Interlude – Arcsinger’s Memories

When she woke up, Elia Arcsinger stared at the ceiling and wondered if she was dreaming. Each day, she pinched herself hard on the cheek. Hard enough to leave a mark.

Every morning, Rosencrantz stared at the red mark on Elia Arcsinger’s cheek as he handed her a too-spicy breakfast, and a Goblin [Spice Chef] would poke his head out of the kitchen with a bunch of Goblins. They would watch as Elia slurped down spicy red spaghetti noodles or munch on seasoned fries.

She loved spices. This wasn’t a commentary on her status as Named-rank adventurer, some quirk of her surviving battles of life-and-death, or childhood trauma involving bland food or starvation.

She just liked spices. True, in her homeland of Gaiil-Drome, half-Elves weren’t as big on spices—they liked subtler foods. When Elia had become famous and gone on her worldwide tour, she’d been introduced to the joys of capsaicin. She’d had a hard time going back.

But she really just liked spices. To the horror of the Goblin called Calescent, she ate any dish he put in front of her without fail. She knew he was trying to out-spice her…he was one of two Goblins whose name she knew. Okay, three—she knew Sticks, Calescent, because his name was ironic, and ‘Numbtongue’, only because he was mentioned in absentia all the time.

She didn’t want to know the other Goblins. She had huge reservations about this job; she was literally only doing it for the money and because Lyonette claimed her daughters were in danger. Mostly the money.

Elia’s strange misadventures and quiet days blended together in the background of her existence at The Wandering Inn. In her diary, which she kept like any good, responsible adventurer, she had written boring entries that a few Goblins and an occasional Mrsha or Nanette would sneak into her room to read.

Elia wrote notes about her expenditures, letters to her daughter—which never got replies—correspondence of note, and how her day had been.

Some entire weeks read like the following:

 

Month of Caelhic, Week 1

 

Laudas – Shepherd’s pie tonight. Spent four coppers betting Bird could not hit a Creona Flashbird. She could.

Saelsmorn – Peppers filled with pilaf. Very tasty.

Beithday – Burping too much? Could be cheesecake dessert. But I like it.

Nendas – I wish the outhouses had plumbing. Lyonette says maybe soon? Hamburgers. I liked them.

Tirenv – Vaulont scared me again. Not on purpose? Time #32.

Lundas – Colfa and Lyonette sing. Pretty good? Spaghetti. Okay.

Gnorna – Mrsha stole a fry. Incident #55. Rice dish. Not sure what it was.

Zenze – I don’t think I had enough noodles for dinner. Hungry, so I had ice cream.

 

Elia didn’t bother with the date and broke her months into four weeks, in which she wrote each day out, usually in a somewhat-messy scrawl. Caelhic was the first month of the year; you could read her diary and see years upon years in the same notation.

She had multiple diaries, too. And most had this brief description of events like ‘killed a Mothbear’ or ‘I think I have a rash on my butt’ to be later filled with the revelation that: ‘no rash, just keep sitting on a strap.’

What kept the Gnoll girl and others sneaking into Elia’s room was that every now and then, the monotonous writing would be broken up. Elia would stop writing notes and it would read like:

 

Month of Liuwhe, Week 3

 

Laudas – I found a squished caterpillar in my socks. Very unhappy.

Saelsmorn – I don’t like walking in the tall grass. I get burrs. Pottage soup. Wasn’t good.

Beithday – Capoinelia keeps flirting with our [Marshal]. She’s only twenty-seven.

Nendas – The Adult Creler Incident.

 

The Adult Creler Incident:

It appeared out of the grass as [Marshal] Goishart was leading us back out of the wheatlands. It was responsible for the quaking we’d been feeling. The ambush took him off-guard. He was dead within a second of it appearing; the [Knights] of Haegris we’d met barely survived the first volley.

Had it not been for their armor, I believe I would have been dead, my enchanted gear or not. As it was, I caught a stray shard of chitin. Capoinelia thought I was dead. She fouled my initial shot as the Adult Creler grabbed the first of the [Armsmen].

I estimate there were up to a thousand smaller Crelers and nearly fifty juveniles; we should have been dead as they burst around us. However, the Adult Creler had struck the ambush on the edge of the wheatlands and underestimated the sympathetic Skills of our [Druid], Jorrus. He kept the horses alive.

I used [Line-Ender Shot] and created a hole roughly five feet in diameter in the Adult Creler’s midsection. It did not kill the adult, but left it in considerable pain as I regained my horse and we began to flee. Capoinelia and a few of my team advocated to try to finish the Creler. When the second and third Adult Creler surfaced, they did not object to further flight.

During the course of our flight, eighteen armsmen and two of the Haegris Knights perished. By this time, I believe that Castle Rexigel was fully alarmed, but I had no view of their actions. I believe I killed forty-two Crelers in retreat, five Juvenile. My second [Line-Ender Shot] missed; the Adult Creler seemed to know how I was aiming.

Three of its major legs were still crippled, and the final Adult Creler tunneled to avoid confrontation with me. This would stymie my attempts to aim at it until Jorrus used [Tremorsense] to allow me to deliver a killing blow from above, but that was later in the fight. A baby Creler landed on my armor during the escape to the castle and began to try to bore into my neck and spine.

Capoinelia noticed my screaming, but missed the kill-shot, so I stabbed the Creler with an arrow and shot it away while the creature was impaled on my arrow, which a Haegris [Knight] believed was ‘impressive.’ By the time we were within a mile of the castle, fifty of the Order of Haegris had lined up for what I assumed was an ill-intentioned charge…

 

She wrote in the oddest of styles. There were no details like smell or sight, and Elia was even vague on numbers and the details of how she did things. Her readers argued about why she wrote in such a weird way until Nanette visited Pallass’ library and found an adventure story of Elia’s life.

Arcsinger, by Krsysl Wordsmith.

They managed to cross-reference several events in the diaries with the famed Drake [Writer]’s far more thrilling account of the events and realized all the details Elia omitted, he filled in. An excerpt of Elia’s biography read:

 

—Marshal Goishart’s noble countenance vanished in a spray of gore and white that spattered Elia’s cheek. She recoiled as a second shard of black, chitinous material propelled at unimaginable speed hit Ser Cormen in the chestplate.

Unbelievably, the Haegris Knight survived the impact, his enchanted armor deforming and kicking the Human off the horse. He landed with a cry of shock, and all heads turned to him—except Adventurer Arcsinger, who kicked her daughter off her horse and shouted a word of warning.

“Dodge—”

Alas, the open maw of the horrific Creler, an Adult bloated on years of consuming the Wheatland’s natural bounty, continued to spit the jagged shards of death. Elia felt a sting like a wasp on her chest, magnified ten thousand times; her ribs compressed, and she felt her own enchanted armor burning hot just under her right ribcage. 

When she opened her eyes, she realized she was upon the ground, unhorsed, with panic around her. A shard of the projectiles was buried in her chest, and she surely must have appeared dead to her horrified daughter, who threw herself down and…

 

Was Elia writing in her journal like this in the expectation these would become her later memoirs? Or was she just genuinely unable to write any descriptions?

That was the fascinating element to her small audience of…fans? Bored voyeurs? People trapped under the same roof as the most boring Named-rank adventurer they’d ever met?

One of those things, perhaps. Elia’s journal was a good insight into her mind. If an event lingered with her, she wrote it down. Whether her accounts were of any literary merit or fairly reported was up for debate, but a few events stood out in her journal. They might not have mattered in the grand scheme of The Wandering Inn, but they mattered to the half-Elf.

In the months of spring, the underlined events in Elia’s journal read as followed:

 

——

 

Zenze – The Spice Incident/Revelation

 

Lundas. The 6th day of the week. It was written as Lundas on the calendar in the inn’s common room, but also ‘Saturday’.

No one had explained why. Elia tried not to ask questions. She was a Named-rank adventurer. You had to look like you knew what was going on. It was her sixth day of employment, after the gambling night, and she, Captain Todi, Gemhammer, and Vaulont the Ash were all settling into their roles as new inn employees.

Elia Arcsinger’s cheek was especially red today. Rosencrantz felt compelled to address it.

“Miss Arcsinger.”

“Huh?”

She jumped as he handed her a burger, which was literally red with death spice. Calescent peeked out the kitchen at her, but Rosencrantz was focused on her cheek.

“Is your cheek…injured? Healing potions are not available to the staff for minor injuries, but I can send for a poultice of some kind.”

“What? No…um. It’s fine. It’ll fade after a few minutes.”

“Yes, this is my observation. But why…”

Elia stared blankly at Rosencrantz, and he hesitated.

“Nevermind. Have a good breakfast, Miss Arcsinger.”

He walked backwards. Still staring. Elia felt like this was unfair; the bugman was an Antinium, a horror of Rhir, the likes of which the Blighted Kingdom feared, and she got the weird looks.

Everyone was too personable. Everything was too weird. Elia ate her burger, and it was so hot.

Delicious. Yum.

The food here was a real plus. The rest of the inn confused her. Elia glanced around and saw Captain Todi fidgeting at a table, trying not to visibly stare at her.

Gold-rank adventurer, smaller time. She had met him; he hadn’t left much of an impression aside from being a brown-noser and social climber. She wondered why he’d been hired; clearly, he had some qualifications. Admittedly, he seemed to ‘get’ this inn more than she did. It had all kinds of things that threw Elia off.

She was a Named-rank adventurer. Elia clung to that. She’d worked for picky clients. You had ones who wanted you to show off, real eccentrics; back in the day, she’d worked as a Silver-rank adventurer for old Norlis Reinhart—Magnolia Reinhart’s father.

No one talked about him anymore. Elia had just been a Silver-rank trying her luck in Izril. Back then, you did exactly what you were told, didn’t ask questions, and didn’t say a word—not even if you heard screams in the Reinhart estate. They used to be scary. No one remembered that. They said Magnolia was scary, and Elia would laugh until she realized they meant it. All Magnolia did was kill people.

Elia had watched Norlis Reinhart take umbrage with another Silver-ranker who’d given him lip about his request to rid his entire domain of Shield Spiders—as in, no specifics, adventurers responsible for finding the nests, you will pay if you fail me—unreasonable.

Norlis had looked at the Silver-ranker, asked their name, and left it at that. Two days into the Shield Spider cullings, someone had found the Silver-ranker in a nest of Shield Spiders with their neck mysteriously snapped. Elia had scoured the entire estate top to bottom for spiders, and gone back to Terandria as soon as her contract was done.

…Lyonette was as weird as the weirdest of clients. She wasn’t like the ones who made up reasons for Elia to touch them or as insane as the Titan—weird, not creepy or crazy. It was just that experience of seeing a young witch sit down at Captain Todi’s table.

Nanette Weishart. One of Elia’s charges.

“Captain Todi, good morning!”

“Er, hello, Miss Nanette. Anything I can do for you today?”

“I was thinking—I need to learn some self-defense techniques. Mrsha could use them, but I’m especially keen to learn, and I was thinking you could teach me.”

“What—me? What about someone more qualified? Like that Vaulont fellow? Or that Ser Normen?”

Nanette shook her head.

“I want to learn dirty fighting, Captain Todi. I know the groin kick already, the Zeresian tailbuster and basic moves, but you’re a master of dirty fighting. Is there anything I don’t know?”

She was such an earnest young girl, like Capoinelia had used to be. To hear the round-cheeked girl talking about groin kicks or…what was a Zeresian tailbuster?

Even Todi looked shocked by this.

“Dead gods, who taught you how to do a tailbuster? That’s not something a girl should know.”

“I’m a witch, Captain Todi.”

He rubbed at his chin.

“I reckon there’s a few things I could teach. Most of it’s not that useful. If you have time to rip someone’s hair out, you might as well be shanking them. How’s your groin-kicking form?”

“There’s a form to it?”

Todi looked insulted as Elia listened with one long ear.

“Oh yes. That’s what every fellow forgets. Every lad thinks he can use the kick if things get dicey and he’s not afraid to look bad. World of difference between hitting them in the Dragonbells or not. You kick them as if you want to send both balls back out their throat. Otherwise, they’ll get back up.”

“Can I…get a demonstration? I could try it out.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for—”

“I meant on Mrsha. Or a practice dummy. I wouldn’t do that to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

They got up, chattering, and Elia had to remind herself that Nanette was thirteen. She sounded so worldly. Half-Elves looked about the same as Humans until puberty, but most of them would be begging their mothers to peel their apples and cut them up or brushing their hair a thousand times before going out to pick fruits from the orchards.

Children stuff.

 

——

 

Mrsha went sliding face-first on a pillow down the stairs, launched herself into a table, flipped onto her feet, and raised her arms. She instantly got applause from Peggy and a scolding from Ser Dalimont.

The staff were busy today. They’d been busy for a while; ever since Elia had joined, in fact. They were all eating breakfast fast, grumbling about more work in ‘the garden’. Most of them were rubbing their backs or donning heavy work gloves; they had shovels, and Elia saw Earlia come in this morning with a bunch of hammers.

“This is decent stuff for smelting. You sure you don’t want me to set up a crucible?”

“We good, we good. Thanks.”

Peggy took a hammer and sighed. Ser Dalimont was chivvying Mrsha to a table.

“Miss Lyonette will be along shortly. Ah, Lady Arcsinger.”

Technically, Elia had been granted the title of lady, so the Thronebearer used it, though she’d turned down the class and lands. She stood, awkwardly, abandoning her burger as she fidgeted with her bow. She would have checked her gear, but it was literally just her bow, arrows, a few basic potions, and the Amulet of Fire Resistance. She was so poor…

“Any work for me today, Ser Dalimont?”

“Guard duty, I think, Lady Arcsinger. It’s mostly the garden today. Er…”

Dalimont caught himself, eying Elia, and she nodded.

“Right.”

Mrsha had been sliding past Elia towards her own breakfast burger, but she slowed and gave Elia a scowl. The half-Elf got the feeling she wasn’t liked by the girl. It was small clues, like the occasional middle finger, the death-glare, and the notes that said so.

You’re not allowed in the garden.

“Got it.”

Elia sat down and took another bite of her burger. Mrsha hesitated. She gave Ser Dalimont the side-eye, and the Thronebearer paused. He’d been vetting the new arrivals to the inn. Some, like Earlia, were openly disappointed about not being allowed in the [Garden of Sanctuary]; Elia saw her turning the hammers over to Peggy while asking for hints on what they were for.

Todi kept trying to ferret it out, but he knew he had to earn that trust. Vaulont had tried to see what was going on a few times, but very covertly.

Elia? Dalimont kept teasing it, but the half-Elf was the only member of the new staff that was really incorruptible. He supposed that really was what being a Named-rank adventurer meant; Elia was a professional.

After a moment, he and Mrsha hurried to breakfast; the inn was busy and Lyonette was still making deals. Elia kept chewing on her burger, face placid, calm.

 

——

 

What’s in the garden? What’s the box? What are they doing? What’s in the garden? Is it cool? Is it dangerous? Are they keeping something from me? What’s in the garden? I have to knowwhat’sintherewhataretheydoingwhat’sgoingonwhat’sinthegarden—

Elia’s thoughts bounced around like one of those soccer balls. Her face, honed over a decade of practice, was unreadable even to a Thronebearer.

She played it cool. Named-rank. Remember that. Elia coughed when she heard a couple of the Antinium complaining.

“—It is so hot.”

“Fiery.”

“I do not sweat, and I feel ill from melting it all the time.”

“I as well. We must take more breaks in the pond or we will be like poor Sticks.”

“Poor Sticks.”

“Dehydration.”

They were complaining about something heat-related. Elia wasn’t about to walk over to the Goblins, but she sidled next to the two Antinium; one was a Soldier, the other a Worker. They were both ‘new Antinium’, whatever that meant. Apparently, Soldiers didn’t normally talk?

“Is there something heat-related you need help with?”

“It is in the garden, Miss Arcsinger.”

“We are fine.”

Damn. There went her entire plan. Elia nodded. She saw Ser Dalimont glancing over, and panicked.

Play it cool, Elia. Cool. Think of some reason to look professional. Then she had an idea. Elia casually fiddled with her neck.

“Oh…well, in that case, I won’t pry. What if you took this?”

So saying, she pulled off the enchanted amulet and handed it to them. The Worker hesitated as he took it.

“Is it magic?”

“It’s enchanted to resist flames. It should work on anything short of a [Fireball]. If you give it back tonight, I can let you borrow it.”

The Worker hesitated, but then nodded.

“This is very thoughtful. Thank you, Miss Arcsinger. You are very welcome. Also, we are both not Goblins.”

“I…know?”

“I feel the need to emphasize this.”

“I see.”

“Because we do not wish to die.”

“I understand. I’ll…leave you to it.”

Elia backed away, and the Soldier and Worker waved before turning back to each other over breakfast.

“That was very strange, Saltshook.”

“I am very perplexed, Hammernail. Was that proper socializing? It is very awkward with her. Goblins are much easier.”

“I think she is more difficult. But Captain Ceria is easy.”

“Yes…maybe we have not acquired enough socializing Skills? I was very uncomfortable around her.”

“Me too.”

Elia tried not to pay attention to the conversation she could definitely hear. She sat at her table, ears burning a bit, trying to play it cool. So much for that. She wondered what was in the garden. Maybe…no…it was just a job.

She kept eating, flushing more as the Antinium began ranking people on their list of awkwardness—and she was pretty much last. Elia chewed on her burger and fanned herself.

Wow, it was hot—but the winter had just ended. It was raining, too; the air had been cool just a moment ago. What was going…

Her mouth was burning up. Elia realized Rosencrantz was pointing at her. Ishkr had appeared, and the two approached.

“Miss Arcsinger—”

“My cheek’s fine.”

“It has spread to your entire face, Miss Arcsinger. You are very crimson. I believe you may be unwell.”

“I’m…”

Elia caught sight of herself in her water cup’s reflection and stopped. She was exceptionally red-faced. And sweating. And her mouth was about to explode—

Wait.

Wait a second…Elia stared down at her burger. Her burger, which felt like molten flames themselves were trying to melt their way down her throat.

Tier six flames pouring down her intestines, which would destroy this very inn and burn a hole into the Floodplains—

She looked over her shoulder, slowly, at Hammernail, who was trying on the necklace. And Elia’s mind connected a few dots.

Enchanting was an imprecise art. Unless you had someone as precise and pedantic as Hedault, an effect covered a lot of things. So [Fire Resistance] could protect you from the effects of heat. But what if you were some enchanter and you covered all things heat-related? Like…

…spices…

Ishkr did the calculation at about the same time as Elia. He went striding over for the amulet, but it was too late. Elia took another bite of her burger, more out of denial than anything else. Then her mouth exploded.

“Hot. Hot—it’s so spicy—”

 

——

 

Calescent sat in the kitchen, facing a corner as Asgra patted him on the back. Trying to give him a pep talk.

“My spices are bad, Asgra.”

“Is not true. She just stupid.”

“My spices can’t harm babies. Good thing I left the tribe. Famous death spice? Hah! More like…not very spicy stuff. Pepper.”

“She just weird, Calescent. You make plenty of babies cry. Chieftain Rags cries eating your famous spicy stuff.”

Calescent glanced over his shoulder at his hat sitting on the counter. He’d never been so defeated. If he went outside, he’d see her there eating his best burger like—like—

It didn’t even taste good to him. It was the death of all spices, and she ate it down. Didn’t even complain in the outhouse, and he swore that was the smell Lyonette kept bringing up. He’d worn a mask putting this burger together.

There was a shout from the common room. Calescent heard Elia and drooped even further.

“See? Now she’s mocking me.”

“I’m dying! Help! Help! Give me the amulet—”

Asgra was less in denial than Calescent. She hesitated, held up a claw, and went to the door. She glanced outside, then brightened up. She raised two claws—

“Throw here! Throw here, Hammernail!”

She caught a golden amulet with a red ruby, dashed to a cupboard, and tossed it inside. Then grinned at Calescent. He blinked at her and heard a wailing scream like someone having her tongue ripped out of her face—no, that would be a kindness.

A familiar shriek that he’d heard many times when he’d blown his patented death spice into the eyes of enemy combatants and, occasionally, allies. The gurgling sound of someone trying to drink water before they realized that just spread the burning.

Disbelievingly, slowly, Calescent rose like a man waking from a long nightmare into happy reality. He walked to the door of the kitchen and saw a figure writhing on the ground. A burger had fallen from her plate, and the Named-rank adventurer burned, as if her Skill had malfunctioned again.

Calescent smiled. He beamed. He clapped his hands and did a dance with Asgra in the kitchen.

It was a splendid, wonderful day.

 

——

 

Later that evening, Elia Arcsinger’s face was covered with sweat. She looked like she was dying as she gulped down milk, and her face was redder than a beet.

And yet—she was shoveling down curry and naan with the rice so fast that her gasps for air sounded like a [Diver] surfacing and gasping for oxygen.

It was so concerning it was putting Relc and Valeterisa off their own dinner. Elia’s Amulet of Fire Resistance sat on a table in front of her; she could have put it on.

But she didn’t. She kept eating, and Calescent stared at her in horror out of his kitchen.

“She’s still doing it!”

Elia was still enjoying spicy food. More now than before, if that were actually possible. She seemed like she were dying each time she had a meal, but she’d gobble it down with gusto. To the horror of the Goblins, who’d thought they’d won a splendid victory, it turned out Elia just liked spicy food.

Suffering was part of the game. If you didn’t burn, why bother?

Madness. Despair—but at least Calescent had moderated his spicy levels down from ‘active war crimes, even in the Unseen Empire’ to just ‘really spicy’. Elia was physically incapable of eating death spice without her amulet.

Small victories. Even so, the [Spice Chef] resented Elia. He resented the fact that she was one of the few people he’d met who truly liked spicy foods. Of all the monsters in the world, this one had to have good taste.

Monster. Calescent didn’t like thinking of anyone like a monster. Not people. As a monster-person himself, he knew what it was like to be a real monster they hunted down like a thing to be killed. Where nothing was too underhanded, and where you could do anything you wanted to monsters because they didn’t have real emotions or deserve sympathy.

But if anyone was a monster, it should be her, right? Arcsinger, the murderer of too many Goblins to count, the slayer of the Goblin King.

Calescent knew why she was here. He knew…Lyonette had fine reasons to want to defend the inn, so he hadn’t objected. Sometimes, Chieftains had to do hard things. That, Calescent got. He didn’t have to like her to deal with her.

The spice thing was just petty; at first, he’d been amused then gotten genuinely annoyed by her resistance. Now, seeing her just—liking his food—well, that was worst of all.

She never said anything to him. But she scarfed down his meals and sometimes went back for seconds. He noticed that. Even when she didn’t like the meals, he noticed she almost always cleaned her plate.

Calescent hated when guests didn’t clean their plates and just left good food behind. Of course, he thought it was his fault; he hadn’t made it good enough. But Elia gave him the impression that she was savoring each bite.

—She’d killed Tremborag. Not directly, but led to his death. She was why Reiss, the Goblin Lord, had died. Her actions had caused the slaughter at Liscor.

Hate her. 

…It was hard. What Calescent wanted, secretly, a secret he told no one because there was no one to tell, was that he maybe, possibly, wanted to talk to Elia. To ask her questions. Maybe just to have that dread adventurer greet him day by day.

It was a shameful thought. Calescent wrestled with it. He couldn’t tell anyone. Not Lyonette, not Ishkr…it was too personal, and they wouldn’t get it.

If Erin were here, he’d have told her. If Numbtongue wasn’t so weird, Calescent might have gone to him for advice. He didn’t want to burden Chieftain Rags with the thought.

To reconcile this, he might have said something to her beyond a greeting. Smiled, or…he thought about it. But when he thought about doing those things, he remembered one of the most painful moments of his life. Not being stabbed or that time an adventurer had slashed his chest open and left him for dead.

No…that moment when Hekusha, the Healer of Tenbault, who’d smiled at him, who’d complimented him on his cooking, who he’d thought had at least thought he was a person—when she’d turned and begged Valeterisa to save her and kill them all.

Calescent had fought many battles. He’d survived Liscor and wars. But he was too afraid of trying again and getting hurt like that. So, he glowered from his kitchen at the half-Elf who happily ate his food. Rosencrantz and the other staff thought it was a rivalry.

Calescent wished it were a rivalry.

His heart hurt. But that was the inn. His heart hurt and twisted, and that was okay. It was how he knew he was alive.

 

——

 

Beithday – The Onieva Encounter

 

“Here’s lunch.”

“Thanks.”

