10.22 R

(A fellow author and friend of mine, Quill, is releasing a new story! Blood Eagle: Norse Progression Fantasy is out now on Royalroad! Consider giving it a read:

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/91540/blood-eagle-norse-progression-fantasy)

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

There’s a quote that I’ve always remembered from a Peanuts book I read once. I think it’s from Charles M. Schulz, the creator. But I could be wrong, or misremembering it, or it could even be another character. If so, I apologize, and I couldn’t find the wording online. But here’s what I remember.

‘When I have a bad day, it rains on poor Charlie Brown’. It was about how the creator put their emotions into their work. I remember reading it as a child, and wondering what Charlie Brown had ever done to deserve that.

As a writer, I get it, even if I still disagree with the wording. You can write when you’re upset, angry, or to process something. What emerges is not necessarily the emotion that went in. I have written myself out of bad days, or into dark moods. Writing is not something that you can do dry and impartial, at least, I don’t. So I get why good old Charles looks up and sees overcast skies, sometimes.

This morning, I just received word my grandmother has passed away. It was not a shock, but today isn’t a day I’ll be writing The Wandering Inn, I think. I won’t go into details, but she passed away peacefully, I hope, and she had a rich and vibrant life. A stroke changed the final years of her life, as it does, but I remember a very vividly kind, compassionate, and headstrong grandmother.

I am absolutely sure I could write a chapter of The Wandering Inn. And perhaps it wouldn’t be special. Or perhaps it would be something wondrous, or dark. But I don’t think it’s wise. Or perhaps I just don’t want to.

So, things have changed. It’s not the kind of news that will send me flying off tomorrow, but I will likely need to be making plans and going places in this already potentially busy month. If I have unexpected breaks, or I miss an update, that’s why, and I apologize in advance.

As fate would have it, I do have some small advantages. I wrote two smaller chapters already, so I have a backlog in case I’m out of it writing or writing-mentality wise for a bit. But the writing may be jeopardized for a bit.

I’m not, right now, emotionally that sad. Because I knew what was coming, and it is not sudden, but I am by no means in a regular state of mind. I am, I think, as people write, a bit empty, and emotions may come in time. Distracted, might be the word. Looking around and reminding myself someone’s going to be gone forever. That’s selfish. I wish her the best on the next adventure, and I am allowed to be personally whatever.

So I’m not going to necessarily be writing more chapters of The Wandering Inn, but I may keep trying to write. Writing is good. It’s a distraction, my job, and it’s how I process things. But perhaps I’ll step back. I could write a chapter, right now, putting everything inside me that I know and don’t know into a chapter.

…But Erin is not Charlie Brown. She has been where I am before, so many more times, and I am fortunate to have known so few friends and family who passed away. So.

A long time ago, years, now, I thought of the day my grandparents or family members passed. As a writer does, because I think of everything. There is no way to process something that has not yet occurred, but even thinking of the future on those days when I stood outside with an umbrella in the middle of a storm—I did the only thing I could.

I created my own character, who, like Charlie Brown, was meant for days when it rains. I’ll be taking time, perhaps a bit, before going back to The Wandering Inn, to write a story I saved for today. The name of the story is:

Griefman.

Thanks, and write or call your family sometimes. If they deserve it. My grandparents have all been the most wonderful of people.

—pirateaba

 

 

 

 

His hands. They wouldn’t stop shaking.

Day after day, and they felt so long. He felt weak as a kitten. Not that he really…knew what kittens felt like. He felt sick. He would have given anything to take his helmet off and breathe the air because it was so humid it felt like a blanket was draped around him at all times.

Rabbiteater felt weaker than he’d ever been since he was a tiny Goblin racing to catch rabbits to feed himself. He lay in the half-tilted cabin that Seraphel had vacated for him, sweating, sick.

The first few days after they’d run aground on Baleros, Ser Solstice, Rabbiteater, the Goblin Slayer of Izril, or whatever he was called—fell deeply ill. One second he was walking around, surveying the beached Throne’s Will and all the battle damage, the next, he was waking up with Badarrow threatening to punch the [Healer] if they took his helmet off.

“I don’t feel good, brother.”

Then he passed out.

 

——

 

“Ser Solstice? Ser Solstice? …Rabbiteater?”

He only remembered that was him after a while. Someone was feeling at his forehead. Tentatively; a cool hand that was wet. He felt like it had been poking his cheek, but now it was wiping at his brow.

His helmet was still on. The Goblin relaxed as the [Princess] whispered.

“He’s burning up. Beacle, get me more ice from the [Mage]. If he keeps burning up, we’ll have to take his helmet off, no matter what that Goblin says.”

No. Bad idea. Rabbiteater almost raised his head or said something, but he was so exhausted…the [Maid] dashed out of the room, and there was a splishing sound. The hand rested on his forehead again, cold and cooling.

She was putting her hand in ice water. The Goblin figured it out after a while. Putting it in water and then cooling his brow off. Neither one said anything, but she must have realized he was awake.

Or she just talked to herself. He’d believe anything of that silly [Princess]. Brave, though. She’d tried to put herself between him and Prince Iradoren. He…sensed her aura. A lonely, deathly, royal aura. Like someone standing in the middle of a vast, cold crypt, Rabbiteater would have said. But not in fear of the darkness or the dead. A [Princess] like a ray of light from that distant throne, filtering down into the catacombs among the restful dead, waiting for a friend to arise.

She felt different these days. Braver than the politely nothing-woman he’d met, who had no vision of the future nor the will to fight for it.

He was different too. Seraphel’s voice was low as she dipped her hand into the water.

“Cortese is sick too. So’s Menrise, Rabbiteater. But their symptoms are different from yours. Vomiting, nausea; Menrise is swollen up, and Cortese is covered by a rash. Nearly two hundred are down; the [Healers] think it was the bugs. Mosquitos. Dreadful things…so I think. My, um, circlet kept them away from me. Everyone else is complaining of the bites. But you’re not sick the same way.”

He could barely open his eyes. He didn’t think he’d thrown up. He just…Seraphel was feeling at his cheek. She jerked her fingers away. Dipped them in water and sounded guilty.

“There has been talk. About you and Badarrow. The Goblin. About Ksmvr the adventurer, too, but he seems more acceptable than…no one knows anything. Concretely. We haven’t seen the rest of the fleet; I think we were truly blown off-course to land on Baleros’ shores. There is a link. Ser Thilowen is in contact with Calanfer’s crown, but I don’t believe Father and Mother have said where we are. It is very, very complex. With Iradoren’s death.”

A dead man staring blankly at a knife exiting Iradoren’s chest as an [Innkeeper] pushed him aside. Eyes only for Rabbiteater. She had come across the ocean, through a war, to make sure the Goblin lived this time.

The clash of arms with the [Prince of Men] still made Rabbiteater’s arms ache. He tried to open one eye, but the faint light in the cabin showed him nothing of Seraphel’s face as she leaned over him. It was already…the lights danced behind his closed eyes.

“We are alive. I intend to see us all remain that way. Earl Altestiel. H-he’s being celebrated across Terandria. Along with the others.”

The Earl of Rains. Rabbiteater saw a man with violet hair, prone to sulking rain or a storm of anger—or laughter. Leaning against a broken ship’s wheel as the Bloodtear Pirates walked onto his ship.

It hurt. It burned him up, and he couldn’t deal with it. It was like losing his brothers again. Again and again…

It hurt less than his body. To stop the memories from pouring over him, the Goblin whispered.

“You don’t want to take my helmet off?”

She jumped and yanked her hand back. There was a pause—Beacle rushed back in.

“My apologies, Your Highness. So many people need ice that the [Mage] was overworked—”

“Very good, Beacle. Put it there. Check on Lord Cortese and Lady Menrise for me, would you?”

“Yes, milady.”

Beacle left the room. Seraphel got up and fussed with something.

“Can you drink, Rabbiteater? Here.”

She poked a straw through his visor and inserted it into one nostril. He found the will to maneuver it into his mouth and sipped. The water was cold, and he gulped it thirstily, then had to lay his head back down.

“You know.”

“Know what, Ser Solstice? I know you’re a brave [Knight] and a friend. And whatever Prince Iradoren thought…he was mad, attacking allies during a war. He is dead. At this moment, we have more pressing matters than pointing fingers at one another. We are lost in Baleros, and the Throne’s Will is badly damaged. Even if we get her back to sea, we have enemies. Roshal, Erribathe. The Blighted Kingdom has accused us of killing their [Heroes]—we didn’t even know they had [Heroes]—”

All this for the New Lands. She was avoiding the question.

“No one took my helmet off?”

“That…Badarrow fellow threatened to shoot anyone who tried. And Ksmvr of Chandrar insisted, as well as that furry Beastkin friend of his. They were quite convincing. Ser Markus and other Knights of Seasons were quite convincing too.”

“…Greysten. Where is he?”

“His ship survived the battle. I think they’ve reached the New Lands or linked up with other elements of the fleet. But the Iron Vanguard is at war with Terandria…no one removed your helmet, Rabbiteater.”

“You didn’t try?”

Seraphel’s voice hesitated as she sat back down.

“Well…it was locked in place.”

He began laughing at that. Seraphel sounded a touch indignant.

“I wasn’t going t—if you can laugh, I suppose you can eat.”

His laughter stopped. It had begun to get hysterical.

“Not hungry.”

“Are you sick? Tell me your symptoms before you pass out. You feel feverish, but it’s not as bad as Cortese. Did you get bitten by a bug?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Nausea? Headaches? Any pain?”

“No. Just tired. It’s too bright.”

“I-in the room? I could close that window, but there’s not much light.”

“The fireflies keep buzzing around my head. I keep hearing their voices.”

“Fireflies? Oh, Eternal Throne, you are sick. Here, let me try to cool you off. Maybe if I shave the ice I can squeeze it through the visor…”

She put a hand on his forehead, and Rabbiteater tried to shake his head.

“No. The lights…they’re all down there. They go on and off. Never seen lights like that. And the voices don’t stop.”

They were flickering around him, dancing. Small ones and vibrant glows. Like the lighthouses of Pheislant. One was a vast, shining beacon that winked on and off.

“They’re looking at me.”

“Rabbiteater? Rabbiteater, there are no lights. Stay with me. Don’t, um, don’t go towards them. More water. The [Healer]?”

“No.”

He caught her arm. The Goblin whispered. She had to understand.

“They’re real. The voices are…dead people.”

That should have set Seraphel running for help, but because it was her, she stopped and bent her head down.

“The dead, Rabbiteater? What dead?”

“Dead…men. And women. Lords and ladies and Kings. Whispering. Fighting. Dying. A thousand generations.”

Her breath caught. Rabbiteater’s head fell back as the memories pressed in. Faces. Names. People whose eyes he saw through.

Goblins.

He lay there, unable to do more than breathe, as Seraphel wavered protectively over him, raising her hands as if to ward something off. He didn’t know what was on her face, but he recognized the fear in her voice.

“Rabbiteater. Don’t…don’t listen to the voices. Can you sit up? Stay with me. Don’t—”

She tried to maneuver him up, and he caught her arms. She tensed, and he saw her face, alarmed, frightened, but not of him. Did she see his face, disheveled and sweaty, behind his helmet? Or just a flash of red in a steel visor?

She had to know who he was. The Goblin whispered.

“I’m tired, Seraphel. Of watching my friends die. Are you going to go away, too?”

She looked at him, blue eyes in a face full of too many sorrows. Not a scar on her skin; they were all buried below the surface. She held his arms, and her hands passed through his armor and touched his flesh. The fingers tightened.

“No. I don’t have enough friends to lose any. I wish I could have done something. For you. For brave Altestiel. I’m just a [Princess].”

He grinned. For a moment, he felt stronger.

“No one could help us but her. My [Innkeeper]. No one is stronger or braver. No one could have, and she paid for it. You’re just a [Princess]. And I’m just a [Knight]. A silly [Champion]. A Lord.”

He fell forwards, and she caught him and called for help as she got him back into bed. His entire body felt like it was changing. Rabbiteater remembered what the voice had told him.

 

[Conditions Met: Indomitable Champion → Supreme Chevalier of…]

[Conditions Overridden: Goblin Lord class obtained.]

[Class Consolidation: Knight of the Dawn removed.]

[Goblin Lord Level 40!]

 

<Reassigning class…>

 

[Goblin Lord {Unaffiliated} – “Rabbiteater of Champions”, Level 40!]

[Subclass: Knight of the Dawn assigned.]

[Condition (Body): Constitution of the Champion obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Toughness obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Strength obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Endurance obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Dexterity obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Charisma obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Speed obtained!]

[Skill Change – Aspect of the Champion → Supreme Aspect of the Champion]

[Skill – Supreme Aspect of the Champion obtained!]

[Skill – Form Squad: My Companions Are With Me obtained!]

[Skill – Brother, Hit That Target obtained!]

[Skill – Squad: Goblin Teamwork obtained!]

[Skill – Intercept Mortal Blow obtained!]

 

[Title – The Goblin Who Lived obtained!]

