It had been seventeen years, she decided. Seventeen years, and they were long years. A lifetime. Two, really. Which meant she had lived at least three lives so far.

No one living knew her. She was a ghost, in a way. People looked at her and saw something. A pleasing configuration of skin and bone, even if it was green. A monster. Spellcaster. Hob. Goblin.

Ulvama. But ‘Ulvama the Hobgoblin’ was just her last life. Before that, she had just been ‘Ulvama the [Shaman]’, a Goblin who had not been so tall or powerful or important.

And before that, she had been a masked Goblin in the volcanic tribe, chosen for being so smart and full of potential that she had been allowed to enter the great Witch Anazurhe’s tribe.

Lives. Each one had been different. A young Goblin learning magic from Goblins who spoke of an island, a [Witch] who bowed to no one. A Goblin waving a wand and running around with a mask over her face until the day she strayed too far and found out the world beyond their volcanic home was not so kind to Goblins.

Not at all.

Then a Goblin who learned to fear Humans. Someone who suffered and relied on the terrible, cowardly ruler of the mountain, Tremborag, and scrapped and fought for power. A Hobgoblin who did or watched terrible…terrible things happen and ignored it because she lied to herself it was vengeance, it was how things happened, and because she couldn’t change anything.

That life had come crashing down as well. That terrible archer, flames sweeping her home and unravelling the work of a lifetime in hours. A march unto death until they fought in a muddy field, Goblins killing each other for someone else’s plans.

She had not died there, of course. Merely become captive and survived. But she had not been the same Ulvama as before. She’d tried, but a new one had stepped through that door.

Tribeless. Magicless. Suspicious and old and alone.

Then, she had known no one living remembered her. Oh, Rags had met one Ulvama. Anazurhe, if she remembered the young [Shaman], would have recalled another. But no one knew Ulvama. Only a few Goblins had seen her every life, and the two that she had loved and hated, each in their own way, had left.

Pyrite, the thoughtful, aggravating genius who recognized everything but his own potential. The only Goblin who had ever won Greydath’s friendship she had met. And…Tremborag, the Goblin who would have rather been [King] than Goblin King. Who, in his own way, understood the truth of their species, but refused to do anything more than hide away.

They were gone, and the weary [Shaman] had rested at the inn, wondering who she would become in her third life. She had not expected her life to begin by having to take care of a Gnoll child nor that she would remain in the inn so long.

Or the [Innkeeper]. Much could be said of how Ulvama viewed the strange woman who was both annoying and sympathetic. Erin Solstice had taken burdens upon her that Ulvama had never considered. Terrible ones put down by destiny and dead souls, and she had picked them up, and so…the Hobgoblin had witnessed something rare.

Another person who changed lives. On the days leading up to the Winter Solstice, the merry [Innkeeper] had begun shedding who she was, until that long night.

Then, she had woken up on that ship in chains and darkness and sailed her way through a war. When the skies fell, she had said goodbye to the woman who lived around Liscor and merely ran an inn.

Was she on her third life? Most likely, as Ulvama reckoned such things. It was not a Goblin idea, living ‘lives’. Just how Ulvama thought of the world. From what she had been told of Erin, the [Innkeeper]’s story, she had lived three lives, just like Ulvama.

Changing lives was no small thing. It was trauma and rebirth. Most lived only one or two lives at most. To change a life in moments was always some great act, whether horrible or good. Mostly, people changed slowly.

Like…parents. A Goblin warrior strutted around, brash and bold, proclaiming they’d live forever. They fought, they watched friends die, they bled and recovered from wounds. Lost teeth like fights. Levelled and lived and probably fucked. Sex being quite normal for someone who thought they’d live for a year at most, if they ever thought of it at all.

But one day, perhaps, they found someone who they didn’t stray away from. Or they found a little Goblin being born that was theirs. Or simply took an injury that meant they were no longer that invincible warrior. They grew tired of fighting and became…another Goblin.

A parent, a bitter, wounded veteran trying to keep younger Goblins alive. A leader.

Two lives. Maybe three, if they changed again, but mostly, it was two.

Every Earther had lived at least two lives already. Erin, before she had come to this world, had been a child of a safe land. Safer by comparison, if nothing else. Whatever she had been—Ulvama wondered how hard she’d tried to cling to who she was.

Her values, her sense of how things should be, her convictions—she’d broken pieces of herself off in Liscor. Exposed harsh edges and cracks in her soul. They told stories of how she had first been swindled by a certain Drake [Shopkeeper], then come back to win a game of chess.

The Goblins told stories of how she had killed a Chieftain in single combat. Ulvama listened to the stories and what was unsaid, and she knew what the Chieftain had tried to do to Erin.

From the remains of one life, the second Erin arose and found her edges were sharp in places, stronger than she knew. She had lived well, but she had not changed lives.

Not even when her Redfangs had died. Surely it had hurt her. Even now, their statues stood in her garden. She carried the dead like flames, but she had still been that same Erin. Until the moment she too died.

Literally died; a rarity, that. Ulvama had never heard of a non-Antinium person dying and coming back to life in this age, but Erin had done it. And thus had begun her third life. But that winter, when she awoke?

That had been her fighting her new life. The beach, the silly [Innkeeper] rolling around in her wheelchair, annoying Ulvama to no end—that had been the young woman resisting the moment she had known would come. Begging for an hour’s reprieve, a month’s grace, until she faced the Goddess of Death herself. Though she had not known it, that had not been the hour when she let her past life go.

No…that moment had probably been in the cells of The Naga’s Den. Or—or perhaps in the hour thereafter, when she turned that ship north to save a single life at any cost. And Ulvama had been there, because she had thought someone had to be, for Erin Solstice.

This third life they now led, these two women, was a strange one. Frightening and harsh. But not always bad. For once, in the care of the smallest people in the world, the ills they suffered seemed balanced.

Lemoste-Under-Cliffs. Some time had passed since Erin and Ulvama had stopped here with Eurise and the company from Dretonamis. The city was still rebuilding, shoring up its defenses, and soon they would leave.

Soon, on another adventure, but something strange happened to Ulvama here. Something she had not asked for nor dreamed of. It took her a long time to realize what was going on so surreal was the feeling.

But for the first time in seventeen years…Ulvama realized she felt safe.

Not just in a room where she had at least one emergency exit and could bar the door. Not just in an inn where she was sure someone would come if she screamed.

Safe.

Lemoste was no city of Izril. It was not Drake or Human. It did not…think of Goblins. At all. Goblins weren’t monsters to Fraerlings. They weren’t anything other than a kind of Tallfolk. If they were a threat, they provoked no feelings in Fraerlings other than pure curiosity and wariness for anyone odd.

In fact, more than once, a Fraerling had mistaken Ulvama for one of their kind with a unique illusion or skin dye! It was that realization, as she began to wander the city after a certain [Innkeeper] had broken the ice with her concert, that made Ulvama remember her previous lives.

Or maybe they’d always been there. Just…waiting until she thought she was safe and allowed to not always be glancing over her shoulder.

She didn’t know. But certainly, a change came over Ulvama that her companions noticed.

——

There was a quirk the Hobgoblin had. Which was that she refused to go out into Lemoste alone. Naturally, Matha was only too willing to go with Ulvama, but Erin would then boot her in the behind and tell her to go help build houses.

Then Ulvama, realizing that to invite one was to get the other tagging along, promptly would go over and invite her companions of choice for an outing.

Namely, the Battle Hamster or Bowom. Since Eurise and the others were often hunting either ants or local animals for food, they were the only two who could navigate Lemoste with her—the beetle was far too big and being used to haul things around, anyways.

The Battle Hamster would oblige one out of every ten times, and mostly to get food. Which meant that Bowom was often the one strolling around with her. If he was busy, Ulvama would pull a face, and Erin and Matha would dash over.

It worked out that she spent good time in everyone’s company, but more than once, the [Mad Doctor] was given a death-glare by Matha and various hand-gestures, which he’d cheerfully return. Erin, for her part, would complain about not being invited…unless she realized Ulvama was going window-shopping; in which case, she’d decide to make some magical food or help somewhere else.

The Hobgoblin could wander through a commercial district in Lemoste for hours. Even with all the shops closed, Ulvama would peer into windows or ask people passing by what was on sale nonstop.

“It’s not weird. Shoo! Go bother Matha.”

She chased Erin off as the [Innkeeper] complained.

“C’mon, Ulvama, let’s do something fun like use my color-Skills or, I dunno, cook.”

“Cooking is for people who make food.”

Ulvama sniffed as she grabbed Bowom’s arm. The [Mad Doctor] waved at Erin, appearing only slightly harassed as she towed him off. Erin waited.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t.”

Whereupon Ulvama glued herself to a window where various-sized knives were on sale until the bemused shopkeeper invited her in.

“You like knives, Miss Goblin?”

She was a known sight in Lemoste, of course, and Ulvama peered at the knives.

“I like these knives. Why have all these different types?”

“To cut better. That one’s a steak knife, that one’s a deboning knife, that one’s a skinning knife, that one’s a carapace cutter—see how thick it is? Want to try one? I’ve got to deliver a bunch for the butchering efforts.”

The Fraerling was packing knives into cases, padding each one and wrapping them—but they were going to people mass-butchering things Eurise and the [Hunters] killed. From the way he placed a display knife in the box, Ulvama knew it was valuable. She peered at the knife, then him.

“This one is very good. You could put another in, maybe?”

Wistfully, the Fraerling man studied the handle, which was some pearlish inlay that turned out to be a bug’s chitin mixed with a salamander hide wrap. It complemented the slightly purplish metal of the blade, which had a wavy forging line and, to Ulvama, was unto a [Blademaster]’s blade, only in knife-form.

But he packed it up anyways, shaking his head.

“It’s a fine, fine knife. A masterpiece I got cheaply and never found the right person to sell to. This isn’t the time to hold onto it. It’ll cut finer than most knives. Let a [Butcher] or [Cook] use it.”

Ulvama peered at the blade before the [Shopkeeper] slid the lid of the box closed, then she inspected him. Bowom stopped yawning and tapping his roach’s leg on the floor as he inspected some knives he reckoned might be useful in surgical matters. He glanced at Ulvama as she bit her lip—but she’d been here long enough that her shyness was gone.

“You didn’t make it?”

“Nope. I’ve dabbled, but I’m no crafter. I’m a [Shopkeeper]. Classic.”

Classic…unless you knew that this was a Fraerling city. As in—Ulvama’s brows wrinkled up.

“How do you shopkeep? Fraerlings don’t have money for lots of stuff.”

Not like other species. Even Goblins had a hierarchy of ‘Chieftain gets what they want’, but Fraerlings were a post-scarcity society. The [Shopkeeper] winked at Ulvama.

“I got my class by being good at buying and selling. Usually not currencies; they go in and out of fashion. You trade favors and goods. Build up relationships. This was from a fellow I’d known for twenty years. I got the blade off him, and that was a trick.”

“Why be a [Shopkeeper] in a Fraerling city?”

Ulvama lifted one of the knife-boxes the man was taking, and surprised, he smiled. Both used their Bags of Holding, so it sort of made the gesture meaningless, but the Hobgoblin still walked with him as they chatted. The Fraerling’s eyes lit up, and he adjusted the dapper vest he wore, a twinkle entering his eyes. Behind them, Bowom stole a knife.

“What’s not to love, Miss Goblin? I always thought capitalism was fascinatingly fun. Accumulate wealth, get more, spend it to get…I set out as a young Fraerling with no real talents, which is a pain in a city like this, let me tell you. Now? I’ve got enough to have an Orichalcum knife in my displays.”

He tapped the side of his nose as he casually flipped another knife out of a display, then hurled it over one shoulder. It caught Bowom’s sleeve and pinned him to the wall.

“That costs something, friend. Put my knife back unless you’re helping prepare food. Now, Miss Goblin, we’re just heading down to the ground floor…I can take the boxes unless you mind the walk.”

“I want to walk, please. What does Orichalcum do?”

That was what fascinated Ulvama. Not the knives alone; it was the blade that had caught her eye, and the [Shopkeeper]’s story. The thing was, you could always find a moment of fascination in a city. Erin would have been bored of finding out there were so many knives, but she would have probably grown interested the moment the [Shopkeeper] revealed his class and rationale.

Now their roles were reversed; it was the [Shaman] who was endlessly talkative with the Fraerling, because she had nothing to fear from him. He was quite pleased to discuss haggling with her, and she was an expert bully and negotiator in her own right.

“The key, in my experience, is not to let your class dictate your actions. I had a moment of panic this morning when I thought about giving my knives away for free. Then I looked myself in the eyes, and I said, ‘Thist, what are you doing?’ Is a knife worth anything right now?”

“Ah, so you wouldn’t mind if I took—”

Ulvama waved a hand at Bowom to shut up. She began to ask about the Orichalcum thing, and Thist the [Shopkeeper] showed her the knife again.

“It’s all about magic with Orichalcum. Partly why this never sold and was such a good showpiece; I never got it enchanted. It collects magic. Look at the shine a [Light] spell has on the metal. You can’t get that from mithril or Adamantium. One’s light, the other’s nigh unbreakable. But with knives? Most are going to cut what you want, even steel. This is beautiful.”

In fact, Thist appreciated Ulvama’s talk and walk with him so much that when they dropped the knives off, he offered her the Orichalcum knife. Her eyes grew wide, and her ears visibly rose.

“You’re giving that to her? What about me?”

Bowom complained, and Thist gave him a cool look.

“Giving it to our only Goblin guest ever is a good story for the store. I’ll have an [Artist] do up a picture of her, maybe. Besides, a [Shaman] could use a blade like this, and it hurts my heart less. Giving Bowom the Doctor a blade for free…no.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me!”

Bowom grew markedly less talkative suddenly, but Ulvama had to thank Thist. She shyly gave him a charm she’d made up for good dreams, then continued on her way. Getting free stuff wasn’t always the reason she wandered the city.

But it was certainly nice.

The second thing that Ulvama did was perhaps less endearing. After her heartfelt, knowledgeable conversation with Thist, she passed by a store selling confections. Fraerling-style. You’d think that would mean less sugar given how it was a rare commodity, but there were plenty of just as sweet alternatives, everything from bug nectar baked into tarts to globules of melted nali-sticks spun into various shapes to ground-down honey powder.

Part of the reason why Erin wasn’t Ulvama’s #1 companion for this kind of trip was because the [Innkeeper] refused to eat sweets these days, but Ulvama just sighed as she pressed her face to the glass along with several children.

“Oh. Oh, it’s so tasty-looking.”

Bowom sighed again as Ulvama gazed through the window.

“Someone should see what it tastes like. Just in case.”

“Far be it from me to deter our routine, but in case of what, exactly?”

He was already checking his belt pouch for some coins that Lemoste’s citizens liked to use as play-money. Ulvama was opening the door.

“In case it tastes like I hope!”

——

Not a shop, bakery, butcher, or restaurant could pass by Ulvama before she would suggest ‘someone’ try the food there. She was a glutton with at least two stomachs, and Bowom, as someone who’d had two stomachs, was amazed how she could pack it in.

The owners and the [Cooks] of the shops made it worse; they were endlessly amused by the sight of the Hobgoblin eating with clear delight, so they fed her.

“Keep it up and you’re going to be too full for dinner, which will annoy our [Innkeeper].”

Bowom predicted with the powers of a [Prophet], but Ulvama was too happy to stop. She was only halted from entering another café when a little child ran up to her.

“Miss Goblin, Miss Goblin. Boo!”

They hid their face, then made a scary face, shouting and scrunching up their features. Ulvama developed a delighted expression, glanced around to see an amused mother, and then hid her face.

“That not scary. This scary. Blergh!”

She used an illusion, and the resulting mask of toothy, warty horrors sent the child screaming and running for their mother. Ulvama beamed—after she’d made sure she hadn’t traumatized the child.

“You like children that much?”

“Eh. These ones cute. Goblin children are too much work.”

That was it, Bowom decided, as he observed the [Shaman] who was so little like the books he’d read. She was on vacation. She wasn’t the [Shaman] caring for a tribe. She was allowed to enjoy things without worrying for anyone except Erin.

And, perhaps, the books he’d read had been too preoccupied with the ‘Goblin menace’ to acknowledge their humanity, despite an understanding of their intelligence.

“Bah, what do books know? They’re only what’s written down, and anyone can do that.”

The [Doctor] was feeling at his belly, wondering if he could empty his stomach out so he could get more into the snack-expedition, when someone called his name.

He ducked on principle. Ulvama turned, but someone didn’t try to brain Bowom with a brick. It wouldn’t have been the first time, either. The [Mad Doctor] was known in Lemoste, though he’d not been here in over a decade, and he was not well liked. In fact, Ulvama got the impression that but for her and the disaster making his talents useful, most people would have run him out of the city already.

However, the [Healer] coming their way, who worked at the Fraerlings’ busy version of a hospital, wouldn’t have run Bowom off. No, Ulvama thought she would have killed Bowom outright. Yet she was approaching, and someone was walking with her.

Someone…tall.

Most Fraerlings were six inches tall, varying around that height, but the cloaked figure half-leaning on the [Healer] was eight inches tall. A veritable giant, and thin. And…something was wrong with their face, but they were hooded, and the moment Bowom turned, he froze up.

“Ah. Er, Ulvama. I might have to cut our trip short. I think…”

He was searching around for somewhere to run, and Ulvama wasn’t sure if she should help him or not, when the person the [Healer] was supporting looked up. She heard a very, very faint voice as the mother and child hurried away suddenly and the street cleared.

“Doctor. Doctor, they told me you’d come.”

Bowom shuffled his roach’s foot as the [Healer] halted, glaring at him, and Ulvama stared at the strange Fraerling’s legs. They shuffled very slowly under a long, obscuring dress, but her legs seemed to articulate at a waist set far too low. It would have meant her midsection was longer than her legs. And her limbs under the cloth…

“Mad Doctor Bowom, I insisted on keeping you away, but I was overruled. I trust you will behave with decorum?”

The [Healer], Restorer Ginthe, snapped, and Bowom didn’t respond. He just peered up at the woman’s face. She was quite attractive, Ulvama thought, but something made the Goblin viscerally uneasy until she placed it.

The head doesn’t seem right. Neither does the neck—

“Mieve. How are you doing? Er, you’re looking quite well. Very mobile.”

Ulvama was feeling that sensation on her back, a crawling, an unease, suddenly. Like the confines of The Naga’s Den. Had he—? Was he—?

She shot a glance at the [Healer], but the woman didn’t respond. Just glared, and Mieve…smiled.

“Very mobile, Doctor. I don’t walk often. I scare people. But I was glad…I moved around vigorously when the ants came.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Bowom was glancing at her robes, rubbing his six-fingered hands on his coat. He was glancing everywhere but at Mieve’s face.

“They tell me I saved many lives, Doctor. Don’t look so guilty, please.”

“Who, me? Not at all, not at all. So there’s no rejection symptoms occuring? How’s the old spine holding up?”

“It hurts now and then.”

“Ah, see, that’s the lack of chemistry between spine and flesh. Painkillers take care of it, I trust? I never could get the spines just right. They secrete so much. Crelers, well, they don’t have the same body structure, but that would have been a real landmark surgery. But they’d, well…not a long lifespan with them. It would have been even more impressive, mind you.”

Mieve was the only one who laughed. She drifted closer and moved her clothing slightly. Ulvama didn’t recoil; that would have been rude, but Bowom sighed.

“Ah. Rejection in your legs. I could prescribe—”

“It’s just overwork. She’s fine. If she needs anything, it will be nothing you prescribe, Bowom.”

Healer Ginthe interposed herself between them protectively, and Mieve bent down, pushing the Fraerling [Healer] aside with—Ulvama counted the articulation points on the arm. After four, she stopped.

“I’m fine, Doctor. I just wanted to see you. So you don’t worry. Are you still operating?”

“Not…right now. Just a few legs and hands, you know.”

Bowom’s cheeks twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. The Fraerling patient peered at Ulvama, then past him.

“I hope you never have to help someone like me, Doctor. But I know you can. Please don’t look so guilty. I miss your laughter.”

Then she grimaced. Rubbed at her legs, and Ulvama saw the [Healer] take her arm.

“We should go, Mieve.”

The patient nodded and turned. She held Bowom’s hand once as he murmured to her, gazing up at her, and then she drew the cloak around herself. She turned and shuffled backwards. And Ulvama?

She waited until they were alone before turning to Bowom. He stood there, staring after his patient, and murmured.

“If you’re going to throw something or stab, the spine is an excellent place, you know. Base-of-neck. Some monsters actually root themselves there to hijack a body. Extraction is exceptionally traumatic; I’ve never managed it without paralysis. But I was never good at putting things back together the same way.”

He kicked a stone on the ground. Ulvama peered at him, and now she was alert. But she did wait, assessing everything about him. How he breathed, how he looked…

“I think that if you had done something terrible to her, Lemoste wouldn’t have let you go. I think that if you did the worst things I can think of, Eurise would have pulled your head off.”

Bowom did smile at that.

“True. A highly ethical fellow, just like Zinni. You know, I’ve wondered if I could make myself survive that. Mieve…I don’t think I could put regular legs back on her, even now. The rejection, you see—”

“I saw.”

Ulvama’s voice was flat. There wasn’t enough of Mieve to restore to her Fraerling self. The Goblin waited, and Bowom brushed at his coat again. Then he smiled at her, and the madness in his eyes was banked. Just a normal man, right now, speaking with the class of a [Mad Doctor].

“That’s the problem, you know. You perform an operation on a patient. You do the old trick with a Jar of Lightning, put together your best body parts. Get a damn good laugh going when they sit back up, and then leg it before the mob can grab the torches. You’re not supposed to meet them again.”

She poked him in the side, but gently.

“Was that what happened? Did you bring her back to life?”

They began walking; people were staring at him, with knowledge, and Bowom strode along, kicking at bits of rubble.

“Hm? Oh, no, not her. Erin has some lovely stories about contemporaries in her world…I never got into the old ‘revive from death’ bit. I suppose I needed a love of my life to really get the juices flowing there. Living is fine with me.”

They walked on for a while, and Ulvama looked over her shoulder.

“Did she…ask for that?”

“That specifically? No. I’m proud to say that was some of my finest work. Real grab-bag of ideas that paid off, you know. Any parts at hand combined with inspiration. She…shouldn’t be alive. Medical miracle. I didn’t give her a year, and it’s been, what? Thirteen?”

Bowom counted on his fingers absently, then gave up.

“It’s not the kind of thing you ask for, Ulvama. It’s the scenario where you ask a darling young woman on the slab how she’d like to go. Fighting? Anesthesia? Or let me do my work?”

Ulvama shivered again.

“Fighting you?”

Another pause, and Bowom exhaled.

“No, not me. I daresay she would have been rather effective against those ants. I forgot she’d be—well, I thought after so many years, she wouldn’t have managed to—you know, there’s a comforting thing. If she really wanted to, she could run down and settle the score. It’s a beautiful moment when she runs, you know. From my perspective.”

He came to a railing over the city and stared out across it. Ulvama had lost her appetite for the snacks she’d bought and stood there with him. She patted him on the back after a moment.

“Silly [Doctor]. Scary madmen shouldn’t appear so guilty.”

He did laugh, then, a broken, crunchy-sounding laugh like falling glass. Then he winked at her.

“Well, I never figured out the brain-stuff either. Mostly just replacements and connections for nerves. None of that ‘where do I poke to turn you into a [Singer]’ nonsense.”

The Hobgoblin would have left it at that, but in her experience, people tended to want to say the rest. So she waited as the wind blew over them, and Bowom muttered.

“I was doing a damn fine job descending into the depths of my class. Another few levels, just a few, and I would have found out exactly how far the stairs led. The problem wasn’t the drop. It was doing the good thing. Turns out a madman’s act committed to noble cause still looks crazy.”

Ulvama nodded.

“I did very bad things in Dwarfhalls Rest too. Terrible things by doing nothing.”

Bowom found a waterflask and saluted her with it. He took a chug, then passed it to her.

“Your lovely [Innkeeper] was so heartbroken over her first torture. This is why they need a few veterans like us.”

She sniffed the flask, then drank and grinned at him. And that was her day in Lemoste-Under-Cliffs. Not bad, by far. Revealing. Meaningful, and she knew…

She knew their journey had to continue. For ill and good, as they found it, Erin changed things. Sometimes, it was a relief. This [Mad Doctor] had also lived two lives, she decided, at least two.

But was he onto a third, now? Ulvama realized Bowom would not be going back to Dretonamis, not ever. Nor would he stay in Lemoste. He was with them, but was it a new life?

Or an old one?

——

Erin was royally annoyed that Ulvama and Bowom didn’t have much of an appetite for the food she’d made for dinner that night. She kept feeding their portions to the Battle Hamster until she noticed how quiet Bowom was. Then she pulled Ulvama aside.

“What’s with Bowom?”

“We met one of his patients in the city.”

“Oh. Like—wait. What kinda patient?”

Erin developed much the same expression as the [Healer] and everyone else. Ulvama thought about it as she munched on some decently-tasty aphid stew. Erin had even put some spices in it, just like Ulvama kept bullying her about.

“Looked like…he made a living weapon out of monster parts. Only, she kept living after she killed something bad. Way longer than he thought.”

“He made—? Like, against her will? I didn’t think he was a bad guy.”

Erin inhaled and glanced at Bowom, who was giving them a knowing look as he stitched some fingers together. Ulvama smiled at him and whispered to Erin.

“Not against her will. I think it was like the gift of A’ctelios Salash in the ship cells.”

“Oh.”

Erin stood there, a troubled expression on her face. Ulvama took another bite of soup. And that was the [Innkeeper] for you. All morality and, well, bright goodness. Like flames.

Ulvama had already figured out enough. She trusted Bowom as far as she could throw him. Time would reveal the rest. She couldn’t be a judge. That was for someone who didn’t have guilt in a mirror. The Hobgoblin just wished she could figure out more than just bits and pieces of Erin’s personality. The [Innkeeper] confused her in ways few other people did.

——

What was Erin Solstice doing while Ulvama spent her time investigating Lemoste? Well, kickstarting her musical career as a top-selling musician.

Not by choice, you understand. It just turned out that when you performed an Earth-original song to a Fraerling city with a new style of instrumentation and music, they didn’t just tip their hats, say, ‘cheerio, good show’, and leave it at that.

That was how Erin found herself singing to a die-hard audience day-after-day with Matha. In fairness, the Vision of the city and the entire Architect council had asked her to do it; they credited her with raising morale and considered her act a function just as important as Eurise’s queen-hunting.

Being respected by any city’s governing body was so novel that Erin hadn’t the heart to turn them down. But the downside, of course, was Matha.

The lead guitarist and newly-minted [Punk] annoyed Erin. It would have been easier if she was just an annoying, reformed [Raider], but they discovered that even without Erin’s [Boon of the Guest], Matha really could play on the guitar.

Erin wanted to believe it wasn’t ‘good’ music yet and that Matha was only shredding as well as an amateur, but with proper accompaniment and enthusiasm, even an amateur band could make any cover good.

…And they had a band. It felt like half the Fraerlings under thirty, and a quarter of the Fraerlings above thirty, had volunteered for tryouts. Erin had six backup bass players, eight drummers, and a bunch more Fraerlings starting their own bands for fun. The Architects had mandated that everyone had to work, but once you’d contributed to the rebuilding effort, many would flock to her band and beg to get a copy of the latest sheet music or try the newest enchantments meant to mimic the sounds of an electric guitar or piano.

The sheet music was where Matha was useful. Erin couldn’t write it, but the former-[Raider] would laboriously figure out the notes from Erin and then make copies.

Again, this wouldn’t have been bad. There was lots of drama, naturally. Bands starting and breaking up, Fraerlings vying for the ‘top spot’ of the bands who got to perform nightly with Erin’s band or in her group. Funny stuff, too, not just petty.

Like…imagine being some cool, fifteen year-old [Musician] who could play the guitar. Elohi had taken to the new musical genres and earned her [Rock Bassist] class within two days of the performance. Solid. Nice music Skills.

Then imagine what happens when Elohi’s mother shows up, and it turns out she and her husband can outplay their daughter. That they, in fact, have the true spirit of rock n’ roll in their blood and outlevel their outraged, youthful daughter with their band Fallin’ Gnomes.

Ulvama had nearly laughed a kidney out when Erin had told her about that. Most Fraerlings were genuinely cool. Erin had trouble quantifying it until she’d explained to a bemused Eurise what she meant while watching Fallin’ Gnomes performing.

“It’s like you guys don’t get old, you know?”

He pointed silently at his white hair, and Erin waved a hand at him. Eurise had a few cuts from fighting, and she felt guilty as ever, but from the way he was munching down some popcorn she’d created with her Skills, it was clear that he enjoyed this break greatly.

“What I mean is…the Tallfolk I know act old. Like—they can’t change. Half the people I’d show music to back home would complain about this ‘young person stuff’ and never give it a chance. Like, my mom complains about pop songs, which I don’t even like, but I’ve heard her favorite songs, and they’re not better.”

He chuckled at that.

“That’s just liking the first thing you heard. The rest? There’s plenty of Fraerlings who can’t change, Erin. You just don’t see them. They live in their cities, and they wouldn’t survive a month in Dretonamis. They wail and cry when they stub a toe. This attack…well, I think it broke some of them. They hide away and wait for the walls to come up.”

The [Explorer] shook his head, glancing at the city above them, and Erin knew he was right. Complaints had been made about the music, but she just meant…there was a greater proportion of ‘cool’ Fraerlings. Eternally youthful ones, like Elohi’s parents. Eurise nodded to Erin as he took another bite of the yeast-covered popcorn kernel.

“With that said, the attack probably unearthed a lot of folk’s resolve. I’ve seen that too. So have you. Those Fraerlings, they’re levelling. I can’t speak for you Tallfolk, but I think you came at the right time to meet the ones who’re ready for change.”

“I guess you’re right. Darn. I was trying to talk Fraerlings up, you know. All those other species have great people and sucky ones, but I’ve never met a Fraerling I hated! I guess I want to believe you’re all awesome.”

Eurise snorted, but kindly.

“How can you say that when you’ve met Roja?”

He and Erin ducked as she hurled her boot down at them, and Erin thought of Zinni. Or, again, Matha. She scowled at the [Guitarist] who was performing a song so Erin didn’t have to, covered in sweat and pumping her fist up for the cheering audience.

“I guess you’re right. I’m just…I like this city, Eurise. Despite the lack of walls and all that’s happened. I wish my city accepted me and Ulvama so much. But I do like Liscor. It just needs work. More paint. Less rain. And the Antinium—of course I have to go back. There’s nowhere like Liscor. And I’ve never met a…a…Dwarf I didn’t like! All, uh, three of ‘em are great. Pelt, Dawil, Dasha…ooh. I’ve never met a Selphid I didn’t like! Except for one of those [Slavers]. Um. I’ve never met—a Dragon—no, wait—”

There was a faint hooting sound, then she realized it was Eurise laughing. He lay back against the seats, laughing, and she saw him glance at her in amusement and—jealousy?

Jealousy, yes. He wiped at his eyes as she chuckled too.

“You’re the only person who can say she’s gone further and seen more, Erin. I’m glad you stopped by. I was getting bored.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed.

“Well, your people are the only ones who don’t blink when I do something crazy. It’s nice to be normal.”

She peered down at the stage as Matha waved at her, having done a stage-dive into the crowd and surfed her way back to the front. Erin hesitated as the cheering grew louder.

“Well, sort of normal.”

——

After performing six more songs and nursing her hoarse voice with some tea, Erin was high-fiving the bands, congratulating a sulking Elohi, and smiling.

Once more, things were actually fun. It was just…Matha.

The [Raider]-[Punk] stumbled into their storage and practice rooms with a new haircut that Erin was relieved to see wasn’t hedgehog spikes, a new ant chitin jacket and leggings, and three Fraerling women.

“Hey, Erin! The crowd loves us. I’m gonna teach the guitar to these girls. You, uh, seen Ulvama around? When are we eating?”

Erin gave Matha a long look but cleared out as the other Fraerlings laughed good-naturedly. If Matha’s reputation had earned her some doubt, she’d seemingly made up for it of late.

“I’m whipping up some aphid stew with a recipe one of the [Cooks] gave me. Be there or be…unfed, Matha!”

“You got it, boss-lady! That’s our Human. I know she doesn’t look like a Human, but she’s crazy. Did you know that I first met her when she took out our entire base? This was back when I was a [Raider]. She dropped on us and blew half of it apart. Miracle she didn’t kill anyone, really. So what do you all do around here when you’re not rebuilding…?”

The annoying part was that Matha caught up to Erin less than forty minutes later as Erin was finishing her soup. Erin glanced at her.

“You’re early. Where’s the bowls and stuff? Weren’t you teaching them how to play the guitar?”

“Yep. Gave them a practice guitar and everything. I’ll get the bowls!”

Matha came back with bowls, and Erin stared at her.

“Wait, that’s not a euphemism?”

“What’s a euphemism? Some new instrument?”

Matha caught on as she began sampling Erin’s soup and got a smack on the hand with a ladle. She grinned.

“Oh, that? They really wanted to learn guitar! Mind you, I have a date after dinner. And another date tomorrow morning. And a third after practice—nothing serious. Everyone knows I have to keep going with you and Ulvama when we’re leaving. When is that, by the way? I want to schedule everything out.”

“You really don’t have to come with us. You could stay.”

Matha peered at Erin sidelong as the young woman wiped her own brow, still a bit sweaty. The Fraerling found a towel and gave it to Erin, who snatched it after a glare.

“Nope! I’ve got to. I’ve been to Lemoste; it’s different now, but it’ll get old. I want to see the world, just like Mera and Zemmy. So…how’d you think we played? I really liked that new song you showed us.”

“What, 21 Guns? I never liked it that much when I was young. My dad was the big fan.”

Erin had spent a lot of car trips as her parents dueled over their music listening while playing chess in the back seat. Matha exhaled.

“Oh. But you sang it real well.”

“I guess I like it more these days.”

Erin realized that was true. A lot of the songs she would have groaned at and insisted be turned off were just ‘okay’ now. Or even positive. Heck, any music from home was nostalgic. She could even get into rap music. Probably. She didn’t know how much rap she’d ever really listened to.

Distractedly, Erin wiped at her face as she served soup into a bowl.

“They used to have concerts in my city. I never went to one, not ever. My parents did. I wish I’d gone. I just thought it’d be too noisy and lame, but if that’s what it’s like—”

She’d never really gone out that much. Ryoka was the cool girl who’d gone to parties, ridden motorbikes, and stuff. Erin wasn’t sure if she regretted it. She wanted to know what that was like but…

“I don’t think the Erin back then would have enjoyed it, anyways. The now-Erin wouldn’t mind.”

She was rambling to herself, and it was entirely pleasant musings about herself—until Matha interrupted.

“Hey, if you want to see more of Lemoste, I could show you around. Or we could go with Ulvama next time. Say the word. If you wanted to, I could take you to, uh…a Switchem Storehouse right now! They’re always open.”

Erin glowered at Matha.

“A what the what? And no, I’m not interested. But what is that?”

“It’s this big warehouse where you take things you don’t want. You can either help fix it up, or someone does it for you—so you can get furniture, tools, all kinds of stuff. It’s great. We don’t have ‘em in the villages because there’s not enough people, but you can wander around there for ages.”

That…sounded like an antiques warehouse, but again, without the element of buying and selling. More Fraerling stuff in a society where money wasn’t that valuable. Erin was actually interested.

She’d go with Ulvama tomorrow. Not Matha.

“Or we could go get a mystery brew from an alchemist. That’s always fun. Sometimes, you’re half your weight; other times, they turn your head around so it’s the wrong way or something else! Only…the city’s damaged, so I guess a lot of the magical stuff won’t work.”

Matha’s excitement faded as she gazed out at the shattered walls of Lemoste-Under-Cliffs. It was halfway done, at least, the first layer, which spoke to the speed the Fraerlings were working at, but it was a sobering reminder. Erin spoke as she stuck a spoon into the bowl and saw Ulvama and Bowom trudging back.

“Yeah, they can’t waste time or energy on that. It’s okay. We’ve got to help the city, even if it’s just music. Not, say, steal all their food and resources and harass innocent people, right?”

The former-[Raider] shrank as she sat down and went quiet. Erin felt slightly guilty, but then waved.

“Hey, Ulvama! Food! Guess what I made?”

The [Shaman] was not hungry. Neither was Bowom. He gave Erin a fake smile, and she could tell he was upset. Rattled. Ulvama wasn’t that off-kilter—Erin’s new [Innkeeper] senses put her on alert.

“What’s with Bowom?”

Ulvama told her about the meeting they’d had over dinner. She picked at her food until the Corumdon Beetle and Battle Hamster came over with Mera and Zemmy. They were all starving and scarfed down a good chunk of the pot—the Battle Hamster happily swapped vegetables for aphid meat with Mera—and Erin tried to talk to Ulvama. She felt like she’d gotten less time to hang out, which was fine since they’d come to Lemoste, but still—

The Hobgoblin instantly flopped down next to the Battle Hamster and began combing his fur. He wiggled into her lap and ate while closing his eyes, and Erin tried to scooch in on the left and got an immediate twister-punch to the side.

She had to sit away from the Battle Hamster and talk.

“So, uh, want to hit the city tomorrow, Ulvama? If you get an awesome free knife like that, I’ll go out shopping with you!”

Matha opened her mouth, and Ulvama hmmed as she glanced at the new knife she was wearing. Erin had sort of wondered if it was for her, but apparently, the Orichalcum blade was something the [Shaman] wanted. Ulvama peered over at Bowom.

“Maybe no shopping tomorrow. What if we went to the hospital? With gifts?”

Bowom glanced up.

“Ah, splendid idea. And a length of rope for our [Healer] to hang me with!”

Erin’s face fell, and Ulvama snorted.

“Fraerlings can’t die by hanging.”

“Aha! I knew that was a good Tallfolk reference! Physics! Gets you lot every time.”

Bowom brightened up. Ulvama pulled an ant mandible out of the Battle Hamster’s fur. She nudged Erin. The [Innkeeper] frowned at her.

“What?”

“Encourage him. He should visit the patient.”

Erin blinked, then realized what Ulvama was talking about and turned.

“Oh, yeah. That’s true. Let’s go, Bowom.”

“She’s got everything she wants. There’s standing orders to arrest me if I get anywhere near there.”

The [Mad Doctor] was adamant, but Erin frowned.

“Well, then we can ask. But she came out to see you, right? I don’t know if there’s anything we can give her—”

“Nothing! She’s very well-cared for.”

“—But maybe you could still give her a gift? Or is there, like, something only you could make that’d help with the—things going on?”

Erin wasn’t exactly clear on the problem, but the question made Bowom go silent. He rubbed at his face, sighing.

“She did mention rejection pain. If I raided an [Alchemist]’s…”

Ulvama was nodding approvingly at Erin, and the [Innkeeper] nudged her and whispered.

“And once we do that, want to visit this weird place where you trade furniture and stuff?”

“Oh, a Switchem Warehouse? Zemmy, we should see if there’s anything we can use for our trip!”

