Interlude – Halfseekers (Pt. 9)

Now came the hardest moment. More difficult than besting the Archmage of Lightning. Far more frightening than facing Shifthold. Emotionally harder than beating a child half-to-death with your bare h—

Okay, maybe not that last one. Probably equal, which meant she had the advantage.

Nevertheless, Jelaqua Ivirith hesitated. She didn’t write in advance to anyone else to meet, even if one of them were in a position to do so of their own accord.

She just…listened to the news. Saw a small article in the morning’s newspaper below the bigger story about the Terandrian magical storm. About Shifthold being repulsed from Treant’s Farewell. Had a contact send her a [Message] about some seaport scuttlebutt floating around that she might want to look into.

It was today then. Jelaqua Ivirith saw a huge crowd at the checkpoint to the 8th Floor into Liscor. People wanting to confirm what they had seen on the scrying orb.

Archmage versus Archmage. Half were regular citizens, looky-loos. The other half?

[Mages] who understood what Valeterisa had done. Pilgrims to a holy place. Aspiring students, truthseekers.

—Jelaqua didn’t go to the inn right away.

 

——

 

It was Maughin who broached the subject. Her supportive [Smith] was making a lunchbox for once. Chopping up some rather handsome steak into fine, fine slices. Jelaqua knew the beef—it was from the north. [Cattle Ranchers] raised Moonmellow-breed cows, who never so much as chipped a hoof in their lives let alone did something as controversial as forage for their own food. They were stuffed with magical fodder, given specialized massages, and the end result was a beef so tasty, so magically pure that you could eat it raw without ever fearing disease.

She’d bought it for herself eighteen times in her entire life. The Selphid wasn’t quite drooling over it, but she was curious.

“Maughy, Maughy…we could eat that tonight! You paid a fortune for that, and what’s the cheese?”

“Ludicrously Sharp Veltrasian.”

“Nagas, you bought an LSV? Maughy, what is this for? A sandwich? I’d have to stab you if you wasted it on a sandwich!”

He’d also bought fine Chandrarian dates and Drathian fruits that claimed to have ‘trace cultivation’ on the stamped receipt from an official trader—that meant they tasted great. Maughin was arranging all of it, sliced meat, cheese, fruit, into a lacquered box. It was less of a ‘meal’ and more of a snack tray, really.

She didn’t get it until he turned to her.

“This isn’t lunch. I assume you’ll have something fine. This is a bribe.”

“Who’m I bribing?”

“Mrsha, I suspect. It probably works on Goblins and Antinium. Or [Princesses]. I have yet to hear of one refusing Moonmellow beef.”

Her mouth opened, and Maughin, like the logical [Smith] he was, finished preparing the tools he thought she needed.

“I’m—I mean, I might go today. I just thought that it was a weekend and here I was with my favorite husband, and we could—”

“Jelaqua, Lord Moore fought the Archmage of Lightning to a standstill yesterday. I will keep.”

He was folding a cloth over the box, tying a knot to keep it secure and to hold onto. Jelaqua licked her lips.

“D-don’t you want to come with me?”

“I think there will be quite a lot of crying, so no. Nor is it my team. I will be visiting my family since I have time. And bragging about knowing the half-Giant who broke half of Archmage Amerys’ ribs. My wife’s teammate’s uncle…very prestigious. Here.”

He handed her the box, and she tried to protest. But if she sometimes rushed about taking care of him, when Maughin actually got pushy…

He ejected her from their home and locked the door. And there went most of Jelaqua’s excuses. She still spent half a minute blowing kisses at him through the window and shouting at him not to waste the rest of the beef; that was dinner!

Then…well…

 

——

 

Landlord Jelaqua was currently Wall Lady Melika’s biggest enemy. It wasn’t violence in the proverbial streets, because the Garuda was pretty sure she knew how that would go against Jelaqua Ivirith, but she was doing her best to fast-track paperwork to get another [Landlord] to take care of her charity’s young people.

…Paperwork that was being held up in the Assembly of Crafts! However! During this legal problem, she’d talked to all the tenants and warned them in no uncertain terms about associating with the Selphid.

No matter what she offered them, like toilets with plumbing, magical security stones, or a hotpot night they could come to eat communally…she was a dangerous, unpredictable, violent person!

Exactly the sort that all good teenagers stayed away from, right? Melika Blackwing was no idiot, and she had actually caught herself at one point and imagined how likely Salkis was to listen in their shoes. But the orphans liked her. What else could she do? At the very least, she was sure Anama would be a vivid proponent against trusting the Selphid until something could be done.

 

——

 

“My eyelids fluttered in noxious sleep

Our city stumbling through mundane days

The half-known promise I had yet to keep—

Until all was bathed in magic’s rays.

Then she carried the silent wishes high

T’was then I saw the Archmage fly!”

 

The voices echoing in the chamber that the Drake girl stepped into made her start, and her beating heart stopped a second in fear. Even the Selphid she was following blinked, and her orange gaze lifted.

The crowd of visitors entering the Room of Portals halted until the grinning Gnoll waved them through the magic door. Anama stepped behind Jelaqua Ivirith for a moment, then tried to act cool.

It just wasn’t just any day you saw a sixteen-person choir serenading you. They began the second verse when someone tapped a conductor’s wand on the lectern.

“No, no! We’re not high enough on the final line. When it says ‘piercing melody’, it doesn’t mean anything less than haunting! From the top.”

[Singing Instructor] Calla, the Drake musical teacher and sometimes conductor, was a harsh taskmistress when she was being paid to perform. She pointed at the front row.

“Sopranos, you’re the two leads! Give me those notes and project, project! [Heed My Instructions], and from the top!”

An Antinium and a Human with red hair? Those were the sopranos? Anama was open-mouthed in horror at her first sight of the dreadful Antinium up close, but Jelaqua just motioned the rest of the young people through the door.

“C’mon, kids, you’re holding up the line. You want to see the you-know-what or not? Hey, Liska, I have some temporary guests for the place.”

“Ooh, you need blindfolds. That’s our newest thing. Here. What’s wrong with her scales?”

“Regrowing. She’s a Scorchling. What’s wrong with your face?”

“Ooh, good one. Wait, is there something on it?”

Anama barely heard the conversation behind her. She was watching the red-haired Human sip some tonic, then growl with a scratchy voice at the Drake.

“We volunteered for this, Miss Calla!”

She gestured at Colfa, Singy, and all the [Singers], half of whom were being paid to perform, the other half of whom were volunteers. Including Elia Arcsinger and Bird, who stood in the altos. Calla was unmoved as she swished her conductor’s wand.

“Volunteer or not, I am being paid to perform Valmira’s Flight for an audience. If you want to be more than amateurs singing in the kitchen, I expect you to earn your levels. Now, once more, and remember, higher—”

The choir began again, and Jelaqua Ivirith turned her head.

“What’s this then, Liska?”

“Oh, just a commemoration of Archmage Valeterisa kicking Amerys’ ass. Lord Mireden is paying for it.”

“Really? You don’t say.”

Jelaqua narrowed her eyes slightly and glanced at the choir serenading people in line. Liska rubbed at her ears, and pointed; the young people following Jelaqua realized she’d stuffed them with wax.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, but after the fifteenth time, I nearly hopped through the door. Anyways! There’s all kinds of stuff in Liscor. Dolls of all three [Mages], a street-long party. They’re making confections themed after the fight. Like little lightning bolts filled with syrup.”

“Lord Mireden’s paying for it again?”

“Well, him and Liscor’s Council. The you-know-what is pretty quiet, actually. You sure you want to go through to it?”

Jelaqua gestured at Anama.

“I promised them a look around. Just a look—they’ll probably run screaming when Asgra appears. Mind sending them to Liscor or Pallass after they calm down? I’ll pay for the floorboards if they wet themselves.”

Anama flushed and felt the scales on her cheeks actually heating up; a surreal experience. She self-consciously felt at the patchy scales no longer burning away and opened her mouth to object, but she couldn’t quite find the energy to speak.

Liska eyed Jelaqua, then sniffed the box the Selphid was holding.

“I dunno, that’s a lot of work…what’ve you got there, Jelaqua? Smells…pretty good.”

The Selphid opened the box, and Liska was given a square filled with Maughin’s expensive treats. She began to gobble them as Jelaqua winked at Anama.

“C’mon, brats. Remember, I’m paying for one thing. I’m not made of money. Don’t say something stupid around the Goblins or Antinium. They’re allowed to fight, and any one of them could take you to the ground, even the short ones.”

Apprehensively, the mixed group of young folk, including Ophala and Merry—Consillir had work—put on the blindfolds and had to link arms to visit The Wandering Inn. Despite all of Melika’s warnings, the reputational value of saying they could see that inn and visit Liscor on Jelaqua’s coins was far more appealing than their nervousness around the Selphid.

—How long they walked, and where they went, Anama couldn’t say. Only that when they were in the inn, it felt like a completely different place. She gasped as the blindfolds came off, and they were in a long hallway filled with warning signs.

Ominous ones, some of which seemed hand-painted, others which were highly professional.

 

‘Warning: Death ahead. Steal at your own risk.’

‘The Wandering Inn is not responsible for loss of limbs, insanity, or bodily fluids if you come in wrath or malice.’

‘Beware of Goblin. Also no killing them.’

‘You were warned.’

 

“Don’t worry, that’s just in case you were a [Thief] or [Spy] or raiders. The entire hallway flips and turns into a huge insanity-trap. Ooh, and there’s one of the kill-spots. They pour acid through there.”

Jelaqua Ivirith was not being a supportive, nurturing figure reassuring them it was all safe. Which, conversely again, made her the bad influence to Melika. Anama stepped around the concealed hole in the ceiling. She licked her lips.

“J-Jelaqua. What do we do when we meet the, uh, owner?”

“Erin? She’s gone.”

“I know that! I mean the other one. Doesn’t a [Princess] run this place? She’s the one who killed a Gnoll Daemon. And she’s a [Blademaster]. Are we supposed to bow or something?”

Everyone knew that. Jelaqua’s lips twitched. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Nah, just be normal. Besides, if you were looking for her, you already saw her. She was the red-haired Human singing in the choir.”

“What?”

Jelaqua pushed the door open to The Wandering Inn, and a crackle of lightning made Anama flinch backwards into Ophala. The young [Informant] to the Eyes of Pallass was trying to act cooler than Anama, but Ophala took one peek at the plate a Gnoll had just thrown across the room and froze up, beak open.

“[Lightning’s Delivery]. Pizza.”

Ishkr had just tossed a plate across the room from the kitchen window. One of the guests, a Drake, the Drake from the news, poked at his plate a few times with a fork.

