[Trigger warning: It’s a Tessa chapter. Suicidal ideation, abuse, self harm, drug addiction, harmful behaviors—be warned.]

(This chapter covers the time Tessa spent in Tenbault with the Healer as well as the events covered offscreen during Garry’s deliveries. Tessa’s flashbacks go back to her childhood and to moments in time that never occurred at all. The narrator is unreliable.)

She knew she looked like a mess. The Drake spat into the washbowl of white porcelain and saw phlegm and blood land in the water. It came out of her mouth, her nose, and when she stopped coughing up the Selphid Dust long enough to meet her eyes, she saw how bloodshot they were.

Burst capillaries bled like dying soldiers over yellowed ground. Her eyes had lost their regular color. Too much of the…the…King’s Draught? Sjerdenhal?

Something. Something was taking her eyes. Bad sign. She’d go blind in less than a week if she kept it up. The eyes would dry up and hollow out, and bugs would root around in them, even if they stayed connected to the face. She pictured a shaking Drake with maggots crawling out of his eye sockets, hands trembling as he begged for another drop of the Draught.

That was no illusion. Nor was the washbasin. That was a memory, and she was good at figuring out which was which, most of the time. Tessa stared at herself in the mirror again. Shriekblade gazed back, and both had the same thought.

“I look terrible.”

She knew it. She was thinner than before, and she had always been light for her height. She was—the Drake’s eyes stole downwards, and she saw blood running from her right arm. Bared scales, but no armor. Had someone attacked her? No…the scales were missing in a checkerboard pattern.

She must have pulled them off herself. The only way to make sure a needle got through scales. The flesh was puffy, and pockmarked underneath. The Drake ran her fingers over the injection sites and thought it again.

I have to stop. I’m pathetic. This is wrong. Bad. I’m killing myself and my body. No one will need me after this, not even Hekusha. Good thing…good thing I have an escape plan.

Always Have An Escape Plan. AHAEP. Good old Captain Groms. That was the trick. She’d get restored after this, and it’d reset her. Then—no drugs. Not for—a week. That was how you did it.

“After tonight, no drugs. Right. Then I’ll build up my body, get clean for a month, and—and finances.”

She felt at her bag of holding, and it wasn’t there. Had she lost it? Sold it? But she had her daggers, and that was alright. Tessa leaned on the washbasin again, relieved. Because she had a way out. That was the trick. She knew how bad it was, but she could save herself. Hekusha could save her body. And Tessa was going to do it, this time. She promised.

“I promise.”

She was fumbling something up to her lips. A little capsule filled with the pale, not-quite-gold liquid that looked like discolored piss. It stank the moment her claw breached the cover. King’s Draught was the foulest thing imaginable. A blind [Watchman] could tell you had it. But it tasted like—

Her head fell backwards, and she shuddered as it coursed through her veins. The second hit of it made the world wobble, and Tessa’s head turned left and right.

Around the washbasin and mirror was a hazy world where color, the floor and sky, dissolved into nothingness. That was how it worked. As she began to move, stepping away from the washbasin, it too dissolved, and she only saw what was right in front of her. Marble tiles, Hekusha’s palace. Blind, unable to hear anything not on top of her—chin raised, smiling with the pride of a king.

The highest feeling in the world. She swirled a cloak of her imagination around her and laughed. As her eyes bled yellow tears and she walked onwards, navigating the shifting world of colors with that uncanny instinct the Draught gave her. But the euphoria was already fading. It faded faster each time—so she was fumbling.

No more Draught? Something else. Something…she pulled out powders and vials, sorting through liquids, half-consumed capsules, trying to remember what did what. Higher. Ever-higher today. Nothing that dragged her down to reality.

The Drake was running, then, spilling the keys that led her out of this reality, sprinting as if she were trying to catch the fleeting joy in her body. She hit something and fell, crying out as the trove of her equipment spilled to the floor. Gathered it up—her adventurer’s tools. And she knew she was low, but it was okay.

She had Hekusha. An escape plan. Tomorrow…

Next week. She’d start next week. But she had an escape plan. There was always a way out. But she liked it down here.

She deserved it down here.

——

They told him the world was changing, and he knew it was. Change came for all men, and he feared it. Soon, it would knock upon the doors of his city. And it was his, his prison and fortress, his island of contemptible solitude, and he the warden and fool conjoined.

The world was changing so rapidly and greatly, but by the voices eternal—there was a comfort to living in Tenbault. Crowdcaller Merdon, the Named-rank adventurer, could see the New Lands rise, Archmages fly, and when he stood in the silent banquet hall and heard the panting, wheezing gasps from the addled Drake’s lungs as she scrabbled on the floor, licking at a spilled vial, he thought nothing would ever change.

A noblewoman—no, a woman with a rich dress—was backed into a corner, unwilling to edge around Tessa. Other ‘dignitaries’ come for the Healer’s favor were standing in the tableau, holding drinks. Servants backed up.

No one would go near Shriekblade. She was shaking, giggling as she rose, casting around and lifting her chin like royalty, mouth trailing that foul vapor. King’s Draught or something. He didn’t know how she kept getting it, even in Tenbault.

“Merdon. Merdon!”

Someone was hissing at him. One of Hekusha’s helpers, [Mana Conduit] Torbal. He wanted Merdon to get Shriekblade out of sight.

Crowdcaller Merdon downed his drink. He didn’t move. She was blind to the world, stumbling around the banquet hall, and almost heading back towards the bathrooms she’d emerged from. But even if you’d handed him an enchanted sword of [Bane], or a bow with an [Acidsplitter] arrow, he’d have told you to shove it up your own ass before taking a shot at her, even for a million gold coins.

Shriekblade never died. She never changed. She left and came back. She spiralled, and so long as he looked at her, he truly felt that dreadful relief in him, oozing down to his bones like piss soaking through his clothing.

The world would never change. Tenbault would not. Merdon raised his empty glass to the taut face of Hekusha, sitting behind her veils of floating cloth to keep her from the rest of the wretched world.

Her two greatest protectors, the legendary Healer. The city of miracles, Tenbault. Merdon said not a word as the murmuring rose, and Tessa stumbled past him. The Named-rank adventurer with a voice that had humbled Chalence, once said to be the youngest prodigy among his kind, stood there. Forty-seven years old. Old now. She was older too, but again, some things never changed.

We’ve done this forever, eh, Shriekblade? Who’ll go first? You or me?

This was the worst he’d ever seen of her, but she never died. Her head turned as she tripped, almost fell, going nearly horizontal, then catching herself with a leg sweeping around and a twirl, the grace of a genius. Hands going reflexively to the two daggers that were all she had left in the world besides her name and talents.

For a second, those eyes bleeding madness found his, and he shivered as she said:

“That’s not my name.”

They locked eyes as Merdon tensed, lips pursing, about to project a compressed shout, adrenaline flooding his veins. Had she read his—?

Then she turned and staggered on, and he stood there as meaningless conversation struck itself up in her wake, and a servant hurried forwards with a long-handled mop. The ‘noblewoman’ with the soiled cloak Tessa had thrown up on came forwards, smiling at him, and flirting with all the graces the Tonic of Charm could give her. He wondered how foully sick she was and whether it was contagious.

Merdon reached for another drink and met Hekusha’s simmering gaze. She jerked her head as her Veils of Deterge hovered around her, and he shrugged. She was so angry of late. What did she expect? Something to change?

In her city? He laughed at that, and his chuckle was like rich thunder. The greatest voice in Izril.

——

“It’s my fault, you know. Lay that upon my gravestone, old man. Of my sins, and I do confess they must be legion, that is one of my true and only regrets.”

The Dragonlord of Flames did not dignify that comment with a reply as he worked. For many reasons—he did not want to think of her gravestone. He did not want to imagine the sixteen year-old [Lady], all indignation at the state of the world and gentle heart, passing from this world like so many others.

And he disagreed that Magnolia Reinhart’s sins were that foul. When he looked up, he still had the image of the blonde-haired girl peering into his cave, wearing that black-and-green dress she hated so much.

—Then he blinked, and the woman was decades older, wearing an all-pink outfit and sitting in a chair as she watched him adjust a wheel with one claw, and he was out of his cave. The Brass Dragon had died. Come back to life. Lost his mind.

Been told the world was ending.

Again.

This time would be different, or so he felt. So, he gently placed another wheel in the air, anchoring it with a bit of solidified air, and began to resurrect the damaged chassis of the carriage from its stasis. Wood, so damaged and old it had begun to dissolve as the mana broke, needed re-enchanting. Too much for him to reconstruct, even with his powers…so he had to remake the entire chassis’ spellcraft and rebuild the carriage around that.

“Ironwood.”

He grunted, and someone spoke.

“Ah, we are lacking in that department, sir—”

“Fourth drawer, Giant’s cabinet. Ironwood.”

Someone dashed to the side and came back, swearing like a [Storm Sailor] as she hurled a huge log of it at him. He caught the heavy piece with magic and began to meld it into the carriage.

“Looks like Haelbrass for the fittings, and…I’m going to say Salazsarian Diamond for the windows. Good enough. We’ll fudge the rest. Giant’s cabinet, second drawer or something for the brass. I assume you have the diamonds somewhere, Magnolia.”

A tsk. But she didn’t get in the way as he continued his work. He was spending more than he normally would have on this, and she knew when he had to actually concentrate.

“One feels as though the windows are not what you should skimp on, old man.”

“I don’t do windows. Too fiddly. Every half-baked [Enchanter] and [Artisan] gets too precious with their windows. One-of-a-kind mixtures with crystal pulled from between a Crystal Elemental’s asscheeks blessed by a Unicorn dancing in the moonlight with a drop of Zesty Lemon. The windows will be fine. Sturdy, just not whatever they were originally made for.”

He heard a snort from Ressa. She appreciated it when he got pithy. Magnolia simply pouted. She wanted her carriage to be the best. And it would be! She walked around the floating vehicle he was literally remaking as if she were inspecting a vase for dust and he a Level 4 [Cleaner].

“This is Great-Great-Great Grandfather Corlitor’s best carriage, you know. It was a terrible ordeal for Reynold, getting it all the way here out of the family’s clutches. The only reason Regis never had it was because it was so big it couldn’t easily fit in his vaults—and so damaged even he couldn’t use it.”

“It’s fine. Serviceable.”

Her expression of outrage made him smile as he began melding the windows. He liked teasing her. This was, in fact, a carriage that would have been considered ‘good’ for royalty in any era. Far better than her old one.

Yep, this is going to take at least another hour. It was challenging, even for him, to remake. He sighed, but in truth, he relished this moment. Not the magic, but lying here next to her new mansion in the High Passes, talking with her.

Memories reclaimed. Never again would he be the mysterious Dragon and she the young [Lady] with a world to right. But now they were more equals, so he savored that. His mind flickered back to her first statement, and he replied.

“If Tenbault is your fault, then it is mine. Or do you mean only the Healer—what’s her name? Helluba? I was the fool you pestered into teaching her that spell.”

“Hekusha. And I insisted. I could have chosen better. I could have stopped her.”

“Hmm. It never works out right. She’d merely run to someone else. She was given power, and it revealed her soul. Was she always like this?”

“Possibly.”

“No.”

Magnolia and Teriarch turned, and they gazed at the woman who sat, stripped down to only her undershirt, smoking in one of the pink, upholstered chairs. Ressa. Not the silent [Assassin] street-tough girl she’d been, but not so different, even now. The [Lady] pursed her lips.

“Ressa, do you have an objection to your work clothes or something?”

“It’s hot.”

“It’s spring.”

“Fought a Lava Slime earlier this morning.”

“Ah, well…I suppose we could use some tea. Reynold?”

He came forwards with a teapot and cups, and Teriarch conjured Demsleth so he could have a sip. He still winced when he saw Magnolia being handed a literal pot of sugar, which she poured into her cup. Then he turned to Ressa.

“Was she better? This Hekusha? I don’t quite recall.”

The [Maid] shrugged.

“Sure. She and Magnolia were friends. New [Mage] just out of Wistram willing to put her magic to use in the name of the public good? Not bought by the rest of the family? That’s pretty damn good. One of your uncles offered to double her pay to switch over, remember, Magnolia?”

“Oh, that’s right. Dear Uncle Krallis. Though I don’t know if that was entirely her being loyal at the time. Didn’t he have a clause he snuck into his contracts that meant every servant had to sleep in bed with him?”

Teriarch stopped his mental magical work for a moment in pure distaste and outrage. Reynold had much the same reaction, but Ressa only cooly lifted another cigarette to her mouth.

“Yep. But she didn’t know that. Like I said, she was a good kid. Just got paid too much too fast. When she started building her mansion ‘nstead of teaching, that was the bad sign. I told you, but you didn’t want t’ hear it.”

Magnolia nodded simply.

“I recall being so busy taking charge of House Reinhart, and she did heal you, me, and our people so much. And became more resentful each time we called on her…it is no excuse. I should have set Tenbault to rights long ago, but I wished to stop being the executioner and judge. Now…I am simply ashamed.”

Another feeling the Dragon could empathise with. He nodded and blew out a stream of Dragonfire to purge some of the detritus his work was creating. It bathed the carriage in a stream of purifying blue flames, and the swirl of fire reached upwards, dissipating as Reynold stared up towards the High Passes.

They stood in the beginnings of a great project. A pass, still rough and unpaved, but a great foundation being laid by working servants. Hired Humans and even a few Drakes and Gnolls.

A bridge across this continent, even if it would look like a wall. Neither the Dragon nor [Lady] glanced at it. They were gazing at the future and past.

“I have to get going after this, Magnolia. The New Lands. I should send Demsleth ahead already. Too much mana, though. I might not check back for a week or two.”

“Quite alright just as long as you’re actually exercising your wings, old man. Not riding a magical spell.”

He coughed, then glared at her, embarrassed, but the fact that he was out of his cave and…doing things was more than either would have dreamed. But she needled him, a faint smile reappearing on her face.

“Changing the world?”

“In my ways. What about you?”

“What about me, old man? This is my project. I’m hardly likely to survive a return to the north, even if I cared to waste more blood trying to take the house back right now. Every single one of my family would join forces against me, and not even Aleieta herself could handle the viper’s den when it unites.”

“Wait for infighting, hit them with sticks one by one. Keep the [Assassins] off you long enough to get the most dangerous ones in line or in the grave. Got that, Reynold?”

Ressa snapped at him, and the [Combat Butler] bowed. What she didn’t say was the unspoken part.

If I die, that’s your job. Teriarch wondered what the man was feeling. He had lost legs and friends in service to Magnolia Reinhart, but he was a believer. She was good at finding those who believed…simply not in her allies, like the Healer. Teriarch glanced at Magnolia and tried to resist, but he had to. For old time’s sake, he nettled her a tiny bit.

“It seems to me, young lady, that you are making much of your helplessness and inaction. I grant you that you have House Reinhart against you, your grand Skill broken, even if it was to a great and noble cause. But the Magnolia I recall was even more adversely put-upon by her parents. Still, she managed to change Izril whereas you sit and drink your sordidly sugarly tea and whinge.”

She spat some tea out and glared at him.

“Old man, are your memories from another lifetime overriding your eyes? I’m building this and—”

She pointed at the huge blocks of stone being moved into place and hand-scribed with spells behind her, and Teriarch rumbled.

“Forgive me, Lady Magnolia Reinhart. A mere salamander of fire like myself has failed to see how diligently you toil daily. How many stones have you personally carried into place and enchanted? Ressa did but a paltry one hundred and five. You must have doubled her.”

Her mouth snapped close, and her forest-green eyes flashed ominously. However, Ressa cackled. Magnolia pursed her lips and began choosing her words carefully.

“The amount of effort I am expending in my own capital—social, economic, if not physical—is—”

“—not commensurate with one of Izril’s foremost [Ladies]. You could be doing more. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

Ooh. Some of the servants, including Ressga watching from the sides with snacks and other provisions ready, were enjoying this. Magnolia reddened, but again, it was the outrage of familiarity, not true…okay, there was probably some real anger in her as she snapped back.

“Elucidate your comments, old man. Do you suggest I ride north or south and galvanize the Drakes or my kinsfolk, who love me?”

He was enjoying this and blew some flames over his claws and used the burnished bronze to polish his scales. They were regrowing, and he still had patchy parts all over. Plenty of wounds on top of his old ones, but the flame trick left them lustrous and bright. He’d forgotten how much of his old powers he’d left behind in his age. Reminded of that, he began to do pressups as he took measured breaths while working on the carriage.

“What—I—mean—is—”

“Old man, stop trying to look good and keep casting or you’ll explode my carriage and die of a heart attack.”

Embarrassed, he had to stop and continue casting. Teriarch coughed smoke into a fist, then continued.

“Why, <Quests>, Magnolia. Here we have an entirely new resource unknown to the totality of our existence, and I note so little of it being used. Some to great effect in other continents—did you see the Quarass’ work in Helios? Very tidy. And you yourself used to be splendid at making splashes wherever you went, even when your father was the House’s head. But instead, you sit when you could be in five places at once.”

“He’s got you there, Mags. Even the [Baker]’s faster’n you. He’s strafing the north and about to hit them in the south, and you’re just camping here, sipping tea.”

Ressa laughed, and Magnolia reddened. Then her cheeks stopped flushing, and she stood there, blank-faced. Thinking over their points and nodding. Accepting they might be right. Her eyes flickered, and she came up with an idea so fast it scared Teriarch. Her lips quirked with that aggravating smile so many enemies and allies had come to dread, because it meant she had a plan only she knew. Then she turned to Ressa because a Reinhart never left an insult unreplied to.

“You are absolutely right, Ressa. In light of this sterling reminder of my unused talents…I appoint you to oversee the committee helping our good [Baker]. Take Reynold, will you?”

“What? I don’t need to do that! It’s hundreds of miles, and we already have people in position—”

Ressa sat up, cursing, and Magnolia smiled sweetly at her.

“We must push ourselves, Ressa. And some time in the field is good for you. What if they sent a Face?”

“The Walled Cities are too cheap for—”

Ressa was already casting around, and Teriarch coughed.

“You can use the carriage when it’s done. It’s going smoothly. So you have a plan?”

“Something to show you that you’re not the only one who can make a splash, exiled or not, old man. Shall we wager on who can do more for Izril?”

She had a gleam in her eyes that he feared, because it might mean she put herself in danger, but the Dragonlord just smiled.

“You’d wager against my capabilities?”

“Certainly if it’s your actions alone, old man. Not the Order of Haegris, what money does for us, or connections. We ourselves. Put some real Relics on the line.”

He hesitated. Then bluffed.

“You don’t have enough to match my smallest bid—”

“I’ll bet you the Crown of Flowers. And a <Mythical Quest> upon it.”

Ooh. Ressga and the other servants gasped as he went still. Magnolia’s eyes were glinting now, with real intrigue. The Dragonlord froze, but he was a being of pride and myth and flame. There was no option, and he growled.

“Only the Crown of Flowers, brat? Up your wager and you have a deal.”

Who fell for whose trap? Neither one might know, but then they were hashing out the terms of the wager, and Magnolia was formulating the <Quest>’s terms. Teriarch muttered at her.

“Unless you gained some kind of power I don’t recall, you can’t post <Quests>, though?”

She hesitated, tapping her lips.

“Yes…technically I count as enough of a leader to do so. [Guildmasters], [Innkeepers], and a number of those with leadership or ruling classes can post <Quests>. But it doesn’t work on myself. I should do something with <Quests>, but I was rather hoping Erin would demonstrate a few. Alas. I rather fancy we should prevail upon Larracel the Haven for this. I trust Demsleth could do it? He can’t resist a good meal, and I imagine he’ll be peckish in the wilderness without a bowl of mustard sauce five seconds away.”

He glowered at her, but agreed to take the terms of the deal to her. And that…was that. After a while, they went back to finishing the carriage and waited. Teriarch held as long as he could as she sipped tea, smiling and writing down notes she handed to Ressga—preparation for her work. He tried to see what she was writing with spells, but she’d warded the memos, drat her. At last, he coughed.

“You wouldn’t happen to wish to elucidate some of your actions? Just in case we end up fouling each other in the field?”

A sweet smile.

“If we run into each other, I imagine we will cooperate or foul each other as we must, old man.”

“Er, naturally, naturally. But where…?”

“Oh, I imagine a Dragonlord of Flames already knows every action I’ve taken. Anything less would imply he is being outwitted by a mere chit of a girl.”

“You brat. I’m remaking your carriage and I died and this is the thanks I get?”

He roared at her, and she pointed a finger at him.

“You only get to use dying once, Teriarch. Any more than that is crass!”

“Says whom?”

“Yourself!”

“Oh. Er, well—”

“And I note your counterpart has been sleeping around so prolifically in Wistram he has developed a reputation for it. I fear for Miss Griffin, and I trust you were behaving yourself around her, memory loss or not?”

Teriarch began spluttering as his chest heated up with embarrassment.

“You can’t blame me for—that deranged half-Elf is entirely different from me, even with the core memories. Clearly, he took a few blows to the head on top of—of course I never touched—is she in a relationship with that Veltras fellow or not?”

Magnolia made a face and dribbled tea back into her cup.

“Teriarch, do not make me imagine it. I cannot even see…are you sure your [Geas] didn’t addle her brain?”

“Yes! 99.6% sure. I, ah, I could analyze her next time we meet. Listen to me, girl. You have to admit from an impartial standpoint he has prestige, a rather high degree of martial fitness, handsomeness in that classical Veltrasian way—”

She was staring up at him with an expression that said ‘I really don’t want you to tell me what is attractive about Tyrion Veltras’. Magnolia handed her cup off to Ressga and spoke.

“The blood of innocents on his thoughtless hands?”

“Yes, a quintessential cup of attractiveness for young women! And young men. Alright, the coach is nearly ready.”

Ressa had come stomping back with a bandolier of weapons over one shoulder and, again, no maid’s outfit. She pointedly blew a plume of smoke out as Magnolia eyed her, and Reynold watched the carriage descending. Teriarch smiled.

Marvellous work if he said so himself. This carriage was actually bigger than Magnolia’s old one, and it had a far larger driver’s section with actual armor shielding Reynold. Even the spacing of the reins was meant for horses far larger than normal.

“Note the uneven sectioning of each animal? I’ll wager they were meant for Bicorns or some other magical monster.”

“Hmm. Corusdeer, I think. Greater variants. They were a terror on the roads.”

Magnolia inspected the black-and-green pattern that was not nearly as garish as you might imagine. At night, the pattern of snake-flowers would probably appear to writhe at high speeds.

Obviously, it was a bit too much in the classic Evil Empire genre of construction for Teriarch’s tastes, but dead gods, you had to admire the lines on the vehicle. One curling strut, like a biting viper, was cooling from his magic, and he buffed it with the tip of his wings until it shone. Reynold’s eyes were lighting up with delight; he could tell what a specimen this vehicle was, and Teriarch himself had to sigh.

“Reinharts love their carriages. I did fine work on this, if I may say so myself. Would you like to take it for a test drive? I’ll need to enchant some [Spectral Horses] since I doubt you have any yourself.”

“I think it will be good to take Ressa to her destinations. What enchantments do I have?”

Magnolia paced around it as Teriarch began to rattle off spells.

“All the standards. [Soundless Wheels], [Sustained Invisibility]—not greater; it just drains too much mana. A few splendid ones; I’ll make a list. [Scythes of Chariel], utterly classic—”

“Most will take up too much magic. Recharging it is such a pain, and I will not have it inoperable in the New Lands or anywhere the Drakes could pick it up. I may test a few while we’re with you, but I doubt we’ll do much with them.”

…Dead gods but she could sometimes, genuinely, take all the joy out of life. Ressa, Reynold, and Teriarch glared at Magnolia, who was utterly immune to their looks.

“None of you are paying for this coach’s upkeep! Yes, it is splendid work, old man. It just needs one alteration…”

He was huffily adding a bit of flair to the mana-horses.

“I don’t see what could possibly be added unless you want your own name or crest on it? A stylish fleur next to the handle? Ah, that would be good.”

He was conjuring a bit of paint when Magnolia smiled at him.

“Not precisely. Nor do I need to trouble you with this particular part. I do have experience here. Reynold? The cherry blossom pink, I think. Though I will take a few swatches.”

Teriarch’s mouth opened in horror as Reynold paused, a look like a man stabbed through the guts upon his face.

“Magnolia. You can’t—I know you have your foibles, but this is a work of art. It would be a crime to—the art! The state of history—”

——

Eighteen minutes later, a pink carriage and Goblin stood, dripping in the sunlight, and Teriarch was staring at the ground with Reynold. Ressa merely shrugged.

Pink. The magnificent lines, the subtle embellishments of House Reinhart’s sigils—pinkified. Not even shades of it, simply one color.

“Do stop sulking, Teriarch, and get aboard. Reynold, have a backup driver since you’re going with Ressa. And someone wash Ressga off?”

One of the Antinium [Butlers] hurried forwards, and Teriarch eyed the new members of Magnolia’s servants.

“You never did say what powers you got from hiring the new species.”

“No, I didn’t. Though I am quite happy with Ressga. She brings energy and joy back to our household, wouldn’t you say, Ressa?”

“Hmf.”

Magnolia leaned over to Demsleth as they got into the carriage.

“She rather likes Ressga, but she doesn’t know what to do with genuine affection.”

“Naturally, a crippling issue she’s suffered all her life. The Healer couldn’t cure that.”

Ressa threw an elbow that had Demsleth doubled over, then kicked Magnolia so hard the [Lady] swore a blue streak. Rather spitefully, Reynold had also popped Ressga in the driver’s seat. The dripping Goblin could drive—but Magnolia eyed the backup driver with considerable dismay as they began moving.

Then they were off, streaking south towards the New Lands. And Tenbault…Teriarch sat there, letting his main body rest and practice breathing exercises as they spoke in the carriage. He watched the world streaking by as Reynold got a feel for the carriage, then tapped at the window.

“I say, should we let those people on board?”

Magnolia’s lips twisted, and she hesitated as they flashed by a flinching group of—she coughed.

“They are Vampires, old man.”

He gave her a severe look.

“Children.”

“Children who could rip my head off. They’ve made it this far, and I very much doubt they’d enjoy my company. Suspicion might attach itself to them if their kinsfolk see them in my vehicle.”

Doubtless, she was right. Teriarch sighed and sat back. They rode onwards at increasing speeds, and Ressga was gasping and giggling from the front. Magnolia smiled despite herself as she watched the landscape blur behind her.

Reinharts did love their carriages. Teriarch contented himself with inspecting the inside of the carriage.

“You won’t make this pink, will you? It would be such a sin—”

“I’ll leave the upholstery alone, old man. But I’ll need a few blankets, maybe a couple of hampers, certainly some good pillows—we have that lovely throw from Drath, don’t we, Ressa?”

He changed the subject to avoid puking.

“Er, one question occurs, Magnolia. This Lord Krallis you spoke of. The one with the contracts. Whatever became of him…?”

Magnolia stopped conferring with Ressa about the redecorating of the carriage and smiled. Just once, a blade of a smile unlike her genial, if sometimes pressing demeanor. A blade like a guillotine’s edge.

“If I recall correctly, he died four years after that, almost to the day. Ressa?”

“Blade in his cereal bowl. Tragic.”

Ressa didn’t glance up from writing in her journal. But Teriarch, Ressga, and Reynold were peering at her, and Teriarch had to ask…

“You mean in his cereal? Painful.”

“No, through the cereal bowl. As he raised it to drink the milk. Straight through the left nostril, through part of the brain, and then he drowned in his bowl. Tragic. Or so I was told. Took him three whole minutes to die.”

“Terrible.”

Magnolia agreed, and Teriarch sat back.

“Well, such is the fate of all poor men in a just world.”

I simply wish you did not have to be the hand of that morality. But she knew that, and so they sat in silence. Magnolia spoke after a few more minutes of riding.

“I do truly wish I could address Tenbault. I know it’s handled, but it is so embarrassing to have the young clean up after my faults. Especially the young women I dismissed as being completely superfluous to any change in this world.”

He smiled at her, then, in a grandfatherly way.

“Welcome to age, young woman.”

She groaned.

“I’m not old, old man. You are, both in spirit and age. I—oh, look, [Bandits].”

She pointed, and everyone twisted around to see a group of Drakes on horseback in the distance. Teriarch squinted.

“You’re very sure.”

“[Lady] aura. They reek of malice. Well, alarm. Oh, Reynold! Detour!”

He was already turning, and Teriarch recalled, too late, Magnolia’s fondness for a certain activity in her carriage. He was protesting.

“Magnolia, this is not how such carriages are meant to be used. I just made it—”

“This is exactly how Great-Great-Great Grandfather Corlitor would have wanted me to use it, Teriarch. Well, except that he’d have probably approved if I ran over commonfolk in general. Let me see, let me see…you know, it really struck me that you were right. I don’t change the world as much as I could, and I have grown complacent.”

Magnolia was fishing for the list of spells he’d written down, and she glanced up at him.

“…But in this, I like to think I made Izril different each and every time. Let me see. Oh—interesting. Reynold? Spin ninety degrees and activate ‘Trebuchet Mode’ at your convenience.”

“Er, naturally, Lady Reinhart.”

Teriarch was peering at the rapidly-approaching Drakes when he heard that. He twisted in his seat.

“What-mode? Let me see that. Which spell was—wait, that’s not a good idea. It doesn’t activate any magic, it just—”

Too late. The carriage, unfortunate [Bandits], and Dragonlord of Flames were introduced to one of Corlitor Reinhart’s favorite spells as Reynold spun the carriage until it was facing the bandits, hit the spell—and the magical horses and reins disengaged from the carriage. He and Ressga flinched as the front of the carriage shot down, engulfing them in armored ironwood, and Teriarch felt gravity anchor spells activating, pressing him into the seat. And then?

The carriage kept going. Only, the momentum of the sudden transition meant it was being hurled at speed—sideways—and so it flipped.

And hurtled through the air at the [Bandits] like a multi-ton stone thrown by, well…a trebuchet.

Hence the name. Gravity spells protected the people inside the carriage from being tossed around, but they did rotate multiple times as the carriage rolled over everything in its path. Only after eight turns did the magic pop it back onto its wheels and the driver’s compartment shielding retract to reveal a dizzy Ressga and Reynold.

And a lot of blood. Everyone began exiting the carriage, and Magnolia Reinhart wiped at some tea that had splashed all over her dress.

“Ah. Well. I think I will use that one in very specific circumstances, but you must admit, what style. Then again…I hope this has cleaning spells built in. Old man? Old man…”

She turned, and Demsleth staggered out of the carriage to empty the contents of his stomach. So did the poor Dragonlord’s actual body in the High Passes. Even if it was simply a copy of him, seeing through his eyes as the world rotated multiple times a second—

Magnolia patted him on the back. Then she glanced north.

“Back in the carriage in five, everyone. Ressa and Reynold have places to be. Oh, and Ressga?”

“Yes, Lady Reinhart?”

“I’ll drive on the way back.”

“Aw.”

——

At the same time as a Dragon was puking, an Antinium [Baker] was giving bread to the hungry and taking up the world’s attention. And, at the same time, unnoticed by almost all, an inn was preparing to go on a trip.

Preparing. A word not oft-used in conjunction with The Wandering Inn, but there it was. They had called for allies. Not in the expectation of great battle or loss, but for once, the opposite.

“Atten-shun, you miserable maggots! We are going to hit them here, here, and here! Each group has your orders. I don’t want a single casualty! No one gets hurt, everyone goes home, and we have a packed lunch! Any questions?”

Nanette had her boots on and a vest she’d hand-dyed to look like one of those Earth camouflage vests, though how exactly it was supposed to camouflage her no one had any idea. She had a helmet too, and she strutted back and forth in front of a blackboard as her guests sat there.

Rags’ tribe from Goblinhome. Grimalkin and Lady Pryde. Archmage Valeterisa, Montressa, Bezale, and Relc. Even a bemused Wall Lord Ilvriss and a grinning Nerul.

It felt like overkill.

It was overkill. Colfa was helping Lyonette and the staff pack; they had carriages loaded in Riverfarm, and so most people were simply hanging out enjoying the scene. Ishkr, Asgra, Peggy—the staff was going with the [Princess], and only Earlia’s team and some of the Calanferians were staying. Lyonette was fussing, of course, but a little Gnoll girl grabbed a basket out of her hands.

Mother, I’ll take that.

“Oh, thank you, sweetie. Do we have all our emergency potions? And the tonics?”

Lyonette reached for another hamper, but one of the servants dashed over and grabbed it. Xinthe bowed to the [Princess].

“Your H—Lady Lyonette, please rest!”

They ushered her to a chair as Lyonette grimaced, but she had winced when she was bending to pick up the basket. She sat, and her skin—cracked—slightly. Another servant was there in an instant with some makeup, and Dame Ushar spoke.

“We are ready to go in eight minutes, Your Highness. Emperor Godart has prepared a small escort for us as well.”

“Oh, good. Let’s let Nanette finish her fun, then.”

They watched as Nanette waved the little stick she was using to point at the board. Someone raised their hand.

“Question, eh, boss-girl?”

“That’s boss-witch to you! Go on?”

One of the Redfang warriors was pointing at the board where Nanette had posted several illustrations. Of Tessa, Hekusha, the city, Crowdcaller Merdon, and his Gold-rank team.

“You say hit them there, there, there, and that good. But what about there?”

Nanette pointed with the tip of her stick right between Merdon’s legs.

“Here?”

“Yah, is a good place to hit.”

Nanette circled the spot with some red chalk.

“Good idea. I want them hit here—any volunteers?”

The Redfangs all raised their claws, and Nerul laughed as Ilvriss shook his head.

“This isn’t a game. Tessa…we’ve let this go too long, Uncle. And this is a pair of Named-rank adventurers, and the Healer is famous and rich.”

The [Diplomat] patted Ilvriss on the shoulder.

“Nephew, life is made up of such regrets and ‘we should haves’. We have to make the best of it, sometimes. A bit of levity takes the edge off. We are going, so let’s fix our minds on that, eh? Miss Nanette! Had you considered hitting the Healer in the posterior?”

She pointed her stick at him.

“Good idea, soldier! Volunteers to put a boot up the Healer’s ass? I’ll take three…”

It was a joke from Nanette, but Lyonette would do just that if she had to. She kept pausing to stare northwards. Tessa—it wasn’t like they’d known her longest of all the guests.

It wasn’t like Lyonette even knew Tessa that well. And it certainly wasn’t like Tessa was the greatest asset that the inn had. Elia was nervously checking her bow as Bird counted her arrows. Tessa could be the greatest obstacle to helping Tessa.

But…Lyonette murmured as she pushed herself up.

“I am sick of leaving people behind. Living and the dead. Vaulont, any response from the Healer?”

“None, Miss Lyonette.”

He appeared, and she nodded.

“Then we are going. Captain Todi, Captain Earlia, hold the inn until we get back. Nanette, dear? It’s time.”

The girl fell silent and took off her helmet as she grew serious, and the people sitting there stood. Mrsha exhaled, Relc cracked his knuckles, and Montressa and Valeterisa winced at the sound. Wall Lord Ilvriss checked his sword and rose.

“May I?”

He offered an arm to Lyonette, inspecting the faint crack on her cheek, and she just smiled at him. He didn’t know where the wounds had come from, nor would she say. But when the Wall Lord turned, her two daughters were behind the [Princess], and the Vampiress swept forwards to hold the door open like royalty. Servants and staff followed Lyonette, and the bemused Sinew Magus, [Lady of Pride], and the other guests watched Lyonette as she walked slowly down the hall.

It was Pryde who grunted.

“I rarely see that.”

“What, exactly, my dear?”

Grimalkin got a glare from her as she turned her head and glowered at him from the bag over her head.

“Don’t ever call me that again. What I mean is…that. You don’t see it outside of House Ulta.”

She waved her hand at the procession. Grimalkin peered at it.

“So many species? Coordination?”

“No. Pride. They’re proud of her. Do you know how many [Ladies], [Lords], [Princesses], or [Princes] have the respect of those they lead?”

The Sinew Magus watched the [Princess] pass him by. He nodded to her as she passed, and he began to stretch.

“Let’s make a statistical spreadsheet instead of speaking anecdotally, but I like your hypothesis.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. Then they were following the [Princess]. Joking, serious, moving.

Hoping they wouldn’t be too late.

——

Tenbault was known as the ‘City of Miracles’. The Healer’s city, where she could bring all but the dead back to health, or so it was claimed.

Only, no one called it that who actually came to Tenbault. It was always overcrowded, and the squatters’ camps could stretch for as much as a mile in any direction outside the city’s gates. The inside of the city was always overcrowded too, and there was constantly more trash than the [Cleaners] could keep up with.

It was a result of who came to the city. Supplicants hoping to win the lotteries for a healing that were taken daily, or important people who were willing to pay for a slot. After all, the Healer of Tenbault could only heal fourteen people a day if she had supporting spellcasters.

Twenty-two these days. She’d upgraded her magic. Merdon didn’t know what Hekusha had done, but after her kidnapping—and shouting at him and demanding more security she didn’t want to pay for—she’d done a lot of buying of magic.

