10.43 – RNG (Pt. 1)

<Hey everyone, there’s a livestream coming with our new narrators, Matt from Matt’s Book Reviews, and me! Well, I’ll be typing, but we will be having The Wandering Inn’s first collaborative livestream on July 29th at 3:30 PST! What you should know is I’ll be answering questions about The Wandering Inn, or at least, responding to them! If you submit a question in the form, I might read it! Fill it the form in the link here:

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Pre-Chapter Note:

I just finished listening to Beka Cooper’s entire series by Tamora Pierce. I’ve listened to Book 1 and Book 2…at least half a dozen times each. I had the audiobooks, but I never had the last one because times were tough and audiobook credits were scarce. Now I can afford to buy them myself, I finally listened to the final book in the series after probably 16 years of waiting. I wasn’t disappointed. She was always one of my favorite authors as a kid…

The thing about good stories is that it makes you want to write. To copy, try what you saw, do the thing that you wanted to focus on. Tamora Pierce was always one of my heroines as an author for the tales she told. She’s got a Patreon, if anyone here grew up on her stories like I did.

Anyways, doing some experimental writing because we shouldn’t ever stop trying weird new things.

—pirateaba

 

 

 

 

Records of Pathforger 77-1 of the former Wending Hills colony, now integrated under the designation ‘Blindman’s Pact’ station. Entry #40.

 

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Or I’ve made contact with another colony or Pathforger group large enough to surrender these records. Those are the two options I envision—the third being that you’re Niers Astoragon and you’ve somehow managed to decode my writings.

If so, congratulations. You’re even smarter than we think you are. I know for a fact it’s not easy; even a [Translation] spell only gives you gibberish.

It’s one thing to translate languages, written or otherwise, another to codebreak a cipher, and our written codes are all encrypted. If you were smart, you would have picked up on the translation-codes in the journal, but those won’t do you any good unless you know our language.

Since I’m writing this as if you’re reading this, let me first explain how damn hard it is to write anything with tiny hooves. Doing this with fingers? Infinitely easier. But with a hoof, all you can do is scratch at the ground. Words, the common tongue, can be done, but it’s tiring. So we adopted the chickenscratch design, throwing in our hoofprints, and the owners laugh at our silly writing in the dirt.

Enough mewling. This is a record of events, my debt to Erin Solstice, my attempt to move us even an inch closer to completing one of the Trials of Levelling, and my journey since landing in Baleros.

Normally, it would be a record for another Pathforger in my hoofsteps to use to copy my identity or continue pushing an objective. I’m sure the Pathforger assigned to The Wandering Inn read my notes. However…I don’t think anyone’s copying me this time.

I’d say that’s terrifying, but I’m beyond terror, I think. I have the greatest opportunity afforded to any Sariant Lamb since Eydole the Creator’s death. Damn her to torture in the afterlife, if there is one still. I can’t mess this up. This record, since my last ones were lost at sea or are still in the inn, will at least steady my mind. It’s a habit. So, to outline myself for any other colonies I may meet, here is my background.

I am Pathforger 77-1, the seventy-seventh member of my colony to be sent on an objective that advances the Trials of Levelling. First of my particular assignment, formerly to The Wandering Inn. Sometimes…that number is different. 6-173, I think, is the highest number of Pathforgers sent on a task that I know of on Izril’s shores. One hundred and seventy-three Pathforgers who tried to cutesy up to Barnvorr the Madman and earn his respect. He ate half of them, and it came to naught.

We know the odds. I’ve been ‘training’, as much as a Sariant Lamb can train, since I was old enough to walk. I don’t know how other continents’ colonies do it, but Pathforgers are volunteers. It’s too much stress and pressure for other lambs to do the job; they’re just told to make themselves cute, gain their owners’ sympathies, and to report in and do small tasks for the colony.

Gather intelligence. Smuggle food out if not all of the colony is being fed. Nab a magical item—rarely. Mostly, the largest task a Sariant Lamb that’s not a Pathforger will be asked to do is poison a mutt that enjoys savaging us, or stand lookout while a braver lamb does what has to be done.

My name is Nerry. I’m not sure if it’s my Petname or…my real one. Half the Wild Colonies would spit on me just for using it, but I like it. It’s Nerry, short for ‘Nerrhavia’, as in the Immortal Tyrant. Even if it was suggested to me by my last owners…they’re a special case, and I like it.

 

——

 

I’ve written the summary of my actions at The Wandering Inn and my other observations about Nanette Weishart, Ryoka Griffin, and Erin Solstice as Pathfriends above. Any Sariant colony who reads this journal will understand it is paramount to keep them alive. Pathfriends are so rare…few people can even hear of the Trials of Levelling and not forget. Let alone be on our side.

Not that I plan for this journal to be in anyone’s hands…but I have put some signals out, publicly. Assuming any lambs could read my foot gestures. If they have, I haven’t made contact with any, yet.

I’m alone. Baleros has few colonies I know of. I shall make do.

What else shall I say? I wrote of how I got here. It has been about a week since Niers Astoragon admitted me into his academy. I think I’ve played the part of Erin Solstice well enough, but I have my doubts.

He’s smart. Too smart, and I don’t know her. Ryoka already seems to have suspicions, and despite my ‘Warform’ abilities from that Lucifen, Paxere, I can’t display any of Erin’s actual Skills.

I can only do as I swore when I awoke with Silvenia’s magic on me. It might be a joke from the Death of Magic or perhaps a simple trick to save the truly important person’s life, Erin’s. Or perhaps she knows? If so, she’s not on any list of Pathfriends I’ve ever known. Regardless—

I have sworn to push forwards the Trials of Levelling as far as I can while I am disguised as Erin Solstice. I have also sworn to make myself the magnet to attract all the death drawn her way. The two are connected; if I impress or terrify foes above Level 56 while I am ‘her’, I fulfill the pact. So don’t think it’s all self-sacrifice and a debt to her.

I have one chance. If I die, let me die bringing us one step closer to that promised day. Or let the illusion break and cast us into despair that we may emerge from the other side at last. We are drowning in these shallow seas of indifference, unnoticed, uncared for, the cute creatures who never desired to be made thusly. Such unserious waters, but our limbs can barely tread a puddle’s length. Let us have our promised levels or drown.

So we pray.

 

 

Entry #41 — Strategy and bodies.

 

No matter how many times I wake up, I cannot get used to being a Human. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dreamed of it, and I’m sure you have as well, if you’re a Pathforger like me.

It feels…amazing. I know Erin’s no Grimalkin, no great warrior, and I doubt it copied any Skill-based strength she has, the transformation spell. But she feels strong.

She’s twenty-one years old, I think. In the prime of her life. When I kick the silk sheets off me, I can leap to my feet, even do a cartwheel. And I am exercising.

Sariant Lambs, you might think you’re tough, that you can run fast, and that you’re strong—for our people. But it’s nothing like the ability to reach down, pick something up, and feel muscle, real muscle working. In my old body, I was considered to be the strongest of lambs because I could push a wheelbarrow a few dozen paces by myself.

Erin runs. Erin’s body can dance, spin, kick, punch—

 

——

 

My hand still hurts from punching the wall, so I’m writing this with my other. At least Sariant Lamb cipher is easy to write, regardless of hand.

I may get a tad exuberant when no one is watching me. And there are downsides! The nose is one.

It drips. It has boogers. It…it’s gross. Sariant Lambs have noses, obviously, but not a proboscis like Humans do. As for Human physiology, it’s weird. It’s so much more reactive than a Sariant Lamb’s.

We were made by Eydole the Delightful, a Level 69 [Beast Master] a mere 600 years ago. No one ever said she did it perfectly. Our limbs are too fragile. To make us the cutest animals in the world, she sacrificed all our ability to defend ourselves while enhancing our brains to be perfect pets. Well, she made us too smart, but part of her compromises were sacrifices to our…what does Geneva call it?

Ah, yes. ‘Nervous systems’. We don’t have the same level of nerve endings as Humans. To a Sariant, things feel ‘bad’, like if our hoof gets crushed or we’re hurt, or ‘good’.

There’s no in-between. No fine sensation, just levels of pleasure because we’re supposed to be good-natured little shits. Human bodies?

When I stub my toe or crack a finger, I can tell you exactly how much that fucking smarts. Erin’s body is delightfully unhappy sometimes. If I eat too many hot pepper dishes, it comes out in the bathroom, and I’m not happy.

It’s great. But also concerning, because it attunes me to other things I didn’t even realize about myself. Like, uh…

Well, let me describe the recent problem I’ve encountered in Niers’ company headquarters in the city of Elvallian. He’s put me up in the top rooms in his academy, and I’m given a free run of the place. I have guards—I can tell they’re there, and the Bushrangers led by Daly Sullivan guard me as well, but I am being treated like his honored guest.

Ryoka’s here as well as Geneva and ‘Beth’, Geneva’s Selphid clone. The two [Doctors] are always doing research or setting up their medical equipment and such. More on them later. Ryoka? She’s in and out of Elvallian constantly, flying jobs for the local Runner’s Guild, visiting Tyrion Veltras, searching for Rabbiteater’s group.

I think I upset her. I haven’t told her—yet—who I am, but she’s stopped trying to hang out and talk out her feelings or cheer me up. She gives me the side-eye and whispers to Shaestrel, one of the ‘Winter Sprites’, a lot.

I like Shaestrel. There’s something about that little green Faerie, that tiny Human-like creature with insect-eyes and green gossamer wings, that makes me feel like she’s trustworthy. For one thing, I’m pretty sure she’s figured me out. For another, I respect anything as small as I am that can kill, that has power. She’s got power. So do the other Winter Faeries, but they’re always with Ryoka.

Hard to know who I can trust besides Ryoka on my mission. I’m worried she’ll freak out and accuse me of replacing Erin. If she turns on me, Niers Astoragon will boil and eat me, I’m sure of it.

But is he onto me? I fear he is.

 

——

 

“Alright, who here knows how to counter a [Knight]-charge with lances if they’ve got [Light Bridges]? Erin Solstice! Let’s see your Izrilian wisdom.”

He’s picking on me. I know he is, and the class knows he is. They shift, and four dozen pairs of eyes lock onto me, the ‘[Innkeeper]’, and then swing back to Niers as they wait for me to stand and report.

“I was going to say ‘pikes and crossbows’, Professor. But I bet that’s not the answer, huh?”

I try to speak like Erin would have, without respect, with that ironic way she has, or, if she’s playing it up, dimwitted-sounding. Or just—hard and intense, like I know she can be.

My smile’s good, but Niers never returns it. He scowls at me, and I feel my heart lurch, an unfamiliar sensation of anxiety coursing through me. Sariants never get anxious to the same degree as Humans.

“Unless that plan has your pikes able to move and reposition anywhere the enemy’s galloping, that formation is worthless against a mobile, magic-using army. I would have thought you’d seen better formations in all the battles you’ve survived.”

His tone isn’t quite icy, but it’s direct, without his usual raspy slowness when he likes you—right now, he’s the Professor, and he’s not taking it easy on me.

A sharp contrast to how he first received ‘Erin’ in his citadel. It could be because I’m in class. I asked him for lessons on strategy, and I’m getting them; he’s treating me like one of his special students, with high expectations.

But that’s not the Niers that I first met. There’s an aloofness to him. A sense of…I want to say spitefulness. As if he’s trying to tear down the façade of me. It makes my stomach turn into a knot, but all I can do is play the part.

Play the part…and also be as smart as I can, because Erin needs to be smart, and because I genuinely want to learn. So I give him one of her raised eyebrows.

“Gee, I dunno. I’ve seen lots of Drake spear-formations, but they seem, y’know, lame? I bet they’d be able to turn around and poke those horsies, but I thought that was a worse answer.”

I hear a snort from my audience, his higher-level students and younger-ones mixed. It’s probably from one of his senior students; the young ones are scared stiff of him. But the answer makes Niers pause and—grudgingly, I think—project an image of a bunch of Drakes lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on the board in his lecture hall.

He stands on his high lecturing podium, pointing a magical wand at the Drake formations, which makes me think I was correct.

“Drake spear-walls are famous for their adaptability. See their spears? Far shorter than regular pikes. But they can indeed pivot fast enough to brace even if a [Knight] charge gallops over their heads to strike them from the rear. Pikes have more trouble. Crossbows…is that your answer to everything, Erin?”

“I like crossbows. Numbtongue has lots.”

His eyes narrow as some of the students laugh, but I’m being honest here. I love crossbows. I have the custom-made one from Paeth on my hip, even here, and I love it. I wish my entire colony had them.

Crossbows and magical wands are the weapons I’ve trained with as a Sariant Lamb Pathforger. They’re some of the few weapons we can use, being without hands. All you have to do is aim and click—even if we have to pull the triggers with strings instead of fingers—and I’m a crack shot.

Even in Erin’s body, I’m a good shot. Niers throws up his hands.

“I suppose I’ll accept ‘crossbows’, but a sufficient amount of any kind of ranged weapon stops most foes, so it’s not impressive. I could down a thousand [Knights] with ten thousand [Slingers] without a casualty. I’ve done that. Alright, enough. Here’s the prompt: you’re a [Strategist] assigned with formulating a counter to an invading army of Terandrian [Knights]. Let’s call it the Order of Haegris; 2,000 [Knights] spoiling for a damn good fight. And they’ve brought 14,000 peasant [Conscripts] augmented by a core of actual [Soldiers] 4,000 strong. You have no intelligence other than this. Nor will you be fighting the battle. Devise a plan to repel this army at all costs. You have fifteen minutes.”

The class focuses fast. Niers was mostly just picking on me with the flash answer, but he does that—originality or quick replies win you points. This is a mixed class of junior students, like that [Princess] who’s only in her first year here, and his best students.

This is the real test—I write fast as the other students scrawl down their plans. It’s not something I’m familiar with, but this is something I’m passionate about studying. After fifteen silent minutes where Niers walks on our desks and offers comments—mostly to younger students—he begins evaluating our plans.

“Alright, let’s see how many of our people you just murdered. Who’s first? Hm, hmmm…Wil?”

No one’s particularly eager to get the Titan analyzing their warplans in front of the class in the mood he’s in. However, Wil Kallinad, a young [Lord] from Terandria, raises his head with a sigh as Niers projects the report onto the blackboard behind him. Wil always dresses formally in what he probably thinks is appropriate student attire. A fancy, lightweight vest over an undershirt of ruffled linen and pants—in this heat! Even in the magically-cooled classrooms, he looks stuffy, but he’s sharp.

He’s survived battles with [Pirates]; he’s one of the ‘special’ students everyone knows will become a good [Strategist] someday. I have him earmarked as someone to befriend or use, if I can. He’s a bit intimidated by Erin from his past meetings, but even more so by Niers.

But he’s sharp. He clears his throat as Niers looks at him.

“I see you’ve assumed this battle is taking place in Pheislant. Describe this plan of action to me, Strategist Kallinad.”

“Not to be flippant, sir, but in a word—trees?”

There’s faint laughter in the class, but Niers just inspects the lists of troops and their placement.

“Go on, Wil.”

The [Lord] explains.

“My sister’s a [Knight], and she talks about training with the lance, Professor. Trees, dense enough, would put paid to a [Knight] charge. You can see I’ve actually ordered for the construction of several traps.”

“Triplines stretched between tree cover, archers in the branches. Even trees ready to drop on them. It’s decent, but I counter with this: the Order of Haegris engages your forces in several bloody offensives that decimate their peasantry. Fewer [Knights] fall due to their damn armor, and they surrender. After debate, a core of two hundred [Knights] breaks off from the fighting and begins to incinerate the forest. Your troops are caught in the blaze and run down when they escape.”

Wil appears crestfallen.

“May I object? The Order of Haegris or another [Knight] order would never do that, Professor!”

The Professor’s snort makes it clear what he thinks of that.

“Knights get imaginative if they lose too much. If not them, then the [General] attached to the force might drop a few lanterns by accident. Would you like to clarify your strategy?”

Wil nods.

“The infantry dug trenches, and we have [Rainfall] scrolls to counter any fires. Even gravel makes a horse lose its footing. If I knew I were on the wrong side of a [Knight] Order charging, I’d have pitfalls dug in a heartbeat.”

Someone snorts.

“Trenches, Wil, really? What about [Light Bridges]? Any idiot would use that!”

Kissilt, the Drake, had a rivalry with everyone. Wil just glances over coolly.

“Not if the infantry are in the trenches, Kissilt.”

“Hah! You want to leave them at the mercy of the other army? Are you mad? They’ll be chopped down from above!”

Kissilt scoffs, but Wil just shakes his head.

“Not in a forest. Archers in the trees, traps and chokepoints—and trenches or dirt enclosures that prohibit horses. The [Knights] can either go in on foot or must fall back. And they don’t do well when they’re mobbed.”

Niers’ voice is dry.

“Ten [Peasants] versus one [Knight]. Or a hundred to one. A tale as old as Terandria. Pass, but boring. A good, solid answer. I’m bored. Wil’s solution is probably ideal for a commander he doesn’t trust, but it isn’t going to win any awards for saving his people from the grinder. Anyone else have anything interesting? Anyone?”

He’s avoiding a hand reaching straight up towards the ceiling. Niers goes through a few more battle plans from younger students that feature interesting gimmicks, like ‘geomancy’ or ‘lightning magic’, both of which would work on [Knights], but you can’t rely on having access to them.

If your entire plan is having a Level 30 [Geomancer] open the ground and snap it closed over the [Knights], you get told that an arrow kills your [Mage]. A plan should be resilient enough to withstand unpredictable elements and not fall apart, or have fallbacks. The Professor finds little he respects. Then he sighs and gazes our way again, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“I know I’m going to regret this…Venaz. If you say something Minotaur-related, I will defenestrate you. Knights with [Light Bridge] spells?”

He gives the Minotaur an almost pleading expression. Everyone settles back and waits, and even I smile. I can’t help it. Also…I feel various parts of me tingling as the huge Minotaur sitting in front of me gets up.

Alright, fine. He’s attractive. Okay? I don’t know whether it’s some Sariant Lamb thing in me or not, but I like his horns. And fur. And hooves! I’m allowed to look, just not mess up Erin’s position.

He barks his answer in a booming voice as he strides with his warplans up to the lectern.

“Professor, engagement in an open field. Long-handled axes—”

He ducks as Niers shoots a miniature bolt of lightning his way. More laughter. Venaz protests.

“But Professor, the enemy would be wearing armor! Few weapons can reach someone on horseback, let alone counter hard enough to unhorse or dehorse a foe!”

“And how, pray tell, does your axe-wielding group survive the lance-charge, Venaz?”

“Well, if you observe, my forces engage the peasantry first, forcing a melee—”

Niers reads out Venaz’s plan, which is indeed to dive into the enemy army and force the [Knights] into a melee. He actually says it might work—if Venaz’s forces have spines like iron and he’s willing to lose half his people in the bloodbath. Then Niers points.

Venaz gets up and gloomily stomps over to a corner where a stool is waiting. He sits there. It’s amazingly childish as punishments go; I saw the same thing in Mrsha’s classrooms in Liscor. But I’ve seen Venaz there more days than not.

In fairness, the Minotaur does it on purpose, I think, to see if a dedicated force of veterans can overtake the situations Niers throws at us. The answer is actually often ‘yes, but the cost is too high’. And the Professor? He wants creativity more than elegance or even competence.

The tiny Fraerling rubs at his face again. To my disappointment, he doesn’t pick on me. Too obvious, maybe.

“I was hoping for something else. Let’s put those brains to better use, please. Most of you played entirely too defensive, even if your strategy works like Wil’s. Maybe it’s my fault for giving you too many resources. Jekilt and Umina’s plans were the best. Of course, they drew from history. I’ve seen Terandrian crusades dying on Baleros’ soil. New assignment.”

He leans on his desk as everyone looks over to the two [Strategists], who sit up, smiling. I eye their plans—oh. All mobile, and one species predominates.

Interesting. Niers taps his little wand for attention.

“Let’s say your formation is, uh…two thousand [Soldiers] from Calanfer armed with a diverse set of weapons. They’re loyal, brave enough, and can follow orders, but they’re not specialists with any set of levels in the field. You’ve lost your commanding officer, so you have no dedicated Skills. Using only your wits, how do you counter a Drake battalion that spots you and moves to engage? They have no [Mages] or air-support or heavy Oldblood presence, but they’re higher-level, better-armed, and coming at you in tight formation. Go.”

He fields a few suggestions, then looks my way. My hand’s up. Again, I think he hesitates. And he takes a breath.

“Alright, our guest-student has another idea. Miss Solstice?”

I can’t help but feel like he wants me to answer wrongly. So he can snap at me. He accepted my request to learn strategy from him, but he’s been distant. Cold. No more hot tubs or invitations to dine alone.

But he has one problem. Just one, and it’s this. I give him a determined look—then speak, having thought my answer out fast and carefully as I place my strategy on the desk.

“Well, Professor. I’d surrender.”

Laughter, especially from Kissilt, the Drake, who calls out.

“Good answer!”

Niers just narrows his eyes at me.

“Untenable situation, Miss Solstice? Trying to save your Calanferians?”

His voice is quiet, and I can sense his hostility, but he’s hesitating. Because my reply is…

“No, because Drakes would love to take my army captive. They’re all about rules. I’d wait for them to come closer, then rush them. If it’s about the psychology of the enemy—Drakes love rules and order. Regardless of whether or not that worked, you can see my plans here.”

I point to the projection, which is a series of arrows and plans of movement. Venaz frowns from his seat as he sees it’s less of a battle formation and more of a map.

“I’d split my forces up into a hundred bands and scatter. I bet they’d adhere to protocol and either clump up and refuse to chase or organize into smaller bands to hunt them down. Then I’d group up my forces and overwhelm their hunting parties one-by-one using night or cover.”

The laughter stops. It’s not a bad answer, I think, and Niers gives me a searching gaze.

“You think you’d win engagements when they’re better-armed and trained, eh, Miss Solstice? Very well, let’s say you wounded a hundred Drakes in your feint. And saved a good portion of your troops from their chase. You ambush a group of two hundred Drakes with twice that number, but the rest of their army is in line-of-sight. Six hundred feet distant. How do you overwhelm them before they close on you?”

He’s trying to stay professional. I just grin at him with all of Erin’s teeth.

“Flanking charges, sir. Throw smaller groups of Calanferian [Peasants] at the oncoming army to slow them down.”

“Awfully confident you can overwhelm the famous Drake spear formation.”

“If they’re small enough, any group folds to enough numbers. Besides…we’d always wipe them out or inflict heavy casualties if we choose our ambushes. Because they’ll never regroup and retreat properly. ‘Drakes don’t run’.”

Then it’s quiet, and Kissilt is glaring at me. I return the glare as several students give me slightly admiring looks, even the older ones. Niers taps his foot loudly, and I think he’s trying to find fault with my argument. Then he gazes past me.

“I’d give you less than 50% odds of that working, even if your Calanferians were fighting for house and home. Terrible strategy, but original enough. In our practical segment, you will get to demonstrate exactly how fun it is to ambush a force like that when they know it’s coming. Next?”

He hates it. He hates the fact, I think, that I’m trying to speak his language. So he directs his attention to Kissilt next, bullying him about his national pride like he bullies Venaz. Me?

I have a journal full of his lessons, and I write down all his advice. I even have the homework he assigned last lesson done. I love strategy.

I think…if he knows I’m not Erin…that really annoys him.

 

 

Entry #42 — Wargames and awkwardness.

 

Leading troops in the field is what I’m good at. It’s when he has an army of volunteers and lets us [Strategists] and students field them against each other that I have fun.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

I shout as pretend-soldiers run back around me. I see the enemy coming up hard, wearing blue; all my forces are wearing red. They’re mostly Lizardfolk, Selphids, and some Humans, all wearing padded armor and helmets. They fight with paint-covered sticks to simulate real weapons.

I heard it was largely Selphids before, but most have quit. These volunteer-soldiers have to take breaks and get broken bones. We can only do this once a week when I heard it was near-daily for Niers’ students before.

More signs the Forgotten Wing company has changed, that Baleros is changing. But I have to get some experience in. I want experience. And sadly—I’m really good at this.

“Press the attack! Don’t let her reform!”

I can hear Kissilt’s voice as he leads his forces in. He plays a great defensive game, but his troops just come at me from the front, over-eager to claim victory. I’m grinning. I know I am; I can’t help it.

“Fall back! They’re coming—brace—brace or I’ll rip your tails off!”

I nearly forget myself, but the threat works on Lizardfolk. They brace, shouting, and the first wave of Kissilt’s soldiers crashes down on them. Both sides jab spears and clash, fighting, shouting—

“I’m wounded! Stop hitting! Stop—”

“Argh! Broken bone! Broken—”

They separate, the ‘dead’ moving off the field, wounded using one hand or limping. And I’m striding back. Kissilt pushes again, another wave, another clash, falling back—

He’s got my troops on the run, uphill, and his [Archers] are raining down padded arrows. Kissilt’s not an idiot; I can’t flank him with a hidden force like I have in previous battles. He can see my army here, and he knows I can’t pull more forces in.

But still—his wave of troops is running at us, his entire army save for his [Archers], pressing in to try and sweep my forces. He’s lost his head. I’m cold.

I’ve led forces before. That’s what he doesn’t realize, even Niers and the [Students] watching me. So when I shout, the [Soldiers], even if they’re volunteers, seem to listen.

“Hold! Hold! Give me five more seconds—fall back and break ranks!”

The front ranks holding back the tide coming uphill fall back one last time, and I grin. I see Kissilt hesitate as a new wave of troops emerges, the curtains of my people sweeping to the left and right.

“Huh? Where’d she get so many—”

Then the double-rank of my [Archers] opens fire and starts taking down his forces. Kissilt didn’t even notice they’d stopped firing and moved up through my army. What kind of idiot puts [Archers] on the front?

The idiot who knows his troops are tired from fighting uphill, that they’re not wearing heavy armor, and that he’s got no mage-spells. Moreover—they keep firing as my forces grind his from the left and right. If his infantry try to charge, well, they’re shot down that killing field as my [Archers] have a clear shot at them, far better than his groups stuck in the back.

It’s a rout. By the end of it, Kissilt is covered in painted welts from being pelted with arrows—he’s a combatant on the battlefield, and if he’s killed, that affects the battle—and Niers Astoragon is surveying the battle.

“Miss Erin has half her forces remaining with two disadvantage points for her forces. Kissilt, what did I tell you about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory?”

“…Not to?”

Kissilt’s shoulders slump, and Niers gives me a half-salute as someone carries his pedestal over so he can speak to us at head-height.

“Well done, Erin. You’re going to crush my best students’ egos. Which isn’t the worst thing. A few more victories and you’ll be in the hall of fame for your winning streak.”

He gives me a side-long look, and I smile.

“If we used Skills, they’d wipe the floor with me.”

“True, but even winning the un-Skilled battles like this isn’t something an outsider can do. You’ve got experience from Liscor, but I’m rather impressed. Your sense of strategy is vastly inferior to theirs—”

That stings, but Niers glances at my panting [Soldiers].

“…but your poise and leadership ability are top-notch. Tactically, you beat most of my students. They haven’t seen enough combat. Or they simply don’t have your charisma.”

I puff up a bit, I know. It makes my heart flutter in a pleased way to have the Titan compliment me, a mere Sariant Lamb. If he says it, it’s true, and it means…I’m not a little, cute pet or a Sariant Lamb armed with a few wands and dreams of ferocity.

It’s also true; Kissilt isn’t exactly an inspiring leader, and the ‘training soldiers’ that Niers lets us command do respond better to someone they like. Niers doesn’t try to get them to fight equally; being liked by your troops is an essential ability in a leader. These factors mean I’ve been winning very well, and I offer Niers a slight shrug.

“Well, if those Lizardfolk and Selphids stick around, I’ll have to learn to lead them. The Bushrangers too.”

I’m referring to the captives I took during the battle where I fought to help bail out the Selphid forces trying to fulfill their contract with Niers. Both the enemy and Selphids volunteered to join me—not many, but enough to actually be a fighting force.

Niers grunts.

“They’d better put some work in. Paying and feeding them means they owe you a battle already. [Mercenaries] know the score; they should be loyal. But I’d rather you not endanger yourself given an entire continent wants you dead.”

I meet his eyes.

“If Rabbiteater’s in trouble, I have to do what I can.”

Again, he seems to grudgingly respect that. Niers nods to me and goes off to arrange the next battle.

Kissilt’s neck spines are all droopy when he comes up to me. His polished armor is all battered; he mutters as we step back.

“How are you so good at leading troops, Miss Erin? Wil told me you’d seen fighting, but you roar as well as Venaz.”

I smile at him and panic inside. I never know what to say. I’m…not Erin. I don’t know her secrets. I haven’t been in her company long, and while I try to be her, I have to lie and make things up. So I tell the truth. In a sense.

“I’ve fought in a few battles where we had to lure someone away, Kissilt. I’ve been there before.”

He gives me a searching look, then nods, and I relax as Marian and Venaz—a classic matchup—begin. It’s true what I said, even if he probably thinks it was with Drakes or Humans.

Sariant Lambs fight. It’s bloody, ugly, and we always die. We always die. We’re small, and even if we’re armed, whenever something gets close to us, they shred us to pieces. Every Sariant Lamb battle has us retreating, falling back, holding the line to buy time for a trap to go off or our comrades to reload.

As a Pathforger, I’d had to lead our colony in battle before we decided moving to Riverfarm was the best move. I’ve seen more lost battles, more dead, than any of the students here. More pyrrhic victories where we’re scattered across the ground like flies to take down one monster.

As always…I can feel the memories surge in my chest. Dark emotions, the pain of trotting away from dead friends and family, unable to even bury them because we can’t dig the hard earth well, or mewling around a monster that’s kept us captive to eat us, having to smile and pretend we’re idiots while we wait to kill it in its sleep—

All of that is like fuel in my chest. Hatred, despair, desperation—if I call on it, if I compress it into fury and rage, it’ll burst out of my skin. Literally explode until my hair changes into a mane of curls, my height increases, and I have hooves, horns—

My Warform. My pact with Paxere. The only power I actually have. Poor Paxere. I know who the Lucifen are; we have a station devoted to them, and it’s a dangerous job, staying in the Lucifen’s graces. We’re all over the world, after all, or in hiding, trying to survive the wilds without levels and with only our lamb bodies.

It serves the Lucifen right trying to make an infernal pact with Erin Solstice and getting me instead. I laughed myself sick that first night when I realized Paxere’s mistake. I grin, teeth flashing, and I want to activate the Warform, but it’ll just make Niers suspicious. I watch the two sides fighting, and it bubbles under my skin.

Battle.

I love battle. I love hefting the crossbow and wand the Fraerlings gave me and fighting. Winning. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be a little lamb who can’t recharge the wands in her holsters, who has to trot along and hope she can take an enemy by surprise, to be able to fight and kill the giants she’s feared all her life?

I’m not crazy.

I’m just a bit broken. That’s okay.

It’s all to forge a path for better days.

“There you are. I knew I’d find you here. Are you still…playing wargames?”

Someone claps a hand on my shoulder. It’s so tentative, despite the brown-skinned arm having enough muscle in it, and her voice is low, rough, and panting. But she’s so uncertain I don’t even have to turn to know who it is.

Ryoka Griffin is like the definition of indecisiveness and nervousness if you put it in a bottle and shook it up. She wasn’t this bad on Izril, but I think the Forgotten Wing company spooks her. I know I do.

She’s sweating, wearing her wingsuit, which seems hot in this humid weather, and her hair’s a mess.

“Hey, Ryoka, just got back from another delivery? How’s War Crimes Tyrion? Finger guns!”

I point them at her, and Ryoka pauses.

“Please stop calling him that.”

“Okay, Stoneballs Tyrion.”

She spits her drink out and wipes at her mouth, choking. Then she gives me a look, and I fear I’ve gone too far.