It was him! The Spearmaster, the Gecko of Liscor! Ophala and Anama grabbed each other, then sprang apart, glaring. They needed an autograph, but who—?

“Hey, Relc, does it taste shocking?”

The Drake was cautiously biting the pizza. When he heard Jelaqua, he turned.

“Jelaqua! Nah, it’s just normal. Fast as heck th—Ishkr!”

He nearly leapt out of his chair as a blue-fruit drink zapped onto his table. The Gnoll [Head Server] was grinning until he turned.

“Oh? New guests. Battle stations, staff.”

The relatively empty common room suddenly turned and focused on Jelaqua’s guests. Barely a dozen tables had any guests given how the inn was impossible to find…but the staff were there.

Just not working. But when the Gnoll turned his head, he blew away the young Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda behind Jelaqua. He had the same presence as Jelaqua when she was being intense. The force of his appraisal made Anama start heating up inside.

That wasn’t even the scariest part; the scary part were Goblins popping their heads out of the kitchens, crimson eyes shining. An Antinium Soldier uncrossed his arms from where he’d seemed to be a statue, unnoticed against the walls with his brown carapace.

Then a trio of Humans wearing traditional servant’s outfits swept out a side room. All of it made Anama nearly turn around and run, but Jelaqua slung an arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, Ishkr, I’m paying for this lot. Lord Raithland in yet? I might need to borrow the theater. It’s time for a chat. Is Mrsha the Great and Terrible in? I also might need to bribe her for some help with logistics. I can’t get the damn thing to work.”

The who? The what? Jelaqua was leaving them behind! A dozen pairs of eyes were pleading at her to stay, but she was grinning—and the staff were clearly feeling like they were a big deal today. Getting to fire at the Archmage of Lightning and the Lord of the Skies—and knowing Relc and Valeterisa had a way of making you feel like the inn was back.

Asgra was, in fact, so busy trying to out-aura the newcomers that she forgot to check for obstacles as she headed over with menus and a pitcher of water. She tripped, and the wave of water made Merry duck behind Ophala.

Ishkr sighed. He was suddenly there, between the guests and the floating…droplets of water? They whirled around him as he lifted one glowing paw.

[Gravity Paw]. He swept them a bow in his suit.

“Hello, friends of Jelaqua. Miss Anama, I believe? And Ophala, Merry…may I take you to your seats? Please pardon our waitress. Asgra, blue fruit juice would be appropriate for guests. Or some other fruit juice of their choice.”

“You got it, Boss Guy Ishkr.”

He extended an arm to the table, and Relc peered out the window.

“You think I’ll get a party for hitting my new capstone, Ishkr? Huh? Just asking.”

“You’ve been waiting on Level 40 for years, Relc. Give us a day or two. Some things have to be done right.”

The younger Gnoll grinned at the [Spearmaster], and Relc glanced out the window.

“Valley’s not getting tired of playing in the rain, huh? Can I get a soup for when she and Montressa get in? My bet is she’s got forty minutes more, tops.”

Who? Did he mean…? As they walked towards the table, the Pallassians saw, out the window, the Archmage flying. She was shooting balls of light skywards as her [Apprentice] flew after her, and the Sinew Magus of Pallass, Courier Salamani, and more [Mages] were standing on the water.

Watching the Archmage of Izril practicing magic.

Well, so much for Melika keeping the youths away from the bad Selphid. Jelaqua Ivirith smiled faintly at the stunned guests and then turned. She checked her lunchbox as a Gnoll girl poked her head down the stairs, sniffing loudly.

Mrsha the Easily Bribable was still, sometimes, just the little kid that Jelaqua Ivirith missed. The Selphid winked, then glanced around.

Ah, it was a fine day to tell Seborn that Moore was back from the dead. A shame Amerys didn’t come back for round two.

That would be easier.

 

——

 

Lord Mireden Raithland was settling into his new name. He had to; Lord Moore was too revealing. The hard part wasn’t that or even necessarily all the fame and attention he was getting.

The hard part was…other people realizing he was used to all of this. Of the people of this world, and his own, realizing that half-Giant he might be, sworn protector of Liscor he was still.

Nice and upstanding gentle giant who never hit below the belt he was not. He never had been. Younger Moore had just been too afraid to hit people as hard as he knew how.

“I was almost positive she would not come to Liscor to murder Valeterisa. She would have fought differently, and I had a Skill and two bound spells on backup for that contingency.”

“You nearly got her killed even then! And she stole Valeterisa’s stuff!”

“And Valeterisa counterlevelled. So did Relc. He never got [Spearmaster] to Level 40 in our time, Arrema.”

“Don’t—don’t call me that. You know my name.”

The young Gnoll woman haranguing him, or trying to, was upset. Perhaps rightly so, but the half-Giant was having a conversation between adults. She seemed to think he was still treating her like a child.

“That is your name, Arrema. Privacy spells or not, you had better get used to thinking of yourself as Arrema.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then I expected you to choose another in all the time you’ve had. I debated calling myself Lord Leesse. But that would be too silly and actually endanger me. The situation was under control. I erred in trying to capture Amerys. I suppose I was arrogant in that, but not as greatly as you seem to fear. You notice I don’t exactly appear worse-for-wear today.”

They were walking and talking, and the furious young Gnoll woman had chosen today to talk to him; she had been avoiding their conversation, but her fury at his perceived foolishness had brought them to it. Arrema pointed a finger at Mireden’s face.

“It was still low, faking Valeterisa badmouthing Amerys. And just—sneaky! I’d be okay if it was to level Valeterisa and Relc, but that’s not why you did it! You did it just to win the election!”

He frowned at her as they walked through Riverfarm. The spying [Emperor]’s eyes or not, it was a good place for this conversation; he’d never get a word in edgewise in Liscor or Pallass with all the people who wanted to speak to him. The half-Giant sighed.

“Arrema, ‘just’ the elections? I have one shot to become a Councilmember; it’s pure luck they had a snap election. Rest assured, the Council will be locked in for two years after this unless Liscor suffers a true calamity. Which it will not, because I am here. Everything I do is in service of my greatest task. The task you are leaving to me.”

He reminded her with a tap of his staff on her arm. She glared.

“You don’t have to be a bastard about it though.”

“I am being exceptionally upstanding by any standard of politics, which I grant you, is not a bar higher than your toes.”

“If Mom and the others from home could see you—you’re acting like Pawn. Our Pawn!”

Again, the comment made Mireden angrier than he should have been. He glowered as he cast a glance towards an old man playing with a little boy. Typhenous was chasing Cade around, but he tired often, and the shrieking boy would race up to him to badger Typhenous to ‘chase better’ until Briganda took over. She seemed happy, Lord Moore thought. In this world, she’d changed classes to [Shield Maid]; in his, she’d kept her [Shieldmaiden] class.

One change for the better without his involvement. He focused on Arrema.

“Arrema, I’m surprised at you. For the young woman who was prepared to sink into the dangerous world of Gold-rankers—or more!—you speak like a child. Your mother was highly politically savvy within Liscor.”

She opened her mouth, flushing under her fur, and he pointed a finger at her sternly.

“For all that she ‘retired’, she still managed one of Izril’s great cities and wielded considerable power! Keeping the inn out of harm’s way no less! I considered her a valuable ally and enemy when we were set against each other. She would do the exact same thing in my shoes—well, nothing so combat-intensive—but you would do well to observe the Lyonette of this place. She is showing those same sparks of true leadership, and it is not a kind one. Or have you not observed her preparing to dismantle the Healer?”

Arrema’s lips compressed.

“That’s different. That’s a good thing.”

“Oh, and so you just want her and me to be like Erin? If it is for a good cause, we can stab any number of [Princes]?”

Lord Mireden shook his head in mild despair. He knew Jelaqua was not going to be happy with him; he hadn’t exactly told her the full scope of his plans to win the election. And Seborn…Mireden felt his stomach twist with genuine nerves. After the battle with Shifthold, it was time to talk to him. But were they friends or…strangers?

Arrema, the one person from his world who remained, was giving him that gaze, so he was unkind, a bit. The half-Giant snapped at her as Typhenous looked around.

“I’ve often heard you complaining about our Pawn and how he terrified even Lyonette with his ability to lay nations to waste. Who, exactly, was the manipulated one? The [Prophet] with the power to summon angels, or the woman who had his antennae and could tell him to do so much? Your Lyonette never believed in Erin the way he did. You and I both know that; she was willing to go further than I would!”

Not that seducing anyone had exactly been in his deck of cards, but the point was made. He turned, embarrassed by her stricken expression.

“—That was harsh. I apologize. Just…I will make mistakes, Arrema. So long as they are not ones that cost Liscor everything, I will consider them the cost of this effort. Remember that, if we should come to odds. You know the stakes, and you have left this to me.”

He didn’t hear anything for a while, and the Gnoll girl didn’t speak when he glanced at her. She brushed at her dyed brown hair and then muttered.

“Did you treat the wells yet?”

“No. She’d notice that many dying. I think she’s unleashing the Legions of the Everservants. I hope we can beat them if they come to battle. I will, very slowly, add a formula to the water sources, but it requires me to be a Councilmember. That idiot, Ylawes, put Watch Captain Zevara’s guard up, and she monitors the damn wells. My formula will be far slower. First, it will neutralize their ability to reproduce. Then kill them off over repeated doses.”

“There’s more places where they could have spread the infection. The Goblins—”

“I know. Do you want to stay?”

Arrema was gazing across the sunny city where the [Emperor] of Riverfarm and the surrounding region held court. Her eyes rose to a flock of ravens flying overhead and then a [Witch], who wasn’t Alevica, unsteadily flying over a field. Arrema shook her head.

“Not with Emperor Blind doing his thing. Or at the inn. Sometimes it’s just like what I always wanted, and that’s worse than…I’m going.”

“Say goodbye, at least, before you do. If not to me, then to Mrsha and Lyonette.”

“Yeah, sure.”

 

——

 

It was bitterer than the medicine he was brewing, which was actually quite tasteless. Lord Mireden grimaced as he saw Arrema walking off, hands in her pockets. This upset him more than yesterday by far.

He was thinking of things to tell her and realized that she had never paid attention to the things he’d done, good or bad. She’d always just been stuck in time with Erin…

Such heavy thoughts. Whenever he thought of his world, he felt a rage that could crack the continent in two. A despair and burning vengeance against the Mother of Graves that could reforge his skin harder than mithril.

No, that was what would be hard. Seborn would see it, and Jelaqua already had. He was no good man.

