There was a limit on everything, even genetic stability itself. Funny…people had been doing this desperate song and dance to keep themselves going another standard stellar cycle since before they’d taken to the stars.

These days, you could ‘live’ almost forever by skipping ahead in sub-lightspeed capsules. Instead of higher-speed warp or teleportation tech, you did the basic thing and approached light speed, took a trip for a few lightyears, and popped out to find the world around you had passed dozens or hundreds of years when only one or two had occurred for you.

There was an entire trend of people who’d do that—pop out of capsules, ask what was going on and if anyone had figured out a cure for this or revolutionized immortality yet. But then they’d find that forever wasn’t quite within reach and get back in their capsule if they didn’t like the look of things and wait for a better time.

What annoyed them, Admiral Paethex understood, was that no one treated them like they were special anymore. After the first million ‘ancient ancestors’, you sort of lost respect for them. Especially because they were mostly rich geriatrics trying to outrun time itself.

Plus, there was an entire industry around them, both in the capsules they used…and opportunistic thieves who had learned you could catch such rich passengers and loot their shuttles. It wasn’t even hard. Something moving at light-speed might be hard to catch from a practical standpoint, but if you put a little bit of matter right where they were going…well, the resulting destruction usually meant you slingshotted your payout way too far. Hit a thruster and you had them.

Why did this matter? Oh, well…the alien woman glanced down at her bluish skin, still tingling from her first rejuvenation treatment. She was thinking of the future, that was all.

There would be a point where even ‘refreshing’ her genetic code and cells wouldn’t work. She’d begin dissolving or developing errors despite medical technology essentially tricking her body into thinking it was merely a few dozen solar cycles old.

Death would come. She had hundreds of years in her, especially since she was now First Advance Admiral of the entire Federation’s forces. Not supreme commander, just…the first. They’d won their war against the Oelt-Vaar and their Exosiarc empire, and frankly, they’d probably win the next one even if they ran into another stellar civilization twice as big and advanced.

Her ship would see to that. The Stick would see to that.

…Not that anyone but her crew called it that. They had too many important names for it and her. She’d been made royalty in three different worlds. She couldn’t count the titles, and why not?

The heroine who’d come out of warp with a weapon to reverse the war when the Federation of Myriad Worlds (translated; it sounded better in most other languages) was at the cusp of annihilation?

A story. It had been eighty-nine stellar cycles since that strange day, and she was told…well. She wouldn’t make it back to know if it had all been real or more hallucinations. She wished she could; she owed the strange young woman more than a single combat knife.

Not that she thought things were over. There were a few…oddities she needed to chase down in the Exosiarc’s territory from the war. They were very close-mouthed, even after surrendering. With their leadership decapitated, each planet was in possession of data and not exactly leaping to turn it over to a Federation warship overhead. Ethics in peacetime meant you didn’t get to land troops to seize it or threaten to blow a hole through their tectonic plates until you got what you wanted.

In war—she’d seen plenty of that. But now?

“We could either give the Stick up and join the exploratory fleets or protect time-chasers in their capsules from bandits.”

“Beats having to fight the entire Oelt-Vaar fleet, Admiral. Though how would anyone make us give up the Stick?”

Reiy-Tosiy, who’d survived more ground engagements than he had any right to, had 68% cybernetic or vat-grown parts these days. He’d had the hard job, fighting boarding engagements and ground wars. She had the Stick; there had been close victories, but it had never been an even fight. Paethex glanced at her second-in-command and shrugged.

“They don’t want us to lose it in a black hole or accident. Who knows? A stellar decade of easy action might let us actually relax. I’m not surrendering the Stick.”

That was also why she wasn’t actually the most senior member of the Federation. They had to promote her, but she refused to turn her ship over to another commander, let alone the Stick. It was too powerful. Any one species-member of the Federation who had it could conceivably wipe the others out. Not that they would—but why risk it?

When I’m dead, we need a plan around it. Maybe I should arrange to ‘lose’ it in a black hole. The only problem was that all the scientists who she talked to didn’t want to speculate whether or not a black hole would survive meeting the Stick. She almost wanted to try it just to see what would happen.

A bit of insanity, a bit of delusions from having this much power and war-shock. She’d seen her own psychiatric reports that all her superiors probably read as introduction material to their jobs. Was she supposed to be sane after eighty years of war?

…It didn’t matter. The point was, it was done. War’s over. And it would be a long, long time before anyone could report back to Ryoka Griffin how much she’d done for them. Her adventures were classified, but there were a few stories written by members of her crew and published as sheer fantasy—they did good numbers every year on the anniversary. And there was speculation among the science-teams from the old Victory Company, the originals. No one else had the qualifications or had been there.

The science-teams thought that there might be a chance that Ryoka Griffin would someday hear the report, if they managed to remember and arrange for it to be sent. It’d be hard, because time wasn’t on their side. If their measurements and the Wind Runner’s frankly inaccurate accounting of her own world were accurate, then they could do a bit of sketch-match to extrapolate relative timelines.

For every year she’d have, Paethex would have to live…

“No sense speculating about the future. Tell the crew to stand down.”

It had been eighty-one stellar cycles since she’d given the order. Victory Company Delsa’s remaining members sighed, and Paethex didn’t hear cheering. Just the silence of hands shaking, bows being exchanged by different species, seal-locks on helmets disengaging.

Relief.

She herself shook hands with Reiy-Tosiy’s stub-fingered hands as he took care not to squash her more delicate, rejuvenated skin. Someone went to break out refreshments.

“You know, Admiral. I heard they found them. Humans.”

Admiral Paethex halted, about to cycle a drink into her suit. Everyone turned, and she focused on Reiy-Tosiy.

“You’re sure? It’s not some other group of…?”

“The names line up. And I saw a recording. It’s way on the edge of the Saathas Frontier. They missed the entire damn war. But—the times don’t match up. I had the Ambassador of Contacts on line, and they inquired for me. They claim it’s ‘2533’. Centuries past the right date. Nor did a database search of all their networks pull any names up.”

She exhaled.

“Could just be…our version of them. Let’s add it to our list of places to check out. At the very least, I’m interested.”

“That’s what I thought. And hey, they made it another five hundred years. Only lost half a continent. Not exactly a vacation spot, so we’ll have to suit up.”

She nodded and smiled.

“Why don’t we set it as our first course? We can’t just shoot through Exosiarc space minutes after the peace.”

“Drawing on the Stick, Admiral. Drive is at 13425%.”

“Onwards.”

The space-alien woman returned to her seat, but she leaned over to her second just once as he smiled and they signalled they were moving in advance of the rest of the fleet, as always. She ignored the hails demanding to know where she was going; she’d file the report later. It was easier that way.

“What about that distortion, Reiy?”

He lowered his voice.

“We’re still scrubbing through their records, Admiral. If it’s still there, we’ll find it. But they knew what they’d found, and it’s beyond even their top-secret files. Sounds like they spun out a task force just for it, like we were.”

“Keep checking. I want it found. It’s the last task we’ve got, Reiy. We’ve got as long as we’re still here to do it.”

He nodded, and she settled back. She could only do what she could reach. And, frankly, even if that door to that place opened up in front of her again, she’d want more than her flagship to go back there again.

More than ‘nerf guns’ to face all of that. But a favor was owed—she’d have to write it down. Find a successor. Hells, a lineage. She didn’t even have a partner, and a full quarter of the Federated Territories seemed willing to line up for that role.

That was her business. But she had to keep that record. Figure out how to make them understand…

Then someone hit the activation panel next to her and they vanished.

 

——

 

Space. The final frontier. The last journey beyond even the end of the world. These were the true untamed wilds that would remain even after you sailed over the edge of The Last Tide and came back again.

It was a great comfort, you see. For if you somehow, in your arrogance, ever felt this world was too small, that all the great adventures had been had, that the world was waning and you with it, you could look up and remember no one had gone there.

“It will be the voyage of the Star Tribe: Aetherfur. Or something like that. Their mission: to explore strange new wilds and seek out new sights, creatures, and peoples. To go where no one has gone before. Except for that damn Dragon. And Gnomes.”

They weren’t her words. Yvlon Byres, lying on her back as the carpet flew through the cold night air of Chandrar, could remember the growl of her only teacher and master’s voice. Berr the Berserker as he drank and pointed up at the sky after training, laughing at his own jokes about what the future might hold.

She missed him. Which was strange, because Yvlon Byres had never ‘missed’ a teacher before. Not her instructors as a girl, [Armsmen] and [Weapon Trainers] and [Tutors] and [Court Women], even, who had taught her how to fight, arithmetic, manners, and everything else.

She had endured them. Been a good student, imitating Ylawes, and they had praised her for being mannered and attentive to her parents. However, they hadn’t taught her things. Just instructed her.

It was hard to explain the difference. It was like stones, Yvlon supposed. She could carve a number into a stone. And thereafter it would remain if you’d etched it deep enough, though it might fade for weathering and time. Like that, she knew math, how to care for armor, the ways in which she was to curtsey if she had a dress…well, mostly.

But Berr was a teacher. What he taught her, she remembered and tried to actually use. He changed part of the stone that was Yvlon into something else. Transmuted it rather than just left an etching by repetition. She wondered if he was alright.

Berr the Berserker had lots of wisdom, and they’d spent a lot of time together. Mostly working on her temper, but he’d had plenty of moments like that where he’d tell jokes or talk about things like the stars, and she’d listen, not bored or pretending to be attentive like she’d done with her tutors.

Possibly because he’d told her to stop being so…polite. He’d smacked her often enough when she tried to keep her cool until she’d try to punch him.

“Everything you are is like a bottle corked up tight, Yvlon. Whether you’re rotten or something tasty inside, I wouldn’t know. I’ve met Cork-Humans like you before, and Drakes too, but you’re one of the worst. How must you have been raised, yes?”

“I had a perfectly normal upbringing.”

She remembered telling him that and him shaking his head.

“Then I should take my Wild Wastes tribe north! For there are a thousand fine [Berserkers] who would make my tribe the fiercest in Izril if I can only pry the [Ladies] from their households!”

It had offended her greatly when he said that, because it was true. Now, it made her smile. She wasn’t over her ‘Cork Problem’ as he insisted in calling it.

“Someday, you’ll have no need of the cork for your bubbling fury. I’ve taught you how to make the seal actually secure and how to unleash it, but peace…peace on its own will be good, yes? Who knows how you’ll find it. Maybe it’ll be good sex.”

“Master, please.”

“I’m serious. Really good sex, the kind that annihilates your entire [Berserker’s Rage] Skill. Don’t scowl at me. You wouldn’t know. Maybe it’ll be something else. But you should be more honest.”

Yvlon of House Byres not honest and straightforward? House Byres, a watchword in integrity, producing a daughter that was anything less than silver and steel, pure of heart and action? Somehow, she was. Tarnished. And that had been a problem until she met him.

It still was. She still had moments, but she was a bit better.

A bit. She’d made it part of her style. She couldn’t erase who she was, after all.

“Hello, my name is Yvlon Byres. Some may call me the Silver Killer of Izril, but the truth is I’m hardly so dangerous…”

She murmured it up at the stars, smiling to herself. She could say it without even checking her notes these days. She’d said it a bit too loud, though, because someone groaned and rolled over.

“Oh dead gods, she’s saying it in her sleep.”

Yvlon sat up with a faint scowl, mostly of amusement, and kicked Ceria lightly.

“I’m not asleep.”

“That’s even worse.”

The half-Elf was wrapped up in her blankets like a sausage on the flying carpet, Reizue’s Dream. Everyone was either wrapped up and asleep or silent like Yvlon.

Nawalishifra, curled up and still, clearly wondered how she’d gotten tangled up in this crazy adventure. Elena snoozed in the middle of the carpet, well away from the sides where the world rushed below. Pisces read in a little igloo of blankets, a tuft of brown hair framing his concentrating face. Colthei, face illuminated by a [Message] spell or [Scrying] orb as he yawned, green hair touseled—eyes still sharp as he glanced at them.

And Ceria, the Ice Sausage herself, chewing on her mended circlet like it was some kind of pacifier as she yawned again. Her pale skin and new…species…meant that her blankets were frozen over with a light layer of frost.

Why she needed blankets given her ability to endure freezing weather was beyond Yvlon. She kicked Ceria again.

“You’re freezing. I’m trying to admire the stars. Go somewhere else.”

“I’ll roll off the side of the carpet again.”

“You’ll live. Why do you need blankets?”

“It feels weird without them. What’re you doing, trying to sleep? Counting stars? Admiring our new moon?”

Ceria could be annoying sometimes. But it could be she was still nervous. Free from morality she might be, but the half-Elf kept glancing up at the, well…cracked moon.

Some time had passed since it had broken. Enough for the discussions of why and what and whether or not Erin had anything to do with it were over. Nor had Pisces sensed another ‘death anomaly’ as he’d put it.

All worrying things; Yvlon’s ears actually hurt from the sheer amount of discussions that had taken place with everyone. They’d sent [Messages] and gotten confused updates about a Goblin King, sightings of a giant Harpy—the Death of Wings?

Yvlon had been tensed then, knowing she could do nothing. The relief had come from a single update from Lyonette—

‘All is well. No one is dead. Will update you as soon as we can.’

Which, of course, might mean anything according to Ceria and Colth, who were all twisted up with theories about what Lyonette could or could not say via [Message]. Or how the inn related to a Goblin King—and then they’d heard about this Goblin Lord Ragathsi who had a very similar sounding name…

Worrying. Worrying for hours and hours until they had to accept they were too far to do anything. Yvlon just rested now. She couldn’t help anyone in Izril. So, she just shook her head at Ceria, ignoring the green moon. She’d figure out what had cracked it someday, or not. If it was a monster, they’d have to fight it.

Instead, the [Armsmistress] pointed past it, at the stars.

“No. Just dreaming what’s out there. Berr once said that Gnolls had tried to go that high. That each light might be like a lighthouse in some sea.”

Ceria followed Yvlon’s gaze, then stared at her face. Some of the tension around her faded, and she sat back, and actually looked at anything but that green moon.

“…Huh. I would have never thought you’d be thinking of that.”

The half-Elf [Cryomancer] blinked in genuine astonishment at Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] tapped her chest, slightly smug at Ceria’s surprise.

“I am a [Dreamer].”

“Yeah, Level 2.”

“Level 9.”

“Uh huh. Even after meeting the King of Destruction himself you can’t pass Level 10. I’d have hit Level 30 if I actually dreamed. I—ow, quit it! Stop kicking me! Okay, fine, fine! Sheesh.”

Ceria rolled over until she nearly ran into the final group: Delitandra and the Heromakers of Hraace. They didn’t shove her away; they were, after all, here to support and help the Horns as part of Delitandra’s bet.

Named-rank within the year. Potentially important people, if not quite on the level of the King of Destruction and his Seven. Yvlon lay back down. She pulled the thick, woolen blankets over her and tried to sleep.

They’d be in Nerrhavia’s Fallen soon. Well, they were technically ‘in’ Nerrhavia’s Fallen already, but the capital was their destination. Buler had flown for many days and nights to get them here, with little sleep; he dozed at his post, but never dared lie down. Not while piloting Reizue’s Dream.

That had to be unhealthy for a boy like that. Someone should do something about him. If this were Izril, Yvlon just bet Erin would offer him a room, or Lyonette would adopt him, and then he and Mrsha and Nanette would be flying around the High Passes. Right before a Wyvern kidnapped them and she had to climb a mountain and kill it.

The [Armsmistress] supposed…she had changed a lot from the Silver-rank woman she’d been; always impatient, always trying to both be a model leader and get out of Ylawes’ shadow. She felt calmer now.

All her anger was right where Berr had told her it’d be. All her fear about Ksmvr, too, the rage at seeing Erin’s state after being captured on that ship, at that Admiral—it wasn’t even that hot given that it had been a long time since the Winter Solstice. It was fine where it was. When she needed to, she’d take the seal off.

“Then you kill everything. Everything you don’t know should live. It’s very simple. I see it, it vanishes. Kill and kill when your hour calls…”

 

——

 

Across from Yvlon, Pisces stopped reading his spellbook and glanced up as a few of her words drifted towards him on the howling wind. He’d only caught some of that. Mostly, it sounded to him like Yvlon whispering, ‘kill, kill, kill’ to herself.

He traded a peek with Colthei, and the [Ultimate Supporter] shrugged and gave Pisces a tentative thumbs up. The [Necromancer] eyed Yvlon, then went back to reading. When he glanced up, he saw Nawal’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, locked on Yvlon’s back. He gave her a reassuring smile. She gave him a look like he was insane.

In truth, Pisces had no idea how Yvlon was so sanguine. He was worried about The Wandering Inn and that being of pure undeath he’d sensed. It had risen like some herald of a dark age, then…vanished.

Hidden or dead? He’d sent a few [Messages] to certain contacts he had and been reassured it was being looked into, but he wondered if he had understated the threat. Could you understate…? It was not the Draconic Titan his contacts had cited, Pisces knew that much. It was something worse, and he’d told them that in no uncertain terms.

Funny. His involvements in Izril…he had to go back sooner or later. Once this was done, Pisces had obligations. Another odd feeling for a man who had been outcast and criminal for so long. But he had made promises, not just to Erin and her inn. It was just that he had to keep his in Chandrar first.

He focused on reading. Tried to take a note from Yvlon and do something productive. Besides, Nawal’s fears of Yvlon were utterly misplaced. If she should have feared someone, it was Colth. The Ultimate Supporter was likewise engrossed in working with some odd beads and trinkets to the side. Sorting them, stringing them together in complex patterns…Pisces eyed it from the side.

They didn’t seem magical, but that was the best kind of secret communications device, wasn’t it? It was so adept…Pisces wondered if Silvenia herself had enchanted them. Probably not, but he just bet Colth was communicating with some Demon or other.

Likely about the position and whereabouts of the caravan of [Slaves] the Horns had freed. They’d left the group to scavenge what they could from Roshal’s caravan, but then the [Slaves] and [Riders] had just upped and ridden into the desert. Reprisals would soon follow. The woman in charge hadn’t recognized Colth; she’d talked to Pisces like she knew him. Or knew of him.

‘Our leader wishes to meet with you, Scourge. Strings willing, we shall see it done. For now, there are too many eyes. Come to the eastern wilds, and anyone with ears will hear your name and make contact.’

Straightforwards enough, he supposed. They hadn’t had time to talk. Colth…Pisces wondered if he coordinated with freed [Slaves] or if the Demons did their own thing. One glance up from the green-haired man showed that Colth was aware Pisces was watching him. Pisces peered down at his spellbook as Colth kept arranging the beads again.

First, Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Then they’d have to avoid eyes or tails on them before making contact. So much to do…so Pisces kept studying. A spell for all his worries. A spell might save everyone’s lives, including his own.

He wondered…which one had cracked the moon.

 

——

 

Yvlon wasn’t actually inclined to dream at the moment. They’d be arriving in Nerrhavia’s Fallen soon; the night-like atmosphere around them belied the actual time. Reizue’s Dream was flying so high they were in the ‘upper sky’ as Buler called it, where it was cold and you saw the world differently than the ground.

He was doing that partly to avoid any watchful eyes; apparently, he was higher than some [Scrying] spells manifested by default. But also, Yvlon suspected, so that the Horns wouldn’t leap down and kill another [Slaver] caravan if they saw one below.

He was a good kid. She hoped Queen Yisame was paying him well, and it was she who had arranged for the Horns to get here. Since it got them out of Flos Reimarch’s hands, it was good, and they needed to be here. Pisces was searching for his comrades who’d escaped Roshal, Yvlon needed to make sure Mectail, Thexca, Vitte, and the others were okay. They had helped her, along with Zenol, and she had sort of betrayed Thelican and Nerrhavia’s Fallen when last she left.

Ceria…

Ceria was just along for the ride. Though she’d said that she’d like to visit the Library of a Hundred Thousand Tomes while they were there. And Colth’s friends were far north, in Zethe, but he was supporting Pisces.

The point was, the Horns had to be here. So it wasn’t bad they had made this long journey, even if it wasted time. They’d do their work and go. Catch up with Ksmvr in Baleros.

She hoped he was okay.

 

——

 

Yvlon just didn’t know what she’d say to Yisame. She had the vague impression the [Queen] of one of Chandrar’s most powerful nations liked her, but she didn’t honestly know why.

Yisame just hadn’t met the others yet. She was a fan of adventurers. Once they got there, Yvlon would thank Yisame for her letters, support, go to the Coliseum of Monarchs and check on her friends, and maybe give them gold or something as a thank-you for what they’d done. She wished she had more, but she hadn’t taken any meaningful souvenirs from the Meeting of Tribes, and she only had gold.

Her only possessions were her armor, a breastplate that was moderately enchanted, battered leggings, a mithril buckler she never used anymore, her underarmor from Stalker’s hide, a pillow with a Goblin stitched onto it she’d won from a Gnoll [Shaman] that gave her weird dreams, and two rings she’d taken from the corpse of one of the adventurer who had slain the Putrid One.

Small stuff. She wasn’t like Pisces, who had his rapier that was steel and bone fused together, his many undead, and a spellbook written by Djinni, not to mention the bell he’d won from the City of Shields itself. Colth? Colth had everything, from leggings, armguards, and a helm made out of Stalker’s hide to his twin Bane Daggers and a bag of holding that had so many objects he could use from climbing gear to cards to cowpats for some reason.

And Ceria? All the robes and clothing she’d also looted from the City of Shields, two powerful magical circlets, and her master’s spellbook. Yvlon didn’t mind being low on items; she had a simple style with her arms. She didn’t even need a sword—

“Right, Ksmvr’s sword. Got to grab that too.”

Didn’t that Empress of Beasts have it? That’d be a problem. Maybe they could hire Buler to take them north. To another port city; she doubted he’d be able to fly over the sea. Before they flew off, they just needed to run up, punch the Empress, and grab the sword.

Violence wasn’t Yvlon’s first solution to problems. It just felt like it’d skip a lot of pointless negotiations in that case.

Yes, things seemed clear to Yvlon. She rolled up in her blankets as Buler yawned from the front of the huge carpet. They were descending, Yvlon realized, and she heard the boy call out after a moment.

“Honored ladies, gentlemen, and crazy adventurers, we are on our final approach to our destination, the exalted city of Tyrant’s Rest in the heart of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, may her bones rot forever. At this time, we ask you to fasten your belts, please, and stow all blankets. Or you will fall to your deaths, and it would be a shame upon Reizue’s Dream’s record. If you would look over the right-hand side, you may also see the fantastical city of Aeresuth, said to be a jewel of even Nerrhavia’s Fallen, whose streets run with waters from magical fountains even in the dry desert.”

Yvlon peered over the side of the carpet he indicated and saw no city, but a huge depression in the ground. She glanced at Buler, and he hesitated.

“Ah…forgive me. Where the city of Aeresuth was but a year ago until the dread Djinni, Drenirkessun, perished and dragged a million screaming souls into damnation with him. Such a loss still echoes through the great kingdom today. And now we can see Tyrant’s Rest, built on the bones of the Immortal Tyrant herself!”

That was at least familiar to Yvlon, and she felt her stomach rising in her chest as they descended further, and the city glittered in the evening sunlight. They were actually at a slant, and Ceria went rolling past her.

“Uh oh. Uh oh, I’m tangled—this isn’t a bit. Someone stop me, someone—”

Yvlon stopped her with a foot, and Ceria untangled herself from her blankets.

“Phew!”

“Seatbelts, honored and stupid passengers!”

Yvlon had already fastened hers, and Ceria did the same. The carpet rippled as they passed over a breeze, and Pisces turned green. Even Colthei grinned with a bit of tension as they descended.

“Flying carpets. The approach and takeoff are the most dangerous parts. We’re hitting different layers of wind, you see, and we’re only on magical cloth; if he hits a bad patch of air, we could spin and go into freefall.”

“Colth, please shut up. So that’s Tyrant’s Rest. It’s very…pretty. What a massive palace.”

Pisces murmured. Yvlon had to admit, the palace was huge—it put Medain and Reim’s to shame. It truly was fitting of such a massive kingdom. Colthei nodded to himself.

“Alright, Horns. We’re about to enter a dangerous and political arena. I’d say we have an hour until we’re landing, Buler?”

“An hour and thirty minutes unless the winds rise against us, Adventurer Colthei!”

“Right, plenty of time to go over how we’re acting and the state of Nerrhavia’s Fallen.”

“We’ve all been in Chandrar before, Colth. Yvlon was even a guest of Yisame.”

Ceria pointed out mildly as Elena scooted over with Delitandra. Strange how their little team now had followers. Even Nawal crawled over, clinging to seatbelts to listen. Yvlon didn’t really care for the Heromakers, but she liked Elena. They were all respectfully silent, though. Colth rolled his eyes at Ceria.

“Yes, I know. And you all made an amazing hash of things. Every single nation you’ve been to wants you dead.”

“Not Medain. High King Perric just wants us in his harem.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Pomle was quite lovely for the fifteen seconds I saw it. I’m given to understand Ksmvr made quite the impression on Tiqr and Illivere.”

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t include him. You three all made messes of things. If Ksmvr were here, I’d tell him to just be himself. He has good instincts somehow. You don’t. So listen. The first rule of being high-level adventurers is never pick a side. Never commit to anything, never issue any statements supporting any side in the war with Reim or even in the palace!”

Yvlon nodded along as Colth pulled something out of his bag of holding.

“I’ve got a list of names for you to memorize—actually here, just take this and I’ll make a copy. If they’re on this list, they’re important. Dangerous. It’s got factions too.”

“Ooh, color-coordinated no less. Colth, you’re so helpful.”

Ceria’s eyes lit up as she read the document, and Pisces did likewise with genuine interest. But he studied Drake politics for fun. Yvlon took one look at the names grouped by royal houses and bloodlines and got a headache. She smiled at Colth.

“This is good, Colth. But we don’t have to worry too much. We’re on Yisame’s side.”

He opened his mouth. Gazed at Pisces and Ceria.

“No, I think you just didn’t hear everything I said, Yvlon. We’re the Horns. A neutral party.”

“But Yisame helped us. And she’s the [Queen].”

“Yes, but she’s also…the [Queen] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Her interests are not going to coincide with ours, and she might have to make an example out of us for what you did to that General Pelican.”

“Right, but she is friendly towards us. Great Sage Etrikah too. So if I can, I’d like to repay her.”

Yvlon pointed out reasonably. Colth put his fingers together and pressed them towards his lips.

“Ceria? Pisces? I get the feeling I’m speaking, but Yvlon isn’t quite hearing me.”

“Oh, she does that. Don’t worry.”

“So she’s actually taking my words to heart?”

“Nope. Yvlon’s gonna Yvlon. You want to argue her out of things? You should have started three days ago. Hey, Zenol’s in Nerrhavia’s Fallen? We owe him too.”

“Zenol! Another person we owe. He seemed to be in hardship too.”

Yvlon snapped her fingers, and Colth began to ruffle his hair up.

“No, no. I know him. Village of the Dead, right? We can be friendly towards him, but he’s not on our side. He’s House Isphel, and they don’t have much going for them at all.”