There were these…wells. Literal wells of mana that captured it out of the air or somesuch. Like the Skills that [Mages] had. Merdon didn’t know; he was a [Warrior]-[Singer], and his old team, Orchestra, had never had a strong magical presence.

They had been a unique group of [Performer]-[Fighters] who needed no magic. One of the best teams of Izril. They had conquered Chalence, and he had made his fortune there. Squandered it…come to Tenbault and become the Healer’s bodyguard in exchange for handsome pay. He was seldom in danger, and if he could tolerate the lifestyle, it was a fine quasi-retirement. He’d lasted nearly twenty years like this. No one else had, even his ‘team’ of Gold-rankers, a hodge-podge of second-rates or impoverished adventurers he’d made into the security force of the city.

No one stayed long. Only Shriekblade came back. Tenbault was a miserable city. Only those in pain came here, and their desperation, their agony, seeped into the stones.

Everything cost too much in this city. Prices were high on food, bedding, and it was all aimed at getting the Healer’s attention. Bright clothing so she noticed you in the crowd, the right inns with tips on how to win the lottery or whom to bribe.

People…waiting. Waiting for months, years, or until they died for a miracle. Some had waited a decade. Those were the worst. They called out to Merdon when he walked the streets, preyed on newcomers for coin or out of spite.

Like parasites, eating and sucking the life out of newcomers to extend their own lifespans a while longer, bloated and writhing with disease or wounds, faces upturned to that mansion in the center of the city, the palace on a hill with white marble walls from which the Healer would descend to cure them.

Twenty-two a day. As many as a hundred new supplicants might come to Tenbault on a slow day. They would never, ever clear the backlog of patients here for Hekusha, but that, Merdon had observed, was how she liked it.

Each day, the lottery took part in the squares where you were given a slip of paper and your name was noted down in the ledgers, guarded by City Watch with huge clubs. Lots of people tried to mess with the rolls, so a Gold-ranker was assigned to each plaza. Five were chosen from the lotteries; five more from the Healer as she pointed out whom she decided to save.

The rest were ‘private’ healings for [Merchants], nobles, and the like. But it would be a lie to say that the lottery healings were free.

The price to be healed of any ailment, most wounds save limb loss, and anything else by the Healer of Tenbault was simple: a hundred gold coins. As little as twenty if she picked you out personally. The [Clerks] would take what they could get, and there was the Merchant’s Guild for loans…if you were picked, you could pretty much pay the price.

It was getting to be one of the twenty-two lucky souls each day that was the nightmare, and it used to be far fewer. Merdon remembered a time when it was only four. Four per day…

Dead gods. He was shaving in his sumptuous apartments that morning, his double-king bed unmade and messy, the balcony leading into the interior courtyard blowing in perfumed scents and some leaves from the damn trees in the courtyard. He rose at dawn, and he’d be addressing his ‘team’, the Healer’s Wards, at breakfast. They had a private training ground, eating hall, servants, and staff—anything to keep them from being in the city.

In the city, everyone would be begging for them to take word to the [Healer], from the rich to the poor. Charm skills, threats, pleas, offers for sex, money—yes, everyone wanted to be on that lottery.

After all, the [Merchants] and nobles didn’t want to pay quite as much as the Healer cost, so they’d stick around for months until desperation or whatever they were suffering from made them pay thousands of gold for her favor. Tens of thousands, sometimes, for an overnight healing.

The richer you were, the more trivial your complaint. Merdon, as Hekusha’s bodyguard, had to be with her whenever she was in danger, so he attended every healing she had to do. And had to see what she healed.

Nobles? It was almost always something like pustules on the groin, a rash of warts, or an injury turned into a disease that a healing potion or regular [Healers] couldn’t treat. Sometimes a real injury.

Commonfolk? Lots of variance. Diseases were common, but anything infectious got you exiled to the Plague Quarter—and you could not exit it. They still had access to the lottery, though, overseen by very unhappy people wearing enchanted masks and gear to keep them from joining the sick. Otherwise, it was malformed bones, an inability to breathe right—

Children. Merdon had learned not to look too closely at the supplicants. Children were the hardest for Hekusha. Because she cast [Restoration]; she couldn’t always heal something.

That was when he was needed and it got ugly. Hekusha had a lot of Skills devoted to making the mana-intensive, difficult spell easier to cast and more applicable.

[Normative Healing], [Reduced Mana Cost: Healing], [Idealized Restoration]—it meant that even if you were born with, say, some condition that made your blood bad and your limbs turn blue from lack of air or whatever one ailment he’d seen had been, she could restore someone to a ‘better’ outcome than they’d been born with. Even get it to stick, sometimes.

Other times, the [Restoration] just—failed. Or a month later they were back, screaming she’d tricked them.

Hence the [Clerks]. They would take you aside if you were chosen and ask you every question Hekusha had come up with. Trying to ensure that she didn’t fail. The most-hated group in the entire city were the [Clerks], the adventurers being the second-worst.

In the silence of the morning, Merdon heard the artificial recordings of harp music being piped through Hekusha’s palace. But his ear could tell it was a failing music spell. The quality of the enchantments diminishing, too echoing, and it hadn’t been a great performance either. His hearing was too good; he could hear the oppressive [Mass Silencing] spell around the mansion. And beyond it, even at dawn, the swell of voices.

They were chanting for her. Begging.

Praying.

The praying was new. He hated it. Merdon nicked himself with the edge of his straight razor and cursed as he glared at his thick jawline in the mirror. Scraggled brown hair not yet combed back with his expensive hair products hung over his bloodshot eyes. His armor stood on a rack behind him, enchanted plate, a mace and shield. Tessa standing in the corner staring at him. Not the greatest artifacts, but he only needed to be safe. His voice was his weapon, and he reached for a spray bottle to treat his throat with.

He was opening his mouth when his mind registered the invisible Drake, and he whirled.

“Tessa!”

His [Cone of Sound] attack blasted the spot where she was hiding and knocked her and everything in front of her flying. Merdon spun for his mace and shield, but the Named-rank adventurer merely slammed into a wall, fell down, and stared up at him.

Like a lifeless doll. Strings cut, mouth drooling, eyes yellowed from last night’s drugs. Merdon seized his weapons and slammed his helmet onto his head, never turning away from her.

“Get out! I warned you—get out of my rooms!”

No response. He cursed and then raised his voice.

“Servants? Servants!”

They came running as he projected his voice out of his rooms, then froze when they saw Shriekblade.

“A-Adventurer Merdon?”

“Get my armor out into the hallway. Shriekblade, get the hell up. We’re working, you shit-for-brains.”

He snarled at her. When she didn’t move, he kicked a pillow at her. It bounced off her face and landed there. He spoke to the servants.

“Get the armor into the hallway!”

“W-what should we do with—?”

“Don’t touch her. Just ignore her and let her go. Armor. Now!”

It took three of them to wrestle his armor into the hallway, and when Merdon directed his attention back to Tessa, he felt his heart palpitate.

The pillow was in shreds. Ripped up, cut to pieces. She still lay there, but the down pillow had been obliterated. Why?

It was obscuring her vision. She never, ever let anything obscure her lines of sight. If Merdon was the greatest voice in Izril, who could blast an army with sound and leave them deaf or send a Griffin flying with his voice—Shriekblade was the dagger-expert.

Not a [Rogue] who did traps. Not an [Assassin] with stealth. Just blades. She came at you and didn’t stop. She was all offence; the scars traced all over her black scales were proof of what it cost her. If they fought, Merdon would kill her if he saw her coming at range or he could hit her in a place where she couldn’t maneuver.

If she reached him, he died. They’d fought before, when she was so mad on drugs she thought he was a foe. She never attacked Hekusha, but the Healer had saved his life more than once from her blades and her from his crippling sound attacks.

Only when the servants had his armor in the hallway did Merdon back up to the door and slam it. He put a foot against it as he wrestled his armor on and shouted.

“Breakfast in five, Shriekblade! If you’re not there I’ll have the Healer eject you from the city!”

No response. He cursed and whirled on his heel. She was worse than normal, and she was never good when she came to Tenbault.

——

“Healer.”

“Merdon. I’m counting the month’s takes. Is it low? Why is it so low?”

Hekusha sat with her Veils of Deterge hovering around her private bedspread, a sanctum of chambers far larger than his. The veils were enchanted to keep plague or anything else away from her. It gave her a gauzy, enigmatic appearance since they shielded her from sight. Merdon pushed them aside, and she glared at them.

“If you damage—”

“Shriekblade was in my rooms this morning. She needs healing.”

A pause. Hekusha’s eyes flickered, and she stopped poking at the abacus and scroll floating in front of her on anti-gravity enchanted pedestals. She slipped into Sariantwool slippers and clapped her hands.

Her bed was a pool of silk and mattresses in a vast circle, a swimming pool of cloth. It had been faintly humming to Merdon’s ear, though he knew she could not hear it. The heating enchantment in the sheets deactivated, and in another chamber, he heard the clank of motion.

Her Cooking Golem from House Terland stirring to life. Hekusha spoke.

“Golem, Chandrarian breakfast. Surprise me. I healed her last week! I don’t have mana to waste.”

He grunted as she walked towards the privy and heard birds begin to sing. She pointedly closed the door, but he leaned against the wall and projected his voice. He could be heard anywhere in the city if he chose. And he could hear everything, despite doors and walls. He was used to it.

“She’s unstable. If you don’t heal her, she won’t work.”

“I should be getting more effort out of her.”

He didn’t respond to that. Time was that Hekusha wouldn’t have admitted Tessa without a lot of gold, but the times were changing.

“We need her. There’s that serial killer in the city.”

The door opened, and he recoiled from the stench. Hekusha’s voice was plaintive.

“Can’t you find him? I want him gone, Merdon!”

He retreated a dozen paces, growling.

“Whoever’s doing it—I don’t have tracking Skills, and neither do the team. Shriekblade is the only one.”

“Can’t you hire someone? The—the whatshername. The Drake.”

“A Watch Captain of another city? No. If you want [Rogues] or [Trackers]—it’ll cost a thousand gold per head.”

“A thousand?”

“To fight someone who’s beheaded at least sixty people in this city and cut a hole across this region? If they’re Level 40 or higher, it’ll be ten thousand per. Only Shriekblade is crazy enough to do it for less.”

“I suppose that’s worth the…fine. Send her to me. And I want your team to watch the lotteries! Someone keeps forging names onto it.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“I want it stopped, Merdon! It’s costing coin! We’re down 32% this month even with potions being out of stock! And some keep trying to pay in other currencies. Like that Terland…whatever it’s called.”

“Terland Tithel. You don’t take any?”

That surprised Merdon; he’d acquired fifty such coins in case they appreciated in value, but Hekusha gnawed on a fingernail, then grimaced; hers were painted, and she’d gotten a chip in her mouth.

“Ptuy. No! My Merchant’s Guild representative assures me they’re a passing fad, and it’s too complex…only gold. But between that and those fraudulent scrolls on the market—”

“From Liscor.”

Again, Hekusha was surprised, but Merdon was a Named-rank adventurer. He might not be active, but he kept abreast on this kind of thing. He had [Informants], bought news…he’d tried to get one of those scrolls, but they were like healing potions: far too expensive for him to buy just to test their effects. He was Hekusha’s bodyguard; he didn’t need one. The Healer muttered.

“Whatever they’re supposed to do is impossible. I wrote as much to the news channel, but they didn’t take my letter! There is no magical spell short of [Restoration] that can do what is being claimed. None.”

She was the authority on healing magic, so Merdon took that as the truth, but…he’d heard they worked.

“Could they be a Skill?”

“Hah! No. Maybe? There can’t be that many. Healing is not that easy. It’s just an excuse for people to try to pay less, anyways. But why is commerce so poor? Even with all that, we should be up, up—visitors are down, spending in Tenbault’s shops are down—”

She was the de-facto ruler of this city. There was a [Mayor] but Hekusha had a percentage of the city’s taxes and incomes from businesses. Merdon sighed.

“It’s the New Lands. People are spending for that. And with the Last Light’s lessons to [Healers]—”

He made a mistake. Hekusha’s voice rose into a half-scream.

“She’s a fraud! That damn Dullahan isn’t the real Last Light! She cuts people up and sews them together like Stitch-folk! Why would anyone go to her?”

“…Because she answers their letters and has a segment on television where she gives out medical advice for free? I heard lots of [Healers] are counterlevelling because of the lack of potions.”

Hekusha emerged from the bathroom after the magical bidet activated. Her face was pale with indignation. She chewed on her lip.

“Twenty…three today, not including Shriekblade. Have the [Mages] all report to me now. No, after breakfast. Where’s my [Promoter], Rigle?”

“Probably drunk and lying abed.”

“Send him to me, now. I want more [Bards] to advertise to the north and south. Maybe the Drakes…has anyone come back from the New Lands yet?”

“No. They’re probably dying there.”

“Well, some will be rich enough. What are you standing around for? Leave me to my breakfast, Merdon. Go, go!”

He went, growling orders at the servants. He wouldn’t have to see Hekusha for at least four hours. She would be a long time at breakfast and in her quarters; the lottery was at midday, and she wouldn’t bother to leave the mansion until then. In the meantime, he addressed the troops.

——

“Listen up.”

No one did, so Merdon raised his voice and slammed the butt of his mace on the table.

“Listen up.”

His voice filled the dining room where hungover adventurers, sixteen of them, were sitting, and it was so loud they winced and swore, but when they glared at him, his eyes made them shrink back.

Gold-ranks in the presence of true greatness. He counted them.

Debtors like Merge and Rave; outcasts like Pilgim, scratching at his scabs and eating them, lazy; Clarenessa was putting her head back down; or just here for a paycheck like Madriga and Anabeva.

The latter two seemed like they were mildly sick despite not having drunk. They’d leave soon. Their contract was up in a month, and he’d never see them again. Merdon wanted more adventurers like the two Gold-rankers. He could trust them not to be bribed. He took a breath as he glared at his plate of rich food prepared by a [Chef] with [Expert Cooking]; something fanciful involving goat’s cheese and salad drizzled with a vinegar.

“Listen up. The Healer is tired of people forging their names onto the rosters. I want eyes on the [Scribes] and the crowds. Double-fucking check the names that get selected before you call them in. Whoever it is can’t forge all the lists.”

“Got it, boss.”

Anabeva spoke into the flat silence, and someone sniggered.

“Goody two-shoes rookie.”

The [Ranger] half-turned and began to rise, but Merdon shot a compressed [Cone of Sound] at the speaker.

“Merge. Shut—up.”

The blast kicked the [Warrior] out of his chair and sent him flying across the room. Armor or not, levels or not, he landed, crying out, tumbling, reaching for his sword and swearing—when he saw Merdon watching him, he froze, raising his hands.

“Fucking—I was just—”

“I don’t have time for your shit, any of you!”

Merdon roared, and they flinched. He slammed the mace’s handle down again and glared as some of his breakfast landed in his lap. No one dared laugh. He spat.

“There’s the serial killer in the city. Unless you want to join the hunt for that? I didn’t think so. Deal with the lottery or I’ll have you hunting for the murderer.”

That made them nod quickly. None of them wanted to fight an actual killer. He hoped they’d do their jobs for once. Merge was getting back up, swearing softly, forgetting Merdon could hear him.

“That fucking loudmouth bastard. I swear I’ll gut him someday—”

“Shut your yap, Merge. He’ll blow your eardrums out—”

It was all talk. None of them had the guts to take him on. If they were real adventurers, they’d be with their teams. Or, in the case of Madriga and Anabeva, they’d just be here for gold and not want to risk their lives.

That was it. Merdon sat back down and began to chomp down his food as conversation resumed, a few lame jokes, muttering about the damn crowd—the adventurers had learned to hate them, even the new ones—when there was a ratatat of knuckles on the door. Then a voice.

“Captain reporting for duty, sir!”

The female voice was loud, good-natured, and it sent a chill down Merdon’s back. He froze up, fork raised to his mouth, napkin tucked into his armor, and everyone went still.

“Is that a new adventurer or…?”

Merge was slow on the uptake. He turned to Merdon and saw the Named-ranker’s eyes on the door. There was a beat.

“Captain? Am I in the wrong place? Tessa Sharpclaw reporting for duty, sir!”

No one moved. If Merdon had commanded everyone’s attention and gotten a flinch from them, true fear swept the room in a moment. Everyone put their hands on their blades, and Merdon’s heart began to beat in his chest.

She was comatose this morning. Hekusha healed her. It’s barely been twenty minutes and she’s already on another drug.

“Shriekblade, knock it off. Enter.”

“Sir?”

The door slid open, and there she was. Hands tucked behind her back, standing straight, armor on, her neck-spines combed back. She looked and sounded like a young rookie adventurer, and she was smiling.

She scared him. Merdon saw her stride forwards and shoot him a salute.

“Captain Groms? I’m reporting for duty, sir.”

——

Tessa Sharpclaw was nervous her first day in the new headquarters, but Groms was a good [Captain], merely—grumpy. He glared at her as he motioned her over to the other adventurers.

“Sit down and shut up, Shriekblade.”

Not her name, but she sat, trying to show him she could handle the cut. He was a Gold-ranker, and she knew she was just a talented Bronzer, but Salazsar’s Adventurer’s Guild had recommended her for his company.

Company, not team; he oversaw a bunch of adventurers and organized them into squads for the day, unlike how they did it elsewhere. Working for him got her foot in the door, and if she had a recommendation—she came to a table of four adventurers, who leaned away from her.

“Hi, I’m Tessa. Do you mind if I sit…?”

One of them was a Human man. New to Salazsar? You didn’t get many here, but she realized the entire table was Human. She tried to smile and remembered not to show her teeth. She didn’t have a problem with Humans!

“N-no. Go ahead.”

“Do we have breakfast or do I get it…?”

Someone came over to take her order, and Tessa asked for some simple oats and a piece of gristle-meat, then sat. Everyone was pretty quiet, but when she asked, they introduced themselves.

Merge, Rave, Madriga, and Anabeva. Three women, one man. It made her feel excited! Women instead of men was a bit more relaxing—not that Tessa minded being flirted with occasionally. It was just—awkward.

Fortunately, Captain Groms never did that with her. She’d known him six-years already, and he was always looking out for her. Tessa leaned over to Anabeva.

“Are you new with the Miner’s Guard? I’ve been here six years, and I can’t remember seeing you. Tessa, Silver-ranker.”

“Wh—I thought you were new. I’m Anabeva. We’ve met. Gold-ranker.”

Tessa’s eyes widened.

“Gold? I’m so sorry! I thought you were one of the new recruits—I’m very happy to work with you, Adventure Anabeva!”

She leapt up and began bowing. The Human woman turned to Captain Groms.

“Merdon Captain Groms…what do I…”

“Sit down and eat. Tessa, knock it off. We’re here to work. Even the Healer will kick you out if you don’t fucking behave.”

She frowned at him, confused. What [Healer]…?

“Absolutely, Captain Groms!”

Breakfast came, and she began to eat. She was starving, and the food was great. After a while, the others relaxed as she made small talk. One of them, Merge, smiled at her.

“So you, uh, worked with Captain Groms for six years?”

“Yup. We go way back, right, Captain?”

He must have been tired today, because he raised his face from his plate and simply stared at her.

“Longer than that. Sixteen years.”

That was wrong, but she let it go. Merge jerked a thumb at his chest.

“Well, I’m a Gold-ranker too, so you, uh, listen to me, okay, kid? I’ll teach you the ropes.”

There was laughter as Tessa ducked her head, promising to, and Madriga kicked the man under the table.

“Merge, are you insane?”

“What? It’s funny. Look at her.”

Tessa was sitting up in her chair, stretching, preparing for the job. She had her daggers ready, and she’d set up her belt with tools for the job. Nothing fancy. A few potions, ropes, even a backup pickaxe in case of collapses, though it was just there for moral support. Groms noticed.

“Where’s your bag of holding, Tessa?”

“My what, Captain?”

He growled again.

“Dead gods—you. Find it for her.”

Her bag of…? Tessa frowned, but then she brightened. Was that a gift for her? She smiled at him and resolved to thank Groms later. He was giving out orders, sending the adventurers out to work.

“Tessa, you’re hunting a serial killer with me. Everyone else, get to your posts.”

They were all standing, but a few of the adventurers, who all turned out to be Gold-rank, were lingering. They were whispering. Merge was encouraging them all.

“C’mon. We’re never going to get a chance better than this. Say, uh, Tessa. How’d you get into adventuring? Got any stories or—or run into any Relics or whatnot? Any tips from your work?”

He strolled over with six of the Gold-rankers, and Tessa blinked at him.

“Relics? You mean, like, in Salazsar? Never with the Miners. I’m just picking up a paycheck right now—I quit Captain Groms’ employ, oh, three years back. It’s now good, steady work between adventures, you know? But sure, I’ve seen a few things. Mostly in dungeons. Why, you looking for a team-up?”

Fellow Gold-rankers would be good to roll with instead of having to find the odd team. Merge blinked and then grinned.

“Yeah, sure. We could hunt some monsters. What about—”

“MERGE. Get to work, and stop dancing with Dragons!”

Groms roared, and they all flinched as his voice passed over them, but he hesitated as the others drew back.

“You, uh, said you found Relics? Any of them unrecovered? Valuable spots you couldn’t get to? Or something?”

“A…few.”

She hesitated. You didn’t hit Named-rank and tour most of Izril’s south without seeing a few sights. Getting hints of a big score, but they were merely that: hints. It was all politics, and sometimes you had to pass on a potential prize. But he was excited now.

“C’mon, share a few. Aren’t I the Gold-ranker and you’re the, uh, new Bronze-rank kid?”

She jumped and then stared up at him, open-mouthed. She began nodding rapidly as the other adventurers turned to eye her.

“R-right, yes, sir! Of course! Let me, um, I have a list on me, actually. My diary.”

She began searching for it, and his eyes lit up. He was leaning forwards when Captain Groms howled. He picked up his mace…

Mace? Groms used a sword.

“Merge, you bastard!”

Tessa’s head turned, but Merge was whining.

“C’mon, Merdon! Aren’t you curious? Or has she told you everything?”

Who? Tessa turned, and Groms was gone. A Human with a huge jaw, wearing enchanted steel armor and pointing a mace, was standing there. His voice was beautiful and vast, and his eyes were desperately scared and huge in his face. He had a bit-too bulbous nose from being broken, and he gazed at her like he knew her.

He shouted.

“You Creler-brained idiot! Stop asking her questions! She’s hallucinating!”

“Naw, she’s remembering the past. I’m just—”

Merdon’s voice dropped to a piercing whisper that filled the room.

“She’s hallucinating, you idiot. She never liked Captain Groms.”

His words provoked a quietude that made the people around Tessa grow still like statues, but also filled her head with a kind of silence. A ringing silence in which a bell seemed to chime again, and again, and the world around her wavered.

This rich mess hall vanished. The Humans vanished. She was in a far dingier set of apartments turned into lodgings for the Miner’s Guard, and she saw a Drake staring at her across his desk. He had a scar across one eye that left it pale and milky and sat hunched over, eating a Minerat as he met her for the first time.

“I’m going to beat the cockiness out of you, you brat.”

She stared at Captain Groms, her smile faltering as her saluting claw fell to her side. She stood there, not sure what to say as he began to shout at her.

Groms. Groms. Groms—

Tessa’s head rose as he raised a fist to punch her again. She drew her daggers. She heard a voice louder than thunder.

“Tessa! Stop!”

——

The Healer of Tenbault’s first patient that morning was Tessa. Her second, barely thirty-six minutes later, was Gold-rank Adventurer Merge.

Of course, she complained to Merdon. His reply was a bark that made her recoil from her speaking stone.

“She’s already on drugs! Didn’t you get her to stop?”

“Don’t you dare shout at me, Merdon! I told her to stop for a day, and she promised she’d quit—well, do something about her!”

“I’m trying—is Merge going to make it?”

“Yes. She tore out part of his, um…well, stomach? It might not be fully the same, but the spell’s working.”

Merdon lowered the speaking stone when he heard that and breathed out. Payments to Merge, though it was the idiot’s own fault, and everyone had seen it. If Tessa had killed him, they might not get any other recruits.

Tessa was standing in the empty mess hall, staring down at the blood on the ground. A shaking [Cleaner] was mopping around her boots. She’d gotten him thirty-seven times with the daggers despite five Gold-rank adventurers trying to pull her off him.

“Oi. Tessa.”

He called to her. She didn’t move. Merdon raised his voice.

“Tessa.”

When her head rose, her gaze was flat. Her features were contorted until it seemed like she was sick of the world, and she seemed hungover, exhausted, in pain, and he was glad. Because there she was. Shriekblade.

“What, Merdon?”

“We’ve got work. Take any more drugs and I’ll blast your eardrums out.”

“Mfh.”

He waited. She stood there, swaying. Wiped her mouth and found a glass of water on a table. Drank it. Then peered at him.

“Well?”

“He’s in the city. I don’t know if it’s a ‘he’, actually. Someone’s cutting up people in the streets. Expert slices. Some kind of mad [Killer], maybe, or a gang? It doesn’t look targeted. They have to die. Also, people on the road got killed too. Mostly [Bandits].”

“Okay.”

Tessa checked her blades and then looked around.

“Where’s my bag of holding?”

“I sent someone to search for it. Did you sell it?”

“I don’t know.”

She drank more water and then began to eat from a plate. Halfway through she puked. He saw a multicolored stream coming out of her mouth, although instead of a rainbow, each color was putrid. He grimaced.

“What the fuck is that?”

It was a morbid curiosity. He didn’t take drugs aside from drink. He didn’t even smoke; his lungs had to be pristine. She responded, voice still flat.

“Looks like…Roama’s Fancy.”

“The fuck does that do?”

Another shrug. She began eating again.

“What’d I do?”

“Hallucinate that I was Captain Groms. Stab a Gold-ranker nearly to death.”

Her claws paused as she ate from a discarded plate. Tessa glanced up.

“Sounds like Roama’s Fancy. Maybe mixed with something else. It makes you remember better days.”

“Huh. What were you on last night? King’s Draught?”

“What’d my eyes look like?”

“Yellow.”

“Sounds like it. We going?”

She pushed herself up from the table as vomit pooled onto the floor. The [Cleaner] was staring at it and the two Named-ranks, but Merdon just pushed his plate back after a final bite. He chewed, swallowed, sprayed his throat with some alchemical formula to keep it relaxed, and nodded.

“Lead the way.”

She began to walk towards the doors.

“Where’s the way out?”

“Left, then straight and a right. Lead the way.”

“Okay. Where am I?”

“Tenbault.”

She blinked.

“Was I healed recently?”

“This morning.”

She ran her hands over her body, felt at her face.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You’ve been here for months. Taking more damn drugs every day.”

Shriekblade stopped rubbing at her face, and her hands lowered.

“After the Winter Solstice. Right. Serial killer in the streets? Okay…whatever. Let’s go.”

She began to walk with more clarity, and he stomped after her. Everyone who saw them coming leapt aside or ran into other rooms. Merdon never got too close to Tessa, never let her walk behind him. So long as Roama’s Fancy was in her blood, he didn’t trust her. But she was here.

After a moment, he spoke.

“What the hell happened on the Winter Solstice?”

He hadn’t gotten a straight answer out of her all this time. Tessa merely shrugged.

“Draugr. Then assassins from Roshal. Failed my job. Client got kidnapped. I stabbed allies.”

“Huh.”

He’d heard it was bad there. Merdon exhaled, and Tessa stared at a wall for a moment. He poked her with the mace.

“Tessa, I’ve had it up to here with your shit. Get. To. Work.”

After a moment, she moved. Tessa spoke as she accelerated, and he had to jog to keep up. Now her face was like his. Bitter, alert, full of weariness to her marrow.

“I’m tired, Merdon. I hate it here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tessa. Just find that killer, and then you can do whatever you want.”

——

Merdon was wrong about the killer. He had limited intelligence from a rather inept Watch, and he was no expert in the matter. What he was wrong about was this:

It wasn’t one mass-murderer with a sword.

It was two.

To be more precise, two killers in two locations. One of them was in Tenbault, the other was coming down the roads. The latter killer was riding on the back of a Griffin, actually.

A massive, black-crested one with a reddish beak and claws named ‘Knives’. He was an ill-tempered, vicious Griffin even by their standards, and refused to wear the custom saddle most days. However, he suffered one woman to ride him, the young woman who sat on his back.

The second woman scared the shit out of Knives, so he tried to pretend she didn’t exist. They were circling down as the stranger hopped off his back, and both Knives and Lilian Woods shuffled their feet.

“Now remember, if you’re actually set about your foolishness, you’d better practice that swing. Give me another—now.”

Embarrassed, especially because it looked really stupid, the young woman lifted her weapon of choice and swung it through the air. It made a wind-cutting sound, and it was a fast chop. All the more impressive to the rolling carriage and passengers who stopped to stare at the two because…Lilian was holding a bow.

The second woman, who appeared older than Lilian by a century—literally—was grinning. She had a rucksack over one shoulder, and she drew a sword one-handed.

“Good! Give me a combo. That’s it—”

The clack-clack of her sword meeting the bow was fast, like the beating of a drum. Lilian attacked, panting, then stepped backwards and fired an arrow and another, her hands moving so fast that the watchers assumed it had to be a Skill like [Rapid Fire].

It was not. The second woman pivoted out of the way of the first arrow, then caught the second. She critically eyed it, then flipped it back at Lilian.

“You’re still a bit slow.”

“Oh—come on. I’m…a member…of the Wing of Shame of Kaliv! I’ve fought in a war.”

Lilian was drawing a third arrow when the greatsword slapped the top of her head so hard she bit her tongue. The old woman lifted the sword one-handed, and Knives growled, then flinched as she swung one eye towards him. Well, one eye, three pupils.

Her eyes were very…odd. They had multiple pupils in both eyes, giving her an unnerving appearance. Her skin was pale, showing blue veins, and she appeared rather frail. But she wore leather armor, and, you had to point this out, she was swinging an old greatsword around with one hand.

“You’re not fighting a war, Lilian. You’re up against a legend. So you’d better be fast.”

“If it comes to a fight, I’m dead.”

“It’ll always be a fight with her. The fighting is merely to buy time for the rest of it to work. Again.”

Clackclackclackclack—Lilian was swinging fast, then firing arrows as the older woman, Gadrea, stepped left and right, pressing her backwards. She seemed to know where each arrow was coming from and barely moved to dodge them. She was smiling, enjoying herself.

Perhaps a bit too much. At one point, Lilian lost her temper and shouted.

“[Flicker Arrow]! [Fourfold Draw]!”

She pulled back, fired four arrows that vanished as she loosed them. Gadrea planted the greatsword in the ground and pushed her body up.

She balanced, one hand on the hilt of the sword, inverting her body until she formed a straight line, and the arrows thunked into the ground around her blade. Lilian lowered her bow, and the people in the carriage exclaimed. Gadrea laughed as she landed.

“Apologies. She won’t be that fast. Probably. I’m just feeling a bit more like when I was young. Definitely better. I’ve been dilly-dallying too long, but I can’t help it.”

She flexed an arm, and Lilian tossed down her bow. She sat, panting for air, and then the carriage door burst open.

“Miss Gadrea, Miss—please, won’t you reconsider?”

Someone raced out of the carriage and almost threw herself at the Agelum, but that was unseemly, so Lady Eliasor halted. The girl was desperate. Gadrea turned, and her face softened.

“Ah, child—”

“Please come work for me. Please?”

The [Lady] begged as her staff tumbled out of the carriage, and Gadrea brushed at her hair. Lilian sat up, panting, and then there were [Riders] on the road.

“There she is! Miss Adventurer! Miss, we have another offer! We’ll pay you—”

Gadrea lifted her hands, smiling ruefully as she backed up. The consequences of her actions besieged her—well, not Lilian and Knives, they seemed ready to sneak away—but she had been training the duo ever since she’d met them a week ago.

As for Lady Eliasor? [Bandits] on the road holding up the frightened young woman. And it had been a group of [Thugs] in the city the Watch were from. Or was that the [Kidnappers] for Eliasor, [Bandits] for the Watch, and…?

She had lost track. The woman with strange eyes smiled, laughed, and she was old. Older than anyone here thought, but as they all knew, old people could be the scariest. And she…

Well, she had somewhere to be. But she’d taken her time and cut a swathe down across Izril. Nothing grand. Nothing to shake the fate of nations.

Just a blade in the darkness. Though—that justice that Gadrea dispensed was often the simple edge of a sword. Lilian patted Knives as he squawked at the newcomers.

“I know, I know, we’ll get after the job soon. As soon as crazy lady over there lets us go.”

They were pretty sure that if she jumped into the saddle, Gadrea couldn’t catch them, but she had once beheaded an entire group of [Bandits] with three swings of her sword. Neither of them wanted to risk it.

Gadrea was letting down the young [Lady] gently. She knelt and handed Eliasor something.

“I know you’re a [Lady], child, but I have a calling, and I cannot stay. I’m not the hero you need: you are. There’s that lovely, tough [Lady] who mentors you, isn’t there? Zanthia. She was a brilliant flower of a [Lady] in her time, with a love to set continents ablaze. Learn from her and her ways for they’re no less strong than the swinging sword. But just in case—”

Eliasor nearly dropped the dagger Gadrea handed her, but clutched it to her chest. She gulped, and the others beseeching Gadrea to stay hesitated.

“We need you, though, lady. You could do so much good…not that you haven’t already.”

She gave them such a guilty, bright smile, but then pointed.

“I know. But something calls me southwards, and I must go. I am sorry. I must know it before I die. Forgive me, friends, each one of you.”

She had to hug them all, even Knives and Lilian, before she let them go. Then, as the Griffin leapt into the skies, Gadrea saluted them with one hand. Continued walking down her road, humming a traveller’s song from centuries ago, a greatsword propped over one shoulder.

From then on, she made only one stop on her journey south, mostly out of curiosity. Gadrea halted by a crossroads sign and was about to take the other path when she frowned at a name on the sign.

“Tenbault. Ah, right. It’s probably a waste of time, but we were always curious, weren’t we? Even if we knew…”

She hesitated, but then jogged briskly down the road. Curiosity was going to kill the cat anyways, and someone had better be there to stop it.

That was how the Agelum came to Tenbault.

To say she hated it, well…

That would be underselling things.

——

Within an hour of coming to Tenbault, Gadrea was broke, and she’d lost the jewelry that Eliasor had given her as thanks for saving her from…whomever Gadrea had saved her from.

She handed the locket and jewel over to the stunned family of four with a smile, closing the mother’s hand around the gem.

“There. Use it to get out of this city. Your boy is better served somewhere safer and warmer. Just as I said, if he trains his body, he’ll get a [Warrior] class; the Skills will better serve than waiting for miracles.”

“You’re sure? Lady—”

Gadrea felt at her belt pouch for more coins and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have more to offer. I could give you this—”

The plain, steel greatsword wasn’t worth much, though. The family had to stop her from offering it, and Gadrea walked them to the entrance of Tenbault and helped them secure decent horses from the hostler. Then she exhaled.

“So this is the City of Miracles.”

“Hah!”

The [Hostler] spat into the straw. He went to cuff a horse trying to sniff at his dirty overalls, and Gadrea grabbed his arm.

“Hey, watch—”

He met her eyes and hesitated. Her smile was as gentle as her touch, but it refused to budge.

“We don’t mistreat animals or people where I come from, friend. The poor creatures are addled with flies. Isn’t there something for that?”

The stables were a mess. The [Hostler] began to bristle.

“Listen, you. You try dealing with a hundred damn visitors a day—at least! Everyone from haughty nobles to cheats and rogues. D’you think I’m mistreating them?”

“No, but the flies seem to annoy the horses.”

Gadrea indicated them as the buzzing cloud made several horses toss their heads. The [Hostler] glared.

“I don’t have any help nor a Skill t’deal with them. If I had but a day of peace, I’d muck the stables out—”

“Hoi, hostler! I need a horse!”

He cursed as someone struck a bell outside. Then he was striding off and away from the old woman. The [Hostler] found a horse for the man wanting to leave Tenbault, cursing the Healer, cursing this city, and who could blame him?

When the [Hostler] came back, it was with a guilty conscience to check on the horses. He couldn’t afford to get more than a potion to keep the bugs away for a while, but maybe—

—He returned to find Gadrea finishing mucking out the last berth in the stables. She brushed at her hair and grinned at him as she forked new hay into the stables.

“There.”

“Wh—how’d you do that so fast—”

The flies weren’t gone, but they were following the detritus she’d taken, and the horses were visibly happier. Gadrea just wiped at her brows, then cursed; she had muck on her hands, having worked without gloves.

“I used to be good with my hands. I’ve been feeling much better than I used to, of late.”

“Oh, come here for the Healer’s mercy?”

“Actually…I’m fine without, I hope. But if I was so lucky, I’d love to see it. I’ve been sick my whole life, you see.”

The [Hostler] shook his head as he hurried out with some water for her.