“Erin—! I haven’t seen him in days. I’ve been trying to run deliveries for other groups. You know, establish my bonafides as a Courier in Baleros? And figure out where the hell Rabbiteater’s group is…or find Ulvama.”

“No luck?”

Now I’m serious, and Ryoka rubs at one shoulder.

“No, I mean…Niers is in more contact with them than me. I’ve got to find a route south from spot to spot, Erin. I can’t just fly across Baleros. It’s too much energy and too damn dangerous. Getting all the way south where they are is hard.”

I nod. Ryoka’s the most mobile person here, and her flying ability lets us link up with Rabbiteater and other parties on Baleros like Tyrion Veltras’ forces…in theory.

In practice, flying across a continent isn’t easy. Ryoka has to learn safe routes, and I think she’s also playing politics with the mercenary companies. A flying monster is one threat—being shot at because you might be an enemy Courier is another. So, I clap her on the shoulder.

“Let’s get a drink. I mean, you drink, I’ll have a banana smoothie.”

Erin doesn’t drink. I’d love to—but I don’t think I can play off being immune to alcohol, which she is. Ryoka grimaces.

“Sure, but give me a second, Erin? I was doing a run for Erek, and Geneva is gonna bug me about—hey, Geneva! I didn’t get to that city you wanted, sorry. Rainstorm.”

I turn and stop smiling. Here comes the person who likes me least in the city.

Geneva Scala isn’t smiling. She never does. I think when she became a [Doctor] she medically inserted a metal rod up her ass. Or maybe it’s just me.

Warcrimes Erin meet Saint Geneva. We never hit it off when we met, due to me joining a battle, and I just…don’t like her. I don’t know what the real Erin would do, but Geneva’s preachy, focused on her medical work to the exclusion of reality, as if it’ll fight off a monster or win a war, and she’s all-in on saving lives.

Which I can admit is noble, but she just annoys me.

Beth’s great. She’s a Selphid, bouncing after Geneva with huge leaps in a Lizardfolk body. She enjoys life, and I wave at her as Geneva stops.

“No samples? Ryoka, I really could use those willow bark and poppy samples! Aspirin and morphine or some kind of painkiller that won’t interfere with other magical cures—”

“I know, I know. I’m really sorry. It’s the rain. I can’t fly in it, and it keeps…raining. I couldn’t meet with Tyrion either. Hey, Beth. How’s it going? At least I did spot that forest Erek mentioned.”

And here’s the rest of the gang. Geneva, Beth, Siri, Daly, two more Bushrangers, and Erek are the entire ‘team’ I can rely on here. The Earthers, or those fully aligned with them. Niers is one thing, but he’s busy fighting wars in the Dyed Lands and against Jungle Tails.

This is the group I can call on, along with a few hundred Selphids and Lizardfolk. If we go to rescue Rabbiteater, I need to be aligned with them. As for Erek…he nods at me and ooks.

He’s the only person who I’ve told who I really am. The Orangutan, all brown-orange fur and long arms, may seem like a simple monkey, but he can wield a lightning-infused longsword like a [Fencer], and with his other hand, he’s strong enough to rip off your arm. He’s smart as can be, the former comrade of Seve-Alrelious…and I’d trust him with my life.

He, like me, is a being who can think but does not level. He gets it.

Erek and I do a complicated little hand game where I tap my fists on top of his, then go under, then we high-five across each shoulder and go to slap hands before pulling ours away. Even Daly smiles at that. Geneva just sighs.

“I need painkillers. I thought there was enough of that, but it’s all magical and thus in shorter supply. The Dyed Lands offensive is bloody.”

“I thought every Great Company but the Eyes of Baleros was fighting there.”

Ryoka responds, and Daly answers for Geneva.

“It looks like a fucking shagfest with a cactus, Ryoka. All those color strains of monsters are rampaging outwards, and the closer you get, the more monsters. The companies are holding the line, but it’s a slow, slow advance.”

“Filled with complications due to the magical abilities of each monster group! And no one in this world has a history of medical operations! At best they know how to stitch a wound closed. Classes are appearing, but we need manufacturing.”

Geneva is saying the same thing she’s said for ages. I know she’s right, but it still makes me want to slap her on the back of the head. Ryoka opens her mouth to apologize again and grovel at Geneva’s feet—she seems to think Geneva’s a hero, despite Ryoka having risked her life many more times than Geneva ever has—when she frowns and turns to Daly.

“Is…’shagfest with a cactus’ Australian slang?”

Another grin. I like the Bushrangers’ leader, Daly Sullivan. He’s tanned too and has on some enchanted leather armor that makes him blend with anything he stands next to. He has a crossbow on his back, and he shrugs.

“I dunno. I just made that up.”

Everyone laughs at that. Ryoka apologizes to Geneva, saying she’ll try again, and the [Doctor] rushes off to continue her work. I stand there, glancing at the battle, which Venaz is going to win this time, and Ryoka turns to me.

“So, Erin…heard anything from Lyonette? What’s the plan?”

She always asks me that. I pause.

“I had a word with Lyonette. No one else from the inn’s talked to me.”

I think I pissed her off again. It’s hard to talk to her when I don’t know her, and so every conversation is unsatisfying. Ryoka waits. I swallow.

“I’m waiting for Rabbiteater’s group to signal where they are. Niers says it’s too far to travel and filled with jungle. I’m going to review the troops later.”

“The tr—oh, the [Mercenaries]?”

She has a dubious expression, and I respond as my heart beats faster.

“They have to drill together and organize to be a fighting force. If we’re saving Rabbiteater, we need an army, and Niers says he can’t spare that many forces for us.”

He’s fighting two wars at once, so the great Forgotten Wing Company isn’t the asset we want. Daly nods.

“Erin’s good at that, Ryoka. You should have seen her take Kissilt apart on the field.”

He nods at me, and I nod back, but Ryoka just swallows more water.

“Well, I have seen her fight. Cool. I’ll, uh—I’ll see if Niers has any news once he’s free, then catch up with you tonight, huh, Erin?”

I nod. What else am I to say? I don’t know if I should march off to Rabbiteater now or hold position here with Niers and see events unfolding.

I don’t know. If we leave Elvallian, Niers has been upfront about the fact that even with protections, he can’t guarantee we’ll be safe. Not with so many [Assassins] and the size of the bounty on my head. That’s why he had his [Generals] defending me on the way here. So I’m stuck, but I know Erin would be doing something.

Ryoka just nods at me, awkward, and jogs over to Niers. Then she screams, and all the bright blue faeries laugh. The green one, Shaestrel, flies over to scold her.

“Ye fucking idiot! I told ye, if you’re gonna walk around barefoot like some shite-brained idiot, at least grow hooves like Vofea! Where’s your footwraps?”

“The stupid Fraerlings borrowed them again! Leave me alone, Shaestrel!”

The Wind Runner had stepped on a burr in the grass. Even I shake my head at that, along with the Bushrangers. The one thing Sariant Lambs have on Humans is our hooves, tiny though they may be. Beth, of course, leaps out of her shoes.

“[Medic] on-scene! Barefoot gals tog—ooh. That’s a lot of burrs. Hold still, Ryoka, I’ll just get some tweezers…”

Poor Ryoka. I’m yawning and stretching when I see a panting [Soldier] staggering away from the fight toss down a painted ‘sword’. He passes by me, a Human, swivelling, and Siri’s head snaps around. Daly’s mouth opens.

“He’s got—”

The edge of the spell clips me as I pivot, and it burns. I fall, clawing at my chest, as some of the Fraerlings’ ward-magic on me tries to fight off—acid?

Oh, that’s ironic. I tear off my shirt as Niers whirls, Ryoka shouts, and Siri shoots once. It’s burning and burning deeper into my flesh—but don’t worry.

I’m writing this, aren’t I? The next bit’s a blur as Geneva comes running back, and Niers locks down the training field. The acid’s dissolving a hole in my breast and collarbone from where it hit me as Geneva does the only thing she can—cut faster than the acid.

I’m missing chunks out of my chest, and Niers offers me a healing potion, despite the limited quantities. I lie in my rooms, chest still burning with pain since they can’t heal it all the way. I’m grinning, or trying to.

It’s okay. Better me than her.

 

——

 

Ryoka Griffin was upset before Erin nearly got melted. She’d been upset ever since she’d landed in Baleros. Having her Faeblade stolen by Niers, then harboring suspicions that Erin wasn’t really…Erin…didn’t help. At least he’d given the Faeblade back when it was clear even Fraerlings couldn’t figure out how it worked.

Ryoka felt unsettled, off-kilter, and as if the healing and maturity from Reizmelt had been stripped away and replaced with old Ryoka, who was nervous, couldn’t do the right thing, and at a loss for what to do.

“New continent blues.”

“Nah, you’re just a nervous creature, ain’t ya? I wonder why Ivolethe likes you so much. Then again, she’s flighty as ye are.”

Shaestrel was always mean. She draped herself over a chair, chewing on fat grapes as Ryoka paced outside of Erin’s room. The only good things about Baleros were all the fruits and exotic beverages and such.

The rest of it sucked. Even flying sucked.

Flying! Sucking! But Ryoka hadn’t realized how much damn insect life was in Baleros. She’d known it was a jungle, but there was something about running into a cloud of insects while flying hundreds of feet up that really left an impact. And then goo.

The rain was just as bad. Rain grounded the famous Wind Runner, or reduced her speeds immensely. Her wingsuit might be adapted for flight, as well as her hang glider, but rain weighed it down or just made visibility virtually nonexistent, and thus flying so much more treacherous.

Everything was different in Baleros. Ryoka wanted to go home. She wanted Erin to be back in the inn, for no one to be in danger, for people to be alive…she rested her head on Erin’s door for a while.

“Mm. Weird.”

Foliana hopped by Ryoka, and the Wind Runner started. She tried Erin’s door handle, then knocked.

“Enter.”

A rasping voice. Ryoka popped her head in the door and saw Erin putting something aside. A journal? She tried to smile.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Like I just had someone slice a chunk out of my chest. Two chunks.”

Erin was lying on her bed, bandaged up, and Ryoka winced. She shuffled into the room, barefoot, as Erin lay back. Ryoka stared at her friend.

She was the same…but not. The same physically that Ryoka remembered, but she was so much more serious. Militant. Warlike—which you could put down to her experiences at sea. And yet…Ryoka took a deep breath.

Today was the day. She’d done all the math in her head, thought out how this could be a fake Erin, and speculated with Shaestrel and the Winter Fae until they shouted at her to ‘get it fecking over with and ask already!’, and she was going to do it.

Ryoka nodded to Erin, took a breath, and sat down on the bed.

“Listen. I know you nearly died and, uh, maybe this isn’t the best time for this. But can we talk about what’s really going on here? Especially if…you’re…still in danger?”

She looked Erin in the eyes and sensed the young woman tense slightly. Ryoka smiled weakly.

“I know we haven’t always been friends or perfectly aligned. But I have to know, and I’d like you to be honest with me, even if you’re scared…Ulvama.”

 

 

Entry #43 — Ryoka knows.

 

She figured it out and came to me to talk about my identity. Only, she thought I was Ulvama.

I felt bad about how much I laughed at her. I hurt her feelings because she’s flown off.

The fae laughed as much as I did, to be fair.

 

——

 

Ryoka Griffin put her head down in the Runner’s Guild of Mixmelt, a Lizardfolk town about fifty-five miles south of Elvallian.

The Guildmaster, a Lizardman, patted her on the back. Then offered her an autograph card. Ryoka didn’t look up.

“Miss Wind Runner, life’s not that bad. One day you’re flying, the next day you put your foot in it—look on the bright side! I have no idea why you’re actually bummed, but you come in here like this and—hey, another glass of mango-milk for the Courier!”

She shuddered as more orange…milk was placed in front of her.

“Is this a specialty of Mixmelt? Is that why your town’s named that?”

She drank the juice-milk mixture as the other local Runners crowded around her. She was famous in places like these; she’d come flying in with all their monthly deliveries and felt bad about taking the work. But Ryoka signed autographs and let a few of them try her hang glider, and they were delighted.

There was, in fact, an army of Lizardfolk on the roofs, leaping off it with her hang glider, sometimes six at a time. That was Lizardfolk for you.

Crazy. They were so numerous and friendly, though, at least from her week of deliveries. The Guildmaster waited until Ryoka took another sip before responding.

“Nope. Tastes like poo, don’t it? We’re called Mixmelt because we like mixing stuff together. Mostly, it tastes terrible.”

Ryoka nearly spat the drink out, then swallowed with a grimace. She pushed the cup back.

“Thanks. I’ve had a rough day. Sorry about dropping in unannounced…can I get directions to that forest?”

“Sure, sure! Someone’s getting a map. And no worries about taking all our income! If you’d just sign this autograph card for me…for my aunt…my sister…my cousin…I’ll take two more for my cousin…”

Ryoka’s hand hurt after signing twenty cards, and the Guildmaster noticed her impatient expression. He clapped his hands together.

“You’ve been blowing across Baleros, haven’t you, Miss Courier? How do you like our continent? New Couriers always get overwhelmed when they visit, or so I hear. I wouldn’t know; I was only a City Runner when I retired! I’m not even a Naga!”

He laughed uproariously, then glared when no one laughed with him. Ryoka smiled weakly.

“I’ve mostly been introducing myself. The wind is, uh, dangerous here. And there’s a lot of storms and bugs. Not that I’m complaining—”

“Oh, no, complain away. It sounds terrible. Worst continent for flying! Besides Rhir, probably. And maybe Chandrar with all the sand, but at least it’d be clear along the coast. Baleros has tons of animals. What’s the worst one you’ve seen up there?”

“…Geese.”

Balerosian Deathgeese didn’t stop fighting. They’d fly at you with all the hatred, ornery fighting spirit, and danger of big geese—but these ones were renowned for attacking even after you’d cut their heads off. An entire flock of them had pecked so many holes in Ryoka she’d been too traumatized to fly for two whole days.

“Hah! They’re not even the worst of it! Ever find a cloud of invisible mosquitoes? Or invisible leeches. Actually, most invisible things suck.”

“You ever step into a pool of piranhas? Guess how I got this wooden leg. Gangrene. I had terrible boots…piranhas actually don’t hunt together unless they’re really hungry.”

“Can I have an autograph for my sister’s sister’s…not-born-yet son?”

The Lizardfolk—it was nearly full Lizardfolk in here—were chattering nonstop. A harassed-looking Dullahan in light leather armor gave Ryoka a glance as if to say ‘take me with you’, but she was really here just for intelligence. Ryoka cast around.

“Where’s that map? If you’d just tell me if you saw that tribe, I can be on my way…”

“Not yet, miss. I have to have words with you! Ahem!”

The Guildmaster sat on the counter and pulled some spectacles out, then gave her a serious gaze. Or tried to; the twinkling in his eyes didn’t help.

“As the Guildmaster of this Runner’s Guild, it is my sworn duty to take you to task for a few infractions upon your record! To whit! Er…”

He fiddled with the papers, and Ryoka groaned.

“Someone wrote me up? I haven’t had a writeup since I was a City Runner! What, did I break something?”

The Guildmaster checked his list.

“Nope! In fact, the cited complaint is ‘unprofessionalism on duty’. Also, involvement of ‘non-Courier Runners on delivery errands’. Tsk, tsk. My oh my. Well, I am severely disappointed in you, Miss Ryoka, and you shouldn’t have any non-Couriers with you! I’ll just write down in the fields how contrite you are and that you’re not doing it again.”

He gave her a few gigantic winks as he eyed the fae, who flew around Ryoka. She was slightly annoyed.

“The Frost Faeries? No one’s ever complained about them before!”

“Never you mind that, Miss Wind Runner. Let me just file this…and don’t be unprofessional again! Another autograph, please?”

She sighed. A dressing down for being unprofessional. It just added to her rotten day. Rainstorm, letting Geneva down, burr in foot, Erin nearly melted, getting laughed at, and now this.

At least people here seemed to like her, by and large. She was from the television and famous, it seemed, across a lot of Baleros.

I just wish I were doing more good. Ryoka felt useless. She could indeed fly from place to place in Baleros, but she was no warrior. No great fighter. Picking up deliveries for Geneva was all she could do.

Erin, if that was Erin, had over two hundred fighters at her beck-and-call, and the Bushrangers could fight. Geneva was saving lives daily, and Ryoka…

If I only got more word from Rabbiteater about where they are now, I could fly after them. But I need to learn to fly in these skies. The problem was experience, her own abilities, and the wind.

Baleros’ wind…

Didn’t like her as much.

 

——

 

The wind had personalities. It could be flippant, wrathful, playful, loyal, or anything in between. Baleros had jungle storms.

Ryoka knew she needed to fly harder, faster, and better than ever before. She was the Wind Runner, a Courier, but she hadn’t been able to do anything. Not at the Winter Solstice, not really, and not when Erin was kidnapped.

Roshal. Erribathe. Now the Jungle Tails company or the Iron Vanguard? She had to fight.

Erin was strong. She’d killed her way across multiple [Pirate] ships, and Ryoka…

Ryoka didn’t like killing. Nor was she the best at flying. She could fly, but she was realizing she was like a Bronze-rank flier. She could barely carry anyone on her hang glider if the wind liked her, and Baleros’ winds were unpredictable.

Stubborn. The vast gusts fought with her glider, and her personal wind power could stabilize her, but it was scary. Shaestrel explained it like this:

“It doesn’t know ye. You’re a pushover around it, and unlike Izril’s breeze which knew you, you ran with, and Ivolethe talked to, this one’s all stormy spring. You’ll have to either fight through it or make peace. Also, your magic’s weak. You have to fly faster and stronger.”

Certainly, Ryoka’s first passenger did not appreciate being swung and buffeted about, despite his grip on her hang glider. Actually, it was somewhat insulting. You’d think, of all beings, an Orangutan wouldn’t mind holding onto the bars of the glider and swinging a bit while flying sixty-some miles towards a large forest next to the Lizardfolk town of Mixmelt.

However, he spent the next twenty minutes barfing on the ground between giving Ryoka betrayed looks.

“Erek, I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I’ll try to make it an easier ride next time, but you did want to fly.”

His ooking at her suggested he regretted trusting her to know what that word meant. Ryoka put her hands in her pockets and sulked. Then she saw a huge bug buzz past her face and activated a few anti-insect charms she had hanging from one wrist.

“…Are we in the right place?”

They were in the middle of the forest, having landed on some rocks visible from the tree cover. Erek stopped hurling and put a finger up. He fished a water flask out, drank, spat, and then wiped his mouth.

It was such a Human-like gesture that Ryoka was amazed. But then the Orangutan threw his head back and screeched into the jungle. He hooted and banged on his chest, and after mere seconds of Ryoka covering her ears, she heard more hooting calls.

Monkeys. No, wait.

Apes.

 

——

 

Gorillas. They were huge, with bands of pale golden fur around their chests and on their backs, and fourteen of them were sniffing Ryoka.

She was frozen, much like most Humans would be while in arms-reach of a creature that could stretch out and kill you in a moment. One of them, a scarred female gorilla bigger than most, bared her teeth. She hooted, low and aggressively, as Ryoka breathed.

“H-hi. I’m Ryoka, Erek’s friend, and I’m just here to make contact with—”

A hand reached out, pushed her so hard she slammed into another gorilla, and the angry female nearly charged her—before another female gorilla and Erek interposed themselves. They made angry sounds as Ryoka scrambled up and hid behind Shaestrel. The Spring Faerie scratched her head.

“Wait, why the feck are we here?”

Ryoka gave her an incredulous glance.

“Shaestrel, you’ve been with me all day! What do you mean—we’re helping Erek meet different monkey and ape tribes!”

She didn’t know why he wanted that, exactly, but Erek had asked and communicated to her he knew there was a tribe in this forest, and the Lizardfolk of Mixmelt had agreed and warned her they were considered Silver or Gold-rank threats if they were in a pack. Shaestrel cast right and left, eying the huge gorillas.

“…I was sort of zoning out. Looking to the future. How the heck does this help us?”

“I—don’t know. Does it have to?”

The Spring Fae appeared slightly disconcerted.

“I hope so. Tits on a Treant, I hate not being able to see the future.”

That was part of why Ryoka was so worried. With their ability to see the fates gone at the Winter Solstice, the fae seemed so much less sure of themselves. Well, Shaestrel at any rate. One of the Winter Fae was sticking her hand up a gorilla’s nostril.

“Hah! I bet there’s gold in here! Eugh. There is.”

The affronted gorilla snorted and swiped at the Winter Fae, who fled, cackling, and Erek raised his hands in an universal gesture of peace. He was gesticulating and talking with the female gorilla, and Ryoka edged over as the matriarch made beckoning, inquisitive motions to her.

“Hey, Erek, what’s going on? Is, uh, is everything good? I’m Ryoka. Hello.”

She waved at the female gorilla, and Erek pulled her aside. He made a few gestures as the matriarch sniffed at Ryoka, and then found a magical quill. Erek knew both a type of sign language and could write, and so contrived to communicate with Ryoka. It was faster just to guess what he was trying to say.

“Why are we…allies. Got it. Allies and…”

He mimed handing the quill to her, then cupped his hands.

“Trade? Seve mentioned you traded with that other tribe. Trade stuff? Information?”

Thumbs up. Ryoka nodded; this was much like her helping ferry deliveries of things Geneva found worthwhile. She and Erin owed Erek, so she smiled at the leader of the gorillas.

She got a very suspicious gaze in return and a big huffing sound that made the gorilla’s chest expand. Ryoka edged back.

“Uh, Erek? She seems pissed at me. Should I go?”

Erek scratched at his head. He was smaller than the gorillas by half, and he gestured at the female gorilla. Ryoka translated as best she could.

“Ook.”

“You want to be friends? Okay, so you don’t know her?”

“Ook.”

“Ah. I, uh, thought you did. Because you called them. Well, um, can we be friends?”

“Ook?”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t shrug at me! Is she cool or not? She’s right there, Erek.”

“Ook—oooook ooke.”

Erek mimed clapping his hand open and closed, pointed at his mouth, the gorilla’s leader, and saw Ryoka’s blank expression. He wrote in big letters on her arm, and she stared in horror.

“Translation? Oh come on, you don’t speak her language?”

Evidently, that was the problem. The female gorilla motioned, and the orangutan knuckled over, and they tried again. They were gesticulating, one side trying something, the other doing a different inflection of dialect of sound. Even scream-howling.

Ryoka shifted from foot to foot before a centipede crawled over her toes. Then she leapt twelve feet up in the air and scared all the gorillas. They were running away into the brush before they came back, and the female gorilla leader pointed at her angrily.

Erek patted Ryoka’s shoulder urgently, and the Courier realized she had to do something. So she took a breath, met the gorilla leader’s eyes—

The gums peeled back on the gorilla’s face, and Ryoka jerked her eyes to the ground. Wait, didn’t she remember in some kind of National Geographic show that you shouldn’t smile or meet a gorilla’s eyes?

Even for her odd list of facts, this was not high on Ryoka’s retention list. However, she was still a Courier.

She was in new lands, not literally like the New Lands, but a foreign continent. She had to help her friends. Ryoka took a deep breath, then reached for her bag of holding. Slowly, and very carefully, she brought out an offering.

Mixmelt had lots of mangos they’d given her, and Ryoka had food on her at all times. She piled up the fruits in front of the gorillas’ chieftain and added six tacos from Elvallian’s mess and a smoothie in a container she’d been saving for later. The gorilla chieftainess inspected the offerings and clearly recognized the mangos. She bit one, then picked up the taco.

“Uh, do gorillas eat meat, Erek?”

He seemed as worried as she did, but after unfolding one taco and licking the inside, the female gorilla seemed to get that it was food. She hooted loudly, then tasted the smoothie with Erek’s help. The cold shock of the smoothie in its chilled container had her running backwards, but then she realized how sweet it was.

She went crashing away, and after a second, everyone followed. Ryoka jogged after her to find a tree-fort in the branches; the female gorilla was feeding the cold drink to a bunch of little gorillas who fought over it! The female gorilla shared it around with the rest of the food, then seemed sad the container was empty.

“Hold on—Erek, show her that it’s magic.”

Ryoka had an idea here and handed Erek a flask. He swung over and gently poured water into the cup, then sealed the lid. Then opened it, and the cold water, refrigerated by the container’s magic, made the gorilla hoot excitedly. She was delighted!

Who knew gorillas wanted a cool drink in this heat like everyone else? Ryoka smiled as the tribe warmed up considerably to Erek, and soon, he and the female gorilla were in deep conversation about something. She kept peeking at Ryoka, making tentative gestures, and Ryoka felt accomplished.

Right until she felt a presence to her right. She turned, gazed up into the eyes of the angry female gorilla who’d charged her before, and flinched.

The female gorilla pushed her out of the trees. Ryoka shouted on the way down as Erek spun.

 

——

 

The tribe were the Golden Band tribe—according to Erek. The matriarch and female leader of the group Ryoka had decided to call Smoothie, because…she really liked the smoothie container. She wasn’t the problem; she seemed to think Erek was fascinating and Ryoka was decent. The problem was Pusher.

Pusher was the second-biggest gorilla in the tribe. She did not like Ryoka. She’d come charging up and scare the Wind Runner away, bare her teeth, or even try to strike Ryoka. Erek she seemed to give a pass to, if warily, but Ryoka grew used to running away from her approach.

The problem was that Erek had come here for business, and Pusher wasn’t having it. She’d make that terrifying growl-howl in her throat while he and Smoothie were trying to talk until the chieftain would run at her challenger, and they’d stand chest-to-chest, glaring at each other.

Pusher had scars from fighting someone with blades—local Lizardfolk? Most of the tribe had scars, but Ryoka could see why no adventurers had rooted them out of their home. Even if they were animals without levels…they were gorillas. And smarter than ones from her world. One of them could probably take a hundred Lizardfolk if it was pissed enough. Or a hundred Humans.

After six failed attempts due to Pusher, Erek and Smoothie had to break off their talks. Frustrated, but making gentle gestures, he backed off, and Ryoka flew him back to Elvallian. She asked him as they flew—

“Why do you want to get a tribe to help you so bad, Erek? Do they have anything to trade for?”

He shook his head as they flew and let go. One-handed, he gestured as she screamed at him to hold onto the damn glider—and she thought he was making some kind of point with his arms. Gathering them up, raising multiple fingers.

“Reinforcements?”

He thought about that and shrugged. Held up a hand palm-out.

Close enough? She didn’t know what to make of it, so she flew back to Elvallian. Then she had dinner with everyone until Foliana sniffed the air and asked why she smelled so bad. Ryoka slunk off to the nearest bathhouse. She felt out of sorts and useless.

So the next day, she went to find Tyrion. Or rather, tried to.

 

——

 

Geneva Scala didn’t want to say it, but Ryoka Griffin and Erin Solstice were disappointing. After a week in their company, she didn’t see the two heroines she’d envisioned.

The Wind Runner, who’d raced across Izril to save two children, and Erin Solstice, who’d delivered the penicillin mold all the way to Baleros…she’d had expectations of them.

Everyone let down Geneva, though, including herself. She knew she was a bit obsessed with making a difference, but she felt like so many lives depended on her actions. The one thing that kept her sane was knowing there were other Genevas fighting the essential fight.

Okasha said that was crazy and that Geneva needed to relax and do more fun things like singing Earth-songs with friends. But Geneva couldn’t. She wasn’t like…Beth.

Possibly, it was because she just wasn’t doing much in the Forgotten Wing company that felt useful. People would come in with so many diseases and problems thanks to Niers’ connections, and Geneva would note down the symptoms. Her notes were mostly: ‘this is terrible, I need so many more things to deal with this’.

In fancier, academic writing, of course. For instance, here was one of her previous patient notes she’d written down that Foliana had asked about. Foliana thought it was a code of some kind.

 

The patient presents with persistent hyperthermia and continuous emesis characterized by excessive magilous output. On physical examination, the abdominal region exhibits an abnormal luminescence not attributable to known physiological processes. The patient emits a pronounced odor reminiscent of combusted organic material. Vital signs indicate sustained pyrexia.

Unconventional diagnostic assessments (classified under “magirite”) reveal extreme anomalies, significantly exceeding established reference ranges. Symptomatology appears to respond favorably to cryotherapeutic intervention, with notable reduction in clinical severity upon exposure to temperatures ranging from -4 °F to 50 °F.

Given the constellation of findings and severity of presentation, the patient’s survival is clinically extraordinary and currently defies conventional pathophysiological understanding.

 

Translated, it meant that the patient, a Dullahan hit by war magic, had a glowing orange chest and spat heated liquid out. Magilous—her word for the glowing discharge unknown to her world’s medical terminology. Only extreme cold applied at all times reduced the burning gel enough for them to survive…but Geneva had no clue what to do.

The only reason they were alive was because they were a Level 33 [Warrior]. This was an example of someone who Geneva couldn’t help. Who exceeded her abilities as a doctor and exposed her lack of magical knowledge or the ability to combine modern medicine with magical treatments.

…There were so many of these kinds of cases when you were part of the Forgotten Wing company. Worse, Niers was all too willing to move them to Elvallian for Geneva to research. When she objected to the term, he gave her a polite, monstrous answer.

“They’re going to die anyways, Doctor Scala. They know it. Paeth is the only other hope they have, and since there are Fraerlings here willing to help you heal them, I have no shortage of volunteers. Level up as fast as you can. The New Lands are only making this worse.”

It was enough to make her start drinking at night. Well, Geneva would let Okasha have an hour to head down to a bar in the city and drink, and the two would complain about things. It was a balance, having a Selphid in her body. She was doing that a bit better—a bit. But dead gods, if only she had backup.

Iuncuta Eirnos and the Fraerlings were helpful, they were, but there was something esoteric about their methods. Most of the [Healers] who’d come with the strike teams were magically-focused. They didn’t stitch up patients, and Geneva got the impression her medical techniques horrified them as primitive.

They’d prescribed the patient a high-level dispelling charm via multiple pellets he ingested; this nearly completely reduced the magilous liquid, but his lungs and chest were still permanently above any safe temperature and damaged. The Fraerling [Healer], Megride, had told Geneva he’d recommend a regenerative diet over the course of a month to recover the damage, but that the Fraerlings couldn’t afford to give a Tallfolk their entire supply of medicines.

Thus—they fixed the problem, but their solution was one-note. Superior magic. That might be a bit reductive, but they didn’t try to understand the problem and cut the root issue out; they just blasted it with dispel magic because it was the most expedient method. Which was fair and an accurate prognosis, but Geneva couldn’t use that as a solution. She was trying, but only Beth would help, and Beth was more focused on racing around acting like a [Medic], not the [Doctor] trying to find long-term solutions.

As for Erin, Ryoka, and the Bushrangers…they just didn’t care like Geneva did. Especially Erin. She was willing to just fight in these constant, insane wars. Even if Geneva had made a bit of peace with her since their first meeting, it was disappointing.

Ryoka had been a bit better, especially since she ran deliveries, but she was just as imperfect. Much like anyone else…Geneva had heard she was in a relationship with some Human [Lord] who’d landed on the coast. Which was fine, she had no problem with that until she’d heard Erin describing him as ‘War Crimes Tyrion’. Then she’d asked Ryoka about it and learned the man had killed thousands of Goblins and then tried to siege a Drake city.

So yes, she respected Ryoka, but it was just…Geneva didn’t stick up for Ryoka when Niers came by to bully her into working for him.

“Miss Griffin, we could really use your abilities. There are few fliers in Baleros. A few Beastkin, rarely you get a flying Lizardfolk evolution, but most are land-locked if they’re not Garuda or Oldblood Drakes from other continents. A Courier of your level? We need someone to scout the Dyed Lands push. We’ve run into a ‘colored zone’, and it’s expanding right into the line of our advance.”

Geneva was chomping down potato chips when she heard the argument. Ryoka protested as Geneva licked the garlic-flavored seasoning off the hot, fresh chips.

