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“Let me tell you something, kid. I want you to remember it. It might be the most important thing you learn from your apprenticeship aside from remembering to keep a lockpick hidden in your neck spines.”

“Y-yes, Miss Qwera? I’m listening.”

“Merchants are bastards.”

“…Miss Qwera?”

“That’s it. That’s the lesson. I know you think you understand it, or you think I’m being cute, but you don’t get it. I want you to remember that when we go in there, and if you’re smart, you’ll figure out what it means by the time we’re done. Now…give me a second.”

The Golden Gnoll stopped outside of the largest and most impressive building that the young [Trader], Selchess, had ever seen in her life. Qwera barely peered up at the fifteen hanging Dragongems casting arcs of color across the silk brocade fabric arches that hung over the walkways of Chemath Marble.

She stopped to fish out a [Message] scroll as rain battered the [Bubble of Calm] overhead. A spring storm was hitting Zeres, but not here. That should have meant Zeresian citizens were running here to take cover from the sleeting rain, but the Guard Golems didn’t admit anyone who wasn’t carrying an official Merchant’s Card. You didn’t have to even flash it at them; it was one of those secret things that non-[Merchants] and even [Traders] had no idea about.

Carry one of them and you’d be recognized by anyone from the Merchant’s Guild. Selchess didn’t have one, but Qwera did. It meant she was important.

So important that she could enter the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters—not just the Merchant’s Guild proper. Selchess was very nervous as she hurried to keep up with Qwera. The young [Apprentice Trader] knew that the Golden Gnoll was famously mean—she went through [Apprentices] like gold paint, but you could become a [Trader] with good credit in a year if you stuck it out and got her recommendation.

Which was not a given. Less than 30% of all Qwera’s [Apprentices] made it. And she demanded at least five years’ experience caravanning before she’d take your application, no matter if you had a Merchant’s Guild letter from your local city. Plus, you had to come up with an item to sell via her Golden Gnoll caravans and make a return of at least 40% net profit within the year…

Qwera was a numbers-[Merchant]. In that she talked math, dividends, investments, gross and net profit—some [Merchants] didn’t do that.

You see, the world of [Merchants] was deeper than you thought. There were all kinds, like [Warriors] or any class. Some [Merchants] were terrible with numbers. But they were charismatic and sold to nobles who valued friendship and had enough gold to spend.

Or they were hard-nosed desperados who went into [Bandit] territory and risked the deadliest routes for the highest margins. The plump, inoffensive [Merchants] selling goods from a caravan in the city were actually a very narrow subset of their kind.

But what they all aspired to be was what Qwera was: a card-carrying [Merchant] who could walk into one of two buildings in Izril, the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters, and get intelligence on any good or service across Izril. Be able to recruit top-tier [Mercenaries] or adventurers at the drop of a hat, and run caravans across the continent, even the world.

However, Qwera didn’t seem to like it here, which was astonishing because the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters was amazing.

Selchess was Liscorian. She’d begged an apprenticeship when Qwera was passing through the city, and the Golden Gnoll had waived her standards on the five-years caravanning and accepted the young Drake. She’d said that if Selchess had survived Liscor, she’d probably handle herself well on the road.

One minor [Thief] incident, two brawls between caravans, and a nasty internal fight in one of Qwera’s caravans later, and the Golden Gnoll hadn’t been let down so far by Selchess. True, Selchess hadn’t been rushing to throw hands with an angry shopper fighting with the [Guards], or the one to run down the [Sneak Thief], but she hadn’t exactly wilted either.

It sure beat fighting Face-Eater Moths or running from Raskghar in the streets. Selchess hadn’t even realized it had toughened her up until she’d seen another [Apprentice of Commerce] reduced to a tearful mess after someone had punched the stall next to her head. When what you really did was smile, lie, wait for a [Guard] to come running, and have your hand under the counter on the emergency wand you were issued.

Experience, Qwera called it. Real experience, not book-knowledge. Get conned—once. Get cheated—once. Get mugged—once. And never let it happen again. Never put all your stock in one place or you could lose it all. Get people’s attention and you had their coins.

By these principles the Golden Gnoll had made her fortune, and Selchess was one of her acolytes who’d bought Qwera’s book and was now in the business.

Even so, she had learned to fear Qwera’s scowl, and the Golden Gnoll rolled up her [Message] scroll.

“Right. Meeting’s in ten. Let’s get in there. You’ll be outside. Don’t tell the other apprentices anything. They’re going to pump you for information. So will the staff. Just lie to them. Tell them we’re selling Shield Spider glue.”

“A-aren’t we selling Shield Spider glue, Miss Qwera?”

“Exactly. If they think that’s the biggest thing coming out of Liscor—well, some are that dumb. Remember what I told you, which is?”

“…Merchants are bastards?”

Qwera pointed a finger as they passed through another arch, this one made of swords. She rolled her eyes, and Selchess’ eyes popped as she saw Sage’s Grass, gigantic pumpkins, beautiful corn—every plant imaginable blooming from a garden plot. The third arch was made of old wood and beautiful coral, and Qwera kicked it as she passed.

“Damn right we are. Stop gaping.”

“Merchant! It’s so beautiful—”

“Looted is what it is. Or copied. You think this is fancy? What are the giant gems up there?”

“Dragongems, Merchant Qwera?”

The highest grade of magical gemstone, so huge and powerful that [Archmages] used them in spells. Tier 7 spells, according to the legends. No one these days could actually use one. Qwera nodded.

“What’s the weather spell?”

“[Bubble of Calm]?”

Selchess had heard of the Merchant’s Guild. Qwera pointed up.

“That first arch? Cloth is…”

“Brocade? For, um, um, tapestries! Stitch-folk sometimes will take it for their cloth, but it’s not actually as popular because it’s heavy and stiff. But that much is worth a fortune, and in the open air! It must be enchanted against mildewing. And is that a floating fountain?”

They passed by a pyramid of stone that held a basin in the center, whose waters were spraying across the air. Another [Merchant] entering the headquarters stopped to fill a water flask from it—Qwera rolled her eyes.

“Yep. Now, apprentice, real quiz time.”

“T-that wasn’t the quiz? Oh dear…”

“Where’s it come from? [Bubble of Calm]—go.”

Selchess panicked. She stood there, knowing Qwera was going to snap at her if she didn’t answer—but again, it wasn’t exactly like Draugr breaking down the city walls, so her rushed mind came to the only conclusion she had.

“U-um, Wistram?”

“Correct! Dragongems?”

“They look…I’ve heard they come from Salazsar, and I know the City of Gems has them. Actually, don’t all the Walled Cities have some for their best enchantments—?”

“Correct! Garden of plants?”

“I don’t…I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Hmpf. Drath. Eternal Verdant Gardens of Some Shit. Floating fountain’s from Baleros, Lizardfolk. Second gate with the swords is supposed to be Terandrian, but I think they just ran out of ideas. Third gate?”

“It has to be Drowned Folk. Oh, so this is—”

Qwera folded her arms.

“All stolen. Not anything literally, but the ideas. You see? We’re as good as Wistram, as elegant as Drath, as, I don’t know, able to afford Golems as House Terland. The Guild changes the front every few decades. I heard we once used to have Djinni servants. Guess how that went.”

“But it’s still amazing, Qwera. Did Zeres pay for any of it?”

“Nope. Like I said, it’s ours. Merchants. You think we mined those Dragongems? Enchanted that magic? We don’t know how to swing swords, most of us. We don’t make things. We’re good at buying and selling, that’s all. The people here forget that. So bear in mind what I said. This is going to be unpleasant, anyways. I hate it here.”

She cracked her neck, sighing. Selchess didn’t see how Qwera could say that. The Drake glanced over her shoulder.

“But aren’t there all kinds of amenities here? And all the greatest [Merchants] would be here or in First Landing’s Guild…”

“Yep. Which means I’d feel more at home in a dive filled with [Rogues] and [Cutthroats]. I’m not the biggest fish in this pond; far from it. I only managed to scrounge enough gold to qualify for Headquarters membership two years ago. You have to stay above a certain amount in their accounts, or have it in all your investments, at least.”

The Golden Gnoll could barely afford a membership here? Another gulp from Selchess, but Qwera was speeding through the other symbolic arches that represented peoples the Merchant’s Guild traded with—and made a profit off of.

“Should I keep my eyes out for anything, Qwera? Or be wary of anything?”

She nearly slammed into Qwera’s back, and the Golden Gnoll stopped to give her an approving look.

“There’s that Liscorian survival instinct, I guess. Good! Keep your earholes open for good gossip, though most people will be playing the same game as I am. New items on display, yes. Mostly…any big players from other continents. Everyone’s come for the New Lands, and I want to know the field. Well, I’ll find out soon enough. Where’s the [Pianist]? Ah, perfect. I have arrived!”

She reached the glass double doors of the Merchant’s Guild, threw them open before a staff member could open them, and shouted into the Guild’s entryway. Then she smiled as [Merchants] and lesser [Traders] jumped and turned to her, annoyed, envious, and someone began to play.

——

Qwera did know how to make an entrance. And with respect to what she’d said to Selchess, she might not be the biggest player, but impressions were everything.

A lot of her peers had no style. They swanned in, expecting their wealth to do all the talking for them, and it did work on the sycophants whose noses were shoved so far up other people’s rectums they’d lost all sense of taste as well. But Qwera?

She knew she needed to command respect today, which was why the Gnoll at the piano began playing the moment she came in, and she triggered a full spread of her favorite illusion spells.

Golden Gnoll! The light hit her golden fur and sent sparkles up and down the Guild’s walls. Several twirling golden serpents exploded in the air—silently—because the piano was singing.

It was the most complex melody that they had, something from Earth that showcased the dynamic range. Music beyond any harpsichord that told any [Merchant] who heard it that this was a new instrument; the gleaming finish on the black piano as the [Pianist]’s hands danced across the keys in a spotlight?

Ah, she loved showing off. Qwera grinned. It was twice as sweet, because it was an object she knew the others had no chance of obtaining.

Only one group was making pianos in the entire damn world, and this Earth-tech device was not something you could buy with coin alone. Three had gone up for auction from the Meeting of Tribes until now, and this one, a fourth, had gone to a trusted [Merchant] who was actually liked by the tribes: Qwera.

She had no intention of selling it unless the Serpentine Matriarch herself decided she absolutely needed it; she could have those whims, and in that case, Qwera would probably sell it for a hundred thousand gold pieces or something ridiculous and give the [Treasurer] of Zeres’ Admiralty a heart attack.

But it was more useful to show off, anyways. Qwera blew kisses as Selchess stood there, open-mouthed and gazing around the vast entry hall with its three layers of open balconies, air-conditioned seating, statues of famous [Merchants] who’d come before, free drinks, scrying spells with views of other Merchant’s Guilds across the world…

This used to be more impressive a year or two ago. These days, [Scrying] spells were so common that the round mirrors almost seemed tacky, out-of-date. There was discomfort there that Qwera picked up on as [Merchants] eyed her piano and tried to go back to pretending they were so important you had to talk to them. They glanced at the scrying spells, then checked personal, compact scrying devices.

One [Trader] even unfolded a six-piece scrying mirror that he mounted on one arm via a little gauntlet. It was a mirror that you could fold up to stow away, and when unpacked, it was a huge screen to watch the news on.

Stupid. Pointless. The folding probably means it breaks or chips far more easily. A cheap attempt to cash in on the scrying fad by going impressive. Plenty of people will look at it, but only a few without any taste will actually buy it.

Qwera’s instincts told her that even as her [Inspection: Market Viability] Skill told her that the [Trader] had managed to sell this particular item three times. Total.

That was how this Merchant’s Guild ran. Everyone pretended, everyone tried to sucker the others, but real power often was recognizable. Qwera lifted a hand, and the frantic [Pianist] stopped playing, because she’d made her point.

Besides, they couldn’t actually play the entire song of Paganini/Liszt – Etude No. 6; it was far too complex for a new musician. Point made, Qwera strode forwards as an underling ran up to her.

“Merchant Qwera, do refrain from excessive—”

“One side.”

Qwera pointed, and the junior stopped, stepped aside, and Qwera spoke.

“I’m here for my meeting. Give my apprentice full services, and I want everything on the New Lands you’ve got. I need a good [Carpenter] for my wagons and connections with a [Mage] of repute who specializes in enchanting. Like hell I’m going into the New Lands and losing my magic.”

Heads turned as she spoke loudly, not caring to whisper, and the Drake man wrote frantically.

“Very good, Merchant. Do you require a list of our adventurers or [Mercenaries] for—”

“If I needed them, I’d have reached out months ago! Shoo!”

He shooed. Qwera didn’t normally hold with treating the help badly, but the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters staffed their guild with sycophants who reported everything you did. Her head was turning, and she spotted the only person she did like in the entire place so far, standing with the [Pianist]. The woman seemed quite uncomfortable, probably because they’d hassled her, but no one could eject the woman standing with the piano, because she was Qwera’s partner and guest.

Ysara Byres had re-dyed her purple hair and put on some of the Silversteel that had given her her nickname. Ysara the Silver Trader. She and Qwera were almost made to partner up, thematically. But she wasn’t as high-ranking a [Merchant] as Qwera, albeit a very good one, and her arms were folded, one finger tapping the sword at her side.

“Qwera, there you are. The meeting’s in—”

“I know. I’ll try to get you in. Just relax. Casual, Ysara.”

The woman was visibly unhappy as Qwera and Selchess approached. A crowd was gathered around the piano, and Qwera smiled as some turned to her.

“Like the piano? Straight out of the Meeting of Tribes.”

“Fascinating, Merchant Qwera, is it? How do you do? Merchant Brevess, one of the top [Merchants] in Zeres!”

A Drake offered her a claw, smiling too wide—he was elderly, and Qwera inspected him. Touched the Card of Fortune’s Chosen hidden behind her belt as she rested one hand on her colorful sash and shook his clawed hand.

…Nothing. [Prospective Client] showed him as a bright sparkle in her eyes, so he was a top [Merchant] in Zeres, probably.

Not a card-carrying member. He was trying to imply he was, but she just smiled at him.

“If you’d like to make me an offer, Merchant Brevess, go ahead! It’s one of four in the world, and I intend to wow the Serpentine Matriarch with it before I go.”

His face flickered as Ysara glanced at Qwera, and that was how lower-level [Merchants] acted. Brevess coughed.

“You have an invitation to the Wavesent Palace? I thought you only arrived in the city today…getting one is very difficult, you know. But I could perhaps procure—”

Qwera threw back her head and laughed, loudly, because she was already done with this conversation. She wanted to talk to a real player.

“Oh, you sweet summer’s child. Invitation? The Serpentine Matriarch knows me—I tend to make an impression! I’ll just have the grand piano—grand piano, mind you—installed in a plaza. Playing it for half a day will get enough attention for that. Ah, my [Pianist], Vrozerr here, will certainly level. Vrozerr, bow for the audience! Don’t let them touch the keys. They’re ivory.”

Merchant Brevess didn’t know how to respond to Qwera’s superior attitude as she turned away from him, clearly dismissing the Drake. He turned pale, then his scales flushed dark.

“Why, the nerve! I’ve never been spoken to like—you’re as coarse as the roads you travel, clearly! In Zeres, there’s such a thing as respect, you know!”

Qwera was debating how to deal with the Drake when there was a long, amused chuckle, and someone else strolled past Brevess, parting the crowd with a wave of his hand. Well, the giant, stomping Golem with a huge sword mounted directly onto its arm helped.

“Respect is for members, Merchant whomever you are. Go back to Zeres’ Merchant’s Guild. We don’t recognize age here.”

Brevess paled, and the [Merchant], who had a tunic of rather simple grey but an extraordinary decoration over his heart—an embroidered, clockwork Golem’s Heart of magic and gears—nodded to Qwera.

This time, her Card of Fortune’s Chosen vibrated as they locked eyes, and she saw him smile. The Human man bowed slightly.

“Merchant Freirgat, [Esteemed Trader of Cabochon Hearts]. Normally of First Landing. In service to the Terlands, though I am still my own agent. Rerum possessionem capere.”

“Oh, the Golem Merchant himself. I think we met in First Landing the last time I was there. I washed my paws of trying to sell Golems. They look nice, walk themselves, but the margins just were not there for me. Somnia possessionis vendere, Freirgat.”

She finished the Merchant Guild’s slogan as the two shook hands, utterly ignoring the Drake, and the man smiled. Six of his teeth had been replaced by colorful replacements shaped to look like the enamel, but were some precious stone.

Not the clear jewels you might assume, but stone of a more varied kind. Like…lapis lazuli, instead of a straight sapphire, with little gradients baked into the stone, polished until the minerals gleamed.

“Here I thought I was ostentatious.”

He laughed, and she wondered if he had a charm Skill or just knew the score. Either way, she warmed to him ever-so-slightly as he swept a hand out.

“Everyone thinks it’s a way to advertise my stones, which is fair enough. But in truth, I just lost the teeth in a bar fight when I was a younger man. I thought having a Golem meant I was immune from being punched repeatedly in the face if I was nose-to-nose with someone. May I steal your time? Lovely piece. Grand Piano? How’d you get the Gnolls to sell you one? All the Terlands were badgering me to get one, but I made zero headway.”

“By being a Gnoll. And by being rather in with their leadership.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know if I could get one…? No, at those prices it would be far better to wait. It’s just like the bicycle phenomenon. You know, I bought two on a lark? I was 56th in line with Solar Cycles—and I still made a profit you wouldn’t believe! One sold in First Landing, the other one for any noble who wanted to ride on it. Until an idiot rode it into the harbor.”

He sighed, and Qwera grinned.

“That’s Earth-tech for you, especially this year, it feels. Slap a marker on anything that you can claim fits the bill and it’s a 300% margin at least.”

Earth. She spoke the word into the air, and all the people listening except for Freirgat, two of the staff, and one [Trader] in the far back didn’t know what that meant. But Qwera and Freirgat glanced at a Chandrian Stitch-man, then at each other, and his eyes flickered.

“—Well, of course. Merchant Qwera, are you in this meeting I’ve been called to? I thought it was some small matter I wouldn’t even bother to attend, but I’m reconsidering if the Golden Gnoll’s joining.”

“It’s personal. I know some of the parties involved. Trader Ysara here, my partner in crime, is related to them. Ysara, Freirgat.”

“The Silver Trader of House Byres?”

Brows rose as Freirgat went to kiss Ysara’s hand. She held her hand out, and he changed quickly to a handshake. Very adaptable. Ysara was a touch cool as she smiled.

“I hope you haven’t heard anything poor of me up north. It’s been a long time since I went home, let alone to First Landing, Freirgat.”

“Not at all. Rather, I know some [Lords] who still have dueling scars. I’d say young [Lords], but, argh, we’re all reaching up there in years! Don’t you run the Bloodfields?”

“Occasionally.”

He shuddered.

“Dead gods. But that’s an experience in and of itself. I’ve been trying to hire on with experienced [Traders] now that I have my eyes on the New Lands, but this blow about the magic…terrible, utterly terrible. I was just talking to a Lord Comigen who told me of a disastrous expedition. But there are opportunities as well. Golems bleed magic, but their Golem Hearts regenerate just enough to make them a viable asset.”

“Really?”

Ysara and Qwera were fascinated. Freirgat went to touch a ring on his hand, but caught himself and glanced around at the people scavenging their conversation with clear amusement.

“Oh, naturally. It would make any Golem more of a target, and the Golem’s Hearts won’t allow them to defend themselves, but it is a way to keep some magic in the New Lands. Now, I don’t consider that a particularly attractive proposition, but if you two had some venture, I’d be willing to join in.”

“We’re not planning on delving deep. There’s more gold to be found in the cities. Qwera’s sent three caravans laden with food, and that’s enough profits for me.”

Ysara murmured. Qwera chuckled.

“Two with profits that have me scrambling, one waylaid. It is why I rely on Ysara here. Her caravan ladies can swing a sword. My [Guards] do well enough, but not for this…do you use only Golems on patrol?”

“Heavens, no. They’re too slow. I have a few higher-grade ones.”

“Sentient-class?”

Ysara was interested, and Freirgat began to answer when Brevess and two other Drakes dressed to the nines tried to enter into the conversation.

“I say, is this business with the New Lands about the, ah, troubles encountered there? I’ve heard it’s not all roses and exploration.”

All three turned to the Drakes, and Freirgat’s voice was flat.

“You mean the mana-drain and salted ground.”

“I—er—”

The ‘secret’ of the New Lands that the trio thought they were part of hung in the air, and no one blinked an eye. Freirgat turned to Qwera, tapped his Ring of Hush pointedly, and continued talking.

“Actually, Sentient-class isn’t how they’re categorized. That’s all in the…mind of the Golem, really. There’s other classifications, Lady Byres.”

“Oh, don’t call me that.”

“My apologies. I’m in possession of some of those serving-models, you know? Imagine the ceramic ones that can set a table in House Terland. Mine are wood—it’s far more economic given that wear and tear and damage do occur—and they’re all technically Autonomous-class, but so well made you’d never realize it. They can rub down horses, fight back, even sell goods, though you do not wish to try that without someone keeping an eye on them.”

He shuddered.

“Clockwork-types. You’d call the rough ones Sculpture-type Golems, whereas my bodyguard here is Artifact-type. More magic functions.”

“Fascinating.”

Qwera really couldn’t care less about the Golems at the moment, but she was always in the market for a good bodyguard or asset—just not now. She leaned over to Freirgat.

“Let’s talk New Lands later. Though—who’s the Chandrarian?”

“I don’t know, but he’s one of a number I’ve seen passing through here. Clearly, he understands the Earth situation too. Have you ever met an Earther, or whatever they are? House Terland is abuzz about them, but I wasn’t sure if they were asking me to kidnap one or what.”

Freirgat adjusted his tunic with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable, and Ysara and Qwera exchanged perfectly innocent glances.

“Met one? I can’t say I have. Then again, the piano told us that the Meeting of Tribes knew at least one.”

Ysara was learning. Well, she’d never been bad at the job, just not as deep in the Guild politics as Qwera. Freirgat eyed her, sighed, and swept a hand out.

“I believe the meeting’s starting. A fair word of warning: I’m not sure we are on the same side here, Qwera? Then again, I’m open to suggestions.”

They walked out of his [Hush] spell, and Selchess followed, anxious. Qwera snorted.

“We’re all bastards here, Freirgat. I’ll bet the Guild will say it’s siding with us, but what I see—impartially even to the fact that they’re friends of mine—is idiocy. What makes us look bad hurts us, and this is not the time to trade reputation for gold coins.”

“I like that. Very well. He is part of my Guild, the Merchant, um…well, one of the six. But I never cared for him. Related, you said? Ah, of course. House Byres. Do you know, Trader Ysara, that your sister is all the buzz with the nobles? Especially the female ones.”

Ysara managed a smile as they headed into the guild, towards one of the meeting rooms. There were hardly more secure places in the world, and the [Guards] eyed her sword—and Qwera’s and Freirgat’s protections—but didn’t say a word as they passed. The Silver Trader gestured to her bag of holding.

“Do you sell the t-shirts with Yvlon on them, Freirgat? It might be a bit below your usual line of quality, but they sell surprising numbers, north and south. All of my [Caravaners] have one of her. They’re, um, rather taken with her.”

Since Ysara tended to hire mostly female [Caravaners], [Guards], and so on to work with her, all of whom were of a certain…Turnscale proclivity, Qwera grinned. If Freirgat got what that meant, he just smiled and shook his head politely.

“Perhaps I should—Golems are not exactly popular with the fair sex outside of House Terland, and it would be an excellent introduction. Do you have an autograph of hers, by chance? No? Pity. I would love to hear some stories about her.”

“You’d be surprised. She was far more mild-mannered when she was younger. I was the wild child.”

“Dead gods. But then again, I know House Byres, and I’m surprised it produced anyone like, er, well—”

Another smile that Ysara had to clearly force.

“I think it is surprising, but not unexpected to me, Freirgat. Shall we?”

They’d reached Meeting Room 3, and Qwera strode for the doors. She was mostly naked anyways, to better flaunt her golden fur, but Ysara was adjusting her clothing—until one of the [Guards] spoke.

“Members only, with apologies.”

“Oh, come now. We both vouch for her.”

Freirgat objected with a frown, and the [Guard] bowed.

“Apologies, sir. One of the members requested the change at the last-minute.”

“Damn. I guess that’s how it has to be, Ysara. Don’t worry.”

Ysara was clearly unhappy, but Freirgat and Qwera walked through the doors as they opened and closed. The moment they entered the room where two other [Merchants] were waiting in the flesh and two more were speaking from scrying orbs, Qwera felt all the little alarm bells in her head go off.

Wash my fur, but I don’t like this. She’d been hoping to get a Headquarters flunkie and a few annoying idiots at worst. But the moment she saw the woman in the scrying orb, sitting in a huge office with a view of a harbor, with a glass of whiskey in hand and a shard of Everfrozen ice in it, and that banner draped behind her, of chains before a harbor, the symbol of Roshal—

She realized the Merchant’s Guild really should have reviewed its membership criteria.

——

Slave Lady Andra was a [Merchant]. She was one of good standing, but not known to Izril’s Merchant’s Guild, clearly. Her presence was odd, and she was…unsettling.

Exactly how wasn’t clear at first. She was dressed up in one of those modern suits that Magnolia Reinhart had popularized, though she had chosen a blood-red outfit instead of pink, and she appeared middle-aged.

Her office was extravagant. Aside from the huge flag with Roshal’s symbol hanging above her desk, there was a view of Lailight Scintillation behind her, an oasis of colors surrounded by an emerald sea compared to the dry land of Chandrar around it. The rest of the room was fit for any monarch: huge shelves of books and trophies flanked the working area where Andra sat. Contrasting the rather rich, ornamental decor were just…desks.

Desks and cabinets scattered about the room. Each one set up for a single person. Like a command room fit for one, and the wheeled chair the half-Elf sat on could flick to any one required.

The wealth made Andra seem more like a [Lady] or a [Merchant] who’d given up caravanning, but Qwera wasn’t fooled. She knew the [Slave Lady] the moment she’d seen her, but it was the presence, again, that was so offputting.

Andra…weighed down the room. Eyes would turn to her. You’d default to addressing her instead of anyone else. It was like she possessed a gravity and authority that had everyone having to fight to defer to her. And, it felt to the [Merchants], she was better than they were.

In terms of the one unit they all respected: wealth. If they were little towers of it, building up their small companies, she was an empire of it, the fountain from which it flowed.

Respect me. Obey me. Listen to me. Her dispassionate eyes seemed to find the room both boring and engaging enough for her to sit there, sipping her wine. Like…a woman inspecting this scene to find any worth in it.

She unnerved the representative, Merchant Bester, the Drake representing the Guild, and everyone else in the room. Qwera’s hair was fully on end—she was the only Gnoll. There were two Humans, two Drakes, and the half-Elf. Andra.

Freirgat of First Landing, a Merchant Rebrent, Slave Lady Andra, Merchant Bester, and the last, a Merchant Lilstreica of Oteslia. She was a Drake and nodded to Qwera as the meeting began. Bester cleared his throat a few times.

