10.60 YN

Then they knew they were going to make it, and it seemed like a great weight had lifted from every shoulder. Yet, and yet, the thought lingered in the back of every mind, and it was this:

Was that it? Wasn’t there more? It didn’t feel like it was over.

It felt like they were still starving. It felt like the month of privation had not ended. It felt like there was more to come.

But perhaps…

Not for them.

——

The Silver Swords, who now encompassed Poke Duo, Vuliel Drae, and the members of the Consortium of Enterprise, did not look…healthy when Nailren found them. Yes, they weren’t starving thanks to the Terlands’ food and camp, but they had that worn-down feel to them he’d gotten used to in the New Lands. The Gnoll watched them from his vantage point as they slowly meandered across the pink earth, and he marked how they had suffered.

Ylawes was the best example. He was, according to Nailren’s memory, a standard to which most Gold-rankers aspired to be. An example of how good training and positioning could make a Gold-ranker too. Well-trained, not just self-taught. Equipped with high-quality armor from his family’s forges, high-level, brave, confident, and the product of good Izrilian breeding from noble classes.

Tall, handsome in that Human way with strong jaws, blond hair, and their pointy noses which made Nailren think of chips and dip—he’d always wondered how they avoided getting stuff on their noses—and muscular. Able to fight and perform to an exceeding standard.

—Thin, now. He’d lost perhaps as much as ten or twenty percent of his muscle mass, if Nailren was a judge.

He might not have had any Galas at his level. Muscle being gone means he truly was starving for a while. Nailren knew his own body didn’t have nearly as much visible muscle as Ylawes had used to boast; Gnoll fur hid a lot of it, but the truth was that he’d had fat as well as muscle.

Ylawes had been a Human with low body fat, which made him a splendid, deadly, nimble [Knight] despite his plate armor. In the wilds, he would have suffered without a ready meal to hand like he was used to.

And his armor. Nailren winced.

It was tarnished and battered. Visibly damaged because the enchantments had failed, and the [Knight] seemed to move at a permanent shuffle-stagger as he trudged along with the Terlands and other members of his team. The same with the rest of his party.

Falene Skystrall? Another casualty of the aesthetics of modern beauty. Thinness was all very well—if you weren’t in the New Lands. She was gaunt, leaning on her staff, and the absence of magic meant her features were gritty, missing magical makeup. Still beautiful as half-Elves went, but it showed the eye how much had been subtle illusion magics.

Dawil, well, his armor was rusted, his beard unkempt, but the Dwarf seemed sturdy enough. Hunger had lost him weight as well, so his armor rattled a bit. Vuliel Drae, ironically, had been Silver-rankers so their decline was less pronounced. They were dirty, smelled like the outdoors, and Nailren noticed how Insill’s neck-spines were dulled and chipped—a sign of malnutrition— that Anith’s fur was dull and matted, and Dasha’s beard was falling out, but little more.

“Goblin and Antinium are doing well. I can barely tell they’re hungry. Figures.”

He murmured and felt a tug on the back of his neck hair. The [Secret Chieftain] grunted and swatted at the air irritably.

“Stop that.”

The necklace he’d fashioned out of an old spoon tugged against his chest, and not for the first time, Nailren wondered how wise it was to have a dead woman’s ghost accompanying him. But it was new, she had been alone, and the world was changing, so he sighed and then whistled from his vantage point. He saw Ylawes’ head jerk and the Silver Swords react with alacrity.

Good. I’m not escorting fools, even if the wilds have done them dirty. Nailren stood, the fronds of strange, hard land-coral snapping a bit as he shed cover. His horse whinnied, nervous, but this was coral-ground. Safe. Safe except for Landsharks. He whistled again and howled so they could hear him, though that was embarrassing and showy, and he swore he saw Ylawes smile as the [Knight] raised his hand.

Despite himself, Nailren felt embarrassed for his suspicion and waved harder.

That goofy wolfpuppy of a Human. He was like a hunting dog. Not a trace of suspicion in him. Or perhaps, now, a hint. But as Nailren had thought when he took the request to rescue and escort the Silver Swords—

For all their faults, they were a good Gold-rank team. They were hard to hate.

——

Pekona nearly wept when the Gnoll she vaguely recognized as Captain Nailren caught them on their long march from the Terlands’ base back to Goisedall.

She didn’t, of course, because that was unseemly, but Dasha cried, and so did Insill.

“We’re gonna live, Pekona, we’re gonna live!”

The half-Dwarf warrior blubbered, and Pekona had to point out they’d been fine. The Terlands had food, and even if they’d been rationing it, they’d been fairly certain they were going the right way. Between Ylawes’ contact with Erin Solstice via her new Skill and Mrsha appearing sporadically to give them directions…

No, the sight of another friendly individual from the past did make Pekona tear up, especially because he came so—so—confidently.

“Captain Byres, you are a sight for sore eyes, yes? I nearly didn’t recognize you. You’re lucky that Miss Nanette gave me your exact coordinates or I’d have never found you. I apologize for the delay; my group is scouting the area, and I was the first to see you. I’ll signal the others I’ve found you, and we’ll be on our way.”

Nailren rode towards them on horseback, and the mostly on-foot adventurers, Terlands, and colonists from the failed Consortium of Enterprise gazed at the Gnoll like he was some figment of their imagination.

Mostly because…he just looked okay. Not starved, not dispirited or beaten down by the rain and lack of food. Nailren’s fur was far from glossy, and he had that cast to him like he’d been roughing it of late, but he smiled.

A smile was a lot of work and calories. Ylawes’ own lips twitched as he held out a hand.

“Captain Nailren, we heard you might be coming, but—thank you for your efforts. Are you joining us? Do you, ah, do you know where we are in relation to the border to Izril?”

Nailren nodded easily and jerked his thumb ahead.

“About two day’s ride from the border where magic dies. I’d call it four days’ march if you can keep the pace to Goisedall, which is the closest Drake city to here. Are you hungry? I have some provisions, and I can help hunt, but I was told that wasn’t an immediate concern.”

Ylawes awkwardly gestured to a group of nobles who’d halted, surrounded by their remaining Golems whose hearts glittered dully.

“We’re fairly set, at least compared to before—ah, this is Lord Comigen of House Terland. We’ve been hired to escort his group to safety.”

“Adventurer.”

Lord Comigen, wearing a disheveled vest bestrewn with little icons, stones, pieces of lumber, the components of a Golem, nodded awkwardly at Nailren. The Gnoll nodded back.

“Greetings, Lord Terland. I am Silver-rank Captain Nailren, though I am not acting as an adventurer in the New Lands. I would be pleased to assist your party in leaving, purely as a matter of friendship to the Silver Swords.”

“Ah, oh, thank you—a Silver-rank adventurer?”

The Terlands’ reactions were interesting and telling. They wanted to dismiss Nailren the moment they knew his rank was a ‘mere’ Silver-ranker, but the Gnoll was clearly at home here, and he knew the area. In the same way, Anith murmured to his teammates.

“That’s very clever.”

“How, Anith?”

Insill didn’t get most northern things, so Anith explained.

“He’s offering to help as a friend, not as an adventurer. The Terlands can’t treat him like hired help. See how they’re having to adjust?”

Indeed, the Terlands—from Saftya, Leerne, to the others—began to introduce themselves to Nailren, who treated them with faint deference, but a distinctly pragmatic attitude. Pekona saw Lady Safta bristle, then began listening to his description of the landscape.

“I’m glad I caught you here, Ylawes, all. This is coral-ground. Fairly inhospitable for foraging unless you know where to look, but the damn Landsharks hunt here quite often, as do the Sealeeches. How are you doing with provisions, truly? I could set a trap or just bait them off, but I’d like us to march south for the rest of the day to make camp—it’ll take us out of the coral lands and into plain yellowgrass territory.”

The [Lady] hesitated, then blurted out.

“Excuse me, adventurer, I do not know these terms. Coral lands? Yellowgrass territory…?”

He favored her with a smile.

“Those are the terms my team and others have used, Lady. Coral lands refer to areas that look like raised seabed. The tough coral, there?”

He nodded to ‘bushes’ made of the faintly pink coral stuff, which was like wood, but far too soft. It could burn, but it was mostly water and hard plant fiber. Bushwacking through it, in Pekona’s experience, was almost all but untenable.

Aside from that, the coral lands had lots of stone and sand and, as Nailren had pointed out, a distinct lack of vegetation or animal-life. A shame, too, because Rasktooth and several others like Insill had been waiting for a lovely animal to pop out of cover so they could have a meal.

Food. Pekona wasn’t obsessed with it nonstop like she had been when they’d been starving, but her stomach rumbled as Nailren jerked his thumb southwards.

“The yellowgrass territory is the largest and most abundant biome I’ve found. It allows for more wildlife. If we’re lucky, we’ll find game, but certainly fewer Landsharks. Something about the soil; they find it harder to burrow there.”

“Really? I had no idea. We were up north with our first contract. The foothills.”

Ylawes murmured, and Nailren’s brows rose sharply.

“The foothills? I’ve been interested in exploring that way, but it seemed rather inhospitable. Good mining mayhap, but unless you had ample provisions or a way to mitigate the salted land issue, it seemed hard going.”

“It was. We starved. I…you know about the ground?”

Nailren nodded.

“Nanette let me know. That’s how I came here. Let’s keep moving if we may. Follow me. Ylawes, how are you holding up?”

Like that, they were saved. If not by a high-level adventurer, then by what Pekona could only describe as someone who knew what they were doing.

Captain Ylawes was a good leader, brave, and did the right thing, but he had felt like he was floundering to Pekona. Nailren was confident, and everyone’s pace seemed to pick up as he led them, chatting calmly.

Some of the tension in her that she would never see her home again eased. They were going to make it.

It still didn’t feel real. Their torment didn’t feel real.

——

There were adventures, and then there was this. Starvation was not a foe most adventurers faced. Running out of food while on a dungeon-dive or long campaign? Sure, but not this.

It felt like, well, a new world, and Pekona was as rattled by her experiences as everyone else. The Drake fortress with the Mithril haul and ancient, battle-ready Golems, surviving on fishing down the river as they left the [Merchants] to die—

All of it was a dream that the Drathian woman felt was far more surreal than any other adventure she’d had since leaving her home. In a way, the most grounding thing was seeing the Terlands interact warily with Nailren and him calmly and consistently assert his rank over them. Because she understood that.

Anith was only too happy to analyze the situation, but Pekona didn’t need it. She said as much when he commented on it.

“It’s all so very hierarchical here compared to Baleros. It reminds me of Dullahan pecking-order. Nailren’s a Gnoll from the south of Izril, and the Terlands are Five Families of the north, but both are pulling rank on each other. Baleros doesn’t work like that. I can read it, but not understand it.”

“It’s the same everywhere, Anith. Home is like that.”

Everyone turned to eye her, and Pekona flushed and would have crossed her arms—but her right arm had been severed by the Drake Revenant at the Village of the Dead. She was crippled, one-armed, forced to use her non-dominant hand.

No longer able to fight on the same level as before. Never again. She had sacrificed it to duel a legend, but she sometimes wondered when Vuliel Drae would replace her. She’d have to go back to her homeland of Drath in disgrace and kneel before the [Emperor] and speak her shame.

—Her team was kind, but Pekona knew she was now second-rate, and she had been only Silver-rank before this. So a second-rate second-rate swordswoman.

It was probably why she got along better with Poke Duo than most. The members of the Consortium of Enterprise didn’t talk often with Rasktooth and Infinitypear, because they were Goblin and Antinium, but Pekona was friendly enough with them. They always had something to eat and were chatty. Young.

Children. That was how she thought of them. So she tried to be kind and not bow to Rasktooth constantly.

Because in truth…they outranked her too.

Pekona’s self esteem had never been particularly high, but it had risen after leaving home when no one questioned her [Sword Dancer] class and found her ‘interesting’. They thought her class was unique and powerful instead of laughable. However, it had taken another nose-dive after the Face-Eater Moth incident and the Village of the Dead.

Just more proof that someone without cultivation truly is worse than even a First-Class warrior on guard duty in the archipelago. Pekona had no cultivated inner energy. She’d been a tertiary village-girl who’d learned the way of the sword at a local dojo, a sword-school, but she’d never had any training to cultivate her soul, which was Drath’s true way of advancement.

Without it, her mastery of the sword was akin to any other foreigner who picked up a blade. One could achieve great mastery with it, but it was not advantaged. She could, by virtue of her levels, slash a young tree trunk in half, leap six feet vertically, and do two backflips before hitting the ground.

A Level 20 [Cultivator] would laugh at her and put her flat on her back by simple virtue of their bodies. With a sword? A [Blade of the Refined Soul] of equal level could shatter her wakizashi with an infused blade—even if hers still had an enchantment—best her in sword dances, and endure her cuts as they slashed her in twain.

Cultivation, in Drath, was authority. There were traditional ranks and hierarchies, which was why she understood how the Terlands and Nailren acted; it was a subtle interplay at times and as blunt as Dawil’s hammer at others. But the final mark of authority was always refinement of the soul.

From the immortal fox-kin to the [Emperor]’s courts to the outsiders like the Demons, which no one was allowed to speak of—and who acted like ordinary foreigners—the weight of their cultivation was all. Those with talent were inevitably given access to greater pills, techniques of cultivation, and objects to refine their souls until they could clap their hands and shatter the air, endure unenchanted arrows without flinching.

It was why she had left; a girl with only a modicum of talent for the blade mattered less in Drath. And it was why she didn’t know how to treat Rasktooth at all. Because he…

He was a prodigy.

One need only look at his poise of form as he sat upon Infinitypear’s shoulders and see the utter contemplation, which exceeded his current level of refinement, or consider the facts to acknowledge this was so.

An untrained, unpracticed neophyte who had seen Pekona play at cultivation once or twice breaking through to the Inner Spirit Realm mastery on his own? Genius. Were he not a Goblin, he would have been taken to one of the main cities and enrolled in a school of one of the Murim Families’ main branches for such talent.

That he was a Goblin and barely a few years old…did it make him more or less? Often, great talents with the ability or self-possession to ascend their souls into cultivation’s many levels of refinement—it was a never-ending process in which higher ‘levels’ of ascension resulted in exponential power at increasing difficulty—were found too late.

A girl or boy found at the age of 16 with a prodigy’s talent was considered old, perhaps wasted because they had not been taught earlier. Even if one reached the Zenith Heaven’s Gate soul level—akin to a Level 40 [Warrior]—one might only live 200 years if they were not a half-Elf, and they had unique difficulties cultivating their souls due to their longevity.

But Rasktooth was a few years old. How long might Goblins live? If it was like Humans, then he would have a head-start on even the [Emperor]’s own children. Hence, Pekona not knowing how to react to him.

He should have been a young, arrogant noble lord in Drath, throwing his weight and the might of his family around, too powerful to gainsay in any way—and thus hateable. Instead, he was a Cave Goblin and paralyzed from the waist down, a truer brother to Infinitypear than most Pekona had ever met of blood. Like Ylawes, not what she expected of him.

“‘Ey. Hey, Pekona. You, uh, know Nailren? What he like? We is new adventurers. He some big-boss Hob-Chieftain guy?”

He leaned over Infinitypear’s back as they began walking, and Pekona had to translate his odd speech. Then she ducked her head reflexively.

“No, young m—Rasktooth. He is not a big…Chieftain guy. Though he may be a Chieftain? He was a Silver-rank Captain when we were exploring Liscor’s dungeon. The same rank as Captain Anith.”

She indicated the Jackal Beastkin [Mage] whom she followed, and Rasktooth eyed Anith and Nailren, who was chatting with the Terlands and Ylawes.

“Ya?”

“Yes, Young Master Rasktooth.”

This time, Infinitypear distinctly turned his body to stare at Pekona, and she turned red. The Worker spoke.

“You call Rasktooth ‘Young Master’ sometimes, Pekona. What does that mean?”

“I, um—it—it is a term of respect. Because of his class.”

“Oh. But I am an [Adventurer]! Do I not get a cool name like that?”

Rasktooth patted Infinitypear on the head.

“You can be Super Master Infinitypear, Brother.”

“Ooh, I like that. Very well, Young Master Rasktooth.”

They giggled at that like children. It made her happy and embarrassed because Rasktooth was deserving of the title. And Infinitypear was…one? And he had an Adamantium spear from Spearmaster Lulv?

Ahead of her. She was an ant, a real ant compared to an Antinium. Rasktooth blinked at Pekona.

“You looking all down, Pekona. Why? Because you not a [Cultivator] thing?”

For a Cave Goblin who’d never seen the world, sometimes, he was annoyingly sharp. Embarrassed, Pekona glanced around but no one was watching, so she snapped back.

“I don’t want to be! It’s just…you have talent. I don’t. Alright?”

He and Infinitypear appeared hurt, and she felt instantly bad, but the Cave Goblin’s mouth closed after a second.

“I have talent? Me? I not talented, Pekona. You have sword and can twirl like something beautiful. No Cave Goblin has any talent. Pebblesnatch is talented, and look at her. She lost the cooking contest big-time. She talented for a Goblin. So talented for poo.”

Pekona didn’t know what he was referring to, but she was objecting.

“No, you are talented.”

“Eh, impossible. You is wrong, so don’t feel bad.”

The Cave Goblin folded his arms and grinned at Pekona until Infinitypear poked him in the side and he yelped.

“Hey, Brother, stop that!”

“That’s Super Master Infinitypear to you, Young Master Rasktooth. And you are talented. So is Pekona, and Captain Ylawes, and…everyone here. Everyone is most excellent.”

The Worker jabbed Rasktooth again when the Cave Goblin tried to demure, and Pekona smiled. She looked at Rasktooth.

“Whether you like it or not, you are talented, Rasktooth, more than me. Drath would love you.”

He peered at her.

“But not you? They stupid, then.”

“Shh!”

Scandalized, she covered his mouth reflexively, casting around.

“Drath is a great nation. The [Emperor] is infallible and protects the world—”

“If he not think you’re talented, he stupid.”

“Rasktooth! You can’t say that!”

The Cave Goblin grinned up at her.

“I really do have potential?”

“Yes. Truly. I don’t understand why your energy is…rotten. It sounds like a product of the dungeon, but even rotten energy of that magnitude, so early, is a huge step. It doesn’t matter how you get the power, often. Sometimes, you can mess up, but you could do so much, Rasktooth.”

Maybe even fix your spine. But she didn’t want to make the Cave Goblin promises. Still, so much was possible with cultivation. You could regain your youth, repair lost limbs…well, only the supreme masters could do that. Rasktooth inspected her face, then seemed to have an idea. He grinned and held her hand with his small one.

“Then okay, I level and become Super Young Master. But you teach me, Pekona.”

“Me?”

“Sure! I not know how anything works! Then, when I become Super Ultra Youngest Master—then I tell everyone, ‘Pekona taught me. She super genius.’ And the Emperor-guy will have to thank you and stuff.”

She laughed at him. Then hugged him and Infinitypear one-armed, impulsively.

“You silly Goblin. Fine. You’re like a little brother, then.”

“Can I be a little brother?”

Infinitypear begged, and Pekona nodded.

“You can both be. And maybe one day we’ll all be wise as Captain Nailren.”

They beamed at her and nodded. Rasktooth grinned.

“We both learn from Pekona, Super Master Infinitypear! Eh, ah, Pekona. One question. Something just weird to me. Because Nailren seem older than Anith. Years and how he act. Right? Why they both Silver-rankers?”

She floundered, then gazed at Nailren’s back and had to duck her head again.

“I don’t know. He does seem…authoritative, now.”

In this place, far from civilization, Nailren was like a Named-rank adventurer compared to even Ylawes. It wasn’t just his bearing nor demeanor. He didn’t pull a string of roasted pheasants out of the bushes, but he just…did things.

——

Not easily, but with a sense that he knew how it was done and could make it happen. For instance, that night, Nailren had the exhausted group camp and then organized a hunt when he saw how they were rationing the Terlands’ stocks.

It was barley grain in soup with slivers of some fish they had left, a bit of butter for decadent thickening, dried scallions, a handful of flour, and on the side, some rock-hard bread. The Terlands had been stocked well enough, but the march had been long, and they’d been rationing, not knowing how much further they had left.

It was way more than the Silver Swords had been living on before; utterly terrible for the Terlands. Both groups made do, but Nailren just sniffed the air.

“I can’t promise a meal, but could I have any [Archers] join me for an hour? It may be I can find something to augment our stores. In the meantime…here.”

He produced a full, salted slab of venison from a Corusdeer, and Ylawes was so speechless he just pointed. That was how Insill, Infinitypear, Rasktooth, and two more [Archers] from Farmer Petia’s group followed Nailren into the night.

—He came back empty-handed after forty minutes, sighing, but everyone had devoured the venison by greedily dunking it into their soup and eating the dry, but delicious meat. Insill looked ready to cry as he saw Pekona sucking on a sliver of venison, and Dasha offered him a morsel with shaking fingers, but Nailren just grunted.

“No game about, sadly. I’ll try the second option. Can I get someone good at digging to join me?”

This time, it was Dawil, Infinitypear—again—and Ylawes himself. They set out, and not twenty minutes later, Nailren was back with armfuls of clams.

Pekona, who’d been thinking she was stuffed by this richness, sat up, and her stomach rumbled as Nailren began to toast the clams. Everyone fell over themselves, begging like children for a bite. He even looked rueful as he explained to Ylawes.

“I saw the field a ways back, but I’m reluctant to depopulate more such. There are these clam-fields in the coral zones, but many have been destroyed by newcomers. Still, this is needed, and we did not take much. Hrr. A bit more salt and pepper, I think, and…”

Freshwater clams. They tasted much like seawater ones, if a bit more…sweet? But dead gods, sucking one out of the shell after it had been baked on the fire with a hint of seasoning and Pekona was crying. Nailren had to confiscate the shells and half the clams to make a clam chowder—even the shells he boiled for the taste, and everyone had a second meal.

“Adventurer, ah, Nailren, you seem to be able to survive these dreadful lands quite well.”

He grinned at Lady Leerne as she remarked, licking her fingers and trying to wipe them on her handkerchief afterwards like she was still a lady.

“If I seem so, it is only because of experience, Lady Leerne. At first, my team and I survived on provisions as we learned, but it is a bit of experience with living in the wilds, a lot of luck, and having time to learn. I think anyone would do as well as we if they were not starving and desperate. Lacking food, it shrinks one’s mind, yes?”

“Oh, c-certainly. I am glad you take this perspective, sir. I, ah, I don’t suppose your team, the, uh…”

“We are disbanded, officially, but we were the Pride of Kelia. Of Tribe Fletchsing.”

“Yes, the Pride of Kelia. I do believe I’ve heard of it! Your team wouldn’t happen to be interested in a contract with House Terland, would they?”

Nailren grinned and had to refuse the [Lady], claiming his teammates had quit when reaching the New Lands, but Pekona saw his eyes twinkle and knew he was lying. About what, she could not tell, but he played the noblewoman like a [Beggar] marketing mere mudroot as Thousand-Year Ginseng to credulous nobles. Only, he actually had ginseng in each paw. She decided Captain Nailren was her hero, and she would follow him to the ends of the earth—so long as he kept her fed, and the same went for everyone else.

——

Ylawes felt like a fool for two whole days in Nailren’s company. He should be the Gold-ranker and Ylawes a Bronze-rank idiot who’d nearly gotten everyone killed for his foolish pride and inexperience.

He said as much to Nailren on the second day, and the Gnoll nearly laughed himself out of his saddle. He had a well-fed horse and he rode it, often to scout ahead and tell them he didn’t like this particular area of land, to correct their courses, just bag a kill like a yellow hare and bring it back to be skinned and eaten on the spot.

“Captain Byres, you tell jokes well. Much like the Ekhtouch.”

“I don’t get the reference, Captain Nailren.”

“Oh, just that they’re a haughty, self-important tribe and their ‘jokes’ are always upon themselves, and they never notice it. You are a fine Gold-rank adventurer; it’s just that here, my Skills and experience shine. When we encounter monsters and you’re fed, I’ll hide behind you and let you be the heroes. I remember how Facestealer died.”

He shot a knowing glance at Vuliel Drae and Poke Duo, as if he hadn’t also been there and fighting with everyone else. Ylawes muttered.

“That was all Rasktooth. I…just got hit a bit and listened to advice. Here, I’m useless, and you’ve saved us.”

“Hrr. No. You’d have made it, Captain Ylawes, but I’ll take the compliment. The [Shaman]’s truth is that the New Lands is much like a trap for all but those ready for it, and your team did well enough. Trust me on this, and don’t beat yourself too hard. I, myself, had a number of unpleasant experiences here. If I seem confident, it’s because I knew what I was taking on with rescuing you and came prepared. If you took a Bronze-rank mission slaying sewer rats, how much would you brag to the villagers, even if they couldn’t do it?”

That made sense, and Ylawes did relax, but he was still humbled by all that had happened and said as much.

“I feel like I’ve aged ten years, Nailren. And lost and gained so much. All our magic…but the other adventurers pulled their weight, and I learned some…hard lessons. I shall be glad to reach Goisedall. There will be Rhir’s hells to pay, but you will have my gratitude, and House Byres’, forever.”

Nailren eyed Ylawes and sombered a bit as Pekona, striding ahead in the advance guard in case of Landsharks or bandits, glanced at them. Nailren tapped his nose and shot a glance at the pony that Dawil was walking next to that carried a bundle of their personal gear…and the Mithril equipment Ylawes’ team had taken from the keep without telling the Terlands.

“I think you’ll land well enough after this fall, Captain Ylawes, and I am being paid handsomely by The Wandering Inn for my services. Fear not, though I might tell you to get a bag of holding as soon as we reach civilization. Though my nose is a bit refined, even among my kind.”

He’d noticed the Mithril and not said a word? Ylawes flushed and ducked his head, grateful again that Nailren was a man of honor. He’d not paid attention to the Gnoll way back when in Liscor, but now…

He wondered if House Byres offered commendations. His father might know, but some kind of permanent title or some such? Dead gods, he’d [Knight] Nailren in a heartbeat if the Gnoll wanted it.

Maybe it was just relief after starving, but right now, Ylawes meant it. And so, apparently, did Pekona, because she spoke.

“Captain Nailren, may I ask how you suffered here? I am Pekona of Vuliel Drae; we have met and adventured. I…had a few questions of you. Firstly, that my charms vibrate when you are near. As if you are possessed by ill effects.”

She touched the handmade charm she’d constructed from her new Skills. Ylawes frowned, but Nailren grew suddenly interested—and a bit wary.

“Fascinating. You’re Drathian, are you not, Pekona? I do have a rather interesting…I wouldn’t say malady, yes? More a problem that became a kind of new state of being, neither affliction nor boon, yet.”

He chuckled, and his fur rippled despite a lack of wind. Ylawes eyed him, noticing that oddity.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Nailren. Are you sick or something…?”

Nailren sighed, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ekhtouch indeed. I kid, I kid, Ylawes. I think you are the person to talk to. After all, you ran into the same issue I did. I did fairly well, I think, but I did have one nasty week of suffering—and that was when I ran into the ghosts issue. I was told you solved your problems far better than I did, and more quickly. I wished to confer.”

Ylawes started, and his eyes opened wide.

“The ghosts! Right! I almost forgot—”

It hadn’t been that bad for him, but the look everyone else in earshot gave him reminded Ylawes that he’d had the protection of the Graveblade, which had ultimately solved the problem. Nailren listened to Ylawes’ account and sighed mightily.

“I heard from Nanette at the time how your issue was solved. I wish I had been with you—but then again, it would have precluded me from learning more valuable information, yes? Let me tell you what happened to me…”

His story of the tents and being haunted by ever-more-aggressive spirits had Ylawes’ skin crawling. When Nailren mentioned bruises and blood by the end of it, Ylawes burst out.

“Ghasts!”

Pekona jumped. Ylawes was pale-faced.

“There are stories of such monsters in House Byres’ lore. It’s one of the things we carried silver to defend against! I remember being so terrified of them I’d hide in bed with a silver chalice at nights.”

He blushed as she smiled and Nailren grinned, but the Gnoll rubbed at his stomach.

“Having run into them and being helpless, I can’t blame the child-you, and I rather admire House Byres remembering how to combat such foes, Ylawes. I might well have died…I was truly desperate, but I learned some methods to combat them. Salt circles, for one.”

He paused as the fur on his head moved unnaturally, then turned his head and added.

“We’ve settled that, friend. No need to be embarrassed.”

He had a ghost on him. When Ylawes realized that, he nearly drew his sword, but Nailren seemed actually quite happy. However, Pekona was just as unnerved.

“An unbound spirit is a dangerous thing, Captain! It can grow to be a great good—or great evil.”

“Hmm. Two cultures with stories of ghosts, and I know Gnolls have them too. You two know your histories well. I’d be delighted to share information, especially about what you know or what works.”

Pekona exchanged a worried glance with Ylawes before showing Nailren all her talismans. Several of the simple paper charms with ink drawn on them seemed ordinary, non-magical, but they vibrated alarmingly suddenly, and Nailren grinned.

“Oho.”

“[Safety Talisman]. It—it detects something is here.”

“Can you defeat her? She’s not very strong anymore. Spoony? I call her ‘Spoony’ because I don’t know her name—can you test Pekona’s wards? I don’t think you want to get near Ylawes’ Gravesword, and be careful.”

Gingerly, both ghost and [Charm Maiden] tested each other, and Pekona found that her [Minor Warding Talisman] could actually keep Spoony away. Though, after eight tries, the warding talisman’s ink ran off, and a triumphant ghost lifted Pekona’s hair.

“Fascinating. I may ask to copy those talismans, though perhaps I need a class or something to activate them?”

Nailren had described his various methods and insights on the ghosts to Ylawes, Dawil, and the other adventurers who’d come by to observe this unnatural phenomenon. The Terlands and colonists were so unnerved that they were keeping wide of Nailren, and the nobles of the north were clearly trying to pretend his invisible friend didn’t exist.

Pekona felt at the charm around her neck as she shuddered, still eying the air around Nailren.

“So it is not ill, Captain Nailren…?”

He shrugged, calm.

“If it is ill, it is not wrong, and I think that is the difference, Pekona. I shall inquire with a [Shaman] once we reach civilization, but do not fret. Now, since I assume there are no ghosts in Drath, how are charms normally used? Like the power of [Witches], an entire area of charm-making might have been left to rot…until now.”

She brightened up.

“It has! My aunt, she makes them, but they are keepsakes for most. Some have a bit of power, but compared to cultivation…”

“Ah, of course. I know a tiny bit of Drathian culture, but please, correct me.”

Thereupon Nailren and Pekona began to talk about charms and Drath, which Ylawes was completely lost by. However, he listened with such fascination to Pekona’s tales of home that she looked quite pleased. Nailren remarked on it, too, with a grin.

“You listen like a child hearing Tales of Adventure and Woe for the first time, Captain Byres. Again, this is a compliment.”

Ylawes blushed.

“I’ve always been fascinated by things I don’t know, and Drath sounds so extraordinary, Nailren. I wanted to visit the Great Plains; the Silver Swords just never went past Liscor before. It’s all so…commendably interesting. I wish I’d known any of this—charms or Gnollish knowledge. It would have helped us in the New Lands tremendously, and I’m only sorry I’m not more well-read. Falene and Dawil get around as well, and neither of them knew more than I.”

Nailren tilted his head, listening to Ylawes, and it felt like he was inspecting the man, but when Ylawes was done talking, the Gnoll chuckled once more, and a genuine smile crossed his face.

“I’ve heard that, and I take it as a compliment. From you, Captain Ylawes? I do believe you. It is rare to find someone who loves what is strange or foreign to them as more than a curio.”

What did that mean? However, Pekona glanced at Ylawes and smiled, nodding.

“I’m glad you value my charms, Captain. Many would not.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Who wouldn’t? Ylawes shrugged awkwardly.

“I had no notion such things were so…common.”

This time, Pekona and Nailren smiled at him in a different way, knowing and maybe a bit resigned. Nailren inspected the one Pekona had lent him.

“They are not conventional magics, Captain Ylawes. [Mages] cannot make them, you see? Only [Shamans] and the classes of Drath.”

“Yes, but they’re quite useful, or so they seem.”

“They are!”

“So why haven’t I heard of them more?”

Ylawes saw Pekona and Nailren exchange a glance, and the Gnoll smiled, but with a hint of reserve. Had Ylawes missed that in Nailren’s expressions before? Or did he just see it now?

“Ah, Captain Ylawes. This may be so, but they’re [Shaman] and non-[Mage], non-[Enchanter] creations. Not something Wistram or the nobles of Izril would know about.”