“We can change that. Isn’t he fighting with a Prince Esceit or something? I beat his representatives once in the Coliseum of Monarchs. Oh, and I started the metal insect swarm. That might be a problem.”

Yvlon was sighing, folding her metal arms as she thought of all the problems she’d caused. At this point, Elena, Delitandra, Nawalishifra, and Buler all turned to stare at her. A vein began to work on Colth’s forehead.

“Okay, never say that again. In fact, why don’t we try from the start. Yvlon? What are we here to do?”

“Repay our debts, collect Ksmvr’s sword, and get out of Chandrar and get to Baleros.”

“Good! Now, what would be the worst thing to do once we get to the Court of Silks where they’ll be trying to get us to commit to any one side? To get entangled in Nerrhavia’s Fallen politics?”

“Commit to a side.”

“Perfect, we’re all speaking common here! So Queen Yisame is…?”

 

——

 

“Horns of Hammerad, welcome to Nerrhavia’s Fallen where the bones of tyrants rest!”

The [Herald] almost screamed the words as soon as they had disembarked from the carpet. The Horns, Delitandra’s company, Nawalishifra, Elena, and Buler, whom Yvlon was pulling with them despite his protests, halted as the grand doors were thrown open.

Pisces almost drew his sword as a pair of [Acrobats] flipped out the doors past him, and golden streamers of silk or some glittering material flew past them.

Yvlon was hit by the wail of stringed instruments played by an entire orchestra and saw bowing [Servants] by the hundred, each one dressed in bright reds, greens, and blues, silk clothing, though they were Cotton.

The Court of Silks were made of Silk-caste Stitch-folk. They stood as a swooping Djinni blew blue flames that lit a trio of chandeliers hanging over the vast chambers of tiered steps.

On the far end of the room was the throne and Queen Yisame. The Horns of Hammerad stood there as commonfolk cheered and scrambled for the little strips of cloth floating past them. Pisces’ mouth was open. Ceria was grinning and waving. Colth’s face was a perfect smile.

It was all very impressive. Elena was gasping as another rank of performers moved past them, tumbling and flipping through the air. She was smiling, and Buler, for all his deeds and the fame of his own carpet, was stunned.

He reached out, and the Stitch-boy hesitantly snatched one of the pieces of cloth-confetti. Then he grabbed another; Yvlon saw one of Delitandra’s people doing the same, and she noticed the commonfolk prohibited from the actual Court of Silks itself were on their hands and knees. Grabbing at the strips.

“What are they doing, Buler?”

He showed her the piece of silk he was holding, dyed gold.

“It’s—it’s silk, Adventurer Yvlon. Silk. And they just give it away! If I had a hundred strips of this—”

Oh, she understood. Stitch-folk; silk was produced en-masse in Chandrar, but it still commanded a high price because Stitch-folk wanted it so badly. With a hundred strips of this silk, Buler could change his cloth to Silk, which conferred upon him the rank and prestige and body even Revi couldn’t afford.

It was like throwing gold coins, she supposed. But even more personal to the people fighting for just one scrap. Fascinating. They hadn’t done that for her, but then, she’d been a [Gladiator] wrongly imprisoned when she had first come here.

For the Horns, after the Crossroads, their reception was far more impressive. Or perhaps it was Yisame. She was smiling, or so Yvlon thought; a fan was covering her face, and she had told Yvlon once that she had to be dignified and show no emotions in public. Great Sage Etrikah had said the same thing.

Actually, where was the Fox Beastkin woman? The old and grumpy [Sage] wasn’t visible; she was probably ignoring this event. Yisame and Etrikah were the only two people that Yvlon really knew in the palace aside from Zenol.

So in a way, this was her true visit to Nerrhavia’s Fallen as a visitor. Yvlon began to step forwards, but then the [Herald] started shouting.

“The Horns of Hammerad have conquered the Ruins of Albez! They challenged the Village of Dead and survived! They—”

Oh, wait, he was still talking. Yvlon held still and watched her team’s reactions. Ceria was purely amused, which made sense, but she had a glint in her eyes as she surveyed the room. Good. She was ice underneath her fun prankster personality. Yvlon didn’t like her circlet, but she could admit Ceria’s intelligence was an asset here.

Colth was giving nothing away, but Pisces…Pisces was gazing at the golden collars on some of the [Servants]—no, [Slaves]. His teeth were bared. When Yvlon touched his arm, he jumped.

“Be calm, Pisces.”

“Same to you. This is—you said the [Queen] liked us.”

“She likes us a lot? I think she’s a fan of Ksmvr. He is continent-famous after that series. See Zenol?”

“Where?”

There were a lot of people. But their conversation distracted Pisces from the [Slaves]. Yvlon understood his feelings, but they had to remain cool.

Cool as Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s [Mages] threw illusions into the air. Giants covered in chains being freed. A storm of swords and a black citadel falling. The history of the nation that had ended Nerrhavia, the Immortal Tyrant.

It was all quite overwhelming. Yvlon was doing her best, but she was feeling slightly overawed. She knew the rest of her team was holding it together, but she’d never had this much attention or seen this much wealth on display. So she did the only thing that made sense:

She closed her eyes. The noise still roared over her, but if Yvlon just pretended there weren’t as many people in front of her, it worked.

Calm, Berr had said. You had to stay calm in moments like these or someone picked your pocket.

She checked them now. Just in case. She was reassured everything was where it should be; her two Relic-class rings were on her fingers, and her bag of holding was at her side. Then she glanced down and cracked an eye open.

“Buler? Where are you going?”

He was edging back, trying to hide behind her. Back to his carpet.

“This isn’t the place for me, Adventurer Yvlon. Not for a [Carpet Rider]! I am not even dressed to be a [Slave]!”

It was true, he was bare-chested aside from a jacket, and she’d wondered how he’d endured the cold high above, and his pants had patches in them.

“You should pay for better pants. But you brought us here. If you want to see this place…”

She handed him a few gold coins in case he needed them. Buler gaped up at her.

“Are you closing your eyes? In front of all this?”

“It’s very overstimulating. Try it if you’re too dazzled by all this gold and magic.”

She smiled at him. Delitandra glanced at Yvlon, frowning. She said something, but the noise was still so overwhelming that Yvlon barely heard her.

Oh, and now they were showcasing artifacts from Nerrhavia Fallen’s armories. Weren’t they retreating in the face of the King of Destruction? After the first hundred magical swords, Yvlon wondered if they wouldn’t be better served in the armies.

She closed her eyes again; she’d been taking peeks despite her closed eyes. Then Colth grabbed her arm.

“We should move forwards! They’re going to be doing this for a while. Yvlon, remain calm. Pretend like you’ve seen this bef—are you closing your eyes?”

She opened them.

“What? Oh, we can move? You seem rattled.”

“This is a lot more than I thought. I knew Nerrhavia’s Fallen was rich, but they don’t have these kinds of displays in Roshal even!”

He hissed at her, and she checked for Elena and Buler; they followed after her, for all Buler’s claims he didn’t belong. Eyes and mouths open as they trailed into the celebrations, and it wasn’t all about them. It just…revolved around the Horns.

They advanced into the heart of the welcoming celebration, and it got more frantic. Yvlon had to admit, by now, her heart rate was elevated, which was highly embarrassing. Do what Berr would do. She could just picture the old [Berserker] nodding and smiling along, having a drink. He wouldn’t be fazed by all this.

So, Yvlon took a drink from a passing [Servant]’s platter and took a sip. Strong wine. She tried not to make a face…then realized the rest of the Horns were staring at her.

“Yvlon, what—?”

“Too strong for me. Here.”

She passed Ceria the cup, and the half-Elf woman blinked at it. She took a sip, eyed around, then took a huge gulp, poured the rest over her head, and the cheering nearly deafened Yvlon. She cracked one eye open again.

“Yvlon what are you doing with your eyes?”

“Closing them. We’re supposed to be collected, Pisces.”

“Collected? They’re firing Tier 4 spells off as entertainment nonstop. That! Did you see that? She’s barely wearing any—”

“Don’t be lewd. Buler, close your eyes. Oh—”

Then Yvlon saw they were in the middle of the room, and the [Queen] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen was gazing at her. From behind the veil and fans, flanked by a lot of important people. Still, the celebrations were going on.

But she was right there. How long did Colth say this was going to be? Thirty minutes? Yvlon glanced at her team, but they were all pressed together, not mingling like the Court of Silks. They were having drinks and pointing, smiling at the Horns.

Possibly laughing along. Or laughing at them? It was unclear; they had to appear rather foolish standing here. So Yvlon squared her shoulders. She knew how the Court of Silks worked. She’d been here once before.

So, Yvlon broke ranks with her team and strode through the banners of silk being tossed in waves. The cheering and music faltered a beat as she walked past someone about to leap through a flaming ring of magic in the air. She lifted a hand in apology. She just had to get to the Court of Silks—perfect.

The nobles recoiled from her as Yvlon smiled and brushed a second layer of armor made out of colorful silk off her arms. She peered around, but the [Herald] wasn’t shouting more things. So Yvlon walked past the nobility.

Now, how did it go? She approached the throne as the noise died down immensely. Yvlon was concentrating, drawing on that old memory hewn into her. The right curtsey for royalty wasn’t practiced in Izril, of course, but she’d definitely learned—

Ah. About two dozen steps from Queen Yisame, Yvlon Byres realized she didn’t have a dress on. Cow dung. But turning on her heel would be too embarrassing and disrespectful.

She did halt when a pair of golden swords crossed in front of her. The Silver Killer of Izril eyed a dozen bodyguards who were flanking her on either side. Blades held just over her head.

A Chandrarian custom, perhaps. It was a narrow passageway, and she would have cut her blonde hair if she didn’t walk perfectly straight and narrow. But she threaded the gap perfectly as they gazed at her. One pivoted, and the sword came up towards her throat—she pinched the blade before it could touch her skin. Moved it back just so.

She hoped no one had seen his mistake. The [Bodyguard] met her gaze and pleasant smile. He was sweating. Then a voice spoke.

“Allow her approach.”

Then the swords withdrew, and Yvlon nodded. Perfectly timed. She walked forwards as the [Bodyguards] stood by the throne, and the [Queen] did not rise, but the woman who was her Voice spoke imperiously.

“Yvlon Byres, the Silver Killer of Izril. We remember your name and grant you leave to approach.”

Tact. Apoliticality. She remembered everything Colth had told her. So, the Gold-rank adventurer walked forwards eight steps until it was just her in front of the golden throne. She executed a bow, arm across her chest, like she’d seen Ylawes do.

Then she gazed up and smiled at the [Queen] who was blinking rapidly at her behind the fan. She couldn’t see Yisame’s lips or much of her face, but Yvlon smiled with genuine good feeling.

“Queen Yisame. My friend. It’s good to see you again. I apologize for how I left. I have returned to make amends.”

She paused, waited for a response, but Queen Yisame said nothing. The Voice’s mouth was slightly open as Yvlon glanced at her, and the [Armsmistress] counted to ten before she swivelled on her heel and strode back to her team.

They hadn’t moved from where they’d been standing. The music took a bit too long to start up. Then there was a rise of noise and voices, and Yvlon exhaled as she turned back to face the dais. She nodded at Ceria, Colth, Pisces—they all had open mouths as they gaped at her. She elbowed them hard.

“You should have followed me up. What are you lot doing? That was slightly uncomfortable.”

Good thing she’d saved it. Yvlon smiled. Then, as the entire Court of Silks stared at this Gold-rank adventurer so unimpressed by their display she had approached the [Queen] herself and dared her [Bodyguards] to stop her—the Silver Killer who spoke to a [Queen] like an equal—

Yvlon Byres closed her eyes again.

 

——

 

Buler had to go; he had work, and his job was done. But he paused long enough to knock on the door to the suite the Horns of Hammerad had been accorded in the royal wing.

It took some doing to get there. Only the fact that he’d been with the Horns at their welcoming ceremony let him get past the surly [Guards] and annoying Master of Rooms or Mistresses of Ceremony and countless flunkies that the palace had.

And his status as a [Carpet Rider], of course, but that was a strange thing. The carpet, the Reizue’s Dream, mattered far more than Buler. That was why, as Yvlon had noticed, he wore patched pants and a jacket that had only a small [Warmth] spell sewn into it by a kindly [Seamstress] he had once met.

The Guild took most of what he made; the rest Buler either sent to the [Cook] on Burlap Street in Merreid who’d raised him or spent on Reizue’s Dream. The Guild, damn them, never gave enough coin back to properly upkeep such a vast carpet, and there was always work to be done, if one was skilled enough. It was old. Even maintaining the magic cost a river’s worth of gold, and Buler could not make it flow, despite his work.

He figured maybe he’d buy some pants and some meals for himself with Yvlon’s coin. Since it was a gift and not a tip; the tip had come from Pisces, and it would go into the Guild’s coffers as well.

This told the Stitch-boy that Yvlon Byres knew something of Nerrhavia’s Fallen already. That there was a method to her madness, and the palace was abuzz with her madness. Yet surely, he felt, she knew enough to understand what an interesting reception that had been. Delitandra and the Heromakers, the boy knew, would understand the rest.

He did not play the ‘great’ game of politics, but a [Carpet Rider] had to understand such things lest he lose his head. It was…interesting to say the least.

New adventuring teams were beloved in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, but to have one so celebrated, with the [Queen] in attendance no less, befit only a Named-rank team of legends. Thusly, it showed the [Queen]’s favor in spades! At the same time, the Horns had stepped off the carpet and into such a demonstration which was quite calculated to make them appear less impressive and, certainly, gave them no warning.

Were it not for the Silver Killer’s actions distracting all and sundry, they might have well appeared like bumpkin provincials, even if they had some graces about them. Thus, Buler thought the Horns were already part of Nerrhavia Fallen’s powerplays. Only Yvlon Byres had made the games of the high and mighty go astray, and…he shivered as he finally came to the hallway where they were staying.

If that was how the Silver Killer played politics, he wished to know what came next—from a very safe distance. The boy rapped on the door and waited, hearing muffled, raised voices from within. When Ceria Springwalker opened the door, he bowed even as the voices became shouts of fury. He looked up, and the half-Elf blinked in the doorway.

“Oh, hey Buler. Anything wrong?”

“No, no. I must leave, Captain Ceria, and I have bade my farewells. I wished only to apologize, once, before I depart.”

“Oh? For what?”

He met her eyes as someone threw a pot in the background. The crash made him wince. Buler glanced at Ceria.

“Calling you stupid. I was a fool, and I see it now.”

She paused. Then she solemnly stuck out a hand, and they shook.

“Glad you understand. We don’t raise the bar, we lower it around here.”

Solemnly, he shook her hand again, then bowed. Ceria closed the door, but as Buler hurried, well, practically ran away from this mad team, he could still hear Colthei shouting at Yvlon.

Pisces was helping.

 

——

 

Yvlon Byres could admit when mistakes were made. Unlike Pisces or Ceria, for instance. Clearly, she’d messed up.

“It was about the timing.”

“—What?”

Colth stopped ranting as she apologized. Yvlon nodded.

“I should have waited until the celebrations were done. I just thought I could expedite it if I joined the Court of Silks. That’s where you’re supposed to stand. I took the wrong cues, and if I’d waited, properly, I wouldn’t have embarrassed us in front of everyone. I’m wrong, Colth. I’m quite sorry.”

The [Ultimate Supporter] was actually at a loss for words. Genuinely. He watched Buler running for his life, and he hadn’t seen Delitandra and her people—Elena was hiccuping from laughing too hard in the corner of their guest rooms. Nawal had shut herself in her rooms and locked the doors and windows. For fear of [Assassins].

After a minute, Colth turned to Pisces and Ceria.

“When did this happen? When did she get like this? I swear, all my notes about her were that she was normal.”

Yvlon frowned, but Pisces had calmed down a bit, even if he was still white-faced.

“I think it was when she picked up her own arm and charged an Adult Creler with it. She held it together quite well afterwards, but I would say that is more of the mask which slipped.”

“And she never bothered putting it back on? Ah, right. That makes sense. I knew Deni and Eld had their moments that made them a bit cracked, but even they never did that…”

Colth calmed down. He poured himself a drink of water from a pitcher as Ceria came back and sat down.

“I think it’s great Yvlon’s apologizing. But you can see she doesn’t even really know why. My theory is the Adult Creler blew part of her brain out and we didn’t realize it was replaced by metal as well as her arms.”

Yvlon swiped at Ceria.

“I was doing what Berr would have done! I think.”

“You were copying—oh, this makes so much more sense. He probably would be laughing his tail off if he could see that. Yvlon, when we arranged for Berr to help you master your anger, you were supposed to learn fighting and emotional control from him. Nothing else. He’s a [Barbarian].”

“So? Don’t be rude, Colthei. He’s over Level 50; he’s figured out more of life than you.”

“R—it’s in his class, you iron-headed idiot! You would be dead if Queen Yisame didn’t seem to like you! I’ve never seen an adventurer with less tact, and I grew up around Named-ranks! How is someone who was raised to be a [Lady] this bad at reading a room? I would rather eat a handful of tacks than live for another second in that room with you walking through everything like a loon—and then you closed your eyes.”

Colth pointed at Yvlon, face purpling, and whirled to Pisces.

“She’s insane.”

The [Necromancer] was steepling his fingers together and giving Yvlon a sympathetic expression. He smiled.

“Yes, but she has done so well. It’s our fault for not noticing, Colth. Ylawes is her brother.”

“Ooh, that’s true. This is on us.”

Ceria nodded as she snacked on some grapes they’d left in a huge pile of fruits for the Horns. Colth opened his mouth. Closed it.

“You know what? That’s a very valid point. Having met the Silver Swords—Yvlon, you do understand why you silenced the entire Court of Silks, right?”

She nodded now the shouting had stopped.

“I do. But my reasoning was that I was getting overwhelmed, and I didn’t realize you were intimidated, Colth. It really did help.”

“Right, yes. I imagine it did. And it wasn’t the kind of thing any normal person would think of. It looked to them as if you were bored or just….ignoring it all. You didn’t flinch when the [Bodyguard] surrounded you.”

“I thought it was some Chandrarian ritual.”

Elena choked and began cough-hiccuping again. Ceria passed her some water, and Colth turned to Pisces. The [Necromancer] tapped his fingers together.

“She may, ah, also be culturally insensitive.”

Yvlon reddened.

“Well, you hear stories, Pisces! You know? [Bellydancers] or people flipping fiery swords? Swallowing them?”

“See? House Byres. Mwah. It’s like they made a work of art. You’ve gotta admire that, Colth.”

“And here I thought Yazdil created unique oddities of people.”

That was a distasteful joke, but Colth just sat, running his hands through his hair. Yvlon glanced at the door.

“I understand my mistakes. Truly, I do. Shall we get to work? I know where the Coliseum of Monarchs is.”

She stood; they had a tiny bit of light left before true nightfall. Colth snapped. He tackled her and put her in a headlock, or tried to—Ceria and Pisces leapt up.

“I’m going to kill her! I’m going to kill—”

The doors swung open, and a [Bodyguard] who’d been having a really bad day lifted his sword only to come face-to-face with Yvlon Byres and Colth, who had an arm around her neck. Yvlon blinked—he recoiled, and Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia’s Fallen herself, along with Great Sage Etrikah, stared at the Horns of Hammerad.

Elena began dying in her corner of the room. Colth let go of Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] smiled. Queen Yisame motioned her [Bodyguard] back, then swept into the room.

“Your Majesty!”

Pisces, Ceria, and Colth all bowed. Yvlon held out a hand. Colth kicked her so hard her eyes watered. She could have used [Immunity: Pain] of course, but she didn’t keep it on anymore. It was far too dangerous, in Berr’s opinion, and Yvlon agreed.

And in fairness to Colth…

Yvlon had done that one on purpose.

 

——

 

Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia’s Fallen seemed like she was having the time of her life, but it was also undeniable that the stresses upon her had increased noticeably since Yvlon had last met the woman.

Despite her meticulous makeup and beautiful cloth, she had a few traces of strain: heavier darkening under her eyes than even makeup might warrant, a fidget at times, and just an air of pensive indecision that spoke of pressure.

However, in that context she was still the happiest woman alive. Rather like someone with a terrible ailment who’d just dug up a fortune. She wore the mosaic-veil of fabrics that shifted to hide her features and rich, royal blue robes decorated with each region of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, a map of the vast kingdom.

Great Sage Etrikah, by contrast, wore a nightgown. Rich and violet silk, but the Fox Beastkin woman was clearly ready for bed and hadn’t expected to meet the Horns today. Obviously, Yvlon’s actions had changed things.

Introductions had to be made, of course. Not by Yvlon. It was rather tedious with all the bowing and titles, and Yvlon was secretly pleased; she’d cut down on what might have been a two-hour gathering to hear Colth ranting for half that and expedited this meeting by at least a day given Yisame was not a woman you just approached.

She was more interested in how her team met Yisame and the [Queen]’s own reactions, which were less guarded in front of the Horns. She knew a lot; when she saw Ceria’s circlet, her eyes darted to Etrikah, and the [Sage] refused to shake Ceria’s hand. Yisame had to touch Ceria’s bone hand, though, which Ceria claimed was ‘ticklish’. Colth—she treated with a wary remove, almost dismissing the only actual Named-rank adventurer in favor of Pisces.

He did not present himself well. Oh, he bowed ostentatiously, pretending to be a [Courtier], but as his eyes rose, they found Yisame’s bosom was far more exposed than, say, another royal ruler’s might have been. Part of that was because of Stitch-folk’s ability to remain perfect and have no objectionable flaws in their rulers, another part just the more free approach to skin in Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

He turned red and began to fumble his words as Ceria rolled her eyes, and Colth appeared ready to drown himself in the pitcher of water. But Yisame quite liked the attention. Indeed, she promptly let Pisces kiss her hand and seemed delighted by his awkwardness.

However—when Elena was introduced as the [Beautician] and follower of the Horns, Yisame’s eyes flicked once to Etrikah, and then she wore that smile Yvlon couldn’t read as she allowed the young woman to bow to her.

She knew something. But then they were sitting and conversing as the [Bodyguards] secured the room and stood outside—Yvlon saw two shadows flit to the windows and climb out of them. Counter-[Assassins]?

Tea was to be had. Etrikah provided the tea, and Colth poured for everyone; it seemed this was a private meeting since not even servants were trusted to be here. The Horns, Elena, and Nawalishifra.

The [Smith] opened her doors to see what all the commotion was about. She took one glance at Queen Yisame, prostrated herself on the floor, and then fled back into her rooms.

So, just the Horns, Elena, Etrikah, and Yisame.

“A smith of Clan Tannousin, even a former one, is a credit to your name as much as the Heromakers of Hraace. Though they did not proclaim you as a [Hero], their company speaks much to anyone of Chandrar. You come at an ill time for Nerrhavia’s Fallen, and you are not well-loved by all, Horns of Hammerad.”

Yisame was far more politically adept than her demeanor let on. Naïve in some ways; she couldn’t tie a pair of shoelaces, having never had to do so in her life, but was knowledgeable in this. She also spoke, well, conspiratorially, as if they were on the same side.

Told you. Colth ignored Yvlon’s gaze as he bowed to Yisame.

“I must imagine the resentments have only doubled after our entrance to the Kingdom of Tyrant’s End, Your Majesty. We await your guidance and will, of course. For our teammates’ actions, and the inconvenience we have caused your kingdom, we can do no less.”

“Amazing, he actually sounds like he understands where he is and what’s going on. Here I was trying to find my notes on how to brew a Potion of Wisdom.”

Etrikah grunted. Yvlon recalled she had a sharp tongue. It was Queen Yisame who flicked her fingers out in an elegant motion; both Ceria and Yvlon tried to copy it surreptitiously.

“It may in fact serve all ends well that Yvlon Byres acted thusly. That I have made no secret of my favor to the Horns of Hammerad has galvanized detractors who lay much blame for the Pomle war at your feet. Much less the Oresect plague. Another, ordinary Gold-rank team would be seen to be troublesome. But the Silver Killer of Chandrar, those who act without thought and dare even the King of Destruction and might be Named-ranks, that is more excusable.”

“If you lot act in the crown’s interests. If not, we’ll have to make an example of you, however much bravado you’ve got.”

Etrikah spoke bluntly, and Colth hastened to assure Yisame they were loyal to the crown, which was utterly two-faced considering his earlier statements. Well, he would probably say that they’d promise Yisame one thing and do what was most expedient, just like with Flos Reimarch, the Quarass, the Speaker of Trees, and Mighty Jaganismet.

You see, Yvlon wasn’t blind. She knew they were in political webs. She just figured that at some point you could probably cut said webs with a sharp enough sword.

It tended to work out for her. Queen Yisame was murmuring.

“—Prince Zenol of House Isphel I would also visit had you the inclination. I regard House Isphel as an ally, but not one I would be able to use…his has always been a loyalist house. Sadly, his reputation was also sullied by General Thelican’s demise. The [Prince] has taken to the front, fighting the King of Destruction’s armies to prove House Isphel’s loyalty and valor.”

“Dead gods. How has he survived?”

That alarmed Yvlon, and Etrikah spoke sharply.

“By not running into the Seven or the King of Destruction himself. He’s no fool who’d charge a chariot into the heart of an army and expect to live.”

That glare might have been meant for Yvlon, but the [Armsmistress] had to point out.

“I did survive, Great Sage Etrikah. With Mectail, Thexca, and Relladan’s help. I owe them and you.”

Etrikah glanced at the rings on Yvlon’s finger.

“You haven’t lost the rings at least. Come to my workshop later, Yvlon Byres. I wish to continue studying you. Those damn Oresect insects plague our cities. I can rust all but those made of silver or an alloy, but I would rather end the cause outright.”

Yvlon bowed her head. This was her fault, and her own good mood faded. Pisces cleared his throat.

“If we might also visit, Great Sage? A student of magic and the world such as yourself would be a delight to converse with.”

She eyed him from head to toe and snorted.

“I’d allow a chat with Ceria Springwalker and you. Though I don’t trust that circlet. I have some bones I need analyzing, and you seem competent enough with your hands.”

“I’m also a student of the arts, Great Sage.”

“Yes, yes, you as well Ultimate Supporter. Strange. I thought the Horns of Hammerad would all be like the Silver Killer. It turns out there are three magic-users of various capabilities, one diplomat, warrior, child, and kind soul combined, and an angry puddle made of silver. Oh, and some Goat Beastkin that matches no known description of her kind.”

“Each team needs one, Great Sage. An angry puddle of silver, that is.”

Well, they were having a wonderful time insulting her. Yvlon folded her arms as Etrikah chuckled as Yisame clapped her hands over her mouth, scandalized. Yvlon jerked her head towards Elena.

“Elena also does makeup and appearance wonderfully. Maybe you could teach her some ungents or whatnot?”

“Perhaps. How good are you, girl?”

“Level 36, Great Sage. Nothing special, but I could offer you a light treatment with my Skills.”

“Bah, what a polite young woman. What are you doing in this lot’s company? If you want a job as an assistant, you might be bright enough. Yes, you, but not all of you together! One or two at most!”

