka nodded. It was the best solution. She glanced at the Runners shivering as they came in from the cold.

“Hire someone good and give them a bag of holding. It’s pricy, but they might be able to beat the snows.”

“It’s a day’s run for the best of them. No City Runner will do it for fear of losing their way, and there’s no Courier I could hire—even if I could afford one.”

Ryoka stared at Laken’s grim face. She got what he was saying and raised her hands.

“Oh no.”

“Ryoka, please. The village will need food soon, and if I’m away for that long they’ll panic. If you can get to them and send a message—”

“No, I’m not—I’d get lost as well! Hold on, I might be able to if Reynold drives me.”

She looked hopefully at Reynold and Laken turned to the [Butler] as well. Reynold hunched his shoulders guiltily.

“I’m terribly sorry Miss Ryoka, but Lady Reinhart did not authorize me to drive you anywhere but Liscor. Under any circumstances. I believe her exact phrase was ‘if she needs to get anywhere, she can run there herself’.”

“Even to help a village?”

“Even then, Miss. You could try contacting her, but I’m afraid that until then, my orders stand.”

“How long would that take?”

As she asked, Ryoka knew that it wasn’t a good option. Lady Magnolia might say yes, but she’d want to know why Ryoka wanted to help Laken so badly. If there was any way to avoid that, Ryoka would.

“If it is not an urgent issue—and I am afraid that Ressa would not consider this such—Lady Reinhart may not receive your communications for a day or two.”

“And I need to be back in Liscor in two days for Christmas. Laken—”

He stood up.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Ryoka, but you’re the only person who could do it. I can’t afford anyone else, and I don’t want to leave them alone without word for so long. If you could take a bag of holding—the [Receptionists] assure me you could bring enough food for a week or two and some presents with their biggest bags.”

“Presents?”

“Yes. It’s going to be Christmas soon.”

“Yes, it is.”

Laken smiled a bit, but it twisted on his face with anxiety.

“You know, I don’t have a problem staying here. I can buy gifts for Durene and Gamel—after I explain the idea of Christmas to them, of course. But the people in my village need that food now, not after the roads clear. And I’d like to get them presents as well.”

“I know. I know, but—I can’t. I have to get back home and—I couldn’t find my way through a blizzard either.”

The excuses felt hollow in Ryoka’s mouth. She felt a twisting in her gut, but she didn’t see how she could do it. Running was one thing. She could probably run in deep snow—it would be hellish, but she could do it. But getting lost was another issue.

“If it’s just finding your way…”

Laken paused. He frowned, thinking hard.

“Is there a map you could take? Some sort of magical…GPS?”

It sounded ludicrous. Ryoka shook her head as she sat at one of the tables with him. Laken sighed and pushed the small bowl of cheese and crackers someone had given him away. Ryoka felt a rustling at her pouch.

“Is that food? I claim it!”

Ivolethe leapt onto the table and grabbed a slice of cheese and a cracker. She began munching it down. She was getting gluttonous, Ryoka reflected. She stared down at Ivolethe, annoyed the faerie wasn’t taking things seriously. Then Ryoka paused.

“Hey Laken. Ivolethe’s eating your cheese.”

“I don’t m—”

Laken went silent. He coughed and when he spoke again his voice had taken on a thoughtful tone.

“Christmas is coming up, Ryoka.”

“Yup. Santa Claus.”

“It’s a very famous tradition. I used to hear all the old tales every year. The German stories are different of course, but I’ve heard the American classics as well.”

“Oh yeah. All the good ones, I bet.”

“I especially liked Rudolph, although I can’t imagine what the color ‘red’ must look like.”

“It’s not bad.”

“I hate to ask you to run through a blizzard—”

“I’ve done worse. And I’d like to do it. It is the holidays.”

“But the issue is finding your way. Through a blizzard.”

“Yeah. I’d need a guide. Someone who can find their way. Light the way, rather.”

“I take it the color’s off? I’m told that uh, Winter Sprites are blue. Which is, apparently, not close to red.”

“It’s a bit different. But why don’t I think that will matter?”

Laken and Ryoka kept their voices low. They both felt it. A bit of holiday magic in the air, or perhaps just insanity masquerading as good sense. They turned their faces towards the small Frost Faerie gorging herself on the table.

Ivolethe happily swallowed a large bite of wrinkled prune and then realized she was the target of their scrutiny. Warily, she frowned up at the two Humans staring down at her.

“What? What are ye buggers staring at?”

3.41

Two days before Christmas, Ryoka stared up at a Frost Faerie and wondered how it had come to this.

“Come on, Ivolethe. Please?”

“Nae. I won’t do it!”

Ivolethe folded her arms and glared at Ryoka and Laken. The Frost Faerie hovered outside of the Runner’s Guild as Laken and Ryoka stood and argued with her. Durene and Gamel and Reynold were all standing a bit back, watching the young man and woman argue with what was, to them, a fuzzy patch of air.

“I’ll make you the Archduchess of Presents. How about that?”

“Not if ye made me a Großfürstin! I won’t act like an Ellylldan—like some common pixie! I refuse to guide Ryoka to your worthless little village!”

Ivolethe sneered at Laken and flicked snow at his face. He recoiled as Ryoka tried another tact. They’d been arguing with Ivolethe for fifteen minutes, but the Frost Faerie hadn’t budged.

“Come on, Ivolethe. We need your help. You’re the only one who could navigate through this snow.”

She gestured at the thick, falling snow around them. It was already piling up on the ground, and it made looking down the street a chore. Travelling outside would mean getting lost and freezing to death—for everyone but Ivolethe.

“Nae. Not even for friendship, Ryoka. My pride will not allow it.”

“Please, Ivolethe? Think of the children.”

The Frost Faerie paused. It was a low blow, but Ryoka saw it connect and pressed her advantage.

“They’re all by themselves in Laken’s village—probably hungry and cold. Think about that, Ivolethe. If I don’t bring food and supplies to them, they might freeze to death!”

“I’m thinking. So what?”

“You’d be doing a good thing. And you’d be a hero. I bet they’ll put up a statue to you, right, Laken?”

She nudged the blind man. He rubbed at his side and nodded.

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll put up a statue to you, Ivolethe. I swear it.”

The faerie wavered.

“Well…perhaps. But does it have to be red?”

Ryoka traded a glance with Laken. He didn’t trade one back.

“It would uh, be easier to see.”

He spread his hands and smiled up towards Ivolethe.

“Red is a very traditional color for Christmas, Ivolethe. And Rudolph’s nose was red. If you changed the color you…erm, you’d be doing the same thing as him. He was a hero, you know. Very famous.”

“Really?”

The Frost Faerie swooped down, intrigued. Laken nodded.

“Oh yes. Rudolph is…a, uh, legend where we come from. A folk hero, you could say. Beloved by all. Children everywhere in our world know his story.”

Ryoka held her breath. Ivolethe flew back upwards and muttered to herself. She looked down at Ryoka and sighed.

“A statue, ye say?”

Laken nodded.

“I swear it.”

Ivolethe sighed. She looked down at the two Humans and nodded slowly.

“Well then. What shade must I be? Red of blood? Red of desert sand? Red of setting suns?”

Ryoka could have cheered. She smiled at Ivolethe and held her hands up towards the faerie.

“Bright red. Crimson, in fact. Like a flare—like this. See?”

Ryoka held up her hands and concentrated. The [Flare] spell burst into life between her hands, a brilliant searing red light that made Gamel and Durene cover their faces. Laken didn’t flinch.

“I see. Let me try.”

Ivolethe frowned at the brilliant red light and closed her eyes. She gritted her tiny teeth and then the blue aura surrounding her began to shift. The color blue deepened, and then turned purple—then a deep red, and then the same shade of brilliant red as the light in Ryoka’s hand.

“Dead gods!”

“By the Five Families…”

Reynold, Durene, and Gamel reacted as the nimbus of light around Ivolethe changed. The faerie, her body of blue crystal ice now lit by a red glow which turned her entire form light pink, stared at Ryoka with a sour expression on her face.

“It is done. Let us be off, Ryoka Griffin. I dislike this immensely, but I will help.”

“Thank you, Ivolethe.”

The faerie stared at Laken, and then away. The [Emperor] turned to Ryoka as she bent to make sure the laces of her shoes were tied firmly.

“I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Thank me after I’m done. It’s a long run, but I’ll try to be back tomorrow—or failing that, the day after that. I want to get back and then have Reynold bring me to Liscor. Hopefully I can make it in time for Christmas. If I can’t, well, this is more important.”

Laken reached out and Ryoka offered him a palm to grip.

“You’re a good person, Ryoka Griffin.”

“So you say. Myself, I’m not convinced.”

He grinned and stepped back. Ryoka was doing a second check.

“You have everything you need? Stamina potions?”

“At my belt, courtesy of the Runner’s Guild. Good thing these ones don’t freeze solid. Octavia’s are sort of crap.”

“And you have the second bag of holding?”

“Here as well.”

Ryoka patted the bag hanging at her side. It felt incongruous at her waist—far too light for what she knew it contained. Food for the village, extra blankets, tools they needed—and presents! And yet the bag felt like it only held five pounds of weight.

Magic.

She was ready to go. Ryoka stepped towards Ivolethe.

“Ready?”

The faerie didn’t answer her. Ryoka frowned.

“Ivolethe?”

The Frost Faerie was gazing towards the sky. She uttered an oath—it sounded like it was in Celtic—and sprang up into the air. Ryoka had no idea why—until she saw the other blue shapes flying down towards her. She groaned.

“Oh no.”

Laken turned.

“What is it?”

“Company. More Frost Faeries.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

Ryoka didn’t answer. She heard the tiny, crystal voices ringing through the air as the faeries flew down, circling Ivolethe’s lone red glow and laughing.

“Sister, sister! What is this you do?”

“She’s changed her color! What rot! What foolishness!”

“Shut up! I do this for friendship and goodwill! Mock me not, fools!”

Ivolethe roared at her sisters, flying angrily at them as they laughed and flew about her. Ryoka saw the faeries hitting each other and felt a shock—the Frost Faeries played rough! They didn’t just pull at hair—Ivolethe bit one of her sisters in the arm and was mobbed by two of the others in return.

“Hey, stop, stop!”

Ryoka’s voice stilled the fighting above her for a second. Frost Faeries abandoned their squabble for an easier target. They flew around Ryoka, pointing and jeering.

“Look, the boring one speaks!”

“So slow, so uninteresting! But she is with the ruler! Tell us, stupid one. Why is our sister red?”

“She’s helping me deliver aid to a village. She’s going to be…a hero.”

The faeries scoffed and laughed, but Ryoka knew them. She raised her hands.

“You may not believe me, but Ivolethe is fulfilling a legend. She’s going to make children happy. You see, there’s a story about a reindeer called Rudolph—”

She got only halfway into her explanation before the faeries swirled around her, laughing with delight.

“A guide? What fun! We shall go too!”

“Yes, let us guide the silly Human!”

Laken blinked, and Ryoka hesitated. He sidled over to her and whispered as they laughed and flew up and around them.

“They’re not like Ivolethe at all.”

“Some of them aren’t. I think these ones are…younger? Ivolethe’s old, but some of the other faeries seem pretty gung-ho about anything that seems interesting.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Ryoka scowled.

“I don’t know. But it’s better to have them on your side than against you.”

“I agree with that.”

A change in the light above caught Ryoka’s attention. All of the faeries were copying Ivolethe, changing their colors. But they weren’t all turning red. No, some of them were turning green, others blue or purple—in no time at all, a storm of colors flew about in the air.

“I can’t believe it.”

Reynold was gaping and Durene and Gamel were staring upwards like children seeing fireworks or stars for the first time. Ryoka stared too.

Faeries, dancing in the night sky in every color imaginable. She felt something stir in her heart, but quashed it. She had a job to do.

She cleared her throat, and the faeries stopped flying about. Ryoka felt some semblance of ceremony was needed here, so she stood straight and pointed west, towards where Riverfarm lay.

“Is everyone ready? We’re going to Riverfarm, Laken’s village. You know the way?”

Ivolethe flew down and the faeries lined up behind her. She scowled.

“Aye, these fools know. We go, then?”

Ryoka nodded. She took a breath, and felt just a hint of Christmas spirit in her. Maybe that was what prompted her to say what she did next.

“Alright then. On Ivolethe, on Blue Faerie, on Green Faerie, and Cinnabar Faerie! On Puce Faerie, on Indigo Faerie, on Yellow Faerie and—you know what? Let’s just go.”

The faeries laughed and flew ahead. Ryoka ran after them, cursing as her shoes slipped a bit on the snow.

“Good luck!”

Laken shouted after her. He couldn’t see Ryoka leave, but he heard her footfalls die away quickly in the snow.

“She’s gone, right, Durene?”

“Yes, Laken. Did you see—I mean, those Winter Sprites! I’ve never seen—uh—”

“You’ll have to tell me how amazing it was.”

Laken smiled as he held out a hand and Durene took it. He carefully felt around at the rucksack he was carrying.

“I hope Ryoka gets to Riverfarm all right. But I won’t worry about it. For now, let’s get inside, have something hot to drink, and rest. But before all that—Durene, this is for you.”

“For me?”

The half-Troll blinked as Laken pulled something out of the rucksack. He’d had to buy it when she wasn’t around with Gamel’s help, but the indrawn breath he heard from her was worth it.

“It’s a present. For you. Merry Christmas, Durene. I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be without you.”

He held out the clumsily-wrapped box, and felt two large hands take it from him.

“I—I don’t know—this is for Christmas, right? But how did you—Laken.”

“It’s for you. Open it.”

“I’ve never gotten a present before. Ever.”

Something constricted in Laken’s chest. He reached out and touched Durene’s hand.

“Well, today you did.”

He smiled. Durene stared down at the small box. Her hands trembled. She began to cry.

In the city of Invrisil, a blind man reached out and hugged a half-Troll girl as the snow began to fall harder outside. At the same time, a young woman ran out of the gates, following a red light that flew ahead of her. A stream of bright lights of every color flew around her, the only clear light in the darkness.

----

“So, the presents will go here. If you’ve got them, put them here.”

Erin was busy in her inn the day before Christmas. She’d made a list, distributed it, and been happily surprised to find that most of her present-givers had already picked appropriate presents for the people she’d assigned them to.

Technically, they weren’t supposed to show her the presents, but Erin had forgotten to mention that presents were wrapped. A quick trip to Krshia solved that, and soon piles of bulky presents were occupying one corner of the inn.

It was a complex system Erin had devised, but in theory it meant that everyone who would be attending her party tomorrow would get two Christmas gifts. Assuming everyone bought presents, that was. Erin was worried she’d forgotten to include someone, but she thought she’d accounted for all who would be present.

And though they had only a day to get last-minute presents, Erin didn’t think that would be an issue. There was Christmas spirit in the air. Everyone she knew, from both Celum and Liscor, had heard about the holiday tradition by now. And most were quite eager to try it.

There was just something about giving and receiving gifts that appealed to people. Of course, the receiving mattered to some more than others.

Twice, Erin had to pull Mrsha away from her gift. The Gnoll was sniffing it and wagging her tail, and Erin was sure Mrsha could tell what was inside. But Mrsha was a kid, so excitement was understandable.

On the other hand, when it came to people like Relc, it was a bit more objectionable. The Drake had come to the inn early to drink and eat, and he’d stared at the pile of presents avidly. Now he crept about the presents, turning them over and growing increasingly frustrated.

“Hey! Where’s mine?”

Relc pawed through the presents, looking for ones with his name on it. He found none, to his increasing displeasure.

“Your Secret Santa might not have brought it yet. You’ll get two, Relc, so don’t worry.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Don’t worry—Santa makes sure everyone gets a gift. Good kids, and bad ones. Although, the bad ones just get coal…”

“Right, I forgot. Santa, yeah. Where’s that guy?”

Relc scratched his head. Erin hadn’t talked to him as long as the others. She feared he might have gotten the wrong idea about Santa Claus—in that Relc hadn’t figured out yet that Santa wasn’t real. Still, she had more important things to do.

Some of the Gold-rank adventurers loitering about the inn watched as Erin climbed onto a chair and hung a large sprig in one corner of the room. They weren’t inclined to risk their necks in the dungeon around Christmas, so they had plenty of time to spare.

“What’s that?”

Revi wrinkled her nose as Erin nudged the collections of leaves and berries ever so slightly to the right. Erin turned and smiled wickedly.

“Mistletoe! Haven’t you heard about that?”

Sensing something else interesting, more people drew over to look doubtfully up at the somewhat dead leaves and white berries. Erin had been surprised to see they were white. She’d always thought of them as red. But this was the mistletoe Krshia had given her.

“What’s that supposed to do? Are we supposed to jump up and eat those berries? They look poisonous to me.”

Ceria wrinkled her nose as she stared at the berries. Erin laughed and shook her head.

“No! You kiss if you’re under it! Any people who stand under mistletoe have to kiss. It’s a Christmas tradition!”

Not one she’d practiced at home or ever in her world, actually, but Erin thought it was a fun idea.

The change that came over the people standing before her was immediate, though. Ceria and Yvlon hurried out of the mistletoe’s radius as if they were on fire. The others stared at each other.

“Well, that sounds like fun! Hey Typhenous!”

The [Mage] was too slow. Jelaqua Ivirith caught him and kissed him on the lips. He shuddered.

“Agh!”

“Sorry. Dead skin and all that. But that’s the tradition. Hey, Seborn, Moore. Want to try?”

The other two Halfseekers shook their head. They’d stayed away from the mistletoe and weren’t approaching.

Halrac and Ulrien stared up at the mistletoe. They stared at each other. Ulrien coughed.

“Um, Miss Erin. Is there any hex or curse that activates if two people don’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

“No. It’s just fun.”

“Good.”

Halrac stomped quickly out of range. Ulrien followed suit.

“Well, I don’t see what the problem is. It’s just a kiss.”

Revi strolled over to the mistletoe, not standing quite beneath it as she looked around challengingly. She smiled mockingly at Typhenous who was taking a drink after being kissed by Jelaqua.

“A kissing game sounds fun. It reminds me of when I was younger. We’d swap mouths and kiss each other at parties.”

She tapped the stitch marks around her lips. Erin paused.

“Wow. Okay. Um, this is really just more of a tradition.”

“Why have a place to kiss if you won’t do it? Who’s good at kissing?”

“I’ll try.”

Pisces stepped forwards, to everyone’s great surprise. Revi looked him up and down, but then she smirked.

“Why not?”

Erin opened her mouth, raised her hand, and then waved it about, but she couldn’t stop what happened next. Pisces and Revi stepped beneath the mistletoe…and kissed.

It wasn’t long. There weren’t any sucking sounds or visibly tongue-in-cheek moments. But when it was done, Pisces stepped away looking slightly smug. And Revi—

Blushed.

Everyone in the room stared at her. Pisces sauntered back towards the other Horns of Hammerad and winked at Ksmvr. Erin heard the Antinium whispering to Pisces.

“I do not understand what happened. Comrade Pisces, please explain kissing—”

“Had your fun?”

Halrac asked Revi in an acidic tone as she stepped away from the mistletoe. Revi fanned at her face, glancing at Pisces.

“Well, that was surprising. He’s…not bad.”

“Not bad?”

Relc stared at Pisces. He laughed.

“You can’t be good or bad at kissing!”

“That shows what you know.”

Revi stared archly at him. Relc paused.

“Wait, you can be good at kissing?”

Revi, Typhenous, Ulrien, and Seborn nodded. Revi wandered back over to the mistletoe, and this time Jelaqua went with her. Other people from both genders drifted over.

Erin watched with part horror, part fascination. This wasn’t how mistletoe was supposed to be used, surely! But it seemed like there was actual skill at kissing being measured. Some were better than others. And apparently…Pisces was one of the best.

“You know, back home I was told that anyone who could tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue was a really good kisser.”

Erin mentioned that as she brought out some dried cherries she’d bought with that very fact in mind. Revi took a break from testing one of the [Actors] from Celum who’d come in for breakfast, and took a stem. She and quite a few people popped the cherries into their mouths and chewed thoughtfully.

Erin glanced around the room as she circulated with ‘testing cherries’. Now that she looked…she had a good distribution of races and genders today. People had come from both Liscor and through the door in Celum. There were Drakes, Gnolls, and a lot of Humans, male and female. She glanced at the mistletoe, where a few red-faced people and more with smiles on their faces were grouped. She had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next.

“Peh!”

Ceria spat out a completely un-knotted cherry stem into the palm of her hand and scowled.

“Not for me.”

“Hrm.”

Revi had bent her stem, but not managed to tie it into a knot. Neither had most of the people in the room. Jelaqua had, but Seborn called foul because she’d done it with her Selphid parts, not her actual tongue. But then Pisces pulled out a cherry stem with a knot tied right in the center.

Everyone stared at him. Jasi came over and stood beneath the mistletoe. She waved a claw at Pisces. She shrugged at Erin as the [Innkeeper] gave her a betrayed look.

“This is so wrong.”

She muttered as she saw Pisces become a target for kisses from the opposite gender. Ceria, standing next to her, shook her head.

“You put the mistletoe up, Erin. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Not this! I mean, why’s Pisces getting all the kisses?”

The half-Elf shrugged, staring at Pisces and not looking at Erin.

“He’s…not bad at kissing. That’s why. It’s fun to kiss him. He certainly got enough practice back in Wistram.”

Erin stared at Ceria. She opened her mouth, and then turned away.

“I don’t want to know! Gah! Mistletoe failure!”

The entertainment for the day continued as Erin served food to her guests. Word spread fast, and within a few hours more people came from both Celum and Liscor—ostensibly to eat and get out of the cold, but mainly to try the kissing game, which was what the mistletoe had become.

----

Relc had lingered hopefully around the mistletoe for quite some time until he realized everyone was avoiding him. He stomped off, grumbling about stupid Humans, half-Elves, String People, and Drakes. He left some coins on his table and left the inn, feeling unhappy and out of sorts. No matter how long he’d waited, no one had brought a gift with his name on it. But Erin had said he’d get a gift! Two!

On the way back towards Liscor, Relc met Klbkch. The Antinium was hurrying up the hill and glancing over his shoulder. He seemed to be worried he’d be spotted.