[Title Skill – Wondrous Deed: I Believe in Miracles granted!]

 

All those Skills and he would have traded them for one of his brothers back. Headscratcher, Grunter, Altestiel…

The Goblin Lord slept, fireflies dancing in his dreams, inspecting him.

 

——

 

Five days after passing out and a week after beaching on Baleros’ shores, Rabbiteater sat up in bed and felt alive.

He leapt out of bed and crashed down on the ground because his body was unused to movement. But then Rabbiteater was scrambling to his feet. He felt…different.

It was as if every movement that he’d made a few days ago were that of someone with weights on his body. Now, Rabbiteater felt more fluid, more flexible, more…swift.

There was a mosquito buzzing around the cabin, futilely trying to bite the armored Goblin. He grabbed it out of the air and then squished it.

It was like he was activating Aspect of the Champion…all the time. Not as strong, maybe, but it was permanent?

Rabbiteater spoke.

“[Supreme Aspect of the Champion]. Uh…”

He hadn’t really thought this one out. Rabbiteater scratched his helmet. There was nothing to punch safely in Seraphel’s cabin. Speed? Toughness? Not really as quantifiable as you wanted. Rabbiteater hesitated.

“…Intelligence? Can you do th—ah. Right, it must be [Supreme Intelligence] now. So is that the order of upgrades? Lesser to enhanced to greater to supreme? That im…plies there’s an even better version. Perfect? Maybe Ultimate Strength? Nah, sounds stupid. You probably get [Giant’s Strength] or it diversifies outwards. Diversifies. I sound like Numbtongue.”

His brain was telling him all kinds of stuff, some of it useless, like the fact that his identity was definitely known by anyone smart, or at least, they’d have guesses. But he wasn’t dead, so he owed Seraphel for that. Badarrow was the one in the most danger.

I don’t know if Erin’s alive. But I can guess from our rough position we’re on the eastern edge of Baleros. Given the humidity, it’s the middle to lower part of the continent, but the jungles indicate southeastern given the flatlands of the middle and frozen north. Also, there is clearly a Goblin Lord on this continent who is as aware of me as I am aware of them. Concerning; it’s not Greydath. It feels like they’re hiding. How do I know where we are? I know this because I was listening to Pisces explaining Baleros on a map to Erin, and I don’t think I like this intelligence thing.

“[Aspect of the Champion: Supreme Wisdom]!”

The rush in his brain halted. Rabbiteater took a deep breath. Then he walked over and poured himself a drink of water, opened his visor, and hydrated. He checked himself. No weapons, but he felt like he could take on a small army barehanded…which was overconfidence.

Level 40. He had passed Garen Redfang. Rabbiteater paused and suddenly felt awkward, as if that were wrong. Strange. Goblin Lord? Was every single Goblin who hit Level 40 a Goblin Lord? It couldn’t be, right?

Erin is alive. I have to believe that. Find Erin. Get out of Baleros safely. And watch out for mosquitos. Seraphel says they make people sick. Levels don’t make me better than Chieftain Garen was. 

Thus humbled and hydrated, Rabbiteater deactivated his Skill, because wisdom told him that he should get used to being normal rather than rely on something to make him smarter all the time. He left the cabin and surprised the first Thronebearer who saw him emerge, hale and hearty.

“Ser Solstice! You’re on your feet? Are you well?”

The Thronebearer bowed, then caught themself in confusion. Rabbiteater waved at them.

“I feel good. Is Seraphel around here? How’s Cortese? Menrise?”

“I—they are convalescing fairly well, Ser Solstice. I shall inform the [Captain] and Ser Thilowen you’re awake!”

The Thronebearer went trotting off as Rabbiteater rolled his shoulders and looked around. He was on a slightly slanted ship, waves continuing to try to roll the beached Throne’s Will around. The deck still bore marks of battle; shattered railings, countless destroyed artistic figurines, and tributes to Calanfer turned to slag from magical spells.

Beyond the railings, Rabbiteater saw an emerald sea stretching out into an extraordinarily blue horizon absent of clouds. Paradisiacal; when he turned his head, he saw the white sands of the beach reaching towards an imposing jungle from which a clamor of wildlife, buzzing bugs, birds chirping, and even a distant growling emerged.

The only disruption to this scenery was the ship, which almost fit, and the sprawling camp of [Soldiers], [Knights], and [Sailors], who most certainly did not fit.

Yellow and gold were some of Calanfer’s favorite colors. The tents did not look good on the beach; dirt had already encrusted them, making the colors dingy. Yet Rabbiteater saw thousands of disembarked [Soldiers], Thronebearers of Calanfer, and [Sailors], all in good condition, more or less.

All alive.

The Throne’s Will had been meant for the New Lands of Izril. Its entire complement of soldiers and knights had fought against the Bloodtear Pirates, and while losses had mounted throughout that terrible battle, it remained a sizable fighting force on the ground.

Good. They might need it. Rabbiteater leaned on a railing and realized the ship was mostly deserted. There were, in fact, teams of people digging up the ground, trying to unbeach the ship. Not an easy task, Rabbiteater guessed.

He went striding along the deck, guilty at being sick so long, and saw a helpful gangplank leading down. Rabbiteater took it, and the first person who looked up and saw him was a [Sergeant] bawling tired orders at the Calanferians digging in the waist-deep water.

“Come on, put your backs into it, by the throne! Her Highness is waiting! You piss-stained peasants, do you want me to get in there and show you how it’s done? Get a—Ser Solstice!”

The man turned, saluted, and stared at Rabbiteater and then his hand. Rabbiteater tossed him a salute back, not sure if that was the thing you did to soldier-people.

“Hi. Do you know where Princess Seraphel is?”

“Right over there, sir! Er—glad to see you on your feet!”

A bunch of wet and soggy men and women with rolled-up pants and spades turned from the side of the ship. Half saluted; the other half bowed and nearly dunked themselves in a wave. Rabbiteater waved.

“Thanks.”

He walked on as a patrol of [Soldiers] instantly saluted him—then he came back.

“Hey.”

Rabbiteater saw the group of wet Calanferians turn to him, confused. He held up a thumb.

“We made it. The worst [Pirates] in the world in the middle of a storm and a Kraken. And the Iron Vanguard. And we made it. You protected the Eternal Throne and Seraphel. Next time someone says Calanfer can’t fight, tell them to square off with the Bloodtear Pirates. But they can’t. Because the [Pirates] are dead.”

They stared at him wordlessly until, embarrassed, he shrugged and backed away. Rabbiteater was hurrying off when he heard a cheer rising from behind him, and they started singing some kind of anthem.

Maybe they liked the compliment after all? Today was—weird.

 

——

 

Really weird. By the time he got to Seraphel, Rabbiteater realized everyone was saluting him or bowing. His arm was tiring of saluting back, [Constitution of the Champion] or not. Maybe it was [Lesser Charisma], but did that mean people went around saluting [Bards]? He’d have to ask Numbtongue if they ever met again.

In fact, people seemed to turn around before they should have realized he was there. Maybe he smelled. Rabbiteater sniffed at one armpit as a small group of weary-looking people stood around a map, arguing.

“—I will not entrust the Throne’s Will to an Admiral of Ailendamus!”

“Well, the ship won’t make it a dozen miles without my Skills. Your Highness, I am recommending we depart as soon as we can patch the keel.”

“You’ll sink the ship, you madman! She’s not seaworthy! She’ll take on water and founder not five miles off shore!”

“Not if I command it. What would you rather do, strike out on land? We still have no idea where we are.”

Rabbiteater stiffened as Admiral Dakelos of Ailendamus broke off from a heated argument with the [Captain] of Throne’s Will. He stood with Ser Thilowen, a very sick-looking Cortese, Seraphel, and Ksmvr, whose arms were folded.

All of them turned as Rabbiteater approached, and the [Captain] saluted. Thilowen’s arm moved slightly, and he turned it into a bow. Dakelos just blinked at the two of them, and Seraphel gasped.

“Rabbiteater! Ser Solstice, you’re on your feet! Are you well? You shouldn’t be moving—”

She rushed over, but Cortese was faster. He looked pale-faced and sweaty, but he reached out, and Rabbiteater clasped his shoulder.

“Back on your feet, Solstice? We feared you were almost dead of this damn plague the bugs brought.”

“Wasn’t the bugs. How’re you, Cortese?”

The [Hundredlord] made a noise in the back of his throat. He looked far less like the haughty noble of Kaaz he’d been when they’d first met. Losing Altestiel and Baeris, his pet lioness, had affected Cortese equally badly. His usually resplendently fancy coat was replaced by a half-open tunic, and he was stripped down to the lightest clothes he had and was still sweating in the humidity. He still carried his sword, though.

“How am I? Sick, bitten half to death by the damn bugs, and despite it being allegedly the end of winter, this damn continent is hotter than Chandrar’s sands!”

“Humid. It’s rather unpleasant.”

Seraphel was being fanned by Beacle as the [Maid] sweated, though Seraphel told Beacle to switch every minute to fanning herself. Cortese shook his head.

“The sooner we’re away from here, the better, but I don’t fancy another sea voyage…ever. Crash landing in that damn storm—”

“Beaching, sir. It was that or let the waves turn the ship. Those bombardment spells caused miniature tidal waves.”

The [Captain] retorted indignantly, and Cortese waved a hand.

“Yes, yes, Captain Ennerev, no one’s questioning your stalwart efforts. Menrise is still down for the count, Solstice. We were just planning on getting out of this hellhole, but it’s been hard to unbury the ship, and frankly, the sickness took too many out. Even if we get to sea, it will be hard going.”

“Hard how? Hey, Seraphel. Thanks for the bed, Ksmvr. Where’s, uh, B—the Goblin?”

The [Captain] made a choking sound, but Seraphel just smiled and answered as Ksmvr nodded at Rabbiteater. The [Princess] pointed.

“He’s scouting the jungle. I, um, have made it clear he is an ally of Calanfer at this point in time. I imagine all will be settled when we get to Izril’s New Lands.”

The [Captain] mopped at his brow; he was swarthy and brave and he’d led them through the fighting without fear, but it was the tall [Admiral] with a gaunt face that Rabbiteater eyed.

Admiral Dakelos. One of Ailendamus’ people, which made Rabbiteater want to punch him on principle, but the man had helped Erin get to Rabbiteater. He was studying Rabbiteater with obvious curiosity. The [Captain] broke into the staring contest.

“Or a port up north or south, Your Highness. With all due respect, the Throne’s Will needs time in a harbor to repair. But getting to Izril…that’s no easy matter.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment we’re seen at sea, the Iron Vanguard might take a shot at us. Or any [Pirates] still around. Or there’s just the fact the ship’s badly damaged.”

Cortese groaned as he messed up his already wild hair. Rabbiteater scratched his helmet.

“Ah.”

Everyone looked at him as if expecting something from him. Some…intelligence or leadership, and Rabbiteater was reminded of that feeling he’d had when Iradoren was trying to chop his head off.

He felt like if he gave an order, people might follow it. It wasn’t a light feeling; it reminded him of when he’d been leading Cave Goblins after rescuing them from the Raskghar. Was this being a Goblin Lord?

But Goblin Lords only worked on other Goblins…didn’t they? Suddenly, Rabbiteater sort of wished Greydath were around. He might be a bastard, but no one knew anything about Goblin Lords but him. Rabbiteater thought and came to a swift, economical decision born out of countless years as a Redfang.

“Right. You figure that out. I’m going to get something to eat. Where’s the food?”

 

——

 

At least they had provisions. Throne’s Will had been loaded for a colony expedition, so Rabbiteater grabbed a bunch of dried pork, bread, an entire salad, sprayed everything with a sauce, and then took his sandwich to eat somewhere where he could open his visor.

He was trying to unhinge his jaw to get the entire bite of his sandwich into his mouth when he took in the jungle again and just…stared at it.

A wall of vegetation crept up around him, bushes so prolific they were overrunning the trees. He literally couldn’t see an opening ahead of him, and while there was a gap in the brush a bit to his left, it looked literally carved out; branches and trampled dirt suggested someone had had to hack their way into this place.

“So this is Baleros. Wow.”

It looked really…green. Not bad at all, really. True, the humidity made Rabbiteater all sweaty, there were lots of bugs, and it was noisy as heck with the wildlife, but so what?

Noise camouflaged Goblins. Humidity was just humidity; there were worse things to deal with. Bugs? That meant food in a pinch.

Rabbiteater’s only concern was if there were nasty things in the jungle, like dangerous snakes or something. He munched on his sandwich and noticed a few midges swarming around his head.

“Yeah. Lotsa bugs.”

A mosquito flew inside his helmet, began biting his cheek, and realized that the Goblin’s skin was literally too tough to insert its proboscis into. Discouraged, it tried to fly out, and the Goblin’s mouth opened and swallowed it. Rabbiteater made a face.

“Eugh. Bitter.”

He was getting soft. The Goblin had been taken out—possibly by his transformation to Goblin Lord—but he’d wasted crucial days when he could be looking for Erin! Then again, he didn’t know where she was.

