Brave men go to war. Women too, but regardless—
They fight and die. They charge the breach, pull friends out of hell, and march on. Through months of living in hell, sometimes despite grievous injuries. Severed limbs, still fighting while bleeding, through horrific pain.
Then they go home. They stand under the bright sun, in places not scarred by war, and it looks so incredibly wrong. Fake, because they’ve seen what the world looks like when you peel the lining off, and they know how easy it is to become that way.
The lie they see everywhere is children playing with weapons and knowing what it means. Young men bragging about how they’d cover themselves in glory or win any fight and not knowing how it sounds.
It’s hard to leave the war. And the lie of the rest of the world, the blank, uncomprehending stares from the people who have never been there—that hurts. Perhaps the worst lie of all is this: they think the world is one step away from behind that battlefield. But is that the case, or is it easier to believe that than to realize they’ve gone somewhere and have changed forever from the rest of the world? You can never go back. You can find your peace, but never forget.
Even if you could go back—you wouldn’t be the same person. So, brave men and women go away to war. In some way, that’s the easy part. Attending a funeral, watching someone pass away by inches—returning to those foreign lands is the hard part.
It’s a battle that Senior Guardsman Relc fought for decades. He was a boy when he joined Liscor’s army. He quit as a young man; he had years to recapture that feeling of normalcy, of ceasing to be a [Soldier]. Sometimes, he missed the army. He knew why he wouldn’t go back in oh so many ways and excellent reasons, but he also is allowed to miss it. And that’s a realization that took him ages to come to. His peace.
The irony, of course, is that The Wandering Inn has hurt him as badly as the war, in ways he can never express properly. He has tried to explain it now and then, in the crude words he sometimes feels embarrassed by. He doesn’t understand what a simile is, or a metaphor, and it makes him feel stupid.
Especially when he’s with the Archmage of Izril, Valeterisa. She’s smart. Not just ‘smart’ like a [Scholar] is, all fanciful words and Pisces-isms, but actually intelligent. She’s like how Relc feels when he solves a puzzle, but her mind does that all the time, for everything.
Anyways, Relc tries to explain it, and Valeterisa sits, head cocked like an owl. And he says, each time, how easy it is to get cut and bleed out. He’s never lost a limb, but he’s taken bad wounds before. And it doesn’t hurt in the same way, it’s not the same pain, but—
Having to face Goblins like real people? Having to—the rage of seeing someone treat monsters like people, then realize you’re losing friends, you’re going crazy over something you fear you’re wrong about?
Watching someone get hurt or pass away in your city where there shouldn’t be a damn war? Facing your daughter, who looks at you like you’re a traitor and scum under her boot?
He’d rather face-tank a [Fireball] first. That’s just pain, if that makes sense. He would lose his scales and flesh and blood, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about that. It’s so, so much harder to visit a grave, hold a crying friend, or look someone in the eye and be on the wrong side of everything.
Of course, The Wandering Inn has good days as well. Glorious days. He met Valeterisa here. But it hurts. So badly that sometimes he takes a breath before going through those doors, but he came here to know he’s alive. Relc won’t stop visiting here. ‘Course not. It’s just—
When he glances at Mrsha, in the middle of the singing and the inn events, and sees her with all the spies and whatnot, Relc Grasstongue hesitates. He hugs Valeterisa, and he doesn’t instantly rise to follow the [Knights] of Solstice.
A brave Drake, a [Spearmaster], fears what he’ll find in those little, round, earnest eyes. Maybe it’ll come for him anyways, and if so, he’ll face it. But it hurts.
Everyone in the inn, everyone who’s been here, has faced that pain before. It burns like agony. It’ll make veteran [Soldiers] run. And that’s the thing, Relc tells Valeterisa, as she listens, making a [Magic Picture] of him as he poses on the bed, which is really embarrassing, but flattering. Relc goes on—each and every time it hurts, but what’s worse is…it hurts differently.
Then Valeterisa smiles and says ‘she’d like to see it’. Relc Grasstongue wonders when the inn will get her. It hasn’t, really. A few times, in her own journey. But he looks at her confident smile, and part of him wants to see it.
——
Agony. She bit her lip so hard her teeth nearly clicked together, and she never felt it. Not a thing.
The young Gnoll woman hesitated at the door. Not the door to the inn. Rather, the real door.
The garden door.
She stood in the [Garden of Sanctuary], which was so familiar to her. It hadn’t changed after all this time. Oh, there were a few differences; the garden looked bigger, and there wasn’t a little cabin to the side by the pond.
And the bier was empty.
Those were the big…changes. Even now, Mrsha wanted to go back up and check again, but she’d done it two dozen times. And it was empty.
Erin was gone.
—No, she was alive. That was what it meant. Mrsha told herself that, but this all felt like a crazy dream. Which was how she knew it was a Solstice event, of course.
“Just like the old days. I’m ready. This is it. You’ve waited for ten years. Just—just—”
She wiped blood from her mouth. Reached for the door’s handle. She knew she had to hurry; this [Garden of Sanctuary] was in use.
Her paws were shaking so hard they could barely take the handle. She was going to pull that door open, and she’d be there. No, wait, what had that Goblin, Rianchi, said?
She was somewhere else? Mrsha wished she’d quizzed him harder. But she hadn’t believed, not until she’d stepped through that door and felt the world change. What would she find beyond that door?
Me, eight years old. Mom, ten years younger. Dead gods, I’m a year younger than she is, aren’t I? The inn with everyone in it safe and sound.
The Horns together. Everyone alive. Liscor before the—
Dead gods.
Before the Mother of Graves. Mrsha felt her fur ripple. This entire world was different. If Erin had lived or come back from the dead—she really didn’t know what had changed. But this was also before other events had happened.
Events I know about. Should she say anything? It seemed like there was definitely some trouble. Mrsha rubbed at her face.
“Just do it. Go for it! You coward! You silly—”
She almost pulled out some Dreamleaf gum and chewed on it, but she stopped herself. This wasn’t an anxiety attack. She was just legitimately afraid. Mrsha was psyching herself up when she heard a sound.
The door opened from the other side.
Instantly, Mrsha vanished. She turned herself invisible and leapt back, racing away. Just in time; the first Goblin entered in a roar of sound.
“No interviews! Get lost! This way, Chieftain.”
Peggy shouted, and a group of Goblins stormed into the garden. Mrsha froze as she recognized two instantly.
Redscar and Rags. They strode forwards, and Rags reached back and yanked someone else after her. She pulled—a younger Rags through?
They looked completely different in dress, hairstyle, and even attitude, but Mrsha had met so many Goblins over the years she knew they were the same person. Their magical signatures as well were near-identical matches.
“Get in here. We missing anyone? No? Let’s go.”
Rags snapped and slammed the door on a [Spy]’s face. She strode forwards, and Mrsha, crouched under an [Invisibility] spell, panicked.
Oh no, she’s going to see me! [Heat Null]!
She cast the spell a moment before Rags’ eyes swept over the garden and backed away as fast as she could towards the only cover: the jungle. Rags could see the body heat of people. At least, the Rags in Mrsha’s world could, and she assumed the Goblin had gotten the Skill back in the day.
To her relief, the Goblin ignored her and snapped her fingers; the door to the [Palace of Fates] opened, and she nearly kicked her copy through it.
“Hey, take it easy. Where are we going to talk? Your world? Mine?”
“I think we need to use this palace to its full potential. Where’s Mrsha, Peggy?”
“Dunno, Chieftain. She left with the Knights of Solstice and other Mrsha just before you got here. And Chieftain Lyonette’s doing the wand thing.”
Two Mrshas? Two Rags? Who the heck was this Goblin? Mrsha cast [Appraisal].
…[Floor Boss] Level 27? What the heck? The Wandering Inn had Goblins on staff? It made sense, Mrsha supposed, but it was also insane. In her world, in her time, Goblins were hunted worse than when Erin had lived. Because she had died.
A better world. A…the real world?
Mrsha refused to believe that right off the bat. She bet this was just an alternate timeline. A good one. But now all the realities were bleeding together, which was chaos as far as she was concerned. She just had to achieve a few objectives here, and then she could go back. After all—all Mrsha had to know was how Erin had been revived and she could do it in her world, right?
Simple. Not adding to the chaos was an optional objective. So Mrsha kept listening as the arguing Goblins began disappearing into the [Palace of Fates].
“Keep me posted if she returns. I’m going to the doors. Rianchi, where’s Mrsha? Nevermind—we can find her. One last thing, Peggy. Chieftain Lyonette?”
Rags poked Peggy with a finger, and the bigger Hobgoblin gave the [Chieftain] a lopsided grin.
“What? She Chieftain to me, now, Chieftain. Respect.”
“If she tells you to take her side and I need your help, who are you reporting to, Peggy?”
The Flooded Waters tribe’s Chieftain narrowed her eyes, not quite aggressively, and Peggy gave her a huge grin.
“Depends on who’s paying my salary, boss. I get days off and free food.”
“Ooh. You want more guards?”
Another Goblin waved a hand, and they all laughed as Rags kicked them into the door. Then they vanished. Peggy strode back towards the inn, and Mrsha got up after a second. She shed her invisibility spell and exhaled.
“Whew.”
Strangely, that entire encounter had calmed her down a bit. It was surreal, but Mrsha had just gotten the drop on the Goblins, escaped all their notices. True, they didn’t expect anyone to be watching them from the [Garden of Sanctuary], but still!
“Spellcasting’s not that advanced ten years ago. Everyone’s still at Pisces’ level at best for [Invisibility] spells. Which means I’m probably at an advantage with anyone except a real master like Grimalkin.”
She’d taken lessons from Moore, Pisces, Ceria, Montressa—before the latter two had gone off—and a lot of other experts. Not that she intended to get into a fight, but it was good to know she’d be more powerful than your average spellcaster. Mrsha began to walk out of the jungle section, brushing at her brown fur, and was instantly attacked.
A giant, giant bee with huge orange and black stripes landed on Mrsha’s head and began trying to sting her.
“Aaaah! Aaaaaaaaah! Apista!?”
Mrsha tore it away—only to see a not-Apista-shaped bee flying past her like the primordial bee to end all bees. She ducked as Apista dive-bombed what she saw as an intruder, buzzing furiously.
“Apista, it’s me! What—what happened to you? Why are you so big?”
The bee recognized her name and aborted the sting, but she didn’t recognize this strange, tall Gnoll and hovered around her, suspicious.
Someone new in the garden! Who’s this, then? I don’t know you!
Her attitude and menacing stinger were hostile. Mrsha’s throat constricted. Her paws began to shake, and again, there it was.
Agony.
“Apista. It’s m—me. I’m here. You’re Apista, aren’t you?”
The bee stared at the suddenly watery-eyed Gnoll girl. She reached out and jabbed her stinger at the Gnoll threateningly, but with no real danger. This was the [Garden of Sanctuary]. Apista dodged back, but Mrsha was faster. She gathered the bee up in her arms and nuzzled her. The outraged Apista tried to squirm away, but when she noticed Mrsha had tears in her eyes, she stopped.
Who is this stranger? And why does she seem familiar to me? Also, what’s that smell?
The Gnoll girl sniffed—then nearly let go of Apista in shock as Apista transformed out of her Scourgebee form! She became the smaller, cuter Ashfire Bee, and Mrsha caught her again. Then she did sob.
“Apista—!”
In her world, there was no Apista. She’d survived the hell that had come to Liscor after the Dungeon of Graves revealed its final trap. Survived all the scrapes Mrsha got up to, the chaos of Lyonette refusing to go home, war with the Antinium—so much.
Not old age.
Honeybees had the lifespan of weeks. Queen bees lived for up to four years or more if they were lucky. Ashfire Bees, being bigger, could get up to seven years as queens.
The Apista of Mrsha’s future world had lived for eight full years. Seeing her now, small and pretty and with—fake legs?
“What’s this? What is this?”
Mrsha had noticed the prosthetic legs and wings. Apista began to buzz in actual anger as Mrsha touched them gently and tried to fly away.
Stop touching my legs and wings! Intruder! I’ll get Lyonette! Just you wait until you leave the garden, sucker, because I’ll sting you so hard you won’t sit still for a month!
Her outraged thoughts and commentary on the world were normally ignored by, well, everything. But to Apista’s astonishment, the brown Gnoll woman cocked her head, narrowed her eyes, and frowned.
“Apista, I’m friendly! Don’t you dare sting me or I’ll paint your head blue. Also—here’s a gift for you. I should have remembered my favorite buddy was here. Take this. It’s the best Dreamleaf you’ll ever have.”
To the bee’s astonishment, she spoke to Apista and produced the fattest blunt of Dreamleaf Apista had ever seen. The bee grabbed it and actually dropped a few inches in the air before fanning her wings to keep level.
Whuh? All for me? Who are you?
Her reply was a wink and another hug. Mrsha nuzzled her face into Apista’s confused head, then let go.
“I’m…your best friend. It’s really good to see you, Apista. Don’t smoke that all at once or you’ll go crazy. And enjoy yourself, okay?”
She turned, and Apista buzzed around her in utter confusion. Mrsha spared one more look for the bee, then took the door’s handle in her paw.
“Mrsha? Mri? No…how about Arrema? That’s a real fake name. Keep steady, Arrema. Here we go.”
‘Arrema’ tucked her floating quill and book into a belt pouch; it wasn’t essential to have floating about. She double-checked she didn’t have Pawn’s stupid halo, and nodded to herself.
Then she pulled the door open, and rain filled the air. It showered down in such a torrent that Apista did an evasive backflip through the air, and it drenched the young woman. She blinked as the rains of Liscor came down.
An unending torrent of water. Near-black skies dumping water into the flooded valley, a basin with the tops of hills poking out of the water; little islands connected by tiny bridges of wood.
Precarious, surreal to visitors.
“Home.”
Apista listened as the familiar-unfamiliar Gnoll girl stood there, smiling. Water ran from her brown fur, and she whispered a spell. Then it collected over a thin barrier rather than drench her.
“It looks so empty. I forgot how dark it was. I really am back, aren’t I?”
The young woman gazed around, then stepped out, passing through the garden just outside the inn to the side, next to the outhouses. She turned, the warm light from the windows catching her as she shaded her eyes and peered at the front of the inn. Then she stumped around and checked a little sign on the ground. She laughed softly, a faint moment of relief in the roaring water.
Apista hated the water. It would drown her, beat her up, weigh her down, and sink her in its deathly depths. But the young woman just stood there, arms raised to the rain. Then she began to walk forwards. She entered The Wandering Inn from the front door, a stranger from distant times.
Then the door to the [Garden of Sanctuary] closed. And Apista was alone, wondering what the heck was going on. The Ashfire Bee almost debated following the older Gnoll. Then she peered at the blunt.
The finest Dreamleaf she’ll ever have, you say? Apista did a lazy barrel roll as she headed back to her nest. She felt like important, stressful things were happening in the inn again, to Lyonette, to Mrsha, and obviously Apista was concerned.
But she was also a bee. She smoked Dreamleaf, she made honey, and she hung out until it was time to sting someone in the eye. Then she’d possibly die. That was her purpose.
It was good to know your purpose.
——
“So, whaddya reckon is going on right now? Goblins doing comedy? Think we’ll get Wistram News Network in here? My bet is…we’re getting a Goblin-themed television network.”
“What? What? That’s stupid. What are all the spies about, then? What about 2nd Army in the High Passes? It’s going to be a damn war if that happens.”
Menolit raised his claws at a table where he was gossiping with the other inn regulars and several [Spies] desperate for some clue as to what was going on.
It was a tradition for the regulars of the inn to hang out like this. They were, largely, content not to try to get into the [Garden of Sanctuary] or ask to be invited to the main event. It was actually more fun to sit, have something to eat, and to speculate.
If you played your cards right, you wouldn’t have to even pay for a meal; the suckers would do that. And by ‘suckers’, what was meant were the [Informants], newcomers thinking they could just experience what was going on at The Wandering Inn by showing up, and the victims.
In this case, the victims were obvious. A dozen off-duty [Soldiers] from Pallass, doing their best to look inconspicuous, a few battered Drakes who had been working Channel 1’s newsroom when the Drassi broadcast went out, and a host of Pallassians and spies. They’d tried to rush the [Garden of Sanctuary] door four times, and it didn’t get less funny watching them smack into the invisible wall.
Now they were resorting to the only thing they could think of: pumping the regulars for information. So Menolit, wearing his best clothing in case he came up on the news, was having an animated discussion with Relc, who was off-duty for once.
“Relc, Relc. Let’s say Rags is right and 2nd Army is in the High Passes. Sure, it might be a war. If they attack Goblinhome.”
Relc opened his mouth to take a bite of some hot pizza someone had bought him.
“2nd Army is Pallass’ attack dog, Menolit. They don’t mess around, and I’ve heard General Shirka’s intense.”
“Right, but now everyone knows they’re there…I say no war, Goblin news channel. And Drassi comes by with a news crew after she and Sir Relz stop punching each other. And I also say she takes that fight. Fifteen silvers on it.”
Relc almost reached for his money pouch, then waved a claw.
“I’m not taking any bets. I’m saving up. Besides, Menolit, there’s Lyonette rushing off and whatever was going on with Mrsha. Something else is happening, and it might not be pleasant.”
Several of the other regulars nodded. A Drake, Miss Uriesta, another old regular, was knitting a scarf.
“I’m ready to run, but I hope it’s not about those poor Goblins. Feels like we’ve had enough bad events with them.”
That was an incredible statement, as was the relaxed attitude of the Drake. But Relc and Menolit were nodding, and one of the Eyes of Pallass, doing his damnedest to look like a normal Gnoll who wasn’t taking notes, leaned over.
“What about the, uh, singing? Surely that had something to do with all this? And the new staff?”
Relc and Menolit gave the Gnoll an arch, pitying look, and Menolit sipped ostentatiously from his mug.