“And?”

“And that is why you do not know about it, nor most Gold-rankers outside of Gnollish ones, I would imagine.”

It was such a gentle delivery that Ylawes waited for more, and then Nailren and Pekona resumed their discussion.

It took him until nightfall to realize that it had been a rebuke of kinds, or a reminder.

Somewhat predictably, he didn’t shut up about it until they reached Goisedall.

——

“I just don’t understand, Dawil. Let’s say they’re not as—as permanent as other [Enchanter]-made objects. A few months or years is still fantastic performance! And we just don’t know about [Shamanic] charms or [Witch] magic because it’s not conventional? Is this right, Falene?”

Dawil and Falene were no longer starving. They were being led by Nailren back to Goisedall, away from the Consortium of Enterprise’s madness, with the remainder of the colonists and Merchant Anlam. Safe. Secure, better fed.

Still in hell, somehow. Dawil exchanged a wretched glance with Falene, begging her to say something, but she was trying not to engage.

Two days.

Forty-eight hours. Ylawes’ conversations kept leading back to this point, like a stubborn bull running in circles, and Dawil exhaled.

“Lad, it’s just how things are. Izril’s a bit hard-headed about some things. Frankly, not many people know how useful such magic is.”

“But you’d have thought that someone would observe and point it out, especially in Gold-rank circles!”

Ylawes was mildly outraged, and Dawil nudged Falene until she tried.

“Ylawes…it’s the matter of perception. Until the Meeting of Tribes, the, ah, magical standing of Gnolls—or [Witches]—was nonexistent. And Drath is far away from any other nation.”

“So?”

“So, lad…people just don’t think it’s that valuable.”

“But it is! We can see it!”

“Yes, but people don’t think it’s that useful, so it’s not something you or most folk know about.”

Ylawes squinted at Dawil.

“Dawil, it feels like you’re generalizing. I think most people are quite willing to see the value in other things, and I’d hesitate to assume anyone would be that close-minded.”

At this, point Dawil Ironbreaker and Falene Skystrall met each other’s gazes in rare united mindset. And it was this:

Our noble, privileged, innocent Human captain is so beautifully naïve it hurts. Because he meant it. He saw Nailren’s aptitudes and Pekona and her knowhow and he took it for granted that anyone would see the same and respect Nailren unconditionally.

It was why they loved him. It was why they despaired of him. It was the only reason the two had followed him despite his foibles and flaws all this time. Because like a Unicorn, he was pure.

…Actually, having met a Unicorn, Dawil was pretty certain that Ylawes cleared Unicorns too. The average maidenly virgin who was eligible for sacrifice would have called him an unbelievable romantic child.

Even now, there was something beautiful about that, but he’d been scarred by his adventures of late. And Falene? Ah, well, Falene marched ahead to smile at Ylawes.

“Believe it or not, Ylawes, sometimes people are slightly close minded. Even my fellow [Mages] of Wistram. I’d be delighted to talk about it in Goisedall with you. Say over some proper food and rest? My treat.”

Dawil sighed as Ylawes glanced ahead, and his stomach rumbled. But the Dwarf didn’t stop old Pointy Ears. She’d been shooting her shot at Ylawes for years, and like a blind [Emperor], he’d missed the brightest comet she’d shot past his face.

But dead gods, this had been a hard adventure. Dawil said nothing, and Ylawes nodded after a moment.

“I think I’d like that, Falene. We all deserve a break and, I dare say, some relaxation. It’s not more than a few hours’ march, Nailren says. But I insist on paying—I brought us into this mess, and we’ve enough coin for that. Though I doubt I’ll be able to send as much back to House Byres as my father wants. I hope all is well.”

There he went, thinking of House Byres and the gold he ‘owed’ Yitton, as if he hadn’t earned it. Dawil shook his head, but he was too tired to argue.

Goisedall. More blue tufts of those weird seeds were flying across the air, and Nailren was pointing ahead as Dawil’s legs trembled, and he nearly wept to see the city in sight when he saw the old, familiar lands of Izril stretching below them.

—And pilgrims entering the New Lands, summiting the divide where the New Lands rose higher. Tiny ants from afar. Dawil exhaled and stood taller.

They were back.

Almost back. But somehow…nothing would be the same.

——

The people entering the New Lands through the main ‘road’ of overturned muck and debris appeared excited, ready for fame and fortune, and they were at odds with those who returned.

Not just the Terlands; Nailren had not been back to Izril ‘proper’ until now, but his team had told him about it, and it was a sight.

For every thirty people entering the New Lands, one was returning. Those who returned seemed as beat-upon as Ylawes’ team. They did not mince words. In fact, most fell upon newcomers.

“Food! D’ya have food!?”

A thin man was begging, and a few startled caravans offered him a few rations he tore into before bellowing at the others. He was malnourished; his ribs were showing, and he had a single sword at his waist. No horse, no company.

“The New Lands are a damn trap! Turn back! Turn back, all of you! If the monsters don’t get you, the lack of food and magic will! I say it for your own good—I came with fifty-strong, and we were at each other’s throats in three weeks! I came back alone, and I don’t know if any of my friends live. Nor d’ I have the heart to find them.”

Tears leaked from his eyes, and the new colonists gazed at him, shocked, but determined.

“What did you see, fellow? Come on and we’ll feed you for intelligence. What’s settled?”

“What’s settled? What’s settled? There’s naught built and only dead camps and despair! Turn back!”

The man was remonstrating with the others, his beard dishevelled, but they had come too far. Nailren saw a few caravans hesitate, but the clever ones asked for information; everyone continued.

“What threats did you see? Here, where are the most important sights? We heard there were ruins. What can you tell us?”

A rich woman was standing up in her cart, and it was Ylawes Byres who bellowed.

“There’s an anti-magic effect on all the New Lands! If you have anything of magic, even artifacts, they’ll be dead within the week! Bags of holding, Runes of Preservation, everything! Heed the warnings and hold!”

That stopped everyone in earshot, and Nailren admired how the man just…said it. Heads turned and people called out.

“Here, what’s this madman talking of? It can’t be all—”

“We’re the Silver Swords, a Gold-rank team! There’s a mana-drain on all the New Lands, and the ground’s salted! Nothing can grow but maybe Yellats! It’s a trap!”

Falene and Dawil took up Ylawes’ call as they met the procession heading into the New Lands, and Nailren leaned on his saddlehorn to watch. For he suspected, in his cynical way, how things would go.

He was not disappointed.

——

It was not that they disbelieved Ylawes, especially after a few groups confirmed his identity. They heard out his comments about the magic-drain, the salted earth with dismay.

But they kept going.

Even groups laden with magical gear. He urged them all to turn back, but out of sixty plus caravans, only one did, and that one to just sell off what they had in Goisedall before continuing.

It was a [Merchant] that reminded him of the Consortium of Enterprise who spoke to him, almost cheerily.

“I understand the risks, Captain, but we’ve come this far. Over a month of travel, it’s been, from House El’s lands, and you tell me to turn back? I can’t do that. This is where I swore to make my mark or die, and your news is welcome; we might find a way to trade off our magic or see how we can preserve it, but we must continue.”

“Merchant Candi, we’ve starved a month and seen—hardship the likes of which my team has seldom encountered. Will you not at least think a few days?”

Ylawes gestured at his team, and she looked him up and down before the woman adjusted her hat, grim.

“I don’t doubt even a Gold-rank team suffered, Captain, and I shudder to imagine what became of your company if this is all that’s left. But I…I have to believe there’s treasure beyond dreaming in the New Lands. If not in actual form, then opportunity, cities to be founded, a landed nobility for me and others. If not, then what’s there to dream of in this age?”

She laughed, and he stood there. Trying to explain how starvation felt. But Ylawes realized they were committed. Just like the consortium had been.

“Lad, let’s get to Goisedall. We’re wearing our throats raw and starving, still. Petia, Homle, their people’re in need of rest, and there’s affairs to be settled. A meal and comfort will do us all good.”

Dawil was the one who finally tugged Ylawes away from trying to turn back groups pushing past him. Ylawes stumbled away, lightheaded and weak.

“Were we so foolish, Dawil? Were we…?”

He couldn’t bear to see them going forth to what he thought must be their deaths. The Dwarf’s face was gentle, but his arm so very strong.

“Probably, lad. You think you’d have stopped at the beginning of all this? Rest, and we’ll help if we can. Perhaps your warning’ll make them turn back sooner, but we have to go.”

Ylawes had never felt more like a child, weak, naïve, beaten, than when he entered Goisedall. His group, over two hundred strong, was no triumphant return.

It was footsore Terlands, slow Golems low on mana, servants, farmers, miners, all who were too thin and who had abandoned all they had carried to make it this far. The adventurers, most well-fed and who had the most gear of all, still seemed like they’d come off the hardest of adventures, and Ylawes was keenly aware of how much money they’d forfeited by breaking their contract. And how much they’d lost in magic.

At first, Goisedall was just as harsh.

——

“No rooms for let! If you want a room, double someone’s fee to evict or keep moving! No food, no standing room!”

A Drake woman was screaming at the first inn through the city gates. The Watch was on the walls, but no one was manning the gates; there was no point.

The city was packed. Goisedall had not been like this the last time the Silver Swords had been here. Then, they’d been a former harbor-city trying to reinvent themselves, catching the blue seed-tufts in nets.

Now…they were overrun. By colonists, people coming and returning from the New Lands. There was nowhere to stay.

Each inn was packed to the gills. Traffic was a snarl of wagons and caravaners screaming at each other; there were camps of people outside the city, preparing to enter the New Lands, and prices—

Ylawes stared at a sign as they passed.

Inn’s Room — 22 sp. per night, no board.

Sleeping space, Common Floor — 8 sp. per night, no board.

“A gold piece per room? Eight silver to sleep on, what, the floor of the inn?”

Madness! Even in First Landing, a gold coin per room had you at the higher-end rooms short of noble prices! But Dawil just grunted.

“Looks like we’d be fighting for even floor space, lad. Look.”

He pointed as a Drake handed the shouting [Barmaid] sixteen silver coins. She counted them out, then went in to evict someone—and Ylawes’ blood ran cold.

We have nearly two hundred people here. We couldn’t afford floor space even if we weren’t impoverished….

“Outside the city, then. We won’t die to camp, even if—”

“Looks like there’s a fee for that, Captain.”

Anith interrupted, and Ylawes turned, incredulously, to see another poster tacked up.

All vagrants travelling through Goisedall lands are to pay a fee for camping in the area of the city. Fees to be administered by Watch patrols or paid in the City Hall. Double Triple Quadruple if not paid in advance!

Madness. Ylawes saw Drake soldiers riding through the streets to break up fights, administer fines, haul people away, or just—-

“We—we met a Captain before this. From the city. Captain…Captain…could we prevail on him?

Ylawes was ashamed not to remember the Drake’s name, but Dawil, Falene, all had forgotten. It took ages before someone recalled the Drake.

[Patrol Leader] Dulc. Ylawes went to the City Hall to ask about him.

——

[Hostess] Gliva hated everyone who came to Goisedall. She hated the New Lands. She hated the fimie-seeds which landed everywhere and were nuisances.

She hated the anti-magic fields and salted earth beyond their city.

She hated her job, and she took particular, bitter pleasure in the fact that she was Level 33.

She’d been Level 25 late last year. A young, up-and-coming [Head Waitress] at the Seafarer’s Catch, a respectable if small inn on the edge of Izril’s shores.

Today, she was an entire capstone higher, and stress was her best friend. She stood in City Hall, because that was where everyone ‘important’ came, from [Merchants] to the leaders of the doomed expeditioners.

It was no longer the important place where only the Councilmembers and staff got to work. Right now, it was a flea market of people shouting, haggling, sleeping—chaos. The stone dirty—-everything in Goisedall was dirty—havoc everywhere.

She was haggling for her inn. Old lady Merwic, she was doing her best, but she’d given Gliva the purse strings for all the inn’s provisions. And Gliva was bargaining.

“I need all your flour. All your flour, I said!”

She was screaming at a [Merchant] who was arguing with her.

“I can sell you fifteen bags—but no more! I have promised more to friends in the New Lands! The Consortium of Enterprise, have you heard of—”

She slapped down gold on the counter. Gold pieces, more than she could dream of earning a year ago. Then, she would have been tempted to run off with it—she placed four hundred gold pieces down, and the man’s eyes bulged.

“This is for your flour.”

“A-all of it?”

“Yes, to Seafearer’s Catch on the double!”

The [Merchant] was Human, from the north, and was canny with a team of sixteen [Porters], [Guards], and a wagon with a Skill: [Cargo of Vast Holding].

He’d not make it six days into the New Lands. But he had made promises. But Gliva had gold, and he licked his lips.

“Th-this is a handsome sum, but for my flour, which I’ve bought from no less than the Unseen Empire of Riverfarm, I should demand more!”

“How much?”

She gave him a flat gaze, and he wavered.

“Well, given the prices of things and chaos—”

“How much? I’m in a hurry! Name it and be done or I’ll find someone else!”

A [Knight] was pushing through the chaos past the [Merchant], a bewildered expression on his face. Newcomer? No—he seemed too thin.

Doomed fool, then. He was calling out as a Dwarf and half-Elf followed him, and the [Merchant] spoke, getting Gliva’s attention. He was going to rip her off.

[Markup: 130% Value]! [Enticing Offer]! [Mitigate Haggling]! He drew himself up, spoke haughtily.

“For this much grain, I fear I’d have to double, no, make it a thousand gold pieces for the lot of—”

“Done! [Deal’s Sealed]! Get it to my inn within ten minutes!”

She began dumping gold onto the table and almost relished the way he stood there, frozen. A fee beyond anything he could charge, even with his Skills.

He was being ripped off. By her. He might get double that price if he had played his cards right, but there was no time. Not in Goisedall. If he wasn’t mugged or hit by someone of her level—she nearly laughed in his face.

“Get me the grain and on the double, damn you! And get more! If you want to be paid, bring it all here! We’ll be dead in a week from all these mouths if you don’t.”

She had never, really, thought of hospitality as a life-or-death situation, but Goisedall was under siege. The [Merchant] began to move, hesitantly scooping the gold up, staring at her, and she wondered what she looked like.

Eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Exhausted from working constantly—but with a new blouse, a bag of holding on her hip she’d never have afforded before.

Richer, having doubled her savings in the last month from working. Back aching from renting out her house to newcomers, charging them gold for it while she slept in her closet.

Rich. I’m Ancestors-damned rich. If I survive this year, I could retire in any city I want. So long as we don’t all die of the prices. Is it this mad in the rest of Izril? Is there enough food to feed so many?

Never, in her entire life, had she seen so many people as passed through Goisedall in a day. She charged people prices she wouldn’t dare charge a Wall Lord of Salazsar and spat at them if they so much as argued.

Madness had engulfed Goisedall, but also riches. People coming to the New Lands had gold to spend, and those who returned paid out of desperation and had such stories…

It’s a trap. It’s all a damned trap, and they’re dying, but I have to make money. We’ll starve if I don’t get this grain.

Gliva was already thinking of how to trade it with other inns for what they had. To make food, even damn bread, to feed the many mouths. Level—she’d hit Level 40 within the year, she knew it.

Hospitality.

HOSPITALITY.

Her heart hurt. Because part of her remembered what her class meant. Part of her was still the [Barmaid] who’d offer any beggar a bit of old bread and some water and a place to sit, and now she was the hardass Drake who kicked anyone out who so much as lingered over their cups without gold to spend.

She bled for this. This city engulfed by gold and desperation. So she rested her arms on the table. Dizzy.

Levelling.

And heard the [Knight] speak.

“Patrol Leader Dulc? I’m Captain Ylawes of the Silver Swords. I was wondering if—”

A Drake with faded, dead scales from lack of scraping around his jaws, exhausted, hand resting on his sword’s hilt, whirled as he strode for the Council’s rooms and then blinked.

“Captain…wait, I remember you! Dead gods, you survived? You look like death, man!”

“I fear we did live, Patrol Leader.”

“It’s Captain of Territory now. New class and all. How many made it? Did you lose everything? Damn, your armor.”

Gliva listened as the Human man called Ylawes Byres, some bigshot Gold-ranker, explained what had happened. Same story. Dulc heard the man out, shaking his head.

“I’ve had so many groups come back nearly dead or starved, even Named-rankers…well, few enough of those. Your team’s not hard up on hunger, are they? They’ve got gold?”

“Some, and if we can get to the Merchant’s Guild—”

“They’re open, and they might be able to help. But do you have gold on hand? Good, good. So your team won’t be thieving or raiding others. Add them to the list.”

Dulc nodded to a subordinate who wrote, and Ylawes recoiled.

“Captain! I’d never—”

The Drake hesitated, and his expression, worn as hard as Gliva’s, softened just a moment.

“It’s what desperate people do. Look, are you asking for a handout?”

“N-no. Well, I just wanted to ask about the prices on even camping—”

The dismayed Ylawes was acting like there were such things as dignity, subtlety. Dulc and Gliva could have laughed, but the Drake was kind.

“We’ll waive the fee. Put ‘Ylawes’ down and just sign my name—done. I can’t get you better prices on food, Captain. If you had any to sell, I’d advise you to do that, but just buy what you can if you’ve the gold. You’re a Gold-rank team; the Merchant’s Guild might be able to lend you what you need. As for space, camp if you’ve the tents. If you have gold aplenty, the inns will do. Where’s someone with an inn? All the [Innkeepers] show up here, so you can negotiate with them if you wait—Gliva! There! Gliva, give them rooms at decent prices if they pay!”

He roared at Gliva and the [Hostess] flinched, then shouted back.

“We’re not a charity, Dulc!”

“They were a good team back when they came! No trouble! Just—ancestors. I’m glad you lived, Captain. If I see you in the city, let’s catch up. But I have to ride. I’m sorry. Make way! Make way or I’ll fine you, damn it all!”

He was shoving forwards, and Gliva saw the [Knight]’s face fall. He turned to her, helpless, and seemed to understand what was happening.

“Your rooms, Miss…Gliva. They wouldn’t be—?”

“We’ve a full group moving out today, Captain, but it’ll be four gold a room—that’s as many people as you like sleeping there. How many people are your party?”

‘Two hundred strong!”

“Ah, well, you might do with all our rooms and the common room—and we’ve got [Guards]—but it’d be nigh on five hundred gold to rent it all, plus meals. If you’re hard up for food, I suggest just heading onwards. Prices are half what they are here, and it gets closer to normal a few cities onwards, or so I hear.”

His face was so stricken she felt bad for him, but—five hundred gold. It was doable for a Gold-rank team, even one in dire straits. Beyond ludicrous two weeks ago.

As nice as she could be, now. Ylawes Byres appeared sick as he turned.

“I—I don’t think we can do that. I’ll prevail on Anlam, and the Terlands may rent a room, but it’ll be food for our company. Can we buy enough for two hundred…?”

“I’d budget a gold piece per person per meal.”

She spoke and saw the color drain from his face and wondered how hard-set he was. Part of Gliva wanted to give this man a break, but she could not. She could not—this was the break. And it was then that someone spoke from behind Gliva.

“Excuse me. I do believe our gold is quite good, if this Merchant’s Guild is active. Until Captain Ylawes is on his feet, I would like to pay for his rooms and provisions, Miss Gliva, is it? May we make arrangements?”

The Drake turned, ready to snap at this gentle, even kindly voice which had no place here. But when she saw the glowing [Princess] standing there with a [Knight] and little witch at her back, even she stopped.

For there were still wonders in even Goisedall. Lyonette du Marquin met Ylawes’ eyes as his knees buckled. She smiled, and her eyes swept the room with dismay. But then she stepped forwards.

“I do believe you are a high-level server, Miss Gliva. Can I trust you to give my friends proper service?”

“Wh—what are you—?”

The woman was transparent. Gliva saw Lyonette smile at her.

“I am Lyonette, the owner of The Wandering Inn in Liscor at this moment.“

The Wandering…? Gliva had heard her [Innkeeper] talking about it. She froze, and Lyonette spoke.

“Can I trust you to take care of my dear friends?”

“Y-yes. If they can pay. I mean, we have levels. Almost everyone’s over Level 30…”

“Then do so, Gliva. I shall have the funds paid to your [Innkeeper] as soon as she presents herself at the Merchant’s Guild. Captain Ylawes…oh, you’re so thin.”

“Miss Lyonette?”

He stood there, swaying, and Gliva gazed at Lyonette as she strode over and tried to hold his cheeks in her hands. Her eyes were shining, and she spoke.

“I’m so sorry we couldn’t help. I’m so glad Mrsha found you. We’ll do everything we can. Rest. Please. Mrsha told me what a hero you were.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just broke my word, and Erin saved me.”

He murmured, sinking downwards, just one more man so weary he could not even stand in this city. But Lyonette du Marquin only whispered.

“Nonsense. Don’t you dare say that. Not you. Not you, Ylawes Byres. We must have men like you. We must have [Knights] like you for even Normen to look up to. Or how shall we believe in goodness anymore?”

Then…Hostess Gliva saw a [Knight] beckoning to her, introducing himself as Ser Dalimont, and who wished to discuss the particulars of the Silver Swords’ stay, which would not have price tags on their hospitality.

And for a moment…the [Knight] could relax. For the [Princess] treated him like a hero.

Or at least, she tried to.

——

For once, even The Wandering Inn’s unlimited gold ran into an obstacle it could not surmount, and that was the state of Goisedall.

Gliva, the [Hostess] of the Seafarer’s Catch, was not an unkind woman. But she was distinctly stressed and, in that Drake-like manner, unwilling to mince words.

Lyonette appearing out of nowhere via a high-level Skill and the reputation of The Wandering Inn were a unique experience, which was why the woman gave Ylawes’ team and the inn the time of day. However, she didn’t rush to throw open her inn’s doors. Rather, she interrupted Ser Dalimont with a raised eyebrow as Lyonette and Ylawes were talking.

“—so glad you made it! House Terland’s in your company, aren’t they, Ylawes?”

“Yes, does my father know I’m alive? We have one survivor of the [Merchants], but we’ll have to inform—and the Adventurer’s Guilds.”

Nanette burst into the conversation, excited.

“We’ll help! We have gold, Ylawes! You just rest and eat. Dead gods, you’re so thin. Did Nailren reach you? We were worried about this thing called ‘refeeding’—let me get Mrsha. She knows more about it than I, actually.”

Then Lyonette paused, and her eyes flickered.

“Ah, Mrsha. Ylawes, I am so sorry, but this is a very pressing time at the inn. We’ll have gold sent. Dalimont? Send Yelroan to—”

“He’s out, Lyonette. With Honored Deskie?”

“Damn, then you or Ushar…? No? Get Peggy—shit. Ishkr’s needed. Who else?”

Something was going on in the inn, and her smile gave way to a visibly stressed concern as she and Dalimont conferred. Ylawes hesitated.

“If something is up, don’t worry about us, Lyonette—some gold would be welcome for purchasing food and lodging, but we’re fine.”

“Nonsense! Colfa will make sure you have all you need once you’re settled at this inn. No, wait, she’s busy…Nailren is with you?”

The [Hostess] marched back into the conversation, hands on her hips.

“About that. I’d love to rent out our inn to your party, Sir Knight, Princess Whomever, but this gold you’re promising. Got any on hand? It’s up front or nothing.”

“What?”

Lyonette and Ylawes turned, and he felt the slightest ting to the back of his head. Like something striking his helmet in combat. Instinct made him glance around and see how much gold was passing through the city hall. And how many people were being turned away because of…

“Well, not on hand. This is a Skill, Miss Gliva, but the Merchant’s Guild will take our credit. We have several accounts—”

“The Guild? No good. If you can get gold out of them, I’ll take that, but they’re out of almost everything. They’ll get resupplies of gold, but they won’t tell anyone when for fear of the wagons being attacked. If you don’t have gold in claw, I can’t take your party.”

“What? I assure you, Miss, we have credit—”

“So does half the city. With respect, once they’re gone we can’t collect nor can the Guild pay us. We’ve had three groups of people pay on credit and leave without any way for us to get the money. The Merchant’s Guild says they’ll get it to us ‘in time’—well, we need it now because no one trusts what their ledgers say.”

“This is ridiculous. The Merchant’s Guild can pay, surely! And even if the gold itself is deferred, they have enough funds to cover everyone in Goisedall.”

Lyonette protested, and Gilva sighed, long and loud.

“That’s what they said, and that’s what we tried, Miss. And it works. Merchants accept credit even if they get a bit annoying about it. We can accept credit if we confirm it with the Merchant’s Guild first, though the lines take hours because they have to confirm each account, and plenty of people lie about having credit—”

“Ah, I see—”

“—But then there’s someone who’s renting their home out for guests and needs to run down to the market. And you know, most Drakes in Goisedall don’t have a Merchant’s Guild account with credit, or one at all! And those Drakes have no coins, so that’s where they start demanding it from everyone. If someone needs coins, everyone needs coins, and the ‘credit’ of the Merchant’s Guild is damn well useless.”

Lyonette and Ylawes saw the dilemma, and Gliva stopped ranting and drew in breath.

“Sorry. It’s been a lot of that, and I’m tired of explaining. No one in Goisedall accepts anything but hard coins, Miss. We’ll take artifacts if you’ve got any…”

But if you came from the New Lands, fat chance. She gave Ylawes a second glance, and Lyonette spluttered.

“This is…Dalimont! To Invrisil’s Merchant Guild at once with Yelroan. If anyone can get ahold of their [Guildmaster], he can. We’ll have that gold, Miss Gliva.”

“Lyonette, do we have time for this?”

He bent over, and her face twisted up again. She glanced at Nanette, and Ylawes felt his heart sinking. Gliva glanced from face to face and put her claws on her hips.

“I can hold your booking for an hour. Any more and I’ll take in clients.”

“I’ll have it! I’ll send a Courier if I must from…where’s the nearest city? Dalimont, someone has to represent us!”

Gliva raised her voice.

“If it’s Reefhome, Klawsha, or any of the other cities north or south of us on the former coastline, you’ll have the same issues. They’re all slammed, though Goisedall is the worst of it. Comes from being the westernmost city. Lucky us.”

“So you charge gold for everything, Miss?”

Ylawes was alarmed and feeling at his bag, formerly of holding. His team didn’t have much on hand—he knew Dawil and Falene had accounts in good standing with the Merchant’s Guild, but he’d sent much of what was in his to his father.

Actually, he felt the chink of gold coins in his belt pouch and shifted slightly. Wait, he had a number of gold coins. Not a ‘lot’ for a Gold-ranker, but maybe as many as sixty? Plenty for paying for normal, day-to-day affairs. Thirty?

He didn’t want to count them here, but Lyonette was as intent as Ylawes.

“I had no idea it was this bad here. Ylawes, meet me at the Merchant’s Guild, please! Having your team fed and rested a night is a priority. If you need to move inland…we’ll have someone do it. Someone—”

She was casting around, but the inn was busy, and she couldn’t even spare this time. Nanette was tugging on her arm, and Ylawes called out.

“We can survive a night outside if we have to camp, Lyonette. Rasktooth and Infinitypear are with Nailren outside, anyways.”

Her eyes flicked to him as Gliva listened, her tired face becoming interested. Lyonette spun and pointed at him.

“I will not leave a friend in need, Ylawes Byres! I have to go, but I intend to give you some respite! Miss Gliva, I may appear in front of you again. Or someone shall! And your innkeeper’s name is…”

“Merwic. Merwic Fishtedder, but you aren’t going to just—”

Lyonette strode through someone and vanished, and Gliva exhaled, then eyed Ylawes.

“Gold-rankers, are you? I’m Gliva, again. When’d you pass into the New Lands?”

“About…three weeks ago? I don’t know, I can’t tell. What day is it?”

She told him, and he rubbed at his face.

“Longer, then. Dead gods, it felt like months. We ran into trouble.”

“So I hear. At least you made it back. I’ll, uh, show you to my inn and hope you can pay. No offense, but the amount of gold’s high even for adventurers. Oh, but before you do that, check if you’re on the List of Expeditioners.”

“The what?”

Then he saw a portent of things to come and was reminded that he truly was back among civilization. For on the central pillar of City Hall, near where people gathered, asked questions, were lists.

Lists of people who had gone before Ylawes’ team, had gone out of communication range. Hundreds, already, and family, friends who stood and asked everyone that was leaving to keep an eye out. Or—asked those who returned if they’d seen them.

Ylawes saw an image of a Drake smiling at him, plastered onto the stone. A Mage’s Picture, and a man stood below it. A Drake that shouted at Ylawes the moment the [Knight] came over. Gliva avoided looking at the Drake.

“Excuse me! You’re an adventurer? Did you come back from the New Lands, sir? Sir? Did you see a Drake group from Goisedall? The First Venturers, they’d call themselves? My son, here. He went with his fiancée. Thorssin. He had an enchanted spear, and he’d be…”

Ylawes shook his head as the Drake limped forwards.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t see any—”

The overturned caravan that had been the victim of an attack and been forced to leave someone behind. He hesitated, and the old Drake stared at his face.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing identif—no, sir. I’m sorry, I…are these all names of people missing in the New Lands?”

The Drake’s face fell, but he swung an arm out and cleared some space so he could show Ylawes the terrible sight.

“It’s everyone. When we realized [Messages] wouldn’t work—there’s everyone from Gold-rankers to nobles on here. You might be on here, sir.”

“I don’t know if my family would…”

Wait, they’d all been out of contact for such a long time. Longer than Ylawes would be away on any adventure. Perhaps his father was concerned, and his mother—Ylawes began studying the maze of names and faces, but if he was on here, there was no organization.

“They write into the Mage’s Guild to put it up. What’s your team?”

“The Silver Swords. Gold-rankers. And Vuliel Drae…excuse me, I should get to my team. We just arrived, and we don’t have any information, though one of our number, Nailren, might.”

Ylawes wanted to get away and tell Dawil and Falene what was going on, but to his and Gliva’s surprise, the old Drake cried out.

“Wait! Silver Swords? Consortium of Enterprise? You are on here!”

Incredulously, Ylawes turned.

“How did you find—?”

The old Drake man gave him a smile as he rubbed at one leg.

“[Anxious Searcher]. A class at my age…I can [Locate Information], at least. There. Insill Shasstel. And—Merchant Jobbi and Merchant Raeta’s friends have put in requests to hear about their wellbeing. As for Insill, it seems like his family’s asked for anyone to bring them word if he’s alive.”

There were brief entries for both, and he tore them off the wall and handed them to Ylawes. The [Knight]’s heart sank. Not for Insill, though if his family was so concerned they had best know right away. But Jobbi and Raeta.

His last image of them had been both cursing him as he left them, Salamander sitting on the ground with the rest of the doomed…

Whatever the old Drake saw on his face, he hesitated.

“I, ah, how bad is it out there, Captain?”

His claws were trembling as Ylawes took the piece of paper, and Ylawes made himself meet the man’s eyes. Faded green-blue scales, very colorful, which would have fit a coastline. A scar down one leg. Cotton undercoat and a fisherman’s jerkin.

“It’s difficult due to the lack of magic, sir. What’s your name?”

“Coldet, a [Fisherman]—well, I used to be. I just rent out my home most days. There. That’s two fewer names here.”

He smiled, and Ylawes saw someone else step forwards to add a long list to the pillar. The [Knight] nodded.

“I’ll ask my friend if he’s heard about your son. Thorssin, wasn’t it? A unique name.”

“It’s got a bit of Terandrian in it. I thought it’d sound good. Thank you.”

Ylawes stepped back, and then he was moving for the doors, because he had to leave. Gliva fell into step behind him and commented, once.

“You shouldn’t have asked his son’s name. He’s been here for three months.”

“Three months?”

Ylawes twisted, and she shook her head.

“They left almost the moment the New Lands rose. First to get there, even before Named-rankers.”

She had a twist to her lips that said there was no doubt in her mind what had happened. Ylawes bit his lip, then shook his head.

“There’s no harm in asking. I’m a [Knight].”

“One of those Terandrian classes? Does suffering come as part of the job, or taking someone else’s woes on?”

She was a bit—pointy. Ylawes got annoyed despite himself, because he was hungry, footsore, and had been hoping for respite here. He wondered if this was how Falene and Dawil felt about each other. He turned his back on her, replying abruptly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Isn’t it the same for [Waitresses] and [Hostesses]?”

He sensed her halt and turned his head, instantly guilty.

“Forgive me, that was unworthy of me to say. I’m tired, and that was unkind—”

“No, no, that was a good shot. Fair enough.”

She gave him an almost-respectful glance as his cheeks turned red, and he walked on hurriedly, then recalled she was showing him where his inn was. And then, well…

Goisedall became a scramble of sorts.