The thing about the Forgotten Wing company was that they could make almost anything from Earth you could ask for, if they had the materials. They had the best [Chefs], [Smiths], [Woodworkers], and [Mages]—they just couldn’t upscale everything. Niers had no desire to go into making potato chips, but he’d had bags and bags of it made for Geneva.

She loved garlic and onion-flavored potato chips, and she was stress-eating. Okasha was making delighted ‘omnomnomnomnom’ sounds in her head. Ryoka sounded stressed too.

“I was actually going to see how Tyrion’s doing, Niers—”

“Surely you can spare a day. We’ll use wind spells to throw you at the front. All we need you to do is fly higher than the green zone. There’re all kinds of…well, flying insects or serpents. We need your eyes on it.”

“What about scrying spells…?”

“We can’t move them freely. If we put one on your back, we’ll have perfect accuracy. I imagine a scrying mirror will be too cumbersome, and they can be hacked far too easily, our [Diviners] say. Scrying spell. Though you’ll have to explain how we’re failing to scry you already.”

“That’s, uh—sort of a secret—”

“Wonderful! I won’t share it. Listen, Ryoka, the Maelstrom’s Howling company is trying to throw this wave back with my forces. If we don’t get intelligence on what they’re facing, thousands of people will die.”

He knew how to bully her. Geneva munched on her chips, feeling bad for not interjecting and asking Niers why he didn’t use a flying carpet or something. She knew he had some. Ryoka seemed so crestfallen as she muttered about her name being written in a different language that someone did speak up.

Erin. She was watching, arms folded, as she peered around Niers’ war room.

“I thought you had flying artifacts of your own, Niers. Do you have to put Ryoka in danger?”

He glanced at her and took a breath. Oddly, he was more curt with her than Geneva expected. The [Doctor] crunched on another chip, loudly. She was taking a break from her work, which meant watching the world’s highest-level [Strategist] in his war sanctum. He didn’t even seem to mind, despite the chips.

The Dyed Lands concerned her greatly. So did Niers, who replied to Erin with a nod.

“Eight flying carpets. Each one is entrusted to either a top [Messenger] or being used in combat, Erin. They’re valuable artifacts. I’ve lost two already; one to combat with Jungle Tails, the other to the Dyed Lands monsters. Ryoka Griffin is faster and nimbler in the air than they are. I don’t leave resources if they can be used.”

“Ah. Smart of you. But you’re not endangering my friend, are you?”

Erin locked eyes with the Fraerling, and he offered her a slight bow.

“We’ve established there’s a safe-zone two hundred feet above the top of the ‘green zone’ by having [Beastmasters] fly birds up there. To be safe, we’ll have her at four hundred feet.”

“And why not put a scrying mirror on a bird…?”

Niers sounded distinctly annoyed now. One of the other high-level [Strategists] shifted, and Iuncuta Eirnos, the Fraerling in charge of her forces, grinned as she sat on the rim of a cup, resting her chin in her hands.

“Because, Erin—the birds are terrified and refuse to do a proper reconnaissance. I’ve tried other reasonable options.”

“Just checking.”

Geneva would never have thought to use birds as scouts like that. Erin was sharp…but Niers was always one step ahead. He glanced at her as Geneva rustled in her bag.

“Doctor Scala, if you’re going to eat chips—”

“Sorry.”

“—share them around.”

He accepted a fragment of a potato chip and broke what were, to Fraerlings, huge, hand-sized pieces off to eat. Geneva always envied that quality about Fraerlings. In fact, on seeing him do that, Erin tapped a ring on her finger.

She shrank, pulling herself onto the table, and accepted a chip as big as she was! Then she munched on it as the Fraerlings gathered around. Soon, Geneva was out of chips.

Ryoka was out of the war room and flying through the air as everyone else talked. Commander Rozcal was scrubbing at his tongue.

“Garlic. Eugh. Sorry, Doctor Scala. I haven’t been able to eat garlic since the Garlic Wars of ‘17.”

She gave him a suspicious gaze as Niers grinned. Fraerlings loved to tell jokes.

“What were you fighting, Garlic Zombies?”

The Tallguard looked insulted.

“What kind of monsters do you think—no! It was a wild magic surge that animated a bunch of garlic we’d been growing. Giant garlic bulbs. We had to mash ‘em up before they stopped trying to turn us into fertilizer. A bloodless battle…but a terrible one. I got so sick of the smell—and weeping. Because there were some onions in the crop too.”

A sideways glance at Niers, and he coughed into one fist.

“That actually happened, as far as I know. It’s gone down in Fraerling history as a contender for Top 50 silliest battles.”

Rozcal saluted comically as he accepted a sea-salt potato chip from Daly.

“An honor to serve! Now, what’s this new ‘colored zone’? We haven’t been able to fight the Dyed Lands buggers yet.”

“Not our job, Rozcal. We’re rescuing fellow Fraerlings and punishing the Jungle Tails company. If you fight monsters, it’ll be when we find a settlement that needs bailing out in that mess.”

Eirnos shot at him as several other Fraerling commanders studied the magical map that glowed under their feet. They seemed like proper Giants as Niers pointed from his perch, staring down at a huge…spiral around the famous Dyed Lands.

A spiral, yes. Up to a hundred miles away, the Dyed Land’s expansion had overtaken entire cities, forcing their inhabitants to flee, and arrows and figurines marked where companies were fighting the monsters’ advance. A green group of Centaurs was right in front of the area where Niers had sent Ryoka, and the Forgotten Wing’s blue forces were moving in like a wave to halt the western edge of the Dyed Lands.

However, they were up against armies of monsters, powerful ones. The spiral had arms, each of a different color, which radiated outwards, hence the nickname ‘colored zone’. Each zone contained monsters of a certain color. They’d fight with other colors of monsters—and anyone caught in their path—and each color had different abilities.

That was as much as Geneva had heard; she had her interest in the Dyed Lands as a possible cure for Selphids and because a lot of the monsters were generating new injuries she needed to combat, but she wasn’t doing any of the fighting. The current color that had rolled across the eastern approach was…green. Lime green, and a bright purple icon appeared from Elvallian and headed south and slightly west.

“She’s fast.”

It was Ryoka! She moved fast enough for her progress to be visible on the map, and Niers commented.

“We have [Weather Mages] throwing wind her way. She told me she can hit an excess of two hundred miles per hour…we’re below that, but the Maelstrom’s Howling company is joining the effort. The Bannermare herself is at the front, so we’re sharing everything Ryoka does on live television. Mind yourselves so you don’t appear on the news, Fraerlings.”

That produced grumbles.

“You just don’t want us hogging your spot!”

“You’re a secret group devoted to fighting Jungle Tails, Rozcal. The less of you they know are here, the better.”

“I’d look great on television. Alright, alright…do you think this will even get on the television outside of Baleros? It’s all New Lands on the news.”

Niers shrugged.

“This is a purely Balerosian problem, and the other continents have never worried about our struggles. Frankly, they’re happy we have the Dyed Land distracting us or else we’d be in the New Lands showing them how to conquer territory. The Iron Vanguard is the only Great Company able to make the journey in force…it splits their attention, which suits me, and I imagine the Terandrians won’t be the only ones who have a fun time fighting those hardheads.”

That earned a laugh from all of his people and the Fraerlings, and it made Geneva uncomfortable. She was reminded every now and then that she was working with one of the world’s best warlords. For all his intelligence and seeming sympathy for her mission, she had to be aware of that.

As if he could read her mind, Niers turned to Geneva.

“Doctor Scala, I’d like you to review our notes on the ‘green’ monsters and advise us on what Ryoka reports in, if you’re willing. So far, my forces have had most experience with Black, White, and Purple. Green…seems nasty.”

Daly raised his hand.

“Aren’t some of the monsters in White invisible? How does it get worse than that?”

“Parasites.”

Geneva shuddered, and Daly lowered his hand and stopped eating chips.

“Right, well…gross.”

 

——

 

Parasites. Geneva had only sketches and reports to review, but by the time Ryoka was in sight of the green zone, she had an idea of what was so nefarious about these monsters.

Green had a lot of flying creatures—many of them serpentine. They were closer to flying snakes, actually, and they ranged from smaller than the width of a finger to huge serpents like the ones Daly and his Bushrangers had been forced to kill.

What defined ‘green’ was their willingness to parasitize hosts, apparently. Much like Selphids, they’d fuse with anything alive. Nothing dead, thankfully, but the notes indicated they’d even ‘steal’ other colors to add to their ranks.

“They have venom attacks, and it’s largely a numbers problem with them. The danger is that they just overwhelm us. It’s closer to fighting the weather than monsters. Maelstrom’s Howling is well equipped to push them back in that sense; their [Weather Mages] have been turning the wind against the green and keeping them locked in place, but Maelstrom’s Howling’s commander on the ground is the exact wrong one.”

Their analysis had begun, and all the joking and comments had gone silent. He was speaking to Foliana, who was perched in a chair, nibbling on some mac and cheese, her new favorite treat. She murmured.

“Mm. Bannermare? Aria would be as bad at that as me.”

“She’s refusing to retreat her forces. I suppose she’ll be useful once this color shifts out of our way.”

They knew the famous Bannermare, one of the most important Centaurs in the world, and spoke so casually about her. Foliana scratched her back with a sheathed dagger.

“How old is she now?”

“Twenty-six?”

“Hm. So young. Too high-level. I should have stabbed her in that battle when I had the chance.”

“We’re on the same side, Foliana.”

“I meant back then.”

“We were on the same side in that—Aria! Our Courier’s almost on top of you.”

A scowling young Centauress appeared in the huge scrying mirror on one wall; on another, Geneva saw a feed of Sir Relz commenting on ships bound for the New Lands. Ryoka was on a third mirror, a hang glider as seen from above, passing over lands cleared of the usual jungle. Then over tents and what Geneva swore were bands of soldiers seen from over a thousand feet up.

Aria Fellstrider, the 2nd-in-command of Maelstrom’s Howling, snapped back.

“Niers, I want to advance on the green tonight! Your recon is costing us momentum! I’ve got the band ready to play, and our [Mages] are getting tired!”

“I want to know how deep this wave is, Aria, and if they have any hidden units. I have two Chess Towers ready to screen your advance, but your musical tricks won’t do much good when you’re breathing those damn green things in.”

“Hah! We’ve dealt with swarms before. Our Lizardfolk backfighters are armed with swarm slings, and we have enough magic to burn this entire cloud to ash.”

“Assuming they’re not eating you. Give my Courier one hour, Aria. She’s flying overhead now.”

Aria tilted her head back. She was, Geneva saw, a very striking Centauress. Her fur was almost blueish silver that became cream as it reached her flanks, and she carried a banner with a Centaur on it, galloping between tornadoes.

The Maelstrom’s Howling’s beloved Battle Hymnist could barely sit still; her light, colorful armor jingled as hundreds of Centaurs behind her stamped their hooves. All of them, even she, had a small Lizardfolk riding on their back, not in a saddle, but balanced on stirrups, even standing up and waving at Niers.

“She’s so cool, Geneva. She’s the youngest Centaur to reach her level in centuries! Niers, Foliana, Aria—I never thought I’d lay eyes on so many legends!”

Okasha, the native of Baleros, was delighted, and Geneva sub-vocalized, a trick she’d learned to use to talk to Okasha so no one could hear them.

“What’s her ability?”

“Leading armies! She always does it with music playing. A hundred Centaurs led by the Bannermare could sweep an army of ten thousand! Well, according to the rumors. She’s over Level 50.”

And she’s only 26 years old? Geneva knew she herself wasn’t one to talk, but that was astounding! Aria pranced sideways, then squinted.

“Is that Foliana with you? Hey, Stalker. Mother says her left hindleg was hurting. She hopes you get eaten by a giant hawk.”

“Hello, little girl.”

Foliana waved back, and Aria snorted, tossed her head, then peered up.

“Hey, wait, that’s no Garuda! Is that—wait, is that the Wind Runner? How’d you get her? I heard she was in Baleros!”

Then she was galloping off, and whomever had the scrying orb was racing to keep up. Aria waved her arms up, grinning, and Niers raised his brows.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin? She’s been a guest of Elvallian off-and-on. Are you a fan of hers?”

“I’m a fan of anyone fast! And she’s been on the news—tell her to come down! I want an autograph!”

That was the amazing thing, Geneva supposed. Here was a legend of Baleros, one of the Four Great Companies’ leaders, and she was taken with Ryoka. Well, not that taken; Aria slowed and appeared merely disappointed after Niers told her there would be time for that afterwards.

“I hope she can do her job quick. We’re ready to gallop! Alright, Niers, I’m watching. Do your thing. Say, is that weird Human you’ve been trying to mate with there? I’ve been dying to lay eyes on her.”

Niers scowled and reddened as Foliana chuckled, and Aria tossed her head, fearlessly grinning at the Titan of Baleros. Then she sombered, and her eyes focused on the screen she was clearly watching. Ryoka flew into the green zone, and Geneva shuddered.

It was a lot of monsters.

 

——

 

“Dead gods. Niers, are you seeing this?”

“We have magnified the scrying spell so wherever you’re going, we see. Fly over anything you want us to look at. Don’t worry; we’re recording all of this. Also, you may be on television. Local broadcasts, for now.”

Now he told her. Ryoka was cold, stiff, and unhappy after flying for over five damn hours to get here, even with wind spells speeding her way. At least the [Mages] had cleared the skies for her, and she knew it mattered, she just hated feeling like an object someone could just—

“Hey, Wind Runner, move left a bit, would you? I want to see that clump of snakes or whatever it is in the air.”

Someone else gave her orders, and Ryoka growled.

“Who is this?”

“Aria Fellstrider, Bannermare of the Maelstrom’s Howling company. Left. [Move It, Soldier]!”

Ryoka jerked left and only caught herself after a second. She shuddered, nearly shouted an insult, and then remembered who that was.

Today sucks. She heard the fae sniggering as Aria peered through the scrying spell.

“Yep, that’s gross. Okay, back to you, Niers.”

He, at least, sounded a tiny bit sympathetic as he directed Ryoka to continue flying over the…cloud of green monsters below her. Ryoka had been skeptical when he told her he wanted four hundred feet above the top of their formations. She was so high up she was freezing, but after seeing the green monsters of the Dyed Land, she had zero desire to get closer.

What did they look like? Well, here was a question. Had you ever walked into a cloud of midges? Those invisible swarms of gnats that could be as large as you were, alarming as they buzzed around you? Ryoka had run into them countless times on runs, and she hated the bastards.

Imagine that, but denser by a factor of ten, a virtual cloud of wriggling shapes in the air, some as long as she was. Longer.

Snakes. Or…vaguely snakes. They had wings on their backs, transparent membrane mostly, and long, aerodynamic appendages sprouting from their necks and along their bodies.

They were, in fact, half insectoid with the eerie grace of serpents flying through the air. Ryoka heard no buzz from below, and she saw many of them wriggling as if they were able to keep themselves in place by that motion.

Millions of these snake-things. They blanketed the skies, flying against the winds that were keeping them from advancing. Ryoka had been warned they could burrow into flesh, and she was damned if she was getting closer. Whenever one opened their mouth, she saw familiar fangs—but the ground was far more alarming.

“…They’re big.”

That was Foliana. Ryoka glanced down and shuddered; she saw something huge prowling forwards, covered in writhing snakes. It seemed to have snakes for legs, be festooned with them, like a Medusa’s head gone wild. Niers commented.

“I think that’s one of the other colors’ monsters, infested. Four legs…I’m guessing it’s twenty-four feet long. The green zone clearly accumulates everything it can. This is like a zombie horde. Potentially worse since they won’t need dead bodies and can commandeer living ones. Your forces might not want this matchup, Aria. The Iron Vanguard’s armor might be necessary. I’ll contact the Seer of Steel.”

“Hah! My forces can outrun them. We storm in, storm out, hit and run while containing them. All we have to do is force this color back, and another will take its place.”

That was how the Dyed Lands seemed to work. One colored arm would expand outwards, attacking everything in its path, and be forced back, eventually sent fleeing by another color trying to establish dominance. Ryoka could see red if she squinted past the green zone’s monsters.

So many monsters, all one color. I wonder what the Dyed Lands was before…whatever happened to it happened. Erin said it was a time-based Seamwalker. Timewalker. I wonder if ‘this’ Erin would know about it?

She focused, flying a circle over the monster as people analyzed it in her earpiece. Then she flew onwards, the good Courier helping the nice [Mercenaries] out.

In truth, Ryoka did like to be helpful. She just hated how pushy they all were. And she couldn’t deny this was bad; she was flying over a town, next, or what was left of it.

Niers exhaled hard as Ryoka saw houses practically writhing with more serpents.

“Damn. Most of the buildings are intact. Was it green who did this?”

“Nope. White. Invisible monsters wiped out anyone who hadn’t fled. Poor bastards. Hang on—I think I just spotted more monsters than the parasite-serpents. Do we have a name for them?”

“Parasite Serpents works for me. We’ll let the Adventurer’s Guilds name the rest. I see your new monsters. Ryoka?”

She had trouble seeing them, actually. Ryoka had to use a spyglass one-handed, and she spotted a huge…well, what the hell was that?

“It looks like a giant ball of spikes. Only, it’s moving.”

She commented, and Aria snapped.

“Get me a [Combat Predictor] now! Okay…my [Strategist] really doesn’t like that, Niers. An average Centaur group dies without inflicting notable damage. Best guess is that it’s spraying or extending the spikes. Hey, run it against an armored group? Better? It’s better. We’ll stay away from it and hit it with spells.”

“That’s assuming your forces can use those barrier spells and survive, Aria. Ryoka, please drop the first package you were issued. Arm it first…I think it’s time we saw how much damage these things do.”

They’d given her a bunch of pre-packaged objects for this mission. Ryoka had to respect Niers’ organization and Aria’s Skills, at least. She fumbled with a few tags and ripped one off. Instantly, a shriek made her wince, and Shaestrel swear.

“You fecking bastards! My ears!”

“Who said that? Is someone else flying with you, Miss Ryoka?”

Aria was curious, but Ryoka was ripping at a second object, a stone, which began glowing. She dropped the pack attached to the jade orb, and she saw it float downwards, still shrilling, as a green bubble appeared around it.

“That’s a [Threefold Arcane Barrier] spell, Aria. We’re going to see how effective your barriers are very shortly.”

The green monsters did not like the sound of the package falling. They roiled, first breaking away from the green bubble, then surging back towards it and up, like some collective organism. They engulfed the arcane bubble, and Ryoka gulped and flew higher.

“It’s holding. It’s holding—and it’s broken. Looks like they just crushed it. Well, that’s nasty. We can expect that to happen. I can outrun that with my people.”

Aria was confident, but Niers just coolly instructed Ryoka to drop a second package, this one without the sound spell. This time, he had one of Aria’s people use an [Attract Foe] Skill on it; a smaller clump of serpents latched onto it and bit, and they analyzed the protective layers of the shields.

They weren’t happy with what they found.

“Okay, fine. Their fangs go through magic. But our barriers probably still hold.”

“All it takes is one of them getting through, Aria. Is one enough to turn you into one of them or does it take a huge amount? We have an expert in the room who thinks they have to reach your brain or spine, but it’s not something she wants to bet on. She’s worried about venom. Ryoka, we’re going to have you drop a third sample that should teleport back to Aria’s lines for analysis.”

As Ryoka got that ready, Aria’s voice turned cunning.

“That’s the Last Light of Baleros, isn’t it? Can I say hello to her, Niers?”

“We’re on broadcast, Aria. Later.”

“Oh, I forgot we are! Hello, Baleros! And hello—hey! We’re not on the main news? What’s wrong with that stupid Drake, Mr. Monocle?”

She began insulting Sir Relz as Ryoka dropped a third package, this one a basket, and watched it drift down into the cloud of green. Then Ryoka saw someone fly past her.

A Winter Faerie. Not Shaestrel; she was still staring into the green cloud of monsters with a frown on her face. The Winter Faerie…one of seven left wasn’t one Ryoka knew by name. Only Vofea, Theillige, and Shaestrel had ever offered names, but she had a warning look in her eyes.

“Hey, Ryoka Stonefecker. There’s badness ahead. Turn on back regardless what yon mouthbreathers say.”

She pointed inward where the swirl of colors were coming from. Ryoka couldn’t even see into the center of where the Dyed Lands had been; mist of every color swirled together until it was impossible to see that changed place. Ryoka swerved her glider and snapped.

“Don’t call me that. How do you know how dangerous it is?”

“Aside from it looking like the portal to the realm of the damned? Lots of magic in there. This green swarm might not be that dangerous, but there’re other things flying about the other colors. So shoo, g’wan.”

She motioned, and Ryoka nodded. The fae might be tricksters, but they had her best interests at heart most of the time, and one of them had already died to fight the dead gods. They were her only real friends in Baleros right now…actually, even Shaestrel had been distant and preoccupied, hanging out with Foliana more than Ryoka. But the Frost Faerie flew with Ryoka, speaking conversationally.

“Yon greenies look nice and edible. If it weren’t so many of them, I’d fly down and eat the littles myself. Bite off their heads, but we’re weaker now. ‘Swhy Shaestrel’s pissing herself now we can’t see the future.”

That did rouse Shaestrel. The green faerie snapped back at the Winter Faerie.

“Hush yourself, you stupid pixie! Stop chattering and keep a lookout!”

“Nyeh! We’re here to make a difference, not hide behind skirts, Lady Shaestrel! Some of us were never good at seeing the future. Stop coddling the Wind Fecker and let her do her work!”

The Frost Faerie joined the others, and Ryoka blinked. Normally, Shaestrel was the unquestioned leader of the group, being from the highest rank of the fae as Ryoka understood it. She’d never heard a Frost Faerie giving her that much sass.

She was turning to Shaestrel to ask a question as she flew back over the ruined town. Niers was telling her to do another pass along a new section of the green zone before she was done; it seemed like they were onto a battle strategy, so she’d be able to go soon. That was when Ryoka saw an odd flare of light from below.

She did a roll instantly, avoiding…but the light barely penetrated the swarm of green. It was, she realized, not even an attack, just an orange flare of—

“Magic? Did anyone see that?”

“We saw it, Ryoka. Tier 1 spell. Do you have eyes on it? Circle over the spot!”

Ryoka was already doing that, but she could see what eluded the observers’ perspective. Now, her heart began to beat faster.

“Niers…I think there’s someone alive down there. Someone just came out of that house. Do you see that? It’s three Lizardfolk!”

There was a gasp, and then Ryoka heard a voice.

“I see it too! Dead gods! How are they alive down—oh. Mare’s mercy.”

It was three Lizardfolk, but they were covered in those wiggling, green snakes. Ryoka’s stomach roiled as she saw two taller Lizardfolk shielding a smaller one. One of them had a wand and fired another orange flare up; the other was making a gesture with his…her…arms. It was raising them out wide, crossing them at the wrists, and then bringing the cross down in front of them.

“That’s an emergency signal for help. Titan, do you see that? They’re alive down there! But they’re covered in those snake-worms! Do you think it means they’re conscious?”

Aria cried excitedly. Ryoka felt her skin prickling harder, and Shaestrel pivoted.

“More scrying spells, Ryoka. Seems like we’re on television.”

She raised two middle fingers up, though they’d just see her as a green blob. Ryoka didn’t even glance up—her eyes were locked on the trio below. Niers’ voice was cold in her ears.

“It’s bait, Aria. And if it is, it means the swarm is thinking or subverting intelligence. Circle for a minute, Ryoka. Someone zoom in on that child.”

He’d noticed something was off about the small Lizardfolk standing between the other two. Ryoka was staring too. It looked to her like the parents were all but writhing with the parasitic snakes. But the small one…the enchanted spyglass suggested she had some of the snake-things on her, but not as many by far. Even as Ryoka watched, some flew down and were brushed off by the two parents.

“Are they keeping her from being possessed? Is she alive? Is that what they want?”

Aria was thinking along Ryoka’s same line of thought. Niers’ voice had gone even colder.

“Impossible to say. Either way—they’re not in full command of their faculties. I’ve spotted multiple Lizardfolk among the green, all possessed. [Mark Targets]. These must be survivors who escaped the White monsters. Aria, I want you to re-issue an evacuation warning across all the territory in the Maelstrom’s Howling’s lands.”

“Done. And I see the others, but look at the kid, Niers.”

The glow made Ryoka peer down and spot several Lizardfolk mindlessly moving forwards with the rest of the possessed creatures. However…the trio stood there, and now the two adults were waving up at her.

“Courier Griffin, fall back to the Maelstrom’s Howling’s frontline. Your job is done.”

Niers’ voice was in Ryoka’s ears. She did another circle, and her voice was suddenly dry.

“Niers…that kid down there.”

“It’s a trap. If it’s not, I’ve marked her area for extraction. We’ll put together a group to burn in and claim her before the color shifts. Fall back; that’s an order.”

Another circle above the cloud. Ryoka could see hundreds of feet down. The flying serpents were everywhere. They might seem tranquil as they flew forwards against the wind, but she’d seen them mob the test packages. It’d be suicide.

“Ryoka. Go. This isn’t worth the risk.”

Shaestrel’s voice shocked the Wind Runner. She twisted in midair and eyed the Spring Fae.

“It’s just a trap? She’s not actually still…her?”

Shaestrel’s eyes darted to the girl, then away.

“I don’t know. I can’t see the future anymore. Don’t be a fool. Yon Titan can get her. Come on.”

The fae angled herself away, flying back the way they’d come. Ryoka Griffin hung in the air a moment and gazed down.

The Wind Runner of Reizmelt saw one of the adults falter and stop waving, as if they realized there was no way the distant Courier would descend. They brushed at more serpents trying to bite the little child, and the other kept waving, the spent wand in their claws. Ryoka Griffin stared at the Lizardchild and saw a hand rise. It did not perform the signal for ‘help’.

Instead, it just waved at her. A tentative wave, and Ryoka’s breath caught. Now, Niers’ voice was audible, crackling in her ears.

“Ryoka Griffin. Fly back. That’s an order. [Hear Me].”

His authority washed over her, and she began to turn. Then stopped. Ryoka’s hands shook on her glider, and she mumbled.

“I hear you, Niers. That kid…she looks fine.”

“Looks fine? She’s infested—”

“Not to me.”

The Wind Runner’s perception shifted. She used the trick of the fae and gazed down. What she saw were dying colors. A sea of murky green, absorbing and corrupting…other colors.

That lumbering beast was ‘black’, but it was dying itself green, covered in their fog. The other creatures below were all green. The two parents? Dying colors, a mix of them slowly becoming green. But the kid was like a little sun with green tendrils buried in her. Reaching for the center, but not able to take over. Not yet.

“We’ll put a strike force together within the hour. Don’t do it.”

“Ryoka! Don’t be a fool!”

Shaestrel and Niers were shouting at her. But one of the Winter Fae was looking at Ryoka. Just…looking.

There were seven of them, and they formed a formation like a flock of miniature, frozen geese in front of Ryoka. Their leader spoke, a smile on her face.

“Well, Wind Runner? What is Ivolethe’s mortal friend going to do?”

Ryoka’s fingers were sweaty on the hang-glider’s bar. She swallowed and peered down at the little figure. Then her eyes rose to meet the Winter Fae’s eyes.

“Something stupid. But that’s nothing new. My question is—are you going to help or do you know something I don’t? Because I’d really appreciate some honesty.”

There was a chorus of laughter from them, and then the faerie drifted forwards. Some of the others were shouting at Ryoka not to be a ‘daft cunt’ and obey Shaestrel, but the one in front tapped Ryoka on the nose with a finger like frost.

“Know aught? I’m no grand seer. Just a fool far less important than Theillige or Lady Shaestrel. But if ye go down, I’ll go down too. Upon my sacred name, I swear it without lies or trickery.”

“And what is that name…?”

Two black, insectoid eyes glittered, and the sharp teeth formed a grin.

“Why, ‘tis Kaelis. A name of no great power.”

Ryoka doubted that, but she forced a smile. Then she breathed.

“Okay then, Kaelis. You watch my back. Niers? I need someone to punch a hole in that cloud. Otherwise, I’m not going to make it. Nothing fancy; just get me an opening.”

“Denied! Get out of there, Ryoka—”

“Hey, Wind Runner, I think you should listen to the Titan. This is a bad idea, even for a Courier—”

Aria was hesitant, but then someone else spoke, cutting over the two voices.

“If you’re serious, you’ll have your opening, Wind Runner. A Naga’s word on it.”

Her blood chilled, and Ryoka twisted as if to see the new speaker.

“Wh-who’s this?”

“The Serpentborn of Jungle Tails. Our people’s defenders. Forty seconds, just off your position.”

“Ryoka, abort—”

Niers tried to cut in, but his voice was silenced. Ryoka’s mouth went dry. The Jungle Tails company? She twisted around, and Kaelis grinned.

“I have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

Ryoka shook her head, then turned to Shaestrel. The faerie was motioning at her, but weakly. As if she knew no future, but she knew Ryoka. And so, the Wind Runner spoke.

“Geneva?”

“Ryoka…?”

“Get ready for a patient. Probably two of them.”

Then her heart was thundering in her chest. The Wind Runner adjusted her angle, and then she saw the magic building overhead. The Frost Faerie, Kaelis, was laughing in her ears, and it no longer sounded like crystal tinkling, but a larger, different being bubbling with deep echoes of water and mirth. But Ryoka’s eyes were locked on the ground.

Then—the burning pillar of flames shot down, and the blast of heat buffeted her. She soared up, fighting her glider, as a hole appeared in the swarm below her. Ryoka cried out as the flames baked her—then flew towards the hole. She was diving, then, and she heard a voice in her ears.

“Come on, you cowards! In the name of Titania! For the Queen of the Faeries!”

Then Ryoka’s heart squeezed in her chest, and the blue faerie was diving ahead of her. The Wind Runner heard Niers shouting in her ears, but he really didn’t know her. None of these people on Baleros did. The Wind Runner was laughing as she descended into the green.

 

——

 

It was a familiar sight.

Not the monsters. Nor the landscape. But some things didn’t change no matter how much you might expect them to.

The Wind Runner, her black hair blowing in a ponytail behind her, flight goggles on her face, all that was visible of her was the wingsuit catching the air. Then the flames—and her figure heading for the hole punched in the green swarm.

She was going to dive into that village. Despite it being filled with the flying snakes—she was going to do it.

Because she was Ryoka Griffin, the Wind Runner, a Courier.

The little Gnoll girl knew it. She could see the future as well as the young [Lords] sitting next to her watching the broadcast, despite Lyonette’s attempts to turn it off in case they saw…the worst. But she knew Ryoka.

So did the Vampiress, Fierre, who was frozen with Lady Ieka. They were as transfixed as Tyrion Veltras, who watched the scrying orb resting on the pommel of his saddle. Even Archmage Eldavin had halted his lesson in class and was just staring at the empty air, face tense.

The Wind Runner was fighting to get to the opening that Jungle Tails’ [Mages] had punched before the swirling, agitated flying snakes closed the gap. She was almost above it, and the hot air was blowing her upwards, rising. But then there was a glimmer of blue.

“Winter Sprites?”

Sir Relz was watching the event unfold, his notes crumpled up in his claws. Seven blue dots dove into the ring of charred air, and the roaring heat vanished. They dove ahead of the Wind Runner, and she dropped as cold air filled the gap. Then she was diving straight down, her glider cutting through the startled snakes, which twisted after her.

She was falling in a vertical dive towards the surprised Lizardfolk below. All three seemed stunned, despite their pleas to the sky. The Wind Runner hit a layer of serpents as she evened out, and then she was amidst them. Now, the monsters knew that something was attacking them. There was prey amidst their number.

They descended on her in a moment.

 

——

 

“That fool! Someone throw down a barrier spell! A barrier—is there not one decent [Mage] in all of Baleros?”

Rhisveri was shouting as he swung his head right and left at the shouting Titan’s perspective and Aria Fellstrider, who was galloping and yelling in excitement. Useless, muscle-headed warriors!