Etrikah eyed Elena, and Yisame clapped her hand together.

“Level 36? At your age? That is so incredibly quick—!”

Hm. Yvlon tilted her head. She was not that much older than Elena. Nor was Pisces. She saw Ceria continue smiling, but felt a sudden chill on her left buttcheek that was not a figment of her imagination. Colth brushed at his hair, grinning, and Pisces rubbed at his ass.

“Oh, so you know about Earthers. Elena’s from Wistram, but she’s in our company until we can get her to her people.”

The Horns of Hammerad, Elena, Etrikah, and Yisame all turned to Yvlon as the [Armsmistress] nodded. Colth found a piece of ice and bounced it off Yvlon’s forehead. Yisame was patently shocked. Etrikah muttered to Pisces.

“One feels she’s doing this on purpose.”

Yvlon scowled at the others.

“I just don’t see why we have to dance around it. Yisame, you’re helping us. Elena’s from Earth. Flos knows. I think a lot of world leaders know or are finding out. Etrikah just tried to recruit Elena subtly, didn’t she? You can’t have her. Now we’ve said it, we can move on.”

Yisame rubbed at her brows.

“It would be pleasant to have Miss Elena speak to a few individuals I trust. We hunt for these…Earthers, but we have found few. Nerrhavia’s Fallen is simply too vast, and Humans, while notable, are in sufficient number that I fear they have blended in.”

“Or died. Chandrar is a harsh place to live if they did not appear in the cities. And in the cities, one can fall afoul to any number of problems. We’ll find them. We have a few leads already, but I would prefer someone trustworthy, knowledgeable, and preferably wise. I’ll try to charm this one, but she’s too canny if she’s slipped the Quarass and King of Destruction both.”

Elena beamed at the compliments and turned to Yisame.

“I’d love to be a credit as long as I’m here, but I do have people I must go to, Your Majesty. But may I offer all the fashions and stylings of Earth? It cannot keep up with Stitch-folk, who are frankly ludicrously beautiful and would put us all in mental wards back home—but whatever I have, I’m sure your people could improve.’

“You may. I find you delightful, Miss Elena. And I must then prevail upon you all to dine with me anon. You shall be the reckless adventurers I am taken with in truth as well as in deed.”

“Carefully.”

Etrikah interjected, and everyone eyed Yvlon again. She nodded.

“Absolutely carefully. I understand. And we won’t take your time during these wars, Yisame, I promise. Where’s Mectail now? Still in the Coliseum of Monarchs? All I need is a run to the Merchant’s Guild so I can pay him and the others back, however much’s appropriate. Then we can move to Pisces’ and Ceria’s tasks, which are harder.”

“I just want to read some books at your academy. And study a bit of magic? Who’s your highest-level [Mage], and how lewd is he?”

Ceria waved a hand, and Etrikah laughed.

“You won’t seduce the highest-level [Mage] in residence here, Ceria Springwalker. He’d only sleep with someone above Silk-caste. Anyone of flesh and blood he’d never let touch his precious cloth.”

“Ah. Damn.”

Etrikah hadn’t answered the question about the [Gladiators]. Yisame glanced at Yvlon.

“It may be more complicated than you wish, Yvlon. I have used some influence of the crown, but the Coliseum of Monarchs is its own entity. Refraining from entering or acknowledging it may serve your friends better than reckless action.”

Yvlon sat up.

“They’re in trouble? Are they under arrest? They didn’t kill anyone, just—”

Sabotaged Thelican’s charge. Colthei grunted.

“That sounds dicey. Am I to understand they’re still [Gladiators]?”

“Yes, fighting unto death—or defeat of the champion. But Champion Lenxiol is no foe like the one Yvlon defeated in the Arena of Rust. Nor does he face them. They have endured thus far; the sport of watching them suffer has long gone. So long as no one reignites that spark—”

Even more worrying. Yvlon almost got out of her chair.

“They were sentenced to be criminal [Gladiators]? Like me? And they can only get out by defeating the champion?”

She’d beaten one of them, the Champion of Rust, in the same Arena of Rust, but the head of Nerrhavia Fallen’s largest coliseum had to be far, far more dangerous. Mectail himself had beaten Yvlon when he had taken it upon himself to calm her rage. And none of her friends had ever spoken of taking the title for themselves.

“I shall apprise you of the correct methods to be undertaken. You must prevail on those who control the Coliseum of Monarchs. The [Coliseum Master] was a friend of General Thelican and part of the Court of Steel’s circle under the Minister of Defense.”

The [Queen] was speaking to Colth mostly as he took swift notes. Etrikah was nodding at the sheet of names that Pisces and Ceria had produced.

“Very good, someone can do his homework as well. I should expect nothing less from one of Larracel the Haven’s children. How is she doing…?”

They were speaking quickly and earnestly as Elena scooted over to join the conversation.

“How can I help? No one noticed me, I think. I pretty much backed out of the Court of Silks the moment the celebrations started and pretended to be like Buler. I can change my makeup—”

“You cannot fit in among Stitch-folk [Servants] as if this were another nation.”

Etrikah warned Elena, and the [Beautician] adjusted her hair.

“I’ve thought about trying to make fake stitch-marks. Let me show you—and I can play the [Servant] class. I had it once.”

“More and more interesting. Then perhaps. But this [Coliseum Master], Vornbl, is easiest to bribe or threaten if he feels his position is undermined.”

Colth nodded at Etrikah as he scribbled notes.

“I was asking Larracel if she had any contacts or favors I could take from when she visited. Unlikely, but she did come here. She’s in the New Lands, incidentally. Fighting the mana drain and salted land.”

The Fox Beastkin woman chuckled.

“Appropriate, boy. We knew of both. Nerrhavia’s Fallen lives in deserts; why would we not assume the ground was both fallow and the air poisoned? Your reputations should be your first concern as it plays into your madness.”

Ceria smiled from ear-to-ear.

“We’re already getting started. Or rather, Delitandra is. I heard the Heromakers of Hraace telling stories about us. I knew we kept them around for a reason.”

“You should involve her in your plans. I don’t know this Delitandra. But she would have instincts better than non-Chandrarians…”

Yvlon stood up and nodded at everyone. They all regarded her, and she smiled. From Yisame to Pisces, everyone here seemed to really understand the situation in Chandrar. Well, she assumed Pisces might be able to fake it, and they all had their specialities.

“You take care of that. I’m going to see them.”

She walked for the doors. Yisame’s lips moved.

“Who…?”

“The [Gladiators]. I’m just going to—”

Elena, Pisces, Colth, and Ceria jumped out of their seats and grabbed her. Yvlon tried to keep walking as Yisame leapt up.

“Yvlon, I just said it would be reckless!”

“I’m not going to do anything. I just want to see. You’re overexaggerating now, Colth. I just want to—”

They really were shouting and making a scene. So much so that one of the [Bodyguards] opened the doors to check on them.

The woman saw the Silver Killer of Izril with her entire team holding her back, smiling that eerie smile, trying to make for the doors—until Yisame ordered them shut and barred from the outside.

Of such things were the tales of Yvlon Byres made of. And that was the first day.

 

——

 

The second day began with an odd feeling in the air. Yvlon was a bit surly at breakfast. She was not stupid, and being called that by everyone present—even Elena—hurt her feelings.

Elena was allowed to leave the palace unsupervised. Colth was whispering with her and handing her things at breakfast, but Ceria had threatened to freeze Yvlon in a block of ice if she didn’t stay put.

And when Yvlon had gotten up at midnight just to use the toilet, she’d found that Ceria had frozen her door solid!

However, if Yvlon was slightly grumpy, no one else in the private royal wing of the palace was. Queen Yisame was in a most excellent mood, and whatever else she might be, she was still enough of a [Queen] that her exuberance infected everyone.

The servants moved with a quickened step and were all smiles; it was not hard to see why. Their normally mercurial [Queen] almost bounded down the stairs, and the reason for her joy?

The Horns of Hammerad. She looked like Visma if her dolls had come to life and wanted to have tea with her in person. Actually, given how murderous some of her dolls were…

She acted like a lot of people did when meeting the Players of Celum. Delighted, excited, nervous, and overflowing with questions by turns. The very first thing she did was refuse to sit at the head of the table. Instead, she had a chair moved back until she was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Pisces.

One of her servants actually took her to task for it, murmuring something about ‘Her Majesty’s decorum’, but Yisame just looked sideways, and the [Servant] fell silent.

“If the Arbiter Queen, whom we have much respect for, can sit and speak to Pisces the Bane—or is it Scourge?—as equals, then so shall we! And I do insist on being spoken to without formality. Adventurer Pisces, I am somewhat familiar with your history, but I should be delighted to hear it from the man himself! Pray tell me, is that the very bell that so amazed the King of Reim? And your sword—it is not the one you sold in Wistram, is it? I believe that is still in the custody of some [Lord] of House Trevalier? Quite unfortunate, but if you so desired to have a new one made, there are some [Smiths] in Nerrhavia’s Fallen of sufficient acumen for a base weapon. In, say, mithril?”

Yvlon blinked over the table as Pisces hesitated and turned beet red as Yisame leaned over with a quite revealing dress for the morning and peered at the bell on his waist. Flustered, he tried to show her the sword and then froze as the [Bodyguards] rustled, but she barely noticed.

“You, uh, know about my dueling sword in Wistram, Queen Yisame?”

Even Ceria’s brows were raised, but Queen Yisame’s eyes were aglow with delight.

“Why, of course! One feels this is common information for anyone interested in your past?”

Common…? Pisces was so off-guard he stammered a few explanations about how he’d had to reforge his sword in the Trial of Shields. When Yisame heard that, she almost leapt up.

“This has not become any kind of story! You must recount it for me! I shall take—ah. [Servant], take notes!”

Yvlon got the impression the aspiring [Writer] and [Reader] would have loved to take notes herself, but Yisame contented herself with hearing the entire adventure from Pisces. And the other Horns, but she kept turning to him for clarity. She was rather…touchy. She’d place a hand on his arm, and he’d nearly jump out of his seat.

She definitely found that amusing. There was a smile on her lips, and she did it more than once. By the time Pisces got out the whole tale, though, she was fully fascinated. He excused himself from breakfast as fast as he could after that. Ceria and Colth almost ran after him, laughing, probably to tease the [Necromancer].

Yisame was caught between amusement and delight as she finally took a bite of her now-cool breakfast. She clapped her hands, and it was whisked away to be replaced by heated food. Then, and only then, did she turn.

“Ah, I must have the rest of your tale, such as your departure from the dungeon and how you came to ride across the sky of Izril—but later. I did not offend Pisces, did I, Yvlon? He seems so much meeker than the image I had of him!”

Yvlon had been eating slower than the rest of her team, trying to have some decorum, plus she’d wanted to talk to Yisame.

Now, she shrugged as she poked at some delicate pieces of a shard-like dish. It broke away and was shaped like glass, but melted on the tongue and was soft as butter when you ate it. It tasted wonderful and was some fruit product apparently—Yisame ate well.

“Pisces isn’t upset. He’ll just be embarrassed. He’s been needled by Colth all the way south for being poor with women. Uh, what did you expect of him?”

She wondered if she shouldn’t tell that to Yisame, but they had sent letters, and Yisame begged for gossip like this. This wasn’t anything personal like scars or anything, and the [Reader]-[Queen]’s face lit up even more if possible.

“Poor with women? I had this image of a surly [Necromancer] who sniffed quite a lot, but had a [Champion]’s heart. Quick of wit and sharp with his tongue, but whom I could win over, hopefully. Then…did he not sleep with Queen Jecaina? I heard rumors they were dueling by night.”

Yvlon kept her face straight.

“They were…but literally.”

“Oh. Not in any romantic sense?”

“If there was, I think Pisces blew it. You know I am not married to King Perric either, correct?”

Yisame’s good mood turned to vexation for a moment, and her lilac eyes flashed.

“I wouldn’t dream of believing that! I knew the moment I heard that little toad of a king speak that he was lying to save face. Did you really steal his crown? May I see it?”

Embarrassed, Yvlon had to recount the events from her perspective. She saw Yisame actually taking notes.

“It was just an impulse, and when Mars arrived…you’re not going to write of this, are you?”

Yisame jumped.

“Me? Of course—would it offend you if the stories were told delicately and truthfully?”

“I…I don’t think they’re worth telling, even if they are true. And not anything about Pisces’ love life! He doesn’t deserve gossip about him.”

Yisame crossed something off.

“Of course not! And I know a team makes fun of its own. Lighthearted gossip and jabs.”

She spoke without any firsthand experience of that, Yvlon could tell. The [Armsmistress]’ lips quirked. It was funny talking to someone as strange as Yisame.

“Less lighthearted in Colth’s case. I think it’s actually annoying Pisces. Even if it is sadly accurate.”

Yisame lowered her voice as servants took away some plates.

“Surely not! For a Human, he is handsome enough! And a [Duelist] with a silver bell—that is a silver bell, isn’t it? Let alone a Gold-ranked adventurer, he would not want for company any more than you, Yvlon. Unless it is a matter of taste?”

The [Armsmistress] grew uncomfortable at the line of topic she’d inadvertently entered into. She hadn’t…it wasn’t the sort of thing she’d want her parents to hear about…and after her arms—she coughed.

“Pisces? I don’t think he’s looking very hard, Queen Yisame. Queen Jecaina might have been—but he’s not one to chase, I don’t think. Certainly, he’s interested if how he stares at performers and you is any indication.”

He was a funny fellow, Pisces. She didn’t mean it when she called him a pervert, but he certainly had an appreciation for the female form she wasn’t used to in a teammate. Whenever a woman so much as bared her chest, he’d stare.

Then again, Ylawes was the only other boy that Yvlon had really known for most of her life, and the few times nudity had been present, he’d instantly looked the other way. By her metrics, Pisces was a mildly perverse man with a heart of gold.

Queen Yisame’s mouth hung slightly open until she adjusted the strings slightly, as if Yvlon had given her an unexpected revelation of her own. She coughed a few times and took a sip of purified water.

“Then…truly, given the stories about the Ice Squirrel, I thought…I would not go as far as to say that’s perverse of Necromancer Pisces. Then again, we Stitch-folk know what we shape ourselves to be. I found it quite a compliment.”

A thought struck her suddenly, and she tapped her lips as her eyes lit up.

“If he was so enamored by Queen Jecaina and, perhaps, travelweary and even injured of spirit as I believe him to be from his travails here once already, would a companion not be appropriate? For a few nights or a single one?”

Now she sounded like Colth on their way to Hraace. Yvlon shifted.

“I’m—not making that decision for Pisces. Why? I don’t think throwing a member of court into his bed would work, even if one was willing. As for a [Servant] or [Slave], that would not do.”

“Of course not them! Not for him! How would he feel about spending the night with a [Queen], Yvlon?”

Yisame drew herself up, and Yvlon stared out one window.

“It’s a long way from Jecrass to h—”

She stopped cold and stared at Yisame. The Stitch-woman was preening in the light.

“I—ah—there’s no need to do that, Queen Yisame. Certainly not in the name of helping Pisces.”

“Helping? I would consider it a fine, memorable night regardless of what occurred. I am taken with the idea, so why not? I could well invite him tonight.”

Now, the [Queen] seemed more like a panther ready to pounce. She was in an even better mood than minutes previously and rang a bell; a [Servant] appeared, and she whispered into an ear.

“Prepare the second bedroom for—”

“Wait, Yisame. Pisces isn’t necessarily ready for—”

Yvlon stood up, alarmed. However, the [Queen] waved Yvlon’s concerns off.

“This is something I quite desire myself, Yvlon. And it is an honor few dream of, believe me.”

“Pisces is—hurt. I don’t think it’s appropriate. I’m sorry I suggested it.”

Yvlon shook her head, and Yisame gave her a rarely annoyed expression.

“Then you needn’t worry, because I have thought of it, and I have made my choice. Do not fret, Yvlon, and we needn’t speak of this again!”

“But I am fretting. I don’t want you to—bother Pisces.”

The [Servant] half-turned, amazed, and Yisame’s brows snapped together. She adjusted her clothing today and gestured at her form, each stitch sewn to perfection with cloth far more magical than Silk.

“Bother him? It will be, as you say, his choice, Adventurer Yvlon. And no finer company there is in this entire world in any continent or land. Now, I believe Great Sage Etrikah wished to speak with you?”

She whirled, sweeping away from Yvlon, and then smiling as the bliss of the day overtook her once more. The [Queen] only halted as an unfamiliar sensation placed itself around the back of her neck.

“Excuse me, Yisame. I didn’t make myself clear. I am asking you, please, to not bother Pisces. I regret ever placing him in this situation.”

Yvlon Byres’ hand was on Yisame’s neck and shoulder. The [Queen] stopped.

“Yvlon Byres, one does not touch a [Queen].”

She had [Bodyguards], of course, and had told them already, twice, not to harm or injure her friend. So maybe they’d been lax at breakfast. But right now, a Gold-rank adventurer had her hands on—

They were around Yvlon and Yisame, and the [Queen] expected the hand to let go. When, instead, the metallic grip tightened, she yelped. Yvlon dragged Yisame back, and the [Queen]’s eyes were suddenly round.

Because the face of the [Armsmistress] was no longer even that polite, unsettling smile. She wore…a frown. Her blue eyes locked with Yisame’s.

“Yisame, very respectfully, I would like you not to bother Pisces. I apologize entirely for my indiscretion. I’m not a very cautious woman. Please drop the matter for our friendship.”

“Let go of—”

One of the [Bodyguards] shut up as Yvlon’s other hand closed over their head. She wasn’t looking at the swords poking her. Her hand was getting tighter on Yisame’s shoulder.

“You’re hurting me, Yvlon.”

Yisame was shivering. Yvlon Byres dragged her forward another foot, effortlessly, until they were inches away.

“Pisces has been hurt far worse. I have your word, Yisame?”

“Let go of me. You do not touch me.”

Then the [Queen] got angry. Truly furious because she had been so lenient despite how any other monarch would rage! She hissed at Yvlon and gazed at—

The Silver Killer let go of the other [Bodyguard] and placed both hands on Yisame’s shoulders. She lifted the [Queen] up off the ground. Just an inch or two.

“Do we understand each other, Yisame? I like and respect you. But if you hurt him, even by trying to be nice, I will lose my temper. I’m afraid of losing my temper.”

The [Queen] was having trouble breathing. More and more [Bodyguards] were appearing like a stage act out the doors, but they were all staring at the very close, very high-level [Warrior] holding the [Queen] up.

“I—I understand, Yvlon. I recant my words. I won’t bother Pisces.”

Yisame got the words out, and Yvlon’s expression changed into a huge smile. She put Yisame down into a chair.

“Thank you, Yisame. I’m glad you understand. Oh no. I’ve bruised your skin.”

She glanced around, then seemed to see the army of…the army staring at her. Yisame made a few hand-signs, and they hesitated. Yvlon lifted her hands cautiously and stepped away from Yisame.

“We were just talking.”

The [Queen] waited until the [Bodyguards] had dispersed. Then she spoke.

“I quite understand, Yvlon. Why don’t you visit Sage Etrikah…?”

She waited as Yvlon turned to her, apologizing for her outburst and wavering until Yisame assured her she was fine; cloth could be replaced. Only when Yvlon was gone did Yisame get out of her chair. She practically dashed back into her royal chambers.

“Your Majesty? We might triple—quadruple the guard. And keep that one—”

“Silence! Begone!”

She shouted at the [Royal Captain of the Guard] and lay on the bed. Sprawled out until the hammering in her heart had subsided. The stare Yvlon had given her—was that the look the Adult Creler had seen before it died?

All thoughts of Pisces were utterly out of the Queen of Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s head. After a moment of rolling around in bed, she rose. And then…she grabbed a quill and ink and began to write like a storm. Though her hand was shaking so badly she could barely read her own words.

 

——

 

Berr had warned Yvlon about this. She thought she had a handle on her emotions, but he’d told her that even with his training, she’d have leaks.

Slow leaks that she’d try to write off. The key was facing your emotions. So what did Yvlon feel?

Well, alarmed when Yisame had plotted to seduce Pisces. Angry…on his behalf. Worried it would hurt him, that it would be her fault.

But mostly? She was impatient to leave Chandrar, as welcoming as Yisame was. Worried about Ksmvr, so worried it hurt.

Angry that Mectail and her friends were in jeopardy because of her and that the prudent thing to do wasn’t what felt right.

Fear could be anger. Sadness could be anger. Actually, according to Berr, everything could become anger. Yvlon tried to absorb the fury in her as he’d shown her. Store it. Not compress it. But store it behind the vault she knew had to be there, to contain it.

When you need it, that is when you draw it out. When you open the door. But you must have it, more than you can dream of.

She’d let it out only once since his lessons. Not against Bograms, nor even Admiral Rosech. Just when she’d gone below one of the [Slave] ships hunting Erin and seen what they did. Yvlon had been about to unleash it on King Perric.

She feared what she’d do, and that was better than before when her [Berserker’s Rage] had overpowered her. Berr had said this was wise.

“I fear my actions when I am angry. If you do not fear your own rage, do you respect it? Or do you just not know any true fury?”

Yvlon did fear. The problem that occurred to the [Silversteel Armsmistress] was this: she might feel fear for herself.

She felt little fear for other people. Not Queen Yisame’s bodyguards. Not the dignity of the Court of Silks or the approval or anger of other people.

She had seen an Adult Creler killing good men and women. She had watched Skinner kill her team and fled it. Yvlon had stood in the Crossroads of Izril and the Bloodfields.

She had…sunk. Defeated and drowning deeper. Holding a single breath in as she knew she’d never pull herself up. Waiting to die this time, but hoping for a miracle. Knowing it was her final moment.

—Only to have those gentle hands take hers. And to feel Ksmvr putting the Ring of Waterbreathing on her finger. The one thing that could save him from death in a world of water.

He who feared drowning more than anything but losing his team. His shaking fingers.

She hadn’t even seen his face. Just felt that touch and the ring giving her life—before she was falling into the cold waters. Not knowing if he was alive or dead, or Ceria or Pisces or Colth…

Sinking past a dying Kraken and landing in the depths where the water tried to crush her. Walking for weeks in the silence, past the Witch of Webs, until she could see light.

So yes, maybe Yvlon was still a bit broken. Maybe Berr had not fixed her, just given her a new way to channel the terrible emotions in her chest.

She still had the ring she had to give Ksmvr back. A plain ring you could buy on the market. No relic.

The Ring of Waterbreathing.

It rested in the palm of her hands as she sat in Great Sage Etrikah’s workshop. The Fox Beastkin woman was inspecting Yvlon. She knew much, being Yisame’s confidant. When she did speak, it was in a low voice.

“You are no fool, Yvlon Byres. Were it not Queen Yisame—any other ruler in the world would see you dead or imprisoned for that. That you are no fool, I assume Queen Yisame said something so offensive it provoked that response. Or you would be an imbecile the likes of which I have scarcely ever met, and I knew General Thelican.”

Yvlon Byres glanced up, and she met the [Sage]’s eyes. She spoke with that…certainty in her chest.

“I know. But it was Queen Yisame.”

“And you think her patience is endless? You think she can, in this moment, when her reign is in jeopardy, afford to be humbled in any way?”

Etrikah’s voice took on heat. Yvlon replied again calmly.

“I know her a bit, Sage Etrikah, as I do you. I do not think her patience is endless. I am aware I made her angry. My cause was important. I believe it was an important lesson for her and for me. I am reflecting.”

“And if she had lost her temper?”

“It would have been an important lesson for the both of us.”

Yvlon kept her gaze fixed on Etrikah’s own, and she saw a faint ripple run up the grey fur of Etrikah’s body. It was the [Sage] who averted her gaze.

“Perhaps it would have, then. I would say you are too young, too inexperienced to speak thusly. Wisdom is knowing when you are wrong.”

“I’m often wrong.”

Yvlon volunteered. Etrikah snorted as she eyed the two rings that Yvlon had taken off her hand. She saw Yvlon putting the Ring of Waterbreathing back in her bag of holding. Not her hand; it caused magical interference, but more importantly, it could be damaged or interfere with Yvlon’s shifting hands. The two Relic-class rings were worth the risk.

“Enough. You and Yisame will make your choices without me speaking needless words. At least it was in private, if that word has any meaning in the palace. To business. I have no doubt I will exchange magical secrets and cunning knowledge with your teammates and that girl. She is a flatterer. You need one like that, but what does the swinging mace of House Byres’ tact have to report? Have you learned more of these rings?”

She was referring to the rings that she had once helped Yvlon appraise. The very ones that Yvlon had, ah, smuggled with her along with the scrolls in a very painful—and gross—way. Yvlon still remembered having to pass them out the hard way after swallowing them.

Still, the effort had been worth it. One of the two rings was scaled, like that of a Wyvern or Drake’s scales, and crowned with a little scale-shield at the tip. The other? It was a strange, multi-colored stone like some precious jade, but the ring changed forms around the edges.

First tiny, sharp, quill-like edges, then what might have been the rushing of waves or perhaps feathers? Before becoming scales or lines upon the earth and then other features.

Both were so finely detailed and made of magical materials that at a glance Yvlon would have picked them out of false imitations. Etrikah had been the one who had told Yvlon they were unlikely to be cursed or dangerous.

Etrikah hadn’t worn them, since the [Sage] could be wrong, but Yvlon had taken them on her adventures and used them, however sparingly. Yvlon raised her brows.

“Not that much. You were correct, Sage Etrikah. The Ring of Barriers has saved my life more than once. From the Crossroads of Izril to the Battle at Sea. I imagine I would have been crushed to death had it not activated in the deep sea. A powerful artifact. Especially for someone like me. Do you want to know about the Crossroads of Izril? I cannot give you the Passphrase so easily, but I can describe what I saw.”

Etrikah glanced up at Yvlon.

“Adventurer, sometimes I enjoy the interplay of words and meaning instead of having everything spelled out in front of me. And the other ring?”

Yvlon shrugged.

“It works well enough to supplement my healing potions. I wrote to Yisame about it, didn’t I? I used it to survive trapped corridors in the maze I was stuck in.”

The second ring had an effect she had uncovered that ran contrary to Etrikah’s assumptions. It was no attack-spell, but rather, a Ring of Healing. Possibly a Ring of Minor Healing; if Yvlon concentrated, it would close a gash or make bruises vanish. It didn’t work like a Healing Potion, and it was a bit disconcerting how it activated, but…that was old power. Yvlon didn’t advertise she had it, and so far, her team had relied on healing potions and not gotten hurt that bad; in these times, it would be an invaluable ring.

As was a Ring of Barriers that could literally absorb a deathblow before she took damage. These two rings really made Yvlon feel like a Gold-rank adventurer or better; they were perfect items for a [Warrior] like her.

Etrikah raised her brows.

“I have indeed read Yisame’s letters once her squealing like a Goldbelly Pig ceased. That was not my question. My question was whether you found the actual powers of the rings out and had not written to Yisame of them.”

“Excuse me? What powers?”