No Giant of old with their simple morality. They had died because they were such uncomplicated beings for all their intelligence and sophistication in their own way. Unlike Dragons or other immortals, Giants had never suffered wrongs to make a right. They had not, he had been told, taken the lesser of two evils.

Small wonder they’d been pursued until the last ones had fled to Rhir. Moore rubbed at his face. It was not a fun thing to feel so damn small.

But the duty of a bastard is to do what children and saints cannot. It was hard and easy. After all…when he turned his head, he saw a dead man standing before him.

Typhenous’ face was just old. Not…the triumphant smile of the Plague Mage’s final spell. Lord Moore could still hear the hissing, the sudden silence of Flesh Worms dying. Plague in the dungeon of Liscor. A dissolving hand falling; robes dropping to the ground, emptied of organic matter and life.

“A squabble with young folk? You look like you’ve celebrated too hard, milord. What could be upsetting you after such a fine yesterday? Have I introduced myself? Typhenous.”

They knew who each other were, of course, but Typhenous hadn’t been there when the [Palace of Fates] opened. And he was acting. Always acting.

Mireden gently shook the old man’s hand.

“Typhenous the Plague Mage? My nephew was a friend of your team. I am Lord Mireden Raithland; forgive my altercation. I knew the girl’s mother, but I fear I’ve fallen in her esteem.”

“Such a sad thing to see. Being old is so…well, it makes me miss Revi. I fear I let her down so many times, but I just never found that oft-vaunted wisdom in my age. Just grey hairs.”

Typhenous tsked, shaking his head as he and Lord Mireden fell into step. They stopped by a tree where Nanette had once sat in isolation. The tree remained, but it was no longer as solitary; a suburb was being built where only empty grasslands had been last year.

It did not make Mireden sad; he was no [Druid], just a [Mage] of the earth. He gazed instead at the laughing boy and his mother.

“Briganda’s doing well. I think she actually is retired. I’d have never believed it, but she likes training the new [Warriors], and losing her [Shieldmaiden] class…it was a fine excuse. There was a moment where I thought I was finished myself.”

Typhenous leaned on his staff as he and Mireden activated privacy spells again, and the half-Giant pulled something out from his pocket.

“It’s a tradition. I did the same dance myself for half a decade in my time. Pipe?”

“What do you have?”

“Silpher grass, dried. Smoked with a pinch of Dreamleaf, a Centaur variety grown by a common friend of ours in the future. The last pouch you or I will ever smoke, much to my regret.”

“How excellent. Could I trouble you for a pinch or two for Witch Eloise? She would be fascinated by the stuff and might be able to resurrect the plant from the components…ah, it tastes like nostalgia for something that is lost forever. Quintessential Wandering Inn, really.”

The old sneak took a huge handful from Lord Mireden’s bag, and the half-Giant glowered, but getting Typhenous to give it back would probably be like trying to get a raccoon to regurgitate its breakfast. Possible, but the end result would not be worth it.

They stood, smoking, as Lord Mireden spoke, surveying a young woman sitting with a book under the tree. Nanette Weishart seemed to be dozing off.

“Forgive me if I retread painful memories. It’s just that I never quite knew you until after…your passing. And the ‘you’ of now is not the one I knew either. You didn’t go with Revi, because…?”

Typhenous stretched out his wrinkled and veiny hands with a true grimace as he clenched his pipe between his teeth.

“Too slow. Too old. Valeterisa could send only a few, and Revi is an army. Was it foolish? Yes, but it was her choice. If I were in Baleros, footslogging away from Dullahans or whatever she’s doing…I am old. I feel that age, and it irks me. I know better than to play the hero I’m not.”

A lesson learned several times, probably. Painfully. Mireden nodded shortly and rubbed at his ribs.

“I learned the very same lesson just now. I’ve gotten soft for all my achievements. The future is not so much an advantage as you think. They still fight like Demons, even if you know how they died.”

Nanette was glancing at Typhenous and Mireden. They waved, and Typhenous pointed at his pipe. Would you like some, young woman? Mireden tried to bat at him, but she came over to collect a pinch of the powder and a spare pipe.

“Lyonette is going to hang both of us for that.”

“If she finds out. A young woman of her age, in my experience, is no different from young men. Just sneakier about exploring the world. Being the old fellow they can trust is sometimes important.”

He winked at Nanette as she hurried off, possibly to find Hethon and a private spot. Lord Mireden puffed. This was not how he’d thought this conversation would go. The past surprised him. But Typhenous…he glanced left and down.

“Typhenous the Plague. One of the Knives of Invrisil. Face of Faces.”

The old man’s face had gone blank. Not angry nor sad, just—unreadable.

“In my youth, maybe I clung to such names. Right now, that would land me in more trouble with young bucks looking to get a bit of glory.”

“Simply confirmation on my part. You died harder than most I have ever seen. Harder and worthier. But for you, we would never have slain our foe.”

That pleased Typhenous.

“A hard death? Better than slipping into the end. Eloise was right. This isn’t making me dreamy at all, incidentally.”

“What? No. It sharpens your focus and concentration. Gives you interesting ideas, but if that’s what Nanette thinks it is, she and Hethon will just end up debating policy.”

“Bah, she’s too young for that if that’s what the children call it these days.”

Typhenous dodged one of Lord Mireden’s feet nimbly, but he grimaced and rubbed at one leg.

“You see? Fast enough. Fast for an old man. Fast for a [Mage]. Slow for a man who could have once given an accounting of himself in the Trial of Blades beyond a fitting start.”

Everything about him rang with a kind of annoyed grievance for the body that had let him down, but he wasn’t bitter. Just wistfully annoyed. Mireden envied him. They stood there, and the half-Giant sighed.

“I have to go speak to Seborn.”

“You haven’t? Well, well. After Shifthold, no less. A fine Drowned Man. In the company of a Bloodtear Pirate’s son no less. No; a full member. A dangerous Dorhmin, I have no doubt. The most dangerous in the world.”

“That nose for information you have is one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you, Typhenous. I have no doubt it served Griffon Hunt better than they knew—”

The genuine compliment seemed to irritate Typhenous out of everything, and he waved a gnarled hand at Mireden.

“—And landed them in trouble. I often ask myself, ‘was I more help than hindrance to them’? To Ulrien? Halrac? Let alone the entire team. I am the reason why they split. Those two were too good to ever bring it up. Did…did they ever count how many died in the Griffin Plague in the future?”

“I don’t recall any statistics. There were far worse incidents, sadly.”

Mireden lied. Typhenous glanced at him and then spoke, tamping the pipe out abruptly.

“This is my confession I have never needed to give, because I was never held to true account for this out of all my many sins. This is the truth I never uttered because it was known by those that mattered. One act killed more people than I ever did with my knives or spells. One act sullied the name of one of Izril’s finest Gold-rank teams. I regret it, but it was necessary.”

Mireden listened. Typhenous raised his hands, and he was not the most gifted illusionist, but he still conjured faint dots which multiplied, the images of beaks, the faint screech of a hunting Griffin.

“There were too many. Far too many. We were at our strongest, then, with every member a seasoned Gold-rank and Revi the most junior. We slew as many as ten Griffins a day—ten, sometimes as many as four at a time. Beyond unacceptable risk for how our team operated, which was no-nonsense, no-risk. And it was not working. The Wyvern Weyr that hit Pallass was a fraction of the numbers, and the Griffins were breeding and hunting nonstop. Ulrien knew what he was asking of me. Too weak and it would do nothing or spread across many species. Too strong and they wouldn’t live to spread it. I didn’t think it would change species so fast.”

He never looked at Mireden. Just stared at the lights winking out.

“There. It is a weight off my chest to tell someone. Ulrien and Halrac took the blame when they could have disavowed me. Our journeys led Ulrien to his death and Halrac to his. Both in service to saving lives and protecting the innocent. Qualities I was unfamiliar with until becoming an adventurer. If anything motivates me, it is a sense of a debt I cannot repay to the living. I shall count the balance of it when I am dead. It pleases me that the Typhenous you knew sounded like he knew the score and the tally owed. And you have sought me out because you require the Plague Mage to ensure she dies?”

His eyes glittered, and Lord Mireden felt a chill go down his spine, because there was no fear there. If they marched down into the dungeon now…

“No. The two of us would have no chance. It was a miracle we won. A miracle…and Halrac. In every world, he was that marksman we knew. I was the one who emerged, but not the killing blow.”

Typhenous understood. He turned.

“Then what?”

“I seek a man much like the one Arrema accused me of being: a hard man. A bastard. Someone who knows what is at stake and is both intelligent and resourceful enough to adapt. More importantly, someone who will not hesitate to curtail future tragedy.”

“Oh, you’d have me commit a second Griffin Plague?”

“Nothing so…generalized.”

“Blades in the dark, then. You are a different Moore than the one I remember. Or not. The difference is, perhaps, he didn’t know what was coming.”

Mireden wasn’t sure he liked the comparison for himself or for Moore, but he held his tongue. Typhenous stroked his beard, thinking.

“I am sworn to Riverfarm and the lovely [Witch] who saved me from myself in some small part. But then…Griffon Hunt is no more. Revi is the last who can truly claim to be active. I have little to do other than persuade new gangs that the Blind Man is no easy mark and to fight the occasional thrilling battle. That is no agreement. I need to understand the consequences.”

“Naturally. And I need more than one man with a blade. Or one [Mage] of your level, with apologies.”

“No offense given. After seeing who you marked, I don’t think anyone’d call you all flash. Funny; I never thought someone’d tell me I didn’t have the stones for the job.”

Typhenous slipped partially into street cant, and Lord Mireden checked his magical watch.

“I have to be going. Would you care for me to come calling?”

“I live at a very intelligent [Witch]’s cottage…so no. I’ll come by. We can have a drink in Invrisil. What kind of crew do I need?”

Mireden lifted a finger.

“Upstanding. Faces are acceptable, but I prefer no…affiliations. Able to move far and fast. Adventurers, in short. Gold-rankers.”

“But ones who don’t ask questions and can do a knife’s work? That’s hard.”

Again, the Plague Mage grimaced and pulled at his beard before having an idea.

“…Hold on, I’ve got one. Riz. She’s a Face. And a Knife. Unlike me, she’s young and respects my name. She was egging me on to put in a good word for her. She wanted to be part of Griffon Hunt. Perhaps if we had—no. I didn’t trust her. Her team dropped her once they knew how she really smiled. I’ll reach out.”

“I don’t remember a ‘Riz’, but plenty of events took capable people before their times. I may have a few names myself. Most I’d prefer to succeed as I hope they will, but for the rest…?”