——

Funny how being in safety didn’t mean relaxation. On the contrary, the moment Ylawes got back to the Silver Swords and the rest of the expedition who’d been trying to find inns along the thronged main street, it became a rush.

“They only accept hard gold?”

Lord Comigen was incredulous. He turned to his people, and several felt at their belt pouches, then the man whirled back to Ylawes.

“We are in Goisedall, and I suppose our contract is over, Adventurer Byres. Rest assured, we will settle your account.”

Ylawes recalled some small amount of gold for escorting the Terlands, but the dungeon’s haul had meant he was also entitled to a share of the profits—in gold, not items. The [Knight] thought of his hidden Mithril items, and he glanced at their pair of horses, but Pekona was standing next to the bundle, and Comigen was insistent.

“We’ll have it done at the Merchant’s Guild now. They’ll have gold, whatever the locals claim. However, if lodgings are, ah, unavailable…”

Then you’re on your own. He eyed the large group with Homle’s [Miners] and Petia’s [Farmers], and Ylawes exhaled.

“We’ll accompany you to the Merchant’s Guild, Lord Comigen, but yes indeed. A pleasure to—to survive.”

He held out a hand, and the [Lord] shook it, a touch bemused.

“It’s been a rather humbling experience for us all. Lord Restraud…ah, dead gods. I must write to Great Aunt Ulva. So much to do. Terlands, with me!”

He shouted, and Ylawes looked to Petia and Homle.

“You should keep with us too, Homle, Petia. If we can’t find lodging or food, then our camp with Nailren is paid for. Er, the fee’s waived.”

“That’s much appreciated, Sir Knight.”

Homle was scrunching up a worn hat in his hands, clearly nervous, and Ylawes wondered if there was any coin amongst the colonists. No food, no prospects, and the Consortium…they’d broken their contracts.

They were alive. Focus on that. Dawil stepped closer.

“Lad, did you say Lyonette found you?”

Ylawes nodded.

“She did! She’s very busy with something at the inn—but she wants to help. She told us to meet at the Merchant’s Guild, but if they can’t give us gold we’re in trouble. Let’s go there now. And—and I think the Mage’s Guild might be in order too. Insill, your family was searching for you.”

“What? My family? What? Is something wrong?”

Insill jumped, and the [Rogue] was alarmed until Ylawes explained about the List of Expeditioners. Anith shook his head as he glanced right and left, head on a swivel.

“What a change to come across this city. I’ve seen the like in Baleros when a war erupts nearby. Food, basic amenities become luxuries, and [Mercenaries] can flood even a big city—everyone, hands on your belt pouches! Don’t let our valuables out of sight!”

Ylawes saw Vuliel Drae snap to attention, and he himself checked his belt pouch again. He nodded at Anith and strode forwards. Their first stop, the Merchant’s Guild, was besieged by people at the doors. They might not have even gotten in but for Lyonette, walking through people to speak to the besieged staff—and the Terlands.

“In the name of House Terland. Move aside.”

The Golems, who had been so slow and beleaguered in the New Lands, if reassuring, were a lot faster and even able to talk now they were out of the mana drain. Perhaps they’d been ‘recharged’ by the [Golem Artificers] too; one Golem put out a hand and forced a crowd of people back.

“Adventurers, with me!”

Lord Comigen went striding past the other people with his entourage, and Ylawes heard jeers and cries of outrage. Wincing, the [Knight] hesitated, but Falene was after Comigen like a shot.

“This is no time to wait, Ylawes! Come on, Dawil!”

“We can’t get everyone in there. You go, lad. And take Petia and Anith! The rest of you, let’s stand back.”

Dawil pointed, and Ylawes ran after Falene. He ended up with Petia and Anith, shoving into the doors, and Pekona as well. They had to literally push through the press, and two [Bouncers] nearly knocked Petia flat; Pekona had to shove them back, one-armed.

“No riffraff in the—”

“She’s with me! We’re with the Terlands!”

Ylawes checked another man as big as he was and felt himself sliding back. He was so weak—but the huge [Bouncer] recoiled when he saw Ylawes’ armor, and one of the nobles, Lady Safta, turned and snapped.

“Desist, man! All of them are with us! Who is in charge here?”

It was scarcely less packed in here than outside. However, Golems and the Terlands’ ranks got two [Merchants] hurrying out from behind their counters. And, to Ylawes’ astonished relief, there was even food!

Cups of water and biscuits. The Terlands almost scoffed at the fare until stomachs rumbled, and they snatched the food. The single tray from the Merchant’s Guild kitchens had only six biscuits on it when it reached Ylawes’ group. He, Anith, Pekona, Petia, and Falene all took one, and Ylawes hesitated at the last biscuit.

“Dawil and everyone are out there. I, ah—”

The young apprentice [Merchant] took one glance at Ylawes and shoved the tray out. Whatever she saw on the gaunt [Knight], he took the biscuit and then stared at both. Slowly, he tucked them into his belt pouch rather than eat them.

His stomach rumbled, and Lord Comigen, who’d scarfed his biscuit down, eyed Ylawes.

“Now there’s a man with more tact than I…Guildmaster, I am Lord Comigen of House Terland. I require funds from our account and, ah, suitable lodging for my party. I believe Adventurer Byres would like to access his account, and a [Mage] for communication with our House, discreetly, would not go amiss. Though we can cast the spell now we’re out of the New Lands, can’t we?”

It just occurred to him, and he twisted around to look at Sir Martz before slapping his forehead. Comigen turned back to the Drake.

“Nevertheless.”

The Guildmaster was a beset-looking Drake, who bowed to Comigen and then began to apologize.

“Lord Terland, I regret that our guild is overtaxed! We do not have much gold in our coffers—it is all being spread into Goisedall. So much in all hands…but it does not come back to the Guild, by and large. Our members deposit some, but—we may be able to offer you a small amount. As for references to stay…”

“You don’t have lodgings? We are of the Five Families!”

Lord Comigen was astounded, and the [Guildmaster] offered him a weak smile.

“Goisedall is packed, sir. Let me inquire and see what we can do. For House Terland? And, ah, we have received a request to assist the Silver Swords by Lady Lyonette of The Wandering Inn. A rather stringent request.”

He gave Ylawes a hunted gaze, and Lord Comigen jumped as he recognized the name.

“Did you say The Wandering…”

Oh, Lyonette must not have been able to appear herself. Ylawes felt a pang, but the [Guildmaster] seemed rather impressed by her name. So did Lord Comigen, but for different reasons.

Comigen might not have known Lyonette or The Wandering Inn as well as Ylawes, but the moment he heard Lyonette and the inn mentioned, his eyes narrowed, then a very fake smile appeared on his face. He motioned to Ylawes.

“Captain Byres, a quick word?”

“Go on, Ylawes. I’ll try to get some gold out of my account.”

Falene murmured, and Ylawes saw Pekona standing there with Anith, seeming lost as Petia gulped down her water. Anith touched one ear and gestured around, and Ylawes nodded again.

Anith was good at this. The [Knight] was grateful, but Lord Comigen was suddenly alarmed.

“Captain, I trust that’s a friend of yours?”

“Lyonette? Yes, she’s been aiding us. That was how we found Lord Restraud, in fact.”

It felt like that was a good way to mention Erin, and Comigen clearly associated Lyonette with Erin since he’d not seen the [Pavilion of Secrets] in person. His face cleared a bit.

“Ah, ah, I see. Very good, and one has allies as a Gold-ranker. I understand. I just wish to make it clear, Captain, that you haven’t been, ah, speaking of our particular contract to this Lady Lyonette? Or anyone else? We will get that contract witnessed for your share of the proceedings, but I would consider it a note of your integrity for your silence.”

“About what?”

Comigen appeared even more alarmed until Ylawes’ befuddled brain caught up.

“Oh, the, ah, discovery. Of course, I haven’t told anyone!”

The dungeon-keep they’d found near Terland’s dig site. Comigen relaxed.

“Excellent, Captain. It’s not as if we have a claim on it in actual writing, and I trust the, ah, entrance is suitably obscured. But between that and what we’ve left in our camp…very good. House Terland remembers those who act with discretion. We’ll have to go back for it at once. But without Golems…”

The keep. It was certainly valuable beyond belief if Mithril weapons were in even the first few rooms. The Terlands had seen all the artifacts, and the ones they’d been able to rescue without losing them to mana drain were already a fortune. Ylawes bit his lip, but he just nodded along.

Telling someone would be foolish, at any rate. It’d ruin his name. He and Comigen nodded at each other, then turned and saw six Drakes staring at their backs. All of them were sitting at a table with a [Clerk]—

They whirled back in their seats, and Comigen and Ylawes jumped. It was such naked eavesdropping—

“Hearts of stone!”

Comigen glanced at his Golems as if debating having his bodyguards hit the Drakes, but there was nothing to do. Now, Ylawes was doubly glad they’d been covert. He backed up.

“This is not the place to talk, clearly.”

“No, I’d prefer private, warded rooms! Or just to not be here. Let’s see about that gold. Wait, what is this?”

When Comigen went striding back over, he found that the Merchant’s Guild had opened its vaults to give his party…fifty gold pieces. Falene had six. The [Guildmaster] was apologizing.

“This is all we can spare for your party, Lord Comigen.”

“Ridiculous! At the prices we were quoted, this won’t even be enough for suitable lodgings for my people! I insist on our accounts being paid out! We are House Terland, Guildmaster!”

The nobles bristled, and at this point, the [Guildmaster]’s patience snapped. He drew himself up, adjusting his broad, colorful belt across his belly, and barked.

“This is not the north, and you are in Drake lands, sir! We’ve done all we can, and you’re not the only noble, north or south, we’ve had! The Merchant’s Guild in Goisedall does not have the coins to give out to all!”

The [Lord] stopped, slightly aghast, and the [Guildmaster] turned to Ylawes.

“As for your issue, adventurer, we have received your report, and we’ll forwards it to our headquarters for processing. I believe the Adventurer’s Guild could use a report.”

“I’ve got some gold, Ylawes.”

Not enough. Falene mouthed at him, but the [Guildmaster] was adamant.

“We have given all we can to our members in excellent standing—let me assure you, it’s the most we’ve been able to hand out to one party today! Please assure Miss Lyonette we have done our best, and deepest apologies to House Terland!”

The astonished Terlands were being ushered out of the Guild, and the [Guildmaster] clearly thought he’d dealt with all his woes. Ylawes’ heart sank. If Lyonette weren’t so busy…! He’d have taken anyone from the inn popping up, Peggy, Rosencrantz, even Asgra!

Then, someone dashed over with a scrying mirror, and the [Guildmaster] turned.

“What is it now? I’m busy, and I need a break.”

“Sir, scrying spell for you. Answer it, Headquarter’s orders.”

“Headquarters? Er—hello? Merchant’s Guild, Goisedall. Guildmaster—”

A calmly annoyed, young voice spoke through the mirror, and Ylawes saw the [Guildmaster] freeze. He put an arm out, forestalling his group leaving on a hunch.

“Guildmaster Levretz. I am representing my student, Miss Lyonette of The Wandering Inn, and her friends, for whom she is quite concerned. You will rectify this issue forthwith. Is this understood?”

“I—ah—we’ve given the Silver Swords all due help given the situation, and regretfully—who is this?”

Guildmaster Levretz stared at the mirror, and Ylawes, edging around, saw him turn it slightly. He caught sight of a brown face, a girl’s, with golden eyeliner, a crown of soft gold on her head, and eyes older than anything he’d ever seen.

The Quarass of Germina spoke, visibly annoyed.

“I am the Quarass of Germina, Shield Kingdom of Chandrar. Your Merchant’s Guild Headquarters is well aware of who I am and of my standing. Waste any more of my time and I shall deliver my objections to them.”

The [Guildmaster] might have known who the Quarass was by name, but the advent of television meant everyone turned their heads, and Ylawes’ mouth opened. Had Lyonette just…?

He saw those eyes flick to him and shivered. Levretz was stuttering.

“Y-Your Majesty! Deepest apologies! I am so sorry about the delays, but you must understand, given our situation…”

“I am not a member of the Five Families, Guildmaster. I am not an individual. I am a nation, and you are wasting my time. Give the Silver Swords your funds.”

She was tapping a finger on the armrest of her throne, and each tap reminded Ylawes that Germina was famous for the Quarass’ wisdom. And assassins. The Drake was sweating now.

“I—I truly don’t have enough gold in the vaults to oblige your request, Your Majesty! I was not lying! We have members and other accounts in fine standing, all of whom need gold and none of whom will get enough! I could show you the vaults if you’d like? Please?”

He gestured, almost jogging behind the counter to prove his hands were tied. The Quarass blinked her eyes slowly, glancing around the Merchant’s Guild, and then she sighed.

Sighed like she were eternally let down by the foolishness of others. When she spoke, her voice was overly-patient, as one might speak to a child.

“You are a [Merchant] and [Guildmaster] and you think in but coins and hard numbers…? Very well, I shall spell out the answer for you. Give the Silver Swords due compensation from Lyonette du Marquin’s account in appropriate goods and services, Guildmaster. Commodities, which I know you possess.”

“Commodities? I don’t follow, Your M…”

Then Levretz stopped and swallowed, and the Quarass went on, inspecting some painted fingernails.

“Your membership deposits goods with the Guild for safekeeping before buying and selling bulk transactions. Draw from those. Doubtless, there are valuables in Goisedall of sufficient quantity and worth. Food.”

Food? Ylawes didn’t know how [Merchants] worked, but the [Guildmaster] was stammering, now.

“Y-Your Majesty of Germina, I cannot take our members’ goods to use as coinage! I don’t have the market value, and the scandal—”

Evidently, the Quarass had lost patience with the Drake. If she’d had any to begin with. She clicked her fingers, and someone offscreen handed her something. She read it, then flicked her eyes back up.

“Guildmaster, I would advise you to turn down the sound on this scrying spell. I am going to say something you would not like repeated. Then, if I am not obliged within the minute, I shall repeat it to all interested parties.”

He fumbled with the scrying mirror, then held it against one ear. Ylawes didn’t see the Quarass’ face or hear what was said, and even the Gnolls couldn’t hear as they cupped their ears, but whatever she said, the [Guildmaster] turned dead white. Then he turned and began running.

“Get me an inventory of everything we’ve got. One minute, Your Majesty! One—”

He ran. In the ensuing silence, Falene managed to close her jaw.

“W-was that the Quarass of Germina? Interceding on our behalf?”

She turned to Ylawes for confirmation, and he was just as wide-eyed.

“I think so. Lyonette has some connection to her. Did she say Lyonette was her student?”

“Lyonette, taught by the Quarass of Germina.”

Falene repeated it and shook her head. She fiddled with her spectacles, shaking her head.

“She’s certainly risen to the occasion. I remember when she was just a meek [Barmaid]. I think we owe her all a debt of thanks. But what is so pressing that she has to send a monarch to help us instead of someone at the inn?”

Ylawes was hungry and watched her nibbling at her biscuit, and he just shook his head.

“I can’t even think. Falene, Comigen was worried about our agreement. You haven’t said anything, have you?”

She eyed him and seemed to know exactly what he meant in a moment. She sighed.

“Ylawes, I’ve not said a word, and I suggest we keep it that way at the moment. Dawil knows better than to run his mouth, I trust. Let’s focus on lodging first, shall we?”

Chastened and embarrassed, he nodded, and Falene glanced around.

“Pekona, Anith, if you’re free, why don’t you help us port whatever the Quarass gets out of here? We may need to be a touch discreet if it’s a large amount.”

Both jumped to obey, and Petia herself was ready to haul goods, but Ylawes found the [Guildmaster] himself returning with a bag of holding.

“Courtesy of the Merchant’s Guild of Goisedall. I trust this will be enough, Your Majesty. We do apologize for all our inconveniences.”

The small ruler in the scrying mirror glanced at Ylawes once.

“It shall. Ylawes Byres of the Silver Swords, inform Lyonette that I have acceded to her request. I am not pleased. Our relationship is not one to be called on for trivial matters. But perhaps—”

She tilted her head.

“I would advise you to take a month to recover, regardless. Remember this favor. I shall.”

“Thank you, Your M—”

The scrying mirror went blank, and Ylawes stared at it, then at the Drake. Wordlessly, the [Guildmaster] backed up. Ylawes glanced into the bag of holding he’d been given as everyone stared at him. It was always hard to see into such things, but he thought he saw several sacks of something and…

Was that sausage? Dried links of it? Bags of holding were like looking down into a pitch-black cellar from above and seeing items floating in the void. But he thought he saw a sausage twirling in the aether, and his stomach growled.

“Well, I don’t know what to think but I believe we have our payment. Where’s that inn, Ylawes? We only had an hour, and we’ve eaten most of it up. Let’s go.”

Falene plucked the bag of holding out of Ylawes’ hands. She fastened it to her belt and swept for the doors. Everyone followed, and Ylawes stood there. He wanted to thank Lyonette, but she never came back.

She must have been busy.

——

Dawil was outside the Merchant’s Guild with the others, hopping from foot to foot. His face betrayed his nerves as he eyed the disappointed people leaving; House Terland was standing around disconsolately, and he burst out the moment he saw them.

“Lad, how much did you get? Anything? I reckon we’re better off getting to Nailren’s camp or just marching if not…”

Ylawes grimaced at him, then clenched a fist on the edge of his shield. Dawil’s posture relaxed instantly, though he pretended not to have noticed their private sign. Falene sniffed.

“Nothing really. House Terland has all the weight. Come on, let’s figure out what we’re doing.”

Outwardly, the three Gold-rankers were dismayed, and Lord Comigen’s party was the group the people beyond the Merchant’s Guild were turning to. However, it was Lord Comigen who seemed the most dismayed.

“Fifty gold pieces. Well, ah, shall we find a place of residence? Then the Mage’s Guild…”

——

The Seafarer’s Catch wasn’t far from the Merchant’s Guild, and it was on the main street. Ylawes had to move at a crawl given the press of bodies, and he actually let the Terlands’ Golems clear a way.

He had to act casual, anyways, not reveal that Falene had something to use as coinage, here. Vuliel Drae was dismayed at first as Insill, Larr, and Dasha feared that they were going to have to leave, but Anith managed to communicate what was going on subtly.

It was Homle’s group who was the most anxious, but Ylawes just walked along, head on a swivel.

What he saw made him incredulous. As he’d been told by Gliva, everywhere was packed. People were crowding every building, banging on doors to ask to rent other people’s homes, but that wasn’t all.

A group of Drakes was marching out of the city gates, hauling lumber and tools to build more places for people to rest. They passed a dice game on the streets where silver was glittering on the rug.

“Oi! No gambling in the open!”

A Watch officer shouted, but she was so far back and so many people wanted her attention to report thefts, to ask for help, that the gamblers just kept playing three rolls of the dice before she got to them and made them break it up.

Gambling in the open? Well, that wasn’t all—Ylawes heard a shout.

“You there? Anyone fancy a good time? Come on over for lodging for an hour?”

Lodging for an hour? He didn’t think that was worth it—when Ylawes turned his head, he saw a Human woman waving at Homle and his group. She blew a kiss at him, and he blinked at her. He felt like something was off, but he was so desperate he called back.

“Can we rent for a night? What are your rates?”

Dawil slapped his face as the woman paused, then laughed.

“That’s pricier, sir, but come along and we’ll see what we can do!”

“Lad. Lad, that’s a [Prostitute].”

Dawil growled as Ylawes was about to ask Insill to step over, and Ylawes jumped and turned crimson.

“What, in the open like that? I’ve seen them in big cities, but on the main street? Isn’t it illegal here?”

“Might be. But in a city this bustling?”

The Watch officer had turned her head, but the woman advertising ‘services’ was gone. Which was not to say that there wasn’t a lot of interest there! More than one person Ylawes passed by on the streets was drunk, and it wasn’t even that far past midday! In fact, one of them came over.

“Hey, Miss. How much for a quick one, you and me?”

“What?”

Pekona jumped as a man caught her shoulder with the missing arm with a grin. He blinked as he saw her stump of an arm.

“If you’re on discount—”

“Oi. She’s not for sale, flatface. Back off!”

Before Ylawes could get back there, Petia shoved the drunk back, and he growled—right up until he saw Larr bare his teeth and Anith and Dasha put hands on their blades. Then the drunk was backing up.

“Damn it, I can’t even ask—?”

Ylawes wanted a stern word with the man himself, and he was pushing forwards in the crowd to say something when there was a yelp, a shout, and a Drake went leaping away from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see where I was—”

Ylawes’ first thought was he’d stepped on her foot, but when he saw the young Drake was clutching at her clawed hand, he blinked. There was blood on her scales. She had on a hood, nondescript clothing, and she was—

“[Thief]!”

Dawil roared, and Ylawes’ hand flew to his belt pouch. It wasn’t there! She’d robbed—!

Insill brandished a dagger as he backed up, Ylawes’ belt pouch in hand. The [Rogue] handed it to Ylawes as he spat.

“Claws off! This is my team, not a foist’s mark, idiots.”

He lowered his dagger and flashed a few weird signs with his claws. The Drake [Thief] was backing away fast, and someone tried to grab her.

“[Thief]! Call the Watch! Grab the—”

She went running, shoving at the crowd, who shouted and grabbed for their money bags. Ylawes, shaken, had hold on his pouch as Insill turned.

“Sorry, Captain. Barely saw her. I’m all rusty—”

“You saved us, Insill. What did you do there?”

The Drake blushed.

“Oh, you know, just a few thief-signs. If anyone’s watching they’ll back off a bit. Probably. But let’s get out of here fast; they must have smelled you had gold on you. That drunk might’ve been a distraction—or she just took the opportunity. Classic setup-and-grab.”

Ylawes was appalled. He was used to pickpockets and, yes, even [Prostitutes], but Goisedall was rife with both by the sounds of it! Falene was also incensed.

“Tree rot, I’ve had enough of this. Everyone back!”

Falene swept back, staff raised, and a blast of wind made everyone around her flinch backwards. The air didn’t freeze or knock people away, but suddenly, Ylawes felt a tiny bit quicker.

[Mass Speed]? No, [Mass Quickening]. A Tier 2 spell or something. It lasted all of fifteen seconds, but it let the Silver Swords and their company close ranks. Falene spoke loudly.

“Let’s get out of here. Stick together! Are we missing anyone?”

They were, actually. So Petia and Homle had to move back with Larr and Dasha to find members of their group being bogged down, but they were almost at the inn. Ylawes passed by Lord Comigen’s party and heard the [Lord] trying to buy passage in a nice inn where a Drake with folded arms and a fresh apron was barring the doors. Lovely smells of grilled meat wafted from within, and it didn’t seem too crowded, but the Drake refused the [Lord] entry.

“You don’t have enough gold for that many, let alone Golems, sir.”

“They’ll act as security!”

“It’s standing room only; they’d take our floor space.”

“Then they can stand outside! But see here, I have this much gold…”

The fifty gold pieces plus a handful from the rest of the Terlands did not impress the Drake, who counted up his group.

“That’s not enough for more than three rooms, sir. Food would not be included, either.”

“See here! We’re nobles and members of the Five Families! Our very presence would add a touch of prestige and level you all from—”

Lady Safta began, and the Drake laughed.

“Hah! I’m very sorry, sirs, madams, but that’s not worth more than a gold coin or two. If you’d like one or two rooms with a meal, please let me know. Otherwise—please clear the entryway! [Server’s Orders]!”

And he shoved them back. The nobles were so aghast they didn’t even fight the Skill. Lord Comigen was pulling at his hair.

“Why, I’ve never been—Drakes!”

He said it like a curse, and Ylawes saw his head turn, hunted, to the inn that Ylawes was approaching. A Gnoll and Drake were sitting on the front steps, and one growled.

“No entry. One person talks to Gliva at a time—”

“We’re the Silver Swords! We have a reservation?”

The two door-guards blinked at him, and one got up and opened the inn, revealing a much quieter one as-yet unflooded. The staff were bringing out fresh bread to hungry clients. And Hostess Gliva?

Well, she was visibly startled when he presented his company, and she gestured at the insides, a touch embarrassed.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you could pay, so we’ve taken in people for food. Plenty of time to fill the night’s lodging…I meant what I said, though. Unless you have gold on hand, no entry.”

“Would this do, Miss?”

Falene pushed forwards and showed Gliva the contents of her bag of holding and whispered in her ear as she flashed some gold at the [Hostess]. Gliva’s eyes focused on the bag of holding.

“That—where’d you get that?”

“Merchant’s Guild. I think it would be worth quite a bit, although perhaps more than a night’s lodging? May we speak to your [Innkeeper]?”

Falene was very good. Gliva stepped back and was calling for the [Innkeeper], and Ylawes watched, heart rising, as the two Drake women conferred with the half-Elf and then called out.

“Torga, Ribreg, [Memorize Faces]! This entire group is booked for the night! Everyone with the, uh, Silver Swords!”

The [Door Guards] raised their brows, but the Gnoll sniffed and grinned.

“Hells yes. That’s worth more’n gold. Alright, enter one by one so we get a good look at you. We don’t know you? You don’t enter. Too many damn [Sneak Thieves]. Who’s with you?”

He turned to Ylawes, and the [Knight] stood, incredulous. Relieved. Dawil grinned.

“I knew that The Wandering Inn’d come through for us! I should have married Erin when I got the chance.”

Ylawes laughed as he began motioning people forwards.

“Vuliel Drae—Poke Duo’s outside with Nailren; we should take something to them. Oh, Dawil, snack. And Petia, Homle, your people!”

The [Door Guards]’ brows rose at the number coming into the inn, but they seemed used to crowds in excess of normal. Gliva hurried back over as Ylawes handed the second biscuit to Dasha and Insill and Larr to split, stomach rumbling, but he was exuberant. And when he turned his head and saw Lord Comigen standing forlornly in the street…

“One more group. Lord Comigen!”

At this, the Drake lady did balk a bit, protesting.

“Hold on, this is a huge crowd—”

“We have gold! Adventurer Byres, you actually got rooms? What did the [Guildmaster] give you?”

The Terlands practically stampeded for the doors, and their gold, plus the Golems acting as outside security, bought them entry. They were so grateful to flood into the inn and sit on the chairs. When Ylawes stepped into the inn…

It smelled like baking bread. The floorboards were clean and soft, and there wasn’t rain falling on him. He saw staff members moving around with tankards of water—just water, but it was clean, and they didn’t have to draw it from the river or drink it stale out of water flasks.

And it was warm.

He almost sat down on the floor, but he was being waved over to the tables, and Gliva’s voice filled the inn.

“Attention, guests! Anyone who’s not booked for the night, you’ve got an hour to finish your meals. No loitering. After that, we’re closed to all but our lodgers! We’ll have food out soon. No seconds; miss a meal and it’s gone! Tonight’s dinner is a sausage-barley soup with fresh bread!”

The cheer that arose from her words came from every throat. Falene, who’d put her feet up on a second chair, raised a hand.

“Is there a salad by any—oh, tree rot take it.”

She lay there and breathed in and out.

“No more mana drain. I feel like I’m alive again, not dying daily.”

“We made it, Pointy! Lad, get yourself seated before you pass out. Dead gods, fresh bread! I’d break toes for it! What was the inside of the Guild like?”

Ylawes levered himself into the chair and sat, and then he could think. He gulped down some water, and it tasted sweet. The young Drake who’d passed it to him refilled his cup, blinking, then spoke.

“We’ll have some food out fast as the [Cook] and Miss Merwic can manage, sir. You come from the New Lands?”

“Aye, the north foothills. Seen a lot of people like us? We could use more water. It tastes sweet!”

The Drake brought back more.

“It’s just well water, though I think it is cleaned? We get more going than coming, but some come back looking like you all. Rougher, even. Did you see monsters out there?”

Dawil was clearly exhausted, but he developed a twinkle in his eyes. He tapped the side of his nose.

“Aye, Landsharks, huge walking monsters, giant snails, little leech-things at night—not many bad ones save for the sharks, but we were hungry enough to kill and eat one! Gold-rank threats, I’ll be bound. What have you heard, lad?”

“Oh, we heard about the Landsharks. You killed one? Someone brought back their teeth. They’re worth gold if you’ve got any.”

Dawil grimaced.

“Damn, we didn’t think to—eh, without bags of holding, it’d be too heavy. We made it. That’s what matters, eh, team?”

He turned, and Ylawes saw Vuliel Drae were at their tables, laughing in relief, even shaking a bit. The other Humans from the Consortium, House Terland—

He smiled. Wished Poke Duo were here. Then his face fell.

“We made it. But we’ve lost so much.”

“None of that now. Celebrate today, count the losses tomorrow.”

Dawil wagged a finger, and Falene opened her eyes to cover her face.

“Argh, but we really have lost so much, Dawil! We’re Silver-rankers in gear, now. Or Bronze—”

He tipped his water back, quaffing it, and wiped at his beard.

“Don’t ruin the mood, Falene! Trust Dwarf wisdom. We took a hit, we don’t focus on it. If we have to gripe, we look forwards, not back. Unless there’s a bugger chasing us, of course. Listen. Ylawes has his sword, you’ve got your magic, we’ve got gold stashed, and we’re alive. What’s next is my question.”

He found a chair to put his feet up on, and Ylawes and Falene turned to him. The Dwarf exhaled, closed his eyes, then popped one open.

“I reckon we either head back in on profitable, short-term jobs like the Terlands or we bug out entirely. Up to you. But I’m actually for the former.”

“Go back to the New Lands, Dawil, are you mad?”

Falene was horrified, but Dawil grunted.

“See here, we’ve already lost our gear. What’s left to lose? Aside from our heads—we’ve got some experience. Next time we go in with rations, preparation. The lower-leveled adventurers are gaining in experience, and Poke Duo—hah—they’re thriving! If we don’t like that, we just back out and rebuild our gear.”

He was so calm and steady that Ylawes had to engage, not focus on his missing gear. He sat up as Falene rubbed at her face.

“Dawil, I’d have to go in, conserve my mana, then fight for every Tier 1 spell for…you’re right. I hate it when you’re right, but Goisedall is proof there’s gold to be had. Even if there’s not much in the Merchant’s Guild, did you see how much even a bag of flour is going for? We could go to some Drake cities, grab some food, and sell it as [Merchants]. If we headed east, bought cheap, then came back we’d be richer on gold and have perishables.”

“We have no Skills, though, Falene.”

Ylawes pointed out, and she gave him two raised brows.

“At the moment? I think it wouldn’t matter, Ylawes. Did you see how much gold is being traded?”

He remembered Gliva and the [Merchant] in City Hall.

“Oh, I saw. So you don’t want to disband? Even after I led us into this—”

They kicked him. So fast that both winced, and Falene grabbed at her foot. Dawil cursed.

“Damn shinguards. Lad, if you start moping about your role as ‘Captain’ on this adventure, I’ll smack you. We all made mistakes, we all got out. I said I was proud of you—don’t go making me take back my words. Now, I smell bread. If we aren’t stuffing our faces in twenty minutes, I’ll cry. And believe you me, if you think you’ve seen distressing things so far, just wait!”

He got a laugh from the other two, and like that, the Silver Swords relaxed. Ylawes settled back in his chair, and they just breathed for a moment. Unlike the chatter from around the room. He half-heard the others.

Vuliel Drae.

“—actually back! But our gear, and the Silver Swords! What do we do, Anith?”

“I think we trade gear and hardship for levels, Insill. And it’s not exactly bad for us. If Pekona’s right and we get a share of…Terland treasure…”

At another table, Homle and Petia.

“I don’t know what the Merchant’s Guild is gonna do to us, Petia. We were in arrears, but we’d be paid up by the time we got to the New Lands. But what’s the penalty for quitting?”

“I don’t remember the contract. I was in debt. Look, let’s figure it out later. Your group sticking together?”

“My lads and I go way back. They’ll haul off with me at least until we figure out where we stand. Yours?”

“They’ve got nowhere to go. But even if the Silver Swords head off, we might find work. Goisedall needs [Farmers], and here we’d be able to plant. I saw a [Recruiter] asking for Level 10 [Farmhands], and we could get jobs if they’ll feed and board us.”

“Mm. Good. Damn me, but what an adventure. How many levels’d you get? Five?”

“Four. Cheers to that.”

Levels. Ylawes opened one eye, envious of how other people could level in the face of adversity. Well, he’d gained some himself, but this hadn’t exactly been a test of his combat-skills mostly. Just surviving.

If they can survive all of this, so can we. It just feels harder because we were higher and had more to lose, but Dawil’s right. We could be dead of starvation if we’d done things wrong. The [Merchants] had been faced with ruination, and in that sense…

Hmm.