The Great Sage opened her mouth, saw Yvlon’s brows crossed in genuine puzzlement, and lifted one ring up to the magnifying glass she was using.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Yvlon Byres, but these are no mere rings looted from the armory, but the rings carried by the adventurers who slew the Putrid One.”

“That’s correct. The scrolls came from the table, but I found an adventurer wearing both these rings.”

Etrikah nodded.

“Then, the adventurers who slew a [Necromancer] who could animate over two dozen giant-class undead, a [Sword Legend], and an undying hulking beast and had Scrolls of Greater Teleportation—Named-Rank adventurers of that era—used a Ring of Barriers and a Ring of Minor Healing as their personal equipment?”

The second ring bounced off Yvlon’s head. She was getting annoyed by people doing that, but she felt Etrikah had raised solid points. She picked the ring up and carefully put it back on her finger.

“Well, I admit, I haven’t been experimenting. How would I uncover their true power?”

“A passphrase or the right conditions. Much like the Heartflame Breastplate, Relics are puzzles. It amazes me you don’t question them.”

Etrikah rubbed at her forehead, and Yvlon opened her mouth, then nodded silently.

“So…testing?”

“Yes. Stand over there, please. Let me activate a dozen barrier spells. I prefer not to die.”

“What about me?”

“As I believe you indicated to Queen Yisame and all her [Bodyguards]…you’ll live.”

 

——

 

They didn’t figure out either ring’s effects after a mere two hours of testing, but Yvlon had been put back onto this potential opportunity, so she thanked Etrikah for the help as Elena came by for her eleven o’clock.

“Hey, Yvlon, what’re you doing?”

“Going out into the city. Not to the Coliseum of Monarchs.”

At least not right away. Elena opened her mouth to object and then hesitated.

“You know what? Peachy! Great! One thing, can you hold me like you held Queen Yisame at breakfast?”

Yvlon hesitated. Then she awkwardly did as Elena asked, adjusting her hands until she had the grip right. Elena glanced down.

“And you held her up off the ground?”

“I…might have not been tactful.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. You didn’t murder the [Bodyguards], so I guess it worked out. Plus, you either scared her so bad she’s going to never get close to you again or she was into it. Because, frankly, the only reason I’m not in prison and you’re not hanging up with me are those two things.”

“Into what?”

Elena opened her mouth. She stared at Yvlon, then spun.

“Etrikah! I have a headache!”

“I have tea. Make the Silver Killer leave, please.”

The door closed. Yvlon regarded it and after a moment drew her metal foot back, thinking to give it one good kick out of pique. She saw a [Servant] eying her in the hallway. Yvlon lowered her foot, gave them a thumbs-up and a smile, and hurried off.

 

——

 

Yvlon could be a reasonable person. A normal person. She…

…Was having real problems walking down a street. Half the people were begging for her autograph, shouting, ‘Silver Killer’, and asking her to introduce herself.

The other half took one look at Yvlon and ran, even [Shopkeepers], packing up shop like she was about to turn into a slavering monster.

She’d forgotten she was a famous adventurer. Yvlon Byres did her best, smiling, autographing a few things clumsily, then lost patience. She picked up a few people and put them down out of the way and then realized that was just encouraging them.

Her rescuer was, sadly, Ceria. The Ice Squirrel solved the crowd around Yvlon by turning the air sub-zero in seconds. People leapt away, and she skated towards Yvlon.

“Hey, Yv, let’s go!”

They shot down the street, and even if people followed, skating on the thin ice Ceria produced was a trick you had to learn. Plus, the ice turned into water in moments.

“Did you raid a well to get this water?”

“Nope! Learned [Create Water] since I had the [Tidal Wave] spell. You’ve gotta be a jerk to these people, Yvlon. I know it goes against your Ylawes-instincts, but they’re gonna overwhelm you.”

“Don’t worry, I had tons of practice this morning.”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

It said something that when Ceria Springwalker saw Yvlon’s innocent smile, even wearing the circlet, she got a bit nervous.

“You aren’t running from the palace, are you? We’re not under arrest if we walk back in?”

“Nope! Probably not. We’ll see. So what’s good in Tyrant’s Rest?”

“Oh, tons of cool bazaar stuff. Stitch-folk are too damn beautiful, but you can see a bunch of weird streets where they’ve changed their cloth so they’re like Drakes or even Gnolls. It’s uh…it doesn’t look quite right, but it’s funny. Food—I doubt we’ll beat Yisame’s hospitality. And the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes is great! They have a branch here absolutely filled with magical spellbooks you can read if you’re rich and famous. I scribed spells for two hours and then took a break.”

“That’s a good system, having so many spellbooks for anyone who can learn them. Why doesn’t Wistram do that?”

“Because we’re awful. Plus, [Thieves] apparently are horrendous; those were mostly Tier 1-4 spells. I need to get to the main branch to find what I want. Or broker peace with Flos, but that feels unlikely.”

Ceria adjusted her circlet, and Yvlon remembered she had been given a lead on finding more about the circlet if she helped the Treespeaker.

“You’re looking for information on the circlet…?”

Ceria eyed Yvlon cautiously and shrugged.

“It’s a famous library. Anything of what it does or its effects would be good to know, right?”

“Of course.”

Yvlon kept her face straight, and the two glanced at each other, but they were aligned on this. After a moment, Yvlon cleared her throat.

“Well, I was thinking of visiting the Coliseum of Monarchs covertly. Want to tag along?”

“I mean…given that you can’t stop causing problems here, sure? I’d better at least be there to bail you out. You okay, Yvlon? You mad about the [Slavers]?”

They were walking now. Still attracting stares, but the crowd had not re-gathered. Yvlon frowned.

“The what? Oh, no. I’m just trying to make things happen. We’re on a time limit, remember? We all agreed. Plus, I know Yisame. I did survive here before. They think I’m the Silver Killer. They named me. I’m just answering their expectations.”

The half-Elf thoughtfully opened her mouth, then scratched at her head. She patted Yvlon on the shoulder.

“You know what? I respect it. We got out of Medain, and I was right with you. I was actually upset Mars stopped us. We’ve gotta level—so long as you’re calculating the odds, go for it. Take it to Yisame next time she gives us lip.”

“Done.”

“Hah! Good on—oh, tree rot. What did you do?”

Yvlon was spared having the same conversation a third time by a sudden advent of, if not normality, than mundanity. Because a group of thirteen ran at the two Gold-rank adventurers.

Ceria whirled her wand up, and Yvlon turned her arm into a sword. The thirteen Stitch-folk, mostly young, raised their hands and halted.

“Street Runners! Don’t kill us, please, Horns of Hammerad!”

“Oh. Well—how do I know you’re not [Assassins]?”

Yvlon had already lowered her hands, but Ceria snapped her wand up and played into the moment. They almost chucked their Runner’s Seals at her. It was funny they were still more scared of Yvlon as Ceria lowered the wand and let them approach.

“Delivery for us? We’ve got no Runner’s Seals. Darn, we should buy some custom ones, Yvlon.”

“Those take time to make, and we’re not here long. Who’s it from? The Wandering Inn?”

No, they’d just use the [World’s Eye Theatre], right? Ceria and Yvlon were interested—and then the Street Runners opened their bags of holding and began dumping letters on the ground.

As in, the first pile was up to Yvlon’s knees, and it was from one bag of holding. And they kept coming! Ceria’s mouth opened, and Yvlon recoiled as a veritable mountain of letters and packages piled up.

“Dead gods, what—”

“Letters for you, oh mighty Horns of Hammerad!”

A pleased-looking woman strode out from behind the Street Runners. She was fit and tall, the Runner’s Guild [Guildmistress]. She offered the two Gold-ranks a little bow.

“That you had not been in a city capable of receiving the mail, and travelling so often, it is small wonder you had not experienced this before. This is all that we have addressed to you, and many, many more letters in Izril await you there. Your careers have kept you rising too fast, for the Runner’s Guild has never had time to offer you its services! Namely, sorting this…mess.”

She flicked her hands as the Street Runner stood there, shifting from foot to foot as the letters rustled in the wind. Yvlon stretched out her arm to grab one that nearly flew away; the Street Runner nearest to it squeaked and covered his head as if afraid her arm would lacerate him.

Even the Guildmistress took a step back at that, but she smiled, though she’d gone pale for a moment.

“Ah, and how easy it is to miss a letter! Gather this up, you all. This is but half the letters addressed to you.”

“Half?”

Ceria and Yvlon began, but the [Cryomancer] held up a hand. She closed her eyes, and her features composed to calmness eerily fast.

“No, wait, we should have anticipated this, Yvlon. Of course it’s mostly spam. Requests for aid, marriage proposals—the Runner’s Guild would take a cut from us monthly and sort our mail. The Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt paid for it, and they weren’t even that famous, remember?”

Now that Yvlon remembered it, she did recall the Runner’s Guild handling messages a bit differently when Jelaqua or Halrac went to pick them up. She supposed the Horns’ relatively fast rise—plus the fact that their reputation had really only increased notably after the Village of the Dead and Chandrar—had kept them from this moment.

“If it’s a Courier-message, I bet it’s not in this stuff.”

Ceria kicked the pile of letters the Runner’s Guild was collecting. The Guildmistress smiled.

“Then, if you will follow me to the Runner’s Guild, it will be the work of a moment to set up the system.”

And a small fee they could eminently afford. Ceria and Yvlon glanced at each other. Both nodded to the other. Ceria spun and beamed at the Guildmistress.

“No need! Run them to the palace, and we’ll open them there, there’s a good woman. Here. For your trouble.”

She handed the Guildmistress a copper coin. The Stitch-woman blinked.

“But the imposition, not to mention the effort—”

Yvlon was nodding.

“We’ll sort through them then see if we want to opt into the service. Thank you. I like reading.”

Both she and Ceria had had the exact same thought.

Like Rhir’s Hells we’re getting strongarmed into giving out money.

They marched back to the palace as the [Guildmistress] protested. In that way, Yvlon and Ceria did get along quite well at times.

 

——

 

Yvlon did tip the Street Runners well, but by the time Pisces and Colth came back from their own explorations of the city, the two were still sorting through the mail addressed to them.

Yvlon was slightly regretting her choices, but the sight of Pisces’ face and Colth’s exasperated sigh was worth it. The [Supporter] threw himself into a chair.

“I know what you’re doing. Believe me, I did it too, but this gets real old fast.”

Ceria grinned as she fanned out the letters in her hands like a deck of cards.

“Well, let us soak up the fame. Pisces, you have to read these letters. Some are hilarious. Others? Highly tragic appeals.”

Pisces sat down in a chair and stared at the letters, then took one Ceria handed him. He rubbed at his nose.

“We are famous then?”

Yvlon felt that strange, bubbly sensation in her chest at so many letters. It was indulging fame, and Colth might have been used to it, but it was a treat for the Horns and ample distraction. Despite his attempts at world-weariness, soon Colth was opening letters and gifts.

It was a fun team-exercise, and Elena came racing by to join in.

“Etrikah’s tons of fun, and she gave me lots of ideas and tried to recruit me three times. Anyways, what’s this?”

Ceria had a bottle in one hand and was reading the accompanying letter.

“Looks like a love potion. Gross, I think I can see the guy’s hair floating in it. It says it’s a custom-made healing potion, but yuck. Colth?”

He took one look at it and tossed it into a pile.

“Yep. You can see the hexes on some letters. Hex, hex, oh, tracking spell! Nice, it’s made to stick to you. Normally, the Runner’s Guild doesn’t even accept this kind of stuff, but the [Guildmistress] was trying to be cute, I bet. Annoyed you?”

“Yep!”

Most of the letters were indeed trash. What weren’t appeals to go on a treasure hunt (while giving a portion of the proceeds to the person who’d had the ‘idea’ for it) or slay a monster on the cheap were offers to be personal bodyguards, invitations to meet romantically, or, as Ceria said, heartwrenching appeals from people who couldn’t afford to pay regular prices.

Well, the best letters were the fanmail. Though it made Yvlon uncomfortable after the third one to realize…people genuinely looked up to her.

 

Dear Adventurer Yvlon, I was inspired by you to start training with a sword myself. I know I might never become an adventurer, let alone a Gold-rank one such as you, but I lost my hand when I was a girl, and I thought it made me both useless and incapable of doing anything well. To see your arms and know your story…

 

Yvlon saved that letter, feeling she should write back—but she didn’t know what to say. How did she say how much of a fluke it was that she’d gotten her class? Or how close she’d come to losing her arms? Could a [Necromancer] like Pisces help…?

“They admire too much about us that’s wrong.”

Ceria herself seemed to lose interest in the fanmail and tossed a few letters aside. She put her feet up on the desk, and Colth gave her that twisted smile he reserved for friends.

“Hard to read even with your Circlet of I’m Above This All?”

“Shut it, Colth. Pisces has the actually nice letters. See?”

“Hey!”

Everyone began reading the Pisces-letters, and they were indeed the best. Probably because while some were tragic or wrong, they were, well…

From [Necromancers]. Or people who aspired to be like Pisces, renegades. Yvlon touched her heart as she read one letter.

“Pisces, this is a young [Goth]-[Lady] from the north who never felt like she was a proper [Lady]. You inspired her. Somehow.”

“And here’s a [Necromancer] who wants to be just like you! Aww, that’s sw—wait a second, is he digging up graves? Um, good job.”

Ceria and Yvlon patted Pisces on the shoulder as he turned red; Colth ruffled his hair. Elena hid a smile as Pisces swatted at them and turned to her.

“Er, as you can see, Elena, we aren’t always the most decorous adventurers. Are you regretting your choice so far?”

“I’m having a blast. You guys are real. I mean, really…well, you’re not stuck-up celebrities yet. Please, keep it that way. Yvlon’s the realest of all. Actually, too real. She nearly punched out Yisame after breakfast.”

Colth and Pisces turned to Yvlon, and the [Armsmistress] found another letter.

“Oh, look at this. A custom dagger. Maybe I could use this? I think we do need to pay for that Runner’s Guild service after all.”

Elena nodded happily, but then flicked out a few letters from a pile she’d been sorting.

“You might as well check the letters you do have, though, Yvlon. My bet is the Runner’s Guild gets rid of letters that matter now and then, even with their sorting system. These are [Messages] from the Mage’s Guild. Not many matter, but I’ve got two that maaaybe matter? Here.”

To Yvlon’s surprise, she found that Elena had indeed found a [Message] of actual substance. It was from none other than Lord Yitton Byres of House Byres!

“Father! Thank you, Elena! I wonder what…”

She began reading, wondering if it was about Ylawes or the fire from the north. He’d asked her for more gold, but she hadn’t sent any. She’d already given a sizable sum! Still, House Byres had burned…Yvlon felt guilty about it, remembering how much she h—

Any guilt or homesickness Yvlon felt drained out of her in seconds as she read. Ceria took another letter from Elena, read the name on the front, and froze up. Slowly, she cracked the seal and read a few lines. Her face went still. Cold frost formed over the paper she was holding.

“Well, it looks real, but that’s spam. Thanks, Elena. Yv? You look like you want to murder Yisame twice.”

She ripped up her letter without a word. Yvlon lowered hers and realized her fingers were scrunching the parchment a bit. She felt the anger surge…and let it go.

“That’s a joke about Yisame, right? What does the letter say, Yvlon?”

Pisces murmured. She passed it to him, and he read.

“It’s quite lovely. ‘Dear Daughter…worried for your condition, oh no, they didn’t know you were alive for…actions against Terandrian nations may jeopardize your reputation in Izril, but I am assured you acted honorably in the situation…’ er, less salutary, but—oh.”

Yvlon nodded. Pisces hesitated.

“Er, can I read aloud—?”

“Go ahead.”

She stared as Pisces read out the actual request. Colth was already wincing before Pisces began.

“‘…in light of House Byres’ continued financial troubles which you have not involved yourself with, I am given to understand you will be hosted in Nerrhavia’s Fallen as friends of the local monarch. Nerrhavia’s Fallen is a nation of wealth and numerous armies in a state of war, I am given to understand. It would benefit House Byres greatly if you were to advertise our Silversteel armaments, which have been bought and used the breadth of Izril of late. A scrying orb or Courier to deliver a sample could be arranged if—’. Oh. I, ah, we could do that, Yvlon. I could probably use a sword to—”

“Why would we?”

She didn’t look at him or at anything. She was trying to picture her father making that many arms deals. House Byres normally just sold its silver; the Silversteel armaments? Those were old stories of their smithing acumen. Ylawes had his plate armor and weapons, but those were refurbished family heirlooms, just like the armor she’d had.

Could we even make Silversteel of a quality I’d recommend to Yisame’s…

The first part stung. But the rest just made her tired. She knew House Byres needed coin. But she’d already given more money than she’d ever made as a Silver-rank adventurer! It was her coin, wasn’t it? Ylawes had said he’d asked Ysara for money too. Why would Ysara give money to House Byres?

Yvlon needed the coin herself, and surely she wasn’t to support all of House Byres’ ventures, was she? She’d paid to help reconstruct their home. Her father had written about some conflict with the Unseen Empire. Weren’t they friends? Then again, it wouldn’t be that hard…

Colth took the letter from Pisces. Instead of reading it, he crumpled it up and tossed it into the junk pile. When Yvlon started, he shrugged.

“Welcome to high-level adventuring. Everyone you know and love suddenly remembers you’re worth coin or influence. You can do it if you want. It won’t make you feel better unless he really needs the benefit. And he’ll ask again.”

“…I’ll think on it.”

To distract herself, Yvlon turned to Ceria. The half-Elf had gone back to reading as well.

“Ceria? What was your letter?”

The half-Elf smiled.

“Get this. This is from Erin. ‘Dear Horns, I’m trapped in Baleros! I need your help to hire [Bodyguards]—’.”

She cackled, and Pisces, who’d sat up in alarm, rolled his eyes. Yvlon frowned.

“I mean, what got you?”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing as painful as yours, Yvlon—don’t you like your parents? I just thought, ‘wow, they’re good’. Someone found a name related to my past.”

Yvlon hesitated.

“I—you met my parents. They were cordial to everyone, even Pisces. I just don’t feel like I should be spending my share of the gold on home. I was asked for a lot and I gave my father a sizable amount already. I owe them…something more, I suppose. I’ll go to the Merchant’s Guild and send money tonight. Just not whatever my father wants.”

Talking to Ysara made home feel different. That letter didn’t help. Ceria nodded.

“Well, mine’s just—a name.”

“Your mother? I swear I saw my mother in one of those letters. Though my father would never send me anything.”

Pisces scowled, and Ceria shook her head.

“Nah, cleverer. It was just some half-Elf in the Village of the Spring who knew my grandmother. That’s pretty good investigation work, you know? The Village of the Spring is hard to get into; there’s a town, but you can’t just waltz in. Still, what’s a few hours of work asking questions and figuring out who might be alive if it means I send you a thousand gold coins?”

Everyone nodded. Yvlon glanced at the pieces.

“Could it have been them, though? Maybe they heard about you—”

Ceria laughed, and there was a sharp edge to her voice suddenly.

“From the Village of the Spring? C’mon, Yvlon. They probably think I’m still in the forest! Decades pass like months for them! And I’m not even convinced this particular half-Elf is even alive. I haven’t seen her since I was a girl. She never checked on me or my grandmother once. If she’s even alive, she’d never send me a letter. Her name’s Tserre and…”

The [Cryomancer]’s face twisted, then she cooled down, freezing herself. She shrugged.

“It was a good damn letter too. They said it was on behalf of Tserre and the King of Myths.”

“I forget you were a member of Erribathe. The Kingdom of Myths itself. That has no small prestige.”

Pisces muttered. Ceria shot back.

“And I forgot you were part of Ailendamus.”

She hesitated as he appeared hurt.

“Sorry, Pisces. I just don’t trade on home, you know?”

“There’s no chance it was from her?”

Elena was searching for the scraps. Ceria turned.

“Nope. Don’t even bother. She and my grandmother were friends, but Leila just said she was a grumpy old woman she partnered with. She was supposed to teach me magic, but she never comes out of her hut. She’s one of the real half-Elves. She might be over a thousand years old, who knows? C’mon, I’m tired of this. Let’s go.”

She leapt up and clapped her hands.

“What say you we all go to the Coliseum of Monarchs and see what the problem is? And before you shout, Colth, in disguise. Elena? You keep saying how useful you are. Wanna prove it?”

Elena perked up as Yvlon brushed aside her own troubling letter. She saw Elena whip out a makeup kit and protested.

“But Ceria, we’re still four people leaving the palace. Even if we use Elena, any idiot with eyes will see four Humans and a half-Elf in a mostly Stitch-folk crowd—”

 

——

 

“This area is for Silk only, hempsack. Lesser castes there.”

The backhanded slap Yvlon received made her sort of angry, but the speaker wasn’t that strong. Mostly, she was impressed as she backed out of the section of glaring Silk Stitch-folk. She found Colth waving at her and Ceria, holding back Pisces from coming after her. Yvlon rubbed at her cheeks.

“Wow. The disguises really work, Elena. It didn’t even come off.”

“Are you okay, Yvlon?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. I barely felt it.”

Indeed, the Silk Stitch-man was wringing his hand out and cursing the ‘hemp’, though Yvlon was actually more of a Cotton Stitch-woman. The stitchmarks on her neck, around her ears, and on the conspicuous parts of her body proved it.

She alone had a jacket because her arms didn’t take the makeup well, but she was amazed every time she glanced at Pisces to see a bronze-skinned Stitch-man blinking at her with a rounded nose instead of pointed.

Colth was a more burly Stitch-man with curled locks; the [Supporter] used his Skills to combo off of Elena’s, but even without that, she’d transformed Yvlon and Ceria into convincing Stitch-women.

She couldn’t change things like Yvlon’s arms or Ceria’s ears, because disguise weren’t Elena’s forte, but she’d just leaned into their attributes.

Ceria had massive ears that were shaped like a Fox’s. They waggled every now and then, and odd as it appeared, it was in the ‘Alterkind’ trend where Stitch-folk gave themselves non-Human features. Ceria winked at Yvlon.

“Froze that piece of floor over there for you. Hope he breaks both legs.”

Yvlon sighed at the crash and scream. But she smiled at Elena as they filed into the Coliseum of Monarchs’ seats.

“Amazing work, Elena. This is invaluable.”

She wondered why the [Beautician] didn’t look entirely happy. Elena had given herself stitches and not much else, but she shook her head.

“Thanks, Yvlon. I’m glad it’s convincing. It’s just…well, I didn’t think making convincing blackface was something I’d be using my talents for.”

“Whatface?”

Elena had to launch into an explanation about racial dynamics in her Human-only world as Pisces sneezed again; his fake nose was tickling his real one. No one paid them any mind.

They were in.

The Coliseum of Monarchs was strange to Yvlon. Because, of course, she’d never really seen it from the spectator’s point of view. Certainly, the round walls were iconic to her understanding of such arenas; a massive circle filled with an interior amphitheatre from which you could watch the fighting in the cleared space in the center.

However, that was just the basic shape, which was apparently similar to Elena’s world too. She pointed out the differences in a low monotone to the Horns.

“I’ve seen the Roman Colosseum, but this is bigger! I guess it makes sense; you have so many Skills and various types of monsters, you need more space to run around in. Plus…[Geomancy] has got to make things easier.”

“What’s the coliseum called?”

“Just…the Colosseum.”

“Oh, they only had one? And it’s not even that big?”

“No magic, Ceria. Or Skills.”

“Right. Slightly more impressive. What’re the differences?”

Well, according to Elena, it was the walkways and staircases leading upwards to the higher seating. There were hundreds of entrances into the Coliseum of Monarchs, such that you could access your section without waiting in a line. Similarly, due to the increased size, and the dangers of the gladiatorial bouts, the Coliseum of Monarchs had a feature Yvlon hadn’t seen in, say, the Arena of Rust.

Not only was the fighting located a dozen feet below even the closest audience stands, which were built over the sleeping quarters, training area, and other amenities of the Coliseum of Monarchs that Yvlon remembered, but there were magical forcefields that ringed the entire arena. Ceria pointed them out to everyone.

“Powerful barrier spells. I’m not sure what tier exactly since they’re overlapped, but it looks good. Like some of the old Wistram magic. Must be from when it was first made.”

Unless anything hit them, they were transparent, but scrying spells had been put up to give audience members another way to see the action close-up. All of this led to a much less intimate experience, but the level of combat on display made up for the removal.

Even as the Horns in disguise sat, the last bout was finishing. A pair of Manticores had been fighting a bunch of new [Gladiators]. It…hadn’t gone well for the [Gladiators].

Either they were slave-gladiators, convicted criminals like Yvlon, or they’d been willing to risk death to fight in this famous arena. The blood littering the sand was bright red, and the audience was cheering and booing—there were tens of thousands in the stands, and it wasn’t even full.

The thrum of excitement and adrenaline hit Yvlon as much as the sound, and she shifted.

Calm.

Pisces didn’t do as well with the fervor and sound. Or maybe it was the display that appalled him. Ceria was calm as could be, pointing.

“Ooh, they have vendors on the sides in shops and they go around with—popcorn? Hey, over here! I’ll have a bucket!”

Elena was pale-faced as she stared at a Manticore savaging one of the [Gladiators] trying to get away. It was Pisces who held out a robed arm to block her view.

“I’m fine. I’m—thanks.”

She tried to protest, then turned away gratefully. Colth was busy scanning the crowd.

“I don’t think we’re being watched. We slipped the minders from the palace…huh, that’s an ugly fight. Crueler than I remember too.”

He’d been to Chandrar before, so it didn’t surprise Yvlon he’d seen the Coliseum of Monarchs. Most adventurers probably went to Nerrhavia’s Fallen to earn gold. She leaned over—there was a final [Gladiator] banging on the gates leading back to the waiting areas as the Manticores ate and licked their wounds.

“I heard from Leprel and Rexel that if you’re defeated, you don’t always die. Why aren’t the gates being raised?”

Colth grinned mirthlessly.

“Bloodsport of course, Yvlon. The people want to see if the Manticores eat that poor Stitch-man. If they’re bored, the [Guards] will either goad the Manticores with a dart lanced with a frenzy-inducing drug or just let the [Gladiator] go. Each Coliseum changes depending on the time and owners. This one…you can tell the [Manager] is trying to draw people in.”

Yvlon had heard much the same from Yisame. This owner had liked General Thelican and had her [Gladiator] friends? She felt her stomach lurch, but she had to see.

“Next up should be the mass-combat. It says the Champion of Monarchs is going to fight a bunch of prisoners from Reim, Tiqr, and other nations, including the ‘traitors’. Sounds like a melee.”

Ceria had a leaflet and was paging through it. Pisces gave her a disgusted look.

“Ceria, can you take that damn…headpiece off one second? Do you have to eat?”

She took the circlet off and patiently chewed on some popcorn.

“I missed lunch, Pisces. We’ve seen worse.”

“This isn’t adventuring. This is mere sport. It’s ridiculous. It’s—”

Pisces’ voice raised a bit too loud, and Colth shushed him as a few Stitch-folk glanced at his commentary. The [Supporter] nudged Pisces.