Mera exclaimed, and Matha gave Erin a betrayed look, which the [Innkeeper] ignored. Bowom snorted as he watched them, and Ulvama? She began to nod, then thought.

“No. Can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

Now, Erin got a bit cross, and Ulvama patted the Battle Hamster’s head. It padded away to nap in the guest house assigned to them. She also polished the Corumdon Beetle’s shell, which it enjoyed greatly.

“I’m going to make a thank-you gift to the [Shopkeeper] with the knife.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. But what about after lunch?”

“Then you perform.”

“Poo.”

Matha leapt to her feet excitedly.

“Hey, what if you taught me some songs tonight, Erin? Then I could show the other bands—”

Erin scowled at the idea of more Matha-time.

“Pass!”

The Hobgoblin gave Erin an amused look as she went to find a cleaning cloth for the resting beetle. She whispered to Erin.

“That was her being nice. Then we could do something.”

“It was her being annoying. She just wants to perform for all her admirers.”

“Eh, your choice. We’ll do something day-after or at night. Do you think they have cooking supplies in the Switchem Warehouses? You could make more good food.”

“I made good food! You barely ate it!”

Outraged, Erin pointed at her soup, and Ulvama yawned. She was getting sleepy.

“I ate too many foods. The soup was good. Very tasty.”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Then she hesitated and adjusted her [Witch]’s hat on her head. She glanced sideways at Bowom, then at Matha, and then narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly at Ulvama.

“Really? You liked it? You’re not just saying that?”

Everyone chorused that it was a good soup, tasted great. And Erin believed them, because, well, she could sense it was true.

She was a [Witch], after all, and her powers and her [Innkeeper] senses combined into being able to read people on an almost literal level. For instance, when she concentrated—and she didn’t like to do it all the time because it got awkward—Erin could tell that no one was lying to butter her up. Not even Matha.

Of course, she got a lot of other feelings, like Bowom’s, who sat lost in memories. She wasn’t sure how guilty he felt or how nervous about meeting his former patient he was. Erin’s sense told her he was literally remembering. A man falling into his own past.

The old her hadn’t been able to do that. In the same way, she could tell the Battle Hamster had an itchy left foot a moment before he bit at it and rubbed his fur. She was too good at figuring people out. And Ulvama, who smiled as she nodded at her soup, giving Erin a patient look?

Erin got…nada. Nothing. The Hobgoblin could have been lying and Erin wouldn’t know because she didn’t sense, well, anything.

Was it because Ulvama was a [Shaman]? Good at hiding her feelings? Erin tried to focus, and Ulvama sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave room for your soup. You happy?”

She poked Erin lightly, and the [Innkeeper] gave up. She wished her abilities did work on Ulvama. She couldn’t always read the Hobgoblin’s face, let alone her real feelings. The [Innkeeper] sighed and patted Ulvama on the shoulder, then smiled genuinely.

“I forgive you. Now we gotta clean up. Wanna help with dishes?”

“No. Too sleepy.”

“Aw, c’mon…”

Ulvama yawned again. She stretched upwards, standing on her tip-toes. She and Erin had gone completely native in terms of dress; Erin was wearing one of the new band-uniforms with a t-shirt and baggy pants with various band logos plastered on each—she’d also been given a beanie, but she’d gotten too hot and tossed it.

Ulvama, by contrast, had on a sleeveless top and long skirt much like Fraerlings would wear in the warm Balerosian weather. She twisted her arms up, folding her fingers together and groaned as she stretched.

This completely natural, completely innocent act happened to expose her armpits. The sight of Ulvama’s armpit hair went unnoticed and uncommented upon as Erin watched Ulvama. Except by the purveyor of lesbianisms, the icon of—Erin wasn’t actually very sure what Matha was an icon of, but it was definitely problematic stuff. Because Matha, who was collecting empty bowls, came to a dead standstill.

“Whoa. I’d lick those.”

For a few seconds, Erin didn’t actually process what she’d heard. Then she turned. Matha was walking across the outdoor patio that looked out onto lower Lemoste. Below them, construction work on the lower city was continuing. Such as repairing the sewers, which had been inoperable and leaking—a low priority even given the smell.

The young [Raider] was just walking over to an enchanted washbasin, along the railings, when Erin walked over and kicked her.

Not hard. It was one of those kicks that had more transferring energy than sharp impacts. Matha twisted around.

“Whuh—”

Everyone turned as she went spinning head-over-heels off the side of the railings. Erin felt bad about the bowls, and Matha screamed.

“What was that f—”

Fraerlings didn’t die from falls, so Erin just folded her arms. Ulvama turned and gaped at Erin incredulously.

“What? She deserved it.”

“What did she do?”

“Uh—”

Erin glanced at Ulvama’s armpits and hesitated.

“Stuff! Stop screaming, Matha! And get the bowls!”

She shouted at Matha, and Zemmy peered over the railings. The [Brawler] winced.

“Ooh. She went head-first into the sewer main. That can’t be good for ya.”

Erin peeked over the railing. Mera tsked as Bowom began cackling, and there were shouts of alarm from below. By the time a wet and foul-smelling Matha got back up, Erin had cause to regret her actions. A bit. She still refused to say why she’d kicked Matha.

She had cause to regret it more the next day when Matha ended up getting rather sick. Sick as in ‘things are uncontrollably coming out of every orifice’ sick. They had to cancel their band’s performance, and Erin resolved to be a tiny bit nicer to Matha.

Maybe.

But she had brought up an important point, in a sense.

——

The next day, Ulvama was fussing over Matha, who was stuck in the toilet for most of the morning. The [Shaman] was trying to get back to her class, which meant prescribing noxious tonics for Matha to drink.

She and Bowom had raided an [Alchemist] after all, and he was mixing up something before their visit to the hospital. Erin watched Ulvama passing something through a very stinky door.

“How that, Matha?”

Matha drank it down. After a minute, she screamed.

“It’s all coming out of me!”

Zemmy and Mera practically fled with the Battle Hamster to go fight ants with Eurise. Even the brave [Explorer] only lingered a moment.

“I haven’t found an ant nest since two days ago. Time, I think, to start heading towards another city. Cillencreith’s gone quiet. If you’re okay, let’s head out. Maybe tomorrow, so long as she’s well.”

He nodded to Matha. Then grimaced.

“We can always strap her down to something washable.”

Erin shuddered and agreed. Time to go, soon. She felt a pang, but they could probably get at least three more days, right? Three more days—they’d have to do something special before they went. She was going to ask Ulvama about it before they left for the hospital to meet this patient of Bowom’s. Well, two things, actually.

The [Shaman] was hmming over her potions as Matha made horrible, horrible sounds of distress from the bathroom.

“Maybe that cleared her out? Eh, you throwing up?”

“N-no…”

“So it half work. But the bottom half still spitting?”

“Like an overfull snail getting squished.”

“Okay, maybe I fix that next. You keep hydrating!”

Ulvama was wearing a sundress today—again sleeveless—patterned with a bunch of different-colored flames. She winked at Erin as she placed a bug into a mortar and pestle and put a finger over her lips. She began to mash, and Erin averted her gaze.

“So, uh, Matha going to live?”

“No thanks to you, but yah. You ready to go? We have to save Bowom from angry [Healers]. And talk. He’ll be silent.”

Ulvama nudged Erin with her elbow, and Erin smiled.

“Sure, sounds great! Oh, and, uh, nice dress. Is that new or something?”

The Hobgoblin developed an exceptionally pleased expression as she began combining the bug mash with some other roots and herbs.

“It’s very nice, isn’t it? The [Dressmaker] I met three days ago made it for me. It has your flames, see?”

She spun, and Erin blinked in amazement.

“Whuh—really? I thought it was a coincidence! That’s super cool!”

“Yah, you want one? She can maybe make a pair.”

“I dunno if I’m a dress person anymore. Maybe jeans or pants? What’s the difference between jeans or pants? Fabric?”

Once more, as was her custom, Ulvama gave Erin the flat look of someone questioning someone else’s basic knowledge about the world. She sighed overlong.

“Sure, jeans. We can do that. Go there, then hospital? Then the warehouse?”

“I wanna come too! Anyone got more toilet paper? I’m out! The nice stuff made of aphid wool from Grandma’s village! The parchment’s scratchy!”

Matha wailed as the toilet flushed repeatedly. Silently, Erin threw a toilet roll through the opening in the door. Stupid Matha. But Erin had made a point, despite it being—stupid yesterday.

“That sounds good, Ulvama. Although…it’s a hospital, so maybe we should change into something more formal. Y’know?”

Ulvama hesitated.

“You wear formal stuff to a hospital-thing? This isn’t the same. But in your world…ooh. Is it because the patients might die?”

The [Innkeeper] had to chew that one over.

“No…there’s specific clothing for patients and doctors. I just meant in this case.”

Ulvama blinked down at her dress.

“This is fine. Bowom says that wing is just for long-term patients. Only a very few.”

Drat. Erin decided to broach the topic another way. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Well, uh, maybe it’d be good to be more formal anyways. I wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Or like, you to.”

The [Shaman] was pouring her mixture into a bottle when she blinked down at her dress in sudden paranoia. She spun rapidly, trying to look around.

“You can’t see through it? Or see—”

“What? No, no, that’s cool. I mean, you can see…”

“What? What?”

“Your, y’know, armpits.”

The Hobgoblin stopped inspecting herself in a flurry of motion, stared at Erin’s embarrassed, sheepish smile, then rolled her eyes up until only the lighter reds were showing. She picked up her bottle, plonked it against Erin’s forehead, and then rolled it into Matha’s bathroom like a grenade.

“Drink this! Maybe you stop!”

“Thanks…”

Then Ulvama turned and began packing her supplies away.

“Okay, we go.”

“What? I’m being serious, Ulvama—”

“My arms are not lewd, Erin. If they were, everyone would arrest Yvlon first. Or every Antinium.”

The Hobgoblin seemed so amused that Erin flushed, but she was now upon this hill of reasonable logic, and she would die on it. Plus, she wasn’t wrong.

“No, I think it’s a real thing! Trust me, Fraerlings here are like Humans from Earth. Matha’s the real problem; she was looking at them.”

“Yah, she a child.”

“I’m nineteen! What are you talking about?”

Ulvama and Erin ignored Matha. The [Shaman] poked Erin gently on the shoulder.

“Very old child. She pays attention. No one else does. Come, we go!”

She clapped her hands, but Erin stomped after her.

“It’s sort of embarrassing. It’s like—quasi beach-wear, what you’ve got on. What if there are kids around? Think of the children!”

She regretted that when Ulvama stopped and gave Erin a genuinely annoyed expression. She raised her arm, pointing at said pits.

“Children have these too. This not a problem, Erin.”

She was slipping into the Goblin cant, but so was Erin. The [Innkeeper] glowered.

“C’mon, be reasonable.”

“No. I’m not putting on something else. I like this dress. My armpits are fine.”

Ulvama’s eyes flashed, and Erin hesitated, out of objections except for—

“Well, what if they stink?”

“Stink?”

This time, the door inched further open as Matha peeked at the two of them. Both glared, and it shut. They stood in the doorway, arguing, as Ulvama’s eyes narrowed.

“My armpits. Do not stink.”

“It’s warm, and everyone sweats. They totally will. It’s gross. You’ve got stinky pits, Ulvama.”

The [Shaman] opened her mouth, peered around, rubbed at her face, then just walked out of the door. Erin followed her.

“Hey! You know I’ve got a point! Don’t be grumpy! I’m doing this for your own good! Think of the kids! Hey, there’s one now! Don’t get silent on me! Hey, Ulvama! Hey!”

——

Whatever Bowom expected about his visit to see the patient whose life he had changed forever…well, any nerves were hidden by that polite, smiling mask.

But the [Mad Doctor], clutching a basket of various substances in one hand, was not prepared for Erin and Ulvama to come marching down the street, arguing.

Or maybe it was more accurate to say that the Hobgoblin was shooting glares at Erin as she walked along, head held high. But her green skin was visibly red, and Erin?

Erin was shouting. Exactly when she’d begun, Bowom had no clue, and nor did he have context. But his amused smile at the scene faded when he heard what Erin was shouting.

“Hairy pits, stinky armpits! Boo! Get some deodorant!”

She was wearing a half-smile as she jogged after Ulvama, and Fraerlings were watching the two with amusement or confusion. But Bowom’s rapidly-diminishing smile noted that intentionally or unintentionally, the [Innkeeper] was in a social situation. And she had a lot more power in levels and her class than even a [Shaman].

“Stinky pits, stinky pits!”

The [Innkeeper] ran after the Hobgoblin, and there were about eight Fraerling children who followed Erin, taking up the call. Ulvama came to a halt and didn’t quite look at Bowom.

“Er. Hello, Ulvama. Ready for our visit to the hospital?”

She nodded as he proffered his basket for inspection. She didn’t say a word as Erin skidded to a stop.

“Hey, Bowom! I’m ready to meet this patient. Though we need a few more gifts instead of, y’know, potions. What’s she like?”

“I’m not certain. What’s the shouting about?”

The [Mad Doctor] wished Roja were here in moments like these. Roja was actually fairly socially savvy for an [Explorer]; Bowom was just insane. Erin turned as Ulvama shifted, looking away from her.

“Oh, I was trying to get Ulvama to put something else on. Because, you see, there was—”

She stopped, hesitated, and seemed to decide explaining was going to just make appear stupid. Probably an accurate assessment. Erin pointed a finger at Ulvama instead.

“Look, help me out here, pal! Ulvama’s got hairy armpits, stinky ones, or will! Stinky—”

The children didn’t get a chance to take up the chant. Bowom handed the basket to Ulvama, then drew Erin aside with a smile. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Erin?”

“Huh? What?”

“Knock it off.”

“But—”

“Right now.”

She met his gaze with a half-grin, which he did not return. Erin’s smile became a floundering fish in dead waters as she turned to Ulvama and saw the Hobgoblin was red to the tips of her ears. Erin hesitated, then whirled.

“Hey! Uh, show’s over! Shoo!”

She chased the Fraerling kids away, which gave Ulvama a moment to wipe at her face with an arm. Bowom stood there, sighing.

Misery loves company. He just didn’t actually enjoy the silence that fell over the two of them, which only deepened when Erin came back. The [Innkeeper] stood there, glancing at Ulvama, as if she hadn’t noticed…well, anything.

And Bowom was wondering about suitably insane things to say when Ulvama grabbed his arm, gave him a huge smile, and practically towed him forwards.

“Why don’t we go visit your patient, Bowom? Let’s go.”

She didn’t glance at Erin. Nor did she address the [Innkeeper], who walked in silence for a few minutes, then tried to engage Bowom in conversation.

“So your patient. How’s she, uh, like, Bowom?”

“Alive against all odds?”

“Um…sounds rough. Do you know if we can actually do something for her? Like food or—”

“I imagine her diet’s incredibly restricted, Erin. The [Healers] would get her anything she was allowed.”

“Right. Right. Ulvama, do you think she’d like fashion or a toy or something? We could find one. Or what about some magic? Music?”

Ulvama didn’t respond to Erin. But after a moment, she turned and smiled at Bowom.

“Bowom, we should get her something she can use again and again. Maybe a book? Reading can be hard, maybe, with her hands, but can you get a spell that reads books? Or just have someone do it for her?”

“I suppose that would work. Maybe a new book in the library?”

“Yeah! Or we could tell her a few we know! Nice idea, Ulvama!”

Erin broke in, trying to take Ulvama’s other side. The Hobgoblin instantly stepped around her and walked on Bowom’s left. She didn’t respond to Erin.

That was the beginning of a day that, amazingly, got more uncomfortable than Bowom had been expecting.

No…maybe less, all things considered. Just a different kind of uncomfortable that undercut the horror of Mieve and him sitting in a room and trying to make small-talk. If anything, he thought the Hobgoblin and [Innkeeper] brought her some amusement. So Bowom was grateful for that.

But after three hours of playing go-between for Erin and Ulvama, since the latter refused to acknowledge anything Erin said—to her or anyone else—Bowom realized this might be a bigger issue than he’d thought. And he’d not exactly thought it was trivial.

“Ulvama, I’m really sorry. I am. I didn’t mean—I just meant—”

Erin tried her sixth apology as the [Shaman] turned to Bowom with a huge smile.

“I’m going to check on Matha. You okay, Bowom?”

“Sure. I’ll just go walk in front of that wagon for a second.”

Bowom glanced at the hospital and caught Erin’s shirt before she could stride after Ulvama. She dragged him half a dozen steps, then glanced back.

“Hey, I just—”

He shook his head. Erin opened her mouth, closed it.

“I—”

Bowom slung an arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s give it a moment, Erin. And go for a walk.”

He led them down the street, ignoring the Fraerling [Driver] shouting at him until the wagon hit them and rolled over their bodies. Since it was being pulled by a moderately fast slug, it didn’t really do much to him.

Bowom had high hopes, but the next morning, Erin and Ulvama were both now not speaking to each other. Also, Matha was still in the bathroom.

——

Erin was upset. She knew she’d made a mistake, but Ulvama got that it had been a joke, right? Erin had been trying to—

This was stupid. She wasn’t going to keep arguing with Ulvama, who was being annoying about talking with everyone but Erin. The [Innkeeper] had messed up, but Ulvama was being rude, and that was…fine.

They’d patch things over in a bit. If anything, it was good that Erin was left alone that morning. It let her focus.

Aside from Matha, Erin was left alone in the guest house, and ignoring the occasional gurble-spurt sound and the ‘Gnomes save me’ voice she heard plaintively echoing…the [Innkeeper] just sat there for a while.

“Right. Time to do something with myself. Enough being silly. Gotta do something important.”

“Kill me.”

The [Innkeeper] glanced out the window, but Ulvama had gone off—nevermind that. The young woman folded her arms. She closed her eyes. Glared at the table. It was not 100% her fault! It was like…72%. It took two to tango! She wondered if there were any other handy Earth-expressions that would come to mind.

She didn’t know. After about thirty more minutes of not-quite actioning on anything, Erin finally looked up.

“Guess there’s no help for it.”

There was only one person more unpleasant to hang out with than Matha. The [Innkeeper]’s face smoothed out, and she took a huge, slow breath.

“I guess I have no excuse anymore. I’m good enough. I can do it even if it’s hard.”

“Nothing’s hard. It’s all liquid.”

“Shut up, Matha. Tell everyone I’ll be back later.”

The [Innkeeper] took a breath, then regretted it. She vanished, and Matha’s plaintive voice echoed into the house.

“Are you doing the Skill thing? Can I see? Can I get some toilet paper before you—Erin? Erin?”

——

It had taken a while, but the [Innkeeper] returned to the [Pavilion of Secrets] as she had known she must. She sat in the gazebo as her counterpart shuffled a deck.

“Euchre? Cribbage? Oh Hell? Crippling Guilt? Blackjack?”

Erin folded her arms and glared silently. She didn’t have the energy for this. Instead, she closed her eyes, put her feet up on the table, and exhaled.

“It’s time. I wasn’t ready for it before. I’m better now. A bit. I can handle it.”

She had to go back. To Izril and Liscor in general, but to her friends and family specifically. She had been avoiding them.

Oh, some people she’d talked to, like Ishkr and especially Lyonette, even if the latter seemed to be doing a lot of drinking and partying. Well, Lyonette was happy, and good for her. Erin decided that was a good place to start.

“Let’s start with Lyonette. She can tell me who I need to talk to.”

“Sure thing, boss-lady.”

Pavilion-Erin put the cards down and vanished. The deck remained. Erin eyed the cards and reached for one. She picked it up and grunted.

The Hanged Man. Only, it was a woman.

“Ha-ha.”

“Something funny? It’s not like I’m predicting anything fates-wise. At least, that’s not something I’m aware of. That’s just a random deck of cards.”

Pavilion-Erin reappeared fast, and Erin jumped.

“Where’s Lyonette?”

“Busy. She declined your call.”

“She—what?”

Niers had declined the [Pavilion of Secrets], but Lyonette? Erin grumbled.

“Is she busy or something? She knows she can work and talk to me.”

But then, it had to be weird getting a download of a conversation in the middle of a work day. Erin drummed her fingers on the table.

“I could do Mrsha, but she’s probably at school. Fine, it’s fine.”

She was putting off the real stuff, anyways. Erin spoke to herself and Pavilion-Erin, because she needed her thoughts in a row.

“I need to start checking in on people. That’s what this place is for. I mean, I know it’s supposed to be used for ferreting out secrets and underhanded stuff.”

“Plenty of doors not opened, but don’t mind me.”

Erin ignored that too. She went on, glaring at the ceiling.

“…But I can use it to check on everyone. The Horns. Rabbiteater.”

She’d been avoiding it. It wasn’t like the first conversations had been, um, easy. Telling everyone she wasn’t dead and talking to them about the Winter Solstice was going to be hard. Real hard. But Erin could do it without literally melting. Besides.

She had to know they were alright. This Skill that had been granted to her by the Grand Design was her way of keeping The Wandering Inn running. She might not be able to—no, Erin smiled to herself.

“I can even serve them a blue fruit juice and pasta. Zero calories! Got a preference on who I should talk to first, Pavilion-Me?”

“Quarass? Nereshal? Silvenia? Archmage Eldavin or…Thatalocian. Top 5 list.”

Erin scowled at the faintly smiling Skill.

“I meant important people, idiot. Pisces! Ksmvr! Numbtongue…I hear he’s being weird. Maybe I can figure that out. Hal…”

She stopped. Closed her eyes.

“…I have to check on them. Who else? Olesm?”

There were so many people she hadn’t talked to in person, she realized. The [Innkeeper] felt an invisible sense of weight pressing down on her, but she squared her shoulders, exhaled.

Hard things. Important things. Yes, she had to do this. She drummed her fingers on the table, trying to strategize.

“Okay, my first pick would be Ryoka, but she can’t be done. I don’t know…Geneva that well. Nerry I talked to just the other day. So Pisces, Yvlon, Colth, or Ceria. Hey, can I do multiple people here?”

All four Horns in Chandrar appearing in her [Pavilion of Secrets] would be crazy. Erin smiled at the thought. Wait, could she get Ksmvr and Vofea in there too? Were there limits? The idea called to her, but then she hesitated.

“Or what about gun-dude? Gaah! I need a list! Got any paper?”

“Nope.”

The [Innkeeper]’s head swivelled around, and she pointed accusingly.

“You’re literally holding a deck of cards.”

“I’m not your [Secretary].”

“You butt.”

“Armpit-shamer.”

Erin cast around for something to throw, then gave up. She collapsed back into the chair and tried to think. Who to start with?

Well, she thought glumly, there was only one person to start with.

“Alright, give me Nerrhavia.”

She was rewarded with just the slightest expression of uncertainty on Pavilion-Erin’s face. As if even the Skill thought that wasn’t the best idea. Erin flicked up her hand.

“No, give me Nerrhavia and the Quarass together. Psych. Just kidding. Give me…”

There was only one thing to ask for. She closed her eyes and used her brain and really thought about the power of this place. Sheta’s great weapon in her age of rulership. It was more than a ‘search and find’ tool. As Erin had observed when she’d met Eurise…her eyes opened, and her hazel gaze gleamed as the [Pavilion of Secrets] pulled a card.

“Pavilion. Search all my friends and family. Of them all, choose the one who’s…who’s closest to dying. Who’s in the most imminent danger. I’d like to talk to them.”

The [Pavilion of Secrets] paused, then showed Erin her card.

Death. Erin took it and gazed down at the skeleton holding a scythe with blue flames in its eyes. Pavilion-Erin cracked her neck.

“I’m not omnipotent. There might be a few candidates. Best judgement?”

“Yeah.”

Again, the woman vanished. Erin sat there, wondering who it was. Ryoka, well, she couldn’t appear here, so Nerry? Rabbiteater? Her Horns? If it was Mrsha, she was going to have words with the Gnoll girl.

This is what this place should be used for. This is good, this is important. She waited, a heavy resolve in her bones.

After a moment, Pavilion-Erin reappeared.

“We’re talking close friends, not acquaintances, right?”

Erin groaned.

“Can’t you just do a news report? I’m going to have to figure this out by talking to everyone instead of you being helpful, aren’t I?”

“I’m not Sir Relz or Noass either. Want them?”

“Get lost.”

It was a bare five seconds before the [Pavilion of Secrets] came back. And in that time, it did a lot of calculations based on relative levels, the danger of certain events, and timing. In fact, the Grand Design refused a dozen requests for more information about the Synectic Maze, the state of things in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, the Dungeon of Liscor, and so on. Details that it was pretty sure the [Pavilion of Secrets] was only asking about because it wanted the juicy lore.

Make do with what you’ve got.

When that door opened and the visitor walked into the [Pavilion of Secrets] for the first time, pausing to take in the endless vista, the Skill that made their heart leap, and their beloved [Innkeeper], it was the person that Erin—and thus, the [Pavilion of Secrets]—believed was in the most immediate danger.

The [Innkeeper] half-rose from her table, and her fight with Ulvama, her anger and guilt and hurt and everything else left her for a moment. She rose with the little tarot card in her hands, and her guest smiled. He spread his four hands, and his poofy, silly [Chef]’s hat stood proudly, still dusted with a bit of flour.

“Garry?”

The [Baker] beamed at her. He walked forward as she vaulted the gazebo’s railings to run and hug him. The oft-ignored Antinium who baked free bread for Liscor. The last of the four survivors from the chess club, the originals.

Of all of them, she would have never expected it. When Erin let go of Garry and told him he was in mortal danger, the Antinium just smiled.

He already knew that. Whether or not Erin realized it, or the upset Ulvama trying to eat her feelings in Lemoste, this was not a tale about them.

This was a Garry tale, and it had been baking for a while in the oven. But only he knew what he’d been up to.

——

Garry had been doing some thinking recently on top of the copious amounts of thinking he liked to get away with in general. Just for fun, he’d done some calculations, and he thought he was currently the most criminal Antinium…ever.

You had to assume that Rhir-Antinium didn’t break many laws inside of their own culture. And while you did have a few war criminals like Wrymvr, Xrn, and probably Klbkch, they operated under Antinium-law quite often.

But by his personal count, Garry was guilty of lying to his Queen, embezzlement of city funds and resources, preparation to commit a crime, misrepresentation of priced goods, several violations of acceptable workplace health and safety codes (Antinium couldn’t wear safety hairnets for one), being arrested for brawling, lying to the Flying Queen…

The most criminal Antinium in the world plotted his devious plans while working at 3 AM in the morning. He always got up early to begin baking bread.

You had to. Especially with his new city-bakery—even with all the workers and help he’d been allowed to hire, baking bread took time.

Even with all his Skills! Garry had a lot of mass-production Skills these days. As a Level 39 [Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef], he was replete with Skills, and they were almost all cooking-based.

[Mass Quick Rising], for instance—invaluable. It cut the time yeast took to ferment and rise dough until you could actually watch the loaves of bread rising. He had [Kitchen: Prevent Spills], which saved a ton with some of his workers like Runel and Pisca.

The two Flying Antinium who were his top assistants bustled around their own kitchens these days, since he’d graduated them to full [Cooks], and he felt like Pisca might make [Chef] soon—she was very good at doing delicate work like sculpting the cakes the Free Queen loved to eat. However, a Flying Antinium with their fly-like design could knock things over even with the new kitchens he’d designed for them, so that Skill saved in gold. And gold made more food.

Ah, the kitchens. Garry had his own, of course, in the Free Hive, but it was actually a bit small these days. Runel and Pisca both had a custom-built kitchen that the Free Queen had paid thousands upon thousands of gold pieces to custom-design and build with lower counters for the two Flying Antinium and implements Garry had Miss Raekea forge just for them to use with their different limbs.

It allowed the duo to fulfill the Free Queen’s appetites and left Garry able to supervise his kitchens in Liscor. Of course, since he employed them and ran the Liscorian Public Bakery, which everyone called ‘Garry’s Bakery’, all his Skills worked everywhere.

Very handy, that. Garry had already levelled once, and he suspected the reason he hadn’t hit Level 40 was simply because it was a big capstone, like he’d heard everyone talking about. Of course, no one except the Free Queen knew his level. It wasn’t something Garry advertised.

——

“You are the highest-levelled Antinium in the Free Hive, Garry. Pawn, Belgrade, even Klbkchhezeim is not, kzzch, your level.”

She had said that to him one time he was serving her an omelet, sounding rather mystified. The Free Queen had peered down at Garry.

“Is…baking bread so difficult?”

“It can be, my Queen. But perhaps it is whom I bake bread for that matters. I make a lot of it.”

“I see. Serving a Queen of the Antinium is valuable, and your foodstuffs have earned the approval of the other Queens.”

“Yes, my Queen. I am very glad to hear it.”

——

That was the truest explanation he had and why the Free Queen gave him a large discretionary budget to run his bakery with. Garry levelled. And it would also be wrong to say that making bread was easy.

Bread was different. Sometimes, the flour was cold. Sometimes, the air was damp. Sometimes, your yeast was different or your oven had a hot patch or it was just…chance. Not that bread had to be perfect, but consider that it could be tough. Kneading the dough took time and a lot of grip strength. Sure, you could mix up the dough fast, but Garry was hand-mixing the dough.

He didn’t have a Golem. He didn’t tell his employees to do it. He took a stick and spatula and would mix a bowl while walking around the kitchens. Then toss the bread down, knead and fold it until you could stretch it so it was transparent, silky-smooth.

(Assuming it was a kneading dough, of course; he did tons of different stuff. Croissants to soufflés, but a lot was just the free bread.)

Kneading took muscle. Anyone could knead dough, but could you knead enough dough for twenty loaves? Forty?

While other people were making breakfast or brushing their teeth, Garry was kneading dough. While they were walking about or taking a break to chat, Garry was kneading dough and chatting. When they were going to bed, he was kneading dough.

Few people realized how much bread it took to guarantee anyone at Garry’s Bakery got a free loaf of bread. How much did you have to make to feed a city?

Oh, sure, it wasn’t everyone. Plenty of people refused to get anything free on principle—even if Garry wasn’t sure what they were—or eat Antinium-made bread. But the numbers he had to feed and guarantee bread for were insane. Yet his bakery did it, and he already had plans to expand so there was a bakery in every district.

Thus, the question became, if you understood how much Garry was doing behind the scenes—

Why is he only Level 39?

Garry tossed some dough on the counter, kneading one roll as his other two hands rolled and kneaded a second pile of dough. He could get it to good consistency within five minutes. The Drakes and Gnolls on the morning shift would come in at 4 AM to help out of course, but he liked getting the first batch of dough ready ahead of that.

He wore his poofy chef’s hat as he hummed in the dark kitchens. Starting his day. After this, Garry would oversee the bakery for the morning, but he had a very nice Drake who didn’t mind the Antinium Workers and Soldiers who’d oversee the morning shift.

After that, Garry would do some deliveries of his ‘special orders’ to his clients. He still did them. Comrei, Miss Biscale, and all the other Liscorians who’d visited his shop needed food. He could not do it for everyone, so he had to be circumspect about it.

That made Garry guilty. He had already had various officials inspecting his workplace for cleanliness and been told often not to use anything but Liscor-approved funds for his work. Nor, obviously, to give out more bread than one per person and such. People had been caught lining up to get more bread samples—that was a Watch matter, and Garry left it to them to figure out.

He didn’t steal from Liscor’s bakeries to feed his special clients. Nor from the Free Queen’s dedicated food budget. He didn’t need to.

Garry had Skills unique to his class.

[My Pantry Overflowed With My Deeds] was a big one. Every day, he’d wake up, assess the new and often rare foods in his personal kitchen, and make custom food for his special clients. And Antinium in the Free Hive.

Anything extra went to his employees. It was not uncommon for Garry to come around with tarts or food for them as they came off shift. More than one Drake and Gnoll had complained they were putting on weight. But that, of course, was another devious plan in Garry’s arsenal.

[Rested, Fed, Appreciated and Paid, My Workers Surpassed Mundanity]. Treat them well and they managed to feed a city with bread from one bakery. Garry had been told by the nice [Guardsman] assigned to his shop that it was…

——

“Hypnotizing?”

The Drake man, Gittorl, nodded as he watched the [Bakers] and [Cooks] at work, kneading dough, mixing more up, loading them into the massive ovens on huge wooden racks, turning them, taking them out, always a flurry of motion.

“You blink, er, Baker Garry, sir, and more bread appears. Like magic. It’s like a blur around me.”

Garry peered over his shoulder. If anything, he felt like everyone was taking it easy since they were nearing the end of the day. But he nodded respectfully to Guardsman Gittorl.

“They work very hard, Guardsman. I am pleased to know it is interesting to watch. Would you like your free loaf of bread?”

“Oh, um, thank you. The kids liked it a lot. Had the missus in a bit of a stir because they said it was better than hers, even if it’s free.”

Garry smiled politely. A [Housewife], if Gittorl’s wife was such, would be, what, Level 20+? He did not think most who had that somewhat rare class in Liscor passed Level 20.

He was a Level 39 [Baker]. There was a reason people lined up for his bread each morning, even if he was a filthy, weird Antinium bug.

“I am sure she could make better, but I have fresh flour and the many Skills of my talented employees at work. I could give her the recipe if you like.”

“Oh, thank you. I reckon that’d make her feel better.”

——

Which, of course, was the point. Make them feel better. It cost Garry nothing to reassure Gittorl’s wife that it was not a contest, or only a few seconds to write down a recipe.

Everything else cost money, but so what? Garry had been Santa at Christmas, and that had been important. When Erin had seen his vision, what he had intended, she had smiled. He thought about that Christmas. A lot, actually.

Oh, the Winter Solstice afterwards had been terrible. Garry had listened to the Free Queen giving orders as he stood with Runel and Pisca.

He was no warrior. Nor did he wish to be, even if he could have saved lives. He was no Pawn or Bird, and he admired his fellow Workers, but he was not them.

He was Garry. He made bread.

You didn’t understand what that meant. You didn’t understand how much. You didn’t understand what the bread was for. Being eaten, of course, but still. You didn’t understand.

Not yet.

…A question emerged if you understood the fiscal realities of bread. Where the heck was all this flour coming from?

Eggs, flour, salt, water—well, the water was easy. Just stick a bucket out the window if it was Liscor’s rainy-season. But the rest? Well, there was an eggless bread you could make, and Garry had experimented to find the optimal bread at minimal cost to ingredients, but you couldn’t get around the flour problem.

The answer to that, obviously, was the Antinium [Farmers].

Garry employed them too. The collective who had begun their work and learned to farm by trial and error were still churning out wheat even in the rains thanks to extensive work on primitive greenhouses and a bit of magic from Archmage Valeterisa to allow sunlight to grow the crops.

Also: Riverfarm. The Unseen Emperor was only too happy to sell his own wheat and eggs to Liscor, so for the moment, there was bread aplenty.

Not so across Izril. Garry talked to [Traders] and [Merchants] in the course of finding more recipes and acquiring ingredients. Most had avoided him, but after they found out he had gold over the course of the last year, they’d warmed to him. These days, most knew him on sight—by the hat if nothing else—and they talked about the state of Izril.

Things weren’t perfect.

——

Merchant Farri sold magical trinkets, not bread, but he was only too willing to chat about his travels. He wrinkled his nose as he polished a ring on his shirt and kept out of the rain.

“Oh, aye, it’s not nearly so good for food anywhere else. I’ve taken to buying up a bunch of supplies myself. Just long-term perishables, nothing fancy. Flour, cornmeal, you know? Now, if I’m lucky, I just resell it as it gets bad, little coin made or lost.”

“If you are unlucky, [Merchant]?”

Garry had some bread and cheese he had taken to the [Traders]. They were devouring it appreciatively, and he made sure their assistants got some too.

Farri Slightly, the Human, munched hungrily on the bread and cheese before sighing.

“If I’m unlucky? I’m making bread myself in my wagons! Or eating damn cornmeal. Some of the villages and settlements further from the trade routes are doing bad. Not a scrap to be bought at reasonable prices. Sometimes, I trade the flour at knock-down prices. Or, uh, give it away. There’s calculations to be made.”

He tapped the side of his nose as another Human merchant came over. She hesitated, eying Garry, and wiped her hands before accepting the food, but one bite made her come around to it. She interjected.

“You’re giving away goods, Farri? For shame!”

She was half-joking, but the younger [Trader] was new to the game. Farri gave her a patient, even patronizing gaze.

“Trader Mins, goodwill is everything in our business.”

“Oh, of course, but for free?”

Farri reached for another piece of bread with cheese.

“This is wonderful stuff. I shan’t need lunch—ahem! Better to be seen to be giving away your food and going a bit hungry than to have it all. That’s how you get [Thieves] or a village politely asking you to, ah, offload cargo. They don’t even want the merchandise or coin unless they think it’ll buy more food. That’s the most dreadful thing. Folk don’t turn to banditry or theft, not all of ‘em. But there’s desperation.”

Trader Mins shivered.

“Where, exactly, is this?”

“Oh, north of Reizmelt there’s Gulfwaters Ravine. Terrible area. It’s marked on our routes, I’m sure. Not just that, though. There’s spots all over, Baker Garry. And it’s not only for bargaining or goodwill! Twice I’ve dumped all my food as cargo and the [Bandits] have gone after that rather than my wagon.”

All the other [Traders] and caravaners were shaking their heads, exchanging similar stories, as Garry nodded.

“Your job is certainly dangerous, Merchant Farri. So people are this hungry, please?”

“North and south. The New Lands made it worse. Half the folk who would’ve hunkered down or found work nearby decided to risk it in the New Lands—or sold provisions to people wanting to stock up. Add that to the damn plagues and fires? I don’t go that far into the south, but I hear the Drakes aren’t doing as well. Plus, without the tribes…”

Garry was a fool. He knew he was, as someone who couldn’t even read two years ago. Even now, when he read books, he often had to get a dictionary to look up the really difficult words. He was practically illiterate when it came to reading philosophy, and he knew some of the Erin-movies that he was occasionally invited to watch in her [World’s Eye Theatre] went over his head.

But since he knew he was a fool, he listened, and Merchant Farri was very kind and explained these things Garry didn’t understand.

“Why, the tribes suffered that blow at the Meeting of Tribes, everyone knows that, Mister Garry. But think on it—most of ‘em either moved when a local Drake city attacked them or joined together. Made their permanent Meeting of Tribes in the center of the Great Plains. When one tribe leaves an area, what’dya think happens? Sure, there’s less mouths in the region, but most Gnoll tribes are self-sufficient. And what else do they do?”

Garry thought about it and thought about the goods the Silverfangs who’d camped here had provided and his own knowledge of the goods that flowed across Izril.

“Ah. They are herders.”

Farri was surprised, but nodded appreciatively.

“Exactly. More than one Drake city doesn’t realize how much of their meat or animal products come from Gnolls. Or how they take out monsters as well! Sure, Drake [Hunters] do better, but now there’s monsters attacking farms, and there’s no Gnolls to trade with—it’s been a hard winter. And the spring hasn’t helped everyone. Not everyone’s able to grow crops with the speed of a high-level [Farmer].”