Typhenous was nodding, eyes focused now.

“That’d make me Captain unless you’re planning on leading us. Strange, of all the jobs, I never wanted this one. Gangs and adventuring teams—too much work. But if the reason’s right, I’ll toss a hat on the streets. Swear to me you won’t waste me on anything less than my other death.”

He looked up, eyes glinting. It was a hard stare to match, but Mireden did.

“I swear.”

“Got a name? Just so I have an image to sell Riz, even if it’s in the back of my head? Something to give an old fellow a bit of zest for life and his lady something to chuckle about?”

Typhenous was smiling now, like an old, innocent man, but he spoke with that edge that reassured Mireden. The half-Giant thought for but a moment. Then he leaned over and murmured very quietly.

“We are just two thinking men on the side of the [Innkeeper]. There are a lot of thinking folk on the other side, some men. It will be difficult to even those odds, but until we’re caught, we have that. And I know most of the names. This is not the first nor the easiest. She’s my biggest quarry, but if you need for a vision yourself…Regis Reinhart intends to paint the garden of Izril’s flowers red.”

Typhenous’ eyes opened wide, then blazed as he gently looked around. Mireden dropped the spells, and the old man massaged his back. He spoke in a cheery voice.

“My. One hears stories, but I think I’d better go to a library. Wonderful things, those. They have all the history. Good luck on your day, Lord half-Giant, sir! I have some reading to do on the stuff of legends!”

He raised a hand to tip a cap he didn’t have, then looked befuddled before wandering off. Lord Mireden exhaled slowly and tapped his pipe onto the grass.

After a moment, he turned as a red glare shone on the side of his face.

Traffy the Law Elemental was glaring at Lord Mireden, who was in violation of the No Littering ordinance. The half-Giant regarded the Law Elemental. He cast around…then tapped the ground with his staff.

Traffy sank half a foot, then wiggled around before blurting furious sounds as the traffic light creature tried to free itself.

Lord Mireden walked off, and then…well, then it was time.

 

——

 

Ship #23 — The Sword of Gilam The Halfseeker’s Promise

 

It was only after the last dregs of surreal disbelief in his survival faded away that Seborn Sailwinds gazed once more at the green moon and understood…

Understood that, again, the world had changed and something terrible had happened. Something great, perhaps, but he had never found a true gift without a cost in his life.

He sailed westwards, towards the first stars he saw, with Tissl, his [Helmswoman], and Irrel, his First Mate, and his new ship.

Waiting.

Just waiting. He was fine with waiting; he knew they must be so busy. The living had to bury the dead each time.

He did not want to know, but he knew he would, if he kept alive. So, onwards the Drowned Man sailed. He had to teach the new crew the job, anyways. Irrel didn’t need the same lessons as Tissl, but he was a different kind of problem.

“Alright, try again. Just remember, port is left. Port. Left. Same number of letters. Stern is to the back. Aft is too. Bow is front…and when we give navigation orders, we don’t head towards other ships like that. It makes them think we’re going on the attack, Irrel.”

“Sorry.”

“Why d’you have such stupid names for ‘left’ and ‘right’ anyways?”

Irrel and Seborn glowered at Tissl, and the half-Elf protested.

“What? Why invent more words?”

“They’re not relative terms. Port is always left while facing the bow of the ship.”

“Okay…but why ‘port’? We’re already using that word. [Sailors] don’t have room for another in their heads? Oh, hey, look. A dragonfly. Anyone want to eat it?”

“All yours.”

“Thanks, Irrel. But I’m not that kind of half-Elf. Mom said Ceria was weird. D’you think Irurx and she really…y’know?”

“Probably. He talked a lot about her.”

“Third rule. Stop talking about friends of ours behind their backs. Unless they’ve done something stupid in recent memory.”

“Right, so about Captain Ceria…”

 

——

 

The hardest part was them telling jokes and trying not to smile. He managed it for half a day before remembering Jelaqua was the most irreverent happy-go-lucky member amongst them. It didn’t mean he fell over laughing, but he gave them a snort now and then.

Nor did he expect the two to be, well, so competent. He thought he had two Bronze-rank greenhorns on his hands, and in some ways, he did. But Irrel’s abilities in combat were Silver-rank…or frankly better, and that was despite him lacking Skills. With that sword? He was Gold-rank, but he wisely kept it hidden at all times.

As for Tissl, she had the gear of a Named-rank and all the fighting experience of a Sariant Lamb, but she was pretty competent in the non-combat areas he’d have expected deficiencies in.

Like knowing how to clean a deck, repair things with thread and needle, cook food, even how to just…work without slacking or getting distracted.

“I’m a [Farmer], aren’t I? You can’t slack when you’re doing important chores. Ma put me in charge of the sheep or the kids lots. Plus, steering this ship isn’t too hard.”

She did have a tendency to crash into some waves, but that was apparently ‘for fun’, and Irrel had an instinct about what waves were coming. Between that and Seborn’s seafaring knowledge, they managed to keep The Sword of Gilam afloat those first two days.

The two men had to clamber over the sails and attend to the rigging by hand, but Seborn was a [Rogue], and the ship was enchanted and stocked with a generous larder with Runes of Preservation. Tissl had already introduced the wonders of Izrilian cuisine to Irrel, who dug into the hearty fare with a kind of wonder.

He was used to all kinds of foods worldwide, but port-foods for all that. And after he’d dived into the water to catch fish, Seborn was less worried about having to enter a port.

Which was good, because he had a feeling they were being pursued. He’d been heading southwards at first, towards the New Lands, before he had feared the ship would suffer damage—and the Hivelands were due south of the High Passes. No safe port, even if he could talk themselves out of being swarmed for being too near the coast.

Then Seborn had debated going north, but Terandria would kill Irrel. So westwards Seborn had taken them, a bit wider of the Hivelands. Away from the coast, it was true, but there was a strong current that would take them south or north; a trading route that would actually speed progress to any harbor and make it harder for someone to catch them.

…Or there should have been. Two days in, Seborn was checking Gilam’s maps and realizing the young man’s mistake and his.

“Out of date. The changing currents. Damn. That’s my fault.”

He expected some blowback, but Irrel just glanced down from the crow’s nest, and Tissl peered up from the wheel.

“Not your fault you haven’t been at sea for a decade or more, Captain. Whaddya reckon we do?”

“Keep heading west a bit, but give us a more southern tack. There has to be a current even if they’ve shifted. The worst that happens is we swing wide before reaching the half-Elven settlement. Or Nombernaught. We could go back north…but Lord Etril’s probably hunting us by now, or someone is.”

“We’ve got plenty of food. Don’t see why we need to land in northern Izril. Whaddya think, Irrel?”

This wasn’t a group decision…was what Seborn was going to snap at Tissl, but he held his tongue. Irrel called down.

“Not north. Storm coming.”

Seborn and Tissl turned their heads northwards, but they didn’t see anything. The Dorhmin boy clarified as he nimbly slid down the crow’s news.

“Far. Magic. Can tell.”

“A magical storm? You’re sure? We swing well wide of that. It’ll throw us around, no matter if we’re in this enchanted ship or not.”

So they bent southwards, and after a while, Tissl called out.

“Captain, are you sleeping in Lord Gilam’s quarters still?”

“Yes. Captain’s privilege. Also don’t ever remind me that idiot exists. You wouldn’t like it anyways. He had some…off items.”

“No fear, Captain! Irrel and me have our own cabins; it’s great! I just have one request, sir?”

“What?”

“Can I have his pants? Me’n Irrel don’t have as much clothing.”

 

——

 

That was how Gilam’s wardrobe ended up being divided between Irrel and Tissl, though she needed to adjust some of his clothing. Seborn ended up stitching clothing with her on the deck, and that was also how they renamed the ship.

It was considered ill-luck to rename a ship at sea, of course. But after some discussion, the crew all decided that it was probably worse luck to be in a ship named after anything to do with Lord Gilam Quellae.

Plus, as Irrel pointed out, they had counter-tradition on their side; the Bloodtear Pirates didn’t have a problem with renaming ships at sea once taken in the heat of battle, and they had shed blood for this ship.

So that was how Seborn found himself clambering over the side of the ship with a fresh wine bottle to slam it on the hull while Tissl tried to paint the new name over the old one.

The Drowned Man was listening to her giggling as Irrel held the rope steady. Wine was blowing back in his face as he stared at the sloshing green-blue waves below.

“Steady. Careful.”

“Quit yer bellyachin’, landlubber! Avast and haul to or I’ll keelhaul you like there’s three sheets to th’ wind!”

“Stop it. Pirates don’t talk like that.”

He thought they were both smiling, and he was wondering how he’d keep these two safe. Seborn was clinging to the railing, so they couldn’t see his worried face when something passed him on the waves.

A little white Gnoll girl sat under a breaking wave. She looked up as the waters crashed down over her and reappeared, a ghost amidst the seas.

When he saw her…he knew. The Drowned Man lifted a slow hand, and the laughter from above stopped.

“Captain? Is that…?”

Irrel had gone still, eyes wide, as he recognized something the Bloodtear Pirates had seen before their ill-fated battle. Seborn whispered.

“Yes. Weigh anchor or…no, she’ll come to us. I need a moment with her, sorry.”

 

——

 

When Mrsha appeared on the deck, she wasn’t smiling or even pretending to it. She was…changed.

So much so he felt like the thin Gnoll girl standing before him was a stranger. She didn’t appear—hurt—but she seemed starved. However, it was her demeanor that seemed aged.

Something truly terrible had happened. Yet when she saw him, she did fake that smile. The girl held up a card.

Hey.

“Hey.”

He remembered how he’d shouted at her the last time he’d seen her and her ominous words before vanishing. The Drowned Man sat down on his deck as Irrel and Tissl peeked at the two of them.

Need a room?

The girl glanced at Tissl, and Seborn shook his head.

“It’s done. There was a battle—the [Driver] was eaten by some kind of insect. We think it snuck onto his carriage in Treant’s Farewell and then…we’re fine. We stole a ship.”

Mrsha glanced around. She wrote briefly without any of the excitement or questions she would normally ask.

That’s good. Did your [Dangersense] go off?

“…If it did, we were fighting. We saw a strange Antinium appear.”

Her paw slowed as she wrote.

What kind of strange?

“Glowing. With many, many eyes. It attacked Irurx and then exploded.”

Oh. That. Is it gone? Did it help?

“Yes and yes.”

Good.

They sat, Seborn not knowing what to say, Mrsha with a thousand-yard stare. After a while, he murmured.

“The moon. Tissl says she saw something pink zooming around the High Passes.”

