9.41 (Pt. 1)

An [Innkeeper] rolled over in bed, and it was easier to do than it had been before. She caught herself and realized she was tossing and turning in her sleep once more.

Her body was healing…just in time for her to find herself lying on her stomach while her lower half was twisted around and trying to turn her organs into a corkscrew.

Erin’s back was killing her. But she had the ability to untwist herself. Then she wondered why she was freezing and realized she’d kicked off half her pajama pants…and all but her lightest blankets.

In the winter—that meant she was now freezing. So Erin had to fish around at the foot of her bed for her sheets. Her ability to self-sabotage her sleep was really masterclass.

By the time she had gotten back into bed and was staring at one of the walls of her room where her calendar hung and the table where books, her primary chess board, and other knickknacks were arranged, the first rays of light were glimmering down from the High Passes.

They looked like shards of light; the High Passes would reflect the rising sun so that you could tell it would soon be brighter. Oddly…Erin had once wondered if Liscor lived in darkness a lot more than other cities because the High Passes could block the sun’s rise and fall.

But no, after having camped around Pallass and travelled to Riverfarm, she had found Liscor got exactly as much sunlight as other cities. She supposed she just didn’t understand how sunlight worked.

However, Erin knew that her inn could wait another hour. And with [Twofold Rest], that meant she got two hours of sleep, which she could really use. She’d been up late watching a horror film with Bird.

Birds, by Alfred Hitchcock. He had quite enjoyed it. She had not. It turned out the [World’s Eye Theatre] could do more than just surround-sound and unparalleled image quality on a massive overhead screen. It could also give you the distinct sensation of a feathered bird cawing behind you or a fluttering pair of wings actually floating around the dome. And right when Erin had gotten used to that—a huge raven had landed on the seat next to her.

Nanette had invited Witch Mavika without telling anyone. The [Witch] had quite enjoyed the film. But that meant Mrsha, Octavia, and Dame Ushar had to exit the theatre rather than continue watching. In fairness to the ‘fair sex’—Joseph had never appeared, and Relc had already left.

Hence, Erin’s poor sleep. She’d gotten three hours, which was six. She wanted eight. The [Innkeeper] was just dozing off again when her staring at the wall made her brain focus on something.

The calendar. It hung there, sixteen months of thirty-two days each. That helped for standardization, at least. Eight-day weeks. Very confusing.

This calendar was a gift from Krshia. It had lunar cycles written on it, two moons that waxed and waned, blue and green. Storms danced across the spring part of the calendar, moving to hot summer, an autumn full of falling leaves, and then to cold winter with Snow Golems roaming about.

Erin’s bleary brain wanted sleep—but her treacherous eyes had focused in on one thing. An item circled in red on her calendar on the wall.

Day 32. Red circles of ink surrounded that day, and an ‘x’ had been drawn through every other day in the list. Including that one. Then…Erin Solstice felt her heartrate spike.

Sleep fled her, and the [Magical Innkeeper] sat up. She blinked as the 13th month of the year, the first month of winter—Liuwhe—ended.

Her feet touched the cold floor. Erin Solstice shivered as she swung her legs out of bed, and they strained a bit as she stood. But she swayed as she walked over to the calendar and stared at it.

The 14th month of the year, Mouring, had already begun. And according to Erin Solstice’s math and the date circled on the calendar…her eyes slid down the delicate paper to the last day of the month.

There, she had written a single event in the same red ink and underlined it.

Winter Solstice.

The date that bore her namesake was coming. And like the Summer Solstice, halfway through summer—it was an auspicious day. The sun would enter a solar eclipse, then. Like clockwork, Erin understood. It would be a time of great power for some classes. A zenith of potential.

And…for Earthers, it would be one of the most dangerous days ever. For everyone.

There was no sleep anymore. Erin Solstice looked back at the previous month. The beginning of this month had been a good one for her.

Relaxing. Ryoka hadn’t run off—much—and there had been Flying Gnolls and fun and games. Dancing and relaxation. She had known what was coming and given herself a month on purpose. It had not all been wasted.

But now—Erin Solstice clenched her hands and looked at the calendar. Her break was over.

It was time.

 

——

 

A [Knight] was sitting in his room on the 2nd floor of The Wandering Inn, polishing his armor.

He did so every single day obsessively. He took a bit of soft cloth and worked at the bright, blue stuff that was called Demas Metal. It felt oddly slick to his bare hands. Tough; he couldn’t flex any part of the armor if he tried. It also took on temperature quicker than regular metal, if that were possible. It was highly adaptive to temperatures, and so he’d actually been freezing this winter.

But it was a powerful, nay, inordinately expensive set of armor. Possibly one of the first sets ever forged of its kind. Demas Metal was rated on par with or above mithril for some qualities. Behind it for lightness, but it was rumored to be a new magical metal that would change the economies of the world. If it could be mass-produced.

And he had a set of armor. It made him nervous. The mace, a flanged weapon with blunt edges of metal running up to form a teardrop head, was also a beautiful thing. A weapon. He almost felt like it shouldn’t look so beautiful.

A blade crusted with blood or so stained you could smell it, that was an honest man’s weapon. His late mentor, Crimshaw, had possessed a dagger like that. Serrated, and the man kept it clean. But you could still see bits of blood, like rust, in the grooves.

Yet he had a shield, too, in a classic heater shield’s form, a curved wave at the top moving down to a teardrop base. It was slightly smaller than average, so he could use it like a buckler in a fight.

A shield for a man who would protect more than himself. Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings bore no shields. This piece of metal…was more than metal as he touched it. It was right. It felt like a symbol of who he aspired to be.

Therefore, it must shine and be clean.

This armor had never seen combat. But it would, and because he felt he didn’t deserve it, every day, Normen would wash it with a bit of soap and water. He was afraid of chipping or damaging the armor—until he realized the suit wasn’t actually painted. So he’d scrub dust and dirt from the grooves, then use some wax polish and give it a gentle buff.

Every morning, without fail. It made him feel as though he was doing something right. He’d seen how the Thronebearers kept their armor spic and span, and Normen had asked for tips on how they did it.

A [Knight] should look the part, surely. That was his thought on the matter. He was a new [Knight], and he didn’t know what his class entailed.

Not fully. He was…nervous. Nervous about letting the Order of Solstice, of which he was one of the two members, and Erin Solstice down. More than that—of squandering the great opportunity he had been given.

“This is not the kind of thing men like me deserve. I’ll be worthy of it.”

So vowed a [Knight]. Of course, in practice, he was just training with the mace, working out, and feeling as if a great weight were on his shoulders. Expectation not yet fulfilled.

He was a Level 28 [Knight]. He’d levelled once by virtue of his training or some other feature, and he felt like that was a sign he was doing something right. But Normen would readily admit—being a [Knight] had issues.

 

——

 

Once the armor cleaning was done, Normen donned it. He had debated not wearing the armor, then decided only a fool didn’t put on armor. Plus—he had better get used to wearing it all the time.

The process of putting armor on was lengthy, and he was cutting down the time from forty minutes to twenty. Even so—it ate into his dawn wakeup. Thereafter, he crept downstairs as quietly as he could.

Clunk, clunk. He winced as his heavy footfalls echoed in the hallway. The Demas Metal was not as heavy as some metals…but the plate armor was thick, and so it was still heavier than some suits of armor, according to Ser Dalimont. He felt ungainly in it, although part of the ‘ungainly’ was the feeling he could get shot with a bow and not feel a thing.

A good tradeoff, as it were. But it made sneaking around like a proper footpad hard, and Normen didn’t want to wake the other guests. Second floor, his rooms near the end of the hall.

Something of an honor, he felt. He’d been on the 3rd floor until the Horns left. Then he’d been given Miss Ceria’s rooms. It wasn’t as if they left more than trash lying around, and Lyonette had decided, with due deference to the great friends of the inn—they didn’t have rooms to waste. Especially if they would be empty for months.

So Normen was on the 2nd Floor, and that felt like you were part of the inn. Miss Mrsha, Miss Lyonette, Witch Nanette, Mister Numbtongue…all of them had rooms here.

In fact, there was a bit of a to-do about rooms, but Normen stayed out of the inn-drama. He was a [Knight]. He wasn’t like Miss Lyonette, who was a [Princess] and ran things.

He was just the hired muscle—er, the lucky hired muscle who’d become a [Knight].

What was his role again?

Previously, Normen had been in a similarly uncertain state with Alcaz. The two Brothers who were more than bouncers and less than bodyguards. Unable to keep up with the Thronebearers, but able to run errands for Erin and provide backup.

That had frustrated Normen. He had felt inadequate, and Erin, seeing it, had made him a [Knight]. Now, he was filled with a kind of nervous desire to prove his worth.

Funny how the two things can be so similar and yet so different. Instead of waking with uncertainty in my mouth, it’s more of a delighted terror.

Every time he saw himself in the mirror, Normen nearly jumped out of his skin. The sight of the azure [Knight] was so alien…he adjusted his helmet slightly and stared at his reflection.

If I saw this fellow walking down the street, I’d give him a wide berth. A [Knight] with enchanted armor. Perhaps a decent mark if I thought we could get the armor off quick and he wasn’t as good as the shine let on, but not a fellow I’d want against me without due cause, a jump, and three mates.

An honorable man, I’d think. A man of saving folks and valorous quests. Completely foreign to my world. Good in a fight against monsters, but I’d have him down in two seconds without that armor and be kicking him in the nuts.

Of course, Normen was in the armor now, and he was well-versed in the art of nut-fencing. He was a dirty fighter, a Brother of Serendipitous Meetings. Despite their code of conduct—Normen had been a [Courteous Mugger]. He had swung his club on the back of people’s heads more times than the front.

That…made him wonder if he was unworthy of being a [Knight]. But he was taking lessons on how to do things right.

 

——

 

The problem was that Normen was a [Knight] alone, at least in the Order of Solstice. So while he had generous instructors…he did not have comrades.

At least, not yet. That was one of the things he often dwelled on, this last month especially. He dwelled on it and brought it up to a man silently pumping iron in the gymnasium.

“Alcaz. I’m sorry for being late.”

“Normen. Apologies. Ser Normen. It’s fine, I was sure you were about putting on that armor before I heard you coming downstairs.”

Normen paused. The man sweating into his light cotton shirt was his friend, Alcaz. Another former Brother of Serendipitous Meetings. But their usual, easy camaraderie was…all wrong.

“Don’t call me that in private, Alcaz.”

The other man glanced up. He had a slightly crooked nose, faintly orange hair, and a perpetual sense that he was glancing over his shoulder. He was a proper [Footpad], lighter on his feet than Normen, but strong—and adding muscle thanks to the Grimalkin Gym, as it was being called.

“A [Knight]’s a [Knight]. You should be one wherever you go. Ser Normen.”

He emphasized the words, and Normen uncomfortably took one of the weight bars off the rack. It was odd, looking in a mirror and seeing a [Knight] doing the ‘squats’. So odd that Alcaz seemed to sense it too.

“Do you need to work out every morning?”

“A fellow should be strong. That goes double for a man in armor, I warrant. You know, Ser Sest and the Thronebearers have been using this place. Come evening, though.”

“Huh. Maybe it’d be the thing to work with them.”

Normen threw the bar back on the rack and glared at Alcaz. Then he realized the man couldn’t see his face—so Normen yanked off his helmet.

“That’s a hell of a thing to say to me, Alcaz. I may be a [Knight]…but we’ve shed more blood together than anyone else I know that’s still above the dirt. Are you really no longer my friend?”

Alcaz’s gaze never wavered. He answered with a deliberate pause.

“I’m never prouder of my friend Normen. But I’d hate to drag him down with me. You’ve stepped up to bigger and better things, Normen. Been chosen. A fellow has to leave the streets behind when they trade a hat for a helmet.”

The [Knight] paused. Normen felt a sudden pang in his chest, and he realized Alcaz wasn’t sneering at him. Rather, it was projection. Normen straightened slowly.

“—What about you?”

“I’ll be fine by myself, Normen. Like I said, a fellow’s proud. All the Brothers are.”

“No. I mean…do you want me to ask Miss Solstice about getting you into the Order of Solstice? We might not get the armor, but I could ask.”

The benchpress weights bar shifted as Alcaz nearly dropped two hundred and sixty pounds on his chest. That was why you had a spotter—or in Grimalkin’s case, he’d demanded a safety bar that could catch the bar before it literally caved in your chest or stomach.

Normen leapt over, and the two replaced the weight. Then Alcaz sat up. He was sweating a bit. He looked up—and his eyes opened wide. Normen saw a reflection of that fear and wonder and hope in his eyes that he had surely had when Erin Solstice knighted him.

But unlike Normen—that desire changed to—

“No. No. I don’t think I’m a [Knight]’s material. It’s kind of you to say that, Normen. But I’d’ve asked you or Miss Solstice myself if I had the desire.”

“No?”

It had never occurred to Normen to refuse the chance. But Alcaz sat there, shaking his head.

“I’m all for the inn, Normen. But that armor…I don’t want to wear it. I want to see you wearing it. But some men aren’t meant for armor. They’d tarnish it.”

“If I can wear it…”

“You worked under Crimshaw. I didn’t. There’s a difference. Some…I don’t deserve the class.”

Alcaz sat there, averting his face, and Normen sensed this was the kind of thing that the Brothers never talked to each other about. He let the matter drop, but he couldn’t resist adding.

“If I can wear this armor, Alcaz—I might not be worthy of it either. Just say the word.”

Alcaz recovered his hat and put it on his head as they cleaned up the weights room.

“True enough. But you earning the right to wear that armor—that’s a heavy thing too and another reason why I don’t jump for the honor, great as it is.”

He glanced at Normen, and the Knight of Solstice exhaled slowly.

“You’re right about that.”

 

——

 

They left the gym, the two brothers, and found something unusual instead of their usual, quiet inn in the dawn’s glow.

They found an [Innkeeper], sitting awake at one of the tables. She glanced up at them, and Normen felt a prickle on his flesh under the armor. Today was the beginning of something. Great events were beginning to be set into motion.

The [Innkeeper] was serious.

The [Knight] was apprehensive.

The [Bandit Lord] was plotting.

Across Izril, once more, a tipping point was reached, and once again—normality could no longer continue.

The Haven had reached Pallass. Ships set sail from every continent to the New Lands of Izril. Ghosts of Roshal gave quiet orders. A Necromancer regained his humanity.

A Goblin wept loudly beneath his helmet.

 

——

 

Three [Knights] made up the Order of Solstice. One was dead.

The first [Knight] was Brunkr Silverfang, posthumously inducted into an Order not yet fully formed. One of five needed to convene a formal Knight-Order. Never forgotten, though.

The second was a Goblin. Another [Champion], who had risen to their class before beginning the Order of Solstice by lies and intent. By his own kind of valor on the battlefield.

The third was Normen, the first [Knight] to be appointed with clear purpose to a coming group, an organization.

The Order of Solstice had been a joke, really. A half-Elf’s prank and a convenient lie to hide a Goblin fighting in a Terandrian war. Trust a [Witch] and an [Innkeeper] to make it into reality.

But the truth was, it was a beguiling lie. A story you wanted to believe was true. Order of Solstice. What might that look like? Would it represent the [Knights] who made it up, that woman’s values? Surely, it would. It would be…

Amazing. Wonderful.

That had made Rabbiteater so glad when he heard it. Once more—he would have brothers. He would have comrades, united in purpose. Ser Solstice, Rabbiteater of Izril, the ‘Goblin Slayer’—

Couldn’t wait to go home. His [Innkeeper] was awake. He had a Knight-Order. Numbtongue was alive. And he had new friends to introduce Erin to.

The Ivory Five. Well, four, excluding him.

Earl Altestiel, Princess Seraphel, Hundredlord Cortese, and [Spellbound Lady] Menrise. Good, funny people. Also—the Order of Seasons, who were filled with good people like Ser Markus and Talia.

And…

He had wanted to introduce Erin to someone very special. Dame Meisa. Rabbiteater had been looking forwards to it all, and the ships were almost ready.

Today, though, the Goblin wept. He did it loudly in Phel’s Light, one of the ports in Pheislant where the ships of countless Terandrian nations were preparing to set forth from.

He had rooms in one of the Lighthouse Keeps, a gigantic lighthouse-fortress that was actually considered fairly rich and pleasant to be in. It shone into the sea, hence Pheislant’s reputation as a powerful coastal kingdom.

Right now, the light was passing over ships coming into port, even at dawn. Many, many ships. Some chartered—many from the nations who possessed them, flying great flags.

Gaiil-Drome, the half-Elf kingdom, the silhouette of a pointy-eared figure and bough of leaves. Avel’s bow-and-arrow. Noelictus’ scythe, wheat, and skull. Calanfer’s throne.

What a glorious sight for a Goblin to see. So why, in his window overlooking the coastline and the ships, with his friends—did he weep?

“Ser Solstice? Are you alright?”

Someone was knocking on his door. A certain Spring Knight, Ser Markus, had heard his roommate’s noises. And since he had a good idea of what was going on, he rapped and listened.

“Hhhugh. Nsnf. Ahaanhm.”

The door was slightly ajar. The Goblin was definitely crying. Ser Markus hesitated.

“I am going to indecorously enter, Ser Solstice. One second—”

He pushed the door open, saw Rabbiteater still had his helmet on, and entered before shutting the door behind him. Then Markus spoke.

“Rabbiteater. What’s the matter?”

Something—snot or tears—dripped out of the battered yet ornate visor of ‘Ser Solstice’. The [Champion]’s armor was magnificent, his red blood-cloak hanging next to his axe and belt of gear by the door. It looked like he was ready to head out—but something had reduced him to sitting on his bed. Crying.

An empty chair was facing him. Ser Markus saw where someone had just been sitting, and the pieces clicked. He slowly sat down next to Rabbiteater.

“Oh. Rabbiteater…”

“She’s not coming, Markus. She said she can’t.”

The Hobgoblin cried. And he leaned against his friend as Ser Markus put an arm around Rabbiteater’s shoulders. Markus stared at the door, searching for words to say. He wished he could curse Meisa as easily as he had been mad at Talia.

“I know, Rabbiteater. I know. I’m sorry.”

 

——

 

Fifteen minutes ago, he had been so happy. Rabbiteater had been packing his things, getting ready for his ship.

“We’re going to be on Calanfer’s ship. We all get separate rooms for some reason. Because I’m friends with Seraphel and she’s too good to sleep next to anyone. But you can share my room if you want.”

The [Knight] sitting across from him wasn’t moving. She sat in her chair, her auburn-brown hair blowing in the wind coming from his open window. It tasted like the sea. It tasted like adventure.

New Lands await. Rabbiteater was excited, and he had his helmet on only in case someone looked through his window or barged in unannounced.

“You’re lucky to get a separate room, even on account of your anonymity, Rabbit. It’ll be narrow bunks for most; even [Knights] will have to share private rooms.”

“Ooh. Want to sleep in mine, then?”

He turned, and for the second time, Meisa avoided the question. That made Rabbiteater hesitate.

A month had passed since the great banquet at Calanfer. A month since he’d seen a Dragon! He was in Pheislant now, having gone all the way to Desonis, visited Nadel, and headed back. From coast-to-coast, visiting Altestiel’s lands, hanging out with the Ivory Five—having fun.

Meisa had, unfortunately, not been allowed to go with him the entire way. He’d pressed, but when Ser Greysten and Dame Pertheine had been teleported to Liscor, the Order of Seasons had all gathered in Pheislant to confer and discuss what they’d been told.

Doubtless, the Dragon’s words had also made them want to assess the situation. Rabbiteater had missed Meisa terribly, but they’d been reunited as soon as they’d come close to Pheislant.

Seeing the blasted lands of Silvaria, practically uninhabited, had been another sight on the way. But Rabbiteater had little context for the ash and rubble that made the Terandrians shudder so hard. He had seen it all as a wondrous land he wanted to continue exploring.

And he would, but he wanted to go home, first. And the Order of Solstice had only served to make him happier. Now, he was throwing souvenirs into his bag of holding.

“We’re on Calanfer’s big ship. Not Altestiel’s. Because Seraphel, again. Something about rankings. Stupid. Altestiel’s ship is cooler.”

The Earl of Rains had a flagship that befit an [Earl] accustomed to both sea and land combat. Calanfer’s flagship, the Throne’s Will, was decent and certainly big, but Rabbiteater had wanted to keep the Ivory Five together. He’d been annoyed that politics meant the [Princess] should be quartered on her ship.

His disregard for politics, social conventions, and most other things was probably why Ser Solstice was enduringly popular. Pheislant had been having him for dinners, banquets, trying to get his helmet off—and lauding him as one of the heroes like Ser Greysten who’d stopped Ailendamus in its tracks.

It hadn’t really gotten to his head. Which was amazing, but the Goblin didn’t care for such things. The accolades of his own people embarrassed him far more.

All of this was good to see. But Dame Meisa’s face was unhappy, and Rabbiteater only realized she hadn’t replied to his comment about rooms until now. He turned, a pair of underwear in hand.

“Is this another thing about propriety? You can sneak into my rooms if you want. It’s a long ship voyage.”

In some ways, he was still just a young man, regardless of species. Meisa rolled her eyes. But she was a young woman, and they had had a lot of fun. A lot of fun that was scandalous to many. Especially if you knew Rabbiteater was a [Knight]. She didn’t regret that. But she was going to regret this.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Rabbiteater. I’ve been meaning to, but you’ve been flitting around, and the departure keeps getting delayed.”

“Yah. Because Humans suck at moving fast. It’s too many ceremonies, getting ships lined up…it’s been a month. Do you know where Cortese is?”

Rabbiteater was laughing. A month had come and passed, so he pointed out to the bay.

“He’s in a ship. See?”

Cortese was sleeping on a ship tonight. Meisa raised her brows.

“Is he that eager to go?”

“Nope. He swore he wouldn’t spend the end of the month on land. So he gets to sleep on a boat. Until we go! He’s been sleeping there for days!”

Indeed, the Hundredlord had publicly sworn that in front of the Dragon at the banquet, and he, like Rabbiteater, had been chafing to get out to sea. Well, never let it be said that he didn’t honor his promises. That was part of the reason Rabbiteater liked him.

Meisa almost smiled at that. Then she took a breath.

“What…what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get to the New Lands, Rabbit?”

“To Liscor. I’m going to Liscor, first. They can drop me off on the way. It’ll be a long journey down Izril’s west. Too hard to go through the center anymore. All the…currents.”

“The trade routes are disrupted. That’s why it’s taken so long, Rabbit. The nations want to do an organized push. The Blighted Kingdom had confidence they could move even with the tides against them—but Terandria is going together. Plus, there were Ailendamus’ fleets at sea, and until Wellfar hunted them down, I think everyone was—nervous—of fighting either side. Especially if Wellfar was unfriendly.”

The [Knight] just laughed.

“I hear a lot of reasons. Doesn’t matter. I’m going home. Then I’m going to meet Ser Normen and maybe bring him to the New Lands. And Erin. And Numbtongue and Badarrow and…Mrsha! I’ll tell Lyonette I met her sister. No, I’ll bring Seraphel and the Ivory Five with me! Then we can go to the New Lands. And you’ll go. Meisa. Oh—Meisa. I had an idea last night.”

“I’m—what’s the idea, Rabbit?”

The Goblin turned to her, all shining armor. [Indomitable Champion]. [Knight of the Dawn]. He was a fantastically high-level [Knight] already if you counted his [Champion] class, armed with artifacts.

And he was rising still higher, befriending powerful people. Meisa did love him. And when he spoke, it got harder.

“When we get to the inn…do you want to join the Order of Solstice? Erin wrote me a [Message] earlier this month. She wants to see me, and she’s been waiting. She says we need two more [Knights] to make it official. I was thinking…what if you were also a Knight of Solstice?”

“M-me? Rabbit, I can’t leave the Order of Seasons!”

The Spring Knight was alarmed by the suggestion. But Rabbit was smiling.

“You could do both.”

“That would divide my loyalties!”

“Eh, you can have loyalty enough for both.”

“You—”

She almost laughed, because that was the kind of logic only a Goblin could come up with. Wistfully, Meisa hesitated.

“You think I could join? If I wanted to, I mean? Would your [Innkeeper], Miss Solstice, even allow it?”

Rabbiteater thumped his chest.

“If I ask, she’ll definitely let you. And we’ll find more Goblins and…and have hundreds of [Knights]. Inn, New Lands, and then…another adventure.”

He stared out to sea, and Meisa thought it was time. It should have been, already. But she had been delaying it.

“I wish I could do that, Rabbit. But I can’t go to sea. I have to stay here.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, at first. Then the Goblin’s head turned.