“Window dressing. Ambiance. That [Songmistress] might end up mattering later, but the songs were just something that happens. You’ve gotta parse what really matters here out from what’s just fun to watch.”
Relc, Uriesta, and all the others gave the Eye of Pallass sage nods, and Relc stretched out in his chair and checked the time.
“Valeterisa’s almost getting back. Fun as it is to jaw, I’m going to get her a pizza—”
He gathered up half the slices, and Menolit lifted a claw.
“Oh, don’t let us keep you, Relc. Just watch yourself. I bet he’s going to get mixed up in this as well. It happens. You start sleeping with an Archmage and suddenly you’re the one dodging Crelers each inn event.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.”
Relc gave Menolit a friendly punch to the arm. He tried to act casual as eyes snapped to him, and more than one person began taking notes and pictures. The Archmage of Izril, who’d lifted Fissival, had a partner?
One of the anxious Pallassians, a Dullahan, interrupted.
“Are you sure that 2nd Army can’t just defeat anything it runs across? This Goblin tribe or that Lord Xitegen?”
Menolit burped and eyed his empty mug meaningfully. Someone called for a refill, and the Drake [Veteran] happily explained.
“Ah, well, they might do that, they might, miss. But you have to think of this in terms of inn-psychology. Armies? Sure, they matter, but I’ll bet you gold pieces to copper what’s really going to matter is Miss Mrsha, and possibly Rags. Follow the logic.”
“…What logic?”
Relc ignored them and rose from his seat, grinning. He was worried, honestly; a lot of the regulars were. They just hid it behind gossip. They were here because this mattered to them. Everyone just had to wait and see, though.
If I see Mrsha, maybe I should just ask if she needs to talk. Not that Dame Ushar and Lyonette don’t have it covered, but maybe she just needs a word with someone she trusts, huh? Starved? Abused? I’ve seen Mrsha everyday for weeks, and she was fine. But if I—
Senior Guardsman Relc was in it, this Solstice event. Or rather, he wasn’t running from it. He’d actually taken his spear that Valeterisa had enchanted for him with him in his new bag of holding. Just in case.
Now, the Archmage of Izril wasn’t an inn regular, for all she’d been here for a while. When she flew in, the setting sun obscured by the rainclouds, wet and grumpy, she just seemed confused the inn was so crowded.
“Here we are. We shall gather tomorrow morning for more geoshaping. Montressa, find a bug-killing spell for all those Rockmites. And food. Food first.”
Salamani, Viceria, Grimalkin, Montressa, and Bezale all got off a floating platform of solidified air as it rather unceremoniously dumped them onto the lawn. They all seemed tired and, apart from Grimalkin, who stretched, were holding their backs.
“Hey, Valley girl. I’ve got something to eat. Long day?”
Relc was there, in the eaves of the inn, with the pizza on a plate. It wasn’t like he’d made it or even bought it, but it won points as Valeterisa’s face lit up. She flew over instantly.
“Apprentice, cancel finding my food. Hello…you.”
She blushed and fiddled with her hair as Montressa hurried past Relc into the inn. He gestured, and Valeterisa landed and walked as the [Mages] strode inside.
“Big day? It’s been Solstice events all since you left.”
“Oh yes, the uncategorized ‘Solstice event’, quote unquote, you insisted we were in despite a lack of any Skill- or magic-based phenomena. Well, we have been excavating the site of our academy all day.”
“Which sucks. Is it pizza tonight? I’ll take pizza as soon as I check on Ci. She’s in Celum.”
Salamani stomped past them into the portal room, and Grimalkin nodded to Relc.
“I hope your day was more pleasant than ours, Relc.”
“Shaping earth not that fun?”
Grimalkin scowled as Bezale and Montressa shook dirt out of their hair, thoroughly miserable. Viceria waved at them as she headed into the portal room, probably to see her husband. The [Sinew Magus]’ reply was succinct.
“Rockmites, giant bats, and a particularly unpleasant Camouflaged Cavebiter. Shaping stone is already difficult to do without causing damage, but the monsters were not happy. We chose a magical leyline; we should have anticipated how many there were. Add in a quake and I think I would have rather hired a Gold-rank team to secure the area.”
Valeterisa murmured.
“No one got hurt, but I would have been very irate if I let myself be.”
Grimalkin pointed at his leg; a huge, faint imprint of teeth was sketched onto his scales. Valeterisa corrected herself.
“No one got hurt in ways I consider important. Magus Grimalkin took the bite.”
“Well, let’s buy him a drink.”
“I should be getting back to Pallass. Then again—I caught part of that broadcast on the way in, and I don’t particularly want to have to explain to High Command what’s going on. Are they serving anything other than pizza? Bah, I’ll ask Calescent. Has Rags returned?”
Grimalkin was, like Relc, aware of how this went but willing to get involved. Relc shrugged.
“She already came back and vanished into the [Garden].”
“Well, I’m stymied, then. I might as well have something to eat.”
The Sinew Magus relaxed, and the normally-focused and intense [Mage] of Pallass seemed all too happy not to get involved. Which was either a commentary on how tired he was or how motivated he was on acting in Pallass’ name.
Things were changing. For the better, sometimes. Relc based that on the fact that he was holding Valeterisa in his arms and she was nibbling on a piece of pizza as a plate floated after her. She enjoyed that kind of treatment. No one had ever just carried her around or treated her like anything but a powerful [Mage].
Relc was wondering how many more Relc Points™ he could earn today. Relc Points were very important. They came with amazing prizes.
And there they were, outsiders, the audience or side-cast to whatever play was going on in the inn. Relc was at the common room door, and he grabbed it with his foot as Magus Grimalkin passed through, turning slightly sideways to accommodate his impressive physique as several people hurried out for the outhouse. Relc glanced over his shoulder and held the door open.
“Whoops! Here.”
He edged it wider with his foot, but the open-mouthed young woman didn’t move at first. She stared at him, a young Gnoll woman just a few years younger than Embria. She had on a collar, pretty, trendy clothing, but also a shortsword, and she seemed like she knew how to use it. Some new adventurer? After a second, she stuttered.
“Oh. Th-thanks, Relc.”
“Uh. No problem. Do I know you?”
The young woman hurried through the door, staring at him—and Archmage Valeterisa—as if she’d seen ghosts. She jumped.
“Me? Uh—uh—who doesn’t know Archmage Valeterisa? And Senior Guardsman Relc? I’m M—A—new here.”
Valeterisa sat up slightly, and Relc grinned despite the odd greeting.
“You must be new to Liscor. No one thinks I’m that big a deal. If they said so, they’re pulling your tail.”
He was searching around for a seat in the inn, and this was just conversation. But when the young woman walked in after him, she stopped and stared around with such a heartfelt, open-mouthed expression of wonder Relc had to look twice.
She stood there like she had come to a Walled City for the first time. No, that wasn’t right. She gazed about like a young soldier after his first tumble between the sheets—no, that was stupid and crass—again, Relc wasn’t good with this kind of thing. Then he had it.
The young woman stood there like an Antinium who emerged from the Hive for the first time and saw the sky. Her face was utterly consumed by the busy tables around her, by Antinium trooping past with all four hands holding plates, Goblins taking orders, a few Players of Celum on stage singing with Songmistress Calla—
She appeared so devastatingly happy, so sad, so disbelieving that Relc raised his brows and glanced at Valeterisa.
Valeterisa was slicing the crusts off her pizza with a magical knife. Relc looked back at the Gnoll and coughed.
“First time visiting The Wandering Inn?”
She started.
“Oh. Yes—but I’ve been told what it looks like. It’s so lively. It’s so…beautiful.”
Beautiful? Relc gazed about, wondering why that was the first word she thought of. He eyed her up and down and hazarded a guess.
“You’re not from the Silverfang tribe or the Great Plains, are you? I can’t imagine anyone else would talk about this inn like that. I mean—maybe. I know it’s more famous, but it’s not the Adventurer’s Haven.”
“It’s better than the Haven. And you—why are you holding the Archmage of Izril!”
The young woman spun on Relc with a flash of anger and then seemed to forget her anger the next moment as she regarded him again. It was actually getting uncomfortable, and Relc felt Valeterisa floating out of his arms towards a table.
“Er…we’re together.”
He smiled despite himself, and the young woman’s mouth opened.
“You? Wh—how?”
She actually pursued him a few steps, and Relc didn’t know how to answer the personal question. He wasn’t shy about how happy he was, but it was weird to talk to a stranger about it. She was so personal. So familiar, and yet he had never met her before.
“It’s just a thing that happened. I, uh, have to go. Nice meeting you, Miss…?”
That drew her up. The young woman hesitated, then put out a hand.
“Arrema. Arrema. It’s good to meet you, Senior Guardsman Relc.”
He took it and felt a decent amount of strength in her grip.
She’s got [Warrior] levels of some kind. Though he got more of a [Mage] feel from her. Definitely an adventurer. A Gnoll [Mage]? [Shaman], then. Relc nodded, meeting her eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Arrema. Sorry Valley’s in no mood to chat. Welcome to The Wandering Inn.”
“Thank you.”
She whispered, voice hoarse, and he turned away before things could get more awkward. Relc sat down at the table, and after the young woman moved off, he leaned over to whisper.
“Hey, Valley. Who was that young Gnoll woman I was talking to?”
Valeterisa had been in a kind of fugue state where she ate and rested her mind. She stared blankly as she chewed on more pizza, then her eyes opened wide as she took in what he’d asked her, and she sat up fast.
“Who? Gnoll woman? Is she attractive?”
She glanced around suspiciously, and Relc shook his head.
“No, not that! She acted like she knew the place. Uh—there.”
He pointed covertly at her and saw the young woman being led to a table by Asgra, still gazing around. She caught his eye, and both pretended to not be staring. Valeterisa glanced at her and frowned.
“Interesting.”
She began muttering to herself, and Relc had to prompt her after a minute.
“What’s interesting?”
“She’s got an enchanted collar. But not a regular protection and…a speaking stone embedded in it? It’s interesting looking. High-quality sword, enchanted boots, armor—an adventurer? Oh, she’s also a [Mage]. Quite well trained. I can’t tell what her spell school is. I’m better at magic, you know.”
Valeterisa gave Relc an earnest look as Rosencrantz appeared with their usual glass of wine, and Relc grinned. He began to reassure Valeterisa there was only one Archmage for him until he had a second thought.
“Did you say [Mage], Valeterisa? Not [Shaman]?”
“Mm. Yes. A good one. If I was accepting more [Mages] for our academy, Name in Progress, I’d invite her in a moment. Why?”
Relc glanced over at the young woman, then leaned forwards.
“A Gnoll [Mage] that’s high level?”
Valeterisa gave Relc a blank look until her eyebrows snapped together. She took a longer sip of wine.
“Indeed. That is…fascinating.”
And then Relc felt it. That tingling on his scales. He checked his bag of holding again, just in case. Good or ill came to The Wandering Inn. Some days…the rain poured down outside, and he decided he’d have water tonight.
Sometimes, regardless of what it was, it came like a storm.
——
Seeing Relc like that was strange. It hurt. Everything hurt, but not all of it was pain. That was the relief in Mrsha’s chest. Relc without grey scales was fine. Seeing him with his badge, instead of behind the desk, giving her the ‘you can’t keep doing this’ talk in his friendly way, was odd.
She’d almost felt like she’d been caught when she saw him standing there. He was so young! Somehow, he’d changed in her memory to being the age he was now, not the younger Relc. Well, not that young, but ten years different!
Senior Guardsman Relc. Not Watch Captain Grasstongue.
And dating Valeterisa? That—had been surreal. The Archmage of Izril hadn’t been—well, Mrsha had only recognized Valeterisa from pictures, really. Her own memory. In her time, Valeterisa had been dead. In this reality, she and Relc were getting down together?
“This is insane. How the heck does that happen?”
Mrsha had to slap herself at a table. Asgra gave her a weird look.
“You don’t like fries that much?”
“Uh—no! I’ll have fries. And whatever’s popular. Pizza. Make it half Hawaiian, half fried fish.”
Mrsha unconsciously ordered, and Asgra’s brows rose higher.
“Okay, you weird. I like you. Is fifteen minutes! We actually making pizzas because we so busy. You want a drink?”
“Uh—just water. Can I get up and move around?”
“Yeah, sure. Just no running when we get your food! Or we beat you up with a stick.”
Mrsha assured the little Goblin she wouldn’t run and, as proof positive, actually dumped a few coins on the table. Asgra picked up a silver coin.
“Small pizza isn’t much. I only need two. Hey—what this?”
She was frowning at something, and Mrsha’s heart leapt in her chest as she realized—she tried to snatch it back, but Asgra was admiring the coinage.
“Nice. This Liscor on it? Very shiny!”
“Uh. Yeah. That’s a new coin. It’s real silver.”
Asgra bit it.
“Sure taste like it. Okay! Four of them, please. Thank you! Pizza back in fifteen minutes! I get you water now.”
She headed off and was back with a mug of water in moments. Mrsha thanked her, then sat back, heart beating out of her chest.
Stupid! She was being a real Ryoka right now. She hadn’t prepared for this at all; she had to play it cool. Play it—
She glanced back at Relc and saw him looking at her and jerked her head away. Mrsha’s heart hammered in her chest. She had to calm down. Just stay calm and—
“Hey, everyone! Bets on the next Solstice event? Non-violent, violent? We’re accepting coins, but also just for fun! Next round’s on me if you get it right!”
A voice shouted merrily from a table, and Mrsha turned, then clutched at her heart.
Menolit! Seeing the old Drake there with half a tail—she put her face down on the table. Panting, wiping at her eyes. She couldn’t do this.
She had to. Suddenly, Mrsha couldn’t sit still. She had to know. She had been told, but—
“Hey, um, excuse me. Can I ask a question?”
Mrsha stood and stopped an Antinium [Server]. He had a name tag that said ‘Rosencrantz’ on it and pointed with a free hand as he took empty dishes.
“The bathroom is just outside, miss. We will have towels by the entrance, with apologies for the rain.”
“No, I know that. Um, Rosencrantz? Is—the owner of this inn is Erin Solstice, right? Is she…alive?”
The Antinium’s antennae wavered, and he turned to face her. He lowered his plates and hesitated, then spoke in an aggressive voice.
“Erin Solstice is alive.”
“She is?”
Sunburst of hope and pain in her chest. Mrsha opened her mouth, and Rosencrantz jabbed a finger at her.
“She is! And if you are insinuating she is not or should not be, I will be very unhappy. I may even refuse to be tipped! She is not a bad person.”
Mrsha waved her paws hurriedly.
“No, no! I’m not suggesting that at all! I like her! I’m a huge fan of hers!”
The antennae stopped waving as fast.
“Oh. Well then. I hope you have a very pleasant experience in the inn, ma’am. I withtract my earlier ire. Erin is alive and well. Just not here.”
“Where is she? If you don’t mind me asking. I’ve, uh, been traveling. From the Great Plains, and I wasn’t around a scrying orb.”
Mrsha cast [Truthbreaker’s Tongue] just in case, but Rosencrantz didn’t even seem to miss a beat. And even if he had a [Detect Truth] spell or something similar, it wouldn’t have registered.
Right, no one knew [Truthbreaker’s Tongue] back then. We all thought the Blighted King told the truth, that bastard. Though they did have scrying orbs. And no one’s realized Wistram is watching them through them. Eugh. They’re gonna come out with the first recording of all the people having sex that one of those pervert [Mages] made in like three years…
The Antinium responded carefully.
“Miss Erin is in Baleros, ma’am. Beyond that, I do not believe I know much more.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Rosencrantz nodded and hurried off, and Mrsha sat back down for a second. Baleros? How the heck—?
She got back up again, unable to sit still. Rosencrantz? She didn’t remember…no, wait. Was he one of Silveran’s workers? So he’d ended up here instead of in Silveran’s Cleaning Emporium! ‘An Antinium in every home!’
Dead gods. It was still flashes of agony, but now it was also pleasure, relief, joy to see them all here. Mrsha began circulating the inn, and she couldn’t help it.
“Hey, Menolit. How’s Liscor Hunted going?”
She called out and was rewarded with a grin.
“A fan? We’re not taking any work for the wet season, sorry. It’s actually Esthelm right now—we’re rolling out a new experience in a week!”
“Awesome. Do you sell those t-shirts?”
“Absolutely. Do you want—?”
Mrsha moved on, waving at him as she felt a euphoric rush. She passed by someone else—spun—
Grimalkin. He was taking a bowl of salad to a table where he sat alone, pointedly glowering at every agent of Pallass who came close. Mrsha almost wanted to go to him, but Grimalkin was sharp. She edged around someone else and whistled.
“Whoa. He’s pretty attractive.”
She was a young woman, and she had to admire someone in a suit. Mrsha eyed the Gnoll up and down as he whirled past her with a bunch of trays—then saw him pop out of existence. He reappeared behind the bar, strode into the kitchen, and her face screwed up instantly.
“Wait. That’s Ishkr? Gross.”
She scrubbed at her eyes and wished she could take them out like a Stitch-person. Okay, this alternate reality had all the consequences! If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up flirting with Halrac or something, and then she’d have to just [Fireball] herself.
Halrac. Mrsha sombered as she thought of him. He’d be…in Riverfarm at the moment. Too far to just head over to, but now that she was here, she had to do something.
“Write a note, maybe. He’d never believe me. He’d just go down and get himself killed sooner. Unless I told him what was going on and maybe…”
She had to do something. No, she had to find out how Erin had come back. But she had to do something.
—To distract herself, Mrsha did a lap of the inn. The second floor was off-limits to guests unless you bought a room, but she poked her head into the rec room and saw off-duty Goblins and Antinium chilling out on familiar sofas in front of the scrying orb. Mrsha eyed Rags doing her comedy routine on television and heard a voice.
“—we’re rebroadcasting Rags’ show because someone tried to take us off air. In a moment, I’m going to visit The Wandering Inn and see if I can’t get an interview with a Goblin. And if someone wants to throw a spell at me, well, don’t!”
