Heroes of Hraace (Pt. 2)

(Innktober has begun on The Wandering Inn’s Discord! New artwork will be shared across social medias the entire month! Look forwards to some amazing art!)

Day 5 — Erin Solstice by Nanahou!

 

[MelasD, a fellow web serial writer, has launched their first webcomic—Amelia the Level Zero Hero! It’s live now on Webtoon. Please check it out! It’s always exciting when I see someone enter the webcomic space…]

 

 

 

 

On the second day of their travel to Hraace, Elena Othonos sat down with Yvlon Byres and asked a question as Pisces, Ceria, and Archmage Amerys squatted around the wreck of a magical carriage.

“So, Miss Yvlon. Or should I call you Adventurer Yvlon or something? I realize this is sort of forwards, but if we’re going to be travelling together, I should ask. Do I have a budget?”

The Silver Killer was chewing on the portable flatbread sandwiches filled with meat and Yellats favored by the King of Destruction’s soldiers on campaign. She wasn’t taking part in the deconstruction of the magical carriage—she had no magical background.

Thusly, she had nothing to do but heal from the beating she’d received from Mars and feel vaguely useless while travelling. It took her a second to process what Elena had said. Then Yvlon turned.

“Excuse me, Miss Elena? Yvlon is fine…a budget for what?”

“Cosmetics.”

When the reply elicited no response from Yvlon’s face, Elena clarified.

“The Quarass gave me a lot of tips and unguents and even powders and knowledge on how to make more at any decent [Alchemist]’s shop, but she refused to let me have anything unless I signed up to work for her. I had some from Wistram and even before that, but I figured a monthly budget would let me restock. Mostly, it’s basic cosmetics, but I can definitely do anything you want with your hair. Dyeing your hair—frosting, balayage, and so on—I can even do disguises.”

“For me?”

“For the team.”

The Silver Killer still didn’t quite get it, so Elena scooted forwards as Teresa wandered around the camp, brushing her teeth. The [Blade of War] clearly caught the next words.

“Because I’m following your team. If you have anything else for me to do that’s not fighting, let me know and I can try. I have some experience in the…servant industry.”

For some reason, that made Elena hesitate, but Yvlon didn’t pick up on it right away.

“Wait. We convinced the King of Destruction to let you go. You’re free, after Hraace.”

“Right! You got me out of there when no one else could. So…I want to follow your team around.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best chance to get back to Terandria in one piece? And I like your team. Plus, I feel like I’ll level in your company, and I want to level.”

They were three good reasons for Elena. Three somewhat mystifying reasons as they pertained to the Horns. Yvlon made a sound like a chuckle.

“With respect, Elena, the Horns of Hammerad do not lead safe lives. Anyone following us is likely to get hurt or die.”

“As opposed to following Flos? Or Trey?”

Teresa smirked at that last one, but Yvlon was glancing at her team. No one was here to bail her out; Pisces and Ceria were both learning from and talking to Amerys, and Colth was preventing a fight. The two began to argue, politely, which it had to be said was Yvlon’s weakpoint, but both Elena and Yvlon were distracted by the mage’s conversation happening in front of them. Or perhaps argument was a better description.

 

——

 

“No, you two are amateurs. Shaping the mana into the wheel isn’t hard. See? It’s like this. You make it—delicately—and then fire spell circuits through the mana. It’s simple, ingenious—if I’d known you could harden mana…”

Amerys had a glob of free-floating mana, a lot of magical power, but something any Archmage could generate. Even as Yvlon and Elena watched, she disengaged a green blob of her magic, and the glowing, semi-transparent magic froze.

Turning from radiant and transparent to an opaque substance, rather like a frozen cloud. It fell, and Amerys caught it; it was clearly not heavy, but was strong enough. She threw it at Pisces’ head.

He was somewhat cowed, but he shot back.

“I realize that’s how this carriage was made, Archmage, but my studies would indicate that this is improbably wasteful. You are casting a series of extremely high-level spells and one…small variator.”

“Ceria, you said your teammate was elucidative. These are not magical terms. We’re almost finished reverse-engineering the carriage. If he’s wasting my time, I’ll zap him.”

Amerys was not a…team player, which explained her isolation at Wistram. Pisces shuffled behind Ceria instantly, and Ceria clarified with a crooked smile, adjusting her circlet.

“I said he was like an annoying dictionary. Pisces, you’re not making sense.”

They ganged up on Pisces, but Colth intervened with a smooth smile—and a cup of tea.

“Lady Mages, what I think Pisces is trying to say is that we have an avenue to explore here. Pisces, one second? Why don’t you have a cup of tea? And I’ve grilled a hot sandwich for the both of you.”

He presented a significantly nicer-looking sandwich than what anyone else was having, steaming and filled with the best cuts of meat and vegetables, such that all the Earthers and even Gazi stared accusatorially at the [Soldier] passing out camp supplies. But Colth had just taken the food he’d been given, and tea he’d again squirreled away, and added spices he’d gotten from somewhere with a [Chef]’s Skills such that Ceria and Amerys instantly began eating.

“Very well. This is better than the fare I normally get in the mornings. Do you do eggs?”

“Poached, Archmage?”

“Hm. Two, with pepper.”

“Me too!”

Colth hurried a campfire over and produced a bit of vinegar, tossing it into a pot he held over the fire as Pisces retreated from the other [Mages]. It was fascinating to watch. Yvlon had completely forgotten Colth’s abilities. He was an adaptive fighter, of course, an expert planner and intelligent. But his best role was, well…

Keeping the [Mages] focused, on-task, and even bridging communication gaps. A happier Ceria and Amerys had just finished their breakfast when Colth slid back over with a smile that managed to be helpful and not greasy or timid or unctuous.

“Point of clarification, everyone. Pisces doesn’t have the terminology to use because he’s self-teaching himself from an, ah, interesting spellbook. Ceria, you know the one. What we’re looking at isn’t [Alter Spell] or any variation of magical infusion theory, Archmage. He’s actually going closer to the root of spellcasting. Freeform magic.”

Ceria’s eyes narrowed, and Amerys sat up fast.

“Why didn’t you say that? What spellbook?”

Pisces blustered a bit, but with Colth’s help and perhaps a Skill, he explained in a way even Elena and Yvlon got.

“It’s all theoretical, but my studies are…well, I cannot do as much as I would like, but it seems to me, Archmage, that spells fall into two camps. You can alter lightning to make it burn or acidify it or anything you please.”

“Of course. I have a Skill. [Metamagic: Elemental Variation]. I can also make lightning small, big, invisible, anything so long as I have magic for it. Two camps is reductive for the vast variation of magic that can exist. I thought you met Valeterisa.”

“Ah, but that’s within the purview of the spell, Archmage. My book doesn’t teach any spell with…well, an established name. You know [Light Arrow]? I can cast an arrow of light, but it’s not…[Light Arrow].”

Pisces was trying to explain the invisible container in the air that defined [Mage] as opposed to mage. You could hear the difference, and Amerys frowned.

“Freeform casting. So? It’s a useful way to surprise a foe, but most of the time, a fixed spell can be altered just as well and is far less mana-intensive. And often more powerful. Many Skills fail to work on freeform casting.”

The [Necromancer] sniffed, saw Amerys’ eyes focus on his nose, and swiftly stopped doing that.

“Yes, Archmage, but it seems to me that all the adaptability of fixed spells is something of a myth. You can change your lightning in so many ways, but there is a world of variation within freeform casting that you neglect. Similarly…this carriage.”

Being told she was an unadaptive lightning mage was not how you impressed Amerys. She was crackling a bit, her hair standing up, but Pisces hurried over to the carriage.

“You clearly produced a huge amount of mana, solidified it, and then were going to attempt to insert the mana circuits through the resulting mixture. Correct?”

“Yes. Solidified mana cannot be shaped after it’s been ‘frozen’. It merely breaks without any ductility, like metal. I wonder if you could recycle it, but that’s the tradeoff for a light, strong, mana-heavy material.”

Amerys kicked at the wheel they’d taken off the wagon, and it splintered, proof that it would dissipate once broken. Pisces nodded.

“In this process, how many spells were fixed, Archmage? Please, humor me.”

Colth had the poached eggs already, and Amerys humored Pisces as the [Supporter] produced a cushion for her to sit on. She cooled off slightly.

“If I made the process standard for His Majesty’s armies? [Form Mana Orb], [Magical Anchoring] on some area to keep enough of it present while I generated enough…infusing spell circuits might be a Skill. I’d use [Randimen’s Tracer], probably, or even [Valeterisa’s Overly Complicated Light Rays] with a small variator to burn the circuits in. Anchoring enough magic gems in the carriage might require boring holes to fill them up, but you could hire someone to do it manually and seal the gaps. Or shoot the crystal through, or even dust to make sure you had a good network. A basic compressed air spell like [Air Jet] combined with [Pinpoint Spell: Needle’s Precision].”

She spoke so knowledgeably and quickly that it was clear she could do all the magic off the top of her head. An Archmage’s competency. Yvlon doubted Ceria or Pisces could do the same even if they put their minds together.

It was intelligent, fitting of Wistram’s Archmage, and yet—Pisces’ eyes gleamed.

“So you’ve recreated the Wistram Carriage in its entirety, Archmage. But I would like to posit that you used one moment of freeform casting.”

“Did I? Ah, ‘hardening’ the mana. That’s not something that occurred to me, but when I studied the carriage, I realized it could be done. That’s the real boon of this carriage, as well as the command spells animating it, I suppose.”

Amerys was getting annoyed again at this interrogation, but Pisces tapped his fingers together.

“A logical conclusion, Archmage. But it’s my belief that this entire exercise, which you’ve solved so quickly, is a trap. This carriage may be reproducible by your methods, but let me ask a final question—how many [Mages] would be required to make a carriage like this?”

The Archmage was fully piqued by this point, but Colth distracted her by asking if she cared for anything else to complement her morning, so she snapped back.

“Give a Mage’s Guild a month and they can pump one of these carriages out. So four to ten [Mages] who collect the mana and craftsmen to do the work they can’t since most aren’t [Enchanters]. I suppose one half-decent [Enchanter], so that puts out seventy percent of the Mage’s Guilds in the world. His Majesty can have a dozen within two months if he pulls Parasol Stroll and some decent [Mages] for the job.”

Pisces nodded as Yvlon thought it was an expensive proposition, if completely fair for magical carriages nearly as good as Magnolia’s. But then he brought something up.

“Then, Archmage, how were three carriages—and I am given to understand there are dozens upon dozens more—already moving around Chandrar? They came out last month.”

The question stumped Amerys, but Ceria’s eyes gleamed as she adjusted her circlet.

“Oho. You just scored a point, Pisces.”

“…Wistram produced them, obviously. They came from the north, so they had Medain’s Mage’s Guilds lend mana and imported the rest from a ship.”

“With the seas so badly in turmoil, Archmage Amerys? How many carriages could Wistram produce?”

“Hundreds with its damn apprentices!”

“So it was purely making carriages? The very hard-working [Mages] of Wistram we all know and love? And they transported them here? And took the time to infuse each carriage with working spell circuits?”

Amerys’ eyes flickered. Suddenly, she swooped back over to the carriage and inspected it. She was counting.

“I’ve seen…at least two dozen on a given day, not the same ones. They wouldn’t roll them out in Chandrar alone unless we were a testbed, and I know they’re in other continents. A hundred is a low estimate. A hundred in a month…this Archmage wouldn’t make them himself. You’re correct. This is impossible given the methods I outlined.”

She flickered. Electricity trailed, and then her finger was jabbing Pisces in the chest. He recoiled, but Amerys spoke.

“Explain your theory. Freeform casting?”

“I think it’s a trap.”

Ceria instantly leapt away from the wheel, but Pisces clarified.

“A trap of magical theory, Archmage. Your method works. Wistram didn’t exactly try to hide the manufacture of the carriages, did they?”

“It would have been difficult and costly and ultimately pointless. So they let me and any other [Mage] intercept these…but the method I’m obtaining is wrong.”

Amerys was now on the same page, and her eyes flickered back to the carriage.

“But I can’t think to…I can streamline each spell, but there’s no obvious way this improves. You generate mana, and you solidify it. Based on my spellcasting theory…”

And there it was. Pisces’ eyes gleamed.

“Unless the Archmage of Memory knows a better method. Or, I suggest, he’s using fixed spells we don’t have. Are magical carriages a pure block of mana or is it, in fact, a far more complex design?”

“It’s not pure mana. There’s a lot of air in it. Your chunk of mana’s all solid, Amerys. Weighs the same, but that’s interesting.”

Ceria was squatting next to the sample Amerys had made, and the Archmage flickered over to her.

“So even if I put all of Reim behind making carriages, we’d fall behind Wistram in a heartbeat if they’re using methods we don’t have. There’s no guarantee the spell circuits would be written that easily, either. I just assumed if they had so many working carriages…how many spells ahead is Archmage Eldavin?”

“He’s ahead on pure theory, Archmage. I think he can freeform cast any spell he wants. As I said, [Light Arrow] is so convenient and conventional, but light arrow itself…”

Suddenly, all three [Mages] were back to the drawing board. Amerys tossed the piece of solidified mana she’d made into the air with a flick of her finger and blew it out of the sky with a lightning bolt, disgusted. She turned to Pisces, who flinched, and her tone was flat—but she was nodding.

“Very well, you two aren’t bad. Start telling me everything you know about this freeform theory. I’ve passed Level 50 in spellcasting, but there is a bar between our magic and the magic of Wistram’s higher floors. Valeterisa has tried to breach it for years. Whomever Eldavin is, he remembers that magic.”

Pisces sat down, relieved, as Ceria scooted forward on her butt.

“Combining magical disciplines is what Pisces and I have learned. Even Falene and other [Mages] don’t use linked magic much, but I can easily do it with the circlet’s help. Linking spell schools?”

“Casting across disciplines isn’t hard. I can throw a [Siege Fireball] like the rest, Ceria, and cast [Ice Lance] in the other hand.”

Amerys demonstrated, and Ceria waved at it.

“Ah, but do you cast a [Siege Fireball] like a [Pyromancer] and merge it with an [Ice Lance] spell like Illphres would do?”

“Why would I twist my magic up to be that focused? It’s far easier to just cast it…”

Amerys trailed off, and Pisces finished the thought.

“Like a fixed spell. How would we recreate this carriage if we weren’t doing things the easy way? Damn, if only I had access to an enchanter’s book.”

Colth appeared, friendly, with a wand in hand.

“I’ve watched Larracel cast enchantments on the Adventurer’s Haven all day. If either of you two need a rundown in basic enchanting…”

Four mages, if you included Colth, talking theory so fast and excitedly that they lost Yvlon. They were onto something, and every now and then, Yvlon would hear ‘but the complexity of’ or ‘what if we…?’ or ‘theoretically, yes, but let’s prove it’ in ways that sounded promising.

The conversation even attracted Trey and Gazi, though Trey was mostly trying to even understand what was going on, and Gazi was no spellcaster. But one had attended Eldavin’s lectures, and the other saw magic very clearly. They were talking animatedly within a minute.

 

——

 

“Nerds.”

That came from Elena, but affectionately. She turned to Yvlon.

“That Colth guy might take my job, but he’s not a specialist, right? I’m sure I can be useful.”

“You don’t need a job, Elena. That is, we don’t dislike you, but we can’t guarantee your safety, and frankly…we don’t really need a [Beautician].”

That was the part that Yvlon didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings on, but she wasn’t exactly a [Squire], [Quartermaster], [Explorer], or any, uh, useful class. Yvlon knew how well some classes could synergize. But the Horns really didn’t need to look good while fighting Crelers. Elena was very well put-together, you had to admit.

“We’ll give you money for a ship to Terandria or Izril. I’m sure you’d find plenty of work in The Wandering Inn.”

