10.47 S (Pt. 2)

<I have put out a survey for feedback on the [Palace of Fates] arc! Please consider filling it out, if only the multiple choice! https://forms.gle/p4CFZehXZsiu4wci8>

(Also still on break till November 1st!)

 

 

 

 

“Atteeeeeennnnnshiooon! 1st General Edellein, prepared for departure, sir!”

“Command is prepped for takeoff! Wyvern Wing One ready to fly!”

“Strategist Esor has reported in, sir! Ancillary civilians all accounted for!”

It was like the military were trying to out-shout each other. Saliss stuffed some beeswax in his earholes as he watched the shiny Pallassian [Soldiers] with their puffed-out chests cavorting around the new leader of Pallass’ military.

General Edellein.

All things considered, it could be worse, Saliss supposed.

…It could have been Senator Errif in charge. Or a Creler. You had to hand it to Edellein, there were possibly as many as five people worse suited for command in the world. The worst part was that Saliss saw why he was here. It had this dreadful logic to it.

Chaldion was out, comatose, and Pallass had been too used to him calling the shots. It had meant they lost their decision-making capabilities. So they deferred to the things that made sense but Chaldion had always called ‘traps of poor logic’. It was one of the lessons that Saliss had taken to heart and thought the old man had been right about, even after he’d grown up and seen the world.

The traps of poor logic were a belief in seniority, that age should be a metric of capability. The same for likeability, in some senses. A [General] should be able to command respect, but if you judged them based on popular support, you would get what you used as your criteria: a social general versus one who was best at commanding or winning wars.

Edellein was a product of these factors. He was a senior [General] who was well-connected in both the military and politics. He could lead a battle and dance in social engagements, and he was the wrong Drake to lead Pallass.

His best use was in 4th Army as a political [General] who could read the air and fight decently in the battleground of Drake-city conflict. That was where Chaldion had kept him.

Unfortunately…the disasters that had struck Pallass had propelled Edellein to the top. Thrissiam Blackwing would have been a far better leader, but the Goblin Lord Reiss had killed him.

In the doing, he hurt Pallass far more than the actual casualties in battle. If Thrissiam had lived, a number of poor choices and events might have gone differently.

Same for Zel. Same for so many.

So, Saliss was in a bad mood as he watched Edellein parading around the flight area where Wyverns were readying themselves for takeoff. It was a mess, literally and figuratively.

Edellein wanted a show. He’d already thrown a parade to announce that Pallass’ army would be taking to the New Lands in force to secure a huge spot for the City of Inventions. It was his way of distancing himself from the disaster of the Goblin King as well. His seat was precarious; Saliss wasn’t surprised he’d clawed his way back from being court-martialed and demoted, but if Edellein could get out of the city and focus everyone on the New Lands, people would forget he’d ordered Shirka into fighting Goblinhome and all the hell that had occurred.

Because of this, there wasn’t exactly a huge crowd to see Edellein off. He was flying after the ground forces, and that was fine, right? Only, this was his first big campaign. So of course, everyone was wearing full shining armor, and they were making a ceremony of this. But Edellein hadn’t thought the entire thing out.

Picture the scene. A bunch of Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda crowded together on a flight platform. Already, you had less space than you wanted. Cram in a choir to sing the anthem, some [Senators] who were up early and phoning in their speeches, and it was a stuffy mess…before you factored in the Wyverns.

Wyverns; temperamental beasts. Sensitive for all they were mean as hell. They did not like the commotion and were doing what monsters did when stressed.

Shitting. Giant piles of poo were being smeared around on the flight deck as poor [Cleaners] and underlings tried to clear it away, but you needed a strong water spell or a cart for that. That was General Edellein’s flaw to Saliss.

He could lead, he could read a room, he wasn’t substandard in those areas as a [General], but he lacked Chaldion’s ruthless genius. He didn’t think about the Wyvern poop. And that meant this might be a bad expedition.

Not that Saliss was in the military. He was just the Named-rank, outside the chain of command but necessary. The Drake stood there, unmoving, as Edellein finally snapped. He coughed into a handkerchief, glancing at the poo befouling the air, and called out.

“Alright, alright, let’s get moving! Strategist Esor, are you flying with the Wyverns or independently? I want us at the muster point in three days!”

He strode along, shaking hands with [Senators] wishing him well, clapping the officers he knew on the shoulders.

“Take care of the city for me, General Forwek. General Shirka, as you were. Wikem, I’ll bring you back a souvenir…and that’s everyone loaded up. Except for—where’s Saliss?”

There were a lot of civilians needed for an operation like this, but most didn’t have the rank to get a Wyvernback ride to the New Lands. Edellein turned, and Saliss offered him a salute.

“General Whatsyourface, sir! Ready to fly!”

Edellein’s mouth dropped open, and General Forwek, 3rd Army, now in charge of Pallass’ defense, snorted before he managed to control himself.

Saliss had beeswax in his earholes, and he’d added two noseplugs. And an eyemask, just because he also resented having to stare at things as well.

Edellein’s brows shot together, and he took a breath as Saliss lowered the eyemask to get a gauge on his reaction. Then he forced a smile.

“Adventurer Saliss, I’m so pleased you’re being reasonable about your service to Pallass…get on board the Wyverns. You were in the army once; kindly remember how it goes?”

“Yes, sir, I can do that, sir! Left foot goes in the left boot, right foot in the right boot! It’s a difficult thing to master, but that’s what boot camp is for. I’m amazed we get so many fine [Soldiers] out of there each year!”

Edellein’s jaw muscles twitched, and he wisely ignored Saliss. The other [Soldiers] were trying to keep their faces straight as well; Saliss turned.

“Hey, Forwek, Wikem. General Shirka.”

He nodded at her, and the straight-faced [General] who’d been staring ahead at parade rest finally focused on someone and nodded to him.

“Adventurer Saliss. Best of luck on your expedition.”

She seemed tired. He wondered how many [Soldiers] of 2nd Army she’d buried or attended the funerals of. Or how many notices she’d had to deliver to families.

Forwek and Wikem didn’t know how to treat the disgraced Shirka in public. They nodded to Saliss, wishing him luck, and Wikem eyed Saliss’ nudity before snapping his eyes up. He wasn’t always in the city, so Saliss disconcerted him.

“Best, uh, best of luck, Adventurer Saliss. I trust Edellein will bring back a trove of wealth to the city. If 4th Army, I mean, 1st Army needs any backup, we’ll come running.”

“Hopefully all of 1st Army isn’t needed, General. But knowing Edellein, I’m sure we’ll find a way to need both your armies as backup.”

Wikem frowned at Saliss, but forbore reply. Saliss just turned to the Wyverns as Edellein got on the lead one. Bringing an army to colonize the New Lands of Izril. Classic Drake move. He met Shirka’s eyes once and wondered if she knew what he was thinking.

Dead gods, just let the settlers do it. When you brought an army, you were searching for a fight. But she said nothing, even if she could read his own thoughts. She just nodded at him.

“I’m sure your expertise will be needed, Alchemist Saliss.”

It was genuine and honest as statements went, so Saliss paused and pulled his eyemask up. He gave Shirka a direct gaze and responded to her in a way that made the other [Generals] shift.

“Assuming they know how to use me, I’ll do my best. Chaldion wouldn’t have sent Duln. He’d have sent civilians, not [Soldiers]. He did send civilians; they’re in caravans right now, and I bet the Eyes of Pallass are sprinkled all amongst them, eating grass like everyone else.”

The invocation of Chaldion’s name, the rebuke of Edellein in the open, made everyone go silent, but Saliss didn’t care. Politics was one thing. Intelligence another, and he did not like this job.

Dead gods, he wished he were still in Ishkr’s…no, he wished Onieva were in Ishkr’s arms. Part of Saliss mentally recoiled from the very idea of him and Ishkr in any private moment.

They were one and the same, but…argh, it hurt. The Drake’s good mood was being rapidly eaten away by a lack of sleep and a surplus of military. He rolled his shoulders, then saw Shirka studying him.

“I, uh, told an old story about us yesterday, General Shirka. Hope you don’t mind.”

The confession popped out of his mouth before he could help himself. She was one of the people Saliss had problems lying to. Shirka’s brows rose. She studied Saliss without showing her own cards.

Just like she’d been taught. Well, he’d taught her now and then—the other officers blinked, confused. Shirka just nodded her head, though.

“It’s never been secret, Alchemist. I’m sure it was meaningful.”

She scratched idly at her side, then smiled. Her teeth glinted.

“I look better than I used to.”

Her melted baby teeth were now sharp adult ones. And her scars…Saliss exhaled.

“You’re great, General. Wasted on Pallass and us. I’ll try to teach Edellein to be half as ready for his post as you are.”

Teach him? Again, there was a temptation to laugh or reprimand Saliss. But Shirka just tilted her head.

“Interesting. I’d pay for such lessons.”

“Eh, these ones might suck. The old man used to teach his students the same kind of way. He taught all the Drakes like that. You’re lucky you never got such moments. If he were still in charge, it’d probably be midnight and you’d all be riding out covertly to the New Lands. He’d probably have some [Soldiers] there. Just not an army.”

Covert deployments, hiding troop reshuffling in the paperwork…all to fool his allies as well as his enemies. There was something honest about Edellein’s plans, at least.

“And you, Saliss of Lights? Would he have sent you?”

Forwek inquired mildly. His eyes focused on Saliss, and he was old enough to remember a time when Saliss had been in the army. Chaldion’s heir. Corporal Oliwing, 8th Army…

Ah, memories. Saliss turned on his heel and walked with military correctness to the Wyvern.

“If the Old Man were in charge and he didn’t need me anywhere else, I’d have been there before the water dried.”

 

——

 

The flight was not interesting. Saliss didn’t nap, given that he had to strap in with a bunch of surly [Soldiers] trying not to vomit over the wings. Once you’d flown Wyvernback a few times, it lost its appeal.

Pegasi were far nicer rides, but only Oteslia had them. In lieu of a book to read—he got airsick—and because this was an important expedition, Saliss talked with the only person whose opinion he could trust.

Esor. The [Strategist] wasn’t Chaldion, but he had been trained by the Old Man, and he should have been in charge. But given that Edellein had upstaged him…he lacked what Chaldion had, the personality and charisma. Well, he was also just not a Drake.

“What’s the latest from the New Lands, hmm, Esor?”

The Garuda was flying at the moment, panting with the effort of keeping pace with the Wyverns, even in their slipstream. He called back as he flew next to Saliss.

“Well…it’s not pretty. Huge floods of people from the eastern approach means there have been conflicts and thefts. Bottlenecks, whereas penetration into the heart of the New Lands is slow given most people’s speeds. There’s smaller inroads from the Drowned Folk and half-Elven colonies, but nothing major. The biggest footholds would be Chandrarian ships striking along the southern coast—and the Terandrian fleet and Iron Vanguard.”

“Oh, landed, have they?”

Saliss knew it had been a while since the battle at sea, but he hadn’t kept tabs on the mangled Terandrian fleet. Esor replied breathily.

“What ships that didn’t turn around and weren’t sunk made landings on the New Lands, yes. More are coming, but the Iron Vanguard has landed in good order and have clashed with Terandrian kingdoms in relentless naval battles.”

“Dullahans hold a grudge. What’s new? So we have a bunch of colonists, more coming, and several major powers. Is that why Edellein’s bringing out the army?”

The [Strategist] grabbed hold of the Wyvern’s saddle, too tired to fly any longer. He gulped down some water and splashed the [Soldier] behind him with most of it as the wind blew it away.

“Excuse me! Partly, Saliss. The Walled Cities want a strong foothold in the New Lands, as you might imagine. Officially, Edellein is part of a cooperative initiative to reinforce the cities on the eastern edge of the New Lands. Build up forts in case of, well, war.”

Make a nice checkpoint into old Izril in case anyone wanted to start something. Well, that would take an army. Saliss nodded.

“And…? You don’t call me up for that kind of job.”

“No indeed, we have other adventuring teams as well. Even other Named-rank adventurers from Pallass and the other Walled Cities have bid their own adventurers. I have a list—ah—”

Esor pulled the list out and watched it vanish into the air. Saliss shrugged.

“If I know them, I know them. Why me, Esor?”

He leaned forwards, and the Garuda was tough enough not to balk in the face of Saliss’ yellow stare.

“I wanted you, Saliss. So did Edellein, though he won’t admit it. We need the best Named-rank we have, and you are one of the best all-rounders. An [Alchemist] is invaluable in the New Lands. Yes, the official line is that we’re fortifying the border and simply claiming lands like everyone else. Unofficially…General Edellein’s priority, which I agree with, is finding a way into the Crossroads of Izril. The Horns of Hammerad prove that doors exist. Securing the old Walled Cities there and any valuable intelligence or Relics is 1st Army’s priority objective.”

Ah, and there it was. Saliss closed his eyes as he saw his task. So not just the seith he’d put in his report. It always went back to Drakes and cities.

The Horns of Hammerad. But for them, he might not be on this dratted mission. However, they’d reminded the Walled Cities of the old legends in the Crossroads, and the idea that someone else would get to ‘their’ ancestral homes was probably driving all the High Commands nutty.

Small things. Events that overlapped and affected each other. Goblin Lord. Horns of Hammerad. The Wandering Inn.

I’m going to miss that place. I’m going to hate this, being surrounded by military idiots for months on end. Saliss’ expression must have told Esor how he was feeling because the Garuda lowered his voice above the howl of wind.

“I’m actually surprised you agreed to come without a fight, Saliss. Normally, I’d expect to have to beg and twist your arm. Chaldion had a lot of comments about, uh…”

He would remember how things were. Saliss opened his eyes and snapped back quietly.

“You know why I’m here, Esor. So long as Edellein remembers why I agree to do anything for Pallass, we’ll be nice. But he’s getting on my nerves. Remember that.”

Esor swallowed. Saliss’ glare was for Edellein, and the truth was just that. Saliss was participating in this stupid venture because Pallass needed him, and because if he didn’t, life got harder for Turnscales in Pallass. Of course, Edellein was about as open-minded as Chaldion, and he might be only too happy to push Saliss. In which case, Saliss would push right back, and they’d have fun counting how many Watch officers broke bones…but Saliss didn’t have the time.

If there is seith in the New Lands, I have to find it. So everyone has a reason to be here.

Again—he just hated the company. Saliss settled back in his seat as Esor began flying again. The biggest downside to all this was really just that Edellein was in charge. He didn’t know how to lead Pallass, and he was leading Pallass right now. Every time he made a mistake, people would die. And oh, there were a lot of mistakes you could make. Just like he’d told Shirka, Saliss supposed…

He’d have to teach Edellein a lesson or two.

 

——

 

Contrary to what you might expect, General Edellein liked being on campaign. Even after an entire day of flying, he rolled out of his bedroll, emerged from his admittedly sumptuous tent, and was in planning-mode over breakfast at dawn.

He liked having his command staff around him at such times, and 1st Army, formerly 4th Army, were a honed unit, an extension of his will. Naturally, it wasn’t just 1st Army on this expedition; he’d asked for other soldiers and made a more rounded force with specialists for this campaign.

The only chinks in the smoothly-turning cogwheels of his army were two individuals. Esor and Saliss.

Neither one quite fit in. Esor had an authority second only to Edellein, and unlike the [General]’s subordinates, he would vocally object to Edellein’s decisions if he disagreed, a practice the [General] hated but Chaldion had encouraged. And Saliss?

Saliss was Saliss. Edellein knew he needed the damn Drake, but, privately, he wished he could have had anyone else.

“Don’t we have another Named-rank Adventurer for this campaign, Esor?”

Edellein snapped as he saw Saliss, still nude, munching on some cereal at the mess table. Esor raised his brows.

“Of course, General Edellein. Glasiaad the Tome Magus should be meeting us at the rendezvous point.”

Edellein brightened up at once.

“Glasiaad, of course! Excellent Drake; have you met him? There’s someone I can count on. Once we get to the rendezvous point and meet up with the other Walled Cities, I may have him stick with 1st Army. Let Saliss…do whatever he does until we need him.”

That meant he could get rid of Saliss and not have to tolerate him hanging about. You needed a Named-rank for monsters…Esor gave him one of those annoying, dubious expressions.

“Saliss is the Named-rank with the most utility and experience adventuring and in military combat, General Edellein. I would weigh him over Glasiaad.”

“Well, that is your opinion, but personality matters as much as competency. If we have a Wyvern attack, I will of course use Saliss, but in day-to-day matters, I’ll take Glasiaad.”

Edellein shot back, and Esor closed his beak on a reply. It was one of Edellein’s younger [Strategists], a young Drake woman, who raised a claw.

“General, I don’t know Glasiaad. I thought Pallass had only one Named-rank: Saliss. Was I mistaken?”

Edellein smiled; he liked to be the teacher and educate his subordinates, so the [General] grabbed a bowl of hardboiled eggs and salted one liberally before taking a bite and replying.

“Ah, well, that’s true. Glasiaad, for example, isn’t in Pallass; you’d only see him visiting. But he is ‘ours’; he’s in one of the cities under the Pallassian aegis. By that standard, we have more than just Saliss. No Walled City would rely on just one Named-rank! For instance, Manus isn’t sending Zeter Sixswords to the New Lands, but I think they’re sending Heidan the Fireball, who doesn’t live in the city proper.”

“I see, of course, sir.”

Edellein smiled at the [Strategist].

“You’ll like him. He’s a bit elderly, but a capable [Wizard]; as you might expect, he has a number of spellbooks he uses to cast magic. Pure sorcery like you’d hear in those Tales of Adventure and Woe. I’ve seen him call down a blizzard in seconds!”

Honestly, Edellein didn’t see why Esor would weigh Saliss higher than Glasiaad. They had [Alchemists], and even if Saliss was the best one, a [Mage] had so much utility and power…well, it was at that precise moment that Saliss strolled over with his breakfast and slid himself into a seat.

“Did I hear old Glasiaad is in town? I haven’t seen the bastard in years! We’ll have to catch up. So, General Edellein, mind if I ask a question or two about my duties while we’re hunting for the Crossroads of Izril and exploring?”

Everyone stirred, and Edellein glared at Esor; Saliss should not have known about their true objective! He addressed Saliss with a forced smile.

“You’ll be briefed fully on each phase of the command, Adventurer Saliss. First, we are linking up with other Walled Cities. A chain of command will have to be established.”

Hopefully with him at the top or near the top, but he understood that Manus, Oteslia, and Zeres would all be at this rally, with Salazsar and Fissival to come. It might be hard to be in charge of everything…Saliss raised his brows.

“Oh, so are we considering other Walled Cities to be in alliance for this campaign?”

“No, not as of yet. We don’t even consider them non-aggressive yet.”

Esor replied before Edellein, and the [General] nearly objected before he recognized the terminology. Saliss was using military jargon and querying the other Walled City’s status…but the way he worded it made Edellein itch a bit.

“Our foes in the New Lands are monsters, potentially foreign powers—not other Drakes, Saliss!”

He snapped, and Saliss just blinked at him. Calm.

“Whatever you order, I’ll follow, General Edellein. I just need to know their status. I’m going with ‘neutral’ for now. Let me know if that changes. Where is our rendezvous point? I’d like to see our approach into the New Lands.”

Someone found a map and indicated to Saliss where the rendezvous point was, well clear of the New Land’s border. From there they’d march or fly in—while Saliss asked questions, Edellein leaned over to Esor.

“What the hell did he just say? Neutral?”

Esor whispered back.

“It’s how Saliss is viewing the other Walled Cities’ forces, sir. He is our Named-rank. He’ll be watching for potential saboteurs or assassins or other threats from them. It’s, ah, more like how an Eye of Pallass would view the other Walled Cities, even if we are mustering together under a tentative alliance.”

Like an Eye of Pallass? Edellein eyed Saliss, a bit disturbed. He had read the Drake’s file and knew Saliss had done everything from battling [Assassins] to running reconnaissance on the Antinium to participating in wars, but the silly naked [Alchemist] seemed sharper than Edellein remembered.

And then he turned in his seat.

“Alright, so only Glasiaad as a fellow Named-rank for backup unless we partner with another Walled City. Hopefully we can get some independent Named-ranks with us, and maybe some of the Gold-rankers can hold water. How many Archmage cards do I have for this campaign?”

Now he’d lost Edellein. The [General] knew Saliss didn’t mean just cards—he shot a glance at Esor, who cleared his throat.

“The Assembly of Crafts hasn’t approved any extraneous devices, Saliss. And unfortunately, they do have the authority to withhold them…”

“No Archmage cards?”

“You’re going to have to explain that particular idea, Saliss. I don’t know the term. Is it something you’re familiar with from Duln?”

Edellein frowned at Saliss and saw blank expressions on the rest of his command. Saliss gave him a toothy smile which wasn’t condescending, but it still rankled Edellein until the Drake spoke.

“Sorry, the old man—Grand Strategist Chaldion—liked to call them that. Archmage cards, General. Trump cards if everything goes Creler-shaped. Like…strike spells from Pallass’ walls. A Tier 7 scroll. A battalion of Wyvern-riders, that sort of thing. If a disaster happens, you point and it dies. Do we not have one, Esor? What about the Potion of Lake’s Freeze I made? You’ve got to have that!”

A Potion of…Esor just spread his wing-hands, shooting Edellein a sideways glance.

“Not approved by the Assembly, Saliss.”

“So we have no contingencies?”

The Drake’s voice rose, and Edellein cut in, smooth.

“Ah, I see the misapprehension. Saliss, 1st Army has our own backups and failsafes. Rest assured, we have your tail covered. I’ll give you an appraisal of such matters once we coordinate with the other Walled Cities.”

Saliss paused, tilted his head, and sat back. He dipped his spoon in the cereal and began to chew.

“Hm. Okay. Let me know if I can get a Tier 7 scroll on backup. I like those. There’s always a huge list of warnings before they fire off.”

Did that mean he’d seen Tier 7 scrolls activated? Edellein hadn’t even laid eyes on one—even during the Antinium Wars, he’d only been issued Tier 6 scrolls to combat the Black Tide! Then again, how many such weapons existed even in a Walled City’s armory? He smiled and nodded, then hissed at Esor.

“How many failsafes do we have, and why am I not aware of them?”

“The Assembly of Crafts, sir…I noted all of the items needing ratification from them with Grand Strategist Chaldion no longer able to give permission for their use.”

Edellein pointed at one of his [Strategists] and beckoned. Then he spoke.

“I will dictate a [Message] to Senator Errif before takeoff. I want to review that list, and I will inform the Assembly I require a few of these—failsafes—just in case.”

“It might be difficult to get them to approve it, General.”

Esor vouchsafed, and Edellein ground his teeth, well imagining how hard it would be to get the [Senators] to all vote to release Relic-class items to his command.

“Well, look into the other thing Saliss mentioned. Wyvern squads. Actually, just pull up a list of all the failsafes Chaldion used, and I’ll pick from that!”

He was unhappy when Esor consulted his bag of holding and pulled out a file that Edellein vaguely recognized as having skimmed before. This time, he took it and was reading it before they mustered for takeoff.

Edellein was busy giving orders that morning and was thusly relieved when Saliss didn’t cause any more trouble. The thoughtless Drake could be a complete pain, and Edellein didn’t have time for Saliss as he tried to pull the slow levers of Pallassian bureaucracy to get what he needed.

Failsafes. Dead gods, some of them were extreme. They didn’t need…well, you didn’t have to use it. Maybe a few just to be safe. There were elements to his role that Edellein hadn’t been aware of. It was a good chance of luck that idiot Saliss had brought it up.

 

——

 

Two more days of Edellein’s company left Saliss rather annoyed by the time they reached the rendezvous point. It was as annoying as he thought it’d be; from afar it was nothing more than a bunch of tents laid out in neat formation, Wyverns circling lower, and the shine of armor and weapons from below.

Ancestors, that’s a full regiment from Manus down there. I would have thought that the City of War wasn’t interested in the New Lands. What poor idiot got given this duty?

The psychology of each Walled City had to be taken into account in matters like these. No Walled City would ignore the value of the New Lands, but they’d be cautious about over-spending to secure the New Lands when colonists would do it for them. Forces to build up the western border? Sure. Teams to explore the Crossroads of Izril? Absolutely.

However, Edellein was the one pushing for Pallass to make such a big entry into the New Lands, and by the looks of it, Pallass’ colors were the most manifold on the muster field. As far as Saliss saw, both Manus and Oteslia had sent less than half of the army Pallass had, and he suspected it went for their leadership too.

You’d send someone capable for the New Lands, but maybe not the best. Dead gods, it could even be a punishment; digging a fort and having to shepherd soldiers around and avoid stabbing civilians? More than one [General] would do all they could not to get this job unless they saw potential glory in it.

Instead of paying for an entire army’s rations in the field, it would be better to have someone else share the burden, like, say, another Walled City, hence this collaborative attempt. Especially given the fact that the New Lands were going to be difficult to grow anything in and be draining mana from everything.

A fact that Saliss was aware of and not looking forward to. His potions were almost all magic-based, and while some wouldn’t lose power from a mana-drain effect, a good number would, not to mention his personal gear.

He’d taken precautions, but it added to the expense of this venture, and as they circled lower on the Wyverns, Edellein was clearly feeling the pressure.

“One regiment? What is Manus playing at? I expected Oteslia to skimp out, but we’re conducting a campaign here, not a training exercise! And they’ve occupied the central camp area—take us down, and they’d better have more reinforcements coming!”

His voice over the speaking stone was piqued, and Saliss rolled his eyes as the Wyverns descended fast. One of the [Soldiers] groaned; a Gnoll was appearing rather sick, and Saliss reached over.

“Tonic for the stomach?”

They were dropping so fast the Gnoll clung to his seat, shaking his head. Saliss shrugged, tucked the vial into his bag of holding, and then saw a flash from below.

“Incoming spell! Dodge!”

His roar into the speaking stone made both the Wyvern he was on and the one ahead of him roll to the side. Saliss’ world rotated, and he saw something bright flash past his head; then heard the Gnoll vomiting profusely. He was too busy scanning for—

“More spells! Light arrows, evade, evade!”

“Who the hell is firing at—”

General Edellein’s entry into the rendezvous point went badly. The flight of Wyverns broke as more [Light Arrows] flew past them; tiny spells, but still enough to make the Wyverns dive and dodge in dizzying displays that caused the untrained [Soldiers] to puke their guts out and cling on for dear life.

Why were they under attack? The answer came after six more seconds of stomach-lurching midair acrobatics.

“Incoming Wyvern flight, you are entering into Manus’ airspace without identification codes! Halt immediately or you will be fired upon!”

“Manus.”

Saliss muttered and heard an explosion of rage from Edellein’s speaking stone. Typical. Even if they could see Pallass’ Wyverns and knew exactly who was coming, the City of War was throwing its tail around.

To be fair, this kind of thing might have happened even with Chaldion in charge; Saliss could just imagine the old man shouting curses over the command line. Edellein did much the same, roaring into the speaking stone.

“This is General Edellein of Pallass’ 1st Army! Do you think we’re a pack of wild Wyverns or rogue giant seagulls? Your warning shots have my entire command in disarray!”

Silence, then a distinctly obdurate tone.

“Wyvern flight, please transmit identification codes.”

I guess we know who wants to pretend they’re in charge of this one. Or maybe it was just classic Drake pettiness, stubbornness, and love of bureaucracy. Saliss rolled his eyes as Esor took over, transmitting a string of codewords, and Saliss saw the Wyverns reforming.

They were right overhead the anti-air group, which was tracking them with a portable ballista and several [Battlemages]. As his Wyvern flapped its wings, uttering protests at its strained muscles, Saliss drew alongside General Edellein. The Drake was incandescent.

“Those damn—this is unacceptable! We nearly lost one of our people when our Wyverns dove! Esor had to grab them midair!”

One of the younger [Strategists] was visibly shaking. Saliss eyed the broken straps; even with a good saddle, that was an all-too-common occurrence in the sky. He said nothing since Edellein had a right to his pique for once…until the [General] addressed him.

“Saliss! I want you to dislodge those idiots down below! Pallass won’t stand for this affront!”

The Drake’s head turned incredulously.

“You want me to deal with Manus’ forces?”

“Yes, are you deaf? Oteslia’s sending in their fliers as well—clear them out!”

Edellein barked back. Saliss just stared at him, then smiled tightly.

“If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll pay your damn bills—you’re on retainer; go!”

Esor twisted around in his seat with an expression of alarm.

“General Edellein, did you just—Saliss, no! That’s an order!”

But it was too late. Saliss had already thought about it, and he unbuckled his belt with a huge smile. The Gnoll [Soldier] behind him gave Saliss a look of pure horror and incredulity as the Drake stood up on the Wyvern’s back, untethered. Even the rest of Edellein’s command seemed shocked. Saliss just flicked the stomach-tonic at the Gnoll behind him.

“Yes sir, General Edellein! You might want to steady your stomach after all, kid. You’re going to need to swing that sword today.”

He took two steps forwards, met Edellein’s eyes as the [General] blinked—and then dove over the edge of the Wyvern’s back. Straight down, headfirst. Saliss gazed down at the tiny group of Manus’ anti-air forces below him.

Even as the wind began to howl in his earholes, he could hear Esor shrieking behind him.

 

——-

 

“Call him off!”

Esor dropped his speaking stone, leapt across the Wyvern’s back, and grabbed Edellein. He shook the Drake so hard that Edellein seized the pommel of the saddle for support.

“What? Have you gone mad, Esor? Unhand me! You do not give orders in—”

“You idiot, you’re about to start a war with Manus! Call Saliss off before he wipes them out!”

The Garuda’s shriek was almost like a bird’s, and the note of true terror froze Edellein.

“What? Don’t be mad, I told him to—”

He glanced down and saw the tiny shape of the plummeting Drake heading straight towards Manus’ forces. Which even Edellein had to admit was quite amazing to see. Saliss did deserve his Named-rank status. It was refreshingly…direct? Saliss normally never obeyed any order.

Except they were on campaign. Edellein remembered a story about one of only two times Saliss of Lights had ever gone to war. Esor’s voice had gone from a shrill to a piercing whisper.

“[Rapid Conversation]. Listen to me, General Edellein. Whatever you think you ordered, that is not the Saliss you know as a civilian. When you tell him to clear out a foreign force, he will do it. The moment he hits ground, every Drake and Gnoll below us will be dead. Call him off or this entire meeting point is going to turn into a warzone.”

Edellein met Esor’s gaze, and part of him expected the Garuda to burst into a grin and say it was a joke. Then he gazed down and fumbled for his speaking stone. Below him, he heard the same annoying operator’s voice speaking.

“Ah, Pallassian flight? We have full [Dangersense] alerts going off in our Air Denial force. Is there a monster in the area? Pallass?”

 

——

 

Saliss was maybe eighty feet from the ground, and he could see the Manus force below him now very clearly. They were taking cover, glancing right, left, and up at him as their [Dangersenses] went off. Even shielding themselves behind barrier spells, which was a good, sensible call.

Explosions tended not to care about barriers after they’d ripped them apart. The Drake was grinning, and he was dropping with annihilation in clawed hand.

The thing about [Dangersense] was that it worked on, well, real things. Sometimes, it just told you someone dangerous was in front of you and not to mouth off, but mostly, it based itself on real and present threats.

So yes, Saliss was thinking that it would be a quick way to rid Pallass of an incompetent [General]. The only cost was, what, a hundred or more [Soldiers] of Manus? In the grand scheme of things, that was cheap.

Sadly—he wasn’t that resolved, and he’d given Edellein enough time.

“Saliss, abort, abort! Do not engage—”

The Drake sighed. He should have thrown the vials. Then it would be too late…well, no. He could have used [Disable Friendly Fire] even at the last moment, which he did know, so he hadn’t thrown the vials. Waste of good alchemy that.

Fourteen feet—they were diving out of the way of—

Saliss crunched the Featherform Tonic in his mouth, activated the Airblast Potion on his chest, felt the kick of air blast him, and hit the ground. It still hurt even with his precautions, but it didn’t turn his bones to dust.

The explosion of dirt blew upwards, and Saliss heard cries, saw figures stumbling back, shielding their faces as they aimed weapons at him. Blind or not, Manus didn’t train you to drop your blades. He was already on his feet, dusting himself off.

“Intruder! Drop your—”

Saliss popped a Potion of Invisibility, drank just a sip, and then touched the speaking stone hanging next to his earhole as Edellein screamed at him.

“Saliss, Saliss!”

“Hey, General! First you tell me to kill everyone, then the next moment you don’t want that? I can never tell with you military types…alright, no one’s dead. Close thing, too; I was just about to explode them! I’m walking out of their formations. Tell them to calm down, would you?”

He strolled out of the camp as Drakes and Gnolls ran around trying to find him and flicked open a notepad.

Let’s see. So that was one Airblast Potion, a Potion of Featherbody, one Potion of Invisibility—he had to charge the full potion even if he only took a swig; that was just standard business practice for [Battle Alchemists]—and a combat drop…

Saliss did a quick sum, underlined the figure, and sent a [Message] to 1st Army’s [Quartermaster] with a note reminding them that he expected to be paid at the end of each week, not whatever pay cycle they had for [Soldiers]. My oh my, that was an expensive way to intimidate Manus, but who was he to question Edellein’s orders?

Saliss waved at the Wyverns as they landed, and he caught a distinctly disheveled Esor glaring daggers at him as he flew down.

“Just following orders, sir.”

The Named-rank saluted Esor as Edellein’s people gave him wide-eyed stares. The [General] himself appeared apoplectic, but there was an element of worry behind his eyes as he landed and started cursing out the Manus operators who’d started this mess. He met Saliss’ eyes once, then looked away.

Good.

They might be slow learners, but they were figuring it out. Saliss nodded at the Gnoll and the [Soldiers] who he’d been sharing the Wyvern with. Then he spat on the ground and walked away.

Ancestors, he hated it here.

 

——

 

In Saliss’ experience, Drakes played nicely after you scared the hell out of them and they thought they couldn’t effectively get back at you. There was something about the military mindset that fell back on protocol and rank once shouting and intimidation had failed.

Thus, Manus’ [General] was at the landing zone before Edellein had even disembarked, profuse with apologies. That Manus had actually sent a [General] was a surprise…until Saliss saw the grey in the Gnoll’s fur.

“Fortress General Rigrel, General Edellein. Normally, I hold Fort Filmres, but I’ve been tasked with keeping the elements of Manus’ forces in line for this expedition. What a disaster! I apologize for the idiots who fired those spells. It’s protocol, but I admire your restraint! If I had been present, this would never have occurred, you mark my words.”

The Gnoll looked like a retiree in Manus’ army. He didn’t have the military trim an acting [General] usually was expected to have, and Saliss’ suspicions were confirmed as he stood in the sun and covertly checked a map.

Fortress Filmres was not bordering the Antinium Hivelands. It occupied a more southwestern approach that had probably been good for coastal defense…before the New Lands popped up. Now, it was either more or less important depending on how you viewed it. Either way, Rigrel was an interesting pick from Manus.

He was more than willing to duck his head and soothe Edellein’s pique with profuse apologies. You would never catch Lulv or the top brass backing down—the Supreme General of Pallass snapped, red-faced.

“I’d like to know which officer caused this mess, General! I accept your apology; you were clearly uninformed.”

Rigrel nodded.

“Of course! Who’s the officer on duty?”

He spun and barked as Manus’ [Soldiers] stood with their backs straight, doing their best not to meet the eyes of Pallass’ forces. Saliss wondered how tight a ship Edellein ran. There might be brawls between the [Soldiers] over this, but they fought all the time anyways. He still didn’t quite have Edellein’s number. Idiot, yes, but what kind of idiot? They had flavors, like leavings at the bottom of a toilet bowl.

He saw an officer trot forwards, a Drake with white scales underneath his helmet. He began to salute, and General Rigrel waved a paw at him.

“Not you, the officer in charge! Where is he? Get me—”

The Gnoll cast around, then yanked the arm of a subordinate and muttered. The underling went running, and Saliss eyed the expression of pure confusion on the younger Drake’s face as he stepped back into line. However, they didn’t have to wait long; a figure came hurtling towards the landing field at a full sprint. Another Drake, though this one had greyish scales with maybe a hint of blue.

He was slamming a helmet onto his head as he skidded to a halt and threw a salute.

“Captain Lyssander reporting for duty, General!”

“Lyssander, you fool! Pallass’ Supreme General was nearly shot out of the skies on your watch!”

General Rigrel roared, and the [Captain] hesitated. Then he pivoted smoothly and saluted again.

“—It’s an inexcusable lapse on my part, General! I beg your forgiveness!”

Interesting. Saliss saw Edellein turn his wrath on the [Captain], who stood blank-faced, not even panting from his run.

“One would hope you have better insight on the battlefield, young man. Lyssander…I swear I know that name. Ah!”

He snapped his fingers.

“You were at the officer duels more than once! Comois used to square off against your cadets. Ah, Comois.”

The name clearly pained Edellein, and General Rigrel frowned.

“Isn’t that the promising young salamander in your army, Edellein? Where is he?”

“Dead. Murdered during the Trial of Blades.”

Edellein replied bleakly, and the Gnollish General tsked. He rested a hand on Edellein’s shoulder.

“When promising young blood passes…you never get used to it. Come, General Edellein, let’s put this nasty business behind us and welcome each other properly! I have a letter from the Dragonspeaker somewhere on my person, and I fancy we have met. I certainly heard of your name when I was active! A Blackwing’s always a threat; it never surprised me to hear you became Pallass’ 1st General. We’ll have a drink and toast your [Lieutenant]…Captain Lyssander!”

“Sir!”

“Your company will see to Pallass’ disembarkation and ensure no more accidents occur with our allies.”

“Yessir!”

The Drake stood straight as more [Soldiers] approached at a run. Saliss strolled past the unfortunate [Captain] as Pallass’ forces entered the rendezvous point. And Saliss idly wondered what the poor [Captain] had done to put himself at the top of General Rigrel’s shitlist.

 

——

 

Off-duty, Manus’ [Soldiers] were more than the military-minded freaks who marched everywhere and fought nonstop. Each Walled City had its own flavor in the military, and you got to contrast that when they mingled.

Right now it was Manus, elements of Oteslia’s forces, and Pallass all mixing about in a huge network of tents and buildings, the kind you got when any major force camped. Drakes being Drakes, it was organized enough; Saliss could use the signs to navigate the camp with ease.

The problem was he had no desire to do anything here. Consider the problem: he was a Named-rank adventurer. What could an army’s camp get him?

A lower-level adventurer might want gear repairs, to see what a [Quartermaster] would sell, avail themselves of services from one of Pallass’ [Battle Alchemists], or so on. Saliss was already prepped. He needed no intelligence, training, or supplies. So that left socialization.

Card games and gambling were traditional, you could buy some overpriced drinks and spend your pay, or just shoot the shit with [Soldiers]. Swap tales and hear what the brass was thinking.

That didn’t…work when you were a Named-rank. Saliss was already getting tons of stares from Manus’ [Soldiers]. They’d see him walking around naked, recoil or begin bawling him out, then realize who he was and shut up. The privileges of his status, again. But he wasn’t chummy with the officers either.

The Drake was walking around in a circle in the middle of camp, bored out of his mind, when Esor found him.

“Saliss, it looks like we’re waiting on elements from Oteslia by air, and Zeres is marching in within a day or two. Salazsar and Fissival won’t make it on time; the two forces are slowing each other down given the war between the cities. Negotiating a way not to kill each other on the way here. It appears the Walled Cities will be operating under a state of non-aggression and defensive coordination. No guaranteed alliance, unless General Edellein forges a pact on the spot. We’ll be marching towards the New Lands daily.”

Saliss kept walking in a circle, staring at the blue sky. Yonder lay the New Lands. He could almost taste them.

“Great, so it’s, what, a week to get to the New Lands? Wonderful. I should have slept for a week.”

Esor shrugged as he tried to follow Saliss around. The two were both aware they were being watched. Esor was a [Strategist] and the highest-ranking Garuda, already a rare species in the Walled Cities, and Saliss was, well, Saliss. More than one [Soldier] was eavesdropping, and Saliss was not bothering to keep his voice down. Esor was doing his best, but Saliss didn’t care.