Of course, Garry knew this. But having a [Merchant] tell him this, and realizing the Merchant’s Guild had maps of ‘trouble spots’ and areas where you could take a risk and sell goods like food at high prices, was illuminating. Garry, of course, didn’t talk to anyone about this.

Whom should he talk to?

——

Belgrade? Belgrade was at war in Hectval. Pawn? Pawn had his Painted Antinium to lead and created free bread. He was sympathetic, but often preoccupied with winning back Lyonette, Erin, or faith.

Anand was dead. Bird? Bird got bored if you didn’t interject Bird-based metaphors at regular intervals. The Free Queen was vaguely interested, but unsympathetic to non-Antinium. Pisca and Runel talked, but they didn’t have huge vocabularies. And Erin had been busy with the Winter Solstice.

Garry visited The Wandering Inn, of course, but he understood his moment to be part of the inn, to take Calescent’s spot, had come and gone. He didn’t resent it. He liked the Goblin a lot, and he’d come by and swap recipes with the [Spice Chef], trade for some of Calescent’s own ingredients, enjoy the inn. But he was no regular.

He was alone. Alone but for all the people and friends he made, his own community. What Garry truly was was independent.

He had no Erin Solstice to lead him. He had no one to report to, not even the Free Queen. There was no guide, no leader to follow, no road to forge save for the one he wanted. And this was fine by Garry. He had his own guiding light. He always had, he’d just had to develop eyes to see it. A heart to feel its brightness.

This was what Garry did on his off-days as winter ended and spring rains fell.

——

“You…want to be a merchant.”

Every head in the Merchant’s Guild was peering at Garry. He had brought his initial investment of fifty gold coins—you could apprentice in, but this was a deposit for fees and other things that proved you were solvent.

“Yes, please. I believe I must be as I am trading goods and services within Liscor.”

“To…to who, exactly?”

“Whom. And it is to other Antinium, of course.”

“Oh.”

The Gnoll [Guildmaster] did not like Antinium, so he’d sent out a senior [Merchant] within Liscor who was more amenable. The Drake brightened up as he tried to think this out.

“So you’d like to pay us for doing business within the Antinium Hives?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think we can arrange that. Of course, there’s paperwork to fill out, but why don’t I have one of our trainees help you with that?”

For the rest of the day, Garry patiently filled out paperwork. They had to omit some boxes or just write ‘Antinium Hive’ for others, but the end result was him putting more money down for his annual dues and then the Guild informing him how much he owed them per transaction over a certain value.

The rather tired Gnoll trainee was a very nice young woman named Tiveria Silverfang. Garry got the impression she didn’t like her masters, but she did like the free bread none of them had wanted. She coughed into one paw.

“Er, how much business are you planning on doing that we’ll have to collect dues for, Trader Garry?”

“Oh, zero for now. But I have high hopes of business improving once we issue more Antinium with pay.”

She paused. None of the other [Merchants] were listening.

“But you said you did a lot of trading in the Antinium Hive!”

Garry smiled politely at her.

“I do. It is all very lucrative in terms of goods sold and bought. It is just not coin-based. Antinium do not use coins within our society.”

Her mouth dropped open. Tiveria twisted to peek at her master, but Garry had waited until everything was signed to say that. She bit her lip, then covered a smile as Garry’s mandibles rose higher.

“Now, Miss Tiveria, I would like to access the Guild’s many fascinating resources, please. And pay for copies?”

“Er, at once, Trader Garry!”

He ended up paying for copies of current maps, local prices, and such and walked out of the Merchant’s Guild. He did not return even after they sent him several letters asking if he’d come in and discuss the state of his finances and dues to the Merchant’s Guild. He just wrote back, politely, that he would assess his yearly incomes and certainly make all lawful contributions to the Guild. He had heard there was an annual party, and did they need him to bring anything special?

——

Garry liked to visit The Wandering Inn once a week. He often did it via the secret tunnel, because it beat waiting for the door, and he could march through the Free Hive with a wheelbarrow and a Chest of Holding in it and then come upstairs.

One day, Ishkr found him; he and Lyonette sometimes noticed Garry and came to say hello.

“Oh, Garry. Can I help you?”

The Gnoll saw Garry admiring some of the stacked and now preserved foods. He blinked at the Worker, but Garry just nodded.

“Hello, Ishkr. I apologize for coming in via the basement once more. I do not like the water.”

“Not at all, Garry. Can I get you a drink? Lyonette would love to see you.”

Garry walked by the old furniture and supplies in the basement; things Lyonette hadn’t put in people’s rooms like spare dressers and rat-free food stored away. Sometimes goods for transit, but not often.

Garry sat in the common room of The Wandering Inn and received a rather handsome cocoa drink which he savored. He wasn’t very hungry, and he listened to the people talking.

“Hello, Menolit. Hello, Mrsha. How are you doing?”

They came by, recognized him, did their own business, and he was just there. Garry was not very important, but they smiled at him.

He knew chatting to him was sometimes not important to them because, of course, he was not very interesting, and this was fair. It was also harder sometimes for Garry to be part of conversations.

Take in point this case. Miss Uriesta was a nice Drake who knitted a bit of magic into her creations these days. She was an original guest. Nothing had chased her out, and she’d become a [Magical Knitter] on the side. Just a bit of magic she claimed to have picked up from Erin now and then. She was in talks to maybe join Honored Deskie’s collective, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to take the plunge into full employment.

Menolit was a successful business-Drake, but he came by because this was where he’d gotten his start. They were having a lively conversation on the New Lands.

“I’m telling you, it’s a trap. More and more I’m hearing about super-monsters—”

“There has to be a better name for them, Menolit.”

“Well, if there is, I don’t have one. Super-monsters, everyone. No magic. Limited food, and overcrowding! I’m sure all the idiots who rushed there are having a great time.”

Menolit’s stump of a tail lashed the floorboards as Garry sipped his cocoa.

“I hope they are, yes.”

The others nodded, but distractedly. Menolit sighed.

“It makes Liscor Hunted look easy.”

“Surely some groups are doing well. I have it from a friend, a half-Elf I knew since I was a girl—well, she’s barely aged a day—but she’s a pen-pal from Gaiil-Drome. We started writing each other after the first Antinium War. Back when they did care packages?”

Menolit made a gagging sound.

“Dead gods, were those the baskets of fruits and vegetables? I remember eating those for a month! Half-Elven generosity.”

“We got those in the tribes, even. I think I was pooping green for weeks.”

A Gnoll muttered. Garry smiled.

“It does sound very kind of them. What kind of vegetables?”

This time, Menolit hesitated.

“Er—I don’t recall. All kinds. What about your friend, Uriesta?”

“Oh, well, she always has the latest gossip, and she says the half-Elves are doing fine. It’s not easy, but bigger groups are managing. They can even sustain magic.”

Menolit rolled his eyes and pushed his half-eaten burger back.

“Oh, good for them. Glad the bigshots get to eat while everyone else starves.”

Everyone nodded dourly at that, and Garry interjected.

“Yes. One hopes they will help the smaller, less-big-shots.”

He was aware of a silence as they all turned to stare at him. And then Menolit grinned.

“I, uh, that was sarcasm, Garry.”

“I know. But it is my sincere hope that they render assistance anyways.”

The Drake’s mouth opened, and he glanced at Uriesta, who murmured.

“From your mandibles to their earholes, Garry.”

The conversation shifted after that, but that was the problem as Garry understood it.

——

He was aware of sarcasm. Or irony. Or black humor. It was just that because he tended not to employ it, every now and then someone would give him that supercilious, searching gaze.

Perhaps they suspected he was a fool or overly optimistic. Garry preferred to think of it in other ways. He understood the sentiments Menolit expressed, for instance.

He just disagreed it required sarcasm to say something or face an idea with hope. Perhaps it was naiveté. Garry would be the first to admit he was a very naivé person. For instance, he was nearly done with his preparations when the mysterious door came to him, and he knew it belonged to Erin Solstice.

He smiled, and opened the door without a moment’s hesitation. When he walked through and saw the [Innkeeper], her face alight with joy and pain and fear, he spread his arms and smiled.

The [Baker] was glad to see her. Just in case he died. Oh, yes.

It was a distinct possibility.

——

“I don’t understand, Garry. How—how are you in danger? You? Is someone trying to mug you or something?”

The [Chef] was too busy peering around the gazebo, admiring the grand space, to worry about his impending demise. And inspecting Erin. Oh. He gently reached out, then stopped.

“You are very hurt, Erin. May I hug you?”

She hugged him first, hard, and he was surprised how strong she was. She yelped when he hugged her back fiercely.

“Whoa, you’re strong! You silly guy. What…what’s going on, Garry?”

“I do not know what is going on in general, Erin. I am a very closeted bug.”

“Yeah, me too. I…okay, let me start from the beginning. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you since the battle at sea, Garry. Lyonette—Lyonette knew I was okay. And you saw me on the scrying orbs, right?”

“I certainly saw an Erin Solstice, yes. But I am very glad to see you. What is this new Skill? It is very spacious. Have you considered decorating or using it as storage?”

He patted the gazebo, and Erin had to explain it didn’t work like that, to his vague disappointment. Then he sat and listened for a while.

Garry was a good listener, though he was relieved to know that he wasn’t wasting time here, otherwise he would have wanted to roll dough or prepare food while chatting. Erin hesitated.

“And then we stayed in Lemoste and, uh—things are good. Sometimes not perfect, but good!”

“I see. So you have made it somewhere safe and friendly. That is very important, Erin. I am glad, and I will keep this secret, of course.”

The [Innkeeper] nodded, as if it had ever been in doubt, and then looked him up and down. Garry had on his baker’s hat, an apron, and even, she realized, clothing. Perhaps some people objected to Antinium’s seeming nudity, because he had on some very widely cut work clothing—an oversized ‘shirt’ and pants that didn’t actually cover his back-shell. Purely ornamental.

He looked, well, like a professional baker. First of his kind. She was so proud of him, and she didn’t understand. Who would hurt Garry?

Whom did she have to tell Lyonette to kill? Erin exhaled.

“My Skill can do more than find people and make them tell the truth, Garry. I asked it to find the person who was in the most danger, and it said…you were. More than Rabbiteater or the Horns or anyone.”

His antennae waved as Garry sat there, and she swore there was a twinkle in his insectile eyes.

“Oh. I have been ambushed, bested by your Skill. I did my best, but I could not defeat you, Erin. Foolish me for trying.”

“Trying? Garry, what’s going on? Do you know you’re in danger?”

He shrugged, gazing down at the scars on her wrists, around her neck. What ‘good’ looked like to Erin.

“I was very much aware I was in peril, yes. Not immediate danger, but soon-to-be.”

“How can I help? Is it Roshal? Is it rival [Bakers]? Octavia can help; I let her down with her rivals, but she’s got a club. I’ll send Ishkr—”

“No, Erin. It is not that I am in danger now. I merely shall be. I have a plan I have been planning in secret for the last few months. Tomorrow, I think, or maybe today, I shall execute it. It is a risky plan, and clearly, death is possible, so perhaps I must reconsider using Runel, Pisca, and the others. But it is a thing I will do.”

A plan? He was so calm that Erin had to reset herself mentally. She took a breath, then saw how steady Garry looked. How he felt.

She had always had a sense for things. It had deepened as she levelled, and it worked on everyone. Well, almost everyone. Super high-level people were hard to read, like Zinni, and Erin couldn’t tell what Ulvama felt, but that was normal.

But Garry? She got not a trace of fear from him. Erin peered at Garry, then sat back.

“Tell me, please.”

He was only too happy to. In fact, as Garry sat forwards, Erin realized that the twinkle in his eyes was no illusion. Nor was his smile. He had a huge one, even jolly. And he wasn’t that fat, but if you stared at his stomach, the apron and folds of cloth, could you perhaps say he had a round stomach?

…No, that was a stretch. But for answer, Garry explained it all to Erin with a laugh. He said:

“Ho, ho, ho. It’s Christmas time again, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] gave Garry an open-mouthed, round-eyed stare. Then she looked around.

“—No, it’s spring. I’m pretty sure it’s spring.”

“It is Christmas.”

“It’s n—oh. Oh. Oh, Garry.”

——

That was the plan. All of it. Garry had not forgotten last Christmas. Nor the one before that, but this last one he had been, for a short time, someone who gave gifts and watched people smile. And he had thought ‘how wonderful. How grand’.

Why must I wait an entire year to do this again?

Statistically, a year in this world was longer than an Earth one by a considerable margin! Nor was Garry’s plan merely ‘second Christmas’. He had been preparing meticulously for months, and he actually walked Erin through his preparations once she showed him how to conjure images.

“The Wandering Inn has stopped giving out food and supplies, especially healing potions, since the winter ended. So has the Unseen Empire, though they occasionally render aid to other settlements and people that come to visit.”

“Well…yeah. The winter’s over. Now that spring’s begun, people can grow food, can’t they?”

Erin sat on one of his counters in violation of health and food safety regulations, but Garry allowed it because he was only in an imaginary kitchen, rolling some dough. He put it into the oven because there was no sense in doing things wrong and turned to her, flour dust on his apron.

“That is what I hoped, Erin. But it turns out starvation and hunger is a year-round thing. Many villages need food. Always, yes?”

She ducked her head, and a shadow crossed her face.

“Yeah. In my world and yours. Even if there’s plenty in some places…okay, I get that. But where’s the food coming from? Liscor can’t feed other cities, Garry.”

“I am aware. I am also aware there is plenty of food to spare if one is careful. I have made Yellat Bread, which is moderately successful, and perfected my Daily Bread recipes, Erin. I also make Scaethen Bread, but it is very difficult, even now. I can only make two small loaves of that a day, so it is not sustainable…but I make plenty of bread for one Liscorian Mark.”

“One what?”

He showed her the new Liscorian Marks and she snorted.

“What, are people making new money these days? That’s weird. Looks sort of nice, though. Who made it?”

“Councilmember Lism was the creator.”

“Lism.”

She shook a fist at the air, and Garry went on as bread appeared from the ovens, hot and fluffy and ready to be eaten. He placed them on trays, which imaginary staff members took. Most to be stored in safe containers for the hungry lines. Some to store if it kept well. Antinium Workers trundled out of the back or down into a cellar that led into the Free Hive.

He wasn’t technically supposed to alter the bakery that way, but it let Antinium not crowd the street, and the Council turned a blind eye, if they knew. Erin watched as a single Worker carried a cart of bread down into the cellar.

“Wait a second.”

Embezzlement. Garry walked with the Worker as the bakery changed, showing her the Hive. The trays of bread went down, down past fascinated, hungry Workers, Soldiers, and into a kitchen where they were popped into a pantry enchanted with Runes of Preservation.

It wasn’t very big. But he didn’t take that much bread per bake, and only at the start and end of the day. No one noticed. Why would they? There was always enough bread, and what was stale could be ground up and re-used as bread crumbs or given to [Farmers] as feed.

Or Garry took some. Now, he walked over to some bread that had unacceptable bread mold, the worst enemy of his, on it. He tapped it.

“[Restore Food].”

“Wh—you can do that? That’s magic! Is that a kind of restoration? That’s way too high-level!”

The [Witch] shouted. Garry turned to her.

“It is a Skill, and it does not work on large things. Just spoiling.”

But now he had two carts’ worth of bread. His poor pantries couldn’t contain all that! So, Garry loaded the bread into a Chest of Holding he’d bought. He put the chest on a wheelbarrow and began to walk it again.

This time, he had to walk for a while, but it was good exercise. It was a long walk to—

“Hey! My inn! You dug all the way here?”

“Yes.”

“Wh—but it’s at the other end of the Floodplains!”

“We like having underground entrances. How do you think the construction crews get here each day?”

Like heck they were going to brave the damn rains over those rickety bridges. Only the most courageous Antinium did that. Garry rolled the cart up into the basement, then stopped. Erin was already goggling when he walked over to a somewhat-dusty dresser in the corner of her inn. Garry slid open a drawer…and began to pop loaves of bread inside.

“What? What? Whaaaaaaaat?”

He turned to stare at her, genuinely perplexed.

“Erin. This is your Skill. [Compartments of Holding].”

“Wh—yeah, but—I’ve never used it like that!”

Erin protested. She knew Numbtongue had hidden weapons around the inn, at least before it got moved, but this? Garry hummed as he worked.

“It is all, as I believe the Earthers say, free real estate. I have filled up a number of furniture items with bread. I do not think Ishkr or Lyonette notice, but I am sure they would understand. But I am not troubling them. They are very busy fighting Goblin Kings and such.”

That was a mere part of his plans. Then he showed Erin the maps and very lovely routes the Merchant’s Guild had provided to him. When she saw that, the [Innkeeper] grew quiet.

“Oh, Garry. You’re not…”

He had drawn, in red chalk, a weaving route heading north from Celum across as many places as he thought he could reach. From small village to small village that only a [Merchant] knew or places Garry had heard of. Through forests, under the High Passes, northwards…the first time would be short.

“Three days. All that remains is to take my paid vacation, which I intend to submit paperwork for. Then—”

When he looked up, she stood there, eyes locked on him, an expression of pained pride on her face. He wished it were not pained.

“Garry. I’ve always been so proud of you. So much because you’ve never stopped giving, and I forget.”

“You give in your own way, Erin. But I have bread to deliver.”

“It…it’s an amazing idea. I’m sure there are hungry people. But you’re an Antinium. Can’t you go to the Driver’s Guild or get the Knights of Solstice to do it?”

She hesitated, and he did not. Garry shook his head.

“They are busy saving lives. The Driver’s Guild I do intend to approach—to rent a wagon from. I have purchased the largest Chest of Holding I am able to, but I must go, Erin. After all…”

He reached up and tugged at a white beard which had materialized on chin.

“I must be Santa Claus. He comes when needed, does he not? Ho, ho, and possibly, ho.”

Her eyes filled up with tears. Erin whispered.

“So that’s why. But it’ll be dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You—you could wait, Garry. Christmas was beautiful, but it comes once a year.”

“I am aware, but I refuse to wait, Erin. If someone is hungry, now, they must be fed.”

“There are [Bandits] and monsters and—”

“Yes.”

He knew. Nevertheless, Garry smiled, and he was excited, not afraid. Concerned he might fail or be suboptimal, but he had to go.

——

Erin Solstice let him go after that. She had lots of advice for him, most of which involved getting Acid Jars from the inn. Garry got two, for monsters, but he was no fighter.

He did approach the Driver’s Guild to rent the wagon, of course. They were hesitant about giving him one, but his gold was good, and when he told them he needed no horses, they were surprised.

“Do you, er, have animals, sir? Not all’re fit to pull a wagon, even a lighter one such as this. Don’t you at least need a harness?”

The [Hostler] asked Garry, and he replied with a smile.

“I have a team already, thank you.”

His team were Flying Antinium. He would have done Corusdeer, but they were apparently not very easy to tame, and Flying Antinium…flew.

There were more than a few assistants that Garry employed these days who weren’t merely Free Antinium. He was sure that when the Silent Queen or Flying Queen sent their Antinium to the Free Hive, they were intended to be used as warriors, scouts, or experimental subjects for the Free Queen.

Kitchen staff was probably not their intended use-case, but Garry employed as many as he could justify. Oh, and a number of the Flying Antinium could fly.

Not just Pisca and Runel. One day, after the giant Harpy had led an army against the Goblin King and the mountains had stopped shaking, Garry had woken up to find two dozen Flying Antinium snoozing in his kitchen. He had, of course, done the responsible thing and asked the Free Queen for chambers to house the lot and given them jobs.

He didn’t know where the others had gone, but the Free Queen had certainly taken in more than he himself had. Another omission; when the Flying Queen asked, they pretended not to know where any of her subjects were.

That explained how some of them flew, gifted by the last Empress of Iltanus who flew into this reality with Skills approaching the power of the divine.

…He was pretty sure the reason Pisca and Runel flew was because of his bread.

——

Scaethen Bread was probably Garry’s other major capstone Skill of note along with his employee and pantry-Skills. It was a red, glowing loaf of hyper-kneaded dough.

The more you kneaded, the brighter and more magical it got. It required Sage’s Grass and more expensive ingredients to make the highest quality of it, but the main factor was just…kneading.

Garry had tried to get one of his non-Antinium employees to make it once. The poor Drake had kneaded for eight hours on-and-off and had to call off the next day due to muscle cramping from making one piece of bread after six attempts. But the result was worth it.

A finished loaf of Scaethen Bread was always small. Barely larger than your hand in diameter, and it looked underbaked. It was soft as a pillow, but you could taste the crunch when you bit into it. Perfectly baked at a low temperature of 146 °F for thirty-six minutes, it had a strange, magical aroma, and the taste…

Garry described the taste as ‘energy and Sage’s Grass’, but he felt like it missed a key word he lacked the vocabulary for. Pisca, who often ate it, or failed samples of it, as a treat, had a better description.

“Niceezzzz taste. Tastez like hard, good work. Successz.”

If you could turn that into a taste, then yes, Garry supposed it did. Scaethen Bread filled you up. A single loaf was enough to keep him full well past dinner, and it was also, he had to emphasize, magical.

It did things to you the longer you ate it. At first, it was just magicalish effects. Garry gave it to the [Farmer] Antinium and his employees in the kitchen, and he ate it himself now and then. He, personally, didn’t feel much of a change, but he was sure something was going on.

In Pisca and Runel? It was pretty simple: they flew.

In the beginning, it was glowing orange wings, magic enabling them to achieve the dream of Flying Antinium. But at some point that had stopped, and he’d sensed some subtle changes in their bodies. Maybe longer wings? Back physiology altering?

These days, they could buzz around or cling to walls when not working. No more effects had been observed, and he didn’t know if their powers wore off if they stopped eating Scaethen Bread. He sort of doubted it, because in some of the farming Antinium?

Well, at least one Soldier had begun speaking, and he was 99% sure that they hadn’t been altered by the Free Queen and had been mute since they had been created. Not everyone demonstrated the effects, and Garry was keeping his bread on the down low.

He didn’t have much, and he had a feeling the other Queens, including Xrn, would confiscate it if they knew he could make it or have him solely devoted towards making the bread. The Free Queen only demanded some regularly for herself, so Garry was bribing her to keep it secret. He had more important things to do. Garry hadn’t even told Pawn, either, because, well…

Pawn could make free bread. He didn’t really need more.

A bit of rivalry, that. Garry’s bread versus religious free bread, which he, personally, thought wasn’t as good as his. Anyways, the point was that when he gathered up a symbolic twelve Flying Antinium, all of them could fly.

“Pisca, are you sure you and Runel wish to fly?”

“Yessz. We must go with you, Head Chef.”

He was uncertain. They could stay, but a Silent Antinium [Novice Cook] was taking over for them serving the Free Queen, and the custom harness he’d had an Antinium make for them was sized to Flying Antinium.

It was going to look a bit silly with them, but six Flying Antinium had enough strength to pull the light wagon along. Six more would keep pace, trading off as needed. Garry was highly tempted to see if he could buy a glowing red [Light] spell to give to one of the leaders, but that would have been childish.

This was symbolic. He had packed a hat and beard in his bag of holding, but that was actually important.

“This will be a dangerous trip. The Humans may attack us, and there may also be monsters or [Bandits]. I cannot guarantee your safety, but we are attempting to feed those who are hungry.”

He gave a simple address to his company as they gathered in front of him. Rain pelted them as he stood next to the wagon in a street just off of Shivertail Plaza. People glanced at him, recognizing Garry by his hat, but he was just…calm. He surveyed the twelve Flying Antinium and went on.

“We are Antinium. We know what hunger is like. Not just hunger of our bodies, but hunger to see the sky. Hunger to eat something that tastes good. Hunger not to be a yawning chasm, alone, with nothing to live for. There are lonely people who require feeding. No one has gone. So, we must. If you become lost or hurt, fly back to Celum or Liscor. Do not put yourselves at risk. It is only bread.”

He patted the wagon where carefully-covered loaves of bread had been stacked up as high as he could; more were in the Chest of Holding. He had other bags in the wagon, but all of it was paid for by his personal funds, which were not unlimited.

Only the bread was stolen. Thus, Liscor’s most criminal Antinium clapped his hands.

“Let us go, then. Thank you all.”

He knew Erin could not watch him, but perhaps that was fine. She had promised to check on him tomorrow, and no one else was watching him.

No one at all. That was, Garry thought to himself, the ideal way to launch a surprise attack.

He had been a [Tactician] learning chess from Erin, after all. He just didn’t care for killing people.

Feeding them was better.

——

The only person who noticed Garry’s actions at first was, of course, the one who saw it all. Though she didn’t tell anyone, because, well, no one listened to her.

“You want to bring a what through to Celum? No way! No oversized cargo!”

Liska was grumping out that morning due to the rain and people trekking it in, and also freaking out because of a Flying Antinium scaring everyone in line. She had to keep shouting and using her Skills to stop them from stampeding.

Then they wanted to bring a wagon through? She snapped.

“I don’t care if you know it’s possible! The answer’s no! No! Go around and tell the Free Queen to shove—oh, hey Garry. Wait, you’re the wagon-guy?”

Garry waved at Liska through the door, and she changed tack.

“Well, I mean, c’mon, Garry! Give me a heads up! Okay, fine. [Door: Oversized Transportation]. Wait, how full is this wagon? Garry!”

She had to order everyone out of the waiting room so the wagon could come through the door, despite the impossibility of the doorframe. It seemed to just slip through, then Garry had to back it up as he told her he wanted to bring it to Celum.

Liska was swearing about the mana costs that’d have the door on low-power all day, and the delays, but she didn’t need to call in Lyonette to make it happen. Plus, it was Garry—and the red, glowing loaf he handed her smelled great.

“Aw—okay. Just for you, Garry. What’s this nice stuff?”

“Scaethen Bread, my specialty. You are very good for putting up with me, Liska.”

She smiled and waved that off, highly embarrassed, and actually leapt through the door to clear Celum’s people out. Only after she heard gasps and screams at the Flying Antinium and Garry rolling through did it occur to Liska that maybe this was weird after all.

“Wait, why are you going to Celum?”

Garry flicked an antenna at Liska like a wink. There was the clomp of Golems and a shout to ‘halt’ as he rode the wagon through the door.

“I am delivering bread.”

“Oh, cool. Nice. I didn’t know your bakery did that.”

She went back to sitting on the couch long enough to see Lord Xitegen striding up and made sure Garry wasn’t in trouble. Then Liska sat down on the couch and began to reorganize people, warning every city that mana was low for the moment. She didn’t think much of it until Lyonette came running to find her, and that was hours later.

Mostly, Liska had been just wondering who ordered that much bread.

——

The Liscor passage was quite easy, though Garry did note the imposition on Liska and reflected that moving the bread through to Celum and getting a wagon there would have been faster.

But the Humans panicked at the sight of Flying Antinium, and Lord Xitegen Terland was there very quickly. He did not like trouble.

“I do not like trouble, Antinium. Nor is Celum a city you can enter with impunity. Be told. What are you doing, and why should I allow it?”

Garry didn’t know Lord Xitegen at all. He’d seen him and heard he was a very important, very impressive man. He still had bandages from fighting the Goblin King, and Garry knew the Golems could probably break his wagon apart. Pisca, Runel, and the Flying Antinium like Cherry, Leafwing, Carla, and the others, were not actually that dangerous in hand-to-hand combat. They liked to strafe their opponents on the move. And he would not fight anyways because he thought Golems, like people, did not deserve violence.

Garry smiled from his seat at Lord Xitegen, who gave him an annoyed look. He lifted one cover on the wagon.

“It is merely bread, Lord Xitegen.”

“Ah, trade goods. And I should allow an Antinium to enter my lands and cause more inn-style havoc because…?”

He was peering around for Lyonette, ready for a fight, obstreperous. A nice word that Garry had just read in his dictionary.

But the Antinium knew his opponents. Sadly, in this battle, Lord Xitegen was outclassed, disadvantaged, helpless. Garry replied cheerfully.

“I would like to clarify, if I may, Lord Xitegen, that I am not trading this bread at all. I am giving it away. Ho. Hoho. Ho.”

Amazing how those three words rang a bell in some minds. Children glanced around, and even adults wondered why…?

Lord Xitegen didn’t recall the significance of the words immediately, but when Garry explained his route and turned over the map, the [Lord]’s eyes narrowed.

“Charity? That’s [Bandit] territory. Far too far outside the range of Celum or even Brigadier Forount’s commendable alliance of cities. No-man’s land. You’ll be attacked on sight.”

He stabbed a finger at Gulfwaters Ravine, and Garry nodded.

“I may be attacked, it is true, Lord Xitegen. But I will navigate that as I must. And if it is no-man’s land, then it is surely no problem, because I am an Antinium.”

“Hah. I didn’t realize you buggers understood humor.”

Lord Xitegen’s features twitched for half a second, then he handed the map back.

“And I should allow this because…? You’ll cause a scandal the moment you leave my city. You already have driven traffic to a standstill.”

His Golems loomed over the Flying Antinium, who fanned their wings, but Xitegen was a clever man. Garry put his four hands together politely.

“I believe, Lord Xitegen, that you will allow us passage now. And perhaps give us an escort, though I do not believe one is needed in your lands.”

“Why the hell would I—”

The Lord of House Terland began, then stopped. He gazed at Garry’s smiling face. Then at the wagonload of bread. Then at Garry’s map.

The [Lord] went pacing back and forth, and Garry took the time to admire the man’s thighs, which Bird had said he should inspect if he ever got the chance. Lord Xitegen pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He spun back.

“Primera, scan that wagon for magic and have a sample of the bread tested for contaminants, poison, anything.”

Garry waited patiently and offered Xitegen a free sample of bread. The Thigh Lord sighed when he heard Primera report a negative.

“The glowing red bread is an unknown to me, Lord Xitegen. It appears to contain positive magical effects, however.”

“Yes, yes, and I see how much he’s…”

The Human [Lord] stood there, staring at his feet, until Garry politely cleared his throat. Then his head snapped up.

“Give them an esc—”

He caught his words, then gave Garry a flat, flat stare. He made a motion.

“Issue a public notice, Primera. The Antinium have passage through my lands, and that is not a guarantee of anything. I trust you will commit no crimes…Baker?”

“Chef Garry, Lord Xitegen. Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

The [Lord] spun on his heels and strode away. Garry heard commands being issued by the very surprised woman who commanded his militaries, then the streets cleared. He and the Flying Antinium began to roll through Celum towards the eastern gates.

All according to plan. The people of Celum were staring at the Antinium, calling for scrying orbs, checking to see if this was on the news—and it was not because no one was paying attention.

Yet.

Now word was spreading, and Garry rolled forwards until they were out of the gates. Only then did Runel buzz around him.

“Garry. Garry. Quesztion.”

She flew like a fly, left, right, buzzing around him as an open-mouthed [Farmer] nearly crashed his wagon into the wall trying to get away from the giant Flying Antinium.

“Yes, Runel?”

“Why did Lord Zitegen let uz go? I do not underztand.”

Garry stared ahead for a moment as the Flying Antinium got them up to a decent clip. He hoped they could keep the pace up; they wouldn’t be nearly as fast as horses without riding Skills, but they were moving fast already. Of course, all the Humans who saw his wagon panicked.

Chaos on the roads, but one of Lord Xitegen’s Golems was striding ahead, shouting the news.

Xitegen was an efficient man. A deadly foe, Garry was certain, for Drakes. Brave, intelligent, and he had never stood a chance. Garry responded to Runel kindly.

“He let us go, Runel, because he understood what we are doing.”

“Zo?”

“He has been hungry too, Runel.”

“Oh.”

She landed, after a moment, on top of the stacked bread until Garry shooed her off so she didn’t squash the top layers. He sat back and admired the blue skies, inhaling the spring air as word finally began to percolate into people’s brains.

There was an Antinium doing what? Slowly, he reached down and checked on his secret weapon. The hard part would not be Celum’s lands. The hard part would be when they reached the first settlements and tried to actually deliver their cargo. Around Celum, people had at least heard of the Antinium; past that? He and the Flying Antinium were true monsters of legend.

Yet Garry had a plan. He hoped he didn’t die executing it.

——

The first Human village was named Eress, and it was actually almost due north of the place that old Rheirgest had been. Unlike their reclusive, [Necromancer] sister-village, Eress was a more traditional farming hamlet. They should have been well-set, but mysterious crop blight had killed their entire fall harvest.

Only fish from the creek had kept them from true famine. Eress had a low, ten-foot wood wall, partly fallen inwards in places where the old wood had just rotted away, and no one had bothered to repair it. It was not a thriving place, but until now, it hadn’t been starving either.

It just…had no [Lord]. No city. No valuable goods that would be why [Merchants] stopped by. Anyone who reached levels above 30 would leave for somewhere better. But the village continued because it had been pleasant and safe enough. Not living near the High Passes.

The winter had been terribly long. Stores of coin had vanished, and belts had tightened. Now, anything that grew went straight into the pots, but that meant there was no coin to buy essentials.

All that to say that more than one soul had left, heading either for the New Lands; Celum, where there was said to be work under a [Lord]; or a magical door. It was, in fact, near enough to Celum that a City Runner could come pounding up the road with a missive for the [Headwoman]. When she read the letter and realized it was from none other than Lord Xitegen of Celum, they were shocked.

When they read an Antinium was coming their way—there was a panic. Half the village was ready to pack up and run, but he was apparently right behind the City Runner, Fals. In the end, everyone who couldn’t fight hid inside the cellars while the villagers grabbed bows and axes and pitchforks and took to the walls. Several spots immediately gave way from too many bodies, and it was then, as they were picking each other up, that the wagon appeared.

Give Lord Xitegen this: he had probably set up Garry’s arrival as best as possible. The Worker slowed the wagon as the Flying Antinium’s wings buzzed, then went quiet. He saw, in the distance, several bows being drawn back.

Garry had no armor Skills. He hadn’t tried to fight since Erin’s inn when the undead and Skinner had attacked. An arrow would kill him if it struck him in the head, but he just kept the wagon rolling forwards.

He had prepared the only way he knew how. His secret weapons were ready and deployed. And the villagers, squinting, called out.

“What’s that? T-those aren’t beetles. They’re like oversized flies. Dead gods, a dozen of ‘em!”

“No one loose!”

“What? They’ll eat us if they come nearer—”

“The letter said—”

“Damn the letter, look at that one! Wait. What’s with the one riding the wagon? What’s…on its face? On its head? Is that a—a hat?”

Several villagers of Eress shaded their eyes. They pointed, and the keen-eyed among them confirmed that, yes, it was a hat.

A red hat with a white stripe along the trim. And a poofball of white on the tip. And the Antinium Worker had something else on his face.

The kind of thing that made you look twice, because in your fear, this nightmare, you had to look twice and go ‘wait, am I really seeing that?’

The Antinium had a white beard he’d attached to his face with a bit of string. The fake beard waved in the spring breeze, and the bright red wagon gleamed under the sun. He’d been very particular about the color.

Garry hopped off the wagon a hundred feet from the village. He walked forwards, a bundle in his arms, and arrows drew back as he approached and halted, a dozen steps from the closed gates.

“Who—what are you, and what do you want?”

A nervous man called down from the walls, aiming a spear at Garry’s chest. The Antinium lifted the object up in his hands. They moved back, but Garry just spoke, his voice loud, carrying, and fearless.

Fals, watching with his breath drawn, saw Garry lift the loaf of bread skywards, and the golden-brown crust caught the light.

“Bread. I baked it myself. I would like to give you some, people of Eress, if I may.”

Perhaps they had not celebrated Christmas, but they had heard of the funny tradition in Liscor. Stories of an Unseen Emperor delivering food in the winter, and perhaps they had wished for the same.

The villagers glanced at each other as stomachs rumbled, and they mouthed.

Bread? From Antinium? 

It has to be a trap.

But Lord Xitegen had written…

“Why?”

The [Headwoman] called down to Garry and stared at him narrow-eyed, with the suspicion of someone used to shady [Traders] or dodgy travellers. [Thieves], not good strangers. She searched, with a [Detect Guilt] Skill, for any malfeasance, any trickery in him.

The Human woman shaded her eyes, though the sun wasn’t shining in her face. She blinked her eyes rapidly until the instinctive tears faded. One of the other villagers whispered to her, anxious.

“Canna? What’d you see? How many blotches?”

She shook the spots from her gaze and glanced back down just in time to hear Garry’s cheerful reply.

“Someone fed me when I was hungry once. Ever after that, I no longer wished to feel hungry, so I started making food. I was told you needed food, so I came.”

“We have nothing to pay you with.”

Canna shot back at him, shading her eyes, squinting. Garry shook his head.

“I do not wish for payment, please. This is free bread. Would you like a piece?”

He broke off a section of his loaf and happily inserted a piece into his mouth. They watched, entranced and uneasy, as he ate it. Garry called out.

“I have more.”

——

It took the villagers of Eress a while to open the gates. Longer still to try the bread that he and the Flying Antinium unloaded for them, and all the while, Fals watched and did not help.

Only when the nervous [Headswoman], Canna, took a piece and used some complimentary butter to spread on it and took a bite did they believe this wasn’t some trick. One look at her chomping down and half would have risked it, even if it was poisonous.

Garry believed it had worked when the first little boy peeked his head out of the cellar, saw his father eating some bread, and dashed out to take some despite his mother shouting at him to come back.

“I don’t understand. Why us?”

“You were close by, and I heard you needed food. It is not much, but I hope it helps.”

“It—it will. And it won’t go bad?”

“It will go bad slowly since I have [Slow Spoilage], but I do encourage you to store the bread in a cool, dry place, and then check it for mold. I estimate it will begin to grow stale in fourteen days.”

“Fourteen days?”

“Yes, I have tested my bread extensively. This is in the rainy season of Liscor, so it may be subject to change. Also, be very wary of mice and rats, please. Though rats are very edible.”

“They are that. But this’d do us for…we could bring in the next harvest and not have to dig up anything ahead of time. It’s good. It is good, right?”

One of the suspicious Humans staying away from Garry but eating the bread glanced at Fals. The City Runner raised his hands.

“I can only say what Lord Terland bade me deliver, everyone. Though I will say, I have been to Liscor, and Antinium do all kinds of jobs there. They don’t lie that I’ve heard, except for one, and he’s the weird one.”

He meant Bird, of course. The Humans eyed him.

“A whole city full of…?”

Fals winked at Garry when they turned back to the [Chef]. The Runner was not helping, merely observing, and Garry was grateful. Fals could not go with him the entire way, and so Garry had to figure out what worked.

“Would it help if I said this was courtesy of Liscor’s bakeries? Bread made by the city?”

“Drake bread?”

“Ah, I am sensing from your tone that this is not helpful. What if I said…this bread is a surplus the city does not need?”

“Why don’t they store it, sell it, or grind it up as feed?”

Why indeed? These were all good, logical ways to earn more coin, and Garry was going against the very principles everyone in Izril knew. The [Baker] thought about it and came back to his simplest answer.

“I have been hungry. I wish to give bread to people so they are less hungry, if I can.”

They were still doubtful, but the boy who’d emerged from the house gazed up at Garry with huge eyes, then blurted out.

“Are you him? The Santa man?”