Lyonette could use Elena, and she’d fit right in. However, Elena protested.

“Yvlon, don’t think my class is useless.”

“I wouldn’t say useless, but in a battle—”

“I’m a [Beautician]. Yes, a lot of it’s vanity, and there is a lot to do with makeup, but I’m a [Beautician]—a trained one from my world. It might only be good for appearances on Earth, but appearances matter there, too. Here? [Beautician] is a class, and I’m past Level 30. One of the world’s most dangerous Earthers is a [Singer], the other one’s an [Innkeeper]. Do you think I’m useless?”

That drew Yvlon up short. She gave Elena a longer, studying look, suddenly filled with interest, and Elena smiled.

“There’s no way your class can have an effect on our combat abilities.”

Yvlon said without confidence. Elena’s eyes twinkled.

“‘Twas beauty that killed the beast. That’s a quote from my world.”

The Silver Killer hesitated, then tossed her own hair back, which, she admitted, she barely did more than comb with her metal hand—that could turn into a comb. She’d accepted a more rag-tag look from so much adventuring.

“Any makeup you apply wouldn’t even last on this trip.”

“Unless I had [Makeup: Permanent Fixture]. But let’s not even do your hair or your face. You’re way too naturally pretty, even when you get travel-worn, and that’s great. I have this amazing idea. Give me an hour, and you can talk me out of anything, but—Nawal? Do you have one of your chisels?”

Elena got up, and there was a brief fight as she pursued a veiled young woman that Yvlon recognized from around the camp. When Elena came back, she had a chisel and was staring pointedly at…

Yvlon’s arm. Yvlon glanced at her arm. At Elena. The metal rippled, and Yvlon held up her hands.

“I don’t think—”

“It’s like movable armor, right? You could give yourself tattoos or shape the metal. Do you have House Byres’ crest or something? If you don’t like the idea, we don’t have to.”

“I—but there’s really no need—I don’t need House Byres’ crest. My arms change so much it’d be gone in a second. Would it even look good?”

“If we got a pattern you remembered, wouldn’t you be able to remake it? You’ve seen decorated armor, right? Did you ever like any?”

Now she had Yvlon, and the Silver Killer bit her lip.

“There was this suit of armor back in House Byres’ armory that I always wanted to wear. One of my great-great-greataunts wore it in battle. But it’s so complex…”

Elena had a pad of paper open.

“[Design Sketch: Client’s Preference]. Do you have a style?”

“Er—well, it was very thin, engraved onto the arms, this floral pattern—the Flowers of Izril, you know? Like, you had twisting vines up the arms and this square or more angular pauldron. But listen, it’s nothing important. It’s just armor. Or my arms. And you’re not—”

 

 

——

 

The Horns of Hammerad were interesting, Teresa determined, and she decided she’d thought of them wrong from the start. They were not the opportunistic adventurers she’d assumed they were, but a mix between the place the King of Destruction’s Seven were and real people.

She meant that in the sense that they didn’t live and breathe their achievements. Mars was fun. You could drink with Mars, talk to her about anything, and she was friendly, sometimes stupid about things that didn’t involve battle, and relaxed.

But she was never not Mars the Vanguard, Mars the Illusionist. She never saw a task and said ‘wow, that’s hard’ or ‘I can’t do that’. She either didn’t want to do it or found a way it was done.

The same with all the rest. Flos was a [King]. He got what he wanted, and if he didn’t—it was because what he wanted was that important. The Horns, though, still had humility, in a sense. Not all of them. Not all the time. Ceria was like the spirit of mischief, and Colth was impossible to read, but sometimes, there was a flash of basic humanity in them.

Like Yvlon, the Silver Killer herself, gingerly sitting in the morning as Elena tapped a chisel gently into her arm, trying to implement a design they were going over. That look of vulnerability on her face—the rest of the Seven weren’t like that. Amerys could be worried about her lack of magic, Gazi could be frustrated and uncertain about her place as the weakest of the lot. But they’d strayed from mortality to become legends. They had seen empires break and armies flee before them too many times.

Teresa wanted to be like them. But she knew she had no chance as she was. She had to climb and keep climbing to reach where they were, and it seemed only reasonable to her that Hraace, and now the Horns, were a path to that goal.

Teresa Atwood, Teres for short. The martial twin to Trey’s magic. Funny how that worked out, but if you’d asked the Atwood twins from the start who they thought would gravitate towards which class, they probably would have agreed it made sense.

Trey was a bit more bookish; he’d always done well in history, and Teres had been on the football club in secondary school. Where they’d split was in, well, ideology as much as specialization.

Teres had stuck with Orthenon, participated in Flos’ wars, fought in the dust and bloody battlefields.

Trey had learned from Gazi, the Quarass, gone to Wistram and broken Amerys out, and become a hater of A’ctelios Salash and, in some ways, Flos himself.

Right now, Trey was the golden boy, even if he enraged Flos constantly. He was the [Chaos Schemer], the [Bloodglass Mage], the favorite of Gazi and Amerys, and held even the Quarass and Fetohep’s respect. Also, he had Minizi.

Teresa was somehow the one who got to be the ‘annoying one’, the child whose ego and ambitions outstretched her abilities, the one to make sure wasn’t hurt. She’d fought in more battles than Trey had ever seen, had nearly died defending Reim, and he was the better one.

She didn’t mistake how things were. In many ways, Teres was aware of the King of Destruction’s court more than Trey. She knew how they regarded her and him.

It was so frustrating. Not unfair; fairness would have meant Trey and Teres never appeared here, let alone had the chances they had. She knew how lucky they were, even if Trey didn’t see it that way. She just wished…she was doing it better.

Another world. Thrust into the heart of what might be a meeting between planets, between realities, given the chance to ride beside this world’s version of Alexander the Great, to meet legends and fight battles and know that in her lifetime, right now, her deeds mattered. She talked to the King of Destruction; she could put a finger, however small, on the world’s scales and try to make it better.

That was a privilege, an opportunity Teres had never thought she’d ever have in her world. In her world, as she’d told Flos time and again, governments and powerful, rich people, who were born into their roles or had connections, changed things. Ordinary people just lived as idiots came into power and mucked things up, or good people tried to force systems to change.

There were no Floses in her world, no men and women who could push and topple nations. Even world leaders were constrained by their cabinets and rules and governments. Even tyrants feared a single bullet, and they were just people who gave orders which were followed.

The King of Destruction could push down a wall or rip a Djinni’s collar apart with his bare hands. This world had given Teres everything she had ever wanted. 

It was a shame Trey resented it so much.

 

——

 

Gazi Pathseeker broke away from the magical discussion as everyone began to wrap up breakfast. The [Mages] and Colth piled into one of the magical carriages, Trey included, and they were all chummy now. Trey had that ability. He’d be nervous and defer to people, and they’d just…like him.

Bastard.

He and Pisces were talking as they passed by, and Yvlon was being led to the second carriage, flexing one arm. Teresa listened to both conversations.

“So you met the man? Archmage Eldavin seemed…grandiose. Larger than life, from what I saw of him on the scrying orb. I did meet him in person before he arrived in Wistram, but that was when he was in disguise…and is that a Golem?”

“Lifesand—and Bloodglass. Wait, you met Eldavin before…? That’s Minizi. Wave, Minizi; don’t swing that sword—she used to be really small. You, uh, make undead, don’t you?”

“I’m a bit of a creator, yes, but I’d hardly say I’m artistic. May I ask how she was developed? The inspiration, er, seems clear…”

Both shot a glance at Gazi, and one of her eyes was rolled up in her head, a clear sign she was monitoring their conversation and reading their lips even if she couldn’t hear them. She always kept an eye on Trey. Everyone pretended they didn’t notice, and Trey never did, but it was obvious to Teresa and the Seven.

Trey and Pisces were shaking hands, talking like, well, kids putting together figurines at the tabletop games Trey loved. On the other side, Elena, who was braver than most people gave her credit for, and smarter too, was talking to Yvlon.

“No tingling? How does it feel?”

One of Yvlon’s arms was elegant. Somehow, Elena had already transformed it until it looked like a piece of armor; twisting, engraved vines with tiny leaves ran down from a symbol etched on an angular pauldron, and Teres almost snorted when she saw the symbol. She didn’t—because Yvlon was a warrior and it clearly mattered to her.

It was an Antinium with a sword standing under a tree; the roots were the vines running down Yvlon’s arm and along her biceps before turning into Izrilian heraldry. The back of her metal hand had House Byres’ symbol, and Elena had even dug metal out to give Yvlon’s fingers that gauntleted look.

“It’s…it tickled when you were moving the metal around, but it feels fine. It looks amazing. It feels—better. Lighter. Maybe the metal you removed made it—?”

Yvlon was swinging her arm around, perplexed. Elena gave Teresa a huge wink, and Teres would have loved to know what Skills the [Beautician] had used. She had a feeling Elena was going to get her way.

Earthers and Yvlon in one carriage, mage-team in the other. That left Gazi and Teres behind. Neither one really wanted to join the other groups, it seemed. Gazi glanced around, then swung herself on top of the Earther carriage. Teres followed suit nimbly.

She was still a [Blade of War], and even if it wasn’t as fancy as Trey’s class, she could run, fight, and act on the level of an athlete from her world, if not better. She steadied herself on the lip of the carriage, anchoring herself with the guardrails that could keep passengers or luggage in place. Soon, the magical vehicle took off.

Gazi said nothing.

She was definitely intimidating, but Teresa knew she was softer than she looked, or Trey would be dead. Teresa just didn’t know her as well as the others.

Mars, Orthenon, and Takhatres were the three of the Seven that Teres knew. Mars was like the big sister for everyone, fearless, the greatest warrior—the most burdened, but the most able to keep strong.

Orthenon was strict, perfunctory, anal about all kinds of customs and protocol, but deeply caring about Flos, and conscientious about everything, even if he looked only grumpy or severe.

Takhatres was picky, arrogant, rude, and full of himself, a real roving, nomadic tribal leader, but he respected Flos, for all he constantly strived with the King of Destruction. He had a vision for Garuda and treated Teres like a kid to be indulged when he was in a good mood.

Gazi…

Gazi was the kid of the Seven. It was obvious. She was Flos’ oldest vassal, the youngest, the weakest, but she’d been there from the start. Teresa knew the lore that even Trey hadn’t picked up on.

Gazi and Flos? Never a couple. Never even dreamt of by Flos. Clearly, a source of strife for Gazi. Mars and Flos had definitely hooked up when he was younger, and everyone knew about Queravia. No ruling on Amerys; even the rest of the soldiers didn’t know, and rumors abounded, but Gazi?

Chip on her shoulder. Potentially imposter syndrome, though she could walk the walk pretty well.

Neither woman said anything as the magical carriage travelled. Teres felt it was moving faster than a car from home. Likely her imagination and due to the fact she was on the open roof, but it was quick. The ground just vanished—they were racing through one of the nations along the coast, past Medain.

Portems, east of Medain. Not a place you heard of even with all the wars with nations declaring for or against Flos. It had a [Coastal Queen] and strong enough armies to push back Medain; it wasn’t notable to Teres beyond that, but she remembered the name. Hraace occupied the northeastern flank of Chandrar. You got a lot of tiny nations down the coast. The only one she could name was Cosiere because Flos had some enduring popularity among the people there.

He had it everywhere, to greater or lesser extents, but many followers were within the bounds of their nations with families or a disinclination to stand and die for him. When he took a nation, he’d gain support.

Already, he had a lot of Stitch-folk joining him from the cities he’d overrun in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Mostly Hemp; they were not pleased with Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

“See anything interesting?”

Teres broke the silence after fifteen minutes of dizzying speed. She was watching Gazi’s main eye slowly track across the landscape. The rest of her eyes were bouncing about, save for the one on the [Mages]’ carriage. Normally, Gazi’s eyes roved, but it seemed like her main one was searching for something.

Gazi gave Teresa a brief stare, as if weighing whether it was worth even engaging with Teresa. Then she spoke grudgingly.

“I saw something in the night. It was headed the same way we were.”

By ‘something’, she meant something important since she could see for miles and through walls with her eyes.

“Magical carriage?”

“No. But moving faster than anything but one of the Seven.”

“Djinni? Magical carpet?”

“Too low to the ground, and it wasn’t radiating magic. Whatever it was was simply fast. It passed by the outer radius of my vision, so I had no way to see what it was.”

Teres sat up.

“About that…your eyes work differently than ours, right? So this outer radius is more like a sonar?”

Gazi had no eyebrows, but her skin raised above all five eyes in a weirdly similar way.

“Trey has described it to me like that, yes. Motion is what I see at my outermost ranges. All the…detail, colors and shapes, only closer to me.”

“How far’s your outer limit?”

“Thirty miles.”

Teresa whistled. That was something. Gazi just shrugged.

“It only works for the most notable of things. Which this was. What or whoever it was moved faster than some Couriers.”

“So…faster than a magical horse?”

A flat look.

“Yes.”

After a grudging moment, Gazi added.

“It could have been a rider. But the moment they were detected, they moved out of my range. That is the interesting part. I can think of a few candidates who could do that. And be heading towards Hraace.”

Teres slid the blade she carried out of her sheath. It was a single-edged sword in the style of Drath, gifted to her by Orthenon. She’d learned how to use it in battle as well as with her many tutors. Venith Crusland had been the last to instruct her.

Poor man. She hoped he was doing better with Calac returned. Give Trey credit: he’d gotten that right. She wondered what had become of his friends, the half-Gazer and Drowned Man who’d helped him escape.

“Should we be ready for a fight?”

“I will be ready, as will Amerys. You should concentrate on saving your energy. If Hraace accepts any of us, or teaches us, you will need your strength. As will I.”

Gazi’s tone was pointed, and Teres sheathed her blade and sat back, folding her arms.

“You don’t think I’m useful.”

“I would expect you to evacuate the Earthers if a foe capable of fighting Amerys and I approached. Then die in the defense of them well. His Majesty has expressed how valuable you are in war. He must constantly watch you.”

So you’re an overall negative in an actual fight. That was the message Teres understood. She tossed her head.

“Trey’s no more survivable than I am.”

“Trey doesn’t attempt to be.”

“He broke Amerys out of Wistram. I told Flos to throw me into battle and not worry about it.”

“So eager to die, are you?”

Gazi’s tone was flat as she stretched out on the roof, flexing her curious, four-fingered hands. Teres gave her a smile that was neither bleak nor overconfident about her chances of survival.

“I’m trying to reach a place where I’ll matter before this war ends. So’re you. We can’t all be as lucky as Trey. Flos doesn’t have to listen to Trey or me. Trey can shout at him until he’s blue in the face, and he won’t do a thing about the slave trade in Reim. But he’d have to listen to the most high-level of his Seven or someone who has Venith’s levels.”

That worked. The [War Scout] glanced up, and her frown felt like staring into a lighthouse beam.

“That has been a source of strife between you and Trey. Don’t pretend you are on the same side.”

“I’m not against his side. I just think he’s being a mule. You know Flos won’t change his mind right away. Trey makes you happy because he says what you’re feeling louder, but even with Amerys lending her voice, and Elena—whom he does respect—has he done a thing?”

No and no and no. Gazi’s silence felt like sulking. Teres went on.

“He can’t, anyways. His wartime economy falls apart, and everyone knows it. Now, if he were six nations up…then he’d be more receptive because he can afford it. Roshal’s embedded in the heart of Chandrarian culture. Removing that overnight is impossible. You put your foot on the rudder and push.”

“A thankless task that I have not seen you undertake.”

“Flos doesn’t insult me every two seconds. I’ve been focusing on what matters. What I can change.”

Teres lifted the sword and felt the blade cutting the wind. She held it up, as Orthenon had shown her, and exhaled. She focused, and the wind blasting across her and Gazi’s face, making conversation difficult—stopped.