Drassi. Good old Drassi, but younger. Practically Visma’s age!
Dead gods, Visma was here too. And Ekirra. Mrsha’s head spun.
She wandered into the weights room and had to use the bench press. A few other people were trying out the equipment. Mrsha pressed up a hundred and eighty pounds without much effort and smirked as she saw a visitor’s mouth open. She wrote her name on the sheet—her fake name—and kept exploring.
Of course, she was being observed. Not by [Spies]; they hadn’t actually clocked her by and large. There was a lot happening in The Wandering Inn right now, and she wasn’t one of the established players. If a few people noted her odd, enchanted collar or a few other oddities about her, they just added her to a long, long list of people to investigate.
There were, after all, Gnolls entering the inn who were much more suspicious than Mrsha. A group of them pushed forwards from the common room, led by none other than Yelroan. He appeared a bit—besieged.
Mrsha gave the bespectacled Gnoll the wariest and most hostile of stares as she recognized him. The Plain’s Eye’s counter. What was he doing…?
A dozen Gnolls were with Yelroan, and one sniffed the air.
“So this is the inn. We have arrived! A good place, then, to have earned Honored Deskie’s respect, along with that of so many others. Where is Doombearer Mrsha? Or is Honored Krshia here? Someone must come that we can offer our respects!”
So saying, he threw back his head, and Mrsha caught her breath as she recognized his tribe. Longstalker’s Fang! One of the good ones—from her time at least. He had one of their iconic fang-daggers at his belt and ‘tribal’ gear on—mostly fur, undyed—and shamanic magic woven into the slip-knots securing gear to him. Feathers, pouches; she caught the whiff of animal fat from one, and she guessed he was carrying goods to trade or craft.
He was a Plains Gnoll for sure. Even other Gnolls gave him a second look—then jumped and clapped their paws to their ears as the Plains Gnoll howled.
It was a brief note that silenced the entire inn. Astonished people turned to him, and Yelroan covered his face.
“Ruskel, Ruskel, we don’t do that here.”
“I’m greeting the inn. And look, here comes someone. Greetings, friend!”
Ishkr had popped into being behind the bar and came striding over. He was less flustered than the rest; he knew the greeting. In the Plains, that kind of call would have had an entire tribe pouring out to meet the newcomers. Here? He had a tray of drinks.
“Honored Deskie’s people? Gnolls from the Meeting of Tribes—welcome. Neither Lyonette nor Erin Solstice is here. Nor anyone else—be welcome. Please don’t howl twice.”
“Ah! City behavior. Are these for us? This is a rich greeting! We have gifts for your welcome. Honored Yelroan has been showing us Honored Deskie’s lodgings, and they will do, they will do indeed! So much shaped stone, and very well done! This comes from the Great Plains! Muskox testicles—and this is some ewe meat to actually eat.”
Several of the Gnolls with Ruskel laughed uproariously at the little prank. Ishkr had blankly taken a pouch of said testicles and peered inside. He sighed, but Calescent had emerged from the kitchen rubbing his hands as prime cuts of ewe meat came out of a bag enchanted to preserve it. At the same time, Octavia burst out of Stitchworks.
“Did someone say Muskox balls? I’ll take those!”
The appearance of Calescent visibly startled the Gnolls. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned, but Mrsha still heard the murmurs.
“A Hob.”
“And a Stitch-woman. Strange to see either one in an inn.”
“Hrr. Cityfolk, yes?”
Yelroan was patiently introducing the lot of them to Ishkr, who was greeting them, passing out mugs, and it quite distracted the spies and everyone else in the inn. Especially because the first thing Ruskel did after taking a huge drink of Velrusk Claw, the Gnoll’s purple mead, was to wipe his mouth and say—
“I have come to see how many Gnolls should join Liscor from my tribe. So have the others. And to scout the north, of course, and see if it is wise to travel. Ach! Too complex and political for me, but for Honored Deskie, the tribe moves. Still, if this is how it is in the city, I don’t know how I’ll live.”
“Too wet? Too crowded? Too much stone and not enough places to roam?”
Ishkr raised his brows, asking about the usual complaints of Plains Gnolls. Ruskel waved all that away. Then he pinched his nose and sneezed.
“No! Too many [Spies]! It stinks of them in here! How many do you have?”
——
Mrsha was quietly fascinated by the Plains Gnolls demanding everyone’s attention at the moment. Not only were they high-level, they had come here to head north and even settle?
Deskie…Deskie…wait, wasn’t there a ‘Spinning Deskie’ that someone had invented? Was this the Gnoll they were talking about? It was so different from her world.
In her world—Plain’s Eye was dominant, and the hunt for Doombringers was bad. The tribes had moved, yes, to get away from the accusations and infighting that came when a Doombringer was found.
Chieftain Xherw had made it a condemnation of the entire tribe if one was found within a tribe or sheltered by any group. And his will had even touched the cities. Not that it was the only problem facing Gnolls. Plain’s Eye was needed to hold the line against so many nations who’d pressed in. They’d lost half the Great Plains and…
This is a better time, then. Mrsha had to believe that, unless Yelroan was here because Plain’s Eye was so powerful even The Wandering Inn tolerated their presence. But how would Mrsha be allowed to live, white fur and all? Did they know who Yelroan was? And why had they said ‘Doombearer’…?
Questions like that sapped her mood to explore further, and Mrsha went back to her table where her pizza was ready. Asgra wrinkled her nose at the pizza, but Mrsha took one bite of pineapple pizza, chewed it, then took an alternating bite of a fried fish slice.
“You gross.”
The Goblin walked away, shaking her head, and Mrsha snorted at her. Ekirra loved pineapple pizza. Visma called them both insane.
Ekirra. I wonder what he’d say if I told him I’m from the future. I’d tell him…well, I’d tell him to be nicer to Visma when he’s fifteen or she’ll dump him. That idiot. As for Visma…? No, better to leave well enough alone.
That went double for other people she might know. Saying goodbyes to someone who’d pass, like Apista, would hurt. She had to stay covert. She was just some random Gnoll [Mage] poking around. Ordinary.
—Mrsha had forgotten that Gnoll [Mages] hadn’t existed at this point in time. To her, they were commonplace; the Ferkr Trials had occurred a year after Erin’s death and conclusively proved Gnolls could become [Mages].
However, at the moment, she wasn’t noticeably casting magic, so most people didn’t pay attention to her. Archmage Valeterisa being an obvious exception. There was one other person who had picked up on Mrsha’s presence, though, from the moment she walked into the inn. Another type of class had instincts that were similar to [Spies]—if in different ways.
They were detectives of villages, sometimes. Adjudicators. Peacemakers—and they could see emotion.
——
To Witch Alevica, the girl who sat there, eating her objectionable pizza, appeared like a whirlwind of grief and pain and joy—so fierce and strong and firing off at seemingly random things that she came to one conclusion:
“That girl’s insane. Or…she’s part of this.”
Alevica was nine damn hours into her mission to figure out what was going on in The Wandering Inn. Witch Thallisa’s stupid errand had turned out to be—
Okay, not that bad. Alevica had had a few drinks, a burger for lunch, snacks all the way down—including fried tomatoes with goat’s cheese—a blue juice cocktail with a straw on it while she occupied one of the fireplaces, and even a show via the television.
She’d learned absolutely squat about what was going on. There’d been singing, dances, allusions to a wand, child abuse…but none of it fit.
Alevica hated quandaries like this. It reminded her of being an apprentice and Witch Oliyaya taking her to a village with troubles and telling her to figure out what was going on. Not her speciality. Alevica was going to have to call in backup. She’d take some food back to her three little brats, then summon the coven and get some more help.
What she’d report to them was that the situation was indeed serious enough, but not easy to pick apart. The [Caretaker] was an idiot. She’d noticed Mrsha’s trauma, but anyone with a Skill could see she was fully traumatized. Alevica had actually had to keep some of it from getting in her hat it was so damn bad.
However, Lyonette wasn’t guilty. She didn’t have it in her; she was worried, genuinely concerned, and no one had any real guilt for what had been done to Mrsha. The inn didn’t have psychopaths. Either Mrsha had somehow been neglected without anyone knowing or there was a mystery afoot.
Even so, Alevica drummed her fingers on the table. She might have to kidnap Mrsha. A kid like that with that weight of emotions in her…? Alevica had seen torture victims who hadn’t given off that much residual stress.
Thoughtful kidnapping, obviously. Just grab her, plunk her down in front of Hedag, and feed her until she could roll. But before Alevica did that—she had to solve the second Gnoll mystery.
Who was that young woman? Why did she stink of so many emotions, and why did Alevica sense mage-magic coming off her?
The Witch Runner was an odd pick for The Wandering Inn surveillance mission. Witch Thallisa was a mercurial woman, even by [Witch] standards, but why pick Alevica? She could have asked another, senior [Witch] or a more covert apprentice. But Alevica?
Possibly it was because Alevica got bored. Her approach to a mystery was to analyze it, think about the whys and wherefores, play the field…and then, at some point, snap and give up. Then?
Alevica got up with a mug in hand, walked over to the table. She waved for the young woman’s attention.
“Hi. I’m sitting here.”
The young woman had been chowing down on her pizza. When the intruder came to her table, she blinked, noticed Alevica’s hat, and leaned back.
“Okay?”
Alevica pulled a chair out, tossing her plate of fried green beans down; she’d already eaten the fish. She hooked another chair over with her legs and put her feet up on that. Then she sat back.
“Alevica. The Witch Runner.”
“Arrema. Not looking for company.”
“Hey, don’t mind me. I’ll just ask questions then be on my way. So who’re you and why are you here?”
Alevica reached for a slice of fried fish pizza, and the young woman slapped her hand down. Alevica gave her a sinister look, then pushed her plate of half-eaten green beans over.
“Here.”
She reached for the pizza again and took a slice. The brown-furred Gnoll sniffed the green beans, then folded her arms.
“What’s with the questions? Also, what’s a witch doing in The Wandering Inn? Aren’t you supposed to be in a swamp, harassing little children?”
“Funny. Looks like someone’s anti-witch. For a species who just realized they were wrong about Doombringers, you’re pretty intolerant, Miss Arrema? What tribe? Or are you from the cities?”
Arrema’s brows shot together, and she growled.
“What’s with the questions?”
“I’m asking them. On the authority of Emperor Godart of Riverfarm.”
Alevica didn’t expect that to necessarily work, but the snort of derision from Arrema was odd. She knew who Laken was?
“That idiot? Oh, and what if I don’t feel like answering His Blind Majesty’s will? Are you going to come over and kick me in the face with a steel-toed boot?”
The Witch Runner waggled her boots.
“Like them? I stitched mine up myself. Not a fan of [Witches] or the Unseen Empire, then?”
Arrema’s eyes were narrowed to slits. She growled, and Alevica realized her irritation and growing anger were genuine—but also that there was an undercurrent of fear growing. Real fear. Terror, even. Why? For a [Witch]? That suggested she’d done something wrong.
Or met a bad [Witch]. Arrema replied slowly.
“I…haven’t met many [Witches] I care for.”
“Funny. The owner of this inn is a [Witch], you know.”
Alevica took some pleasure from the spike in emotions that elicited. She wished she could harvest it like she used to, but Arrema’s face twisted up in confusion, and she grew more anxious.
“She is? That’s not r—why? Nevermind. It’s fine. I know there are ‘good’ ones out there. But I have met two who’re real bad [Witches].”
“That’s a loaded word. What, did they hex someone you liked? They probably had it coming. And they’ll live.”
It was Alevica’s turn to go defensive on behalf of Oliyaya, but Arrema’s reply surprised her.
“Hex someone I liked? They ruined lives. One of them’s killed over a hundred people. The other—hah—well, no one would bother counting the number of bodies she’s piled up. Both have tried to murder me personally.”
The Witch Runner felt an unsettling prickle on her skin. She wished she had [Detect Truth] spells like a [Mage], but you didn’t really need them if you bothered to look at people. That didn’t sound like a lie, and the young woman’s fear only grew. Alevica pitched her voice to be as casual as possible.
“…Sounds like some bad [Witches]. If that’s true. What’re their names? Maybe I know them. There are a bunch of good—hah—okay, there are a bunch of less-horrific [Witches] in Riverfarm. Ever seen how we take our own to task?”
Unsuccessfully, if they’re like Belavierr—or with a cudgel, if you’re Agratha.
Arrema’s eyes flickered, and she grew oddly conflicted by the simple question. Was she uncertain if she could trust Alevica? Neither woman knew the other. Arrema glanced at Alevica’s hat, then at her pizza. She gathered up the platter, and Alevica called out as the girl wordlessly stood.
“Hey, don’t be like that. I’m not trying to start a fight.”
—She sort of was, but she was genuinely curious. She twisted, and Arrema walked past her. The young woman turned, and her brown eyes glittered. Uncertainty ran through her, then sadness. Then conviction, all so strong it made Alevica freeze. Arrema took a deep breath, then leaned down and whispered.
“One of them’s the Witch of Webs. But you know her. The other one? If you [Witches] of Riverfarm could help her, you should have. You really should have. Stop harassing me and go take care of Witch Nanette, Alevica. You won’t like what she turns into.”
Then she rose and strode past Alevica, so fast that the Witch Runner didn’t have a chance to say anything. Not that she could—Alevica had been rocking back in her chair, using the other one for balance.
She hit the ground with a crash that drew laughter and looks—and leapt to her feet. But Arrema was stalking away, and Alevica—
Alevica was lost for words.
What in the name of hag warts was that? Nanette? But Nanette’s here and—
It sounded true. But it was utterly—Alevica gazed around for Nanette, then remembered she was with Lyonette. The Witch Runner hesitated—then made a beeline for the stairs.
Nanette had a room with Mrsha. It was an off-chance she had a diary or something with conclusive evidence, but if there was any bad witchcraft up there—Alevica turned at the top of the stairs.
Who was Arrema? Her eyes traced the common room, but the young woman had left.
——
Mrsha had messed up with that outburst. But if there was even a chance that future-her didn’t have to face Witch Nanette—she’d take it. Shuddering, the young woman felt at her neck, tracing a scar under her fur as she hurried away from Witch Alevica or whomever the heck she was.
The [Witch] tried to cast a charm on her; Mrsha blocked it effortlessly. She was used to [Witch] magic. To get out of the other woman’s line of sight, she hurried down the common room, looking for an empty table. Instead, she found something else.
When she came to the long hallway that branched off right from the common room, Mrsha stopped. She stared down at the improbable part of architecture and hesitated.
“…What is this?”
It was blocked off by a rope and a sign. It said—
World’s Eye Theatre. No admission without permission.
World’s Eye…what now? Mrsha had never heard of this. It certainly hadn’t been in her inn; in fact, she hadn’t missed that this inn’s common room was half the size of the old one. A thought occurred to her as she peered down the hallway.
If Erin never died…she kept levelling.
Was this a new Skill of Erin’s? Mrsha had to see it. She glanced around, then ducked under the rope and padded down the hallway.
——
“Dead gods.”
The sight of the crystal dome took Mrsha’s breath away. The padded seats, the empty auditorium—she recognized it at once.
“This is a movie theatre! Like the one Kevin built, but—better!”
Earthers had made so much over time, and she remembered Kevin using all his profits to build a movie theatre in Liscor. This was better than his work, no offense to the amount of sweat and cursing he’d put into the theatre.
Mrsha trailed down the steps, imagining how it must be to sit and watch things on the big screen above. She wondered why there was a circular dais in the center of the room. This place didn’t seem unfamiliar to her, oddly; she suspected she was given access to it, just like the [Garden of Sanctuary], because she was still Mrsha.
“Wow. It’s so Erin. I can just imagine chilling out here and watching movies and…eating popcorn with her weird nutritional yeast on top. Seriously. No one likes that stuff.”
Mrsha refused to admit that she had also committed various sins against cuisine, including pineapple pizza. Ekirra had ordered it on a dare one day and—look—she’d gotten used to it!
She was so lost in imagining that, thinking of her world, that Mrsha didn’t realize the dome overhead was flickering until something began playing above. She jumped as a voice spoke, and then a crystal-clear image played overhead.
It was…a memory.
——
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today for the Solstice Theatre’s grand opening!”
Kevin Hall was dressed up in an old-fashioned maestro’s outfit, and the red carpet was actually red. He’d shaved his beard into a mustache, which didn’t really work, but he was doing his best.
Mrsha, Ekirra, and Visma were obviously part of the gala and most excited to be here. They applauded loudly and cheered; the fourteen-year-olds were dancing with excitement, and there were crowds outside.
But the actual screening audience was small. Just friends. And by which Kevin meant ‘friends of the inn’. He’d gotten them all together for this. It was a mistake, in a way. They didn’t fit with each other anymore.
Some had made all the effort, of course. Moore, Lord Moore, was attired in his best clothing. It was still weird calling him that, even after two years, but he deserved it. Selys was leaning on her walking cane-spear, her grandmother’s memento, but she was also dressed up. She was linking arms with a man who wore robes of all white. He carried a long, jet-black rapier at his side, and Mrsha was dying to talk to him as much as see the movie.
Pisces Jealnet, leader of the Horns of Hammerad, stood exactly opposite a woman as far away from the others as the entryway would allow. Kevin was taking tickets, still trying to make a show of it, but he kept glancing at the half-Elf shrouded in ice.
Freezing cold mist was rising from around her, and she appeared—old. Older than Pisces, despite the years being kinder to her. Ceria Springwalker turned away from a conversation with Lyonette.
“I don’t have time for this. You informed me this was an important moment, Kevin Hall.”
“Oh come on, Ceria. This is! It’s a reunion! At least say hi to—Pisces.”
Kevin called out, and Mrsha’s smile faded as Ceria glanced across the ground. Pisces stiffened. The two stood there like strangers, and Ceria’s face was blank.