Garry still had the beard on, and the Humans eyed him and whispered.

“Are you the Santa fellow? I thought he wasn’t…y’know, Antinium.”

A little candle lit up in Garry’s mind, and he knelt down. The boy promptly hid behind his parents, but Garry adopted a very serious tone of voice.

“This is fundamentally correct, little boy. I am…Santa. Though my name is Garry. I have a huge bakery in Liscor, and I give out toys and such to children every Christmas. Which is why I am here. See my wagon and twelve helpers?”

The twelve Antinium helpers fanned their wings as the Humans drew back. The little boy had an expression as he stared up at his parents that suggested he thought he’d been lied to and resented the fact greatly. He blurted out.

“Then why’re you here? It ain’t Christmas!”

“No indeed. I am here because…I deliver bread year-round. Presents are only on Christmas. Ho-ho. And ho.”

Fals’ mouth was visibly open as Garry completed his pitch to the villagers of Eress. If anyone had asked him if Antinium lied…the [Headwoman] passed a hand over her eyes again.

“I don’t see nary a splotch of guilt on him. I think it’s the truth, and if a Terland [Lord] is watching, the bread’s good. Eat up, everyone. I…I thank you, Antinium fellow. Mister Santa?”

“Garry. Santa is my middle name.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Claus.”

The look the woman gave him told Garry that he had to work on that particular falsehood. He didn’t know how Bird did it. But she drew closer.

“Thank you. It feels like something out of a tale. We’d heard of the Unseen Emperor and thought…but even that beggared belief. This really is all good? It ain’t a trick or poison or…?”

“No.”

“If it is, I’ll curse you across Izril.”

She looked him in the eyes, and he nodded seriously. Then the woman brushed at her eyes and blinked again.

“Ach. I trust you. Can’t look at you straight on.”

“I realize I am horrific to Human sensibilities. I do not mind.”

“Not that. I ain’t ever seen something bright as you.”

“Bright?”

“My eyes have [Detect Guilt].”

“Oh.”

He didn’t know how that applied; he had plenty of guilt. Did she know how many pies he’d dropped before his Skills that revolved around accidents? But Garry smiled as he saw the pace of bread-intake increasing.

One village down, nine more to go. Fals jogged out of the village with Garry.

“I’m paid to spread the word a bit more, Mister Garry, but I won’t be able to go much further than this. You’re approaching the limits I can run, and frankly, it’s bandit territory up north.”

“So I am told, City Runner Fals, but that is all the more reason to go. May I offer you a loaf of bread?”

The man grinned and demurred, but at the second village, he did have some and blinked.

“This is the best damn bread I’ve had…ever!”

Garry put his hands on his hips as the cautious villagers took bites.

“Yes. I am the highest-level [Baker] you have ever met. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Well, er, it’s free.”

“And why would I give away bad bread for free?”

That stumped everyone so utterly that they were still working on the many levels Garry was apparently wrong on when he pulled away.

——

On the first day, Garry managed to visit two villages and be attacked by [Bandits]. It turned out that if everyone knew the [Bandits] operated out of Gulfwaters Ravine, then they preferred to move south of there into a forest where everyone didn’t know where they were.

Garry eyed the shortbows and another pitchfork pointed his way and guessed they were hunting bows and farming implements. Even the Antinium Workers in the Free Hive had better bows.

These were not the Bloodfeast Raiders. Garry believed this on the grounds that the [Bandits] were poorly armed, not mounted, and looked worse-for-wear. Also, he believed the Bloodfeast Raiders didn’t have children.

Those only appeared after the [Bandits] had surrounded his wagon and fired a few arrows—mostly into the bread stack. All the Flying Antinium were tensed, on the ground, ready to buzz upwards.

Garry had a jar of acid in his bag of holding. He did not reach for it. Instead, he spoke calmly to the leader, who was demanding he get off the wagon.

“Excuse me, sir. I do not have any gold for you to take. My cargo is bread.”

“I said get off the wagon. We’re taking everything, got it? Just back off and we won’t fill you full of arrows!”

The man was visibly nervous as he shook the pitchfork at Garry. The Antinium scared the [Bandits], who backed up every time one of the Flying Antinium moved a wing. One was motioning the children to get back, but they all had eyes on Garry’s valuable cargo.

The bread.

Garry slid from his seat and was herded away from the wagon. Then he saw someone rush forwards and cut the cords. They exclaimed.

“It’s filled with food. Mit, look—”

“Shut up. Grab it in case there’s more. There’s no horses, so get it back to—”

Their leader was having trouble organizing everyone. Half the [Bandits] rushed forwards to grab food, and Garry calculated that if there was a moment to attack, it was probably now. Certainly, Runel tensed, but he just put out a hand in front of her. The [Bandits] were hauling the bread away when he spoke.

“I baked that bread, and it is my intention to deliver it to the other villages along my route. So I will please ask you only to take a certain amount for yourselves.”

He stepped forwards, and the weapons snapped back up. The [Bandit]’s leader jabbed with the pitchfork, the tines nearly grazing Garry’s apron.

“You’re not taking anything. Just—just back off and go back wherever you came from!”

“No. I must insist on keeping the bread. It is needed for other people who are hungry. I observe you and your people are hungry. This is what the bread is for, but you cannot have it all.”

The altercation had swung the group’s guards back up. Garry saw more than one person scramble up on the wagon to aim down at him. He stepped forwards.

“Do not step on the bread, please.”

“Get back. Back, I said!”

The pitchfork thrust at his chest again, and Garry caught a tine. He saw the Flying Antinium tensing out of the corner of one eye and raised his other hands.

“Excuse me—”

“Stop eating bread, you idiots! Get the kids back!”

“I would like to state—”

“Get lost! Get back or we’ll kill you! We ain’t warning you twice—”

Garry thought about Erin, then drew in a breath.

“EXCUSE ME.”

Two bows twanged. One shot went wide, and the other arrow, stone and crude, hit Garry on the shoulder.

“Ow.”

It bounced off his carapace, and he wondered if it could have even hurt a deer. Probably meant for rabbits. Garry spoke into the ringing silence.

“I am Garry, the Chef. Also Santa. I have been delivering bread to hungry people, and this wagon’s bread is for you. But not all of it. Please leave me and my helpers the rest that we might feed people in need. Thank you. Also—”

He dug out his fake beard and attached it under his chin. Then the hat. The [Bandits] stared at him. The surreal Worker standing there deepened his voice.

“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”

When his mind finally processed that this wasn’t a dream and after a surreptitious pinch, Mit, the [Bandit Leader], called back, licking his lips.

“What, you’re just giving out…food?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because people are hungry.”

“That’s…not a real reason.”

“It is a very real and good reason. If someone is hungry, should you not feed them?”

“Hah! We’ve starved this entire damn winter and no one’s fed us. Not our nobles or anyone else.”

Someone spat into the dust of the road, and Garry saw angry eyes peeking over a veil at him.

“If that is so, then it is a terrible thing. But I have come, because I had to. I mean to feed all those who are hungry.”

“Including us? Mighty convenient.”

Cynicism was warring with suspicion on Mit’s face, but Garry spoke without a hint of irony, just like he had to Menolit, and now they were all eying him for a hint, a break in his tone or features, foreign as they were. Surely, there had to be…

“Including you. Which is why I am pleased to meet you, though not that you have stood upon my bread and wish to take more than you need. Please, give the rest back.”

“Or what?”

Aha, a splendid dialectical counter. Doubly effective with all the pointy metal objects aimed at Garry. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Or you will no doubt take all the food, which you cannot eat before it spoils. There is more than enough in the Chest of Holding, and you will not be able to eat it despite the lesser preservation on the chest.”

“A Chest of Holding! Do you hear that, Mit?”

They grew excited, and Mit jutted out his chin, smiling now with clear relief.

“We’ll have that and maybe leave the wagon to you. How’s that sound?”

“No. The Chest of Holding contains more bread than you need. I insist you let me allocate the bread to you as well as appropriate supplies.”

At this point, some of the [Bandits] began checking the trees, even the ground, on the suspicion that Garry had to have backup. Mit clearly had the same idea, because he licked his lips, casting around.

“What’ll you do if we don’t agree? We’ve got you surrounded and outnumbered.”

He probably should have just run Garry off at blade-point or opened fire, but the kids were watching, and besides, this had that dream-like quality of surreality that occurred when things didn’t go how you expected. So everyone was listening as Garry returned evenly. He didn’t pause. As if he had no expectations whatsoever and thus could react to the most absurd moments that he took seriously.

“Well then, Bandit Leader Mit, I suppose you will then steal my entire cargo and I will be forced to return without the bread as I will not fight you. Nor will my helpers.”

We won’t? Pisca, Runel, and the others clearly thought they had a chance, even surrounded. Mit grinned in relief, showing some rather excellent teeth. He rubbed at his chest, and Garry saw how badly his clothes fit on him.

Thin. The pitchfork was clearly too heavy for him to lift for long, so he rested his weight on it.

“Sounds good to me.”

“This will happen, then, Mister Mit.”

The [Bandits] were turning to grab the supplies and dig the Chest of Holding out when Garry added pointedly and sharply.

“Other villages will starve because you have stolen the bread that could have fed them. I take the fact that you are [Bandits] as a sign you are desperate and need food. I did not think you murdered children.”

Mit’s head snapped up, and some of the kids watching stirred.

“The hell did you say to me? We’re not killing any children.”

Unless the Flying Antinium…? His confusion was clarified by Garry.

“I see you have children in your company. You will feed your offspring with the bread you hoard, that you cannot fully use, and others’ children will starve as a result. I knew [Bandits] were criminals. I did not think they were monsters.”

“We’re not killing any—shut up.”

Mit was rapidly losing patience with Garry. He lifted the pitchfork and thrust it again only to have it stop dead when Garry caught it. The Human tried to yank the pitchfork back, but it was like a vice held it. Garry pointed a finger at the children.

“I will give you enough bread to feed you for a considerable amount of time. But if you steal that bread, children will die. Is that what you want, Mit?”

“Get off. Get—no, that’s not what we’re doing! We’re just protecting ourselves!”

Mit realized he was arguing philosophy with an Antinium with a white beard and a red hat. Ridiculous. Surreal. But the Antinium wasn’t backing up as someone jabbed him with a quarterstaff. If anything, he got louder, and he was speaking to the children now.

“It is very simple, bandit-children. No one will buy this bread. I doubt it is very economical to sell. But if you do not take all of it, some other children whose stomachs are rumbling as loud as yours will get to eat it. Are your parents bad people?”

“Don’t listen to him. Get back in the trees.”

An adult shouted, and more people prodded Garry. But the Antinium was just yelling louder.

“Are they? Or are they murderers? I am giving people free food, and I will not go. If you rob me, then I will not come back. And then you will all go hungry. Let me go and I will return, I promise.”

That made them hesitate. Mit was laughing.

“You’re insane. A lying, talking bug-person. Kids—”

“Do you believe in Santa Claus, children? I do not think you have been naughty. I believe it has been a hard year, but surviving is not naughty. This is wrong, though. Help me convince your parents—”

That was it. Mit punched Garry before he thought better of it and regretted it because he felt like he nearly broke a knuckle on the hard face. Garry stumbled back a foot.

“Ow.”

The Flying Antinium instantly opened their much bigger mandibles and fanned their wings, and the [Bandits] fell back a step. Mit was about to pant at someone to just grab the chest and go when a voice spoke up.

“Dad…is that Santa?”

Mit closed his eyes. And Garry saw a boy peeking at him, who had heard that tale, perhaps written a letter to King Fetohep. Like the Wind Runner of Reizmelt, the stories that children passed along and told each other were the ones they loved the most. And Santa…

The [Bandit Leader]’s face was of a man suddenly ambushed, in pain. Garry was not the sort of Antinium who would kick a man when he was down.

Physically. He adjusted the beard and waved at the boy.

“Hello, child. It is I, Garry Santa Claus. Tell me, are you hungry?”

Mit ran back, but the boy was staring at Garry. And his eyes were on the bread. Garry walked forwards, and the moment to stab him was in the reflexive jerk of arms. Then—it was past, and he was in the moment that Erin Solstice had claimed. Chaos, when he could walk past the swivelling [Bandits] and take a loaf of bread that thankfully didn’t have boot dirt on it, just the covering. He unwrapped it and broke a piece off.

“It is a very good bread. But you must eat it slowly to avoid straining your stomach. And I have bread here. I would like to give it to all the good children.”

The boy looked as hungry as the others. He hesitantly took the piece as Mit almost grabbed for it, but then the boy gazed up at Garry’s face.

“I’m not a good kid, though.”

Guilt was written across his little expression, and Garry bent down and tugged at his beard.

“Nonsense. I am Santa, and I can tell these things. But your father is trying to do something he thinks is good and is in fact very mean. I hope you will help me change his mind. Also, bringing children to a bandit attack is very amateurish.”

He added that last bit just on general principle. Garry didn’t want to encourage banditry, but someone had to say it. The boy peered up at his father.

“Dad…”

Mit tore at his hair and glanced around. He didn’t know what to say, so Garry nodded.

“Help me unload the bread and tell me how many people are in your camp, Mister Mit. I have a very nice fish paste that goes well on the bread.”

No one moved, so he began unloading bread himself until the Flying Antinium came over. Then the [Bandits] couldn’t quite look at him. But that was alright. Garry cut a piece of bread and added condiments, then began handing out sandwiches.

——

He left them with a lot of bread and bags of goods. More than they thought. The [Bandits] were staring at his wagon as the Flying Antinium began to re-hitch themselves to the harnesses, but Garry wasn’t done.

“I hope these supplies put an end to your need for banditry, Mister Mit. I do not think you are very good at your class. Also, I would have the children stay at your base with custodians rather than commit your entire force to the raid, but I do not wish to encourage such things.”

The man was giving him the strangest look ever. At least he could meet Garry’s eyes.

“You’re…stranger than even the stories, whomever you are. You really came all this way to give bread out?”

“Yes. I am pleased you did not rob me.”

“Hard to do that. I’m…sorry. Half of us ran off. Don’t know if they’re dead of starvation or had to steal or what. We had to start jumping people. We wrote to our [Lord], and we paid our taxes. But no one ever came. House Everight should’ve given us…but old Lord Toldos is dead. I think we were just forgotten.”

He spoke as if expecting Garry to lecture him about excuses or failures, but Garry didn’t know Izrilian geography or politics. He just made sure Mit’s son, Berry, was munching slowly on the bread. Then he turned.

“I will come back. Next time, please just wave at me. Or—”

“You won’t come back. Thank you. Please come back. Maybe this is enough to—the fields are barren, though. But maybe…”

The others were gathering around. Now trying to ensure Garry would return. But the [Chef] just replied with the hint of a smile.

“If I am ambushed again, I will hurt your feelings again. And your children’s. I apologize if I have caused undue mental anguish. I am not a very nice person, you see.”

Mit stared at him, and Garry climbed back into the wagon.

“Oh, and please eat the glowing bread quickly. It spoils fast, but it is tasty. Thank you for not taking everything.”

He flapped the reins and called out.

“Now, on Runel, on Pisca, on Fred, on Cherry, on Leafwing, on Carla…”

The Flying Antinium began to trot off, and the [Bandits] stared at him, some pinching themselves for the umpteenth time. Mit stood there, with Berry under one arm, until he finally croaked.

“Let’s—let’s get this back to the village.”

Only when they had lugged the bread and other bags of supplies—jars of condiments because one could not eat bread alone—back to their village did the [Bandits] get a final surprise.

Garry had added one final ingredient to his gifts after consultation with Erin and some thought. How did you do the most good?

‘Feed a man for a day and you feed him for a day. Set him on fire and you keep him warm for the rest of his life.’

Garry had felt like Erin had bungled the quote slightly, but he hadn’t wished to correct her. But he had taken the concept and gone to his Antinium [Farmers].

The final bags contained seeds and a note on top in Garry’s actually semi-messy handwriting. He used to have good handwriting but writing countless lists and recipes meant he was a bit slapdash these days.

When Mit managed to decode it, it read:

Liscor’s Public Bakery in Liscor is happy to buy all ingredients at reasonable prices. Please inquire with the Merchant’s Guild for potential trade-opportunities. Please ask for ‘Trader Garry of Liscor’.

——

Garry hummed to himself after they escaped the [Bandit] ambush and retrieved his list. He rubbed at the chip on his shoulder and crossed out a name.

“We will be going west at the next fork, everyone. I believe there are less-starving [Bandits] there. Oh, wait. What is that?”

His head snapped up, and they all froze as something rustled in the forest. Then something hork-quawked as the foliage moved.

A Garbichug, quite big and quite noxious, waddled out of the bushes where it had been foraging. Garry and the Flying Antinium stared at it, and he lowered his hand.

“Oh. Phew.”

The Garbichug sniffed the air and brightened when it detected food. It waddled forwards fearlessly.

“Hork-awk!”

The ‘awk’ was of Garry nailing the open mouth of the bloated, most disgusting bird with an acid jar. He watched it roll around then go still and sat back down. One of the Flying Antinium scuttled over and cautiously began kicking it; they only died when you got the acid directly in their mouths. Garry shook his head as they continued onwards.

“I must bring more acid jars next time. How many of them are there?”

Bird was right. They were really gross.

——

By the time Garry made camp with his little helpers under the moonlight and ate—what else—bread, he was a news story.

Drassi covered it on Channel 2 News, whereupon it was picked up by Channel 1 News who immediately pretended it was breaking news. Whereupon Drassi kicked open the doors to Channel 1 and had a screaming match with Sir Relz to the side of the camera, but you know what that was?

Entertainment. Garry had plenty of room in his life for entertainment; he had a scrying orb installed in the Liscorian Free Bakery kitchens, and it had cut down on fights immensely, though you only let it be on for mindless work. A lot of unwatched pots boiled over otherwise.

But he, personally, didn’t care. Nor was he in a region where anyone could actually send a team to interview him. The very nature of his delivery was, well, that no one cared about this place.

The point was, he wasn’t top-tier news, but he was certainly captivating to the nightly audience. An offseason Santa.

You know whom he was most captivating to?

The Wandering Inn.

The moment Lyonette heard about Garry being in Celum, she went around interrogating everyone she could find, demanding to know who was responsible or at least aware of the Garry expedition of mercy. She refused to believe no one had known about it and even went to bother Emperor Laken Godart and the Knights of Solstice.

But they were just as shocked as she was to learn that The Wandering Inn wasn’t behind Garry. No one had given him money, helped him smuggle bread, or even found him a map! Of course, everyone proceeded to blame Erin, but even that was wrong.

——

Erin had no idea of what Garry had been planning either. But because she now knew, she spent the rest of the day worrying.

Worrying, but mostly confident that Garry would be fine. Because he was a tough Antinium, and he had the Flying Antinium, emergency acid jars, and unless the Bloodfeast Raiders appeared, he wouldn’t be in much danger. Right?

He could always ditch the bread. Griffins like bread. Right?

Matha was actually out of the bathroom by now, and that was how Bowom and Ulvama learned where Erin was; she’d been holed up in the library searching up whether Griffins ate bread in between teaching the bands bread-based songs.

Bowom had been keeping Ulvama company as the upset Hobgoblin wandered Lemoste. Mostly because he’d lost a rock-sword-wand game against Roja and Eurise. You’d think having six fingers gave some kind of advantage there! However, negatives aside, it meant he was in place to observe an interesting phenomenon.

The moment a scowling Ulvama had been told Erin was off library-hunting by Matha, he saw a curious expression flit over the Hobgoblin’s face. It looked like…paranoia? Fear was too banal, and Bowom refused to classify generally; you might as well ask if a patient was ‘breathing’ as signs of ‘life’.

Fight or not, Ulvama made a beeline towards the library, and just inside the huge stacks of books was Erin Solstice, sneezing from all the dust she’d inhaled. She hesitated when she saw Ulvama.

“Um.”

“Hello.”

The [Shaman]’s face was frosty, but she had said hello. Erin brightened a bit, then blinked. Clearly remembered why Ulvama was angry and scuffed her feet.

“Ulvama, I’m stupid and an idiot and I shouldn’t have bothered you. Will you forgive me? Please? Or—or at least talk to me so I can apologize?”

Ulvama squinted at Erin, then chopped Erin’s head. Hard. The [Innkeeper] yelped.

“Hey, that hurt! I didn’t have my [Reinforced Structure] on!”

The Hobgoblin shook her hand out behind her back.

“Why not all the time, stupid? You’re stupid.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Very stupid.”

“Absolutely stupid.”

Erin ducked her head, and Ulvama gave a Pisces-level sniff, whomever Pisces was supposed to be.

“I’ll forgive you, because you are incredibly stupid and I’m an adult. Why are you looking up Griffins eating bread in the library?”

The [Innkeeper] peeked up at her, and Bowom tugged at his upper lip thoughtfully. He couldn’t read emotions like Erin or Ulvama, but he had dated an [Angry Druid], Vrilla. Ulvama hadn’t seemed like she was ready to forgive and patch things up, but what did he know?

A lot, so Bowom listened while pretending to inspect some books on display as the two talked.

“I, uh, was using my [Pavilion of Secrets] when you left. I felt like it was time to check in on people.”

“You didn’t talk to the Quarass or anyone else?”

“Nope, no. I—well, it’s hard to explain. I asked it who the person most in danger was that I cared about and—”

“You what?”

Oh, here came the ear-pinching. Ulvama glared at Erin, but the [Innkeeper] had activated her defensive Skill and protested.

“It’s a good idea, Ulvama! And—and—you guess who it was?”

“Mrsha?”

Genuine worry until Erin shook her head, and Ulvama let go of her ear.

“No. Garry.”

Her face had all the graveness of a Tallguard commander preparing to repulse a clowder of cats or a Creler nest. She gazed at Ulvama, and Bowom saw the Hobgoblin shift out of the corner of his eye.

“Um. Who Garry?”

Ooh. Bowom experimentally poked at the air and tried to cut it with a scalpel, but no good. The [Shaman] filled the silence, a touch breathless.

“I never met him. I don’t know all your friends. Sorry.”

“You did! I bet he came to the inn. He’s the guy with the baker’s hat. Remember? He was in the baking competition with all the Goblins during the Siege of Liscor and—”

“I wasn’t there. When did he come after that?”

“All the time. He was just—there. You have to have seen him. The cooking competition with Tyrion! Remember?”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

More silence. Bowom swished his scalpel experimentally and weirded out a [Librarian] who stared at him through the bookshelves. Ulvama cleared her throat.

“How is he in danger?”

“He’s delivering bread.”

Bowom smiled to himself. You had to hand it to her. Excellent use of language and timing. Perfect delivery of everything and nothing, he was sure. Just begged the questions. He liked hanging out around linguistic masters.

A fascinating thing. Erin and Ulvama began to chatter about an ‘Antinium’, ‘delivering bread’, in ‘Liscor’, all concepts that Bowom found fascinating.

Especially that middle one. Who wanted bread delivered? He followed them back to the guest house, interjecting a few questions here and there, noting that their rift was, if not patched up, then glossed over.

When Erin began to argue with Bowom that bread was worth being delivered, especially Garry-bread, she came to a realization.

“Oh snap! You guys don’t really use wheat! I’ll make some bread with my exchanged ingredients! How about bread and cornbread and…”

And then she was baking with some of the flour-stuff she’d introduced to Dretonamis. Which Bowom was content to let her and Ulvama work with and talk over until she mentioned it was explosive.

Then he squatted outside the window, making flour bombs with Matha, until a member of Lemoste’s security yelled at them. They hadn’t even been that big! Bowom retired to a fur couch as he listened to the two talking. He noted Matha was paying attention, though she just stared at the two of them until they made her scrub down the Corumdon Beetle outside, who’d gotten mucky from hauling clay.

“So he’s going now.”

“Yeah, I’m checking in tonight. He’ll be fine. And I don’t want to distract him. Besides, Pavilion-Me told me that there’s a limit. I can’t just keep resummoning someone over and over.”

“She never said that.”

“Yeah, she’s a jerk like that. Add that to our notes on her. Makes sense.”

“What…what is Pavilion-You like, Erin?”

Ulvama stopped kneading dough as Erin stared out the window at Matha slipping in the clay suds, trying to think.

“Imagine someone smart as you—maybe smarter—who knows all your weakpoints. And the only reason she’s not using it all is because she has to help. Or she wants to see something interesting.”

Ulvama shivered. Erin murmured.

“I wish you could meet her and kick her butt.”

“I’ll kick yours for you.”

“…Sorry, again, about the armpits thing.”

Poke, poke.

“Say it again.”

“Double sorry.”

“Hmmf. So, he’s delivering food. That’s…good. Very nice. Just because they’re hungry.”

Erin smiled, then, and it lit up the room. Bowom swore it was a palpable increase in ambient light.

“He’s the best. I just hope he’ll be alright. I’m…”

“You should check on him before dinner, maybe.”

“Good idea. Thanks, Ulvama. Do you, um, want to say anything to him? I offered to boon him even though Nerry needs it, but he said he’d be fine. And he had a plan!”

“Um. Um, maybe hello? Ask if he knows me.”

“He definitely does. But I’ll say that!”

After getting the loaves of bread in the oven and instructing Ulvama on when to take them out, Erin vanished to check on Garry. Bowom admired the sun setting in the distance as he walked over to help clean the kitchen. Ulvama was peering down at the cutting board. Only when six fingers crab-walked over and snatched a piece of unused dough up did she jerk back. Then smile at Bowom.

“Erin says dough shouldn’t be eaten before being baked.”

“I respect her opinion much like [Healers] who tell you to get bed rest or hydrate more.”

Bowom cheerfully bit into the dough, and Ulvama pulled a piece out she’d been hiding. They chewed on it solemnly.

“…This pretty good.”

“Oh yes. I can’t say it’ll be better than this bread, but the appeal is there. What’s the danger?”

“Uh, you get Matha-sick, maybe?”

Bowom thought about it and carefully inserted another piece into his mouth. They watched Matha slipping again as the Corumdon Beetle shook suds off its body.

“Since we’re not Matha, I’ll take those odds. So! Forgiven Erin?”

“Eh, she’s sorry.”

Ulvama shrugged and glanced at Bowom, but his face was utterly consumed by chewing dough. Then he ate a bit of eggshell. She made a face at him.

“What? I’ve never seen an egg so big before! Chickens. Damndest things. This tastes horrible, by the way. So, all mended, really? Even though she doesn’t get what she did wrong?”

This time, the Hobgoblin visibly hesitated before scowling and looking the other way.

“I’ll talk with her later. She…she’s worried about Garry. Her people. Her tribe. I have to be here in case he gets hurt. Or dies.”

“How likely is that?”

“He an Antinium leaving his city. It’s Human lands to the north.”

Ulvama’s face was bleak, and Bowom eyed her. But it was Matha who popped up outside the window, clay in her hair, and spoke.

“What’s that mean, Ulvama? I don’t get why it’s a problem.”

“Aaah!”

Ulvama screamed, and Bowom saw her jump back, smack into a counter with her hip, and then grab it in agony. Matha wilted as the Goblin cursed her out in her own language, but Bowom scratched at his chin.

“I’m not an expert myself, Matha, but I suspect it’s rather like if a bunch of Dretonamis Fraerlings walked into Lemoste’s most haughty groups. But a lot worse. If a bunch of Tallfolk entered our villages without asking.”

“Oh. Oh. I get that, sort of.”

Different species. Ulvama blinked at Bowom, and he waved at her.

“Yes, we don’t mix with other species much. I see the problem, then.”

Matha nodded eagerly.

“Can we help Erin? Is she stressed?”

“She’s fine. I’m helping her. Go finish washing Beetle.”

The pestering annoyed Ulvama, who was rarely as short with Matha as Erin was. She went to close the window on Matha’s fingers until Bowom interrupted as he put an experimental piece of dough in the oven to bake his own bread. He wanted to know what happened if he rolled it up into a cylinder and put something inside.

“And why are you upset?”

The [Shaman] hesitated, ears twitching. Matha scrunched up her face, staring at Ulvama then Bowom. A glower and poke, which he blocked with his hands. Ulvama turned away, wiping her hands on her apron.

“It’s fine. Erin needs to check on her…tribe. She does that. It’s one of her best qualities. She loves everyone she gets to know. Makes her enemies friends, some of them. Someday, she’ll care about you like that, Matha.”

Ulvama’s head rose as Matha opened her mouth and pointed at herself, but the smile on Matha’s face evaporated as Ulvama leaned over the windowsill. She spoke down to Matha with a terrible smile.

“When she does, she’ll make you into a hero of your own story. She cares about everyone equally.”

The Hobgoblin finished speaking and stuck her head out of the window and took in the breeze passing through the city. Matha stared up at her until the Corumdon Beetle nudged her, and the Hobgoblin had no bow. But Bowom wagered she shot down at least a few Fraerlings passing by.

“Ah, makes sense.”

That was his comment. He went back to watching his bread burning, and Ulvama waited there. Until Erin Solstice came back, cheeks flushed with delight, eyes sparkling.

“He’s alive! He’s delivering bread to [Bandits]! Like you, Matha!”

“Hey.”

——

Two days later, Garry returned to Liscor just as planned. He didn’t expect a party, but there was one.

“Front-line newspapers! Tell me it was from our bakeries. No, even if it wasn’t, just lie!”

Councilmember Lism was in campaign-mode as he grabbed Garry, posed for a [Magic Picture], then someone was hurrying his way.

“Baker Garry? I’m with Channel 2 news. [Action Reporter] Rubri. Can you tell me why you decided to deliver bread wearing a Santa costume to villages in the north? You’ve created a lot of outrage.”

“Garry! Garry! The Free Queen demands your presence!”

One of the Antinium was shouting as Lism tried to get into the camera frame. Garry was being beset from all sides. Ishkr appeared out of the crowd.

“Invitation to go to the inn tonight, Garry?”

“I may be busy, Ishkr—excuse me, excuse me.”

Garry had to stand up and shout before everyone fell silent, expectant. He adjusted his hat, checked his empty wagon, then nodded at the Flying Antinium.

“Thank you for your attention. I must now go back to work. Please direct all inquiries as to my motivations to Councilmember Lism.”

Then he hopped off his wagon and strode back towards the bakery. They tried to follow him of course, but Garry hurried down one street and performed the radical move of removing his hat, apron, and other articles of clothing. Then he passed by a group of Workers and thus vanished entirely.

——

Garry did attend The Wandering Inn’s party where he shook hands with a number of people and was congratulated on his efforts.

“You know, Garry, we could fund a few of those trips if you needed, er, gold.”

He smiled at Lyonette when she suggested this. But to her surprise, he shook his head.

“I believe, Miss Lyonette, if you would care to send a Knight of Solstice or your own representatives, such villages would benefit from your insight and perspicacity more than of my bread. They will not need more for quite some time.”

She hesitated and smiled, embarrassed, while brushing at her hair.

“Well, I, ahem, that’s very good of you to notice, Garry. Yelroan? Xinthe? A word, if you please.”

Garry enjoyed his celebratory dish of wheat-free pappardelle bolognese and packed enough for the entire team to eat in the Hive. He walked back to his rooms in the Free Hive—he had not bought any space in the city above because it was too much of an unnecessary expense—and had Runel and Pisca share Calescent’s excellent cooking.

Garry made a few mental notes that night as he rolled loaves of Scaethen Dough. He had plenty of energy given his three-day hiatus.

“It would appear that the Erin-deflection trick works quite well. Very good.”

He checked the calendar he had hanging up.

“It’s Saelsmorn. Then…Nendas will do.”

He named the 2nd day of the week and the 4th day, respectively. After some thought, Garry added up his vacation days, which he had never taken any of, and went to check how Liscor’s Bakery was doing.

Actually, tomorrow would do. He wrote in his name on the paperwork, told Runel and Pisca, and went to bed early.

The next day, at dawn, Drassi was waiting at Garry’s Bakery, first in line, to interview the recalcitrant [Chef]. She was dozing against the side of the windowsill, but she’d come in person because it was a feel-good story, because Garry was a friend, and because she suspected he’d try to dodge her.

“Hey, is Garry in yet?”

She asked the [Baker] several times when they appeared to give out bread, but the [Baker] just said Garry hadn’t been in yet. Eventually, the head [Manager] came out.

“Garry? He’s taken a vacation, Miss Drassi. Sorry. He’s on a two-day break.”

“Must be tired from his trip. Do we risk the Free Hive, find the Antinium, or what, Reporter Drassi?”

The film crew muttered. They had to fill the timeslot somehow. But Drassi’s eyes narrowed. Her [Reporter] instincts were telling her something.

“I think…wait.”

Then someone came skidding around the corner and almost shoulder-charged into her.

“Boss! Boss! He’s done it again! He just left Invrisil!”

Drassi spun, and her jaw dropped. Then she was running. Everyone in line turned, and one of the [Bakers] stuck their heads out the server’s window.

Garry was already on the move. No one expected the [Baker] once, let alone twice. It rattled them, from the news team to The Wandering Inn…to Erin Solstice, when she found out a full day later.

They did not understand. But some people were beginning to.

——

The first person to meet Garry who got it was a [Knight]. A fellow on the ground. Not the Clairei Fields [Knights] who shouted in alarm and galloped around, but a different sort of fellow.

“Ser Solton, the Order of Haegris! My good man, my good man. Are you Baker Garry?”

He rode over with pot-bellied armor and coins emblazoned on a shield, horse practically jingling with supplies. When Garry acknowledged that yes, that was him, Ser Solton saluted him with a lance and nearly hit his horse with it.

“Oh, sorry, Bela. Damn things. I just wanted to ask, sir, if you needed an escort. I’m not much of a fighter myself, but the roads get a tad tricky now and then.”

“I would not wish to take up your time, Ser Solton, but thank you.”

“Not at all, not at all. Personally, I just wished to introduce myself as a fellow in the same line of business. Quite admirable, but I worry about the blowback. I do what I can, and I have a rather substantive backer who’s funding my efforts in Izril, but I fear I need far more [Knights] from my Order. I would request every member, if they were not necessary the world over, you understand? If I could help with distribution or delivery—”

Solton rode with Garry as the [Chef] considered his words, then replied.

“But if I did, Ser Solton, would I not impede your own good efforts?”

Solton mopped at his brows as he rode in full armor.

“There’s a shade of truth there, sir. But I have put my offer out on the table, and it is yours to take up. Goodwill abounds between people making honest deals, and I should hate to press. But if I may, could I pay for a loaf of this most-excellent bread? Much less that delightful glowing bread I espy there?”

He was so taken with the Scaethen Bread that he bought some, trading quite a number of gold coins to Garry in the process while promising not to share it about. And he was the first.

Miss Drassi galloped in after a while and harassed Garry, but she didn’t count on figuring out what he was doing. Not quite. He was honest, though.

“Yes, I am delivering bread. If you see me, please do not ask for free bread as it is one Liscorian Mark per piece, and I intend to deliver the excess to villages in need. But if you see me coming, and you are hungry, please call out.”

“And you’re doing this despite the objection of the Reinharts and other powers to your presence in the north, Garry? Are you confident in navigating these risks?”

“I am utterly confident there are risks, Drassi.”

“But you’re doing it anyways. Why? Charity? Wanting to keep others fed?”

“Yes.”

Drassi waited for more, but Garry just rode on. She smiled.

“That’s a noble goal, Garry, but some might say there’s too many mouths to feed and your deliveries of bread, helpful as they are, can’t do much.”

“I am sure this is the case, Drassi. But I have a spacious wagon, and I make a lot of bread. If it helps some, I will do it.”

“Even if people disagree?”

The microphone returned to him. Garry nodded and produced his red hat. He attached the beard to his face.

“Even if people disagree. Ho…ho…and ho. I am also Santa.”

Apparently, a number of people saw the broadcast across Izril and the world. Garry didn’t know what to do with that information, so he let it lie.

He suspected he hadn’t been the best interviewee, anyways. He hadn’t given Drassi much to work with. Sometimes, honesty was boring. At least, from certain angles.

——

It was only a two-day trip this time, anyways. But the second and third people who knew what Garry was about intercepted him at roughly the same times as Erin called him to check on him, and he told her he was on a second delivery, could they talk tomorrow, please?

The first was a woman on horseback, who would have seemed like any other urgent woman with places to be—except for the [Maid] outfit. She slowed and called out.

“Excuse me, Baker Garry! Would you have a moment to speak with my employer, please?”

She kept glancing around, which he thought meant she was afraid of trouble finding her, and that was confirmed when a [Lady] in pink swam into being on the scrying mirror the breathless [Maid] held up.

“Ah, Baker Garry! Good evening! Might I have a word?”

“Hello, Lady Magnolia Reinhart. It is, in fact, Chef Garry.”

“Oh my, is it?”

Magnolia was visibly surprised. People were working behind her in what seemed like a construction zone. [Maids] and [Butlers] with helmets laying down bricks, arguing with Drakes doing the same…Garry wondered if she was building her wall.

“How can I help you, Lady Reinhart?”

She smiled at him with a touch of uncertainty, he thought. The [Lady] adjusted her iconic pink hat, steepling her fingers. Ducked. A huge wooden beam passed overhead, and Ressa walked past her, carrying the beam, having stripped down to an undershirt.

She had a lot of muscles. Garry admired her strength as Magnolia glared.

“Ressa! Do excuse me—renovations. If I may be frank, Garry—may I call you Garry? Call me Magnolia—I never thought to have such a conversation with an Antinium before. I thought your people were entirely devoid of empathy…again, until recently. But even for a people with the capacity for empathy, this stands out.”

“I am glad you have cleared up that regrettable misapprehension, Lady Reinhart. But it is understandable given that Klbkch was our representative for quite some time.”

She chuckled at that, then gave him a longer, stranger, more pained look.

“Yes. But you would be rare as a Waisrabbit among regular folk, regardless of species. I wish to congratulate you.”

“I have done very little, Lady Magnolia.”

Her smile deepened, and now, he thought, she was genuinely pleased with him.

“It is good of you to see it that way. Nevertheless, I say it again: I am impressed. I would rather like to try that bread of yours myself, but…well, my little interests aside, I wonder if you would allow me to make some small investments in your business?”

“I am employed by Liscor, Lady Reinhart, and in service to the Free Queen. Regrettably, I am already remunerated.”

She waved that off.

“Oh, I know that. But I mean person—”

The [Lady] stopped, hesitated.

“…Did you really just use ‘remunerated’ in a sentence? Your command of language, Baker Garry, is most refreshing.”

“Thank you. I was not sure if I had used it correctly.”

“Accurate to my ears! Now, I do mean delivery. Allow me a bit of control and I am positive we can establish a system whereby you do not have to waste time rolling about. Much less with those darling but, dare I say it, more controversial Antinium in your vicinity?”

She indicated the Flying Antinium, and Garry nodded. He didn’t take offense to anything she was saying. They were speaking the same language.

“I have worried about the time I am taking with my helpers. I believe I shall transition to horses to avoid wasting their time.”

Plus, the Flying Antinium got tired, and they did need to have more of them working to satisfy the Free Queen. She’d liked the publicity he’d gotten, but miss too many meals and she’d get…stroppy. Magnolia half-smiled, then tapped her lips.