He didn’t have a lock on Ryoka’s position, and she was even further away than she’d been when he’d hit her with spells. He curled up his tail as he watched. Her protective spells—

A pink glow. The Faeblade slashed wildly, and Ryoka burst out of a cloud of the snakes, slicing through them with the insanely sharp blade she wielded. She was screaming.

A parasite-snake had landed on her uncovered face. It had bit through her cheek and was trying to invade her. She ripped it free with her other hand and spat its head out of her mouth. Then she was flying faster, covering her face as her blade swung. Rhisveri was frozen in place, mouth open—until his eyes swung left.

“Whomever is playing that music, I will melt you if you don’t turn it off!”

He roared, and Dame Chorisa, one of the Thirsting Veil Knights allowed in his presence, whirled. But there was no one making music in his silent chambers. Then who…?

 

——

 

The Singer of Terandria was performing on Channel 2 of Wistram News Network. She was in a cramped room that swayed and rocked methodically. And her entire band seemed unprepared, but the [Singer] was performing.

“This one’s for the Wind Runner of Reizmelt! Walk Thru Fire, for the girl who defies serpents! Hit it!”

They were playing as her voice surrounded the confused Courier. Cara was sweating with concentration as she tried to throw a song across the world. She winked one painted eyelid into the camera.

Cara’s eyes were fixed on the obscured image of the Wind Runner. She was well below the layer of serpents chasing her now, an arrow bearing down on the child and the two parents running towards her. They stumbled, as if fighting something, and one pushed the Lizardgirl forwards. Ryoka Griffin reached out, her free hand grasping desperately—

Green shapes obscured both. Cara’s voice faltered. Thien, the [Drummer], lost the beat, and every eye was fixed on the swirling storm of green shapes.

 

——

 

Nerry was watching, fists clenched on the war room table as Geneva Scala glanced around, as if Niers or Foliana could do something. The transformed Sariant Lamb didn’t make a sound. She knew better than to believe in miracles.

—But even so, she was waiting. Then she saw it.

Pink flames. The Wind Runner blasted up out of the swarm of charred serpents, holding a small figure in her arms. She was rocketing upwards as the Faeblade burned, emitting fire now, not the energy blade. The pink flames extended, and now she was racing past the serpents, away.

“She’s going to make it!”

Daly shouted, and Niers cursed.

“She’s going to pull the entire color of green on her! She can’t keep that speed up forever! Bannermare, get ready to cover her!”

The image shifted. Now, it was locked onto the front lines of the Maelstrom’s Howling’s forces. Nerry could see the shifting cloud of green contorting in the distance. But for a second, her attention was drawn away from Ryoka, towards a wave of Centaurs galloping after the familiar Bannermare, whose standard was held high.

“We’re ready for them. Maelstrom’s Howling, cover that Courier! Archmage Uenoix, prepare a welcome for these green invaders!”

Archmage…? A second Centaur was galloping next to the Bannermare. He had no Lizardfolk rider, and he wore robes adjusted for a Centaur’s body. He was holding a staff overhead as he galloped, and then the Wind Runner burst out of the snake cloud. They were trailing after her as her Faeblade deactivated, Ryoka tearing them off her and her passenger, and she was slowing.

The entire wave of green came after her. They were hissing now, not a loud shriek, just a terrible rushing sound. But the Bannermare and thousands of Centaurs were galloping at them full tilt.

Aria Fellstrider held up a hand as Ryoka Griffin passed by, eyes wide, shouting—and the Centaur threw her head back. Then her hand slashed down, and she shouted.

“Now!”

So saying, she hopped on all four hooves, turning sideways, and skidded across the ground. The Archmage of Baleros did likewise, and so did the warriors behind him. They turned, hooves tearing up the earth as they slid, then kicked as they streaked right, away from the cloud of insects. The Bannermare shouted one Skill:

“[Unit: Kick Dirt]!”

It was a Skill you’d get under Level 10, but magnified by the numbers of Centaurs and her level. To Nerry, it looked like the ground had exploded upwards in a shower of clouds of dirt, actually blotting out the wave of green serpents for a second.

That alone would have knocked a great number of the first wave to the ground, but it was only half the trick. The Archmage of Baleros, the Centaur, Uenoix, twisted around at the torso and pointed his staff at the shower of dirt at precisely the right moment. And he too cast a single spell.

“[Mass Transmutation: Earth to Fire]!”

A firestorm rolled through the serpents, and then their momentum did falter. The Bannermare was galloping across the reeling serpents not turned to ash, and she shouted.

“All ranks, volley!”

She had a wand in her free hand, and she fired a plume of flames into the serpents as her Centaurs streamed behind her, breaking away as the swarm rolled forwards. Lizardfolk on their backs were whirling strange slings that knocked down the snakes trying to strike the centaurs, and barrier spells flashed as the Maelstrom’s Howling company engaged.

But all that Nerry and the audience were paying attention to was the hang glider which crashed to the ground just inside of Maelstrom’s Howling’s camp. Ryoka Griffin sat up, tearing the last few snakes off her, reaching down. She was bloody and burnt, but when she sat up, the thunder of Centaurs stomping their hooves and Lizardfolk applauding sounded like the beating of Nerry’s heart.

Nerry caught Geneva’s eye, and the two women stood there, silent and watching the Wind Runner of Baleros. They’d forgotten or underestimated who she was.

Even the Titan of Baleros stopped grinding his teeth long enough to take a gulp of water. He gave several orders, instructing his forces to move up, then turned.

“Doctor Scala, get ready to treat Ryoka and her patient now. If she can’t fly back, I want you relaying orders to the [Healers] in Aria’s company now. Use one of our dedicated rooms to communicate.”

Geneva nodded and ran out of the war room. Niers rubbed at his face; he glared at the cheering Fraerlings. Then he muttered to Foliana out of the corner of his mouth.

“Well, there goes using her as a scout for anything else.”

“Mhm. You have to have a coward. Brave people are terrible scouts.”

Three-Color Stalker agreed, smiling faintly at the image in the scrying orb. Niers stood there, arms folded. Trying very hard not to like Ryoka Griffin’s idiocy.

 

——

 

She didn’t say a word for a while. Having a snake burrowing through your cheek did that to you, and besides, everyone else had plenty of words for her. But after a while, once they’d cleared her of the infestation, she pushed past the [Healers] and knelt. The first thing the Wind Runner spoke was to the little girl.

“Hey, are you…”

She hesitated, because ‘okay’ didn’t fit. Not to the little Lizardgirl surrounded by Centaur [Healers], who had snakes growing out of her limbs. She looked up with huge eyes, and Ryoka Griffin changed what she was going to say.

“…I’m sorry I couldn’t take anyone else with me. I’m very sorry. Can I ask your name?”

No one had asked, but the child just spoke, face blank.

“Filax. Mama and Papa weren’t there anyways. Not all of them.”

“Oh. I see. But they helped you.”

“Yeah.”

Ryoka reached out, and a Centaur caught her hand.

“Excuse me, Courier. That’s dangerous. She might be—”

The Wind Runner’s glare silenced the objections. She held out her hand, and Filax took hold of it. Ryoka looked her in the eyes and saw how she was very tired and very…sad. Oh, this poor girl.

“Well, these people are checking you out to make sure you’re going to be okay, but when they’re done, I’m going to take you somewhere safe, alright, Filax?”

The girl blinked.

“You promise? You won’t leave me?”

That made the Wind Runner hurt worse, because the image of Mrsha…and even Hethon and Sammial flashed before her eyes. But she just nodded.

“Hey. I won’t let go. I promise.”

The girl met eyes, then her claw tightened on Ryoka’s hand ever-so-slightly.

“Thank you, Miss Wind Runner.”

Only then did Ryoka cast around as someone sighed. She turned, and Aria Fellstrider was standing behind her. Filax and Ryoka were reminded they were in the presence of one of Baleros’ legends, and Ryoka rose.

“I, uh—”

“Well said, Miss Courier. And if the Forgotten Wing Company were not to have a place for you, we surely would, Filax.”

The Bannermare smiled, and her entire face lit up with such confident passion that Filax half-smiled herself.

“You’re her. The Bannermare of Baleros.”

She whispered shyly, suddenly hiding behind Ryoka. Some of her snake-limbs reacted, squirming around her, and the armed Centaurs tensed slightly, but then stepped back as Aria tossed her head at them. She glowered and spoke conversationally to Ryoka and Filax.

“Cowards as meek as foals, the lot of them. I am indeed the Bannermare. Though it’s no huge matter. I’m merely famous because of my mother.”

Ryoka doubted that. Aria Fellstrider had a presence that even Ryoka had rarely felt—as if the world revolved around her in a literal sense.

She has to be over Level 50. Chaldion and Saliss could both act like that, but neither one liked to show off how powerful they were. By contrast, when Aria walked, it felt like the rest of the world—copied her.

Her pace was mimicked by Centaurs thousands of paces away. When she spoke, it was like a cadenza. She had a rhythm she spoke and acted to.

Bannermare indeed. She seemed to love music as well, because there was a band playing as she trotted out of the healer’s tent with Ryoka. Filax needed a few more check-ups, but she clutched a gift that Aria had given her with a delighted smile.

She’d asked, in the way of people these days, for an autograph. Aria had instead cut a piece of her hair off; she had a long ponytail, and from the way the Centaurs were gazing at the gift, Ryoka bet they’d have paid for it.

They were surrounded by Centaurs. Not jostling close, but they followed in a wave—Lizardfolk too, often riding on backs. Many of them male. And not-so-subtly staring at Aria.

Dead gods. I’ve never seen so many desperate men in my life. The Centauress noticed Ryoka looking and chuckled.

“Welcome to the Maelstrom’s Howling company. Sorry about the eyes. It comes with being, well, important. And eligible as a partner.”

“I think I’d rather fly back into the green zone than live like this.”

It was the only thing the Wind Runner could think to say. It popped out of her mouth, and Aria threw her head back and laughed. She was so delighted that she whirled and picked Ryoka up in a hug.

“I knew I liked you the moment I saw you! And not just because you’re fast! How come the Titan meets all the interesting people? You’re mad, you know that? I like that.”

She put Ryoka down, and the Wind Runner was amazed by the strength of Aria’s arms. She hesitated.

“I, uh—thank you? I hope I didn’t put your people in danger!”

From what she’d seen, they’d attacked and fallen back like lightning. One of the Four Great Companies indeed. Aria waved one hand airily.

“We took some blood, but we were ready for that. Besides, it was worth it. We’ll be beginning our offensive; we sent two waves in, and we’ll launch seven more before nightfall.”

Indeed, as she pointed past their temporary camp, ringed by a literal fence—albeit clearly magical—Ryoka saw a wave of Centaurs and Lizardfolk riders storming back from the green swarm they were keeping at bay with the wind.

Despite herself, Ryoka was amazed by how fast the Centaurs were moving—and she saw thousands galloping forwards.

“Whoa. Are you rotating through the entire army?”

“No, we have a reserve. I’ll be going out—but I wanted to see you. It’s how we fight. We attack, fall back, and attack again! Fighting four battles in a day is normal for our tactics.”

“You must use stamina potions like crazy.”

Ryoka was familiar with how even veteran [Soldiers] tired in combat, which was one of the most strenuous burners of energy out there. But to her startlement, Aria just snorted.

“Stamina potions? Maybe if we fought eight battles. We’re Centaurs, Wind Runner! Ah, but you don’t know any of them.”

Ryoka was about to say she knew one, but then she developed a funny idea and closed her mouth. Aria struck one of her forelegs with a hand.

“We store energy and use it when needed. Ever heard of stories of Centaurs running for two days and nights straight? We do that and more! Although we sleep for ages afterwards.”

Really? Ryoka had heard Charlay claiming to run for 24 hours straight, but she’d put that down to her friend bragging. She realized there were actually legitimate biological differences with the Centaurs from other species.

They reminded her a lot of the nomadic peoples from her world, actually. The Centaurs were highly mobile and could pack their camps up in a flash—with bags and chests of holding, they could store entire tents with ease. Add that to their stamina and coordination, and she wondered why they hadn’t spread far and wide beyond Baleros’ shores.

Oh, right, they suck with stairs and swimming. Even so—Aria just turned and grinned down at Ryoka again.

“Now, it’s your turn to give me an autograph! And you must let me race you!”

Once again, Ryoka blinked and realized that someone important and powerful had taken an interest in her. It was a sign of her personality that she wondered why this kept happening to her. As if she’d forgotten flying into the heart of a storm minutes ago.

 

 

Entry #44 — Further Ryoka updates.

 

Ryoka needs armor. I seriously don’t understand how she’s survived half the things she has without at least some kind of higher-grade barrier spell. She’s got to be rich enough to afford a personal amulet that shields her from attack, right?

…Well, actually, I’ve heard how damn expensive and rare they are. Even a high-quality deflector spell like a Ring of Lesser Protection is on par with Relics for value. No lamb has ever managed to steal a barrier charm; the Owners always notice.

Anyways, enough about me. After seeing Ryoka’s incredibly stupid stunt to save that Lizardkid, everyone was agog. It’s been…seven hours since my last entry?

I haven’t slept. Erin wouldn’t while Ryoka’s in danger, and we weren’t sure if she was infested with those snake-things. They nearly got a flying carpet to send Geneva to the front, but the Archmage of Baleros was able to do a lot of the work she wanted.

Full-body scans, decontamination, even scanning with vision spells and [Detect Life] calibrated to check for eggs of parasites. They were properly paranoid, but I just saw Ryoka exiting the [Healer]’s tent.

It was a stupid stunt. Let’s be clear. I know I was gushing a bit, and when I read the previous entry, I wince, but the record stands. I was thinking about it, and I’ve decided that I was mistaken.

Ryoka’s not any different than she was yesterday. I just saw her go to shake Aria Fellstrider’s hand when the Centauress was going for a high-five. She’s still fundamentally ‘cringe’, to use the parlance of Troydel.

…We just see her differently. She has to remind us now and then she’s still the Wind Runner who woke the Archmage of Izril, who defied the Assassin’s Guild, and who flew through a magical hurricane to save lives. If you remember that about Ryoka, you see her properly. If not, you treat her like a silly, airheaded Runner you can push around, and she’ll let you do it until she decides to just ignore you.

A lesson for me, for Niers, and, I think, for Geneva and the others. Certainly, the good [Doctor] seems quite remorseful about how she treated Ryoka. She’s actually consulting with Beth on whether they can make a cake for Ryoka’s return—as well as prepping a room to treat that poor Lizardkid.

She’s a girl and not fully taken over by the snakes, as far as I was told by Geneva and the Fraerling [Healers] consulting. But they’re not removing the snakes in her body; they’re ‘attached’ in ways Ryoka escaped, and the less I know about that the better.

…I’ll write down all I’ve got, obviously, but the idea of being assimilated into the green swarm gives me the shudders.

At any rate, I might catch some sleep in a second. Ryoka’s getting the hero worship she deserves with the Centaurs. Whether or not that’s a good thing?

Aria Fellstrider, the Bannermare, is hugging Ryoka and seems determined to make the Wind Runner her friend. I think it’s a speed thing; people who move fast like each other’s company. That or they’re close enough in age and Ryoka’s famous enough for even the 2nd-in-command of Maelstrom’s Howling to like her.

Hm. I think it’s both Ryoka’s ability, her selflessness and insanity, and the fact that she’s actually fairly level-headed around the Bannermare. I’ve talked with other Pathforgers and lambs assigned to high-level targets, and they always note how isolated high levels make you. Ryoka’s personable in her way, and she’s met more famous people than I can count.

Damn. I don’t know Aria’s exact level, but she’s close enough to count for the Trials of Levelling, I’m certain. Then again, I’m not good at being ‘nice’. Ryoka? Here’s a snippet of conversation I wrote down word-for-word.

Aria: “So you’re new to Baleros and you’re already doing missions like these? I thought Izrilian Couriers weren’t anything special, no offense.”

Ryoka: “I don’t, uh, actually know that many of the ones on Izril, but they’re braver than I am. Four of them took on [Assassins] during my run for Tyrion Veltras, and I’ve met Mihaela.”

Aria: “Oh, the Courier of Izril herself? I didn’t mean all Couriers. Just…you know what, Mother always tells me I generalize. Are they all like you, then? Also, how do you like Baleros? We must be very strange to you, since I doubt you’ve ever met a Centaur before now. We hate boats.”

Ryoka: “Actually, I’m friends with a famous Centaur Runner. She’s practically a Courier herself; we’re rivals.”

Aria: “A famous Centauress on Izril? I’ve never heard of her!”

Ryoka (just imagine the shit-eating grin on her face): “She’s called Dustrider Charlay. Hey, Charlay! It’s me! You and Aria should race sometime!”

Then she waves at the camera. Aria grins until someone tells her that Charlay’s a City Runner, and she laughs and slaps Ryoka on the shoulders and asks about her flying.

That’s…clever. Seriously, it is. I’ve never had to charm a Centaur—they’re not Izrilian, and they don’t take to Sariant Lambs like other species, probably because we’re both four-legged and they’re so huge and mobile. However, I do understand that Centaurs love jostling each other, poking fun, and being somewhat pushy, if not aggressive in some cases. You don’t win them over by being polite and reserved, like Dullahans. How shall I put it? Unlike Lizardfolk, Centaurs like you to have a bit of bite to the play. But they’re also big on loyalty. Herd mentality?

That’s Ryoka’s strange charisma for you. It activates after she’s done something important. And again—I don’t think I’d necessarily want to trade places with her, because the downside of being popular among Centaurs is that they’re all over you. I think, even on live television, I saw her getting propositioned at least eleven times by male Centaurs.

—Enough about Ryoka, at least until she returns. I’m going to go catch some sleep, and then I plan on talking with the ‘troops’. My command of Lizardfolk and Selphids. If I want them to actually fight with me for reasons beyond pay, I hav—

 

 

ENTRY #45 — CONTACT WITH ERIN.

 

She summoned me. I don’t know how, but one moment I was writing and then the conversation with her…appeared in my mind. As if it had happened and I just remembered it.

I don’t know how to describe it. I remember a door appearing in front of me and pulling it open, walking into another realm. Like I did with Paxere, but instead of that dark room and the ominous chains and table, I was in an empty gazebo in the middle of nowhere.

Have you ever stood in an open place before the stars come out at night? It was like that—nothing but blackness in every direction, save for two doors that were connected by little pathways to the Gazebo.

And she was there. Erin, the real [Innkeeper]. I

don’t know

how do I write this?

 

——

 

Ignore the poetry above. I’ve been trying for an hour to figure out how to write it. I’ll just do what I can, and you’ll understand I can’t do it justice.

I’ve never been more scared in my life. I thought she was going to kill me. She looks like the genuine article. She’s scarred. It seems like her hair’s been washed by magic, and she’s missing part of her ear. She’s got burn marks on her wrists, neck, and she’s thinner. That doesn’t really capture it.

All my acting and attempting to be her was so far off. I thought she’d be—tough. Hard after surviving all of that, and she is. But she was concerned about me.

Not angry.

I told her everything. It’s this pavilion…that’s all I’m going to write about her secrets here, even for other lambs. I told her what I’d been doing, and I expected her to tell me to stop impersonating her or to only do what she wanted.

But she just listened to me when I told her why I was doing all of this. With a voice—and then she gave me her blessing. A boon. Her boon.

Okay.

Let me try again.

She looks like she’s melting. Or burning herself away. As if the color in her hair, her very skin were fuel for the fires she conjured. Even her hat’s different now. The fire falls like tears.

She’s hit Level 50. There’s no question of that. She looks so damned tired. I had the best healing in the world thanks to the Fraerlings in Paeth, and shelter and safety. I don’t even know if anyone was taking care of her since the battle at sea. It doesn’t seem like it.

Despite all of that, she was just worried about me. A Sariant Lamb who stole her body. She wasn’t victorious about killing Prince Iradoren. She barely remembered him. She wasn’t grieving either. Just worried she wouldn’t be strong enough to do the same thing next time. I thought, when the last spells rained down and everything went black and I woke up on that raft at sea, that the battle was over.

It’s like it never ceased for Erin. But she’s not out there, fighting to kill the [Prince of Men]. I forgot that. It was always just to protect one of her friends, her guests. I don’t know how you’d scare her away or stop her if you were fighting her. There’s no bravado or wrath, just this quiet…she’ll survive wherever she is. And I?

I have to tell Ryoka. Maybe not Niers, but she gave me her blessing.

[Boon of the Guest: Erin Solstice].

My hands are itching. I’m still shaking. I’ll do her name justice. Enough playing around.

 

 

Entry #46 — Skill and Niers’ secrets.

 

The [Boon of the Guest] Skill gave me some of Erin’s powers. The better to fool everyone with, I think. Not all of them, but enough.

[Wondrous Fare] and her ability at chess are the two big standouts. They make sense. I’d have liked the fire, but I bet that’s too much to ask for, and besides, I can fake it with the Warform and the black flames.

But I have a Skill.

Me, a Sariant Lamb. It’s even more amazing than the Warform. Am I the first Sariant to ever gain a Skill…? This is what we’ve longed for our entire lives.

It changes everything.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Ryoka’s back now. She brought the Lizardkid in—it’s a girl named ‘Filax’, and Geneva and Beth and the Fraerlings have been studying her condition in sealed rooms. Apparently, Niers wanted Ryoka to take them anywhere but the citadel for the risk, but Foliana overrode him.

The moment I finished writing about the Erin meeting, I got some sleep, then set about putting together a better imitation of her than last time. I’ve adjusted my personality slightly; I still have to present as the Erin I pretended to be, but I’m loosening up a bit.

Remembering to not be such a monster to people. Smiling more. It’s weird that it’s genuine sometimes.

I can’t help but smile after trouncing people in chess. It feels good. If the boon gave me Erin’s playing level, then she’s taking it easy on everyone but Niers. It’s like I can see the future on the board, read dozens of moves ahead. It’s so easy I can play it blindfolded. Which I did earlier today in several chess games.

I, uh, may have gotten carried away showing off. Of course, I need an excuse for why I suddenly wanted to play chess after so long of avoiding it. So I found one, while hanging out with Geneva and Beth. Or rather, Okasha, Geneva, and Beth.

 

——

 

It’s a weird thing, knowing that Geneva is harboring a Selphid inside her. Horrific? I’ve heard tales of the body-snatchers of Baleros, and the old Selphid empire certainly comes to mind. But Okasha and Geneva seem to have a balance, albeit one struck after countless mistakes.

It used to be, according to Geneva, that she’d give Okasha time in control of her body, and they’d essentially trade off possession. Even to the extent where she wasn’t aware of what Okasha was doing? That sounds horrific.

These days, it’s closer to a partnership; Geneva tends to lead most of the time, but sometimes it seems like she’s tired or she wants Okasha to step up.

Like when she’s not working in her laboratory or talking to Niers—she goes down to a bar in Elvallian and Beth tags along, and I see Okasha appear.

It’s quite subtle. But Geneva appears to be more animated, more friendly, and certainly enjoys eating and sitting around more. To me, as an actress myself, it’s an amazing job. The biggest clue is Geneva’s tolerance for small talk with people who come up to her. It’s like her social battery is refreshed…because it is. The real Geneva has a pretty small tolerance for socialization, and perhaps even Okasha isn’t that friendly, but between the two of them, they can be quite personable.

But perhaps it’s more than that? I found myself sitting at a bar in the evening as Beth flirted with a pair of Dullahans. More for practice than anything serious was my guess; they traded jokes with her, clearly uninterested in a Selphid. There are a lot of things I observe that other species will say or comment on a Selphid that would be outlandishly rude to any other species.

The Dullahans make fun of her decay, wondering aloud how she’d even enjoy sex or who’d be interested in her after she backs off. She pretends not to hear and joins a group throwing darts as we watch.

“It hurts her feelings, you know. I’m used to it, but Beth’s not born to being one of us. She can’t even talk to other Humans the same way because how would she explain any of it? It has to be secret. I’m glad she’s with you Earthers.”

Geneva-Okasha tells me as we have ales, and I can’t tell if it’s Okasha at first. I raise my eyebrows. We talk in code, of course.

“And you, Geneva? I bet it’s pretty hard for you. How’re you managing it now compared to before?”

Okasha adjusts her glasses and smiles.

“Well, I focus on the work. I may not be as bright, but I’m getting to the same perspective. It’s not me being trapped, it’s more like—being a team. All-in, wanting to help. Repaying debts. Plus, it doesn’t hurt either of us if we drink what we want and don’t feel the effects. Say, that’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”

She points out a Lizardman walking past who’s more colorful than most; a [Captain] of Niers’ company, perhaps. I can’t speak to his handsomeness since most Baleros species are foreign to me on multiple levels, but then I hear Geneva agreeing.

“Mm. A bit.”

They’re oddly in sync. I watch as Okasha gets up and does what Geneva Scala’s probably too shy or busy for, and they chat. Nothing comes of it, but I wonder…how much of Okasha is changing to fit Geneva instead of trying to take over? Symbiosis versus parasitism. A distinction we Sariants know well. It might be Okasha’s molding herself too much to Geneva after what happened last time.

Well, not my problem to interfere with. The point is that I get to see Geneva actually smile, and we’re throwing darts after a few drinks with Beth. Which, of course, I lose at.

Two Selphids versus me, in Erin’s body, means they have the precision of [Sharpshooters] while I’m fumble-hoofed. I pull off the act well enough with walking, talking, and so on—because I practiced extensively on the raft when I was marooned!

A month of that got me in place well enough to fool Paeth’s Fraerlings, and then I had a lot of practice while I could feign being sick, but there’s always something new that I don’t know how to do. Like playing darts.

Worse, Siri just has to come over with the Bushrangers, so then it’s two experts and a literal [Sniper] nailing the bull’s eye, even without Skills. But there’s my opening, you see.

“I’m tired of playing games I suck at. How about…a game of chess?”

Everyone turns to me, and Daly raises his brows.

“Really, Erin? I thought you weren’t interested anymore.”

I give him a crooked smile as my pulse quickens.

“Well, I changed my mind. If I have to play some games, it beats throwing pointed sticks around. Any takers?”

Tofte instantly volunteers, as do a lot of Bushrangers.

“I’d love to play the world’s best chess player. But we’re amateurs…”

Maybe they have suspicions about me too. But I just wink, and with a confidence I don’t deserve, I look around.

“Anyone got a blindfold? I’ll play whoever wants to match me all at once. I assume the Forgotten Wing company has enough chessboards.”

That’s a crazy offer, and they all stare at me before Daly whoops, and they begin setting up games. It ends up with me playing six people simultaneously—blindfolded. But I do it. I don’t even need Beth to whisper which board and where the pieces are to me.

Erin just knows the game, and because of her boon—I do too.

 

——

 

I beat all six players, and then everyone in the bar is hunting for the best players they can find to go up against me.

Me, Erin Solstice, who is probably the best player in the world without Skills. I saw her famous chess tournament. She claims she wasn’t the best back on Earth, but I think that only the best can take her on now. Perhaps it’s levels or her class or just experience, but there’s no contest. I just sit in the bar, destroying everyone who comes to play me.

Instantly, I think Niers got wind of it, and Venaz just popped up. To test me? He’s one of the better players in the academy.

Beaten blindfolded. Then Wil played me, and then one of Niers’ actual [Strategists]—he was definitely using Skills and took a game off me after using all of them in the one match. After that, he lost four games fast.

I tore through most of the academy after that. The trick is putting time limits on how long each player has, or the games can take hours. Speed chess is something Erin’s good at; it rattles even experienced players, but she’s got over a decade of practice.

Niers tried to avoid me the entire day, I think. Denial. But he had to play me after I started beating Fraerlings. He just sat down and played the most aggressive game straight at me.

We tied. You tie at higher levels, and we just tied six straight games in a row before I finally took a victory off of him; he was getting frustrated and slipped up, so I forked a queen—

I know way too much about chess now. The point is that it rattled him. I’m pretty sure he suspected I was a fake, but no one just develops that level of chess ability overnight.

(Unless you have a boon Skill from Erin herself.) He probably considered that, but I think he was enjoying the chess despite himself at the end. I also think that Erin takes it easy on him.

Maybe not, but I was starting to go full-tilt near the end there. I was so much into playing that I didn’t even greet Ryoka when she arrived, and neither did he. Maybe Erin has to tone it down or else she just plays chess all day, which is a waste of her time and Niers’.

I was feeling good after that, so I snagged Ryoka for a quick chat. She was apprehensive at first, since she’d heard about me playing chess and seemed to be second-guessing herself too. But the conversation…

The worst had already happened: Erin knows. Ryoka? I had high confidence that she’d take my side if I could prevent her from freaking out; she’s nice to helpless people. My colony has her listed in our notes as a sucker for help if they need it, which isn’t fair.

Most people we think we can manipulate are idiots who don’t treat us like real beings at all. They’re vacuous, empty-headed—a Sariant Lamb can write a note on their desk or drop something we want them to pay attention to where they’ll find it, and they never figure it out.

But Ryoka would help us…my fear was, would she help me?

Well, as I said, she took it well. I sat her down in my rooms and just went for it. Here’s more or less how it went:

 

——

 

I was watching Ryoka fiddle with a big bandage on one cheek. A reminder that she hadn’t done her flying without cost. My heart was pounding a bit too hard. Strange, again, to feel emotions so strongly. Or maybe I had more to lose than before.

“Are you going to have a scar from that?”

“What? Oh…probably not. The Fraerlings have some scar-removal creams, and the Centaurs gave me a skin-patch.”

“A what? They’ve got that level of technology?”

I’m always surprised and envious these large people are so advanced. Jealous; I want that for my people. Ryoka shrugged.

“Their Archmage, Uenoix? He’s a [Blood Mage], I think. He was actually scanning my blood for parasites. So I’ll be fine. How’s it going, Erin? You’re feeling better if you’re trouncing everyone at chess.”

Ah, that makes me smile. Now I can see Ryoka second-guessing herself, and triple-guessing herself, probably. She sits on her bed, watching as Frost Faeries fly around the room. We’re fairly certain the faeries could keep them from being eavesdropped on. Once, Shaestrel ripped the head off of a large moth she’d claimed had been lousy with magic. If that was Niers, I respect the attempt.

“I’m feeling good, Ryoka. Sorry I laughed at you the other day. I didn’t mean to. You’ve done a lot for me, and I forgot how stupid you were.”

“Th—hey.”

“Stupidly brave. I respect that.”

I avoid Ryoka’s eyes and take a deep breath.

“Anyways, if you hadn’t run off, I would have told you I’m not Ulvama. She’s fine, I just learned. So is Erin. The chess playing ability is from her.”

Ryoka is fiddling with her magical footwraps and biting her tongue, but her head snaps up. She goes completely stiff, and I swear, for a second, I’m nervous. Because she has her hand on the Faeblade, and to my knowledge, Ryoka’s never cut up a person with it. Wait, Eldavin. The wind rushes around my room, and I see her hand gripped on the handle. She stares at me—and says—

“…You’re not Silvenia. N-Nerry?”

I stand up and take a bow. And she goes a bit insane.

“W—no way. No way. This is—I’m such an idiot! You didn’t tell me? Why didn’t you—where’s Erin? Oh, fuck. She’s missing, and—wait, you know where she is? Who else knows? Erek? Now it makes sense! He’s helping you! But what the hell was that Warform thing and—Shaestrel, did you know about this?”

I’m prepared for a lot of anger and shouting, which I deserve, but Ryoka goes after someone else instead. A green Faerie rises from a bowl of fruit with a laconic eyebrow raised. She’s eating fruit flies like popcorn; she snorts.

“Of course we figured that part out, Ryoka. Though it took us a second to figure out who, it was obvious even before we laid eyes on her. Yon lamb plays her part well enough, I suppose.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me? Stop laughing! I’ll put you in a jar and use you as emergency healing potions, you, you—”

All the Frost Faeries are laughing at her, swooping around and collecting bets on how long it took Ryoka to find out or for me to tell her. She’s so mad at them that she only directs her wrath on me after several minutes.