The dust carried on the wind left a trailing stream across the magical carriages, but parted in the air around the blade of the sword. The vacuum left in its wake was now pleasant, eerily quiet.

 

“Cut the wind. Cut the metal. Cut the soul.”

—Some kind of Drathian proverb that Orthenon said in Drathian, 23 A.F.

 

That was worth having. Trey could animate his Lifesand Golems all day. His sister could cut a breeze in half.

“Not a bad display. Can you do it all the way to Hraace?”

Gazi’s eyes clearly said Teres could not; the reservoir of power located below her stomach would run out too fast. It was this…secondary unit of energy you drew from that was unique to Orthenon’s people and class.

Teres didn’t get it entirely, but meditation and training advanced it. It was a more focused method of fighting than a [Warrior]’s Skills. She gave Gazi a shrug.

“Can you? Orthenon and you were a couple, once. Didn’t he teach you how to do this?”

Gazi’s scowl said she didn’t want to talk about the famous tryst between her and the King of Destruction’s Steward. But she grudgingly shrugged.

“I know some tricks, but like magic, I do not have the means to increase my powers.”

“With pills and whatever they use in Drath? Orthenon said he hadn’t done more than ‘basic refinement’, whatever that means. It still means he can improve, right? Just not eat…more power?”

The Gazer frowned, speaking a bit more animatedly since Teres was informed on the subject.

“Cultivation. The powers of Drath. Cultivate the body and soul and even blades. He described the tonics you could imbibe, made out of rare ingredients, as unto wells of power. You can waste them or use every drop. You can improve naturally, but it is vanishingly slow compared to ingesting years’ worth of stored energy.”

“Like drinking fat.”

Silence. Gazi’s lips trembled. She smiled, briefly, and Teres grinned.

“He hated that analogy. Anyways, I’ve refined what I had. I can’t do much with it, and I haven’t hit any ‘limits’ or whatever he talks about.”

“I as well. Orthenon expects nothing of the few people he teaches. It is a useful trick, but he is a master of the…ah…”

Gazi hesitated, her all-knowing smile fading. Teres scratched at her head, and the two tried to figure it out.

“Tenth…soul…gate?”

“The Golden, no, Truegold Core Formation of the Immortal—no, he said he passed the Late Heavenly Master’s Stage of cultivation, which is actually lower than the Sage’s 1st Realm, but he took a transgression across the—”

“His core is something like the Meridian Foundation, but he applied Phoenix’s Rebirth and began again so—”

They started chuckling. There was a reason Orthenon seldom discussed the principles behind his exact abilities. However, Teres did know more than probably anyone outside Flos’ inner circle from the old days, so she put her hands behind her head.

“Do they still want him dead in Drath?”

Laughter ceased from Gazi. She sat there, and Teres opened one eye to see if she was offended, but Gazi had just gone back to scanning the landscape.

“I do not think their edicts for his death have changed since he escaped and was made a [Traitor], no.”

“It’s been forty years?”

“Fifty, I think.”

“Fifty. Then he’s seventy-something? He looks—”

In his forties. Orthenon never mentioned his age, and Gazi just glanced at Teresa.

“They have long memories, and he stole a great deal to cultivate himself. He killed for it, as you must know. If Drath is unwilling to press the issue to Chandrar—especially given his prowess—they would not forget.”

Teres sat back, thinking. An outcast for life. A disgraced, powerful expert from Drath who had sacrificed his honor, home, all to keep clawing up what he described as a never-ending road to power. By the time he’d met Flos, he’d been a deeply unhappy mercenary without a cause. Much like the rest of the Seven, really.

To her gratification, Teres felt like she and Gazi were getting along decently well. The half-Gazer seemed surprised as well, because she ventured, after a moment, to flick her eyes forwards.

“There.”

The dust ahead of them slammed out of the air, and Teres lowered her blade since she no longer needed to keep it from hitting them.

“What’s that?”

“Weight and petrification. My eyes gift me with many powers, which I have refined as well as most full Gazers. My armor and bladesmanship makes me better than most warriors. I am, like you—not at that level which defines true warriors.”

Level 50. The big one. Teresa was closer to twenty levels away than ten, but she dipped her head.

“Think Hraace will actually make you reach that point? Or take you in as a [Hero] or whatever it is they do?”

Gazi was silent for a long moment.

“No. I don’t think I’m the material of [Heroes]. But you are correct. Time runs out.”

Moodily, she folded her arms, and Teres nodded and sat back. Both of them stared at the carriage with the arguing [Mages]. All they had to do was master new spells. Mages had it so easy compared to warriors. After a moment, Teres spoke.

“The [Necromancer]. The brown-haired one, Pisces. You know him, right? I was thinking…”

Gazi glanced at Teresa.

“They are adventurers. He is a [Necromancer]. An…interesting one, I suppose, but him? Truly?”

“Well, Ceria and Yvlon aren’t my type. And the one called Colthei?”

“Ah. Well, yes. Of the lot—”

Gazi fell silent and thought about it.

“I believe the Antinium is probably the sane one.”

“Well, he’s not here. Any tips?”

The Named-rank adventurer known as Gazi the Omniscient eyed Teresa as the carriage sped onwards, then grudgingly spoke.

“He sniffs often. It’s a habit, not a runny nose or other defect.”

“Okay.”

“Why any of them?”

The half-Gazer just seemed perplexed by the question, and Teres smiled.

“He’s on a journey, and so am I. I think it’d be fun, he’s handsome, and we could trade sword-techniques among other things.”

Companionship could be easy and fast in the armies where you knew death was around the corner, she’d found. Gazi just sat there, blinking.

“…Handsome?”

She gave Teres a look that called the girl’s tastes into question, and Teres just rolled her own eyes. Gazi wasn’t one to talk. Just look at who she liked.

 

——

 

They called the nation Portems, and it was no Medain, but Colthei reckoned it was decent enough. Sort of generic? Could you call a nation generic?

It just lacked for details he valued. It wasn’t strongly for Flos, wasn’t strongly against; it doubtless had a thriving economy, but it was like…Reizmelt, a Human city in Izril. Reizmelt existed.

Being neither hugely strong nor weak meant that when Amerys and Gazi rolled through the nation, an entire army turned out to meet them with great trepidation, as if afraid two of the Seven had been sent to conquer the entire place by themselves.

Colth would have liked to have seen that. Once Amerys had assured them she was heading back to Reim tonight and Gazi had stated she was heading to Hraace, they calmed down, and the carriages were allowed to visit border cities to restock on food and let people stretch.

Two things happened that Colthei the Supporter deemed of note at all. One—the Horns got a welcome they deserved. Two, one of the two twins that served the King of Destruction, Teresa Atwood, had the gall to try and flirt with Pisces.

Of the two of them, Colth would have given Trey a run at Pisces first, and he knew Trey was a [Mastermind] class of some kind and therefore a rat.

Analysis, statistics, numbers. Colth had a habit of assigning values from his own system to people, like giving people a score for their ‘Charisma’ or ‘Luck’ and making sheets about them. He also cataloged reputations, and the Horns’ reputation had well exceeded his own at this point.

“Lady Pathseeker, Archmage Amerys, you are welcome in the city of Llovend. And I also welcome you, the Horns of Hammerad! Captain Springwalker, I had hoped to meet Ksmvr of Chandrar…may I have your autograph? And I trust you, Necromancer Pisces, shall not cause any bloodshed in my city, ha-hah. Adventurer Colthei, an honor, and I greet you, Silver Killer.”

It was so funny how they talked. The [Mayor] was nervous around the two of the Seven; practically all over Ceria, who was scribbling her autograph down with a bemused Pisces.

Pisces, who got looks of mixed interest and wariness, but broad approval from the Portemese folk for being famous.

Yvlon, whom they avoided like a rabid metal dog, which was fair, and Colth, whom they treated like the interesting rookie. He was good at that role.

Pisces, though…Colth signed autographs, talked the team up, and blended backwards into the crowd as he listened to several people speaking to the [Necromancer].

“It is bold of you, you know, to make war on Roshal. I cannot say I agree, but it is bold, nonetheless, to make them a foe.”

Pisces stared at a [Guildmaster] of some kind, who thought making conversation about a fight for slavery was a good opening to ask for an autograph. It was that kind of comment that made Colth itch for his daggers…but then Elena was there, gently speaking.

“Adventurer Pisces, sir, Captain Ceria needs you to wrap up autographs in three minutes. I am so sorry, Guildmaster, but we must be on the road. Lady Pathseeker, you know—”

She made a gesture, and Colth grinned as the [Guildmaster]’s pique at being hurried along vanished at the thought of angering Gazi. Elena. Seemed good at her job. But another person moved forwards after the [Guildmaster] got his autograph.

“I think it is a fascinating war, Adventurer. And hope you find no issue in Portems to slow your journey. Well met.”

There was nothing in this other woman’s words to suggest she was more than an ardent fan who desired a handshake and autograph, but the…Guildmistress of the Potter’s Guild made Colth instantly think she was on the right side.

Of the war. There could only be one. It was in her tone, her smile, the way she squeezed Pisces’ hand, bowed, and left. She wasn’t the only one to seem to hint she thought the Bane of Roshal was doing the right thing. But they were all careful. They had to be.

Roshal is everywhere. Colth had no doubt they had spies monitoring the Horns’ progress, even now, but so long as Gazi was near, even Yazdil would walk carefully. But soon, it’d be dangerous. Soon…

The [Mayor] was trying to also get them to do work, which was very funny. As if monarchs hadn’t been doing the same.

“Captain Ceria, I know you are on business, but if you had the time, Her Majesty of Portems has some small issues she wished to bring up to a team of your renown.”

“Oh? We’re sort of on our way to Hraace, but anything worthy of our time?”

“Perhaps not your time, Adventurer Ceria, but there have been a few quakes of late. Not natural ones. We think they’re coming from sea caves along the northern coast? We’ve sent Silver-rankers in, but they vanished. And if you…”

They had a mission from the Quarass, Flos, the Claiven Earth, Medain, Jecrass, and Heroph. Colth was eminently glad Ceria instantly refused the offer, though he did think some adventuring would be good for them.

They needed money, arms, levels to survive Chandrar. Yes, speed was also important, but Roshal was dangerous, and finding Pisces’ friends would take time. Finding Colth’s…

They can’t be alive. The Quarass is mistaken. But she’s never mistaken. She’s often not mistaken. If they actually made it…

Colth was so busy listening to the Horns getting the famous treatment that he only realized someone was watching him after a second. He turned, and Teresa Atwood walked forwards.

“Hi, Colth, right?”

“Warrior Atwood, hello. We haven’t talked much.”

I haven’t been interested. Nawalishifra, the disgraced [Smith] of Clan Tannousin, was interesting. Gazi and Amerys were to learn from. Trey was a unique class. Teresa Atwood was a decently levelled [Soldier]. The kind Colth mowed down when he went to war. Carefully, in case she had tricks, but stepping-stone level.

She surprised him when she indicated Pisces, who was nervously animating a Skeleton Champion to the applause of the people. They didn’t hate undead here. He had to learn that.

“I know you’ve been busy with Trey and the magic stuff. I was hoping I could talk to your team, though. Especially…Pisces, is it? Is he taken, do you know?”

She spoke like a [Soldier], straightforwards and to the point. Colth blinked. He pulled something out and scribbled on a piece of paper.

He kept having to adjust Pisces’ ‘Charisma’ stat. You had to give the [Necromancer] decent looks, height, and he was fit enough as a [Duelist], but 14 seemed too low. 16?

What kind of a [Necromancer] had a 16 in Charisma? Colth ran his eyes down the distribution. He’d been talking to the other Earthers, which had really helped him flesh out his mechanics. Troydel had had a lot of opinions, some right, some which didn’t really gel, but…

 

Pisces Jealnet — The Bane of Roshal, AKA Sniffmaster Pisces, Pisces the Nose, Necrolad…(add more names.)

Race: Human

Morality: Lawless, Ethical, Slaverbane, Adventurer

Age: 23

Height: 5’11

Weight: Est. 165 lbs? (Feed him more.)

 

Strength: 11

Dexterity: 16

Endurance: 10

Intelligence: 17

Wisdom: 12

Charisma: 14 16?

Luck: 15

 

Athletics: 8/20

Cooking: 3/20

Intimidation: 5/20

Diplomacy: 6/20

Flirting: 0/20

Swordplay: 15/20

Stealth…

 

He had a long sheet, meticulously filled in with hand-drawn boxes, and he kept revising the numbers and the way the statistics worked.

It was just for fun. And the notes sometimes were useful when working with other adventurers. Colth muttered to himself as Teresa stared and peeked at what he was working on.

“Let’s see. Not one score under 10. He should have one. Luck? No, on average his is pretty damn good. Endurance? He’s better than Ceria. Some people are just like that. Maybe it’s a 15 for Charisma…but if you think about it…”

Colth hadn’t gotten too much on Pisces’ romantic background—because there wasn’t much—but he put that down to the [Necromancer] being a surly hideaway for most of his life and unwashed.

Lately? You had to count a [Queen] highly; they had a lot of opportunities, and there was some hinting from his fellow [Slaves], though that was a different circumstance, but certainly one or two Gnolls at the Meeting of Tribes had given him hints he’d failed to pick up on…if Pisces actually had a clue what was going on, he’d be like Deniusth.

Actually, that was a great point. Deniusth the Violinist had excellent stats on paper. Colth went back to one of his character sheets from an earlier time when he’d ranked people on multiple aspects of charisma. Deniusth? Great face. Terrible hair now, but back in the day, he’d had good hair, poise, a great body, fame, could play an instrument—

Objectionable personality, so he wasn’t higher in a score that ran up to 18 naturally (though with classes, you could exceed that. Barelle was probably a 21 or something), but a flat ‘15’ as well if that made sense. No demerits for reasons of being a Goblin (it was hard to charm even if you were Numbtongue), or because Pisces had too many character flaws. For example, Pisces versus Deniusth…Pisces could be more charming after you got to know him, and Deniusth was more charming before you got to know him.

“Fascinating. I guess that’s why it’s a game and not applicable to life. You know what? You’ve gotta fudge the numbers sometimes, but I wonder what happens if you throw them both in a room with…Minotaurs? Lizardfolk? No, that’s speciesist. Cultural, cultural. Put them in a room with a bunch of [Farmers] at a social gathering and see who wins without reputation. Yeah.”

“Er, excuse me, Colth?”

“Hm? Oh, hello. You didn’t get the memo.”

Colth finished scribbling on the sheets and gave Teresa one of his friendly, fake smiles. She raised her brows.

“What did I do? I’m nice. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get any hooks into him or steal anything like Amerys. I’m just asking if he’s taken.”

“He’s taken.”

“By whom?”

“His team. We share.”

“So he’s not taken.”

“He’s not looking. I think you might know why.”

Teresa indicated she did know of Pisces’ recently removed class by nodding her head. Which told Colth she knew a lot of the King of Destruction’s secrets…he filed that away, and Teresa gave Pisces a sympathetic glance, or what she might have thought was one.

“I’m sorry about that, but it’s not like I’m going to hurt him, and he can always say no. So—”

She turned, about to set upon the Necrolad with all the forthrightness of an arrow loosed from afar. Colth wasn’t actually sure how Pisces would react. He doubted anything would happen, but you never knew, and he wasn’t a fan of Teresa, so Colth spoke as he folded his character sheets up.

“Okay, sure, I’ll let Pisces know.”

Teres turned her head, then smiled.

“Thank you. I’m just asking if he’d like to talk or—”

Colth dug in his pockets and flicked a few gold coins into one palm, then some silver ones.

“How much?”

“Excuse me?”