That was her entire dialogue with Calescent, and the [Chef] paused a moment after Elia thanked him. He turned away with a grunt, and she wondered if he hated her.

Certainly, he didn’t say much, and she thought he scowled at her back, but he hadn’t poisoned her yet. Though, if you saw Elia huffing and puffing while eating, you might be forgiven for imagining the latter.

Quesadillas filled with spicy meat with a salsa dip and sour cream to cut the heat. Only, Calescent had improvised so it was some kind of green cilantro-dip with oil and this lovely aftertaste, and the quesadillas were bright red, a sign of pure danger. Elia partook of the sour cream, but she was so red-faced after her first quesadilla that Mrsha and Nanette, lining up for lunch, both ordered an extra cup of sour cream each.

Elia Arcsinger relished the agony. Afterwards, she finished rehydrating with two huge glasses of water and sat there, sighing in contentment. Her lips burned as though she’d just kissed a [Fireball], and she hoped she wasn’t gaining weight.

Actually, she spent all day either training Bird, herself, or using that exercise room. She was trying to get into form, and what else did she have to do all day?

No, really—it was that or watch the news, read a book, or visit Liscor or another city in her downtime. But Elia wanted to save money, and she had a bad reputation elsewhere, so she was…bored.

Also, lonely.

No one talked to her.

No one would tell her what was going on in the garden—the activity had died down a bit, but Elia had never found out what it was.

Even for Elia, this was a level of isolation she hadn’t been used to. She had been with her team and daughter for so long, Elia was beginning to get a bit stir-crazy.

So her resolution was to get to know her co-workers better. That seemed like the best bet.

The problem was…Elia was fairly certain most of them hated her guts. But she’d made a list of candidates she might get along with. She put her dishes in a pile and headed up to the second floor in search of amiable companionship.

 

——

 

Here was the thing. You couldn’t just befriend anyone in the inn. Elia was a Named-rank adventurer. She should be speaking with people she’d interact with regularly. So the regular staff were out. Half of them were Goblins—obviously a no-go. The other half were Antinium too busy for regular socialization during their work hours. And…what would they even talk about?

So Elia had a shortlist, narrowed down to exclude all Goblins, people who hated her—like Mrsha—and who weren’t important or didn’t fit her schedule.

…It was pretty much the other adventurers—Todi and Gemhammer—Nanette, Bird, Rosencrantz, Ishkr, Liska, Octavia, Yelroan, Vaulont, and the Thronebearers. Then Elia had to narrow it down again.

Lower-ranking adventurers got a bit weird. Sometimes, it was healthy junior-senior relationships, but Todi was a bit of a rat, and Gemhammer were former miners. Not really a great fit. Nanette was a witch and a kid. Out. Rosencrantz or Bird…maybe, but they were Antinium. The Thronebearers and Vaulont were also out; the [Knights] would report to their [Princess], and Elia didn’t think socializing with [Assassins] worked well.

[Alchemists] tended to explode.

So it really left the Gnolls as her best, most ordinary candidates. Not any real Drake employees at the inn. Elia wondered if it was a racist thing. Regardless, of the three Gnolls, there was only one real candidate when she thought about it.

Liska was on door-duty all the time. Hard to chat with her, and she was young. Yelroan seemed a bit odd, but he was also mainly in the garden. Ishkr…Ishkr seemed like an ordinary Gnoll. Pretty competent. Elia could talk with him, get an in with someone everyone liked, and ingratiate herself into the community.

Perfect plan. She paced in front of Ishkr’s room for a good ten minutes, mustering the courage to knock. She—didn’t really know how you did this.

Socialized. She knew how to hobnob. There was no one better at bland banqueting, social climbing, etiquette deflecting, or passive social sailing. Elia was used to people wanting to talk to her, being her friend, and not trusting anyone.

…She’d forgotten how you approached someone. Elia decided to execute a simple plan.

“Hello, Ishkr? Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if you needed me to do anything. I’m free, and—”

After a brisk knock, Elia swung open the door with one of her fake smiles. She took two steps into the room, turned around, and walked out.

“—and I’m very sorry. I should have—please excuse me.”

She had interrupted two people on the bed. Namely, Ishkr and a pink-and-blue-scaled Drake that Elia vaguely recognized. The half-Elf closed the door over the exclamations from both and stood there. The tips of her ears were red—she put her face in her hands. Then she began to run.

 

——

 

It had been a good, no, a great run of days recently, and Onieva hadn’t quite been sure why. Okay, a big hint was getting some action in the bedroom.

She had been appreciating Ishkr, the mysterious [Waiter] of The Wandering Inn, when Elia Arcsinger had barged in. Onieva wondered how much Elia had admired the Gnoll’s body.

To be fair—it didn’t ruin Onieva’s evening. Ishkr was more embarrassed than she was, though Onieva was amused by Elia’s reaction.

Named-rank adventurer and employee of The Wandering Inn. If you couldn’t roll with a punch and throw it back, you’d never survive.

“Sorry, sorry—let’s pick this up in a second. Unless you think you can finish—?”

Laughing, the Drake was on her feet, and clothing was flurrying around her in moments. Ishkr had been scared out of the moment, and he rolled out of his bed. He was panting; she was barely warmed up.

Named-rank adventurer. Even if she was an [Alchemist] instead of a [Warrior]—Onieva blew a kiss.

“Give me a second. I’m going to have a word with her.”

“A violent word or…?”

“Civil! Don’t worry, I’m just curious. And she’s a coward. We know each other.”

Ishkr hesitated. He opened his mouth with a frown, and Onieva bounced out of the room, in the best of moods. She saw a half-Elf running for the stairs, and laughing, Onieva called out.

“Elia, wait! I’m not mad—hold on!”

She wouldn’t catch the half-Elf, so Onieva popped an oil pellet—a concentrated gel that absorbed through the skin. It was very handy instead of a potion you had to drink. She crushed it against one hip, curled her legs up, and jumped.

Springstep Oil. Onieva hit the far end of the hallway like a lightning bolt, pivoted, and ‘stood’ on the wall for a second as the sheer force of her momentum let her defy gravity. She saw Elia’s eyes go round, and the half-Elf went for her bow, reflexively, then twisted—

She half-dodged Onieva, but the two went crashing down the hallway as Onieva tackled her. Elia tumbled onto her feet and had her bow in hand, but no arrow drawn—Onieva had to give her that.

She was still a Named-rank, even if she was known as one of the worst in the world. Onieva was just laughing as she held up her claws.

“Peace. Peace. I’m not mad. Hey—it’s me. Onieva! We didn’t get a chance to talk.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you and, uh, Ishkr, Miss Onieva.”

Elia was red-faced and executed a smooth bow. Onieva rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry. How many adventurers have you and I walked in on over our lives? Let alone had to camp next to.”

Or sleep in the open when they thought they were being ‘sneaky’. Then you were staring up at the stars, listening to giggling and squelching and wondering how much trouble you’d get in for pulling a Garen Redfang. That was an old euphemism for killing your entire team—not a lot of adventurers got the reference. Strange, how fast stories like that faded…

At this, Elia hesitated, and a trace of a smile crossed her face. She ducked her head.

“Even so—”

“No harm. Did you need Ishkr for anything urgent?”

“No—I was just—”

Aha. Elia was hesitating, cheeks flushing red, and Onieva just bet whatever pretext she’d been muttering when she came in was just to talk to Ishkr. Now, was that because she was interested or…?

No, Elia’s embarrassment, rather than shock, suggested to Onieva she’d just wanted to talk to Ishkr. She knew Ishkr and Onieva were an item. Not that Onieva was actually worried. Elia was cautious, cowardly, and rode her fame with her second-rate team—or at least, she had until she’d been publicly exposed by Halrac and the Order of Solstice. She knew how much blood could be shed when Named-ranks fought over a love interest.

Onieva threw an arm around Elia’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

She turned over her shoulder and blew a kiss at the room behind her.

“Ishkr? I’ll be back tonight. Let me know if I need to bring a potion or two.”

“I only got startled.”

He shouted back. Onieva blew another kiss at him, then dragged Elia down the stairs.

“Come on, let’s walk. Pallass. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, adventurer to adventurer or woman to woman.”

“Er—I’m on duty—”

“I’ll make an excuse to Lyonette. Come on. It’s not every day two of us who’re sane get to talk. The last one of us I was talking to was Tessa.”

Last one of us? For a moment, Elia looked confused, as if she’d really forgotten Onieva. Onieva? One of the world’s greatest [Alchemists] along with Saliss? They’d met only maybe half a dozen times, but Named-ranks remembered each other. Tessa’s name made Elia’s gaze flicker.

“Tessa…”

“Shriekblade. Salazsar?”

“Oh. Of course. Well, let’s—”

Onieva brushed away Elia’s reservations as she hauled the half-Elf downstairs. Lyonette blinked at Onieva and gave Elia a sharp look, but okayed the break. Obviously. And Onieva was in such a good mood she brushed aside that weird, nagging feeling she’d been getting of late.

Things were going great. Saliss was grumpy and gloomy as ever, but he was always cooped up in his laboratory, worrying about the seith or his old man or this or that. Onieva was living. She’d found someone who she actually respected, who could keep up with her, in Ishkr—

Dead gods, why haven’t I been having fun like this? It’s like I’ve been as dull as Saliss for decades.

—And there was something odd as well about Mirn and now Elia. Onieva brushed it away at first as she sauntered into Pallass. Only, Ishkr had said he hadn’t known Onieva was a Named-rank adventurer. He’d never heard of her. She’d put that down to him being a Liscorian. But it was odd.

 

——

 

Elia Arcsinger was panicking, but she was playing it cool. She had no idea who Onieva was; she’d only known her as someone Ishkr sometimes met up with.

That she was a Named-rank adventurer and claimed to know Elia? Impossible…unless they’d met when Onieva was a lower-ranking adventurer? But she spoke as if she were a veteran.

It wasn’t an act. The way she’d casually moved like that and the strength in her thin arms were impossible to fake. Rather, if you could fake the walk, you deserved the title.

She was a Named-rank of Pallass, but the only famous Named-rank of Pallass that immediately came to mind was Saliss of Lights. But one whiff of Onieva’s scales and Elia put her as an [Alchemist]. Did Saliss have a sister? A teacher? An apprentice?

She just pretended she knew what Onieva was talking about. It generally worked.

 

——

 

It was like déjà vu, but backwards, if that made sense. It was like…doing something that Onieva felt she should have done before. This odd feeling of ‘why is this the first time it’s ever happened?’

Here they were, a Drake and a half-Elf, walking through Pallass as the sun set and turned the City of Inventions orange. The sounds of the elevators whirring down for the day was the background clunk of the city, along with the ringing of hammers from the 9th Floor and the permanent babble of millions of Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda.

Two Named-ranks. Two women, walking and talking, paying no mind to people turning to stare at them. Even if they didn’t recognize the names and reputations, Elia and Onieva were two of the rarest species in the world.

High-level. Both above Level 50—okay, Onieva was. Elia had to be above Level 40, which still put her in a minority, if not nearly one so radical. What they did, they were the best at. Onieva could create miracles and death with her claws. Elia could look at something and hit it, even a fly two thousand paces away.

And they knew how to kill—they had walked into ancient tombs and come out, covered in blood and death. They could look horror in the eyes and stab it without freezing.

Even if Elia was a pretender. Onieva remembered the first time they’d met, when she’d pegged Elia as a fake within the first moment of talking.

It was obvious. The entire world had been celebrating Elia’s killing of the Goblin King, and she’d been invited to Pallass by the old man, the Cyclops himself. He’d been sharper back then and attended a big gala with the Assembly of Crafts. Everyone had been all over her, but Onieva and Chaldion had gotten to talk to her due to their rank.

What other people had taken as false modesty when they asked her to recount killing the Goblin King, Onieva had seen as genuine honesty in an instant. It really had been a lucky shot. Or something much like it. Elia hadn’t scared Onieva, and she should have.

Of course, the half-Elf professed not to remember the meeting. She only remembered Saliss. Onieva made a face.

“I’m constantly in his shadow. Onieva Oliwing. Also Named-rank, for my sins.”

“I’m…sorry for not remembering. Are you new to your rank?”

“Nope. I got it around Saliss’ time.”

“I see. What’s your title?”

There it was again. A flash of something odd. Onieva hesitated.

“Onieva of…Lights. Same as Saliss. I know, I know. I can’t beat the allegations. We both do alchemy, we’re both cousins, I share recipes with him…look, I keep my tail down. He’s the big hero of Pallass.”

That poor, miserable idiot. Onieva stared across the city, past all the faces, grateful they weren’t staring at a Drake nakedly gyrating. Saliss, laughingstock of Pallass. He’d done terrible things for his city—and he liked them knowing him as a fool. She pitied him.

Elia walked stiffly, as if worried someone would see her and call her a fraud. They struck an odd comparison, the formal half-Elf and the sauntering Drake with her claws behind her head.

“I—am sorry, again, about interrupting you. I was trying to make Ishkr’s acquaintance. I’m not well liked in the inn, it appears, and he seemed like the best candidate.”

Onieva winked one eye.

“Of course he is. He’s the highest level.”

“He is? I mean, yes, he is.”

Ancestors. Onieva rolled her eyes. Elia’s tricks didn’t work on her. But her instincts were good. You didn’t survive at Named-rank level, even as a ‘fake’ like Elia, without being able to back that up. Unconsciously or not, Elia had spotted Ishkr. Few people did.

“He’s cute. Like a Gold-ranker about to hit Named-rank, but not one of the ones who think they deserve it. He’s got no ego; the opposite. He knows he’s something, but he’s not quite there yet. He doesn’t walk into a room with the confidence of who he is. You know? He reminds me of Colth the Supporter. Do you know him?”

Now they were on firmer ground, lack of memory aside. Named-ranks knew each other, and Elia nodded hesitantly.

“Passingly. He’s visited Terandria. He was very promising when I saw him.”

“Was that when he was Silver-rank, or Named? Because if you meet him now—he looks the same, but someone took that tousle-haired kid and turned him into a serrated blade.”

“Before. It must have been. He was earnest. I shot a bow with him…so he’s properly Named-rank? I thought at the time he was better than Silver-rank.”

Onieva drew a claw across her throat as she led Elia up the stairs. They could go for a walk along a park; she decided to get some baked Prelons with salt on top from a stand. The combination of sweet and salty was good in the evenings, and it wasn’t wet and mushy like other fruits; the two could pick pieces out at their leisure.

“Colth’s Named-rank to the bones, now. Pure generalist. Not that great against a hard target, but he’ll dice anything soft up a million different ways.”

“Capable. I thought about trying to partner with him, but he headed south too fast for me…”

Elia murmured. They were using casual expressions as well. ‘Hard target’ meant something like an Adult Creler, an armored foe that required specialized Skills or items to get through. Soft was a [Bandit], regular monsters. Named-ranks tended to be either good at taking down single, hard targets or masses of soft targets. Onieva was definitely better in the latter camp, and Elia was in the former, but Onieva could deal with hard targets too.

“I’m afraid I don’t know Colthei that well. I’m mostly familiar with Named-ranks in Terandria, though I have travelled. Do you know…Musky?”

“Is that Muscane the Hound?”

“That’s right. She’s young—well, comparatively, she’s in her late thirties—and still fairly innocent. Genuine.”

Onieva rubbed her chin as Elia glanced at her. If this was a test to see if Onieva really knew everyone…she shrugged.

“Never met her. But I believe she’s actually a good kid from the rumors. She partners with Gold-rankers, right? If she actually works with teams, it means she’s not got that ego.”

“Yes…it’s not wholly altruistic. She has some quirks that she needs help with.”

Must have been a secret. All Named-ranks had a problem of some kind. This was what you did when you met another sane one, capable of conversation, that you trusted. You swapped stories. Warnings.

“If you’re staying here, watch out for Tessa. Lyonette says she’s getting her back, and I’d do it, but I don’t want to throw down with Merdon if there’s a better way. Crowdcaller Merdon?”

“I’ve met him. He’s very…colorful.”

“Literally all bark, no real bite. Couldn’t kill a hard target without hearing if his life depended on it. Shriekblade, though, she’s real. And crazy. Poor girl. It’s not her fault, but she’ll mess you up. Any newcomers in Terandria worth mentioning?”

“Uh, eh, Duchess Greina of Noelictus and Princess Telleis are set to hit Named-rank…”

“Spare me. Doesn’t matter if they’re royals, if they’re not even rookies—real corn, Elia.”

The half-Elf blinked. She stopped under trees growing in a park that residents of the 5th Floor could experience. A slice of nature without having to leave their stone city. Big, impressive oaks that stretched to the ceiling; some had been allowed into the 6th floor and given holes to let branches grow through.

“Corn.”

“Right. Real corn, fake corn.”

“I get it. You—really are Saliss’ cousin. I remember he used that analogy. Someone to watch? Ah. Calcirite the Forgeblessed.”

“…That is new. The name’s got to be fake.”

Elia nodded.

“He’s a Dwarf. Adamantium gear. I’m not sure if his talents are Named-rank without his armor, but he has enough of both. He’s rather…direct. Mercenary. Challenging. My team had a few run-ins with him, and I defused the situations, but I believe he’s good enough.”

Hotshot new Named-rank who wants to pick fights with other Named-ranks for easy reputation. Onieva filed that away and made a note to tell Saliss.

Tonight. She’d have to visit him tonight, which meant she had to spend as much time with Ishkr as she could before slipping away. Then it might be ages before she got to see him again.

I could just visit him tomorrow and sneak into his bed and wake him up in a fun way. Or just prank him. Why don’t I do that?

—She focused on Elia.

“My turn. Watch out for…Zeter Sixswords. I call him Sixdicks, all of them smaller than a punch dagger. He swaggers around enough to make it true. He’s all [Soldier]—Manus’ little pet. He’ll try to kill you in a heartbeat if the City of War thinks you’re a potential enemy.”

Elia licked her lips.

“What are the odds he’ll clash with Liscor? Low?”

Onieva slapped Elia on the back, happy.

“He already went there once for the Trial of Blades! He tried to cripple a bunch of adventurers—he got the Champions of the Coast. Took off Teithde’s arm, poor woman. Hopefully she gets it replaced. He did a lot of damage to the Gold-ranks too.”

“Champions of the Coast. I don’t know…them. Are they respectable?”

She meant sane or normal enough to function. Onieva hesitated.

“Rasen and Teithde. I don’t know. I can vouch for Mivifa in Oteslia. Gnolls tend to be solid. There’s this kid, Lehra…I’ve met those two. I can’t figure them out. My bet’s on them having serious damage.”

It was just an instinct. Almost every Named-rank was broken in some way. The only difference was that Tessa and some of them were honest; the rest hid their scars. Elia certainly did with hers. The half-Elf glanced again at Onieva and switched subjects.

“Will you be staying around The Wandering Inn often? We could make a habit of this.”

Another slap to the shoulder. Elia winced.

“Sorry. I know you’d like that, but I can’t hold your hand for you all day. I’ll be headed off. There’s big alchemical stuff happening, and the writing is on the walls. Saliss and I are probably headed to the New Lands.”

“Oh? What for? Something valuable?”

“Could be.”

Onieva gave Elia a bland smile, then switched the topic again.

“I thought you’d retire. Or go home. Working at the inn might be good for you, Elia. You were always full of…not hot air. Hot air implies you thought you had anything close to your reputation’s abilities. You knew you were half-grown corn the entire time, but you kept the act up. I can respect that, even if I think it must have sucked. You could have packed up, lived quietly, gotten enough to live off of on your reputation. Why the sudden injection of spine? All those [Necromancers] in Rheirgest give you one?”

Elia’s cheeks flamed, and she put a hand on her bow—met Onieva’s eyes—and took it away. She peered intently at tall, sturdy ferns lining a walkway, answering softly.

“I’m…I have the liberty to train and find things out about myself here. Home would be political.”

“I feel that.”

“And you? Are you visiting the inn because it gives you a break from Pallass? Or because you see the potential in the place and Ishkr?”

It wasn’t exactly hard to find the weak spot; Elia was an [Archer] and could return fire. Onieva smiled a trace sadly.

“Ishkr and I won’t last. I’m a Named-rank. He’ll do or say something, and I’ll show him who I am. But he’s cute. I want to see how he breaks and turns into a jagged edge of glass. Real corn. As for the inn—it’s a damn cornfield there. You’re not going to be safe, Elia.”

The Drake opened her bright yellow eye, the other dancing blue, her rose-and-cobalt scales glittering in the last light of the sun. She faced Elia and delivered her warning.

“If you’re going to cut and run, do it now. I’ll pay for your ride back home. Because you don’t run from this job, Elia. If I put the inn and the people in it in your claws and I come back and find you weren’t there until the last, I’ll kill you myself.”

She saw Elia’s throat swallow, hard, and the [Archer] took a deep breath, then two, before replying.

“I’m still a Named-rank adventurer, Onieva. That threat works better coming from Saliss. Everyone knows Saliss is a monster behind that smile. I don’t know you.”

The two’s staring contest caused an entire nest of bats hiding in a tree to fly, shrieking in high-pitched shrills only Onieva could hear. The Drake just smiled; she knew how dangerous she was. Elia was the one who looked away first.

“I’m acting in good faith. If you could—put a word in with Ishkr, I would appreciate it.”

“Can do, Elia. Anything for my favorite little Named-rank!”

Onieva threw an arm around her and tried to pinch Elia’s cheek. Elia didn’t let her do that, but Onieva was mostly satisfied.

There. Two of us talking like Named-ranks, talking about what it’s like to be female adventurers…

She stopped.

She hadn’t said one thing about what it was like to be a female adventurer to Elia. Nor had Onieva ever had that conversation.

Not once. Not with Mivifa. Not with other adventurers growing up. Onieva could remember conversations with Mivifa. They were friends. They’d talked about the old man, about Mivifa’s struggles, Onieva’s…

Not once about—Onieva glanced at Elia. And she was going to talk about, what…having a younger, male lover? Dealing with accusations from other adventurers? She knew the topics, vaguely, but they weren’t personal to her. It was as if she could regurgitate something she’d seen or observed second-hand.

I can remember two dozen one-night stands. Plenty of adventurers or people I’ve liked. Not one night that I shared in anyone’s arms without slipping away like a [Rogue]. No, I can’t even remember holding anyone for longer than two hours at most.

Impossible. She liked lying in bed with Ishkr. She was happy. Things were great.

Why were things great?

Something was wrong. The old man? But he was well and truly out of it. High Command?

Onieva saw Elia recoil in alarm and had to smile and reassure her. It wasn’t Elia; the half-Elf just sensed the sudden moment of bloodlust.

What is wrong with my memories? 

She had to ask someone. There were only two people she really trusted in all of Pallass. Mirn and Saliss.

Onieva went to find Mirn.

 

——

 

Onieva ran into people outside Saliss’ home on the 5th Floor before she found Mirn. Mirn was hard to find; if he wasn’t running the bar nights, he was either sleeping during the day or working odd-jobs under his cover-job as an imports warehouse manager.

It was just chance that Onieva had been passing by Saliss’ home and saw a group of Drakes and two Gnolls banging on his door.

“Alchemist! We know you’re in there! By order of General Edellein, open the door!”

The Drake was shouting with the kind of bald-faced lie of someone who had no idea where Saliss was and was really just hoping the [Alchemist] would appear. Onieva, knowing Saliss, bet that even if he was home, he’d only open the door to toss his wastebin on the Drakes and Gnolls. She grinned, hoping he’d do that…but after a minute, the Drakes huddled with their compatriots.

“Think he’s actually in there?”

“Well, no one’s seen him leaving his workshop—should we wait?”

“If he’s in the workshop, he could be in there a week. I’ve heard that if he’s on a giant project, he can vanish for months at a time, but High Command wants the report on seith now—”

“What if we beg?”

“…That won’t work.”

“It might. He might come out to laugh at us.”

There was something pathetic about this; these were high-ranking flunkies who reported to the new 1st General, the Assembly of Crafts, and so on. They smelled like cologne and perfume, and Onieva saw the alchemical goop that kept their scales bright and shiny. One of the Gnolls even had an illusion spell on her. They were some of the glue that held Pallass’ bureaucracy together, but what glue.

Onieva decided to help both them and Saliss out. She strolled over, claws tucked into some fashionable, tight ‘jeans’ she’d bought from that new fashion store in Invrisil. It was the fourth set of clothing she had…so few. Why?

“Hey, you lot, Saliss isn’t home. He’s working on the seith—somewhere. I’m sure he’ll report back in a day or two. He’s not lazy.”