“We are, ah, gathered here to discuss the matter of one Consortium of Enterprise’s complaint against their employees, namely the Silver Swords, a Gold-rank team. It has come to the Merchant Guild’s attention that there is a matter of disagreement over how the matter should be resolved. Merchant Qwera, you had voiced an objection. Merchant Rebrent, you are vouching for the Consortium of Enterprise, who is in turn represented by Merchant Anlam, the only known member who is alive or in contact at this moment. Tragic, tragic…he can be summoned for testimony if need be. Merchant Qwera, you have the floor to speak.”

So that was her opponent. Rebrent seemed like a typical big-caravanner from the north, used to buying and selling in bulk and being able to command better margins than smaller groups. To be fair, that was her model, and she bared her teeth at him as he nodded stiffly and held a handkerchief over his nose.

Not for her; his eyes flickered to the half-Elf, and it was Lilstreica who raised a claw.

“Er, may I ask a question?”

Bester nodded at her. He was the final judge and jury in this room; the Merchant’s Guild was adjudicating this dispute, but if they wanted to do something, they’d do it. However, if every [Merchant] in here objected…the members had power. A powerful member could probably overrule the entire room.

Qwera would have guessed that Freirgat was near the top, or Lilstreica, but she had no read on Andra’s position. She felt powerful but Qwera would have heard of her name; she knew a lot of the top [Merchants] from Chandrar by reputation. This woman was a stranger…

“I know we’re all [Merchants] here, but who is our guest? That…she appears to be high-level, but she’s not from Izril, or I’d know about her.”

Bester jumped as Lilstreica said what everyone was thinking. He wiped at his brows.

“Er, Merchant Andra—”

“Slave Lady Andra. I insist on my proper title, Representative Bester.”

The woman interrupted with a cold, no-nonsense voice. She flicked a painted fingernail up towards the banner and smiled with evident pride in who she was. Well, that just settled how Qwera felt about the woman. Bester jumped.

“Slave Lady, yes. She is a member of the Merchant’s Guild. A very old member, in fact, who reactivated her membership recently.”

“…How old?”

Lilstreica gestured at Andra, and Bester licked his lips.

“Er, thousands of years old, it would appear. Slave Lady Andra is on the books as being an active member during the Creler Wars.”

Six thousand years ago. The knowledge filled the room with silence until someone laughed incredulously. Qwera felt her anxious stomach roiling harder.

Because…she wasn’t sure that she saw all that age in the half-Elf’s face, but there was something there. The power. Lilstreica turned her head.

“I haven’t heard of her. Not once. I know the top [Slave Lord] in Roshal is Emir Yazdil. What…let’s assume this is true. She just reappears one day, claiming to be the same Slave Lady Andra and she gets her old roles back? Did you check her identity?”

Bester mopped at his brows as Andra smiled.

“Yes, I believe there was a thorough investigation. It is an extraordinary circumstance given the gap in time…but that is not actually a way to lose membership, Merchant Lilstreica. Lady Andra reactivated her membership, and she is in good standings with Chandrar’s Merchant’s Guilds and, ah, quite interested in the goings-on in Izril. She has voted in every meeting for the last month.”

He had a rather hunted expression on his face, and Qwera felt uneasy. Every meeting? Most [Merchants] hated being called into the procedural votes, which were often disputes between local Guilds or the like. But if you wanted to spend your time, you could curry a lot of favor with people by interceding, probably like what Rebrent was doing.

Great, we have someone from Roshal who’s willing to play politics all day. She should tell someone.

…Who? The Wandering Inn? The Meeting of Tribes? Roshal wasn’t anyone’s enemy, except maybe Erin Solstice’s, but one look at the woman made Qwera feel like they were diametrically opposed.

Her instincts said someone needed to be aware and opposing this woman.

That left only Qwera.

Great. But she smiled at Andra as if they couldn’t be enemies at all, because telling the woman they were enemies was the worst move of all.

“Chandrarian Merchants. We didn’t have that until the New Lands started rising. Does the Headquarters allow foreign interference into our matters, Bester? No offense, Lady Andra, but I’m just protective of our authority.”

That got nods from everyone in the room, but the Slave Lady replied, again stiff as a pole.

“It is the policy of the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters of Izril to allow any [Merchant] to weigh into disputes where their businesses are represented. A number of Chandrarian [Merchants] I am affiliated with, as well as those registered to my city, are going to the New Lands. I find Izril’s matters of great import. If the Izrilian Guild decides to curtail my participation, that is their decision.”

The most narrow-straight, no-nonsense answer you could ask for. Bester spread his claws.

“We have made no deliberations on this point…if you have an objection, Miss Qwera?”

Andra watched Qwera as the Golden Gnoll shook her head instantly. And then hid a smile as someone else spoke.

“I have an objection! This…this [Slave Lady] has no bearing on this case! And she is rather—distracting! I am representing my friend, Anlam, and my fellow [Merchants] from Invrisil’s Merchant’s Guild! I request the removal of outsiders at once!”

Rebrent snapped, and instantly, Andra jotted something down on her papers. He glared at Qwera as Bester lifted his claws.

“Merchant Qwera has ties to the Silver Swords—”

“Non-entities like that thing and the others.”

He meant Lilstreica and lost her support instantly too. Only Freirgat was immune to Rebrent’s objections, and Qwera snorted.

Idiot. The problem was…he had contracts on his side. Bester snapped back.

“Merchant Rebrent, no member will be excised from this room. Let us begin laying out the issue at hand. Merchant Qwera?”

——

When you got down to it, it was a simple problem. Qwera explained it without real objection from even Rebrent.

“Some [Merchants] tried to strike while the iron was hot. They headed into the New Lands before anyone knew about the mana drain or salted earth. It was a bad investment from the start, but they didn’t know when to quit.”

“Poor fools.”

Freirgat murmured. Lilstreica shook her head.

“Were they planting?”

“They intended to. They had just enough provisions for a first harvest. My understanding is, ah, a harvest was attempted as supplies dwindled.”

Rebrent muttered, and everyone shuddered. Lilstreica shook her head.

“Oteslia has been slammed for food orders. Even our gardens can’t keep up—! It’s not just how many people want to go on an expedition, it’s how much food has been lost. Spoiled when the Chests of Holding fail! So, this Expedition of Commerce…?”

“The Consortium of Enterprise Expeditions, I believe.”

Bester remarked, and even Lady Andra’s lips twisted. Qwera sighed.

“—They made a mistake. But their real mistake was staying. Everyone started to starve, and they refused to leave. That’s when the contracts began being used. The Silver Swords were coerced into staying.”

“Coerced…”

“Contract chains.”

“Dead gods, someone actually used one of those? Those are old contracts on the books!”

Freirgat was astonished, and Qwera eyed him.

“They’re more common than you think on long-haul caravanning. But forcing people to stay and starve went as well as you could expect. The Silver Swords broke the contract.”

“They attacked the Consortium’s members, staged a revolt, broke into their personal property, stole the expedition’s supplies, and fled, Merchant Qwera.”

Rebrent corrected her, and Qwera snorted.

“Your friends wanted everyone to starve to death. One of their members begged for escort! I have all of this on truth stone, and you know, we could have just left it there. Instead, some idiot called down an entire Drake city on all the members of the expedition, and we have arrest warrants sent to dozens of cities! I say call it off. This is making us look bad.”

That was her case. She felt like it was an easy thing to grasp, and Freirgat, Lilstreica, both seemed to be receptive, but Slave Lady Andra…

“According to the deposition of Merchant Anlam, the Silver Swords were unfaithful to the spirit and letter of the contract, hence his desire for both their arrest and arrangement of servitude-contracts. He is correct under the contracts—the Silver Swords testified to the Adventurer’s Guild under truth stone they were coerced and in a position of life or death. Where does the Headquarters stand on this issue, Bester?”

She spoke as the Drake chewed his lip.

“We acknowledge the Adventurer’s Guild’s complaint, which they have raised, of course…but the Consortium were all members of the Guild in good standing. Setting a precedent where any hired contractors can abandon our members in the New Lands would be a terrible example.”

Qwera slammed a fist on the table.

“As would chasing down a Gold-rank team to the ends of the earth. It looks bad! It ruins our reputation.”

“You’re just backing them because of your personal connections, Merchant!”

Rebrent sneered at her, and she barked back.

“And you’re trying to bail out your buddies! Don’t play favoritism with me! Listen to me. Who here knows Merchant Anlam or the other members? What’re their names?”

She peered around, and Freirgat raised a hand.

“I knew Merchant Lolsed, who is part of my guild.”

She nodded at him.

“Famous, was he? Well-liked publicly?”

A shrug from the Golem Trader.

“Publicly, I doubt anyone knew him. Within the Guild…he was fairly successful. Not a member, but he might have gotten there before he retired.”

Then he’d be like Bester, a member of management throwing his power around there because he didn’t want to hack it actually selling goods. Qwera nodded.

“Now, the other side is the Silver Swords. A Gold-rank team. Who knows them?”

Everyone had to raise their hands, even Slave Lady Andra, to Qwera’s surprise, except Lilstreica, who tilted her head.

“The Silver Swords…are they related to the Silver Killer of Izril?”

“Brother to her. Sister of Trader Ysara, who’s in business with Qwera here.”

Freirgat informed her, and the Drake’s expression lit up.

“You don’t say? I’d love an autograph or to chat—”

“Ahem.”

Bester cleared his throat, and Qwera went on in the silence.

“The Silver Swords are respected. Seeing the Merchant’s Guild come after them and siccing the Watch on them as well as the colonists? It looks bad. It calls our contracts into question and makes people second-guess working with us. How many questions have we gotten about those contracts from the Adventurer’s Guild, Bester?”

That was a shot in the dark, but he grimaced, and the other [Merchants] glanced at him. Freirgat was nodding as he rested his hands on the table.

“So you’d propose…”

“Drop the criminal charges. That’s all. The Silver Swords lost most of their gear. The Consortium’s either dead or expended most of their finances. Everyone lost here. What do we stand to gain from pursuing this?”

Lilstreica was nodding, arms folded. Rebrent licked his lips as Bester raised his brows, and Qwera thought she had them until the Slave Lady spoke.

“What we stand to gain is a Gold-rank team’s services. Which would benefit us greatly. It is true our members acted foolishly. Merchant Anlam is incompetent and has misrepresented his case in self-interest. I propose demoting him to Trader-class, absorbing his contract and that of the Consortium into the Merchant’s Guild employ, and pursuing seizure of the Silver Swords unless they can repay their incurred debts.”

Every head turned to her, and Freirgat frowned.

“You want to make them [Slaves]?”

“Indentured workers. As is chartered under Merchant Guild law. They are a capable group. It would behoove Izril’s Merchant’s Guild to develop longer-term assets, especially given the pressure on our members.”

Lady Andra shuffled her papers slowly on the desk, and Bester appeared uneasy.

“[Slaves] are not a common practice in Izril, even if they are allowed in cities like Zeres, Lady Andra—”

“They are not slaves, Merchant Bester. They are assets. And with respect, I do represent other [Merchants] who are keen to know their interests are not being ignored by Izril’s Merchant’s Guild. Baleros, Rhir, and Chandrarian [Merchants] have already begun to land on Izril’s shores.”

“And Terandrian, who do not hold with slavery. I find myself agreeing with Qwera. This is too much to put upon a respected Gold-rank team. The Merchant’s Guild of First Landing would tarnish its reputation with the Five Families!”

Freirgat faced the Slave Lady. Andra smirked at him, and Freirgat’s stern expression wavered. She chuckled, once, like someone rustling papers.

“Do forgive me, Merchant Freirgat. Terandrians do not hold with slavery indeed. A fine joke. Merchant Bester, I believe Chandrar’s Merchant Guild Headquarters would like to confer on this issue.”

“They would? I may need to take a call—”

“Hold on, she can’t use the Headquarters in Chandrar! We’re voting on this!”

Qwera snapped, and even Rebrent seemed astonished, but Slave Lady Andra just raised her brows.

“I am merely acting in the Merchant Guild’s interest, Merchant Qwera. I understand your passion and would like to discuss business if we can put this matter behind us. There is no personal emotion in this decision for me. What benefits the Guild is for the best.”

“What about our reputations? I don’t fancy being blacklisted by the Adventurer’s Guild!”

Lilstreica shot back. Andra raised her brows higher.

“Do we consider the Adventurer’s Guild to be equal in stature to our influence?”

“Wh—as peers, certainly!”

Andra just shook her head as Freirgat objected. She turned to Bester, and then it seemed like she was speaking just to him.

“The Merchant’s Guild stands to increase its influence over Izril’s operations significantly. With so many members in the field, I believe any diminishment of our authority is a dangerous precedent to set. I request a recess before we put this matter to the vote.”

“Bester, this is our discussion!”

Freirgat snapped as the Drake hesitated, and Bester put up his hands. Merchant Rebrent was glancing at Andra.

“I, ah, do back Lady Andra’s proposal, but I would like some kind of measure to be taken against danger to my friend, Anlam. And the Consortium is still out there. What about a rescue—”

“The Merchant’s Guild has no resources to waste, Merchant Rebrent. I think a recess is in order. I’ll have to confer with some senior management. Fifteen minutes, please.”

Lilstreica’s voice rose in outrage!

“Bester! Oteslia’s Merchant Guild is not on board with slavery!”

“It’s not slavery. This is purely a matter of commerce.”

Slave Lady Andra smiled as Bester snapped back, and Qwera saw her knowing, amused expression.

“Exactly. It’s just good procedure and contracts. As it was first written by the founder of the current Merchant’s Guild. I was such an admirer of her work.”

“Who would that be?”

Freirgat, Lilstreica, Qwera, and Rebrent all turned, and Andra frowned, as if they should know that.

“Why, Empress Nerrhavia herself, of course. The Immortal Tyrant laid the foundations of the modern monetary system and the Merchant’s Guild. One of her finest contributions to world governance.”

——

You know, the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters did tell its own story. Precious gems, magic, Golems, all these beautiful things taken from other peoples by the expenditure of gold. Other people worked hard to make food, art, and because you had a handful of gold, you tricked them into giving it to you.

“Merchants are bastards. Guess I forgot my own advice.”

Qwera stood in the sun as it glinted off her fur, staring up at the arches. Lilstreica was munching on a carrot as Freirgat wrote in a [Message] scroll.

“Who is that woman? Is she in First Landing’s meetings? Qwera, are you not shocked? She overruled us all!”

“I’m thinking, Freirgat.”

The verdict had come down, and Ysara had stormed off. But Qwera? She just stood there and watched as that Chandrarian [Merchant] began to leave the Headquarters. Perhaps he’d only been here to visit or get information, but someone intercepted him as he was going.

“Sir? [Scrying] spell for you. Lady Andra—”

Curious. What Qwera’s ears heard before the conversation was silenced did not match what her eyes expected to see. Because, when the [Merchant] turned and saw the scrying orb light up—

All the color drained out of his dusky cheeks. He appeared afraid.

“That fellow there. He’s not from Roshal, is he? Does anyone know?”

Lilstreica stopped crunching on a carrot and glanced up.

“That man? No, Nerrhavia’s Fallen. I think his name is…nope, I don’t have it. Pretty intelligent fellow, though. Knew about Earthers. You two know that, right?”

“Everyone does. Do you think she does?”

Slave Lady Andra’s face was on a scrying orb coming their way. Qwera blinked as a [Servant] held the orb out.

“Merchant Qwera? Slave Lady Andra. A private call.”

“I’ll…take it. Hello?”

A [Hush] and other privacy spells fell around them as Slave Lady Andra spoke, and Qwera stood in a dark room.

“Merchant Qwera, your reputation for good business and penchant for dramatic discourse was not exaggerated in my files. I wished to speak with you. I trust you did not take the judgement of the Merchant’s Guild personally? It was merely business.”

“My partner is the sister of the adventurers we just hung out to dry, Slave Lady.”

“I see. So there is some stake in the matter. How much does she care about family?”

“Greatly, in this case.”

Andra’s head nodded slowly. Her eyes were distant, not disinterested, but as if the idea of ‘family’ were a remote concept she’d dallied with and had left behind. She twirled a quill in her fingers.

“I see, so there is some debt in our exchange. Nevertheless, I wished to introduce myself as a potential partner. There is quite a lot of interest in Izril at the moment, and a partnership might be profitable.”

Dead gods, Qwera thought she could have ice-for-veins at times. Here she was doing business with Tesy dead and Vetn…but Andra was all of Cenidau. Qwera smiled, baring her teeth in as genuine a grin as she had.

“You’re a dangerous woman, Lady Andra. I can see that. Let’s say I’m interested, if only to avoid crossing swords again.”

That got a smile out of the woman.

“A practical businesswoman, excellent. So many people are so—personal.”

Qwera nodded, then frowned.

“I’d love to chat. But didn’t I see you meeting with someone else? I’m not in your way, am I?”

Andra’s eyes flashed approvingly.

“Not at all. [Simultaneous Meeting: Nineway Conference]. I could hardly keep abreast of my work without it.”

Dead gods she was a monster. Qwera smiled wider as she envisioned a dog rolling over and showing its belly. Because—she wasn’t sure how to counter this.

“Amazing. Well, let’s talk, Slave Lady. And it’s not personal at all, of course. The Silver Swords might be in debt now, but I imagine Ysara will pony up the money to pay the debt.”

Or Lyonette at the inn will as soon as she gets in contact with us. Qwera hadn’t heard from the inn, but she was surprised they weren’t on the warpath already, and they had sway with the Merchant’s Guild, even if they weren’t card-carrying members. Andra tilted her head slightly, and that smile never reached her eyes either.

“Ah, another personal debt I owe you then, Qwera. Rest assured, I am keeping track. Though it is your partner, and you seem far more able to separate relationships from business. The Silver Swords are responsible for the death of five [Merchants], or at least, their disappearance. This is no longer a case of owed incomes.”

All the fur on Qwera’s neck stood on end. Then she saw Andra’s eyes light up with the most pleased expression ever, like a cat watching a mouse in a trap.

“A bounty will be issued for their apprehension. We shall have them. Or the Merchant’s Guild must make an example.”

After a second, Qwera forced a laugh. And then she really wished she had someone to tell about this.

——

Slave Lady Andra was enjoying herself; an unexpected treat this morning given she had expected drudgery.

Then again, it was only two meetings out of sixty-three that were at all pleasant or amusing. She was used to this ratio; most of what she had to do was administrative, and while she enjoyed the accumulation of wealth and seeing the business of Roshal, which was her business, doing well, it could be tiresome.

She was Roshal. Oh, Andra acknowledged that the same statement and claim had been made by the other [Slave Lords], Shaullile, Yazdil, Thatalocian, even Pazeral, and that they represented different ethoses and times, but Andra still believed she was the true heart of Roshal.

For she was its coin. She was the ink that signed the parchments that bound those to chains, and she was the gold that flowed to pay for the nets, the caravans, the [Slave Takers], and grease the wheels of other kingdoms so that Roshal continued.

They had entrusted her with Roshal’s finances, the Masters of Roshal. Not all by choice, but she had used Yazdil’s position and her Skills to eliminate most issues, and she now ran Roshal’s heart from her new office. Which was her old office.

She had died here, once, with Crelers crawling up the city. Andra shuddered. The most unpleasant, frightening experience of her life. The attack spell that the Revenant, Fetohep, had launched on Roshal? The second-worst moment of her life.

However, she could now leave Roshal’s defense to Thatalocian and Pazeral, its relationships to Shaullile, and some of its governance in non-economic sectors to Yazdil. It was a partnership; Andra was the only [Slave Lord] who understood and truly appreciated the system they had here.

High-level individuals capable of effecting change in a low-leveled system. Delicious. She drank more wine since she had [Ever-Rational Mind]. Nothing would affect her decision-making process, save for herself. She could be completely inebriated or distracted and she would still make as cold a judgement as she saw fit.

She had done this a long time. She had been a half-Elf before death, Roshal her home of centuries. She was no Golem, of course; she required enjoyment and pursued her vices. She was, after all, Roshal.

Only, Andra was old. She’d been in her late three hundred and sixties when she’d died, which had been considerable time in the mortal world for a half-Elf. Andra had long since experienced every vice, every act and depravity Roshal had to offer. Hence why she took such pleasure in true power over people by way of economic might.

She’d stocked this tower up on [Slaves], chosen ones who were capable or physically appealing, and indulged in having a body again for two weeks before getting back to work. Now she was bored of them, and as such, pursued the vice that all [Slave Lords] had in common: finding their favorite [Slaves].

Each one had a type. Pazeral seemed to favor extreme beauty, exoticism, or just prestige. Classic. Shaullile? Too private, but Andra was compiling lists of [Slaves] that Shaullile had bought. High charisma, it seemed. Thatalocian? A mystery, truly, but Yazdil was easy: competence and levels.

Collecting the best specimens, training them, and enjoying them was a [Slave Lady]’s passion. In Andra’s case, her work tended to dovetail with her collection. Andra’s quill scribbled like lightning in front of her, jotting down notes from the seven different meetings she was having all at once.

Meeting #18 out of 63, 8:35 AM. [Simultaneous Meeting: Nineway Conference], scrying into Chandrar, city of Scitv. Empire of Scaied. Merchant Alabreta begins weeping uncontrollably. Saved recording for later.

“You’ve ruined me.”

The Stitch-woman was sobbing as Andra smiled into the scrying orb. The adjudicator for the Empire of Scaied, a nobleman, was silent, uncomfortable. Lady Andra smiled.

“We engaged in business rivalry. You chose the wrong opponent. I gave you numerous chances to join my interests.”

“You monster. How did you—she’s the reason everyone turned against me! She’s sabotaged my business, Lord…!”

The woman was appealing to the judge, but Andra had bought him out, so the nobleman cleared his throat and smacked a stone gavel.

“Enough of this. I find these allegations hysterical and meritless! Merchant Alabreta, you have not proven your case. The Empire of Scaied finds you are gravely in debt. Your company shall be dissolved and given over to the crown.”

He shot a glance at Andra, and she checked down the neat list of boxes. Over the last month, she’d been taking apart Alabreta’s holdings, using [Assassins] and other tools to remove her profitability, steal her clients.

It was just a hobby. True, the woman was anti-[Slaver], but this was more fun than anything else. Andra smiled.

“I believe the penalty for excessive debts in Scaied is death. Or conscription into the mercenary armies.”

The nobleman nodded. The Stitch-woman inhaled, and Andra savored the fear in her eyes.

“May I make a bid before her sentencing, Lord Judge? I would like to pay off Merchant Alabreta’s considerable debts. You may transfer her into Roshal’s custody. I’ll buy her.”

“You—you—”

The Stitch-woman’s face drained of color, and she saw Andra’s eyes flick to her, a smile crossing the [Businesswoman]’s lips.

Yes, that was the kind of [Slave] Andra liked. Defeated rivals. The powerful laid low. She’d have fun when Alabreta arrived. The nobleman shivered slightly, but he nodded.

“Of course.”

“You can’t do this! You can’t—”

Alabreta began to wail and scream and even, amusingly, to flee. Andra smiled wider. She’d had this all recorded; she’d play it back later when Alabreta arrived. Entertainment for off-work hours. She’d lost her entire collection of slaves and recordings with her death. But, well…

Life could not all be fun. The work was more tedious, which was why it was so refreshing to have…she checked her notes.

Meeting #23 out of 63, 8:34 AM. [Simultaneous Meeting: Nineway Conference], scrying into Izril, City of Zeres. Merchant’s Guild HQ. Person of note: Merchant Qwera, ‘Golden Gnoll’. Impressions favorable. Very attractive personality. Could lose weight.

“Do you have time to discuss more matters, Merchant Qwera? As I said, I have a personal interest in you.”

The Golden Gnoll’s fur rippled as she nodded, smiling cautiously. Guard all the way up. But she shone in Andra’s eyes.

Splendid investing portfolio. She knows exactly when to cut bad investments, and she’d started from nothing. Andra could read someone’s entire portfolio of wealth like a web of bright metal strands behind them. Qwera was beautiful in more ways than just her fur. Andra admired anyone with good business sense.

“I could speak, Slave Lady.”

“Wonderful.”

Another sip of the chilled wine. Andra savored it on her tongue. Such sensations…she was half-minded to call for a [Slave], but it was rude to enjoy oneself in company. In Izril. And even Chandrar. She’d need to change the culture back.

She wondered if she could get Qwera to pursue Shaullile’s pro-slavery initiatives. But sending non-Chandrarians a gift-[Slave] never worked out well in Andra’s experience, though she couldn’t fathom why. She had never had many friends in Roshal before her death or even after. It was why she craved those who could see the beauty of numbers themselves.

“Well then, as I have observed, and you no doubt, Izril is the prime continent for investment at this moment. Chandrar? Distressingly war-ravaged with little revitalization.”

“The King of Destruction does tend to ruin more than he builds. Though his kingdom comes out ahead. Such are [Kings of War].”

Andra beamed. Qwera got it!

“Exactly! I do have some investments in Reim and his holdings. Assuming he is triumphant, I expect exponential profits, but it is still slower than I would like. Izril? The New Lands?”

“I can see why you’re weighing in on the Merchant’s Guild. I’d hate to cross swords with you.”

Andra chuckled.

“I have little experience with actual swordplay, but I do enjoy battles of coin. As I said, however, I have no time to travel, and meeting contacts I can ally with is a priority. You are on a shortlist.”

Qwera stared at the sky for a second.

“…Would that shortlist mean you’re inclined to reverse course on the Silver Swords? Because I am listening.”

Another chuckle, and Andra waved a finger. She was enjoying this. The Gnoll woman was old enough, but compared to Andra, she was far too young and too low-level. Andra might have twenty levels on her, well, before her death. So distressing to lose her levels, but she’d already regained two.

“Merchant Qwera, you have not demonstrated any actionable reason I should believe your willingness to work with me nor any profitability in such an arrangement. When such moments do appear, I shall note them down and reconsider. Your Gold-rank team is not in great danger.”

“They have [Bounty Hunters] after them.”

“True, but adventurers tend to survive. If they enter the Merchant’s Guild’s possession, I will take charge of them. Then we can discuss an equitable trade.”

Oh, the Gnoll didn’t like that. She realized she’d revealed a weak point for Andra to use and bared her teeth. Delightful. She’d be so fetching if she lost, what, forty pounds? And took a Potion of Youth’s Return. Did they still make those? Andra would have to have them rediscovered if not.

Then again, she couldn’t tell if she wanted Qwera as a [Slave] or…an ally. Both were appealing. And because people often turned on her for reasons she never understood, only accounted for, Andra enjoyed both perspectives. She leaned forwards in her chair.

“I am quite interested in the developments over the next few months. The New Lands are a bounty of wealth if one approaches the puzzle correctly. Too many initiatives are foolhardy, such as the Consortium of Enterprise. I trust you will show me far more success.”

She knew the wealth in the New Lands, or she had enough clues to speculate what might be there. Qwera folded her arms.