The [Blade of War] didn’t catch on, and Colth stared at her, then added a few more copper coins, then made a show of patting his belt pouch.

“I don’t have that much on me, but I reckon I can run to the Merchant’s Guild. How much for a night?”

“…I’m not for sale.”

Her tone had grown dangerous, and Colth gave her his most charmingly aggravating smile. He’d once seen Mihaela do this to someone she really didn’t like, and Colth? Colth remembered everything.

“Sure you’re not. Neither is my boy Pisces. In truth, you should be paying me, but he’s not for sale, and you’re not richer than we are. So let’s say this covers dinner and—”

He held out the coins, and she drew her sword on him. She was quick.

Colth had seen quickdraw swordmasters before. He flicked a gold coin at her fast, and she just had to cut through it. They always did. Teresa swung forwards with a snarl, halting before she actually struck Colth—

He was strolling away, whistling, hands in his pockets. She stared at him as people turned, and Colth waved at her. She could keep swinging at him and embarrass herself. Or drop it.

Teresa’s eyes blazed at him, and he sensed she was one of Drath’s lot. Inner energy or whatever it was; Colth had never gotten enough practice to master it, and even Yazdil hadn’t known enough to be confident in training him. It manifested as a weak intimidation Skill, and he blew her a kiss.

She went to go talk to Pisces, who eyed her warily. Teresa Atwood smiled as she sheathed her sword.

“Sorry, I had an argument with your friend. Pisces? I’m Teresa Atwood. I was wondering if you wanted to sp—whoah!”

She felt the tug on her foot and avoided the long-range tripping Skill that Colth used, then put her foot back. Then she stepped on the [Slippery Shadow] spell he’d cast. Always have a backup.

People asked Colth, all the time, why he carried vinegar around. Or spices. Spices, they got, but vinegar?

It was good in alchemy, for food prep. You could make poached eggs with vinegar. You carried around vinegar because it was a luxury. All items that were useful were luxuries. Bags of holding were amazing.

Why did Colth carry around cowpats that he’d collected from the Meeting of Tribes? Because he could sling one across the ground like a discus and have Teresa land flat onto it. Even if she sprang to her feet, all you needed was some water to make it nice and sticky and a little Skill…

She stood, whirling on him, as Pisces backed away, and Colth waved at her. Never mess with the backup. He might not have gotten many [Wingman] Skills, but he had met a lot of [Heartbreakers], [Meddlers], [Troublemakers], and even a [Jilting Lover].

She ran at him with a shout, sword raised, until Minizi got in her way; Teresa beheaded the Lifesand Golem, which made her twin blast her with sand. The two began to fight until Amerys turned her head and blasted Teres and Trey with a bolt of lightning that made both keel over, paralyzed.

Colth helped load them into a carriage. Another victory for the Horns of Hammerad. He gave Ceria and Yvlon a big thumbs up, and both of them eyed him. Ceria seemed amused, Yvlon, mildly exasperated, as if she had no idea why he was doing all that.

Pisces just wondered when lunch was.

Absolutely no clue, absolutely not. He was back down to 14 Charisma after all. What was the point if you didn’t know what to do with it? Everyone got moving again. Amerys flew off, satisfied with her magical conversations with Ceria and Pisces—and she had a war to get back to. They all settled down in the coach.

Then they arrived at Hraace.

 

——

 

By the time they arrived at Hraace, everyone hated Teres. Never mess with a Colth. He wasn’t quite a Kevin, but the [Supporter] was second- or third-best in everything he did, which meant he was still quite likable, and he could hang out with Earthers. Because Teres now hated him, it meant they were less predisposed to her, and she hadn’t exactly started high on their lists.

Yvlon thought it was rather petty of Colth. She had realized he was sabotaging Teres going after Pisces; it was obvious after Elena pointed it out, and she had stayed out of it.

She was watching the landscape slowly change. Hraace was not dynamically different from Portems, but it did change gradually as they went over the border. Portems had been fairly close to a drier version of Izril—it had enough water thanks to their ruler. Hraace was drier still, despite its proximity to the sea.

It seemed to favor the coast; at least, that was where the capital city was. Part of the nation was a peninsula that jutted out to sea that Yvlon could glimpse past a sparkling green bay. The water was a stark contrast with the yellowed rock and sands, and the farming did not look promising. Still, there were decent herds of goats and sheep, and if Hraace was not as remarkable as Yvlon had thought and this turned out to be a waste of time, it had only taken two days and they looked to be getting to the capital around evening.

She had the chance to bring up Colth’s actions when he leapt into their carriage, grinning; Pisces was sitting on the roof with Trey, having a longer conversation about upgrading Minizi. That meant Yvlon could bring up what Colth was doing as Elena braided Ceria’s hair.

“There’s this popular manga with someone who looks sort of like you. Let me juuust do a braid like this. You need to look goofier.”

“Manga? What’s that? Erin said your world likes Elves. How’s this for goofy?”

Ceria pulled a face. Elena shook her head.

“No, more…clueless? Hapless? Manga’s like comics. And uh, comics are like images instead of words telling a story? Oh! There’s one that Maximillian keeps talking about with a white-haired Elf girl. What do you think about being a famous species everyone likes?”

The half-Elf closed her eyes.

“Eh, I can see it. Humans like us, or the look of us or having something of us…sexually…but then they realize they’re not us. They can’t be us. They’re dying and we’re not, and we have gifts, and they hate us. Which is fair because when you meet us, we suck. Did you meet any of us in Terandria?”

“Just one fellow. He was a bit…persnickety? Peculiar. He did the same thing every day, and if you messed him up—”

“That. That’s real half-Elf right there. Dead gods, but the more annoying they get, the better they are. What was his thing?”

“Violins. And swordsmanship.”

“How good was he?”

“I saw him best a ghost. And a lot of other things. He was a good guy. I…wish I’d stayed with them, honestly, but Cara’s been searching for Earthers, and someone had to know what was up with Wistram, you know?”

Elena brushed at her eyes for a second, and Ceria stared up at her with a smile that was kind and distant, an adventurer’s smile, and in its way, far colder and more dangerous than any of her imagined counterparts. Because she could care and see Elena’s grief. And be watchful and wary and put those emotions somewhere else when she had to.

She was gauging Elena as well, and Colth glanced at Yvlon’s decorated arms as Ceria patted Elena’s hand.

“We’ll take care of you if you want to come with us. But death’s just around the corner.”

“I want to matter. And I’m good at being a follower. And a servant. I…was one for months. You can tell me what to do, and I’ll just do it sometimes. It’s why I don’t want to be alone on the way back. Just in case.”

Ceria nodded.

“Got it. Then you’re with us. Ooh, I like the pigtails? No, I don’t. Yes, I do? It makes me look like a kid. If I want people to underestimate me, I’ll do this. What’s the other half-Elf girl do?”

“Her name’s Marcille, and I think she mostly gets grossed out at eating monster parts. The entire manga is about eating monsters to survive, I think…”

“What. That’s Falene. I’ll eat monsters all day! Give me a bug! Watch me suck out its abdomen!”

Yvlon turned from the conversation to Colth. The [Ultimate Supporter] was happily grinning as Teresa gave him a devil’s glare from the other coach. Gazi was sitting with her, still, but notably upwind of Teres.

“Colth, do you have to torment her? She’s interested in Pisces, right?”

Ceria and Elena glanced up as Colth turned.

“Oh, yes, she is. I think she’s hoping for some ‘levelling’ after a few ‘spars’. Real and in bed. She’s not a bad swordswoman, but she’s Gold-rank at best.”

He waggled his eyebrows to make sure Yvlon got it, and she folded her arms neutrally. Which she really was on the matter. She glanced at the roof of the carriage.

“Pisces is an adult. She’s a bit younger, but if she’s leading, let him turn her down.”

“Sniffmaster Pisces isn’t always on top of his game. He could be seduced into it.”

“Isn’t that his choice? She’s an Earther, Colth. It’s a miracle she’s survived in the King of Destruction’s company, let alone as a soldier. Let her be, surely.”

Yvlon felt a flash—a memory of a group of Blighted Kingdom soldiers. Youthful faces leading the charge, too strong and fast for their age, like Gold-rank adventurers or better. A stunned young woman falling over the ship’s edge as she stared at the bloody mess of her front.

Earthers. Yvlon shut her eyes hard at the memory and knew Ceria was remembering the same thing.

“They’re children. More than you or I. Give her a break, Colth.”

Her voice was rough, perhaps because she understood more than Colth who these people were. But he just folded his arms.

“She’s killed at least a hundred men and women. She’s an adult by any standard, Yvlon. We’re a team. I’m looking out for Pisces.”

“By not letting him even realize what’s going on?”

Colth stretched out his legs across the carriage, then curled up like a cat.

“It’s not my fault he can’t see a pink sail in the winds. Let me put it another way to you, Yvlon. Let’s say Teresa was approaching you about Ksmvr and asking if he was free for some fun. What would you say?”

She didn’t have to think.

“She’s not good enough for Ksmvr. And he’s too young!”

Yvlon glowered at the thought. Colth pointed a finger at her.

“And she’s good enough for Pisces?”

“Well…it’s not serious. Pisces has had a hard time of late, Colth. Some companionship might be for the best. Maybe.”

Yvlon lost her certainty in that statement as she said it. She knew the adventurer lifestyle, which was rough and tumble, but she had to own she’d done less, uh, tumbling between the sheets than her rank and experience indicated.

The Silver Spears, her knockoff group of the Silver Swords, had tried to emulate their ideals. Yvlon had been a [Lady], even if she’d aspired towards copying Ylawes. She and her teammates had largely kept their noses clean.

Oh, they’d had…encounters, but very chaste ones by adventurer standards, and by the time she’d joined the Horns, Yvlon had been nursing a broken arm, which was also infected, most of the time. Not exactly the mood to flirt with anyone.

Ceria and Colth were more knowing, it seemed, and Ceria opened her eyes as she was given a ‘Frieren’ look, which she grimaced at.

“Okay, these are just children, Elena. Colth, Pisces could get his heart hurt a bit, but he’s a big boy. Lay off?”

It wasn’t an order, but an invitation for Colth to argue his point. He placed his fingers together.

“She’s not the one. She’ll drive him crazy; she wants to hit Level 40, then Level 50, and she’ll be trying to get him to show her his swordplay day and night.”

“So?”

Ceria didn’t seem to see the problem, but Colth pulled out a cigar, of all things, and offered it to Yvlon, who passed, then Elena, who sniffed at it but announced she wasn’t a fan. He gave it to Ceria and lit one himself. Colth sat back, blew a smoke ring, and pontificated.

“I’m all for a Pisces-distraction with the right lady. Or lad. But he’s only into the ladies, it would seem.”

Yvlon shifted, slightly uncomfortable at how open Colth was about talking about…she was an adventurer, and you knew things existed, but Ceria didn’t even blink.

“Definitely the ladies. Here’s one. So if not a Teresa, whom? There was Selys, and he keeps blushing about steam baths, and there might have been…”

She glanced at Yvlon, and Colth filled in the sentence so smoothly Elena gasped.

“Erin Solstice.”

They stared at him, and he raised his hands.

“What? Am I wrong? No? Please, it’s obvious. But that’s my point. He never engaged, mostly, I think, because his head could stop a storm of arrows when it comes to romance, but infatuation is different from…”

He paused.

“I fell into infatuation with plenty of women. Never love.”

Yvlon was reminded the Eternal Virgin was a title appended to him from his high-profile romances with women he’d met and helped make into success stories. But Colth was a bit too knowing for her to give it credit.

“I don’t think he actually loved your [Innkeeper]. True, I haven’t known her as long, but it reminds me of [Soldiers] falling in love with their [Healers]. She was the first person to treat him well, wasn’t she?”

“For over half a decade? Probably.”

Ceria looked guilty as she sat up and promptly put the circlet on her head. Elena took it off on the pretense of adjusting Ceria’s hair and winked at Yvlon. Yvlon liked Elena already. Colth glanced at the rooftop and nodded.

“Would they have fit? Not for me to say. But he might have just loved her differently. I love Mihaela and Larracel, and once upon a time, I thought it was like a lover. It’s not. So—this Selys. Strongwilled? Intelligent?”

“Both. Clever as he is.”

“There you go. But it didn’t work for whatever reason, and here we are. Pisces escaped Roshal. That leaves a mark. Regardless of what they did or didn’t do…”

Yvlon’s arms rippled with the hint of spikes, and Colth went on, face smooth, voice controlled.

“…he’s not ready for a romance. A fling, yes.”

“Okay, then who?”

“Well, I was hoping Queen Jecaina, but he flubbed that one. And Mars wasn’t interested when I hinted, so that’s out.”

Ceria sat up so fast Elena poked her in the eye. The half-Elf’s laugh was of delight, Yvlon’s was of horror.

“Mars?”

Colth nodded. He put his hands behind his head.

“I’m picturing the next city we get to. Hraace, depending on what it’s like. A brothel. Not the top [Courtesan] or [Prostitute], mind you, but the owner herself. Sixties, a confident woman, the kind who’d sweep him off his feet, toss him to the winds, and leave him wandering around in a daze. Perfect heartbreak.”

“Dead gods, Colth.”

That was all Yvlon muttered, but Ceria was sniggering. She somehow got what Colth was saying.

“Impossible to make work. Okay, I hear you. Teresa?”

“Another idiot for the Necrolad to try and help or save. He’s soft-hearted. See, now, if he liked men, that would be easy. You go to a bar, you find the right group, and then you’d probably tap the biggest, roughest-looking fellow on the shoulder and see if he buys Pisces a drink or if he’s just the veneer. But I’ll work with what I have. Let me know if you want me to send anyone your way, Yvlon, Ceria.”

“Eh, I’m sort of more mercantile right now. That’s how I got one of my new spells. You find a susceptible high-level [Mage], let me know.”

Colth wrote that down. He turned to Yvlon with Elena and Ceria, and the [Armsmistress] leaned out the window.

“…Hraace is pretty picturesque, isn’t it?”

 

——

 

Hraace was indeed picturesque in an odd way, Pisces decided. He couldn’t articulate it until they heard a [Shepherd] bringing the goats into a pen for the night.

It was not merely the Prelon trees growing in orchards on cliffs, nor the [Farmers] tending to smaller plots of Yellats or arid plants. They weren’t that impressive; Wailant had a bigger farm, and Hraace did not speak of wealth.

Neither did it speak of poorness, to be sure, but it was no Medain. It was in the houses they passed, white stucco scraped clean, not dirty or cracked, in roofs that did not lack for shingles, in the toga a boy wore as he whirled a staff, sending goats jumping around him, and the horn he pulled out.

[Shepherd] boy brings his goats to pasture for the evening. What else could be more banal? Pisces sat with Trey and a repairing Minizi, whom they were trying to give a full skeleton instead of a few interconnected bones, albeit made of Bloodglass rather than metal or ivory. Pisces had speculated she was unable to grow without more structure.

The boy on the cliff put the slightly dented horn of a goat to his lips, and Pisces remembered something.

Hraace.

There had been a Hraacian in the King of Destruction’s army, hadn’t there. Who was it?

Right.

The [Drummer], Medacium. And he’d been—performative.

The first peal of the horn split the night air, a long, impressive sound from the boy’s horn. He blew a series of triumphant notes, and the goats jerked their heads up and turned to him.

It was a call for them to come hither, but it was also a song. Pisces blinked. He had never heard any [Shepherd] play a song from his horn. He leaned over the side of the carriage as Trey sat up.

“That’s good.”

No sooner had he said that then another sound played in the distance. Another [Shepherd] with their flocks. A similar horn, the notes amazingly clear and, Pisces realized, answering the first. The boy stood and turned his horn to the passing carriages. He waved and blew again—and then the second horncaller and a third played.