“Saliss, I’ll try to get you sent to the New Lands as soon as I can, so you can get to work. But Manus and Oteslia are both hosting General Edellein. It would appear both cities would like an alliance of mutual cooperation.”

The [Alchemist] nodded. If he were to explain this to Octavia or someone else, he’d say it was simple. The Walled Cities were a pack of rats. Big ones who could fight hard, but they were well aware the New Lands were being contested by every power on the globe. Normally, each Walled City was the biggest rat around, and it’d bully anyone it could, including the other Walled Cities, but when they saw trouble, the cities always did this.

The defensive pact meant they wouldn’t step on each other’s tails. They’d share information, band together if someone attacked them—common sense stuff. But it also left the door open for one city to grab something valuable if they found it first. Sort of a ‘we’re on the same side but it’s still a race between us’ mentality.

What Oteslia, Manus, and probably the other cities wanted was to get in bed with Pallass and commit to a full alliance. Information-sharing, coordinated troop movements, again, because Pallass was spending the most on this campaign.

“Who’s Oteslia’s leader?”

“A [Wild General] Narrina. Gnoll. Oteslia’s mostly scouting and specialists, not a lot of [Soldiers] on the line. I think Zeres is pulling a rather large company of their marines up; Edellein’s interested in a pact with them, but General Rigrel has been very…flattering.”

Saliss snorted. Dragonspeaker Luciva was a canny leader. She’d probably written a letter glowing with praise for Edellein.

“So what you’re telling me is that everyone’s courting us. Probably because Chaldion’s out, so they have no way to know how we’ll jump.”

Chaldion would have had all this already set out in deals before they landed, but Edellein was different. Esor nodded, wings twitching. Saliss imagined it wasn’t fun trying to teach Edellein how to do things. He had little sympathy. The Drake glanced to the side and saw a group of four Gnolls and a Human whispering and pointing at him.

They’re not wearing any regular uniforms. Huh, adventuring team. But those two Gnolls have that military posture…Manus’ adventurers. Silver-rankers, probably. Does Manus sponsor them or are they just organic adventurers?

Esor cleared his throat, clearly hoping for a response, and Saliss glanced at him.

“Hm?”

“Did you have an opinion on any of this, Alchemist Saliss? Anything I should bear in mind or bring back to the [General]? I was told to listen to your opinion, and I do respect your insight.”

The Garuda smiled at him. Saliss stopped, turned, and put a hand on Esor’s shoulder. He met the Garuda’s eyes and spoke seriously.

“Indeed I do. I hope the other Walled Cities buy Edellein something nice and treat him to some wine and a lovely meal before they bend him over and fuck him.”

Esor’s eyes widened, and a passing [Soldier] walked straight into one of the tent poles. Esor gave Saliss a look of horror as his head snapped around. Saliss beamed at him.

“I could write it down for Edellein if you want.”

He got a dozen paces before Esor flapped after him.

“Saliss! I’m trying to include you in this expedition! If you want General Edellein’s ear, you cannot treat him like Chaldion!”

Saliss spun and poked Esor in the chest, hard.

“Who says I want to do the same damn dance as with the old man? I want Edellein to understand exactly what I do. I blow things up. If he thinks he’s holding a [Fireball], well, he might actually be cautious, and that’s what I want. I’m not going to hold Edellein’s hand, Esor! You and I both know he’s going to fuck up.”

“Yes, and people will die if we don’t mitigate that. He could lead Pallass well enough, Saliss.”

The Drake lowered his voice as his tail lashed.

“He could? Really? What about Shirka and the entire debacle with the Goblin Lord and Titan? What about that order to ‘dislodge Manus’? Even putting aside the fact that he doesn’t know how to use me, he thinks like a Pallassian General. Chaldion led all the Drake cities, whether they liked it or not. If you want better leadership, if you want to replace Edellein, then lead people, Esor. But keep me the hell out of it. I’m done playing politics in the army.”

With that, Saliss shoved Esor. He dropped his knees, pushed up, and had the satisfaction of hearing a squawk before Esor was flying through the air. The Garuda caught himself, flapping wildly, and Saliss glared…then saw more people staring at him.

Damn. He hated being a bit honest. Saliss stalked off, rattled. What had happened to his usual composure and ability to annoy everyone?

I’ve gotten angrier. It’s all too personal again, too raw. Was it the Goblin King? Is it…Onieva? 

He didn’t know, but suddenly doing this dance was harder than before. It made him feel like a clown, and he didn’t like the feeling.

Dead gods. Saliss caught himself humming a military tune as he went in search of a tent so he could be alone. It was repetitive and dry, and it stuck in your head. The ratatatatat of drums until you were all marching together, thinking together, fighting together. You and the army, all sharing the same brain.

The problem wasn’t that they made Saliss join them on their campaigns. The problem was that he’d grown up as Chaldion’s grandchild.

He’d been a really damn good soldier.

 

——

 

With the exception of Saliss, every other adventurer of Gold-rank or higher was actually quite social in the mixed-army camps. Adventurers had stories, wealth, and that allure of fame and success about them. Some hung out with regular [Soldiers] in the mess camps, but the higher-level ones tended to stick with each other and officers.

Word had spread about Saliss’ near dive-bombing of Manus’ air defense force, and he didn’t seem very approachable. By contrast, Glasiaad the Tome Magus was representing Pallass like a real Named-rank adventurer.

He’d set up a tent in the camp, and on the morning after General Edellein’s arrival, he was pouring out drinks inside of it, sitting in a huge chair as he met fellow adventurers and shook hands over the crystal table. His tent was fourteen feet tall on the outside, circular, and the yellow cloth hung with multi-colored tassels and his personal sigil, which was of a younger Glasiaad’s face.

The Drake himself was in his sixties these days, but he looked good, roguishly old with still-sleek neck spines and fine fitness for his age. His voice was deep and mellow; floating spell tomes moved with him.

“I can cast a spell from each one, you see. It’s like a permanent spell scroll; once I use a spell, I have to re-bind it back onto the pages. Tedious, but it means my library of spells is four times that of my peers.”

“Why doesn’t everyone use magic like that, Magus? I’ve never heard of my [Battlemages] acting that way.”

One of the [Majors] under Edellein’s command was keeping the Named-rank company, despite soldiers marching past the open tent. Glasiaad chuckled as a wine bottle poured more wine around. The [Major] was one of half a dozen people sitting with the Named-rank. There were two Gold-rank adventurers from different teams, one of Oteslia’s [Druids], and officers from General Rigrel’s personal command.

Glasiaad was meeting them for the first time, and he winked at the awestruck Gold-rank [Sorceress], a Drake in her twenties.

“Well, if I may be so bold as to say it, Major Zifren, it’s a difficult thing to scribe spells in the first place! Not to mention making a spellbook that can hold spells and endure the process of expending magic and re-using it…think of it like this. I need to manufacture my ammunition as well as use it. So I occupy the role of [Fletcher] and [Archer]—and [Quartermaster]! People have tried to copy my methods, but I think they’re not something that’s easily transferable.”

There were nods around the table, and the other Gold-ranker, a Human from Oteslia, broke in.

“Sir Glasiaad, I have that ‘sir’ right?”

“I am a Wall Lord of Pallass. Though it’s a technicality; I spend most of my time in Liltengrass. Lovely city, just close enough to get all the amenities I want, but not to be in the City of Inventions itself. It gets tiring, you know! All those stairs at my age?”

Glasiaad winked, and the view from the tent’s opening of marching soldiers blurred for a moment, then stopped—on a new patch of ground. Some of the [Soldiers] did a double-take, but the company within the tent had seen it ‘hop’ across the ground more than once.

Now that was Named-rank power. The Human was part of Green Solutions, a Gold-rank team out of Oteslia, and he was rather starstruck by the Named-ranker. His team was adorned in all-natural armor, grown from Oteslia’s gardens, and used—among other things—seeds which would explode with natural power. He wasn’t a [Druid] himself; he was a [Warrior of the Green] and Level 36.

Close, in short, to Named-rank status for his team. Glasiaad smiled.

“You can drop the title, though, Adventurer Thoir. After all, it might be your team who hits Named-rank soon! It’s always good to have a friend among fellow adventurers, eh?”

Thoir nodded as he accepted a refill and relaxed. The Drake [Sorceress] seemed tongue-tied.

“Thoir and Nekessa? You should bring your teams by tonight! I confess, I don’t know all you up-and-coming Gold-rankers as well as I should, even Pallass’ teams! Do we know who’s with us?”

Major Zifren knew that.

“I’m aware the Wings of Pallass are flying in, and of course, General Edellein had to call on the Flamewardens. Their leader, Keldrass, is wearing the Heartflame Breastplate. They cost nearly twice what the Wings did to be put on retainer due to the expense of renting the armor, but it’s a sight to see!”

The others murmured excitedly, and Glasiaad tapped his lips.

“Flamewardens…Flamewardens…I think I recall that name. The Wings too. They don’t stand out in my memory, though—you tend to notice the adventurers who rise to Named-rank. They move like lightning bolts up through the ranks! Like Lehra Ruinstrider, in fact. When I heard she’d found the Blade of Mershi, I knew she was going to be Named-rank. Now, it may be we’ll find the same kinds of discoveries in the New Lands—but we’ll see where High Command puts us, eh? I do hope that General Edellein will understand I’m more focused on magical phenomena. Just call me in when you find that dungeon, and I’ll de-trap everything! But catch me footslogging across the New Lands?”

He rolled his eyes expressively, and the Major assured him that he’d ensure the [Wizard] was their go-to specialist for any dungeons or the like. The Oteslian [Warrior] opened his mouth, eyed Glasiaad, and then closed it. He was drinking sparingly from the wine since it was barely past 10.

“What is our share of treasure going to be like, by the way, Major? I know we’re all on retainer, but if we were to come across a huge find like the Heartflame Breastplate, do we have a claim on that?”

Sorceress Nekessa asked worriedly. The Major hesitated, but Glasiaad waved a claw.

“Ah, well, if you’re wise, you’ll have a contract pre-determined with your Walled City, Miss Nekessa. I have one that stipulates any treasure I help recover, I have a claim to, though obviously, if it were the Heartflame Breastplate, they might buy it from me. But a share is a share! Do you have an individual contract or did you just agree to one from the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Both adventurers seemed mildly alarmed, but the Oteslian [Warrior] cut in.

“Green Solutions should be covered under our contracts. Mivifa herself negotiated the contracts which apply to all adventurers.”

“And Manus…?”

Nekessa seemed worried, and Glasiaad nodded knowingly.

“Why don’t you bring over your contract tonight, Miss Nekessa? I’ll take a look and we’ll see if we can hammer another one out. It’s never too late to negotiate in my experience.”

She beamed at him in relief, thanking him profusely, and then Glasiaad was snapping his claws again, producing sparks of light.

“I’d love to work with your teams, you two. And a good company of whichever Walled City’s forces are doing the expeditions. I’m not like Saliss, who’s rather hard to work with. He’ll run off and throw his exploding potions—me? Teamwork with our [Soldiers] all the way down. Maybe those Pallassian teams too. Any others? Where do I know those names from?”

“Wouldn’t it be the Wyvern attack on Pallass, Magus?”

Thoir exchanged a glance with Nekessa, surprised that it wasn’t top-of-mind. Glasiaad blinked.

“Of course! I wasn’t there for that—now I recall! Brave adventurers. If they’re willing to fight that many Frost Wyverns like that, then I can certainly trust them with my tail.”

He shook his head, and Nekessa lifted a claw.

“Magus, I have to admit, I was surprised when I heard you were Pallass’ Named-rank! I would have expected you to be on the walls with Magus Grimalkin, but I suppose you were too far out of range when the attack came?”

Everyone looked at Glasiaad, and he paused, then grimaced and shrugged.

“I can’t teleport all the way to Pallass, sadly. Both a matter of mana and anti-teleportation spells on the city. Even General Edellein’s army was unable to reach Pallass in time—besides, they had Saliss. He always shows up for trouble involving Pallass itself.”

He waved an airy claw, and Thoir glanced over his shoulder.

“What is Saliss of Lights like, Magus? I’ve never met him. I thought he was supposed to be funny and friendly, but I, uh, heard he nearly threw a [Strategist] across the camp yesterday.”

“Saliss?”

For the first time, Glasiaad’s easy smile vanished. He hesitated and swirled his wine around in his goblet, then grimaced as he drank it.

“Saliss is…a Named-rank adventurer, no doubt about that. He’s insane, dangerous—the nudity is real, by the way. I’ve seen him adventuring for thirty years, and never once did he wear a pair of pants. Let’s just say there’s a reason he’s the only Named-rank living in Pallass.”

Everyone glanced at each other.

“No one can stand him?”

Glasiaad waved a clawed finger.

“Not just that. He’s just—overbearing. You get adventurers like that. Territorial. It’s his way or the highway, and I didn’t feel like butting heads with another Named-rank at my age. So I stay away. Now, is he the Drake you want when the monsters appear? Obviously. But will you see me inviting him for a drink?”

He shook his head, tsking, and the two Gold-ranks nodded along with everyone else. Nekessa saw Glasiaad offer her another smile as he whisked the vintage of wine away.

“Let’s have some Amentus wine next! It’s sweet, so we’ll need something to cut it with. I have some cheeses, though if our Oteslian [Quartermaster] had any access to fresh foods, I would be exceptionally grateful, Druid Ulwhe. Now, if we’re talking about adventurers and Named-ranks, did anyone ever meet old Torreb? Just me? Now there’s an unpleasant fellow to get along with…”

 

——

 

Saliss left his tents at around ten in the morning. The camp had already begun being struck at dawn, but moving such a huge army meant that it was all in phases.

Walled Army camps had a certain…surreal quality to them that caught people off-guard. The lines of neatly-organized tents and roads you had to march down were laid out like miniature cities, because that’s what they were. You had a plan with each tent, and if you were Esor, you could see it laid out like from on high.

Organized, that was the word for it. Unlike other armies, Drakes enforced all the rules. March on the right side in columns while foot-traffic could move around them. Fortified sentry posts and command usually in the center of the camp, but never in the direct center, because that might let someone find or strike it easily…these were the basics of any army.

Where they differed was how each Walled City operated. For instance, Pallass loved alchemy and metallurgy, so you had camp [Alchemists] with their own area on the outskirts of camp. Their noxious odors always annoyed other Walled Cities, and they were always kept on the edges—in case a bad reaction blew something up. More than one surprise attack had been foiled by someone ambushing a group of the Alchecorps and getting a premature detonation in the face.

Each encampment from each Walled City had its quirks like that. They camped next to each other, separated by an open stretch of ground so it felt you walked into a new area if you crossed from, say, Pallass to Oteslia. Different turf, different city.

Quite literally if you were hanging out with the [Druids], who were walking around a quite untidy section of camp. Some didn’t even bother with tents; they slept in the open, showered nude under rain spells, or hung out or smoked illicit substances in the open. Civilian experts; the envy and dismay of soldiers.

Manus, by contrast, had all the tricks like subtly lowering the terrain around each of their watchtowers they set up—and they lugged the damn watchtowers in Chests of Holding—it made it hard to evade their sentries’ eyes. Unless you were Saliss. If Fissival were here, you’d see all the Gnolls and Drakes staying well clear of each other. Conscripts or auxiliaries from smaller cities supplementing a Walled City’s forces.

Salazsar had used to be like that too. Manus had Drakes and Gnolls mixing without problems; everyone was a [Soldier] there. But Saliss had noticed Gnolls from Oteslia giving some of Manus’ [Soldiers] a death-glare. Possibly, they were Plains Gnolls or had been at the Meeting of Tribes. Still, if there was one city that wasn’t going to get fights between Gnolls and Drakes, it was Oteslia.

Mixed levels of sharpness on all sides. Pallass had brought the most quality and numbers, just as Saliss suspected. Manus seemed oddly mixed; a few groups of [Soldiers] seemed sharper than the others. Probably pulled from various areas, then. Oteslia…Saliss thought they were average. The [Druids] actually seemed sharper than the troops. It made sense; Oteslia had been in a fight with Zeres recently, and after the Meeting of Tribes, they weren’t going to send their finest into the New Lands. Not without knowing what the stakes were. No, only good old Pallass for that.

The [Alchemist] packed up his tent, but didn’t feel like marching with any one group.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get to the next spot. I’ll just walk around. Don’t mind me.”

He assured one of the [Soldiers] sent to mind him. The [Tactician] cleared his throat.

“But Alchemist, General Edellein sent me to watch over you! If you’d like any services, just let me know and—”

Saliss frowned.

“Services? Well, I might need to replace my belt. Is there a leatherworker in camp?”

“Of course, sir! I can get you to the highest-level one and put in a priority order.”

Saliss nodded as the [Tactician] wrote a rapid note, then peered over his shoulder.

“Good idea, but maybe you should put out the fire first? Is that the workshop?”

He pointed, and the [Tactician] spun in alarm.

“Where? What fire? Wh—Adventurer Saliss?”

 

——

 

Saliss paused to let a column of [Soldiers] march past him and saw they were Oteslia’s forces. They had green armor, more Gnolls than usual, and this lot was armed with shortbows and shortspears. Rapid engagement. They all stared at Saliss as he stood there. One whistled.

“Lost your clothes, adventurer? It gets cold in the New Lands, I hear!”

There was laughter, and some of them eyed his private parts before jerking their eyes away. It was always a mix, Saliss found, of people who stared and those who tried to pretend there was nothing to see. He called back, voice cheerful.

“I lost all my clothes gambling! If you’d like to donate to my clothing fund, I accept donations!”

He produced a razor and slashed energetically, removing some tufts of fur from the nearest Gnolls, who swore at him, then checked themselves and laughed. There was laughter until another column of [Soldiers] marched at double-pace past the Oteslian one.

“More of Pallass’ crazies. Who wants a naked [Alchemist] when the Adult Creler pops up?”

Manus’ forces did not like him; well, these were younger [Soldiers] who might have just heard about yesterday. Or they just didn’t like naked Drakes. Now, the old guard would really hate him…Saliss beamed at the scowling Drake who’d issued the comment.

“Oh, you don’t call on me for Adult Crelers, you cute boys and girls. Go get an adventurer who cares.”

More heads turned, and they eyed him. Saliss kept beaming.

“You call on me when the Elder Creler shows up. Got it? Don’t waste my time. Adult Crelers. Hah! Spoken like someone who’s never seen one of them before.”

A silence fell over the marching column, and several [Soldiers] glanced back at Saliss. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Hey, if you get back to Manus, tell Zeter Sixswords I said hello! Ask him if he’s ever going to kill an Elder Creler or if he’s just sticking to babies!”

Then Saliss wondered if Zeter would actually show up. Probably not…Manus loved to use him around the city where he could be rapidly deployed. Hopefully, they wouldn’t meet; Saliss hated Zeter. He hated a lot of Named-ranks he knew, come to that.

He strolled on, moving around the camp, trading jests with passing groups of [Soldiers] and getting the feel for the camp. Saliss was mostly on the lookout for interesting facets any army had brought. There were always general [Soldiers] and specialists, and the specialists tended to be what turned the tide. Not even fighters; if you had a strong group of support classes, well, it was good to know.

A good number of Oteslian [Druids]. They’re going to be useful, I bet. I wonder how they’re mitigating the mana-drain. I brought that damn Mana Lantern, and it’s going to eat magical gems like no tomorrow, but it should keep my potions and gear safe. How the hell is Edellein going to keep his magic from wearing out?

Chests of Holding getting recharged by [Mages]? Wasteful. But then again, only officers would have magical items.

This entire campaign was going to be a nightmare for logistics the further into the New Lands they went. In Drake territory, they could buy provisions or get resupplies, but in the New Lands, they’d need to ration carefully. Esor could probably handle that, but disasters in the supply chains would be a huge problem.

I’ve got to watch for toxins and other nastiness since no one else is going to do that. Maybe some of the Alchecorps…but they’re not going to have the same eyes I do. I assume they’ll test the water.

Damnit, I’d better test the water before any idiots make camp.

Right now, it felt like his role would be scouting in advance—it’d get him out of the way of Edellein and allow him to properly adventure while neutralizing problems. The issue? Saliss just….wasn’t feeling it.

There was a tingle you got in your tail that raced up your spine, a shivering on your scales when adventure called. It was the palpitating of your heart, the urge that dragged you forwards into the unknown. He…didn’t have it. Not for the New Lands. Not when the inn had contained a Goblin King and Saliss felt like he should be in Baleros, if anywhere.

I can’t believe I survived the Goblin King. There I was, watching Dragonlords fighting him and losing, and I could barely even survive. Too low-level. Me! Hah! I hate this era. I need more seith. Buckets of it. A chest’s worth of it and I might be able to blow a hole in Pallass’ walls.

One thing of note made Saliss turn his head as he passed by the landing zones where a few Wyverns were coming in. He saw a company of [Soldiers] was on escort duty, debriefing visitors and standing in the sun. The [Soldiers] looked hot in their armor despite it being spring; this was no rainy Liscor.

“Well now, that’s Captain Whatshisname. That old Gnoll really doesn’t like him.”

Saliss muttered to himself. A voice spoke up from behind him.

“General Rigrel’s sentiments appear to be shared by a number of Manus’ officers. My own squad was warned his unit is often passed over when commendations come around. Why, I could not say, Adventurer Saliss. But the [Soldiers] I spoke to claimed that Captain Lyssander, or Captain ‘Lyss’, is a good leader, if odd.”

Saliss didn’t jump because he’d noticed the Gnoll coming up from behind him. But when he turned, he did raise his brows.

“Well, you’re big.”

The Gnoll was six foot seven, and even as Gnolls went, he was a unit. His arm muscles bulged, and his stomach was taut under the leather armor he wore. Leather? He was no [Scout]. Saliss pointed at him.

“You’re one of them! Muscle-men! The muscle-men of Pallass! Flee for your lives, everyone!”

He threw up his hands and dashed away. Saliss covered a hundred feet in six seconds, rounded a corner…and the Gnoll was almost instantly behind him.

“Magus-Captain Yorm, Adventurer Saliss! I am indeed part of Sinew Magus Grimalkin’s Magical Corps. Spellarm Squad. I am not a specialist [Mage] myself, of course, though I have great interests in levelling the class. [Artifact Captain]. Level 12 [Mage].”

He had two wands at his belt and a short spear and buckler. Both enchanted. He was also annoyingly fast. Saliss began speed-walking away from him.

“Great! Nice to meet you! Tell Grimalkin I hope that thing with the thing works out. Goodbye!”

Captain Yorm kept pace.

“Would you be referring to the rumor of his assignation with Lady Pryde Ulta, sir? That is a controversial topic within Pallass’ army…but not among his students. I am, of course, in full support of the Magus as I am pleased to note you are.”

Dead gods, he even talks like Grimalkin. At least the poor Sinew Magus had support from his students. Saliss shrugged.

“Eh, kissing Humans isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen. Grimalkin’s got someone to love. Good for him. Muscular romance. Are you seeing any one?”

“Not in so many words, sir. But hope springs eternal.”

“Hah! Loser.”

After a moment, Saliss patted Captain Yorm on the arm.

“That was harsh. Sorry.”

“Not at all, sir. It’s a hazard of the occupation. Long deployments and being a higher rank means you have to be careful with that sort of thing. If I might ask…does a Named-rank adventurer find company that often?”

“Here and there. Here and there. I found a cute someone recently. But hey, that’s personal.”

Don’t mention Ishkr. Even if his heart leapt a bit in his chest. Saliss gave Yorm a big smile.

“…If I run across the entire camp, you’re going to follow me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. General Edellein’s orders. I am to ensure you cause no trouble, which, respectfully, I doubt will be the case. But if you will permit me to follow along? Do not slow yourself on my account.”

Saliss was tempted to try to lose Yorm, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the Gnoll would catch up in time, and he’d probably enjoy the chase, the sick freaks that Grimalkin’s students were.

“Great. Edellein has a brain after all.”

“General Edellein, sir.”

And he was a military man. Yorm’s voice was disapproving, and Saliss shot him a fake smile.

“Are you part of 4th Army, Yorm?”

“1st Army now, sir, but yes. I have had the pleasure of serving under General Edellein’s command for six years; I was part of the 8th as a rookie for ten years before that until I was hand-picked for Magus Grimalkin’s training initiatives. I’m well familiar with the General’s forces if you had any questions.”

“I’m surprised he accepted any of Grimalkin’s students into the army. They were controversial, and most armies didn’t want his people. Let alone non-spellcasters.”

If Saliss recalled right, it was only after several of Grimalkin’s [Mages] had racked up very impressive battle records that the initiative had caught on. Yorm nodded as he strode along.

“That was the case, sir. But General Edellein was the second [General] to adopt Magus Grimalkin’s methods into his army.”

“…What? Him? I know Thrissiam was the first. But really? All I know about 4th Army is that annoying idiot at the Trial of Blades. The one who sliced up a bunch of people including Yvlon and Typhenous.”

“Lieutenant Comois, sir? He was one of General Edellein’s prized pupils. His loss is still keenly felt among the army.”

Ooh. Yorm’s face was straight, but Saliss detected a weakness.

“He should have known better than to try and maim adventurers. Rookie mistake, that.”

The Gnoll stared past Saliss, and his response was slow.

“That would appear to be evident, Adventurer Saliss. Lieutenant Comois was…confident. But he was also a dedicated member of 4th Army, and I would hope his record invites some appreciation from a former military man such as yourself.”

The rebuke, mild as it was, made Saliss’ eyes narrow. He thought about telling Yorm exactly what he thought of that bloodthirsty [Lieutenant], then changed tack. He didn’t need an enemy if this Gnoll was following him around.

“How the hell did Edellein find that Drake? Idi—arrogant or not, he had a very powerful class. [Lieutenant of Perfection] isn’t a class that just pops up.”

Yorm smiled faintly.

“Why, Edellein helped cultivate his potential, Alchemist. He mentored Lieutenant Comois himself. Even bought him Drathian pills and such and had him trained by our best. It’s what the General is known for.”

“What? Edellein?”

Another nod. Now, Saliss was genuinely interested; he’d heard Edellein had a lucky streak with some of his people, but Yorm had a different explanation.

“General Edellein is quite good at talentseeking. More than one officer under his army has gone on to make far higher ranks. He spots what works, like Magus Grimalkin’s methods, and incorporates it into his forces. For instance, the late General Thrissiam got his start under Edellein as a junior officer.”

“I remember that. Though I recall he was shuffled off to 2nd Army to get experience without nepotism paving his path.”

Yorm frowned.

“I…don’t believe that would have been the case, sir. General Edellein does take interest in promising members of his army, but he doesn’t coddle them.”

“Well, that was Chaldion’s perspective.”

“Ah. I see, sir. Well, I can’t speak of the objective truth, just my own insight into the matter. I would advise that you refrain from any comments about Lieutenant Comois in the General’s presence.”

“No promises.”

They were walking through the camp towards the exit now, and Saliss saw the winding stream of soldiers heading westwards. He stretched his arms out and turned to Yorm.

“So you’re going to follow me? I’m fed up with wandering around; I’m going to get to the next part of camp and do some alchemy.”

“I could have a Wyvern readied, sir?”

Yorm suggested, but he was glancing at Saliss, and the Drake just stretched his legs out.

“Nah. I’ll run. You can keep up if you like.”

 

——

 

Rather to his annoyance—Yorm did keep up. Though he definitely used some kind of Skill or magical item to keep pace.

The Drake and Gnoll flashed past [Soldiers] on the march, easily outpacing them. Saliss even outran the cavalry divisions and heard the officers shouting at the soldiers so they didn’t try to race him.

Smart. Even a horse couldn’t beat someone with Galas muscle—and Saliss did have Galas. Most non-[Warriors] might not get any, even past Level 40, but he was an exception. An [Alchemist] could redefine his body, and Saliss…was rather good at manipulating the body.

Argh, his scales were itching a bit. So soon? Normally Saliss could keep it together for at least two weeks after becoming Onieva. He wanted to be back at the inn, in Ishkr’s arms…

The image of Saliss in Ishkr’s arms flashed into his mind, and his scales itched harder.

Not Saliss, Onieva. The Drake slowed, wiping sweat from his brows, and his bad mood was back. And what should he see as he slowed but that stupid tent, and that idiot’s face beaming at him.

“Glasiaad. Oh, great. And here I was hoping he’d stay away. The Magpie just has to get some of the loot, doesn’t he?”

Captain Yorm was too busy catching his breath to reply. Saliss saw half a dozen people exiting Glasiaad’s tent, and more entering cautiously.

“Do you know…Magus Glasiaad…Adventurer Saliss? I received…an invite to his tent, but I felt it was inappropriate.”

Yorm panted, and Saliss eyed the somewhat-unsteady group.

“Don’t bother. See that lot wobbling? He’ll just get you drunk and full on his stupid cheeses and talk your ears off about what real adventuring is like. Hold on, I’m going to cause trouble.”

“Wait, sir—”

Yorm was too slow as Saliss skipped over to the group. He waved

“Hello there! Drinking by daylight? Tsk, tsk—I’ll report you to High Command! Who’s this now?”

They jumped, and two of them turned and blinked at him. Adventurers? Saliss grinned and put out a hand.

“Saliss of Lights. And you’re Drunk, and you’re Tipsy. Good to meet you!”

He shook the Drake’s hand, then the Human’s, and the young man tried to yank his hand out of Saliss’ grip.

“Adventurer Saliss? Ah, good to meet you. I’m Captain Thoir of Green Solutions.”

He was polite enough, but there was a clear reserve as Nekessa murmured her name and team. Saliss noticed the [Major] pulling a face as well. Ooh, someone’s been telling stories about me.

“Old Glasiaad doing well? I’d check in on him, but he hates my tail. You kids excited for the New Lands?”

“Er, yes, sir. Will you be adventuring with us?”

Thoir eyed Saliss, and the Named-rank waved a claw.

“Oh, not me. I go solo, mostly. Few teams keep up. You just call if you run into an Elder Creler, and watch how many minders you have. If you find any loot, maybe grab it first then report to High Command. Otherwise, they tend to get all grabby.”

He grinned as the other soldiers gave him outraged glares. Thoir hesitated, glancing at Captain Yorm, but Saliss didn’t see what face the Gnoll was making. Nekessa backed up a step.

“We’ll take that under advisement, Adventurer Saliss. But we really must be going.”

She backed up, and Saliss eyed her. Let’s see. She was in her twenties, a [Sorcerer], Gold-rank, and attractive…yep. He popped up behind her.

“Where’s your team? I’ll walk you to them! You’re Manus, right? Have you met old Zeter Sixdicks? He lost five in the war, but I never hold that against him.”

She jumped and looked at Thoir for help, but at that moment, Captain Yorm introduced himself. Nekessa gave up and tried to jog back to her team.

“Adventurer Saliss, I really don’t have time to discuss anything with you—excuse me, please!”

Nekessa was red-cheeked, and Saliss gave her a toothy grin as she glared at him. He spoke as she yanked an arm free.

“If I’m right, old Glasiaad offered to give you magical lessons in the evening. Am I right?”

“No!”

She stalked away, and he raised his brows.

“Not magical lessons? Then…looking at your adventurer contracts? Or was it giving you combat advice? Appraising an artifact?”

Nekessa stumbled, and he popped back into place, strolling next to her. She gave him a sideways eye.

“Why would that—”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’d just go with your team Captain. Glasiaad and I hate each other, so I really don’t mind saying whatever I feel about him. He’s largely harmless. But he does have warts on his dick.”

Her mouth opened. Saliss glanced at her.

“They’re contagious. Just in case you were blown away by his wonderful demeanor and charm. But hey, if you happen to decide it’s worth the itch, I have this [Alchemist] friend who does a wonderful salve. Xif in Pallass—just tell him I sent you. I don’t do custom cures anymore.”

Her eyes flickered as she stared at him, and Saliss glanced over his shoulder; Yorm was jogging towards him.

“Oops, I haven’t finished my run. Got to go! Be sure to check your contracts! Manus never gives good ones ooooouuuuut!”

He waved as he leapt away, leaving the Gold-rank [Sorceress] gazing at his back.

 

——

 

“Adventurer Saliss, what was that about?”

Yorm commented to Saliss when the Drake slowed down. The [Alchemist] glanced at him.

“That’s my question. Aren’t you supposed to be following me, not making smalltalk?”

The Gnoll [Captain] grunted.

“I could tell you were interested in talking to the adventurer alone. Am I correct in assuming Adventurer Glasiaad has—objectionable indiscretions?”

His voice was very careful, and Saliss beamed at him.

“And if he did, what would you do about it, report it to High Command? Would that do anything?”

There was a deafening silence from the Gnoll, and Saliss relented after a moment.

“He doesn’t. If he does, then I’d find out about it. And if I found out about it, Glasiaad and I would have to fight, and he’d hate that. I just gave the young lady some advice about having things stuck where she really might not want them. Why, did you think he was up to no good?”

Captain Yorm glanced over his shoulder.

“What is the purpose of Adventurer Glasiaad hosting so many officers and adventurers? Purely social or to find company?”

Saliss waved a claw.

“Oh, that. That’s just him being the Magpie. Don’t you know how it’ll be in the New Lands? Work it out for me.”

He let Yorm think until the Gnoll replied back.

“Would it have something to do with treasure distribution?”

“Wow, you are Grimalkin’s student. Got it in one. If he helps dispel anything when they pull out loot, he gets a cut. Good way to get paid. Glasiaad’s adventuring days are a bit behind him; he’d rather just do some magic and not run around. He’s too fat to escape a monster, anyways.”

“He looks in good condition to me?”

“Illusion. He’s not the worst Named-rank around.”

But what did that mean? Nothing, really. Half were insane, the other half were insane and some kind of twisted.

 

——

 

And Saliss?

He reached the next camp, set up a tent in the nicest, most out-of-the-way spot he could find, and tried to work on some of the alchemy recipes in his mind, scribbling down notes on how to improve them until it was time for dinner.

He was so miserable that he just lay there instead of getting something to eat until Captain Yorm scratched on the tent flap.

“Adventurer Saliss, a [Message] for you, sir.”

“Add it to my pile of thousands and go away.”

“This is from The Wandering Inn.”

Saliss sat up and opened the tent flaps.

“Go on.”

Yorm handed him a note. Saliss read the writing.

 

Dear Saliss,

Would you go to a private area please and turn off your anti-scrying countermeasures? Thank you!

 

It wasn’t a message that said people were dead or dying. Saliss frowned, then exhaled.

“Ah, of course.”

He jogged away from the camp, and Captain Yorm stood back at a distance after Saliss threw a few rocks his way. Then, Saliss deactivated one of his rings and waited.

The little Gnoll girl appeared with a notepad in one paw and a bowl of noodles in the other. Mrsha slurped up some noodles as Saliss spread his arms.

“Mrsha! My fifth-favorite Gnoll!”

Hey! I should be at least top three! How are you doing, Saliss?

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, you know, doing army stuff. March here, go there, poop over there…there’s my sixth-favorite Gnoll that way. See that guy? Captain Yorm, one of Grimalkin’s students.”

Whoa, he’s big.

Mrsha eyed Yorm, who was giving her a very interested gaze. Saliss sat down cross-legged. He was vaguely annoyed how cheerful seeing Mrsha made him.

“So, am I now on your little list of people to check in on, hmm?”

The girl innocently scribbled something down on the notepad.

Just saying hi, daily if I can, Saliss. You can ask for a weekly check-in, but it’s hard getting ahold of you, and if you’re in the New Lands…can I contact this Yorm guy if you’re busy?

Saliss’ eyes twinkled, but his tongue said—

“Check on me? How dare you be concerned about me? I’m Saliss of Lights!”

He threw his arms open and twirled around with a grin. But the Gnoll girl didn’t laugh or giggle or roll her eyes like she was supposed to.

Too old, those eyes. Shirka had looked like that even as a kid. Mrsha wrote back.

I bet that works on a lot of people, but I know Erin. How are things, Saliss?

He frowned at her.

“Oh, playing tough, are we? You first. How’s the inn? Any…things happen? Any trouble? Cross your heart and hope to fly.”

He’d hit her with a Levitation Potion for fun when he got back. Mrsha hesitated a second too long, and Saliss’ felt his heart skip a beat. But then she just sighed.

I’m still being super-watched but I get it, and besides that, we’re okay! I was bullied the other day.

“You? Bullied? Oh no, how will you ever survive?”

Saliss put a hand over his heart, but he was relieved when she smiled.

It was sort of novel. I used to get bullied, but now it’s weird. Okay, your turn, Saliss. How’s the army?

The Drake knew he paused a bit too long before shrugging.

“Eh, it’s about as fun as pulling teeth, but once we get to the New Lands, I’m fine. Also the food sucks. Write that down.”

She did and then peered at Saliss.

Sorry the army sucks. Are you with General Imreallydumb?

“No, just General Idiot. General Imreallydumb retired last year.”

She nodded sympathetically and then she did something that unnerved Saliss a bit. Mrsha peered at him, then wrote…

Saliss, would you like a hint?

“What sort of hint?”

Just a general hint about things that may-or-may-not happen. Nothing big—just a name or two.

“A name as in…someone important? Someone dangerous?”

I dunno.

She gave him a round-eyed look that was equal to any of Erin’s blank expressions, but Saliss had a thought. He knew where a…hint might come from. And he hesitated. Even he hesitated.

But if it’s important…

“Okay, hit me.”

Well, can you tell me what armies you’re with? Pallass and any others?

“Just Manus and Oteslia for the moment. We should get all of them at one point. That narrow it down?”

Mrsha didn’t rise to the bait. She thought for a moment, closing her eyes, then wrote slowly.

In that case, I would keep an eye out for…Rafaema of Manus. Cire of Oteslia. Lyssander of Manus, and Werica of Zeres. If you wanted to do something interesting.

Saliss’ face never changed, but he felt his tail curl ever-so-slightly.

Okay, now that was a bit interesting. He gave Mrsha a big smile.

“Sounds like fun. You wouldn’t happen to have a reason to check on those names, would you?”

Why the hell would he be interested in Rafaema, that annoying Wall Lady…? Or her friend that Mivifa was so interested in? And why Lyssander? He saw Mrsha—hesitate.

I…don’t remember.

Well, can you take a memory tonic and…he saw Mrsha’s face scrunch up miserably. Then Saliss remembered where she was getting this from.

The [Palace of Fates]. How many doors had she seen? How many future worlds? She rubbed at her little face.

They’re important. I was told that. But I don’t know why. They might be important, or maybe not in this time. But maybe. I wish I could tell you more, but it’s like following prophecy.

“Follow it too much and you’ll trip over your own tail. Right, got it.”

Saliss had some experience dealing with this sort of thing. It was like a [Dangersense]. Vague enough to tell you something was there, never specific enough to give you more than a heads up. Sometimes it was all you needed. He saw Mrsha perk up after a moment, and her fake smile was pretty good, but he wished she didn’t need to practice it.

Who knows? The future’s uncertain, Saliss. Okay, got to go! Do you have anything you’d like to say to Ceria?

Saliss thought after a moment, then pointed at her.

“Uh, green bananas on the squib-squab buttchunk.”

Got it. I’ll talk to you later, Saliss! Good luck!

“Good job, kid.”

She waved and was gone. The Drake stood there for a moment. Then he decided he was hungry after all.

 

——

 

“So that was the famous inn. I must admit, it didn’t disappoint.”

Captain Yorm sat with Saliss in the mess hall as the Drake poked at some decent food, despite what he’d told Mrsha. The army did try to feed its soldiers well enough they were happy, and Manus was serving a meal.

So they had, well, french fried Yellats on part of his tray with a mashed up bit of pork and baked bean mixture combined with a Prelon on the side, and if you were hungry enough, stew.

There was always stew if you needed extra rations, and Yorm had a huge plate. They were eating with his squad, who were all enormous. They made Saliss feel like a child among half-Giants.

Dead gods, they’re all fit. Not a shred of fat on them. It was a sight to make Mirn’s eyes hurt; if he had been here, he’d be eating his fill, and not the food.

Saliss being Saliss, he had zero interest in anyone at the moment, but Onieva would have preferred less assorted muscle. He popped some fries into his mouth and crunched.

“You’ve never been to the inn, Captain Yorm?”