“What? Why? Did Calirn say you had to stay? I’ll go talk to him.”

“No. It’s not that. Rabbiteater…I’m not going to the New Lands at all. My family’s here. Let me explain.”

He had such a blank look as she made him sit. And when he tugged off his helmet, she closed the windows fast. But the Goblin’s crimson eyes looked bewildered.

“Your family? I met them. They were nice.”

Meisa had introduced him. As Ser Solstice. She folded her hands and sat.

“What did you think of them, honestly?”

“Nice. Like I said. I felt bad about your father.”

He had been bedridden when they came to visit. But he’d tried to get up to shake Ser Solstice’s hand and ask him to show off some of his fighting moves. Rabbiteater had obliged him at the bedside. Meisa’s smile was painful.

“He loved you. But Rabbit. That’s why I can’t go. He’s sick. Nothing the [Healers] know of. He’s going to die soon, they think. If not this year…the next is likely.”

“Oh.”

The Goblin sat there a second. His eyes narrowed—then looked up at her. And they were honest.

“I’m sorry. He seems nice.”

That comment could have been insincere from someone else. But from him it was simple and honest. Meisa reached out and squeezed his hand.

“That’s why I can’t go.”

“Oh. But—you want to stay with him?”

A painful realization flared in his eyes. He hesitated—then exhaled.

“That’s okay. I’ll go myself. Then I’ll come back or wait for you to…maybe Erin can find magic medicine. She brought herself back from the dead.”

Meisa took another, longer breath. This part would be harder.

“How many years would that be, Rabbit? I don’t want to leave my family’s side. Going to campaign in Ailendamus was as far as I was comfortable.”

“Not many. I’ll come back and visit. You have to stay here, that’s okay. But there are ships, and maybe I can use Erin’s door. I’ll come back for you. I promise. [Knight]’s honor.”

He meant every word. Even if it took him months or years, across an ocean—Meisa looked into his eyes. And she remembered a conversation with Dame Talia.

She had insulted the Summer Knight for her attitude towards Rabbiteater. In turn, Talia had questioned Meisa’s commitment to suddenly entering into a relationship with a Goblin. Her comments had been—largely motivated by spite, Meisa had felt. But there was one arrow she’d shot that had found its mark.

“Rabbit. Have you ever thought what will become of us in the future?”

“All the time.”

He was squeezing her hand gently, probably worried about how she was feeling about her father. Meisa…would face that soon. But it was something else that made Meisa’s heart constrict.

“Tell me your dreams.”

Rabbiteater stared into the distance, and he spoke, as if watching something bright and glorious. A dream without end.

“I was going to take you to the inn. That will have to wait a little bit. I mean—a long time. Right, right. But I’ll come back to Terandria. I guess I’ll adventure on Terandria with you. And maybe it’ll be complicated with…I’ll find a magic stone so Erin’s door lets me go all the way to your home from the inn. That’s what I’ll do. You can be a senior Spring Knight. Or turn into Summer. Fall is bad at fighting, so don’t go there.”

“Rabbit. Don’t be mean.”

He was grinning, now, his pointed teeth flashing.

“But you’ll be important. Maybe even the Spring’s Warden or something. I’ll be Ser Solstice. We’ll visit my tribe and see what Chieftain Rags did. Then—when we’re both Level 50, maybe we’ll do one of Erin’s quests.”

“And then? After that?”

“Mm. More fighting. But when I get lots of gold and…maybe I buy a room at Erin’s inn? Then we can have little babies.”

Ah. There it was. Meisa’s hands tightened, and Rabbiteater took that as a good sign.

“How many do you want? Five is a lot for Humans, Menrise said. You can take in little Goblins. There’s always little Goblins you can look after.”

He looked into her eyes then, and that was when he seemed to see it. In those earnest green eyes, like Spring’s affection, kindness, empathy, and even love for a Goblin…Rabbiteater hesitated. Because he saw something else there for the first time. Meisa took one slow breath one last time.

“Rabbit…I think this is where I have to tell you something. I loved knowing you. And I fell in love like a spring’s romance. Like my season, well and truly and genuinely. But whenever you talked about children. About a future—that’s when I never was able to follow. Because I don’t see that future you see.”

“What? No. I don’t need to have kids. We can just adventure.”

“Or perhaps we could part. And do it now rather than…when we don’t see each other, Rabbit. Listen. Have you ever heard of a spring’s romance?”

“No.”

He looked so blank. Meisa’s heart hurt, and perhaps she should have said this from the start. But she hadn’t realized he had never considered breaking up. Goblins didn’t have that long. But she…

“We’re both young, Rabbiteater. I never planned on being together forever. Just however long it lasted. And I think today is when it should begin to fade. I’m sorry. Spring ends.”

And like that—she broke the Goblin’s heart into pieces.

 

——

 

It had been a longer conversation, of course. But Rabbiteater got choked up again, and Ser Markus patted his arm.

“She didn’t want to have babies, Ser Markus.”

“That’s a lot to ask of a woman, Rabbit.”

“I didn’t need them. She didn’t want to stay with me. I thought she liked me.”

“She did. Believe me, I saw her leaving, and she was awash with tears. Awash, Rabbiteater.”

“Then why did we break up?”

Ser Markus almost wished he’d stayed away. But he had known what was probably afoot, and a [Knight] did not abandon a comrade in trouble. Especially not now.

In truth…Meisa had not been crying that hard. Her eyes had been red, but she had looked almost relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been resolved. And it cut Markus to understand why.

“It is…hard. Hard to ask someone to live their entire life with you, Rabbit. We Spring Knights seldom enter into relationships that last forever. Spring is youth. Experimentation. I’m not saying Meisa played with your heart. It was just that she probably thought this entire time it was a temporary thing, and she regretted you not thinking the same way.”

The [Knight] was curled up on his side.

“It’s because I’m a Goblin, isn’t it? She doesn’t want to be with a Goblin.”

“That’s not it at all!”

A baleful, crimson light between the slits of his visor. Rabbiteater looked at Ser Markus and glared.

“You lie badly. Do it again and I’ll kick you out the window.”

Ser Markus hesitated. He bowed his head and sat there on the bed. When he spoke—it was painfully.

“Alright. Alright. But don’t kick me for this part. I…it is probably because you’re a Goblin that Meisa let you down. Partly! But even if you were Human, I maintain she wouldn’t have been ready for a full-time relationship, Rabbit. That part is true. It’s just…hard. You’re a Goblin. Any child she had would be a Goblin’s, and if you were found out—she has to be thinking of such things.”

“Because I’m a Goblin. And there’s no life with Goblins.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I heard you. I’m a Goblin, and no one will ever love us. I’m a worthless Goblin, and I should go back to Izril.”

He was climbing into his bed, rolling himself into his sheets like the saddest metal sausage in the world. Markus sat there and tried to think of something to say.

“If I thought Meisa didn’t love you, I’d have said something, Rabbit. I would. I think she did love you.”

Markus looked over, and his friend lay in bed. A helmeted head turned—and Rabbiteater’s reply was very soft as tears ran from his visor.

“That’s why it’s worse. Because she can fall in love a bit. But never really. Never truly. Leave me alone, Markus. I’m done with my adventure. It’s no longer fun.”

He stared out the window.

“I want to go home, now.”

 

——

 

“Where’s Ser Solstice?”

Standing outside one of the Lighthouse Keeps, Lady Menrise looked up and waved at one of the windows high-up in the round fortress that housed the huge gemstone that shone into the oceans beyond.

“Ser Solstice, are you coming?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Menrise. Let’s have one last fine day on land. Then it’s weeks—at least two, possibly three—aboard a swaying tub before we get to land. I might jump ship the instant we get to First Landing, just like he wants to do.”

A man was lying on the ground. Lady Menrise turned, and like Rabbiteater, she wore a helmet. Although hers was far more ornate, and she had a gemstone inlaid in the forehead part of the polished metal.

Lady Menrise was a [Lady] of Tourvecall, the reclusive Kingdom of Incantations. Generations of magical exposure had left her with innate magical power—and features that mandated their helmets. She, like Rabbiteater, almost never took off her helm.

The man lying on the ground had a fur-lined coat, armor, and a dueling sword. He looked slightly green, and when he was on his feet, Hundredlord Cortese stalked like a lion. He also had a huge cat named Baeris, an actual lioness, and he wore a silver bell.

He was a deadly duelist, a proud, haughty, and quick-tempered man—and right now, Altestiel, his purple-and-silver hair swept back, was laughing at him.

The [Earl of Rains], moody, showy, and just as passionate—albeit older and more tempered than Cortese. Desonis’ marshal and champion. The last member of the Ivory Five was a demure [Princess], gloved hands folded, nervous in contrast to her peers, with a light-patterned riding dress and several Thronebearer bodyguards.

Princess Seraphel couldn’t resist nudging Cortese with a foot. The man, without looking up, spoke.

“If that was Altestiel, I’ll stab you when I get up.”

“You’ll have to avoid throwing up to do that, Cortese. A night on the sea not doing you much good?”

Altestiel laughed, and Cortese raised a bloodshot pair of eyes. His lion was sprawled next to them. Both looked sick.

“How does anyone sleep on that rocking, swaying, noisy—I thought I was going to die.”

Cortese apparently got seasick worse than most. His great anticipation towards the New Lands of Izril had turned to sudden horror. Meanwhile, Menrise was putting her hands to her visor.

“[Loud Voice]. Ser Solstice! We’re leaving without you!”

Her spell made her shout echo, and people turned in the city of Phel’s Light. Seraphel winced.

“Menrise, you’re causing a scene!”

“Am I? I do apologize, Your Highness. Ser Solstice, you’re making me cause a scene! Get down here! Cortese is lying on his face! It’s fair hilarious!”

She kept shouting, and Seraphel was appalled—and privately delighted. Menrise, one of her new friends, had no shame, no sense of propriety—and she was crazy.

Ser Solstice, or ‘Rabbit’ as he sometimes liked to be called, was crazy, but in his way. Menrise? Menrise looked down at Cortese.

“While we wait, I think it is a good time to challenge Kaaz’s great Hundredlord Cortese to a duel. En garde, Cortese.”

“Leave off, Menrise. I feel sick.”

“No, no. You’re all for dueling. Kaaz’s folk never turn down a duel. So—have at thee! Ah, I’ve gotten him on the ground!”

So saying, she stomped delicately on his back, put her hands up in the air, and gestured to Altestiel.

“Earl, take a mage-picture! Princess, you saw it! Completely defeated in a single blow!”

Altestiel gamely began fishing around for a magical tool as Seraphel covered her mouth. But that was enough to get Cortese moving.

“You want to duel me? Fine—”

He surged upright, and Menrise gulped.

“Uh oh. [Spell B—”

Cortese had her feet, and he yanked as he came up. Menrise flailed—then went over.

Donk. The sound of her helmeted head hitting the ground made Seraphel wince. Cortese, unmoved, pointed a sword down at her.

“I believe that’s my victory. Unless you’d like to seriously duel. Menrise? …Lady Menrise?”

The [Lady] didn’t move. She lay there, and Seraphel blinked.

“Oh no. Did you knock her out, Cortese?”

“She has a damn helmet on. I didn’t—Menrise?”

The [Lady]’s head was twisted to the side. Altestiel frowned—and then a bit of something left Menrise’s visor.

Red.

Blood? Seraphel’s heart began to pound, and Cortese raised his sword.

“Wh—Menrise? Did she bite her tongue? Menrise—”

He shook her, and more blood exited the visor.

“Cortese, potion.”

Altestiel snapped. Cortese fumbled for his side, and then more blood trickled from the visor. He swore—and a stream of it was pouring from the visor, seeping into the ground.

“Dead gods! Get a potion! She must have—”

Menrise vomited about a gallon of blood onto the ground as Cortese and Altestiel leapt back. Seraphel stared as a bloody woman rose—and then began screaming.

“Aaaaah! My tongue! I’ve bit off my—”

It was only then that they realized she was definitely lying. Altestiel relaxed first, and Seraphel covered her mouth. Menrise paused—then twirled, and the illusory blood vanished.

Cortese’s look of horror instantly changed to one of outrage.

“Menrise! I thought you were dying!”

“Another victory for me, then!”

She pumped one arm, and Cortese began chasing her around, swearing.

“You damned—this is why Tourvecall has the reputation it does!”

“And this is why no one likes Kaaz! You bully! Rapscallion! We’re still dueling!”

“I’ll draw blood this time! Kaaz cares for no gender nor station! Draw a sword and fight, Menrise!”

He roared, ripping his sword from his sheath. Menrise paused as he charged at her and flicked a wand out.

“Very well. [Tidal Wave].”

Cortese turned—a wall of water rose, surged at him, and he saw the edge of the docks near the Lighthouse Keep. The wave of water caught him and made to toss him over the edge, fourteen feet into the dark blue waters below—

Menrise was celebrating, wand in the air, when Cortese slashed the water in half, stepped forwards, and put the sword close to her visor. She hesitated.

“Ah. I really thought I had you.”

“I have dueled [Mages] too. My victory?”

“Mm.”

He poked her, and Menrise snapped.

“Alright, yes, yes! Don’t poke me, I bleed easy. You really have to win everything, don’t you?”

“A duel is a duel. And here is Ser Solstice. You’re late.”

A [Knight] emerged from the Lighthouse Keep. He was dragging his feet along, and Cortese glowered. Seraphel noticed that Ser Solstice didn’t have his cloak or belt and another man was half-carrying him.

“Your Highness, [Lords] and [Lady], I apologize. Rabbit—Ser Solstice is a bit under the weather.”

Ser Markus panted. Cortese just scowled.

“From what? I slept on a boat, and Menrise—”

“Rabbit! Cortese was just poking me in unwanted places with his ‘sword’. Can you believe the man?”

Altestiel’s eyes bulged, and he choked along with Seraphel. Cortese nearly threw Menrise over the edge of the docks. But Rabbiteater didn’t warm to Menrise’s pranks like before.

“Hey, Cortese. Hey, everyone. I’m not in the mood to have fun.”

“What? Are you getting seasick too? We’re going to embark at last, and you…is it the ceremony? We’ve only got one day before we launch.”

“Dead gods. I forgot. I have to give a speech. At least it’s pre-written.”

Seraphel groaned. Her mother and father had already given their send off at Calanfer’s docks, but due to the delays, the fleet had actually gone to Desonis for a second speech—and then sailed to Pheislant for a third while more ships joined them.

“This one is all Pheislant’s King. It will be short…though we’ll have to stand for a good portion of it. I’m afraid House Kallinad just decided Duke Firrus Kallinad himself will lead Pheislant’s ambitions, so it’s a full ceremony from the crown. That’s Dame Talia’s father.”

“Oh, your friend, Ser Solstice?”

Menrise turned to Rabbiteater. He was sitting on the ground.

“I guess. He’s going? Good for him.”

Altestiel exchanged a glance with Cortese as Seraphel eyed Ser Markus. He looked apologetic as Menrise nudged Rabbiteater with a foot. Altestiel cleared his throat.

“It’s hugely political. The head of a major family? I had heard their rivals, the…Trevalier family, wanted to take charge, and they forced Duke Firrus to volunteer himself. But he was given overall authority in the name of Pheislant, which has not pleased Trevalier. They threatened to pull out, but since they have not, I assume they believe the investment worth the risk. And they do not want to offend the crown.”

“Politics. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

Now Ser Solstice was on his side. Seraphel looked around—then bent over.

[Ghostly Hand]! She poked him through his armor, and he grunted and twitched. But unlike normal, he didn’t react beyond that. Menrise hopped around him, playfully, poking his armor.

“Come on, Ser Solstice. Where’s your usual vim and vigor? Let’s go have some fun before we have to sit and listen to Seraphel’s boring speech!”

“Hey.”

“I don’t want to have fun, Menrise. I’m sad. Meisa broke up with me.”

“Oh.”

All four of Ser Solstice’s friends paused. Altestiel gave Markus a knowing look, Seraphel bit her tongue and straightened, Menrise stopped shaking Rabbiteater—and Cortese withdrew the boot he’d been about to kick Rabbiteater with. The Hundredlord coughed.

“I, uh—I’m sorry to hear that, Rabbit. Was it due to a quarrel?”

“No. She doesn’t like me because I’m worthless.”

“In bed? Ow!”

Menrise got a kick from Cortese. Rabbiteater just lay there.

“I have no future. Everything is pointless. I want to go home, now.”

“Well, we’re going to embark.”

“Just roll me onto the ship. This sucks. Everything is pointless. I want to go home.”

Ser Markus had apparently decided that Rabbiteater’s friends could help cheer him up. After nearly half an hour of consolation, he was sneaking away into the keep—right before someone put a hand on his shoulder.

“Ser Markus. What exactly did this Dame Meisa say to poor Solstice? Before you go, would you mind explaining?”

Princess Seraphel caught him, and the [Knight] turned.

“Your Highness! I, er, think that should be between [Knights]. I just heard Ser Solstice was in distress, and as you can see, it’s laid him low.”

He tried to edge back, but an unhelpful Thronebearer was suddenly right there, and one did not just shrug off a [Princess]’ hand.

“Of course. But what, specifically, did she say?”

Then Cortese was leaning on his other shoulder, hand on his sword. Markus looked left and right, and Menrise came up from the front and jabbed a wand tip up so that it tickled his left nostril.

“Yeah. What did she say? Why would anyone break our funny Ser Solstice’s heart? Let’s hear it, ‘Ser Markus’. Or you’re about to see exactly how many places I can shove this.”

Ser Markus swallowed and reflected that being Rabbiteater’s friend was sometimes very hard. Especially when it came to explaining why Dame Meisa saw no future with him. Meanwhile, Rabbiteater lay there as Altestiel squatted down next to him. The [Earl of Rains], who knew exactly why he was grieving, patted Rabbiteater on the shoulder.

“Cheer up. At least we’ll see Erin soon enough.”

Rabbiteater’s head slowly rose as the Earl smiled at him. The Goblin Knight retorted once.

“She’s not going to fall in love with you.”

Altestiel stared down at him—then watched as a wave of water slowly picked up Rabbiteater and hurled him off the docks and into the ocean with a splash.

 

——

 

There was a trend of [Knights] lying on the ground these days. Nevermind it was another continent—yet another [Knight] was on his knees.

Then—slowly—the golden armor of Ser Lormel collapsed to the ground. And the man let go of his practice sword and shield so that he could better clutch at his groin.

Ser Normen was highly embarrassed. He lowered his practice mace and felt like a failure of a [Knight]. Ser Dalimont, Ser Sest, and the third [Knight] watching the duel, Ser Solton, winced.

Here was the problem. The Order of Solstice was developing a reputation, though it only had two members. Every Knight-Order had a style.

Like the Order of the Petal, Bethal’s personal warriors, were known for wearing highly enchanted suits of armor. They fought in small groups, were devoted to their [Lady], and they were pink.

Very pink.

Clairei Knights, on the other hand, were fast. They patrolled Izril, zooming from crisis area to crisis, one of the few Orders in Izril.

The Order of Hydra were commoners, literally compared to foot-soldiers, but numerous. The Thirsting Veil used poison, the Order of Seasons were weather-knights…

Etcetera. You could be very uncomplimentary about how you distilled the rich traditions and thousands of individuals into a single concept. But the Order of Solstice was new. Untested. Therefore, their reputation was in development, and what they were getting known for was a lack of skill in diplomacy, statecraft, law—

But being very good at fighting. Especially fighting dirty.

The problem was that Ser Normen was a former Brother. A man of the streets. Even if one of his Skills, [Brute’s Swing] had turned into [Knight’s Riposte], he had all his other Skills. Which included, among other things—

[Free Elbow]. A Skill that let him, in the middle of a fight with fist or club, throw out an elbow to your jaw or chest or throat that really fucking hurt.

[Bone-rattling Swing]. Another attack Skill that threw off someone in the middle of a fight even if they blocked.

[Unscrupulous Instinct]. A Skill that let him guess if someone had a hidden blade or, sometimes, if there was a trap or other nasty surprise.

Lots of Skills as any Level 27 [Courteous Mugger] would have. But one of his, um…best Skills was one he felt really should have been replaced.

And that was [Armor-piercing Low Blow]. A Level 10 Skill that apparently could kick straight through armor.

Normen had not actually fought any [Knights] in his career as a Brother. But most men on the streets knew that your foe would go for your nuts in a fight because that laid most people out. So they wore codpieces.

Normen’s kick went straight through the codpiece, as it were. And unfortunately, the instincts of the street meant that in the middle of this training spar, when he saw the opening, he went for it.

“Ser Lormel, I am terribly sorry, sir. Can I give you a potion for—”

“No potion! We can’t waste—dead gods, it hurts! Right in my coin bank! Straight between Their Majesties’ thrones!”

He had a colorful way of referring to his balls. And it was really—really unfortunate—

Ser Solton was clearly trying not to laugh even as Normen hung his head.

“I am deeply ashamed.”

“Well, it proves that Ser Normen is a good fighter. He had Lormel on the back foot even before that unfortunate blow. That’s a commentary on Thronebearers as much as the Order of Solstice, I’m afraid.”

That comment provoked a slight glare from Ser Sest, who was helping Lormel up. The three Thronebearers were joining Normen for some morning training—Dame Ushar was with Lyonette. Normally, they didn’t like rotating out three at once, but Shriekblade plus a single [Knight] in the inn was considered acceptable.

Besides, the other [Knights] present meant that it was something of an honor. For Normen. The unfortunate part was that the [Knight] of Clairei Fields, Ser Cloudst, had arrived just in time to see the blow.

The [Knights] who had come to inquire after Rabbiteater had stayed. Well, Ser Solton had, while the two Ailendamus [Knights] had gone on. One might be around, but the Thirsting Veil Knight had been determined to return home and report to his kingdom.

“Ser Cloudst. Would you like to test our young [Knight]? I’m a bit wary myself, not being the strongest combatant anymore.”

Ser Solton called out. He was the one running commentary as the oldest [Knight] present. He was middle-aged, a Knight of Haegris—or a Haggle-Knight as they were sometimes called.

He was, um…interesting. Haggle-Knights were not known to Izril, but Solton was apparently well-respected in Terandria. You could tell Solton was used to kinder lands because his armor was shaped for his figure.

…He had a pot belly. His armor had space for his stomach, and he had a rosy-cheeked look and didn’t wear his helmet often. Nevertheless, he carried a sword and shield and was decent with them.

But it was somewhat dismaying that Normen had beaten Lormel both in technique and with the blow. Certainly, the Knight of Clairei Fields agreed.

“Someone must set an example. With respect—none of your Orders are accustomed to fighting solo. Ser Normen, let us test ourselves. Though I caution you—that last blow might not be well thought-of among most [Knights].”

“I will endeavor not to, Ser Cloudst.”

The other [Knight] had naturally white hair and he was perhaps in his fifties. But he was spry. A pure example of how levels let an older man keep up or even pass younger, lower-level folk. He gave Normen a tight smile, plucked a practice longsword, which he held two-handed, and the two advanced into a second duel.

Normen lost that one. Oh, the fight lasted a good while. Neither [Knight] considered a blow to the armor ‘good’ unless it was a strong connection, and Normen could use a club well.

A sword…a sword was an elegant weapon, but he had been assured a [Knight] could use a mace, and it was what he knew. Even the heavier mace made him feel slow, and with the armor, he felt like he was lumbering around.

Yes, knight-armor was light, and you could run and jump in it. But wearing any amount of weight slowed you down, and the entire set was an extra thirty-five pounds on him given Demas Metal’s weight.

Thirty-five pounds—and a heavier mace than his club by far. Normen was using a weighted practice mace to match the weight of his Demas Metal weapon. Even without all that—Normen felt he would have fallen behind Ser Cloudst.

The Clairei Knight was fast. He eschewed a shield for lightning-fast stabs, cuts, and parries. He advanced so fast that he had three blows on Normen in the first minute. When they ended it, it was 1-18 blows.

Although—Normen’s one blow had been a damn good swing on the man’s shoulder. The Clairei Knights adjusted his shoulder with a wince.

“A strong blow, Ser Normen. You’re familiar with that mace. Another round?”

“Yes, Sir! Thank you.”

The second time, Normen got in a lucky blow with [Knight’s Riposte]. As the sword came at him, he deflected—and the Skill came back twice as hard, blew through the practice sword, and caught Ser Cloudst across the chest.

However, even then, the [Knight] had the wherewithal to leap backwards, mitigating the blow. He was fast on his feet, and he ruefully checked himself as his sword came up.

