Nailren had a pleasant first week of riding across the New Lands after leaving Plain’s Eye and the Silver Swords.

True, it rained nonstop. He rode through endless showers of it, and his horse actually balked after the third straight day of it, but Nailren was equal to the challenge.

“Alright, alright. Let’s see what we can do. This isn’t going to last more than an hour or two, but…[Create Totem]!”

He pulled out a little, pre-carved piece of wood from his packs, a long and slim marker with a point you could hammer into the ground, and tied it to the horse’s bridle. The magic activated, and the horse, unhappily shaking its head in the rain, paused and then saw the rain was bouncing off its fur and mane without wetting the animal. It shook itself like a dog, and Nailren, who was still wet, sighed.

“Well, at least it works.”

He was a [Clandestine Chieftain of the Arrow] after all. He had no tribe, which meant he had to often do things without any members, and his Skills were a product of that.

[Create Totem] was a basic [Shaman] ability. It let him enchant a totem with the powers of, say…a Level 15 [Shaman]. So nothing great. In the New Lands, it was obviously rather useless; [Shaman] magic drained like everything else, except for his second Skill unique to his class:

[Tribe of One: Lesser Manacharge].

It gave his [Create Totem] ability just enough mana to function, as if he had a tribe of fifty, maybe. Nailren had been interested in trying it out; he’d been carving said totems to deal with the ghosts, but he hadn’t known the spells to make a Ghostward Totem.

This? This was just a little Rainsward Totem, very light on mana-cost. By tying it to the horse’s bridle, it gave the horse and even Nailren a break from the downpour…for four hours.

Nailren ended up re-using his Skill nine more times over the week and burning through all his pre-made totems; once you used it, they became brittle and fell apart. He spent most of the time in the saddle carving, jotting down what he could of the landscape, and riding hard for the Pride of Kelia’s camps.

[Faster to Untamed Lands] helped there too. [Wildlands Rider]—Nailren made excellent time on horseback, and his Skills had him riding up to their camp by the lake fast enough.

The Pride was glad to see him. Kelthe howled at him as he leapt off his horse.

“Captain! Here! Get out of the damn rain!”

They’d set up a more permanent yurt, and he hurried inside and saw a second yurt—all the horses were squeezed inside.

“If your animal kicks, it goes into the rain and cold. Amazingly, that lot’s playing nice—none of ‘em want out in this weather. Couldn’t you have rested in Goisedall? What happened to that group you were sent to find?”

He grunted as he squeezed in and discovered all the Gnolls were there. They were eating clam chowder and some rather ugly crabs with way too long antennae.

“That’s gross.”

“Hey, Captain, don’t be squeamish. It’s from the lake. Some kinda shrimp-stuff. Tastes good, and the water’s fine if you boil it. Don’t worry, we’ve followed protocols. You smell like other Gnolls.”

Nailren tossed his wet cloak down next to the fire, where it began to steam, and groaned as he sat.

“I feel bad for the Silver Swords. They got caught in the rains, and I doubt Falene’s got the mana to shield the lot. First things first—I got everyone to safety, but there were complications in Goisedall. The city’s way more overrun than when you all went, Kelthe. Cuska, you’ll want to take whatever’s good here back east. I know you wanted steady trade. Well, you’ve got it. Plain’s Eye has arrived.”

Cuska looked up from preparing a pelt for drying, flicking shreds of meat into a pot.

“No. Plain’s Eye?”

“Those bastards?”

Another Gnoll, Morr, leapt up, outraged, but Nailren growled at him.

“Don’t start, Morr. They’re not the ones who fought your tribe. Well, some are, but they’re Doombearers now. Chieftain Merish is leading them. He’s got a level head on his shoulders. Oh, and I ran into some of the Thousand Lances.”

“The who?”

His team was agog at all he’d seen in his short trip, and especially at the levels of the Thousand Lances. The Silver Swords’ tale had them shaking their heads.

“If they want to stay with us, we could use help laying a claim here, Captain. I think this lake is worth gold.”

He nodded at Cuska.

“If you want to put down roots, I’ll treat this like a base and contribute, but I’m not staying. My feet are itching; I’m drawing a map up.”

She exhaled.

“You can’t sit still, can you? Well, most of the team’s agreed this is worth a lot. We’re going to make it our base. Maybe a few will want to ride out with you, but…”

She trailed off awkwardly, and Nailren finished the sentence.

“This is how the Pride halts. Or rather, I think it’d be good if the next time we got close to an Adventurer’s Guild, I transferred the team to you, Cuska. That carries some weight, even if you’re only Silver-rankers on the books.”

Her face clouded.

“You sure?”

“Sure as an arrow flies, Cuska. Don’t worry, I don’t take it lightly, but I meant what I said to Merish and you all: I’m done being an adventurer. At least, the kind I used to be. Take it, build something here. You might get Plain’s Eye Gnolls coming this way. Not all seemed keen on Merish’s leadership. But let’s talk defenses. There are a lot of people coming, and after seeing how Ylawes’ team was treated…I don’t want you taken off-guard.”

He distracted them with practicality, and only after they’d eaten and he’d passed around wine he’d bought from Merish’s camps did Cuska get up and sit with him just inside the yurt’s opening. Everyone else was sleeping; they’d get more yurts up later. Kelthe also sat with them.

“You still got a ghost, Captain?”

“Sure do.”

“Weird. No offense, Nailren, but you’ve always been the oddest kind of leader. I thought you’d be all cloak-and-dagger or some veteran like Az’muzarre, barking orders. Instead, I feel like you’d be a [Scholar] or something.”

He grinned.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Kelthe. Cuska, stop looking guilty.”

“I just feel like I’ve taken something from you.”

He stretched, patting his warm stomach. The weird super shrimp-crabs had been very tasty, and Bekr had apparently gained a class. [Seafood Lover]. Who knew? The world was changing, and so were they. He liked that.

“Taken a weight off my shoulders, you mean? The Pride’s a tool in my paws. A useful one, but I’m sick of wielding it. Neither of you ever had to go on a quiet mission, did you? The kind no one talks about?”

They shook their heads, and Nailren stared out into the New Lands.

“This is the only place I could even talk about it. Even in the Great Plains, there are ears. What else is there to say? When I thought I was having Warsights…I don’t have that many regrets over what I did. Mistakes, sure, but that’s not how I want to live. Besides, if I did too much more I’d end up with a dagger in my back courtesy of Salazsar’s Assassin’s Guild.”

“So you’re bowing out just like us. I get it. That makes it easier, Nailren.”

Cuska was relieved as she stretched her legs out. Then she pointed.

“Okay, it’s too damn rainy and windy here at times. So maybe not a watch tower. But a camp. Walls.”

“Where are you getting the wood from?”

“Wood? I’m talking dirt, Captain. Dirt and stone. Earthenworks. Oh, sure, it’ll suck to build, but instead of someone high up, you get a Gnoll with a bow on the hill. A hill, here, even bigger than this one. For a little while, that’s the camp. Small, snug, defensible. We fish from the lake, and those clam fields are excellent. Keep the lake, keep the clams, and we have food all year.”

“Until someone else gets hungry or comes for it.”

She shoved him.

“You’re such a downer. Yes, until then. But we’re hunting, trading with Plain’s Eye and anyone else who settles. And in time?”

Maybe this becomes a village or a town. Even a trading outpost. He glanced at her.

“Angling for a new class?”

She flushed as Kelthe chuckled because Cuska had talked about this.

“I’d like to build something. Somewhere people would know was mine—and everyone else’s, of course! But maybe a nice building. Cuska’s Den. And then they’d hear about it, and maybe if this place survives, it’d become somewhere important. So yeah. I’m…staying.”

He fished out another skin of liquids, this one Velrusk Claw.

“Here, to your dreams. And to Cuska’s name!”

He took a swig, passed it to Kelthe, then Cuska drank. Then, of course, all three sighed, because all the other Gnolls had woken up.

“Oi, Captain Cuska, former-Captain Nailren, I’ll drink to that.”

“Go back to sleep, Bekr, the adults are talking!”

They growled at him, but everyone wanted a drink, and the skin of Velrusk Claw vanished, but it kept them warm. Nailren grinned and sat back as a ghostly hand wistfully tugged on the empty skin. He lay there, head spinning.

“Shame I can’t give you a drink. What keeps you around?”

Nothing to eat, drink, and he didn’t know how his ghost-friend Spoony saw or heard. But maybe, like him, it was just curiosity even death couldn’t quench. Nailren said goodbye to his team as he drifted off, and it was not bitter at all.

Free. Freer. He slept, dreaming of where he’d go next to map.

[Explorer class Obtained!]

[Explorer Level 3!]

[Skill – Forager’s Senses Obtained!]

[Skill – Burst Gallop Obtained!]

[Skill – Test Water Obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Cartography Obtained!]

——

Excellent. Nailren sat up and realized his determination had provided him with a bounty to put a smile on his face. But if he was happy—Cuska leapt up with a shout that morning.

“[Founder], Level 4! [Evaluate Foundation]! We’ve got work to do!”

She danced around, excited, as Bekr groaned.

“Wait, does this mean you’re going to be even more annoying about how we set up things?”

Nailren just grinned as he packed up his things.

“I’m off. Got a direction for me, Kelthe? I’ll be back this way if I can, but I promised to try and make a proper map—just the points of interest around the border of the New Lands.”

“Everyone’s gone north, Captain. There’s almost a trail—of trash if nothing else! I heard something from a Drowned Man I met that claimed there were actually some buildings. I’ll point them out to you.”

Kelthe actually rode an hour with Nailren as she described hearing about two things.

“The first is a waystation where people’re trading. That’s going to be a good ride westwards. But if you head a bit north, not as far as those foothills, you’ll come across another building I’ve heard tell of. An inn, no less.”

“An inn?”

Who’d set up one of those already? Nailren’s ears perked up, and she shrugged.

“It’s all rumors from people on the road. Frankly, I’ve been keeping my head down and not letting them know I’m here unless they’re too close to the camp. I am worried about trouble, but we’ll get that sentry post up, and Cuska’s no fool. If there is an inn, we’ll be visiting for all the drinks we can buy!”

“Just you hold onto that salt and remember: gold’s not the most valuable thing here. Food and vital necessities like that are.”

He tossed her another bag and checked his supplies. Plenty to trade, and light enough to keep going. He’d left enough with the Pride to come back and draw from if he needed credit, and he bet he had a lot if he needed a favor. Which reminded him. He pulled out his first map, and he was pleased at how his paw filled in details and made a decent-looking lake.

[Basic Cartography]. How handy. He marked the first place on his map with a flourish.

Cuska’s Den. Then Nailren set off.

What he found along his journey was that there was indeed an inn north of him. And as Kelthe had warned him, a bit of trouble on the roads.

——

Or rather, camps. Nailren began running into them as soon as he got a day north of Cuska’s Den. Easy to mark by the fires now that the rains had slackened. He rode towards them naturally, often howling to announce himself.

He didn’t carry his bow, though he had strung it, and he made sure they saw and heard him right off. The first one didn’t even have sentries, but the Drakes were all on their feet the moment they saw him.

“Hey, we don’t want trouble! Ride on!”

“I’m just on my way north. To the inn! You wouldn’t have directions, would you?”

Nailren shouted back, and his trick worked. The Drakes, who had bows and were aiming just at the ground in front of him, hesitated. He saw they were muddy, exhausted, and guessed they were returners, not expeditioners.

“A damn inn? Are you crazy?”

He dismounted and approached as a few came out from their camp. Nailren stuck out a paw.

“Nailren, [Explorer]. Are you coming back from an expedition?”

“We’re coming back for a resupply, and we’ll be damned if we give up our camp. Are you alone? It’s dangerous out here. We were robbed!”

To his surprise, the Drakes weren’t as jingoistic as he’d thought. They were jittery, and only three out of the forty-some group would leave their camp.

“We did well enough. Damn mana drain…but we found a full clam field and stripped it. Between that and hunting it was going well until we were hit by [Bandits]! They swooped in while we were trying to hunt. Held both groups up, took our food, and left. Adventurers. Human bastards—you see any that claim to be Silver-rankers, you watch out.”

“Hmm. I’ve not run into them. Any descriptions?”

“Muddy? One of them uses a warhammer—they’re Humans; I can’t say any had more than a few nasty scars. I’d recognize them if I saw them again, but we’re headed back to Goisedall. We’ll get more food, maybe see if anyone else wants to run with us for security, and get back out there.”

The Drake doing all the talking was named Lancet, and he seemed ready to go. Nailren frowned.

“You’ll need a lot of coin in Goisedall. I was just there; prices are insane.”

“What? How bad?”

Nailren quoted a few prices, and the Drakes groaned. Another came over.

“You’re sure that’s not just a rush?”

“Believe me, everyone’s out there. Have you anything to trade?”

“Maybe.”

They grew suspicious again, and Nailren lifted his paws, smiling easily.

“All I ask is because there’s also the Plain’s Eye tribe. They’re actually before the New Lands—I’m working on a map.”

He showed them it, covering Cuska’s Den with a paw as he held it against his horse’s side. Lancet blinked.

“Plain’s Eye? Weren’t they wiped out or something?”

“Not all. They’ve got herd-animals. If you’re wanting to make a camp, I’d buy some for milk.”

“That could work. So if we just head west…”

“Maybe a bit south? But you should see them.”

“Thank you, stranger. Er…”

“Nailren.”

The Gnoll nodded to them, got a belated shake of the claw from Lancet, and was riding onwards when the Drake shouted at him.

“You didn’t see anything valuable, did you?”

“Only everything!”

Nailren shouted back with a laugh, and the Drake stood there, confused.

——

The other camps were not the same level of wary, but they were all wary in different ways, if that made sense. The next group Nailren ran into was half-Human, half-Gnoll, funnily enough.

“Team effort! I’m Trader Mahawl from Reizmelt! Home of the Wind Runner, don’t you know! We teamed up with these Gnolls, and we’ve been making fine, fine progress. Please excuse our vigilance.”

The Gnolls were waving at Nailren, but they had an eye on the horizon and other groups of expeditioners moving west. Nailren saw Mahawl glancing at him, around, and guessed.

“Have you had a bad run-in with other travellers?”

“Is it obvious? [Thieves]. They haven’t made off with much, but we’ve had a few incidents. People coming to our camp to talk and things missing…not that we don’t want to be friendly! But I think we’d better head away from the others. Not enough opportunity together, anyways.”

“Very fair. I won’t trouble you; I’m heading north, not west for the moment. Have you heard of a waystation west of here? Or an inn?”

“Someone’s already got a waystation up? And there’s an inn?”

There it was again. Nailren savored being the deliverer of news to the groups he ran into. Because there were no [Message] spells here, his news of Plain’s Eye behind the caravaners, or these two mysterious buildings, were the first they heard of it.

Then again—he got to get the same experience when a trio of half-Elves riding east ran into him. They raised their bows so fast he had his in his paws and called out.

“Peace, peace!”

He saw a glaring half-Elf aiming an arrow at him and two more bows pointed past him when their leader shouted.

“Lower your bow! Down, everyone—he’s not with the [Bandits]. Don’t raise your bow, stranger! Apologies, but there’s been trouble.”

Nailren shouted at the trio as they drew slightly closer, eying them.

“I’m on my way north to find an inn of some kind!”

“The Explorer’s Haven? You’re heading the right way!”

They relaxed a bit, and he blinked.

“You’ve been there?”

“Been there? It’s the only building with fresh food and supplies until you get out of the New Lands! But I warn you—no trouble there. We have had enough, and if you’re representing a larger group, we are all armed.”

The half-Elf woman who was leading this trio frowned at him, and Nailren lifted his paws again.

“I’m just by myself, mapping this area. What kind of trouble?”

She sighed.

“Other colonies, adventurers playing [Bandit], some kind of monster that wiped out two colonies—if we’re jumpy, I apologize. This is not necessarily the experience I expected. It almost makes me think we should have joined the colony in the west.”

“Bah. If I have to hear ‘sister’ one more time, I’ll find one of their trees to hang myself off of. We’re from the north. House of El, I suppose, though we’re not affiliated.”

The half-Elves grew a bit more cordial when Nailren was clearly not with anyone, and he warmed them further when he produced a bag of salt.

“Do you have anything to trade?”

Meeting half-Elves from Izril’s north tickled his fur, and the leader immediately grabbed something from her belt.

“How’s a permanently-warm skin of a salamander sound? They’re a bit rough, but we have six. If we had [Tailors], I’d make a cap or cloak of it if we can get enough.”

“Fast things. We’re both hunting and scavenging. There’s some value to those coral-trees we see everywhere. They might not burn well, but the corals are huge and last for up to eighteen hours without needing replacement.”

Nailren frowned as he came forwards to inspect the black, scaly skin of some creature they’d been hunting.

“Oh, that is warm!”

Not very warm, but enough to be noticeable. The hide was thicker than he’d want, but if he lined a cloak with that, he doubted he’d ever get cold. Then again, unless he was wet, his fur did well enough.

“How about it?”

They wanted the salt. Nailren pulled a face.

“Salt’s dear enough, and I only have two bags.”

He had four, but he pretended to waver until the half-Elves conferred, and one pulled out another trophy.

“Corusdeer horn?”

“I can’t carry it, though that’s a fine antler. Did you take down a buck?”

“We did. Alright, then…how about some gold?”

“I don’t need g—”

Nailren began before they produced a solid lump of it. He blinked as one handed over a nugget that filled his paw. It was heavy, and their leader nodded to it.

“Turns out the minerals clump up like that. It’s worth far more than the salt, to be honest, but we’ve no way of trading it except with other colonies and the inn. How about it?”

“Salt for skins and the nugget?”

“Are you mad?”

“Alright, alright. I’ve got some oil here. Cooking quality. How about both?”

In the end, Nailren turned over the bag of salt, a pot of oil, and five arrowshafts for the nugget and Warm Salamander skins. He thought it a good deal, and they clearly agreed.

“Profitable. You might get the best deal we’ll ever trade for.”

“Well, I’ll take it with gratitude. I’ll head to the inn—should I expect trouble?”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“The name’s Velinda. Apologies for the scare, but I think you’re fine. We ran the [Bandits] off, and they’re after food more than coin at the moment. As for the monster? If you see it, warn anyone. It’s fast and apparently looks a bit like a Ghoul, but that’s the only rumor we have. It’s so fast you’d barely outrun it on horseback. Allegedly. As for other trouble, well, you’re only one person. As long as you don’t flash your supplies around…we had other colonies trying to extort goods. Watch who you trust.”

Hmm. So it had already begun. Nailren nodded thoughtfully.

“Any culprits?”

“We were extorted by Drakes, but we have just as many groups who’re good neighbors. And we, ah, can’t tell which group threatened us. I’d hate to cast aspersions at the other groups, but they are the most notable for now.”

“Good to know, either way. If you have any other landmarks or warnings, I’d love them. For the map?”

“Can we buy a copy?”

The half-Elves were interested, but Nailren assured them it contained nothing of value. When he told them about the Plain’s Eye tribe, the entire group groaned instead of being happy.

“Great. No offense, Explorer Nailren, but that’s a lot of competition.”

“They don’t intend on heading far into the New Lands.”

Velinda leaned on her horse’s back.

“No…but they’ll enable more people to push inwards and settle. We’d better decide if this is a permanent camp or we want to keep moving. The Haven’s attractive, but I’d rather use it to push further inland. If we don’t keep moving, we’ll fall to inertia, and there’s far more to see.”

He liked her pragmatism. Velinda appeared older than Falene, which spoke to a lot of decades of experience. Nailren thanked the half-Elves and then kept riding, hiding the gold nugget in his packs. He didn’t know what to do about the Warm Salamander skins, but they were a treasure in and of themselves.

Boot linings maybe. Always keep your boots warm even if it rains. No, wait, they’ll just give me sweaty feet. If only I could get them hotter they’d dry things. A warming hip flask for tea?

Why was the name The Explorer’s Haven so familiar? Then Nailren found the inn and realized the answer.

——

The Explorer’s Haven was a promising spot. Good access to the river, nice sight lines, the beginnings of a wall, and the inn itself was sturdy. Nailren liked it.

He wasn’t sure, though, if it was too unguarded. They didn’t have more than a single tower up, and while he saw someone was in there, it felt…exposed. He wasn’t sure if he should be going around saying ‘hey, I might decide to attack this place if I were a [Bandit]’, though, and the [Innkeeper] seemed sharp enough.

The Explorer’s Haven was packed. So many people coming through it—but the staff were alert, if besieged. More importantly, Nailren’s nose picked up fried oil, fresh bread, and he realized they had supplies.

How in the world…? Then he saw Barnethei striding around, and it clicked.

The Explorer’s Haven.

The Adventurer’s Haven.

“I’m an idiot.”

One question to a flashily-dressed [Server] and she confirmed that yes, this was an offshoot of the famous inn. In fact, when he mentioned he was an adventurer, the woman’s eyes lit up.

“Oh really? Which team?”