Wait a moment.

Ylawes Byres’ head turned around the inn as Gliva came out with the first loaf of bread, which was, to his incredulity, a rosemary bread loaded with some parmesan baked into it. Some of the Terlands actually got up to applaud as it was cut up, and his stomach roared like a lion.

But his eyes were scanning the crowd. Petia’s farmers and Homle’s miners…he didn’t have a full head count, but he remembered faces, and they seemed there and looked out for each other.

Vuliel Drae. Poke Duo was with Nailren…

…Yet there was one person who was supposed to be with them, only, no one would be looking out for him because he was alone. Ylawes licked his lips as a loaf came over to his table.

“Wait a second. Where’s Merchant Anlam?”

Falene and Dawil both had a piece of bread in their mouths and were chewing when the half-Elf frowned.

“Fhy. Fhy’s fne. Er. He is absent. Did we lose him? Or did he slip away when we got to town?”

Dawil drummed his fingers on the table.

“Damn, I completely forgot the man. Maybe he got lost. Or went for the Merchant’s Guild? You think we should have grabbed him and had a word?”

Ylawes half-rose, but there was half a loaf just for his table, and he hesitated.

“We already put a report in with the Merchant’s Guild. And we can report at the Adventurer’s Guild, Dawil. On truth stone. If he wandered off, well, I think he knows where we are. I could go check.”

He reached for the loaf of bread, and Falene and Dawil grabbed his arm.

“Lad. What’re you doing?”

“Ylawes Byres, drop it.”

The [Knight] glowered at their warning expressions.

“It’s for Poke Duo. And Nailren?”

“Oh.”

They let go, and he sighed.

“I’ll bring it to them. I wanted to check on them—and if Anlam’s out there, he deserves a meal and rest. Hold on, I might as well…Insill! Let’s head to the Adventurer’s Guild and Mage’s Guild real quick. Actually, Dawil, would you mind coming with us?”

The Dwarf groaned.

“Can’t it wait? No, it damn well can’t. Argh.”

He stood as Insill jumped.

“What, Captain? Oh! My family!”

He stood in a rush, and Ylawes felt at his coin pouch.

“We should let them know you’re alive. To come to it, everyone should tell their families. We’ve all been out of contact, and I’m sure they’re worried.”

He called out to the entire room, and Anith blinked as Homle and Petia’s groups turned. Ylawes was gesturing to the door when Falene rolled her eyes.

“Ylawes, you have a [Mage] in this room who can cast [Message]. Plenty of times now that I’m out of the mana-drain! Leave Insill with me! I’ll offer the same service to anyone who needs it.”

She nodded to the others, even the Terlands. Lord Comigen nodded back.

“It’s quite appreciated, Adventurer Skystrall, though we have our own casters…we may prevail on you!”

“I can share mana, if nothing else.”

Anith got up, and Falene beckoned Vuliel Drae close.

“You might as well pick up the spell if you can. Just watch me cast. Insill first. Compose your message—write it down if there’s paper and ink? Then I shall send. I need the name of your city and address of the person…they’ll handle the costs.”

She shooed Ylawes and Dawil to the doors, and he nodded to her. Anith glanced up.

“You need an escort, Captain? Dasha and Larr could go…”

“Not in Goisedall. Though I’ll take Larr, maybe? For Anlam.”

“Great. Hunting fat [Merchants]. Feels like home.”

The surly Gnoll pushed himself up, and he followed Ylawes and Dawil into the street. The Dwarf patted his stomach.

“Dead gods, that bread feels good! Lad, you didn’t have a bite!”

“I’ll share it with Poke Duo. First the Adventurer’s Guild. Larr, just let us know if you smell or see Anlam.”

Larr touched his nose, mildly amused.

“With so many about? I’m a [Ranger], but even a newborn cub would have trouble tracking in this city, Captain. I’ll try.”

“Just stick with us, lad. How’re you holding up? Got family you want to notify?”

Larr shrugged as he ambled with the two senior Gold-rankers.

“I’ll ask after we get back. Um, thanks, Dawil. They’re used to me being away. I’ll tell my Chieftain or Shaman, but it’s hard to get word to them. No [Mages], you know?”

“Ah, right. Makes it trickier, doesn’t it? Me, I’m used to chatting up home every now and then with [Messages]. This New Lands stuff…you okay?”

Larr grimaced again. Then he scratched at the back of his head as they wound their way towards the Adventurer’s Guild. The light was fading a bit—they must have rested longer than Ylawes thought—but the streets felt even more packed. Larr stared at the sky, the ground, then spoke.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t as good as Captain Nailren. I guess he is better than me. Sorry. He’s a real [Hunter].”

He hung his head as Dawil and Ylawes turned back. The two eyed each other, then Ylawes shook his head.

“Larr, no one’s assuming that. You were excellent with your bow and tracking.”

“Fat lot I shot. I used to hunt, but I don’t have the class, and I was a [Ranger]. Patrol. But Nailren walked out and knew where every plant and bird was.”

Ylawes saw Larr’s ears droop, and he didn’t know what to say. But Dawil always did. The Dwarf stepped back, then slapped Larr on the lower back so hard the Gnoll yelped and drew everyone’s eye.

“Kid, you did great. Don’t beat yourself up! Sure, see where you’re behind, but look at us Gold-rankers. We all got into a bind in areas we’re not good at. We made it. When we’re out of Goisedall, I tell you what, you write back to your Chieftain or Shaman and ask your old [Hunters] for tips, huh? If we get a chance, go back and get some traps and practice a bit. So next time, you can bag more food. We’re adventurers. We fail? We go back prepared. Got it?”

Larr’s head rose, and Ylawes exhaled. The Gnoll nodded, and Ylawes murmured as they continued.

“Sometimes, I think you should be the leader, Dawil. You know what to say.”

“Bah, I hate walking in front, negotiating with idiots, and paying for things.”

“…Wait, that’s the only reason?”

“Absolutely. Give me long legs, a [Charming Smile], and a bit more gold and I’ll oust you as Captain in a heartbeat.”

Dawil was straight-faced as Larr grinned, and Ylawes snorted.

“You—! I’m going to make you report to the Adventurer’s Guild, then! Let’s see you smooth this over.”

——

As a matter of fact, Dawil and Ylawes did report to the Adventurer’s Guildmistress herself, who heard them out gravely in her office. Her guild was no less packed than any other place, and the [Receptionist] had told them flat out there was nowhere to sleep. When they’d told her they needed to report on a tricky matter—the failed expedition—she’d called for the Guildmistress.

The Drake was understanding.

“This has happened more than once, Captain Ylawes, Adventurer Dawil. I’ve noted your testimony on truth stone, and I’ll see what the Merchant’s Guild says. They have their own standards, but what I think will happen is that the contract will be voided. No pay short of your advance, and depending on how many days you were out there before you left, they might try to halve the pay. But you were being coerced with Skills.”

“They said that was all part of our contracts, Guildmistress Riva.”

The woman grimaced.

“If it was, I don’t like it, and I haven’t heard of it! But then, how many high-level [Merchants] had these kind of escort contracts until now? Listen, I have to get back to work. Most monsters in the New Lands are just weird; it’s all categorization, and everyone wants parts, from [Alchemists] to the Walled Cities. But I have heard tell of bad monster threats. You haven’t seen any out there?”

They told her aside from the Landsharks, they hadn’t. Ylawes thought of the keep, but Dawil just touched his foot with his own, and the [Knight] kept his face blank. The Guildmistress sighed.

“Good. That’s good. Well, you’ll…not hear from me. But check back in here or any Adventurer’s Guild for the resolution and your pay. Knowing the Merchant’s Guild, it might take months for backpay, but it’s in our ledgers, and they never forget.”

She gave them a rueful smile as Larr stood with the other two, and the Guildmistress held out a clawed hand.

“Congratulations on surviving and getting so many out.”

“Thank you, Guildmistress. We didn’t do much—”

“No. Congratulations. That’s all, adventurers. I’ve seen more than a number of our kind come back, and we do make it more than others. But few come back with the people they went out with. Good job.”

Ylawes’ stomach growled, and the [Guildmistress] smiled as he blushed.

“Now get something to eat, would you?”

Nothing would please Ylawes more than to eat the bread he was carrying or head back to the Seafarer’s Catch for the promised meal, but they had to leave the city first.

Poke Duo and Nailren had camped a ways away from the city. It was more taxing to even walk out that far than Dawil, Ylawes, and Larr thought. They were exhausted, but when they found the campsite, near a flat rock with two grazing horses, Ylawes didn’t see the trio.

At first, he thought they had left and was greatly worried; the ground was just empty, denuded of any tents, until he heard a psst.

“Hey, Captain Guy! Here!”

He jumped, turned, and what he’d taken for a patch of grass lifted up. Rasktooth waved at him from the hole the three had dug. Larr leapt back in shock, and Dawil laughed.

Infinitypear, seeming quite smug, pushed more dirt out of the hole as Nailren appeared and sniffed.

“Is that bread I smell? There’s nothing to hunt for ages, and I don’t fancy just worms. We’ve dug a hole to hide our things and keep unwanted attention away from us. I’m amazed how fast Antinium dig.”

Leave it to those three to identify Goisedall’s problems and take precautions. Ylawes reached for his belt pouch.

“We’ve settled in the city, but I’m afraid you two can’t enter, Poke Duo. I’m sorry. Nailren, if you wanted to—I brought bread! But everything else is dear.”

The bread made the two young adventurers cheer, and Nailren bared his teeth.

“After seeing the state of the city, I understand, Ylawes. I’ll head back into the wilds after this, maybe after doing some shopping if there’s anything to be had. Bread and our provisions will more than do. And Poke Duo’s fine company.”

Rasktooth grinned as he cut up some of the bread and added some sliced-up tuber-worm, fried and crispy, to a sandwich. Nailren didn’t even blink as he produced some sauce to go with it. And some of yesterday’s clams he’d squirreled away.

Dead gods, that looks like a feast! Ylawes genuinely hesitated when Rasktooth invited him to share the food, but he shook his head.

“No, I, ah, I can get more. It’s nearly dinner time at the inn, and I could bring you some…?”

“This is fine, Captain. We is like Nailren, yah? He very wise.”

The Gnoll nodded.

“I appreciate learning from these two. Those tuberworms…fascinating. I’ll walk around tomorrow, but you seem ready to pass out. You sure you won’t have some?”

Dawil, Larr, and Ylawes hesitated, the [Knight] most of all since he hadn’t had that glorious bread, but there wasn’t a full abundance of food here. Infinitypear couldn’t even eat the bread, so he was making a tuber-worm sandwich with fried clam.

“We’ll have food. Do you need someone to trade out, Nailren?”

“I’m rested, and I’ll keep watch, Ylawes. You’ve been starved. Rest indeed.”

Nailren reassured Ylawes, and the man ducked his head. He’d have to make it up to Nailren, somehow. Dawil eyed their camp.

“Any trouble with people sniffing around, lads? Especially with the…cargo?”

He meant the Mithril. Ylawes hadn’t known where the pack was at first and had worried greatly until Dawil had told him he’d asked Poke Duo to hold onto it. Infinitypear pointed down and spoke.

“We have been sitting on it so it is not stolen out from under our feet, Dawil. That is also why Captain Nailren suggested we dig a hole.”

“Even if a [Thief] has a detection Skill, they don’t like the unexpected, and most aren’t good with bushcraft. We’ll keep an eye out, but once we close the hole off with some tarp, only a master would get in without us noticing.”

Another sensible precaution that eased Ylawes’ mind. Dawil slapped Infinitypear on the shoulder.

“Good lads. Just remember, you run into issues, you leg it, and let’s call…the New Lands ridge where everyone’s travelling our meetup point, got it, lads? Thanks for holding down the fort. We’ll be travelling eastwards for a bit, probably. Just so we can eat! Then we might see about what comes next.”

They left Poke Duo, and Ylawes double-timed it…at a fast walk…to Goisedall. He was starving, now. But fortunately, the Seafarer’s Catch was waiting for him. Inside—

——

Oh, dead gods it was a party. They had drinks, the Terlands were having one of their Golems sing a pre-recorded song, and there was grilled sausage and the promised stew.

Hearty.

Filling.

Larr bolted inside, and Dawil shouted.

“Food! Falene, if you’ve eaten my sausage, I’ll kill you and tell every half-Elf in Gaiil-Drome you’re a hypocrite meat-eater!”

She had not eaten their food, which came over hot and steaming as Ylawes sat, almost crying for relief. He didn’t know if the food or drink was making everyone giddy; he saw Dasha standing up on a chair.

“Here’s to adventuring! I feel aliiiiive!”

Some of the expeditioners were dancing, the Terlands clapping along to the song. They were all smiling, and it was the food, the stomachs, that produced a euphoria beyond anything you could imagine.

Only when you’d starved, actually starved, did a meal become a celebration. Larr joined his team, and only Pekona seemed to not be scarfing down her food. Her soup, yes, but she’d glanced up when Ylawes had come in, and she had a little wooden box—one of her possessions—placed on the table next to him.

When he reached for his plate, she seemed to relax and was lifting the lid of the box and bringing her bowl over when someone shouted.

“City Runner! Ylawes Byres! I’m a City Runner, not a [Thief]!”

There was a hooting sound from outside, a Golem’s warning and the two [Door Guards]. Ylawes spun, and his heart sank as Gliva strode over.

“I’ve heard that one before—oh, wait. I do know you. For you? Captain Ylawes?”

He rose, half-tempted to grab the bowl of soup. Dawil grunted.

“I’ll save your sausage, lad. Go for it.”

Falene was still casting [Message] spells and glowered at him as she nodded. Ylawes stepped for the door, and a panting young Drake waved at him.

“Sir—urgent request for you to take a [Message] at the Mage’s Guild!”

“Now? From whom? Can’t it wait?”

Ylawes stared inside at his food, but the City Runner shrugged.

“Sorry, sir. I just get paid to run ‘em, not call shots. You know how it is. Someone’s waiting on a live [Message] spell for you. Heard you got in from the Merchant’s Guild or something. Lord Yitton? And a Ysara? They had requests in for the moment someone knew you were alive.”

Father. Ysara? Ylawes closed his eyes. Oh, they had been concerned. He hesitated, glanced back at his food.

“Could I just—no, they’re waiting at the Guild? I’ll go. I’ll be back in just a second.”

“Lad, come on and get some food! They’ll hold twenty minutes!”

Dawil shouted, but the City Runner disagreed.

“They might not. ‘Less I say you’re on the way, everyone wants a spot.”

“Damn it—I’m coming! Someone save my food!”

Ylawes hesitated, but he couldn’t let his family think he was still in danger. He began to stride out the door, and Falene called out.

“Hold on, Ylawes! I’m coming!”

He actually lost her as the City Runner dashed down the street, and Ylawes had to move at a jog, cursing his leaden body. But when they got to the full Mage’s Guild and he found himself sitting at a booth as a [Message] scroll was shoved in front of him by a tired-looking [Mage]…

Falene. And she’d brought his soup.

“Someone stole the sausage when I wasn’t looking. Dawil, probably. Here.”

She put it down as Ylawes read, and he smiled at her. She sat down, patting her stomach.

“I’m exhausted and playing [Message] mage.”

“Thank you so much, Falene. I just…oh, dead gods damn it.”

Falene glanced down at Ylawes as he swore again, twice in a day—and she groaned. The familiar, golden writing on the scroll was tracing itself out.

This superior [Message] experience has been brought to you by the Terras faction of Wistram—

“That’s standard with everything now. Just skip it.”

“How?”

“You press a quill here and hold and—it’s [Adaptive Message], well, that’s the shorthand of the spell. I learned it from my contacts. So much magic in Wistram. I wish I’d stayed to learn it. Or joined Terras.”

Falene Skystrall sighed, and Ylawes saw the message write itself out, then vanish as the actual text began writing itself.

Lord Yitton Byres is online and waiting, Message Log 1.

Lady Ysara Byres is present, Message Log 2.

He began writing with a quill as he spoke to Falene out of the corner of his mouth.

“Did you get in touch with Insill’s parents?”

“I sent everything. They’re probably just getting the Street Runners I paid for now. I’m receiving. And it saves us gold, probably, since everything here costs a fortune. Your parents could have come through me…but they probably tried. I think they paid for a message set, so there’s no point rerouting through me.”

“Thank you, Falene. Seriously. I’ll pay you back for the [Messages], it’s just—the List of Expeditioners looked dire.”

She waved it away.

“Ylawes, don’t even bother. Do you think I’m heartless? And listening to some of what the Terlands were saying to their house was very enlightening. Golemancer Martz is a classic specialist. He doesn’t even know [Message]—likely because he had a Message Scroll and he resents being made to cast it. So they went through me.”

Ylawes was having two conversations at once. One in person, one on the page. He wrote, ‘I am here in Goisedall’s Mage’s Guild. Father, are you here?’

Then wrote one for Ysara. He had to figure out how to state what had happened…he glanced at Falene as his stomach rumbled.

“Oh. Interesting. What did they say? And—Pekona?”

Falene twisted, and a grimace appeared on her slightly besmudged features as Pekona shyly stepped into the booth. She had a weird lacquered box in her hand, and she fidgeted.

“Captain, Falene, I’m sorry. I—I was hoping to send a [Message].”

“Oh, of course. Pull up a seat—”

There was none, so Falene pointed, and a little pillar of earth rose. Pekona sat awkwardly as Falene gestured to her.

“If you write it down, Pekona? It was fascinating, Ylawes. Lady Ulva Terland…she reacted to the death of Lord Restraud as you might imagine. Her first two replies after all the explanations. ‘A Hunter-Killer Golem of 2nd Vaults will be dispatched for the murderers if they are not dead.’ And then—‘Do you suspect Reinharts?’ In that order. Hunter-Killer, Ylawes. That must be some kind of elite-Golem. And vaults…”

He remembered she loved secrets, and Pekona raised her hand.

“Miss Falene? What is that for Terland Golems?”

Again, Falene appeared a bit annoyed as she stopped leaning over to whisper with Ylawes.

“Specialist ones, Pekona. Golems so rare or powerful that no one has seen them. Terland Relics. Lady Ulva Terland was so incensed she was prepared to send one to avenge the death of Lord Restraud, which is simple. Her immediately suspecting one of the other Five Families did it is fascinating. And revealing how much she trusts them. I’ve heard the Reinharts are more active, so that is a commentary on them…”

“Oh, I see.”

Pekona fidgeted, head bowed. She had her black hair tied back, and like Falene, she looked slightly unkempt, though Ylawes was not one to talk. Falene saw Pekona staring at her hand in her lap and tsked.

“You don’t have any paper? You need to ask! Excuse me? Paper for [Messages] and ink.”

She snapped her fingers, and Pekona took it with murmured thanks. Ylawes thought there was a bit of less charitability on Falene’s side towards Pekona, but then, she hadn’t warmed to Poke Duo immediately either. He was still waiting for his father to start writing, so he sat back.

“Some soup would be good. Where’s that bowl, Falene?”

“Right here. It’s…huh?”

Falene pointed, and Ylawes turned his head to the end table in the booth, and he saw a little ring of moisture and no bowl. Falene half-rose.

“Wait, I put it—excuse me, where did—”

His heart sank into his boots as he realized that in the moments between him sitting and writing, someone had walked off with…

Maybe they’d thought it was someone else, and they’d bring it right back? When he saw a young [Apprentice] glance at the spot and shake their head, Ylawes put his head on the table.

There’s still food back at the inn. There’s still food back at—

The blow of the missing soup bowl left Falene angry and embarrassed, and when she came back, apologizing, he just shook his head. He was glad when she put her finger to her temples.

“Ylawes, I’ll go and get—hold on, it’s Insill’s parents. Quill, paper!”

She snapped her fingers, and he and Pekona scrambled to let her write. Then Ylawes’ gnawing hunger diminished as he was brought back into reality again. Because, well, it might be an invasion of privacy, but Falene was the [Mage] receiving [Messages]. She’d lectured Ylawes and Dawil long enough on how ‘privacy’ really didn’t exist with such spells or the Mage’s Guild. Plus…he couldn’t help it.

Falene spoke as she wrote.

“‘Insill, this is Reebis. Just got the Runner. Was at work, so I’m taking it straight home. Mom must be sleeping or Dad’s out. They have her on sleeping pills because she was so worried. Everyone was. Gonna buy a cow steak for everyone. You chowder-faced idiot. You okay? Got all your limbs? Don’t tell Mom if you don’t. She’s watching scrying orb every night. Knew you’d make it.’ Ah, that’s—well.”

Falene broke out of her trance, and Ylawes felt guilty, then embarrassed and unaccountably relieved.

“Who was that? Insill’s brother? They sound so…conversational.”

He turned, and Pekona nodded.

“Yes. He has six siblings.”

“Six?”

Falene and Ylawes chorused, in awe; Falene was a single-child, and Ylawes from his three-children family thought they were numerous. Then he sat.

“Sleeping pills. That’s…I imagine she was worried. Are the New Lands on the news?”

“They surely must be. If word about the you-know-what has spread…”

Falene flicked her fingers out, and Ylawes glanced at her.

“Mana drain. Shouldn’t we keep spreading the word? I was.”

She made a face at him.

“I—oh, yes, fine. I wanted to hoard the information, but I suppose it’s out and too important not to share! I am glad, though that was slightly personal.”

“So informal. With the siblings.”

They spoke like they were other Silver-rankers or…Ylawes wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t how he talked to Yvlon or Ysara. Well, maybe Yvlon these days, but that was because she’d changed so much. Falene could only shrug.

“Most are. Argh, wait, now everyone’s writing in. This one’s Dawil. Quill!”

Another [Message] came in as Ylawes sat, and again, it wasn’t what he expected.

Adventurer Dawil of Silver Swords, Dwarfhome has received your message. We are forwarding to your family now. Well done on surviving.

The breaking of your axe has been reported to the proper individuals, but no cause for return has been expressed. Repair was not needed/warranted.

Any further information about the New Lands would be welcome through secure channels.

—The Authority of Deríthal-Vel.

“I had no idea Dwarfhome intercepted all [Message] spells. What was that about his axe? He did say it was unto a national treasure.”

Which he broke in Wistram. Ylawes and Falene traded glances, and she drummed her fingers on the counter.

“He never talks about it, only his story. What authorities…? I suppose whomever made the axe or let him take it? It wasn’t even enchanted, and he never let me try on it! It can’t be that valuable.”

She snorted derisively, and Pekona, who had yet to really write her message, interrupted quietly.

“It was. It was more expensive than Captain Ylawes’ sword by far.”

The half-Elf turned with a frown on her face.

“No offense to Dawil’s axe, which has saved our lives time and again, Pekona, but Ylawes has a blade that didn’t run out of magic in the New Lands.”

She cast a [Silence] spell to even say that and gestured at Ylawes.

“I’m upgrading my assessment of its power. Even if it’s not showy, that Gravesword may be low-Relic tier. Dawil’s axe cut through almost anything, but it did shatter.”

Against a super Selphid-Golem of Wistram. However, Pekona was insistent.

“It was worth more. It is a better blade than Adamantium. Not…stronger, but sharper. Better made. I’ve seen them. I used to take care of swords.”

“In Drath, you mean?”

Ylawes forestalled Falene snapping; she got touchy when people contradicted her opinions. Pekona nodded shyly.

“I only took care of Mithril and lesser swords. But once, the Emperor sent rare blades to be displayed. For the honor of trying to wield one and being worthy.”

“Worthy of a sword?”

“Mm. If it chooses you. Some have souls.”

“Souls. I’ve heard of it in Drath, but—and Dawil’s axe is akin to those?”

The half-Elf was still huffy, but she listened as Pekona nodded hesitantly.

“I saw the best blades. Some could fly and you could stand on them, or they could cut Adamantium. But there were two which had no magic. They were just…swords.”

“And? They looked like Dawil’s axe?”

“Oh, no, they were completely different. I don’t know how any of them were made.”

Ylawes was really trying to give Pekona credit here. But if they were so different and they weren’t the same material…she grew shy, then blurted out the rest.

“It’s the signature!”

“Oh, they were signed by the same person!”

Ylawes slapped his forehead and then hesitated.

“Wait, Dawil’s axe doesn’t have a signature.”

“Exactly. Pekona, my dear, maybe you’re confused? Why don’t you finish writing and then get Ylawes some soup…?”

Pekona fidgeted with her lacquer box, but she shook her head. Her voice grew smaller.

“No…you see…that is it. The swords, the great ones? They had no signatures either. So you see? If they are so high-level, so rich—I do not know the words. If they are so—so—”

“If they’re so important and can match Relic-class gear in Drath, what self-respecting [Smith] wouldn’t sign their name?”

Ylawes Byres finished slowly. He thought of every good sword he’d ever seen, from Deniusth’s violin-blade to the time he’d been allowed to see Barelle the Bard and seen him draw his own famous sword.

Every smith had a stamp, if not a name. Everyone had a way to tell those who came afterwards, ‘this is my work’. Even the Heartflame Breastplate had a sigil burned onto it in the top right corner.

A weapon without a name that cut through everything Dawil had thrown it at.

Hm. Falene blinked, and for a second, they sat there until she leaned over.

“Pekona, are you having trouble with the words? I can write if you dictate. Or even send in Drathian. I just have to look and copy.”

The [Sword Dancer] jumped and shook her head.

“I can write in my language, thank you. I just…it is hard.”

“Very well, very well…but if I may, I might need to get these [Messages] back to Dawil and Insill. More are coming, including one from Ulva Terland—here, let me get a second [Message] scroll for you. Mage!”

Falene could make anyone do what she wanted in the Mage’s Guild, so there was a second scroll for Pekona, and she was sitting there as the half-Elf hurried off. Then it was Ylawes and Pekona. And his rumbling stomach.

She was biting her lip and lingering over the scroll, and Ylawes was about to ask her about the swords when, at last, his father began to write.

Lord Yitton Byres: Ylawes? I was informed that your expedition with the Consortium of Enterprise Expeditions had failed or been cancelled in some way. Your mother and I are quite concerned. Is this a matter that requires us to speak to our local Merchant’s Guild?

Ylawes started, and his stomach flopped. The Merchant’s Guild had already…? He was bending with quill to ink. I’m alive, Father! But before he could re-dip his quill and set to writing…

Lord Yitton Byres: House Byres is counting on your team’s support. We have reached a number of deals with backers in the north, but we must keep the silver mines open to continue to ramp up production. If we cannot compete, then the Dwarfhalls Rest Dwarves may overtake us.

Has your team found anything in the New Lands? The television claims mana is being drained there.

And then Ylawes didn’t know what to say.

Because…his stomach was suddenly hurting, and not for lack of funding. He sat there and then began to write.

Ylawes Byres: Regrettably, Father, our contract with the Consortium did have to be cut short. They were engaging in activities I felt were too dangerous and jeopardized the wellbeing of my teammates and my expedition.

Fortunately, we managed to connect with House Terland and escort them out of the New Lands. There has been some privation in the field, but we are now safe.

Regarding the Consortium, it is a difficult affair, the details of which I hope to relate to you when I return home, but I believe the Merchant’s Guild and Adventurer’s Guild have accepted our explanations. We are recouping in Goisedall. Magic is indeed draining, and our team has taken some losses of equipment, but not any of personnel, thankfully.

There are some boons in the New Lands, though how many are open for exploitation, I cannot say. An [Alchemist] or other specialist might find more value there.

I understand House Byres is prospering? How is Mother? Have you heard from Yvlon?

He wanted to mention the Mithril blades that Pekona had found, but he felt like that was far, far too risky to reveal. He wanted to tell his father, although…

Would he sell the blades? His teammates might use them, but they were all impoverished. The blades might be useful if everyone could use them, but on the other hand, they’d make a sizable little warchest if they could be sold.

But as team captain, Ylawes doubted his share of the gold would be so high as to be that tremendous. Then his father was writing.

Lord Yitton Byres: I am sure you acted in accordance with your teachings to uphold House Byres and your team’s good name, Ylawes.

House Terland? Is there a connection to be called on there? Are you taking further work with them, or have they concluded their contract with your team?

I am currently dealing with House d’Artien, and Runner Delanay, in the pursuit of the common foe of House Byres. This is both an investment and an expense, but the Bloodhunters of Izril, as they are known, are a growing force with a mandate, and numerous nobles and groups have expressed support.

If you would mention House Byres silversteel in Goisedall or if you choose to return northwards, or even southwards, they may have tasks of great interest for you, but whatever contracts you are pursuing should take precedence, of course.

Ylawes Byres: We only contracted to escort the Terlands out of the New Lands, Father. The situation was rather untenable, so that was a contract primarily for sustenance. The Bloodhunters? I’m afraid I do not recall them, but I do recall Delanay with some fondness. Is he still hunting for his Vampires? (This is a joke, I hope his career as a City Runner is going well.)

Lord Yitton Byres: He has found them. You may be out of the loop, Ylawes. What kind of situation were you in to be so in need of food? I trust you are well. Your mother will be relieved to hear you are safe.

Ylawes Byres: It was rather intense. We ran out of food at times. Rest assured we are well. Delanay has found Vampires? Truly?

Lord Yitton Byres: Yes. Do you have a name of the House Terland leader you assisted?

Ylawes Byres: I believe that would be Lord Restraud who passed, but Lord Comigen Terland was the [Lord] we assisted and I believe would remember me fondly. I think Lady Ulva Terland is aware of the expedition’s fate.

Ylawes Byres: So Vampires actually exist? This is very concerning, isn’t it?

Lord Yitton Byres: Did your team conduct themselves to your high standards with the Terlands or is there some fault with Lord Restraud’s regrettable death?

Ylawes Byres: I think we could be said to have done all we could, and I do not believe Lord Comigen would speak ill of us.

Lord Yitton Byres: I understand and regret your team’s struggles. If you do contract with another expedition, please let me know at once. As I said, House Byres is attempting to establish itself in greatness once more. I believe we could become a household name once again within five years.

Ylawes Byres: I shall send what I can if our finances allow, but it is rather pressing at this moment, Father.

Lord Yitton Byres: I understand, and to your last point, your sister is in Chandrar, I believe. She was on the news, but she has not written back. If you come into contact with her, please ask her to write home.

Ylawes Byres: I shall, of course. And Ysara as well.

Lord Yitton Byres: I have not received a reply from her. I shall inform your mother you are well. Rest well, Ylawes.

Then they were done, and Ylawes’ head was spinning. He sat there.

Delanay actually found…? He remembered growing up with him, going on ‘Vampire Hunts’, and then getting in trouble for testing people with silver. That boy had become a fine, respectable fellow, just like Ylawes, of course, but…

Putting House Byres on the map? Ylawes didn’t have any coin to send, and he’d already—but if his father was asking, maybe—

What was that about Yvlon? Chandrar? Ylawes felt a rush of relief that she was alive, but Ysara?

He was filled with such a mix of emotions—mostly stress. It sounded like important things were happening in the north, and he had been running around in circles in the south. He almost wanted to write to his father that he had something to send back, but he didn’t.

Mostly—because Ysara began writing, and their conversation went completely differently.

Ysara: YLAWES. ARE YOU OKAY? I was going to pay for someone to search for you! Dawil, Falene? Your gear! The magic-drain, did it hit you?

Ylawes: We’re fine, Ysara. Goisedall.

Ysara: I know! How much did you lose?

Ylawes: Quite a lot, unfortunately.

Ysara: Dead gods. Do you need help? The economics there are insane. Qwera drove a huge caravan that way and sold out—it’s gold only, isn’t it? I don’t think I can get the Merchant’s Guild to give you money, but I might have a contact there.

Ylawes: We’re settled, Ysara. Thank you; The Wandering Inn helped.

Ysara: Of course they did. I’m only sorry I didn’t hear the rumors before you went in. How bad was it?

Ylawes: Some starvation.

Ysara: Are you in need of a [Healer]?

Ylawes: No.

Ysara: A relief!

Ylawes: I’ve missed quite a lot in the north. I just spoke with Father, and he says something about Vampires?

Ysara: You had no idea?

Ylawes: They exist? He said silver’s in demand and that you hadn’t written back to him. And Yvlon’s in Chandrar.

Ysara: I haven’t chosen

Ysara: What I understand is

Ysara: I think I need to get on a [Communication] spell or scrying orb to speak about all of it with you. I know you’re out of mana, but if you get past Goisedall, I can send gold.

Ylawes: We should be in decent circumstances for the moment, but thank you, Ysara. We may have to do that. I am in need of dinner. But I have an inn and food.

Ysara: Of course, go! And Yvlon’s landed on her feet. They say she walked out of the sea.