A mask of ice. When she moved, it was only to adjust something. A pale, bone-white circlet on her head. Pisces’ face grew pinched, lines appearing as he stared at it. And the necklace hanging around the [Cryomancer]’s chest.
It was a simple, leather cord, but what dangled on the end of it was the real magic. It gave it off, so much that Mrsha was almost blinded, and she wasn’t even that accomplished with magic yet. An engraved, yet disturbingly simple object pressed in ancient, violet metal, which caught the light in odd ways, making the surface ripple with different colors, but never actually reflecting it.
A cage. An empty bird’s cage, perhaps. The half-Elf toyed with it, then turned.
“I have nothing left to say that was not already discussed. If you intend to reunite me with my team, where is Yvlon?”
“She—couldn’t make it.”
Kevin’s smile faltered, and Ceria Springwalker turned away.
“Still wasting her life at a grave. I should not have indulged in emotion, even once. Princess Lyonette, I bid you farewell. Contact me should business allow it.”
She began to walk out of the theatre, and Kevin tried to chase her, but Pisces called out, halting everyone but Ceria.
“First morality, then emotions. Your master would have stopped you, Ceria. How much more are you going to give to those cursed relics?”
He had a hand on his rapier, but he didn’t move. Ceria turned at the door, and her eyes were pale white, like a tundra’s frost. She put her skeletal hand on the door and swung it open.
“Illphres did not sacrifice enough. Be well, Pisces. If you seek magic, I shall open Wistram’s doors to you.”
Then she was gone. Kevin stood there, trying to smile and cover over the moment, but the icy trail the half-Elf had left was as cold as Mrsha for a long while. The next time she saw Ceria, it was at Wistram Academy five months later. But she didn’t see Ceria, didn’t talk to her, only watched her from afar, and it was hard to applaud, then.
Even for the Archmage of Frost’s inauguration.
——
The entire memory—a movie, really—played overhead, and Mrsha felt like she’d been backstabbed as well as frontstabbed. She rubbed at her eyes.
“Dead gods. It really is an Erin-Skill. I have to do something about that, too. About…is he alive? Ksmvr?”
All these disasters. She had to do something. She owed it to this world. If it gave her a cure…only when she turned did Mrsha realize someone had snuck up on her.
Ishkr was striding into the [World’s Eye Theatre]. He caught the ending of the movie and halted, but he focused on Mrsha at once.
“Miss? Visitors are not allowed in the [World’s Eye Theatre]. Please come with me or I will be forced to eject you from the inn.”
Poop. Someone must have noticed her entering. Mrsha held up her hands at once.
“Sorry. I was just—”
“I’m sure you were.”
His face was impartial, but he eyed her severely. Ishkr relented after a second.
“You don’t appear to be a [Spy], but this is not a place for guests. This way, please?”
She strode up the steps, embarrassed about being caught. When she was level with Ishkr, he gave her a friendly, business-like smile.
It was so familiar. The inn was chafing at Mrsha, like someone rubbing against her fur until it felt like it was matting and tearing from her flesh. Joy and pain until she couldn’t tell which was which, and she could not help it, so she stopped and looked Ishkr up and down at the top of the stairs.
He was handsome. In his way. She’d never noticed it growing up, and in truth, the uniform did a lot for his looks as well, but that was strange and uncomfortable. He seemed so—competent. Well, he’d always been competent. But…an itch was on Mrsha’s body, and her tongue was warring with her mind.
But she didn’t really care, at this moment, what the consequences were. She had lived them. She had vowed to change them, so Mrsha gave Ishkr a toothy smile.
“Ishkr, right? [Head Server of Tales and Fables]?”
“That’s right, miss. This way?”
Ishkr was busy; the inn had a lot to do, and chatting with one guest wasn’t one of his priorities. Mrsha strolled back down the hallway slowly.
“You’re the best employee of the inn, aren’t you?”
“I don’t believe we have employees of the month, Miss, nor do I think we rank ourselves.”
“The highest-level, then. Do you like your job?”
“I quite enjoy it, miss. If you wouldn’t mind—?”
This time, Ishkr pointedly coughed; Mrsha was standing by one of the windows, admiring the rain. She glanced up at him.
——
What Ishkr saw was a brown-furred Gnoll woman like many others. True, with maybe a bit more magic about her than most and a casual air that spoke of youth to him, but an adventurer, perhaps. What unsettled him—and not even veteran spies unsettled him—was that knowing look in her eyes.
He had a feeling about her, but mostly, he refused to be intimidated by a guest, so Ishkr coughed again. But what the young woman said was—
“You enjoy your job. But not enough to stay with it. How much have Barnethei and Larracel offered you this month? Two thousand gold pieces a month? And managing their special bar room?”
Ishkr hesitated. He was too good to say, ‘how did you know that?’ Instead, he shifted a towel hanging over one arm.
“Miss, The Wandering Inn has an ejection policy. I’d hate to toss you out into the rain. Whatever you think you know, I am not at liberty to discuss it.”
Spies tried all kinds of stuff with him. This wasn’t even the best he’d heard; he’d had seduction, threats, bribes—the young woman fixed him with a knowing gaze.
“I know you won’t take it now. But you have a price. Six thousand eight hundred gold pieces a month and you’ll just walk off. Despite this inn making you. You know, you won’t ever hit Level 50? You’re complacent.”
Her eyes flashed, and Ishkr paused. That was an accusation, completely unfounded and a lot more emotional.
“I…don’t believe I’d quit my job for that amount of money, generous as it is. And I have every hope of hitting Level 50, miss. But if you’ll excuse me—”
He stepped forwards, and she recoiled.
“I’m telling you—”
His paw touched her arm, and Ishkr thought a Skill.
[Emergency Evacuation].
He felt her presence vanish, then saw, out the window, a flailing brown figure appear and land on her back. Ishkr permitted himself a small smile.
They get weirder every day, I swear. He strode back into the inn.
“Asgra, strike one on Table 17. If she causes trouble a second time, she’s banned for good.”
“Can I have rest of her pizza if she’s kicked out?”
Ishkr eyed the mixed pizza and glanced at the door. It slammed open, and a wet, glowering Gnoll gave him the evil eye. He gave her a polite nod.
“Absolutely, Asgra.”
——
“You got one strike. Two and you don’t eat here. Three and a scary man feeds you to the fish if you even get near.”
Asgra informed Mrsha smugly when the young woman stomped back to the table. She growled a reply and grabbed a piece of pizza. It was wet out there! He’d just tossed her out like—like a common spy!
Admittedly, she’d been insulting him. But she couldn’t help it. In her world, Ishkr had walked off for a cushy job at The Adventurer’s Haven. It didn’t matter that he sent gold and he said he’d come back the moment Erin returned.
If he’d stayed, Lyonette would have been able to keep the inn running. Without a high-level person like him…
Mrsha got madder as she ate, mostly because she had another revelation that this world wasn’t the same as hers.
“Ancestors. This pizza is good!”
Who the heck was making it? Pizza from her inn was never that great, even with Lyonette picking up cooking Skills. It had some spice to the fried fish, and Mrsha ate greedily; she hadn’t had food since breakfast. It also let her think.
She didn’t know…what to do. Mrsha supposed just going around and telling people their faults was stupid. A real Ryoka move, which was a pejorative to Mrsha.
I’ll just write a bunch of letters. That’s the smartest move. All I need is information on Erin.
But from whom? She’d burned a bridge with Ishkr, and the staff didn’t trust her. Relc—maybe—but she didn’t know if he’d been part of it, and Mrsha suspected the solution was magical, in which case, he was out.
She needed someone native to the inn that had the knowhow and intelligence to describe the issue whom she could interrogate at length without giving herself away. Lyonette was gone, as were both Mrshas, which was a bit of a relief; Mrsha had no idea how she’d deal with a younger mother.
The perfect candidate appeared as Mrsha surveyed the room. She hesitated—then got up and took half her pizza with her.
“Hey, can I get a strawberry rosé wine?”
She ordered one at the bar from an Antinium who mixed it up for her and saw Ishkr eye her suspiciously as he reappeared. However, at that exact moment, the doors opened and a welcome distraction appeared.
“Channel 2 news! Is Chieftain Rags here?”
Drassi entered with a full news team, and everyone latched onto her. Mrsha slipped away from the bar after paying and approached a table of two regulars of the inn who didn’t immediately crowd around Drassi. Now, if she played this right…her eyes latched onto another familiar, old face.
Dead gods. She looked so young. When in the future, at least Mrsha’s future…
The [Mage] who would become the Archmage of Barriers was leaning over a table, slurping spaghetti as her friend tried to pick a wiggling Rockmite out of her hair.
——
“Montressa, don’t freak out.”
“I’m not freaking—eugh! Was that in my hair?”
Bezale crunched it in one fist, then groaned and stood up.
“I need to wash my hands. Look, you did great today.”
“I can’t do bugs, Bezale. You weren’t happy either.”
“It was a hard job! We’re both professional [Mages]! There’s no need to beat ourselves up over it!”
Montressa glowered at Bezale’s back. She knew the [Spellscribe] was trying to cheer her up. A day of feeling rather pathetic did that to you. At least Bezale was strong and hadn’t gotten tired. But Montressa had freaked out when the Rockmites poured out of that hole in the wall, and she was the weakest [Mage] present.
Salamani, Grimalkin, Valeterisa, Viceria—all experienced [Mages] with talent. Montressa and Bezale were graduates of Wistram, but they felt like they were second-stringers compared to the ones trying to found a new academy.
Montressa knew it was just her low self-esteem, which had improved a bit since becoming Valeterisa’s apprentice, but also taken a few hits of late. The Solstice, the grueling magical job of shaping earth…it just wasn’t her speciality, so she felt bad.
She’d cheer up. She grimaced as she sipped at some ale and ate more spaghetti. The food wasn’t doing it for her, and she was glancing at Drassi. Now there was someone who had it all put together. Montressa saw someone block her view and leaned to the side—but then the figure spoke.
“Mind if I buy you a drink and ask you a few questions, Mage Montressa? Nagas’ tongues twist skywards, right?”
Someone pulled up a chair, and Montressa saw a young Gnoll woman, around her age, sit down with a smile. She was magical, and Montressa blinked—but then groaned and held up a hand.
“Sorry, this isn’t a good time. I’m not dealing in secrets at the moment, and I’m having dinner with a friend.”
“Even for an urgent buyer? I’ll trade you a spell—I’m desperate for information, but it’s nothing major, I think. The name’s Arrema. Drink?”
Montressa was offered a red wine of some kind and saw the Gnoll put down a pizza platter. This was forwards, and Montressa looked for Bezale, who normally chased off busybodies with a single glare or a word.
“Are you a spellcaster? I really can’t—hm. Oh, this is very tasty!”
That surprised Montressa. After her obligatory detection spell to make sure the drink wasn’t spiked, she realized she enjoyed the wine. She was used to it from home, so she’d switched over to beers and ales, but this was a tasty strawberry-flavored wine that really hit the spot.
“I thought you’d like it. I’m a…huge fan of The Wandering Inn, Mage Montressa. And of the Archmage of Izril, actually.”
Montressa instantly held up a hand as her warning senses activated again. She patted at her mouth.
“Apologies, Miss Arrema, but anything related to the Archmage of Izril is off-limits. I’m her [Apprentice], and I disclose nothing.”
The Gnoll lifted a hand.
“No, no! Perish the thought. I wouldn’t want to interrupt her valuable research. I’m actually just after a story. It’s common knowledge, or so I’m told. And you were there, or present. It’s about the [Innkeeper], Erin Solstice.”
“I don’t know anything about her either, sorry.”
Montressa’s face was flat, and she searched around for Ishkr to let him know another [Spy] had appeared. Yet she was surprised as the young woman leaned over.
“Not about her whereabouts or what she’s doing. I want to know…how you brought her back. From the dead, I mean. I’ll pay you whatever price you want, but please, tell me how it was done. What spells? What Skills—I need to know.”
It was such a curious question that Montressa stopped trying to get the stranger to go away for a second. She inspected Arrema up and down, and two things happened.
One—Montressa felt a very familiar, nay, experienced aura of magic from Arrema. She was a [Mage]! A good one, too. Montressa honestly didn’t know who was better, and that shook her, because Arrema was a Gnoll. Or looked like one.
The second was that someone sent her a [Message] spell on such a tight wavelength that only Montressa could receive it.
Apprentice, this is me. Valeterisa. Who is that Gnoll? Investigate.
Montressa’s eyes flickered as she smiled at Mrsha.
“One second? Let me think about the request.”
“Of course.”
Arrema sat back, and Montressa didn’t show she was sending the spell back as she cast [Message].
Master, she’s asking about how Erin Solstice was brought back from the dead. Arrema? She’s a [Mage].
The reply came almost instantly.
Apprentice. I know. Entertain the request? This is curious. She is not under an illusion as far as I can tell.
That was beyond strange. Ullsinoi’s pranks were what Montressa would have gone to at once if this was Wistram. She pretended to be deep in thought as Arrema broke in.
“If you need payment, I could offer you a spell you’ve never seen before. What about—”
A hand grabbed Arrema by the shoulder, and Bezale hauled her up.
“Are you being bothered, Montressa?”
The Minotauress was back, and she’d spotted their unwanted guest. Montressa rose.
“Bezale, no—she was just asking for something—”
To her astonishment, Arrema twisted, grabbed Bezale’s hand, and prized the Minotauress’ hand off her. With a strengthening spell, but she cast it so fast and fluidly Montressa was astonished. She was strong! Even with an enhancement, Bezale grunted as her hand was forced back.
“Not bad. Adventurer? Gold-rank?”
“Silver.”
“Heh. Only in the House of Minos.”
Bezale bared her teeth, and Arrema grinned. Somehow, in that way Bezale had, they took a shine to each other instantly. Bezale cautioned Arrema.
“Now’s not the time to bother Mons. I can take the request, but she’s had a long day—”
“I’ll take the request. For a new spell. It’s just history, Bezale. Nothing confidential.”
The Minotauress’ brows rose, but Montressa just took a sip from her wine cup, then changed where she sipped from. It was a subtle clue that meant something was up. Bezale sat down, shrugging.
“Business is business. Alright, Miss…”
“Arrema. And you’re…?”
“Bezale. [Spellscribe]. Let’s see what you’ve got. We will take gold, you know. It’s rare we see new spells. No offense, but we are Wistram [Mages], and I’m sure you know.”
The young woman sat there, amused, and Montressa realized the collar was actually projecting the voice they heard. She was astonished; it was so natural. And so…familiar.
It’s like little Mrsha’s speaking stones. Montressa glanced around for Mrsha, but she wasn’t there. The young Gnoll woman grinned as she traced on the table with one hand.
“I’m aware of Wistram’s knowledge. But if you knew…this…I’d be impressed. How about it?”
Bezale and Montressa leaned over the table casually. Neither one was willing to be blown away by a stranger flashing magic, but Montressa realized that the young Gnollish woman had just traced a spell freehanded on the table. And then Montressa inspected the spell and—her eyes popped open.
“Hundred Heroes, what is…?”
“That’s not a spell I’ve seen in my life.”
Bezale was certain, as a [Spellscribe]. She began trying to decipher it at once, giving Arrema a suspicious look.
“It could be faked. But it looks…spell circuit starts and ends, no breaks in the matrices, mana is equal input output…”
She went through the basics you could look for to tell if a spell was incorrectly written or malformed. Montressa studied Arrema, and the [Aegiscaster] knew how to read people from her job as a secrets broker. Arrema was confident. Nervous, emotions elevated, but she seemed confident in this. She spoke casually as the two regarded the spell.
“I mean, I think Wistram probably knows the spell, but if anyone casts it there at the moment, I’ll be shocked. The spell is [Summon Mana Familiar]. Want it?”
Montressa felt a little jolt run up and down her spine, and Bezale’s face went blank. The Minotauress pushed herself back from the table.
“Well, now I know you’re lying. Summoning familiars? The best you get is a Skill like the Adventurer’s Haven. Montressa, doesn’t your Archmage have a bunch of Shadow Familiars?”
“She does. And she says each one took a ritual and ten days. Now she can summon them via a regular spell, but this…? This looks like a Tier 4 spell. And it’s a ‘mana familiar’? What’s the difference?”
Montressa eyed Arrema, and the Gnoll shrugged.
“Tier 3. And it’s a temporary, elementless familiar. I can do another spell if you want. Though a ritual that takes a powerful mage ten days…? If you’re binding a familiar permanently, much less one of a specific element, I bet it takes that much effort.”
The Gnoll tapped her lips thoughtfully, thinking out loud.
“Then again, she might have just been performing a Ritual of Calling and she just configured it to summon only Shadow Familiars. Which is better than what you could get. These last five minutes on an unempowered, raw cast. You can bump it up or give them elements. Listen, I’ll give you a copyable spell you can put in your spellbooks. No teaching, no instruction, ready-to-cast magic. If I get what I want, I’ll even throw in variations. Deal?”
The [Aegiscaster] wanted to look for her master, but she had to assume Valeterisa was taking note of this. And she knew what her master would say; even if they had one spell, variations on a spell were always welcome. Plus, then Montressa and Bezale would get their own spell, rather than have Valeterisa teach it to them.
Learning spells was always a mixed bag. Even a great [Mage] had to take time to teach another [Mage] magic; whereas if you had it in ‘copyable’ form, it meant you’d learn it in a fraction of the time. This was what Arrema was offering: elegantly packaged and teachable magic. The hardest and rarest of all things.
“I need to see it cast, but I’ll take you on credit. Deal. Let’s deliver half of what you want, then you can give me a demonstration and we’ll haggle over the rest, agreed?”
Arrema held out a paw, and they shook on it. Then the young Gnoll woman sat there, chewing on a piece of pineapple pizza.
“So…were you there? For the resurrection of Erin Solstice?”