“I don’t have the resources to go in nearly as thoroughly as Roshal. If you’d care to pave the way…”

“In time. I am currently consolidating our position in Chandrar. It is a rather tedious affair; we were cloistered until I took power.”

So insular. Andra rolled her eyes; her entry into the Merchant’s Guild was one of the things she’d needed to correct. If only she had a good helper—like Qwera, say. Did they have any [Corruptors] left? She’d check the Wishing Well later.

The Golden Gnoll was squinting at Andra.

“Who has any economic power in Chandrar besides Roshal…?”

“A few individuals. Nerrhavia’s Fallen has squandered its position, but Khelt is distressingly present. However, the main competitor in our region is the Empire of Sands.”

A thorn in her side. She didn’t like their growing authority or savvyness, but Yazdil assured her they were better as neutral, friendly parties. Andra didn’t conduct wars, so she sighed…then smiled.

“Their economic position is fairly dominant, but has been slipping of late. They made a terrible fumble of coin recently. I don’t know if you’ve heard…?”

“Recently? No, not at all.”

Qwera’s eyes lit up with curiosity, and Andra chuckled with good humor.

“Inquire about certain recent shipments of cargo if you would like to spot a great opportunity, Merchant Qwera. I, myself, prefer not to gamble on such ventures, but it was highly helpful in uprooting their dominance…until the business with these alternate currencies.”

She scowled again. She was familiar with such things, but it had been annoying—and unprecedented. She’d put it down to some kind of external factor, but she couldn’t understand what magnitude of Skill or effort it had been. Thatalocian had claimed it was due to Erin Solstice, but he said that about most things, and she had noted he had not stated that to the other [Slave Lords], just her.

Politics internally. She hoped she didn’t have to war with the others; they were more useful as allies. Qwera nodded a few times, taking in Andra’s hints.

“Intriguing. But my contacts say that the Empire of Sands is hardly down. They’ve been spending coin like water, as has Germina. Calanfer too.”

Oh, she was capable. Andra drank more wine, grimacing.

“That…is the oddity. Someone has injected a strong amount of monetary power into multiple nations. I traced the funds to Izril, but the Merchant’s Guild is not as thorough as I would like.”

And someone was very good at hiding their trail. She wanted to know whom, to avoid more meddling in her plans, and of course to either recruit or enslave such a party to her side.

Qwera exhaled.

“…And I’m, what, the young ingenue to throw myself at the feet of a master? I’m rather annoyed by this Silver Swords business, Lady Andra. You may not realize it, but you’ve made an enemy of House Byres. Lord Yitton Byres cares about his son.”

Andra’s head tilted to one side as she heard a blip from her speaking stone.

“Lady Andra, [Forewarned Danger] has been triggered. We are doubling your security.”

“Triple and deal with it.”

How annoying, [Assassins] or whatnot. Andra triggered five Djinni she’d bought for her security, then went back to talking.

“Lord Yitton Byres? Ah, the silver and anti-Vampire efforts. Interesting. I shall take note of it, but I don’t consider this a dealbreaker.”

Qwera’s eyes flickered at the ‘Vampire’ mention. Did she know? Andra liked her even more. Yes, she was definitely going to offer the Gnoll some lucrative contracts and see what she did with them. Qwera raised her brows.

“Lord Yitton is a man of honor.”

Andra chuckled until she realized this wasn’t a joke. She smiled at Qwera.

“Merchant Qwera, I am aware you are not a fan of Roshal.”

“Me? I’m just wary.”

The Gnoll tried to pretend to innocence, but Andra’s eyes were superior:

[Visualize Statistic: Favorability]. Qwera’s stat was at a -67 towards Andra, which amused her so greatly because Qwera was trying so hard. The [Slave Lady] smiled wider.

“Your intelligence overrides your dislike of me. That I respect. And because I do, I will make you some offers, and in time, you may provide what I desire most of all.”

“…I’m assuming you mean [Slaves].”

Qwera replied, an edge to her voice, and Andra waved this off.

“Not just any [Slaves]. Ones who have a significant effect on my business. Doombearers. I was worried when I heard they were all but extinct. However, more may be manufactured, and I am in the market—once Izril opens up.”

The Gnoll woman’s eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Because of their luck.”

Nothing better for a business. Andra sipped as her favorability score lost more points. She didn’t need to hide what she was doing; Shaullile would, but this was business, and at least here, nothing came of hiding your position.

“Your price for contributing to Roshal, and Lord Yitton Byres’ price for overlooking his ‘honor’ or familial ties to his son—or that Merchant Ysara—may be values too high for me to be inclined to pay. For the moment, Merchant Qwera.”

“But that implies you think at some point you can pay it?”

Qwera’s voice was oh so soft, and Andra snorted.

“Everything is business. I am not blind to this Yitton Byres’ reputation. Morality, honesty, integrity, these are assets which tend towards appreciation in value. But if they are never liquidated, what are they worth?”

It always annoyed her when she saw that. Some old, doddering fool clinging to something like that as if it meant anything while his house died in poverty. Qwera exhaled.

“I do see your point, Lady Andra.”

“I know you do. That’s why I like you. You’re still a bit naïve, but if I were to offer you, oh, a contract for…”

Andra was baiting a hook to throw at Qwera. Something nice and juicy that the Gnoll could use to prove how good she was. Something she couldn’t justify resisting. The [Slave Lady] was having so much fun that she was thoroughly annoyed when her speaking stone chirped again.

“Lady Andra, there is a situation. Hostile Skill incoming—”

“Deal with it! My office is warded.”

She broke off her meetings and glared at the stone. Her three active meetings all saw it happen; since it wasn’t a scheduled meeting, Andra had to reply in realtime. Qwera blinked.

“Am I interrupting you? We could take this call later, Slave Lady.”

“Not at all. Just one moment…”

What the hell was going on? Andra’s speaking stone lit up, and she heard a voice. Not her security; only four people could call her without going through her system.

“This is Thatalocian. We are under attack.”

Then a panicked voice.

“Get me out of here! What are they? What—”

Shaullile? Andra half-rose, then sat back down. She checked her security; she had vision spells of her entire tower from her office. She felt something crawling down her back. And then…

Was that the ringing of bells? Andra glanced around as Qwera blinked at her. Then she caught her breath.

Combat in the upper hallways. Something had infiltrated her tower. But how? She triggered the sound and heard screaming.

“Antinium! Ant—”

Slave Lady Andra froze as she saw a new species charging down the corridor. But they were all wrong to the images she’d reviewed. They appeared…summoned? Were they speaking? Screaming? And those eyes—

Her gaze flicked up to her doors. Andra checked the security footage outside her rooms and saw five Djinni hovering in the air. She relaxed, turning to Qwera with a smile.

“Some minor disturbance in Roshal. [Assassins]. It happens. Now, as I was—”

Thwoom. She flinched, and her papers moved on her desk. Andra saw her cup jump. What—what was—

She reached for her cup, trying to steady herself, smiling at the Gnoll whose eyes had opened wider. Andra drank from her cup.

“Perhaps I should—”

Then something exploded outside her office. The doors’ magical bindings cracked inwards, and Andra flinched. Nothing more; she didn’t have great reflexes or the instincts of a warrior. She just froze, wine cup in hand, and saw reeling Djinni, one locked in a wrestling match with a glowing Antinium Soldier. And a single Antinium Worker running forwards.

“bE vERy afRaID.”

“Wh—what is—”

Qwera, the Golden Gnoll of Pallass, saw Andra push herself back from her table, fumbling with her desk, her rings.

“Security. Securit—”

“Andra?”

Then the glowing Worker leapt at the [Slave Lady], and she flinched again. The security teams burst into the room and fired crossbows and spells. A Djinni whirled, hurled a spear.

The Worker hit the ground in front of Andra, pinned by the spear. Her heart was in her chest. Andra stared at the damage to her floor and mentally began to add up the costs. Shakily, she sat back in her chair.

“Status report. Trace that Skill and—”

All was well. She was telling herself that as the Worker, still impaled on the spear and thrashing, raised one glowing hand towards her. It had…eight mouths? The mandibles moved up in a smile. And the Antinium began to glow brighter. Andra’s eyes widened.

“N—”

Everything exploded. Qwera saw the room vanish, the scrying orb go dark before her eyes.

Then, Slave Lady Andra was falling out of her tower, screaming. Screaming—

And it was a long way down.

——

Ylawes felt like things were looking up at last.

Goisedall had been hard, but you know what? You had to treat it like an adventure. There were some difficult parts, like starving and the Merchant’s Guild, but he’d come out of it with treasure.

Namely, Pekona’s affection and having met the Plain’s Eye tribe and the Thousand Lances. Who were his heroes.

He was so shy, actually, he was making out with Pekona until the [Blade Dancer] realized he kept sneaking glances at the [Knights] and glared up at him.

“Captain…I do not have the words to say this, but are you kissing me to hide from them?”

“What? No! Maybe. I get a lot out of it with no ulterior motives, even if I had any.”

Instantly, she stepped back, breathing heavily, and brushed at her hair.

“My lips are not for distractions. They are all serious business. Who are they?”

Ylawes cleared his throat, very embarrassed. He saw Dawil sidle over; the Plain’s Eye tribe was still coming, and only Chieftain Merish and a few of his people had halted to speak with other groups. Everyone else kept moving on.

“Hoi, Humans. Get out of the way, yes?”

Everyone jumped as a little Gnoll riding a small cow with orange fur and long horns shouted at them. A stream of odd, compact cattle with less rotund bodies plodded past them, neatly making it impossible to get past unless you fancied trying to shove past a bunch of cows.

Someone tried it. Insill was so curious about the [Knights] he darted forwards.

“Excuse me. Ex—argh my tail!”

An animal got his tail, and when he twisted, another of the Plainsfollower Cattle knocked him down. Then he was in real danger of being trampled, slowly, before the young Gnoll boy whistled.

“[Safety Roll]! Get out, ya idiot! Darn Drakes…don’t cross a cattle stream! It’ll be four minutes, hear?”

Insill rolled back towards the group, holding his tail, wide-eyed and panting. Dawil twisted around.

“Alright, lad—not you, Ylawes, Insill—don’t do anything stupid like that again. They might be slow and cute, but each one’s got to be hundreds of pounds. One hits you, you fall over, even if you’re a [Warrior]. That’s just basic weight and force.”

“Ow, I think I broke my tail. I’m a [Rogue]! And that kid can—wait, how’s he doing that?”

The young Gnoll with bright red fur had caught sight of the [Knights], and his jaw had dropped. He clearly wanted to stare at them, but since he had to be part of the cattle train, which he seemed to be in charge of, he jumped up until he was on the first of the Plainsfollower cows’ backs, then began to run across the others!

He ran like he was on a bumpy road! The cows barely noticed him as he nimbly ran ‘backwards’, which gave him plenty of time to gawk at the [Knights].

“Dead gods, that’s a [Drover] if ever I saw one. He must have grown up farming animals.”

It was Ylawes out of everyone who identified the boy’s class. Dawil raised his brows, purely amazed.

“We saw some herds this large up north, lad. The southeast of Izril has those lovely plains, but I’ve never seen anyone run on cattle like that.”

“I haven’t either, but I heard stories as a kid. You’d run into some [Farmhands] who pushed cows over for fun, or ran herds backwards. It was pretty dangerous, apparently. They knew someone who’d fallen and died when the cows stampeded over him.”

“What a way to go.”

Anith muttered, but the young Gnoll boy just kept running, and Ylawes took his eyes off him and turned to the [Knights]. Plain’s Eye was a massive wonder of people, but the four [Knights]…

“Dead gods, it is the Thousand Lances of Kaaz. I mean, they introduced themselves. I shook the hand of Rosenthine! Me!”

He wondered if she did autographs. No, that was crass; he knew that was embarrassing, but maybe if she autographed his armor? Pekona was still scratching her head.

“People shove cows over? Why? It is some Izrilian thing?”

“It’s fun, Pekona. Also speaks to how strong they must be. Imagine tipping over one of that lot, and they’re not even as big as regular cows. Lad, what do you think the Thousand Lances are doing here? I reckon once we get a moment, we ask covertly. I wanted a word with you before I talked.”

Dawil moved closer, and Ylawes realized the Dwarf was less awed and more…

“Oh, come on, Dawil. They just saved us from Goisedall! Do we have to use our brains now?”

Everyone turned to Ylawes and Dawil, and Infinitypear and Rasktooth, who’d been hiding from the angry Ser Brindelhor, turned to Ylawes with rapt interest.

Dawil sighed.

“Lad, they’re here for a reason. It’s worth coin!”

“Just for one second, I’d like to not to have to—”

“Captain, you not want to use brain?”

Rasktooth interrupted with an expression of hilarity on his face, and Ylawes blinked at him.

“What? Oh, that’s our private lingo, Rasktooth. It’s whenever Dawil or Falene, or I think that a situation’s more complex than, well, face-value. You know?”

Sometimes, you took a quest for an old [Lady] with monsters in her backyard and it’s simple. Sometimes, you wonder ‘why does she have a Mothbear in her basement? Why’s there chains on the Mothbear’s legs? What kind of old lady stays around with a dangerous Mothbear and doesn’t run for the hills?’

“Engage your brains. That’s, uh—a fascinating way of putting it, Ylawes.”

The [Knight] only then realized how it sounded and tried to clarify, but too late. Rasktooth promptly saluted his forehead.

“Adventurer Infinitypear! Permission to engage brain, sir!”

“Permission denied, Rasktooth! No engaging of brains is needed today!”

Ylawes colored as Dawil laughed.

“Dead gods, we should have had rookies years ago. Pointy and Ylawes never even twitched an eye at the term! Lad, I’m telling you, they’re going to be a thing.”

“Great. So I have to do, what, pump them for information?”

“Maybe just ask what their goals are, if they came with support, before getting one of them to make you his [Squire].”

Dawil suggested gently, and Pekona covered her mouth as Ylawes flushed. Then the [Blade Dancer] hesitated and raised a hand.

“Who are the Thousand Lances?”

Dawil and Ylawes turned to her, incredulous, but Insill, Larr, both were nodding. Infinitypear and Rasktooth made sense, but—! Anith shrugged.

“I know of them. But only distantly, Captain, Dawil. I’d be grateful for a refresher as well. They’re the most powerful [Knight] Order in the world, right?”

“What? How does anyone decide that?”

Insill’s jaw dropped, but Ylawes just nodded at the field where the [Knights] had punched through the Drakes without effort. Some of the Drakes were still passed out.

“It’s just common knowledge, Insill. The Thousand Lances of Kaaz, the Kingdom of the Infinite Dungeon, are only one thousand in number, hence the name. They’re drawn from every Knight-Order in the world. Being invited into their ranks is a huge honor. It’s a safe bet to assume any member of the Thousand Lances is…Named-rank in capability.”

“No way. That’s impossible.”

Larr laughed hugely, and Dawil fixed him with a calm eye.

“It’s true enough, lad. I know it sounds like Djinni smoke and tall tales, but I’m from Terandria, remember. Kaaz funds the Thousand Lances, and Kaaz is rich from their dungeon. Each [Knight] might not be Level 40, but their gear is beyond excellent. Not one of those [Knights] is wearing plain steel, for instance. It’s all enchanted and survived the New Lands. That’s Named-ranker gear. I remember meeting some fellow from the Order of Haegris, the Haggle Knights. He was armored in pure Mithril, and that was considered mandatory for membership, given his levels and Skills could not guarantee it. Not that we all carry Mithril, but enchantments of superior quality, at least.”

Larr stopped laughing and swallowed as Pekona murmured.

“If they are so famous, why don’t they go everywhere?”

“Well, they mainly keep peace in Terandria. They quest there, slay monsters—some go abroad and do great acts, like this lot. But mostly…since no one battles Kaaz, the Thousand Lances haven’t been called on for war in my lifetime. There was some question if they’d fight the King of Destruction back when he was rampaging. The entire Order; I know individual members had fought against him. I had little dolls of some of them as a boy.”

Ylawes truly didn’t know what to say to them, but Dawil just sighed.

“They’re not all perfect. When one of them decides to make a point, it’s made hard. Those four have as much presence as an army, and as you can see, they can fight one off just by themselves. They’ll be big players in the New Lands, so we’d better be on our best behavior.”

“They already hate Rasktooth.”

Larr pointed out cynically. Ylawes’ stomach clenched as Rasktooth nodded.

“That true, but most people hate me then find me lovable. Because I so cute. Like you, Larr.”

“I don’t like you.”

“You do! You say, ‘I really grateful for you, Rasktooth’.”

“I was starving. And I did not!”

“You is my best friend. After Infinitypear and Ylawes and Dawil and Falene and Pekona.”

“After Falene? What’d she ever do for you?”

“She save my life from those undead face-guys.”

“Oh…right…but I shot a rabbit for you one time!”

“Yah, that right. That why you above Insill and Anith and Dasha.”

“What? We’re last?”

As the Silver Swords argued, the cattle herd cleared, and Ylawes got a chance to approach his heroes again. He worried they wouldn’t want to talk to him, as they were still speaking with Merish, but he needn’t have worried.

Ser Pavoriad, the tall half-Elf, was still swinging Falene around.

“Ser Pavoriad, please! I’ll vomit!”

She was begging him, and he put her down, then ruffled her hair.

“Oh, forgive me, little sister. When you told me how young you were, I forgot you were a [Mage] of Wistram! Very decorous and honorable. And so soon! You must be a prodigy!”

He laughed as Ylawes slowed, and he and Dawil bit their lips. Falene was flushed.

“Ser Pavoriad, I’m eighty-three! That’s forty-one years in Human terms!”

The [Knight] appeared astonished.

“Is it? Dead gods, I thought it was one Human year for every four of ours!”

“They changed the standards two decades ago. It’s one for every three, but for someone who lives outside of home, as I do, it’s one for two.”

“I must not have heard of it. Even so, you’re far too young to not be running barefoot and dancing with your hair down, little sister! We might not be in the villages, but I’m barely past my prime at a hundred and fifty! Don’t make me seem so old!”

He struck his chest lightly, with a laugh. He was huge, and Ylawes had to admire his armor now—it was some kind of wood, maybe? Or metal that resembled wood, polished and green, and Ser Pavoriad had a sigil of trees on his chestplate.

When he saw Ylawes, he turned and stuck out a hand.

“Ah, Knight Ylawes, my sister-kin here was telling me all about your team. I am, once again, Ser Pavoriad, and delighted am I to meet another half-Elf! I thank you for taking care of Falene here. Such a brilliant girl.”

Falene, who’d done much the same to Ceria, albeit in a mildly condescending way, was bright red from the genuine goodwill practically beaming off Pavoriad’s face. Then he had a thought and touched the arm of his gauntlet.

“This sight! A half-Elf, a Dwarf, and a Human—a classic Terandrian team. Give me one moment; I must draw a picture. For my journal, you see.”

His right armguard had a section of metal that flipped up and produced a painter’s palette as little metal wings unfolded and ejected the slat of wood. And a little stand…and canvas…

Everyone stared at Pavoriad as he plucked a brush from his in-built art tray and wet it before slashing across the canvas. Falene was bright red and spluttering.

“Ser Pavoriad, I am a full grown woman! Though I thank you for the greeting. Ylawes, Dawil, Ser Pavoriad hails from Gaiil-Drome, my home. He’s one of four of our [Knights] of the Thousand Lances.”

Four? Was that high or low? Ylawes bowed to Ser Pavoriad, who smiled again.

“I only regret that I have not done more for my homeland, especially in the Dawn Concordat war. I stood silently as our brave folk fought with Calanfer—! But it was politics, you see? If I took to the field, my counterparts from Ailendamus and perhaps Taimaguros would have as well. Then it would have been the six of us versus near thirty.”

“Taimaguros and Ailendamus count for thirty members in the Thousand Lances?”

Falene was dismayed, and Ser Pavoriad sighed.

“Oh, aye, Sister, they do. Most of Taimaguros, if I’m honest. Ailendamus seems to think their Great Knights are equal to us—if not better—and do not seem inclined to call for many candidates. It is customary, you see, Ser Ylawes. If a kingdom has members in the Thousand Lances, then they do not fear other [Knights] of the Thousand Lances going to war against them. For we would not wish to make war against each other.”

“I see. And your aid is very well taken, Ser Pavoriad. I wish to thank you for—”

“Ah.”

The half-Elf thrust up a hand, and Ylawes hesitated. Ser Pavoriad had pale blond hair and a long face, which might have been called horse-like but for his great smile and the merriment of his features. He seemed oddly dignified, even when sketching out his painting, and he lowered his brush, removed the image from his canvas, and eyed it critically.

“I cannot accept your thanks, Ser Ylawes. To do so implies we did some service for you that was not exactly what was deserved and what we are bound to do. Nor did we exactly tax ourselves in the doing thereof. When good men—and women—meet, there is no other recourse than righteous action. So, I am glad we meet as equals.”

He handed the paper to Ylawes with a grimace.

“Not my finest work. I try, but the nuance is lost as I am only an amateur [Painter].”

Ylawes stared down at the [Knight] with golden flax for hair, who stood next to a beaming Dwarf that had on armor gleaming under the sun, next to a rather young-looking Falene, as a herd of cows passed by in the background.

Ylawes turned, and a cow eyed him. Both agreed it was damn fine art. However, Ser Pavoriad just accepted the picture back and tucked it into a journal.

“I shall master the sword sooner than the brush. Though I am but a neophyte in both. Falene tells me you are a Gold-rank team? The Silver Swords? Very well met indeed. You are the first adventurers we encountered who were not dead—not that we have seen many given our route.”

“Dead?”

Ylawes and Dawil echoed, and Ser Pavoriad’s brows drew together.

“Aye, dead. One of some monster attack, torn to bits, and another group cut down by a bladesman if I’m any judge. One blow to the back of the neck, each time, from a thin, thin blade…but we landed in the northern section of the New Lands, then came southwards, so we have not exactly explored the New Lands proper.”

“An odd route to take, Ser Pavoriad. Dawil. Dwarfhome.”

Dawil shook the half-Elf’s hand, and Pavoriad chuckled.

“Both the sea and curiosity had us hugging the coast, sir. We wanted to see the Hivelands, in truth. But we didn’t step ashore, despite some debate.”

Ylawes had heard few ships went close to the Antinium’s lands, but the Thousand Lances were clearly without fear. This was confirmed when the second [Knight] stomped over.

“We should have landed to challenge them and see if the rumors were true. Though they’re said to be a ‘people’. As much as Goblins? I call both into question, Knight Byres. And I challenge your assertions.”

Ser Brindelhor was shorter, wearing red armor and a velvet cloak that was clearly enchanted, which hung in the air as if too light, despite the thick purple cloth. When his visor was up, it revealed freckles, a shock of brown hair, and a glare at Ylawes.

Ser Pavoriad sighed.

“Ser Brindelhor, our leader, Rosenthine, has accepted Ser Byres’ word, and you would not care to challenge that again so soon, surely?”

“I may, for I consider it a point of honor, and if my valor be true, I shall prevail.”

The man grated, then stuck a hand out at Ylawes.

“Ser Brindelhor once more. The Irriven Redbloods. No one kingdom, though I have pledged my sword in service of Oztera. And you are Lord Ylawes of House Byres. Izrilian nobility and a Gold-rank adventurer.”

His glower, a burly brown gaze to match his hair, intensified. Right up until Ylawes took his hand, beaming, and pumped it up and down.

“Ser Brindelhor, it’s an honor. The Irriven Redbloods? I learned of your order just recently! You’re the famous [Knight]-Order of commonfolk! I should have recognized you from the greatsword! Is that a classic Irriven Commonblade? I was rather inspired when I researched your order and the stories of your exploits! If I’d ever been able to journey to Terandria as a boy, I would have loved to join the Order of the Forest’s Heart or Redbloods if I’d known about them —though I couldn’t join the Redbloods, obviously.”

—And there it was. Dawil covered a smile as he watched Brindelhor’s face go slack for a moment. Ylawes really hadn’t known about the Irriven Redbloods, but he was still a [Knight]. He rather enjoyed learning about other [Knights] and their Orders and he was genuine, all the way down.

“What? Er—yes, yes, a classic Commonblade in style, though it’s enchanted—you know my Order?”

Ser Brindelhor had come prepared to dislike Ylawes intensely, doubtless due to the fact that he was a commoner and [Knights] were largely noble or at least rich. However, he had made a mistake: Ylawes was an Izrilian [Knight], so he excitedly beckoned Pekona over.

“May I introduce you to Dawil, Falene, Pekona—all my teammates, sir? Pekona, this is Ser Brindelhor of the Irriven Redbloods, the only [Knight] Order who only accepts commoners. They’re quasi-mercenaries, but they fight with great distinction on the field and are famous for using greatswords.”

“Hello.”

Pekona was shy, but Brindelhor’s face was colorful as Ser Pavoriad covered a smile. Abashed, the other [Knight] stepped back and crossed his arms.

“The Redbloods are that famous to Izrilians? You hail from no [Knight] Order yourself, Knight Ylawes?”

“No, we have only a few like the Clairei Fields, but I couldn’t identify with most. The Redbloods? Of course they’re so well known! The code about commoners is far more interesting than another [Knight] Order. With great respect to all, of course!”

Ylawes flushed, realizing he might have put his foot in his mouth, but Ser Brindelhor’s mouth opened and closed, then he cleared his throat.

“Well, we’re not the only Knight-Order of commonfolk. The Order of the Hydra is quite commendable, but they do accept nobles as well as—House Byres. A fine house of Izril, I do believe.”

“Silver and steel. They were known to crusade in the past and I believe had ties to the famous Silver Knight-Dragon, Yderigrisel? Though Knight Ylawes does himself a disservice; he does have ties to a Knight Order you would know, Brindelhor.”

Pavoriad’s eyes were twinkling as Brindelhor turned to him for help. Ylawes blinked.

“I do? Oh—”

“The Order of Solstice. Though I gather, then, you may not be as active a member.”

Brindelhor’s eyes lit up.

“The Order of—! I remember that! I had a bet about whether or not it was real. That man set aflame by that rabble. Another group we should have pursued if only we had the time!”

He clenched a fist, then nodded at Ylawes.

“Well…I can see you know something of Terandrian [Knights]. But I ask again, Ser! Goblins and Antinium? How did this come to be? Does it not go against the very vows we have taken to let either roam around?”

He pointed at Rasktooth and Infinitypear, who froze with a bucket in their hands. Brindelhor turned to Pavoriad, who was frowning, but lightly.

“Look! Wait, what are they doing?”

“Um, I think trying to steal milk from a cow? Lads…what are you up to?”

Poke Duo was sneaking after a cow, trying to milk the udders as it plodded along. Since the cow was moving and not inclined to be stopped, they were having to grab the teats and were causing a mess.

“Poke Duo, stop trying to steal milk!”

Ylawes was embarrassed, but Rasktooth hollered back.

“We not stealing nothing! We just, uh, taste-testing! In case it poison! Yah, yah!”

He leaned over and hissed.

“Brother! Hurry up, they onto us!”