“Not enough time off, sir. And we’re not always stationed in Pallass. But you hear stories…Magus Grimalkin doesn’t furnish us with any when he visits, sadly, but soldiers love to gossip.”

“Really, you don’t say? And here I just learned water was wet.”

There was a chuckle from the table, and Saliss decided Captain Yorm wouldn’t be the worst minder. At least his group knew a joke when they heard it. Saliss glanced around the mess hall.

He’d timed his meal just right. So there…aha. Here came some rather sweaty [Soldiers]. They wore Manus’ color of orange, which meant they were in a sea of orange, yellow, and green from the three cities present. Zeres was blue, Salazsar was purple, and Fissival had to be precious and wear white. Which stained, so only their [Mages] wore it.

“Now that’s a sweaty crew. What did you say that [Captain]’s name was, Yorm?”

Saliss indicated the Drake marching to the line. Yorm twisted in his sweat.

“Captain Lyssander. Hm. We should invite him over. Make a hole!”

Saliss wondered if he’d overplayed his hand, but it seemed Yorm knew something he didn’t. Because once Lyssander had gotten his meal, he and his group of [Soldiers] glanced around for space, and no one called out to them.

Which was odd because every group of [Soldiers] usually had buddies—but they stuck together. Which wasn’t strange in itself, but no officer was calling out to the Drake. That was until Yorm stood up and shouted.

“Captain Lyssander, here!”

Yep, there was the Grimalkin rumble. Lyssander turned from marching out and wavered, then strode over with an easy smile. Saliss shrank back in his seat as Lyssander sat—and he wasn’t the only one.

Major Zifren halted as he and some of his officers came over, clearly intent on sitting with Yorm, but the Gnoll just called out.

“Budge over more! We can fit!”

In fact, they took over three tables in the mess hall, but it meant that Saliss was sitting with the officers, who were all Pallassian except for Captain Lyssander. They outranked him, and instantly adopted that jovial senior club welcoming the young hatchling in.

As the outsider, Saliss was obviously a target of interest, but he just chomped down fries, waving.

“Hey, I’m Saliss. Don’t talk to me when I’m eating or I’ll bite you.”

That mostly worked—Major Zifren clearly didn’t have a good opinion of him, but Captain Lyssander eyed Saliss a bit longer than normal before nodding at him and smiling at the others.

“Major Zifren, isn’t it? I don’t know you, Captain…?”

“Yorm. You are acquainted with each other then, Major?”

The Drake laughed as he dug into his food.

“Not very strongly, though I certainly felt bad when General Rigrel tore a strip off you, Captain Lyss! But then, we were sweating up there dodging the [Light Arrow] spells.”

Lyssander raised his brows as he drank down a cup of water and wiped his mouth.

“You were fired upon? No one was hurt I hope?”

“Just a few empty stomachs—but you were there! Or didn’t you hear General Edellein shouting curses at you?”

Saliss peeked at Lyssander as Yorm raised his brows, but the Captain’s brows cleared.

“Ah, oops. Well, chain of command. I was in charge of the field, but I wasn’t with the anti-air division.”

“Then why did General Rigrel—ah, nevermind. It’s good to see you, Lieutenant!”

“Captain, now.”

One of the other officers reminded Zifren, and the [Major] slapped his forehead.

“Captain! Congratulations, but if you don’t mind me saying so, it feels wrong! I remember you and Lieutenant Comois sparring whenever our forces met. Then again, maybe he’d be [Captain] if…”

A silence fell over the table, and Lyssander looked from face to face.

“I was told he was killed during the Trial of Blades. I saw part of it—”

“The damned adventurers. And the Antinium! And the Goblins and—what a nightmare that was. You’ve heard of that inn and Liscor?”

All the Pallassians adopted a kind of weary ‘you had to be there’ approach about the inn and the things they’d seen, and the Manus soldiers leaned in, half denying the stories as tall tales, but drinking it in. Saliss just chewed on some beans, listening.

“Comois. Here’s to Comois! He never lost a single duel, not once in the officer trials. Yorm, you never partook of those, did you? You made [Captain] out of Grimalkin’s training?”

Yorm shook his head.

“Different path, so no. Alchemist Saliss, do you know about this training?”

Saliss debated biting Yorm as every eye swung towards him, but he just shrugged.

“Manus puts it on. They bring their officers, other cities bring theirs. You take your cute lieutenants and try to get them to beat the other ones down.”

Major Zifren hesitated, then nodded at Saliss.

“Not how we’d put it, but yes. It’s very prestigious, and you get to see talent that way! Comois, of course, couldn’t be touched on the dueling mats. You remember, Captain Lyssander?”

Lyssander smiled crookedly in a way most missed.

“I couldn’t ever take him down, it’s true.”

“Didn’t you beat him in a number of the command matches, though? He was spitting fire for weeks after that!”

Another officer joked, and Lyssander nodded. He cast another glance at Saliss.

“I’ve graduated from those since I made [Captain], but it was fun. With that said, not everyone enjoys them, and they weren’t always a good test of full capability. I mean that in the sense that you can always tell who’s promising, but sometimes you miss real genius.”

Major Zifren scoffed.

“Oh, come now. Who could you name who didn’t show promise in the officer trials?”

Lyssander raised his brows.

“Speaking of Liscor, have you heard of Strategos Olesm? He was in Manus’ academy when I was studying. I remember he hated the officer trials. He’d get destroyed by everyone—I think it was nerves. But now he’s leading one of Liscor’s armies and holding down three Drake cities up north.”

“Really? I don’t know this…Olesm. Wait, no, the name rings a bell?”

“What kind of rank is Strategos? Is that a class?”

“Liscor, hah! Imagine leading a bunch of Ants…”

The conversation was about to go to Liscor, which Saliss was willing to entertain, but he kept noticing Lyssander glancing at him. He felt a premonition before the Drake addressed him directly.

“Well, I do know of someone else who was never beaten during the time he participated in the officer trials. It would be a record, except that it was already set decades ago by Chaldion. Alchemist Saliss, didn’t you participate in the officer trials? Were they any different when you were enrolled in Manus?”

Everyone turned and peered at Saliss, and the Drake calmly put down one fork. He decided he didn’t like Lyssander after all. He grinned.

“Me? Oh, sure, I remember something like that. Officers. Trials. Leading formations. All you do is yell ‘charge’ loud enough and it tends to work out!”

The [Major] and other officers seemed affronted, and before they could argue, Yorm changed the subject, asking what Lyssander’s orders were for the New Lands. Then they got into politics, and Saliss sat back, but he was eying Lyssander.

Who remembers my military records in Manus just like that? Did he just have that off the top of his head or does he know it because he knew he was going to run into me?

But it didn’t seem like Lyssander had said that to rattle Saliss or pursue some greater point. He had to excuse himself first and drained his cup.

“We’re back on flyer-duty. I have to run. Major, it was good to catch up. Let’s do it again. And Captain, a delight to meet Grimalkin’s famous magical corps. You don’t disappoint.”

He grinned and gave Yorm a huge handshake as the Gnoll chuckled. Then Lyssander was shouting for his people to rise. The Pallassians waved and then turned back to their meals. Saliss waited a beat, and before he rose, he heard Major Zifren say—

“Ancestors, but it hurts without Comois here. Lyssander’s looking sharp. If only…”

A Garuda nodded solemnly and raised her cup.

“Let’s focus on the job. Save the drinking for that Named-rank’s tent or for General Edellein’s. Am I wrong or was he not the idiot who got us fired on?”

“I swear it wasn’t him—but I get the impression he’s not exactly well-liked in Manus’ army. Any idea why?”

The officers leaned over the table as Saliss crunched on a fry and Captain Yorm bussed both their trays. Major Zifren coughed.

“Ah, well. Lyssander’s not bad in a scrap, but Comois always disliked him. As for the issue…egh, I’ll mention it later. Actually—well—”

Saliss had to go before the [Major] spat it out, and he strolled off with Captain Yorm following. Strange. He decided this was at least a way to kill the rest of the evening, but wasn’t sure how he’d get the information he was after.

As it so happened, the answer was quite obvious, although first—it began with another time-honored tradition when Walled Cities met.

Sabotage.

 

——

 

“They’re stealing our Prelons!”

Of all the problems to face Pallass’ army, this was certainly one of them. Saliss sat there as one of the officers protested to General Edellein’s face. For once, the [General] wore the same expression as Saliss. A kind of weary incredulity.

“Colonel…who’s stealing our Prelons?”

“It could be Manus or Oteslia, sir! All I know is that our [Quartermaster] lost an entire wagonload of Prelons! And our camp spots for an entire regiment were stolen by Oteslia! They claimed they hadn’t received plans for where each regiment was assigned!”

General Edellein pressed two claws to the bridge of his forehead.

“So one of our regiments has to camp elsewhere and we’re down Prelons. I’ll have an inquiry made.”

“But sir! If they keep this up, we’ll be homeless and hungry! And Zeres’ forces just arrived and camped ahead of us! We’ll be hours behind!”

Esor was doing his best not to roll his eyes, and Saliss just put his head down on the table. This was where Drakes became Drakes to the max—petty sabotage. It was just a game between armies.

“Well, I want you to take two regiments and beat Zeres to the march. Just get ahead of them. Have the soldiers sleep now and wake up at four.”

Edellein ordered, and the colonel brightened up. The worst part was that the [Soldiers] might grumble and swear, but they’d do it just to get ‘one up’ over Zeres. Saliss cracked one eye open.

“The City of Waves is here? Anyone I know?”

“You could say that, Saliss. Shark-Captain Femar himself is leading their forces.”

Femar? Saliss sat up with a groan. Great, someone else as pig-headed and stubborn as Zeter! Worse, he was the Serpentine Matriarch’s favorite, so he’d have authority to throw around. Edellein just sighed.

“Femar’s a bit…competitive. I’m not going to have his forces leave ours in the dust, but I don’t want brawls between our forces and Zeres’, understood? Some jockeying is always acceptable, but no conflict.”

He got agreement from his officers, but as everyone knew, this was pettiness on the level of Walled Cities. Each one had national pride, and they were regarding the New Lands as a contest, even if they were on the same side. Even the prestige of getting there ‘first’, nevermind everyone else who had done it, meant that more than one officer or [Soldier] got creative.

They were about to get to the adventurers, which was why Saliss was here, when the [Colonel] raced back into the tent, swearing.

“General! General!”

“What is it now?”

Edellein snapped, and the [Colonel] gasped.

“Some idiot cut the horselines! Half of them are out in the camp!”

 

——

 

Saliss peeked out into the camp and saw a lot of [Soldiers] chasing a lot of horses. Oooh. That was more than a casual disturbance.

That would actually tire out the horses and put Pallass’ [Riders] well behind schedule. Edellein was not happy.

“If it’s one of the [Soldiers] or officers, find them, and I’ll have them lashed! Who ordered that?”

He snapped, and the command tent was a flurry as the officers tried to dig into the matter. However, here was where Esor proved he wasn’t just any [Strategist]. Saliss saw him peer up with a huge sigh from talking to a nondescript [Soldier]—Saliss waved at the Eye of Pallass as they retreated—and tap Edellein on the shoulder.

“General, I have bad news. It would appear that the culprit in this bout of sabotage is none other than General Rigrel himself.”

“He what?”

Edellein turned, and here his exasperation turned to genuine ire. Esor clarified.

“I think he regards it as light fun between armies. He is, ah, old.”

“Old or not, those horses could have trampled someone or thrown a shoe! First the damn flying incident, now—I’m going to have a word with him! You get this kind of pranking between other forces, but we are on campaign. This is unprofessional!”

The Drake was about to march over before Esor coughed.

“Rigrel might regard it as turnabout, General Edellein. It, uh, appears that Manus’ forces aren’t the forward element in reaching the New Lands. A full division of Oteslia’s forces are half a day’s march ahead of us.”

Edellein closed his eyes and sat down wearily.

“If I ask how they got there, will I like the answer?”

“Mysterious walls of dirt, sir. They appeared and blocked Manus off until they circled around. It appears that one of Oteslia’s Wall Ladies publicly stated that Oteslia would be first to reach the New Lands.”

Well, that would just about do it. Saliss rolled his eyes as every Drake, Gnoll, Garuda, and Dullahan in the room sat up slowly. Edellein’s eyes narrowed.

“Did she? Well, that changes everything. Classic Oteslia, really, making statements it can’t back up. It would appear that Oteslia’s forward elements are about to run into…let’s see. A horrible rainstorm?”

He glanced up and down the room, and one of his officers nodded.

“Magus Glasiaad could do that.”

“Tragic. And as far as I’m concerned, Zeres and Manus are both unfortunate recipients of problems of their own. But how…”

Then he eyed Saliss. The Drake turned around and stared into Major Zifren’s eyes.

“Major Zifren, you’re a Drake of many depths. You scallywag.”

He elbowed the [Major], and Edellein spoke.

“Adventurer Saliss, you enjoy a jest. Something non-lethal and non-serious? I’ll pay your fee.”

You know, Saliss didn’t like Edellein. He didn’t like Drakes being at their worst, especially when it was Gnolls and other species joining in the same stupidity.

He would have said all this of course, but then he thought about Shark Captain Femar and General Rigrel. Solemnly, Saliss steepled his claws together.

“General, you’ve just given your finest order of the campaign. How far is too far, though, in the interest of clarity?”

“Slow them down a day, no longer. Nothing—humiliating that will escalate.”

Saliss nodded, making some notes.

“So no laxatives.”

“What? No, dead gods.”

“Dyed scales?”

“Uh—too disruptive.”

“How do you feel about excessive flatulence of an ear-shattering and noxious variety?”

Edellein was mid-shaking his head, then he hesitated.

“Just flatulence? Can you do half a day?”

“I can do eight hours.”

The [General] thought about it.

“Do it.”

 

——

 

The draught in question was a prank one Saliss had made up to annoy enemy [Infiltrators]. It had a few conditions to it—it had to be ingested in oral form, not a gas, and it had a halflife of twenty minutes. Then the substance broke down and the effects began.

Naturally, Saliss had a plan that involved hitting Zeres and Manus, and of course, he had decided to hit the best targets first. That was how he ended up sneaking into Zeres’ camp and locating Shark Captain Femar’s tent.

It was easy to get in undetected, of course. Captain Yorm had offered magical assistance, but Saliss had found no magic was better than magic if you could swing it. His real problem was how to get Femar and as many troops as possible.

Water barrel? Not enough [Soldiers] drink that. By the time it starts activating, I’d get a few dozen at most, assuming I could spike them all fast enough.

Mess hall? I’ll hit too many of our own. No, this has to be elegant. Think, Saliss, think.

He was having a bit of fun, and the Drake snapped his fingers as he thought of Zeres and came up with the solution.

Strategist Esor wasn’t happy, but he could provide what Saliss wanted with ease. And that was how the Drake ended up rolling a giant barrel into the center of Zeres’ camp, shouting loudly as he could.

“Delivery from the Serpentine Matriarch! Up and at ‘em, you salty seadogs! Come get yer grog!”

He had four barrels actually, and the Shark Captain himself came out of his tents.

“What delivery? What’s this about?”

He squinted at Saliss, but it was already past evening, and Saliss had on an impenetrable disguise: he was wearing pants.

“Evening, Shark Captain, sir! City Runner from Hoisehess. I was told to bring a few barrels of our finest, courtesy of the Serpentine Matriarch! Something about a toast for Zeres’ success? I was told someone else had the message.”

The Shark Captain visibly brightened up as he eyed the barrels that had come from Pallass’ stores.

“You hear that, marines? Drinks are on the Serpentine Matriarch! Line up; I want some order, here! And try not to wake the other camps or they’ll get jealous! Here’s to the greatest city in Izril!”

He tapped the first barrel himself and filled a huge mug of frothing ale. Saliss had even chilled it, special, and the Drake smacked his lips. Femar was a huge figure, scarred and wielding a Relic-class spear of Zeres.

Saliss didn’t like him. He beamed as Femar nodded.

“That’s solid work, City Runner. Do you need a tip?”

“All taken care of, sir!”

“Then have a drink, I insist.”

“Oops, I can’t, I have to be on the road. But if I could have your autograph? That’d be one for the kids, yes it would, sir. Oh, how kind!”

Femar signed his name with a flourish, and Saliss beamed at him. Then he tucked the autograph into his pockets and ran for it.

Nineteen minutes and counting…he had to hit Manus fast. But Saliss did pause on the way to jog by the latrines.

“Anyone need toilet paper?”

Someone shouted, and Saliss hucked the piece of paper with Femar’s name on it.

“Don’t thank me!”

 

——

 

He was getting into it now. Mostly because there was little Saliss loved more than annoying people. And Manus?

One of his favorite cities to pick on. So, Saliss swanned into their camp after abandoning his City Runner disguise.

That didn’t work on Manus’ security, who’d challenge anything they didn’t have explicit orders about. It meant they were rigid and annoyingly inflexible, like the Wyvern fiasco, but relatively good against infiltration like this.

Well, unless you had a Potion of Invisibility and knew how they liked to place their detection spells and officers. No perimeter was flawless, and with Saliss’ ability—[Eyes of Appraisal]—he had already mapped theirs out.

He ducked under the eyeline of a Gnoll who had [See Invisibility] and was patrolling along a trench and palisade wall in which more detection runes were placed. Saliss did a huge leap across the trench to the wall, landing between two more wards, and then reached up.

Double backflip into the camp proper. Land on his back.

“Ow.”

Well, that was easy. Saliss dusted himself off. Manus would dig an entire trench around most camps nightly and put up a wall too. They used Chests of Holding to store the walls, but even so, their [Soldiers] worked hard on campaign. By contrast, Zeres and Pallass were both wall-less, though they did have fortifications as well. Oteslia had a bunch of odd roots in a huge swathe around their camp; it made them appear the least-defended, but said roots would attack anyone who walked into them and alert any [Druid] if you stepped onto them.

Each to their own. Now…he had about sixteen minutes. How to hit Manus with the flatulence of legends?

Water barrels were out again, but Manus wouldn’t fall for the drink-routine. Saliss’ head rotated as he speed-walked through the camp. Then he had it. Of course!

The showers.

Everyone got dirty on campaign, but a luxury, at least while they had magic, was a tent with a [Rain] spell attached to it. If you were lucky, the [Mage] could even warm the water, and the steam rising from one such tent made Saliss grin.

He counted three in Manus’ camp. Each one had a lot of [Soldiers] trooping in and out, and if it wasn’t the same as drinking the liquid, Saliss well knew that you’d absorb enough liquid through your scales, fur, or just mouth if you were chatting or drinking some water as it fell.

Best of all, Saliss had no need to even get in the tent and rig up some kind of complex aerosolization method with his Potions of Extreme Flatulence. He sped towards the first tent and poked around.

Manus’ [Soldiers] were trooping into the tent in squads. An entire company was dirty and grumbling as they rolled up, shoving into line and shouting for those inside to get out quick; they wanted to eat! Yells and jeers from within; a Gnoll wrapped up in just a towel kicked her way out of the tent flaps.

“Shut up out there! Some of us had to dig the latrines all day instead of sit with our tails up our asses drinking and shooting our mouths off!”

She was probably a [Sergeant], and she’d made the classic mistake of forgetting to bring a change of clothes. There were approving hoots and whistles from the male [Soldiers] as she stalked out followed by her squad; some of the male Drakes got the same from female [Soldiers].

Saliss had little interest in the naked form, contrary to what you might expect. However, a voice in his head that sounded like Onieva gave some of the male [Soldiers] a second glance. He was mostly searching for the water-source.

He’d been many things in his life. [Soldier], [Alchemist], loyal son of Pallass, rebellious daughter, Turnscale, spy…adventurer. One of the things the Old Man had tried to make Saliss into was a leader of Pallass, and that meant a [Strategist], in Chaldion’s eyes. So he’d had Saliss learn lessons about magic, even though the Drake had never become a [Mage].

One of the things you quickly realized about magic was that it was convenient, but pricey. Both in gold and magic. And [Mages] were lazy. So, if you had an ongoing [Rain] spell like this, you could draw from the atmosphere, but that was hard, and there were prohibitions against doing that because it could destabilize the weather. The Hivelands were proof of what weather spells could do to the climate.

No, any [Mage] would take a far easier way out. Like, say, a barrel of water sitting right behind the tent. An orderly was, in fact, sloshing more water into it with buckets. Saliss snorted as he saw the water was being heated in huge metal cauldrons by a team of [Soldiers].

The [Mages] aren’t even warming it; they’re just having the barrel filled with pre-heated water and using that for the [Rain] spell. He bet the water in this tent was barely lukewarm due to the way the spell would lose thermal energy.

Well, it made his job so much easier. Saliss poured in two vials of his potion into the barrel when the orderly stomped off for a refill, then added two-thirds of a vial after some thought. The fact no one was drinking this stuff would reduce the effect, but that should do it.

Then he scampered off. Twelve minutes, two more tents to hit.

Easy.

Saliss skipped around [Soldiers] walking towards their sleeping bags, past a group watching a scrying orb, another singing around a huge fire—he knew this. If not this camp, this life. He’d lived it all.

Lessons in swordsmanship, how to ride, how to perform strategy—

The Drake moved on autopilot, uncorking another vial as he remembered, for a second, being proud of being Chaldion’s grandson. He wondered if the old [Strategist] remembered it too.

 

——

 

“Strategist, a word please.”

Grand Strategist Chaldion turned, and his eyes nearly pinned in place the young [General] coming his way. One was flashing red, a gemstone embedded in his eye socket that gave him his nickname, the Cyclops.

Even in his early sixties, he had an air of danger about him that was only added to by his reputation for eviscerating anyone he found incompetent, both on and off the battlefield.

“General Duln. What?”

8th General Duln, the youngest [General] of Pallass and the only Dullahan—approved by Chaldion himself—faltered a step, then put his hands behind his back.

“Merely a question, sir. I have a comment of concern regarding the young Drake occupying one of our practice courts?”

“Is this a comment from you or the cowards who appointed you to bring the comments to me?”

Chaldion was half paying attention to Duln, half-focused on a map. He was peering at a map of Baleros and grimacing; another map showing Izril had red markings, indicating where they’d finally pushed the Nagas back into the sea. Now, it was counterattack time…the Lizardfolk of Baleros had to be stopped. Even the Humans of the North had agreed to a ceasefire in the Bloodfields to pursue an all-out campaign against them. A Terandrian Crusade was forming up, but it wouldn’t go without…

The Drake was using multiple Walled Cities as the basis for an army, drawing on other cities’ levies of troops and specialists by memory. He barely glanced out his window as Duln cleared his throat again.

“Strategist?”

“I know what Saliss is doing. Practicing. A notion some of our officers seem to have forgotten.”

“Yes, sir. But he hasn’t stopped practicing for the last twenty-three hours.”

Duln saw Chaldion smile, once. Such a rare expression, especially when it came to discussing his family. He had one son and two grandchildren—living. Two of his children, a son and daughter, had died already; one during the Naga wars and, the other before that, fighting a war against Salazsar’s Lord of Lightning. Chaldion murmured.

“He’s trying to learn a Sword Skill.”

“Learn it, sir?”

“Of course. It’s a waste of levels to be given one. He won’t need a sword all the time, regardless. His mind is too quick to be some simple [Sword General].”

As a [General] of martial abilities himself, Duln forbore comment. The Dullahan shifted.

“Sir, some of the officers, including myself, feel that the boy may injure himself.”

“Probably. That’s what healing potions are for.”

“He’s eight years old, Grand Strategist.”

At this, Chaldion did turn and give Duln a real glower. He glanced out the window, where he could see the practice courts below Pallass’ HQ. If he narrowed his eyes, he could see a tiny figure occupying the furthest court to the left. Still swinging a sword around.

Again, the Grand Strategist just smiled. He turned back to Duln and gave the young Dullahan the benefit of his opinion, because he thought Duln deserved it. Because the [General] had potential. If you had none, Chaldion cared little for you beyond your utility as a piece on the board.

Checkers, or sithrel, a Drake strategy-game involving taking territory with colored pieces. Overly complex and three-dimensional; it wasn’t popular, but Chaldion played such games for fun. He’d been known to challenge Drathians to their board games and practiced an assortment of such recreational games to keep his wits sharp. He was a known gambler in taverns that most people avoided. Any Drake who could see the literal [Path to Victory] wasn’t a fun opponent.

Chaldion’s good eye focused on the distant figure again. It seemed Saliss had stopped, fallen to his knees, and a few figures approached—but Chaldion saw the little shape straighten and the others fall back.

“You can’t teach willpower like that, Duln. That’s what Saliss gets. His father? He thinks you can get away with outthinking an opponent. Sometimes you can, like that little Fraerling [Strategist]. The adventurer. World’s Foundlings or whatever that pretentious group is called. But there will always be a moment when you’re out of clever plans and have to fight.”

Chaldion himself had a sword at his side, and though his advancing age kept him from using the weapon, Duln knew he’d been considered almost as good as some [Swordsmen] in the army. Chaldion nodded at the little figure.

“If he gains a Sword Skill, I promised to take him to Oteslia and the Meeting of Tribes. Let him buy whatever alchemical things he wants from their gardens for him and his friends.”

That was a treat indeed, but Duln still couldn’t credit that with the determination to last more than, say, four hours, much less how long Saliss had been swinging that sword. He turned to the Grand Strategist.

“Is that all the motivation young Saliss needs, Grand Strategist?”

“Of course not. He wants to impress me. I’ve put my hopes on him. I’m not making a [Slave] out of him, Duln. He can quit, if he wants. But I told Saliss that I see a future where he’ll matter to Pallass, to the Walled Cities. The boy understands what that means. So do you. We need Pallass to secure its future.”

Chaldion turned back to his war maps. He flexed one hand and grimaced at the grey scales appearing there. Then gazed at Duln. And it seemed to the Dullahan that Chaldion truly was as cold and calculating as they said, because he was envisioning a future where he was gone. The Cyclops’ eyes glimmered.

“Pallass needs…a Dragon of its own, Duln. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I intend we have one. The best one. So watch Saliss. He’s the best candidate I’ve found so far.”

Then he chuckled to himself, laughing at a joke only he seemed to get. After a moment, Duln saluted and stepped out of the war rooms.

Of course, Saliss wasn’t there for this conversation. General Duln told the boy what he’d heard two days later when a panting Drake was lying on his back, crying up at the rain on the practice courts. He was there when Saliss stood, and limbs trembling, swung his sword and cried a Skill to the heavens.

That night, Chaldion drank with every officer and underling he had, eyes flashing with delight. And when the Drake boy woke up, bandaged, with a map of Oteslia on his bedstand, and an almanac of the Gnollish tribes…he really had been delighted.

 

——

 

Saliss blinked as he stared into the second water barrel. He gazed at the empty vial in his hands and realized he’d been wasting time.

Four minutes left and he’d just been standing over the second tent’s water barrel. Saliss shook himself and turned.

Some people called that child abuse. Well, the Old Man had gotten his wish, just never what he wanted. 

This is why Saliss hated the army. Too many memories.

The third and last water tent was the smallest by far, and most ragged, but the [Mage] who’d done the magic had put a heating spell on the tent, so it was, conversely, probably the most enjoyable. The steam wafted across the ground, and it was indeed hot as it billowed out of the tent flaps. Bad ventilation though; it wasn’t coming out of the top but along the sides. Saliss was strolling up towards the water barrel, and he loaded six vials into his claws.

They might actually blow the tent skywards after this. He was feeling vindictive. Saliss pulled the barrel’s lid up and felt a tingle on the back of his neck.

The sword stabbed through the spot where his back had been, and Saliss saw it sweep through the air as his attacker moved around. Blindly; he saw the sword lashing in every direction in an attack pattern meant to catch invisible foes. Saliss crouched behind the water-barrel, a highly-concentrated acid in hand, then saw the figure stop.

“I know you’re there. You have five seconds to reveal yourself before I trigger the entire camp on alarm, and I don’t think either of us wants that level of chaos.”

The voice was familiar. Saliss poked his head up as he saw the grey-scaled Drake peering about. Then Captain Lyssander took in a deep breath.

He was about to shout when Saliss appeared, hands raised.

“You got me! I surrender! Don’t attack!”

Lyssander turned and grinned when he saw Saliss—then ducked the Potion of Silence that Saliss threw.

Damn, he was expecting that? He cut the second vial in half, but since it contained Sticky Webs, it still nailed him to the ground. Saliss began to pour a vial into the barrel, but Lyssander shouted.

“Company, out of the showers! We’ve got a prankster on the loose!”

His bellow made Saliss wince, and there were shouts of alarm from the tent. Drakes and Gnolls shot out of it, well aware of what kind of pranks you might get up to. No one wanted to be dyed or whatnot.

Saliss didn’t bother pouring the tonic in; instead, he strolled over and began kicking the young [Captain] with a foot. Gently.

“Nice job, kid. You’ve saved your company, but I hope you don’t breathe deep tonight. It’s gonna be a noisy one.”

He was actually annoyed by his failure. He should have nailed the Drake with a second Potion of Silence, but he’d expected to have a second. Good thinking—Saliss frowned.

“How’d you know I was here?”

The [Captain] grinned, despite the kicks to his side.

“After General Rigrel had the horses’ lines cut? I had half my company on lookout for a prank. Drakes are Drakes, sir.”

Good instincts and a good understanding of Drake culture. Saliss stopped kicking the [Captain]. He heard [Soldiers] running this way and gave the Drake a mocking salute.

“Well done, then. I suppose you win this round; I’ll remember it next time.”

“Uh oh. Can I buy your forgiveness with a drink or two, Alchemist?”

The Drake grinned at Saliss without fear or the usual annoyance, despite the annoying webbing on him. Saliss just eyed him.

Why the hell had Mrsha mentioned him? He was certainly quick-witted and good with a sword, but Saliss had seen better. No…then again, how the hell had he noticed Saliss was there when he clearly couldn’t see through an invisibility spell?

Saliss coughed.

“Maybe I’ll be forgiving if you let me know how you picked up I was there. I know I don’t smell; bathing and all that. And I’m sure I didn’t leave a trail.”

He had nudged the water barrel or something? The [Captain] beamed in actual delight.

“Oh, that was the steam, sir. I know Pallass loves their [Invisibility] potions, so I saw your trail in the steamclouds. And we tossed water on the ground so we could see tracks.”

What a rookie mistake…Saliss glanced over his shoulder and realized when he’d passed by the entrance of the tents, he must have left a trail in the steam! That’s how you died! Well, he hadn’t been taking this seriously enough.

He thought about pouring the entire Potion of Extreme Flatulence down Lyssander’s throat, then gave up as some of the Drake [Captain]’s people ran over. Saliss nodded to the Drake, then fled, arms flailing and laughing as they gave chase. In the distance, he heard the first shouts of alarm and what sounded like miniature explosions coming from Zeres’ camp.

All in all, a victory. Saliss laughed as he saw the City of Waves’ camp turn into chaos, [Soldiers] running around, away from the noxious stink, shouting, and he fancied he could even hear Femar’s roaring voice over all of it. Then Manus’ camp had the same problem, if less nasty thanks to Lyssander.

It took them a while to realize what the culprit of the potions were, so more [Soldiers] got dosed. A very smug Pallass cheered Saliss as he waved his claws and danced back through the camp.

He enjoyed himself for all of eight minutes. Then the amusement and hilarity and sense of triumph faded, and Saliss sat in his tent and then stared up at the ceiling.

What was the point of all that?

He’d forgotten somehow already. What a damn waste of time and effort.

Saliss rolled over and went to sleep.

 

——

 

The next morning, Saliss checked in with Esor, who noted his report about Lyssander foiling his attempts and jotted it down.

“General Edellein didn’t notice the lack of a third tent being hit. Still, that’s interesting. I’ll mark Lyssander as a potential talent.”

“To headhunt? He’s top of Rigrel’s horse manure pile. Esor, what is going on?”

Saliss was marginally more polite to Esor today, because he was curious about the state of, well, things. He realized after seeing all the troops on the march that there were a lot more than he’d thought.

“Just as you said, Saliss. Pallass is outnumbering the contributions of any other Walled City into this New Lands expedition combined. We’ve sent about eighty thousand troops this way, with more to come if we find anything that warrants reinforcements.”

“Eighty th—”

That was an army’s worth in and of itself! Esor clarified.

“Spread out, of course. They’re setting up waystations, forming garrisons—only a fraction are marching with us.”

“…I don’t want to know how much this is costing Pallass, do I?”

They could spend so much money they made his yearly alchemy budget look small. Esor shrugged.

“Edellein is betting on the New Lands, Saliss. For context, General Rigrel is operating with about ten thousand combat-capable units. But after last night…”

“Yeah. Odd to prank an ally, especially one you want to cozy up to. Old-fashioned isn’t enough of an excuse for that.”

“He’s…a Fortress Commander past his prime, Saliss. My impression is that Manus took border units and put them under the command of Rigrel. One last campaign for a [General] and combat experience for underutilized units.”

Great. So Manus was seeing this campaign entirely different from Pallass. Saliss chewed that over.

“Rigrel’s not a good leader.”

A helpless look from Esor.

“He used to be, from all my notes on him. But he can’t keep pace with his men. He has to ride, and it means he’s not the rough-and-tumble [General] who could throw a few punches and drink in the mess hall. You know, Sserys-type?”

“Yeah, well…adapt or die. Let’s assume half of what we’re sending is currently at the New Lands. Good estimate? That’s my headcount.”

“You count too well. We’ll outnumber any other army’s forces by far, though the Sharkcaptain proves that some of the other Walled Cities are taking this seriously. It’s possible that Dragonspeaker Luciva is hoping Rigrel’s instincts will make up for his age and, ah, temperament.”

Was that because he was a Gnoll and she thought he just had affinity with the wilds? No, Luciva wasn’t that stupid. Saliss thought it over.

“He’s good enough to buddy-buddy with Edellein. Probably has a few more social-type Skills than he’d like to admit. But Manus can’t be happy with him. Give the Sharkcaptain this, he’s like Rigrel in his prime. A bluff idiot you’d follow if you like him. Don’t trust Manus with an important flank.”

That was his assessment, and Esor concurred. He glanced up at Saliss.

“Morale’s low, anyways, Saliss. It might have been that the pranks weren’t even Rigrel’s choice; someone just did them and he had to take credit.”

Saliss paused by the tent flap as he strode out, a Potion of Dog’s Hearing in one hand. He made a face.

“Well, that’s even worse.”

 

——

 

There were two results from the pranks last night. The first was that both Zeres and Manus lodged complaints with Pallass, and more pranks ensued, just not on the level of Saliss’ revenge. No more horselines being cut either.

Edellein was happy, though, and all too willing to insincerely issue apologies on behalf of Saliss. All the forces got moving towards the New Lands despite the incidents, though much of Manus and all of Zeres lagged behind.

That meant that healthier elements, like Lyssander’s company and Pallass’ forces, were first on the march that morning, and it so happened that Saliss was up bright and early. Thus, he and Captain Yorm were jogging along with the first group that included Captain Lyssander and his men.

They seemed rather pleased at having avoided his potions, and the good-natured [Captain] himself was so cheerful that during one of their rest stops, he asked if Yorm’s company wanted to join his in training.

You knew you had a problem if you stopped marching to train. However, Saliss noted only Lyssander’s detachment was training on the go. It wasn’t just the flatulence problems—on his walk around their camp, he’d picked up on what Esor meant.

Morale was low. He’d heard several fights being broken up, and he couldn’t blame that solely on Rigrel being an idiot for starting this sabotage war.

Pallass wasn’t hard to figure out. 2nd Army’s losses were felt everywhere; even if they were presenting a united front, your average [Soldier] was rattled. Hearing that the Slayers of 2nd Army had gone down to a man fighting a Draconic Titan and Goblin Lord…and knowing that Edellein had made some calls that had got people killed?

Better almost to be distracted with feuding with another Walled City. But Manus…the more Saliss eyed the army Rigrel was bringing, the less convinced the Drake was that Rigrel had a solid command here. Certainly, Lyssander’s group seemed to operate almost independently of his chain of command.

Captain Yorm was impressed, though. But anyone who trained probably impressed one of Grimalkin’s students. He had to stop to join in.

“We don’t do much beyond sparring, Captain Lyssander, but we do have a portable weights set that Magus Grimalkin gifted us. We could set it up tonight if your company’s interested.”

Lyssander’s eyes lit up as Captain Yorm spoke.

“I’ve tried that gymnasium stuff! It’s amazing what Pallass’ Sinew Magus comes up with! I’ve always wanted to visit, you know. We mostly do sparring, though.”

He nodded to his company, who were indeed swinging…swords? Saliss was sipping from his water flask, but he eyed the Drakes.

“Weird to see a sword-company. Mostly it’s spears.”

Drakes loved spears. Their famous formations had triumphed over many a foe, and it was common practice to issue any new [Soldier] with a spear and shield. Lyssander tapped his sword hilt.

“Well, I’m a sword-user, and my company ended up being specialists, sir. Lyssander’s Swords. It’s a stupid nickname, but, well—we’re a bit unconventional, or so they tell me.”

What that meant soon became clear as Manus’ forces practiced. Normally, you had lines of [Soldiers] who’d practice one move. Like the old shield-and-poke. They’d attack training dummies as a [Sergeant] bellowed orders at them; you just wanted your [Soldiers] to learn a few core moves. That way, when they were in the thick of combat, they wouldn’t try something fancy and just do what they knew. All you had to do was hold the line and poke a charging enemy dead if you were lucky.

If you had spears. But swords? Swords were a bit more fiddly. They were shorter in reach, and you had to know more forms with a sword. Of course, Lyssander’s people practiced several moves for thirty minutes, like the overhand slash, various thrusts and even parries, but then they began to spar en-masse.

Fifty Drakes and Gnolls versus fifty. They used practice-swords, but one side charged the other in a rather aggressive assault, and the other had to hold them off. It wasn’t just practice blows, but a free-for-all, and Lyssander himself was in the mix. That was still in line with what Saliss expected, though. What made him and Yorm do a double-take was when Lyssander—who was on the defending side—shouted.

“Fall back! Fall back! Ten steps—”

His side was retreating across the ground. The aggressors pushed them hard, shouting, and then Lyssander’s group fell back another ten steps, shedding ‘dead’ [Soldiers] and forming a shrinking circle of blades. After ten minutes, he whistled.

“Alright, switch! Sergeant Marri, you’re on defense!”

Then his group attacked, and the other [Soldiers] were retreating. Saliss blinked, and Yorm commented.

“Does Manus practice fighting retreats?”

“I doubt it. This is just…training. It makes sense. His is a mobile company, so you’d have to fall back in good order like this, and it gives both sides the experience of attacking and defending with swords.”

But it was exceptionally odd to see, because Saliss couldn’t remember seeing that kind of training since he’d been a kid. That stupid axiom that had become so popular twenty years ago flashed into both Pallassians’ minds.

“Drakes don’t run. No one else in Manus’ forces is moving like that.”

Indeed, some other [Captains] and their companies were giving Lyssander’s Swords a familiar expression of disdain. Yorm murmured.

“So Captain Lyssander came up with that himself? That might explain part of his unpopularity. But I’m surprised Manus allows it.”

Saliss could answer that one. He shrugged his slim shoulders.

“Manus lets companies vary their efforts so long as they produce results. It’s that way from the top down. Ever seen Spearmaster Lulv and his Spears of Manus? They race around stabbing things; you can’t train that normally. Your squad is the same, isn’t it, Captain?”

Yorm grunted.

“True enough. We’d better put in some effort as well, not just stand around. Spellarm Squad, muster up!”

He only had about two dozen under his command, but they were all the muscled magic-users. Saliss watched idly as they practiced shooting the wands they carried, then switched to close-combat.

Spellblades. Grimalkin had taught them well. If someone managed to beat Captain Yorm’s wands, they’d run into his spear, which he could fight well with solo or in a squad. And if they somehow disarmed him, he knew close-combat grappling moves as well.

Saliss imagined that Yorm’s squad would rove around the battlefield, attacking targets of opportunity like enemy [Mages] or [Archers]. He grinned, imagining some spindly Wistram-[Mage] eating a punch from Yorm.

The [Alchemist] wasn’t training since he didn’t train like the [Soldiers], nor did he want the attention. You might think that he was bored, but Saliss didn’t mind watching. There was something…scenic about watching Captain Yorm grappling with one of his squadmates in the grass.