“Yo, Klb. What’s the hurry?”

“I am attempting to avoid meeting my fellow Antinium from the Hive. If you are asked, you did not see me.”

Relc nodded in an understanding way. He didn’t understand much about Klbkch’s Hive or the relationship the Antinium had with the others—they all looked pretty much the same to Relc—but the Drake did understand not wanting to be spotted by angry people who had business with him.

“There’s no point in going to the inn. Erin’s hung a bunch of mistletoe up.”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch stared at Relc. The Drake nodded grumpily.

“Yup. That means if you stand beneath it, you have to kiss. Only, no one wants to kiss me.”

“Is Erin participating in this ritual?”

“Nope. But I’ve got bad news for you, Klb old buddy. Remember when Erin told us about the Secret Santa thing? With the presents?”

“Yes. I have obtained mine, although I have not placed them in her inn.”

“Well, you might want to hold off for a second. I checked and I didn’t find any presents for me. Not one. And I’m supposed to be getting two! And—get this—I didn’t find any for you, either.”

Klbkch paused.

“That is odd. Perhaps the gifts have not been placed yet.”

“Maybe.”

Relc shrugged moodily. He stared back at the inn, and lowered his voice as he confided in his partner.

“I’m worried we might not get any. Well, I know I’ll get some because everyone loves me. But you might not. Since you’re an Ant. Y’know?”

“This is a distinct possibility. The Secret Santas may object to my identity.”

“Yeah. So…I was thinking, why don’t we do a few good deeds today? I figure, if we show how Christmas-y we are, people will probably get us gifts anyways. Plus, don’t we get more presents if we’re good? That Santa guy brings them, right?”

Klbkch hesitated. He seemed to think as he crossed his arms.

“I did recall Bird mentioning something to that effect. But he was…vague. Is that what Erin said?”

“Yeah! Look, you weren’t here, but I heard her telling that thief-girl all about it. Good deeds means you get presents. So why don’t we do some?”

“I take it you have an idea in mind?”

“I might.”

Relc grinned as he rubbed at his chin. His dour mood had been replaced by a fun idea.

“Okay, here’s what I was thinking…I’ll run into the city and buy some stuff. You just need to find me a bag, a red suit, and uh, a beard. Make it white.”

“Very well. Let us proceed with your idea.”

The two [Guardsmen] headed back towards Liscor. That was fortunate for Klbkch, because an irate Antinium with blue shell missed him as she strode towards the inn.

Xrn opened the door and saw Revi step away as Typhenous hopefully tried for a kiss under the mistletoe. The Antinium watched with fascination, her ire with the elusive Klbkch forgotten as she witnessed several kisses…and those who didn’t get to kiss at all.

“Ew! Typhenous, no! Your breath smells horrible!”

The old [Mage] was crestfallen. He eyed Pisces as the younger man went back for round two with Revi. When Pisces was done, Typhenous caught the younger man.

“How is your breath not objectionable, young Pisces?”

Pisces paused. He took something out of a pocket and handed it to Typhenous. The mage stared down at the bit of green in his wrinkled palm. Pisces winked and whispered.

“Mint leaves.”

The old man stared at the leaves and then popped them into his mouth and chewed determinedly. The people who’d heard Pisces immediately left the inn to get some fresheners for their mouths.

Erin threw her hands up in the air.

“It’s not supposed to be a competition!”

She stomped over to the door to Octavia’s shop as Wesle hurried through it. Erin was going to close it, but Octavia called out.

“Erin! Erin! Get in here—I have something to show you!”

Erin paused at the doorway. She looked back at the kissing games, once again featuring Pisces as a main attraction and decided Octavia beat her inn. She walked through the door. What she and the occupied people of the inn didn’t notice was Mrsha, bored with the proceedings, slipping into Octavia’s shop as well.

“What have you got, Octavia?”

“Behold!”

The [Alchemist] was waving a bundle of what looked like twigs to Mrsha in front of Erin’s face. The Gnoll squinted and sniffed quietly as she hid in Octavia’s shop. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, but there were so many fascinating smells here! And Octavia had something strange in her hands.

They looked like small sticks, but with a bulb of…well, something strange on the ends. Erin had recognized them, though.

“Matches! No way! That’s it, exactly! Do they work?”

Octavia beamed, nodding and making her dreadlocks swing as she held one up to the light so Erin could see.

“It’s my newest creation. It’s not stable—I could do more with it, but you see, I’ve found a way to blend just a tiny bit of Corusdeer horn with sulfur and—look!”

She swiped the match down the side of the sandpaper box. Erin and Mrsha both gasped as the head of the match suddenly burst into flame. The Gnoll stared avidly at the flame on the end of the stick. How had Octavia done that? She’d simply moved the match…and there was fire! Was it magic? The Gnoll cub desperately wanted to try to do the same.

“You did it! That’s incredible! How’d you do it in one day?”

“Well, when you’re a talented [Alchemist]—I uh, might have made a few dozen prototypes. And stayed up all night. But once I realized how the general idea worked, it just came to me!”

Octavia’s eyes were more than a bit red and she was swaying slightly on her feet. She put the box of matches on her counter as she explained more about how she’d made them to Erin.

Mrsha crept towards the counter. She hesitated—Erin and Octavia were right next to her. But Erin was pointing back towards the open door to her inn and loudly complaining about Pisces kissing all the girls—and them enjoying it!

Octavia looked over, and Mrsha stood up. She snatched the box of matches and scampered away, silent as a moth in the moonlight.

“I’ll give you a box. I can make a lot more—and if I perfect the formula, I’ll be selling them for silver coins!”

“Not bronze?”

“I’m not giving my product away for nothing, Erin! But…let’s just say I’ll be making a bundle if I get this business off the ground. And I have you to thank for it!”

“Cool! How much is my cut?”

The [Alchemist]’s eyes widened. She began to splutter, before she saw Erin’s teasing grin. Still, that was an important point. Octavia took a breath and then she saw the door to her shop open, and a small bundle of white fur scamper out.

----

Mrsha held one of the new matchsticks up in the cold morning air as she proceeded down the streets of Celum. Quite a few people were staring at her—Gnolls weren’t common at all in this city. Mrsha ignored them, and stopped by a street crossing.

How had Octavia done it? She’d just struck the match—pulled it fast against the side of the sandpaper. Like—

Mrsha slowly grated the matchstick against the sandpaper. It didn’t work. But then she moved her paw faster and the head flared and burst into flame!

Mrsha instantly dropped the matchstick in alarm. It went out as it landed in some snow. She peered at the stick, heart beating fast.

Fire! She’d made fire!

It was an instinctual thing, for Gnolls to love fire. Like Humans and Drakes, it was that which had helped them separate themselves from the part that was simply wild. It had brought order and light into the night, shown them that they didn’t have to hide in the darkness.

And Mrsha had made it. Without a flint and rocks. Without the need for dry tinder and time. She’d made fire.

And it had gone out. Mrsha rooted around in the snow, and found the matchstick again. She tried to reignite the head, but it was burnt out.

So they only worked once. But that was okay—the box Mrsha had taken had plenty of matches. She drew another, and lit it.

The small flicker of light on the cold winter day was insignificant. Small. It was something that would have passed unnoticed in Erin and Ryoka’s world—well, excluding the present. Any child doing that on a street now would probably cause a bomb scare. But in general, the match was an antiquated, ordinary thing. Who would pay attention to Mrsha and her box of matches in the cold?

Everyone, that’s who. A woman passing on the street stared as Mrsha lit the second match and held it up in the wind. She blinked at the Gnoll. She suspected magic, but the way Mrsha blew out the flame and then lit another match informed her that it was not magic. She stopped and spoke to the Gnoll.

“How did you do that?”

Mrsha looked up in alarm. She understood the woman, but the first thing in her mind was guilt. Did she know Mrsha had taken the box without asking? Mrsha scampered away.

“Hey, wait!”

Mrsha ran back towards the shop. Then she saw who was striding down the street and ran back. Octavia caught sight of Mrsha and shouted.

“There you are! Wait you little minx!”

There was a certain tone adults could use that told children the consequences of not obeying would be far worse than if they did. Mrsha halted reluctantly. She hid the match box behind her as Octavia strode over.

“I saw that! You’re…Mrsha, right? Well, that box belongs to me. You can’t just go around taking things—even if Erin does take care of you! Give it back!”

She held her hand out. Mrsha eyed it and clutched the box tightly. She didn’t want to give it back! The matches were magical in a way that magic wasn’t!

“Come on. They’re mine—you can’t take them! If you want them, you can get them from Erin. Now give…them…here!”

Octavia was engaged in a tug-of-war with Mrsha when the woman who’d seen Mrsha light the match coughed politely.

“Excuse me, are you the creator of those things?”

Then Octavia let go and Mrsha tumbled backwards with the box of matches. She fled a few feet away and turned to watch as Octavia stood and smiled sheepishly at the woman.

“I am, Miss. I’m sorry you had to see that—a bit of reclamation of lost goods, I’m afraid. Don’t worry—they’re not dangerous.”

“Oh, I know. But I was wondering—do you have any more?”

“More?”

Octavia blinked.

“I’d love to buy some of these—flame strikers? I’m no [Mage] and these seem far quicker than flint and steel. What do you charge for a box?”

The woman was already pulling out a purse. Octavia gaped, but then she put her best smile on her face.

“I happen to have a few—they’re very experimental and new, of course. But I think I can quote you an affordable price…”

Mrsha watched, eyes narrowed, as coins changed hands. The woman went away with a box—half filled with matches—and Octavia pocketed a few silver and bronze coins. Mrsha backed away warily as Octavia turned towards her. Only this time Octavia didn’t try to take Mrsha’s matches.

“Well now, that was interesting.”

The [Alchemist] took a few steps towards Mrsha. The Gnoll tensed, ready to run rather than be scolded, but instead the [Alchemist] girl appeared thoughtful. She squatted down next to Mrsha.

“Advertising, hmm? I never wanted to pay for that, but if you consider that child labor is free—why not? It’s worth a shot! Little Miss, would you like a job selling those match sticks for me?”

Mrsha just stared blankly at her. She didn’t quite trust Octavia’s smile, for all the [Alchemist] did it often. She edged away from Octavia.

“Wait—okay, not a job!”

Octavia waved her hands frantically as Mrsha looked down the street. She sighed as the Gnoll stared at her. Then Octavia smiled again.

“I don’t mind you taking the box of matches, Mrsha. I really don’t. In fact, you can have them! Light up all of them if you want! What if I gave you these matches as well—”

Mrsha found a second box of matches pressed into her paw.

“—And you go out there and, uh, show them off? Drum up a little business? I’ll let you sell a few, and you can keep a third—half—okay, fine, you can keep what you earn. But you have to show people where you got them, alright?”

The Gnoll child stared at the second box of matches, and then up at Octavia with narrowed eyes. This wasn’t how getting in trouble was supposed to go, she knew. But Octavia appeared jolly all of a sudden.

“Just bring back people to my shop, okay? Tell them—okay, I’ll tell them. You just come back when you need more matches! I have to make more! A lot more!”

She reached out and shook Mrsha’s paw energetically. Then Octavia went back towards her shop. She turned back and mimed striking another match.

When she was gone, Mrsha scratched her head. She’d understood only a bit of that, but somehow, she now had another box of matches! She thought a bit more, and decided that this was good.

The Gnoll padded back to the intersection and sat down on the paving stones. The men and women of Celum stared at the Gnoll, white and beautiful, sitting in the middle of their city. And they stared as she moved something in her hands and it burst into flame.

Fire. Mrsha struck a match and stared into the small burning torch’s heart. She remembered fire. Fire was important in her tribe’s camp. It was something that gave heat, food, life. It was the center of their existence, in a way. It kept the dark and monsters and fear of the night at bay.

For Mrsha, it was memory. She felt the heat on her claws and flicked the nearly spent match away. Then she lit another one.

People walking down the street stared and pointed at the little Gnoll lighting matches. But Mrsha was far away. She stared into the fire and remembered home. She’d dreamed of tending the fires, of being old enough to manage her own camp site. And now she had the ability to create fires at will.

Another spent match fell into the snow and smoked for a second before extinguishing itself completely. Mrsha sighed.

So brief. So short. But while it lasted…

She lit another one, and the flame burned away a falling snowflake. It lit up part of the world, and a man walking down the street stopped and stared at the match held in Mrsha’s paw.

It was very pretty. And warm. Mrsha just had to be careful, or the stick would burn down and scorch her fur.

----

That was Celum, and the small miracle that stopped a street. In Liscor, a different sort of event was happening. It was localized, and went from house to house, usually terrorizing families. They would have called the Watch, but that was sort of the problem.

In the house of the Bitterscale family, the father, mother, and young boy and girl Drakes were sitting down to eat some lovely, fresh Fortress Beaver roast. It was a happy family, untroubled by thoughts of adventurers, Goblin Lords, or the new dungeon for the moment. They were about to eat when someone pounded on the door.

“Who’s that?”

Frowning, Wress Bitterscale went to answer the door. He opened it and found a huge Drake, dressed in an ill-fitting red costume—that was to say, leather armor painted red, with a red hat on his head and a lumpy bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hey! Is everyone here? Good!”

Relc grinned down at Wress. He pulled the door open wider and strode into the house.

“Wress? Who’s there?”

Vessra Bitterscale cried out in alarm as Relc strode into the room. The two children stared up at Relc as he grinned down at them, showing off all his teeth. He dropped the bag he was carrying onto the ground with a thump and waved at the kids.

“Hey there! Merry Christmas! I’m Santa. Santa Claus. Where’s your chimney? Have you been bad or good? I’ve got coal!”

The children backed away from Relc. He frowned as he rummaged around in his sack.

“What? Hold on—some of these are broken. I’ve got to—hey, Klb! Get in here and help spread the cheer!”

He turned and roared towards the doorway. Wress stared in horror as someone else entered the home. The two Bitterscale children stared up with wide eyes as an Antinium, tall and lithe, walked into the room. He had two swords sheathed at his side, and he walked like a soldier. He also had a rough beard made of goat’s hair glued to his face.

Klbkch clicked his mandibles as he stared down at the children. They appeared to be rooted to the spot with terror. As this was how most children acted around him, Klbkch thought he’d made a good impression. He slapped his belly with a crack of chitin on carapace, making all the Drakes flinch.

“Ho. Ho. Ho. Have you been good children this year? If not, you will get the coal.”

The Bitterscale family stared at the two guardsmen. They stared towards the door. But there was nowhere to run. And then Relc pulled out a clumsily wrapped dagger and tried to give it to the daughter.

Point-first. In fairness though, that was an accident.

----

She was…eight hours into her run? Ryoka had no idea, but she was cold, wet…

And not feeling too bad. Ryoka had downed the second stamina potion thirty minutes ago, and that was keeping her going. As she ran through deep snow, following the shimmering lights overhead, she felt the burning energy inside her, giving her legs the strength to run.

The Runners of Invrisil knew how to prepare for long treks. The Guild had not only given Ryoka several stamina potions to allow her to run all night, but they’d given her a healing potion as well. It helped with the chafing, the sore feet, and the occasional falls onto the hard ground. It wasn’t fun running in the middle of a blizzard towards a village, but, Ryoka had to admit, it wasn’t bad.

The Frost Faeries made all the difference. They flew ahead of her, lighting the way. Without them, Ryoka wouldn’t have known where to go. But they led her on, giving her the surety that she was going in the right direction.

The only problem was her speed. Despite her potions, Ryoka still wasn’t moving that quickly in such horrible conditions. Of course, she wasn’t going that slow either.

The snow was ankle-deep in the best of places and getting deeper by the hour but Ryoka had gotten used to running in such conditions. She wouldn’t have called her progress fast, but when she stuck to the relatively shallower roads she made good progress. She might have to run late into the night, but she’d probably get to the village on time, especially with the stamina potions.

Unfortunately, not everyone saw it that way. The trouble had started five hours into the run. Ryoka had heard grumbling from up ahead, but it had been silenced by Ivolethe. Three hours later, though, she could hear the complaints from the faeries flying around her.

“Hurry up, slow slug! We don’t have all day!”

“Yes, run faster! Snail! Worm!”

They were getting bored. That was the problem. The other faeries that had joined Ivolethe had quickly lost the spirit of giving and regained the spirit of boredom.

And spitefulness.

Ryoka felt a snowball smack her on the back of the head. She gritted her teeth. She’d forgotten how objectionable most Frost Faeries were. Ivolethe was sweet as candy compared to her sisters.

“I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“Not fast enough!”

“Yes, we tire of this! Let’s do something interesting!”

A chorus of voices agreed with the second speaker. Ryoka shook her head.

“If you’re tired, you can leave. I’m going to keep running, though.”

The faeries grumbled, but made no reply. They flew away from Ryoka, letting their lights fade in the flurrying snow. Ryoka prayed they’d left as she continued onwards, following the edge of a pond of some kind. She stared at Ivolethe’s red light ahead, using it as a compass.

It turned left. Ryoka followed it—

And found herself tumbling down a cliff. She shouted in confusion as the ground gave way beneath her and she slipped and fell downwards. She hit the ground and lay there stunned for a second. Then she found her voice.

“Ivolethe! What the hell was that!?”

“It was not me!”

The faerie flew towards Ryoka as the girl got up. Ryoka took a step towards Ivolethe, but then she spotted another red light floating towards her. And another. And another—

“Hah! We got her, sisters!”

“She fell! Let us do it again!”

The other faeries, now all glowing the same color as Ivolethe, swooped around Ryoka, crowing with delight. Ryoka swore loudly.

“You have got to be kidding me! Stop that! I need to get to Riverfarm!”

“Hah! This is far more fun than bringing you!”

“Yes, yes! She wants to go to that stinking village? Let her find the way. Only, which way is the right way? Choose, mortal!”

Ivolethe, or a faerie that might have been her, swooped closer to Ryoka’s face.

“This way. Ignore those fools!”

Another faerie flew past her.

“No, you idiot! This way! I’m the real Ivolethe, not that faker!”

“No, it’s me!”

“Nae, I!”

“Ignore all these clods! Run, and do not look back!”

Suddenly, all the faeries were flying around Ryoka, in every direction. She swore as the red lights spread out around her, each one shouting her name. Ryoka cupped her hands to her mouth.

“Ivolethe! Tell me about my German!”

“‘Tis rot! A moose gargling a toad sounds far better!”

One of the faeries ahead of Ryoka shouted that. Ryoka grinned and ran towards it as the other faeries made annoyed noises. Ivolethe led Ryoka onwards, but now the other faeries were flying around Ryoka, getting in her way, spraying her with snow—

And trying to lead her astray. Like the will o’ wisps that Ivolethe had resented being compared to, the faeries tried to confuse themselves with Ivolethe, flying in her path and then breaking away. Ryoka attempted to keep her eyes on Ivolethe, but the faeries constantly mimicked her voice, claiming Ryoka had been led astray.

Soon, Ryoka had no idea if she was following the right Ivolethe again. She shouted, got a response, and set off once more. But again the faeries made her progress grind to a halt.

“Fuck you!”

She shouted up at the glowing red lights flying in every direction. The faeries laughed mockingly. Ryoka felt despair and fury building in her chest. She couldn’t get lost out here! But there was no way to get rid of the faeries! And she couldn’t tell them apart!

As Ryoka stumbled onwards through a forest with faeries shouting and flying in every direction, she heard and felt the earth rumble. The Runner turned and saw something huge moving to the left. The ground itself heaved upwards as faeries cried out in alarm and scattered.

“What in the name of crap is that!?”

Ryoka sprinted away as the snow erupted and something swiped at the faeries who had been shouting so loudly a second ago. They flew away as Ryoka saw the thing heave itself up even higher.

Higher. And higher. It rose, a colossus, out of the ground. No—it wasn’t out of the ground. Ryoka realized to her horror that it had been the ground itself! It had been slumbering, until her noisy passage had woken it. But now it rose, and turned towards her. She saw it.

A giant face. A wall of ice. Broken shards. Melted snow. Two massive eyes formed of rock. And then the mouth opened. The Frost Golem roared, its voice the sound of crashing snow and grinding stone.

The faeries screamed back. A flurry of red lights flew up and dove at the Frost Golem’s face, striking it with ice and wind, castigating the massive creature for interrupting their fun.

The ice was probably no harm at all to the Golem, but it disliked the attacks. It swiped at the faeries, and they flew away, jeering at it as they effortlessly dodged the large creature. But they had been distracted, and the Golem began to chase after them, roaring in a voice that shook the entire forest.

“Quickly, Ryoka! While they are distracted!”

A single red light flew down. Ryoka saw Ivolethe beckoning her onwards. Ryoka took one look at the Snow Golem and froze. It was chasing the Frost Faeries away, giving them a far larger target to harass. But that wasn’t what made her eyes go wide and her knees suddenly weak.

“No way.”

“What is it, Ryoka?”

Ivolethe stared at Ryoka’s pale face. The girl swallowed hard.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t. It’s not possible.”

“What, what?”

Ivolethe peered at the Snow Golem, but couldn’t see anything odd about it. She urged Ryoka onwards as the Golem thundered away from them, making the ground shake. Ryoka ran on, turning her head to watch the Snow Golem.

It was impossible. And yet—Ryoka saw it so clearly as she broke out of the forest, following Ivolethe. The Snow Golem was a distant shape in the distance, already nearly obscured by the blizzard.

It was just a Snow Golem, a natural phenomenon in this world. It didn’t look like a classic snowman at all; it was a mountain of ice rather than three spheres stuck together. And yet—

It had a hat.

The black mass on its head was too much like a top hat for Ryoka to call it anything else. Her brain knew it was probably some trees or boulders sticking out at odd angles. That, combined with the darkness made it look like a hat. That was all.

But still, she saw it. The Snow Golem wore a hat on its head as it roared and chased the other faeries away. Ryoka stared after it, and then began to hum under her breath. She turned and called out to the hovering faerie glowing crimson.

“Ivolethe? Let’s go.”

The faerie led her onwards. Ryoka pumped her legs, put her force into her stride. She ran onwards, bringing gifts and relief for a village that needed it. But her head turned one last time as she ran. She spoke under her breath.