The question was laced with emotions. Not just for the stranger. Montressa was emotional herself, and she took a breath. Such an odd question. Many people had asked her, afterwards, about the event, for details and knowledge and, yes, how it was done. But always as information-seekers. Never for the story of it.
“I was there. Well, rather, I should say I was there multiple times. For the first, failed attempt, then the success.”
Arrema’s eyes flickered as she drank in the tale. A Goblin came over to the table.
“This person bothering you? No?”
“Not at all. Can we get a drink? And a refill for me?”
Bezale lifted her mug, and Arrema requested a goat’s milk. Then she leaned forwards, so intent that Montressa felt it.
“Twice? You only had to try twice?”
“Once was more than enough. Yes—you’ve done your homework. We tried once with a Potion of Regeneration. That…failed.”
That frozen body, the silent inn, everyone hoping against hope as they watched the liquid fall into the wounds and then…trickle out. Montressa had known it wasn’t going to work back then. The second time—
“Tell me. Please.”
Montressa looked into the eyes of the young woman, and they were strange. They were filled with magic, familiar eyes she’d never seen before, and she knew. Montressa felt drawn into a Solstice event, but she just nodded. And began to speak.
——
It was all so…elegant.
It made sense. It was crazy, but it made sense, and it was crazy that no one had figured it out—no. The execution was doable by a decent number of lower-level people, but the conceptualization was masterwork.
And it made sense they’d never thought of it. It was too risky, warming Erin up. They had been told, under no uncertain terms, that repeated experimentation would kill her. They would have had to be certain.
Warm her body, heal it. Those were logical parts, but the key, the secret ingredient of a Skill that could rally someone even at the edge of death?
That was the shining insight that made Mrsha believe. And it was in Montressa’s story. She was a good storyteller when all was said and done.
Of course, she was also a [Mage], so she could speak about each spell with knowledge and precision, which was the real key. Mrsha’s paw was shaking, so she wrote with a flick of her magical quill, which impressed Bezale.
“Dead gods, I’ve seen some [Mages] write with magical quills, but never telekinetically. Your control is beyond refined.”
Mrsha, oddly, felt a connection with Bezale, perhaps because both used writing so much in their magic. She grinned at the Minotauress and took a draft of ale.
She’d switched to ale when Montressa began relating the actual cure for Erin and the steps needed to get there. It hadn’t been easy.
It shouldn’t have been, but they did it. Dead gods, they did it. If only…no.
No, Mrsha would not think of all the sacrifice and effort those in her world had done as failed effort. They had tried, and some had kept trying. Kept trying until the cost was so high they had to give up.
She’d do it, though. Mrsha was almost ready, but Montressa broke off her description.
“—There was an unexpected event when the ritual succeeded, but I’ll get to that, and the exact Skill, in a moment. I believe we’re owed a demonstration?”
“What? Right, of course. I’ll cast it here, if you like.”
Mrsha was so agitated she nearly knocked over her table as she leapt up. Montressa pursed her lips.
“I know it’s raining, but we can cast a barrier. There might be one already. Let’s go outside. Do you mind if others watch?”
“I don’t care. It’s your spell. Use it how you want.”
Mrsha was distracted. She knew she was handing them a spell that had been rediscovered in the future—it was a small price to pay. Mrsha had been willing to offer a lot more if it got her what she wanted.
She could go back and begin putting the pieces together at once. Depending on who came for her birthday…she could do it now!
She was shaking in impatience as she strode outside, but a few surprises were there too. Mrsha halted when she saw the tower.
Or rather, beginnings of one. Undead skeletons were still at work, but a bunch of wooden scaffolding had been put up to shield the tower from rain. In addition, there were piles of…
“Chemath Marble? Is that just—Chemath Marble sitting there?”
Montressa and Bezale were walking under the gantries of construction, and Montressa turned.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you know about Chemath Marble too. You’re quite knowledgeable, Miss Arrema.”
Mrsha rubbed at her eyes. And she felt excited, because this was it. The inn feeling she’d missed for so long.
“I mean…it’s Chemath Marble. You have two piles of it just sitting there? Unensorcelled? That’s crazy. It’s going to take on a spell, even ambient magic, if you don’t secure it.”
“Er…really?”
Montressa exchanged a glance with Bezale, but before they could inquire further, the door opened, and Mrsha saw a few more people exit.
“Montressa, Bezale, are you being bothered?”
Ishkr gave Mrsha a suspicious glower, even when they answered in the negative. She eyed him, but then saw Relc and Archmage Valeterisa there. Uh oh.
“Apprentice. What a coincidence, seeing you. I was just going to the bathroom…with Relc. Together. We do that together. Is this a magical demonstration? I shall watch.”
Valeterisa was about as subtle as, well, Valeterisa. Mrsha wasn’t surprised she’d attracted the Archmage’s attention. Montressa rubbed at her face.
“Ignoring that first part, absolutely, Archmage. Why don’t you demonstrate for us, Arrema?”
“Absolutely. Uh…[Summon Mana Familiar]!”
Mrsha produced her wand, waved it, and a floating, vaguely monkey-shaped creature with a long tail and nondescript features appeared out of the air. It was misty blue and flitted around her as Montressa gasped.
Mrsha should have made more of a production out of it, but she was too rattled to do so, and it really was a Tier 3 spell.
“Go, uh, pick up some rocks and put them here. It’s not very smart. You can customize them; I’ve s—heard of people making ones that can talk and stuff, but this is all I can do.”
The familiar darted over to the water’s edge and began hauling up pebble-sized stones and putting them in a pile. A skeleton passing by gave the familiar an insulted look and began to walk faster, as if afraid its job was being taken.
“Magical servants. A hallmark of old [Mages]. And the spell is so—so—simple! Mine isn’t like that at all. [Summon Shadow Familiar] has more of a mana cost and it has an, um, 178% longer cast time, even with my Skills! Of course, these are temporary—fascinating. It’s so refined as well. I can learn from how this spell was optimized!”
Valeterisa was all over the familiar at once. She flitted about as Mrsha showed Montressa and Bezale how to cast the spell, slower. The Minotauress gingerly touched the familiar and exclaimed.
“It’s not warm. Do they all look like that?”
“No, that’s just how mine look. They’re just mana. Not infused or anything. Uh—is that good? I’ll teach you the spell and anything else. Let’s finish the story.”
Tell me how it ended. Montressa jumped, glancing at Valeterisa, before nodding at Mrsha.
“Of course. There was a complication near the end and—I’d be delighted. May I ask how you know this spell, though, Arrema?”
“Sorry. Secrets unkept and all that.”
Mrsha vaguely held up a finger to her mouth, implying she was related to Wistram, and Montressa sighed. She hesitated, then looked over Mrsha’s shoulders and stopped.
Mrsha felt her fur rise up. She didn’t sense anything at first as she fired off a bunch of spells behind her. No magical aura, no life detection—except from the inn, of course.
Only when she fired a low-level pulse of magic off did it run into something. Mrsha turned…and there he was.
Magus Grimalkin of Pallass looked tired. Tired…but he was leaning against the side of the inn, hidden in the shadows, and he closed the notebook in one hand. As he stepped forwards, shedding rain, the Drake spoke.
“A good hypothesis can be utterly wrong. Sometimes, however, it is worth revisiting old theories as new evidence emerges. A word, if you will, Miss Arrema. Are you from the Meeting of Tribes?”
Uh oh. Mrsha was suddenly aware of how many [Mages] were around her. Relc was walking with Valeterisa and Montressa and Bezale were both watching her. Grimalkin stood in the rain, and Mrsha smiled as she cast a spell.
[Truthbreaker’s Tongue].
“That’s right, Mister…?”
“Magus Grimalkin. Pallass. So you are from what tribe?”
“Silverfang. I heard about The Wandering Inn and came north to hear the story. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“I had no idea there was such an accomplished [Mage] in the Silverfangs.”
“Well, I’m not with the main tribe as much. Everyone has secrets, Magus.”
She regretted her lie at once, but she’d already used it with Relc. The Sinew Magus nodded slowly.
“Far be it from me to question every passing [Mage] who comes along. I am not the Eyes of Pallass, of course. I was merely curious, miss. And if I may, I would love to inspect this familiar.”
She relaxed slightly; if he wasn’t going to press, she’d just let him investigate or ask questions and be gone, never to be found again. She extended a hand.
“Feel free, it’s not like it’s alive, even like a skeleton.”
The Sinew Magus eyed the familiar as it flitted over to him.
“Far more beautiful and utilitarian, of course. I can see why they were a staple of old magic in the previous eras. This could have invaluable uses for my current projects and in general. Though of course, it is Mage Montressa’s spell. And she has every right not to share it.”
He sighed, crestfallen, and Mrsha blinked.
“What? No, feel free. She said anyone was free to share—”
It was just a second of error. No, well, to be fair, it was a lot of errors all the way down, but this was the error that tripped her up. Her mother had always said it was better not to give away all your cards…but Mrsha had trained to be an adventurer, not a debutante.
The Sinew Magus, though—just as always, just as ever—his eyes narrowed. He nodded to himself as Mrsha bit her tongue, and everyone looked at him questioningly as he uncrossed his stance. His inviting posture became confidently poised at once.
“My [Detect Truth] spell registered no lies. As it seldom does to half-truths or half-lies. But it did not detect truth, either, when you told me Mage Montressa’s decision, Miss Arrema. You are a spellcaster of training and knowledge. And a Gnoll. Tell me. When are you from?”
She was made. Mrsha stood there, rain pattering down around the shelter above her. Her head was bowed, and she took a huge breath. She let it out as she turned her head up to stare skywards.
Drat. She always lost at cards with Ekirra and Visma, even when she couldn’t speak. Grimalkin’s hands weren’t raised, but he was ready. A mass of muscle and magic. She met his eyes, and her smile was gentle, riven with grief and hope and madness, just like so many had ever felt when coming to the inn.
Mrsha said:
“Ten years later.”
She threw a punch, and he pivoted to block it. Grimalkin thrust the fist sideways and saw the rune she’d drawn on her fur spark—
——
Magus Grimalkin’s barrier spell faded as the [Flashbang] ceased echoing in his ears. He turned, squinting towards the inn, and saw Arrema standing in front of a violet barrier of light.
Mage Montressa had her wand raised, and the spell was shielding the front of the inn. Arrema turned, a weary sigh on her lips, and everyone stared at her.
“What?”
Relc stared at the Gnoll girl, and then every eye fell on Magus Grimalkin. The Sinew Magus was adjusting his stance, raising a fist on guard, focusing his magic.
He was in danger. The Drake sensed the young woman activating her own magic, felt that familiar intensity on his scales as her face turned from alarm to concentration. He kept his face straight and nodded to himself, for the benefit of the audience.
Internally—he couldn’t believe he’d actually called it.
He’d mostly been bluffing.
——
She was made. Mrsha saw the Sinew Magus raising his arms, sensed his magic flowing stronger, his muscles like shining bands of mana, and she saw him nod, tightly, eyes focused, serious.
Sinew Magus of Pallass. Grimalkin—in the flesh.
Ten years ago. And now he knew about the future, had guessed it in that genius way she’d never gotten until she was older.
It was fine. She had almost everything she needed; Mrsha shifted her stance lower, one fist forwards, the other raised, facing Grimalkin side-on. A [Martial Artist]’s stance, which he recognized.
“Stay back. Don’t interfere, Mage Bezale, Montressa, Archmage.”
“This is fascinating. Her spellcasting is completely different. I know [Summon Shadow Familiar], but that’s a rote spell taught by levelling. It has no optimization; every spell you learn is baseline. Her spell has improvements, refinements in the spellcraft…oh, why are we fighting?”
Valeterisa was chattering excitedly as Relc paced with her, guarding her, his spear in hand. He was watching her hard, and it was uncanny; he’d never looked at her like that, even when he was at his maddest.
She was a stranger. They didn’t recognize her. Mrsha bared her teeth as she glanced at the two [Mages] out of the corner of her eye. Bezale had a scroll in hand, but she was stepping back as Montressa raised more barrier spells.
Strange. The future Archmage of Barriers was just standing there, afraid of Mrsha—but the Gnoll girl couldn’t spare any other attention.
The Sinew Magus was right there, and he began casting spells at the same time as her.
Why were they fighting? For Mrsha, the answer was simple. She bore Grimalkin and this world no ill will. But her blood was up. She needed an outlet for the emotions in her chest. She also had no desire to be captured by Pallass and interrogated—but most of all?
She wanted to know how she matched up to the past. Grimalkin, that imposing figure who’d been one of her heroes growing up, was now in front of her. Of course she wanted to know if ten years of training mattered.
And—Mrsha’s eyes flickered as she saw Grimalkin staring at her, and she gazed at Valeterisa. At Bezale, and her soul writhed. She couldn’t just leave it alone. Not with the future she knew.
As for Grimalkin? He looked wary as he lowered one fist, keeping the other high. There was some training in how he moved; Mrsha saw it now. He didn’t fight like a random [Brawler]; he was compact, fist turned up at his waist. When he threw a punch, his entire body would go into the blow, and he was huge. But they were [Mages].
They cast magic simultaneously.
“[Bind Spell]. [Tremor]. [Paralyzing Touch].”
Grimalkin opened with the spells Mrsha knew. A [Tremor] in his right fist, [Paralyzing Touch] in his left claw. He was casting other spells as well, silently.
[Speed], [Stoneskin], [Detect Magic]—when he moved, he’d be fast. A fast brick who’d hit you with all the power of a miniature earthquake or paralyze you. The Grimalkin method.
What surprised him was—she was doing the same thing as he was.
It looked like a clone of his magic. The Gnoll girl was chanting.
“[Bind Spell]! [Siege Fireball]. [Speed]. [Stoneskin]—”
She bound only one spell into her paw; burning strands of fire flared to life as they seemed to come off her fur, like wavy patterns of flaming yarn knitting into a miniature orb of fire that sunk into her fur, leaving a corona of menacing orange light in her fist. Valeterisa gasped.
“A Tier 4 spell? So fast? Very flashy effects.”
Relc reacted by gripping his spear with both claws and backing Valeterisa up a few steps. [Siege Fireball]? That was no joke. Most [Mages] couldn’t cast it unaided, let alone pop one into being like—
“Hm. [Fire Resistance].”
Grimalkin circled left, enchanting himself. Mrsha didn’t move. She kept casting, and her next move surprised Grimalkin. She opened her free paw, then touched it to the wet grass.
“[Calm the Land].”
The Sinew Magus blinked. He’d never heard of that spell before. Then he felt a tingling in his right fist. He glanced at it and sensed the [Tremor] spell unbinding. She was disenchanting his spells?
“[Druid] magic. Marvellous. [Bind Spell: Orb of Air].”
Grimalkin whispered; he rebound a spell as his opponent spoke.
“[Earthen Spire].”
He jumped as the stalagmite of stone burst out of the ground. It showered the area with earth, and several of the undead moving around the construction site went sprawling as clods of earth hit them. They picked themselves up, looking around for their attacker, only to see a flying Drake. He was leaping back, through the rainswept air, his robes whipping in the wind—but the leap after him didn’t come.
A second flaw in his reasoning was assuming she’d engage in a close-range brawl. Instead, Mrsha darted forwards. Grimalkin had launched his own spell; a dozen [Light Arrows] struck the earth hard, mostly to force her to move. But rather than close the distance, she leapt on top of the [Earthen Spire] she’d created. Then she raised a wand in her left paw, pointed—
“[Lightning Bolt].”
Positioning using a spell of her creation to force him out of his preferred engagement range. Lightning spell to catch a fast-moving aerial foe.
It was like Grimalkin was watching a presentation on battle magic—because he was. This was how he taught combat. Splendid exec—
The bolt of lightning streaked towards him, and the Sinew Magus almost forgot he was in combat. He made a choice and activated the spell in his right hand.
The orb of air detonated in a shockwave of force, which made the rain explode everywhere and sent him hurtling into the water. It allowed him to dodge the spell and also detonated the [Lightning Bolt]; the flash of light covered the sight of him falling. Grimalkin sank in the water, considering his next move as he cast spells.
This was a proper [Mage]’s duel. No ending it with a single punch; he and his mysterious opponent were testing each other’s capabilities rather than risking a single engagement. And—what made Grimalkin grin was—
He was losing. She had a [Siege Fireball] bound to her fist. He’d lost all but [Paralyzing Touch] in his offhand. Regardless of weight or muscular differences in how they hit each other, he would lose the exchange.
——
Archmage Valeterisa was perhaps the only person who understood how many things had gone into those few seconds of magical exchange besides Grimalkin and the mysterious Gnoll girl. She was running commentary—and she was a veteran duelist of Wistram.
Even Montressa and Bezale hadn’t made a name for themselves in combat magic, and so they listened as the Gnoll girl began casting more spells. She was so—fast. She looked like the best Wistram [Mages] that Montressa had ever seen, and Valeterisa’s commentary only confirmed that.
“—Flawless transitioning between elemental spells. She has no set type I can tell, or she’s achieved competency in each area. [Cryomancers], for instance, would struggle to cast [Fireball] at the same efficacy once they passed Level 20. And she dispelled one of Magus Grimalkin’s casts at range. Even your average [High Mage] would hesitate to try that—oh my, what’s she casting now?”
Valeterisa swooped forwards, only for Relc’s spear to block her.
“Valley, get back, it’s not safe.”
She blinked at Relc; he was tense. The Archmage floated back as the Gnoll girl spoke.
“—There you are. [Lightning Bolt]!”
She pointed her wand, and the water lit with a flash of lightning. There was an explosion of water, silence—the Gnoll girl cast a spell.
“[Arcane Barrier]. [Stone Arrows: Volley]!”
Another wave of her wand and arrows of stone began hitting the water, raising smaller splashes. Valeterisa was fascinated.
“She detected Magus Grimalkin despite his [Invisibility] spell.”
“Why did she switch from [Lightning Bolt], Master?”