That was part of it.

“What was it?”

Goblin King.

When she saw him staring, she wrote—

Fighting him. It’s done. He’s gone. Everything’s okay. There’s a hole in the inn, but no one…

Her eyes searched his face and stared at something else.

No one you’d miss is dead.

“Liar.”

That was all he could tell her. The girl just gazed at his face. She traced the next words in the air.

Yes. Seborn? I’m sorry. When you find out the truth, you can blame me. I did my best. I really did.

Unconsciously, he reached out to her. Trying to gather her up into his arms as he knew a half-Giant would. But his clawed hand just passed through her, and she…it was over.

“If it’s something terrible, I’ll live. Jelaqua’s alive?”

Oh, yes. She wasn’t part of it.

The Gnoll girl couldn’t meet his eyes. Seborn Sailwinds didn’t know what to say, so he just said:

“You did your best. I know what that’s like. Failing. Do you have time to meet my crew?”

She turned, and her eyes did focus on Irrel with surprise—but not shock. Tissl—she swept her gaze to him, and he felt as though she had seen this sight before, somehow. Eyes swimming with secrets and a burden kids shouldn’t have. He knelt and spoke to her.

“Mrsha. You’re coming back tomorrow, right? Or in a few days?”

She blinked and gazed at him. Then the girl did manage a tiny smile.

I’ll come back tomorrow. You know you’re sailing away from Izril, right?

“We’ll head a bit south. Thanks for telling us.”

They spoke a little more, and she vanished.

 

——

 

It took them about three weeks to make landfall at the next port. Three long, long weeks of realizing that if there was a current, they weren’t about to find it here.

Even enchanted, Gilam’s sails were only useful if the wind was with them, and several days of being becalmed off Izril’s coast were only lightened by Mrsha returning.

They talked. Sometimes only for a little bit before she had to go. She brought news, ran messages for Tissl; Seborn had nothing to say, and no one had anything to say to him…yet.

You’ll have someone here soon.

Just who…he didn’t know, but she avoided the subject. Nor did she spot this ‘magical storm’ Irrel kept claiming was northwards.

“It’s there. I know.”

The Dorhmin boy was so insistent that Mrsha promised to keep an eye on the weather, and she gave them running updates on how close they were and was very…helpful.

The day they actually saw the half-Elven port-city in the New Lands, she had a list of information she was reading from.

Okay, you’re meeting a ‘Zedalien’ in the ports. Weird name, but he worked for Maviola El.

“Ah. Good. Does he know about Irrel?”

He knows there’s a Dorhmin aboard and has told the half-Elves to chill out. I’d keep aboard, Irrel. There are lots of Terandrians in the city.

“Yep.”

Mrsha flipped pages and glanced at Tissl.

As far as the half-Elves are concerned, you’re in a nice ship—The Halfseeker’s Promise, which is registered and the paperwork’s done. You’ll need to get a [Scribe] to print the documents out somewhere else, Seborn. I don’t think they’ve got room for anything but essentials. Frankly, they wouldn’t let you dock except for hearing you’re out of provisions.

“And the poop deck is bad. Can we get cleaning?”

Three weeks, uh, had tested the new accommodations. They had plenty of space, but Seborn could use a bath and fresh everything. Mrsha nodded.

They’ll sell you supplies, which we’ve pre-paid for. It’d be expensive otherwise.

“Thanks, Mrsha. You did great. How’d you get all this done? And how did you pay them? By Courier?”

The girl scratched at her head with a quill and the ink ran off her [Inkless Fur].

Nah. They accept credit at Merchant’s Guilds because they can use that money to buy stuff themselves. The real trick is talking to the half-Elves and getting permission and stuff from anyone who’s actually in their colony. Some of it was Zedalien. He was really understanding. But mostly? It wasn’t even me, it was Tissl. The moment they heard a ‘sister’ was in trouble, they decided to help. The only non-trade ships they even allow to dock are Minotaurs, apparently.

“Good old-fashioned half-Elven solidarity. I’ll take it. We could have mentioned we ran into Shifthold. That might have earned us goodwill.”

Eh, better not. Lord Gilam has a bounty on a ship roughly like yours but a stupid name. And on Seborn Sailwinds. He’s reactivated your old bounty.

“Good to have a bounty at sea. Just not in a lawman’s port. We’ll rest there for a while. Thanks again, Mrsha. How is everything?”

She hesitated and glanced over her shoulder.

Better. I still don’t have that meeting for you, Seborn. Sorry.

And there was that thing between them. Seborn Sailwinds just focused on guiding Tissl into port without running into the half-Elves’ dock, then making sure Irrel wasn’t scrutinized too closely. Shaking hands with the half-Elf who asked him how Maviola El had looked in Liscor…watching Tissl staring around at her people and seeming the most off-kilter he’d ever seen her.

 

——

 

They spent a week in the port, and even Irrel managed to show his face with fewer problems than Seborn thought. No half-Elves noticed the Relic-class sword they hid in the ship, and a Dorhmin might horrify some, but the Balerosians and Chandrarians—and anyone who’d been to enough ports—just asked questions rather than go for blades.

The New Lands were hard. Seborn got an eyeful of the attempts at gardening and was, in fact, summoned to a few meetings with half-Elven leaders as a ‘seafaring expert’ about the salt problem.

He spent most of the time speaking to the half-Elven [Sailors], trying to get an understanding of the new currents and where the power was at sea. But the land was calling to him—the New Lands were an appetizing treasure.

Only two things stopped him from taking Tissl and Irrel and doing a bit of exploring on foot. The knowledge that they weren’t ready, and his own sense that their anonymity was a thin disguise that would be jeopardized if anything went wrong.

As it so happened…the jeopardy came in pairs at the same time.

 

——

 

“Whoa. Look at that. That’s the biggest guy I’ve ever seen!”

Tissl was spellbound as everyone else watching the throwdown between Archmage Valeterisa and Archmage Amerys. Someone had just leapt into the fray, and Amerys was zipping around a lone figure standing on a hilltop as the scrying spell zoomed in on his face.

They were sitting in a pub in the new city, which a lot of half-Elves objected to—but everyone needed to drink, so there was as much fancy wine as imported swill. She was drinking the latter as Irrel watched with a hood on his face, his lips open in wonder.

However, Seborn Sailwinds had frozen in his seat, staring at the man raising his staff. Tissl turned.

“Captain?”

“It can’t be. It’s him.”

Seborn stood up. He didn’t know where he was. He walked forward, towards the image being projected onto the wall, and his fingers reached out. It was…him.

There was no one else like him. But his height was off. Or the image was. And he looked older. But that face.

His Human hand was trembling when someone shouted.

“Oi, Drowned Man! Move your head, we can’t see!”

Seborn didn’t move, but when he turned his head, he seemed so shaken that the half-Elves exchanged a look.

“What is he, sick?”

“No, he’s our Captain. Seborn, what’s wrong? Seborn—”

“It’s Moore.”

Seborn didn’t know what was going on. The image shifted, and he sat down; he vaguely heard voices and felt someone helping him up. They were asking him questions, but he was just watching the scrying orb, now. Trying to see that man…

“Does he know that half-Giant? He’s fighting the Archmage of Lightning on equal footing! Tree rot, he must be Level 50!”

“What was his name? Seborn? I know that name…”

“The Halfseekers of Izril! Are you telling me that’s your teammate, sir?”

Tissl was trying to explain to the crowd of people, some of whom knew the name or had placed Seborn in conjunction with the inn. There was a Balerosian [Blademaster], Zedalien, whose eyes were sharp and focused on Seborn, and even a Minotaur [Captain] who had brought his ship from the north to get it properly repaired by higher-level [Shipwrights].

The latter narrowed his eyes at the Drowned Man as Seborn whispered.

“It’s him. But it’s not. It’s…what did she do?”

Resurrection? Or had he not…?

We buried him.

Did we bury him alive?

No one had any answers in the moment, and the wonder of Archmage Valeterisa defeating Amerys and Relc’s mastery of the spear was barely able to move Seborn’s eyes away from searching for the half-Giant.

He did not know, of course. But he knew. A meeting. Mrsha’s apology.

He should have been filled with rage. Or betrayal. Or shock. But all Seborn could think, suddenly, was…

I have to go back.

He had to, but he was thousands of miles out of place, and a figure stood, abruptly, in the pub as the cheering stopped.

“Excuse me, everyone! I am Honor Captain Hilyed of The Unbroken Vow. I wish to direct everyone’s attention to a matter of importance, if you will forgive my effrontery.”

He and a crew of Minotaurs were drinking at some tables, and Seborn glanced at the Minotaur…and felt like he’d seen him before. They were not all alike, and this Minotaur with his dreadlocks and voice—

Wait a second. Treant’s Landing. A Minotaur ship that had fought a Kraken off.

Seborn broke out of his shock and saw the Minotaur was gazing at him. He kicked Tissl under the table.

“Ow. Who the hell did that?”

Seborn kicked Irrel. The Dorhmin boy glanced up, then suddenly had to go to the bathroom. He pulled Tissl with him for…help? The Minotaur peered at them, then went on speaking.

“Did I hear correctly? That was your teammate, Captain…”

“Seborn Sailwinds.”

Captain Hilyed nodded and produced a pair of too-small spectacles. He read from something his ship’s [Mage] had handed him.

“Ah. And your ship would be—?”

“The Halfseeker’s Promise.”

Every head swung to Seborn, and Zedalien rose with a sudden, hefty sigh. But the Minotaur was speaking in that too-loud voice of a man who had a straightforwards decision ahead of him. No real choice.

Seborn had never met Calruz, but the Minotaur had always seemed vaguely annoying, for all his heroics.

“I see. So not ‘The Sword of Gilam’, a vessel stolen by yourself, currently under bounty for return to Lord Gilam of House Quellae? And not the ship rumored to have fought off Shifthold and have a Bloodtear Pirate aboard?”

Dead silence. Seborn put his hands on the table as Captain Hilyed and his crew stood.

“If we could have a word, Captain Sailwinds? We are not the law of the seas, but we do acknowledge it. Given the circumstances, I believe a reasonable s—”

Seborn flipped the table, or tried to. He heaved and slammed against the table.

Damn half-Elves and their genuine solid oak tables! He tossed his drink at the Minotaur [Captain] and [Shadowleapt] for the doors.

“Stop him!”

The Minotaurs were already at the doors. One leaned out from behind the exit and clotheslined him with an arm. They might be as big as oxen, but they were clever! One grabbed him, and Seborn cursed, grabbing for his daggers—

The Minotaur [Sailor] holding Seborn knew the [Rogue] wanted to escape. She tightened her grip, determined not to let go even if he cut her down to the bone. Even so, when the horse kicked her, she did fall over.