He grinned at her as she put some fresh bread and soup in front of him.

“The Pride of Kelia. I doubt you’d have heard of it; we’re mostly southern.”

The brown-skinned Human woman’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she put her hands on her hips as she thought.

“The Pride…the Pride…Silver-rank team, all Gnolls. Travels a lot. You were in Liscor! Captain Nailren, correct?”

He blinked in pure surprise, but she was a member of the Haven. They knew adventurers. And his name had brought over no less than Barnethei himself. The [Innkeeper] clasped hands with Nailren.

“An adventurer and an [Explorer]? This is exactly the place you should come to, sir! Can I get you a drink, on the house? It’ll have to be a small one—we’re rather pressed for everything.”

The server frowned, and he added.

“Just a small one, Navien. He’s from Liscor!”

The glass of whiskey was very small indeed, and Barnethei seemed embarrassed, but Nailren accepted it with a huge grin and toasted them.

“I fully understand that supplies are scarce, Innkeeper Barnethei. Clean water is a gift enough out here! How do you stay afloat? I can see you’re doing amazing trade, but the cost—”

Barnethei chuckled hugely.

“I suspect the margins aren’t what Larracel wants, but we are pulling in coin. People are buying nonstop, so it is a bit of a press—but that’s a good place to be in.”

So long as you can keep supplied. Nailren didn’t say that, he just repaid the drink by talking about what he’d seen, to Barnethei and Navien’s clear fascination. When he showed them his map, Barnethei’s eyes lit up.

“Just the thing we need for business!”

“Barnethei, we can barely hold on as it is! But yes, it would be good to know who else we can trade with. Plain’s Eye Gnolls southeast of here? Larracel will love that.”

“I’ll mention the inn to them, and I’m after this waystation I’ve heard of.”

Barnethei gnawed on his lip as he adjusted his coat.

“A waystation? Mostly, we’re getting people entering the New Lands. Someone’s beaten us that badly to the spot? If you do find them, we’d love to know. I’ll have a free meal and a handsome drink for you on the way back, and I’ll buy your maps if you double back this way.”

Nailren grinned.

“It’s nice to be important, yes? You have yourself a deal, Innkeeper. Just before I go, is there any trouble about? I heard some talk of it…”

Barnethei frowned.

“No more than the usual for us. Maybe a bit of rowdiness with the mana loss and food issues—you know about both? Of course, but we’ve been fine. This is an offshoot of the Haven. We can handle ourselves.”

Navien produced a wand and flipped it around before catching it, and Nailren chuckled before wondering if that was a bit of overconfidence.

He’s high-level, he’ll be fine especially if Larracel herself is giving them magic and support. Nailren finished his meal and wished they had guest rooms. He didn’t mind roughing it, but sleeping in a proper bed would be heavenly.

“We’ll work on those amenities after the basics. Best of luck, [Explorer].”

He doubted he left that much of an impression, but Nailren still grinned as he went west from there. He passed by numerous camps, including the half-Elven one, and came to the river.

“Hrr. Right.”

Nailren’s journey north hadn’t taken him west at all, which meant that he’d forgotten the river that came out of the foothills. Easy enough for him to judge a spot to ford; he was a fine swimmer, and the rainfall had slackened enough so it wasn’t treacherously deep. Plus, his horse was also good at swimming. He’d bought the animal for its ability to traverse the wilds.

Nailren wondered how other groups were dealing with the river. Then he kept riding and riding, mapping the varied lands, until he came to the place known as Woll’s Waystation, the first major settlement in the New Lands of any kind.

To Nailren, it was quite a pleasant trip. If he sensed danger, he rolled up in his bedroll, hid his horse, and he knew enough bushcraft that twice, a group of riders rode within fifty feet of him at night and never saw nor smelled him. His new Skill let him pluck foragables out of the ground, and he had a merry time hunting and testing what was actually edible or useful.

He was, after all, rather good at this. And more than good at this, he was well-prepared.

The same could not be said of other groups.

——

Ylawes cursed the rain as he had never cursed anything before in his life. He had surely lived through worse rain. He’d seen magical storms, been on adventures during hurricanes—

But this felt personal. It was as if there were Spring Faeries or something, and the mischievous little bastards had armed the very clouds and sharpened each raindrop to make it extra-cold and piercing, then hurled them down by the thousands on him.

It soaked his armor, which no longer fit him properly and thus let water seep in through the places where the metal normally connected securely together. Instead, the cloth padding and underarmor had begun fraying, and then the water was stuck against his skin.

Clothing chafing his skin raw, and his boots were soaked. He’d gotten his socks wet on the first day, and that meant they’d never dry. He developed blisters, and the ground turned muddy, and they were sloshing through it.

The rains didn’t stop. The Plain’s Eye tribe’s bags were waterproofed and solid, but even then, bags had to be opened and there was little shelter. After a few days, all the food was wet and sopping, and they had to be careful because their new stores might rot, and they were in the New Lands, and he hated it.

The exuberance over the new Mithril gear turned into a kind of excitement and hope as they marched and saw other groups. But then the rains began to fall, and it just—got—

Bad.

——

The idea was that they’d do what had saved them last time: find a job escorting or guarding someone and make money, or better yet, gain supplies and wait until this situation with the Merchant’s Guild was dealt with.

Falene was optimistic they’d sort it out within the month between everyone. Still a long time, but they had provisions for at least a few weeks if they rationed, and they weren’t starving.

They’d do this right. Plus, with these other groups, it would be easy to find work, right?

The first group they ran into were a bunch of Drakes who politely asked them to keep clear—they’d had [Thieves] and didn’t want to be followed—but they were nice enough.

The sixth group were Gnolls who saw the packs from Plain’s Eye and told Larr that if he came closer they’d shoot him for being a traitor. Ylawes had to ride Larr away from a twenty-minute long howling match where he shouted at them he was on the right side of history.

On group twelve, Ylawes was getting worried; most of the caravaners took one look at his group of sixty-some people and said they were way too numerous to hire or feed. But he was discouraged when he was riding back from a rather haughty group of nobles who’d refused to introduce themselves, just telling Ylawes that they had enough ‘hired help’. Then Insill waved him over.

“Captain! Anith’s found a potential hire! This way!”

The thirteenth group of mostly Humans were riding caravan-style, and Ylawes slowed when he saw the man with that familiar floppy cap and wet clothing emblazoned with the Merchant’s Guild sigil. He told himself that this was just his imagination—especially because the man seemed rather eager to hire them.

“Ah, is this your Captain? Trader Tilfem! My good man, this, er, fine Gnoll was telling me you had a party for hire! We could indeed use more hands!”

“Really, Trader? I’m Captain…Byres.”

Ylawes had the thought to not use his real name, but he panicked and just said his last name. The [Trader] nodded, smiling.

“We’re hoping to set up a fine spot inland. Tilfem’s Tea Expedition, that’s the name. So, you’re a mix of adventurers and trade skills, eh? What brought you out here searching for work?”

So that was what Anith had said? The ‘Gnoll’ glanced at Ylawes as the [Knight] fumbled for an explanation.

“Well, we…are coming for the bounty of the New Lands, sir. But we figured we might as well earn coin while we’re travelling.”

“Absolutely, absolutely! Well, er, consider yourselves hired! I’ll pay five copper per head per day. How’s that?”

Five copper a head? Ylawes’ mouth opened.

“I think for my team, which is Gold-rank—”

“Oh, of course! For your team, ah, would five silver per day work? I know you are Gold-rank, but given the daily expenses and the coin I have…”

The man hurried to clarify, and Ylawes wondered if he should haggle for Vuliel Drae, but he didn’t want to bring their exact names up. He nodded, feeling something was off a bit. But the man appeared honest, and he was a [Trader].

A [Trader].

“We can move our group with yours, Trader Tilfem. Let me just get them.”

They’d stopped to rest up while he rode out to see if anyone wanted work. The man was only too eager to agree, and Ylawes rode back to tell them the good news.

Dawil was sitting next to a fire as it rained, looking as miserable as Ylawes had ever seen him. The fact that they had fire at all was only thanks to Falene and her new Skill. She had conjured a very small magical fire and a tiny umbrella spell. Everyone was fighting to get warm, and adventurers or not, the colonists were just as desperate.

Homle was shoving Dawil for space as Falene snapped.

“No, I can’t make the umbrella spell bigger. Be grateful I can even cast that! I’m gaining more mana thanks to upgrades to my Mana Well, but—oh, Ylawes, are we moving on?”

“Actually…we’ve found work.”

Ylawes tried to smile, but when Falene turned, he beckoned to her.

“It’s Tilfem, a [Trader] and a caravan just down the way. They’re equal in number to our group, maybe a dozen bigger?”

“A [Trader]? What if he recognizes us?”

Falene was alarmed. Dawil got up.

“They’re not going to know every team, Pointy, and he’s been in the mana drain as long as we have. Lad, you seem uncertain. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…his group didn’t look threatening.”

But something felt off. Falene glanced at Ylawes.

“I could muster some mana for a [Long Ear] spell? Listen in as we move over carefully?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

They packed up and rode towards Tilfem, who was waiting with a genuine-looking smile. Ylawes didn’t see any signs of hostility from the men and women packed into the covered wagons, either. If anything, they seemed heartened by the newcomers.

“There we are! We may have room for your people to ride out of the rain! [Rainproof Coverings], ha-hah! You ride with my Skills, Captain Byres! Shall we?”

“Of course, Trader.”

No matter how hard Ylawes searched, he didn’t see an issue. Not a hidden threat, not signs of an ambush, and Tilfem was even finding his coin box to pay them the first day. He was speaking to Pekona as Ylawes gave Falene and Dawil an embarrassed glance, and she tapped one ear to show she was still listening in. She kept wincing; the rain must be as loud as thunder with her spell.

But Ylawes’ less-keen ears clearly heard Tilfem talking to Pekona.

“I’ll have your team running security around my caravan, of course. Miss…Pe-coe-nah, is it?”

“Yes, Trader.”

“Good, good. Well, we’ll have work soon enough. We’ve got plenty of stock, and none’s spoiled. Plenty to, um…well, we’ll see how bad this ground is, eh?”

She and Ylawes paused, and the name of the expedition struck Ylawes again. Pekona bobbed a bow, timid.

“You sell tea, Merchant Tilfem?”

“Do I? Of course! Everyone needs tea. It’s a luxury in the New Lands; I was doing a [Trade Route Calculation], you see, and I calculated tea would be in short supply here! Well, it only takes some thought to think that it’s not the most kept resource. We have bags and bags of it. And tea bushes, you know. Saplings…they’re doing splendidly in their pots. We’ll find a good spot for them.”

He had come here trying to grow tea? Ylawes’ mind flashed to the Consortium, and then he had a second thought. He glanced at the wagons and noted how packed they were.

All full of people. But for this many, you’d need twice as many wagons for the food. Unless, of course, you were a typical [Trader], in which case you’d save on extra wagons with—

A Chest of Holding. Only, here—Tilfem was counting coins into Pekona’s hand fast.

“This should take care of it for the first day. Now, provisions. I take it your team is well-stocked? We may just share what we have. Let’s break out a meal and—”

“Pekona!”

Ylawes shouted, and she jumped and dropped the coins just as Falene whirled.

“Ylawes, a word—”

They converged on Trader Tilfem as the copper coins dropped—literally—to the ground. Tilfem started, then smiled.

“Ah, Captain. I was just saying we—”

“We have to go. Deepest apologies, Trader, but I don’t think we can honor this contract after all. Pekona, give the man his coins back. Anith! Mount up!”

Anith had heard too, and he was already calling the colonists back. Farmer Petia hopped out of a wagon, face pale; she clearly had found out what they had. Tilfem was blustering.

“What? This is highly—why would you do this, Captain? We had a deal, and I am a man of deep integrity! I-I demand an explanation.”

He licked his lips, and Ylawes motioned his team away. Now he thought about it, Tilfem hadn’t even blinked at Rasktooth and Infinitypear.

“Silver Swords, let’s go—”

“Hold on! You must hold!”

Tilfem shouted, and now his [Guards] were getting out of the wagons. They were hesitant, and Tilfem was still trying.

“On what grounds? I’ll lodge a complaint! Why—”

“They have no food!”

Ylawes shouted, and it dawned on the rest of Vuliel Drae, the colonists. Their hands flew to their horses, and several of Tilfem’s people who’d been approaching the packed horses hesitated.

“Dead gods damn it, it’s the Expedition all over again! Back! Back!”

Homle roared, seizing a saddlebag from one of Tilfem’s people. Ylawes saw some flour spilling onto the ground.

“No! You can’t leave! I insist! We had a deal!”

Now, Tilfem’s people were all coming out, and a [Guard] tried to knock Homle down. He got a shove instead that took him into the muck. Another man drew a sword on Homle and froze as a click-click made everyone hesitate.

Rasktooth aimed both crossbows straight at the man’s face and groin, and Larr had an arrow drawn. Ylawes panted.

“Back up. Silver Swords, check your packs. We’re going.”

“We have a deal—”

One of the [Guards] was trying to count numbers, but he flinched when Ylawes drew his sword. The Graveblade felt cold in Ylawes’ hands. Cold as the day he cut Salamander.

“We’re Gold-ranks. We don’t have food to spare. Turn around, now. You won’t survive without it.”

Tilfem stood there as Ylawes backed up, having to jog after the animals and his team.

“Cheat! Rogue! We can make a deal! We can still do this!”

“Turn around! You’ll die and kill everyone!”

Ylawes roared as the rain pounded harder, and water slid down his back, like his stomach. He was shouting at the [Guards], the people in wagons.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help! For the love of Izril, turn around!”

They didn’t. Even when his group was marching away, he saw those wagons with their lanterns moving onwards, a flickering light headed into the New Lands.

——

That, more than anything, was the final blow to Ylawes’ morale. He’d nearly walked his team into another trap.

They’d had a debriefing afterwards, of course, with Anith, Dawil, Falene, Homle, and Petia. No one had come outright and said how stupid Ylawes was, but they had politely laid some ground rules.

“From now on, let’s all talk before we commit to any decisions, especially ones regarding employment, right, lad? I’m not saying it’s not your decision as leader, but…”

…But that’s almost two strikes. Ylawes had of course agreed, and he’d been shamefaced afterwards. Everyone had been insistent that no harm, no foul, they hadn’t lost much—but he felt the most rattled and ashamed out of everyone.

After that, Ylawes mostly gave up on asking other groups they met for work—not that they could see many after the second day when the rains got worse and the press of groups let up.

Then they were navigating rocky Coral Lands, cursing when they stepped on the too-hard, stone-like plants, trudging forwards, and Ylawes was thinking.

He didn’t know Tilfem was out of food. He didn’t know the caravan would starve.

Could you eat tea? Was it…edible? Ylawes would have eaten it when he was starving. He’d have eaten anything. How many groups were in this strait?

How much food did they have? They’d lost some, despite him noticing the trap, and he cursed every bag of spilled flour or sack that they’d handed over before he’d figured it out.

His fault. What if they ran out of food again?

Stress, wet, and this sensation they were walking back into hell left the [Knight] so visibly out-of-sorts that Falene thought he was sick.

“Are you sure you don’t have a fever? You’re deathly pale, Ylawes. Let me check your temperature.”

“I will.”

Pekona put her hand on Ylawes’ forehead, and Falene drew up, blinking, then wore a resigned expression as she waited. Pekona shrugged.

“He doesn’t feel hot.”

“How about clammy?”

Since Pekona didn’t know what that meant, Falene felt at Ylawes’ forehead. She checked his vitals, then her hand jumped away. She cleared her throat.

“I…think you’re just under the weather. If you get worse, tell us at once. In a group like this, out here, sickness will be all our deaths. If this rain doesn’t do worse. Argh! Is it my turn to ride yet?”

She stomped away. Ylawes stood there with Pekona.

Pekona.

It wasn’t like he and Pekona had forgotten their tryst in Goisedall. Far from it; Ylawes had wondered if they might say no more of it, pretend the affair was just that, and do as some adventurers did to avoid a longer relationship.

The second night with the Plain’s Eye Gnolls when he’d caught her lingering around his yurt had sort of made that question pointless. And then—well—

No one brought it up in the Silver Swords. Ylawes ate with Pekona, talked with her more, and they would have shared a bedroll except for three things:

One, his bedroll wasn’t big enough for two people. It was wet and cold, and everyone needed to be bundled up in as much waterproof cloth as they had to stay dry overnight. They crammed together to sleep as well, especially since they’d cannibalized two tents for weapon parts.

Two, they slept close enough to everyone else that noise of…activities…would be a consideration.

Three, they were so tired from marching all day that they didn’t really feel like it.

Kissing. Kissing was nice. Holding each other’s hands was nice. Snuggling was nice. Ylawes hadn’t known snuggling was such a fine invention of the romantic genre, but he wondered why everyone was sleeping on it.

Now, this was not to say that Ylawes was not not interested in other things. In fact, as a man who had not pursued any serious romantic relationships his entire life thus far until the age of twenty-eight—because he’d been waiting for marriage and such—he was now highly concerned with the things that other adventurers talked about.

The wide and many things Todi had talked about—Ylawes’ head spun to imagine it, and it was one of the only things that kept him warm in the miserable downpour. He’d even broached the subject with Pekona about it, and she was down to try…things.

Even that one? And he wasn’t pressuring her, and she actually wanted to—?

Wow. Like a [Novice Mage] entering Wistram’s libraries for the first time, Ylawes was interested in learning, but he felt Pekona was just as shy about starting anything as he was. They’d meet after dinner and hug, then sit together, which evolved naturally into a bit of snuggling, and then a kiss, and then—

Well, it was time to sleep or stand sentry, and Ylawes felt like he really should have tried something earlier, but he was too nervous to say something she wouldn’t want to do. And she kept playing with his hands in a very distracting manner—

But if there was a fourth reason he was uncertain, it was Falene.

Falene, the [Pursuant Battlemage of Magic’s Romance]. Which, Ylawes felt, was a bit too close and—and—

“Do you think it’s because of us?”

Pekona avoided meeting Ylawes’ eyes, which told him it was absolutely about them. But to his surprise, she whispered at him.

“Falene is a…big girl. Adult. She knows who she is. I respect her.”

When had this come about? Actually, Ylawes had noticed Dasha walking with Falene more, and Pekona and Falene were cordial, but he pressed her.

“But her class—it just sounds like—”

“I think you should let it be, Ylawes Byres.”

She frowned at him firmly. Ylawes hesitated, then dropped it because she’d never spoken to him in that tone before. After a moment, she linked arms with him and towed him over to stare at a giant, ugly frog munching on bugs in the rain. But Ylawes couldn’t let it be.

He didn’t know if he wanted to know. Because…Ylawes felt guilty. He didn’t know if his suspicion was reality, and for once, no one wanted to help.

——

“Rasktooth, Infinitypear. About Falene. Has she seemed down since I, uh, since I and Pekona—? I was just wondering because of her new class, and you two have a good instinct for—”

For the first time, the two Bronze-rank adventurers did not want to talk to Ylawes. In fact, when they heard his question, Infinitypear went sprinting forwards.

“We are going to check for monsters!”

“That right, we know nothing!”

Ylawes felt like that meant they knew something and jogged after them.

“I just need to know if you think—”

“Lalalalala, we not hear you Captain! You take hint please!”

Highly concerning. None of Vuliel Drae wanted to bring the topic up either. Dasha tried to out-jog Ylawes when he went to have a word.

“Look, uh, Captain. Why don’t you think about something else? Always works for me. Like squirrels. Ever notice how many of ‘em are around? With fins? Do they taste like tuna? Let’s drop it, huh?”

“What squirrels?”

Ylawes turned his head, and she dashed off. When he turned to Anith and Insill, the [Rogue] cartwheeled behind one of the packhorses, and Anith engaged Petia in conversation.

——

There was only one person that Ylawes could turn to. His rock, his friend, his guidance and older figure—

“Lad, I appreciate you leaning into the joke, but I do not want to do this.”

Dawil’s face was set as he stumped along in the rain, and Ylawes hissed at him. Falene was riding ahead, arguing with Homle.

“No, I won’t cast more drying spells. I know it’s wet, but I need some mana for danger.”

“Miss Falene, we’ll die happier. I’ll throw myself in front of the monsters or arrows if you’re out of mana! Think on it! Dry socks.”

“…Well, even if I did use all the mana for the day, how would I dry everyone’s socks? The spell is too much mana.”

“Let me tell you what the lads and I thought. Pot, fire, all warded and the like. Little drying area to put your boots on. You cover that up with those umbrellas, and we toss all the socks in a pot, give ‘em a wash, let them dry…and we put our boots there.”

“…go on…”

The allure of fresh socks called to Ylawes too, but he turned to Dawil.

“Dawil, I have to know. I’ve been thinking it over, and I think Falene’s class relates to, you know, Pekona and me?”

“Now why…would you think that, Lad?”

Dawil breathed, staring ahead fixedly. Ylawes hesitated.