Lots of sweat beading on his fur, and you could see it running in rivulets down his abdominal muscles, which were visible on the thinner coat of his front fur. He’d stripped off his leather armor probably to avoid getting it dirty, and the Drake he was grappling with, also male, was twining his tail around one of Yorm’s legs as he tried to sweep the [Captain]. His arm-muscles were bulging as the two pivoted, trying to throw the other.

Again, Onieva would have preferred to see Ishkr doing the grappling, but it was enough to be not-bored. Saliss let her observe until he heard a panting voice remark too-loudly behind him.

“Ancestors, what a sight! That Captain Yorm’s a tall drink of water! I’ve never seen muscles move like that!”

For a moment, Saliss almost forgot where he was, and he was turning to tell Mirn to shut the hell up. Only, it wasn’t Mirn’s voice. The speaker was too young, and he was shading his eyes as sweat rolled off his own grey scales with a cheerful grin without even trying to hide what he was looking at or lower his voice.

Saliss froze as Captain Lyssander pointed at Yorm and the training squad. He saw Lyssander lick his lips, and his eyes never left Yorm.

“Here I thought Manus had the best training, but there’s a sight for sore eyes. You mind if I sit, Alchemist? We reek a bit, but there’s nothing like getting a workout in the morning!”

He flopped down, and the [Alchemist] said not a word. He stared at Lyssander as the Drake kept watching Yorm, gulping water from a flask. And Saliss’ first thought was—

Oh, no. Nope, this is just bait. Or a trick. Or I misheard him. Or…

Then he saw Lyssander peer at the sun, uncork his waterflask, pour the rest of the water over his head, and shake his head out. He slicked back his neck spines, spraying the water out, and then shouted.

“Hey, Swords, take a break! Get over here and rest up! Let’s see how the Sinew Magus’ people do it! Corporal Riss, stop playing with your sword and relax. We’ve got a full march and we’re on flier-duty so save the effort!”

He sprang up, then slung an arm around one of the Drakes still stubbornly practicing. He dragged the protesting Corporal over, pushed him onto the ground, and flung himself down. Then he leaned on the Drake’s arm.

“No one’s moving until I’m moving. Phew! I don’t think we need to practice hand-to-hand like Yorm’s lot, but I’ll be damned if I ever try brawling with him!”

He grinned, eyes flicking back to Yorm’s command as the corporal, embarrassed, tried to edge away from his captain. But Lyssander just turned and punched him in the side.

“No moving, Corporal! I’ll demote you to a pillow.”

“And toss him into your tent, Captain Lyss?”

That came from a Gnoll, Sergeant Marri, who grinned as she trooped over with her squad. Several of the [Soldiers] gave Saliss a glance that he read—

Nervousness? Trepidation? But Lyssander just snorted.

“My pillow’s better than Corporal Riss. I’ll sleep on your ass before Riss, Sergeant. Though, mind you, I bet Yorm’s lot would be hard as wood planks.”

She grinned as she threw herself down, and there were chuckles and, again, glances at Saliss.

“Just so long as the Alchemist doesn’t spike our drinks with whatever he hit Zeres with. I could hear the Sharkcaptain farting across camp all night long! Much less the latrines—I hear there was blowback.”

Everyone shuddered and eyed Saliss. He managed a faint response.

“Yeah, uh, that’s, uh—a hazard of the potion. Careful where you aim when something might come out.”

“There’s a weapon of war. We could just have our [Soldiers] pull down their pants, lift their tails, and aim. I wouldn’t charge that.”

Lyssander joked, and Saliss just gazed at the [Captain], still taking his ease, relaxed as could be. No matter how hard Saliss looked, he didn’t see any…irony on Lyssander’s face. Or even self-consciousness.

No.

No, it couldn’t be…

When Captain Yorm finished sparring and strode over to ask if Lyssander cared to do some mixed-sparring between their groups, Saliss saw it. And once he did, it was so obvious. To everyone, it seemed—

Except Lyssander.

 

——

 

Lyssander’s Swords were still on their punishment duty waving in fliers, and it seemed to be a known fact that if there was dirty work, they tended to get it. However, like many good officers, Lyssander had the affection of his [Soldiers].

But not just affection—there was a level of defensiveness that Saliss would have taken for the company having a chip on their shoulders until he’d figured it out. Then he saw the hints, and they were everywhere.

“Hoi, Captain Hiress, is that you? Ancestors, how the hell have you been? I was sorry to hear about Lieutenant Comois—”

Lyssander met a fellow [Captain] he’d clearly known from the Officer Trials and instantly dashed over to throw an arm around the Drake’s shoulders and give him a hug. Which wasn’t, in and of itself, odd.

Nor was appreciating someone’s physique. Dead gods, most [Soldiers] who met Yorm for the first time had to comment on the Gnoll being so fit. It was just that Lyssander could get distracted in the middle of reminiscing with Captain Hiress and point.

“Dead gods, look at that man’s thighs. Who the hell is that?”

He was pointing to a scrying orb of Lord Xitegen on the news, replaying Captain Zevara’s exploits around Liscor and Pallass. And again, who could deny that Xitegen, the Thigh Lord of House Terland, was a man blessed with amazing thighs?

It was just—how Lyssander said it, maybe. With a bit too much appreciation? Or enthusiasm for the male form? Or he noticed it too much? Or he was a bit more ready to lay hands on fellow [Soldiers]—in a respectful way.

For instance, he caught one of his [Soldiers] with filthy neck spines, so he spat on one claw and hand-groomed the protesting [Soldier]’s ‘hair’. Then slapped the [Soldier] on the shoulder.

“We’re supposed to look good for all the bigwigs flying in, [Soldier]. Wash—eugh, do you even use soap? I’ll have your entire squad scrub you with a broom if I have to!”

“I had to cut it short because of the [Alchemist], sir!”

“Oh—well, you’re forgiven today. But watch it!”

Lyssander pointed an outraged finger at the [Soldier] and his squad, who joked about his smell alerting the enemy from miles away. Then Lyssander dashed back to Captain Hiress, apologizing, and the [Captain] gave him much the same gaze that Saliss and Yorm were.

That of someone picking up on something that Saliss felt was obvious—too obvious. And doing that glance around to get everyone else’s opinions.

Is he serious?

It was Captain Yorm who broached the subject with that Grimalkin directness that you grew to know and debatably love.

“…It may be presumptuous, Alchemist Saliss, but I think I have identified an, ah, reason for the disdain shown to Captain Lyssander’s company.”

“You don’t say.”

Saliss didn’t glance at Yorm, but he was suddenly hearing alarm bells ringing. He didn’t know what the Gnoll had been told, but Yorm continued after a moment.

“I, ah, heard a rumor…you had made significant statements to several members of 1st Army and Pallass’ Watch about your feelings regarding Turnscales.”

“I may have done.”

Don’t tense up, he’ll notice. Yorm glanced at Saliss, then folded his arms uncomfortably, like Grimalkin.

“A cousin…? I would never spread rumors, Alchemist, but you may understand the, uh, phenomena more than I? Magus Grimalkin did give us brief lectures on such matters, but he was more focused on sexual disease in the army.”

Oh, he didn’t know. General Edellein must have kept his mouth shut, then. Saliss relaxed and mustered a wry smile.

“I’d hate for any rumors to spread, Captain Yorm. You know how those get people hurt or fired from their jobs. And I’d hate to find someone spreading rumors and hit them repeatedly with a club.”

“Absolutely, Alchemist. It’s just that—are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Saliss stared at Lyssander as Captain Hiress excused himself too-hurriedly and saw the moment of hurt flash across the young [Captain]’s face. He murmured.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I can’t believe it.”

But how the hell did this happen? Saliss was so incredulous it was fascinating in some horrific not-funny way. Lyssander was as obvious as the sun. Mind you, some people didn’t pick up on it; it wasn’t as if it was tattooed on the Drake’s forehead. But even so—!

Surely some Sentry had a word with this idiot. Or a Mason or Architect—

Those were ranks in Turnscale hierarchy, such as it was. There tended to be a bar in every city that had, well, people who understood each other. Each group had older Turnscales who looked out for the younger ones, led the way, protected them, or built a space where they could gather…because being a Turnscale got you ostracized at best, killed or exiled at worst.

It was not safe to act like Lyssander was doing. He set off so many alarm bells in Saliss’ head that the Drake fancied they were almost audible. So why was he…?

Lyssander rejoined Yorm and Saliss, shaking his head.

“Looks like Captain Hiress isn’t in the mood to chat. A shame, but I get Lieutenant Comois hitting the army hard. I thought that it’d take a Dragon to kill him. I can’t say that I actually liked Comois, but, well…he was nigh-on unbeatable in single combat.”

He shrugged, sighing, and gestured to the road.

“Our group is back to the march. Will you join us, you two?”

Saliss and Yorm exchanged a glance and nodded. They joined Lyssander, jogging ahead, but now the two were fishing, as it was. And boy, Lyssander was a school of fish that had never seen bait before. The Gnoll coughed into one fist.

“I heard you were often paired against Lieutenant Comois, Captain Lyssander. No love lost? I knew the Lieutenant, and he could be rather prickly at times.”

Lyssander sighed and glanced around for more of Pallass’ army before nodding.

“It wasn’t that we were always paired off—we were clashing for 1st place a lot of the time. I don’t want to brag, but I was top of my class with a sword in Manus. The problem was, Comois was the [Lieutenant of Perfection]. His [Perfect Slash], [Perfect Parry], [Perfect Sneer]—you run into him for the first time and he puts you on the ground in a second. There was this poor Stitch-girl all the way from Chandrar, and he cut off both her arms in a single move. Nasty, and he was reprimanded, but he got away with it because, well, Stitch-girl. She sewed them back on.”

“So you didn’t like him? Looks like his people don’t really care for you either. I can relate. People hate me for some reason, like Femar. I can never tell why.”

Lyssander grinned at Saliss before shaking his head.

“Me? I didn’t care for Comois’ attitude, but I think he just never liked me, personally. I tried to get to know him, but he couldn’t stand my guts. There was a year we were best friends, then—? It happens. I must be annoying to people.”

His smile turned rueful, and Saliss and Yorm exchanged another glance behind Lyssander’s back. Yorm’s brows rose, and he did a quick gesture to Saliss. The Drake tapped the side of his head repeatedly, shook his head, and pointed back. Yorm cleared his throat.

“Speaking honestly, Captain Lyssander—”

“Call me Lyss, Captain Yorm. All my friends do.”

“Very well, Lyss—you weren’t in charge with the debacle around General Edellein’s Wyverns flying in, were you? General Rigrel just blamed you for that. Is that—common in Manus?”

Lyssander hesitated. He glanced back at them and seemed to choose his words carefully.

“No…but the old Gnoll’s never liked my unit. We were attached to his fort; saw some action with monster nests, which is how I made [Captain]. I think we’re just too unconventional. Rigrel always tells me I’m too much of a nonconformist because of how I lead my command.”

“Oh, like retreating in battle? Very un-Drake-like.”

Saliss spoke, straight-faced, and Lyssander hesitated, rubbing at his neck-spines.

“You think so? We get taught in Manus that General Sserys’ famous line isn’t gospel. You have to perform tactical withdrawals, so why not practice it? History teaches us that we won a lot of victories by baiting opponents into an attack.”

The [Alchemist] shrugged, privately thinking that Lyssander had been paying attention in class and a lot of officers and even strategists had been sleeping when that line was delivered.

“Still un-Drake-like. Why, you remind me of Sserys, Captain Lyssander!”

The Drake blinked, and Yorm opened his mouth then shut it hurriedly.

“Sserys? I’ll take the compliment, Alchemist Saliss, but how?”

“Oh, he’d retreat all the time. Mercenary General that he was—I remember him. Don’t you, Yorm?”

“Erh, before my time, Alchemist.”

To his annoyance, Saliss realized that even Yorm was too young to remember Sserys as anything but the war-hero of the First Antinium War. He sighed loudly.

“Just…take it from me, okay? So, Rigrel hates your unit, Captain Lyss? Not the most popular bunch, are you?”

He nudged Lyssander a few times, grinning, and the [Captain] coughed, flushing.

“Well, among officers. Lots of the [Soldiers] get on just fine with my command. I know it’s me. It’s that I’m too pushy, I think? Too strident about my opinions? I can’t do the political dance with other officers. Ancestors know I try, but I just somehow put my foot in my mouth—”

He sighed, and this time, Yorm nudged Saliss. Saliss shook his head. The Gnoll jogged over and nudged Saliss harder; the counter-shove nearly tossed Yorm into a bush patch, so the Gnoll coughed.

“I, uh—I don’t notice anything objectionable, Captain Lyss. But then, Magus Grimalkin is also somewhat of a loose cannon. And Alchemist Saliss is as much a pariah.”

“Yep, no taste at all. Lyssander could be as rude as a Creler, and how would I know?”

Saliss remarked blandly. Yorm’s mouth worked a few seconds.

“Has…has anyone indicated what your objectionable trait might be, Lyss?”

They both stared at the Drake as he jogged along, frowning seriously. He scratched at his chin.

“Well…in Manus, you get all kinds of officers looking in on you. Even High Command! I remember Spearmaster Lulv himself wanted to see if I was actually a candidate for [Swordmaster] training. He kicked me and a bunch of poor sods up and down a mountain for two weeks and said I had good instincts and potential—that’s how I got put into the officer program to begin with. But he also said I need to ‘shut up more and think about what I say’. Which I’ve tried, but somehow General Rigrel has it out for me even when I’m not on duty.”

He heaved a huge sigh, and Yorm spread his arms. He made a thinking gesture as Saliss just stared at him, then thrust both hands at Lyss’ back with a pleading look for Saliss. The [Alchemist] relented and felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he jogged forwards until he was next to Lyssander. He grinned hugely, but internally, he was thinking.

This can’t be what I think it is. If so, then this guy is rarer than Taletevirion. How the hell did Manus not beat it out of him? Could it be he doesn’t…know?

“Tell me about Comois, Captain Lyss. You said you two were best buds? How’d you fall out? Maybe it was a bad prank or something? Believe me, that’s how I ruin relationships. I can’t count how many Named-rankers I hate. Glasiaad, Zeter, Romuleus—no, wait, he’s dead; I killed him—lay it on me, a professional unpopular person!”

Lyssander hesitated, then shrugged, seeming genuinely uncomfortable and remorseful.

“I…I don’t know. At first, well, the first time he beat me in a single move, Comois was aloof—you’d know that if you ever met him. But he did say that I was the closest person to parrying his strike, so I got to talking, and he didn’t mind the compliments! We’d head off and spar and trade tips whenever we had the Officer Trials, which was actually monthly at some points. They really get you competitive with the other Walled Cities—and then one night we have a huge falling out. I said something wrong when we were out on the town, and we got into a brawl. After that, he tried to take me out every time we met.”

“Brawl? What about?”

Lyssander was staring into the distance as they ran towards that horizon where the New Lands began to rise upwards.

“Oh, something stupid. There was a Drake [Waitress] he was trying to impress in Manus, and he was freshening up, so I was giving him a hand. Then he got all upset and claimed I was getting too personal. Called me a Turnscale, so I punched him in the face.”

Lyssander grinned sadly at Saliss, and the [Alchemist] didn’t know what kind of face he was making.

“Imagine that! It was the most childish thing I’ve ever heard from him. Imagine being a…pervert like that. You’d think they were around every corner the way people toss that insult out.”

“I see.”

Saliss whispered. He stared at Lyssander so hard he felt like his eyes were burning.

“Ever met one?”

The young [Captain] gave Saliss the most puzzled of looks.

“What? No. Don’t they get tossed out of the city or something? Hey, is Turnscale actually a group? I thought it just meant, like, someone sick or off. Lulv asked me the same thing, and he didn’t believe I’d never met one.”

“Oh—you find some, now and then.”

That was all Saliss managed. Yorm was blinking far too rapidly, and Lyssander just jogged along, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s got nothing to do with me. I’ve been in the army since I was a kid. And I’m excited for the New Lands! It beats being on Rigrel’s bad side and quarreling with other officers. I’m glad I’ve met a few friendly faces in Pallass. Here’s to more, eh?”

He pumped a fist, and Saliss smiled at him until he couldn’t stand it any more and ran ahead, outspeeding both Yorm and Lyssander, to the latter’s delight. But Saliss had to run until he lost Lyssander. He felt like he’d be sick, otherwise.

This was not what he wanted. Not at all.

 

——

 

Now he saw it. It was so obvious. Put aside the fact that Mrsha had given him the first clue; Saliss was pretty sure he’d have picked up the rest within a day or two even without her help.

The way Lyssander seemed to be a pariah within his own army. The fact that no one had pulled him aside for a quick chat—and it sounded like even his superiors like Lulv had noticed. But Saliss could just imagine Lulv, who had the empathy of two nails lying on the ground, trying to figure this one out.

How did you tell this kid to knock it off when he didn’t know what he was doing? You could write him off easily as being just a friendly, attentive [Captain]. Or, if you paid attention—you might really hate what you saw, hence General Rigrel’s attitude.

It was also clear that much of Pallass’ army knew Lyssander, probably from Lieutenant Comois. Saliss could just imagine how that uptight [Lieutenant of Perfection] had reacted to the idea of Lyssander being a Turnscale.

And he doesn’t even know what a Turnscale is. Again, that wasn’t even that surprising. It was an insult. Someone calls you a Turnscale, you punch them. It all fit, and Saliss hated the jigsaw puzzle.

So he did the obvious thing: he avoided Lyssander. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t need to deal with this. He just wanted to get to the New Lands, find seith, and go home.

Of course, Lyssander noticed when Saliss didn’t eat in the mess halls, appear during the evening training, or have time to join the Drake on the march. If he seemed crestfallen or if his company gave Saliss hostile glances—the [Alchemist] didn’t care.

Someone would tell Lyssander what was going on at some point, and what a—painful conversation that would be. Finding out you were something that your species hated. Realizing you had to hide it.

The irony was that Saliss just bet most of Lyssander’s company weren’t Turnscales. They just saw their commander as worth it, despite his proclivities…or they admired him as an officer more than they hated the Turnscale part. Yes, that would be why Manus kept him around; the City of War hated wasting talent. It was probably the only city where Lyssander could emerge, ironically.

Saliss roamed ahead rather than deal with Lyssander, and only Captain Yorm could even keep up with him, sometimes having to catch up as Saliss ran past everything. Towards the place he wanted to be:

The New Lands. But he couldn’t outpace the army he was attached to, and so Saliss had to endure, well, their stupidity. He hadn’t realized it would come to him. Normally, you didn’t bother the crazy Saliss of Lights unless you needed a potion or something exploded, but he hadn’t factored in the other thing that had happened:

The Goblin King.

 

——

 

Salazsar’s forces and Fissival’s caught up on the fifth day of marching as they were a literal stone’s throw away from the New Lands. Everyone was busy restructuring; the word was out.

“No magical items! If you have one, it goes in the Chests of Holding or else you lose it! Personal charms, trinkets, anything goes in the Chest of Holding! Get a receipt from the [Quartermasters] for your items! This is your last warning!”

A Garuda was flying above the [Soldiers] turning in their gear so they could be magically shielded as they entered the New Lands. It meant each army was going to lose a lot of their immediate combat potential; Pallass was hit second-worst of the lot.

“Not only will most of our [Mages] need to fuel up the Chests of Holding to protect our magic, but any magic-using group like Captain Yorm’s will be hamstrung! Our Alchecorps will store all their potions until we see combat. The [Strategists] tell me they’ll be able to fight in a battle…but we’ll need to distribute our magic before any major engagement.”

Edellein was grousing to General Rigrel, who was nodding with a similarly lemon-faced expression. Pallass hadn’t, as of yet, committed to any other Walled City for an alliance, but Edellein was certainly being hosted by each Walled City day and night.

The Gnollish [General] speared a bite of fish on one fork, glancing at Saliss, who had the honor of joining the [Generals]’ table for breakfast. Saliss was mostly interested in the better vittles and the discussion of what was going on.

He didn’t expect a question to come his way. But one of Manus’ senior officers, a Gnoll woman, leaned over the table.

“Adventurer Saliss. I hear you’ll be one of the first into the New Lands today. If I may…I never caught you at the mess hall, and I have a burning question to ask.”

Saliss swallowed his bite of food.

“No, I can’t cure whatever it is. Please talk to Alchemist Xif in Pallass.”

Everyone in earshot chuckled. So did the [Commander] and shook her head.

“No, though speaking of Pallass and, ah, Liscor…it’s on the news again, that strange city. Some Watch Captain. But I have to know. The incident a while back, where the moon—cracked?”

Everyone in earshot went silent, even the two [Generals]. Edellein shifted uncomfortably as the [Commander] looked around, then at Saliss.

“What went on at that inn? I know what we all saw on the scrying orb and in the skies.”

“That pink meteor.”

Someone murmured, but the Gnoll woman was focused on Saliss. She smiled with all her teeth in a friendly grin, for a Gnoll or Drake.

“What happened? They said it was the Goblin King, but you were there, [Alchemist]. There wasn’t much to see from the aerial view. We saw all kinds of incredible things, but you were on the ground, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Saliss didn’t quite know where she was going, but the [Commander] lowered her voice.

“So…what really went down there? Under the illusions? What was it really? Was it the Demons? They said there was a giant Harpy.”

The Named-rank adventurer blinked at the Gnoll [Commander], then he glanced around the table. Everyone from Edellein on down was gazing his way, and he turned to the [Major].

“It was the Goblin King. Same guy, different body. Second time’s no more pleasant than the first.”

She grinned, and he felt his tail twitch under the table.

“Come on, Alchemist. We’re all officers here. You can at least hint, can’t you?”

His face was perfectly straight, but internally, Saliss didn’t know what to say. Lean into the lie? Tell the truth?

Would you even believe me if I told you? Small wonder she was treating this like a coverup. He barely believed it, and he was there.

“It was the Goblin King, Commander. That’s all I can say.”

Carefully, Saliss drained his cup, and she sighed.

“Damn, that high-clearance, huh? I wish it was even a believable lie—one of our Wall Ladies got wrapped up in the fighting, Rafaema. But she just snarled at me when I asked.”

A fresh breadroll bounced off her head as she turned to reach for the water pitcher. The Gnoll’s head swung back around, and Saliss innocently took a drink of water. She reached for the pitcher, and he bounced the empty cup off her head.

“Alchemist!”

Edellein called out warningly as the [Commander] shot to her feet. She glowered.

“I’m just asking questions, Alchemist! If you won’t tell me the truth, don’t get annoyed at me for asking what everyone wants to know!”

Saliss gave her a bright smile as he flipped a fork up and down. She snarled—

And blinked as the fork flashed past her ear. It took a tuft of hair with it and exited the command tent, punching through the fabric. The whistling sound it made had half the officers on their feet. They stared at Saliss as the Gnoll woman felt at her ear. The [Alchemist] just smiled at her.

“The Goblin King isn’t a funny guy. I’m a fun guy. When he charges, everything dies. Word to the wise if you live long enough to meet him. After all, I’ve met him once, at least. Or do you want to doubt that too?”

She said nothing, and her face turned uncertain. The tension at the tables mounted—until Saliss heard someone clear his throat.

“That will be all, Major. Don’t trouble our Named-rank adventurer. We must take him at his word, and I’m sure this is in the reports.”

“Yessir, General Rigrel!”

The Gnoll [Major] instantly stood and saluted Rigrel. Saliss kept his face blank as Edellein’s left eye twitched. Esor scribbled in the background, and all three were thinking the same thing.

That was low. Reprimanding his subordinate to score a point for Pallass? One look at the Gnoll woman’s blank face and Saliss would have reassessed how much loyalty he was getting from his officers, but Rigrel just went back to talking to Edellein after a moment. Had he lost touch or did he think he had to win over Edellein at all costs?

Saliss pushed himself back from his table carefully. He glanced around at the other officers and smiled.

“Well, this has been fun, but I think all this socializing with you army folk has left me dying to see the New Lands at once. Or meet the Goblin King a third time. Toodles!”

He waggled his claws at them and skipped out of the tent. And there pretty much went his goodwill with the officers as well. Between that and Glasiaad talking about Saliss behind his back, adventurers, officers, and regular [Soldiers] avoided Saliss like the plague.

As he reached the New Lands, Saliss got what he wanted. Isolation.

 

——

 

It even smelled different. Saliss stood, arms stretched, and just breathed in and out. Savoring the odd, slightly salty air and feeling the yellow grass under his toes.

The Eternal Grasslands of Archmage Kishkeria. The same grass that the [Soldiers] were marching over, complaining about how tough it was and tangling wagons, had been invented by the Gnollish [Archmage] of legends.

Even the grass was amazing. Saliss saw no one ahead of him for a moment. Just a flat stretch of land, unnaturally flat, rolling upwards until his eyes began to pick out oddities among the flatlands. Mushrooms, there, or something like them? A flatbed of brown….were those blue tufts in the air?

Even with a Potion of Eagle Eyes, there was so much to see. Saliss wiggled his toes in the grass again.

—Then the first [Battle Alchemist] inserted a shovel into the earth next to him, levered up a huge chunk, and shouted.

“Alchecorps, move up! All [Soldiers] stand back! Sampling teams, go!”

Saliss turned his head and lowered his spread arms. The [Battle Alchemist] stormed back over to a field laboratory where a team of [Alchemists] were waiting. One seized the first strand of grass and popped it into a vial where it began to dissolve.

“Magirite test—1.08!”

He noted that down on a chalkboard and a ledger, and another Drake came running over with another sample of grass.

“I want field samples of the grass at a thousand feet each, and we’ll cross-reference it with grass every ten miles!”

The [Battle Alchemist] in charge bellowed. Saliss saw more junior [Alchemists] running back.

“Sir, do we have nomenclature for the insect samples?”

“We do have a cross-reference with some notes from the Adventurer’s Guild, but label them numerically anyways. Remember, we don’t have Mage’s Picture, so get me a pinning of each for the samples. I want each component part dissected and run through a magirite test, then sent back for analysis! So that’s twenty samples minimum of each, understand?”

The young [Alchemist] had a yellow beetle in a jar; several, actually. He removed some as the [Battle Alchemist] exhorted him and efficiently pinned one through its squirming body. Then he dissected another and popped each part—wings, guts, abdomen—into vials.

“Magirite…1.01. Standard beetle.”

The Gnoll doing notations said with a disappointed sigh. Then he turned as someone ran over with a plant they’d ripped up by the roots. Saliss watched until he saw the [Alchemists] glancing at him.

“Something wrong with our methodology, Alchemist Saliss?”

The [Battle Alchemist] inquired, voice more respectful than most officers. Saliss forced a smile.

“Oh, no. Looks like you’re efficiently collecting samples according to Pallassian doctrine.”

He waved a weak hand as more [Alchemists] hacked up the landscape, ripping out every plant and bringing it back to be tested for magical power. It was a simple test, but often correlated to magical ingredients. The [Battle Alchemist] nodded.

“We’re going at this with a purely methodical, scientific approach, sir. If you have any notes or rare samples, please inform us so we can note the specimens for our [Scouts]. Which reminds me—get me a soil sample as well! I want to see this salinity content and compare against any other spots we visit! Also, tell those [Soldiers] not to eat anything they see until we get it tested for poison!”

More of the Alchecorps swarmed forwards, and Saliss saw them charging over the untouched landscape, excavating holes, and—he saw the first rodent, some long-nosed armadillo-like creature, vanish with a squeal. The [Alchemist] grabbed it, killed it with a twist to the neck, and got scolded for not dispatching it with a tool in case it released a toxin or exploded.

“Ah, well then…”

Saliss kicked a clod of dirt. His desire to do great alchemy faded away too.

 

——

 

There was nothing wrong with the way Pallass’ army-[Alchemists] operated. You wanted a methodical approach to cataloguing the New Lands where everything might be useful or valuable. But Saliss had to say that by the time the army itself moved into the New Lands, it seemed more like a warzone or excavation site, with the dirt churned up, and the army proceeded to stomp through everything else.

Armies generated a lot of trash and ripped up the landscape. Literally—the yellow grass was being pulled as kindling, and theirs were not the only groups that had reached the New Lands. Saliss was moving ahead of the army, and his first discovery, the area of brown land, was that it was a field of clams!

Or…had been. What he found were just empty clamshells by the thousand. One look and Saliss bet that every group who’d come ahead of him had harvested the clams, and now this area was devoid of life. He tossed some shells down and felt his scales tingling.

He had a magical lantern emitting a green glow by his hip. Every now and then, he’d have to add a magical gemstone to it, but the magical ‘field’ it generated would provide him with ambient mana. That was how he could stave off the mana drain of the New Lands—by paying a fortune.

However, it wasn’t so pleasant for other people. Indeed, Saliss heard a [Quartermaster] arguing with one of the [Mages].

“So no enchantments whatsoever?”

“None. We’re reserving all our mana to keep our Chests of Holding maintained. So no bug wards, no cooling or heating spells—find someone with Dragonbreath or a fire-making spell for the fires! If we have to, we’ll purify water, but that’s it. Talk to one of the officers if you want more.”

Already, the lack of magic was being felt by some of the [Soldiers] in small ways. Like, say, wagons.

Wagons had wheels. They were often enchanted to get more traction in the mud or to not break. And [Cooks] had charms to keep the bugs away from their food, or latrines a cantrip to avoid smelling so bad and, again, remove bugs.

All that was vanishing, and it added up. By the time Saliss had finished four hours of his own explorations—mainly moving ahead and occasionally digging up a plant or two or catching an animal to inspect—he returned to camp to realize another comfort was gone.

“There’s not enough water for washing until we hit a river or well! If you were assigned to latrine duty, you have a bucket!”

And the bucket was cold. Saliss got one by virtue of his rank, but sluicing off dirt from his scales with handfuls of water wasn’t exactly fun. He could have heated it up, of course, but he didn’t bother.

“Already done for the day, Adventurer Saliss?”

Edellein appeared disapproving as he oversaw the camp being set up. Saliss just grinned at him with energy he didn’t feel.

“Nope. Getting clean. There was some sap stuff I wasn’t sure about. How’s old Manus doing? Oteslia? Salazsar? Fissival? Zeres?”

The Supreme General grunted as he indicated columns of troops marching to their left and right.

“Fissival’s hanging back due to all their magical equipment. I don’t envy them—the other Walled Cities are moving up with us. Manus seems content to let us do all the researching. Oteslia’s somewhere over there—their [Druids] raised an objection to our [Alchemists]’ practices.”

He snorted.

“We’ll be moving slowly and have our [Scouts] identify areas for squadrons to investigate. Esor has a list of areas for you to explore, Saliss. Don’t go too far out of range, but I give you free rein to act so long as you bring results.”

“Oh, joy, General, sir. Trusting a Named-rank adventurer to be good at adventuring? What will High Command’s genius turn up next?”

The [General] scowled Saliss’ way, but the Drake was already gone. Saliss began jogging into the New Lands proper, and he realized he almost missed Captain Yorm following him. But here he was.

Joy.

 

——

 

Saliss of Lights lay in the grass about eighteen miles north of where the armies were mustering. He stared up at the blue skies as blue tufts drifted overhead and didn’t move.

He was tired. There was something restful about being away from the army, of doing nothing at all and just being…alone.

If he sat up, the grass was so tall he could barely see over the tops of it. No one in any direction—yet. Soon, they’d come, tearing up the landscape, but for a moment, he just lay there.

After a while, a lizard crawled over him. It was black with reddish bands of scales over its body. It was fairly big too; as long as Saliss’ leg, though most of that was tail. It had a rather stubby head for a lizard and tried to bite Saliss’—

The Drake snatched the lizard away from his groin, and the thing went wild, spitting and hissing, and the red bands glowed. Saliss felt heat on his clawed hands and blinked.

“Oh, aren’t you cute? What are you, some kind of heat-lizard?”

The red bands were projecting some kind of localized magical effect. He could see the shimmering heat lines around the lizard, and when he tossed it down, it scampered into the grass. Saliss sat up and tracked the strange lizard around.

It seemed to be some kind of predator of insects and, perhaps, smaller rodents. When it wasn’t trying to nibble on his jewels, the lizard would creep around the grass, then activate the heatbands on its scaled body.

The level of heat it projected wasn’t enough to start a fire, but it could bake an insect, at which point the lizard would gobble it up. It also used the effect when cornering rodents; Saliss saw it blasting an area with heat. The long-tailed mouse in the burrow reacted to the heat and evacuated out another hole in its burrow—where the lizard was waiting to gobble it up.

What a strange creature. Saliss bet that its scales were naturally conductive, and there were probably sacs or other elements in its body that could generate a strong heating effect. Maybe nothing groundbreaking, but he imagined Pallass’ [Alchemists] would hack up hundreds of these lizards for cheap heating reagents.

The thought made Saliss gloomy. He sat as the creature with a full stomach he’d dubbed Heatband Lizard began to dig in the grass. It was halfway submerged when he heard the tromp of boots and realized the scouting elements had caught up to him.

Time to run another ten miles. Saliss began to pretend he was actually doing his job when he heard a soft voice.

“Tall grass, now. Fascinating. Everyone, halt. See that heat signature in the grass, there? There’s two lizards like we’ve been seeing. One small—and one very large one, I think?”

The accent was different from the ones Saliss knew of in Pallass or Manus. After a second, another voice replied.

“Oh! I can see the little lizard. It’s digging a hole for itself? So they don’t have nests.”

“They’re a very individualistic species, I feel. Those eggs we found were abandoned by their mother—deliberately, or so she said. Hot as [Fireballs] too. I wonder that they don’t burn the grass. Druid Lagister, that large lizard there—is it some kind of relative?”

“Hard to say. Let’s creep up on it. Slowly, now, watch out for—”

Saliss burst out of the grass as the Oteslian group of six softly moved towards him. He screamed.

“Aaaahblghegh!”

All six [Druids] yelled, and one pointed a staff at him. Saliss laughed as he dodged a [Stone Dart] spell.

“Alchemist Saliss, you scared us to death!”

A pale-faced [Scout] lowered a bow as the Drake leader clutched at his chest. The [Soldiers] glared—but then one of the two [Druids] laughed.

“Giant lizard indeed! I should have known we wouldn’t outpace a Named-rank. Good day to you, Alchemist. I am Druid Lagister, and this is Druid Sharteeth and our lead [Scout], Merwinkle.”

He bowed, and Saliss waved at him, smiling despite his bad mood.

“Hey, what are you doing so far from the camps? Aren’t we supposed to stick close to the army and all that?”

The [Druids] glanced at each other and shrugged.

“It’s only eighteen miles or so. We had to move ahead of the other Walled Cities’ forces. They’re causing such a ruckus that all the wildlife is fleeing ahead of them. If we’re in your way, we shall, of course, go.”

The [Scout] opened her mouth to object, but Saliss waved a claw.

“I’m just exploring like the rest of you. Why, do you have dibs on the lizards?”

He cast an eye on the lizard he’d been watching, which was now buried all the way in the ground. Druid Sharteeth, a young Gnoll with a sprig of berries tucked behind one ear, shook her head.

“No! That is, we’ve encouraged a dozen to join us already, but we’re leaving the rest alone. Though we might want to warn all of them to evacuate, Druid Lagister?”

He was a Drake, to Saliss’ mild surprise; Lagister had pearly white scales and bark-like robes that seemed quite comfortable. Certainly, he was avoided by the yellow beetles that clung to everything and everyone in the tall grasses. He caught a beetle, absently, and raised it; to Saliss’ surprise, a smaller black-and-red lizard scurried out of one of his sleeves and ate it!

“A good idea since these ones seem to be magical. Not that I begrudge Pallass for wanting their alchemy reagents, but if they harvest as many as they did in that clam field…we must tell High Command to avoid wiping out species! With respect, Alchemist Saliss, I hope you understand the dangers of overharvesting.”

His comment to Saliss was direct and fearless, and the [Alchemist] smiled.

“Don’t go after me. Do you see me chopping up the ground for samples?”

That surprised the [Scout], who was Human and peered at Saliss. Merwinkle had a short spear and buckler, like Saliss had observed, and was keeping an eye around the tall grasses with her party.

Lagister backed down after a moment and nodded. He sighed around at the landscape, and shook his head.

“Places like these are beautiful. Take out the beetles, and it would be a sight to picnic in.”

On that, they could agree. It was a bit rugged for a citygoer’s sensibilities, but Saliss could imagine, with a forest path, walking around here…

“It’d be fun to stroll around with someone.”

He muttered under his breath. Lagister blinked at him.

“Hm? What was that?”

“Nothing. Yep, no chopping from me. Go beat up some Pallassian [Alchemists], only don’t, because we don’t need more brawls between armies.”

Merwinkle nodded with the others, then bit her lip.

“Begging your pardon, but I’d have thought a Master Alchemist would take the most samples, sir.”

“Bah. No, that’s just how army-[Alchemists] operate. Most things you can find in nature aren’t that useful for alchemy. Those lizards? Clearly magical, but I don’t need to collect everything. If it’s got magic or utility, it’s obvious.”

Heatband Lizards produced heat. There was a bug that was used a lot in Healing Potions which had a fast regenerative factor—the [Druids] nodded.

“These things are interconnected. Besides, we do not know what each creature and plant does. Chopping one up only provides a few answers. Oteslia observes and benefits from that. Ah—like so.”

He pointed, and everyone turned back to the spot where the Heatband Lizard had buried itself. Saliss blinked. In the time they’d been chatting, something rather funny had occurred.

The lizard, buried under only a bit of soil, had clearly decided it was naptime while it digested its food. As it did, another creature had appeared in the grass and, completely fearless of the bigfolk, sat itself down and wrapped itself up with its arms.

It was…a bird? Saliss had never seen one like it. It was probably three feet high at best and round. It also had long, flipper-like wings, which it dragged across the ground until it sat down and wrapped itself up.

The mournful expression on the blue-beaked bird, and its lack of feathers from head to toe, made Saliss feel like it was an aquatic animal—or formerly aquatic, perhaps. It was also shivering.

The odd, squat bird-thing sat right on top of the buried Heatband Lizard, and its shivering stopped. Saliss saw heat radiating from the ground and realized the Heatband Lizard was warming the soil around it.

A defense mechanism? If so, it didn’t work on the shivering bird—but the bird didn’t try to uproot the lizard. It just sat there, soaking up the heat.

“What in the world?”

Merwinkle and the other [Scouts] scratched their heads. Meanwhile, Druids Sharteeth and Lagister were delighted. Saliss saw them whispering and pointing.

“Look at that! What a delightfully stupid bird!”

“Druid Lagister, you can’t say that! It can hear us! It’s so cute!”

“Bah, it’s like a bloated penguin. Ever seen a penguin? Why is it shivering?”

Saliss wanted to know that too. The bird’s chill had stopped, but it was clearly reluctant to move. He saw it open two huge eyes and peer, again, without fear at the intruders. After a moment, he waved.

“Hey. ‘Sup?”

The bird reacted to his voice, opening its blue-beak and uttering a ‘blerk?’ sound. It stared at Saliss with two bright, yellow eyes, and Saliss—then saw the young Gnoll approaching.

“Hello. I’m Sharteeth. We don’t mean you any harm!”

The [Druid] smiled at the bird and put her staff on the ground. She waved at the bird, which blerked at her, then seemed to recognize her as a friend. It squiggled in place, trying to get the most warmth out of its living seat, and the Gnoll edged closer.

“May we come near you, friend?”

“Blerk, blerk.”

At its words, Druid Lagister approached, and the black lizard hiding in his robes crawled down and onto the bird’s head. It made a pleased sound, and its eyes rolled up as the lizard began emitting more heat!

“Fascinating. There’s not a trace of animosity or fear between the two species. They’re friends for all I swear this fat penguin could make a meal out of the lizards. Has anyone found them before? I’m naming it a Fatguin.”

Sharteeth whisper-shouted.

“Druid Lagister, you can’t do that! That’s so rude!”

The Drake sat with a grin as the bird sighed in contentment. He didn’t touch it, but sat at his ease as the other Oteslians came forwards. The [Scouts] were fascinated, and Saliss himself walked over. The bird just opened one eye and blerked again as they all sat.