Rabbiteater knew he wasn’t that smart. Even with [Supreme Intelligence] or whatever, he was probably only just as smart as Chieftain Rags on an off day. He could only focus on what was important. That was the Ivory Five…the Ivory Four…Ser Markus, Ksmvr, and…

The Hobgoblin [Knight]—he still felt like one—was halfway through his sandwich when he stopped eating and made a curious whistling sound. Sort of like a bird’s twitter. Rabbiteater waited, whistled again, then shrugged. He ducked a second before the arrow whizzed over his head.

If he hadn’t, it would have just grazed the top of his head. As it was, Rabbiteater swore, then shouted.

“You stupid idiot! I was sick!”

“You too sick to dodge, you dead.”

There was a rustle—and Badarrow swung out of a tree, grinning. Rabbiteater tore his sandwich in two. He gave his brother a huge hug and then handed him half.

“Why are you here, stupid?”

“Saving you, loser. I’m not the Goblin so bad at fighting Erin had to rescue herself to save you.”

Rabbiteater punched Badarrow in the shoulder, and the [Sniper] punched him in the arm. Then they hugged again.

“I was worried they’d kill you.”

“Eh. Not-Lyonette made them stop. Plus, Ksmvr helped. If they tried to, I’d hide in the forest until you got better. Pretty easy. Lots of annoying bugs, but plenty to eat.”

Badarrow jerked a thumb over his shoulder and showed Rabbiteater an arm full of bug-bites. He made a face, and Rabbiteater realized that his brother had smeared mud liberally over his body. Not only did it camouflage him, the coating must have worked against mosquitos.

Rabbiteater was grinning, and he couldn’t stop.

“Is this a dream?”

He felt at Badarrow’s face and got another punch to the gut for his troubles. Since he was wearing armor, Badarrow shook out his hand, grimacing.

“If it’s my dream, there’s no Snapjaw. I don’t dream of getting stuck on another continent.”

Rabbiteater was instantly filled with guilt.

“Sorry.”

“Eh. Erin went. So I went. Had to. Brothers save brothers. Too bad Numbtongue’s not here. But he’d complain too much and play his guitar. And probably have sex with Helmet-Lady and the [Princess].”

Rabbiteater blinked at this rather scornful analysis of Numbtongue. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Where is Numbtongue? Was he hurt at the…Solstice?”

He had a vague understanding of what had happened there. Badarrow sobered at once. He scratched at his foot.

“Lots of people died. Less Goblins. Redscar nearly. Thunderfur got killed.”

“No. That’s terrible.”

Redscar’s beloved Thunderfur? It was a blow. Badarrow had shared some of what had happened, but he grimly recounted events.

“Kevin died. Halrac. Moore. Not many of the inn. Brave guy called Gershal…real Redfang in heart, you know? Chaldion didn’t die. Pretty bad for many, but less deaths than you’d think. Overwhelming overwhelming overwhelming death.”

“What, three overwhelming deaths? That’s joking.”

“Ten thousand Draugr to start with. Wish you’d been there.”

Rabbiteater swallowed hard. Suddenly, his dire war at sea seemed to pale in comparison—and Badarrow and Erin had come for him after all that.

“What about Numbtongue, though?”

“Eh. He’s fine. Archmage needed volunteers. Only a few could make it. I volunteered. He was too slow.”

That felt…wrong. Numbtongue would have argued or fought to be part of any group rescuing Erin, and Rabbiteater said so. Badarrow scratched one ear and avoided looking at Rabbiteater.

“He’s changed. Not cowardly, but he was just slow. Dunno. Doesn’t matter; wasn’t enough room when he argued, and he was sort of dead. Could have fought, but good thing he didn’t come. Even the Courier died. Thought he was Named-ranked, but he still died.”

The tattooed man. Rabbiteater hadn’t even caught his name. He nodded, and Badarrow slapped him on the shoulder.

“We get on the ship, we go back. I kiss Snapjaw, you go to the inn. We find Erin maybe, and then we can both slap Numbtongue.”

“Good plan. But it sounds like the ship’s going to have trouble getting to sea. Seraphel says a lot of groups want us dead.”

Badarrow gave Rabbiteater one of those blank looks he was good at as he fiddled with his bow. It was enchanted, and he seemed calm, silent. Rabbiteater had almost not noticed him. Badarrow had changed too; he seemed happier and more talkative, for one thing. Snapjaw…Rabbiteater vaguely recalled her, but he didn’t get what Badarrow saw in her. Still, he liked her if Badarrow did. The [Sniper] was the same in some aspects, though.

“I’m not a Chieftain. Chieftain Rags is. Wars are too complicated. I see something, I shoot it. Weird group, though. Everyone hates [Admiral]-man more than me.”

“Admiral…Dakelos. He’s from Ailendamus.”

“So? He’s Terandrian. Human.”

“The Dawn Concordat was just at war with Ailendamus, Brother.”

A blank look from the [Sniper] as he chewed on some lettuce.

“So? We’re here now.”

Rabbiteater sort of understood, but he’d hung out around Humans long enough to get why they were so mad. He didn’t bother explaining to Badarrow how Humans carried grudges longer than most Goblin tribes. He just jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna check on Menrise and say hi to Ksmvr. You want to come?”

Badarrow hesitated, then shook his head.

“I’m Goblin. You’re Ser Solstice. Don’t be nice to me together.”

“Seraphel already knows, I think. And Cortese…”

Badarrow grabbed Rabbiteater’s arm. His red eyes were serious and sharp.

“Don’t get yourself killed now, Brother. Erin won’t forgive you.”

Rabbiteater hesitated—then nodded.

“You too. If anyone looks at you strange…”

Badarrow snorted.

“I sleep away from them. Don’t worry about me. Now go, go. Wait!”

He called Rabbiteater back. Then eyed the camp of Humans.

“Which one was the nice [Knight] who made you sad? I’ll go hit her.”

Rabbiteater groaned as he told Badarrow she wasn’t here. He’d forgotten how brothers were. Just as well Badarrow or anyone else hadn’t tagged along when he went to Terandria. Seraphel kept reminding him of how they’d met, but she didn’t get that Rabbiteater was the nice one.

 

——

 

Rabbiteater introduced himself to other people as he wandered the camp. Namely, Ksmvr and the weird, furry goat-lady he’d never met before.

“This is Vofea, the newest probationary member of the Horns of Hammerad. I am pleased you are well, Rabbiteater. The sooner we can depart from Baleros, the better. Though I hope you will convince the [Captain] to deliver me to Chandrar. Any part of it will do.”

Ksmvr was very—focused. He shook Rabbiteater’s hand, but he wasn’t buddy-buddy. Then again, he’d never been super friendly with Rabbiteater in the inn, but maybe this was because he was watching Vofea like a hawk.

“Ech, Ksmvr, I told yeh, it’s not like you can just get to Chandrar so easy. Fate’s a-muddle. We’re lucky we got onto the right future as is. I think we’re bound to Erin Solstice or this company. Hallo, Rabbiteater. I liked your battles in Terandria. I’m Vofea, a Satyr and former fae of the lands of the Faerie King, what you lot would call Avalon if you had any stories of us at all. Eh, I was a Winter Sprite too. The cutest one.”

She was definitely an Erin Solstice guest. The goat…Satyr…woman seemed pretty young, and she had a shirt on, no pants, a bandolier of stones around her back that looked hand-crafted, and a huge sling. Compared with Ksmvr, she looked like a junior [Warrior] on her first raid, and that was certainly how Ksmvr treated her.

“Vofea is a new member of the Horns of Hammerad, Rabbiteater. Ignore her and do not count her as a combat asset; she is highly fragile.”

Vofea stomped one hoof and glared.

“I’m plenty useful! You saw me slinging rocks at all and sundry back there! Plus, I have good eyes. Don’t mind him, Rabbiteater. He’s just mad because I’m fated to die.”

“What, die?”

Ksmvr broke in, voice raising.

“Ignore that too. She is not fated to die. She is an incompetent member of the Horns…who is under my authority. I am the team captain here since Captain Springwalker is in Chandrar.”

They were confusing the heck out of Rabbiteater, but he shook Vofea’s hand, and she peered at him.

“Ooh. Yer presence is twice as large as before. Are you one of them Goblin Lords now? You’re practically screaming at me to want to like you.”

Rabbiteater clapped a hand over Vofea’s mouth as fast as Ksmvr, and they glanced around. Ksmvr hissed at Vofea.

“Recruit Vofea, repeat what I said about unwise statements!”

“Mphm mmf mn mpghg. Ph.”

“Good.”

Rabbiteater took his hand away and gave Vofea an impressed look. Even if she was talkative, she had powers he clearly didn’t understand.

“So you’re like Ivolethe? The winter thing that followed Ryoka around?”

Someone had told him about Ivolethe in the context of explaining Ryoka’s weird run to try to save Erin. Clearly he didn’t get it, though, because Vofea instantly put her hands to her red cheeks.

“Who, me? Like Lady Ivolethe? Naw. Pshaw! It’d be as if I had the airs to call myself kin to Lady Shaestrel! They’re far, far older and grander than me. I’m bare over ten thousand years old, and that was all in the lands of the fae, so it doesn’t count. I can’t call an avalanche down in this form nor make a hill walk.”

“Oh. Can they do that?”

“Can they? If they were here in their true forms, they’d raise the seas and call down thunder with a word. Eh, mind you, mortals in this world can do much the same. Damn yer Skills and levels and classes. It’s why I don’t have any! That stupid voice keeps trying to give me classes, and I turn it down every night! Mind you, I think it’s distracted with something. It keeps giving me different class-thingies each night.”

The Satyr girl struck a proud, defiant pose, and Ksmvr smacked her lightly on the head.

“I told you to obtain a valuable survival class!”

“You can’t make me! I won’t be a plaything of the creators of this place!”

“You are a fragile member of the Horns of Hammerad. A single arrow could kill you!”

“Then use my body as a shield! I came here to perish bravely!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your corpse has no combat value!”

Their argument seemed to be more of a permanent state of things. Vofea skipped around as Ksmvr began to lecture her, and Rabbiteater scratched his head. Then he attracted both’s attention.

“We’re all on the same team, though. The inn-team. You, me, Badarrow, Vofea. Right? We stick together, we fight together.”

He held out a fist. Ksmvr turned and seemed to relax a bit. He nodded as Vofea grinned and tapped Rabbiteater’s fist with a hoofed foot instead.

“Until I find the Horns of Hammerad, I have promised to help find Erin and protect Vofea. We shall marshal our talents together.”

He fist-bumped Rabbiteater, and the [Knight] smiled behind his helmet. Ksmvr paused, then added in a lower voice.

“I shall invoice you for hiring both Horns of Hammerad later, Ser Solstice, unless Calanfer is a better employer? Probably Calanfer for our resumes. Don’t worry; since Vofea is a junior member, I shall discount her services. But I will find an Adventurer’s Guild contract for our duration of employ as soon as I can.”

Rabbiteater stared at Ksmvr and mumbled something about Seraphel and money. He’d forgotten how…weird Ksmvr was. At least he was good with a sword.

 

——

 

Getting situated with the camp and talking to Seraphel and Cortese and becoming acquainted with the status of things took most of the day. The Throne’s Will was in bad shape; it had been forced to beach, and the ‘keel’ was damaged. Whatever that was, everyone agreed it was bad-sounding.

Moreover, while they had a lot of [Soldiers] and [Knights] still, they were in a jungle, and rations were not unlimited. It made sense to head back to sea, and only the aforementioned issues of ship damage and their enemies had delayed that process, as well as the sicknesses.

“We haven’t been attacked by anything worse than a nest of giant snakes. I’d give anything for one of the Thousand Lances or some of my Kaazian forces here. I have barely thirty men left. It’s all Thronebearers and regular soldiers, so any actual engagement is something we should avoid.”

Seraphel was indignant at that. They were eating in her cabin, because, slanted or not, it was more private and nice than the beach.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Cortese?”

His reply was forestalled by a low voice from Lady Menrise, who was staring at a bowl of soup with a straw in it.

“It means we could all die. All of us. Just like Tourvecall.”

She had no face to show, but her hunched shoulders, the way she seemed like she’d collapse if someone poked her…Rabbiteater remembered the Tourvecall ship exploding as it was overrun. He put a hand on Menrise’s shoulder and patted it gently.

“It was a battle for the history books, but not one I’ll ever proudly tell. We fought alongside brave heroes, whether we knew it or not. Earl Altestiel, Tourvecall…it’s a bitter price to pay, but I swear on Baeris, I will see us to safety before more pay the price.”

Cortese nodded awkwardly at Menrise, and his eyes flickered to Rabbiteater’s helmet. Menrise glanced at him as well, and Seraphel spoke brightly.

“At least we have [Message] spells! We’re getting in touch with the rest of the world. We’ve kept scrying spells from locating us—just in case, you know—but we are hardly isolated.”

That was, as Rabbiteater would soon find out, not necessarily good for them. He was realizing the situation with his current company was complicated. Not just his identity; the passengers had brought along a whole host of issues, and Badarrow might have been one of the easier of passengers. At least people knew he was a Goblin. Rabbiteater hadn’t even remembered another passenger who had come with Erin Solstice until that night. Mostly, because he’d been hiding from the sun.