“Well, I didn’t until—I saw her face. In Goisedall. I mean, I have thought about it. But you know the rules. Never sleep inside the team. Don’t be a Todi.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s not that I don’t like Falene. I’d have absolutely dated her but for that rule—”

Dawil stumbled, nearly fell on the ground. He glanced up sharply.

“But you’re with Pekona.”

“Yes…that was—it wasn’t what I’d call a lapse in judgement, and I hope she doesn’t feel that way, even if I’m the Captain. More of a—a confluence of events where I realized I wanted to take a risk and try. I know it’s embarrassing.”

Dawil’s eyes flicked to Falene, and he slowed further.

“But you like Pekona.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t make her feel like she had to do this? You two weren’t drunk? You made her no promises?”

“No! Dawil, I was entirely honest, I swear. It’s just Falene—”

Dawil stared at Ylawes, and his normally-genial face was strained.

“Let’s play a game, Ylawes.”

“I don’t think now is—”

“It’s a damn hypothetical, Ylawes. Let’s pretend Pekona didn’t exist. Never met her. Let’s say it was you and Falene in Goisedall and she said, oh, I don’t know, ‘I know we’re teammates but I’d like to try’. Would you have given it a shot?”

Ylawes grew exceptionally uncomfortable and turned to Pekona.

“I don’t think that’s an answer I want to give, Dawil. With Pekona—”

“Pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend it’s another Ylawes in, I don’t know, some make-believe world! Would that Ylawes do it?”

Ylawes didn’t truck with all these hypothetical realities, but he had to answer.

“I…yes. That Ylawes would have.”

“I see.”

Dawil walked on, head bowed, tugging at his beard. Ylawes went on.

“I just didn’t—”

“Falene’s liked you since the day we met, lad. If not romantically, then by the end of the first year, I’d say that she would have tried asking you if she didn’t know the rules. She’s thrown enough hints down. Now, you tell me you’d have chanced it. What am I supposed to do with that? Dead gods, I didn’t want to know that. Damn Pointy. I feel sorrier for her.”

Dawil stomped along, moving away from the group, and Ylawes stopped dead in his tracks. Poke your head into the cave and you’ll get an answer. Captain Todi, the Sage of Adventuring Love, whispered in his ears.

“I…I didn’t know.”

“I know. That’s the only reason I didn’t slap your ankle with my hammer.”

“So her class is—”

“Yep. I hope it means she’s moving on. Pursuing love and magic rather than following after you. If she’s pining, she’s doing a good job. Frankly, I think seeing how your parents treated Pekona swung it. Falene Skystrall is many things. Haughty, arrogant, pigheaded, too full of herself, but she’s not unkind. We know that.”

Dawil still didn’t peek at Ylawes. The [Knight] turned.

“I have to apologize to her—”

Dawil grabbed his arm, and Ylawes jerked to a halt.

“Ylawes Byres, if you mention this to her, I will hit you with my hammer. Leave it be. Never say a word to Falene about this, you understand? You were dumb as a rock, and you’re going to stay that way or you will split this team.”

He growled, anger flashing in his eyes, and Ylawes faltered.

“But I—”

“Who are you going to make happy by apologizing? You? Pekona? Falene? What’s she supposed to say when you walk up and say, ‘sorry I missed you and fell head-over-heels with an adventurer I’ve been on two missions with’?”

Ylawes hesitated, and Dawil went on.

“Listen to me, Ylawes. I tease you that I’m older than you, but that doesn’t mean much—except for stuff like this. Ask yourself a question: what’s the best case scenario from talking to Falene about what happened?”

“I…don’t know.”

Dawil rolled his eyes.

“The best case…let’s go for it. Best case is Falene forgives you, throws her arms around you, and confesses her love, and Pekona’s so won over you three enter a relationship together.”

A three-way romance? Which meant a three…some? Ylawes tried to imagine it. His helmet nearly exploded. Then Dawil went on.

“Now, let’s do worst case. Worst case is Falene hears you out and blames herself for not doing anything and quits because it’s too awkward. Or she forgives you, but that means Pekona wonders if she’s the second-rate option and breaks it off with you. Then Falene’s left wondering forever if she’s the pity-vote. Worst case: neither one can handle it, and they either split the teams with people choosing sides or one offs the other in the night. Or leaves.”

“That wouldn’t happen. I—”

“Do you want to risk it, Ylawes? Say the worst outcomes don’t happen—that’s a lot of downsides, and except for that one outcome, I don’t see any upside. Drop it.”

They stood in silence until Larr called out, asking if they had seen something. They began to walk after the others, and Ylawes felt the rain battering him like the guilty thoughts in his stomach.

“I feel so bad—”

“Yep.”

“And talking isn’t the answer?”

“Sometimes, it’s not.”

“I was raised all my life to be honest.”

“Sometimes, that means not talking, Ylawes. Sometimes, you live with your guilt.”

This was not a lesson Ylawes would have accepted in the Silver Swords a year ago. Today? He thought of the Consortium, of Trader Tilfem, and, well, of Falene. His head bowed. Dawil walked along, and neither one said a word.

“For what it’s worth, Ylawes, I’ve been prouder of you than not. This? This wasn’t even a huge misstep. Falene’s a big girl, and she can be an adult. We’re older. Don’t make it worse, I’m begging you. You do like Pekona, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“What about her? I can sort of see it, but I haven’t talked to her much.”

He sensed Dawil watching him, and Ylawes wondered if the Dwarf were testing him.

“Well…it’s how different she is. I don’t mean—foreign, I mean how she thinks and sometimes corrects me. I can talk to her because sometimes it feels like we’re both outsiders. And she’s good with a sword. I understand that. She’s honest and brave and—”

It sounds like Falene in many ways. Ylawes trailed off before he added.

“—I think in Pekona’s case, she understands making huge mistakes. Not that hers were her fault. She’s paid for her errors. I haven’t.”

He walked on until Dawil patted him on the back.

“Good. I’m happy for you, Ylawes. Mind what I said, alright?”

“Okay.”

——

Ylawes tried just once.

Just once, over dinner. He knew Dawil was watching him, and Pekona was worried, and he had a moment when Falene was checking his temperature.

“Hmm. You still are pale, but you’re more decent. Show me your eyes.”

She peered into his gaze and felt at his neck.

“Falene, what is this about?”

“It’s your vitals. I’m measuring how much your heart beats.”

“Why?”

She hesitated and wiped at her rain-covered spectacles. Homle was working his sock-drying pot, and both glanced at it longingly; everyone was in line.

“Well…I heard the Last Light of Baleros talking about it. I wanted to read more about, er, survival. Apparently, heartbeats, fluid in lungs, all indicate sickness.”

“Do you…know which signs indicate which?”

“Well, I’m certain I could intuit it! I am a Wistram [Mage], Ylawes, and I have a sharp, analytical mind—”

She blustered, avoiding his gaze, and the [Knight] grinned. That was Falene alright, and she caught his eye, reddened, then laughed. She put her head up and stared at the sky.

“Damn rain. Alright, fine. I’m doing my best. I suppose I can’t do much, but we must try.”

“Yeah. We must. Thank you, Falene. Truly.”

She smiled at him as she sat wearily on some stone coral. The rain pounded on, and Ylawes stared westward.

Something’s out there. Something worth all this. She spoke absently.

“Neither Dawil nor I blame you for this. If anything, I want to commend you for doing what you did, Ylawes. I know it matters greatly to you, House Byres’ reputation. We’ve been through worse. I can’t remember when, exactly. Facestealer or that time with the Armored Crawler. Remember when it was digging up our camp?”

“And we couldn’t break its armor. I remember.”

Hiding in their camp, trying to fight it off as it dug around them--Falene smiled.

“We didn’t have rookies back then. Now we’re the senior adventurers. We should act the part. That’s why I’d appreciate it if you didn’t reveal my deficiencies.”

He smiled.

“I’ll try. Falene, about your class—”

He glanced up and saw her stiffen slightly. Her eyes slid to Pekona, and Ylawes saw her glance at him. Just once, with such an expression of hurt in her eyes—then her spectacles flashed, and she rubbed at them with the hem of her robes.

“What about it?”

“—I just wondered what kind of mana Skills you had for your [Mana Well]. I know yours is a generic [Arcane Mana Well], isn’t it? Can you do more magic than when we first came here? How much, or is Homle’s sock-drying going to tire you each night?”

Ylawes saw Falene blink and relax ever-so-slightly. Then she scowled.

“Generic? I have a highly adaptive, highly universal—you must have been misremembering my lectures, Ylawes! For your information, I have [Mana Well: Weathertight Walls]. Quite odd how it sounds as if it’s an architectural Skill for magic…but I assure you it means my mana-drain is far lower! I’d like to generate more mana, but I’ve held onto far more mana than before! I’m just not inclined to use more!”

“Wait, you have more mana saved?”

Ylawes blinked at her, and Falene threw up her hands.

“Keeping you all dry is not a good use of magic! When I need to fire a [Lightning Bolt], you will thank me! And speaking of which, Master Homle, the fee for my magic is my socks will all be dried! All of them!”

——

He didn’t have the courage to say it. Dawil’s warning had sounded in his ears, and he’d seen how much it might hurt Falene and…

Ylawes confessed it to Pekona that night, and she sat there as water dripped on their heads from the tarp they’d spread out between coral rocks. It was still accumulating on the ground, and they had managed to put their tarp on a slope so mostly it didn’t run into their camp, but…

It was a better day in that they could set up the tents at all. But Pekona just folded her one arm as he sat there.

“I have done terrible things to Falene. And you.”

She kicked him. He deserved that. But her glower indicated that Pekona didn’t feel this apology was holding water. Unlike their tent, sadly.

“I told you to drop it. Falene made her peace; you can’t. You’re like…Larr.”

“Me? How?”

He was astonished, and she glowered.

“You can’t drop anything. You get obsessed. Just respect her and leave it alone! We talked.”

“You did? When?”

“The bathhouse. My feet hurt.”

That sounded like a segue, but it was really an invitation for him to help massage them. He did, and she tried, once more, to keep less water from running into the tent. Ylawes went on after a moment, and he heard her sigh, vexed.

“Pekona. I was genuinely enamored with you in Goisedall, and the fact that neither you nor I knew about Falene is—bad luck. Like how the Horns found the map to Albez.”

“…Are you talking about adventuring?”

She squinted at him, and his voice was plaintive.

“It’s the only thing I know! Listen, it’s not about thinking about what might have been because neither of us knew. It’s how fate played out, and…that’s that, Pekona. I don’t want to make this a….a rift between any of us. I realized Dawil’s right. I can’t bring this up with Falene. I want to talk to you about it, and if it changes things…but I was very happy when you and I found we liked each other. I’m just sorry for being a fool.”

She sat there, water pattering onto her head, and then smiled faintly. Not un-exasperatedly, but like someone who’d figured something out.

“You do a lot of being sorry. You’re the sorriest non-Drathian I’ve ever met. Even Dullahans don’t feel so guilty.”

He opened his mouth, and she shushed him with a finger.

“This is…funny, learning this relationship. I am going to be honest, Ylawes. I was happy, too, when we had our night. I was worried because Falene was upset. We talked. Now, it’s done. I’m happy. Content. I want to try this. But if you have regrets—”

He shook his head instantly.

“No, no, Dawil was right.”

She eyed him.

“Are you going to talk to Falene again? Because next time I’ll hit you with my sword. Sheathed.”

He bowed his head.

“I won’t, I swear. Dawil was right. We can agree on that, can’t we, Pekona? He was right, and we do not want to go down this dungeon. It’s a death-zone, and we’ll die.”

She blinked, then nodded.

“Dawil was right.”

“Dawil’s very right.”

“We can talk about it after, maybe. Just not…I understand why I need to drop it.”

“Yes.”

Not here, with misery so close for company, when it was so damn fresh and it could tear things apart. Not yet. Ylawes closed his eyes and hung his head.

Fool.

He was allowed to feel bad about it, though. Pekona saw him sitting there, a miserable [Knight] out of his armor, and she adjusted the tarp—and spilled a bunch of collected water onto them. They spluttered, and she grimaced, and glared down at her undershirt and muttered Drathian curses.

Ylawes stared at Pekona’s undershirt, which was suddenly semi-transparent. He hesitated, and she eyed him. He put his hands behind his back innocently.

“It’s pretty cold. And wet. And noisy, Pekona. I doubt either of us is getting to sleep easily tonight. What if…what if we try something else tonight?”

Her eyes flicked to him, then to their tentflaps.

“Something else? But we’re so close to the others—”

She bit her lip as he suggested something he’d heard of in the tales of yore and myth from Sage Todi. He thought it sounded fun. She asked what she was going to get out of it, and he floundered until she laughed and said they’d try her thing after that. Which sounded very exciting.

——

In the world of the many deep—and squishy—levels of sexual prowess, Ylawes and Pekona weren’t even Bronze-rank. But a single step into that domain was progress for the two…or would have been.

Because Pekona’s idea to cheer Ylawes up was an advanced technique that he assumed came from Drath until she dumped more water on his head. Said technique was not something she had experience with, but the concept, as Ylawes understood it, was her using her hands in the Man’s Shame.

“…Wait, that’s what you call it?”

“The Man’s Shame? Of course. That’s—er—well, yes. My father sat me down and told me about it. Sometimes a necessity, but—”

It was probably the most embarrassing talk he’d ever had in his life. Sometimes a man needed to relieve himself, and a hand—but Pekona doing it was a scandalous idea.

Titillating, even. A fascinating act of carnal intercourse that would have led the two to many conclusions about House Byres’ culture except that it never got that far.

Ylawes didn’t have a euphemistic name for his penis. It just sat there, rather small and shriveled up from the cold no matter what Pekona tried, and then he remembered another word in his lexicon he had not often thought of.

Impotence. He just kept thinking of Falene, his mistakes, or his father’s stark writing on the [Message] scroll, and after a few more minutes, Pekona hugged him, and he tried to apologize, and she told him it was fine and—

Well.

Somehow that did make him feel even worse that night.

And the rain continued.

——

Then they came to the river. Ylawes had forgotten all about the river.

The same body of water that could be tinged purple or swirl with interesting colors thanks to the dirt that ran through the New Lands and came off the northern foothills should have narrowed the further it was from its origin point.

But the rainwater had bloated it like a slug, and now it overflowed its banks, transforming from a useful resource and marker into an obstacle and a hazard.

“We have to cross it!”

“How, lad?”

Ylawes and Dawil had to shout over the torrent of water cascading down a waterfall that would have washed them all away if they stood in the center. Muddy, dark purple water swirled for what might have been fifty feet, and Ylawes could not tell how deep it ran.

“It’s suicide to cross it! We’re going to die!”

Infinitypear began to freak out. The Antinium had done well enough before due to the privation, and he’d forded the river when it was shallow enough to only go up to his knees while blindfolded and with Rasktooth encouraging him, but this—

Ylawes was inclined to agree with the Antinium. He turned his head.

“Does anyone know rivers well? Who here can swim?”

The answer was not encouraging. Every adventurer but Infinitypear and Rasktooth could swim, but Homle and a number of his [Miners] were just as freaked out by the river as Infinitypear.

“I’ve never even gone chest-deep in the water, Captain, and that was in a bath!”

He protested, and Farmer Petia snorted.

“You didn’t have a lake, Homle? I swam them plenty up north. I grew up near enough to Oswen, and you have to swim there. But I wouldn’t risk this river, Captain Ylawes. It’ll sweep us aside in a heartbeat!”

“There must be a way to ford it. We cannot stay here, Petia!”

They’d lose who knew how many days if they had to wait for the rains to subside and the river to go back to normal. Thus, the Silver Swords began to comb the river, north and south, trying to find a place to cross.

They were not the only ones. Ylawes saw no less than five caravans had halted, and people were trying everything to cross, from throwing stones attached to ropes and trying to anchor them to the other side to having a swimmer cross and help the others.

Futile. Ylawes had had the same thought, but Dawil pointed out the obvious.

“Even if we cross, Ylawes, the horses won’t! We have to find a shallow section—dead gods! Look at the current.”

It had just ripped a Drake through the waters. The swimmer was fifty feet downriver, and his entire caravan was hauling on the rope to get him out. Ylawes and Dawil charged over to heave the Drake out, and she was screaming.

“The rope nearly sawed me in half! I’ve lost all the scales on my stomach—this is insanity!”

No good that way. When Ylawes and Dawil rode north, they found Petia minding the camp. She was stabbing the air with her spear, practicing even tired as she was. Ylawes saw her put the spear up.

“Anith’s still up north, Captain. No good?”

“We just saw someone nearly get swept away downstream, Petia. I don’t think having you swim would work.”

Her face was grave, and she jerked her head at the silent members of the group.

“I agree, Captain. We just saw someone else go past.”

“Someone else? Can we get—”

He hadn’t seen anyone in the thrashing torrent, but she shook her head.

“No rope, Captain. And they were face-down. Drowned.”

Falene’s voice was quiet.

“Floating.”

Everyone looked at her, and she clarified.

“Bodies do not always float. I sensed a [Buoyancy] spell, but cast poorly. It kept them upright, but it might have led to them drowning because the balancing was off.”

A chill ran down Ylawes spine, and the bloated river took on a sinister cast. However, when Anith came riding back hard, he had good news.

“Captain! There’s a route across the river, only we have to hurry, and it’ll cost the earth! How much gold do we have?”

“Gold?”

——

Someone had created a bridge. It was such an obvious idea and good way to make money that Ylawes was surprised no one else had done it—until he supposed it wasn’t necessary outside of the rain.

What was more impressive? It wasn’t made of wood or stone, but magic.

Falene halted dead in her tracks when she saw it, eyes wide.

“Impossible. The amount of mana that must cost—!”

There had to be over two dozen caravans queued up to cross it already, and more were coming and lining up. Horses had to be guided up the ramp and across the bridge—which was only wide enough for two horses abreast—and over the raging waters.

Not for the faint-of-heart, especially because the bridge was slippery, light magic or not. Ylawes heard shouting from the front, and Anith hollered in his ear.

“This is where the drowned person came from! They fell!”

“The bridge is collecting water and slippery? Just add a friction spell!”

That outraged Falene again, and she began haranguing the construction of the bridge, which still looked good to Ylawes. It had railings, was a gentle slope; most [Light Bridges] were just a vertical sheet of magic or stairs at best. Even Falene couldn’t do better, and she blustered.

“Well, if I were making one like this, I could do better! Not having basic texturing to the light spell—argh!”

Someone had hit her with a staff. No, wait—a fishing rod? Falene whirled, and Ylawes heard a loud, outraged voice.

“Hah! Spoken like a [Mage]! Let’s see you make a damn [Light Bridge]! No? No!? That’s what I thought! You ponces from Wistram strutting about [Abacaxem’s Anal Retentive Friction Light Bridge] when you can’t even cast [Light]! We made this bridge, and if you don’t like it, you can make another or damn well sit here!”

The furious man raised his fishing pole for another blow, and Ylawes interposed himself between the man in a dripping, floppy hat and Falene.

“My friend didn’t mean any offense. Did you make this, sir?”

“I mean all the offense! Especially to a [Sorcerer], you brute!”

Falene screamed back, and the man drew himself up.

“That’s Sorcerer Leireit to you—oh, wait, you identified my class. Well…hah! Take that!”

He jabbed a finger at Falene, and Ylawes recognized the name.

“Sorcerer Leireit of First Landing?”

“Yes, and expeditioner to this damn magicless hellhole! Also, fisherman. I’ve had a haul in this weather! Want to cross the bridge? It’s a gold per person.”

“A gold per—”

“Hey, you don’t want to, be my guest. Enough people are lining up, and the damn wagons take forever to load and unload. Some fools are deconstructing them.”

Indeed, Leireit’s company had apparently set up the bridge days ago and were now collecting money by the bagful. Despite her outrage, Falene was intensely curious.

“How did you make the [Light Bridge] without mana, Sorcerer Leireit? I’m Falene, a Gold-rank mage. I gained a class due to the mana drain in part, and I couldn’t fathom making this!”

“Hm? What’s that? Water in my ears. Can’t hear a thing from a noisy [Mage].”

Falene took a breath.

“Sorcerer Leireit, sir—”

“Oh, that’s who was talking to me! Well, it comes from having two other [Sorcerers] and magic-users in my party. My apprentice, a buddy of mine—damn mana drain!”

Leireit was waving his pole across the river, and he had a bucket of fish. He jerked his thumb at the [Light Bridge].

“The rest? [Sorcerer] magic. I gave myself the worst nosebleed of my life forcing the magic to get it up. Nearly put myself in bed two whole days, but I’m awake now. The rest are sleeping.”

“You…forced it?”

“Sure. [Force Magic]. Concentrate hard enough and you’ll get it done.”

“That’s—not how—”

“Sure it’s not, for you. I’ve heard it all my life. ‘Magic doesn’t work like this, magic only does this.’ Well, this is a good proving ground to see whose magic works, Miss. No offense, but I still have a headache!”