“That implies you yourself intend to lead more expeditions. Mister Garry, do forgive me if I ask if you understand the risks and problems that may arise?”

“I believe I understand them as well as the word remunerate, Lady Reinhart.”

She had to laugh at that. Then focused on him seriously.

“Did Miss Solstice put you up to this? I cannot believe she would. Not…presently.”

“If I was in contact with her at all, Lady Reinhart, I would be surprised, but she did not. I appreciate your offer of assistance, but I must insist. I know what I intend, and it may be I am wrong, but I believe I understand you.”

She peered at him, smiling again.

“You do, don’t you? How did an Antinium come to…? Or perhaps you are simply the best of the five?”

“I would never claim to be best at anything but cooking, Lady Reinhart, and only by comparison to Bird, Anand, Belgrade, and Pawn. I am simply—thinking.”

She paused, and then turned to watch Ressa putting the beam down. When she glanced back at him, her eyes sparked. Green like the depths of Izril’s forests.

“Then I do advise you to think again, Garry. I am not in the position to wish to lose valuable pieces on the board, even ones not under my control. The Mage’s Guild will forwards you to me or my people at any time. Unless you would like to keep discussing the matter?”

“No, Lady Reinhart.”

She gave him a brief, exasperated gaze, then half-rose.

“It is refreshingly agreeable to speak to someone who understands your language thoroughly. But sometimes, dismaying. The Order of Haegris is similarly fluent, but politely hold their own opinions on everything, just like you. One could wish we were all sharing the same bed. Do contact me again or I shall once I grow annoyed. Oh, and please don’t let the old man drone on. He has work to do.”

What, exactly, that meant, Garry had a few suspicions, but once the [Maid] had bowed and departed—with a free loaf of bread—he rode on until the mists covered his position and he found himself riding down the road.

That was when the old man he recognized as Demsleth appeared.

“I say, young man, have we met before? I would greatly appreciate a ride if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course, Mister Demsleth. Climb on. Would you like some bread?”

Demsleth eyed the bread that Garry offered him, but when no condiments appeared, he hesitated.

“Ah, well, perhaps not. I have to watch my weight, you know. So, you’re out and about doing deliveries. Fine work, fine…commendable, you know? I did not expect it of your people.”

He coughed rather sootily into one hand, and Garry nodded.

“Lady Magnolia said much the same.”

“Did she? Damn that brat always getting a march on…”

He glowered, then smiled like a man who knew why he should smile, and his multicolored eyes lit up. Garry smiled too, because something had made the old man happier, and this was good. Then Demsleth gazed at Garry.

“I feel like I should insist you take Ser Solton up on his offer. He’s not got as many contacts, but he’s a quite capable man despite his looks. Excellent instincts for business, if not battle, and he has morality. That rare thing, however it hangs on his shoulders. Presently, there will be other Knights of Haegris on the continent. They could deliver your bread far more efficiently.”

“Aha. I knew this day would come. I am being muscled out by the competition.”

Demsleth waggled a finger.

“Ah! No muscling is happening! Purely a few—tricks of the trade by veterans trying to be passed down to bright, commendable young folk such as yourself.”

“As I informed Sir Solton, Master Demsleth, I appreciate the offers, but is it not a waste of your own valuable time?”

The old man snorted without preening at that.

“Naturally, it is! But everything is. I’m not denying that. But there are…optimal ways to go about these things. We cannot be everywhere, and I feel as though I should insist. Especially given your nature.”

He fixed Garry with a serious look and was surprised, perhaps, when Garry met his eyes. Immovably. Though the old Dragon in disguise had some force behind his glare, the Antinium who returned the stare met those eyes where Devrkr the Glowing’s gaze of wrath had faltered, where even the Small Queen had fled.

Demsleth blinked first, then glanced away.

“Convictions are a wonderful thing, young man. Wonderful, truly. But optimally…”

He trailed off and then seemed to feel old. As if he were aging at hearing his words, and when Garry spoke, that weary head rose and fixed on him.

“I know I am doing things suboptimally, Master Demsleth. But so long as they are not wrongly done, I hope you will let me do them. Because we must be everywhere and doing everything, if I am correct in all these conversations which dance around the main topic. You must let me do things my way, and then, when I realize they are wrong, not just suboptimal, I will change.”

“Even if I feel I should insist, nay, demand and enforce my tyranny for the sake of better days?”

A spark. Just a spark of intensity in his eyes, and the Flying Antinium shivered and scuttled back a moment, then forward to protect Garry. But the [Chef] kept smiling.

“I believe you feel this way, and perhaps you should, Master Demsleth. But you have somewhere to be. Am I not wasting your time? I feel, strongly, that this is the true crime between us.”

The old man stopped for a while as the wagon creaked onwards. Then he passed a trembling hand over his face and stood.

“Ah. Oh. I do admire young ladies, it seems. Some of the scurrilous accusations lodged against me sometimes have merit. You have me bested, young man. Do not give me cause to regret it, please.”

He rose, weary, but then extended a hand, and Garry shook it. Quietly, the old man murmured.

“You, of all men and women in this changing era, remind me of a [Dancer] I once met. But I could not stop her either. Please reconsider. Magnolia knows where to find me.”

Then he hopped off the wagon, hesitated when Garry offered him some Scaethen Bread, and for a moment, just a moment, grew nostalgic and amused.

“Is that real Scaethen Bread? Dead gods, it is! I love the dough. You wouldn’t happen to have enough time to make a square cube, six feet by six…? Ah, I will ask later. I’ll pay for it!”

Then he was gone. Garry sat back and admired the stars. After a while, Pisca and Runel nudged him.

“Garry. Garry. What were you talking aboutz?”

“The future, you two. Don’t worry. They are good people.”

“Even the zcary Dragon?”

“Even him. Good people do the scariest things.”

[Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef Level 40!]

[Skill – Vehicle: Fast Travelling Obtained!]

[Skill – Kitchen: Remote Management Obtained!]

[Skill – Bread: A Nutritional Meal Obtained!]

[Skill – Bread: Pestkiller Obtained!]

[Skill – A True Gift, Touched by Fortune Obtained!]

He was rather surprised by levelling up this night, of all nights, but he supposed handshakes and conversations were worth a lot to certain people.

In truth, a certain arbiter of levels and classes was trying to get better about not waiting overlong on capstones. Besides, it knew what was coming next.

It was Erin Solstice who figured it out last.

——

Garry was in Liscor that evening as Pisca and Runel flew about their living quarters in the Free Hive, celebrating with a keg of mead that Ishkr had delivered with compliments. And a free bee.

Apista and the Flying Antinium were doing tricks, and Garry was happy for them. People in Liscor kept coming up to him to say that they’d seen Drassi’s coverage and that they were glad he’d done that, and was that special bread or just what he sold. He assured them quality was consistent.

Especially with his new [Remote Management] Skill; he could broadcast orders or check on things remotely. Not perfectly, but Garry was filing some paperwork—there was always paperwork with Liscor—when she found him.

A door opened and closed. Part of Garry got up with a smile and went to see his beloved [Innkeeper]. The rest of him just got to work, sliding the paperwork into a delivery slot in City Hall.

They really did have to figure out his job, because he had taken two vacations in a row with no consequences. There was no one to really replace Garry, and no one had tried very hard to find a way to punish him anyways. Then Garry went to the Driver’s Guild.

“Hello, Hostler. May I inquire about renting horses? I already have a wagon.”

The hostler on duty for the night was sleepy, but when he saw Garry, he woke up a bit. He grinned, exposing some teeth; he was a Human, but one who was picking up Liscor’s customs.

“Oh, aye, and I’ll bet you have a place to go. I can get you a team together. When d’you want them by?”

Garry tilted his head.

“Tomorrow would be appreciated, sir. But I will ask just to be precise—would you also consider doing a delivery for me to the following locations? I have a map, and I will pay for your best [Drivers], if they are available. Especially Termin the Omnipresent, Chaoisa the Contempt of Men—although I understand she is working with the Knights of Solstice exclusively—or Karsaeu and the Unmarked Coach.”

There was idle chatter in the Driver’s Guild, people working or coming in from long-haul deliveries or sleeping before the next leg of their trip. At those famous names, especially the last one that non-Drivers should not know, everyone went quiet.

The [Hostler] was no rookie; he’d come from up north and joined Liscor for the pay. He swallowed.

“How, er, how d’you know that last name?”

“I heard it once. I remember what I hear, Master Hostler. I take it, then, she is not a good option? I am uninformed about many matters, so do forgive me if I have erred in some way.”

They all breathed a bit when they realized he wasn’t someone…connected…to the Unmarked Coach. Then the [Drivers] got up, because Garry had work, and his was charitable work. Why not? Get applauded by some villagers and free bread? Why n—

They stopped as they found his map. The [Hostler] peered at it, and then his eyes opened wide. He leaned over, then looked up.

“Er—that’s not a good idea, Baker Garry. Begging your pardon.”

“It’s ‘Chef’, but I do understand. I had to ask, Hostler. Then horses will do unless anyone would wish to take me? No?”

Drakes and Gnolls mostly, but some Humans, all eyed Garry, then his map, then shook their heads. One of them, a Drake, leaned over.

“Listen, er, Chef. I don’t know Antinium that well, but I’ve been through Liscor enough. I know the score. I don’t mind your kind, but, uh, this isn’t a good idea. Stick to the north.”

Everyone nodded, but Garry just smiled.

“I understand your concerns, sir—”

“You don’t understand. They’ll kill you. They’ll shoot you the moment you go through the door to Pallass. I don’t care if that Bird guy—”

“Girl; she is female now.”

The Drake hesitated. Shrugged that off.

“—whatever, got through. You’re going to die.”

“I realize that is a possibility, sir. But I am told there are hungry people. Unless you would take the delivery for me?”

A long, long pause. Every Drake and Gnoll in the room gazed at each other, then at Garry. Thought about his cargo, which would be worse than an unmarked box that a [Rogue] gave you that you handed off. Far worse.

Garry spoke into the silence with that slight smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Then I am going. Hostler, I will come in the morning to pick up the horses.”

“We’re, uh, not supposed to rent them if we know they’re going to die.”

“They will not. I shall do everything in my power to keep them alive, but I must insist.”

Garry spoke to the [Hostler], and someone croaked behind him.

“Why?”

The first Drake was leaning on a table, eying Garry. Just eying him with that familiar expression of frank disbelief. Searching for some crack in a façade he had to believe was there.

“Why do this? They’ll shoot you when you deliver your bread, like as not. Even if they’ve seen the news. You don’t know them. They’d—we’d burn your Hives in a second given the chance. Why?”

For answer, Garry turned in the doorway. He pulled his Santa hat out and sat it on his head.

“If they are as hungry as I think they are, they will eat the bread if they see it, first. It is true I do not know them, sir. I hope to. It is also true that if I do not go, there may be no one to know. Many qualified people could have gone. [Merchants]. Couriers. [Drivers] such as yourself, sent by cities or Walled Cities. No one has gone. So it is me.”

“But why—?”

“Because someone must.”

Garry adjusted his hat, and now, he spoke to them. He spoke to himself, and he spoke to her, the [Innkeeper], even if the words were not exactly the same. He turned to them all, and his voice was steady but outraged. He was not calm; he merely appeared to be. But if you could see that flame that a Lady Firestarter had once seen or the qualities that other people had learned to view the world through, he would be ablaze. An outraged light twinkled in his eyes, gentle, but furious not at any one person, but the state of the world.

“Some say it is dangerous, and they are correct. Some say wait: help will come. Surely. Let someone else do what is necessary and this will be righted. Only, it seems to me that the help does not always come. I do not wish to wait. And you may say to me, ‘surely there is someone else, someone better, someone who can do it easier or more conveniently’, but I am here, and I see no one else. So it occurs to me: I am that surely.”

He paused in the doorway, smiled at them, because they hesitated, each and every one, and one could have stood up, but no one did. Nor had he expected it of them, and that—perhaps that hurt most of all.

Then he was gone, and the [Innkeeper] knew. And she said one word.

——

“Drakes.”

Now she saw it.

The thing that had been in his heart that the [Pavilion of Secrets], her other self, had glimpsed. Who is in the most danger?

Even if he had still been down there, it would have not been Rabbiteater, a Goblin Lord fighting through the Synectic Maze. Nor Nerry, when she had descended into Oelnnox in the company of mercenaries and friends. Not Niers against the Dyed Lands nor even Yvlon Byres rampaging through the Coliseum of Monarchs nor any other event around this time.

Who is in the greatest, truest danger?

Garry. She sat there as he showed her his map, and this time, the line did not go up, but down. South. Just like before, only past the Bloodfields towards Pallass because of course they would never let him through their side of the door. Towards villages in the foothills where the mountains met plains, then, if he was able, even into the plains to remote spots.

Drake villages. Starving ones, she was sure.

He had never been going to stop. Fool, Erin. You idiot. She’d fallen for his trick just like Drassi and everyone else. They thought he’d go and deliver bread. Thought he’d do one good deed and call it quits, but Garry wasn’t like someone doing this for a moment. He was Antinium.

He had calculated exactly how much he could give, and the answer was everything he could spare. He had more bread, and having proven his model worked…she whispered as she sat there.

“They will kill you, Garry.”

“Perhaps.”

“Not perhaps!”

She shouted at him. She rose and yelled, and he didn’t flinch. A year ago, he would have, but he just sat there across the chess table from her, smiling.

When had he changed so much? She thought of Christmas and realized perhaps she had planted these seeds, even back then. His bakery—yes, she latched onto that.

“Garry, let someone else do this. You can’t go. What will happen to little Comrei if you get hurt or…?”

“I have instructed Pisca to take care of my special clients in my absence. Lady Magnolia Reinhart made the same offer, Erin.”

“Then take it!”

“I cannot, Erin.”

“Why?”

He took his time replying and laid out his reasons logically, simply.

“There are several reasons. Firstly, if Lady Reinhart were able to be everywhere, I think she would have already helped. I believe that her removal as head of House Reinhart curtailed these activities which she participated in, in her way, greatly. It is a suboptimal use of her time or Ser Solton’s or anyone else’s to help me. If I could involve a third party for coin, such as the Driver’s Guild, I would.”

“A Courier, then. They do anything for pay.”

“They are too expensive.”

“Get Lyonette to help! Or the inn! They can do it! They have gold! Unlimited gold!”

She shouted, and again, he shook his head.

“The Wandering Inn will attract enemies who hate it and you, Erin. Pardon me, but I wish to continue this without interference. It must be me, because I can ensure this system will not stop.”

“It will stop when you’re dead and they assassinate you for crossing into Drake lands, Garry!”

She shouted at him, and he nodded.

“Yes, perhaps. But my second point is this: I must do it because it will draw attention. This is a value too. They will see and, I hope, understand what I am doing.”

She sat there and realized he did know what he was doing. The attention…he was her student after all. But dead gods, she wished he had not learned so well. The [Innkeeper] sat, suddenly still, and her face was shadowed.

“And the last reason?”

Garry’s gaze was calm and certain, and she could have dismantled both other reasons, but the last one was deep and, she realized, hinted at the game that ran beneath all of this. His final strategy.

“The last reason, and the reason why I do not wish you to give me a boon, talk to Drake leaders, or help or hinder me in any way, Erin Solstice, is this: I will level. I will level, and I must, because my simple bakery can only provide bread to a city and a few others. I will level because I have to. Level 40 is not enough. And I do not wish to wait to reach Level 50. I do not wish to stop at Level 50.”

Now she saw it on him. The twinkle in his eyes no longer looked like the jollyness of fat old Santa Claus, or perhaps it did fit Santa. The real Santa. If there was a man who dressed up in a red suit and jumped down chimneys across the world, who made toys for nothing while employing potentially enslaved elves in the north pole…perhaps he was that mad. But she knew that twinkle in his eyes now.

It was Saliss’ madness. The eyes that dared the world, that saw a simple equation and played the game every way possible.

“I forbid this, Garry. Promise me you’ll do something else. You can level—safely—but swear to me you will not do this. Or I will tell Lyonette to drag you back to the Free Hive. I’ll tell the Free Queen, I promise.”

He tilted his head, not innocently. That innocent, little child of a [Baker] was gone. There was a different innocence about him now, a pure one like a glittering blade of morality. But dead gods, it cut her. It hurt her to look at because it was beautiful, and he would die.

“Ah, I see now you were the final obstacle I should have calculated into my plans, Erin. Before I leave and you leave, I must convince you to take my side and not stop me. Very well. Let us begin.”

He sat forwards, and Erin felt the hairs on her head shift. She glanced up, and somewhere, the [Pavilion of Secrets] came alive. A wind seemed to blow in this void, and Garry smiled as he scooted his seat closer to the table.

The first challenger to come against Erin Solstice in the [Pavilion of Secrets] was not the Quarass. Not some daring foe. She had brought enemies here. She had brought third parties, but never in the spirit it had been meant for.

Now, they faced each other with bare truth, and Garry smiled at Erin. She hesitated just once.

“Shall we play a game of chess, Erin?”

——

They had not played a game of chess in so long. Erin realized…Garry didn’t really like chess as much as she did. He admitted it, even.

“I like the game well enough, but it is not my passion, Erin. Only, if you have nothing, then something is beautiful.”

He was losing games. She hounded him across the board without mercy, destroying his position as if that alone could win this conversation, but he just reset the board each time.

It was not a long conversation. There was nothing to dance around. Just two opinions clashing.

“They’ll hurt you, Garry. They won’t hesitate. You know you’re Antinium.”

“I believe I have realized this, yes, Erin.”

“You’re sassing me. When did you learn to sass me?”

“I am a [Chef], Erin. I work in a kitchen with employees. Sass is the very least of what we use against each other.”

She was wiping at her eyes, trying to focus on the game and him.

“I know…you’re not afraid, Garry. But it’ll hurt everyone. Liscor, your employees, your friends. Your Hive. You can’t risk your life over…nothing.”

He raised two fingers, smiling.

“You have made two clever fallacies, Erin. Firstly, you claim this is ‘nothing’. It is, potentially, a life. Many lives. That is not nothing.”

“You don’t know them.”

“Neither did you. That is my second point, Erin. I have seen you do this from the day I met you. I…am that starving Antinium you chose to feed. I was there when you asked Pawn his name and gave him kindness. You did not know Esthelm when you saved them. You did not really know Pisces when you stepped in front of him or the Goblins you have saved. But that is besides the point. I do not need a reason to save a life.”

His words struck her, because it was true. She had struggled to say ‘nothing’, because she had known it wasn’t very accurate. Whereas he needed no trickery. He hit her over the head with pure, brute honesty. And she…she felt like she was on the wrong side for the right reasons.

Was this how it felt to be a bastard like Tyrion? Nevertheless, she persisted.

“If you’ve seen me, Garry, then you know the cost. Look at me. Look at—”

She stretched her hands across the board, knocking pieces of Drakes, Gnolls, different species to the ground where they vanished. She showed him her wrists, scarred, and he took in every injury he saw on her, healed and not healed.

“I know.”

The [Innkeeper] whispered, and images flickered around her. Faces like her garden’s statues.

“I couldn’t save them. You won’t be able to either. Magnus, Knight, Headscratcher. You’ll lose so many and never, never forgive yourself.”

Gently, he took her hands, and she gazed at him, her hazel eyes swimming in the faint light shining down on them. The [Chef] was still smiling, but his hands did tremble. She felt them shaking. Yet he had the effrontery, the gall to nod.

“I know. But with greatest respect, Erin? I believe you are suboptimal. I admire you and all you have done, but I believe I can do better than you. I am not a threat in the way you are. I am a silly Antinium with the power of television and Christmas on my side. I’m giving away bread. It is hard to make bread scary, even when you decorate it.”

She laughed, shakily, and shook her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and he gently offered her a handkerchief. She wiped at her face.

“Sheesh, Garry. How…how’d you ever learn any of this? I never taught you this. I barely taught you anything!”

Her eyes filled with guilt, but the Antinium Worker just grinned, and his antennae waved playfully.

“I learned from observation, Erin. And I taught myself the rest. A fed mind and body and I will want to learn. Not enough people have that. That is why I am going. Do you have any more arguments, please? Because I do not think you will stop me. I would rather have advice.”

She stared at him, and she searched for something that would change his mind. A true statement, and against that deep, simple morality, there was none. Just right and wrong, and that was the problem. She needed the complexities of the world, the greyness to tell him why the right thing to do was wrong.

But he was using the [Pavilion of Secrets] against her. The weight of his truths pressed on her, pushing past her half-truths, her attempts to prevaricate. In the end, she could only sit there and hug him.

“…Don’t go tomorrow. At least, not right away.”

“I must—”

“No. You’re not ready. You’ve probably done a lot of things right and stuff, and I know you can overprepare, but do one thing, Garry. Get permission first. All your ducks in a row. Do it the right way.”

That was the only time he frowned, perplexed.

“The system you wish me to use is broken. It does not have a place for me in it, nor will it help them. It is a waste of time.”

She met his gaze, smiling then with simple intelligence, and tapped him on the chest.

“That’s why you do it their way first. I never did, but it’s important. Not because they’ll let you or it’ll work, but to prove you tried.”

“Oh. Oh. That is very clever, Erin.”

“Thanks. Garry? I can’t stop you. But promise me you won’t die.”

“I promise.”

——

The next day, Garry got up and informed the anxious [Hostler] he had a slight delay. He took his time filling out paperwork in the Driver’s Guild and then headed to Liscor’s City Hall.

It took some doing to talk his way into a meeting with a Councilmember, but Garry effected it with the Erin routine.

“I know that the Councilmembers are very busy. But this is, sadly, a very important thing which I must have done. I would hate for it to become an issue affecting any election chances. But if you would like, I will happily discuss this at increasing volumes.”

Councilmember Raekea met with Garry within ten minutes, and he outlined what he needed. She blinked at him.

“A passport?”

“Yes, Councilmember. If it can be created for me and issued the highest clearance, I would appreciate it.”

“Why? You’re not going to Drake cities, surely!”

She laughed, then peered at him with a sudden suspicion. But Garry just smiled.

“No, Councilmember Raekea, I will not. But I have realized it is a matter of Liscorian law to have any employee be a full citizen of Liscor. As well as requiring maximum clearance to interface with any members of the Hive. It is in the lawbooks. I would, regretfully, have to close the bakery until this paperwork is done, so—”

Her fur stood up on end, and she whirled.

“Right now? When you’re so popular? Tribes, no! You there, get me whomever is in Olesm’s old office. We can probably write one up and have it stamped—”

Erin had told Garry that it was probably possible to get any paperwork in the world done as fast as you wanted if you harassed the right person about it. Regardless of how complex and how long you had to supposedly wait.

He had a Grade 4 Passport, the highest Liscor could issue, within half an hour. Garry thanked Raekea and strode out of the door to ‘resume baking’. He met the final obstacle to his departure scuffing her foot on the ground and standing in front of a wagon with horses.

Everyone was beaming at Garry, expecting him to head to Shivertail Plaza at any moment. But instead, he just stood there as Bird blocked his way.

“It was a very good lie you gave me, Bird. You are indeed a master.”

“I am a mistress, but apparently that sounds wrong. I am going to stop you, Garry. By hitting you until you fall down.”

Garry put a hand on Bird’s shoulder as the female Antinium raised her bow half-heartedly.

“You will not, Bird.”

“If they kill you, I will shoot their cities.”

“I give you permission to shoot the walls, but nothing else, Bird.”

“You cannot boss me around. I am Bird, and no one rules me.”

They took the wagon through the door into The Wandering Inn, but Liska paused when Garry asked to just be dropped off at an old destination.

“The Bloodfields? Why the heck do you want to go there?”

“I wish to deliver bread south, Liska.”

“South? Hey, isn’t that a really bad idea?”

The Gnoll glanced at Bird, and the [Hunter] replied.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Garry and Bird locked gazes, and she raised the bow and hit him.

“Ow.”

She hit him again.

“Ow. Bird, stop that.”

Her arms were trembling.

“I must stop you. I must. Why can you not stay in this city? We belong here. In that circle around the inn.”

Four gaps in the ring of statues. Garry peered at the frozen Antinium forms for a second. Where was Anand’s…? He looked back at his sister.

Bird pointed at the [Garden of Sanctuary] and that hill where the statues stood in the mists, and she was crying. Garry envied her that, his beautiful sister who had become more than he could dream of. But he stood with that feeling that had carried Erin Solstice so far, and whatever Liska saw in him, she silently changed the door. Garry put an arm around Bird’s shoulder and shielded his face as she raised the bow again.

“That is where you belong, Bird, and I hope you stay here as long as you wish to. I? I see another hill to stand on. And there is no one there but me. I am going. The place I am trying to reach is somewhere that not even Erin has found. The world does not need another [Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef].”

Miss Uriesta and Menolit, who’d just come through the door, and everyone in earshot who’d been impatiently waiting for the wagon to turn or listening to this moment stopped.

Their eyes fixed on Garry, and he smiled as they found a tiny window to view him through. The true him. Liska’s eyes went round, and the [Baker] smiled.

“That is to say—the world will probably take many more like me. And it may need what I can give. But it is not enough.”

“It’s enough for me.”

Bird threw her arms around Garry, and he hugged her, then gently lifted her off him and climbed into the wagon. The horses, who were nervous, had been chewing on Scaethen Dough, and he turned and spoke to Bird.

“Selfish as it is, Bird, I must tell you the truth for I am a poor [Liar]. It may be enough for you, but it is not for me. I must try at least once. Then…I will be able to sleep again.”

He rode the wagon through the magic door into the reddish, smoothed dirt road heading south from Liscor. And he knew they were watching him, but he had a while. The Antinium gazed up at the sky.

“I’m very nervous, Erin. Is this how it feels each time? Wish me luck.”

Then he shook the reins, patted one of the horses, and he began to ride south. Facing the enemy that would be his greatest danger.

Drakes.

And the people he had to try to help. Who needed him.

Drakes.

——

The [Baker] began rolling around the stained Bloodfields, watching clouds of insects funneling upwards from the huge pillow plants that disgorged them without end. Delicately driving the nervous horses further away from the sporadic Watchertrees, who stood like silent sentinels, and occasionally just admiring a red rabbit because there were always rabbits, apparently.

And only a few people knew where he was going or why. For those first few hours into a journey that would last days, Garry just sat back and listened to his heart hammering.

“But the reason is correct. So it should be done.”

He was not, then, fearless. Garry had just learned every lesson that his teacher had shown him. It was that determined expression, of someone walking into flames, he wore.

——

It was not the face that the [Innkeeper] wore after she emerged from her [Pavilion of Secrets]. When she reappeared and Ulvama and Matha saw her as they were washing dishes—well, Matha was washing dishes and Ulvama was supervising—the young Fraerling nearly dropped a plate.

She had never seen Erin Solstice looking so dreadfully calm. And that was the word for it. Her eyes were a bit puffy, but she looked like how Eurise said she was when he had first met her: a washed-up survivor with magic still coursing through her veins.

Ulvama knew. But she grabbed a chair.

“What happened? Sit, sit. Is he…? I thought he was safe. Someone else?”

“He’s going south. I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t. He’s going to deliver bread because it matters, and—he’ll live. He promised me.”

The [Innkeeper] sat as Ulvama’s eyes went wide with alarm, and Matha was utterly confused. Bread? The stuff they’d eaten last night?

Hunger for a Fraerling was a rare concept—at least, in Matha’s village. Her raiders had been hungry, but they just had to kill a bug if they were desperate, even if it tasted horrible. There had always been Zinni nearby.

She had never starved. As Ulvama had pointed out, Matha had never really known so many of the fears that she and Erin had, despite her size.

But it would also be wrong to say Matha was a fool. She understood what this Antinium guy was doing as Erin softly murmured to the increasingly-agitated Ulvama.

“Hey, that’s great, isn’t it? Isn’t it a good idea?”

Both Human and Goblin glanced at her, and Matha shut up. Then listened, because they were talking. Somewhat to her, and mostly to each other.

“It is a good thing.”

“He is going to be killed. Didn’t you tell him that? They’re Drakes. They will shoot him and hang his body up just—just to warn the others.”

“They’ll…what?”

Erin didn’t glance at Matha. She was gazing down at her fingers, which twitched as she moved them.

“I told him, Ulvama. But he had to go. He had every good reason. Everyone tried to stop him. Magnolia. Teriarch. Even some [Knight]. But he’s going to do it.”

“Why? Tell Lyonette!”

“Because he’s going to level. And because they’ll pay attention to him. Because he feels like he has to, Ulvama. I was so…proud of him. I couldn’t say a thing.”

She smiled, then. Like a treehouse collapsing. A home splintering into pieces. Matha didn’t know faces could make such expressions.

Bowom should have been here, Matha felt, but he was visiting his patient alone this time. Or Eurise or Roja; although all but one of them called her an idiot, sometimes they explained things, even if most of it was ‘figure it out, dummy’.

All she knew was that if Erin was both triumphant and about to cry—Ulvama was visibly upset now. She tightened her hands on a teapot she’d been pouring water into and then whirled.

“I understand why he thinks this. He…he’s a good child. But they will kill him. Erin, go back and stop him.”

“I can’t.”

“You must! You’re the [Chieftain], Erin. He’s a warrior. He wants to do something dangerous. Sometimes, yes, sometimes you say, ‘go’. Not for this. Not to waste his life. You tell them no.”

Matha knew that too. Like telling one of her people not to try and solo the wild jungle cat just to impress the new kids. But she was torn. It sounded important. And Erin?

She frowned at Ulvama as the Hobgoblin sat down and took her hands. The [Shaman] thought, then her crimson eyes lit up with a sudden idea.

“Take me. I’ll talk to him.”

“Take you? Oh. I could—I never thought about that. Can I?”

The [Innkeeper] blinked, then smiled at the idea. However, then her face went calm again. She brushed at her eyes and appeared surprised there was nothing on the back of her hand.

“I won’t do that, Ulvama. He’s right. He put himself on television the last two rides. And I promised I wouldn’t stop him. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t help—”

Her head rose, determined. Then she started, because Ulvama grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

“No. Stop him.”

Her voice rose, and Matha saw the Hobgoblin display another rare emotion: anger. Her arms were tensed up as she held Erin hard.

“Hey, Ulvama, that hurts—”

“Tell him to stop. He is going to die. You’re—you’re doing this again, Erin. Only, it’s him. You taught him wrong. He is going to get himself killed or hurt, and you are going to break apart again. Your heart will. Tell him to stop right now.”

The [Innkeeper] was blinking, shaking her head.

“Ulvama, he wants to feed hungry people. Like Rheirgest. He’s…the only person who just wants to feed people. Not survive. I stopped. We stopped at the inn. Maybe someone like—like Magnolia is doing it. Maybe she’s done it and no one pays attention because she’s just Magnolia Reinhart.”

Erin grew distracted, and Ulvama poked her hard. Then slapped Erin on the cheek gently, but like someone trying to wake up a dreamer.

“None of that matters. If he dies, it is all over. No one comes back anymore—you said so. Don’t do this. Open the [Pavilion of Secrets], now, and take me. That is an order.”

“Ulvama…I’m not going to do that.”

This time, the poke from the pointed claw made Matha wince. Erin rubbed at her chest, and Ulvama hissed.

“This is your tribe, and you will fail him otherwise! This is not about right or wrong. It’s about survival! You’re the [Chieftain], and I’m your—”

“I’m not a Chieftain, Ulvama. Garry is his own person. He did this himself. He didn’t ask for help, because he knows he has to be independent. I’m proud of him. I’m not going to stop him. I don’t think I can. I don’t think Lyonette could. I don’t know if the entire Order of Solstice could unless they just held him down and never let go.”

Matha saw Ulvama jerk back, her ears tremble and droop, but Erin didn’t notice. The Hobgoblin listened, then her eyes blazed, and Matha didn’t get…

“If you don’t stop him, him dying is your fault. It is your responsibility, dumbass!”

She shouted at Erin. She reached down to yank Erin up by her shirt, and the [Innkeeper] grabbed Ulvama’s wrists. Then her eyes rose, and Matha instinctively hid behind the 2nd floor stairway because Erin was suddenly angry. Not as furious as she’d been when she’d attacked Matha’s base, but—her hazel eyes flashed.

“Stop him? Like you stopped Tremborag from raiding villages and attacking women in your mountain?”

The Hobgoblin froze. She opened her mouth, and Erin let go of her hands. Ulvama leapt back, and Erin stared at Ulvama, then away.

“We never talked about that. Rags told me, and…I never brought it up, but I wondered, especially after the ship. Why did you tell me all those true things if you let that happen?”

“I—I—”

Ulvama glanced around, but Matha was hiding, eyes wide. Biting her fingernails. The Hobgoblin swallowed.

“That…sometimes, Erin, sometimes you—you compromise. If I had tried to stop him, he wouldn’t have listened to me. I was—”

She stopped. Closed her eyes.

“Sometimes, you compromise. Like Garry. He wants to do something good. But if he dies, it’s not worth it, is it, Erin?”

Erin stood, and the two spoke in increasingly long periods of silence. Eyes locked on each other. At last, Erin nodded.

“I know you’re right, Ulvama. I’ve done that too. You are right. But I never want you to be a casualty of that—compromise. Not in that ship or ever. Not again. I’m not stopping Garry.”

Relief, regret, then—as she saw the [Innkeeper] gazing down at her wrists again, fury. The Hobgoblin shouted.

“Then you’re going to kill him. Just like you kill everyone you love, including yourself! He’s the last of the ones you love. Are you going to let them all die? Bird, Pawn, Belgrade? The one who died? The other one, who died at sea and you didn’t even know? Anand? How many times will you kill them, Erin? How many—”

She was going to shove Erin, poke her, but the [Innkeeper] knocked her hand away and then brought her hand down on Ulvama’s shoulder.

Slap.

The faint sound of flesh meeting flesh wasn’t loud, and Ulvama recoiled. Erin pushed her back. Then she lifted her hand and blinked. The Hobgoblin backed up a few steps.

“Sorry. I—”

The [Innkeeper]’s voice trailed off, and then she just stared at Ulvama. Her face froze up as Ulvama whirled. The Hobgoblin stormed out of the room as Matha leapt out of hiding.

“Um—wait—why don’t we all calm down and—”

Too late. The [Innkeeper] sat back down slowly. And then?

Well, Bowom kicked Matha with his roach-leg when he came back, and everyone else blamed Matha, but what was she supposed to have done? Ulvama came back after only a few minutes, anyways. But the mood got—worse.

Still, the Antinium rolled on.

——

It would be a longer journey, and conscious of this, Garry did let the horses rest. He fed them bread, which he had been assured would be okay for them, especially his bread.

He gave them pats, but he didn’t love animals like other Antinium. He quite liked them, but like chess, it was like rather than love. He jogged along the wagon when he realized that the horses were trained enough to actually just follow the road. Mostly trained. Twice, one of them tried to wander off to eat some grass or got too close to the Bloodfields, so he had to run over and push them back on course.

Garry had never run so far as he did in those first four hours. He wasn’t sure he cared for the experience. But he was bursting with energy and he had no bread to knead, so he was restless.

In time, the road taking him around the Bloodfields ended, and a far older, much less well-maintained road began. Garry blinked at the little sign at the end of the road.

This roadworks project was completed on 23 A.F. by Master Reikhle and the builders of Liscor. Also, the lives of the Silver-rank adventurers and those who perished battling monsters from the Bloodfields.

It was just a little bit of stone carved with the words and placed into the grass. Despite the weather, it had not deteriorated and looked sharp. A Skill, no doubt. Perhaps it would last a long time.

A reminder. Garry remembered that moment, too, when he had heard the alarm coming from Bird and worried for the Horns of Hammerad.

He had not been there either. He had missed Toren’s final return. Missed the Siege of Liscor where Pawn had led his Painted Antinium to protect Erin. Missed so many grand events.

He was only the [Baker]. Slowly, Garry stepped off the smooth dirt road and onto the muddy ground. And now, he was past the Bloodfields. In Drake lands. He stared ahead as the ground rose even further. Hilly terrain.

South of Liscor were the hills which Hectval and the other Drake cities inhabited. It came down to the more-prosperous plains and Pallass’ domain after that. He would head south from here, but soon, he would need to abandon the ‘main’ road.

The villages he needed to reach were geographically isolated. As much as the Yoldenites. Garry checked his map then set out.

——

It said something about how many people were using the road around the Bloodfields, even with the new path and Liscor’s increased prominence, that Garry saw no one for two more hours after that.

Then again, he supposed the safer option was to actually go south to Pallass and just use the door rather than risk the Bloodfields in any capacity. The bugs hadn’t bothered him or the horses despite his bread. Or maybe it was because of his bread. Perhaps they realized his new Skill meant he was effectively carrying poison for them and stayed away.

Regardless, when he finally did meet someone on the road, it was, of all things, a Drake picking herbs. No Liscorian Drake wearing long, oiled cloaks and boots in the rain. And no city-Drake either; at least, not Liscorian-city.

He had on a rather windswept look. Second-hand cloth of different colors, clearly worn fabric now recycled into a drifter’s outfit. Wrapped around his body and even tail. Given the stiff breeze that sometimes blew down from the High Passes, it was sensible travel gear, and the fabric also saved his tail from the rocks as he used a little trowel to dig up plants.

A spiky blue daffodil in this case, and Garry had seen a tiny Sage’s Grass plant a while back being nibbled on by a Waisrabbit. The [Forager] straightened semi-warily when he saw the wagon, but relaxed when he observed no one but the rider around. He waved.

“Hallo! [Trader]?”

“Hello! Delivering bread! [Baker]!”

Garry shouted back. The Drake raised a tiny claw to his forehead, squinting. Then tilted his entire body left and right.

“…[Baker]? From where?”

“Liscor!”

“Liscor? What’re you…”

Then the Drake went abruptly very still as he realized the odd figure and the accented click to the voice did not match another Drake, Human, or Gnoll…he stumbled back a step. Garry shouted.

“I am bound to the village of Imec! Delivering bread! Are you searching for plants? I saw some Sage’s Grass back there.”

“I—I—”

The Drake dropped his trowel. He cast around for his horse. Went two steps towards it, stumbled, and then fell down.

“Oh! Are you hurt?”

They were on the same road, so Garry was approaching at a decent, steady clip as the horses exchanged whinnies with the mountain-pony who was sniffing the air, perhaps scenting the bread. The Drake was twitching on the ground. Trying to get up. His head came back up, and Garry saw terror on his face.

“I am not dangerous. I am merely a [Baker]. I would offer you some bread, but it is going to hungry people.”

No response. At last, the Drake got to his feet. He grabbed his pony’s saddle and hauled himself up, then kicked the horse.

“Go! Go!”

The alarmed pony whirled, and the Drake began to gallop. He peered over his shoulder so much so that Garry was worried he’d steer his pony into a rock or down a ledge. But then he was far away, and Garry sighed.

“It begins.”

——

To be more precise, it had begun already, but this lone encounter was prescient, really. After all, as Garry was aware, his presence had been noted in The Wandering Inn as well as in Liscor that morning. Everyone knew, by now, of the bread deliveries.