“I’m trying! This cow is not very milkable! Moo! Slow down! Rasktooth, how do you tell a cow to slow down?”

“I not know how to speak cow. I wish Captain Ceria were here. She say she know how to speak to all animals. Moo! Eh, moo, slow down!”

The two’s antics had several watching Gnolls in stitches, Goblin and Antinium or not. Ser Brindelhor’s pointing finger followed the two shuffling after the cow until the [Knight] lowered it. Then he turned. Ser Pavoriad was wearing a huge smile.

“…I grant you, they seem less threatening than I had been led to believe. However, I am not blind to the threat of Goblin Kings nor the Black Tide! I have read countless books upon the matter coming here.”

“Books, er, Ser Brindelhor? Which ones?”

Falene blinked, and the [Knight] bristled at her.

“The Antinium Wars by Krsysl Wordsmith, Reflections Upon Goblin Kings by Lord Mercun, Entreaties for A Safer World by [Writer] Vondraeimus—as every [Knight] should educate his mind!”

“I’m sure my little sister was not implying you were illiterate in any way, Ser Brindelhor. Nor do I think most Izrilians share the bias.”

Pavoriad put in, and Brindelhor stopped bristling again. He swung back to Poke Duo, blushing faintly.

“Be that as it may…strange. I might not have even taken that Goblin as a Goblin. More like a malnourished half-Elf child. His skin’s more grey than green.”

Both half-Elves glared at him, and Ylawes blinked.

“You’ve never seen a Goblin before, Ser Brindelhor? Or never a Cave Goblin? Rasktooth is a variant of the species.”

The [Knight] scratched at his stubble of a beard.

“I never have. Goblins are not that common to Terandria. They’re hunted down quickly, and I know some [Knights] who have exterminated them in more remote regions, but…Ser Pavoriad?”

“I’ve run into a few tribes over my time, Brindelhor, but they’re not nearly as common as on other continents. Half-Elves are sometimes remote enough to fear them, but we have our own guardians who patrol the old villages. Why not let the matter be until Ser Ylawes has a chance to explain himself? We do speak overlong when we should be engaging in civil discourse!”

At this, both [Knights] bowed again, and Ylawes was grateful as Ser Brindelhor relaxed—though he kept his eyes on Poke Duo most of the time. The two adventurers kept trying to get milk in the bucket until the young Gnoll came riding back with a little pail of milk the two began to slurp greedily from.

“Those little children. Well, we’re further in Plain’s Eyes debt. We should make them a gift too, Ylawes, and perhaps see if we can go with them. At least until we’re away from Goisedall and can sort this mess out.”

Falene grumbled. Reminded of the bind they were in, Ylawes sighed, and Ser Pavoriad hugged Falene.

“Little sister, you’re barely older than they are! I should be delighted by your company! Let us rejoin the good Chieftain and see if we all might prevail on his company.”

“I’m eighty—”

Perhaps only Ylawes and Dawil noticed the twinkle in Pavoriad’s eyes as he grinned and hugged Falene.

——

Chieftain Merish was glad to meet the Silver Swords and the Thousand Lances at Goisedall. Not just because it was a welcome break from the long march west, but because they distracted his people.

That was worth more than the trouble of clashing with Goisedall, even indirectly. It had been a long, long winter and spring.

How did a tribe rebuild after revealing that they were not only traitors to their own kind, but had been perpetuating a terrible lie built on the blood of innocents? That was Plain’s Eyes’ struggle, and their tribe had fallen furthest from grace since the Meeting of Tribes.

The answer was: they didn’t. Even if Merish was ten times wiser, twenty levels higher, he didn’t think he could have saved them from what Xherw, Ulcreziek, and they had done to themselves.

Xherw had broken them with his madness, and this?

This was just all Merish had been able to put back together.

To outsiders, it surely seemed like the largest tribe of Izril with so many Gnolls and animals, but it was not. Plain’s Eye had been made up of so many sub-tribes and groups that it had been vast beyond belief.

Those sub-tribes had scattered to the winds, if they hadn’t dissolved in infighting and guilt, fled to other tribes, or just…run. Merish had gone around finding every single one he could, convincing them to stick together, but this new tribe he led was made up of people still processing what they had done.

Or just in denial.

“Chieftain. More Drakes from Goisedall are demanding we halt and answer to them. And turn over the adventurers. Should I run them off?”

Merish broke away from talking with the Thousand Lances as a Gnollish woman trotted over. Viri stuck his tongue out at Chief Warrior Vhra, who was one of the highest-level warriors remaining. Like Merish, she had experience leading their people into battle.

Unlike Merish, she’d never gone to Rhir, had been a staunch supporter of Chieftain Xherw, and fought with Plain’s Eye until their surrender. She was a traitor, but no one had put her in chains or judged her.

How could he? If he condemned every warrior who’d fought with Xherw, there would be none left to guard the tribe, and many were people who had known nothing about what they were doing.

Vhra had stayed out of duty to her people, and even if she clearly disliked Merish for both killing Xherw and taking a side against Plain’s Eye, she could not deny what she had seen.

Nor…her own fur.

Vhra held the spear at her side as Merish shook his head, and her fur was covered in muck from the animals, pieces of grass, and dirt from the road. Despite all of that—and he suspected she sometimes rolled around in the grass just to get more colors on her—her fur was pearly white. Just like Mrsha’s.

Vhra was a Doombearer, like many of Plain’s Eye. She’d lost her fur colors after the Meeting of Tribes, and it was probably the only reason she wasn’t forming her own tribe and denouncing Merish as a heretical traitor who’d engaged in some kind of conspiracy to destroy Plain’s Eye.

She saw him glance at her fur and stood straighter.

“Chieftain?”

“…No, don’t run them off. Let them follow and keep them off us, Vhra.”

“We could loose a few arrows—”

“They can’t do anything to us, yes, Vhra?”

“They’re trying to push their authority on us. Plain’s Eye takes orders from no one—”

“Plain’s Eye used to take orders from no one, Vhra. Leave the Drakes be.”

She stood there silently, then nodded.

“What about the adventurers and [Knights]? Keep an eye on them?”

Merish felt at the sword he’d been given by Dame Rosenthine. He handed it to Vhra, who eyed the blade.

“Find who’s our best sword-expert and give it to them. Give both groups respect. No need to watch either. They stand out.”

She sniffed.

“Does Honored Mrsha the Great and Infinitely Powerful demand that too?”

“They’re friends of our allies, and I have heard they have helped Gnolls, the Silver Swords. And if Mrsha the Great and Truly Terrible wants them protected, we shall do it, Vhra. If she wants someone to dig a tunnel from here to Baleros, I shall, of course, sign you up.”

Her glower was deep, but she flushed as he pointedly glanced at her fur. She strode off, and Viri leaned over.

“I hate her.”

“Viri, you love or hate my tribe with nothing in between.”

“Well…I don’t do ‘meh’. Why do you keep her around?”

“Because she can lead a group of our warriors into a fight outnumbered three-to-one and come out the other side, Viri.”

“Oh. Right. Darn, I hate good reasons like that.”

This was Merish’s problem. Even if the tribe stuck together, his leadership was always being challenged. He had the backing of Feshi and other tribes, but they weren’t here, and by the same token, he needed Plain’s Eye not to splinter again.

We must work together or we shall be divided and die. That was why he had Vhra and another pain in his tail.

“Chieftain. I have an important matter to discuss.”

Merish sighed.

“Shaman Frivet. Can this wait? We have important guests, and I would like to establish our camp in the New Lands at last.”

Frivet was another Xherw-supporter. But worse, he’d been the apprentice of Ulcreziek, and the [Shaman] glowered back at Merish. However, Frivet was the highest-level.

“A Gnoll of some interest to Plain’s Eye has joined us. Nailren. You should speak to him before he departs.”

“Nailren?”

Merish had never heard the name before, and he perked up one ear as Frivet drew closer. The [Shaman] growled in his ear as they pretended to walk, inspecting the cattle.

“He’s one of our people who undertakes clandestine missions.”

Merish grew instantly alarmed.

“Like the Doomslayers? If he’s one of them—”

“He is not, Chieftain. He’s an agent of Hawkarrow. A very good one. Fletchsing. They’re a fake tribe—argh, if you were a proper Chieftain, you’d know this! The point is that he claims to be retired, but he has valuable intelligence. Intelligence no one should get ahold of, from those [Knights] to the adventurers.”

Frivet jerked his head at the Thousand Lances, and Merish grunted softly.

“Can’t you ask him what he knows in private?”

“He won’t speak to me. Or Vhra. He recognizes us as…original Plain’s Eye.”

The [Shaman] grew visibly uncomfortable, and Merish eyed him dryly.

“Well, good thing you have me. Send him to me once there’s a moment.”

More work to do. Merish’s shoulders hurt. He had never wanted this. But someone had to be [Chieftain]. Someone had to kill Xherw, and now…

He gazed across the New Lands as the song of Gnolls rose in the air, and his spirits lifted.

“A new opportunity. For all of us.”

That’s what he hoped they’d find here.

——

Chieftain Merish did not seem to be the most popular Gnoll around, Ylawes realized. When the Plain’s Eye Gnolls began to slow and spread out after marching half a day into the New Lands, most of the Gnolls formed camps without consulting him. Even the Gnolls who were waiting for orders seemed not to quite know what to make of him.

“Chieftain Merish? He’s, uh, uh…you should ask someone else about him. I don’t wanna get in trouble, y’hear?”

Their source of information was the young [Rancher], Cullous, the same boy who’d run on the cattle’s backs and given Infinitypear and Rasktooth some fresh milk. He was wide-eyed, excited to see adventurers, but evasive on Merish.

“But how’s Plain’s Eye doing, lad? After the Meeting of Tribes. And with the Doombearers?”

Dawil was helping the boy milk some of the cattle, and Rasktooth and Infinitypear were earning their snack as well. Cullous shrugged.

“Um…good? Lots of people left. Most people’re upset about there being Doombearers. Especially the Doombearers. Vhra’s so mad she’ll bite your head off for mentioning her fur. But I guess Chieftain Merish is making everyone work. I mean, someone has to.”

“Sounds like he’s not that popular.”

Dawil suggested, and Cullous hesitated.

“No…but no one’s gonna get a new Chieftain or the other tribes’ll, y’know. And Xherw got everyone killed. That’s what my ma says.”

“You doing alright yourself, lad?”

“Sure. I mean, my dad and uncle and both aunts died at the Meeting of Tribes. But I guess…that was our fault, right?”

The boy stood, then, with buckets of milk in hand, and he gazed blankly at the cow. Dawil paused. He glanced at the boy as Ylawes looked up from greedily eating some cheese and bread—freshly made cheese that tasted so sweet and decadent—

Cullous’ fur was red, but Ylawes stopped chewing on a sample bit of cheese for a second as he noticed an oddity; some of the fur on Cullous’ arms was white in patches. Almost like…

Dye. He exchanged a look with Dawil, and Cullous instantly scrubbed at his fur, averting his eyes. So he’d been at the Meeting of Tribes. But the Dwarf just patted Cullous on the shoulder with a kind smile.

“You didn’t do any of that fighting, did you, lad?”

“No. I just ran away.”

“Then I reckon you weren’t old enough to be carrying that blame. At least, not anything heavier than that bucket. Where do we put this before Poke Duo drink this too?”

Cullous’ face broke out of that blank stare, and he grinned.

“They can have as much milk as they want. They’re funny. Everyone likes distractions since—here’s where the milk goes.”

They had a specially-made wagon that you could add milk to, which stored it and kept it from spoiling. It’d even turn into buttermilk; it spun slowly as it was pulled along thanks to some ingenious work with wooden cogs. Dawil whistled.

“Who made this?”

“Oh, some Gnolls who went to Pallass. We’ve got other stuff like that. Rotating the stuff keeps it from goin’ bad, unless it’s fruits, which get mushed. Once we fill this up, we’ll pasteurize it. See that spot below the barrel? You heat it up, then you gotta ice it. Pain in the butt. And we gotta do it without magic in the New Lands, the [Shamans] say! At least some of us have got [Free Pasteurization] or [Frozen Storage].”

Skills for a people who needed them. Ylawes was impressed, and then he heard a howl and a voice.

“Plain’s Eye! We have arrived!” 

Chieftain Merish. He stood on top of a wagon as Viri bounded up and down next to him. The [Chieftain] shouted at the Gnolls who had formed smaller groups.

“Each sub-tribe is to find a place they choose to camp! This territory might not be yours—be careful of others who have put down claims! For fifty miles north and fifty miles south of here, we shall rest! We shall trade with expeditions in need of supplies. Do not oversell your herds. For every animal you slaughter or sell, two more must be kept or bought. Do not take credit, and if you must barter, ensure it is something needed in the New Lands. Report any strange things to your [Shaman], and they shall be in contact with me. Vhra shall patrol each camp, but ensure she is not needed.”

Then he hopped down from the wagon, and the Gnolls began to move.

“Forests, that didn’t sound precise enough at all. Will they be okay?”

Falene was shocked by how simple the instructions were, but Dawil snorted.

“They’ve got to be used to living more independently than us, Falene. Larr, is that how it’s done?”

The [Ranger] didn’t know since he’d never been outside of Hawkarrow, and they apparently did it differently, but Anith raised a paw.

“It sounds close to how the Beastkin Tribes do it, Falene. A few broad orders for each tribe and then you can do details. Plain’s Eye is less one big, central tribe and more a collective. See? Chieftain Merish is planting his main camp here, and the others will move around him.”

The Gnoll was indeed striding around the largest gathering of tents, and when Ylawes approached, the [Chieftain]’s plan was obvious.

“There is too much uncertainty in the New Lands past this point. I will send parties and explore when I can myself, but I will not take my people there, no. What I will do is let them graze, here, where it is safe enough. There is plenty of grassland, and once we find the best spots, we shall try to claim them. In the meantime, we shall act much as Goisedall has done. Feed the hungry and earn coin enough to be profitable, yes? Only, we’ll do it before the Drakes.”

He grinned at Ylawes. The Human man hesitated.

“Won’t the Drakes object to you taking their business?”

Plain’s Eye was going to be right in front of Goisedall and the other cities! They’d get the people in the New Lands coming to them first. Merish snorted.

“Well they might. But as I see it, they could pack up and move further inland to beat us. If they cannot, or will not, it is just fair business. Besides, we shall all be rich; my tribe alone cannot feed so many. They’ll just have the richest pick of it. Hrr, though I do not think ‘fair business’ is what I would associate with Goisedall. Tell me about what we interrupted, Captain.”

Ylawes strode besides Merish as the huge Gnoll walked his camps. Gnolls were throwing up yurts with tremendous speed and practice, and cookfires were already rising.

Everything we lacked in the expedition. No one was using magic; Gnolls were using flint and tinder in places and going to stockpiles for food and supplies. The lack of magic that had haunted the Gnolls for so long had meant they had found ways to do without. Ylawes coughed.

“I…made a grave misjudgement in choosing my employers, Chieftain. Everything that’s happened since is a result of my foolishness. I thank you greatly for your help, and I wish to assure you that my team has not committed any acts I think are worthy of imprisonment. But the Merchant’s Guild seems to believe otherwise. Merchant Anlam has spoken to them, and I believe he’s misrepresented the truth.”

Here, the [Chieftain]’s head ducked low, and Ylawes took in the Gnoll for the first time. Merish was a physically imposing Gnoll. As a former [Shamanic Warrior], he was over seven feet tall, brawny, and had the markings of his tribe that he could activate in a fight.

But that was the Gnoll who he had been. Instead of the simple cloth clothing, he now walked with the mantle of a Chieftain over his shoulders; brightly dyed fabrics with eyes on them, only, Ylawes realized, this wasn’t like the traditional garb some of the Plain’s Eye Gnolls wore.

The eyes that were customary to Plain’s Eye were no longer their central motif. Instead, a white pawprint was on the back of Merish’s mantle, a cluster of spears drawn below it—broken. The eyes floated above the symbol, some closed, some open. Some weeping blue and red.

And his fur was white. Snow white. Where it was not white, Ylawes saw scarred skin, and the Chieftain had many scars. The most visible and recent was a huge slash mark across one cheek. Wounds he had received in his duel with Chieftain Xherw.

He looked like Ylawes had felt, only more so—someone bearing the scars and wounds of Izril’s most disgraced tribe. But until this very moment, Merish had been a dynamo of action. When he stopped, the scars seemed to appear and grow more visible. His shoulders tensed, then slumped, and when he looked up—Ylawes saw his brave face recede a bit.

“I know what that is like, Captain Ylawes. Putting my faith behind the wrong leader…you woke up well before I, and it was not as grave. Believe me, I understand your shame. But you must move on, no?”

He put a gentle paw out, and Ylawes recalled all of what Merish must have done or been. A tribe of Doomslayers, Chieftain Xherw. He was ashamed to bring up his own woes before the weary Gnoll, but Merish rested a paw on his shoulder and squeezed tight.

“Hold steady, Captain Ylawes. Atone for your deeds by action, not guilt alone. Goisedall will not touch you with us here, but we have little power with the Merchant’s Guild. Almost everything of Plain’s Eye’s wealth was sold to survive the winter and buy enough supplies to come here. Yelroan…well, I am also told that The Wandering Inn is helping you. Can they resolve this?”

Ylawes nodded rapidly.

“Yes! I reached out to my sister, my father, and Lyonette. All of them agreed to help—I haven’t heard back from any, but Ysara was going to intercede with the guild directly, and my father is speaking to a representative as well.”

—And he hadn’t heard back from Lyonette, which was odd. She’d been busy yesterday. Maybe there was a Solstice event at the inn?

Ylawes had hopes, anyways, and Merish smiled.

“Well, it seems straightforwards. Let’s camp bef—”

Then, high overhead as the sun was setting in the sky, Ylawes swore he saw one of the two moons appear overhead. He blinked upwards as the green moon seemed to flash—then drip a tear downwards towards the north. Merish blinked up at the skies.

“Strange. Did you see that?”

“I did, Chieftain. I swore I saw the moon wink.”

They stared upwards, then Merish put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. His [Shaman] came running as the two stared up, and the Thousand Lances, Gnolls, and everyone else gazed up at the moon.

Then Ylawes began hearing howls of alarm, and Merish spun as Chief Warrior Vhra yelled at him.

“Chieftain! [Dangersenses] from everyone! The worst they’ve felt!”

“To arms! Children in the center!”

Everyone was running then, and the Thousand Lances drew their blades as they searched for a threat—but where? Where was it? Ylawes ran towards Rasktooth and Infinitypear.

“Rasktooth! Your [Dangersense]—any idea where it’s coming from?”

The Cave Goblin sat on Infinitypear’s shoulders, and his normally confident expression even in the face of danger had turned to one of uncertainty. He whispered to Ylawes, very quietly, as Falene put a finger to her temple.

“I’m getting a [Message] from Wistram—dead gods.”

She went pale, and Ylawes leaned over.

“What? Your [Dangersense], Rasktooth?”

“It not activating, Captain.”

“What?”

But every single Gnoll—Rasktooth spoke very quietly.

“Maybe…everyone in danger. Except for me.”

Then the [Knight] stood there as Falene Skystrall turned and spoke.

“They said a Goblin King has emerged. In Liscor, Ylawes.”

“What?”

He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t believe it. The inn—

Ylawes was asking for details from Falene as everyone stood and watched the moon shining. Then pulsing more ‘tears’ down to earth. Wondering what was happening.

Forty-six minutes later—

The moon cracked.

——

“We ride for Liscor, now. Thousand Lances, to me! Squire, you will remain here. Ser Ylawes, if you do not ride for House Byres, I beg you, keep Thellabell safe. Forwards the Thousand Lances in the name of the Hundred Heroes!”

There was a quality that you picked up in The Wandering Inn, Ylawes realized. The [Knight] hadn’t realized it fully, but it was in seeing the reaction of the Thousand Lances of Kaaz and the Plain’s Eye Gnolls versus the Silver Swords to the news of a Goblin King.

For here were two major powers of the world. The world’s finest [Knights] and the tribe formerly known as the largest and strongest of Izril. They had just been informed that a Goblin King had emerged in Liscor—then been treated to the mind-numbing sight of a Harpy, multiple Dragons, and the moon itself seeming to attack the Goblin King.

The battle would be over before any of them made it. Whatever the Goblin King did would be history by the time any of them passed Manus, let alone Pallass.

This, Ylawes knew, and it was a bitter fact. Whatever had happened at The Wandering Inn, he was too late. He would wear the sin of that fact on his chest forever.

However—

Dame Rosenthine was still the [Knight] that set Ylawes Byres’ heart to flame. As soon as she understood what was going on, and saw that armored figure tearing out of the inn, she was mounted, and her lance of Adamantium was thrusting into the air.

Ser Pavoriad, Ser Brindelhor, and Lord Volede were right behind her. Ser Pavoriad only hesitated a moment.

“Should we not link up with the Walled Cities, Dame Rosenthine? We will not stop him alone. Better to die side-by-side with allies who might slay him.”

“We will sort it out on the journey northwards. Ride!”

Rosenthine was galloping when her [Squire] cried out.

“Knightess, take me with you!”

She was running, full-tilt, for her horse at amazing speed, but Rosenthine turned her galloping horse and, to Ylawes’ astonishment, rode her own [Squire] down. Her lance knocked Thellabell flat with a blow that must have bruised her despite her armor.

“Nay—you are a mere [Squire], and I will not have you die to no end. Back.”

“I would rather die with you, Rosenthine—”

“You are a [Squire] of the Thousand Lances. It is not for you to choose where to die!”

The [Knight]’s voice was a thunder of ringing metal, and the very weight of her aura made Ylawes stagger, but Ser Brindelhor was the one who rode past her.

“‘Tis not something that befits her honor to be saved from valorous death when every blade is needed, Rosenthine. We ride to the side of the Hundred Heroes. Let us go together.”

Rosenthine hesitated, and her visor rose and revealed an anguished face, contorted, as her [Squire] begged her.

A drama. A tragedy. [Knights] preparing to ride north knowing it was their deaths.

Plain’s Eye was a flurry of orders as Merish restored calm. Bellowing.

“No one is to move, not one of you! Vhra, prepare your [Warriors]!”

“To head north?”

He slashed the air as the panicked Doombearer lifted her spear. Merish pointed—eastwards.

“No. You will ride for the Meeting of Tribes and the Great Plains if we must. We are far from Liscor. The Tribes will form an army. Calm. Frivet, to me! I need your council!”

Panic among the Gnolls. Cullous, the boy, was waving his arms, trying to prevent a stampede as he ran after the cattle who’d picked up on the panic.

Goblin King. That was what the very name could elicit. And, ironically, everyone had forgotten about the Goblin in their midst for a moment.

Rasktooth was shrinking down as small as he could, anyways. He’d gotten off Infinitypear’s shoulders, and he sat, cross-legged, staring north. His face was wrinkled up in confusion, and Ylawes?

Well, it was that quality from The Wandering Inn that struck him, now. He glanced around, and Vuliel Drae was mostly frozen. Infinitypear was holding his spear, searching for something to stab.

But Ylawes, Dawil, and Falene? They were all looking at each other, and Ylawes felt his skin prickling. They were like…

Ordinary people, able to move and think, amidst a play. The drama with the Thousand Lances arguing, the Plain’s Eye tribe running around were like the secondary actors and primary actors in the Players of Celum, but Ylawes wasn’t part of the play.

He was a member of the audience who vaguely needed to pee. Not in the sense that he took this lightly, but in the sense that he had felt this before. Been here before. And it was the inn.

There was someone else who existed in their free world. A Gnoll with a bow, who was watching, like Ylawes. The [Knight] locked eyes with Nailren, and the Gnoll nodded at him as he strode over.

“Ylawes. The reason Lyonette was missing—”

“I hope not. But that was the inn. I swear, I saw Saliss there. And Lord Xitegen.”

“I as well. Ishkr, too, that damn idiot. I don’t care if he’s realer than Lupp-corn. Grimalkin. No sign of Mrsha or Nanette.”

“Could the [Garden of Sanctuary] save them from…”

Ylawes’ blood was ice, and Nailren’s face was grave.

“I don’t know. If anything could, it would be that, but—”

“Knight Byres! Will you take my apprentice or ride with us?”

Ylawes and Nailren turned. Dame Rosenthine was standing in her saddle as her warhorse tossed its head, a screaming stallion with a dappled ivory coat and blowing sapphire mane, a begging [Squire].

Chieftain Merish facing them. Ylawes Byres stared up at the moon. Then turned to Nailren again, and he swore this wasn’t bravado.

Just…

A man’s madness. His way of making peace with all the tragedy and glory that he had seen. Ylawes slowly took off his helmet that he’d shoved onto his head. Then cleared his throat. As Rosenthine’s eyes blazed at him with that impatience of a good, brave woman, a legend, he glanced about.

“I think…I’m going to watch the scrying orb. We will remain here until we know where the Goblin King is moving. Silver Swords—Insill, Dasha, get something to eat. Rasktooth, I’d like any insights. Infinitypear, put that spear down; the Goblin King isn’t going to teleport on our position, and if he does, it’s too late. Falene, send a [Message] spell to The Wandering Inn. Try to get something out of Liscor, but I doubt they have time to talk.”

Then he sat down on the grass. He thought Ser Brindelhor nearly horked out a lung, so hard was he coughing in incredulity. Dame Rosenthine visibly recoiled with the other of the Thousand Lances, and Merish’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ser Byres, are you mad?”

However, Nailren just sat down with Ylawes, head bowed. Neither man smiled, but Ylawes was already uncorking a water flask. He drank as the [Knights] rode towards him.

“We are too far away to do a thing. If the Goblin King is moving north or south, a few hours to establish what he is doing will not take undue amounts of time.”

“True, but it is a Goblin King! Destroyer of kingdoms! The Goblin Kings have ended more of the Hundred Families of Terandria than any war or event! They decimated Izril’s north! Your nobles have never recovered! Have you lost sense of your bravery, Ser?”

Lord Volede’s voice was sharp and outraged, for once. But he did not expect Ylawes’ eyes to meet the older man’s levelly. The blue-eyed gaze of the [Knight] had a hint of steel in it.

“He is in Liscor. The Wandering Inn. A place I hold near and dear to my heart. When this is over, if the inn is gone and the Goblin King lives, I will ride north. Without my team, if I must. Then I will die, or he will. I realize that is bravado, Lord Volede, but you have my word I will do so.”

“But you do not ride now?”

“We are too far. And it is The Wandering Inn.”

No one understood what he was talking about, and Ylawes found that hilarious. He drank from his water flask as Nailren broke out some dried clams. The [Knight] stuffed some into his mouth. His hand—shaking.

But what they saw, the Gnolls, the Terandrians, was the gleam of Ylawes’ eyes. He wasn’t looking at them or at the scrying orb depicting artillery spells being fired at Liscor, the Floodplains, piercing the raining clouds. His gaze was far distant, fixed on someone else.

A frozen woman lying on a bier of stone. And—the sight of a young woman wheeling around in a chair, doing small miracles, eyes filled with secrets.