He was, in fact, too committed to doing his job when it came to the actual safety of civilians in the Walled Cities. Put him on a cure project or an antidote and he’d work without sleep for up to a week. Onieva had been right with him on those jobs.

Hadn’t she?

The oddities now crowding Onieva’s brain increased as the Drakes, some puffed-up [Aides] or [Staff Members], gave her supercilious looks.

“Excuse me, Miss. This is Walled City business. Please, step back. Unless…you know Saliss?”

They gave her a look between haughty and desperate, and Onieva rolled her eyes.

“Know him? I’m Onieva.”

She waited. All six of them exchanged glances. Onieva flicked out her tongue, exasperated.

“Onieva Oliwing? Chaldion’s grand-niece? Saliss’ cousin? I run deliveries for him to the auction house and practice alchemy? Hello?”

She’d been to social engagements! She’d hobbed with the nobs, who really weren’t that fun. One of the Gnolls scratched her chin.

“Onieva…ah, right. I recall you. Can you tell your cousin we need his opinion on the seith? A report, now? High Command needs it.”

“He’ll get it to you when he gets it to you. It’s not exactly easy putting it into writing for idiots to understand. Like Edellein.”

“That’s General Edellein to you, Miss! Adventurer Saliss is not permitted to share confidential information to civilians!”

One of the military staff-members snapped at her, and Onieva disliked the tone. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m helping him with the seith, soot-for-brains.”

“You are? Saliss doesn’t have assistants.”

Their odd expressions…Onieva hesitated, then snorted.

“Correction. I’m not an assistant, I’m helping. And he has an assistant, a cute Stitch-girl. Try not to stab her if you see her entering his workshop—”

“His assistant, of course! Let’s ask her where he is! To the door!”

The group turned and raced for an elevator, completely ignoring Onieva. She held out her claws, mightily tempted to drop-kick them in the back. That was—

Well, she knew Saliss was the more famous Named-rank, but was Onieva of Lights not even a footnote in Pallass’ files? Typical! She stomped down towards 2nd Floor, claws in her pockets, growling the entire way.

“See if I help fight those Wyverns next time. Saliss gets all the credit—not that he doesn’t deserve some of it. But I’ve been—”

I’ve been there. I fought the Wyverns on the eastern wall with Saliss. But he’s the one who single-handedly held them off. They should all recognize me; I helped fight the Wyvern Lord, and people haven’t stopped patting Saliss on the tail for that.

But the news only showed Saliss. That’s not even an omission due to his fame.

I remember the news coverage of Saliss.

I wasn’t in it.

But I remember fighting the Wyverns.

What’s…going on?

 

——

 

Mirn was ticking off a checklist as he took in a bunch of cargo for his warehouse, which doubled as a storage area and hideout for Turnscales in trouble, when someone threw her arms around him.

“Hey, there’s my favorite lover!”

The former [Soldier]-turned-[Protector] jumped, then relaxed. Only Onieva could sneak up on him like that. He turned as a few of his hired workers spotted Onieva and waved.

“Onieva, I’m working.”

“Aw, can’t I drag you away for a bit of fun?”

She gave him a bawdy wink, and Mirn made a show of putting away his clipboard. He—was slightly worried by Onieva being here.

Shouldn’t she only appear in the evenings? Saliss must have been overworked if Onieva was out in the daytime.

Then again, the potions of transformation were no longer the issue since Saliss could make tons with the Faerie Flowers. Mirn checked the sun’s position.

“I’ve got to finish unloading this cargo.”

“It’s all here, boss. We can take it.”

One of the workers called out reassuringly. He was another Turnscale, and the other workers were solid, good people—they shouted the same, and Mirn made a show of being dragged away by Onieva.

They played this game that wasn’t a game for the sake of watchers. But the truth was that they probably did behave like a couple; Onieva straightened Mirn’s dirty work-clothes and tutted as they headed to the 5th Floor.

Saliss’ home. Onieva led Mirn as if she were Saliss, because she was—but Mirn knew she was using Saliss’ memories.

But she didn’t remember she was Saliss. That was the drawback of the Faerie Flower version of the potion, and it always made his stomach hurt when he saw her walking about. Still, Saliss said he was happier when he was she—

Sometimes, it got confusing, depending on the kind of Turnscale you were. Rose, that kid from Earth, had a lot of terms, but even she got mixed up because magic played with the rules. Saliss was Onieva. Saliss was truly Onieva, and the body someone had tossed on him was the bad, cruel joke, but Onieva was something Saliss could transform into.

Because of that, Saliss had decided he was Saliss at times. Saliss, the Named-rank adventurer, the one who did what he thought he had to do. So Saliss was Onieva, but Onieva was separate from Saliss.

If that made sense.

Mirn’s job, in this case, was to wake up Saliss. He had vials, six of them in his house, on his person, in a safety box—all of which would reverse the transformation. It wasn’t hard, normally—he handed Onieva the vial, and she recognized it and would turn back. But today was—different.

“I’m glad I caught you, Mirn. Today’s been weird. First, I met Elia Arcsinger; remember her?”

“The slayer of the Goblin King? You said she’s half-real corn.”

Onieva shrugged, taking on Saliss’ mannerisms, and she remembered everything he did. But it was still slightly—off.

“Half-real, but she’s okay. Had a conversation with her, but then I had this weirdest—not déjà vu, but the opposite. No one recognizes me. I mean, some people do, but it’s like everyone’s forgotten I’m a Named-rank all of a sudden. Maybe I should restart my adventuring career? Stop helping Saliss and go solo?”

Uh oh. Mirn wished he had some more stomach pain powder, but Saliss had told him it just destroyed his stomach lining. He needed some right now and reached for the vial that would at least help Onieva.

“It’s—probably just people forgetting you since Saliss is the flashy one. Hey, Onieva, isn’t it time to take your tonic?”

“Eh, I’ve got time until Saliss has to deliver the report. He’s just got to write it up and sit through a stupid meeting with High Command and hold their claws. Then let them say something horrifically military. Ancestors, I could do the report and deliver it for him. Take a load off. He’s been stressed. Anything new happening with you, Mirn?”

Small wonder if you’re here. They headed to 5th Floor, chatting over the things they could talk about openly, covertly mentioning news about a new Turnscale, and so on.

Neither one was too worried about the Eyes of Pallass getting in their way. Mirn didn’t clash with them—and he wasn’t sure what the new status quo was with Chaldion gone, but Onieva didn’t get hassled. If the Eyes of Pallass even knew who she was—they knew better than to tail her.

Onieva glanced at the potion Mirn had slipped back onto his belt as she unlocked the door to Saliss’ home and slipped in.

“Hey, Saliss? It’s me! Wow, he really is out. Hey, I’d better get my own home. It’s sort of embarrassing crashing at his place all the time, don’t you think?”

Mirn poured himself a cup of water from the faucet. Okay, it was bad today. He spoke carefully.

“I don’t think so? You and Saliss do everything so similarly—what’s the issue?”

Onieva’s eyes flickered to him as he poured a cup of water for her. He didn’t pour the tonic into the cup; spiking an [Alchemist]’s drink was the dumbest thing you could try. But Onieva just stretched at the messy table filled with food she or Saliss had brought from restaurants and never thrown away.

“Yeah, well, I’m really disliking how much credit he gets. Remember when I was fighting the Wyverns? Guess who gets all the television.”

Mirn tried to grin.

“Oh, that. Didn’t you duck out of the interviews or something? I vaguely remember that.”

“Did I? It sounds like me.”

She leaned back in her chair, balancing on her tail, as she took the cup of water and a sip, then smacked her lips. Mirn sat down, brushing a stack of plates to the side.

“So—how’s the seith?”

“Nasty? It’s the kind of stuff the old Golems were made of. It’s fuel for Tier 6 spells. It’s literally the magicore of the older eras, Mirn; nothing gets done without it. If there’s more of it, anyone who knows what it’s worth wants it. It’s like a mana-crystal or magicore for Level 50+ people.”

“Dead gods.”

“Them too. Say, you think we should take Saliss to the bar tonight? Get him out and actually having fun for once instead of sitting in Tails and Scales or something?”

“He’s…not a Turnscale, Onieva. But he is an ally. I don’t know if he’d be comfortable, you know? Let alone how safe the bar is.”

Mirn was in agony now, trying to figure out what to say. Onieva frowned, tapped her lips, and shrugged. She sat forward as Mirn slid the tonic to her.

“Listen, I think it’s time. Have a sip and we’ll see what Saliss thinks when he arrives.”

Onieva snorted as she picked up the vial and held it to the light. She lightly uncorked it and put it to her lips.

“High Command’s sent their little staff scurrying all over Pallass looking for him. Have you seen him? Don’t tell me he’s hiding in your house.”

Mirn saw Onieva take a sip.

“Oh, I think he’s closer by than you think.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

Onieva’s mouth pursed, and she turned and spat the Faerie Flower drink in Mirn’s eyes. That was the last thing he saw as a clawed hand, dainty but impossibly strong, picked him up and slammed him into a wall.

Mirn was tough, a former soldier in the alchemy corps ranks and a [Protector] to boot, a high-level one. His claws shot out, even blind—and then a crushing arm was locking one of his arms and his windpipe against the wall. And there was a dagger placed right in his earhole.

He stopped struggling, an icy blade of fear running through his chest.

“Onieva!”

He wanted to speak, but she had him locked down. The Drake’s blue and yellow eyes were terribly, terribly calm, and she was poised to kill him in a second.

Named-rank adventurer. Great [Alchemist]—she spoke, her voice quivering slightly.

“What’s in the drink, Mirn? I don’t remember. I remember thinking I made it. Funny. My memory’s clear. I never ducked interviews after the Wyverns fled, but you seem to think I did. Or want me to believe it. Where’s Saliss? Is he part of this?”

He tapped on her arm, frantically, and the knife tip moved further into his ear-canal in response.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill you. Is Saliss part of this?”

She was ready to fight, like this was a Turnscale raid. Mirn’s scales were sleek with sweat, because if she thought he was a traitor, he was very dead. If she thought she and Saliss were about to kill each other—

“No, no! We’re on your side, Onieva! You’ve known me for decades!”

“I have. The old man means I don’t trust even my oldest friends. Memories can be faked. What’s in the vial?”

“F-faerie Flower tonic! It’s just meant to transform you back, Onieva!”

Her eyes flickered.

“Faerie Flower…? I never made…transform me back into who?”

Her grip loosened a bit so he could gasp for air, and Mirn spoke.

“You—you have to know. I asked you the first time. I know it’s the side-effect of the drink—don’t kill me, Onieva. Where’s Saliss? You know where he is. Why don’t people recognize you? You know.”

She let go of him, and he fell, coughing and cursing himself as an idiot. He should have never agreed to play along with this stupid charade for as long as he had. But she’d been so happy—Onieva stood there, flicking the dagger up and down. She was glancing around, paranoid, searching for a trap or trick, but she was too smart.

“Where’s Saliss? Don’t…no one recognizes me. I met Elia. She should know me. Four pairs of clothes. Can’t remember how many times I’ve ever slept over with anyone—all those adventures.”

“With Saliss?”

Her eyes flicked to him, and she hurled the dagger down into the table, making the plates jump. Onieva strode around the room, holding her head in her claws.

“But he’s a lone operator. So am I. I remember being alone when I fought Wrymvr, that—but I was with him. I know what Faerie Flowers do. I definitely would have turned them into a potion! I did with Xif! Something’s wrong. Holes in my memory. What did the old man do?”

She lifted him again, baring her teeth, going to the first and most logical conclusion. This time, Mirn held still.

“Nothing, Onieva. Not this time. You did it to yourself. Figure it out. Why did you go to Chandrar?”

Her eyes were wide and searching. She was in denial, now, but her intelligent mind was putting it together. Her claws loosened as she whispered.

“Run away. I ran. Why did I run away to Chandrar? Because I didn’t want to turn into my father or mother and be the old man’s hope of the Walled Cities. Because I knew something was wrong. Because—I knew there was a famous [Alchemist] in Nerrhavia’s Fallen that could change your form. Let you become anything…”

She glanced down at her body. Rose-pink and cobalt scales, a flashy, beautiful coloration. A Drake in the prime of her life, looking younger than she was, beautiful. She found the water glass and stared at her face, which was similar in a few ways, but mostly…her eyes widened further.

She didn’t drop the glass or gasp or scream. She just stood there as the Faerie Flower’s drink finally lost the ability to trick her. Onieva put the glass of water down with a claw that visibly shook and turned to Mirn. He lay there, but her voice was quiet, gentle, and oh so very afraid.

“Mirn. Am I…Saliss?”

His eyes stung.

“Yeah, Onieva. You are.”

For a second, Onieva didn’t move. Then her shoulders slumped. She let out a breath, long and slow, and he saw all the weight that had been absent from his best friend’s shoulders, all the burdens that Pallass’ unthanked hero had carried, fall back into place. Heavier than before.

But it was Onieva who caught the load, and it was still her, not Saliss, who sat down heavily in a chair. Mirn pulled himself up as Onieva put her head in her hands. Neither one said a word for minutes. Then she spoke.

“It makes sense. No wonder I’m so miserable when I wake up, yet then I’m always happy and relieved for no reason. Deliriously happy, like someone cast a [Hysteria] spell on me. No wonder I feel like I’ve never gone out shopping or held anyone’s hand or had the time to love or just walk in the park.”

She looked at the overturned vial and righted it on the table.

“So this thing was responsible for me not knowing…?”

“You did with the first potions. This is—the side-effect.”

“Faerie Flowers. Always some kind of prank. Except with the painkiller stuff. I’m pretty sure the trick there is that you sleep an hour for every hour you get pain-free. The First Gardener was complaining about that. Makes sense. And it played just enough with my memories that I didn’t get it. Then I thought you were drugging me. I was about to kill you and then fight my way out of Pallass.”

“—Thanks for not doing that.”

Mirn felt shaky and knew Onieva was putting together more pieces, reconciling her life with Saliss’. Maybe the memories were joining up, but dead gods…he didn’t want her to remember what had happened to Saliss.

If Mirn could have gone back in time—well, he’d have told a young Saliss to run. Run like all the Demons of Rhir were after him and not give his life to Pallass. Maybe not to go to Nerrhavia’s Fallen, either.

Or maybe I’d just go there and murder that damn [Alchemist] and give Saliss the recipe book. The prices Saliss had paid to learn what he had were too much.

As in, to be brutally clear, the price had been trading her body to her ‘master’ for the knowledge of how to shape herself. Saliss, and Onieva, had not found a better or more understanding world in Chandrar.

Then she’d come back, risen to become a Named-rank adventurer, and put her body and soul on the line too many times for so little reward until she was close to breaking. Only brief hours as Onieva had kept her sane.

Then one day she’d met an [Innkeeper] and talked to Mirn about a cute, crazy kid who was cursed with the same stuff as Named-ranks. And then she’d experimented with the Faerie Flowers and…

Here they were. Onieva, running her hands down her face. The first thing she said in the dim light of the shuttered house was—

“So I’m actually a nudist and all of Pallass has seen my dangling worm?”

Mirn tried not to laugh. But Onieva continued, straight-faced.

“—And I’m a Named-rank adventurer who’s playing the famous idiot when I’m actually…I—Saliss—must feel like—”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a Turnscale.”

“Yep.”

Onieva’s head ducked, then rose, then she banged it on the table.

“Ancestors, I’m a Turnscale! No wonder I hang out at your bar all the time! No wonder I know what—and that means since Saliss isn’t me and he’s—is he happy?”

Mirn shook his head, relieved and heartbroken.

“Nope. I think he’s miserable.”

“Dead gods. I’d die if I had to be…the potions. And he’s been doing this for forty damn years. Or trying to, before he figured out how to create the potions that made—me.”

“You’ve been doing this for forty years, Onieva.”

She peered at him, clawed hands trembling.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Saliss said—”

“I bet he did. I did. Ancestors, this is so confusing!”

Onieva leapt to her feet and paced around the room. She turned back to Mirn suddenly.

“If I drink that potion, I turn into Saliss, right? And he remembers…?”

“Everything you did. Including the fact that you don’t remember.”

Her face twisted up in a wry grimace.

“Well, he’ll remember this time. I…wow. Okay.”

She buried her face in her claws again and just sat there. She didn’t shake, and Mirn was afraid to pat her on the shoulder. Afraid that she might break down. Then he heard a laugh, pain-filled, tired, but relieved.

“I thought I was going mad or being tricked. I’m only a Turnscale, not some body-double or mind-slaved victim. I’m…it’d be easier if this was all a scheme from the Eyes of Pallass. Wouldn’t it?”

She looked up, eyes shining, and Mirn thought about what she had said. It’d be easier if a Walled City’s secret agency was mentally corrupting her mind or drugging her for decades. He leaned on her, eyes watering.

“Yeah.”

For a while, neither of them said anything, then Onieva wiped at her eyes.

“On the plus side, I had a great time with that cute Gnoll [Server], Ishkr. It’s the first time I ever woke up with someone holding me. And you know my first thought? I was really worried about getting pregnant. I swallowed one of those after-night potions instantly. It’s like less than a one in ten thousand chance of getting naturally pregnant cross-species, but it happens…”

Mirn started laughing, then choked with the idea of any of that happening to Onieva. Onieva laughed too. She sat there as Mirn stood.

“What happens now, Onieva?”

“Now? I guess I drink the tonic, go back to being Saliss, and you can stop acting like an idiot each time I turn into Onieva. I’m sure I’ll remember. Dead gods, you were an Eye of Pallass, Mirn. How are you so bad at acting?”

He hunched his shoulders defensively.

“I was combat and alchemy, not speechcraft. Are you going to be okay, Onieva?”

She shrugged, exhaling wearily.

“Me? I’m okay. Like I said, it makes sense. It’s not—fun to know I’m Saliss. It feels terrible, actually, because I know how his life is. But I’m happy. I’m me, Mirn. This is everything I wanted. If I could go off into the distance and leave Pallass behind and not go back to being Saliss…”

She trailed off, and Mirn turned. He strode over, picked up the vial, and stoppered it. Onieva glanced up, and Mirn spoke.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go back to being Saliss, Onieva. Pack up. Grab everything—you can probably get everything except his Merchant’s Guild’s money, and even a lot of that maybe. Just pack up, go somewhere—The Wandering Inn—and never come back. They’ll look for Saliss, but you can pretend you are his cousin. The potion doesn’t wear off, or even if it does, you have enough to make a lifetime’s worth. Go!”

He shooed her with his claws, suddenly desperate. This was her chance. She wasn’t Saliss. She could go and—

Onieva sat there, and there was too much of Saliss in her eyes. She shook her head.

“What happens to those idiots in charge? All the kids and people in Pallass?”

“They’ll find another Named-rank, Onieva.”

“The old man—Chaldion—”

“He’s dead! Stay near the inn, then! Go to the inn and have a dozen kids with Ishkr if you want. Or be a Named-rank for another city! Explore the world! Anything but here. You can’t keep doing this.”

At some point, he realized he was crying. Actually trying to shove her out the door, voice raised, hysterical. Onieva was holding him, and Mirn broke down. She was so gentle, for all her strength, as she patted him on the head.

“I am Saliss. Or he’s part of me. He still loves this city, Mirn.”

“It’s not worthy of you.”

Onieva said nothing for a long time. She sighed, and Mirn rested his head against her chest. After a while, gently, a claw touched Mirn’s chin.

“Worthy. Unworthy. It never mattered to me whether they were or not, Mirn. Only if I loved them. I could never do anything about them loving me for who I was.”

Mirn’s head tilted up as a familiar voice spoke, gentle, deeper, and Saliss of Lights gave him a grin that was just tired. Mirn shook his head in despair, and the Named-rank adventurer shed Onieva’s jeans and clothing. He sat down.

“Saliss—”

“Even as Onieva, I’m me. I can’t do it. Not with the New Lands, not with seith. It’s more than just protecting people, Mirn. It’s making sure Pallass isn’t the monster I know it can be. One more time. One last push.”

“You’ve said that since you came back from Nerrhavia’s Fallen! I can’t keep watching you tear yourself to pieces! I should have lied and let Onieva kill me!”

Mirn overturned the table, and Saliss grabbed plates and food, piling them up in a blur of movement. He stopped, grinning, balancing a dozen plates on his arms and even a foot, and Mirn watched him in despair.

“Saliss.”

The [Alchemist] gently put the plates down, then brushed at Mirn’s tears. He hugged his friend and spoke.

“—It’s like a drug, being her. The happiest in the world. And I keep thinking—‘if I can be her half the time, a third of the time, I can do this’. I can live my entire life with a third of my day happy and as myself.”

Mirn was going to scream. To shout at the manifest horror of those words. But Saliss’ arms tightened, and he murmured as he rested his head against Mirn’s chest.

“—But the more I feel what it’s like to be Onieva, the closer I get to the dream, Mirn, the more impossible it gets to split my time. One last time. One last push, and then…Saliss of Lights is going to retire. He’s going to pull a Zel Shivertail and make a stand for Turnscales. It doesn’t matter if his reputation goes to shit; it’s already there. Pallass can exile me or order me in line. One last year, Mirn. Then I’m packing up and never going back.”

Mirn looked up suddenly, heart leaping.

“You’ve said that—”

“I’ve said it before. Look at me, Mirn.”

Saliss held Mirn’s head with his claws.

“Turnscales. I owe you and everyone else a debt. Saliss can do that. He can stand in front of an army and threaten to turn it to ash and blood. This is it. Burn every bridge I’ve got because Onieva’s going to fly away.”

The [Protector] didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Saliss to drink the potion and run off now. But the Named-rank was so determined, and if Saliss left, Turnscales in Pallass would suffer.

“Promise me? Or I’ll slip that potion into your drink along with a pregnancy surefire draught the next time Onieva dates Ishkr or whomever.”

Saliss snorted.

“Dead gods, Mirn. I promise.”

He took a breath and sounded relieved. Saliss gently lifted the mostly empty vial of Faerie Flower tonic and sighed.

“It only took forty-some years. Soon, I’ll be able to live.”

He smiled, then. That smile you only saw when Saliss was alone, not in public. That courageous, damned stupid, wonderfully tragic hero of Pallass.

 

——

 

Beithday (same day) – The Hunting Event

 

Elia Arcsinger felt a bit better after her talk with Onieva. There was a Named-rank adventurer who didn’t seem as noticeably broken-down by her rank as many Elia had met. It gave Elia hope that she, too, could have an enjoyable, reasonable lifestyle.

Elia supposed there was nothing wrong with how things were. Certainly, when she got back to the inn, a slightly embarrassed Ishkr asked her if she’d wanted anything, and she intimated that she’d mostly wanted to talk about the staff.

“Oh. The staff—they’re, ah, erm, standoffish. Given your reputation. But The Wandering Inn is full of second chances. If you proved you were willing to change, I think many would give you that shot. You just have to show it.”

“How?”

“Well…it’s often in events.”

“Like…handing out food when the inn has a big party or putting on a show? I can juggle a bit.”

Elia had an image of herself putting on that maid outfit and doing a bit of manual work to show she was part of the team. Ishkr hesitated.

“Er. No. I meant more when Facestealer attacks. Or Crelers pour in through the portal door.”

Liska had been having lunch and gave Ishkr a side-eye along with Elia.

“D-does that happen often?”

Ishkr tried for a reassuring smile.

“Not—often? Infrequently! But reliably infrequently? In the meantime, er, you could maybe add something to the inn? You’re always either training Bird or on lookout duty.”

So all you do is sit around and eat food. Elia took the hint. After a bit of discussion, she realized there was something she could do. With the pouring rain, it was wet as hell around the inn, but the waters provided her with an opportunity.

The wooden bridges linking the hills gave her ample space to walk about and shoot her bow. For training, obviously, but also…

“Do you think if I brought in some game—fish or maybe rabbits or something—it would help?”

Ishkr’s eyes brightened.

“We buy fresh fish, of course.”

“Oh. Then—”

“—But if you were to bring in some, I could have Calescent make up a special meal and tell all the staff you were responsible for it. Goblins and Antinium love eating.”

This was true. Thus, Elia’s mission for the day became a hunt for the best game or fish to impress the inn’s workers.

It was pretty fun. Elia didn’t mind the pouring rain; she just requested an archer’s umbrella, and when no one had an idea what that was, she built one out of some wood and canvas.

It was essentially a giant stick you attached to a harness that kept the umbrella over your head and with enough room for your bow. It was silly-looking, but it let Elia keep dry as well as pivot and shoot so long as the winds didn’t blow.