Leireit was glaring, and Ylawes was blinking in astonishment. He couldn’t help but think—now there’s a real magic-user. Without disparaging his teammate…

But Falene just ducked her head.

“I am extremely humbled, Sorcerer! Truly! I don’t think even a [Grand Magus] of Wistram could do this! How are you upkeeping the mana?”

Leireit was slightly mollified. He handed her a wiggling fish.

“Here, have a catfish. You’re not so bad after all. Most [Mages] who come by, hah, well, it’s insults and ‘please let me use your bridge, inferior magic-man!’ Upkeep of mana? No such thing. We just slapped the spell down. We’re making sure it doesn’t collapse, but it’ll hold another day before it gets dicey.”

Falene’s jaw dropped.

“You aren’t even upkeeping—?”

He winked at her.

“[Place And Forget Magic]. Now, look. We’re not lowering prices unless you can sell us either fishing supplies or charcoal or coal—we’re trying to save mana on fires, and we didn’t think to bring any supplies. You’ve got a day and a half before we’ll cross and I’ll take down this spell, if the rain doesn’t let up first. That’s called [Absorb Mana], Miss Falene. They don’t teach you that at Wistram either? Well, well.”

——

To be fair, Leireit was one of Izril’s finest spellcasters. He was known to be over Level 40.

And the catfish tasted great. Ylawes got a piece of it as they tried to work out what to do.

“Even if we could afford the bridge, it’s too packed. I say we keep heading south and cross from there if we see anything. The river has to narrow.”

“Unless it gets bigger as it reaches the sea. Doesn’t it get small where it starts?”

The argument between the Silver Swords made them realize no one knew if a river got wider or smaller at its start or end. Ylawes finally broke the tie by flipping a coin into the river. Everyone watched it sink, and Ylawes rubbed at his face.

“Infinitypear? You’re an [Adventurer]. If there’s any class with luck, it’s yours. Mine seems to be not working. Flip a coin and tell us which way.”

The Antinium flipped a coin, whispered with Rasktooth, and announced.

“South, Captain!”

South they went.

——

There was a point where the river seemed to narrow after splitting in twain. Both sections of the river picked up more water and became mightily torrential, only doubled, but for one brief section, it seemed to Ylawes like the split in the river was the narrowest.

Others clearly agreed; he saw an object floating across the river as he dismounted from his horse.

“What the—”

A wagon was floating over the river! It was swept downriver fast, but the team hauling it got it to the other side, pulled it onto the bank, and rolled it up as far as they could, preparing to do it again.

What a risky maneuver! However, one of the two figures ashore seemed confident they could repeat it. They spun, and a lantern illuminated Ylawes.

“Who goes there!”

A deep, echoing voice—Ylawes raised his hand.

“Friends! We’re looking to cross! I’m a [Knight]!”

“A knight? Bah, landfolk. Means nothing to us. If you want trouble, we’ll have none here! We’re crossing. Into the water, lass.”

Someone dove into the water and swam. Ylawes cried out.

“No, it’s too fast—”

He saw the figure move downriver, then halt and begin swimming across the river without being swept away. The man standing there grinned.

“She’s got [Feel No Current]. This river’s naught a hazard to her that way. Roots or the like moving through the river, or monsters—aye. Fording here? Smarter than the others.”

“Are you a Drowned Man?”

“What gave it away, the voice?”

The figure was sardonic, but he relaxed as he saw Dawil riding over. He pushed back a hood, revealing a fin for an ear and scales. He was half-fish! His teeth were pointed as he raised an arm with fins on it.

“Aye. I’m with Joass’ Stalwart Explorers over yonder.”

“A Drowned group?”

“No, Drake. We hired at Zeres. Not all of us went to Nombernaught or hold it high in our esteems. Lucky for Joass’ city they took us; no one else has a whit of watercraft. They’d have never gotten across but for me insistin’ on good wagons!”

They’d caulked and floated the wagon, which meant sealing it so it was watertight, removed the wheels, and hauled it across the river after some of them had forded. The Drowned Folk could swim the river and had reckoned it was doable. The Drowned Man nodded.

“Name’s Brithine. I could talk to our leader for you, but I doubt he’ll want to stay and put the ropes back unless you can pay well. I think it’s not wise to linger; storms attract big water monsters coming up river at times, and a flash flood if the rain gets worse…still, this is the spot.”

“Why is it the spot, sir?”

The Drowned Man gave him a look.

“Because it’s a braid in the river. Crossing’s always easier here. Look, if you’ve no experience, don’t try to cross the river alone. I’d stay, but they’ll drown themselves without me.”

“We might manage it. Thank you, sir.”

The Drowned Man nodded and leapt in the water. He practically glided to the other side, and Ylawes saw the figures turned with one of their wagons all facing him. They had lanterns that were apparently waterproof, and they had been shining at him and Dawil, he realized.

“Probably wondering if we were holding him up. Damn, but they have good gear! Comes of working with water-specialists.”

Dawil tugged at his sopping wet beard, then turned to Ylawes.

“Reckon we should try?”

“I don’t want to sit here if we’ve got pursuers, and we’re wasting food if we camp for days, Dawil. We have to try.”

Thus began the ugliest battle with nature of Ylawes’ life.

——

It wasn’t so much the fording of the river, it was the preparations to do so. No one would enter the water without a way back out; that was the adventurer’s ethos. Seeing another body and bits of a wagon being torn down the far split in the river made them aware of the risks.

Their goal was just to reach the island in the middle of the river first, the place where the river began to split. In the harsh rains and torrent of waters, it resembled a muddy spear of land that Ylawes was amazed hadn’t been washed away in minutes. But the ground was backed by a thick piece of stone that split the waters, and he could see that yellow grass, sodden and glistening in the rain, but sturdy enough. A twenty-foot span across; wide enough to make it to the other side from.

If, of course, you got to the island in the first place. The Silver Swords were shouting, trying to figure out the attempt.

“The horses have to swim. But what I think is they’ll manage it. The trick is getting our packs and us across! Half go, half stay! We use ropes and secure each person going—even the horses!”

“Can we haul a horse?”

Dawil flexed his arms and turned to Ylawes.

“Between you, me, Dasha, and Homle’s folk, I reckon we can.”

“We’re not weak either, Master Dawil! But the ropes had better be sturdy!”

“We’ve got the ones for the tents—we can braid them through the horse’s saddle!”

“But how do we get across?”

They were all shouting as the rain pelted them. Rasktooth was meditating under a tarp with Infinitypear, and for once, Ylawes begrudged the damn Cave Goblin. Falene was pointing at the water.

“I might not be able to do what Leireit did, but I might be able to enchant us against the water! [Resist Water] on one person will let them mitigate the drag—let me consult my spells!”

“No hope of freezing or blocking the water, Pointy?”

Dawil bit his beard, and she shot him a glance.

“What do you think? There has to be a thousand tonnes of water flowing a minute! Blocking a river is the kind of thing only legends can do, like the Mage of Rivers himself! And even he’d find a more elegant solution…getting the ropes across. Hm! Let me try to levitate them!”

That was a good idea. Falene tried to use her basic telekinesis to bring a rope over to the other side, but she’d forgotten her physics class.

The rope might not be that heavy, but the further it went from her, the harder it got to control.

The river was only twenty feet across. But twenty feet of sopping wet rope? Still doable, but it was the wind and rain that kept ‘hitting’ the rope and breaking her grip on the telekinesis spell.

She failed three times before Larr, who’d been watching, snarled.

“Argh, I’m an idiot! That Nailren’s not the only Gnoll with a brain! Here!”

He strung his bow, drew an arrow, cursing his wet bowstring and bow, and fired. The arrow hit the middle riverbank, and the rope it was attached to went taut. Ylawes turned to Larr, and the Gnoll gave him a grin. Then frowned.

“It won’t hold any weight I’d trust, though, Captain.”

“My turn! [Arrow of Gravity]!”

Falene pointed her staff and missed the arrow with the magic one she’d conjured. On her second attempt, she grunted.

“There. I think it worked. How does Ceria hit things so well?”

Larr heaved on the rope.

“Eh…I don’t like it. It moves a bit, but it’d support someone light.”

“I’ll do—”

“I’ll do it! I can swim, and I’m lightest!”

Insill was up next. He tied himself to the rope by hooking into it with a little loop on his belt after handing his gear off, then dove into the water. Everyone watched as his head bobbed up, and Larr and Dasha held the rope taut.

“Whoa, it’s strong!”

“Hurry, Insill! I think the rope’s slipping!”

Falene cast [Arrow of Gravity] again, and Insill struggled across the current. He finally heaved himself across the riverbank and lay there, panting.

“Okay…! It’s hard, but we can do it! We can pull people across!”

Then Ylawes realized they should have sent Insill with another rope so the Drake could do just that. He groaned before Dasha shouted.

“Insill! We’re going to get a tent pole across with some more rope! I want you to pound it into the ground—then we’ll prop this line up! Like laundry! The second rope we’ll use to pull people, got it?”

“…What? I can’t hear you!”

However, once Dasha got her idea across, it worked! The anchoring post on both sides meant someone could cling to the rope while having another pulling them. Ylawes was quite impressed.

“That’s a great idea, Dasha!”

“Thanks! I used to have to do laundry all the time back home, and I thought, eh, it’s sturdier than holding the rope like idiots, right? Must be my Dwarven architectural heritage, Captain!”

She puffed out her chest, and even Dawil let that one go. They began transferring people across as Ylawes tied the packs to the suspended rope so they could be slid across if one side lifted their end of the rope higher.

A primitive zipline. Actually, that made Ylawes think they could just use it to go across like he’d heard of Pallass, but the tent poles were far too weak to take that much weight. Swimming it was.

It was hard at first. Dasha was next to test her idea, and she went underwater six times before Insill managed to haul her onto the grass. The more bodies they transferred, the easier; Anith swam well, and Larr went across fast with three hands pulling.

It was the non-swimmers who worried Ylawes, like Homle and Infinitypear. And the horses. With their supplies halfway across, he saw the group on the middle bank split again; Vuliel Drae was setting up another rope-chain to the far bank, while Petia hauled on the ropes.

“Horses. I’ll go with them. They’ll swim, and we’ll lock them into the ropes with their saddle. Unless they panic, they’ll go across.”

“What if we tried calming them using blinders?”

Ylawes was familiar with the practice to calm horses when they were under stress, but Petia, a [Farmer], was also familiar, and she gestured at the water.

“I reckon that’d work if it were a road, but with blinders on, all they get to focus on is the water, Captain. We could cover their eyes fully, but they might panic all the worse, and d’you want them less aware in the water?”

“Fair point, Petia. I just hope they can get through the river at all.”

She shrugged, wiping water from her face.

“We have to try. Let’s test it.”

The first horse was not happy about being driven into the water, and Falene had to cast [Calm] on it. But when it did enter the water, Ylawes was relieved to see it could swim—Dawil went in with it, paddling and shoving it along, panting.

They got six horses across like that as the Dwarf pulled himself back and forth, using his arms and the suspended ropes to avoid swimming. But on the sixth horse, an eddy or something in the water had it panic. It went underwater, and the cursing Dwarf hauled on it.

“I’ve got it! I’ve g—”

He went under too, and Ylawes shouted.

“Dawil!”

He nearly charged into the river before Falene screamed.

“Ylawes, the ropes!”

The pole was nearly being yanked out of the ground from the horse. He had to seize it, and he saw Dawil’s head appear in the water—downstream. He looked dizzy and slipped back under.

“Dawil! Someone get—”

“[Incredible Leap]!”

Insill jumped into the water after Dawil and dove into the depths. Ylawes saw him come up, and Dawil flailed as the two managed to get onto the shore at last—fifty feet downriver. The horse was finally pulled to the riverbank, and Falene wiped at her brows.

“Is Dawil alright?”

He was. The Dwarf shouted at them.

“Damn horse kicked me in the head! I’ll just—sit a moment.”

Ylawes thought he was okay. But that meant the horses needed another guide.

Insill offered to do it. He jumped twenty feet straight across the river, and when everyone stared at him, he blushed.

“I forgot I had the Skill. Turns out I can clear twenty feet. Like—ulp!”

He forgot his Skill had a cooldown and landed in the water, then had to be hauled out, but it meant securing the other side of the river would be easier.

Once they got there.

“I’ll take the horses, Ylawes. We need you on this side.”

“But if they panic—”

“I’ll hit them with [Calm]. [Lion’s Strength]. This will take most of my mana reserves, so let’s get it done.”

Falene gritted her teeth. She hauled herself into the water and gasped, but she began escorting horses over fast. Possibly, her death-glare had the animals moving as fast as her [Calm] spells. That left Ylawes with the last of his problems.

Infinitypear, Rasktooth, Homle, and Pekona.

Each one needed help, and he was worried about Homle and Infinitypear the most; you had to tread water even if you were being pulled ashore. It wouldn’t be that hard, but there were things in the muddy water, and so keeping your head up and together was crucial.

“I’m going to go with each of you across the river, understand? We’ll swim together. If you’re going under, shout and I’ll help you, but you have to swim.”

“I shall drown. I shall drown. I shall drown—”

Infinitypear was quaking with terror, and Homle was dead white.

“I can’t swim a foot, sir!”

“We’ll pull you, Homle! Just kick your feet and—”

Ylawes had to show the man how to tread water, and he went in with Pekona to demonstrate to Homle how it was done.

It was colder than Ylawes thought. And even with his armor taken off and having been shipped to the other side—he forced his body to swim as he felt ropes dragging at the little rope harness they’d made. Pekona was kicking and swimming with her one good arm next to him.

It felt like way longer than a minute to get to the other side, and Ylawes stumbled out onto the riverbank.

“There. See? No problem. Pekona?”

“Good. I used to swim all the time. Bit harder.”

She gasped, and Ylawes turned.

“How did you do six horses, Dawil? Falene?”

Both Gold-rankers gave him a thumbs up as Ylawes realized they were doing all they could. Gold-rankers. He steadied himself.

“Three more trips then I’ll do the horses.”

It got harder after that. Not with Rasktooth; the Cave Goblin had been eying the water and elected to do what no one else could: he shimmied across the wet ropes and just crawled along the entire river’s length, hanging upside-down and using just his arms while his legs draped on the rope for support.

He was light enough to do that. Homle and Infinitypear certainly weren’t.

The [Miner] was bad.

He thrashed the moment he hit the water, and Ylawes had to half-drag, half shove Homle around. Twice, Homle’s head went under, and he panicked. The second time, he uppercut Ylawes so hard the [Knight]’s head rang.

That did make Homle stop, and they got him ashore where he apologized and curled up on the ground. Ylawes rubbed at his jaw.

“Infinitypear.”

“I will die, Captain. I cannot swim. Antinium cannot swim. We sink.”

“I—what?”

Infinitypear pointed at his body.

“We do not have enough skin and fat, Captain. We are too dense. We sink to the bottom even if we try to tread water.”

Ylawes hadn’t known that. He cursed.

“It won’t be long, Infinitypear. We’ll have Falene cast [Globe of Air]—that’s an adventurer’s spell. And we’ll have you across in a minute or less. You can hold your breath for a minute, right?”

“I will try.”

However, Falene just shouted back at Ylawes.

“[Globe of Air] is too complex, Ylawes!”

“What?”

“It’s Tier 3! I can’t amend it lower—it’s meant for long underwater expeditions! Can you keep his head up?”

“Brother, we pull you fast!”

Rasktooth was shouting encouragement as Infinitypear and Ylawes locked themselves into the ropes. Infinitypear was whispering.

“I am an adventurer, I am an adventurer—”

He went still when Ylawes put his hand on his shoulder.

“I will not run, Captain. I must go with everyone, and there is nowhere to go.”

“Not that, Infinitypear. If you need a moment…you’re going to make it, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re being brave, Infinitypear. Braver than I’d be if I couldn’t swim. I’m going to be right there with you, and I’ll help you keep your head above water, got it?”

The Antinium looked at him with such trust that Ylawes felt his stomach tightening.

They entered the water. Infinitypear began thrashing, trying to swim, and Ylawes?

Sank.

——

Under the water, pushing up as he kicked as hard as he could, keeping the Antinium bobbing, and he was trying not to sink! Being pulled along as something hit his face—a root? Lungs straining, feeling the Antinium dipping, kicking harder—wanting to breathe, unable to see—

Ylawes gasped for air as they finally made it. Infinitypear coughed out water and rolled onto the ground as everyone shouted and cheered. Dawil yelled.

“Lad, you idiot! You had us scared!”

“I had…to keep his head…up. Okay. We made it. See, Infinitypear?”

“Yes. I only panic-excreted a bit, Captain.”

Ylawes lay on his back until he remembered two things:

First, they were only halfway across.

Second, he’d forgotten to yank the tent pole up and get the rope.

——

The crossing of the river took all day, and Ylawes was so dog-tired from hauling the horses across and helping Homle, Pekona, and securing the packs that he just lay there as Falene and Infinitypear made the final trip. She cast some spell that had him bobbing like a piece of driftwood, and when they made it, Insill jumped the river with the tent pole and ropes.

Everyone sat there in the rain, too exhausted to rise, until Petia spoke.

“Alright. We lost two saddlebags in the river. I think provisions and something else. Where do we camp?”

Ylawes swore he heard someone sob. Dasha? He wanted to cry too.

I hate this damn place. Curse the rain, curse the Merchant’s Guild, curse everything—

They were lost, not having any idea where they were on the other side of the river, and so wet and tired that Ylawes didn’t know if they’d make it to a campsite for the night. He lay there a second, then something split the sound of the rushing river.

“Strke! Ná! Strke! Strke!”

“What’s that?”

His head rose, and Dawil, panting and wringing out his beard, glanced up.

“It’s coming from upriver. Sounds like…shouting?”

“Or a monster. I can’t tell. I’m out of mana.”

“Everyone up—up! Saddle those horses, and get them loaded!”

Ylawes hauled himself to his feet. His body hurt from using different muscles, but he got everyone on their feet. The unknown danger was getting louder, and he tapped into his adventurer’s reserves.

It was getting even louder.

“Strke! Strke!”

It was definitely voices. But…from where? Ylawes gazed along both banks. The Silver Swords had backed away from the riverbank, but they saw nothing in the driving rain—until Insill pointed.

“Captain! Look! On the river! Are those—half-Giants?”

Ylawes whirled, and the last thing he expected to see was a light on the river coming up the current. But that’s exactly what was happening. There were huge, hunched figures glowing in the storm.

“They’re giant.”

“Back up—back up—Homle, get everyone mounted! Ready to move!”

Larr was tracking the strange apparitions with a nocked Mithril arrow. He squinted and then growled.

“Those’re no damn half-Giants. That’s a boat. But I’ve never seen the like—”

Ylawes squinted too, and the apparitions that seemed to loom unnaturally tall resolved themselves as he realized it was an optical trick.

A boat was coming up the river, indeed. It was long and narrow, and a lantern was illuminating the water ahead. It was the backlight which cast the figures paddling uphill into the air and made them appear so huge.

But even when they drew closer, he didn’t understand quite what he was seeing. Falene lifted her staff, cast a spell, and the odd shouting of words he didn’t recognize stopped. There was a call of surprise, and he saw the strangers at the same time as they saw him.

The first thought Ylawes had was that they might be [Knights]. They had enough metal on them for all but a [Knight], but none of them had plate armor. Instead, it was scaled armor, and he saw the glint of steel by their sides. But it was the helmets which threw him.

That’s not an Izrilian design. Nor one I know from Chandrar.

It was a long noseguard with no visor to raise or lower, and a guard that encircled the eyes. The helmets were largely conical, but—he glanced at two of the figures he’d taken for Minotaurs next.

Horns on the helmets? They resembled a Minotaur’s horns, but were clearly fake. Between that and the odd chanting, he was stumped until Dawil breathed.

“Grandfathers. That has to be—lower your weapons, everyone! Hey! Heeeey! Are you from Cenidau?”

There was a pause as the narrow boat heading down the river slowed, then Ylawes saw long oars rising and dipping, and the boat heaved itself up another pace in the river. Dawil kept shouting.

“[Shieldsons]? [Shieldmaidens]? I’m from Deríthal-Vel!”

Pekona started.

“Cenidau? I know them!”

Ylawes had almost no idea who they were talking about. Even Falene blinked.

“Cenidau? It’s the most northern kingdom in Terandria! You barely see them in the south, let alone—! How far did they come? And are they mad? They’re sailing up the river in a storm!”

“Yah, look pretty fast. Not tipping one bit.”

Rasktooth observed. It was true; the long canoe, or whatever the craft was, was advancing with each stroke of the oars. It was because the prow was so narrow; the river mostly slipped by, and now there was a voice.

“Dwarves?”

“Just one! Adventurers!”

“Hah. We’re headed south. Make way!”

They were halfway past the Silver Swords, and Ylawes saw the helmeted warriors straining with the oars, heaving as one to haul their boat past them.