“If you want my advice, Miss, do as you told the others. Leave. It’s luck of luck to get the [Healer]’s attention, and there are plenty of [Gamblers] and the like who already manipulate it. ‘Lest you have the coin. And begging your pardon, but you don’t seem to have enough. It’s a hundred gold t’see her if you even get the lottery. Do you have that?”

“I gave my last coins to people in the camps.”

“What? Are you mad? They’re all [Beggars] there!”

“Some needed a hand and swore they’d leave if they had a chance. I hope they weren’t lying to me.”

She was insane. The [Hostler] stared at her, then glanced around.

“You cleared my stables faster’n a Level 20 [Stablehand]. I can’t pay you much, but…”

She forestalled him with a hand and smile.

“If you wanted to pay me in any way, I’d take bedding down in a spare loft if you’d allow me that? I plan on visiting the city a bit, but having a place to sleep tonight would be a comfort.”

“Just that? You’re going around giving away coins and labor for free? What, are you mad? Or is it a class?”

He looked her up and down, and Gadrea smiled at him with such genuine innocence he felt like he was speaking to a child or a bright stranger. Someone who didn’t fit in the world he knew.

“No. It simply feels good, doesn’t it?”

——

Good deeds did not always beget other goodness. But that was not why you did them. Nor were Agelum good by nature. They could be harsh. Cruel and dogmatic.

But the ones of House Shoel had been born into a strange union with their dark cousins. Their warring over the ages had ended, and this final peace was of a dying duo of species.

Gadrea was blessed by love, if not health. She had been fine with that, but this surge of strength that had brought her to Izril’s shores gave her hope that she might do more than rely on House Shoel’s wealth to make a difference.

The strength. She opened and closed one hand, and she had not felt so alive, even when she had been first born.

It was coming from further south. A conflagration of something beautiful. It lured her ever-closer, and she felt like there were other visions of beauty around her. Sparks of…something.

She’d even passed land owned by a Lady Bethal Walchaís that had some of what she wanted, but she wished to see the original spot that had called to her. And, the Agelum had to note, it was not all the same…whatever it was.

Faith. She intended to write Uziel a letter telling him and the Agelum what she had found and if it was an illusion or real, for it would change everything. One of her observations was that this growing phenomenon that she seemed to need and fed off of had variants.

Levels of strength. Conviction? As well as the targets. For instance, Lady Bethal had been a bit…desperate? And it had been aimed at something—someone. It had given Gadrea an uneasy feeling, as if she were encroaching into someone’s territory. Or pledging herself towards…

There was a danger here. So she had left quickly. The feeling to the south, around the High Passes, was far gentler in many ways and had no person strongly attached to it. Or maybe a person?

She couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t as committed. Gadrea would get there soon enough in her way; she was on a great and beautiful adventure, the kind she’d always longed for instead of all the wars and causes that had taken her time when she could stand and swing a sword.

However, rather to her displeasure…she found Tenbault had faith too. It was directed at the Healer, and it was strong, but it made her physically ill.

It was desperate, cloying, filled with madness and suffering, and it was wrong. It made her feel as though the people around here were exhaling foulness into the sky, and the faith was forming some cloud of ill-thoughts hanging over this city.

“—Foul as the wounds they bear.”

Gadrea was too sick to even use the few coins that the [Hostler] had given her to buy a meal—not that she could afford anything more than scraps. She was rapidly reconsidering a stay here, but the Healer was famous.

Like as not she can only cast [Restoration], according to our sources, but I should find out if she can help. Still, would Gadrea puke from staying here another hour?

Gadrea sagged against a filthy wall in the city, which was so overcrowded and messy with discarded bandages, people sitting because they had nowhere to rest—someone shoved at her.

“One side! Lord Gilthor to see the Healer!”

She went staggering and turned as she saw a group of muscled men beating a path through the city. They kicked over begging bowls, knocked people down. She heard a cry of pain and nearly reached for her sword, but stopped.

Not my continent. Better to help the fallen then swing a sword. She bent, then recoiled when she saw a woman clutching at an arm ridden with pox.

“Young woman, you’re infected. You’ll spread it—”

“Shut up! I’m fine!”

The woman screeched at her, but everyone around them had heard. They turned and began to scream.

“Disease! Diseased! Send her to the Plague Quarter! Guards! Guards!”

The woman tried to run, but the call attracted slouching [Guardsmen]. They poked long-handled ‘spears’ of wood at her, mancatchers, shouting, and then another group wearing enchanted robes and face-masks appeared. They began to shove the young woman towards a sector of the city that Gadrea was informed was where her kind had to be.

Informed—and tossed there herself. The walls of the high gates slammed shut as she argued with the gatekeepers.

“But I’m not sick. Nor have I touched—”

“Anyone in her vicinity goes here. If you don’t have any rashes or the like on the morrow’s morning, you can walk free.”

Over two dozen people in the street had been rounded up, and they were swearing at the [Guards], the woman, and Gadrea. The Agelum peered around and exhaled. Then found a spare shirt in her bag of holding to tear up. She began to make crude facemasks and handed them out to the others around her.

“Some city. Wear this and don’t touch anyone. Don’t drink from the wells.”

She was not immune to sickness herself; in fact, her constitution meant she might be more susceptible than they were. Gadrea wondered if jumping the walls was better than staying here, but she walked into the silent streets, avoiding the shuttered windows with splashes of paint marking them and the people sleeping under cots of filthy linens. She was ready to leap the walls and just run out of this city before it drove her to madness, but she halted when she found the first body in the alleyway.

——

It was a very, very neat cut. Merdon didn’t get queasy easily, but even he swallowed at the cut that went from shoulderblade to right under the heart. The corpse had begun to rot, and the insides were spilling out onto the street.

Plague Quarter. It was the scariest part of the city bar none; no crime compared to what might come out of here. However, the Healer paid for protections and enchantments on the gates that led in and out of here; she even received money from the Five Families.

It made more sense to send the sick here than keep them in their cities. So long as the plagues didn’t spread. Hekusha could also heal almost every sickness in the world. Those she couldn’t—

Well, Merdon had overseen a few times when they’d had to burn houses, quarantine those with a magical sickness, and evacuate parts of the city. Mostly, it was contained, but his skin crawled despite knowing he had all the gear on he needed to stay healthy. If he was sick, Hekusha would take care of it. But he wanted out of here fast.

Merdon had an enchanted facemask wrapped around his helmet that was supposed to help against such things, but he was going to have his armor washed and take a bath in the best soaps he had after this.

Tessa, by contrast, had inserted her gloves into the cavity and was feeling around.

“Dead gods, Tessa. Have you found anything?”

“Nope.”

Shriekblade drew her gloves away and wiped them on her armor. Merdon gagged.

“What the hell did this?”

“Blades. Sharp ones.”

Crowdcaller Merdon stared at Shriekblade. He was rapidly regretting taking her on this hunt, but Shriekblade knew her work. She stood.

“It’s not [Assassins]. Let’s go. I probably know where they are.”

“Wh—just like that?”

“Mm.”

She wandered out of the alleyway, and he waved at the Watch.

“Dispose of this. Burn the body or something. Shriekblade, wait!”

She waited as he strode over.

“How do you know it’s not [Assassins]?”

“No poison. Standard Guild policy to poison blades. Couldn’t find any in the wound.”

“You can read poison from the flesh even after it rots?”

That was impressive, but she shook her head.

“What am I, a [Hunter]? [Drug Hunt]. Works on poisons. Didn’t find anything I liked.”

…You could use Skills like that? He grunted.

“Most poisons don’t sound like something you’d enjoy.”

“You wouldn’t. Spider venom works if you’ve got nothing around.”

That was the tenor of most of their conversations. Merdon fell silent after a moment.

“How do you know who it is? Or who it isn’t?”

“[Assassins], [Thugs], all take coin pouches. Gangs leave markers.”

“Oh. Right.”

He’d missed that the dead man had his possessions. Tessa wandered into an alleyway, disturbing some of the residents who looked up at her and Merdon and began to beg. He opened his mouth, but she simply drew her daggers, and they backed up. Tessa glanced around, shook her head, and wandered out. She tried another street, seemingly at random.

“Also, I know who did this.”

“Wh—you do?”

“Mm.”

“And?”

She paused in kicking at shuttered and bound doors with the words ‘Plague’ slathered across the entrance. Glanced back at him.

“Ran into them before. It’s Midnight’s Laughter.”

If Merdon could have had a worse day—he stopped dead in the street.

“The Midnight’s Laughter? Aren’t they in Chandrar? The deadliest murderer in the world?”

“No, the other one, dumbass.”

He saw her walk on, then he was striding after her, head on a swivel. Merdon hissed at Tessa.

“But I didn’t hear any laughter! Don’t they use it when they’re killing their victims?”

And don’t they have a reputation for having killed even Named-rank adventurers? Nobles north and south, even a [General] in the middle of his camp? Merdon was about to call in every Gold-ranker when Tessa shrugged.

“Not always. They have to charge up their Skill. It’s…fifty…six people before it reaches maximum? They’re probably doing that here. They change continents sometimes. Kill in different ways to make it look like they’re someone else. They came here because it got too dangerous in Chandrar, probably.”

“And you can find them.”

“Sure, maybe. If I get close enough, we’ll sense each other. Then I’ll kill them or they’ll kill me, and we’ll get rid of them.”

She strode along as Merdon tried to work out how many levels of terrible this plan was before hissing at her.

“Forget about that! We’ll call the Gold-ranks up and go after them methodically! Lock down the city quadrant by quadrant!”

“Won’t work. When they know they’re hunted, they’ll run or hide. If you make them mad, they’ll get angry. Probably kill the Healer. Or you. Chasing them off is easiest.”

“Wh—and chasing them off won’t make them mad?”

“…Probably? But they’ll be mad at me.”

“And?”

“They won’t try to kill me. Too much work. Plus, we worked together on a job. Assassin’s Guild, before they murdered the old Guildmaster.”

Nothing she said made Merdon happy. He was sweating as he peered into the alleyways she was striding down.

“Should I hit them with a Skill or hold back…?”

They were rounding a corner, and Tessa was giving him a look of actual disdain. Coward. He read it in her eyes, and his blood boiled. He opened his mouth as she drew her daggers when they heard the giggle.

It was a soft sound that penetrated the ear and was just loud enough to make you realize it wasn’t your imagination. A shiver ran all down his spine, and Merdon and Tessa whirled. They stared around; she pointed ahead, and they ran.

The second thing Merdon heard was a clang. A muffled curse, and he burst around the corner of the alleyway and found the strangest sight in his life.

A hooded, cloaked figure with a smiling mouth grinning out of the black hood, an illusion of huge, yellowed teeth, was holding a shortsword in one hand, a curved kris–dagger in the other. They were anchored to the wall of the alleyway, crouching on the bricks as if they had sticky boots. Midnight’s Laughter, the famous [Serial Killer], leapt upwards, summersaulting, all the while giggling, and the greatsword cut the air under them.

Then the white-haired woman, who could have been Merdon’s grandmother, kicked up and nearly took the serial killer’s head off. The [Serial Killer] parried the blow in a shower of sparks. Gadrea landed, checked her greatsword, and sighed.

A huge divot had been taken out of the steel. But the impact had tossed the hooded figure down the alleyway. They caught themselves, skidding on the ground, and Merdon and Tessa eyed the fight.

Expert blade-users, both of them. Merdon opened his mouth and barked.

[Cone of Sound], [Stunning Shout].

“Halt!”

Gadrea slammed into a wall and braced as the sound wall hit her, teeth bared. Midnight’s Laughter just vanished with a giggle, appearing on the roof overhead.

Merdon thought a curse as he drew breath for another attack, searching for Midnight’s Laughter. He couldn’t narrow his sound attack enough to avoid hitting the strange woman or Tessa if they were that close. If they forced Midnight’s Laughter back and gave Merdon an opening, he could unload at full volume. Tessa’s job was to screen Merdon, and she went in stabbing—

—the wrong person. The Agelum woman staggered, then ducked the stabbing daggers that plunged into the crumbling brickwork.

“Ach. I’m not the killer!”

“Tessa, you idiot, wrong one!”

Merdon roared, but Shriekblade kept stabbing. She lanced the air, and Gadrea ducked the flurry of blows and threw an uppercut with her free hand.

Fast—the blow doubled over the Drake, and Merdon saw the old woman back up and use the greatsword to keep Tessa wide of her.

Is she a Named-ranker too? She’s fast—he was so busy watching them he didn’t see the other shadow until he heard a giggle in his ears. Only Merdon’s ears saved him.

Not behind, to the right—he barked one word.

“No!”

[Voice: Remove Recoil]. He deactivated the Skill and used the force of his words to blow himself backwards a step. The blade cut the air right where Merdon’s face had been, and he swung his mace.

“DAMN YOU!”

Merdon’s earthshattering voice made everything tremble, and it slowed the hooded figure as they whirled towards him. He saw them raise their blades, criss-crossed, and his mace swung through their face and…

Vanished. A giggle, and Merdon saw Midnight’s Laughter disappear—again.

Some kind of dodge-Skill. Great. He whirled, putting his back to the wall, looking up—only to see Tessa go flying past him. She slammed into a wall, landed, and he roared.

“Shriekblade, what are you doing?”

She flipped onto her feet, and her eyes were huge, dilated. Then she seemed to re-focus and shook herself.

“Did I get—”

“Wrong one, idiot! Where’s Midnight’s Laughter?”

Gadrea was backing up, panting, head spinning as her strange eyes flicked around, and now Tessa and Merdon were back-to-back. She was panting, reaching for a vial.

“Giggling. That’s their Skill. [Laughter of the Invincible Killer].”

“What? What!? How do you defeat that?”

Gadrea and Merdon turned to Tessa, and she popped another cork off of a vial with pale orange dust inside.

“Keep stabbing until they run out of charges. It’s only giggling. Got to be fast. Going to [Amplify Drug]. Fifteen seconds.”

“That’s Selphid Dust. Don’t do it. She’ll attack everything, and it’ll damage her mind.”

Gadrea called out. Merdon grabbed for the vial.

“Tessa, put it down!”

The Drake wasn’t listening. She was tilting her head left and right.

“You there, Laughy? Wrong city. Gonna diediedie if you stay.”

Merdon tried to break her grip on the vial of Selphid’s Dust. She pivoted and then put her body under his, and he swore.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you—”

She threw him. The huge, armored man felt the world rotate, and he landed on the ground, but the air didn’t leave his lungs. He was ready to shout, and he felt a crawl down his spine as he heard a voice, breathless and high, whispering in his ears. Tessa was staring ahead of him, into the shadows.

Above.

“Gonna die, Shrieky. You’re all slow. Dying.”

Midnight’s Laughter plunged down, blades first, and drove both deep into Tessa’s shoulders. They would have gone through her but for the greatsword that flashed through Midnight’s Laughter’s body and made them vanish. Tessa stumbled, and the vial rose in her claws as the cloaked figure appeared half a dozen feet down the alleyway, hissing with annoyance. Tessa inhaled the dust made from a Selphid’s corpse, and her pupils turned into pinpricks.

Gadrea, Merdon, the [Serial Killer], all felt a prickle down their spines. Not fear, but pure instinct. The Drake known as Shriekblade went still for one second. Then her eyes rolled up in her head. She was stabbing.

“Tessa! Stop! St—”

Through the joints in his armor. At Gadrea as she dodged, unnaturally fast, then [Wicked Cuts] to her stomach, too fast. A slash across Midnight’s Laughter’s hood and a curse as she rammed the dagger through a hand. Across Merdon’s forehead, the [Serial Killer]’s legs, Gadrea’s arm—

All of them trying to back away from the blank-faced, screaming Drake who slashed and slashed, then fell flat on her face fifteen seconds later. Merdon would have hit the fleeing [Serial Killer] as Gadrea tried to bandage a bleeding artery, but then Tessa woke up. She moved half as fast as the backlash from the Selphid’s Dust hit her. Like a woman underwater.

Nevertheless, she planted a dagger in Merdon’s right foot, through his boot, and began to twist until he brought his mace down on her head as hard as he could. He raised the mace and would have swung it down again but for Gadrea’s arm. Only then did the Gold-rankers and Watch appear.

Midnight’s Laughter was long gone.

The Healer was not pleased.

——

“Stop it, Tessa. Stop it!”

Merdon was bleeding as he slammed her into the wall of Hekusha’s mansion hard enough to crack the plaster. Hekusha was waiting to heal him—and her—but not while Tessa was mad with blades.

The Selphid’s Dust was coursing through her, and she stabbed his arm again, despite his armor. He was panting.

“She’s…not going to stop. Someone get a [Message] spell, [Communication]—get a damn scrying orb to Salazsar now! Adventurer’s Guild!”

He tried to slam her into the wall again, but she was stabbing with her one remaining dagger, and he had to let go or lose his hand. She stood there, slashing at him, hopping around, head tilted crazily to the side.

“This is insane. She’s supposed to be on our side?”

One of the Gold-rankers had a bow drawn and was aiming it at Tessa. Merdon was reaching for a healing potion, and then he grimaced, watching blood run down his armor.

“Don’t fire it or she’ll leap. Just back up—back up—let it drain out of her. Where’s that scrying orb?”

Madriga had one, and she turned to him, pale-faced, as Gadrea lifted her greatsword, one-handed. She’d tied off the spurting artery, and her blood was—blue? No time for that. Probably some other species.

“Got them, Merdon. What am I asking for?”

“Her Anchor!”

“Her what?”

Merdon spun and shouted in the Gold-ranker’s face.

“The person who can calm a Named-ranker down if they go crazy, you idiot! Get one of them on the orb NOW.”

——

It wasn’t well-known what an Adventurer’s Anchor was. Mostly because the Adventurer’s Guild didn’t like to advertise that their best adventurers could be—a bit crazy at times. Nor was it always standard to have one, but most guilds with a Named-ranker who regularly visited had one.

The rather panicked [Receptionist] in Salazsar’s main guild tore through the files on Shriekblade as the Gold-rank adventurer screamed at him and made urgent calls via the scrying orb. They had three people on the list.

The first was Saliss of Lights, but Pallass’ Guild informed the [Receptionist] that he was out of contact range. So the second one.

“A-Adventurer Meelstom? Hello? I have a rather urgent emergency. You’re listed as the Adventurer’s Anchor for Miss Tessa? They’re having a crisis, and we need you to speak to them.”

The Gold-rank adventurer on the scrying orb of another Guild stared at the [Receptionist].

“I’m on the…for who?” 

“Shriekblade? Adventurer Meelstom, if you could say something to her, I could connect you to—”

“Shriekblade? I don’t even know her! I did a single adventure with her five years back. What do you mean I’m her Anchor?”

The Gold-rank Drake appeared astonished, and the [Receptionist]’s heart sank.

“But you’re on the list. Surely you remember her or you had some journey together…”

“It was a group of eighteen of us hunting Crelers. I don’t—she didn’t stab me, but that’s all. I’m—excuse me, I’m actually on a <Quest>, I can’t talk, and I can’t help.”

“Wait—but—”

That left the final person on the list. The [Receptionist] was relieved to note they were actually in Salazsar and had a City Runner dispatched at once. But when the final Drake appeared on the scrying orb, he was…

“Captain Groms? I have a small issue with—”

“You have to stop doing this. Stop…stop calling me.”

The rasp from the scrying orb made the [Receptionist] double-check it, but the orb was dark. Because the Drake was in a dark room. His voice sounded haunted as he croaked.

“I told you, again and again, stop calling me. I don’t want to ever hear that thing’s name again. You understand? I’m not going to calm her down.”

He didn’t sound at all like someone who was even cordial with Shriekblade. The [Receptionist] stared at his name and contact details on the list.

“I don’t understand, sir, you’re on her list of Anchors. Surely you can do some—”

“You idiot!”

There was a wheezing hiss to Groms’ shriek, like lungs which couldn’t hold air properly. He coughed, then rasped.

“The reason…I’m on the list is because she takes everyone off it. Anyone who gets close to her dies or—or they’re foolish enough to try and help her. Then she turns around and guts them. I’m on the damn list because you idiots won’t take me off! Every other adventurer is active or dead.”

The [Receptionist] was going to write out Groms’ name on said list, but Merdon was screaming from the other scrying orb, and the Drake tried again.

“Sir, Mister Groms, she’s having a crisis. If there’s anything you can do, if you can just—”

“If she hears my voice, she’ll kill everything and me. I told you. Stop calling me.”

The Drake shrieked at the [Receptionist], and both flinched. For a second, there was a sliver of light. The [Receptionist] of Salazsar caught what might have been a face.

Half a face. Then someone opened the door wider.

“Captain Groms? Do you need a [Healer]? Is the scrying orb disturbing—”

“Don’t call me again.”

The scrying orb disconnected as the Drake hurled it, and the [Receptionist] heard a cry of dismay, then silence.

Was that Salazsar’s hospital? They had a huge building they used to treat mass-casualties when there was an accident in the mines; one of the ways the City of Gems was so advanced. Even so, the [Receptionist] was used to bad injuries at the main guild in Salazsar, but that was—

“Problems, Receptionist Jorge?”

The [Guildmaster] had come over. The Drake jumped and explained the problem.

“I’ll take Groms off the list, sir. I just can’t help with—?”

The [Guildmaster] was glancing at the scrying orb.

“Oh, no need for that.”

“But he’s clearly not helpful, sir—”

“Groms. Silver-rank Captain. Head of an adventuring company, oh, way back. Before your time, son. You never met the man before he retired, eh? Shame what happened. Adventurer-on-adventurer violence.”

Jorge shook his head as the [Guildmaster] placed a hand on the book of Adventurers’ Anchors.

“Shame about Shriekblade. She was a nightmare when she came in like that, on drugs. She’d come in bad, and the place would be blood and chaos. I thought the Watch would kill her some day. Still might. Damn shame for a Named-ranker, especially ours. Bones of our Ancestors, she used to be a good kid.”

He stared past Jorge as he closed the book, fastening the little latch and locking it to prevent someone finding the valuable information. The [Receptionist] protested.

“Wait, Guildmaster, Captain Groms? He’s been begging for his name to be removed.”

“Hm? Oh, that. Don’t you worry, we’ll get it sorted.”

The Guildmaster put the book back on the top shelf and dusted his claws.

“Eventually. Did you ever know what happened to his company, the Miners? Damn shame. You should look it up. A man like that ruins a lot. Other good adventurers, lives, even a Named-ranker—terrible what happened to him. But if anyone deserved it, well.”

The [Receptionist] stared at the closed book and the [Guildmaster] as he strolled back to his office.

“There’s no justice in this world, and the Watch doesn’t handle our affairs, mostly. Shame about Shriekblade too. Some things even that Healer can’t heal, eh? Ancestors, some days…”

Did that mean what Jorge thought it did? Should he…? The Drake glanced at the book of Adventurers’ Anchors, wavering. Wasn’t the right thing to do…? But then the other scrying orb screamed at him, and the [Receptionist] heard Crowdcaller Merdon shouting.

“Where’s my damn Anchor?”

“I’m—I’m sorry, Named-rank Adventurer. But I don’t have—”

Merdon appeared in the scrying orb, struggling with a writhing, biting Drake covered in blood. She’d lost both her daggers, but she was tearing at his arm, trying to eat his hand as he smashed her into the wall. He shouted, and she went flying.

Merdon looked around and then bellowed.

“SHRIEKBLADE. ENOUGH.”

It actually overloaded the scrying orb, and the entire Salazsarian Adventurer’s Guild winced as the scrying orb cracked. The horrified [Receptionist] saw Merdon pointing as a ringing sound came from the orb, Gold-rank adventurers streaming back, a woman with a greatsword catching an arrow before it could loose. Merdon was holding a hand up.

Tessa lunged for him, and he shouted again, and her form vibrated in the air before vanishing. This time, she left a spray of blood on the hallway. The scrying orb cracked further, and Merdon lifted his shield. Stared at something on the ground. Opened his mouth, then croaked.

“Tessa. Stop drinking that.”

In the silence before the scrying orb cracked to pieces, he lowered his mace and then his head. Then there was, faintly, a bright, humming voice. The [Receptionist] saw Tessa’s head lolling as she lay, boneless, covered in her own blood.

Eyes focused on nothing in this world at all.

——

She was dreaming of her childhood. Trying to remember all the moments before it had gone bad. Before Captain Groms, the Assassin’s Guild. Before it all.

A Drake girl sat on a farm’s fence, watching some cows munching on the golden hay outside of Salazsar’s walls.

It wasn’t the richest of farms, but the cows were bright-eyed, and the wheat climbed tall, sprouting and smelling like fresh bread. She kicked her legs, and the girl was free.

Not a [Knifemistress], a [Rogue], or anything else. Just…Tessa Sharpclaw of the Sharpclaw Farms. Her parents were shouting at her to come in, and the wind blew at her neck spines as she inhaled the fresh air.

Why had she ever left? A part of Tessa was weeping as the child hummed and swung her legs down, landing amidst the golden wheat, and a dog ran up, russet red fur gleaming.

She could have stayed. She was watching young Tessa run towards the door of the farm where, inside the barn doors, she saw a table laden with food. She reached for the vision—

Merdon’s hand dragged her up, out of the dream. Into pain and his staring huge eyes, and his voice growled at her from above.

“Stop lying, Tessa.”

“Let me go. Let me go. I want to be a child again—”

She was babbling at him as he dragged her down the corridor. Blood and pain and staring eyes, and she was trying to pull herself down into her childhood memories, but his voice was pulling her back like that gauntleted fist.

“Stop. Lying.”

“I wish I’d never left home!”

He screamed at her as Hekusha emerged from her ritual chambers, screamed that voice through her memories, dashing them to pieces.

“You never lived on a farm, Tessa! Your parents were [Coal Miners]! You didn’t fucking eat in a barn!”

He grabbed the vial of Roama’s Fancy and hurled it to the ground and stepped on it. Then he tossed her into the room beyond and she saw the Healer reaching for her.

Better, again. Healed, again.

Only this time…even Hekusha couldn’t put her all the way back together. Not this time.

——

Tessa stood in front of a mirror, and a tooth was missing from her mouth. It had fallen out. It wasn’t one of her main Wyvern’s teeth, the four main incisors, just one to the left of her lower left Wyvern’s tooth.

It was lying in the sink basin. Apparently, it had popped out when she was restored.

Hekusha’s magic could fix a tooth if you brought it to her, but it couldn’t grow you a new one. Tessa stared at it. The tooth was badly cracked; the roots had snapped off ,and she doubted it’d go back in even if Hekusha healed her again. How’d she lost it? Too much damage too quick or being hit by Merdon repeatedly. Or…had there been Midnight’s Laughter?

She couldn’t recall.

She looked worse. Tessa’s tongue felt at her missing tooth, and she saw she had lost more scales. They were dying or something. Wasn’t she supposed to be [Restored]? Or was she rotting?

“You’re dying. You can’t keep doing this. No more drugs.”

Tessa told herself. She’d attacked Merdon. Teamkiller. She didn’t…she had attacked someone innocent too. Hekusha had been telling her off about it. An innocent person seeking healing here.

Something dangerous as a sword and bright. Tessa put her claws to her head and tried to remember. Instead, something fell out.

A neck spine. She saw it land in the washbasin and rattle around; alarmed, she swept her claws against her head. To her relief, nothing else fell off, but this…

Rotting. Rotting from the inside out like the others. Even with Hekusha’s magic, this is it. Tessa took a few breaths in and out. Inside, she wanted to shout at her body. But she couldn’t because…she’d known this would happen eventually. In a way, it was a good thing.

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to quit. This is it. It’s—good. This is my breaking point.”

It was one thing to be sick until you vomited blood, shaking, incontinent, but if her tooth and spines were going, she wouldn’t last any longer. She nodded to herself. No more drugs. Absolutely not.

She’d start by throwing it all away. Aimlessly, she cast about her rooms. Found a capsule of Arrowsmoke and began to make a pile to set on fire. Then realized that would defeat the point and began to flush it all down the privy.

She had just popped the Arrowsmoke capsule with a claw and was about to pour the fine powder into the water when she hesitated.

It cost so much to get and…she put it aside. A pile. She’d make a pile, first, and not touch it. Then she began to count how many unopened packages and bottles she had.

This is enough for at least one more day. She began stacking it all up, counting how much she had, and a thought stole across her mind.

Tomorrow. First, she’d use it all up. All of it—Hekusha had a job for her, probably. One last hurrah, and then she wouldn’t have anything left, and it’d be easy to go [Cryomancer] on everything.

After this, it was over. She felt relieved and began to pile everything she could find up into a pyre for her addiction. It would be the greatest and most beautiful moment yet. Nothing to lose, one last…she was definitely going to quit.

You won’t.

“Shut up.”

She snapped at her reflection. She knew what to do. She’d escaped her addictions before. Numerous times!

Always Have An Escape Plan. AHAEP. So long as you had that, you could get out of the bottom of the well. She could do it.

She would.

It was just a tooth and neck spine.

——

In a way, Merdon was relieved. Not…happy, but he expected Hekusha to be livid when he met with her after his [Restoration].

She used a kind of ritual system where she drew mana from linked [Mages], or rather, [Mana Conduits]. People whose entire job was to have a lot of mana, not do any casting. She had floor sigils, rooms dedicated to the process—and cleanup.

It could get messy depending on what was in you, and she had a [Delayed Action] effect on [Restoration] that made it better or more effective or something. You’d wake up in a pure white bed in a similarly colored room, which probably felt like rebirth to many.

Merdon wondered if it was so Hekusha didn’t have to talk to anyone, but as soon as he’d finished cursing over the damage to his armor and checked himself for more scars, he reported in.

Obviously, to talk about Tessa. She was gone, obviously. She had to be. He broached the subject as Hekusha drank wine; it was 3 PM, so she was probably done with anything but emergency heals.

“So, about Tessa.”

She lifted a finger, and he waited for her to finish her sip. Then Hekusha let one of her handsome younger servants pat her lips with a napkin. She smiled at the boy and spoke to Merdon.

“Mm. Yes. She was a problem today, wasn’t she? Was that really Midnight’s Laughter?”

He grunted.

“Looked like it. He might have killed forty more people if we hadn’t stopped him. Charging a Skill.”

“Charging a Skill? It was really him? Her? What species?”

“I couldn’t see. Too busy fighting for my life.”

“And you fought him?”

Hekusha turned vaguely wondering eyes on him, which annoyed Merdon. He was still a Named-ranker, even if…even if. Sometimes, he forgot she was a civilian. They both had power, but she didn’t know what fighting was like. He wondered, still, what she’d seen when the Goblins had kidnapped her. They hadn’t done anything to her; he was almost positive about that.

That had been for that [Innkeeper]. He’d known desperate people before, and they’d come trying to kidnap Hekusha with numbers, but never Goblins. Never like that…Merdon spoke abruptly.

“They’re gone, probably. Shriekblade said she might have scared them off. But about her—she’s lost it. Completely.”

“Because she attacked you?”

He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable.

“Yes. No. It’s not just attacking me. It’s her using drugs in a battle.”

“That’s…new?”

Another moment when he and she eyed each other, and Crowdcaller Merdon grunted.

“It is. She never uses them in a fight unless she’s losing. Never to open a fight. It dulls her edge. She knows that.”

It had been the one thing you could predict about Shriekblade: when she was on duty, she was on. But that had rattled him. Hekusha tapped her lips.

“But she did fight off Midnight’s Laughter.”

“And she nearly killed me and that stranger! Your personal bodyguard!”

He snapped, and the servant backed up as he went to pour Hekusha a second refill. She tsked, and Merdon modulated his voice.

“She’s a liability. After her two stunts today, the Gold-rankers will leave rather than work with her. She can’t be used.”

So Tessa would be gone, and in the state she was in…no more healing meant she’d have to moderate her usage of drugs. Until she had enough gold to come back. Hekusha tapped her lips, and he felt odd. Merdon did his throat stretches a few times and used his spray. She was normally endlessly upset about having to heal him or anyone for free. But Hekusha was thoughtful. She was never thoughtful.

“Certainly, Shriekblade’s no good for helping you. But she’s…mm. Did you know that woman is actually from Ailendamus? Lady Gadrea of House Shoel. She’s rich. I thought she was some beggar.”

“She’s practically a Named-ranker herself.”

“Named? Really? She’s so old. And her eyes and blood—”

“What species is she? She bleeds blue.”

Hekusha took another gulp of wine and shrugged lightly.

“Some magical variant like the nobles of…that magical kingdom, perhaps. Half-Elven variant? I don’t know. Why would I? I’m going to heal her after this. I was just going to consult about Tessa first. Oh, here she is now.”

A figure had appeared at the doorway, and Merdon felt his skin crawl even though he knew she’d never hurt Hekusha. But those were the old rules…Tessa seemed awake, un-drugged for the moment, and almost chipper. Thoroughly confused, Merdon glanced at the servant, who stepped back, and he lowered his voice to a precise whisper only Hekusha could hear.

“Letting her go, you mean?”

She waved a languid hand at him.

“No, no. Tessa, you’ve been so much trouble today. I have to heal someone and Merdon?”

“My deepest apologies, Healer. I chased away Midnight’s Laughter, though.”

Tessa was staring at her feet, but Hekusha waved her forwards, and she shuffled into position next to Merdon. He glared at her. She ducked her head to him.

“Sorry.”

Hekusha jumped in before Merdon spat something at Tessa.

“You’ve done a lot of damage. However, I do have a way for you to make the issue up. Where’s my notes? Um…where? Here.”

The serving boy handed her something, and Merdon saw Tessa tense up slightly. He was confused, utterly. He wanted to grab Tessa, hit her, and ask her what the hell was wrong with her that she went to drugs in a fight. They knew how the other operated, and this—

Then Hekusha pulled something out, and he saw Tessa turn into that muscled knot that he associated with danger. Merdon’s hand fell to his mace—which he didn’t have because of being healed, nor his armor—and Hekusha spoke.

“Ah, here it is. Lord Gliven Everight, um, new head of House Everight, has a mine filled with what he thinks are Blank-i-pillars? I don’t know what those are. Tessa, I have a map here. Clear them out and report back. I have a Wistram carriage ready too.”

“Clear them—?”

Merdon blinked as Tessa stared at the ground. He balked instantly.

“I’m not healed, and my armor’s in shambles. Everight is far from here!”

“Reachable in a day with a carriage.”

“Who’s Lord Gliven? I thought House Everight was dead or something.”

There’d been a fuss about it, but Hekusha shrugged.

“Maybe he was installed into the family? I don’t know, but I don’t mean you, Merdon. Tessa can do it.”

That made less sense to Merdon.

“If it’s filled with Blankipillars, then it’s not a one-team job. That’s a full sweep with a Gold-rank team and a Named-rank. Especially if they’ve metamorphosed.”

He had been part of Orchestra, and he knew more monsters than most adventurers. If it really was that species, even he and Tessa wouldn’t kill them easily if they were in their non-larval forms. But Hekusha was calm.

“Tessa can do it. Didn’t she clear Creler-nests solo?”

“Yeah, for coin. But I don’t have any good gear, and I just got healed.”

“So? I did cast [Restoration].”

Hekusha looked blank, and Merdon clarified.

“You don’t fight well after healing, even if it’s perfect. Mentally, you’re less sharp, and your muscles don’t work quite right.”

“But you’re healed.”

That wasn’t the same as being ready to go. Hekusha lost interest with the explanations quickly and flapped the papers impatiently at Tessa.

“I’ll heal you. Just go in, clear the mines—it doesn’t even have to be perfect so long as the nasty…things are gone, and once you’re gone, Lord Gliven will take care of the rest.”

Was that a contract she was waving about? Merdon glanced at it as Tessa wavered.

“I, um, if it’s a big mine, I need backup. Local Watch and potions and…”

“Tessa, I can heal you. And you have caused a lot of trouble.”

Tessa’s eyes were flicking around like someone trying to escape a cage. She licked her lips.

“What if I—I went to this [Lord]’s rooms instead? That’s easier.”

Merdon half-swivelled, and even Hekusha blinked. Tessa rushed on.

“I know I’m not very pretty, but I can buy creams and illusion magic, and I’m Named-rank. That’s worth…something. I forget how much.”

For a second, Hekusha’s eyes flickered, but she shook her head almost immediately, and Merdon let out a huge breath.

“…No. No, that is unseemly and—this is the service you can provide, Tessa. We are not running a brothel. Do you think I’d make you do that? You can slay monsters easily, Tessa!”

The Drake woman didn’t seem reassured by Hekusha’s words. She fidgeted, fiddling with a dagger.

“Yeah, but…it’s dangerous, and you don’t want me to be hurt that badly, right, Hekusha? I lost a tooth today, too.”

Tessa’s voice was very small, and she stared up and smiled at the Healer. Her gap-toothed smile met Hekusha’s too-warm smile as she rose and embraced Tessa with her hands. She pushed Tessa back a bit, then cupped her cheeks.

“I know you can do this. And you need to make it up to me, all this healing, Tessa. You’re taking too many drugs. Less of that. Be good, do the job, and you’ll be back here by midnight. [Healer’s Orders]. Off you go.”