“Nerry! Nerry? Holy…that’s you, Nerry? Really? You can…speak?”

And that hurts my feelings. I scowl at her in a way we both find familiar. My voice…I know it wobbles. Because she’s one of three people who knows who I am. Even she didn’t really believe I could talk if someone gave me a voice.

“I’ve always been smart enough to write.”

“I—of course you are. I’m sorry. Wow, I guess I am an idiot.”

Ryoka hangs her head to my gratification. Then she’s walking around in a circle.

“So…Silvenia transformed you. I was so close! I knew you were off. I thought it was PTSD or something, but—you were a really good actor.”

“Eh, she’s not that good. More impressive is one without a voice learning to speak so well.”

Shaestrel comments, and I agree. But Ryoka just eyes the Spring Fae and shakes her head.

“You had me fooled long enough, Nerry. Even when I figured it out, I thought it was Ulvama.”

“It was a good guess. I’d have probably guessed her or Silvenia first.”

I have to admit a Sariant Lamb is wildly unbelievable. Ryoka nods.

“That wasn’t what made me guess it wasn’t Erin, though. It was just your lack of Skills in the siege. Erin might have gone in there, but she’d have used her flames. That Warform…”

“Someone named Paxere of the Lucifen cut me a deal, thinking I was Erin.”

I comment blandly, and Ryoka’s eyes bulge. Then she starts laughing.

“Paxere? Wait, a deal? There’s only one kind of deal they’d—she made a contract with you? For what?”

“My soul. I didn’t sell it to her, I just loaned her a bit.”

“Oh my stars. A Sariant Lamb contracted to a Devil.”

Now the Wind Runner seems like she wants to laugh or cry on behalf of Paxere. She turns to me, and I’m worried as she gives me a once-over, but all that suspicion’s gone. Ryoka just gets a nod from Shaestrel, which is smart, and then she tries to hug me.

“Thank…the buddha. No, wait, thank Silvenia, I guess. I’m so mad at you, Nerry, but at least now I know you’re not an actor that Niers thought up or something worse. I was really thinking I was going to have to do something extreme.”

“Like tie me up and torture me?”

Ryoka gives me an odd gaze.

“No, more like tell Foliana we have a problem.”

For some reason, that makes me shiver a lot more than Ryoka saying she’d do anything personally. We both know that Three-Color Stalker wouldn’t play any games. I guess I did make the right call: Ryoka’s not an idiot, and if she thought the wrong person was impersonating Erin…

“I’m keeping it private from everyone. No one else knows. Not Daly, not the Genevas, nor Niers. The only other person who knows is Erek—I had to tell him.”

Ryoka frowns, then works it out.

“Because he’s also someone attempting the Trials of Levelling. Dead gods! Nerry, the trials—!”

I’m smiling again, that desperate feeling of panic and uncertainty in my chest.

“I have the best chance of any lamb since we were created. Please, help me, Ryoka. I promise I won’t ruin Erin’s reputation, and I’ll be her decoy until she gets to safety. I’ve made contact with her and gotten her blessing.”

That focuses Ryoka. She sits down.

“You talked to her? Tell me how she is. If no Fraerlings ever found her—is she badly hurt? You were going to melt, the Fraerlings said. And—is she in one piece? You had no scars. I remember hers.”

Oh, she is a good friend. I close my eyes as I remember the real Erin Solstice. Then I tell her everything.

 

 

Entry #46 (cont’d).

 

I related the events above as best I could. I feel like noting down exactly how Ryoka was acting is important. As far as I could tell, she was shocked, but not outraged. That’s important. I need to have her on my side.

She promised not to tell anyone, though she wanted to reveal my identity to Lyonette and the others. I told her that was a bad idea because the secret spreads, and besides. If Erin contacted me, she can do it with the inn, surely.

Now that Ryoka understands what’s going on, she’s…okay, she’s not calmer. She’s an anxious person, and she doesn’t like the idea of fighting battles. Her idea is to locate Rabbiteater and guide him out of the jungle. I asked her how she was going to manage the monsters and the Dullahans. They’re pissed at Calanfer, and they don’t play games. We need forces to muster. She promised to fly to Tyrion and ask for his aid.

I focused on Elvallian and spent half my day trying out my new Skill, the other half…socializing.

[Wondrous Fare] is great. It’s an efficient Skill that makes magical food with powerful buffs at a fraction of the cost of potions. The only downside is that the food spoils and only I can make it, or Erin. But it’s essentially power for merely hard work. Wonderful.

I put in five hours with a [Cook] in one of the spare kitchens. I don’t know why Erin isn’t cooking with all the time she has. Is it just…laziness? Certainly, my hands hurt.

We were working on reinventing the recipes Erin knows. Funnily, Niers knows almost all of them. Talk about obsession. Or maybe it’s Foliana who wanted to know?

The Scaleguard soup tastes…okay at best, even in sandwich form. It’s really not great. Nothing is. Even the Bulkup Bisque is more like a mediocre crab bisque. So after figuring out I can pretty much make all of her foods, I set about doing some experiments.

How do you make a bad soup good? Well, you render it down until it’s essentially mush, use the stock instead of water, and dry the mush and combine it with flour.

Scaleguard Bread. It actually looks great. Okay, so the paste on the bottom of the pot turns hard as rock, and you have to keep working it to keep it from solidifying. We mixed it with the bread, and I was afraid it’d be like hiding rocks in the bread, but it rose during the leavening process.

Now that’s magic. The end result is, well, ‘scales’ on top of the bread that we paint with a bit of dyed egg. Then you have a colorful scale bread that tastes as good as any bread you want, though with an admittedly-hard rind on top. But it’s not teeth-breaking hard, and it tastes really good fresh.

Bulkup Bisque? Different problem, better solution. We just added pasta and some cheese. It’s a very decadent bowl of pasta that I bet Erin would like because she loves that disgusting macaroni and cheese. Maybe the crab taste would put her off, but—no, she’s not that picky, surely. Wait, did her bisque even have crab in it? Sprinkle some bread crumbs in there and put a salad together and you have a full meal.

Oh, salad. Right, so, I just asked for a bunch of plants that insects hate. The bastards bite everything, so I got some lemongrass, mint, marigolds, and mixed them together with Wideleaf Lettuce. You roll it up because the marigolds are, uh, not good by themselves. I debated garlic, but that’s disgusting and something Erin would do.

It didn’t work. However, we were only two hours in and waiting for the bread, and the [Cook], who’s a Dullahan, put me onto a tea made of catnip that annoys mosquitos. So I had the idea to soak the rolls in the tea, but that made them too soggy.

Catnip, lemongrass, and the rolls just…do not taste good.

Idea. Do you know what also kills insects?

Nali-sticks. They’re actually so damn sweet that most insects can’t handle them and just die. So a tiny amount cuts the taste and keeps the wraps tasty. The end result is what I’m calling a Bugkiller Wrap.

You just sprinkle the ingredients together, roll up the huge leaf of lettuce, and chomp it down. Or—you can light it like a puffer stuff if it dries out. Both seem to keep bugs away. The [Cook] tried that. I swear, give some [Smokers] anything cylindrical and they’ll try to smoke it…

I got so into it that after five hours passed, I had thirty varieties of Scaleguard Bread and enough Bulkup Pasta to feed an army. So I made two hundred of the Bugkiller Wraps. The [Cook] helped; he can prepare the ingredients, and his Skills made me work faster, but it was a lot of work. Anyways, we packed it all up, and I went to feed lunch to my command.

I was relaxing there a bit. Might have compromised my cover a tiny bit, but I like singing. And Erin’s a [Singer], isn’t she?

 

——

 

Daly Sullivan was pacing around Elvallian, feeling useless and out of sorts after seeing Ryoka fly into the Dyed Lands while he sat here with his thumbs up his ass. She was like Luan, but potentially even more insane. A Courier doing amazing things.

It was Dawson who grabbed him.

“Hey, Daly, check out Erin. She’s in one of the barracks, and Siri’s teaching her songs. Also, she’s made her magical food.”

“Get out.”

Daly followed Dawson at a trot and found Tofte playing on a guitar as Siri’s phone played songs. Erin was singing along as Lizardfolk waved their hands to the beat of the songs. Selphids were sitting in the barracks, patching up their bodies or also singing with her.

The [Mercenaries] who’d switched onto ‘her’ side after Gloriam’s siege of the Lizardfolk city were eating what smelled like good food. Erin broke off from singing when she saw Daly. She hucked an entire loaf of round bread at him, and he caught it.

“What’s this?”

“Scaleguard Bread. Come on in, there’s plenty for everyone.”

She grinned at him, and Daly broke off a piece of the bread with bright yellow scales on top with a bit of effort. He worried, but aside from the tougher crust, it tasted great. Then someone passed him a bowl of the Bulkup Pasta, and his brows rose.

“Daly, check this out!”

Dawson lifted up one of the other Bushrangers with one hand as they swore and kicked; they fell, but it didn’t even hurt because of the Scaleguard Bread.

“You can make this stuff whenever you want?”

Daly was stunned, and Erin winked at him.

“Enough to feed a few hundred people. I wish I’d had time to do that before our city siege. I’ll make more if we’re bound for fighting. Siri, what’s that song?”

“Another one Cara’s already done. Are you sure you don’t know any of these? I’m from Sweden, and I know more than you do!”

Erin shrugged casually.

“I wasn’t into music back home, and I didn’t come here with a phone. Teach me another one.”

“I didn’t know you sang.”

Daly found a seat, chatting, as Beth skidded into the doorway; she’d heard there was magical food on offer. Erin paused a moment.

“I don’t show it off, but it’s one of those things I liked doing with people. Privately.”

“Like dancing? You’ve got a lot of talents.”

She shrugged, a slight smile on her face.

“What else can you do with your spare time other than dance or sing? I mean, besides playing chess.”

Fair point, Daly supposed. He would have said swimming, kicking a ball about, travel, games on a computer, or…

Where was she from again? Michigan? Was that the midwest or something? He didn’t know America-land well. They probably had nothing to do but eat confectionary, poor bastards. He settled back on a seat as Erin practiced a few more songs.

“Commander, you’re being pretty good to us. Here I thought we’d end up working for the Titan again. But even he doesn’t give out magical food like this. Not to regular soldiers.”

One of the Selphids called out. She was wearing a Human’s body that had several holes in the chest; every time she inhaled, she made a faint whistling sound from the perforations in her lungs. Erin pointed at her.

“Sergeant Azhang, right? Who’s my Lizardfolk leader?”

“Me!”

Three Lizardfolk leapt up. Then they began punching at each other. The one who won the dustup gave Erin a gap-toothed salute.

“High Naga Follower Nexxi, at your service, Commander Solstice ma’am! That’s like a [Captain], I guess. Only, we can’t hold a full command role. Only Naga can lead us in the Jungle Tails company.”

Daly tensed a bit, remembering this group of Lizardfolk had been on the enemy side in the city they’d fought for. But the Selphids seemed relaxed. [Mercenaries] fought and died, and it wasn’t personal.

“Nexxi and Azhang—where’s Lieutenant Vossk? I’m going to say that Vossk is the most senior leader here, and Nexxi and Azhang are second to that. That’s our order of command. For reference, if we’re working with the Bushrangers, Daly would have equivalent rank to Vossk. Got it? Stick to the chain of command you know under those two until we sort out different groupings.”

Erin gave orders as another Selphid, Lieutenant Vossk, stepped forwards. Daly was again shocked; she gave the orders in a practiced way that seemed to make the [Mercenaries] happy.

“You got it, Commander! Are we working for the Titan then?”

Erin gave Nexxi a crooked grin.

“Is he paying you? Or am I? Technically, he is, but he lent me the money to do it. Don’t worry, I’m not fighting his battles. I want to keep my people safe, which means we’ll fight whomever’s after the Calanferians. Could be Iron Vanguard. Does that bother anyone?”

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Nexxi stuck out his tongue and made a face.

“The Ironheads? Just so long as Tulm the Mithril’s gone, we’ll dust up any local battalion they’ve got. They’re no different from any other company unless their bigshots take the field. Besides, we’re dead if we go back to Jungle Tails after deserting. The Nagas’ll eat us. But we’re all sick of dying. Fighting for the Crazy Innkeeper of Liscor sounds safer!”

The Lizardfolk let out a big cheer at that, and Erin pointed at Vossk, who was munching on the lettuce wraps.

“Any objections on the Selphid side? You were all leaving the Forgotten Wing company.”

He hooked his thumbs in his belt, a pale smile on his face as the Selphid replied.

“The same for us, Commander Solstice. Our Minds are calling us, but we don’t have to obey. After you came in and bailed us out, we thought we’d find loot and levels your way.”

“I’ve got good food. Good start?”

The grins answered Erin as she carved up a pear with a knife. She chewed on a slice as she handed one to Daly. He was fascinated and listened with the rest, trying to get a sense of her. When Erin was done chewing, she gazed around.

“What did you think about the fight with the green monsters?”

“Don’t do it?”

More laughter from Lizardfolk, and Erin waved that off.

“Not that or even Ryoka. We all heard that person telling Ryoka she’d get help. The Serpentborn. I heard that was their equivalent of a top leader in the company. They managed to break into the communication spell Niers was using. That’s not a good look, is it?”

Everyone cast around, but they were in a long, half-cylinder barracks where soldiers could stay, and if there were listeners…Vossk answered, glancing at the doors.

“Anyone can breach a spell, even from one of the Four Great Companies, Commander.”

“But it makes the Titan look bad. It makes people think Jungle Tails isn’t going to roll over, even if he gave them a bloody nose. What do the [Soldiers] think? There’s a reason the Selphids left en-masse, even if it was because he burned a Gathering Citadel.”

Erin pointed her knife at Vossk, and the Selphids went quiet. They shifted uncomfortably, perhaps not liking how much she knew about Selphids. Their Gathering Citadels. Then one called out.

“Well, the Jungle Tails company has a lot of magic. More than anyone thought if they’re throwing spells across the continent. Everyone knows all the Lizardfolk are sympathetic to them.”

Instantly, Nexxi and the other Lizardfolk demurred.

“We quit because Nagas can suck! We say Nagas, but that just means all of them. Some are petty and stupid, and no one knows why they got to evolve. Jungle Tails was always big until Niers kicked them out of the top four! Of course they have magic!”

Here Erin broke into the discussion before it got heated. She put out a hand, and Azhang shut her mouth. The Human woman gave Nexxi a hard look.

“Oh, come on. We all know your people are waiting for the Eyes of Baleros. Saving up artifacts, preparing—you can be straight with us. If the Nagatine Empire comes back, you’ll be happy, right? That’s why the other two Great Companies aren’t jumping Niers. They’re worried the Eyes are going to fall into your clutches too.”

This time, all the Bushrangers stared at Daly, who shrugged. His eyes were on Erin, and he was astounded. She knew more about Baleros than he did! Nexxi fidgeted, avoiding Erin’s gaze.

“I, uh—well, come on, it’s not like we’ll stab you in the back if we get the Eyes. It’s just, y’know—”

“I’m not blaming you, Nexxi. Who wouldn’t want to have enough power to keep your people safe?”

Erin’s gentle voice made Nexxi peek up, and the Naga Follower burst out.

“Yeah! We’re always picked on or attacked because there are so many of us! It’s not like we’ll all join Jungle Tails if they get the eyes. Just…we’ll be tougher. More equal, you know? Anyways, even if Jungle Tails gets the Eyes, it doesn’t mean we’ll all be on the same side. The Nagas infight a lot. They just all think it’s time to fight Forgotten Wing and the Gazers right now. Everyone says the Titan’s lost his edge.”

Nexxi clapped two clawed hands over his mouth, but Erin barely reacted as the room shifted to gaze at the doors.

“Aha. And why’s that?”

She turned to Vossk, but he demurred, and Azhang appeared nervous as she played with the holes in her chest.

“—It’s not that he’s weak. He tore down that Selphid fortress last year. And he beat the Jungle Tails army practically by himself. He’s still the Titan. It’s just…”

Her appeal made Vossk murmur.

“He’s not as dangerous as before. Maybe it was that curse of luck they say he’s under, but I still feel he’s not as sharp as he used to be. I’d still put him over Tulm the Mithril in a fight, any day. But that’s not the Titan of Baleros. He used to be crazy.”

“Crazier than outflanking Maelstrom’s Howling and dropping fucking bombs on their heads?”

Dawson interjected, skeptical. They’d seen that, but the [Mercenaries] just laughed at him. Nexxi wore a huge grin.

“No, that’s just good strategy. He used to be so scary that three Great Companies would team up against him and then run with their tails between their legs! He went up against the King of Destruction and won!”

“I think he’s still fairly crazy. And if he’s not, he’s got a Great Company behind him. I just wanted to know what you thought was going on. Now that he’s low on Selphids, his armies will have more trouble, won’t they?”

Erin addressed the others, but she was glancing at Daly. He didn’t like any sign of weakness in the cart they’d hitched themselves to, but the [Mercenaries] just shrugged. Azhang replied with a hint of forlorn pride.

“He’s the Titan. He’s always got tricks, and it’s not like every Selphid quit. Just a lot of his regulars. It’s just old Hoisq leaving that really pulled his tail. He said the Selphids were one of his best pieces. He’ll have more. Speaking of, if we’re fighting the Iron Vanguard, how many pieces do you have, Commander? Because even if the Bushrangers are great at fighting…the moment a War Walker comes at us, I’m gonna be sweating orange, even with all your magic.”

She nodded to the food, and Daly swallowed hard. The idea of fighting a War Walker, even with two hundred soldiers and the Bushrangers…Erin rubbed at her face.

“I’m working on it. We’ve got a [Lord] on one end of the continent who’s very good at war. He’d be a great [General] if we could link up. Rabbiteater’s out there, and he’s one of the best fighters I know. Punching towards any of them is the hard part.”

Nexxi sighed.

“Good luck on that Veltras guy getting here. No one likes foreigners. He’ll be fighting his entire way here. Same with the Calanferians. And why would he work with you, Commander?”

“Well, I know for a fact Ryoka’s sleeping with him. That usually works.”

Tofte spat out his drink through his nose, and the entire barracks erupted into laughter. Daly shook his head as Erin slapped her knees and rose.

“Alright, pipe down. Don’t be jealous you missed your chance with the Wind Runner. What I’m hearing is—we need a few more specialists before any of you think we’ll survive a march into the jungles.”

“Specialists in fighting and survival, Commander! The jungles will eat us alive, even us Selphids!”

Azhang called out. Erin put her hands in her pockets, frowning thoughtfully.

“Eat up. I’ll experiment—I mean, bring you cooked meals—until I have a plan. Keep drilling together. I might have you all join the practice games so you can beat down some of Niers’ students for me. We might want one of them with us, if we can. I hear Niers is putting them to work against the Dyed Lands and even Jungle Tails. Daly, have you seen Erek?”

He had not. The Orangutan might be reading a book or something. Erin nodded to him and strode out. Only after she was gone did the chatter start up.

“Fucking hells, Daly. Do you think she really did lead an army at Liscor? She sounds like a general.”

Dawson leaned over to whisper to the Bushrangers, and the chatter from the Selphids and Lizardfolk sounded just as approving. Vossk came over and squatted down, chewing on some bread.

“She sounds like Hoisq. I thought it was just an act, but she’s got the air of a veteran. It makes me think I chose the right Centaur in this race.”

Daly agreed, though he worried about how Erin talked. She was going to take them into battle? He wondered if she understood he hadn’t signed the Bushrangers up for fighting for their lives.

Then Daly wondered if he told the Bushrangers to quit—how many would follow her anyways. They were aimless with Paeth providing the United Nations company and Talenqual with so much protection. But were they going to fight for her friends, whom they’d never even met? He was conflicted as he chewed on the bread.

“Damn, she’s good at cooking food.”

 

——

 

Beth ran after Erin to have a word. She was worried about all this talk of battle. She wasn’t like Geneva and completely opposed to any part in a conflict; she was a [Medic], and she’d seen the necessity of Niers taking the Gathering Citadel to free them all, for instance.

But she didn’t want the Earthers to die. She caught up with Erin as the innkeeper slowed to eye her.

“I think I know where Erek is, Erin. He’s probably with Geneva. He was interested in what we were doing. He’s the smartest Orangutan I’ve ever met. Uh, even though that’s only one. You know what I mean.”

“Yep. Let’s walk, Beth. Would you come with us if we moved out to find Rabbiteater? We could use a [Medic].”

Beth stumbled at the sudden question.

“Me? I—I don’t know. I’d like to. The Bushrangers might get hurt, and without potions, they’ll need me. But I’m not sure I want to join the fighting. The Dyed Lands are my focus…”

“You don’t have to fight, just save lives. Think about it. We didn’t ask for a fight, but if they’re after Calanfer, the Iron Vanguard are going to get a battle. I just need…help. Erek said he was trying to get assistance from his people. But a bunch of gorillas aren’t going to stop a War Walker.”

“Huh? Gorillas?”

Erin was crazy. She wanted to enlist animals to fight with her? The innkeeper strode along, talking over one shoulder.

“Niers can’t or won’t spare the soldiers we need, Beth. Anyone under his command makes it look like the Forgotten Wing company is doing things, and he can’t just have them quit and join me. Plus, he’s fighting two wars. If we can’t use his people, we need another mercenary company. We just don’t have much gold or influence besides our names. Someone’s got to save the Calanferians.”

This was true. Beth wanted to meet this ‘Ser Solstice’ herself. She had a suspicion, along with Geneva, that they knew what lay under that helmet. If so, Erin was on a double mission of mercy that Beth wanted to discuss with her, but not here in the academy with listeners. So Beth fell into step.

“I’ll think on it. Geneva’s restless herself, you know. She keeps saying she feels useless here with Fraerlings who can out-magic anything she can do. And there’s something else. You should, uh, ask her about the files she’s been reading.”

Erin glanced at Beth, but said nothing until they reached the rooms devoted to Geneva’s laboratory work. She was in there as always, and an Orangutan was present too.

Erek was actually in the room with Filax, the Lizardgirl who sat, rolling a ball back and forth to him. He stayed out of arm’s reach, but she was pushing it back and forth—with the serpents attached to her arms.

They’d become part of her body, even taking on her light green scales. Her neck-frills had a snake’s head that peered at Erin and Beth through the glass wall. She had four snakes on her. Around her neck, one on each arm, and one that had joined her tail, so there were two tails.

“Damn.”

Erin muttered quietly, but she didn’t draw back like so many did. As far as Beth could tell, the snakes were fused with Filax’s nervous system but not taking over. Geneva had debated removing them, but they were connected to a lot of Filax’s nerves; she felt what they did, and there was a worry that removing them might cause trauma, so embedded were they in her body.

Certainly, the two snake heads could catch the ball and push it back with astonishing coordination. Erek ooked as he bounced the ball; a snake caught it instantly.

“Erin, Beth. How can I help you?”

Geneva was tired as she drank coffee; it was her fifth cup judging by the other mugs scattered around. She hadn’t slept, clearly. Beth nudged her.

“We’re checking in. Okasha, why haven’t you put Geneva to bed?”

“I’m not doing that without her consent! I keep asking her to, but she’s worried about Filax being possessed by the snakes while she sleeps.”

Okasha protested with Geneva’s mouth. Geneva grimaced.

“I might take a nap after the last tests come in. It looks like the snakes’ brains aren’t really that functional. We put them to sleep, and Filax says they just feel ‘dead’, but she can still move them. My guess is that it’s how the green works: the snakes become extra appendages and only if they get the brain or into the spine or something do they override the host. It makes sense; otherwise, they’d all be fighting for control.”

“There’s a lot of possibilities there, Geneva! You could potentially replace amputated limbs or harness that ability.”

Beth was intrigued, but Erin just shuddered. Geneva instantly clarified.

“All this needs years, decades of testing, but as long as Filax can grow without issue…Erek’s trying to get the snakes to react on their own.”

Indeed, the Orangutan had come over to play a game of patty-cake with the girl. He’d bop a snake on the snout, and she’d try to touch his hands, giggling. He was fast, and the snakes didn’t seem to react to the gestures like they might if they were wild.

Leaving an Orangutan in a room with a girl infested with snake-monsters was not proper protocol back on Earth, Beth was almost positive. However…they were changing how they operated. Erin rested her weight on a table.

“I’m thinking of moving the Bushrangers and my forces out of Elvallian, Geneva. It’s time. Niers has been a generous host, but even if it puts me in danger, I have to help Rabbiteater. I know you’d rather eat your scalpels than shed a drop of even a [Slaver]’s blood, but will you join us? We could use your talents.”

Beth winced as Geneva’s eyes flashed, and she adjusted her glasses. The two did not like each other, and Geneva replied stiffly.

“I’ve had enough of being a warfront surgeon. If that’s how you’re going to ask me, the answer is no. What would motivate me to go marching through the jungle while you kill people, anyways?”

“Well—you might run into more Earthers besides me and Ryoka. And you could level.”

Beth’s brows rose.

“What other Earthers? You said Rabbiteater had no one with him.”

“And that you murdered at least one Earther from Rhir.”

Geneva added coolly. Erin waved this off.

“I have a feeling that there’s one more Earther on the go. When Ryoka Griffin was saving Filax, did you hear music? Channel 2 was featuring the Singer of Terandria, and she was performing live.”

“I remember that. She was using a Skill to help Ryoka. The Wind Runner’s met her, right?”

Okasha volunteered. Erin nodded.

“She’s met Ryoka. But riddle me this: how did Cara throw her Skill that far? Even if she’s high-level, even Niers struggles with it. It’s almost like she was closer to Ryoka than Terandria. I asked—and the Singer of Terandria’s on tour. She left Terandria nearly three weeks ago.”

“She did?”

Geneva and Beth were startled by this, and Erin smiled crookedly.

“She did. She’d announced her tour last year, actually. Here’s the interesting thing: she said it was for Izril. The ‘New Lands Tour’, though she wasn’t headed straight there. Oddly…it seems her ship’s gone the wrong way. It’s been heading past Wistram, towards southern Baleros.”

“That’s strange. Why would she be heading there? Unless—”

Geneva’s eyes sharpened, and Erin held up a hand.

“Ryoka told me that one of the few people Cara knows and cares about is Seraphel du Marquin. The 4th Princess of Calanfer. My guess is that she’s gone after her friend. So there’re two reasons to join us, Geneva. I hope she doesn’t try to land in the jungle. Even if she has guards, she’s not going to survive alone.”

The Singer of Terandria? Beth was excited instantly. Possibly the most famous Earther in the world was on the move! Geneva was unconvinced, though.

“If she’s high-enough level to make a difference, it means I shouldn’t go after all. We’re more useful here, making medicine to combat the Dyed Lands monsters or researching the Selphids’ wasting. If Beth wants to go, she has my blessing.”

“Thanks, boss. I didn’t know I needed permission.”

Beth rolled her eyes, and Geneva bit her lip. Erin just frowned.

“Suits me. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. I have a feeling we’d have to settle it at some point or other, and since you’re a pacifist, it’d just be me kicking the hell out of you.”

The [Doctor] stiffened, and Okasha shot back.

“She’s got me! I’ll fight you for her!”

“No one’s fighting anyone! We can settle this like adults, Erin, even if we disagree!”

Geneva snapped, and Erin gave her a twisted grin.

“Adults are the ones who kill each other, haven’t you noticed? Alright, fine. You know the plan, and you can make up your mind. Beth said you were troubled about some research?”

This time, The Last Light of Baleros grew distracted and eyed the door. She closed it—then reached up for a hatch that let Fraerlings enter and closed that too. She sat down and beckoned everyone against the window where Erek was doing a dance and making Filax laugh.

The Lizardgirl had plenty of toys, Beth was relieved to see. She’d been…quiet when they asked her what had happened. She’d told them her parents were gone. Then asked about Ryoka, but the Wind Runner had flown off to Tyrion. Beth hoped Geneva had a plan to get the poor child therapy and someone to foster her.

Geneva glanced at Filax as if the girl was on her mind, then whispered as Erin leaned in with Beth.

“You didn’t see these files, Beth, because I’ve been digging through the Forgotten Wing company’s old medical records. Niers gave me everything, and most of it’s just monsters he ran into. Terrible injuries, that sort of thing. He takes care of veterans, though that’s more about giving them gold. The Forgotten Wing company used to have Fraerling-grade magical items they doled out to their troops and allotted about 5% of their supply yearly to healing their long-term wounded.”

“Generous of them.”

Erin muttered. Geneva’s sniff indicated she thought there should have been another digit behind the 5%.

“At any rate, that ceased over a decade ago. Something must have happened with his supplies or relationship with the city. However…he still has a number of [Healers] and [Alchemists] on-staff who produce lesser elixirs for his people. Countless items sent across the Forgotten Wing company. He’s quite organized. His systems remind me of a hospital’s—he ensures everyone has supplies.”

“I presume you found something odd, though?”

Beth leaned over the files that Geneva brought out. Some of the papers were old, crinkled with age and, the two other women thought, marked as if rescued from fire or something else.

“This. It caught my eye. They’re top-secret files. I don’t even know if I should have them, but either Niers gave me full access or the Fraerlings are messing with his secrecy. They can go everywhere, and they use their magic to copy everything.”

“Is Eirnos investigating Niers?”

Erin asked with raised brows. Beth folded her arms.

“She certainly pokes her nose everywhere. I’ve heard the Titan’s done all kinds of stuff over the years. But nothing war crimes-y. Well, not more than any other Great Company. What’s the file?”

“Over a decade’s worth of records about deliveries of supplies to one location. [Healers], alchemical items—what’s interesting is that aside from lots of healing potions, much of it is…sleeping draughts. Calming tonics. And along with food—clothing. Children’s clothing, and then over the years, toys—everything from chess sets to equipment for sports, even practice weapons…and restraints. Enchanted chains. All to one location.”

Beth swallowed hard, not liking Geneva’s list of items. Erin just frowned.

“Where?”

“It says ‘Oelnnox’. I have the location here, but it’s—Erin?”

The innkeeper had gone quiet, and her eyes narrowed.

“I know that name. I’ve heard it before…where?”

Geneva blinked, and Erin went pacing around the room. Then she stopped.

“Hold on, give me one second.”

She strode out and was back within ten minutes, puffing, but holding something she’d fetched from her rooms. She opened a journal full of odd scratch marks—angling it so Beth couldn’t see. Then frowned.

“Someone’s been reading this. Oh well. Hold on…”

She paged back through the journal and glanced up.

“A Lizardman was begging me to help with it. Oelnnox. Something the Titan once did that involved a lot of children. I talked to him about it, and he was cagey about it. Not his sins, he claimed, but Jungle Tails’.”

The [Doctor] was chewing her lip before she heard that. Now, she grew visibly agitated, as did Beth. They both remembered the Selphids’ experiments on her…Geneva glanced at Beth and nodded, face firm.

“We have to know what that is. And how he’s—managing them. I’ll ask him to his face.”

Erin raised her brows.

“And if he tells you nothing? Let me ask. He promised me that I could see the place if I wanted to, but he described it as bad as a Creler’s nest.”

Geneva hesitated, then nodded. Her eyes glinted as she glanced at Filax and then spoke directly to Erin.

“If he refuses to answer, I know where it is. And with due respect to my position on killing people—I’d ask Daly and the Bushrangers to go there if no one else will. I don’t believe in doing nothing, Erin. I just disagree with violence being your first option.”

They locked eyes, and then Erin stuck out a hand, and they shook. And that was that. Beth felt her neck tingling, despite her dead body, and resolved to start packing. Geneva clearly felt it too, because she waved at Erek, then rose to let some unhappy Fraerlings into the room.

Time, once more, to move. But first, Erin had to have a conversation with Niers about permission to go there. According to her, it was a bit of a fraught conversation, but not for the reasons you might think.

 

——

 

The Titan of Baleros was drinking not half past noon when Erin came into his study. She was Fraerling-sized, which seemed to annoy him as Atmodeca, the Crocodile Beastkin woman, placed her on the table. However, he grunted and indicated the bottle.