“I get to name something on this trip, and I’m calling it like I see it. Hello, my friend. You and your lizard buddy here might want to soon clear out. With respect, a lot of us stompers are coming, and I’d hate to see you in a cookpot or alchemy lab.”

Lagister advised the Fatguin with a friendly tone, and it opened one eye to frown at him. He lifted one clawed hand.

“I’m sorry, but devastation is likely coming for you and those who live in this stretch of grassland—unless we can prove it’s too dangerous for our people to continue into. We, of Oteslia, and Alchemist Saliss come in peace, though, my fat and fiery friends. We are neither hungry nor malicious. Will you treat or trade with us?”

[Druids] had a way with nature, though it was never what you exactly imagined. Lagister didn’t apologize for the army coming this way and delivered the news of danger like someone did the weather report.

Of course, they were predators and dangerous. And of course, we might eat you, but not just yet. Saliss had always thought [Druids] were fairly practical about how they lived. They disliked violence against animals and waste, but many of them ate meat. Well, some were diehard animal pacifists. Those tended to be the scary ones that’d kill you for eating a rabbit.

The Fatguin took the warning from the [Druids] without apparent rancor. It uttered several more heavy hooting sounds, then settled back for a nap.

“You’re awfully confident, sir. I assure you, there are a lot of us, and we have fangs of steel. Don’t say we didn’t warn you. We’ll do a mass [Wild Call] later today.”

Lagister poked the Fatguin in the side, his fingers sinking into the feathers, and Sharteeth protested.

“Druid, you’re so rude! I knew your Circle would be insulting on this expedition! Oh, he’s all feathers! See?”

You could poke a finger down to the knuckle in the bird’s feathers and not touch its skin, apparently. The Fatguin didn’t mind the [Scouts] and even Saliss doing that. It was supremely chill. Indeed, despite the two [Druids] warning it, the bird just snuggled down harder for a nap.

By contrast, the lizards seemed to get ‘danger coming’, and the one below the Fatguin dug itself up, seeming alarmed. It began to scamper away from Saliss, and the Drake saw the bird wake up. It cracked one eye open as the heat from below receded and gave Druid Lagister a reproachful gaze.

“Look, your friends think it’s a good idea to go. Waddle on off, friend. Unless you need a bit of a boost? You don’t look like you can move that fast.”

Lagister was still getting on the Fatguin about its weight, and Saliss thought that the Fatguin was becoming a bit annoyed. It stood up slowly, revealing two big clawed feet, and Saliss blinked.

“Claws?”

Scout Merwinkle had noticed it too and pointed.

“[Druids]. Do birds like that normally have clawed feet?”

Sharteeth blinked as the bird stretched, tilting what Saliss could see of its neck in its feathery body. She frowned.

“No, not normally. If it walks everywhere, it’d have flat feet. Isn’t that so, Druid Lagister?”

“True…penguins have adorably funny finned feet. You’re a strange one, my friend. Listen, I apologize about the disturbance, but we are here in good faith, and we didn’t even try to eat you! Can I offer you a snack by way of recompense?”

Lagister had a few more yellow beetles and what looked like some dried bread, which he offered to the Fatguin. It turned its beak up haughtily, then spread its flippers.

Stranger and stranger. Saliss muttered.

“It looks like it has flying talons, but those flipper-arms have no feathers. And it’s about as aerodynamic as a football…which is fairly aerodynamic, I guess, but only if you kick it. Also, why is it shivering? It’s not cold at all.”

It was a fine spring day, on the warmish side. He turned to Sharteeth.

“Most creatures can regulate their own body warmth, at least enough to survive in temperate weather. Some magical creatures can’t, and it was sitting on the Heatband Lizards—that’s what I’m calling them, dibs—without hesitation. It was fairly hot!”

She nodded, turning back to the Fatguin.

“Sir, we’re very sorry for our intrusion and Druid Lagister’s comments. Can we do anything or are you leaving?”

Leaving, because I’m quite sick of you lot annoying me was the dignified look from the blerking Fatguin. It stood up slightly, flapping its fin-arms out, and then motioned them back. Druid Lagister got up.

“Alright, alright, I apologize. I’m from the Circle of Tempered Metal, which lives in harmony with animals. Sharteeth is the Circle of Nurturement, all hugs and kisses and letting pigeons walk over you. If you’re safe, we’ve done our job.”

They all stepped back. The round penguin-thing made more flappy-motions with its fin-arms.

Further back, further, I say! They retreated until they were fifty feet away. It still kept flapping its wings at them, but Lagister shouted back.

“Just go ahead and leave already! I said more of us are coming! So if you don’t like the space—Ancestors!”

His last comment was because the Fatguin had narrowed its eyes—and then opened its beak. Saliss saw the frost magic before everyone else.

“Watch it!”

His Potion of Ice Resistance splashed them a second before the icy wind blasted across the field, turning the yellow grass to icicles. The Oteslians flinched, and Saliss spun.

Where the hell was—

The Fatguin was fourteen feet up, wings spread now, and he realized they were wings instead of long fins—if it wanted them to be.

Icy feathers were sprouting from the fins! The huge, fuzzy body of the bird had elongated—Saliss saw it was stretched out and wondered if it had compressed itself up to get as warm as possible.

That beak! It was blowing a blizzard downwards, lifting the magical bird higher and higher—and the entire grassland area was an ice bowl!

“Dead gods, it’s flying! It’s—”

The blast of ice from above finally stopped, and they stared upwards as a long-necked bird swept forwards through the air. It had crystalline feathers that flashed in the sky, frozen ice molded into feathers, and its body radiated a cold Saliss could feel from here. It shot towards the Walled Cities’ camps, and Druid Lagister grabbed for something.

“Speaking stone—this is Druid Lagister! Magical beast coming right at you, Oteslia! It froze an entire field of grass in a second! I don’t think it’s hostile, but it’s tetchy—get someone in the skies to head it off, and for the love of Treants, don’t attack it!”

They all watched as the magical ice-bird sped eastwards, and Saliss tried to estimate how cold it was compared to the Wyvern Lord. Not nearly as tough, maybe, nor as cold, but it was powerful.

After maybe six minutes, he saw the bird zooming back the way it had come. It flashed overhead, trailing snow that melted before it hit the ground, and Lagister listened to a squawked report in his ear.

“It’s going past us, yes. Some kind of exceptionally magical bird. It didn’t seem hostile—it was warning us off, but I think it didn’t like the notion of us here, General. It’s killed everything…no, wait!”

Saliss had thought that the entire grassland was dead too. The tall yellow grass was frozen into place, surely a death sentence for whatever was here. But the ice was already beginning to melt…because of the lizards.

The Heatband Lizards were glowing patches of orange light in the field. They rustled through the grass, eating flash-frozen bugs, warming the field until water was dripping downwards, turning it lush and moist. And then—heading westwards in a mass.

Away from the armies. The Drake watched, bemused, and then saw one of the lizards come out of the grass and race up Lagister’s robes. The [Druid] caught his animal friend on one hand.

“Did you know what a fearsome bird we were talking to? Fatguin indeed…I’d better rename it!”

“Druid Lagister, you nearly got us all frozen! If not for Alchemist Saliss—I told you to be nicer to animals!”

Sharteeth’s teeth were chattering, but she bowed to Saliss. Lagister sighed.

“Yes, yes. I suppose we were all lucky! What a specimen! And what did we learn, I wonder? That creature can’t survive its own chill—that’s why it was so friendly to the lizards! And they’re remarkably…”

“Resistant to ice. They got blasted, and not a single one froze. They’re not good for heating spells. My bet is they’ll make great Potions of Frost Resistance. Even armor, if you harvest enough of them.”

Saliss nodded to himself. Druid Sharteeth gave him a disturbed gaze before gathering up another lizard into her arms.

“All I know is that no one should hunt these lizards! Or attack cute, round birds in the wild lest they end up frozen into a block of ice! Should we have chased them all away?”

Lagister shrugged.

“If they’re willing to go, they must have an alternate home they know they can survive in. Perhaps the Fatguin is headed there now. So…let’s follow them.”

He pointed in the direction of the scurrying lizards, and everyone blinked. Lagister turned to Saliss.

“We’re allowed to pursue such things, but if we’ve impeded you—”

“No, I want to follow the lizards too. Let’s go!”

Saliss was already jogging after the lizards, and the rest of the Oteslians gave chase too. They realized after a few moments that the lizards were following the yellow grass even as it thinned out and became less tall. They were indeed heading—northwest?

“Ah, the mountains. But they’re a terribly far ways off. Is there anything to even eat there?”

Lagister pointed at distant hills that became mountains and saw a few lizards stop to munch on bugs or worms. He listened, and then his eyebrows rose.

“You’ll heat it up and they’ll come! Of course!”

In a private aside, he muttered to the others.

“What a damn menace! They’ll destabilize the entire ecosystem! We’d better watch them if they migrate around Oteslia. Might have to pull a Nalthaliarstrelous if they’re as bad as Shield Spiders.”

“Druid Lagister, you are the living end!”

Sharteeth exclaimed, and one of the lizards shot forwards and bit Lagister as he tickled their chins. He yelped.

“Ow, I was just kidding! Sort of—wait, what do you mean, you’re not the only ones? You mean, that icebird fellow does it?”

He listened, tilting his head back and forth, then gave Sharteeth a significant eye. She blinked.

“What is it, Druid Lagister? I don’t speak lizard as well as you do.”

He scratched at a chin.

“I swear they just told me that something really cold lives around here. Something that produces more ice than the frost-bird could dream of—and moves. But it doesn’t mess with them, and they don’t mess with it. Sort of a common-courtesy.”

Saliss perked up. That sounded like a really powerful ice-based monster. Sharteeth lifted the tiny lizard in her hands.

“You’re that important? You cute little things!”

She tickled one until it coughed up some yellow beetles, and Saliss fished in his pockets.

“Want a fish?”

The lizard sniffed it dubiously, took a bite, and then chewed and swallowed. Then it horked up the entire bite of fish.

“He says it’s got nothing to it. Beetles are where it’s at, my friend.”

Lagister told Saliss, and the Drake obligingly caught a double-handful. He ended up stuffing two dozen lizards until they were little pillows he buried in the dirt.

That was how Saliss spent several hours. He gained absolutely zero grand alchemical insights, but when he was hiking back with the Oteslians, chattering about the lizards and the bugs they’d seen—he caught himself smiling.

Smiling at silly lizards, crazy-dangerous Fatguins, and failing at his job. Then heard an aggrieved voice from overhead, and they all glanced up as a shadow crossed over them.

“Saliss! Stop harassing my people!”

The Drake jerked as a familiar voice sang out, and an angry neigh came from overhead. He dodged sideways just in time; the flying piece of poo nearly hit him as the Pegasus turned and banked her wings, coming around for a second bombing run.

“Mivifa?”

Mivifa Selifscale, the Oldblood of Feathers, Named-rank Adventurer of Oteslia, and her Pegasus, Feathi, landed in the tall grass. Mivifa leapt off Feathi’s back, and her wings, feathered, flapped as she pointed accusingly at him.

“I knew it! You just had to go and annoy the scouting teams—the moment I heard of the farting incident, it was you. If you poison my people, I’ll have Feathi bite you, Saliss—”

“Adventurer Mivifa, please! Alchemist Saliss hasn’t done a thing to us! He was quite helpful in our research, in fact!”

The Oteslians protested, and Mivifa drew up. Her mouth opened, and she stared at them and then at Saliss.

“What? Saliss, helping?”

He pretended to appear hurt as he clutched at his chest.

“Unfairly attacked! Oh, dead gods, this is the classic Oteslian hostility I’ve heard so much about! By a fellow Named-rank adventurer, no less! Mivifa, how could you? Can you believe her, Feathi?”

He leaned on the Pegasus’ side, patting her head. She sidled left, and Saliss fell on his face. But Feathi didn’t stomp on him; she just rested a hoof on his back and spread her wings in a victorious pose.

“Feathi, get off him. I’m, er, sorry, Saliss. I just assumed—Druid Lagister, you’re going to have to issue a full report to the Green General back at camp! I’ve been trying to trace the path of that icebird. It’s set the Walled Cities into a panic.”

Saliss raised his head as Feathi shuffled to the side, and he sat up.

“Why, what did it do? And hi, Mivifa. Why are you here? You never leave Oteslia if you can help it.”

She was always hanging around the city and claimed she had ‘duties’ there that she couldn’t shake. And she normally tried to hide her age. But right now, the Named-rank was without makeup and the kid’s slang, and she smiled as she bent over to offer him a hand.

“That’s…complicated. I’m not needed at Oteslia for the moment, Saliss.”

She looked unhappy, but then shook herself briskly.

“—So I’m here in the New Lands! Where would you rather be as an adventurer, eh? I’m just surprised you’re not hunting down the most magical monster around!”

“Eh, I’m sort of lazy right now. The Goblin King and all that.”

All the Oteslians turned to Saliss with that familiar expression of disbelief. But Mivifa? She just turned with Feathi and gave Saliss the most serious expression. Then she leapt up into the air and nodded.

“Ancestors. So it was him? Did they manage to kill him? Tell me he’s dead, Saliss—no, tell me in the air. Feathi will give you a lift back to camp. Come on!”

She didn’t even ask if he was joking. Saliss felt his heart lift, and he saw Feathi shaking herself off. She gave him a eye, but waited as he hopped into the saddle. Then she leapt into the air, and Mivifa shouted.

“I’m glad you’re here! The first Named-rank I saw was Glasiaad, and I almost flew back the way I came when I did!”

“Don’t worry—Xif has a great cream for that now, Mivifa!”

She found something to throw at him, and Saliss found himself laughing. One of the two [Druids] ran to pick up the empty vial and shout at them about littering, and then Saliss was flying higher, literally and in his heart. He’d forgotten, by the by, that yes, even he had a few of them.

Friends.

 

——

 

Incidentally, Druid Lagister had done more than he’d thought with his warning to the Fatguin. When Saliss saw the Walled Cities’ camps next, he wasn’t prepared for the line of ice drawn across the landscape.

“It’s a damn [Ice Wall], only it’s not a spell. They’re having to break through it since it won’t melt for days. Some monster you two ran into.”

It seemed the Fatguin had decided to slow the Walled Cities to let its lizard-allies make tracks in a very literal way. Saliss shouted back at Mivifa as they descended.

“And you didn’t stop it? For shame, Mivifa of Feathers!”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Feathi and I drop when we freeze! That’s the last thing I want to tangle with in the air! And it was fast! Even that Wyvern Lord you tangled with in Pallass seemed like a better fight. You never did tell me how it was to battle.”

“Eh, it was tough and fast, but aside from the Frost Breath, not that unpredictable. That Fatguin didn’t even register on my danger scale until I saw it open its beak. It’s highly magical.”

Mivifa nodded.

“I’ve heard a lot of magical monsters are in the New Lands. Far more than you’d think, given this damn mana drain! I’ve been worried about that all the way here, Saliss. I had to put all my enchanted gear away, so I’m down to just steel. At least Feathi says she’s not feeling any mana drain. She loves the grass. How are you handling it?”

Feathi neighed agreement, and Saliss, well aware she was as intelligent as most people, shrugged.

“I’ve got a magical lantern that’s energizing the air around me. Don’t you have one? Also, steel, Mivifa, really? Not even some mithril?”

She cursed at him.

“Damn it, I didn’t even know that was possible! Do you know how hard it is to get unenchanted Mithril gear at the drop of a hat? You wouldn’t happen to have another, would you, Saliss?”

“Nnnnnope.”

“Well then, could you take some of my gear? I’ve got it with our [Quartermaster], but it makes me nervous having them storing my best items.”

Saliss shrugged lightly.

“Oh, sure. For you, it’ll only be a thousand gold a night—”

She threw a boot at him, then swooped down to catch it. Saliss grinned as Feathi did a slow roll in the air, clearly trying to drop him as they descended towards camp. He hung on easily.

“So…you’re going to be a roaming scout, Mivifa? I’ve been hired to do that and blow anything nasty up. Fancy a team-up?”

She climbed back up towards him and sombered, shaking her head.

“I’d love to, Saliss. More than hanging out with the Magpie and having to give him a cut of loot, but I’m not going to be with the expedition all the time. The First Gardener wants me flying across the New Lands, checking on other colonists from Oteslia, essentially acting as a Courier since not a lot of them are willing to come here. Sorry—when we can, let’s work together, though! Especially if we find a dungeon or the Crossroads.”

He felt a pang at that, but having Mivifa around was good enough. She was one of the few adventurers he liked, and they were already making dinner plans when the speaking stone they had crackled.

“Lady Mivifa, we see you on approach. Apologies, but can you recite your day-code for me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her tone was good-natured.

“Certainly, officer…”

The voice was familiar, and Saliss wasn’t surprised when he saw Captain Lyssander waving them in. He gave Saliss and Mivifa a salute.

“Adventurer Saliss! A good first day, I hope?”

Mivifa raised her brows as Saliss waved, not quite meeting Lyssander’s eyes.

“Oh, you know. Dig up a few roots here, feed a lizard there, annoy a magical ice-bird there…hey, Mivifa, this is Captain Lyssander. And that giant Gnoll is Captain Yorm.”

He saw the Gnoll jogging over, and Mivifa shook Lyssander’s hand.

“I’m a huge fan, Lady Mivifa—”

“Just Adventurer Mivifa, please. Manus? Good to work with you! And you—Ancestors, you’re tall!”

She exclaimed as Yorm loomed over them, and Feathi backed up a step, not used to anyone that big. Yorm saluted.

“Adventurer Saliss, Strategist Esor would like a debriefing if you have a moment—Adventurer Mivifa, it is an honor to meet the Oldblood of Feathers herself! Might I trouble you for an autograph?”

Saliss gestured at his chest.

“Hey! What am I, spare salamander parts?”

Everyone loved Mivifa. She obliged Yorm and signed her name with a flourish before turning back to Saliss.

“Debriefings and reports nonstop. Lovely. Are you eating in the mess hall tonight, Saliss?”

Yorm and Lyssander were giving Saliss looks, clearly hoping to be invited, but he hesitated. He glanced at the two—Saliss waved a claw.

“Eh, maybe I will, but why don’t we talk in private? Adventurer stuff.”

She nodded at once, sensing he didn’t want to have company.

“I can get food delivered to my tent. I’ll see you then at—”

“Fliers coming in! Excuse me, Lady Mivifa, but another group is approaching.”

Lyssander’s disappointed expression turned to concentration as someone else came towards the small landing zone. Feathi trotted out of the landing pad, bemused, as if wondering why a flier couldn’t land anywhere they wanted. Saliss shaded his eyes, wondering if it was someone from High Command from another city.

…But he didn’t see anyone. Then he realized they were all looking the wrong way, and he turned his gaze westwards. Into the New Lands—and he saw three figures dropping towards him out of the skies.

Captain Lyssander spoke crisply.

“Your codes have been approved, and you are cleared for landing, Wings of Pallass.”

The Wings of Pallass? Saliss gazed up, and a single Garuda and two Drakes landed on the ground. They were panting, their leather armor scratched to hell and back, and—Yorm pinched his nose and recoiled a second before the others smelled it—

Filthy.

Captain Bevussa’s feathers were stained from the dirt encrusting them, and she strode over to shake Captain Lyssander’s hand before apologizing.

“Excuse us, sir. We’ve been over two months in the rough, and water’s not always easy to come by. We ran out of soap as well.”

“Dead gods, two months, Captain? I knew you were in the New Lands, but you look rough. Who’re your teammates?”

She nodded to them tiredly.

“Issa and Kin. We had a few more recruits, but they couldn’t keep up or quit, so we had them run escort for groups getting to civilization. I hope to link up with them soon, if the rest don’t bow out. Does—does this camp have hot water? Fire?”

“Food?”

Kin, an Oldblood with wings, added hopefully. Lyssander assured them they did, and she sagged.

“Dead gods, thank goodness! I’d kill for a hot bath!”

“We’ll…try to get you one, adventurers. You look like you’ve had a rough go of it.”

Bevussa had noticed Saliss and Mivifa and did a double-take as she stared at them. She saluted reflexively.

“Adventurer Saliss! Adventurer Mivifa? We, uh—it’s not been the most pleasant experience in the New Lands. We’ve gotten valuable experience and insights into the land, though.”

That meant ‘this is shit, and we hate it here’, but gussied up to seem good in front of the non-adventurers. Saliss eyed her.

“Let me guess…mana-drain?”

Bevussa nodded, and it said it all, really.

“We didn’t expect it until our bags of holding exploded in midair. We lost almost all our supplies. The enchantments wore out, you see. We lasted way, way longer than other groups, but…I guess it got us in the end. All our items scattered to the winds.”

“And weapons and armor.”

Issa groaned, and Saliss felt his stomach twist, imagining how much that would cost a Gold-rank team like that. Bevussa put a hand on her shortsword, her features grim.

“Since then, we’ve picked up work delivering messages and supplies to colonists. And, ah, finding failed expedition sites. The skies aren’t safe past this point, Lady Mivifa. Elemental Wyverns are just the start.”

“Noted, Captain. I’d love a chat—but your team looks like you need to rest first. Could I trouble you later?”

“Of course, Ma’am!”

Bevussa was a former [Soldier] through and through; her entire team seemed awestruck by the most famous flier in Izril. She saluted and then headed straight for the nearest bathing tent. Saliss leaned over.

“I know the Wings of Pallass. They’re solid, Mivifa. Shame about the magic items. They lost members at Liscor.”

She gave him a strange gaze.

“In the dungeon?”

“Nope, Hectval.”

The Oldblood of Feathers shook her head, with that grimace of weary resignation. Not more than a flash of sadness, really; it was the job they knew. Feathi did the same. She rolled her eyes.

“Not in the dungeon then. Just another one of those Liscor-events all over the news. Dead gods, Saliss, it’s like that entire place is a death-zone, and it’s not even the Bloodfields. Alright, tell me later. Would you mind if I invited Bevussa’s team to dinner?”

He hesitated and almost said ‘no’, but the bedraggled Garuda and her team made even him accede.

“Oh, fine.”

She pointed a finger at him.

“And be nice, Saliss! Don’t be, well, you.”

The story of my life. The Drake sighed, but for his friend, he just smiled.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

 

——

 

That evening, Saliss wandered over to Mivifa’s tent and knocked on the huge canvas flaps. Mivifa had a big tent with her sigil on it, that of a flying Pegasus. Still pretentious, but because it was her…

He didn’t want to hang out with the Wings of Pallass. With respect to them, he didn’t know them well. Oh, he’d seen Bevussa around, and she’d been a semi-regular at The Wandering Inn, but he didn’t know her like the Horns, and even them he wasn’t chummy with.

Saliss caught himself as he waited, hearing muffled voices from within. Wait—he might not know the Wings more than most Gold-rank teams, but then again, he knew them a bit. Because they’d known Erin and fought and lost teammates defending her.

Erin was a good judge of character. So, perhaps he wouldn’t be too annoying.

Whatever his apprehensions, Saliss still felt off about dodging Captain Lyssander. He felt—annoyed, despite the fun with Oteslia’s scouts. He rather figured he might like the City of Growth’s approach to the New Lands and was envisioning a better scenario for himself with Mivifa around.

Still, Lyssander bothered Saliss. He could just imagine Mirn fretting over the Drake, thinking about how to have a word with him, wondering how the kid had survived, but Saliss…he caught sight of himself in a watering trough for Feathi outside the tent.

Someone else stared up at him. Not a naked orange-scaled Drake with that silly smile, but an indigo-scaled Drake with blue and yellow eyes.

Onieva. Saliss gazed into his reflection. Troubled.

That wasn’t normal. Was he having hallucinations now? Great, that’d be the last thing he needed, to actually be going crazy. Not that it made his scales itch like normal. He watched Onieva brush at her neck spines. Smile at herself. Give herself finger guns.

“Hey, good looking.”

Before he could investigate further, the tent flaps opened. Saliss saw a giant horse’s head staring at him. Feathi.

“Oh, hey.”

She held the flap open with a wing, and Saliss ducked inside. He found Mivifa sitting at a table with Captain Bevussa, Issa, and Kin.

Saliss had rather imagined it’d go how it usually did with Gold-rankers. Too much awe and admiration and tongue-tiedness. All the silly questions you got from lower-level people who thought you had all the answers and were a different breed of being.

He wasn’t expecting to see a choking Drake trying to swallow an entire chicken wing whole or Captain Bevussa tearing pieces of bread and gulping them down after dunking them in soup. Mivifa gave Saliss a relieved glance as she waved him in, and Feathi rubbed at her own head with a wing.

“Saliss, glad you could join us! We got, uh, started without you.”

The Wings were hungrier than the Drake had expected. Bevussa tried to apologize between bites.

“We’re so sorry, Alchemist Saliss, sir, Lady Mivifa—we haven’t had decent food in ages.”

“I thought you’d at least have good hunting with your aerial mobility, Captain.”

Mivifa was astounded, and Saliss entered adventurer-mode without thinking, leaning over the table. The Wings weren’t amateurs. They might be only Gold-rankers, but he knew they’d been former Pallassian army. However, Bevussa just gulped down some wine and gasped for air. It was Kin who muttered.

“It’s the damn super-monsters.”

“The what?”

“Super-monsters. That’s our name for them. Well, I say ‘we’—Mrsha coined it. She’s checked in on us twice, but we normally missed her since we’re either airborne or in a dead-zone. They’re magical monsters that rate at Named-rank—or worse! They’ve forced us to ground more than once, and we’ve had to hide for days to avoid them.”

Saliss’ brows rose.

“I think I ran into one of them. It was a Fatguin—well, it looked silly until it turned into an ice bird.”

Bevussa shuddered, but shook her head to his surprise.

“That thing? I’ve seen it flying about once or twice near the mountain, but it never came after us. No, I mean…the fish school.” 

Her team blanched and Issa burst out, eyes wide.

“Not to mention the damn Dragon!”

She smashed a fist on the table, and Mivifa froze up. Saliss sat up.

“Did you just say Dragon?”

Issa nodded rapidly.

“We think it’s a Dragon. None of us even got close—one second we were flying away from a snowstorm, the next second we realize the storm is coming at us. We had to dive into cover, and I saw it landing. It was all white scales and frost—we nearly froze as it hunted for us.”

“Hunted? As in, trying to eat you? Dragons from stories aren’t predators of people like that.”

Mivifa’s voice was carefully neutral, and Saliss had an image of the Dragonlord of Flames. He couldn’t square that with a people-eater…well, not for food. Bevussa shook her head at Issa.

“Stow that kind of gossip, Issa. We never got more than a glance at it. Dragon-like. It could have been a Wyvern, but if so, it’s a grade above the Wyvern Lord. But it wasn’t that big…the fish were bastards, though.”

They began reciting the other aerial monsters they’d seen, many of whom had taken umbrage to their presence in the skies. Bevussa sighed.

“I think they were after our mana. Kin’s a [Mage], you see. And I think my shortsword has a tiny bit of magical charge. You wouldn’t happen to know if that was the case?”

She offered a Shortsword of Shock with a pleading look at them. It seemed pretty dead to Saliss, and he doubted the enchantment would have lasted unless it was made well; it was pretty abused from cutting everything from firewood to monsters up.

Here, at least, he could be the good guy, because Mivifa, for all her reputation as a considerate, upstanding Named-rank, could be painfully frank. She pushed Bevussa’s shortsword back over the table after studying it up and down.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Captain Slenderscale. I think it’s a goner. It could be a good [Enchanter] will bring it to life, but it’ll cost you, and my thinking is that your team just lost most of its gold in the New Lands. I wondered why a team already in the New Lands would take a contract with the army…how hard up are you?”

Everyone went silent as Saliss saw Feathi kick Mivifa; the horse was able to partake in the conversation given how big Mivifa’s tent was. Bevussa swallowed another glass of wine, and her clawed hand tightened around the cup.

“I’ll be honest too, Lady Mivifa—Kin and Issa know we’ve lost our fortunes. The moment my bag of holding exploded in the air, well, it wasn’t a fun day. I’m treating this contract as a way to stay solvent. For the rest? I’m going to do what the Halfseekers did in the dungeon of Liscor. Stick it out. Hope to the Ancestors that there’s a fortune in the New Lands, because we’ve sunk all we have here. Not just us; I’ll bet there’s a lot of teams who’re committed to fortune or destitution.”

Saliss clapped his hands in the silence.

“Well, that’s a cheerful discussion! Nice going, Mivifa. Normally I get to bring the mood down.”

Embarrassed, the Oldblood of Feathers began apologizing.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound so aggressive. If I hadn’t gotten warnings, I’d have made the same mistake with me and Feathi—”

Bevussa shook her head with that worn smile of someone who’d lost too much to sugarcoat it.

“I appreciate someone being straight with us, Lady Mivifa. It’s good to have a flier be tough as mithril. Everyone thinks we break like glass…but do you mind if I ask Adventurer Saliss about Liscor? We saw the moon crack, and I swear there was a pink comet around the High Passes—everyone says there was a—a Goblin King that appeared?”

She forced a smile as Mivifa turned to Saliss, just as interested. Bevussa glanced at him.

“I wouldn’t believe it, but they said he appeared at The Wandering Inn. So I give it 50-50 odds he was actually there.”

Here was someone else who believed. More than even Mivifa, who knew Saliss, Bevussa just listened as Saliss nodded and gave a redacted version of the events after the [Palace of Fates].

“He’s dead? You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Until the next time, sure. It’s not like I killed him, Mivifa. I was more of an annoying speedbump with a few good quips. I think those hurt his feelings more than all my damn potions.”

Mivifa exchanged an incredulous look with Feathi, but Kin just muttered.

“Ancestors. We fly off thinking there’s fame and fortune in the New Lands when we could have stayed and fought the Goblin King.”

“And died like Zassil. For all the things we saw in the New Lands, we didn’t die.”

Issa wore a bitter expression as she drained her cup of wine, and Bevussa just studied Saliss. Then she dipped her head.

“Is that—twice now you’ve gone up against the Goblin King, Adventurer Saliss? I feel like I should thank you on behalf of Pallass and my family, if not all of Izril.”

Again, every eye turned to Saliss, and he grew uncomfortable. Mivifa’s wings stirred, and this time she blinked. She believed, but if you really did think the Goblin King had appeared twice, the Goblin King, who lay waste to entire kingdoms…Bevussa met Saliss’ eyes as he tried to wave it off.

“You know, you see him once, you’ve seen him a thousand times. I survived; he can’t be that bad, right?”

I don’t know how I lived. Only that something was fighting him as hard as we were. But Bevussa just lifted her cup.

“If you met him, then you levelled again, Adventurer Saliss, didn’t you? Between that and the Solstice…I was thinking my Level 40 capstone was around the corner. Is yours coming up?”

Ah, she came to it. Mivifa and Feathi’s head snapped around to Saliss, and he kept his face utterly straight. Because they knew, if not his exact class or level, where he was roughly. They were old friends. They knew more of Saliss’ secrets than most, if not Onieva.

They knew Saliss was over Level 50. And if he’d levelled from two major events…Saliss’ eyes twinkled as he decided Bevussa was more than a generic Gold-ranker after all.

“Oh, you charming kids. Me, close to my capstone? That’s nice of you to say. I’d love to hit Level 50 before turning fif—damn. Well, you know, one can dream.”

He gave them a twinkle-eyed stare as he put his chin in his hands. Bevussa chuckled with laughter, and Saliss’ eyes gleamed with secrets.

 

——

 

Only when they were gone, early to bed after their travels, did Mivifa fill their winecups and survey the mess of a table. Feathi picked up bowls with her mouth, tossing them into a bin for cleaning later, and Mivifa murmured.

“Poor kids. I know, I know, they’re Gold-ranks and we were their age, once. But losing all your gear like that? It makes me feel bad for them, and don’t call me old, Saliss!”

She was around his age, and her wings bristled defensively, but Saliss just leaned on the table.

“No, I was going to say that it sucks for them, too. There’s another team I know, the Silver Swords? They lost most of their gear as well. This is going to break a lot of teams, Mivi. There’s no sugarcoating that. Fortunes have already been lost in the New Lands. This is a damn disaster, and the worst part is that big-tailed assholes like the Walled Cities can swan in with all the warnings from those who went first. They can shield their magic. The adventurers can’t.”

She stopped, cup to her lips.

“Dead gods, Saliss. You are in a bad mood.”

He scowled.

“Who told you that? Esor?”

“No one. I just flew in and asked what you’d been up to. When someone said you just pranked Manus and Zeres, and that they’d hardly seen you, I knew you were upset. When you’re in a good mood, everyone’s screaming insults at you, but things are better. Is that new General, Edellein, that incompetent? I saw 2nd Army getting torn up…but that was some kind of super Goblin Lord.”

Saliss snorted and poured a cup for Feathi, who had a custom-made bowl she could drink out of. She drank like, well, a horse.

“Edellein turned that situation into a nightmare when it was already a debacle. He’s as far from Chaldion as you can get.”

“One would think that’s a good thing.”

She murmured carefully, and Saliss scowled harder.

“Chaldion knew what was best for Pallass. Edellein? Well, he’s loyal, and that’s his best quality. Let’s not talk about him, okay? You’ll get to know him whether you like it or not. Be real with me. Why are you out of Oteslia? You never like leaving it.”

It was Mivifa’s turn to be evasive, and she fiddled with a napkin.

“Let’s just say that I’ve had a falling out of sorts.”

“Not with the First Gardener. She loves you. That Cire kid that you were trying to hang about? The First Gardener’s son? Just dangle him off the walls a bit.”

Mivifa shook her head as Saliss watched her, but he didn’t press. That was her secret, and he had his. They had an agreement not to inspect each other’s madnesses; it was how they stayed friends. So long as she wasn’t trying to sleep with Drakes too young for her, Saliss didn’t care to find out.

“It’s freeing, in a way, Saliss. I can go back to being an adventurer, and I do feel the call from the New Lands. You’re the one who looks fed up and miserable. Being with the army is that bad? Why’d you join them?”

“Pressure.”

He grunted, and Mivifa’s eyes widened. She glanced around, and Feathi trotted over to close the tentflaps, then put her head on the table to stare at Saliss.

“Is it Mirn? Is Edellein doing the same thing as Chaldion did and threatening to raid Turnscale bars?”

The fact that she knew Mirn and Turnscales was a product of their long friendship and that Oteslia was the most liberal Walled City by a mile. But she didn’t know about Onieva. She probably thought Saliss was ‘just’ a Turnscale in the sense that he loved men.

Saliss shrugged.

“Why change a winning formula? I’m here because I have to be, Mivifa. And because someone has to keep this damn army from getting mass-poisoned or killed by those ‘super-monsters’.”

He smiled crookedly into his cup until he felt a pressure on his arm. He turned; Feathi was giving him a soulful gaze with big eyes as she stared up at him. Saliss tried to push her away.

“Your Pegasus is drunk, Mivifa.”

Unfortunately, the two were partners. Mivifa was shaking her head as she refilled all their cups.

“Sometimes, I wonder who’s more faithful to their city, Saliss. You, or me. Listen, I know Glasiaad isn’t fun for you.”

“Glasiaad’s fine. I’m not picking a fight, I just messed with him trying to pick up Drakes too young for him. You beat down someone once and they hold a grudge for a decade.”

Saliss complained loudly, and Mivifa shrugged.

“But he’s not going to be easy to work with. Just—I’ll try to find time to partner with you, okay? Maybe you can ride sidesaddle with me if those super-monsters are that much of a threat, or we can dungeon together.”

The problem was…she and Saliss had complimentary skillsets, but only sometimes. They could make an amazing trio, raining down alchemical weapons on the foe, but when it came to air-combat, Saliss was only so helpful. The same for dungeon-exploring. Mivifa was not good at dungeons. Her partner was a giant Pegasus for crying out loud! Not exactly good at dodging traps.

The Drake shook his head.

“Just you being around as a friendly face, Mivifa. Not everyone in Pallass is a waste of time. Esor’s like a worse Chaldion, but you can trust his judgement. And Captain Yorm, the giant Gnoll, is Grimalkin’s apprentice. Solid.”

“And that Captain Lyssander? He seemed to know you, but you blew him off. Is he a classic Manus idiot like Zeter?”

Mivifa shared Saliss’ opinions on a lot of adventurers, and he hesitated too long.

“No…he’s another problem. He’s not stupid. He actually caught me while I was [Invisible] the other day. It’s just how the armies are being run. Edellein’s my problem. I’m stuck with him, but what do you think about General Rigrel?”

Mivifa was more careful than Saliss, but she merely checked the tentflaps and their privacy spells before lowering her voice.

“General Narrina is not a fan. Candidly? I thought Manus’ camp looks a bit roughshod, but I put that down to your pranks. Morale seems low—but it’s low across most Walled Cities.”

“Even Oteslia? You won at the Meeting of Tribes.”

“Tell that to any Gnoll who had relatives there, Saliss. General Narrina took precautions to stay away from Manus to avoid more brawls breaking out, given who was on whose side. I don’t even want to picture Salazsar and Fissival meeting. They’re still at war.”

Drakes hating Drakes. I wonder how we ever find time to fight other species. Saliss downed his drink.

“Well, you’re wondering why I’m in a bad mood.”

Her lips twisted.

“Point. I just hate seeing you like this.”

Saliss was trying not to rock the boat too much. Edellein’s boat, sure, but he hadn’t done more than officially-sanctioned pranks on any other army. He wasn’t messing with Manus’ affairs, and he was playing well with Oteslia. He just hated the dysfunction of the armies, here. He sighed, and pushed Lyssander out of his thoughts.

“Forget about it. The armies brawl and fight and there’s always someone who dies falling into the latrines. We know that. Let’s focus on what we can deal with: the New Lands. You need to be careful in the skies, Mivifa. Everything that wants to eat the Wings will go after Feathi in a heartbeat.”

She nodded.

“Mana-suppressant potions. It makes us sick, but we know how to deal with Wyverns. Ah, did you see the attack on the Haven? Remember what Bevussa said? Flying fish. I wonder if those were the same…”

They began discussing how dangerous these super-monsters actually were and confirming that neither one of them had ever run into most of the monsters Bevussa had described. Saliss left Mivifa’s tent in a focused mood, if not a bit better overall. It was only after he’d tossed himself into his tent that something occurred to him.

“Lyssander. Cire. Werica. Rafaema. All four of those names came from Mrsha.”

He sat up slowly in his tent and frowned.

“So what’s Cire’s potential? What’s Lyssander’s?”

Potential, right? Mrsha didn’t just send him a list of Turnscales—no, Cire had been only after females of any species. Saliss sat there, thinking.

“Potential? He did catch me invisibly. But he couldn’t beat Lieutenant Comois in the Officer Trials. Then again—a Gold-ranker would have lost that fight. Why the hell him?”

But he knew the answer. Saliss rolled over in his bedroll, then rolled over again until he was a cloth sausage rolling across the tent. He wished he hadn’t said that.

Just like General Sserys. Everyone who was a Turnscale knew who Sserys had been. Dead gods, it had been obvious. Fewer knew about Zel Shivertail. Call it coincidence, but Mirn had always had a theory.

“Being a Turnscale is hard. Everything tries to beat it out of you, Saliss, chew you up and spit you out. You have to hang on or go crazy or just—try and quit. It’s hard. How does anyone level? Think on it…”

“If it was that easy, Mirn, we’d all be Level 60. Shut the fuck up.”

Saliss muttered into the night. But he couldn’t shake the question. The next day, he forgot entirely about that late-night thought, at least in the early morning. Captain Yorm woke him up bright and early for Saliss’ speciality:

Demolition work.

 

——

 

The wall of ice that the Fatguin (no one had come up with a better name) had created was still in place, and High Command wanted it gone.

In this case, it was General Edellen, General Rigrel, Green General Narrina, and Shark Captain Femar. There was a Wall Lady who’d elected to lead Salazsar’s troops, but she was more nobility and, apparently, still on the way. Fissival was also on the outs, both politically and in terms of distance, so the four commanders were operating by committee for now.

Femar was the youngest of the four, the brashest, and definitely the best in combat, but seniority meant he had to defer to the others at times. Edellein had the most power despite his lack of seniority over Rigrel due to the size of his army, and it was he who made the request.