This time, the Drake just paused there for one moment before she nodded, swivelled on her feet, and began to wander towards the doors. Merdon was speechless. Hekusha stood there, and he waited for Tessa to pivot. To balk or refuse or draw those blades.

But she went. Then, Hekusha ditched the smile and drank a third cup of wine, fast.

“When she comes back, I want you to make sure the city is secure, Merdon. No more killers, and ensure the adventurers and Watch are manning the gates. Have you heard of The Wandering Inn? Some [Princess] there keeps demanding I turn Tessa over to her. As if she’s her possession!”

“I’ve heard of that inn.”

That was all Merdon managed. He kept gazing the way Tessa had gone. He wasn’t scared of her any longer. All the deadliness, the unpredictable energy, that hunger that she filled with madness…was gone.

And now, her tail was dragging on the ground. She wasn’t fighting Hekusha’s Skill, though he knew she could.

We are Named-rank adventurers. He didn’t want her to come tearing back this way. And he knew Hekusha had every right to demand what she wanted of Tessa, who would pay every price.

Yet she seemed empty. Too tired to argue, even if it meant walking into a nest of…

Hekusha was still speaking.

“—threatened me. I told you about her. Now she’s claiming Tessa. She says it’s for Tessa’s ‘wellbeing’, as if I’m mistreating her. But she clearly wants to take advantage of Tessa.”

“Mhm. What, put her to work?”

The Healer of Tenbault waved away her wine cup and servant.

“Get me a tonic of Remove Alcohol or whatever it’s called, dear. No, Merdon, use her unfairly. I get value out of Tessa. It’s a fair relationship. But this ‘Princess’, bah. It reminds me of Magnolia Reinhart, you know. Have I ever talked to you about her?”

Only when drunk. Merdon stood there, and she went on, taking silence for encouragement.

“She helped me learn my spell, of course. I shan’t deny that. But I paid my debts to her. Yet even now, the woman seems to think I owe her. That’s the relationship I hate the most. Her thinking I should be in her favor for one spell all my life. I worked to learn it and to cast it more than once or twice a day! But she kept pushing me, even when I was starting out. Remember when Tenbault was just a house in a village?”

“Yes.”

Screaming as the acid was burning its way across his eyes and throat, knowing he was ruined for life. Drawing that last breath even as he knew it was burning his throat to shout to save them all—blackness.

Waking up to see her smiling and standing over him, sweat covering her face, the sounds of Orchestra yelling and rushing to hug him. Healer of Tenbault.

Renderer of miracles.

Crowdcaller Merdon glanced around Hekusha’s mansion.

“It was a beautiful house. You were radiant back then.”

The Healer of Tenbault bristled.

“My looks may have faded slightly since then, I admit.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“The house was all I could afford. Magnolia gave me some support, but the rest? Everything else, hiring you, my investment in the city? That was me, Merdon. And she kept poking me to ‘do more’. To give away my wealth, to cast my spell for free. I put the lottery in place! Everything else I earned. But then she wanted me to—to—give away my magic. To ruin myself. To do all the hard work for this spell and toss a lifetime of studies to the wind.”

He said nothing. To the Named-rank adventurer, it did sound insane. He couldn’t imagine Deniusth or himself doing that. It was a crazy thing to ask an adventurer who loved money and power.

The Healer of Tenbault, the worker of miracles, lifegiver, pursed her mouth as if it spit on her own carpeted rugs. Then she turned.

“This [Princess] is coming for my Tessa. Don’t let her into the city.”

“Is she bringing an army or something? How is a [Princess] in Izril?”

Merdon roused himself from his circular thoughts to ask salient questions, but the Healer merely turned away.

“I had some [Spies] look into her, but they have all kinds of far-fetched rumors. I’ll have the report sent to you. You’re a Named-rank adventurer. Just shout at her if she tries anything.”

She left him standing there, and he walked back to his rooms and sat after having his backup armor taken out of storage and assembled for him. Then he did some reading.

The Wandering Inn. Merdon recalled that the Haven had gone there. The more he read the reports, the more he stopped. But unlike Hekusha…

Goblin affiliation with Chieftain Rags of Flooded Waters Tribe.

Erin Solstice.

Horns of Hammerad—Merdon’s eyes flicked back and forth like a man connecting invisible dots, and his stomach began to hurt the more dots he saw.

Goblin Chieftain Rags. Wasn’t that tribe the one who kidnapped…? That [Innkeeper] had died and come back to life, hadn’t she?

Someone in need of healing. And she was affiliated with the Horns of Hammerad.

The Horns that Colthei had joined. Colthei, who knew talent. The last kid among the old guard. And a [Princess] from Calanfer.

The inn, related to the Knights of Solstice. The inn, allied to Goblins. Merdon swallowed.

I have my voice. I have my voice, and Tessa’s…Tessa. Who would want her?

No one would dare attack Tenbault. Except a madwoman.

I have the Watch. The walls.

He was alone. A Named-rank without a team. One of the cowards of his kind. Not the madfolk still adventuring into death or glory. Just a guard dog for the Healer.

Tessa. After a while, Merdon put down the spy reports and sat there. Doing vocal warmups for the night. Finding a map. Looking up Everight and confirming that no ‘Lord Gliven’ existed as a relative. So where had he come from? When Merdon sent a runner to the Mage’s Guild, he got a reply that Lord Gliven was a distant relative not on the family lineage who’d been found after Lord Toldos had died. A number of nobles had ratified his lineage, including two Reinharts.

Then Merdon opened a little-used bestiary and read on Blankipillars, their habitats. He sat after that, simply thinking.

Sat…ordered some food. Read a book.

After a long, long, long time…

The coach returned. He watched the magical carriage roll into the plaza and the doors open. Merdon closed his book.

“Hekusha, healer needed in the plaza. Tessa.”

His speaking stone chirped, and Hekusha’s voice was irritable.

“I have a guest from Ailendamus, and I’ll see to her afterwards.”

Merdon dropped the speaking stone. He drew a breath and spoke as he turned to the balcony. The curtains ripped off their grommets, and his voice rolled across all of Tenbault. Bouncing off walls, freezing people in the street. Causing a woman in her mansion to jolt and begin moving before her body knew what was happening.

“Healer to the courtyard. Run.”

——

The Healer of Tenbault was clutching at her side and looked like she’d hurt herself running, which you had to admit was objectively hilarious.

But there was something rather credible about a Healer running to save lives. It was, in her guests’ opinion, the only thing credible about the woman.

However, they didn’t tell her that. They were all smiles and polite reserve when she came back, apologizing for the delay.

“When one of my patients is hurt, I must fly, of course.”

“Only naturally. Was that Crowdcaller Merdon himself I heard?”

“Merdon? Yes, my bodyguard. And I was healing Shriekblade, another employee of mine. Her services in eliminating monsters and other such matters are in trial, but if you had any tasks while you were visiting Izril, um, Lady…”

“Shierxun.”

The taller of the two women held out a hand, and Hekusha shook it, but to her surprise, the Terandrian noble of Ailendamus indicated the younger woman sitting and inspecting Hekusha with a faint smile.

“However, I defer to Lady Paxere, who is the head of our little family at the moment.”

“Oh my, so young. I do apologize, Lady Paxere of House Shoel. I, ah, knew a young matriarch who rose to prominence much as you did. Lady Magnolia Reinhart, a dear friend of mine.”

Hekusha smiled as Paxere held out a hand, and the younger Lucifen inclined her head.

“You do seem like a true servant of House Reinhart, Healer Hekusha. Truly, if there is anyone deserving to serve one of the Five Families of Izril, no less, it is you.”

The [Restoration Mage]’s face tightened a second, but then she was all smiles again.

“I, um, thank you! I am independent, however. All the noble families of Izril come to Tenbault for my services. Which is why I am delighted to aid one of Terandria’s noblewomen. Lady Gadrea was hurt while my people were fighting a serial killer. These things happen, of course—”

“Of course, but we had to just teleport over when we heard. It was lucky we were in the area, wasn’t it, Paxere?”

Shierxun drawled, and Paxere rolled her eyes.

“She is a handful at times. Our wayward lamb—we do not resemble each other, of course. Her side of the family has hereditary issues.”

“I did notice. I, ah, am sure my magic will correct all there is to be fixed. Though it is not a perfect spell.”

Hekusha licked her lips, and Paxere’s eyes brightened.

“Oh my, is it a spell? I thought it was a great miracle. Then, do you teach it?”

“Teach it? No, nonono, and do forgive me, it’s a spell but also Skills. I, ah, I can see Lady Gadrea at once; I was just informed she was busy ministering to some people in the city?”

The Healer wasn’t too clear about that, and both ladies grimaced. Paxere glanced out the window.

“The first thing she did was demand some gold to tend to those she saw as needy.”

“Despite the, er, holes in her body? And a ruptured…”

“Artery. An important part of the body, or so one assumes.”

Shierxun put in, watching Hekusha’s face. The Healer tapped her lips thoughtfully.

“Artery. Artery. Indeed, a terrible thing to rupture. I will heal it, of course!”

“Doubtless it could wait. I admire your ability to triage the most vitally wounded in order of importance, Lady Hekusha.”

“Well, one does develop an instinct after so long in the business.”

All three women smiled at each other, though Hekusha had the faintest impression she was not quite aligning with the two ladies on some level. Paxere glanced out the window again.

“And your city is positively amazing, Healer. So many people waiting for your miracles. Did you know we work as judges in Ailendamus?”

“Oh my, despite being nobles?”

Shierxun produced a badge with scales on it, weighing a horn against a feather.

“It is our calling. I find myself compelled to judge all those I come across. I wonder, Healer, how your deeds would weigh on that scale. I cannot help but imagine you have a weight beyond counting on your side.”

An odd way to flatter her, but Hekusha simply smiled and had more wine poured for them all.

“Well, if you would care to recommend me to any nobles of Terandria, I should be delighted to heal their maladies as well. Ah, not to be direct, but I know my patient is waiting—there is the custom of a small donation, you see.”

Paxere smiled brightly, and her red eyes lit up.

“Only naturally! Of course, Gadrea was injured by—Shriekblade you said? With a [Serial Killer] roaming your city? I believe she was also being imprisoned in the Plague District despite being completely well?”

Hekusha hesitated as a [Clerk] headed over with a clipboard.

“Ah, er…all regrettable incidents. I do hope you will not repeat some of the details; purely for public ease of mind, you understand. Midnight’s Laughter is gone, and my adventurers keep the city safe.”

“Only naturally. Allow House Shoel to make an appropriate donation—if you were to heal Lady Gadrea’s hereditary ailments, we would of course tip you a fortune. What would you put upon Gadrea’s health, Paxere?”

“A hundred thousand gold coins.”

Hekusha’s eyes bulged, and the [Clerk] inhaled as Paxere said it instantly. The young lady tilted her head.

“No, a million. I imagine King Itorin himself would throw open his treasuries for such a deed. Healing Gadrea, much less the rest of her kinsfolk, from her family’s hereditary illness would be a miracle of miracles.”

Hekusha’s beaming face froze.

“Er, hereditary, you said?”

“Absolutely. Incurable by so many magics—we have tried Djinni and even a Scroll of Regeneration, but her kinfolk have always lived such pained lives. I cannot help but weep to think of it—oh, do excuse me.”

Lady Shierxun patted at her eyes with a handkerchief. Paxere took over, dabbing at her own eyes.

“Do forgive us, Healer. Doubtless, she came here seeking your miracle cure. And to receive an audience—we shall shout your wonders across Terandria, House Shoel’s word upon it! I should not be so crass as to offer a million gold pieces to a woman of such charity as you, but whatever donation you feel is appropriate to your station. Simply speak the number, Healer, and I swear it shall be paid.”

She beckoned for the quill as Hekusha and the [Clerk] exchanged a side-eye. They’d tried a Scroll of Regeneration and it was a hereditary disease—Hekusha licked her lips.

“Ah—ah—give me a moment to confer?”

She didn’t see Paxere and Shierxun eye her as she hurried to whisper with her [Clerk]. After a moment, one of the two Lucifen glanced around the mansion. Paxere lifted a handkerchief to her nose and grimaced.

This place stank in ways neither of them could explain to those not of their kind. But worse than that…when Hekusha returned to quote a very, very low number of gold pieces, she wavered.

“Oh my, may I offer you another glass or refreshments, Lady Paxere?”

The lady blushed across her dusky features as Shierxun chuckled.

“Do forgive me, Healer. I should not like to trouble you long. Gadrea is waiting. I’m merely a bit…peckish.”

She licked her rather sharp teeth. Hekusha sighed.

“I would love to invite you for dinner, but…”

Paxere beamed and rose to her feet with Shierxun.

“It would be my pleasure to dine on your company, Lady Healer.”

The [Restoration Mage] wavered, then gave up and waved a vague hand.

“Ah, um, well—very good. I’ll have the servants set some more plates.”

——

Tormenting the Healer of Tenbault was only a distraction for Paxere, really. Eating with the woman was actually more annoying for Paxere than she wanted, but she couldn’t resist.

Shierxun was less approving, as was Gadrea. She flexed her arms and grimaced.

“Barely healed.”

“She didn’t even restore your flesh?”

Paxere was speaking to the brisk Agelum packing a rucksack of provisions. Shierxun was trying to reason with her, but Gadrea simply hefted the rucksack onto her shoulders.

“She was tired, and the fact she healed me at all proves she has Skills. Just not enough to do more than that. I’m leaving. Thank you for the help, but I told Visophecin what I wrote: it is my journey. I’m surprised he quit and left you in charge.”

Paxere flushed, but Gadrea was direct, as most Agelum could be. Shierxun murmured.

“Let us say that the elder members felt our judgement both impaired and our numbers reduced. Paxere leads by her merits. As long as they exceed her failures, she continues. I am merely here to ensure those failures do not reflect overly upon the kingdom.”

Paxere was not happy about that, but Shierxun was imperious, cold, and weighed lives with a dispassion even her fellow Lucifen admired. She inspected Gadrea, who met her gaze challengingly.

“If you perish, try to avoid bringing misfortune on Ailendamus. Or send back any valuable conclusions to House Shoel. Between the loss of yourself and Razia, as well as so many of our folk, we require some balancing.”

“Spoken fairly enough, cousin. I am grieved to hear of your parents’ deaths, Paxere. They surely fought like [Heroes].”

Gadrea met Paxere’s gaze, and the Lucifen girl turned away. She spoke, flushing coldly.

“They wasted their lives in a foolish endeavour. I am making the best of it. Visophecin’s judgement was in error.”

“They died in great deeds. It was not nothing.”

“It was foolish.”

Paxere would have stepped away, but a hand grabbed her shoulder like steel itself, and Gadrea’s eyes shone.

“No. It was not.”

Outrage flared in Paxere’s body. She experienced the emotion like molten metal coursing through her veins, a rising gorge of fury in her chest that beat like black wings. To Lucifen, hatred and anger were not entirely unpleasant emotions.

They could revel in negativity. She had once heard a [Lady] of her age describing fury to a [Thought Healer] like madness, some kind of all-consuming worm in one’s mind eating sense and reason.

Not so for Paxere. She had never lost herself to her worst furies. It always made her cold. Alive. Animosity was unto a pleasure even as it made her long to strike Gadrea, but there was no practical reason for it.

“Let go.”

Gadrea was beyond strong, but Paxere shifted, trying to throw her as she’d been taught, and the Agelum adjusted her grip—then grunted. Both were shocked and shared the same thought in the flicker of their eyes.

She’s stronger than she should be.

For Gadrea, it was the strength thought lost to the Agelum; they could only muster bursts of their true power and paid for it greatly. But she had fought, been wounded, and been standing and moving all day with no ill effects.

She should have been bedridden for months from this, let alone her journey. Truly, Gadrea had found something.

By the same token—Lucifen were strong, but not this strong. Gadrea felt like Paxere were half again as strong, and there was a tautness to her skin that made the Agelum think she could take far more of a punch than before.

Child, what have you done? A gleam in Paxere’s eyes then a flick right—

Shierxun was watching both Angel and Devil struggle, brows raised politely, as if waiting for two children to stop bickering. They stopped wrestling for momentum and locked gazes. The Lucifen and Agelum stayed still in perfect, utter disagreement until Shierxun extended a hand, and Gadrea abruptly let go and stepped back.

“Another example of why we are so unalike. Tell me, cousin, where do you go from here?”

Gadrea made a face. She didn’t glance at Paxere, who stood back and adjusted her clothing. The politics of House Shoel. Let us not destabilize each other’s positions, eh? Gadrea bared her teeth.

“Southwards.”

“Mm. To the Walled Cities? We could call for one of Wistram’s amusing carriages to speed your way.”

And tell you where I’m going so you can meddle in your kindly, unkindly ways? No. Gadrea snorted.

“I prefer my solitude. With great appreciation for your help, cousins.”

Shierxun rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes. Great appreciation and distaste for any help. In five more days, we doubtless would have found you naked, having sold everything to feed some waif on the roads and prostituting yourself for coin. Highly amusing, but alas.”

She looked wistful as if wishing she’d caught Gadrea so. The Agelum woman crossed her arms. Truly, she did not get along with some Lucifen. It was in their natures, for all they’d lived together since Curulac of a Hundred Days.

Easier, perhaps, when I was so ill I could not move and I relied on them. But Gadrea had not spent her life without picking up Lucifen savvyness, which Agelum could lack.

She doesn’t know about what I’m sensing. Nor have the other Agelum told her, if they even felt where on Izril it is. Liscor…she made her features as guileless as they thought of her and snapped her fingers.

“There is somewhere I’d go, first. I heard the strangest rumor that Duke Rhisveri was seen at—Liscor, was it? What brings him there?”

Shierxun snorted, and Paxere rolled her eyes. The older woman replied.

“It is beyond the pale to tell the story now, Gadrea. He has some interest there. But we would take it as a boon if you did not encourage his distractions.”

Gadrea made a show of tapping one foot and glancing towards the High Passes.

“I could head that way. I had thought to climb one of the High Passes just once before I die.”

“All the better to visit Liscor, then. If only to see the city. I believe it sells charms, and it has a number of new species including the Antinium. And at least one orphanage. You could juggle babies or some such.”

Intriguing indeed. Shierxun was trying to get her to visit Liscor in her own way, and she clearly wrote Liscor off as Gadrea’s actual destination. She was rather…presumptious, actually. She didn’t understand that Gadrea was playing her.

Paxere, though, was very silent and smooth-faced. Gadrea pretended not to be looking at her and wondered if, perhaps, the younger Lucifen was more adept than her elders gave her credit for. She seemed to understand that the balance of power had shifted. Gadrea nodded.

“I suppose you’re right, Shierxun.”

The Agelum acquiesced, and the Lucifen nodded, not realizing that this time, it was because she was being duped. Gadrea would go to Liscor, anyways, but she wondered if Rhisveri had tapped into what she had.

The Wyrm of Ailendamus has knowledge beyond any other immortal. Perhaps he’s found what I seek by different means. If we clash, we clash. He and I will talk before we come to blows, and we might help each other, self-serving as he is. 

She was excited, Shierxun, clearly done with this conversation now that she’d manipulated Gadrea enough and gotten information about her next destination. Gadrea would have to evade a few [Spies]; she’d pull the tracking spell Shierxun had placed on her off tomorrow. It felt like slime. The Lucifen always forgot the Agelum might not be spellcasters, but they could deal with magic. Shierxun nodded to her.

“Fair thee well, cousin. Will you not stay and make this tedious dinner with the Healer amusing?”

“I long to scrub my tongue of this place. No, I shall not stay. I do not know how you tolerate her.”

In response, the two Lucifen smiled as one.

“It whets the appetite.”

This time, it was the Agelum’s turn to roll her eyes, and she hefted the rucksack up. She turned back only once.

“I feel poorest for that Drake girl the Healer was tending to. Were I back in Ailendamus, I would take her into House Shoel’s custody, but she is too far, too important, and I think, too dangerous.”

Paxere tapped at her lips thoughtfully.

“The one called Shriekblade? She’s addled by drugs, isn’t she?”

Gadrea’s eyes were sad as she turned away.

“Lost to them. And the Healer uses her like a Djinni of war, to see how close to death she lay. I had thought to try to talk to her, but…she saw something of my capabilities and is wary. She was already lost when I visited. Of all the world’s ill creations, such substances take hope the most.”

Neither Lucifen had anything to say to that rather reasonable statement. Paxere glanced out the window where they heard a faint, rhythmic cry. Like someone laughing or weeping.

“I was rather amazed at her tolerances. Three Minotaurs wouldn’t have survived what she took, by my calculations. It must prolong her lifespan, her levels. A cyclical relationship. Reduced lifespan versus rising levels.”

Gadrea snapped the leather strings of the rucksack. She turned and strode out the door, calling out only once over her shoulder.

“Someday, cousins, I hope for a world where everyone can be helped. Even her. I am only one pair of hands.”

It was a variation of how they always parted. Paxere called back to Gadrea as she lifted a hand.

“Someday, cousin, I will create a system where her kind shall not exist. And judge her every step and how it came to be.”

Then they parted, dark and fair, champion and predator. Upon their divergent roads. But neither Agelum nor Lucifen saw a path forwards.

Not for Shriekblade. She lay in her rooms, her entire stash of drugs shredded, imbibed, or just burning as servants tried to break down the door to put out the haze of smoke that dropped a Gold-rank adventurer who passed through it. And Tessa was gone.

Higher, higher, spinning out of cruel reality. Further than she had gone almost—almost—

Ever.

——

That was how you did it. You left. Sometimes, it was a cigar, like the Centaur blowing on one after work.

Or other times the door was found in the needle you pushed up an arm. An ampule of dusky liquid sold to you by a [Fence].

There were many doors. But so few…worked right. It had to be just right, you see. Too much or too little and you wouldn’t find it. Most of the ones who left reality were experts. Lifers, though the ones with the most experience tended not to touch the hardest stuff.

Still, they all came here. Temporary, flailing bursts of color who vanished, dissolving. Or those who found their way here, time and again, buoyed up by gentler currents.

Where was ‘here’? Ah, well…it wasn’t so much a place as a community. It appeared different to each person, but it was here they met.

The Centaur smoking his pipe was low down, a hazy cloud of Dreamleaf floating on his gentle yet intense high. His was all pleasant thoughts of his love, a daydream about her cooking barefoot in her kitchens and chuckling over the play-on-words.

But if Palt cast around, he had the vaguest…sense of community. If he had a bit more vantage, he might have sensed a few others.

Like, for instance, in the city of Celum, a boy who’d gotten into a packet of strange powder he’d found in a dropped bag of holding. He’d gotten a faceful of Arrowsmoke, and he shot past Palt, a screaming, whirling panic of senses.

Arrowsmoke made you sharper, but too much and you felt like your face was turning into a bunch of lines. Smell became a direction you could use to draw a map—if only you could stop your eyes falling out of your face.

The boy screamed once and vanished. Unable to remain…here. He’d be a shaking, juddering mess until his family found him and called for a [Healer]. Not enough of himself to remain, you see.

But there was another drinker around Palt’s level of high. Only, the Drowned Man had come down on Elf’s Tears, oozing out of the sky in a rain like the drug until the world was a single note he could understand. He and Palt glanced at each other only once, and Palt waved. The Drowned Man took another drink and sank upwards.

They did not really want to go that much further upwards. This was…comfortable. Most people hung here, the amateurs, the first-triers. Any higher and you didn’t last unless you were a professional, and how high did you want to go? And who were they?

Palt never really remembered. Not when he came out of those clouds. It was just a vibe he had. A feeling. But perhaps, if he ever ran into someone who bought his wares, he’d have that sense of déjà vu. As if they’d met somewhere, and the two would smile.

One of the people he half-knew was the woman who rose past him and the Drowned Man, rising above all the others. He craned his head back as she floated past him on a cloud of Dreamleaf he envied and a shower of tears.

“High today.”

“Mm.”

That was all the Drowned Man said. They watched the [Princess] fly higher. Away, oh, away.

Princess Shardele could fly into that transforming, shifting sky of colors like a bird. Higher than anyone. They waved at her, her comrades and friends. Admiring how she approached the very top of the sky itself. Today, she was flying high, and she was so talented. In this.

Shardele was running away. She shed reality in huge, fat tears of actualization as the Dreamleaf became a cloud, and she rained her grief and memories for a moment, just floating, her mind reaching out to brilliant things she could see only here. The sky became a radiant blaze, and she could admire a simple tree and understand why it was so beautiful. A child’s insight, a poet’s reprise—and a dream of being happy.

—The tears rained down, and one was a memory of this morning.

——

“Incorrect.”

Shardele flinched as Ielane spoke, and her mother’s voice was no rod across the shoulders, but it felt like one, sometimes. Adamantium.

She wished her father were here. Reclis never got angry, but her mother was her teacher. Ielane was pulling on a cigarette, and she spoke again.

“Your understanding of Calanfer’s economy is not a matter of opinion, it is a matter of fact. Don’t equate that with policy or politics.”

“But you can always borrow money, Mother.”

Shardele whined, staring at the cigarette and wondering if Ielane would just be kinder if that were a nice, fat roll of Dreamleaf. She wished she could smoke on one, but Ielane had forbidden her to take any. Especially during their lessons. Ielane stubbed the cigarette out, then exhaled some smoke.

“You may change Calanfer’s realities, but the amounts of gold in our coffers and what is pledged are hard numbers. Enough. Your tutors will attend you twice more this week.”

“But Mother, I already have—”

Ielane silenced Shardele with one look. The First Princess of Calanfer wanted to argue she was Calanfer’s heir and eldest [Princess]. Her husband was Consort Duke Thimiran, one of Calanfer’s foremost nobles, and even if he was not a great warrior, he was a powerful man with a huge selection of industries all in service of the crown!

She had done so much for Calanfer by marrying him. And he was loyal and loved their children and all that. She didn’t often speak of Thimiran with her sisters, the few left in the palace. Nor did he come up because, well…

He was Thimiran. He’d be [King] when she took the throne, but he wasn’t the family. And it was she, Shardele, who had all the pressure upon her. The family led Calanfer. Thimiran was loyal; she and he liked each other well enough and knew to let the other live happily, and they had good nursemaids for the children.

Shardele wondered when Ielane would train them. She didn’t want to do it. When she was [Queen], she’d be nicer to everyone. But the Queen of Calanfer in the present only spoke.

“Shardele. It has been a trying week. Focus. Let us move to politics. What would you suggest our next move in this long, and now drawn-out, war with Ailendamus should be?”

Open-ended questions. Shardele hated those. She was being trained to be next [Queen] of Calanfer, and it was…hard.

She wasn’t Menisi, who was gifted, but disloyal. Shardele hated thought-exercises, memorizing policy, but Ielane drilled it into her. Took away her privileges and allowance if she failed to study. Of course, it was because Shardele was important.

She was going to rule Calanfer, and her mother taught only her so much. Shardele just thought it was too hard. She’d hoped, once, that maybe Menisi would…and Seraphel had been so sharp…

Only her. Vernoue had run off on her adventures, and Aielef was too hot-headed. Lyonette was a brat, Ellet was young, and her brothers were bound to other nations.

Only her. There were some upsides: Shardele might get Ielane’s wrath, but they did things no other [Princess] got to do. Like gamble. Ielane loved to gamble, and she’d play all kinds of games with Shardele some nights.

That was special. That was their secret, and even if Shardele didn’t like the games that much, she played with her mother and had even won a few times, getting that rare smile.

Right now, though, Ielane seemed pained, and Shardele hesitated.

“Is it because of all the nosebleeds, Mother? Is it something the [Healers] could—”

“No. I have complete understanding of my symptoms and the causes, Shardele. I am focused. Ailendamus. Give me a hypothetical action. I have passed, and Reclis is dead. The people’s confidence in the Eternal Throne shakes. We are at war, and Ailendamus is building up while we have neither momentum nor troops to push beyond border-raids. Your actions.”

Shardele fidgeted. She squirmed, wringing her hands together. Then—

“U-um. Have Kaliv strike with their Griffins. Decisively! Then we’ll bid for peace.”

Dead silence from Ielane. She gazed at Shardele.

“Why?”

Oh, that dreaded question. Shardele avoided Ielane’s gaze.

“W-well, I think it’d look like something the people would respect, Mother. Public opinion and all that. It might scare Ailendamus, and then we could sue for peace, even if we gave up some territory or gold…?”

She knew it wasn’t the answer Ielane wanted, but the [Queen]’s flat tone made Shardele realize she had messed up badly.

“Completely incorrect. How are you erring this poorly? Are you that impatient to be done with this? Is it the Dreamleaf?”

“I-I just thought it might work. And it’s been a long day, Mother.”

And I’m tired of all these lessons! Why are you being so hard on me now? Ielane and Reclis were young! But suddenly, she was making Shardele work twice as hard, as if Shardele was failing all of Ielane’s rising expectations.

Why? Shardele was no incompetent. She wasn’t! With her mother, she complained and she hated lessons and having her allowance cut—what adult woman wouldn’t? But you know what she wasn’t?

A failure. She’d passed Ielane’s tests. She hadn’t had a tryst with a lover that resulted in public embarrassment, she had the affections of the Eternal Throne’s courts, she even had the support of her grandparents, who had sway in Calanfer. The people loved her—even if a lot of that was due to the Eternal Throne’s [Bards] and agents; Shardele was the [Princess] heir apparent that she needed to be.

Not a genius in politics or a sharp-as-razors mastermind like her parents. But she had time. She was the girl with all the pressure and eyes upon her, and you know what? Sometimes she was high on Dreamleaf, and maybe everyone knew that. But that was the only thing that kept her from snapping.

Snapping because she had no real friends who weren’t counting their allegiances or there for her power. Snapping because she and her husband didn’t love each other. Snapping because she had her mother breathing down her neck at all moments, and she had an allowance and lived with her parents even now. Snapping because every moment she was outside she was in the public eye, snapping because of all the pressure and expectations on her—

She knew more than she let on, and it could drive you insane, knowing the secrets of a kingdom. Shardele would have become some cynical, bitter, untrusting woman if she didn’t have the Dreamleaf. It let her feel like she was young and the world had hope in it. She had done well enough. She thought she’d been meeting Ielane’s impossibly-high bars, if not to clear them, enough to be the best [Princess] for the job.

Until now.

Shardele wanted to have some Dreamleaf in her lovely rooms, but Ielane’s voice was like a razor cutting through her hopes and dreams.

“Shardele du Marquin. There are a thousand reasons to make any decision, politically. The most heinous acts may be done for the sake of expediency. Even emotions are a valid reason if they are understood and accounted for. Conviction is an essential trait. Seeming, catering to your notion of what other people would perceive or want, is the weakest of all reasons. You. Know. This. You are not thinking. Engage your mind or I will view your habit as addling your capacity to act as a [Princess] of Calanfer.”

“That’s not fair, I’ve been doing my best! You already took away my Dreamleaf for a week!”

Shardele burst out, close to tears. Ielane’s brows bobbed up in genuine surprise.

“Your best? That is what you consider your best? No, Shardele, I am pushing you moderately hard, and you are folding. You and I both know you are capable of more. A week? I will remove your access for a year if I must.”

“You can’t! You can’t! That’s not right!”

“Stop squalling. I will remove it if you do not demonstrate you have the capacity to function despite your indulgences. Shardele, stop weeping this instant. Other rulers have peccadillos far more dire than yours, but they are functional. Sit up. Respond.”

“I—I can’t breathe. You’re stressing me out. I just need an edible—”

Shardele was panting for air, and she needed a breath of it, but Ielane refused to let her go.

“You will be pressed far harder as [Queen]. Sit and either confront me or address my grievances with you. Flee and I will run you down, Shardele.”

“You’re using your aura! That’s not fair!”

Shardele was shaking now, crying and backing away from the painful intensity Ielane was throwing at her. The [Queen]’s brows were a line of annoyance.

“I’m barely nettling you. Use your aura and training, Shardele. Light of Calanfer, you should win an aura-clash!”

“No one in the family has ever had to win an aura-clash, even father! You said it was too hard for anyone but you, Mother!”

Shardele wailed as she retreated to the door—the chair was sliding backwards. Ielane paused. Her aura flickered for a moment. She opened her lips.

“—My standards have changed. Shardele, sit down and demonstrate to me that you have earned the right to keep your lifestyle. If you run, I will begin restricting you until you show me improvement. Think logically. You know running will make this worse. Sit down and—”

The [Princess of Hazy Inspirations] fled. Sobbing, knowing her mother spoke the truth, and hating every moment of this cruel, organized reality that made her so pathetic. Running into her rooms and dragging a chair across the door, reaching for her Dreamleaf bowl and puffing it until she was soaring. Higher, higher into that space they shared, to get away from it all.

——

—In her study, Ielane stared at the door, in a dark mood as Dame Vensha closed the door Shardele had thrown open.

“You may be pushing her too hard, Ielane. She’s not ready for more.”

“Lyonette won an aura-clash with a [Princess] on hostile ground. Menisi could use her aura when she was ten.”

The 2nd Princess of Calanfer and 6th Princess were, in a way, the instruments of Shardele’s misery. Vensha glanced at the [Queen] meaningfully and handed her a handkerchief.

“Neither one is without flaw. Is the…poor gambler pressing?”

“It’s handled, Vensha. Get me an expert on Dreamleaf. Her levels were one thing, but if this is really clouding her mind…”

Ielane bent her mind back to her work. And she had no idea, no idea at all. She viewed Dreamleaf as a thing you could account for. An addler of senses in some ways, a bringer of happy, silly vibes.

Not really detrimental; she’d tried it herself and thought she ‘understood’ Dreamleaf. Hence why she’d allowed her daughter’s habit; unlike the destructive drugs like Selphid’s Dust or addictive Hazyflower, Dreamleaf had no such downsides.

But she didn’t understand Shardele’s class. If she had thought for a second with that logic she prized, Ielane might have realized—

[Smoker] was a class. [Drunkard] was a class. Negative, positive—there were classes and Skills for all things. This was just another route upon that strange path of levels. And it ran deeper than you knew.

——

Higher.

Shardele was floating up there. Escaping reality. She joined the panoply of peoples who came here for so many reasons. To enjoy themselves. To get away.

Maybe this gave them few Skills that were useful in other ways. But it was their place. Shardele drifted, seeing the beautiful visions that made her feel like the Eternal Throne should be open to everyone, and she waved at a fellow high-flier.

“Teliiiiim! Hiiiiiii!”

He was pacing around in a circle, having chewed down Carivek, the thinker’s drug, and he was on a tear. The [High Magus] was thinking about magic, and he didn’t often like to do it, but he couldn’t help it.

“Automated casting. Remote rituals. You can put it all together. Eldavin’s giving us drips and drabs. Does he see the puzzle? I could make something…even me, a [High Magus of Illusions]. Do I dare? Can’t see it all—oh, hello, Shardele. Bad day?”

“Sooooo baaaaaaad.”

She was like a spiral of smoke around him, unwilling to commit to the hard thoughts he was embracing. Carivek was a stimulant, but it was all mental. It boosted you—and then took away. Telim would be a sausage for at least a day after this, but he took the trade off.

Controlled, in their ways. They waved at each other, and Telim gestured at the magical formulas he was juggling.

“Can’t make sense of it all. D’you see?”

“I doooooo. That one looks nice. But it’s not complete.”

Shardele pointed, and her hand became a stream of light that danced across his magical sigils, altering them. Telim saw her body distort until she was a falling dawn of light rays in the shape of a smile. He was a collection of magic, elemental types constrained by his fleshy body, vectors of power running through his veins and organs, informed by but not bound wholly to his physical form.

Normal things. In this moment…he turned to his magic, and his jaw dropped.

“That’s it! No, wait. What do you see?”

“I dunoooooooo.”

Both were struggling to figure out what they were seeing. Shardele thought she had a glimpse of something amazing, but she didn’t know the magic, and Telim’s mind was racing faster, trying to piece together something with the power of Carivek.

Like a machine stacking blocks at a rate unmatched by mere hands—but only able to stack the blocks. Never able to throw one skywards like Valeterisa, to spread his wings and fly the same way. He was a tower of intellect, and each block had to be just so—

They had so many ways to get up here. They were regulars, experts, important people in this place that they forgot about when they woke. There was even community here; Shardele knew Telim, a number of [Mages] from Wistram, a [Merchant] who always came in the evenings—she brightened when another of her friends buzzed up. If not so high—she floated down a bit.

“Hellooooo little bee!”

There were even bees here. Sometimes you got animals. Even Wyverns; if they had a [Beastmaster], they could show up. This bee was very large, but she was friendly and buzzed upwards in a happy circle, as Shardele giggled and they flew around each other in crazy patterns, the best of friends. Telim ignored them as he went muttering onwards, and Shardele asked Apista how her day had been.

Naturally, she understood Apista. [Dreamer’s Tongue]. You could get…Skills here. Only they only worked here, and might not be real, but Shardele liked them.

The two were babbling at each other when they looked down, and there was a commotion ‘below’. And they saw her rise, blasting past the little dreams of the Centaur and all the others below.