“Thanks, Frosty.”

A distant roar was her only response. Ryoka smiled, and kept running.

----

A few hours after Mrsha had lit her first matchstick, she lit the one hundred and twenty third and watched the flame slowly eat away the stick. She held it close to her face and felt the heat warm her paw. Then she looked up and around Octavia’s shop. It was getting quite noisy.

“I’ll take five boxes!”

“Six, here! I’ll pay with silver!”

“A gold coin if you show me how to make them! Five!”

People were quite agitated about the matchsticks Mrsha was having so much fun lighting. Mrsha understood and didn’t understand at the same time. To her matches were fun, enjoyable, and magical. To the people who’d followed her off the streets and into Octavia’s shop, they were something more.

They were crowded around Octavia’s shop, Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls alike. Adults shouted for the [Alchemist]’s attention, demanded to know if this was her invention—if she would sell them the matches for the same price Mrsha had. Octavia was under siege at her counter. Mrsha saw her desperately waving one of her arms over her head with the other to get people’s attention, but it was no use.

There were so many bodies in the shop that the door was stuck open, letting the cold snow blow into the building. Snowflakes whirled around Mrsha. One struck her match and put it out.

Mrsha let the spent match drop to the ground and looked around. So many people. So many burnt matches. They were small things, but important. New. Bright.

Then Mrsha sneezed. It was cold, even for her. She peered at the last burnt matchstick and decided she was going home.

The Gnoll padded between the legs of the adults and opened the door back to Erin’s inn. She walked through, and carefully closed the door behind her.

“Mrsha! Where have you been?”

A voice made Mrsha spin guiltily. Lyonette strode over to her, all worry and loving concern.

“I’ve been looking for you all day! You’re freezing! Did you go outside? I told you to tell me when you do that!”

She ushered Mrsha out of the way of a Gnoll and Drake couple who were kissing at each other.

“Into the kitchen. I have something to show you—oh, rats! Wait here. I’ve got to clean up a spill.”

Mrsha obediently padded into the kitchen. There she relaxed as the snow on her fur began to melt. Something dug into her side as Mrsha stretched—she pulled out a small pouch, her pouch, filled to the brim.

Mrsha sat and emptied the bulging money pouch onto the ground. Coins clinked as they fell onto the ground. People had given Mrsha a lot of coins for her matches. And Octavia kept giving her more matches, so things had just sort of piled up.

A small mound of wet coins lay on the clean kitchen floor. Mrsha sniffed at the coins. They smelled like metal and sweat and dirt. She carefully picked them all up and stood up. Clumsily, she walked on two legs to the small pottery jar that Lyonette had put on the counter in the corner of the kitchen.

It took Mrsha two tries to jump and pull herself up onto the counter. But then she was right next to the jar. Mrsha opened the lid and carefully dropped the coins into the jar. They made a lovely tinkling sound as they fell. Then she put the lid back in place.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll child jumped. Before she could move, two hands lifted her away from the jar. Lyonette scolded her as she lifted Mrsha up.

“You know you can’t take money from the jar! Do you want some coins? I can give you a few bronze ones—but no taking without asking, alright?”

Mrsha squirmed in Lyonette’s arms. The girl sighed.

“Oh, you! Here. Sit there for one more second, and I’ll give you a treat, alright?”

Lyonette went over to one of the ovens and pulled something out. Mrsha’s nose made her sit up and her stomach rumbled as she saw a huge pan of golden bread appear from out of the oven.

“What do you think of this?”

Lyonette gleefully turned and showed it to Mrsha. She picked up a stick of butter that had been chilled next to the window and began to rub it over the top of the fresh bread as she explained.

“Erin has some—what did she call it? Baking powder, that’s right! It makes the bread puff up like this! She made some and it smells delicious, don’t you think?”

Mrsha did think. She licked her lips and stared avidly at the freshly baked bread. The stick of cold butter that Lyonette had rubbed all over the tops had made the bread glisten. Mrsha had never seen bread so plump and full.

She greedily reached for one roll, but Lyonette smacked Mrsha’s paw. The Gnoll gave her an injured look, but Lyonette was unmoved.

“You can have some with everyone else. Come on, let’s bring this out. You can carry a pitcher of m—actually, why don’t you take the butter? Don’t trip!”

Obediently, Mrsha took a saucer of warm, soft butter out into the kitchen. Her stomach was rumbling, and she could already almost taste the wonderful bread in her mouth. She smiled as she walked unsteadily out of the kitchen and put the butter on a table. She had already forgotten about Octavia and her latest invention.

Mrsha liked matches, but she liked being here a lot better.

----

“Bread’s ready! Oh—for crying out loud!”

Erin turned from the freshly-cut pieces of steaming bread coated liberally with butter and nearly ran into a couple smooching hard under the mistletoe.

“Oops.”

Selys and a Gnoll that Erin didn’t know jumped apart from under the mistletoe. The Gnoll was blushing—he was a bit younger than Erin, and clearly embarrassed to have been caught out. Selys grinned and waved at the scowling innkeeper.

“Hi, Erin. I uh, heard about the mistletoe. I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

“You and everyone else! I’m sick of it!”

“Aw, come on. It’s fun!”

So said Revi, although her lips were a bit puffy from repeated mouth-to-mouth contact. Erin sighed. She beckoned Selys over and whispered to her.

“Kissing is fine. Just don’t kiss Pisces, no matter if he offers, alright? He’s getting a fat head because he thinks he’s such a good kisser!”

Selys’ eyebrows rose as she glanced over. Pisces was looking more smug than ever as he sat at a table with Ksmvr. Ceria and Yvlon were sitting at another table, ignoring him.

“He’s good?”

“So I’m told.”

Erin made a face as Selys eyed Pisces. She looked around and found a few cherries on a tray.

“It’s become a huge thing. People come in, kiss each other, and try to tie knots with cherries. I’m making money, but I feel bad doing it!”

“What’s so special about cherries?”

Erin explained about tying knots in the stems. Selys looked intrigued.

“That sounds like fun! Give me one.”

She chewed the cherry thoughtfully as Erin sighed and began to offer bread to her hungry hordes of customers.

“You look tired. Why haven’t you gotten a few kisses? It’s fun!”

“I don’t want to. Especially not with Pisces.”

Erin frowned at Selys. The Drake shrugged. She took the cherry stem out of her mouth and handed it to Erin. The [Innkeeper] took it automatically.

“Suit yourself. But—and I’m sorry about this, Erin—I’ve got to see what the best kisser’s like. Hey, Pisces! Come over here, you!”

The [Necromancer] looked up as Selys waved to him under the mistletoe. He smirked and came over. Erin shook her head.

She turned away, and then remembered Selys had given her the cherry stem. She glanced down at it. The girl blinked as she saw the cherry stem, tied into a double-knot.

She looked up as she heard the laughter and a cheer. Selys sauntered away from Pisces to a round of applause from the room. Erin had apparently missed the kiss of the day, and it must have been some kiss, because Pisces was bright red.

He turned away from Selys as she laughed and pulled at another Drake, giving him a quick kiss. Erin stared at Pisces, at Selys, and then laughed.

“Hah! Take that!”

Then someone kissed her. Erin felt the brush of whiskers and a wet smooch on her cheek. She yelped, and looked around. A white, furry face stared at her. Mrsha, perched on the table, held a bit of mistletoe with one claw. The girl stared at her. Mrsha licked her cheek. Erin laughed, and then reached out and kissed the Gnoll on her furry cheek.

“Oh, you.”

Five minutes later. Halrac was sitting by himself, sipping from his drink and not-quite-scowling around the room. For him, it was as good as a smile. He must have been drunk, or just off-guard, because he only reacted when he felt the wet kiss on his cheek. And then, simultaneously, another one on the other side.

“What the—”

Halrac turned, a hand on the dagger at his belt. He saw two large, brown eyes. Mrsha licked Halrac’s stubbly cheek. The [Scout] stared at her, and then turned his head towards the other mysterious kisser.

“Merry Christmas, you grumpy old man!”

Revi grinned at Halrac as she held a sprig of mistletoe over his head. Halrac stared at her, and then at Mrsha, who was sniffing at his drink. He rubbed his cheek and grunted. Revi laughed and spun away. Mrsha leapt from the table and went to get more bread.

Now that the kissing was mobile, everyone was fair game. The mistletoe changed hands quite a few times and left the inn in the pockets of some of the guests. Eventually Erin called for a ban on kissing—if only so that she could serve everyone hot bread.

Halrac sat at the table in the corner by himself, chewing the hot bread and remembering eating something similar back when he was young—although he’d had warm milk back then. He stared around the busy room, at friends and people he hardly knew, having fun and celebrating. The [Scout]’s face didn’t change as Ulrien called him to come over and throw a hand of dice. He waved in denial and sat by himself. Alone.

When he was quite sure no one was looking, the [Scout] smiled. Just for a moment.

----

Relc and Klbkch sat in an alleyway, staring blankly at the brick wall ahead of them. Neither Drake nor Antinium said much.

Relc was holding the bag of banged-up presents in his claws. It was still full. Klbkch’s beard was slipping off his face again. The glue had ripped free from his chitin.

“What are we doing wrong here, Klb?”

“I do not know, Relc.”

“We’re trying to be like Santa, right? I mean, I’m dressing up like him and everything! Why are people kicking us out? They don’t want our presents!”

“It is a quandary. I believe our efforts, while well-intentioned, have the opposite effect.”

“Yeah. Wanna give up?”

“That may be best. Let us retire to Erin’s inn.”

Klbkch and Relc got up slowly and walked out of the alleyway. They walked down the street, ignoring the curious and horrified looks with their heads down. They only looked up when they heard the crying.

Someone was upset. Someone was weeping. And there was the sound of breaking pottery—from one of the houses ahead of them. Relc nudged Klbkch.

“They sound upset, don’t they, Klb?”

The Antinium stared at the house’s door. It seemed…unhinged, as if it had been knocked off its frame.

“Indeed they do. Should we investigate?”

Relc nodded.

“One last time. Then we’re done.”

The two [Guardsmen] approached the door cautiously. Relc nodded to Klbkch as the Antinium took a position on the other side of the door. The Drake counted to three, and then kicked the door in. The crash made everyone inside go silent for a moment.

“Does anyone want a pres—hey!”

Relc’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the two Drakes wearing masks over their faces. One was standing guard over two frightened Gnoll children as the other ransacked the house.

The burglars froze at the sight of Relc and Klbkch. Oddly dressed though they might be, the Senior Guardsmen were a known duo in Liscor.

“Well, well, well. It looks like Santa’s found someone who’s been naughty.”

Relc grinned and cracked his knuckles as the two thieves backed up. One whipped a knife from his belt out and stabbed at Relc. The Drake caught the blade barehanded and threw it away.

“Not sharp enough! Hi, nice to meet you! I’m Relc—I mean, Santa Claus! Here’s my fist!”

He clocked the first thief in the face and then kicked him between the legs. The Drake folded up and Relc dodged back as the other one swung at him. He turned, twisted—his tail smacked the second thief in the face with a crack.

“You’ve been extra naughty! You’re on my list! You got that, you punks?”

The fight carried out into the street as Relc threw one of the [Thieves] out of the window. The Drake landed with pieces of the broken shutters raining around him. He gasped for air and tried to get up—just in time to meet a black rock that smashed into the side of his face.

“Have some coal!”

Relc smacked the painted black rock into the offending [Thief]’s head. Klbkch tripped up the other as the Drake [Thief] tried to race out of the building. The Antinium calmly strode over to the fallen burglar and kicked him in the stomach.

“Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Christmas.”

The commotion attracted a crowd. Drakes, Gnolls, and some Humans watched as Relc and Klbkch beat the two burglars down, Klbkch with a brick, Relc with his sack of presents.

When they were done, the two [Guardsmen] straightened up, and heard the cheering. They saw the crowd applauding them, and realized everyone had a huge smile on their face. Relc turned to Klbkch. The Antinium was blinking down at one of the Gnoll children, who’d given him a hug.

“It’s the holidays, Klbkch.”

“Indeed it is.”

“I think I feel the Christmas spirit! Look at all these smiling faces!”

Relc grinned as the father of the Gnolls came over to thank him personally. He reached into his sack and rummaged around. After a moment, Relc handed a battered present with a bit of blood splattered on the side to one of the Gnoll children. The young Gnoll sniffed curiously at the package, and then tore apart the wrapping. He stared at the wooden buckler and sword and grinned in delight.

Klbkch slapped Relc on the back. Relc staggered, and glared at him.

“Ow.”

“I am expressing my enthusiasm as you often do.”

“Don’t. That’s my thing.”

Relc sighed. He cracked his knuckles and stared around at the other children, who were already fighting over the presents Klbkch was handing out.

“That was fun. Alright. I’m done. Let’s get a drink, shall we?”

“Indeed.”

They left the bag of presents and fake beard and Santa costumes to be claimed by the excited children and pedestrians. Klbkch and Relc marched the battered [Thieves] to the city jail, talking along the way.

“Do you think that was enough good deeds?”

“I believe so. As we both regularly perform acts in service to the city, we should have accumulated an excess of good deeds this year.”

“Awesome. I wonder what I’ll get from the real Santa-guy. He’ll deliver the presents to Erin’s inn, right?”

“I would like a Dwarf-crafted sword.”

“Ooh, do you think I could get an enchanted spear? I left my old one back with the army.”

“We should ask Erin if Santa has any [Blacksmith] levels.”

“He’s gotta. I mean…presents, right? You can’t just make do with [Craftsman] levels.”

Klbkch was silent. He paused as he thought more concretely about Santa, and the odds of receiving a specialty-made item manufactured across the continent. For the first time, Klbkch questioned Bird’s scattered account of a Human man who rode a sleigh pulled by reindeer that flew.

“…It occurs to me Relc, that this Santa Claus that Erin has spoken of does not exist. The presents may in fact come from other people and are simply attributed to his presence.”

Relc paused. His tail drooped as he suddenly put some obvious pieces together.

“No. You think so?”

“If Santa existed, why has he not given us presents before?”

“Aw…no! I thought maybe it was a Human thing and we were included on his list since Erin knows us!”

Klbkch brightened up.

“That may be true. I did not consider that. Let us ask Erin whether that is the case.”

Unfortunately, both Drake and Antinium found to their disappointment that Santa was a myth. Erin laughed herself off of her chair when she heard what they’d done. But she gave them a hug and hot food, and so the [Guardsmen] felt a bit better by the time the inn closed.

“I guess we’ll get our presents tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s left any. Doesn’t look like it.”

Relc sighed as he double-checked all of the presents. There were none for him. He sagged, and then turned, pulling something out of the rucksack on his back.

“Hey Klb, I’m ready to go! Klb?”

The Antinium turned. He had something in his hands. A carefully wrapped present, tied with a string of twine. Relc stared at it, and then remembered Klbkch hadn’t brought his presents yet. He stared at the nametag, and saw his name on the tag.

Klbkch looked at Relc. The Drake had a clumsily-wrapped present in his claws, the wrapping already torn a bit. But Klbkch’s name was clearly scrawled on the nametag.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

The two [Guardsmen] stared at each other. Then Relc laughed, and Klbkch opened his mandibles in a smile. They put their gifts together and walked out the door, side by side.

“Merry Christmas, Relc.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Klb.”

The two sauntered down the hill towards Liscor, talking and chuckling over the events of the day. After a while, Relc frowned and stared back towards the inn.

“You didn’t get me anything creepy or wriggly, did you, Klb?”

“No. Did you get me coal, Relc?”

“No! You’ll like it. I think. Yeah. Probably.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Well then. I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll open your crappy gift during the party. At least I know I’ll have one, even if it is icky.”

“Indeed. One is better than none. I shall contain my disappointment.”

“You do that. Later.”

The two parted ways without a second word. They didn’t look back, but both walked with heads held high.

They were smiling.

----

Late at night, the night before Christmas, hundreds of miles away, the villagers of Riverfarm were about to go to sleep on another miserable, ordinary day that was their life now. But the people who’d been posted sentry raised the alarm, shouting, as they saw something approaching their village in the dark flurrying snow.

“Who—who are you? I warn you, we’ve nothing to take! We’re under the protection of [Emperor] Laken! Begone if you mean trouble!”

Farmer Prost shouted as the dark shape ran towards him. He held a sword at the ready with two shaking hands. He’d never had to actually use it to fight; it was a memento from his father. He was about to swing when he saw the red light illuminating the distinct Runner’s Seal held in a gloved hand over Ryoka’s head.

She slowed as she approached the ruined village, taking in the destroyed buildings, the men and women holding weapons, and the frightened children. The villagers of Riverfarm stared as the strange figure pulled away a scarf and hood to reveal a young woman’s face. They hadn’t seen a Runner come all the way to their village in years. Most messages made the final journey via cart or wagon when they went to town.

“I’m a Runner. I’ve got a delivery from Laken.”

Ryoka had to speak several times to make her voice work. She had to say it again for Prost, who was staring at her uncomprehendingly.

“From—you mean from [Emperor] Laken?”

“That’s right.”

Ryoka groaned as she took the bag of holding from her belt. She felt like she was dead. Even with the stamina potions and healing potion, her feet ached, her body felt like it was falling apart, and she was numb. But she was here.

The villagers ushered her into their main living space, the renovated barn, and Ryoka sighed as she saw a fire had been carefully built in the center. She trudged over to it, and tried to set herself on fire to warm up.

“We haven’t had word since he left. We were sure he’d be kept by the storm—but he sent you to tell us he’s alright? Has he bought provisions?”

Prost hovered anxiously by Ryoka. She shook her head.

“No. He sent me to bring you them. Here.”

She handed the bag of holding to Prost. His face fell as he saw it, but then it changed the instant he reached inside. Ryoka, staring at the fire, heard the exclamations but didn’t bother to turn around. She wanted to eat the coals and let them warm her from the inside.

“Food! Dead Gods, there’s so much of it!”

“We’re saved! Praise [Emperor] Laken!”

Ryoka heard the commotion and the weeping. It was a while before she could tear herself away from the fire. But when she did, she saw…people. That was all.

She saw people. Just people, ragged, afraid. There was nothing special about them; they were just a frightened mass, suddenly relieved because good fortune had come their way. That was what Ryoka told herself.

They believed in an [Emperor], a false leader. Laken wasn’t—they’d put their faith in him blindly, and he’d delivered. But even so—

The man who’d talked to her, Prost, was in tears. He was hugging his wife and what looked like his daughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ryoka couldn’t face the raw emotion, the pure relief in his eyes. She looked away and clutched at her heart.

It wasn’t growing three sizes. It just hurt. She’d run hard, that was all. That was all.

They came to her after that, full of gratitude and heartfelt thanks. Ryoka backed away from it all. She didn’t want praise. She’d just—was just a Runner—

There was something in the air. That was it. Ryoka certainly wasn’t moved by a hug from a tearful mother, or a man taking her hand and bowing to her over and over, praising her for braving the storm. It was just a temporary bit of insanity that made her take the bag of holding she owned, the one with the presents Laken had bought, and walk over to the children.

“Hello there. Have you all been good boys and girls?”

They stared up at her, wide-eyed. Ryoka crouched down as she tried to explain why she was here.

“I’ve got presents, you see. As well as food. Laken—your [Emperor] wanted to make sure you had something nice for the holidays.”

“What holidays, Miss?”

“Christmas. You see, it’s a special day where Laken comes from. On that day, everyone who’s been good gets presents. Who’s been good? I have a present for all of you! For you and you and you…they’re from Santa Claus!”

“Who’s that?”

One of the children asked the question, staring warily at the wrapped gift Ryoka handed him. She smiled.

“Haven’t you heard of the story of Saint Nicholas? Father Christmas? Kris Kringle? Really? Well, he has many names, but I always knew of him as Santa Claus. You see, where I come from, each year Santa Claus gets on his magical sled pulled by flying reindeer and flies around. He flies to every village, every home, every family in every city. And he gives presents to the good kids and coal to the bad ones. He hired me to deliver these presents this year.”

She winked at the adults. They caught on quickly, and smiled and shed some more tears. The children gathered around Ryoka, asking questions.

“Why didn’t he come last year?”

“How come he came this year?”

“Well…he normally doesn’t come out this far. But Laken knows him. He’s a friend of your [Emperor], so Laken got him to give him some presents for you all. Don’t ask more questions. Merry Christmas.”

She had a present for every child, but not all of them came forwards at once. One girl stood back. Ryoka turned to her, trying to give the girl her most sincere, not-scary smile.

“What about you, kid?”

The girl shook her head. She stared at the present in Ryoka’s hands, but then stepped back from it. She looked up at Ryoka with hollow eyes. And when she spoke, she broke Ryoka’s heart.

“I don’t think I’ve been good, Miss. My brother’s dead. He died in the snow and I couldn’t find him.”

“You—what?”

Ryoka paused. The smiles on the faces of the children around her died like dead lightbulbs. The adults fell still.

“It was the avalanche, Miss Runner. I woke up on top of the snow, but my brother—he was right with me when it hit. I dug down and around, but I couldn’t find him. He was right next to me. Right there. Just a few feet to the left. But I didn’t find him until the Emperor dug him up.”

The girl stared up at Ryoka, her eyes staring back through time. There were no tears in her eyes. They’d all fallen long ago.

Ryoka couldn’t get her throat to work at first. She hesitated, and then knelt next to the girl. When she spoke, it was very slowly, very carefully, looking the grief-stricken girl right in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I know you tried—you couldn’t have known. I’m so sorry. But you know what? I—don’t think that means you’re naughty.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m sure. Hey listen—what’s your name?”

“Anabelle, Miss.”

“Well, Anabelle, I think Laken agrees with me. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he told me to make sure Anabelle got a present. He told me to make sure you and every kid here got a present, understand? So he doesn’t think you’re naughty. In fact…he told me you might like this one especially.”

Ryoka pulled a present out of the bag and handed it to Anabelle. She took it, and stared down at the neat bow on it, looking lost.

“Why don’t you open it?”

“Are you sure? Did Emperor Laken really say that?”

Anabelle stared up at Ryoka, wanting to believe. And Ryoka lied. She lied straight to the girl’s face, and smiled because it was no lie but the truth.