 

——

 

Even in armor, Rivel val Lischelle-Drakle hid from the sun out of habit. He also kept well away from the other people in camp. He had…issues.

Blood. Blood was the issue. Rivel was a Vampire, a squire, and right now, the only member of the Order of Solstice present beyond Ser Solstice himself. He’d been lurking around the edges of camp, being largely useless, according to Badarrow. The [Sniper] pointed at the warrior swinging a sword by himself. Rabbiteater frowned and whispered.

“Vampire? What’s that?”

“Eh. Drinks blood? Allergic to sunlight and garlic? Chieftain Rags says they’re an old species. Used to cause trouble. Lots of people fighting on Izril and killing them. I help him. Kill animals and he drinks the blood.”

It wasn’t the weirdest thing that Rabbiteater had ever heard of, but Rivel stumped him. When the squire—who had emerged at noon for breakfast—spotted him, he raced over and bowed.

“Ser Solstice! I am Rivel, a squire to Ser Normen. What are my duties, sir? I’m still a junior squire, but I’m ready to serve.”

He seemed…zealous. Like a new Goblin warrior. Rabbiteater waved at him.

“Uh. Hi. I’m just Rabbiteater. Solstice is a made up name.”

Rivel hesitated.

“Then—er, Ser Rabbiteater. Will you be taking over my training or whatnot? Knight Embraim is—dead.”

His voice faltered.

“But he died heroically. I saw it. I couldn’t carry his flame. I—I’ll do my best, Ser Rabbiteater, to make up for everything.”

The Vampire saluted, and Rabbiteater gave Badarrow a side-eye that his brother ignored. The [Sniper] was edging away, and Rabbiteater grabbed for his arm and missed. This felt like a headache.

“So you’re a squire being trained by the Order of Solstice? Right, those guys with the fire. I, uh, I don’t do fire stuff. I can do light okay. You want me to teach you to fight or something? What’s your level?”

Rivel paused long enough for Rabbiteater to realize this wasn’t the right question. The Vampire looked around and motioned a ‘come hither’. Rabbiteater reluctantly walked away from the camp. A hundred feet. Then two hundred…

When they were knee-deep in jungle shrubbery, Rabbiteater stopped.

“Okay, this is far enough. What is it?”

“Ser Rabbiteater, I’m a—you know—”

“A Vampire?”

“Yes! My people don’t have levels! That is—I don’t—and I don’t have any lanterns or flames. I didn’t know what to do when you were laid up, so I’ve been practicing the sword drills that Normen taught me…what should I do now? I came to fight for Miss Erin Solstice. Now what?”

The young man slid up his visor and revealed a pale face, fanged teeth, red eyes…he was sort of handsome, Rabbiteater decided. Very Goblin-like features. He seemed like a good kid, despite probably being multiple times Rabbiteater’s actual age. But…the Goblin found a rock and squatted down on it.

“The Order of Solstice. I sort of know them. They sound fun. I’m not one of them, though. I don’t do flames. I can teach you to hit things good. But not as a squire. How about you promote yourself to [Knight] and we’ll get out of here? I’m looking for Erin. Just stay with me and don’t get killed.”

The Vampire’s eyes widened. Then he slapped a mosquito out of the air.

“Damn copycats. But, Ser Rabbiteater—you’re the second member of the Order of Solstice?”

“What? I am? Who’s the first?”

Rabbiteater stared at Rivel.

“Ser Brunkr.”

“Who? Oh—the Gnoll.”

This was all confusing to the Goblin. It sounded like…a joke. It was a joke, Rabbiteater thought. When he’d heard of Erin declaring the Order of Solstice, he’d laughed, because she’d done it for him, and it was funny. He’d liked it, of course, but it had felt further away. Rivel felt like someone with history. Another tribe, meeting his. It had been a great joke, Rabbiteater had thought, letting Normen and Goblins become [Knights].

Only, while he’d been overseas, the joke had become real. And they weren’t laughing at themselves. Rivel was trying to explain the different flames and Ser Normen, whom Rabbiteater had never met.

“He’s the burned guy, right?”

“He’s the Knight of Honor’s Flame! The Grandmaster of the Order of Solstice! He attacked the Bloodfeast Raiders all on his own to save as many people as he could!”

Rabbiteater scratched at his own armor, wishing he could take it off.

“Yeah. I saw that. He’s sort of tactically unsound. Even for a Redfang. Brave, though.”

Rivel’s mouth opened, and he nearly inhaled a cloud of midges. Rabbiteater’s cavalier attitude towards Normen the Tactically Unsound was sacrilegious! But the Goblin didn’t really like it. He didn’t mind being called a knight of the Order of Solstice. It was a good cover. But he wasn’t one of them. He guessed that he hadn’t really come to terms with how they had Erin’s fire. Her knights…

He was her [Knight]. She had given him a blessing of her inn. The Order of Solstice could share the name, take their powers from her, but he was different. It meant that when the Goblin Lord inspected the Vampire, it wasn’t with any real delight at having another person to watch or mind. But it was with an insight.

“So why are you a squire? How come you came for Erin?”

Why do you look so guilty? The Goblin’s intuition made Rivel squirm.

“Ser Normen gave me the chance to become a squire. My identity is secret, Ser Solstice. It’s probably fine, here, but I am…wanted in Izril.”

“For doing what?”

“Um…”

 

——

 

It took twenty minutes to get an explanation from Rivel about his actions, burning down House Byres’ mansion and then kicking off a Vampire-Human war. Rabbiteater sat there as bugs chirped around the two of them. They didn’t actually like Rivel much; the Vampire seemed to be less appetizing than most people.

No wonder he was at Erin’s inn. He’s as weird as all her guests. The Vampire was also, manifestly, a problem. Rabbiteater could see why he was a squire, but he’d also come to fight the Bloodtear Pirates.

“How strong are you? You said you can heal. Anything else?”

“Uh—mistwalk. A tiny bit. That’s where I turn to mist and shift from place to place. I’m not that strong. Fierre is a real Vampire, now. Old Bamer and my father are stronger. But I can drag a wagon if I have to. Unloaded…but I can get it uphill. And I heal fast. Any cut’s closed within a day.”

Rivel sounded like he was flushing behind his helmet. Rabbiteater just nodded.

“Weak to silver, sunlight, and garlic. Heh.”

“It’s not as bad as Fierre. But I’ll tan in minutes, and garlic makes us sick. Or our throats swell up—”

“So I can kill with garlic bread?”

The Goblin Lord’s chuckling made Rivel tense slightly. He was like a young hothead. He unsheathed his sword, not to attack Rabbiteater, but more as a display. The sword came out fast and loud, ringing, like a [Swordsman]’s slash. Rivel intended to point it at Rabbiteater.

Rabbiteater’s sword parried Rivel’s blade and touched the young Vampire’s helmet. Rivel jerked; he hadn’t even seen Rabbiteater go for his blade.

“Not bad. You’re fast as a new Redfang.”

“How did you—?”

Rabbiteater rested the sword on his shoulder. He grinned behind his helmet.

“I’ll teach you how to be faster. Hitting someone tough sounds like fun. But don’t call me your knight master or whatever. Squires should fight other squires and do things like…polish armor and learn to ride horses. We’re going to have to kill other [Knights].”

“But I’m not a real knight. I did something incredibly stupid.”

Rivel was waiting for condemnation, but Rabbiteater just laughed. He turned back towards camp. The Goblin looked at that uncertain, red-eyed gaze, and it prompted a memory. On a sudden impulse, he turned and unsheathed his sword again.

“Why don’t I fix that? Your knight thing. You fought the Bloodtear Pirates. Kneel. And I’ll knight you.”

He grinned behind his helmet, and Rivel couldn’t see the Goblin’s smile, but he heard the tone. The Vampire hesitated, then his own eyes flashed from within his helmet.

“What? Knight me? I’ve barely been a squire for a few months.”

“So? I never was one. Come on. You nearly died.”

“—But Embraim was a Knight of Solstice. He died. He burned a ship with his flame. It was glorious. He—he was a knight.”

There was an intensity in Rivel’s voice that Rabbiteater didn’t miss. But the Goblin Lord just rested his sword on his shoulder.

“I never knew him. He must have been brave. Doesn’t change the fact that you were too. Kneel.”

And Rivel said—

“No.”

 

——

 

The Vampire was angry. He had always been angry growing up. Rivel had never been as good at pretending to be a warmblood like Fierre. He wasn’t as clever as Fierre, and Himilt had trained him to take over the farm.

The farm…when they should have been royalty, rulers of the night. Rivel liked Mister Fluffles. He liked growing plants, but he hated hiding his fangs. Hated gathering in old ruins and flinching every time he saw a [Knight] or the Watch riding around.

Burning House Byres had made sense. Then he’d been disgraced, and…Ser Normen had given him a second chance. Rivel hadn’t really got it. He’d liked dressing up in armor and swinging a sword and feeling like a warrior.

—Then he’d seen the Order of Seasons fighting. Really fighting, not on the scrying orb. Antherr tackling a Draugr. The Order of Solstice standing on the hill as every undead in the world charged at them. Embraim’s glorious flame.

Burning a ship to death. Knowing he was dying—in those pink flames, Rivel had thought he’d seen something more valuable than the name ‘Vampire’. Something to aspire to. And then he’d found himself in the company of one of the first [Knights], Ser Solstice himself.

Rivel knew that Rabbiteater was a Goblin. But he was so much less than the other [Knights]. He talked of Embraim like—he didn’t know them. He didn’t deserve to be a [Knight] of Solstice.

“Oh come on. You killed some [Pirates]. You came with Seve. With the others. You could have died. It doesn’t matter how well you did. You were brave. You are a knight. Class or not. Kneel.”

“No.”

Now he was furious, a twisting, familiar knife of contempt for Rabbiteater. Rivel stood straighter, gripping his own sword’s hilt.

“I am a squire of the Order of Solstice. Vampire. I apologize for my conduct, Rabbiteater. I didn’t realize…you don’t know the Order of Solstice’s traditions well. Or what I am. I shall try to explain both to you. And I will protect Erin Solstice. On my life.”

But I won’t learn from you. At least, not more than how to fight. Rivel actually expected Rabbiteater to take this as amusedly as the rest, but the Goblin tilted his head.

“I don’t know Vampires. Fair. You’re only the second one I’ve met. But you know me. I’m a Goblin. We both have red eyes. Fangs. People don’t like us. I know you. You killed [Pirates].”

Only four, hands shaking, hiding behind the better warriors, heart in his mouth. He was not the hero he’d thought he would be. Rivel refused. For the sake of his honor. The Order of Solstice’s.

“No. You don’t know me. Please—”

He tried to turn away, and the Goblin reached out and caught Rivel’s shoulder. He was fast—strong! Rivel tried to tear away, and few men had ever managed to slow him down, even the biggest. But the [Knight] dragged him back, and Rivel turned.

“Enough—”

About to rage into Rabbiteater’s face, Rivel froze. Something—an aura—unfurled around him. Like a white flag waving. Like an inn rising from the grass—massive. A presence crushed him.

Crimson light flared from within the depths of the helmet. When Rabbiteater spoke, Rivel’s knees shook and his heart fluttered.

“I have known your kind, Vampire. Some call you monsters. They speak of your death and danger. I have met your kind and seen their glory. You fought at that battle when anyone brave enough to draw their sword knew they would die. I do not know Knight Embraim. But I know bravery.”

His hand rested on Rivel’s shoulders, and the Vampire’s legs wavered.

“Kneel. If you are afraid or think you’re unworthy, fine and good. It will make your sword heavier.”

“I am unworthy.”

The Goblin’s voice was amused and weighty, like a millstone on Rivel’s shoulders.

“We are all unworthy. Kneel.”

Rivel knelt. It felt wrong, but his heart was quivering as Rabbiteater spoke.

“Do you swear by your honor to be more than anyone else before you? Human, Dwarf, Vampire, half-Elf, Goblin? Will you rise for the coming battles?”

His visor slowly slid up, and two bright eyes fixed Rivel with a stare that was as serious as the look Embraim had given him before the end.

“If you will—then show me honor that defies any words. Valor beyond any species or petty boundary. Swear to me and rise a knight!”

He extended his sword, and Rivel felt the blow on both shoulders, so hard he swore the armor dented. He swayed—then pushed himself up.

It was just a small thing. Two blows, a simple speech. But when he got up, Rabiteater clapped him on the shoulder, and Rivel felt the breath leave him.

“Call yourself a squire if you want. But you and I will know the truth. The next time we go into battle, I expect you to fight like Ser Embraim did.”

What an impossible task. Rivel was panting. Sweating cold beads despite the humid air.

“Wh—what was—you said you knew my kind? Was that a lie, or—?”

Rabbiteater sheathed his blade and replied casually, but never took his eyes off Rivel. His tone was light, but Rivel realized that was just how the Goblin talked. He would say things in a tone that suggested he was playful or having fun—but he meant everything he said.