Ylawes: That…sounds like her? Not sure.

Ysara: Haha. The new her. Most of my caravaners are obsessed with her. I sell a t-shirt of her, and…I’ll be heading to the New Lands too, Ylawes. Carefully. Write me if you need anything. If you need gear, I can give your team sets.

Ylawes: We should have enough. Thank you, Ysara. Truly. As for Father, he seems to need gold urgently.

Ysara: He is making gold. I think you should focus on your own team for the moment, Ylawes.

Ylawes: I see. Well, I shall talk to you as soon as I can purchase a scrying orb.

Ysara: I’m registered, so you can call me. Go eat!

After that exchange, Ylawes realized nearly an hour had passed—he didn’t write fast, and between his father and sister, his hand hurt. He pushed the [Message] scroll back, and he wasn’t hungry any longer.

Mostly because he’d passed out of hunger into that sort of gnawing silence, but he felt…better. Ysara.

He’d fallen out of touch with her and remembered her being very cold a few years ago. But they’d connected a bit in Liscor—fought, really—but after Facestealer and the rest and having her write to him with clear concern…

Outfit his entire team? That was so generous of her, but they were okay. Yet maybe if they needed help…

For some reason, he still felt a bit poorly. Food. Ylawes pushed himself up and nearly fell over. This Vampire business—no, his father had it handled.

It was just—

If Ylawes tried to say it—

Yvlon was obviously out of contact and in Chandrar. She might not even know he was in the New Lands.

But he’d just sort of thought his father would be beside himself with worry.

He had been concerned! Ylawes’ mother, Shallel Byres, was definitely worried.

Just…

It wasn’t exactly like Insill’s message, or even the Authority’s reply to Dawil from home. Yitton had been businesslike, which made sense. He was a [Lord] and responsible for House Byres. That was duty, and Ylawes had never envied his father doing the important thing over being a mere warrior.

It was just a contrast. And each family was different! Ylawes handed the [Message] scroll off to a [Mage], who cleared it and sent it to the next waiting person, and was walking away when he realized he’d forgotten Pekona.

“Pekona? Are you ready to go?”

He felt like she should be ready to go, but to his surprise, she was still laboring over her [Message] scroll. She jumped and nearly knocked her inkpot over.

“Captain! I’m sorry. I’m nearly done. Nearly…”

“Do you need a hand in writing?”

He thought that was it, her lack of familiarity with the language, and she frowned slightly at him.

“I can write, Captain Ylawes.”

“Right, but if it’s taking time, Falene is going to need it…”

She shook her head and began to write faster. Ylawes went for a little walk to stretch his legs. Sometimes, Pekona got a bit touchy for reasons he didn’t understand. Other nations and their peculiarities, he supposed.

When he came back after a few minutes, Pekona was still writing when a [Message Mage] came over.

“Miss? Our booths are in high demand. Did you say you wanted Drath?”

“Yes, um, I have a [Mage]—”

Falene had gone back to the inn, so the [Message Mage] mistook Pekona looking around. The other woman spoke very slowly and loudly.

“You need to write it in Common, understand? Common, miss. It has to be legible. Understand? No foreign stuff or it’s too hard to send. Got it?”

She sounded rather—patronizing. Ylawes strode over as Pekona ducked her head.

“Yes, sorry. Almost done.”

“Excuse me, she’s with me. We have a Wistram-trained [Mage].”

“Oh, excuse me, sir! You’re the Gold-rank adventurer! She’s in your team? I’m sorry, it’s just with Drathian…”

The Drake jumped and blushed and hurried off. Ylawes sat back down.

“That was…rude.”

“Hmm? No. I’m almost done, Captain.”

Pekona was writing faster, clearly embarrassed by the interaction, and he hesitated.

“No, it was rude. Why didn’t you tell the woman she was speaking to you like you were deaf?”

“It happens a lot, Captain. It’s not worth causing a fuss.”

“But—”

“Everyone speaks to me like that, Captain. Sometimes, it’s helpful. I don’t know words often. If not, I don’t want to make trouble.”

But she didn’t deserve that! Ylawes was about to object when he realized he’d said a variation of that to Pekona. As if she couldn’t write…

He snuck a glance at her letters, and they were perfectly legible. It was Ylawes’ turn to flush.

“I, um, well, I thought I was being helpful myself, Pekona. I’m sorry. I’m thoughtless.”

She blinked at him. Eyed Ylawes’ red cheeks, then managed a smile.

“Thank you for realizing, Captain.”

They sat there, and he watched her work, relieved and ashamed. Pekona was taking some time, but she looked to be nearly done. He was about to suggest she let Falene copy it over just to save coins, but then Ylawes realized Pekona wasn’t even in a conversation. She’d taken an hour plus to labor over a message that she had written in very decent Common, if too-round and precise words, for the [Mage]. But she seemed stressed, and when he read over her shoulder…

From Pekona, [Sword Dancer] of Vuliel Drae, to the Archipelago of Drath. To report to the Capital in service of His Imperial Majesty of the Vigilant Isles:

This warrior of Drath begs leave to report her survival in an expedition to the New Lands of Izril. She wishes to convey her efforts in a request via the Merchant’s Guild that has ended in failure, to her shame.

She has not disgraced herself in Drath’s name, to her knowledge, and has made some small discovery of lands sunken in the New Lands, if such information is of value to the Capital. She has found some discoveries of small value from her experience as [Sword Tender] of

Her levels gained in the New Lands are a cumulative of four with the following Skill

Warrior Pekona requests news of her survival be forwarded to her village if pleasing. She has not claimed her title or achievements in relation to the Empire in any respects.

“I’m done. I am sorry for the delay, Captain!”

Pekona rolled the parchment up and handed it to the [Mage] as Ylawes blinked at her. She stood, cheeks flushed, and he didn’t know what to say. Only that for a moment, he felt a strange kinship with the woman from distant Drath. Because something about her missive struck him as familiar.

It was…

It sounded like an attempt to justify herself. To explain what had gone on and present her best side. Pekona’s brows were creased, and she was holding her stomach as if it hurt. She almost forgot the lacquer box she carried under one arm as they hurried out of the Mage’s Guild.

Now it was dark, and Ylawes turned to Pekona.

“I’m sorry if that was private—”

“It is not. The Capital will read it. And judge me.”

“I see. I…were you reporting your accomplishments and failures? I remember Calruz doing much the same.”

Though for him, it had seemed a bit more optional, even if he was diligent about it. Pekona stared at her feet as they walked back to the inn.

“…Yes. Not many successes. I—they do not expect much from me. Especially since this.”

She indicated her missing arm.

“The Emperor himself knows my name. But I did not show my talents like a true warrior of Drath would have. So I—my village will know I am well. How do I say it, Captain? I did not write fast even with Miss Falene because it is hard. I am embarrassed I did not do more.”

“I see.”

She walked, head hung low, and Ylawes glanced back at the Mage’s Guild.

“—That’s how it felt when I was reporting to my father. It was easier talking to my sister. But I also felt like a fool who’d disgraced himself. I…I don’t know. That was hard. It was harder than it should have been. Bull’s crap. Shit!”

He kicked at the pavement, and he was angry. She started, then glanced at him. Pekona walked a bit faster, and Ylawes wished he knew how to swear properly. Falene could swear like a drunken [Sailor] when she stubbed a toe.

“Ylawes, your father, was he concerned or…if I am being rude, I sincerely apologize.”

“No, he was. It’s just—I wanted to—I’ve always been able to report good news to him, and he seemed like he was counting on—it’s not normally like that. In person, he’s so much easier to talk to, in many ways. I’d be able to walk him through things, and I feel like I didn’t present what had gone on, because I was worried about people listening in. It’s just…embarrassing?”

“Shameful?”

“Yes!”

He pointed at her and stopped in the street. She wore a bitter smile on her face.

“That is home. If you aren’t a [Cultivator], sometimes…many people in the Capital, the ones who are important, don’t care.”

“Even though you got a sword-skill from Zeladona herself?”

“They…wanted my sword. The one Zeladona used. I sent it back. It’s a relic, now.”

“But it was your sword, and she acknowledged you. Surely that counts. They must be proud of you, right? Pekona? Right?”

Her silence was telling. Ylawes began to become a bit outraged on her behalf, but she just pointed.

“Do you need food, Captain?”

“Argh, yes. Let’s talk in the inn. My sausage had better be there or I’m going to kill Dawil.”

“It was.”

He hoped she was right, Pekona hefted her box as he almost ran back to the Seafarer’s Catch only to be given the worst news of his entire life:

He’d missed dinner.

——

They were out of soup. Out of bread, and his sausage was gone. Ylawes Byres stood in the doorway as Gliva checked the kitchen, but…

“We served everything we had, Captain. And everyone else ate it. I did warn you, when food’s out, it’s out for the night.”

“But my bowl…”

Falene had taken him his portion, but some bastard had stolen it. The horrified half-Elf was casting around as Pekona tried to elbow forwards.

“Captain, I have—”

“Dawil took it!”

“I did not! Pointy, you idiot, I thought you brought him food!”

“Someone stole—Miss Gliva, can we not get something more?”

“I’m sorry, the [Cook]’s done for the night. I could try to find something, but—”

Ylawes was starving by now, and he stared around and had one thought.

“Poke Duo. They’ve got food. I’ll just—don’t worry, Falene. I’ll just head out, get them, and—”

Dawil rose to his feet.

“Hold on, lad. We’ll get you something.”

“No, no, they’ve got food. Let me just—”

“Ylawes, wait, I’ll go with—argh, [Message] for Anith!”

“Captain! I have—”

Ylawes had to leave the inn because he was so upset about not having food that if he stayed a moment longer he’d start swearing, and it was no one’s fault.

Just his own.

——

Damn City Runners interrupting his meal.

Damn soup thieves!

Damn Falene for not realizing she had to keep hold of it!

Damn his father for bothering him without even the decency to care for—

Ylawes caught himself as he stomped down the street. That was unworthy of him. He was just mad and pissed because he was hungry. He just had to get to Poke Duo and…

——

…They were out of food. The horrified Cave Goblin and Antinium poked their heads out of their shelter.

“You not eat, Captain!?”

“Y-you don’t have any food? None? But we had rations.”

The two young [Adventurers] were shifting. Infinitytpear shuffled his feet.

“We saw other campers who were crying from hunger, Captain. So, with Captain Nailren’s supervision, we gave them food.”

“Yah. Sorry.”

“You fed people who didn’t have any?”

Ylawes saw a few other campfires out on the open ground and more figures who didn’t even have that. In fact, Rasktooth pointed.

“Captain Nailren, he helping make fire from grass. And shit.”

“And stuff, you mean.”

“No, and shit. Cow shit is very burny. Who knew? Not me. We very sorry.”

Ylawes just stood there as his stomach realized it was not going to be fed and decided his spine was the first to go. But he forced a smile.

“You fed hungry people, Poke Duo? Never apologize for that. I’ll be fine. It’s just a night. There might be scraps in the inn. I just came here because I wanted to save gold. And I’ve got some. I’ll head into the city.”

“You want us to find food?”

“At this time of night? No, no. You two rest up. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer. I’ll be…”

Ylawes stumbled as he turned back to the city, and Poke Duo began to rise from their burrow. But then Pekona caught up, panting.

“Captain, there you are!”

Rasktooth sniffed the air and held out a hand as Infinitypear began to get out.

“Brother, what if Captain Ylawes dies of hunger?”

“Eh, he not die, Peary. You wait. He okay.”

Rasktooth relaxed as he glanced at Pekona. And the box under her arm.

——

Ylawes was stomping into Goisedall, so hungry he was staring at every passing inn and building—and the prices—and wondering if he could justify any of it. He was so hungry he’d pay for it, but the gold.

We have to ration it. I’m stupid. Dead gods damn it all, I’m so—

“Captain, Captain—I have something for you.”

Pekona. He wanted to tell her to get lost because he was about to embarrass himself by paying a fortune for a meal. Ylawes glared at her then realized she’d cut her meal shorter too. He exhaled.

“How hungry are you, Pekona?”

“I had some soup, Captain. I’m—”

Hurrrblgrr! Her stomach made her turn bright red, and Ylawes groaned. Two starving souls close to death. But Pekona had that…

“What is that box?”

“This? It’s from home.”

It was a red, lacquered box with a little latch on the front and a design of flowers on the back. It was chipped and worn from being knocked about, but it seemed lovingly cared for. And Pekona was eying it as she held it out to him.

“For you.”

“For me? Thank you, but—”

Ylawes really didn’t care what the hell was in the box until he flipped it open, saw two sausages, a piece of bread, and the biscuit from the Merchant’s Guild, then closed it. He glanced around, stared at Pekona, and saw it.

She’d taken his sausage. And saved it! And, it seemed—had saved part of her own meal and the other food in it!

“F-for me?”

“I did not know if you had food, Captain, so I—here.”

Pekona handed him the box, and he almost handed it right back.

“No, that’s your food! Pekona, this is so thoughtful. We should share it with Rasktooth and Infinitypear—”

He instantly turned back to go back to Poke Duo, and Pekona’s face fell. She cleared her throat as Ylawes imagined splitting this bounty four ways.

“I—um—they already ate! And Young Master Rasktooth won’t get hungry because of his class. You should eat, Captain. You keep giving away food, and you’ll starve without.”

She…she was very compelling when she said that. Ylawes blinked at Pekona and eyed the box.

Two sausages and bread and the biscuit. Had he ever eaten as well as…? His mouth watered as he imagined savoring each bite of it.

“I—you may be right, Pekona. Let’s go back to the inn. Or find somewhere to sit.”

Somewhere no one would snatch it from him. He eyed the passersby as if each one were a [Master Thief] and he was holding the Helmet of Fire. They eyed him warily. Then Ylawes slowed.

“Wait, what did you call Rasktooth?”

Young Master? He glanced back at Pekona with mild hilarity. She turned bright red as she tried to explain something about Rasktooth’s ‘great potential’, and Ylawes, who didn’t understand all this ‘cultivation’ stuff, listened to a weird explanation about how classes worked in Drath. He shook his head, bemused.

“This cultivation stuff…it seems like a lot of foreign nonsense to me, Pekona.”

“Oh. Yes, Captain Ylawes.”

She went abruptly silent as he passed by restaurants and slowed. He had some coin. What if he bought a meal as well as ate the food? It wasn’t a full plate, and he was hungry…

Ylawes’ hand went to his belt pouch. He stared at a menu advertising fresh pork in that inn that Lord Comigen had tried.

Dead gods. Six gold per…he saw Pekona’s head was bowed and glanced at her. Realized she had halted behind him.

“I, ah, might get something to eat on top of what you brought me. Should we get something for the others? We could get pork if they have some.”

“As you say, Captain Ylawes.”

He didn’t get why she’d fallen silent. The [Knight] led the way inside, and a Drake had to check his gold before saying yes, they had some pork left, and wine, fresh from Cellidel, don’t you know, just arrived; if they wanted it, they had to order now. Ylawes put down twelve gold pieces, and they had a table before he could get another word in. Then Pekona was sitting blank-faced with him, shoulder-to-shoulder because plenty of people were here just to rest.

He felt…like she was awkward, which made him awkward, so Ylawes cleared his throat.

“Commendable, though.”

“Hmm?”

“This cultivator stuff. It’s fascinating, but foreign. Nothing like I understand.”

“It is just how Drath is, Captain. I did not mean to be rude in speaking out of turn.”

He waved his hands, under the impression they’d gotten off on the wrong foot somewhere.

“Rude? No, not at all. As I said, it’s interesting, but it sounds like nonsense.”

“Yes, sir, I apologize.”

She averted her gaze, and Ylawes felt like something was still wrong. He tried again.

“Good nonsense. Incomprehensible! Like Falene always talks about with her magic. That’s what I meant. Or when Dawil gets into Dwarfhome politics. I’m not one for any of it, but if it helps you, or Rasktooth, that’s excellent.”

“Oh.”

For just a second, Pekona peeked up at him from her dark bangs, and Ylawes felt like she was relieved. Which implied he’d done something wrong.

“I hope I haven’t offended you. I just meant it was very esoteric, that’s all.”

He was distracted as the Drake put down a platter of rather thin slices of meat anchored to sticks. Fried pork glistening with fat. In any other city, Ylawes would have said he was being ripped off; the slices were so thin as to be insulting. But it was pork…

His mouth watered, and he saw other people staring at him. We’ll never take this out of the restaurant without being mobbed. He hesitated, and Pekona’s mouth was watering too.

“Captain, it may be difficult to hide…”

“Just have—have a bite, Pekona. Um, and I didn’t mean to offend you…”

They ate the first skewer so fast Ylawes was licking at his fingers when she managed a reply.

“It sounded a bit—a bit—no, nevermind, Captain.”

“Go on, a bit what?”

She hesitated a long time as she stared at another pork skewer, but when he indicated it, she took it and spoke.

“A bit insulting. A-as if you thought Drathian classes and ways were barbaric and stupid.”

“What? It did?”

Ylawes was so shaken he didn’t reach for his second skewer as he stared at her. Flushed, she turned.

“I did not want to say—”

“If I sounded like that at all, I apologize! I only meant—dead gods, did I say that? I only meant foreign nonsense as in how my father said it! You know, like Chandrarian customs or—or—Pekona, I sincerely regret my words!”

Ylawes was bowing over the table, so flustered she grew embarrassed as people turned to her. She shoved a skewer at him as the Drake [Server] came back.

“Everything alright, sir, lady? I have some wine…”

It was well-watered, but the mug of it was practically hedonistic as Ylawes sipped it. His body interpreted any sweets, any food, as energy, and he gulped at it as Pekona did likewise. He flushed harder as she spoke.

“Sometimes, it sounds like how—how some outsiders see Drath. As if we’re all primitive fishers eating raw fish on beaches. They don’t know our cities or anything—they say it like that. Barbarian. Illiterate savages. Because we don’t know Common. We have other languages.”

His heart sank at the expression on her face, which she tried to hide by turning her head. Ylawes’ head bowed.

“I…I sincerely regret my words. Pekona. My father—no, I take full responsibility for them. I did not mean any slight upon Drath at all. How could I? I barely know anything of Drath. You have an [Emperor], you eat with sticks, and you have…rice…”

She wore another pained expression as he babbled, and Ylawes knew he was sinking in quicksand, like Dawil and Falene sometimes said he was doing when he introduced himself to other ladies. But he could only say what he believed. It was his curse, so he finished lamely.

“Who am I to judge another people without knowledge of them? Your [Sword Dancer] class and techniques are exotic to my eyes. I have so much to learn from your style, and you have such a knowledge of blades I lack—look at what we found in the place in the New Lands.”

Conscious of the eyes upon him, he didn’t reference the Mithril, but he saw her pause. And her head rose a bit.

“You think my class is good, Captain? But you’re higher-level than me…”

“I can tell when your level of finesse exceeds mine, Pekona. And I think it does, levels or not. I was trained in a very direct method of [Knight] fighting. It may even lag behind Terandrian [Knight] training since they have so much institution…you fight so gracefully, even with one arm. I cannot imagine how you did with two. Levels are not everything.”

He said exactly what he meant, and when she appeared so mystified, even tearful, he floundered. So he called for another round of meat skewers, and it came with some wine, and they ate.

“I…I do not know what to say, Captain. Not many people appreciate my…uniqueness. Even my team, sometimes, had problems, but they are kind. It is hard. Sometimes, I feel like Prince Zenol’s team. Even if he is from another land, and a [Prince], he understood.”

“Zenol? That brave fellow? How could anyone denigrate him?”

Ylawes was so genuinely mystified it was Pekona’s turn to eye him.

“You do not think he is—savage or different?”

“He’s certainly abrasive and a character that might be hard to deal with, but at the Village of the Dead, I saw him take on that Lich Circle alone. Thinking he’d die. That’s a man I’d trust with my life at any moment. He saved my sister, Yvlon, and her team from fighting them. Who’d dare to insult him?”

Ylawes got angry just imagining it. It was Pekona who gave him a wide-eyed gaze, then hid a smile with one hand.

“Captain. You are a very silly man. But a good one.”

“Everyone tells me that. Even Rasktooth.”

He sighed as he took a sip from his wine. The world was spinning ever-so-slightly, and he realized he was drunk.

Dead gods, had he had more than a cup of wine? Or maybe it was being so hungry. Ylawes usually never had more than a single drink at meals—he slipped up sometimes, but sobriety was a good quality to have. That was Proper Living, as his father had taught him, and well he’d been mightily tempted to have that second cup many times. He’d often failed in his resolve, to his chagrin the next day.

But he couldn’t remember if this was his second cup that the inn had given him or his third. How many meat skewers had he had?

“We were supposed to bring this to the others.”

“We’ll get jumped, Captain.”

“True, but doing the right thing no matter what is what you have to do. Every time. No matter what. That’s the House Byres way.”

It was so simple. No one got it. Even Yvlon, even Ysara seemed to not understand. Life was so damn simple. Do the right thing each time. So why…

Why did it sometimes feel like that wasn’t what you got rewarded for? Why did it seem like terrible men and women got awarded for doing the opposite?

Ylawes thought of the Consortium of Enterprise, and his head sank as he sat with Pekona.

“I tried to do the right thing, Pekona. But it turned out the right thing wasn’t what I agreed to and that breaking one vow was for the best. I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined all our fortunes.”

“No you didn’t, Captain.”

Then they were sitting and their stomachs? Still rumbling. It was then that Ylawes felt something under one arm and he remembered.

The box.

He’d been so distracted by insulting Pekona—he put it on the table, flipped the lid, and they salivated at the second course. Even the server did a double-take when he passed by with a refill of wine. Pekona’s face visibly fell.

“You go ahead, Captain.”

“No, no, you take a sausage, and I’ll take this one. We’ll split the bread. You’re just as hungry as I am, Pekona.”

She hesitated, then snatched her share as he folded the sausage in a piece of bread and took a bite. No hot dog Erin had ever served had tasted so fine…in this or any other world. That wasn’t so much a, uh, commentary on his hunger as hot dogs in general.

But still.

Ylawes sat there, and all was well in the world. He was so close to tears…but when he forced himself to take small bites of the meal, to let it linger, especially because his stomach, used to privation, was actually hurting from all this richness, he turned to Pekona.

And he realized he’d not only done her a grave disservice, but he was so profoundly grateful to her. She was brushing her hair back over one round ear, then took a cautious bite of the sausage, cheeks smudged with dirt and grime, and he wondered when she’d had time to put on makeup.

Because she was rather alluring. Falene, of course, was always impeccable, but Pekona…

“Thank you for bringing the box and finding me, Pekona. You’re so conscientious. Twice, now, you’ve saved me from myself, it feels like. First with the Terlands, and now this.”

He meant the Mithril swords. She jumped, blushed.

“I just thought to bring food, Captain. It’s a box from home. Um, bento—it’s one of the other languages. Other ideas, from my cultures. The foreign nonsense ones.”

He turned bright red, and she lifted her hand and arm stump.

“I don’t mean that! Only—”

“No, no, I deserve that. Are they in aid of something or…?”

“It’s just a box. You put rice in it, and it has compartments—”

It was essentially a fancy lunch pail, but Ylawes liked the look of it. It certainly beat an old bag with a sandwich swinging around the inside. He kept eating as he tried to express what he meant.

“I just—I’ve only known my teammates. You’re one of the only other adventurers I’ve actually partied with long-term. Which is strange, I know, but most teams think mine is ridiculous. They don’t like working for free, or we just have differences.”

Like the Horns and the Silver Swords had never meshed. But Pekona’s team had done very well. She glanced down at her hand.

“We don’t slow you down, Captain? Even with…?”

She indicated her missing arm, and he shook his head.

“No, no! You don’t have the same levels as us, but Poke Duo practically carried us in the wilds. And your Skills in combat—! I mean it, you’re a better swordswoman than I am. I feel like I haven’t appreciated the strengths of my teammates. It took this expedition for me to see I was just the highest-level fighter. Not all-knowing. That’s Gold-ranker bias for you.”

He needed to let each member take lead. For instance, Anith seemed very worldly and knowledgeable. Like how Falene was their magic-user. Pekona tilted her head.

“What am I good at, though, Captain?”

“Well, swords, obviously.”

“And?”

“And…knowing when not to give away too much and prioritize?”

“And?”

“Uh—and—your charms?”

“What about Dasha?”

“Dasha? Well, I respect her beard maintenance, and she’s a solid backup, and, uh—”

He was floundering when he suddenly saw her hide a slight smile.

“You’re teasing me!”

She grew embarrassed and turned in her seat. Ylawes grinned as he took the remaining bite of his meal. She did have a sense of humor and opinions!

“Actually, that’s something you could do more of. Say your opinions, Pekona. They’re often good, but you’ve been, what, shy? Whenever you point something out, like that thing with Dawil’s axe, it’s insightful. I appreciate hearing from you.”

“Really? I’m not good with words, so I don’t speak much.”

Another peek from her long black hair hanging down in bangs. Ylawes wondered if her entire nation looked like her. He couldn’t imagine it. The only person like Pekona he’d ever met was Ryoka, but the two were rather different. Ryoka didn’t have Pekona’s accent, and she was a bit darker-skinned than the Drathian woman, and taller.

But Pekona had far, far better posture. She sat with her back straight, knees forwards, hand in her lap, and Ylawes appreciated that because most people had bad posture. He sat tall in his seat, just like he’d been taught, and both noticed the other’s attention to etiquette.

Then it felt like they had nothing to say. He thanked her, she said he was a good [Captain], and repeat until you were out of things to say. But—Ylawes felt like—he wanted to say something more.

He just didn’t know what. He wished Dawil were here. The Dwarf was extraordinarily good with the ladies. Or Falene. He was so used to his companions with him he didn’t know what to say to Pekona, who was still slightly a stranger. So he blurted out—

“I’m sorry I keep offending you. I really didn’t mean to say that about your culture.”

“I know, Captain. You’re not a bad man.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He gazed at his plate, and it was empty. Damn. Then he glanced up. Pekona sat there, staring at him.

“Captain, you’re the last person who’d be found guilty of being a bad man.”

“Ah, you say that, Pekona, but you don’t know how wretched I am. I put on a good face, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m selfish, greedy, arrogant—”

He waved a finger at her. She grabbed it and closed his hand.

“No. I think you are, sometimes. But each time I look, you’re like…a Mithril blade. The stains are only on the surface. Dig down and it shines too bright.”

“That sounds like a compliment, but I don’t deserve it.”

He sulked. Annoyed with how charitable she was being because that was his thing. Then he peered into the bento box.

“Oh. We’re out of food. Except the biscuit. You have it.”

“No, you—”

“How about we split it?”

He broke it into pieces because they’d done this dance before and offered it to her. She was demurring.

“I’m fine, Captain.”

“Ah, no, see? I can tell you’re hungry. Here. Just take a bite—”

He tried to poke it into her mouth, and she dodged his hand. She started giggling as he leaned over the table, and he was reaching out with the biscuit when she nearly bumped into a patron. She recoiled, and he ended up almost on top of her. He poked her mouth delicately with the biscuit, and then—

He was eating his, she was munching on hers, and why were they red-faced? Perhaps because, Ylawes thought to himself…

I’m being indecorous. She’s a teammate of mine! A subordinate! I shouldn’t.

On the other hand…he heard a rather Captain Todi-like voice in his head.

You’ve never shot your quarrel before. The lady brought you food when she was starving. You should try it.

No. Before marriage? But then again, adventurers were always telling stories, and even if only 10% of them were actually true…

Ylawes blurted something out too fast.

“Um, Pekona. Have I ever said you’re one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met?”

Pekona choked on her biscuit. A passing [Waitress]’ head turned, and she went crashing into a chair and hit an entire table with a Winebomb Striker. A table of diners turned around and stared.

Ylawes saw none of it. He had gone cold, then red hot, and he felt like he’d just challenged a Named-ranker to a duel with a stick.

I’m a fool! An idiot! Even he knew there was more tact than—

“Um, I—thank you, C—Ylawes.”

Pekona coughed and drank some water hurriedly. Ylawes opened his mouth. Tact. Polish, not whatever—he could practically feel Dawil kicking him. But nothing for it other than…

“I’m sorry. I realize that sounds very forwards. I just…it’s something I do feel, and I’m rather taken with your—it must be the wine. I do apologize, and if it’s unwelcome, let’s say no more of it and I’ll behave myself. If you want to talk to Anith, I understand.”

He began to stand and felt like such a fool. Where did they go from here? If it was unwelcome—Pekona gasped, then jumped up.

“No! Don’t go! I—I like your hair. Can I touch it?”

She blurted that out, and he blinked. Every head swung back to Ylawes.

“My hair…?”

“No one has hair like it in Drath. I wanted to touch Falene’s hair, but it’s very rude. So I…is it dyed? Even dyed hair doesn’t look like that.”

Utterly bemused, Ylawes sat down. Scooted over. And let her feel his hair.

“Oh, it’s real!”

“Yes. There’s no blond hair in Drath?”

“White hair. Magic hair. Floating red hair that blows in the wind behind female [Cultivators] like a sea of reeds and gets in your mouth when stray hairs float off. But no, not this.”

No blond people in Drath. Pekona ruffled Ylawes’ hair up, then stared into his eyes. She turned bright red and scooted back.

“I—um—you—I think you’re very kind, Captain. You never make fun of my accent or me not knowing things. Or anything. And you have lots of muscles.”

Muscles, now? Ylawes thought he was thin and said so, but Pekona’s lips had sealed up. The Drake [Server] came back with another round.

“More drinks, sir, ma’am?”

“Oh, we didn’t pay for—”

“On the house.”

He vanished, and Pekona sipped her drink and gulped. Then blurted out.

“Most [Cultivators]…don’t have big muscles. Or arms or legs. Because it’s all compressed. Galas-muscle.”

“They get that even at lower-levels?”

Ylawes was dismayed. Pekona nodded rapidly.

“You have very…flexible muscles. Like Sinew Magus Grimalkin. Or Dawil. Especially your legs.”

She stared down at his quads or whatever Grimalkin called them, and Ylawes flexed them. He did a few times as Pekona stared, and she put her hand on them and then…

“I, uh, I confess, your dancing is amazing. But I have trouble copying the forms, even if I was that flexible.”

“Really? Because…”

“Well, because it’s hard to take my eyes off of you. Which I haven’t been doing often! I just—did I mention your personality?”

At some point, he recalled being told that a [Lady]’s body was not the only virtue by which she desired being complimented, but Pekona didn’t seem to mind.

“Even with my…missing arm?”

He glanced at it, and she tried to turn away, but Ylawes reached out.

“May I?”

She let him touch the stump of her arm and flinched, but he just exhaled.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there at the Village of the Dead. I saw that duel…you lost it fighting a legend.”

“I was unworthy.”

“Zeladona didn’t think so. And she ignored me and so many others. When I saw that, I knew I had made the right call hiring you all. I knew it after Facestealer, but that just confirmed it. Even if Falene and Dawil don’t say so—you’re chosen. In a way, we’re all a bit intimidated by you.”

“Me? Chosen? Instead of the Silver Swords? You’re joking.”

“No. No, Pekona. We’ve been…heroic, I guess. We know we get attention, and we like being the good guys. We know our reputation, and it’s fine. Everyone thinks we’re oblivious, but we get it. Falene, Dawil, and I get selfish and arrogant. But we’ve never been…you.”

“Me?”

They were gazing into each other’s eyes, and her brown ones seemed to drink his in. She had a crumb on her cheek as he brushed it away.

“We’ve never been riding across the sky of Izril, like the Horns of Hammerad. Never stood as the [Blademistress of Ancients] pointed at us. Never stood in front of an army with a white flag. I think it’s a bit of intimidation, with the Horns. Even though we’re older and have been adventuring longer, they’re ahead and that scares us because we might be missing what they have. The thing that keeps us from being Named-ranks. A bit of—madness.”

“So I’m crazy and you like that?”

“No, I—”

He was fumbling it again! Ylawes closed his eyes and felt a brush of something on his cheeks. He recoiled.

“What was—”

“Oh, a fly.”

Pekona clapped her hand at something over his right shoulder, and he stared at her. Past her, at an open-mouthed Drake. Ylawes turned his head—an entire group of men and women turned with wine cups in hand. He glanced around.

“What fly? Was that—”

“It’s right there.”

He twisted his head and felt it again. Just a brief touch of lips on the back of his n—the [Server] was staring at Ylawes, and the [Knight] whirled.

Pekona sat there, innocently sipping at her cup. Bright red. Ylawes Byres paused, and he might have been a [Knight] and sometimes, as Dawil liked to point out, a fool.