“They’ve got to be mad. What’re they going to do with their boat when they’re done? The river runs only one way; how’d they even get it north?”

Larr was incredulous. Ylawes didn’t know, but these strangers had clearly taken the river south and were benefitting from the rains in no uncertain terms.

They were almost past the Silver Swords when Pekona cupped her hand to her mouth and shouted.

“Ey! 向北方问好!”

That elicited a response. There was a surprised shout, and the armored figures’ heads turned. One shouted.

“…Drath?”

“Yes! Greetings to the North!”

Pekona wanted to make a gesture with her hands, but she could only do half of it. She bowed, and the strange warriors of Cenidau slowed. Ylawes heard muffled voices, then another shout.

“We wish to speak! Will you allow us landing?”

Dawil and Pekona turned to him with everyone else, and Ylawes didn’t know what to say.

“Er, go ahead!”

At his words, the boat turned. It moved swiftly for the banks where the Silver Swords stood, and he saw it run onto the shore. Armored boots splashed into the water, and figures grunted. He saw the first two warriors dragging the longboat or whatever it was further onto shore, then looping something over their shoulders.

Ropes? No, straps. Then the others leapt out, and they were hauling the boat up—

They walked with it straight onto land, then dropped their craft onto the ground and strode forwards. It was such a practiced maneuver that they were ashore before the Silver Swords could blink. Another voice called out, female instead of male this time.

“We sail from Cenidau’s north! Curiosity takes us—how does a Dwarf of Deríthal-vel and a Drathian come to the same place? Some expedition for the New Lands?”

“Adventurers.”

Dawil stepped forwards, and Ylawes saw fourteen figures of varying heights, armored and carrying weapons.

Lots of weapons. Long, one-side axes he’d never seen before, throwing hatchets, a short spear on one warrior’s back, and shields. They were painted wood rimmed with metal and seemed flimsy to Ylawes, but aside from that, he’d have called this group well-armed [Mercenaries] but for their strangeness.

Which is what they were, right? Falene was whispering to Ylawes.

“Cenidau are northfolk, Ylawes. They’re usually warriors for hire or fishers if they go anywhere. Cenidau’s no peaceful kingdom; they fight and war. Taimaguros is one of the big empires up north, and Cenidau’ve lost two wars against the Dominion, but they’re prideful and used to frozen terrain. They have very picky cultures—”

“Falene. Shut up.”

Dawil growled at her, and she fell silent. Ylawes strode forward, hand outstretched.

“I’m Captain Ylawes of the Silver Swords. We are adventurers. Gold-rankers. We’ve been exploring the New Lands and just crossed the river. We apologize if we’ve interrupted you.”

A huge man as tall as Ylawes strode forwards and clasped Ylawes’ hand before drawing his grip upwards until it was vertical. He bumped into Ylawes’ chest, hard, but it didn’t feel like an attack.

“No apologies. The river’s fast. We’ll be forty leagues south before night takes us. Gold-rankers. How’d you cross the river?”

“Ropes.”

“Ropes? You swam that?”

A female voice as one of the Cenidau warriors jerked a thumb over her shoulder. She laughed when Dasha nodded, which made the Dwarf flush.

“Hey, not all of us have fancy ships!”

The female warrior barked back, mouth grinning from below that odd helmet.

“Don’t take offense, Dwarf. Respect. It’s a stupid idea to cross a river in a storm.”

“Thanks? Is she insulting us or complimenting us?”

Dasha turned to her team, and the woman grinned.

“Both. So. Are we talking, trading, or dying?”

Ylawes felt his neck prickle as the man who’d stepped back regarded him. The warriors didn’t seem to be reaching for their blades, but they stared at him. He coughed.

“…Talking?”

“Good. Just checking. Hah! It’s a threat here!”

One of the other warriors buffeted the woman across the shoulder.

“One day your tongue’ll get us all killed, Styrvi.”

“Not today. So, let’s talk. What of? It’s wet, and I’m hungry.”

Styrvi folded her arms, impatient. Ylawes felt like he was completely on the wrong foot. He glanced at Dawil, and the Dwarf tugged at his beard, appearing mystified. He hadn’t claimed to travel much in Terandria, and clearly, he only knew Cenidau vaguely.

“Er, what’s good to talk, friends? The weather? The river’s halted all traffic. What’ve you seen?”

The Cenidau folk rumbled, and one of them spat.

“I’m waiting in the boat. Wake me when we’re done.”

He stomped over to the boat and threw himself into it, putting his feet up on the seats. Dawil bit his lip, but Pekona burst in breathlessly.

“Warriors, have you slain a Landshark? We’ve killed one and seen a migration of glowing bugs. And giant snails!”

The warriors turned to her, and the tall one grinned.

“The shark-things? Not yet. Too many to fight, eh? Snails? We have seen their like crossing the river. Strangest sights. We hauled eight nets of fish one night on the river. Such a gathering—each net filled with fish at least this long!”

He held out a hand to his other elbow. Larr made an incredulous noise, and the man grinned wider.

“Levels leave me if I lie. A northman’s vow on it, Gnoll. What else?”

“Well…we saw the Plain’s Eye tribe entering the New Lands a few days east of here.”

Ylawes faltered, but Pekona was peering at him, and there was a weird cadence to how they were talking. The warriors glanced at each other. Another man called out.

“Some interest. We met a strange group of Drakes in the hills north of here. Singing. Friendliest of this land so far.”

“Singing Drakes? Those have to be Yoldenites.”

Dawil snorted, then tilted his head.

“Aye, let me try, then. Sounds like we’re doing some kind of custom we don’t know, friends. Would you say that seeing the moon crack is worth the talk?”

The Cenidau warriors looked at each other, and one of the warriors yanked off her helmet and revealed blond braids and a scowl.

“Do you think we’ve all lost our eyes, Dwarf? How’s that your news to share? What should I say? It’s raining?”

Laughter from the group, and Dawil threw up his hands.

“Argh, I’m trying!”

“Hold on.”

Falene thrust a hand up and tapped her lips. She seemed interested by this intellectual diversion, probably since it was the first she’d had in a month. She pointed up, and Ylawes couldn’t see the cracked green moon, but the half-Elf’s eyes glittered.

“Dawil’s right. That’s our news to share. Because the moon cracked when the Goblin King emerged. Did you know of that? And even if you did—it’s still our news, because the Goblin King emerged in a place we know. The Wandering Inn, Liscor. The moon cracking might have something to do with our friends too.”

The warriors recoiled when she mentioned the Goblin King with cries of alarm, which told Ylawes they hadn’t any news he’d emerged. Then they began scoffing.

“I’ll fill my helmet with your drinks for those lies, half-Elf!”

“Not lies, truth! We were with the Plain’s Eye tribe, where we had access to scrying spells. We were all at The Wandering Inn for months; we know the [Innkeeper]. That’s where the Goblin King emerged.”

There were barks of disbelief, questions, and their leader held out a hand. He gazed at Falene.

“Is he gathering an army?”

“He’s dead. There was Goblin Lord—also dead—some kind of Draconic Titan, and Dragons. It’s a story longer than we can tell, friends, and I’m damn wet. But we’d be happy to furnish you with the tale.”

Dawil offered. The Cenidau warriors glanced at each other, and the one resting in their boat sat up.

“We’re getting no drier, and there’s nothing else to be seen this far. Camp, Thker?”

The tall man mulled it over.

“So be it. Silver Swords, we’ll camp with you and share our fires and stocks a night if you’ll tell us what you know. Have we a deal?”

He held out his hand again, and Ylawes hesitated.

They didn’t even know this group. Then again, Pekona and Dawil didn’t seem to regard their nation as dangerous—but it was a large nation. Then again then again—

“Do you know anywhere dry around here?”

“No.”

Ylawes’ face fell, but the man called Thker pointed westwards.

“We saw some hills that way. Evor.”

“[Locate Shelter]. Aye, that way. Three miles. Good fortune. Let’s march. You coming?”

They trooped back to their boat and heaved it up with those curious straps. It hung between them as they turned and began to march. Ylawes eyed his team. They had no notion of where to go, and the word ‘shelter’ had Ylawes imagining somewhere they could hang a tarp to be dry without Falene’s magic.

She didn’t even have enough mana for a fire spell, he bet. So after a second, he motioned to his party.

“Let’s go.”

——

The company of Cenidau’s warriors was at first more novelty that kept one’s mind from the harsh trekking than anything else.

After all, this was no fit moment for conversing. The rain was coming down so hard that no one could hear a thing.

If they’d had to go more than an hour in this, Ylawes thought his group might revolt because it was a miserable trek in the rain, and they were exhausted.

However, three miles? That was doable.

Shelter pushed them on, and the sight of the odd northfolk carrying a literal boat between them made one’s burdens seem a bit less arduous. Certainly, Ylawes was watching the armored men and women out of the corner of his eye and paying more attention to that than his aches and pains.

He didn’t know if he could trust them, and perhaps the same was true of them. He heard low murmurs from them as the two groups moved towards said hills, which were not the largest…but to Ylawes’ gratification, were stony! Tall bluffs the size of Invrisil’s buildings, thick and squat, overlooking a flooded lake that might be fed from tributaries that led from the river. However, the gravelly rocks leading up to the hills were well above the water line and also clearly the product of erosion as the hill fell to pieces. Hollowed out by the sea currents long ago. Which meant a cave; Ylawes saw the huge hollow opening, and his spirits lifted at once.

The moment Evor saw it, he grunted.

“Large enough for two hundred with ease.”

“Windy. Open as a Giant’s asshole.”

One of the women put in. Ylawes stared at her as chuckles arose, and Evor nodded.

“Better than searching elsewhere. Here we camp. With guests, ‘twill be good enough.”

So saying, he produced something from his hip: a warhorn, then blew it. The long, echoing note had Ylawes reaching for his sword hilt. He saw a glint of eyes from one of the shorter warriors’ helmets.

“Twitchy, [Knight]. Think we’ll gut you in your sleep?”

“I apologize. We’ve had some danger on the road. If we’re all people of honor, I have nothing to fear.”

Ylawes let go of his sword hilt, and she tilted her head.

“Aye. Fair enough. [Knights] sound like that the world over, it seems. Well, let’s set the camp up. You take that side of the cave, we this?”

The Cenidau folk were wildly outnumbered by Ylawes’ group, but he didn’t argue. Half the cave would do.

“Everyone, get inside. We’ll need firewood…damn. Let’s figure it out. Dry off, first, and we’ll break out rations.”

They didn’t have anything to burn aside from the tent poles, which were a bit beat up from their river-crossing, but that would mean wasting their last tents…at least it wasn’t an issue tonight. The problem was that this particular area wasn’t the most lush in trees; the New Lands weren’t in general, and aside from the coral-wood, Ylawes couldn’t make out any forests in the dark.

The rest of his party were as tired as he was, and Farmer Petia had to kick people up as they trooped in and tried to just sit. Some of the colonists moaned at her.

“Hey, move it.”

Some of the colonists moaned at her.

“Petia, dead gods damn it—”

“We need to organize. Sleep along the walls, unless you want everyone to step on you?”

There was a gust, and the rain sleeted inwards into the cave, and everyone groaned; it was not so deep you’d avoid the rain if the winds came against the cave wrong.

“The far wall. We might need to set up tents after all, just to keep dry. Someone help me put a tarp over there.”

“For what?”

“Changing clothes, Yellat-brains.”

“Oh.”

Ylawes was grateful for her help; he was investigating their food stocks, but their saddlebags were a jumble, and fire was his big concern. However, one look at Falene told him it was going to be flint and tinder.

Her face was waxy, and Dawil had strapped her to his pony as he helped her slide off.

“Our half-Elf’s all tapped, lad. Let’s get some food in her before she turns into a leaf or some such.”

“I’ll turn your beard into leaves, Dawil. Just you wait. Some food wouldn’t go amiss, though.”

Everyone turned to Rasktooth, who was one of the better [Cooks]. He scratched at his belly, dubious.

“Eh…we get fire? I not see much food. So…rations. Where our bags? There some nice bread that not getting any drier.”

It was only a bit stale, and the rain would turn it moldy in another day if it wasn’t already. Ylawes’ stomach rumbled only for Petia to call out.

“Lost it in the river.”

A groan. Larr looked like a wet furball, but he gestured unwillingly to the cave entrance.

“I could see if there’s anything in the lakes worth shooting, Captain.”

“Don’t do that.”

All three Gold-rankers replied instantly. Ylawes rubbed at his face.

“When it’s raining, water monsters are in their element and often hunting. We don’t know what’s down there, Larr. Let’s just have rations. Rasktooth, start portioning things out. And, uh, we should talk to our new friends after a meal…”

He’d almost forgotten the Cenidau warriors, hungry as he was. The fourteen warriors were, to his surprise, not even in the cave yet. They’d dumped their boat at the cave’s entrance, where it was actually an obstacle to entering or exiting. And as he turned his head, they came back in, arms full of…

Rocks. They dumped them in the center of the cave and began kicking them around. Fourteen arms of rocks made a rather large circle they built up—a firepit.

“Huh. We could share a fire. Er, excuse me—”

Evor glanced over as more warriors trooped in, this time bearing a second load of resources. Wood, now.

Proper wood, clearly from trees. And wet.

Sopping, really. Ylawes’ heart sank. He might not have the most bushcraft experience, but the rains meant, without firewood, they’d have a hell of a time lighting the fire. And it’d be far too wet to burn properly. Even so, he trudged over.

“We can help chop some wood, though our [Mage] is out of mana.”

Evor glanced at him and nodded as Thker squatted around the fire, tossing a sack of something heavy down. He had a smaller bag at his side—some treated hide, glossy and neatly-stitched up. Evor jerked a thumb.

“There’s a copse that way. Follow the others. We’ll see to the fire.”

“Sure. Dawil, Dasha, Larr—Homle, some of your [Miners], let’s get some wood. We might need a lot.”

Wet wood did not burn well, and Ylawes reckoned they’d be fine if everyone got a big armful, but the groaning group strode out of the cave and into the rain. Ylawes could barely see anything, even the lake below.

“Where’s the trees?”

He shouted, and one of the warriors struck Ylawes’ shoulder as she passed.

“There. Follow.”

Styrvi, the shorter woman, strode off, and Ylawes followed. He quickly found the trees she was talking about; they were odd, thick-branched trees that reminded Ylawes of oaks if you refused to let them grow half as tall as regular oakwoods. It gave them a very dense, very wide canopy that meant underneath the trees it was almost dry despite the deluge.

Cutting the branches seemed the most expedient; the Cenidau warriors were hacking at the limbs with their axes, and here, at least, the Silver Swords contributed. Styrvi was cursing at a tree limb she was chopping at when Ylawes’ Gravesword bit deep into one branch. Two swings and he was through.

“Giant’s blood, is that mithril?”

“Enchanted.”

“Here? Chop it up if it’s that sharp!”

He did, and she snapped off branches with her foot as he hacked logs apart. Styrvi seemed ready to get him to do all the chopping when there were more exclamations and a crash of wood.

Dawil had just cut through six branches and was hewing them to pieces. A glint of metal in his fingers: his axe fragments. This time, Styrvi stopped dead in her tracks.

“Real Dwarf steel. That a knife?”

“No. Broken axe.”

“Broken?”

She turned to him, then bent down and began to grab pieces of wood.

“Tell it later; we’re wet, and I’m hungry.”

He was glad to know he wasn’t the only one, as confident as they seemed. That was the word for it, Ylawes realized. Confident. The Cenidau warriors trooped back to the cave, and by the time they were back, shedding water—

There was a fire.

“How in the world…?”

Ylawes was astonished to see a bright, glowing fire burning as Thker sat next to it, pushing the wet wood as close as possible to dry out. Rasktooth was sitting across from it, very impressed.

“He have magic stones, Captain! He put down, add a bit of oil, and fwoosh! They burn well.”

It looked like embers were already burning in the fire. Ylawes stared down at the black briquettes turning grey and thought he knew what it was…

“Coal?”

A grin from Thker. He was adding more wood to the little coal pile he’d set ablaze.

“Aye, that’s right. Nothing else burns so hot so easy once you get it going. Light enough too. Compared to damn firewood. D’they mine it here? Not many fancy Terandrian nations do. All magic furnaces.”

He spat into the fire, eliciting a crackle, and Ylawes sat, edging close to the warm flames. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“House Byres, my home, mines. Coal’s not worth that much except as cheap fuel. No value in it, as you said. Isn’t Cenidau cold? I’d imagine you’d have warming spells and fire magic.”

Thker was mixing something up. A lot of something; he dumped powder into a large hide bag, added a sprinkle of whatever it was from the small, waterproof one, then took a long swig from his drinking flask before pouring it in too. Then he closed the bag and began to scrunch it all up as he talked.

“Sure, there’s magic. Until it’s so cold it extinguishes flame spells. Ever seen that?”

“Can that happen?”

“Giants step on me if I lie. When it’s at its coldest, it becomes pure magic. Kills fire spells and fancy [Mage] enchantments. The only thing that saves you in those freezes is a good place with thick walls. Or to dig down into the snow. Coal fire. Saved my life more than once. It gets cold enough, you’ll have every creature not born of ice with you. My grandma, she once was caught in a true freeze. Dug herself down twenty feet because the wind was so freezing it took skin off each time it blew. Lost four fingers on her right hand before she got the fire going. Just her, a little hole in the snow as she was digging out a place to sleep—and then all the animals started coming in. Arctic foxes, a damn seal—even a polar bear and her cubs. So cold they all came for the fire.”

It sounded like a tall tale, but the fire was growing as Thker added more wood, and now he had a pot that one of his people had lugged over and filled with water from outside. Thker had built a little stand to hold it over the fire, but he’d also found a flat rock and positioned it close to the heart of the roaring flames. Now, he opened the bag and revealed a not-too-wet mass of…

Dough? Ylawes blinked as Thker tasted a bit of it, hmming.

“Not fully risen; I forgot to mix it this morning. But I’m hungry.”

So saying, he flattened a bit of dough into a circle, pressing it flat, then tossed it onto the stone. It began to smoke at once, and Ylawes’ stomach rumbled harder.

His stomach had been a poor, mostly deprived thing these last few weeks. Ylawes had thought he and his stomach were hardy, enduring sorts, but he hadn’t realized that he tended to eat fairly good no matter where he went. Bags of Holding…

His stomach had taken to the New Lands poorly, but after starving, even the tuber-worms had been edible, if not welcome. It had resigned itself, again, to sustenance with less emphasis on taste, but the first scent of cooking bread made Ylawes’ stomach sit up.

Wait a second, fresh bread? We can get that even in the wilds? Thker grinned at Ylawes’ expression. He had tossed more pucks of dough onto the little baking stone, and now he turned one over; it was already crisping, a few parts blackened, and he squirted something onto the stone.

A bit of oil—and he had a pot of gold.

Butter. He spread it on the first piece of bread he yanked off the stone, then took a bite. It crunched, and he chewed.

“Aye, that’s good enough.”

“Thker, you bastard! Stop filling your face! We’re hungry!”

Styrvi had seen him and stormed over; he swatted at her as he began adding more pieces of bread to a plate—his round buckler.

“You want to eat, you cook, Styrvi. Make me some fancy nobleman’s dinner while you’re at it.”

“I’ll feed you your own liver—”

“Styrvi! No fighting around the food!”

Evor roared, and she backed off, but Thker was moving faster anyways. Someone had been dumping objects into the cauldron now bubbling on the fire. Ylawes peeked at that, and it wasn’t a thin stew, but a dark, rich brown color. Rasktooth was adding handfuls of their stocks, and he nodded at Ylawes.

“Is good soup, Captain.”

“Why’s it brown? That’s not dirt, is it?”

“Nah, nah. Is these little cubes the Gnolls gave us. All dry, uh…stuff.”

“Stock. Chicken bouillon. Too strong t’ taste on its own.”

One of the warriors advised Rasktooth, who had nibbled on a cube. He made a face.

“Very salty. Very clever. You is add water and hublab.”

He waved his hands to indicate flavor and such. Ylawes cleared his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind us sharing the pot? We have supplies, and I trust you’re being generous, Rasktooth.”

“Oh yah. I put in all the good stuffs.”

It seemed like they were sharing plates, and the soup was getting very appealing. Evor clearly agreed.

“Let’s eat, damnit!”

He reached for a pot only to get a kick.

“Not yet, fool. The soup takes time, and Thker’s not got enough bread mixed. Where’s the Eir Kelp lines?”

“Here.”

Someone tossed a long, well-used cord of odd, purple stuff over, and another warrior grabbed it and began tying knots around the final piece of the meal that had Ylawes’ stomach finally sit up and start begging.

Fish. They had fish! The fish were slit open and covered in a light sprinkling of…dust? He smelled spices, but instead of frying them in a pan, the woman just threw them over a little spit and had them dangling over the roaring flames.

Bread, soup, and fish all cooking at the same time. The crackle and scents of the meal had the Silver Swords’ party all clustered around, giving the cooks’ space, but mouths watering. And, at some point, the howling rain had stopped coming in.