“We need a hole in this ice wall, Saliss. We’ve hit it with picks, and our [Battle Alchemists] and Glasiaad took a crack at it, but it’s just draining too much mana. Can you destroy it without wasting too much gold?”

“I mean, I can. But what happened to good, old-fashioned digging?”

Saliss was curious. The ground was frozen solid, but it would be easy to either sap the walls or just ramp over it. He was an expensive solution when an army was a multitool that could fix problems like this. It was Femar who barked back.

“We could waste time making a ramp or give our troops a show, Adventurer. After raising every tentflap in a hundred meters last night, I think they deserve it.”

That drew laughter from people who’d heard until Femar glared around, but he wasn’t actually looking to brawl Saliss. He was glaring, but there was that charisma that Saliss had seen now and then.

“Yes, what the Sharkcaptain said. Bread and visiting the menagerie…that’s the ticket. You know your stuff, Femar.”

General Rigrel put in. He appeared…tired. And, Saliss noticed, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Femar. The Sharkcaptain slapped Rigrel on the back of his armor, and the Gnoll winced.

“I’ve learned it from the best, General Rigrel.”

“Yes, ha-hah. Well, that’s what we’ve elected to do. On with the show, Adventurer Saliss.”

The purely envious gaze Rigrel shot Femar said a lot. One was in the prime of his life, the other…Saliss turned to Edellein, and the [General] gave him a look. Are you going to usurp my command here?

And risk the chance to blow something up and get paid while doing it? Saliss cracked his knuckles as everyone turned to him. He smiled despite himself.

“Ooh, a challenge, is it? Let me see.”

He did like problems like this. This was a puzzle, and Saliss knew better than to brute-force it with a mass flame spell like Glasiaad would have done without the mana drain. His first instinct was simple.

“What if we made a bridge over the ice?‘

Earth ramp up, earth ramp down. However, the amount of troops that each army had meant it would be a lot of work. Esor shook his head.

“If we could break it apart, Alchemist…? Even a few chunks would be enough. We have the muscle; it’s just one solid sheet. Amazingly tough, really. Our [Cryomancers] say that it’s equivalent of a [Glacius Wall] spell—Tier 5.”

“Psh, only Tier 5? Give me a second…”

Saliss was running down the list of options he had. There were several things that dealt with ice. Salt, for one. Heat was too obvious…he was imagining how you could quarry some huge sheets of rock by embedding stakes of wood in the ice, then adding water. The expanding wood cracked the stone, and you could clear huge amounts of stone with only a hammer, a few pieces of wood, water, and time.

However…this was magical ice. Even the compressed wood might not crack it, and he didn’t have time to fiddle around with pieces of wood all day. But the idea still made Saliss think he had something.

What about a shockwave? If I drill a hole in the ice and put a vial in there, let’s say…Potion of Combustion? No, the fire needs air. How about a Thunderclap Vial? That much sound and force will explode and crack the ice—if I seal the hole.

Having a sealant stronger than the ice so the shockwave had nowhere to go but into the ice would be key. Saliss thought and found the right vial.

Gianthammer Glue. So named because apocryphally, it had once been used to make a hammer for a giant. Saliss doubted it was that strong, but he strode over to the wall of ice. A lot of [Soldiers] were waiting to go, and he waved his hands at them, showing off a bit. Maybe it was seeing the Wings of Pallass there or his better mood, but he called out to a hungover Mivifa and Feathi.

“Well, well, well! It seems the Walled Cities have found an enemy they can’t defeat: ice! I, Saliss of Lights, will defeat this cunning obstacle! Observe, nothing up my sleeves…”

Mivifa threw a rock at him.

“Get on with it, Saliss!”

He chucked a hangover tonic back at her. Then Saliss sighed dramatically.

“Oh, fine. Now, I just need a tiny hole…let me just try some lava. Whoops!”

He had a special jar that kept anything in it amazingly hot. Saliss ‘accidentally’ tossed some lava on the wall of ice.

It exploded.

Ice meeting lava tended to do that. Saliss dodged the blast of steam and picked himself up theatrically. Then he stared.

“Huh.”

The ice was unharmed. The cooling lava steamed on the grass, and Saliss upgraded how cold he thought this damn wall was. A dangerous bird indeed.

“Okay…no lava. Let me just try some powder. Anyone got a ladder? Feathi, I need a footstool! Feathi?”

She ignored him, but Bevussa leapt up.

“Where to, Alchemist?”

He had her drop him on top of the wall, and despite his Potion of Ice Resistance, Saliss felt the chill. He pretended to hop on one foot then another as he dumped powder onto a spot.

“You may want to stand back, Captain. And shield your eyes.”

It was mostly just metallic powders he’d combined with a bit of fire magicore on top of the ice wall. Saliss lit a match, then took a step back as the mixture began to burn red-hot.

Rhaldon called the compound ‘thermite’. Which sounded so much less cool than Flaresand. This time, the burning, spitting mixture produced more than just an explosion of steam. Saliss eyed the eye-searing blaze and saw the ice reducing—but it was going to make a circular pit, not a tube-sized hole.

So he pulled out some gloves and, to Bevussa’s shock, began scooping at the burning thermite.

“Come on, burn a hole. A hole! Ooh, that’s a bit hot.”

“Alchemist Saliss, are you okay?”

“What? Sure, sure. Anyone want some of this? It burns through bones, you know.”

The audience stared as the screaming thermite melted a hole into the ice under Saliss’ claws. He eventually picked up the powder and ran, swearing, to another spot on the wall where he repeated the process until it finally burned out.

The end result were some messy holes, and Saliss pulled out another tool to get them a bit more in the shape he wanted.

“Adamantium dagger, say hello to ice. And Adamantium…wins…”

Dead gods, it was annoying to carve. Saliss worked the blade with all his strength, trying not to waste another potion for that. He’d only spent about ten minutes all told, but he was conscious of the time-crunch, and when he thought the two holes were big enough, he found some cotton, stuffed the highest-grade Thunderclap Vials into each hole, and covered them with Giantshammer Glue, taking care to avoid leaving the slightest gap.

Now, in theory, the Thunderclap Potions would explode and the shockwave would transmit through the ice. There was a chance they’d just sunder the place where glue met ice, but Saliss’ estimations had the glue’s adhesion being stronger than that.

If this doesn’t work, I might get to test one of my seith potions. But I doubt Edellein wants to pay that. Saliss stood up and shouted.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Stand back!”

The [Soldiers] milling about retreated as officers bawled the order. Saliss waited until they were fifty feet away before clearing his throat.

“Further back. You may see ice falling on you! If that happens, I advise you to not be there when it lands! Now, all I have to do is set them off…”

Theatrically, he bent down, and his audience saw him light a match. Then stare at the glue-covered caps where the vials were lodged inside. Saliss hesitated.

“Ah.”

“Don’t tell me that idiot’s forgotten to put a fuse on his vials!”

Saliss distinctly heard Shark Captain Femar grouse to laughter and groans from his audience. Saliss spun around.

“Hey, Shark Captain Femar, when I want advice from Zeres’ Admiralty, I’ll go to Admiral Asale! Hold on, I just have to…”

He began kicking at the glue caps and trying to pry one up. He saw Edellein glaring and issuing orders, but only a few of the Alchecorps stirred. They were watching him, and Strategist Esor was sighing. Saliss turned to his jeering audience.

Only Mivifa was watching with a resigned expression, and Saliss couldn’t help but notice that Captain Bevussa was also flying well clear of the icewalls. Smart kid. He winked at her, then put his hands on his hips.

“You know what would be really handy here? [Remote Detonation]. Oh sh—”

The explosion blew him off the icewalls and straight into the air. Which Saliss had known; he’d been standing on one of the gluecaps.

Thank goodness for [Disable Friendly Fire]. It came in real handy in moments like these, when standing in the epicenter of an explosion was, in fact, the safest place to be.

He had the satisfaction of hearing surprised screams and shouts—[Blastproof Hearing] was a Skill he’d gotten when he was Level 11, thankfully. Old Xif was more than a little deaf at his age from all the bangs of things going off.

Saliss twisted around in the air, prepared to land fairly hard, but knowing he’d survive the impact. Now, aside from that cloud of smoke, what kind of damage…

He caught sight of the ice wall and swore mildly. It was still standing! But there were huge cracks running along it; it had shattered like glass, but only a few places had pieces missing.

Dead gods, what the hell kind of bird is that? Super-monsters indeed! This is definitely a Named-rank threat and—

“Got you!”

Bevussa caught Saliss in midair. He was so shocked he nearly punched her before he realized she was slowing his descent. Saliss came down and blinked.

“Er, thanks, Captain. Good flying.”

“You learn to catch rookies in the flight wings. Nice explosion, Alchemist! Though that wall’s tough as mithril!”

“Not quite, but I really thought I’d have a hole. Oh well.”

Saliss strode forwards in the refreshing silence and took a look at the wall. General Edellein was shaking his head.

“You’ve cracked it, Alchemist. Alright, let’s get some rams and—”

The [Alchemist] pulled a vial, uncorked it with one thumb, and tossed it.

Potion of Blast—his recipe. [Flask: Directional Force] meant it didn’t blow backwards onto his audience. This time, the shockwave illuminated Saliss’ body as he turned.

“No wall beats me.”

A piece of ice twice as large as Edellein’s tent slid to the ground with a crash. More pieces showered away from the camp. To his credit, the Supreme General barely flinched. Saliss juggled six vials. He grinned.

“Stand back! You soldiers can haul the pieces away once I’m done with them.”

He grinned at the cheers; [Soldiers] loved a spectacle. Even Edellein smiled as he gave Saliss an indulgent wave before leaning over to ask Esor how much six of Saliss’ potions cost.

The Drake flicked the potions up, calculating six spots along the wall to hit. He had perfect aim; synchronizing the throws to land at the same time and blast the right way took a bit more effort, but the wall was already broken inwards from his first Potion of Blast. Six more would give them the holes they wanted.

Saliss flicked his claw out as he spun, and he—missed—his grab for the Potion of Blast. And the other six. He started.

He never missed—Saliss grabbed one of the falling vials and blinked. Something was embedding in the enchanted glass of each one, and it had thrown their trajectory off. A…

Playing card? Saliss blinked at it in shock as Edellein turned. Then he cursed.

“Oh no, not—”

This time it wasn’t his explosion. Nor was the shower of confetti his. Saliss saw a figure leaping into a cloud of smoke, and then he was right there. That preening popinjay wearing a ringmaster’s coat in red, cards falling from his fingers. And the mustache.

What kind of Gnoll had a mustache?

“[Soldiers] of the Walled Cities, I hear you have a little ice problem! Not to fear, I’m here! Who needs a little potion when you’ve got magic?”

The voice boomed and rolled over the audience, and they gasped as the smoke cleared and he swept a bow. Saliss’ smile vanished.

“Deyss.”

“That’s—the Magician?”

Edellein coughed, and the Gnoll boomed.

“Deyssdra the Spectacular! And now, for my first trick—making this ice wall vanish! Thank you, Adventurer Saliss, for the warmup!”

He spun, and Saliss saw a young Drake in a helper’s flashy uniform run up. A female Drake wearing makeup—Deyss always had an assistant. The Named-rank grinned. Then his apprentice tossed up a bag of holding.

“Nothing up my sleeves—”

“I did that already! Deyss, you hack! Go back home to Salazsar!”

Saliss shouted, and the [Magician] winked at him. Then he shrugged and flipped the Bag of Holding at the wall. He threw it deceptively slow—only the highest-level people probably saw the bag of holding release its payload at around a hundred miles per hour. A baseball ace’s pitch combined with, oh…

A bag of holding that could hold four hundred pounds of weight.

That idiot had even formed the piece of lead into a fist and painted it gold. The boom made everyone around Saliss flinch. He just glared as the wall splintered inwards. The section of the wall vanished and chunks of ice showered onto the grass. Deyss took a bow to the cheers. The golden fist vanished as he waved his hands, and a handkerchief floated down where it had been.

“That was just a warmup. Now, how about a fireball? I’m sure I have one—”

He produced a match, lit it, and then swallowed the flame. His cheeks puffed out, and he blew an oversized [Fireball] straight at the wall of ice. Everyone gasped, but the [Fireball] vanished before it could hit the wall of ice. Instead, a glass jar dinked off the ice. Deyssdra recoiled, then turned.

“Oops. Did I do that?”

Saliss of Lights polished his claws on his side. He flipped a Potion of Blast up.

“Sorry, Deyss. I was just blowing this wall up. Like so—”

His potion hit the wall, and the explosion kicked several tents near it skywards. Deyssdra the Spectacular laughed.

“Saliss! The second-most entertaining Named-rank in the Walled Cities!”

Saliss mimicked Deyss, spreading his arms in a mock greeting.

“You know, I always thought Tessa was the most entertaining Named-rank in Salazsar, it’s true. Why don’t you go do some card tricks, Deyss? Is that a new apprentice? What happened to the last one? Fall into another magic hat?”

The Gnoll’s teeth ground together, and he chuckled.

“Okay. So you think you know how to make things disappear? You’ve got no elegance, Saliss, no showmanship. No class.”

He blew his nose into a handkerchief and tossed it over one shoulder. The falling sword cracked the wall of ice. Saliss tossed another vial.

“I make things go boom.”

To his annoyance, the Gnoll performed a flying dive off his impromptu stage. He caught the vial and whirled.

“That’s you and vials. How about a hand of cards?”

He threw a flurry of them, and Saliss saw a dozen throwing cards hit the wall of ice, stick in the ice, and glow. This time, the explosions knocked more pieces of ice down, and Saliss rolled his eyes.

That’s just showy. I can blow a bigger piece out, and he knows it. But Deyssdra was playing to his audience.

“Oho. A single hand not good enough? What about the full deck?”

He spread two huge hands of cards and tossed them at the walls. A pop of air; Saliss innocently closed his Jar of Air as the vortex blew the cards into the air where they rained down. The [Magician] turned.

“Saliss, come on—”

Mivifa began, but he glared at her, and she remembered that he and Deyss didn’t get on. The show-off from Salazsar coughed into one fist.

“Assistant? Let’s give Saliss a hand.”

She tossed up another bag of holding, and Saliss flicked up a glowing vial, waiting for Deyss to try to hit it with his throwing cards. His aim was spectacular. The Gnoll grinned as he juggled a bowling pin, a trio of cards, the bag of holding, and a cup into the air. Every head swung from Saliss of Lights to Deyssdra the Spectacular.

The two Named-rank adventurers lifted a hand to throw—and the wall of flames blasted past them and hit the ice wall like the crashing of crackling waves. Saliss blinked; Deyssdra spun and nearly dropped the bag of holding. They turned.

“Huh?”

A band of eight Drakes exhaled again, and the combined wave of Dragonbreath washed over the ice wall, melting and breaking apart the weakened ice. The multi-colored flames burned strongest with blue flames; the same color as the flames wreathing the leader’s armor.

The Heartflame Breastplate burned on Captain Keldrass’ chest as his team, the Flamewardens, burned a groove into the ice wall. Then there was a crash of ice as a section of wall fell in.

“Flamewardens—pause!”

Keldrass held up a fist, and his team stopped breathing as another section of wall collapsed, water steaming upwards and pooling on the ground.

Saliss saw the Drake nod and then call out.

“[Mark Target]—that breach! Inhale, breathe!”

His team burned another weakened section of the wall as someone, Major Zifren, gasped.

“The Heartflame Breastplate! The Flamewardens!”

Then everyone was crowding around to see the famed Relic, and one of Saliss’ potions bounced off his foot. He picked it up and dusted it off as Deyssdra the Spectacular lowered his paws. The Gold-rank team continued breathing until General Edellein stormed over, beaming. Then Captain Keldrass was blinking around in the confusion.

“Well, I heard there was an obstruction, so I had my team double-time to the spot. I saw we were breaking it down and—”

Saliss heard no more in the excitement. The Named-rank [Alchemist] folded his arms. He glared at Deyssdra as the Gnoll ruefully adjusted his tophat. Saliss kicked at a piece of ice on the ground.

“Showoffs.”

 

——

 

Salazsar’s Named-rank had arrived along with their leadership. The fanciful [Magician]—and he was a [Magician], not a [Mage], a very important distinction—was Salazsar’s famous champion. Beloved in the expensive City of Gems as an entertainer.

Saliss preferred Tessa, who was realer for all her problems. He preferred a lot of adventurers over Deyss, in fact, and glowered the entire time Salazsar’s commander was introducing herself.

“It took us a while to re-order our [Soldiers], General Edellein. Without magic, the Gem Regiments are badly handicapped, but I’ve taken the liberty of bringing a number of specialists for this expedition. Adventurer Deyssdra is evidence of the City of Gem’s commitment to this effort, and I have a letter from the Wall Ladies and Lords of Salazsar congratulating you on your rank.”

“Wonderful, Wall Lady…?”

“Navine Gemscale.”

Saliss vaguely recognized the name, but the purple scales were a dead giveaway. He raised his brows as she glanced around the warcamp. Now here was someone who didn’t lead armies, but fit with Salazsar’s mentality. A corporate leader—he wondered how inept she might be.

However, he was mostly just glaring at the Gnoll who gave Edellein a handshake—his hand came away, and the [General] nearly dropped the fake hand before laughing. Deyssdra winked at him.

“And I hope to provide some levity for our hard-working [Soldiers], General! I put on performances nightly—with permission, of course! When I heard about the New Lands, I had to stop touring and go back to my roots!”

“This is a delight, Adventurer Deyssdra! I’m certain the troops will appreciate your presence, as do I! I’ve always wanted to see one of your shows—and of course, let me introduce my command and Saliss of Lights, whom I believe you know?”

Navine Gemscale did a double-take when she saw Saliss’ naked form, but she shook his hand, trying to pretend she wasn’t rattled. Saliss turned as the Gnoll beamed.

“Ah, Saliss, once again, a pleasure for us old dogs, eh?”

“Hey, Deyss. How’re the kids?”

Saliss’ voice was flat, but the Gnoll ignored that, twiddling his mustache and beaming around his audience. Which was everyone at all times.

“Is that Mivifa I saw back there? A delight, a delight to be among such fine Named-ranks. Will any more be coming?”

“None with the Walled Cities, I think. Maybe from Fissival? But they haven’t said. Four Named-ranks should account for most threats.”

Edellein rubbed his claws together, and Deyssdra threw him another low bow.

“One can only hope, General! With your permission, I shall set up my camp—my assistant, Neys, may have a few questions about resources and whatnot. But rest assured, I shall be performing in your mess halls tonight!”

“Sawing people in half, asking which card he’s holding up, and making rabbits disappear into his hat.”

Saliss muttered as the Gnoll strode out of the tent. Esor blinked at him.

“I thought you would get along well with Adventurer Deyssdra, Saliss. He’s certainly as, uh, flamboyant as you.”

“Me?”

The [Alchemist] pointed at his chest, outraged. He glared at Esor.

“I make things go boom. Deyss sprinkles glitter everywhere and does some fancy sleight of hand. We’re nothing alike.”

“But you’re both showoffs, I mean, er—”

Esor realized he was putting his foot in it as Saliss’ glower intensified. The Drake stuck a finger up as he leaned closer to Esor.

“We’re nothing alike. And I throw better than he does!”

He stomped off, and Navine Gemscale blinked at Saliss’ back.

“I thought that Saliss of Lights was supposed to be a humorous adventurer. Full of pranks. Adventurer Deyssdra was complimentary enough about him on the way here!”

Edellein shook his head as he indicated the war tent.

“I’m afraid he’s moodier than one would think, Wall Lady. But you learn to deal with adventurers in a command setting. May I offer you refreshments? How, exactly, is Salazsar? I heard about the Last Defenders of the Wall, and I must say, the memories that brought back…”

 

——

 

The Flamewardens of Pallass were so popular that Saliss didn’t even see them as he kicked around camp. He was still kicking over tent pegs and glowering at a few camp-dogs from Manus when Mivifa found him.

“There you are. Saliss, come greet the other adventurers from Salazsar and those Flamewardens. Stop sulking. You got to blow up most of the wall!”

“I’m not sulking, your face is sulking.”

He glared at the ground, and she exhaled hard.

“I don’t know why you and Deyss hate each other’s guts so much. You used to be inseparable!”

“I don’t hate him. Feathi hates him.”

She raised a fist.

“If you don’t stop throwing a tantrum, I will hit you. This is what he’s like, Bevussa. Don’t let the act fool you; every Named-rank is a child deep down.”

His head snapped up; he hadn’t realized Mivifa had company! Captain Bevussa hid a smile as she flew down. Saliss glowered at Mivifa. She gave him a ‘you did this to yourself’ glower.

“I’ve heard of Deyssdra the Spectacular, but even when I flew to Salazsar, I only heard he was on tour.”

“He visits lots of cities with his act. He’s more stage magician than Named-rank.”

Mivifa swatted at Saliss.

“He’s as much adventurer as Saliss is, Bevussa. Don’t mind him. The two fight like a cat and dog, but I swear they like each other. I think it’s the showing off—one just has to outdo the other. Deyssdra’s a bit of an odd fighter. He’s got a bag of tricks, and once that runs out, he’s more of a utility backup. But an odd one; Saliss is more of a frontliner. You’ll be glad with Deyssdra at your back, though. Come on, Saliss.”

She wanted to tug him away, and Saliss let himself be pulled all of fifteen feet—almost into a Drake, who offered Mivifa a salute.

“Adventurer Mivifa! Saliss of Lights! I apologize if my team stepped on any tails back there! I didn’t realize I was interfering with Adventurer Deyssdra’s performance; I just saw the problem and hit it. Bevussa, is that you? It’s been months!”

The Drake looked slimmer without his armor, but only just. Saliss blinked as Captain Keldrass of the Flamewardens ducked out from behind a tent.

“Keldrass, is that you? How’d you get out of that crowd?”

Bevussa exclaimed and clasped his forearms. Another old soldier of Pallass—it was a trend with a lot of adventurers, Saliss included. Mivifa smiled as Keldrass jerked a thumbclaw over his shoulder.

“I gave the armor to Mittch, my second-in-command. Everyone just stares at the armor. I had to duck away to apologize—Adventurer Saliss, it’s an honor to work alongside you again, sir.”

He was so earnest it made Saliss embarrassed to be sulking. The [Alchemist] waved a claw.

“Bah, I don’t care if you got the wall. I like the flames. Very colorful. It’s Deyss that annoys me. Throwing his cards around, and you just know he was waiting for the big entrance. He’s a showoff, that one.”

Mivifa rolled her eyes, but Keldrass breathed out in relief. He coughed, thumped his chest, but didn’t exhibit the normal effects of overuse of Dragonbreath that Saliss normally saw—and they had been hot flames.

“That’s a relief. We just marched into the New Lands; we had intended to be here two days earlier, but the breastplate attracts way too much attention. We’ve had to guard it like hawks, and we sleep with it on. Well, mostly me, to be honest. It’s eerie how powerful it is—I feel like my Dragonbreath is three times as strong as it used to be.”

Now, Saliss remembered Keldrass at the Winter Solstice. The Drake had immolated countless undead when he’d unlocked more of the breastplate’s power. It seemed like that had led to a great change in the Drake’s capabilities.

“With the Heartflame Breastplate, your team might well be Named-rank, Captain Keldrass. So that Relic not only shields you from damage but enhances your breath attack?”

Keldrass nodded as he explained it to Mivifa.

“It’s a new function. Or rather, another one we’ve rediscovered. I swear there are more secrets, but we only have a few of them that we’ve identified. If we had the Helm of Fire…but that’s on its way to the Empire of Sands. So far, enhancing my breath is the main effect. And with my new class, well—we’re being recertified now, but I was told unofficially that within the month we’ll be allowed to call ourselves a Named-rank team so long as we have the breastplate!”

That was big. Bevussa’s beak opened, and Saliss didn’t miss the other part. He stared at Keldrass, then read something hovering above the Drake’s head.

[Oldblood Flamebreath Warrior Level 41]. Saliss smiled faintly and clapped Keldrass on the shoulder.

“You might want to get a ring of anti-appraisal there, Captain Keldrass. But hey—welcome to the big leagues. Now you get to pay for everyone’s drinks.”

Keldrass gave him a round-eyed stare, and Mivifa, who knew Saliss’ eyes, gave him a curious look. The Drake coughed a bit of smoke out.

“Th-thank you, sir. Not that we can afford to buy all the drinks. One cost of the armor is that I have an agreement to share profits with Miss Selys Shivertail, the owner of the breastplate. Worth it, of course, but it is a cost.”

He smiled, a Named-rank team’s Captain wearing a Relic so powerful that even the New Lands couldn’t drain it of magic. Then Saliss remembered Bevussa and saw her hesitate, then extend a hand.

“Well done, Keldrass. That’s wonderful news!”

She had to force a smile, and Saliss saw a clear contrast between the impoverished leader of the Wings of Pallass and the resplendent Flamewardens. Keldrass hesitated.

“Thank you, Bevussa. How’s your team doing? Did the New Lands…?”

Saliss spared Bevussa from having to bring up the anti-magic disaster with a clap on both Gold-rankers’ shoulders.

“Let’s not stand around here chatting; the eavesdroppers always come after you. How about we have a big meal at Mivifa’s?”

The Oldblood of Feathers shook her head.

“I don’t have that many provisions, Saliss! The Wings, er, ate a lot of it, and I’m not going to bother the [Quartermaster] nonstop. Let’s eat at the mess hall tonight. You know Deyss is going to perform, and everyone will love to see it. Don’t grouse at me.”

Saliss pulled a huge face, but he couldn’t deny everyone but him would have a grand old time. He glowered, but agreed, and Keldrass glanced around.

“I have to get back to my team. Bevussa, Saliss, I’d love to catch up and ask about Liscor and the Goblin King—”

Of course you would. But Saliss, despite himself, realized that Keldrass was another believer. So there was another adventurer who won a mark. He turned to Bevussa.

“I always thought Keldrass was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. He seems to have loosened up a bit.”

“He has, and it hasn’t gone to his head. I think the inn helped with that. A Named-rank team. He deserves it. He blasted more Draugr than I can count. Good for him.”

The Garuda seemed so forlorn that Mivifa fidgeted—then spoke up too-brightly.

“Well, now the wall of ice is gone, it’s time to scout! Captain Bevussa, would your team care to show me some of the nearby landmarks? I’d love to fly with you.”

That distracted Bevussa, and she agreed that she’d love to have Mivifa check her team’s form and show her what they could. They headed off, and Saliss sighed. More adventurers. More fun. No, but really, he didn’t mind having the Flamewardens…

“It’s just Deyss that’s a pain in the ass. That brightly-colored rat. No one likes him. Every Gnoll I know says he smells, that’s why he got kicked out of the tribes. And he’s a horrible boss, so all his apprentices quit on him. Plus, he has Yellow Rivers. Magical Yellow Rivers. Incurable. I hear he was the first person to spread it around.”

He spoke to the air until a shadow moved out from a tent. A Gnoll, his cloak shimmering as it stopped looking like the fabric, stepped out and glared.

“It’s not like I knew you were coming with Pallass’ forces, Saliss. I thought you’d never join—well, they have you over a barrel, don’t they?”

“Deyss.”

The two faced each other, Saliss’ arms folded, the [Magician] fiddling with a card. His were sharp, and he could throw one through an enemy’s skull, but Saliss had always thought they lacked punch. Accordingly, Deyss had come up with his ‘golden punch’ trick.

He was bigger than you’d expect; not Yorm’s size, but close. But he hid all that under his colorful attire and glamour. Right now, he seemed—well, defensive.

They were always like this. Saliss glowered.

“No one forced you to come. Let me guess, you volunteered.”

“Showing willingness and patriotism isn’t a bad thing, Saliss. You should try it. Salazsar’s all aflurry with the Last Defenders of the Wall coming back. We have everyone from old Eschowar to Navine’s father, Wall Lord Zail. I’m doing my part.”

“Performing for General Edellein and everyone else.”

Saliss sneered, and Deyss shot him a glower as he adjusted his high collar.

“I’m not going to do this with you, Saliss. I was going to ask what the hell kind of madness is coming out of Liscor. It’s either tall tales or…was there really a Goblin King?”

The [Alchemist] didn’t want to get into it right now. He shrugged.

“I’ll tell everyone later. Who’s the kid?”

“My apprentice? She’s been with me eight months. Bright. Very good with her hands and timings. Too much into the adventuring lifestyle, but I need help, and we’re with the army—she’s fifteen. Keep an eye on her.”

“You keep her out of our job, Deyss. Don’t make your problems my problems.”

“I’m asking you to—”

The Gnoll’s hackles rose, and they glared at each other. A few passersby saw the uncharacteristically mad Named-ranks, known for their good humor and entertaining affect, and stared. Saliss and Deyss paused, then stepped into one of the tents to argue. Saliss was ready to go again, but Deyss just rubbed at his face.

“Let’s not fight. How’s Mirn?”

“…Fine. He’s got an annoying new kid to look after—same old, same old. How’s Laszi?”

Deyss fiddled with a cufflink.

“Doing fine—I think. I try not to check in that often, you know.”

“Don’t want to remind everyone about your terrible indiscretions?”

The Gnoll grabbed Saliss’ shoulder.

“It beats waging a one-Drake war against an entire Walled City! Now, if you don’t mind, can we be professionals for five seconds while we’re about to fight monsters in the New Lands or are you going to do this the entire time?”

The [Alchemist] relaxed after a long moment. He tried to stop glowering, but that was, after all, a difference between them. Saliss was an Architect. Mirn was a Sentry.

Deyssdra was a Mason, someone who built things and who preferred to earn favor and accede where he could. It was a philosophical difference between them. Saliss called it cowardice; Deyss called it pragmatism.

“—Odd to see Mivifa here.”

Deyss changed the subject again, and Saliss shrugged.

“She says her obligations in Oteslia vanished.”

“Hmpf. Oteslia…I hear it’s rife with criminals having a damn war on the streets. Very odd she’s leaving it, but maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. I’ll tell you one thing, Saliss—Salazsar is abuzz with change, and Navine is just one element of it. Ever since Wall Lord Ilvriss came back a changed man, it’s been one thing after another.”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know with that door to Liscor, Chaldion retiring, Thrissiam, and Goblin Kings popping out of my ass.”

The caustic tone made Deyss throw up his paws.

“I cannot with you, Saliss. Is it Onieva? Are you low on reagents or something because—”

Saliss jabbed Deyss several times in the chest.

“Stop. Meddling. And. I’ll. Stop. Being. Grumpy. Got it, Deyss? Just go be entertaining, and I’ll go murder monsters, and we can both be happy.”

The Gnoll had a sad expression on his face that made Saliss guilty. He drew himself up.

“I just thought you might want to talk to someone, Saliss.”

“About what, how much it sucks?”

Saliss spun in the entrance to the tent as a [Major] lifted the flap to his tent and halted. Both Named-ranks ignored him, and Deyss shrugged.

“Well, yes.”

Saliss stopped, and stared at Deyssdra the Spectacular, then managed to slam the tent flap against the air. He stomped off, and what made him angriest of all was that he couldn’t quite remember why he and Deyss were so mad at each other.

A long while ago, Saliss had been fighting with everything he had. He put out a call to help, and friends came, and they set part of a Walled City ablaze. They might have even won…

They’d never have won. But they tried. Saliss had called for help, and good people had come to die.

Deyssdra hadn’t. It turned out he’d been right.

Saliss had never forgiven him for it.

Old stories like that. The Named-rank was in a worse and worse mood as he stomped around camp again. Up and down, that familiar feeling.

He found Onieva staring at him in a piece of melting ice and met her gaze. Saliss walked over to rest his head against the ice.

“Damnit, Deyss. Why do we have to always fight?”

Two different kinds of people on the same side, that was all. So they fought the hardest. Deyss was a great Drake, for all he was a Gnoll. And so was Saliss.

The [Alchemist] was still standing there when Captain Lyssander found him.

 

——

 

Captain Lyssander was apprehensive, so he tried to sneak up on Saliss of Lights. A fruitless task, of course. One did not merely sneak up on a Named-rank adventurer. Well, one could do that to some of them. Zeter, for instance, had little awareness beyond that of a trained soldier. But one of the things you learned really quick in the army was that sneaking up on Zeter for a prank could be the last thing you did. It wasn’t his fault if you jumped out of a closet and his fist punched through your skull. If it was his fault, well, the Walled Cities needed Zeter more than Corporal Relln.

But the [Soldiers] remembered. They had a kind of hive-like intelligence and memory that lost a lot as generations retired or casualties took them away, and the facts got distorted, but they remembered…moments. Yes, Lyss knew the irony of comparing Manus’ army to a hive. But it fit, so why couldn’t he say it?

That was the refrain he’d often heard coming from his mouth before he was told to run a lap around Manus. Why not do it this way? ‘Because we don’t’ was a stupid answer, wasn’t it? Why not try that? Why not…

Saliss of Lights was nothing like the notes in his files. As a [Captain] of Manus, Lyssander had access to a lot of files that a civilian would envy. Like notes on active Named-rank adventurers. None of the juicy stuff; that was always (REDACTED), but he’d read Saliss’ file by accident once and thought it was describing some scarred war veteran like Spearmaster Lulv, all intensity and excellence. Not a silly, naked Drake like the [Alchemist] acted like. But was that Lyss’ eyes deceiving him?

The Drake expected to be noticed as he edged closer, but somehow, it seemed like the [Alchemist] didn’t see him or was pretending not to. He was staring at a piece of ice on the ground, which barely melted even under the morning’s sun. And speaking?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Lyssander opened his mouth, but the question wasn’t directed at him. Saliss kept his eyes focused on the piece of ice, and his tail waved slowly in the grass. He seemed—disturbed. And tired.

“Stop it. I had to come here. For the seith as well as to make sure fewer idiots die than…everything important is over there, but you don’t protect that by staying. I can’t. The flowers are gone. I can’t bring you back easily. It’s going to be harder unless I can find—”

Silence. As if he could hear someone, the Drake tilted his head. Closed his eyes.

“Okay, you really shouldn’t be able to talk. I’m going crazy. For real this time. Or is it the palace? I never even looked in a door. Like the eyes of a Bogleraum. Better never to look, but I’ll dream of it.”

He rubbed at his face, and Lyssander wondered what a ‘Bogleraum’ was. He knew plenty of monsters from his study of them before this campaign, and it didn’t ring a bell. Saliss shook his head.

“Disappointed? What are you, the Old Man? Disappointed…why do you think I’m here?”

He stabbed a claw towards the ground, and then his face went blank. Saliss twisted around so fast that Lyssander started. The Drake had a claw holding a vial in a second, and Lyssander’s scales shivered as he saw the claw on the cork top, about to unleash…

“Alchemist Saliss, I apologize if I’m interrupting! I, uh, hope I could have a word?”

Lyssander saw Saliss stare at him, then glance at the piece of ice. The [Alchemist] didn’t smile. He grimaced before putting on that fake smile.

“Wonderful. What?”

The young [Captain] ducked his head and approached, feeling as though he’d already messed it up, but—

He had to ask. He was getting tired of it, that sense of disdain, no, the alienation he felt like he didn’t deserve. Lyss truly felt like Saliss had liked him for a second, or at least, not minded him. So—he took a breath and glanced at the piece of ice.

There was nothing there. Just his reflection.

 

——

 

Of all the Drakes to appear, Lyssander was not the one Saliss wanted to talk to. Especially not now as he was trying to admire her, again. Well, the image in the ice.

Onieva. Her features were bright, alluring. Perfect. She was no Oldblood, but she had a unique pattern of scales, and her mismatched eyes were filled with all the potential and dreams of someone who could still have them.

She was younger too. That was maybe, okay, definitely vanity, but that was part of the desire. Not just the picture he wished he could see in a mirror, but the chance to try again and capture those lost years.

Saliss was 50 years old. He knew he didn’t look like it; alchemy had a way of preserving you, especially if you were an expert in altering the physical form like he was. But Onieva…

Sometimes he wished she really were a separate person. But no, it was just him. His…

Reflection. Saliss closed his eyes and thought. Dead gods, Lyssander was back. Saliss had to just chase him away.

Part of him didn’t want to do that. Part of him said—just tell the kid. Mirn would kill him for dancing around the subject so much. What was he doing?

Nothing, that was what. This was not his job. He was, at best, Saliss the Architect. Mirn was the Sentry.

Stupid terms. He was whatever he was, and here was a kid who…

The danger was insane. This wasn’t some random kid on the street, and Saliss couldn’t disguise himself to have a word. This was a [Captain] of Manus.

A kid. A kid who was so genuinely naïve…how did he not get it? This had to be an act. He’d wise up and figure it out—

Now he sounded like all the old elders with their wisdom. Fit in, shape up, don’t rock the boat. Saliss ground his teeth together.

“Alchemist? Is something wrong?”

“No, just admiring my reflection. What, you never do that?”

“Er…no, sir.”

Saliss stared at Lyssander, thinking furiously as the [Captain] fidgeted.

I’ve done this so many times, and he’d be happier not to know. He…

Deyss was the one who gave up. Stopped fighting. And in a way, Saliss had too. No more riots. No more wars. He’d lost his wars. They had never killed him. Just everyone else. What good was fighting a war where everyone you loved died?

It could always get worse. And there was no way to move a city that he had ever found. Zel Shivertail couldn’t do it. It could get so much worse…

He didn’t know. He didn’t know if it would just be kinder not to tell this kid. Because being suspected of something was one thing. Being that? It was so much harder.

No good answers. So Saliss just focused on the conversation itself. The kid was saying something.

“Alchemist, I, ah, apologize for interrupting you. I know this may be unprofessional, but I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

Saliss grinned at Lyssander, and the [Captain] ducked his head. Dead gods, what was he, twenty-five at most? Maybe even younger. He’d probably been in the academy for a number of years, but how many times had he seen battle? How long was he going to live in Manus’ forces? Reaching their lovely retirement years was a luxury so, so few ever attained…and they’d keep pulling you out, like General Rigrel.

“Yes, sir. I feel like I’ve offended you somehow. I—wanted to beg your forgiveness and ask what my mistake was. It seems to be a pattern I can’t break, but I need to.”

Lyss’ words took Saliss’ breath away like a punch to the gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he heard Onieva sigh.

“See?”

The [Alchemist] put on a self-indulgent smirk he didn’t feel. He snorted and scoffed at Lyss, who blinked.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Captain Lyss. Hey, what’s with all the self-recriminations? I’m a snooty Named-rank! Don’t get in your feelings if I say hi, then I don’t hang out. Frankly, kid, it’s hard to talk to anyone who’s not my level or a fellow adventurer. I don’t even hang out with the Gold-rankers. No offense to you or Yorm, but [Captains] are sort of, y’know, boring?”

He paused and pretended to think.

“Unless you’re a real specialist. There’s this former Drake [Sergeant] who’s decent. Real corn, you know? You’re more like, uh, well, not even baby corn. Brussel sprouts. You gotta respect that they exist, but no one’s reaching for you instead of grilled corn, you know?”

There, that was one of his most confusing analogies thrown at Lyss. Plenty of ways he could explain the corn thing or talk about Relc—but the young [Captain] refused to take the bait.

“Sir, I can’t help but feel that’s not true. I think that I’ve made a bad impression on you. Presented myself or acted in some way—I would sincerely love any honesty from you. I know there is an issue, and if it is my affect or something I’m doing, I can knock it off. But I have to have it pointed out to me, and no one is willing to do that. Not Lulv, not General Rigrel—not my commander. If it’s a hard conversation to have, well, I hoped a Named-rank adventurer could have it.”

Great, it wasn’t his decision after all. Suddenly, Saliss was sweating under his scales.

Why me? Why the hell me? He glanced to the side, then snapped.

“Why me? Go bother Yorm or someone, Captain Lyssander! Do you think I’m the model of propriety? Look at me—I’m naked! My entire thing is annoying people and being a disturbance!”

He indicated his nude form, which was, as he had once told Erin, on purpose. The effect, the pranks—a rebellion against his Walled City wanting him to be the good adventurer, against Chaldion. Decades long, never-ending, but not the white-hot defiance it had used to be.

Stale as Deyss’ act, in a way. That was what being old was—but Lyssander was too earnest. Saliss didn’t like him. He’d liked Erin, who was buried a thousand layers deep, like an onion. Who got the mask you had to wear to avoid scaring the normal, ‘reasonable’ people, and who was willing to throw the Potion of Blast into the fire if she needed to. Mad and determined.