Like a strange serenade. The boy, in his toga and sandals, danced, waving, a delighted grin on his face when he took a gulp of air, and a goat did a backflip behind him. His eyes were locked on the magical carriages with every note of delight like any child would have when they saw what they took to be magical and important moments. But then he put the horn to his lips again.

He was, Pisces realized, showing off. He blew the horn until the carriage was long past his set of cliffs, as if he were the [Herald] of the King of Destruction himself.

“—Strange. So this is Hraace?”

Pisces murmured. The two wagons were passing around cliffs, headed towards that bay and outcropping along the sea, and when he craned his neck, he saw structures of white marble leading down to the white beaches of a harbor filled with fishers, boats, and nets, by the look of it.

Hraace looked picturesque, and the capital city seemed one of the nicer places in the world. Pisces remembered Erin’s beach and thought—here was a place that embodied the dream of her [Garden of Sanctuary].

Indeed, every person they saw on the road seemed to know their names as the carriages slowed to avoid hitting anyone. Even why they had come.

“Lady Pathseeker! The Horns of Hammerad, welcome to the Mentorship of Hraace! The Pedagogia awaits!”

One old man cast a finger down the slopes as he passed, a basket of Prelons in hand. He was a [Farmer] or [Orchard Tender] to look at him, but—Pisces figured it out now.

“They speak like [Actors].”

It was in his posture, the way he projected his voice. Emoting as if speaking to an audience. Trey raised his eyebrows.

“You know [Actors]?”

“Of course. We had some…that is, Erin invented them, one supposes. Is Hraace, ah, culturally inclined?”

The reply came not from Trey, but from the rooftop of the other carriage. A rather surly Teresa Atwood—who had gotten into it with Colth for reasons Pisces didn’t understand—and Gazi were near enough to hear without the constant rumble. It was Gazi who called back in a low, but conversational tone.

“All of Hraace are born for that stage, Pisces Jealnet. It was just never invented before now. They do fine reenactments and plays of a different kind. You met Medacium, the [Drummer]. Even the meanest hermit of Hraace can fit into the court of a [King], or so it’s said.”

Someone called up with a laugh and a bow: a woman who blew a kiss at Gazi.

“And we have, Lady Pathseeker, at the King of Destruction’s side for a lifetime of conquest! May it come again if the Pedagogia and the Mentorship wills it!”

Even the half-Gazer favored the woman with an indulgent smile, and the carriages rumbled onwards. Pisces was more and more confused.

Mentorship. He’d thought Hraace might be like Grimalkin’s training camp from hell if they ‘made’ [Heroes]. As the coaches rumbled down towards the city, the city was wide open. It was built of white marble that likely came from the surrounding cliffsides, and it had few roads. The city was exceptionally walkable, so many citizens wandered around with little vehicles except down the main roads.

It was hot in Hraace, even in the evening, but Pisces saw lines of people on the beaches hauling in nets from boats; the day’s catches.

Hraace would have a very fish-focused diet, then. Pisces wasn’t exactly happy about that after a month at sea. But the fish were colorful, bright red and blue, in the dappled emerald bays, and more importantly, Pisces saw the first animal unique to Hraace as the carriages slowed upon the beach and everyone clambered out.

“What is that?”

It looked like a…giant, blonde…well, Pisces had no word for it. It was long, wide in the middle and narrow at the ends, and curved upwards as he watched. No dog, no cat or other animal. Trey took one look and laughed.

“Sea lions!”

The Earthers pointed and laughed at the blonde, beige, and similarly-colored sea lions lounging on the beach. They were big, Pisces realized, maybe not Human-sized, but large enough. These ones had brilliant coats and oddly chubby faces, but they seemed to pose in the sunlight. Gazi, with a wry smile, shook her head.

“Idolions.”

Her main eye was fixed on something else in the distance, and she spoke to the group.

“Ah, the Mentorship is busy or we would have been welcomed. The Pedagogia is just up the stairs in the courtyard there. We have a moment to see.”

The fishers were bringing in the harvests as the Idolions watched. The animals were rather impressive with their splendid coats; Pisces saw one grooming itself, obsessively maintaining its glossy sheen. He found them a bit pretentious, which made Ceria’s next comment hurt.

“They look like you when you’re trying to be important, Pisces. See how they turn their noses up, Yvlon?”

The [Armsmistress] nodded.

“Do they hunt?”

“Not Idolions in Hraace.”

Gazi informed them. Sure enough—Pisces saw sweating, swearing men and women, mostly Humans, wrestling nets of fish onto the beach. They’d pull the fish out, sort them, toss some back into the waves, and then throw the Idolions one from every catch.

The lazy creatures just leapt up or did big jumps to catch the fish, then lay back down to sunbathe! The name became clear at once. Pisces stared at the Idolions, rather mystified why anyone let the wastes of blubber exist until there was a shout from down the beach.

“Crab! Sword Crab!”

“Oh dead gods.”

Teresa’s head snapped around, and she started running as Ceria groaned. The half-Elf tugged out a wand, and Pisces swore as he drew his rapier. Of all the times—!

Coasts had monsters, and Pisces had a new sympathy for anyone who fought Sword Crabs. One was scuttling out of the waves, clearly intent on reaping the harvest of fish and people for itself.

“Teres, get back! Minizi, you too!”

Trey was shouting in alarm as he fired [Bloodglass Arrows] at the distant Sword Crab. His aim was bad; people were running, and Ceria raised her wand, looking at Pisces. But she was also glancing at Gazi.

The Named-rank hadn’t moved. So the Horns hesitated—and the charging Teres never got a chance to engage the Sword Crab. There was an oun-oun-oun sound, and then no less than fourteen Idolions leapt off the beach, surging through the water at the Sword Crab.

The hungry crab saw a wave of Idolions swimming around it and stopped snapping at the nearest [Fishers]. It lashed out with that precise, dangerous slash Pisces had personally felt and cut an Idolion. But shallowly; the Idolion barked as it twisted away, the blubber saving it, and another flipped out of the water.

It smacked the Sword Crab in the eye-stalks with all its weight, and the crab recoiled. It went to snap the Idolion in half, but three more hammered it with their significant weight, crashing down out of the waves with that oun! sound. The Sword Crab whirled, snapping, but began staggering as the angry sea lions slammed into it from all sides.

It looked ridiculous until Pisces guessed each one had to weigh a thousand, maybe two thousand pounds as adults. And more and more were coming, until the Sword Crab realized it was going to be slammed into pieces if it didn’t retreat. It backed up, waving its claws, and the Idolions honked at the Sword Crab as it retreated into the waves.

Then they flopped back onto the beach, where the cheering Hraacians raced back to grab their nets—and feed their lazy protectors treats. The wounded one itself posed in the center, being given the most fish, and Pisces scratched his head.

He saw Teres halt on the beach, sword raised aimlessly as she stared at the defeated monster. Ceria whistled.

“Nice. So the Idolions protect the beach, and they get a cut of the fishing. No wonder Hraace looks nice.”

“They also save people from drowning or alert them when someone’s collapsed from sunstroke. They saved me when I first came here as a [Slave].”

Everyone looked at Gazi. Her orange-brown skin flushed.

“I couldn’t swim.”

Everyone watched the fishers continue their work, and Pisces frowned as he saw the biggest, fattest fish not going into the nets, but being tossed into the waves.

“Why do they do that? Toss the big fish?”

“Those are the pregnant ones, or the best catch. Overfish them and they’ll have fewer next year, and the next. They could fish three times as much, but they’d starve in a generation.”

One of Reim’s weary [Riders], who might have also been Hraacian or knew the culture, informed Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s brows rose.

“Forward-thinking of them.”

He couldn’t imagine many Drakes doing that. The Chandrarian Stitch-man raised a cloth helmet and grinned at Pisces.

“They’ve starved before, Adventurer. Before His Majesty broke Terandria’s back out here, they were tithing half their catches to that damned continent. Hraace is no mighty nation of warriors or agriculture. But it is respected and given access to any Chandrarian nation. Once, any continent welcomed them.”

“I’ve barely heard of them.”

Pisces admitted to the man, and the [Soldier] spat, earning him a disapproving glance from a Hraacian.

“Name me six Chandrarian nations famed as much as Terandria’s. When Chandrar is poor, Hraace is poor. Rich when rich. Just remember that when the King of Destruction was at his mightiest, we settled our debts to Terandria, Izril, and every other fairweather foe.”

“Noted, sir.”

Pisces nodded slowly. The [Soldier] bowed, then accepted the mop a Hraacian handed him pointedly and scrubbed at his own phlegm. In the distance, there was a commotion. Pisces saw a large fountain, a gathered crowd, and the now-familiar feel of [Scrying] spells. It looked like an amphitheater. A play of some kind?

Everyone was heading that way, and Pisces trooped after his team. He paused as another local animal native to Hraace passed by. He looked around, then bent to try and pet the cat. It was tawny, small, and blinked at him with two eyes screwed up as it waggled ragged ears and a pink nose.

The third eye in the center of its head opened and glowed. Pisces stared at the three-eyed Cat of Prophecy, and it leapt away, after the fish on the beach.

Hraace. Interesting start. The Pedagogia and the Mentorship—more interesting still.

 

——

 

Hraace reminded Elena Othonos a lot of her home nation.

Greece. And it wasn’t just the climate, nor even the proximity to water or similarities in building design; all these things made sense to her as a natural kind of geological happenstance. Nor did she mean the Greece of now, but the image that popped into a lot of people’s heads, the history that had never been quite as people imagined it, the Greece in popular cultural stories.

It felt a bit—mythological. Elena had travelled to a number of places now.

Noelictus, which was a gothic horror story with surprisingly warm people. Horrific undead and valiant, brave [Hunters] fighting in the darkness.

Wistram, the Academy of Mages, full of intelligence, if not wisdom, a resplendent magical shadow that could be better than it was and yet breathed magic and wealth.

Then Reim, which seemed to live for war and bloody battles, where great deeds and powerful people sat side-by-side with equally manifest injustice.

Beautiful, terrible, each one unto a story themselves, with delights for Elena’s eyes, but regrets she had not conceived of until she went there and saw how they could be so bitter in reality.

—Not vacation spots. Not one of your classic fantasies or even gentle in how they showed her their majesties. Hraace, now.

Hraace was beautiful and simply magical in the fish. Elena ate fish. She had never seen a resplendently red, vaguely carp-looking fish held aloft in a young boy’s hand, so mouthwateringly good-looking that she would have paid for a bite there and then. And the greenwater bay was as fine as the best tourist spot in her country.

And the cute cats! They all had three eyes, though kept their third eye in the center of their head closed, mostly. They’d open them rarely, often to illuminate nooks and crannies or, once, to flash a warning at someone about to step on them.

The point was that Hraace seemed like a place Elena would like to actually be—and it almost occurred to her that she could live somewhere like here, Germina, or even Khelt and not fear for her future.

—But the Horns of Hammerad called to her. They had the same air of Cara, Eldavin, and yes, Flos and the Quarass. People who would make important things happen. The difference was that Elena liked them, so she instantly cozied up to the Horn most crucial for her success.

“Adventurer Colth! Is it Colthei? Can I do anything for the Horns right now, or—what should I be doing?”

The green-haired man glanced around as Elena hurried over, whispering. Gazi was patiently herding the excited Earthers over to the amphitheater where everything was happening. Colth hesitated, then put on that fake smile. Elena wasn’t fooled.

If he didn’t like her, she was probably gone no matter what Ceria or Yvlon said. Colth was like one of her old bosses at a hair salon: good at his job, on top of you if you made a mistake, and able to ruin your day or life. You wanted him on your side or you got Teresa’s treatment.

Her approach worked. He looked her up and down, then took her aside.

“Elena, right? You might keep up. In moments like these, the Horns tend to blunder around. I’m often with them; you’re the kind of girl who can find the pulse of a city, right? It’s always important to know what’s going on. Big events first, scandals, who’s in trouble, and any Named-ranks or important people in the city. Then find out the details. Report to me.”

“If I get lost…?”

Colth made a show of flicking a speaking stone up.

“I make them myself. I can locate you as well. We’ll work on a few more backups. Do you have a knife?”

“Um. No.”

He handed her one. Elena took that more gingerly.

“Wouldn’t I just turn over my wallet, I mean, my money pouch if someone mugs me?”

“Oh, certainly. This one’s for monsters. They pop out of sewers sometimes. Or if you get assaulted, we’ll come running, but you don’t show them this. Wait till they’re distracted and try to shove it through their throat or ear. But watch out for groups.”

—Yep, Colth was the scariest member of the Horns. Yvlon was a softie. Colth gestured, and Elena moved away from the Horns, trying not to wonder if she was getting into things too fast. Then again, compared to how she’d first entered this world, running into the magic of Belavierr the Stitch Witch…

She’d been a prisoner in her own body for months, a screaming puppet until Cara found her.

Yeah.

This was easy.

As it so happened, the Horns and Elena and everyone else were merely observers of Hraace and the event going on in a very interesting amphitheater. Seated people were watching a group declaiming from the center. Elena saw two rows of rather well put-together men and women standing to the side of a single, grandmotherly woman.

A note here for Elena—they were all attractive. Not just your natural beauty, but makeup and hair on point. Beauty wasn’t something that faded with age; it just transformed, even if most people were shallow and thought you were hot then not after 40 years old.

Take the woman in the center dressed in a purple sash that left one shoulder bare, bronze skin shining in the evening light as she raised one hand upwards to project her voice. You’d think she was just some important person giving a speech, but here was what Elena noticed:

 

-She wasn’t using a speaking stone. This wasn’t a [Loud Voice] Skill. She was projecting, pure lungs and intonation.

-Her skin was smooth despite her age of, what, sixty-some years? Her hair was faded white, but she was in excellent condition. Did she have suntan oil on? Looked like it.

-Every person in the choir behind her—or whatever it was—was in fantastic shape. Late thirties or early forties at most; most were young and didn’t stand like lumps, but posed. Pensively, standing on their toes, to suggest rapt attention and focus the mood on the speaker.

-All of them had noticed the Horns and Gazi the moment they appeared at the top of the amphitheater, but were pretending they hadn’t seen as they continued speaking.

-A scrying orb with a yawning [Mage] of Wistram was here. The crowd seemed a bit bored, as if they’d heard this before, but the Hraacians, the Mentorship, were doing their best. Was this being broadcast?

 

She whispered some of this to Colth, to prove she was smart enough, and got a chuckle of approval from the speaking stone.

“I got that, but good job.”

Yep, he didn’t need her to state the obvious. Elena listened—and the nature of Hraace was immediately evident to her. She blinked, then laughed in the crowd despite herself as the Pedagogia of Hraace, their leader, Araxia, spoke. Oh, really? This was Hraace?

Okay.

 

——

 

When she spoke, she sounded like she was speaking to her audience. The Pedagogia Araxia took a bow and then began; the Horns had arrived just in time.

 

“We are the Mentors of Hraace!

Patrons of the arts, and mentors of heroes.”

 

A stir went through the crowd of Hraacians. This wasn’t news to them, but they nodded with evident pride. The Wistram [Mage] blinked, scratching at a scab on her neck, but a susurration, no, voices ran through the crowd.

They were coming from the group behind the Pedagogia. The men and women murmured, loud enough to be heard in the amphitheater due to the acoustics, but they were also pitching their voices.

At first, it sounded like they were whispering too loudly, but it became obvious this was like sidebar commentary.

 

“Real [Heroes], darlings. Not like Doubte.”

“Oh no, not like Doubte. That wasn’t us.”

“Wasn’t our fault.”

“No one asked us, poor man.”

 

The Pedagogia shushed her followers theatrically and turned a smile back to the scrying orb, which she was emoting for. That was how the play, no, performance went. The background speakers would chime in anecdotes and provide props or staging—an earlier form of a play.