When had that happened? Ylawes had been sitting with Thker, and he’d thought the storm had let up, but when he glanced outside, it was howling worse than ever! But the three boats stacked up in front of the cave were forming a literal wall that only let someone edge out if they needed to pee—

Wait. There were three times as many Cenidau warriors here! They were gathered around the fire, stripping off armor, removing helmets, and adding more ingredients to the pots—the fish had, in fact, come from one group who had brought it.

“How did they—?”

“They started showing up just after we got the firewood, lad. Remember that horn blast? That fellow, Evor, must have told them to come this way.”

They’d been split up, but been able to find each other—and if the Silver Swords had been dangerous, the other two groups would have quickly come to the first’s aid.

Clever. Evor was standing with his group, and now it was Ylawes who wondered if they might be in danger. However, Cenidau’s folk had given them no signs of threat, and Evor strode over with something in hand.

“Captain of the Silver Swords. Time to eat. We share this fire as friends. We call it, in Cenidau, the Traveller’s Pact. If we kill each other tomorrow, so be it. But no one breaks the pact once we’ve taken the first bite of food and the first drink. Here.”

He had a piece of Thker’s bread in hand, and he thrust it and a tankard of all things at Ylawes. An extravagance, but when Ylawes sniffed what was in it, his jaw dropped.

It was liquor! Some kind of mead or ale—Ylawes blinked.

“Are you sure? We don’t have any stocks of drink—”

Evor grabbed his arm, and Ylawes was conscious of everyone watching them.

“Drink with me, Captain. We’re hungry, and neither side’s safe until we do. When we sit as friends, we share what we have, eh? Or are we all Drakes?”

“Hey! Okay, he’s right.”

Insill’s voice filled the silence, and Ylawes listened to the voice of wisdom: his stomach. He took one bite of the bread, and it was hot, chewy, and so delicious he felt tears springing to his eyes. Then he took a gulp of the drink which turned out to be a mead, almost sweet.

Sugar. After so long—he realized Evor was standing there and handed the man his mead, embarrassed because he’d had almost half! The warrior took down the rest of the tankard, then laughed and took a bite from the bread.

“To the New Lands of Izril!”

There was a clash, and Ylawes jumped, but it was Cenidau’s warriors striking their helmets and shields. Then Styrvi leapt up and charged the fire to be first in line for food. She nearly ran slam-bang into Falene, who already had a bowl and was licking her lips. Everyone began pushing forwards, then, and Evor casually took another bite of his bread.

“Now we’re friends—there won’t be much more of this, so just a dram since we have to wait.”

He produced a small pot, winking at Ylawes, before pouring a bit of it over his flatbread. Then he added it to Ylawes’ bread.

Honey.

The two men ate very slowly as the press of hungry bodies around the fire began to ease, and Ylawes finally got a half of a fish, a bowl loaded up with steaming soup, and another piece of bread. From Pekona. She brought it over; he insisted on feeding her his meal, and she did the same for him. They were giggling like children, and Dasha and Rasktooth, who’d joined them, eventually left, rolling their eyes at the silliness.

Thker worked at the fire, eating and chatting as people sat down, and more soup was added. Buckets of water sloshed into the soup, and then the [Knight] saw Insill waving at him with delight, chewing nonstop, and he thought to himself—

Cenidau. Who knew the northernmost kingdom in the world was so good at surviving?

In hindsight—it was a bit obvious.

——

When the frenzy of eating had slowed down, they got to talking. Because, as promised, Cenidau was fascinated by The Wandering Inn and any information on the Goblin King that the Silver Swords had. The Silver Swords, accordingly, found themselves swapping for information the Cenidau warriors had in a very odd trade.

One side would ask questions, direct the flow of conversation from the other side, and then it would be the other’s turn to ask. The teller was the one expected to be honest, clear, and to elaborate when needed.

Of course, they didn’t believe all of what the Silver Swords said about The Wandering Inn. When Ylawes tried to describe Erin’s exploits or how she connected to so many major Izrilian events, they laughed at him.

“You’re trying to charm Giants out of the mountains, as many tall tales as you’re telling, [Knight]!”

One jeered at him. Pekona raised her sword, and there was a tensing—but she just held it up.

“It is not a tale! On the honor of Drath, I swear I was at Zeladona’s trial. I have her Skill. Who here would face me and bear my blade’s cuts?”

That silenced them. A few of the northfolk shifted, but a hand from Evor made them quiet. He stared at Pekona.

“You’re from that moment. Aye. And though it chilled my bones to see those two in the rain and storm, like a nightgast had wandered amongst the living and pretended to be a person—”

Everyone shuddered, but he gestured to Poke Duo.

“…That’s no lie either. Antinium fellow. What’s that spear you carry?”

“Hello, I am Infinitypear. This? This is the Spear of Pear Stabbings. It used to be Spearmaster Lulv’s. Is it a good bona fide?”

People had to get up to stare at Infinitypear’s spear and test the Adamantium head. Fifteen warriors nicked themselves on the blade and swore as they felt the magic before they were convinced. It also broke some of the tension they had; no one had exactly gotten near Rasktooth or Infinitypear.

But that was the power of the inn. The inn, Ylawes realized, which had gone from a no-name building on Liscor’s outskirts to a worldwide name.

“So that young woman was the same one who fought the Wyverns and had that Antinium on Pallass’ walls? Bird the Hunter? The same one, I said, that fought those moths that eat faces?”

Thker was excited and surprisingly knowledgeable about Erin. When Dawil confirmed it was the same person, he elbowed Styrvi hard.

“Told you.”

She punched him back, and Anith raised his brows.

“The fact that you know so many moments is extraordinary to me. Cenidau is the northern-most kingdom of Terandria, but you’re so…aware of Izrilian affairs.”

They laughed at him, not without a trace of bitterness. Evor took a gulp of water and spat into the fire.

“Izril had all the television; what else is there to watch? Wistram, they covered none of our moments. Not our fights with Taimaguros, nor our great moments or tragic—”

For some reason, he glanced at one of the older female warriors, but the woman just called out as the room went silent.

“It sounds like a Giant’s tale, but sometimes, they’re true. Sometimes, the mountain does speak, and only a fool claps their hands to their ears and claims it was an earthquake. So let’s listen.  Tell us more about what you know of this Goblin King, Adventurer.”

She gazed at him, and they listened. Ylawes told them all he knew, which was not much. A Goblin King had lived and died, and his beloved inn was part of it. This was the moment where they should be rightfully skeptical, and he was prepared for it as he saw a frown on every face, dissatisfied with a legend of destruction being wrapped up so neatly. But then Ylawes added the last bit.

“I don’t know what happened, truly. But when I am finished here, I will go back to that inn and ask what happened. What I missed. Whatever they tell me, I will believe. I was not there; I wish I had been, but I believe the Goblin King appeared and died. When I return, I’ll ask them to explain it all to me, even if they tell me the sky fell when I wasn’t watching. It’s just that kind of place.”

The northfolk regarded each other, and Ylawes was conscious of Dawil, Falene, his team, all glancing at him, and he feared he’d said something wrong or offensive. But his half-Elven friend smiled with genuine approval, and Pekona leaned over.

“Sometimes, Ylawes, you say very stupid things. Sometimes, you say things just right. It must be House Byres luck. Which is sometimes better than Doombearer luck, even.”

He coughed, redfaced. It was just a Skill. But then they kept talking, and the northfolk were warming as rapidly as the cave as they began to tell the curious Silver Swords about themselves.

——

The north was not all empty tundras, but if you wanted to get from any settlement to another, you had to be prepared. Over the dinner and long night in the cave, as they sat, warm and dry and bellies filled with food for once, Cenidau’s people got to talking with the Silver Swords.

They were far more gregarious when they were camped, probably because they’d struck the Traveller’s Pact. But also, it seemed, because this was a good time for talking.

“This land’s nowhere near as bad as the far north. We came ready for anything—losing our magic hurt, but we knew the dangers. Food, fire, shelter—if we have that, we have a future. You Izrilians didn’t bring any of it, truly?”

“We had some of it. Just not the, ah, nuances.”

Homle was defending himself to the warriors, who were all apparently of similar classes. A mix between [Warrior] and [Traveller]: [Shieldmaiden], [Hearthguard], [Tundra Fighter], [Shoremen]—completely unique classes to Ylawes.

No, hadn’t he met Briganda…? But this was an entire culture where she had only had the class. Much like him, actually.

“Nuance. Like what?”

Evor sat around the fire, legs stretched out. He was wearing his armor, scale and chainmail, and looked ready to sleep in it; they all had fur sleeping bags, and some were rolling into them, those that didn’t want to chat. Homle took another sip from his mug.

The northfolk had given everyone a mug of drink. Not a full one, but it made everything far, far more pleasant. Ylawes had no idea how they could give out so much, but friendship and hospitality were very important to their traditions. Homle gestured at Evor’s gear.

“Well…I suppose we were all ready to set up farms and such, but we didn’t have more than firewood. And we had plenty to build with. Just not…”

Homle waved a hand at the setup the [Hearthguard Leader] had on him. Knives for skinning and hunting, waterproofed satchels for carrying, water skins, a gear kit to repair and maintain his boots and armor.

Waterproof hide—waterproof objects were very handy. Jars of spice mixes. A bag for pre-mixed dough for bread. Coal, a dousing rod, even a jar of animal blubber?

“What’s that for? It stinks! That better not have been in our food.”

Larr was protesting as the northfolk showed off their equipment, laughing at the tools that the Silver Swords were carrying. Not with pure scorn; one of them gave Pekona’s whetstones a double take, and the sight of Infinitypear’s spear had everyone begging to try stabbing something with it.

“This? Just animal fat. I’d not eat it unless I was desperate—and there’re times you are if you’re becalmed at sea. But I use it for keeping my armor clear of rust. Lasts for ages unless it’s damned rainy, as it is today, or you go rolling in the muck.”

Ylawes had been scratching at a bunch of spots on his own armor, and he sighed longingly. Evor noticed his look and held the jar out.

“We’re all travellers sharing a fire here. Need some?”

Ylawes hesitated, because there was sharing a fire, taking a man’s drink, and then there was using someone else’s armor polish.

“Well, I wouldn’t turn any down, but I couldn’t impose that much without a fair trade, Evor.”

A grin, and Ylawes saw the men and women turn, and their faces filled with the same smile. He shifted as Evor produced a final trinket from his packs.

“Fair, fair. I’ll dice you for it, aye. How about…that dagger of yours? Silver n’ steel, is it? It’d look mighty fine in my collection.”

There was a pause, then Styrvi poked Pekona and gestured to her whetstones. She judiciously put down a pot that turned out to contain raspberry jams. And then Ylawes was introduced to another custom of Cenidau.

——

“Gambling is a sin, you know. It’s one of the things I never thought I’d do before I turned thirty, or forty, even! That and sex.”

Ylawes was horrified by the dice game that had occupied a space just away from the fire. He confided his worries to Pekona and Dawil, and the Dwarf muffled a snort.

A passing [Shieldlad] had taken a drink of his mead, and he choked on it before laughing so hard he stumbled and nearly fell into the fire. Even Pekona was mildly aghast.

“But it’s just dice, Ylawes.”

“It’s a virtueless act that breeds vice. My father always…”

Ylawes hesitated.

“He has played cards before, and that sort of thing is acceptable between other men, but not excessive sums. I’ve stayed away from it, right, Dawil?”

“Like a reformed [Drunkard] avoids bars, yes, lad. You have. But the Cenidau crowd’s been nothing but generous to us, and so long as no one’s wagering anything important, why not let it ride, eh?”

Dawil rested a hand on Ylawes’ shoulder, and the [Knight] hesitated. He was of a mind to put a stop to it, but he hadn’t been quite able to say ‘enough’. And his two friends didn’t hate it. It was just…

Gambling.

“Well, it is their custom. So long as it’s just trinkets…maybe we should watch. How does it work?”

He had a vague notion of someone rolling a pair of sixes or ones and that being good or bad, or laying down a full hand of cards in a bar and someone else pulling a knife in outrage, but Ylawes was a bit curious. Dawil stroked his beard.

“Looks like it’s a non-magic dice set. Makes sense. Some variant of Dragon’s Gambit? I don’t know; it’s been years since I had a good game with actual stakes. I know that stresses you out, lad. Let’s see and, uh, make sure no one’s betting anything after all. Those northfolk want our best stuff.”

Indeed, the purpose of sharing their gear earlier had clearly been to check out what was worth having, and now both sides were wagering for the other’s possessions.

The problem was that Cenidau’s warriors had a lot to trade. They didn’t want to give up their weapons, or even throwing weapons. Rather, they were betting real valuables.

“This is a wrapped wheel of cheese. We bought it off some [Traders] on a ship we passed heading south. The seal of freshness’ gone, but I reckon it’s as good as it’ll be until unwrapped. I’ll wager it for that belt buckle you’ve got; mine’s no good. I’ll even throw in the buckle if you lose.”

“Hm. Let’s see it…deal!”

Homle was down to gamble, and Ylawes groaned as he saw other items going into the pot. A jar of strawberry jam, a pair of metal tweezers from one of Petia’s people, a trio of gold coins—

It was all relative worth, but the gold was the least appealing option in the pot and actually ejected after some debate. Tweezers to pull out a thorn in one’s foot?

Valuable beyond belief. Ylawes was glad most of his people weren’t rushing to gamble their things. But that was, again, Petia.

“No one’s gambling food or anything that belongs to the group. And on your head be it if you lose something important! This lot might have gambling Skills and rook all of us!”

She warned everyone, loudly, and Evor laughed as he rattled some bone dice in a cup.

“Not us. Nor d’we like such Skills. We can [Sniff a Rogue], right, Albraad?”

He nudged the fellow who wanted Homle’s belt buckle, and the warrior made a show of sniffing, then jerked a finger at Insill.

“Besides that one, they’re clear. Right, here’s how the game works before we play. Can’t take a man’s belt buckle without winning it nice and honest. See these dice?”

They had five. Evor showed people the sides as he tossed them out of the cup onto the stone floor.

“You toss them like so. Toss it too far and out of sight and no one trusts it—no rerolls. It’s just gone. Each face means something. The best face to roll’s a kraken. See? Roll the kraken and you take another player out, unless they roll a sailor on their turn. One in six chances of each.”

“Ah, gotcha, and so the last one standing takes the pot?”

All the northfolk shook their heads instantly, and Albraad held a hand out.

“The last one standing takes one item out of the pot. Game ends too quick with too much bad blood, otherwise. This way, it’s interesting. Someone else is going t’win and you’re not? Maybe throw the game if you know they’re after what you don’t want, and they might help you next round.”

“Help you? Are there sides?”

Insill was very curious despite being the dirty [Rogue], and Albraad grinned at him.

“Only the ones you make. It’s a free game. Help someone, hurt someone—you see, roll a kraken and you can take someone out. But roll a wolf? And then whomever has the most wolves on them at the end of the round is also gone. Each player can toss a wolf at someone, and you’re like to roll wolves far more than a kraken or sailor.”

More than one face of the die had a wolf. Insill protested.

“Wait, it’s like a group vote? So you can take sides and team up? That’s not fair.”

“Spoken like a Drake!”

All the Cenidau folk chorused and fell over each other laughing. Insill wilted as Evor shot them a warning glance and explained.

“Ignore them. They’re giddy to meet real Drakes after so long at sea. Antinium too.”

“You’re rather calm for people who’ve met Antinium for the first time. Goblins as well. I’m in this game, though I’ll want a practice round as well as explanations.”

Homle seemed like he was used to such games, and Ylawes stood on the outside as the [Miner] sat, and they chatted. Albraad had everyone roll dice, and the person with the most wolves got to choose if they went first or last; there was also a value to that, too, given that they’d go in a circle.

It was not so much a game of hard numbers and the best roll, more one of being social, Ylawes realized. Falene said as much as she came over, nursing her drink.

“Wistram hates these kinds of games.”

“Why, not enough magic dice that explode in your face, Falene?”

Dawil grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

“No, because they’re social games that you can’t win by being the best at through learning the system’s mechanics or manipulating the odds, Dawil. Half of my peers don’t have the charisma to buy a drink at a bar.”

“Ah, well, you are above-average for a Wistram [Mage].”

“Thank you, Dawil. I’m glad you noticed.”

The Dwarf turned his head and made faces at Ylawes and Pekona, and they had to fight to avoid laughing as Falene watched, oblivious. Homle was chatting as he played with five others.

“How’d you make it across the sea this far on those little boats?”

“These’re not the ones we used! We have a longship. It’s like this, but, well, bigger. Sails and all. Still a dangerous journey, but it was worth the risk.”

All the Cenidau folk nodded, sombering a bit.

“We lost five on the trip here to the storms and monsters. But it’s the journey of a lifetime. We’d have had larger ships and gone with far more, but—well—we wanted to be first.”

For some reason, Albraad glanced at Styrvi, and there was a slight pause before he hurried on.

“Right, now you go. Ah, you’ve thrown a shield.”

“So?”

“So you can pull a wolf off of someone. Fancy making a friend?”

Homle obligingly saved Albraad from one of his wolves, and the man slapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

“So how’s a [Miner] end up with Gold-rank adventurers?”

Homle gladly launched into the story of the Silver Swords, and Ylawes’ stomach tightened, but the [Miner] did a reasonably fair job of presenting the Consortium’s point of view, and his, which had been to stick it out until things were too dire. The northfolk shook their heads again. Half turned to spit into the fire.

“Madness, not to take enough to hunt with. We grow so little in the north we didn’t think to try. Izril truly is a strange place, but worth the travel. Few, few Drakes or Gnolls ever come as far north as Cenidau. After seeing so much of the world on television—we had to come. Meeting an Antinium’s been a dream of mine.”

Albraad’s eyes lit on Infinitypear, and Homle blinked.

“What about Rasktooth?”

“What about him? He’s a Goblin, isn’t he? We saw a few of those, too. The one playing the guitar at the inn…”

Numbtongue. Ylawes had to interject here.

“You don’t see Goblins as monsters, Warrior Albraad?”

The man had a thick orange beard he scratched, thinking about it.

“If I saw one on the tundras, perhaps—but like as not we’d pass each other by. Too risky to fight out there. One wound and we’d both freeze if a True Frost were to blow through. I’ve seen a few Goblins. Fought a few. One’s not more dangerous than any of you.”

“Hey, I plenty dangerous!”

Rasktooth objected, and the [Tundra Warrior] grinned at him. So, it was a mix of pragmatism and experience then.

“You want to play, Goblin? I’ll wager you for one of those crossbows. Even my second-best axe.”

He proffered a steel blade, and Rasktooth hesitated before shaking his head warily. As it turned out, he was carrying something the Cenidau folk prized the most: machinery.

“Metal can still freeze, but it’s more reliable than magic. It’s why we did well enough, here. Speaking of—another drink for those brave enough to dice!”

More of the precious mead was in the cups that Homle accepted with a huge chuckle before frowning.

“Hold it. How can you have so much of that? Did you carry fifty kegs on your ships or are we drinking you out of everything?”

Albraad lifted the wineskin he’d been pouring into cups and grinned.

“This? [Wineskin of Barrels]. Three, if I’m a judge.”

“You’ve got a wineskin of holding?”

Homle exclaimed, and another [Hearthguard] laughed and produced something else.

“You don’t? You’re like southern kingdoms, then. No Skills for travel. See this? [Bag of Slow Rot]. How do you manage here without Skills? Practice finding caves?”

“We don’t find caves, mostly.”

“What? Do you sleep out in the open?”

More genuine horror. Thker slapped his chest.

“I have [Locate Shelter], but every party that leaves one of the Warm Cities has someone like me. You don’t have anyone like that…? What about [Sense Resources]? That’s how we found the firewood.”

No and no. Ylawes was patently embarrassed as Homle glanced at him, but Dawil just shook his head.

“That’s not part of our classes, friends. Me and the lad—Ylawes—we’re fighters to the core. Adventurers.”

“You’d think adventure meant being better at finding things. I suppose you don’t have that class, then.”

Styrvi commented, and Infinitypear waved his hands.

“I have the class! Perhaps I will gain a very useful bag-Skill!”

In any other circumstance, Ylawes would have called Albraad’s Skill a useful novelty, but a waste of a potential ability. Here—he was patently envious of their abilities, which allowed them to do everything they were already capable of.

These people are the kind who’ll thrive in the New Lands. That was it, he realized. They reminded him of Nailren. And, he knew, he wasn’t the only person who thought the same way.

“Captain Byres, a word?”

Petia was watching Homle losing his belt buckle, and the [Miner] was laughing good-naturedly with Albraad as she motioned Ylawes aside. Pekona, Dawil, and Falene casually stepped back, and Petia spoke.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to tell you what to do, sir—”

“No, go on, Petia. Did you have a thought? Something we should gamble for?”

Ylawes hadn’t seen much that they didn’t need, though he wished he could get some of that animal fat. But Petia was glancing at Evor.