Lyss sounded like a kid for all he was a [Soldier] trained to take lives.

“I’m sorry, Adventure Saliss—but I was looking forward to meeting you.”

“Pull the other tail. You were looking forward to meeting me? Listen, even the Alchecorps of Pallass don’t ‘look forward’ to meeting me. Now and then, I get a few rookies who want to hear tips, but I don’t get admirers. Mivifa, now, everyone loves her. What makes me so special? Did I save your village? Are you a huge fan of the way I blew up the Assassin’s Guild or something?”

Goodwill ran out in everyone. The appreciation over the Wyvern attack had faded away months ago in Pallass. Only a few people like Shirka never seemed to forget, and that was because he’d been the only person there. But once again, Lyssander surprised him. He scuffed a boot against the ground, embarrassed.

“Uh, truthfully, I don’t know many stories about you, Adventurer Saliss. Manus tells the one about the only time you went to war…”

Death and damnation. Chaldion screaming at him in the fallout as he laughed and showed them exactly what revenge looked like. Revenge for poison and a single city block they just couldn’t let go—

Saliss blinked the memories away, and Lyss went on.

“…but it was when I was trying to study new sword forms that I learned about you, sir.”

“What?”

Suddenly, he had no idea where this was going. Saliss peered at Lyss as the Drake tried to explain.

“I’ve studied every manual and book on Skills that I have access to as a [Captain], Alchemist! It’s, well, the only way I can keep up. Ever since I ran into Lieutenant Comois years ago, I realized how bad I was at swinging a sword. The Trial of Blades, seeing actual combat, the Village of the Dead, all prove it. I’m not an idiot. My entire regiment watched the Trial of Blades, and half the idiots talked like they could take out those Goblins with one hand tied behind their back. That swordmaster on the wolf…I knew I couldn’t best him, and I knew how good Comois was, and he died there.”

Ah. Another thing that marked Lyss as rare, especially given his age. He was aware that he was a small frog in a very big well. Saliss shrugged.

“You’re comparing yourself to a Revenant and a [Blademistress] from legends. But go on.”

“It’s not just recently, Alchemist. I’ve been searching for ways to improve since I became an officer. It’s, well, it’s because I’m just not gifted naturally.”

Saliss eyed Lyssander up and down, and he could tell the Drake had a strong sense of balance, fast instincts, and a natural level of athleticism. Saliss raised one brow.

“Yeah…that’s not true.”

“It is, sir! I don’t have the sheer strength or the Skills other officers do. I can swing a sword all day, but someone like the Shark Captain of Zeres is three or four times stronger than I am. In a duel with someone like that, you die fast if you practice any of Manus’ regular sword forms.”

Okay, that was true. Everyone liked to talk a big game about skill and technique overcoming any level of strength, but as far as Saliss had observed, strength tended to triumph the moment technique made a mistake. Just look at the King of Destruction vs the King of Duels. The much-lauded Raelt had scored a lot of blows while Flos Reimarch was punching him through stone walls.

The same with the late Torreb; combine strength and technique and it was hard to out-perform that.

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me…”

Though his instincts were telling him he sort of did know. Lyss nodded rapidly.

“Getting to the point, sir—I was perusing a list of teachers to find someone who could train me in non-standard ways. Even teach me a Skill. That’s when I ran across your name. You’re the only living teacher in grappling, three sword styles, and assassination techniques! You know the Sword Spider school, don’t you? None of my instructors could show me anything.”

He was visibly excited, and Saliss was so surprised he uncrossed his arms and stared for a second. Then he scowled.

“Manus loves their stupid lists. I knew I should have burned their files…but they have like three backups. Don’t believe everything that’s written. There’s [Assassins] not in their public files who’re way better than me. As for the other stuff, Manus only keeps those files on people friendly to them. There are plenty of Drakes and Gnolls across Izril who could do any of that.”

“But it is true, sir?”

Saliss glowered.

“Half of Manus’ officers could teach you grappling. Lulv is a hand-to-hand expert.”

“Not in, uh, submission grappling? Is that the right term?”

Saliss rolled his eyes.

“Whomever wrote that down didn’t even know what it was. All I know how to do is toss someone heavier or wriggle around them and put them in a chokehold. All the ignoble stuff that Drakes don’t like learning because it’s not brave enough or they can’t deal with the touchy-feely stuff. I learned it in Nerrhavia’s Fallen where they teach wrestling.”

“But that’s the kind of thing I wanted to learn, sir—excuse me. I’ve gotten off track. That’s, uh, how I knew you. And how I knew you were the top candidate in the Officer Trials. You could have been one of Pallass’ best [Commanders]!”

Lyss gave him that shining-eyed expression that made Saliss want to slap it off him. The [Alchemist] replied flatly.

“That was someone else’s dream. Not mine. Do I look like I want to lace up my boots and fit right in the jolly old army?”

I’d have done it. It might have even made me happy if Chaldion would have let me be me. Now, he’s going to ask you. What do I say? Truth or lie? Truth or—

Lyssander was nodding and peering at the ground again.

“Well, Adventurer Saliss—I can respect you not having the time to teach or the desire. But that’s not why you stopped talking to me, is it? It’s…what Comois said, isn’t it? The Turnscale thing? I swear I’m not—I don’t do—”

He struggled, red-faced.

“If it’s something I’m doing wrong, I can stop it! It is that, isn’t it? I’ve ignored the comments because I thought they were just insults, but I asked Captain Yorm to his face, and he hinted it was that.”

That muscle-headed idiot. Why couldn’t he just say it outright? Instead, it was Saliss. You had to have a Named-rank for the hard stuff.

Again, he felt like someone was trying to melt part of his stomach out of his guts, but it wasn’t actually hard to figure out what to do. There was only, objectively, one right call to make. Mirn would have done the exact same thing. He would have. Saliss forced a casual smile and shrugged.

“Listen, I’m not an expert on the exact nuances of an army, Lyss. It’s been too long, and Manus isn’t Pallass. But—if you’re twisting my tail here—”

He swallowed hard and felt like his throat were covered in gravel. Lyss was waiting, standing to attention, and Saliss stared past him at a tent.

“Well yeah, that’s probably it. It’s not one big thing, but a bunch of little things. The way you hug people, commenting on Yorm—it’s not like that’s unacceptable! It’s just the nuance of how you’re saying it that comes off T-Turnscale. You know. Just, uh, watch how you word things. Refrain from commenting.”

He realized he was parroting exactly what Spearmaster Lulv had advised, but the words were already coming out of his mouth. He…couldn’t look at his reflection as he said that. Just his feet. When he glanced up, Lyss was shaking his head, his face agonized.

“But I’m not—! I just say what’s obvious. What’s normal. Don’t I? I’ve heard plenty of other [Soldiers] saying the same thing.”

“Female soldiers, maybe. You’re not supposed to say that about fellow guys, kid.”

Saliss’ mouth was working on autopilot. He continued, rushing on, as Lyss’ face screwed up, and he began to look around. With a sense of sudden—guilt. As if he hadn’t realized something was wrong until someone had pointed it out. Saliss.

“You should, uh, look into the matter.”

“Look into it? How?”

“—Ask some questions next time you’re on break in Manus. You know? Have a conversation with some civilians. B—somewhere you can broach the subject where it’s not a bunch of touchy [Soldiers]. Then you can, uh, figure out what’s…wrong. But in general, yeah. That’s it. Not like it’ll change things right away, even if you act different.”

Lyssander had a reputation. It’d take years, and he might have to transfer commands, and the rumors would still follow him around. He’d probably have to punch a few people to clear his name.

Clear his name from the taint of being a Turnscale. Captain Lyssander’s head was hanging low. Then it rose, and he gave Saliss what seemed to be a genuine smile. Pained, but he saluted crisply.

“So that’s it. Thank you for telling me, Alchemist Saliss. Hah. It’s sort of funny. All this fuss and it’s just down to how I’m talking and acting. I can change that. I was worried it was something else that I couldn’t fix.”

He was a good [Swordsman] after all. Because Saliss couldn’t respond around the piercing blade running through his heart for a moment. Lyssander gazed around, then nodded.

“I’ll—figure out the rest, sir. I don’t want to take more of your time up. But I hope you see I can improve. My company will be better for it. All the lads and lasses have been supporting me despite the shit they get. I’ll make it up to them.”

He seemed relaxed as he grinned and put his hands in his pockets. Then he turned and walked away. Saliss stood there, and he tried to swallow the words bubbling up from within.

Come back. That’s not what I meant! Come back and let me explain—

But that was exactly what he meant. Lyssander had to knock it off. He had to quit being so damn obvious or someone would decide to do more than just harass him. If he were in Pallass, Mirn would be on anyone who was that obvious in a heartbeat. Because it’d get them hurt or killed…

After that, if Lyss listened, Mirn would talk to someone in Manus or another city, and they’d get him on the right track. Then he could start figuring it out. That was how it would go. This was the correct order of operations, like an alchemist formula. Hells, he didn’t even seem that beat up about it.

But it felt like Saliss was mixing poison. He felt sick. He stared at the melting piece of ice, wishing Onieva didn’t have that agonized expression on her face. He muttered to himself.

“I did the right thing. I did. Even in Rose’s world, that fairytale that’s supposed to be better, it was like this. You hold out and keep them alive. There’s no future for the dead.”

He spoke to the piece of ice. All he saw was her desolate face. Saliss stood in the empty part of the camp as the army marched around him, and his scales itched.

He always felt like he was in the wrong body. Often felt out of place, unwanted, and certainly unloved by people whom he had always wanted to respect him.

But he had seldom felt like that idea of Turnscales everyone hated so much. Small, disgusting, pathetic. A disgrace to the Walled Cities.

 

——

 

Aside from the ice wall incident and the excitement of the morning, nothing really occurred until the evening dinner. It was a big meal with extra rations for all to celebrate Salazsar’s arrival, and the main mess hall tent was packed.

That was because Deyssdra the Spectacular was performing on an impromptu stage, and [Soldiers] were sitting cheek-to-jowl. In fact, even the five commanders were present to watch the show. They were all sitting at a table in the back, which provided less of a good view, but such was the price of privacy and command. They were:

Fortress General Rigrel of Manus.

Green General Narrina of Oteslia.

Supreme General Edellein of Pallass.

Wall Lady Navine Gemscale, representing Salazsar.

Shark Captain Femar for Zeres.

The conversation between the five leaders was a bit trite at first; none of them were familiar with each other. If anything, Femar was the best known quantity, and he’d met Rigrel, Narrina, and Edellein before. However, his social abilities meant that he wasn’t the best leader for the conversation.

“The Serpentine Matriarch? Oh, she’s grand, grand…never been healthier! You know, she’s been focused on the New Lands like everyone else. It’s a good distraction, er, for her.”

“A distraction from what, Shark Captain?”

Navine was picking at her rations with a somewhat dubious expression. She wasn’t used to commoner fare, and all the [Generals] were eating the same meal as the [Soldiers] in this place. Femar was gnawing on a leg of mutton.

“Er, well, recent events. Those [Strategist] kids with the Blades of Serept and, uh, the army from Khelt?”

“That feels like it was a while ago.”

Green General Narrina put in. The Gnoll was eating a vegetarian plate with good humor, and she was [Druid]-trained, apparently. Edellein raised his brows as Femar scratched at his neck spines.

“Well, to you. It was only last year. The Serpentine Matriarch’s still pissed—upset. She was hoping one of the blades would be donated to her due to Zeres’ involvement in everything.”

For doing what, exactly? None of the other commanders said that out loud, of course. The Serpentine Matriarch was a rather mysterious figure, despite ruling Zeres. Reclusive and mercurial. Femar shrugged awkwardly.

“After Khelt threw that damn spear through one of our towers, she’s been furious, even though they bought her off declaring war. Getting it out was a hell of a task, and we still can’t melt it down for the gems. The Admiralty had to talk her out of sending a raiding force to Khelt.”

General Edellein began coughing as he got some salad caught in his throat. Rigrel had to thump him on the back. Send a raiding party at Khelt? That sounded like a really bad idea.

“Did she, uh, bring that up with the other Walled Cities?”

“Nah, the Admiralty talked her down. She’s just been annoyed, so the New Lands need to deliver. But that’s Zeres for you. All the ships coming in with the damn colonists are a good distraction. How’s Salazsar, Wall Lady?”

Femar flipped the conversation back to Navine with all the subtlety of a [Bartender] slapping down a mug on a table. The Wall Lady began to break into a complicated discussion of the war against Fissival, the Last Defenders of the Wall, and recent mining developments—but the other commanders were spared when the curtains on the far side of the mess hall opened and Deyssdra the Spectacular front-flipped onto the stage.

“Ladies, gentlemen, [Soldiers], [Generals], and more! Welcome to the New Lands! Fame and fortune await!”

His act was quite showy; the first thing he did was toss gold coins in a huge shower across his audience. Edellein feared a riot, but they turned into flowers as the [Soldiers] shouted and grabbed for them. Deyssdra waggled a finger as his apprentice tossed something at him; a little bag of holding? The [Soldiers] were booing.

“Ah, ah. You only get your pay once a month or so I hear!”

Laughter, and he whirled the bag up.

“Besides, fame and fortune only come after the monsters. That ice-bird was just the start. But I’ve beaten worse. In fact, I think I have a feather from a Phoenix I once bested—whoa!”

He leaned back as flames shot out of the bag of holding. A flaming Phoenix swooped across the room in a wide loop, causing several to duck, and then flew back into Deyssdra’s hat. He waved the smoke away, coughing theatrically.

“Huh, I forgot it does that. I am a Named Adventurer of many talents, as you can see! Now, throwing fire and catching lightning is all very well, but the key to my success is a steady hand. I can hit a target from a hundred feet away, blindfolded! To demonstrate you’ll be in good hands with me around—would anyone care to let me throw cards at them?”

He grinned as his helper set up a board where he could perform one of the oldest tricks in the magician’s handbook—throwing cards while blindfolded at a volunteer from the audience. General Rigrel wasn’t that impressed as he muttered to the others.

“Throwing cards? Daggers are far more intimidating.”

Narrina murmured back.

“I hear his are made of metal, General Rigrel. And that he can toss one through someone’s skull.”

Rigrel’s brows rose.

“Really? What kind of Skills are those?”

Navine smiled knowingly around at everyone.

“Aside from his aiming Skill? I think it’s mostly muscle. When he tossed that giant fist at the wall of ice, he wasn’t using a Skill. He just threw the bag of holding; there’s a little string on it. When he pulls it back, whatever’s inside comes out.”

Femar blinked.

“Hold on, bags of holding are powerful, but that thing seemed heavy as hell. Even if it’s efficient, it was probably only one-tenth the weight. Either that or he has a bag of holding that’s practically a Relic. So he was throwing what…”

An eighty pound bag at that speed? Edellein peered at Deyssdra again, and he realized the Gnoll was rather big under all his capes and his outfit. He might be a lot more muscle than anyone gave him credit for.

Since no one was leading the conversation and Deyssdra wasn’t going to captivate the commanders into complete silence, Edellein decided to fill the void.

“There’s a Named-rank I can respect and appreciate in our forces. The same with Magus Glasiaad. Some of our adventurers now—troublesome. I’ll apologize for Saliss of Lights in advance, but you know his reputation.”

Everyone nodded, and Femar shot a glower at the [Alchemist], whom he hadn’t forgiven for the flatulence prank. But Saliss appeared rather subdued tonight; he was picking at his food with Mivifa, the Wings of Pallass, the Flamewardens, and Captain Yorm’s squad. Femar grunted.

“Troublemakers are normal with Zeres. We sort things out the old-fashioned way. You run into any problems, Lady Navine, General Narrina, send them to me.”

He punched a hand into a fist with a grin, and the Gnoll [General] and Navine traded a look Edellein didn’t miss. To avoid Femar making enemies, he coughed into a fist.

“Most of our [Soldiers] are being well-behaved, the regular pranks aside. Wouldn’t you agree, General Rigrel?”

The Gnoll seemed like he wished he were already in bed. He blinked.

“Hm? Yes, mostly! Aside from a few bad apples. I still have to apologize over that fool, Lyssander. He’s still causing trouble.”

He nodded at a Drake who was sitting with his company that was relatively uncrowded, despite the press of bodies. Femar frowned at him.

“I heard comments about him. What’s his problem? Lippy? Can’t follow orders?”

General Rigrel made a face.

“If that were all of it we’d have little problem! There’s always hotheads and idiots—no, he’s a you-know-what.”

He saw Femar blink as Edellein sat up slightly. He checked, but their table was warded against eavesdropping, but in the open? Then again, Rigrel was oldschool—Navine frowned in confusion as General Narrina eyed Rigrel.

“A what, General Rigrel?”

“You know, Shark Captain. Sick in the head. Shivertail’s disease.”

Femar’s eyes widened, and Edellein muttered.

“Turnscale.”

The Shark Captain’s reaction was instantaneous. He pushed back his plate and rose slightly for a better look.

“And you’re just letting him in the army?”

“It happens, Captain Femar. Stop staring. Surely, Zeres isn’t surprised by something like that.”

Narrina spoke, and Femar twisted around to stare at her.

“Us? Not on my watch. Asale likes to handle that kind of thing—phaugh, that makes my scales crawl.”

“Ah, of course.”

Navine sighed, and Edellein reflected that much like lower-level officers, you had to understand what each commander was good at. Femar was a solid war-leader, but he imagined the Admiral of Supply was a defter claw with this kind of thing.

Edellein didn’t like it himself, of course, but he knew how to manage such elements. But it seemed that Rigrel was, like Femar, unwilling to let the matter drop. Narrina seemed far more nuanced about it—though Wall Lady Navine was patently uncomfortable.

She probably finds this topic quite distasteful. No notion of how the military has to operate. But since they were all together, Edellein lowered his voice and nodded.

“It’s something any good [General] can accommodate for, of course. In fact, that’s the same issue with my problematic adventurer.”

He nodded at Saliss, and Navine’s head snapped around. Narrina didn’t blink, nor did Rigrel; some secrets got around. But the Wall Lady did a double-take.

“Saliss of Lights is…?”

Shark Captain Femar might not have heard. He was staring at Lyssander, standing up at his table. He only peeked over when Edellein coughed.

“Yes, well, it’s a very sad story, actually. You have to pity them.”

“Pity them? General Edellein, you say the damndest things. It’s a sickness. But for that and we’d still have the Tidebreaker. But it takes the mind.”

Rigrel tapped the side of his head. The greying Gnoll got a glower from General Narrina.

“Having met the Tidebreaker, I can’t say anything was wrong about him.”

“No, no, of course, but you know…”

Edellein cleared his throat.

“In this case, it’s a tragedy. You know the story, of course?”

“What story? About that [Captain]?”

Femar sat back down, and the other four decided to ignore him. Navine shook her head wordlessly and Edellein smiled conspiratorially. He was in his element, and he nodded covertly.

“Well, it goes back to the Cyclops of Pallass. Everyone knew when he was growing up that Grand Strategist Chaldion was searching for an heir. His children and grandchildren all fell in battle—well, aside from a few tragedies—the pressure on him and them for someone to succeed him was intense. I served under one of Chaldion’s sons—brilliant man. But his most gifted successor?”

“He was being groomed as a successor to the Cyclops?”

General Narrina nodded silently, and Rigrel huffed.

“Terrible decision in hindsight.”

“He was talented! The best swordmaster, tactician…he had instructors from around the world, and his talents in alchemy didn’t hurt!”

“Are we talking about that [Captain] here? Someone should do something about that.”

Edellein shook his head.

“The tragedy was that the Grand Strategist pushed it too far, Wall Lady. He snapped. Chaldion pushed too hard, and it broke something in him. One of his greatest mistakes; you could see how it haunted the old Drake. Well, he’s still alive, but as he is…”

Navine was glancing across the room at Saliss, who was utterly oblivious to the conversation. She hesitated, though.

“Is…is that how it works?”

Edellein sat back, waving a clawed hand as he fished for a puffer stick.

“It’s the common theory. Now, of course, he has his admirers. No one will deny he’s been an asset to the Walled Cities.”

“Of course.”

Everyone could agree with that, except for Femar, who’d gotten up to go somewhere. Rigrel growled.

“Yes, that’s how it has to be done. The best you can do is use them in service to a great cause. Like the Tidebreaker. It’s when they get erratic that you can’t trust—”

It seemed like General Narrina was losing her temper, and Edellein himself wasn’t sure how much slander they should be doing of General Zel Shivertail’s name. He was spared from breaking up an argument at the commanders’ table as Shark Captain Femar sat back down.

“I need a drink. This isn’t the kind of conversation for a Wall Lady or dinner, Generals.”

“True, Shark Captain. My apologies.”

Edellein nodded at the Shark Captain, and Femar stretched out. He nodded at Captain Lyssander.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a strong stomach, and I’ve sorted it out. Just so you don’t go shouting when the action starts.”

“Action?”

Everyone turned to him. Femar pointed, and one of his [Nautical Captains] got up slowly. A huge Gnoll and, Edellein realized, a lot of Zeresian [Sailors] were sitting just across from them. Femar gave the [Captain] a nod. The [Captain] spread his hands and gave Femar a huge frown. Femar jerked his head impatiently and glared. With a resigned expression, the [Captain] kicked back his chair and snapped something at the more-willing officers next to him.

“Shark Captain, what are you doing?”

Navine hadn’t missed that, and she grew alarmed as she saw the trajectory all the [Marines] were heading. Captain Lyssander’s table.

“Sorting it out.”

Femar wore an expression of complete confidence as he watched. Edellein opened his mouth, then turned to General Rigrel. The grey Gnoll grew palpably nervous.

“Discipline is one thing, Sharkcaptain, but this is my army. Letting Zeres handle it, why, when I was a [Sergeant], we’d be up in arms at the thought!”

That was Edellein’s line, but he relaxed as Rigrel pointed out the obvious. Too early as it turned out—Femar turned and gave the old Gnoll a nudge.

“There’s inter-city fights, and then there’s solidarity. The way I hear it, no one likes that [Captain] anyways. Let me sort it out, and you tell your boys to stand down, General Rigrel. That way you don’t have to cause bad blood inside your forces.”

“I don’t know…”

Rigrel was blinking rapidly, wavering back and forth, and Femar leaned on him. Both physically and mentally. Edellein felt the Sharkcaptain’s aura pressing down like a weight. It might have been unconscious; he gripped Rigrel’s shoulder as the old Manus commander looked up at him.

“Call it a favor, General Rigrel? Old-fashioned solutions for old-fashioned men like us.”

Don’t do it—Edellein opened his mouth, and he saw Rigrel nod. His head lowered into a nod, and he turned, beckoning for one of his [Captains]. He didn’t glance at Edellein as he muttered.

“It might work. Too many soft paws around Manus these days. Try not to cause a fuss, Shark Captain. I want to watch the performance! [Captain], tell the lads…”

Captain Femar was beaming. Edellein’s face was utterly blank. He saw the Gnoll [Captain] listen, then snap an order and stride off.

Esor glanced at Edellein from where he was standing and the two shared the same thought. This was…

Well, there was nothing to be done now. Rigrel focused on the [Magician] on stage as if that was all that mattered, and Femar gave one of his [Captains] the nod across the room.

So General Edellein sat back and watched as one of the Zeresian [Captains] strode over to the lone Captain Lyssander and the [Soldiers] of his company. He watched Manus’ [Captain] look up, then gesture at the table. The Zeresian [Captain] spat something back, and the atmosphere turned tense.

Normally, in this kind of situation, it took a few chance incidents to turn into a big brawl or ongoing hostilities between one Walled City or another. Contrary to what you might think, [Soldiers] were cautious of starting fights, especially if another city had all their buddies nearby who’d back up one of their own in a heartbeat.

However, in Manus’ case, Captain Lyssander’s company were already pariahs, and as more of Manus’ [Soldiers] turned and saw the altercation, they eyed their [General]. Rigrel was focused on the performance on stage, and he waved down several officers who began to rise.

Edellein sighed. He turned to Wall Lady Navine. Femar really couldn’t read his dinner partners. She was tense and upset as a Wall Lady unused to physical brawls in her presence would be.

“And how is…Wall Lord Ilvriss, Lady Navine? I met him once while he was around Pallass. In the north, isn’t he?”

She blinked at him and didn’t really engage with his conversation. Across the mess hall, Lyssander rose, hands outstretched, and the first [Marine] tossed a drink on him. In the localized silence, he balled a fist, then eyed the much bigger [Captain]—and all the [Marines] getting to their feet.

Still, the boy was brave. Edellein saw Lyssander throw a punch. He winced as he saw the [Nautical Captain] catch the fist. Zeres were known for being able to brawl with [Sailors]. Even Manus’ [Soldiers] wouldn’t throw hands with them casually. He sighed as the first punch tossed Captain Lyssander into another table. His company leapt to their feet and searched around for support. None was coming, and there were about three [Marines] for every one of them.

“Rough medicine. Just make sure they’re still able to march tomorrow, Shark Captain.”

Rigrel nodded approvingly as, on stage, Deyssdra’s act faltered during the fight.

 

——

 

Saliss wasn’t surprised when he heard a fight start. With five armies present, the odds were high. He expected the officers to break it up, though, given the commanders were all present. When they didn’t, Saliss turned.

“Huh. Look at those poor sods.”

He hadn’t really been part of the conversation, but the adventurers at his table had been swapping tales, mostly of Liscor. Keldrass half-rose and grimaced.

“Which company is that? It can’t be Pallass; seems like Zeres is kicking the tar out of some poor bastards. Why isn’t anyone coming to help?”

It looked like a massacre; Zeres’ [Soldiers] were punching and brawling at one table with less than four dozen [Soldiers]. Bevussa stood up as Mivifa grimaced.

“This is so unprofessional. It better not be Oteslia—”

The Garuda fluttered up a bit.

“Nope. Looks like…Manus. Ooh! Some poor [Captain] is going up against a lot of Zeres’ [Marines]. Hey, I think I recognize him. Wasn’t that the officer who was there when we flew in?”

Issa and Kin turned as Saliss’ fork halted, stabbing at his salad. He slowly turned as Mivifa stood up. Feathi wasn’t here; she hated this many people, and the Oldblood Drake murmured.

“It is. Captain Lyssander, I think? What did he do to earn their wrath? Where’s his people? I can see Manus’ army right there.”

Captain Yorm had also heard, and the Gnoll traded one long gaze with Saliss as Keldrass murmured.

“Lyssander. Lyssander…the name rings a bell. I didn’t hear good things about him? If no one’s coming to help his company out, maybe they deserve it. Manus aren’t cowards like Fissival. They’d throw down even if they were all outnumbered.”

“He wouldn’t have started it.”

Captain Yorm’s voice was low, and he hesitated as he turned towards the commanders’ table. Saliss? Saliss murmured.

“Nope. They’re not breaking it up. Someone’s teaching him a lesson. Might be Femar. Might be Rigrel.”

Everyone turned to regard him. But Saliss wasn’t gazing at Lyssander. He didn’t have to look. There was no shouting or the clash of metal, so the kid hadn’t drawn his sword.

He didn’t have a chance without a blade, and drawing one would get him court-martialed. That conversation about strength beating skill came to Saliss’ mind. Mivifa turned to Yorm.

“Why is General Rigrel upset with his own officer?”

Yorm hesitated and coughed into a fist.

“I cannot give you a definitive answer, Adventurer Mivifa. But from my observations, I might guess…”

Saliss was sick of the explanations and dancing around the words. He stared into his mug and didn’t see Onieva’s mismatched gaze. Just a flurry of bodies and maybe a grey-scaled Drake losing a fistfight behind him. He spoke loudly.

“He’s a Turnscale. Or they think he is. That’s why they’re beating the pulp out of him.”

Everyone stopped talking and turned to him. The Wings of Pallass glanced at each other, and Bevussa shook her head. The Flamewardens pulled faces, and Keldrass sat back down.

“Ah—damn. What, did he do something?”

“Nope. Just speaks too loudly and says the wrong things. I don’t even think he really knows what it means or that he was doing it. Poor kid. I had a word with him earlier, but word’s already spread.”

Saliss was staring across the mess hall, not looking at anyone. Mivifa fanned her wings.

“That’s not acceptable. His entire command is getting punched out. Where’s General Narrina? I’m going to stop this.”

She flew upwards, and Saliss called to her.

“You’re never going to get Femar to back down!”

He explained to Yorm, and the other Gold-rank adventurers.

“He’s stubborn as a brick wall. Even if Mivifa got it called up, they’ll just find Lyssander and his group tonight. Zeres doesn’t know when to quit.”

“They’re getting hammered. That’s not just a brawl, it’s a beatdown.”

Bevussa spoke softly. Keldrass half-rose again.

“They’re going to get more than just sent to the [Healer]’s for a night. Someone should put a stop to it. Captain Yorm, what sort of fellow is that Captain Lyssander?”

The Gnoll was hesitating.

“He seemed quite straightforwards and upstanding to me. Capable—”

“What if we went in there and pulled them apart?”

Keldrass floated the idea, and one of his teammates muttered as she craned her neck.

“Good way to get our faces mushed in, Captain. You might have the Heartflame Breastplate on, but there’s more Zeresian [Sailors] here tonight than the rest of us combined!”

So, the Drake wavered, and then stood in that half-crouch of indecision, not quite rising from his chair. Bevussa was staring after Mivifa, and Captain Yorm kept peering at Saliss.

“Adventurer Saliss?”

“Yorm. You say my name like you want something.”

Saliss was in a kind of dreamy state where time was too fast and too slow. He knew it; the moments when a decision had to be made, and one could be made if you just hesitated too long. But he never turned around. Yorm licked his lips.

“It’s an—unpleasant brawl, Adventurer Saliss. I’m sure you’ve seen them. I would have thought with your opinions on your cousin…”

Ah, so he knew about Onieva and Saliss’ statements about her. The [Captain] peeked at his squad, who were all carefully eying him, also not quite volunteering to get that badly hurt. But Saliss? Saliss was just doing the same thing as General Rigrel.

He was watching Deyssdra.

Across the mess tent, the [Magician]’s act was faltering. He’d done the old card-throwing routine, and he had been juggling fourteen objects of varying sizes; light work, really. Saliss knew he could do twenty. But the Gnoll nearly fumbled a sword as he flipped it up. He was rattled. He was off his game.

He knew. And he called out.

“Alright, alright, ladies and gentleman, back to your seats, please! For my next trick, I’ll conjure a—-a Dragon out of light!”

His voice was booming. He was trying to get everyone’s attention, trying to attract every eye and stop the fight that way. But it wasn’t going to work. Zeres was like a shark; much like Femar, they’d scented blood in the water, and a ring was forming, and they were cheering on the fighting.

Here was the million-coin question: was Deyssdra going to do anything? Saliss just bet that he knew who Lyssander was, or at least, what was going on. You had a sixth sense for this kind of thing, and in Deyssdra’s case, he had a literal sense-Skill that let him pick out fellow Turnscales. That’s where a lot of his assistants came from. Like the nervous Drake wearing facepaint, watching from the side of the stage as she juggled, eyes wide.

For one second, Deyssdra met Saliss’ gaze across the hall, and when they locked eyes, Saliss knew.

Of course Deyssdra wasn’t going to do anything. He never would. He was too afraid. Too worried he’d compromise everything by pushing things too far. But then, Saliss supposed, who could do something?

Mirn? If the [Protector] dared, it would have been the last moment he served in the army if he hadn’t already quit. Turnscales worked in the shadows. When the crowd was gathered and everything was taut to the point of breaking, sometimes you had to watch or hope they just ran.

“Right?”

The other adventurers and soldiers glanced at Saliss, but he wasn’t speaking to them or Deyssdra. He was looking at his reflection in his mug. The Drake took a drink, then pushed the glass back.

He stretched, lazily. On the stage, there was a crash—Deyssdra had dropped a huge weight and broken the stage.

“Hey, Captain Keldrass. I don’t normally do the advice-thing. It’s more like tips with me. It’s pretentious to do advice, but here I go. The Flamewardens deserve to be a Named-ranked team.”

The surprised Drake turned from the fight. Bevussa blinked and looked away from Mivifa, who was arguing with Shark Captain Femar.

“Thank you, Saliss?”

Keldrass began, but Saliss was still staring at the mug, turning it right and left. Looking for that beautiful face, his conscience to reprimand him.

But he couldn’t find her. The [Alchemist] was smiling faintly. He didn’t look at the Oldblood Drake, but his voice rose.

“You’ve got the firepower and levels. But there’s a rule that comes with the territory. You’d better remember it too, Captain Yorm. The rule is that you don’t ever look around like that again. When you’re the Named-rank team or a Named-rank adventurer, you don’t get to do that. There’s plenty of room for cowards even among Named-rank adventurers. But not hesitation. Pretentious advice number two?”

He stepped away from the table, then turned around. Saliss focused on the melee, and he saw a grey-scaled Drake swinging wildly like he was drunk. Staggering. Blood. A lot of downed [Soldiers] wearing Manus’ colors. Saliss grinned with all his teeth.

“Counting the odds is how you can make a Named-rank team. Never a Named-rank adventurer. You have to forget common sense. It gets easier. Like…this.”

He strode forwards, and Captain Yorm rose from his seat.

“Adventurer Saliss—”

He hesitated and missed grabbing Saliss’ tail. Then the Drake was hopping over the tops of tables, making [Soldiers] recoil. Keldrass rose, and one of the Flamewardens looked at the others.

“He’s not going to…?”

Then they were all standing, including Bevussa’s team. But the Garuda remained seated for just one second. She was studying the glass tankard that Saliss had been drinking from. It must have been a trick of light. But she swore she’d seen a pale blue eye winking from the glass. Then she turned in her seat.

 

——

 

“This isn’t your army, and you’re not an officer, Adventurer Mivifa!”

Shark Captain Femar was shouting at Mivifa as the sounds of the fighting and cheering and shouting in the mess tent rose. Green General Narrina was arguing with General Rigrel, and he was hesitating. Edellein was also wondering if he should let things burn out or try to contain what might turn into a full brawl.

“Shark Captain, you are an idiot! This is not how you address discipline in any army!”

He turned red and roared back.

“Maybe not your army! But Zeres has standards! That [Captain] has it coming! You only get one chance to make something of yourself, and that freak needs fixing.”

Mivifa drew a breath as her eyes flashed, and Wall Lady Navine pushed herself up abruptly. Navine opened her mouth to shout, and a naked orange Drake leapt past their table. Mivifa turned along with Navine as Edellein saw Saliss leap gracefully over the heads of the [Soldiers]. Like a strange nude swan.

He landed lightly, and Edellein rose in sudden alarm.

“Saliss? Was that Saliss? Where’s Captain Yorm? Why didn’t he—? Esor?”

This might be a bad thing, right? He turned to search for the Garuda [Strategist]. Esor wasn’t at the high table. But he always had an opinion. He saw the Garuda standing to the side. Esor blinked as Edellein pointed.

“Do something.”

“Do what?”

“Stop him!”

Esor peered at Edellein, and then he counted the five commanders. His eyes flicked to the [Soldiers] around them, their bodyguards, and he eyed Mivifa. Then he leaned over to Edellein.

“…How?”

 

——

 

Captain Lyssander wasn’t on his feet because he was that full of fight, but more that his opponent wasn’t letting him drop. And he had a sense that the fight might not end even if he passed out. Zeres’ [Nautical Captain] was a veteran of the seas, as muscular and scarred as any [Captain] who’d served decades fighting [Pirates], Drowned Folk, and everyone else on land and deck.

The Gnoll dodged a punch Lyssander threw and countered. Lyssander would have gone under, but a Skill was anchoring him to the ground. Which meant he couldn’t step back, and when he ate a punch, it was like being hit against a wall.

His bloody gaze saw a fist rise as the Zeresian [Soldier] raised it, and Lyssander willed his legs to move. Duck. Duck or you’ll—

The Gnoll stopped and stared down at his stomach. Lyssander flinched, then saw something odd. A pair of slim orange arms? They were encircling the Gnoll’s stomach in a hug, over the painted abdominals of metal.

“Who the hell—? Let go of me!”

The Zeresian [Captain] snapped and swung around. He gazed down as a grinning Drake poked his head out of the small of his back. Saliss was so much smaller that he looked like a child compared to the Gnoll. He winked, not at the Gnoll, but at Lyssander.

“Hey, kid. You should have drawn your sword.”

“Alchemist?”

Lyssander wasn’t sure if he was having a dream because he’d been punched out. He wobbled and then saw Saliss’ eyes look him up and down. Lyssander was afraid his jaw was broken; he knew he’d broken a rib or two. But the Drake’s gaze seemed too—upset for that.

Saliss of Lights never lost his cool. Everyone said that. The only time he didn’t smile was when he went to war. All the veterans said to run if you saw that.

The Gnoll [Captain] swung around, trying to get Saliss off him. But the Drake just rotated with him, hugging harder. He spoke, again, not to the [Captain].

“You suck, Lyssander. Your fighting ability, nothing else. If you can only use your sword—draw your sword no matter what. But even if you have to use your fists, you win. Even if it’s an army. Armies are easy. As long as they’re not mindless Golems and they have morale, you just have to break it. You just have to try harder than they do. That’s how Galas develops.”

He was grinning. Or baring his teeth. And Lyssander felt like the advice he was speaking was…real. It sounded casual, but something in him said: listen. Remember that.

“Let—go! Someone get this idiot off me!”

The [Captain] was panting, calling at his buddies, and one of them tried to yank Saliss off.

“Adventurer, Shark Captain Femar’s orders—”

He tried to drag Saliss away, but the Drake was glued to the Gnoll. And something was wrong. Lyssander, wobbling dizzily, thought it was his imagination, but then he saw the metal armor crumpling inwards.

The [Captain] turned pale and gasped as Saliss’ arms constricted, folding in the metal as if it were cloth. The [Alchemist]’s yellow eyes were beginning to glow. Then his knees flexed. What he did, Lyssander couldn’t quite tell.

It was like he did a backflip, knees bending, springing up. But somehow—the far-larger Gnoll [Captain] came with him. It seemed, to those further away, like the [Gnoll] suddenly did an insane backflip—until an orange figure detached from him.

The Zeresian [Captain] hit a wall of his fellow [Soldiers] with a crash of metal and shouts of pain. They collapsed, stunned, and Saliss gazed around. The brawl had already broken several chairs and the long tables; the Drake found a leg of a table and flipped it around so he was holding the broken end. He winked at Lyssander as the [Captain] sat down.

“Then you do something like this, but everyone has their own style. Just so you know, I’m holding back. I’m not even using my aura.”

“Adventurer, what are you doing?”

Another [Captain] assigned by Femar to the fight came roaring at Saliss. His fists were balled up, and he took a swing as he charged at Saliss. The Drake ducked his punch. Then he rotated around in the air. It looked like a spinning top; the first blow hit the Drake’s chin in an uppercut from below. Then Saliss twirled as the Drake reeled.

“Y—”

The second blow from the table leg hit the Drake straight in the face. He went over without a word.

That was a [Captain]. He had to be at least Level 20—if he was a veteran, what level was he? The [Marines] had seen the entire thing, of course. They saw their [Captain] go down, then shouted.

“Get him!”

A roar of rage filled the air, and the wave of Zeres’ [Soldiers] poured forwards towards the Named-rank adventurer. There they made their mistake. Lyssander saw it as he sagged against a broken table. He’d seen Saliss’ eyes.

The [Alchemist] was angry. Lyssander and his company were one thing. But the thundering charge of Zeres’ wave of flesh and blood—the Drake lifted the chair leg.

“Right. Sword dances.”

He whirled the table leg up, holding one claw forwards, pointing the ‘sword’ he was holding ahead. Then he stepped forwards, pivoting—stabbing, as if he were holding a short spear.

Lyssander lost count of how many stabs in the first blur of movement. Saliss switched to a two-handed grip and swung the wooden club in an arc across the bodies in front of him. Then reversed it, swinging another crescent blow. Then another, as if he were tracing a sphere around him, an area he controlled.

That there were bodies, flesh and blood and armor in the way of his club, didn’t seem to matter. The Drake pivoted and kicked as his sword struck in the opposite direction.