In fact, when a few of the wet Rheirgest [Necromancers] saw her, they were copying her within minutes. Elia strode out of the inn, walked over the wet, swaying bridges, and began her hunt.

 

——

 

She was still a Level 40+ [Archer], when all was said and done. Elia was a [Ranger] so survival activities were simple for her, but when you got down to it, all you needed was a bow, enough force to shoot an arrow deep enough into the water, and good eyes.

And a bit of string or rope to pull the arrow back. Elia forgot the first time and watched a Quillfish bobbing in the water until another fish dragged it down. Then she made another mistake.

“Um.”

A giant octopus-fish riddled with eight arrows bobbed in the water as Elia tried to tug it over to the bank. It was so big that she couldn’t pull it onto shore, nor get it into her bag of holding.

However, rescue came as Ishkr came skating out of the inn with a Chest of Holding and a delighted Calescent. He took one look at the octopus-thing, held out a hand for Elia to high-five—and she backed away. The [Chef]’s face fell, and he stood there looking—

Hurt?

Then his smile expanded, and Elia wondered if she’d imagined it. Calescent turned and pronounced loudly as Bird buzzed down.

“Sushi. I have to tell Imani! She wants one of these.”

The massive octopus-thing was black and less malleable and adaptive than a regular octopus; it dragged itself onto land and attacked land animals most of the time. Bird sampled one still-twitching tentacle.

“This is moderately tasty despite not being a bird. However, Elia, I must warn you.”

She held up a finger as Elia wondered if she’d done something wrong; Bird seemed angry.

“I am Bird.”

“Okay?”

“Bird. Me. I shoot birds. Well, not anymore because I have reconciled my philosophical differences with birds.”

“I…see.”

Bird gestured to the dead octopus-thing.

“Birds are my thing. I wish to caution you that if you become a fish person, you are stealing my theme.”

Elia nodded slowly.

“I’m not a fish person.”

“Good, good. As long as you know your role. Stick to Goblins.”

Bird pointed a finger at Elia as Calescent half-turned and gave her an outraged look. The [Chef] was slicing off a bit of the tentacle to experiment with. He turned to Elia again. The Goblin was visibly excited and pumped up; like a good [Cook] anywhere, he liked fresh, quality ingredients. He hesitated, though, when he faced Elia, and his tone became a bit more cautionary.

“This is good, Adventurer Elia. You…like seafood? You want anything else?”

She bit her tongue, not sure what to say. Be cordial. Friendly. They were standing on a wet island, and she was conscious of Bird and Ishkr glancing at her, so she forced a smile. It wasn’t that hard.

“I—uh—I like Drathian sushi. You know what that is?”

“Yah. Seaweed, rice, fish.”

“That’s right…um, er, this is for the inn’s staff. I can hunt another fish if you want.”

Calescent eyed the dead octopus-thing and shook his head.

“This more than enough for all the inn. Nice and fishy. Though…fish meat is fish meat. Could use land meat. Something nice and tasty?”

He glanced at her, and Elia brightened.

“Rabbits? Or maybe a Corusdeer? It’s spring, and if they’re not here…”

Ishkr jumped in.

“I heard Esthelm has an influx of turkeys.”

Everyone turned to him, and Ishkr shrugged.

“That’s what I heard. Probably some kind of migration due to the Garbichugs or something else. Would a few turkeys do, Calescent?”

The [Chef] grinned.

“That good. Then picky people can eat turkeys. And I have lots of meat for the Redfangs. They eat too much.”

“And they have feathers, which I shall accept as tribute. I would go hunt them, but I have a job.”

Bird fanned her wings pointedly, and Elia decided to ignore the jab. She confirmed with Ishkr that an hour or two to hunt down six or more turkeys was acceptable and set out.

Elia hurried back after getting two bridges away, feeling mightily embarrassed. Calescent was arguing with Bird about whether or not sushi could be made with poultry.

“So you are saying you cannot do it.”

“I can do it. All I do is grill some chicken or make tempura-stuff and put it into the sushi instead of fish.”

“Does it taste bad?”

“No. Tastes pretty good.”

“Then why do you not do this for me, Calescent?”

“Because I am making sushi and you will eat my sushi!”

“I feel like you are being very anti-bird right now, Calescent. It is hurtful. I died recently, you know.”

“You have said that over two dozen times.”

“Oh, so dying only gets me two dozen meals? Very hurtful—”

Ishkr was listening to the back-and-forth with a grin, but tilted his head up as Calescent drew breath to shout at Bird. They all turned to Elia, and her ears became red, but she had to say it.

“Er—thank you for making sushi for me, Calescent. And the morning’s quesadillas were good.”

She spun on her heel and almost dashed off, hugely embarrassed and wondering how awkward that had been. But she’d forgotten her manners. And you had to have manners…

She just hoped Calescent and Bird and Ishkr weren’t laughing at her behind her back. Regardless, Elia didn’t look back.

The staff of the inn and the Goblins following that Chieftain around stared at Elia as she took her archer’s umbrella off, but they seemed to be just observing her comings and goings rather than actively hostile. And Calescent seemed…friendly. All Elia wanted was to be an average coworker. She felt like this was a good step.

 

——

 

Happily, it wasn’t raining in Esthelm. The localized weather really did only affect Liscor; the city that ran through the safer route of the High Passes was dry, and Elia enjoyed the spring air.

In fact, it seemed like her proactivity had even reached Lyonette’s ears, because no sooner had Elia passed out the gates in the direction of a turkey flock that a [Guard] said all the [Hunters] had been after than she heard a voice in her head.

 

<Basic Quest — Hunt for Supper!>

Limits: Elia Arcsinger, dinnertime.

Ishkr told me you’re hunting food for dinner. That’s very…proactive of you, Elia. Well done! Can you get six turkeys? Or whatever else you can find, really.

Conditions: Any creatures hunted within the time limit will count towards the quest reward. Six turkeys are preferred. (0/6 hunted).

Posted Reward: Dinner.

Quest Reward: 1 copper coin, experience in <Hunting> classes.

 

…The reward sucked. And the wording implied that Lyonette hadn’t expected Elia to do anything. But the Named-rank adventurer considered it a win.

Low expectations meant she could exceed them by marginal amounts! She set off and quickly encountered a problem.

Turkey swarms attracted [Hunters]. [Hunters] killed as many turkeys as they could and made a quick profit.

That meant fewer turkeys already. She passed more than one [Hunter] on the road, butchering turkeys or slinging them into handcarts.

There must have been a lot. Elia picked up the pace, heading down the High Passes towards Liscor. She had no doubt the frightened fowl would fly off when they sensed the hunt or take cover in the rocks.

 

——

 

The shadow of a Wyvern passed overhead, and Elia warily looked up after thirty minutes of trekking south towards Liscor. But it was just a Frost Wyvern, and she found it ridiculous that Goblins were riding them and everyone was relaxed—but at least it wasn’t a threat.

She had shot one turkey so far, but she had sighted something even better; a full group of fat ducks waddling towards Liscor. They must have known the rains would give them a place to breed and eat. Elia was creeping towards them not so she had a better shot, but so she’d have an angle as they tried to fly away. She reckoned she could drop all eight of them and was only debating if she left one alive; they had a few chicks waddling with them, and Elia didn’t think Goblins would find them much of a mouthful.

She was aiming her bow at the first one’s head when Elia felt the shadow pass over her again. She glanced up, and the ducks quacked in fear as the Frost Wyvern passed lower. Elia was relieved the ducks didn’t fly off. She adjusted her aim, drew back on her arrow, and saw the flicker out of the corner of her eye.

Elia threw herself forwards and rolled as something struck the leather armor on her shoulder. It lodged—she heard the ducks squawk in alarm as she burst out of cover. Elia whirled, raising her bow, and shot the second arrow out of the air.

What? She was under fire! She ran sideways as a third and fourth arrow hit the ground. From where? Above—she looked up as the shadow passed lower a third time, and she heard the first scream from above.

A familiar, high-pitched shriek. 

Goblins.

They leapt off the back of the Frost Wyvern as it circled low, then took off. Elia didn’t get a look at the rider; her eyes were on the Goblins.

Five. Each one armed with a bow. Melee weapons too; two Hobs and three Goblins. They screamed as they landed, raising their bows and loosing arrows at Elia. She took cover instantly, sprinting for an outcropping of rock.

What was going on? Arrows rattled off her cover with good precision, and Elia reached for a speaking stone that Ishkr had given her.

“This is Elia. Are you in range? I’m under attack by Goblins!”

There was a moment of silence—then Ishkr’s startled voice.

“Adventurer Arcsinger? Goblins? What did you do?”

“Nothing. They attacked me!”

Elia peeked her head up, or pretended to, and an arrow streaked through where her head would have been if she hadn’t yanked it down. She peeked from the side instead and saw them advancing slowly, the two Hobgoblins ahead of the small ones. They were using cover, clearly trying to outflank her and get into melee range.

She was suddenly perspiring and afraid. It was only five Goblins, but their aim was far too good for untrained archers. And they’d come on Wyvernback. Was this a trap?

She swung her bow up, on reflex, as she heard a shout. A bright-blue flicker—Elia blew the enchanted Ice Arrow out of the skies and heard distant cursing in Goblin.

“They’ve got enchanted munitions. I have to defend myself!”

“Don’t kill them. I’m getting—where are you?”

“Thirty minutes south of Esthelm. They’re coming for me. If they get into melee range and surround me, I’m dead without enchanted armor.”

She had a single rock for cover, and they were alternating between lobbing shots at her and firing directly whenever she poked her head out. All the Goblins had to do was get closer; they could also hit her with enchanted arrows even if she stayed hunkered down.

This was disastrously disadvantageous. They’d come prepared to kill an [Archer]. Elia knew what she had to do; she drew her bow back, raised it without exposing her head or body, and spoke.

“[Explosive Arrow]!”

She heard a warning cry from the Goblins as they ducked, but Elia’s shot hit the ground barely a dozen paces from her. The explosion sent dust funneling up, and she leapt out of her cover.

[Repositioning Leap]!

Elia didn’t run, but jumped in a huge arc to a spot she’d marked before loosing her arrow. Her jump carried her nearly thirty feet, depositing her behind an outcropping of rock. Just in time too; she heard a thump behind her and guessed they’d hit her cover with some kind of explosive arrow.

I have to shoot those down if they come at me. However, her gambit had worked.

The Goblins lost her in the dust cloud as Elia landed behind the rocks and found a ledge she could crawl behind. But she cursed as she saw one of the Hobs turn their head and point at her.

Tracking Skill of some kind. Elia pulled an arrow back on her bow and got to one knee as her speaking stone buzzed again. It wasn’t Ishkr this time.

“Arcsinger.”

The voice was low and intense. Elia froze.

“Who is this?”

“Bravehammer. Chieftain Rags’ guard.”

“Order the Goblins to stop attacking me. I didn’t attack them! I was hunting ducks! I know it’s your tribe!”

“Is our tribe.”

“Then—”

“Those Mountain City Goblins.”

Elia heard two more arrows rattle off the rocks above her. She rose, ducked—a web exploded just above her and clung to her skin. They wanted to lock her down.

“What does that mean?”

“You raided their home. Helped killed their Chieftain. Tremborag. They trying to kill you for revenge. We coming.”

“How long—”

Elia ripped at a web, and she grunted as it came off with her skin and hair. She knew they were getting closer.

“Wyvern can’t fly in rains. Ten minutes.”

“I’m dead in ten minutes.”

She took a hold of her bow, stomach tight. She heard chatter in Goblin and knew they were sending someone creeping along the rocks. There was no reply from Bravehammer. Just a sigh. He said nothing, but Ishkr broke into the speaking stone desperately.

“Elia, don’t—”

She rose, and her bow sang. A Goblin’s scream was Ishkr’s reply.

 

——

 

She knew war. That was what the Goblins had forgotten. Even if she had never deserved her title. Even if she had lost her greatest Skill—she was still an [Archer].

A [Nemesis of Goblins]. She could see them; they glittered in her vision despite their attempts to take cover. And her arrows were better than theirs, magic enchantments or not.

The first Goblin coming along the cliffside almost had a bead on her. Elia aimed at the Goblin and realized, whether by chance or design, they were all female. The Goblin recoiled, but it was too late.

“[Instant Arrow].”

Elia hit her target the moment she let go of the arrow. She spun—one of the Hobs was raising a crossbow.

Elia fired the second arrow, then aimed at the Hob’s cover: a thick tree.

“[Greenbane Arrow]. [Piercing Shot].”

Her arrow went straight through the tree and hit her target. Elia saw the remaining three take aim at her and fire; their aim was good. Unerring shots? She saw one was a burning Arrow of Fireball—

Elia vanished as the arrows flashed through the air where she’d been and fire engulfed the spot. She felt the sticky web on her vanish; the Goblins whirled around, searching for her, and she aimed down at them. She’d appeared higher up on the cliffs of the High Passes.

[Arrow of the Traveller]. Elia’s bow sang twice more.

[Seeker Arrow]. [Impact Arrow].

This time, she missed; one of the Goblins twisted in an impossible dodge at the last second. The other went down, shrieking, clutching at a leg. The last Hob and other unwounded Goblin began running, and both fired up enchanted munitions at her. Elia performed a simple [Ranged Dodge], leaning out of the way of another burning arrow—

It exploded in midair without her touching it, and the other one curved around to follow—

 

——

 

One of the Hobs was downed from the [Greenbane Arrow]. So was the first Goblin Elia had hit; the one hit in the leg was screaming but able to fight. Three, staring at the cliffside where smoke was rising. Did they get her?

The wary Goblins’ answer was an arrow flashing down and striking the wounded Goblin, eliciting another scream. They saw Elia Arcsinger rolling down the cliff with a barrage of stones. She’d fired mid-roll; the Goblins got up and charged, screaming.

They hadn’t a chance of beating her in a ranged battle, even with their munitions. [Rangers] acquired too many Skill-based arrows, and Elia was the better archer by far. But they were only a hundred feet away, and Elia was rolling in a miniature avalanche.

“Tremborag!”

The first Goblin screamed as Elia fumbled for arrows cascading out of her quiver. She fired—Elia caught the arrow and reversed it. She put the arrow to her bow, adjusted her aim, and fired.

The Goblin dropped as her helmet pinged. The Hob kept running. She fired her arrow before casting her bow aside.

It struck home, hitting Elia Arcsinger in the right thigh. She pushed herself to her knees. The Hob was halfway towards her. Elia Arcsinger reached for an arrow as the Hob raised two axes, screaming.

 

——

 

Elia fired her first arrow in a blur, on pure instinct. She hit the Hobgoblin in the knee, then the shoulder. The warrior staggered, screamed, and kept coming.

Aim. Loose. Aim. Loose! Aim—

Elia hit the Goblin with three more arrows, each time having to stop herself from a headshot. It would be so simple—but she had no idea what Lyonette or the other Goblins would do if she killed them.

The other four Goblins were downed, shot through the legs or shoulders, unconscious or immobilized by the arrows. But the last one was the highest-level of them all.

She kept coming. Five arrows, then six—and she finally fell to one leg. Both legs had multiple arrows sticking out of the flesh, and she collapsed, unable to move. Barely twenty feet away. Elia began to yank at the arrow in her thigh, panting, praying it wasn’t poisoned or barbed. Then she heard a strangled scream.

The Hobgoblin was still moving. She was crawling forwards, her crimson eyes locked on Elia. Leaving a trail of blood on the dry ground.

Elia loosed another arrow and had another on her bow before she caught herself. The Goblin’s right arm jerked as an arrow pinned it to the ground, but the Goblin yanked the arrow out. She was crawling with her arms, unable to use her legs.

Her eyes were locked on Elia’s face. Twisted in pain and a snarl. Monster. Elia’s arrow wavered.

The Goblin’s eyes were boring into Elia’s. Her face was twisted up with so much rage it seemed to be distorting the very air around her, a roiling fury turning her into a glowing-eyed creature bathed in blood and darkness.

Every scar and line on her face was magnified. A woman’s face that held a demonic gaze. Crow’s feet on the edges of her face. Not from age, but from hunger, maybe, that had turned her skin oddly old.

And she was still moving. The half-Elf slowly lowered her bow as someone shouted her name. She said nothing as a Gnoll came racing across the ground and slowed; Ishkr saw the downed Goblins and ran for them with a healing potion. The other Goblins arrived minutes later, glancing at the impromptu battlefield, grabbing the downed Goblins and checking to see if they were alive.

The Redfangs seemed surprised that the attackers weren’t dead. Even the final Goblin, lying on the ground. She had passed out four feet from Elia’s boots, still reaching out, snapped arrow shafts covered in blood.

The Named-rank adventurer didn’t move. She only jerked when Ishkr offered the last of the healing potion. She glanced down at her thigh.

“I’m fine. Just a…”

Even when the Goblins picked up the unconscious warrior, it felt like that murderous stare had etched itself on Elia’s face. She missed what they said to Ishkr or reported to Lyonette and Rags—Elia kept standing there until she realized she had to walk back to the inn.

She didn’t know what had affected her so strongly.

It was not the first time an enemy had glared at her across the battlefield. She had seen thousands of Goblins at the end of an arrow’s tip. Beheld the terrifying hatred of Crelers and their strange intelligence. And she had killed men and women too, bandits. Looked them in the eyes as the life vanished.

But this time—Elia shuddered, because she had seen a mind burning with hatred so hot it had made the Hobgoblin woman willing to sacrifice her life to kill Elia. That—also—wasn’t unique.

Why? Why was it?

Perhaps it was the first time she had recognized it in a Goblin’s face. That dark fury, and it was dark, destructive, all-consuming. Battle-madness, vengeance incarnate.

Such expressions didn’t belong to mindless monsters. They were—

“What was that, Arcsinger?”

Elia blinked. She realized Ishkr was helping her limp back to the inn, supporting her. She searched for what she said.

“—the Goblin King. She looked like they did when we were fighting the Goblin King.”

Ishkr looked ahead at the Flooded Waters tribe bringing the would-be group of assassins to a waiting Wyvern for transit back to their base. The Redfangs were hitting the silent Goblins, arguing with them. Rags’ very upset voice silenced everyone. And all of them were glancing at Elia with scant more love than the ones who’d tried to kill her.

“I see.”

The Gnoll’s voice was impossible to read. Elia stumbled forwards a few more steps, then realized he didn’t understand.

“Not the Goblins. Not him. They looked like—the warriors I served with.”

Mad with rage and grief, throwing themselves at the Goblins for a chance at the Goblin King. Eyes wide and unfocused on anything but death.

Elia realized the stares on her were inquisitive now, not just vengeful. Ishkr wore that same look, his of fascination. She flinched. Averted her gaze and said nothing more. Then she realized the Goblin she’d shot repeatedly had woken up from the healing potion. That gaze lingered on her like sparks burning the edge of her soul until the Goblins were aboard the Frost Wyvern and flying away.

 

<Basic Quest – Hunt for Supper completed!>

<Turned in Items: one turkey, five Goblins!>

<Distributing rewards…>

 

Something fell out of the air and bounced off Elia’s head. She caught it reflexively. It was a copper coin. And—floating down on the breeze was a white, silk handkerchief. When she caught it, she saw it had a grinning little Goblin’s face in the corner. Elia studied it.

 

——

 

“I quit.”

Those were Elia’s first words to Lyonette when she got back. Chieftain Rags was there, and Lyonette held up her hands.

“Just a moment, Adventurer Elia. I heard what happened, and I assure you, Chieftain Rags had no idea about it. You did—excellently not killing any of the Goblins. She’s promised it won’t happen again.”

“Stupid. They went to die. Even other Goblins thought they were stupid. Sorry.”

Rags nodded at Elia, and the Named-rank peered at her and stumbled towards the staircase.

“I’ll just get my things and—”

She still had the handkerchief. Lyonette hurried after her.

“Elia, I can offer you a potion for that leg. Ishkr, you didn’t—this is a—clearly a combat event. I did warn you, and I can pay you very generously for—”

“I’m done. I don’t—I’ll take money. But I don’t want to work here. Thank you, goodbye.”

The half-Elf was pale-faced and visibly disconcerted. She took a huge breath, then another.

“I can’t do this.”

Lyonette’s head turned in confusion to Ishkr, and he hurried over to whisper in her ear. Her eyes opened wide. She glanced at the handkerchief that Elia had stuffed into one pocket, and someone tried to block Elia’s way.

“Miss Arcsinger, you can’t! I wanted to learn how to shoot a bow from you—and this inn is good for you! Please stay!”

Nanette earnestly tried to block Elia’s way, dancing back and forth in front of the staircase with her arms spread like the world’s first, shortest, and most ineffectual linebacker. In response, Elia pulled an arrow out of her quiver, tossed it—and reappeared where it hit the ground. She limped upstairs as Nanette chased after her with the others.

“I don’t want this. I’m not going to see—I kill Goblins. I killed the Goblin King. They will never like me or want me alive! So leave me alone!”

Elia whirled at the door to her room and shouted. She screamed at the little brown-haired girl and then reddened as everyone gazed at her. Antinium Workers, Lyonette, the two Thronebearers, Ishkr—

A door slowly opened, and Relc stuck his head out to stare at Elia. He and Valeterisa blinked at her, then they closed the door. Elia turned, the tips of her ears flushed, opened the door to her own room, and limped through.

A dozen Goblins standing in front of a platter of sushi nudged each other. Calescent glanced at Peggy, and the Hobgoblin whispered as Elia came to a halt.

“Told you it was gonna be weird.”

Goblins. In her room. Elia blinked at them, then the sushi. It was, as promised, sushi like she’d had in Drath, recreated with different cuts of fish and octopus. Calescent had worked hard on it, but he hadn’t been blind in his kitchen.

Rather…that might have been why they gathered in this room. Sticks angled the platter up to Elia, and she saw the sushi had been placed in a design. With the different cuts and colors of the sushi, it spelled out…

 

‘Sorry you got shot.’

 

Asgra picked up the period and offered it to Elia. The Named-rank adventurer stared at the red-spiced tuna bite mixed with a bit of avocado, then at Calescent. He didn’t seem outraged at her having hurt the Goblins, nor surprised they had tried to kill her.

Just tired. He gave her a weary not-quite-a-smile as he waited for her to slap the sushi out of Asgra’s clawed hand, kick the sushi platter over, and leave.

Elia Arcsinger turned and walked out of the room.

 

——

 

Nendas (technically) — The Garden Revelation

 

She didn’t leave The Wandering Inn that night. Mostly because her leg hurt. Pride had kept her from wanting to use a healing potion on something that would heal, but her leg hurt too much for her to want to walk around another city and find somewhere to sleep.

Plus, Elia hated to admit it, but she was having second thoughts after the night before. Not on the basis that she had changed her perspective on nearly getting killed by Goblins.

…It was more that she wasn’t sure how employable she was. Lyonette had paid her very well, and Elia was flush with gold, but, uh…

Everyone was talking about the Terland Tithel or the Liscorian Mark, and the Merchant’s Guild had even asked if she wanted to convert some of her gold into the other currencies. Elia was weighing the very real fiscal realities of her occupation, her injured leg—which she had no potion for except the ones the inn had given her for her job—and her own vague sense that this place was important against the overwhelming feeling of wanting to get out of here.

The Goblin crawling at Elia had haunted the Named-rank’s dreams all night. Not that she’d slept, more tossed and turned and kept seeing that look in the Goblin’s gaze. It was still past midnight when Elia awoke because her leg hurt, because she needed to pee, and because she was really hungry.

It was ironic. Elia stormed out of her room, argued with Lyonette, refused a healing potion, like the Named-rank she was, and when she got back to her room, there was no sushi or healing potion. Just like she’d wanted.

When her stomach growling got too loud, Elia crept out of her rooms to get some food. She limped downstairs and into the kitchen and found a lot of sushi in one of the cupboards.

Her mouth watered, and she found herself picking it out by hand and chewing down the first bite of octopus-flavored sushi, before she realized someone—Calescent—had organized it by box. So she instantly picked up the red box and found a bunch of spicy tuna.

Elia was chewing on the sushi, wondering if she’d get to eat like this later, when someone cleared his throat and lowered the cleaver. She spun, and Calescent was standing there in his pajamas.

The half-Elf was red-faced and sweaty; she’d taken the Amulet of Fire Resistance off by reflex, and Calescent was sleepy. She flinched at the cleaver, a vision of that crawling Goblin coming to her, but he just put it on the counter.

“I—er—”

“Is sauce in there. Soy and fish and mayonnaise. Mayonnaise makes you bad person, though.”

He pointed at another cabinet. The Hobgoblin turned away from Elia abruptly, and she swallowed and called out.