“No, rather, Captain…do you think we could join these folk for a bit? Between their Skills and all they seem to have packed, it’d be far more reassuring.”

More than crossing a river without any experience, she meant. Ylawes rubbed at his chin.

“That’s not a bad idea…but I’m sure they’re exploring, and I don’t know what their goals are.”

“Let me figure it out, lad. Pointy, got anything to trade?”

“Argh…a haircomb. Don’t you have anything?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to lose it. Thanks!”

Dawil strode over to the game, and Falene would have hit him with a spell if she had any mana left. But Pekona strolled over too, and the two sat down. Dawil wagered the hair comb and drew in more players for the next round, and Pekona put one of her whetstones into the pot, and a dozen warriors queued up. So many that they had to split Dawil and Pekona off into separate games.

“That’s a Drathian whetstone. We trade with Drath, far as they are. Most things from there are worth any coin. And you…d’you know the Drathian [Swordsmaster] who fought Zeladona of blades? Or the one who fought that undead Drake at the Village of the Dead?”

The northfolk knew television, and when Pekona turned red and ducked her head, everyone wanted to win her whetstones off her. Her being the [Sword Dancer] from both events had the northfolk with eyes round as gold coins for once.

Dawil was laughing and telling stories as Ylawes hesitated, watching.

“Aye, we know the Horns of Hammerad. You’ll never guess it, but one of us is related to the Horns! Any guesses? Why are you all looking at Ylawes and Falene? Damn it, I could have been Pisces’ uncle or second-relative…question while I have you all. What’re you here for? The Silver Swords are mostly searching for employment, but what brings Cenidau’s folk so far?”

He put the question to Evor, who sat back on his haunches and glanced, again, at another woman in his group. She spoke, and Ylawes realized she had grey in her hair. Just a touch, but it made her older than the rest.

“What else but to see what these lands hold, Adventurer Dawil? I’m Rigalde.”

“Pleased. Then you’re exploring. I think you didn’t find anything of note, or did we do our introductions wrong?”

She chuckled.

“You did them fairly enough. We like our customs, and we’re wary because not every group’s been hospitable to us. Even the other Terandrian kingdoms treat us like savages. We’ve seen delights, but no wonders. Not yet. Save for a strange bird made of ice, but we kept our heads low when it flew. It seemed far too dangerous for us to take on.”

“Huh, you’re more cautious than I’d thought. The stories of Cenidau warriors we get, and the ones who visit Deríthal-Vel for gear, play into that wildness. Brave, hardy folk ready for a drink and a scrap.”

Dawil was being his most charming and rolled his dice out, cursing when he got nothing of value, but Rigalde just grimaced.

“You met [Hearthlords], then. Or maybe a Wisdom or some merchants who play into the image. We’re common warriors, even if we’re not [Linewomen] who just fight for pay. We have neither the riches nor the levels to slay monsters like adventurers. Killing walruses and selling their meat, hides, and tusks is pay enough for us. There are other ways to make coin, but monsters in Cenidau are seldom easy to slay.”

“Fair enough. Say, did I hear there was a drink for anyone betting out here?”

The game went on, and Ylawes saw how even if you weren’t a good player and able to count wolves or guess who might roll a Kraken and what that would do to the game balance, being well-liked was value enough.

Dawil lost a round, and Rigalde took the whetstone from Pekona, but Dawil was able to bow out and return the haircomb to Falene after another round. Pekona, surprisingly, stayed in.

She lost a small whetstone after the second round, and only luck itself let her win the third round—she plucked the jar of animal fat and dashed out of the group, clutching her remaining whetstone to her chest.

“Ylawes, here.”

She showed him the jar of animal fat, and he took it.

“Wait, for me? Pekona—thank you.”

Falene rolled her eyes, but she had been watching the games themselves. She left and came back with Evor, who glanced at Ylawes.

“I should have known better than to doubt Mage Falene’s words. We owe her all these drinks. To think you are all so related to the stories that drew us south…you could bet your autograph or your dagger in those games, Miss Pekona. But I was told you had an offer for me, Captain? Let’s hear it, though I’m only first among equals. My group and I decide as one.”

His voice was loud enough that Thker, Styrvi, and Rigalde all glanced up. Ylawes stopped hugging Pekona, red-cheeked.

“What? Oh, yes. I was simply wondering if you’d care to journey together as long as we’re headed the same way, Leader Evor. Your group is pleasant company, and we’re simply roaming in search of work. We’d share food and resources, of course!”

Homle perked up where he sat, and so did most of the colonists not sleeping, but Evor visibly hesitated. He glanced at Thker, who shrugged, Styrvi, who held an instant thumbs down, Rigalde…

Her slight shake of the head and mixed, mostly negative gestures from Evor’s group told Ylawes the answer. Evor glanced back at him and shrugged.

“It’s not personal. Don’t take it like a Taimaguros fool or Kaazian, Captain. I was starting to like you all.”

“What? Of course not. I completely respect your decision. But may I ask why?”

Evor relaxed a bit. Possibly, he had been worried Ylawes would be insistent. He scratched at his neck.

“To be honest as a Giant, it’s not to our favor. Your group will march slower than ours, horses or not. Binding our paths together means we’re on foot, not able to use rivers. And also, it seems to me we stand less to gain by sharing what we have.”

He meant the food. Ylawes protested.

“We wouldn’t ask for this hospitality twice—”

Styrvi broke in loudly.

“But we would. D’you think we’d want to eat better than you in plain sight? We share like brothers and sisters or not at all. We can’t haul dead weight, especially in dangerous lands, [Knight].”

“Styrvi, enough.”

A slightly unpleasant silence fell as Evor snapped, but Ylawes just nodded.

“All this is quite fair, Evor. Thank you for your honesty, and we understand. In truth, we are rather unprepared for the New Lands. This was boon enough.”

The [Leader] eyed him, then snatched up Albraad’s drinking skin and emptied it into a cup. He took a swig and then shoved it at Ylawes.

“Argh! Another toast to friends, however short we meet! You’re far more pleasant than [Knights] I’ve met!”

“Oh, I’m hardly—thank you. Actually, we met the Thousand Lances of Kaaz, so you’re the second Terandrian group we’ve seen!”

Ylawes drank, embarrassed, and Evor stopped. His lips twisted, and he spat into the fire, which was now dying a bit, a bed of coals. Rigalde muttered.

“Far more pleasant indeed. Was any of our kin there? We have one or two in them, I think.”

She didn’t know? It was a huge point of national honor—when Ylawes shook his head, she shrugged.

“Best to stay away, then. We’re but northfolk to them. It’s more amusing to be just another group of Terandrians in the New Lands than to be Northfolk in other kingdoms back home.”

That soured the mood enough to have some warriors turning in to sleep, but a core of both sides kept dicing away, not always for items, just for fun. Ylawes wasn’t actually that sleepy anymore, despite his full belly; this conversation and the light of the fire, whose smoke was swept out of the cave into the rain, was so enjoyable he didn’t want it to end.

“[Smoke-led Fire]. Damn. We could have really used their company.”

Dawil was sighing as they made up their bedrolls. Pekona helped clean Ylawes’ rusty armor—the sections that hadn’t been made of good enough silversteel—as Falene muttered.

“There has to be a way to change their minds. In the morning, I’ll cast some magic. That might persuade them we’re worth it.”

“We can manage without them. Cenidau is tough and cold and…but we did fine.”

Pekona was trying to be a voice of optimism, but Dawil and Falene just glanced at her. They didn’t give her the cold shoulder. Rather, Dawil rolled over so he was facing her.

“Pekona, I admire that perspective, but we’ve been drowning on land these last few days, and the storm’s not letting up. Even for someone who can sense a place to sleep, I’d trade anything but my broken axe. We know when we need experts, and right now, they’re the people to convince. Do you know anything that might help?”

Pekona sat down, picked up a length of her black hair, and stuck it into her mouth. She began to chew on it.

“Um…um…back home, they sometimes come to the islands. Selling Everfrozen Ice, horn and hides, things of cold. They like our pills and elixirs and magic. As Leader Evor said, they want—what’s the word? Well-made things more than even magic.”

“Quality. Yep. You don’t have anything they’d want?”

Falene was muttering to herself.

“Cenidau. Cenidau. I vaguely recall something about their hospitality customs. It’s clear they value them quite a lot. They treat friends like boon companions, hate being in debt…the Taimaguros Dominion’s won two wars against them, but it’s hard to take the north and hold it. Maybe if we offered gold…?”

“No Merchant’s Guilds around, Falene. How’d we get them to trust that?”

The Silver Swords were sleepy, and Pekona was wiggling into the bedroll as Ylawes stood there, yawning. It would be so helpful to receive their aid…he glanced back to the dicers and saw Infinitypear and Rasktooth playing.

But the two were far too cautious to bet anything of value; they were playing for shiny stones and a bug that Infinitypear had caught with a few warriors who wanted to chat. That was good.

“No one bet anything important, did they?”

“Homle’s pants aren’t going to thank him, but no. I don’t think so. The man was born to lose at dice, but he never bet his axe. Nor did the Cenidau folk take second glance at anyone’s weapons. I heard one of ‘em even telling Petia to sharpen her spear more.”

Dawil grunted, and Ylawes glanced at Homle’s axe. Then at Petia’s spear.

Mithril. He began to strip off his now-oiled armor, putting it in a pile, as he stared into the rain past the barricade of boats.

So clever to use them as a literal wall. Cenidau understood how to survive. If only…

He wished Erin would summon him to her [Pavilion of Secrets] right now, or Mrsha would appear out of the air and impress Evor and his crew so much they decided to join with the Silver Swords for a few days.

Erin could get people to do anything. It was that endless charisma he lacked. Oh, he tried to be good, and sometimes people did his team favors, but Ylawes couldn’t turn to someone, change their lives, and have them fight side-by-side with him with no questions asked. Erin could, but that’s because she offered people something Ylawes could not.

Meaning.

Hope.

Redemption…

A bit of wonder. He couldn’t give Evor and his people anything but a bunch of less-experienced people to drag along. Ylawes tossed, turned, nearly rolled over Pekona, and she jabbed him with an elbow.

“Ylawes. Stop rolling. It’s too hot.”

He rolled over to the left, apologizing, then sat up. This time, Pekona’s sleepy, messy head of hair revealed a baleful glower.

“Ylawes…”

She tried to snatch back the bedroll he had pulled off her, but the [Knight] was getting back out, dressing himself. He fumbled with their things, then stood there.

I could get Dawil to…one look at the Dwarf, who was combing his beard out with his personal comb before he slept, then a glance at the dicers and Ylawes hesitated. Then he strolled on over.

“Er…hello. Could I play a game?”

Thker glanced up as Rasktooth lost one of the shiny little riverstones. He motioned Ylawes to sit.

“Sure enough. Got anything to wager? Naw, naw, just a joke. First you play, then we take your valuables.”

There was laughter, and Ylawes realized Styrvi was sitting around the dying fire as well. Evor was watching, drying his boots by the fire, and Rasktooth grinned.

“You feeling lucky, Captain?”

“Not of late, but I, uh, I’ve never gambled before. I’d like to try.”

It was a very guilty feeling Ylawes had, but he’d watched the game so many times that he thought he knew how to do it. Playing was far more nerve-wracking than he thought, and the other players laughed at his nerves as he had to give someone his wolves the first time he rolled.

After that, he found out that he was not a very good gambler. Ylawes didn’t have a good sense for the game, and he was far too honest. The second time Styrvi asked him to support her in ousting another player, then turned around and stabbed him in the back the next round, Evor got up and came over.

“We rise at dawn, so this will be the last game. Turn out your pockets and put something good in. We play until the pot’s empty.”

He caught Ylawes’ eye and added.

“It doesn’t need to be anything valuable. It’s traditional.”

“Oh. Oh, we must put something in that is good, Brother.”

Infinitypear and Rasktooth conferred, then solemnly put in a huge, red feather they had gotten from some bird around Liscor and a hand-carved dagger made out of one of the Landshark’s teeth from Rasktooth. It was good enough for Styrvi to yank out a boot-dagger and Thker to add in a half-jar of cane sugar. Evor himself tossed in a spare buckler as one of Petia’s farmers, a Wolbrin, put in a bottle of Velrusk’s Claw he’d bought from Plain’s Eye. The last [Arctic Fighter] put in a lantern with a long lens. When Evor frowned at him, the man protested.

“I’ve got a spare. It’s a fine tool to see far with. Glass and iron, forged in Cenidau’s own smithies.”

It seemed Poke Duo had won enough friendship to make this pot one to actually matter. Ylawes himself dithered for a while before tossing in a long, thin piece of battered metal. Styrvi scoffed, but Ylawes gestured at it.

“It’s good metal. Trust me.”

“Fair enough.”

Evor swept the dice up, kicking Styrvi before she could sneer, and among the Northfolk, perhaps only Thker was sober enough to notice Poke Duo and Wolbrin all turn to Ylawes for a second before they bent their heads to play.

The final game was quick because they were tired, but it didn’t end with the first victor. Thker hesitated before he swept up Rasktooth’s knife.

“So I can say it was from a Goblin and a shark that walks, combined.”

He grinned as he flashed it at Rasktooth, then bowed out of the game. However, Evor picked up the cup and handed it to Wolbrin, who was second-last.

“We roll again until the pot’s empty. That’s how the game’s played. Northern Fates, with a change of possessions for all.”

Ah. Ylawes relaxed, and the second round played on. It was Infinitypear who won. The Antinium made a show of inspecting the various items, and he peered for a long time at the bull’s-eye lantern which he had taken a shine to. But then he reached for the long sword blade that Ylawes had put in.

“Infinitypear, you should take the lantern. I can see you want it.”

Ylawes forestalled the Antinium before he grabbed the blade. Infinitypear eyed Ylawes, and Evor nodded.

“Bad luck to take something you don’t want.”

“Oh, well, if you say so, Captain…yay! Yay! Brother, look!”

Infinitypear claimed the lantern and ran around with it excitedly. Rasktooth cursed.

“Damn. Okay, I want that dagger, then. Or sugar.”

On they played. The items began to vanish one-by-one as Wolbrim hesitantly claimed the buckler, and Rasktooth decided to take Thker’s sugar for cooking. Then it was just Evor and Ylawes going for Styrvi’s dagger and his unpolished, tarnished sword blade.

Ylawes rolled his dice out, hoping for more Krakens than Sailors—or more Wolves than Evor’s Shields, the only way to win at this final stage when it was one-versus-one. Evor grinned as he rolled three Krakens and the group groaned good-naturedly. Ylawes rolled a single Sailor and one Kraken and stood.

“I think that’s game.”

“Aye. And I think…I’d rather not smell Styrvi’s boots the rest of my days! This will do with some sharpening.”

Evor hesitated, then bent down and snatched the odd sword blade that Ylawes had added. He blinked as he flipped it up in his hand, and it rotated past his head. He had to snatch it out of the air with an oath.

“Giant’s—this is light!”

He frowned as he swished the sword blade around, then inspected it. Ylawes took the dagger and thrust it into his belt, trying to sound casual as his heart hammered in his chest.

He could be very, very wrong, in which case he’d own his mistakes, but—he glanced at Evor as Thker and Styrvi turned.

“That? Well, yes, it is. Take care of it, Evor. We didn’t have time in Goisedall to buy hilts nor sharpen it properly. We might have to lend you a blade; not even Pekona’s best whetstones will give it an edge.”

He was conscious of some of the Silver Swords sitting up, and the other Northfolk were waiting for the fire to be extinguished. Some of them sat up as Evor tested the blade, trying to flex it.

“This…isn’t steel. What metal is it?”

“Mithril.”

It was Rasktooth who breathed the word, and that one name, the magical metal, filled the warm cave with something else. More figures sat up, and Evor froze, the blade in his hands.

“Impossible. Mithril’s brighter than the moon on snow. And lighter than…”

Styrvi snatched the sword blade and recoiled as she felt how light it was. Like holding a feather. And she could not flex it with all her strength. Evor barely could when he tried so hard his biceps stood out on both his arms. Even then, the flex was so subtle…

It’d never break. It’d take a year of swinging to even dull. Ylawes thought of the Thousand Lances. A blade fit for the greatest living [Knights] of the modern era.

“You put that in the pot?”

Evor demanded, incredulous. Ylawes shrugged again.

“I was told it mattered. Call it fairly won, Evor. A gift between friends. I’ll treasure Styrvi’s boot knife. It might keep away as many foes as that Mithril blade will.”

She choked, and Evor saw Ylawes hold out a hand. The [Knight] stood there, unarmored, blond hair a mess, blue eyes shining with all the naïve earnestness of a golden retriever. The [Hearthguard Leader] blinked at the leader of the Silver Swords, then he threw his head back and laughed. He held the Mithril blade, gazed down at it, and laughed harder.

Thker joined in, and he leaned against Styrvi, pointing at Ylawes.

“Look—look at that idiot—what kind of a fool gambles Mithril on a final game of Winter’s Fates?”

She was working her jaw, incredulous, but then a look of hilarity stole over her expression as well. Ruefully, she began to chuckle. Then the other [Arctic Fighter] started snorting.

“That blade lying there when we nearly kicked him out for not filling the pot! And here I took the feather!”

Then they were all laughing. At Ylawes, as other warriors cursed and sat up or demanded to know what was so damn funny at this hour. When they saw the blade, they began to laugh as well.

“Ylawes?”

Pekona was worried as she got out of her bedroll, and Falene was groaning, trying to smile. However—Dawil was stroking his beard and hiding a smile, and Anith was grinning. Ylawes Byres, that silly doofus, stood there, hand stretched out until Evor seized it.

“Argh. And here’s me thinking that there was nothing more to you than another [Knight]! When they bring stories back home, I’ll tell them to speak of you, Ylawes Byres! An Izrilian’s cunning! Friends. We must be friends, or you’ll have to kill me for a [Robber]!”

He bumped shoulders against Ylawes, who remembered to do the same. Evor turned and tossed the sword at another member of his band.

“Let’s get a hilt on that in the morning. In the morning! Or else we’ll not sleep a wink! We set out at dawn, mark me!”

He spun and pointed at the Silver Swords. Evor’s teeth flashed ruefully.

“Suddenly, I don’t think it’s too much of an inconvenience to share Thker’s bread, eh?”

“If you’re sure, Evor…”

Ylawes spoke innocently as Dasha sat up with a gasp of delight. The [Hearthguard Leader] just snorted.

“Westwards! We’ll share a fire at least four days or unless we see something worth splitting over. Now, rest!”

He threw himself into his bedrolls as a chatter rose, then died down. Ylawes walked back to his bedrolls, and Dawil threw his comb at him.

“Lad, you’re practically a Reinhart with all this deviousness!”

“Ylawes, did you just trade a Mithril blade for—?”

“For guidance and friendship, Falene. I did. We have more pieces than we need. Or do you think it was a bad idea?”

She hesitated and glanced at the Cenidau warriors. Then she lay back.

“Well, no. I would have just given him an axehead. They love those. Very traditional.”

Ylawes grinned as he lay in his bedroll. Pekona stared at him, then sat down. They whispered.

“Very smart, Ylawes.”

“Thank you. I just thought, well…other cultures. Honor means a lot. I’ve met Calruz. Cenidau’s like that.”

“Mhm. It’s very smart. Like trapping someone with their own honor. Back home, it would work sort of like that. Good job.”

He felt excellent. Ylawes turned, and they kissed. They were just warming up as the fire died and the rain poured on when someone threw a boot and nailed Ylawes and Pekona from across the room.

“Hey. None of that when we’re sleeping together.”

The two jumped, and Dawil and Falene sighed in relief as she took her fingers out of her ears and he yanked his helmet off his head. Ylawes and Pekona apologized to the laughter and jeers, then lay there very chastely until everyone went to sleep.

——

Ylawes thought he’d not stop blushing the next day, but thankfully, everyone wanted to try Evor’s new blade, and they’d realized the Silver Swords had more such weapons.

Traveller’s Pact indeed. It saved the Silver Swords from worrying about losing a blade, and more than one of the other groups tried to lure the Silver Swords into a dice game to win another piece, but it was all business that morning.

Some of the remaining bread and soup was breakfast, with a porridge of water and lump of sugar or taste, or just dried meat. The boats were being taken down and each of the three groups of Cenidau warriors was heading off, again.

“We’re bound westwards. Don’t stray too far. We’ll meet at that bluff of rocks where the river splits around it if we hear nothing from each other for two weeks, agreed?”

Evor conferred with the other two leaders, and a woman with huge scars on her arms from fighting a ‘polar bear’, whatever that was, nodded.

“Safe travels. We’ll visit these Gnolls, if only to sing with them. Silver Swords, may we meet again as friends! Follow the Giants!”

The other two groups departed the cave as Evor’s team turned to the Silver Swords. He grinned as they packed up their gear, then gestured. It was still raining, though there was a lot more visibility with the daylight.

“Well then. Shall we?”