“Ow.”

It was a real damn kick too. Two hooves planted, two hooves flying with a double-blow that even a Minotaur would respect. Only a really pissed horse went for that. Or one being ridden by a half-Elf who slung Seborn onto the saddle as he trotted past the surprised crew.

Despite the angry horse trying to buck him, Zedalien rode the stolen creature like he were sitting at a table.

“When one works for Lady Maviola El…worked, rather, they learned how to make a fast getaway. Always have a horse ready.”

He galloped Seborn towards his ship as the Drowned Man blinked at him. He glanced over his shoulder; the Minotaurs poured out of the bar, shouting, but no half-Elves, and they seemed slower than he expected. Zedalien winked at him.

“A member of the Bloodtear Pirates won’t earn any sympathy here, but for a sister in the crew and someone who beat Irurx, you won’t have any pursuit. The Minotaurs, sadly, won’t relent. We’ll stall them as long as we can.”

“Thanks.”

“Your inn sounds like it would have made Maviola happy. I hope that was your friend. Best of luck.”

The half-Elf with silver hair tilted his head back, then swung Seborn with a good deal of force. Almost like he had experience throwing people—Seborn flipped through the air over the docks, [Shadowleaping] onto the deck of his ship.

“We’re getting out of here!”

He turned and lifted a hand as Irrel hauled the anchor up. Zedalien nodded to him as the Minotaurs raced towards their own ship…which had a bunch of ivy clinging to the railings!

“Those are criminals wanted by law! Stop obstructing us!”

A [Sailor] was trying to turn a ballista their way, but a half-Elven [Druid] was conferring with a [Lady], and both shook their heads at him. The [Lady] bowed to the outraged Minotaurs.

“I’m terribly sorry, horn-friend. However, it appears your ship has miraculously sprouted Instavine, a very rare, very endangered species of vine. We must remove it by hand while singing to it.”

“Very rare. Very sensitive to loud voices. Please stop shouting, sir. It must be bathed in a milkweed mixture under moonlight. Oh, what a fecund blessing. We should all give thanks to Mother Tree for this bounty!”

The Minotaur stared down at the half-Elves with that open mouth. The [Sailor] leaned off his artillery piece.

“I am not—we are not blind. But a Bloodtear Pirate is a [Pirate], even if they did best Shifthold! Is theft not theft?”

The two half-Elves exchanged a look, and the [Lady] folded her arms.

“Who said anything about theft? Or [Pirates]? But this brings up a fascinating debate. If one steals an apple from a tree in the middle of a forest where no one is around to hear it, is it not theft?”

“Or cradlerobbing? Sister, I think this is a fine point. We must adjourn to our Debate Parlors and sip, uh, honeydew as we consider this point.”

The Minotaur covered his face, then realized they were actually walking off. He roared at them to get rid of the damn vines as Seborn’s ship sailed away.

 

——

 

They had a fine head start on the Minotaurs. Not only did a mysterious wind spring up to fill their sails, but the Minotaurs were probably delayed at least an hour. Plenty of time…or so Seborn would have said.

But a newly-minted [Captain] was not equipped with Skills like a veteran Minotaur Honor Captain. Nor, for all of this ship’s enchantments, was it a match for a ship from the House of Minos.

It took them a while, but that red sail bearing the House of Minos’ horned crest never actually left the horizon…and it gained hour by hour as Seborn tried to take them northwards, hoping to lose the Minotaurs around the coast.

But the damn Minotaurs didn’t just have a superior vessel made by nautical geniuses. They had what Seborn suspected was a Jar of Winds spell, [Mages] on board to fill their sails…

And oars.

Seeing any ship that wasn’t a longboat deploy oars sounded stupid, but if there was any group that could row and catch you even with the wind at their back, it would be them. The thum-thum of their drums beating the rhythm was so loud that by the next day, Seborn was red-eyed and sleepless.

And they were less than two thousand feet away.

“Halfseeker’s Promise, haul to or we will begin striking your keel! You will be fairly judged in the House of Minos, my word on it!”

Captain Hilyed was bellowing from the prow of his ship. Tissl and Irrel looked to Seborn. He had his eyes on the northern horizon. They had only one chance…

Irrel’s storm. The one that the weather channel had finally spotted coming off Terandria’s northern coast. The magical storm named Thiborkilj was coming down across the ocean fast. Picking up speed along Izril’s western coast, and anything in its path looked to be hurled astray.

Even the House of Minos weren’t stupid enough to follow them into that, were they? Seborn roared at Irrel and Tissl.

“Irrel, they’ll kill you for a [Pirate] no matter what! Or put you in a work camp for ten years—if they don’t hang me for the same, I’m not wasting my time getting another ship! Tissl, you can abandon ship! There’s a way for us to breathe water, but you—”

“Nuts to that, Captain! I’m part of the crew! Hey, you Minotaurs! I’m an innocent half-Elven girl! Are you going to chase us to our deaths?”

Tissl waved at the Minotaurs with a huge smile, and the pace of their oars slackened slightly. Seborn was impressed.

She’s got a mouth on her. I’m supposed to be the one who does that. But they kept coming, so he exhaled. Seborn stared at the green cloud flickering along the familiar spiral of death that changed colors, and he swore he saw the rain changing color too.

Magical storm. It wasn’t as bad as the hurricane that Seve-Alrelious had sailed through, but…he spun the wheel slightly.

“Tissl. I’m taking first shift. Get some rest. Once we’re in the storm, no one sleeps until we see sunlight.”

She saluted. The Minotaurs were hesitating.

Was this really worth risking their entire ship and crew over? They saw the ship heading into the storm. Seborn Sailwinds was gazing at Irrel, and the Dorhmin boy said:

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I should have been more careful with my name. We’re a crew. A team. No one abandons the other. Ever.”

Seborn lashed the wheel into place; it was straight into the storm. He stepped back, then reached out; he and Irrel clasped hands as Tissl stuck her head out of the cabin.

“You can’t say stuff like that without me, Captain!”

He was grinning ruefully as Irrel smiled, and they turned into the storm that might kill them all. It was approaching, and the wind was beginning to suck them forwards, but they had time to turn; so did the Minotaurs, who’d slowed. The storm would take minutes, even perhaps as much as an hour to be on them.

But the point of no return was faster approaching. Perhaps…already reached. Then it would be the storm until the ship broke or it did.

That was, of course, how they found him. Seborn was looking around for the ghosts, who he hadn’t seen since he’d drawn his daggers in Irrel’s defense. He almost thought they’d found him again before he saw the telltale shimmer and saw their faces.

He never recognized Jelaqua’s bodies…but he knew her behind those eyes. The orange glow and the unsure smile—the way she stood ready to move.

And him. The half-Giant leaned on his staff just like the Moore that Seborn knew. His expression of guilt, his hunched shoulders, like he was trying to hide…oh, it was familiar.

Seborn Sailwinds turned, and the three Halfseekers who had known each other a lifetime were together again. His feet slipped on the deck as he turned from the two shocked children.

“Ah.”

A little Gnoll girl gazed guiltily at him and pointed at her face. Seborn focused on Mrsha, then—nodded to her once. He closed his eyes. Inhaled, exhaled, and then glared at them.

“What took you two so long? Cowards.”

 

——

 

The wind was whipping at the image of Seborn Sailwinds, and occasionally, it would drag a fragment or particle of his image and send it spinning away.

Magic on the breeze.

He sat with a greater peace than the other two had expected of him. But then, he had been shown the truth a day before they had; this was not the first moments of terrible knowledge. He had known…from Mrsha.

It was also who they were. Where they were. They did not have forever to talk, and that was the irony; the Selphid and half-Giant had left it too long. Jelaqua and Mireden were, of course, appalled.

“You’re taking children into a magical storm? Are you mad, Seborn? Turn the ship, now! I’ll speak to these Minotaurs!”

The half-Giant spoke with authority, weight, the duties he had accepted in his voice, and Jelaqua blinked up at him. Her first reaction was to think—‘who are you to give orders?’

But then she glanced at the storm, the two kids, and agreed. Not for the same reasons as Lord Mireden either.

“This is a bad idea, Seborn. That’s not someone you should have on your crew.”

“You mean Irrel? He saved an entire village’s life. He’s a Dorhmin, Ivirith.”

The Drowned Man was angry. His arms were folded, and he was stubborn, and the Selphid’s cheeks turned orange.

“Not that! I meant a Bloodtear Pirate. There’s some lines you don’t uncross. Those bastards slaughtered everyone in cold blood.”

“Not him. He swears he killed one person.”

“Yeah, the [Prince]! Listen to me, Seborn, this isn’t smart. And you’ve got to be smarter than stealing a ship from a [Lord] and—and challenging Shifthold? Are you mad?”

Lord Moore eyed Jelaqua and hesitated, not quite agreeing. He leaned forwards.

“Do you have a plan, Seborn? Some way out of that storm or this situation beyond sailing this ship?”

“No.”

The Drowned Man seemed rather pleased by their reactions. He shifted as he sat cross-legged, the surf now battering the deck of the ship.

“Look at you two. How long have you known, Jelaqua?”

“All of two days! And I was so beaten up about it I nearly came back and tried to kill him!”

Lord Mireden eyed Jelaqua as she waved her hands at him.

“Huh. That’s extreme, but fair. And you’ve been here since the moon cracked. You…but not our Moore. He’s somewhere else, with Ulinde. Safe.”

The Drowned Man addressed the half-Giant, trying to piece together what they’d told him, and Mireden nodded heavily.

“He…that was not your Moore, just a version that was close. He chose happiness, safety of a kind. I let him go. The world needed me more.”

“Good for him.”

The Drowned Man’s tense shoulders seemed to give a tiny bit at this, but Jelaqua clenched a fist.

“He could have come back…! I know it’s not him. But does he think it’s all gonna be fixed and safe wherever he goes? Why didn’t they all come back? They could have—!”

She avoided Mireden’s eyes. She hadn’t said that to his face when she’d heard about the [Palace of Fates]. Guiltily, Jelaqua cast around for Mrsha, but the girl was just sitting in a corner of the [World’s Eye Theatre], arguing with Nanette and scribbling on some flashcards.

Seborn’s eyes were upon the storm, and he spoke distantly.

“They had a choice. He made his. Seems like you two made yours. Mireden, if you want. I’m not going to call you Moore unless you want it. What the hell was up with summoning Amerys to fight Valeterisa?”