“Er. Thank you. I was…hungry after all.”

She was embarrassed, but he just nodded.

“You want, I could pack a box for you when you go?”

“I’m f—that would be nice. Thank you. I may leave in the morning.”

Elia flexed her leg, wincing slightly, but it felt a bit better. She was over Level 40 and healed faster than average. It still hurt, but she kept her face straight. It was what she was good at.

Calescent glanced back at Elia as she stood there awkwardly, opening a cupboard and taking out some of the dark liquid that Drathians loved.

How the heck do people in this inn have this shoyu stuff? She saw him wavering at the kitchen’s entrance, and since she wouldn’t see him again, Elia asked.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Mm? Sure.”

“How do you have shoyu? It’s a very Drathian thing; I barely see it outside of their islands.”

Of all the questions Calescent had been expecting, this, clearly, wasn’t one of them. He blinked, almost smiled, then scowled and replied with a face as flat as hers.

“Chef Imani. She knows lots of foods. So do Joseph and K—and Troydel and Rose. And Erin, though her foods are…bad.”

He rubbed at his chin, thinking.

“I think this comes from Oteslia. Lyonette has contacts there who sell her good food.”

Oteslia could grow anything. It made sense someone could process a decent version of the soy sauce. Elia found herself dipping a piece of sushi gingerly into it. Only the fish part, only a smidge; she’d learned proper etiquette.

Calescent watched with a vague hint of approval as Elia took another bite of his spicy sushi. After a moment, he turned away, a silent green form in the night wearing blue, striped pajamas. A Goblin. Then he turned back.

“Why you like spicy food?”

He asked the question abruptly, like Elia had, with that sense of ‘well, no point holding back’. Elia blinked and answered instinctively.

“It’s tasty. I like the burn.”

He grunted.

“Why you?”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Why me? I’ve met half-Elves who like spices before. Not many, true, but that’s probably because of how they grow up. Most half-Elves like fruits and vegetables in Terandria. It’s cultural.”

He gave her glower, his eyes glowing faintly in the gloom as the inn shifted around them. Elia swore she heard a few people moving this late at night. Vaulont took nightshift, but he was too quiet. Someone going to the bathroom? It didn’t matter. Calescent retorted.

“Not that. Why do you have good taste in food? I want to hate you.”

That was a surprising statement. Elia hesitated, then shot back.

“Why do you have to make food I like? Do you know how hard it is? I thought you were going to poison me, and instead, you cook some of the best food in my life.”

The slack expression his face made gave her a small pang of guilt and joy. She seldom got to say how she felt, and even this was liberating.

“Best food? Is a lie.”

“Ish noff a fie.”

He stared at her until she swallowed a double-mouthful of spicy sushi. Dead gods, there was something green and very tasty in it. Avocado? Why would you…? Because it was delicious, that was why. Also, Elia noted the seaweed was on the inside of the roll, sandwiching the filling. It was things like this that told her this wasn’t like the sushi of Drath. But how could that Chef Imani have known…?

“It’s not a lie. This is excellent food. Not many [Chefs] use spices how I like. They don’t want to offend a Named-rank. And even the ones who do…”

Arrogant nomadic [Cooks] who got off camels laden with tools and cooked a feast in the middle of Chandrar’s deserts. Hermits in Desonis who emerged with fresh, wiggling fish and turned them into a feast as it rained forever. Back-alley restaurants in Walled Cities with barely any space to swing a frying pan that served the best food.

Sometimes, you ran into a famous, high-level [Chef] who made food so mouthwatering it was unforgettable. But often, they relied on Skills, and you found someone with a family recipe who could cook it as fine as any Level 40 Skill in the least-likely place you expected. And spices…Calescent looked pleased, then angry.

“That. Why you have to be like that? Otherwise, it easier to wish you were dead.”

He glowered again, and Elia remembered the sushi in her room. She felt guilty, now, but she hadn’t been able to face the Goblins and see that familiar hatred.

“Why don’t you want to kill me?”

He raised his brows and spoke eloquently.

“I’m a [Chef]. I like my job. You get fired for killing guests.”

She flushed; the spices were getting to her as well.

“I mean—even want me dead! I feel like you hate me least of all Goblins.”

He hesitated. Calescent scuffed a foot, as if searching for a stain on his immaculately clean floors, and replied without looking at her.

“Maybe I’m a weak Goblin. Tired of hating. Very tiring, hating. And you don’t hate Goblins.”

He said that bold-faced to her, and Elia was so astounded she dropped the sushi she was holding. It fell, and she snapped her chopsticks and caught it in the air. That made Calescent blink, and Elia nibbled at it for time.

“I have never regretted killing the Goblin King. No one will ever make me apologize. Not Lyonette, not Goblins…”

The Goblin shrugged, eyes keen on her face.

“Sure. But that not what I said. You don’t hate us. I know hate. It like crawling on the skin. It is knowing someone will one day pick up a knife and you kill them before they kill you. It is death, now or then. So much hate you pull yourself across the ground to kill them. I have that. But not you.”

He couldn’t have known how the Goblin had come after Elia, unless they’d told him, and somehow, Elia didn’t think he was invoking that moment deliberately if he did. Elia was on her twelfth piece of sushi, and silently, he pulled open a new cupboard and pointed at a lid with a bird scribbled on it.

“That tempura turkey avocado sushi. Look in cupboard. Spicy mayo there—spicy fish sauce there.”

“Oh. Oh. Isn’t this Bird’s?”

A flash of teeth.

“Yah. She loved it. So eat it all.”

The vengeance of a [Chef] was petty, but cruel. Elia only hesitated a second before she put the entire open container on the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, and Calescent himself snagged some chopsticks as his belly rumbled. Both dipped the sushi into the spicy fish sauce and chewed.

Elia saw Calescent’s eyes roll up as the hot and sour taste of the sauce hit them. She sighed; she’d miss this. Then she realized he was looking at her.

“Like that. You don’t hate me.”

“You’re a Goblin. You could kill me.”

“Not hate.”

“Well…no. I’m doing my job when I kill Goblins. If I hated them, it’d be—I mean to say I kill Goblins who threaten people.”

His eyes seemed old and tired as Elia realized what she was saying to his face. She had been afraid to express such opinions for the rage that she had assumed would follow. But his expression was, in its way, worse than the ceaseless anger of the Hobgoblin woman. His eyes were understanding.

“Sometimes, Goblins do bad things.”

It was such a…pernicious, underhanded comment coming from the [Chef] about his own people that Elia searched for the lie on the Goblin’s face, thinking it had to be him betraying his own kind for the sake of the conversation. Yet she realized his eyes were on the sushi as he manipulated the chopsticks, and his voice was level.

“Not all, surely. Surely you would tell me that the…the young ones. The tribes didn’t do everything wrong.”

Her voice felt hoarse, and Elia reflexively went to one of the chilled cabinets to hunt for a drink. She coughed, and Calescent pointed her to a container of blue juice and cups. He watched as she refilled the cups.

“Maybe. Sometimes, entire tribes follow Chieftains. Sometimes, many Goblins do terrible things. Slaughter villages down to the last child. You’re just an adventurer. You do your job. No hate. Gotta kill monsters.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop arguing from my point of view. I know that style of argumentation.”

She snapped at him; she knew what he was doing. Yet the Hobgoblin seemed genuinely surprised.

“Not argument…ation. Just saying, I understand. Sometimes, I think. Not like Goblin, but like Human. Like Drake. Makes sense to them.”

He tapped his head, denuded of his regular [Chef]’s hat. Elia realized that Calescent cut his hair short, likely to avoid issues with his hat, but kept it oddly spiky, like a cone, if a short one. It was funny to think he hid that under his hat…he noticed her eyes and grinned. But said nothing.

“I have met…Sticks. I have heard Lyonette speak. I understand what this inn…the [Innkeeper] claims. Even why Griffon Hunt fought me. I do not agree. I saw the Goblin King slaughtering his way through the continent. If you gave me a million chances, I would slay him in each one.”

He nodded once, silently.

“Okay.”

She waited for something. He delicately picked up another piece of sushi.

“I don’t understand why. Goblin King to me is a story. He dead before I small baby. All Goblins talk about him. How great he was. How strong. How angry. Sometimes angrily.”

She had to get out of this conversation. Elia was filling up, but in the way of sushi, you could fill up and find enough room for just one more in a few more minutes if you waited. She was going to go to her room to pack or sleep, but every time she did, something drew her back. Like Calescent’s last word.

“Angrily?”

“Sure. Goblins are hunted. Dying. They were before he came, but he got lots killed. Why shouldn’t we be angry?”

“I don’t know. I always assumed you all admired him without thinking. Goblins react to Velan the Kind’s name. Don’t they yearn to finish his work? To become him?”

Calescent blinked at Elia; she’d heard and seen this when some of them invoked Velan around her. Seen that rage, if not seen the frightening humanity in the eyes before. He replied slowly with a shake of his head.

“I never wanted to be him. Or to be Chieftain or Goblin Lord. When you say his name. When I look at you—”

His eyes glowed.

“—I get angry.”

Elia felt a pressure for a second and realized her bow was upstairs. But Calescent’s tone was soft, and he gently pushed around half a sushi on a plate in front of him.

“I don’t know why. Is not my anger. I think…I…just want to know why.”

And what was she to say to that? Elia opened her mouth to say something when she heard a sound. There was some rustling outside the kitchen; Calescent blinked and glanced towards the open door.

The kitchen door was only open a crack, and Elia had often heard him complaining that his kitchen was isolated from the rest of the inn. But he had added the middle island where he could prepare more food, magical cupboards, runes of heating and cooling, and all kinds of utensils.

As they looked past a pasta-making station complete with hanging racks of drying noodles, they saw a figure pause at the doorway. Elia recoiled as Chieftain Rags halted, blinking at the two of them.

“Calescent?”

She stared at Elia, and Calescent raised a hand. He gave Elia a quick glance, then spoke in Goblin.

“Chieftain? What you up so late about? You going to Goblinhome? About the bad-bad-death-death-Troll thing?”

The what? Rags just shook her head. She glanced at Elia, then rattled off a few things in Goblin. Elia listened.

“Nope. Doing some…research. Keep it secret.”

“Oh. Again? You want something?”

“Yeah, sushi. Give me a bunch. What are you doing with the adventurer?”

“Talking. She’s going tomorrow. Are the warriors who attacked her okay?”

“Idiots getting patched up. She didn’t kill them, and they’ll all heal, Prixall says. Don’t…remember Hekusha, Calescent.”

“Yeah, Chieftain.”

He heaved a huge sigh as he found a box of sushi and packed it up with chopsticks, a drink, and some sauce. Rags pointed, and Calescent sloooowly added a fork. She took the bundle, glanced at Elia again, and then bared her teeth and nodded.

“Arcsinger. Thank you for not killing the Goblins.”

“I…didn’t think it was in my best interests.”

Elia managed stiffly. She stood there, face blank, as Rags cast another look at her.

“You thought we’d kill you?”

“It crossed my mind. And it was a pointless thing to do.”

Pointless. The word slipped out, and Elia wondered why she’d said it. Goblin ears were worth coppers each. But it was—pointless. She couldn’t have imagined herself taking their ears even if she’d ignored how the Goblins would react.

This inn is changing me. I must go. Elia hunched over her sushi, about to rise, but again, she wavered as Rags strode away. A door opened; it exposed moonlight and brought a strange scent to the air. The garden. Elia stared at it, realizing she’d never known what was in there.

The door closed.

Calescent exhaled as he turned from Rags and put his chopsticks down. They were mostly through Bird’s sushi; he expected the conversation to be over. But Elia couldn’t resist. She felt like she’d go crazy if she didn’t answer one of the inn’s questions, and she had just gotten another one.

“Um. Calescent?”

“Hm?”

He was picking up dishes and putting them together quietly to clean. Elia glanced at the place Rags had been.

“What’s the bad-bad-death-death-Troll thing?”

Calescent dropped a dish and grabbed for it desperately. Again, Elia caught it with her chopsticks before it hit the ground, and he picked it up and stared at her.

“How do you know that? You know Goblin?”

“…Yes?”

She hunted Goblins for a living. You had to pick something up after so long. She’d learned her first lessons in the wars against the Goblin King; every soldier would, to understand what the Goblin Lords and leaders were ordering their soldiers to do. Then the voice of levels had given her [Natural Foe: Translate Language (Low Goblin)].

When Elia related that to Calescent, his brows snapped together.

“Low Goblin? What that mean?”

“I don’t know. Most Goblins speak like you or your Chieftain. A few—a very few I’ve met—sounded, uh, fancier. Usually, I ran into them around the coastline of continents.”

“Which continents?”

“All of them. They have the same accent as the ones from the Isle of Goblins.”

High-level, fearless Goblins. Whenever Elia heard their different Goblin language, she’d call in backup no matter what it took. Calescent’s gaze turned sharp. She expected him to say nothing, but he replied.

“Probably, yah. They send Goblins all over.”

She was surprised he knew that; he seemed surprised she knew of the House of Minos’ eternal foe, but of course, she’d visited the Minotaur King, Inreza. She’d even offered her services to help fight them, but the Minotaur King had just laughed at Elia and told her that death was a Goblin Lord sitting on the island. When Elia had sensed the Goblin Lord there, she had decided she wasn’t needed in the House of Minos.

“Strange. Strange. You speak my language. You know my secrets. I hated Tyrion Veltras far more than you. But you killed more Goblins than even he did.”

This was true. Calescent slapped his thigh, glowering. The inn was still quiet around them, though the creak of floorboards above made Elia think Rags wasn’t the only person awake. She didn’t know what to say, so she asked.

“The bad thing?”

“Big monster fighting Trolls in the High Passes. Deep underground. Chieftain says it could kill Pallass’ 2nd Army by itself.”

Elia gulped—hard.

“Is that a joke? An exaggeration?”

She was hopeful and wondered if Rags just didn’t know Pallass’ 2nd Army, but Calescent just shrugged.

“She’s very certain. How does she know how good Pallas’ 2nd Army is? Don’t know. But she says it can, and Chieftain Rags doesn’t exaggerate.”

“How are you going to stop it? Or her tribe? The Trolls?”

He sighed.

“Is a big problem. I don’t know. Chieftain Rags says she’s researching it. Somehow. I not one of those Goblins in her tribe anymore. I hope she can.”

If something like that killed the Goblins and Trolls, other groups could be next. Elia didn’t like what sounded like a Named-rank threat hovering about. She swallowed hard and found they’d moved back to sushi; octopus or whatever she’d killed. Chewier, but no less good, arguably better because you now could savor it while you were less hungry.

“What…I heard Hekusha’s name. The Healer of Tenbault? Did you meet her?”

Didn’t they say someone had kidnapped her? Her team had debated doing something about it, but they weren’t exactly fast. Elia saw Calescent’s face close down.

“I met her. She was kidnapped by us. To save Erin.”

“…And?”

“She was afraid of Goblins. What there not to expect? Obvious. Duh.”

The way he stabbed a chopstick through the sushi made Elia think there was more to it than that. She tried to imagine it and had a sudden image of Calescent trying to feed the Healer of Tenbault sushi. He turned away from her gaze.

“I getting in your way. Tomorrow, I will have a box for you. Thank you for saying my cooking is good.”

He walked towards the door, and she felt a pang of regret. This was the longest she’d spoken to, well, anyone in the inn, and it had been, against all expectations, a remarkably pleasant chat.

“I…”

What did she say to him? The [Chef] turned at the door, and Elia wavered.

Sorry? She meant it. She had killed the Goblin King and never regretted it. I’m sorry about the Goblins who attacked me? She had let them live; ‘sorry’ for the rage in the eyes of the one who had crawled towards her was such a pathetic word it didn’t bear saying. Nor should she ask why or interrogate that.

She knew why.

She was unto the Goblins as Velan had been to her and so many soldiers. There was nothing to say.

A Goblin regarded the half-Elf, a nemesis of his species, who had slaughtered more Goblins than this inn could have held, even with all its secret passageways and rooms. She gazed back, full on the sushi he had made that she enjoyed—and eventually, he closed the door.

Then he opened it because she was in the kitchen and that was the only way out. Elia chewed on one last sushi in silence.

She felt…even more tired than before and decided she could leave in the morning. Tomorrow.

 

——

 

Elia Arcsinger got back to her room, but stopped when she heard the whispering. She again reached for a bow she didn’t have—until she heard a familiar voice.

Nanette. And the scrabbling of paws and scritching of a quill on paper that had to be Mrsha. Elia peeked into the room and saw two girls.

With her journal. They were reading it as Mrsha sniffed the air now and then, but Elia was a [Ranger]; even after chowing on spicy sushi, Mrsha hadn’t realized Elia’s Skills made her untrackable even by Gnoll standards. Nanette was whispering, too-confident in her friend’s abilities.

“Don’t rush me, Mrsha! Just keep a lookout! And don’t shove me! It’s a witch’s job to investigate these things!”

Mrsha gave Nanette another shove and held up a card. It was backwards to Elia, who was peeking in via the door’s slit; she searched around for the two Thronebearers, but they must have been patrolling elsewhere or asleep.

Vaulont the Ash walked down the hallway, a silent shadow, and gave her a glance as he stared at her room. He shrugged; this wasn’t his business. The [Assassin] walked on as Elia listened.

She could vaguely read the note from the glass of her window, reflecting the writing in the faint [Light] spell that Nanette had cast. But even her eyes struggled to read the note backwards at that distance, and Nanette hissed back.

“I’m not being nosy! And you were just as curious as me because you were up! I’m sick of covering for you at night! What are you doing with Rags, anyways? Don’t get evasive on me; I help you with your mission, you help me with mine!”

The Gnoll girl gave up with a sigh, sniffing the air again as Nanette muttered out loud.

“Where’s the latest entry? The Spice Incident…no…she has such silly names. Let me see. Did she write anything about the Goblins? How does she feel? Oh no, she’s still doing it, Mrsha. Look! ‘Laudas: Today was pork roast. Tasty.’ Dead gods.”

She and Mrsha giggled. Elia scowled. She’d put up with a lot over this last day, in her opinion, remarkably well. Having children judging her journal entries was the last straw. She was trying to think of a suitably scary or imposing way of entering the room when Nanette read the next entry.

“Wait a second. ‘Saelsmorn: Capoinelia finally sent me a [Message] back. She says I’m a disgrace. I don’t know what to write back. A bad day.’ Oh, that’s sad—”

Elia twitched—then she shot into the room. She snatched the journal from Nanette as the girl squeaked; Mrsha tumbled backwards in shock and alarm, eyes wide at being ambushed.

“That is my journal, thank you. How—how many times have you read it?”

Elia was red-faced, realizing they were a bit too fluent with her diary! Nanette stuttered.

“Adventurer Arcsinger! I—I—uh—”

I plead the fifth! Nanette made me do it! Don’t tell Lyonette! I have places to be!

Mrsha held up her card as Elia glowered at the two girls. The half-Elf pointed.

“Out.”

Her leg was hurting again, and she didn’t need them reading her diary of her private thoughts about her daughter. Elia was just grateful she hadn’t elaborated.

Capoinelia. She was ashamed. She was angry at her daughter. She was…she had lived years of regrets, of trying to figure out how to raise her daughter right. Whatever right was. Of wondering if she should part ways with the not-ready half-Elf girl, and afraid of seeing her corpse in more than her nightmares.

Elia had no great skill with the quill. She wrote down all she needed to remember. Angrily, she shoved the journal into her bag of holding.

“Get out.”

“Adventurer Arcsinger, we are so sorry—”

“I said out. I’ll forget this ever happened. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

To go where and do what? Elia rubbed at her bandaged injury. She glared, and Nanette burst out.

“You can’t!”

The quiet outburst was so impressioned that it drew Elia up. The witch wrung her hands together.

“You mustn’t, Adventurer Arcsinger! This is the only chance you’ll have to turn your life around. To understand Goblins! If you leave now—you mustn’t leave! I’ll resolve this, I swear! Just don’t hold what those Goblins did against all Goblins, please! I’ll mend the bridges here—I can do it! Just give me time; one day! They don’t all hate you, I promise!”

It was such a strange statement, and Nanette’s round face burned with such earnest intensity that Elia was drawn up short. She was reminded of her own daughter, what felt like mere years ago, burning with awe and solemnity as she heard tales of Elia’s deeds and swore she’d carry her mother’s mantle.

—In this case, Nanette’s fervor was both unwelcome and misguided. Plus, it was barely past two AM. Both girls were yawning, and Elia shook her head.

“I don’t—I’m not—go to sleep. This isn’t your concern, Miss Weishart.”

“It is! They’re not all monsters!”

“I—I know. Please leave.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Nanette’s eyes widened with hope. Mrsha blinked at Elia and gave her a longer look of inquiry, and then the witch was clinging to Elia’s arm as the Named-rank tried to push her out the door.

“Please! If you get that, then don’t go! My mother taught me about how to perform a meeting of enemies like this! The inn might need you! And you certainly need this inn!”

She sounded far too all-knowing for Elia’s tastes. A thirteen-year-old girl playing at being…well, a [Witch]. Elia was pushing Nanette towards the door as Mrsha tilted her head at the two of them. The half-Elf was walking towards the door when it opened suddenly.

Nanette, trying to push off the doorframe to keep reasoning with Elia, turned as Dame Ushar appeared with Vaulont behind her. He had found the Thronebearer, and Ushar pointed.

“Lady Weishart, I believe I have told you that if a young woman gets up to trouble, being caught is the worst outcome of all. Let alone making such a clamor at night!”

Ushar bowed to Elia, grabbed Nanette around the stomach, and lifted the girl up.

“Ushar! I’m being a witch! Put me down! Don’t you dare—we haven’t left the inn!”

“You are disturbing Adventurer Arcsinger, and I believe our agreement was never that I would refrain from meddling. Just that you had better make it so I was unaware of events to begin with.”

Ushar deftly held onto Nanette, despite the girl’s attempts to wriggle free or go floppy. The [Knight] turned to Elia with a very convincingly appalled face, as if Elia hadn’t just heard her exchange with Nanette the moment before.

“I am terribly sorry, Adventurer Arcsinger. Rest assured, Her Highness will hear of this. Can I offer you anything by way of apology…?”

Elia Arcsinger favored Dame Ushar with her classic adventurer’s smile. She gripped the door in one hand.

“No need. Please get out of my room.”

Ushar bowed, stepped back, and Elia shut the door. She stood there, breathing in and out for a few moments—and then turned around.

Mrsha was sitting on Elia’s bed. The Named-rank nearly screamed; she leapt back and shout-whispered.

“What are you doing in—?”

Mrsha held up a furry finger to her lips. Elia glared and went for the door to yank it open, but glowing words traced themselves in the air in front of her. Mrsha lowered her wand as Elia recoiled and read—

I’m sorry! It was Nanette’s idea. Please don’t tell my mother or Ushar! I can’t be grounded right now!

Elia recoiled, then glared at Mrsha.

“And why would I do that?”

The girl scratched at her head, then wrote in the air.

…Because you’re super nice and cool?

Elia twitched. She folded her arms, thought, and then glowered.

“Alright, go.”

It wasn’t like she cared, and she had been a young girl of forty not too long ago herself. Dead gods, she remembered her youth before becoming an adventurer and the Antinium Wars…Elia saw Mrsha bow gratefully, then leap through that door to the garden.

She must have gotten back to her rooms in time, because Elia heard a faint exclamation from her open doorway from Lyonette and Nanette’s protesting voice. The rooms were pretty well insulated from the sound, and Elia, peeking out, saw Nanette being escorted by Ushar into Lyonette’s rooms and heard a furious argument beginning before the door closed.

Served the little witch right. What did she mean, resolve the issue? Elia was here, in an inn with Goblins, with a tribe of them who had seen her murder one of their Chieftains, even indirectly, nearby.

There was nothing to say. If there was, she would have said it to Calescent. Elia rubbed at her leg, groaning.

“I might have to…try the New Lands. Maybe I can find work around the Gnoll Plains as a [Hunter]? Caravan duty, maybe.”

But it was so dangerous to be a Named-rank—you might get mugged for your gear. And her reputation would attract danger. Maybe even other Goblins—

Elia turned, thinking she’d deal with it in the morning, and a white Gnoll girl was sitting on her bed again. Elia jumped, then raised her voice.

“Oh no, I warned you. Out!”

Hold on! I came back because I have something to ask you! Please?

Mrsha held the card up, and Elia snatched it and tore it up.