Montressa was doubling her barrier spells; it seemed reasonable if the Gnoll girl came at them. Valeterisa answered absently.
“Lightning is doubly logical to use in water. It spreads out its effect, though; see the dead fish? Magus Grimalkin knew this, and I suspect he used [Lightning Resistance] to effectively nullify the danger. However, he had to drop [Flame Resistance] unless he burned mana on upgrading to a multi-elemental defensive spell. He’s down two Tier 3 spells on mana.”
Magus Grimalkin? Outmaneuvered? Montressa couldn’t believe it. She’d heard of his duel with Archmage Feor, and the Sinew Magus had lost that—but he’d clocked Feor with a punch that had gone down in Wistram history in the first ten seconds. However, his opponent was reading him. Not just reading him; anticipating his tactics.
In fact, Valeterisa was visibly excited; this kind of magical battle was complex, elegant, and seldom seen. She wasn’t the only one either.
“Dead gods, it is a fight. Why is she sending stone spells into the water, though? They’ll lose all their force. Must be a trick.”
“[Arcane Barrier]? That’s only got the energy to resist a single Tier 4 spell unless she’s overcharged it. And it doesn’t move well—she must be trying to tower up—ah, there it goes.”
There was a counter-flash, and Montressa saw a lightning bolt from the water hit the barrier and explode. The Gnoll staggered, but her barrier did hold; she waved her wand, and the Sinew Magus continued evading in the water as she hurled more stone darts after him, then a [Fireball] that lit the water up.
The explosion illuminated a new group of watchers; most emitted death magic. The villagers of Rheirgest? Viceria? Even Magus Salamani and Ci!
They’d all come back, drawn by the magical conflict. The [Necromancers] were the ones commenting on the spellcasting. They’d been summoned by the damage to their skeletons, who had taken cover in the shadow of the tower.
“Careful! It’s a Mage’s Duel!”
Montressa shouted as she added barrier spells to their location, but one of them, a motherly-looking woman, just gave her a sniff.
“We know, young woman. Don’t block our vision with your barrier. I haven’t seen a good duel in ages. Oh—watch out—”
That was for the young Gnoll woman. She was losing the stationary battle; even as she put up another [Arcane Barrier], a second lightning bolt came out of the water. Magus Grimalkin appeared to be moving swiftly around the water about the hill, popping out and taking shots at her. This time, she blocked the lightning bolt with a slash of her wand.
“What was that?”
“[Disjunct Spell]. She’s not bad—ooh!”
The ooh was because the young woman had let her guard down. She’d easily exploded the lightning bolt midair. But she’d missed the rock Grimalkin had lobbed at her. The non-magical rock hit the [Arcane Barrier] and shattered part of her perch; she fell, cursing a blue streak.
“—swinging Centaur ballsacks—ow!”
She hit the ground and then rolled desperately; [Light Arrow] spells were arcing up out of the water, following wide trajectories and stabbing down towards her. Montressa knew this trick. It’d be pointless to fire back. Sinew Magus Grimalkin had set up the spells on a delay, and by the time the Gnoll hit the location, he’d be long gone.
However, this stranger from another time wasn’t out of tricks. She got to one knee, then vanished—she appeared a dozen feet away, easily avoiding a shower of arrows, and Montressa and Bezale blinked.
“[Flash Step]?”
Pisces’ spell! Of course, it wasn’t his spell; it was common enough, but only Pisces was a real expert in it. Even [Mages] like Valeterisa, who could cast the spell, didn’t like the sudden acceleration or deceleration; you had to have strong legs and practice to pull it off.
Hers was as flawless as Pisces’ spell. The Gnoll girl kept spraying the water with [Stone Arrows]. It seemed like that was a bad move, especially since the Sinew Magus’ next move was to emerge from the water like a muscular whale, leaping through the air. He pointed.
“[Jet of Water].”
The empowered spell conjured six streams of water as wide as Montressa was. The Gnoll girl raised her wand and blocked some of it, then tried to [Flash Step] away. She went sprawling, and the Sinew Magus dove into the water.
“He’s preparing a big spell. She’s out of barriers.”
Valeterisa was commenting, flying upwards for a better view, and the cursing young Gnoll woman was picking herself up, too distracted to cast for a second. Falling behind the magical arms race.
That was how the duel went. If you could take out your opponent in one move, you did; otherwise, it was fouling the other one up while you bought time to enchant yourself or prepare a big spell to seal the deal. The favor swung back to Magus Grimalkin’s side.
—Right up until the young woman pushed herself up, waved her wand, and said:
“Detonate.”
Then every single [Stone Dart] she’d fired into the water exploded, and Montressa went deaf and blind for a second.
——
Reporter Drassi was having a mixed day. You could call it a bad one; she’d been hit by a chair in a newsroom brawl just thirty minutes ago, the first she’d ever been part of.
On the other hand, Channel 2 was currently the most watched channel in the world, which wasn’t nothing. She had just seen a Goblin do a comedy routine, but that was actually the bad part.
Why was Chieftain Rags telling jokes on television? What was 2nd Army doing around the High Passes? Was she, Drassi, going to cover more deaths of people she liked? More senseless violence?
Sometimes, her job of being a reporter, a [Journalist], sucked. All she delivered was death or trouble, and all she could do was talk.
Rémi Canada had talked to her about that. He understood what this class, this job was in ways she was finding out with everyone else for the first time. Of course he knew: he was from Earth.
Secrets. Drassi was a [Journalist]. Her job was to tell people the truth. But if that was all she was, she was no better than the [Gossip] she’d been. Her job, then, was to report the news through the lens of what she deemed relevant, important, and helpful. She should not endanger people by her coverage of the news. Nor should she leave out the news for fear of retribution or her own biased opinions. Yet she had her morality, and that mattered. She was caught between impartiality and her own principles.
That all combined to make what you’d call…ethical journalism. Which, in practice, meant ‘don’t be a Relz or Noass’. They really were good examples of what not to do. Everyone on Drassi’s news team got the talk, and then she pointed at those two and they got it.
Anyways, why was Drassi upset? Well, because she didn’t know what was going on. She knew more than she let on; this had to do with The Wandering Inn. A Solstice event was in-progress, and here Drassi was, wandering around the inn looking for Rags.
But she didn’t know the details. She wasn’t part of it anymore, and she missed that. Her new job was everything she had ever wanted, but she missed—this.
Right now, Drassi was wandering around the common room of the inn, playing dumb a bit, trying to get the vibe. She was on camera, but the real action was on the other channels. One of her co-hosts was duking it out with Sir Relz on the issue of covering Goblins, other channels were doing historicals on Velan or Goblins in society or trying to see if 2nd Army was in the High Passes…it was all a whirlwind of scraps. Drassi wasn’t concerned; she’d done this before.
If she found something to follow, the attention and news would follow her. So she meandered, tugging on strings, and, well, helping Rags as she could.
“Excuse me, sir. You’re a Goblin. Do you have any commentary on the day’s broadcast?”
Drassi stuck a microphone—a speaking stone stuck onto a wooden handle, but prettier—into the face of a Goblin. Sticks gave Drassi a blank stare. Then he concentrated.
Neither Drassi nor her audience had context for the events that had occurred that morning in the inn. They didn’t know about Songmistress Calla, but Sticks had been there, and no one had told him. So they had zero understanding of why the Goblin began singing.
It was just highly entertaining.
“My name is Sticks
Don’t beat me with them!
I don’t like apples.
And I don’t want to die! Don’t set me on fire
Don’t stab me with swords!
Why Chieftain tell jokes?
Probably because she’s bored!
Sticks!
Not flammable!
No bad spells here, please!
My paycheck is tomorrow.
I want to buy socks—”
Drassi had a team these days. A [Cameraperson], technical support in the form of a [Mage], and bodyguards after the Nerrhavia’s Fallen incident where an [Assassin] only tried to kill her. As a warning.
Drassi kept her face straight and blank as Sticks kept going. She could see one of the team trying not to giggle; a Garuda named Kalek. Her [Producer] was a Dullahan—Drassi hired more female and non-Drake members for her team than any of the other news channels—and the Dullahan was giving her a thumb slowly rising up.
And the viewership is mine. She let Sticks go on a few more seconds, then cut him off.
“—And how do you feel about how Goblins are treated?”
Sticks hesitated, then seemed to realize no one was singing and hadn’t been for a while. He blinked, felt at his tongue, and shrugged.
“What? Oh, we not singing? Phew. What thing about Goblins treated?”
“The…fact that your Chieftain was nearly killed by spells on camera?”
Sticks gave Drassi a blank look.
“What? That normal. Everything tries to kill Goblins. Eater Goats. Weather. Toilet poos. Chieftain Rags smart.”
“So you’re not mad about it?”
The Goblin screwed up his face with novel cogitation, and Drassi held her breath. She had come to this inn for a reason. Sir Relz had too; he could cut all the coverage of angry Goblins he wanted, but her audience wanted something that was real. And what was realer than Sticks earnestly staring into the camera and giving Drassi a reply like—
“Why mad? It rainy outside. People kill Goblins. No one get mad when it rains.”
He paused.
“Except if you in it. Sometimes I get mad.”
“But you’re not angry that it happens?”
He gave her a blank look and a shrug.
“That how it is.”
—And if that doesn’t make you think, why are you watching? Drassi hoped it made people uncomfortable. Sticks turned around and got back to work, and she pointed silently. Her camera-Gnoll hesitated, then zoomed in on the white flag sticking out of Stick’s back pocket.
You had to cut after that. Cut to something lighter; if you kept ramming it down people’s throats, they’d puke it back out. So, Drassi was all set to begin interviewing people about this singing escapade this morning when the explosion happened.
It wasn’t whumph; it was like a dozen smaller explosions chained together. Someone screamed, and the people having fun in the inn ducked.
“Alright! Everyone get ready to run!”
Menolit, a veteran of inn events, was on his feet fast. Ishkr was already running, and Drassi ran too—towards the sound.
It was bad instincts since she was no warrior or healer, but that was the job. She broke outside and came to a halt.
“Aha. This is Drassi, Channel 2. If you’re tuning in—I think we just ran into a magical duel.”
Rain showered down for a few seconds as water fell from the skies from where it had been hurled upwards. Drassi was grateful for the magical barriers even though she did have a few Skills like [Journalistic Shield] and [Safety Zone]. She stuck her microphone out.
“Excuse me—Courier Salamani. What’s going on? Who’s fighting who?”
The Courier turned, spotted her, and with perfect theatrics, pointed at the water as the horse, Ci, trotted into frame. Give Couriers this: they were naturals at being on camera and at the center of attention.
“No idea what started it, Miss Drassi. Magus Grimalkin’s fighting some Gnoll girl. I think she just killed him.”
Drassi kept her face straight; concerned, but straight, as the Dullahan [Producer]’s arm detached from her body to indicate how high the views were going.
Some days, she loved her job.
——
Mrsha noticed the people watching her, of course, but she didn’t have time to focus on them or the consequences of her actions.
All her attention and energy was being sapped by Grimalkin. He wasn’t even close to her, and it was—terrifying.
She’d done sparring before. Trained with experts, and yes, she’d fought monsters, even with Lyonette trying to keep her from danger until she was ‘old enough’. But the real thing was taxing.
She felt like she was burning through her stamina and mana three times as fast as a spar. And the pressure Grimalkin was putting on her was insane. He was in the water, launching attacks—not even his most dangerous, and it rattled her.
But she’d got him with the exploding [Stone Darts]. The Archmage of Izril was agog, and the other [Mages] were demanding to know how the Gnoll had fired so many. Binding a second spell into a low-tier spell wasn’t something [Mages] of this era really did.
It was old magic—which meant it was going to be new magic soon. In the interim, as she picked herself up, Mrsha began casting more spells.
[Lion’s Strength], [Speed]—she had to reapply it—[Ward of Protection] for a one-hit guard—she knew what was coming.
The Sinew Magus emerged out of the frothing waters like a bullet from a gun. He didn’t run at her; he jumped straight out of the water in an explosion, arms crossed, balled up. He wanted her to try and hit him. He’d take the blow, then punch her.
Like heck she wanted to deal with that. Mrsha waved her wand and cast her spell.
“[Illusory Mists]!”
She vanished, and Grimalkin punched the air that she’d [Flash Stepped] away from and turned. Mrsha vanished into the mists. Now they were in close-range combat. He’d bound another [Tremor] spell into his fist, and she had [Siege Fireball].
It’ll work. He’s not that tough. I can do it! I can hurt him!
It didn’t actually occur to Mrsha she’d kill the Sinew Magus. He was Grimalkin.
She knew how he’d died.
She didn’t think she could kill him.
——
Grimalkin’s scales hurt. So did his eardrums. The water transmitted the shockwaves of the blast quite unpleasantly.
He deserved it, of course. Like a hatchling, he’d thought she’d cast a suboptimal spell when in fact she was still ahead. He’d gotten her with the rock; no one expected you to throw a giant rock at them. Grimalkin kept one in his bag of holding just for this purpose.
However, she’d actually blocked it with [Arcane Barrier]. Another sign she knew him. You see, most [Mages] cast [Spellward] or [Forceshield] or some spell that blocked magic—in which case, the rock killed them—or which was linked to their mana. In which case, the rock ate into their mana reserves.
She was using set-mana defensive spells. She was focusing on mobility and now—illusions.
You are a fantastic [Mage]. My students should aspire to be like you. Who taught you? Are you really from…?
He could hear Montressa and Bezale shouting commentary along with Drassi.
“That’s Palt’s spell! She can’t dodge him in that!”
Grimalkin wished it was true. He was trying to find the Gnoll, and it was, uh…not working.
Illusion spells were usually easy to bypass unless you were up against a master. There were a few standbys that Grimalkin used.
Number one—wind spell. It would blow the spell away if it had any physical component like mist. Grimalkin tried that as he swivelled, fists ready to strike.
No good.
Number two! [Detect Magic]. [Heatvision]. [Sense Life]. You could get even [Invisibility] spells with a lot of these combinations. Grimalkin flicked through half a dozen ‘filters’ on his vision.
Not a one. Sweat was on his scales, now, oozing between the pores. Not a cold sweat—not yet—but he was aware he was losing his initiative. She was casting while he tried to find her.
Number three—he began firing ‘probes’ of magic into the mists. A simpler variant of Valeterisa’s seeker spell; they’d return any contact, magical or physical. And then he’d know roughly where she was and close—
Grimalkin got six magical returns from different parts of the mist. The Sinew Magus grunted.
“Splendid.”
Just—every avenue accounted for, every technique he used reversed upon him. Except one, of course, and it was his own expertise in battle. On a hunch, Grimalkin spoke as he lowered one claw, pivoting left.
“However—you cannot win a battle without taking a risk. I—”
She [Flash Stepped] towards him, and he pivoted, right fist lashing out. He’d guessed that she was in the largest proximity of probe ‘pings’; an outlier was bait. Also, for all her accomplishments, she’d risen to the bait. He saw, in the flashes of time that they punched towards each other, her eyes widen.
Then their fists collided, and a tremor met roaring flames.
Magus Grimalkin hit the water and came out of it, blinded but moving, dodging reflexively. He was seldom tossed anywhere in a duel. But right now, he was in a good deal of pain.
That was a real [Siege Fireball]. Before charging in, he’d cast [Flame Resistance], but the shockwave had still torn several scales straight off his arm. His muscular frame had helped absorb the blast, but—
I can’t take one of those again. He wondered how much damage he’d done to his opponent. Bleeding, still half-blind, and head ringing, Grimalkin charged the young woman; she was shaking her head, visibly disoriented by the rattling impact that would have shaken her around and left her puking.
The two spells meeting had mitigated the effects for both. It should have snapped both’s arms, but both had reinforced their bodies. Another curiosity—
Enough thinking. Grimalkin abandoned analytics and devoted it all towards a punch from his left fist.
——
“Oh shit.”
When she saw the left claw of the Sinew Magus come at her, Mrsha flinched, raised her hand, and the punch knocked her sprawling. Her body froze up, and she landed, bouncing hard as the Sinew Magus strode at her. He raised a foot to stomp.
“[Dispel Magic].”
His stomp on her chest wouldn’t have killed her, but it made everyone watching wince. Grimalkin’s foot hit Mrsha’s chest, and he frowned.
“Hm?”
He raised his foot to stomp again—and the keen-eyed watchers realized that the young woman hadn’t really been hurt by the stomp. She’d just sunk into the wet earth. The [Dispel Magic] hadn’t worked. Grimalkin stomped again and saw the wand come up—
“[Hand of the Gale Elemental].”
One of her three Tier 5 spells took the Sinew Magus up in a whirlwind of roaring winds and slammed him into the earth—then dragged him into the water. Mrsha sat up, coughing, drained of mana.
That has to work, right? Right? She hadn’t believed she’d take him out with the [Siege Fireball] in her fist. So she’d used the illusion spell to begin casting this one. Pretending to be paralyzed was the rest of the trick; she’d cast [Remove Paralysis] the moment he hit her.
Tier 5 magic was hard to cast in a magical duel or even most fights. It required windup, and it wasn’t even stronger than empowered Tier 4 magic all the time. But when you used it…
The hand roared into the waters, sending it geysering upwards, and Mrsha tried to draw mana in from around her.
“That did it. That did it…”
Her spell abruptly exploded in the water, and Mrsha gaped up. She wheezed.
“Oh, come on.”
She wasn’t Level 40 like he was at this point in time. Her knowing higher-Tier magic was purely a product of her teachers. And he—
A bleeding, bruised Drake was falling out of the sky. Eyes gleaming, hurtling towards her like a comet. Sinew Magus. Sinew Magus of Pallass!
She had—one last trick up her sleeve. Mrsha whispered two things as she bunched a fist up.
“[Lucky Strike]. [Bind Spell: Siege Fireball]—”
Flames roared into her fist, and she saw Grimalkin’s eyes widen. Valeterisa shouted.