“Not a bad—”

He had clearly expected Normen to give him a moment to set himself, so the [Knight] nearly bit his tongue as Normen came in swinging.

“I say, Ser Normen! You give the other man a chance to breathe!”

Sest shouted, but Dalimont elbowed him. Normen hesitated—and Ser Cloudst swung around him, left, swinging his sword around in an arc so fast that it rang across Normen’s armor.

A beheading strike. It was hard to say whether it would have worked in a real battle—but Normen lifted his mace.

“You have me, Ser Cloudst.”

The other [Knight] had a faint smile as he tugged his helmet off and accepted a drink of water.

“Not bad. You’ve passed the level of a [Squire] already. You lack some polish for a full [Knight]—but I quite agree it passes muster under a more peaceful Knight-Order. If you fought in squads of four, I would say you were ready already.”

He was being polite to the Thronebearers, who were a notoriously weak Order in combat. Ser Solton nodded.

“I’m detecting a few issues, though. Ser Cloudst, we’ve had Ser Normen learning to ride a horse. He’s only got the mace—no lance, no bow, and as we understand it, he might not have a retainer.”

“Hm. He needs more gear.”

The Clairei Knight frowned, and Normen went over to apologize to Lormel. The other man was surprisingly gracious about the blow.

“It’s a lesson to learn, Ser Normen. I won’t take offense—so long as you warn me that you’ll go for such a blow. And maybe we could avoid the Skill and call it a point, eh?”

“Absolutely, Ser Lormel.”

Would he ever conduct himself like a [Knight]? Normen decided to memorize how Lormel talked and the gracious way he took the kick. Normen would not have been so polite.

Then—he was inspecting Ser Cloudst’s gear and seeing what the [Knights] meant by ‘unprepared’.

Here was the thing. Normen was a [Knight]. He had the class. But he had no Order. And what was really meant by that, more than just authority, was…

“Equipment. Training. Backup, be it non-[Knights], friendly [Guards] you can prevail on, [Mages], [Squires] and [Pages], mounts, potions, alchemical tools—these are the foundations a [Knight] must rely on, Ser Normen. It is all very well to say we prevail on might of arms and Skill—and we do—but come and see Ser Cloudst’s gear. He’s the best example of it.”

The Clairei Knight had come through from Invrisil, but with his mount and things. So he showed Normen what a Knight of Clairei Fields had when they were…in the field.

He had: a longsword, enchanted with a keen edge. A warhorse, bred for speed, one of the racers from Walchaís Lands. Light cloth armor only—a long lance and a recurve bow. He also had, for emergency uses, a Potion of Speed, which he could use for combat or to escape.

The Clairei Knight’s specialty, given their speed, was to run down [Bandits], and one of the things Cloudst had was a horse whistle. If any horse was stolen from the stables across Izril, blowing that would make them rear and stop in place.

By contrast, the Thronebearers had a lot of gear designed to protect their charges. Runes that noticed if someone was nearby, fancy writing paper, speaking stones for coordination—they didn’t have bows.

Ser Solton, on crusade, had his sword and shield, one of those big crossbows, and, he confessed, a plethora of magical items.

“I left most with my [Squire]. I was prepared to fight undead, so the exploding potions, scrolls, and whatnot I don’t normally carry. I have this tiny chest of holding on my horse in terms of regular gear, and should I muster with other Haegris Knights, we would select our equipment from our armory. We have rather deep wells.”

Ser Cloudst was rather impressed with the foreign Terandrian [Knight].

“I’ve heard of Haegris’ armory. Don’t you have over a hundred thousand items?”

Ser Solton was modest.

“Purely in number. It’s a lot of copies of battleaxes and such. We can requisition it, whereupon a poor [Squire] rides out with everything we need. Mostly—you take a lot of things you might need. Gold, enough food to last months, potions for a number of issues like bug repellant—we do carry a lot of gear. It’s led to unfortunate attacks on our number for our ‘treasures’. I don’t recommend that for your Order, Ser Normen. Ours has famously deep pockets to operate so.”

Normen was actually close to writing this all down. He looked at the gear as the [Knights] presented it and nodded slowly.

“I can see I have a lot to learn, Ser Solton, Sir Knights.”

“Please, in company, we are ‘esteemed friends’ or we use our names. Just something else to learn, this decorum business.”

Solton winked, and the other [Knights] nodded in a friendly way. But that dismayed Normen.

“I fear I’ve been a fool as it were—I fear I’ve made a mistake, I mean to say. I didn’t realize there was so much to learn.”

Riding horses. He hated horses. They hated him too—they could tell he was uneasy, and he couldn’t get one to move at all. Let alone knowing how to talk with other [Knights]. Normen hung his head, and Sest clapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah, but you’re a [Knight] when you’d be a [Page] then [Squire]—a decade of training is being compressed into, what, a month? Ser Normen, this is why [Knights] take so long to train. And why we must know so much.”

Normen nodded dejectedly.

“I confess, I did have a different view of [Knights]. I thought—when trouble came, you would all just mount up and ride to the nearest problem. Draw your swords and charge off.”

All the [Knights] laughed at this, but not unkindly. Ser Cloudst raised a hand.

“You have Clairei Fields in some ways, but it is political, knowing which areas we are meant to patrol and not stepping on a [Lord] or [Lady]’s toes. The age of the roaming [Knight] in its most earnest form is gone, Ser Normen. With civilization comes different [Knights].”

Solton was all in agreement, nodding ruefully.

“Like my Order. I can’t remember when I last rode off on a random Goblin. Izril might see me fighting them—with respect to Miss Solstice. I’ve heard there are some nasty ones in the north. Half the time, I’m fighting off a Mothbear then figuring out how much the repairs might cost for the poor family whose larder was raided. Negotiating with a [Farmer] for grain or contracting a [Hunter] to kill enough game for a month…”

They were all smiling, and Normen didn’t think they felt he was an imposter. But certainly, he was untried and listened as best he could. And what they were establishing was…

He needed an Order. The problem, as Ser Solton put it after a long gulp of water, was…the [Knight] glanced sidelong at Normen.

“I must say, I feel as though you have a rough patch, Normen. A Knight-Order costs quite, quite a lot of gold. Kingdoms and the richest nobles can fund them, and your armor is quite a lot of your cost up front. But between a proper steed and funding for any other [Knights]…I hope Miss Solstice’s inn is quite affluent. I feel it is, but it might need to be more so if your Order grows.”

So he was a burden upon Erin economically? Normen’s heart sank. He looked across the city, west, towards the gates, and wondered if Yelroan, the new [Mathematician], had room in his budget for a Knight-Order.

 

——

 

Erin Solstice had until the end of the month to prepare for the worst.

She didn’t know what was coming. But as she set a loaf of black bread on the window of her kitchen, the air was heavy and dark. It felt like it was hard to see—and a Hobgoblin [Chef] walked slam-bang into a hanging pot.

“Ooh! Calescent, are you okay?”

“Ow. Am okay. Bread makes it hard to see.”

The Hobgoblin rubbed at his forehead as Erin guiltily lifted the black loaf. Once more, it sat there.

Her Shadowloaf. It was pitch-black bread that drank in light. In fact, this one was more powerful than previous versions. She didn’t know if it would save her—but Califor had once told her that it had helped her in the past, and any way to ‘hide’ her inn would be useful.

However, three Shadowloaves were making the kitchen so dark that Erin could barely see the glowing stone oven. Calescent felt around in the dark, and Erin looked at the other two loaves, which were cooling.

“I’ll, um…I’ll put them in the [Garden of Sanctuary] real quick. Can you take this one?”

“Sure. Where is it?”

Erin handed him two loaves, then sat back down in her wheelchair. The garden door opened, and she and Calescent headed into it.

“Let’s…put them at the top of the mist hill. I’ll put them in my lap if you push. Sorry. I could get up—”

Erin was tired after her morning dance, and the [Chef] grunted happily.

“Is no problem. I like pushing. This bread not for eating?”

“Nope. It’s for hiding. I figure if I leave it up there it’ll keep a month, even with mold and the magic possibly waning.”

“Hmm. Dry bread. Could make fried toast with it after you’re done.”

Erin laughed slightly.

“If it’s still there, we’ll all have fried toast. Thanks, Calescent.”

A bee buzzed past her, and her stomach hurt as she tried to smile. The Goblin noticed Erin’s expression.

“Why until the end of the month?”

“Oh—the Winter Solstice. It might be—hectic.”

“Hmm. You want I should tell Chieftain Rags to get Goblins? We can put lots of Goblins in the inn. Redfangs.”

Erin bit her tongue as they rolled up into the mists. She looked around—and a stone bench materialized. That was as good as any. She put three loaves there, patted them, and turned around.

“Maybe. But I don’t know if that would help.”

Calescent’s face wrinkled up. He couldn’t understand a situation where more Goblins wasn’t the optimal solution, even if it was an army. But Erin…

Erin had seen armies of ghosts die. She was under no illusions. If they faced what she had seen in the lands of the dead, she was not ready.

But if she faced…half-things, there were weapons to use against them. That was her morning. First, Shadowloaves. Next?

 

——

 

Normen came in as Erin emerged from the Garden and let Calescent reclaim his kitchen. Actually, all the [Knights] did, and Erin saw them join a number of guests streaming into the inn.

“Hey, are there more guests than usual? One, two…what’s with all the people?”

A lot of Humans were entering the inn, and Erin got her answer as someone strode over.

“Erin, don’t be mad—”

Ryoka Griffin had a way about her that seemed to provoke a fight. Erin looked around instantly.

“If Tyrion’s here, it’s fight time. I told you, door only.”

Ryoka waved her hands.

“No, no! But he’s coming through the inn. He won’t stay—I’m telling you in advance. All these guests? The Haven’s at the edge of your range. They just reached Pallass. Actually—there’s a huge group of Drakes at the Haven, and some of the nobles got spooked.”

So that was why they were here. Servants and the entourages of The Adventurer’s Haven’s many guests were crowding her inn. Erin exhaled.

“So Larra’s made it? I might want to see what this ‘delegation’ is like. Is it dangerous?”

Ryoka dragged the words out.

“No…but they aren’t exactly happy to see Tyrion and a number of nobles who fight with them every year. But it’s peaceful. Chaldion himself is making sure of that.”

“Wow, it’s almost like they don’t appreciate war-hungry [Lords] who kill a bunch of people.”

Normen sidled around Erin and Ryoka, deciding this was not the time to inject a question. But he stood next to Erin’s wheelchair as Ryoka inhaled—then decided to drop it.

“Yeah, well. If you want to head over, that might help. As long as you don’t start something. Because the Drakes’ war-hungry Grand Strategist is scaring us Humans.”

Erin rolled her eyes, but she looked around and called out.

“Lyonette! I’m going to the Haven!”

“Wait! Dame Ushar is my only [Knight] on duty! If it’s the Haven, don’t cause a fight!”

Lyonette appeared, fussing, and Normen bowed.

“Miss Lyonette, I could go.”

“Normen! Of course! Yes, please take Erin, and if she does anything—yank her back!”

Erin smiled up at Normen and stuck her tongue out at Lyonette.

“Bleh! I didn’t want your Thronebearers anyways. Hey, Normen, I can roll myself. How was your training?”

“I fear I embarrassed myself, Miss Erin.”

“Why?”

The two headed down the hallway, towards Liska and the door, as Normen talked with Erin. She did keep up with her staff, and she grinned when she heard about Lormel’s storehouse of sunshine that had gotten upset.

“Oh, oops! But hey, a victory’s a victory, right?”

“Is it…knightly, Miss Erin?”

“I dunno, but it works. Hey, Liska, how’s it going? Two for the Haven, please.”

A Gnoll was furiously opening and shutting the door in the portal room. When she heard Erin, she whirled around.

“Argh! Right now? Oh—fine! But you have lots of guests coming in, Erin. I’ve served nearly a hundred at almost max range of your damn door!”

“Uh oh. It’s almost outta juice.”

Erin noticed the same thing as Liska, and her portal door didn’t let [Mages] replenish it anymore! It had a far deeper capacity though. Liska just smirked.

“Yeah, well, that’s not the problem. It’s just a pain in my tail getting all the coins. [Item: Replenish Charges]!”

She slapped the doorframe, and Erin blinked as she felt the mana levels skyrocket. Liska opened the door, and a bunch of people tried to push through.

“Hey! [Form a Line]! Miss Erin, you first. The rest of you, coins please! Or my [Filtered Entry] Skill will prevent you from coming in.”

The [Doorgnoll] had a lot of, um…Skills. It was slightly concerning how many Skills she had at this point. Was [Doorgnoll] a viable class? Erin knew she as an [Innkeeper] wasn’t one to talk, but…doors? Really?

The Haven was cold, but the braziers deflected the heat the moment Erin rolled into the open-air second floor. And the moment she entered the inn—Larracel felt it.

So did Barnethei, and he broke away from a crowd to stride over to her.

“Miss Erin! Just the woman we thought might be coming.”

“Heya, Barnethei. Is that a good thing or not?”

The [Vice Innkeeper] wasn’t Erin’s favorite guy, but he was capable, and Erin was friendly with Larra, even if they were aware they were competitors and not always aligned. He gave her a tired smile.

“If you could speak to the Drakes…we’ve been held up at Pallass, and it seems now is the time our guests might leave.”

“You’ve got like a hundred and twenty miles to go before you leave the door’s range entirely.”

The [Vice Innkeeper] shrugged, and his fancy uniform caught the light, as polished as Normen in his way.

“Yes, but this is the moment when I think they realized they were in Drake lands.”

He pointed, and Erin understood why in a flash. There was something about a force of foreign soldiers—even a polite one—that could make you nervous. Especially if you were someone who thought of Drakes as your enemies.

Then again, the silent [Lord] watching with his arms folded wasn’t flinching. Lord Tyrion Veltras glanced at Erin, and she ignored him. But she eyed the thousand or so Drakes, most of whom had dismounted, and the ranks of huge Drakes with tower-shields in full armor.

“Darn. They’re armored as much as you, Normen. I’ve never seen Drakes with that much armor.”

Huge headpieces, bulky pauldrons, and even tail-armor made them look like grim sentinels. They had massive tower-shields too and spears which were forming a very imposing wall. Not that they were aiming at the Haven, which was stopped and lowered to the ground with a ramp extended.

They were just…at parade rest. And behind them were Drakes with longbows, [Mages]—and most tellingly, groups of [Alchemists] with flasks ready to throw.

There were even a pair of what might have been cut-down siege weapons pointed just past the Haven. Pallass’ forces.

Leading them, and talking to Larracel the Haven herself, was a one-eyed Drake as well as one of Pallass’ [Generals].

General Shirka of 3rd Army was alert and glancing at Tyrion. Her eyes found Erin as the [Innkeeper] rolled down the ramp—and realized she didn’t have a parking brake on the cheap wheelchair.

“Aaah! I can’t stop! Save me, Normen. Save—watch out!”

Erin’s hands slipped trying to slow her wheelchair on the steep ramp. Down she came in an accelerating vehicle.

“Incoming! Turn ranks—”

A [Captain] snapped, and the huge Drakes in the front row pivoted—only for Shirka to call out.

“It’s a wheelchair. Relax.”

The Drakes stopped, and the [Innkeeper] shot over the dirt road. If she grabbed her wheelchair legs, she’d probably abrade her fingers or snap them in the spinning wheels.

She was also about to kneecap Larracel, Shirka, and Grand Strategist Chaldion and two other Drakes who looked up and saw her coming. The two other Drakes leapt back, but Larra and Chaldion just watched as Shirka stepped over.

The Drake stopped Erin’s wheelchair with one foot—and caught the [Innkeeper] as she went flying out of the chair. Then she steadied Erin.

“Miss Solstice. General Shirka, 3rd Army.”

“Whoa! Uh. Hey, Larra, hey, Chaldion. What’s up?”

Hugely embarrassed, Erin sat back down as Normen, wincing, came down the ramp after her. Was failing to catch your [Innkeeper] a knightly failing…or just par for the course with Erin?

“Erin. This is a routine moment for the Assembly’s benefit. It’s hardly something to get worked up over.”

Chaldion’s gemstone eye glinted as he nodded to Erin. The [Innkeeper] raised her brows.

“So what’s with all the worked-up nobility coming to my inn?”

His smile said it all. Erin rolled her eyes and guessed that Chaldion was doing this on purpose. He probably wanted the Haven to stop having so many noble Humans—but what he was doing was perfectly fine under Drake law.

Indeed, Larracel was also fine under Drake law, as a sheaf of papers were passed over to her.

“Your passports are in good order, Innkeeper Larracel, and we are pleased to note you even had a form for a moving vehicle under exception. Very good. Do note we have a customs-tax on non-Drake beverages sold within ten miles of any city, and you are subject to the same for weaponry.”

“Very good.”

Larracel was as polite and professional as could be, and she was definitely not giving Erin the side-glare as the embarrassed, younger [Innkeeper] peered at the documents. One of the Drakes coughed—glancing at Erin with obvious interest.

“Upon that note, Pallass is interested in such a famous inn. Would it be acceptable to arrange for a shuttle service, either to your inn here or via the door for our dignitaries?”

Oh, of course. Erin rolled her eyes at Chaldion and folded her arms, but Larracel smiled with the air of a woman counting how many new guests she might get.

“I believe my inn will soon have a number of vacancies. Is there a customs-tax for this too?”

“That would be where I waive any fees. Purely as a matter of friendship. I may wish to visit myself, although that would be personal business.”

Chaldion leaned on his cane, and Erin’s eye-rolling almost became a spin.

“Sure. Suuure. Just a personal guest. No special favors at all.”

Larra flicked a finger, and Erin’s wheelchair began rolling backwards, seemingly of its own volition.

“I would be delighted to have such a famous guest, Grand Strategist. I assume there’s paperwork I can show…thank you.”

She accepted the sheaf of papers, and Erin folded her arms.

“Hmph. So there’s no need for me? Normen, push me up the ramp so I can fold my arms and glare at the same time.”

He was about to when Chaldion coughed.

“This is a good moment to ask if I can have a moment to meet with you later, Erin. On the business of your inn and Pallass.”

Erin’s shoulders hunched as she turned, and Shirka exhaled. Erin looked back, and Chaldion gave her a long look.

She had not often had time for him—but he had a lot of time for her. If he could get it. Erin had once told her guests exactly why she didn’t trust Chaldion. Normally, even a ploy like marching out a thousand soldiers just to get her attention might not work. But today?

Erin Solstice turned her head and gave Chaldion a slow nod.

“Later. Larra, I don’t think it’s goodbyes right now for us—but your guests seem to be leaving. Is that okay?”

The Haven’s [Innkeeper] stood there, and the [Wizard] Named-rank adventurer just smiled.

“We’ve had a hundred goodbye parties, and some were with me all the way from First Landing for months, Erin. I’ve said my goodbyes.”

Erin looked back at her—and sensed very little regret from Larra. She really didn’t care. They’d spent their money, they thought she’d given them a sendoff—and that was it for her regular guests. But Mihaela Godfrey was still leaning on the railings, and while Colth and Deni were gone, all the others…Erin craned her neck, and there they were.

Eldertuin the Fortress. Viecel the Gambler. They were watching the Drakes casually, but the [Soldiers] below were eyeing those famous names with the most chagrin.

Those were Larra’s real guests, and she was moving her Haven all the way to the New Lands—or close enough—so she didn’t have to say goodbye to them.

What a soft- and hard-hearted [Innkeeper]. Erin nodded at Larra.

“Well, I’ll move them back to Invrisil.”

She was about to go up the ramp when Mihaela leapt. Weapons rose—but Shirka lifted a claw and put a hand on her sword. Mihaela landed lightly, coughing—and Chaldion of Pallass looked up at her.

“Guildmistress Godfrey. Are you inclined to inspect Pallass’ Runner Guilds? I would be delighted if you threw some discipline into their ranks.”

“Grand Strategist. You’re still breathing. I—kaakh—never expected that. If you want me to kick your Runner’s Guild around, I will. Though they’re less trouble than the north. Less interesting, too.”

Mihaela coughed, a deep, painful one, and wiped a hand on her shirt. Chaldion addressed her by name, and as Erin turned—she realized the two knew each other. The other Drakes looked offended by Mihaela’s comment, but Chaldion just nodded.

“Let’s have a drink at the Haven. Unless you’d like a warm reception in Pallass? That was never your style.”

Mihaela cast a glance backwards and seemed to lock eyes with Larra for a millisecond. Then she shrugged and jerked a thumb over her back.

“I have two friends and their rowdy teams who want to see Pallass. Two Named-ranks plus…Larra, Barnethei? Group of five?”

“I could invite you to Tails and Scales—but if you’d like a proper sit-down restaurant in formality, we can do that too.”

“I’ve heard of that bar. Give us a fancy reservation at your best restaurant and then a night there. Otherwise, Larra won’t relax.”

Erin peered at Mihaela and then at Larra, who looked embarrassed.

“Mihaela. There’s no need…”

Chaldion just nodded at one of his subordinates and smiled.

“We’ll have a few [Senators] drop by to honor you—at a different table. For the heroine of the First Antinium Wars—Pallass can be welcoming. Miss Erin, my evening is filled.”

“Wh—but—okay. I guess—there’s a Human that Pallass actually likes?”

If there was—it was probably Mihaela Godfrey, the Courier of Izril, who had helped run deliveries across all of Izril’s south when the Antinium first invaded. Indeed, Mihaela was getting the approving side-eye from many Drakes. Erin, as the resident nuisance of Liscor, felt a bit hurt.

“Guildmistress, I studied your escape from Antinium armies in class. It would be an honor to shake your hand.”

General Shirka offered, and Mihaela rolled her eyes in a surprisingly Erin-like way.

“There’s no honor in shaking my hand. Just you, then. I’m not shaking everyone’s claw. If you want legends, the Cyclops was there too, and all I did was run. I wasn’t the one lasering Flying Antinium from the battlements with my gemstone eye.”

Everyone’s head swung to Chaldion, and the old Drake with his flaking scales actually looked embarrassed as he waved an ancient claw.

“As I recall, I was doing that because a daring City Runner jumped off the walls to get a head-start on the Antinium. It is good of you to come to Pallass. A reminder of what a Runner looks like should inspire my city.”

Mihaela’s smile was brief.

“Your Flying Gnoll can do that. And if looks were all it took to inspire—I wouldn’t have to discipline so many corrupt Runners. Can I toss any bad Human ones in your prisons?”

“I shall leave a cell open. Do you have that many?”

“One’s coming, at least. Is General…the one with the two scars on his neck alive?”

“No, he passed away…”

 

——

 

Sometimes, Erin forgot Chaldion was a war-hero. She didn’t forget Mihaela all the time, but it was one thing to remember, another to see.

Then again, people gave her the same look. Like Normen, as he pushed Erin up the ramp. You see—in that high-power, high-level meeting, Normen was there.

He saw things. He heard things as he accompanied Erin, and he was like Ishkr—there for it. Also like Ishkr, he was in the background.

Then again, Ishkr was coming into the limelight more and more. But Erin Solstice, upon return to her inn, exhaled.

“Well. I guess the Haven really is in Drake lands for good. No more Tyrion. Hey, that’s a positive!”

She smiled about that until Normen leaned over the chair.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Erin, but on the note of talking—could I have a word with you about the Order of Solstice? I—don’t want to take up your time, though.”

She glanced up at him, purely surprised.

“Normen! Of course you can! What’s up?”

The [Knight] hesitated, then replied.

“I, er, well, was wondering about how we should arm. Not that I’m not well suited in our armor and weaponry! But the other [Knights] have told me about the need for a horse and other gear, as it were, and I’ve been asked by eighteen folks about applying for the order.”

He’d left it as long as he could, hoping she’d bring it up, but…Erin blinked.

“Horse? Oh yeah. And—gear?”

She began to look uneasy, which Normen didn’t like, but then shook herself and gained a determined look.

“I—absolutely we can talk about gear. That’s actually one of the things…Chaldion, you know? The gear. The inn. We’ve got until the end of the month. The end of the—I need to stop saying it. I’m getting nervous.”

There it was again. A month. Normen had seen the date highlighted on her calendar when he pushed her in and out of her rooms. He felt a lurch in his stomach. And a determination that made him grip her wheelchair harder. But then Erin frowned.

“What do you mean—applications? Applications for what?”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Why, to be a [Knight], of course.”

And Erin’s look changed to one of…anticipation.

 

——

 

A [Knight] of Solstice. Who wanted to be a [Knight]?

Well, Normen had eighteen applications to his face. But if you counted people who hinted or asked around—it might have been a hundred. Drakes, Gnolls, Humans.