“I’m sure. Here. Why don’t you open it? Just pull there.”

The girl pulled, and the wrapping fell away and she stared at the little doll, dressed up like an adventurer. Perhaps it was just coincidence that it was male, and it had blonde hair like hers. Or maybe it was magic. Faerie magic? Or just the magic of Christmas.

She began to cry. Ryoka reached out and gingerly hugged her. She whispered to the girl.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s why Santa sent me. That’s why your [Emperor] brought all these presents. Now—why don’t we give you something good to eat?”

Anabelle sobbed into her coat and nodded. Ryoka looked back at the other children. They were teary-eyed as well, but that was fine. There was something important in those tears.

“Who wants to see what else I’ve brought with me?”

Hands rose hesitantly. Ryoka turned, and saw the adults standing, watching her. There was something in their eyes because they kept brushing at them. Hers too. Ryoka let Anabelle cling to her as she handed presents out. And then she had another thought.

“While we’re at it—why don’t I tell you a story? Would you like to hear a story? About Santa Claus?”

Ryoka sat on the straw floor of the barn and saw faeries land on the roof of the barn. She stared at them, but they made the interior of the building shimmer and glow. In every color. The villagers and children gasped, and Ryoka smiled.

“What are you staring at? Didn’t I say Santa was magic? Well, maybe he’s watching you. Now that I think of it…I’ll tell you stories about Santa, too! Did you know one of his reindeer has a red nose? Let me tell you about that. Once upon a time, on a night even snowier than this…”

----

Later then. So late that it was minutes away from becoming Christmas day, or the day Erin had decided was Christmas. She sat in her inn, her guests long gone, a pile of presents in one corner, and slowly cleared the last table.

“We’re done. Thank you so much for helping, Lyonette.”

“It was—nothing—Erin.”

Lyonette managed to get the words out between jaw-cracking yawns. She and Mrsha were dozing in a chair by the fire.

A single candle lit the room along with the fireplace. Mrsha stared at the flickering flame as it slowly wore down the wax candle. It was hypnotic, soothing. Before she knew it, Lyonette’s eyes were closing.

“You look tired. You should head upstairs.”

“I think Mrsha’s done. But she’s sort of restless. She had too much honey.”

Mrsha was indeed still awake, despite the late hour. She squirmed just a tiny bit, too hyped to sleep, but too tired to move. Erin smiled.

“Well, how shall we put her to bed? Hot milk? That always worked for me, or so my mom said.”

“I think she’s full to bursting. How about a song? I’d sing, but…I’m no [Singer]. Do you have the class?”

“I do, but you don’t have to have a class to sing, Lyonette. Why don’t I teach you some Christmas songs?”

“Oh. Can you? I’ve always liked music. They only sing the same songs in court back home…”

Lyonette sat up slightly, eyes shining. Mrsha perked her ears up too. Erin laughed and settled down in a chair across from them next to the fire.

“Why not. I’ll sing you…a classic song about Christmas. Okay?”

Silence was her only answer. Erin took a deep breath, and thought of the songs she’d heard growing up, when she had to go to the Christmas service at church, and sung by carolers and played on speakers and online as the world changed.

“Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright…”

Her voice was the last thing anyone heard. The snow fell deeper, as across the world the night ended and a new day began. Nothing changed, but it was Christmas. And Erin sang.

“Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace…”

Her voice trailed off. Erin looked around and saw Lyonette and Mrsha had already fallen asleep. Erin sighed, glancing upstairs where their beds were waiting.

And she smiled. Just a bit. Erin stood up and found a blanket for the slumbering Mrsha and Lyonette. She took down the mistletoe and burned it in the fire. She took out the presents she’d wrapped for Klbkch and Relc and put them with the others. Then she stared out the window.

“Merry Christmas, everyone. To all good sleep. And too all…um. Wait. Oh well. Good night.”

Then she blew out the candle and went to sleep.

3.42

And then…it was Christmas.

Erin was up before dawn again, rubbing at her eyes. She hauled water, helped Lyonette finish cleaning the room—and got food ready.

That was what it was. Food. Erin mechanically created and seasoned a fatty soup with sausage, mushroom, vegetable extract, flour, garlic, a hard-boiled egg…all added to a rye flour and water base that had been mixed several days ago.

Sour soup. It tasted better than described. That was course one. But Erin had far more to do. She fried little dumplings with meat in the center – a Drake favorite food – toasted kebabs in the Gnollish fashion, and finished with some good old Human decadency.

Hamburgers, pizza, popcorn…anything Erin could think of she made. Because she knew she was going to need it all.

Her adventurer guests came and went, eating breakfast, and then lunch. Erin kept cooking, getting ready for the real meal. From time to time she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and stared at it.

On a delivery. Emergency—a village needs supplies and food. Will try to be back in time for Christmas. Ryoka.

She’d received it from the Mage’s Guild. Erin stared at the paper each time, and then carefully folded it away. Each time the door opened she looked up hopefully. But it was never Ryoka. And eventually, Erin stopped looking for her. She had a job to do.

They began coming in at noon. First Relc, rubbing his hands and exclaiming with delight as he saw two presents with his name on it. Then Selys and Krshia and to Erin’s delight, a tired Brunkr. His arm was bandaged and cleaned and he managed to smile at her.

At some point, the door to Celum opened and Octavia fell through. She slept on the floor. After a while Jasi, Wesle, and the [Actors] came through, along with Maran and Safry. Miss Agnes was not there, but Grev darted in as well and stepped on Octavia’s head, waking her up.

After that, Pawn, Bird, Belgrade, and even Garry appeared. Erin had to come out of the kitchen to meet Garry and hug him. Anand was still in Esthelm, but the Antinium Workers had brought some more Workers and Soldiers with them. They sat in a corner while Garry offered his services to Erin. She accepted with relief and they went back into the kitchen.

The Horns of Hammerad hadn’t ever really left, but Pisces came in with Ksmvr with last-minute gifts. They joined Ceria and Yvlon, who were sitting and drinking with the Halfseekers.

Griffon Hunt came to the inn around the same time as Klbkch did. The Antinium was not with the adventurers; he snuck in, looking guiltier than Erin had ever seen him. The reason for that was obvious; an irate Xrn followed him into the inn later. She would have dragged Klbkch away, but Erin presented her with a deep-fried bee and she stayed.

Who else? Erin was beginning to lose track. She was surprised when Hawk appeared, looking wide-eyed at her multitude of guests, but she had sent him an invitation too, hadn’t she? And then came other people, Selys’ Drake friends, some Gnolls that Krshia knew, more people from Celum…

One person came last, as the party was underway. Zel Shivertail stood at Liscor’s gates, shivering a bit as the wind froze his scales. It was cold, far colder than yesterday. He would love to be inside and drinking some of the ‘eggnog’ that Erin had made. But he was outside, listening to someone he really didn’t care for.

“If you’re so worried, come and join the party yourself.”

He snapped at Ilvriss as the Lord of the Wall stood, warm and comfortable in his heavy fur coat and enchanted clothing. The other Drake stared at Zel Shivertail with a look of incredulity.

“I would rather eat my tail than sit in the same room with one of the Ants. You seem to be able to tolerate them—and all those Humans. I am simply telling you what to look out for.”

“I know what to look for. Anything. We don’t know why Xrn and the other Antinium are here. Your precious city leaders and councils have oh so many suspicions and fears, but you know nothing.”

Zel growled at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall was unmoved. He glanced towards the inn with a sour expression.

“Just listen and don’t drink yourself under the table, Shivertail. We have a duty. You and I might have come north looking for that Human Runner, but this is far bigger than either of us.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ll keep an earhole open, don’t you worry.”

The [General] turned away from Ilvriss. He began stomping towards the inn, moving quickly to keep out of the cold.

Quickly for Zel meant that he reached the inn in three minutes. He was still half-frozen by the time he did, but opening the door and feeling the warm rush of air on his scales and smelling all the delicious scents in the air made everything worth it.

“Uncle!”

Someone called his name. Zel looked around and smiled as he saw his favorite niece. The one who didn’t treat him like a living legend. Selys was sitting at a table with Mrsha, the Gnoll named Krshia, Olesm, and—Zel’s smile faltered a bit—Pawn.

The Drake only hesitated for a second. He came over and smiled as everyone welcomed him. He didn’t sit next to Pawn, but he didn’t sit far away from the Antinium either. Pawn he could tolerate.

“Uncle, I think that blue Antinium’s here. So is Klbkch. Don’t make a scene.”

Selys warned Zel, which was probably wise. The [General] stiffened, but Selys deposited Mrsha in his lap. The Gnoll stared soulfully up into Zel’s eyes and a crisis was averted.

Running about the inn, Erin felt like all was crisis. She lifted a pan up and yelped as the hot handle scorched her hands. She would have dropped the pan filled with fried ground beef and onions, but someone caught it by the base.

“Are you alright, Miss Erin?”

Garry held the hot pan without a care in the world. Erin blew on her hands as he put the meat back on the stove.

“Great, Garry! Your carapace is awesome, you know that?”

“It is a very helpful aid when I handle hot or cold objects. Or cut myself.”

Garry nodded. He lifted a basket of Erin’s new, ultra-fluffy bread up and carried it out into the common room. Erin followed him with a pot of butter and another one of honey.

Noise. And people calling her name. Erin smiled as people eating and laughing and playing games turned and waved at her. She put the food down in the center of the room and saw Mrsha leap off of Zel’s lap and make a beeline towards the food.

Someone who made a beeline towards Erin was Revi. The Stitch-girl [Mage] put her hands on her hips.

“Erin, please tell Octavia to stop trying to sell me things! Just because we’re both the same species doesn’t mean I’ll buy her insane potions.”

“I’ll have a word with her. Would you like some bread?”

Erin dealt with Revi as someone else came up to take a few warm buns and slather them with honey and butter.

“Miss Solstice, are you sure you have enough food for me? I am quite fine eating whatever—”

“I’m fine! Eat! Eat!”

The girl turned and smiled up at Moore. He smiled back and ducked his head. As the half-Giant walked back to his table where a bunch of the adventurers had gathered, he passed by two arguing Antinium. One, a slim Antinium with blue carapace, unique among her kind, was not happy with the other.

“You have run off to this inn and avoided speaking with me for the fifth time, Klbkch. What attracts you so?”

Klbkch the Slayer, one of the legendary Centenium, Revelantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor and acting Prognugator, hunched his shoulders as Xrn glared at him.

“It is Christmas. This is an important tradition that I must undertake to spread goodwill—”

“You spend all your time eating and talking with that Human. Does your Queen know you’re doing this?”

He did not reply. Xrn made an exasperated hissing-click that needed no translation.

“Once I am done eating this bee, you and I are going back to the Hive. We must talk, Klbkch.”

“But I have to obtain my presents.”

“That is no—what kind of presents? And is that honey I see over there?”

Xrn grew distracted as she saw the fluffy bread, sitting appetizingly on one table. She knew the Antinium could not process gluten well, even if her biology was superior to regular Antinium. It was inefficient, even so. But she still desired to taste the food.

“Honored Prognugator Xrn.”

A voice interrupted Xrn as Klbkch was sinking down in his seat. Both Antinium looked up. Ksmvr cringed as he bowed, but he still offered her the small trinket in his third hand.

“What is this? And who are you?”

“I was the Prognugator for the Hive until my…failures. However, I see your gaze upon the bread. I would like to give you this small token, that you might eat it.”

He offered Xrn the trinket he’d taken from the dead Goblin that resisted food poisoning. Xrn stared at the amulet, and then at Ksmvr. She closed his hand over the trinket.

“Fascinating. Thank you, Ksmvr. I have seen the spell and will copy it. Your help is appreciated.”

Ksmvr was stunned. He bowed and retreated, staring once at Klbkch. Xrn muttered to herself and tapped her chest, replicating the spell she had just seen.

“I had no idea such a spell existed. I did not look or think of it until now, but this is extraordinary. I should like to taste that bread.”

Beside her, Klbkch sat up.

“Will you cast that spell on me?”

“No. You do not deserve it. Why did you exile that poor Antinium, Klbkch? And why does he look like a copy of your former self? He walks like you. What has your Queen been up to?”

“It is a long story. If I tell you, will you cast the spell on me as well?”

As the two Antinium sat together, Ksmvr passed by Erin on his way back to the Horns of Hammerad. He saw her desperately calling for Lyonette to help her; she was balancing at least eleven dishes together on her way back to the kitchen.

“Let me.”

Ksmvr was preempted from helping by Typhenous. The mage lifted the mess of plates up and walked into the kitchen. Erin sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much!”

“Sorry, Erin! I was running to get more water!”

Lyonette came over, puffing from her run outside with the buckets. Erin saw several basins full of snow lined up by the fire, melting into water.

“It’s fine, Lyonette. Go back to serving if you’ve got time—I think Garry’s got the pizzas all ready. Now—who was calling my name?”

She went over and found Jasi wringing her hands. Grev was sitting at the table, glaring at Wesle as the former [Guardsman] hunched over in his seat. Erin didn’t see Relc at first; he was trying to hide under the table.

“What’s wr—”

She felt the cold air and saw a hole and the broken glass. Jasi explained.

“They were playing a knife flipping game, but Wesle lost his grip and—I’m so sorry, Erin!”

“No problem. It’s no problem—I’ll just uh, board that up—”

Erin ran off. Relc came out under the table.

“Oops. How mad was she?”

It was Krshia who saw Erin run back with a hammer and nails and a piece of wood. The Gnoll stood up to offer Erin a paw, but Brunkr, sitting beside her, suddenly hissed and grabbed his Aunt with his good hand.

“Aunt! That’s Zel Shivertail sitting there! I knew I’d seen his face before! That’s him! The Tidebreaker!”

“Of course he is. He stays at Erin’s inn, yes?”

Krshia shook her head as Brunkr goggled at her.

“If you’d been out at any time, you would have learned this. Go talk to him if you are so desperate.”

“Talk? Me?”

Across the room, Halrac’s keen ears heard Erin yelp. He saw her blowing on a finger she’d accidentally hammered and lowered his mug.

“Why’s she got a hammer?”

Ulrien, sitting next to him followed Halrac’s gaze. The [Scout] grunted irritably.

“Someone broke a window.”

“That’s why glass is risky.”

Halrac’s longtime comrade shook his head. Ulrien gazed at Erin as she took her tools away and stared at the rough patch on the window. The big man nodded to the [Innkeeper].

“Your friend seems tired.”

“She’s not my friend. And she’s fine. She’s smiling.”

Halrac glared at Ulrien, but the leader of Griffon Hunt pushed his mug back and shook his head.

“How can you be a [Veteran Scout] with over 30 levels in your class and still not see the obvious, Halrac? Look at her. She’s smiling, but she’s exhausted.”

The [Scout] looked, and this time he saw Ulrien was right. Erin was smiling, but she nearly tripped over her own bucket bringing it back into the kitchen. She had rings around her eyes.

“She needs to hire someone else. Running an inn’s no job for just her and a [Barmaid].”

That came from Hawk. He was sitting with Halrac and Ulrien, having made their acquaintance earlier today. He’d actually met them a few times while running deliveries, hence their easy camaraderie.

All three males watched as Erin ran over to help Garry and Lyonette put a positively gargantuan platter of barbequed ribs on the table. Erin rushed into the kitchen and came out with the fried potato strips she called ‘fries’.

“A hard worker. You were right when you said we should stay here, Halrac.”

Ulrien raised his mug and took a drink. He tilted it up for the dregs. Hawk nodded, looking hungrily at the fries. Some were made of sweet potatoes, and reminded him of carrots.

“This inn is hopping. And the food is excellent! I’d heard that Erin came up with new food every other day, but this is just impressive. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone’s planning on moving out, would you? I’d love to rent a room…”

“Oh Erin! Erin!”

Halrac gritted his teeth as a familiar voice called out Erin’s name for the seventh time that night. Erin came over a bit slower than usual, because Revi was the one waving her hand.

“We need a refill! We’ve been waiting for five minutes already!”

“Coming up!”

Erin ran off. Halrac glared at Revi, sitting at the table behind him.

“Stop pestering her. Can’t you see she’s busy?”

Revi gave Halrac the condescending look he hated so much.

“She’s an innkeeper, Halrac. This is her job. If she’s too busy to serve drinks, she should hire someone else to help!”

“That’s what I said!”

Hawk leaned around Halrac to speak to Revi.

“Did you know there used to be a skeleton that helped around the inn? It was the talk of the city! I wonder what happened to it…”

Pisces could have told Hawk, or any of the Horns of Hammerad. But they were all busy watching Belgrade and Pawn take on the entire room at the tables where the game of Go was being played.

The two Antinium played anyone and everyone who sat at their tables. They moved their hands quickly, placing white and black stones, easily defeating most players. Pisces and Pawn were engaged in a heated speed-battle where each player had only a second to place a stone, while Belgrade dueled Olesm in a slower, more thoughtful match.

“Erin! Hey, Erin!”

Ceria waved at Erin and the girl skidded to a halt as she carried drinks over to Griffon Hunt. In the background Revi groaned loudly.

“What is it, Ceria? Emergency? Need something?”

Erin tried to wipe sweat off of her forehead as she turned towards Ceria. The half-Elf shook her head. She raised a half-devoured rib and pointed to it.

“Good meat! I love the sauce!”

Erin stared at Ceria for a second. She opened her mouth, and then turned and hurried off.

“Erin! Erin! Hey, Erin! I dropped my fork and can’t find it! I need another!”

“When are we opening presents?”

“Do you have more vegetables? Too much meat gives me gas.”

“I’m sorry, but I need another bucket of water. Too much heat. Do you have any on hand?”

Erin measured the minutes by the requests she got. She ran back and forth, smiling trying to avoid adding to the mess on the floors, and serving drinks and food in between. She wasn’t aware of the time until Revi spoke up as Erin was serving her another drink.

“Is there any entertainment for the night? Or are we supposed to watch the Ants play that board game and chat and eat?”

The [Innkeeper] paused as Halrac and Ulrien both glared at Revi and she steadfastly ignored them.

“Entertainment? Um, like what? More alcohol?”

“No! Don’t you have someone who plays the lute, or tells stories?”

Revi stared around the room, eying the group of [Actors] hopefully. Erin wondered if they’d be able to perform, but her heart sank as she realized half of them were so drunk they could barely sit straight.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Why not sing?”

A laughing Drake who’d heard their conversation called that out. Erin turned towards him—he was one of Selys’ friends and had scales which were pink. He might have claimed they were red, but they were more pink than red in Erin’s eyes.

“What? Sing?”

“Aren’t you the Human who sang that one time? I heard the music on Hessal Street, halfway across the city!”

“That’s right! You could sing, Erin!”

Selys stood up and called it out. Heads turned, and after the guests at the inn pieced together what was going on, more raised their voices in approval.

“Sing!”

“I loved that song about defeating the Huns! Nice war song! Who are they?”

Ceria, sitting at a table and trying to talk herself out of eating another rib, sat up and nudged Yvlon. The woman stared as Erin was bombarded by calls to sing.

“Songs, huh? I remember Erin singing.”

Yvlon stared at Ceria. Their eyes found a table in the center of the room. Both remembered Erin singing. In a room full of adventurers, as she held an injured Pawn, singing into the night.

The half-Elf held her breath as Erin made her way into the center of the room. Erin was blushing, looking harried by all the pressure on her. But she obligingly grabbed a wooden spoon and used it as a fake microphone.

“Attention! Attention, everyone! I guess it’s song time! I’m going to sing you a few Christmas songs from home—I hope you like them!”

“Finally.”

Revi muttered and got a jab from Belgrade in the side as the Antinium went back to sit at their table.

Standing in the center of the room, Erin wiped sweat off of her face and tried to think of a good song to sing. She felt so tired. But this was Christmas, and she had guests to entertain!

“This one’s a song I hear—heard all the time back at home. Jingle bells!”

She took a breath, and people cheered. Erin closed her eyes—

And remembered.

The sounds around her faded. Part of it was people growing quiet, listening to her sing. But another part was different. It might have been magic, it might have been her Skill. But the guests in her inn suddenly heard a ringing bell, a beating drum, and then Erin’s voice, singing a song from childhood. From home.

“Dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh, o’er the fields we go, laughing all the way…”

Home. It was something she’d avoided thinking of. But here, in this moment, in this place, Erin couldn’t escape. So she gave voice to that feeling in her chest, the memories.

Home.

Maybe that was why the next song she sung wasn’t a Christmas carol. Erin sang a song from the band Journey. The classic. The story in the song that she’d danced to so many times as a kid. The song played in the 3rd Season of Scrubs.

Don’t Stop Believing. The crowd in her inn cheered wildly when Erin was done. Some of them were rubbing their ears and staring around the inn for the drums and electric guitars that had been playing—others just sat, listening with mouths open to a type of music that had not existed in their world until now.

Erin smiled as people cheered her on, demanding another song. She immediately launched into the classic she’d sung for Lyonette and Mrsha, Silent Night. She sang with her eyelids shut. She wasn’t standing in her inn anymore. She was somewhere else.

Where would she be if she were at home? She’d be…she’d be in her living room, eating with her mom and dad. She’d probably be laughing and eying the presents under the tree. Knowing her father, he’d have bought her some chess guide or a new board—her mom would get Erin some tasteful clothing that Erin had hinted she wanted. And Erin would be looking forwards to seeing her parent’s reactions for the presents she’d bought.

Or—Erin’s voice faltered. Would she be in college? She would have been in college after her one year break. Erin would probably have come home for the holidays, but—

“Erin?”

She looked around, and realized the song had ended. People were waiting for the next song. Erin smiled. She felt something building in her heart. She searched for a song, and couldn’t think of anything off the top of her head.

“Um—what should I sing next? Another Christmas song? Okay. Then I’ll sing…”

It came to her without thinking.

“How about Home For the Holidays? Anyone heard that song? Well—”

Erin smiled faintly as people cheered and clapped. She took a deep breath and began. There was no accompaniment for this song. It wasn’t an immortal moment. Erin felt her heart beating slowly as she began to sing, mechanically reciting the song she’d heard so many times.