“I’m tired, I’ve been shot, and you were in my rooms, snooping into my personal things! I’m quitting my job tomorrow! What gives you the right to think I’d listen to anything you have to say?”

For answer, Mrsha wrote and slowly handed Elia another card. It said:

I am sorry. I thought you were a worse person, but you let the Goblins live even when they wanted to kill you. Even Rags was surprised by that. I didn’t mean to, but I heard you and Calescent talking. Before you go, I have to show you something. Please? It’s in the [Garden of Sanctuary].

Elia stopped. She stared at the note, then at Mrsha suspiciously, getting angrier than she had all her time in the inn. It was always like this. She tried to push a girl out of her room, walk away from the Goblin [Chef]…and they always dangled something in front of her face like a carrot.

“You can’t tempt me with that. No matter how curious I am—! Why should I listen to you?”

Mrsha blinked. Her big, round, brown eyes fixed on Elia’s face, and she wrote—rather impressively, without even looking at her card—in very good script.

You’re curious about the [Garden]?

“Of course I am! Who wouldn’t be?”

You don’t act like it.

“I’m a professional adventurer! Why shouldn’t I kick you out of my room? Hm?”

Hesitation, then—

Because I’ll actually show you what’s in there. Mother never will. But I think you deserve to know. And I think…I think I have questions too. Questions about the Goblin King. And maybe both of us deserve the answer.

Elia Arcsinger stood there, reading and re-reading the notecard, utterly nonplussed, at a loss for words. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand them, it was just that it made no sense.

This adorable little Gnoll girl—well, she was growing out of the cute and cuddly state that many Gnoll children occupied—this child was going to tell her the answer to the questions Elia had held in her heart for over a decade?

Ridiculous. And yet, Mrsha opened the door to the [Garden of Sanctuary]. She held a paw out, and Elia hesitated.

Secrets and answers. She had too many questions, about the inn, about her life, to pass up the chance to get at least one answer. And…she looked at that too-old expression in Mrsha’s eyes and thought of Calescent’s words.

Something that could kill Pallass’ 2nd Army. Did Lyonette know? Surely she should so her daughters could be safe. Elia hadn’t quite believed her when she claimed her daughters were in danger until the gambling night. Elia couldn’t just leave with children in danger.

After a moment, she exhaled, then walked towards the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Elia Arcsinger slammed into the invisible barrier in the garden’s doorway, and Mrsha scribbled frantically.

Whoops, sorry. I have to let you in! Sorry! It wasn’t on purpose, I swear!

 

——

 

Seven minutes later, a glowering Elia, rubbing at her sore nose, was inspecting the [Garden of Sanctuary] with naked interest. She was striding to-and-fro, marveling at it.

A location Skill! With growing crops and space inside this place? She’d heard of the beach-garden, but not been allowed to visit the inn for obvious reasons. This place was fantastical; the beam of moonlight slanting down from the hole in the domed roof gave this entire place a magical feel, and Elia wanted to run around and spread her arms and twirl amidst the golden flowers blooming under the stars.

Weird flowers, too, because they were still open to the moonlight when regular flowers closed their petals at night. Were they nocturnal?

When Elia asked that, Mrsha gave her an open-mouthed stare, then held up a card.

No one’s ever noticed that in the history of ever. No one! Not even me! How do you know that?

“I…haven’t you ever seen flowers at night?”

The question floored Mrsha. She held up another card instead.

So each place in the garden is different! Here’s our cocoa tree, and over there’s the jungle—Apista’s sleeping in there, so don’t go in. Here’s the winter area no one really talks about or uses…

She gave Elia a brief tour of the garden, and on the way, they passed by a giant pile of gold. Elia stared at it so long she nearly walked into one of the dome’s walls.

“What is that?”

Oh, that’s our gold pile. I forgot we were keeping it secret from you and everyone. We had a pile as big as the hill before we got rid of it. There’s gold coins all over the place.

“A pile of…how? Is that what was in the garden? What’s in the garden?”

For answer, Mrsha pointed, and Elia’s attention was drawn to a hanging box she’d missed in all the other wonders of the place, suspended by a rope from the ceiling. She stared up at the Box of Incontinuity, then at Mrsha.

“What’s that?”

Magic box. It reproduces whatever you put inside forever. We were cloning gold, but Mother says we might have crashed the world economy. Don’t tell anyone.

Elia Arcsinger stood there, reading the card, inspecting the box, reading the card—she wanted to say something and had that pure denial of reality for a moment and assumed Mrsha was just lying to her.

…Before she remembered how much they’d gambled with Tolveilouka, Rhisveri, the literal King of Khelt, and others. Clues like Goldbody’s appearance, all the tools the Goblins and Antinium had hauled into the garden. Dead gods, they’d been smelting gold; that’s why they came out covered in gold dust. And the gold coins that Elia had noticed here and there…

“You’ve been paying me in cloned gold?”

Hey! It’s as good as the real thing! You want more? Help yourself! Anyways, the real magic of the garden is up the hill. The misty second hill, there. Follow me.

Mrsha pointed at the huge pile of gold. She padded past the gold as Elia stood there, stumped. Elia followed Mrsha after a moment. Then she ran back, shoveled as much gold as she could into the bag of holding, and ran after Mrsha. She was an adventurer, after all.

 

——

 

Nendas (same day, this deserves another entry) — The Statue

 

The hill of mists. The hill of statues.

Elia Arcsinger didn’t need to be told what this place was. She had, in fact, guessed. Mrsha was so astounded when Elia didn’t burst into tears or wonder that she demanded to know why. For response, Elia gave her an odd look.

“Everyone says the inn is terribly sad. And I did watch the documentary about the…what was his name? The Dullahan [General]’s garden. It makes sense Erin Solstice would have something dedicated to the dead as well, doesn’t it?”

Oh. It does. Well…well reasoned. I don’t think there’s anyone you know in here, with the exception of one person maybe. This way. Sometimes, she’s hard to find. I think even the garden’s scared of her or something. Follow me.

Rather to Elia’s surprise, she and Mrsha had an amiable conversation as they walked, the girl walking and waving her wand to write messages in the air, Elia strolling along and observing the statues in their timeless repose.

The girl was pretty well-spoken, and like Calescent, it was the second conversation of any real substance that Elia had had in the inn.

I am sorry about overhearing your conversation with Calescent. I don’t mean to; it’s just that when it’s quiet, I can hear everything in the inn. Sometimes having good ears sucks poo. You don’t want to know how Relc flirts with Valeterisa. I keep telling them to close their doors; I made them enchant it.

“…The Drake? And the Archmage of Izril? Are they a couple?”

Yeah. You gonna make something of it? Relc’s a good guy! Valeterisa might be able to do better, but does she deserve it? He’s pretty cool sometimes!

“No, I wasn’t. I don’t, uh, care? I just thought it was odd.”

Oh. Right on. Yeah, we like Relc. And Valeterisa’s pretty awesome sometimes, even if she’s sometimes as airheaded as Erin, an empty jar, and a cloud combined.

“I saw her lifting Fissival. That was an astounding magical feat; it reminded me of the old Archmages I knew when I was growing up. Evighe the Archmage of Izril—the last one. He’d perform magical feats like that, you know. One time, he challenged Verdan Blackwood to see who could excavate a larger mineshaft; the two blasted spells into a tunnel for hours on end. All to help local [Miners]. Though I hear they vaporized a lot of the ore they were supposed to help excavate.”

Mrsha’s ears flicked up as she walked, hunting the mists. Elia passed by a group of laughing, bearded men and women who looked like Dwarves…but they were too short. She couldn’t have said why, but they seemed like some of the most striking statues in the garden, each one dressed differently, laughing to the high heavens.

“You’re pretty chatty for a girl who can’t speak.”

You’re pretty chatty! I didn’t know you said anything!

“I’m being professional. I don’t know anyone here, so I try not to state my opinions.”

Yeah, well, you’re kinda okay now that you’ve survived your first life-or-death situation. Which is weird but it happens a lot over here. I’ve never heard of Evighe. What happened to him?

Elia glanced down at her shoes.

“He died. He fought the Goblin King during the last Antinium Wars; one of the few Archmages of Wistram who dared to. He didn’t die there; he burnt his mana circuits out. He passed away half a year later, despite everything they tried to do to save him.”

Oh. Was he…a good guy?

Elia closed her eyes and pictured a white-haired man, not quite as typical of that old, grand, iconic [Archmage] as you might think, because he had a country accent, a loud, braying laugh, and drank like a sieve. She also remembered him screaming specks of spittle at frightened apprentices, like the Lizardgirl who’d go on to become Nailihuaile, as the mana-sickness took hold of him.

And she also remembered that joyous Archmage having a contest of magic that did more harm than good—and the man who stood there, staff raised, facing down Velan the Kind as the Goblin King charged.

“He was an Archmage of Wistram. A real one.”

The little girl nodded solemnly, as if she understood the nuance of what that meant, and didn’t take it at face-value like another child her age would. She was disconcertingly adult. But still childlike enough to be rude.

Hey, if we’re asking questions…can I ask why your journal is so weird? You don’t write any details about the big events in there.

Elia spun and glared as they passed by a group of solemn undead figures, all draped in the finery of Khelt. Mrsha held up her paws.

I said sorry!

“How many times have you read my journal!?”

Uh…eight?

“Eight? You and Nanette?”

A lot of us have, actually. Picker, Sticks, Silverboots…

“Why?”

I dunno. It’s sort of cool? You have a ton of diaries, and Nanette found a book based on it by Krsysl Wordsmith. It’s pretty accurate! But it’s also strange because you don’t ever do details.

Elia stopped and, to her great embarrassment, blushed.

“I never should have agreed to do that biography. It didn’t even sell well!”

Probably because, shortly after publishing it, he’d written the Second Antinium Wars, which had been so universally panned that no one had wanted to read his works outside of a largely Drake audience. Mrsha scratched at her head.

It was a pretty good book, I thought. I read all of it, except the chapters where people kept trying to get kissy with you. Nanette liked those. Did he make up all the details after reading your journal?

Elia wanted to dig a hole and put her head into it. She spoke through gritted teeth.

“I would never show him that! I regret telling him…no, he made me sit down and tell him all the details.”

…What details? All you write is stuff like ‘Marshal G died’.

“Marshal Goishart.”

Elia murmured. Her head turned, and she wished, for a moment, she could see him there, and all the others she had known, one more time. Then she feared it and wondered why anyone would wish for a place like this. She shook her head.

“I don’t need that. It’s my personal journal, not for you. Marshal Goishart was a man, mid-fifties. Married, though you wouldn’t know it, seeing how he and Capoinelia were flirting. He looked like he was barely in his thirties, despite having grey hair. He had one of those Skills that rejuvenated him somehow, so his hair was glossy, and the lines on his face—a crease on his cheeks, here, seemed painted on.”

She touched her right cheek, drawing a line across it.

“A stunningly handsome man, in his way. The Knights of Haegris operated a chapter from a castle on his fiefdom outside the Wheatlands; wild lands of wheat, brown and thick, that grew in a broad field, patchy in places where animals cleared it. You’d think it would be well-tended and fill bellies, but the wheat’s tough and barely edible. It strangles other plants, so it’s more pestilence than anything. The day he died was winter, and we were still sweaty despite it after riding hard the twelfth day of looking for the tremors in the wheatfields.”

The moment was vivid in her mind; she could smell the frost in the air, the scent of saddlegrease and the underlying odor of the wheat, frozen and, she now knew, rotting because they’d been chewed through by Crelers for years. She looked to her right and saw him in full relief.

“He turned to me, I think, to apologize, and then a barb of chitin struck his head off. Krsysl told the moment wrong; there were no brains. No blood. His head just vanished, he fell, and then the Adult Creler spat a shrapnel storm at the rest of us. He was to my right, here, and I had a cover of six Haegris Knights who took the impacts. If they hadn’t been there, Capoinelia would have been dead when I kicked her off my horse, but there was a gap between one’s arm and body—here.”

She drew a sliver in the air, indicating the gap in the [Knight]’s armor.

“That’s where the shard hit me.”

Elia was lost in her recollections, pointing out where each stood to Mrsha. She realized the Gnoll’s mouth was open and stopped, embarrassed.

“What?”

You remember all that?

Elia shrugged, self-conscious.

“Of course. I need help on the names. The entries are a prompt, that’s all. I’m an adventurer. A [Ranger]. I have to remember tracks or trail signs.”

I don’t think regular people do that. I can’t remember what I had for dinner two nights ago, sometimes.

“Well…that’s why.”

Silence. Mrsha wrote as they rounded another bend, and Elia saw a roaring Dragon, wings bared to the sky. She nearly slammed into a ring of Antinium and gaped until Mrsha got her attention.

Doesn’t your daughter talk to you? She’s the one who didn’t fight well in Riverfarm. And you’re not that bad.

Elia stared at the note, and her face almost crumpled up, but she refused to let it. She strode forwards instead, snapping at Mrsha.

“—Where’s that statue you want to show me? If it’s not what you promised, I’m going to sl—”

She nearly walked into the statue of the lone half-Elf holding her sword as she stood on a cliff of rock, about to cast it downwards into an abyss. Elia’s attention was drawn to her face first, and she had a moment of shock.

Is that me? She looks almost like m—

Then she saw how this half-Elf’s ears were longer than Elia’s, how her body was different. Less…stocky, and Elia had never been described as stocky in her life, but less like a solid being who had evolved to run, jump, and climb trees from its ape-like ancestry and more like a being of forests.

Long limbs, a more angular head, an elongated neck—not huge differences, each one, but all combining to form a sight that Elia half-recognized. Half—because half of those similarities were in Elia, in her blood, in her body. But the other half, the completeness of it, the utter perfection of those timeless features…

Elia Arcsinger stopped as she bore witness to the being whose face hers was so close to—and so far—the being who had once been called The Last Elf, Queen Sprithae, Sprigaena of the Fall, the Last Traitor.

Sprigaena.

Her face was wracked in anguish. It was a warrior’s face, for all of that beauty and immortality that time fled. She stood, forever-captured as she held a blade aloft whose beauty, even in naked stone, transfixed Elia’s eyes. Her gaze was wretched, and Elia thought it was too familiar.

How many years had Elia looked in the mirror and seen an imposter, a sham, a worthless liar? Or at best, someone who had gotten lucky?

How much despair did she glimpse behind that face so like hers? All of it, all of it Elia recognized, yet her own tribulations and torments were a drop in a sea of regrets that this woman carried.

Their faces were the same. Elia saw it; in the Elf’s face, she beheld that memory that had haunted her for a decade. A widening of a Goblin’s red gaze. A moment when madness parted, and he looked at her, straight at her, in longing and recognition, and hesitated.

Now—she understood why.

 

——

 

Nendas (same day. this is very important, I think) — The Question

 

Mrsha shook Elia again and again until the half-Elf finally moved. Elia was kneeling before Sprigaena’s statue, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes, gazing up. Her nose was all messed up with snot, and she didn’t seem like the hero of another species who stood before them.

It helped—because when Elia wiped at her face, Mrsha did see—something. Some similarity throughout the countless generations of half-Elves between them. Or maybe not so countless. Maybe that was the reason why Sprigaena’s features had thrown so true.

“Who is she?”

Sprigaena, The Last Elf. I don’t know who she is, only a few things Erin told me. Only Erin has the full story about her.

“How…how did the [Innkeeper] meet her? She’s dead. There are no Elves!”

Now came the incredulity, not disbelief, but desperate wonder as Elia croaked at Mrsha. For she couldn’t disbelieve what she witnessed. The Gnoll solemnly held up a card.

Erin met the ghosts of everyone that ever was. Remember the big battle at the Meeting of Tribes? All the ghosts that popped up for a few moments over the world? That was their final battle. They all got eaten by Seamwalkers. And worse.

“…What? What? How are people not aware of it? Where are they now, if they did that?”

Two…no, four of them remain. Two were trapped by the Dragon and woman with six arms and four wings back there. They’re free. The other two are biding their time or something; they can only strike when the Solstices appear. But they’re getting stronger. The Winter Solstice, all the bad stuff that happened here? That was one of them trying to kill Erin.

Elia Arcsinger was digesting this, trying to drink in all of the inn’s causes and battles and the truth that Erin Solstice had warned so many about. She gazed at Mrsha.

“So that’s why the [Innkeeper] isn’t here?”

Yeah, well, you can also blame Roshal for that. And she wanted to help Rabbiteater, Ser Solstice, on the ships. He’s a Goblin.

“He’s a G—wait. So you’ve made an enemy of Roshal and Terandrian powers, as Lyonette said. I knew that. But there’s also at least three—”

Four, we didn’t kill the one who came after us here.

“—Four more Seamwalker-things that might try to kill everyone here next Solstice?”

Mrsha tilted her head as she consulted some internal roadmap of doomsday events. She nodded after a while.

Sounds about right. The only thing you missed is that Erin’s missing, the Horns are in Chandrar, and there’s another world, which is where Erin and a lot of the Earthers come from. Oh, also, the four super-bad-people (two are female, one’s male, and one’s a jerk), have followers, so they might have armies if we don’t find a way to kill them. We’re supposed to look for weapons, but I dunno where.

Elia Arcsinger read the final notecard.

“What about the bad-bad-death-death Troll thing?”

She asked just to be clear, and Mrsha slapped her forehead.

I forgot about that. Rags is so unsecretive for all she said I was gonna be the weakest link. No, that’s just some kind of ancient Drake necro-giant. It’s in five pieces, and when it combines, it’ll form this super-Revenant and try to kill all the Trolls and Rags’ tribe. It’s like…separate from the big four? It’s like an Elder Creler instead of Ancient Crelers. Only, all of those things are lower-level than the bad guys.

Elia Arcsinger stood there on the grass, gave the statue of Sprigaena another look to make sure this wasn’t a dream, pinched her cheek hard, and then nodded.

“Right.”

She picked Mrsha up under her arm and began to run. Elia began tearing out of the mists as Mrsha wrote with her wand.

Hey, wait! What are you doing? Put me down!

“Getting you out of here! Lyonette should have evacuated you and Nanette ages ago! And herself! Calanfer has an army; she can go there! Or Samal! They might listen to me!”

Who, in their right minds, would stay here with those kinds of odds arrayed against them? Even if it wasn’t immediate? Elia kept running until she sensed the grass moving in front of her foot.

She hopped the [Tripgrass] spell and kept running, dodging two more Mrsha conjured. The Gnoll was writing furiously.

Elia, don’t panic! Don’t tell my mother or she’ll be furious! She doesn’t trust you! I have something I need to do! Put me down or I’m gonna do something we’ll both probably regret! I’ll use my luck powers! Don’t make me do it!

Because Elia was an adventurer, because she had a healthy respect for her own safety, and because she’d seen the broadcast about Doombearers—and mostly because she realized that running Mrsha to Terandria was impossible—she slowed, then stopped.

Mrsha leapt down and gave Elia an annoyed huff.

I’m trying to be nice here, you know. Nanette’s trying to mend bridges between you and the Goblins. But she’s sort of been a bossy-britch of late. A bossy-witch, hah! I think you needed a reason to stay. And I think…we need your help.

She gave Elia an earnest look, so filled with concern and nervousness and…age the girl shouldn’t be wearing that Elia knelt down. They were down on the main hill now, Elia’s mad run having taken them almost out of the garden. The yellow flowers danced in a breeze as Elia spoke.

“This is all crazy. Even if you trust me…thank you for telling me the truth—the garden was driving me insane…I can’t do anything. I’m a failed Named-rank. An imposter. You saw me lose to Halrac the Grim. I’m not as good at fighting as Vaulont. You need a hero. You need—Onieva. And Saliss. Not me.”

She thought of the real Named-rank, the real corn as Onieva would put it. However, Mrsha just gave Elia a sad shake of the head.

I dunno about Onieva. But we like Saliss too much. I hated you, Elia. That’s why I thought it’d be okay if you guarded the inn. Now…I guess that’s how it happens. So I’ll try to make sure you don’t stay here. But we need you. Please, come with me? I need to show you something even more secret than the garden. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.

Mrsha held up a paw, and Elia processed what Mrsha had written, feeling goosebumps run up and down her arms and back when she realized what the girl meant. She recoiled from the paw at first.

She could run. Run away, quit her job, and even, if she was so inclined, sell this mad story to whomever would buy it. All her carefully honed survival instincts told her that taking the girl’s paw might lead to her death. That it was dangerous.

Yet…Elia couldn’t pick Mrsha up and run. Well, she could, but the Gnoll would flop around and run back here. Elia could run away.

—But for all she called herself a coward, for as much fear and incompetence lurked in her heart, she had never run away when a child’s life was in danger. Elia the imposter, they called her now. Arcsinger the liar. The worst archer of the Named-ranks. Elia the coward.

She had not run when the Goblin King charged. She would cling to that, in her heart, as the one moment in her life she had known what bravery was.

Slowly, very slowly, Elia took Mrsha’s little paw and felt the girl’s heart racing. Elia bent down.

“I promise that if I think it won’t harm anyone, I’ll keep your secret. Okay? What should I swear on?”

The half-Elf was prepared to make many oaths, but the clever little Gnoll girl looked her in the eye without hesitation and wrote:

Swear on your daughter.

Elia swore.

 

——

 

Even with the promise, Mrsha didn’t quite trust Elia, or perhaps there was more to it, so she made the Named-rank wear a blindfold. Elia tried to tie it so she could see through the gauze with her sharp vision, but Mrsha found out by flinging her paw in front of Elia’s face and re-tied the blindfold until it was truly dark.

It wasn’t a long journey; they seemed to walk through a door, then come to a stop in some dirt pit with a low roof, if Elia’s senses were any judge. Then—

The problem with a mute guide was that even with Mrsha’s pre-programmed speaking stones, Elia didn’t understand Mrsha’s tugging meant there was a drop. She picked herself off the ground and tore off her blindfold and glared as Mrsha slid down a rope.

Sorry, I said there was gonna be a drop!

“That hurt like—where are we?”

All of her outrage faded the moment Elia saw the impossibly long corridor. And her eyes and perception were nothing like Mrsha’s. Her mind whirled with the impossibility of it. Dead gods, I can see for at least ten miles straight—there’s no architectural building in the world that has—

Mrsha scrabbled for the blindfold.

Don’t look! Don’t look! Put it back on and follow me!

“Where are we going? Oh. Right. You can’t answer.”

“Hello! Stupid!”

“I know those are pre-programmed answers and you’re showing me a secret, but that’s still very rude, you know.”

“Sorry! Hey, listen!”

“…Is this something Lyonette doesn’t know about? I assume so. Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

One squeeze. Elia walked forwards onto marble; Mrsha seemed to cast around and pulled Elia forwards. The Named-rank felt something distort around her.

“Did we just teleport? I can tell something moved!”

One squeeze. Then a pre-programmed voice.

“How? How? How?”

“How what? How do I know we moved? I’m a [Ranger]. I can tell. Are we going to get lost?”

Two squeezes. There was a brief moment of silence, then an outraged voice as Mrsha let go.

“Mrsha! What are—”

That was Rags! Elia started and resisted the urge to tear off her blindfold. She listened instead as Rags whispered furiously and Mrsha began to scratch away. Damn…Rags moved away, and Mrsha was silent save for her quill. But Elia caught a few things.

“…all the people to…”

“…she can speak Goblin? Oh. Uh…”

“…the point! You…”

“…idea. That’s…not a bad idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Rags sounded entirely miffed and upset with herself by that point, and Elia chanced a peek from her blindfold. They were standing in that hallway filled with doors, and she saw Mrsha writing.

It’s not your fault you’re stressed about the super-Titan dude, Rags. I thought maybe she’d help activate the right doors, and HEY SHE’S LOOKING! PUT THE BLINDFOLD BACK ON!

They re-blindfolded Elia and shoved her along, and then the Named-rank could at least ask questions. They stood there, and she turned to where she sensed Rags was.

“Okay, this is a secret place only the two of you know about. Why can’t I see?”

“I don’t like you, and Mrsha doesn’t fully trust you, which is the only sensible thing she’s done all day. Kick me again, Mrsha, and I’ll kick you. My boots have steel in them.”

“Alright, why are we standing still?”

“Mrsha’s finding the right…place. Mrsha?”

The Gnoll girl must have been concentrating or doing something silent, because Elia didn’t feel anything for a while. Then…once more, their location changed. And they were somewhere else. When the two inhaled, Elia took off her blindfold.

A single door stood there in a corridor of cracked stone walls, light guttering with old-fashioned torches hanging from the sides. Crack-lines of force spiderwebbed their way left and right, meeting where a single door was.