“How can she bind it that fast?”
[Condition: Emberbody]. [My Flame Won’t Die]. Mrsha was drawing the flames off her fur, the Sinew Magus realized and Senior Guardsman Relc saw. She was on fire. Just like she’d been for ten years—
The final spell came as the Sinew Magus was a moment from landing on her. Mrsha crouched and spoke it.
“[Grimalkin’s Physique]! Aaaaah!”
It wasn’t a heroic shout. She just screamed and jumped at him. The Drake’s eyes widened, and they met in the air, two [Mages] covered in muscles. She threw a punch, and he caught it; the [Siege Fireball] exploded and sent them hurtling to earth. They got up punching, kicking—
A fistfight, spontaneously casting magic. She went for a spinning backhand, then a roundhouse kick. He jabbed her in the chest, blocked the kick, and returned one that sent her sprawling.
Showy moves—when she rolled upwards, dodging an axe kick, she threw an elbow into his stomach and felt like she’d elbowed a wall. Then a one-two punch, which he blocked—
——
Ferkr had never, ever seen someone punch Grimalkin like that. Not punch him; he let people land blows all the time. But hit him and make him stagger.
He trained officers in Pallass’ army. He trained [Battlemages]; he was a hand-to-hand and magical expert. But she had never seen…
No, she’d probably seen other people land good hits on him before. She had never seen a Gnoll hit him. Not with magic.
Not like that.
Even she, in the back of her head, had never thought she’d get that good. When she’d begged him to teach her magic, Ferkr had dreamed of becoming an official Mage of Wistram. Of receiving accolades, awards, but never of punching Grimalkin so hard he landed on his back.
[Earthen Shockwave]. A more localized version of his [Tremor] spell. He actually used his tail to springboard back to his feet and replied with a kick that knocked the young woman a lot further back, but she took him to the ground.
They were spontaneously casting spells as they hit each other. After that magical display where she’d tied down the Sinew Magus. A Gnoll.
A Gnoll.
Yes, everyone knew Gnolls could cast magic now. Yes, there were Gnolls learning to become [Mages]; they had the spellbook Krshia Silverfang had gifted the tribes, and plenty had the class.
But there was still that image in the back of Gnolls’ minds. Those refusals from Wistram to acknowledge them. That doubt, pervasive, that had lasted for over a century.
Right now, though, there was a young woman matching the Sinew Magus of Pallass blow for blow. Casting Tier 4 magic and beyond. Ferkr kept wiping her eyes. She knew it was embarrassing; people kept calling her the origin of Gnollish mage magic. But—
“I knew it. I knew I wasn’t alone.”
Ferkr’s voice was lost in the sound echoing around the Meeting of Tribes. The howling from across the Great Plains was coming by the thousands. Dancing Gnolls watching the scrying orb, cheering on this stranger.
When Ferkr turned her attention away from the brawl, she saw Gnollish children running around with sticks—shouting spells. Trying to copy how the two of them, Drake and Gnoll, were fighting. She even saw adults who’d told Ferkr to her face that they didn’t want to ‘copy Drakes’, or were too old to learn magic, looking on, eyes bright, fur standing on end.
But the truest value of this moment being broadcast to Gnolls, in Ferkr’s opinion, was a young [Shaman]. He was maybe, what, fifteen? A student of Shaman Theikha, a Gaarh Marsh [Shaman]. He had one of their custom staves in hand, carved out of the marsh’s knotted wood and decorated with talismans of nature. He had witnessed all the revelations of the Meeting of Tribes.
Had it shaken his faith in the tribes? Absolutely. Had he given it all up in disgust? No. But he hadn’t abandoned what he’d seen, either.
The young [Shaman] was standing on a mound of earth, wearing the regalia of his tribe. A cloak of moss around his shoulders. A headdress of branches—and robes on his torso, open-cut and breathable. The cloth whipped around him as he held the stave in one hand and a shining wand in the other.
The wind was howling like the Gnolls around him, and his head was thrown back. His eyes were aglow as the storm of air swirled around him. [Shaman] powers—and lights, glowing butterflies and moths, dragonflies made of humming, arcane energy, flying through the storm.
[Mage] magic and [Shaman] magic co-mingling, creating something that no [Shaman] nor [Mage] had dreamed of. He was laughing, eyes wide. Ferkr wiped at her eyes again. Then she threw her head back and howled in triumph. Before she kept watching. And she didn’t know if she wanted her master to win or to see that Gnoll triumph.
She felt like her people had already won.
——
She knew how to fight. Sinew Magus Grimalkin was exchanging blows and still amazed. Even as his entire mind was devoted towards combat.
It was hard to say who was more surprised; her that he understood the martial arts she practiced, even if he wasn’t a master, or he that she could fight hand-to-hand as a [Mage]. It was all just a roar of blood in his veins, as she spontaneously cast a jolt of electricity that struck him, tried to chain a blast of wind into a palm strike—
He punched her in the chest, and she stepped back a few steps, groaning with the impact. Yet—and yet—Grimalkin’s mind was going over that last spell.
[Grimalkin’s Physique]. A spell named after him? It had worked; for a second, she’d been huger, heavier, stronger—she was still trading blows with weight behind each punch.
A physical enhancement technique, scorned in this age as useless magic. His spellschool. She was from ten years in the future, and she had a spell named after him! Elating? Ego-boosting?
No.
Grimalkin’s mind came together in a conclusion as he threw a jab, blocked, took a punch from that desperate girl, and it was an insight like how he’d once predicted Erin Solstice had come from the future.
A spell imitating my abilities. I made this. My work lives on. It was not fruitless.
And I am dead. Because I would have never named it that.
A chill on his soul. Then he wasn’t Grimalkin, taking blows and trading them with a stranger. He was Grimalkin, trapped in a Solstice event, and he had forgotten how it hurt. That look in her eyes.
——
Senior Guardsman Relc was one of the few people not trying to do magical commentary or just watching the battle as a show. He was latched onto the real matter at hand. Which was that this young woman was from…the future?
How? He didn’t get it, and he was piecing it together with the strangeness of Mrsha, the other stuff. He wasn’t a bright guy, but he had heard that last spell.
Like a puzzle, Relc was putting it together in his head. And he regarded the young woman, brown-furred, and wondered who she was. Because she had known the inn. A stranger?
It was the clues.
The burning fur. The collar around her neck. The way she had that floating quill which wrote each spell out—and the confirmation was the last thing as she pulled back.
“[Relc Kick]!”
The Sinew Magus dodged back reflexively, then surged at her, but he ate a [Burst of Air] spell. The young woman caught her breath, staggering; she’d lost the fistfight, but she wrote in the air with her wand.
Invoco spiritus venti, principem qui singula caeli elementa vincit.
Concede mihi flatum et corpus procellarum furentium, quae singula flamina sunt procellae.
In Ryoka Griffini nomine—
She wrote it in a blur of letters, faster than speech, and Valeterisa gasped.
“Incantation spells? Wait, does that say—”
The Sinew Magus charged up the hill to stop her. Relc didn’t need that nor the rest of it. He was just thinking—Relc kick? It worked as a distraction. People thought it was a real Skill, even when it wasn’t.
Then he gazed at her, at a young Gnoll woman about eighteen, and counted forwards ten years.
“Mrsha?”
——
Grimalkin broke the incantation before it could activate. The Sinew Magus knocked the young woman off her feet, and he was striking down to subdue her. He had an [Orb of Air] spell on his fist—and it went dead as something kissed his scales.
A blade. It numbed his hand, pierced his enchantments, and stopped on his back. A familiar blade—a terrifying one.
Relc’s spear, enchanted to kill [Mages], was on Grimalkin’s back. The [Spearmaster] had moved, lunging into the battle in a moment.
“Relc!”
“It’s Mrsha.”
That was all the other Drake said. He whirled away even as Grimalkin reflexively threw an elbow, and the Sinew Magus stopped. He peered down—then up as the young woman kicked away, cursing. Grimalkin blinked at her, and then he saw it.
If you aged her up; the collar, of course. Her face and—the reason she fought like one of his students, as if he’d taught her—
Brown, desperate eyes. A snarl on her face as she charged at him. The Sinew Magus touched at his chest. His scales were torn. He was bruised, genuinely injured from the magic she’d cast, but suddenly—he felt like he’d taken an actual mortal wound.
Grimalkin gazed up at Mrsha, an adult Mrsha charging him. Then she hit him in the face with her [Lucky Strike]. It never came like you expected it.
“—And we are live with Magus Grimalkin on the ropes! I don’t know what’s going on or why he’s fighting—or who, but we have very angry callers! One Lady Pryde Ulta is insisting he’s throwing the fight! I don’t know if that’s true or not, but the Sinew Magus is—”
Drassi was running commentary behind Mrsha, and a name registered in Grimalkin’s head. For a second, just for a second, he froze up.
“Pryd—”
Then Mrsha clocked him in the face, and he saw stars. The Sinew Magus backed up and saw she’d bound two Tier 2 spells into her fists. He raised his hands—then just stood there.
“I cannot.”
The Drake lowered his fists, tensed his core muscles, and covered his face. He felt the first punch hit him square in the stomach—then in his armguard, unleashing a flare of electricity, then wind. The young woman kept punching, casting spells, unleashing everything she had on—
Her furious assault slowed, Tier 2 spells striking the Sinew Magus. Hitting a figure whose heels were dug into the earth, who didn’t react as she struck him. Spells, jolts of electricity, fire, a piercing needle of ice breaking on a body of tensed muscle.
Sinew. Mrsha stepped back, panting, and the audience saw Sinew Magus Grimalkin slowly, slowly lower his arms. He wore a grimace on his face, but when he flexed his arms, torn scales revealing bloody flesh—he seemed like an unbroken statue. Mrsha lowered her arms, panting, and then sat down on the ground.
“I…can’t…even knock you down?”
She fell onto her back as the Sinew Magus stood there. The Fist Mage of Pallass, who’d just taken the barrage of punches and spells. Indomitable. Invincible.
His eyes found the camera, and the Sinew Magus looked at only one person as he stared silently at the audience. A [Lady], whom he could not speak to directly, separated by hundreds of miles. Watching him. The Drake’s back was straight, his posture perfect.
Grimalkin.
——
Valeterisa floated over after the applause had ended and the fight stopped. Despite all the young woman’s accomplishments, spellcraft, and magical knowledge, the results were clear. Pallass’ stocks were up: nothing and no one could beat down Grimalkin. That final display where he just refused to even fight had proven that.
Archmage Valeterisa understood that Grimalkin’s actions had less to do with his desire to prove his superiority and more to do with other factors. And she was curious. So…she reached out and poked one of his raw, exposed muscles as he stood there, panting.
Grimalkin looked at her. Valeterisa hesitated.
“Um. Sorry. I observe that’s not actual Galas muscle yet, but very close. You have quite a lot of it. Very commendable. Did that hurt?”
“Yes.”
She supposed this was not a good time, then, to ask him for a sample. Valeterisa drifted over to the young woman, who was just staring up at the sky as rain drenched her fur. She seemed oddly relaxed despite all that fighting. When Valeterisa tried to pull a few hairs out of her leg fur, she yelped.
“Ow! Who the hell is—”
She sat up and saw Valeterisa. The Archmage tried to pocket the fur unobtrusively. She waved a vague hand.
“Hello…Mri. I believe, for the sake of the televised audience, that is the best nom de guerre to use? In the future, is summoning [Familiars] commonplace or is that merely a spell of utility? No, wait, I had a list of questions I made in case I ever managed to scry the future. I left it back in my mansion. Hold on, let me remember it…”
She was very excited. Everyone else seemed to be treating future-Mrsha with some reservations. Relc was explaining what he’d realized to Montressa and Bezale, and he seemed disturbed, for lack of a better word. So too was Magus Grimalkin; Drassi was trying to get an interview, but Montressa’s barriers were keeping her back.
The young woman was fascinating to Valeterisa, who was running analyses and finding everything about the young woman spoke of a more advanced time of magic. Even her spellcasting had small efficiencies in it, and if Valeterisa could get the girl’s spellbook or have her cast every spell she knew…
You see, at this point, Valeterisa believed Mrsha was from the future at about a…46% probability. She wasn’t convinced this wasn’t some other phenomenon, but the magical evidence spoke for itself. Regardless of what this was, the value was beyond compare. She was excited, in full analytical mode, even if she wasn’t running that many [Parallel Thoughts] at this time, and she’d forgotten.
She thought she was above the things that happened to other guests. The things that left them teary-eyed and trembling. As if Valeterisa had forgotten that she had once hurled herself out of the sky to apologize to her apprentice or that her meeting Relc was a Solstice event. She was busy analyzing Mrsha’s body, about to ask about the curious scars or why the girl was dying her fur, when the young woman sat up.
“Archmage Valeterisa. You’re Valeterisa, right? I’ve only ever seen you from afar.”
“Interesting. That implies you and I never met. This is correct. I am Valeterisa. Hello! Can you name any Tier 6 spells in the future? Did Wistram ever get past Zelkyr’s last test? What is the most foundational accomplishment in spellcraft to be discovered in the next ten years? Addendum to that, where and who discovered the magic? Were there any spell tomes uncovered in locations of note and—”
The Archmage of Izril was chattering away as Mrsha rubbed at her ears, wiped at a bloody nose, sniffed, and just peered at her. Mrsha’s eyes were tired, she was trembling with mana fatigue, but she uncorked a bottle, sipped from a mana potion, and didn’t let Archmage Valeterisa steal it to inspect. She eyed Valeterisa and then said:
“Archmage Valeterisa. Even if you go to them with all your wealth, even if you brought them a million gold pieces, Fissival will never let the Djinni Heorth leave. They’ll go to war first.”
“—if you knew where they were and had a list of…which ones…were most important…”
Valeterisa’s mouth stopped moving. She floated there, a few feet off the ground, staring at Mrsha with her spectacles aglow with light. Then, abruptly, she landed on the wet grass. Rain poured down off the magical barrier on her head; it clung to the young woman’s fur, beading along the ends. Mrsha’s eyes were brown and dark in the night.
“How—time is uncertain. They w—I have sway in—circumstances are not as you would know them, in your time. That is a fact.”
She realized her voice was trembling. Valeterisa tried to partition off her emotions, but she couldn’t. All of her [Parallel Thoughts], from 1-10, were focused on the girl.
Valeterisa Subprime: She’s not correct. She is attempting to rattle you.
Valeterisa Think-of-Apprentice-Montressa: We don’t even know she’s from the future.
Valeterisa Emotions: Ow.
Valeterisa Relc: Relc’s hurting too. We have walked into a trap.
Valeterisa Action: Evade. Evade—
All of them shut up as Mrsha breathed the next words. And they felt that sensation, like someone dancing on their grave. Fate doing a tap-dance on the piano wire of fate as someone hit the entire tapestry with a hammer.
“They will not. I know it because everyone heard about it. The Archmage’s War. One woman versus a Walled City. Until people rose up in support of her and Fissival stomped them down, like it will do. Like they’ll all do. They will never let you free him because they think they can control you. So long as there’s someone you love in Fissival, that’s how it ends. I don’t know who he is. But they’ll kill the clockmaker to force you to stop.”
The Archmage of Izril’s face had gone deathly pale. She swayed there, untethered, and then peeked around.
“A-apprentice? Apprentice? …Relc?”
He was there before Montressa. Relc scooped up Valeterisa in a hug and looked down. She hugged him tight, and he met Mrsha’s eyes; she flinched, guilty, but Relc just spoke in a soothing voice.
“I got you, Valley. I warned you. C’mon, let’s get inside. You too, kiddo. It’s wet out here.”
Mrsha blinked at Relc, then at the water all around her. She splashed at it.
“Wow. Yeah. It is. Sorry.”
She tried to get up and then took Relc’s claw as he pulled her up. They exchanged glances, and Relc’s gaze had that intense pain, but he grinned. Brushed at her hair.
“You turned out pretty good, kid. Why don’t you have a spear, though? Spears are cooler than swords.”
He indicated the unused shortsword at her hip, and she made a face.
“You have to use a spear with two hands.”
“Right. [Mages].”
That was all he said. He carried Valeterisa towards the inn, and Mrsha followed after a second, gazing around. After a minute, Magus Grimalkin trooped after them, and he coughed as he came to the crowd.
“Excuse me. Does anyone have a lower-grade healing potion I could take a sip of?”
——
Ishkr kept staring at Mrsha as she sat at a table in the [World’s Eye Theatre]. They’d moved her there; everyone wanted a word, and the spies were getting into a frenzy. Ishkr didn’t know who she was—yet.
Relc hadn’t really been able to tell him. He’d just gotten everyone moving. That was what a [Guardsman] did. Every time someone had a question, like Montressa—
“So how are you here—no, is there something you need to tell us!?”
He’d interrupt them all and say—
“Not yet, Montressa. Let’s get somewhere private. Move it along, folks. Nothing to see here!”
And it worked. They sat in the [World’s Eye Theatre] as Magus Grimalkin finished winding bandages around his scabbed and healing flesh. He’d taken no swigs of a healing potion after all. He glanced down as Mrsha stopped poking him with a wand.
“[Regrow Flesh]. And it has no…consequences?”
“Oh, tons. But it’s good for lower-level wounds, and you can, uh, sort of cut off parts you make a mistake on. It’s not easy, but in my world, see, the Eir Reef died, and no one ever figured out a replacement. So people used spells. I wish I could cast [Restoration], but that’s beyond me.”
“You know a Tier 5 spell?”
That was Bezale’s wary comment. Mrsha grimaced.
“A…weak one. I don’t have the pure mana to cast a big one. I’m only Level 31.”
“Level 31?”
Montressa chorused with Relc in astonishment. The [Aegiscaster] was higher level than that, and she felt like Mrsha would have steamrolled her! But Grimalkin just grunted as he cast the spell and flesh and scales grew over one arm.