It wasn’t large news. Even the first broadcast hadn’t been worthy of the front page of any newspaper, including Liscor’s own. Drassi had covered the segment, but she would have rated it as B-grade material at best, even with an Antinium like Garry and it being charitable and heartwarming—at least if you didn’t hate Antinium.

No action, no scandal, no cute animals, nothing—moving on. However, it still had enough people who’d seen it and had paid attention to Garry’s loaded wagon in Liscor. So they’d dutifully mentioned it via [Message] spell to friends in Celum or Invrisil or popped over there to see him ride out. Only for no one to find Garry.

He wasn’t coming out of Invrisil. Or Celum. Or Esthelm or even the Unseen Empire. Weird. Then Lyonette got wind that Garry had brought his wagon into the inn and wondered where he was.

There was a feeling some of the guests got, like Miss Uriesta, who sat up with her knitting in hand.

“[Dramasense]. Oh my, this is going to be a big day.”

The veteran checked her [Advanced Dangersense], but determined she was unlikely to be in any immediate danger, so she had a word with Calescent. You had to get your order in ahead of time when there was a big rush.

And yet she didn’t know what was going on. No one did until the moment began in earnest, and it was this.

Drassi kicked the door open from Pallass to Liscor with muffled shouting behind her. She had gone through the security checkpoint, and she yelled.

“Liska, let me through! Oh, Ancestors, hurry! Hurry!”

Liska, who had some idea of what this was about, let Drassi through. A Pallassian [Guard] slammed into a [Forcewall] as Drassi ran through.

“Where’s the news crew?”

Liska peered over the Drake’s shoulder, but Drassi had run straight from Channel 2’s broadcasting room, up three floors, and across the 8th to get here. She was gasping for air, but she had just seen it.

A [Scrying] spell she had ordered on a hunch. She’d told Channel 2 to prepare, just in case they couldn’t stop this, but the [Mage] had panicked, and she hadn’t been able to catch the idiot before they went sprinting for High Command. Drassi crashed into the common room of the inn.

“Lyonette! Lyonette! Get a message out of the [World’s Eye Theatre]!”

She could have stayed and begun the broadcast, but there was reporting the news and…this. Lyonette whirled, and there was that sensation in the inn.

What now? What crisis…? But it wasn’t them.

It was Garry. And now, Pallass was seeing him riding his wagon into the foothills. In Drake territory, and the nearest city of Gllistove had just had a [Forager] ride through their gates, screaming about Antinium.

Now, it was beginning.

——

Garry was peering up at the sky. He had the vague sense someone was scrying him.

The Free Queen had given him one of those anti-appraisal rings when he hit Level 30 as she had deemed his level a valuable asset not to be shared, and it tingled whenever someone was magicking him.

It was tingling quite a lot right now. But Garry didn’t want to stop any [Scrying] spells. Quite the opposite. What did Bird say you should do?

Wave?

He shrugged at the sky instead. He didn’t really care for the television either. It was nice, but if he watched it too much, he felt lazy.

“Where’s my hat and beard?”

Might as well get started. Garry was putting it on when there was a shimmer, and Lyonette, Mrsha, and Ser Dalimont appeared to the side of the wagon. They spooked the horses, and he had to calm them. Mostly because the adults were shouting.

“Garry! What are you doing? Turn back now!”

The [Princess]’ features were visibly cracked; normally, she covered it up, but he noticed the makeup hadn’t been applied properly. She must have been panicked. Garry wondered how much pain she was in and if she needed help. He’d ask Bird later; it was always embarrassing not to be caught up on current events.

If he survived.

“Hello, Lyonette. I’m doing exactly what you think I am doing. I am happy to talk, but if there is trouble, I will need to focus. You may wish to turn the scrying orb off and keep little Mrshas and Nanettes from watching.”

He paused and thought about it.

“They have seen worse, but it is the principle of the thing, you see.”

Mrsha was staring at him with huge, solemn eyes. He smiled at her.

“It should be done, Mrsha.”

She nodded, but the [Princess] was speaking.

“Garry, I order you to turn around now. This is insane. We can have the Knights of Solstice doing this. Or I’ll pay for Hawk or—”

“The Knights of Solstice are saving lives. Hawk is expensive, and this is my work. No, Lyonette.”

“Garry! Come back now! I can have Ishkr teleport you back to the inn. I order you to turn around!”

The [Princess]’ voice shone with authority, and the horses began to move until Garry flapped the reins. He turned his head and addressed her politely.

“No.”

Her mouth opened, and the [Baker] rode on, faster now. Ser Dalimont took over.

“Baker Garry, you must understand that Pallass is in a state of alarm. You are on television.”

“Ah, good. Is Miss Drassi covering the news? I could interview with her if she uses your theatre Skill. Or perhaps she has her own methods?”

The [Knight] shifted as Lyonette’s mouth opened and closed.

“Garry. The local Drake city has just sent out riders from their army.”

“Yes. We’ll see if they respect my hat.”

Garry had swapped out his [Baker]’s hat for the Santa one. He turned to Lyonette.

“Drassi will save my life more than your authority. Everyone behaves differently when they think they are being watched.”

“You must be mad, Garry. This is wrong! This is foolish!”

She was angrily pacing up to him, limping. And you know what? He respected Erin’s point of view. He understood the others. But the [Baker] was not a calm Antinium like…Bird. He leaned over the wagon and spoke down to her.

“I am not mad, Lyonette. The world is mad, uncaring, and cruel. I respect that your inn is in danger, but I am the only sane person. I was told by a [Trader] that the village of Imec sold him their winter boots for silver to buy his food. He laughed as if it were a joke. Merchant Farri, I am slightly relieved to say, did not laugh. Nothing was done by the Merchant’s Guild or the cities near here. This is the state of the world. You may be slightly crazy, but I am very sane.”

The [Princess] halted, then looked up at him. She focused on the bread, as if seeing it for the first time.

“But Garry, we could do it. There are so many ways.”

“Yes. I hope you do. But this is my way.”

Garry thought he saw figures streaming down the side of a hill in the distance. Was that the city…? He shaded his eyes, and Mrsha saw it too. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve.

Mother, we must get Drassi now.

“I—oh, Dragonshit. Garry, keep away from them! We’ll get Drassi!”

Lyonette ran out of view, and the [Baker] sat back upright. After a moment, he commented to his horses.

“I was very rude back there. I hope you weren’t upset by that.”

He paused. They trotted on, and he sighed.

“…You’re animals. You don’t understand what I’m saying. I don’t see what Ksmvr gets out of this. He must think your ability to converse is on par with his team’s.”

——

General Edellein of Pallass was out-of-contact in the New Lands when Pallass was alerted to the event taking place just north of their territory. All the other Walled Cities were online, and they had to defer to their leadership.

Which was…who?

Several members of the Assembly of Crafts had gone running, searching for someone in charge, but General Shirka and General Forwek had been the only acting [Generals] in the city. Shirka wasn’t politic, and Forwek had declined to take charge, and the [Senators] had realized, to their horror, that left only them.

So that was how Errif and a dozen other [Senators] earned their own daily exercise: running from a secure room where a [Mage] was linked to the other Walled Cities and conveying their replies to the Assembly of Crafts.

Frankly, the average citizen might have more up-to-date info given they could just watch on the scrying orb.

And they were watching. Oh, yes. This wasn’t a Channel 2 slow, B-grade production. Channel 1 was covering it, but it was Drassi who was keeping pace with Garry, holding a microphone up on scrying orb; his face—and the Santa hat—was all over television.

That was possibly why the Drake [Riders] from Gllistove hadn’t attacked yet. One of them was checking a small scrying orb and glancing up at the sky. Shouting for a [Rider] to relay messages back to the city because none of them had speaking stones.

And the Antinium rode on. The Walled Cities were talking.

Zeres: They have to have at least one [Archer]. Snipe him.

Oteslia: Zeres, you must be mad.

Zeres (Admiralty): Belay that order. The Serpentine Matriarch is overruled.

Zeres: You can’t do that, Asale!

Fissival: Fissival’s Three are online. Pallass, how did you allow this?

Pallass: Standby.

Manus: No one is to attack at this moment. This is televised, delay of 5 minutes. If an attack is launched, the Hives may retaliate.

Zeres (Matriarch): Okay, don’t attack. Over one Antinium?

Salazsar: Is that a Santa hat? The Defenders of the Wall are being caught up. This Antinium was on television delivering to the north.

Oteslia: Correct, and no one thought he’d be crazy enough to go south. Here we are.

Zeres (Matriarch): I assume the First Gardener is attending? I notice no one has greeted me.

Oteslia: We are all speaking via [Strategists], Serpentine Matriarch. Are you on a personal [Message] scroll?

Zeres (Matriarch): I am. I was tired of having everything relayed. Wait, what is that thing saying? These Soldiers are hideous as I’ve heard.

Salazsar: That’s a Worker. [Appraisal] spells are blocked.

Manus: Garry the [Baker]. Connections to The Wandering Inn and ‘Chess Club Individuals’. Levels unknown. Not a combat-class. Check your dossiers. Attempting to make contact. Standby.

The interview between a breathless, nervous Drassi and Garry was rather simple. She was holding her microphone out as her camera-crews filmed her and Garry inside the [World’s Eye Theatre]. They had a close-up of Garry’s smiling face.

“I am smiling, Drassi. This is what Antinium look like when they smile. We raise our mandibles like so.”

He demonstrated, and she glanced over her shoulder at the Drakes—with bows—aiming at him.

“Halt! Halt or die!”

“Get on the ground!”

“I’m with Wistram News Network, don’t shoot! Garry, are you aware you’re riding through Drake lands?”

“I am very aware, Drassi. I am now winking, which is when I move my antenna sideways like—”

“Garry, this is not a joke.”

“I did not think it was, Drassi. I am utterly serious. I am delivering bread to the village of Imec. They are hungry. I trust that these good Drakes will not kill me for attempting to feed hungry people.”

Drassi licked her lips, then thrust her microphone closer.

“And if they do? Garry, we know each other, and you are being watched by everyone in the world. I’d like to reassure my audience that Antinium are not all unthinking monsters, but I am also going to be a [Reporter] and say that this is an extremely provocative move. You know the history of the Antinium Wars. Why would you do this?”

A [Rider] was coming their way. The [Captain] was grimly levelling a light lance at Garry. He was armored light with splint mail, and the Walled Cities began buzzing.

Salazsar: His armor is terrible. What’s the rating on this city? Gllistove?

Oteslia: It says 34.5.

Fissival: 34.5??? We have garrisoned towers with a higher combat rating. You can’t even find it on half our maps. Let alone this village the Antinium is claiming he’s going to.

Manus: Imec, founded 62 years ago. Population of 82 at last count. Notes indicate they refused to live in the city of Hilldem due to disagreements over taxation law. No known products of value. Strategists, I remind you that you are being witnessed by High Command.

Salazsar: Our apologies, Manus.

Zeres (Matriarch): No, do go on, this is very entertaining.

Zeres (Asale): The [Baker] is indicating they are experiencing famine. Can we confirm this, and that his cargo is safe?

Oteslia: We’re on it. An agent is buying bread from his store.

Fissival: He could just poison the wagonload, Oteslia. Intercept and detain is probably the best move.

Manus: Establishing contact. Captain Gllitten. Most Drakes have ‘gll’ in their names from this city.

Oteslia: Well, that’s insane.

The [Captain] had realized that trying to threaten a wagon with a lance wasn’t really working. Especially because Garry kept moving, so he ended up having to pull the lance up and shout.

“Halt!”

Garry did not halt, but he greeted the [Captain], who hesitated. The Drake was not…willing to grab the reins. While his horse spooked the wagon’s horses, they glanced at Garry and kept moving along. In fact, the Drake was tensed, visibly trembling.

Afraid Garry would go for him?

He was afraid, and Drassi was between them.

“Hello, Captain!”

“Er, you’re that lady on the news. Miss Drassi, Channel 2.”

She was also surreal to the poor man. He’d only seen Drassi on the two scrying orbs placed in the gathering square and park of his city. The one he had was a personal orb from one of the Councilmembers. Now, he was on the news, and he didn’t know what to do.

So he was more genuine than the rest of the world, who had more of a sense of what it meant to be on television. He leaned over the saddle, blinking at her, then snapped his gaze up.

“Antinium! By order of the Walled City of War, you are to halt immediately! I have orders from their High Command—halt or we will shoot you!”

Drassi waved her hands frantically, but Garry replied levelly.

“I trust you will not, Captain. Because—”

“You can talk?”

The [Captain] nearly rode his horse off the side of the road. His city just turned off the scrying orb whenever an Antinium appeared, to avoid unrest. The horrifying bugman was raising his mandibles at the [Captain], and Gllitten hadn’t wanted to say it to Manus, but if he attacked, he feared half his command would flee back to their city.

“I can talk, sir. And with respect to the City of War, I do not believe I have violated any laws. Nor do they have authority over me as a free citizen on the road. Furthermore, I am wearing a Santa hat. And delivering food to your sister-village of Imec. You would surely not shoot an unarmed [Baker] trying to feed the hungry on live television, would you?”

There it was. A twinkle in his eyes. Drassi squinted at Garry.

“Did your eyes just shine, Garry? Er, yes, no killing, please! Although, I have to point out, it’s not Christmas—”

“And you’re not that Santa-fellow! That’s the undead [King] in Chandrar!”

Captain Gllitten clung to what he knew. Which was what he’d seen on the scrying orb, of course. Garry paused.

“You are referring to King Fetohep of Chandrar?”

“Yes, him!”

“He is not Santa. I am. He does have a rather magnificent beard, but if it helps you, Captain Gllitten, it was the village of Imec who wrote to King Fetohep as well, requesting material aid and quite a lot of gold. He forwarded their names to me upon request, so you may also take this as an express delivery from Khelt.”

Both Drassi and the [Captain] stared at Garry. Somewhere, the King of Khelt sat on his throne and ordered a drink. He could use this as a change of pace from his duties. A hopefully nice change of pace.

Fetohep had his doubts.

So did the rest of the world. The [Captain] fumbled for his side. He had burned two [Message] scrolls now since the city didn’t have an unlimited one. He read the flashing scroll, gritting his teeth.

“I have a scrying orb with High Command on it! You are under arrest and will halt your wagon while we sort this out. Excuse me, Miss Drassi.”

“Under what laws are you arresting him, Captain?”

“Er—being an Antinium on the roads! Unsanctioned delivery of goods!”

The [Captain] blustered, and Garry pulled something out of his belt pouch and handed it over. Or tried to; the [Captain] swayed away in his saddle, then stared. So did Drassi. So did everyone.

Oteslia: Is that a passport?

“This is my official passport and clearance papers as well as my Driver’s Guild permit, Captain. I believe you will find everything in order. I also have my Merchant’s Guild registration if you would like to confirm that. Unlawful detainment of a sworn member of the Merchant’s Guild without due cause is subject to penalty, you know.”

The Merchant’s Guild issued a statement denying its involvement in the following affairs as the [Captain] gingerly, with the tips of his claws, accepted the passport. He read it, then stared at the clearance.

“Grade 4?”

His [Riders] had drawn nearer, and Garry was continuing to head down the road. At a good clip; Drassi had to stop, panting.

“Hold on, my legs are killing me. Can I just…what do you mean I can teleport? I’ve been running around this stupid Skill for the last thirty minutes and you—okay, show me.”

Meanwhile, Garry held the scrying orb that Gllitten had tossed at him up to one earhole. Unlike the worried Drassi or the terrified [Riders], the voice on the other end of the scrying orb was calm.

Very calm.

“Antinium. I am warning you once. Continue your actions and you will be killed. You are not welcome in our lands. Do you understand?”

“Hello. This is not a very pleasant way to introduce oneself. I am Garry. Who is this?”

“Dragonspeaker Luciva. I am not joking around, Antinium.”

“Nor am I, Dragonspeaker. You had your chance. A Drake village is hungry.”

“It is our village, Antinium. Turn around.”

“You do not have the right to starve it. Kill me and everyone will see it. It’s Christmas, Dragonspeaker.”

A pause. Perhaps the Dragonspeaker wasn’t used to someone giving back retorts like Garry. Most people physically could not given her aura. But his voice was…intense. Not like her chilling tone, but no less hard in its way.

“Are you…aware of the date, Antinium? Did your Queens authorize this?”

“I am aware it is spring, Dragonspeaker. Believe me, I have been rained on enough. I was employing a literary tool. It is always Christmas in this analogy. My Queen did not authorize this. I came alone.”

“Then, is it war if you die, Antinium?”

Her voice growled, and he spoke instantly. He raised his voice, and Drassi, edging closer and trying to get the conversation on television, halted.

“No. It will not be. Not for me. That is the opposite of what I wish. If the threat of war is the only thing you respect, I cannot stop you. But I say again: I am delivering food. Just what part of that is unclear?”

“You—”

He tossed the scrying orb over his shoulder and shook his head. She had made her threat. The Walled Cities were watching.

He waved up at them.

Manus: Communications have failed. Antinium acting alone. He has indicated the Hives will not, say again, not go to war if he is killed. We are considering options.

Oteslia: He said that? The First Gardener and advisors indicate this is a bad idea for optics, Manus.

Zeres (Matriarch): What optics? Oh, how it looks? We’d be applauded.

Salazsar: He’s claiming to deliver food.

Fissival: It is clearly deranged. Someone get on the news, both channels. It’s everywhere. Start correcting this narrative. Pallass?

Pallass: Who should be arranging this? We have General Edellein being apprised of the situation now. Standby.

Manus: Have General Edellein contact me at once. We will send representatives. Fissival, Salazsar, who has a high-level speaker who can interject? Also, spells to analyze this bread. Couriers may have to deliver a sample. Is Diplomat Nerul available?

Salazsar: He is in consultation but claims to be unavailable.

Fissival: We can do this. Er, who is ‘me’ in Manus?

Manus: This is Dragonspeaker Luciva.

Pallass: Contacting General Edellein at once!

Zeres (Matriarch): Oh, Luciva! I notice you didn’t greet me either.

Manus: We are on the business of the Walled Cities, Ieneessa. Be professional.

Zeres (Asale): This news story is playing on every television network across the world. Lots of little children, Dragonspeaker.

Manus: They surely don’t believe he’s Santa. Multiple individuals were on that broadcast, including the King of Khelt.

Zeres (Asale): No, children, Dragonspeaker. Watching the scrying orbs. Recommending against sniping or blood.

Manus: Of course, noted. Fissival? Can you cut scrying spells on the Antinium as well as broadcasts?

Fissival: We could blank the region, but it’ll take time and setup. We need a zone designated and coordinates locked on first, Dragonspeaker. Wistram and every television station? Not reliably…but the [Scrying] spells going down would blind them. What we cannot be certain of is that Skill that Miss Drassi is using. We’ve been unable to experiment with blocking it since it hasn’t been used on us. So that Miss Drassi has to stop interviewing him. This is Headmaster Tierres, incidentally.

Manus: We’ll get you those coordinates if needed, Headmaster. Reviewing maps.

Oteslia: If it’s really just bread…

Salazsar: It’s an Antinium, Oteslia.

Oteslia: We’ve had them in our lands before. The one in the Gnoll Plains. Entire companies. The Slayer’s been bouncing around cities beating up Named-rank adventurers. And kidnapping Gnollish [Prostitutes] for reasons unknown.

Zeres (Matriarch): What?

Salazsar: The Slayer is their living weapon and there’s no attention being paid to him. This Antinium is making a fool out of us in front of the world.

Oteslia: Oh, there’s a first.

——

There were plenty of people at this moment who wanted to speak to Garry. Or shake him. Or protect him or…

None of them mattered. In a very real sense, only the Walled Cities did and one other power who represented this intrusion, this breach of authority. And that other faction was the Hives of Izril, and one individual of all of them understood what Garry was doing.

She alone did, because she had perspective. This wasn’t just territory or lives lost or gained or resources. This was about prestige, authority, the worth of a species or nation in visible terms.

The Grand Queen understood that an Antinium found in Drake lands was, if not welcomed, an understood act by the Walled Cities just as they sent infiltrators to sabotage her Hives. She had learned to be politic and what one could get away with.

This, though, was an assault of a different kind upon the Walled City’s power, even if it was merely via perception.

It was dangerous. As dangerous as Bird the Hunter standing in Pallass. Perhaps…more so. She understood this, and this was why she was the greatest Queen of the Hivelands, the one who must lead the others.

The Grand Queen lifted something off of a huge, golden plate. A goblet encrusted with jewels, massive and silver, and filled with wine. A novel treat. The Free Queen made much of her cooking from the same [Chef], Garry, but she did not have this. The [Slaves] holding the plate moved back slowly, and the Grand Queen sipped from the straw.

Wine, cup, and plate were all gifts, of course. From her new allies. Another masterstroke, that Antinium now had allies. But they must be wary; a war now seemed suboptimal to the Grand Queen, and she was in concert with her other Queens, formulating a response. The gesture with the goblet was reflected in their mirrors, in fact, that they might notice.

“Is…that a cup, Grand Queen? What are those? Not Antinium. Captured Humans?”

“Oh, these? [Slaves]. Auxiliary individuals I have procured. Examples will be sent to each Hive in turn. Examples which the Hives will accept as proof of their usefulness.”

The Grand Queen indicated the mixture of species with a practiced wave of a feeler. The other Queens eyed the new additions to the Grand Hive with skepticism or outright scorn. The Free Queen had refused them before, but the Grand Queen would make them all accept them. This was very important to swaying their opinions, according to her contacts in Roshal. Accepting [Slaves] in was the first step, and then they’d be worked on. Made more pliable, more useful, like the Hives should be.

They were not united. The Flying Queen was restless, upset. Showcasing Devrkr who sat, unusually silent, by her side. She had refused to send him to other Hives until a cessation of hostilities was issued by the Free and Armored Queens—which they refused to give. The Twisted Queen’s scrying mirror was very still, and she had gone silent, even more so than usual.

Why, even the Armored Queen was being a skeptic—her, the loyal one!

“Are these…useful, Grand Queen? Our allocation of resources to the Grand Hive now makes sense, but the amount we have given in materials such as gold and other objects for non-Antinium feels odd.”

The other Queens murmured agreement. Only the Silent Queen actually seemed to be trying to be a good subordinate, and even then, she pestered the Grand Queen endlessly about more research, more resources for her projects, and having to send her Silent Antinium away on ships. None of them saw the big picture.

The Grand Queen did, and she spoke waspishly.

“They are capable of levelling at speeds Antinium cannot match.”

“Except for my Antinium.”

The Free Queen put in, and the Grand Queen did not look at her.

“Speeds unmatched by other Antinium and with unique classes. Such as…[Cupbearer].”

“I—I do not see the value in that, Grand Queen.”

“There is…n-none.”

“Silence. I have a full report on how these [Slaves] will be used to great effect, and more are to come. You shall recognize the error of your words and the comforts my new amenities provide. Such as wine.”

“I prefer grape juice.”

Once more, the Grand Queen clicked her mandibles and went on.

“We discuss this upsetting incident. A loss of control of one of the Free Queen’s Antinium, again. Very humiliating. We are in contact with the Walled Cities. Manus specifically. They regard this action as dangerously close to war. It is my decision that we indicate this Individual is acting against our will.”

“What? He is delivering bread. He has done so before. How is this a declaration of war?”

“I concur. The logic does not make sense to me. Are Drakes this foolish?”

“Did we poison the bread? This would be an effective move.”

“A suitably treacherous idea, Flying Queen. Very representative of you.”

“Silence!”

They were not, which annoyed the Grand Queen. Her contacts in Roshal were respectful. The [Slaves] were, but her fellow Queens? This was why she couldn’t allow a war, of course.

Devrkr returning was an asset. The Free Queen was an asset, for all she was foolish. But the Hives were not united. Xrn had been revived. The Grand Queen had to consolidate their power, and so she spoke, sipping more wine from her straw.

“There is no argument to be had. This Individual, Garry the Baker, has acted independently of his Queen. Any Antinium, regardless of level, who disobeys the will of the Hive is insubordinate. Un-Antinium. Therefore, useless. I shall indicate this to Manus.”

The other Queens murmured, but it was the Free Queen who took immediate umbrage to the statement.

“Garry is one of the highest-levelled Antinium in my Hive. His value is beyond compare!”

“An Antinium who does not obey his Queen is a liability. A sign of defective production, Free Queen.”

“An Antinium who does not obey is a Prognugator, Grand Queen. Or a Centenium. They have always told us no.”

Every head but the Twisted Queen’s swung back to the Grand Queen, and there was an oooh from the Flying Queen. The Grand Queen’s mandibles snapped the giant wooden straw.

“You are allocated two Prognugators, Free Queen, no more. You are incapable of creating Prognugator-class Antinium from your Autonomous Antinium project, let alone Centenium. To imply otherwise is falsity beyond measure. I have made my decision.”

She waved a feeler, and the other Queens spoke.

“I request debate on this subject, Grand Queen.”

“Respectfully, my Queen, if this Garry is of sufficient levels, perhaps we could—”

“T-this. Is. Stupid.”

Enraged, the Grand Queen slashed a feeler, and one of the [Slaves] turned the mirrors off. They called her again anyways with the puppet-Workers who spoke with their voices, and she glared as she tried to think. The wine was relaxing, but she felt less…sharp? She liked it a lot, though.

The Hives were not ready for war. This was obvious; a single Antinium who was not Klbkchhezeim, Xrn, or Wrymvr was expendable. What part of this was unclear? She watched the wagon rolling on and wondered out loud—

“How would you save that one short of war, fools?”

Truly, and utterly, she liked his foods when they were sent to her. But look at him.

Just look.

How could any power allow that to continue? She waited, for there was a truth of power, and it was that it could not allow such challenges. The Grand Queen finished dictating a response to the Dragonspeaker of Manus.

It was good to talk to one’s enemies. Another non-Antinium concept, but she was the first Antinium of a new kind. Intelligent. Able to play the games and speak the language of power in Izril. She sipped more wine and waited.

——

Garry was not arrested at Gllistove by Captain Gllitten. The wary Drakes ‘escorted’ him down the road, but Drassi’s presence, more than anything else, saved him.

Mostly because after interviewing him, she interviewed the Drakes who did not resist the chance to be on television.

“Delivering bread? Who’d eat Antinium…didn’t know they could speak. We don’t even watch them on television.”

“You…you don’t? What do you do when they come on air, then?”

The Drake speaking to Drassi, along with the others, gave her a look as if she were crazy.

“Turn it off like proper individuals, Miss Drassi.”

“What, because you’re afraid of looking at them?”

Like cowards? That one statement provided over an hour of furious debate, because Drassi didn’t say that bit—but Noass did.

The Drake was on Channel 1, taking angry callers, defending himself as he and Sir Relz watched an aerial view of Garry riding his wagon.

You see, despite Garry’s [Fast Travelling] Skill that made this trip possible in days, he still was going a considerable distance, and that took…time. He just rode along, and it was boring. It took hours to get where he was going, but the drama had fuel from everyone else reacting to him. It was becoming an art-form.

“No, I’m not apologizing, callers! And the next Drake who calls me anti-Drake can eat their tail. I’m the most Drake Drake there ever was! I’m from Pallass, and here, we put on our big-boy pants and look at the big, scary Antinium. Gllistove? Gllistove never even saw them, but I was in Pallass when they attacked.”

“Hiding behind the walls! That Antinium should be shot!”

An enraged, female Drake was shouting, and Sir Relz interrupted.

“Er, on live television? And start the next Antinium War, Miss? I’m not saying we don’t have serious ethical and moral concerns here. We of Channel 1 are not Channel 2 news! Let me just state for our audience, worldwide, that there are a number of concerns around this ‘bread’ ‘delivery’ for ‘hungry’ Drakes.”

He made air-quotes with his claws as he swung his chair around to another angle where a second camera was set up and another Drake was on the call.

“I’m going now to a Magus Hitobil from Fissival. Magus, we had a sample of this ‘Garry Bread’ from Liscor transported to you by Fissival’s splendid teleportation networks. Can we verify claims it’s not…poisonous?”

By now, the Walled Cities had come up with a plan. And Magus Hitobil smiled and puffed out his chest as he showed the audience the bread on a clean laboratory table along with a sample piece of it.

The sample loaf…wasn’t as fluffy as Garry’s bread, and someone behind the scenes was screaming at Fissival to get a ‘better’ piece of bread or to ding up the next piece of Garry Bread off-camera.

It was about winning the audience—not just Drakes, but other species. And the other species were having a grand time with this. Everyone from Ulva Terland and her nephew, Lord Molen, to Chieftain Feshi and Adetr were watching with amusement or consternation, taking sides.

Obviously, the Antinium was a horrific bug-monster, and who wanted his bread? On the other hand…the Drakes were pretty great at making their opponents look good, sometimes. But this was the attempt.

“Ha-ha, yes, glad to be on the broadcast, Sir Relz! Fissival’s teleportation networks—better than Archmage Valeterisa’s—brought me the bread, indeed! Now, I’m going to conduct a few tests here to ensure the bread isn’t poisonous. But, well, there’s quite a lot of things you can do wrong in baking. Improper heating? Food poisoning. Wrong, dare I say, buglike materials? That won’t go down well! Too much salt?”

Too much salt? The thing was—the Drake was casting spells and talking a lot about the rather confusing results from [Oedman’s Ostentatious Gastronomic Analysis], a very dedicated spell, but the bread was not, in fact…poisonous.

Magus Hitobil would have loved to claim it was. Problem solved, look at this poison I found in the bread. The problem was, in fact, Sir Relz and Drassi. The [Reporter] was beaming at Magus Hitobil.

“If you’re just tuning in, ladies and gentlemen, we’re trying to see if this bread the Antinium is delivering is hazardous! I’m Sir Relz, and Magus Hitobil was just explaining that it’s passed a pre-emptive [Detect Poison] spell, but he has reservations. Just, uh, out of clarity here, you did state it was poisonous on Channel 2 News, Magus. Which you appeared on before us. But Reporter Drassi, a personal friend, did call you out with her [Detect Lie] Skill.”

The nervous [Mage] coughed a few times into one claw, turning red.

“A mistake, Sir Relz, I assure you! It seems there was some contamination added at some point which was entirely reasonable of me to assume—”

“From the teleportation grid, perhaps?”

“What? Nonono, Fissival’s teleportation network is utterly poison-free.”

Ding.

Sir Relz’s monocle lit up bright red, and Magus Hitobil froze. Sir Relz, like Drassi, had a [Lie Detector] Skill far more advanced than your average [Detect Truth] stone. Something you had to work around.

Someone in Fissival’s command rooms was not happy as the Magus had to walk back another statement.

“There is no poison in Fissival’s teleportation spells aside from the poison that is teleported at times—and it is clear in, uh, 99.9% of cases. What I mean to say, Sir Relz, is that I have reservations. About the bread. Let’s focus on the bread. Please. It may be passing some of our spells, though [Oedman’s Ostentatious Gastronomic Analysis] does not present yes-no binaries, merely a cavalcade of data outputs, and some of the readings were unusual—”

“For a bread altered by Skills, it would fall within acceptable margins?”

Sir Relz’s brows were raised high, but he was the picture of concerned skepticism. The Magus nodded, relieved.

“And look at this exceptionally concerning demonstration.”

He lifted a cage where a rather fat roach was crawling around. Sir Relz recoiled.

“I say, Magus, we’re on air!”

“Just watch!”

A piece of Garry’s bread was added to the cage, and the hungry roach scurried over to it. It took a few nibbles as Sir Relz watched, making a face. Then the roach jerked, scrambled back, twitched violently—and promptly folded its legs and rolled onto its back.

“Dead?”

“Now, this appears to be alarming, Sir Relz. We can’t establish the exact phenomenon, but if this bread had any toxins I were missing, I can estimate from how much bread that bug consumed and extrapolate that a full slice…well, a full slice might well kill someone. Butter or not.”

“Butter or not. Dead gods. That is something to worry about, Magus. Please, let us know if your testing finds out if that is poison. You heard it here first, everyone. Noass, back to you.”

That demonstration was certainly alarming. The Drakes in Fissival had been catching rats to also showcase the effects of this bread. [Pestkiller] was one of Garry’s Skills, after all, and everyone was watching.

Well, everyone was watching Channel 1, or flipping to it every now and then. It occupied a 33% share of Wistram News Network. And 45% were watching Channel 2.

2% were watching a football game on Channel 4, sports. But what they saw on Channel 2 News was, ah…

——

Menolit finished making his food and took the largest bite he could out of the Garry Bread sandwich. He chewed, crunching down his signature fish salad sandwich complete with pan-fried fish, Liscor’s local sauce, and leafy greens from the Unseen Empire on toasted bread from the Liscorian Free Bakery.

He swallowed, burped, and patted his mouth with a napkin.

“Excuse me.”

Drassi took her own bite of the sandwich and chewed.

“Yep, that’s good bread. And I believe our audience is probably getting bored of watching bread rise. But as you can see, the bread coming from Liscor’s bakery is being made according to, well, bread-making specifications. Not even by Antinium a lot of the time!”

They had a camera-crew in the bakery who had watched a nervous Gnoll mixing up some bread to get to the bottom of the poison claims. Menolit nodded.

“It’s bread. Buy one for a Liscorian Mark, cheap as can be! If Channel 1 News wanted, they could get one and take a bite. But hey, I’m happy to eat for them since I’m no coward.”

Drassi smirked and hid a smile. After a second, someone kicked their door open.

“I heard that! Who the hell’s calling me a coward?”

Noass rushed onto the set, and Menolit got up.

“I did! Eat the sandwich, fool! C’mon!”

“Don’t shove your inferior sandwich in my face! I’m not afraid of any kind of bread!”

“Hey, break it up, break it up!”

Drassi had to interject before the two Drakes threw hands live on the air. However, there was reasonable doubt about the quality of the bread, at least from [Reporters] calling into both channels and other rival Izrilian channels. Even other news networks conducted street-polls and found that some people were worried that Antinium-made bread would be, in some way, bad for you.

It was a reasonable concern and, therefore, a success on Fissival’s side to interject that note of uncertainty into the narrative. And Garry did nothing as he rode along. That [Baker] didn’t have social Skills or political savvy. He was a fool.

A fool…who remembered something that everyone seemed to have forgotten.

——

His first delivery at Imec was after seven straight hours of riding. Exhausted horses rested as he hopped out of the wagon at the limits to the village.

It had walls. It was, after all, a Drake village, but a poor one. A place settled by Drakes who refused to live in their local city. Eighty-two inhabitants.

Hungry.

The five-foot walls had Drakes standing behind them, aiming a handful of bows at him. They knew he was coming, of course. [Riders] had streamed towards their village, and someone had to show them a [Message] scroll since they didn’t have one themselves.

Garry did not enter the village. Instead, he patted the horses, then placed something on the ground.

A tarp. He anchored it with four rocks as the Drakes watched.

Antinium.

The sheer fear of him had them drawing back every time he turned towards them, but the Worker just walked back to the wagon, then over to the tarp four hundred feet from the village ‘gate’. He placed loaves of bread down and stacked them. Added bags which turned out to contain beans, seeds, salt, and so on.

It took Garry twenty minutes to unload the wagon. When he finished, he dusted his hands and called out.

“This bread is for you! Please eat it and store it in a dry, cool place! It will keep for a long time, and it is a nutritious meal. It also kills pests!”

“Go—go—”

One of the Drakes stuttered, waving a spear at him, but then fell silent as he looked at her. Garry stared at tiny shapes peeking out windows, who ducked down. He stood there, gazing around at the sky, at the rocks around this village and wondered, plainly, how you could farm here.

Why would anyone live here? He didn’t know. Then again, his home flooded annually. He did not know them, and he was reasonably sure that if he walked closer, they’d run or fire arrows at him.

But even so, when he got back in the wagon, he did not drive off to his next destination. He headed up the road a thousand paces and stopped. Then he turned in his seat and waited. Like everyone else.

Garry had to see, you see.

——

“Can we get a reporter on the ground? No? Damn. As you can see, everyone, we’re at the village of Imec, and Channel 2 may be able to interview them—but don’t change channels!”

Sir Relz was cursing Drassi’s ability to do that as he peered at the magnified image of Garry’s bread. He and Noass were leaning away from the sample of bread they’d procured.

“Now, the Antinium, Garry the Baker, has placed the bread on the ground, avoiding conflict with Imec. No doubt they’re forewarned, but an Antinium appearing at your walls? Has to be terrifying, Noass. Even now, when I see them on my visits to Liscor, my heart skips a beat.”

Noass turned.

“You visit Liscor, Relz?”

“Oh, uh, now and then on my off-days. I wanted one of those new charms…”

“You should have taken me!”

“You were working! The next time, then. But look!”

A few villagers had left Imec’s walls. Well, more like vaulted it. Noass murmured.

“Ancestors, Sir Relz. They are a bit…thin. Is that a trick of the eyes or what? [Unprecedented Viewing Angle]!”

The scrying spell zoomed in, and Sir Relz made a sound as it gave them a look at the Drakes no mere spell or camera could afford.

“They are thin. Dead gods. It stands to reason. A harsh winter here? Yellats would probably be your main crop given the soil. Or—what do you grow in such places? It appears we weren’t misled about the, uh—uh—privation these villagers are facing. Does their local city not have food?”

“I think we heard it was in conflict with the city, Sir Relz? So it’s independent.”

“Even so—well, as we can see, they’re investigating the bread stack. Give the Antinium this: it’s a very symmetrical pile. But are they going to check it for poison? Now how would they do that without dedicated [Mages], Noass? Feed it to animals? Or perhaps the old ‘sniff and skin’ test? A sample eaten by a volunteer and monitored at—oh. Oh wait. They’re, uh, eating it.”

He and Noass stared. After a moment, Noass coughed.

“Yes. Erm. Well, they’re hungry. Understandable.”

“Quite. I, uh—those poor people. Oh, and there’s Drassi doing an interview. Let’s watch.”

——

They. Were. Hungry.

That was the thing that the Walled Cities’ strategists and experts forgot. The reason he had come. Garry leaned in the driver’s seat in his wagon, and his heart hurt.

It hurt. His chest filled with outrage…and relief. And guilt that he had not come faster.

“I’m sorry.”

No one had come here. Had they known? The [Riders] watching him, the [Traders] who’d marked this place as not worth the visit except to gain cheap goods?

They sold their boots. Garry saw them glancing up at him now and then. After a moment, he leapt off the wagon and ran back.

They scattered like flies. But he only halted to shout.

“Miss Drassi! Do not let them eat too fast! They must eat slowly!”

She started, then realized what he was referring to, the dangers of refeeding. Garry cursed himself as he swung back into his chair. He needed to write a note. He watched as Drassi ran over, trying to stop a little Drake from stuffing their face, but they were eating.

That was all he wanted. Garry watched for another minute, just to see them slow eating, and then turned.

“Let’s go, horses.”

He fed them lumps of sugar, gave them a pat and a bit of stamina-potion, and he was off. And what did you think of him then? Everyone argued. They loved to argue, but Garry just rode through the night towards the next destination. Another remote village.