But he was no Tyrion Veltras. Then again, Tyrion Veltras had been a married man. So Ylawes Byres thought and then spoke.

“Pekona, I’m going to make absolutely sure of something. If I’m wrong, stop me.”

“Okay, Ylawes…?”

He reached out and took her free hand. Turned it over as she and everyone waited. Then slowly, exaggeratedly slowly, raised it to his face, inspected her palm. Blew on her fingers as she twitched. Turned it over.

Kissed the back of her hand. His eyes were on her face the entire time.

Pekona didn’t stop him. But she did go silent, and when he kissed her hand, she jumped back and—

“Right, was that unw—”

“No!”

Silence, now. Was the inn supposed to be silent with it being full? The [Knight] didn’t know, but he was sitting next to her. And she was drinking water—

Then she began hiccuping.

Hic. Hic. Hic—

She couldn’t stop. The moment grew worse as Pekona tried, turned redder, and Ylawes handed her more water.

“Here, drink from it backwards.”

She spilled water on herself. Someone handed her some salt.

“Put it on your tongue.”

“Dead gods, no, you just hop up and down—”

“Hold your breath for a minute! That settles it down.”

Oh, Ylawes had heard that. Pekona took a deep breath, and everyone fell silent again. The [Knight] sat there, glancing at her as the seconds passed oh so slowly. Then he bent down.

“Pekona…”

They were sitting across from each other, far too close. Ylawes stared into her eyes, and then he gazed at her severed arm. He saw the clean, very clean scar running across the skin. Pekona was watching him, nervous, eyes flicking to her own arm.

“I know it makes me worse at…everything. But I have to keep trying—”

“It doesn’t make you worse. I admire your courage. I don’t know if I could be that brave in your place.”

“You have been, though?”

She wrinkled her face up, confused, and he blinked at her.

“Maybe—sometimes. But I see it easier in other people. Like you. I rather admire you, Pekona.”

He took her hand and drew closer. The hiccuping had stopped at some point, and she exhaled and spoke.

“I think we’re drunk. And maybe lonely from the road. It happens at sea.”

“Right. I’ve heard of that too. Adventurers on long quests.”

These were fine, salient observations. Ylawes could recite a list of reasons why this wasn’t a good idea, but he really wanted to…

Their lips met, and they kissed, and he forgot everything for a little bit. Aches, pains, doubts—he only remembered they were in a public inn when she sat back in her chair. He leaned forwards to try that again, and she put her hand on his chest. Her voice was a bit breathless, but she glanced around and whispered.

“If you kiss me one more time, it cannot be in public.”

He stared at her, and his mind analyzed that statement up, down, sideways, and backwards. And it was an attractive backwards. He licked his lips, took a deep drink of wine.

“Okay, I—hic.”

He started hiccuping. Ylawes tried to say something.

“Drat it—hic—just—hic—”

She started giggling at him as he had to hold his breath. And then…they were staring at each other as the Drake [Server] came over.

“Ah, sir, madam. I have a bill. Would that be separate or tog—thank you, sir. And for the tip! And I just would like to mention that you’ve been splendid guests. We do, in fact, have a room upstairs. If you’d like it, it’d be twelve g—”

The gold pieces appeared out of Ylawes’ belt pouch. Ten from him, two from Pekona, and he tried to shove hers back. She shoved one of his back and added another of hers.

He couldn’t talk as his chest convulsed in a silent hiccup—and the Drake coughed.

“This way, sir and madam—”

Then they were heading upstairs. Not as drunk on the well-watered wine as you might think. On other things? Ylawes was still holding his breath. Wait! He’d utterly forgotten the Adventurer’s Assistants!

Always have a damn piece of sheepskin and a bit of string, you fool! Sage Todi was roaring in Ylawes’ head, and he remembered Crossbow Stan. No good adventurer went into battle without a second quarrel—

He had to say something. But Pekona was inspecting the little washbasin and bed, and she turned to him and…

“Pekona, I—”

He let out his breath, then lost all of it. Mostly because she met him, and he was so breathless for lack of oxygen as they kissed in the center of the room he had to sit down on the bed. And then…

He didn’t manage to get up until the next day.

——

And then—

Well—

You heard stories, but dead gods. He’d thought that was just adventurer talk. Ylawes Byres was not so drunk as to not realize what was going on or the need for silence given the very, very busy inn around him. But nevertheless—

Dead gods.

He had one last thought after he was lying there, panting, and had a sudden panic attack.

He wasn’t even married. Ylawes sat bolt upright, wondered what his mother would say, then collapsed backwards. Too pleased to really, uh, quibble with that. Then they were giggling, and asking if it was good for the other, and—

They had that in common. The two began to kiss again when people began kicking the walls, door, and stomping on the ceiling telling them, ‘congrats on joining the adult population now shut up, it was 5 AM and it was getting old.’

Exactly what that meant they didn’t understand until later.

——

In the morning, Captain Ylawes Byres wondered what the hell he’d been doing all his adult life. For a moment.

Then the shame hit him, the thought that he’d spent himself before marriage, and he clutched at his hair.

You fool, Ylawes Byres! He groaned as he sat up in bed and coincidentally saw someone else doing the exact same thing.

Pekona. She jumped when he looked at her and grabbed the sheets.

“I—”

“I’m sorry, was I churlish or did you—”

She looked like she was regretting it, and his heart sank instantly. Pekona shook her head wildly.

“No it was—good! I just—I was supposed to wait until—”

“Marriage?”

They stared at each other and realized the instantaneous night-after guilt was written across both faces. Pekona blinked, then bit her lip. Ylawes’ smile was guilty, but it was joined by a moment of hilarity.

“You too?”

“I thought it was only home. Most adventurers—”

“Right. I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m your Captain and a higher-ranking adventurer and—we’ve both lost our chastity!”

He felt like it mattered for her more than him, but it was bad either way. Pekona shook her head a few times, gesturing at her arm.

“Who would want to marry…and it’s fine. I wanted to. You did too. Right?”

“Well, yes. After the New Lands, I thought to hell with…but I feel bad now. Even if it was—”

They stared at each other, then Pekona laughed. She lay back softly. He awkwardly stood, since suddenly he was self-conscious about being in bed with someone else, and after a moment, Pekona stared at the ceiling.

“We were out all night. Our teams.”

“Oh, Silver Dragon flying—our teams! If they don’t think we were mugged or stayed out with Rasktooth and Infinitypear, then—!”

Suddenly, the realization of what they’d done hit Ylawes in an even more personal way, and he was rushing around, grabbing his clothing. Pekona leapt out of bed too, and he turned to stare at—

“Don’t look!”

She threw a pillow in his face, and he was blushing crimson by the time they scrambled out of their room. She whispered as they walked downstairs, trying to be quiet.

“Just act normal. This is very normal in Izril, right?”

“Sure. Of course. Allegedly, or so I’ve heard.”

That’s right, they were two adults, and no one knew that had been an important night. Why, they could be any longstanding couple. He tried to casually walk out the inn as the breakfasters in the common room glanced up. Pekona adjusted her belt, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

They were almost out when someone in the common room that had gone quiet at their arrival breathed.

“Whew. Some night. That’s adventurers for you, eh?”

The two ran, too afraid to look back as the laughter and clapping began. The cheering followed them out of the inn, and only when they were a hundred paces away did Ylawes’ mind finally engage, and he thought—

Dead gods, I’m not even married. But neither was she!

And—

What will my team say?

They were in it now. When he turned to Pekona and saw her covering her face with one hand, they peeked at each other and—Ylawes slowed and almost regretted leaving that room. After all, they’d probably paid it out till eleven.

“I, um, if you want to pretend it never happened—I’m going to have a very difficult time. I’m rather besotted.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I like you. A lot. What do we do?”

She stopped, and they were so close in the street, side-by-side, that he could put an arm around her and kiss her, like he’d imagined doing so long, and then do that again and…

Someone whistled at them, and Pekona kicked off one of his legs into a flying backflip away. Ylawes spun, and an open-mouthed Drake [Sailor] stared at them. They backed up from him, wordlessly, and he saw the Seafarer’s Catch in the distance.

Our teams! He turned to Pekona.

“Er, play it cool.”

That’s how you did it, right? What was cool? He didn’t even have a ring. He had to tell his mother—no, no, it was just one night, you don’t have to do that. Even so, was she the one? It felt like she was the one—

…How was he going to face his team? They had to know what had happened last night.

——

Ylawes Byres was no stranger to team dynamics. He had committed…not the cardinal sin of adventuring. That was probably killing your team. The next-worst one was probably stealing loot. And the third-worst one was…probably sleeping with someone else’s lover.

And the fourth-worst one was switching out your healing potions for rat poison, but somewhere on that list of adventurer-sins was sleeping with another teammate.

It brought complexities into the adventure. One could survive it, and there were plenty of couples who arose in the course of adventuring, but, uh, they didn’t tend to last. Only famous duos like the Champions of the Coast endured.

Plus, Ylawes was Gold-rank and Pekona was Silver-rank. He was the Captain! For so many reasons, this had been a bad idea, and he was ready for this to become an issue when he pushed the door open to the Seafarer’s Catch and saw Falene and Dawil and all his teammates sitting there—

“Hoi, lad! Finally got some food in you, eh? You must have been out late finding grub. How was sleeping in a hole with Poke Duo?”

Dawil shouted, and Ylawes’ stiffening shoulders, his not-quite-fabricated lie, and Pekona’s tensing to run—turned into an almost-natural wave.

“Oh, right! We had some food, and it transpired Pekona had saved me some of dinner! I’m sorry, we couldn’t bring snacks.”

“Snacks? We slept like rocks after eating! You’re just in time for breakfast! Get over here.”

Dawil was so relaxed and good-natured that Ylawes realized the Dwarf didn’t suspect a thing. He sat down, and Pekona almost sat with him when Falene jerked her head.

“Pekona. Why don’t you have a seat with us? We have a busy day ahead of us, Ylawes.”

She was eating some porridge as Pekona wavered, then sat next to Ylawes. Dawil grunted.

“Falene’s right. I think we’re not going to stay another day here. Nailren’s probably heading back, but let’s link up with him, eh? Hit the Mage’s Guild, maybe, see if the inn’s got anything for us? And thank them. Then check a map and head east. Adventurer’s Guild for work, too.”

“That, uh, sounds like a plan.”

Ylawes relaxed as Falene pushed some scones onto the table. She was busy with her food, and the rest of Vuliel Drae were chattering noisily. Pekona and he locked gazes, then pretended all was well, and it was perfect.

Ylawes was so relieved he didn’t see Dawil chewing on his beard.

——

Since Falene would explode if she had to see the two flirting, Dawil suggested they take care of business that morning, and the lad, well, the lad did his best.

He was not subtle. Suddenly, he and Pekona were glued to the hip, and he was a lot more…looky than before. At her. At Pekona’s body and assets.

Not that he was a saint, actually. He was Human like anyone else, but he’d always been so politely refined that most gorgeous, incredible women had taken one look at his knightly resolve and chatted up Dawil or even Falene before thinking they had a chance with him.

Which, fair, the Dwarf wasn’t going to complain about that. Nor about this, even if it was a bad idea. However, if Falene didn’t throw a Tier 4 spell at the table—and there was still a chance of that—the Dwarf thought their teams might continue without the blowup.

He’d done his best the moment it was clear neither Ylawes nor Pekona were coming back and Insill hadn’t seen them at Poke Duo’s camp. Dawil had made it very clear to everyone that there were normal, nay, natural reasons for two adventurers not to return to the inn, and that like responsible, reasonable adults, they’d let it lie, eh?

Falene said not a word through breakfast, but when she saw Pekona eying Ylawes from the side—the [Sword Dancer] caught her eye, flinched, and went very still.

“Falene.”

“What, Dawil?”

They were walking into the Mage’s Guild as Dawil gnawed on his beard. Dead gods, he wished he’d apprenticed himself to Lord Pellmia. This might get—really bad. Falene had been holding a torch for Ylawes since practically the day they’d met. It hadn’t been a huge one that overshadowed everything but—

Stay the course. Dawil couldn’t even really blame Ylawes after all the stress they’d been under. If Anith had turned to Dawil after they’d come out of the New Lands and tried to kiss him, Dawil would have—

Hmm. The Dwarf considered that stray thought for a second, analyzed it…and decided he was going to do absolutely nothing with it.

They were on a tightrope. And the lad…

The lad did not make things better. He was honest, goodhearted, and when Dawil read over his shoulder as they sat, sending [Messages] in the Guild, he wondered if Falene was going to shoot a [Fireball] point-blank. Because if she did, none of them were so high-level they could take it for granted they’d survive it.

This is what Ylawes wrote, and Falene definitely saw it:

Ylawes: Father, I’m going to seek more work around Goisedall, and I cannot contribute to House Byres at this moment, as I need to rebuild my team’s finances. I hope you understand, and I would like to speak to you about this business with Delanay as soon as I have access to a secure scrying orb again.

I’d also like to inform you, and Mother, that I have found a significant other in the course of my adventuring. Pekona, the [Sword Dancer] from Drath in Vuliel Drae? You met her at House Byres. I believe our relationship if, somewhat unorthodox, is founded on mutual respect.

Dawil and Pekona eyed Falene as the rest of Vuliel Drae stopped writing messages back to their loved ones. The half-Elf had gone absolutely still. Pekona was flushing, but smiling. So that indicated the lad wasn’t seeing illusions when there was nothing there, but Falene…

Pointy. I am begging you. For the love of our friendship, don’t.

It wasn’t Ylawes’ fault. He was standing at the desk, and Falene was well back, but he’d just forgotten she loved little looking spells.

He was pleased as a puppy, that innocent dog of a man, as loyal and goodhearted as could be. But sometimes the innocent dog could hurt someone terribly.

Or—as the case might be—someone could kick a puppy into a wall. Because Dawil was about to say something when the little [Covert Angle] spell that Falene had cast to let her see the writing shifted.

And Lord Byres replied.

Lord Yitton: I understand your team’s position, Ylawes. Let me know the moment the situation changes there.

Ylawes: I shall. I spoke to Ysara, and she seemed well. Did Mother cease worrying?

Lord Yitton: She was very relieved, yes.

Ylawes: I imagine she’ll have thoughts on Pekona.

Lord Yitton: She’s here with me.

Ylawes: Oh.

Lord Yitton: I trust you will be discreet and not embarrass House Byres publicly.

Ylawes: I’d never act untoward!

Lord Yitton: Or that. Your mother would like to say that she found Pekona quite charming. The one-armed swordswoman? She’d like you to bring fit company back to the home, however. There are a number of young [Ladies], and Miss Skystrall is always welcome.

Lord Yitton: I am glad Ysara seemed to be profitable.

Lord Yitton: Shall we try to speak when you have managed your situation, Ylawes?

Ylawes: Mother said that?

Lord Yitton: Yes. Personally, Ylawes, I do understand one can be youthful, but you don’t need to inform us of such matters, but do bear it in mind. And remember scrying spells are everywhere. Until later.

Dawil Ironbreaker had watched Ylawes cease writing fluently as his parents carried the conversation to its inevitable conclusion. Then he stood there, and well…

Huh. I always thought they were stiff, but welcoming. Dawil hated finding out things about people he’d liked. He didn’t know what to say.

When he turned his head and Ylawes peeked over his shoulder, both men realized that Pekona had seen all of it. If she’d been perked up and unusually forwards, she was, at this moment, visibly shrinking inwards.

Dawil was at a loss for words. He almost asked Ylawes for the quill so he could write back to the lad’s parents, but he felt like that might be a mistake. Instead, someone put a hand out, and Falene Skystrall sniffed at her arm.

“Eugh. We’re filthy. Ylawes, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had a bath all day. Pekona, you’re a mess too.”

“I am.”

The [Sword Dancer] stared down at her feet, and Falene took her arm. The Drathian woman flinched—and peeked up into Falene’s smile.

“There is a bath house. Let’s clean ourselves—and our clothing. I saw a washer who has almost-acceptable rates, and if not, I can cast some cantrips. Ladies only. I’m using our group funds, Ylawes. You should clean yourself up as well.”

“I—but—Falene?”

Ylawes glanced at Pekona, and Falene beckoned.

“Ladies only. Pekona, I have some bottles of perfume I can lend you, and once we’re out of this city, we should all go shopping. Something durable that can pack thin, so we have some fancywear. I tossed all mine after the rains got to it. Do you have anything to wear?”

“I—no—”

“Then we’ll see if we can cobble something together. Come on!”

Falene was leading Pekona away, and someone stumped after them. The half-Elf glared over her shoulder.

“Ladies only I s—oh, Dasha. Er, wonderful!”

She had completely forgotten about the half-Dwarf woman, who took Pekona’s other side. Dawil eyed Falene, but the half-Elf gave him an arch look.

“We’ll be back in an hour. There is a bathing room in the Seafarer’s Catch, but I refused to use it, even with [Cleanse].”

Now, if Dawil were a suspicious sort…he turned to Ylawes, whose head had strayed back to the [Message] scroll. He was shaking his head like he’d taken a blow, and the Dwarf grabbed his arm.

“Lad, let’s get cleaned up.”

“Dawil, I, ah, my father just—”

“Yep. Saw it.”

“You did. Do you think he—”

“Every word. Let’s scrub up and get Poke Duo.”

——

Life was funny sometimes. One day, you were just walking along and nothing was happening, the next, everything was going on.

Two days ago, Dasha had had a stick in her boot, and she’d not been able to get it out. It had been stuck to the top of her foot, and she’d had to walk for like four hours because she didn’t want to lag behind or stop and take her boots off to get it out.

Today? They were in Goisedall, and everything was happening. But here was the thing: Dasha had no idea what was going on.

She never really did. She sometimes forgot to pay attention when Anith was briefing the team. That had been before the Silver Swords took them in. So she heard things and went, ‘huh’?

Like…someone said the Quarass had helped them get all the food they were paying for their inn with. And Dasha had asked who or what the ‘Quarass’ was, and Anith had given her one of his Looks™.

He was normally pretty nice, but sometimes she’d say something, or Insill would, and he’d puff out his cheeks exasperatedly. Larr often got things wrong, but he’d argue with Anith instead of getting the Look.

As for Pekona, well, everyone tried to help her out. With stuff like learning new words she didn’t know or her shyness—they were a team. They’d made mistakes, but now they were in the big leagues, it felt like. Working with Gold-rankers.

Dasha just wished she were more able to—

Oh hey, the bathhouses were packed. The half-Dwarf woman instantly got distracted. She didn’t know why, she just couldn’t focus on things. She’d be sharpening her axe one moment, then thinking about getting a drink of water. Two hours later, she’d wonder where her axe was, and Anith would show up and ask if she’d finished her share of shopping.

It was why she and Pekona were best friends. Pekona was shy, Dasha was loud, but Pekona focused on things obsessively. So things Dasha forgot Pekona would remind her friend to do, and Dasha would go out to ask [Merchants] about quality whetstones or to find ‘rice’, even if she had no idea what it was. Sometimes, they fought. Dasha had used to think rice was like little white maggots all piled up, and Pekona would say hurtful things about her beard.

Friends, though. The one thing Dasha wouldn’t forget was that Pekona was hurting. She’d read what Ylawes’ dad had said. She just didn’t know what to say, but Dasha tromped after Falene as the half-Elf got the [Bath Attendant]’s attention with a bright blue [Light] spell.

She was so cool. All the Silver Swords were. They were real Gold-rankers. Dasha watched as Falene got them a private bathroom. How? She drew the attendant aside as they protested.

“Mage, we really are too full even if you offer to pay—”

“I would like to pay the same rates as anyone else. But I will cast [Cleanse] ten times. A wide dispersal. It should easily cover the trouble, and any stains or particular areas of problem should vanish.”

That was so clever. Within moments, they were being led to a private bathing area that Falene hit with [Cleanse]. And then they were sitting, and all of them knew bathing house etiquette. You soaped and washed off before getting in the baths, which were hot, and steamy, and filled with fragrant oils and nice alchemical stuff if you were lucky.

These were just hot water, which made Falene sniff.

“We should have inquired if they had any bath balms. Ah, well, this will do. Pekona, do you need extra towels? Anything else?”

“No, Miss Falene. Thank you.”

Falene was being…nice. Oddly nice. Dasha didn’t know what to say, because, well…Ylawes and Pekona. Crazy, huh? Who’d have seen that coming?

Dasha had a bit, maybe. She’d noticed Pekona talked to Ylawes when she was shy even with her own team sometimes. But this? She felt like a bad friend and—oh, wow, the attendant had come back with a bucket of soaps just for Falene! And there were beard oils! She happily applied them to her beard, and they were all sitting in the baths before Dasha remembered Pekona and stared at Falene.

The half-Elf was chatting, remarking on the bath house, talking about the northern ones she knew, and trying to engage Pekona in conversation. Nice, right. Here was the thing…

Dasha and Vuliel Drae knew Captain Ylawes. They knew Dawil, who was friendly and gave tons of advice. Everyone knew Poke Duo, those scamps. But of all the Silver Swords…

What was Falene like? Sort of hard to say, right? She was a bit aloof and super smart. She was always talking about magic or analyzing things, like Anith, but he was more down-to-earth. Dasha couldn’t remember having a full conversation with Falene when it wasn’t with someone else. She was, like, the ultimate Gold-ranker. Hard to talk to, unreadable. Dasha hoped Falene liked them.

But the thing with Pekona and Ylawes…even Dasha had known Falene fancied Ylawes. She wasn’t showing any anger right now, but that was probably because of what they’d read. But Dasha sank up to her chin in the water filled with lovely blue bubbles and then…

“Hey, that was crazy with what Lord Yitton said, right? I thought he was nice, but that was pretty rude. Right?”

Pekona and Falene jumped and stared at Dasha. The Dwarf woman gave them a blank look.

“…Or was it not that rude?”

The Wistram [Mage] and Drathian [Sword Dancer] had been trained to subtlety. Pekona sighed, and Falene cleared her throat. She splashed some water over herself, then spoke.

“It was…unpleasant. I hope you do not hold it against Ylawes, Pekona.”

“Me? No. It was his message to his family. Private.”

Pekona sank up to her ears in the water, clearly uncomfortable. She wasn’t looking at Falene, but the [Battlemage] swirled the water around with one hand. She made an orb out of the water, juggling it from hand to hand. It was so amazing. Dasha wished she could do that. Falene cleared her throat again.

“I…believe he and Dawil will talk it out. Ylawes needs time to think. He admires his father. He has followed House Byres’ customs and traditions steadfastly as long as I’ve known him. He gives back to his family; a fifth of all he earns. I think he truly admires his parents and holds them as the standard to follow as nobles and just…people.”

Pekona nodded, sitting in the water, her hair spreading out around her like black seaweed. Dasha sank lower into the bath. She wanted to say something rude, but she wasn’t sure if Falene would yell at her. Then, the half-Elf took her spectacles off and brushed the condensation away.

“Give him time. I think the first thing he will do is apologize to you. He’s just never had to go against his parents, but you saw his face. He recognizes how wrong that was. I’m sorry; they are Humans, in the end, and not as worldly or wise as he imagines them to be.”

Pekona’s and Dasha’s heads rose, and Falene glanced at Pekona.

“Just so it is abundantly clear, I am not…upset at you, either. I was irked, but mostly that Ylawes thought he could trick us at all. I want you to feel comfortable, not worried.”

“I…thank you, Miss Falene. I’m sorry.”

The half-Elf was sitting deeper in the water, and she shot out of it as it was clearly too hot for her; Dasha had gone up to her forehead for a dunk. She loved hot water.

“Sorry? For what? Falene will do. Let us not prevaricate, Pekona. Yes, I had some sentimental feelings towards Ylawes, but if I wanted to act on them hither to, I would have. I am an adult woman and far older than you two. It would be petty of me to be anything other than supportive. And if you do have concerns, if he presses you—he’d never do it consciously, I trust—you shall come to me.”

Oh. Dasha was blinking at Falene, and the half-Elf tried to sit deeper in the water and copy the other two but retreated higher. She was a nice person after all. Just a bit snooty.

Pekona was bowing slightly to Falene, repeatedly, which she did when she was embarrassed or trying to say thank you. She took a huge breath in.

“I know I am not…it was because we were drunk and we survived. So I thought, after all that…”

“I’m sure Ylawes felt the same. He will apologize. And…and these things happen. Adventurers are famous for connecting after dangerous or long missions. Do you have a taste in clothing, Pekona? We’ll all go shopping after this. Everything I have is mildewed from the rain.”

Falene clearly thought that was that. Pekona smiled tremulously at her, and the [Battlemage] gave Pekona a slightly arch smile, and that would have been it. Job done—aside for, once again, Dasha.

The [Warrior] blurted out a thought she’d had, now it seemed like things were good.

“I never get things. I didn’t know you and Ylawes liked each other, Pekona. I sort of got you liking Ylawes, Falene. I mean, I like Dawil, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.”

Pekona’s eyes slid to Falene as the half-Elf blinked. Falene mouthed.

‘Is she like this all the time?’

Pekona nodded.

‘Yes.’

They turned to Dasha. How were you supposed to engage with…Falene coughed.

“I, well, don’t take it personally, Dasha. You are very enthusiastic about your heritage, and I suspect it’s a bit…wearing for Dawil.”

“Because of the beard.”

“Um, quite.”

Dasha felt at her beard. She nodded.

“I tried to grow it because I heard some Dwarf women wear it and, y’know, it makes me feel like I was somebody. Not just a short Human. But I’ve met a few, and some are nice, some don’t care, but all of them…they’re different. It’s like there’s a ‘real’ Dwarf that only they know. I’ve even met Dwarves who didn’t grow up in Dwarfhome, and they said they notice it too. What’s the difference? What are real Dwarves like?”

She turned to Falene, and this sidewinder out of the main conversation had the [Battlemage] opening her mouth, but replying, almost relieved to be lecturing.

“Real Dwarves? Well…I suppose I am not the greatest expert. I visited Dwarfhome once, as a girl, but only once. There is something about Dwarves that my people have remarked upon. They’re rather grounded.”

“Grounded? As in they live in the ground? No?”

Pekona asked, and Dasha was working out how to figure out that one when Falene smiled.

“No, grounded. Down-to-earth, pragmatic. Steady, reliable, not prone to arrogance. Whereas half-Elves are known to be snooty. I, of course, am aware of this stereotype and try not to play into it.”

Dasha and Pekona were suddenly interested in the hot baths, and Falene sighed.

“Well, I suppose being a Wistram [Mage] does not help. But I do know the stereotype, and believe me, there are far worse! You just don’t know them. Because we live so long, many of us consider ourselves above other species. And that’s also a Terandrian prejudice. Yet Dwarves? Truly, Dawil is a bit of a character even among them, having won his axe, but so many are normal, despite having lifespans centuries long!”

“Weird. Do you know why?”

Falene glanced around and flicked her fingers, casting some kind of spell.

“Privacy. I don’t know much, but I think it all revolves around Dwarfhome. There is something there. Dawil refuses to tell me all his people’s secrets, but some…factor or variable in his people’s kingdom gives them a perspective on power and life that makes them veer far more towards humanity than immortality. As if they see something that gives them less of an ego about their nature. Perhaps it’s the dilution of their blood unlike half-Elves. Who can say? But they are not infallible or that different from you, Dasha.”

“That’s good. I just—want to be part of something, you know? I thought you were a bit snooty, Falene, but I didn’t realize half-Elves got worse. So why’d you never make a move on Ylawes?”

—And there came Dasha’s axe, returning like a [Boomerang] throw with her short attention span to hit Falene in the back of the head. The half-Elf stuttered.

“M-me? Well, it would be improper! Ylawes and I both know how adventuring teams fall apart due to relationships! And there was never the right moment, Dawil is a stubborn, treacherous [Saboteur] sometimes, and…”

She trailed off. Gazing at Pekona, who bowed her head, but Falene whispered.

“It’s not just me being too slow, Pekona. Truly. I also held back unless I was drunk or desperate and willing to take a risk because…how would I have explained it when I went back home? It was a lovely dream I clung to, but a daydream. A fantasy.”

When she went back home? Dasha’s face screwed up.

“But you’re a Gold-ranker, Falene. The odds of any of us living to retire are low, right?”

She knew that. Falene Skystrall shrugged.

“It is true. I’ve had so many close calls. I know this could be my end. But even so, there is that nagging feeling…nevermind. It’s hard to explain.”

She sank down into the water, but now it was Pekona’s turn to speak softly.

“Is it because of what they expect? I know that. That’s why I like Ylawes. He also knows about having to do things the right way or being judged.”

The [Battlemage] stopped splashing water over her arms and hesitated. She let her head rest back in the waters and spoke to the ceiling.

“Argh, fine. If we are being honest, truly? Yes, I know it’s unlikely I’ll retire. The Silver Swords aren’t exactly looking to cash out, and we love adventure. We love to help people, and I imagine Ylawes will be as old as his father before he gives up, if an injury doesn’t take him away, or his family’s duties. I might well regret not pursuing him. But I thought…if he and I entered a relationship, however briefly, we would be serious about it. If I went back home, how would I explain it to my people? My friends, family, my community?”

“What, having a relationship with Ylawes?”

Dasha blinked, and Falene nodded.

“Having a fling with a Human. Especially if it resulted in…a child. Even without, it would be remarked upon! I would always be that Falene, the one who had been a Gold-rank adventurer that had, well, a licentious time before coming back to be respectable.”

Her lip curled, and she sighed.

“Having met other half-Elves who had that reputation applied, I was not keen to embrace that. Even though…I should have been kinder to them. But I had not travelled until then.”

Dasha didn’t get it.

“I don’t get it. It’s just having sex, and if you don’t have kids, what’s the big deal?”

“Dasha, it’s about how they think of you. That’s what matters.”

Pekona explained to the confused [Warrior], and Falene nodded.

“The perception of our peoples is a dire force at times, Pekona. Wistram is easier by comparison. There it is purely power. Reputation is part of it, but we do not have to play into what we should be.”

They gave each other nods, and Dasha felt like they had a connection. But she still didn’t understand.

“But you’re with Ylawes and Dawil now, and they don’t care. We don’t care, Falene! You’d be happy—I mean, not that you should fight over Ylawes. Your people won’t know until you retire!”

“Yes, Dasha. And I’ll have to live with my people for centuries.”

The half-Elf’s reply was calm, quiet, and a bit sad. Dasha blinked, and in Falene’s gaze, she saw something on the other side of the half-Elf’s heritage. A touching of immortality. Falene averted her gaze.

“Is it embarrassing that I fear the judgement of the peers I do not know over the people I am adventuring with? It is, and I am ashamed, but…if I live, Dasha, I will be with my people for hundreds of years. Two hundred? Four hundred? There are great and glorious half-Elves who pass a thousand years.”

“But…you could move away. If they’re jerks. There are other half-Elven communities.”

Falene shook her head, again, and touched her chest.

“I love my home and forest, Dasha. I have spent forty years there, which is no small amount of time, even for a half-Elf. I could not live among mortals forever. We try, but our hearts break with each generation we say goodbye to. No. If I were to bury Ylawes, or Dawil, of old age, I think…I think I’d go and live among my people. I don’t think I’d have the courage to find another team, to pretend to be young, that I had not done this before. Now I understand how older half-Elves talk. When I left, one of the ex-adventurers, that I had once called a slattern behind her back for having a child on another continent, she told me to go and not come back until I was done for good. She was right.”

A great silence fell as Falene spoke, a woman considering centuries. Dasha knew she’d not live that long, even if she didn’t die as an adventurer. Her blood was too thin. And Pekona?

“I am sorry, Miss Falene. I didn’t think of your feelings. Or I’d have talked with you.”

“Please, Pekona. It is Falene. And as I said…it was just a dream. I shall mourn, hurt, and search for love again. Perhaps that is the best lesson to take.”

The [Battlemage] lay back, and her voice lowered as she sank into the waters.

“It hurt. It did hurt, and I was jealous and wrathful, and it told me I had lost something I valued more than I wished to admit. I should not be so afraid to love. I fear what my people will say, but a hundred years from now is a very long time. Do you think you’ll continue with Ylawes?”

It was Pekona’s turn, and she hesitated.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a short thing. A—a—”

“Fling?”

“One-night stand?”

“Spring’s romance?”

“Tumble in the sack?”

Falene and Dasha grew amused as they tossed out expressions, and Pekona splashed them with water. They all laughed, and then Dasha thought they felt more like a team. Pekona stared at her arm.

“I’m not very important in Drath. The [Emperor] himself asked for my katana, and it’s important…because Zeladona touched it. But I told Ylawes the truth: I don’t matter. Here? In Izril? I’m a Silver-rank adventurer, and it’s more than what I could be back home. He’s a Gold-rank adventurer, a [Lord]. I don’t want to ruin his chances. I like him.”