“I’m not in a good mood for chess or conversation, Erin. If you want to talk, let’s talk something interesting.”

“Fine by me. What’s the occasion?”

Atmodeca offered her a wine glass with some tweezers, and Erin saw her step back though the doors of the office, a giant Crocodile who vanished like a shadow. She sat on Niers’ messy desk, huge, Tallfolk-sized reports standing next to a bed and filing cabinets. Like a doll’s toys mixed with a grown man’s possessions.

The entire room around them was much like that; a rich study filled with trophies and documents, but bestrewn with Fraerling-sized objects. A rope ladder so Niers could haul himself up and down a filing cabinet; the aforementioned hot baths in a mansion set in a corner of the room.

And the Titan himself, sitting in his chair at a table, feet put up next to a sheaf of notes, frumpled in a flashy red jacket and black leggings, a sword leaning against his chair. Eying her with clear displeasure and that silent hunger that seemed to always pervade him in these moods.

Not a hunger for power, to be glorified—but that brooding intensity of someone who wanted to be understood. To have a peer. A frustrated monster contained in the shell of a tiny man.

Niers spoke abruptly as he lowered his goblet.

“Half an army buried at the Seitr river. Ambushed.”

Erin went still as he poured her a wine glass and then drank.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re at war. There’s nothing I could have done when I found out. Those bastards always held territory on the west coast, even after we took it. Bleed territory, reconsolidate. Push back. It was easier when we were so much smaller. Never mind me. Do you like codes?”

He wore a sunshine smile on his face, and Erin raised her brows.

“Only a little bit. I am from Earth. I know a bit about other languages.”

“I had your people teach me morse code, at least, some of it. None of them actually know the stuff, but I find it fascinating. Have you studied Drake ciphers? It’s advanced, but I’ll wager you’re better than that.”

Erin smiled slightly.

“I might know my way around their ciphers. I did play chess with Chaldion—”

“Yes, yes. Pallassian ciphers are second-hardest. Worst is…”

“Manus?”

“Hah! Yes! Good answer!”

Niers cheered up and jostled his wine cup a bit before drinking deeper. He grinned at her.

“The City of War thinks they’re the best, but they’ve got too many idiots in their military. They just have a mathematical cipher. I have a few copies of their codebooks. Pallass actually has multiple rotations they use, and Admiral Asale beefed up Zeres’ stuff. But the hardest is…”

“Oteslia. Duh.”

She shot him two finger guns, and he laughed.

“Damn flower symbology and scent-based codes. I don’t have a Gnoll’s nose! Do you know any other?”

“Uh…I’ve heard Drowned Folk do something clever, but I don’t know much.”

“Ah, they put it on the boards of boats. No one notices if you swap a dinghy. They have to account for weathering, though, so sometimes it’s a marking, other times they lodge the message onto the hull of the vessel with a barnacle creature.”

“Interesting. I’ve heard about Calanferian ciphers.”

“Demons-damned hard, especially after Queen Ielane took power. Sometimes, I think she invents new ciphers just to mess with us. There’s a mind like a razor.”

They had an actually enjoyable exchange about ciphers for a while without ever mentioning her journal. Niers almost seemed pleased as he sat back.

“So what did you want to bring up? If it’s more food for your people, I’ll take a thirty percent cut of whatever you make and let you take as much as you want. Deal?”

“I’ll take that offer, if you give me supplies to make more and an escort and access into Oelnnox. Like you promised.”

Niers’ smile slipped, and he put down his wine cup a second and pressed his fingers against his temples.

“That’s not a safe trip. Especially now. Oelnnox is south and east of here, which is good because Jungle Tails holds in strength on the western side of the continent and the Dyed Lands. East is safer, but you’re at risk of [Assassins], and it’s not like they don’t have forces there. What brought this on?”

Erin gave him a sweet smile.

“I just felt like investigating some of your secrets, Niers. Y’know, I have to call your bluff sometimes or it’s just blind trust. And we both don’t work on blind anything.”

He grunted and folded his arms.

“…Geneva Scala’s been looking through my reports, hasn’t she? It’s not a secret. I told you.”

“Then you’re definitely not defensive about it and we can see, can’t we?”

“It’s dangerous. They’re dangerous. I can see if I refuse, you’ll go anyways and get suspicious, but it’s going to be a waste of your time.”

“Rabbiteater’s on the eastern coast. So is Tyrion. We have to head that way anyways.”

“It means you’ll be out of Elvallian. Potentially for a long time.”

He snapped, getting annoyed again, and Erin made a face.

“You have to fight your war, Niers. I can tell you’re getting your students ready for actual combat. Don’t grump at me. In fact, if I’m slowing you down, I should go right now. Your company matters far more than my company.”

For a moment, she sounded…not like the Erin he knew, but close. Too close. Like Erin and someone else mixed, and Niers shifted and glared at a stack of maps. He was spared from replying when someone knocked on the door.

“Lord Astoragon. The Minotaur is here to seek a private meeting with you. Again. Shall I throw him out a window?”

Niers twisted in his seat and shouted.

“Venaz! You’ve caught me at a bad moment, which is every moment you get on my nerves! Get in here, and if it’s not good, I will have Atmodeca throw you out a window!”

There was a pause, then Venaz strode into the room. His confident stride slowed when he saw Erin there.

“Ah, Miss Solstice. I had hoped for a private word, Professor—this is on behalf of the House of Minos.”

“You won’t get it. I’ve just lost half an army, and I’m in a bad mood. If the Minotaur King wants to say something, Erin can hear it too. Since I’m not a secretive person.”

He growled as Venaz hesitated, and Erin twinkled at him with a brilliant smile.

“Me neither. I’m all unsecretive.”

He actually laughed at that, despite not wanting to. Venaz gave Erin a dubious gaze, which showed how well he did at reading into any situation. Niers wished he’d had Venaz take a course in the art of intrigue…or just subtlety. He was going to need it even if he worked in the House of Minos.

“Professor…well, perhaps the Minotaur King will think it funny. It’s pertinent. I have a verbal message to deliver to you, sir. King Inreza compliments you on your book, Goblin [Mercenaries], which she has read cover-to-cover with great interest. She would earnestly wish to converse on the matter, should circumstances allow.”

Niers’ scowl vanished. His head turned, and Erin’s ears perked up. She peered at Venaz, and the Minotaur glanced at her.

“The Minotaur King is a well-read individual, Innkeeper Solstice.”

“Did she have a preference on where we should meet, Venaz?”

“I assume the House of Minos, Lord Astoragon. She does not travel far, due to her injuries.”

The Titan of Baleros chuckled and sat back, thinking, then rose and strode over to some book shelves. He sorted through them, then shouted for Atmodeca to bring an archived section of his library.

She had an entire shelf of books in one claw she placed down, and he sorted through them before coming out with a book. He tossed a copy at Erin.

“Have you read this?”

“I’ve heard of it. Aren’t most copies of it burned?”

Niers grunted.

“Oh, yes. I had most of them burned myself after Velan became the Goblin King. It was not the time for…so the Minotaur King has read my work. Did she say anything else?”

Venaz shifted uncomfortably. He could tell there was an undercurrent to this conversation.

“Only that she found it fascinating. It is topical to the House of Minos, Professor, Miss Solstice. We battle the Isle of Goblins each year.”

“And the Minotaur King sees the point. She’s offering me warships. Well, well, well. Looks like the House of Minos is making a play for the New Lands. Such a funny thing to find common ground over.”

Niers was suddenly striding about, peering at maps of Baleros, the seas, muttering about the distance between the House of Minos and Baleros, and Venaz grew alarmed.

“Professor! It’s merely an invitation to meet!”

“The Iron Vanguard once swore to sink me if I ever sailed off Baleros, Venaz. But if the House of Minos sailed in…there’s two naval powers who’d square off, and I don’t know who I’d back in that match. Minotaur ships are well-made. Excellently armed. Did she say how many ballistae I could buy?”

“Professor, she said nothing of the sort!”

Niers rolled his eyes.

“Did she mention how many siege weapons you were producing when you visited?”

Venaz hesitated.

“Only that the engagement this year with the Isle of Goblins was light. We spent a third of our usual ammunition due to Prince Khedal’s duel with Greydath of Blades, and then the Goblin exodus threw off our usual exchange of fire.”

“Hm. You normally lose dozens of siege weapons when the Goblins hit back. Even a third of that’s wonderful. Let me see, let me—Atmodeca! Find me a copy of my Goblin [Mercenaries] book for Tallfolk!”

Niers was bouncing around now, and he signed the huge book the Crocodile woman got for him with a flourish. Venaz was fully alarmed.

“Professor, Professor. I thought it was just a passing comment, so I haven’t even brought it to you for, er, months! If I thought this was official correspondence—”

Niers turned a glower on him, but not hugely.

“Venaz, you clown! If you’d thought it was official, you would have been obvious as the sun! Nothing’s set in stone, it’s just interesting. The clue, if you’d searched for it, is that the House of Minos has a damn embassy with us. If King Inreza wanted anything quickly, they’d call me! Now, tell me, did she say anything else? She has to have a price beyond gold for all this.”

Now, poor Venaz was searching his mind, and Erin was sitting forwards. The Minotaur mumbled.

“I was not in her presence long. If I don’t extrapolate? She merely wanted to speak to you about your first-hand experiences. She said you had insights even the House of Minos lacked.”

“Did she quote a chapter?”

“Er…twenty-two?”

It struck Venaz, belatedly, that it would have really been good to read the book Niers and Inreza clearly knew by heart. But only the Titan had copies. Erin flipped to the chapter, and she blinked, then her brows shot into her hairline. Niers just checked the chapter, and his animated bouncing about stopped.

“Ah. Well…that is a price. Dead gods.”

Venaz peered at the book Atmodeca had cracked open. The Crocodile Beastkin was taller than he was and shielded the book until he gave her such a pleading look she showed him the chapter.

 

Chapter 22 — Parlaying with Goblin tribes

 

This time, Erin spoke quietly.

“Does she want you to make peace with the Isle of Goblins? Because I’m definitely for that.”

Venaz was so alarmed and frightened that Niers put an arm out to touch her shoulder. He spoke.

“That’s an extrapolation, and I warn you, Venaz, if you go bleating about it to other Minotaurs, it’ll only cause alarm. I doubt it’s that simple. I do think she wants me to…reach out to some old contacts. But I’m hesitant to do so, even if they’ve recently broken their silence.”

Now, his glance at Erin made the young woman hesitate. She narrowed her eyes.

“Those two Goblins who approached me?”

“Professor, you know Goblins on Baleros? I heard they were all wiped out! As for the Minotaur King, she’d never parlay with Goblins!”

Venaz was beyond shaken now, and Niers twitched as if wanting to throw some chalk at him. But his voice was gentle as he took a breath.

“Venaz…the Minotaur King is as complex and thoughtful as most Minotaurs, even the Beriad, are not. She doesn’t play chess, sadly. It may simply be she’s decided the Minotaurs’ punishment of keeping the Goblins in check is at an end. Or she may have other notions. What is certainly true is that both she and I are aware of a Goblin Lord in our respective domains, both of whom don’t fit the traditional mold of Greydath of Blades or that one in Izril.”

He glanced at Erin.

“With due respect, Erin, I would have stomped that particular Goblin Lord who fought your people. That was a more traditional upstart who wanted a war, it seems to me. These two are the old ones. Kanadith the Herald and Izikere the Guardian.”

“The Goblin Lord who heralded Velan the Kind? Professor, that one above all else should be killed!”

Venaz had forgotten his audience. It was Erin who hopped off the desk and shot to her six-foot tall form. She tapped Venaz on the chest.

“You’ve got some nerve saying that to the Goblinfriend of Izril, Venaz.”

“I’ve made my position on Goblins clear, Miss Solstice—”

She nearly shoved a finger up his snout.

“And so have I. Your Professor is telling you there’s more subtlety to the Goblin species than you think. Your King just sent you with a message proving that! Shut the fuck up or I’ll rip off a horn and make you sit on it.”

Venaz wasn’t someone to back down even in the face of Erin Solstice’s threats. He bristled and grabbed the hand she was poking him in the face with. Her eyes went black. Niers signalled to Atmodeca and smiled, despite himself, as a pair of horns grew from her head and her hair turned into a mane. Venaz swallowed.

“Wait, I’m not here t—”

 

——

 

Six very entertaining minutes later, Erin had Venaz in an arm-lock, much to his chagrin. He’d expected her to just swing on him, and instead, she’d put him into an arm-bar. He seemed willing to break his arm to get out of it, if he had to, but Niers called them off.

“Venaz, all you have to do is tell King Inreza I am considering her offer. That, exactly. As for you, Erin…don’t you have some packing to do if you’re headed to Oelnnox?”

She glanced up, surprised, and stopped messing with Venaz’s hair. He growled as she planted a kiss on his neck and rolled off him. Her Warform faded as she smiled.

“If we’re agreed I can, sure. Can I have him?”

Niers eyed Venaz. The Minotaur sat up, confused.

“I don’t think he’s that useful to where you’re going. And you’d have to ask. Umina’s a native.”

“Umina’s not someone I know from Izril. I’d take Feshi.”

“Me too. She was always the closest to graduating…I want Marian. She’s mobile enough to keep up with my faster strategies.”

“I want Marian.”

“Take Wil and Yerranola. They’re probably going to come as a pair, and he’s mobile enough. Plus, he can do logistics. Top of his class.”

Erin made a face, but Venaz sat up, startled.

“Professor, you’re sending Miss Solstice on the road? But the danger—!”

“She’ll have some guards, but she’s willing to take the risk, and a good [Strategist] keeps their commanding officer safe. I hope Wil and Yera can do the job, because if they fail, tradition is for me to have them drawn and quartered. Not that Forgotten Wing does it that way. Too messy.”

Niers was sort of smiling. Venaz’s mouth opened. Then he leapt up.

“In that case, I volunteer—!”

“You’re as subtle as a bull anywhere, Venaz. I’m pulling you and Marian for my campaigns. That damn greatsword of yours better pull some weight.”

For his—then they were going to war? The Minotaur was so stunned he said nothing. Erin just nodded to Niers. He gave her a slightly worried gaze as he rose.

“I’ll have the manager on the ground brief you what it looks like right now. I don’t actually know. But Erin—be careful when you go after Rabbiteater. I’ll be mobile, but I won’t be near you as often as I need to to ensure you’re safe.”

“Don’t worry about me, Niers. You and I will have a chat sooner or later, I hope, when these wars are more settled. A happy one. Possibly not in a hot tub.”

She winked, and Venaz’s mouth opened, and Niers offered her a quiet smile. His shoulders hunched, and he murmured.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

He waited until she was gone, then glared until Venaz scrambled to his feet and fled. Then, slightly relieved, Niers sat back down.

He stared, frustrated, at his reports, then exhaled.

“Atmodeca? I’m going on campaign. Pack my travel bags. But first, get me Foliana.”

 

 

Entry #47 — To Oelnnox.

 

It’s a good place to go, at least, to start. Tyrion Veltras is further north, having landed in the plains region of Baleros. He can move fast in Maelstrom’s Howling’s territory—if he can get past the Centaurs.

We’re bound along trade roads to Oelnnox, which is a closed facility in a jungle, semi-isolated from some coastal cities. It’s actually decently on the way towards the region where Rabbiteater is, further south and along the eastern coast. Lots of empty jungle down there.

Well. ‘Empty’. Either way, everyone’s going. We’re leaving tomorrow, since it’s not easy to pack up, but Niers didn’t stop me.

He knows I’m not Erin. But I think…he trusts that we’re on the same side. As much as he trusts anything.

The Goblin conversation was interesting. The fact that he knows the Goblin Lord of Heralds means the two must be able to talk. Or at least, Forgotten Wing has a truce with them?

I may be in a position to do Erin’s will more than I thought, if there are Goblins in Baleros in any numbers. Time to go. I wish I’d gotten his respect or some strong emotion out of him to satisfy the Trial of Respect.

…I should have slept with him. But I couldn’t quite do that to Erin. Oh, well. If I can help the [Innkeeper], perhaps that’s one already. Onwards to Oelnnox and the secrets of Titans.

PS. Geneva’s coming. Alas.

 

——

 

Tyrion Veltras was being hit in the head when Ryoka Griffin found him. He wished she hadn’t shown up when she did. It was so…embarrassing.

The twenty-something [Lord] hit the ground—hard. He heard shouting around him.

“Protect Lord Veltras! Engage! Engage the—”

Someone else was unhorsed. Tyrion rose, his sheathed sword in hands. As in, he hadn’t drawn the sword but kept it sheathed, but he slashed at passing hooves, flanks—then one of the Centaurs kicked him, and he hit the ground hard despite his enchanted armor.

When he sat up, they were breaking away for another pass, and Tyrion had a muzzy thought as Ryoka shouted down at him.

I haven’t lost a jousting match in years.

But Dionamella had stolen over a decade and a half of time from him, and now, the Level 33 [Lord of the Pursuit] feared everyone could tell how much he’d weakened.

He mounted up hard, raising a lance in hand. He’d been cautious before, but the Level 37 [Lancer of the Ages] whirled his horse, Surmount, as the stallion screamed a challenge.

“They’re coming. Set yourselves—”

He wished Jericha were here. She’d be casting magics if she were, or Buscrei with her bow would keep them off him. His party rode forwards at a canter, then a gallop as the enemy, two dozen for his two dozen, closed.

And Tyrion Veltras lost a joust for the second time in his life. He missed the first laughing figure who twisted away, receiving three impacts on his shield and armor. When he whirled his head—the bolas hit him on the helmet, and the rest of his [Lancers], some of House Veltras’ finest, fell, unhorsed, or failed to strike their targets.

They hadn’t been trying to kill, but even so…Tyrion Veltras swayed in his saddle as the rest of his forces shouted in alarm and began to advance.

He remembered something from House Veltras’ manuals on warfare. They had sword techniques and, of course, lancing instructions. Millennia of battle. Notes on how to fight Gnolls, Drakes, and countless species. Except when it came to jousting, there was one species where Tyrion had once read some words of wisdom from his ancestors:

‘Don’t joust with Centaurs. Just don’t.’

He’d thought it was a joke.

 

——

 

Niers Astoragon had put a question to his class: how do you stop a rank of [Lancers] coming at you? The question was open-ended, allowing his class to answer with creativity or factual accuracy, demonstrating their knowledge of engagements.

However, it was a trick. Because there was also a correct answer that you could say that would have won full marks. He’d been sort of disappointed Marian hadn’t said it, but possibly she’d thought it was egotistical or she just didn’t know.

How do you stop [Knights] with lances?

Centaurs.

That was it. Full stop. There were many, many battles that proved that the famous [Knight]-charge from Terandria, which could humble countless nations, did not do well against Centaurs. There were exceptions, of course, but Centaurs were…Centaurs.

Human and horse. A combination of the two that often beat a [Rider] on horseback because however in-tune they were, the Centaur was one being. Ryoka, in fact, got to see this band of Centaurs galloping rings around House Veltras.

“Break left.”

They split without needing more than that. A Centaur twisted, jabbing a light lance at one of House Veltras’ riders, adjusting his steps to keep himself in range, then dancing away as the [Lancer] tried to riposte.

“Damn, they’re high-level.”

It was true the Centaurs seemed a cut above most warriors, but the truth of it was they appeared even more coordinated than Tyrion’s forces, who were superlative [Lancers]. Mind you, Ryoka noticed they kept away from the [Lord], and mostly, they just pulled tricks.

Tricks, such as making screaming sounds or braying calls like the horses, which distracted even the mounts and made them lose focus and disobey their riders’ commands. A Centaur would toss some sharp stones at a horse and scratch it, or kick dirt, and then, when the [Rider] got out of formation, they’d swing back and hit the Humans hard.

The battle wasn’t bloody, though. After the second pass, the Centaurs galloped away as Tyrion’s actual army advanced over the grass. However, more Centaurs were racing around in the distance, whooping in triumph, and Ryoka guessed this was an attempt from Tyrion to push into their lands to reach Elvallian.

A push that had failed roundly. He was shaking his head like a dog as she landed. Then he tried to smooth his hair and yanked off his helmet.

“Ryoka. You’re safe. [Healer]! For her, not me! We saw you on the news. Are you unharmed? Your cheek—”

He almost reached out with his gauntlets, then realized they were dirty and lowered his hand sharply. She grinned at him.

“Hey, Tyrion. I haven’t ever seen you lose a jousting match before.”

“It was four on one.”

His cheeks turned red, and he coughed into one fist, then glared at the Centaurs riding in front of his forces in the distance.

“They’ve refused to let us cross their lands. We offered to pay, but they have been harassing us all week. I thought to chase them off…”

“…And they beat you. They look like they’re over Level 30 as well. If your entire army fought, you’d chase off this group, but then every Centaur company across the plains would be on you. Great.”

Ryoka nodded at his forces, and Tyrion rubbed at his shaved chin. There were only eight hundred of House Veltras’ people. Quite a large number to send across the ocean.

Hardly an army to mend all problems. But then, she hadn’t asked him to come after her. He’d just done it of his own accord.

“No Battle Golems from the Terlands nor the House of El’s specialists nor any Reinharts—not that they’d come. I wish some had or I’d taken Jericha with me. Then again, this isn’t a land for Sammial and Hethon. Ullim could have cared for them.”

He seemed—annoyed. Bad-tempered, and that was unusual in itself. Ryoka was panting from her long flight, but she slung an arm around Tyrion’s shoulder as the other [Soldiers] bowed to her.

“Milady Griffin.”

“Don’t call me that, please. Do I, uh, know you?”

“Captain of the Bodyguard, Dalen.”

The [Soldier] saluted her sharply, and she eyed a man well into his forties, which would have been Tyrion’s age until he’d suffered his accident. Dalen looked as annoyed as Tyrion, and a bruise on one cheek showed where he’d been hit.

“Lord Veltras, your orders? The Centaurs wish to parlay.”

They had a white flag and were pointing at Ryoka. She blinked, then grinned.

“I bet they saw me with the Bannermare. Maybe I can help negotiate?”

“I’ll be damned before I negotiate with that lot of flea bitten nags. We can chase them off. We just need to adjust tactics.”

Tyrion growled, which made both Ryoka and Dalen blink at him. Then she realized…he was sulking! Ryoka grinned broadly, and Dalen hesitated. Like a lot of House Veltras’ people who hung around Tyrion, he seemed to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but she had seen him fighting with Tyrion from Liscor to Ailendamus.

Plus, it seemed Dalen approved of Ryoka, at least insofar as to call her ‘Lady Griffin’. Probably because she’d saved Hethon’s and Sammial’s lives.

“Lord Veltras, perhaps Lady Griffin requires rest? Her wounds from the Dyed Lands may not be healed.”

That drew Tyrion’s attention, and he instantly focused on Ryoka’s cheek bandage and raised a hand.

“Fall back! Signal for the parlay—in an hour. Set up camp! Ryoka, do you need food? Healing? We have some potions—”

“I’m fine, Tyrion. I’m just sorry I didn’t make it here earlier. Storms. I hate the weather here. Er, thanks, Dalen.”

He bowed.

“In Jericha’s place, I am acting as Lord Veltras’ right hand until a more suitable replacement can be found. If I can render assistance, do not hesitate to ask. Lord Veltras, your tent.”

Ryoka turned and blinked. Say this about House Veltras—they might be on the wrong continent, but they were so seasoned at campaigning, even the Centaurs were amazed at the panoply of tents that had appeared within less than a minute. True, some of that was down to the tents being magical, but the [Soldiers] had halfway dug a latrine by the time she and Tyrion got to the tents.

“Dalen’s been serving in my vanguard since I first entered combat. He and I were friends as boys. You can trust him like Jericha, though he lacks her manners and finesse.”

Tyrion informed Ryoka, and she wrinkled her nose up at him. Ryoka Griffin was tired, slightly triumphant after her flight to save Filax, but also just exhausted from Elvallian. However, Tyrion…she looked him up and down.

He seemed to be in good shape, repeated head injuries aside. He was young, fit, having trimmed his usual goatee, and his black hair, messed from his helmet, and his dark blue eyes on his sharp face did something to her stomach. He looked like a young man, but his bearing was that of someone older.

An inconsistency between his current levels and appearance and who he was. He seemed frustrated, as well he might.

He had used to be a Level 40+ [Lord] and [Lancer]—now, he was in his Level 30s in both classes. The difference was incomparable. He’d refused to tell Ryoka exactly how many Skills he’d lost, but ten levels in two classes was an insane amount. He’d nearly lost his sons due to the Circle of Thorns and had fought a war against Ailendamus.

Despite that, he’d sailed to Baleros. Just because of her, as stupid and fairytale dumb as that sounded. So, with all due respect to Erin—to Nerry’s comments about his past misdeeds, Ryoka couldn’t help but find affection for him.

Nerry, wearing Erin’s face. Dead gods. She definitely needed a break from that. Ryoka glanced at the tents as Tyrion spoke.

“The Dyed Lands seem as dangerous as I thought. I’ve written a complaint to Lord Astoragon about putting you in danger, and he assured me he wouldn’t involve you in further scouting trips.”

He hesitated.

“I apologize if that overreaches, but the danger is clear.”

Ryoka rather suspected that Niers had agreed purely because she’d disobeyed orders, but she smirked slightly.

“At least everyone respected it. You’re barely more than thirty miles inland. Have the Centaurs given you that much grief?”

His glower said it all. Landing a force of Humans into Baleros in any port was a task and a half. Every city and [Mercenary] company saw them as potential threats or targets, but his voice was clipped.

“I apologize for our delay. Once we deal with these blockades, we will make better time. Is Erin Solstice…well? She was not on the news. Have you located Ser Solstice?”

He was all business. You could respect that. Ryoka towed Tyrion towards his tents.

“I’ll tell you all about it, but it’s been, what, over a week since we last saw each other? Why don’t you and I catch up in private?”

He gave her a weird eye as he motioned to Dalen.

“Dalen has our projected route on maps. It’d be more optimal to speak with everyone else. Dalen, show her.”

Ryoka reddened, and the [Soldier], who’d been drifting away tactfully, paused with that expression of silent agony that people around Tyrion sometimes wore. She coughed.

“Or I could share private intelligence with you, Tyrion. In private. Together.”

“Ah, of course. Let me rub down Surmount and check on his injuries first.”

He snapped his fingers and took his horse’s reins.

“I can do that for you, Lord Veltras.”

Dalen interrupted, and Ryoka felt her head starting to ache. Just slightly. She’d forgotten how this went. Or maybe all those head injuries had given him a relapse? She did a hop, and Tyrion blinked.

Ryoka leapt like a feather and landed in his arms. She hooked one leg around his back and was amazed his arms didn’t even tremble. He was still strong.

“I think you and I should acquaint ourselves, Tyrion. Personally?”

She whispered, turning even redder, and he finally locked onto her blushed skin, and his eyes widened. He hesitated.

“Now? Er—that is—”

He glanced at the tent as Dalen stepped back, and Ryoka Griffin put her arms around him, grinning—

—and met Lord Pellmia’s eyes as the [Lord of Love and Wine] tried to tiptoe back.

 

——

 

Lord Pellmia Quellae, a failure to his class, winced as Ryoka exploded out of Tyrion’s arms like a startled chicken. He spun, and both of them turned red. Pellmia lifted his hands.

“I was just coming over to greet Ryoka. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, humming. Loudly.”

The two red-faced twenty-something year olds assured him that they weren’t doing anything and were delighted to see him. Once again, Lord Pellmia asked himself why he’d even come to Baleros.

Oh, right. Because if Ryoka saw Tyrion’s manifest problems, then Pellmia, who had known Tyrion since he was a boy, couldn’t leave well enough alone. Plus, his ties to House Veltras were such that he’d taken a small force to aid Tyrion when even the man’s family had gone back to their holdings after his last war.

Perhaps it was the feeling he might yet still level, if only as a [Matchmaker] fighting one of the hardest battles he’d ever encountered—even after Tyrion and Ryoka had found mutual acquaintanceship. Perhaps it was because his daughter, Betta, and his wife, Keireen, had all but tossed him aboard the ship and threatened him with sleeping outdoors if he didn’t keep the duo together—and send all the spicy gossip back for them.

Sent on campaign just so they can tell everyone about what was going on over tea. Well, he had to own that Tyrion needed help. The [Lord]’s usual tactic of forcing what he wanted to happen wasn’t going well on another continent, especially with his reduced levels.

Oh yes, Pellmia knew the secret; he was the official excuse they used to explain the change. The old Tyrion would have knocked those Centaurs down, despite their advantages. This young one…

“Ryoka, you are a delight as ever to see flying about. I hope I’ll never grow less amazed at the sight. Your heroism? I had my heart in my throat, but you’ve done it again. I just landed; Keireen sends her blessings. I’m afraid things are as you see them. The Centaurs do not like us, and they control the trade roads.”

“Who heard of blocking us from moving down the road?”

Tyrion grumbled, and Ryoka sighed.

“I heard some companies owned the roads. Can I help negotiate?”

“Please do. I’ve shared wine and conversation with them, and they’re in good humor, but they steadfastly refuse to let us travel anywhere.”

Pellmia always admired Ryoka. He had since the first moment he saw her flying through a storm to save Tyrion’s sons. You knew people from their deeds at their worst, Keireen always said. His first wife, Eirness, had been more of the opinion you knew them from their rank, but he was sure she would have admired Ryoka Griffin too.

Perhaps it was merely fame; the Centaurs came out as a full party of thirty-six, including some of the ones who’d just bested Tyrion, and they spent most of the time shaking Ryoka’s hands.

And flirting with her. Pellmia saw the flashes of affection, the hints of what he presumed might be lust or interest, flickering around their interactions with her. It was one of the new features of his class—he saw romance in the air, the many forms of it.

The [Lord of Love and Wine] wasn’t blind, either. Ryoka was flattered by the attention, though anyone probably would be, but there was a spark when Tyrion came over and she introduced them.

Half the Centaurs glared at the younger Veltras, but then they began to negotiate—more in good faith, Pellmia felt, than before.

“We told you already. We don’t want Veltrases or whomever your group is, not on the plains. We remember the last time Terandria had their stupid colonies here, and a bunch of clanking [Soldiers]? No thanks. Maelstrom’s Howling never gave you permission to ride, so you can sail down the coast. Forgotten Wing has territory down there. Ask them.”

“Why can’t we simply ride through your lands? You’ve held us up long enough that we could be gone by now!”

Tyrion snapped, and Pellmia put a hand on his arm. He spoke for the [Lord].

“You are not Maelstrom’s Howling. You’re the Keirgrass Hooves company. Can we not buy permission to transit through your lands to avoid more unnecessary altercations?”

One of the Centaurs glowered; he was a tall roan. He was armored light, at least by Pellmia’s standards, with quilted padding under light lamellar armor of wood or some-such.

Raiders. They’d hit us a hundred times each day if we had to fight. Pellmia knew House Veltras was mobile, and Tyrion had brought a lot of his riders, but Pellmia didn’t want to clash with Centaurs on their own turf.

All the Centaurs pawed the ground with their hooves, except a female Centaur who wore a slightly amused expression as she eyed Tyrion, but Ryoka frowned.

“Hold on, Ken told me about this. Maelstrom’s Howling’s your species’ Great Company. Are you taking orders from the top to stymie House Veltras?”

Tyrion and Pellmia glanced at her sharply, and the Centaur leader, Revvan, snapped.

“No Centaur group wants Humans in our territory. If you cause trouble, it reflects on the group that let you in. And Maelstrom’s Howling doesn’t like the Terandrians.”

“We’re not Terandrian.”

Tyrion snapped.

“You’re Human. Close enough.”

The response flummoxed Tyrion for a moment, and Ryoka jumped in. She smiled at Revvan.

“But you’re also not Maelstrom’s Howling’s lackeys, are you? Are you really going to just do what they say when I’m asking for a favor? Plus, they can pay.”