In fact, another one had just arrived and was sitting at one of the tables as Ishkr brought Erin and Normen brunch.

“There’s a City Runner from far northeast, Miss Erin. He’s asking to become a [Knight]. His name is Herove.”

“Another one? Hold on—I guess there are applicants. Who’re the other eighteen, Normen?”

“Well—the first of them is Menolit.”

“Menolit? But he has a business!”

Erin laughed, but Normen’s face was straight. Menolit wanted to be a [Knight]. Wanted it so much that he was willing to put his own coin into armor, give up the business—and Erin’s amusement turned to concern.

“Wait, he actually wants to be a [Knight]? Why?”

She leaned over the table, her hazel eyes filled with a kind of exasperated mirth.

“Are all the requests as silly as that?”

Silly? Normen looked at Erin and saw the baffled amusement on her face. And he realized—she might not understand.

“I think Menolit was serious, Miss Erin.”

It was the most emphatic he ever sounded—perhaps the words came out too strongly. The [Innkeeper] frowned.

“I’m sure he was. But Normen, being a [Knight] isn’t easy. It’s expensive. Really expensive, dangerous—and with respect to Menolit, he might not be the right guy.”

Normen had been wondering about the criteria to be a [Knight] himself. He leaned forwards anxiously.

“How so, Miss Erin?”

Her smile faded, and she gave him a bleak look. A serious one.

“Why, because it’ll get you killed. Any normal person would die if they did what a [Knight] has to do. That’s what the armor is for. You’ve seen Ylawes fight. Menolit…he’s my grumpy, successful business-guy. He’s good at fighting, I know that. But you’re probably better than he is, aren’t you?”

“I…wouldn’t like to talk myself up before a fight, Erin. It’s not something the Brothers consider wise.”

She gave him a somber look of appreciation.

“No, but it’s also probably true. Menolit was a good [Veteran] in war. You fight dirty, and you put Ser Lormel on the floor. Normen. I’m not talking down Menolit’s fighting ability. I’m saying that you would be the bare, absolute minimum of a future [Knight] for the Order in my head. Anyone recruited should be better than you.”

Now that was a statement that had Ishkr glancing over in his subtle way as Erin bit into some fruit salad. Normen’s hand tightened over his cup of water.

She was making a lot of sense, and the feeling of being—chosen—intensified. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang. On behalf of Menolit.

“May I share the rest of the people who’ve expressed interest, Miss Solstice?”

“Go ahead. Anyone I know?”

“Yes…of the people who claim to know you, there’s a Walt, Culyss, Guardsman Roreh, who says you might know him—he’s a Gnoll from the Watch—Mrsha—wait a second.”

Normen had a list, and for some reason, a certain young girl’s name was on there. He glanced up, and a brave Defender of the Cave puffed out her chest.

Erin laughed. She laughed, rolled her eyes—and Normen got more upset, and he didn’t even realize he was getting mad at Erin at first.

“None of them. Walt…Walt’s one of the Silver-rank survivors of the Creler attacks. Actually, he’s closest. What level is Guardsman Roreh?”

“Um. Under Level 20 would be my guess. He’s a decent [Guard]—”

“Nope. You can cross ‘em off the list, Normen. Maybe Walt if he reaches Gold-rank, but…hey, what’s wrong?”

The [Innkeeper] seemed to realize Normen was getting mad. She broke off, gave him a look of concern, and eyed his…helmet.

Normen had pushed the visor up, but his helmet was still on. Yet it seemed to him like a poorer hat than his actual cap or the fancy tricorne. He missed that. Yet he was happy to have something on his head…what was strange was the sensation of warmth up there.

His armor got very cold in the winter. So much so that a brief outing to the Haven left him shivering a bit. But his helmet was warm.

[His Hat Held Wrath]. And the [Witch] could see it. She eyed Normen with concern.

“Am I saying something wrong, Normen?”

“I—I’m sorry, Miss Erin. I just feel as though each fellow who asked to be a [Knight] was serious. And meant their request sincerely. Laughing at them—would be hurtful beyond the pale. Disrespectful.”

He struggled with his reply, but it came out like that. Erin’s eyes opened wider for a second, and she replied quickly.

“I’m not being disrespectful! Am I?”

She looked around, and Ishkr avoided her gaze as Mrsha nodded vigorously. Erin turned red.

“Well—if I am—I just meant it in the sense that a lotta people wasn’t my vision for the Order of Solstice to begin with. Eighteen? That’d be like the full roster. I can’t imagine there would be eighteen this year.”

Now it was Normen’s turn to give her a blank look. Erin realized she had to clarify and took a deep breath.

“This is uncomfortable. Let me try again. Normen, you know that I’m going to ask you to do dangerous things. Not just me. A [Knight]…if you look at Ylawes, you can see what trouble he gets into. Facestealer, Crelers, monsters above his level. When I asked you if you wanted to be a [Knight], you understood that, right?”

She looked anxious, and Normen bowed at the waist.

“Of course, Miss Erin. I’m ready. I might not be…ready, but if you have need of me, ask.”

In a heartbeat. He had never been afraid of dying. Just dying without doing something. Erin’s smile was bleak as she looked at the Brother. She did understand that gang’s mentality. And they liked the [Magical Innkeeper] for the same reason she knew them. They were a bit alike.

“Normen. That’s why I don’t want hundreds and thousands of [Knights]. I want the best of the very best. With respect to Menolit, with the deepest respect to even Silver-rank adventurers. I want [Knights] who won’t die. Something like Lady Bethal’s Petal Knights. Because if I send fifty against an Adult Creler…I don’t want my friends to die.”

Ah. The understanding drained Normen’s wrath out of his body instantly. But his helmet was still a bit warm. But he now saw Erin’s point of view.

Yet—and yet the [Knight] had to say something. He tried to figure it out, how to say it right. He was no great talker, and he struggled.

“I…would just like to tell you, Erin…there’s a perspective I have as a fellow who’s been knighted, but so to speak—I’m sorry. I don’t have my thoughts in a line.”

He was getting flustered, and Erin reassured him.

“Take your time.”

Of course, that made it worse. As the [Courteous Knight] floundered, an unlikely ally came to his rescue. And that was the girl who had a lot of classes and few levels. Mrsha the Low-Levelled, the Wastrel of Many Trades, Master of Absolutely None.

Yet she had a few levels. Level 11 [Druid]—and no, the class had not advanced markedly despite meeting the Gaarh Marsh tribe. Level 13 [Last Survivor]. Level 2 [Emberbearer].

High levels for a child. But her most active class that she was currently advancing in the inn was…

Level 6 [Scribbler]. The little writer of many notes had only a few Skills. But she raised her paw and solemnly slapped Normen’s back with it.

[Momentary Eloquence]!

The words came forth. Normen exhaled in relief, then he had the way to say it. He looked at Erin and thought of Crimshaw. Thought of how it had felt to kneel in the garden…and his fellow Brothers.

“Miss Erin. It may not be right for me to lecture you on what the Order of Solstice is…but I’ve been wondering exactly what we will become. Us [Knights]. There’s a fellow I’ve been dying to meet, because he’s the guiding light I want to follow. But it seems to me that the people who’re applying, even if they’re not the right sorts to fight off legends like Zeladona, you should give them a chance.”

“Why? They’ll die, Normen.”

Erin Solstice was frank. The [Knight] nodded. He rolled his shoulders—then pointed to the hallway that led to the inn. Erin’s head turned, and Normen stared at the floorboards that had been replaced as the door opened and let some nobles in. There wasn’t a trace, but—

“A better man than I am died not a foot from the door, Miss Erin. There lay Crimshaw. If you took him—he’d be a fine [Knight]. But he still died. The armor won’t save us. You won’t…stop us from dying. But I’m ready for it.”

She had such a bleak, pained look in her eyes, yet Normen leaned over the table, trying to make it make sense.

“I’m not aiming for that, Miss Solstice. I’m just telling you that I was a Brother, a thug. We wear hats, and we gussy up our language and pretend to be honorable men—but when you made me a [Knight], I was never prouder. I felt like there was some genuine honor and goodness in me after all. I felt like I was chosen. These men—and women—the Order of Solstice should be a place for people like me to seek redemption. If your life is the price, we’ll gamble on it. But I should hope that you’d accept another Brother if ever a good one asked. Because I’d like to share this feeling I wake up with with every man who thinks he’s at the bottom of a well and there’s no way up.”

He caught himself, then took a breath and felt embarrassed and right in how he’d said it, but flustered because it sounded so portentous. But he’d meant every word. Erin Solstice took him at his word. She looked at Normen, eyes bright, and smiled. Painfully.

“…That’s why it’s hard for me to do this thing, Normen. I knew the Order of Solstice would be something big. Perhaps I’m the wrong person to manage it.”

If not you, then who? Her statement made Normen nervous, but Erin Solstice shook her head.

“This is why I would never have been a good [General]. I don’t want people to die. That’s what Olesm is getting good at. Sending people to die.”

It sounded like the most dire insult in the world, but that was how Erin Solstice saw it. She clarified again when she saw Normen’s face.

“Not on purpose. He tries to save them all. I’m sure he does. But that’s what you do. You look at the odds, and sometimes you have no choice. You say, ‘hold this line’. They do, and triumph or fail, they die either way. The moment you say that, you know at least one soldier is going to die. Someone you know. I don’t want that, for [Knights] or anyone else.”

People were coming into the inn and listening to Erin speak, some of them. A one-eyed [Strategist] who’d appeared here after settling things with Larracel. A bunch of Antinium, including off-duty soldiers from the army.

Chaldion exhaled when he heard that, almost in disbelief. Because he thought Erin could do exactly what she was afraid of. What a great butcher she could have been, if she had found her way to Pallass or a Walled City first and they had used her talents. 

The Antinium liked Erin. They thought she was very nice, and they hand-signed in their language that only Mrsha could pick up on.

“Is so nice.”

“Yah. Sky is nice.”

“Bad leader. Pivr leader. So nice.”

One of them, his carapace scarred, bearing a greatsword on his back, was slower to hand-sign than the others. He kept trying to talk, but the mellifluous language escaped him, and he missed lips.

He was Antherr Twotwentyonethree Herodotus, and he no longer fit in his body and Hive. Even among the Beriad of Battalion 6, he stood out. He gave Normen and Erin a look as he sat down at a table with the others and waited for glorious food. Yet he felt it might not fill him up.

He hungered for more. More than even the continuing war with Hectval. More than the 7th Hive of the Antinium. He had no voice for it.

Antherr was not alone, either. Normen, the Antinium [Immortal], Chaldion, and the nobility filing in and staring at the Antinium with more disgust as they muttered and demanded cake and ate it too—they were all people made starving by recent events and the New Lands. Starving for something better, something greater.

Something new.

 

——

 

A number of things were changing in the inn and nearby—at least, near given the magical door. One of those things was that another sad pillbug, this one made of scales rather than sad armor and Goblin, woke up when someone opened the door.

“Aaah!”

“It’s just me, Tesy.”

A white-scaled Drake paused in opening his artbook to deploy the emergency escape-door he’d drawn in advance. He looked over, and Vetn walked into the room. The Gnoll [Thief] eyed the dirty bowls stacked up, the paints strewn about, and the mess.

His friend, Tesy, looked bad. The white-scaled Drake had paint on his scales—but there was an additional level of grime, and his robes looked unwashed. He smelled bad.

“Are you not even taking a bath?”

“Bathhouses are dangerous. They’re after me, Vetn.”

“Yeah. I bet. But you can use a bucket of water from the well.”

“But that’s cold. And I don’t have soap.”

The Drake’s voice was hoarse. Vetn resisted the urge to hang him out the inn’s window. That was Qwera’s job, and she was gone, back to work. Tesy and Vetn had always had bad patches…but this one was bad.

And there was no easy fix for it. There was a hard fix, and Vetn’s heart was beating painfully as he sat down.

“You’re going to have to find soap by yourself, Tesy.”

“Wh—are you leaving? Don’t go. Erin might kick me out of the inn soon.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because…she doesn’t like me. Even if Qwera paid for me, I see how she looks at me. It’s dangerous here. W-what if Salazsar pays Shriekblade to kill me?”

“They’re not going to do that.”

“You don’t know that. I’ve messed up big, Vetn. I don’t know what to do.”

The Thief of Clouds exhaled hard.

“Then—why are you drawing on Liscor’s walls? And in the city? You’re supposed to be keeping hidden.”

He was annoyed with Tesy, who was simultaneously so paranoid he wouldn’t leave his rooms to bathe and crept out to draw Antinium on Liscor’s walls.

“I have to draw or I’ll die, Vetn.”

The Thief of Clouds nearly kicked Tesy out of his bed. He still had the urge, right this moment, as he shook Tesy, to kiss him. But that wouldn’t help.

“Tesy. You can’t stay here forever. Listen. In a few days, tomorrow, even, you should leave your rooms. Go out, don’t cause trouble, and stay away from the law. But don’t worry about the underworld and Symphony coming after you.”

Tesy turned paler with even the mention of that name.

“Wh-why? They’ll be back. Don’t lie, Vetn. Erin might be able to protect me in the inn, but if I leave—”

“—They won’t come after you. I’ve made a deal. They’re being bought off. Everything’s…sorted. At least, with the really dangerous people.”

Neither Vetn nor Tesy really considered the ‘regular people’ dangerous. None of them, with the exception of Wall Lord Ilvriss, even knew what Tesy looked like. The underworld was far, far more deadly.

“Wh—really? Thank you, Vetn! How’d you do that?”

Tesy was suddenly animated, and he sat up in bed. But Vetn was the moody one. He pushed Tesy back from the hug.

“Never you mind. I’m going to have to go on a job.”

“You did it for me? Vetn.”

Tesy was smiling, but Vetn grabbed his arm as he tried to put it around the Gnoll’s shoulders. That was the problem with Tesy. With Vetn, too. He growled.

“I keep doing you favors, Tesy. Bailing you out of your mess. Well, you’d better be grateful. You’d better—straighten up. Now, get washed and just—wait a day, alright? The arrangement is in progress, and after that, you’re protected when it comes to the bounty on you and Symphony.”

The Drake [Painter] looked hurt by Vetn’s attitude. He didn’t see how the Gnoll’s paws were shaking, and he snapped back.

“We do each other favors, Vetn! I’ll pay you back!”

“Sure. Just wash up. Qwera’s not around to hold your tail anymore. Neither am I.”

Vetn snapped as he rose. He ignored Tesy’s hurt look. That belonged to him. But it was done. He turned and thought it was a good story to write on his tombstone.

The Thief of Clouds tried to steal from the Slayer of the Antinium. For his friend.

 

——

 

Everything was changing, in the inn and without. An important-looking [Lord] with an archer’s bracer on his wrist was demanding service from Ishkr, who appeared from behind the bar.

“I said, get me a person—oh. At last.”

He had been shouting at a nervous Antinium hiding behind Peggy. The Hobgoblin was scowling—and wary. She recognized the man was a [Lord], and an important one, it seemed. He’d pushed past Lord Alman Sanito and a bunch of other nobles, and they’d barely protested.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“I am Lord Xitegen Terland, and I have been demanding service for the last six minutes.”

Ishkr opened his mouth and looked at Peggy and the Antinium, Silverboots.

“There’s two of the inn’s staff right here, sir. They can take your order straight to the kitchens.”

“Hah! I knew the inn was mad, but at least it had the magical door, so I didn’t complain. No. Absolutely not. You—I’ll take two of your cakes, your entire assortment of cookies excepting the ‘fly’ ones, and anything else interesting. And you deliver it. I don’t want ant or monster hands touching the food. If I must wait ten minutes, you will lose my custom.”

The Lord of House Terland was slightly overweight, a fact Ishkr didn’t really hold against him. But he had surprisingly well-developed thighs and an equally strong voice. Ishkr noticed these things, like the archer’s bracer, because they stood out.

“Lord Xitegen, the inn’s staff are Goblin and Antinium. If you have an issue with their service—”

“I do indeed. Someone must, even if this [Innkeeper] has browbeaten every other guest down. Lady Magnolia Reinhart might be so unscrupulous as to not raise comment, and Lord Tyrion might feel indebted, but I am watching. And if this inn is a ‘net positive’, I shall abide in silence.”

Well, he was rapidly rising on the unpopularity scale for the inn’s worst guests. Liska was definitely going to put him on file. But Ishkr kept smiling.

Lord Xitegen was lucky that Erin was busy talking to Normen. Or perhaps, the inn was lucky. Because a [Lord] could cause trouble.

Nevertheless, Ishkr was wavering between the personal vengeance of a [Server] and being cautious with this man. So, he moderated his tone and pointed to the kitchen. It did not escape his notice that a few nobles willing to get their sweets even if it meant dealing with Silverboots—they would rather take him over Peggy—had stopped talking when Lord Xitegen mentioned the staff.

“I feel I should mention something first, Lord Xitegen. All the sweets you see here are prepared by our [Chef].”

Not strictly true, but Calescent did most of it. Xitegen’s face was blank.

“And?”

Then he slowly, slowly craned his head around Ishkr, and the open kitchen revealed a humming Hobgoblin breaking eggs one-handed into a bowl where he was making more cake batter. Xitegen’s face turned waxy. Then pale.

Several of the nobility tucking into their desserts looked over with frank horror. Ishkr kept his polite smile there as Peggy cackled. But Xitegen’s reply was calm.

“I see. Thank you, Gnoll fellow. You may wish to consider a change of employment, but I take your warning. Very well. This is for you. And this inn is Liscor’s…Drake lands for now. The Goblins will be safer here than wherever this new tribe nests in the High Passes.”

Ishkr’s smile waned, despite the fat gold coin that appeared on the bar counter. Peggy’s head swung around, and she stepped forward.

“Hey. What that mean?”

Lord Xitegen ignored her completely. He had, Ishkr noted, no bow at his side despite the bracer. He turned and, with a heavy sigh, strode for the door.

“The Haven served remarkably well as a distraction. Innkeeper Larracel can make the world’s woes fall away. But the south is ashambles. Antinium, Drakes, and foreigners making claims on Izril. And Goblins? The Kraken Eater tribe is bad enough. We will not stand another Goblin Lord. Be told.”

He strode out of the inn so fast that he seemed to suck several of the nobility with him. Ishkr was left there, with a keen desire to tell Liska to port Xitegen straight into Pallass. However—he was worried.

That was the kind of guest that Larra had been carrying in her inn from First Landing. They had barely stepped foot inside The Wandering Inn, probably because they were like Xitegen.

However—despite Larra now foisting that unpleasant man on Ishkr for a few moments, he thought the [Innkeeper] had done them a favor. Larracel was a master at keeping her guests happy.

Unlike Erin, the Haven was designed to entertain and cater to whims. One of her Skills, Ishkr had been told by the Haven’s staff, was [Soothe Clientele]. They literally forgot their worries while they were in her inn.

Now, Xitegen was paying attention. And something told Ishkr that the [Lord] of one of the Five Families was more than hot air.

However, Ishkr had made one mistake. He was just exhaling and looking around for Lyonette to apprise her of the problem. He had assumed Xitegen was done. Ominous threat, leave. Ishkr really should have gone after him. Not to stop him, but to make sure the man exited the inn without trouble.

Because that walk down the hallway to the door took less than a minute, and you had to stand in line for a few more minutes. Plenty of time for the Solstice effect to kick you in the nuts.

In this case—Xitegen’s voice was a roar.

“More Goblins? Get away, you filthy thing!”

This time—Erin Solstice heard it. She looked up from the table, rose to her feet—then rolled herself to the door. Ishkr ran. If Erin Solstice clonked Lord Xitegen with a pan or stabbed the man—

Consequences ran both ways.

“Hey! Who’s bullying Goblins? Normen—”

The [Knight] was already at the door, and the regulars were backing away as Erin’s face turned into a thunderhead. But Lord Xitegen came striding back through the door, locked in a furious shouting match as a tiny, grey Goblin with a poofy hat ran through, shielding her head.

“Pebblesnatch!”

The little Goblin had come for her first visit to The Wandering Inn. It was a grand day, a momentous day, when she returned to see how the inn was getting on. A painful-good day when she got to see the inn full of sadness and hope and wonder.

It should have been. But the horrible [Lord] had nearly kicked her, having never seen a Cave Goblin with their greyish skin before. That would have been bad—for Lord Xitegen—but someone had stopped him.

The furious [Lord] was on the back-foot as he retreated into the inn, but he began shouting back as a woman with black skin and stitch-marks around her fingers jabbed him in his belly.

“Listen, Porcine Human or whomever you are—I know you didn’t just try to kick Pebblesnatch. Because if you did, I would have kicked you. And if you did, you’d lose that foot, and no amount of stitching would put it back. Do you know where you are? Do you know how stupid that is?”

“How dare you. I am Lord Xitegen, and that filthy thing—is it diseased?”

“That’s Pebblesnatch, and if you’re a [Lord], I’m a Gold-rank adventurer. Wait, you’re a [Lord]?”

Revi hesitated for one second, and Xitegen advanced.

“I am Lord Xitegen Terland, and I will not be threatened by a Gold-rank adventurer. How dare you lay your hands on me! Which team are you from?”

He was about to back her out of the door when a hand barred the way. And this time, Xitegen halted as a dour-faced man blocked him and backed Revi up.

“Griffon Hunt. That Goblin is under Emperor Laken Godart’s protection. Lord Xitegen.”

The [Lord] halted, and Erin’s face turned with delight to her old friend. Pebblesnatch ran over to Erin, hopped in her lap, and Erin cuddled her. Xitegen focused on Halrac with actual recognition—then his face mottled.

“An [Emperor]’s protection? That upstart—I heard he had Goblins. Has all of Izril gone mad? Captain Halrac of Griffon Hunt, explain—yeow!”

That last part was from someone running over his foot with a chair. The [Lord] leapt back and stared as Erin opened her arms.

“Hey, buddy, you’re blocking my way. Get out of my inn already. Halrac! Revi! Typhenous! Briganda, and even Cade?”

The team of Griffon Hunt had agreed to escort Pebblesnatch to the inn, or used it for the pretext to visit. Wisely so, it seemed. Lord Xitegen tried to get a word in edgewise as the Gold-rank team came in. Typhenous was smiling.

“Pebblesnatch had to visit. Once she had determined her folk wouldn’t starve, that was. She was surprisingly reluctant.”

Briganda laughed, carefully looking around before letting Cade inside. The boy instantly looked around, spotted Mrsha, and ran over.

“I think she thought the inn’d explode or you’d conjure another Elemental. Hullo, Erin.”

“This is outrageous! Are you that [Innkeeper]? I demand an explanation! Riverfarm harboring Goblins as well? It is one thing to allow on Drake lands, but—”

“Typhenous! How’s the ribs and all the stab wounds?”

The old man winced as Erin gave him a too-firm hug.

“Ah, aaah! Easy, young lady! You’re healing faster than I am. Old bones and healing potions in limited supply, you know. Damned enchanted blades. I have been recumbent in Riverfarm and quite the talk of the town, if I may toot my own proverbial horn.”

Revi rolled her eyes.

“He’s been schmoozing with the [Witches] and playing up his wounds all month long. While the rest of us have to shovel snow.”

“Revi’s summons shovel snow. It’s been pouring. Is this a good time, Erin?”

Halrac was eying Lord Xitegen with more spatial awareness than the rest, but even he was caught off-guard as an Antinium ran downstairs.

“Halrac! My comrade in bows! It is I, Bird!”

Then Bird was there, hugging Halrac, who tried to fend him off. And Lord Xitegen quite lost his temper.

“Enough!”

His aura made everyone go silent, and Erin whirled in her seat. Normen instantly put himself between the [Lord] and…

He didn’t have any bodyguards. Or at least, none that were thrusting forwards. Two blank-faced servants stood behind Lord Xitegen, and unlike the rest of the nobles, he seemed perfectly willing to bull forwards.

“This inn is just as heinously maleficent as I thought. You must be Erin Solstice. I am Lord Xitegen, and I must warn you that this—”

He waved his hand to indicate Pebblesnatch, sticking her tongue out at him, the Antinium, and everything else—

“—is a dangerous precedent to set. You may be in Liscor, but your door connects to Invrisil and beyond. I hope you are aware that your fair-weather ways will not go unnoticed long.”

Erin blinked at the man as Normen bristled. He didn’t put a hand on his mace, but if he’d been a Brother, he’d already be plotting to see if he could mug this man once he stormed off. But Normen’s street-sense told him that might be a bad idea. He blinked at the servants, the [Lord]…

“Hey, pal. I don’t know who you are.”