 

“That’s a story for another time.

But perhaps you’ve heard of the King of Reim?

Mars the Illusionist? Queravia the Gambler of Fates?”

 

One of the young women with frizzy, black hair whirled out of the crowd, twirled—and a passing imitation of Mars appeared. A woman in armor with flowing red hair blowing behind her.

Another stepped forwards, unsheathed a sword, and planted it at his feet, imitating Flos. A third flipped a coin up and whirled—

A Stitch-woman with dark-brown skin, piercing yellow eyes, and a smile half-hidden by an opera mask caught the shining coin. The performer captured something in that smile, wild chance and daring, the willingness to bet thousands of lives on a single coin toss.

Queravia, the Gambler of Fates.

Then they stepped back, flourishing as they shed their disguises. The rest loudly tittered and commented.

 

“That was us. We taught all three, you know.”

“When Hraace finds you, Chandrar is never the same.”

“—And none of those were even [Heroes].”

 

Araxia slashed a hand.

 

“We were there when the King of Destruction rose.

Forty years ago, the era was ready to change.

Chandrar was reeling, bleeding, pleading—

The injustice had half the continent seething!”

 

“If they dared to say a thing, of course.”

 

“Terandrians had the coast from Hraace to Laineq

Colonies of Humans on the east, Lizards to the west—

Shield Kingdom Ainmel died a pitiful death

And all nations wondered, who’s next? Who’s next?”

 

You’d think they’d do some pantomime here, but they just produced a map of Chandrar on a wheeled platform and began pointing out nations. Murmurs in the crowd; the Wistram [Mage] frowned as if trying to remember the nations that one of the Mentorship began crossing out.

In the crowd, Pisces winced. It felt like ancient history to him, but he saw half a dozen nations vanishing. He did know of the Shield Kingdom Ainmel dissolving. Chandrar had manifestly not been doing well. Until—

 

“Then came a boy from Reim.

Just a little kid, a thirteen-year-old sprout—”

 

The frizzy-haired young woman cupped her mouth and called out to the crowd with a laugh.

 

“Handsome as could be, even then.

Ladies, if you think he passes all the scores now? Whoo.

You should have seen him in his youth.”

 

The Pedagogia shot her an annoyed look, as if this part weren’t in the script. Or it could have been acted out.

 

“The boy won a war with his people in mind

Not a lot of sense but a whole desert of pride

I heard him cry, I heard him ask

Where’s the justice? Why do people sigh?

Then I knew we had a hero in time

A man who could unite Chandrar—

That boy from Reim.”

 

Her eyes twinkled as she drew a clearly ornamental bronze sword from her side.

 

“He could barely swing a sword, all bravery and not a lot of sense.

Whether or not you think he went too far—

He cleared Chandrar of its rot.

But who do you think taught him to hold that sword?”

 

The rest of the Mentorship called out.

 

“He did do that.”

“The Black Judgement. The Chorded Empire.”

“If it was before your time, children. That’s good.”

“That’s just fine. Some people deserve death.”

“That’s our King of Reim.”

 

Pisces, sitting in the audience, was thoroughly entertained, mostly by the style of this quasi-play. He was, of course, a student of history, so this was eminently interesting to him, even if he regarded the entire retelling as somewhat false.

Bold claim to take credit for the King of Destruction’s rise in no uncertain terms. He saw Ceria snorting and eating some roasted fish she’d somehow already bought. Yvlon was doing that polite smile that said she wasn’t sure how entertained she was, and the Earthers were fidgeting.

Not all of the crowd was thoroughly entertained, whether by a lack of entertainment in the performance—which Pisces thought was good—or because they’d heard it before. The Hraacian crowd was clearly watching the scrying orb, and some were staring at hand-mirrors.

This had to be being broadcast, but if the dissatisfied scowl from the Wistram [Mage] and a few of the Hraacians was a judge, it wasn’t getting the airtime anyone wanted.

However, then the Pedagogia swung the sword, and Pisces blinked. She whirled it around in one hand, performing a three-hundred-and-sixty degree spin without it coming out of her hand, three times, thrusting it into the air, spinning the blade, reversing the grip and slashing in economical, yet showy swordswomanship behind her. She planted the sword in the ground with a single thrust, and Pisces almost applauded that alone.

Earthers, Horns, and even the Wistram [Mage] sat up a bit. Gazi didn’t blink; she had that faint smile on her face as she watched the Pedagogia. No surprise.

That wasn’t fake swordplay. Nor was it a Skill! Seeing an old woman do that with a blade made Pisces take the rest of the performance more seriously.

—Unfortunately, at this point, a mistake was made, and it was as a series of actors, arrayed in costumes of soldiers, dignitaries, an imperious [King] with robes, all strode forwards to the side of the amphitheater, and Pisces realized this wasn’t the performance…this was the beginning. The Pedagogia swept out a hand with a huge smile as two shimmering curtains appeared behind her.

Illusion spells.

 

“It’s a long tale, but hear us out—

It’s a true story with a lot of heart

It’s got a sad ending but hear us out

You have to know how we got to this part.”

 

Then—they began a play of the King of Destruction’s rise to power, a three-act structure with intermissions, actual swordplay on stage, and all Seven of the King of Destruction’s vassals and their histories told in brevity as the young boy of Reim rose to power, aged and conquered, then fell into despair as his beloved [Strategist] died and his dreams became too weighty.

It was a two-and-a-half hour play. Pisces sat, rising to applaud at the end with an empty basket of popcorn at his feet. A hundred other Hraacians applauded as well, and the Pedagogia came out, bowed, then scowled at the dead scrying orb and the snoozing Wistram [Mage].

“That was entirely splendid. I can see why we came. Hraace is a cultural touchstone that the King of Destruction has indeed lost from his courts, and if they really are capable of training fine legends, we had doubtless avail ourselves of their services.”

Pisces turned to his team…and saw Maximillian sitting with rapt attention in his seat. He saw no one else. No Trey, no Gazi, no Teres, no Ceria, Yvlon, Elena, Colth…

Pisces folded his arms, glowering. Some people had no taste.

 

——

 

The Mentorship of Hraace had a problem, and Elena realized it as soon as she ‘got’ their schtick. They were performers, good ones. They had stagecraft, presence, and it seemed at least some actual abilities with swords and whatnot.

—But they were old-fashioned, out of date in this modern day and age. They were trying to adapt to the scrying orb, to television, and it wasn’t working.

Oh, the performing was good. The play wasn’t. Someone had clearly seen the Players of Celum, tried to copy them, and had written a passingly good screenplay—the props were on point—but the amphitheater wasn’t the right venue. The Hraacians had viewed this performance too many times to be into it and give the energy the play needed, and the Wistram [Mage] wasn’t tracking the performance or doing camera-work.

Moreover, if Elena could offer some notes—the Mentorship’s style was old-fashioned. For instance, when the King of Hellios, the late King Treland, was facing down the young King Flos, there was this exchange.

 

“Yield the northern cities of Caskel, Noith, Lagret to me and I will not cut down another harvest of your citizens, boy.”

To which the boy raised his chin and responded—

“I do not desire any harvest, Treland. But take your armies into my land and I will have your head!”

 

To which the entire cast of the Hellios court was set ablaze with gasps and cries, and King Treland turned his head incredulously. Then, the cast of the Mentorship called out into the crowd.

 

“What was that? What did he say?”

“He’ll have his head? Did I hear him right?”

 

They were trying to get the audience to gasp and play into the moment and shout back. Two problems. One, the crowd wasn’t that into it. They were watching the scrying orb and probably counting how many people were tuning into the broadcast—not many, if the emptying seats were any indication.

Second—it didn’t work. The scrying orb wasn’t showing the audience, so this crowd-engagement only worked in person, and all the energy of the performances fell flat when you translated it into, well, television.

Elena was a bit familiar with this from Cara’s rants about the stage, which Elena wasn’t that big a fan of. Famous musicals and performances that hit Broadway or other stages fell flat when brought to the silver screen because the way you performed for a camera was completely different than for the stage. Maybe not vastly, visibly different, but it made an effect.

“They’re doing call-and-response. This is so bad.”

She covered her face, trying not to laugh at the genuinely hard work on display, but it was terrible. The Pedagogia and her people were among the amphitheater, calling out and trying to get the audience riled up.

One of them actually heard Elena as Gazi jerked a thumb and Trey and Teres got up to go. The frizzy-haired one, who looked to be twenty-seven, turned, and Elena tried to look innocent. But the member of the Pedagogia’s court, or her acolyte or whatever she was, took a swift look around for Araxia herself, then leaned over and whispered—really whispered, not stage-whispered—at Elena.

“It is bad. This isn’t making the top of any television network. You can leave if you want. It doesn’t get better. Stick around for the end of the Black Judgement if you want. There’s a good fight scene, but the rest is just politics.”

Elena gave the woman a relieved smile.

“Thanks! Sorry! It is good, just not—”

“It’s a stupid waste of time. We practiced for two months and booked Wistram, and look at how many people we’re impressing. A hundred worldwide? You’re the people we should have been seeking out, and His Majesty of Destruction. Hopefully, the Pedagogia sees that.”

The young woman brushed at her hair, then began cheering as the young King Flos parried King Treland’s sword and the two were dragged back. She broke off the loud applause and whistling to whisper to Elena.

“See you later, Elena Othonos.”

Elena jumped. She saw the young woman wink and realized they knew exactly who she was, despite not sitting with the Horns.

“Um—thanks? Who are you?”

“Delitandra of the Mentorship of Hraace! Trainer of [Heroes]. Or so I hope.”

Her eyes flickered across the Horns of Hammerad, Gazi, Trey, Teres, and back to Elena. She smiled, and Elena took a breath.

Okay. Interesting.

Here came the flaws and infighting Colth had wanted her to find out. Gorgeous, cultural coastal paradise it might be, but Hraace had a problem.

 

——

 

Gazi Pathfinder didn’t stay for the play, which recounted the events she had lived through. She surveyed the land of Hraace and found it not wanting, but certainly not impressive.

“Gazi? Was the play inaccurate, or were you just bored?”

“It was hardly Hraace’s best moment. They are not playwrights. They are performative, not performers. It seems the Pedagogia is at least aware Hraace’s reputation is failing. Which is well; she may be more inclined to heed His Majesty’s will.”

And train us like they trained him. Trey kicked along the beach as Minizi ran about, searching for foes to attack with her mithril sword. Gazi never really knew what to make of Minizi. Trey had said he just made her as a project, but he hadn’t decommissioned the Golem.

Also, the rest of the Seven seemed to like Minizi more than Gazi. She had been described as ‘cute’ by even Takhatres. Gazi stuck out her foot, and the Lifesand Golem plunged into a wave. Trey bit his lip.

“Er…so this is Hraace.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s nice?”

A bland answer. Teres stomped up behind them and folded her arms.

“It’s weak. Venith could conquer this place with a single battalion.”

Trey rolled his eyes at Teres, and Minizi came charging out of the wave to kick and punch at Gazi’s leg. However, Gazi took Teres’ side for once as she put a hand on her claymore’s hilt.

Minizi decided to go look for crabs.

“Teres is right. Hraace’s army is pitiful, even by the standards of this region. Nor are they a nation of great metallurgy or food. It is indeed beautiful, though.”

Even at night, you could see people in the bay. Gazi’s eyes saw, sixty feet distant, a girl on a boat staring into the water with her father. He had a bucket lined with glass at the bottom; they used it to get a clear view of luminescent fish swimming underwater.

“That looks sort of fun. Want to try that, Gazi? We’re not meeting the Pedagogia today, are we?”

“We were scheduled for tomorrow, dawn. And no, Trey. My eye can see the fish clearly.”

Trey sighed. He must have liked fish; Gazi was thoroughly sick of them from her month of waiting at Wistram. Teres’ head scanned the city.

“I don’t get how another nation hasn’t swept in and conquered them. Medain’s High King would.”

“That’s because they are the Heromakers of Hraace, Teres. They occupy a role that nations covet, hence their ability to enter other lands. Better to have them around than destroy them…but that is not a guarantee, hence their desperation to stay relevant.”

Teresa nodded, raising her brows at Gazi.

“And they’re that good at training? That Pedagogia seemed to say she taught Flos how to use a sword.”

She snorted, and Gazi smiled with a bit of nostalgia.

“She did. Araxia was assigned to His Majesty. She campaigned with him for twenty years and taught him much of his swordsmanship. He learned in battle, of course, but the Heromakers are good at their jobs. His Majesty would not waste our time otherwise.”

“Really?”

That fascinated the twins. Trey lifted his staff.

“What about magic?”

“They are as good as any tutelage you would get outside of Wistram, and better than many within, Eldavin being a notable exception.”

“Do they have a mage academy?”

Again, Gazi shook her head.

“No. They could not train a generation of [Mages]. One or two, though…their entire nation is devoted to training the finest. Torreb came here, though I doubt they taught him as extensively. Queravia did learn here—they train promising candidates, but they judge and create [Heroes].”

“Why haven’t we seen many, then?”

That came from Teres, and Gazi kicked at the sand.

“Few are worthy. And making them is dangerous. The Heromakers have a duty, and they take it as seriously as a Shield Kingdom. Preventing the wrong sort from taking the [Hero] class is their duty on Chandrar, and it is why only Doubte remains as a [Hero] of this age not ordained by them.”

“I don’t hear of Izril, Terandria, or the other continents having problems with [Heroes].”

Teresa’s voice was suspicious. Gazi favored her with a big smile.

“They are rare. But when they arise, they damn Walled Cities if they become corrupt or evil. They become foul monsters. Let me think of an example that suits. Ah. Oteslia, the City of Growth, produced a [Hero] of great note six centuries ago.”

“Oteslia’s still around. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it on the news.”

Trey pointed out cautiously. Teresa gave him an arch look. Gazi’s smile widened.

“Did you see the smaller city next to it with the giant flower growing in the shade of the vast World Tree?”

The [Sand Mage] frowned and scratched his head.

“…No, I think I would have remembered that.”

“Exactly.“

Both twins stirred, and Gazi leaned on her sword. She kept staring around with her eyes. She felt…unsettled. Not by the Pedagogia; she was no longer a child, just nervous about whether she would be accepted.

She felt like someone was avoiding her eye. And she didn’t like that.

“Let us find a place to eat. The Pedagogia has allocated us somewhere to rest. Prepare yourselves, for tomorrow we shall meet her.”

“Any tips?”

Teresa’s eyes sparkled, and Gazi glanced at her.

“She will see through you. Hope she places a bet on your head, or the others in the Mentorship do. And do not eat a large breakfast. It may come back up.”

 

——

 

The Pedagogia Araxia was not a happy woman when called upon the next day. She was reading a report on how many people had watched the reenactment of the King of Destruction’s rise and was arguing with her Mentorship.

The ‘court’ of Hraace was hardly so formal. The Pedagogia was no real ruler, just the first of them. That meant something, but they were so uppity these days.

“I told you, I told you it wouldn’t gain traction.”

Delitandra was too strident, even pointing out the correctness of her words. She was young, vibrant, ready, and Araxia was the old woman with old ideas. Not so long ago, Araxia had been in her shoes, arguing that the young boy-king of Reim was worth taking a chance on.

She’d been right then, and she didn’t feel old or stupid now. Just…annoyed by the changing world.

Damn that Singer of Terandria. She was changing things too fast, and Araxia didn’t get the new rules of the game.

“We do not do such works purely to entertain. That was meant to remind Chandrarians of why the King of Destruction was needed. To inform the world and give caution!”

“Well, it’s cautioned all twenty-six people who saw it. Were we at the King of Destruction’s side, they’d know our names. For the same woman who helped him the first time, you’ve forgotten how you became Pedagogia, Araxia!”