He was not ignorant of public sentiment. He just had a fairly good understanding of how useful it was in reality. He let Drassi do what Drassi did best. Into the night, people kept talking.

——

It was, after all, a humanitarian story. Even if no Humans were involved in said story. It was fascinating because it was an Antinium delivering aid to Drakes.

It was captivating because he wore that Santa’s hat. And the beard.

That alone made someone stop. That alone made it very hard for Drakes to scream about him being a monster, because it was a very funny beard and hat. That was why little children peered at their parents and asked…

“Is that Santa? The real one?”

A young boy sat on the lap of his father, jiggling up and down as he was bounced, eyes locked on the scrying orb. He was Human, round-cheeked, very pale of skin, and already a bit tall despite being only five.

The boy was dressed in clothing like an eclipse, only the faintest pale lines distinguishing the utter blackness of his garbs. Rich clothing, but stylized. For the boy was a [Prince].

The question threw the royal court into murmurs at the silly nature of it, but they had watched, and when the boy’s father replied, it was absently and unprecedentedly.

“I don’t know, my boy. It seems like it, doesn’t it?”

A full gasp now. But the [King] who sat upon the throne had the attention of the entire Court of Dusks. Cobwebs and spiders—lots of spiders—hung overhead as King Allorev Nicte, King of Noelictus, King of Hosts, sat with his youngest son.

An audience like so many. But royalty, so in theory, more important an audience than most. Even if they were far from this moment. Gedal was yawning since it was late, but he was Noelictan so he’d go to sleep well past midnight, even as a boy. He murmured.

“His bread looks nice. Like it’s made of baked light.”

To him, used to Ashwheat, it surely seemed bright as day and foreign. Allorev chuckled.

“Yes, it’s quite appealing, horrified Drakes or not. The people he fed seemed to enjoy it, didn’t they?”

“They were awfully thin. Are…are there hungry people like that all over?”

Then it was the father’s turn to grimace with the weight of a [King], but also a parent who had to tell his son the world had sadness in it. But Gedal was a son of Noelictus where the dead rose eternal.

He knew that.

“Yes…yes, Gedal, there are. Even in Noelictus, at times, though we tend to make enough food that it’s one of the few things we don’t have to worry about. It’s why we have silos and storage for food. But yes: across Terandria, I imagine there are villages like these.”

“Even though we have the kingdoms?”

“Even then, Gedal. Sometimes the [Kings]…”

Allorev hesitated. He didn’t want to say ‘forget’, because that wasn’t true.

“Sometimes we overlook things we think of as small. It’s not right, but that’s what happens. This [Baker] seems to pay attention, though.”

The King of Shade had been watching. Wondering how this story would end. But it was his son who stared at that red hat and remembered the gifts that ‘Santa’ had left him on Christmas, to his delight.

“Dad. Don’t we make a lot of bread?”

“Oh, delicious bread, m’boy. Ashwheat by bushels upon bushels. Haven’t you eaten some this very night?”

Gedal had since everyone was hankering for a sandwich or bread after hearing it discussed so much. But he had an idea.

“Could we give bread if people are hungry? To villages?”

It was a child’s idea, a simple train of logic, and it made the King of Shade’s face light up. He ran a hand across his hair, and a smile split his lips.

“Well, why not? If an Antinium can send a single wagon, the Kingdom of Shade can send more! Would you like that, Gedal?”

“Yes!”

The boy brightened up, and King Nicte glanced around. His Landsreight, his court of nobles, susurrated with approval. Ah, of course! If he was doing it—

It wasn’t just for show, though surely that was motivation for many, much like the other times nations had vied for attention. But King Allorev just murmured.

“It might be a trick if they’re not in our lands. Shaming another kingdom’s risky business, Gedal.”

“Why would they be upset if someone’s hungry?”

“Ah. Well. That’s something I don’t know if I can explain while you’re sleepy. But we’ll see it done. Allow me a moment to speak with your mother. It shall put a smile on her face. Oh, and I suppose we’d better call into these television networks. Advertise and whatnot.”

After all, the King of Hosts was a savvy man when it came to attention and spectacle. Politicking, gain, peacocking—he rolled his eyes, but Allorev was glad it was distracting Gedal. Otherwise, the boy would be worrying about Cara like everyone else…he glanced at the boy who’d curled up on the throne, dozing a bit.

The intention was pure as a child’s desire to help. He glanced once more at the Antinium. Perhaps that was the difficulty the Drakes had. You could cut apart someone else’s plans, designs, schemes, but simple intention was hard. They might not even believe it was just simple desire to help.

King Allorev shook his head. He was in no position to lecture other foreign powers, but if he were to have given the Drakes some advice…

“I’d make sure no one touched a hair on his head and sent Couriers racing ahead of him with deliveries of my own. Funny. I don’t believe a single one of them has considered that yet.”

But what did he know?

——

Into the night, and the next morning, Garry rode. As the day dawned, he ate half a piece of Scaethen Bread and shared the rest with the horses, having slept in the wagon, and kept rumbling along. This was the day when it grew…difficult, but it began with a trial of sorts.

“Order! Order! One voice at a time or I will eject you from this conversation! We are gathered to debate the actions of an Antinium delivering bread. Prima facie, the case is ludicrous, yet it has true ramifications for Izril. It captivates the eye; already he is heading to another Drake town, higher in the foothills, known as Aethdell’s Summit.”

A woman banged the hilt of a rapier on a podium where she stood as the other voices died down. She spoke into the camera, her green hair combed and enhanced with an alchemist’s tonic, wearing the crown of her kingdom and adorned in royal finery. Her voice was level.

“The question before us is: should the Drakes stop him? Does he violate any laws of either actual law or principle, as the Antinium have made war on the Drakes? I will render my own judgement, such as it is, but I invite, first and foremost, King Allorev Nicte of Noelictus to speak. King of Shade, I have heard you have organized a convoy of your own. Will you discuss this?”

The Arbiter Queen and a dozen other callers on the morning segment debating the bread delivery turned as King Allorev smiled into the camera. And yes, multiple monarchs across the world had taken time out of their not-very-pressing days, in most cases, to weigh in on the Antinium’s journey.

Actually, it had been a fight by many to get on this broadcast. King Allorev had been the first to announce his actions, and Jecaina was enduringly popular, but a certain King of Medain hadn’t even gotten on the reserve list despite offering to send fifty caravans of bread if it got him a slot.

It was just the morning show while Garry finished breakfast and rode on. By now, the machine of television was producing more content about the event that was ongoing to feed its hungry audience. A few things of note made the broadcast event-worthy.

Firstly, it was a reminder that the power that Santa had was worldwide. Drassi, Sir Relz, and Noass had plenty of callers who’d written in opining about Garry and asking if he really was the spirit of Christmas. Most non-Izrilians had a lot more sympathy towards the Antinium.

Secondly, the Arbiter Queen was on this call giving her opinion, making the other rulers shut up and listen, and ejecting anyone who didn’t want to be silent.

Not…King Raelt of Jecrass. The celebrated King of Duels who’d pursued the war against Medain and split his nation with his peace-loving daughter paused in the background behind Queen Jecaina, munching on a banana in some pajamas. He stared at the camera until she covertly waved him off-screen. His expression of surprise at his daughter’s aplomb, in her element, made King Allorev smile and nearly laugh, but a touch sadly.

“—And so we are sending our own Ashwheat bread out, but I must repeat that it is no attempt to impugn my cousin kingdoms. It is simply a reality, Arbiter Queen, that information is sometimes lost. Officials become corrupt or die, or people slip through the cracks.”

She nodded slowly, eyes alight on him, and lest you think she’d lost her edge—Jecaina took a breath.

“Your words, King of Hosts, are indeed kind. But too kind, perhaps? I believe you speak to avoid offending your neighbors by implying any citizen of theirs who starves is the fault of the crown. But if a subject does starve in the borders of our nations, is it not still the responsibility of the crown? Regardless if we were aware or not, does the guilt not belong to us, and if not us, then who?”

King Allorev dipped his head in agreement, a slight smile on his lips. Jecaina pointed.

“Duke Rhisveri of Ailendamus. You had an opinion?”

Allorev’s eyes flashed at Rhisveri, but the Wyrm polished his fingernails on his jacket.

“Oh, merely a comment. Absolutely the shame of it falls upon the throne! I, myself, have petitioned my brother, His Majesty, to send out similar tokens of aid to Taimaguros Dominion. Lovely nation, but Taima and Gura fight, and an outside force will make the matter less…fraught.”

“Not within Ailendamus’ own lands, Duke?”

Rhisveri’s smirk increased.

“Well, we would. If anyone were going hungry in our kingdom. And before one speaks, I do invite you to find an example. If one was found, it would be instantly corrected. I cannot imagine the inefficiencies of rule that lead to one leaving their citizens to starve! Though I would toss the Antinium in prison for violating my sovereign territory.”

He began a furious argument, instantaneously, as every other member of the call turned on him. Jecaina sighed, though inwardly, she was content. Every conversation needed a villain, and the Duke was a very good one.

They argued, bickered, remembered their consciences, and watched. Forgetting, perhaps, that this was a Drake affair. Drake and Antinium. The Walled Cities had not spent the night idle.

——

The [Assassins] of the south had their own guild, even if they weren’t numerous as the north were, or had been.

They also had two kinds of contracts. Official and unofficial. That was, from a city or not. Private individuals or a client whose opinion mattered a touch more.

Pay still had to be good, but the mostly-Drake [Assassins] could sometimes be patriotic. That also differed; Symphony was a known supporter of their Walled City. Admirable? Stupid? Who could say? One didn’t speak ill of other professionals, and they had excellent concerts you could get a ticket to, cheap.

The point was, sometimes you took a job because you believed in things. Like, say, that the Antinium were a menace. Of course, the flipside of the coin was wondering if you were about to start the Third Antinium War.

The six [Assassins] had thought about it on the sleepless ride north as they abandoned their horses and climbed into the foothills. They weren’t the deadliest, but rather, the fastest.

There weren’t many of them this far north. None around Imec. There just…wasn’t work here. Dead gods, it really was the boonies. Most of the time, you ignored contracts even if someone wanted to off a Yoldenite or something because it wasn’t worth the slog all the way here and back.

“There’s a bounty on a Strategos Olesm. Not much given the dangers. Anyone up for that after this?”

One of the six Drakes whispered as the others spread out along a ridgeline overlooking the road where the Antinium was coming. He was just riding his wagon along at a steady pace.

Ludicrously easy to hit. The one complication was timing; they had to wait for an ‘all-clear’ and then dispatch him in a five-minute window. Scrying spells.

One of the Drakes, hired by Salazsar—each one came from a different Walled City with mostly-similar instructions—grunted. He was stringing a longbow and keeping well away from any [Scrying] spells that might be on the area. Once he was done, he’d make it known he was in on the kill, but being seen was super unprofessional.

Mind you—he glanced at the chatty Drake from Zeres.

“Are you planning to go down there with an axe?”

The Drake woman lifted a battleaxe.

“Sure. You can take the shot, but I’ve got orders to make sure he’s dead. You know, Antinium? Say, have we met?”

“Possibly.”

The two whispering Drakes got a glower from another one who had blowdarts and was leaning out of cover. They fell silent, and the Salazsarian [Assassin] moved over and whispered.

“Pardon.”

“It’s fine. Six of us—I’m probably not getting paid.”

She heaved a sigh, and he raised his brows.

“What’s your city? Mine is paid upon completion, regardless of who swings.”

“Mine’s Oteslia. They just want him knocked out or the wagon stopped.”

“Ah. Do we have a problem?”

It’d be five-versus one. The blowpipe-wielding Drake lifted her claws and let the blowpipe fall out of her mouth.

“I’m not going to ruin good business. Just a long ride and an unhappy client for nothing, you know?”

“Ah. Of course. Let me buy you a drink later.”

“Thanks. Here he comes.”

The longbow [Assassin] moved back into position, glancing at the [Message] scroll he’d laid out. He’d indicated he was at the spot, and he was waiting for confirmation, mostly hoping some other idiot didn’t foul things up.

What did he think about Garry’s delivery? Well, if anyone had asked him, he’d have said that he knew some veterans from the Antinium Wars—both of them—who’d fought the Silent Antinium. Deadly battles against the camouflaged killers, and no one had ever applauded them for it publicly except Krsysl Wordsmith. It was one of the reasons why no one had ever accepted a bounty on the [Writer] even though he’d made enemies.

This? This was just business. If it were a Human delivering bread? Well, the [Assassin] might have still taken the job; work was work. Hard to have principles in this line of employment. But he liked to believe the bread was off or poisonous or something.

Otherwise, he’d feel like this was a waste of a lot of things, including his arrow. The Drake drew back on the bowstring as the Antinium came into view, and the [Message] scroll pinged. He whispered.

“Shame.”

“Isn’t it?”

For a moment, he thought the quiet, female voice was from the Oteslian [Assassin]. But it was a bit too loud, accented differently. The Drake paused, then swung his longbow around in an instant.

[Point Blank Sh—]

No one was there. He stared around, then saw a man in a [Butler]’s uniform offering the Oteslian [Assassin] a flower. She had her hands up. And she was staring at the Salazsarian [Assassin]. No, behind—

Ressa, still out-of-uniform because she’d had to run a long ways and was sweaty, leaned on the [Assassin]’s shoulder.

“It really is a waste of gold and everyone’s time. My fair lady wants to make it clear: she’s on the right side, but she detests a waste. Not just your fee, but four months.”

“What’s, uh, what’s the four months?”

“Recovery time.”

He twisted, going for his dagger, and heard a crick. That was his neck.

Ressa laid down the Drake [Assassin] very carefully as he stared up at her, and four more figures collapsed. She wiped her hands, then turned to Reynold’s [Assassin], who was the only one not currently in need of medical attention.

“Clean up for us. Tell the Guild the Flower Lady isn’t happy.”

“Er, of course. Is that the Flower Lady as in…or the Pink Lady?”

Ressa rolled her eyes.

“Whatever she’s supposed to be called.”

Then she began looting the [Assassins] because, well, you always could use some more gear. The [Message] scroll was still blinking.

S: Go.

S: Status?

S: Report.

Assassin: Sorry, job’s failed. Build some more walls instead of trying to kill a [Baker].

S: Who is this?

Ressa thought about it for a moment, then began illustrating something on the [Message] scroll. Reynold winced at the phallic imagery.

“I thought Lady Reinhart told us to be diplomatic, Ressa…?”

She raised her brows at him. He shut up.

Garry’s wagon rumbled on as the [Baker] glanced up at the silent ridgeline. He kept humming to himself.

“If this is where I were ambushing, it’s where I’d put it. La-la, dumbledy dee—”

Nope, he didn’t like singing either. He sighed.

——

The city of Luldem, part of the Hectval-Luldem-Drisshia Alliance, was close enough to Garry’s next destination that he was passing through their claimed territory.

They were only too happy to state to Sir Relz that they did not approve of Antinium feeding anyone in their area and dispatch an armed unit of [Soldiers] to sort the matter out. What was the worst that was going to happen? More war?

They might have underestimated what that kind of news would do to the frontlines when the Antinium [Crusaders] and a certain [Strategist] heard their statement, but that was a later consequence, and no one had accused the Hectval Alliance of being good at predicting those.

The very real, very immediate danger was an armored contingent of [Soldiers] riding up the road to find Garry, and they weren’t the only one. Several other Drake groups were coming towards him, some of whom had indeed been riding through the night, like the [Assassins].

The Luldem Drakes were almost at a crossroads where they’d catch the wagon coming down out of the pass when they heard a shout. They whirled in alarm, but the Drake poked his head out of the bushes and roared.

“[Soldiers]! What are you doing out of position?”

“Sir?”

The [Captain] of the Luldem troops blinked as a Drake in an unfamiliar uniform rose, clearly camouflaged with little branches and leaves glued to his armor. The Drake hissed.

“Give me your damn rank, [Private], and tell me you’ve got either an enemy bearing down on our six or a good reason or I’ll have you court-martialed for incompetence! The Yoldenites are nearly on us, and you’re breaking our trap!”

The Yoldenites? The Luldem [Soldiers] spun, now worried. The damn Yoldenites fought and attacked like real hill-Drakes, and they knew the terrain well. The [Captain] hesitated and rode forwards.

“We’re not after them, sir. We have orders to dispatch the Antinium.”

“The Antinium? What Antinium?”

“The…the one with the bread, sir.”

Wait a second. Any Antinium were the enemy, surely? But the Drake with camouflage armor was giving the [Captain] a strange look. Then they both checked out each other’s uniforms.

“Wait a second. You’re not a Savilite officer!”

And that Drake wasn’t from the alliance! The Luldem forces recoiled, and the camouflaged Drake’s eyes narrowed.

“Luldem? You bastards are in our territory! We’re being raided!”

“Wait, no, that’s not true!”

The Luldem soldiers began to panic. This was Savilite’s territory, but the Drake city which sometimes clashed with the Alliance had to know—

Unless they were also at war with the Yoldenites. But that concern was becoming a sudden, increasing worry as the outraged Drake spun. His stump of a tail brushed against the ground as he shouted.

“Enemy attack! It’s Luldem! Take aim!”

“Back, back!”

The Luldem [Soldiers] spun their horses as figures armed with crossbows seemed to rise up from the ground or pop out from behind rocks. They must have been using ambush Skills! Drakes and even Gnolls—

“Fall back! Don’t shoot! We’re not at war! Fall back!”

The [Captain] screamed at the other officer, praying he didn’t hear the ‘loose’ order, and the Savilite officer hesitated. Luldem’s forces fell back in a panic, galloping for their lives. They began sending desperate [Messages] back to their High Command as the angry Savilites kept shouting.

Only when they were out of sight did Menolit adjust his uniform and take off the helmet. He winked at Nanette, who’d done the designs for Savilite armor based on some sketches Ser Dalimont had found.

“That’s one group down. Okay, places everyone!”

——

Another group of [Riders] had been dispatched from the relatively distant city of Holls to deal with the Antinium. They were sleep-deprived, and their horses were exhausted from a sleepless ride, but an Antinium was an Antinium.

Greatest threat to Izril. It had to be, right? There was nothing worse than an Antinium in their lands. Nothing.

That was what the [Lieutenant] thought as she led her column up the road—but the sight of a dead child lying with her guts strewn on the ground rapidly changed her mind.

A crying Gnoll cub was howling in front of the dead Drake girl as the [Riders] blanched.

“Ancestors. We’re too late! The Antinium—”

“Visma. Vismaaaaa! They ate her! Oh no! Now they’re going to eat me!”

The crying Gnoll boy ran at them. He looked slightly—the dead Drake girl was really distracting the horrified [Soldiers].

“You there, what did this?”

The Gnoll boy pointed a trembling paw.

“Crelers! We ran and ran, but there’s hundreds and—”

“A Creler nest?”

All thoughts of the Antinium threat left the [Lieutenant]’s mind. The blood-soaked Gnoll boy pointed.

“They—they attacked us, and we ran, but there’s hundreds! And a big one, tall as a house.”

“Lieutenant, an Adult Creler—”

“Where?”

Ekirra pointed and then began to run.

“Oh no, I hear them! Now they’re going to eat meeeee—”

He dashed off on all fours as a horrible chittering sound arose. Far off, but the [Lieutenant] was grasping at a [Message] scroll.

“Prepare for combat. We have to see. Ancestors—I’m messaging High Command, and we’ll need reinforcements. Prepare to engage and ride like hell! Kid—”

She cast around, but he had vanished. Cursing, the [Lieutenant] ordered some to find the child as she rode, demanding to know how many healing potions they had. Only, the chittering died down, and the Drakes didn’t see the foe—but Crelers were known to hide and ambush. They could be anywhere! The Drakes had to keep searching—

——

Ekirra was not a good actor. Mrsha and Nanette would have done his job, but, Mrsha couldn’t speak, and Nanette was a Human, so the act was harder to pull off.

Nevertheless, more than one Drake patrol was diverted by strange happenings. Creler attacks, mysterious orders, and even once, just a ghost Gnoll child popping out of the ground and scaring their horses.

Disappearing [Assassins]. Waylaid soldiers. Garry rolled out of the pass as the morning dawned on his carapace, and he heard a half-musical twang.

He twisted, and the arrow struck him in the shoulder. It drove an inch into his carapace, and he flinched. Green blood ran down from his shoulder, and a figure leapt up and fled—the Worker lifted his arms, shielding his face.

The second arrow struck his hand and glanced off. He took cover as the horses kept plodding on, and the celebrating in The Wandering Inn went quiet. The [Baker] waited, crouched low.

The second volley didn’t come. After a second, he snapped the arrow in his shoulder and tried to yank the arrowhead out.

“Ow.”

——

“Which group was that?”

Dragonspeaker Luciva was enduring someone putting makeup on her scales. Not to hide her greying ones, just to play up some features. She glanced at a [Strategist], and the Gnoll checked his notes.

“We don’t know, Dragonspeaker. Not ours. There was no timing. It could have been any number of local groups or even ones far off.”

She glanced at the scrying orb. The wagon was still rolling. The [Baker] had removed the arrow and dressed his wounds with decent speed. Luciva’s claws drummed on the armchair. Drassi’s Channel 2 had covered the entire moment, and the Arbiter Queen and her guests were arguing on Channel 3 about it.

“I see. Identify them and have the report ready in the hour.”

“Yes, Dragonspeaker.”

Luciva re-focused on her job. She didn’t like the polls that they were showing her, but numbers were numbers, assuming they were accurate. Nevertheless, this situation was becoming—political. The [Strategist] flipped back to the first page.

“Your interview with Reporter Drassi is in fourteen minutes, Dragonspeaker. I repeat, this is the language you must use regarding the Antinium.”

“I’ve memorized my lines, [Strategist].”

She read them anyways. The [Strategist] continued adding commentary, more nervous than she was.

“Her Skill is able to best any countermeasures we have for a standard truth stone, and we cannot ascertain which countermeasures, if any, will bypass the Skill, so you must use wording you can justifiably claim as true, Dragonspeaker. If you need help, drum your claws. We have a five-minute delay, but Wistram may well save the recording.”

“Don’t get into trouble. Understood.”

Luciva grimaced as she looked at the many ways she could claim that Garry the Baker was carrying a threat to Drake safety. It was not a statement she personally thought was a lie, either. On many levels, he could be carrying threats, even if the possibility…

Enough for this interview. She was honestly surprised Drassi had possessed the stones to interview her, but the Dragonspeaker had felt like it was a good example to move Drake sentiment back where it needed to be.

That there were doubts at all…she grimaced.

“Television is an uncontrollable force. We need more experts in social dynamics.”

“Especially with their Skills defeating our countermeasures for truth spells.”

The [Strategist] added sourly. He was comfortable voicing his opinion around a superior, but Luciva just glanced up. Her lightning-bright gaze wasn’t as annoyed as his.

“Defeating truth spells. Is that the kind of world we want to live in?”

Most people didn’t know you could do that. If they did, they’d not trust the Watch or a lot of official bodies, but sometimes Luciva wondered. After all, if she knew you could defeat a truth stone, then it cast into doubt…a lot. It would make for a more suspicious world. A more chaotic one.

But perhaps…she shook her head.

“Eleven minutes, Dragonspeaker. Do you need anything? Calming tonic?”

“This isn’t a war, soldier. No.”

She smiled, amused. They were going to put Skills on her. Manus [War Bards] were lined up with Skills like [Eloquence of Speech], and someone had cast [Mental Clarity] on her, as if Drassi were a high-level enemy officer.

Well, in a way, she was. Luciva knew her job, though.

Talk about the threat he can reasonably possess. Talk about the Antinium Wars. The knowledge we have of the Hives. Talk about the moments when Antinium had attacked Drakes despite the truce, even if it meant acknowledging the reverse was true.

The truth was easy. She heard a voice.

“Eight minutes to the call, Dragonspeaker.”

“Mhm. What’s with the door? I thought I was giving the interview here.”

Luciva waited for a response. Then her eyes snapped open, and she rose, drawing a shortsword. She whirled, and time had stopped. The Dragonspeaker pointed her blade at the door, and her eyes narrowed.

“What is this?”

A report was taped to the door. She hesitated, eyed her surroundings, and snatched it. Her mind was going down a shortlist of who this could be. Belavierr? If it was the Demons and she was hit with a [Timestop], she was dead already, so she read.

If this is enchanted with [Explosive Words], I’m going to be very upset.

It was not. The Dragonspeaker blinked, then flipped the page. The report was set out in precise handwriting, listing the specifications of the Skill, the terrain she was entering, and the battlegrounds. She grunted.

“Hm.”

She paced around the door, then took the handle.

Information was vital. Besides—she gazed into the empty landscape and nodded before marching down the road in the void towards the gazebo.

“I thought I should meet you, eventually.”

Erin Solstice sat in her [Pavilion of Secrets], and the truth sprang from Dragonspeaker Luciva’s lips. She added, calmly, as she pulled the seat out.

“I don’t know if I should have had you killed. I don’t think you’re Manus’ enemy. But I do believe your actions can go against that of the City of War. Are you responsible for this?”

The [Innkeeper] wore a sad smile on her face. But there was an intensity around her that Luciva respected. The Dragonspeaker sat forwards as their auras met.

An inn’s sanctity versus a raging battleground. Neither one pressed—but the divide between them was palpable. Erin spoke softly.

“No.”

“Interesting. But you’re aware.”

She was in Baleros, but the [Innkeeper] had not weighed in on events in Izril at all, even the Goblin King. Luciva’s eyes narrowed further, to slits.

“Do you know what occurred to bring the Goblin King into existence? Was that the genuine article?”

“Yep. And yep.”

“Is that your doing? What a ridiculous question.”

This was a chance to get all the answers she wanted. Erin peered at Luciva thoughtfully.

“You’re sort of like what I expected. But not. You’re…honest. More honest that you’re a killing machine. I thought you’d be different from what Rafaema said of you. Or Lulv.”

Luciva hesitated. She hated sitting in a room with someone with high-level soft power Skills. Nerul always rattled her a bit. Nevertheless, she continued.

“I will take your lack of replies on any questions as partial confirmations. Do you know Rafaema well?”

“Not well. But I do know she’s a Dragon.”

That child. Luciva nearly shot from her chair, and then she wondered if she did need to kill Erin. But the [Innkeeper] was just watching the Dragonspeaker.

“Do you think I want her dead?”

“N-no.”

The word came out of Luciva by accident, and she cursed, realizing that the truth in this place really couldn’t be beaten. She added swiftly.

“But you are a liability. My job is to minimize risk to the City of War. Right now, you are one of Izril’s greatest liabilities in many senses. Your level is too high. Everything you touch seems to turn to chaos. That [Baker] is an example. I have to kill him.”

The [Innkeeper] exhaled. Softly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I have said it here, Erin Solstice. There is no feasible option where letting him go is preferable.”

The [Innkeeper]’s aura pushed forwards suddenly, and Luciva’s chair moved back. She focused, and the air stopped pressing against her. The [Innkeeper]’s eyes were blazing.

“There is if you consider the fact that he’s not an agent of the Hives. There is if you realize he doesn’t want war. He’s not a warrior. He’s not a [Strategist]. He’s a [Baker]. Kill him and you’ll get your war faster. He just wants to feed people.”

The Dragonspeaker thought. She tapped one claw on the table, thinking, assessing. Such a valuable place this Skill was. She wondered how long she could engage the [Innkeeper] in conversation.

She had to do the interview, but since this apparently let her split focus…they had so much to discuss.

“Since I can believe that…no, I don’t quite buy it. Say he’s truly independent. This wasn’t a Queen-mandated action?”

“No. Garry did it himself.”

Luciva nodded.

“Then he’s still an asset. A high-level [Baker] will contribute to the Hive in a material aspect.”

This time, Erin exhaled and sat up.

“Wow, I’m having a really crummy day, and you—you’re not making it better. I thought I knew the most stubborn idiot in the world, but you’re just a helmet on a stick. No, Luciva. I mean, even if there’s a war, Garry doesn’t want it. He’s not ‘an asset’. I think that if he disagrees with the Free Queen going to war, he won’t help her. He’ll just leave. That’s what’s happening in Liscor, you stupid idiots. The Antinium aren’t just levelling and becoming independent. They’re choosing. They might choose not to go to war!”

Luciva blinked. If it were anywhere else…instantly, her mind began racing.

We could see a civil war. Too risky if they still take the Hives’ side, but true insubordination in the ranks? Invaluable. Unless Erin could be lying by ignorance? She leaned back in her chair.

“Fine. That moves the needle slightly towards the [Baker] being less dangerous. It still damages too much.”

“Feeding people does?”

“Reputation. Drake ideals of safety. The authority of the Walled Cities. Even if I wanted to, they’re already shooting at him, and that is without my orders.”

“—They are?”

She didn’t know? Maybe she was stuck in here. That gap in Erin’s weaknesses closed, and her mouth firmed.

“You can halt it. Luciva, do you hate the idea of him feeding starving people?”

The Dragonspeaker hesitated. Then ground out an answer.

“No. If he weren’t Antinium, I’d allow it. Even Humans. But he is Antinium. I can’t be certain. I cannot, will not allow it.”

Erin Solstice sighed. Then smiled brightly at Luciva, as if she were a stupid cadet in her first year of class at Manus’ academies.

“Okay, Luciva. Listen very closely to me. I have spoken to Garry in this place. I know his delivery is not poisoned, not trickery, not anything but genuine goodness from the depths of his soul. An act of someone who is so innocent, so genuine and caring that you or I will never walk under the same sky that he shines under. He will harm no one. He only wants to feed people who are hungry. He went because no one—not you, not I—no one in this world cared about that Drake village or the people he wants to help. Understand that. Do you understand that?”

She leaned over the table, and Luciva Skybreath didn’t glance away or flinch.

“I understand. I believe you, and I know you’re telling me the truth here. It is commendable, then, what this [Baker] is doing. I wish he weren’t Antinium. His life would be easier. However, my decision cannot change for that alone.”

If your inn becomes an enemy, perhaps that’s my calculus. But you were Chaldion’s asset, or he treated you like one. Make me an offer. The [General] was prepared to play hard with all the information she had on Erin’s inn and its guests, and she knew enough about the [Princess] and other facets.

But the [Innkeeper] just stared into Luciva’s eyes. Then she rose and smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was weary, frustrated, furious, but she cloaked it all behind the curve of her lips.

“You’re a dangerous person, but an honest one. Like a swinging sword, I guess.”

“I use a spear. Why?”

Luciva got up warily. She didn’t know why, only felt like something was wrong. But the [Innkeeper] just walked over to the railing and leaned over it.

“A stabbing spear, then. But I think even Relc is more tricky than you. Who knows? You don’t scare me in the way other people do, Luciva. Nerrhavia, the dead gods, Yazdil, Thatalocian, all of them I can’t fully predict. When you come, you’re just a straight line, and that’s…not scary. Don’t kill Garry or I will remember it, and we will war, Luciva.”

She looked back, and the Dragonspeaker braced. That was a threat, but if Manus bowed to any individual…it had before. It would not do so, except to Dragons. She strode forwards, focused on the important parts.

“Nerrhavia. Is she alive? Is she alive? Answer me! What are these…‘dead gods’? What did Wall Lord Aldonss face! Give me intelligence on the threat!”

She shook Erin’s shoulder roughly, and the [Innkeeper] whispered.

“I really should. But you’re threatening to kill my little [Baker]. And sometimes? Sometimes I’m not so nice as he is. I’d damn a Walled City for him. No, not really. But for a second, I can say that. For a second—I believe it.”

“General Sserys told me these dead gods cannot be killed. Do you have any weapons? What are your intentions?”

She shook Erin again, and the [Innkeeper] rattled about, but she was grinning at Luciva. Erin Solstice spoke.

“My intentions? My intention was to tell you the truth about Garry, Luciva. Just the truth and nothing but the truth. I’m an enemy of the dead gods, and we need the weapons of the Elves and Gnomes in the deepest dungeons they left. Relics. But right now, you and I are at war over Garry.”

“Damn the [Baker]! You can’t change my mind, so just talk to—”

Erin Solstice was dissolving. What was going on? The door was opening in the distance, and the [Innkeeper] spoke, and then Luciva felt that sensation crawling up her spine.

Ambush.

“Enjoy your interview, Dragonspeaker.”

Then Dragonspeaker Luciva—

——

—stopped for a moment as Drassi finished introducing everyone to their segment. Luciva’s eyes opened wide, and the staff around her thought she seemed rattled.

Very rattled, but Drassi hadn’t done anything. She was smiling, though, sitting as if she knew something.

“Ah, Dragonspeaker. I think that’s my cue. So, I know you’re going to tell me about the Antinium threat, but I have just one question I think we should lay out before our audience, right here, right now.”

Luciva’s claws drummed on the armrest of her chair, and the [Strategist] started. But she knew what to say! He glanced around, then dashed to the side. The claws kept drumming.

“Which is, Reporter…?”

Luciva wore an expression like someone ready to be stabbed. Drassi leaned forwards and fixed Luciva with a focused gaze.

“To your knowledge as head of the City of War, is Garry the Baker in any way a threat? Honestly and truthfully, Dragonspeaker. No lies nor evading the truth. Yes or no. Because I think you know the answer.”

Well, that was easy. Just say ‘yes’. The [Strategist] was staring at Luciva. She didn’t conclusively…he saw her claws drumming, and then he realized something was wrong.

“Cut the broadcast. Cut the—”

Too late. Luciva hated soft power. She hated it with every fiber of her being. The Dragonspeaker sighed as she was walked into the check that Erin had put her into.

“…Like a Level 2 [Soldier] up against Plains Gnolls.”

“What was that, Dragonspeaker? Yes or no. Surely, it’s an easy question. Surely, anything but that would be omission, and we’re plain-speaking women, right?”

Drassi was smiling. She was almost dancing with joy, because a friend had found her and given her the chance of a lifetime. Dragonspeaker Luciva sat upright, and her eyes found the cameras fixed on her. She gazed dead into the cameras.

“As everything I say here is being authenticated by Reporter Drassi, please understand that I am being truthful. I dislike lying. Therefore, I would like to make a public statement. It has been known to Manus for quite some time that [Detect Truth] spells can be falsified. Especially by underworld classes or those with high-level Skills. It is possible to lie under the effects of the spell, especially for the rich or powerful. Higher-level Skills are far better able to detect truth, but we have no perfect guarantee of integrity, even in the City of War.”

Perhaps it was a check, but Luciva played enough chess to know that you didn’t always have to move the king out of check. Drassi’s eyes opened wide, and there was a choking noise in the background.

Cut the broadcast. If Manus couldn’t do it, then Wistram—? Drassi’s eyes flashed and she lifted a hand.

“[Keep Those Cameras Rolling], folks. No one takes me off air.”

Ah, and there it was. Luciva smiled despite her pounding heart. She wondered what level Miss Drassi was and whether someone would try to assassinate her—again. And then there was no time to stop the broadcast. It hit the 5-minute delay, and everyone saw it.

Across the world, rulers and individuals sat up as the Dragonspeaker unloaded a Tier 7 spell of her own into the public mindset. The Blighted King began cursing the Dragonspeaker out, and Drassi Tewing sat there, genuinely lost for words for a second. Then she lifted a claw.

“Okay. Breaking news, everyone. We’ll dive into that just in a second, but Dragonspeaker, you didn’t answer my question.”

Luciva sat back in her chair.

“No, I did not.”

She gritted her teeth and prepared for an ugly engagement as the [Reporter] came in for another assault. That was all the [Innkeeper] could do for her beloved [Baker]. And he appreciated it, even if he had not asked for this or Magnolia’s help or anyone else’s.

It was, Garry knew…lovely.

But meaningless.

——

His shoulder kept hurting. He suspected the arrow was poisoned, so, to cheer himself up, he ate another piece of Scaethen Bread. He wished it made him really tough, but stopping an arrow? He’d take it.

It was a long-ranged shot anyways. The Drakes did fear him. As if he’d explode or charge them and kill them all. Reputation alone had them so scared they fired at long-range, missed.

Thunk. The tip of the arrow went through the side of the wagon.

“Close enough.”

That was all he said as the second rain of arrows fell. This time, Garry had seen the [Riders] coming down the road and leapt into the back. They fired two showers at him, wheeled their horses, then fled.

Most of the arrows hit the wagon, the bread, or glanced off his back-shell. Most. He got up slowly, and someone appeared in front of him.

Garry! You’re shot!

“I thought I told Lyonette not to let you watch. I am aware, Mrsha.”

Two arrows were sticking out of his backshell. Garry reached for them, then discovered a problem.

“Ah.”

He couldn’t reach behind his back. Unlike other species, his arms wouldn’t articulate backwards. The [Baker] tried to snap the arrows off and pull them out with the back of the wagon or fashion a claw to yank, but they were stuck in hard, and they began to hurt when he did.

So, after ten minutes, he just sat there, and they itched. Lyonette came back to urge him to stop, and he knew there was debate, this was being televised, and maybe that stopped some.

“I know.”

The second town was half a day’s journey away, and he had set out at dawn. How much further? The ride was no longer as comfortable, and Garry…

Drassi appeared after a while.

“Garry! You’ve been shot.”

“I am aware, Miss Drassi. Forgive my bad mood.”

“Nothing to forgive. I just—I just spoke with Dragonspeaker Luciva, who did not say you were a threat to Drakes. She refused to say you were not, but I think for any viewer with a brain, that said a lot. But you are being attacked.”

“I know. It is upsetting. I am here to deliver bread, Drassi. I wish to feed people.”

Definitely poisoned arrows. He felt a bit hot, but Antinium were tough. He was tough enough, he supposed. Drassi turned to some camera.

“Under truth Skills, which I believe in, that’s accurate. Garry, tell me. Why did you come by yourself? You could have gotten someone else to do this. Another Drake, a Gnoll. Even a Human.”

“Oh, yes. I could have gotten a Human. As Drakes are very welcoming to other species. Like Architect Hexel or Erin. Or Gnolls.”

Drassi paused for a long moment, and Garry added as he adjusted his red hat.

“I apologize again. My back hurts. Is it bleeding?”

“Only—only a little bit. But you know what I mean, Garry. Why an Antinium?”

It was the question, wasn’t it? Garry thought he saw movement ahead around a bend in the road. He spoke louder.

“Because I am an Antinium, Drassi. I could send someone and say it was not me who baked the bread. That it was from Liscor. Or just somewhere else, and it would have gone, and it would have been easy.”

She nodded, confused.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He turned to gaze at her, and now the Antinium’s eyes no longer sparkled. His mandibles were lowered in an expression everyone realized, instinctively, was a frown.

“Because, Drassi, it is not true. Because the truth is that an Antinium made this bread. I made this bread. Even if not every loaf, it is my doing. It is my bakery, my work that made bread that I wished to give to hungry people. I will not deliver a lie.”

There was something at the end of the pass. He and Drassi both saw a group poke their heads out, draw back. Not [Soldiers]. Drassi murmured.

“Adventurers. Hey, you’re on television!”

Garry kept staring at her. He went on, voice rasping.

“I made this bread, and I am an Antinium who does not want war. We are not all monsters. If this truth makes it harder to go to war again, then it is worth telling.”