“Oh there’s no place like home for the holidays—”

Only when she was halfway through did Erin’s mind catch up with what she was singing. She paused, and people looked up. She coughed, and felt something in her stop. The people who’d been swaying to the music paused and looked at her. She tapped her throat, cleared it.

“Sorry. Something was in my throat. Let me try again.”

She opened her mouth, and tried again.

“Oh there’s no place like home for the—”

Again she broke off. This time, the noise in the inn died. Erin lowered the wooden spoon in her hands.

Something was wrong. Her eyes were stinging, and the world was getting fuzzy. Erin tried again. She took a deep breath.

“There’s no place like…”

Silence. Every eye was on Erin. The people in her inn had stopped. They stared at the girl standing in the center of the room. Erin’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. The last word she’d meant to sing died unspoken.

She dropped the spoon. It landed on the floor with a clatter. Erin looked around. Her eyes were bright and overfull. The word echoed in her mind, in her heart.

Home.

She wasn’t home. She was far from home. And though she’d tried to forget, Erin couldn’t. She remembered her parents, her home. Her friends. They weren’t here. This wasn’t her world.

Standing in the center of the room, Erin blinked and then lost the smile that she’d kept on her face for so long. Her mouth turned down.

She couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard she tried. The world blurred. Erin’s shoulders shook. Slowly tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the floor of the inn.

Drip. Drip.

Erin covered her mouth with her hands. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Home. She missed home! She wanted to see her mom and dad again. She wanted to go to her room. She wanted it so badly that Erin couldn’t do anything but cry.

No one could speak. Erin looked around, tears falling, unable to speak. Wide-eyed faces stared up at her, people soundlessly gazing at her.

She made the smallest noise, and then turned. Erin ran for the door to her inn and flung it open. She disappeared into the snowy night. The inn’s door slammed shut behind her.

For a second no one spoke. All of Erin’s guests stared at the closed door. Then Mrsha began to howl, and everyone began shouting at once.

----

The first few minutes were all chaos. Mrsha ran for the door, only to be caught by Lyonette. Ceria stood up and wanted to go after Erin, but Yvlon pulled her back. The Human woman tried to tell Ceria to let Erin grieve by herself at the same time Grev burst into tears and Klbkch flipped his table and stood up.

Some people went for the doors, but others got in the way or had other opinions. The noise was so intense that it became impossible to think or make sense of any individual voice.

In the end, Relc leapt onto a table and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Alright. Everyone shut up!”

He had a voice used to shouting in the middle of battles and over noisy crowds. Everyone grew quieter as they stared at Relc. The Drake looked around the room, and then hopped off the table.

“Damnit.”

He kicked at a fallen cup. Relc stared at the door and sighed heavily.

“Someone should go after her. It’s cold out there. And there’s Rock Crabs and Shield Spiders hiding in the snow.”

“I’ll go.”

Klbkch, Halrac, Pawn, Olesm, Krshia, Selys, Ceria—there were fewer people who remained sitting. But it was Pisces who appeared at the door in an instant with his [Flash Step] spell. The mage looked around the room.

“I shall go. Discreetly. I know [Invisibility]—I shall make sure she doesn’t freeze and keep any monsters away until she returns.”

No one had anything to say, so Pisces opened the door and disappeared into the night. The others sat down and began talking amongst themselves anxiously in low voices.

“Happy?”

Halrac snarled at Revi. The Stitch-girl raised her hands, looking upset.

“Don’t glare at me! It wasn’t my fault! Why did she start crying like that?”

“Because she’s homesick, you idiot! And she’s worked too hard putting this party on!”

“Well, how is that my fault?”

Revi’s raised voice attracted a few dark looks, but people were more concerned with Erin. Selys stroked Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll clung to Lyonette and buried her face in the girl’s shirt.

“I had no idea Erin was feeling so down. She didn’t say anything to me, and we’re best friends!”

“I say it’s all the work she’s been doing. Halrac is right—she needs a rest. And a friend. We should see if she wants to talk when she gets back.”

Ceria put her head in her hands as she sat at a table with Yvlon, Ksmvr, and the Halfseekers. She felt her own eyes stinging and brushed angrily at them.

“We should have been helping out and keeping her company instead of drinking and doing nothing! We should take tomorrow off and—just be there with her.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr agreed to the idea and Ceria saw other people nodding in agreement around the room. But it was Relc of all people who stared at the ceiling and shook his head.

“Naw, that’s stupid.”

“What?”

Ceria turned and glared at him. The Drake sighed. He looked older as he sat in a chair and leaned back.

“You know what we should do? We should leave her alone. If anyone stays here, she’ll just look after them. That’s what she does. Look after people. She’s a weird Human like that.”

The half-Elf opened her mouth to retort angrily, and then closed it. At his table, Ulrien nodded.

“That’s true. If we’re here, she has a job. We’re her customers, not just her friends. I say tomorrow, we all go into the city and give her the space she needs. We eat, and sleep there if we can manage it.”

“Ulrien!”

Revi protested. He looked hard at her.

“It’s what’s right, Revi. We won’t have a problem occupying ourselves for one day. And in the meantime, anyone who wants to talk with Erin can. But I think the Drake’s right. Giving Erin time alone is what she needs.”

“My name’s Relc, asshole.”

The other guests of Erin’s inn were in agreement. Selys was still very upset, though. She paced back and forth in front of her table.

“I just—I don’t know what to tell Erin! She wants to go home? Where’s she from? Terandria? Baleros? Chandrar? She’s never talked about it once!”

She looked at Krshia.

“Where’s Erin from? Has she told you?”

The Gnoll shifted, and looked around the room. Brunkr, who’d put his head down, raised it warily. Krshia nodded at the door.

“I have some knowledge of her home, but it is not for me to say, no. I am sorry, Selys. But Erin is a girl of many secrets. Her home is one of them, and few know of it.”

“Some know. Or have guessed.”

Ceria folded her arms frowning at the door as well. She was talking about Pisces, whom she was sure knew more than her.

“How hard is it to find out? Erin’s got to have said something to someone. Why’s going back so hard? Does she not have enough coin to pay her way home? Is she an outcast? What?”

Wesle’s face was filled with honest confusion. He looked around.

“I mean, she’s never spoken to me about it. But where’s her home?”

No one knew. And those that did weren’t saying. Yvlon sat with some of the others, frowning as they talked it over.

“She didn’t know about Terandrian nations. And she’s not from Chandrar.”

“Are you certain?”

Olesm nodded. He was toying with a chess piece, tail twitching with emotion.

“Yeah. She didn’t know about the King of Destruction.”

Yvlon shook her head.

“What, him waking up? That’s big news, but—”

“No, she didn’t know about the King of Destruction at all.”

“You’re kidding. Then is she from Baleros?”

“Hardly. Remember Gazi? She told me she’d never met a Gazer before in her life! She thought Gazi was a full Gazer, not a half-Gazer!”

Jelaqua walked over, suddenly alert. She stared at the others.

“Wait, Gazi? You mean, Gazi the Omniscient? That monster? How does a girl like Erin know her?”

“She poked Gazi’s eye out.”

“She what?”

Amid the second uproar, Halrac ground his teeth. He grabbed the wooden spoon Erin had dropped and snapped it with a twist of his hands. The sound of breaking wood echoed through the room like a gunshot. Everyone stared at the [Scout]. Halrac’s face was red and he looked angrier than anyone but Ulrien had ever seen him.

“None of this is helpful. So Erin doesn’t seem like she’s from one of the four main continents. So where did she come from?”

“The same place as Ryoka Griffin.”

Ceria spoke quietly, tracing a pattern in the spilled ale on one of the tables and freezing the liquid with the tip of her skeletal finger. Everyone fell silent at this. Those who didn’t know Ryoka asked who she was and got varied responses.

Someone else reacted strongly to Ryoka’s name. Zel’s head turned ever so slightly. But he said not a word as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Only Mrsha saw his entire body tense and the claws on his feet dig into the floorboards.

“Hold on, if Erin’s from the same place as that Runner chick, she can’t be nearby. There’s no one who looks like her in Izril, I’m certain.”

Relc scratched the spines on his head as he frowned. Yvlon nodded.

“She’s an islander. From far across the seas, I thought. Is Erin from there?”

“No, she can’t be! She never mentioned getting on a ship to me when we met.”

All eyes were on Relc. Standing against the far wall, Klbkch stared at his partner as Relc tried to puzzle out Erin’s origins out loud.

“You see, Klb and I, we were the first people who met her. In this inn. Well, not this inn, but the old one. We saw smoke coming out of the chimney one day while we were on patrol. We came to investigate whether bandits or fugitives were hiding out here, and found…her. Just living here.”

“You didn’t ask how she came here?”

Ceria stared incredulously at Relc. He raised his claws.

“It wasn’t our business! She said it might have been a teleportation spell, but she wasn’t actually sure how she ended up around Liscor. Besides, none of the [Mages] detected any magic that night when we asked them, so I thought she was mistaken. That’s as far as we looked into it.”

“That’s all you did?”

“We were busy! She wasn’t a wanted criminal anywhere—and believe me, the Captain had us check. She was just some strange Human who came here out of nowhere. Funny thing, though…”

The Drake paused and scratched at his chin.

“She can’t have come from the south. It’s way too dangerous for someone who’s not a Runner or warrior to travel alone, and Erin didn’t have any potions or weapons on her. And if she’d come down the northern road someone would have mentioned her, right? I remember traffic was good that day, but no one talked about a girl like her when we asked if they’d seen her.”

“So what?”

“So…I don’t get how she got here. Liscor’s surrounded by mountains. Really big mountains. There’s no way she could climb the High Passes, not with no levels…wait, she did say she was from some place. Hold on. What was it called?”

Everyone waited. Relc scratched his head.

“What was the place called? Michi…Missia…hm. Nope. I don’t recall.”

Expectant breaths were released. The listeners shook their heads as Relc shrugged helplessly.

“No levels?”

Typhenous frowned. Relc nodded absently.

“Yeah. She only had like four levels in [Innkeeper]. But nothing else. That’s what she said.”

“Strange.”

“You’re telling me. Wait, now I remember…Erin said she ran away from something. Oh yeah, she said she ran away from a Dragon when she got here. I remember thinking how crazy she was!”

“A Dragon?”

The room stirred. Jasi exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the other Humans from Celum. Olesm and the other Drakes looked just as incredulous as Relc.

“There’s no way.”

“Right, I mean, that’s what Klb and I thought. She must have run from a Wyvern, right? Only, her arm was burned. A fire breathing Wyvern, I guess.”

“I find it hard to believe that girl would confuse a Wyvern with a Dragon.”

Seborn nodded to the door. Relc shrugged.

“Come on, it can’t have been a Dragon. She probably just thought it was because she’d never seen a Wyvern before.”

“If it was a Wyvern, why didn’t it run her down?”

Halrac stared at a scar on his arm. Ulrien nodded as everyone turned towards their table.

“Wyverns are fast hunters. They don’t give up on their prey. Even if she was running at night, it would have swooped down on her. Unless she had tree cover, and the area around Liscor has virtually no trees.”

“Except the ones that go ‘boom’. Yeah. Okay. But—nah, it was probably a huge salamander. That breathes fire. It’s not a Dragon, right Klbkch?”

Relc turned towards Klbkch. The Antinium was silent for a moment as every eye fell on him. Then he nodded.

“The odds of a Dragon living near Liscor are remote. It is highly unlikely it was a Dragon that Erin saw.”

“Right, there was no Dragon.”

“That is a reasonable assumption, yes.”

The Drake [Guardsman] nodded. He turned back to the others.

“The only reason I’m mentioning it, see, is because Erin said she was running away from that. So she might have come from…Esthelm? Only she didn’t know that city…damn. If it was a Dragon, it could have teleported her, since Dragons can do all kinds of things like that, right? But if it wasn’t a Dragon…did she say she was ever on a ship…? Let me think.”

The others kept conferring. But sitting at his table with Jasi, Grev wiped at his face and then stared at Klbkch. He looked back at the others, and then raised his hand.

“Hey.”

No one heard him. Grev hesitated, and then called out.

“Hey!”

All the adults turned to look at him. Some, like Halrac, were annoyed. Grev quailed, but he said his bit determinedly as he pointed to Klbkch.

“He never said there were no Dragons. That Ant man.”

“What? Grev, don’t interrupt—”

“No, wait. What did you say?”

Zel raised his claw and came away from the kitchen’s entrance. He stared at Grev. The boy gulped, but went on, stammering as everyone looked at him.

“He—it’s a trick, see? In the city. You learn to listen for it. If someone don’t say something’s true or not true, they’re not lying, see? But they’re still not saying if it’s true or not. That K—Kb—that guy said it weren’t likely Dragons were around Liscor. But he never said they wasn’t.”

The room grew very, very quiet. All heads turned to Klbkch. He sat next to Xrn, the overturned table at his feet. The blue Antinium was staring at Klbkch. But the Antinium said nothing.

“Hah! There are no Dragons. Tell him, Klbkch!”

Relc laughed nervously as he stared at his partner. Klbkch said nothing.

Krshia cleared her throat with a rumble.

“Why do you say nothing, Klbkch? Is it as the Human child says? We have Skills, yes. Skills to detect lying among those in this room. Say there are no Dragons and we shall know. Unless you are a deceiver of the highest level.”

Still, Klbkch said nothing. Relc lost his nervous grin. Ceria felt her heart begin to beat faster.

“Klb? Hey, buddy…”

There was no way for Klbkch to get out of it. Even Pawn and the other Antinium were staring at him. At last, Klbkch nodded and looked around the room coldly.

“Regrettable. I will say nothing on this matter.”

That was all. But his words were confirmation enough.

“Dead gods!”

Typhenous knocked his chair back. Halrac’s hand had gone white on his mug. Ulrien was staring. The Halfseekers seemed paralyzed. Ceria felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

And those who weren’t adventurers were stunned. Selys gaped at Klbkch. She whispered a word.

“Ancestors.”

Zel felt his heart beating faster than he could ever remember. He stared at Klbkch. A Dragon. Could it be? He saw Relc’s mouth hanging open and Olesm, scales white as a sheet. The Ancestors, the First Parents. How long had it been since a Dragon had been seen on Izril—no, anywhere in the world?

Chance sightings. Stolen cattle, or strange burn marks. That was the rumor. But a real Dragon sighting? A Dragon? Here?

He couldn’t believe it. No one could. But the Antinium who knew the truth had confirmed it by not denying it. Or had he? Was it just a trick that played on the faintest possibility? Zel’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Klbkch.

The Antinium was unmoved. He stared around the room, at the eyes on him and the countless unanswered questions on everyone’s tongue. And it was clear he meant to answer none of them.

“Regardless of what you may believe, it is not in the best interests of my Hive for me to reveal any information confirming or denying your suspicions. I bear many of you no ill will, but I do not see you as comrades either. Erin Solstice I consider my friend, but her friends are not mine. You are all dust.”

His expressionless face was turned towards the place where Revi stood. Or perhaps it was Zel he was staring at.

The [General] moved forwards slowly. The people in the center of the room backed away as he walked to face Klbkch. Zel was standing straight, and there was the same hostility in his gaze as when he’d first laid eyes on Klbkch.

“If there is a Dragon on the continent, I think we should know about it.”

“Oh? I was not aware I answered to you.”

Klbkch slowly stood up from his chair. He seemed—angry. That was what Relc noticed. It wasn’t a word he’d ever had to use to describe his friend. But he saw it in the way Klbkch stood, and the way his hands hovered close to his swords.

“Hey, Klb, buddy. Hold on, you’re talking to a real hero here. General Shivertail—excuse my friend. Klbkch, come on. I served with General Zel during the war. He’s practically a pal…”

“He is not my friend. He killed two of the beings I called friend. Two of my comrades fell at his claws, never to rise again.”

Klbkch stared at Zel. The Drake felt the electric bond of hatred surging between them. He nodded, uncurling his fists into claws at his side.

“I fought against you in the war, Klbkch the Slayer. And as far as I’m concerned, the war never ended. Not with the Antinium. Your kind don’t know peace. So if you’re plotting something with a Dragon—”

“What my kind does is our affair, Zel Shivertail. It may be there is no Dragon and that I am simply tricking you. As I recall, you fell quite easily for such tricks during the war.”

That was it. Zel felt a spark ignite something in his breast. He took a step—

And a shadow fell over him. Zel turned his head and saw Moore, head in the rafters, standing on his right. Jelaqua was on his left, and the tingling on the scales of Zel’s neck told him the [Rogue], Seborn, was right behind him.

“Hey, not that I don’t like a fight, but if there is one I’d prefer the civilians and kids to be out of the room first, okay?”

Jelaqua smiled at everyone as she put a hand on her belt. She didn’t have her two-handed flail with her, but she had a dagger at her side.

Someone else stepped between Zel and Klbkch. Halrac and Ulrien stood in front of Typhenous and Revi. The two mages looked nervous, but Revi had something in her hands and Typhenous was staring fixedly at Klbkch.

“Halrac and I fought in the Antinium wars.”

Ulrien stared placidly at Klbkch, speaking calmly, but in such a way that it was clear he was ready to do violence. His face was unreadable, but emotion flickered in his tone, out of sight. He glanced at Zel as well.

“I fought against Antinium. But I also fought against Drakes every time their armies came up through Liscor. As far as I’m concerned, you two are welcome to tear each other apart—elsewhere.”

Zel didn’t move. He knew the Gold-rank adventurers had numbers and the drop on him if he moved. But he also knew he didn’t care. And from the way Klbkch was staring at him, the Antinium didn’t care either.

The room was frozen. Selys, staring at the two, bent down to whisper to Lyonette. The girl jerked as Selys touched her and pointed.

“Go over there. If Uncle Zel gets angry, you want to be behind him as far as you can go. If he loses his temper, no one in this room will be able to stop him.”

She whispered a bit too loudly. The Gold-rank adventurers in the room shifted uncomfortably. A Drake [General], a famous one like Zel Shivertail, was at least the equivalent of a Named Adventurer.

“Not true.”

It was Xrn of all people who spoke in answer to Selys. The blue Antinium stood up casually, ignoring the way people shifted their attention towards them. She stared at Zel and then at Selys.

“You may not know me, young Drake. But I am Xrn, the Small Queen. Of all those who fought in the Antinium Wars, I was the one who never fell. I am strongest in this room, and so it is I who say: enough.”

She turned to Klbkch.

“Klbkchhezeim. Klbkch the Slayer. You will honor the peace. Or I will halt you myself. As for you, Zel Shivertail…”

She turned to Zel as Klbkch abruptly sat down and folded his arms. Zel stared at Xrn with as much enmity as Klbkch, but the Antinium appeared not to feel his contained fury.

“You are quite different from what I expected. Was it luck or fate that kept us from ever meeting each other on the battlefield during two wars? In any case, I am surprised by you. There is not much of General Sserys in the way you act. He was far more cautious, for all his daring.”

Zel recoiled as if he was struck. The silent room drew in a breath as one. Looking worried, the Gold-rank adventurers stepped away from Zel. There was death in his eyes as he spoke.

“Watch your tongue. Sserys was my mentor. My friend. I haven’t forgotten that you killed him.”

“No. You would not. But did you know, Zel Shivertail? I was there when he died. I spoke to him in the minutes before his death.”

Not a word. Not a breath was drawn. Every eye was on these two. Zel stared at Xrn, and knew that if she spoke the wrong word it would be her head he held next, or his smoking body that lay on the ground. He didn’t care about the consequences. One wrong word.

And it would be war.

“What did you say to him?”

“Many things. Things that I will not utter here. But know that I did not kill him, Zel Shivertail.”

The Drake spat. Xrn shook her head.

“There are others in this room who know I am speaking the truth. I did not kill Sserys. Now. Would you like to know who did?”

Zel’s heart stopped. He stared at Xrn.

“Who?”

“It was no soldier. No common warrior of the Hives. Of course, you knew that. A single thrust to the heart.”

The Small Queen stared around the room. Her eyes returned to Zel, and her mandibles opened.

“Three Prognugators, three of the original Prognugators survived the war. You named us. Each one. Klbkch the Slayer. I, Xrn. The Small Queen. And the last…”

“Wrymvr. The Deathless.”

Xrn nodded slightly.

“Just so. Ask him what became of Sserys if you are so inclined.”

Something was burning hot in Zel’s chest. He took a step and the room tensed. But he staggered towards the door. Zel pushed it open and disappeared into the snowstorm. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything, but the beating of his heart. He heard the word in his mind, like a pulse thumping in his chest.

Wrymvr the Deathless.

When he was gone, Xrn turned to the speechless room. She smiled, opening her mandibles as the swirling lights in her eyes lightened and turned bright orange.

“Well, I have done one of the things I have come here to do. Klbkch, we shall speak now. Or perhaps after your presents are opened. Erin Solstice returns.”

All heads turned towards the door. After a few seconds, it was pushed open. Erin walked into the inn, no longer crying. She smiled cheerfully at everyone.

“I’m so sorry guys. I don’t know what happened. I can’t apologize enough, but—”

She paused and stared at the overturned table, at the people gathered together, the tense adventurers, and the stunned looks on most of her guests.

“Uh. What happened?”

----

After that came presents. It seemed like almost a letdown after all that had passed, but no one had told Erin what had happened and she was determined to salvage the party.

“Here you are, Klbkch! It’s from me!”

The Antinium took the present gingerly, ignoring the stares coming his way. He unwrapped the gift and found…

“A scarf.”

It was black, with splashes of red along the ends. Klbkch stared at the scarf as Erin smiled nervously.

“I had it specially knit. Jasi knows a good [Seamstress], and, well, I thought it would look good on you! I know the Antinium don’t have possessions, but I thought you could wear it now and then…”

Klbkch looked at Erin. Without a word he wound it around his neck. The scarf’s red ends dangled around his shoulders.

“I appreciate it deeply, Erin.”

“Ooh, is that for me? What did I—food!”

Relc goggled at his present. Erin laughed as he lifted out the huge jar of what were to him, strange, round, golden-brown circles.

“They’re cookies! Honey cookies, extra sugary, Relc! Ever since Octavia helped me make baking powder, I’ve been dying to make some!”

“Are they—are they all…?”

“All for you! Go on! Try one!”