“I remembered someone I met, once. A ghost. She made me swear the same thing to her. I just tried to copy how it felt. It probably wasn’t as good, but I tried. We are warriors, Rivel, you and I. If you kept thinking like a squire, you’d always be one. We don’t have time for that. Understand?”

Speechless, the young Vampire stood there. Rabbiteater turned, and Rivel began following him.

“Besides. Your crimes were never that bad.”

“But I started a war—”

“You didn’t know. What did you actually do? You killed no one. Burn down House Byres’ home? Everyone who meets Ylawes wants to do that. He attacked your people. You attacked his. That’s how it goes.”

Rabbiteater’s stride made Rivel jog to keep up, trying to come up with an argument. Then Rabbiteater turned his head.

“The real question is: did it make things better?”

“…No. No, it was a disaster.”

Rivel’s voice was quiet and subdued. Rabbiteater nodded.

“Then stop. Now you are a knight. You don’t do that sort of thing. This is your job, now. Get better at fighting. And say ‘on my honor’ a lot. That’s how you become a good [Knight].”

He was mostly joking. But questions on what made a knight a knight…the angst about honor and duty and so on? Rabbiteater looked around the jungle and then at the beached ship and camp. He caught Rivel’s arm and pointed.

A [Princess] was picking her way around camp, trying to talk to soldiers, who leapt to their feet. Rabbiteater stared at the silly [Princess] doing her best.

“Don’t think about whether you’re worthy or what you need to learn. Protect that, first. If you think you can, you’re stupid and I’ll hit you. Train harder. Real [Knights] run. Do sixty laps around camp each morning to start with.”

Rivel followed Rabbiteater’s finger and bowed his head. He whispered suddenly, as he felt woefully, inadequately unready, facing greater challenges than he had ever dreamed or wanted. Yet he swore he’d follow Rabbiteater anywhere he went, just like Ser Normen.

“Yes, Ser Solstice.”

“Stop calling me that.”

 

——

 

Seraphel du Marquin wished she had Rabbiteater’s attitude towards life. Things seemed so uncomplicated around him.

She lost track of him for an hour, and he now had a [Squire] in tow, whom he was showing how to swing a sword. Seraphel vaguely remembered Rivel, but he was hardly a concern.

She was doing her best to raise morale, mostly by thanking [Soldiers] for their efforts, speaking of Calanfer, and so on. Platitudes and artificial speeches. Seraphel felt like Aielef or Shardele.

What made her unhappy was that it worked. Seeing the common folk, from grizzled [Soldiers] to fresh-faced young officers, bowing to her in reverence made Seraphel feel guilty for each one who had died.

I should ask Rabbiteater to teach me how to swing a sword. It couldn’t hurt, though Seraphel wasn’t sure she’d ever have the muscle to fight properly.

She put it out of her head. There were other things she could do. Little things, like attend to some of the others.

“Where is Adventurer Revi Cotton? Here. Take this dress and have all the threading removed. It’s water damaged anyways; give the fabric over to a [Healer] for bandages.”

Seraphel was sorting through her clothing in the camp, much to the chagrin of her personal servant, Beacle.

“Your Highness, it’s such a beautiful dress—”

She was from Calanfer’s palace, loyal and brave, but she was still new to a [Princess]’ lifestyle. Seraphel carelessly tossed the expensive cream-colored clothing in a hamper with a dress that had a tear in it.

“It’s fair. I have too much clothing anyways; Mother must have expected me to be hosting balls in the New Lands. Miss Revi is an adventurer. A Stitch-woman. She needs this thread to repair herself. Plus, every dress we abandon is one less you have to carry around.”

She gave Beacle a pointed look, and the handmaiden hesitated, then silently held up a rather lacy piece of clothing.

“This is out of style, Your Highness. Perhaps to get rid of?”

That was the spirit. Seraphel made sure to get the dresses to Miss Revi Cotton personally. The adventurer was keeping to herself, but Seraphel felt like the little gesture wouldn’t go unnoticed. She was just about to retire for the evening when someone caught her.

“Your Highness. Since Ser Solstice has awakened, perhaps now would be a good time to look into the matter of your royal guard? You requested the issue rest…but I am afraid my counterparts have been attracting attention.”

Dame Neranthei, the only Thronebearer under Seraphel’s direct command aside from Ser Dalimont, appeared outside the cabin. She, like Ser Dalimont, had pledged herself to Seraphel after Noelictus, and she was the only person among the [Knights] that Seraphel trusted implicitly.

Oh, Thilowen was highly competent, but he answered to her parents. Seraphel turned to Dame Neranthei and recalled.

[Royal Bodyguard: Two of Life, Two of Death]. During the fighting, she had activated her Skill to gain an edge. It had certainly allowed the female Thronebearer to escape the fighting more or less unscathed. She and Ser Dalimont were the two that Seraphel had chosen as the living.

But the dead…Seraphel hesitated and sensed the other two were standing sentry at the edge of camp. Where she’d ordered them to go nigh on a week ago. Seraphel hesitated only a second as Thilowen’s head turned. He ordered a full squad of Thronebearers to go with her, but they were hers.

The [Deathtouch Princess], Dame Neranthei…

The Skeleton Champion created by Pisces the [Necromancer], and Strategist Veine, one of Admiral Dakelos’ former crew members.

Oh my. 

 

——

 

They were standing stock still, a tall, sturdy-looking skeleton with a greatsword on its shoulder, wearing battered, but golden armor, white flames glowing in its eye sockets, and a ghostly woman wearing a naval officer’s uniform, armed with a crossbow that fired Tier 3 spells.

To say they were mismatched was slightly an understatement. Veine was a proud-looking woman for all her death. The Skeleton Champion looked like a monster, all glowing eyes and magic. Seraphel wasn’t sure what to expect; the two were a good distance from camp.

She knew Calanferians feared the undead, especially after Az’kerash’s long reign of terror, but how disturbing could the two be? Out of sight, out of mind? They’d completely fled Seraphel’s mind while Rabbiteater was sick.

As she approached with a wary squad of Thronebearers, the answer became clear. The two sentries weren’t exactly…silent. A voice spoke, commanding and snappish.

“Stand straighter.”

Clackclackclack.

It was a woman’s voice. And Seraphel heard a clatter of…teeth? She walked around a tree and saw Strategist Veine poking the Skeleton Champion.

“You are slouching. Stand. Straighter. And you—you are dismissed. Sir.”

The skeleton rattled its jaw at Strategist Veine, making that uncanny clattering. It stood a bit straighter as she aimed the crossbow at it, and another voice protested. Softly. Pained and also hurt.

“I am your commanding officer, Veine.”

“That was before I died, Admiral Dakelos. I am now enlisted via Skill into the bodyguard of a [Princess]. Per my death, I would be struck from Ailendamus’ naval ranks. I think.”

Admiral Dakelos was sitting on a chair he’d clearly brought out this far. He was swatting at mosquitos, but his eyes were on Veine. When he saw Seraphel and his escort, he leapt to his feet.

“Your Highness.”

Both Skeleton Champion and Veine turned. She fell to one knee instantly; the Skeleton Champion waved and got a look from Veine.

Seraphel didn’t know what to think. It was hilarious; even the studiously neutral Thronebearers’ expressions were colorful. But it was also…she glanced at Admiral Dakelos.

“Am I interrupting anything, Admiral?”

“No, Your Highness. Merely—observing. I should get back to the ship.”

Dakelos strode away, then turned.

“Strategist Veine. Good night.”

“Admiral.”

She straightened and threw a salute to Seraphel, pointedly edging in front of the Skeleton Champion. It shouldered her aside to stand before Seraphel. When one of the Thronebearers blocked its way, the skeleton clattered its jaw at the [Knight]. The [Knight] raised a mace; the Skeleton Champion lifted its greatsword.

“Stop!”

Seraphel called out, and everyone around her stopped tensing. She noted Veine had not raised a weapon; Seraphel turned to Neranthei.

“Dame Neranthei, your, um, counterparts do seem more spirited than I recalled. Did I know they could talk?”

Neranthei half shook her head, but Veine interrupted.

“The moment at sea was not opportune to communicate, Your Highness. Tactical analysis suggested it was better to hide my ability to speak until we appraised whether you were in further danger from your own people.”

“Oh. Um. Strategist Veine, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am! Strategist Veine, formerly attached to Admiral Dakelos of Fleet Kerandos, Wrmeriye’s Spittoon. Honorably dead in battle; full military accords and burial, and I have been awarded Maxeff’s Cross posthumously, to my understanding.”

“Oh my.”

She was a soldier! She spoke with precision, authority, and Seraphel wondered what had possessed her to steal one of Dakelos’ ghosts and Pisces’ warriors. Desperation.

They both looked rather competent. Veine ran an eye over Seraphel’s bodyguard dismissively.

“Dame Neranthei, you are to take up a flank position on the [Princess]’ right side. I’ll occupy the left. The rest of you Thronebearers, spread out and secure this perimeter. Clatterface, the front.”

The Skeleton Champion clattered its jaw again but stomped a few paces forwards. Its body faced forwards; it swivelled its head around on its shoulders. None of the Thronebearers moved.

“Your Highness. These…creations are your Skill? Can you de-summon them? The ghost has been ordering soldiers around and causing a disturbance. As for the skeleton, you can see the sounds it makes.”

The [Knight] leading the squad addressed Seraphel, and Veine interrupted.

“I am a royal bodyguard, Knight. Give me your rank and name, and the next time you speak out of line, I’ll have you brought up for insubordination! Your Highness, establishing a working chain of command within your living forces seems to be a priority.”

Seraphel realized Dakelos had left his chair and decided she needed it. She sat, staring at Veine.

“You talk. Oh, dead gods. And you—you’re a person?”

Veine caught herself. There was the briefest moment of uncertainty, then she threw a salute, stared past Seraphel’s ear, and barked. Loudly enough, Seraphel thought, that a slowly departing Dakelos slowed and heard it.

“No, Your Highness! I’m a fragment of Strategist Veine. Incomplete memories, few attachments—a functional soldier fit to command and lead. I don’t remember everything. I…I’m a copy.”

She hesitated, and a note of real trepidation entered her tone. Seraphel sat forwards.

“A copy? How? By the Skill?”

“The—rationale was not presented to me, Your Highness. I regret my information was incorrect. Strategist Veine is gone. I am merely her memories, personality, put together in a fairly accurate copy. I don’t remember her childhood. I don’t…know what she wanted. I don’t know her family. I know the crew. The political situation in Ailendamus around my death. Nothing more. Something went wrong. But I am here to serve. As is Clatterface. He’s just a Skeleton Champion with a [Duelist]’s reflexes.”

The Skeleton Champion flipped Veine off, which suggested he had as much personality as Seraphel. He clattered his jaw at Seraphel, and she got the distinct impression he was asking if she wanted him to hit something for her.

Clatterface was a bit of a brute. Veine…confident, but projecting. There was a real core of uncertainty to her. Both she and Clatterface were in excellent condition, though. Neranthei was the one who might have been recovering from her own bug-induced illness. As for Dalimont, he was absolutely fine, though Seraphel only knew he was far, far distant.

How did she know this? Her [Royal Bodyguard] Skill. It gave her the locations and basic conditions of her bodyguard. Seraphel concentrated silently.

Clatterface took two steps left, and Veine took a step right. The [Strategist]’s eyes lit up approvingly.

“Sadly, I am unable to give the same kind of command, Your Highness. Hence the need to establish my authority among any other members of your guard. Which I would like to discuss—the three of us are not ample protection in Baleros, if I may say so. If you’d choose to induct any more members into our guard, I do have a shortlist of fellow crew from Dakelos’ ship.”

“That’s not…not an option, I believe, Strategist Veine. Oh my. I have another bodyguard. Neranthei? I hope you can handle the company.”

“I—I’ll try, Your Highness. But the two, ah, dead beings don’t wish to take orders from me.”

Clatterface—it seemed like as good a name as any to Seraphel, and it fit—and Veine looked at Dame Neranthei. Both projected scorn.

“We outlevel you, Miss Neranthei. With all due respect, fall in and shut up. I recommend putting Clatterface on permanent sentry duty, Your Highness. I’ll be serving in more of an intellectual capacity.”

The Skeleton Champion lifted his sword up with both hands and shook it at Veine. He did it as if shaking water off the blade and looked quite pleased with himself as he ran a finger down it, then made a gesture as if letting something float into the wind. Seraphel tilted her head.

“What does that mean?”

“No clue, Your Highness. I think it’s trace memories of whatever bones he was animated with. I’m not up-to-date on skeletons.”

Veine was dismissive, but Neranthei blinked as a Thronebearer shifted.

“I think that’s a Chandrarian sword-oath, Your Highness. ‘You’re not worth the water on my blade’ and ‘you’re a speck of dust’, respectively.”

The skeleton brightened up and nodded. Veine shot him a dirty look, and Seraphel started giggling. She couldn’t help it. She laughed with delight, Veine smiled, and Clatterface clapped his hands together. Neranthei beamed as Beacle and the other Thronebearers stared in horror.