It was green. It was big; three times the size of the other doors Elia had glimpsed.

It had a crown of gold on it.

Elia’s heart began pounding out of her chest the moment she saw it, and she didn’t know why. She regarded Mrsha and Rags, and the two seemed apprehensive. And excited. They were whispering to each other—well, Rags to Mrsha—and glancing at Elia.

“What’s behind this door?”

Elia wanted to open it. She was afraid to open it. Rags cleared her throat, suddenly higher-pitched.

“Mrsha…had a good idea from your conversation with Calescent. He wanted to know what the Goblin King was like. Why he did—all he did. The secret of Goblins.”

“Yes. And?”

Rags pointed silently at the door.

“Behind that door…is the moment Velan the Kind became the Goblin King. A…a…memory? A what-if? Is it going to be accurate, Mrsha?”

Elia’s face went white. She spun, then turned again to see Mrsha’s nervous reply.

Who cares if it’s accurate historically? Can there be any truth but the truth? And I asked for accurate historically.

“Can it do that? Can you go back in time…?”

Why not? Fate isn’t like time. Fate is everywhere, in the past and present. How would we know fate exists if it didn’t exist in the past? It’s the anchor in all moments you have to move around, or pull up and sail into the future unchained by.

Both the half-Elf and the Goblin stared at the notecard and then at Mrsha in shock until she held up another card.

That’s something Shaestrel once said to Ryoka. Open the door, Elia.

They turned back to the Named-rank adventurer, and she wondered if she would get a second answer to the questions that had plagued her. One felt like more than enough. She walked towards the door, seeing two great, brass rings on either side. She reached out…then hesitated.

“Hold on, if I open these doors, will something come out and kill me?”

“No.”

Rags and Mrsha were, Elia couldn’t help but notice, at the far end of the hallway. Elia backed up a step.

“So it’s not going to harm me in any way?”

“Maybe emotionally. Open the door, Elia.”

“Why are you over there?”

“Nothing’s going to hurt you. We’ve seen nothing in this place that can actually harm you, and nothing can go through those doors. Believe me. I’ve tried.”

Then the Goblin looked incredibly sad and weary, and Elia wondered what this place was. Fate? A place like the garden…

Some place cripplingly sad like a room that shows you what-ifs and what-might-have-beens? No, that’s too clichéd, like those adventuring books. She noticed Mrsha glancing down at her paws as Rags did the talking, but Elia was too distracted to pay it much heed.

Now that she had an idea of what might be behind the doors…caution weighed with curiosity. Curiosity, and a sense of the rules of this place, won. Elia grabbed the handles of the doors and pulled.

There was resistance, as if the door was trying to keep itself closed—then they swung open. Elia jumped back, raising her bow to aim at—

Nothing.

Or to be more precise, blackness. A perfectly black rectangle of space blocked the doorway. Rags had started forwards, her eyes wide. When she saw the rectangle, she ran forwards and felt at it.

“No. Come on. That’s not fair. No, no, no—”

She groaned as Mrsha walked forwards and saw the truth too. The girl held up a card, which Elia read.

Dead gods damnit! It’s a censor bar!

“A what?”

This thing on some of Kevin’s—you know what, he’s dead, I don’t wanna be mean to him. It’s keeping us from seeing the truth! Even here! Even a Level 70 Skill can’t access the truth? Stupid palace!

She kicked the door savagely and hopped on one foot, howling silently, as Rags rested her head on the doorframe. Elia interrupted, heart beating out of her chest.

“Hold on. Was this meant to show us the moment when…?”

“Yes! It was supposed to show us! Now it makes sense. There are limits. Of course there are, or we’d see everything. It’s like…show me the other door I asked for. There.”

Rags pointed, resting her head against her forearm, and a second door appeared behind them. This one was surrounded by pieces of armor worked into the frame, and it was smaller…but it also had cracks covering it. Mrsha glanced at it.

What’s in there?

“Open it.”

Mrsha did, cautiously, and the door revealed…nothing. The same black rectangle. Rags turned to Mrsha, embarrassed, glancing at Elia.

“I…I asked to see a future in which a new Goblin King arose.”

Mrsha gasped, and Elia felt another prickle of unease. Rags glanced at her again and swung around.

“It didn’t occur to me to go to the past. I thought maybe there weren’t any futures in which I survived…now, I see. Some secrets are meant to be secrets.”

She wore a tired, resigned look as she turned away from the doors. Mrsha lay on the floor, exhausted by all the pent-up emotions. Elia just lifted a trembling hand.

“Um. Excuse me.”

They turned to her, and the Named-rank adventurer searched around weakly.

“I’d rather like to lie down and go to sleep myself. C-can I—may I leave? I was going to retire. I still want to, really. I don’t think I can stay at this inn while Goblins hate me. I don’t want to be here, where I…I’m…”

Where I see too much of them and question things. She trailed off, realizing how hard that would be with all Mrsha had told her.

So many secrets here. Just like Lyonette and Onieva said, here I shall level. Or die. Yet Elia thought of Calanfer, and that wall had not faded despite all she knew. She met Rags’ eyes.

“I don’t regret killing the Goblin King. I want to know the truth, too, but…I shall never apologize for that. Ever. If your Goblins come after me again, next time, I may have to kill them.”

Rags sombered, and the Chieftain returned Elia’s look. Her fingers formed a circle she held up to Elia.

“If I had known, I would have stopped them, Elia Arcsinger. Your relationship with Goblins, no, Goblinkind is like this. A circle. I want to break it. I do not know how. I will order them to leave you alone. I will post watchers, but I cannot swear it will not happen again. Yet if Mrsha thinks the inn needs you…”

She trailed off, eying Mrsha. The girl was lying on the ground, staring at the doors, but when she sensed the two turning to her for inquiry, she sat up.

I wish you could all make friends and be nice to each other. If Elia and Calescent made friends, I think it’d be great. They’re both spice-buddies.

Spice-buddies? Elia saw Mrsha hold up the card with a little smiley-face in the corner. Then the Gnoll tore up the card and held up a second one.

However. I’m not that stupid. It’s like Merish and me. Or Relc and Rags. Or Tyrion and anyone but Ryoka because she’s dumb and thinks he’s hot or something stupid. I don’t know how you can ever forgive someone like that. I sort of like Elia now. I like Goblins, despite what happened to my tribe, because Erin was right and they’re not all the same. But I can’t make Goblins forgive Elia like I got along with the Redfang Five. I just wish we could show everyone the truth of Goblin Kings.

On that, the three could agree, and Mrsha stomped her foot in anger. Elia exhaled.

“I…wish I could know too. I saw it in that Goblin who tried to kill me. She looked like the soldiers I fought with against the Goblins. I realized I had become something like Velan the Kind to Goblins, and I…I guess that’s when I realized they were people.”

Not by mercy, by Sticks’ flag, not by reason or argument or their intelligence. But by that hatred. Perhaps it was shameful; Elia could not meet Rags’ eyes, but Mrsha listened as the half-Elf spoke.

“Yet I still do not regret it. I never shall! What was he like? That monster, Velan? I wish I could show you, Chieftain Rags. Show every Goblin who ever dreams of being him. Because I think he would have terrified even Goblins. When he charged, everything died. He could murder all of Liscor within an hour. He was insanity and wrath, and I can never forget him, even in my dreams. Is there a door that can show me that?”

She looked around, despairing, and Rags’ reply was somber.

“Only futures where you did something differently. Where you missed or failed or—didn’t fire.”

The half-Elf’s voice was cold as ice with the only certainty she possessed in her heart.

“There are no such futures where Elia Arcsinger truly exists. She is a coward, afraid, incompetent—but if you had looked him in those eyes, you would have seen there was only ash for the entire world or his end. That is a Goblin King.”

Her gaze was fierce, burning, like her Skill that could immolate her flesh, and Rags avoided the gaze, which angered Elia more.

“I believe you. I know. His memories…I cannot touch the ones where he is King. They burn me, even in dreams.”

Mrsha was gazing solemnly from face to face. Troubled, like someone trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. But as Elia spoke, Mrsha put her chin in her paws, thinking. She was writing on a notecard.

Censor bars. Dirty movies. No…movies. Memory. Always remember…Nanette’s new class…Nanette’s new Skill. Movies and Nanette’s new Skill and the Goblin Lord. Wait. Holy poop!

She threw up her paws, and both women turned to her. Mrsha danced on the spot, then gave them an agog look, mouth open.

I can’t believe it. Nanette’s right about something.

Elia and Rags exchanged a glance. Elia coughed.

“Right about what?”

Mrsha pointed.

I’ll show you in the morning! First—

She yawned hugely.

I need some sleep! All these secret meetings make me tired, even with naps. Is this why adults drink coffee?

Elia had no idea what to say to that.

 

——

 

They left that strange place, not saying much. Rags stayed behind to keep researching, but Elia and Mrsha were slightly overwhelmed, despite not having learned that much.

There was a sense that they were pressed up against great secrets, so weighty that it pressed down on them, even if the answers weren’t revealed. Elia was actually glad to go, and as for Mrsha, the girl kept yawning.

Like that, holding Elia’s hand, as the Named-rank peeked at her from under the blindfold, she looked like an actual girl, young and innocent. But Elia hadn’t forgotten how Mrsha had acted.

After Mrsha led Elia up the ropes to what Elia strongly suspected was some secret entrance in the [Garden of Sanctuary], they paused in the garden itself.

“I have one question for you, Mrsha.”

Mrsha rubbed at one eye.

Yeah? About what?

Elia knelt down.

“Why did you trust me with all this? When your own mother doesn’t know?”

It couldn’t just be because Mrsha had overheard Elia and Calescent and wanted Elia to stay. Onieva had indicated she and Saliss were close to the inn. There were, surely, better people to confide in for the purposes of secrets.

Mrsha stopped rubbing her eyes. She hesitated, then wrote for a while on a card. She handed it up to Elia, her face serious once more.

I’ve been looking at things with Rags. Thinking. Learning stuff. I think the inn may need you. I see a lot of bad things. Happy things. Sometimes, you’re in the futures of the inn.

“So? Do I matter that much?”

Elia didn’t know if she liked that. Mrsha shook her head.

No. But you never run away. No matter what happens. I thought someone should trust you after all you’ve done.

“But I didn’t do anything.”

Not yet you didn’t.

The smile Mrsha gave Elia was bleak and dark and respectful and…Elia read the card again, then stood straight. Curiosity suddenly gone.

“Um. Goodnight.”

She turned on her heel, relieved when the door to her room appeared. Elia strode through and instantly flopped into bed. The door closed, and Mrsha vanished, probably to her own sleep. Elia gazed at the window.

It was probably 5 AM; the sky was lightening outside. Elia lay there, staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes, she pinched her cheek hard.

What the heck was all that about?

 

——

 

Nendas (same day, again, last entry, I swear, unless something really odd happens in the last hour of me writing this. Also, I am hiding my diary in my bag of holding and locking it, so if anyone is reading this, I am exceptionally upset) — The Way Goblins and Half-Elves Might Understand Each Other Slightly

 

That morning, Elia Arcsinger found Lyonette waiting with a bag of gold as an apology for her near-death experience, and a huge mound of sushi on the table at nearly noon. She’d slept in, and it appeared that the [Chef] and [Princess] had sort of expected her up earlier.

“Adventurer Arcsinger, I am deeply sorry about the events that unfolded under the demesne of my inn. I hope this gift in some way recompenses your hard work, and brief though it may be, I commend you for your stellar work and would be delighted to recommend you to any future employers via the Adventurer’s Guild.”

Lyonette had a little speech pre-prepared, and Elia stopped, her face set to maximum impassiveness. The [Princess] gestured to Calescent, who was glancing at her, face also carefully blank.

“I believe Chef Calescent has prepared some vittles for the road, if you would care to take them? And, ah, anywhere you would like to go, Liska can send you. Or we can send for a horse if that is to your fancy.”

Uh…Elia looked around, trying to remain cool. Where was she? Elia had thought that—

Mrsha du Marquin, seeming equally sleepy, had frozen with a huge bite of breakfast cereal to her mouth. She gave Elia a side-eye as Rags blinked at her table. Elia stood there as Lyonette’s smile wavered and she glanced at Calescent’s sushi.

Afraid that the Named-rank would refuse it? Calescent’s face was stolid, unmoving. They both stood there, trying not to let any hurt feelings or emotions show until they realized Elia was turning slowly redder and redder.

She’d done so well over her tenure here. But Elia twisted and tried, but she couldn’t find a way out of it aside from unprofessionalism. She shuffled her feet and mumbled.

“I, uh, I’m reconsidering my options.”

“Er…what?”

“I’m reconsidering my options, sorry.”

Lyonette cupped one ear as Nanette sat up excitedly. Calescent blinked at Elia, and the Named-rank took a breath.

“I am reconsidering my departure from the inn due to—recent circumstances. I am exceptionally sorry about the mixup. Would you give me a day or two to postpone my decision, Miss Lyonette? Actually—I may wish to stay on if I can.”

She was trying not to glance at Mrsha, or glare, and her face was beet-red. Calescent’s mouth opened, and Lyonette hesitated.

“I…well, of course! Let’s, uh, I’m quite sure one would—this is a delight. Thank you, Miss Arcsinger. Why don’t we, uh—your leg is hurt, isn’t it? Can we offer you breakfast?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Miss Lyonette. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Red-faced, Elia Arcsinger retreated upstairs with every eye on her. Calescent was blinking at her, Mrsha was trying to hide under the table, and…

Well, Elia really wanted to disappear.

 

——

 

Elia slipped out of her room the second time someone knocked, wanting to talk. Ishkr was fine; she could refuse him. Rosencrantz wanting to offer advice and analyze the situation was too much.

She was sitting in the only place she could think of that was free from people—the basement, behind a sack of potatoes—when she heard a sniffing sound and someone calling out.

“Found her.”

Mrsha came down the stairs with Nanette. Elia tried to remain still, then got up and pretended she had just been sitting behind the potatoes for a good reason and not hiding from people in general and Goblins in particular.

“I was inspecting the potatoes. For weevils.”

Both girls traded amused glances. Elia feared her professional front was being compromised by Mrsha. After last night, it felt like the girl saw more of Elia than the [Ranger] wanted.

As for Nanette…the young witch was hopping from foot to foot in excitement.

“I knew you’d change your mind. Miss Elia, you have to come with us! Please! I have an idea for how to have a meeting of foes with you and the Goblins! It’ll work! Probably!”

She wanted to drag Elia somewhere and seized one of the Named-rank’s hands and tried to pull her up the stairs.

Nanette, a thirteen-year-old child, failed to pull Elia. The adventurer shook her head.

“No.”

“But you must!”

“I’m not doing anything until someone explains something, this time.”

Elia folded her arms, ignoring Nanette’s attempts to push her up the stairs. The half-Elf was, by and large, a rather pushable person, she had to admit. Being an adventurer meant you did what the client wanted.

However, she’d been pushed and pulled around by Lyonette, Onieva, and now Mrsha. The copper coin had to stop somewhere, and this was it.

“I just…want…to show you…the Goblin perspective! Mrsha, help me!”

The child wrote and held up a card with bigger letters and what Elia thought as a youthful scrawl compared to last night’s eloquence.

Forsooth, Nanette. Did your mother teach you that a [Witch] should drag people around to do what they want?

“She told me sometimes you put them in a headlock. Like this—”

Nanette tried to leap up on a barrel and put Elia in one. The adventurer sighed.

“Why should I want to see a Goblin’s perspective? How could it change anything? There’s no argument that could change my mind.”

Nanette was clinging to Elia’s back like a Balerosian monkey-creature. She panted.

“That’s because you can’t argue this out! You have to show other people what you mean! Please, Miss Elia! I have a way you can see how Goblins feel. And show them—show them the Goblin King. Us, too.”

Elia blinked. She turned to look at Mrsha, suddenly, and remembered the door. Yet Nanette seemed ignorant of that secret palace—Mrsha gave Elia a half-shrug of the shoulders and flashed her a card.

This is Nanette’s big idea. It might work.

She gave no further explanation than that, and Elia decided to pull an Ushar. She reached over her back and held Nanette under her arm like a giant, wiggling cat.

“Please, Miss Arcsinger! I can do it!”

The red-faced girl was desperate, clearly worried she’d be ignored or pushed aside like many adults tended to do. Elia put Nanette down and knelt.

Someone had told her to do that, once. The previous king of Avel. He’d told her, and his son, that you knelt so a child was on the same level as you. Elia had remembered it.

Professionalism.

“I’m listening. But I must agree to do it, first. Show me.”

The little witch’s eyes brightened, and she tugged Elia.

“This way. Through the [Garden]. Mrsha, I’m making a special exception and letting Elia in. Just so we can get her through the inn without Lyonette noticing. She’ll mess everything up, and she’s trying to bribe Elia.”

Forsooth, this sounds fine with me.

Mrsha innocently held up the card. Nanette frowned at her.

“You keep writing that. I don’t think you know what it means.”

It’s my word of the year. And it impresses snooty people. This way, Elia. This is the amazing garden.

“Oh. My word. This place is…fascinating.”

Elia made dutiful sounds of awe, but her impassive face actually paid off here; Nanette gave her a quick peek as she hurried Elia into the garden and used the door to navigate through the inn.

“I suppose you must have seen amazing things, Adventurer Elia. Most people are in awe of the garden.”

“I have seen something like this before. It is marvelous, though. Where are we…ah.”

The door reopened and admitted them into another familiar room that Elia had been in, but never really used. Despite her curiosity.

She stood in the domed theatre as Nanette explained her idea. The young witch was all vim and vigor and excited confidence. And nerves; she outlined her plan, and Elia cocked her head upwards.

“You can do that?”

You can do that?

Mrsha was just as aghast. Nanette faced them with a huge smirk.

“Why not? It may be Erin’s inn, but I’m a [Sariantfriend]. You didn’t think I just got useless Skills, did you, Mrsha?”

I thought your Skills were going to be completely useless and lamb-based.

“Well, they’re not. It’s called [Shared Vision], and it turns out that not only is it helpful with communicating with lambs, and Bismarck, it synergizes with this place. I’ve been talking with the lambs in Riverfarm. They’re pretty mean, you know.”

The witch’s smug smile faded a bit.

“…Although I just learned that Witch Thallisa made a cloak that lets Emperor Laken talk to them. I didn’t know you could do that. And Mavika’s crows gossip—nevermind. Will you do it, Adventurer Elia? Please say yes!”

She gave Elia such a pleading look that the Named-rank was uncertain. It felt hugely personal. Embarrassing, and of course, the witch’s idea might fail.

“You said this was something your mother taught you? A meeting of…?”

“A Meeting of Foes. It’s a [Witch] thing. A way to resolve issues. Sometimes, it’s a group, sometimes, it’s just one or two people. We must try if you’re to stay here. Please? I can get Calescent and Rags and a few Goblins right now.”

Nanette was bouncing on her toes, ready to dash off. Elia swiveled her head to the domed room and auditorium…and she had a thought.

“No.”

“But—”

Elia held up a hand, and Mrsha’s ears flicked up. The Named-rank felt that familiar trepidation, that fear of embarrassment, of failure that was so normal for her. She took a breath.

“No. I am a Named-rank adventurer. Elia Arcsinger. If you’re going to do this—call me an audience. Show them all.”

She slowly walked to the center of the theatre and stood there. When she drew her bow, she tossed her head back like an imitation of that ancient ancestor she resembled. Mrsha’s eyes went round, and Nanette gasped in delight. Elia Arcsinger posed in the center of the room. Of all the things she was good at, her bow, being professional, chopsticks, remembering things—

She had learned how to put on a show. So let it be; Elia Arcsinger nodded at the witch and waited.

 

——

 

Half an hour later, Elia was getting tired of holding the pose. But the last guests to the [World’s Eye Theatre] were arriving.

Calescent walked into the theatre and halted when he saw the half-Elf with blonde hair standing there, bow in hand. The [Chef] had a platter of sushi in his hands—but he halted, and it nearly tumbled to the floor.

For one moment, when she turned her head, he thought he saw…someone else. And he felt such a pang in his chest, of affection, of grief, not of hatred or betrayal, but terrible loss, that it overwhelmed him.

It came not from his soul, but something deeper. That connection to all Goblins. A voice of the dead speaking so loudly that no matter how many aeons passed, their descendants heard it.

The [Chef] caught the sushi before it could fall and steadied Asgra’s sushi platter before the Cave Goblin could drop hers. She made a sound, reacting as he had. Calescent caught his breath and resisted the urge to glare at Nanette.

The little witch had cajoled, begged, and persuaded most of the inn to come here. She hadn’t said what, only that it was a Meeting of Foes, whatever that was, and that it would help the divide between them and Elia.

Maybe.

However, the impression the [Ranger of Renown, Nemesis of Goblins] left on Calescent made him feel that any resolution was doomed. When he regarded her, he didn’t feel that strange emotion—he just remembered a half-Elf standing in the doors of the Mountain City tribe as Humans flooded in.

A figure pointing a bow towards the Goblin Lord’s armies as Tyrion Veltras and his people charged. Even if he wanted to stop hating her…when she gazed at him, did she see a [Chef] or another Goblin?

The half-Elf’s eyes lingered on Calescent as he put the sushi on a table and folded his arms. He realized he was the last Goblin to arrive; the theatre was filled.

Goblins sat in the seats around the room. Rags and her entire bodyguard, all the staff, from Peggy to Picker, and not just them. Antinium were eating sushi with their hands; regular Soldiers had no chance of using chopsticks. Even Lyonette and guests of the inn were here.

Relc was staring at his sushi glumly; he didn’t seem to like it that much. However, he brightened up each time Valeterisa levitated a bite towards his mouth, and it seemed to balance his feelings towards sushi to the positive on the whole.

Indeed, Calescent turned and nearly knocked over the sushi he was arranging.

“Imani? You’re here?”

“Hey, Calescent. Long time no see. This is excellent sushi. Do you know what’s going on?”

She winked her good eye at him as she waved. Calescent was gratified to see her; of course he sometimes visited her kitchen to learn from her and exchange recipes and ingredients, but Palt had refused to visit the inn…he looked around for Palt.

“Where’s Palt?”

“Sulking. He refused to come by, but I was told there was a safe inn-event, and I told him that he could either sit out and miss it or come with me. But he doesn’t give me orders.”

Her eye glittered, and she gestured to her left. Joseph waved at Calescent with a young man that Calescent vaguely recognized.

“Hey there. I’m Rhaldon.”

“The [Driver]-[Alchemist]. Right. You want sushi? Dunno what this is for, but Nanette said to bring food.”

Calescent got back to work, trying to ignore Elia. She stood there like a statue, bow drawn, but no arrow to the string. Waiting. He wondered how long she’d been posing like that. It looked uncomfortable.

If only she wasn’t Arcsinger, death of Goblins. She cut an impressive figure. He avoided looking at her. She had changed her mind, and he’d expected to feel happy, as if their conversation had helped. Instead, he felt bad.

This divide between them would not fill. She would never apologize for killing Velan. He understood that. He understood that she was a hero; he could think like she did. But—it still—

Lost in his thoughts, Calescent moodily made plates of sushi combinations and passed them out with Asgra. He stumped over to a group against one wall, two Drakes and a Human.

Rose, Mirn, and Saliss. They were talking quietly. Saliss seemed tired, but he grinned as he took the sushi.

“Thanks, Calescent. Hey, if I don’t like this particular inn-event because Nanette put it on, can I get my money back?”

“Sure.”

Calescent was fairly certain he hadn’t paid anything, and the [Alchemist] winked at him.

There was someone who had killed Goblins, who was an enemy…yet Calescent could smile at. He was different from Elia. Calescent might not have forgiven Saliss if he knew how many Goblins the Named-rank had killed. But it was still different. The [Alchemist] went back to speaking as Calescent pretended to be the [Background Chef].

“—Anyways, I’ll be working, Rose. Pallass has got a job for me.”

“About what, Saliss? What happened to your cousin, Onieva? I wanted to take her on the town. But Mirn said…”

The other Drake cleared his throat as he accepted some sushi warily from Calescent, but Saliss sounded relaxed. Still tired.

“She’ll be around. Listen, it’s going to be a real rat king in the New Lands, soon. This is top secret info, but it’s going to be secret for about…three days no matter what they try. And our sister Walled Cities already know the plans because 1st General Edellein thinks we should share our moves ahead of time.”

Mirn gnashed his teeth together.

“That Lizard-kissing idiot. Then it’s not a secret at all.”

“Yeah. Anyways, point is, you know how the New Lands push is going?”