“Save it for later. And just so you know, Pisces, this plays well in Terandria and Izril. Even before television was a thing, you could get recordings or tales of the Coliseums. That’s why we know all about it. Larra, Deni, lots of Named-ranks from Izril went here and fought in the coliseums.”

“She never mentioned that. Not that we talked much of her career.”

Yvlon murmured. Colth scratched at his chin, then flicked a dagger out to shave a stray hair.

“I think she didn’t do well here. Nor did Deni; he had a brief career, but Orchestra fights at its best in a group. It’s not that much fun to watch them blast every foe with music. As for Larra…she was a defensive specialist. Even if she won, she didn’t get the crowd pumping. Not like the Silver Killer.”

That made Yvlon flush. She was opening her mouth to tell Colth she wasn’t nearly on par with Named-ranks yet when a pair of Stitch-teens glanced over.

“Are you here to see the Silver Killer? You’re too early; she’s not fighting here yet!”

They were wearing, Yvlon saw to her astonishment, t-shirts that had names of [Gladiators] on them. One was of a familiar person—Thexca! She had a scorpion’s dagger in one hand as she posed, and the other wore a t-shirt with Yvlon on the front, screaming with her mouth open and two razor-blades for her hands.

Merchandise? Ceria began guffawing, and Pisces covered his mouth as Elena giggled. Colth just leaned over as the Stitch-people looked affronted.

“Sorry about my yarn-headed friends. They’re drunk. What do you mean we’re not seeing the Silver Killer? That’s what we’re in the city for!”

The two youngsters immediately adopted the air of knowingness as they shook their heads and began to lecture the Horns.

“Everyone knows she’ll visit the Coliseum of Monarchs, but not yet. Today’s just a warm-up for the Champion of Monarchs. I hope he doesn’t decide it’s the day to finish off the Traitorous Three.”

The girl with the Thexca t-shirt seemed genuinely worried as she peered into the arena. Yvlon leaned over.

“The Traitorous Three?”

“Mectail, Thexca, and Vitte! The ones who helped the Silver Killer, and who were arrested. They’ve been fighting here for their lives for months. Some of their friends help out, but the Champion of Monarchs is toying with them. He ripped off Mectail’s arm last week, and he barely has the spare parts to sew himself together!”

“We don’t know the Champion of Monarchs. Good, is he?”

“He’s been the Champion for almost a decade. Lenxiol the Invincible—only, he’s not really. He only comes out for challenges or big events like this. Everyone knows he’s too busy winning favors in the Court of Silks to fight all the time.”

“Hm. Sounds like he’s a bit washed up.”

Ceria muttered to Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] nodded, but she was tense. Thexca was a very good [Warrior] who used poisons; she, Mectail, and Vitte had all been considered good [Gladiators], and Mectail had beaten her in a fight. If this Champion could toy with those three…but there were all kinds of ways to make gladiatorial bouts unfair. She saw the Manticores were settling down to rest, uninterested in the final [Gladiator], and the crowd’s booing only provoked a roar from one’s lion head.

It sounded like that meant the next bout would begin. Yvlon turned to the boy who had her face on the shirt.

“How do you know the Silver Killer is going to fight in the Coliseum of Monarchs?”

“And where did you get that shirt?”

Ceria added. The boy pointed and then turned to Yvlon, as if it were obvious.

“She’s the Silver Killer of the Horns of Hammerad! She needs to bathe her arms in blood once a new moon or they lose their shine. She’s the angriest, most violent member of the Horns of Hammerad—well, except Pisces the Scourge, but she wants to fight.”

Yvlon was turning red as Pisces and Colth avoided eyeing her, smiling, and Elena bit her lip. Then the boy added seriously.

“Besides, her friends are in the arena, and they’ll be killed if she doesn’t come back to fight! The Silver Killer would never abandon her comrades, would she?”

Yvlon’s colorful expression cleared. She sat back in her chair, then nodded at the Stitch-boy.

“That’s true. She wouldn’t. Do you know what happened to Vitte’s sister? Zirre? Relladen? Or Leprel or Rexel?”

“The gladiators she joined? Of course! They’re working as [Bookkeepers] and advisors to [Gladiators]. They might even be here. As for Vitte’s sister…I haven’t heard of anything. Are you a fan of the Silver Killer too?”

A crooked smile was his reply.

“Sometimes I like her. Sometimes not.”

“Oh, fairweather. Well, I was her fan since the Arena of Rust!”

More conversation was then rendered pointless because there was a roar, and Yvlon jumped as she heard the familiar voice of the [Announcer] coming from a booth overlooking the arena.

“Guests of the Coliseum of Monarchs! People of every cloth and fiber—the main event is about to begin! By the will of [Manager] Bnirm, we have a demonstration of Nerrhavia Fallen’s excellence in combat! The Champion of Monarchs himself will face captured [Soldiers] of enemy continents, including the King of Destruction’s forces—”

A boo from all present, including Ceria who got up to jeer.

“—and the Traitorous Three themselves will fight for another day! Let’s see if they survive until the Silver Killer can rescue her comrades, if she even remembers them, eh?”

“She does!”

The boy next to Yvlon got up to shout, and there were enough voices that Yvlon heard the same sentiment being expressed, but it was all…show. All theatre. Colth touched Yvlon’s arm.

“Hey. I think I found the [Manager]. See all those Silks that kicked you out of their booth? That one there. Surrounded by cooling spells.”

She saw what he meant: visible clouds were hovering over the head of one Stitch-man who seemed like a [Gladiator] himself. He was muscular, handsome, and strong-looking. She would have called him a seasoned warrior if she didn’t know Stitch-folk could change their appearances.

“He must have been a [Gladiator], but he’s more show than anything. Probably has his muscles sewn on.”

Colth muttered. Then Yvlon saw the arena floor shift—and the two Manticores leapt to their feet, fanning their scaly wings as the sand moved! Something was rising, and it was Pisces’ turn to be excited.

“Ah, this I do know about. The famous shifting floors of the Coliseum of Nerrhavia’s Fallen! It looks like they’re not filling the ground with water—see those sluice gates? They could make a naval battle if they chose to! Of all the nations I wanted to land in, Nerrhavia’s Fallen or Khelt were my top two.”

Instead, he’d gotten chains. Elena piped up happily as huge pylons of metal rose, revealing bridges and a kind of fortress with gates and walls for an army to besiege.

“They did that in Rome’s Colosseum too when it was active, apparently. If this world is at all based on mine, then that’s probably where the inspiration came from.”

One of the Stitch-teens frowned at Elena, then fiddled with their ears. Pisces just sniffed at the young woman.

“Another Earth-based assumption that assumes we did not invent and create this notion before your world or of our own volition. Why assume we copy everything, Elena?”

“Well, you guys never figured out how to do ice cream or anything more complicated than our renaissance eras. From how everyone describes the dead gods, it feels like they weren’t exactly strong in the imagination department. This feels like a pretty explicit copy.”

“C’mon, Elena. It’s a big arena for people to fight each other in. How original is that? You monkeys didn’t exactly invent fighting each other in the middle of circles.”

Ceria leaned over as she offered the popcorn frosted with some kind of sugar to the other two. Pisces took the bucket of popcorn as Elena flushed, then whispered.

“You notice the slur. I’d apologize on behalf of Ceria’s racism, but I’d never stop.”

“I don’t mind. It’s what I’d expect from her.”

They grinned as Ceria tossed popcorn kernels at them from her handful. It almost made Yvlon smile. Almost. Then she heard a scream and stood reflexively.

The [Gladiator] who’d been at the gates hadn’t been killed by the Manticores. But neither had they escaped death. A spear, hurled from within the waiting rooms, took the Stitch-man by the shoulder and flung him into the center of the new battleground. He lay, clawing at the spear which had embedded itself in the side of the wooden fortress.

“That’s some throw. That has to be the Champion of Monarchs.”

Colth commented, chewing on some popcorn. Yvlon craned her head as the crowds cheered, and a flood of people began running out of the gates below. She recognized them at once for what they were: fodder.

Much like she’d been once. [Soldiers] in battered armor or clutching poor weapons made of iron or rusted steel, shouting and making for the fortress. Some stopped, gesticulating at each other, and what might have been an officer was giving orders. Colth blew out his cheeks.

“Poor [Soldiers]. Looks like about eighty. Nerrhavia’s Fallen must have declined to ransom or sell them. Average level’s…twenty. Officer might be thirty. They don’t stand a chance.”

The [Soldiers] were fortifying the fortress as best they could, grabbing pieces of lumber to block gaps, organizing into groups and placing [Archers] higher as the crowd booed and jeered them. The barriers rippled as trash was hurled onto it, and Yvlon blinked.

Twice, an object did penetrate the forcefields and land below. Once an enchanted stone that curved and struck the officer in the helmet hard enough for him to stagger and take cover. The second—a basket filled with a potion?

“How did those get through?”

“Must be keyed for access. They came from the Silk stands. If you pay enough, you can help your favorite [Gladiator]. Or take a shot at one. You didn’t ever get that?”

“I was sort of…angry while I was there. And I didn’t stay long enough to figure out how the Coliseum of Monarchs worked.”

Colth grunted.

“Well, take notes, Yvy. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to fight in one of these matches, but an honor-duel would take place here. And knowing our enemies…Creler eggs. Here come the regulars. They’re thirty to forty in level. Sound right?”

“Yep.”

Only about twenty [Gladiators] emerged, each from their own gate, to cheers from the audiences. One raised a trident overhead, whirling it for his fans. Yvlon recognized one of them—Romen, an [Archer] who could do a lot of trick shots. He was posing outside of his gate, blowing kisses upwards, when he jerked and dodged; a trio of arrows hit the sand, and the crowd booed in outrage.

The [Soldiers] from Reim and the enemy nations weren’t waiting to give the [Gladiators] a chance to showboat. They were already firing arrows and a few spells from above. Yvlon shook her head.

The level disparity was obvious at a moment’s glance. Romen snatched one of the arrows fired at him, placed it on his bow, and loosed; a Garuda fell from the tower, clutching at the arrow lodged through his neck. Colth winced.

“This is going to be a slaughter. Damn, they’re even keeping the Manticores.”

The two wary beasts were backed up, snarling at the [Gladiators] and [Soldiers], and it seemed like a real damn free-for-all. However, Yvlon was only waiting for three figures. When the first one exploded out of the gates, making for the fortress, she gasped.

Mectail, the Stitch-man from Pomle, looked much like she remembered. Long-legged, tough, wearing only handwraps and footwraps and eschewing armor, the [Martial Artist] dodged under several arrows and evaded a spear from one of the other [Gladiators], then took cover under a halfwall. He snatched a bow up and took aim, firing inexpertly at the other [Gladiators]. Then two other figures leapt out to join him.

Vitte and Thexca looked worse for the wear. Thexca bore more scars, and her left arm seemed slightly off as she carried her weapons, as if it had been broken and set wrong. Her and Vitte’s enchanted armor was in bad condition. Vitte’s fur was matted and unwashed, but they ran fast, joining Mectail as Vitte began shooting spells—at the other [Gladiators]. Thexca performed a few complex symbols at the officer who stared down at her before giving orders and pointing. The [Soldiers] switched off of the three ‘traitors’, and Thexca drew her daggers and made a slicing motion at the nearest [Gladiator].

Yvlon let out her breath then. Lightheaded. The Stitch-girl with Thexca’s t-shirt was screaming.

“Thexca, don’t die! Please! I bet you’d live!”

That was an insane thing to say—but it was as much encouragement as anything else. And Thexca seemed to hear because she turned to them and raised a dagger, baring her teeth.

Yvlon almost got up there and then, but Colth had a tight grip on her shoulder.

“Steady, Yvlon. Steady. They know what they’re doing. See how they instantly partnered with the [Soldiers]? They don’t have to beat the others. My guess is that this bout ends when enough people die or can’t fight. Surviving is what a [Gladiator]’s good at, and one of them is Stitch-folk. If he loses an arm or a leg, he can sew it back on.”

She nodded, but she was tense; one of the Manticores was backing up towards her friends as the [Gladiators] banged weapons on shields and shouted, trying to get it to engage the others. However, they hadn’t advanced on the [Soldiers] yet, just exchanged long-ranged fire. Why?

Well, because they were waiting for their leader to make his appearance.

She didn’t have to see his face to understand this Champion of Monarchs. Yvlon had noticed that the one gate that hadn’t yet opened was the one that the spear had come from, pinning the poor expendable [Gladiator] to the ground. The desperate Stitch-man was still trying to survive; he’d managed to wrench the bloody spear out of his arm and disengage the stitches so it fell away. He was staggering towards Nerrhavia Fallen’s forces, a sword raised, clearly trying to say, ‘I’m on your side.’

The second spear struck him in the neck and killed him fast. Yvlon saw the tip emerge out of his back, bloody, to the shouts of surprise and dismay from the crowd. Then the Champion of Monarchs appeared.

One second, the bloody spear and collapsing body were alone. Then—he was standing on top of the spear, waving at his audience. Colth’s voice was the only thing Yvlon heard over the roar of sound.

“Teleport to weapon. Nice way to dodge arrows as you’re entering. Shit. He’s Level 50+.”

She knew it too. The moment she laid eyes on Lenxiol, the Champion of Monarchs, she sensed the danger. He looked nothing like the [Manager] or what she’d expected. For one thing, he was thin. Lithe. That he was muscular was a given, but he was Pisces-like in stature and brushed at his black hair, dyed blue and green at the tips. He looked more like a flashy adventurer of Deniusth’s sort, but he couldn’t have been more than thirty-six.

Lenxiol flashed a pearly-white grin upwards, then pointed. His finger found the officer, who ducked back into cover, and the Champion of Monarchs flipped something up—threw.

A dagger. It hit one of the [Soldiers] firing arrows downwards and then zig-zagged. Two more [Archers] fell, and the rest took cover.

“Chain-attack. He’s probably a weapons master. Just hitting him is going to be nearly impossible for the [Soldiers]. He’s probably stronger than anyone else here. I wonder why he’s called the ‘Invincible’? That’s a boast. Even Mars was only known as the Illusionist when she fought here. I’m almost positive he’s a [Gladiator Champion], though he’s got to have consolidated at least once to get to that level.”

Colth, as the highest-levelled and most senior adventurer, was able to analyze how good this [Champion] was. The Horns weren’t cheering like everyone around them. Ceria squinted down at the match as it began in earnest.

“Well, this isn’t going to take long. Pisces has a bit of a point. This is all propaganda about the wars. I don’t think they’ve got more than a few of Reim’s [Soldiers], though. See that group at the gates? They look like they have Reim’s armor on. Everyone else is a different nation.”

With the Champion of Monarchs present, the [Gladiators] began to dismantle their opponents in a ruthless advance. They besieged the fortress, using their ranged Skills to pick off [Archers], then broke the chokepoints held by the grim [Soldiers] fighting for their lives.

It wasn’t a one-sided affair. Some of the [Soldiers] were high-enough level to give a fight of it, and there was no quarter for them. Two [Gladiators] tried the Reim-gate and came away bloodied to the jeers and cheers from the audience.

The spectators wanted blood, and they were willing to cheer even for the hated enemy if they surpassed expectations. Honestly, if it weren’t for the Champion of Monarchs, Yvlon might have actually put money on the [Soldiers] being able to overwhelm the [Gladiators] by sheer dint of numbers and teamwork.

But not Lenxiol. He strode up and down the ramp leading to one fortress entrance, whirling his bloody spear to block arrows. The Stitch-boy groaned.

“Ugh, he’s showing off. Just kill them already! This is why no one likes his mass bouts.”

As if he’d heard that, the Stitch-man whirled and threw his spear through the gap at the gates, impaling three of the [Soldiers]. He drew a pair of blades and ran through the gap—Pisces swallowed hard.

That group of [Soldiers] was dead in moments, but Lenxiol took that time to once again rest and wave at his audience, catching a flower thrown from the Silk stands above. He had his eyes on Mectail next. The [Martial Artist] had found Romen and was pursuing the [Archer] with kicks and punches, knocking Romen around to cheers from the audience.

“Mectail, watch out!”

Yvlon shouted—Mectail didn’t hear. But he noticed the dagger thrown at him and spun, catching it by the blade’s tip. He tossed it aside as the Stitch-folk next to the Horns cheered, and there was laughter from the stands.

Lenxiol narrowed his eyes and then flipped up that damn spear. He drew it back to throw, and Mectail tensed—the throw was fast. Yvlon didn’t know if she’d have dodged it like Mectail tried to do, but it didn’t matter; it hit a glowing shield in the air and deflected off of it.

Vitte. She was covering Mectail, and the [Martial Artist] whirled. He launched into a roundhouse kick and sent Romen, who’d been coming at him with a dagger, straight into one wall. The [Archer] dropped, unconscious, and Mectail sprinted at another [Gladiator] dueling Thexca. Lenxiol shrugged and then peered around, choosing one of his own gladiators as a target next.

He didn’t feel threatened at all. However, Yvlon read into that several things, and she turned to Colth.

“Colth, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think…well, I know Romen was knighting. He let Mectail beat him. But Lenxiol seemed like he was trying with that dagger and spear. He didn’t attack, though. I think he was wary.”

The [Supporter] nodded, eyes glittering.

“Yep. Your friends might not be treated well, but they had to have counterlevelled to have made it this far. Mectail was, what, Level 40 before all of this? That’s more than enough to do a lot of damage if Lenxiol drops his guard. The three of them can gang up and give him a run for his money. He’s not going to risk it. What he will do is wait for one of them to falter.”

So the battle was a knife’s edge for the Traitorous Three to walk. They had to both survive and watch each other’s backs in this furious melee. Yvlon’s stomach was twisting.

I’m so sorry, Mectail, Thexca. Vitte, I don’t like you as much, but you don’t deserve this.

 

——

 

The battle took about thirty minutes to conclude. On the [Soldiers]’ side, there were no real surprises. They closed ranks, retreating into the fortress until they made a last, desperate stand on the highest point with the [Gladiators] picking them off. There was only one shock; it was as the officer took a grievous stab from the trident-wielding [Gladiator].

The officer spun back, slashing the Stitch-man’s face open and reached for the potion delivered via basket. He splashed half on his wounds, then made to toss it to another wounded [Soldier]. However, the officer’s face twisted, and his plumed helmet jerked—Yvlon didn’t get it until Pisces hissed, and a boo ran through the coliseum mixed with applause from above.

“Poison.”

It was no healing potion after all! The red liquid was smoldering as the officer collapsed, the bottle spilling on the ground. The trident-wielding [Gladiator] shrugged, then bowed to the upper stands.

The lower stands were booing, deprived of the valiant last stand from the officer who’d masterminded the defense. The booing intensified as the Silk stands applauded the act of sabotage, but given the disparity in numbers, the booing easily drowned out the applause.

Which made someone upset. Yvlon heard the announcer merrily commentating.

“And that’s the [Officer] downed! The poor fool should have known better than to trust a gift from his enemies! It seems not all in the Coliseum appreciated the subtlety of Silk! I—oh, it seems there’s some censure in the stands!”

There was a scream, a plume of light—Yvlon jerked, and Elena stood upright.

“Those maniacs just hit the people below with a molotov cocktail!”

Or a potion of some kind—it was like a miniature fireball that struck the stands. Someone had tossed it from the Silk seats, and Stitch-folk were screaming, brushing the flames off their cloth, and rolling to douse the fire. It wasn’t as hot or long-lasting as real alchemical fire that Yvlon would have used, but Stitch-folk feared flames more than almost anything.

Colth’s smile never wavered, but there was a Demon in his eyes only they could see.

“Yep, that’s familiar too. Remind you of Terandria, Pisces, Ceria?”

The [Necromancer] and [Cryomancer] exchanged looks, and Pisces shook his head.

“Never that openly—”

“Eh, I’ve seen nobles do it to commonfolk, but this is a different flavor. Wow, so we might eat a bouquet of flames if we mouth off to our betters and superiors?”

The two Stitch-teens were glaring upwards and making covert gestures at the Silk stands. One turned to Ceria, visibly astonished.

“You must be from a different kingdom. Here, you’d be wise not to anger a Silk, Cotton-sister. Throwing fire only happens in the Coliseums, mostly. But they’ll have you whipped on the streets by their [Bodyguards] in a heartbeat.”

“Good to know, thanks!”

Ceria smiled brightly at the Stitch-girl. Yvlon was about to say how barbaric and horrific all this was—until she closed her mouth. She was reminded of stories her mother had told her about the Reinharts. Her mother had once told Yvlon never to insult a Reinhart, even if they deserved it. More than one lesser noble had ‘accidentally’ been hit by an enchanted carriage. It was sort of a family tradition.

The distraction was more than just an insight into Nerrhavia Fallen’s social strata. Colth cursed.

“Damn. That was the opening he needed.”

Yvlon spun, and the cheering turned into groans. Lenxiol was standing in the arena, in the shadow of the wooden fortress. He’d abandoned the siege of the [Soldiers] to leap downwards like a bolt from above. His target?

Vitte. Mectail and Thexca had stayed together, picking off rival [Gladiators], but as the [Soldiers] fought at the top of the fortress, they’d strayed a bit too far from Vitte, who had remained under cover, firing wands. The Fox Beastkin saw the [Champion] coming and tried to escape.

She leapt, using the Fox Beastkin’s gravity magic to soar upwards. Yvlon saw her rising along the edges of the magical walls of the coliseum. Vitte reached out—and a grinning Stitch-man seized her by the legs.

Lenxiol slammed Vitte into the ground, cancelling her gravity magic, then stomped on her arm as she tried to fire a wand at him. She screamed, and her other arm jerked as he stabbed it as well. The Champion of Monarchs stood with a foot on her chest as he called upwards.

“After so long of running around, I have one of the traitors! A shame—she can’t stitch up anything I cut off! Manager Bnirm, do I let this wily fox run another day or cut the chase at last?”

He pointed his blade upwards into the stands where the [Manager] rose to his feet, applauding. They were waiting for a gesture from him to indicate whether Vitte lived or died.

This Yvlon remembered too. She was on her feet with the Horns and Stitch-folk, and, below, Mectail and Thexca had halted as Lenxiol held the blade above Vitte.

“Champion, fight us, you coward! I challenge you!”

Thexca was screaming, raising her daggers, but he ignored her. The pleased Stitch-man, Bnirm, was turning to the Silkfolk around him, gesturing up and down with his thumbs. Which should I choose?

“Vitte! Don’t! Please!”

That came from nearby. Yvlon jerked and whirled as Zirre, Vitte’s sister, leapt to her feet amidst a host of Fox Beastkin and shouted upwards. She was gazing down at her sister.

 

——

 

“Fox Beastkin. Look at them, agitating for the King of Destruction and Tiqr. One wonders why they’re even allowed in the coliseum.”

Manager Bnirm was quite enjoying the attention on him. In his hand, he held his [Gladiator]’s life and death. All eyes in the Coliseum of Monarchs were on him; he was as important as Lenxiol was. Plus, the Silk-caste nobility with him were also attentive to his words. He smiled at the outraged woman behind him.

“Their coin feeds the coliseum, Marquisa. However, I do think an example could be made. We cannot let the masses think they can have their way, popular as the Traitorous Three are. A limb will do.”

Bnirm glanced downwards, dismissively, and turned to Lenxiol. He paused, lifted his hand—and pointed a finger.

 

——

 

The Champion of Monarchs blinked and shaded his eyes. He—he had no idea what that meant.

What kind of hand-gesture was…? Then he traced the line the [Manager] was pointing and saw Bnirm was gesturing across into the stands.

At a figure who’d stood and ripped the jacket off her arms. There was a gasp, and there she was. Under his foot, Vitte groaned.

“That idiot—!”

The Silver Killer.

 

——

 

As promised, as she would ever do, the Silver Killer arose in a burst of silver light. It showered down around her, like metal confetti, as she exposed her silvery arms to the audience, revealing herself in the crowd.

Her chin was shapely, her nose pert, and her mane of hair was golden like flax wheat from Izril as she posed. Her voice was magnified to be as loud as the [Announcers] as she declaimed, pointing one wrathful finger down at the Champion of Monarchs.

“Not so fast, villainous rogue! As I am pure of heart and bloody of hand, I, the Silver Killer of Izril, shall not let my friends be hurt in my name! In the name of Izril, the Five Families, and the Horns of Hammerad, I, Yvlon Byres, challenge you!”

Whereupon she threw back her head, and the cheering from the stands was only slightly diminished by the fact that all the savvy members of the audience had realized the same thing as the Champion of Monarchs himself.

Lenxiol had stiffened with genuine shock for a moment before rolling his eyes and leaning on the tip of his sword. The flashy woman posed again, letting the light play off of her incredible abdominal muscles she was showcasing to the world and the silver paint on her arms.

“—That is, I would have the courage to do so if it were not for my great friend, the Queen of Nerrhavia’s Fallen itself! You may win today, Champion of Monarchs, but I shall return—after advising Queen Yisame to raise the taxes on all and sundry to win this war! Victory at any cost is my motto, after all!”

That prompted more confusion, but mostly boos about the ‘taxes’ part. Lenxiol just sighed.

This wasn’t the best writing he’d had to work with. Bnirm kept insisting on writing dialogue himself, and it came across too obvious. He wanted to poke at the [Queen], but one did not do that directly and live. Hence this.

This was the third time the ‘Silver Killer’ had emerged to defend her friends, and the bit was so old that booing began before the [Announcer] began to commentate over the audience.

“It seems the, uh, Silver Killer herself has leapt to the defense of her former teammates! The treacherous Mectail, the scorpion who stung the hand that fed her, Thexca, the cunning Vitte who failed to choose the right side—”

“I wasn’t even there! It was Relladen, you bastards!”

Vitte hollered up at the sky, but no one except Lenxiol could hear her. He stomped on her stomach, lightly, to make her shut up.

“You should have volunteered to fight for Nerrhavia’s Fallen like he did. You chose the wrong friends, Vitte. It’s a shame. My offer still stands.”

She bared her teeth at him, panting.

“I’ll jump into your bed with a Potion of Blast, Champion. Either stab me or cut my ears off so I don’t have to listen to that.”

She gestured at the ‘Silver Killer’. The woman was still shouting about her personal cowardice masked by bravado. Lenxiol thought about it. He glanced at Bnirm, but the [Manager] seemed to be satisfied by this charade. He’d be less happy once he could hear the booing. Lenxiol turned to engage the Silver Killer in a bit of dialogue, sighing. He activated his own speaking stone tied into the coliseum’s sound systems, then paused. He stood straighter, and then a real smile graced his handsome features.

“Why, Silver Killer. Do you think this was wise? I regret that we never clashed blades the first time you graced my home, but even Mectail was enough for you. This time, you look more the name. You’re no wiser than before though, I fear.”

He peered up into the stands, and the ‘Silver Killer’ stopped flexing her biceps and hesitated.

Now what the hell was she supposed to say to that?

 

——

 

The [Actress] playing the Silver Killer was already hot in the silver paint and costume she wore, even with her midriff bared. She had memorized a lot of lines with only fifteen minutes before the match started, and Manager Bnirm had kept sending her more he’d thought of during the matches.