“If he survives, I will try to kill him. But I am not so arrogant as to think I am needed, Lord Volede.”

“It is the Goblin King, young man.”

Ylawes’ eyes rose, and then they shone with an intensity that had the [Knight] reaching unconsciously for his sword hilt.

“Yes. And that inn belongs to my friend, the [Innkeeper]. Rasktooth, get over here!”

The Cave Goblin hobbled over with Infinitypear’s help, and Falene sat down slowly. In a puddle of robes as Dawil collapsed onto the ground.

“Those kids, lad…”

“I know. Watch, Dawil. Rasktooth, is it the Goblin King?”

“M-maybe. But it all wrong. He so big. So scary. Why no one notice? He scream so loud—and why he so familiar?”

Rasktooth was peering north, an uncertain expression on his face. Ylawes listened. Sat. Drank water as the Thousand Lances hesitated, and Plain’s Eye circled around them. Until…

The end.

That—more than anything—was what the Thousand Lances and Gnolls remembered. The sight of an adventuring team waiting to know what happened. Not calmly, but with a certainty that held when the world shook.

A conviction that maybe it would be tragedy. Or maybe—just maybe—somehow—

The Goblin King would be the one who lost.

And they were right.

——

Obviously, it took a lot more reassurances than the news from the scrying orbs that the Goblin King was dead to defuse the situation.

But to Ylawes Byres, it was done. He stood, at last, and went to pee.

Then he peed for three minutes straight. He counted to a hundred and ninety-six seconds—that was how much water he’d been drinking out of nerves when waiting.

A pair of Gnolls, Cullous, and an older [Rancher] stared at Ylawes as he stepped away from the latrines. His bladder hurt from holding it in, and that…

That was better than wondering who’d die this time.

“Looks like we continue. Don’t bother them, Falene. Don’t…just don’t.”

She nodded at him, and he sat and hugged Pekona, one-armed. She was wide-eyed, but she leaned against him and embraced him with her good arm as she felt him shivering. And then—

A call from Lyonette. Where he knew something was so terribly wrong, but she just told him to continue.

Ylawes Byres thanked her and sat. Plain’s Eye settled, and explanations were demanded. Everyone watched Channel 1 of Wistram News Network. Saw Drassi paddling a boat into the Flood Plains, hunting for evidence—

Dame Rosenthine was speaking to Kaaz, and Merish was talking to other Gnoll [Chieftains]. Ylawes just sat there. Shivering like a man with a cold.

“We’d never have made it, lad. It was too late. We left because your house was attacked, remember?”

Dawil said it at last, lips pale, sipping from a cup of Velrusk Claw going around. Ylawes just leaned against Pekona, shivering.

“I know. I know, damn it all. I just wish.”

“Yeah. Me too, lad.”

They sat there into the long night, until dawn broke. And a little Gnoll girl padded into camp.

Hey.

Mrsha looked terrible. Thin and exhausted, but Ylawes woke up from his dozing near the embers and sat up. He gazed at her as she rubbed at her eyes.

“Mrsha? Is everything—?”

Everyone’s alive. Everyone, Ylawes. I came by to tell people that. Can’t stay long. Gotta tell Fetohep, then Ilvriss, then…

He didn’t believe her. But she was…Mrsha. Her eyes seemed to contain that aftermath he expected. So the [Knight] just reached out.

“You did it.”

I guess. I didn’t do much. But yeah, it’s over, I think. Sorry for making a mess of it, Ylawes.

You’re a kid. You’re allowed to…Ylawes whispered.

“You’re allowed to make a mess of things just so long as you’re alright, Mrsha. You are alright?”

He saw her pause, then smile at him as she wrote with that glowing paw in the air.

No. But I might be. Go to sleep, Ylawes. We made it.

He must have passed out, then. Because he didn’t remember what else he said to her. He didn’t want to take her time. He knew she had to be so, so tired…

The [Knight] slept. And the world went back to normal and got to pretend nothing had happened the day thereafter. Certainly, the Thousand Lances and Gnolls did, or that they’d misunderstood something. It had been a Goblin King, maybe, but a fluke. Not like the real thing. They’d figure it out.

But Ylawes knew. He knew and continued.

And promised to come back and find the truth one day. When he had finished his adventure. He would believe it all.

That night, he realized that when he thought of home, he often imagined House Byres as he’d grown up, cannonballing into the silver springs with Ysara and Yvlon. Reading books of [Knights] in his keep. But other times, he just imagined that inn and common room overflowing with wondrous chaos.

He wanted to go back to it.

Then, he slept. When he woke up, it was back to his adventure.

——

The Thousand Lances had spent the night in the Plain’s Eye’s company with ill sleep, and it showed. Nevertheless, they were up and practicing swordplay at dawn. Probably to reassert some normality, if nothing else.

Everyone was sleep-deprived. Insill was making morning tea in one of his boots. Dasha had left her comb in her beard, and Ylawes had woken up and nearly kicked the strange anaconda in his bedroll until he realized it was Pekona.

However, ‘normality’ began to reassert itself as everyone stopped talking about the Goblin King. It was that or go crazy—he knew how that felt too. For his part, he had a few words with his team.

“Sounds like the inn handled it. Mrsha visited me this morning. She said she’s well.”

“Hah. Who died?”

“No one, according to her, Dawil.”

“Lad, that’s crazy, even for the inn.”

“I know, but let’s accept it. She didn’t look like she was lying. Okay, she seemed like someone had been beating her with emotional sticks, but…”

Falene poked at some Gnollish silkap simmering on a flatstone with some bread. Her stomach growled.

“I’ll ask around. And I, uh, levelled up last night. A big level.”

“Oh?”

Wasn’t she only Level 36 , though? Not a capstone. Dawil and Ylawes turned, and Falene moodily poked at the fire, not gazing at Ylawes and Pekona.

“What’s today’s job?”

“Um, see if Ysara or my father cleared up the Merchant’s Guild mess? I’ll remind them of it. Then—we’ll see. I might ask if I can talk to the Thousand Lances. I mean—I’ll never get another chance.”

Ylawes was watching an amazing bout between Ser Pavoriad and Ser Brindelhor, two longswords versus the greatsword that made the air ring. Bared blades clashing against each other in such a thrilling sparring match it looked like a battle from stories—if not for the fact that Ylawes could tell both men were holding back. Dawil drained his mug of tea.

“Sounds like a good distraction. Blagh. Insill! This tea tastes like your socks!”

——

Ylawes’ request to spar with the Thousand Lances before breakfast was the most consequently inconsequential moment that morning. Gnolls, rattled from yesterday, perked their ears up as Dame Rosenthine put her sword against her shoulder. She’d been air-battling imaginary monsters, and her [Squire], helmetless, had been swinging her sword and shield in practice motions.

“A sparring match?”

“Nothing so formal, Dame Rosenthine! I realize I wouldn’t hold a candle to the Thousand Lances, but I just—wished to see your capabilities!”

Ylawes flushed, and the [Knightess] hesitated, then nodded at him.

“It would be no trouble for an informal bout, Ser Ylawes. For a [Knight] so…foresighted, we should oblige no less. But as you say, we would not wish to have an unequal match.”

She hefted her Adamantium longsword, and he noted how effortlessly she swung it and wondered how he’d fare with an unenchanted shield and sword.

Ser Pavoriad used two longswords, an incredible feat due to his height and strength. Ser Brindelhor, the greatsword, typical of his order, with crushing strength and alarming speed. Ser Volede, a flail and shield, and the long ball-and-chain could spin with alarming force. It was likely mithril, which allowed the elderly [Knight] to spin it with ease, and looked sharp as a ball of razors.

Dame Rosenthine was the most ‘conventional’ with her longsword, but she swung it so fast that the air kept making high-pitched sounds, and the grass billowed around her with her practice swings. Plus, all of them had enchanted armor. With Rosenthine in Adamantium…

I wouldn’t land a scratch, and they’d take me to pieces. Ylawes was conscious of his weakened body, but Rosenthine had an answer after a second.

“Would my squire be an appropriate match, Ser Byres? I would not like to pit a [Squire] against a full [Knight], but Thellabell has participated in duels against over a hundred and forty [Knights] and won over half. It is no insult, upon my honor, but a humble request to train her.”

“I’d be delighted, Dame Rosenthine.”

Privately, Ylawes was a bit sad he couldn’t match blades with her, but if he did well against the [Squire], why not? Thellabell certainly seemed excited and drew her longsword and shield, a copy of his gear, with great excitement.

“You fight in the classic style as well, Ser Byres? Were you trained in your swordsmanship in any particular school?”

“Er—only traditional Izrilian fighting, Squire Thellabell. By my [Tutors] and [Weapon Instructors]. Should we use practice weapons?”

“We do not normally hurt each other with blades. Though your armor—lost its enchantment? Thellabell, watch his armor. You may cut it—her sword is an [Evercut] blade as well as enchanted for durability, Ser Byres. Not a noble enchantment, I know, but it is condescension given her inexperience. I have not been willing to commit her to full combat without my supervision, as you saw yesterday. Thellabell is naïve to the cunning of her foes, inexperienced in true battle, impulsive and reckless, and seeks my guidance as a puppy does leadership.”

“Knightess!”

Thellabell was faintly sandy-haired as she snapped her visor shut and, from what Ylawes had seen, more brown-skinned than the other [Knights]. Her mentor and teacher went on, ruthless.

“You are a daughter of Kaaz, as am I, Thellabell. If you wish to truly become one of the Thousand Lances, I shall not allow you to rest on your laurels. Show Ser Ylawes the fruits of your training. Remember to keep your guard up—you drop it too low then raise it when it should be always centered.”

Thoroughly embarrassed, the [Squire] paced back and saluted Ylawes as he drew his sword and shield, and a crowd of onlookers gathered. Dawil shouted as he saw them drawing a dueling ground in the grass.

“Lad, you’d best not let us down! An egg on my boy!”

“Go, Captain!”

Dasha and Insill were cheering as Anith yip-howled, and Gnolls were calling out good-naturedly. Mostly for Ylawes; he was Izrilian. Falene was watching worriedly, and Pekona was shifting from foot to foot. It was the latter who came over.

“Ylawes, why are you dueling her?”

“To see how good the Thousand Lances are, Pekona. It’s a dream of mine.”

Surprised, Ylawes replied as he put on his helmet, and she bit her lip.

“She’s fast. Very fast. Very controlled. Probably…beyond even someone who’s mastered Sword Auras. That’s a…first-rank master of blades. Like a [Blademaster]. She’s better.”

The [Knight]’s brows rose as he watched Thellabell swishing at the air with her sword. He nodded at the silent, rust-armored [Knight] next to her, arms folded.

“Dame Rosenthine? I’ve heard she defeated a Cyclops in single combat when she was younger, decades ago.”

“No. The younger one.”

His own warm-ups with his sword slowed a second. Pekona’s eyes flicked to him, and then someone came over.

“Ser Ylawes! A word?”

Ser Pavoriad was all smiles this morning, but the [Knight] leaned on a little paddock fence the Gnolls had set up to coral their animals, patting a curious cow on the head as he beamed at them. His face didn’t change, but his voice lowered without him seeming to more than chat.

“This duel is a fine thing between [Knights]. Dame Rosenthine has a habit of sending her [Squire] out against most [Knights]—she receives challenges wherever she goes, of course.”

“I hope I’m not being indecorous, Ser Pavoriad?”

“No, no! If anything, the slight is upon the Thousand Lances’ honor! We should meet a [Knight] with a [Knight] to be truly chivalrous. Though that is also a problem, as it would not be fair in level or equipment. I merely remark that Rosenthine’s squire is no pushover, etiquette aside. She would be a full [Knight] in any other Knight Order. And she has bested veterans of said Orders, more than once. Merely a remark that you would do well to engage her at full strength.”

The half-Elf peered up at the clouds as if chatting about the weather, and Ylawes felt the first prickle of apprehension. However, this was a spar of pure friendship. He lifted his sword and saluted Squire Thellabell as she performed a complex sword-salute from Kaaz.

“In the honor of the Thousand Lances and Knightess Rosenthine, I accept this duel, Ser Ylawes of House Byres!”

She cried from behind her helmet, and he saluted her awkwardly.

“In—House Byres’ name, I accept and thank you, Dame Thellabell! To friendship and honor!”

They advanced as the audience watched, a friendly match after the Goblin King’s death. With about the same level of auspiciousness. Ylawes lifted his sword, and he touched blades with her gently, then stepped back. Despite Ser Pavoriad’s warnings, he swung a bit gently at Thellabell’s shield as she stepped forwards. He didn’t want to hurt—

Her first strike on his shield landed hard, and he grunted as it rang off his silversteel metal.

Dead gods, that’s a hard blow! So she wanted to make this a fight? He could respect th—

Then he saw her arms tense and realized she was heaving h—Ylawes’ feet left the ground as his shield-arm compressed against his side. He heard a shout, a massed gasp—

“Lad!”

—Hit the ground after flying several feet, stumbled, and saw her lunge. So fast and perfectly his shield came up, and he gasped.

[Shield of Valor].

He had never, ever seen someone hit his Skill and pierce it. The blade of the [Squire] slashed through his shield-Skill, hit his shield, and punched a hole through the lower part of the guard. It only halted before striking his armor when Rosenthine herself leapt forwards and seized the blade, bare-handed.

“Squire, watch your blade!”

Ylawes stared at the tip of Thellabell’s blade, which was in his silversteel plate armor, right below his liver. He saw the [Squire] back up, abashed, and then saw Dawil’s alarmed face. The [Knight] swallowed.

The [Squire] of the Thousand Lances came at him fast and hard when he reset his stance. He matched her blows, trying to block, strike, and the ringing of steel had the Gnolls covering their ears in moments. His shield-arm was dead in the next thirty seconds.

——

Dawil knew Ylawes was a good fighter. He’d fought beside his friend so many times—Ylawes had downed [Bandits], monsters like Gargoyles, and even fought Facestealer and kept himself alive.

He was a good fighter. Even other Gold-rankers didn’t have his practiced finesse. The Dwarf had thought that would mean that if even if he didn’t win, Ylawes would give a good fight to the Thousand Lances.

…He’d been away from home too long. Been too low-level to realize what the Thousand Lances were.

“She’s not Level 20. She’s Level 30 or higher, same as Ylawes. Dead gods, what do they feed their [Squires]?”

Thellabell kept coming. She was precise, fast, and strong enough to make Ylawes’ shield-arm quake. Maybe he hadn’t been using Skills at the start, but he was now. She was still pressing him back.

Mind you, Dawil thought that Ylawes was still stronger, but that was the only thing the Izrilian [Knight] had on Thellabell. In swordsmanship, she was outmaneuvering him.

He’d never even seen some of the things she was doing executed in combat. For instance, Thellabell hooked her shield on Ylawes’ from the inside, yanking his guard open and nearly cutting him with a slash, but for his swing that made her back up. The old shield-hook trick was one Dawil had seen a few times in practice courts and knew of.

But never seen in a fight. Falene was whispering to him.

“She’s a [Squire] of one of the Thousand Lances’ best [Knights]. Ylawes shouldn’t have taken the duel! He’s getting overwhelmed!”

“It’s just a duel, Falene. He’s probably delighted to fight his idols.”

“But she’s a squire!”

Certainly, Ylawes didn’t look happy. His too-honest face was a picture of alarm as Thellabell backed him around the dueling ring. She kept going for strikes to his helm, knees, or…

“She’s going for a wound.”

“Hm? Why?”

“It’s how you win duels, Dawil! Don’t tell me you don’t know [Knight] duels?”

“We don’t have many Dwarf-[Knights]. We don’t have an order in Deríthal-Vel. Right, the lad did say…”

In conventional Terandrian dueling, you didn’t kill each other or beat the other fellow down. It was first blood. So the two armored [Knights] were going back-and-forth, trying to score a blow on the other that drew blood.

A lot harder on the lad than Thellabell. The few times Ylawes managed a blow, it was against the heaviest parts of Thellabell’s armor, and hers was enchanted. His had lost its magic, and he had developed several dents already.

“C’mon, lad! Use your [Grand Slash]! Hit her with the old [Piercing Charge]!”

Dawil cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. Instantly, Thellabell leapt back, abandoning her assault, and Dame Rosenthine slapped her forehead.

“Squire!”

—The one reason Thellabell hadn’t pressed her luck was because she seemed very wary of Ylawes, ready to put her shield up and guard if he used a Skill. Dawil’s shout made the [Squire] visibly falter to a chuckle of laughter, but then she was back on the attack. He saw her wind up, sword coming back, and—

Kkkrakow! The sound metal on metal made caused Dawil to wince. Ylawes reeled again, and this time, Falene groaned.

“He’s got to use his best Skills! Ylawes! Do the one where you run at her!”

She meant his weapon-art, [The Knight Charged With Wings of Steel]. It was Dawil’s turn to hiss at Falene.

“Pointy, are you mad? She’s a kid!”

“He’s going to lose! Do you want that?”

It’s just a duel. Dawil almost said that until he closed his mouth and considered honor and such. He was debating shouting at Ylawes again when Squire Thellabell evidently lost patience.

Ylawes had been hunkering behind his shield, waiting for his chance, the classic move of a sword-and-shield expert. He came out with a high swing as her own shield rose.

[Shieldbreaker].

Dawil saw his friend going for the blow that would knock Thellabell’s arm down or break her shield entirely. However, Thellabell was coiled up. Tense, like a spring. As Ylawes’ sword swung for her shield, she shoved the shield-arm up—sideways—

Backstepped as Ylawes’ blade missed her shield, and he tried to correct, and Dawil saw her moving at speeds only other [Warriors] could process, and maybe Falene—

A spinning slash across the neck. Dawil choked.

“L—”

Ylawes’ shield caught the tip of the sword, and it slashed off the top of the metal. He recoiled, jerking his head back—

“[Stunning Shield Bash]. [Burst of Greater Strength]!”

Thellabell slammed into Ylawes. The impact sent him reeling, and his guard was down, shield and sword knocked down. But he was raising his shield and sword when Thellabell used her third Skill of the duel:

“[Free Blow: Swallow’s Cut].”

She slashed across his shoulder-guard, and the faint splatter of blood was only a few drops, but Dawil saw Ylawes’ recoil, clutch at his shoulder, and it was done.

Blood struck the ground as the Gnolls gasped. Three blows executed in such close proximity that the experienced Gold-rank adventurer hadn’t had time to react.

Especially to the last one. Thellabell had moved almost simultaneously into the cut, like Relc’s [Triple Thrust]. A perfect blow into the moment she’d opened.

Blood ran from Ylawes’ shoulder as he raised his sword to attack, glanced at his open wound, and Ser Brindelhor bellowed.

“First blood, Thellabell! Swords down! This match of honor is over!”

Crestfallen, embarrassed, and visibly stunned, Ylawes lowered his blade. Thellabell pumped her sword into the air with a cry.

“For Kaaz and Knight Rosenthine!”

The tip of her sword was bloody, and she thrust back her visor, cheering, as Ylawes’ head sank. Right up until Dame Rosenthine strode over and punched the top of Thellabell’s visor.

“Squire, you will be my end! You embarrass us both! Ser Byres, I apologize. Ser Pavoriad, I am in need of a poultice for the evercut injury!”

She turned and bowed stiffly to Ylawes. Pavoriad was already coming over with a mortar and pestle. Thellabell protested.

“But, Dame Rosenthine, I won—”

“This is not a duel of honor but a sparring match, you thoughtless child! First blood may end the duel, but it is not honorable to always seek it! She equates victory with satisfaction, you see.”

Rosenthine was sighing, shaking her head over her talented [Squire]’s many missteps. But Ylawes? He glanced at Dawil, and the two had the same thought.

She’s top of Gold-rank or better without her armor. What monsters the Thousand Lances were.

——

The upside of Ylawes’ highly embarrassing defeat, if you could call it that, was that Thellabell proved it was no fluke. She took on six Gnolls after Ylawes, and each one she bested so fast and skillfully it salved his pride.

If not his stinging shoulder.

“She’s a Demon with that blade.”

Thellabell just hacked apart Vhra’s training-spear with three blows and put her sword at the Gnoll’s throat, and that was a full Plain’s Eye warrior with as much experience as Ylawes in combat. But whatever they had—Thellabell was just more practiced.

Ylawes had thought he’d worked hard on the practice courts, but every movement from the young [Squire] was like watching a spring-loaded blade moving with impeccable aim and timing. His shield-arm still hurt.

“Oh, aye, she’s Rosenthine’s squire for a reason. The finest candidate in all of Kaaz, to hear Rosenthine say it. Not that she goes lightly upon Thellabell. Especially for the New Lands; she almost forbade Thellabell to join her, but the girl would have like as not swum across the sea, armor and all. She’s that devoted.”

Ser Brindelhor rested his greatsword on his knees, cleaning his sword since he would not be dueling anyone. After all, if a [Squire] could best Ylawes so easily…

So that’s the difference between us. Ylawes hung his head, and he did know he’d let his team and House Byres down.

‘Uncourteous’ blow or not, as Rosenthine had put it, Thellabell had overwhelmed Ylawes then used her Skills to draw blood in such an effortless manner it made his cheeks red with shame. They…were of a level, he realized, and he had thought she was Level 28 or something. Not above Level 30. Now, he wondered if she were above his level.

So young, so peerless, so…she was like what they’d used to call him. A prodigy. Only, seeing Thellabell made Ylawes feel that term had been misapplied to him.

He sat there as the sixth Gnoll challenger went down, and Thellabell saluted the sky again.

“In the name of Infinite Kaaz! Will anyone else challenge me for the Thousand Lances’ honor? I should not like to disappoint our reputations!”

No one did, even if Viri was urging Chieftain Merish himself to take Thellabell on. This was the proof of the pudding: the Thousand Lances were superior, and embarrassment of Rosenthine or not, it was implicit in the others.

No one here can match us. Ser Pavoriad was smiling as he tended to the others with a poultice that apparently stopped the deadly [Evercut] enchantment from bleeding one to death, although natural healing would do that if the body was allowed enough time. Falene was squatting down as well, trying to practice dispelling the relatively rare enchantment.

But Ylawes was humbled. The Gnolls were not happy either, and Ylawes heard Vhra arguing with Merish.

“She’s not that good. Give me another shot, Chieftain, or time to find a warrior in the other clans! We could best her in a real fight!”

“Peace, Vhra. They have come under the banner of peace so we must offer it in kind. She’s made her point, and you showed your capabilities well.”

“But she’s making a mockery of us, same as the adventurers…!”

Ylawes flushed again, and Nailren was the one who spoke.

“A bit of humility would do us all better than arrogance, eh, Captain? I admire your restraint.”

He seemed relaxed and un-pressed to line up to duel Thellabell like a lot of hotheads. Dawil, who’d been about to rise, hesitated.

“The Thousand Lances are the world’s finest Knight-Order. But, eh, they are Terandrian to their cores, Nailren. Bit embarrassing, but I’d never thought of how it looks outside of home before. I’m glad you and the lad know how it is.”

He nodded at Ylawes, and Nailren grinned at him.

“This isn’t a battle, and young hotheads aside, Dawil, I don’t see any loss of face, eh? We all know what Captain Ylawes did. He’ll get hit in the head by a [Squire] or Facestealer and never waver.”

Ylawes felt better as Dawil sat with a laugh, and the Dwarf nodded and stopped favoring his hammer. Then he frowned.

“Well, er, let’s tell the team that, eh, lad?”

Ylawes sat up, then nearly shot to his feet because some people had taken his defeat personally. Namely…his team.

Infinitypear, Dasha, and even Larr were lining up to challenge Thellabell. But they were all right behind the person who had taken the most umbrage with Ylawes’ embarrassment:

Pekona. She had a hand on her wakizashi, and Thellabell was backing up, protesting.

“I cannot duel a one-armed woman, with great respect! Knightess—”

She turned, and Rosenthine agreed.

“Tie your shield-arm behind your back. Adventurer…Pekona, we need not shed more blood. I should be delighted to train together—”

She drew her sword, but Pekona jerked her head towards Thellabell.

“I want to spar her. Both arms. Or is mine not good enough?”

“It’s dishonorable to fight disadvantaged so.”

“So you’re better with two arms than I am with one?“

“Well…yes.. Evidently, two is better than one. Which is no denigration, just—”

Whatever sterling qualities Thellabell had in the art of fisticuffs were lacking in her tact verbally. Pekona was standing side-long, ready to draw her sword from her sheath in that lightning-fast draw technique that Ylawes had been dying to ask her to teach him. Evidently, Thellabell sensed it and sprang back, drawing her own shield and sword.

However…the two never had a chance to duel, because someone else shoved forwards at the same time as Rosenthine.

“Pekona, get back. She’s too high-level for you!”

Falene shoved Pekona back with a light gust of wind, and the [Sword Dancer] turned on her, incensed, but Falene was all coolness, raised chin. She grasped Pekona’s arm.

“Let me.”

“I can fight her—!”

The [Battlemage] met Pekona’s eyes.

“I know, but allow me, Pekona. Please?”

After a second, the [Sword Dancer] nodded and stepped back. Rosenthine knocked down Thellabell’s sword arm; the [Squire] had her sword raised, despite her reluctance.

“You’ve demonstrated your skill with a blade and little else, Squire. I apologize, Mage Falene, is it not?”

Ylawes relaxed even as he felt a bit…insulted and protective of Pekona. He hadn’t heard what Falene had said to her, but he felt like Pekona deserved a chance! However, the half-Elf nodded at Thellabell.

“Your [Squire] is a masterful bladeswoman, and well I can believe she has bested full [Knights] of Terandria, Dame Rosenthine. A talent even among the Thousand Lances, I take it?”

“Aye, and I regret any insult it may have caused. I wish to train her on countless foes lest a true enemy in battle be her last.”

Rosenthine bowed slightly, and Ylawes relaxed. See? That was it. A bit of hurt pride, a reminder he was out of shape given his hunger, and then—

Falene smiled slightly as Pekona tried to move forwards and Vuliel Drae caught her.

“Indeed, and she is far, far too adept for a Silver-ranker or even another warrior without enchanted weapons to best. Which is why I request the honor of a duel. It has been a while since I demonstrated my capabilities.”

“Falene?”

“Pointy?”

Dawil and Ylawes started to their feet as Falene stepped back, and Thellabell’s eyes lit up as she yanked her helmet off her head. Rosenthine hesitated, then sighed.

“I would not want it to be a point of honor or a grudge, Mage—”

“What grudge? Merely a [Mage] of Wistram’s curiosity. Shall we, Squire? Would you like us to stand closer? It is a handicap to my advantage, the further we are.”

“I should be delighted to test you, Mage Falene! Here is fine!”

Thellabell saluted Falene Skystrall, and the [Mage] smiled politely and adjusted her spectacles as Rosenthine stepped back with an audible sigh. Ser Pavoriad was glancing between the two, ready to object, when Falene smiled.