“Lord Xitegen Terland.”

“—And I don’t care. You tried to kick Pebblesnatch? That’s a brave way to lose a foot. You don’t like my inn? Get out. It’s my door. And if you threaten an Antinium, Goblin, or one of my guests, be ready for the consequences.”

She pushed back on his aura so hard the [Lord] nearly recoiled. But unlike some other guests…he actually held his ground. Lord Xitegen exhaled.

“You’re everything like the rumors. I could almost admire that—but I caution you, Miss Solstice, and this [Emperor].”

He pointed a fat finger at Halrac, who had stiffened up, sensing this interaction might have consequences.

“If you would like to deal in threats—trampling over the flowers of Izril will also reap its own consequences. Be. Told.”

It was the kind of thing he clearly meant to say before storming out in a huff. But Erin blocked his way, and Ishkr groaned. Because the [Innkeeper] wasn’t the sort to let someone get the last word.

“You want to make threats in my inn? Listen, buddy.”

“Out of my way.”

Xitegen walked around her, ignoring her. Erin ran over his toes. The [Lord] shouted in pain—and then his face went blank.

“That is the third time I have been insulted in this inn. In that case—”

He looked over his shoulder, and one of the blank-faced servants stirred. Normen pivoted as he realized, too late, what they were.

Terland. The two Golems shifted—

And Lyonette du Marquin threw herself between Erin and Xitegen. She kicked Erin’s chair, and the [Innkeeper] rolled backwards. A Gnoll and little witch grabbed the chair.

“Mrsha, Nanette, Erin is going to sit over there. Now. Lord Xitegen, please calm down! Let’s all calm down—”

Four Thronebearers appeared like magic and interposed themselves—between Lord Xitegen and Erin’s friends. Ishkr exhaled in relief and wiped his brow.

He’d gotten Lyonette from the [World’s Eye Theatre] in the nick of time. Lord Xitegen stepped back as the desperate [Princess] forced everyone back. In Erin’s case, literally.

“Let go of me, Mrsha, Nanette! Let go of—”

They wheeled her away, and Lyonette bowed very deeply.

“Lord Xitegen. Please allow me to apologize on behalf of the inn. May I ask that you leave matters here? I would be remiss if this incident were to gain further steam. Lady Magnolia Reinhart would be most dismayed, and Lord Tyrion Veltras’ sons might be caught up in any—altercation.”

She invoked the two nobles like words of power, and Xitegen hesitated.

“I have been rudely insulted—”

“May I present you with a coupon for some sweets? Baked by the delightfully Human Imani in Liscor? And her partner, Centaur Palt of Wistram?”

Lyonette had a colorful bit of paper in hand. She thrust it at the [Lord], then remembered to hand it to the Golems.

But Xitegen focused on Lyonette, the red-haired young woman in her apron, and the [Knights] and took the coupon himself. He inspected it, then nodded.

“…That is far more reasonable. It is good, nay, gratifying to find a voice of reason and intelligence in this famous—too famous—inn. Your Highness of Calanfer, I accept your apology and offer my own for any—incidents that occurred here. And may I say, I am somewhat delighted to meet Terandrian royalty in such an odd place.”

He offered her a hand, and Lyonette’s smile froze. The rest of the inn had been cooling down, assuming the event was over. But now the guests, including the nobility now eating popcorn, Goblin-made or not, realized they were only getting started.

“P-Princess? I have no idea what you mean, Lord Xitegen. I’m—Lionette—Lionette with an ‘i’…I’m not—”

The [Lord] gave the politest of coughs as he eyed the Thronebearers.

“I am sure you are, Your Highness. In deference to you, I shall accept your gracious apology. But I must reiterate my point. This inn may be independent in Liscor’s aegis. A Goblin tribe is not. An [Emperor] is not, and so I merely caution you. I am not the most steadfast [Lord] when it comes to action, but rumors of Goblins abounding and that self-styled [Emperor] have reached even First Landing. It is my understanding he has a pact with this inn. This ‘Emperor Godart’ has been expanding worryingly quickly.”

“I—shall convey that to him, Lord Xitegen.”

“Very good, Your Highness. I may also extend to you the warmest hospitalities of House Terland, if you would care to meet with any of my family in Invrisil or travel to First Landing. We may discuss some small matters of the land.”

That was their way of saying ‘matters of state’. Lyonette raised her hands, aware that everyone was seeing her referred to as [Princess]. As it was the poorest-kept secret in all of Liscor…she gave up.

“I am afraid I cannot represent Calanfer in any matters, Lord Xitegen.”

She smiled wanly at him, and the [Lord] raised his brows.

“Eminently not, Your Highness. But your own interests would doubtless rouse even Matriarch Ulva to a meeting. And with that, I shall leave before that unpleasant aura nibbles on my toes.”

He glanced pointedly at Erin, then stepped out the door with coupon in tow. And Lyonette was left open-mouthed, Griffon Hunt were exchanging glances, and the nobles of Izril were getting to their feet.

Things changing. Amidst it all stood Normen, and he felt sweat rolling down his back as the two Golems followed Lord Xitegen out the door. He glanced back at Erin, and her furious gaze found his and turned anxious.

The [Knight] began to feel he might be needed very soon.

 

——

 

Vetn was meeting a young woman at the bar, and only Ishkr noticed in the hubbub that followed. Pebblesnatch was hiding in the kitchen from the horrible [Lord] and wondering if this was a bad idea after all.

But then, the inn had always been like this. She hadn’t known if she wanted to come. She could have, for months, but even the prospect of meeting Ulvama hadn’t changed that this was a sad place.

This was where so many had died. Riverfarm was safer. Or…it had been. Pebblesnatch sat under one of the cauldrons and gloomily wondered if it would change. Then someone lifted the pot and poked her.

“There you are. Causing trouble?”

The same hand smacked her on the head, and Pebblesnatch yelped. But it was a gentle smack. She looked up, and there was Ulvama. And Calescent, who had a piece of cake in hand. Pebblesnatch leapt up, hugged Ulvama, who tried to shoo her off, then hugged her back.

All was well, for a moment. Which was all a Goblin could ask for.

The rest of the inn was less easily calmed. Erin was fuming, rolling back and forth and shouting in annoyance.

“Who is that guy? Even Tyrion isn’t that bad!”

“That’s because Ryoka counters Tyrion. That was a [Lord] of one of the Five Families, and he has the levels to at least be a problem, Erin. You cannot just be rude to him! Lady Magnolia is a bad example. She is political and can accept insults. Some of them will hold grudges, and they can be dangerous. If the Assassin’s Guild was still extant, they might send one after you just for Lord Xitegen’s insults! Just on principle!”

Lyonette was having a row with Erin, and the [Innkeeper] pointed to a far wall.

“Well, that’s why Tessa’s here. Right, Tessa?”

“Huh?”

A Drake looked up from opening a letter with her claws. She gave Erin a blank look as Halrac stared long and hard at Shriekblade. Meanwhile, Bird was anxiously feeling Halrac up and down.

“Do you feel glowy, Halrac? You do not appear to be prone to vanishing again. Hello, Briganda. Hello, Mini-Briganda.”

That was his name for Cade. The boy was following Mrsha around like she was some great heroine of adventures. Certainly, Mrsha was something of an expert in fun stuff. Right now, though, she was whispering with Nanette. They tip-toed upstairs, and Erin pointed the way Xitegen had gone.

“He was threatening Rags and her tribe.”

“If he did, that means there’s already something underway, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] closed her eyes, then looked at Normen.

“Just another reason to get ready. And another reason to think about…damn. Damn, damn, fuck. Where’s Chaldion?”

She looked around, and a Drake lifted a glass.

“Enjoying the show. Are we ready for our meeting, Miss Erin?”

She glared so hard that she should have cracked his gemstone eye. Erin stormed over as Lyonette threw up her hands.

“Dead gods! Thank you, Sest, Lormel, Ushar, Dalimont. You were very helpful. Can you make sure no one else is holding a grudge?”

“Absolutely, Your Highness.”

The four moved off, and Lyonette didn’t even bother to correct them. She rubbed at her forehead.

“I’m sorry if we brought trouble, Lyonette.”

Halrac murmured, and she turned to him.

“Halrac, protecting little Pebblesnatch is never a problem. This was always coming, and…it is good to see you as well. Are you well?”

She emphasized the question, looking him up and down. Griffon Hunt had been rather silent after the Trial of Zeladona, but Halrac…

He looked fine. He did. He had been malnourished after the mysterious way he’d returned, but his memory hadn’t come back, and frankly, Typhenous had been hurt far worse. However, the [Bowman of Loss] was glancing at Erin, and his hand was hovering near his bag of holding.

“It’s been boring work in the cold. Snow Golems. Snow monsters. Too much snow; Riverfarm is shoveling day and night. Liscor seems spared of it.”

“It has the High Passes, I understand. Are you here for drinks, food? Peggy can serve your group.”

Lyonette was motioning the Goblin over, and at least that was delegable. Halrac nodded.

“If I could have a word with Erin…I’d like to talk to her about an arrow. If she’s free today.”

Lyonette’s eyes sharpened, and she nodded very slowly.

“Of course. Have you found out what…”

The Gold-rank Captain answered softly.

“No. And we’ve been testing it for a month.”

“Ah. Then…I will have her find time.”

“Thank you.”

 

——

 

Change was in the air. It was coming, and Erin Solstice was still—despite all her pledges and goals and quests—trying to hold it back.

At least, where her [Knights] were concerned. Were they even hers? She had taken Normen’s words to heart about why [Knights] should be given the chance. She was now…taking it very seriously.

As the [Innkeeper] found a private room with Chaldion, she put in a threefold request.

“I’ll talk to Halrac, Lyonette. But is today the day Demsleth returns? Have him meet with me before he eats and leaves.”

Every week, like clockwork, Demsleth would stroll in, sometimes with a very dirty and battered Rafaema, and the two would eat everything in sight. Chaldion focused on Erin—and Lyonette gulped.

“You have other people who want to talk, Erin…a Dwarf. And that Runner! And the Mage’s Guild has a bunch of letters for you. As ever.”

“I’ll see them all in turn. If not today, give them a room. Thank you. Actually—can you send the Runner to Normen? It’s probably his thing, and I’ll be talking to him.”

Lyonette hurried off, and Chaldion sat back in his chair as Erin faced him, looking tired. She had so much work to do that she’d put off for a month of rest.

Now came hard conversations and harder deeds.

 

——

 

Lady Salkis had not been downstairs when the nobles of the north had been present. She had been upstairs, in a certain Goblin’s room, having a bunch of fun.

She was sweaty now, and smiling. Though her scales had crawled when she felt auras colliding below. And she had heard Chaldion was about.

The danger made it fun, but she was pestering Numbtongue.

“Come on, give me a door to the portal door.”

“Why? Chaldion isn’t bad.”

“He…might realize I’m not supposed to be here, Numbtongue. Come on. I’ll be in huge trouble!”

The lie about her father flipping out if he heard she was fraternizing with Goblins was good enough for the Hobgoblin to help her move unseen through the inn. The two passed through the garden, and Salkis and Numbtongue avoided the hill where a few glowing faeries were flitting about.

Nor could they hear Shaestrel and the Winter Sprites at this moment, aside from a buzzing and a few glowing lights.

 

“Pissant.”

“Aye, the both of them. Yon Goblin is thinking with his third leg.”

“Psh, eleventh finger more like. Tisn’t that impressive.”

“Neither one thinking beyond the fun. When, at least, the Goblin should for the hearts he cradles and breaks. And the girl’s had her chance to see. Both blind.”

“Reminds me of Guinevere and Lancelot, so it does. Not a thought to anyone else’s feelings but what goes on between the sheets.”

“Those two? Ye’re daft. More like Oedipus and his mother. Or Narcissus and Narcissus. Here, kin, let’s not gossip and do something about it.”

 

A snowball hit Salkis in the back of the head, and she whirled.

“Those damn pests!”

“Ignore them. They throw snow at me, too. I’ll tell Ryoka on you! Ow!”

A mudball, this one flung at even higher velocity than the snowball, nailed Numbtongue in the shoulder. Swearing, the two ran for it.

They were still laughing, ignorant to the commentary of the fae, when Numbtongue swung Salkis into a kiss, and she leapt out of the door.

“Pallass, please!”

She was even polite and ignored Liska’s roll of the eyes. Salkis enjoyed her time at the inn. She—did. She didn’t have the urge to set fire to the building or cause trouble. Instead, she was wondering if Numbtongue wanted to take his adventuring seriously. They could make Gold-rank in a month. All she had to do was hide her…face…

It took her a second before she realized why she was in pain. She had assumed it was something else, but the itching, burning pain on her scales—it was too familiar.

Salkis slowed as she walked down across Pallass, and she touched something burning on her scales. It was…a mark, carved into her scales in miniature. Hidden just under one armpit, and it had hurt like hell the day it was engraved.

Now it burned and itched—and she felt that call.

Bloodfeast. If it was summoning her—it meant she was in the region.

Suddenly, her heart rate was spiking, and Salkis felt a thrill of adrenaline run through her veins. After so long? And they wanted her?

She had to reply. But now she had to get somewhere private and communicate back and learn where—Salkis began striding down the street. Yet—she felt odd.

There was less pep in her step. She would have been kissing her family, smiling at her step-mother, and laughing like she was in the best of moods if this had come before her long journey with the Fellowship of the Inn.

She felt a thrill, but not the giddy high of before. Salkis poked her chest. Was she coming down off the fun with Numbtongue? Or was it…

I can’t not go. There were…penalties for shirking your membership, and once you were in, you were in with the Raiders forever. Strangely, Salkis had never considered that a downside until now.

Troubled, she began to walk forwards. But as the spitting faeries drinking pilfered rum out of Faerie Flowers would attest—she still hadn’t changed.

 

——

 

Lyonette was headed upstairs as Normen circulated the inn. He was trying to watch the Thronebearers and see how they did things.

He knew he would never be as posh as they were, but it was good to see how they bowed to the nobles and guests and talked them down and hinted that Lyonette was busy, but they could convey a tidbit to her?

In that way, they cut down on the [Princess]’ work, and the nobles and other guests got to feel like they had a line to the [Princess]—even if their stupid comments or invitations never reached Lyonette. And the [Princess] had plausible deniability that her ‘idiot knights’ hadn’t told her.

How elegant. How sophisticated. How…

This could not be the Order of Solstice, could it? Normen was afraid of this, because he couldn’t do what the Thronebearers did. Even the Thronebearers were not perfect. Battle sense aside…

“We should have been holding Lord Xitegen from the start. I blame our system. We were too focused on Her Highness—where we should divide amongst the inn.”

Dalimont quietly argued with Ser Lormel and Ushar when they stopped for a moment. Sest was entertaining a few nobles, but Dalimont looked exasperated.

Lormel looked like he was having a bad time; Ushar looked stressed. Normen blamed himself for Lormel’s wince as he leaned on a table—without potion, the man’s groin probably still hurt. Ushar blew out her cheeks.

“Her Highness is the principle charge. We cannot deal with the inn alone. Twenty of us would barely be enough to work in rotations, Dalimont. It was a failing this time—but we all dearly wanted to see Calanfer.”

Oh, they must have been spying on Calanfer via the theatre. Dalimont nodded.

“Then we will have to deal with this issue as it comes.”

“Must we? He’s identified Her Highness, and if a [Lord] of Terland is—Princess Lyonette’s position becomes less and less tenable here, Dalimont. We cannot actually hope to defend her against a full, coordinated assassination attempt or kidnapping. With Adventurer Shriekblade, we have a chance, but she is unreliable.”

Lormel snapped back, and Dalimont raised his brows.

“Well, unless you can speed Calanfer’s ships, we are all that remains, Lormel.”

“We would be—unless you helped me push her to return! Even if only to come back with a hundred Thronebearers and servants!”

Lormel retorted as Normen hovered to one side, listening. A blonde Gnoll with sunglasses pushed through the main door, looking embarrassed as he ran over to ask Rosencrantz what had happened. The Thronebearers were furiously speaking as Ushar raised her brows.

“Dalimont’s made his point clear, Lormel. I can’t sway him.”

“But we have a mandate from the crown—”

“One Dame Ushar is not enforcing for the same reasons I have decided not to. Be sensible, Lormel.”

“Sensible? She’s waiting tables and getting into Izrilian politics. Lord Xitegen had a point! Even with the Antinium and Goblins being a nuanced species each—it will sully her reputation! And here she sits! I don’t care what you claim Princess Seraphel told you. Sest agrees with Ushar and I. Help me convince Princess Lyonette to return!”

Dalimont just raised his gauntleted hands as Lormel snapped, uncharacteristically mad.

“No. And it would not help if I joined you. Leave it, Lormel. We have work to do.”

He stepped aside to keep circulating the tables or perhaps check on Lyonette upstairs, and Lormel snapped. He tugged his gauntlet off his right hand—and slapped Dalimont in the face.

“I have had enough of you going against what is best for Calanfer, Ser. I will have you in the practice courts tonight! A duel on it!”

Dead gods, the drama didn’t end! Normen saw Dalimont take the slap from the metal glove full on. He recoiled—and nearly drew his sword on the spot as Ushar blocked the two.

“Have you gone mad, Lormel? This is not the time!”

The other [Knight], normally calm, was red-faced.

“I have had enough of this, Ushar. Leave be! We’ll settle this by blade and in the old fashioned way—”

“Dalimont will hand you your pride on your shield, Lormel. He’s the best of us four from his time in Noelictus—”

“I don’t care! I will fight, and that is how a [Knight] does it! But I will not wait here—I cannot wait a year or months to—”

Lormel’s voice broke along with his face. His rage turned to a kind of grief, and Dalimont, bristling and angry, suddenly hesitated.

“What’s going on?”

Normen nearly jumped out of his armor as Yelroan grabbed his arm. The [Mathematician] was winded and apologetic.

“I ran over when I heard there was trouble. I’m sorry! I’ve been helping Felkhr—”

“Just some business about the Order of Solstice.”

“Miss Erin didn’t consult with me? I had a budget and—argh. Why are the [Knights] fighting?”

Yelroan had a kind of keen understanding of the inn, despite not being here long, that was equivalent to Lyonette or Ishkr’s. Mostly because he was able to hang back and observe. Normen frowned.

Seeing the Thronebearers fight in the open was—odd. Why was Lormel challenging Dalimont?

The answer came as Ushar patted the man’s shoulder and Dalimont took his hand off his sword hilt.

“—You were looking at home, Lormel. Ah. Was it…it’s Lancresi, isn’t it? Is it her…birthday?”

The [Knight]’s eyes glimmered overfull.

“She’s six, now. Old enough to be walking and talking, and you know how long a year is. I saw her in that theatre, and it brought back more than letters can. I’m—sorry, Dalimont. That was beneath me.”

Ushar patted him harder on the shoulder as Normen exchanged a look with Yelroan. Lormel had a child?

Who knew? Not Lyonette. Not Normen. Dalimont exhaled.

“You’re forgiven, Lormel. Her Highness should never have sent you—not a married man.”

“I don’t think little Ellet knew. I am the crown’s representative, and Their Majesties accepted her vouchsafing me—I thought it was an honor. But I never dreamed we’d be facing months of that siege, nor that the [Princess] would refuse to go home. What am I to do?”

Normen’s mouth opened as he stared at Yelroan. The Gnoll looked pained—and Normen?

Normen headed upstairs at a trot. He didn’t know if it was a scrupulous thing to do, a [Knight] telling tales. But Dalimont was giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, and so had Ushar.

Perhaps that was a kind of knightliness of its own. Lormel couldn’t bring this up, and the Thronebearers might not feel it was their place.

But Normen was a poor [Knight].

 

——

 

“Ser Lormel has a child?”

Lyonette nearly threw a change of bedding out the window when Normen told her that. She looked aghast not to know it, and Yelroan raised a paw.

“He’s married. Eight years. Has a child who is now six—they live at the Eternal Throne, as a [Knight] directly in service to the crown would. No wonder he’s assigned to the 7th Princess. He’s probably good with children.”

“I didn’t know. He never told me! Ser Sest? Get Ser Sest!”

She summoned the fourth [Knight] immediately, and when she demanded answers, Ser Sest winced full-on. But he seemed gratified by Normen spilling the beans and coughed into one fist as he bobbed up and down.

“It…it isn’t the place of [Knights] to complain about such things, Your Highness. Speaking frankly as I may—commenting on his need to go home is both un-valorous and would earn him censure amongst some of the [Princesses].”

Lyonette stared up at the ceiling and closed her eyes.

“I can just imagine my brothers don’t have time for that. And…Shardele wouldn’t care, Aielef would be mad to even hear it…but I would listen!”

Ser Sest nodded politely, and Lyonette turned red.

“I would! I realize I might not have a year ago—”

“We are used to a different [Princess], and there are codes, Your Highness. Forgive Ser Lormel for keeping it in.”

“Well…well…well. We can send him to Calanfer, then. Send him back to be with his family. That’s alright.”

Lyonette came to a rapid decision. But Ser Sest winced.

“No, Your Highness—”

“Why not? If his daughter is growing up before his eyes—I have all the sympathy for that.”

The [Princess] put her hands on her hips, and Sest hesitated. Then he blew out his cheeks.

“Your Highness, if I may be frank—doing that to Ser Lormel, however kindly intended, would ruin his reputation and career as a [Knight]. Their Majesties and the Order of Thronebearers would not look kindly on a [Knight] who eschewed his duty and left you in Izril for his family. Lormel might not be stripped of his class or publicly disgraced—”

“Stripped of his class?”

“—but he would be relegated to a lesser role. And that would doubtless affect his income and family.”

Lyonette closed her eyes as the realities of the issue sank in. That would be what happened.

“I can’t ask for replacements, can I? And unless I go…”

Glumly, she realized that her decisions were having a real effect on Lormel’s relationship with his family. And Ushar and Sest and Dalimont…

“You all have your own friends and families and [Princesses] to tend to, don’t you, Sest? Have I kept you from anyone?”

The [Knight] hurriedly stood straighter.

“Not at all, Your Highness! I do not have a beau—no, wait, that’s a lad. A lovely lady, I meant!—back home, and there’s only my grandmother left in my family who’s not busy with spouses or children. And she would tan my back if I left Calanfer’s 6th Princess to go home!”

Lyonette gave him a wretched look. Yelroan, though, had an idea.

“What if you sent Ser Lormel with an important message or something valuable, Lyonette? Something you could only trust to a [Knight]? Calanfer is sending a fleet, so it’s not as if you wouldn’t have more [Knights] to call upon.”

“Oh. Oh! Maybe I could do that. But my parents—especially my mother—will probably see through it. She probably sent Ser Lormel just to make sure I’d have another reason to go. Something important…I will have a solution. Ser Sest, we must send Ser Lormel back.”

“Very good, Your Highness. But don’t fear—Lormel is dedicated to Calanfer, and it’s not like we’re wasting time here. Young Lady Mrsha aside, it is something to see all the happenings at the inn. Why, Ser Normen’s own Order of Solstice was a sight to see. A sight to see.”

Sest smiled at Normen, and it seemed he was one of the most supportive [Knights]. Normen flushed, and Lyonette turned to him.

“Normen, I heard you talking with Erin about your Order. Do you need…help? Yelroan, maybe we should take over organizing the Order a bit.”

“Organizing the Order of Solstice, Miss Lyonette?”

Normen was worried about that, and Lyonette hurried to clarify.

“Just…matters of finance and such. Horses, all the things Erin doesn’t like to deal with. Yelroan, didn’t you have a budget?”

He pulled out a file, opened it, and winced.

“Yes…and our estimates on how much a new [Knight] would cost to arm run three thousand, two hundred, and forty-six gold coins cheaply. Unenchanted steel, basic sword and shield. And we forgot the horse.”

Lyonette’s face fell.

“Oh no. A good horse can cost hundreds of gold coins. And we’d have to use the stables! I mean, have a handler and feed—do, um, [Knights] generate a lot of gold, Ser Sest?”

His pause was very long.

“We…are a net good to the places we patrol and a delight upon the eyes, Your Highness. A lead stone in your bag of coins. Occasionally, we generate profits by slaying monsters with valuable hides or locating treasure. On the whole, I would say we cost the crown tens of thousands of gold coins per year. Possibly hundreds.”

He gave her a radiantly embarrassed smile. Lyonette put her hands over her face. No wonder Izril had few [Knight] orders.

Then again, consider adventurers. They were one of the most well-paid, treasure-hungry addicts, and they didn’t roll around with warhorses and plate armor. Arming yourself properly was the constant problem even Gold-rankers faced. Hundreds of men and women being outfitted in armor and being unpaid?