That was too far; Araxia was still in command, and the rest of the Mentorship murmured as Delitandra refused to apologize or back down. The Pedagogia flicked a finger.

“Out of my sight. You may wait with the Followers when we greet our supplicants.”

Delitandra went with her cortège of supporters, and Araxia sighed. There was a truth to the stinging words.

Hraace was, as everyone had noted, a country that could not exist alone. Like a small fish that clung to larger ones and cleaned their gills and removed parasites, Hraace found people to support and was in turn supported in time.

When one of their students became famous, some of that wealth and security flowed back to Hraace. It would have been easy to go back to the King of Destruction, but…it had not been a bet Araxia had liked.

“He is no longer that boy-king with fate and goodness and youth on his side. He is another [King], the mightiest of them, but Hraace does not bet. It predicts. We are oracles, not speculators!”

She called after Delitandra, and her voice was loud enough to echo throughout the tall temple the Mentorship worked from. No reply was her rebuke, and it still stung.

Fuming, Araxia sat back and drummed her fingers on the armrest of her seat. She took a gulp of Prelon-flavored milk, a refreshing delicacy in the heat, and spoke.

“I divine.”

The Mentorship looked up, and Araxia activated a Skill. Her eyes rolled into her head, and she spoke first of mundane things.

“—It shall be a great storm tomorrow. Do not bother with the fields today.”

Someone ran her words to a [Message] scroll where they would be sent from city to city. [Farmers] and [Fishers] would take note, one to perhaps avoid watering their crops, and another to plan around the increased fish activity—and the danger of the storm.

Or not. A [Farmer] in Hraace might well keep watering his crops as he pleased.

It was a prediction. Not a certainty.

Araxia had used her [Forecast] Skill to predict a storm, but it might be a storm that could be mitigated by some magical or Skill-based event. Or the storm might hit only part of Hraace. Or it might not be a storm of water.

Predictions were like that. Araxia was, among her classes, an [Oracle], and even she did not trust to her words entirely. But they did help. The second thing she did was speak a somewhat desperate Skill.

“[Predict Cultural Trend]. Hmm. I see. Someone…give me a mirror. Hand-sized. And a stick?”

People ran to do her bidding, and the Pedagogia frowned at something, an idea more than a vivid image, and tried to make what she was seeing.

“It is this device…on a stick. Only, it angles back towards you that you might hold it up to see yourself. A miniaturized scrying instrument, I think, capable of taking images and recordings.”

“And the stick?”

“A way to capture yourself, I think. Bah.”

The Pedagogia tossed the stick away, virulently annoyed by the waste of her Skill. There had been a time when the Skill was useful—now, she just got strange nonsense like that. Hraace lived by surfing the furthest wave of what was going on, but things were changing too fast.

The King of Destruction knew why. She should just tie Hraace to him, but if he fell, Hraace would burn. Hraace might burn for joining him…

Risk and reward. If she’d declared for Flos at the start, she might have lost Hraace or now be counted among his sworn allies. If she did it now, he would be far less grateful. She just wanted to find…

A [Hero].

Each year at three times, in the summer, autumn, and winter, people would come to Hraace from across Chandrar. Once, from across the world. They would be vetted, tested for everything from their appearance to their classes to their potential and personality, and be trained if they were worthy.

Normally a day or two, weeks or months rarely. If one was truly worthy and the moment was right, if Chandrar called out for them…or if the stage was set, Hraace would name them a [Hero].

But it was not easy. It was not lightly done. There were specific conditions to be met to make a [Hero], and only the Pedagogia and a few select rulers knew what they were. Hraace kept its eyes and ears open, ventured across Chandrar to inspect likely candidates. They had to train [Heroes] as they emerged. It was their calling.

They’d missed Doubte. Araxia’s predecessor had missed the [Hero] and resigned as a result. Araxia was the Pedagogia of now for having seen the King of Destruction. Forty years of ruling a nation, and it was no small thing, even if it was a smaller nation like Hraace. She did not want to lose her seat by missing, and she knew she’d have one chance.

So—when the Horns of Hammerad, Gazi Pathseeker, and the two twins and odd children came into her presence, she studied them. Hard. Looking to see if they had that potential that would make them legends if they were nurtured right. True [Heroes] to shake this world to its core.

They needed one, Araxia felt. Something was wrong in Rhir; they had requested her visit, and her emissaries had not said why…but they feared the Blighted Kingdom had begun making [Heroes] of their own. [Heroes] were such odd classes. Everyone thought them to be no more than a powerful warrior hybrid, like a [General] was strong.

They were wrong. [Heroes] had terrifying Skills and classes. They were too powerful. They had to balance power and fame and temptation and so much more. So…her visitors. Were they worthy? The moment they walked in, Araxia heard Delitandra place a bet, which told her what the young Mentor thought.

 

——

 

The Mentorship lived in a huge temple on the top of the city that you had to climb a thousand steps to get to. Pisces was still smacking his lips from the beautiful red fish he’d eaten; the food here was most excellent.

Colth was nervous, fiddling with the clothing he’d made everyone wear, and Ceria was letting Elena mess with her hair. Yvlon’s arms were already decorated, and she was massaging her forehead.

“Bad sleep, Yvlon?”

“On the contrary, Pisces. I felt like I tried to do too much. My head hurts…let’s get this over with so we can go find your people.”

Gazi was incredibly nervous as she fussed with her shiny armor. She strode ahead of them, posture immaculate, all eyes forwards, and Pisces relished this rare moment of uncertainty from her.

“Welcome, guests of Reim and Izril! Step forwards—the Pedagogia awaits. She shall hear the King of Destruction’s words, then judge you!”

Someone called to the group at the door, but there was no formal hush, and indeed, a buzz of voices arose from the Mentorship gathered on each side of the temple’s opening. They stood there, craning for better views, reading from paper in their hands, pointing at the Earthers, Horns, Gazi, and talking.

It was…rather like being an animal on display at an auction. Pisces would have said a [Slave]—but they weren’t so wretched or cruel or filthy as that. Pisces glanced from side to side, trying to keep his head high, casual, until he realized they were judging him on that, too.

“Good composure on the Horns of Hammerad. You can see they’ve passed their rookie status as Gold-rankers.”

“Lady Pathseeker’s not levelled much…even from Wistram. Armor’s broken, of course.”

“Some kind of hairdresser in the lot? She’s not bad.”

“—Hardly a crop of [Heroes] in the children. They’re fairly ordinary.”

The Earthers blushed or joked or tried to look good, embarrassed or offended, and Pisces thought the comments were from the lower-level Mentorship. The higher-ranking ones were at the back of the room, mostly…except for that one Elena had met.

Delitandra posed, head tilted to one side, as striking as any of the Players of Celum, eyes narrowed as she ignored the Earthers and Gazi and studied only the Horns and Trey and Teres. She watched them pass as Elena waved at her, and she stared hard at Pisces. Ceria. Yvlon.

Trey. But her eyes lit on the Horns longest. Then she said something odd.

“Augury! They will be a Named-rank team within a year if they live. Worth teaching.”

Every head turned. Pisces’ cheeks turned red, but the speculative silence that arose said this was more than a verbal bet or an idle compliment. Colth began grinning, and Delitandra amended her bet.

“Even more unto a bet—not only will they be a Named-rank team, more members than not will be Named-ranks themselves. And—at least one will pass Level 50.”

“A serious claim, Delitandra. You’ll put your rank and name on it?”

Someone murmured, a man in a toga who wrote this down as Delitandra jerked her head at them. She favored Pisces with a huge smile.

“I do. Tell the Pedagogia I will be training them if no one else does.”

Colth rubbed his hands together, grinning, as an audible ‘oooh’ swept through the temple. He nudged Pisces repeatedly, and Pisces hissed.

“What the heck does that mean?”

“It means they think we’re promising, Lord of the Sniffs; try not to blow it!”

Gazi seemed disgruntled by the augury focusing on the Horns, and she strode ahead of them as Trey hurried to keep up. Pisces followed, seeing the familiar bronze-toned woman with the white hair held back by a headband that seemed less like a crown and more like a hair ornament. Was she a ruler like the others? She had…something to her. Not a ruling presence, Pisces realized as she glanced at him.

She was a [Mage]. A good one. She reminded him a bit of the Quarass; her gaze was knowing, and then she spoke, and he changed his mind.

She mostly reminded him of Erin when she was giving orders. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

 

——

 

“Fail, Gazi Pathseeker. I don’t see the makings of a [Hero] in you. I do see promise and a need to reinvent your legend. So I do grant you and your companions a week. In light of our long friendship with Flos Reimarch.”

Pedagogia Araxia said that before Gazi said anything. The half-Gazer was mid bow and straightened, seeming disappointed, but not surprised.

“Can I not convince you to change your mind, Araxia?”

“My eyes are older, but they deceive me as little as yours, Gazi.”

There was an indulgent smile in Araxia’s voice, for all it was strict. Gazi fidgeted.

“My armor…”

“…is a crutch you relied on during the campaign. You should have taken it off when Flos fell into slumber. But I can’t fault you for that. You shall take off your armor and train without for the day when it fails. Now, step forwards, Teresa Atwood, the [Blade of War] for a king with too many.”

She wasn’t making a good impression on Reim’s people. Trey and Teres bristled at the brusque way Gazi was shuffled off to the side, for different reasons. For once united, the two strode forwards and gave Araxia a glare. She gave Teres an idle stare.

“Not you. Pass. Thorough, I grant you…there’s something here. No [Hero] in the lot of you, but there’s consideration here. Two weeks. Now, Nawalishifra of doomed Clan Tannousin.”

Teresa wavered, hesitating, and lost her chance to speak as Nawalishifra stepped forwards. The normally sharp-tongued [Smith] seemed nervous.

“Doomed Tannousin, Pedagogia? They left Reim without a hand against them. Has something happened…? I am indeed Nawal. Formerly of—”

Pedagogia Araxia nodded, speaking over her briskly. Not unkindly, but as if this were a waste of time that was best omitted for all’s sake.

“Yes, I am aware. Clan Tannousin has returned to their regular hunting grounds, and they are, as yet, unmolested, but what else would you call a clan that drove away its finest [Smith] and piled her father’s shame on her? Already, the younger members splinter and war with the elders. It shall collapse, and may the secrets of Naq-Alrama steel not die with it. You are in need of tutelage in the art of metalcraft. Jewelry, I think. You must rediscover your love of smithing. Three weeks.”

Startled, blushing, Nawal bowed deeply.

“I am no stuff of warriors, though, Pedagogia…”

“You are one of Chandrar’s [Smiths]. Not one of the greats. Yet. It is worth training you. Next, Trey Atwood. Let’s see the boy who tricked Wistram. Scheming cannot be taught in the same way; you shall have a list of books to read, but magic? Oh, yes. Prep the training Golems for his creation. If Minizi overtakes them within the three weeks of his study, he will doubtless level. Some statecraft won’t go amiss either. If only to have him fit the august courts of Khelt, Ger, and so on.”

She beckoned Trey aside.

“Maximillian. Hm. No [Hero], but—do you have the will to be a [Warrior], young man?”

Maximillian shuffled forwards nervously. He cleared his throat.

“I, uh—yeah, but not fighting. Not war. I’ve seen enough of that, and George…no, Miss. I mean, Pedagogia.”

She gave him a polite smile that was not unsympathetic.

“I understand. A foundation of physical fitness befits many roles. You have promise, so we shall put you with Lady Pathseeker and the others on the same regimens. Any who wish to study magic during their stay shall, but we often see fastest growth in physical conditioning. Three weeks will have you the envy of your peers.”

“Um. Thanks?”

She nodded to him and beckoned to another Earther. Teres strode forwards.

“And I, Pedagogia? His Majesty sent me and Gazi to you.”

Araxia gave Teres a long stare.

“I know. I said pass. Don’t blink at me, girl. That was my judgment in full. Neither one shall be a [Hero]. In due consideration of His Majesty’s will, I will make you a far more passable warrior. We are not versed well in Drathian training techniques, but I will do something about your inner core of energy; we acquired some low-grade pills from Drath a decade back. As for a warrior, yes, you shall improve and level. Let’s see the Horns of Hammerad as well; step forwards.”

She beckoned to the Horns of Hammerad, but Teres was so incensed she strode forward another step, hand on her sword.

“Gazi is one of the greatest warriors of Chandrar! Part of the King of Destruction’s Seven! You owe her more than five words.”

“Teres, leave it be.”

Gazi murmured, but Araxia just snorted.

“I helped raise Gazi of Reim, Teresa Atwood. The same as the boy who was fourteen when I met him, who knew nothing of how to rule a nation. If I do not leap to bow before them, I have earned that. If I do not run to aid either, it is because both are beyond needing my help, by and large.”

“So you’re largely useless after anyone hits, what, Level 40? Your pantomime yesterday wasn’t impressive. If Hraace makes such amazing warriors, where are they?”

Teresa was getting into it already with another ruler. She had like a reverse Trey ability when it came to endearing herself to people. Araxia’s voice was steady as she leaned forward in her chair—throne was too exorbitant a word—and called back.

“Child. We make proper champions and rulers. Tell me something—have you ever seen the King of Destruction looking less than magnificent? Has he ever blown his nose and covered his face with snot? When he sits, exhausted, are his clothes slovenly?”

Teres shrugged. Araxia went on pointedly.

“When he was backed into a corner by House Minos, did he flinch? When he was stabbed through the heart, did he shriek and fall apart?”

“So you’re good at making people pose for the camera.”

The [Blade of War] could not be less impressed. The Pedagogia threw her head back and laughed, and the entire room laughed with her until Teres flushed—they were authentic, natural guffaws, or so they sounded. It stopped as she lifted a finger.

“The High King of Medain lost his crown and turned and bravely fled. My part-son of Reim would have faced a foe like Mars down even if he had no chance of winning, and if you stole his crown, he’d put a wreath of leaves on his head and turn it into an heirloom worth more than one made of gold.”

She struck one thigh with a slap and rose to her feet, declaiming once more.

“We are the Mentorship of Hraace, and we once taught Khelta how to sit! We trained the Immortal Tyrant for the worst and the Heroine of the Seven Walled Cities for the best! We gave Torreb pointers, but he wasn’t quite right—we haven’t made a hero yet. Not this Mentorship. The King of Destruction was close. But he was half-done. You shall learn, but you are not a [Hero]. Few are. I am gifted with prophecy and what wisdom I’ve learned over my life. Stand aside.”

Teres moved back, because there was nothing to say, glowering, but at least slightly impressed. Araxia went through the Earthers, talking with them, getting a sense of what they wanted. Lessons in magic? Done. Understanding Chandrar? Done. One of them, a young man, pale-faced and stammering, she took one look at.

“[Thought-Healers]. You shall rest, my friend. Rest in Hraace, and that will do more than any rigor. Now, the Horns of Hammerad.”

They moved up the queue so fast that Yvlon was taken off-guard, so Ceria went first. She posed in front of the court, earning a laugh, and Araxia smiled.

“Certainly not a [Hero] with a cursed circlet, or at least, none we’d care to create. Magical tutelage would be a…trap for us. You’re too advanced. No, balance. Physical conditioning for a [Mage], but skating lessons.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re no Illphres the Frost Masked. Simple agility will benefit you greatly.”

Ceria blinked, and her ears waggled at that name. Yvlon was quite impressed at this point. Did the Hraacians know everything? When it came to adventurers, it seemed so.

“Colthei the [Supporter]. I grant you leave to steal anything you may. Training you is a waste of time.”

Araxia’s lips curled up, and Colthei gave her a delighted bow.

“An honor to exceed even Hraace’s exceptional standards.”

“When did I say that, you charming thief? Next, next. Yvlon Byres. How many have called you a woman of metal?”

“…A number, Pedagogia. An honor to be here.”