Falene cleared her throat.

“Pekona. Ylawes Byres is a hard man to love. He is an idiot, naïve at times, stubborn, but most of all, an adventurer. He courts death, and I think there are plenty of women who find him attractive, who see his honor and integrity, and when they realize who he is, see a dead man, not a future. He seems to be growing and trying to change, and speaking with you helps that process. It is your decision, but I think it is not a poor thing, you two meeting.”

After a second, she looked around, then sank up to her chin in the waters.

“Now, with that said, may we soak and speak of more pleasant things? This is dreadfully intimate, and I would like to just rest!”

Pekona nodded, smiling, and they all sat back. Dasha floated in the waters, giggling as Falene made the bubbles froth up until they nearly touched the ceiling, and after three minutes of blissful silence, she spoke.

“Hey, did you hear about some kind of Draconic Titan that’s up in the High Passes? Everyone was whispering about it. Did I miss something? What’s a Mortemdefieir Titan?”

Falene and Pekona opened their eyes, and the half-Elf sat up.

“A what?”

——

The Dwarf took a gamble. Mostly because he ended up sitting in the bathing room, scrubbing at his beard, chest hair, and armpits with some soap as Ylawes talked. The Dwarf listened, mostly. Let the lad talk out—well, that.

When they traded places with Anith, Insill, and Larr, and after an hour had passed, Falene returned, swanning in considerably more pampered-looking and with her robes freshly-laundered. Plus, she’d given Pekona a spare dress, and the younger [Bladedancer] appeared…happier.

It was probably because Dasha and Falene practically stuck to her, and all three marched into place as the adventurers gathered, defying anyone to get in their way. Insill went over to hug Pekona and got kicked by Dasha.

Falene stood there, quite proudly, which was always how Dawil had known her. But he did sidle over anyways and mutter to her as she let go of Pekona long enough to cast [Cleanse] again—Vuliel Drae had destroyed the bathroom between two hairy and one scaly person, and the others wanted a turn.

“Good job, Falene. Proud of you.”

She stared ahead, then seemed to bite back a retort. Instead, her shoulders slumped for a moment, and she nodded.

“Dawil, let’s get a drink after this.”

“Let’s not.”

His patience with internal drama only went so far. She glowered at him. And he mock threw up his hands.

“Oh, fine. But only if you’re buying.”

Her lips quirked, and they stood together. And that—well, if Dawil had to ever explain why this snooty half-Elf was a teammate he trusted with his life, this was a good example of it.

So they were a team again. Everyone but Poke Duo gathered around. Ylawes seemed shocked, downcast, and at the same time, when he glanced at Pekona, like a new man. Thinner, more worn, different from the New Lands, and it had only been one foray—not even that deep.

But they were a team. The Silver Swords stood together facing a new day, their first day proper of escaping the New Lands, when Larr sniffed the air. Then he recoiled.

“Pekona, did you and Captain Ylawes sleep together?”

Every head turned to him as Insill’s jaw dropped. Anith covered his face, and Pekona and Ylawes turned bright red. Dawil sighed, and he didn’t stop Falene as she pointed a finger and a [Wind Orb] sent Larr flying across the floor of the inn.

Then he just laughed.

——

Nailren actually heard about Ylawes and Pekona before he even ran into the Silver Swords again. Which was mildly hilarious, but in truth, he felt like his role with them was over.

Easy escort duty, fat paycheck from The Wandering Inn? Check and check. He was more in the city to gather intelligence.

The first of which was that if they wanted supplies, he’d better have gold on hand or send someone a lot further away to get it than he wanted. The prices, the city…

He blended in decently well with a Pallassian accent. A bit more ze and ‘esses’ and Drakes treated you different. He wanted gossip, and getting that was easy.

“Any big names coming into the New Lands yet?”

He was hauling up buckets of water for people at the well, and you made a lot of friends if you did that. Goisedall had sewers, but they’d drained into the sea, and he just bet they were clogged anyways. The people waiting for him to fill cauldrons or bags of holding shrugged.

“Oh, you hear rumors. Champions of the Coast passed this way? Tons of landings across the west, north, and south.”

“Even the north of the New Lands?”

“Oh, definitely. No word on that Terandrian fleet that the [Pirates] got, but I heard someone ran into some hoity-toity [Knights]. Riding around with gleaming armor, all ‘thees’ and ‘thous’. Like out of a storybook.”

So some [Knight] order had arrived. Nailren grunted as the woman helping him spoke.

“Let me lower the next bucket, fellow. [Deep Bucket]—and pull, and pull—thank you for the hand!”

“Nothing to it, ma’am. Anyone know what these [Knights]…look like?”

Dead gods, she was strong as an ox! It came from being a [Washer Woman], he supposed. You had to haul water, and she had dedicated Skills. She was filling buckets for silvers. And so many people had bags of holding—

People probably selling them cheap when they realize they can’t take ‘em into the New Lands. Someone else called out.

“Not all of ‘em look the same. One group were all red, apparently. Another were, uh, those weather-knights? And the last group supposedly slew a Wyvern. Just rode down, lanced it through the heart, one strike, rode off. Wouldn’t even accept thanks. Said it was their knightly duty. A thousand of ‘em were coming or something.”

Nailren grunted.

All red knights. I don’t know them, but I can look that up. Order of Seasons and…the Thousand Lances?

Big, big names. Especially the finest [Knights] in the world from Kaaz. He’d always wanted to see one.

“If you saw them, they must have been close by?”

“Oh, sure. Everyone has to run from the anti-magic thing. North and south, they pop out. Well, those that don’t go too deep in the New Lands. It’s a business right now. You can even run in some magic a short ways. Load up a cart with food and they’ll pay for it.”

“If they don’t kill you for it. I heard there were bandits taking shots at anyone in the open. Be careful. We could use more [Knights] and fewer dodgy sorts.”

“Listen to yourself. You sound like a northerner!”

The crowd of Goisedall natives were arguing amongst each other until someone laughed.

“Hah! Not all [Knights] are bad! There was one at the Peeled Prawn. He was flirting with this one-armed Human from Drath? Dead. Gods. Sold out common room. Everyone was watching the two flirt. Egging them on and taking bets if it went the distance. I nearly cringed my tail off.”

“What?”

Nailren almost dropped the bucket as the story of Ylawes and Pekona actually became city gossip. Especially because—the Drake tapped the side of his snout.

“Then they went upstairs and dead gods. Adventurers are something else.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be disgusting. And the entire inn heard?”

“Heard? They were shaking the rafters!”

“Don’t be crass. Why didn’t the inn kick them out?”

“Well…are you going to pick a fight with two adventurers in the middle of the night? Plus, they were pretty funny flirting.”

Nailren sighed.

Well, there’s another reason to avoid the Silver Swords. Drama. He wondered if Nanette would pay him a bounty for this particular piece of gossip.

Some things he didn’t want to tell a kid, even if she was a witch. Nailren stopped hauling water and stepped back.

Okay. Say goodbye to the Swords. Swing around for any more leads or gossip—maybe anything going on in the New Lands to check out, interesting areas—and head back in.

Time to go exploring again! Properly! Then he felt a tug at his right arm and froze.

Ah, and one more thing.

The ghosts.

He didn’t have any huge findings on the nature of his dead friend so far, but she was reasonably easy to deal with. Sometimes, she poked or prodded him, and he couldn’t tell if it was just her trying to tell him something or…being bored.

Certainly, the malice was gone. But Nailren was curious.

Was this just him and a rare occurrence or…? He asked, a bit covertly, in the Adventurer’s Guild, but most people here were entering the New Lands or hadn’t gone in far.

And who would admit to killing or being near a corpse? Nailren was going to leave and find the Swords when he felt a tug again.

Right shoulder, fur pulling a bit back. Again. He turned, glanced that way, and saw nothing, but there it was again.

Tug, tug.

“Okay, I’m listening. I hope you have something to show me, because I can’t keep doing this forever without reason.”

He put a paw on the little spoon tied around his neck and spoke. He wished he could talk to Pekona more. Her charms…another way to deal with this thing?

At any rate, what he found when the tugging continued was that the spirit was guiding him. Just out of the Adventurer’s Guild, into a bar nearby, and towards…

…Hmm.

When Nailren saw the pair of silent, drinking Drakes, he stepped back and got a table, ignoring the drinking. He surveyed them as they stared at their plates. Quiet. Despite having escaped the New Lands, they were dead quiet.

He could tell they were back because they had the same travel worn attire he did. Mud on their boots that was pinkish from the coral lands. Adventurers?

No…[Sellswords]. He recognized the Mercenary Guild’s badge on their belts. And they had similar-looking armor. The Guild would issue you standard gear if you paid for it. Sellwords, and from the looks of it—

Grumpy.

“We’re not paying for all that!”

The moment one of them got a tab higher than he wanted, he snarled at the [Waitress], then went almost snout-to-snout with one of the guards and the [Pub Owner] who strode over. They argued, and Nailren saw the other [Sellsword] touch the sword at his waist. Then hesitate.

They went back to eating after some money was thrown in a platter and glared. Then, as Nailren was wondering if it was all in his mind, he distinctly, visibly saw one of the Drakes—

Twitch. As if something had poked him. The other glanced up.

“Let’s get out of here. Find a damn [Mage].”

“It’s not stopping. Do you think…?”

“Shut up. Let’s go. One more round! Hurry up!”

More gold coins clattered onto the table. Nailren eyed the coins and wondered—

Did [Sellswords] earn that much? Prices or not, where did the gold come from? The tugging on his shoulder had stopped, but on a hunch, now, he touched the spoon.

“Listen. If you can hear me and get this, I have a question. How many on the left Drake, the one with the fresh scar?”

Silence. He felt like it was too complex and began to word another question when he felt six tugs on his arm, all up his fur.

Nailren’s fur rose completely separate from the tugging.

“Okay. The right?”

Eight.

Eight? Nailren eyed the two. They couldn’t be over Level 20. So either it was done in the night or maybe they lived and the rest just…grabbed them? Like had happened to Nailren.

They might be honest men.

Might. This time, Nailren used a Skill.

[Clear Statement (Spirits)]. He tried to activate it.

“And how hostile are they? Um…pull a hair out if hostile, gentle tug if not.”

Now he was eying them more closely, Nailren realized his hair was rising every time he gazed at the two Drakes.

Ah, my [Supernatural Sense]. As for [See Ectoplasm]…none of that yet. I wonder what it is. He braced himself for some pain, and the hair came out of his arm with only a sting—rather gently, really.

—The empty mug that rose off a table and smashed itself across the back of one of the Drakes’ heads was far, far less gentle. There was a cry and scream as the other Drake leapt to his feet and a fork from his table drove itself into his arm—Nailren saw the shards of the mug digging themselves into the Drake’s scalp, against the laws of gravity.

As if someone was trying to push the shards into his—

The shards of the mug dropped, and the second [Sellsword] ripped the fork out of his arm. The [Pub Owner] whirled around.

“Who did—what was—sirs, are you alright?”

Neither Drake responded. The one who’d hit the table pushed himself up and met the other’s eyes wordlessly. They ran.

No words, nothing. Just terrified motion. Nailren froze with everyone else, then began to mutter to himself, pretending to be in shock. When, really, what he thought was—

That was some [Clear Statement], alright. I didn’t realize I could do it to someone else! He had to be careful, but this was far, far more powerful than…

But what had gone on? The Gnoll was about to put his mug down when he stared at the table and jerked.

Drawn in some of the mug’s leavings on the table was a little image made out of small, crude stick figures. The Drakes had spiky ‘heads’, which was the best the artist could come up with, and there were two holding little stick-swords.

Little heads, fourteen of them, with Xs for eyes on the ground at their feet. Below all of it, a huge, unhappy smiley face.

“…Right. Well. Understood. Thank you for the clarity. I think there’s little more I can do to them that isn’t happening. Nor can I explain this to the Watch, yet. But it’s out there.”

Nailren murmured as he left some coins on the table and walked out of the pub.

Strange happenings in the New Lands, indeed. He was still going back, but he realized, now…

“I need more preparation. Damn. I need more higher-level teammates, not just my squad.”

They were good archers, hunters, trackers, but they weren’t magic-users. He needed specialists. Because Nailren hated to admit it, but this was more than just unexplored terrain to be colonized. He bared his teeth.

“Tribes take it. This is potentially big.”

He hated being part of big things. It always meant work for him, but then there was a breath of air on his shoulder, like a feather resting there, waiting to see what he did next. Nailren exhaled.

“Am I that amusing?”

He thought he heard a child’s laugh in his ear and shook his head. Then he set off. All things considered, he really wished he could have joined the Horns. They could find adventure here, he was certain. The Crossroads sounded deadly, but—Nailren grinned.

Argh! Dead gods, he’d liked being an adventurer sometimes! A shame his job had meant never actually being too good at it.

——

Nailren seemed ready to ride straight back into the New Lands when he found the Silver Swords. Ylawes was still embarrassed, but he stood next to Pekona, arm in arm with her. Defying not so much his teammates to say anything, but his—his—

Parents.

Why’d Father say that? Why did Mother say that? Falene? Pekona—what was wrong with her? He’d always thought that if he found someone, they’d bless the—

“Captain Ylawes. Do you need more help or is this where we part? Poke Duo’s ready to move…how are the Terlands doing?”

“Well, Nailren. They’re, ah—they’re going to set up base in a city where they can actually draw gold, but they’ve said goodbyes. As for Homle and Petia’s group, we’ll go with them as well. Those that don’t want to work here.”

They were sort of a team, and Ylawes felt a pang when he realized Petia and Homle were seeking work already. But he’d see them off and maybe give them some gold…they weren’t getting any from the Merchant’s Guild anytime soon.

Nailren smiled and touched the weird spoon on his chest for some reason.

“So you’ll be back to the New Lands? Good, you seem like you could survive. If you run into me out there, I’ll be glad to share info.”

“We’ll pay you back, Nailren. But for the moment, we’re regrouping.”

Ylawes sighed as he rubbed at his neck, and Nailren nodded. He stuck out a paw.

“Then, Ylawes, Dawil, Falene, Anith—I wish I’d partied with you all more in Liscor. But this is somehow more exciting than even the dungeon!”

“Hopefully with fewer Facestealers.”

Insill joked, and Nailren bared his teeth.

“Beware people. They’ll be worse, but I’m sure you know that.”

Then he was striding off, and Dawil muttered.

“I wish we could hire him to escort us or come with when we do an expedition, eh, lad? If we see him around, it’d be worth the gold.”

“I agree. But Nailren seems like he’s going straight back at it. And he has a team? Though he didn’t mention them.”

If they had been going back into the New Lands, Ylawes would have marched over and asked Nailren to consider a contract. But as he’d said, they needed to reassess, eat, rest—make plans. Plus, a week would give him and Pekona a chance to figure out…

They were glancing at each other when Falene grumpily pushed them aside.

“I think we’re burning daylight. Personal affairs later. Onwards, Ylawes?”

A new normal, but a working one. Everyone smiled except for Larr, whose chest was bruised, and Ylawes nodded.

“One last check that we’re not leaving anyone. Is Farmer Petia really going to stay?”

He turned to Homle, and the [Head Miner] shrugged.

“She said she had a recruiter. Let’s go and see, and if she doesn’t like it here, there’ll be work all around. I think, eh, I think it was this way.”

He pointed somewhat uncertainly and led them towards the square where the recruiter had been. Ylawes walked along, grateful to take his time, and when Homle didn’t find Petia at once, or the other [Farmers] who’d been with her, they spread out. He stood there as Homle walked up to a member of the Watch, who called over a squad that was peacekeeping, and turned to the others.

“We have the you-know-whats as well. I think we’ll have them checked for quality…can we do that, Dawil?”

“Any [Smith] can probably do it. Not sure what else is to be found aside from whether or not there’s damage, and they looked good, lad. Divide them up?”

“I think so. It’s all we’ve got, then we can see if any teams want to keep going, discuss what we did wrong—”

“No more self-recriminations, Captain Ylawes! We’re in it, and if Poke Duo isn’t, I’ll eat my fur.”

Anith spoke up, and Ylawes smiled. Darn it. He wished they would let him be down on himself! He turned.

“I’m going to give Petia a bit of gold, unless anyone objects?”

Falene rolled her eyes.

“Just a bit, Ylawes. I do agree, after all that’s been going on…hm? What’s going on with Master Homle?”

She pointed, and Ylawes turned just in time to see the [Miner] and some of his friends step back. And for the Watch officer to draw a baton, point, and the man’s voice to rise.

“Wait! We didn’t do anything wrong! We—”

A whistle blew, and Ylawes saw the rest of the squad lower its weapons. Homle threw his hands up, and the officer called out.

“Criminals arrested! Go about your business, citizens!”

The people who’d turned in alarm relaxed, and Ylawes started as a sudden crawl ran down his back. Homle was gazing at him, but then turning his head.

“Master Homle, what’s going on?”

“Is this a friend of yours? Stay back, er, adventurers!”

The Watch officer was glancing at something he was carrying. Anith frowned.

“Yes, we were with them in the New Lands. Why is he arrested?”

“We have a warrant for his arrest. As well as…”

The Drake peeked up, stared at Anith, then casually unhooked a speaking stone from his belt.

“Officer Kiest. Watch Captain, could you get a squad to replace us in the square? The net’s all tangled up with us taking the criminals to the Watch House. Thanks.”

Anith tilted his head and glanced at Ylawes as the [Knight] strode over. The squad pivoted to face them, and he saw Guardsman Kiest lower the baton and stow it. Then put a hand on his sword hilt.

“What can I do for you, adventurers?”

“We don’t believe Master Homle’s committed any crimes, guardsman. We were with him the entire time. What could he have done?”

Ylawes asked, dumbfounded. This was surely a mistake. One of those ‘all Humans look alike’ things. He was positive they could work it out. The Drake read a little sheaf of papers he was carrying.

“Oh, er, well, we have a man by the name of ‘Homle’ wanted. It never says why, Captain. We’ll go down to the Watch House, get him booked in, and, uh, if you want to find out, why don’t you come with us?”

“We will, of course. Homle?”

“They just grabbed us when we asked about Petia! Said we were on a list, Ylawes! Hey, is Petia arrested too?”

Officer Kiest scratched at his head.

“Petia. Petia…I don’t know who’s in our jails, master [Miner]. Goisedall is packed. I tell you what, this could be a big mistake. Let’s all head that way, eh? I’ll ask the Watch Captain himself what’s going on.”

He pointed, and the adventurers were walking after the squad when a few details connected in Ylawes’ head. Details that had already had Dawil slowing and Anith glancing at Larr and Pekona.

Officer Kiest had known Ylawes was the captain without identifying himself. And that Homle was a [Miner]. Had the man said that? There was that odd way he’d asked for a squad, and he wasn’t acting like Relc or Klbkch did at all, in Ylawes’ limited experience.

Ylawes was glancing to Dawil, catching the Dwarf’s eye, when someone whispered.

“Captain!”

Insill. Ylawes slowed, and the Drake [Rogue] appeared next to him. With…a sheaf of papers. Ylawes eyed Kiest’s empty belt.

“Insill?”

“They have an arrest warrant for Homle, Petia, and all of the colonists! And us, Captain! By order of Goisedall’s Merchant Guild for questioning and assault on [Merchants] of good standing—”

Insill was reading out the arrest warrant with clear practice and alarm, and Ylawes’ head snapped up. Just in time for him to see Kiest giving them the side-eye.

“There’s our backup. Let’s all just walk back to the Watch House, nice and easy—”

He saw the papers in Insill’s claw and went still. And then, Ylawes’ mind snapped the pieces into place.

“Merchant Anlam. Whatever he claims, we have our testimony on truth stone that we acted in good faith! You cannot arrest Petia and Homle without a trial!”

He strode forwards, and the patrol whirled.

“Backup, backup on me! Drop your weapons!”

Kiest shouted, and Ylawes saw blades clear their sheaths. He paused, almost reaching for his sword, but it was ridiculous.

“Listen to me, I’m a Gold-rank captain, and we just got out of the New Lands! We’ve killed no one, and if Merchant Anlam—”

Or was it the others? He distinctly remembered Lolsed sending [Messages] back to the Guild. The officer was breathing in and out, eying the Silver Swords who had drawn close together reflexively.

“Calm down. Calm down. We have our orders, we can establish facts after we take you into custody—”

“We are calm, lad. Don’t worry. You’re seeming tense. We’re just telling you that someone’s lied to you or had the Merchant’s Guild giving bad orders. Let’s put our blades away, eh?”

Dawil’s voice was very soothing as he raised his hand, but then Ylawes heard more boots.

“Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons, now!”

The reinforcements had arrived, and it was three whole squads who came charging into the plaza as people scattered. Kiest shouted at once.

“Gold-rank team, on me!”

“We’re not fighting—”

Ylawes growled, getting annoyed. The officers were clearly panicking. This wasn’t like Liscor at all! Relc would never panic—probably because he never thought he’d lose a fight, even against Gold-rankers. But this lot—

“On your knees! Drop your weapons!”

The first squad had joined the others, and they were aiming spears at Ylawes’ team. He had on his armor, but they thrust a spear at Falene, who recoiled.

“I am a Mage of Wistram! Drop your weapons and let me speak to your Watch Captain and this Guildmaster!”

She went to slap a spear down, and the Drake jabbed it at her side. Ylawes caught the shaft of the spear and shoved.

“That’s enough. Stop—”

He was raising his voice, the Drake stumbling back, when someone threw something. It clanged off the back of his head, and he saw stars. Insill shouted.

“Watch out! Nets—”

Then the fishing nets with heavy stones attached to them were flying. Ylawes whirled as the Watch threw the nets, and Dawil swore.

“That Grandfathers-damned Merchant! Lad, they’re on—argh!”

As the adventurers tried to yank nets off of them, the Watch closed in fast. Jabbing spears, shouting for the adventurers to drop their weapons—and some of them swung a cosh. One hit Dawil solidly in the cheek as he turned, and he staggered. Ylawes saw the Drake raise the weighed sack of cloth again and grabbed him.

“I said stop.”

He shoved the Drake into his buddies, and they stumbled, turned on him, and he saw a sword swinging. Officer Kiest swinging at Dawil, shouting. Even if the Dwarf had armor on—

One second the Watch was all around the Silver Swords, yelling, encircling them—the next there was a ringing sound of steel on steel. A cry—

“He’s got a—”

The onlookers saw the Watch back up—then heard a phumf sound. One side of the Watch went stumbling backwards as an orb of air hit them and knocked them back. Another guardswoman cried out and clutched at her hand as a pair of daggers slashed across her leather gauntlet.

A Drake went stumbling backwards, sword raised and backing up from a Human in armor. He shouted.

“[Deft Strike]! [Deft]—”

His squad began to swing, and the giant, glowing [Shield of Valor] caught all the attacks, including the Skill, and Ylawes Byres heaved. Officer Kiest went flying, landing on his back with a crash, and Ylawes turned, sword in hand.

In the sudden, abrupt silence, he made one last plea for peace.

“We are not criminals. We want to talk to—”

Someone began blowing a horn. The [Knight] stood there and closed his eyes as the Watch went running, screaming.

“Gold-rankers! Call the army! Criminals in Flatfish Square—”

Then the [Knight] felt a familiar building pressure behind his eyes, and his teeth began to grind. Once again, there was that feeling building in the back of his throat.

Unfair.

Why was it always so damn stupid and unfair?

——

Farmer Petia and her people were in the overfull prison when Merchant Anlam walked in with the Guildmaster of the Merchant’s Guild and the Watch Commander. She shot to her feet.

“You son of a bitch. We saved your life and you—”

She grabbed the cell bars until the Watch Captain shouted.

“Back! Back against the wall! I don’t think we need verification, but this is one of them?”

“Oh, yes. That’s her. And the Silver Swords are about. I don’t see why I have to be here, Commander. They’re dangerous!”

Anlam didn’t peek at Petia as she shouted.

“We saved him! He was begging us to leave! But for us and he’d have starved with them! They were mad as loons!”

The Guildmaster glanced from Anlam to Petia.

“The distressing incident, Anlam…is it true you went with them? That does muddy the narrative a bit.”

Anlam froze, then shrugged.

“Yes, I did leave. It was that or starve, especially given they were abandoning the camp. It’s all there in the deposition, Guildmaster. But I am sure, positive, that the investigation will show we were in the right. Contractually, we had every right, but not only did they break our contract physically, they attacked us!”

“We didn’t do a thing! You sent Sal after us and tried to hold us down! Get a truth stone!”

Petia was raging, but the [Watch Commander] shouted.

“Get back, I said! Someone get some spears!”

They came with spears, and she backed up as they jabbed her back with the dulled, but still pointed, blades. The other farmers were protesting, and Anlam spoke to the air past Petia’s head.

“There were regrettable moments, Miss Petia, but the truth of the matter is that the Consortium is ruined. The mana drain, the salted earth—”

“Terrible. Terrible. I can’t count how many fortunes of our members might be destroyed, even with the word spreading. Not everyone hears.”

The [Guildmaster] was shaking his head as he rested a claw on Anlam’s shoulders. The man nodded as he shrugged the hand off.

“Ruined. My finances, everyone’s. If they even…I intend to have them rescued, you know.”

She stared at him, and Anlam went on.

“However, there are provisions in the Merchant’s Guild charters. Some restitution of funds for failed ventures. We’ll reclaim what we can after the investigation, of course. But the fact of the matter is—we were sabotaged. Our help was uncommitted, and without that foundational pillar…hopeless. I do lay the blame at the Silver Swords’ feet, Guildmaster. The others are accomplices, yes, but I will ask for mercy from the guild.”

“Indentured servitude contracts, then. Or just prison labor. We’ll have to see. It’s tricky—the Adventurer’s Guild has their backs mostly, but they would. Don’t worry, Anlam. We do have support from the other Guilds, though that [Princess]…but there are peers from other nations, and Chandrar’s Merchant Guilds are quite, quite strong. Watch Commander, can you hold the Gold-rankers?”

The Watch Commander was less happy as the two [Merchants] conferred.

“I’d prefer not to call in the army, and yes, we have cells…I’m more worried about them fleeing the city, but we have people on each gate.”

“The Merchant’s Guild has put out a full notice to all local cities, don’t worry, Watch Commander. Now, let’s let you do your work and—”

“Ylawes is a noble of the north! The Terlands were with us, they’ll vouch for us!”

Petia shouted, but Anlam was hurrying the Guildmaster off, and she realized, even if the [Watch Commander] hesitated, the [Guildmaster] did not. Oh, he heard her. She saw him glance up, but he was a [Merchant].

Their blood ran thick as the gold they shared. Petia was cursing. They never should have let Anlam out of their sight! He acted so humble when he was really gearing up to stab them. For what? Gold? He was going to claim all the gold from the Silver Swords? Could he do that?

Contracts. She stood there, helpless, until she heard raised voices from the end of the jail. A shout.

“Get me to safety! Get me to—”

Then the [Watch Commander] ran past her. Shouting.

“Breach! Prison breach! Get the army in—”

Everyone was flooding past her. Anlam, the [Guildmaster]—and [Guards] were backing up, spears lowered, but suddenly pale-faced. Three had bows, and one drew theirs back—and there was a voice.

“Fire that arrow and you’ll regret it, boys and girls. Just back up, nice and slow, or follow that Watch Commander. No one wants to get hurt for no reason. The most that happens is we get annoyed and you get something broken. Or worse. Petia, you in there?”

“Adventurer Dawil? Over here!”

She shouted, and the Dwarf advanced down the hallway as the Watch fell back, then ran. He had his helmet on and shield raised, so only his eyes were visible. Hammer in hand.

“There you are. Good! Hold on, keys—ah, it’s all a mess anyways. Back up. I don’t want to hurt you!”

He swung his hammer into the iron bars, grunted when they rang and mortar dust shook the air, and ruefully stared at his hammer.

“Ah, damn it. Not even enchanted. Right…[Thunder Blow]? Nope. That’s stupid and the stone chips would probably…one second.”

He stowed his hammer and motioned.

“Larr, keep me covered.”

“I can pick the locks, Dawil!”

Insill appeared, and Petia gasped with relief, but the Dwarf shook his head.

“Nope, this is faster. Stand back. Don’t want to cut myself.”

He produced a fragment of his axe, ran it across the cell bars as high as he could reach, then repeated the process below. The bars didn’t move—until he kicked one out and it popped out of place.

Perfectly cut. Petia stared as Dawil grunted.

“Out you come! Hurry—the lad and Pokey are keeping the Watch back, but it’s getting hairy out there. Those idiots aren’t listening. Grandfathers! Why can’t we have one good thing go our way?”

He cursed as Petia exited the jail.

“They said they’ve put a report out in all the cities. That we’re criminals. Anlam, he’s claiming we ruined them and trying to get us all to pay for their mistakes.”

Dawil glanced up at her as the other [Farmers] left the room. His eyes were sad, but not surprised as he adjusted his helmet.

“Yeah, I thought that was how it went down. A small man. I suppose it all seems like the only thing he can do, rather than face the consequences. The thing about consequences is that it takes courage to face them. [Innkeepers] do it. Not [Merchants], for all they make and lose gold, I suppose. Come on. Can you all run?”

He was pointing back out of the cells, and Petia stumbled after him. Dawil paused, just once, as she croaked.

“We’re all going to be arrested.”

“Aye, well, that’s one way it goes down. But I don’t think the lad’s going to hear of it. Frankly, given how the contracts and arguing on their terms worked, I don’t think I’ll hear of it. Hmm. Hey, Petia?”

“Yes, Dawil?”

The Dwarf pointed to a Watch armory next to the prison guards’ rest area.

“Get in there, grab everything you can carry. A weapon at the least. All of you. And if there’s any bags of holding, enchanted gear, that too. Let’s go.”

Dawil licked his lips as he heard shouting from outside, then the boom of one of Falene’s [Fireballs]. But no screams yet, just a lot of panic. Dawil exhaled.

“I really want to go back to Ylawes and Pekona sleeping together right about now.”

——

First came the Watch, then, with rather more speed than he wanted—the army.

Goisedall didn’t have a huge army, but it had enough for any Drake city to defend itself. And whom should be at the head of a rather more well-trained squad of [Riders] with spears than…

“Patrol Leader Dulc. My team and I have been set up. I’d dearly love to speak to the Merchant’s Guild representative to clear this up. Or send a [Message]?”

Ylawes wondered if his father could…no, Lyonette was better. But the Drake just shot back as he sat on horseback.

“It’s Captain of Territory, Captain Byres. The Council has ordered your arrest. Why does an innocent man resist arrest?”

“Probably because he doesn’t trust [Merchants]. We can swear on truth spells we did nothing wrong save break a contract, Captain! This has gotten out of hand!”

Falene snapped. Certainly, Dulc seemed to agree. The Watch had formed rows of spears behind him, and more [Soldiers] were surrounding the jail that the Silver Swords had broken into. No one was dead—yet, but his eyes were narrowed.

“Captain Byres, you just broke into our jail.”

“Our friend was being held here. Without evidence.”

“According to the Merchant’s Guild, they have evidence. Broken contracts—listen, I am here as Goisedall’s military, and you have assaulted members of the Watch and disrupted the peace. We know you’re Gold-rankers. We also know how many of you there are. Put down your weapons and I’ll see to a fair trial.”

“A trial that already has us assaulting officers, Captain? I am willing to speak, but let me at least state my case!”

Ylawes was pleading with Dulc. The Drake glanced at him, then his eyes flickered.

“I can waive that. Let’s all calm down and search for a good outcome. You put your weapons down. We get the Guildmaster to explain himself. The Council can hear you out. You might sit in jail until we get all the testimony, but no one gets charged further.”

“We don’t want to be in jail! We have done nothing wrong!”

Falene hissed, but Ylawes held up a hand.

“We can do that. And speak on truth stones.”

“Right. Good. Let’s all do that. Then the Merchant’s Guild can complete its investigation along with the Adventurer’s Guild, and when it and the Council confer—”

The Merchant’s Guild. Ylawes pictured the contract and glowing chains on his arms, and he wondered exactly what was in those standard contracts that no one had bothered to read. He cursed himself again, and Dulc trailed off.

“…This is the Merchant’s Guild’s territory, Ylawes.”

“I do not…trust their authority nor that of Merchant Anlam, Captain Dulc. We have been deceived by them. They have contracts. But the way they use them is dishonorable and, I think you would agree if you saw it, unlawful.”

The Drake was biting his lip. He shifted on his saddle.

“Well, I have to arrest you, Captain Ylawes. If you walk out of here, Goisedall has no authority.”