Normen felt even more like a drag on Erin—but Lyonette turned to face him.

“Well, we’ll just have to make do with Normen for now. You are a [Knight], Ser Normen, and I think Erin should put you to a task. You can certainly ride a horse out and slay some Shield Spiders, right?”

Normen’s chin came up, but he hesitated.

“I…could walk or ride a coach, Miss Lyonette.”

She gave him a blank look, and Sest muttered.

“Ser Normen has not yet managed the—incredibly difficult feat, you must admit, especially for a man in armor in a combat situation—of staying on a horse, Your Highness.”

Normen turned red. Lyonette gave him a concerned smile.

“Well, that’s what training is for. Let’s…let’s work on it. Alright, downstairs and not a word to Ser Lormel for a moment.”

They were all heading downstairs to check on Erin when a pair of girls emerged from Lyonette’s room. The [Princess] had been changing sheets, and the girls had clearly thought she was busy downstairs. Mrsha and Nanette froze—in the middle of lugging out a bunch of Mrsha’s possessions.

From Lyonette and Mrsha’s room. The [Princess] blinked.

“What are you two doing?”

“Nothing!”

Mrsha and Nanette tried to hide their things behind their backs. Lyonette’s look of puzzlement turned to one of…

“Mrsha? What are you doing?”

Slowly, very slowly, the Gnoll girl edged sideways. She pointed and then wrote on a notecard.

I…in light of our recent slumbering incidents of which we have quarreled, Mother, I have elected to room with the considerably smaller and delightful Nanette. This is not a personal decision, but one of scale—

Lyonette and Mrsha had been having issues, with one rolling over and hogging the sheets or just a growing girl and her mother arguing over possessions.

When Mrsha had complained to Nanette about it, the little witch had claimed that her rooms were quite large, and because the two were such good friends…they had hatched a wonderful idea.

Why not be roommates? They could have fun, stay up, and wouldn’t fight at all. They could divide their room in half.

It had seemed like such a good idea. But Lyonette’s look of pure betrayal and pain made Mrsha hurry to rush up and assure her mother it was not personal.

But it was. Normen and Yelroan sidled quickly out of the way, leaving Ser Sest with the hardest job a [Knight] could have. Consoling a [Princess] who had suddenly burst into tears.

Chaaaange.

 

——

 

Erin Solstice sat with Chaldion, and the Drake lit a cigar. He had to know Erin’s feelings on smoking, but he had the upper claw.

And he seemed to be enjoying it. He stretched out in the private dining room, exhaling.

“It has been a while since we talked, Erin. You have been avoiding me.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Does spying on me ring a bell?”

He waved this off.

“Erin, in our position, it’s practically expected. A compliment. But I understand—Magus Grimalkin does it less adeptly, but he represents Pallassian interests to you. Your inn…does not always go along with Pallassian interests.”

The [Innkeeper] waved the smoke away as she sipped from a cup of Firebreath Whiskey. But she was immune to alcohol, so she was just drinking it for the taste.

Which was not why you drank the stuff.

“Yeah, well. I don’t make a habit of stealing Gnollish magic or trying to wipe them out at the Meeting of Tribes, so I guess it’s hard to align with Pallassian interests.”

He laughed at that. Laughed. In the middle of her scowl.

“Pallass had nothing to do with that. You must have seen my…oh.”

He paused and looked at her.

“You were dead. Well, I disavowed that. Publically.”

“Yeah. And I ‘don’t know where the Crossroads of Izril are’. They’re just words, Chaldion. It doesn’t matter how many people hear them.”

The [Innkeeper]’s arms folded, and the Drake gave her a side-long look.

“I take your point, but that is the entire point, to me. People hearing something, whether it is true or not, is power. So is gold and your ability to spend it. You, for instance, understand the power of an idea. The Order of Solstice. ‘Goblinfriend of Izril’. The Innkeeper of Liscor. But it’s power without the ability to act. That’s why you’re talking to me.”

Erin sat there, scowling deeper. Chaldion waited, and she replied after a minute of silence.

“It feels like you know how this conversation is gonna go. Go on, I’m just waiting.”

He chuckled again.

“If I had to guess—and I don’t, with you—you’re going to ask me for funding. Material. Candidates isn’t likely, but Pallassian armor? For your [Knights].”

“Why would I ask you when I know I have to pay something in return? Also, I helped Saliss. Are you…looking for something now?”

He paused at the mention of that, and a word hovered between them.

Seith. Chaldion tipped his glass to Erin.

“That’s a consideration, Erin. And keeping me on your good side is another. But you’re going to ask for a lot. Incidentally, part of the service I am offering includes a bodyguard detail. A proper one for Hectval raiding parties and a full-on conflict.”

“How much is ten sets of armor and a sword? I mean, ten swords. To go with the armor. I feel like you owe me that already.”

Chaldion’s eye was yellow, today, and he polished it as he removed it from his socket. He frowned at Erin—and then shrugged.

“Ah. You haven’t checked your mail, then. We could continue this tomorrow. I have a dinner to get to—and you need to consider your options.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and she wondered what he knew. But Chaldion was sliding something over the table.

“This is a speaking stone to one of my subordinates. They can get you in touch with me. My price for the considerable aid can be a favor. But knowing you, you dislike favors immensely.”

“They’re open-ended checks. And I bet you’ll write whatever you feel like on them.”

Erin scowled as she put the speaking stone in her bag of holding. Chaldion smirked.

“Well then. I will accept a <Quest>, assuming it’s worthwhile. But I would rather have details. Six names and considerable information there.”

Erin looked him in the eye and scowled at the Grand Strategist.

“If I say them to you, you’ll die. Come back in ten more levels.”

His self-satisfied grin turned into a blank look for a second, and Erin almost smirked. But Chaldion just exhaled again.

“If I were you, Erin Solstice. I’d start with your inn. This is a friendly warning from me to you. Attracting the attention of world powers is not wise. The King of Destruction is a friendly, if completely insane warmonger. Predictable to some extent. But I have heard Roshal knows your name.”

He replaced his eye, and Erin sat there with a chill on her arms. But she had been here before. So had he.

“Chaldion. Can I ask you a question? Dancing aside?”

Chaldion had half-rose, expecting the conversation to be over. But he caught himself, then lowered himself down, with raised brows.

“I quite enjoy the dancing.”

Erin sighed gustily.

“Everyone does. You know, it feels like sometimes talking with every important person means we have to feel like we’re being smart and dropping innuendo and stuff every other line. The only exception is like…King Itreimedes.”

“The King of Avel? Ah. Talked to him personally, have you?”

Erin stuck out her tongue at Chaldion.

“He’s fun. He just yaks my ear off about his bow. He’s like a Human Bird.”

Chaldion actually shuddered.

“Perish the thought. So you have been using that theatre.”

The look that the [Magical Innkeeper] gave him was not annoyed or angry, because that would have encouraged him. It was just disappointed, and that made the Grand Strategist frown.

“This is why it’s not fun, Chaldion. Why don’t you just tell me what you want? More than secrets. You’re the Grand Strategist of the Walled Cities. What can little old me give you, really, that another [Innkeeper] couldn’t? I saw you chumming it up with Larracel and Mihaela.”

He defended himself, taking a long sip from his mostly empty drink.

“—You have abilities no one else has.”

“Bullpoo. I don’t believe that. You put in a lot of effort, personal effort, when you could send a flunkie to do all this. And it’s not because you like me that much. I don’t give you half the things I’ve given some of my friends.”

He was growing uncomfortable with this line of conversation. The Grand Strategist almost snapped back, then caught himself and moderated his tone.

“I make it a habit to know people who can destabilize a continent. If you think you haven’t done that…you did not see General Sserys walking through Pallass. I wish I had a recording to show you. He had your face. Just—take my offer and do me a favor. Part of the service includes a bodyguard detail. A proper one for Hectval raiding parties and a full-on conflict. Oh—I’ll also take a list of digging sites or whatever has Wall Lord Ilvriss completely pivoting to the north.”

He was deflecting, deflecting from the conversation. Again, a kind of fog seemed to drift over the conversation. Erin Solstice looked at Chaldion and frowned.

“You already mentioned the bodyguard detail.”

The Drake lifted his eyes to her and raised one brow sardonically.

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s what you led with.”

“I am sure I did not—”

The Drake was replaying the conversation in his head and it wasn’t there. Chaldion saw Erin’s gaze flicker in confusion, and the old [Strategist] experienced a moment of panic. He hadn’t mentioned the offer of a bodyguard. He didn’t remember saying that.

But he—looked at Erin and slowly pushed his drink back deliberately.

“Too much for me tonight. It’s something when even a single drink can muddle my senses.”

It didn’t fool her. She could sense emotions. Erin Solstice sat there, and the Drake felt words tug themselves out of his treacherous throat. Coward’s words.

“—I might settle for you accepting a bodyguard detail as part of my—fee. Staff or bodyguards or members of your Order of Solstice.”

“Wait, as your fee? Are they that annoying?”

The Drake murmured.

“You’d probably find them so. But I wouldn’t mind if they died. It would be worth it to see his face if I made General Edellein your next barmaid.”

He almost laughed at the thought, and Erin gave him a severe look.

“And here I thought you’d be serious. Come on, Chaldion.”

The Drake shook his head.

“Oh, but I am. Would you take a hundred Drakes as your new [Knights]? You wouldn’t. But maybe one or two. One or two, and if you accepted some help…that will be part of my fee, unless you offer something better. Take them in and do what you do with all your little projects. Princess Lyonette, Ishkr, the Goblins. I’ve tried to steal Ishkr, you know. But you do it to Grimalkin, even Saliss, in some small way.”

“You give me too much credit. The only thing that moves Grimalkin is Grimalkin. And Saliss is better at being weird than I am. Lots of practice.”

“Then make me another Saliss.”

The words burst out of his mouth. The old Drake leaned over the table, and Erin was surprised by the vehemence of his voice.

“You want footsoldiers for your [Knight], Normen? You want a militia? I’ll give you a small one. If you want to reach somewhere—ask me. I’ll give you pieces for your board.”

“Why?”

She had the most mystified look on her face. A bleeding heart general. The best ones were. Thrissiam had been like that. Chaldion needed another sip of the drink. He whispered, his voice low. He could bluff his way with the eyes of the world upon him, but in this inn he felt naked. 

A cold hand was reaching for him, and perhaps she would understand if he said it like this.

“You don’t understand, Erin Solstice. They grow. They change when you interact with them. It isn’t just you—it’s the forces you put them under; you introduce flaws, and they shatter or rebuild. Many rise, alone. Felkhr is one such, but there are so few of him. Too many Edelleins or capable Dulns—but one Saliss for an entire city? No. No. I’ll give you thousands. Take them in. Break them if you must, I have millions. But no one can replace me. Not yet. It needn’t be a [Strategist]—”

Thence, the Grand Strategist of Pallass stopped. Because he had overplayed his hand, and Erin Solstice saw what he wanted.

But she didn’t think like that. She never did. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t. The look in her eyes was so repulsed, so silently judgemental, that he stood. He slowly stood, and the divide between them was like a younger Chaldion and the old Drake who had compromised on everything but victory.

—But she was being forced into the position he had held for most of his life. Chaldion couldn’t help but feel a vindictive twinge of pleasure at that. How long could she look like that? He turned.

“Come back once you’ve read your letters. I need another Zel Shivertail, Erin Solstice.”

She called out after him as he opened the door. Got to her feet, and raised her voice. Eyes flashing in a shout.

“You had one. Why did you abandon him? Just because of who he was?”

Chaldion turned at the door. His eyes glinted deep within their sockets, one fake, one real.

“In the end, Erin Solstice. He wanted what I could not give him. I truly thought he would win in the north and come back and order us into line. I would have enjoyed that. Sometimes, faith is a terrible weakness.”

Then he was gone.

 

——

 

It was a familiar dance to Erin. That conversation with Chaldion left her fuming, but she hadn’t expected anything different. The problem was, the dance was a giant circle, and it was to the tune of ‘will you, won’t you?’.

She did it with Niers and many groups who wanted to work with her. She did not want to trust them. Especially Chaldion, but even Niers and…so many. She could. She could play all her cards, join one side, but Erin did not trust them.

She trusted her inn’s family, and the Order of Solstice might be her one trustworthy group she could ask to do things along with her friends.

If only she could make sure that the people she sent out didn’t die.

Ryoka Griffin wasn’t often at The Wandering Inn, being busy with Tyrion and her affairs. But she stopped by.

“Erin, did you annoy some famous Terland [Lord]? It’s all the gossip at—whoa, don’t get mad at me. I’m just asking. I can help!”

Erin stuck her hand out.

“Give me your Faeblade.”

“Um. Not that kind of help.”

“Just give it to me for an hour, alright? I need to do something. You can go say hi to Halrac and the bunch. Oh, and Halrac has his special arrow. He says it doesn’t have any magical or obvious effects on it. Doesn’t pierce magic, and the tip actually could flake off, so he’s really careful with where he shoots it. Go take a look at that.”

Ryoka’s brows rose. Then she hesitated, unhooked the Faeblade, and hit a few settings with it.

“I’m giving it to you on the promise you don’t stab anyone with it. It’s on paralysis—”

“Okay.”

“No stabbing.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t swing it around either or you’ll hit someone.”

“I’m not going to stab anyone by accident, Ryoka.”

The Wind Runner had the least-trusting look in the world as Erin rolled away with it. Then someone stood up and waved at her.

“Is that—Ryoka Griffin? Hello! Can I have a word? I’m—well, you don’t know me, but I know you! I mean, I know someone who knows you!”

As intros went, that was one of the worst. Ryoka put on a fake smile as she slowed, and a City Runner got up. He’d been waiting for a word all day, but he looked nervous just sitting in this inn.

And excited, as if he were waiting for something to happen. Erin almost slowed to talk to him, having forgotten him, but Ryoka was talking to…

“Herove. Herove Canidus. City Runner in the Toremn region.”

Ryoka blinked.

“Oh, far east. I heard it’s a good training spot for Couriers. Are you on holiday?”

The young man hesitated and stared at Erin’s back.

“No. I—I quit. I mean, I asked to come here. I have something to do. I’ve come to join the Order of Solstice.”

He sounded so confident that Erin looked back over her shoulder once and stared at him. She looked the young man up and down—and then kept rolling.

Who was that guy? Normen turned as well, and Ryoka blinked.

“Wow. Uh—you sure?”

“It’s my destiny.”

He said that deadpan and looked so confident that Normen frowned, and Ryoka…well, she liked destiny, so she was interested.

“What makes you say that? And how…do you know me? Have you met Salamani? Charlay? Uh—Alevica?”

Herove gave Ryoka a weak smile.

“No—actually, I, uh, knew a girl called Persua. She was just behind me, actually. I might have beaten her by a bit, but Guildmistress Mihaela wanted to see her, so—”

Ryoka’s smile took off running faster than she did when faced with emotional connections, and Herove tried to clarify. But as first impressions went—

This was not the winning move.

 

——

 

Erin knew winning moves. She had been losing to Shaestrel all this time, and she thought the faerie was predicting the future. Playing a perfect game by seeing how to win.

…That didn’t make entirely enough sense, though, because Erin could force Shaestrel to draw even if she was a perfect computer. If Erin played her best game, she should have drawn at least one out of twenty-seven games. Or come close.

She never had. There was some trick to the faerie that Erin was missing. Yet the idea of optimal moves in life as opposed to chess was equally nebulous.

It was rare you knew with complete, 100% certainty what the best move was. Erin…thought she had a cheap move that would have made Chaldion get up and applaud with tears in his eyes, it was that dirty. It would have made Zineryr laugh his beard off, it was that cheap.

And it all had to do with a bearded man who was packing lasagna into his mouth like it was a trash can on trash day.

But he seemed considerably more happy to eat it than actual trash.

Here was Demsleth. Erin Solstice tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Demsleth. Can we have a private word?”

He glanced up and frowned deeply.

“This is my day off, Miss Erin. I have been working extremely hard of late—and I am, in fact, a bit troubled. If this is about pranking that young Doombearer, I must add that she started it first.”

Erin gave him a blank look and shook her head.

“Nah. It’s important. Can we talk? In the garden?”

That was serious. Demsleth raised his brows. He took the tray of lasagna with him. As he did, he passed by Rafaema, who was talking to Lulv and Ferris.

“They just don’t stop biting. It’s every time I go to sleep. They just nibble on my wings, and—they ate my house! Every single day! And then they bray and bray and—”

 

——

 

“What could you be busy with? I thought you were training or something.”

Demsleth didn’t change as he walked into the garden, but Erin knew who he was. Teriarch—and yet she didn’t know his full story.

Rafaema, Ryoka, and Magnolia were his real acquaintances. She? She was the [Innkeeper], and he was one of her guests, one she knew less of, ironically.

But she did know him. She had met his kind, so he accorded her a rare respect. He still gobbled down lasagna with a fork.

“This is really, wonderfully spiced, you know. That Goblin—such a tang to the palette. And to answer your question, young woman, I have great obligations besides my personal health. I just fear…my own issues get in the way of my duties.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Erin gestured at her wheelchair, which Demsleth had helped push up the hill. They were going higher, into the hill of mists, and the Dragon sniffed.

“Is that bread I smell?”

“Don’t eat it. You know what’s coming at the end of the month, don’t you?”

His fork paused, and the Dragon looked down at her.

“I can guess. I will be there. Frankly, Erin, I do not know if it will be a great trial or quiet. One would suspect…in the opening engagements of any war, foes tend to skirmish at best. It just depends on what a ‘skirmish’ looks like.”

“Yep. But we’re busy, and we don’t have time to waste.”

He winced at that and closed his eyes.

“Yes…the dead have armed us with knowledge and intent, and I cannot persuade one fool to stop wasting Slime Jelly. I…I have children I am attending to, but I did it so poorly, and I cannot be everywhere at once.”

He slapped his hand against his thigh, growling. Erin had no idea what the Slime Jelly part meant, but she understood he was busy. And searching for his own answers.

“Having money is different from spending it well, huh? Same with power?”

“Aptly put. The firepower to raze islands is nothing compared to the ability to grow Sage’s Grass. One remains.”

The red, glowing grass blooming around their feet receded into the mists as Erin halted on the hill.

“But the power to blow up them islands is also useful. Especially…if it would help a bunch of [Knights].”

“Ah. I see.”

Then, the Brass Dragon was there. He curled around the base of a tree, without statues, and he was probably an illusion of himself, the size of a small bus rather than his full appearance. Like before, though, it was Teriarch. The Dragon’s voice was deep.

“You have a request for me, I take it. I do not make a habit of giving out relics from my hoard, Erin Solstice. Magic attracts problems.”

“Okay. But you are a powerful spellcaster beyond almost everyone, right? Beyond…well, I heard that you even have copies of the laptops and such. Ryoka brought you some, and you copied them. And, apparently, played Cookie Clicker on her iPhone.”

Teriarch coughed deeply, averting his gaze.

“I inspected the software within, yes. What is your point?”

Erin held something out to him.

“How much for you to make me ten of these?”

The Dragon’s eyes fixed on the Faeblade, Ryoka Griffin’s Windsword, and he nearly choked on a bite of lasagna.

“…You want me to copy Ryoka’s gift from the Faerie King?”

“It’s not from him. It’s just technology.”

She gave him a smile, and the Brass Dragon—hesitated.

It was an interesting thing, but Erin Solstice did not jive with Teriarch the same way that Ryoka did. They were obviously different personalities, but Erin was not cast from the same young woman that Teriarch saw in so many that drove him to render his aid.

She was…rather like many [Witches] he had known, appropriate for her class. He and they did not get along, and her proposal sort of annoyed him. He tossed his mane of metal hair.

“I do not perform great magic on a whim, you know, Miss Solstice.”

“I know. Then do it to help me kill the six. Do it so I can help you and send my [Knights] out with real weapons.”

The Brass Dragon grumbled in the back of his throat. Here she was, jumping to the end of the matter without the request. No niceties, no lead up—she was direct, efficient, and he rather enjoyed Ryoka Griffin’s earnest pleas more than Erin Solstice’s logical genius.

No charm at all. Reluctantly, the Dragon levitated the Faeblade’s hilt up and analyzed it.

“I suppose I could use my trick to copy and replace it. Although—given the materials, I might as well just cast [Foundational Recreation of Mundanity].”

“Is that some kind of super-powerful Tier 7 spell?”

He sniffed.

“Tier 8 is technically how I would rate it to cast it in every circumstance. Complexity, not mana cost. I could name the number of beings who ever managed to learn it.”

“And you know it? Well, go ahead then.”

He paused for a long moment. The Dragon really would have liked her to ask who else knew the spell and perhaps given her a lecture on the difficulty of magic and—

Grumbling, he began the analysis process. It really was complex magic, but the truth was that it was all set up. You had to perfectly recreate, in raw mana, the desired object. Any minute thing wrong and the entire thing could kaboom in an unfortunate way. Once you analyzed, the copying was actually just pushing enough mana in to replicate whatever you made.

“You know, the first use of this was to create gold. Highly mana-inefficient, and it was disastrous. It, well—”

He began to chuckle, and Erin rolled her eyes.

“It crashed the economy. Yeah, yeah. That’s so depressing. I know that story.”

Now, Teriarch was getting actually offended.

“Who told you that one?”

“A Dragon. I’ve met your kind.”

The Dragon grumpily replied, drawing himself upright, his mane shining like his scales in the mists that swirled around him. Ghosts. He was half one himself.

“You might have more respect, then. You have met the waning species, the last of the last. We, like Giants, have long gone from the earth. It is something you and I should both cherish, this last meeting of immortal and mortal minds.”

The [Innkeeper] who had walked that very world looked up at Teriarch with old eyes, and he remembered why he hated [Witches]. They made him feel like a person.

“I heard the Giants tell me Dragons died just like they did. I met great Jinn and Djinni and dead species. But you know what? Despite Dragons being one of many species to fade—Halflings, Spiderfolk, and more—somehow, it’s always about Dragons dying out.”

Teriarch’s chest deflated slightly.

“Well, yes. Those are all tragedies. But every species sees itself as—who did you meet?”

Erin was clearly stressed, and maybe they should talk about something else. Although…this damn Faeblade was really complex. Teriarch wasn’t even sure what the metal was, and the inner…workings of it were microscopic.

He had seldom seen anything this ornate, even in Fraerling make, and he was beginning to regret his boast to Erin. The Dragon focused hard as Erin replied slowly.

“I met many, but of the ones I had a conversation with? I could talk to for any length of time? That was Yderigrisel, the Silver Knight. And Xarkouth, the Last Dragonlord of the Void.”

Those two names. Teriarch jerked—nearly lost focus, and looked at Erin. Then she seemed sympathetic to him.

“I knew both. I knew both well, though Xarkouth was often on other continents. I…you told me Xarkouth flew into the sky one last time. He was always worthy of his title.”

“Yes. Yes, he was, wasn’t he?”

Erin’s eyes glimmered and they shared a look like equals. Yes, that was the difference. She rubbed at her face, then laughed.

“But he was so haughty.”

“He was. He was. He’d always lead with the haughtiness, you know. ‘My species flew into the sky’. As if he did it himself. I mean…I suppose he did. But he could be entirely snobbish when he chose to be. You must have truly annoyed him.”

“We got along after a bit. But yeah, he did get annoying.”

Teriarch grinned, warming to his thread. Then grimaced.

“Ah, but of all the Silver Dragons you could have met—Yderigrisel was certainly a decent fighter and one of the most famous examples of his kind, especially on Izril. I can’t tell if it was good you met him or not. Many of the Silver Dragons had personality traits—it is not good to generalize, but we do have shared themes, you know. Predispositions.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Teriarch exhaled as he eyed something odd in the Faeblade. Like the computers…was that a ‘battery’? The explosive thing that required charging, but not too much.

“Actually, they have a predisposition to, er, hypochondria. An obsession with cleanliness, organization—as befits a Dragon bloodline that is renowned for purity and such. Yderigrisel was remarkably unmoved by it all. But then, he turned his passions towards ridding evil in a moral sense.”

“Oh. That makes sense. He was a bit, uh, high-and-mighty too.”

Teriarch bared his teeth and spared a glance, this time with actual, true disdain. He had done a lot of thinking about what Yderigrisel had done, and he had seen the Vampires’ current state.

“Yes. I always thought of him as a buffoon, you know. Blundering around, like a knight, swinging a sword of his self-proclaimed justice at anyone ‘evil’. Do you know what he did to his enemies? He was, in his way, more of a dishonorable wretch than many of his so-called foes.”