“Even if it results in you getting shot? Garry, we all can see the danger you’re in. Is this worth it?”

“Yes.”

They were speaking as if they couldn’t hear the voices from around the bend. Drassi’s eyes were locked on his, and she gave him a frustrated expression. Her tail curled up.

“Garry, I know I shouldn’t critique you, not right now, but—this isn’t optimal. You have an ego.”

If she expected him to be angry or defensive? Garry’s head rose, and he cast around. The bread wasn’t going to stop a sword. Maybe he should have made Erin’s Shadowloaves after all. But it had to be public. Had to be—he was tensed, hunched over, but he relaxed and glanced at Drassi. Just once.

“Yes, please. I do have an ego. It was how I decided I mattered.”

Then he faced ahead and raised his voice.

“I am here to feed starving people. If you have a problem with that—show me.”

Drassi swung around and grabbed a Gnoll [Cameraperson] and dragged him into view next to Garry.

“You’re on television! We’re recording all of this!”

That made Garry smile, and he leaned over and patted her on the imaginary shoulder.

“They are very lovely words to say, Drassi. As if they mean something. I hope they work, but in the end—this is the truth.”

He nodded ahead as the Silver-rank team of Drakes broke around the bend, riding at him. The [Baker] sighed.

——

He didn’t fight back. That was the outrageous thing. Instead, he just checked his red hat and white beard, like they were armor, and held up his four arms, shielding himself with—loaves of bread. That was all. He didn’t move, just swivelled as the first saber slashed across his chest.

And that was how children learned that Santa’s blood was green. The first pass by the Silver-rank adventurers was bad. Perhaps they weren’t used to mounted combat, but knowing they were being watched also added to their nerves. They avoided Drassi, as if she was real, trying to hide their features from her. But one still slashed a saber across Garry’s chest and arm, and another hit him with fire.

The bread caught some of the fireblast, and he patted at the wagon’s seats as the horses cried out and began to gallop. But then he just set himself. Waiting.

Fight back! The Silver-rankers swung their horses around, ignoring Drassi, who was running after them.

“Get a shot of their faces! Why are you doing this? Stop! Stop, he’s unarmed!”

“Tough bastard. Spears!”

One of the Silver-rankers yanked a long spear up, shaking out his sword-hand. He’d cut as hard as he could, but the Antinium’s shell…they rode down the pass.

This time, three spears hit Garry, and he rocked as they cracked his back-shell, but one was aiming for the horses trying to gallop. Garry saw it, and as they swung the spear down, his lower left arm shot out. He grabbed the spear and nearly took the Silver-ranker off the horse.

“Ancest—”

They let go before they were literally carried off the saddle, and the spear fell as Garry dropped it. Now, he was swivelling as lightning played off his armor.

“What. Are. You. Doing? They’re just…horses.”

Third pass. He was bleeding. One of the Silver-rankers snapped.

“Just get the arms down and I’ll use [Power Strike] on his head. Hurry up!”

Their horses were getting spooked by the blood and shouting; they weren’t trained animals. Six Silver-rankers, forming a wedge, began to ride at the motionless Antinium.

Was there any hesitation when they saw he would not move, even now? Or were they just in too deep, committed? A shout burst from the six Silver-rankers as they galloped.

Thundering hooves. King Allorev scooped his son up and handed him to his older sister. Now, people were writing into the television networks, thousands of [Messages] and letters. As if it had the power to stop anything.

They weren’t there. The illusory [Princess] did nothing even when she spoke with the voice of royalty. Too weak, too low-level. No spells to throw across the world. No grand Skills.

Not for a [Baker] and a delivery of bread. The galloping horses rode down the pass, two frantic animals tethered to the wagon. Seven riders.

One of the Silver-rankers locked on Garry noticed something despite the tunnel-vision. She gazed up and cried out.

“What’s that?”

The lead rider aiming the [Power Strike] at the Antinium jerked the spear up. He blanched, cursed, and aimed the spear straight. But it was still—too short.

The twelve-foot long lance struck the Silver-rank adventurer and carried the figure out of the saddle. Then the shield swung around as the armored [Knight] passed by another adventurer. The blow clipped the Drake, who swung their spear, shouting in panic. But the weapon just bounced harmlessly off Ser Solton’s armor.

The Knight of Haegris passed by the Drakes, scattering them as his warhorse bit, and he shouted, swinging the shield and lance. Then he was raising his lance, coming around. Garry stared as his head came up.

“You?”

“Back! Back! In the name of the Order of Haegris, I challenge you ruffians! Oh, hullo, Master Garry. Fancy meeting you here.”

The man winked through his visor. His potbellied armor clanged as an arrow rang off it, but he was in full plate, and his horse was barded too.

Possibly, the Drakes had never seen a [Knight] in the south. Garry glared at Ser Solton even as his heart leapt.

“I told you, if it wastes your time—”

Ser Solton’s lance lowered. And his voice was suddenly precise. No longer the jovial [Knight of Trades and Fair Deals], but a [Knight] upon a crusade. The only kind that the Order of Haegris respected.

“I know. But it goes against my chivalry to let a good man die as well. I don’t know if I can best this lot, sir. I’ll try. Turn back, I pray you.”

“I cannot.”

“Then neither can I. Order of Haegris, witness me!”

Ser Solton raised his shield overhead. Then he struck it with the butt of his lance, and a yellow caterpillar fuzz of lightning stole over his shield. It ran down the length of his enchanted lance, and he began to canter. Then gallop at the Silver-rank adventurers spreading out and shouting.

——

A lone [Knight] charging, outnumbered.

Defending a wagon of bread.

Far from home. In his silly potbelly armor, no less. Who could cheer that?

Well, aside from the Prince of Shade, the audience of millions—how about the Order of Haegris? They were on their feet in their gentle keep with its outdoor market and standing on the banquet tables, pounding and shouting Ser Solton’s name.

“Grandmaster! We must launch a crusade to Izril’s shores! We are needed there!”

[Knights] were petitioning their Grandmaster, alight with the reflection of Ser Solton’s valor. The [Grandmaster] of the Order of Haegris, a woman, paused.

“You mean a second crusade, [Knight]? Squire Cathenay is receiving our first reinforcements in First Landing now. I may allow it. Now, silence! Our brother is fighting.”

The wheeling [Knight] galloped and turned, raising the lance everyone knew he hated overhead. And the Antinium—one of the [Knights] murmured.

“He would make a fine Knight of Haegris. But he is too mad, even for chivalry’s pride.”

The [Baker] was continuing. Smiling, as if that one [Knight]’s charge had saved something precious in the world he had begun to doubt.

But he—the Order of Haegris cheered Ser Solton as he rode, harrying the scattering Silver-rank adventurers despite his dented armor and the arrows sticking out of his pauldrons.

Then they went silent. For there was a line between bravery and madness. And still—

The Antinium kept going.

——

He told them not to help him, and they did. The [Baker] was grateful, but—he was not counting his miracles. Just waiting.

He was still not at the town, but another hour—another hour and he’d be there. The wagon was heading uphill now, and the frightened, exhausted horses were flagging. He’d fed them more bread and stamina potions, pushing the wagon uphill, when they found him again.

Not Silver-rankers this time. [Soldiers].

Just twelve. They came off the back of a Wyvern. Only one. The Wyvern took to the air, screaming, and the horses panicked. Garry cursed as the wagon swerved.

“No. No. Stop—”

They were splitting in either direction, then pulling right. They were going to pull the wagon, and it would crush the silly animals from sheer momentum, lashed to it as they were! He had no choice. Garry grabbed a belt-knife and slashed one’s reins. The other was fighting. He felt the wagon turning—and a Drake cut the reins on the other side. The horse tore free as the wagon halted, held in place.

“Thank you—”

The sword stabbed into Garry’s stomach and twisted. The Drake grunted as the blade snapped, the tip breaking in Garry’s shell, the rest shattering.

Another flash along his back. Garry looked down, and a sword was in his side. His arms holding the wagon steady trembled. The Drakes backed away.

“It’s just bread—”

The wagon began moving. He tried to grab it, and it dragged him downhill. The [Soldiers] gave chase with shouts. Garry was being pulled across the ground and—

Screeching overhead. The Wyvern and its rider were following him as the wagon rolled down the hill, hit a stone, and stopped. Garry lay on his back as the giant Wyvern’s shadow passed overhead.

It shrieked a third time, a voice of terror, and the [Soldiers] stopped. Waiting.

The shadow passed overhead again and then turned. Garry waited, then heard a shout.

“Antinium! Antinium—”

“Yes, me. Am I so scary? Please, just let me—”

He sat up slowly, and he was bleeding. He had…no healing potions. But he did have bandages and some of the Antinium’s healing gel. Then Garry saw her.

She wasn’t really there. If you looked closely, her image flickered a bit. A hologram, though no one knew that word. But a Wyvern should have been able to tell she was fake as she had no shadow.

But Bird was a good [Liar]. The archer stood there, bow lowered, an arrow placed to it. Her eyes followed the Wyvern, and it turned. It fled, ignoring its [Rider], fleeing the Antinium that looked like utter death to its eyes.

“Bird?”

“I…would offer you a hand up, Garry. But I am muchly afraid I cannot. Please stop.”

Liquid was dripping from Bird’s eyes, and once again, Garry envied her. Slowly, he got up. Her face flickered as an arrow passed through her head. The [Soldiers] were still here, and they knew she was fake.

“Not yet. I have to know.”

Bird turned, then vanished. Garry limped over to the wagon. The [Soldiers] advanced silently, surrounding him. He rasped at them as he felt at his side and gazed at the green blood coating his hand.

“There’s no point to this. Look. The food’s fallen on the ground.”

He bent over to pick up a loaf of bread, and one of them stabbed him as he bent over. The rest rushed forwards, swinging, as if afraid to attack him while he was watching. And the [Baker] wondered, as he covered his head—

Is this it?

Would they stop?

“Are you—blind?”

Did they even hear him? The pain kept growing until he heard a scream. A buzzing and then shouting. The stabbing into his back shell stopped, and Garry heard more.

The sound of wings. His head rose, and Pisca took one of the [Soldiers] off their feet, biting, clawing.

“Stop! Stop!”

He shouted as Flying Antinium descended, swarming the [Soldiers]. Antinium and Drake blood stained the road, and Garry rose, despite the blood, and shoved Runel off a screaming [Soldier].

“Let them go!”

The Flying Antinium buzzed backwards. Some of them had lost limbs. Pisca had a terrible slash across her face. The [Soldiers] ran. Garry saw the Wyvern land, shrieking, and he spread his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Zaving you. Can’t die. Not you.”

Runel whispered. Garry stared up at the sky.

“Go. Fly back to Liscor. Hurry. You cannot do this.”

Now, he was afraid. Now, he knew that war, true conflict might be hanging on the edge. But they were more concerned with him, producing bandages, the gel—he grabbed Pisca and wound a bandage around her face.

“Pisca. You cannot protect me. You must go back.”

“No. Come with. Pleaze.”

She tried to cover him with her wings. The others buzzed around him, but Garry pushed at them. Pointed. He spoke.

“I cannot let you get hurt. Not for me.”

“Why? Why keep going? Makes no zense.”

They protested, and Garry pointed up the hill. They had gotten the wagon free, replaced the wheel, and he had stopped…bleeding. Another miracle. He was getting tired of them.

“I have to know how far they will go. If there is ever a chance I will deliver that bread to the hungry Drakes, it cannot be with one-time miracles and by scaring them, by hurting them, Pisca. This is not…once. This is all part of my plan. It may be a stupid, foolish, naïve plan. But I will believe in it. Please, go home. If I am wrong, do not make my mistake. But—”

He hugged them, each and every one.

“I do not think I am wrong. No matter what, I will not attack them. That means something. Look: they’re watching.”

He pointed up at the sky. The Flying Antinium stared upwards, then gathered around him.

“Pleaze…”

The horses were gone. Garry pushed the wagon until it was facing up the hill and began to shove. To the Flying Antinium’s surprise, it moved. Garry kept shoving, and it moved. Step by step…the Flying Antinium began to shove with him, but he turned.

“Go, please. I’ll be back soon.”

They stood there watching him push, ascending the tough hill step by step. It was heavier than anything Garry had pushed, but he was used to working.

Whatever they decided…they buzzed off. Garry was shoving, trying to get more purchase, when he heard frightened whinnying. He glanced up, and two horses came galloping back. Pisca buzzed back.

“Not ztupid. At least you go not ztupid.”

Garry gazed down at the wagon, his trembling arms, and then relaxed.

“Okay, not stupid. This is true.”

——

He pushed to the top of the hill and the Flying Antinium were already gone, having turned into specks on the horizon. Pushing with the tired horses.

“What…kind…of Drakes live this high up?”

Garry was questioning their life choices. But a man answered him as he sat, bandaging his own shoulder.

“As I understand it, ones who farm high-altitude magical crops and collect from animals and monsters here. Profitable. But if a field goes fallow or takes on blight…their [Farmer] died. He was ninety years old. He fed most of them.”

“Oh.”

Ser Solton was wounded. But he replaced his armor, rose, and pointed ahead.

“Garry. There’s a bridge just ahead of us crossing a chasm. But there are also fifty Drakes.”

He was looking at Garry. Just looking, and the [Baker] stopped riding the wagon. Walked over to put his hand on Solton’s shoulders.

“The trouble with miracles, Ser Solton, is that they run out. I am from The Wandering Inn. I have seen it happen. I did not come searching for them. I am grateful, but you must understand this. You are young.”

The [Knight] with grey hair, in his forties, met the eyes of a two year-old Antinium, and his face crumpled up a bit. He didn’t ask Garry to turn back. Or if he was certain.

He finally understood. Solton took in a shaky breath, then another.

“Then—ach, damn visors. How is a man to fight with tears in his eyes? What does one do in the face of such certainties? When you don’t even believe in miracles, man? What is there to hope for?”

Garry could see the Drakes now. Waiting silently in front of the wide bridge over a ravine. The only route to the town of Aethdell’s Summit. Right. Summit. It really should have clued him in. He hadn’t read those maps right. He was a silly, young bug. But he smiled at Ser Solton.

“When you run out of miracles? You just hope, Solton. One step at a time. The world can be better.”

The visor clicked downwards, and Solton replied softly.

“By blood or coin or deed, let it be so.”

“All I can do is bake bread.”

——

The silent Drakes moved apart, slightly, as the [Knight] rode down on them. His lance wasn’t lowered. Not against so many. He had a hand on one sword.

“Make way. Make way! We are delivering bread to the starving! If you have a conscience, for the love of family, for the love of decency, please—make way!”

The wagon was rumbling down the slope faster and faster as the horses whinnied nervously. They did not like the chasm, but Garry had fed them the nice bread. Despite their fear, despite their nerves, they glanced at him, and perhaps…

They moved faster. Once they were on the bridge, the Drakes wouldn’t be able to swarm. Garry was sitting forwards in the driver’s seat, braced. He hurt all over. His stab-wounds were patched, but he was so tired.

“This time…”

The silent Drakes were just watching him. Slitted eyes unblinking. Garry could have said a lot of things.

I have met a Dragon. My [Innkeeper] has bested a god. Boastful things, true things, things he believed in, perhaps even things to make them stop or change their minds.

But this should have been all it took. Garry held a loaf of bread with two of his hands as the other two held the reins. He saw the first rank of Drakes shift aside as the wagon rumbled past the [Knight]. Then, Ser Solton sighed.

“Sirs, madams. Have you no hearts?”

They drew blades, and Ser Solton’s warhorse reared.

“Garry!”

The swords slashed at Garry. Spears knocked him back in the driver’s seat, and the horses screamed. They ran forwards, and the press of bodies kept Solton from Garry. Forced the [Knight] back as he slashed, shouting.

“Stop. Stop—”

Garry was yelling, and the press of bodies was about him, attacking, before, suddenly, they drew back. All at once. He was shielding his face, glancing around as they rode onto the bridge, and above him—

All the [Scrying] spells abruptly cut out. Garry’s anti-appraisal ring buzzed, and he heard only the clip-clop of hooves. He turned, and the Drakes were backing up from the bridge.

The [Baker] rode forwards for another second. Then ten. He stared behind him as Solton shouted, a distant voice, and then the Antinium peered up. His eyes found the orange glow, the falling pinpoints of light.

“Truly?”

The pair of [Fireballs] shot down from the sky. He saw them touch the other end of the long bridge, then felt a ripple under the wagon wheels. The bridge rolled downwards into the chasm, and Garry reached out.

The horses halted as the bridge dropped. Garry grabbed for them.

“I’m sorry—”

Then he knew.

The wagon fell as the bread, the Chest of Holding, the horses, and the [Baker] dropped. Down, down, down. 

Leaving his hopes behind. The wrath of Drakes. The chance to do some good in the world.

Down.

Down.

Down.

To a place where there was only pain. The ground.

And his [Innkeeper].

——

She was crying when he woke up. The Antinium’s right arm was broken. Blood was running from his shell. His legs—all his bandaged wounds had torn open again.

He sat in the gazebo, at the table, as she leaned against the benches, tears falling from her eyes and gazing into infinity.

He awoke at the bottom of the chasm, lying on squashed bread. Amidst his own blood, next to the two dead horses.

The Antinium got up after crying out in pain. He hunted around for bandages. Anything. Gave up; there was only blood and destruction. Nothing left. He stared up, but the light was so faint down here. Just a wall of stone and…he gazed at his hands.

Then he walked over to the jagged stone and put his three good arms to the stone. Pulled and felt slight pain in his fingertips from the hard stone. He pulled up again. Digging his fingers into the rock.

He began to climb.

The [Innkeeper] noticed he was awake, and she gazed at the green blood dripping from his side. His back. Every wound on him. From swords. Spears. The arrows still sticking out of his back, snapped off.

She had seen each and every one. The [Baker] did not ask how he had come to be here.

He had been here from the beginning. Night and day. 

He fell. Misjudged a hold and slipped, and he went crashing back down. Landed on his back-shell, and the agony nearly made him pass out again.

More blood. It ran down, and it had stained the gazebo’s floor. Even run into the nothingness around them. Green and bright. Nothing like the red of her blood.

He had seen her after she had died. He had missed that too.

Now…she sat there.

The Antinium began to climb again. This time, he tried to judge each hold. Secured himself so that even if one hold gave way, the other two would cling on. But every time his grip slipped, his fingers cut into the rocks.

And his carapace was not invincible. He was digging his fingers into tiny cracks, forcing his unmalleable digits into crevasses to hold himself up by sheer friction.

Blood began to drip from cracked fingers. Garry gazed down at his hands, then up at her. The [Innkeeper] rasped into the darkness as she watched his blood drip onto the floor.

“They have done nothing for us. Nothing, and we try again and again to make this world better. To show them it matters. To give just one thing, and all they do is take it away. They don’t deserve anything.”

Her eyes were filled with hazel and hate. Helplessness. 

She pointed a hand that shook at him.

“We try. Even after all of it, because it matters. Until we can’t remember why we cared so much. Until it doesn’t seem to matter. The world stops shining so brightly. Why do we do it? For them? Why do they deserve it?”

—Fell, again, as an entire section of stone gave way. Bad stone. The Antinium lay there, knowing it was loose from rain and erosion. The entire cliff face might give way and bury him.

He got up.

This time, his fingers dug into the stone despite the pain. He pressed with all the strength he had. Whispering.

“[Hands of Steel]. [Enhanced Grip].”

The strength to knead dough. He pulled himself up, arms burning. Clinging to the rocks. Whispering.

“They killed the horses. Why did they have to kill the horses?”

It hurt. He never should have brought them.

His fault.

More blood. But it was slowing from everywhere but his fingers. The Worker gazed down at the empty chess table dripping with blood. Then his head rose.

“You don’t even know them.”

He spoke to the [Innkeeper], and she blinked. Erin looked at him, and Garry’s head rose. To the sky he could not see here. He whispered.

“They don’t even know they can climb. We do.”

—Half an hour? He didn’t know. He slipped as a rock tore loose, and he heard it fall. Far—he drove his left hand deeper into the stone, desperate, and clung there. Panting.

Garry peered up, and he still couldn’t see the sky. He was feeling for another handhold, swinging back and forth, his stomach shaking, when something ran onto his head.

Water. He opened his mandibles skywards, then stuck his foot into a crack in the wall.

He could not fall.

“I believe this is it, Erin. I do not know. But I think…”

He held her as she hugged him and refused to let go. But the [Baker] was smiling.

“I hope I win, even if I lose.”

“I’d trade them all for you. Open my door when you see it. Please. Please don’t leave me alone.”

She wasn’t shaking. Just weeping, as if—no. They’d broken her heart before. The [Baker] smiled as his hands stung and bled.

“I promise.”

Then he stepped through the door and—

—Remembered. The [Baker] stopped, panting, and he was no stronger. No happier, not as it rained on him, cold water pouring down the stones occasionally falling by his head. But he forced one arm up. Gripped a stone until it cracked, then dug his fingers into the cliff face harder.

Up. Up.

“Remind her. I made a promise. I—”

He’d made another promise. Garry stared down for a moment, as long as his limited head movement would allow.

“Why the horses?”

His arms were in agony. He was searching for somewhere, anywhere, he could just…rest. Anywhere he could cling to to regain some strength.

“Please…”

Then he did see it. An actual ledge of stone that had not given way. A flat surface fifty-some feet away from him. Only, it was already occupied. Something had come tumbling down, and by luck, fate, it had smashed onto the little ledge and tangled there, the remnants of the reins anchoring it in place.

The Chest of Holding.

Garry stared at it as the rain let up, and his trembling fingers kept bleeding. He regarded the wet box and tried to calculate how heavy it was. Looked up and still could not see the cliff’s edge. The [Baker] took a trembling breath.

“…gOod.”

——

He lashed the Chest of Holding to the only place he could tie it to and know it wouldn’t slip off given the slippery leather and his crude knots: his legs.

They weren’t much good anyways. His stumpy feet couldn’t articulate or wedge themselves into gaps like a Human or other species. Flesh was malleable. Chitin, not.

So he pulled with his arms. One handhold higher. Then another.

His mind was going white, wanting to lift him up into a place that felt like Pawn’s Heaven. But every time he felt it, he dragged himself down into the cliff and forced his arms to rise.

“Not there. No matter how beautiful it is, I will not go. I’m not—”

He drove a fist into the stone as he slipped again. Pulled.

Up.

“I’m not needed there.”

Then he stopped talking. Drove a hand higher and pulled himself up one more foot.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH—”

He screamed skywards, and there was only one thing that heard him. Who climbed with him, broken and bloody fingers fighting for every inch, until he hauled himself onto the ground and dragged the Chest of Holding up.

The watcher saw the harness slip as the chest came over the edge of the cliff and felt Garry’s heart stop in his chest with him. Only it knew that if it had fallen, the [Chef] would have jumped back down after it.

The [Innkeeper] would have believed. But the Worker started walking. He dragged the Chest of Holding with him up the circular path that went slowly higher around a simple town with silent walls, echoing with hunger, built with millenia-old stone bridges crisscrossing into higher plateaus.

Places where aeons ago, Drakes had built higher alongside Giants and Dragons and under the wings of a vast empire of Harpies.

No more. The Worker dragged the battered Chest of Holding up past the ringing gongs and through the old magical iron gates of the town that had heard he had been coming. They had been watching him.

Expecting him. But not after their bridge broke.

Now, they encircled him, a sea of staring Drakes, hunger eating them alive, as he finally stopped. They held hunting spears, throwing javelins, and a Drake riding a pony was whirling a sling and net, but the Antinium didn’t pay attention to the weapons.

Slowly, he sat down, bowing his head, as dried Antinium blood flaked off onto the street. He let go of the Chest of Holding.

Then, the voice was allowed to whisper to him.

[Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef Level 44!]

[Skill – Supreme Baking: Bread Mastery obtained!]

[Recipe: Shadowloaf Obtained!]

[Recipe: Loaf of Luck Obtained!]

[Recipe: Stitch-bread Obtained!]

[Recipe: Dragonpan Toast Obtained!]

[Recipe: Kraken Biscuit Obtained!]

[Skill Change – Vehicle: Fast Travelling → Vehicle: Magical Delivery!]

[Skill – Vehicle: Magical Delivery Obtained!]

[Skill – Moment of Protection Obtained!]

[Bound Item – Bag of Vast Holding Assigned!]

[Class Change: Tactician → Strategist of Sympathy!]

[Strategist of Sympathy Level 18!]

[Skill – Unpredictable Move Obtained!]

[Skill – Mitigate Harm Obtained!]

[Skill – Safe Retreat Obtained!]

——

This was his little plan.

Drassi Tewing had covered the broken bridge. Demanded answers of…anyone. Speculated as much as she was allowed.

But Ser Solton had only seen the [Fireball] falling, not who had sent the spells, and the wounded [Knight] had pursued the Drakes, who claimed not to have known what had happened either. It could have been any magic-user capable of long-ranged magical spells. Any Walled City of Incantations. There was no proof.

Garry…

She was sitting in front of her desk, staring at not-really-anything on live television.

The [Baker] was gone.

What had changed? Channel 1 was silent too as the two Drake [Commentators] hunted for some aphorism or statement that would make this feel less…pointless.

There was a commotion at the doors of her studio. The security guards tried, and they had plurality and levels on their side, but not against him.

The tall Rabbit-man literally shoved a huge Dullahan aside, shouting.

“Courier on delivery! This is a priority request! Sorry, Drassi—I’ve got something for you.”

“Hawk? I’m on air. Go away. Garry’s dead.”

Drassi wiped at her eyes, and Hawk stopped. He gazed at her with a guilty expression on his face and nodded.

“I know. This is a…deadman’s delivery. First time I’ve done one. In the event of his demise this week, my job was to, uh—give this to you. Here. I don’t need a seal, I guess.”

He handed Drassi a letter. Took a step back as he eyed the cameras. Drassi gazed at it.

“From…”

“Baker Garry. I mean, I don’t know, but that looked bad, and he said in the likely event—hold on. I’ve got to deliver this to Sir Relz and Noass.”

Hawk jogged back through the doors and delivered the other letter. Drassi opened the envelope, tearing the letter out with the tips of her claws. Then she closed her eyes.

“What’s it, uh, say?”

The Courier had come back, and he hovered, violating the Runner’s code, but he had to know. Everyone leaned forwards, even the television crew, and Drassi lifted the letter and showed it. She laughed hoarsely as they saw it wasn’t a proper missive, just an untidy scrawl like a [Baker]’s shopping list.

“It’s—a list of Drake settlements. I’m sure it is. Imec is on here. And so is—Ancestors. It’s the places he wanted to go. There’s a map.”

He had placed them across southern and northern Izril. Drassi lifted it up, then turned. Still crying, but now blinking furiously.

“Where—where are these places? This is what he was trying to do! It was just damn bread, and all of that? What was it for?”

She hurled her notes into the air, and Hawk took a step back.

“Hey. We all saw it. He was an Antinium doing a Courier’s job. He should have hired one of us. Just saying.”

He shrugged, a touch defensive, as everyone glared at him. Drassi’s mouth worked, and then she opened her clenched fist. She put her head down on the desk.

“Hawk? How was he supposed to do that? He was a [Baker] working for the city of Liscor. You cost too much. Someone…someone send out a [Reporter]. Show me those villages. Let’s see if killing the only person willing to make and send food to these places was a great strategic decision.”

The news crews moved, because this, at least, was something. They didn’t see the moment that was the true story, the second the Antinium pulled himself up over the cliffs. They didn’t know he was alive for a while.

But that was it, anyways.

The [Chef]’s plan. He kept it simple.

——

When Garry woke up, everything hurt. And he heard the sounds of, well, crunching. They were the sounds of someone eating toasted bread.

His bread.

They stood in the plaza in front of the gates, chewing. Someone had started a fire, and they were toasting his bread. Eating it with some cheese that must have been in the Chest of Holding.

How long he’d been passed out, he didn’t know. A long time? If so, they hadn’t moved.

They just ate. He hoped they hadn’t eaten themselves into danger, but the Drakes weren’t covering the Chest of Holding. They just toasted the bread and cheese on the fire. Then moved back. Staring at him.

No one had killed him as he slept and levelled. Nor had they patched his wounds. When he shifted, they jerked backwards, and dried blood fell again. They had stayed away from him; the footprints in the square had muddied everything but a circle around him, which was pristine.

When his head rose, they were afraid. But one of them, a Drake holding a scrying orb, called out. She was old and sitting in a rocking chair someone had dragged out, a canopy made of Razorbeak wings covering her and a goathide blanket over her legs.

“Antinium. The City of Growth has contacted us. They are sending food. So is Salazsar, and fuel and wood to mend the bridge. To other villages as well. The cities of Luldem, Savilite, the town of Oest, and the Yoldenites have all, also, dispatched parties bound with fuel and provisions.”

So Hawk had sent his letter. It was…light? He’d felt it had been dark. Then was it now morning? Garry tried to get up, but his legs didn’t want to, so he stayed there. A door was waiting for him, but he didn’t take it, not yet.

He was tired. In a second. Just let him sit one more second.

There was a pause as the old Drake waited before continuing.

“When the first provisions arrive, we will turn over this—bread and the supplies and burn the rest. Already, in the village of Imec, they have done the same because Drake provisions have reached them via Courier.”

The folk of Aethdell’s Summit waited. The [Baker]’s head rose after a beat, and his mandibles opened. He rasped.

“Good.”

Then he pushed himself up. The Drakes drew back, clearing a path towards the gates, and Garry saw some children staring at him. He’d lost his hat. But the look in their eyes…he walked over to the Chest of Holding, then began pulling loaves of bread out. They stirred as he began stacking them on the ground. They kept falling over, but he dumped them out and then closed the lid. Then he picked up the worn leather and began to pull.

“What—what’re you doing? That’s our food. We need it.”

A Drake blocked his path, his stomach still clinging to his spine. Garry jerked his head at the pile he’d left.

“That is half. I must take the rest.”

“But we don’t have the other provisions. The bridge is down. If we need—”

The Drake wanted to stop Garry, but someone grabbed his tail and yanked him back. An old Drake standing next to a pony, both appearing thin, kept chewing on the bread as Garry stumbled forwards a step.

The old woman in the rocking chair looked around, then called out.

“Antinium. Did you not hear me? The other villages—”

“I heard you. My list is not perfect. There’s another village up here, isn’t there?”

“Feather Rest.”

They murmured it, and the Antinium nodded. He started walking again, and again, there was a move to block him. They had been starving, and the food—Garry halted and looked a mother in her eyes.

“I will not do anything if you stop me. But if you do, then someone else will starve.”

The Drake hesitated and stopped blocking his path. Garry was dragging the chest towards the gates when the old woman spoke.

“You’ll never make it there. On foot? Dragging that thing?”

“I’ll try.”

Their eyes were on the provisions he was taking away. Even if more provisions came, the Chest of Holding didn’t contain as much as a town needed. The rest of it…

He would have fallen over if someone breathed on him hard. He was waiting, and he had run out of miracles sometime before the bridge collapsed. So, when he heard the ringing of hooves and a hand swung down, Garry fell as it struck him.

—Only after a moment did he realize someone was tying him down.

“Ah, torture is it? Or imprisonment?”

After a few seconds, he was embarrassed when he looked down and saw he was lying on a flat little sled. The older Drake finished hitching him to the pony, then mounted up. He kept chewing on the bread as the pony did likewise, and they began to ride out of the gates.

Some might say that lying on a sled as it navigated the bumpy terrain and then had to be hauled up onto one of the huge, flat stone slabs that made bridges from the Drake town to the other plateaus was torture.

But Garry’s legs did not. The Drake and his pony crunched the bread nonstop, and they’d brought enough to munch on for a good long time. Only after a while did the Drake glance down at Garry.

The Drake had a cowboy hat on his head. Which was very stylistic to movies Garry had seen from Earth, but also, coincidentally, was probably just a common shape and useful for braving the elements. The old Drake eyed Garry and said nothing.

Garry lay there.

After about another half-an-hour, the Drake spoke.

“It’d look mighty strange if good, honest Drakes were to eat bread made by an Antinium, y’know.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Can’t risk the wrath of a big city.”

“I know.”

“Even touchin’ one of them or giving it help would be a bad idea. ‘Specially when all the scrying spells started appearing.”

“Yes.”

“Funny thing. We didn’t have a scrying orb ‘till last night. Some Archmage of Wistram wanted us to be interviewed so badly he teleported it in. Took him ten minutes.”

“Very powerful.”

“It’s been a long winter. We ate every pony except this fellow, because he’s got the most Skills attached to him.”

“They killed my horses.”

“And our bridge. Only way down from here unless you go twenty miles across the old Giant Steps like this.”

“I see.”

“If someone was worried about how things looked, he’d have to dump you the moment a [Scrying] spell seemed to be finding you. Though I reckon that’s too late.”

The Drake was glancing at a round crystal ball on his saddle. Garry spoke.

“There’s a ring on my finger. It itches when a [Scrying] spell activates. You could be stealing bread from me.”

“And riding away back home. Sounds about right.”

The stranger dismounted and removed Garry’s ring. He didn’t get back up on his horse, though.

“This is the only right and proper thing to do. Some people would think an Antinium deserved thanks, otherwise. Or call him a hero.”

“That’s silly. [Heroes] kill people. I am a [Baker].”

“I expect you’re right. Need anything?”

The [Baker] nodded.

“Please let me stand up so I may relieve myself. Then I need to answer that door.”

“…What door?”

——

It was six o’clock in the evening when an Antinium Worker reached the trade-roads winding north towards the High Passes. How, exactly, he had reached the roads that fast was a mystery. He’d moved at incredible speed given where he’d been.

Horse-speed, which baffled the mind. And he shocked the hell out of the Drakes, who shouted in surprise and ran, then looked back because, well—

Half had thought he was dead. They’d turned the scrying orbs off the other night and had unaccountably bad days. The other half had found out he was alive, but he wasn’t…on the scrying orbs.

They were focused on the food being delivered to grateful villages. Not on the [Baker].

He was walking down the road. He had no wagon. He had no horses. He had no Chest of Holding because it was damn heavy and someone could use it.

He’d even lost his beard and red hat in the chasm. But he did have something else: his poofy chef’s hat. It was the only part of him that didn’t look beaten or cut or bloodied, but he kept walking as they pointed.

No one stabbed him. A passing Drake on a pony eyed the Antinium as travellers, even people going for a walk from their local city, all turned. And the Antinium just kept walking north.

At some point, he picked up speed. From a toddling walk to a jog that looked as unsteady as could be. Antinium were not built to run, at least, not in ways that other species felt were comfortable.

Because he didn’t have the same toes or build, Garry ran like he was falling forwards, arms moving to keep him from toppling.

It seemed painful. It probably was painful given the wounds on his back that looked partially dressed, but clotted. But he started jogging as the people following him had to pant and work to keep up. Then someone cleared his throat.

A wagon slowed. A [Farmer] staring ahead down the long road clicked his tongue.

Garry did not get on. After a second, there was an ahem.

Garry did not get on the wagon now directly in front of him. It slowed, and he jogged around. And conversely, seemed to speed up.

The donkey pulling the wagon and the pony-riding Drake both had to actually puff a bit as Garry kept moving, and the [Farmer] glanced sideways.

“You want a ride?”

The Antinium did not sound like someone who was enjoying running for the sake of it when he opened his mouth and gasped a response.

“Immensely. But it would be horrible for a Drake to associate with an Antinium, especially if scrying spells were to activate.”

“Probably. You see any cowards?”

For the second time that day, the [Chef] smiled. But he just willed more energy into his legs, and the [Farmer]’s brows rose.

“If I slow down, I will accept a ride.”

Then he was running ahead of the wagon, and the outraged donkey pulled neck-and-neck, refusing to be beaten by a running beetle. More than one Drake was jogging along purely for their health or to see the wounded Antinium…

Slow?

Two hours later, the [Farmer] peeled off as his donkey lay down on the side of the road. The Antinium saw the pony and rider heading back towards the foothills, and all but a City Runner had long since given up. Even said City Runner was drinking a stamina potion and eying him.

He?

He could see the Bloodfields. Or at least, he really hoped they were the Bloodfields. The Antinium ran onto a familiar dirt road and kept going, refusing to stop. His legs screamed and ached, but he just kept moving.

He had bread to knead, and it wasn’t that much further. Besides…his vacation ended tomorrow. He only slowed, in fact, when he saw someone sliding his way.

Neither Garry nor the Gnoll heading his way looked like they were runners, nor did they think they’d get any running-based Skills because running sucked. Ishkr, at least, could slide.

“Chef Garry. May I invite you to a meal? I’m sure you’d make it the rest of the way on foot, but we have a dinner reservation, and the food is getting cold.”

The Antinium Worker slowed, and Ishkr seemed a bit tired himself, but the two were of a level. And Garry? He stared at Ishkr’s paw, then sighed.

“Oh—very well. Just this once.”

The Gnoll smiled, touched his hand, and Garry stumbled—and then he heard the cheering. He glanced around as a common room full of people shouted, and someone ran forwards with a healing potion.

“Garry? Can I offer you a drink and something to eat?”

Lyonette du Marquin was standing there respectfully as they waited. Calescent poked his head out of the kitchen with a warm loaf of bread in his hands, and Garry found a chair and sat down. Then, he seemed to relax. He let out a long breath he’d been holding and nodded.

“Yes. I do believe I will take a meal, Miss Lyonette. A bowl of Acid Flies, please.”

She wavered. The bread heading his way halted as Asgra paused.

“Er—no bread?”

“No. I’m rather sick of it today.”

Then the [Baker] closed his eyes and slept. Just for a moment.

[Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef Level 45!]

[Title – The One Who Delivers Gifts Obtained!]

[Title Skill – Reputation: A Name Every Child Knows Granted!]

Author’s Note:

Listen up, I am finishing this deep into my writing on Thursday…no, wait, it’s Friday now. If you are reading this, it is a miracle.

A miracle that the editing has occurred, because I started writing this on Monday. This is a massive chapter, and I intend to publish it as-is.

But if it took me time, till Tuesday, that’s fine. Because I have another goal which I am stating here, even if I fail to hit it.

I would like to release this chapter…and the next one…before Christmas. If it takes me till Saturday, that’s fine. And the next chapter which I have to write is shorter. Hopefully.

But it will conclude this arc. You may think this chapter would do it, but no, there’s more. It’s just one Garry moment, and there are a few more. Just a few more that hopefully don’t end up with him climbing a cliff. Again, if I don’t nail it and I need time, I’ll take it. I don’t really want to die around Christmas.

However, I suggest, gently, that this may be a Christmas-themed chapter. (Future readers, look at the date this was published.) You didn’t expect it, and I was really subtle about the themes, so I hope you’re not surprised, but I am throwing the last of my year’s energy on the fire before I take my break.

Forgive any imperfections in prose or story, but I hope it gives you something around these holidays. Not always just joy. Stress is an acceptable reaction too, but hopefully this ending is something.

One more, and then I will write a little note for the end of the year. I’ve been working hard because I like you all and the story.

But mostly, I like Garry. This one’s for him. See you next chapter whenever that is.

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