Rising like a shooting star in reverse. So fast she passed them like a dream of great fish in the sea, terrifyingly large, unknowable, happy and joyous and wracked and confused, a screaming Drake flying on wings of pure thought towards the very roof of the sky itself.

Telim and Shardele paused.

“Oh my.”

“She’s going to reach the top. I’ve never seen her go that far.”

“So…painful.”

Tessa. Tessa made even their vantage points appear miniscule. She was on everything. Dreamleaf, Arrowsmoke, Elf’s Tears, Hazyflower, Selpage and Selphid’s Dust—

It’d kill her. It would have killed Telim or Shardele to take half of what was in Tessa right now. You only reached that high with practice, a kind of terrible training.

Both looked up, then away. You saw people like that, rising on furious Selphid’s Dust, screaming urgency into the air. Fading…fading and trying to climb as high on sheer rage each time.

They vanished from this place first, seldom to return. And Tessa?

Oh, Tessa. She drew her daggers which she carried even here, made of memory and suffering, and challenged the sky itself. Shardele called up at her as Apista fanned her wings, warningly.

“Noooo. Don’t do that. That’s, um, bad. I think?”

Tessa ignored her.

——

She was on an adventure. A quest, a battle against evil, and she left her body and all the suffering behind and became who she was.

A Drake who had no scars, who twisted upwards in a trail of her hopes, dreams, and ambitions…so many forgotten, faded things. But her form was willpower. She was a billowing cloud of blades, and her daggers were still clutched in her hands. The very edges of her soul that could cut and kill everything.

She was headed up. Straight for the sky itself as the others watched her. She shouted at them to follow her, but they were too far down, and some yelled at her not to do it. But she had to.

Tessa was crying tears of memory. Images of her leaping on Blankipillars half-morphed in the darkness of the cave, blind, stabbing everything that moved as they lacerated her insides, an unending scream—

Leave it behind. But it clung to her like spiderwebs, and her self-loathing was also dripping downwards like piss, little showers of guilt for this trip, for leaving the inn, for—

“I’m so tired of everything! I’m tired of being sick. I want to be well, I want to be cured forever! It’s your fault!”

The Drake screamed at the sky, and, as she reached the top of this place, the sky…

Moved.

It spread its wings made of wavy lines, and a lip made of the horizon curled upwards as its head swung down to her. The people below her cried out and fled, but Tessa?

She was laughing.

There was nothing in this world she couldn’t kill. It was her talent. If this stood between her and happiness? She dove upwards as the guardian of the firmament swung at her with claws made of the dawn falling, babbling in the voices of every person Tessa had ever met, a face of a beautiful [Princess] that stared at Tessa.

The Drake drove her daggers into the cracks of Lyonette’s face guiltily, ignoring the teeth made of the sound of her childhood dying as they dug into her.

They warred, as they had done before, but this time, she’d win. She was trapped up here, buoyed up by all the things she’d consumed, and the only way out was to rip the ceiling apart. Or her body gave out first, and she didn’t care which happened.

The Hateful Ceiling and Sky That Looks At You with A Million Eyes – Level 441.

What do you do?

[Attack]

[Skills]

[Items]

[Flee]

[Mercy]

[Kill Yourself]

She chose Skills. [Hazey Slash]! She dealt 561 damage. Then…[Tearblade of My Regrets]! Another blow that broke the ceiling-sky apart, but it was biting her. 

She took 1453365 damage, but she endured thanks to her passive Skill, [Drugs: Unending Journey]. Keep on the attack. She kept stabbing.

[Pride of the Highest King]! Healing—! 

She was a Named-rank adventurer. Her teeth were bared in a grin, and she was winning as she cut one of its manifold wings off. It laughed and thanked her.

I’m doing it. I’m saving myself. I’m going to be happy.

——

“She’s winning.”

Shardele was watching the battle above them, mouth opened. Apista was buzzing in circles, debating going to help or staying clear of the fighting. Telim wasn’t paying attention; he was doing magic, and many of the others weren’t aware of the titanic conflict above them. But they felt it, like ripples migrating down from above.

It was beautiful to the [Princess]. She’d never seen someone fly as high as Tessa and live. Or beat…the ceiling. Sky? Firmament?

Sometimes, they tried in teams, alone, even armies. But it always won. She watched as Tessa drove through the serpentine form coiled above their lovely little world, slashing through a body that was wrapped around everything like a protective egg.

“Tessaaaaaa. Don’t do it. It’s niiiice.”

She tried to talk the Drake down, but Tessa was laughing. She wanted to be free. Shardele hesitated, then waved a wand.

“[Dreaaaaamy Heals].”

She threw a Skill up there because she liked Tessa, then flinched and hid in her clouds as the ceiling-Ruler bared its teeth at her and spat a waterfall of down at her, trying to push her back into reality.

—But that was it. Tessa drove her blades through its head, and those watching gasped as she beheaded the huge body. It kept moving, growing a Hydra’s heads, but her Skills were cutting it apart.

A [Blademistress] beyond Zeladona with Archmage-tier Spells and a lifeforce beyond a Dragon. So few rose to Tessa’s rank—here, at least. It was so hard to survive the many things she had. And now…

She was standing up there, arms raised, as the sky itself died. Shardele watched, open-mouthed as it burst into an infinity of shattering glass. She saw an [Innkeeper]’s face, a Giant of old, a Dragon, a child-[Monk], all staring down at her with compassion and regret.

—Then it died, and Tessa was gasping.

“I did it. I’m free. I’m free.”

Now, Shardele was floating higher, puffing herself upwards. Apista followed, and they were all fascinated.

She actually…? The 1st Princess of Calanfer was staring upwards with Telim and the others. Tessa had killed the sky. Which prompted a question so few had ever asked of this place.

What lay beyond it? Tessa raised her claws skywards and saw what lay above the ceiling.

DARKNESS.

THERE WAS NOTHING BEYOND BUT THE VOID. IT DRIPPED DOWNWARDS AS THE DRAKE’S JOY TURNED TO HORROR. WITHOUT ANYTHING TO KEEP IT AT BAY, IT BEGAN TO RUSH IN.

“No. No, I’m supposed to be free. I—”

The Drake recoiled, but the darkness was flooding in, covering her as she stabbed at it, but this was nothing she could kill. Shardele cried out.

“What is—you killed it. It was protecting us, and you kiiiiilled—”

Tessa was screaming, then, a howl of despair and fury. She had thought—

THEN IT WAS EVERYWHERE. AN OCEAN OF EMPTY NOTHINGNESS DROWNED OUT SHARDELE’S CLOUD AND CAUGHT THE FLEEING BEE. THE [HIGH MAGE] GASPED AS THE WATERS FILLED HIS NOSE AND MOUTH, AND HE WAS DROWNING.

THEY ALL WERE. THE CENTAUR, THE VISITORS, AND THEN THEY SAW THE WORDS LAST OF ALL.

SPILLING DOWNWARDS ABOVE THEIR HEADS AS IT ALL WENT BAD, AND THEY WERE DROWNING IN THE LONG, UNFORGIVING DARK.

[Mass Skill: Reality Trips. A Midnight Journey]

And it got—

Bad.

——

A

bad

trip

Where truth

and maybe untruth

were fucking with each other on your sofa

and you were lying in the bathroom in your vomit

Wishing there were a way out. But there isn’t a way out, your eyes are open, and you can’t move, the killer is standing around the doorframe about to murder you, and you know he’s there, and you cannot move. He is waiting, and your breath is in your lungs, and you are lying there as the seconds become infinite hours.

Sitting in an armchair in the trip that will not end, and you know you have to come down off this bad high, drink a glass of water, do something, but each second is an hour, and you’re stuck here. This is infinity, and you’ll die of madness before it ends.

Her fault.

She did this. And now you’re paying the price, and it’s coming for all of you.

——

The Centaur was running. Running away from something, a huge undead monster chasing him. He’s Palt, but he’s not Palt. He’s Calvaron, and he’s dead.

He sees Montressa and Bezale and Isceil waving at him, but Isceil’s dead too, and Calvaron-Palt knows she only liked him because he reminded her of her former classmate. He’s screaming for help, for his master. Galei.

But there is no Galei. Just a grinning Centaur whose face becomes Taxiela’s, and they melt away as he looks at his apprentice begging for help.

“You’re useful to me as long as it’s funny and amusing, Palt. But I’m never going to be there when you need me. See?”

He points, and Palt comes to an unsteady stop, in his body, and the monster is gone. But behind him, lying in a puddle illuminated by a stage’s light, is Imani.

There’s a hole in her chest, and Crelers are crawling out of it and eating her. Now, Palt is running at her, screaming, but he can only fire [Light Arrows].

He needs more magic, a wand, something, something—but he doesn’t have anything.

The inn. Where’s the inn? He looks around for the person who has all the answers, the [Innkeeper]. And he sees her door waiting for him.

Sanctuary. If he can just carry Imani in there as the Crelers eat his legs…but he’s running. He always runs. Had his chance.

The door—it’s covered up. Boards of wood and nails are blocking it off, and Palt is screaming for her, but then he raises a hammer and drives another nail into the wood. Adding another board as the Crelers begin to eat his legs.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Imani.”

He’s whispering to her as she sits up, and she’s beautiful and made of bread, and she’s rising past him, becoming something glorious, and she turns to him with a forgiving smile and says:

“I’m leaving you, Palt. You’re pathetic. Palt, are you okay? Palt? Wake up. Wake up, you’re moaning in your sleep. Here, use—”

——

Palt woke up with a gasp and scream and spat out the clear blue tube in his mouth. He jerked and nearly kicked Imani as she backed up from his flailing legs.

“Palt? Are you okay?”

“Dead gods. What—”

His eyes focused on the blue tube and the remains of a Dreamleaf cigar he’d made. They were in their home, and he—he—

Bad trip. He recognized the blue tube, a Cleanser Stick, and began to pull on it as hard as he could, inhaling the smoke into his lungs and exhaling plumes of discolored green-yellow smog.

Normally, Imani would have shouted at him for that, but her face was utterly concerned.

“I heard you screaming. What was that?”

“Bad trip. Bad—very bad. Thank you for getting me out of it.”

He managed a shaky response, and she blinked at him. Imani had partaken of any number of substances Palt had taught her about, and she eyed the cigar.

“Isn’t that just Dreamleaf? You told me it was practically impossible to have a problem with it.”

“Normally, yeah. But there was—something about—”

The memories were already fading, and Palt was trying to rid his mind of them. He shuddered, then sat there, head bowed, as she went to grab some water for him.

I’m pathetic. Imani was all concern, asking if he needed a [Healer] or something to eat and what he’d seen, but he couldn’t tell her.

Spellbook. I need to study—he saw her lying there, and then he glanced up and smiled at her loving, concerned face.

“Palt? I think you should lay off the Dreamleaf if you’re having negative experiences like that. Or is it that weird world you keep telling me about? Could it be a bad batch from your supplier?”

He stared into her eyes and smiled.

“I love you, Imani. Even when you leave me.”

Her mouth opened, and her brows crossed as she lost the ability to speak for a second.

“—What?”

——

That was someone who had a way out. Who hadn’t gone far up into that space now flooded and now lay sinking in a jelly of truths and understandings.

They were all…trapped.

—High Magus Telim, wiping at his face, wandering Wistram’s halls as students avoided him, and someone went to find Sa’la. Not having a delusion.

Locked into reality. All the way. His mind piecing together shards of a glass puzzle that cut his fingers to the bone.

“He knows. He knew about Valeterisa’s magic. Even when he saw her achieve it, he didn’t gasp, he didn’t beg her for it like Viltach, Feor, nononono. He knew. He’s known all of it. All the magics. Eldavin pretends he’s got part of the puzzle. He’s got it all. He’s giving it to us piecemeal.”

His eyes were boring holes in everyone he passed, and no one could meet the normally-jovial [High Mage]’s eyes. Telim’s voice was a rising whine.

“Cognita left because he could kill her. What next? What next? Magic on the rise, and he has us. We’re becoming old Wistram. Old Wistram, the ones who broke magic and put it together. Magical imperium. And I’m Terras. I’m there. Armies of summoned beings marching on—Halfling from the sky. Goblin King. He knows it all, and there’s no one who can stop him.”

Stumbling forward, haunted by a [Princess]’ words at a banquet. Seeing flying Earthers in armor. 

“Rihal’s Imperium. Sorcerous towers.”

He threw up at the truths his brain were coming to. He was lying there in a puddle of vomit, curled upwards, muttering, when Sa’la found him and began to cast spells to cleanse him, forcing a potion into his mouth.

But the dread conclusion stayed even when the man awoke. Truth and madness and—

“That damn Drake.”

“Who?”

Sa’la peered around, wondering if a student or another [Mage] had pranked Telim unkindly, but he lay, eyes staring upwards at the ceiling.

“So it’s real after all. Why the hell does it exist? What powers does it grant?”

He sat up and covered his face with a shaking hand.

“For once, I want something to not be important or meaningful. Can I level from wiping my ass right?”

The Selphid reached for another potion bottle, but Telim was out of it. He stared at his rumpled robes with Terras’ new colors on them and then puked again. He was still one of the lucky ones. His truths had been in him all along, just unwilling to be examined.

——

Shardele woke out of her dreams with no hallucinations. No visions, no nightmares.

Merely…clarity. A kind of clear-headed insight that was so perfect it was the worst of all things. If this was how Menisi lived, Shardele would have rather been mindless.

She wobbled as she left her apartment, and her servants rushed up to her.

“Your Highness, you’re in no fit state to—”

One of her nursemaid servants wanted to keep her out of the public eye. Or her mother’s. Shardele turned a pale, but unsettlingly focused, expression on the woman. Her [Caretaker] halted, and Shardele had no radiant, dreamy gaze of bliss. Only waxy features, red lips pressed together.

“Where are my parents?”

—She found them in her mother’s private rooms and threw open the doors despite the protests of the royal staff. Shardele halted as she saw three people sitting around a coffee table, playing from plush couch seats.

At first, they didn’t notice her so intent were they on the game of cards. Ielane was smiling at Thimiran as the [Duke] sipped from a glass of water, and Reclis was cutting the deck for Shardele’s husband.

“—And you were thinking we’d resolve the Ailendamus, mm, situation how, Thimiran? No wrong answers. I quite liked your opinions on Calanferian industry vis-à-vis these new pushes into the New Lands and this Earther situation. We have to acquire some—”

Ielane’s eyes flicked up, but her husband and Thimiran were too engaged in debate. She blinked at Shardele as the 1st Princess swayed in place.

The realization given to her by Tessa breaking the sky hit her in fullness as her husband laughed like a young [Lady] being flattered by a Level 30 [Handsome Suitor].

“My thoughts? Well, Your Majesty, if I recall your order of, um, operations correctly, I’d like to first take stock of my allies’ opinions. Not merely the Dawn Concordat, but neighbors and our true allies.”

“Ah, wonderful. Well, they would be—oh. Shardele.”

Reclis finally noticed his daughter standing there as the servants fled, and he froze slightly. Thimiran twisted around, and both men wore a slightly guilty expression. Shardele whispered.

“You’re teaching him? You told me I would rule, not—not—you’re playing cards with him, Mother? How long have you been doing that? Years?”

Ielane du Marquin reached for a cup of water and sipped at it.

“Shardele, this is a surprise. What drove you to this sudden realization? You were on Dreamleaf…could it be that? Drug classes always surprise me. This isn’t a strong argument for your continuing hobby, however. You’re not taking it well. Composure.”

Shardele’s voice rose as Thimiran stood.

“Ah, my lovely wife, I had the hospitality of Their Majesties and—”

“You’re teaching him. Cards were our thing! You—you—you never trusted me at all.”

Her eyes were filling up with tears, and Ielane sighed.

“Shardele, one hedges one’s bets in all matters. Did you learn nothing from our games? Thimiran, we may have to call it this evening. I foresee some strife. Shardele, your manners—”

Too late. The 1st Princess’s eyes were pouring over, and she screamed for the first time in a decade, and for the first time in her life at her mother. A wild, confused aura that burst around Ielane’s focused aura like a cloud of dying dreams and joys cut by a razor.

——

And it continued. Dreamers and smokers and people around the world shouting and trying to escape an adventure gone horribly, horribly wrong. Feeling cold reality dragging them back into nightmares they couldn’t escape from, trapping them within their own flesh.

All of them, from the greatest to the smallest, no longer protected by that shared realm, a creation, a Skill, a gift or a curse, who could say—made long, long ago by the greatest of their kind.

Truth dripping into their ears and driving their minds to madness.

A bee, buzzing upside down as she flew, panicking, Unable to hear the shouts of alarm from the people below her until a magic hand captured her and a [Princess] was hugging her.

“Apista? Apista, what’s wrong? She’s freaking out. Someone…”

The rot is deep and dark, and my kin are dying to slay the horrid things. I am alone, a stolen child given the blood of royalty by another child far from her throne, another pretender to true thrones.

We are all imitators of the crown. I have stung the eye of the Witch of Webs, but I shall never protect anyone, even if my form changes again.

Not from war.

Not from the crushing weight of imperium.

Not from grief.

I am a bee. I may be free, but only accidentally. There is no one like me.

She shivered, though her body could burn with flames, until Lyonette and Mrsha hugged her, and she warmed and crawled up to rest on their shoulders. Apista decided to lay off the Dreamleaf cigars for a while.

They cursed her, each and every one of them. The one who had caused it all, trapped deepest.

Tessa.

——

She saw it all. Shardele realizing how replaceable she was, Telim’s conclusions about what he had signed up for, Palt’s guilts and insecurities, and so many more.

They were below her as she sank, and it was no mind-bending trip she was on. That would have been pleasant, familiar.

This? This was the taste of vomit and regret in the moments when you woke after it ended. This was reality staring at you like your missing tooth in a mirror, the pockmarks in your flesh you’d dug out, the sight of your emaciated body, and the inability to lie.

You’re not going to get better. You’ll keep doing this until you die. You’re never going to quit, and there’s no way out of this. You can’t fight your way out of it by killing ‘the sky’.

There was no avatar of Tessa’s subconscious. Just her. She wandered down out of her beautiful dream and into a memory.

Ah. Right there. Here it was. She stopped and found a sixteen year-old girl covered in blood. Some of hers, but she was mostly shaken up. Miner Ghouls after a bad cave-in that had unearthed death magicore. No one had expected it.

One Bronze-ranker dead, five more in intensive care with a [Healer] despite potions, and the Silver-rankers were chewed up too. Captain Groms was in a fury, and she was so badly shaken a Silver-ranker handed her a pill.

“Here, settle your nerves, rookie. Let’s get a drink.”

She hesitates, that younger Tessa, because she knows it isn’t a potion like normal. But she’s so rattled, and she thinks what harm could it do? She wants to impress the Silver-rankers.

So she takes the pill, and it’s right there.

Right there.

Tessa touches her own face. And she thinks—if only I hadn’t taken the pill, maybe.

Maybe she’d be happier. Maybe she’d have a life instead of wasting away. She watched, instead, as the younger Tessa began hiccuping, and they laughed at her, mocking her for the thing she didn’t really want to take. Then one of them is going to buy her a drink, and she’ll be so addled by both…

They knew what they were doing.

Tessa blinked, and the memory was gone. Replaced by other moments that defined her life. Other people’s beds, often facilitated by drugs and pressure.

Captain Groms. First of many such bosses and employers. Setting the standard she thought was normal.

“I’m going to beat the cockiness out of you, brat.”

It was easier if he liked her. Only, he never really liked her, simply found her useful and then…she saw another Tessa rolling out of his grimy bed, staggering towards a sink and drinking. Drinking to drown horror.

But it never did.

Blink.

Assassin’s Guild. She wasn’t a traditional member, but when you were desperate and had a bad reputation as an adventurer, they’d let you in. If you proved you could follow orders.

Initiation rituals. Hazing. Until they recoiled away from her, realizing that she was outlevelling them. Then instead of predators eying a morsel, they became leeches sucking out wealth and bits of power, and she…

Blink.

Tessa walked down a lifetime’s road, and each and every memory was bitter. Even Ilvriss.

Especially Ilvriss. Because when she came to people who had been kind without artifice, and saw it in hindsight, she beheld how she wasted it.

Each.

And every.

Time.

The last one she came to was the [Princess], the inn, and the miracle.

A Faerie’s Flower. Tessa held it in her clawed hands.

“This was everything. And it still wasn’t enough. It made me normal. But it didn’t fix me wanting this.”

Lying in a puddle of urine and vomit as the servants cleaned around her, too afraid to even touch her in her rooms, a pile of burnt drugs and empty capsules surrounding her.

The present. She stepped back into the past. Saw the Winter Solstice. Iert pointing a paw at her without even bothering to take her seriously. Knowing he could disable her in a moment.

“[Restore Addictions]. It’s not my fault. I tried. I swear, I was trying. I was going to die and do the right thing. I was.”

But instead—Tessa saw herself freeze up, then begin pulling out the Selphid’s Dust from the bag Iert had tossed to the side. Like someone threw a bone to a dog. Then herself going mad. As he took the [Innkeeper] away.

The flowers didn’t fix her.

She couldn’t fix her.

“You can’t fix me, Lyonette. Stop writing to me.”

Tessa sank to her knees, weeping, as letters fluttered around her, written with the [Princess]’ delicate scrawl. She saw Vaulont the Ash swearing and leaping away as she slashed at him, screaming for him to leave her alone.

She saw the future, a [Princess] holding a bee in her arms as she rode towards Tenbault. She saw Hekusha’s expression of vague contempt hidden by a smile.

She saw her body falling to pieces.

And she knew that as horrible, as painful as this moment was…

Tomorrow, she’d be back here again. So the Drake opened her eyes.

She was laughing as the servants fled. Laughing as she sat up in the dark of the night.

Despairing? Oh, yes. Hating herself? Always.

But mostly…

Just tired. She sat there for a long while, then got up. Mostly out of habit.

——

Madriga didn’t like Tenbault. She found it harder than some Gold-rank missions she’d been on, and she was counting the days until she could leave. Thirteen.

Thirteen and she’d collect her gold, thousands of pieces, and go. But dead gods, she wanted to leave and forfeit her pay.

It wasn’t simply the misery of having to tell people begging for healing they had to wait. It wasn’t just realizing the Healer of Tenbault was a piece of crap only in it for the gold.

It wasn’t only the danger of Shriekblade, even.

No…what made it hard for Madriga was seeing Crowdcaller Merdon and Shriekblade and realizing that the ideal she aspired to, Named-rank adventurer, was…well, them.

As night fell in Tenbault, Madriga walked into the city of Tenbault, leaving the secure, warded gates of the mansion to go to a moderately large theater close to it. The paint was chipping, and it wasn’t as glorious as all the gold lettering and interior carpets made it out to be.

There was a crowd, of course. There was always a crowd, so she stood near the back. Most visitors to Tenbault came once; after all, it was free, and what else could you do to pass the time?

There was only one performance. No modern plays. The performance ran nightly, and there was just one actor who stood on the center stage.

He had on a huge, pinstripe suit with a red bow tie, and his hair was combed back. He looked, in a way, more professional, more attentive than she saw him in the mornings.

Crowdcaller Merdon stood in the spotlight, and he spoke, his voice filling the theatre as bored nobles, the sick and dying, all watched him. His voice drowned out their murmurs and coughs, and it was beautiful and vast.

“I was at the bar the other day, and I heard a fellow say, ‘I could eat a horse’! The [Bartender] instantly came over to apologize. ‘I’m so sorry, sir, but we’ve only got cow.’ Ha-ha. Ha!”

He didn’t smile, but he did a pivot with his feet and then gazed left.

“I went to buy boots at a [Cobbler]’s the other day, and the man gave me a fair price. I told him his deals were like a grape. They were ‘raisin-able’.”

This time, the groan from the audience was so loud Madriga heard it. But that was the act. Merdon paused, then smiled glassily at the audience.

“Now, here’s a song from the northern highlands. ‘Oh, I was strolling down the boulevards…’”

He launched into an old folk song that Madriga actually knew, and he was a better singer than any she’d heard. His voice filled the air, and she realized, with a start, that he actually had some accompaniment. Either recorded music or a Skill—but Merdon still stood alone and sang his heart out.

When he was done, he didn’t even wait for applause. He did two more jokes, then performed an operadic. Both female and male roles.

He could sing, dead gods damnit! His falsetto was so convincing he could have made her believe he was some buxom lady instead of the Named-rank man. It was alluring and yet—

You didn’t come here twice. Merdon performed for three hours straight each night. Something about him standing there, performing to the crowds, made Madriga have to leave after only twenty minutes.

Then she returned to the mansion, and Anabeva, her [Ranger] friend, caught her.

“Hey, Madriga, where were you?”

“Watching Merdon. What’s up?”

There wasn’t much to do in Tenbault at night besides drink and waste your coin or hang out with other Gold-rankers, but they were miserable. However, tonight they had more entertainment.

“Look in the main courtyard. Shriekblade’s practicing. No one wants to get close, but look!”

—And there was Shriekblade. The Named-rank adventurer stood in the empty courtyard, and Madriga saw, from one of the balconies, a training dummy set up in the center. Eight more around her. Shriekblade stood there, stock still, then lunged.

She stabbed the first sack of rotted grain and stuffing so fast Madriga didn’t see her move. Stabbed and stabbed, but not mindlessly; she left a trail of dagger wounds up its body, then kicked the training dummy up—

“Five Families!”

Both Madriga and Anabeva saw Shriekblade hit the dummy six times in the air, leaping, striking, bounding off it, and striking again. Each time she landed, she hit another one of the eight training dummies. When her first target finally touched the ground, it was so badly cut apart it turned into a plume of dust which rose and obscured her in a cloud.

A whirling blade slashed in that cloud, leaving cuts, beheading the other dummies, attacking, a pure offensive onslaught that Madriga couldn’t imagine mimicking even with a full team. Shriekblade finally stopped in the center of the courtyard, panting, dripping with sweat as training-dummy carnage lay strewn around her.

Then she found more training dummies, began setting it up, and went for a second pass without Skills.

“They train like monsters. Merdon and Shriekblade. I thought he was all hot air and Skills, but he sings for three hours, doesn’t he? He must be able to level his class by performing. They work hard, even if they’re, you know, crazy.”

Despite her dislike of both, Anabeva was admiring. The [Ranger] leaned on her bow as Shriekblade finished her second round and went to set up a third. She was sweating hard, but Madriga disagreed with her friend.

“Ever been to the Adventurer’s Haven, Anabeva?”

“I didn’t stay long, but yeah. Who hasn’t? Why?”

The Gold-rank adventurer leaned on the balcony as she watched Shriekblade.

“There’s plenty of Named-ranks who go there. They don’t train like that. Even the younger ones like Colth the Supporter don’t. Sometimes, you see them practicing, but not for hours like this. Active Named-rankers don’t train. They’re going on adventures. This…this is what the washed up ones do to keep their edge.”

Anabeva glanced at Madriga, surprised.

“Come on, they’re working hard. You’re telling me that’s not impressive?”

“Merdon hasn’t gone on a monster hunt in years, Anabeva. Even when those Goblins sacked the city, he wasn’t leading the counterattack. I heard one of the Named-ranks at the Haven say once that an hour of combat was worth a month of dedicated training.”

“Huh. But they earned their levels.”

“Yeah.”

It was true that Merdon and Shriekblade lay in the territory of true monsters, the kind that even multiple Gold-rank teams would have trouble equalling. But when Madriga watched Merdon standing on his lonely stage without a band or other performers, or Shriekblade silently stabbing at a training dummy on the ground…

Maybe I should save up and retire. Named-rank was a dream that got you killed, and you could live for the rest of your life if you saved up rather than spent your gold on new gear. Madriga saw her future in the two adventurers, and if that was it…well, she’d hang up her blades tomorrow.

It looked like fear, Tessa’s relentless practice. Fear of losing the last bit of her edge. Then Madriga saw the Drake hurl a waterflask to the ground, begin punching at the courtyard flagstones, scream like she was wounded…and then reach for something, pull it out, and drink it. Anabeva shook her head as the thrashing Drake lay still.

“We’re going to be so much better than that.”

Gone again. Shriekblade got up after a moment and then began wandering about, giggling to herself. Madriga nodded.

“I wonder how much you have to mess up to sink that low.”

She couldn’t imagine it.

——

Crowdcaller Merdon was tired from his late-night practice, but he had to wake up at 4 AM. For Tessa.

It wasn’t as bad as last evening. Apparently, she’d calmed down suspiciously fast despite all the stuff she’d taken, then been practicing. But at some point, she’d fallen off the wagon and…

A terrified young [Manservant], the same boy that Hekusha liked, was white-faced and shaking. He sat in one of their staff rooms, and Tessa was watching him.

Peeking around the corner of a doorway, eyes wide, hunched. Merdon sprayed some tonic into his throat.

“Shriekblade.”

“Shh.”

The terrified servants ran as she glanced at him, and he tried to figure out which drug it was this time.

She’s lucid and talking, so not a normal one. Dreamleaf? No. Hazyflower? Maybe. She might be dangerous; her eyes were dilated, and she seemed unpredictable.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching him. That guy.”

She indicated the terrified young man, and Merdon waited.

“Why?”

“Because he’s the main character.”

“…The what?”

“Of the story.”

“What story? It’s too early for this, Tessa.”

She gave him an earnest, desperate gaze.

“No, listen to me, Merdon. We’re in a book. We’re all in a book, and he’s the important person. If we don’t do something with him, we’re going to be written out. You say something to him. I’m scared I’ll become the sacrificial character in a big fight scene.”

Her tail was lashing across the ground with her nerves, and Merdon glanced into the staff room where everyone was begging him with their eyes to do something. He didn’t do anything.

His armor was heavy today. He sank down with the wall at his back, sitting next to her. She peered at him.

“What’re you doing, Merdon?”

He was too tired to care if she started stabbing him. Merdon’s head bowed, and he took his helmet off. He gazed into the polished metal and spoke.

“Hey…Tessa. Do you ever get tired of all of this? How long are you going to keep doing the same thing?”

The Drake paused, and he saw her shift in the faint, blurry image of the helmet. When she responded, it wasn’t with that breathless credulity, but a reluctant tone.

“I’m—not doing anything. Listen, he’s…”

“Hekusha’s going to keep sending you on assignments. If you’re not dead within the month from that, it’ll be your habit. You could make enough to buy her healing doing missions by yourself. Why are you hanging around here?”

She was rapidly, unwillingly, sobering. Or perhaps his words were altering whatever state she was in. Tessa stopped peering around the doorway. Then she slid down the wall and sat with him.

“Why are you?”

He glared at his helmet.

“I’m earning gold, and I don’t fancy risking my neck. Orchestra will never have me back. I don’t combo well with other classes. I’m…fine. I’m fine. I’m choosing to do this. Are you?”

He glanced at her, and she avoided gazing at him. She traced onto the marble flooring, cracking the stone with her claws.

“I’m choosing too. It’s just hard to choose anything other than—Hekusha’s merely making me work for all the trouble I put her through. She cares about me. About us.”

“…”

“Merdon? She does.”

“…”

The Drake reached out with a claw and saw his head was bowed, his messy, uncombed hair springing up in curls around his head. A huge jaw and an older man, not the young, sturdy-jawed [Singer] he had once been.

The Vetrl-pill she’d took made reality distort around Tessa, and she smiled. For a moment, she saw him and glanced around the mansion.

“Three healings a day. Remember that, Merdon?”

“I remember.”

Tessa exhaled, and the contagious dust drifted over Merdon. [Shared Trip]. He coughed and waved it away, but it was too late. For a second, her voice transported him back in time.

“Three healings a day. ‘And if you need help, there is Master Glivs, who is a [Healer] and can see to any urgent ailments. I am so very sorry if I cannot heal you! Please, the most urgently in need…’ And remember the house?”

It was simply a house, a bit run-down, in a village, and it was barely large enough for three rooms. Bedroom, kitchen/dining room with a table for three at most, and the entrance living room which doubled as the place where she healed people.

Old and humble. Merdon whispered.

“Do you remember the roof?”

They both saw it. Tiles, not thatch. Not even good tiles; just cheap ceramics you could lay down and secure with a nail—if the nail didn’t break the tile. They needed replacing constantly, could leak, and every storm damaged them.

But the roof was the best roof there ever was. Merdon stood in front of the little cottage with the line of people, a hundred all waiting for the Healer’s help, and he could see the places he’d patched.

It was always perfectly tiled. Not a drop of water got in, even in the worst storms. Other roofs, they’d take a beating, and then the next time it rained there was a leak. Not hers. The day after a storm, there’d be someone up there hammering new tiles into place, even if it was drizzling.

The same with the woodwork and front of the house. The little garden had not a weed. He swept the tiles and saw, in the glassless shutters, a snoozing young woman.

Lying in her chair as the crowd stood respectfully silent. Sleeping—because she was so drained of mana she needed to recharge. In a bit, she’d get some Sage’s Grass tea and sip it, then cast her second [Restoration] of the day.

It’d be dark when she’d be able to cast her final [Restoration], and then she might need to be carried to her bed. Merdon rested his broom against the wall and placed his hand against the old wood. He saw something had been nailed into the wood.

A ribbon. There were ribbons hung to the wood that often needed to be taken down as they began to mildew, but more would pop up. At least three a day. Letters, which Hekusha had placed on the walls, then put in a Chest of Holding because she had no space for them. Thank yous.

Not much gold, except from rich clients. She kept talking about hiring another [Healer], if she had the coin—her private bedroom was filled with scrawls, trying to write the magic she had been taught out and make it easier.

Tessa sat next to the door like a guard-dog, staring at the people as if daring them to rush the cottage. She was chewing on some sausage. The Healer of Tenbault never went hungry, and the basket of provisions was always more than she could eat, so she shared it out. In the distance, Tessa saw the camps and smelled cook fires from the people coming for Hekusha. The villagers grumbled, but they let the people stay, and there was talk of raising a second inn to accommodate more people.

The Drake lay her head back against the wall of the cottage and breathed in and out as she listened to the Healer snoring. She saw the young man who came here when he wasn’t adventuring with his team staring through the window.

Merdon the Shouter glanced at Tessa, and she smiled at him toothily. And he said:

“Wake up, Tessa.”

Her smile faltered. She reached out, and his voice was low and precise, and it made her veins thrum.

“You have to wake up. I don’t care about whether you live or die. I do not. I’m tired of dealing with your shit. Tenbault doesn’t need two Named-rank adventurers. This is my retirement, not yours. Get lost, would you?”

“Merdon. I—”

She blinked, and the cottage dissolved. His face was replaced by the older man’s. He lowered the Potion of Clarity and splashed her in the face with the rest of it. She recoiled, but he just bounced the bottle off her chest and pushed himself up. His face was shadowed as he put his helmet back on his head.

“That house and the village is gone. You don’t owe her anything. Neither do I. Some [Princess] is coming for you, and I’m not risking my neck.”

“Lyonette? But I told her not to care about me. I’m hopeless.”

Tessa whispered, and Merdon strode past her.

“You don’t need to tell me that. But they keep coming back regardless of how low you sink. I wonder what you did to earn all that?”

She gazed at his back and rubbed at her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

——

Hekusha was in a bad mood this morning. She was snapping at the servants.

“There’s a leak in the corner of the room, right there! Get the [Builders] to patch it, and have it re-enchanted by a good [Enchanter] properly. Merdon? Where are you?”

He stomped into the room, red-eyed and glowering. She was going over her ledgers from last night and about to compliment him for dealing with the fraud incident. And to tell him to send Tessa in for more work.

But the Named-rank adventurer was distracted. He held up a hand as she began to speak, and affronted, she glowered.

“Merdon! I was—”

“Something’s coming. Get to your safe room. Something’s…”

His voice sparked alarm into her chest. She put down her papers, dropping them and fumbling for the pages, which cascaded down to the ground.

“What? Monsters?”

“—I don’t know. Madriga, someone report! Is anyone on the walls?”

He seized a speaking stone, and there was an alarmed voice.

“Boss? My [Dangersense] pinged. Lightly, but—the Watch is calling in. There’s a caravan coming down the road. It looked like more patients at first, but there’s Antinium and fucking Goblins among them. And Drakes and—”

Antinium? Goblins? Hekusha’s eyes grew round with alarm, and Merdon cursed.

“Get everyone on the walls! I want eyes up for Wyverns! Hekusha, panic room!”

He was pounding out of the doors to her rooms when she shrieked.

“Merdon! Wait! What about my bodyguard? Send Tessa or—”

“They’re here for Tessa!”

He roared at her, and then she realized who it was.

The [Princess] had come.

——

They came riding down the road like a storybook. Like one of Tessa’s trips so surreal were they to Tenbault.

Madriga’s eyes were boggling as she peered over the low battlements at…

“It is Goblins. They’re simply riding along and—waving at us.”

Goblins on wagons, riding next to Antinium. One of the Ants was even on horseback, and the Watch wasn’t sure if they should be alarmed or what.

“They must be those Liscorians. Are they coming for the Healer’s favor?”