Now she got the weirdest statement from the Champion of Monarchs to work with. He was talking like she was actually challenging him. She tried to think of something to say.

“Ha-ha! Ill-thought out and reckless are my middle names! Though I don’t have time to face you today, Champion, you may rest assured that when you and I meet, we’ll higpl—”

That last part was the sound of her ribs compressing and the air leaving her lungs. It was also accompanied by a real hand of metal shoving the ‘Silver Killer’. She, the [Actress], experienced a novelty.

Flight. Followed by her hitting one of the bleachers lower down, five members of the audience, bouncing off them, and further flight—until she hit some of the stairs. All of which was captured on the speaking stones, accompanied by a long, drawn-out moan that began to become a scream until someone cut the feed.

The audience froze, hands half-covering their ears. The shock, the real violence, the flying woman—that had frozen Bnirm’s self-satisfied smile. The cause of it was a Stitch-woman…with a gleaming, silver hand protruding from her own jacket.

 

——

 

Yvlon Byres hadn’t even pushed the woman that hard. She stared at her hand, flexed it a few times, then glanced over her shoulder.

“Sorry, Colth. Back me up.”

“Yvlon—”

He’d tried, he really had. The evidence was the ripped cloth from her jacket still in his hands. But he was a [Supporter] for all he was higher-level than she was. She was a [Warrior], not skilled in politics or intrigue. Okay, she just didn’t care for it.

The two Stitch-teens were staring at her. Ceria was half-risen, groaning, mouthing a ‘no’ at Yvlon and knowing it was too late. Elena was crossing her arms, and Pisces? He was just staring at her. Reaching for his rapier. Yvlon Byres turned. Below her, Stitch-folk were gazing up at her, and she saw the camera and screens reflecting her.

“Is—is that the real—?”

The [Announcer] began, and Yvlon Byres crouched down. Then she leapt.

She cleared a lot more air than she expected given that she was heavier with her metal arms than she’d ever been. Her legs seemed to explode as Yvlon soared down towards the center of the Coliseum of Monarchs.

She’d miscalculated. It was a far further jump than she thought and a long way down. Probably a hundred feet. It was going to hurt like h—

The barrier. She saw it shimmering and drew back her left hand, conscious of the rings on her right hand.

“[Sword Art: Curve of the Moon]!”

Her arm morphed, sweeping into a blade that traced a crescent through the air. A slash that met the magical barrier in a clash of ringing metal that deafened the ears, like a strange bell being struck. Then a grunt—and a faint thud as Yvlon hit the magical shields and bounced off.

Much like a bug hitting a piece of glass. She slid down the barrier, unable to get a grasp, and landed in a clatter of armor on the bleachers just above the coliseum floor. Yvlon heard shrieks from around her, gasps, and lay on her back.

Ow. Well, that was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.

She swore, in the ringing silence, she could hear the first person to start laughing, and it was Ceria. Yvlon Byres got up as the silence became laughter and raised a fist.

“Champion of Monarchs! I’m the one you want. Face me.”

She shouted, but she had no loudness spells to amplify her voice, and the Coliseum of Monarchs was in hilarity. Even the man himself had covered his face to hide a smile as he saluted her with a sword. He replied.

“Silver Killer, no one just leaps into a match in the Coliseum of Monarchs, though I respect the attempt! You are as wild as I remember. Oh, the bloodlust has left me. I don’t think I’ll get the crowd roaring for death now. Though your friends might not appreciate your return.”

So saying, he planted the sword with a sigh—in Vitte’s leg. Yvlon heard the faint scream, and the laughter died down. Her eyes locked on him.

“Face me, Champion.”

He bowed to her.

“And risk the wrath of the Queen? I think not, Silver Killer. Please, relax, and calm yourself. We cannot be enemies today, and I think we’ve all enjoyed the show.”

He smiled as the laughter returned. Yvlon Byres remembered Prince Zenol jumping to her defense in one of the lesser coliseums during her honor-match against Beton. He must have had a trick, or key, or they just hadn’t raised the barriers then.

The Silver Killer gazed down into the arena. She remembered Thexca, Mectail, and Relladen attacking Thelican’s [Bodyguard] to let her get to Pisces. Vitte…

Well, she mostly remembered the Fox Beastkin tricking her sister into taking her place in the coliseum once. Which had been cruel.

Even so, they had been kind to her when no one else had. Yvlon gazed down at the figures of Thexca and Mectail. She slowly drew her right hand back and concentrated. Her arm bulged, and the people around her scrambled back as Yvlon threw one punch at the barrier preventing her from going below.

It—rippled—and the laughter stopped. Like a droplet of water, the barrier wobbled from the point Yvlon had punched it, and the movement bounced across the dome-shield. Lenxiol blinked, and Yvlon Byres stared at her right fist. Then she grabbed her hand, covered it, and sank to one knee.

A grimace of pain crossed her face, and then someone shouted.

“Yvlon!”

The rest of the Horns leapt down the stairs. Colth threw what remained of Yvlon’s coat around her, and there were more gasps as they tore off their disguises. The Champion of Monarchs gave the Horns a mocking bow, and they helped Yvlon to her feet. She hesitated, but let them pull her back. They swaddled her right arm in the coat. Then, before she could object, the Horns dragged her out of the coliseum, Pisces and Colth clearing the way with their swords as they ran Yvlon back towards the palace.

 

——

 

Manager Bnirm hadn’t expected the real Silver Killer to appear. But as he watched her go, he thought it had been the best outcome for him that he could have hoped for.

Not only had she proven the three [Gladiators] mattered to her, she’d rather embarrassed herself. So much for Yisame’s beloved adventurer.

He wondered if she was bleeding. Did she have metal bones…? Well, in any case, he smiled crookedly. For a famed team, the Horns of Hammerad were rather weak in the areas that mattered. Politics in Nerrhavia’s Fallen was more than the ability to clear a dungeon. From the gaze Lenxiol gave him from the below, the [Champion] saw how openly they’d played their hand too.

It was going to be a very interesting time in the Court of Silks soon.

“Well, with this little event over and done with, I must excuse myself, friends.”

Bnirm stood, and the Silks were all over him, demanding to know if he’d arranged this, whether he’d known she was in the stands. He gave them a mysterious smile and let them think he knew more than they.

One of the lesser handlers of the coliseum, the ones who did all the actual work, hurried over to Bnirm as he gave swift orders; he needed a palanquin to the palace now to speak with his allies. He brushed the man aside twice before snapping.

“What could possibly be more important than using this windfall against my enemies?”

Against the [Queen] herself? If she truly did support the Horns and some of the rumors regarding her infatuation about the Horns were true—let alone what she allowed them to do—this was a critical weak spot in her defenses. He had the Traitorous Three; he had cards to employ in no small measure. Plus, the Silver Killer clearly had no ability to hold her temper.

“Manager, when the Silver Killer hit the protection spells on the Coliseum of Monarchs the second time—we felt the impact.”

“Not nearly hard enough to break the shields, surely?”

Bnirm stopped the man and drew them into an alcove by the entrances to hiss back. The [Magus] shook his head rapidly.

“No, Manager. But to cause a visible ripple—she hit it harder than Mars the Illusionist did when she fought Omalt the Half-Giant in her final match!”

That surprised Bnirm. He frowned, then snapped back, irritated by the seed of unease that knowledge planted.

“And injured herself! So what if she’s strong? Torreb himself couldn’t break the barriers when he threw a tantrum after losing a match! It was not even a tenth of the energy required to shatter the barrier, was it?”

That was before he’d been known as Torreb the Undefeated, but still. The [Magi] assured Bnirm there had never been a concern of the barriers falling. Even so, the Stitch-man wavered.

“It was not a tenth.”

“Then restore the energy and clear the sands! I have work to do! Important work!”

The [Manager] stormed off. The [Barrier Magi] glanced back and added under their breath.

“But it was more than a twentieth of the power required. More than a twelfth!”

He’d been a boy when Mars the Illusionist fought the half-Giant in her final match. She’d hit the walls of the arena with her best Skill, meant to end the fight and him. The [Magus] wondered just how strong the Silver Killer was. Perhaps…what Skill gave her that force?

He hoped, in the selfish way a fan of the Coliseum of Monarchs could be, that he’d get a chance to see. The Silver Killer had graced this place only a few times. What might she do if a real match featured her once more? But then, Bnirm would never risk Lenxiol, and Lenxiol would never risk Lenxiol. Even so…

The barrier was still rippling slightly.

 

——

 

Ceria Springwalker waited until they were out of the coliseum and running for the palace to hiss at the others.

“Don’t let anyone see her arm. Yvlon—tree rot, I thought you’d actually have a chance there.”

“Sorry.”

The [Silversteel Armsmistress] was keeping her arm very still, not protesting as they ran her along. That was bad. Very bad.

Her bones are okay. Pisces mouthed uncertainly at Ceria, which just confirmed the half-Elf’s impressions. She smiled desperately as [Servants] swarmed down from the palace steps.

“Hey, we’re back! Private rooms! Outta the way. [Ice Floor]! And slide—”

Tripping up the colorful procession of servants and using [Ice Wall] to keep the swarms of people from them was easy. Ceria had no doubt Yisame would be here in moments, but she shoved Yvlon into their suite of rooms, then spoke.

“Colth, get rid of observers. Elena, only let the Heromakers in. Alright, Yvlon. Let’s see it. How much metal did you vaporize with that punch?”

Pisces drew in a breath in a hiss of understanding. It was the only thing Ceria’s mind had presented to her. A barrier spell that advanced…

Yvlon’s left arm appeared fine, but she pulled the right arm out slowly, flexing the fingers. Her hand was visibly deformed into a stump of metal; mashed flat from the impact. It looked wrong, but Ceria didn’t see that much metal missing.

“Not much. I don’t think I damaged my shoulders that badly. I was just—angry.”

“Well, you definitely bought into their plans. Now they know we’re concerned—I’m not gonna lecture you. Yisame’s going to come running. Don’t let her see your arm. Can you bulk it up?”

“Yep.”

Yvlon made her arm normal again to Ceria’s relief. If it was lighter than before—Ceria pointed at Yvlon as she strode for the door.

“You have an appointment with Nawalishifra right now. Pisces? Go [Invisible] and figure out where she is. Let her know covertly we need to get Yvlon…can she even absorb more metal?”

“Well, it’s either that or she has to eat enough. Iron, probably.”

Elena piped up, and Ceria scratched at her head. She had an image of Yvlon gnawing on a bar of iron. Well, it might work.

“Okay, do that. Hey, Yisame! So, the coliseum is tons of fun. One thing…”

She yanked the door open and was smiling as the [Queen] nearly ran at her. Inside the room, Yvlon Byres saw Pisces hesitate, eye her, and vanish. Elena guarded the door, visibly worried. After a moment, Yvlon’s fist seemed to melt a bit. It ‘spat’ a pair of rings out into the palm of her hand, and she checked them.

Undamaged. Yvlon nodded to herself and sighed as she sat back in her chair.

“That was close.”

Someone slapped the back of her head, and Yvlon jerked and whirled.

It was Elena.

 

——

 

Yvlon Byres had decided she’d learned at least one important lesson after that debacle at the Coliseum of Monarchs. Which Ceria had to admit was one above par.

If there was a silver lining, it was that Yisame, the Horns, and everyone else were too worried about Yvlon’s arm to lecture her about blowing their cover.

Yvlon felt bad about that; her arm was fine. Okay, it hurt a bit, and the left one had arguably strained more with the force of the impact against the barriers. But she accepted the concern because, well, she had to.

She was thinking introspective, deep thoughts that evening when she was informed Nawalishifra had cleared a space for a private forge in the royal wing and was ready for her. Yvlon walked down the corridors, flexing her right hand open and closed.

The Champion of Monarchs is strong. Even if he was unwilling to face Mectail and Thexca and Vitte together, he still got her in a moment. And the Coliseum of Monarchs is huge. That man, Bnirm…he’s against Yisame. That’s what the body-double was about.

Would Lenxiol face me in a duel? Could I beat him? I think so. I don’t know. I can’t put my team or Yisame in further danger. So I have to have a plan. A good plan. And it’s the Coliseum of Monarchs. That [Manager] will rig everything against me if he has the chance.

I’ve got to be smart about this. Berr. What would Berr say…?

She was considering her next moves when the door opened. Nawalishifra stood in the doorway, appearing less nervous and more imposing with an apron on and her veil covered in soot.

“Eh, there you are. Took you long enough, Killer. Let’s see that arm. I told you it wasn’t even as strong as regular steel with a basic hardening enchantment. But then, maybe as well you didn’t kill someone today.”

“Hello, Nawalishifra. I didn’t kill anyone.”

Yvlon protested mildly, and Nawal dragged her into the room.

“Not for lack of trying, so I’m told. First you strangle the [Queen] at breakfast, then you try to kill the Champion of Monarchs by leaping into the arena?”

“I didn’t try to strangle Yisame.”

“Of course, of course. Me, I only know rumors. I don’t see anything. That’s how one survives in a place like this. A thousand curses on you and the Horns for dragging me here! I could be safe in Reim…well, safer. I hope a plague-ridden camel shits in your pillows each night.”

Nawal was herding Yvlon towards her forge, which she’d set up along with a lot of bars of metal. But she’d added a chair that she forced Yvlon into, almost like she was combining the art of dentistry with smithing. Yvlon felt sweat on her skin already from the heat of the forge.

“You have a colorful way of talking, Nawal. Has anyone told you that?”

“Any more than you do? Shush. Hm. Your captain, she told me your arms had lost a lot of metal. I don’t think it’s too bad.”

Ting, ting. Her hammer struck Yvlon’s right arm and then the left, and the [Armsmistress] shivered. Of all the people in the world, Nawalishifra was one of the most intimidating to Yvlon. It was her class; Yvlon felt like she was naturally disadvantaged against the girl.

Certainly, Nawal could leave visible imprints in Yvlon’s arm with the slightest touch of a hammer.

“I’m fine, really. Ceria just wants me to replace the metal or…she said something about upgrading it.”

Nawal tapped her chest.

“I suggested it the moment I saw your arms. Did I not say it when we were in camp? You could do far, far better than this. And though I am without Clan Tannousin, may the deserts swallow my traitorous kinfolk—”

She paused and swallowed hard.

“—and I am without a proper forge and setup, this is Nerrhavia’s Fallen. I have everything I need for simpler smithing. No Naq-Alrama steel, then.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Magekiller arms would be an improvement.”

“Indeed, though every child would try to cut your arms off for the fortune in metal, if it could even move as an arm…you’ll have to settle for mere Adamantium. As so!”

Nawalishifra produced a small ingot of brown, heavy metal and placed it on Yvlon’s arm. Then she smacked the ingot and buried it halfway into Yvlon’s arm.

Neither woman expected that. Yvlon knew Nawalishifra could move her arms because she had some kind of [Smith] Skill. But Nawal had forgotten that Yvlon ran blood through her arms for circulation, purification, and to keep them warm.

The blow had accidentally struck an ‘artery’. The spray of blood coated Nawalishifra’s face and chest before Yvlon sealed the blood flow off. The blood dripped down the far wall in the sudden silence.

After a moment, a [Servant] opened the door with an armful of tools and magical ingots.

“Smith Nawalishifra, if you need any other tools, Great Sage Etrikah has—”

She took one look at the bloody [Smith] and [Armsmistress], dropped her supplies, and ran screaming. Yvlon wished they’d stop doing that. She was just about to make a joke about her reputation when Nawalishifra fainted backwards.

 

——

 

When she woke up in Yvlon’s arms, the [Smith] leapt up and apologized.

“It is not the sight of blood that disturbs me. Just…the memory of it. I forged a cursed blade out of blood, and I felt as though my sins…”

“I’m sorry too, Nawal. We dragged you all the way from Hraace to here, and we haven’t apologized or been that kind.”

The [Smith] wiped blood off her face and veil and shot Yvlon a sideways glance, then a small smile.

“Then we have both been jackasses braying at each other, and we can forgive and start anew, yes?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll take the blood out of my arms. Upgrade away.”

Yvlon sat back down in the chair, and Nawal rose after taking a swig of water. This time, she was far more careful and hmmed as she made Yvlon show her what was in the arms.

“Interesting. They are mostly solid, and I see how you put blood in them…but not what lies in a regular arm. Not that I am an expert. If I had to forge your arm like a [Tailor] makes a cloth arm, it would be far, far harder without the knowing. So if you, say, lost your hand…”

“It becomes a pool of silversteel metal. See?”

Yvlon cut her hand off, and Nawal jumped back, then peered at the pool of metal.

“Interesting. It’s…liquid. It should be solid.”

That was true, now that Yvlon thought about it. Her arms were room temperature, but she shrugged.

“Magical metal.”

“Have you lost any before today?”

“Now and then. Chunks of it—I somehow regrow it. I noticed I eat a bit more, and I sometimes get weird cravings. As if I were pregnant. I once found myself picking pieces of rust off a wagonwheel and eating it.”

Yvlon laughed, embarrassed, and clarified.

“Don’t worry, I washed it.”

“Er…that is very interesting. Yes, interesting is the word I shall use because I am being friendly. Well, this will be far, far less likely to chip or be destroyed.”

Nawal tapped the Adamantium ingot. It made a surprisingly deep sound, and Yvlon eyed it.

“Is that real Adamantium? Nerrhavia’s Fallen just has it lying around?”

“Psh. It is Nerrhavia’s Fallen. If they did not have some of this, it would not be Nerrhavia’s Fallen. You are lucky I can bring a forge to the temperature to melt it. Although, perhaps I did not err entirely. What if we just embedded it in your arm? Could you…take it over?”

Yvlon had a metal foot too, and that actually turned out to be the best spot to fit the ingot into, given its relative size. Nawal tapped the ingot into Yvlon’s foot like someone shoeing a horse and had just as much trouble.

“Stop wiggling, you!”

“I can’t! It tickles! I’ve never felt anything tickle like—stop, it’s not working!”

Yvlon giggled as the foreign piece of matter was swiftly ejected from her foot. Nawal scratched at her head, then shrugged.

“This makes sense. This is more of welding metal to metal. Cold welding would require forces of which I do not have on me. Hm. But the heat to melt Adamantium and your arm…if I forged the two, it might burn your entire body up. What if we tried, uh, something cooler instead?”

She grabbed a bar of mithril, which was, by temperatures, a magnitude lower than Adamantium. She still had to crank the forge so hot that even with cooling spells Yvlon flinched away from the heat of the magical blaze.

“What if it doesn’t work, Nawal?”

“That is why I will try a finger! Since you can regrow them! The work is simple, and as so—”

Nawal hammered out a tiny bit of mithril from the bar and then seized Yvlon’s arm and put it in the forge, barehanded. She was fine, but Yvlon instantly yanked it out.

“Too hot!”

She felt that! Even her metal arms reacted to the flames. Nawal shoved the veil down on her face and cursed.

“Where? Where it meets flesh?”

“Everywhere! I can tell that’s too hot for me!”

“Damn. But I need to heat your metal to bring it to temperature…hm. Hmmmm. Let me think of my teachings. What about…aha!”

The first thing Nawal tried was an Amulet of Flame Resistance, a staple of [Smiths]. But that just meant that it was then impossible to get Yvlon’s arm up to forging temperature. Exasperated, Nawal tried another tactic.

“Alright. Alright, what if you cut your hand off for me again? Then I will forge said metal to the mithril and the result you take back!”

Yvlon brightened up.

“That sounds very practical. My idea was to just activate [Ignore Pain] and let you hammer away.”

Nawal gave Yvlon a long look.

“Yes…it is a bad thing, I think, when I am accused of being the most practical one in the room. Ech, it’s gloopy, your metal.”

She prodded the puddle of silversteel dripping off her anvil, and Yvlon worried she’d have trouble with that, but Nawal just shrugged.

“[Harden Metal]. There, now I can hit it. One and two and…aha.”

She fused the bit of silversteel to the mithril, checked the welds, and declared her work was ‘all but perfect’ when she showed Yvlon the thumb-like chunk of mithril attached to the silversteel. Then she developed a wicked smile.

“And if I can do it so simply—your silversteel has almost no hammerscale, and it is exceedingly pure—then Adamantium is not much harder! Give me thirty minutes while I heat it up.”

She went back to the forge, and Yvlon edged away from the sudden blaze of heat. Nawal could tolerate it, but Yvlon shouted as the [Smith] inserted the ingot into the forge.

“I heard Smith Maughin of Pallass was learning to forge Adamantium! How can you do it at your age, Nawalishifra?”

“Hah! Adamantium is just heat. There are places in the Glass Straits where the heat collects to such a degree you can find a ray of light that will melt a man’s arm off should he swing it through the light. Naq-Alrama steel has so many more steps, so much harder…it is harder than Adamantium itself, if not stronger. Adamantium will bend. Naq-Alrama breaks, but still, few beings aside from the King of Destruction, that monstrous man, could do either.”

Yvlon had heard from Pisces that Nawal was actually pleasant to talk to, but Yvlon had never heard the [Smith] say as many words in so pleasant a tone. She sat cross-legged, watching the Adamantium glow, and Nawal begin to tap it.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re an amazing [Smith], Nawal. Does the King of Destruction use you to make his best weapons?”

The young woman flinched and glanced at Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] didn’t know why until she remembered the shields Nawal had been unhappily making.

“No. And he is right not to trust me. I was a fool twice. Once for not speaking honesty when the truth was in the metal. I lost my clan for that. Second…when I thought redemption was just a bloody, messy blade forged of death. I did not pay the price for that. I should have. But it was Bandit Lord Maresar who did. So I swore never to make a blade. This, by the way, is no blade. Just an arm that turns into one.”

That was how she was getting around her vow? She seemed happier, regardless, not to make a shield. Yvlon ventured a comment after listening to the tapping.

“I know a thing or two about mistakes myself. My arms were because I was too stubborn to stop and heal them. I lost my first team out of arrogance.”

“Ah. Then you at least respect what a strange miracle they are. As much as I make fun…it is something to see metal move like your arms. And they will be stronger.”

Nawal held up a glowing bar of Adamantium so hot it raised the temperature in the room immensely, then stuck it in the forge again. Yvlon surreptitiously got the Amulet of Flame Resistance and sighed as it cooled her down.

“I, uh, know some famous [Smiths] of Izril.”

The [Smith] stopped humming and tapping on the bar and turned from the forge. She stared at Yvlon, then adopted a sing-song voice.

“Oh, and I know some adventurers of Chandrar! I bet you would know all their ilk! Since you are an adventurer and so are they!”

She spat on the ground, and Yvlon flushed.

“…Fair enough. I only meant—”

Nawal went back to smithing.

“I don’t know this ‘Maughin’ of Pallass. His is not a great name. Many of the old [Smiths] are retired or gone. New ones have not yet emerged worthy of remembering. Not even Mrell of Demas Metal, as fine as it is. Your Master Pelt—yes. But he dishonored his craft as bad as—no, worse than I.”

“He returned to smithing though.”

Nawal inspected the bar again, then began to carefully heat up the metal of silversteel to forging temperature.

“Ah, well, it would be an honor to speak with him and learn his wisdom. Exile and outcast to exile and outcast. Still! Clan Tannousin taught me their ways, and while I cannot equal his mastery, I will not fall behind any [Smith] of Chandrar save Djinn. I do not lack for technique, merely a path.”

Well, she wasn’t arrogant at all. Yvlon crossed her arms, then hesitated. She glanced around, lowered her voice. Everyone was at the Court of Silks, and she had been told Nawal’s forge would be warded. Besides, this heat would kill anyone without an amulet of flame resistance on.

“Nawal, he never said what he did. Do you, um, know?”

Nawal spun.

“Are you asking me to betray another [Smith]’s greatest shame?”

“Um. Yes?”

The [Smith] held the burning bar of Adamantium in tongs that Yvlon realized had to be made of Adamantium themselves. She paused.

“Ah, well. I heard he forged a batch of metals that had flaws. The most pathetic, junior mistake of a [Smith] to not test their metal. Any child of Clan Tannousin is beaten if they let such things pass, but they were filled up on their own greed and pride. The metal broke.”

“Oh. And it ruined their reputations? Pelt talks like it was a mortal sin…”

Nawal was gazing at the Adamantium, which was now so white-hot it was burning Yvlon’s eyes. She spoke in a sad voice.

“Yvlon Byres, who does not pretend to know so much…if it were arms for the King of Destruction, that would be one thing. There are far more things to which [Smiths] make metal. I have only made blades. This was for architecture, or so I was told. It killed far, far more than any one blade, any hundred faulty blades could.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

Then Yvlon understood how tragedy could occur and not be seen until…Nawal nodded. She paused a moment, hammer resting on the anvil.

“…It is good we speak of such things. If I were to make metal for homes, I should not disparage the work. Lest a roof fall on a baby and I be thrice-damned. But this?”

She held up her work, and Yvlon saw a weird, lopsided piece of silver metal fused into two ‘thumbs’ of ingots, mithril and Adamantium. Nawal eyed her creation.

“I would call it art, but I fear the class might find me. Here.”

She blew on the Adamantium block and shoved it to Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] eyed the block of metal, and her arm gingerly crept towards the silversteel that she knew was hers.

This couldn’t actually work, right? Nawal’s eyes locked on Yvlon’s arm as the metal flowed, rejoining the arm. Then Yvlon flexed her hand, and the mithril and Adamantium trembled…and began to deform.

“It works.”

Yvlon gasped. Nawal nearly leapt into the forge.

“It does? I thought it had no chance! But then—that’s a Tannousin weld for you!”

She puffed out her chest, then muttered under her breath—

“I can’t believe that worked.”

 

——

 

A problem arose after about three minutes. Yvlon was sweating, and her arms were hot. The Adamantium had rapidly cooled, but it was still burningly hot even with the amulet on; that didn’t matter.

She had an Adamantium hand! Okay, an Adamantium finger. The ingot was slowly moving as she forced her will upon it. It was still ‘foreign’, but she felt like she could exert control over it thanks to the connection Nawalishifra had established. The problem was…

“Is that for me?”

Nawalishifra stared at the giant Adamantium middle finger that Yvlon was waving in her direction. The [Armsmistress] grunted; the mithril was a smaller index finger.

“No! I’m trying to get it to form…a plating over my hand.”

Nawal eyed the tiny bit of Adamantium slowly creeping over the back of Yvlon’s hand. She coughed.

“Yes, I can see it working quite well. Do you want me to come back in an hour?”

She poured herself some water as Yvlon’s brow kneaded with sweat. After a moment, Nawal poured some water on Yvlon’s head to cool her down. Which made things worse.

“Wait, it’s even harder now! I—I can’t move it!”

Yvlon had been moving the mithril and Adamantium slowly, slowly across her arm, but when the water splashed onto the metal, she realized what was wrong.

“It’s too hard! I can’t—shift it!”

The [Smith]’s brows bounced up, and she squatted down swiftly.

“You cannot? Ah, it’s cool now. But you can sense it?”

“Yes, vaguely, but it’s like trying to move…a rock!”

The metal was solid, totally unwilling to move without heat. Nawal pursed her lips.