Relc did. He bit into the chewy, thick cookie and teared up. He hugged Erin tightly, making her yelp as he scarfed down another cookie.

“They’re so good! So good! So sweet!”

Everyone had presents, and everyone opened them, with the exception of the absent Zel and Xrn, whom Erin hadn’t included on the list. They opened presents, at first awkwardly, but soon getting over the excitement of the last few minutes for a more normal, fun experience.

“A new robe?”

Pisces stared incredulously at Ceria. He held up the pristine white robes, made of strong, soft cotton. She smiled wryly at him.

“Don’t go crying on my shoulder. Erin insisted I get something for you—hold on Ksmvr. Is this for me?”

“I have obtained the present for you, yes, Captain Springwalker.”

Ceria frowned as she opened the present.

“What is—”

She gasped and Pisces’ eyes nearly fell out of his head as he stared at the lump of gold. Ceria gaped at the gold nugget and then at Ksmvr. He nodded in satisfaction.

“I was advised to get jewelry for you by Erin Solstice. Gold is a component of jewelry, hence this gift is appropriate. Do you like it?”

“Um. Yes!”

Other presents weren’t as dramatic. Lyonette was explaining to Halrac that the jar of honey and sausage was a gift from Mrsha—the Gnoll had picked out the sausage herself. Brunkr blinked down at the bottle of wine Wesle had given him and the [Actor] introduced himself awkwardly as he clutched the blanket Jasi had bought for him around his shoulders.

Relc had bought a wickedly sharp curved dagger that [Assassins] used for Klbkch. The Antinium had bought him a signed receipt from every tavern owner in the city, promising Relc ten free drinks.

“You guys are so sweet!”

Jelaqua laughed as she accepted her gifts from Seborn and Moore. Respectively they were a powdering kit to make her body look more alive, and an extra-powerful liquid soap bought from Octavia.

When Erin asked what the soap was for, Jelaqua winked at her.

“Helps with cleaning all the parts that get really messy. You know how it is.”

The girl shuddered. But then she laughed, and gave Jelaqua a hug, much to the Selphid’s delight.

It was Christmas. In time, people began looking towards their beds. The adventurers trooped upstairs, and the others bid Erin goodnight.

“They’ll all be heading out tomorrow. But if you want to talk—”

Selys gripped Erin’s hands gently with her claws. Erin didn’t quite meet her eyes as she smiled.

“I’ll be fine, Selys. I’m sorry about—well, merry Christmas.”

“Yeah. Have a good one. This was really fun, Erin.”

The others passed by Erin, nodding to her, shaking her hand, hugging her—Klbkch paused as Xrn stood by his side.

“I apologize for causing a commotion in your absence, Erin.”

“Oh? Uh, well, you’re forgiven.”

Erin blinked as he bowed his head and left. She stared as Klbkch walked out into the snow with Xrn.

The two Antinium moved in silence, and then Xrn looked at Klbkch.

“Do you understand what I did in there, Klbkch?”

“I understand, but I do not know why.”

Klbkch stared at Xrn. The Small Queen sighed.

“Had we talked, you would know. But understand this, Klbkch. I did not come here to simply evaluate your Hive’s latest works. There is more at stake here.”

Klbkch hesitated.

“Then it seems we must talk after all. I feared what you might say. Now I do not know what you have come here to tell me.”

“Well then. Let us find out.”

They walked off towards their Hive.

----

Back at the inn, Halrac, Revi, Typhenous, and Ulrien stood together in the hallway as Erin bade the last of her guests goodnight, speaking quietly.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, then. Halrac, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Ask, Ulrien.”

The [Scout] stood with arms folded. He stared down towards the staircase. He could still hear Erin saying goodbye to Octavia.

“There’s something about her. Just ask your contacts and I’ll ask mine. That’s all I want.”

“Who is that girl?”

Revi stared at her teammates. No one answered. Ulrien yawned, and looked to his room.

“We may find an answer tomorrow. Until then…Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose?”

“Merry Christmas to you all.”

Halrac and Revi went to their rooms. Typhenous bade them goodnight. He paused at the doorway, and turned to make sure the corridor was empty. Then he smiled and put a finger to his head. He whispered as he entered his room.

“[Message] spell to Lord Tyrion Veltras. Please record the following message and deliver at once. Yes…I will pay for immediate priority delivery.”

He spoke a short message as he closed the door to his room. No one heard. Or rather, Typhenous thought that no one heard.

Pisces shook his head as he cancelled the [Invisibility] spell and walked silently down the stairs towards the basement. Mages. It was the same in Wistram—despite knowing such powerful magics, even the best mages were so careless. How hard would it have been to put up a [Muffle] spell, or a [Contained Sound] ward? He could just put his ear to the door and listen!

“What the hell were you doing up there?”

Ceria hissed at Pisces as she and the other Horns of Hammerad stood at the door to the basement. Pisces flicked his fingers and the specialized magic only she could read flickered before her eyes.

Tell you later. Much is afoot.

She stared at him, and then yanked the trapdoor open. Yvlon and Ksmvr went down below.

“Erin? We’re going to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Oh. Goodnight!”

Erin turned and smiled at the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria nodded to her, searching the Human girl’s face. But Erin seemed cheerful, if tired.

The half-Elf and Pisces went down below. Erin turned and saw Lyonette and Mrsha standing on the stairwell.

“Do you need anything else, Erin?”

“No, I think we can clean up tomorrow. You two have a good night. Merry Christmas!”

Mrsha made a small, indistinct, sleepy noise and Lyonette smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Erin.”

And then she went upstairs. Erin stood in the center of her messy room, smiling faintly. She noticed coins on the tables and frowned. Apparently, people still paid her for the party.

She went around from table to table, collecting coins. As she did, Erin mechanically piled up dishes. When she got to the overturned table, she stopped.

Slowly, Erin looked around the dark room. The only light now came from the fireplace. Erin went over to it and stared at the embers. They glowed in the darkness, but dimly. They were fading, without any fuel left to consume.

She looked around again. No one. Erin was sure everyone was asleep by now. So she sat by the fire and stared into the remains.

“I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

Erin said it softly, not wanting to wake anyone. How could she have done that? Broken down in front of everyone? On Christmas?

Her hands trembled. Now that she was alone, really alone, Erin felt her eyes stinging again. She’d ruined Christmas. Even if people were happy now, she’d made them all sad. Because she was sad.

But she was sad! Erin stared at the blurry orange light and wiped at her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Lyonette made not a noise. She stared down into the dark room, at the figure sitting by the fire. She heard the muffled sounds, almost indistinct in the quiet inn. And then Erin’s voice.

She was crying again. When no one could see. Lyonette leaned against the bannister as she heard Erin’s voice.

“I want to go home!”

Erin wept uncontrollably as she sat alone by the dying fire. Hidden in the shadows, Lyonette stared down at Erin. She reached a hand out, and then turned away.

There were tears in Lyonette’s eyes as she went into her and Mrsha’s room, closing the door softly behind her. She stared out her window up at the clear night sky. She cried too. Not for herself, but for Erin. For a girl that wanted to go home.

Her voice was a whisper. Lyonette stared up at the dark sky. There was no one to hear her, but she spoke anyway. She spoke to the world and the stars.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin, swear on my name. I swear by my blood. Someday I will…”

In her inn, Erin curled up on the floor. She kept crying, letting loose all the emotions she’d kept bottled up for so long. She lay on the ground as the day she’d called Christmas ended. The longest night began as Erin slept on the floor of her inn, eyes red, curled up by a dead fire.

The shortest day of the year began as Erin Solstice slept. Her friends stayed in the city, left her to her grief. Erin was alone.

Alone.

Interlude

The day after Christmas, Ryoka woke up in a quiet village where the houses were still partly submerged by snow. She got up and after eating a communal breakfast with the villagers, began to say her goodbyes.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, Miss Ryoka? There’s hardly a road to follow, and the snow hasn’t stopped falling. We’d be happy to offer you a place to stay as long as is needed.”

Prost indicated one of the excavated houses they’d let Ryoka stay in for the night. Ryoka, thinking of how she’d been the only person to have a room to herself while the others slept four or more to a room, shook her head.

“It’s kind of you to offer, but I have to be going. I can reach Invrisil in a day even with deep snow. I have a…guide.”

“Just as you say, Miss. But I…we…can’t thank you enough for making this delivery on Emperor Laken’s behalf.”

He took Ryoka’s hand in his callused ones and bowed over it. Ryoka hesitated, and then clasped Prost’s hand.

“It was the right thing to do, that’s all. Your [Emperor] is a good man. He was the one who convinced me to make the journey. Thank him as well. But I have to be off. There’s somewhere I need to go back to, and people waiting for me. Perhaps I’ll return in the future.”

“If you do, our doors will always be open to you. Always. We owe you a large debt, Miss Ryoka.”

That promise was repeated by every man and woman Ryoka said farewell to. Every villager wanted to say goodbye to Ryoka personally, and she had to shake their hands, trade hugs…and also bend down to do the same to the children.

“You take it easy, okay?”

Ryoka looked Anabelle in the eyes as the young girl reached out to shake her hand. The child was still holding the doll that Ryoka had given her. She hadn’t let go of it once.

“I will, Miss. Thank you.”

She looked so small, standing in the freshly fallen snow. Ryoka felt old as she stood and put her gloves on. The wind blew and she nearly lost her grip on one.

“It’s cold. You stay warm and indoors, alright? When the snows melt…Laken will return.”

“I know he will. He promised.”

Anabelle smiled. There was such trust in her expression that Ryoka didn’t know what to say. She looked down at the girl and then at the village.

“You all really love him, don’t you?”

“He saved us, Miss Runner. You did, too. Maybe when I gain a class, I’ll be a [Runner].”

Ryoka glanced down and opened her mouth. She hesitated, looking into Anabelle’s eyes. They were alight, not dull and empty like they had been when she’d first seen them. Ryoka bit back what she was about to say, and knelt one last time.

“You know what? You might be a good [Runner]. When spring comes, eat a lot and run around a bit. Just have fun, and…we’ll see. Until then, stay warm.”

She stood, and turned. It was time to go. The villagers who’d gathered around her in the cold stepped back. But one woman came hurrying towards Ryoka, holding a box in her hands.

It was one of the present boxes Ryoka had handed out last night. Only, this one had been rewrapped in a hurry. Ryoka stared at it and then raised her hands.

“Oh no. You didn’t…please, I don’t need anything. I can’t accept—”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it? And you gave us so much…please, take this.”

The woman, Prost’s wife, Yesel, handed the box to Ryoka. The girl wanted to refuse, but couldn’t. She gingerly unwrapped the gift and blinked down at what was inside.

It was a scarf. Hand-knitted, thick, it was dark grey, but for a band of blue across the center. The scarf had a complex wave-pattern that saw the blue center rise and fall, like a wave. It looked brand new, and as if it had never been used.

Ryoka took the wool scarf out of the box and stared at Yesel. The woman looked at her, looked at the scarf, and Ryoka knew that it had not been meant for her. But she asked no questions.

It was useful, but Ryoka didn’t want to take it. She was on the verge of refusing when she suddenly glanced up and to the left. Yesel stared, but Ryoka only seemed to be staring at a patch of blank air to her. But then the girl looked down at her and tried to force a smile.

“Thank you. I—I guess I would need this, after all.”

“It’s far too cold to be without. And it’s—a good fit. I’d be happier seeing it on you than going to waste.”

Yesel watched as Ryoka wound the scarf around her face and neck. Normally Ryoka wouldn’t have bothered, but her coat didn’t cover her head, and the wind was freezing. Any colder and Ryoka wouldn’t be able to stay outdoors without goggles or some kind of protection to keep her corneas from freezing. She’d heard of that happening and had no desire to find out what that felt like herself.

“Thank you. When I see Lak—your [Emperor], I’ll let him know you’re all well.”

Ryoka said it again as she walked towards the outskirts of the village. The people gathered and waved after her, calling blessings. Ryoka slowly began to jog, and then run out of the village. She didn’t look back once, and soon, she’d left it behind.

When Ryoka was certain she was out of sight, she slowed her pace a bit. She spoke to the air.

“Ivolethe. Why did you tell me to accept the scarf?”

The Frost Faerie flew down out of the air and hovered by Ryoka’s side as the girl ran on through the deep snow. It was flurrying, the snow blowing down and confusing any sense of direction. It would soon be very dark, Ryoka knew. Only Ivolethe’s light shone brightly in this world of frost and snow.

“Refusing a gift given in good will on the Winter Solstice is ill luck, Ryoka. You should know that.”

“Really?”

Ryoka frowned at Ivolethe. She’d forgotten it was the shortest day of the year today. But then, it made sense. Yesterday hadn’t actually been Christmas, just a day that Erin had chosen to be the holiday. And the Winter Solstice…

“Does that mean the winter’s only half-over?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

“Nay, two thirds. I do not know how such things are reckoned where you hail from, but in this place, we govern winter. And the shortest day of the year marks the beginning of the end. In time, we shall depart. But this day has more significance than just that. That is why I warned you not to scorn the gift of goodwill.”

“Why? Because it’s unlucky?”

“Yes.”

Ryoka laughed. But Ivolethe’s face remained serious as she flew next to the girl.

“Do not mock my words. It is the Winter Solstice, Ryoka Griffin. Not Christmas. Not some day of mortal make. There is power in this day, even if it is not celebrated by the races of this world.”

The smile on Ryoka’s face faded. She stared at Ivolethe.

“You’re serious. What, is the Winter Solstice really an important day here?”

The Frost Faerie nodded.

“Today is a day of power. It is the shortest day of the year—a moment when spirits and magic mix and mingle with the mortal plane. Surely you know of this?”

“I—not really. You’re telling me magic is stronger on this day?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would not know, since magic is practiced differently by the people of this world. But other things take on different aspects on this day.”

“Hold up.”

Ryoka slowed down and stopped in the deep snow. She brushed some snowflakes away from her face and stared at Ivolethe.

“Are you telling me that days like the Winter Solstice, the equinoxes, things like the witching hour…are all actual times of power?”

The Frost Faerie flew closer to Ryoka’s face. There was not a twitch, not a single tell that she was lying or playing games. She looked as serious as Ryoka had ever seen her, and that bothered the young woman greatly.

“Time has power, as does place. I say again, be cautious today, Ryoka Griffin. Since you travel, it would be best if you enter no house uninvited nor ask for any favors of those you meet upon the road. Utter no curses, ask for no blessings if ye are unwilling to pay the price. And make no bargains, make no promises. Tell no lies.”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe. Her humor faded, and she felt just the tiniest bit uneasy.

“I will. But if today’s so important—no, dangerous—would it have been better to stay indoors?”

The faerie shook her head. She cast her eyes upwards at the dark sky and the falling snow.

“Indoors? Hah. On such a day, only a leyline or—nae, a sacred spot would attract attention. Fate will find you no matter where you go, Ryoka. Best to be about your business. But let us hurry on. It will be dark soon, and you should be behind stone and iron before the night is deepest.”

She flew ahead, lighting Ryoka’s path. The girl ran after her. On the shortest day of the year, she followed the Frost Faerie onwards. But soon, both Ryoka and Ivolethe were lost. And dusk came quickly, so that when Erin woke, in the blink of an eye it seemed almost like night.

----

Erin Solstice woke up late in the day for once. But when she sat up, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders by the smoldering fireplace, she thought she was dreaming.

It was already dusk, and her inn was empty. Erin stared at the blanket someone had wrapped around her, and then looked around her inn. But from the basement to the second floor, there was not a soul to be found.

Even Lyonette’s bee grub was gone. Her inn was deserted. No one was here, but Erin.

The girl walked about, feeling a wave of loneliness pass over her. It was the same feeling as yesterday. As every day, really.

She was alone. Only now she didn’t have anything to keep her busy.

Erin didn’t eat. She went over to the fireplace and sat in front of it, staring into the embers. Someone had added fuel to the fire, but it had burnt low again by the time Erin had woke up.

The girl stared into the fading coals, and then reached for a piece of wood. She slowly placed the log onto the fire, and watched the wood smoulder and then begin to ignite. She put a second piece of wood next to the first, and the fire grew. It reached up to consume the logs, and the wood burned.

The room began to warm. Erin huddled in front of the fire, warming herself. She stared into the heart of the flames and felt the inn echo around her. Vast. Empty.

On the hill, her inn stood, windows shuttered, door closed. It was the one building around. The city lay a small ways off, no doubt full of life. And beyond that, a few villages filled the hilltops before the snowy floodplains gave way to higher ground. Past that was the city of Esthelm, and other lands.

But here, on this isolated hilltop, the inn was the only source of light and life, however faint it may be. And in that inn, a young woman held her hands to the fire. She added more wood, and the modest blaze became a large conflagration, burning bright and fierce.

It was a waste of firewood for one person. But Erin didn’t care. She stoked the fire, feeding it, making it large enough to warm her cold heart and tired body. And the fire grew, and the inn warmed and gained new life.

So Erin sat, warming herself and thinking of nothing in front of the fire. She would have sat there until she slept, but then she heard a sound. She turned, and realized she had visitors.

Three.

----

They were lost. Ryoka didn’t realize it at first. She followed Ivolethe, never doubting the faerie…until she found herself running past a fallen tree that looked too familiar to ignore.

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka pulled down the scarf around her face, grimacing and wiping at the moisture built up on her lips and nose by her breath. Snow blew past her as Ryoka covered her face with one arm, shielding it from the worst of the blizzard. It felt just as bad—no, worse—than yesterday.

“Ivolethe! Where the hell are we!? I could have sworn we passed that same tree a minute ago!”

She had to look hard to see the Frost Faerie’s glow as Ivolethe flew back towards her. Ivolethe was frowning as she stared at the fallen tree Ryoka pointed to.

“It is not the same tree. Your eyes play tricks on you, Ryoka Griffin.”

“You sure?”

Ryoka peered at the tree. She hadn’t paid much attention to it, but she felt it was lying in the same place and at the same angle as the last one she’d seen. How many fallen trees were there, anyways?

“Where are we going, Ivolethe? I thought we were following the road!”

“We are!”

“What do you call this, then?”

Ryoka waved her hand at the grove of trees that she and the Frost Faerie were travelling through. It was a forest of some kind, and not one Ryoka remembered going through on the way to Riverfarm.

Ivolethe looked uncertain. She cast about and flew upwards, fighting the strong winds that threatened to blow her away. When she flew back down to Ryoka, she pointed past the tree.

“This is the way to the road.”

The young woman peered doubtfully in the direction Ivolethe had indicated.

“You sure?”

“Yes! Now come!”

Ivolethe scowled, unused to being questioned. She flew off angrily and Ryoka cursed and ran to catch up, wrapping her scarf around her head as she did.

“Don’t go so fast, Ivolethe! I can barely see you in all of this! Can’t you make your light red again?”

The faerie didn’t answer, or maybe she didn’t hear Ryoka. The girl ran on, tripping over buried tree roots and cursing as she passed through a spot with low-hanging branches. But then she saw the faint light of Ivolethe’s aura pause. Ryoka caught up to the faerie and halted.

“What the…”

They were back at the fallen tree. Only this time, they were facing it from an entirely different angle. Ryoka turned back and stared the way they’d come. Then she looked angrily at Ivolethe.

“What the hell is this, Ivolethe? Are you messing with me?”

“I’m not!”

The faerie protested as Ryoka glared at her. She stared at the fallen tree, her brows furrowed.

“I…must have turned the wrong way. But I will take you to the road. It’s this way.”

She pointed in a completely different direction than the way she had before. Ryoka stared at Ivolethe, frowning with vexation.

“If you’re playing games, Ivolethe, I’m not in the mood. I’m cold—it’s getting dark, and—”

“Cease your complaints! I know the way. Follow me and be silent!”

The faerie snapped at Ryoka and flew off. Surprised by the faerie’s outburst—Ivolethe sounded truly angry—Ryoka followed the faerie. But after a few minutes of running she realized something was wrong.

“Ivolethe. Ivolethe!”

The faerie paused and glared back at Ryoka.

“What?”

“You’re going the wrong way! You just turned left, towards the way we came!”

“I did not!”

“You did. I saw you! Look—you can see the fallen tree back that way!”

Ryoka pointed, and Ivolethe stared incredulously. It was true. She was headed straight back towards the fallen tree again.

About to make an acidic comment, Ryoka paused as she stared at the Frost Faerie. She’d assumed Ivolethe was playing a prank on her, but the surprise and uncertainty she saw on the tiny faerie’s face bothered her.

“What’s going on, Ivolethe? Why are we going in circles?”

“I…do not know. Hold. I will see where we are. Just wait—”

Ivolethe cast about, and then flew up. Ryoka saw her form flying straight up, and then getting dragged to the left by the wind.

“By the wind…? I thought Ivolethe could read the wind. Or control it.”

Ryoka muttered to herself as she saw Ivolethe fighting to stay in one place. The faerie flew higher, until her light was swallowed up by the darkness. Ryoka waited on the ground for a minute. And then five.

And then ten. Ryoka stared upwards, shivering, calling out.

“Ivolethe! Are you there? Answer me!”

But no response came. Ryoka paced back and forth anxiously. After what felt like forever, she saw the faintest of lights in the darkening skies. Ivolethe flew down out of the sky, shouting Ryoka’s name.

“Ryoka! Ryoka Griffin! Hear my call! Where art thou?”

“Here! Ivolethe, I’m here!”

Ryoka shouted and waved her arms. The Frost Faerie flew towards her.

“Where did ye go? I lost you!”

“I didn’t go anywhere! You went straight up and vanished!”

“No! I flew up and when I looked back to find you, you were gone!”

The two stared at each other, searching for a hint of deception in each other’s expressions. But neither was lying. After a second, Ryoka stared around at the scattered trees and dark landscape.

“What’s going on, Ivolethe? I’m being serious, now. I don’t like what’s happening.”

The faerie looked grave. She flew closer to Ryoka and placed a hand on her small chest.

“Upon my name, Ryoka Griffin, I do not know. I am not lying to ye. Something is afoot and I cannot tell what.”

“Could it be…could it be your sisters, Ivolethe? I didn’t see them when I woke up—is this some prank of theirs? Or someone else…of your kind?”