“Excellent! Then shall we begin? [Flame Arrow], [Shock Wheel], [Stone Shard], [Ice Spike], [Light Arrow], [Darkness Arrow], [Frozen Wind], [Shock Orb]—”

She began blasting spells at Thellabell, and the [Squire] recoiled before her shield caught the first Tier 1-2 spells on it, and her sword began cleaving the rest apart.

Cutting magic in twain. Ylawes groaned as Falene held her ground, not moving or using her footwork—because she didn’t have any, as he and Dawil well knew—just loosing spells as the [Squire] advanced in a hailstorm of magic. Cutting her way through like…well…

“Now that’s genius.”

Dawil commented, and Ylawes nodded. If Falene warned him, he could cut apart a spell she fired at him. One or two. Not when she unloaded her spells in her classic style. But Thellabell was doing it.

Even the Gnollish warriors had gone dead silent in amazement. The [Squire] was weaving through the spells, cutting, blocking, a grin on her face—she hadn’t even put her helmet on. She was pirouetting, leaning out of the way of spells, able to tell which would hit her and which would strike her armor, blade whirling through magic…

“She is. Though you shall never hear me admit it. Ser Byres, I have embarrassed myself as I am wont to do with Thellabell, though no more than she does.”

Dame Rosenthine surprised Nailren, Dawil, and Ylawes as she walked back to them. They saw Falene backing up, brows furrowed as her spectacles flashed, and Thellabell kept coming.

And Falene was doing everything right. Thellabell leapt a low [Surge of Water] spell and nearly slipped on the [Mud Pit], only to stab the ground with her sword, twirl back a pace, then slap a [Flame Bolt] spell into the ground. She hopped onto the spot burned dry, ducked a [Sticky Webs] spell—advanced.

Like it was a game. Rosenthine watched her [Squire], eyes visibly proud and a bit dismayed.

“I kept her from fighting the Drakes not for fear she’d be hurt, but that her blade would kill a few from its enchantment. Take it not amiss, I pray you, Ser.”

“Not…at all, Dame Rosenthine.”

She apologized a lot for one of the world’s foremost [Knights], which is surely what she was if Ylawes was a judge. But Rosenthine just murmured.

“Already, she is so good, and a girl of nineteen. Would you believe she is still a [Squire] at Level 35? A [Squire of Excellence] no less.”

Dawil snorted water out of his nose.

“What? What kind of a [Squire] is Level 35—!?”

“One who keeps the class that she might rise ever-higher, Adventurer Dawil. It is not a common thing in other lands, I take it. [Squires] are more Terandrian, or so I have heard. Training classes yield greater results the longer they are kept. And Thellabell is the most talented [Squire] in Kaaz, my word upon it. Someday, she will surpass me.”

Ah, and there it was. The smile on Rosenthine’s face was not quite motherly nor that of a satisfied tutor, but something different. The radiant expression of a setting sun, still glorious, anticipating another’s rise to burn even brighter. Ylawes just stood there and felt, for the first time in his life, jealous.

…No, not first. He’d felt this with Yvlon before. When she’d risen past him in levels and fame. And with his sister, Ysara. He willed the emotion down—why was it just with other women? But to see Thellabell—

She was almost upon Falene when the [Battlemage] clicked her heels and vanished.

She reappeared with a pop in front of Dawil, Ylawes, and Nailren, and there was a shout.

“Foul! One does not escape a duel so!”

Falene raised her staff, and Thellabell slowed and turned to Ser Brindelhor. She bowed to him slightly.

“I apologize, Ser Knight. I did not know. It is common practice in Wistram’s duels. I shall refrain if we may continue?”

“Yes, though I fear I have you, Mage Falene!”

Thellabell was a tad bit overconfident. Ylawes’ smile hurt as his teeth rubbed together, and he willed Falene to cast a [Fireball]. Just a light one. But Falene was smiling at Thellabell, calm, like she were teaching a youngster in a village a bit about magic. The wise Wistram [Mage], who liked to claim she was older than everyone.

“I have not used all my magic, [Squire]. I trust your armor can survive [Lightning Bolt]? [Fireball]? I would not like to hurt you.”

“Aye, without harm to me, Mage! But if you struck me with either, I should give you the victory of the duel for it! Cast away!”

Thellabell even stepped back, and Falene fiddled with her spectacles.

“Very well, I shall. Just so you know, I did change my class last night, Ylawes, Dawil.”

Both of her teammates glanced up, and Dawil’s mouth fell open.

“At Level 36? Pointy! You didn’t say a word, you sneaky half-Elf you!”

A gasp, then a cheer from the side, and the Silver Swords leaned forwards, but Thellabell frowned.

“Oh, my pardons, Mage Falene. I hope it was not too disfavorable?”

Even Falene hesitated here.

“Disfavorable? It was a class consolidation, why would it be disfavorable…?”

“Squire.”

Rosenthine made a gesture, but Thellabell didn’t notice. With that brutal honesty of someone with no tact—and Ylawes had never met anyone with less tact than he had—she replied.

“In Kaaz, it is well-known that capstones empower classes. However, any class that levels in intervals not of ten are considered ‘off-classes’. The result of mismanaged synergies or desperation. They do have power, but fall behind traditional classes. A [Hedge Mage]’s consolidations, or a slower route to true classes.”

Ylawes shifted. He’d been Level 25 when he’d become a [Knight], since he’d had no formal [Squire] training himself or Order. Did that mean…?

Even Ser Brindelhor was coughing into a gauntlet and buffing his armor as Falene stood there, face cool, and Thellabell realized she was calling Falene’s class ‘substandard’ to her face. The [Squire] colored.

“Er, what I meant was—”

“I am sure Kaaz of the Infinite Dungeon is wise in all matters class-related, as are the Thousand Lances, Squire. Shall we see if my half-made class can compete with the excellence of yours? [Fireball].”

Falene hip-fired the spell from her staff, and Thellabell swallowed, then cut the fiery strands of the [Fireball] apart. They exploded in two pieces behind her as everyone took a long step back. And Ylawes had to say, internally—

Dead gods damnit, she really was amazing. He was really hoping for Falene to nail Thellabell with a [Lightning Bolt], but when she fired it, Thellabell leaned out of the way and dodged it.

Dead. Gods.

Then Thellabell was charging, and Falene was backing up. She was speaking, casting low-Tier spells in a flurry.

“[Ice Spike], [Frost Mist], [Water Spray], [Fire Orb], [Flame Swathe], [Light Arrow], [Shade Dagger], [Mana Orb], [Stone Fist], [Light Arrow], [Magic Dart], [Lantern Light], [Mana Brick], [Ice Dagger], [Snowball], [Light Arrow], [Dark Arrow], [Fire Arrow], [Water Arrow], [Water Jet], [Fire Arrow], [Earth Arrow], [Wind Arrow], [Wind Orb], [Ice Spike], [Light Arrow], [Poison Arrow], [Acid Arrow], [Sand Arrow], [Glass Arrow], [Mana Arrow], [Fire Spray], [Water Jet], [Acid Splash], [Snowball], [Mudball], [Orb of Darkness], [Stone Fist], [Light Arrow], [Magic Dart], [Lantern Light], [Mana Brick], [Ice Dagger], [Snowball], [Wind Arrow], [Wind Orb], [Ice Spike], [Light Arrow], [Dark Arrow], [Fire Arrow], [Water Arrow], [Water Jet], [Fire Arrow], [Earth Arrow], [Snowball], [Mudball], [Orb of Darkness], [Magic Poke], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow], [Lightning Arrow]—”

She didn’t stop casting. Ylawes realized Falene hadn’t stopped casting spells when he saw Thellabell’s eager charge become a startled dance, weaving to cut or dodge the onslaught of spells, and his mouth was open.

She couldn’t cast this many spells so fast! Even for Falene, this was an overwhelming number, and only the [Battlemage]’s need to breathe kept the spells from literally filling the air. Dawil was blinking.

“Pointy?”

Falene kept loosing spells. She really liked her arrows, and the other spells she sometimes just threw in for variance’s sake. Ylawes saw crackling bolts of [Lightning Arrow] fill the air as she shot them, slowed to make it harder for Thellabell to dodge, into the air, and Nailren’s head turned.

“What was Falene’s class, Ylawes?”

Well, it was normally secret and embarrassed Falene, but if it had changed—Ylawes answered slowly.

“She’s lower-level than Dawil and I because that’s how it works with [Mages] usually. She’s—she was a Level 36 [Battlemage of Charity].”

A class befitting the half-Elf who had joined the Silver Swords and shared their ethos. Thellabell had stabilized against the onslaught of spells and was pushing in, no longer hacking them apart but just taking them on her shield and armor. Ylawes saw Falene’s lips curve upwards as she pointed her staff ahead and stopped chanting just long enough to say—

“[Combine Spell: Lightning Bolt].”

Then the chain of [Lightning Arrows] seemed to fuse, and he swore he saw a link of magic running between them as Thellabell’s eyes widened. The [Lightning Bolt] exploded through the air as Falene cast another simultaneously.

“Kaaz—!”

Somehow, the [Squire of Excellence] dodged the first [Lightning Bolt] and cut the second out of the air as she leapt at Falene. The [Battlemage] stepped back and spoke.

“[Combine Spell: Elemental Arrow Rain]. [Combine Spell: Water Geyser]! [Stone Dart].”

Two spells emerged from the Tier 1 spells she’d littered the air with. Magical arrows of all kinds, darting at Thellabell’s unguarded face as the [Squire] pivoted, ducking her head, slashing, jumping the water spout that froze, trying to entangle h—

The [Stone Dart] slashed across Thellabell’s cheek as she twisted her head to dodge a [Darkness Arrow], her sword extending to stab Falene in the chest. It ran into a triple-layer [Barrier] spell, and Ser Pavoriad and Ser Brindelhor’s swords which criss-crossed the blade and slammed it into the earth.

Falene Skystrall stood there as Thellabell recoiled, then felt at her cheek. A trickle of blood marred her brown skin, and then Ylawes saw her face darken into a full flush. Dame Rosenthine called out.

“First blood! Hold! Victory to Magus Skystrall! Squire, drop your blade! You have much to learn!”

She smiled as Falene swept her audience a bow, and the Gnolls began to cheer along with the Silver Swords. Ylawes clapped with Dawil as Falene stood there, and Thellabell lowered her sword, mouth open to protest before ducking her head in shame.

That was his half-Elf friend and [Mage]. Ylawes remembered why he had always loved her as Falene tossed her head back. A shame they were fellow adventurers. You didn’t date them, obviously.

Um, except for Pekona.

——

Pekona was wide-eyed as Falene accepted a towel to wipe the light sweat off her brows. Rosenthine was debriefing Thellabell, explaining to the young [Squire] exactly how overconfident she’d been and how many ways Falene had her.

But Ser Pavoriad was ecstatic.

“Younger sister! No, Magus Falene, what a splendid victory at your age! I can’t remember the last time Thellabell’s lost a battle, let alone to a non-[Knight]! I shall have to write home of you! Such talent at your tender young age?”

“Once again, Ser Pavoriad, I am more than fully grown! But thank you. I just wished to represent the team, and I am sure Dawil would have done likewise, but he might have hurt the young woman with his best.”

“Oh, aye, and we can’t have that, eh, Pointy? But you took it easy on the lass.”

Dawil was slapping Falene on the back, and she grimaced.

“Dawil, stop hitting me. Well, Captain.”

She turned to Ylawes and gave Pekona an arch smile as the [Sword Dancer] fidgeted. But Ylawes was purely amazed.

“Falene, your class. Did it really change?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to share…”

Falene was dying to tell everyone, so she cleared her throat, then hesitated. She coughed, eyed Ylawes and Pekona, then murmured.

“It is, um, well, perhaps an odd class at Level 37. But given our adventures in the New Lands, it felt fitting. I am a [Pursuant Battlemage of Magic’s Romance].”

A [Pursuant Battlemage of—] wait, what was that other part? Ylawes’ huge smile became hesitant, and Pekona’s eyes swivelled to him. Dawil had gone as still as a statue, and Falene fiddled with her staff.

“Aside from some very welcome Skills to manage my mana intake, I have gained [Combine Spell], a very powerful tool, as I’m sure you’ll agree. And, ah, my best Skill which allows me to cast spells at a level unprecedented.”

Everyone murmured and wanted to know what it was, but suddenly, Falene was keen to check on Thellabell and shake the [Squire]’s hand. And Dawil was now very interested in talking to Ser Brindelhor, and Ylawes and Pekona were stepping away for a chat…

The Gnolls really wanted to know, of course. But the rest of Falene’s team gave her peace.

——

“Hey, hey, Falene. What that Skill you got? We have to know.”

Rasktooth and Infinitypear kept badgering Falene even after the duel, and she glared at them, pink-cheeked.

“Rasktooth, Infinitypear, I shared as much as I wanted to! Is decorum not a word in your lexicon?”

“Don’t know what either of them words mean, Falene!”

Rasktooth beamed at her, and Infinitypear waved a hand.

“I do not have a lexicon, Big Sister Falene, but I will obtain one if necessary with my funds.”

“Oh. Um. Well, then. Don’t call me that, Infinitypear.”

“But are you not a big sister to us Bronze-rank adventurers with your superior wisdom, beauty, and magic? You avenged Captain Ylawes’ honor!”

If Rasktooth was the somewhat cynical, at times annoying, scamp, Infinitypear was too honest, too trusting, and too endearing. Falene coughed.

“Well, this is all true…but it is embarrassing. My Skill, you know, can be used against me—”

“We will never tell, right, Brother Rasktooth? We swear on our team! Poke Duo’s vow!”

“Poke Duo’s vow! Please, Big Sis Falene?”

They begged her with huge eyes, and Falene glanced around the private tent and out at Ylawes, who was talking to Merish now the dueling drama was over. She did feel good taking that [Squire] down a peg, and, well…the class was a reward.

A reward for making peace with it all, realizing she had to move on. And that she had to support her fellow teammates, drat Pekona for being too innocent for her own good. Falene turned red, then sat down.

“Okay, but you must keep this silent. Alright?”

They promised again, and she told them.

“My class is indeed [Pursuant Battlemage of Magic’s Romance]. An…amusing play on words I suspect given the lack of mana and the romance of adventuring inherent to—nevermind. Along with my other Skills, the best one aside from [Combine Spell] would be, um…[Heartbreak’s Compensation: Halfcost Magic (Tier 0-2)].”

They stared at her, open-mouthed. Then Rasktooth raised his hand.

“Wait, who broke your heart? We beat them up!”

Even Infinitypear had to nudge his brother. Falene turned so red and began to shush them, and—well—

She was in her tent with the drapes closed, but she’d forgotten it was a Gnoll tribe. Even with her voice lowered…

Every Gnoll in earshot was staring at her tent. Most began to hurry off to tell other people. And the rest went in search of something nice in their food stores for her. Because—um—

Wow.

——

Falene felt pretty proud of herself after her display of her recent class. Oh, it was embarrassing; she realized all the Gnolls had heard her admission to Poke Duo, because they kept coming over with cheese, dried meats, things for her to eat. Even a salad.

She was blushing and trying to explain her class wasn’t just a lovesick child’s class. It was an affirmation of a new point of view.

“No, you see, it’s pursuant that defines the class. I am in pursuit, seeking magic.”

“And love. One hopes you have it, yes? These things happen. Such a Skill. So…useful, but you must keep yourself fed, Miss half-Elf. You are far too thin, yes?”

A Gnoll who couldn’t have been older than her mid-thirties was trying to feed Falene, patting her on the shoulder. Falene, who was twice her age, was red-faced. And she blamed Ser Pavoriad for this; his lackadaisical attitude with her had led the Gnolls to thinking she was a child!

Actually, it was somewhat of a relief when the [Knight] in question came striding over.

“Mage Falene, sister. Might I have a word again about your sterling display of magic?”

Falene excused herself from the Plain’s Eye Gnolls and whirled to face him.

“Ser Pavoriad, thank you. If you call me ‘little sister’ one more time, I may try one of my new spells on you!”

He laughed ruefully and brushed at his hair. Then he bowed, rather formally, and looked shamefaced.

“Forgive me, Magus. I jest and play these pranks and go too far. In truth, I did think you needed a bit of reminding of your own youth, and you had that classic…what’s the expression?”

He snapped his fingers a few times.

“‘Tree branch up your own arse’ syndrome so endemic to our people.”

Falene gasped, and half the Gnolls who’d begun wandering off snorted. She colored.

“Ser Pavoriad!”

He was at once overwhelmingly high-level and confident, knightly, but also retiring and young for his role. A legend. She’d heard of him in Gaiil-Drome, seen him riding into the city to be feted before, but never thought to speak to him so long. Falene was over being tongue-tied after the fourth time he’d swung her around like a girl. But she didn’t know what to say to him.

He, though, seemed to know what to say to her, now. For the Knight of Forest’s Heart motioned.

“May we walk and speak, Magus? Candidly.”

She nodded, and they circuited the Gnolls’ camps, watching as more herding animals spread out to graze. Pavoriad sighed as he inhaled deeply. Falene caught a whiff of dung and breathed less deep, but the [Knight]’s chin rose, and he stretched his arms out, shrugging his beautiful armor up as he embraced this vista.

“We are such a curious, oft-hypocritical race, sister. I find myself humbling or teasing my own kind too often. Perhaps it is because for all we claim to love nature, we don’t really like animals, let alone herds. Gnolls have far more claim to being in touch with it. They eat meat and hunt, and who is to say we are better?”

“We cultivate great forests, Ser Pavoriad. One might argue we’re two sides of the same coin.”

Falene had no idea where he was going with this, but Pavoriad grimaced.

“Are we? Or are we stubbornly on one side? Half-Elves have teeth of meat and plant-eaters. But many of my peers claim we’re meant to live like rabbits. We call ourselves superior to other species.”

“I have never thought—”

“In private, of course. We live the longest. We have so much magic and accumulated knowledge. We are superior, just temporarily inconvenienced by the prolificness of Humans and other species.”

He cut her off, and she bit her tongue, because everything he was saying was true…it was just that no one of her age and her species had ever said it so directly. Pavoriad’s face, so kind and humorous, betrayed for a moment a true cynicism. But only when he spoke of his own kind. Then he turned to her and smiled like a [Hero].

“It’s what I saw upon you when we met, Falene. But you, sister—you’re not what I expected. I apologize. I saw only your demeanor when you’re not a fool from home, but a living, breathing adventuress. One who’d found and lost love, no less!”

She turned bright red.

“Ser Pavoriad, how did you—?”

He chuckled.

“I have ears, and Gnolls talk louder than they think. Forgive me. I don’t mean to pry. I’m approving.”

“I just—it wasn’t even a—I’m over it. It’s a class approving my new philosophy towards life!”

Oh, it still hurt. She could glance at Ylawes and Pekona and like Pekona and understand how it had come to this, but she averted her gaze. Pavoriad’s head bowed.

“I understand. I truly do. I just wished to tell you, sister—not to be ashamed. Too many haughty half-Elves go out for their one adventure amongst mortals and come back without ever bleeding their hearts out or becoming, well, entangled. Maybe it suits them, and I am glad when they come back at all for they have better perspectives than those who never venture from our villages. But you are one I’d wish to talk to more.”

Oh. Her conversation from yesterday with Dasha and Pekona hit Falene, but from an angle she’d never thought of before. She glanced up at Pavoriad—but of course if anyone was entangled, it was him! She stuttered.

“I—I confess, I did regard myself as aloof, Ser Pavoriad. Not superior—”

He raised one eyebrow.

“A Wistram half-Elf from Gaiil-Drome?”

She flushed.

“Oh, fine! A tiny bit superior in education, training, but my team is truly wonderful. We get along, Dawil, Ylawes, and I. This recent string of events has been unprecedented, but I am changing. I feel it in my bones.”

She touched her chest, and it felt like the mana in her was burning brighter. A resource that she could expend, but right now, she could have cast low-level spells nonstop until she ran out of breath. She burned. Not necessarily with a desire to go back to the New Lands, but to find that damn love of her life, to become someone new. The [Knight] smiled like someone watching a sapling growing into a World’s Tree.

“This is why I cannot ever retire or cede my seat in the Thousand Lances. I still feel that way. More, now the New Lands have risen! When I go back home and hang up my blades, then I’ll be old. We must race out, sister, and drag our people here to grow.”

He held out a hand, and she grasped it and smiled. This, then, was what she’d craved. Respect from another half-Elf, but as equals? It made her heart flutter.

“All this from a damn broken heart.”

He laughed at her, then put her in a headlock and ruffled her hair as she shouted in outrage, ignoring the Tier 1 spells she blasted on his armor to no effect.

“Little sister, you’ve still got some of that sap of haughtiness on you! Yes, from a broken heart! Yes to levelling in bed, yes to puking over the side of your saddle, passing out, and levelling! Yes to levelling on the floor of an inn after losing a fight. We’re not perfect! Or show me one of us who is!”

He was right. But she wanted some of that idealism, that perfection! Falene spluttered.

“All very well for you to say, you—you chunk of sculpted bark! You look like a hero right out of storybooks, and you chastise me for trying to aspire to that? And there are things to idealize amongst our own!”

Pavoriad snorted at that as he went skipping past cowpats. Nimbly, flowing like a breeze in the forests.

“If you’d ever been to the half-Elven villages, sister, you’d not call them so grand. True, they’re creatures of habit, but all the old monsters there have gone out into the world and come back. Ever heard of Ceria Springwalker, that half-Elf who’s come to prominence? The moment I heard her last name, I knew she’d be something if she lived. The Village of the Spring. I think it drives them crazy; it’s one of the more perfect villages in Erribathe, and it’s a nightmare.”

It was always Ceria. But Falene adjusted her spectacles and, for once, didn’t feel green with envy about the younger half-Elf. She peered at Pavoriad’s back, and something she had carried into the New Lands, her obsession, her goal that she had not shared with Ylawes or Dawil, sprang to her lips.

“I don’t mean other half-Elves like that, Ser Pavoriad. I know our eldest are made of quirks and not as perfect as they seem. I’ve met Archmage Feor and seen the man behind the myth. The same with Archmage Eldavin.”

The [Knight] turned around, losing his smile, even as he continued to walk backwards, avoiding cowpats.

“Ah, that fellow. He troubles me. Everyone recalls the name but no one, even other half-Elves, really knows him. He’s a ghost amongst our kind, and I’ve heard of others like that…suspicious. But he’s in Wistram, and I can do little there. I’m glad you don’t idolize him. Who else, then?”

“Sprigaena.”

For just a second, he faltered. Ser Pavoriad put his foot down in some fresh leavings and stared at Falene. Then he wiped his foot. Rubbed at one ear.

“…That name. I do not know it, yet I know it. It struck me.”

Falene shivered.

“I have heard it in my dreams. I have seen her face again and again, and though it was but stone…Ser Pavoriad, I have seen the face of Elves. I think—the last of Elves. She haunts me.”

“Do you mean the last Elf, the founder of Erribathe, one of the heralds of our race? Queen Sprithae? The name is so close, but yours…”

Now he was wide-eyed, blinking at her. Falene inhaled, exhaled, and the scent of dung and the New Lands became, for a moment, that of an inn. A statue in the mists. She met Pavoriad’s eyes.

“I found her statue in a garden, in an inn I have great fondness for, Ser Pavoriad. But I was told that her story was not one I should hear, but seek out. The story of our ancestor, whom I was told was called Sprigaena. Sprigaena of the Fall. The Last Traitor. The…Traitor of Elves.”

Strange how she revelled in giving one of the Thousand Lances that same, wide-eyed moment of disbelief and wonder so normalized to her in the inn. How she envied that chill he must feel, the tingling and heart beating with excitement. But then, she felt it too. Ser Pavoriad glanced around, then stepped forwards.

“And where might one find such…information, sister?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Which is why I have not pursued it. And I believed this knowledge would potentially endanger the one who has it. She is…often pursued by those who consider her too dangerous. I did not want to add my people to that list. But that name itself is a clue. Sprithae is the name we hold in antiquity. An assumed name? Or perhaps one that covers up the true personage? If I had access to the Tree Libraries of Gaiil-Drome—”

He rubbed at his clean-shaven chin, and she forgot he was more than a bluff [Knight], because Pavoriad’s eyes were focused.

“I see. It’s the [Innkeeper] again. The same woman who slew Erribathe’s [Prince of Men] knows the Face of Elves? Cordially, sister, I regard that woman as a threat, and I harbor no love for someone who would take Greydath of Blades’ hand. He has set the Thousand Lances to alarm. If anything would have us crusade from Terandria by the hundreds, it would be him.”

She shivered at that bold proclamation, but Pavoriad went on, thinking out loud.

“But that name! I see I must ask twice, then, sister, about this inn and where you believe honor lies.”

She nodded, now summoning all her tact and diplomacy.

“I shall, Ser Pavoriad, to convince you that you are at least no enemy. But again, if you had someone you trusted to the utmost in Gaiil-Drome? Someone who would take on this request for information without making it—political?”

He gazed at her, then snapped his fingers softly.

“Sister. I have some, but I have a thought. This is bigger than you or I. With respect, I see why you shelter it. The hunt for this could obsess our people and lead to bitter entanglement, and we are an obsessive people at times. It requires good, practical half-Elves of honor and worldliness. High levels, too, with contacts among our various peoples.”

She sighed. She’d come to the same conclusion, and she hadn’t trusted her Wistram faction with it. She knew Teura, Feor, and…no. The only person she did trust was Ceria, and wasn’t that dire? Also, Ceria really didn’t care about their heritage in the same way.

“I know. Who, then? Unless—”

She had a thought, and Pavoriad’s eyes suddenly sparkled with mirth and an idea.

“It is hard to find so many half-Elves with their heads opened up. But as it happens, there might be a colony of them learning the lessons you and I have learned, eh? It should be delivered in person, this news. A project made of it. What if we had a little race?”

He bent over, grinning, and tapped her on the nose. She blinked up at him.

“A what?”

“First one to the western coast wins a drink. I shall meet you there, fates willing. If not, one of us shall find others of good cheer and ask for help. A quest for this New Land and age! Let us have a way to identify each other. How about a codephase? ‘Stick up the ass’.”

She blinked at him, but his voice was alight with mirth, and his eyes were serious. Falene glanced around and realized no one could hear them amidst the mooing cows, far from the camp. She smiled. What a canny [Knight].

“It’s just a project, Ser Pavoriad. It may lead to nothing at all.”

To that, he just grinned at her, knowing she was lying.

“We’re half-Elves, sister. We love meaningless, time-consuming projects.”

Like that, she had a goal again. The half-Elf returned to her company in a bit. If her Captain pursued the dream of a Silver Dragon, she followed a name and a statue’s face captured in grief and guilt. But it was just a quest. First and foremost, she was a Silver Sword. And Falene wondered…if Dawil had something he longed for too.

——

Knights were so amusing. They ran around doing self-important things, so loud and noisy and almost cartoonish, except for the fact that these [Knights] could back up all their bark.

They belonged to a different world. One that Nailren wasn’t sure he wanted to visit, but like the New Lands, it fascinated his weary, cynical heart.