“I don’t—I don’t know. Merdon said to get to the walls and get ready for trouble. Are the gates sealed?”

“Uh, three out of the six are. Two’re jammed, and there’s crowds—”

“Seal all of them!”

Tenbault was not a defensible city. Nor did they have an army. Madriga reassured herself that it wouldn’t be a battle. No one attacked Tenbault. Even the Bloodfeast Raiders did not because everyone needed the Healer. The only time a force had ever sacked the city was when that Goblin tribe had…

Her eyes fell to the Goblins again, and she checked the shortsword on her waist. Anabeva had her longbow raised.

“Should I shoot one of the Goblins or something?”

“They’re riding with the group, Anabeva.”

“Yeah, but they’re Goblins.”

“I heard in Liscor you’re not supposed to kill them.”

The [Ranger] shot her friend an incredulous look. She squinted down the shaft of her arrow.

“Let me take a [Distant Scan]. Hmmm. Whoa. Whoa!”

She jerked, and Madriga tensed.

“What?”

“Some of the people are seriously high-level! And you know how nobles glow with my scan?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I count three glows, and one’s all silvery! That woman sitting there with the white Gnoll kid?”

She pointed at a tiny figure. Madriga shrugged.

“How high are their levels?”

“H-high. There’s some huge muscle Drake, a fat Drake, a female Drake, the Drake [Lord], the other [Lady], uh, uh—the Gnoll in a suit, and I swear there were more, but even the lower-level ones are strong. Like, there’s a Hob that might be Level 30?”

“A Level 30 Hob?”

Madriga was horrified, but then Anabeva whispered.

“Yeah, but all the ones I named are higher level than she is.”

The two Gold-rankers stood there, and Madriga’s stomach began to hurt.

“You must be mistaken. There can’t be that many high-level people in one spot. Unless they’re bodyguards for one of the Five Families?”

It didn’t explain the Antinium or Goblins. Anabeva raised her longbow again, thoroughly freaked out.

“Those Goblins are dangerous. Hey, hey, everyone, get on the walls now! Where’s Merdon and Shriekblade? I’m going to fire a warning shot.”

“What?”

“Just so they stay back!”

“No, don’t do that. Anabeva, this is a bad idea—”

Anabeva was drawing back on the longbow, not aiming at any one person, but for the road. A clear warning shot for the danger only she could fully see. If you were watching her, and you had any understanding of archery, you could see she wasn’t going to hit anyone.

But then again, if you were watching her from, say, the window of a carriage that was half-rolled down, then you might have also been ordered to ensure absolutely zero threats came at you from Tenbault.

Also to make an impression. So, as Anabeva drew back on the longbow and hesitated, Madriga saw a flicker from the corner of her eyes.

“Watch out—”

The arrow hit the longbow as both Gold-rankers dodged backwards. It blew the bow out of Anabeva’s hands, and the [Ranger] cried out as it went tumbling off the battlements.

“How the—”

Madriga had already taken cover, and she felt her skin crawling.

I didn’t even see it coming this way. It curved—

Someone had seen Anabeva move, drawn an arrow, and loosed with pinpoint accuracy. Suddenly, the Gold-ranker was sweating. That wasn’t an [Archer] on Anabeva’s level. Then there was a crack and a scream.

“We’re under attack! Run!”

The Watch stampeded off the walls, yelling, and Madriga almost shouted at them to keep their heads down when she saw what had hit them.

An arrow arced up had fallen and hit the battlements. It had lodged in the crenellations that shielded you from archer fire, which suggested it had not only been fired with tremendous force, but that the archer had deliberately planted it there.

Especially because attached to the arrow’s shaft was a little piece of string and paper. Madriga stared at it, then reached up with trembling fingers and yanked the paper down. She read it out loud.

Kindly do not take aim at convoy. You are in my line of sight. 

—Elia Arcsinger.

“A-Arcsinger? But she’s washed up! She lost to a Gold-ranker.”

Anabeva’s eyes were wide, and Madriga almost chanced a glance over the battlements before hissing.

“Go get your bow! If she’s so washed up, how did she hit you?”

Anabeva was crawling towards the stairs.

“It’s okay, we’ve got Merdon and Shriekblade. We’ll—”

The third arrow blew a chunk out of the battlements, and both Gold-rankers screamed. The arrow went clattering down in a shower of unenchanted masonry, and Madriga saw a third arrow, this one of a different make, and another message attached to it.

Hello, I am also here. I am Bird. We have come to put a boot up the Healer’s posterior. Do not resist.

—Bird

She stared at it. Bird the H—

The fourth arrow clattered down next to her, and she decided she needed to be under more cover. The note this time read:

Sorry, I did not mean to destroy the battlements. My new bow is very pow-y. Be warned or something.

—Bird

Madriga read it, then she began to shout for Merdon to get here now.

——

Lyonette du Marquin was having a fine time. Okay, every time the wagon hit a bump she winced as her cracked skin pulsed with pain.

But she was in good company, and it was a fine day after a night camping out. There was Wall Lord Ilvriss riding on one side, Nerul playing cards with Nanette in the wagon, Mrsha in her lap, and Tenbault was on the horizon.

She wasn’t even mad about the shenanigans. She encouraged it. Chaos? Yes, please, with a side-serving of consequences. Pass the drama.

Tessa.

She was also aware of the danger, of course, and Ilvriss was leaning over his saddlehorn.

“Crowdcaller Merdon specializes in blasting large numbers of people. I respectfully suggest we spread out. I saw him fighting at the Bloodfields once.”

“I second that motion. Pryde, if we were to step that way?”

Grimalkin began to jog towards one of the other many gates the city had, but Pryde and Lyonette demurred instantly.

“No. We stick together. Shield spells I will take, but we can combine our defences. And it is the look of the thing, Grimalkin. We are not going to fight. If we have to fight, we will win, but we will not be seen to prepare for it.”

Lady Pryde nodded vigorously and shot Lyonette a thumbs up.

“Dignity. I keep telling you that, Grimalkin.”

The Sinew Magus and Ilvriss exchanged a look. Grimalkin cleared his throat.

“This would be dignity over practicality? A, ah, very noble concept.”

Pryde and Lyonette smirked at him. Ilvriss rubbed at his forehead.

“There’s some tactical element to it, I suppose. Magus, can you block a sonic attack at range?”

“I could try a [Hush] spell, and I was researching a way to turn it to [Mass Hush], but that might not work against a projected attack…Merdon is a fascinating issue since he’s creating sound waves, and we’re not close. Let me confer with Valeterisa.”

Grimalkin strode off, and Pryde followed, but Lyonette had to ask.

“He did a lot of damage at the Bloodfields, Ilvriss?”

The Wall Lord nodded tightly.

“Burst eardrums, chaos in the ranks—he could shout arrows and spells apart. Truly dangerous. We bled hard that year.”

“Why didn’t they use him every year, then?”

He smiled thinly.

“I suppose either the Walled Cities made him an offer to refuse or he was told—or just realized—that he’d be the first candidate for assassination if he became that much of an issue. Besides, if they kept bringing him, we’d have to call for Saliss or someone to counter him.”

“Oh, quite. Well, thank you for taking the time, Ilvriss. I know your digging is pressing, but this is so important—”

He smiled at her as he nodded to Peggy, Yelroan, and Rozencrantz, who were passing out snacks.

“I wouldn’t miss a real Solstice moment for the world. And as you said…I feel responsible for this too. I will say, though, that we must not discount Merdon. He might have been beaten once, but his guard was down. He is still a Named-rank.”

“We have one ourselves.”

Lyonette nodded to Elia, who was arguing with Bird about shooting at Tenbault. Ilvriss sighed.

“They have two. We don’t know how Tessa will act. If one side is fighting to kill and the other is not…let’s have the children hang back with Sergeant Relc.”

The [Spearmaster of Silence] was, in fact, the ideal candidate to both take care of the children and potentially ward off Merdon, though he seemed rather alarmed at the idea.

“I don’t even know how to cut, uh, sound, guys. Listen, if it gets bad, everyone just take cover behind a wagon or Montressa, alright?”

“It’s not going to get bad. What are they going to do? Fight? We have an Archmage, Grimalkin, Elia, Bird, and you on our side!”

Montressa assured Relc as Valeterisa woke up from her nap. Relc scratched at his neck spines.

“I dunno. That sounds really reasonable, Montressa.”

“Exactly, so—”

“Reasonable people don’t really exist in my line of work. You’d be surprised how many idiots take a swing at me even though they know I’m a [Spearmaster] and Relc and a Senior Guardsman. We gotta be careful.”

This sensible line from the Drake made Montressa blink, then start doubling her barrier spells. Mrsha held up a notecard.

Relc, when did you become so responsible and wise? You’re losing touch with your roots!

Relc twisted around and gave her a mock-grimace.

“I know, right? It sucks. I think Watch Captain Zevara gave me something. It’s the food you get when you’re promoted. By the way, how are we doing this? I didn’t actually get the full plan. Or I was eating.”

Nanette puffed up in outrage.

“You missed my lecture? First we get a boot and then—”

She began to joke around, then saw Relc had his spear in his hands and grew a bit more serious.

“U-um, well, we talk first. Lyonette wants to talk to the Healer of Tenbault and give her a piece of her mind. And Chieftain Rags is waiting in the wings. We do a show of force, and Archmage Valeterisa is the final blow.”

“Sounds like the Goblins are when it gets hairy. Or maybe just when the Healer appears. Got it. So we’ve got ward spells from our [Mages], and I think Ilvriss and Lyonette have some defensive Skills…”

Relc was calculating the inn’s defences, which weren’t as all-encompassing as he’d like. Not as many pure combat-classes. However, they had tricks.

Such as Yelroan, who was bickering with Ishkr.

“Listen, I’ll flash them with my sunglasses. Works on everything. I reckon I could get the entire city. Don’t take risks.”

“I’m not. I’m just…going to get a bit closer.”

The [Head Server] innocently skated ahead on his [Waxed Floors] Skill, and Yelroan sighed, but Nerul clapped him on the shoulders.

“Ah, let him take a risk. He’s young and new to his levels. Now, [Mathematician], I’m also warded as a [Diplomat], but I think we’re probably in breach of pure hospitality-laws. Still, if it gets bad, can you use your Skill-blocking ability and give me a shot at the Watch Captain? I’m looking for the fellow, but I think I can lock down the Watch if I can draw him into a [Sudden Negotiation].”

Yelroan peered at the city and smiled.

“I can. That’s him there. See the one peeking up?”

“My word, how’d you find him?”

“I have an image. The Mage’s Guild sent me his particulars last week in a routine inquiry. I did phrase it as if I was one of the Five Families, but their protocols are shockingly bad. Then again, I could do this to a Walled City.”

Nerul’s chuckle filled the air.

“Mathematician, Mathematician, you must stop. There’s only so delightfully titillated I can be before I try to recruit you for Salazsar again. Oh, such lovely files. And the man’s in debt? My, my…”

It was going to be bad—for Tenbault—if it came to a fight. But again, that first blow…if a Named-ranker was on the other side, there was no such thing as overkill.

Which was why you needed a ringer, obviously. Elia Arcsinger and Bird? Fine deterrants. A pet Wall Lord, Sinew Magus Grimalkin, Archmage Valeterisa? Decent, decent.

However, true security came from an actually competent, intelligent, gifted genius of war and perspicacity. If he could deal with this nagging issue first—which was why Dame Ushar handed Lyonette a scrying orb and a certain Duke appeared.

“Rhisveri?”

“That’s Duke Rhisveri to you, er, Your Highness! Give me fifteen—no, thirty minutes and I’ll be right over. I just have, uh, some complications this morning.”

His voice sounded unusually strained, and Lyonette frowned at the faint image of the rather-harassed looking Duke.

“Are you sick?”

He was all bundled up in a blanket like a sausage, rather reminiscent of his true form, and he snapped at her. His cheeks were crimson, and he appeared sick—but he sounded lively enough.

“No! Just some annoying—delay for thirty minutes, alright?”

“We’re fine, Duke. We have Valeterisa.”

“You need a real combat spellcaster, not some Wistram hack! She probably doesn’t even know how to counter sound attacks. I’ll be on my way! I need some time, and then I’ll do a [Gateway] and—”

Ilvriss was giving the scrying orb an affronted look.

“Is that the rude Human who kidnapped you last time?”

“It’s Rhisveri. We’re fine, Rhisveri. If there is trouble, come quickly as you can, but your involvement would be suspicious and political.”

“I heard that voice! And why are the children there? You have them behind barrier spells, don’t you? Who takes children into danger?”

“We have plenty of security on the road, and this is important, Rhisveri. They should see important things being done, and they wanted to be here—”

“I can see why your entire royal family is given tiaras. Utterly irresponsible, the lot of you. Twenty minutes! Don’t you dare hang up on me! Don’t you d—”

She handed the orb back to Ushar, whose brows were raised.

“The good Duke seems distressed for some reason.”

“He does. Oh, well. We can eminently do without. Everyone ready? Chieftain Rags?”

“Yep.”

The sounds of chewing from a speaking stone. Lyonette paused.

“Are you having breakfast?”

A swallowing sound.

“Nope. Get on with it, would you?”

Everyone was a critic. Lyonette sighed, but she saw people on the battlements, and she thought she detected Merdon’s aura at range. He wasn’t an aura-user, but he felt…er, loud. Where was Tessa? The [Princess] was rising slightly as the wagons slowed when the Healer of Tenbault appeared on the walls and began to shout.

“You! How dare you come here! Begone at once! I shall—”

Her voice was drowned out as Merdon spoke.

“Visitors to Tenbault. You are unwelcome here. Turn around and begone, or in defense of the Healer, I will raise my voice.”

Everyone went silent. Lyonette du Marquin’s chin rose, and she saw Ilvriss tense. But she held up a hand and stood on the wagon as Ushar activated a scroll.

“[Loudness] spell on, Your Highness. Do remember coughing and other sounds are picked up…”

Xinthe stood behind Lyonette, and the [Princess] spoke as some mage-conjured wind blew her hair back at the right moment. Makeup on, a blue-over-white dress like the clouds shifting around her, and a smile that said she was politely going to offer you tea before she kneecapped you under the table. She spoke.

“Tessa? Are you there? I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve come to bring you home.”

She ignored the outraged Merdon, the Healer. Hiding behind the battlements, shivering like a storm, Tessa flinched, then looked up.

“Lyonette?”

——

Crowdcaller Merdon’s heart was beating too fast, but he had the Gold-rankers spaced out around the walls, the Watch, the walls themselves, and Tessa with him.

His only problem was that he still felt outmatched—and that the Healer was on the walls too, despite his direct orders.

“Hekusha, get back, you’re in danger.”

He hissed at her, and she snapped back. Unfortunately, she’d cast [Loudness] too, so her voice echoed across the entire city.

“I will not hide from an uppity [Princess], Merdon! She cannot have Tessa! Do something about her!”

The Named-ranker winced, and she reddened, then snapped down at Lyonette.

“You are not welcome in my city! Begone!”

The [Princess] didn’t reply at once. She stood there, and Merdon glanced at the scrying orb, but to his relief, it was just showing that damn [Baker] or something. This was not a hugely televised moment. He didn’t need to become another Elia.

He was tensed up, his throat felt too tight, and sweat was collecting down the middle of his back. He recognized some of the people arrayed on the road, but he couldn’t back down.

—The [Princess] who seemed to be calling the shots didn’t even look at the Healer of Tenbault. She stood there, picture-perfect, and Merdon was wrong.

Someone was watching her.

——

The Duke of Ailendamus was watching as he had another puppet-Rhisveri doing an interview on television. He was—incapacitated, though, from doing anything more than talking. Distracted.

It was Ryoka’s fault, damn her. It always went back to—

His eyes were locked on the [Princess], who seemed weaker than when he had last seen her. Weaker and incomparably more…vast.

Levelling. Envy, jealousy, the eyes of a Wyrm on a Human appreciating in value. He watched.

Just like her mother.

——

Ielane du Marquin swore she still smelled like Dreamleaf. Who knew aura clashes could have such an olfactory component? She was displeased.

But as she watched her daughter on the scrying orb, she motioned, and Vensha stepped over.

“Inform Lady Rouslin if she is not already watching. Loudly and at speed. And get me a list of spells observing Lyonette.”

It wasn’t being televised, which meant anyone who was watching was both aware of her daughter’s movements—despite the inn’s hiding Skill—and intelligent. Vensha hesitated.

“The latter will be tricky. Scrying is getting more—”

“Make the attempt and go.”

“Loudly?”

Again, Vensha seemed uncertain, but Ielane’s plucked brows made her instantly signal for a Thronebearer, who procured three more servants who’d be running their mouths the moment they were out of earshot. The Queen of Calanfer spoke out of the corner of her mouth as she chain-smoked two cigarettes, then coughed.

“If she fails, she fails and it’s endearing or some such. She cannot hide, and the purpose of this exercise is only rewarded if we play it straight, not dance on the margins. We gamble, Vensha. At least she put on a halfway decent dress.”

Vensha, all severity and calm poise, who would have made a good [Queen] if only Ielane hadn’t wasted her sons and the woman were younger, watched as Lyonette began to speak.

“Is that motherly pride, Ielane?”

“Hah.”

After a moment, Ielane twisted around in her seat, brows knitting.

“Vensha, was that a jok—”

——

“Tessa. It’s me. I’ve come with everyone I could find. I truly did leave you for too long. I am so, so sorry. Can you show me you’re alright?”

The [Princess] spoke before Tenbault as people peered through the portcullises at her or looked up and heard an unfamiliar voice. Scrying spells captured her as she stood there. And her eyes roamed the battlements, never finding the Drake hiding next to Merdon and Hekusha.

“You—”

The Healer tried to speak, but then Lyonette looked at her, and Hekusha found her throat closing up. She wanted to claim Lyonette had threatened her, or assert her authority, but she couldn’t speak. She glanced at Merdon, and he called down to her.

“The Named-rank adventurer, Shriekblade, is in the Healer’s employ. She has not chosen to leave, and she is under contract. Continue to harass the Healer and I will treat you as an enemy of Tenbault. I am Crowdcaller Merdon, and I fear no armies, Goblins, or Antinium.”

Several of said Goblins and Antinium laughed at that, but Lyonette just stood there. Waiting. Then she spoke, and it seemed to the Calanferians who saw her that it was a stranger they beheld.

Where was the 6th Princess sneering down at them from carriage-back? It—it hurt to see. More than one rubbed at their eyes or glanced away.

She’s changed. She’s changed so much in such a short time. The old [Princess] is gone. And they had missed it. The pain became a gnawing hole in their chests. A desire to know all that had gone on, and when she spoke, it intensified.

“I’ve made your bed, Tessa. I don’t want to pressure you. Just take you away from this dreadful place. The Healer…isn’t healing you. We let you down. Erin, myself. We should have done more. You did so much. Please. Even if you’re angry, please say it to me, Tessa. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone.”

“Shut up. Liar. You didn’t do anything. Go away. Goawaygoawaygoaway.”

Tessa whispered. Merdon’s eyes flicked down to her. He drew in a breath.

“This is your last warning!”

At this, another figure galloped forwards on horseback and shouted, if less empowered by magic, than with considerable lung strength.

“In the name of Salazsar, halt! Tessa is an adventurer of the City of Gems, and we are here in concern for her wellbeing! I am Wall Lord Ilvriss! On behalf of Calanfer, Liscor, and Salazsar, you will stand down, Crowdcaller Merdon!”

Such a cunning Drake. Merdon hesitated as he eyed a Drake Wall Lord. Hekusha blanched.

“Salazsar? What are Drakes doing? S-summon the Five Families! They’ll chase them away! Merdon, tell them to go, and if not, we’ll have an army from House Veltras or the House of El here.”

“They won’t get here in time. Nor will they want a war.”

Merdon murmured to her more quietly, and Hekusha’s voice rose, again forgetting she had the [Loudness] spell active unless she whispered.

“I’m the Healer of Tenbault! I’m too valuable to be attacked! They’ll send that army unless they want me to hold back from healing everyone in their lands!”

Every eye shifted to her, and she glared around. This time, at least, Lyonette seemed to focus on the Healer, and she spoke.

“Healer Hekusha, release Tessa to me or let her talk to me. You are no fit guardian for her.”

“Liar! How dare you threaten me in my city! You have made threats against me, sent [Assassins] in the night to intimidate me—I found those warnings on my pillow, and I have the backing of the Five Families! House Reinhart! If you don’t leave, I will have Merdon shout your rabble to pieces!”

Lyonette glanced behind her and spoke mildly.

“My daughters are in this party. We have not come for war, Healer.”

“Well then—”

“Threaten her or my people again and I will have Elia shoot you somewhere nonlethal. The same for you, Crowdcaller Merdon. I simply want to talk to Tessa. Is there a reason you’re hiding her from us? Is talking so dreadfully frightening to a Named-rank adventurer and the Healer of Tenbault?”

This time, both Hekusha and Merdon glanced at Tessa again, but she was rocking back and forth. Hekusha whispered to Merdon.

“Don’t let her speak to Shriekblade. She’s bluffing. We have the support of the north—once she realizes she can’t intimidate us, she’ll negotiate.”

Merdon eyed Lyonette.

“She seems insistent.”

Hekusha clicked her tongue.

“Nobles are all the same. She’s trying to take my—our asset. Tessa! Unless she’s prepared to pay handsomely, she’ll go back empty-handed.”

“Pay…?”

The Healer mistook Merdon’s glance at her.

“Of course, she’s taking my bodyguard! If she’s rich enough to hire this many mercenaries, she can pay…have her back down, Merdon! She’s going to pay for this.”

He felt like she didn’t understand the gravity of their situation. Merdon turned to Tessa, wondering what her thoughts on the Healer’s position were. But the Drake didn’t even seem to have heard. She was peeking at Lyonette, ducking down whenever the [Princess]’ eyes roamed the battlements towards her. She gazed up at Merdon, eyes swimming with…tears?

“Don’t let her take me. I’ll ruin her life. I’m broken. Broken, Merdon. I belong here.”

The man glanced between Hekusha and Tessa, and then he set his jaw and his stance. He barked at Lyonette.

“I don’t back down in front of threats, whoever you are. The Healer has made her decision. Try these walls and suffer. Nothing and no one can escape my voice.”

“Even Goblins?”

That shout came from a little witch who shook her fist at him as she leaned out from behind Relc’s back. Merdon twitched. And then…either because they thought it was really thematic or because their Chieftain was getting bored with this standoff, someone screamed.

“[Aerial Detection]! It’s—oh dead gods! There!”

Anabeva pointed, and every head turned. A Gnoll with a suit standing in the crowd raised a paw.

“The Goblins are back! They’re coming on Wyverns! We’re all doomed!”

Merdon’s stomach flip-flopped as he saw distant specks appear from the nearest forest, rising and coming their way at speed.

The Goblins. The people at the gates began to stampede away as the Gold-rank adventurers panicked.

“Dead gods, there’s four Frost Wyverns, and they’re all Hobs—”

“It’s that tribe that killed Pallass’ army! Get off the walls!”

“Have the Watch shield us—they’re going to free everything and dust storm the entire—”

“HOLD.”

Merdon roared, and everyone turned to him. Hekusha was fleeing down the battlements towards her distant mansion, and Tessa’s eyes were on the Frost Wyverns. But Merdon, breathing hard, was—

Terrified. Furious. He barked at the [Princess] who watched him as if he were nothing but an irritant. At the little witch, at—everyone.

“You—you think you can scare me with the same trick? I’m Merdon. Merdon, the Conquerer of Chalence! I’ve beaten armies! I am a Named-rank adventurer, and this is my city!”

He saw the Wyverns were splitting into attack vectors, coming at him from left, right, and straight ahead as the last one circled the city to hit it from the rear. And he already saw the plumes of dust dropping from their loaded bags of holding.

The exact same tactic. His teeth bared as he raised something to his mouth. A…

Speaking stone?

Tessa, turning her head to watch the Wyverns flying, was whispering.

“That one’s good. Maybe better than me at…”

Then she saw the speaking stone. She eyed Merdon as he took a breath, then put her claws in her ears. She was the only one who knew him. Because in the next moment, Merdon used the speaking stone.

A communication tool he had virtually no use for. Just like [Loudness] spells; he could project his voice anywhere he wanted and at any volume he wanted. The only purpose they would have would be if he wanted to broadcast his voice across the city from magical speakers. And amplify his prodigious voice—

Further.

Crowdcaller Merdon, the Named-rank adventurer, the Loud Lad, Merdon the Shouter, the [Stentorian Voice of Concerto], closed his eyes…

And sang.

An old recording crystal, the highest quality you could buy made from jade, played quietly at first, accompanying the lone voice. A violin’s faded notes stirred the air with a host of instruments, a band that would never again play the same way.

Only the voice filled the air with true force, and it was wider than the plains of Izril, deeper than the darkest river, and it flowed through the bones. Echoing from every building and surface in Tenbault, into the air, as the startled [Princess] and her company heard it.

And then she saw the air trembling. It was a song never finished, made of the deep projection of true opera, the vibrato of Merdon’s vocal cords, higher than a humming bird’s song, and lower than the rumble of the earth.

“Audite! O mundus testis!

(Hark! Oh the world bear witness!)

Canto ad gloriosum infinitum!

(I sing to the glorious infinite!)

O Gigantes, audite me!

(Oh Giants, hear me!)”

His voice! On the ground, Mrsha had clapped her hands to her ears despite the [Hush] spells Grimalkin had cast. That was nothing to the rippling of the air.

Oh no! Rags is in the air!

She wrote, and it was good she wrote, because no one could hear a word. She showed it to Peggy, and the Hobgoblin was shouting, waving her arms—at the Wyverns.

The Wyverns who were faltering in the air as Merdon projected the full might of his voice upwards, and the dust, the dust meant to choke him—

It was billowing away. Merdon’s voice was pushing the very dust backwards, and one of the Wyverns was actually moving in reverse. And—

He was getting louder. The song was in Latin, one of the few languages known to the world.

“Carmen numquam visum ex corde meo cantatum

(Song never witnessed sung from my heart)

Numquam ad veritatem cordis mei exprimendam.

(Never to express my heart’s truth.)

Cantate, Musae! Cantate, montes!

(Sing, muses! Sing, mountains!)”

The Frost Wyverns were diving. Trying to ground themselves, to drop their Goblins. But this time—Merdon’s voice rose and reached a climatic pitch as he sang. A pure demonstration of vocal mastery. A sound like a flute of a Giant playing, and each note blasted a Wyvern out of the air. Exploded a [Fireball]. Obliterated one of Bird’s arrows.

“A-a-A–ah–a–aa-a–oh—”

——

It was as bad as Ilvriss remembered from the Bloodfields—worse. Merdon had prepared for the attack that had caught him off-guard last time, and the Wall Lord pointed up and screamed at Nerul.

“Dead gods! They’re falling out of the sky!”

Two Wyverns were falling, and a third was diving after them. It caught one of the falling Wyverns, slowing the descent, and Ilvriss saw a figure leap towards the second—Grimalkin. He pointed, and the Wyvern and Goblins slowed, but that just drew Merdon’s attention.

“Fools!”

He blew Grimalkin out of the air. The Sinew Magus hit the ground, rolling to his feet as his barrier spells flickered. Ilvriss drew his sword.

“That’s it. Split and engage—”

Then he saw Merdon’s head turn, and the [Voice] barked another laugh. Something exploded in the air in a shower of lightning—Bird lowered her bow.

“Uh oh. He sings more beautifully than me. Elia, how do you shoot through sound? Elia?”

The Named-rank adventurer was forty feet away and booking it, running as fast as she could for a few rocks. Not running away; repositioning. Because Merdon’s first song-Skill had taken the Goblins almost out—and he was activating another.

“[Song: Refrain of—]. Argh!”

He shielded his eyes as something flashed at him from the band below. What was that? A Gnoll with sunglasses? Merdon shook himself, then growled. His Skill! He hesitated, but he saw the green Antinium with wings aiming another arrow.

He whistled and she flinched and a slash cut across her body—didn’t draw blood. She recoiled back into cover and he grimaced.

Body’s strong as steel. He was outnumbered, eyes flicking for foes, and his blood was alive. Alive—he knew how dire this was, but—

“Gold-rankers covering fire, cover me, you idiots!”

His smile was all twisted up like his stomach. Fear and a kind of mad joy, a familiar companion. He couldn’t back down. If he failed to protect Tenbault twice—

Back against the wall. So he opened his mouth and roared, buffeting everyone present with sound. Merdon was laughing.

See, Deniusth, you bastard? See, Larra? Do you see me?

—Then his voice faltered as he saw something rising upwards. The [Sinew Magus] had cast a spell. They had come prepared for him.

Sandstorm. A hail of stinging particles that blinded and choked made the Gold-rankers aiming bows down cover their faces and cry out. Incompetent—

Merdon saw the Antinium [Archer] poking her head up again and felt a crawl down his back. He couldn’t use his powers in the sandstorm. It would absorb his sound even if he could shout through so much of it.

Trapped. They thought they had him trapped, and he was unless…Merdon’s eyes flicked around, searching for any other tactic.

There was none.

He had to use it. Reluctantly, Merdon activated another song-Skill. One he hadn’t used since…

“[Song: Adventure of a Lifetime]!”

He touched that faded song crystal at his belt, and the music changed. Tessa tilted her head. She’d never heard…

No. Wait, she knew this one. She breathed a single word.

“Orchestra.”

And the violin began to play. Merdon’s voice stopped projecting the pure operatic music, and he inhaled.

——

What the heck? Mrsha’s mouth was open. She uncovered her ears for a second, and Nanette was doing likewise. She saw the young witch was bouncing on her toes, and Colfa and Relc, protectively shielding them, were glancing at each other?

This is a combat song? It wasn’t quite like the Singer of Terandria—the violin was in place of a guitar, and there was a brass horn, a drum and flute, but—

It was no opera at all. It sounded like a younger man’s song.

“—on the road to Haven’s table! 

We’ll send monsters to flight

Conquer the deepest dungeon—

So long as we’re fighting shoulder-to-shoulder.

If we sing together—yeah—then our music will triumph!”

Relc’s mouth was open, and he had completely forgotten to try to cut the song apart. Merdon was so far away that Mrsha couldn’t see him well, but she felt like his face had gone several shades redder.

But it was working. The [Karaz Sandstorm] that Grimalkin had conjured was a massive version of the spell, poised to blow across all Tenbault. But when Merdon sang, the storm…

Vanished.

It split apart, sand and wind turning into wisps, and then Mrsha’s jaw fully dropped because she saw the very clouds clear. The sun shone down, and blue skies bathed them with light.

The weather. He’d changed the very weather—

And Crowdcaller Merdon wasn’t finished. He spun around on his heels, and one of Montressa’s [Lightning Bolts] and two arrows from Bird and Elia burst on glowing barriers appearing around him. He shouted and hit a [Flame Strike] that had fallen from the skies. Flames landed around him, and he panted, breaking off the song.

It wasn’t as strong as the previous one. Mrsha got the distinct impression that something was wrong. Merdon’s voice was overpowering, and he was drowning out the other instruments. It was incomplete with him performing live. But he just didn’t stop.

“Merdon! Halt or I’ll—”

Elia drew a glowing arrow, and Merdon’s head snapped to her.

“You’ll WHAT, Arcsinger?”

The half-Elf went tumbling across the ground, and Mrsha’s mouth opened as she saw Elia’s ears were bleeding—and her nose. Merdon drew breath as someone went running her way with a healing potion. Calescent was holding a cleaver, but Merdon was way too far to hit. Crowdcaller Merdon pivoted, blasted Grimalkin and Pryde, and the [Lady] had her fingers in her ears.

“You think I’m scared of your numbers? I’m Merdon!”

He launched into a third song as Lyonette and Ilvriss glanced at each other. The [Princess] was grimacing and mouthing something as she waved her arms. The Wall Lord galloped at her as Merdon unrolled a spell, and he was rising, now, on a platform of dirt. Gaining vantage and shouting.

“You’re singin’ like you’ve got me on the ropes 

Too bad I’m the man who’s gonna crush your hopes

I ain’t no Gold-rank chump, I’m the realest thing you’ve ever seen.

Get ready, cover your ears, ‘cause I’m gonna sing.

It don’t matter who you bring!

I’m Merdon the Shouter!

I’m the Voice of Izril! 

There isn’t anyone who can’t hear my song!

So square up; this won’t take long.

[Bellow of Force], [Roar of the North], [Pests Begone]!”

His voice hit Lady Pryde and Grimalkin, and this time, they vanished. Mrsha cried out in horror; there was a groove of dirt ripped up out of the ground, like one of her math problems. A perfect area of ground blown away.

One of the remaining two Wyverns exhaled down at Merdon—the frost breath hit his combined Skills, turned into a cloud that developed a hole in it, and then the Wyvern spun and went crashing down.

Then Merdon turned his face towards the [Princess]. His eyes narrowed as he saw her standing there, arms raised to shield the wagons behind her. He drew his breath as a Wall Lord lifted a sword, and the [Princess] turned to him.

Lyonette and Ilvriss locked gazes, then turned to look at Mrsha, Nanette, and the inn’s staff, shielded behind Montressa and Relc. The [Spearmaster] had cut a tiny gash in the air that felt…

Quiet? But Merdon inhaled and shouted.

“RIDICULOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”

He didn’t stop. His voice rose until Mrsha felt it pressing against Montressa’s barriers, trying to knock them flat, and Lyonette was being shielded by Ilvriss and the two Thronebearers. They were all warded, but Montressa was screaming.

“No! Nonono—”

Her barriers were being stripped away! Merdon kept howling at them, and Mrsha saw Relc swing, curse, and then there was blessed silence.

For them. But Relc’s spear had cut a section of relief out for Mrsha and Nanette; everyone else was stumbling as the voice threatened to send them flying. Relc was tensed, ready to leap forwards, and Mrsha was shouting silently.

Mother!

She saw Lyonette holding a hand out as the air rippled around her, sending dust and dirt flying in front of the wagon. But she wasn’t being hurled away like everything else. And the wagon was…

Intact? Yes, it was shaking, but even Ilvriss’ horse was just tossing its head, not stumbling or screaming when the full weight of Merdon’s voice was on them. Mrsha’s eyes widened.

Then she saw something…blocking the sonic waves assaulting them. The intensity of Merdon’s voice seemed to lessen, and Nanette pointed.

“What is that?”

Mrsha heard Nanette for the first time, and she swore she saw something moving in the air as Ilvriss flung out a claw, palm up. It was blowing around him and Lyonette, covering the Goblins, Antinium, as Rosencrantz tried to shield Xesci and Nerul knelt with Yelroan and Colfa behind a wagon.

It looked like…

A cloak?

It didn’t exist. Not in the real world. It was a mirage, like magic, an image. A shiny cloak made of sunlight, as if someone had woven it out of the dawn.

No, wait. It was a cloak of scales! Purple, gleaming like gems.

It was…two cloaks? Mrsha’s eyes widened, and then the combined auras materialized fully. Wall Lord Ilvriss’ and Lyonette’s hands were raised, and where they stood, the voice of Crowdcaller Merdon split around them, unable to breach the flowing barrier the two were projecting.

Aura.

Merdon’s eyes were bulging. His face was a tomato, but Ilvriss and Lyonette held their ground. Both were panting, but they glanced at each other and raised their shaking arms.

Like they were lifting something incredibly heavy in Grimalkin’s gymnasiums, they tensed, and Lyonette’s fingers dug into the air as Ilvriss gritted his teeth. Then both swung their arms away like they were shaking out that very same cloak.

And Mrsha saw the cone of sound shift—and they tossed Merdon’s voice over their shoulders.

Then it was just ringing silence. The Named-rank adventurer stumbled, nearly falling, catching himself on the battlements, and he tried to shout again—but they’d thrown his voice!

“What—that—”

He finally managed to speak, panting, and Lyonette du Marquin shook one hand and grimaced as she rubbed at a cheek; her flesh felt like it was ringing. Wall Lord Ilvriss adjusted his doublet and grimaced.

They glared at the Named-rank adventurer as he faltered. Merdon drew in a breath, and an arrow pinged off his helmet. He jerked.

Elia Arcsinger was lying on her back, but she had her bow drawn, and she had another arrow nocked as she lay there, glowering at him. Bird buzzed down next to her, aiming her gleaming, silver bow at Merdon, and Calescent covered the two of them.

A flicker to his right. A pair of very annoyed bodybuilders were brushing dirt off of themselves. Sinew Magus Grimalkin wiped some dirt off of Lady Pryde’s head-bag as she cracked her neck.

“Merdon, behind—”

He turned his head in time to see the final Frost Wyvern who’d dodged his vocal attacks wheeling in the air. It was flying away from him. Reflexively, Merdon began to shout, then saw a pair of figures floating down towards him.

A short Hobgoblin with her arms folded and another who had a pair of swords drawn. He remembered Redscar and froze. They landed on the battlements, and a terrified member of the Watch raised a sword.

Rags kicked the [Guardswoman] off the ten-foot walls and put her claws in her ears. Merdon whispered.