He expected Erin to get on board with badmouthing the Silver Knight, especially since she had met him herself. But the [Innkeeper]’s head came up sharply.

“Don’t say that about him.”

“I just meant—you know what he’s done to Vampires, don’t you? He did little of it himself. None, given when he died, but he was incepting the plan even as I knew him. I never thought I would see it in this form. Clouds of falling dust blown from Dragon wings on high…were enough for me to war with him once. Ryoka Griffin must have told you what it became.”

Erin’s eyes opened wider.

“He did—I know about that. He was House Byres’ champion, right?”

“An ineffectual one, but yes. He patronized—”

“Stop badmouthing him.”

The snap ran through the [Garden of Sanctuary] like the rumble of lightning in storm clouds. The Dragonlord stopped—and stared down at Erin.

She was angry. And he? He spoke very quietly.

“I may be rude to him, Erin Solstice, but believe me, I had my respect for Yderigrisel at times. That does not mean he is immune from criticism. Nor I. He has done terrible things in the name of good. That is what I meant.”

She met his mismatched gaze levelly and stared past Teriarch. Into the mists…his head slowly turned as she spoke.

“I know. I know he was not perfect. I know many of the ghosts I met were not wholly good people, or even great on average. Zeladona was probably like that. But don’t say anything ill of them. Not here. Not to me. He saved my life—he saved my soul in the lands of the dead. I know he did terrible things. I believe you. But don’t say bad things. Not to me.”

The Dragonlord turned—and thence he rose, that Silver Dragon’s statue, cast in grey stone, true, but proudly. Proudly, and yet Erin had captured the rare humility in him that emerged when he was most glorious, as he knelt upon the grass.

The last time he ever flew. The Dragonlord lowered his head.

“…It is good of you to remember them in greatness. Forgive me.”

Erin ducked her head.

“And you’ve got to remember their sins.”

“Someone must.”

It occurred to the Dragonlord that this conversation was the inverse of the one he had heard Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin have about Tyrion Veltras. Perspective. One look at Erin’s face suggested that she had come to the same thought.

And a Dragonlord was nothing if not a little wise when it came to his own hide. As Teriarch got back to work—a problem occurred.

“Er…hrm. Ah…ahoom. That can’t be…maybe I didn’t carry the 1? Ryoka Griffin said she got this from—but the laptop—”

He was fiddling with the Faeblade, flipping it over as rays of light crisscrossed it, rather like someone analyzing an object in sci-fi. Erin frowned up at him.

“What’s wrong? You can’t copy the nanostuff?”

“I can copy anything, thank you. It might be small, but I used to work with Fraerlings, and their magic is tiny. It’s not that. It’s…did Ryoka Griffin ever say how this was made?”

“Nope. She got it from some alien soldier dudes.”

Teriarch looked up.

“…Pray tell, what do those ‘soldier dudes’ use as weaponry? Because, er…this device is far more advanced than your laptops, you know.”

“I know.”

Teriarch waved the Faeblade at Erin, nodding slowly.

“As in, magnitudes apart. It takes a lot of mana to copy your devices—not the copper or plastic or gold and such, but that thing that explodes. The battery. This one has a battery. A power source.”

“Oh. And how much mana does it require to copy?”

Teriarch was trying to visualize how much mana it would require to…he craned his head back, as if staring at something his height. Then craned it back. And stared up…

“…I wonder how big an explosion this thing would make if the battery were broken.”

Of all the concerning statements that he could make—Erin slowly rolled back a pace in the grass. Teriarch gingerly now, very gingerly, held the Faeblade back to Erin.

“I regret to say, Erin Solstice, that this is uncopyable based on my mana pool. [Foundational Recreation of Mundanity] is not the most efficient spell—but however this power source is created and works, it is capable of insane energy generation. Please, return this to Ryoka Griffin, and I regret to say, I cannot copy this.”

“You can’t? Well…thank you for trying.”

Damn. Another blow. Erin Solstice turned to roll down the hill, head bowed. Teriarch gently placed the Faeblade in her lap.

“Shortcuts are not easy. And I will say, a fantastical magical blade will not let your [Knights] level.”

“I don’t want them to die. Here, take it back. I need both hands to go downhill.”

Erin chucked the Faeblade back at Teriarch. He actually sidled away from it as it landed in the grass and floated it far from him. He tried to put it back in her lap.

“No, no. I’m sure you can keep it in your lap. Just don’t run it over. An object loaned should be returned by the one who took it.”

Erin instantly threw it back, and the Dragon actually hopped out of the way.

“Yeah, but Ryoka likes you. You should give it to her and not run away from her.”

“It’s your inn.”

“Don’t bring it near me! How big an explosion is it?”

“Stop smacking it on your chair, you insane buffoon!”

He roared back, and Erin waved it overhead like a grenade.

“I’ll take you out with me!”

 

——

 

The prospect of blowing The Wandering Inn sky-high for the umpteenth time aside…the conversation with Teriarch really was disappointing.

The only thing that Erin established was that he had his own woes. Unlike Magnolia Reinhart, Erin had no time for it.

She left him drooling over a filet mignon steak, whatever that actually was. Erin had never actually seen those, but Pebblesnatch was apparently good enough to make it out of Corusdeer, which her tribe hunted in Laken’s lands.

Erin Solstice had a few things left on her plate for today. Before she got to the one she felt would take the most time…

“Lyonette? I’m ready to talk to that Runner now. And see my letters.”

The said City Runner had apparently brought them to the inn, which suggested they had come from further than even Invrisil and taken some time to get here by Runner mail. But Lyonette bustled over.

“Erin, don’t worry about the Order of Solstice. Yelroan is working on a budget proposal and organizing the entire thing.”

“Oh? Thank you, but I really want to help with applicants—”

“Let us help, Erin. I know a bit about [Knights]—at least give them a trial period. I heard you talking about the ‘best of the best’, but there’s not many to go around. You have to at least let them show their abilities before you give up on them!”

Lyonette scolded Erin gently. The [Innkeeper] resisted the urge to snap back.

“I am not making a random person a Knight of Solstice, Lyonette. But fine. Do your thing, and I’ll vet your list afterwards. But promise them nothing.”

The [Princess]’ face fell slightly as Erin made an ominous threat.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, but we’re not inducting Thronebearers. They have to be—unique, and until I know what that is, the only person qualified to say what the Order of Solstice is—is Normen or Rabbiteater.”

The [Knight] heard that. He looked up from his table as Erin hit upon a decision almost by accident. But the moment she said it—Lyonette looked at him.

Wheels were set in motion. Erin rolled away from Lyonette and straight into a pile of letters. A literal pile that Ishkr was carrying up to her room.

“Wait. Is that for me?”

“Yup. Most of it looks like Christmas letters.”

“Christmas? Oh, right.”

Erin had decided that Christmas should come halfway through winter. Yes, Fetohep and other nations had jumped the gun, but she had established Christmas as canonically being 25/14. As in, the fourteenth month, twenty-fifth day, with Christmas Eve thrown in there.

Erin had been so stressed about the Order of Solstice and the Winter Solstice she had completely overlooked it. She actually beat Ishkr to her room via her [Garden of Sanctuary].

There, Erin sat down and accepted a huge stack of letters. Most were cheap, some just folded up with a bit of wax dribbled over them, rather than a formal envelope. There were a good deal of the latter, but Erin thought many letters looked cheap and dirty. Or showed water damage.

“Where did all this stuff come from? And why’s it to me?”

“I think…they’re being sent to Santa Claus.”

Ishkr had a carefully neutral face as he brought a second load up. Erin began laughing and then groaned.

“Oh no. They think I know him. Great. This is another problem I made.”

She actually anticipated the issue in that moment. But…she cracked open the first, and for a few more minutes, she didn’t see what Chaldion had anticipated.

That genius bastard of a Drake hadn’t even needed to read one letter to foresee the future. Ishkr, who had the last armload of letters, paused in the doorway and saw Erin’s face change.

There was no way to describe the way her exhausted annoyance turned to confusion—and then, abruptly, into pain. She put a hand on her chest, as if she had been shot once more.

But this time, it was with the closest thing to prayers this world had. Little prayers from children, even adults desperate enough to write a request for a miracle and entrust it to a Runner.

And these were only the letters from north and south of Izril. More were coming, and Erin Solstice had no one to blame but herself. Not for trying to bring a holiday and joy to the world. But for opening a door into the realm that was occupied by deities and faith, where suffering and hope and desperation met.

It was—her face was exactly like that of a certain Revenant. Whether they knew it or not, in that moment, Erin Solstice sat in her chair, at her writing desk, a glowing chessboard sitting next to her as a Fraerling moved a piece left and right to get her attention.

She ignored it. Like King Fetohep of Khelt, sitting weary upon his throne, his golden eyes reading plea after plea…Erin Solstice sat in her inn.

 

Dear Santa,

Please send my village food this winter. Our fields all burned down, and Mother says we are in Trouble. I watched the [Innkeeper] on the scrying orb before the [Mayor] sold it. If I have a present this year, I would like enough food to get by.

My favorite food would be cookies I saw on television, but even Yellats would be nice. Or a big herd of Corusdeer…

 

To Mr. Claus,

I am a representative of the Village of Kinneld, in the Eastern Rise Ridgelands of northern Izril. I have a business offer to make you. Do you have firewood along with your toys and such? The [Traders] are all going south, and the roads are very snowy. It may be silly—but the Winter Sprites have brought more snow this year than we can remember.

We are in need of firewood. Dire need; it is impossible to dry most of the trees, and we have suffered eight feet of snow in places. The roads are impassible even if there were merchants. I am prepared to pay silver per pound of wood—as fast as can be arranged. Before Christmas would be best. We have had to burn two homes already. If the winter continues, it is unclear whether cold or lack of housing will haunt us first.

If this is amenable, I can send via the Runner’s Guild…

 

There were too many letters. Erin began organizing them by what were just…requests for a toy or something that wasn’t critical versus the appeals that were written from people who had no more recourse.

Some of the non-critical ones were still beyond painful. Ishkr began helping Erin, and he silently put an appeal from a boy asking Santa to send him back the ghost of his father again if he was good this year in the ‘non-important’ pile.

“Some of these letters refer to local nobility, Miss Erin. I will have Yelroan contact Lady Magnolia Reinhart. Or Lord Tyrion Veltras?”

“Why?”

“We could…show them the letters? Ryoka could forward some of the issues to them.”

For once, Erin barely blinked at the thought of invoking Tyrion. She grabbed the pile of critical letters.

“Yes. Do that. Let’s reorganize into—”

“I’ll get Yelroan and a map.”

Ishkr hurried off. Erin Solstice sat there, and in that moment—she did look like the King of Khelt, staring blankly into the distance.

But there was one difference between her conclusion and Fetohep’s. The same energy and need that had led him to shame nations upon television…

“So that’s what Chaldion meant.”

She saw it now. That Drake—Erin’s mind wasn’t working. She was overwhelmed for a moment, and when a young woman poked her head into the room, she looked grave.

But unsurprised. In the same way that Erin had a more equitable relationship with Teriarch…Ryoka’s face was unsurprised.

“I heard you’ve got a problem, Erin? Let me help.”

She was not surprised to see the appeals. Not immune. But she began to work, briskly sorting the ones who mentioned a [Lord] by name as Yelroan appeared.

“We should do a system. Locate each one by where they are. Then, if they fall in the aegis of the nobility…”

Yelroan was on it. A pleasure to work with, and the two Gnolls grinned as Yelroan gave Ishkr a nod.

“Copies. We need a [Scribe] team. I sent a request for three in Invrisil.”

“Whoa. That—works. Erin, that’ll help. Tyrion can lean on the nobles, and Magnolia can too. The rest…I’ll tell Demsleth.”

That was Ryoka’s go-to answer. Erin pushed herself back from her table as her rooms suddenly were filled with people.

“Do that. I’m going for a walk. Roll.”

Ryoka paused. Her green eyes found Erin, worried.

“You okay, Erin?”

“Oh. Yes. I am.”

“We’ll help these people. As many as we can.”

Erin focused on Ryoka.

“Of course we will. It’s just a lot of people. Demsleth, Magnolia, Tyrion…”

“All of them will help, I promise.”

The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“I know. But there’s not enough. That’s what Chaldion meant. How much food and—firewood is there? That’s what he meant. Normen. Tell Normen I have his first quest. I’ll figure out if I should post <Quests>. Chaldion gets his pound of flesh. You’ll have to do runs too.”

“Of course.”

The Courier who had once run deliveries for Laken Godart’s people didn’t even blink at the suggestion. Come to that—she nudged Yelroan.

“A copy for Laken Godart?”

“Sextuple copies so far. One for Chaldion’s people as well. Doubtless, they’ll want estimates.”

Ryoka counted.

“Wait. Tyrion, Mags, Laken, Chaldion…who’s number five, even if we have a copy for ourselves?”

Yelroan gave her a blank look.

“Why, that’s for Niers Astoragon and King Fetohep. You’re going to need a lot of coin. Order of Solstice, new inn, Santa.”

He sighed.

“I can add numbers all day, but Erin Solstice can’t afford any of this without generous backers.”

Ryoka bit her lip.

“And what does she have to offer all these people aside from quests and secrets? She can’t keep pulling miracles and wonder out of her ass.”

That comment was greeted by a bark of laughter. Ryoka turned, and Ishkr looked up from opening letters. The [Head Server] smiled at Ryoka Griffin.

“She can’t? Just watch her.”

 

——

 

Ishkr’s faith in Erin had no limit. But Erin—as she rolled away from her rooms, she knew that some of that aid, some of those wishes would never go answered.

Even with all the will in the world and all her friends, there were some that would never get a reply from the letters. She was already too late.

“Miss Erin. I heard you had a job for me.”

A [Knight] found Erin in the hallway. He looked beautiful as the fading light caught his armor. It was practically night already in the short winter days. But his armor shone, Demas Metal’s cerulean gleam.

“I have too many, suddenly, Normen. You’ll have to go out there. We’ll figure it out—but are you ready?”

He touched his helmet and forgot he had no hat.

“I can’t ride proper yet, Miss Solstice, but say the word and I’ll run there.”

She smiled faintly.

“We’ll get you a coach or wagon. You’ll need one. All hands on deck. Maybe we’ll make the applicants help. That’s a good use. I’ll be back in a bit. Go up and get things figured out, please?”

He bowed and strode up the hallway. Erin took the [Garden of Sanctuary] to avoid annoying guests.

It was snowing through the dome in the center, but it was pleasant here. It always was.

Now, Erin understood Empress Sheta’s words. Sanctuary. Her beloved garden.

 

‘Sanctuary can never shelter enough.’

 

Of course it couldn’t. The cocoa trees, the little garden couldn’t even feed Erin’s little family. This cold winter suddenly felt less restful to Erin. She hadn’t realized people were going hungry. Nor that the snow was so deep.

“Shaestrel. Why are parts of Izril covered in snow? Is it something you can control?”

It was just a hunch that Erin called out, but the fae liked it here. They slept among the Faerie Flowers.

And sure enough—a green figure leapt up and grabbed a pair of blue ones. Shaestrel towed two Winter Fae over to Erin by their ears.

 

“Ah, ye have it. Consequences…tell her, you idiots. And it is all our faults, Erin Solstice.”

 

Shaestrel looked unhappy. Of course, she knew what was going on. One of the other fae, who sounded younger, looked unhappy as she broke free of Shaestrel’s grip and replied.

 

“‘Twas not our faults! Well—maybe it was. When we came here, we zoomed so fast and dumped so much snow—we set too much up from the coasts!”

 

The crystal fae scuffed at the air as if kicking at the ground.

 

“We may have dropped too much. But we thought we would be hunted! The roads will be tough to travel, and that is no lie. Not as bad as hoarfrost or a thousand-years winter. More like…the worst in a century?”

 

Erin gave the faerie a bleak look. The faerie backed up.

 

“It wasn’t our fault! Mostly. It may be our fault, but it’s done. And we’re not the ones going around burning farms and sowing sickness. We killed a lot of it with the cold, and the winter means you won’t have full blown plague as bad as—yeow!”

 

Shaestrel viciously kicked the Winter Sprite, and the two flew off quickly, covering their mouths. Erin’s eyes sharpened.

“Someone’s burning down farms? Did you—are the snows and cold deliberate?”

 

“Ignore that. They have fat mouths. Think of it as a game like the one we play. Piece for a piece. I’m sorry for the snow, truly. But there’s naught we can do. Some of it is just weather.”

 

Erin shook her head as Shaestrel shrugged. Another thing to worry about. But she thanked Shaestrel and continued on.

 

——

 

 

The cause wasn’t important. In this moment, somewhat strangely, Erin wasn’t worried about the fix.

They’d do their best. The Order had its first calling, and more disasters were on the way.

Bloodfeast was coming. Goblins would never stop being hunted. New Lands.

Whether Erin knew all of the issues, she felt the weight of them all on her. She shouldn’t think of it that way, she knew. There was just…

Even she was allowed to collapse, right? Even she was allowed to be scared for the future. But she couldn’t. Not right now.

So Erin did the only thing she could. No smart moves, well, clever, but not Niers-level diabolical. Nothing sneaky.

Not tonight. She just rolled into her new rooms. The [World’s Eye Theatre], and into the center of it where she could see across the world. Or project herself across space.

Then—she slowly got up from her wheelchair. Her legs instantly felt the strain, but she forced herself up. She could stand and dance for a while with Ulvama.

So she stood. Kicked the wheelchair back. She might be exhausted come the dance with the [Shaman].

But she did not want to sit. Erin Solstice took a breath, and her inn waited. She called up at the ceiling then. And used her power for its humblest, intended purpose. No tricks. Just this.

She could ask for anything in this world. Anywhere. And show herself to them. There were some times when it would fail, but the [Innkeeper] could demand it all. So she took a tremulous breath and decided it was time.

It was more terrifying—and fitting for this place that when you saw and spied on people, they could see you too. So easy to be a voyeur. But if you could show your face, there was no excuse.

So. Therefore.

“Show me…”

 

——

 

It was night. It was night everywhere in the world, the exact same amount of light coming out of the sky. Clouds might affect how much light filtered through, but the input was constant. Regardless of where you were.

And wasn’t that a tiny bit strange, if you understood astronomy? Well, best not think of it. What were you, a Gnome?

At this moment, in one place of this great world, was a [Knight].

A Goblin.

He lay in his bed near the top of the Lighthouse Keep of Pheislant, crying.

He had been sad all day. Not even the best efforts of his friends and the rest of his hosts had cheered him up.

Ser Solstice had snotted through the royal ceremony with Pheislant. He’d hiccuped through a banquet and gloomed his way so much that even Seraphel thought he might be overdoing it. Whereupon Rabbiteater had swung back with ‘have you ever been in love’?

She had said yes. But it wasn’t a requirement for being a [Princess]. Then he had withdrawn to his rooms and kept crying. Worse, he had hydrated, so the tears still kept coming.

He didn’t hear the door to his rooms open, and in his grief, hiding under his blankets, he didn’t want anyone to talk. If it was Markus or Cortese, he’d kick them hard as he could in the stomach. If it was Menrise or Seraphel or anyone else…he’d kick them in the same spot.

But someone was there. He heard the breathing. Maybe it was an [Assassin]; they didn’t have any footfalls.

Good, then they could kill him and put him out of misery. Rabbiteater waited, and someone spoke.

“Well, well, well. Hey there. What happened to my brave little guy? I thought you were going to be happy.”

The Goblin…paused breathing for a second. He kept his face still, then spoke.

“Bad illusion, Menrise. Stop it or I’ll throw you out the window. I mean it.”

There was a startled laugh. It sounded familiar—maybe deeper? Rabbiteater was still confused, though, and his mind lurched to ‘this is a trick’. So he got angrier instead. Altestiel. It was him! With—a speaking stone?

“Who’s Menrise? Is she the [Lady] with a helmet you wrote about? The one stuck in the toilet? That was gross. Mrsha nearly died laughing.”

Rabbiteater threw the sheets off his head, or tried to. He had taken off his helmet, so his face was messy and uncovered. He came up, not caring if anyone else was there, and resolved to hit Altestiel when—

Erin Solstice stood in front of him. She had her hands on her hips, and she looked vaguely amused. She wasn’t wearing her apron—instead, she had a red, fur-lined jacket and long pants, both a pale white like the snow falling outside.

Gifts from a Goblin Chieftain. But it was her. She was…the slightest bit transparent if you looked closely, but for a second, Rabbiteater thought she was here.

He reached through her with a cry—then recoiled. And Erin Solstice jerked.

“Aaah! I’m a ghost! Whooo~! Wait, that made Badarrow cry when I did it to him. I’m not a ghost! It’s just me! Via a Skill! I’m alive, Rabbiteater! This is a Skill! Don’t cry—although, you look like you’ve been crying a lot.”

She caught herself, speaking quickly, waving her hands, and Rabbiteater just stared at her. His mind had gone totally blank, and he just stood there.

“Huh?”

Erin folded her arms, looking miffed.

“Wait. Did I even tell you…? I haven’t done this for more than the Earthers since it’s sort of weird. I guess you didn’t know. It’s me, Rabbiteater. I have a new Skill.”

“Wuh.”

“Yuh.”

She stared at him. Rabbiteater punched himself—then punched himself in the cheek. It hurt. But he tried again just to make sure. And Erin?

Her smile grew wider. She had looked—uncertain. Sad. Even guilty when she first appeared, though he hadn’t processed that in the shock. Now—she was smiling properly and raised a hand when he brought his fist up for a third try.

“Hey, stop hitting yourself. I mean it. Didn’t you see me already?”

“I…”

He’d seen Erin when Altestiel appeared, but she had been speaking to everyone, like a scrying orb. He hadn’t realized she could do this one-on-one. That was the first thought he had. The second was—

“How long could you do this?”

“A month? I dunno.”

“And you didn’t say hi?”

Suddenly, Rabbiteater felt hurt. He felt beyond hurt, actually. When he realized that Erin could have appeared before him like this—

Even if it wasn’t during the war, a month? He had been wanting to see her so bad, and just the sight of her speaking to Altestiel had made his heart leap.

He began to get angry. But Erin Solstice lifted a hand, and she looked—pained.

It was a familiar expression that Rabbiteater kept seeing. It reminded him of how Seraphel talked about her family. It was the look Aielef had had when she drew art in her rooms, or Vernoue contemplated her marriage.

The look he had worn as Meisa told him what they had was ending. And because he saw it, the [Champion], the [Knight], stopped. Erin coughed into one hand, rasping.

“Hey. That’s fair. I’m sorry, Rabbiteater. I really am. It’s just—I wanted to see you the moment you landed on Izril. With everyone. I thought this would make me cry. And it’s gonna. But not…yet.”

She seemed to master her own tear ducts with sheer force of will. Erin wiped her face on her sleeve.

“I didn’t want to see you because then I’d have to wait for a long time! Dummy. And if I did that…now I’m going to have to visit you, like, every other day at least. And I’ll be even more worried the entire sea trip. See? Look what I made me do.”

A watery smile, and then Erin coughed again. She still wasn’t fully healed, and he wondered what it had been like, to see her when she first woke up. Perhaps that would have hurt—but Erin whispered.

“There’s one more reason, too, Rabbiteater. I have been using this theater to visit other people, so I’ve been…busy. That’s no excuse. But those other people I had to talk to? I owed a great debt for the things I did. Remember Zeladona?”

“Yeah. Scary blade-ghost. You looked great. And Greysten got his butt spanked by Redscar. I liked that.”

He saw her laugh and chuckle. But then Erin’s face looked so bleak.

“People lost limbs in that battle, Rabbiteater. Some were maimed. I…I’ve been visiting them. Apologizing. Not that I can.”

“Oh. Oh.”

It hadn’t occurred to him, the Drakes that the Slayer had wounded, or the Antinium or…but Erin Solstice had. She regarded it, all of it, as her fault. The young woman shook her head. She looked past him, and he thought he saw it.

Reflected in her eyes. In something rising around him. His aura of Hearth and Home. 

He could see an [Innkeeper] silently visiting a Drake lying wounded or trying to piece together how to walk again, how to live with only one hand. Head bowed, accepting recriminations or blame.

A month was a long time to endure that, in happiness, rest, sadness and shame. But Erin only let that sink in a moment before she put it aside with a laugh. Almost as good as a Grand Strategist hiding his fear with a smirk and a drink.

“It wasn’t all just—house visits. I’ve been talking to people. The King of Khelt, Fetohep. The King of Avel. Foliana—and not just the super-important people. It’s really not deep. They all have motives, so sometimes I feel like we talked for an hour and nothing got said.”