For he was a Gnoll of the plains and City Gnoll combined. An adventurer at times, a Gnoll who went among the Drakes, but whose heart was always with the tribes. He felt like a small piece on a weary, bitter old board with groove marks gashed in the wood, disfigured pieces, gouging at his opponents—and there were so many.

Manus’ spears which came at you straight, but ran through everything. Salazsar’s endless gold stockpiles, their overpriced elites, and blades in the dark. Oteslia’s fairweather friendship—traitors on the other side, sometimes, who growled at you. Smaller Drake cities that each had their own agenda, ‘small’, but who could wipe out a tribe in the night.

And who would be there to stop it or weep for them?

I have to get out of here. The [Clandestine Chieftain] realized it was the Plain’s Eye tribe that was doing this to him. He was scratching at his fur so much it seemed like he had fleas.

This tribe…the Gnoll surveyed the white Gnolls working, laughing, and talking, but with that shell-shocked air to them, uncertain of their place in the world. Nailren had always known them as…

The bright eyes of their tribe embroidered on their clothing, walking proudly, trading with the six Walled Cities, ever-vigilant, ever-alert. 

If there was one tribe who checked the Walled Cities, it was theirs. Plain’s Eye. We are watching you, Drakes. The one tribe who never sent for him. On the contrary, sometimes their people met him on the job. Hawkarrow wasn’t wary of Plain’s Eye as potential rivals, but more of Xherw’s influence. There was a rumor he might be looking to expand Plain’s Eye again, in which case, it wouldn’t be another of the great tribes of Izril, but the great tribe.

But why did you do that and not just spin off another tribe? You did that if you wanted a nation, not a tribe. Nailren wasn’t against the idea of that; the Gnollish people needed unity, something the Drakes had more of at times for all their squabbling. But Xherw…

He just had no read on the Chieftain. Nor what followed the Chieftain around. It was not just his aura. It was something else. But whenever he saw Plain’s Eye Gnolls passing, armed and walking without fear of angering Drakes, confident in their tribe, he thought—

If only the tribes were like that. If only—

Nailren blinked, and the Gnolls around him replaced the ones from his memory. Then he realized those trade caravans, Plain’s Eye’s widespread presence, were gone. The sheer number of Gnolls here was the tribe. It appeared impressive, but they were here, not making money across Izril. This was a desperate push. Consolidate strength and go to the one place you might be able to start again.

He saw no Gnolls armed with artifacts bought from Drakes. Nor smelled dyes, velvets, or the spices from other continents he was used to. [Ranchers] and [Herders] predominated, not [Jewelers], [Traders]—Gnolls forced into the most needful classes. Nailren felt ghostly fingers on his shoulder. A questioning touch. He spoke to her and himself.

“A great tribe of Izril has fallen. They were monstrous and led by one who sold out his own kind in the name of protecting us. But they were still a great spear in the wall between us and Drakes. With them gone, I fear for the future. The Walled Cities will return. They’ve only stopped because everyone’s watching them. Some of them would turn every last one of us to pelts on a wall if given the chance.”

Maybe not modern Drakes like Wall Lord Ilvriss, but Nailren knew all the old names, the real bastards that if he ever had a shot at—he might take. Most were dead.

Chaldion hadn’t even been that bad. Chaldion, the dread Cyclops of Pallass, just pushed Drakes forwards and held off if it wasn’t worth the cost. But some Drakes were personal. They were supposed to be dead.

Wall Lord Eschowar. Why couldn’t they just die in their sleep? Nailren was so preoccupied with his dark thoughts overtaking the joy of the New Lands that he didn’t hear the other Gnoll coming up behind him. Then Nailren shifted, and a hidden flat-dagger strapped to one forearm was in his paw—

He halted when his peripheral vision revealed Chieftain Merish. Nailren instantly let go of the blade, but he knew the Chieftain had noticed it. However, Merish just grinned politely.

“Plain’s Eye has fallen indeed, Adventurer Nailren.”

“I’m retired. I apologize for speaking out of turn, Chieftain. You’ve done splendidly.”

Nailren flushed at his unusual rudeness, but Merish just tilted his head.

“Walk with me? I have to make sure the herds aren’t coming down with sickness. The long march and New Lands. There are no pests we could see that give them illness, but predators?”

“Oh, there are some leech-creatures that you’ll have to watch for.”

Nailren’s mind raced ahead to the idea of new plagues that might wipe out herds like these. Disastrous. The one advantage the Gnolls had was these herds, which were the right call, but one pack of Wyverns or illness or parasites spreading the same and…

Merish led him along a herd of sheep as Gnolls diligently checked under wool, patting the excited sheep who were munching on the yellow grass with evident delight. Turning hooves over, and he commented as they walked.

“I have sent eighteen groups to the New Lands with smaller herds, and none have reported sickness or illness from the climate. Part of the reason we stop here and spread out is to avoid the risk of losing more than one herd, yes? Mostly, though, we listen to the animals. Gaarh Marsh and Wild Wastes have generously lent some [Beast Tamers] and [Herd Tenders]. See.”

A Gnoll with Wild Wastes markings on her fur was walking through the sheep. She was growling.

“Who’s hurt? No, no pets. Who’s hurt? No, I don’t care if you twisted your little hoof. You’re not Sariant Lambs. If anyone’s sick, get over here, yes?”

Nailren exhaled, feeling foolish.

“Talk to the animals, of course. You’ve thought about this move, Chieftain.”

“You’d be surprised how many Drakes don’t have anyone who does. If you had any thoughts, Chieftain Nailren, I would gladly take them.”

A side-eye from Merish as Nailren slowed, and the ghostly hand seemed to jump. His unseen listener must be able to hear Merish so long as he had the spoon on his chest. Nailren murmured back as he saw Cullous running around with some shears, grooming sheep ready for it. They actually lined up, baahing. Clever animals. They’d run to Gnolls for help. Yes, they might do well here.

“I’m no Chieftain as you are, Chieftain Merish. Just Nailren. I’ve put it all behind me. As for advice? I’d have kids like Cullous pulling night-duty. The little walking leeches—I don’t know if the Adventurer’s Guild has classified them—they’re not much of a threat. Slap them with a stone from a sling and they back up. Your real threat will be the Landsharks. And…complications from other folk, I think.”

Merish noted Nailren touching the spoon at his neck and rubbed at his chin.

“Hrr. People I know. It makes me miss Rhir.”

“Truly? After 5th Wall? I apologize, that’s crass—”

For a second Merish flinched. And if Nailren had thought he had Warsights, it was nothing to the way the Gnoll just…vanished. Vanished, and a second version of him was somewhere else, staring upwards at a terrible monster. Friends and comrades dying around him—

The Gnoll blinked and smiled. As if nothing had happened. He turned to Nailren, forcing a chuckle with effort.

“No, no. It is fair, absolutely. It was the comrades I missed.”

Wordlessly, Nailren put out a hand and grasped Merish’s arm.

“I apologize, Chieftain.”

Merish accepted his apology by returning the arm-clasp. He turned.

“I was needed here. But there was something of Rhir I missed in Izril, Nailren. A sense that we were all on the same side! Coming back to Zeres and getting shoved into a line while Drakes disembarked first—”

“Ah, they do that in Zeres? Second-class citizens?”

Nailren pulled a face, and Merish shrugged.

“Just for those entering and exiting. Drakes have one line, everyone else has another. It reminded me, ‘ah, yes, I’m home’. Then the Meeting of Tribes…”

He heaved a huge sigh.

“In Rhir, once we got to know each other, it was every species getting along as best we could. Against the Demons. Here? How often have you needed to use that wrist-dagger? It’s very well-made. I’ve never seen one on another Gnoll that hides against the fur.”

Nailren flicked it out and handed it to Merish, who whistled at the very flat blade. You had to work the scabbard into your fur and even shave your fur a bit so it didn’t show up.

“Not once in the New Lands. Force of habit. But it is a concern. Landsharks first. You can tell they’re there as they burrow around. Anyone with [Tremorsense] could alert you. I know it’s rare, but there’s a kind of totem that [Shamans] can make. They use it in areas where rock slides are common. Ask Gaarh Marsh or a mountainous tribe.”

Merish’s ears perked up, and he motioned to a Gnoll who’d been shadowing them respectfully. Shaman Frivet approached and listened, committing the details to memory.

“I had no notion. Say a pack is coming, how might we repel them?”

Nailren chewed on his lip.

“Ideally, you don’t. Fighting a pack off is like fighting Wyverns off.”

“Ah, a bad idea?”

“They’re too big, too tough, and they hunt in groups of six to eighteen. Better to put out bait. Fresh blood and meat tied to a tall pole. That’s how my group did it. A herd might have them rushing in even with bait…just keep your scouts active. Hunt them first.”

“Sounds like at least eighty Gnolls, then. Heavy bows and bait. They pop out, shoot them, hack up any who survive. Would they fall on each other?”

“I don’t know. I wish I’d hunted some. But yes, that’s how I’d do it.”

Merish nodded.

“Vhra will be happy. She’s been antsy. Frivet, have her lead a hunting party. Tell her I’d like to eat shark. Though, having had it at sea, it’s not all that, yes? I prefer fatty tuna.”

Speaking to Chieftain Merish was actually quite enjoyable. He might not have been trained for it, but there was a confidence and easy leadership he had that Nailren appreciated. He might do well here. Nailren cleared his throat and took them away from the herd. Frivet slowed, and Merish tilted his head. He raised a paw to motion the [Shaman] away, but Nailren shook his head.

“This isn’t a secret that will last long. More…I do not know if it is entirely widespread. If it is, it changes as much as the salted land or mana. I assure you, we’re safe, but I’d like a test. Er, friend?”

He touched the spoon, and there was no response as Frivet and Merish eyed each other. Nailren sighed.

“I should have come up with a name for…Spoony? Can you test Frivet? He’s the [Shaman], the one with magic. If he hasn’t sensed you, that’s sign enough.”

Well, she didn’t like that. He got a flick to the fur on his head, then Frivet shouted and leapt a full foot in the air; the ghost had grabbed his tail and tweaked it.

“Rude.”

Nailren commented and got a distinctly pleased-sounding giggle in one ear. Merish’s fur had risen, and his axes were in his hands. He put them back in their scabbards as his shamanic paint glowed. Eying Nailren.

“I thought my war paint detected some odd magic about you, but I believed it was just an artifact—what is that, Nailren?”

“Ghosts. Be careful whom you kill. Or what you take. I wondered if Shaman Frivet had heard—I reached out to the Meeting of Tribes.”

“They do not, ah, always communicate with us openly. Did—did you say ghosts?”

Nailren introduced his ghost-friend whose name he didn’t know—she’d been the most far-gone and never whispered her name for him to bury her. The only ghost of the four spirits who’d wanted to come with him instead of moving on.

Merish and Frivet were wide-eyed, and Merish rubbed at his neck.

“This is incredible. Old legends come back. But why here? I can think of so many ghosts. Comrades from Rhir. I would have welcomed them in my guilt—why here?”

“Mana-drain? Some Relic-class item buried in the New Lands? The upheaval from the ghosts that appeared when the Seamwalker incident began? Who can say, Chieftain. Personally, I almost blame Erin, but I think this isn’t her fault.”

“Who?”

Merish might have some contact with Mrsha, but he did not understand the inn. He grinned as if thinking Nailren were making a joke, and his eyes flicked to Frivet, the spoon. Then he sighed.

“It is a lot of complications, but I thank you greatly for your knowledge, Nailren. I ask you this because Frivet tells me you are quite capable—will you stay or work with us? We are in dire need of high-level Gnolls. Those who were not killed at the Meeting of Tribes left, and those who remain are like Vhra.”

Not as loyal as you wanted, or shaken to their core. Nailren hesitated a moment, but there was no real choice.

“No offense, Chieftain Merish, but I left this part of my life behind. I’ll be happy to come back and share what I can, but I am no longer working for the tribes. I’m just another explorer of the New Lands.”

“One might say this is when you are needed most of all, Chieftain of Fletchsing.”

Frivet put in pointedly, and Nailren didn’t bristle at the [Shaman] and his staff with its carved eye, his mantle with swirling eyes decorated on the back. He just replied as Merish growled at the [Shaman].

“Trust is a commodity even the tribes need to earn, Shaman. I put some trust in Chieftain Xherw. Look where that has led us. Let us be friends and a people instead, hmm?”

“And earn the trust we have so manifestly lost. Indeed.”

Nailren’s reply had clearly shaken Frivet, but Merish got it. Merish offered a paw, and Nailren clasped it and felt guilty, but he could not be everywhere. He was just one Gnoll, and the New Lands…they called to him.

“I think the Silver Swords might be heading out, and I am a bit invested in how they’re going to do with this Merchant’s Guild business. Might I prevail on your tribe for a few items before I go? I have coin, and if you had a way to contact the Merchant’s Guild, I believe I have quite ample funds.”

“We do not, but take what you need. Do you require services as well as goods?”

“I could use salt, mostly. Oil, a few more pieces for arrows and the like—glue is going to be another essential, too. But have you any [Woodworkers] who could spare a few hours to rough out a carving? I have an odd project for them.”

Merish and Frivet were only too happy to call for someone to direct Nailren about as they returned to work. It turned out to be Viri, Merish’s friend, and the Lizardman bounded along, badgering Nailren for stories and chattering. He knew most Gnolls, and they seemed to like him more than Merish. The one-legged Lizardman took Nailren to a Gnoll only too happy to find a piece of wood and knife and carve out a funny project.

“You don’t want it stained, friend? Or at least let me give it a bit of polishing. I could make it three times as large.”

“It’s got to move, and I don’t have a bag of holding, [Carpenter]. Can you cut a groove so I can take it apart, here? Thin as you can without making the pieces fragile.”

The Gnoll grunted as pieces of wood flew.

“I have [Sturdy Creation], but I know another Gnoll who can add [Miter Cut] to this and make my life easier. Viri, go find Yorrei, if he’s not headed out with his clan! And I have a pot of a very quick-drying varnish…I cannot let a friend go without a bit of class.”

“Oh, very well. But can you dye it black? The letter in white? Apparently, it’s traditional.”

The Gnoll [Carpenter] huffed and rolled his eyes as Viri went bouncing off.

“Black and white? What are we, [Dark Mages] sitting in palaces eating grapes with our [Overlord] or something? Apologies, but it sounds a bit childish. Or like those odd Drakes with the black scale dye. Have you heard of them? [Goths]. Silliest thing I’ve seen, and even the Drakes thought so…”

“Hrr. I don’t know, [Carpenter]. It does seem a bit silly to me, too, but there’s a point in respecting how it should be. We’re making a ‘Ouija Board’. A friend told me of it, and it might help with communication.”

“What, for those who can’t speak? Ah, so that’s the point of the little marker thing. But you could use a finger.”

Nailren didn’t say who he was thinking of who couldn’t speak, and he wondered if this wooden creation would be of any use. His ghost-friend didn’t seem that able to move objects now that she wasn’t possessed by that murderous rage. She could poke or prod, but he got the feeling she got ‘tired’ after one action. A full conversation seemed hard, but maybe the light piece of wood would let her talk?

They’d see. He was also asking about ample parchment and ink, taking full advantage of Plain’s Eye hospitality. Viri promised to get him all of what he needed, so Nailren decided this was a good time to check in on the Silver Swords.

They’d finished their dueling and breakfast, and he strolled back over just in time to hear what was going on. Which wasn’t good news, to judge from how Ylawes, Dawil, and the rest of his group was gathered around Falene and a little scrying orb she’d temporarily enchanted.

“—who she is. I think she was attacked when our conversation ended. I swear I saw…nevermind. The point is that the Merchant’s Guild is going to pursue this, Ylawes, and it’s not a matter of gold. They want to put you in a servitude contract—I had to search them up, and they’re in our records. Old, old contracts. But dangerous. If they get you in one, I don’t know if you could cut your way out.”

“They’re going to blame us for the Consortium’s deaths? We testified, Qwera!”

Ylawes’ face was pinched and drawn, and Nailren felt for the man. He was a good fellow who’d just run into laws and procedure and the power of a huge entity. Nailren could have told him how they’d act, but Ylawes was floored. Another woman took over, and he saw purple hair.

Ah, Ysara Byres. Turnscale, friendly to Gnolls, quality silver-themed weaponry. A good ally to have especially if she and the Golden Gnoll were partnered. If they worked with Plain’s Eye, they could all benefit. If he told Merish— 

He shook himself.

Dead gods, I’ve got to get back to exploring. Ysara’s voice was strained.

“Ylawes, I’m sorry. I argued myself hoarse, but it’s this lady from Roshal. Slave Lady Andra. Maybe something happened to her, but—the Merchant’s Guild in the north is backing its members. Even if she weren’t in the picture, they want someone to blame, and it’s easier to blame you than to admit their members were that incompetent.”

“I am going to lodge a complaint with Wistram. The Adventurer’s Guild will have something to say about this! If they think we’re without allies…”

Falene snapped. Ylawes just stood there, face pained. He fumbled with a piece of parchment in one hand.

“Um, Father seems to think they have valid cause. His representative at the Merchant’s Guild was unable to help us. He’s concerned about the situation.”

Ysara snapped back testily.

“Father is busy pursuing his damn war and profiting from that, Ylawes. So much for telling me to be the ethical merchant—I’m sorry. This isn’t helping. We’ll put pressure on the Merchant’s Guild, but you cannot come back via Goisedall. Not you, not the [Farmers] or [Miners] or anyone else in the expedition. They’ll have you on lists for [Bounty Hunters] or the Watch to pick up.”

“Bounty hunters. For us?”

Farmer Petia stood there with a half-smile on her face, which turned bitter at once. Homle was scrunching a worn hat up, face white. Ylawes turned to them, then spoke.

“This is ridiculous, Ysara. We’re adventurers, but Petia and Homle’s people did nothing wrong! Tell them—”

“We’re trying, Ylawes. Truly.”

They all went silent, and it was Qwera who took over. The Golden Gnoll was as sharp and collected as Nailren had heard of her.

“This isn’t hopeless, Silver Swords. There’s a way out of this. What it requires is time and the right people. What you need to do is to keep clear of being caught. Keep in the New Lands; no one can [Scry] you easily there with the mana disruption, and it’s the one place the Merchant’s Guild isn’t. Even if you fled the continent, they’ve got power everywhere. Dead gods, your Antinium and Goblin are probably the safest of the lot; no one can tell one from another.”

“Hey! We have been racismed, Brother!”

“It is my fifth—no, sixth time. If I get to ten, Dawil has promised to buy me a snack.”

Infinitypear and Rasktooth high-fived. Qwera’s scowling face turned into a snort.

“Funny. Don’t make me like you, little brats. Listen. The solution here is to get the Merchant’s Guild to change its mind. To prove Anlam’s a little weasel with all the sense of a [Drunkard] in an Alchemist’s shop filled with [Potions of Blast]. There’s a way to do that. While you’re in the New Lands, Ysara and I are going to prevail on our contacts and get you someone who can speak to the Merchant’s Guild people. Do all the little wordplay and footplay and foreplay they want that even we can’t do.”

“Dead gods, Merchant Qwera, I just ate. There’s a class for this?”

Dawil was stroking his beard and not really smiling, but Ysara took over.

“Ylawes, you might be familiar with them. Qwera means [Advocates].”

“Oh…the kind the Five Families have? That get you out of Watch trouble?”

Ylawes pulled a face, but his sister nodded.

“Exactly. We get a good one and they can reverse this or cause a stink big enough to make the Merchant’s Guild Headquarters pay attention. We’ll talk to other [Merchants]—all the ones at the meeting were not happy about being overruled. And I hate to use this card, but the nobility will also object to one of our own being pressured like this. We’ll rally support. Just stay out of trouble until we get this sorted, alright?”

Easier said than done. The Silver Swords stood there as Nailren chewed on some fresh jerky, and he saw how this was going to go. They had nowhere to go but back into the New Lands, and…

They were not ready. All of them were malnourished, even if they had started recovering these last few days. They were down on gear, demoralized he just bet, and they didn’t have any supplies. However, Ylawes just took a breath.

“It seems we have no choice. Silver Swords, prepare to strike camp. I am going to prevail on Chieftain Merish to see if Farmer Petia and Homle’s people can stay here to work. But the rest of us…we will discuss finances and our share of loot from our last expedition and move out today. Falene, Dawil, let’s pool coins and see what we can buy.”

Nailren decided this was his moment to step in. He waved a paw as the Silver Swords began to murmur. He saw some of the colonists weeping, and he coughed.

“Ylawes, I can put in a word with Chieftain Merish if it helps. I have credit with the Merchant’s Guild—they can get it from Goisedall or a Drake city, and Lyonette can pay me back.”

Ylawes turned gratefully to Nailren.

“We owe you greatly already, Nailren—”

“Think nothing of it. I don’t like the Merchant’s Guild, and meeting Plain’s Eye was fortuitous. I’m moving into the New Lands today. If you’d like to join me, I’d not mind the company…but I’m on a new mission.”

Everyone turned to him, and Ylawes blinked.

“A job?”

“Nothing so fancy. Rather, I thought it was high-time someone came up with a map of the region. Doubtless every group is going to be doing the same, but I have an actual lay of the land. I’m no [Cartographer], but I’ll be charting the area forwards.”

If he could find any ruins, notable areas of interest, or actual settlements, it’d be worth a lot to everyone, especially because communication was so hard. It was part wanting to help Plain’s Eye, part stroking his ego and padding his coin pouch. But Nailren did fancy he had a chance to do some good mapping.

“It sounds like an adventure. But—we have to find work. And we’ll slow you down, Nailren.”

“I don’t mind riding with your group for a few days if it helps, but as you decide, Ylawes. Just let me know if you need directions.”

They conferred for a bit as Ylawes asked where they might go, and Nailren got the parchment from Viri and began his first rough of a map.

“I can only tell you where I’ve been and where you’ve been. So north to the hills, and I’m south…most would have gone straight west. If you want to find more people, that’s where you need to be. I’m headed that way too.”

“Might be best to keep away from too many people if the Merchant’s Guild has eyes on us.”

Dawil rumbled, and Ylawes pulled at his hair, exasperated.

“I just cannot believe this! I’m going to write another [Message] to a [Merchant] I know, Falene. How far would they pursue us?”

“After Goisedall? They put an entire city on you, Ylawes. I’d not underestimate them.”

The [Knight] glanced at Nailren and nodded, but he was still a man in shiny-enough armor. Nailren did feel bad for him.

Bad enough to delay leaving for two more hours while he walked around Plain’s Eye’s camp. Gnolls were heading off to establish other camps, and settlers from Goisedall were driving towards them with questions, looking to buy or sell, and even Drakes from the other cities had ridden out to ask why the Gnolls were here and to trade for much-needed food.

Gold and business already, and trouble no doubt—he nodded at the [Warriors] who were keeping a sharp eye out for all the newcomers. But they only looked out for Gnolls. Nailren sighed to himself as he checked his bow, shortsword, and other little weapons he was so familiar with.

I’d love a better bow with a permanent enchantment or anything alchemical or magic that’d last in the New Lands. Damn, if the Silver Swords had a jar of acid, I’d be dumping gold in their hands—not that they could use it.

Who knew Erin was so right about acid jars? Oh well. He strung his bow as he put one tip into the dirt, grunting as he slid the string across the limbs of the bow with a practiced motion. Spare bowstrings, right. Good I stayed. Nailren selected an arrow from his quiver as Gnolls turned and gave him an odd look. He pulled back and loosed.

——

Up and down.

Up and down. Ylawes felt like someone had been lifting him up with things like the feeling of Pekona’s lips on his, the Thousand Lances, Plain’s Eye—

Then dropping him off a cliff with rocks tied around his feet. The Merchant’s Guild, the Goblin King, Falene’s class in a sense—

His soul felt bruised. He felt tired.

They were going back into the New Lands. No break, no rest. The realization had everyone visibly dismayed, except for Rasktooth, Infinitypear, and oddly, Falene. She was striding around, giving orders, embracing her new class.

“I want all the supplies we can buy on Nailren’s credit, Anith. No scrimping. Don’t get more than we can carry, but everything we were missing on the trip. Oil for armor, salt, I heard Nailren say, good travelling gear since we lost our bags of holding. Backpacks—and clothing! I’ll see to clothing.”

“You’re spirited, Pointy. I feel like an Ogre just shat in my breakfast bowl. Dead gods, the Merchant’s Guild!”

Even Dawil was ill-tempered as he threw a rock at the ground hard enough to leave it buried half a foot deep. That made Ylawes feel better, but Falene just snarked back.

“Listen…Shorty. Dawil. Trees, why is it so hard to come up with nicknames that don’t sound racist? Stop writing that down, Rasktooth, that was accidental. We may have been dealt a poor hand, but we must keep moving. Besides, it’s in my class. [Pursuant Battlemage of Magic’s Romance]. I am an adventurer! Romance and magic; my class is adapting for the New Lands. We are levelling.”

Dawil’s head rose a bit.

“Aye, we are. I reckon I’m due for a class consolidation too. Any day now. I’ll take, uh, [Mountainborn] or maybe [Stoneguard]. Y’know, I’ve always fancied [Stalwart]. Very classic, Dwarfish classes. Right, let’s get to it. I’ll get the horses. You lot always get ones too tall for me if I don’t. We’ll owe Nailren a barrel of gold, but I do think Lyonette can cover for us.”

They were all moving, and Ylawes muttered about talking to Merish. Dawil and Falene shot him a glance, and Pekona hurried after Ylawes.

“You alright, C—Ylawes?”

“I am, Pekona. Just disheartened.”

“It seems…unfair. I don’t know how things work here. Only my home, but it was unfair, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Very. Is it not like that in Drath?”

She shrugged.

“It seems very…close. We have Guilds in Drath too. Just not the ones like yours. The Beggar’s Guild, the Dark Guilds—but [Merchants] are [Merchants]. And plenty of sects could do something that wrong.”

Just like always, she distracted him with her tales of a land he had never envisioned. Ylawes peered at her.

“…The Beggar’s Guild? I can see that, but what’s a ‘Dark Guild’?”

“Oh, you know. The normal ones. The Hands of Blood, or maybe a sect that practices dark arts.”

“That sounds entirely evil! And you let them have a Guild?”

“Well…yes. Using dark cultivator arts is, um, bad. Like draining someone’s soul out with your fist or something. But everyone’s trying to reach a higher level.”

“But if you do it by nefarious means—”

“Then you’re a Named-rank adventurer, yes. Just like in Drath.”

He opened his mouth as she beamed at him and nodded. He was trying to explain that, no, that wasn’t what he meant, when they ran into Merish. The Gnoll was besieged by people who wanted his time, but he found some for Ylawes.

“Ah, Captain. I heard you had bad news, no? We have talked to the Merchant’s Guild in Goisedall, but they claim it is all above them. My tribe would like to help you if the Drakes will not.”

“Thank you, Chieftain Merish. We are buying what we can, and Captain Nailren is standing guarantee for us—we have the gold! But if I may—would your tribe consider hiring good [Miners] and [Farmers]?”

Merish tugged on the bottom of one lip, frowning.