“Ah. I’m beginning to think that I was too hasty in judging your arms, Yvlon Byres the Silver Killer. Let’s try something. I’ll heat the mithril up—damn, no, with the amulet on—here, I’ll snip it off, reforge, and we’ll try when it’s hot.”

When Yvlon tried to reabsorb the glowing yellow bar of mithril, she nearly screamed. It was too hot! But she managed to form the mithril into a pair of fingers until they cooled—then she couldn’t move them.

“Fascinating. You can control metal like one controls water, but…hm. Try this?”

She handed Yvlon some iron, and the two expected Yvlon might bend it around with ease given she could do Adamantium, but she was unable to get it to so much as twitch while cold.

“Odd. So you can only move metal when metal wishes to be moved.”

“Except for my silversteel.”

Nawal tapped Yvlon’s arms with her hammer, frowning as she hammered it into a lump on the anvil. Yvlon glowered; Nawal apologetically snipped the Adamantium off and trimmed the silversteel.

“I understand, I think. This…isn’t silver and steel.”

She pointed at Yvlon’s arms. The [Silversteel Armsmistress] opened her mouth as if she’d been shot by a bunch of Erin-killing bolts.

“Impossible. It’s in my class!”

“No, no. I know metal. This is neither silver nor steel. I grant you, it may be an alloy of both, but it is not plain silver and plain steel conjoined. It’s something else. Something far, far more complex.”

Yvlon recalled what Pelt had once said about her arms. Elegant, he’d said. Would he say that if it was really just House Byres’ alloy? Nawal was thinking down the same track.

“Perhaps I am the fool. For here I think this must be some ‘new’ metal when, perhaps…no, it is silver and steel, I am sure of it! It is mere shit steel and silver conjoined; elsewise, how could my hammer mash it so flat even when you make it strong as could be? I must think of it differently.”

She peered at Yvlon’s arms, again being offensive about the makeup. Yet Nawal pointed.

“You can make a puddle out of your arms. Do it. Then make the other arm hard as, well, it can be.”

Yvlon did, and one arm drooped and nearly dripped as Nawal felt at it, and the other scored the iron ingot with ease.

“Yes…yes.”

“Yes what?”

“It can be both! Solid as solid can be, malleable as molten metal! Your arms are some kind of metal like this! And that is why regular metals won’t work! It must be treated like your arms! Turned into this puddle-solid!”

Yvlon didn’t think Nawal knew the right term for the metal quality, but the idea struck a chord with her. Maybe that was what her arms were! Rather than just giving her control over metal, her class had created this metal.

“So you’re saying it’s not some fancy new metal. But something else. Something elegant, Master Pelt said.”

Nawal twisted around.

“He said that? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, it’s just a word—”

Now, the girl was all over the place, inspecting Yvlon’s arms, trying to take a sample, thinking out loud.

“Elegant from a master who has hammered every shape to metal—beyond, yes, beyond even Clan Tannousin? Elegant does not make me think new metal at all. I think my theory is right. This is some treatment, some process that makes metal capable of being both solid and liquid at once. At the same temperature!”

At first blush, it might not have sounded like much. But to Yvlon, who came from a family who had smiths, and to Nawal, the idea was just…ludicrous.

Insane even for women who knew metal could be worked like magic. Yvlon hesitated.

“That’s my idea too, but I can’t even imagine an enchantment that could do this. Perhaps some alchemy.”

“Perhaps, but if so, it is permanent. Extraordinary. Is it alchemy, I wonder? Many great works of smithing are unto alchemy themselves…”

Nawal was now searching her brain for any equivalent metal she had ever known like this, but Yvlon had to ask the big question.

“Well, can you make more? Or figure out the process and treat Adamantium or another metal like this?”

Nawalishifra stopped. She peered at Yvlon’s arms, and a note of true uncertainty entered her voice.

“I…don’t know. I do not know this technique. It is no metal that Clan Tannousin uses or would ever use. A droopy metal like that? A flaccid alloy?”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“It has no use I know, but then, I have never heard of such a metal. What could be made of it?”

Her eyes lit up as she stared at Yvlon’s arms. Then Nawal took in the smith’s room around her and laughed softly. She picked up her hammer again, and pointed it at Yvlon.

“Well. Perhaps I have a project worth spending Nerrhavia Fallen’s gold and knowledge upon.”

She turned to Yvlon, and the light of the challenge filled her face. Nawal gestured excitedly at Yvlon’s arms.

“Yes. I must study to see how this may be done. Perform alchemy or other experiments myself—with great caution, of course—and see if the Great Sage knows of what I am talking of. And find more samples like your arms to study. Those Oresect beetles everyone warns me about…”

“Oh, those were made from my arms, I think.”

Nawal nearly tossed the bar of Adamantium out the window as she went to put it away. She whirled, stared at Yvlon, then began laughing. She leaned against her forge, laughing until she nearly sucked her veil into her throat, and wiped at her eyes.

“You Horns, you, eh, you’re worse than the King of Destruction for madness. Argh. But you don’t damn nations when you rage, yet. I give, I give. This is better than meaningless shields. Give me a finger’s worth, nay, two fingers’ worth of metal and I shall do my best. And a list of the things you eat when you are hungry—and House Byres’ ‘secret alloy’, yes?”

She wrote all of it down except for House Byres’ secret alloy, which she spat on and tossed the recipe out the window. She was still rude, but Yvlon went away smiling as Nawal grumbled about having to find these Oresect beetles for more tests.

“Well, how’d it go?”

Ceria asked Yvlon over a private dinner, and Yvlon frowned.

“Well, I lost two fingers’ worth of metal, but I have high hopes Nawal can make more.”

She studied her teammates’ expressions and tried to clarify.

“No, the two fingers’ worth I gave her—I was mostly fine.”

“What about the [Servant] who came into the banquet hall screaming you were covered in blood and about to murder Nawalishifra?”

Pisces wanted to know, and Yvlon sighed. Reputations were such an annoying thing.

 

——

 

Reputations. One day everyone looks at you like you were some kind of rabid dog ready to murder everything if they sneezed wrong, the next, you were a tamed animal, a foreign metal mutt with more bark than bite who reflected badly on her owner, Yisame, and peed on the rugs.

Yvlon was tempted to pee on the rugs in the Court of Silks the next day. Berr would do it. The titters and comments about her embarrassing display in the Coliseum of Monarchs were all about the vast chambers, and it was hurting Yisame.

Colth had framed it as a knock-on effect. If Yisame was seen to humor Yvlon, whom she was known to admire and respect, and even to give way to Yvlon, then she tied her own reputation and power to Yvlon’s danger and reputation as the Silver Killer.

But if Lenxiol and Bnirm proved she was merely a Gold-ranker with an overly-inflated sense of ego, then what was the [Queen] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen doing? She had either poor judgement or the Horns became her weakness. Moreover, if they wanted the Traitorous Three back, Yisame had to give something Bnirm’s faction wanted. And Yvlon had made it obvious how much Mectail, Thexca, and Vitte meant to her.

At least Relladen was “alright”. He was serving in the army, having apparently traded his crimes against Nerrhavia’s Fallen for service. But Yisame was now in a bind, even if she was acting like all was well, and it was Yvlon’s fault.

Colth didn’t frame it that way, of course. Just implied it with every kindly explanation. She knew that he and Ceria were trying to account for her…wildness. For her idiocy. She appreciated her teammates not screaming at her—well, a second time—and just wished that she could reassure them she knew what she was doing.

…She just wasn’t quite sure she did know what she was doing, so for the moment, Yvlon played dumb. This strategy was effected in the most straightforwards way possible.

“Ah, Adventurer Byres. One hears you are desirous of a match against the Champion of Monarchs in single combat. Do you truly feel you have a chance? Not since Mars herself has a Champion reigned so long in the coliseum. And your own record, while exemplary, shows you were beaten by lesser [Gladiators].”

Yvlon turned to the Silk [Lady] who greeted her at the head of a roving band of marauder-[Ladies], on the hunt for weaknesses. She smiled and held out a hand.

“Hello, my name is Yvlon Byres.”

“Er, that we know. I was referring to—”

“Some may call me the ‘Silver Killer of Izril’, but the truth is I’m hardly so dangerous.”

“A fact all witnessed yesterday!”

Another [Lady] quipped to titters from her audience, but Yvlon wasn’t done.

“I got my name fighting in the Coliseum of Monarchs in Chandrar, and my team has fought everything from Adult Crelers to monsters in dungeons like the Ruins of Albez…”

They stared at her as she listed her accomplishments and her team’s recent deeds in chronological order for them. Then, when one tried to get a word in edgewise about the fate of Vitte, Yvlon Byres began to talk about House Byres.

“House Byres steel is actually an alloy of silver and steel, did you know that? It’s not considered quite as strong as traditional steel, but the sheen and the qualities of the metal are considered worth the tradeoff. Unlike traditional steel, proper silversteel alloy does not rust but tarnish and is sometimes considered a valuable asset in wet or marshy terrain. The going rate for silver, historically, has been far higher than modern day prices, which has led to…”

They excused themselves.

She followed.

 

——

 

“Captain Ceria Springwalker. It has been an age, hasn’t it?”

“A literal one, Prince Zenol. It feels like we owe you a lot. Yvlon does, and I’m only sad Ksmvr couldn’t be here.”

Ceria and Zenol shook hands at last in the Court of Silks, watched by many, but the half-Elf was genuinely beaming up at him. He glanced at her damaged circlet and smiled ruefully.

There were lines on his face she didn’t recall from that haughty Chandrarian [Prince] not so long ago. It did feel like an age since the Village of the Dead. All that desperation, the insane raid on the say-so of Pisces’ mysterious helper…

“I’m pleased that your tale didn’t end in the Village of the Dead. And what a tale it became. I was proud to say I was there and part of it. Even if that Drake with a sword showed all present we did not deserve to clear that dungeon.”

Ceria’s eyes dipped, and she took a breath, staring into her winecup.

“The other teams got the gold…but I’ll be the first to admit that you got robbed of a lot of the treasures, Zenol. Especially because I didn’t mention my circlet when we divided the loot. Or Ksmvr’s sword since it was in Chandrar. We owe the other teams, and if they want to collect, well, I’ll sort it out as best I can. But you could collect right now.”

She took her circlet off her head and swirled one arm around in the winecup. It wasn’t a complete circle; the pearlescent ivory ended two-thirds of the way around the head. The [Prince] noticed there was a visible crack down the center and in a few places where it seemed to be faintly green. Repaired? Also that Ceria had been gnawing on one end, though that might just be his imagination.

Zenol snorted, and she peeked up to see a smile cross his face, and he seemed relieved by it.

“The sight of you sending my noble Court of Silks into twisted knots and frayed ends is a reward in and of itself, Ceria. We knew from the moment you four headed into the center that you had put more on the line than any of us were willing to. Isn’t that how it should work? To those that risk the most the glory.”

His eyes glittered with delight for adventure itself. He was still dressed like the royalty he was, haughty and, she had no doubt, objectionable in some way. But as adventurers went—she licked her circlet and grinned.

“Fancy words, Prince Zenol. But just say the word when you actually need something? Before we leave.”

He hesitated, then gave her a gracious nod as he glanced around the room.

“Perhaps some small deeds may serve. If you do not know, I have faced the King of Destruction’s armies to show House Isphel’s dedication towards Nerrhavia’s Fallen.”

“Pass on fighting him. But how is it?”

Zenol stood there a second and developed that stare that Ceria’s grandmother sometimes had. The one she recognized that even adventurers lacked.

“It is hardly as pleasant, reaping lives instead of monster carcasses. Even if it is sometimes easier, there’s no glory in it.”

That was all he said. Ceria nodded, then turned as a voice called out.

“Just like House Isphel to get cold strings after seeing the reality of war. As if one meager [Prince]-turned-adventurer shifted the warfront any. Isphel arrogance, Isphel weakness. You would do well to court true royalty, Captain Ceria. One trusts you would be wiser than the Silver Killer, or at least, to keep her better in check.”

Ceria pointed at the other [Prince], who smirked at Zenol with a far larger following.

“Who that?”

“Prince Esceit of House Quarein. A notable detractor of House Isphel.”

Zenol murmured through gritted teeth. The insults didn’t seem that good to Ceria, but she supposed there was royal pride. Even the perception of insult was too much. She peered at the haughty [Prince].

“So he’s the one who’s jealous of Nerrhavia Fallen’s most famous [Prince]?”

That took the wind out of Prince Esceit’s sails. He paled as the people around him gasped.

“How dare you!”

Ceria threw up her hands—and Zenol dodged the splash of wine that hit five people behind her. In her most honest voice, Ceria clasped her hands together.

“Oh, no! I don’t mean to offend! I’m terribly sorry if I implied anything of the sort!”

Prince Esceit unmottled slightly, and Ceria continued.

“It’s just the truth. Swear on a [Detect Truth] spell. See? No one knows about Nerrhavia Fallen’s [Princes]. Put a crossbow to my head and I couldn’t name any of you lot. But Prince Zenol Isphel, well, most of Izril saw him at the Village of the Dead. So he’s the most famous. Sorry. If you wanted to raid a death zone, I’m sure you’d all be just as memorable!”

She smiled as she held up a glowing [Detect Truth] spell in one hand. The Court of Silks murmured, and Zenol hid a smile as he stood straighter.

Eat shit, Prince Whoever You Are. Esceit was searching for a comeback to her apparently innocent drag on him before he snarled.

“That a [Prince] need stoop to the level of a commoner is a disgrace in itself!”

He wanted to end it with that, but Ceria turned to Zenol.

“Commoner? You had dozens of [Servants] who practically did everything for you. Every other Gold-ranking team couldn’t stand you waltzing in and lording it over the others. If that’s commonering it up, what do you do here?”

Zenol stroked his chin, preening like the peacock every [Prince] was, as Prince Esceit’s glower turned more intense. Ceria winked at Zenol as she got another winecup and tested it for poisons. Ooh, this one had something in it. She’d have to toss it on someone. The Ice Squirrel could at least pack a punch when no one expected it.

As for Yvlon—she saw a group of squawking [Ladies] fleeing Yvlon as the Silver Killer crossed the room.

“We are done with this conversation! Goodbye!”

“Silver has a much lower melting point than steel, so the process of making silversteel alloy is actually quite fascinating. Shortly after mining, the silver is washed in a custom bath of liquids to remove any impurities before—”

Ceria and Zenol were chuckling over her antics, which were, for once, largely harmless, when the [Ladies] burst through a crowd of people like a flock of frightened silk geese. And there—Ceria’s heart stopped. She dropped the winecup, this time by accident, and her face froze up.

There she was.

Unexpected. Larger than life. Without warning, next to the old [Bard], whose very voice declaimed legends, with Delitandra and the Heromakers of Hraace standing like schoolchildren next to adults. Yvlon Byres came to a halt as she came face to face with her.

Cognita Truestone. Yvlon gazed up at the Truestone Golem as Cognita turned, her expression of immeasurable boredom and disinterest flickering when she saw Ceria and Pisces and Colth, who were circulating the Court of Silks.

Yvlon glanced at Ceria as the half-Elf’s life at Wistram flashed before her eyes. Illphres. Pisces’ mistake. The test. Mage Rievan. Beatrice, Montressa, Calvaron—

Yvlon Byres studied her captain, then nodded. She made a fist and turned back to Cognita. She swung one hand up—-

 

——

 

“Hello. My name is Yvlon Byres. Some may call me the ‘Silver Killer of Izril’, but I assure you, the truth is I’m hardly so dangerous.”

Few beings tried to shake her hand. Let alone so…obviously. They’d make the attempt, think to impress others, and never quite get their hands up. Or realize she had no intention of shaking their hand and let it fall.

Cognita Truestone stared at Yvlon Byres’ hand, a foot from her face, and it didn’t waver. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty in dead silence as Barelle the [Bard] raised his brows. At last, slowly, Cognita Truestone took the hand.

She extended two fingers and pushed it down. Yvlon Byres tried to resist; Cognita felt it, but the Truestone Golem effortlessly forced her hand down.

Her eyes. They were locked on Cognita’s own with an intensity that made the Truestone Golem reconsider whether the title ‘Silver Killer’ truly was a misnomer. She made what observations she wished, little caring if they sounded nonsensical to those listening or Yvlon herself.

“[Berserker]. I am familiar with the class or Skill. You are far less decorous than your brother, Ylawes Byres. He behaved with the decorum of a [Knight] despite lacking for an order. An irregularity to meet a Knight of Izril. I had noted it upon Wistram’s logs.”

Cognita noticed, to her urbane amusement, this seemed to incense the woman slightly.

“Ylawes did mention visiting Wistram. He also mentioned rescuing children held against their will.”

“A perspective not entirely unwarranted. I acted in defense of Wistram at the time.”

“So Wistram takes [Slaves]?”

The burning blue gaze intensified, and Cognita’s voice was flat; she had heard this argument before, but the results were interesting enough in this case.

“When has it ceased to?”

Confusion. Predictable. Boring. Cognita turned to Barelle the Bard. It seemed his conclusions were correct; this was a Gold-rank team, perhaps of higher overall level and gear quality than the Silver Swords, but no more.

“Excuse me.”

She took a step towards the [Bard] and halted. It seemed she had to recalculate her appraisal of Yvlon Byres. Few people offered her a handshake in earnest.

Fewer still dared touch her.

Part of that was the sheer height difference. Cognita, when she cared to be, was normally around eight point eight feet tall. Out of reach for most people—but Yvlon Byres’ arm had stretched. It was resting on Cognita’s shoulder. She let go as the Truestone Golem woman turned her head.

“Your transgressions are unwelcome, Yvlon Byres. I warn you once. There will not be a second time.”

“I apologize, Cognita Truestone. I merely didn’t wish for you to go before greeting my captain, Ceria Springwalker, and Pisces. They studied in Wistram as you surely recall. You named them [Mages].”

Cognita glanced at Pisces, but she hadn’t seen any undead in his presence capable of levelling. Thus, he had failed. She turned away.

“I recall everything, Adventurer. I have witnessed them once more. It pleases me they continue to study magic in their own ways. I have read and responded to their occasional missives. Conversation would be a further waste of my time.”

“Truly? They would surprise you, I think.”

The [Armsmistress] was so convinced of her position that Cognita elected to break her rule about tampering with politics in some small way. She turned, and her voice was direct.

“A sentient circlet is not unique. Nor is a spellbook written by the levelless. I have witnessed relics of old Walled Cities. Nothing I behold is new, woman of metal.”

If he had mastered the formula that Perril Chandler claimed to have finally perfected and had offered to her…she saw Yvlon’s eyes widen.

“I’ve been called that before. Woman of metal.”

“Indeed? Fascinating.”

If the woman was at all wise, she would drop this line of inquiry; Cognita’s statements had been registered even by the Court of Silks. She was endangering her team. However, Cognita Truestone saw Barelle’s own head was tilted in an annoying fashion.

He was intrigued by what he’d heard. She glowered and strode past him, not in the mood to humor his requests he could easily answer with his own research. After a second, she glanced to the side.

“I have no injunctions against violence here or against you, Adventurer.”

“Neither do I. What does ‘woman of metal’ mean? Am I doomed to become metal? I’ve been called it time and again by people who seem to have met people like me.”

There was a slight note of desperation in Yvlon Byres’ voice. Because it seemed to be the most optimal solution, Cognita slowed her walk out of the Court of Silks’ main zone and into open rock gardens and replied flatly. The sun shone off her and the magical stones placed in aesthetically pleasing formations. Which was all that she and the rock gardens were.

“That is not inevitable. Even should you pursue your class. It is a mere title to refer to beings who were, at best, part-Golem. Those who forsake their original bodies for those of artificial creation. Metal is not even the prerequisite for the classification.”

The [Armsmistress] relaxed slightly.

“Good.”

The answer displeased Cognita greatly. Because it was the answer that was…appropriate and therefore enraging.

“You do not wish to become a being of superior metal, Adventurer Byres? In time, you would become as close to a woman of stone as myself. That is the path your class walks. With every injury. You would be wise to fear it. To transform into a being similar to a Golem is a terrible fate.”

“I didn’t wish to imply that. I’m just—wary of losing what remains of my flesh.”

“As I stated, wise.”

Yvlon eyed Cognita and backed up a step.

“I see. Then why does that make you angry?”

Cognita realized her perfect posture had shifted forwards. She righted herself, and her face smoothed.

“Merely reflections of the last Truestone Golem. Inconsequential, I am sure, Adventurer Byres. Someday, you will also face the agony of a woman of metal: you will outlive and outlast your team, if they even survive their journeys. It is no exaggeration to claim this: your class is a [Warrior]. All other members of your team present are hybrid or dedicated spellcasters. With rare exception, your lifespan will exceed theirs.”

Then you will have cause to regret the strength of your body, when you are alone. It was a conclusion Cognita had come to the moment she perceived her master, Zelkyr, was aging. The terror of that he himself had grappled with until the last day she’d seen him…

It was not that she desired to see Yvlon Byres in distress. Merely an acceptable outcome. However, it disconcerted Cognita to see Yvlon Byres smile. She put her hands in her pockets and breathed in and out.

“I believe I’ve offended you, Cognita Truestone. I apologize; I am not my brother. I…appreciate you speaking frankly to me. Though I don’t think you’re correct. I’m lucky. It’s true my teammates might perish. But if old age should take us, well. I’ll consider it a blessing to make it that far.”

Cognita whispered and felt an emotion she had once labelled ‘horror’ rising in her chest. Directed at Yvlon. A kind of…observed horror.

“You state this without understanding. The potential to become a full woman of metal is all but guaranteed given your class. Should you pass Level 60, you may well become a being unto a Golem in every regard. You will live for centuries with ease.”

She didn’t know. Cognita saw Yvlon’s eyes widen and however remote the possibility was, Cognita hoped she died before she came to that point.

It would be a mercy.

She expected the woman to say something mortal, with bravado and lack of understanding. But Yvlon Byres just stared at her metal foot, then up at Cognita. And her tonality and body language did not speak of bravado. But still, incomprehensibly, relief. And happiness. And pain. And…

Cognita’s senses focused more on Yvlon Byres than any individual in the last six months as the woman spoke.

“Well…I can’t say I’d enjoy being a true woman of metal. But even then, I think—I have good chances.”

“Explain.”

Yvlon nodded over her shoulder. No one had dared follow them into the gardens, not the [Queen], not the spies. Not after Cognita Truestone.

“One of my teammates is Pisces. He’s a [Necromancer]. I imagine they could defy death if anyone could. Colth? I don’t know about Colth, but he’s close to a warrior. But one of my new teammates is strange. She might live a long time or a short one, I don’t know. Mostly, though? I know Ceria’s a half-Elf. She’ll live longer than metal itself! What a thought.”

She grinned ruefully, as if the notion of having someone to pass the aeons with were displeasing. Alone. Alone. 

Cognita felt enraged. Desolate. Two hundred years of life was a mere fragment for a Golem such as she, and it was too long. Alone…

Spitefully, she pointed out.

“There is a probability that you will outlive even a half-Elf. They fall to disease, even in timeless villages. What then?”

Then? The [Armsmistress]’ eyes clouded as Cognita wished. As she longed for no being to have to face. Then they brightened with a faraway light, as if she were staring at something else.

A quality beyond memory. That which mortals called imagination. Or…a dream. She replied to Cognita with a laugh.

“I imagine I’d be a terribly grumpy old woman. I don’t think I’d ever find another team like this. And I’d get too old to make more friends.”

“Yes. That would be a ridiculous statement to utter. It is so difficult to find those who are unique. Only a few, like Barelle the Bard, would qualify. And they have their own lives.”

Cognita whispered. Yvlon’s eyes remained fixed on that distant horizon.

“Then, I suppose, I’m the luckiest woman in the world, Cognita. Because my last teammate is an Antinium. Ksmvr. He can come back from the dead if the circumstances are right. But more importantly? He’s Antinium. I know another Antinium named Klbkch…and he was there from the start of his species. I don’t know if they can die from old age, some of them. Klbkch can’t, I don’t think, and if he can’t, maybe the Queens could do the same for Ksmvr. I imagine he might get tired of me, but it wouldn’t be the worst, then. To be a woman of metal dancing the years away with that silly fellow wearing his greying mustache.”

What was she gazing at? Cognita realized her structure was trembling. She tried to control herself, but she could not. Envy surged through her. An envy she had felt that exceeded that of her sisters when they won Zelkyr’s praise, or Perril Chandler’s, who could be Zelkyr’s friend and equal.

“So long as I do things right, I won’t have to face that problem. And if I do it right, then I won’t lose any members of my team first. I suppose that’s an arrogant answer, but it’s the only one I have. Cognita? Miss Cognita?”

The Golem woman didn’t reply. She merely drew herself up and gazed down at the fledgling woman of metal.

“Concluding our conversation, a part of me now wishes for your team’s demise, Yvlon Byres.”

The [Armsmistress] started, and her arms reflexively morphed to combat shapes, but Cognita continued, her voice level.

“However, that emotion I have catalogued and identified as jealousy. An emotion which has no use in any being. Any being, Master. How can you be jealous of your creations?”

“Cognita?”

The Truestone Golem went on, gazing at Yvlon.

“We shall then consider it a bet between you and I. The consequences of failure are immeasurable. I shall monitor your career with interest. Now, I request this conversation come to a close.”

She turned away, swiftly, and the startled [Armsmistress] bowed.

“T-thank you, Miss Truestone.”

Miss Truestone. Not Lady, just Truestone. As if it was her name. As if she were a person. Cognita did not smile; she could repress those mere expressions.

“It is evident your time is as limited as mine. Your conclusions are correct, Yvlon Byres. Your intelligence, in some tangible way, does not fall behind that of your teammates and exceeds them in this instance.”

She stole a glance as Yvlon jumped and then bowed again and stepped back. She didn’t quite get what Cognita meant at first; that was fine. It was Cognita’s observations to herself.

What a curious woman. She was gambling with eternity on the promise of the merest, most hypothetical outcome. Ridiculous…if she were in Yvlon’s place, Cognita would have done the same thing.

Tell me, Yvlon Byres. What would you do if you lost your team and you stood alone, facing eternity with no one to share it with?

Cognita Truestone did not ask that question because it was revealing. Because she did not wish to, perhaps fearing a lack of an answer or the one she had come to. But mostly…because she still wasn’t sure herself whether the situation she imagined had arisen.

For her.

Cognita only knew that love had faded—or twisted—and she was unhappy.

Besides, this woman wasn’t truly of metal. She could not comprehend the question, not fully. But maybe…

“Cognita?”

Barelle the Bard found her in the gardens after Yvlon Byres had walked off. He turned to her, then glanced at the Horns still present.

“I have never heard you entertain a conversation with someone else for so long in all the time you have been in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Did she upset you or impress you?”

“…I do not know. I felt sorry for her. Then envious. Emotions I rarely experience. I agreed with your assessment, Barelle. They are not worthy of the [Bard]’s songs. When she reaches Level 50, you may reappraise that claim.”

“When?”

He was startled. Cognita turned on her heels. She had somewhere to be. Her calculations were seldom incorrect. She took a few coins from his bag of holding.