This time, it was he and Jelaqua who fixed the half-Giant with a stare, and Mireden was unapologetic.

“That was a planned action. Not perfect, but what should have been done long ago! By Erin if no one else!”

Everyone, including the two girls and the other listeners, blinked at the half-Giant. Jelaqua raised a finger.

“I agree there’s got to be some planning, but that’s too much. I’ve got some, well, little brats I’m taking care of, but you risked lives, Mireden.”

“I took a calculated risk. Liscor, the inn, we must be respected. How many times has Erin done something miraculous, or one of the other teams, and reaped no benefit from loot and gratitude from a few? The world doesn’t need more Silver Swords, half-forgotten by everyone despite all the statues. It needs change. And risk comes with that. I did it for a purpose. Seborn’s twice as insane as I am to throw himself into danger for a [Pirate].”

Irrel and Tissl were in the background, half-tending to the ship, but listening. It made Jelaqua’s heart hurt to see the Dorhmin kid glance down, but she stuck to her assertion this was too reckless, even for, especially for Seborn. The Drowned Man glanced at his crew and shot back.

“Eat seaweed, Mireden. I don’t stab my friends in the back even in other worlds. I did what looked right.”

“And here you are sailing into a storm.”

Okay, this wasn’t how she’d pictured this at all. She’d expected Seborn to be raging, to be in tears apologizing…not to be fighting. Jelaqua raised her voice.

“Lads, lads. Can we all agree that Seborn’s in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mireden and Jelaqua glowered at Seborn. He stood with his back to the storm, innocently lacing his fingers into his claw-hand.

“I’m doing great. Never felt better. I’ve got a ship, a crew, and at least four Relic-class items. Five minutes out of your lot’s hair and I’ve done it.”

Jelaqua’s eye twitched. She knew he was doing this on purpose because he was upset, but she was still having a hard time keeping her cool. She took a breath.

“Well, I’m helping some orphaned kids. Running an apartment for them, giving them some basic lessons, you know? ‘S good work in my retirement. Which is what a responsible adult would do instead of taking two kids on a stolen ship! Or throwing down with Amerys!”

She glared at the half-Giant, who stroked his beard with that arch expression the two could remember Moore having only when he felt like he was utterly, unassailably correct. It really…really annoyed them.

“I’m going to be a Councilmember of Liscor. And I’m above Level 50.”

“So what? You had ten years and that’s all you got?”

“I don’t recall you chasing Amerys off! I just recall her kicking the stones off you!”

The other two leapt on the half-Giant, and he jabbed a finger at Jelaqua.

“It’s better than beating a child half to death and becoming a [Landlord]! That’s what she’s doing, Seborn. And she was doing the ‘forced levelup’ training. She didn’t even warn the Scorchling.”

“You’re doing that again? And what, renting to people? That’s dirty work even for a Selphid, Ivirith.”

Jelaqua raised two fingers.

“Fuck you two. You had to have two kids bail you out because you couldn’t escape a ship, Seborn. And you’re so bad at being a [Captain] the only two people you could get to crew your ship are a wanted [Pirate] and Ceria’s younger sister.”

“Hey!”

Tissl and Irrel were glaring at the other two Halfseekers, but Seborn held up a hand. He spoke calmly to Jelaqua.

“At least I’m still an adventurer who works for a living, not a has-been wife who pushes around children a fourth of her age to make herself feel relevant. Or a half-Giant with all the morals of a Creler. Neither of you two have any edge left. You’re soft, spineless as a shellfish, and didn’t even have the guts to tell me Moore was alive for a month!”

There was a cheer from behind Seborn, and Tissl leapt up.

“You tell ‘em, Captain!”

“Yep. Burned.”

Jelaqua’s face darkened as Lord Mireden cricked his neck. The three stepped closer, as if ready to throw hands—which would mostly hurt the other two as Seborn was just an illusion. Jelaqua poked a finger at Seborn and hissed.

“I knew you didn’t want to get back to sea. The only reason you even got a ship is because of luck. You’re just making it all up, and the day you sail a crew to your dad and he gives you what you’re due is the day I sprout wings and fly! Those two kids have more treasure than you ever stole or found!”

“Says the Captain who led us to the not-glory.”

“Speaking as someone who actually made a difference—”

Jelaqua turned and punched his shoulder, and Seborn stabbed a knife through Mireden’s chin. The half-Giant went on without missing a beat.

“—I knew Jelaqua couldn’t settle down with Maughin and play the good wife without snapping. She didn’t even last a year. And you…”

He hesitated and tried to think of something Jelaqua hadn’t added. He pointed at Seborn.

“Father issues.”

Oh, it was ugly. Mrsha and Nanette were hovering, and Tissl and Irrel had stopped cheering Seborn on. This was his team. But his fists were clenched, and Jelaqua was vibrating with rage. Someone had to stop them.

This wasn’t how it should be. Not the Halfseekers. Nanette was staring from face to face, and Seborn’s voice broke a bit.

“You—you have a lot of gall to say that to my face. You’re not the Moore who fought with us. The Halfseekers died there. Do you know who deserved that chance, that choice? Ulinde.”

Mireden recoiled a step and stood back as Seborn swung his eyes to Jelaqua. She’d frozen.

“She, out of the four of us, should have gotten back up. She was just a kid, and we walked her into her grave. If there was a miracle, it should have been to her. Instead, it’s just him and the two of us. We’ve buried every member of our team. How’s it feel, Ivirith?”

The Selphid didn’t recoil from the blow of his words. She stood there, and her hands unclenched. Her orange eyes fixed on Seborn’s face. Then turned to Lord Mireden. She went still, as they had seen her a million times. A Selphid who could explode into unchecked violence. Then the Selphid spoke, her voice suddenly…

Lost.

“It feels like I’m back in the snow except I always make the same choice, every time. Every single time, Seborn. I want you to know that. Even in my dreams, we go. I can’t believe you’d do it all over again. It would break me.”

Her eyes focused on Irrel and Tissl, and she whispered, tilting her head to gaze at him.

“It’s not a passing fancy, is it, Drowned Man? Because if it is, I’d swim to you and break your neck.”

“No. It’s not. It’s just what you’d do if you were still an adventurer.”

He never blinked. His voice was flat as he locked eyes with her, then turned to Moore. Seborn whispered.

“It’s what Moore would do.”

Breathless with horror, the audience watched as the Halfseeker from ten years in the future drew himself up to his full height. The weight of a [Lord]. The disapproval of a man who had watched his world burn and found this one unready, wanting…vanished from that face as a gentler expression replaced it.

“Yes. It’s what he would want, but you always had the courage to do it before I opened my mouth. I just fear for them, Seborn.”

Seborn Sailwinds glanced over his shoulder, and the Halfseekers saw his Human hand clench tight, so tight he nearly tore his glove. But he didn’t let the half-Elf girl and Dorhmin boy see it.

“I’ll keep them alive. Unhurt, I can’t promise. What was I supposed to do, quit?”

He turned to Jelaqua, and the Selphid wiped at one eye, but there wasn’t much moisture.

“Turns out I didn’t. Not really. I just went back even further. Not an adventurer, but like…a company. That’s what I think I’m doing.”

They stared at her. Lord Mireden exhaled in sudden understanding. Seborn raised an eyebrow.

“A company? What, they’re going to be fighting in ranks?”

“No, dumbass. Supporting each other. Working together. I look at everything Izril’s got, and even if the Drakes can form a shieldwall, they don’t stand together. Here Melika—this Garuda woman who runs the orphanage, she’s great, a fan of ours—here she’s got these kids who’re brave enough to survive, and she just…lets them live.”

“What, with free will and everything?”

Mireden received a fast elbow but didn’t grunt as Jelaqua went on.

“They should be on each other’s side. Instead, they beat each other down.”

“Ah, the old crab bucket trick.”

Jelaqua pointed at the Drowned Man as he commented. She smiled.

“Exactly! They hurt each other when they should beat up everyone else. What’m I supposed to do, just ignore that? I even bought an apartment because someone has to do something. But I’m not gonna just be Miss Nice Selphid. That never works.”

Something was…wrong. The watching children on both sides of the discussion were confused. The Halfseekers had been at each other’s throats a moment ago. But they were talking, suddenly, voices far more level, and it was like the fight hadn’t happened. The wind blew at Seborn’s hair as he nodded, listening to Jelaqua, and all were utterly flummoxed…

Aside from two people. Nanette, who had been reading the emotions of the Halfseekers and not seen the same anger their words suggested. Anger, yes, but something else building.

And Irrel—Irrel, who had seen more duels and blood shed between the Bloodtear Pirates than any other crew. Yet the Bloodtear Pirates, the real crews who sailed together, would die back-to-back without a moment’s hesitation. He blinked and saw something similar as Jelaqua struck her chest.

“I’m just doing a bit of meddling. Nothing like Lord Mireden. Oh, and there’s Raskghar and Troydel. I’m just—poking things.”

“Whacking the beehive with a stick, more like. I’d rather take the Raskghar than Troydel.”

Lord Mireden was tugging at his beard.

“It’s been so long…who’s Troydel?”

“The annoying one?”

“Doesn’t narrow it down. Most of the Earthers are annoying. Giants rest, you haven’t even run into the bad ones yet.”

“Wonderful.”

Both Jelaqua and Seborn groaned, and Mireden lifted his hands.

“There’s one called the [Hero of Turns]—no, the odds are he won’t be the first. There’s this [Clown] that I hope none of you ever meet. Nevermind that. Seborn, the storm is getting larger. Your crew is headed into it. Are you sure you won’t turn back? The Dorhmin boy—”

“Irrel. His name’s Irrel.”

“—he could find his people. Neither Minotaurs nor Terandrians can follow you into the sea.”

Seborn Sailwinds turned and met Irrel’s eyes. Then raised an eyebrow.

“His people? What are they supposed to look like, Mireden? Tell me.”

The other two adventurers exhaled. Mireden with a gentle sigh of nostalgia, Jelaqua with confirmation. They nodded, and she nudged him gently, now.

“He got you there.”

“I let him walk me into it. Well…I’d let you stab me a few times, Seborn, old friend. If I can call you that.”

“I suppose. Though I’ll wait to see how much of you I remember.”

Mrsha was peeking at the three of them. They weren’t—they weren’t killing each other?

Of course not. The Halfseekers stood together, and the anger, the insults, and the very hurtful personal remarks were how a team fought. Close, vicious—

It was how a family fought. But now they were closer, and each one was peering at the other. Jelaqua muttered.

“You crazy idiot, Seborn. How’d you get to the one place where the inn and Mireden can’t help you?”