Calescent was running out of excuses to stay nearby, so he wandered off slowly as his ears perked up. Mirn’s voice had trepidation baked in.

“Uh, bad soil, magic drain, countless nations heading in? And someone already got to the Crossroads of Izril and it’s not us.”

“Yep. High Command’s getting worried the ‘strategic value’ of the New Lands is getting away from us and they’re mad as Rhir’s hells someone might get to the Crossroads. So…what’s a smart Drake to do?”

“Send better-prepared expeditionary forces?”

“No, no, Mirn. Think about it with your tail. The Iron Vanguard’s sending armies here. And Terandria still landed a lot of its ships, and Chandrar’s hitting the south. So we’ve got to send armies.”

Calescent half-turned from handing sushi to Colfa. Both of them stared at Saliss. Did he mean—?

“Ancestors. How many?”

The Named-rank adventurer was laughing with a note of exhaustion in his voice. He spoke as he raised the sushi up with his chopsticks.

“At least three. I’ve been mustered since they need a good [Alchemist]. Maybe, if we’re lucky, no one’ll start a war, but I hear Drakes are already taking potshots at Gnoll tribes. One last time, Mirn. One last time.”

 

——

 

Nanette was arguing with Lyonette when Calescent stumped over. The [Princess] was not happy at being kept out of the loop.

“With respect, Nanette, this is my inn, and the situation with the Goblins and Elia is very tenuous. It requires tact. You should have told me what you were planning. I am your guardian.”

Nanette snapped back, facing down the [Princess] with her hands on her hips. She pointed at her bare head.

“And I am the witch! This is my work, and you aren’t part of it! A [Princess] should respect authority if no one else does. Dalimont, Ushar, please remove her.”

“Nanette, you can’t remove—Dalimont, Ushar, what are you—this is my inn right now, and I—wait a second!”

“Sorry, Your Highness, but we are giving Witch Nanette her chance. Please stand back and let her make her attempt. Further back, please.”

The sight of Lyonette being blocked by the two golden bouncers was a good floor show, but everyone was waiting to see what was going on. It was Nanette who turned, palpably nervous, and addressed the audience.

“Hello, everyone, thank you for coming here at such short notice. I know there has been…strife of late, in the inn. Between the Goblins and Elia Arcsinger. That is why I’ve called this Meeting of Foes, a way to resolve the conflict before it comes to blood. More blood, I mean.”

She spoke well, for a girl. Calescent settled into his seat, and in the center of the room, Elia stood there, waiting, just standing and looking good, which was, again, her specialty. Nanette’s earnest face turned from Goblins to non-Goblins as Rags’ people stirred. They didn’t watch Elia with open hostility, but there was not even a pretense of friendliness in their eyes. Yet they did wait as Nanette continued, now addressing Elia.

“I am a [Witch]. Excuse me, I mean a witch. I understand that you have warred against Goblins and killed them, and they would very much like to see you dead, Adventurer Arcsinger. You have been enemies, but in this inn, we must work together. We do not want you gone nor Goblins to feel frightened or unwelcome. Yet we are at an impasse. Thus, I have called for this meeting.”

Nanette spoke to Elia, small and serious, and the Named-rank adventurer saw nods from the Goblins, shrugs, stares…

Is she going to have Elia apologize? It would be a foolish thing to do, and Calescent did not think the little witch, who had greeted him within the first minutes of coming to the inn, was that foolish. But she was young.

An apology would mean nothing, if Elia even meant it, and she had told him she did not. An apology could not cover all this blood. He watched, narrow-eyed, chewing on the last of the chicken-sushi. Bird was staring at her empty box of sushi, mandibles open in horror.

It was Nanette who gazed up at the dome of the theatre. It had gone dark; it was night by now, and she spoke in a tone trying to be grand and wise, but mostly just sounded loud.

“There is no apology that would solve this. Nor, from my knowledge as a witch and the covens I have met and talked with and my mother, is there any way to end hostility. No spell can do it earnestly, no Skill overnight save ones that control. Yet this is The Wandering Inn! If there was ever a chance…I ask for Goblins and Elia Arcsinger to bear witness, and those who have fought Goblins and bear grudge. You, of all, should be here to witness this.”

Nanette bowed to someone else, and Calescent saw Relc in the bleachers, chewing on a turkey leg. He stopped eating and gazed down at her, and his eyes flicked to Rags and away. She gazed back, and there was more blood there both had a claim to. They did not fight.

That was respect. Practicality. Don’t ask for more than this. Elia, like Tyrion, could be tolerated at best. But there was no—he couldn’t actually—

Calescent tugged the brim of his hat over his eyes, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded. The witch swept around, voice louder now.

“Elia Arcsinger, the bane of Goblins. Slayer of the Goblin King. No one shall deny she hunted down Goblin tribes. No one should utter excuses or justify anger. But it seems to me…that if all know her story, we only know it as it is told. Similarly, she has been told not to kill Goblins. She understands she has destroyed their homes—but she is an adventurer. No one has communicated. Grant me…grant us one moment, then you may make your choices, and upon your hats be it.”

Now, everyone was sitting forwards in their seats, wondering how Nanette was going to resolve this. The witch pointed at Elia and called down to her.

“Elia Arcsinger. Will you apologize for the Goblin King’s death?”

Calescent lifted his hat, heart constricting in his chest. He sat forwards and saw the archer raise her head. Elia Arcsinger stood with her famous bow in hand, not the one she’d used to slay the Goblin King. But the same woman, barely aged from the mere decades she had lived since then. She stood, taller than he could remember the silent, awkward woman before, and answered in a clear voice.

She said—

“No. Never.”

Nanette tilted her head as the Goblins’ crimson gazes fixed on her.

“Why?”

 

——

 

Elia’s heart was pounding in her chest. She regretted offering to do this, let alone insisting on the audience, but she had been here before. She had been asked so many questions about her pivotal arrow—but never this.

The words bubbled out of Elia Arcsinger’s heart, rising like true bubbles from the depths of her uncertain soul, and she realized no one had ever asked her this question. What was it like? Countless times. Why didn’t you run? She’d lied and answered it differently many times. But do you regret it? Her voice grew louder as she spoke, and for once, she felt certain of something, she who was very seldom certain of anything.

“Because he had to die. If you had seen him, you wouldn’t ask. Monster? He was no monster. He was slaughter incarnate. When he charged, when he looked at you, people died. I was there. He could have killed everything and everyone in this room in a minute. I slew him. Yes, it was a lucky shot. But apologize for it? Never.”

She paused, voice panting, and the eyes of that Hobgoblin who had crawled towards her were Elia’s own eyes for a second. She could still smell the blood, hear the screaming and his roar.

“He had to be stopped. Every single person on that final battlefield went prepared to die if it meant this madness could end. I have never regretted it.”

Elia closed her eyes, waiting. She didn’t want to see the fear or betrayal or hatred on the Goblins’ faces. She waited for a sound, for one of them to draw a blade, but there was only silence. Then—panting. A voice in Elia’s ears, a familiar one. Loud, echoing around her. Her voice. It said:

“Am…am I in the right place?”

Someone was late. She edged past the bodies, stumbling a bit, clutching her bow. Elia blinked. She frowned, cracked one eye open—and then peered up.

It was bright. No…it was the blaze of magic in the distance, spells raining down. Like a lightshow of armageddon as warriors lined up. Armor creaking, murmuring, and a single half-Elf, young, so young, was trying to find her battalion.

Elia Arcsinger, over ten years ago, glanced around, face grimy with soot, wide-eyed, as soldiers assembled in ranks. In the distance, someone was shouting.

A familiar voice. And then Elia saw herself standing above her, reflected in the glass dome, a young half-Elf clutching an ordinary, basic bow with a low-grade enchantment on it, dressed in battered leather armor, searching around as a group of [Archers] grimly planted arrows in the ground, staring into the distance.

The [World’s Eye Theatre] was shining her memories straight down at her. Elia’s eyes opened wide, and she remembered. Perfectly.

 

——

 

Mrsha’s ears perked up as the movie—no, the live replay of what had once been—played itself above her heads.

In stunning visual quality. Each moment sharp as reality, vivid, the voices crisp in her ears. Mrsha had sat in this theatre and watched movies from Erin’s recollection. But they hadn’t always been this sharp.

They came from Erin’s memories, and they had been movies, in the end, a recording of events. This was clearer still, because it came from the Named-rank adventurer who needed no descriptions nor words to recall events.

There she stood in the center of the room, head tilted up, silently watching the events unfold. Everyone else was stunned. Gazing upwards.

Mrsha gazed at Nanette’s triumphant, relieved face and gave her a slow nod of respect until a voice she recognized snapped the Gnoll girl’s attention upwards. She noticed Rags was standing up, watching.

If they could not find all their answers in that secret palace, then here at least—

Dead gods. A witch beat the [Palace of Fates]. How ironic.

As Elia Arcsinger, the young version in the memory, wound her way awkwardly past [Archers] being ordered into ranks by a weary [Captain], her head turned, and she stared at a group of figures wreathed in shining spells, whirling orbs of magic, visible barrier spells, listening to someone screaming at them from a scrying orb.

A voice was raised, younger, rougher, filled with fury and nerves. Niers Astoragon’s voice, and his face was visible in the orb as he roared.

“—coming for you! He will wipe this entire damn regiment out! Fall back! Fall back and get me—”

“There is no falling back, Titan. He’s escaping the bombardments. In Wistram’s name, he halts here!”

An Archmage snapped back at the orb. Not an Archmage of the current era, but one now dead to the world, who flew and wore robes of shimmering stars that flowed and moved as Mrsha watched. A glimpse of what Wistram had been.

He was floating off the ground; a Human with a white beard, pointed hat, and robes, but not as traditionally [Wizard]-like as Mrsha expected. As Elia had said, more like an old [Farmer] with a beard, complete with the accent, who wore the robes of an Archmage of Wistram.

Yet his magic was real, and the [Mages] around him spread out, heads fixed on the horizon. Niers launched one last plea, then fell silent.

There was a trembling in the air—the warriors around the [Mages], helping guide the spellstrikes, stirred. The younger Elia swallowed as she peered ahead. The sound grew louder, no howling of the wind.

The Goblin King. 

 

——

 

It was no sound the Goblins had ever heard before, but it struck them. A mad beast’s roar, not the sound of a chieftain or general. They glanced at each other, then at Elia. The Named-rank adventurer was frozen, watching the memory.

Her memory.

The little [Sariantfriend] was the architect of it all. Erin had her Skill. Lyonette had access to said Skill. And Nanette had access to other people’s memories in shared visions.

Combination Skill. For one moment, everyone could see the events that had defined Elia’s life as she had lived them. And not just her memories.

The Goblins’ turn was next. But for this moment, they looked up and beheld the story from Elia’s perspective. The half-Elf who trembled like a leaf as an army pushed past the spells raining down on them. But even the greatest Goblins couldn’t run through magical hellfire—only one broke through, racing, almost on all fours, armor burned to ash, eyes wide, howling as he came at the army he could slaughter himself.

Velan the Kind. 

When he appeared, every Goblin was on their feet, including Calescent. He did not know he rose, only that he expected to feel something.

Rage. A memory that burned hotter than the mere name evoked. An echo of the fury of Goblin Kings that might ignite the Goblins present.

He sensed the Thronebearers tensing, saw Elia’s head turn towards him, but when the figure burst out of the ash, Calescent wavered. And he thought…

Velan was so small.

There was no flash of memory. No burst of rage in his chest. Nothing from the image of the armored Goblin running and roaring at the trembling army.

The moment captured him. The very air was shaking in the memory, and the [World’s Eye Theatre] replicated enough of that scene to have many flinching in their seats. Valeterisa was cringing back, but some people were also on their feet.

Relc had his spear in hand, gazing upwards with a wordless intensity, every muscle standing out on his body. Saliss of Lights had his arms spread across two seats, posture relaxed—but death emanated from him as he gazed upwards.

Calescent saw this, you see, because he was not transfixed. He could look around. He could think. Why?

—Because this is Elia’s memory. Not mine. When he gazed up, Calescent saw a Goblin King as she did. He felt his breathing ragged in his chest and wondered why he was panting. He saw Asgra, next to him, staring up at the Goblin King in awe and delight.

Across the room, Redscar was blinking upwards, an expression of surprise on his face, but a flicker of…uncertainty. Even disappointment. His eyes flashed around at the other Redfangs and met Calescent’s gaze a second. Rags was looking up, lost, disappointed as well. But Calescent breathed in suddenly. His eyes focused upwards. And he saw how it had ended.

 

——

 

When she drew her bow—the half-Elf stood there amidst a crumbling front rank. Warriors were racing forwards, being cut down by arrows singing across the battlefield, spells—some were dropping from the Goblin King’s presence alone, his clawed hands that tore through magical armor like it didn’t exist. Onwards as soldiers ran or fought and died.

One half-Elf alone as the entire rank of archers threw down their bows and fled. And they all saw him hesitate, staring at that half-Elf he thought he recognized for a crucial moment, his resolve weakening.

She shot him through the eye, and he collapsed. He didn’t die right away; he fell, got up, and ran—and [Mages] poured magic onto him, arrows stuck home—and Goblins began to shriek in the distance as they felt their King die. When he collapsed, an entire army turned to a trembling half-Elf standing in disbelief, not knowing how she’d killed him, and roared her name.

The audience watched the moment, the truth behind that lie she had never meant to tell, and saw how Elia looked around, bewildered, uncertain, as she became a legend. Yet even still, even seeing how the accident had played out…

Saliss of Lights sighed as he leaned against a seat and popped a piece of sushi into his mouth.

“She never ran. That’s a real Named-rank for you.”

His words broke the silence, and Goblins stirred. They might not have even breathed as the Goblin King died, but it had been because they’d been holding their breaths.

If they were transfixed, it was because of the moment, not because they had felt his death in their very souls.

As Nanette rose to give context, to ask Elia to recall another memory, and then to later show the Named-rank adventurer what the Goblins had seen—Calescent stared up at the image burned into his eyes.

The [Spice Chef] said only this. He said it out loud, voice raised so the half-Elf walking up the theatre’s steps could hear it, and the other Goblins around him. He said it, because, even if it wasn’t true, he wanted to say it.

“That was a pretty bad king. Looked more like a monster to me.”

Every Goblin around him twisted in astonishment. Asgra’s mouth fell open, and she nearly flipped out of her seat to get away from him. Redfangs, the rest of the staff, looked at him like a traitor.

Calescent shrugged and winced as a Goblin threw a shoe and it bounced off his shoulder. Then he watched the half-Elf’s face.

Wondering what she would look like. He saw startlement, disbelief, tension, and just for a second—

He thought he saw regret. It might have been his imagination, but if he could believe he saw that on Elia’s face, even if it was a lie he had to tell himself…

That was good enough for him. Elia Arcsinger hesitated as she walked up the stairs, and he realized she really was an awkward person. Amazingly awkward. So, he patted the seat next to him invitingly until she stiffly sat down, and he smiled at her. She tried to smile back, her face jerking, and the [Chef] ducked a second shoe, then grabbed the third and threw it back at the Goblins trying to pelt him.

When the screen above him flickered to life, he smiled, sat back, and ate some sushi and watched the memory above and Elia’s face. For it was her turn to see how she appeared to Goblins the moment she had broken the Mountain City tribe. Surely, it hurt. He hoped it hurt, and for more guilt and struggle and perhaps even regret to cross her features.

But she saw it. She saw through their eyes as a wretched Chieftain, a bully, a schemer, a rapist and monster—Calescent would never deny any of that—a Goblin, Tremborag of the mountain, died. Something words could never do justice. She gazed up and saw the Elia Arcsinger that Goblins knew. And he saw her eyes wide and wondering, a startled expression across her face. Then, he thought he and she understood each other a bit better.

Calescent loved this silly inn for that.

 

——

 

There was pride and pain in it. A silly, perhaps puffed-up little witch’s conceit. And yes, she had learned it from her mother, but you had to give her credit: Nanette had helped make this moment.

A Goblin’s memories flickered above them, and the watchers got to see what it felt like when you lost your home, when people came in with magic and metal to kill you, without pity or mercy on their faces, and so often glee, or worse, boredom.

If Rags had her own hat, she would have taken it off for Nanette in this moment. This mattered. If the Goblin could have broadcast this across the world, she would have, and she grudgingly gave Nanette a few more points.

It was in small things, like Rose pointing up excitedly as she spoke to Mirn, her face alive with excitement, Mirn’s shadowed by doubt and wariness even as he watched the Goblin memories. Saliss—well, Saliss knew Rags was watching, so he just winked at her and waved a claw.

Rags had chosen her seat well; she was close enough to hear Lyonette speaking softly with Mrsha and Nanette.

“This is too much for you and Mrsha to see, Nanette. Don’t look. Don’t—”

“This is reality, Lyonette. It’s not even bloody.”

It was merely traumatizing. Nanette’s head swung around, and Dame Ushar leaned forwards.

“Your final guest has arrived.”

“Your who? Did you invite the entire city, Nanette?”

The witch tossed her head.

“By rights, I should have. No…Dame Ushar suggested one more person.”

Ah, so points a bit lessened for Nanette, upped for the Thronebearers. Rags needed a Goblin version of Thronebearers. She saw someone entering the theatre and heard a loud, familiar, chatty voice.

“—cover for me, okay? It’s just one segment, max. Keep covering the Horns. People love the Horns. Get Elena on the scrying orb and just talk, Mraxine. No, I don’t know why they called me over, but it’s the inn. I’ll just see and—”

Drassi Tewing stopped as she entered the [World’s Eye Theatre] and gazed up. She glanced around, taking the moment in with a [Journalist]’s eye, and Rags got the impression Drassi would have loved to have a camera. Instead, she pulled out a notepad and spoke crisply into the speaking stone.

“—Make that a few segments. You wanted to sit on television? This is your chance, Mraxine.”

She looked around at the Thronebearers, Mrsha, and then upwards, bleakly, at the memories playing out. She nodded to herself.

Drassi was one of the few people who had changed her opinion about Goblins. She had met the Redfang Five, gotten to know them. She was sympathetic to Goblins. Rags didn’t know if Nanette expected Drassi to grab a camera and begin broadcasting this to the world. But neither Rags nor Drassi would have done that, even if they could.

Not like this. Drassi knew her audience. She knew how minds changed, and so she sat, cupping her head in her clawed hands, watching, learning, with that pained expression of someone trying to find a path forwards.

Rags knew that feeling very well and nodded to herself and closed her eyes.

Clever. Clever girl fighting on Goblins’ behalf. It felt weird to have anyone on their side. Or even less enemies in the world. Speaking of which—she eyed Calescent and Elia and noticed them talking. Quietly. She was stiff as a board, staring upwards; he was just talking.

Something flew at him in the dark, and Rags thought it was Asgra with a fourth shoe; she’d borrowed one from Sticks. Rags leaned over and spoke in a quiet voice as Goblins shifted to read her body language.

“Hit the next Goblin who throws something at Calescent.”

Her tribe nodded in varying degrees of reluctance. Rags had noticed a few objects coming from them, but not, she noticed, from Redscar, who had returned with Fightipilota from his trip abroad. He sat, arms folded, giving Elia the stink eye, but not Calescent.

“Redscar?”

He shifted and grunted.

“What? No one killing Arcsinger, yeah, yeah. We making friends. Next, I be kissing Tyrion.”

Rags snorted at that.

“Erin’s inn can’t force you to change anything. Calescent big softheart.”

He agreed, glowering at the former Mountain City Goblin.

“Too big, too soft. Too heart. Good thing he’s gone. He can make friend with Arcsinger.”

“So you not going to make this a problem?”

Redfangs had their own ways to deal with problems, which resulted in hitting people. Redscar said nothing for a long moment. He stared at Calescent, grinning at Elia as she gave him another frozen look, then accepted a sushi and some new dipping sauce. In the end, Redscar’s lips turned up.

He knew what he was seeing. Rags had figured it out, even if she mostly had to go on pattern recognition rather than instinct. The blademaster glanced at Rags.

“Problem? I hate her. Never stop, Chieftain. I think Velan had a reason. But that?”

He gestured at the duo and leaned over.

“That would be very funny.”

Every Goblin around Rags snorted or laughed, and she felt her own lips curl up wryly. It really would be. And Goblins thought funny beat vengeance sometimes.

—She went back to watching. Rags didn’t have that much time, but she had enough to be here, in this moment. She was dozing, really. She’d spent night after night learning what she could, making plans.

She had a plan. You could learn anything in the [Palace of Fates]. Okay, almost anything. But that Mortemdefieir Titan—that being of the old City of Graves, made to lead armies of death—

That was no Goblin King. It had weaknesses. It could die.

She just didn’t know if the plan would work. More time. If she had—

Something hit Rags in the cheek, and she jerked upright. A poke of paper—she snatched it, growling, and looked around for who’d hit her. For answer, Redscar just pointed left. Rags glanced over and saw a figure waving at her.

Saliss. A paper airplane had hit her in the cheek. Rags paused, then unfolded the paper. In the half-light of the theatre, she read a single scrawled message.

 

They had to cut through the Bloodfields, so they did. It slowed them down. Two days, maximum. You are out of time. 

 

No instructions. No order to run, no suggestions about white flags or how to avoid it. Just…Rags gazed up, and the Named-rank Adventurer stared upwards.

If, by some miracle, 2nd Army failed, they would call for their greatest weapon. Rags nodded and rose without a word. She glanced at Mrsha, and the child’s eyes met hers wordlessly. Rags wondered what she’d been looking for, racing around the [Palace of Fates] from door to door. Had she found hope in those endless, painful what-ifs?

Respite was watching a terribly sad, true movie while eating sushi in an inn. Hope was a single fate in which you saw victory. But wonder and magic, the stuff of this inn? Rags saw it flickering in a little Gnoll’s eyes.

So even now, the Goblin smiled.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

And once again, the day is saved by the power of editing! No, but seriously, I wrote this chapter over two weeks ago as part of my backlog.

It was half the length of the chapter you see, and it was far worse. I’d give it a ‘C-’ on a grading curve that only I possess…if I actually had a grading curve…but I think editing boosted it up at least a few ranks.

It’s the argument for the backlog, for writing ahead, and for my new schedule, but let me tell you, when I reach the end of a writing cycle, I still feel like death. As I do now; I’m just tired. I’ll be fine after a week or two.

But it is time for my break once more. Innktober continues to go strong, and it’s an exciting month full of arts and all kinds of crazy stuff. I think that we all know what arc should come next; I’d love to do more chapters of various groups around the world, but I started this ball rolling, and you can’t delay the momentum forever.

Well, I could, but I don’t think that’s appropriate. Back to another big arc, then I’ll try to run around and do chapters of all the different groups. How do I get myself into this situation? By not writing enough. By not having enough hands or clones!

See, we’re all over ‘AI this, AI that’ right now, despite it being a glorified language model. Someday, the tech industry is going to be all over clones or something, or we’ll have robots that think but they won’t be ‘real people’. Robots don’t need rights. (If you are reading this unironically, wow.)

I’m sure it’ll all end well, but why was I ranting about that? I’m hungry, and tired, and I need a break, but I am happy with the work I put into the chapter. Wish me luck, and rest, and if someone clones me in the future, I hope my clone tries to murder them. Thanks for reading!

—pirateaba

 

 

Stream Art: Elia Arcsinger by Uni!

 

Innktober art is still going strong! The theme was ‘pets’, as well as Elia and other submissions!

Saliss Card by Stargazing Selphid!

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

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

 

Saliss by Eurayle!

 

Saliss by Deepsikk!

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Deepsikk

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

 

Saliss Comic by jamcubi!

 

Elia by Brack!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/shurkin/gallery/

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

 

Elia by Yootie!

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

 

Pets by Spooky!

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

 

Pets by Ashok!

 

Reagen and Apista by Lore!

 

Peaceful Garden by Sanfire!

 

Pets by Nanahou!

 

Apista and Chess by Manuel!

 

Numbtongue by MystikDruidess! (Yes, he’s a duck. I don’t know why.)

 

Quests, Mrsha, Larracel’s Inn, and more by Moerchen!

 

Bird Ballista by TheBlondeOwl!

 

Delayed Sustenance by Lanrae!

 

Baron Bunny Saliss by tatolord!

 

Drakes by kiffaB!

 

‘Work for me’ by Rocky!

 

Haven and Hamster by Gridcube!

 

Pets by Pontastic!

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

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tobias.s.nordin/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCde0VI7ReuYdsyzoFrIfr7g

Website: https://www.nordink.net/home

 

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