Revvan smiled at Ryoka and hesitated as the female Centaur nudged him.

“She’s got you there, Revvan. How much coin are we wasting hitting the Humans with sticks?”

“I’m not backing down, Rethra! How’s it going to look if we give way before the first group of foreigner Humans who ran into us?”

He growled back, pawing the ground. Tyrion drew breath, and Ryoka kicked him. She smiled at Revvan.

“You just beat them. It’s not giving way if you stymied Lord Tyrion Veltras, one of the most famous [Lords], into paying you, is it? C’mon. Or is there another reason you’re being so asinine?”

“Don’t call us asinine.”

That was her one mistake—the Centaurs bridled at the comparison to a donkey. Pellmia was about to invite them to drink—they did appreciate free wine like most species—when Rethra trotted over. She was a Centaur of the same coloration and type, so he assumed she was a sister, and she whispered to Ryoka.

“It’s not just because it’s Maelstrom’s Howling, Wind Runner. It’s because it’s Maelstrom’s Howling and Aria Fellstrider. Revvan thinks doing little favors like this will get her attention.”

She laughed, and Revvan turned bright red and slapped at her side. She trotted back, having a slap-fight with him, and Ryoka Griffin started laughing.

“Is that it?”

Half the male Centaurs avoided looking at her, and Revvan glared.

“She’s the Bannermare of Baleros! The most beautiful, dashing, eligible, uh—”

He ran out of superlatives, and Pellmia did recall that Centaurs put a lot of stock in, well, prestige. They took raising children seriously, because of all the species, theirs had the longest childbirths and the most complications. Even so, for an entire mercenary company—however small—to do favors in hopes of getting the Bannermare’s attention…

“Aria Fellstrider is fighting the Dyed Lands. She doesn’t have time to pay attention to the eastern coast.”

Ryoka pointed out, and Revvan appeared crestfallen. However, the Wind Runner demonstrated that tact he’d noticed in her.

“I’ve met her. She likes me. If I ever run into her, I’ll mention you to her. Deal? Plus, you’re missing the fact that you have the world’s greatest expert in romance right here! Lord Pellmia!”

She pointed at him, and he jumped. The Centaurs goggled at him, then remembered his reputation. Revvan pointed with both hands.

“You’re that [Lord]? And wait, didn’t you turn some other guy young?”

“That ‘guy’ would be me.”

Tyrion growled, and the Centaurs goggled at him, and then they were falling over themselves to strike a deal—if Pellmia would share his love potions and Skills with them.

Dead gods. Pellmia had so much hassle trying to explain to them it didn’t work like that, and then trying to give them solid advice, he only managed to escape thirty minutes later and after promising to have dinner with them that night.

They got their pass, at least, and the Centaurs promised to throw in a good word for them with the other companies, which apparently mattered a lot. Pellmia found Ryoka and Tyrion talking with the female Centauress, who seemed amused by all this to-do.

“So you’re the famous [Lancer]-[Lord]. I thought you’d knock Revvan flat, but I saw you trying not to stick him with your lance. You might want to get some light lances like we use; some Centaurs will fight you, and if you can avoid killing them, that’s good.”

“I was worried I’d run them through, even with a blunted tip. I can kill a horse hitting it too hard.”

Rethra grinned. She had no garments on save for a tunic; many Centaurs might wear nothing from the waist down where their horse-parts began, not even a kilt. Her belly was showing where it met fur, which Pellmia considered mildly indecent to be staring at. Tyrion kept glancing at her bellybutton as if he’d never seen one before.

So did Ryoka, actually. Rethra grinned as she bent back at the waist, and all three Human’s mouths dropped open. She could move that spine back way further than they assumed!

“Don’t worry about hitting us too hard! See how far we can bend? Hit someone with a lance right and you’ll knock us senseless, but we won’t break. Aim right here or here. Hit us here—and we’re going to be in lots of pain.”

She gestured at her chest and, oddly, ribs and stomach while she indicated the section where Human-half met horse-half as a dangerous spot.

“I don’t understand. Those are the worst spots to hit a person.”

Tyrion protested, and Rethra grabbed his hands. She put them on her stomach and then moved them to her chest. He jumped and tried to pull away.

“There’s not as much in here. See? We have lungs and a heart, but we also have more of your internal bits down here.”

She slapped her flank.

“If our upper-body parts get badly hurt, we can still survive. If you ever see a Centaur flopping around at the waist, it means someone’s hit them hard enough to damage their upper body, but they can probably still make it.”

Tyrion yanked his hands away and nodded stiffly. Rethra grinned.

“And we’re great at fighting people on horseback. You’re used to horses. They’re dead weight around us. Want to try me? I wasn’t going to get hurt if your people attacked, but I’d like to joust a famous [Lord].”

Tyrion hesitated, but Ryoka pushed him forwards.

“It’s a good lesson, Tyrion. Go for it.”

She and Pellmia ended up watching as Tyrion mounted his stallion and tilted with Rethra. At first, she avoided his lance, using that nimbleness and unwillingness to face him in a straight charge that had foiled him, but then she started taking blows. After the fifth pass, she reeled like she’d told the two, upper body flopping back on the Centaur’s torso before she dragged herself up.

“Ow. You’re paying for that.”

She began coming at him in earnest, and it transpired that Centaurs had no qualms about attacking the horse. Tyrion defended his mount quite adeptly, though, and the surprised Centauress galloped around him, cursing as he followed her, impossible to shake.

“He’s learning fast. Think he’ll survive on Baleros?”

Ryoka watched, arms folded, and Pellmia kept glancing at her. He hesitated, then decided they were on a different continent, so to hells with it.

“He is the best [Lancer] I have ever known. Even despite his—recent setbacks—he’d have given the Centaurs a nasty surprise had they actually wanted blood. You’re looking well, Ryoka, and I am glad you seem to think we’re needed. I agonized the entire trip whether I’d have to drag Tyrion back if this was some impulse that was unwanted. You, ah, know she’s flirting with him?”

Ryoka glanced up at Pellmia as Rethra surrendered and trotted over to ask Tyrion how he fought like he did; she used a single lance in two arms, not his shield and lance combo.

“Oh, I know. Poor Rethra. If she actually manages to seduce him, I think I’d just ask to watch. Because on multiple levels, that’s not happening. It’s Tyrion.”

She had a point. Pellmia felt a surge of sympathy for the Centauress as Tyrion showed her how to handle a lance without a hint of anything else. He coughed.

“And you do need our help?”

She gave him a long gaze that snapped him out of his amused state.

“If Tyrion is willing to, I won’t turn down any help on this continent, Pellmia. I just hope you know what you’re getting into.”

He hesitated, then bowed his head.

“I…have duties on Izril I should attend to. The Vampires, for one. But I came because…”

He glanced at Tyrion and sighed.

“This is simpler and, in a sense, morally easier than anything else, even if we’re fighting [Mercenaries]. There’s something about Tyrion that is straightforward, even when he errs. Like someone throwing a rock. Regardless of what it hits, it is always the rock.”

The Wind Runner laughed and grinned at Pellmia, and he did see what Tyrion saw in her.

“That’s exactly why I like him too. Besides…”

She grew somber a moment.

“…I need his help, and like N—Erin said, I do like problems. It’s definitely not a thing, though.”

“Absolutely not.”

Lord Pellmia lied. After a while, Ryoka strode over, and Tyrion followed her as she waved at a very crestfallen Rethra. Lord Pellmia walked over, and the Centauress stood there.

“I asked if he wanted to get on my back and see if he could ride a Centaur, and he asked me if that was considered impolite. You got them together, those two?”

“Somehow.”

She gave him a long look.

“I’ve never met someone above Level 50 before. Can I have your autograph, and do you do consultations?”

 

——

 

Tyrion Veltras was no idiot. He’d been suspecting he was being flirted with, but Ryoka Griffin confirming it made him nod to himself when they were in his tent.

“I thought so.”

She just stared at him, exasperated, amused, mildly horrified—he didn’t know why he provoked that expression in her, but then she leaned over.

“Alright. I have to unpack that with you. However, we have to attend a dinner with the Centaurs, so if you wanted to have fun, now’s the time.”

He waited a second, hoping that meant what he thought it meant. She gestured several times in increasingly explicit ways that had him color. He glanced at the tent flaps and hissed, despite the silencing spells.

“N-now?”

She gave him such an amazed expression…then hesitated and bit her lip.

“Oh, if you don’t want to—”

“Absolutely.”

He interrupted her very quickly, in case this windfall were to vanish. Let no one think Tyrion Veltras wasn’t interested. Indeed and nay, more so than when he was in his forties. Dead gods, the sleepless nights he’d had where he’d had to dunk his head in water if he even thought of her—

She was removing her clothes in front of him, and he covered his crotch. Ryoka seemed delighted.

“I forgot you liked watching me undress.”

“That sounds—vulgar. I’m just not used to—are you sure this is appropriate?”

She actually stopped as he fumbled with his armor and gave him a strange look.

“Okay, you have to explain this one to me, Tyrion. Seriously, is something wrong? Did one of the Centaurs kick you in the balls?”

He cleared his throat. Damn this to the Five Families, if this ended things, he was going to be very unhappy. But he had to ask, because it was the right thing to do.

“No! It’s just—it’s only Nendas.”

“…The 4th day of the week?”

She was new to this world, this strange woman who’d hooked him like a fish out of his steady river. Tyrion was staring at her chest, and he mumbled.

“Yes.”

“…And?”

“Well, it would usually be Gnorna or Zenze, surely. For…marital matters.”

She stopped, shirt in her hands, and her mouth was so open and she held still for so long that Tyrion searched around for the bucket of water. Damn it. He was reaching for his water flask when she snuck up on him from behind and grabbed a certain part of him.

 

——

 

In a—moment of rest, Ryoka Griffin asked about it. She lay on the bed, half uncovered, and turned to him. He pretended he hadn’t been staring.

“Explain that to me, please. You only had sex on weekends?”

“Technically, there are three days to the weekend. It’s the last two days of—”

“Dead gods. How did you not explode?”

Tyrion grew defensive, and he didn’t know why.

“We were busy. Salva and I—”

Oh, there went his arousal. He stopped, and Ryoka bit her lip.

“Uh—let’s change the subject a second. Unless you want to talk about how you’re feeling?”

“Subject change, please.”

“Okay. So! Why are you so surprised I want to get it on after not seeing you for a week, second, did you actually notice poor Rethra flirting with you, and third—no, that’s good for now.”

His stomach lurched, and he turned to her.

“I was just surprised you wished for…intercourse. It surprised me, but I am grateful. And I apologize. I had—stared at Rethra. Purely stared with no intentions!”

But he still bowed his head so low he nearly headbutted her. Ryoka’s mouth opened.

“Tyrion—did you want to sleep with her? Because for one, I have no idea how—”

“No! I swear on House Veltras’ name! My indiscretion was in looking, and I promise you, there was no more than that. I am ashamed for my wandering eyes.”

He was alarmed, but she rested a hand on his arms.

“Tyrion. I stared at her belly. She’s hot, at least the Human-half of her is. Calm down, please. It’s not wrong to stare, or I think most people would be in trouble.”

The [Lord] stopped bowing and gave her an odd look, a duplicate of the concerned one she was giving him. And then he realized…they were going to have a Talk About Things.

It was semi-common, and the Wind Runner brushed at her hair.

“You know that’s not…everyone looks. It’s doing anything that’s the problem. You’ve got a lot of guilt buried around everything, Tyrion.”

“I don’t think so, Ryoka.”

“You don’t think—ask Pellmia. Ask him if he’d admire someone’s tasteful belly button despite him being as loyal as anyone to his wife.”

“Ask another man about that sort of thing? Let alone another [Lord]—Ryoka, it’s just not done.”

“I know it’s not. But it’s done more than you think. Tyrion…!”

He promised her he would ask, if only to prove she was mistaken and this came from her other world. Then she addressed the other point.

“Okay, I am going to furnish you with the sacred knowledge of my gender, Tyrion. Are you prepared?”

“I swear to keep it secret.”

She leaned forwards, face very serious.

“Sometimes…no, almost as often as you…women get horny.”

She waited. He raised a finger.

“That means they want to have sex.”

He sat back. Folded his arms. Stared up at the ceiling, then nodded at her calmly.

“Impossible.”

The Wind Runner of Reizmelt got up and paced around, naked. She turned, raised a finger—pulled at her hair mildly—and then gave him a sweet smile. She sat on the bed and scooted up—he scooted back, but she had a target in mind. She parked her behind on his stomach.

“Let’s do an object lesson.”

 

——

 

He was somewhat convinced after that. But then he had questions.

“All women?”

“Um. It varies? And I’m pretty sure we’re not as randy as boys.”

“You’re sure?”

“If they’re not asexual? I get why you’re mistaken; you’re from this medieval-Victorian era with old-fashioned notions, and you were raised a [Lord] around [Ladies], but believe me, Tyrion. Have you ever met Fierre?”

“I do recall her.”

“How about…aha! Lady Ieka!”

“Of course, I campaigned with her.”

“And?”

“And she’s a brilliant mind, a gifted [Mage], very attentive to her serving staff. I wish I had half as much care as she did with her help. I’ve heard some scurrilous rumors about her, but nothing—”

Ryoka was doing that open-mouth thing again, which made him sure he was missing something, but how could his life be this full of mistakes? She exploded.

“Tyrion! She loves women! I have never seen someone as thirsty for another lady as her in my life, and I’ve watched documentaries about people dying of dehydration in deserts! She is the most—I thought one time, when I met her, that if I took off my pants she’d carry me into bed.”

His mouth opened, and then he blurted out.

“But that would be a scandal of immense proportions for a [Lady] of Izril! I had heard rumors, but I assumed it was malicious gossip. If she’s in love with other women—is anyone helping her with her condition?”

The Wind Runner’s eyes narrowed, and he realized she had gotten actually mad because there was a breeze in the tent. He braced himself, but she didn’t slap him. Ryoka merely blew out her cheeks after a moment, and the gust subsided.

“Tyrion…wow. That’s, uh—we had an entire conversation about this at dinner, remember?”

He nodded, cautious.

“We did. However, I sense a lesson is coming on. Should I get dressed?”

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen—this is a modesty thing, isn’t it? One battle at a time, Ryoka, one battle…let’s talk about—homosexuality. No, just people being people. Tyrion, I thought you were more progressive on the topic!”

She had him sit cross-legged and said a lot of things he instinctively felt were wrong. But she was so passionate about it he did listen.

“We touched on the matter, and I said that it was a known fact among soldiers on campaign. But open frivolity would scandalize all of Izril.”

“But why, Tyrion? What’s wrong with two people of the same gender finding each other’s company?”

He shifted, uncomfortable, and fell back to what he knew.

“Nothing, but it isn’t something to be publicly addressed. Let’s take, ah, [Soldiers] for example.”

He knew military matters and always defaulted to them as examples because everything was clear there. Ryoka sighed and nodded.

“Okay, you find two gay lovers. What happens?”

Easy. Tyrion nodded.

“I would not discipline them as their leader. Even if it were brought up, I would ignore it or dole out a small punishment if it became a large issue. Such things are excusable, best ignored. I have heard it made an issue—a waste of time. If it were Lady Ieka, though—I imagine I would take her side refuting the matters quite plainly.”

“But you’d assume she’d deny it?”

She was giving him a searching look, and he murmured.

“I cannot imagine it would do anything but harm her reputation, so certainly.”

“Okay. But is it a bad thing? If you were in, say, a position to endorse or speak up for people being openly gay—that’s the term, by the way, I don’t mean just ‘happy’—would you?”

A harder question to answer. He could tell the answer she wanted, but he didn’t believe in lying, so he couldn’t just tell her, ‘yes, of course’. He braced himself as he responded.

“I…would have difficulty endorsing such things. For instance, the act itself. I could never imagine doing—that. How would I defend it?”

Even the thought made him pucker up inside, and Ryoka gave him an earnest eye.

“We just had sex, Tyrion. You’re not into partners of the same gender, but who does it harm?”

“Their lovers? Their families’ reputations?”

“Assume they don’t have lovers because they want to be with each other. And as for the families’ reputations—why would that matter?”

Because everyone knows it to be wrong. However, Tyrion’s mind connected the dots she was leading him to. If everyone assumes it to be wrong, then it becomes so. But where does the actual problem begin?

“This is…I see your point, Ryoka Griffin, but what would happen if this practice were adopted across Izril? How many children might not be born or—”

She was giving him such an amused and appalled gaze he hesitated.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just sound like, uh, people back home. Tyrion, these people exist already. I don’t think humanity has exactly decreased in number. And you don’t find it a problem, do you?”

“I find it an odd practice. And with respect to my position, I cannot imagine a peer of the north accepting the matter. If I, as the leader of House Veltras, made any statement on the matter contrary to public opinion, I imagine I would stand alone.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Except for Lady Ieka. Ask Pellmia about it. And then tell me what he says, because he might be old-fashioned, but you trust me, don’t you, Tyrion?”

“You saved my sons. I would trust you with my life.”

He gave her that same reply, and she seemed so—surprised, then gratified she smiled.

“Let’s leave the ‘Ryoka Lessons’ with that for today. Just think on the fact that if two men kiss, no one gets hurt unless they’re dumb as shit. Or there’s something in them that is challenged by the idea. Now, onto Centaurs. Do you get why they were so upset at you for coming into their territory?”

“They conflated us with Terandrians. I see the mistake, and I would have educated them about it had I understood.”

Tyrion growled, getting annoyed, and Ryoka gave him a patient look.

“It might be wrong of them, but you can’t blame them for being gun-shy after Humans of any kind made a colony in their lands.”

“But—”

“Tyrion, you hate Drakes. We’ve talked about Drakes. If you saw an army of Drakes coming north, and they said they were from Mawrsh, not a Walled City, would you react any differently?”

He hated it when she gave him arguments he had to reason out. They argued over whether you should assign guilt broadly or whether the Centaurs were overreacting, and she did acknowledge there were other factors in their decision-making. Then she sighed.

“I’m tired. I’ve gotta fly back to Elvallian tomorrow, Tyrion. I was just checking in, and I’m glad I did—”

But she’d just spent two hours in a mix of ‘private time’ and explaining things. He felt bad about that.

“I came here to make you less burdened, not to make you explain things or tire you out—”

Her foot nearly hit him in the face. But she pulled the actual blow, which he appreciated. Being with Ryoka was a contrast to the only other person he’d ever had a relationship with, Salva. He often made mistakes, but he also noticed there were differences.

Ryoka often felt more…insecure than Salva had. Was it wrong to compare the two? He couldn’t help but notice that he often reassured Ryoka or talked her out of what she termed ‘spiraling’, which did sometimes involve her walking around in circles.

And she carried far different views than Salva on many issues, often discussing the matters with him. In a way, they had more strife than he had ever had with his wife. On the other hand, he was surprised that the Courier was far gentler in private for someone so capable physically.

She almost never slapped him or hit him in a moment of fury. Though she seemed to run as hot as Salva…well, maybe a bit less. Even her way of solving disagreements was to look him in the eye and speak levelly. No, not like Salva at all…Ryoka gave him a direct stare now, with that earnestness he found charming.

“Tyrion. Remember what I said?”

“Women get…horny.”

She sat up, trying to untangle her hair, and he helped her. She was surprised he knew how to use a comb with any delicacy. He pointed out he had his stallion, Surmount. She still hadn’t laughed at his name, and Tyrion was wondering if he should point out the joke to her. Ryoka sighed.

“Thank you. I dunno, I’ve been running around helping Erek—damn, I need to do that too—Geneva, Niers…I feel like they’re pushing me around a bit, but I don’t mind it. I like being helpful. I know I’m gonna burn out or crash—”

“You were amazing when you rescued that child. Is she well?”

Tyrion assured her, and Ryoka smiled. He thought that added another burden to her, but her head rose, and she breathed in and out. Her brown skin was glistening with sweat, and he admired her from the side. Just…stared. With admiration and other things filling him.

“I’ll check. I don’t know what’s coming next, Tyrion. I learned something—strange today. Worrying, but maybe good? I’ll let you know what happens, but if I do run out of energy and I need help…that’s when I’ll need someone to come running and give me a hand, no matter what. Can I count on you for that?”

She turned to him, and then she was vulnerable and uncertain. Seeing her own inevitable moment of crisis and afraid no one would come when she herself needed the help she gave to others.

As if half of Izril wouldn’t rush to her aid, like the Centaurs to the Bannermare. Tyrion got to one knee and held her hand.

“I swear it.”

She stared at the serious, completely naked man kneeling to her in bed and started giggling so hard she nearly fell out. Which slightly hurt his feelings, but she embraced him so hard he felt better. Then she blinked, and her hand went down.

“Wait a second. What th—are you ready to go again? That’s not normal! I’m positive it’s not!”

“We don’t have to—stop touching it. You’re making it worse.”

He protested, and she grinned at him.

“That’s not a problem with me. I’m just amazed you, uh…were you like this when you were actually young?”

Tyrion gave her a puzzled expression.

“That is why we booked out an entire day, usually.”

Ryoka’s mouth opened, and she swallowed.

“—Well, that just recontextualized that. But you seriously don’t know anything other than, uh, the most generic methods, do you?”

“Am I getting another Ryoka Lesson?”

He tried not to sound happy this time. He kept finding new things in life, and sometimes—often—they were quite delightful.

 

——

 

Ryoka Griffin was the center of attention as the Centaurs feasted with the House Veltras soldiers that night, and she cut the tension after so many weeks of standoff. Tyrion, on the other hand, stayed more to himself, drinking with Revvan and the other Centaurs—but talking with Pellmia.

Dalen wasn’t with him; he was cautiously trying to dance with the Centaurs, and Rethra seemed to find it hilarious to dance with a ‘two-legger’. They watched as Dalen bowed to her, embarrassed, and the crowd whooped and cheered. Tyrion kept talking.

“—Which leads me to inquire whether or not you, personally, know of more positions. I can count fifteen so far, and the first is—”

Pellmia put his hands over his ears.

“Tyrion, please stop, or I may throw myself into the bonfire.”

Tyrion stopped talking, and the [Lord of Love and Wine] took a long, long drink from his cup.

“Ryoka told you to tell me about that?”

“She…didn’t specify that part. I was to ask about something else that is private, though.”

Pellmia glanced at the roaring flames everyone was dancing around, as if wondering how long he’d burn. But then he spoke, red-faced.

“Very well, it’s true I know of—sometimes I think I should have had a talk with you. Poor Salva. But then again, she probably took the lead in…”

“Yes.”

Tyrion said simply. For a second, Pellmia drank, and then he continued.

“Very well, ask the other parts. I don’t want to know the—particulars. Alright, dead gods damn it, tell me.”

He took down an entire cup. And Tyrion whispered. Revvan, leaning over the other side, gawped.

“Humans can do that? Centaurs can’t—”

“Yes, yes, alright, I know that! It’s very common!”

“It is?”

Tyrion was stunned. The Centaur gave Pellmia the same awestruck expression, and Pellmia called for more wine, his special stocks.

“It’s actually fairly basic! I can see why Centaurs…alright, I’m not thinking of that. To your second point, Tyrion, of course everyone stares at—bodies. It’s nothing to chastise oneself over. Unless one’s staring far too hard. Keireen has herself pointed out a very attractive [Lady] to me before. Purely because anyone with eyes would notice. I, the same. I think it’s a mark of how steady one is in a relationship…it’s purely preferential.”

Ryoka was right. Tyrion took a drink to hide his dismay at being proven wrong. Revvan got up—and instantly approached an [Archer] from Oswen, possibly to see if the rumors were true.

Tyrion and Pellmia made warning gestures at the [Archer], who glanced at them, alarmed. Then Tyrion asked the really strange question.

“Lord Pellmia. What is your stance on buggery amongst men and women?”

The Winebreath Blaster was perhaps one of the most powerful ever performed due to Pellmia’s class. An entire group of Centaurs and Humans was covered—it had to be a spray ten feet across. He coughed, wiped at his face, and gaped at Tyrion. Then at Ryoka.

“Alright. Start from the beginning, just as she told you.”

Pellmia listened, and this time, his face grew troubled.

“That’s…an interesting attitude. Stitch-folk. I’ve heard they don’t care, but Ryoka Griffin would be ostracized from many groups in the north if you repeated what she said to you.”

“I see. And you think…?”

Tyrion trusted Pellmia. The man went to tap at his teeth.

“We’ve all heard of [Sailors], and you and I know things happen on the campaign, though if it’s a mixed-gender army…no, even then. I agreed with your take. As a commander—look the other way. What do I think?”

He ran a hand through his hair and chose his words carefully.

“I think…it squares with things I’ve been seeing of late, Tyrion. You know I can see affection?”

Tyrion had a feeling he knew where he was going with this and nodded. Pellmia murmured.

“Many people came to me for help. Sometimes with earnest problems, petty ones, or just bad matches or dreams. Sometimes I felt like a client was saying one thing, while silently asking for help…or a family intending to set up a couple that would never work. I would see them looking at someone else. Someone of the same gender, and I wouldn’t know what to say. I played it off. Said nothing. Because I felt like should I object, point it out, decry it, I might violate the thing my class is built on.”

Tyrion’s brows were so high up he felt at them. Pellmia continued.

“Of course, that’s not a hard and fast rule. One time, the age discrepancy was such that I called for the Watch. But this is different. It is, dare I say it, not the same as deviancy in other regards. I say that purely based on my eyes, Tyrion. Affection looks different than something twisted or wrong.”

He tapped under one eye, and Tyrion had to ask.

“You trust all to one Skill?”

Pellmia took a deeper drink and then leaned over.

“Well, no. I of course talked it over with Keireen. She told me she’d kissed several [Ladies] before meeting me.”

This time, it was Tyrion’s turn to spray wine out his mouth.

“And it didn’t bother you?”

“Tyrion, my boy. The things Keireen and I do to each other assure me we’re quite happy. Far more advanced techniques I’m sure Ryoka has failed to teach you yet.”

Pellmia waggled his eyebrows, and Tyrion wished never to bring the subject up again. Discussing his—lessons with Ryoka was one thing, but Pellmia!

It seemed Pellmia and Ryoka were fairly aligned. When she came back to check on them, Pellmia indicated as such, and she actually reached out and shook him by the hand!

“So you’re an ally?”

She grinned, and Pellmia frowned.

“I don’t know what of, but ensuring young Lord Veltras reaches his old age knowing something of the world? Certainly.”

Ryoka laughed.

“I’m going to have to explain polyamory to him next if he keeps meeting people like Rethra. Although I think Dalen just went off with her.”

Pellmia’s wine spit was such that everyone actually stopped dancing or partying around the two men. He shook his head.

“You are a lucky man, Tyrion. Some would say that adventure and excitement landed in your lap.”

“No, it was a delivery.”

Tyrion murmured with a smile, and Pellmia clapped him on the shoulders, then rose to show the Centaurs how Humans danced in House Quellae. They were cheering him, and Ryoka swung on by afterwards to pull Tyrion up.

He was no great dancer, but she was having fun and grinned.

“I have to fly off early in the morning, but I’ve got one night left! Let’s make the most of it!”

He hoped that meant what he thought it did.

 

——

 

It did. Tyrion Veltras was very sorry Ryoka Griffin had to go, but he enjoyed his time with her, whenever it occurred. She said she would do some flying around the area to gather goods for Geneva Scala before heading back—he hoped to meet the famous [Doctor] and perhaps ask her to join House Veltras.

He’d be riding hard the next day, but he felt his spirits lifted and very…refreshed. There was only one strangeness to the day.

Practically at dawn, Ryoka was getting ready to go flying when someone scratched at the tent flap. It was Lord Pellmia Quellae, who fiddled with his helmet in his hands. He cleared his throat, as if not knowing what to say.

“Tyrion, Ryoka, I, ah—”

He gave them an uncertain gaze as Tyrion reached for his sword and Ryoka drew in a sharp breath.

“—I just learned the [Winebreath Blaster] Skill. It wasn’t even green.”

They stared at him, and then even Tyrion Veltras started laughing.

 

——

 

Ryoka Griffin was in such good spirits after Pellmia’s hilarious Skill that she flew to two cities before she realized she had a problem.

“Oh come on. Argh. Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

She did a quick circle, landed in the city she’d just been to, and then flew far away from the city and found some forest along the Centaurs’ plains.

It really was how she’d heard America used to be described in places: empty land cleared of trees, the greatest pastoral lands you could imagine. Ryoka Griffin circled until she was positive no one was around, then landed, ripped off her pants, and yanked the balm she’d bought out.

“Aaah, that stings!”

She’d never had problems with chafing, but only Tyrion Veltras could make that an issue. Her windsuit did not help matters. It didn’t help that the Naga behind the counter had laughed herself onto the floor and then asked for Ryoka’s autograph.

“Think of the positives. Think of the—at least I taught him some good lessons this time.”

Ryoka muttered as she waited for it to take effect, wincing as she sat in a position she was glad no one could see. She knew Erin had a point. And Nerry.

And Lyonette. And everyone else who couldn’t stand Tyrion. But Ryoka saw both a man capable of terrible deeds and someone who was, well, as inept as she was.

“Sex on Saturdays. Dead gods. And he just doesn’t—know things.”

If she could get him to abandon his hatred of Drakes, even though he had an excellent reason for it, the world would be better. Not that Ryoka disliked Tyrion and was around him purely to ‘fix’ him. It was just—he had this pure admiration for her that she was drawn towards, like a moth.

Probably something in her to work on, there. If it could be complimentary, that was good, right? Ryoka muttered.

“Okay, if we’re talking relationships longer than a single night stand, who have I been interested in? Well, Relc…and there’s lot of things that never happened, like Fierre. And there was—but now Tyrion—uh—do I have a problem with fathers on top of immortals? Nope! Not thinking of that.”

She poked herself and decided she was almost ready to fly. Ryoka was fumbling for her pants when, at that moment, someone decided it was his time to step out from behind a tree.

Possibly, he’d only heard her voice and not peeked first. She chose to believe that, because Viscount Visophecin stepped smoothly out from behind a tree with a black rose in hand.

“Miss Ryoka—”

He stopped, stared at her, and she crossed her legs and turned bright red. The Lucifen stared, blank-faced. Then he gave her an unconvincing smile, as if he’d intended to do this purely for humiliation’s sake.

He stepped behind the tree. Ryoka put her pants on. She got up, swung herself onto her glider, and took off.

Visophecin grabbed the glider before she could whip into the skies.

“Ryoka—”

“Hey, Viscount Visophecin! I’m amazed to see you here for the first time! Ever! How’d you appear like that?”

She screamed at him, red-faced, and the Viscount wore an unusual expression of chagrin. He coughed into one fist.

“I regret that immensely. I was overly tired from my journey. Besides—”

His teeth flashed in a sharp, predator’s grin, and his slightly grey skin, red eyes, and his elegant suit made him seem like he was truly otherworldly in this span of brush.

“—do you think I would be moved by anything you could show me?”

She gave him a long look, then tried to blast him into the forest with the wind. She took off and flew westwards, ignoring his shout.

 

——

 

He shot her down sixteen miles later. A web exploded across her glider, and she cursed, then dropped as it grew heavy. A [Featherhop] spell slowed her at the last moment, and Visophecin appeared.

“Ryoka Griffin, I have reached you because—”

He dodged the flying kick, and she sprang upwards with her wingsuit, abandoning the glider. He pointed, and she rolled out of the way of one spell, then darted up.

Visophecin tried to tag her twice more, appearing behind rocks and then the forest, with a cloud spell and then what she assumed were invisible arrows; the wind told her where it was, and she evaded.

She was just thinking she had to talk to him when she went blind.

“Aaaaaaaaaah! Visophecin!”

She lost track of where the ground was and felt herself rushing downwards—then he caught her in his arms. Ryoka punched him in the face as her vision cleared. The Viscount seemed pleased with himself as he let her down.

“Shall we begin again, Ryoka?”

She sat, cross-legged, and put her head in her hands.