“It just sort of happened. So…you’re back, Mireden? Anyone else I’d know?”

“Just Kevin. And it’s really him. Not even a stranger.”

“Hah. Kevin. I like him.”

Then Seborn smiled, truly, and Lord Mireden bent his head and rubbed at his eyes, and Jelaqua laughed. They turned to the storm, and Seborn’s body was like static now, blowing in the air as magical fragments whirled away. He seemed to see the same thing in them and raised a hand.

“I think it’s time. Find me after this storm. I’m not done shouting at you two.”

“I’ll be around. Now that this big lug is in Liscor, I’ll be back, to entertain the little kids if nothing else. Oi, Irrel, kill anyone else who’s not a bad guy and I’ll hit you.”

Jelaqua drew a finger across her neck, and Irrel nodded. Then…she stepped back. Lord Mireden put his palms together.

“I’ll pray for you, Seborn. Something else we have in common.”

“I did it first. Don’t copy me.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

The half-Giant sighed and almost snapped back when there was a crash. One of the sails had snapped open, and Seborn whirled. Tissl leapt, and Irrel groaned. All three said the same thing at once.

“Damn it, Erin—”

Jelaqua and Mireden blinked as Irrel and Tissl jumped for the ropes. Seborn nodded at her, then stood there. He gazed at the other two. And the pain on his face was now visible. He took a breath, looked at the storm, then raised his Human hand.

“Hey, Jelaqua…Moore?”

“Yes?”

They gazed back, and for a moment, it was just them. Beyond time, beyond worlds…

Seborn Sailwinds picked himself up out of the snow and gazed at them. His lips moved, with the faintest trace of a smile. Blood and water running from his eyes.

“I can’t believe we made it, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes. Mireden reached out for Seborn, a gaze of anguish on his features. Seborn tried to clasp their hands. Then he turned.

“See you later, Halfseekers.”

He vanished into the storm, and the Selphid broke down and wept, and the half-Giant stood there, gathering his resolve.

 

——

 

Thus, they went on their ways. Not to never see each other again. Far from it. If Jelaqua didn’t contact him after the storm was over, Seborn was going to tear strips off her.

But for a moment, he let the rain wash over his face, and the howl of the storm was welcome. A pleasant balm to his soul compared to what lay within.

“Captain. Was it good?”

Irrel asked him that question, once, and Seborn wiped at his face.

“No. It was horrible.”

He stopped and turned to them.

“Don’t ever let your teammates die.”

Tissl nodded, and she linked arms with Irrel as the storm’s waves plunged them down. Seborn grabbed the wheel as Irrel seized hold of his jacket. And then…

 

——

 

Then the Selphid hugged the half-Giant and the cutest little girl she could find—and a Sariant Lamb—and ran, blubbering, to the kids she was supposed to impress. He stood there, eyes closed.

Like a man savoring a dream he had forgotten and clung to, which was now before his eyes once more. Like an ambition you had failed to catch, but which you could see once more, burning with all the intensity you had first felt for it.

The most painful thing held in his hands.

He refused to let go.

 

——

 

What then? What note could be given to continue the Halfseekers on their way, to put paid to their adventures which had brought them together again, on their paths?

And truly, even if you had not heard this conversation meant only for their ears, if you searched them up, if you believed even a tenth of what they had done, what they’d seen and lost, did you really…

Did you really want to sail into that storm after them?

Captain Hilyed of The Unbroken Vow knew what honor meant. He knew what the law was and how perilous things could be if it was bent and abused for personal reasons.

But he also had an idea of what Shifthold meant and what sacrifice meant. He had a list of deeds unsung for a Gold-rank team, a tale of a tiny crew who had defied Shifthold, and, on the other hand, a bounty written in a vindictive screed by a [Lord] who hadn’t even registered his ship.

He had a tale of the sea versus the writ of the law for a Bloodtear Pirate.

He had a half-Elf’s words and the evidence of his eyes.

Hilyed knew what honor meant. He fancied he could hear it and even see it at times. So he leaned on the bow of the ship, thinking. Watching that ship plunge into the magical storm.

“Captain?”

“I know. But I am conflicted. We stand at a crossroads, and our honor is at stake as much as the ship.”

He addressed the crew, hoping they were locked in the same decision he was. For it was not, should not be easy. As it turned out, though…they were not engaged in a philosophical crisis. One of the [Sailors] tapped the Honor Captain on the shoulder.

“Captain, er, before you…”

Then the Minotaur blinked and gazed down. Down at the little Gnoll girl with white fur.

“Horns of Hammerad—”

He nearly leapt off his own ship. Mrsha held up a card innocently.

Hello, Captain. Did you really fight a Kraken?

He stared at her. The girl peered at the shocked crew, then cleared her throat. She switched cards.

I hate to bother you important Minotaurs in this very important moment! However, may I ask if you’re really from the House of Minos?

Hilyed had yet to find his voice, so one of the [Sailors] coughed, rubbing at the hoofmarks on her chest.

“Yes. We are. We crew The Unbroken Vow, ironically. Are you—did you have business with that Drowned Man? He’s left.”

Oh, he’s busy. It’s okay. So…you’re going back home?

The [Sailor] peered over Mrsha’s shoulder at the rapidly-departing ship. In a minute or two, they’d be hard to catch. Near impossible with the storm. She was glancing at the oars and the weighed anchor. They were not, in fact, stupid.

“Yes, child. Did you have a question beyond that or are you just trying to distract us?”

Captain Hilyed inhaled. He set himself, ready to bellow an order, and not even he knew which it would be in that moment. Every eye fell on Mrsha as she innocently switched cards.

I just needed to be really sure you were important. Important enough to petition an Arbiter of Law or the King of Minos herself on behalf of an improperly judged Minotaur. It would not do for him to die dishonored when I have evidence he’s innocent.

No bellowed order came from Hilyed’s mouth. He exhaled slowly and then knelt.

“This Minotaur would be…?”

Calruz of Hammerad. He would have been judged by Venaz of Somewhere (sorry, I don’t remember where he’s from), but it wasn’t conclusive. He was sentenced under Liscorian law as an oathbreaker, team-murderer, and worse. He’s still alive paying off his debt he’ll never fulfil. And maybe that would be justice…if it were all his fault. If he wasn’t being manipulated.

The crew was eying each other, murmuring, trying to see if anyone knew that name…

“He was part of the Horns of Hammerad. The disgraced Captain. His family, his home, mourned the news. He was indeed a traitor—what possible knowledge could undo his actions?”

The girl gazed sadly up at the Captain, and he wondered if this were a lie until he read her words.

Never his actions, Captain. But if someone manipulated him…

Then perhaps he was helpless, too weak, or too ill of judgement to notice or fight it. But that changes everything. The [Captain] glanced at the distant ship, and then his lips quirked, but he was as serious as could be.

“I would hope that knowledge is reaching the city that judged him. Liscor. And if you had such knowledge, child, surely you would approach the King of Minos herself with your wonderful abilities.”

The next card flicked up fast, and he realized they were pre-written.

To that point, Captain—

Mrsha checked the cards, held up a finger, and then sorted them. She flipped to another one.

Sadly, the King of Minos is warded, and I can’t visit her. So is most of Minos. Very sadly. This is a matter of extreme honor. And Liscor will be told. But would you like to hear the story of a brave Minotaur? It’s sad and tragic, but maybe it has a happy ending.

She sat on the railings, and the [Captain] glanced around. He received nods from the crew and lifted a hand.

“In time. First, we have a storm to evade. Helm, to the south! We have been from the House of Minos with cargo too long!”

Then he was striding across the deck, roaring orders, and the Minotaur ship was turning. The girl sat on the prow of the ship, giggling to herself. She waved at the ship carrying the Drowned Man and his crew onwards.

Waved and waved. Hoping to see them again soon.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

This marks the end of the Halfseekers arc of short stories, which was voted for by Patreons. Ironically enough, this month I’ll be launching a new poll for side stories. The ten chapters I wrote were not published day-by-day like the writing exploits of old, and nor did they keep to even ‘regular’ chapter sizes of 20,000 words.

I have some thoughts on this arc I’d like to share. The first and foremost is that I’m proud of the writing. It may not always be the highest-highest quality I can put out, but nothing can compel that except the most amazing new songs and moments of inspiration.

This? If my addled memory for anything but The Wandering Inn serves, this was as high as you can ask for. Because it was fun. The style of trying to write a full chapter in one sitting like the old days, the focus on the Halfseekers without having to deliver it in huge chapters, and just…knowing the story made this fun for me, and I think it reflects in the quality.

This was not just about the Halfseekers, either. You may have noticed the Raskghar, the way Valeterisa and other elements slipped into the story. I knew that Valeterisa and Amerys were going to throw down…a long time ago. But I never found the moment when Amerys would hang in the air, casting lightning for Visma’s game of pretend. I knew that scene. I’ve known that scene for over two years, I think.

But it didn’t come out as it did in my head. Visma was more awestruck and not as terrified by her own actions in the outline only I could see. I don’t think the version that got written down was wrong, and Lord Mireden Moore throwing himself into the fight? I think that made it better than the original too. But that’s the organic writing for you. That’s why I continue to enjoy it.

So, I hope to continue this style for a while. Mix it up with regular chapters. Experimentation keeps the story fresh, and do let me know what you thought about this arc. We have delved deep into one group, and there is a case to be made to bounce about to catch up with our other perspectives, but this is nice, too. Readers who really want to follow Ylawes or another group may be more impatient than ones catching up, but I hope people enjoyed this regardless. Let me know, and see you on Saturday. Whew.

I wrote a lot.

 

<Innktober is still ongoing! This is more of Baleros and Palace of Fates prompts!>

 

Grabghast by Ainz!

 

Niers by Spooky!

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

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/spookyowl.bsky.social

Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookyowlart

 

Last Stand in the Palace of Fates by olento!

 

Tulm the Mithril by Zara Frey!

 

Nanette Quittich by LeChatDemon!

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

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

 

Querrhavia vs Niers by Break!

 

Palace of Fates by BrazyCanana!

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

 

Entering the Palace by Ashok!

 

Sheta by Gridcube!

 

Erin by Guliver!

 

Party in Baleros by Mystik Druidess!

 

Nerin by TotallyGenericName!

 

Digger Umina by wagacliff!

 

Fates Mrsha by Yura!

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

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/yuraria.bsky.social

 

Palace of Fates by Humble Duck!

 

Palaces of Fates by Karu!

 

Palace of Fates by katiemaeve!

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

 

Palace of Fates by Brack!

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

 

Evil Nanette Living Her Best Life by Chalyon!

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

 

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