“I will make arrangements and greet you when next we meet.”

“Which is…?”

The Truestone Golem strode away without a word. She could not see the future. Just predict courses of action with such certainty it had been confused for such at times. But she wondered, suddenly, how the story of Yvlon Byres would end. It was a mystery in a world that held so few for Cognita. Unexpected.

She had not expected it there.

 

——

 

Yvlon Byres didn’t really sleep that night. She tossed and turned and lay in her bedroll as the rest of her team came in for the night. They wanted to know what she’d said to Cognita, of course. They were under the impression she’d really Yvlon’d—to use Ceria’s expression—the situation up.

Cognita had left the Court of Silks thereafter, but Yvlon didn’t think it had been a bad conversation. It had been veering that way, but…then the Golem woman had sounded so desolate. Ceria had laughed at Yvlon.

“Cognita sad? Do you hear that, Pisces? Ha! Hahahahahaha—”

Yvlon had thrown her pillows at Ceria until the Ice Squirrel left. Colth had brought other news.

“That Prince Esceit’s all over his feud with Zenol. All kinds of pettiness. Economic and social pressure. You beating down his [Doomguard] just made him angrier.”

“I didn’t see…Beton. He was strong, but he let me win that fight.”

“Oh, he was fired. Apparently, he took sick, and the [Prince] has no room in his staff for anyone with frailties.”

It sounded like him. Yvlon had said they should meet Zirre and Beton, and Colth had told her they’d come up with a plan about the Traitorous Three tomorrow. Yisame might have to just buy them off the [Manager], Bnirm, but it would cost her favors.

That she was going to wasn’t apparently discussed beyond Pisces giving Yvlon strange looks. Nawal came in all sooty and announced that she was going to be forging and no one should get them all assassinated, and then the Heromakers returned and it was all quiet.

But she didn’t sleep. That image, that dream she’d had stayed in Yvlon’s mind. Cognita’s haunting words…

If I do it just right—I’ll watch them all die. But at least Ksmvr would be there. I couldn’t leave him alone.

Yvlon punched her pillows. There was no guarantee they’d make it a year, let alone thousands of years! Cognita just thought in different ways from mortals. This was a stupid train of thought; she might get killed tomorrow if she kept Yvlonning.

But am I afraid of becoming a woman of metal? Yes. Terribly. Can I quit?

…

She had a daydream about Berr. A memory.

Berr, her one and only master. He taught a lot of theory, which had surprised her. For being a [Berserker]-[Barbarian] helping her control her temper, he had been more sage wisdom.

Albeit delivered in his usual manner. After one particularly tough bout of sparring where he taught her hand-to-hand tricks, he flopped down onto the grass next to her and lay side-by-side as they panted and stared at the stars.

She had been conscious of his presence next to her. Yvlon Byres, as a chaste [Lady] and then adventurer, had been intimate with other men. But she had never been in the proximity of someone of the opposite gender in a non-intimate sense like this. Hugging Pisces or ruffling his hair for good luck or helping pick detritus out of Ksmvr’s shell was as close as it got.

Berr noticed, of course. He always did. He’d sat up and asked about it in his direct manner.

“Hrr. I have been thinking, Yvlon, yes? Tell me about your father. Did he ever do this?”

“What, teach me combat? No.”

Berr shook his head.

“No, I meant—this kind of thing. Teach you numbers. Read a book with you on his lap. Or spar, one supposes.”

Yvlon thought. And she’d shaken her head.

“No…I suppose once or twice he tested my swordplay, and he praised me for doing well. But my mother would read to us, and he’d listen, maybe. We were close. I used to jump in our hot springs with the family. That’s the last memory I have of us being together, Ysara, Ylawes, and I.”

“When was that?”

“…When I was eight?”

Berr hmmed.

“What about your brother, then? Did they ever fight?”

“What? Spar? With swords—”

“No, I mean, with fists. They never got drunk and fought? Or argued and swung at each other?”

Yvlon was mildly horrified at the notion. She shook her head.

“Ylawes would never! I can’t imagine him ever arguing with father. Mother once said he does, but not a—a real argument.”

“Hrr, what’s a real argument?”

“Swinging at each other—they’d never do that. Or even argue like Pisces and I can, or me and Ceria. Or me and Colth. Like, like—”

Real people? She bit back the word and talked around it.

“If they disagree, they’d talk it out civilly. And if it was a huge rift…well, father’s the [Lord] of House Byres. I know Ylawes argued with him over the siege of Liscor, but it was assuredly not physical.”

The old Gnoll nodded and stretched out his back.

“Hm. I see where your anger comes from. And his. I wonder if he’ll have to come here too.”

That irked her, and Yvlon turned.

“It’s culturally different, Berr. I think you’d respect that Humans can do things differently.”

“Oh, I can respect it. I just don’t in this case. Parents should be seen to be drunk and silly. Someone you can never touch is like…an idea. A perfect thing, and we aren’t. You should punch him the next time you two meet.”

She’d rolled her eyes at that. But then he’d insisted on treating her like a little girl.

“You need a childhood. Here. So high, so high!”

And he’d tossed her thirty feet straight up. Caught her on the way down. Did it again. Until she was laughing despite herself. Then came the theory. He sat, having a smoke from some herbal grass he’d rolled into a primitive cigarette. Mostly to try to blow smokerings like a child.

“This is not something you should share, Yvlon Byres. But it is a good lesson…eh, here it is. Did you know, before the Meeting of Tribes turned to war, that the Wild Wastes tribe was not sure what it would do? Chieftain Perale, he was split on heeding Shaman Theikha and Torishi Weatherfur or Chieftain Xherw.”

Yvlon sat up slightly.

“I’m glad he chose the right side.”

“Mm. Me as well. But he did not see which was the right side at the time. The Plain’s Eye tribe was respected. Xherw was trusted, and Doombringers were in our hearts as a thing to fear and mistrust. All for one child? All for an if that might divide Gnolls and bring the Doom of Albez upon us?”

“What changed his mind?”

Berr the Berserker offered the grass to her until she gingerly blew on it and coughed.

“Me. I wrote to him as he argued with the Honored Gnolls and leaders and told him that I thought the child should not die. You see, I was too far away to be present, so I sent a [Message]. I wrote that it had bothered me and weighed upon my mind that death should come to white fur just for the color of it. He told me he would heed my words, and I told him that if he stood with Plain’s Eye, I would challenge him. I ensured it would be said before the tribe, for all to hear. Outsiders do not know of it.”

Yvlon’s mouth opened. Gnolls didn’t always fight for the [Chieftain]’s title like Goblins. So that was more of just a plain threat than anything else.

“I’m—that was the correct thing to do, Berr.”

“Yes. It was. But that is not the point of this story, Yvlon. Do you know what Perale told me afterwards? He was angry.”

“I imagine he was. You gave him an ultimatum.”

Berr grinned.

“Yes, he asked me why I had done it publicly. He said, ‘could I not have been more discreet?’ Could I not weigh opinions rather than make mine the only one he would heed? And I told him no. He asked me why I had to push, and I told him what I tell you now: it is our responsibility to push.”

“You mean as [Warriors]?”

“No. As high-levels. Does he think Honored Deskie does not push in her way? She did to help Inkarr. We shape our tribes or cities or nations. Our choices matter.”

“Is that…right, Berr? To have all that power?”

He raised his bushy grey brows.

“Right? I do not know if it is right, Yvlon Byres. I only know it is true. Perale says all this all the time, much like your father or the voice in your head, I imagine. He says ‘do not fight those Drakes’ or ‘do not start a fight between our tribes over something so petty’. It is his role to say these things. But you know…if I listened to him, or that voice, nothing would change. Perhaps, sometimes, it is good not to change, but when it is time to push, I do. That is our obligation. Pretending we have none and that there is someone who is better to listen to, that we have no obligation to choose, is the worst thing of all.”

She nodded thoughtfully, thinking of the times she, Yvlon, had made a decision for her team.

“And if we make a mistake, we live with them, Berr?”

He bared his teeth, and there were gaps amidst the yellow canines.

“Exactly. I am a [Berserker]. I have made a million mistakes! Hah, maybe more wrong than right! But that is my wisdom for you. Don’t listen to your [Chieftain] except when he makes sense. Now, one last spar. Show me you won’t fall for the trap of a [Berserker]. First, I kick you in the stomach, then—aha, now you get mad—”

 

——

 

Yvlon awoke clutching her stomach, having kicked all her sheets off her. She sat up, blearily, and saw it was just before dawn.

“Thanks, Berr.”

She splashed some water on her face and slipped out of their rooms to harass the one person whose help she needed. Yvlon thought she’d been quiet, and certainly she could hear Ceria snoring from the hallway, but she’d forgotten Pisces was doubly alert in Chandrar.

She didn’t realize he was there until she sensed a presence and spun—he hastily dematerialized with a pair of [Spies]. They ran as Yvlon retracted the seeker-spikes her arms had emitted.

“What mischief are you up to now, Yvlon?”

“Just testing a theory, Pisces. Go back to sleep.”

The [Necromancer] fixed Yvlon with a long, level stare that made her shift and admire her metal foot, which was shaped like a Gnoll’s foot.

“Ceria and Colth would harass me for weeks if I let you go alone. I shall accompany you, even if it deprives us both of breakfast.”

“Our hero.”

He sniffed, and she smiled as he walked besides her. Pisces glanced at her face and murmured as they walked.

“I know you’re up to something.”

She jumped and gave him an innocent smile; he sniffed again.

“You may have Ceria fooled, but I recognized your behavior. Colth is, alas, still too new to pick up on it.”

“Ceria came to the slightly wrong conclusion thanks to her circlet. And I don’t have a plan, Pisces. Just the makings of one. You can help me test it, then I’ll know if…hello, Great Sage! Excuse me!”

Yvlon began hammering on the door to Great Sage Etrikah’s rooms, and Pisces winced. Yvlon kept banging as he stepped to one side—when the Fox Beastkin [Sage] opened the door, she had a wand aimed at Yvlon.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t murder you.”

“I need to use your workrooms. Pisces can help me, I think, so we won’t even bother you. But I need a private space and magic to test my theory on.”

“That still doesn’t answer the murder question.”

“You can’t murder me.”

The Great Sage of Nerrhavia’s Fallen opened another bloodshot eye and read more into that comment than just pure ire warranted. After a moment, she stepped aside.

“This had better be good. [Necromancer], tea.”

Pisces put on a kettle and poured tea as Yvlon outlined what she wanted. Etrikah just snorted.

“Adventurer Pisces can do that. It won’t be anything close to the barriers of the Coliseum of Monarchs. They’re old magic.”

“I just want to practice.”

Yvlon innocently smiled, so Etrikah directed her to a testing area where scorch marks and other residue clung to the reinforced chamber. Pisces waved one hand and created a very acceptable [Barrier of Light] spell.

“Not bad. I was told you only knew necromancy.”

“I’ve, ah, been learning some light-based magic thanks to my spellbook. [Wall of Bone] is superior, but this is a classic ‘barrier’ type spell. Yvlon?”

She punched it. The spray of light-shards made her smile. Then she waved at Pisces.

“I need another. That was just to see if I could break it with my fist.”

The [Necromancer] turned to Etrikah, and she was frying up sausages.

“Warriors. They treat us like we’re just walking spellbooks with mana pools. Don’t look at me. She’s your teammate.”

Yvlon had Pisces create a few more barriers for her to work on as he ate breakfast with Etrikah. Yvlon took a breath and activated her first Skill.

“[Aspect of Silver].”

She didn’t punch the next barriers. She just reached out…and her hand passed through each barrier, shattering them like cheap glass. Pisces glanced up, eyes widening, and Yvlon nodded.

“I thought so. Silver is a dispeller. Not enough to advertise in our arms from House Byres, but pure silver has some effects on magic, doesn’t it?”

“Some, but I wouldn’t carry around a silver mirror in a magical battle. Your Skill clearly amplifies that power. If you think you could withstand every spell Pisces or I could toss at you like that, it would be amusing for me to find out. Even so. What a freakish monster you are.”

Etrikah clarified when Yvlon glared at her.

“For us [Mages]. No one likes someone who can burst through magic like it’s cheap cantrips. The scariest thing for a [Mage] is a charging [Warrior] who can survive anything we throw at them. At least you can’t fly. I’d just [Teleport] you into the sky. Or [Blind] you.”

Yvlon wondered how she was supposed to deal with that. She shrugged and motioned to Pisces.

“More barriers.”

“Fm feating.”

He cast it anyways, and she glanced down at her fist. The right hand flexed as she adjusted the metal hand.

“I didn’t lose any metal hitting the barrier, you know. It doesn’t vaporize. At least, not if you punch it.”

Etrikah’s head rose from her breakfast, and Yvlon swung her hand at the barriers. Pisces’ sleepy, dopey gaze became as sharp as his rapier. After a few more tries, Yvlon sat down at the breakfast table and slid the entire rasher of sausages onto her plate. Etrikah threw up her hands.

She went to get more food for hungry adventurers. Pisces leaned over.

“You’re going to do something crazy.”

“Maybe. Are you going to tell on me?”

He thought about it.

“What are we, four? I…I am fully cognizant that your actions do not always bely a thoughtless belligerence, but a savage intelligence at times, Yvlon.”

“…Thank you?”

Pisces fiddled with his fork as he went on, staring at his plate.

“I mean this only to say that I have been impressed with your composure given recent events. Here we are in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, a superlative example of wealth and grandeur, and you—you keep your composure. You are, frankly, brave, if insanity is a mandatory component of that. And I? I froze up when we were greeted. I hesitate. I rather feel the imposter here.”

She blinked at him. What Pisces was couching in his fanciful language was a true worry. She smiled as she poked some of the sausage links and bit.

“Pisces. You are as silly as they say sometimes.”

“Who says?”

His brows crossed in paranoia, and she laughed at him. Yvlon patted his shoulder.

“Pisces, you drew a sword on the King of Destruction. You are one of the bravest people I know! Aside from Ksmvr, of course.”

He nodded.

“Well, naturally not Ksmvr. But do you mean it?”

He gazed at her, somehow still hungry for reassurance, despite the bell that hung at his waist, despite the man he should be able to see in the mirror. Yvlon swallowed and noticed Etrikah’s tail around the corner of the kitchen.

“I’m not being particularly brave in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. It’s just that, well, I’ve been more scared. When I was first in the Arena of Rust and I didn’t know where everyone was. Against the Adult Creler. This isn’t that scary except socially. But mostly, Pisces? I…I don’t care. That’s it.”

She stabbed her plate until it broke in half. Yvlon cursed.

“Tarnish it all. Let me explain.”

“By all means.”

Pisces found a teapot and helped her shove the shards of the plate inside. Yvlon half-smiled at him.

“I know some of it was me being oblivious, but I was willing to do my own thing because…I blame Mars.”

“A reasonable thing to do in all circumstances. But what, particularly, did she do?”

Yvlon flexed her arms, remembering her nonstop beatdown from Chandrar’s greatest [Warrior]. She shrugged.

“It wasn’t that she was rude or insane like other Named-ranks. She was actually pretty normal. Kind, even. But she just…was herself. She told me she’d kill me if I ever went against the King of Destruction. Still, Gazi or any of the Seven would say the same thing.”

“Death-General Losve was very insistent on that point.”

“Yes, but even the Death-General was less…confident than Mars was. Her chasing us for miles was pretty insecure.”

“…Insecure?”

Now, the [Necromancer] was struggling, but there was something in how Yvlon was talking that Pisces understood. He put the teapot back as Yvlon flexed her hands.

“Yes. Look at Flos himself. You drew that sword on him, and he was delighted. He might trample over someone, like how he broke Ceria’s circlet, but he did what he wanted. The same at Belchan, remember?”

“I’m not sure Mars or the King of Destruction are people to emulate…”

“Berr, then. Or Saliss. Or Erin herself, Pisces. They do what they think is right. Even if they’re wrong or stupid. They have…what’s the word?”

She hunted for it, and Pisces’ head rose. He had it, of course, the walking dictionary.

“Conviction?”

“Yes.”

The Silver Killer of Izril relaxed, relieved he had named the word at last. She turned to Pisces.

“That’s what I’m trying out. My own way. I know it causes problems, and I apologize. But I have been here before, Pisces. The Court of Silks could wrap us up, and I am not clever enough to beat them at their own game. You might not be, or Colth or even Ceria with her circlet. However, I think if I punch hard enough, I can get through a lot of problems.”

“Until the consequences arrive.”

He wasn’t saying ‘no’, though. Yvlon shrugged.

“That’s why I have metal arms. Let me see how far I can go, and back me up. I would have told you, I think, anyways. Do you want to stop me? Because you can, if you want to.”

He glanced down at his feet. Then up at Yvlon.

“I still maintain that I should like to trade some of my rationality for your bravery. But I do accept your logic.”

She snorted at that.

“I don’t care if I make myself look stupid. I care if we’re in danger, but I did this once. That’s why I’m not doing anything impressive. But you?”

The [Armsmistress] glanced up, then nodded at Pisces’ sword, reforged steel and bone.

“You can be as nervous as you want. When you find a reason to draw that sword, I won’t ever doubt your convictions. You’ll never run away.”

She smiled at him and knew they both remembered the wave of Crelers coming and a [Necromancer] wavering in the grass beyond the Bloodfields. His eyes grew distant, and then he reached out and touched her hand.

Pisces smiled and then sniffed just because it made her smile.

“Well, one tries to keep up with the insanity around here. I think I have some small inkling of your ideations. If what I posit is true…shall we?”

She raised her brows, amused and delighted as he made a show of brushing off his robes.

“[Cleanse]. Dead gods, do you lot not know that spell?”

Etrikah cursed as the two Horns of Hammerad strode for the door. She practically slammed it as Pisces bowed in front of her. But she peeked at them as they strolled down the palace.

“Not running to tell Ceria or Colth?”

Yvlon teased him, and Pisces the Scourge smiled.

“I rather think they’ll get in the way of your plan.”

Oh, they would. The Silver Killer walked down the steps, and her destination sat huge below the palace. It was a fine day. If they timed their steps just right, they could be there just in time for the morning exhibition. Manager Bnirm had planned a huge spectacle in ‘honor’ of the Silver Killer.

She didn’t wish to miss it.

 

——

 

As for Ceria Springwalker, she lay abed until Colth kicked the doors open. She had a wand trained on him in a heartbeat. He just stared at her, eyes bloodshot.

“Yvlon’s missing. So is Pisces. Elena and Delitandra’s group ran out searching for them.”

Ceria stared at him. Then she swore, and they ran around in a panic. Surely, if Pisces was with her—she wouldn’t—

They were going to kill her.

 

——

 

Elena Othonos actually caught Pisces and Yvlon in the Coliseum of Monarchs. It wasn’t hard to find them; the audience was staring at them from their seats, and one of the projections was just fixed on Yvlon Byres.

Manager Bnirm himself was next to the [Announcer]’s booth, smirking at Yvlon as a group of sacrificial criminals [Gladiators] and the Traitorous Three were lined up.

Today’s entertainment would be Lenxiol and the ‘loyalists’ of the arena versus the traitors and criminals and a host of monsters. Whoever slew the most of Chandrar’s varied threats won. Of course, both sides could snipe at each other.

From the way Vitte limped, she hadn’t had a healing potion. But Yvlon Byres’ face was a study in calm.

“There you are. I knew it. Colth’s going insane. What’re you doing?”

Pisces jerked a thumb at them.

“Ah, complications.”

“It’s fine. Elena, go and get Colth and Ceria.”

“Not if you’re going to do something crazy! I need to either be part of it or helping! Otherwise, what’s the point of me?”

Yvlon scowled at Pisces.

“This is what happens when we get followers. You make her go away.”

Pisces gingerly motioned at Elena.

“Shoo. Shoo, it’s dangerous.”

Delitandra imposed herself in front of him, and he backed up before he struck her bosom. She beamed at him and Yvlon, trying not to appear annoyed.

“As your sworn trainers and guides, our input would be invaluable in moments like these, Pisces, Yvlon. You are faced with a classic predicament: an ally held hostage. The Heromakers of Hraace train our charges for this!”

Pisces and Yvlon exchanged helpless glances. Yvlon gazed down at the floor. She could hear the [Announcer]’s voice shouting.

“The morning looks ripe for blood! The very skies are red, but the Silver Killer doesn’t seem to fear her beloved comrades facing the Champion of Monarchs himself! Perhaps she knows something we don’t? Oh, I see that Champion Lenxiol wishes for a word!”

The Stitch-man strode forwards, arms spread wide. There were sixty [Gladiators] present; there had been only twelve, but the moment he’d seen her, the [Manager] had ordered the entire stable of [Gladiators] to show themselves. Sixty versus twenty criminals and three wounded [Gladiators].

“Silver Killer. It pains me, all these little tricks. We are warriors. I only wish we had met in earnest, but alas, Manager Bnirm doesn’t wish either of us to be wounded in true combat.”

There were boos as he threw the [Manager] under the wagon and a warning scowl from the Stitch-man, but Lenxiol was basking in the attention.

“I hope not to do great damage to your friends, but with such odds, how can one such as I hold back? Do you have an appeal or counteroffer to the morning’s tragedy, Silver Killer?”

This time, they were ready for her, so a speaking stone on a little satin pillow came for her. Yvlon Byres seized it and saw Vitte, Thexca, and Mectail gazing up at her.

Was Vitte trying to mouth at her to ‘get lost’? Thexca was tilting her head back and forth, confused, and Mectail? He just bowed to her, saluting her with that clasped pair of fists. She bowed to him, then spoke.

Yvlon rested her foot on the edge of the balcony she stood on, and then it came back to her. The [Gladiator]’s refrain. Her hair blew in the wind; she glared at Delitandra, who was fanning a breeze up with her cohort.

“Champion of Monarchs. Good morning. My name is Yvlon Byres. Some may call me the ‘Silver Killer of Izril’, but I assure you, the truth is I’m hardly so dangerous. I got my start in the Arena of Rust in Nerrhavia’s Fallen…”

His face went slack, then annoyed as laughter and cheering sprang up around the coliseum. Pisces covered a smile, and Yvlon went on, the hint of a smile on her own face.

“…and you saw what I did to the Champion of Rust. The last time I was here, you and I never crossed because I had my team to find. This time, you have threatened my friends, who did nothing wrong but stand by my side. Except for Vitte—she wasn’t even at Pomle!”

She pointed down at the Fox Beastkin dramatically, and the [Gladiator] spread her hands.

“What the hell.”

Yvlon continued, her eyes locked on the Champion of Monarchs.

“I do not respect Manager Bnirm’s ploys, Champion Lenxiol. But nor do I respect you. If you had any courage, you would have challenged me yesterday. Instead, you need sixty [Gladiators] for backup against a bunch of captive [Gladiators] and three wounded veterans. You are a coward. Once again, I challenge you.”

Then there was an oooh—and silence. Lenxiol’s eyes were narrow slits of murder now. Slowly, he glanced up at Bnirm; the [Manager] stuck his thumb down expressively.

“I’m afraid you do not decide matters, Silver Killer. Not even Queen Yisame can dictate the will of the Coliseum of Monarchs.”

Yvlon Byres nodded. She clenched the speaking stone tight in her grip. This had better work…she had practiced, she had made plans. Now? She searched for Pisces, but he had vanished. Yvlon smiled. Then she pointed dramatically.

“In that case, so be it. If you are too cowardly to fight me alone, then I don’t challenge you, Lenxiol. I challenge you.”

She was pointing at Manager Bnirm. To his credit, he played off the shock with an exaggerated gasp. Like this was part of the script.

She noticed the number of guards around him had sextupled in the last few minutes. They were all armed, ready. In case someone should try to charge at him—no fools, these. She grinned.

“I challenge the Coliseum of Monarchs. Flee me or die.”

She didn’t have any good line prepared, so she just ended with that. Her metal hands crushed the speaking stone to dust, and then she tensed.

“Wait, she’s not going to—Yvlon, no, no!”

Elena realized what she was doing, and Delitandra leapt, but too late. Yvlon launched herself through the air a second time, straight into the center of the coliseum.

Over upturned heads, open mouths. Even the Champion of Monarchs was open-mouthed in that moment of the air rushing around her, time crawling by. Then she saw his mouth close, and he covered his eyes and shook his head.

The barriers. Yvlon saw them very faintly glowing in the morning air. Her heart was in her chest as she fell, a silver meteor. Past the Truestone Golem sitting next to the empty seat she’d reserved. Yvlon’s head turned, and she grinned as she fell.

Then she said—

“[Aspect of Silver].”

Her body changed to that beautiful, reflective metal, and for a moment, the Truestone Golem saw a vision of the future. The woman of metal was laughing as she fell, hair streaming behind her.

She hit the barriers of the Coliseum of Monarchs—

—and plunged straight through. Every ancient shield vanished without a sound, the reinforced, layered magic blinking out of existence.

Sirens began to scream alarms. Directing the audience to flee, but it was too late. She landed in a plume of dust, and when she stood, the Silver Killer charged. Screaming at the gladiators of the Coliseum of Monarchs and the frozen Champion of Monarchs.

One versus everyone. The Silver Killer of Izril versus everything.

She was laughing.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Woof, editing and posting an entire chapter by Tuesday was harder than I thought. I can’t believe I used to do two of these a week.

…Anyways, here’s a bigger chapter! Expect the ending on Saturday; I forgot I had split it up due to the length when I wrote it, but as I wrote on stream, it’s a perfect cliffhanger.

No need to thank me. Anyways, is it just me or is Christmas coming up too fast? I need to do all kinds of stuff in the real world that keeps getting in my way. Presents, family, oh my.

Not that it’s a bad thing, but the writing is an all-consuming beast, and it must be fed! I hope you’re enjoying my backlog; I am burning through a bit of it, especially since editing is taking longer than I expect. But that’s a good thing! I have felt like I’ve written well these last few months. That’s probably due to…a good schedule? Motivation? Healthy breaks?

Writing comes in waves at times when you’re feeling it or in a bit of a slump. Right now feels like I’m on the ups, so hoping it stays that way. Either way, the solution is more writing. Or more cowbell. Hope you enjoy, and I dunno how readers get, uh, reading motivation. But I’m sure you have your processes that have gotten you this far. Hope you’re enjoying the Horns and one more Chandrar chapter until I think we pivot to a new area! My backlog…hm…we’ll see!

 

 

Landshark, New Lands Friend, Adventurers Exploring and more by Brack!

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

 

Nombernaught by Guliver!

 

Landshark by BrazyCanana!

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

 

New Lands Monsters by AVI!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/0avi0

 

Pekona Fighting by olento!

 

Persua by Yura!

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

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

 

Box Maid by Gridcube!

 

Magical Fish Swarm by Ainz!

 

Future Generations of the New Lands by LeChatDemon!

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

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

 

Flag Throwing by Snaapdragon!

 

Romance by Karu!

 

Rianchi and Dyeda by Dalin!

 

Poke Duo by Zara Frey!

 

Romance and Landshark by katiemaeve!

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

 

Romance by Chalyon!

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

 

---

Previous Chapter Next Chapter