“Gold-ranks, screen the Goblins. Cover me. Tessa—”

The Drake was staring at Redscar, who was eying her, and then she jerked her head.

“[Assassin] on the roof behind us.”

Merdon felt a crawl on his neck as Vaulont the Ash raised his head slightly, tapping the crossbow. But even so, Crowdcaller Merdon still inhaled, filling his lungs.

“I’m not done. I’m not—”

He coughed. Hesitated as he saw Lyonette and Ilvriss facing him. Glanced around as Madriga and the other Gold-rankers drew together, sweating. Searched for the Healer of Tenbault.

“Hekusha, they’re on the walls. Are you in your safe room? Orders?”

“Y-you’re supposed to be able to beat anyone! You told me your voice was invincible against crowds, Merdon!”

She was wailing at him, and he rasped.

“I can take them. I simply need you to order us to fight. It’s fifty-fifty. The Watch, our team—do we fight or negotiate? Healer? Healer?”

“I—I—you told me you could handle it!”

He lowered the speaking stone as Madriga whispered.

“Boss, those Hobs—”

“Take them out and screen me. I’ll hit them one at a time. Tessa, get the [Assassin]. Are you with us or not? They can’t make you do anything.”

“I’m not worth this.”

She was shaking, and he snarled at her.

“Do you want them to save you or not? Stab me in the back or get up and help me! But decide, Tessa!”

She didn’t say anything as she rocked back and forth. So Merdon’s chest inflated as his head rose, and you had to admire that in a way. The [Blademaster] nodded at Merdon as he raised his swords, about to see if he could cut a voice in half.

The people of Tenbault were frozen, fingers in their ears, watching the standoff. A few were trying to hide behind the Watch and Gold-rank adventurers, in the assumption they’d keep the civilians safe.

That probably would get them killed first when the Skills began activating. Madriga was about to shout for them to get inside and bolt the doors, for all the good that’d do, when she saw a Gnoll edging past Anabeva. He seemed terrified, open-mouthed as he pointed in horror at the Goblins, and he had on a rather formal suit. Like a [Butler] might wear.

Wait a second. Her eyes flicked back to him. Madriga started.

She’d seen that suit and Gnoll before. He’d been with the [Princess]’ group—

“Merdon! Behind you! [Swift Interception]!”

Madriga flung herself forwards, and Merdon whirled as Ishkr leapt, paws raised. His sneak attack nearly carried him into Merdon as the Named-rank opened his mouth, but Madriga slammed into Ishkr as he ran into her. And the two—

Vanished.

“Madriga!”

Anabeva screamed, and Merdon recoiled in horror. There was no sight of her. Merdon raised a speaking stone to his lips.

“Madriga. Respond. Madriga?”

She was gone.

——

One second, Madriga was lunging at the Gnoll in the chilly air around Tenbault, trying to get her sword in position to block and realizing he didn’t have a weapon, the next—

She was landing on the ground, slamming into glass bottles and cups behind a bar in a warm inn, and she kicked Ishkr as he stumbled.

“Ow. Damn. I thought that’d—”

“—attacking! Anabeva, cover—where am I? What did you do?”

The Gold-ranker swung around as she grabbed Ishkr and raised her sword, putting the tip at his throat. He held his paws up with a sigh.

“I’m not good at this high-level stuff, but I was trying. Er, welcome to The Wandering Inn, Liscor.”

“Wh—Liscor? Bring me back! Bring me back right now!”

Ishkr gave Madriga a resigned smile as he sighed. He’d have to figure out what happened later.

“I can’t. I teleported to work. Damn, I should have set a teleportation spot in Tenbault! Idiot. Rookie mistake. Onieva’s going to laugh her tail off at me. We’re in Liscor, the Floodplains.”

“What? What? There’s no teleportation spell that can do that under Tier…”

Madriga realized there were people in the inn. Mostly staff and a few guests, who were all eying her. She shoved Ishkr back in case he used another Skill on her, then tried to set herself against a wall.

Liscor? Wasn’t that countless miles south in the High Passes? Drake lands? How was she going to get back? What was—

Then someone tapped her warhammer on the floorboards of the inn. It was a loud tap, more of a ground-reverberating thunk. Madriga turned, and Captain Earlia of Gemhammer and her team advanced.

“Here I thought we’d miss all the action. So that’s why you told us to stay near the bar, Ishkr. Did you know about this, Todi? Is that why you volunteered for guard duty?”

Todi? As in Todi’s—Madriga saw a man get up from his chair and groan.

“Nah, that’s because I wanted to keep my hearing. Good thing he missed getting Merdon. Hey, rookie. Catch.”

Todi tossed something at Madriga, and she caught a glowing vial reflexively. Then it exploded. Todi sat back down as Ishkr backed up, and Gemhammer charged the stunned adventurer covered in hot, itching liquid that hardened like sap.

Ishkr shook his head as the lone Gold-ranker met a bunch of Silver-rankers with [Miner] strength. Neither side wanted to kill the other, anyways. He sat at the bar.

“This is so embarrassing.”

Todi poured himself a drink and shrugged.

“Eh, it beats having to deal with Loudmouth Merdon himself. How’s it going over there?”

Ishkr grimaced.

“He’s stronger than we thought. But Lyonette just took out one of his big attacks with Ilvriss, and most of the high-levels aren’t hurt. Plus, we haven’t used our secret weapon.”

Todi nodded a few times.

“Sounds good, sounds good. Sounds like Merdon; he’s not good with anyone above Level 40 who has a way to defend against his attacks. Even Level 30s can withstand his attacks. But he’s able to keep shouting. Real nightmare in a group fight. Uh…what’s the secret weapon again?”

——

Even Lyonette was surprised by Ishkr’s sneak-attack. She hoped he was alright, but she had to admit he’d been very daring. Merdon was swinging his head around, and she was sure between Rags, Grimalkin, and all the other groups they could take him. Merdon was better than she’d thought, it was true, but it was because he had a unique class.

If only they’d had someone with musical Skills of their own they might have had an amazing song-battle. If only. Lyonette felt a pang, and shook her head.

This has gone far enough. She turned to her company and called out.

“No more fighting! I want Merdon and everyone in Tenbault to stand down. He’s used up his Skills, and he knows he can’t beat us easily—send in our highest-level monster!”

——

Their highest-level monster? Archmage Valeterisa floated up a bit to see who that was. She’d been hiding behind Relc and Montressa since she was waiting for her part. Everyone here was so high-level.

Who could intimidate Merdon, who was definitely Level 40-something? She glanced around and saw Mrsha, Nanette, Montressa, and Relc staring at her.

“Who, me?”

Then she recalled that, yes, she was Level 57. Valeterisa’s eyes widened like a little owl, as if recalling who she was. Then the Archmage of Izril eyed Tenbault, and her features firmed.

She put one fist up into the air, because according to Kevin, that was how you did it—and flew. Kevin, fingers in his ears, peered out with Octavia from cover and sighed.

“Man. That’s so Archmage.”

——

Merdon was baring his teeth, picking his first target, when he saw the final figure flying upwards. His head spun, and he drew in a lungful of air…

And let it out softly. The Gold-rankers aimed at the short, flying woman in her robes, and Anabeva hesitated.

Then she lowered her bow. Not only because that final figure meant they were well and truly outmatched, but because—

The [Ranger] had an image of loosing an arrow. And then another image of being melted by a hundred thousand [Light Arrows]. She gazed up, and she was ready to fight high-level Hobs. Dance with an [Assassin] if the pay and odds were right.

—But the Archmage of Izril? The Gold-rankers remembered the sight of a woman dueling the Archmage of Chandrar and Mireden of Liscor, lightning falling around her. Rediscovering lost magic.

Holding Fissival over her head.

They dropped their weapons. The Watch was already holding up their hands. And Valeterisa seemed so bemused as she adjusted her spectacles, as if she didn’t know why they gazed up at her like that. She spoke, amplifying her voice.

“Hello? Erm, excuse me. I am Archmage Valeterisa of Wistram. Terras faction. Please halt all hostilities in the name of…Wistram? Yes. Wistram. And House Imarris. I will defend myself with exceptionally lethal force if I am attacked.”

No one moved. She aimed a finger down at Merdon.

“Um—um, a Named-rank adventurer with ranged attacks. Wait, is that Loud Lad? I know him from Larra’s inn. Oh dear. And he did so very well against Montressa, even with our hypothetical sonic preparations. High levels always do. [Prepare Spell: Valmira’s Opener].”

She was finally high-enough to cast one of her idol’s favorite spells, which Valmira had famously used to test potential opponents. If they survived the 8-spell combination, she acknowledged them as a threat. Valeterisa was so glad she’d set up the automated process to bind all the magic for her…

Rather to her relief, she saw Crowdcaller Merdon was not opening his mouth. In fact, he was raising his hands overhead. Valeterisa pointed her finger around, flinching as people ducked, then blinked a few more times.

“Is there anyone who wishes to attack?”

No. Everyone was too afraid to move, so the [Princess] called up.

“Archmage Valeterisa, I think we’re a bit behind schedule. If you would begin your part? Vaulont, is Tessa up there?”

“Yes, Miss. I have eyes on her. Next to Merdon.”

“I’m coming through the gates. Archmage, you have the sky.”

Valeterisa saw Lyonette hop off the wagon and begin limping for the gates. She blinked. And here she’d thought there would be more fighting and…

“Oh. Oh, I do? Well then, um. Where are my notes? Apprentice, where are my notes? [Recall Memory]. Yes, um, hello. I’m terribly sorry to take up your time today, but I would like to make a small presentation on a new spell I have uncovered.”

And then…everyone was just peering up at her. Valeterisa vaguely felt more scrying spells appear, focusing on her, and gave them her best fake smile.

She saw the Healer of Tenbault peeking out from behind a building with a considerable amount of magic in her, light magic specialty, higher-level than many even in Wistram, and Valeterisa waved at her, breaking off from her prepared spiel.

“—iscovery of magic I believe has profound effects on the—oh, hello, Hekusha. We meet again.”

The Healer jumped, and Valeterisa spoke down to the Healer as she floated closer to earth.

“I agreed to come here not, um, because of this business with adventurers. Though I am a very loyal and happy member of the inn! No…rather, I believed this was an opportune time to make my announcement.”

“Y-y-you can’t. You stole it from—this isn’t fair. We had a deal. I didn’t tell anyone anything!”

Hekusha was whispering at Valeterisa, and again, she had that [Loudness] spell on her. Which was sloppy casting. You could cast [Selective Loudness], and it was only Tier 3…but Hekusha didn’t know much magic. She was a one-spell caster, and that was okay.

Heidan the Fireball was very commendable in how he practiced magic. But Valeterisa just frowned down at Hekusha as they had a private conversation for the world to hear.

“Tell anyone anything about…what? Excuse me, I don’t recall.”

The Healer’s face went slack as she realized Valeterisa had utterly forgotten anything but the magic. The Archmage continued frowning, then shrugged.

“Regardless. I would like you to know that this is not magical theft, per se, as Archmage Eldavin did express familiarity with the same magic, and um, Wistram does not acknowledge theft of spells without physical removal of spellbooks or spell scrolls. So there. It is bad form per se, but I consider the economic and cultural impacts worth the effort. And I do not like you. I do not like your magic, Hekusha. So, um, there.”

She didn’t feel as good as she had hoped, to say it to the Healer’s face. Awkwardly, Valeterisa turned and gave the cameras another fake smile.

“Where was I? Oh, yes.”

She put a finger to her forehead, then smiled.

“Hello. I would like to announce a new service being rolled out by select [Mages]. For a long time, the [Restoration] spell has been considered lost magic. However, I am pleased—so pleased, smile here—to announce that I have rediscovered and taught others the spell. Apprentice, please stab yourself with a knife.”

“You can’t do this! You—you—”

Montressa hesitantly produced a knife as Valeterisa spoke, and then every eye was on the Archmage. There were gasps and cries as she floated down and found someone staring up at her in the crowd of people in the streets of Tenbault.

A little boy with a terrible rash across his face and visible skin. Valeterisa reached down, then cast around.

“Um, does anyone have a pair of gloves? Let me conjure…apprentice, un-stab yourself. The average [Mage] at Level 40 can cast this spell twice with appropriate Skills. Large mana-reserves are required, and it is technically difficult to learn. Which does limit the impact, but given the effects…”

It was a difficult spell to learn, and Valeterisa’s mastery of it meant she’d been able to pass it on to her apprentice, and she reckoned other good [Mages] like Grimalkin could learn it; she’d been teaching it to him on the way here.

Lesser [Mages] would require months of study, maybe as much as a year, and they’d have to link to cast it. But it could be done. She had trialed the spell under ‘Valeterisa’s Restoration Services’, but it had not been a widespread or well-known trial, which had miffed her until she’d realized she’d done zero advertising except to tell anyone she met about it—when she remembered.

But this? This was what they called ‘free marketing’, wasn’t it? And more…

Valeterisa bent down, and the boy saw the Archmage of Izril raise a hand that glowed like salvation. The Healer of Tenbault screamed curses, but Valeterisa simply bent down, and the rashes vanished as the boy gasped. And then…

Then Crowdcaller Merdon sighed. A sigh that ran through Tenbault. He sat on the battlements as Hekusha ran towards him.

“Merdon! Merdon, she’s stealing my magic! She’s revealing—she’s going to teach—stop her!”

He took his helmet from his head and placed it next to him. Merdon saw the Archmage levitating the boy up, still not really wanting to touch him, and then asking for another volunteer and recoiling at the cries that filled the air.

Television. She was asking for volunteer [Mages] to learn the spell, and Sinew Magus Grimalkin was first in line—and so was a young woman from Ailendamus who just happened to be here. Lady Paxere, who grinned because of the luck and timing. House Shoel and Ailendamus learning such a wondrous spell. How fortuitous.

Hekusha was shaking him, screaming at him, red-faced, and Merdon whispered.

“It’s over, Hekusha.”

He put his head back against the battlements, and Tessa stared at Hekusha uncomprehendingly. Then she got up as a familiar [Princess] called her name.

“I’m sorry. I’m such a problem.”

She stood timidly in front of the weary Merdon, and he glanced at her once as he gazed at the sky.

“We all are, Tessa. Get lost. I’m going to have a nap.”

——

Many things happened in Tenbault, little of which were actually on the news. Only Valeterisa’s announcement got full televised coverage, and it was competing with Baker Garry’s expeditions, anyways.

Merdon’s brief battle didn’t even make the Channel 1 roundup.

That was not to say it didn’t happen or that there were not moments of consequence. Many Calanferians did see or find recordings of a certain [Princess] fascinating.

As did a number of nobles of Izril’s north, albeit with less goodwill. Many of the Five Families’ leaders saw the [Princess] besieging Tenbault and laid the resulting events with Valeterisa more or less correctly at her feet.

Perhaps it was what was best for the world, but she had appeared a bit too much, a bit too often. She was becoming a Problem, and unlike the [Innkeeper], a royal of Terandria was closer to home. Something might have to be done about her.

—Still, that was a later consequence. More practically, the fact that [Restoration] was now being taught and cast by more than the Healer of Tenbault sent shockwaves across the world. Wistram’s Terras faction was once again besieged as people flocked to Mage’s Guilds across the world only to be told that [Restoration] was beyond the scope of most [Mages] and so difficult to learn…

You’d need an expert teacher like, say, Valeterisa to learn it. Not that it was impossible.

In fact, Magus Grimalkin and Montressa du Valeros both demonstrated the spell that day to the crowds of Tenbault begging for the magic. Montressa could cast the spell once, Grimalkin only twice before they had to bow out. A reminder that the Healer could still cast the spell far more, but proof the monopoly was breaking. More surprisingly, and a sign it was now a magic for all, was Lady Paxere of House Shoel also managed to cast the spell!

Even Archmage Valeterisa seemed a bit incredulous at the young woman’s ability to master the spell in a day despite having the right Skills to learn it—but it was a reminder of Ailendamus’ magical mastery, and it put House Shoel and the Kingdom of Glass and Glory at the forefront of innovation once more.

——

Paxere was rather smug about that. She ignored Shierxun’s pointed looks; so what if it had been a bit showy and too convenient? It allowed House Shoel to cast the spell openly, and that would be very useful…

“I suppose it is your right, and daring is a mark of youth that often goes rewarded. At times. I shall see what the courts make of it.”

“I shall be quite amused by it myself.”

It was Shierxun’s smirk that alerted Paxere to the catch in her assumptions. The older Lucifen twirled a wand mockingly in her hands.

“Sadly, I believe I will have the luxury for at least a month.”

“Why would that b—”

Paxere stopped, and Shierxun’s lips became a full grin of mockery.

“Why, because Lady Paxere is now, publicly, officially visiting Izril. As far as Tenbault. Doubtless, it will take weeks, possibly longer for her to leave the continent. I do appreciate your tremendous sacrifice travelling so far in service to Ailendamus.”

Paxere bit back a curse as she stood there, realizing she was now locationally stranded for quite some time.

——

Little things. The last of which was a young Human woman with cracks on her face having a conversation with a scarred Drake in the Healer of Tenbault’s mansion later that day. The Drake kept inspecting the cracks on Lyonette’s visage, claws so delicate as Tessa felt her at her features that they didn’t hurt. And Lyonette just counted Tessa’s scars.

“You shouldn’t have come. I read your letters. I burned them. I’m not—not—well. The Healer can heal me, but the Faerie Flowers don’t work. Go away. I’ll stab you if you don’t. I’m dangerous. You’ll regret it. I’ll steal from you or stab you by mistake again. I’m worse. I’m not getting better. Why’d you—why’d you do all that for me?”

All the things Tessa had been meaning to say, all the things she hadn’t had the courage to write, came spilling out in no particular order. It was Lyonette who stared at Tessa’s missing tooth.

“Oh, Tessa. Was that from fighting or…”

Tessa hid her mouth with a claw.

“It’s just a tooth. I’ll get b—”

She stopped. Then shuffled around and curled up.

“Go away.”

Lyonette reached for her shoulder, and Tessa’s head spun around, and she snapped her teeth a millimeter from Lyonette’s fingers.

“I’m dangerous. I’ll kill you!”

Dame Ushar was there with shield in hand, but Lyonette merely waved her aside. She reached out again.

“Tessa? I’d like to touch your shoulder. Don’t stab me, please? May I?”

“Leave me alone. Why’d you even come for me? I’m not—not good at fighting. I’m getting worse. You don’t need me anymore.”

That was what hurt the most. Tessa curled into a ball, and she realized that dream she’d sometimes had of Lyonette coming and saying she was in danger, that the inn needed Tessa…wasn’t true anymore.

They had Elia Arcsinger and the Goblins and the Sinew Magus. But Lyonette simply sat there.

“We don’t need you. I want you, Tessa. I owe it to you. I promised I’d help you, remember? Erin did. We let you down. We didn’t go after you when you ran.”

“I ran away. You’re not supposed to follow me. That’s how it works.”

She was really stupid. But the [Princess] shook her head.

“You were our responsibility. You need help, Tessa.”

“Hekusha helps me.”

“No, she does not.”

“Yes she does.”

Lyonette took a breath.

“She’s exploiting you, Tessa. She heals you, but Vaulont told me she’d begun advertising your services. She’s not halting your use of—of substances. She hoards her magic and—”

“Don’t talk bad about her.”

The Drake uncurled and grabbed Lyonette’s shoulders. So fast, teeth bared, as Dame Ushar reached for her—Lyonette flinched, and a spasm of pain crossed her features. Tessa saw her skin—

Change.

Raised lines of flesh appeared on the [Princess]’ skin. Scars, hundreds of them, crisscrossing her, as if she’d been cut and wounded. Pockmarks and—

Tessa let go and retreated in horror. Lyonette gasped.

“Oh, Tessa.”

“Wh-what was that? A curse? Who did it to you? I’ll kill them.”

Tessa drew her daggers, but Lyonette merely pushed Ushar aside again. She collected herself, though it took a minute.

“Just…[Resonant Flesh]. I levelled up. It was my Level 40 Skill, Tessa. A trade of sorts. Sometimes, I feel how other people feel. Your skin—!”

What kind of Skill did that? She was so distracted she forgot why Lyonette had to leave. The [Princess] was explaining, and it was all confusing. Boxes? The inn? Erin?

Erin.

Tessa turned around again and hunched over.

“I didn’t protect her. That’s why it’s my fault. I could have. I could have killed Iert even if he killed me, but he broke me into pieces. With one Skill. I always thought—I always thought even if I was messed up, I could still kill anything. He didn’t even think I was dangerous. I’m not going to get better, Lyonette.”

“I have all the potions Ilvriss told me you needed, Tessa. And I’ve been talking to [Healers] and experts, from the Last Light to House Shoel—I know it won’t be easy, but—”

Tessa screamed at Lyonette.

“It doesn’t matter! I can’t help it! I promise I won’t take them, and I always break it! I always do. Again and again, I know I’m lying. I swear I’ll cut off my tail before I do it again, but I always do.”

She clawed at her face until Lyonette seized her hands, and Tessa whispered.

“I was trying. Really trying with the flowers because I knew it was my last chance. But it doesn’t matter. What’s the point? I can do everything right, be good and clean and healthy for months. Then all it takes is him pointing. One Skill. And it’s all over.”

There was no salvation if a Skill could reverse that. The [Princess]’ breath caught, and she hesitated, looking around Tenbault.

“Tessa. I know what he did, and Iert’s dead. I know that for a fact.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’ll happen again.”

“Only if a monster like that targets you, Tessa. And maybe you can resist it, next time! I know it feels hopeless, but if you were healing your body for months and someone stabs you—sometimes, we run into setbacks, but I want you to try again. Please. Everyone came all this way for you. Ilvriss, Nanette, Mrsha, Grimalkin—”

Tessa felt sick. She wanted to take some Roama’s Fancy and dream of a better reality than this. Because she had wanted Lyonette to come, had longed for it. But now that it was happening…

“I’m going to hurt you. I don’t want to, but I’m going to. I’m dangerous, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] opened her mouth, and Shriekblade glared at her. This time, Ushar stood there, and Lyonette flinched because a bit of the murder in Tessa, the ability to kill, leaked out. The Drake could do it. She could stab the [Princess] through the face, and the Thronebearer, Ushar, and the [Knight] who was hiding behind the pillar, Vaulont—no one—would be able to stop her.

I am death. The one thing she was good for. Tessa whispered.

“I’m not…okay. I can’t escape from this. I lie and think I am, and I won’t. Hekusha heals me, I hurt myself. That works because she can heal me. If I go with you…I’m going to get worse, and I’m not going to have a healer.”

“Valeterisa can cast [Restoration], Tessa.”

“Every day?”

Hesitation. Whatever the [Princess] had thought she’d find…Tessa laughed.

“Knowing I can be healed makes it worse. Then I can take everything. I’m going to! I realized it! I can’t stop myself! So just leave me alone, please! I’m going to make your life worse. Why are you doing all this for me?”

She wanted to curl up again, but Lyonette wouldn’t let go of her wrists, and Tessa didn’t want to hurt her by moving too strongly. The [Princess] let go and rested her hands on Tessa’s shoulders, then spoke after a long pause.

“To tell you the truth, Tessa. Some of this is selfishness. I—I’m lying to you a bit. And myself. I have to be honest. I must be.”

The Drake’s head rose ever-so-slightly. Selfish? Tessa felt a moment of hope.

Maybe she was in danger after all. Was the inn…bad? Tessa could do that. Shriekblade could do that. Go and let her try to help. Then die. Yes. The next time something came. Goblin King. Bloodfeast Raiders. Die doing something good for the only people nice to—

Lyonette’s eyes made Tessa hesitate. The [Princess]’ blue gaze was focused on Tessa, and it felt like Tessa had taken some King’s Draught after all, because the world fell away. It was just them, and there was a pride and grace there. Only it was aimed at Tessa, and she didn’t understand.

“I see myself in you, Tessa. That’s one of the real reasons. I promised to help, and I knew that you did not belong here. You were hurting yourself, and I had to come. Because you…you remind me of when I came to the inn. You know I’m a [Princess]?”

“Yeah. Of somewhere.”

Lyonette nodded.

“Calanfer. I ran away from home two years ago. During the winter, I was caught in Liscor as a [Thief]. I did so many terrible, petty things. I stole, I cheated, and I thought it was all I deserved…I was a dreadful, pathetic little villainess, and as punishment, I was exiled and left to die in the snow. I would have. But you know what? Someone found me. Erin took me into her inn and gave me a second chance. And a third chance. Because of that, I’m here today.”

She smiled, and she was fragile as a piece of porcelain. Tessa was afraid to move, because she felt like Lyonette might physically shatter if she did. But at the same time, the [Princess] felt…vaster. More sure of herself.

Like that art from Drath where you broke a pot and then glued it together with gold or something precious. She’d seen it in Salazsar’s museum once. Lyonette went on softly.

“I think you need that chance, Tessa. Maybe I can’t give you everything you need at the inn. Maybe you’ll fail, and maybe…maybe you won’t get better.”

Tessa’s heart hurt, and she bowed her head. The truth of the [Midnight Journey] hung on her, but Lyonette’s voice was soft.

“I don’t know the future, but I want to try. And I do know this: you’ll never be well here. That’s why I had to come and break Tenbault. Please, come with me. Don’t run. Or I’ll have to follow you. Give me a chance, Tessa.”

“You’ll regret it. You will. I’m…I’m not strong.”

Tessa saw Ilvriss in Lyonette’s face. A [Healer] from the Gaarh Marsh tribe. A [Receptionist] at the Guild. A Silver-rank adventurer.

Everyone who had ever helped her and their looks of regret, anger, despair. Betrayal. Oh, she was tired of adding more faces to the list. But the [Princess] held her hands.

“You don’t have to always be strong, Tessa. Just try? For me?”

Because she had come this far, because Tessa hadn’t the strength to argue, the Drake let her head hang.

“Okay.”

Lyonette gasped with relief and hugged her, and Tessa waited for the sun to come up and all wrongs to be righted.

They were not righted. She felt empty, sick, and tired. Then she knew.

A good person had come for her. She had brought wonders and miracles. But not for Tessa. She’d used all hers up.

That was okay.

Tessa had a way out. So she relaxed and gently hugged Lyonette and let her fuss and ask about clothing and possessions, things she assumed Tessa had. She’d let the [Princess] be a good person and try to save her. The Drake wouldn’t inconvenience her long.

——

Lyonette du Marquin let Tessa collect her various possessions from her rooms and was taking a break on a bench for a moment. She tired so quickly, and the pain…

Tessa was in a lot of it. Lyonette felt like Apista, sick with so many residual drugs in her system that Tessa clearly could barely feel or assumed were normal.

They’d get back to the inn and begin work. Right away. Lyonette wondered what Valeterisa was doing; Tenbault’s people had been besieging her, and she’d had to fly away.

“This city is so dreadful. How could anyone live here?”

“I didn’t make it. They made it this way. They ruin everything. That damn Archmage will see. You’ll see.”

She was speaking to herself, shuddering, when someone spoke in a low, bitter tone. Hekusha stepped out from behind a doorway, and Lyonette jumped, but Ser Dalimont was there. However, the Healer wasn’t a threat.

She looked pale, bloodless, and was swaying on her feet. Valeterisa’s revelation had ruined the Healer’s prestige and power. But she was still rich, Lyonette supposed. There was not much sympathy in her for Hekusha, even after what she’d done. However, the two hadn’t actually spoken properly until now.

“Healer Hekusha. I do regret how I treated you, but your conduct towards Tessa was improper. I wish we had met under more cordial circumstances.”

Hekusha spat onto the ground. Or drooled. She wiped at her mouth.

“You think you’re so high-and-mighty. You come into my city with all your powerful friends. Just like Magnolia.”

“I’ll consider that a compliment, thank you.”

What a dreadful woman. How had Magnolia ever trusted her? Lyonette tried to keep the dislike from her face, but Hekusha simply laughed at her. She pointed at Tessa’s room.

“Go ahead, take Shriekblade. I wash my hands of her now you’ve ruined me. Merdon will be next. Then…no, go ahead. Maybe you can save her. But it’ll only be her. The rest of Tenbault? They’ll stay. They’ll run after Valeterisa and realize she doesn’t have the mana to spare on them. How many can the others heal? I can heal more than all of them put together, and none of them will spend the time healing. So take my Named-rank adventurer. I was the one who saved her.”

“You have used her unkindly. She was so grateful to you! She trusted you! Is this how you repay her? This city—why did you not help so many more? It’s a miserable place, and you made it this way!”

The Healer flinched back as Lyonette’s aura did what she physically could not. She cowered, then whined.

“You think you could do better? Go ahead and try! This is how it works! You save one person. Just one. Or only a handful, and everyone else dies and blames you. They’re never grateful. It’ll never be enough!”

Lyonette’s jaw worked as she rose, letting Dalimont support her. He was eying Hekusha with distaste, and the [Princess] pointed a finger at the Healer.

“Is that an excuse? You could have spread your magic. You had decades! You could have done so much more! You worked miracles, and if you had put the gold into [Healers], into other methods, students, you could have done a hundred, a thousand times more! But you didn’t! Was it just…greed? Did you want to be rich?”

Hekusha’s bloodshot eyes stared at Lyonette like some monster as she hid her face with her hands, her hair falling around her staring eyes.

“Spoken like someone who’s always had money and power. Everyone wants a miracle. No one wants to pay for one. It’s always damn shingling for my roof, a few loaves of bread. I work myself to death, trying to breathe at night, trying not to die of mana exhaustion and someone hands me three gold coins and gets offended when I ask for more! To buy mana potions to keep from passing out every time I stand up. Then they complain about taking six days for me to get to them or that I can’t fix their every, petty little wart!”

Her voice was rising into a half-screamed tirade, and her eyes rolled. Lyonette hesitated as Hekusha went on, vomiting words like her insides onto the marble tiles, foul as bile.

“They blame me for their son dying even after I heal them when their heart was bad. It wasn’t my fault. They expect me to know medicine when I’m a [Mage]. T-to work actual miracles. Then they want me to fight in wars, to save towns from the plague. I’m simply a woman. They break into my house and hold a knife to my throat and tell me to heal them. And I’m supposed to feel guilty for them?”

She pointed a hand out her windows, and the [Princess] stopped. Lyonette took in a breath, exhaled, and nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Hekusha stared at her, and Lyonette bowed her head stiffly.

“It must have been hard. You worked miracles alone. That…must have made you bitter. Magnolia should have taught two people that magic. She should have kept you with her. That’s her fault. But some of it is yours. Nevertheless, you’ve saved thousands, tens of thousands of people over your career. For that, I thank you. But the knowledge had to spread.”

The Healer sagged down to the floor and sat cross-legged.

“You think you’re so high-and-mighty. Coming in and ruining it all. Go ahead, leave. You’ll turn out like I did.”

When she peered up, she flinched. Despite the fading light, Lyonette stood bathed in a raybeam coming from the ceiling. She leaned upon her golden knight’s shoulder as, in the courtyard, her daughters played catch with Goblins. Lyonette gazed out at them as a Wall Lord fielded a baseball and tripped.

“No. The difference, Healer Hekusha, is that I’m not alone. I truly am sorry. If you are ever down on your luck, I will offer you a chance at my inn or Liscor. Even a second chance, Hekusha.”

She turned and began walking towards Tessa’s room again, limping as the Healer stared at her back. Lyonette halted just once and turned her head to address the silent man who sat on a bench, watching her.

“But not you.”

Crowdcaller Merdon’s head dipped slightly. He didn’t look surprised at her words. If anything, he seemed confused as to why she’d even said that. His compressed lips didn’t open, and Lyonette continued.

“We are all deserving of a second chance, or even a third. I truly believe that if I can be this…”

She touched her chest and turned to Hekusha, who averted her head from the mysterious expression Lyonette wore that the Healer could not understand. It reminded her too much of Magnolia. A young [Lady] blazing with excitement and an idea, a chance for her friend.

The searchlights of the [Princess]’ gaze swung back to Merdon.

“However, we are all going to be needed soon. We must rise to this age of challenges. I wish it could be a peaceful era in which we can rest, but it will not be. Some of us must go forwards to face it. My inn is a place for wonders, magic, and sometimes, terrible war. But if it has reached the inn, it is too late. The New Lands await. There are beasts to be slain. Tessa needs healing. But I will hurl good men and women across the world if I have to. So this is how she felt.”

She closed her eyes and then turned, and this time, Crowdcaller Merdon saw someone else in her. Not the young Lady Magnolia Reinhart, but a [Wizard] standing on a table in the little inn she’d bought, retiring and trying something new. Larracel…

The [Princess] pointed at him.

“Not you, Merdon.”

Now, he almost growled back at her, annoyed. I know. I’m not asking for your pity, even if…he locked eyes with her, and the blue was blazing like a magical flame.

“I’ll see you in the field, Merdon. Hekusha may have her second or third. You’ll have to earn yours, if you even need it. You’ll waste your voice here. But if you go where you’re needed, you’ll find a song even more beautiful than the one you lost. I promise you that, Merdon.”

The Named-rank adventurer and Healer of Tenbault stared at Lyonette, and here, something about how she was talking clicked.

If you need a second chance.

Did she think he was still on his first…? Merdon blinked and then rasped, his throat scratchy and hoarse.

“If…”

He coughed.

“If you actually fix Tessa, you’ll take away her edge. That’s all that keeps her going. She’d be happier if you used her like a weapon. It’d be easier for her. Fixing herself…Tessa doesn’t care about herself. She’d throw herself into an Adult Creler’s mouth for someone else. But getting her to drink a cup of water is far harder.”

Lyonette grimaced, and she stood there. Then she jerked her head abruptly.

“Yes. It might actually be the right choice to do that in some ways. My mother would consider it. But I will not, even if she is needed, Merdon.”

“Why? The goodness of your heart?”

There was a glint in his eyes that suggested that if she said ‘yes’, he would shout his contempt and damn all the consequences. Lyonette faced him full-on.

“Not that. I simply want Tessa to be able to choose. Choose without her addictions and her mind being manipulated. As you have, again and again. Rightly, wrongly, cowardice or loyalty, whatever she decides. I hope that if she does, I will not gainsay what she chooses.”

He blinked at her, then averted his gaze. She walked past him, and Tessa stood in her rooms, her bag of holding in one claw. She gazed at the [Princess], not knowing what to say, and Lyonette offered her a hand.

“Walk with me, Tessa. Let’s find out who we are when we are free. Together.”

Hesitantly, Tessa placed her clawed hand in Lyonette’s, and they walked away from the Healer and Merdon. Tessa glanced back just once. Merdon raised a hand, and she waved at him. And she thought he smiled, for a second.

He should do it more. She’d forgotten how it made him look.

——

The Wandering Inn had swept Tenbault, found their lost adventurer, and were leaving. They hadn’t done much damage to the city; Merdon had arguably done more with his voice, which had cracked windows and stonework.

But they had still dealt a terrible blow to…everything.

People were leaving. Packing up, because even if the Healer of Tenbault would remain and she was still able to cast [Restoration] far, far more reliably than anyone else—

There were other places to go. Other [Mages] who might provide that miracle, and in a way—

The family that Gadrea had given the amulet to had come back. She’d been a day on the road when they’d had a crisis, wondering if that amulet and their good fortune might not lead to more. So they’d turned, despite their son’s breathless protests to listen to the kind lady, and been back just in time to see the fight at the city gates.

It was just as well that the Agelum was already far down the road, because the sight of the family returning despite her gift would not have broken Gadrea’s heart. It would have just made the crow’s feet around her eyes crinkle up in a grimace, that of someone who had believed in someone and been let down. Then she would take a breath and choose to believe again.

—The Lucifen were far less forgiving. You got one chance. There was little excuse for failure. Excuses were that: excuses. Paxere’s eyes flashed as she glanced at the family, but they were leaving, again.

“There’s other kinds of healing, just as the lady said. Liscor. Liscor has those scrolls, or we’ll find someone to help you gain that [Warrior] class. Perhaps if Archmage Valeterisa saw you—”

The father cast his eyes towards Tenbault, as if just now seeing all the grime and the amount of gold wasted there instead of the shining city and the miracle of the Healer. The boy, wheezing for a reply, glared up at his parents, but here it was.

The magic had faded. If Hekusha were just an exceptional caster of a magic spell, then she was someone providing a valuable service.

Not the Healer of Tenbault.

It was over.

——

—But justice had not been served, had it? Look at this city. Look at this city!

It was so miserable! The Plague Quarter—a place where the other cities sent people to wait for miracles and die. All the gold that the Healer had taken to build her mansion, which was richer than most nobles’ residences, all this vanity—

A Cooking Golem for hat’s sake! No, that wasn’t the outrageous part. The outrageous part was that Hekusha could have taught her magic before this. Been known as both teacher and healer and made Izril better.

Imagine it. A hundred students and practicing [Healing Mages] delivering a thousand times more people to health. It would have made Izril glorious, and this woman had squandered it. Tessa alone had earned Hekusha a punishment she was not getting. Ruining her reputation and business?