Her people felt it. Seraphel wasn’t alone. She thought that—then she grew afraid of losing her friends again. But at least—

 

——

 

Ser Thilowen was a good Thronebearer indeed. When Veine and Clatterface appeared on the ship, he didn’t protest, he just worked them into the security. But he also, pointedly, gave Seraphel a taste of her own medicine when she told him Veine and Clatterface were going to be with her and there would be no objections.

The Skeleton Champion standing on the roof of Seraphel’s cabin wasn’t an issue; he was on the alert for intruders, and Seraphel forgot he was there after a moment.

Strategist Veine, on the other hand, glowed like a nightlight. Seraphel tossed, turned, then sat up.

“Um. Strategist Veine?”

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

Veine leapt up at once from the chair she’d sat in. She closed the book she was reading, and Seraphel saw the servant’s door open. Beacle stared at Veine with much the expression Seraphel did.

“Can…can you perhaps exit the room, Veine? I am well guarded here, and your presence is a tad bit distracting.”

Neranthei was sleeping. Veine, however, just protested.

“Your Highness, I can be alert and present at every hour of the day. If I may say so, objectively, we are potentially more invaluable than our living counterparts. They may have Skills and the capacity for growth, but we are tireless. I shall be by your side in any conceivable circumstance.”

“When I’m asleep?”

“Of course. Sleep, bathroom—”

“Absolutely not. Get out.”

“Your Highness, nothing could disturb me, and I am utterly loyal to—”

“Out. You may make sure I am safe outside my room. But I do not need an undead nightlight. If I am in danger, you will sense it! Out!”

Veine was pushed out by Beacle and Seraphel, despite her objections.

“But, Your Highness—”

She tried to walk through a wall and couldn’t. She was more solid and less ghostly than Seraphel thought. The [Princess], on the other hand, just poked Veine in the chest, her hand going through her shut door.

“You may consider me safe on the Throne’s Will, so long as I am around so many Thronebearers. Why don’t you…read that book elsewhere? Or go play a game of cards with Admiral Dakelos?”

It was a shot in the dark, but Seraphel felt Veine hesitate.

“I could never—”

“That’s an order, Strategist Veine. Consider it…earning an income for me. By gambling.”

Seraphel pointedly locked the door. She waited until she sensed Veine moving across the ship and sank down. After ordering Beacle out of the room, Seraphel covered her eyes.

Oh no, I have undead servants. With personalities. I’ll never get rid of them.

She knew…

They could feel how dreadfully happy that made her. Seraphel giggled to herself until she fell asleep. If only Ser Dalius were here. Then she might have never been lonely…

Alas.

 

——

 

[Messages].

[Scrying].

The [World’s Eye Theatre].

They were indeed soon in contact with the outside world. In Rabbiteater’s case, the first appearance of Lyonette and Mrsha came as he was heaving on the side of the Throne’s Will with hundreds of volunteers.

“Rab—ter! Are you there?”

Lyonette came in fuzzily, and Rabbiteater slipped as she and Mrsha appeared. He leapt to his feet.

“Lyonette?”

“—zzy. I think there’s a scrying ward…”

He waved his hands at her as people turned, then he ran down the beach to get out of range of Calanfer’s protective spells. Even then, she was still somewhat fuzzy, but the theatre had more ‘punch’ than your average scrying spell. In fact, Numbtongue appeared as well, vaulting into the image and nearly smushing Mrsha.

“Rabbiteater!”

“Numbtongue!”

They gazed at each other, and then Numbtongue glanced away, flushing. Rabbiteater pretended not to notice the obvious shame written across the [Bard]’s face.

“Where is Erin? Is she safe?”

“They found her! She was clinging to a raft, and she’s in Talenqual! She’s, uh…Fraerling-sized.”

Rabbiteater’s jaw dropped. Everyone was recounting news to him, and he dearly wanted to have a word with Numbtongue, but Mrsha was demanding news on Badarrow for Snapjaw, which was fair, and Lyonette wanted to talk to Seraphel—and the entire conversation was completely derailed when Ksmvr ran over, demanding an update on the Horns.

Pisces and Colth were yet at sea, which distressed Ksmvr greatly, but the knowledge Ceria was well had him running off to get a [Mage] to send a [Message]. Lyonette turned to Rabbiteater.

“If you keep your anti-scrying spells up, we’ll have a hard time checking in, but it’s just as well you’re not easily found. The Iron Vanguard has engaged multiple Terandrian ships at sea. As for Rhir…”

“I didn’t kill any Rhirian soldiers.”

“You didn’t, Rabbiteater. But it appears they made the link between Erin and you. Let’s, um, say that your identity might factor into this. As part of Erin’s inn and as, you know. They’re not stupid.”

Ah. Wonderful. Rabbiteater had heard that of all the continents, Rhir had the lowest population of Goblins alongside Baleros, actually. He grimaced and wondered if he should mention his new class.

After a second, he decided the odds of Thilowen having someone tailing him were high and just nodded.

“We’re going to try to get out of here—soon. We just need to figure out where we are, then we can set sail.”

“How badly damaged is your ship?”

Lyonette eyed it with some concern, and Rabbiteater shrugged. It was starting to move, and not just because more people had joined the efforts to make up for his absence. He stared at a line of a hundred glowing figures pushing as a solitary man stood on deck.

“I don’t think it matters. It can’t sink if Dakelos helms it. Tell me—no. If Erin’s nearby, maybe I’ll jump ship to stay with her.”

He didn’t realize that was his plan until he said it, but it made instant sense. Badarrow was being tolerated, but only because he kept well out of sight. Erin would need him, tiny person or normal-sized. Rabbiteater only felt guilty about Seraphel. Cortese and Menrise might be able to join him if they wanted, but the [Princess] was duty-bound to the New Lands.

Maybe he could convince her to…?

Numbtongue seemed to read Rabbiteater’s hesitation, because the [Bard] interrupted the others. He seemed a bit distracted, for all his relief at seeing Rabbiteater alive. He reached out, and his fingers passed through Rabbiteater’s arm.

“Be careful. Hanging around Erin is dangerous.”

It was such a strange comment that Rabbiteater jerked back and replied without thinking.

“Living is dangerous.”

Everyone fell silent, and Numbtongue recoiled, looked guilty, then said nothing more. Rabbiteater felt bad as the conversation ended. But he concurred with Badarrow’s take. Something was wrong. Time to go home. Baleros looked nice, but he imagined it might suck, like every continent could at times.

The problem was that when they found out where they were…someone made a mistake.

 

——

 

Admiral Dakelos did not talk to anyone. No one liked him, and to be fair, Seraphel du Marquin did not care for anyone from Ailendamus, but she had to own he’d saved them both by coming to the rescue and grabbing the helm and taking them onto shore during the storms caused by all the spells.

He was, she gathered, some kind of war hero, though she only vaguely recalled an Ailendamus victory at sea. Thilowen did have a small dossier on him; Dakelos was the last survivor of his ship. He’d been tricked earlier in the war into attacking Nadel, with predictable results.

How he had come here, to fight to the death alongside Erin Solstice, was a mystery. But he didn’t complain. He did, however, argue with Captain Ennerev endlessly on who was more suited to command.

The problem was that Seraphel actually agreed with Dakelos. He was an [Admiral] who could manifest a dead ship’s crew and could steer a ship through armageddon without it sinking, so long as he was alive.

Communicating this, diplomatically, took all her abilities over two days’ time as they worked out where they were. It was harder than you’d think; even if you cast [Scrying] and found, say, Ser Markus, you’d need to be a [Diviner] of some talents to make the image reveal any salient details.

However, nautical maps and a bit of guesswork placed them just below the lower third of Baleros’ east coast, firmly in Lizardfolk territory.

“The lands of the Jungle Tails company. Not a Great Company at present, but they’re attempting to defeat the Forgotten Wing. If we run into their forces, I would attempt extreme courtesy, Your Highness.”

Thilowen was addressing Seraphel as she had a rather stuffy dinner in the captain’s cabin with the [Captain], Dakelos, Rabbiteater, Cortese, Menrise, Ser Markus, Revi, Ksmvr, and Vofea. They were, in fact, some of the most important men and women present. Oh, you had officers and senior Thronebearers, but most of the Order of Seasons weren’t present.

Frankly, Seraphel didn’t know what to make of the adventurers. Miss Revi was a Stitch-woman, already exotic and foreign, but she didn’t appear to actually know Rabbiteater that well. She’d kept to herself, in mourning; she had apparently lost a dear comrade before joining the battle at sea.

“Why would the Great Companies have issue with us?”

Cortese patted his mouth with a napkin and grimaced; they were eating ship’s rations, which did not go well with his palate. Before Thilowen could answer, Revi spoke for the first time Seraphel could remember.

“Why? Because they remember Terandrian colonies, milord. Just like Chandrarians remember and see the colony nations still on our lands. A bunch of Terandrians landing in their jungles is going to get you exactly the sort of reaction you deserve.”

Cortese stiffened and shot a dour glance at Revi.

“I respect your opinion, Summoner Revi, as an adventurer, but I would point out that is an entirely separate affair from the present. Moreover, Kaaz has never launched any colony attempts within the last thousand years.”

“Terandrians are Terandrians. Doesn’t matter.”

Cortese’s eyes narrowed.

“That is a suspect comment, Adventurer. Small-minded of you, I would say.”

Revi’s eyes narrowed back, and she pointed at her face with a sinister smile to indicate Cortese had just walked into a trap.

“Oh yes? Then I’ll bet you a hundred gold pieces that if you asked anyone but a Thronebearer, they wouldn’t be able to tell which nation I’m from. I’m just ‘a Chandrarian Stitch-woman’ to them. Or do you know my nation of origin, Hundredlord Cortese of Kaaz?”

Seraphel hid a smile. She rather liked Revi’s manner of speech. The Stitch-woman waited as Cortese, never one to admit he was wrong, speared a link of dried sausage.

“I, for one, believe we Terandrians are hardly the most objectionable members on board the ship. That Goblin fellow and Ksmvr of Chandrar, with respect, are more famously enemies of most nations. Few groups might be so open-minded as we are.”

Rabbiteater shrugged as every eye turned to Ksmvr. Seraphel watched Ser Solstice like a hawk, but he just nodded.

“Goblins suck. Hate ‘em. That’s why I kill all of them. Except Badarrow. He’s okay.”

Cortese gave Rabbiteater a long look, and Ksmvr leaned over to Vofea.

“Recruit Vofea, you see, this is what is known as a racism. It is often perpetuated against non-Humans. You are to smile and nod and say nothing. And do not tell Yvlon or she will become violent.”

So saying, he turned to Cortese and raised his mandibles. Vofea gave the Hundredlord a huge smile.

“Thank you for the racism, sir! May we have another?”

Menrise sprayed her drink out of her meal helmet’s visor and started laughing for the first time in a week. Cortese spluttered in outrage as Seraphel held her sides, giggling. Revi gave Vofea an approving look and sipped from her cup.

“So we’re setting sail tomorrow?”

“We know where we are. There’s no real hazards; I’ll take command and put us straight for Wistram.”

Dakelos answered in a low tone, and everyone stopped laughing. Revi’s eyebrows bounced upwards.

“Wistram? Isn’t there a great big hole in it?”

“It’s neutral ground. They may have a way to repair the ship; at the very least, it’s a good midway point. From there, we may return to Terandria or go to a port in Izril or the New Lands.”

“Assuming Lord Admiral Dakelos doesn’t steer us into a Kraken to damn one of Calanfer’s royalty.”

Captain Ennerev spoke loudly, ignoring Thilowen’s pointed stare. He was still furious about having the enemy in his cabin, but Seraphel was ready for that. She replied with a hint of sharpness.

“Admiral Dakelos may be a strange bedfellow, but he has fought to save the Terandrian fleet, Captain. We may be, as Miss Revi says, rather collectivist in the end. We are all Terandrians in this moment, and I trust you shall work with the good [Admiral], Captain.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect.”

The [Captain] paled, and Seraphel waited a beat before adding in a softer tone—

“I consider him as much a hero as you and your stalwart crew, Captain Ennerev. Trust that I shall commend the living and the dead to the Eternal Throne as soon as we are at safe harbors.”

He bowed low at that, and the table eased up a bit. Rabbiteater broke in, staring at Dakelos.

“Why did you come here? It was suicide. Like the Ailendamus nobles. What did Erin do to you?”

Dakelos blinked. He was playing with his food, and he spoke awkwardly as Thilowen’s eyes sharpened.

“I cannot speak for the nobility of House Shoel, I believe it was. I was…commissioned to the task. I didn’t know the [Innkeeper] until I met her.”

“Ailendamus put quite a lot of effort into her survival for a stranger, Admiral Dakelos.”

Seraphel spoke, frowning. She didn’t understand it herself, though she had noticed how the [Innkeeper] had rallied countless disparate forces to her. Antinium and Couriers and so many others. Dakelos paused before replying.

“…Perhaps she is a citizen or aided the crown of Ailendamus in some way, Your Highness. Ailendamus has often been a great friend to our allies and citizenry.”