Ivolethe frowned and looked about. Then she shook her head.

“I would be able to tell if it were a working of my people. Besides, the magic of the fae is mine. I see through all glamours, and can walk through the twisted halls of my land without losing my way. The magic of the Sidhe cannot fool my eyes, any more than a spell of mortal make can. No, this is something else. Something…else.”

That bothered Ryoka greatly. She stared about once more, noting how the sun, still completely hidden behind the clouds, was almost gone. She recalled what Ivolethe had said about the Winter Solstice. A time of power. An important event.

“Look, did you see the road? Can we follow that?”

The faerie looked at Ryoka and slowly shook her head.

“I saw no road, Ryoka.”

“But we just left—”

“I saw no road. Nor any landmarks I recognized. Just trees and snow and darkness.”

Ryoka paused. She felt the wind blow harder, and the chill cut into her flesh. But there was another chill in her bones.

“In that case…we’re lost. And it’s cold. I know you might not feel it, Ivolethe, but if I have to spend the night…I need a fire.”

“I know. And it seems we cannot leave this place yet. Build a fire, Ryoka Griffin, and quickly. Build it high and mighty. I will help.”

The faerie flew past Ryoka, and both girl and fae ran back towards the fallen tree. It was cold, hard as rock, and partially covered by the snow, but it was a good place to start.

Finding a spot that was at least partially protected from the wind, Ryoka set to work trying to build a fire. She used the fallen tree as protection from the wind, and scraped away snow and ice to get to the wet earth below.

There was no hope of building a snow cave out here, despite the deep snow. It was all powder, and Ryoka felt like if she tried to pack it into a buildable substance she’d be working all night. She’d have to dig a trench. At least if she used the tree, she could count on sheltering herself from a good portion of the wind chill.

But first, the fire. Ryoka knew she was very lucky to have burnable, dead wood around her. She took out the knife at her belt that she’d seldom used but always carried, and began hacking at the dead branches of the fallen tree.

She needed dry, burnable fuel to start with. Ivolethe flew out of the storm and dropped more dead wood for the young woman as she stripped bark and the outer layer of frozen wood away, searching for dry wood pulp.

It took Ryoka a long time to set the fire up even when she had enough wood. She didn’t know any fire spells, and the flint and steel she carried were not as handy as a ziplocked bag of dry matches. Or a can of petroleum.

“Can’t you unfreeze part of this place? I know you did it once—you have spring powers, right?”

Ryoka shouted at Ivolethe in frustration after her eighth failed attempt to get the tinder to light. The Frost Faerie shook her head as she hovered a few feet away from Ryoka’s attempt at a fire.

“I have such aspects, but it is not wise to use them without dire cause, Ryoka. And even then…nae. Not here.”

She looked around warily at the dark forest. Ryoka paused and stared at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie stared back. Her expression told Ryoka more than she wanted to know. It was uncertain, and more than that…Ryoka had never seen a faerie looking uneasy.

The girl bent over the wood and redoubled her efforts to get it to light. At last, after Ryoka’s hands were cramping up from striking so many sparks, one caught. Ryoka immediately sheltered the fire, letting it grow, desperately helping Ivolethe feed it bits of tinder.

And after what seemed like hours of work, there was a fire. Ryoka sat back, gasping with relief as it grew and she fed it more wood, letting it warm her and the wet firewood she’d placed around it.

“Thank god. Thank…jeeze.”

Ivolethe flew around the fire, dropping bits of dry wood into it. She stared at the blaze, and then around at the forest. It was very dark, now. The sky had faded to pitch blackness faster than Ryoka could ever remember seeing, except maybe in a country like Poland, where sunlight might only last for three hours each day.

“The fire is growing. Good. Keep it burning bright, Ryoka. Do not let it go out.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Ryoka shuddered, feeling herself warm up. But it wasn’t the need for heat that seemed to bother the faerie. She kept looking around the fire, into the dark forest. Ryoka stared around too. And then she felt a prickling sensation down her back.

She didn’t know why, but it felt like they were not alone in the forest. Perhaps it was Ivolethe’s wariness, but suddenly Ryoka thought she was being watched. She stared about surreptitiously, one hand on the knife she’d used to cut the wood. She had potions—some of them were too frozen to use, but Ryoka could warm them at the fire. The girl cursed as she suddenly realized she could have used the ignition potion for the flour bomb that Octavia had given her to light the fire!

But…perhaps it was best she hadn’t used it. Ryoka stared about. It was cold, and she could only hear the blowing wind. But she felt it now, the same as Ivolethe.

Something was out there. And it was watching her.

----

They were three. They stood in her inn, the closed door behind them. Erin hadn’t heard them come in. She turned, caught off-guard, but the three didn’t seem like they meant to harm her.

“My apologies, Miss Innkeeper. We do not mean to intrude, but the storm outside pushed us in. We come bearing no ill will. May we seek the hospitality of your hearth on this dark day?”

The first who spoke was a man who stood taller than any man that Erin had ever seen. He was not a giant or stretched, like a basketball player was, though. He simply stood as if he looked down upon everyone and everything.

He had a beard, and a face that reminded Erin of Abraham Lincoln. Perhaps it was just the way his features looked? His nose? No—there was just something timeless about his appearance, Erin decided. Like Teddy Roosevelt, someone who defined his time, who stood out.

He had a beard. And an air about him that made Erin forget his companions for a second. But then she saw a man standing next to him, tall, taller than the first, actually, but who didn’t have his presence. He was slightly hunched, and thin. He looked like a librarian, or a scholar, or what such people were supposed to look like.

He held a book in his hands. It was faded and worn and looked as though it were ancient. But Erin’s eyes passed from him to her third guest, because the last man who stood in her inn didn’t strike her as a man at all, at first.

He…it was a he, Erin thought, was not beautiful or handsome. That was surprising, because Erin felt he should have been. But he simply looked like someone Erin vaguely recognized, as if he had the features of someone Erin had known. But she had never met him before, she was certain.

And he looked like a guy. Now Erin was uncertain of why she’d ever thought he was she. Perhaps it was the way he moved. He was graceful in the way the other two weren’t.

There they stood, the three of them. Erin stared at them in confusion, and then smiled.

“Um. Hello. Welcome. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Please…welcome.”

The three bowed their heads, almost as one. Erin walked towards them, feeling lightheaded. She hadn’t eaten.

“You look like travelers. Are you lost?”

“Not lost, Miss. Simply weary. I thank you for allowing us to enter your inn.”

The tall, thin man with the book smiled down at Erin. She smiled back, staring into eyes paler than the moon, but deeper than any ocean.

“My door is always open, especially to people who need food and rest. Can I…can I get you something to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

The three spoke almost as one. The man who walked like a dancer bowed to Erin, smiling broadly.

“It has been a long time since we ate anything. Whatever you offer, we will gladly partake.”

“Just a second then. I’ll get what I have!”

Erin rushed into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what she pulled out, but it felt like she was searching for food, frying and cooking at the same time, and then bringing the dishes out to the three men all at once. How much time had passed? A second? Hours?

“A feast!”

The man with the beard declared that as Erin filled the table for them. He and the other two men began to eat, not without manners, but in a way that told Erin they were starved.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She wanted to keep serving them food, famished as they seemed. But to her surprise, the man with the beard bade her sit.

“Come. Eat with us, our generous host. ‘Tis been far too long since we passed the time with anyone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“We insist.”

The other two beckoned Erin over as well. So she sat, and began to eat with them. And until that moment, Erin hadn’t realized how hungry she was herself. In moments she was scarfing down the food with the three.

And then…how strange it was. Erin felt like her guests were no more strangers to her than any of her regular customers. She sat and ate and laughed with them as if she’d known them her entire life. They were familiar, in a way Erin couldn’t name.

When it was over, again, as if in the blink of an eye, Erin sat with the other three around the fire, warming herself. The three men complimented her on her food as she demurred. Then the one with the book sighed as he stared at the sliver of night through one of Erin’s shuttered windows.

“It is dark and cold outside. I fear our companions face the storm alone at this moment.”

“Oh no. Are they lost too? Should we go get them?”

Erin started for the door.

“No.”

The man with the beard stopped Erin.

“It would not do to venture out in such a storm at the moment. Things lurk in the shadows. They wait. Better to stay indoors.”

“But your friends…”

He shook his head, and the other two did likewise, making the same motion at the exact same time.

“They are lost as we are, but do not fear. We will meet again in time. That is a certainty, and they do not fear the storm.”

“If you’re sure—what are their names? I can put up posters, ask about…”

The three men laughed as if Erin had said something hilarious. The man with the beard shook his head again.

“Do not worry. They will come in time. As for names…it would be pointless to ask. Few remember my name, let alone the others.”

“Your name? I’m sorry, you never said. What’s your name?”

“Some call me Tamaroth, little innkeeper. But how are you called?”

Erin realized she’d never introduced herself, even after all this time! She blushed; sitting with them had felt so natural she hadn’t thought of it.

“I’m Erin Solstice.”

They sighed, hearing it. As if her name were special. The three men stood around Erin, and she didn’t know when they moved. When the next person spoke, it was the graceful man.

“Well then. You have fed us and given us the hospitality of your home. For that, we are thankful. And so we have three things to offer you, Erin Solstice. Three gifts.”

“Gifts? For me—I couldn’t. I—”

“We insist. Three gifts, but you may only accept one from us. And in return, on this day, the solstice for which you are named…we would ask only one thing in return.”

“What? A gift for a gift? Well, okay, but what is it? I don’t have much to give…”

She had coin and food, but she didn’t feel these men needed either. But they wanted something of her. She didn’t know what, but she knew she had it. The three drew closer, smiling.

“You have it right here. All we ask is it for one of our gifts. It is a small thing. Will you give it?”

“What is it I have?”

They told her.

----

The fire was warm. Ryoka stared into it, and then into the night. By her side, Ivolethe looked around darkly.

“I do not trust this storm, Ryoka. It is…strange. Even to me. I did not predict its coming, and I cannot see what lies in the darkness. Do not stray from the fire.”

She didn’t need to tell Ryoka twice. In the wilderness, the blackness around the fire that Ryoka had built was absolute. Just a few feet away from the fire, Ryoka was sure she’d lose her way instantly. She was glad she’d piled up enough wood to last the night; she didn’t want to move anywhere.

Ryoka glanced into the darkness and shuddered. She couldn’t see the trees anymore. That was how black it was. Pitch black wasn’t close to this level of…oblivion. She shuddered and glanced back towards the fire—

And there they were. Three people, sitting around the fire with Ryoka. They had made no sound, and Ryoka had not seen them move. But there they were.

“What the—”

She scrambled backwards. Ivolethe looked and cried out in astonishment. But the three sat, calmly, hands stretched out to the fire. Three.

One was a woman not much older than Ryoka. She looked scarred, liked a warrior. She turned her face to Ryoka, and the girl saw her smile.

The second was an old woman. She sat with gnarled hands outstretched, greedily staring into the flames. When she looked at Ryoka, it was with a gentle expression, like a grandmother staring at a child.

And the third? The third was not—Ryoka tried to stare at it. Her eyes moved away. It was not—

It was not anything Ryoka could describe. It sat. But sat wasn’t the right word. It was rigid, in a way bodies and…flesh was not. But it was there, too. It sat at the fire, warming itself or letting itself be warmed.

And it too looked at Ryoka. She felt its gaze upon her.

“Who are you? How the hell did you get here?”

Ryoka’s voice shook as she stood, staring at her three guests. They looked at her as Ivolethe clung to Ryoka’s clothing. It was the young woman who spoke first.

“We are cold, and came out of the storm to seek shelter. Would you begrudge us the fire, young traveler?”

The old woman was next. She edged closer to the fire, eyes fixed on Ryoka the entire time.

“We ask for your hospitality and grace in the storm. Will you give it to us, oh lost child?”

The third said nothing, but Ryoka knew it asked the same.

“Say no. Turn them away.”

Ivolethe whispered in Ryoka’s ear. But the girl hesitated. She stared at the three. They looked so cold. Colder than ice, as if they’d been caught in the storm without protection for…

“I—I suppose so.”

The faerie made a sound, but the three at the fire smiled so broadly that Ryoka relaxed her guard. The old woman beckoned Ryoka back.

“A blessing upon you. Come, sit. Share the fire you have built with us. The darkness is deep, and it would not do to let the fire go out.”

There was truth in that. Ryoka sat back down, away from the other three, and cautiously fed the fire another piece of wood. The three watched as the flames consumed the stick.

“How…did you get here? I didn’t hear anyone arrive.”

“We have been here all along. Perhaps it is you who never looked.”

This came from the young woman. Ryoka glared at her, but she stared back with amusement in her eyes, not the least bit deterred by Ryoka’s look.

“Okay. Then who are you? Where do you come from?”

“That is a long story. We can tell it, but perhaps…young woman, would you offer me your hand? I wish to sit next to you and it is cold.”

The old woman stretched out her hand towards Ryoka. The girl hesitated. She didn’t want to sit next to the old woman, but she looked cold…

“Do not do it! Let us be away, Ryoka!”

A voice in her ear. Ryoka hesitated, and then looked at Ivolethe. The old woman frowned at the tiny faerie on Ryoka’s shoulder.

“What is that you have with you, child? It is a thing of ice and dreams. Not good company for the fire.”

“Her? She’s just…Ivolethe. Don’t mind her.”

“She should leave.”

The young woman with the scars said that. And the thing…agreed.

“I will not leave! You leave! Trespassers!”

The faerie hissed at them, her eyes narrowed as she clung to Ryoka’s coat. The three stared at Ivolethe and she made another sound, so guttural and wild that Ryoka couldn’t believe it came from Ivolethe.

But then the three looked away from the faerie and back towards Ryoka. It was the young woman with the scars who spoke next.

“Take my hand, then. I see the makings of a warrior on you, traveler. I see bloodshed in your past, and in your future. Take my hand and I will show you what I know of battle and triumph. Of loss and defeat.”

She reached out towards Ryoka. The girl hesitated. She wanted to take the hand, if only because there was something in the young woman’s eyes that called out to her.

Ivolethe pulled at Ryoka’s ear. The girl yelped and swatted at Ivolethe, but the faerie only fluttered away. She sighed.

“I’m no warrior. Sorry. And I don’t like killing or…battle.”

“A shame.”

The hand was withdrawn. Now Ryoka’s eyes fell on the third thing sitting around her fire. It did not move. It did not reach for Ryoka, but she felt the urge to reach for it.

“Ah, perhaps you want to know who our companion is.”

The old woman chuckled, a dry, quiet sound swallowed up by the snow.

“Well, it asks for you to reach out, child. Can you feel it? Can you hear?”

Ryoka…could hear, despite Ivolethe shouting something in her ears. She understood. The thing wanted her to touch it, to…to feel what it felt. To be with it. To know.

Her eyes slid away from what it was. Rigid? It was nothing she could describe. But she knew it was not like the other two. Not…a being. And not a thing. Yet she wanted to touch it. That was what frightened Ryoka the most.

She reached out. She couldn’t help herself. Part of Ryoka wanted to know what it was, so badly. She wanted to touch it—

Ivolethe bit her. Ryoka howled as she clapped a hand to her neck. She felt blood at the tips of her numb fingers and flung the Frost Faerie away.

“Ivolethe!”

The three who sat at her fire stared as the faerie flew back towards Ryoka, blood dribbling down the faerie’s chin. Ivolethe wanted to land on Ryoka’s shoulder again, but the girl wouldn’t let her.

“Now here is a thing that need not be here.”

Ivolethe screamed something like a curse at the young woman sitting across the fire. It made Ryoka’s ears ring, but the young woman simply frowned at the Frost Faerie.

“Begone, thing of ice and cold.”

The flames flickered as the wind blew. Ivolethe shouted, but the gust of wind blew her away. Ryoka turned and saw Ivolethe’s pale blue light flying backwards, her wings beating helplessly. Ivolethe was blown into the darkness outside of the fire. And she did not return.

“There. Much better.”

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka was on her feet. She started away from the fire, but stopped as she saw the vast darkness lurking beyond. If she went out, Ryoka knew she would never find her way back. It was too dark.

“Do not worry about that thing. Come back, sit with us. The fire is growing low.”

Ryoka turned. It was true. The fire was dying, though it felt like she had just fed it moments ago. The girl stepped back towards the fire, but hesitated.

Why were the three here? How had they…she blinked and frowned. Her head felt cloudy, and she was tired. And cold. She couldn’t think straight, but the three seemed oddly comforting to her. She took a step forwards, hesitating as she narrowed her eyes. They were so familiar.

“Do I…know you?”

“Of course.”

The young woman looked amused. She shifted, exposing scars on her arms and the side of her face. She smiled at Ryoka as if they were old friends.

“We know each other, even if you do not remember. But sit. Sit, and join us.”

“Yes, join us. Stoke the fire, and sit with us.”

The other two echoed her words. Ryoka hesitated, and drew nearer to the fire. It was growing low. The old woman stretched her hand out to Ryoka, staring her in the eye.

“I offer again. Hold my hand, child. Be free of your worries with me.”

She held her hand out to Ryoka through the flames. It was a hand that promised Ryoka relief. A place to sit, somewhere to rest…Ryoka hesitated.

The young woman was next. Her hand was strong and stretched out to Ryoka, scars shining in the fading firelight.

“Grasp your hand to mine, Ryoka Griffin. Fight, and walk with me through a thousand lands.”

Ryoka stared into the young woman’s eyes and saw the same promise reflected there. To struggle, to fight—

She nearly took it, but the third thing sitting at her fire made an offer. And it called to Ryoka without words. It told her to come over, to sit with it, to…know. To find what was missing, to find what never was.

It was there, telling Ryoka to touch it. To let go. To be…

Ryoka took a step towards the fire, and then another. The three waited for her to make her choice. And Ryoka would take one of the hands. Why not? Only…

Something was running down her neck. Absently, Ryoka reached up and touched something wet and warm.

Blood. Her blood. She stared at her fingers and saw the dark liquid on her fingertips. Why? Oh. Right. Ivolethe had bit her.

And seeing her blood triggered something in Ryoka’s head. She frowned as she chased after a thought. Her mind felt foggy, as if she were in a trance, or sleepwalking. But there was something…what was it?

Oh. Yes. Ryoka stared at the three sitting at the fire. She had to ask. It felt so obvious that Ryoka was almost ashamed, but she had to ask. It was important.

“Hey. Why could you see Ivolethe?”

They stared at her. The old woman sighed. The young woman sighed. And the third thing made no sound at all.

“Ah, it is too late. Look, child. The flames have gone out.”

Ryoka saw the old woman’s hand point. She saw a tendril of fire licking at the edge of a stick that was burnt to ash and then—

The fire went out.

The light vanished from the world. There was only the faintest glow, of near-dead embers. Suddenly, the darkness was all around Ryoka, pressing in. Reaching for her. She shuddered and stumbled towards the campfire. She had to ignite it again. She couldn’t be in the darkness.

There were…things out here.

But Ryoka halted. Her feet refused to move as, by the faintest glow of the campfire, she saw who really sat there. Who she’d been talking to this entire time.

There were no people sitting with her. They had never been there. As the light went out, their true forms were revealed.

Dead things sat around the fire. They were dead. But it was far worse than a corpse. Because they were dead but still moving.

Two faces and a…thing stared at Ryoka around the smoking remains of the light. One reached out to her and Ryoka recoiled. The hand that stretched out was not living, but decayed skin, rotting flesh. Bone.

The things were dead. They were rotting and stank of it. They stared at Ryoka, and she stared at them.

It was dark. The darkness was closing in. The embers were fading, and Ryoka could sense things around her. Things not seen, but terrible. Far worse than the thing that sat next to the fire.

She had to have light. But Ryoka refused to go near the fire. She refused to touch the rotting things. But she needed light.

“Magic.”

The word was a whisper in her dry throat. But—yes, that was right! Magic! Magic could save her. Ryoka raised her hands. She called out.

“[Light]. [Light]!”

Nothing happened. Ryoka stared at her hands. She couldn’t feel the magic in her, couldn’t reach into that wellspring inside her soul and draw it out. It was as if there was nothing there.

“There is no magic here. Only the fire.”

The voice that came from the thing that had been the young woman was rasping, dead. As rotten as the body that formed the words. It gestured to the fire.

“Light it, traveler.”

“Yes, light it. Or the darkness and the storm will take us all. You can feel it, can’t you? They are closing in. They are coming.”

Yes, Ryoka could feel it. She could feel things watching her. Drawing closer. The fire was fading. When it was out completely, they would come. They feared the light. But they wanted her.

Hands reached for her across the fire. Dead things spoke. One looked at her and it knew her name.

“Choose, Ryoka Griffin. Let the fire die and we shall all face the darkness. Or come and sit with us.”

The second hand reached out. It still beckoned. Still promised. But the thing that held it was dead.

“Choose.”

And the last thing sat, true form revealed. Ryoka stared at it and knew where it had come from. From beyond the edge of the world. From the places not meant to be looked into. It told her to reach out and enter those places.

She wanted to touch it. She feared to touch it. She did not want to go near the rotting things. But the darkness was closing in. She had no choice. Ryoka had to…

Choose.

----

They stood around Erin, holding their gifts. She stared at them, part of her unsure of what was happening. The other part…knew.

All they wanted was a small thing. So small, and yet so precious. It was all Erin had. All anyone had, really. But this was hers.

“What do you want? I mean…what do you want to trade for it? It’s very special to me.”

They nodded. It was special. The three spoke, almost as one. Telling her what they would give her in exchange for it.

Her soul.

The first was the man with the beard.

“I offer an umbrella made from the sun’s light. To bring day into blackest night.”

He handed Erin an umbrella. She took it, and opened it. Sunlight, pure sunlight, the kind Erin had never truly seen, streamed down from under the umbrella’s canopy. She lifted it over her head, and laughed as the sunlight shone around her. For a second, she was warm and she stood in the daylight. So long as Erin held the umbrella open, it would always be bright around her. The light would burn away her fears, burn away untruths and falsehoods. Then she closed the umbrella and the world was dark.

The second was the man with the book.

“I have here a hangman’s rope. For those who live without any hope.”