“And I do not trust the Merchant’s Guild, Captain Dulc.”

The two stared at each other, and Dulc’s head bowed.

“Ancestors. I liked you. We have bows on you! Surrender!”

He raised his hand, and Falene’s barrier spells were gleaming as she and Anith raised their hands. The [Battlemage] snapped.

“You’re bunched up, Captain. I can cast [Fireball] fifty times.”

He froze, and Ylawes’ jaw was tight. Dulc glanced at several [Mages] who ducked down as if to confirm Falene’s magical strength.

“Cast and this goes all the way down, Magus. Captain Ylawes, this is not going to—”

The prison doors burst open, and Dawil appeared at last, with Petia, as Homle and his [Miners] backed up reflexively. Ylawes turned, and half the [Archers] drew back, but Dulc had thrown up his hand.

“[Hold Fire]! Hold—”

“Lad, what’s the plan?”

Dawil came charging up to them and set himself as the Silver Swords cast around. Ylawes just glanced over his shoulder.

“Out of the city. We could surrender, but the Merchant’s Guild is leading this and—we just need to get away and tell Lyonette! And explain to someone reasonable!”

“Good luck with that right now. Okay. How do we get to the gates?”

They were surrounded on three streets, and Ylawes had no idea. Only two things.

One. He really, really liked Pekona, and he couldn’t wait to hop into bed with her again and wished life was more of that and less of this.

Two. Despite his best inclinations, his trust that Dulc was a good man, his belief in the goodness of humanity and other species…

He was just angry. Angry, because to his understanding, with all he had done, he had truly not done much wrong. He had been a fool, yes, but his greatest sin was committing unwisely to the Consortium of Enterprise, not what had come next.

He had done everything according to his honor, personal credo, and vows, and somehow, he was the villain. His teeth ground together.

“Captain Dulc, we are leaving Goisedall. Peacefully, and we will make our case to the Merchant’s Guild.”

“I can’t allow that, Captain. You’ll never get out of the city. Your arrest warrant is being spread to other cities, and this will make it a hundred times worse! Think! Have some sense! Aren’t you some heroic adventurers of honor? They’ve heard of you even this far south!”

The Drake was pleading with him, and Ylawes just stood there.

“I like to think I am, Dulc. I do. Which makes this very hard. I just wish someone would trust my word. Silver Swords—get everyone out of the city.”

He raised his shield and sword and took a step forwards. Falene’s glowing [Fireball] wavered.

“Ylawes?”

“Lad, don’t—”

The Drakes stared at the [Knight-Seeker of the Silver Dragon] as he advanced on Captain Dulc’s position. And they knew Ylawes was likely out of magic.

Though his sword seemed to leave a trail of vapor behind it. And he was Gold-rank. Just a Gold-ranker. Just—

“Aim—”

Captain Dulc felt a panic rising in his chest. He didn’t want to do this, but he was scared. Terrified, actually. The [Knight] was coming, and his face was set like—

“Run! R-run!”

“Hold! Hold your—”

Dulc roared, then the first officer broke ranks. His horse reared, and instead of arrows flying, he saw half the Watch throw down their weapons and—run?

The soldiers and guards on the other side were fleeing too! Screaming! Dulc was shouting.

“Hold your ground! He’s just one man! He’s j—”

Then he saw it. Not Ylawes, who stood, confused in the square, but the figure who stood behind him. Spear raised overhead, mandibles opened. Radiating pure terror as the little Goblin on his back aimed crossbows around like a Demon out of Dulc’s worst nightmares.

Infinitypear the [Horrorbane Adventurer] raised his spear over his head as he shouted.

“[I Have Seen It Die]!”

“Me too! I sure hope it dead! Run! Captain, this way! Hurry!”

Rasktooth was screeching, and the Silver Swords turned, then ran as Poke Duo went sprinting back towards the gates. Ylawes shouted.

“Infinitypear, how—?”

“Toobusyrunning!”

The Antinium screamed, but Rasktooth wasn’t running, so he shouted.

“Captain Nailren, he tell us what going on! Hurry! Hurry! Oh no! Skill ending!”

Infinitypear’s Skill did not last long. There were shouts from behind them, and the Cave Goblin whirled.

“We is now in danger! Hiyah! Eat this!”

“Don’t—”

Too late. Rasktooth fired his crossbows, and there was a whining sound—then a pop. Which was followed by a flash of light and screams.

“Eat [Flashbang Shot]! And [Retchgas Shot]! And that all my shots. Run faster, Brother! [Encouraging Pat]!”

Infinitypear ran faster as Ylawes glanced over his shoulder. Drakes were either blind or puking, but more were coming. More and more and—

Where could they go?

——

The Silver Swords were screaming out of the city, and Anlam was demanding their arrest. The [Watch Commander] was leading a group to cut them off.

“Halt, in the name of the Watch!”

He was pounding towards the gates when he ran head-first into a wall. The Drake hit the side of the huge, stone Golem, fell down, and a voice spoke.

“Oh dear. My good man, you’ve fallen down. How terribly inconvenient for you. Golems, help him up!”

More Golems moved forwards, and the Watch slammed into the other huge, lumbering figures. The Watch Commander saw Lady Safta fanning herself and sprang up.

“Out of the way! We’re hunting criminals!”

“Criminals? Dead gods. Golems, one side!”

Lady Safta’s eyes widened, and she motioned. The Golems stumped to the left and right—then one froze in the middle of the street. In theory, there was room to squeeze past them, but—the [Watch Commander] howled.

“What are you doing? Move that hunk of junk!”

“Hunk of—it’s malfunctioned due to the New Lands! Master Martz! Fix it!”

The [Golemancer] strode forwards as several nobles of House Terland surrounded the Golem. He tsked.

“Classic heart failure. I think it’s a miniature heart attack—we need disassembly and restart on the spot, stat! Move, move!”

“Get to one side! I will arrest all of you!”

The [Watch Commander] screamed, and he saw each Golems’ head snap around to him and their eyes glow—red. He froze, lowering his sword, and Lord Comigen spoke.

“I would hate to interfere in Goisedall’s matters, sir. House Terland stands aside in all but a literal way. Please, go ahead. But we are House Terland. As we know we have done nothing wrong, our Golems will escort us out of the city. Come.”

He motioned, and they began to walk, chins held high, as the malfunctioning Golem took slow steps after them. Slowly. And Comigen’s eyes were on the band of adventurers, colonists, who burst from Goisedall’s gates.

But really…the [Lord] shook his head as he saw they hadn’t even stolen horses.

Where were they going to go? There was only one place, and there were a lot of Drakes.

——

The New Lands. But it was so far. They had no provisions. And Ylawes was so tired.

“We’re not going to make it. We should have raided a stables…let’s commandeer some wagons.”

Dawil was gasping. The army of Goisedall was coming from behind them. Ylawes turned as Pekona gripped her sword.

“We’ve done nothing wrong.”

People on the road were pointing at them, staring back over their shoulders, and Ylawes Byres had sword in hand. The Drakes were running at him. Local militia. Captain Dulc riding and shouting. The Watch.

Hundreds. Maybe a thousand and more coming. Too many for them to beat, even if they had a choke point. But Ylawes…

He was just so angry. Even if it was the Merchant’s Guild doing this. Even then—he began to walk back the way he’d come.

“Lad? What are you doing? Lad—”

Dawil turned and saw the [Knight] moving at the line of Drakes. Sword held in a too-tight grip. Head bowed. And there it was.

For the watching pedestrians. The Gnoll with a bow observing the Silver Swords from the hill, the expeditioners into the New Lands, the mounted warriors on horseback, there was the moment caught in time.

Ylawes Byres raising his shield and sword as his team turned. Anger in his eyes.

That…

Classic…

Byres anger. The one that anyone who knew him could see in him, tamped down but there. The hints of fury in a good man that only Ysara had ever really mastered.

A [Knight] fighting injustice. No matter what it cost.

“It makes for a picture I should like to take to paint. Ah, if I had but more than an [Artistic Moment]—”

A voice spoke as a paint brush swished over paper and dipped into a little palette. Incredibly fast, capturing the lone figure. The Drake horde. Another voice, lower and also male, disagreed.

“A picture worth more than a thousand of these Drake words. They are barbarous indeed, despite their legislation. My conscience is affronted to see a [Knight] alone, even one of Izril! Is a [Knight] not a [Knight], friends?”

—The speakers were a group of five on horseback who sat on their saddles as Ylawes Byres slowed and his head turned. The three men, one of whom had a little easel and painter’s palette mounted to one gauntleted arm via a mechanical contraption, turned to a woman in rust-red armor. Her visor was up, and she met Ylawes’ eyes, just once.

A tingling went all the way up Ylawes’ back, to his head, and down his boots. The woman turned.

“This is indeed so! Ser Brindelhor, you speak the truth, and truth guides us! Squire, stand back.”

“But Knightess—”

“You have no control in a melee. Let us not hurt these Drakes, but stop this affront. Thousand Lances of Kaaz—forwards.”

“Gently, gently.”

That came from the last of the [Knights], and his voice was as old as his lined face as he flicked his visor down on his bell-shaped helm. Four [Knights] dismounted from their horses and strode forwards as the last gathered the reins of the other animals. They strolled forwards on parade, every facet of their armor gleaming.

A seven-foot giant who stowed his painter’s palette, armor green and embossed with trees. The half-Elf put his helmet on his head with a sigh. A shorter [Knight] had a cloak of velvet which blew across his back as he reached for a greatsword on his back, then let it go.

“Not an intègre foe we have met yet. Fists must do, inélégant as they are.”

“Let us not alarm the Walled Cities, indeed.”

The female [Knight] of the four did not draw her sword, but she did raise it. Still sheathed. The last [Knight] drew a flail and shield and rattled it lightly. Ylawes shouted.

“Watch—”

The Drakes didn’t realize this group was not part of his team. They just saw armored figures who weren’t their own and associated them with the Humans. The first one raised a spear as he charged at the old [Knight] in—

Mithril armor? The gleaming metal took the spear blow, and the Drake slammed against the butt of her own shield. Because the armor would not give or yield, and the [Knight] just walked into her.

“It goes against good conscience to hit a lady.”

He tapped her with the edge of his shield, and she fell down. The whites of her eyes showed as her eyes rolled up into her head. At this, the half-Elf raised his hands.

“Ach, they employ the fairer sex here for the Watch? You have saved me from disgrace, Lord Volede!”

The half-Elf drew a pair of longswords, also sheathed, and knocked down a Drake swinging a sword at him. When the Drake faltered and slashed up—

[Rising Slash]! The [Knight] parried the blow, thrusting the sword down into the earth. He stepped on it, then stood there.

“I shall be prudent in case I err.”

Another Drake rode down at him with a spear. Without pivoting, the [Knight] chopped the tip of the spear up. He stood there as the Watch charged him, and his swords swung.

Deflect an axe’s swing into the ground, chopping a swinging sword such that it flew out of one Drake’s hands, flicking a spear tip up so hard it took the Drake off their feet—

So fast and precise the Drakes bunched up, running into each other. Tried to surge forwards and ran into the [Knight] with the velvet cloak. He raised a fist, punched a [Soldier] in armor so hard it dented the plate, and advanced, throwing hands.

Female, male, he left a trail through the Drakes as they split in front of him. One [Soldier] rammed into him at a full charge, broke his shoulder, and was thrust aside.

The Thousand Lances split the Goisedall charge around them like a thing out of stories. Their leader was swinging her sheathed sword, ignoring blows to her Adamantium armor, as she raised a hand.

“Fairly met, Knight of Izril! We are the Thousand Lances of Kaaz! We salute your courage! A [Knight] never stands alone!”

An arrow pinged off her helmet, and she laughed. Then she whirled her longsword up.

“Ah, here’s the teeth!”

A [Fireball] split as she slashed it in half, blooming around her in bursts of flame. The [Knight] kept walking forwards as she began cutting spells out of the air.

“They’ll harm their own more than us. Dear me.”

The old [Knight] watched as a [Mage] tossed a [Lightning Bolt], then raised his mirror-bright shield and bounced it back. He winced as the bolt hit the ground and threw the [Mage].

“No barrier spells?”

“They’re not close to even one of our magical brothers. Not a single one who’d even touch the thousandth!”

Dismissively, the bare-knuckle [Knight] backhanded a Drake—the Watch was turning, trying to flee now.

Ylawes Byres stood, mouth open. Did he hear that right?

The Thousand Lances of Kaaz? The greatest [Knights] in the entire…

He knew them, of course. He’d grown up hearing stories of them, and he stood still as Captain Dulc charged the one in Adamantium. He shouted a Skill, accelerated—

She spread her arms wide. Let him hit her with a crack like thunder straight on the chest. When Ylawes looked again, Dulc was riding away, cradling a broken arm as his enchanted spear lay on the ground.

Then he realized they were the genuine article. Ylawes only moved when he heard a ding and saw an arrow flash at him—only for a slim [Knight] on horseback to cut it out of the air.

“Your side, Sir Knight! They do not fight chivalrously at all, these Drakes?”

“Squire! You are disobedient! Again! Argh. What will I do with you, girl?”

The Adamantium [Knight] shouted, and her [Squire] bowed nimbly in the saddle.

“Your infinite pardons, Knightess Rosenthine!”

Rosenthine? Ylawes started and thought he knew that—then he saw the Silver Swords were halted as well.

“Dead gods. Are those Named-rankers?”

Anith breathed, but even Dawil was wide-eyed. Of course, he was actually Terandrian. And Falene’s mouth was ajar.

“Is that Rosenthine? The Rosenthine? What are they—?”

Goisedall was in full retreat. Drakes were playing dead on the ground or getting up to run, and the tallest of the [Knights] lowered his swords, raised his visor, and a half-Elf’s merry green eyes twinkled as he turned to Ylawes.

“Dame Rosenthine, this lot appears to be routed well enough. Do we advance?”

“Nay, Thousand Lances, hold! Our battle done.”

Rosenthine called lightly, though the ‘battle’ had taken all of minutes, and the snort from the fist-knight made it clear how much of a fight he’d call that. They turned to Ylawes, and each one took their helmet off.

The half-Elf clasped fist to his chest and bowed. Rosenthine and her [Squire] bowed, arms to their sides. The one with the cloak tapped his knuckles to his visor and slashed downwards. The old [Knight] just nodded.

“We are the Thousand Lances, Knight of Izril. How are you called and how did a Drake army come to chase your company?”

Rosenthine spoke, and her [Squire] pointed.

“And is that not a Goblin and should be slain?”

Everyone turned, saw Rasktooth and Infinitypear, and the [Knights] recoiled. The half-Elf peered at Rasktooth, who had frozen up.

“A Goblin? Dead gods, Izril truly does have more than Terandria!”

“Dead now.”

The velvet-cloak [Knight] drew a greatsword so fast Ylawes thought he and Pekona would have been slower on the draw. He began to advance, and Ylawes’ sword was rising when there was another soft ping.

An arrow hit the sword that the [Squire] had drawn—again, so fast Ylawes didn’t even see it, and everyone turned. In the distance, a Gnoll standing on a hill lowered a bow and howled. Just once.

“Nailren?”

Ylawes squinted. Was that him? Only, the fur was slightly wrong, and the [Knights] turned.

“Yonder lies a Gnoll.”

“First I’ve seen outside of mixed company.”

“Another painting! Do they quarrel with us?”

“If they do, I hold them to account as well.”

“Hold, hold your temper, Ser Brindelhor! I think—”

—Then the angry [Knight] stopped lifting his greatsword, and Ylawes, still eying Goisedall’s reforming army, worrying they might come back with more preparation, felt his mind go blank.

His worries. His stress. The stunned feeling of meeting the Thousand Lances in the flesh, the awe and dismay at their overwhelming levels…

Just for a moment, it receded, and he remembered the New Lands beyond the horizon. The wind blew, and blue tuft-seeds floated down from the distant hills that were so inhospitable. The strange land that had risen from the sea.

But not for us. That was what they all forgot. Haughty [Knights]. Drakes. Adventurers. [Merchants], and everyone else.

It had been just for one people. At last, no, fast given how far they had come and how many—they came.

The howl was picked up not by one voice, a hundred, or even a thousand. The lone Gnoll [Scout] raised a paw, and then the first figures appeared over the small rise of ground.

Gnolls. Marching as clouds of dust rose and cows tromped forwards, so many cattle that they formed huge lines on each side of the Gnolls. Corralled by [Riders] on horses, and some even being ridden by Gnolls.

Not just cows. Sheep on the left, huge herds moving like the clouds themselves had come down to earth, fluffy white clouds with little black legs, or dark clouds. Even ones in blue or yellow. Sheep baahing like the quaking earth—goats—

Corusdeer, even horned buffalo-things that Ylawes had never seen before. Any animal that ate grass and could be herded. And walking between the rivers of livestock—Gnolls.

They carried much of their burdens on their shoulders, in huge packs, on pack animals, or wagons, but children and adults all strode across the ground at a steady pace that seemed like it could carry them forwards forever.

Gnolls of every color of fur. From coal black to the brilliant red that was almost regal in color, blond gleaming fur like Ylawes’ hair, classic brown, and white.

White Gnolls? Ylawes started as he saw them dotted in the tribe marching his way, who still kept coming without number. Doombearers.

So many.

Then he knew who they had to be, but he could not think. Could not do more than watch—for they did not come merely in the earthquake of hooves. Nor the braying of so many animals.

Nor even to Goisedall, whose Drakes had backed behind their walls in sudden fear, with dreadful cries. Instead, that first howl had joined a sound which became a rumble…then a song. A song that surely, everyone in the world had heard, now.

The Gnolls’ most famous song.

“So when my fur calls me to seek the heart of stories.

To brave the world’s dangers and lay eyes on sights unseen.

Chasing long lost trails of our trials and our glories

To find the heart of stories sang to me.”

——

Great Plains Sing. The same song that Nailren had once sang as he rode to the New Lands. The Gnoll stood on Goisedall’s walls, bow lowered, the stolen Watch helmet pushed back.

Feeling sort of stupid as he saw that tribe, who still might be called the largest in Izril, marching forwards. He rubbed at his face and sighed.

“Here comes trouble. But I guess…who else and where else?”

Then he joined the chorus that filled the air. Drowning out every other sound and bringing the colonists to silence. The Terlands standing with their little Golems like toys arrayed around them.

The Drakes hiding behind their short walls, gazing at the other people of Izril. Who came singing, reminding all who heard their voices of why the New Lands existed.

Why they were here.

Plain’s Eye. The tribe who had broken themselves on treachery and the truth, not redeemed or forgiven, but continuing on. For there was no other way.

Nailren’s eyes picked out a huge Gnoll in the center of the procession, who strode ahead, his fur marked like a [Shamanic Warrior], despite the fact that he now led them all.

Chieftain Merish, and bounding next to him, singing his heart out, a little Lizardman. Viri. Nailren sighed. For all his trepidations, complications, intellectual worries…

Dead gods, but it was such a perfect way to come to the New Lands.

——

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t Ylawes’ Skill that had created this confluence of events that saved his team.

Maybe, just maybe, you could call the Thousand Lances’ arrival part of his Skill, [Luck of the Foolhardy]. But calling on the greatest knight-order with a Skill? Unlikely.

More likely it was how he and Pekona had managed to make a romance out of some terrible lines over dinner.

This?

This was just the inevitable. Although it would be wrong to assume it was all unconnected.

Plain’s Eye kept coming. They were streaming into the New Lands without even hesitating. Driving on their herds and bearing their mobile tents, not even slowing though they knew there was no magic and no arable soil ahead.

Did it look like they cared? Their [Shamans] drew from the collective of their people; they had few artifacts to lose. And as for food…

They had animals who grazed on grass. The same grass that was so plentiful.

The perfect settlers. The ones that this land belonged to. One look at them and Ylawes Byres realized that in every way he and the others had been unprepared—the Gnolls were ready. They had lived their entire life on the move. They knew how to hunt—to forage—and they had come in such numbers that no expedition could equal them.

What was humbling, gratifying, was the fact that Plain’s Eye knew his team. Chieftain Merish raised a paw and called to him, slowing, as Gnolls kept moving around him.

“Captain Ylawes Byres? I trust that will help you. Though I do not know the particulars of your issue with the city. The Merchant’s Guild? They are a tricksome foe, yes? If you require shelter with my tribe, march with us. We head into the New Lands. Not far, I think; it is good to take a spot close to the edge. But we have made it.”

It had been months of marching and trying to salvage a tribe fallen to pieces and despair. He appeared older, and Ylawes stuttered.

“Y-you know me, Chieftain Merish?”

They had never met, but the Gnoll just nodded. He opened his mouth, and Viri bounded forwards.

“Of course we do! Your team’s a fun Gold-rank team—can I have an autograph? Plus, you know Erin Solstice, and the Horns of Hammerad were at the Meeting of Tribes! Berr the Berserker’s apprentice is your sister! When we heard you were in trouble with those Drakes—damn Drakes, they’re always doing stuff like this—Merish insisted we help! Especially because Mrsha asked!”

Mrsha. Ylawes started, and Merish grinned as he pushed Viri.

“Viri. Excuse my friend. Yes, a certain Gnoll child found us. We should never deny such a request.”

Viri had one leg and hopped around on that little quarterstaff to keep pace with everyone. He did it naturally, his tail curled around the stick, as if there were a [Bounce] spell on the bottom. It added to the effect of the hyper Lizardfolk energy he exuded, a quintessential trope of his species. He circled Merish now, chattering.

“It was weird, though, right? Somehow, she knew we were right at Goisedall when I don’t think you told anyone where we were!”

“Good scrying spells, perhaps.”

“Sure, but she looked stressed! And thin!”

“Hrr. I wonder if they’re not feeding her well enough. I sent a [Message] to Akrisa Silverfang. We’re not…friendly, but she’ll make sure the girl’s well. Let’s discuss what she said later, Viri? Our guests are here.”

“Oops, right!”

They turned back to the Silver Swords, and Ylawes frowned. Mrsha, not being fed? Maybe she’d lost weight or something, but he inclined his head.

“We’re in her debt, and yours, Chieftain Merish, truly.”

He waved this off with a smile.

“This is no great burden, and as I said, we owe a great debt we must repay. And the Silver Swords have been good friends to Gnolls as well.”

“We—uh, we have? We try to help everyone.”

“Yes. We notice.”

That was all Merish said. If there were Gnolls, even those with white fur, who flinched at Mrsha’s name or did not appear so graceful—there were just so many.

Drowned Folk, half-Elves—a third power had begun marching into the New Lands, and they swept up everyone in their trail. Even the Thousand Lances stood, suddenly forgotten, until Merish eyed them.

“Who are those [Knights]? They’re high-level.”

“The—Thousand Lances of Kaaz?”

“Who? I think I remember that name from Rhir. I served with many [Knights]…hmm. Greetings, Knights of Terandria! I am Chieftain Merish! May I break bread with you? My tribe welcomes you!”

Merish swept an arm out, and the singing Gnolls stopped a moment to howl, and the [Knights] glanced at each other.

“This is a sight worth leaving home for. Great Gnolls, you sing beautifully. We are indeed the Thousand Lances. Didst I hear tell you were one who fought the cruel Demons of Rhir? I am Ser Pavoriad of Gaiil-Drome. A [Knight] of the Order of the Forest’s Heart. With me are Ser Brindelhor of the Order of Irriven Redbloods. Lord Volede of House Trimel, of the Kingdom of Keys, Samal, a [Knight] of his own—”

The introductions had Merish blinking, but he greeted each [Knight] with a nod. It was the last duo, Dame Rosenthine and her [Squire]—a sandy-haired girl named Thellabell of all things—who spoke.

“I lead our number from glorious Kaaz, which I and my squire also hail from. We are but four of the Thousand Lances, and few of our number came to Izril—so far. But we hope to explore this land as all do. We had come to Goisedall to see what news there was; it is our honor to meet such a famous tribe.”

“And to express our dismay at such treachery at the Meeting of Tribes! By the Walled Cities and those traitorous, er—”

Ser Pavoriad began, then seemed to realize that this was one of the traitorous tribes. Merish just smiled and ducked his head.

“Your dismay is ours, and it is a wound we must heal, but not today, or for generations, perhaps. But Plain’s Eye knows what it has done, and now we seek a home where we might exist. Walk with us gladly, friends. We have met no enemies on our march.”

“I should hope not! Would other tribes or cities attack you?”

The half-Elf exclaimed, and Merish bared his teeth as he glanced at the Silver Swords. His eyes lingered on Rasktooth and Infinitypear, who were both trying to hide from the Thousand Lances and watch with mouths open, this sight of stories.

“Perhaps not for our numbers, but we have come here singing. I think it is the best way.”

Viri bounded up, interrupting the [Knights] and their practiced etiquette. He beamed.

“It’s very clever, and Merish came up with it. Very hard to attack people singing. Makes the Drakes all guilty. Was your order in Rhir? Merish and I are veterans. We were at the 5th Wall when the Death of Magic appeared.”

—What? Everyone turned to stare at him, and Merish sighed.

“Viri. Stop bragging.”

“It’s not bragging if we were the only people who lived and everyone else died.”

The Lizardman’s smile vanished a moment, and Dame Rosenthine bowed again, deeper.

“Then you are heroes twice over. I regret that few of the Thousand Lances ever join the walls. The last would be…Dame Rivia?”

The Thousand Lances murmured behind Dame Rosenthine, and Ylawes was close enough to hear them whispering.

“I don’t remember her.”

“Decades ago, I think. Nine hundred and thirty—something.”

“Ah. We have not covered ourselves in glory. But in this era with the Deaths, perhaps…”

“Hush ourselves. We speak of politics before this great tribe.”

They fell silent once more, and Merish was nodding. Rosenthine glanced about, then snapped her fingers.

“Squire, a gift worthy of the Plain’s Eye tribe.”

“Oh, um—”

“My Sword d’Esteem. No, not the Sword d’Complimente. That pack, Squire.”

Patiently, and with a sense of embarrassment, Rosenthine directed the [Squire] to produce nothing less than a sword as rust-red as—

Adamantium? Ylawes’ eyes popped, and Merish himself blinked.

“We cannot accept that, Dame Knight! And we have no gift suitable for this, yes?”

He was beckoning a [Shaman] forwards, though, and the Dame Knight smiled.

“You must, for it is a gift of our greatest esteem, and the Thousand Lances and the honor of Kaaz request nothing less. I only regret that the enchantments have faded. Almost all but our armor and weapons are lost.”

“A blow, but one we should have been steeled for. A trial of virtues to learn of our flaws.”

Ser Pavoriad intoned, and there was grunt from the surly Ser Brindelhor. Which implied that all their armor and weapons were still enchanted.

Truly powerful individuals. But Merish offered the [Knights] a simple token: a wreath of hand-made, little ‘flowers’ twisted together out of what seemed like scraps of fabric. Wool, actual flowers.

It was beautiful, but so crude that the short [Knight] grew visibly upset—until Merish spoke.

“This is all our tribe has to offer for such courtesy, [Knights]. And the hospitality of our fires and camps as long as you come amongst us. To all our friends. But lest it seem poor…it is the only triumph of truth and, perhaps, the future. These are Fatewreaths. Each one has been woven of good luck, from Doombearers. An old, old thing. So long as you bear them…you will not avert disaster or be endlessly lucky. But until they fall apart, we hope your woes will be mitigated or you given the strength to endure them.”

“A kingly gift.”

The [Squire] gasped, and the [Knights] let the wreaths lie on their bodies with far more willingness. Guilt crossed Merish’s face, then he turned.

“It is a power we are unworthy of, but our own fates have invited our current predicament. May it bring fortune to all those who deserve it. Now…let us continue. I do wish to rest in the New Lands. Captain Ylawes, would you walk with me?”

“It would be my honor, Chieftain.”

They were walking forwards when Ser Brindelhor remembered Rasktooth.

“Wait, the Goblin.”

“He’s with us, Knight. I’m Dawil, Gold-rank adventurer of Dwarfhome, and this is Falene, from Ser Pavoriad’s homeland, if I’m not a fool. That’s Rasktooth and Infinitypear of the Free Antinium.”

Dawil barred the [Knight]’s way casually, and the [Knight] hesitated.

“Well met, Dwarf. My armor is forged of your land, but a monster is a monster—”

“And an adventurer an adventurer if a [Knight]’s a [Knight]. I’m sure fine, honorable members of the Thousand Lances have heard of The Wandering Inn and Liscor? They’d listen before doing anything rash, wouldn’t they?”

Dawil’s voice was smooth, and Falene added, tripping over her words.

“That’s right! Ser Pavoriad! It’s an honor—Falene Skystrall. If I might have your word, sir?”

“Sister!”

Pavoriad strode over and hugged her, and Falene’s cheeks turned red as he lifted her off the ground and swung her around, laughing. Ylawes stared.

So Falene’s ‘brother’, ‘sister’ thing wasn’t actually just her. He’d never seen another half-Elf treat someone like family, but Pavoriad kissed her hand as he let her down.

“Do forgive me, but it’s such a delight—I thought I’d have to cross the New Lands to find more of us! Welcome, let us speak! And do you say these two venture with yours? Then I must take your word.”

“I mustn’t.”

Ser Brindelhor growled, but he hesitated as Dawil smiled at him. It was Dame Rosenthine who tapped her lips, which were deep red.

“The Wandering Inn. Hark? How do I know the name? Squire?”

“An enemy of Kaaz from the disaster at sea, Knightess? The [Innkeeper] killed the Prince of Erribathe?”

Rosenthine turned, and then her brows darkened. Dawil bit his lip.

“Ah, er…”

“And this Goblin hails from there, and you claim him as your…teammate?”

Merish had turned as the Thousand Lances inspected the Silver Swords; Rasktooth tried to climb off Infinitypear’s back—but the [Adventurer] wouldn’t let him. The female [Knight] glanced down as she turned to Dawil, and Ylawes’ Byres’ hand was raised.

“I do. I am Ylawes of House Byres, a [Knight] of no order. Dame Knight. Upon my honor, which is all I have to offer, I swear Rasktooth is as fine and true an adventurer as any you will ever meet.”

Ylawes held out a hand to shake and remembered, belatedly, he could claim to be a member of the Order of Solstice. But he had given them nothing, no dues…it didn’t feel right.

He bowed, and she inspected his hand, then took it in a firm grip. The [Knight]’s face in her square visor was not as perfect as her diction and form; her nose was at least twice-broken, and she had freckles.

But he watched her and knew she was at least Level 50. Possibly…Level 60? One of the most powerful warriors he had ever met smiled as she gazed into his eyes.

“Honor is all we are, Knight Ylawes. I take you at your word. Let us ride with these Gnolls into the New Lands.”

So saying, she stepped back, and even Ser Brindelhor let go of his greatsword with a grunt. Thusly…

Ylawes’s heart sank. And it rose. It didn’t know what to do as Pekona hugged him and Rasktooth cheered.

“I lived! Hah! No dying today!”

Was he sinking into despair as he glanced back at Goisedall and the lands where the Merchant’s Guild had painted him as a villain? Or was he rising, ascending into the New Lands as the Gnolls sang, in the company of legends?

All Ylawes knew was that despite his attempts to get away—the New Lands called him back in.

Unprepared.

Unreadied. But he had nowhere else to go. So the [Knight] drew in a breath of fresh air mixed with cattle dung because they were following the herds, and still.

He thought he could taste adventure again.

Author’s Note:

Hello, and welcome back to the New Lands. I have something for you, and it’s the announcement you definitely read at the top of the page, right? Or on the site? Or on the blog, or saw it online?

You didn’t just skip down to the chapter or start reading the Author’s Notes like some strange people do, right?

If you did, and if you read Author’s Notes, I’m saying it again: The Wandering Inn is coming out in paperback form.

We’re hitting bookstores, and I will be asking people for a favor. Please tell anyone you know about it! Consider buying it if you enjoy the series! I want to make this launch with HarperCollins a success and hopefully find tons of new readers who will one day get to this chapter and go, ‘huh, I guess this was the day the book launched’.

If they love Book 1 of The Wandering Inn, they’ll have 15 million more words to go, but maybe don’t lead into it that way. However you do it, I appreciate any support and, well…

This is it. Read the full post for more details but this has been the work of years. I’ve tried to get a physical book because I do read your comments and this is it. A red letter day. Thank you all for the support and there will be more—wait for April 4th for something very cool when this chapter goes public and everyone hears, but here we go.

The Wandering Inn, hitting a bookstore near you. And if I can buy enough copies and send them out, a lot of libraries too. Thanks for reading, and I hope you find more readers of the inn in the wild.

—pirateaba

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