“Can you…vouch for them, Captain Ylawes? That they are both hardworking and trustworthy?”

Ylawes thought, honestly, of Homle and Petia’s people as Merish eyed him.

“I can. They’ve had plenty of time to run off or not pull their weight, especially given how poorly things went. But none of them have, and they kept up with us with barely any complaints.”

“Hm. Good enough. I cannot promise much gold, but if they stay here, we’ll put them with a clan, and we do plan on doing some farming. Captain Nailren says it is possible.”

“Wh—really?”

Ylawes and Pekona were incredulous, and Merish’s brows rose.

“He didn’t tell you? There are these odd ‘Freshwater Gardens’, as he calls them, growing in the New Lands. Divots where freshwater used to exist, or so he thinks. That aside, we can also just haul soil from Izril since we are close enough. As for [Miners], Master Homle’s knowledge would be welcome. I forgot to ask. When you found those odd pieces of ore, you said they were not normal, yes?”

Ylawes told Merish all he recalled as some Gnolls with [Miner] classes came over, and Homle and Petia gave what knowledge they had. Both man and woman were pale, but Petia managed a smile.

“Work for the Gnolls might be better than Goisedall, given how crowded and expensive it was. We can manage here, Captain Byres.”

“You’re sure? I’d like to leave you some gold, either way—”

“There’s no cause for that, sir. You got us out of trouble when you didn’t have to. Let’s not go giving favors my lads can’t repay.”

Homle and Petia didn’t look happy. But they were persevering as they asked Merish what they might do to make themselves useful, and Ylawes took inspiration from them. If they were pulling themselves up by their bootstraps, he had to shape up.

Funny. He’d always thought he was good at pulling himself up from his bootstraps, but they felt damn heavy today. The [Knight] wanted to say goodbye to the Thousand Lances, but they beat him to it.

“Ser Byres! I am told you have some trouble with the Merchant’s Guild? Might I ask what it is? We are heading into the New Lands again. It is high time we explored, now we understand what the border looks like. Myself, I want to ride until I hit the sea on the western coast, but Ser Pavoriad and Lord Volede are more practically minded. And Ser Brindelhor wishes to explore the first ruin we come across.”

Dame Rosenthine herself was mounted, and they were ready to go. It embarrassed Ylawes to relate his account of his woes, but all the Thousand Lances frowned when they heard his story.

“And you swear your account is true? Then by my honor, it sounds like this Merchant’s Guild is as underhanded in Izril as it is back home! We shall write back to our order at once! Kaaz will hear of this!”

Ser Brindelhor barked, and Ylawes was glad the man smiled and nodded at him. Lord Volede was far more cautious, which worried Ylawes.

“The Merchant’s Guild is obstinate and powerful. We shall indeed prevail, but your friend seems to understand its politics best. Dame Rosenthine, shall I draft a missive?”

“Do so. I shall remember this slight against your honor, Ser Byres. I would offer assistance, but it seems your team has provisions enough. And if your colonists are cared for…? Then I must simply salute you and remind us all that valor and honor triumph in the end.”

Dame Rosenthine drew her sword and saluted him, and he fumbled his sword out to copy the gesture. The Thousand Lances saluted him, and then they whirled their horses.

“To the New Lands! Silver Swords, Plain’s Eye Gnolls, may we meet again!”

—And then they were gone. Riding so fast across the ground that Ylawes wondered what Skills they had, or if their horses had enchanted horseshoes. They left the world more mundane behind them. He tried to cling to the image of them going, but dead gods—

Every time his spirits rose, someone kicked his knees out. For instance, he was trooping back to Falene and Dawil who had horses, supplies, and were appearing ready to go.

“I think we could ride out with Nailren after all. What do you say?”

Larr was showing the others how to pack things into the Gnolls’ sturdy hide travel bags on the horses when someone coughed.

“About that, Captain Byres. I’m afraid you might have a bit of trouble. Chieftain Merish would like to see you right now. Um, there’s been a shooting.”

Viri looked very apologetic as he pog-jumped over. Ylawes felt that familiar sinking feeling, and he heard howls of alarm and a distant scream of someone in pain. Viri clarified.

“In the butt.”

Rasktooth tsked.

“Oh, the worst place to be shot. No, wait, first the balls, then brain, then eyes, then…okay, ninth worst place.”

——

When Ylawes rushed over, he saw a strange sight. Namely, that of a Drake lying on the ground, clawing at an arrow sticking out of one asscheek, and a line of men and women being cut loose from…ropes?

The colonists. Farmer Petia and Homle were horrified, and the perpetrator of both butt-shot and savior of the colonists was standing there sighing.

Captain Nailren. He turned from talking to Vhra and Merish.

“Oh, Ylawes. I feared this might happen. The Merchant’s Guild is already on the move. [Bounty Hunter]. Some kind of Skill to call in debts. He had all of this lot walking off, and no one noticed.”

“The Merchant’s Guild? Already?”

Ylawes and the Silver Swords stopped in horror, and Nailren shrugged.

“[Bounty Hunters], [Debt Collectors], they’re all over. You probably never had to deal with them, but they pursue these claims. Goisedall knew exactly where you were. I bet they were holding a grudge, so they pointed anyone nearby your way.”

“Those damn—”

For a second red clouded Ylawes’ vision, and he had a grip on his sword hilt. But then he forced himself to bite his lip, hard, and relax. It wasn’t the [Bounty Hunter]’s fault. The Drake was shouting.

“I have a legal contract to pursue my profession! These are criminals—”

“You are in our tribe, Drake. These are our guests. I do not walk into your city and throw my weight around, do I?”

Merish growled as he loomed over the Drake. He shot a glance back at Ylawes and grimaced.

“This makes it far harder to accept your people, Captain. We can watch them, but…”

If every chance [Bounty Hunter] and [Debt Collector] came calling, the Plain’s Eye Gnolls wouldn’t and couldn’t deal with that. Ylawes’ heart sank as Petia and Homle turned to him, but someone spoke loudly.

“Right, more horses. Insill, go get as many as we can afford. We can do half mounted. There’s a good lad. More food too. Petia, Homle, you’re with us.”

“Dawil! We can’t—”

The Dwarf was stumping over to the [Bounty Hunter] as a Gnoll tried to cut the arrow out of his rear-end. Nailren hadn’t shot him hard, but the Dwarf was calm.

“We can and we have to, Falene. That’s what the lad was going to say. I just beat him to it. He doesn’t get to be the best fellow all the time. Petia, Homle, I don’t see any other option, so unless you want to strike out, let’s get moving.”

They nodded silently as Dawil squatted down next to the [Bounty Hunter]. The Drake had gone still.

“I, uh, I’m not after your heads.”

Dawil gave the Drake a friendly smile.

“I didn’t think so. You’re a sensible man, aren’t you, Mister…?”

“Oakley. Oakley Letswood.”

Vhra snorted loudly, and Dawil grinned.

“Nice northern Izrilian name. Okay, Oakley. I’m sure you don’t want to get into any details about why we’re on the Merchant’s Guild’s lists. You’re all business, and the bounty’s the bounty. Do we have one on us?”

“Uh…yes. And it’s definitely not personal.”

“Fair, fair. But let’s just say that we, the Silver Swords, the Gold-rank team, don’t agree with the Merchant’s Guild.”

Oakley was lying very still now. His eyes flickered.

“…Fair. No one does.”

“Right, and you’re just doing your job.”

“Yep. Exactly.”

Dawil was leaning on his hammer. The Dwarf appeared older and ponderous, but he smiled.

“No hard feelings either way. I’d just like to ask you that once you get on your feet and go back to Goisedall, Oakley, to let your friends know—all the people on that bounty? They’re with us. And we are a Gold-rank team, a very respectable one. If you go after one of us, you go after all of us. Now, Captain Nailren’s a friend of ours. We’ve got friends all over. I’d not go anywhere near Liscor, House Byres, or Wistram if you let it be known you were after our bounty. And if we ran into you again, say—and I’m a good eye for faces, even other species—”

He thunked the hammer next to Oakley’s face in the grass, and the Drake didn’t say a word.

“There’s no healing potions in the New Lands. Nor a lot of second chances. I’d hate for you to think I was threatening you, now; the Silver Swords don’t do that.”

“What? Threats? Psht, none at all—”

Dawil hefted his hammer up and nodded.

“Of course not. It’s a promise, Oakley. Just tell your friends that. Now, let me help you with that arrow. Grit your teeth.”

“Wait, wait, I can get a [Healer]—waitwaitwait—”

Dawil yanked the arrow out, and the scream made Ylawes wince. Then he saw the Dwarf walking back, tossing the bloody arrow at Nailren, and the Gnoll gave the Dwarf a respectful gaze. Dawil sighed as he tugged his beard.

“Alright. Let’s get out of here before I decide to walk back to Goisedall and throw a hammer through their Merchant’s Guild.”

The Silver Swords glanced at each other, then moved out. Once more to the New Lands. Merish, Nailren, Viri, all saw them off. Nailren even rode with them for an hour. But then the yellow grass was all around them, caravans in the distance, and Ylawes Byres was riding—not walking—back into those untamed lands.

He wished it were all about the New Lands, not the politics. But, he was finding, the New Lands were all politics. Just not the kind he knew.

——

After a while, Dawil broke the silence. He was riding on a pony as two-thirds of the group walked. Just as he’d predicted, the generosity of Plain’s Eye did have limits. They didn’t have that many horses to sell, and so it’d be movement on foot.

On the plus side…Ylawes would come up with that later. Dawil just nodded back the way they’d come.

“Did you notice earlier this morning, after your duel, lad?”

“Notice what, Dawil? About the Thousand Lances?”

“Yep. Right when everyone was lining up to challenge the [Squire], Thellabell.”

Ylawes had a hole in his armor in two places he’d need to patch, and bruises. He didn’t want to think about being trounced by her. He wanted a healing potion and a bed in Goisedall. He wanted—

“What?”

“When she didn’t fight Pekona. Well, she ended up losing to Falene, so I can’t say that was lucky. But I swear I saw those Fate Wreaths? The ones they were given? A petal or some fur fell off one of them. It might have been hers. Or maybe her master’s?”

Ylawes blinked at the Dwarf. He didn’t know what to say to that. So he brought something up that was on his mind.

“I think we should address the team, Falene, Dawil. I…I don’t even know what we’re going to say to the colonists. But the adventurers are our teammates. However, now we’re on the lam, and why do they call it that? The lamb? What, are lambs just criminals? We can’t pay them, and we’ve landed ourselves in trouble with the Merchant’s Guild and—”

He was babbling, and Falene’s brows crossed as she glanced at the other adventurers.

“We’re in this together, Ylawes. Vuliel Drae knew they were with us, and Poke Duo have nowhere else to be.”

“But we’ve let them down. We’re the Gold-rankers.”

Neither one had anything to say to that. So Ylawes called over the rest of the Silver Swords. He didn’t know what to say as their faces turned towards him, so he went with what he had.

“Listen. We’re all headed into the New Lands, but I understand if you feel we’ve led you astray. I would advise we stick together, but if you would like to part ways—we only have our supplies. And we are out of gold to pay you with, both on hand and in our accounts, I suspect.”

Dawil slapped his forehead, and Falene groaned.

“Lad…”

Insill piped up.

“We don’t need gold right now, Captain! The Merchant’s Guild are all bastards. I always knew it. They never gave my family a loan—we’re with you! Where else would we go?”

“I just…want to be clear about what I can give you. I should be paying you.”

Ylawes was agonizing, but Falene stepped in, voice crisp.

“We’re having a rough patch. It’s happened before, and I’m sure you know what it’s like, Vuliel Drae. Poke Duo, this sometimes happens. The original Horns had plenty of rough patches before they got to Albez. When we acquire loot, we will split it fairly, but what Captain Ylawes means is that we’ll all have to tighten our belts.”

The adventurers nodded, and Ylawes took a breath.

“Yes. Thank you, Falene. There’s only one thing I can offer you right now. We were going to do this when we got back to civilization, but…I think it’s time. Pekona? Can you help me with our package?”

Dasha grumbled as Pekona’s eyes lit up.

“I don’t want to know what’s in your p—oh! The mithril!”

The colonists who’d been listening to the talk glanced up in confusion, and Homle’s eyes sharpened. He was the only colonist not surprised as Ylawes fetched out the bundle they’d taken all the way from the sunken Drake keep. Old, crusted blades that revealed that odd, tarnished metal. More clean than he’d thought. Pekona lifted up a longsword she’d found.

“I’ve been cleaning them, Captain. They’re not ready yet—”

“No handles.”

The sword blades were handleless, and there were little arrowheads, several spearheads—but Ylawes was shocked by how light they were.

Mithril. He glanced around at his team.

“In light of recent events, I propose all of you take at least one piece. Arrowheads for Larr—anything you need, even if it’s only a sidearm.”

“Wait, we get the Mithril? We’re not selling it?”

Insill gasped, and Anith brushed at his fur.

“Well, we can’t, especially not with the Merchant’s Guild against us. Are you sure, Captain? What if people notice what we’re carrying?”

Ylawes had thought of this. He gestured at the weird, almost bronzy tarnishing on the metal.

“I didn’t notice it, and I’m a Gold-rank adventurer, Anith. Only Pekona did. If I were to guess, I’d say it’s just some odd alloy or even cheap potmetal. If you’re carrying it…”

There was no hammer amidst the mithril, and Falene was carrying her staff. Ylawes had the Graveblade from Liscor’s dungeon, so the Gold-rank adventurers wouldn’t be carrying the mithril.

It might seem as if the lower-ranked members of the team were ill-equipped with some cheap weaponry, then. Dawil smiled.

“Lad, have you been levelling up as a [Rogue]? That’s some cunning insight there.”

In truth, Ylawes was just making excuses for what he wanted to do to salve his conscience. The adventurers eyed each other.

“You’re sure, Captain?”

“There’s a lot of it, Dasha. Go on, I insist.”

There was, in fact, a lot more weaponry than Ylawes had thought. The mithril was light, and because all the handles were missing, even the moderate bundle that he and Pekona had made was actually many pieces.

Vuliel Drae were inspecting the weapons as Larr found no less than twenty-three arrowheads in working condition and a bundle more that needed scraping. He grunted.

“Some even have a point. How d’you sharpen mithril? Pekona?”

“With mithril. I have my sword.”

She peered wistfully at the blades, which were decidedly non-Drathian in style, but Insill had a shortsword, Dasha had found a battleaxe, and even Dawil hefted something.

“Throwing axe. These Drakes had a full set of weapons. No mithril hammers, though. Damn me for using Dwarven weapons. Pointy! Dagger!”

He tossed one at her and another at Ylawes, and Insill and Anith both found one. Rasktooth found no mithril crossbow bolts, much to his sadness; Ylawes bet the tips were so small they couldn’t be found or had been washed away. Infinitypear had his Adamantium spear, but they still had pieces left over.

“We’ll have to get an axe shaft chiseled for your battleaxe, Dasha. Don’t bother popping your current one off; it won’t fit. It’ll be the work of an hour or two.”

Dawil advised the Dwarf woman, and she tugged at her beard.

“So, what, am I a two-handed-axe woman, now? This one doesn’t weigh a thing! I bought a mithril alloy axe, but compared to that…either I was ripped off or this is better metal! Dead gods, it’s so light! Insill, help me make the shaft; I want to swing it!”

Her face had lit up like it was Christmas. Ylawes was vaguely envious. Mithril at Silver-ranker’s level? He just squatted down and sorted through the pieces.

“No armor.”

“Must have been just weapons, or they didn’t wear mithril. Even if they had enough for weapons, a full breastplate’s a big ask, Captain. I’ve got spare daggers too. Put ‘em on the packs?”

Insill was trading out his daggers for his new weapons; he was already going to their supplies for wood to begin crafting. Hand-carved wood handles, leather grips—Ylawes’ hands hurt to imagine the shoddy grips, but with mithril on the other end…

Pekona had her sharpening kit, and she was working on a dagger she’d use to sharpen the others. As the adventurers put their weapons down, Ylawes had another idea.

“Dawil, how much wood do we have to craft handles with?”

“Oh, plenty, lad. The Gnolls sold us some tents they don’t use ‘cause of those handy yurts. We’re cannibalizing the tent poles and we had some of the Drake’s weapons from Goisedall. We might need to lose a tent pole or two to adjust everything, but we can take turns sleeping on the ground.”

Ylawes sighed, but that was the adventurer way. Blade in hand over tent above your head. He tossed over a handaxe and spear.

“Can you do me a spear and axe?”

“Looking to vary your weaponry?”

Dawil’s brows rose, but Ylawes nodded to the colonists.

“No. I’m thinking we should arm our new teammates as well.”

Dawil glanced at the colonists, and his face didn’t change, but his voice lowered as he carved out a handle for Dasha’s axe.

“Lad. I’m not suspicious, but if you gave them mithril, one or two might decide taking the blade and selling it’s worth cutting their losses, especially if they could change appearances…plus, there’s too many.”

“I know that. But what about Petia and Homle? Give me the weapons that we’re not using too. And everything we took from Goisedall’s barracks.”

After a moment, Dawil nodded.

“Fair enough.”

Ylawes walked over to Petia and Homle with a bundle of weapons in his arms.

“Master Petia, Master Homle? I know this is not how we wanted this to go, but we are in each other’s company again. I will do my best not to expose you to danger, but given the threats of Landsharks and worse…this is for you and you.”

He handed Homle the handaxe and Petia the spear, and they goggled at them.

“Are you sure, Captain?”

“I’m sure we need you all armed. I know you have your own weapons—”

Daggers or shortswords at most. Ylawes handed Dasha’s old axe out, and she spun.

“Hey, my axe! Well…fine. But do you know how to use it?”

None of the colonists really did, so Ylawes showed a tentative Homle how to swing the handaxe, and Infinitypear came over to help Petia practice with her spear. Ylawes left the colonists to trying out their weapons and wondered if what he’d done was right.

He found Rasktooth sitting on the grass, cross-legged and meditating. The Cave Goblin had little to do since he couldn’t practice his own weapons, and he hadn’t upgraded.

“You alright, Rasktooth?”

“Eh, sure, Captain. Just doing my cultivating thing. Gotta kill them wiggly-worm things.”

“Kill? Pekona says you reinforce your soul or some such. Your energy. It’s very ex—interesting.”

Ylawes sat down, and Rasktooth grinned at him.

“Oh, that what she said. But I know what I sense, and there lots of nasty poo-things in me. Must’ve eaten something bad-bad. They dying, and I eating their energy.”

“Circle of life.”

“Circle of poo, yah. It all go there eventually. Why you look upset?”

“I’m not certain arming the colonists is a good message to send, Rasktooth. I’m happy to share the mithril.”

Seeing Vuliel Drae practicing with their new weapons, filing their grips, and exclaiming over the lightness of the blades made Ylawes smile faintly. Rasktooth eyed the colonists.

“Why it bad to arm them?”

“They’re civilians, Rasktooth. They didn’t sign up for this.”

“Yeah…but now they in it. Better to have swords and practice than not. You know, I thought it was good idea, Captain. It remind me of my heroes.”

“Who?”

“Rabbiteater! Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, Numbtongue! They save us, then they don’t go off and be heroes. They teach us how to live. How to fight. You do that with them? Then you get, uh, lots of adventurers. Way too many to pay. We get more shares than they do, right?”

The Bronze-rank adventurer leaned over nervously, trying to make sure his share of the loot was secure. Ylawes smiled at Rasktooth.

“You’re right, Rasktooth. Where does all this Cave Goblin wisdom come from?”

Rasktooth gave him a round-eyed stare.

“Dunno, Captain. I don’t feel very wise. If you say I’m wise when I live in dungeon all my life, I reckon it’s because you above-ground folk not that wise and we all in the same place.”

Ylawes sighed. He felt like that was unfortunately true. For a moment, he watched Dasha swinging her battleaxe and cutting down the long grass, laughing until one swing was too hard and she sent the battleaxe flying sixty feet in a whirlwind of death that had him and Rasktooth flat on their faces as it soared overhead.

“Dasha! Do we have to put a wrist-strap on your axe again?”

Anith shouted as laughter erupted and Dasha, red-faced, ran over to grab her blade and apologize. Everyone was in high spirits, and the only person a bit sad was Pekona, who’d gone to maintain her blade. Ylawes was walking over to offer her a nice flower he’d espied when she shouted.

“Ah!”

She leapt up, distressed, and whirled.

“Ylawes, oh no! My sword!”

She showed it to him, and it was…rusted. There was a distinct patina of rust on the sword’s edge, and Pekona was mortified.

“I haven’t checked it since Goisedall! With the Goblin King and the Thousand Lances—”

She instantly began to remove the rust, and Ylawes began handing her items to help. He commented.

“Good thing you checked just now, Pekona. If you’d cut yourself with a rusty blade…”

She loved to practice her dangerous quickdraw slashes and other techniques, and there was always a risk of Pekona striking herself, given how acrobatic her sword dances were. She was flushed.

“It’s so shameful. And a rusted blade is a very bad, very dishonorable thing to use. If I had cut that [Squire] in the duel…”

Ylawes blinked, and Dawil, who’d walked over, whistled.

“Wreathes of luck indeed. Not saying that’s it, but I’ll wager that if you had cut through that [Squire]’s armor…rust in the blood’s a nasty illness. Locks you up unless a very good [Healer]’s around.”

He gave Ylawes a significant glance as everyone kept practicing. Then Farmer Petia clanged a spoon on a pot.

“I’m making lunch! Cooks, front and center!”

“You got it, boss lady!”

Rasktooth rolled over until he, Dasha, who was a [Baker], and two of the other [Farmers] with applicable cooking Skills were debating over food. Food made everyone smile, even the distracted Pekona. Ylawes realized they had fresh food from the Gnoll camps and smacked his mouth when he was handed a pear. So decadent!

While he ate and waited for their main course, which was something involving chicken and some sandwich bread and a mustardy sauce that Rasktooth had obtained, Ylawes turned to Dawil, and his good mood faded.

“Dawil. Do you think that it’s really all settled at the inn? Mrsha didn’t say what went down with the Goblin King. I’m sure there was devastation.”

From what he’d seen of the aerial footage, the only reason the Floodplains weren’t cratered was due to the rains and floodwaters. Dawil sat down heavily.

“I don’t know, lad. I didn’t want to push them for explanations. What do you think caused it? Even for the inn…”

They began speculating. Ylawes clenched a fist. He didn’t say the obvious again, that they should have been there. After a moment, he felt someone take his hand. Pekona. She held his hand as they tried to wonder what it might have been.

“What if it was a Goblin in the dungeon? Or some kind of super-Relic there?”

Dawil tugged at his beard.

“Maybe. Or it could be, uh, an Erin-Skill? She’s got that [Pavilion of Secrets]. Could be the Goblin King did that memory thing Goblins do and passed his powers on to some poor Goblin? Remember Numbtongue talking about it? Damn, I wish I’d asked more about Goblins.”

“Me too, Dawil. Maybe. Falene, what do you think it was?”

She walked over, adjusting her spectacles.

“Me? Magic, of course. Archmage Valeterisa and her experiments. Or this Goblin King sensed Chieftain Rags, came to recruit her, and the inn got involved…”

They speculated, sitting around as Vuliel Drae and the colonists came over. Homle shifted uncomfortably.

“But that’s not really…begging your pardon, Captain Ylawes, but I’ve heard of The Wandering Inn. I mean, who hasn’t? But you talk about it like it’s Heiste or some magical land.”

Ylawes smiled at the man as he saw other people eying him skeptically.

“It’s not as grand as that, Master Homle. But neither is it devoid of wonders. It’s the people, not the building.”

“If you say so, Captain Byres. I’ll have to visit some day.”

Homle’s face showed quite clearly he didn’t believe Ylawes, not really, and was just being polite. The [Knight] cast around and glanced at Falene. Her brows rose.

“To the incredulous, it does seem impossible, but I recall that the Players of Celum arose from that very inn. And it was where Zeladona’s Trial of Blades took place. Events you can clearly see and, I am sure, are aware of.”

Homle blinked.

“What, those Players of Celum? They passed by a town where I was working and I missed their performance. Thought it was a load of horseshit, and I regretted never having seen…no.”

“Oh, yes. Lad, tell ‘em about the Face-Eater Moth attack. No, that’s too normal and it makes Pisces the hero. Let’s tell ‘em about…the day they invented soccer at the inn.”

“Were we even there for that, Dawil?”

Ylawes grinned as Pekona leaned against him, and everyone blinked. The Dwarf was stroking his beard.

“No, but I’ve heard the story, and I can just picture it. Right, so let’s describe the inn first. It’s not much to look at from the outside, but by then they’d blown it up…twice? So they had a trapped hallway on the inside, and Miss Erin was, oh, let’s say Level 30-ish. She’d just met some friends from her home. A bunch of rather annoying Humans. Joseph, Leon, Troydel, Rose, Galina—their first entry to the inn was them entering, eating everything in sight, and not having any gold to pay the tab! So they weren’t in Erin’s good books, and she was keeping them there on charity. But on that day, Ishkr told me that it was really Lyonette who was trying to make something of ‘em…”

Lunch came out hot and delicious, and then everyone was sitting in the grass, checking their new weapons and listening to a story about The Wandering Inn. Ylawes smiled as he and Falene corrected Dawil’s tall tales or added details they had been told and remembered.

For a moment, it felt like an adventure.

Then, as before, the bad days came again.

Author’s Note:

Let me talk to you about birds. Birds in mating season, rather. I didn’t know this, but birds have testosterone. Male birds searching for mates are highly territorial. They attack other birds of their species they think are in their territory, but since they’re dumb birds, they attack anything that looks like a rival bird.

Like, say, their own reflections in a window. You might think that a bird like that would run into a window once and wise up. But they don’t stop. They attack for hours, even when I put up tape, window vinyl, shirts. Even cardboard that doesn’t cover the entire window has this monster attacking a tiny gap of his reflection.

A bird has been keeping me up when I try to sleep. A terrorist. I hate him so much, and I hope he never finds a mate. This is why Bird was right all along.

Ahem. That aside, I have good news! You all have been amazingly supportive with the book launch, and thank you for sharing news of it around. Please keep doing so—and if you haven’t seen, we have an animated announcement video! It’s got spoilers for all but up-to-date readers, but it’s amazing.

Erin Bennett and Andrea Parsneau are doing the voices, and we have Drassi, Sir Relz, and even a special guest animated! Not full animation since that’s expensive, but I love the project. I’m really happy about that, and while I was super worried and stressed for the launch, the good news is that it seems to be going well.

Also, I have a backlog now. I’m releasing this New Lands arc at a sustainable pace, not 70,000+ word chapters. That will allow me to stop pushing so hard and do fun stuff, like a second map of Terandria (I did the first one on stream and will revise) and just rest and write better chapters.

ASSUMING I CAN SLEEP. If that darn bird doesn’t stop slapping my windows, I’ll let him into the house. Then we’ll see who gets to live here afterwards.

If you don’t hear from me next week, assume the bird has killed me. Until then, thanks for reading!

—pirateaba

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