He handed Erin a long, thick rope with a noose on the end. Erin tossed the end over one of the beams in the rafters and the others helped her tie it securely. She stood on a table, and put her head in the noose. Then she stepped off the table and hung there.

She was dead. Erin hung in her inn, dead. Minutes passed, then hours. Days. Years. When she took the rope off her neck, Erin smiled. No one had known she was alive. They all thought she was dead. While she hung there, no enemy would find her. It was perfect. She let the noose hang over her head as she turned.

The third, the man who danced as he walked.

“I hold a horn made of ancient bone. A thing to protect both hearth and home.”

He handed Erin a horn of pure white bone. It was cold to the touch, but when she put it to her lips and blew, the call echoed through her inn. It was a call that rose above the loudest horns of the battlefield, which travelled the world. Erin knew that in any part of the world, her friends would hear her call. She lowered the horn as the call echoed.

So. There they were. An umbrella that was as bright as the sun. It could chase away all darkness, reveal all lies. No magic could stand against it, and it warmed the skin and brought light. And the second, a noose. So Erin could kill herself and hide from her enemies. She could live in peace so long as she hung from it. And the third, a horn to call her allies and those she loved from wherever she stood.

Three gifts. Each one priceless. Erin stared at the offerings. She stared at the men.

“And all you want is a soul for it?”

They nodded. The three stared at her, waiting. Erin wavered. She stared at the umbrella, the noose, and then the horn. They were so precious. She wanted each one, each for a different reason. And the price was so simple. So small. She had a soul. It was hers to give. Why not trade it? Why not give it?

Her hand wavered as she reached out—

----

“Did you hear that?”

The young woman looked up, heart beating wildly as she stared around the darkness. The three sitting at the fire looked up.

“I hear nothing.”

“I see nothing.”

“But I heard it. I know I did.”

Ryoka spun wildly, searching for the origin of the horn call. There was nothing. Just the darkness, closing in. She stared back at the fire.

So dark. It was almost completely dark. If it were regular night, Ryoka wouldn’t have ever seen the last glimmer of flame in the coals. But here, there were things darker than black. That she could still see meant there was light.

“Hurry, traveler. If the fire goes out, you are lost. We are lost.”

She knew it was true. Ryoka felt something behind her. She stared at the three. If she drew close they would touch her. But what other choice did she have?

There was something behind her. Not just something. Many things.

“Okay. Okay! I’ll…”

She stumbled towards the fire, away from the darkness. The three smiled as Ryoka drew closer. They reached for her, but before she drew in range of their hands, Ryoka stopped.

“Don’t—don’t touch me.”

“But we want to.”

“Yes, come close. Just a bit closer.”

Ryoka drew back. She knew the things were right behind her now, but she could not be touched. She grabbed for a piece of wood. She just needed to put it on the fire, but the hands…

“I’ll start the fire again. But if you touch me I’ll put out the fire and we’ll all be in the dark. Understand?”

She heard something like a sigh. But the hands withdrew. It was the old woman’s voice, rotted and sighing that addressed Ryoka next.

“Very well. We have time. But hurry.”

Ryoka knew she had moments. She flung the wood on the fire and desperately knelt by it, trying to rekindle the flames. She grabbed at the potions at her belt, threw them onto the flames. She thought she felt a touch on her sh—

The flames burst into life, high and fierce. Ryoka fell back as the fire roared into life. The alchemist’s fire burned bright, but was already fading. Ryoka hurried to toss wood on the flames as the three sighed and drew closer to the life-giving flames once more.

At last, the fire was stoked. This time Ryoka built it high, tossing almost all the wood she had onto it. It could not go out.

The three sat so close to the flames that they licked at their forms. Now Ryoka looked again, the old woman and the young warrior looked…normal. Their skin was intact, and when they spoke it was with soft, gentle voices. But Ryoka knew what she had seen.

“So. The fire is kindled. But it will not last through the night.”

“No. You have not enough wood. Not enough fuel.”

It was true. Ryoka only had a stick of wood in her hands. And the fire was already dying. The darkness was sucking it away. The storm was engulfing the light.

Again, the hands reached for her.

“We can keep them at bay.”

“We can protect you. Touch us.”

Touch them.

Ryoka shuddered. She took a step back and glanced into the darkness. Things looked back at her.

“She wavers again. And again.”

The old woman sighed. But then she smiled. She looked sideways at the third thing and then spoke to Ryoka.

“My companion has a gift for you.”

“A…gift?”

Ryoka started, looking at the thing that sat next to the old woman and the young one. But yes. It hadn’t moved, but now it held something. It reached out to Ryoka, and she knew it wanted to place it in her hand.

“Go on. Take it. It is a gift, freely offered.”

The two sat back. Something had changed. Ryoka hesitated as she drew near the third.

“What if I don’t want the gift?”

“You must take it. It is ill luck to refuse a gift.”

Neither woman reached for her, despite being near to the fire. Ryoka hesitated, but part of her wanted to know. She held her hand out, palm up, and the thing—

Something landed in Ryoka’s palm. She stumbled back as the other two sat up, reaching for her again. Something was in Ryoka’s hand. Something cold and…what was it?

It was familiar. Ryoka stared down at her palm as she drew nearer to the fire. She couldn’t go too far away or…

The light illuminated two pale, long things in Ryoka’s palm. She thought they were worms, but they were too odd. Too different. What were they? She edged a bit closer to the light and then she realized what they were.

Fingers. Two fingers, curled up in the center of her hand.

She stared down at the fingers in her hand. They were pale with the cold, but familiar. Long and slender, tanned from being out in the sun. And at the place where they ended—

Torn flesh. Bite marks. Ryoka could see bone on the end of one of the fingers. It had been ripped away from its hand. She shuddered, and her hand, her right hand with its two missing fingers throbbed. She curled her hand—

And the fingers moved. They curled up. Ryoka jerked. She stared at them, and slowly uncurled her hand. On her palm, the two fingers uncurled slowly.

“A fitting gift.”

The dried voice made Ryoka look up. The old woman was staring at her, smiling wide.

“Are you not pleased? Is it not what you have lost?”

“I—”

The fingers lay in Ryoka’s palm. She hesitated. Ryoka wanted nothing more than to throw them away, but she remembered what the old woman and Ivolethe had said. So she shoved them into a pocket, feeling them move as she did.

“Now, child. It is time to choose.”

They reached out again. And this time Ryoka knew there was no choice. The fire was fading.

Ryoka stared at the hands. She stared at the darkness. Both were horrific. Both were…

“No.”

She said it out loud. The three looked at her. She heard a sigh.

“No? So you choose the storm and the dark. It is not better, traveller. Not better at all.”

The young woman shook her head as she said that. But Ryoka shook her head as well.

“No. I choose the third option. I choose this.”

She had the wooden stick in her hand. Ryoka stuck it into the fire, keeping her distance from the things that reached for her. The end of the stick ignited, and Ryoka pulled a flaming torch out.

The three stared at her, all disappointed. The old woman spoke.

“You will not escape the darkness with that. The flame will go out very soon.”

“Better that than staying here.”

Ryoka stepped back from the fire. She stared at the three things, huddled around the flames.

“You’re welcome to the fire. But I won’t join you. And I won’t get lost in the darkness.”

“So you say. But you had better hurry, child. Your time is running out.”

Already the flame was burning down the stick. Ryoka turned and ran. She ran away from the fire, into the complete darkness around her. She knew things were following her, reaching for her and recoiling from the flame. But she ran and ran, knowing what was behind her was just as bad.

The three sat at the fire, huddling around it as the flames burnt down. And then the fire went out.

----

Erin reached for the horn. But her hand paused. She turned to the umbrella, and then back to the horn. When she reached out the second time, it was for the umbrella.

The man with the beard smiled as Erin picked it up. He reached for her, but she handed the umbrella to him.

“Here. I’m sorry. But I can’t take it.”

He blinked, surprised. Erin picked up the noose and unwrapped it from the beam. She handed it to the man with the book, and then picked up the horn. She stared at it for a long time and then handed it to the dancing man. All three held their gifts and looked at her.

“Will you not choose one? Do you not wish for any?”

“I want all three.”

Erin said it and meant every word. She wanted all three gifts with a passion she couldn’t describe. She would have given anything for them, even her soul. But—

“But I’m afraid I can’t take any of them. You see, I don’t think I should have them.”

“Why?”

They stared at her. Erin smiled as she tried to explain.

“They’re not for someone like me. You see…I’m just an innkeeper. I’m no warrior. I don’t fight battles. I don’t have enemies. And I have enough light. I’m afraid someone else might find more use for them than me.”

The three men held their gifts, priceless beyond words, as Erin bowed her head.

“Sorry. But I’ll have to refuse.”

The first to speak was the man with the beard. He laughed, and the laughter filled the room. He turned to the others and they laughed too, as one. When he was done, he stood before her, grave.

“So. Three times we have offered and you have refused.”

He pointed at Erin, standing tall and proud.

“Not for pride, she declines.”

The man with the book opened it and wrote in it.

“Not for knowledge she says no.”

And the third man stared at Erin and sighed wistfully.

“Not for others she refuses. So it must be.”

“I’m sorry.”

Erin felt bad, but the man with the beard smiled at her.

“It must be. And you have chosen. Innkeeper, I thank you for your hospitality. One day we may meet again. Until that day, I offer you my thanks.”

“And I.”

The man with the book bowed slightly.

“And I.”

The dancing man gave Erin a bow more graceful than a moonbeam. She smiled at them all.

“Thank you. Come back whenever you want. I’ll be happy to serve you again.”

They laughed again at that, as if she’d told another fine joke. And then the man with the beard turned to the fire. He pointed.

“Keep it lit. The night is not over, innkeeper.”

Erin turned. The fire had grown very low. She piled more wood on it, and it blazed brightly. She was about to thank the man for pointing that out. But he was gone.

She turned and they were gone. The three men had vanished without a trace. But in their place, something glinted at the table where they’d sat. Erin went over to it. She reached down and slowly picked up a coin.

It was palm-sized, and looked a bit like silver. But brighter. Whiter. If it was metal, it was none that Erin knew. She lifted it and felt the weight of it in her palm. It was light as a feather.

What to do with it? Erin stared at the coin, and then walked into the kitchen. She looked around and saw the small jar Lyonette kept separate from the main stash. In a dream she put the coin the men had left in the small pot of coins. Then Erin went back to the fire.

It was low, now, despite all the fuel she’d added. Erin curled up next to it, staring at the flames. Her encounter with the three men seemed more like a dream, now. She didn’t even know if it had happened. Erin stared into the heart of the flames and felt a deep exhaustion fall over her. She closed her eyes. In moments, she was asleep.

----

It was dark. Ryoka ran through the darkness, heart pounding. She couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see. It was too dark.

There were things around her. They reached for her with appendages. Some were hands. Others were…different. They grasped at her, trying to pull her back. But Ryoka ran on, and the light in her hands pushed them back, kept them at bay.

But the light was fading. As Ryoka ran, it slowly burnt away, fading into the blackness. Ryoka ran on, searching for a way out. But there was nothing around her. No sign of escape.

Just the night.

“Is anyone there? Someone! Please!”

Ryoka screamed as she ran. There had to be something. Some sign that there was life—something else but the darkness. But all she heard was her own voice, and the things closing in.

Her breath was tearing at her lungs. Ryoka had run so far, but now the torch was a flickering stub. She slowed, trying to cradle the fire as the wind threatened to blow it out. And still there was nothing.

Nothing…Ryoka closed her eyes. Something was next to her. It reached for her, and she knew it was over. She saw the last flicker of light die.

“Ryoka!”

And then there was light. Ryoka turned in the darkness and ran for it, ran for the voice that cut through the howling oblivion around her. She turned, searching for the source of the voice.

“Ivolethe?”

“Ryoka! Come to my voice!”

Ryoka ran. She ran towards the sound of the voice in the darkness. There was nothing around her. Nothing, and yet the things reached for her, trying to touch her. To…

Ryoka felt something tugging at her neck. She cried out, but the thing hadn’t touched her. It had tangled on her scarf and was trying to pull her back. She fought to get free and the scarf tore loose from its grip. She ran away, towards the voice.

There was light. Faint, in the distance, but as absolute as certainty. In this darkness, even the faintest glimmer was unmistakable. Ryoka ran towards it, shouting and hearing her name called again and again.

“I’m here! Here!”

Again, she heard the call and this time Ryoka threw everything she had into the run. She ran fast, faster than she’d ever run in her life. There was nothing that held her back. If her legs broke, if her body tore and bled—if she fell just a step behind, the things would catch her, and there would be nothing of Ryoka after that.

Now she could see someone running towards her. Ryoka saw a shape, a…woman?

“Ryoka!”

The voice was familiar, but the person was not. Ryoka only caught a glimpse as she ran, but the woman was tall, as tall as Ryoka and lithe. She held something in her hands that shone in the darkness.

A sword. She ran and Ryoka ran with her.

“This way! Do not look back, no matter what! Run.”

“Ivolethe?”

“Run, fool!”

The sword flashed as the woman swung it behind Ryoka. And Ryoka ran. She ran, and the darkness followed her. But there was light up ahead. Light and—

And movement. Something ran towards her. Ryoka saw something dash by her. A man? No. Not a man. But someone in armor nonetheless, a…being with a sword that had the same unnatural radiance as his face. It was a he, and he ran past Ryoka.

A warrior. But he was not the only one. Ryoka heard galloping hooves, and cries that made her ears ring. Not one, but many beings ran past her, each one male, or so she thought. They ran towards the darkness and kept it at bay. And she ran and ran—

And burst out into the light. Not the light of day, but rather the light of midnight. There were no stars in the sky and the sun had long set. The clouds were thick and it was snowing and the moon was obscured.

But it was light. Ryoka sank to her knees in the snow, gasping, and then saw the blue radiance flying towards her, and heard her name being called.

“Ryoka! Ryoka Griffin!”

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka struggled to her feet and ran to the faerie. Ivolethe flew towards Ryoka, and the girl cupped her hands so the faerie could land in them.

“How did you find me?”

“Never mind that. Did they touch you? Did anything touch you?”

Ivolethe was looking Ryoka up and down anxiously. The girl shook her head.

“Nothing. What was—what—”

“Do not speak of it. Do not mention what was there, lest you call it.”

Ivolethe put a finger as cold as frost itself to Ryoka’s lips warningly. The girl closed her mouth. Ivolethe studied Ryoka and shook her head.

“Build a fire. You are near death.”

She was. Ryoka looked around for wood, but nearly fell. She could barely feel her limbs. Ivolethe flew off as Ryoka had to sit. She came back with wood and dumped it on the ground. Then the faerie stared at the wood. The color of her body changed and her body shimmered. For a second her crystal skin and living ice body become molten, and her flesh was burning fire—

“Fire.”

And there was. Ryoka pulled herself towards the flames and felt the icy chill around her body fading. She huddled near the flames for a long time, until her clothing was smouldering and she felt blisters forming from the heat. Only then did she roll away and look at herself.

“I—I felt…”

Ryoka touched at her throat and shuddered. Only once had the things nearly caught her. She pulled away her scarf and Ivolethe hissed.

“Do not touch that!”

Part of the scarf that Mistress Yesel had given Ryoka had…changed. The waving pattern had warped and altered, the fabric’s stitching switching around. Forming the impression of a…hand…

Ryoka shuddered as she stared at the impression in the fabric. She tore the scarf away and hurled it into the fire. She grimly watched it burn, and then remembered the second horror of the night.

The girl reached into her pocket, hoping that she would find nothing. But her heart chilled as she touched something at the bottom of her pocket.

“That was no dream.”

She pulled out two twitching digits. Her fingers. Ivolethe’s eyes went wide and she flew back from the fingers. Ryoka stared at them. She tried to clench her hand and watched the fingers curl up.

“What the hell was that, Ivolethe?”

The faerie had no answer for Ryoka. None she could give. She stared at Ryoka with mouth tightly closed, staring at the fingers. Ryoka stared at them too.

They were her fingers. She could feel them. If she touched them, she felt the sensation, as if her fingers were back again. But they had been given to her by…by…

They were her fingers. No. They had been. But they weren’t anymore. Ryoka’s hand shook as she lifted the fingers, clutched them tightly. She closed her eyes.

And the she hurled them into the burning fire.

Ivolethe saw Ryoka react as the fingers hit the burning coals, sending up a cloud of sparks. She heard a scream. The girl cried out and doubled over, clutching at the stumps of her fingers. She straightened slowly, gritting her teeth so hard that Ivolethe could hear the grinding.

“Are ye well, Ryoka Griffin?”

Ryoka tasted blood. She felt…she turned away from the fire.

“It’s…nothing. Let’s go. I want to be away from this place. Now.”

Ivolethe nodded silently. Ryoka took off running and the faerie flew ahead. Ryoka left the second fire to die down as she ran through the snow. Her right hand burned and the pain nearly made her pass out. But she kept running, on and on, away from this place. Back towards Invrisil.

And she didn’t look back. Not once.

----

“Erin? Erin!”

Erin woke up slowly, to someone shaking her.

“Huh? What’s that? Lyonette?”

The girl was shaking Erin, looking worried. As Erin woke up, she realized her inn was full again. There was lots of people standing around her.

Her guests. Her friends. Zel and the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers…

And Lyonette. And Mrsha. The Gnoll licked at Erin’s face as the young woman sat up.

“What’s happening, everyone?”

“You tell us. Erin, what happened to the kitchen?”

“Huh?”

It took Erin a few seconds to get up and go to the kitchen. When she did, she could only stare.

The kitchen was empty. Not of people, but of food. All the food in the kitchen was gone. Erin stared at the empty pantry, the ransacked larder, and then at the dishes piled up, and the unwashed pots and pans.

“Did you eat it? All of it?”

Lyonette stared at Erin uncertainly. The girl shook her head.

“No, I—I had a dream, but—”

“You ate everything in your dream?”

Revi stared at Erin incredulously. Ceria shook her head.

“No way. You could have fed us all for days with all the food in there! There’s no way…where did it go?”

Erin had no answers. She only shook her head and stared. After a while, when no answers were forthcoming, the people around her took action.

“I’ll get some food from the city! I mean, I’ll buy some—no, it’s an emergency.”

Lyonette ran out the door and the adventurers who were hungriest went with her to carry things. They left Erin alone, standing in the kitchen.

“Was it just a dream?”

It had felt so real. And yet, Erin felt like the events had to be a dream. Surely it couldn’t be—

Her eyes turned towards the jar of coins at the side of the room. Erin went over to it. Lyonette had grabbed a big handful out in a hurry. So it probably wasn’t…

There. At the bottom of the jar, Erin’s fingers found something other than the regular coins. She slowly drew out a coin that shone white and silver, practically glowing in the light from one of the lamps.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

But then, what was it? Erin stared at the coin. She ran her finger over it and peered at it. There was some sort of inscription on the coin. There was a rough border on both sides…faded imagery…she thought there might have been words, too.

But it was all long gone. Only the metal remained. Erin stared down at it, and then slowly put the coin in her pocket.

She walked over to the windows. Someone, probably Lyonette, had thrown them open. Through the glass, Erin stared out into the night.

“Oh. The snow’s stopped.”

The snow had indeed stopped falling. The drifts of snow were piled up very high, but now the sky was clear. And Erin could look up and see the stars and moon. And the second moon, a sliver of a crescent hanging across the sky from the first. Two moons. Sometimes Erin forgot. They hung in the sky, beautiful, lighting up the world.

Behind her, the fire crackled, burning brightly in the fireplace. Erin ignored it as she stared out across the vast world, up into a universe that was not hers.

But it was hers now, wasn’t it? Erin sighed and saw the windows fog up. Her windows. And this was her inn.

Around her, the snow covered the plains, deep, white. Untouched. To the right the city of Liscor sat, dark, the walls staring down at her. But familiar, nonetheless.

Erin reached into her pocket and felt the coin again. Was it just a small thing? No. Today had meant something, she was certain. It was the end of the winter. The winter solstice. The thing she had been named after.

Something had happened. Even if she didn’t know what. And looking out into the world, Erin knew more things were happening.

The winter was ending. The shortest day and the longest night of the year was over. Soon the world would warm, and then…

Erin smiled. Oh, that was right. If the longest night of the year was over, didn’t that technically make today sort of a new year’s? It was close enough, right? Perhaps that was how this world celebrated such things.

It certainly seemed fitting. Erin wiped at the glass and saw a group of people trudging back towards her inn, carrying what looked like enough food to feed an army. Or a bunch of starving adventurers.

It was just a short moment, but Erin was finally alone. She felt loneliness in her heart, and sadness. And grief. But also hope, and the reassurance that came to her as she stared at the people coming towards her inn.

She wasn’t completely alone. And so Erin walked towards her door and threw it open. She smiled as the night passed into day and the next day began. Everything started today. She laughed as, in the distance, the sun stopped setting and began to rise.

“It looks like it’s going to be an interesting year.”

End of Volume 3.

Author’s Note:

This is the end of Book 4 of The Wandering Inn, which coincides with the end of Volume 3. As of this very moment, I am in fact writing 8.33 R of Volume 8...many, many books ahead of where we are here.

The e-books come out slowly, albeit with typos removed. In smaller chunks than the web serial, which correspond to the rather fine audiobooks done by Andrea Parsneau. It is always funny to me that a lot of people find The Wandering Inn via such sources, and realize there’s a lot more words yet unread.

I hope that if you are at this point and read this, it is a welcome surprise. Having more to read is always excellent if you truly love it; if it’s a chore, then it becomes the nightmare. Still, it’s been about five years since I started writing The Wandering Inn and the amount of support and so many readers at this point is humbling.

Book 5 is next, and Volume 4...hopefully some time this year (2021, as of writing). I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading as always,

--pirateaba

Table of Contents

- 3.26 G
- 3.27 M
- 3.28 G
- 3.29 G
- 3.30
- 3.31 G
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 1 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 2 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 3 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 4 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 5 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 6 )
- Wistram Days ( Pt . 7 )
- 3.32
- 3.33
- 3.34
- 3.35
- 3.36
- 3.37
- 3.38
- 3.39
- 3.40
- 3.41
- 3.42
- Interlude