“And made bloody war on any nation it chooses to absorb!”

Captain Ennerev shot to his feet, the temporary truce broken. Dakelos stood as well.

“The blood has littered all decks, Captain. I serve my kingdom, as do you.”

“We were not the aggressors, you damned warmonger!”

“We do not violate the accords of war nor bring Wistram and the Wellfars and all our allies into conflict.”

Dakelos didn’t raise his fists, but he glanced at Rabbiteater, and his cheeks colored with some real heat. Before the two men could go at it, Thilowen was in the way. The dinner party ended on an uglier note, perhaps, but at least it got Miss Revi speaking up. Seraphel heard her talking to Ksmvr and Vofea.

“I’m fine. Fine. Look, I’m a big girl. I don’t need rookie Gold-rankers talking to me. I’m mourning Halrac, alright? I’ll stick with you lot. The sooner we get to Erin, the better. The way things are going, the Terandrians are going to kill each other before we launch the ship. All those royal-kissers.”

“I do not believe it is royalty that is often kissed by Terandrians, Revi. Though I appreciate your attempt at humor.”

“What humor? I never said where all the kisses went. Their backsides, Ksmvr. Terandrians are royal-loving ass-kissers.”

Which struck Seraphel as quite…unfair. Rabbiteater began heartily agreeing until Seraphel poked him in the side. Then he jumped with such a shout he hit his head on the ceiling. Seraphel flushed as everyone turned to her.

It seemed he had plans to leave to go with the [Innkeeper] as soon as they were at sea. She wished he wouldn’t. Maybe she could talk to Captain Ennerev or Admiral Dakelos to avoid them swinging by the coast. It was sure to be treacherous with the Iron Vanguard around.

Seraphel du Marquin knew Rabbiteater was in danger. Menrise and Cortese kept glancing at him, and Thilowen hadn’t let Seraphel tend to Rabbiteater without a full squad of Thronebearers outside the door, no matter how she argued. But they were a group now, weren’t they? Or was it going to be like Cara? The Singer of Terandria who had gone on to more adventures. Like her, would Seraphel only see Rabbiteater a few more times if she was lucky?

Her worst fear was Cortese and Menrise’s reactions if they ever found out. But as it so happened, Rabbiteater’s companions were a bit more adroit than all that.

 

——

 

Ser Markus accosted Rabbiteater, in good spirits now they were set to be underway, quarrels aside.

“Ser Greysten was worried sick about us, Ser Solstice. He’ll be relieved to know we’re only delayed. How about some training to knock the salt off?”

“Sure. Can we invite Badarrow? I want to test my new levels.”

“Aha! I knew you had some! Just you wait! I have a new Skill that may surprise you.”

“Oh dear. Oh my. Coming, Ksmvr?”

“I shall attend with Rookie Vofea, who needs training. Miss Revi?”

They were out of the room and Seraphel, as always, was going to make up an excuse to watch when Cortese and Menrise grabbed her and abducted her. Menrise put a hand around Seraphel’s mouth, and Cortese maneuvered her out the door.

Thilowen held it open. Apparently, Thronebearers didn’t stop abductions among friends!

“What are you two doing?”

They dragged her into her private cabin, which Rabbiteater had vacated, and Cortese closed the door, locked it, and put a silencing charm on it. Menrise muttered a few spells.

“[Greater Muffle]. [Spell Purge]…damn. [Greater Muffle], [Ignite Lamp], and [Detect Magic]. You might as well activate your circlet too. I’m not sure if those Thronebearers can still listen in on us.”

“They can tell you what you passed in the outhouse, Menrise. Spells or not. They might have some trouble—what is this about?”

Seraphel sat on her bed, and Cortese folded his arms. He looked a bit better from his sickness; Menrise sat down on Seraphel’s bed and spread out.

“I want a bed like this. My tent has bugs in it. One got in my helmet! We abducted you because we need a talk, Seraphel. We were too sick for it, but…well? Cortese?”

The [Hundredlord] scratched at a fading rash on his arm. He paced around the room, and Seraphel remembered the lioness that would copy him. Oh, they’d all lost so much, and they were all haunted by it. She, Seraphel, had lost the least, really. Calanferians had died; she hadn’t known them. Altestiel had been the one true heartbreak. Too much, and that weighed on Cortese’s voice as he turned.

“Rabbiteater. Ser Solstice. He’s not a Gnoll or a Drake or disfigured like I thought. He—there’s a Goblin under that helmet, isn’t there? A Hobgoblin.”

Seraphel’s heart began to beat faster. She sat up and gave Cortese her most calculated raise of the eyebrows.

“A what? Cortese, what has gotten into you?”

Menrise instantly turned to Cortese.

“Told you she’s helping him. There’s no use playing dumb, Seraphel. It’s obvious from…well, everything. I can’t believe we didn’t sense it earlier.”

“I thought he was a Gnoll, with the manners and all. Baeris liked him. She doesn’t like monsters.”

Cortese folded his arms as Seraphel looked from face to face. She coughed.

“I—I understand what you saw, but we have no proof, you two. Besides—”

“Thousand Lances, Seraphel! We’re not going to kill him! If I wanted him dead, I’d have run him through the moment I had an inkling of who he was. But he’s a monster. It’s best if he gets off the ship and gets to this [Innkeeper], isn’t it? I just don’t know what to say to him.”

The Hundredlord’s snap was precipitated by him throwing himself into a chair. Seraphel breathed out, and Menrise waved her hands.

“I still have five gold on him being a criminal. But since everyone from Tourvecall is dead, I’ll have to take it out of their gravestone budget if I win. If he’s a Goblin, that’s fascinating. Come on, you think he’s a Goblin too.”

“I…would not knowingly consort with any dangerous monster. Ser Solstice has been valorous and brave, and he deserves his anonymity. It’s a matter of knightly honor.”

Seraphel tried to tiptoe around the truth, but neither one of her friends was having it.

“I like Ser Solstice. He’s blunt as a mace, peculiar, a damn good fighter, and refreshing. But if he’s a Goblin, then Prince Iradoren had a point. He’s dead, Seraphel. Erribathe’s future [King]—dead, and we’re harboring a Goblin. I’ll wager Ser Thilowen’s thought the same. It’s all our heads on the line if this comes out.”

Trust Cortese to state the obvious. Seraphel bit her lip. Menrise countered.

“He’s not murderous. Well…aside from Ailendamus’ [Generals] and [Pirates]. I wish I were back home. There are books on Goblins who weren’t hostile. Velan was one of them.”

“And look how he turned out. I’m asking you, Princess Seraphel, if you feel your class and duty are impelling you to…do something. If only let him go on his way. And even that may be something I will answer to Kaaz for.”

Cortese scrubbed at his hair, in true moral quandary over the issue. Menrise was more unsure, her head swinging from Seraphel to Cortese uncertainly, clearly conflicted between her real like of Rabbiteater and his identity. But Seraphel?

Something’s wrong. Seraphel realized it because…she felt nothing. No fear of Rabbiteater, no guilt, just annoyance at Cortese continuing to call him a monster.

I should be afraid or horrified. Dead gods, I’ve touched him. If I were younger, I might be screaming to wash my hands or that I’ll fall sick. That sounds so stupid, now. Was it my time with Cara? Seeing Noelictus and their relationship with the dead?

Ser Dalius?

Her mind flashed to one of her companions in Noelictus, an actual ghost. Seraphel bit her lip and this time pretended the other way.

“I won’t lie, Cortese, I’ve been mulling over that duty to my…class as well. Do you feel your class is pulling you one way, your feelings the other?”

“You have it in a nutshell. Kaaz may be one of the Restful Three, but we pride ourselves on being much like adventurers in spirit. I know what must be done.”

Seraphel stood up and faced the other way to not let them see her face.

“Then—tell me something. What does your sense of honor say? Not your class or emotions, Cortese. Menrise?”

Silence. Then Cortese slapped his knee.

“My honor wouldn’t have me run through a man I’ve fought beside. He and I saved each other’s lives in battle. But if he becomes a threat, a Goblin Lord or Goblin King—”

Don’t show any emotion. Don’t even hint. You don’t know anything, Seraphel. He was delirious. The [Princess] kept her body straight as sweat prickled down her spine. Menrise interrupted, voice dubious.

“If, if, if. What’s the odds he becomes one? Really? He’s not exactly a leader of armies. Although people are saluting him a lot, but that’s a war hero for you. I guess my problem is I like him. He’s the sort of person I’d marry if I were ever forced into it, but I’d much rather have him as a friend. I just wonder if I’m making a mistake in any way. Is it ethical? Ethical, listen to me. I sound like a Samalian.”

She made a disgusted sound and spat. Cortese and Seraphel looked at her.

“Did you just—”

“Yep. It’s gross. Hand me a handkerchief?”

Silently, Cortese did, and Menrise swabbed the inside of her helmet. Seraphel realized this was her opportunity. She spoke thoughtfully and had an idea and presented it as if she were coming around to it herself.

“You know, you two, I think we have an answer of sorts already. Because I think there is someone who knew who Ser Solstice was from the moment they met. And he never turned away or did anything but treat him as a friend.”

She waited, and Cortese sat up.

“Altestiel? No.”

“Remember how they were saying they knew Miss Erin Solstice? I think he knew, Cortese. He knew, and he never said a word. The Earl of Rains, arguably a more important man than the three of us combined. If I were to trust anyone’s opinion…”

Seraphel trailed off. Menrise sat there a second, and Cortese made a rumbling sound in his throat. Then Menrise leapt to her feet and rubbed her hands together.

“I’m sold. Alright, let’s go watch Rabbiteater beat down Ser Markus. I’m not serious about the marriage thing, by the way, Seraphel. I just volunteered for the New Lands on a lark because otherwise I would get paired with the most ‘eligible’ partner unless I marry someone out of love or whatever. And it’s usually a gremlin with a huge mana well and no redeeming qualities.”

She skipped towards the door, and Cortese flustered to his feet.

“You can’t switch over like that so easily, Menrise! Seraphel, talk some sense into her.”

“I…have to agree with Menrise, Cortese. He is our friend. Is anything going to change that?”

“Green skin?”

Menrise tossed a bit of flames at Cortese, and Seraphel almost wanted to smack the top of his head.

“Cortese! At the very least, we could see if he’s actually anything like the Goblins we’ve heard are monsters. Or ask him ourselves. If he…leaves the ship, that is one thing. But I doubt you will reveal his identity or challenge him to a duel.”

Cortese hesitated, then exhaled and pushed himself up fluidly.

“I suppose. It’s just damned odd. If he’s not the monster I think he is…is every damn Goblin like him? They can’t be. I’ve hunted them down when I was playing at being an adventurer. If they’re like him—”

He scuffed at the floor silently, and Seraphel bit her tongue, remembering hearing of Thronebearers going out to destroy Goblin nests and being relieved they were stamped out.

“Let us ask him. No, wait, let us ask Badarrow. What if we all befriended him? Then we’d learn something about Ser Solstice.”

“That fellow? I don’t like him. He’s surly and uncommunicative.”

Both Menrise and Seraphel pushed Cortese out of the door, fed up with his objections. They were hurrying down the ramp when Menrise put a finger to her head.

“Hold on. Oh spellbooks! Hey, did either of you send a [Message] to…the Titan of Baleros? I think he’s sending a [Message]!”

Seraphel and Cortese turned. It was dusk, and the sun was turning the sea an admittedly gorgeous orange. Seraphel almost felt like she was on holiday, now. Rabbiteater was chasing Ser Markus around with a practice sword on the beach, and Menrise was astonished.

“I don’t have a Mage’s Guild’s confirmation code-thing, but it feels like it’s from the right place.”

“The Titan of Baleros knows we’re here? Maybe someone informed him. There’s one to watch.”

Cortese put a hand to his sword hilt, but Seraphel encouraged Menrise.

“Perhaps he’s helping Ser Solstice? Or Calanfer reached out to him. He’s an ally of Erin Solstice, actually! He’s on our side, Menrise. Go on, what is he saying?”

“Hold on. He says—wait, that can’t be right. It’s in all capital letters. Wait. Oh no, he says—‘stop broadcasting your location on open channels, you morons’. What—what does that mean?”

Seraphel’s head snapped around suddenly. A Thronebearer pretending to swab the decks dropped the mop. Cortese frowned.

“Broadcasting our…but the scrying spells are still being blocked. Could we have alerted…?”

“Thilowen!”

The Thronebearer was already heading their way at a trot. Menrise began to repeat the [Message], but he held up a gauntleted hand.

“Message spells can be intercepted, Lady Menrise. Assuming this is the Titan—do not respond in any case.”

“What does he mean? Is it a fake?”

“It may be to get us to panic, Your Highness. I am having Thronebearers check—we have encrypted our message to the Eternal Throne with a code that cannot be easily broken. Hundredlord Cortese?”

“Don’t look at me. I sent my messages via the Eternal Throne. Menrise?”

“Hey! Aside from that half-Elf that Ksmvr wanted me to [Message], I’m fine, and I didn’t say anything about our location. He just wanted to know what to do, and she told him to keep the [Innkeeper] safe.”