Yvlon bowed, awkward, and the Pedagogia gave her an inviting smile. She reminded Yvlon of Lady Zanthia, one of those old tutors of young [Ladies]. But Araxia was far more nimble. She rose and descended quickly.

“May I?”

Yvlon let her inspect her arms, and the Pedagogia murmured to herself.

“It would take time to research the exact nature of Melded classes, which we shall do, but strengthening the metal is not something I would attempt. Ironically, your [Smith], Nawalishifra, has a better chance of doing that than Hraace; we train, but are not the best [Smiths]. For you? Hand-to-hand combat training. I saw your gladiator fights in the Coliseum of Monarchs. A [Martial Artist]’s lessons befit you. And there’s something else…”

Her eyes met Yvlon, and for a second, Yvlon thought the Pedagogia frowned, but she covered it up fast.

“…I shall leave that be.”

She might not have known about Yvlon’s [Dreamer] class. But if she did, she was pretending not to for the rest of the Mentorship, including Delitandra’s group. Araxia called over her shoulder.

“Not a very brave augury, to call this team Named-rank potential. Nor even Level 50 within a year.”

A chuckle arose, and Delitandra flushed; Araxia stepped around her, eyes on the last member of the Horns, and murmured to the group.

“You see, we style ourselves as fortune-tellers and auguries of the future. We are gifted with some prophetic abilities, like the Cats of Prophecy, but only one in ten thousand of them is born with oracular magic; they are blind from their third eye, mostly. They use it to scare prey or predators or use lesser magical abilities. It is a commentary on Hraace I do not mistake.”

“Oh, so Delitandra wasn’t predicting the future?”

Ceria snapped her fingers, and Araxia laughed again.

“Oh, she was. She bet her reputation on it. That’s what we do. I bet everything on Flos Reimarch, and it won me the Pedagogia. Delitandra wishes to rise, so she bets on you. But not bravely. Hm. Hmm.”

She was staring at Pisces. Longer than the rest. Narrowing her eyes at him as he gave her a weak smile, staring as if at the two missing members, tilting her head back to look at the group. She did not miss Elena, but the Pedagogia lingered on the Horns far longer than the others. More than the rest of the group combined, in fact.

So long that even the Mentorship began to edge forwards until the Pedagogia was interrupted by Pisces.

“I, ah, do appreciate the regard, Pedagogia Araxia of Hraace, but I rather doubt you’ll find the stuff of champions among us. We are adventurers, not the heroic sort.”

Yvlon was about to…well, she didn’t protest verbally, because that was arrogant, and he was right about her, but her team? They’d fought the Adult Creler, gone into the Village of the Dead—

Araxia raised her brows and, with a smile, stepped forwards. Pisces stepped back slightly, but she circled him once, twice, and then nodded. She closed her eyes, in great thought, and then spoke.

“I am the Pedagogia of Hraace. I make this augury: the Horns of Hammerad shall produce among their ranks someone befitting of the [Hero] class, even if they fail the exact requirements. Deeds that even a Named-rank adventurer shall envy. I shall accept candidates to guide them. Four weeks.”

Dead silence—and then such a roar of voices and exclamations that Yvlon was astounded. She saw Gazi’s head turn to her, her main eye opening wide, Delitandra leaping to her feet, visibly shocked, and Pedagogia Araxia’s stare.

Knowing…and nervous. It was closer to a bet, what she’d said, but she’d just gambled…Yvlon peered at Pisces, who was looking at Ceria, at her, and not realizing whom Pedagogia Araxia’s eyes had lingered on the most.

Ceria nudged Yvlon.

“I bet it’s Ksmvr or Vofea. Vofea’d be nice. We could use a rookie [Hero].”

She grinned to show it was a joke, but even the [Prankster] was unprepared for the wave of excitement that raced outside of the temple. Within minutes, someone was blowing a horn, and the Pedagogia sighed.

“Not a [Hero]—would we’d met you when you were Silver-ranks. But good enough for mentorship. Four weeks, Horns of Hammerad. Lessons begin…now.”

She left Yvlon standing there breathless as the Mentorship hurried towards them, directing them towards the training fields, asking about dietary restrictions, splitting up, as many as two dozen per person.

[Hero]? Among their team? Impossible. Yvlon found herself saying it plaintively.

“I know it’s such an important class, but can anyone make a [Hero]? Even if we’re fated or likely to be one, I never understood…what makes a [Hero] as opposed to a [Great Warrior]? The storybooks never said.”

The Hundred Heroes of Terandria had settled the wild continent, defeated Giants and Dragons—that was what [Heroes] did. They took out Krakens and armies. They were storied as Named-adventurers, but better.

Delitandra appeared, guiding Yvlon towards the beach with her followers. She smiled knowingly.

“That is the secret of secrets, Adventurer Yvlon. To be one, you should be a champion of might and magic. Popular, brave, exceptional in your way, all the features you imagine of them. But there is one great secret that we cannot share, which creates them.”

She had such a superior smile on her face that Yvlon was half-tempted to point out Hraace hadn’t made a [Hero] in ages. Colth, though, just passed by Yvlon on the right and muttered.

“Yeah. Big secret. It’s just a prophecy. [Heroes] have to be prophesied to get the class.”

Yvlon grinned at him as he winked and gave her a thumbs up. She began to chuckle—and saw Delitandra and the group of Hraacians stumble and pile up. Several fell over each other, and their mouths were wide open…

They had expressions of such shock and horror that Yvlon’s grin faded. She turned to Colth, with Ceria and Pisces, and he gave them all a bigger thumbs-up. And a bigger, eviler grin.

Even the Pedagogia herself seemed stunned that Colth knew that. But the Demons’ best friend, Colth, winked at the Horns.

“Alright, let’s get to training.”

 

——

 

The first day of training was due to begin tomorrow, as soon as all arose. After their meeting, the Horns were swept away for a few things.

Mostly, measuring their weights, heights, checks for parasites, illness, or anything else the Hraacians didn’t know. Even, amusingly, a request for them to describe their adventures.

The Crossroads of Izril was a naked ploy for information, but the rest was actually noted down for the files the Mentorship kept, which was flattering. But they even asked for favorite foods, preferences in music, and arranged beds and rooms for all the Earthers and other guests.

“Dead gods, I asked for a pool, and I got a pool right outside my rooms! This is great!”

Ceria wandered out of her rooms at dinnertime, which promised to be a real banquet, and petted a three-eyed cat with her bone hand. Colth just made an expression of horror.

“Ceria, no. The humidity.”

“They’ve got great enchantments on the doors and room. Where are you staying, Pisces?”

“Er, the lounge two areas down. Rather splendid bedding, you know…where’s Yvlon?”

“I think she wanted a tent because she thinks training should be rugged. Want to help me drag her into a nice place?”

Colth and Ceria headed out to rescue Yvlon from her own hubris, and Pisces, well aware of how obstinate Yvlon could be, lagged a bit behind. That was when someone cleared her throat and caught up with him.

“Oh, Pisces. Hey, do you have a second?”

Colth’s head snaked around as Teresa engaged the [Necromancer], but Ceria grabbed him and towed him on. Pisces stopped.

“Of course, Miss Teresa. Do you need something…?”

He assumed it was Gazi, but Teresa brushed at her hair. She’d put on a casual tunic—though she had the sword—and she had added some kind of fragrance and washed the dust off.

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to take a break with me tonight. Nothing fancy. The Hraacians have a dining place for two, and I’d love to talk and see your swordsmanship personally. You’re pretty striking, you know?”

She flashed him a grin, and Pisces blinked, rather flattered by the compliment. He glanced over his shoulder.

“A dining place? I wouldn’t mind that…do you think they could do six? Excuse me, five—I forget Ksmvr’s not here. My team and I would be delighted to accept.”

He hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk to Teresa, but her brother was quite knowledgeable and genial, and she seemed well-spoken herself. He did want to know what serving the King of Destruction was like.

Teresa hesitated and gave Pisces a slight narrowing of the eyes, as if she suspected he was making fun of her. But when he blinked again, she coughed. A slight blush entered her cheeks.

“Um. I was thinking more of you and me. Something intimate? If you’d like to. We could spar as well. I’m being forwards. What I meant was, you know—we have a night, and I’m very interested in you.”

She glanced at him, and Pisces blushed, then caught himself. Dead gods, he was reacting poorly.

“That’s very flattering, Miss Teresa. I shouldn’t hesitate to accept.”

Her eyes brightened, and Pisces went on.

“Do you think they have fencing courts around here? We could squeeze in a duel before dinner—not that I’m not interested in a longer exhibition of skills, but it does take a while for the stomach to settle.”

This time, Teresa actually opened her mouth and looked Pisces up and down. Slowly. He was going to ask if she had any practice in dueling—always a concern so they didn’t hurt each other, even with protective artifacts. Teresa Atwood hesitated, bit her lip, swallowed, and then turned redder. She stepped forwards until she was standing very close and murmured up at him.

“I’d like that. Practicing in a duel, I mean. But, um, Pisces. Do you know what I mean by a private dinner? I was thinking of a night as well as the evening. Maybe share a room? Because I…quite…like you, and it’d just be a night—”

Even in her third and final attempt, it took Pisces a bit before he caught on. Then his eyes widened, and he stepped back, turned beet red, swung around, did a double-take, and began to stammer.

“Oh, I—I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to—that is, I was not aware of the thrust of the—my assumption was—”

His mind was blanking out, and he knew, absolutely knew, that if Ceria or Colth heard this, they’d never let him hear the end of it. Colth was right about Jecaina! You fool!

He was so red-faced and embarrassed that Teresa flushed as well, holding up her hands.

“Sorry, I know I’m being weird. I…don’t worry. I knew it wasn’t likely, and if you didn’t understand it, that’s on me. Don’t worry.”

She executed a smooth bow, hand on her sword hilt, and tried to back away. Pisces held up a hand.

“Wait, please.”

She did, to his relief, and he managed to get his tongue in order. Pisces looked at Teresa, sincere.

“I…am sorry I missed that. It has been a while since—well, Wistram. And it is most flattering.”

That made Teresa smile in relief. Her voice became teasing.

“Really? For a handsome guy like you?”

Pisces found himself straightening his robes and coughing.

“Well, I was hardly so—hygienic before, and in truth—no. That is, you are quite charming, Miss Teresa. I may not know you, but…it is not that. I don’t think I’m in the, the right place for such encounters. With anyone.”

He thought of Cawe. He rubbed at his chest and wondered if he could ever bear to show that to someone he didn’t trust. He regarded Teresa, and she was charming, striking—dead gods, if he’d met her before Chandrar, he probably would have accepted on the principle of why not? He hoped he hadn’t angered or upset her, but she just exhaled.

“Thanks for being straight with me. Hey, no hard feelings, and I would like a duel. I just thought—well, I should ask.”

She turned a rueful smile on him, and Pisces was the one to bow, arm to the waist, awkwardly formal.

“I don’t mean it as any smirch against your looks or your own appeal, Miss Teres. I am just—wounded.”

It felt odd to say. But it was also true, and Teresa’s eyes softened.

“I know. Flos told me. He shouldn’t have, but he blabs—sorry.”

For some reason, that didn’t hurt. Pisces gave Teresa what he hoped was a gallant smile.

“I owe him enough to not hold that against him. But besides that, well…I am a bit older than you.”

At least six years, if he was a judge. Teresa frowned.

“Time passes faster here. I’m at least eighteen by Earth standards, and I’ve survived wars. You’re an adventurer. If that was your concern—”

“No, no. Pardon me. I just…don’t feel it.”

“Right. I get that, too.”

They stood there a moment, and then Teresa ducked her head. She laughed, then sighed.

“Well, damn. Just so you know, whenever—if ever you do start looking around, you won’t have to settle. In that case, I’ll see you at the banquet with everyone.”

She winked at him and began to stroll off. And that was it. It was gracefully done and left Pisces feeling complimented and…well, he caught up to Teresa after a moment.

“I, uh!”

She turned, and Pisces coughed, red-faced.

“I would be down for a sparring session. With swords! With blades, I mean—I do want to see what a capable [Warrior], let alone a soldier of Reim, can do. Would you have time for…?”

Her eyes brightened, and she nodded. Within moments, they were being directed to a private fencing arena by some of the Mentorship who just happened to be around to pop out and give directions.

By the time the Horns, and Trey, came looking for Pisces for dinner, they found the two talking and laughing in one of the magically cooled rooms, discussing sword-forms and fighting alone versus in battles. Colth was all set to go in there and make Teres’ life a misery—as was Trey—but Yvlon glanced at the two of them and dragged Colth and Trey back. And since it was her, they all had a good chance to listen in on their conversation as Colth and Trey flailed and slowly turned red, then purple from lack of oxygen.

“I know you must think I’m—forward. Or that I get around a lot. I’ve just been in warcamps before a battle, and it’s what happens. Life’s short.”

“I’d never hold that against you. I am indeed an adventurer, and I was a [Necromancer] in a country that burned them.”

They were standing together, leaning on an open balcony as they spoke, watching the setting sun. The Heromakers of Hraace were staring at a glowing automaton made of light that the two had been using as well. Delitandra was writing a note to the Pedagogia.

That part of the training room had been broken centuries ago. How had they…?

“I just don’t believe it was entirely, ah, altruistic. Did my team put you up to this? Colth?”

Teresa glanced at Pisces, and he didn’t realize why she laughed so hard at that.

“What? No! I wouldn’t take anyone telling me what to do. Flos would never—and could never order that. Let alone anyone else.”

“So it was just because I am attractive?”

He gave her a sidelong look full of skepticism, utterly blind to anything inwards. Teresa rolled her eyes, then leaned over.

“No. Okay, you want full honesty? Part of it was your looks, which you shouldn’t downplay. Part of it was because you’re an adventurer and a [Necromancer] and I thought that might be fun…”

“F-fun? Howso in the terms of my class…?”

“I don’t know. You get surprised. But mostly? I thought it might help, a bit.”

Teresa pulled a face at Pisces’ blank look.

“Everyone gets hurt in war. Sometimes, it’s just a night. Sometimes…I’m not a [Healer]. But it’s nice to want to feel…useful? That’s a bad word. To be—”

She stared out the window.

“Needed. To feel like I helped someone beyond swinging a sword. That’s what I’m good at. But you—”

The [Blade of War] turned, hesitated, and then blushed fiercely red.

“I don’t have any Skills, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“No, pardon the thought! Er—it’s getting late, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, I’m starving. Let’s go find the others, shall we?”

They stepped back from the balcony, and for a moment, Pisces glanced at Teresa, and she met his eyes. The moment lingered…right up until Colth strode into the practice court.

“Pisces! Teresa! Dinnertime!”

He beamed at them and dragged the two to dinner, and that was the end of it. The issue didn’t come up again, no one brought it up, and it didn’t matter. As Yvlon remarked to Ceria—

“Sounds like Colth could have let her be and she would have handled it just fine. Pisces too.”

Ceria smacked a fist into her hand.

“Yeah. And it sounds like we should have a sparring session with Colth after this. With my boot and your fist. He can choose what kind of spar either way.”

Yvlon thought about that. Colth shivered and glanced over his shoulder as the two Horns of Hammerad nodded at each other. He gave them a worried smile. They watched Pisces smiling.

Thus began their time in Hraace.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

This chapter is the first of two published today! I have a longer Author’s Note next chapter, but do check out MelasD’s webtoon and the Innktober art! The second chapter is like…half again as long as this one.

Enjoy!

 

 

Teres by Typewriter!

 

Teresa Glory by Lanrae!

 

Fetohep by Yura!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/yurariria

 

Toren the Pet by Fiore!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/fiorepandaphen

Twitter: https://x.com/fiorephenomenon

 

Glorious Retreat by LeChat!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lechatdemon/

 

Pisces’ Charisma by Spooky!

 

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