“Like this?”
“Slower. You do it really slow or you can make your scales grow in backwards. I did that once with my fur.”
She shuddered, and Grimalkin modulated the spell to the barest crawl. This was evidence enough, more than any knowledge she could muster. Now he knew a spell, a healing spell, however low-grade. It would change the world. He would.
She was no idiot. She had to know the ramifications. This was Mrsha, true, but she didn’t appear thoughtless. When she glanced at him, the Sinew Magus was afraid. Mrsha went on, voice casual.
“You’re not surprised, Magus Grimalkin?”
He shrugged and instantly made a mistake with the spell. His skin regrew, but as he shifted, it formed a little ripple in his flesh. He stared at it—pulled and felt the flap of skin. Mrsha winced.
“Ew.”
Grimalkin…dealt with that as he replied.
“[Mages] of previous eras are as strong as magical knowledge permits. Levels permit higher-level casting. In theory, anyone with magical potential could cast any tier of magic they wanted with practice and knowledge. During the Creler Wars, Level 20 [Mages] were expected to all know [Siege Fireball] as a matter of course.”
“So magic does improve in ten years! Amazing!”
Montressa exclaimed, and Mrsha gave her a funny look.
“Yeah. I’m…not sure what sharing this is going to do. The rules are, um, different. Look, I just came here to learn how Erin came back to life. In my world, she’s still sleeping. But I’ll wake her up. Just tell me how.”
Everyone else reacted to that as you might expect. Grimalkin had already put that part together. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of this.
Chaos. Pain. The pain part scared him the most. When he opened his eyes, everyone was asking Mrsha questions, but cautiously now. Valeterisa was writing down spells, and Mrsha’s eyes were aglow with hope.
A world without Erin Solstice. Strangely, it did sound bleaker, even if it was just one woman. Grimalkin of Pallass stood there, arms folded, unsure of what to say or do.
“You don’t know Lady Pryde in connection to me, do you?”
—Of all the questions, he asked that? Bezale’s head turned sharply, but Future Mrsha just shook her head, frowning.
“No. Why?”
“She’s a business…person dear to me.”
Grimalkin hesitated mid-reply, and the answer drew everyone’s attention. Mrsha’s eyes went wide, and she almost smiled, then she shook her head. Her gaze—ah, he’d seen it before.
He’d seen it on the battlefield. Worn it himself. The gaze of a soldier speaking to someone who was dead but didn’t know it. Grimalkin felt his scales crawling all over as they regrew. She met his eyes.
“Did you like how I fought, Grimalkin?”
“It was superb. Your execution needs practice, but the theory? Splendid.”
“That’s good. You taught it to me. I just kept practicing.”
That shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. Grimalkin forced a smile.
“Binding a [Siege Fireball] into a fist?”
She ducked her head with a grin.
“That’s unique to me because of my Skills. But everyone does it. They call it a ‘Grimalkin Greeting.’ There are tons of [Mages] who use physical magic these days. That technique is the one everyone knows. You’re famous for it.”
The young woman held his gaze, and she seemed old. Old as Erin Solstice, too aged by whatever reality she came from. She whispered the next part, voice pained and cracked, someone who had seen it. Seen him.
“They say—they say it surprised even the Death of Magic. There was no television, though. That’s all I know. Don’t go to war, Magus Grimalkin. You won’t come back.”
The dead Drake shivered and then became a living person once again. But forever, forever, he’d know where one version of him had gone and died and—
Fate. How treacherous it is. The Sinew Magus sat down.
“I see. Ishkr?”
He called out, and the Gnoll raised his head from above the seats where he’d been spying on them. Ishkr’s mouth remained open, and Magus Grimalkin eyed him.
“I’ll take a Firebreath Whiskey, on the rocks. Make it four shots.”
He usually didn’t, but he had a feeling he needed a drink.
——
The Sinew Magus of Pallass was having a stiff drink. Archmage Valeterisa was hiding from someone magically fascinating rather than engaging. Ishkr was…nervous.
If you needed more proof that something was off, well, Alevica didn’t know what else you’d ask for. Erin Solstice getting serious and intense? They’d done that, thanks. She didn’t have a second Oliyaya to lose.
Guess it’ll be me next. Wow, that’s depressing. I need some of Eloise’s tea.
The [Witch] was hopping mad. She’d spent nearly an hour combing Nanette’s room and the inn, trying to see if the young [Witch] was up to bad magic. And there were lots of bad magics that Alevica didn’t partake in but she knew.
Every [Witch] had…moments. Moments when you just wanted to burn down a house rather than deal with the idiots inside. Moments that had drawn you to witchcraft. Her two apprentices, Cirsa and Malluni, were prime examples of the rage and despair that could drive you into becoming a bad witch.
That’s why Oliyaya had been so genius. She’d taught them to scare people, to cast hexes and curses and vent that pain into the world. But not go too far. Alevica could only hope she could do the same for those two, and for Arcanis, the Vampire boy.
What was bad witchcraft? It wasn’t being selfish. Alevica was a poster-girl for witchcraft that was nasty, but not bad. Trip someone? Make someone’s life miserable? Even break up a couple out of spite? Oh, it was mean, but it didn’t cross the line into badness as [Witches] thought of it.
Now, if she’d stolen someone’s lover with a potion and done it to ruin them? That was bad magic. If she started sacrificing things that weren’t hers? People’s treasures, physical, emotional, or otherwise? If she started sacrificing animals?
Bad magic. Lots of it was stuff that hurt you—you gave up too much and then it changed you forever. Alevica had looked for any trace of it and found nothing. So she was royally pissed at Arrema.
When she heard the Gnoll was in the [World’s Eye Theatre], Alevica came striding into it. An Antinium tried to stop her.
Goldbody clotheslined Alevica as she tried to get past him, and she clutched at her stomach, wheezing.
“I’m…a friend of the inn!”
The Soldier held up a rolling pin of censorship—until Rosencrantz came over and spotted her.
“Oh, Witch Alevica. She is probably fine to allow through, Goldbody. Though she is a troublemaker. Excuse me—Dalimont? Can we let Alevica through?”
They went away, and Alevica got her breath back as she was okayed. She limped past the Soldier, giving him a baleful look and resolving not to try running past an Antinium again. They were faster than they looked.
When she got to the [World’s Eye Theatre], the scene played itself out in front of her. Drinking Grimalkin. Valeterisa hugging Relc—in fear, that was the new part—and Ishkr, nervous.
Her wrath faded, and she felt her own flicker of apprehension as she peeked around.
“What’s going on? Who is that?”
She asked Grimalkin, on the basis that he knew most things. The Sinew Magus glanced at her.
“Witch Alevica. This should not instantly go back to Laken Godart. Nor Pallass. Perhaps I should eject you.”
He half-rose, and Alevica lifted her hands fast; she did not want to tangle with the Sinew Magus. She’d seen some of the fight from the window.
“Hey, hey, he doesn’t have to know. This is witch business. I was checking on Mrsha! Witch Thallisa told me to come here; take it up with her!”
Grimalkin hesitated. He eyed her severely, but Mrsha’s name made him twitch. He sat, hard, and took another huge gulp of his drink.
“Appropriate. Keep it to [Witches]. This is a scenario they are called for, I think—better them than Wistram. This should be a convening of all six Walled Cities, and I should…I should. But what would they do? Exactly what I suspect. Without Chaldion. No.”
He was muttering to himself. Morose. So un-Grimalkin-like that Alevica began to gird herself against whatever was coming. She adjusted her hat as she stepped closer to Arrema. Who was she?
She blazed with [Mage] magic. Her emotions were a mix of relief, anxiety, guilt, and—hope. Such a blur of it. Everyone had strong emotions. But hers were in flux, and she was talking.
“You never did.”
“For ten years?”
Ishkr was sitting with Arrema, and the two had forgotten their quarrels. Arrema was…angry, but not at him. She was giving him a sad, searching stare.
“No. You got rich, though. Famous. Ishkr the Server of Fables. You dropped the tales bit. I think they all liked the idea of it. I…I stopped talking to you. I was angry. You sent money back all the time at the start. You still might. I dunno.”
“And I work for Larracel?”
She shook her head as Alevica paused, frowning, confused. Arrema lifted three fingers.
“Three years Larracel. Then Barnethei starts his own inn. You join that. But never…you never pass Level 50. I don’t think you even get much into Level 40. You just—stop. You don’t fight. You don’t do much, I think.”
“I was afraid to go further. That sounds like me.”
Ishkr was looking at his paws, shaken. By what? A prophecy? Fortune telling? The girl didn’t fit any description like that. Alevica cleared her throat.
“Hey. You. Who the hell are you?”
It came out more aggressive than she thought. Arrema looked up.
“Mrsha from ten years in the future. A future where Erin Solstice never wakes up.”
“Hah. Good one. I’m Alevica if she was trying to be nice to people. What’s really going on?”
Alevica turned to the others and got flat, dully-amused smiles. Pitying expressions. She wavered and then swallowed. Hard.
“That’s a bad joke. That’s impossible, even for Erin. That—”
Someone brushed past her. Grimalkin sat back down, cradling his drink. Mrsha, an older Mrsha—and Alevica saw the similarities now—crooked her head at him.
“More questions?”
“Not about my end. So not once—did you know me?”
“Six years.”
His eyes were steady. She flinched and tightened her paws on the table, but Grimalkin had so little fear. He had that grim focus of [Soldiers]. But there was a different kind of anxiety Alevica saw in him, growing, all-consuming.
“Not once in six years did I ever visit the north? House Ulta? Was I…alone?”
Mrsha swallowed. She studied him and replied honestly. Alevica knew the answer in the sorrow in the girl’s emotions before the words came out.
“You had tons of apprentices. You visited the inn a lot and tried to help. You were always surrounded by people. I think, yes. You were lonely.”
Slowly, the great Drake closed his eyes. The fear spiked—and then turned to acceptance, and that made Alevica afraid, because there were so many ways that could go.
“Thank you. I have to call someone.”
Without a word, he stood and walked away, and Alevica was next. The Witch Runner turned to flee.
I didn’t sign up for this. Mrsha called out at her back.
“I don’t remember you. Sorry. I don’t know everything. I knew Valeterisa because it was…news. You don’t forget that. I didn’t like the Unseen Empire. It wasn’t all his fault. Bad things happened—but I held a grudge against him for Nanette.”
Nanette. Alevica turned, gripping the tip of her hat tightly, her wand in the other hand, though neither would do much good.
“What—what happened to her? She’s okay. She’s here in the inn.”
Mrsha’s eyes widened fractionally, and she let out a huge breath.
“Good. I didn’t know that. In my world, she didn’t ever come here until…she was old. In my world, she’s a bad witch.”
“Why? What d—her hat.”
Alevica knew the answer already. Future Mrsha gave her another curious look and shrugged. She felt at something on her neck as she replied.
“I don’t know. I’ve only met her half a dozen times. She’s got a bounty on her head, and she works with…no. Just don’t let it happen. In my world, Alevica, she commands the power of water. It’s always raining when she arrives. They call her the Witch of Sorrow. I think she killed a Great Witch who tried to stop her. Witch Eloise?”
Mrsha’s gaze had no familiarity in it. Her words were delivered without deep emotion. Someone recounting facts she’d heard. That’s why they cut. Alevica backed away. Then she ran.
To get reinforcements.
Mrsha watched the Witch Runner flee, and then she sought out the others. No one wanted to meet her eyes. Her smile was a split line of despair across her face. From a future where it had gone so wrong. Her eyes glittered with terrible certainty, and a desire to unmake it.
“Anyone else have questions?”
——
“What do you think’s going on in the inn? I sort of want to check.”
Student Rags was glancing up at the ceiling in the [Palace of Fates]. Chieftain Rags grunted as she inspected the root going into the door.
“No clue. Hey, Rianchi, what possessed you to enter this door?”
“Uh—uh—it was the closest one?”
He flinched at the glower she gave him, but Chieftain Rags sighed. She stood up, then stretched her back.
“Well, we’re not wasting another one. Alright, you have to come with me. I’m going in. Let’s meet back here in two hours.”
Everyone turned to her, and Student Rags’ eyes lit up. Chieftain Rags was standing in front of the door. The one leading to the future.
“You’re going through?”
“We need help. Knowledge. Spells—and besides, the Mrsha of this world met Rianchi. I need to speak to her. You go to your world, and we’ll meet Mrsha here. One of them.”
Chieftain Rags met Student Rags’ eyes. She was playing it cool, but they were both Rags. Student Rags knew how terrified the other Goblin was, how uncertain—at least, she hoped they were alike enough not to be alone in this. She shook her head.
“No. Way. If you’re going to the future, I have to see it.”
“No. You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
“I helped you. Come on! You’re me! Would you really let yourself stop you from seeing your future?”
It was such a confusing sentence that the other Rags paused, then tried to hide a grin. They both grinned at each other, and Rianchi shifted from foot to foot. The other Redfangs were excited too.
“I’m coming with you, Chieftain.”
Redscar would brook no argument, and Dyeda grabbed Rianchi’s arm.
“Where he goes, I go!”
“That makes five. That’s probably enough for a brief visit. I don’t…see Mrsha in there, but it’s only showing the inn. It’s going to be sad.”
Chieftain Rags warned them all, and they nodded. Then, one by one, they grabbed the root and pulled themselves into the doorway. Rianchi did pause at one point, staring at the root as if trying to remember if he’d placed it just there or if it had moved slightly. But then they vanished. In the door of the future.
On a journey with absolutely, 200% no consequences.
——
Doors. Strangers from different times. Strangers to different times.
A Gnoll girl and a group of [Knights] stood in front of Brunkr in a room full of dead Raskghar.
A young Drake woman spun, and [Reporter] Visma saw five Goblins tumble into the inn and recoiled. On Mrsha’s birthday no less.
And in The Wandering Inn, Lyonette du Marquin returned, exhausted and tired, and her first question was:
“Mrsha? Where’s Mrsha?”
Hethon pointed, and Lyonette strode forwards, through the inn. Into a theatre, and her eyes roamed around for her daughter. She did not see her child, thin or otherwise. Instead, Nanette playing cards at a table with Relc and a stranger. They all stood as Lyonette ran down to her, and Rhisveri snorted.
“See? All’s well if cards are being played…”
“Lyonette!”
Nanette wavered and the young woman across from her tossed down her cards; she had all [Kings].
“That’s how you do it. Um, hi there, Lyonette.”
The [Princess] slowed as she eyed the stranger, a young woman with brown fur and odd…clothing. She was about to demand where Mrsha was, and Ushar, but then she slowed to take in the odd apparel the stranger wore. She was a tall, brown-furred Gnoll woman. Wearing…a kilt? Adventurer’s gear. And her face looked so familiar and—Lyonette felt lightheaded.
“Excuse me, I need to know where Mrsha is. Now. And you. Do I know…?”
“Mrsha is upstairs, Lyonette. Ushar has something to report. But this is…this is..um…”
Nanette faltered, as she tried to explain, and Lyonette felt the tension in her chest ease at the reassuring words. But then she focused on the stranger.
The young woman gave her a lopsided, pained smile and eyed Lyonette up and down. She stared blankly at Visophecin and gave Rhisveri a long, hard glower. But she shrugged. She raised a paw and said:
“Hi, Mom.”
They’d never done it before, but to their intense embarrassment when they woke up, Ser Dalimont’s eyes rolled up into his head and he swooned into Duke Rhisveri’s arms.
The Duke dropped him.
Author’s Note:
I may have to start doing this from now on.
Working with a backlog, that is. I’m a chapter up; the next one is written, if not edited, and it makes a huge difference. Ideally, I’d be fully one edited chapter ahead, but the backlog slips the longer the month goes.
A week to edit versus a day or two makes a vast difference, and I hate to admit it, but I might need to take pains to do it from now on. Until now, I felt like I needed the pressure of writing to get the work done, but things change.
Oh, how they change. For the better, hopefully, in writing, but you’re always supposed to push, and evolve as a writer. If ever the day comes when you stop learning, however old you are, I think that’s when you’re done as a writer. You probably have a good amount of time, but you’ve ceased evolving.
Unlike Pokemon, you don’t run out of evolutions, but evolving is hard. This is my essay on writing written for a modern audience.
…This arc is high-stakes as they ever have been. Volume 10 isn’t over, and it won’t be with this arc. But somehow, each Christmas, I bring you a gift along with Santa. My gift contains suffering.
I should work on that. One thing at a time. But I think, if you’ll indulge me, that this year has been one of the healthier years for me, personally, and another year where I see improvement as a writer. Because I’ve stopped writing as frantically, but am upping quality.
Quantity doesn’t always go down either; the next chapter is like 47,000 words BEFORE edits. So look forwards to that if that’s what you want.
However, I think you might agree that the average level of each chapter has risen and we’ve had a streak of good ones. Why? I can only thank beta readers and this new system. If you agree, of course.
If not—go read the webcomic. It’s updating twice a weeeeek! Tuesdays and Fridays, though like me, the exact time might not always be consistent. Thank you to everyone who’s subscribing and enjoying the comic so far.
Here we go. Better and better. There’s your optimism for the end of the year.
(What pirateaba failed to tell them was that they were also getting better at writing sad and horrific things.)
Okay, wish me luck. I’m gonna go until I’m called away for rest or family stuff.
—pirateaba
Maid Ryoka, Teacher, and Ieka by LunarTactician!
Valley by Stargazing Selphid!
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Redfang Sword by BrazyCanana!
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Ressa by JuanD!
Rags and Goblin as a Duck by Wing!
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Teacher ‘Peril’ by Lanrae!
Pebblesnatch Brew by LeChatDemon!
DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal
Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0
Teacher Hiring by Gridcube!
Good Drake by Fern!
Rockerton by Anito!
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Rags Teaching by Manuel!
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Duck Pisces and Duck Rags by XwriZ!
Mentor Ressa by jawjee!