“I thought Rhisveri told you that you weren’t allowed to speak to me!”

His smile vanished. Then he stood still, and Ryoka glanced up and realized his suit wasn’t as immaculate as she remembered. It was still clean and neat, but she got the impression it was slightly lived-in, not pressed, ironed, and barely worn.

Too, he seemed less purely confident than he had been. He glanced down, adjusting his tie, and his voice was suddenly soft.

“I have been exiled from House Shoel and left Ailendamus. Whatever Rhisveri’s orders, they no longer apply to me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. The dead. Paxere’s parents.”

“Yes. Igolze and Azemith and twenty-two others. The greatest blunder of a deal struck since the age of Cormelex. I have come to help you fulfill your pact, Ryoka. There is…I can do little else for House Shoel to make amends now. And I come bearing vital information.”

Ryoka turned and wanted to protest, to tell him she was done with Ailendamus’ issues, but she couldn’t. They needed help in Baleros, and he was a powerful spellcaster second to none. It did make her fear all the problems of Ailendamus would follow her here, but if Rhisveri wasn’t here…

I can’t kill another Dryad. This time, I’m saving one—ah, fuck. I left the wand in the inn.

She recalled that again, and Visophecin spoke.

“Part of my unique abilities would be my knowledge of many aspects of Baleros, Ryoka, that I have accumulated over my lifespan. My magic also enables me to transport myself to other continents, albeit with great effort. Enough to aid you should you have…misplaced vital objects.”

He gave her his best, mysterious-superior smile, and Ryoka almost fell for it until she noticed him adjust the tie again. And she had a thought.

It’s almost like he’s pitching himself to me. Even if he’s telling me he can get the wand…she folded her arms.

“I already have Tyrion Veltras and the entire Forgotten Wing company on my side.”

The Lucifen wavered, then smirked.

“Indeed, countless allies. But you may have forgotten that Baleros is no straightforward continent. Treachery is baked into the Great Companies and their dealings. Tell me, how is Erin Solstice recovering? The attempts on her life have failed, even the last one, though was she cured before the acid left a mark?”

Now Ryoka’s brain was moving, she leapt to a conclusion before he led her there. She narrowed her eyes, then smirked.

“I already know she’s someone else. Do you know who?”

Ryoka was delighted to see his face actually fall for a moment before he covered it by brushing at his hair.

“—I can see you’ve grown more adept than you were in Ailendamus. However, do you know where Erin Solstice truly is?”

Ryoka did not and felt her heart leap, but she was now feeling her advantage, and she folded her arms, pretending to be unimpressed.

“Erin’s been in contact with us. Try again.”

It was sort of true, since she’d spoken to Nerry, but not Ryoka, which definitely didn’t hurt Ryoka’s feelings one bit. At this point, Visophecin seemed genuinely flummoxed. He bit his tongue gently with his canines, glanced at her—and then spoke, glancing to the side.

“I—had forgotten how much you disliked being chased. I don’t feel anything but amusement. I apologize for that and our reintroduction.”

She said nothing. He stared past her, suddenly forlorn. His head bowed, and Ryoka’s heart hurt. She burst out.

“We definitely need your help, and I don’t know exactly where Erin is. Especially if you can get the Dryad seed wand to me!”

She was way too bad at being tough. Nerry was tougher than she was, and the Sariant Lamb was as big as a sirloin steak! However, the light of relief in Visophecin’s gaze made her half-smile. He regarded the Wind Runner, then bowed to her after a moment.

“I have thought myself humbled, but it seems fate intends for it to be a permanent lesson. I am here to assist you, Ryoka. I think the first step might be for me to recover said wand. But if you have magical need or there is something amiss—”

Ryoka walked over and hugged him before he could react. He went stiff as a board, but she hugged him long as she dared, then peered at him.

“I’m sorry about House Shoel, Visophecin. They died protecting Erin. That’s a debt I want to repay.”

She meant it. He just blinked at her, astounded twice in such a short span of time, then put something behind one of her ears.

The black rose of Izril, used for shame and cowardice. It was also pretty—though it had thorns on it. She stabbed a finger taking it out, and he caught her hand.

Black magic closed the cut, scabbing it over, and she yanked her hand free as his gloved ones moved away.

Okay, that wasn’t the reaction I was going for—Visophecin’s eyes alit on Ryoka, and he smiled, relieved.

“The mistake was mine. But I shall reclaim that wand first—and rejoin with you the moment I have it. Finding you was actually quite difficult given your speed. I have no bond with you. May I offer you this?”

He handed her a bracelet of black stone, carved with a single rune on the largest stone. Ryoka blinked at it, then narrowed her eyes at him.

“Wait a second. A connection with Erin? Did you make a deal when you rescued her from Roshal? What is it? Tell me! If she gave you anything, I’ll pay for it. Don’t—”

He had to assure her that the deal had actually been annulled and explain about the crack in Erin before Ryoka calmed down slightly. She sat down on the ground and patted it for him to sit. He conjured a chair and sat on it and made one for her. She didn’t rise.

“And…she needs to mend it?”

“I—do not know if I can assist her in that regard. I have been reluctant to show myself around her. She is Fraerling-sized and lost in Baleros. I think she would refuse my aid, and I am…wary of her.”

He confessed, glancing away from Ryoka. She blinked at him.

“Do you hate her for killing so many Lucifen?”

He was silent a long moment.

“No. I wish I did, but the regret and guilt are not things Lucifen feel. Just like sympathy. It is instead wariness. She bested me. A strange feeling, because I know how Uziel would feel. Even for my fellow Lucifen, I don’t feel the—pain I have heard described. Just a quiet sense of loss and miscalculation. I think Paxere feels differently, but I don’t feel anything…appropriate.”

He chuckled, touching his breast, and she did feel bad for him then. He knew he should be broken up about Azemith and the others…and he couldn’t be.

Or perhaps he was breaking up differently. He avoided her gaze as he continued.

“At any rate, I observed her landing. Silvenia’s magic wore off at some point, and I had—funerals to attend to in Ailendamus. I did not do much. When I located her, she was on the move, riding some sort of beetle. I cleared monsters ahead of her. Then she ran into a Fraerling village I was reluctant to approach. I think one of their protectors sensed me. He kept moving around the outskirts towards my position.”

“Waitwaitwaitwait—Erin’s Fraerling-sized and riding a beetle? Then she reached a Fraerling village?”

Ryoka wanted to laugh, because it was so funny. Visophecin’s eyes lit on Ryoka’s face, and he smiled too, in anticipa…

“The Hobgoblin was with her. Erin Solstice is alive, though I gathered she was melting from mana overload. I was considering how to save her, but the Fraerlings had an expert. I believe she would have died of her wounds without their intervention. Her scars from Roshal are considerable.”

…tion. Ryoka’s face crumpled up, and the wave of remorse and anger and grief swept over her. She glared at Visophecin.

“Stop enjoying telling me bad news!”

He tried to seem contrite. Then he frowned, glancing over his shoulder.

“I saw you had called on other allies. Lord Tyrion Veltras himself, even debilitated, is a considerable asset. If you can call on him as well as Niers Astoragon, we may well reach Erin Solstice in good order. I assume the Calanferian detachment is also an objective? Combining all these assets will allow us to form a sizable force—then plant the Dryad seed.”

Oh. He thought the Dryad seed was the biggest objective. Ryoka felt guilty and bit her lip.

“I don’t even know where to begin with the seed, Visophecin. You might have to get the wand and take it to Nalthaliarstrelous. Or I’ll ask Shaestrel about it. She’s, uh—not here because she doesn’t really care for when I meet Tyrion. Well, she doesn’t care for it. The other faeries want to watch.”

His brows rose, uncomprehending, and Ryoka tried to give him a grin of her own.

“Er—how do you think I got Tyrion Veltras to follow me?”

The Lucifen blinked, and then he chuckled, sounding endlessly amused. Ryoka turned beet red by his urbane amusement. She blurted out the rest.

“That’s a joke, by the way! It’s not really that. Anyways! Can you get the wand and instructions? It might be everything we need to do is in Izril with Oteslia or something. In which case…”

“In which case, I shall divide and conquer. Very well, Ryoka. It seems we have an accord.”

He offered her a hand up, and she rose. Ryoka glanced up at Visophecin. Their dance in the moonlight seemed ages ago now.

“I am sorry about the other Lucifen, Visophecin. If you want to talk—I’m here. I’m not good at it, but I—”

His eyes lingered on her. Then he put the flower back behind one ear and bowed as he stepped back.

“I do not deserve any sympathy at the moment, Ryoka. When I return with the wand and knowledge, we shall begin.”

But he seemed better as he stepped behind a tree, his smile the last thing to vanish in a shadow. Ryoka sighed as he left. She turned, forgetting that a Lucifen didn’t have to vanish right away through their gateway spells, and muttered.

“This is one crazy day. The next thing you know, Rhissy the sock puppet will pop up with a magic sword and offer to take the ring to Mordor. Then again, I’d take even him if we’re up against, what, two Great Companies? Ow, ow…this balm only works for an hour? Fuuuuuck—”

She leapt into the air, and the Lucifen thought—well, he had one ally in this world. It would be a long, arduous trip to The Wandering Inn; he had to save up mana for it, for all he’d boasted to her about his abilities. He began to portal to the nearest city so he could spend the time waiting there.

He could find her again with the bracelet, which doubled as a way for them to send messages. Not efficiently; the spell would slowly transmit, so it was only good for sporadic updates, not real-time talk, given the distances.

While he waited, Visophecin had a thought to buy one of those hot-selling romance books by…who were they? Sandquen and Heartslayi? He usually thought of them as drivel, but suddenly, he was quite interested by the idea.

He was untethered from House Shoel, who only married between themselves to keep up appearances anyways. If he was so ‘free’, there were few people who even knew his nature, let alone had—sympathy.

Sympathy for a Lucifen.

 

——

 

Viscount Visophecin paid several silvers for the small booklet and wondered if it was worth the price as he eyed the cover. A very muscular Antinium and a blond-haired woman with silver arms were on the cover.

“Enjoy!”

The Lizardman winked at him, and Visophecin almost asked for his money back. Then he thought of Ryoka.

Ludicrous. House Shoel played such games; Agelum did not, because it was too real, too close, and they would break their hearts too much. He almost put the book back before he thought of her eyes.

Unshed tears. Sympathy and anguish for the Lucifen, emotions he normally revelled in. In her eyes…was the reflection of the agony and guilt he craved for his actions.

“Why not? Besides, she’s entangled with Tyrion Veltras, one of the foremost [Lords] in the world.”

Visophecin found a cafe and ordered a treat as he sat and read. Charming someone in a relationship was the fun part—for Lucifen.

He was still twisted by Human standards. Visophecin’s brows rose as he read through the novel, and he decided this was less of a guide, even vague instruction manual, and more wild fiction. Oh well. He’d get another book right after…

He glanced at the menu as a Centaur trotted out.

“Excuse me? Did I read this correctly?”

“Yes, sir! We’ve got gelato right here! I bet you don’t have that in other continents, eh? You are from abroad.”

The Centaur was young and beaming with pride. Visophecin blinked down at the soft serving of chocolate gelato melting in the heat.

“I have encountered it before, but every shop is selling some. It’s quite impressive.”

We had to steal the recipe ourselves from that damn [Cook] in Terandria. The Centaur puffed up even further, straining his uniform.

“We’ve had it longest of any continent! Over a year ago!”

“I was going to ask about that very thing.”

Visophecin tapped the menu and hesitated.

“Iced Gelato, invented by…King Loran of Lorandia?”

The Centaur nodded.

“He lets us use his recipe for a small fee. He invented the stuff, and the other continents just copied his recipe.”

“I see.”

Visophecin stared at the menu. He went back to reading his book. After a moment, his eyebrows rose.

“Now that’s not physically possible. I think.”

 

 

Entry #48 — Of Gorillas

 

Ryoka gets back, and I only needle her a bit about visiting Tyrion. I get it, as a Sariant Lamb. Imperfect allies beat no allies and he’s got an army.

Nor am I that nauseated by anything sexual, like Erin is. Sariants see a lot, and we also have fairly short lifespans both naturally and due to the many dangers to us. Low libidos, though; another thing our wonderful creator didn’t want was us being annoying.

The point is, Ryoka seems steadier now that she’s back and being a heroine, and so she’s trying to wrap up business before our travels. Thus, she takes me and Erek on a hang-glider to his gorilla tribe. I asked to come with when I heard what he was doing. Anything Erek wants to do I feel is worth pursuing.

Plus, I get to fly.

 

——

 

It’s an exhilarating experience for me that’s only slightly terrifying; I’m sitting in her belt pouch, peeking down at the ground.

Fraerling-sized. Ryoka doesn’t have the ability to carry two big people, and this is the only way I can tag along.

It’s funny that we’re going to visit Erek’s contacts, but he was quite insistent we do that before we head off on our trip. Well, he ooked a lot. I suppose this is the only force he can call on, and I want to meet these giant gorillas.

We’re also able to talk openly between the three of us, which is a relief. Ryoka keeps shouting over the wind.

“I can’t believe she’s a Fraerling still! I hope Ulvama is taking good care of her.”

“You trust her to do that?”

I’m surprised; my impression of Ulvama is a pretty lazy, self-centered Hobgoblin. But Ryoka just gazes down at me.

“She’s nicer than you think. Erin talked about how she got her dancing.”

“True…”

“Mrsha said Ulvama took care of her too. Between the two of them, I think I’d trust Ulvama in the wilds. So long as they’re together, they have a chance, but we’ve got to get to them and bring them to Paeth, ASAP!”

“I have no idea what ‘asap’ means. You’re going to have to teach me more Earth-slang, Ryoka. I nearly shat pellets when you tried to get us singing together.”

Ryoka snorts.

“As soon as possible. It’s an acronym. Wow, this is going to be tough…Erek, what do you think about all this?”

He’s hanging from the glider with one arm as he scratches himself with the other.

“Ook.”

“…Any chance you could speak perfect English if we transformed you?”

“Ook! Ook!”

“Okay, okay, I get it, that’s a stupid question. Stop poking me! I’ll crash us all!”

I twist to stare up at Ryoka.

“Hang on, do you actually know what he’s saying or is this some faerie-power? Because I’m just guessing.”

She shrugs.

“No, I’m guessing too. I’m pretty sure he was telling me that he’s plenty smart and he could speak English—if he wanted to wear a crappy Human body.”

Erek nods several times, and I eye him.

“Well, his people know about the Trials of Levelling. So do the other ape tribes. Erek has offered to protect and aid me in my quest, and this gorilla tribe must be useful too if he’s insistent we connect with them. What was the problem last time?”

“Ook-oook. Ooooook. Och. Mrmbr.”

“Last time, there was a female Gorilla who hated my guts. I made some peace offerings, but whatever Erek was asking, it was probably a lot. We’re coming back with stuff he picked out; I think it’s a bribe. How’s that for translation, Erek?”

He thinks about it, then offers her a two and a half.

“Out of five? Damn. You try, Nerry.”

I think about it.

“—Probably, he’s saying that this gorilla tribe isn’t going to win us any battles. How many did you say there were? Dozens at best? There’s some other reason he wants to communicate with them.”

Erek nods vigorously, and Ryoka sighs.

“Well, here we go. Everyone, watch out for damn bugs, and Nerry, if that female Gorilla comes after you, be nice.”

I bare my teeth.

“I’m plenty nice.”

In truth, I already have a plan as we circle in on the landing site. This time, it seems we’re anticipated, because I see a gorilla stand up and begin howling the moment we come down.

“Huh, Erek must have said we’d be back. Do you think I could learn other languages? Shaestrel, is that a power you have?”

The Spring Faerie flies down next to us.

“Eh, it’s all ooks to me. But I was never good with languages outside of home.”

 

——

 

It takes a while for the tribe of gorillas that Ryoka met to appear again, but when they do, they have expectant looks. I’m mostly okay with the bugs; Ryoka freaks out, but you have to get used to bugs when you’re a Sariant Lamb. Ticks are the worst; ever tried removing them without digits?

Mostly, I am trying to pick up on the interplay between Erek and the gorilla, whom Ryoka calls ‘Smoothie’ for reasons I don’t get. She’s got a name for the mean gorilla female as well: ‘Pusher’—it’s rather apt.

However, here is where my ability does come in handy: Sariant Lambs have to study more than just the levelling species in the world. We can befriend wild dogs and boars and everything else—my ability to ‘read’ other species extends to Antinium as well as Goblins.

So, if I may, here was the analysis I provided to Ryoka:

 

Goldstreak Gorilla Tribe. Population ~60. Nearly a third young adults or children. Hostility levels…low with notable exceptions. Wariness levels? High.

This tribe has seen repeated skirmishes with local Lizardfolk. It’s clear they have lost a lot of their adults and warriors, and while the Lizardfolk have paid for such clashes, the gorillas lose more.

At the same time, my guess is that they aren’t willing to abandon this forest; it’s the home they know, and they risk clashing with monsters or tribes in a risky migration.

However, it explains Smoothie’s wariness around Erek. They treat him like what he is: an outsider, but with a degree of respect as well. No one, not the males or even Pusher, are willing to directly offend him. He’s much like an [Explorer] to them; his wisdom appears to be unquestioned.

It’s Ryoka and I who represent the unwelcome facets. Pusher harasses us both, trying to literally knock us around, and I think it’s not just her being ornery. This is an argument on a tribal level. She’s trying to break whatever bargain Erek has—and Smoothie is torn.

He’s asking something hard of the gorillas. Something that necessitates Erek offering a lot. He had Ryoka and me bring bags of holding full of stuff I suspect he bought or stole from Niers’ company. Just what is interesting.

Pots, pans, but even axes. Medicinal poultices, big needles, and salves for ridding the gorillas of bugs. Even a full camping tent. They’re interested in this stuff, and I think Erek’s chosen more technological goods deliberately. He could offer them food, and my guess is they’d be happy, but this is a negotiation for something more.

Something about the Trials of Levelling. I know that, because he points at me, and Smoothie nearly slaps him off his feet. She doesn’t believe I’m a Sariant Lamb and sniffs at and prods me; I have to transform into a Fraerling to even get her to listen to Erek, and then he’s describing things like Barelle the Bard. All the other gorillas listen, wide-eyed. However, they’re still split, and Smoothie studies me and Ryoka, and I think she’s weighing whether or not it’s worth putting her people in danger to help two weak-looking Humans.

 

Ryoka broadly concurs with my analysis. She leans over as Erek spreads his arms wide, gesturing with huge sounds.

“I think he’s telling them about the battle at sea. What do you think he wants from them?”

“They have a map. See those stones he was placing with her? I think he’s asking them to go somewhere. Not with us.”

I murmur back, and Ryoka nods. She’s miming with some of the other gorillas, showing them how a few objects work. She’s pretty good; she even has a few kids come over and blows air around, entrancing them like any other children. Now, I’m reminded she is a Courier, and Erek glances at us approvingly.

The problem…is Pusher. Ryoka’s showing one of the gorillas how the tent is set up when Pusher sneaks up behind her and gives her a shove.

A gorilla shove. Ryoka hits the tent so hard she comes up with a bloody nose. The Courier whirls, and Pusher bares her teeth at Ryoka and makes a very aggressive display of striking her chest. The other gorillas watch—torn, I think. Some made vague ‘go away’ gestures, but Pusher’s mad.

My guess is she’s lost family or friends to Lizardfolk. And she’s got a good idea of how many might die for Erek’s plans. I even sympathize with her—but her grief and desire for isolation doesn’t work for me.

I need help. There are Sariant Lambs like her. Those who think the trials are a big curse and that we should hide away, try to be independent. Isolationists…they can do what they want, but if they get in the way of us Pathforgers, we deal with them. They can die without tools, at the mercy of a single coyote, if they want. But not drag us down with them.

“Hey, you. Back away.”

I’ve figured out enough of their language and body gestures to know what to do. I stride forwards, making myself bigger, and bare my teeth and look her right in the eyes.

“Nerry, not a good idea! Don’t meet her—”

“We don’t have time to play nice, Ryoka. Hey, Pusher, you want a fight? Here I am.”

She stares at me darkly and looms over me; she’s huge and has to outweigh me, what, six times? More? But I have a trick up my sleeve: the Warform.

I activate it and grow. I call on the rage, the anger that defines me, and horns sprout from my head. Black flames race around me, my feet turn to hooves, and fur grows on my arms.

A Sariant Lamb’s Warform. The rest of the tribe moves away the moment they see my powers activate, and Pusher backs off, alarmed. Erek and Smoothie turn, watching me. I make a fist and beckon at her. Pusher eyes me as I stomp a hoof. Erek wants to show this tribe we mean business? I can do that.

I see Pusher eye me, then knuckle back several paces. I’m smiling as I turn to Smoothie. Assure her I’m on her side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pusher’s head go down.

“Ah—”

She charges, and I spin. Then a four hundred pound gorilla is coming at me, silent and huge as a brick wall, arms raised. I make a mistake; I throw a punch and expect my Warform to put me on equal footing with her.

With a Gorgon? Sure, it gives me strength. With a Level 30 [Warrior]? I can punch and brawl with them, and I’m tougher, stronger. But against a charging gorilla?

 

——

 

I do confess, I don’t actually recall the next bit. When I wake up, Erek is threatening Pusher with a sword, and she’s punching me on the ground. I hope I put up a good fight, but my guess is that she smashed me off my feet and just hit me for however long it took me to come around.

I should have shot her first. I try to roll out of the way as Pusher bites at Erek, only to realize she’s sitting on my feet. I punch at her again; she catches my fist and raises one the size of my face.

The rest of her tribe is watching this showdown. I think Smoothie is waiting to see if I have some more fight in me, if Erek is going to hurt Pusher, or if he’s good with the sword—which he is. The enchanted blade and his own abilities would kill Pusher in a fight, but that might turn the tribe against us, and Erek knows it. He hesitates, and that’s when Ryoka Griffin speaks.

“Pusher, get off my friend.”

Her voice is loud, and Pusher blinks around and then sees Ryoka. She’s not scared of Ryoka, out of all of us, and snorts. But Ryoka just says it again.

“I said get OFF her.”

A blast of wind. I feel it tearing at my hair and whipping up everything around me; it hits Pusher like a solid thing, and she recoils. Goes stumbling back, shielding her face. When she lowers her hands, snarling…there’s Ryoka.

“You can push me around, but not her. You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight.”

Uh oh. I shove myself up, about to shout at her to get back. Pusher’s mad now, and unlike me, Ryoka has no Warform! But when I roll to the side, I don’t see Pusher charging Ryoka. My head rises, and I get it.

It’s a bad idea. Even the angry gorilla can tell that.

Ryoka Griffin is standing in a cleared patch of the jungle. Well, I say cleared—the wind’s snapped every branch in a dozen feet, and it’s all whirling around her like a contained tornado.

The Wind Runner’s bandaged feet are planted on the ground, but she’s facing Pusher side-long. And she’s hopping on her feet, making fists—is she going to take Pusher on bare-handed?

That’s a really bad idea, as I can attest. But the female gorilla is hesitating. The wind—the wind’s howling.

Every time her feet leave the ground, it takes a bit too long for Ryoka to land. Like gravity’s half as effective on her. But that’s not the ominous part. The ominous part is her left hand. I swear I can see the air distorting around her fist. Like a miniature cyclone is swirling in a vortex, encasing her hand. And I have this instinct, the same as the other gorillas.

It looks like if that hits me, all the force of a storm is going to come with it. So, Warform or not, I don’t fancy eating one of Ryoka’s punches.

The wind is blowing her black hair around crazily. And she’s mad on my behalf; her green eyes are flashing. I hold my breath and nearly eat a flying piece of bark.

I think she’s levelling up! In her own way.

“Ook?”

Erek makes a worried sound as Pusher walks back and forth on her fists, clearly weighing whether she wants whatever Ryoka’s got. But the Wind Runner just winks at Erek.

“Turns out Baleros’ winds are nicer than I thought. Or they’re just always down for a fight. Well, Pusher? You want to do this?”

The female gorilla hesitates and glances at her tribe. They’re watching her. If she backs down, she loses her authority. She gives Erek a second peek—and I can see her make her decision. She makes a loud, hooting sound—and then almost hesitantly, she charges forwards. Halts when Ryoka takes a step forwards.

“Ryoka—”

The Wind Runner’s eyes are on Pusher.

“Fuck, I was hoping she’d back down. This is Calruz all over again. Hey, uh, Nerry? Pull me out before she kills me?”

She swallows hard, and Pusher sees it. Her eyes narrow—and she throws herself at Ryoka with a two-handed slam. But the Wind Runner’s gone. She takes one step back and moves nearly a dozen feet, like she’s floating. Then she grits her teeth, squats down slightly—and jumps. She comes forwards like a storm, and when she kicks Pusher in the chest, the thunderclap of wind blows up a storm of debris.

I do admit—I’m staring, and I ate some leaves at that point.

 

——

 

Six minutes later, I have the immense satisfaction of Pusher running into the jungle, covering her head. Ryoka Griffin doesn’t follow her. She wobbles—and I grab her before she goes over.

“Ow.”

“You okay, Ryoka? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Eight? Uh oh.”

She’s got a black eye, and her nose is bleeding badly. I can see some very nasty bruises already showing up, but the wind shielded her, I think. And it certainly made an impact. I don’t think that I could knock Pusher head-over-heels with a punch, but with enough wind at your back, anything’s possible.

“You did a great job.”

“I didn’t sign up for getting punched. Do I have all my teeth?”

I reassure Ryoka that they’re all there, and we limp over to Erek. He’s looking mightily pleased with Ryoka. Even Smoothie gives Ryoka a sniffing over and offers her a mango of all things.

Seems like negotiations are successful. The Goldstreak Gorillas crowd around Ryoka, patting her curiously, clearly amazed that someone so scrawny could beat Pusher down. She endures it pretty well as I wash the blood off her face.

“Please tell me that worked, Erek?”

He’s nodding. Smoothie and him are giving each other pats, and she has this…melancholy expression, I’d say. Not triumphant, more like resolute and determined.

He’s set something in motion. She glances around, and several of the bigger gorillas excluding Pusher gather. They gaze at the rocks she and Erek were arguing over and begin arguing.

“Do we get reinforcements? Because I’m willing to put Pusher up against a Gorgon.”

Ryoka pants. Erek shakes his head.

“No? Not even one…?”

I’m imagining how that would even work, to get them to Elvallian since Ryoka can’t fly them. Erek makes a gesture and points at Smoothie and her tribe. He makes a shooing motion, then circles his finger. Points at the rocks, then points at himself.

“When?”

I ask him, and he shrugs. But then he bares his teeth and taps my chest, then his. He lopes over to Smoothie, and she approaches. She reaches out and taps my chest solemnly. She seems to want me to do the same, so I do. Then she nods.

“Hoom.”

It’s done. The entire tribe sighs, and I almost burst into tears. I don’t know why—until I see them gathering around the six gorillas that Smoothie pointed out. Some young, some old, and they pat each other. Comb the six’s hair…and I see Smoothie peering at Erek. Not like a friend, but like…someone who’s put into place something terrible.

He avoids her gaze as he lopes over to us. I bend over.

“Erek? What have they done?”

He ooks a bit and gestures. Ryoka and I hesitate, but this time, he doesn’t bother with a guessing game. Instead, he picks out a piece of paper and writes delicately.

They go. Find other tribes. All send some.

I turn and see it. Oh my fur.

Pathforgers. Six of them. Ryoka looks at Erek and then Smoothie. Then the stones. The map.

“Wait, they know where other gorilla tribes are.”

Erek shakes his head, and I answer for him.

“Not just gorillas. They must know…monkeys and apes. They know each other, Ryoka. Erek is calling on them for help.”

“Wh…how many?”

The silly-looking Orangutan bares surprisingly white teeth and raises that piece of paper.

All.

Then I shiver. Ryoka turns to Erek.

“All for us? Why? Because of Seve?”

“No, Ryoka. Because of me. Because of the promise. If I succeed, surely they have a chance. But the cost—we’re going to war, Erek.”

He just nods. Smoothie is giving orders, and I have a terrible sensation of loss. The tribe is moving, and I wonder if their home will remain when they’re done. How many? The six gorillas watch me, and I just nod to them. Clasp a hand over my heart, and they nod back to me as well.

No wonder Pusher was trying to stop them. I don’t think Ryoka gets the enormity of it all. She’s trying, but she’s never been that species willing to pour hundreds of Sariants into a breach, commit all it has again and again to failure’s jaws.

That’s only for Erek and me. Ryoka just thanks the gorillas. Then she turns and says, almost plaintively—

“So no one for now. I assume they’ll find us? Niers isn’t going to be happy about all the stuff we took. Can we show him something they’ve got?”

That lifts the mood a bit. Erek scratches his head. He goes back to Smoothie, and after some consideration, she turns and motions to an ape. He casts around, then finds a wrapped leaf. He unwraps it and presents Ryoka with the biggest, fattest caterpillar I’ve ever seen in my life.

Turns out Gorillas eat caterpillars. She stares at it so blankly he gives it a few encouraging squeezes until a vigorous squeeze explodes its face straight onto her.

Alas, poor Ryoka. Me and Erek watch her flying off, and she’s so upset we have to wait almost an hour for her to come back and get us.

The caterpillars don’t taste that bad, frankly. I’ve had worse. Either way, negotiations are successful. Smoothie gives me a look and touches my arm once. Then she just points up. And I see big brown eyes, that alien face staring at me. I see her fully and nod.

“Yeah. Way too high up.”

She understands that perfectly and pats my arm until we’re flying away.

 

——

 

The end of the log for now. I’m washing off grime and sweat in Elvallian, and Ryoka is getting checked out by a very amused Beth, who wants to know why she went for six rounds in a bare-knuckle match against a gorilla. We’re all heading out tomorrow, and Niers gave us a little speech at dinner wishing us well. He’s taking his students to war—but he’ll let us have Wil and Yerranola.

Bushrangers, Geneva, Beth, and the mixed Selphid-Lizardfolk forces. Tyrion Veltras out there, Rabbiteater’s group in danger, and Erin as a Fraerling while the Dyed Lands explode and Jungle Tails war with the Forgotten Wing company.

A mysterious facility. And Paxere’s deal with me. Not to mention Rhir, Erribathe, and tons of nations wanting me dead.

So much fun. How could it get worse? Well, I’m just happy to have an ally in Ryoka, so I’m signing this one as a good day for me.

 

 

Entry #50 — A Man Named Murphy

 

Emergency update. Writng on rd to Oel. Full move east. Ryoka flying ahead.

Woke up from sleep when broadcast began. Niers says—imposters. Ryoka told me about Murphy’s Law.

‘Whatever can go wrong will.’

If there were a god of Sariants, it would be him. Don’t tempt Murphy. And it seems like I invoked it in true Erin fashion.

We have someone else to rescue…if they’re even alive. However, we have a new priority mission. Another Earther was heading towards Baleros.

Cara O’Sullivan. Her ship went down just off the eastern coast.

It wasn’t the Bloodtear Pirates.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

I’m free of my cold! And I split this chapter into two parts due to the length…you know the drill. What you might not realize is that this is the first release of two today!

The second one will appear in like 2-3 hours, and only the demonic readers are going to have read the first part. But I felt like I wanted to release 2 chapter’s worth of content because it makes sense thematically.

I have a longer Author’s Note on that one. But the highlights are that I’m feeling better and I listened to that audiobook series I referenced at the top. Finishing a story I loved, despite being able to see criticisms of it…

Well, I hope you enjoy the 2nd part. It’s gonna be big. (Not super long in word count, but big.)

 

 

Nerin, Ryoka, and Geneva and more by Chalyon!

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Geneva and Okasha by Karu!

 

Ryoka by Wing!

 

Geneva by Callum!

 

Khorne Ryoka by DeeDee!

 

Selphids by Brack!

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Oliyaya by Olento!

 

Ryoka Doll by Aeternus!

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