Retribution had to be dealt before they left. That was why, as Lyonette and Tessa were walking out of the city’s gates, assembling the inn to depart, a pair of arguing girls were hurrying through the mansion. They had bodyguards of course; Elia Arcsinger and Ser Dalimont. Bird was busy terrorizing the Gold-rank adventurers.

For once, just once—it wasn’t Mrsha’s fault. In fact, she was trying to stop Nanette.

Nanette, Nanette, this is a really bad idea. This is a classic Mrsha move, and you don’t want to see what happens when you get into me-levels of trouble.

“Someone’s got to give her a bit of comeuppance, Mrsha! And I have just the thing!”

Nanette had a boot. She wasn’t sure if she could really shove it as far as she’d been claiming, but a good boot hurt, especially if you bounced it off someone’s head at the right angle. Mrsha turned to their protectors.

Elia, Dalimont, do something!

“I’m just a bodyguard. So long as we don’t cross Merdon, it’s not my call.”

Elia was being professional, and Dalimont? He was looking the other way as Mrsha glared at him.

“As loyal Thronebearer of Calanfer, it is not my place to question Miss Nanette’s will, Mrsha.”

That damn traitor. He wanted to see Nanette use the boot! Mrsha rolled her eyes and pulled down her eyelids. She knew Hekusha was as nasty as diarrhea in your soup! She was a terrible person, but this was going to make an enemy the inn didn’t need.

However, Boot Nanette was coming, and the Healer of Tenbault was unguarded. She’d finished screaming at Merdon, and the Named-rank adventurer was in his rooms. Bandaging the few wounds he’d taken. Sitting.

Thinking of the future. Since he no longer had steady work.

She’d fired him. Fired him, instead of him quitting.

That long loyalty, this miserable city—

Back to the madness. Back to the death and chaos and…

He sat there.

Crying.

The two girls and their protectors paused a moment by the half-open door to his rooms and heard the soft sounds from within. Then Mrsha held out a paw, and Nanette handed her a second boot.

They went to find Hekusha.

——

The Healer of Tenbault was in her rooms, voice raw from screaming, tears running down her face, besmirching the makeup and Foundation of Youthfulness that cost so much, and she knew it was ruined.

She would get revenge on that [Princess]. Somehow.

She didn’t need Merdon! She’d have to restructure Tenbault. Lower prices. But Merdon had always cost too much.

Golems. Golems were expensive, but they worked forever. They didn’t complain, they could handle crowds—she had funds. Hekusha was biting her nails as the doors to her rooms creaked open. She never noticed the shadow creeping into the room until there was a voice.

One final judgement. Or perhaps…

“Healer Hekusha. You have a caller waiting.”

Hekusha screamed, whirled, and the [Maid] was there, holding out a speaking stone. One of the fancy, long-ranged models few could afford.

The [Maid]…was she a new hire to Hekusha’s staff in the mansion? The Healer didn’t know, and she flinched back. Because that uniform, the way she’d come in and spoken—

“You’re one of her minions, aren’t you? S-stay back.”

“Lady Reinhart would like to speak to you, Healer.”

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it! I’m not afraid! I always knew she’d kill me once she had no more use for me. Her power’s gone. She’ll have to execute the rest of her family if she wants her authority back! Is that why she put the [Princess] up to this? Spite? Well, I won’t grovel before—”

A voice interrupted Hekusha’s ranting, coming from the speaking stone, and it was annoyed, unusually upset, and terse.

“Hekusha, pick up the damn speaking stone, would you?”

The Healer flinched. She stared at the stone, then snatched it and lifted it to her lips. The [Maid] stepped back, glanced at the doorway, and the two boot-armed children hesitated as they listened.

One last conversation.

——

When they were young, they’d talk.

Oh, they had so much time to talk. It wasn’t easy; they all had to find the moments. Magnolia had to escape her guards and leave the mansion. It got easier with Ressa helping her.

Bethal could ride from her lands, and she’d have a day before her parents would send someone to find her; she’d sleep in bushes or the stables and come out, crazy-haired, and always with stories to tell.

Hecky, Hekusha, would be last. Rushing out of her master’s workshop where she slept, ink on her hands from scribing scrolls or with gemdust under her fingernails from having to lay magical circuits.

They weren’t always…happy. Bethal had cuts and scrapes from her adventures, but it wasn’t the same as blisters on Hekusha’s fingers from being worked from dusk till dawn. And Magnolia…

She didn’t have visible injuries, but sometimes she’d just go walking and ranting for hours about her family. And because they knew the Reinharts, no one else would say a word.

Bethal, Hecky, Ressa, when she chose to speak, sometimes Pryde, or even Wuvren despite being older…but not just them.

Gladys of House Alice. Thibev the Cranky. Webvei, the only [Servant] who’d stand up to Ressa. Lady Errigat, ten years their elder and drawn to this gathering of young [Ladies]…

When she spoke to Magnolia after so long, Hekusha remembered the dead. They were so distant now. She didn’t have any pictures of them. Just memories.

Lady Gladys, lying on a bed of roses, hands clasped over her chest. Cut in half at the waist. Lying in a waiting room with the wounded Flowers of Izril after the Goblin King’s defeat at First Landing, and Bethal screaming at Hekusha. Screaming as she held her friend, begging Hekusha to save…

It would have been too late if Hekusha had been there the second Gladys had been cut in twain. House Walchaís dead but for their last heir. Her magic exhausted, seeing friends lying still and cold, faces covered by white veils.

Those they even found. And then Magnolia Reinhart, wearing the Crown of Flowers, standing with blood up to the neckline of her dress, eyes so distant and lost as she peered around—

——

“Magnolia?”

For just a moment, she forgot her rage. And they were children again. Running around in the shadow of great houses, dreaming of how to make it better.

—Then decades flew between them, and the resentment overflowed the well of Hekusha’s heart, and she snarled.

“You must be so happy.”

“Hekusha. Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t? Truly and sincerely, I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

“Oh, I know you wish it were otherwise. I know you wish I’d stayed dancing to your tune. Well, I didn’t, and you managed to win in the end. Are you going to have me killed like everyone else who crossed you? Between you and the Goblin King, you’ve managed to prune the north of all the nobility! Funny, I used to think that’d be so grand.”

All the grudges she’d carried, all the anger burst from Hekusha when she’d never dared to say it to Magnolia’s face before. Now this was the end, it was liberating.

The [Lady] paused. When she spoke, her voice seemed…honest. When she lied, she was bright, cheerful. But she sounded pained. And angry.

“Hekusha, no one is going to kill you. I realize you do not believe or trust me, and I confess, I have a significant grudge against you. I do not relish your downfall as much as I wish I could, but it is for the best. But kill you? You would be dead if I wanted you so, Hekusha. Believe me. I will kill Bethal. The moment she steps out of her lands, she is dead. You have not drowned in your own blood, so do me the courtesy of believing what I say is true.”

Hekusha flinched. Bethal? Dead? They had been the best of friends. The best of…

“You really are the Executioner of Izril.”

“I deserve that name as much as you do, Hekusha.”

The Healer was drawing breath for an insult when Magnolia went on softly.

“You earned it. But it is time to let it go, Hecky. I wish you had retired instead after creating a school of magical healers the likes of which the world had never seen. That was my dream. I thought it was yours, but I see I was mistaken.”

The Healer of Tenbault stood there. She wanted to spit insults and scream, but her throat was raw, and she was so damn tired. She collapsed onto a couch and rasped.

“You know what, Magnolia? It was. It truly was. I remember you suggesting it, again and again, and back when I first started, I was going to find an apprentice as soon as I had a day off. Start trying to streamline the spell and teaching it. When I first bought out Tenbault’s land rights to build the mansion, I was thinking of a school.”

“I recall. What changed, Hekusha?”

“What changed? Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“…I don’t understand.”

The Healer of Tenbault smiled, bitter.

“You wouldn’t. You’ve always been the same, Magnolia. It’s like you don’t age.”

“I take that as a compliment, Hekusha, I suppose?”

“Oh, don’t mistake me. Your body ages. You’ve aged like a bad pear. You’ve put on weight, despite whatever trick you’re using to keep it all off with that sugar, you’re out of shape, you walk and tut like you’re a decade older than you are—”

“Ah, so this is metaphorical. Thank you for clarifying.”

Hekusha wished there were any pleasure in this, but something was escaping her chest, like water releasing from an over-filled bucket, and it was neither pure insult nor…

“But you don’t change on the inside. You’re still that insane girl who swore she’d clean up House Reinhart. The same one who came to me with a dream and that half-Elf—Archmage Eldavin. Don’t think I didn’t recognize him. You were the same when you rode against the Antinium and the Goblin King. Pursuing that mad dream of peace with the Drakes. I’ve known you for forty years, and you’ve never wavered.”

“…Which implies you have.”

Hekusha drew breath, then screamed.

“Who wouldn’t? Do you think I can be that same girl who was trying to learn my first Tier 3 spell? Who—who was afraid of being beaten for failing to wake up and sweeping and wanted to work herself to the bone for your approval? I became my own woman. I gained power, and I finally became your equal, and you hated it.”

“Hekusha. I never thought of you as being anything less.”

Hekusha closed her eyes.

“Of course you didn’t. Just like Ressa’s your ‘equal’ despite you paying her. I enjoyed it, Magnolia, I did. You weren’t as bad as the other Reinharts. There. That’s the compliment of a lifetime. You gave me that spell and support, and I acknowledge this. But you want to know why we don’t talk, how we came to this? You let me down.”

“I fear I did. I was listening to you, Hekusha. Watching.”

The Healer’s lips twisted in contempt.

“Of course you were. Did you enjoy it?”

“No. I…knew you had been attacked before. I knew you put your effort into healing. I didn’t realize how bitter it had made you.”

“You didn’t realize…? You gave me a spell no one else had and left me alone!”

“I gave you gold, and whenever you asked for help, I connected you with people.”

Hekusha was shaking her head, like a dog shaking a bone.

“That’s all you do. That’s all you do, Magnolia. You hand someone a miracle, a bag of gold, a—an artifact, and then you leave them alone. You give a village the blueprints to build a new warehouse, the tools, and then you get mad when they don’t do it.”

“I give them a chance. Should I hold their hands? No one grows from that! No one levels without adversity, Hekusha!”

Now the [Lady] was getting angry, and Hekusha snapped back.

“I would have traded ten levels for your help!”

Magnolia fell silent. Hekusha drew in a shuddering breath, and a younger [Mage] was screaming into the speaking stone. When she had never dared to.

“If you’d only help me, Mags, take me into your mansion or—or just take over, I could do it. I’m not like you. I can’t manage all this myself. I’m just a [Mage]. I can’t be everything you want. Just help me, please. Help me and—”

She couldn’t breathe. She was doing her finances in her house as people banged on her shutters, begging for help. Cowering as someone held a knife to her throat. Trying to interview [Apprentices] while seeing how their eyes stole to her spellbook and seeing the greed in them.

“Not everyone can pull themselves up, you know. You think too highly of people. You always have. You hate your family, and you know exactly how petty, gruesome, and evil they are, but you think the common woman’s so much better. Sometimes, she’s neither [Hero] nor [Murderer]. Just a woman. Well, you’ve made me into what I am. I hope you see that.”

She poured it all onto Magnolia, hoping it would break the [Lady]. Just a bit. Just one iota, and Magnolia Reinhart was silent for a long, long time. Before she said—

“I suppose this has been my greatest sin, Hekusha. I…I forgot about you at times. But I also wanted you to be my equal, I think. I didn’t wish to help you because then I would be giving you orders. I dreamed of a day when you’d walk into a room and be more than me.”

“You naïve idiot. You were always like this.”

“Yes. I suppose I was. And I learned how to help people from someone who was too old. Too…used to being let down, perhaps. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have been right by your side.”

For a moment, Hekusha tried to imagine it. Her riding around with Magnolia and Ressa or flying House Reinhart’s flag over the city. Embroiled in politics, dodging assassins.

Was it better or worse? The vision flickered in her mind, and she turned away from it because it hurt too much.

“Too late for dreams. You got what you wanted. The magic’s spreading.”

“You could have taught them. What made you stop? Hekusha, I have to know.”

“What made me stop? You wanted me to give away the only thing that made me special. Me, Magnolia. After all I’ve done for Izril. I am the Healer of Tenbault, and those who come to me thank me, worship my feet, then the moment they’re healed, they’re riding away and never glance back once. Why do I charge them so much? Because their gratitude means nothing. If they even have it.”

Hekusha was rocking back and forth in her seat, like she’d seen Tessa do, and Magnolia’s voice was soft, now. Like she were about to slumber.

“But they do care, Hekusha. I have seen their tributes to you. Gifts from those who wished to do you some service, even if they had no coin. Merdon. Why do you think he stayed? It wasn’t just cowardice. I have seen art of you, heard tributes, songs—”

“Hah.”

“Hekusha. Have you forgotten what it looks like? Or is it just—invisible to you after so long? Because I know how that feels. Every criticism and critique is far, far louder than the thanks. But it is there.”

The Healer of Tenbault glanced around blindly, but her lavish rooms had nothing but her own possessions. Nothing…

Wait, there. She saw a little shelf with a few items strewn on it, above the enchanted fireplace. She stood and saw a sheathed dagger on it. A faded gold medal. A preserved flower in a glass case, and a handmade doll.

The very first gift she ever…

“I am too old. You should have replaced me. You should have entrusted your miracle to more than one person, Magnolia. Leave me alone. Please.”

Hekusha turned away from the mantle and walked towards her bed. Magnolia’s voice was soft.

“I do not know…how to grant second chances, Hekusha. It is not something I am good at. I judge. I like to believe I grant first chances, if not well enough. I am better at slaying monsters who wear the faces of people than making this world a better place. I will leave you, and I am sorry.”

Hekusha said nothing at all. She put the speaking stone down on an end table and lay on her bed as the [Maid] stepped forwards, and Magnolia’s voice continued gently.

“When I learn, I shall return, Hekusha. It is not over for any of us. My friend—I wish you the best. Thank you for your service, Healer of Tenbault.”

The woman said nothing at all. She just lay there and dreamed of the past for a while. Tears in the eyes of a Gold-rank adventurer. A nervous young Drake with black scales.

She slept…and no boots hit her on the head. The two girls left as the [Maid] gathered the speaking stone up and strode out of the room. Leaving regrets and, as ever—

A wish for a better world. A different timeline. But when the little Gnoll girl glanced over her shoulder, she just saw the reality of now.

Perhaps that too would change.

You could only hope.

——

That was how they left Tenbault. The [Princess] sat with her daughters spilling around her, offering Tessa tonics and asking if she was well, if she needed a blanket, talking about all the things they’d do in the inn and checking on her, and the Drake just sat there.

She felt like Hekusha had looked. Stunned and confused. But mostly empty. She drank, ate, talked, and let the [Princess] and the others bathe her with kindness.

It leaked out her empty, damaged heart, and she felt not a thing.

——

Later, at some point, in The Wandering Inn, Tessa woke up when the Gnoll named Ishkr she vaguely remembered knocked on the doors, and she went down to breakfast.

Before that, she drank a tonic prepared for her specially by the [Alchemist], Octavia, and she ate a curated meal from Calescent. Then she’d hang around and talk to Lyonette, and if she needed to, she could go back to her rooms which were decorated, and someone would check on her regularly, but otherwise she could relax.

If she wanted to work, they had some tasks for her, and she was going to have duties when she was finished with the ‘detox’ process. This time, Lyonette would ensure Tessa ate three square meals a day, got exercise, sunlight, conversation, and she had prepared both alchemy and magic to help with cravings or mood swings.

Mrsha and Nanette tried to also talk to Tessa, and they’d given her a special blanket infused with some ‘warmth’ made by [Witches]. The staff would talk to Tessa, especially the chattering Asgra, and everyone wanted her to get better.

Tessa had a packet of Carivek in the sole of her left boot. She hadn’t told anyone she had it. She kept nearly opening it and mixing it into some water.

She wanted to drink it. She wanted to take some Dreamleaf from the Ashfire Bee. She wanted to inject something into her veins. Her own blood. Wine.

She thirsted for it like she was dying in a desert for a drop of water. The Carivek was the sweetest thing in the world, and she stared at the packet as it dissolved in the water and turned it black.

One sip.

Then Lyonette would forgive her, and they’d all try again. She’d probably try to sweep Tessa’s rooms, but the Drake could get more. Lyonette had plenty of stuff to sell. She could take just a sip…

Carivek was a downer. But it also made you smart. Tessa could drink it and find more in the city with it making her smart. Take enough, even in a Drake city like Liscor, to bring her back to that place only drug-classes found.

That’s how she’d done it in Tenbault. None of the [Fences] and [Drug Dealers] wanted to sell to her, obviously. She sometimes didn’t have enough gold…but she just bought Carivek, then figured out the rest. They found drugs if she raided their smuggling operations, enough to pay her off. Sometimes they tried to fight back or stop her, but they found out it was easier to just bribe her instead of die.

No. Nonono, she’d promised to try. Lyonette had come here. And this was The Wandering Inn.

Place of miracles. Only…

“There’s no more Faerie Flower drinks?”

Tessa stood there and stared at the little golden flowers in the [Garden of Sanctuary]. She bent down, sniffed at them, even tasted one, but they weren’t the same.

“I’m sorry. They’re gone.”

Lyonette sat with the weary expression of someone who had seen far too much, and Tessa saw one of the things she’d put her hopes on vanish.

A miracle, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Gone. She heard Lyonette speaking in a determinedly too-bright voice.

“Tomorrow, Tessa, we’re going to see Healer Demerra in Pallass, first thing, alright? She’s agreed to help and refer you to other specialists she knows if need be. She’s already seeing a Miss Streihart Silverfang. You don’t know her, of course…”

[Healers]. Tessa knew all the [Healers] all the places…but she just nodded because Lyonette was trying.

It will do nothing. The little voice in her head whispered, and Tessa stared at the flowers before raising her head.

“Streihart?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, she’s Ishkr and Liska’s mother. You didn’t meet her, but we’re trying to help more than just you, Tessa. I only wish we could implement more of what Doctor Scala told us…”

“I know her.”

Lyonette blinked as the Gnoll [Head Server] turned from collecting a bag of gold in the garden. Tessa bookmarked the spot he was digging up. For drug money.

Nononono stop it—she forced herself to focus. Lyonette was speaking.

“—sure you’ve never met, Tessa—”

“She has a spot on her face. Blonde fur here, and a spot on her ear. And stomach. She says, ‘silverluck for us, yes’? Hazyflower.”

Lyonette blinked, and Ishkr turned. Tessa spoke.

“I see her around.”

“W-where? You’d never been to Liscor—”

The world only they knew. Floating in a cloud unmaking her, away from all her miseries, never that high, only as much as she could afford. Tessa’s head sank.

“She’s never getting out of there. She’s as sick as I am.”

“I…”

Lyonette didn’t know what to say, and Ishkr? Ishkr was just standing there. He strode for the doorway after a moment, and Tessa stared at his back as Lyonette jumped up.

“Tessa, you’ll have to explain that. Let me just—”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

She watched Lyonette run off, and Ser Dalimont gave Tessa a long look before he strode after the [Princess]. What Tessa wanted to say to Ishkr was:

You should stop trying. You should give up on her.

But she was too tired. And she knew he probably wouldn’t. Tessa couldn’t tell if that made it worse, but she knew she clung to that. To Lyonette’s desperate kindness.

They can’t save us. 

There’s no Faerie Flowers.

This was a mistake.

——

Was it back to normal? Or was her damage still there? Was the ‘ceiling’ something that came back or a living thing? Or did they make it?

She didn’t really care. But she could find out, oh yes. If she took too much, maybe she’d go to the other side again. Pure reality.

She…could still hear that voice, which was merely herself, really.

Do you want salvation?

“Yes.”

Tessa whispered to the Carivek as it swirled there. Her claws trembled as she raised the cup. The first question was easy. Everyone had the same answer. Thus, the second question arose.

Do you want to work for your salvation?

“I try. But it’s too hard. I really did try, once.”

But she didn’t have the will to do it again. Tessa opened her mouth and tilted her cup up, then paused.

Lyonette came all that way for me. It hurt to see the [Princess]’ earnest face, to imagine betraying it. But everything Tessa had said was true. [Restore Addictions]. All her promises.

Her missing tooth.

Always Have An Escape Plan. Tessa put the glass of Carivek down. Then, after a moment, poured it out the window. It ran onto the roof’s shingles, and she realized it didn’t leak here.

Well, aside from the huge hole in the common room from the Goblin King, but it had a barrier spell on it. She hadn’t helped with that. She’d missed it.

Tessa stood in front of the mirror, panting with the effort that had taken. It felt good. She felt better.

“Okay. Okay. That’s how I’ll do it.”

She smiled at her reflection, at her gap-toothed smile.

“Three days. Then I’ll kill myself if I don’t find anything.”

It was, after all, the simplest way to avoid troubling Lyonette. Tessa walked out of her rooms and wandered down to the common room. She sat as Rosencrantz came over with a drink and asked if she wanted to see anything on the scrying mirror. And Tessa watched some television, played a game of chess, and felt no joy at all.

——

Time passed. The sun went up, and it went down. For other people, it mattered greatly.

For Tessa…

Lyonette du Marquin felt something was wrong with Tessa. The Drake had been good after her big return. Of course, other things had happened like Garry, but Tessa hadn’t been forgotten.

She was good. She didn’t cause trouble, she tried things, she ate food and drank the tonics and even commented on how much they helped or didn’t. She was doing well.

Too well.

Something was off with her, and Lyonette caught Tessa before they went to bed.

“Um, Tessa? Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, Lyonette.”

They sat in her room. Lyonette on her bed, Tessa on the floor, cross-legged, and Lyonette peered at her.

“How are you doing? I know I’ve asked that so many times, but, um, truly. How are you?”

“I’m feeling decent, Lyonette.”

Tessa smiled at the [Princess], and it wasn’t a lie that registered on the little [Detect Truth] stone that Ushar had given the [Princess]. But nor was it truth.

“Decent as in well? Do you need anything?”

“Mm. No.”

“So you’re feeling good?”

“I’m feeling…okay. Average, I guess.”

The Drake fidgeted, and that was true, but for what value of it? Dragonspeaker Luciva had revealed the stones didn’t work anyways. Plus…Tessa was eying Lyonette’s hand. The [Princess] ruefully showed her the stone.

“I’m sorry. I just felt like there was something else going on, Tessa. If you are well, that’s good, right?”

The Drake hesitated. Tessa traced a claw on the floorboards.

“I…I do feel decent. No real pains; I haven’t had that many urges with the tonics. I’m fed. That’s what decent is, right?”

“Yes. Physically, I suppose.”

Lyonette hurt at night. She hurt when she got near some people. Little things were painful, and she tried to hide it from Mrsha and Nanette, but she knew they could see. Colfa was worried about her, but she had chosen this.

Yet it seemed to Lyonette her suffering was more welcome than Tessa’s ‘decent’. The Drake also seemed to realize this was obvious, and she squirmed before blurting out.

“—Is that how it feels for you when you’re…normal?”

“I…I suppose so? Physically, yes.”

“And you like living like that?”

“I don’t think about it when all’s well, Tessa. It sounds like it’s not as pleasant for you?”

Tessa rolled her shoulders.

“It’s not like being in pain. But I’m decent. No complaints to speak of. And there’s nothing else. It’s just empty.”

“Empty how?”

“Empty everything. I eat food, and it’s good until I swallow. I’m warm when I’m warm. I sit in a bath, and it’s nice until the water cools. Is that…is that it? Is this what normal’s like? I can’t remember. Nothing else feels like—”

She caught Lyonette’s eye, forced a smile.

“But it’s better than—than—”

Than being alive. The silent implication of her words made Lyonette go still.

“Tessa, can you tell me what it’s like to have the drugs? Is it…is it really that much better than anything else?”

The Drake froze up, then she stared past Lyonette.

“Better? Yeah, it’s the best thing ever. Nothing comes close. It’s living and joy, and you never want to quit, but it always ends. I’d trade breakfast forever for a single meal when I’m on Dreamleaf. It’s perfect, and everything else is…”

She stopped, and Lyonette’s heart began to beat with anxiety, but then Tessa looked at her and shook her head.

“…a lie. It’s not that great. It’s still better than normal. It is. But sometimes I feel like…I remember liking breakfast more. Or baths. Or anything. So maybe it’s not the best thing, but it makes everything else worse.”

“That sounds terrible, Tessa.”

“Yeah. I wish I’d never started. But now I know what it’s like—sorry. You’re trying, but that’s all it is. Empty. But don’t worry! I’ll be okay. Right as rain, soon.”

She flashed Lyonette what looked like a genuine smile. That was one of the things Lyonette had been warned about. She licked her lips.

“Tessa. You’re not planning on running away or doing anything drastic, are you? You’d tell me if you were.”

The Drake didn’t react, but Lyonette sensed her aura waver ever-so-slightly. Tessa glanced at Lyonette, face blandly smiling.

“Why would you think that, Lyonette?”

“Because I was told it was a concern. Oh, Tessa. Can’t I help you? If you’re thinking of—”

Tessa stood too fast, and Lyonette nearly fell out of bed. The Drake caught her and gently put her back in her seat.

“I’m…going to be fine, Lyonette. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really. No one could ask for more. I don’t deserve more. I don’t want to put you to any inconvenience.”

Warnings and warnings. The [Princess] rasped.

“Tessa.”

The Drake was standing by the window, and Lyonette knew Ushar was outside and perhaps listening, but she was devoted to Lyonette’s safety. Not stopping…Tessa held up her claws.

“You did everything for me, Lyonette. I see it now. I see…”

Her voice trailed off.

“I hate losing fights. I never thought I’d ever lose one against anything. Or if I did, I’d die stabbing. But this isn’t like a fight. It’s a war. It’s a war, and you don’t win, just buy time. And even when you’re winning…is this it?”

She gazed at Lyonette and flexed her claws, and the [Princess] was trying to think. But all she could say was—

“Yes. Yes, Tessa. But also no. It’s not all there is.”

The Drake paused, peering at Lyonette.

“Can you explain?”

She was so desperate to know, and Lyonette tried to. She thought of her daughters.

“I don’t like having a pleasant, do-nothing day, Tessa. But I’m so grateful for them because…because of all I’ve been through. Me, Mrsha. If I can hold her in my lap and talk about silly things, I’m so happy.”

“So it’s because you know bad things are coming? Because you have her.”

A bitter smile on Tessa’s face, and Lyonette shook her head.

“No, Tessa. Not only that.”

“Okay. Explain it, please.”

Now Tessa was peering at the little truth stone, and Lyonette was having to tell the truth. Was Ushar picking up on this? Could she block Tessa? But the [Princess] had to be honest, so she searched for the answer, and at last, she had it.

“It’s not merely wanting to be with someone I love, Tessa. Truly, it’s not. These pleasant days—yes, I want them, but not just a ‘normal’ day. I want a day where Colfa and I sing in the mornings, eat one of her bloody breakfasts with something delightful where I don’t feel sick, but I eat something that pushes me and I challenge myself, and to shop with Nanette. I want a day where I can curl my toes up by the fire and read a book. Not normal. Normal is boring. I want pleasant. I want happy.”

“It sounds the same.”

Shriekblade muttered, and Lyonette shook her head firmly.

“I believe you could make it so many days were that pleasant, but they are not only normal, Tessa. Truly. Listen to me. I want a day when Mrsha comes back from school and she’s done something incredible. Or—or when Calescent makes a new food or there’s something interesting on television. I want to have a fun time! Even if it’s ‘ordinary’, that’s different.”

“Oh. So it has to be great.”

“Exactly! I can have plenty of baths that are purely—cleansing oneself. But when I have one that’s just right when I’m cold or it’s just so convivial? That’s worth it.”

Tessa scratched at her neck-spines, bemused.

“That’s funny. It sounds like you’re trying to have an amazing moment. Like…killing a big monster and levelling, only small things. I thought only crazy adventurers chased glory and excitement.”

“We all do, Tessa. Only, quiet moments as well as loud. Do you think you can find those here? If you keep trying?”

Lyonette smiled, desperately sitting on the edge of her bed. Tessa was still running her claw through her remaining neck spines.

“I don’t feel it anymore. Maybe. Maybe in time, but…I have another question.”

“Go on.”

Tessa glanced up and lowered her hands, facing Lyonette.

“How do you not hate being in your body or existing? Every second? How do you not regret being here and everything you’ve done?”

The [Princess] was silent too long. Her hesitation too revealing. Tessa grimaced.

“Yeah. I guess I messed that up, too. But…at least it wasn’t all my fault, right?”

She opened the window latch. And Lyonette spoke.

“Tessa, don’t. Please, please don’t.”

The Drake’s back was to Lyonette.

“The thing about having family or that fun stuff is…I don’t remember it. I don’t remember much of my life. I guess I ruined it. I really appreciate it, really. But I can see the future. I’ve done this before, Lyonette. I don’t want to ruin it for you so—”

She glanced back once, and Lyonette spoke.

“You have to know someone who made it, Tessa! You have to—to have met someone who quit! You did it before! What gave you the strength? How did they find a better life?”

Tessa turned and seemed to wrack her brains. Before she smiled and shrugged.

“You know. Some simply quit when they did something so bad they had to stop. Or someone helped them, and they just…did it. Sometimes it was after so many tries. Then they relapsed and I found them face-down next to me at the bottom. I met a guy who was doing everything I did. He quit, and I ran into him a few years later. He was looking healthy, and he had a life, someone who cared about him, all that.”

“And?”

Shriekblade chuckled like someone who got a joke no one else would until it was too late.

“I asked him what his secret was. He laughed and told me he wanted to go back to being down there with me. Every day, sometimes. He kept himself away because he didn’t want to let other people down, but he still dreamed of it. If I climb out of the well and I can fall back in a moment…I thought I deserved to at least see something different when I got out. But I don’t. That’s what sucks. I know I don’t deserve it, but—well.”

She opened the windows and stared into the long night.

“I’ve thought of this as a solution, a lot. It’s scary. But I’m really sick of doing this, like Merdon said. I’m feeling better, so—thank you.”

“Tessa, stop!”

Lyonette threw her aura, everything she had, but the Drake was gone before the first word ever left her mouth. The door flew open, and Dame Ushar rushed past her.

“Dalimont, she’s—”

Tessa was gone. Dalimont had been outside with Ishkr and all the staff he could find. He hadn’t even seen her move. A Named-rank adventurer. Lyonette begged Valeterisa for spells. She asked Mrsha to try to track Tessa, used the [World’s Eye Theatre].

They never found her.

——

The night passed into dawn, and Lyonette sat in her rooms, sleepless, waiting for someone to knock and tell her they’d found Tessa. With each passing moment, she was more and more convinced she knew how Tessa would be found.

She was trying not to cry, but when the sun rose, she felt her resolve break. She was sobbing, tears running down her cheeks, when a clawed hand reached down and brushed at the tears.

“See? I make people cry.”

Lyonette peered up, and Tessa was crouched against the ceiling, pressing her legs against a wall to keep herself in place.

“Were you—were you always—”

“No. I went into the Floodplains. I was gonna do it in the dungeon. Or the Bloodfields. That way you could think I ran off.”

Tessa landed on the ground. Her face was calm, and she didn’t appear…happier. Like she’d had an epiphany. But then why was she…?

Lyonette was almost afraid to ask, but she had to.

“Tessa. I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

“I was going to kill myself. I promised and everything. And it was the one promise I was going to keep. Looks like I lie about everything.”

Almost miffed, Tessa scratched at her head, then sat there.

“Sorry. I know you were searching for me.”

“What—what stopped you?”

A monster? Something Lyonette had said? A little miracle unasked for? Tessa craned her neck back, almost embarrassed.

“Nothing like that. That’s how it happened other times. Other times, it didn’t stop me from trying. I bet I could do it properly this…well, it wasn’t any of that. I just…I didn’t hate myself as much this morning as I thought I was going to. So I couldn’t really do it. Now I’m embarrassed because it’s going to be a huge problem.”

That was it? Lyonette was trembling, and Tessa gave her a shamefaced smile, then turned away.

“I know it’s hard to get.”

“I’m glad. I’m…simply glad.”

The [Princess] was crying again, and Tessa hunched over.

“Sorry.”

In the silence, the door opened. Ushar recoiled, then ran to spread the news. Lyonette and Tessa sat, and the Drake confessed.

“Lyonette? I don’t think I can beat this thing. I don’t know if you can help me do that either. It’s not merely me wanting to. It’s…everything. Every moment I look in a mirror, I hate that face. I remember who I used to be. It’s Captain Groms laughing at me after I start crying in his bed. It’s every mistake I want to tear out. It’s who I am. I don’t see any way towards salvation. Not even with those flowers. Not even with miracles.”

She sat there, staring out at the morning light, and Lyonette whispered.

“Well…I do see it, Tessa! So trust me, okay? Trust me. I see a future for both of us. Please, just try another day for me.”

The Named-rank adventurer turned, surprised, and then for the first time since she’d left, she grinned at Lyonette.

“Liar. Your truth stone’s still here.”

She glanced at it, and it was flashing blue, but Tessa couldn’t remember which one that meant. But Lyonette’s chin rose.

“I’m a [Princess]. And we are in The Wandering Inn where miracles are half-off for lunch. We will make it happen, Tessa. This is a world of levels and classes. Anything can happen!”

The Drake stared at her and then nodded.

“…Yeah. I guess I can wait a while. Sorry.”

Lyonette threw her arms around Tessa, and then Ushar was back, and so was Nanette and a bunch of [Witches] who wanted to check Tessa and there was a fuss. It took the Drake a long, long time before they left her alone.

Even then, she rather suspected a Cave Goblin was staring at her from a crack in the door.

So much for not being a nuisance. Tessa really hoped she didn’t try to off herself again. It was still on the table, but right now…no.

If I can’t ever find that way out, what then? It was her greatest fear. The one thing she couldn’t out-fight. Not the fear of relapsing, but the fear of trying her hardest and then realizing it was all for naught, impossible.

Tessa stood in front of the mirror, and she looked bad, even if she had recovered a bit of weight. Still scarred. Still her. Still all broken pieces with nothing to offer Lyonette but a blade.

As always, she heard that voice. Captain Groms’ along with every other voice and moment that made her this. Only, her mind played a little trick on her.

For just one second, as she gazed into the mirror at that battered Drake’s face, she saw Lyonette, face alight with tears and determination. Shouting her apologies to Tessa. Bringing all the miracles she had to bear for this Drake who didn’t deserve it.

And then she heard Captain Groms’ voice.

“I’m going to beat the cockiness out of you, you brat.”

She saw Lyonette’s face blinking back at her and that fist rising. Tessa put her claws against the mirror. In her head, she caught that first punch.

She sat with Lyonette on that bed, and that moment…she fixed that moment in the little pile in her head that didn’t hurt. Tessa, Shriekblade, the Drake’s head rose, and her eyes gleamed just once.

“Not this time.”

She sighed. Well, that was a good enough reason for this month. She’d give herself a month to find another one. If she didn’t find it, then…maybe she’d go have a conversation before the offing herself thing.

It was such a pain. Tessa cast around, then climbed into her bed and rolled up in the Blanket of Warmth. She wiggled around, then sighed.

“Okay. It’s not worth living for. But it’s nice.”

It turned out that the only way to improve on this situation was if someone brought you a milkshake and you got to sip it while watching a scrying orb with dancing Fraerlings and Erin. After a while, Tessa slept.

Author’s Note:

This chapter is hard to write. And I knew it would be this difficult. To be clear, I don’t know Tessa’s addictions. I know some. But I would never compare them to the ones that are truly trials due to the very chemical nature of things or just, sometimes, how each brain decides to make things the hardest.

I tried to be accurate and not make it pure ‘misery porn’, a good phrase for bad writing, and to just think about Tessa.

It’s long. That’s why I posted the short mini-chapters last week, especially given how long the ending of the Fetohep arc is.

But I’m glad this won the poll. I know people complain the polls dictate too much of the story, but they have always pushed me to write chapters I don’t always want to. Or just told me what people think, and this, I hope, is a chapter that matters.

It is not wrapped up neatly with a bow. Even if I could write one such chapter, I think it would not be real. So many words have gone into this, so many perspectives, some crazy, others mundane, just to show you where she is.

It is the fallacy of The Wandering Inn and a complaint I hear often: much ado about nothing. But the much ado is sometimes what matters. For some, they might find nothing of value here. But if this chapter strikes someone harder than most, and it is meaningful, I find that far more important than the many stories or works I have read and enjoyed with a half-smile and then found a waste of my time.

In that, Tessa and I are alike. We are chasing a Named-rank adventurer’s glory, even if it’s just ordinary, non-deadly things. It is the Dragon I chase each time I write, in a way, far less insidious than the other ones of hardcore drugs. But in its way, an addiction.

There’s no neat ending to this author’s note, like the chapter. Sometimes, that’s how it goes. A sense of unfinished thoughts. But I hope…a moment that lingers. A period at the end of the sentence.

Thanks for reading.

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