“That’s all of Calanfer. You should meet Lyonette’s mom. She’s weird. She sounds nice, but I kept checking my seat for daggers under my butt.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been avoiding them for that reason. So I have been using the theatre. Just not for you, Rabbiteater. Because…you’re on an adventure. And I thought I shouldn’t interfere with that. I was waiting for you to come back and tell me everything, but I’m afraid I got lonely. And sad. And I really just needed to see my brave [Knight]. I’m sorry.”

Try as he might, Rabbiteater was unable to reproach Erin. Delayed or not, she had come at the right moment. Somehow, she always did.

The [Innkeeper] raised her hands, as if trying to touch his face, and again, Rabbiteater tried to grab her hands. Gently. His hands passed through, but Erin lifted her hands and pretended he was holding them. He looked her up and down.

“I thought you were in a wheelchair.”

“Yeah, well…I’ve been training to stand up. I wanted to see you when I was walking. I can stand for a bit. Look at you. You look older. And your armor looks shinier.”

Erin was pacing around him slowly, as if making sure she didn’t fall over. He tried to do the same thing to her and slammed into a wall.

“Ow.”

“I’m in my [World’s Eye Theatre], silly! It’s this big circle…hold still, I want to see you! Wait, why am I walking around you? You have a back. Butt…you didn’t poo it off you. I have been reading your letters. Have you been reading mine?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

He wiped his eyes, and suddenly he was burning with a million questions. Erin held still, and he edged around her. She didn’t look like she had visible scars, and she looked—

Older.

They both did. Rabbiteater tilted his head left, and Erin copied him. She tilted it right.

“Hmm. You look healthy. And just as good as when you beat the Dame of the Hills. So why are you crying?”

For a second, he didn’t know why himself. Then it came back to him, and Rabbiteater almost started crying again.

“I had an adventure. But it went back. She left me. She’s not coming to Izril.”

“Aw. Um. Who?”

“Dame Meisa!”

Erin bit her tongue.

“Oh no. Isn’t that the nice [Knight] you fell in love with? Wait. I thought that was Talia Kallinad.”

“No! She was the first one. But Meisa was the one who liked me back!”

He got mad and then guilty, because Erin retorted.

“I’m sorry! I was dead for a lot of that.”

“Oh. Right.”

She was alive. Rabbiteater tried to poke her a third time. He knew it wouldn’t work, but when she twitched in response to the motion, he felt better. He had feared it was all a lie, or a trick, and she wasn’t really alive.

Seeing her like this—suddenly, he wanted to go home more than ever. And he was glad they were getting on the ships.

“I’m going to Izril. Tomorrow. It’ll be weeks of the stupid sea, but I’m coming. Don’t die before I get back or I’ll kill you.”

She smiled hugely.

“I can’t wait. But first—I remember Dame Meisa, now. She’s that nice Spring Knight who you told me way too many details about. I don’t need physical appearance, Rabbit. You know, Mrsha reads those letters. Why’d she dump you now?”

“She doesn’t want to stay with me. Or have Goblin babies. I was a ‘spring’s romance’ to her.”

Everyone else had reacted with a kind of unsurprised resignation or sympathy without much else. It was young love. Only Rabbiteater had apparently thought this would last.

But Erin Solstice? She blew out her cheeks.

“Is that so? Some [Knight] spring romanced my [Champion]? What’s her name?”

“Meisa.”

“Last name?”

“Ineireb.”

“How do you spell that? I-n-e-i-r-e-b. Got it. Okay, sit tight. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Rabbiteater hesitated.

“Wait, why?”

Erin rolled up her sleeves and pulled a knife out of her belt, then thought about it.

“I’m going to give her a piece of my mind! I can see whomever I want. Well, no one with ward-spells, but I bet she doesn’t have any. What’s my move? Aura doesn’t work, so I bet I scare her. Psycho style! Knife raised! I hope I don’t get her in the shower, though. Sorta awkward. Then I’ll shout at her. Maybe my flames work on people if they see them?”

“What? Waitwaitwait! Don’t do that!”

Suddenly, Rabbiteater was trying to stop Erin. And that was really hard when you couldn’t touch her. But Erin was adamant.

“She knows who you are? Then she’s a jerk for dumping you.”

“She’s got a sick father and—and don’t do that!”

“Why not? Okay, she’s got one good reason. But I’m still allowed to not care about that and threaten to break her toes.”

“No!”

Rabbiteater danced around Erin, shouting, and the [Innkeeper] ignored him.

“If she dumped you, I hate her guts. I don’t care if she had great reasons or not. I won’t tell her you knew about it. No, wait. I’ve got a better idea. What’s the Knight Order’s name? Who was the Spring’s Warden? She had a really long name…I know Ser Greysten. I’m gonna shout at them, too!”

“You can’t! You’ll embarrass me! Don’t do it!”

 

——

 

In the room next to Rabbiteater, Ser Markus was having an early night of it. Or he was trying and deciding he might need to go for a walk and have a drink.

Dead gods, Rabbiteater had been moping all day. As any man might—but listening to the muffled sobs was hard.

Now, it sounded like he was in hysterics. Markus was trying not to let any tears out himself for his friend. He had realized this might be Rabbiteater’s one true love, and his sympathy had only increased at seeing Rabbiteater’s genuine heartbreak.

“—can’t! …me! Don’t do it!”

Rabbiteater’s voice was muffled through the walls, but it sounded like he was now screaming at Meisa. Perhaps he was having a dream? Ser Markus had to get up and leave the room, wiping at a sparkling tear clinging to one eyelash.

And the legend of Ser Markus, able to misunderstand every event, continued.

 

——

 

Erin only relented after Rabbit threatened to jump out the window of the lighthouse if she embarrassed him by going to Meisa or, worse, Ser Calirn. She peered out the window.

“Ooh. That’s far. I wonder if…aah!”

She walked out the window, found herself staring down hundreds of feet, and screamed. Rabbiteater screamed too.

“Aaah!”

Erin’s voice was coming from outside.

“I feel like I’m falling! Aaah! It’s horrifying, Rabbiteater! Aaaah—oh wait.”

She walked back through the window and wiped her forehead. He felt like he was going to burst a blood vessel. Then—Rabbiteater began to laugh.

He couldn’t help it. He began chortling—then laughing. Not at Erin’s silliness—not just that. But with sheer delight. Relief. And so much affection and happiness that he couldn’t hold it in.

Erin looked mock-offended, then she began to laugh as well. It came out of her in a rush, and all the tension and worry she held—drained away. And some of Rabbiteater’s sadness, too.

“Rabbit. Rabbiteater, why’d you have to go? I miss you so much! Why’d you have to go and be a hero in Terandria, huh?”

“I don’t know. I was sad after the battle. I thought Numbtongue was dead. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go back.”

He caught himself—and the words he hadn’t spoken to her floated out. Erin gave Rabbiteater a solemn look.

They were back there, with Headscratcher and Shorthilt. That was the last time they had been face-to-face. Erin’s hands shook. She had to find the wheelchair, just off-screen, and Rabbiteater saw her sit down. She was different. When she looked up, her eyes were teary.

“I know. I didn’t get it until I realized—Pebblesnatch came to the inn for the first time in months. She could have, earlier, but she was afraid to. Afraid the inn would hurt her again.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yep. And she’s still got her poofy hat. I could show her to you, if you want. Although she’s apparently challenging Garry and Calescent to a cook-off. Some things never change.”

With every second, Rabbiteater wanted to go back. He had wanted to go back when Meisa left him and before that.

Now? Now, he’d damn well jump into the ocean and swim! The little fish hook in his heart had become an anchor, and he felt like he could drag Terandria with him.

His aura. Hearth filled him like a mountain’s resolve and strength, and Erin saw it.

“Hey, is that an aura I see? Why do I smell pizza? You silly Goblin.”

“I’m not silly. I’m a big, brave [Knight]. Mrsha’s the silly one. Is she okay? Numbtongue said she had another big adventure.”

He wiped at his eyes. Erin blinked.

“Oh—you don’t know? She’s alright. She moved out of Lyonette’s room today, actually. That was like—one tiny event, but it was big for Lyonette. Into Nanette’s room.”

“Who?”

“You don’t—of course you don’t! She’s a little witch. Very nice. She’ll love you. She likes Goblins and—oh, Rabbiteater. Everyone’s changed. Did you know that Badarrow and Snapjaw are a couple?”

“I knew that. She’s weird.”

“Really? She eats a lot, and she’s got a literal big mouth, but she’s nice.”

Rabbiteater sniffed.

“She likes Badarrow. She’s weird.”

Erin laughed so hard she nearly fell off her wheelchair.

“You jerk! Doesn’t Badarrow deserve love?”

“If I can’t have any, he can’t.”

The [Knight] smiled at Erin, and she sucked in her breath.

“Oh, man. You’re going to hate Numbtongue then. Remember Octavia? And, uh—Garia. And Salkis…”

She was ticking off names, and Rabbiteater took a second to get what she meant. Then he began shouting and hurling things around his room.

“What? Three? I’ll kill him! He’s not that funny! He just knows big words! And he’s lame! He plays his stupid guitar—”

The Goblin started laughing then, and Erin joined in. They only paused when they heard voices outside the door.

Ser Markus had returned, and he was whispering too-loudly to some others.

“There, can’t you hear him? I’m telling you, Dame Talia, Ser Lloyd, we have to do something. He’s laughing now. And he’s throwing things—I fear he’ll do himself harm. I’d ask Earl Altestiel and the others…”

“No, if he’s got his helmet off, we’re the right ones. Ser Solstice? Are you in there? It’s your friends! Open the door, please!”

Someone tried the handle. Erin put her hands over her mouth, and Rabbiteater—he looked at her and grinned.

“What do we…?”

“They can see me! It’s okay—but wait! I have an idea! Open the door when I say. And…”

When the door opened, Dame Talia followed Ser Markus into the room, expecting to have to console Ser Solstice. She was trying not to be smug about being right about Meisa and completely unaware that she was the last person Markus wanted to help—but he hadn’t been able to find any other [Knights] who knew Rabbiteater’s secret.

Markus advanced into the room with Lloyd behind him and Talia in the rear. A classic three-[Knight] attack team. But they didn’t run into Rabbiteater like they had planned.

Instead—a young woman who looked oddly familiar stuck her finger out, and Markus slammed back into Lloyd.

“Who the—”

“Aha! You’re the jerks who let Rabbiteater get hurt, huh? And stole him from Izril? And you! You’re Talia Kallinad. Like your brother, you keep putting your nose in places it shouldn’t be!”

“Wh-who are you?”

Why was someone in Rabbiteater’s room? Then Talia recognized Erin Solstice, and the [Innkeeper] advanced. The off-guard [Knights] retreated as Rabbiteater poked his head up from behind the bed, grinning in delight.

“Me? I’m your worst nightmare, buddies. Because I’m gonna report you to Ser Calirn for sucking at being friends. I found Rabbiteater all alone, crying his eyes out.”

“I wasn’t crying that hard.”

Rabbiteater called out. But Erin just poked a finger at Markus, who backed up.

“You call yourselves [Knights]? You ran away from a Goblin’s tears—I’ve seen braver children! And you, Talia, didn’t like Rabbiteater for being a Goblin? A [Knight] is a [Knight]! But I guess you’re a pretty bad one if you can’t even figure that out.”

“Wh—is this Erin Solstice? How’s she—Miss, please lower your voice!”

Markus was backing up as Erin lectured them down the corridor. Talia was red-faced, and Erin grinned.

“Lower my voice? When I say that both Wil and Talia Kallinad are sneaky, back-stabbing lizards? No wonder Wil went to Baleros—he learned how to betray people from his big sister! You would have made a better [Strategist] than a [Knight]! I’m gonna tell Wil—aaaaaaah!”

Her attack on Talia’s dignity, honor, and feelings cut off suddenly as Erin’s eyes went round—then she plummeted through the floor. The [Knights] froze—and they heard swearing as Rabbiteater poked his head out.

“…Erin?”

“I fell off the stage! Ooh! It hurts! Someone help! I’ve fallen and it really hurts! Ow! My leg! My side! My pancreas!”

Erin crawled back into view, holding her side in agony. She looked up at the [Knights].

“You did this.”

“I—no we did not, Miss Solstice.”

Markus protested weakly. Erin waved a fist at him.

“You did this. The Order of Seasons is full of people like you! You hurt people like Rabbiteater and me! Rabbit, give me moral support.”

“You’re a good person.”

The [Knight] was putting on his helmet as Erin levered herself up. She rubbed at her side.

“Thanks, Rabbit. See? That’s how you friendship. You’d better get over here, Rabbit. All your friends over here look like jerks. Like that guy. And that guy. And her.”

She pointed at the three [Knights] from the Order of Seasons, and Rabbiteater seemed to feel her joke had gone on long enough.

“They’re good people. You’ll like them.”

Erin folded her arms as the shock finally wore off and the [Knights] realized she was an illusion.

“Well, maybe I will. They’ll all get blue juice…assuming there’s any left. This is a cold winter over here. Hi. I’m Erin Solstice. [Innkeeper] and Rabbiteater’s super-big sister. And mom. And [Innkeeper].”

“She’s not my mom.”

“Am I not your mom? I’m like Numbtongue’s…I guess big sister works. But Mrsha is his little sister. So does that make you another brother in the family?”

Erin huddled with Rabbiteater to establish their genealogy for a second. When they turned—Talia saw where Rabbiteater got his personality from.

“Dead gods. It’s like seeing a female Ser Greysten.”

Ser Lloyd summarized Erin Solstice in the best way possible. Ser Markus choked on his tongue, and Rabbiteater sprayed spit out his visor at a wall, laughing. Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“I resent that comment without having any idea what it means. Rabbit, I can’t follow you, and I’m about to fall off the stage again. Can you find a spot for me? Or I’ll just—re-center! Aaah! I’m outside again!”

She started screaming, then walked through the walls, wiping her brow. Markus nearly leapt down the stairs of the Lighthouse Keep himself.

“Wow, that is scary. Alright. I was feeling bad, and now I’m feeling good. What about you, Rabbiteater?”

He was beaming behind his helmet. You could hear it in his voice.

“I’m good.”

“Ser Solstice—Rabbit. Is this really Erin Solstice herself? In the flesh? Or an illusion, at least? It’s an honor, Miss. I am Ser Markus of the Season of Spring, the Order of Seasons. It is my privilege to meet you.”

Markus bowed, and Erin gave him a more favorable, appraising glance this time. She smiled—and her hazel eyes lit up like flames.

“I know you, Markus. You helped Rabbit—I mean, ‘Ser Solstice’ a lot. I’d better not blow your cover, Rabbit.”

“Better not or I’ll get killed.”

Erin chuckled, but she grew more serious and didn’t let his name slip thereafter. She regarded Markus with a keen look.

“I saw your Season’s leader at the Trial of Blades, didn’t I? And you helped fight for Calanfer. Then we’re friends, Ser Markus. Take care of Ser Solstice for me. And Dame Talia, I only meant half of what I said.”

“I—take your words seriously, Miss Solstice.”

Talia managed, approximating a handshake as Erin held her hand out. The [Innkeeper] met her eyes, and the Summer Knight, who could war with Ser Greysten if not win, shivered.

“Good. Because I meant them. Now, where’s the Toilet Bowl Five, Ser Solstice? I can’t stay all night—but I want to meet them. And Seraphel…Ishkr! I know you’re spying on me! Get Lyonette!”

Wait, did she mean…Talia’s mouth opened wide, and Rabbiteater laughed. He took the stairs down the keep four at a time, and Erin popped into place after him, like she was doing mini-teleports.

That was how she appeared in Pheislant. It was just one moment in the night, and arguably—the least important, especially compared to a conversation with a Dragon because he was a Dragon.

Then again—look at how she arrived.

 

——

 

 

Contrary to Erin Solstice’s accusations, the rest of the Ivory Five were indeed gathering at the base of the Lighthouse Keep, in the banquet hall, debating how to cheer Rabbiteater up. They all had different ideas.

“It’s a kick up the ass, a drink, and a night in a brothel in most armies. I don’t know if we can do the last part, but Cortese has volunteered for the first one.”

Altestiel was more thoughtful than how he was speaking. So was Cortese, who’d brought some Kaazian brandy and Earther-sweets. They were affecting not to care too much, whereas Menrise had put her hands on her hips in pure exasperation.

“You two are terrible moral support. Almost as bad as Seraphel!”

“Me?”

The [Deathtouched Princess] was genuinely hurt, but Menrise waggled a finger at her.

“You just wanted to go on a spending spree tonight! Hit the town with a thousand gold pieces? Princess! Sometimes all we have to do is get Rabbit out of his rooms and laughing. Honestly.”

“That’s what my parents did whenever I suffered a loss.”

Seraphel flushed, and Menrise paused.

“Grim. We’ll go with my plan first. Cortese and Altestiel, throw him into the sea, and then we start hitting him with the sponges I bought. If he comes out mad enough, he’ll forget he’s sad. Then we ask if he wants to meet Pheislant’s tame Cinem Walruses.”

“I dislike the part of this plan where you think he takes a swing at me. But fine.”

Cortese grumbled. They were getting ready, and Seraphel had a bag of lemon-flavored candies—Menrise had some soft tissues in case Rabbiteater’s face hurt from all the crying.

A hubbub was coming down the stairs. Of course, the Ivory Five thought it was Rabbiteater.

But they were not prepared. Altestiel turned—and kept turning until he almost fell over. Princess Seraphel blinked, and her red hair shifted as she tucked a strand out of her face, confused—then gasped. Cortese blinked, then his eyes went round. Lady Menrise pointed.

“Wh—is that—”

A young woman was coming down the stairs. Or rather, teleporting in an odd way after a [Knight] wearing a cloak and talking and laughing loudly. In their wake came the Order of Seasons and Terandrians.

Servants, citizens of Pheislant, and people preparing to depart on the ships. The young woman—she wasn’t moving her feet, but she was tipping a hat made of flame to people. And there was a little Gnoll child sauntering after her, giving people finger-guns. Erin Solstice caught sight of the Ivory Five and called out.

“Make way, you people. Haven’t you seen an [Innkeeper] before? Or is it you, Ser Solstice? Well, well, well. Earl Altestial. We meet again! And this time, I’m showing off.”

She spread her arms, and her hat bloomed with flames. Erin Solstice laughed as the Earl of Rains goggled up at her.

She came down like fire. Her voice was so loud it spilled out of the Lighthouse Keep. And Rabbiteater? He marched straight out the doors as Seraphel gasped.

“Innkeeper Erin? How—wait, wait, Ser Solstice!”

Rabbiteater paused in the streets outside, and Erin Solstice looked out—then up.

“Hey, it does look like a lighthouse. So this is Pheislant. Coastal-y. Did they throw you a banquet, Ser Solstice?”

“Not me, specifically. But they were nice.”

Erin’s eyes twinkled with mirth and wonder. She looked mock-offended as the Ivory Five stumbled out the doors, pushing with the other guests. Then she cupped her hands to her mouth, and her [Loud Voice] really activated.

“Well, hello Pheislant!”

Heads turned. People looked annoyed in the direction of that loud—somewhat familiar—voice shouting in the night. They saw Ser Solstice, Princess Seraphel—and that hat of flames. And they stopped and thought, ‘this can’t be right. That looks like…’

Erin Solstice. She was standing next to her [Knight], beaming as proud as could be.

Duke Firrus Kallinad was coming towards the Lighthouse Keep to see if his daughter was available. He hadn’t had time to speak to this Ser Solstice, who, he understood, was under the weather for some reason. But he halted when he heard that voice—and when he and his guards finally moved to the front of the crowd, he saw a young woman speaking to a [Knight].

“You’ve got to meet Normen, Ser Solstice.”

“Well, bring him out.”

“No, I mean, meet him. In person, and go on an adventure together. We’re starting an Order, and I don’t know what to do. But you do, I bet.”

“Mm. It should have really good food. Can’t fight on bad food. You need a [Chef]. And a fortress. Your inn is nice, but I want a table.”

“A round table?”

“Sure. Why are you saying it like that?”

Duke Firrus hesitated.

“Is that—excuse me, Miss. Are you Erin Solstice? Excuse me—”

He tried to get her attention, and Erin Solstice twirled on her heel. She was smiling now.

“Who’s that guy?”

Ser Markus whispered, looking excited rather than apprehensive. He had gotten on board with Erin Solstice and was just rolling with her being here. Which just went to show why he and Rabbiteater were friends.

“Duke Firrus Kallinad.”

“Wil’s dad? Hey! Hello! I met your son! And that’s all I have to say about that. Hello, Altestiel! Finally caught up? Cat still got your tongue? You knew I could do this. Wait, you’re—Lady Menrise of Tourvecall? It’s amazing to meet you!”

Lady Menrise threw up her hands in terror as if being mugged as Erin strode over in delight.

“You’re amazing! Hello! I’m Menrise!”

Erin laughed.

“It’s so nice to meet you! And you’re…Princess Seraphel, right? And Lord Cortese.”

She saw Seraphel and acknowledged her after Lady Menrise! Lord Firrus felt like he was coming down with something. But before he could even figure out how to re-insert himself back into the conversation, Seraphel was stuttering.

“I—that’s right. This is all through your inn? I—I’m quite delighted to meet you, Miss Solstice.”

“And I’m happy to meet you! I hope you’ll visit my inn. I was hoping to speak to you, actual—”

Erin yelped, and a hand nearly shoved her off the stage again. A young woman with red hair and an apron, plainly dressed, but unmistakable, appeared suddenly, making everyone leap back.

“Seraphel! Seraphel? Oh, dead gods!”

“Eternal Throne! Lyonette!”

Seraphel put her hand to her mouth and shrieked. The Thronebearers all reached for Lyonette, and the little Gnoll girl mock-fended them off with her paws, looking incredibly smug. But the two sisters only had eyes for each other.

“You’re alive! Is Dalimont there? Are you coming back? Don’t—”

Seraphel remembered the crowd, and Lyonette hesitated.

“I’m—not Lyonette.”

“You’re not?”

Seraphel gave her a blank look, and the younger [Princess] turned red.

“T-that is to say, I’m at an undisclosed location, and I wanted to speak to you! Privately! Erin! What are you doing?”

“You nearly shoved me off the stage! Hello, hello! And Mrsha wants to say hello!”

She lifted up the little Gnoll, laughing. That [Innkeeper] of pure chaos. Then Altestiel found his voice. And the roar that was about to come out was, instead, just a remark that drew a moment of silence.

“I should have known that Ser Solstice wouldn’t languish long. After all. His champion will never fail to have his back.”

Erin blinked, then turned to him, her eyes wide, sparkling like a [Prankster], but filled with genuine warmth like an [Emberbearer]. And she gave him a smile that could have parted grey skies.

Fearless as a [Popstar] in front of thousands. And she claimed she was shy, that she couldn’t lead [Knights]. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a [Princess], her eyes twinkling like a [Witch]. She looked at Rabbiteater—and the [Knight] felt it.

The Order of Solstice was an ember beginning to burn. As Erin stood in Pheislant, she blew upon that ember, two [Knights]…and called her champion home.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

I know you must be sick of hearing this, but what I focus on after chapters like this is a question. Am I losing my touch?

I did not expect the Order of Solstice to win the poll, if I’m being honest. I should have clarified that my initial vision was Normen-focused. But when it won, I hurried to outline a full arc. Hence the Part 1 of this.

And it was tough. Maybe it was the dead computer, or stress, or I just was having an off-cycle which is all possible. But three days of outlining and even during writing, it wasn’t coming together in my head. I have a kind of instinct whether or not I have a ‘complete’ outline, in that I don’t need to come up with any more major hooks.

I think…it’s decent now, but I always wonder whether this is the chapter when my writing falls apart and all the stuff that’s helped me get this far evaporates. I once wrote an essay about writing being like sailing a ship and sometimes I think I’m sinking.

It’s good to have confidence in your work. But the flipside is also asking whether you’re recycling plots or story beats. And there’s no easy way to balance it, creatively, I’ve found. The point I’m making is that it probably should never feel easy. If you weren’t trying hard, the output probably isn’t that great.

So I’m working hard on this arc and we are moving forwards. It was a nice break and I always think I could do better after writing most chapters. But I also can’t wait for months or a year and come back. Wait for the next chapter, and things willing, it will be good. Also, I have to set up my new computer. It arrived like lightspeed…hoping for no more failures.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

Stream Art by butts!

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A month of art by Brack! Games, clowns, and magic, and more! And horror. There’s always a bit of horror…that’s the best part.

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