Menrise lifted her hands, and Thilowen consulted a list.

“There should be no one here with [Message] abilities besides those here. Admiral Dakelos might have an artifact…find him.”

Thronebearers went storming across the ship, and Admiral Dakelos appeared, holding his hands up. When Thilowen produced a truth stone, he replied instantly.

“Orders? I didn’t send to Ailendamus for any. I don’t have any messaging artifacts; this was a one-way trip.”

“We may search you to be certain, [Admiral].”

“Go ahead, but I truly don’t…”

Something was nagging Seraphel’s mind. She snatched the list from Thilowen and ran her finger down it.

“Wait a second. Menrise, did you send a [Message] spell to anyone else? I assume Thilowen was keeping a lid on [Messages] for just this issue.”

Thilowen nodded, and Menrise shook her head.

“No one. Why?”

Seraphel felt a sinking sensation in her stomach and strode to the railing and looked down.

“Well then—how did Ser Markus tell the Order of Seasons we were all safe?”

Everyone looked at Seraphel, and then Cortese was running down the ramp with Thilowen, Dakelos, Menrise, and Seraphel hot on his heels. When they shouted at Ser Markus, he froze, sword raised, looking confused.

“What? The [Message]? Yes, I got one from Ser Greysten this morning. He was asking where I was—well, what condition we all were and everything. I had one in my pack, so I told him we were all well.”

“You did what? How do you know it was Ser Greysten?”

“…Because he said it was him? I say, is something wrong? I only said where we were roughly about.”

Markus’ face began to grow alarmed as Seraphel looked at Thilowen. He was already striding back to the ship.

“Captain! Make the Throne’s Will ready for launch! We are striking camp! Abandon everything that’s not essential!”

“Too late.”

That low voice came from Badarrow, who had lowered a practice sword and was staring out into the horizon. He pointed, and everyone turned, but Seraphel didn’t make out what he was looking at at first. Only when Menrise muttered a spell did Seraphel’s gaze amplify, but even then she only saw a black dot on the waves. Then another.

Ser Markus the Indiscreet stood there, pale-faced and babbling apologies as Admiral Dakelos strode on board the ship. He produced a spyglass and waited, looking for the flags as people below tried to get Throne’s Will into the surf. But the tide was against them. Dakelos just waited, then exhaled.

“Which one is it?”

Rabbiteater called up to him, and the [Admiral] looked down.

“The Iron Vanguard.”

 

——

 

Two frigates and a galleon found the Throne’s Will along the beach and opened fire as dusk turned to night. They gave no hails, nor responded to [Message] spells requesting a parlay.

[Fireballs] were one of the staple spells of choice; the Tier 3 spells rained down on the immobile ship as [Lightning Bolts] and magical arrows slammed down. They didn’t do much damage at first; the Throne’s Will was Calanfer’s lead warship. But it was a sitting duck and unable to properly fight back.

They tried; Captain Ennerev and a skeleton crew manned the war spells, trying to loose them at the distant ships, which maneuvered and dodged the broadside. The air was filled with smoke; Seraphel could see figures emerging from the cargo hold, throwing goods and supplies into the water.

She was well back from the ship. When it had become clear that there was no way it could get into the water, Thilowen had ordered it abandoned. The Calanferians had retreated towards the jungle, and there they waited.

If the enemy ships made a landing, the best place to meet them was on the beach. Soldiers and Thronebearers stood in silent ranks as Seraphel sensed a pair of figures hurling more goods into the sea.

Strategist Veine and one of the Skeleton Champions. Her bodyguards, empowered by her Skills. It was dangerous work; the Skeleton Champion went running back the way it had come, and something hit the decks, flashed across it, and took out one of its legs.

“What was that?”

That came from a horrified Ser Markus, white-faced with guilt. Thilowen answered shortly as someone loosed a bow.

“Iron harpoons. Some are anti-magic. They came ready to sink the Throne’s Will.”

A salvo of the harpoons struck the gilded ship, and this time, Seraphel heard wood breaking. She put her hand over her mouth. The ship that had borne them through all the battles was coming to pieces before her eyes. It felt wrong.

The Iron Vanguard. It was stupid to ask why they were attacking. But it was so…pointless after the war at sea. Wasn’t it?

As she watched, Throne’s Will launched a gout of glowing rays of light at one of the enemy ships and caught it, but the ship merely sailed on, turning to present its other side. They were losing without hope of any victory.

Only three factors presented the Dullahans with any surprise. The first was Badarrow. The Goblin stood on the beach, thousands of feet from the distant ships. He loosed another arrow as Seraphel turned. High, high into the air, whispering Skills as the arrow flew. He was putting another to the bow even as he grunted in surprise.

“Got one.”

Cortese was frankly disbelieving. Even Badarrow just shrugged.

“Lucky shot.”

He kept loosing arrows as the onslaught continued. Now, the Throne’s Will was breaking up as enchantment spells failed. But it refused to actually fall apart properly; parts of the ship turned black and ashy with the onslaught, but remained intact. Why?

Admiral Dakelos. He was standing on board the ship, holding the ship’s wheel. Futilely. His ship was damned. But so long as he stood there—it refused to sink. His phantasmal crew kept unloading the decks.

Madness. He was risking his life for food and supplies. But no one had stopped him. They might need every bale of food being carried out in Chests of Holding. The Dullahans knew he was keeping the ship afloat, though. As Captain Ennerev’s broadsides faltered and the attack spells ceased working, the Dullahans drew closer, intent on killing the [Admiral].

“Dakelos, evacuate the ship! That is an order!”

Cortese howled into a speaking stone and got a short reply.

“They’re coming for blood. If I leave the ship, my crew vanishes. If they sink Throne’s Will, they will bombard us from their ships.”

“They’ll fill you with holes before they board! Get off, man! You too, Rabbiteater!”

The Hundredlord was on the tips of his toes, staring desperately at the burning deck, for all his earlier comments about the monster that might be his friend. But he got no reply from either man. Seraphel’s hands were over her mouth as the ships closed in. She was looking at the little figure on deck.

Rabbiteater.

 

——

 

A trio of [Fireballs] flashed towards Admiral Dakelos. One missed, going high. A second exploded as a ghostly [Cook] threw himself in front of the blast, taking it for Dakelos.

The blank-faced [Admiral] flinched. Soot covered his face, and he was mildly burnt but otherwise unharmed. He didn’t move a muscle when lightning bolts flashed past his face or the metal harpoons shredded the deck. But the sight of a grinning man vanishing into the aether hurt him.

He refused to let go of the ship’s wheel. The third [Fireball] detonated in midair; a [Strategist] lowered her wand, checked it, and fired again.

In the distance, one of the Dullahans on the enemy ships fell. Dakelos’ ghostly crew were firing their small arms, ghosts with crossbows and wands, as the living ran from the ships, including Captain Ennerev. The Dullahans faltered in their advance and circled again, breaking off from their approach.

Two souls left on the Throne’s Will. Dakelos saw a spider web of electricity arc from ship to ship, crisscrossing the sails, as Dullahans waved their hands and produced a network of lightning. Then they hurled it at him. The [Admiral] stared the vivid lightning down in the milliseconds it took to flash towards him. Then he saw the armored [Knight] raise his shield.

Rabbiteater’s sword was plain steel; his axe was gone, broken by the [Prince of Men]. His cloak was made of his brother’s blood. His armor was battered, and he was tired. But he swung his shield—and the lightning bounced. It burst off his shield and deflected into the air, curving, until it hit the forest in a flash. The thunder boomed, and the Goblin Lord pivoted. He swung his sword, and half of an iron harpoon skidded across the decks, just missing Dakelos’ feet. The other half spun and embedded itself in the mast of the Throne’s Will.

Admiral Dakelos watched the [Knight] catch himself, as surprised as the Dullahans on the ships. Rabbiteater didn’t look like he had a Relic-class shield. Dakelos knew that sword was a plain steel one.

It didn’t seem to matter. The Dullahans paused a second, then unleashed another volley. [Fireballs], this time. Dakelos watched the [Knight] gauge the timing of a burning [Fireball] made of molten strands of fire.

Like someone hitting a baseball, he swung his unenchanted sword and hit it back at one of the ships. Then he cut a [Fireball] in half, and another, and the flames enveloped him. When the smoke cleared, the [Knight] raised his sword.

Impossible was something [Ship Captains] said. The [Admiral] thought and murmured to himself.

“Aura.”

It was a physical thing around Ser Solstice. When he raised his shield, another bolt of lightning bounced off it. But it couldn’t stop everything forever.

The Dullahans were two hundred feet away now. The phantom crew readied themselves as Dakelos hunkered down behind the wheel, waiting. He saw too many [Soldiers] standing silent at the railings, ready for the first wave. And here came—

A rain of burning arrows, gouts of magical lava, instead of [Fireballs], and a bolt of [Grand Lightning] amid a flurry of harpoons. A splendid broadside from three vessels. Dakelos threw up an arm, and his enchanted cloak caught the arrows, at least, as they rained hot across his scorched skin. He looked at Ser Solstice and swore he heard the man speak.

“[Supreme Speed]. [Wondrous Deed].”

Rabbiteater took a huge breath and then exploded out of cover. He twisted, bringing his sword up in an arc under the moonlight, and cut the bolt of [Grand Lightning] in half. It exploded in a thunderclap, and he raised his shield.

The hail of burning arrows and magma parted in front of him and Dakelos, striking a glowing field around the Goblin Lord. Something as impregnable as the dignity of a Drake [General]. As soft and as welcoming as a home. The Goblin swung his sword, left, right, cleaving up and down.

Broken pieces of the harpoons struck the deck. One bounced up and hit Dakelos in the chest. He grunted, sat down hard, and wondered if he’d cracked a rib. When he stood up—the deck was burning around the [Knight].

Rabbiteater was unharmed. Dakelos got back to his feet.

“That’s a better class than [Admiral].”

He stared at Rabbiteater with the first hint of curiosity he’d felt since he’d woken up and realized he wasn’t dead as he’d been promised. Then Dakelos drew a sword, waiting for the Iron Vanguard to reach them.

The [Admiral] gazed across the deck, squinting as his crew extinguished the flames; the ship was mostly destroyed anyways, though it was still intact, because of his Skill. He saw no line of stolid Dullahans. Instead, he saw the rear of three ships pulling away from the beach.

They’d even stopped firing spells. Confused, Rabbiteater lowered his sword. He turned his head to Dakelos.

“But they outnumbered us.”

He pointed at them, and Dakelos eyed the [Knight]. Then the retreating Dullahans. There was a possibility that they’d pull back and resume the onslaught from a distance. But they didn’t even bother doing that. They kept going without turning back, and Dakelos watched Rabbiteater scratching at his helmet.

“Sound strategy.”

If they’d landed their ships or boarded Dakelos’ Throne’s Will, he’d have tried to fight towards one of their helms. As for Rabbiteater…Dakelos would have shot out any sails on the ship the [Knight] was on and avoided getting within a thousand feet of him.

Dakelos was tired, suddenly. He sat down, feeling his ribs screaming at him and various parts of his skin blistering in real time. Rabbiteater strode over and helped him up.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait for the crew to finish unloading. You won’t get a second chance.”

The two waited, panting, as torches and people swarmed onto the beach. What the [Princess] and the other companions of that [Knight] thought, Dakelos couldn’t say. But he ordered everyone away from the ship.

When he stepped off the ship and onto the ramp, the Throne’s Will shuddered. Then, without as much sound as he expected, it just collapsed. Blackened pieces of wood crumbled downwards, and the mostly intact hull crumpled. Dakelos nearly fell, but Lady Menrise caught the plank, and he stumbled down it.

The ship collapsed along the beach as the [Admiral] saluted it. Captain Ennerev, tears in his eyes, raised a bandaged hand, and Dakelos watched the pieces of the ship roll onto the beach as the unforgiving night’s waves took the rest of the hull apart. Then he turned.

“I believe we are now stuck on Baleros. And my usefulness has come to an end.”

His eyes found Rabbiteater, who kicked at the sand. Cortese, clutching at his hair, the stricken Ksmvr, Vofea, who nodded to herself as if she’d seen this coming, the swearing Revi, Lady Menrise pointing at a piece of hull and ordering someone to ‘pick it up’. The horrified Calanferians, the adventurers, the narrow-eyed Badarrow—all of them were staring at the waves and the former ship.

Only Dakelos looked back and wondered why the [Princess] was smiling. Then she met his eyes, and it vanished. Dakelos kicked at a rock.

He didn’t want to tell anyone, but he really hated bugs.

 

 

 

Jewel, by Kalabaza, Kuheno, and Pon, all commissioned by Rumina, [#1 Jewel Fan]!

 

Seraphel and Horns of Hammerad by Yura! (Horns commissioned by takeawayrobin)

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Belavierr by jawjee!

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Jewel by butts!

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Bunny Badarrow, Normen, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt by Chalyon [The Bunny Artist]!

 

Ceria vs the Creler and Belavierr by Anito!

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A’ctelios Charcuterie by Stargazing Selphid!

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