Lyssander saw the Drowned Man he’d hit strike a table twenty feet away. That was after the blur of blows collapsed the first wave of Zeresian [Marines]. They slammed into each other, the back ranks shouting in confusion; their buddies in the front had just…fallen? There was a squad pushing forwards with the dizzy Gnoll that Saliss had thrown.

“Wait. Back—”

Then an officer in front of them absorbed something. A stab? Even without damage, the impact still tossed the entire squad off their feet and onto their backs. One of the [Marines] rolled up, reaching for a sword.

“What the hell is—”

A foot kicked her head, and it snapped into the floor of the tent; she lay still.

“Mewi!”

Another [Soldier] bellowed, then Saliss landed on him and axe-kicked the [Soldier] on the shoulder. He screamed and clutched at his arm as he went down.

“Adventurer, stop, or we’ll draw—”

The [Captain] who’d started the brawl was shouting. He tried to grab the blurring orange Drake, and then Saliss was holding his arm. He heard a voice hissing in his ear, and his stomach lurched.

“I’m not even using potions.”

Then the entire world rotated. The Gnoll was shouting in horror as it spun a dozen times in a second, everything flashing around in a blur—the last thing he saw was Captain Femar’s wide eyes before he hit the head table.

 

——

 

Saliss of Lights guessed he’d taken out sixty [Marines] before they realized who they were facing. Then the officers were shouting.

“Get back! Back—”

Wise, but it was too late. He ran at a [Major] who was drawing a weapon. Or trying to; he had a trident spear. What a silly weapon.

The Drake ripped it clear, and it glowed as he activated a Skill. Saliss was faster. He landed on the Drake and remembered how you did it.

Swing a sword like—this! Are you proud, Old Man?

“[Helmsplitter Strike].”

He pulled the blow so he didn’t see the Drake’s head explode. The [Major] dropped, and Saliss turned. Six [Marines] leapt on him. Literally leapt, trying to get him on the ground. Smart—his foot kicked one in the chest, and he clipped another across the head, and they were down when the other four hit him.

“Get him, get—”

One of them was grabbing for the nude Drake, but he was so agile. And then the [Marine] felt an arm snake its away around his neck and began to scream.

“Help! Help! Get him off—”

The pile of four [Soldiers] was a tangle of limbs as more of Zeres’ [Marines] hesitated. Then a yellow Drake pulled himself up as the four [Soldiers] collapsed. Saliss turned with a grin. He had his club.

“Catch.”

He threw it into another officer’s chest. The Drake hit his [Soldiers], chestplate dented inwards. Before he’d landed, Saliss was there, retrieving his club. Then Saliss was swinging through the [Soldiers] trying to get up. Alas, it didn’t stay easy forever.

Without potions, he could only attack as fast as his arms could swing, and once they realized he was hitting them, they used their Skills.

“[Guards Up]! Surround—”

Saliss whipped the club across one of the officers’ helmets so fast it rang, but this time, the Drowned Woman didn’t drop. Someone tried to seize him from behind, and Saliss grabbed the arm instead. Forced it free as the [Marine]’s eyes went round and panicky. A slim Drake should not overpower a [Marine] who was bulging with muscles.

Named-rank. Saliss hit him twice in the face with the butt of the chair leg before someone grabbed at him from the other side. Now they were in a melee, and he was punching and striking in every direction.

Right, this is where it hurts. 

Them.

He exploded out of the pile of [Marines], leaping off their bodies. He knew better than to let them immobilize him.

Drop-kick—you.

This officer caught the kick and rocked. They were fast enough to dodge two punches, and Saliss’ arm jarred as he swung the chair leg against their sword.

Probably over Level 40. The Drake seemed alarmed, but he stabbed fast. Saliss leaned under the blow. The Drake made a mistake: he was too worried about using a Skill and wounding Saliss mortally that he didn’t back up fast enough.

Saliss got a piece of him; his non-dominant arm. He snapped it the wrong way before the officer clubbed him, and Saliss leapt back out of a slash. The arm didn’t break, though by the cursing, the officer hadn’t enjoyed it moving nearly a hundred and eighty degrees the wrong way.

Definitely over Level 40. Galas muscle and reinforced bone. Saliss ducked a far more dangerous stab. Kicked the knee. Danced back. Threw the table leg. It was chopped in half.

Tackled the officer hard enough to crunch the steel armor. He rose, panting, a cut on his cheek and a faint stinging on his stomach from the punch.

“Come on, Zeres. Let’s dance.”

They were coming at him now. He wasn’t going to win against the entire force. Not if he couldn’t melt them. Saliss leapt at a pair of officers, going for the higher-level one. The other managed to put an arm around Saliss’ neck. He was about to twist to avoid getting pinned when the arm let go.

“[Impact Kick]! Keldrass, where the hell are you? Keldrass, get over here!”

That voice. Saliss stopped counter-punching the first officer in the face and spun as his opponent dropped. He saw a real idiot throwing punches at the surprised [Marines] in front of him.

Captain Bevussa. The Garuda woman was brawling like the former [Soldier] she was, throwing right hooks and dodging back, and she was an idiot. She was a Garuda, she shouldn’t be fighting like—

Saliss was distracted and ate a punch to the back of the head. He let the impact carry him forwards and punched someone in front of him off their feet before swinging around. Bevussa cursed as a chair hit her arm.

“Kin, Issa! Where are—”

Both she and Saliss saw a table coming their way and ducked. But it wasn’t being thrown; a really angry [Marine] was lifting it up with some kind of Skill, and he began to bring it down like a hammer as Saliss grabbed Bevussa to throw her to the side.

The falling table halted as Captain Yorm put a hand on the end of it. He commented to the surprised [Marine].

“Lever physics.”

Then he hit the other Gnoll in the solar plexus, and the white-faced [Marine] dropped. Saliss turned and saw another huge Drake pick up a [Marine] and toss him like a toy. Then he heard someone shouting.

“Flamewardens, get them!”

Reinforcements? Saliss hadn’t expected them, but they were all here. The Wings of Pallass, Kin and Issa hurling mugs and tables down into the melee, the Flamewardens, bunched up and fighting like a squad—and Captain Yorm’s squad.

Only a handful compared to hundreds of angry [Marines] and more coming from outside, but when they saw Yorm get dogpiled by a bunch of [Sailors], that was enough.

Major Zifren leapt up from his table.

“They got Yorm! With me!”

He charged into the fight and tackled a [Mariner Lieutenant], and then it was a full brawl. Anyone who didn’t want a piece of it had to fight to get out of the tent, but more than one Walled City’s [Soldiers] decided it was a good day to hit someone. Then they ran into Saliss of Lights and reconsidered.

 

——

 

“How the hell is he doing that?”

Possibly, Shark Captain Femar had forgotten he himself had seen Saliss fighting outside of Oteslia. Or maybe he’d assumed the Drake had used potions then. Even the other [Generals] were staring. Even Edellein, who knew Saliss’ record, had forgotten the Drake could use a sword better than most of his people.

But they also just forgot that Saliss was a Named-rank adventurer. Did that mean nothing? He was over Level 50. Yet Mivifa, watching from the sidelines, thought…

He’s levelled again. He really has. That monster.

Even for them, he was one of the best. She could see his new levels, or so it felt. Or maybe it was his fighting edge that hadn’t dulled. He was piling up downed [Marines] in neat rows, since a pile might actually suffocate the ones at the bottom. The only people she’d seen even touch him were the highest-level officers, and the Drake went after them before they could muster a squad to surround him.

Of course, all the other [Generals] were trying to restore order. Except maybe Wall Lady Navine; she was just watching Saliss open-mouthed. It was Shark Captain Femar who grabbed his Relic-class spear.

“I’m stopping him! Out of the way!”

He would have charged straight at Saliss except for the shortsword that would have decapitated him if he took another step. Femar froze as Mivifa smiled at him.

“Shark Captain, the last thing we need is for this to go to blood. I insist you lower your weapon.”

“Drop your blade!”

He roared at her, but she had her sword at his throat. Green General Narrina barked.

“Femar, drop your spear! Adventurer Mivifa, that is the Shark Captain of Zeres!”

She was mostly just shouting it for effect. Femar lowered his spear and then snapped.

“Well, your sword?”

“Drop the spear.”

When he did, cursing, she kicked it at General Edellein, who had the sense to keep it away from Femar. Then she sheathed her sword and bowed to him. Femar made a fist as he growled—then felt a wetness on his shoulder. He turned and came nose-to-nose with Feathi.

The Pegasus intimated, mostly by eye-contact and a lot of teeth, that if Femar wanted to throw down with both her and Mivifa, he could. The Shark Captain hesitated.

“But someone has to end this fighting!”

He roared, and on that they could all agree. But who—? Mivifa spun as there was the loudest crash yet, then relaxed.

“Ah, of course.”

She smiled a second too early. Then Deyssdra the Spectacular shouted.

“Saliss, enough!”

He threw two handfuls of razor-edged cards at Saliss, and the [Alchemist] spun.

 

——

 

When it came to throwing expertise, Deyssdra was the only adventurer on Izril that made Saliss sweat. The razor-edged cards were metal too. Saliss, swearing, caught the shower with the only thing that would stop it: a dozen glowing vials hit the cards, and they lodged in the glass or showered to the ground.

“In the name of Salazsar, I will stop you now!”

The [Magician] threw another shower of cards, and Saliss caught them this time, flicking them back at the [Magician] one after another. Only, he added a trick: each one was now on fire. The [Magician] swung his cape around, and the projectiles vanished into it.

The sudden showdown between the two Named-ranks caused a lull in the fighting; even the angry [Soldiers] were prescient enough to realize they didn’t want to get in the way of so many edged weapons. Deyssdra paused, then flipped something up.

“Catch.”

He hurled a literal ball and chain at Saliss, and the spiked ball smashed through a table as Saliss leapt the first one. He caught the second as it hit his stomach, swirled around, and tossed it back.

“Right back at you, Deyss! And have this for good measure!”

Saliss hurled three chairs after the ball and chain at such speed that they seemed to almost appear in the [Magician]’s hands. The Gnoll’s teeth were bared as he stacked them up—then Saliss uncorked a vial.

“Nice. Now show me a Lightning Thief. Here’s mud in your eye.”

He threw a ball of flames across the room, and everyone dove out of the way as Deyss’ eyes widened. How he caught it, no one could see, but the Gnoll was juggling a hand-sized orb of fire from one paw to another.

“Two can play at that game.”

He pulled a second glowing ball of crackling lightning from a belt pouch and hurled the bolt of lightning at Saliss. The Drake’s thrown glass jar contained the lightning a foot from his face, and the ball of flames landed in another jar. Saliss juggled the two jars, swearing, and then added a third to the mix. This one was glowing with what looked like a firestorm of purple and yellow.

The [Magician] caught the firestorm bottle with both paws in a flying leap as it shot towards him. He fielded the other two jars, barely, and then reached for his belt pouch.

“If that’s how it’s going to be…”

The air was crackling with force, and Saliss was pulling vials out of his bag of holding with a terrifying grin when Wall Lady Navine screamed.

“Enough!”

Both Saliss and Deyss hesitated, on the verge of throwing, and the Wall Lady shouted.

“Two Named-ranks will not fight! I will not have casualties between Walled Cities on the first days of entering the New Lands! Adventurer Deyssdra, Adventurer Saliss, stand down! That is an order!”

The two Named-ranks paused as everyone, fighting [Soldiers], adventurers, all held their breaths. Everyone had the same thought.

If those two actually start trying to kill each other, am I in the blast radius?

After a long, long second, Saliss put away his vials and held up his hands. He grinned, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth.

“Alright, I guess the New Lands doesn’t need a new crater in it. What about you, Deyss?”

“Perish the thought.”

The Gnoll chucked the lightning bottle back at Saliss and swept his cloak around.

“What a mess. Assistant! Show’s over.”

A huge sigh of relief filled the room, and only then did the brawlers hear the officers shouting.

“Blades down! Down, you idiots! Separate and back it off! No more fights or I’ll have the lot of you in the stockades!”

“That’s right, hands down or I’ll keelhaul the lot of ya!”

Wounded men and women separated, swearing or searching for their friends. Only then did Saliss walk over and pick someone up.

“There you are, kid. Smarter than you look.”

Lyssander and his company hadn’t leapt back in the fighting once Saliss had rescued them, but rather cunningly, played dead. Then again, Captain Lyssander and his crew looked pretty beat up. But he stared at Saliss as the Named-rank offered him a hand.

“Let’s see. You’re going to need a bone-fixing tonic here, here, and, eh, just drink this.”

He flipped a vial onto Lyssander’s chest and then began to triage the most badly-hurt members of his company. Lyssander just stared at Saliss’ back until the [Alchemist] turned.

Saliss pretended he didn’t see Lyssander wiping at his eyes. The Drake turned towards a broken mug.

“Kids these days.”

There was no Onieva gazing back at him. But that was alright. She was wearing a bloody, but relieved smile. Even if there were consequences.

 

——

 

Saliss was still braced for the consequences the next day when he went to check on Captain Lyssander. He kept poking Esor about it.

“So what is it? Public lashing? Beaten with sticks? Writing ‘I’m sorry I’m a disgrace to Pallass’ a hundred times on a blackboard?”

The [Strategist] hissed back at Saliss as they marched into Manus’ camp.

“I told you, there aren’t any! And a bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, Saliss!”

The Drake didn’t buy it.

“Don’t give me that. I put half the [Marines] in that tent into the [Healers]’ care.”

“Yes, and I told General Edellein that given your…public statements on your cousin, it was the most expected thing to happen. Besides which, I don’t think he minds reminding the other Walled Cities who won that encounter.”

Saliss blinked. No, but there were always consequences. Especially for standing up for Turnscales.

“Edellein’s not that forgiving. He’ll make an example. Who is it?”

Esor rubbed at his forehead.

“Technically, I believe he would be inclined to censure Captain Yorm for his failures, and General Rigrel would certainly love to blame Captain Lyssander for this mess.”

“Aha!”

“—But that isn’t going to happen. You may thank Adventurer Mivifa and Green General Narrina for putting pressure on the two of them, but mostly, it’s Wall Lady Navine’s initiative that will complicate any vengeful opinions from the two of them.”

“Wall Lady who now? Salazsar’s commander? Why?”

Esor wore a slightly pleased smile.

“She suggested it, quite stridently. In light of the clear hostilities between our armies, her proposal was to do as they do in the Blighted Kingdom.”

“War crimes?”

Esor scowled.

“Form a joint army! She’s agreed to take charge of Commander Lyssander’s forces and Captain Yorm’s squad, and we’re forming special task forces who will pursue more far-flung objectives together. It’s the beginning of a true alliance. Very well done by her.”

It was smart. And Saliss didn’t believe it.

She wants Lyssander’s company? After he got attacked for being a Turnscale? There’s no way—

The vaguest hint of suspicion crossed his mind, and he shut up as Esor glared at him.

“You need to produce results, Saliss, and stay away from the camp. I’m putting you on scouting duty with the other adventuring teams. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it. But consider yourself moving up to the forward bases as soon as you finish here.”

Saliss said nothing. For once, he held his tongue until Esor flew off, and then he turned into Manus’ camp. A lot of [Soldiers] eyed him, but Saliss just waved at them and shooed them like they were chickens until he got to a section of camp with a lot of [Soldiers] laying abed.

They’d heal fast enough with bone growth tonics. Healing potions might be out, but he had enough supplies for that. It didn’t surprise Saliss either when he saw two adventurers hanging out, talking quietly.

Mivifa and Deyssdra glanced up when they saw him, and she waved.

“Saliss, you’re annoyingly healthy. Everyone else is limping around—you didn’t even need a healing potion, did you?”

“For a little brawl with Zeres? Psh. Deyss, what’s up?”

Saliss actually managed a smile for the Gnoll [Magician]; Deyss seemed slightly stressed, but he nodded at Saliss.

“I, ah, wanted a word. Mivifa, would you mind…?”

“Not at all. I need to start flying soon anyways. Saliss—”

Mivifa tilted her head and stared at the sky as he gazed at her. She shrugged.

“Good job. You’re looking more cheerful. Try not to break any more heads while I’m gone.”

Then she leapt into the skies. Up, up, and away…there was something about how she flew that made Saliss and Deyss watch her for a while.

“Damn, I hate being around her. She makes us look bad.”

Saliss commented, and Deyss sniffed.

“She makes everyone look bad. Name me a Named-rank who’s more popular than her.”

“Lehra?”

“Hah. Lehra’s only popular before you meet her. She doesn’t inspire.”

They fell awkwardly silent, and Deyss fiddled with his top hat again. He smoothed his stupid mustache.

“I think you’d better handle it. I was going to, but he’ll listen to you.”

“Oh, you trust me now?”

The Gnoll pulled a face.

“I never stopped trusting—Mirn would do it better. But he’s not here, and you…I’m surprised they haven’t strung us all up.”

Saliss smiled crookedly and nodded.

“Me too. But you covered the ending well. What were you reaching for?”

“A magical ball of yarn. What was in the firestorm jar?”

“Oh, that’s just a fancy light effect. It makes this high-pitched humming sound that sounds like [Dangersense].”

The two chuckled about that. Deyss rubbed at his head again, then shot Saliss a glance.

“Navine is…sympathetic. I don’t want to say an ally. But I had this sense—”

“You and your senses. Really? Her?”

Saliss was surprised, but not. When Esor had said the Wall Lady had pulled for them…how many of them were there in this army? The [Magician] shrugged.

“She couldn’t have done it alone. That Captain Yorm fellow spoke up for you, I heard.”

“Well, he’s Grimalkin’s student. Principled. It’s not me, especially.”

“Oh, of course. And Keldrass’ Flamewardens? He has a lot of weight, and he used it.”

Deyss gave Saliss a meaningful glance at the Drake kicked at his leg rather than reply.

“I don’t have time for you, Deyss. Move it. I’ve got a stupid damn conversation to have…you’re going to be listening in, aren’t you?”

The Named-rank Gnoll huffily drew himself up.

“Just so you don’t mess it up. And…just so you know, the kids are doing splendidly. There’s a fine city where everyone is more relaxed than Salazsar. And they put the rest down to them being [Apprentice Magicians].”

Saliss paused by the tent flap.

“Good. I’ve got a weirdo kid myself. Highly annoying. You’ll have to meet her. Human.”

Deyss’ ears perked up.

“Would this be one of the mysterious Humans I’m supposed to look out for, even in the New Lands?”

Saliss rolled his eyes.

“Deyss, you are so far behind…talk to me later. Oh, and one more thing!”

He spun around and poked the Gnoll in the chest.

“I’ve been in a relationship for months now. Steady. And supportive.”

Deyss slowed.

“Wait, you told—someone from the community?”

“Nope.”

“And they know…? Months, you said?”

The Gnoll seemed envious as Saliss brushed his neck spines.

“That’s right.”

“I hate you.”

“Mwah.”

Saliss blew a kiss at Deyss, and the Gnoll caught it and threw it over his shoulder. That scored the most fur off of him yet, and Saliss whirled with a huge smile as Deyss glowered. He wasn’t going to let that drop, but that was fine. Gloating was something Saliss could do all day.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me Deyss—”

When he pushed open the tent flaps, there was a rustle of movement, and Captain Lyssander tried to appear like he’d just been reaching for a cup of water. He was bandaged up, but looked fairly chipper.

And nervous. Saliss grinned at him.

“Hey, how’s the ribs? That one? That one? Ooh, that one’s not great still.”

He prodded Lyss in the chest in several spots, and the Drake winced. But Saliss sat him up; he could move if not flex hard after a night with the tonic in him.

“Alchemist, I have to thank you again. My entire company does, actually. We’d love to buy you a drink and—”

“Yes, yes. You’re all fans of mine. What a terrible delusion. I hope you wake up from it. Come on, let’s go for a walk. I hear you’re working for Salazsar now. Hope you like mining.”

Saliss chivvied Lyssander up from his bed and actually helped him out of the tent. He saw Deyss glowering at him and offered the Gnoll a cheerful middle finger. Then he and Lyssander walked out of the camp and stood where they could watch the forward elements of the Walled Cities marching into the New Lands.

It was all ahead of them. They’d actually done very little exploring. Just a brawl and a lot of politicking. Saliss wanted to get to the actual adventuring. He was a Named-rank, after all. It was in his blood.

Actually, he realized, he wanted to get out there. He wanted to find that Fatguin and see the mysterious “Dragon” and find the Crossroads of Izril. Sure, the Horns had found it ‘first’, but they hadn’t uncovered its secrets.

He was in a good mood—and he was also nervous. Scared. He took a few deep breaths, wondering if Lyss could tell his heart was beating.

Nerves, from him? But this was so hard. Maybe Deyss should do it after all. And yet, when he turned to Lyssander and saw the Drake eying [Soldiers] passing by, Saliss saw the [Captain] had a determined gleam in his eyes.

“Ah, there it is. The look of a real idiot.”

Lyss started and gave him a questioning gaze, and Saliss clarified.

“The look of a [Soldier]. You’re still in it, aren’t you? Despite getting beaten up and having your own [General] toss you to the sharks.”

The [Captain] shrugged.

“Everyone knows General Rigrel is senile and out-of-date. They only pulled him for this because he can socialize and dig fortresses. Once we’re past the border zone, he’ll stay behind. And if I quit, what would I do? Become a [Mercenary]? My company needs me.”

“Even if you’re an unliked Turnscale?”

The direct comment drew a gasp from a definitely-not-spying Gnoll behind them. Lyss’ face grew troubled. But then he nodded.

“I’m not wrong about thinking Manus needs an adaptive sword company. We’ve shown we can pull our weight. I’m not quitting, Adventurer Saliss. I can be a great officer. I know it.”

The [Alchemist] exhaled softly. He patted Lyss on the shoulder.

“Well, there’s no curing that. The military thing is often fatal, but who knows? You might survive. Do you think you’ll survive your fellow [Soldiers] giving your company shit?”

The young Drake hesitated.

“After last night? I think I’ll sit with Captain Yorm from now on. And…I think some of them thought better about making comments.”

In case Saliss of Lights takes offense and comes over to hit them? Perhaps it was a message. Perhaps it’d wear off. Perhaps it made Saliss even more unpopular than he was, but the end result didn’t seem so bad. Lyssander was gazing at the passing [Soldiers], and Saliss didn’t have anything else to ask, so he just peered at the marching group until he saw a tall Drake, probably one of the Rubirel Guard, only without his armor due to the mana drain. He nudged Lyssander.

“That one, there. Red scales, chin raised? Almost as tall as Yorm?”

“What about him?”

“There’s a handsome Drake.”

Captain Lyssander almost nodded before catching himself and gazing up hesitantly at Saliss. A question in his eyes. Saliss went on, casual.

“Of course, that’s more of an objective kind of thing based on Drake norms. It hits all sorts different. Mirn would say that the more handsome the Drake, the more he wants to see what they look like when they lose their cool. Mirn’s a friend of mine with terrible taste. Oh, that fellow has a great tail.”

“…He does indeed.”

The two eyed a passing Gnoll with a perfect stripe down his longer tail, and Saliss went on, never looking at Lyssander.

“The thing is, you can’t say that out loud. Female Drakes can say that, and male Drakes can say tons of stuff—if they were speaking about the ladies. You see? Those are the rules, only, no one ever wrote them down for you. But they’re important rules because everyone does it. You just can’t read them, can you?”

“…No, sir.”

Lyssander gazed down at his boots, and Saliss went on, voice cheerful and bright, like a sword blade he swung oh so carefully.

“There’s no voice in your head that says the right thing. The right thing to fit in, like ‘hey, look at the tits on that Garuda’!”

He shouted, and a passing Garuda turned and flipped him off. Then Saliss lowered his voice.

“That’s the way it works, and if you don’t want to be called a Turnscale, be kicked out of society, and worse, you’d better find that oh so important voice, Lyssander. Because it’s the only right and natural way to be.”

Saliss cleared his throat.

“Of course, the Selphids change who they are depending on their bodies, mostly, but they don’t count because the Body Snatchers of Baleros are just—different. Obviously. And the Stitch-folk of Chandrar can change anything they want. Except the quality of their cloth. But Chandrarians, am I right? And the House of Minos doesn’t really care, but they’re islanders. Same with the Drathians. And Dullahans have an agreement to let anything that happens under the armor stay under the armor—”

“They’re all different?”

Here, Saliss paused, because he couldn’t lie.

“…No. There are groups that are like Drakes or even worse. But that’s just an example. We’re not in Drath. We’re here, in Izril, and there are ways you should act if you don’t want to get hurt. If you don’t want people around you to get hurt.”

The younger Drake said nothing for a while.

“So I’m…a Turnscale, then? Because I—I think that other guys are sometimes attractive?”

He sounded lost, confused, and nervous, and Saliss bent down and fixed him with a huge smile and stare.

“Nope!”

Lyssander started. Saliss grinned at him.

“Do you think it’s that simple? Well, it is to people like General Rigrel and Femar. You don’t know what you are, Captain Lyssander. Neither do I, honestly. It could be you just admire the physical form. But what is true is that you just don’t fit quite right. And if you don’t fit, you must be wrong. That’s how it works. It’s not a…a precise system they’ve got here. All we Drakes have is a box. And if you don’t fit exactly in the box…”

“You’re a Turnscale?”

Saliss patted Lyss on the shoulders silently. The Drake [Captain] said nothing for a while, then spoke, hesitant.

“Alchemist, I know that it might be—be dangerous for you to tell me all this. And I appreciate the talk. But if I can be honest?”

He rubbed at a bruise on his cheeks.

“I think…I think I can try to be normal. Wouldn’t that solve everything? Now I know the problem—that’s the best thing to do, right?”

Ah, he said the same thing that Saliss had heard so many times, and he was relieved he knew the answer to this one. The Drake shrugged.

“That’s certainly an option, and frankly, you might be right! I won’t stop you. But remember what I said about you not knowing if you are a Turnscale or not? You have no idea what’s in here. Or out there.”

He prodded Lyssander gently on the shoulder, and the [Captain] bit his lip. Saliss went on gently.

“Now, if you’d like to turn around and go, you can. There’s a lot of suffering if you ask too many questions. But you may just find that if you ever felt…wrong, empty, or alone when everyone else says they’re full? There’s answers. There’s someone to talk to. There’s that feeling you’ve been chasing all your life. And it is not the answer you’ll find in any books in Manus. But it may be the lesson you wanted to find.”

He peered into Lyssander’s eyes, and the young Drake glanced away. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That’s funny. I thought I could march up to you and ask for lessons and it wouldn’t be terrifying since all you could say is ‘no’ or maybe prank me. But this is—frightening.”

Saliss threw an arm around Lyssander’s shoulder and hugged him gently, the way he wished someone had once done to him.

“Well, that’s because you’re just playing with a sword, kid. All you can do is cut yourself. Now, there’s a nosy Gnoll whom I think could answer more questions, but if you want to go, just remember it’s a secret. Out of respect, I think you’ll keep it. But the threat of me burning you with acid would probably help if you had doubts there.”

Captain Lyssander nodded and glanced over his shoulder. He hesitated, then turned to Saliss.

“I have—a few questions. Does being a Turnscale mean you really have—I mean, you’re sleeping with the same…?”

Saliss grinned.

“Not always. But sometimes.”

“But how would that—work?”

Then the [Alchemist] was laughing faintly. Trying not to embarrass the young [Captain] who had that look in his eyes that meant he’d probably never be tired of asking questions.

Poor kid. Saliss motioned for Deyss to come forwards, and he had a thought. He looked at Lyssander, red-cheeked and embarrassed, beaten up, and wondered…

Mrsha knew his name. What did she see? What would decades of surviving Manus do to this Drake? 

He knew what it had done to two other Drakes. Sserys and Zel…and Saliss wondered if he should tell Lyssander that story now or whether he should be eased into that painful truth that burned in the heart of the Walled Cities’ militaries and Turnscales alike. Pride and pain. Rejection and triumph.

“Can I ask a question, Captain Lyssander? You don’t have to answer—but I have awesome eyes.”

Saliss tapped one eye and winked at Lyssander.

“Normally, I can read people’s classes and Skills, but you’re warded. Probably a ring they issue to Manus’ [Captains]? What is your class?”

[Lieutenant of Perfection] Comois had beaten Lyssander, but only in duels. Saliss wondered if he could see that seed of greatness Mrsha had hinted at. But the young Drake just shrugged, embarrassed.

“Me, Alchemist? I don’t have a problem answering. I’m just a [Slash Captain]. Level 25. Nothing special.”

Saliss blinked, then blurted out—

“How the hell did you beat a Level 30+ [Lieutenant] like Comois at anything? Sorry, sorry, that’s rude.”

He saw Lyss grin, and then the Drake managed a wink of his own.

“Well, Alchemist…I’ve learned six sword-Skills. My entire company’s learned at least one. There’s nothing to level against doing guard duty in Rigrel’s fortress, so we train.”

The [Alchemist] blinked, and then he laughed again. There it was.

 

——

 

There were consequences for every action. Good and bad. That morning, as Saliss of Lights talked with Captain Lyss, another group was having a meeting, though far less pleasant.

Major Ultarwe was the Gnoll woman who had quarreled with Saliss about the Goblin King. She was also one of the most senior officers serving in Manus’ command—aside from [General] Rigrel himself.

She’d had a bad night. A long night having arguments with [Soldiers] to subordinates and being pushed towards an inevitable conclusion. One she’d made herself, really.

That was why two other [Majors], a [Captain], and eleven lower-level officers were meeting in the camp. There were a lot of eyes on them from the regular [Soldiers]. Ultarwe dragged her heels. She did not want to do what was coming next.

General Rigrel’s tent was in the center of the camp, and the old Gnoll was probably still asleep despite the troops moving. He had been a great leader once. He’d fought with distinction in both Antinium Wars, but the last one had already seen him among the oldest of Manus’ [Generals].

He’d taken his demotion to fortress-guard…poorly. Always wanted to get back out there on campaign, and Luciva had let him have his shot. But he was still—

There was a place for him. Just not here. Training young officers, maybe. Somewhere, but not in this army. Not now.

Not after the mess hall disaster. The moment he’d given the order to let Sharkcaptain Femar deal with one of Manus’ officers, even Lyss—he’d lost the trust of his troops. Zeres beating down one of their own?

Adventurer Saliss had probably done the best thing, getting involved. Because that night, there would have been a war once news of the fight got out. All of that was why Major Ultarwe was going to put her class on the line and march into that tent to have a conversation with General Rigrel.

Insubordination in the ranks was not a light matter. Depending on how this got back to High Command, it might be seen as mutiny, which it was not—this could break her entire career and every officer with her.

But it was going to break Manus’ forces if something wasn’t done. So, the [Major] straightened her back.

“Let me do the talking. Just stand there and don’t say a word, got it?”

Someone had to fall on their sword, and it might as well be her. She’d served under Rigrel the longest…she took a few breaths and then approached the tent.

“General Rigrel, sir? Permission to en—”

The tent flaps opened, and Ultarwe jumped backwards in surprise. She feared, for a moment, that Rigrel was up early and she’d have to ask him to step inside in front of the camp. But no, it wasn’t him.

A Garuda with green-blue feathers pushed out, General Rigrel’s low voice following him. Strategist Esor of Pallass had a clipboard in hand, and Ultarwe caught the last few words.

“—a bit longer.”

She stared at Esor, uncertain, and the [Strategist] smiled.

“Ah, Major. A word, if you please?”

The rest of the officers stood there, and Ultarwe cleared her throat.

“Strategist, I was actually hoping to speak to General Rigrel on a matter of importance—”

“I understand, Major. Just one word.”

He took her aside, and she felt…something in the air as they stepped to the side of Rigrel’s tent. Esor activated a privacy stone, then handed her a paper.

“As of this morning, General Rigrel has stepped down from his post. He will be heading back to Manus for his retirement shortly. A sudden fever, at his age—a replacement will be dispatched as fast as possible. Until then, you have been appointed acting commander of Manus’ forces. We’ll be liaisoning, given my role in Pallass’ command structure. A pleasure to work with you, [Major].”

He held out a paper covered in seals from Manus and then a clawed hand to shake. Ultarwe stood there, confused, until her training took over. She peered at Esor, then read the papers.

Luciva Skybreath’s own seal. She took Esor’s hand.

“You…just delivered the news to General Rigrel?”

“I just got the news, Major. And I was in position to relay this all to Dragonspeaker Luciva. I did serve with Grand Strategist Chaldion, after all. ”

Esor. Of course, she’d heard his name, but the Cyclops had been famous. He…

“I, ah, didn’t know the General had fallen ill.”

The [Major] did her best to fish, but she wasn’t good at this. Esor’s face was utterly blank as he smiled.

“These things take you fast. All things considered, I think it’s for the best. Don’t you?”

She did. Absolutely. A huge weight lifted from Ultarwe’s shoulders, and the churning fear in her stomach abated, but she wasn’t sure if…if this wasn’t like Femar leaning on Rigrel.

“So you’re in command of Manus?”

His claw tightened, and she was shocked by his strength as the [Strategist] looked her in the eyes.

“Manus is in command of Manus, Major. You are. I hope you don’t mistake my words. I’m no [General]. I know my role. I am merely the [Strategist]. A [Strategist] of the Walled Cities, not just Pallass. We are all on the same side here. Let’s act like it. No more pranks. No more infighting. I’ve had a word with Sharkcaptain Femar as well.”

—The ground stabilized. The shaky foundations that Ultarwe had been treading on became more solid. She nodded, and suddenly her mind was churning with all the problems—but Esor had a file he was taking out.

“You’ll need to restructure, but I imagine it won’t take much time. Let’s get everyone moving, General—if I can take your time and your command for an hour or two?”

“Absolutely, Strategist Esor. I am looking forward to working with you. And I apologize for any unprofessionalism from my side. I assure you, Manus will have its act together.”

The new Acting-General of Manus squared her shoulders, then stepped out of the privacy spell to begin barking orders. Behind her, Esor rolled up the Scroll of [Message] with a direct line to Dragonspeaker Luciva with a sigh. He turned his head as he flew up to survey the camps. Then he spoke to himself.

“We’re not incompetent yet, Grand Strategist. Just restructuring.”

 

——

 

Later that day, Saliss of Lights was packing for his expedition. He’d see Lyssander and Deyss again—Saliss could move fast, but he was going to do that adventure-thing. They’d be backup if he needed it, while working on bigger military projects.

However, he had a thought as he checked his bag of holding and considered the future. Old Deyss had promised to teach Lyssander, and Captain Yorm would be good instruction too, though he might kill Lyssander’s company with all his weight training.

But it seemed to Saliss that his grumpy and dispirited entry into the New Lands had turned into something positive. And he had his own debts to pay.

So, the Named-rank Adventurer stepped out of his tent and found Strategist Esor. He seemed busy organizing things, but he was always doing that. When the Garuda looked up expectantly at his desk where he was working, Saliss cleared his throat.

“Esor. I owe a certain Garuda a great deal. Therefore, I’d like to be assigned Captain Bevussa and her team. I could use someone who can keep up with me.”

The [Strategist] blinked, then began to scowl at Saliss before a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

“She knows the landscape. But are you sure? I could use good fliers like her.”

“Absolutely. She’s a rookie, but promising.”

And she had my back even after knowing Lyssander was a Turnscale. She was from the inn…Saliss threw a salute.

“Thank you, Strategist Esor, sir! Have the paperwork done in the hour! Bye!”

He ran out of the tent, laughing, before an ink pot sailed out after him. Then Saliss really was busy as Captain Bevussa flapped over, demanding to know if there was a mistake. He had to talk to her about tactics and draw a map of where he wanted to go and explain his process…

 

——

 

A busy day. Saliss was napping in a camp sixty miles from the main army’s location in the evening. Not far; he’d taken it easy and mostly jogged while talking to Bevussa’s team.

They were doing scout duty and getting firewood for the night’s camp. It was fun to have rookies do that. He’d have to figure out if he was giving them potions or better weapons and armor for if he wanted to rely on them, but that was a future-Saliss problem.

The Drake was just napping because he had been rather stressed of late. He dozed off, then woke up and noted that he hadn’t levelled up.

“Ah, well. It’s hard at my level.”

Being kids like Bevussa and Lyss was so nice. You scratched your butt, you levelled. Saliss was rolling around in his bedroll when his eyes opened, and he stared at the sky.

Something hit him. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, the Drake sat up and thunked his head a few times. Then found a rock and tapped it against his skull.

“No. They can’t be that stupid. We’re not that stupid. I’m…would Xif make that mistake?”

He thought back to the Alchecorps, who were still gamely identifying all of the New Lands. And the mysterious Super Monsters who had way too much magical power. And the lizards who just loved those beetles.

Yellow beetles with a 1.01 magirite rating. So, in short, barely more than 1% more magical than a regular beetle you’d find across Izril.

Right? Right? Saliss muttered to himself.

“But then…how the hell does a magirite test produce a 1.01 result with a beetle in the New Lands? With an active mana drain effect everywhere?”

His head slowly turned left and right, and then he whispered as he pulled up some ordinary yellow grass made by the Archmage of the Eternal Grasses. Stared at a bug fanning its wings and a colorful abdomen rising on a leaf.

“It’s all magical. Just not—here.”

Where the hell was it all going? And if you took this out of the New Lands…Feathi loved the grass…

Saliss’ mind was racing suddenly. He was glancing at everything, then, and wondering—how powerful is a Heatband Lizard outside the New Lands? Magic didn’t drain into nothing. Was it entering the atmosphere or somewhere else?

He was about to run around and scream randomly until Bevussa found him when the Drake saw a flicker of light. He paused, yanked out a vial from his side, and rolled out of his bedroll as he readied himself.

New Lands of Izril meet Saliss of Lights. The Drake peeked around a tree at the shining figure and then relaxed. He hesitated, then stood.

There was a babbling brook next to the camp, idyllic—and also non-potable according to Saliss’ tests. But it was still reflective thanks to little stones on the bottom, and a Drake stepped forwards, past the trees.

If she glanced down, she could see herself walking there. An alchemy-wrought form. The Drake had cobalt blue and rose pink scales, mismatched blue and yellow eyes, and she was right there.

Hidden, at times. But there, like the glimmer of a mirror. The figure caught in the corner of your eyes. Waiting for the veil to lift and to appear when she was needed. No dream.

Onieva smiled and waved as the glowing figure turned. Ishkr laid eyes on the Drake coming his way, and she smiled with Saliss’ lips. Spoke in his voice…but she could hear herself.

See herself as she waved a hand and blew a kiss at the Gnoll she hoped could see her too, even without a potion. She saw the [Server]’s eye brightened, and the shy smile filled his face. Onieva winked as her spirits rose.

“Hey, Ishkr. How was your week?”

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

And here we are. A chapter during my break! Don’t say I never gave you nothing!

Well, here we are in two ways. This was the ‘original’ Saliss chapter I wrote on stream. The other part is almost like the prelude. Quieter inn scenes. Emotional vs action…well, it’s a lot of emotions. And foot-stomping.

Everyone’s going to the New Lands these days, and I am excited to write more! I hope to make this coming writing cycle about the poll-winners but to also throw in nice breaks for other perspectives. It’s that balancing act, but I’m ready to get to it…again, when I’ve actually rested! These last two days have been surprisingly not break-like. Lots of stuff to do…

Well, after this I swear I’ll rest. But if you have a spare moment, consider filling out the survey form at the top! I don’t know how many responses I’ll get, but this is me asking for data for my [Palace of Fates] retrospective.

Both hard data and any feedback you choose to give. That way I can know what people thought if I get even 100 responses, then use that to judge whether the arc truly was well-liked or not-liked. Surveys are great. I wish I could read honest surveys or census-data on all kinds of things because, assuming it’s accurate, that kind of information does reveal trends.

https://forms.gle/p4CFZehXZsiu4wci8

Well, I promise to use this survey only to write a long blog post about writing and that particular arc. Hope you’re doing well, and I’m on break now, I promise. Actually, I have other stuff to do…I just want to rest! Doing my best to turn into a puddle of slime,

—pirateaba

 

 

The Heartflame Breastplate by Enuryn the [Naturalist]!

Portfolio: https://enuryndraws.art/

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Enuryn_Nat

 

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