Thus began the Silver Swords’ time with Cenidau’s warriors. The rain did not let up for four more days, and the terrain grew more rocky as vegetation disappeared and the landscape resembled some kind of stone-blasted world of odd, tall columns of rock and black sand. It was not easier on the feet nor any drier from above.

But somehow, it was so much better for the company.

——

It was a mentality thing. Ylawes was used to mostly silence in the long treks each day—it had been so exhausting first escaping from the New Lands that they had needed every breath of air to keep going.

Even afterwards, the rain meant conversing was hard. Evor’s people joined the Silver Swords, but unless they were walking right next to each other and half-yelling, no one could carry on a conversation.

“Thker will locate us a shelter in the evening! Until then, we march! This ground is hard—not fit for life! Best to pass it if we can!”

Ylawes nodded.

“I agree, Evor! Have you ever seen the like?”

To his surprise, it was Rigalde who nodded.

“A few times! It reminds me of lands around a volcano! All stone like this. I wonder…if this came from the sea’s floor, if it were the same! It makes for unpleasant footing, but we’ll fear less monsters unless one hides amongst the gravel!”

That was a boon; Evor’s group were not ignorant of the dangers. They marched, carrying their longboat with those odd straps, upside-down so water would not collect in the hull. It looked heavy, but between fourteen, they seemed able to move fast enough.

The straps on the ship confused Ylawes until he saw how they worked. Each warrior could cinch it up to their shoulders, adjusting the length of the fabric. That way, they could all carry it at an even level; otherwise, their disparate heights would have meant shorter members like Styrvi would have to strain and bear more weight or they’d be carrying it unevenly the entire time.

It was just one of those things that spoke to the Cenidau group’s experience, and so, Ylawes gladly let them take lead. Evor set a brisk march, not beyond reason, especially if the Silver Swords could trade off, and they set across the long, flat terrain. There was nothing for as far as the eye could see; just black gravel and, sometimes, distantly the hills that stood out, mounds of rock not yet ground into tiny pieces.

Bleak, unforgiving, but Ylawes’ spirits rose slightly at such an odd landscape.

I cannot imagine living here, but dead gods—I will never see the like again, perhaps. Places so few had ever witnessed. He walked with a will.

——

Four hours later, Ylawes’ feet hurt. The gravel was not pleasant, and the landscape had lost some of its appeal.

Fair enough. The Silver Swords looked a bit footsore and tired too, despite their fine night. Well, staying up so late had probably taken a bit of a toll as well, as had the drinks…but Ylawes’ main worry was falling behind Evor too much.

To his surprise, this wasn’t the case. Evor and his party set a dogged pace that was a nice clip, but they called breaks with good regularity. Ylawes supposed that the literal boat they were carrying along had to tax even seasoned warriors.

…Or was there something else in it? Larr was plucking rocks from his sandals and grousing, loudly, at their third rest stop.

“Damn stones! I hate this part of the New Lands! Unless all the stones are filled with gold, no one’s going to live here!”

He had a poor choice of footwear, and Anith, who was bare-pawed, seemed just as sick of it. Falene came over to enchant both’s feet with a minor [Tough Skin] spell to their relief.

“It might be a day of walking. Pace yourselves. Are the horses doing okay?”

“They might turn a hoof given the terrain, lad, but they’re good animals the Gnolls sold us. If they start to flag, we’ll rest. That alright, Evor? I know it’s not the pace you want.”

The [Hearthguard Leader] turned.

“Hm? That’s fine, Dawil. We’re moving quick enough. Ready to go? Styrvi?”

He nudged her with a boot; she was sitting down, and when he kicked her again, she growled.

“I’m ready, damn it! Go bother Thyke! When’s lunch?”

Lunch would be welcome. They did in fact stop for it after only two more hours, but Ylawes thought he saw another odd thing when they paused to break out travel rations—no fancy cooking.

Styrvi, Rigalde, and two other of the warriors were distinctly more tired than their counterparts. Thyke offered Styrvi his water flask, and she gulped it before tearing into some dried jerky—and she was sitting while Evor and two others strode ahead, hunting for game or anything else in this odd place.

“Lad, the stones here are very strange. Times like these, I wish I was actually as good with metal and stone as everyone thinks I am. Not much in the way of interesting things, but we’re checking out those stone columns. Want to come?”

Dawil jogged over, not looking much worse for the weather. Ylawes waved a hand.

“I’ll stay under shelter, Dawil.”

‘Shelter’ being a very small umbrella spell that Falene had cast to keep people out of the rain. Dawil ran off, and Pekona eyed him.

“How is he so energetic?”

“Level 30 [Warrior]. You’re not doing so badly yourself, surely.”

She glowered.

“Not…badly, no. But not as good as that.”

Ylawes himself didn’t feel like running after Dawil, and Infinitypear and Rasktooth had an endless bounty of energy, but there were advantages to being a [Warrior]. He was only footsore and fine despite the trekking with armor on. But as time wore on, the effects grew more noticeable on the civilians. And—some of the Cenidau warriors.

——

It was only the women. At first, it wasn’t that noticeable; just maybe a few more complaints when they went to rest, more sitting than standing, but by the time they were halfway through the day, it was clear to Ylawes that Evor, Thyke, and the men were doing well, but Styrvi and the other women were not.

Why on earth was that? Their classes sounded almost identical. [Shieldson], [Shieldmaiden]. However, Styrvi was so visibly tired by the sixth stop that Ylawes saw Thyke try to take her strap from her so she could walk without dragging the boat. When she snarled at him, he let her have it, but Evor’s team was tiring, if not at the same rate.

What was even more apparent was that Evor, Thyke, and the other warriors would rather keep trekking on without acknowledging it, even when it was obvious. In fact, they seemed grateful every time Homle or Petia requested a stop for the civilians.

“Dawil, you see that, right?”

“Sure do, lad. Looks like they don’t want to talk about it. But it is odd. Remember Briganda? She was as tough as any Gold-ranker. Her class is the same as theirs, isn’t it?”

“I think so. [Shieldmaiden]. Or [Shield Maiden]? I’m not sure, but it’s a kind of [Fighter] class that uses…a shield. That’s all I’ve got.”

Why were they flagging? Whatever the case, as the sun was beginning to set, it was abundantly clear that everyone was tired, and Evor called out.

“Thker! Shelter, I think! How far?”

The man obligingly cast around and grimaced when he got an answer.

“…Twenty-one miles, Evor. Due west.”

“What?”

Styrvi snapped, and Ylawes groaned with the others. Evor just sighed.

“His Skill finds the nearest thing that qualifies as shelter for us. Sometimes with trouble in it…but it must mean this place is as flat as it comes. We might have gone north or south to get around it. We march. Up, everyone, up! If we’re caught in the night, it will not be pleasant!”

True enough. Ylawes heaved himself up, and they began to march harder, now. In that respect, it was no more fun than the other days, was it? Except that as they began the hardest part of the day’s toil yet, Evor looked at his crew, then glanced at Ylawes and called out.

“Argh. Captain Ylawes, it’s no good.”

“What is?”

Was this already too much for their relationship? Friendship over, go find someone else to bother? Ylawes turned, a bit apprehensive, but Evor just grunted.

“We’ve been trying to put on a tougher face than we have. But you march well enough—we may have taken you and this land for granted. We need to raise our spirits and move faster. We’ll do what our people know; don’t think it’s an attack, eh?”

“Er, whatever you need to do, Evor. Of course.”

What did they intend? Ylawes watched as the Cenidau warriors nodded at each other. Rigalde produced something as they slowed just a step, and he saw a little object nestled in the crook of her arm.

A…drum? It was very compact, but when she slapped it with the palm of her hand, it made a deep enough tong. She began to strike the drums, setting a beat just a bit faster than their current pace. Accordingly, the fourteen warriors sped up.

That one’s going to be hard to copy. Ylawes was glancing at his teammates; even Infinitypear seemed tired by now, especially carrying Rasktooth. He was about to tell Evor to continue to the camp if they flagged when the man opened his mouth and bellowed a single word.

“Strke!”

It was no word that Ylawes knew. It was more of an exclamation than anything. The [Knight] jumped, and then he saw the rest of the thirteen explorers from Cenidau thrust their fists into the air.

“Strke!”

They marched faster, and Evor glanced over his shoulder. He raised his fist again as Rigalde struck the drums.

“Strke! Ná! Strke!”

It was some kind of chant. His crew echoed him, shouting every fourth step. They advanced another yard ahead of the Silver Swords, and Ylawes turned to blink at Dawil.

The Dwarf raised his brows, but then they were following Evor’s group, drawn into the pace of those drums. And the Cenidau warriors were marching faster.

“Strke. Strke. Strke!”

Now, Ylawes remembered when he’d met them for the first time yesterday—that’s what he’d been hearing on the water! They were marching and chanting, heedless of the sound they were making.

But it wasn’t…a Skill. Was it? It didn’t sound like one. Nor did it really look like they were gaining in stamina or going that much faster. They were just…

Ylawes felt like shouting a word at the top of your lungs every four steps should make it harder to carry a heavy wooden boat, and maybe it did. But something else made up for it, and that was just…morale.

Nor was it something only Cenidau was allowed to have. Ylawes only realized there were more than just the fourteen voices when he heard a familiar pair of voices shouting behind him.

“Strke! Yah! Strke!”

Rasktooth was punching a fist into the air and shouting in time with Evor’s people. So was Infinitypear. Ylawes almost told them to knock it off when he saw Thyke grinning. The warriors from Cenidau clearly didn’t mind the two little [Adventurers] singing with them. Quite the opposite.

And then Ylawes heard a breathless voice shouting behind him.

“Strike! Hey! Strike!”

Dasha didn’t quite get the wording right, but she was shouting with the others. And—Ylawes saw some of the colonists hesitate. As if embarrassed. Then Homle thrust a fist into the air as he hefted his pack.

“It’s a damn mining chant! Hear that, lads? Strke! Strke!”

His people took up the call, and then—

——

The Silver Swords and Cenidau warriors were marching across the black sand that mixed amidst the gravel of the same color. Volcanic stone inhospitable to almost all life.

Almost all life. Camouflaged creatures hunted the sands for prey that only lived here, and they sensed the new life and quested through the ground towards the two parties. But the strange sounds made the potential predators halt.

It was a shout in the air, from dozens of lungs, and the thump of massed steps. Like some multi-legged beast weighing a thousand pounds and with fifty pairs of lungs.

Uneasily, a twenty-foot eel slithered deep into the sand, avoiding a clash with this strange beast. Its kin followed suit.

Another beast of the gravel, whose body resembled the very rocks with a huge, round head of rough boulders and teeth of grinding stones, was wary, but still hung around. But then, when the continuous chant stopped and they began to sing, it backed up.

Whatever they were, they were big enough and seemed to move and act like one thing. Safer to eat the eels, not risk a new threat.

So onwards, the Silver Swords marched.

——

Singing. Chanting that word from Cenidau had a strange power that had to last at least an hour. By the end of the hour, Ylawes was shouting it with Pekona—and they’d been some of the last to join in, including Falene. It had been embarrassing, at first, but then Ylawes had found himself swept into the rhythm.

There was a strange exhilaration in just shouting that word en-masse with everyone else. Especially into the vast emptiness around them. But even that had to fade in efficacity, so what came next?

Well…

Songs. The first to sing was Evor, and he had a baritone voice and sang a song in the common tongue that Ylawes had never heard before.

The saga of a woman who went searching for the last Giant of Frost and sailed across the world to find him. Only to realize he was slumbering, the very mountain under which she’d lived all her life. He was joined by Styrvi, Thker, and Rigalde played her drum softer.

Then—

Ylawes didn’t know how to answer the silence after that first song, but two members of his party did. Rasktooth answered with a high-pitched lullaby that only he knew. A Cave Goblin’s song. Then Larr sang, embarrassed, but bringing a song from the tradition he recognized as similar to Cenidau’s.

Songs. Ylawes wished he had any to answer with after Styrvi led a reply-song from Cenidau, again. He knew House Byres’ anthem of course, but Dawil and Falene had told him it was the most embarrassing song in creation and he knew it didn’t fit here.

House Byres didn’t…have a great history of songs. Not songs you could sing without accompaniment. He would have called these drinking songs, but they weren’t quite. They were something else.

And there were no songs that the two groups had in common. Dawil knew some songs, and so did Falene, but the two were singing at each other until everyone seemed to recall that one song they surely would all know.

The only one that fit.

Great Plains Sing.

“So when my fur calls 

Me to seek the heart of stories.

To brave the world’s danger 

And lay eyes on sights unseen

Chasing long lost trails

Of our trials and our glories

To find the heart of stories sang to me.”

—The song drank up his exhaustion and turned this bleak, unending wasteland into an adventure. Ylawes’ ill-used imagination conjured a flying Gnoll and visions of grand vistas. Ramparts and ancient palaces rising out of the ground like he’d imagined as a boy, reading Tales of Adventure and Woe.

He forgot his tiredness, the weariness of his journey, and the circumstances that had forced him here. In fact, when they finally stopped, he was shocked to see another hill, this one studded with grassy patches and circling, gull-like birds, rising out of the ground just ahead of him.

The sun was almost set on the horizon. Ylawes stopped singing and coughed, and only then did his feet protest and he felt his legs grow leaden. He blinked at Pekona and realized they had sung the hours away.

“Was—was that a Skill?”

Rigalde was stowing her drums as Evor strode ahead, and Thker groaned as they put their boat down. She grinned at him.

“What self-respecting warrior of Cenidau would accept a Skill for that? If we need it to make music fit to take our exhaustion away, we’d as well hang up our weapons and retire. Not even a [Bard] could do finer than a thousand warriors of the north on the march. Barelle the Bard himself said he has no reason to play when our voices rise as one.”

Ylawes blinked at her, then ducked his head as she rubbed at her shoulders.

“I’m getting too old for this. But one last time…let’s get that food ready, eh? You southernfolk have the spirit to march with us after all.”

Coming from her, Ylawes thought it was the best compliment he might receive.

He was not wrong.

——

That night, Thker made his bread again as Ylawes helped with the fire. It was a smaller one, coal, since there was no fuel about save for the grass up top.

“What about the firewood we chopped? We couldn’t have used it all up.”

Ylawes was surprised, and Thker glanced at him.

“That? We left what was finished to dry in the cave.”

“Why?”

“For other travellers, of course. Is it not the way in the south to stock such places for those who come next?”

It was not, and that simple kindness embarrassed Ylawes, but Thker shook his head.

“The kingdoms of the south are rich, they say. I never went further beyond the Dominion, and what little I saw of it was fair indeed. It must be nice not to worry about such things.”

“Well, in this moment and in this place, I envy your knowledge, Thker. I never thought to make bread. It seems simple, but it’s so compelling…”

That pleased the man greatly, and he brushed at his braided beard before motioning Ylawes over.

“It’s not much, in truth. Just water, flour, and my secret—I paid dearly for this back home, and taking it across the sea was trouble enough.”

The bread was literally just flour from a bag he carried with him, a pinch of salt, some milk from a jug he sealed, and butter.

“It’ll work even without the milk. Flour ‘n water will do, but this is my pride. See?”

He showed Ylawes something, and the man wrinkled his nose at the weird…powder? It smelled odd and reminded him of a [Bakery].

“What is it?”

“Yeast. I bought it from a [Baker] whose bread I love; each kind’s different, and this is precious indeed. I put it in the bread to rise it each morning—unless we’re too busy.”

Yeast? Ylawes had no idea how bread worked, so Thker had to explain that it was this very stuff that gave it the ability to rise. The [Knight] frowned.

“I heard Octavia—an [Alchemist] I know—had made something that did the job, and the [Bakers] were in an uproar. So it’s valuable?”

“As much as gold, to me. Is her bread as fine as mine?”

Ylawes sniffed the bread baking on another flat stone, and his stomach rumbled.

“Honestly, I think this is the finest bread I’ve ever tasted, Thker.”

Another answer that pleased the man. He nodded.

“Then you remind yourself—yeast as well as flour, water, salt. You can carry it around and make it each night since it’s already ready, so long as your container’s sealed. You could do it yourself.”

Him? Ylawes protested he had no cooking Skills, and Thker rolled his eyes.

“Aye, that’s southerner talk. Nothing to be done unless you’ve the right Skills. I never got a single one for bread or cooking, but no one will have any but mine.”

He tossed more dough on the stone, and Ylawes sat there, thinking.

“Could I…try to fry some bread?”

That elicited a response, then instructions.

“Toss it on, then. Nice and flat after rolling it. Don’t hit the fire or everyone’ll kick your legs bloody. That’s a bite lost each time. It cooks so fast that once the stone is hot, less than a minute per side will do. Ach, don’t reach into the fire—”

——

A few burnt fingers later, Ylawes was very proud of himself as he showed his team the bread he’d helped fry up. They had a bounty as well.

“Birds! Looks like they eat worms or such around here. Don’t, uh, look at their guts. But we’ve skinned and gutted the lot. Rasktooth’s a damn good shot.”

“Is easy. You point, you shoot. None of this skill stuff.”

Rasktooth grinned as Larr held out a bundle of plucked and gutted birds for the cooks at the fire. The birds were so delicious-looking that everyone agreed it would be a waste to turn it into a soup.

So, fried they were. Ylawes listened to the crackle of the birds cooking with a bit of flour on them over pans, and while they weren’t much per-portion, there were enough of the birds nesting here to make a feast.

Somehow, it was even better than last night’s meal, and again, Evor insisted on bringing out the wineflask and giving everyone a dollop in their cups. Just a bit. Then they sat and began to tell stories.

What else was one to do as the rains kept hammering down? Ylawes went to pee in the pouring rain and stared at a wriggling worm with way too many legs feasting on the bird guts. He shuddered, stepped inside, and heard Rigalde’s voice as he moved over to the warm fire.

“Cenidau is one of the Hundred Kingdoms, it is true. But we are not the ones people think of when they think of Terandria. We’re the Northfolk, the barbaric folks like the Talgrit tribes. Other nations laugh at us, with their [Knights] and grand cities, and wonder why we still live like this, us, in the safest and richest continent of the world.”

“Some might argue that claim.”

Anith murmured, and she grinned at him.

“So would we, in the north! The Warm Cities are well enough; one can mine Everfrozen Ice for a living in the deep mines that run into the glaciers and be well enough, even if it’s so cold you’ll lose fingers if there’s but a gap in your gear. But others live on the very ice, which never melts. And there is nothing to farm, only fish and snow and the True Frost that kills everything.”

“Who’d want to live there? Uh, no offense.”

Dasha blushed as her team kicked her, and Rigalde chuckled. She had braided hair and sat, nursing her drink, as she spoke.

“In the days when Terandria was first founded by mortals, nowhere was safe. The Hundred Heroes had to fight for every inch of land, and Cenidau…yes, Cenidau was settled by one of them. In fact, our hero founded two kingdoms. Cenidau being one of them. But we don’t claim him, like the other kingdoms.”

“Hmm? Claim him? I do not understand, Miss Rigalde? Please explain, Comrade…like a Pisces would!”

Infinitypear was slightly drunk. Not on the tiny amounts of alcohol but the moment itself, and there was a chuckle. Rigalde nodded and pursed her lips.

“How to say it? One of the Hundred Heroes created our lands, protected our peoples, yes and yes. For that, we remember him. Cendayne the Archmage, whose magic created the Warm Cities. However, we do not venerate him. We do not claim his legacy, like other nations do. They still honor the Bow of Avel in the Kingdom of Bows; we do not. Oh, the Frost Courts and the Queen of Frost still act like other kingdoms, but away from them, we practice these traditions. Even our own language, though no one truly remembers more than a few words.”

She let the two of Poke Duo hold her helmet, which had beautiful curved horns on it. Rigalde nodded to that.

“Those come from wendigos I hunted myself. Their teeth.”

“These are teeth?”

Rasktooth exclaimed in dismay, and the warriors laughed. Evor murmured.

“Rigalde is a famous warrior in the north who’s led more hunts than I have. She’d be leading us if not for—”

She silenced him with a glance, and Rigalde took the helmet back, turning it over in her hands.

“No longer. I’m old, and besides…the tradition is to adorn your helmet with trophies of monsters slain. That way, your enemy knows who comes at them. This? My shield, our longships, these things do not come from Cendayne.”

“Who, then?”

For answer, all the Northfolk pointed a finger up. Rasktooth stared at the ceiling of the cave until Rigalde spoke.

“Giants.”

Like the word ‘Mithril’ of yesterday, the single explanation had Ylawes shivering, but with a kind of great joy. Rigalde smiled as her voice grew.

“We were huddled in the cities that Cendayne built when the first Giants looked down and saw us running in their lands. Most ignored us. Some made war against the Hundred Heroes and their descendants. Some took our sides for their own reasons. But a few decided to give us more. The first Giants to create Cenidau as it is now taught us our culture. How to swing an axe, how to survive the cold. Our words, our culture come from them.”

“Giants? Their people?”

Even Falene was incredulous; she might have heard the tale, but Rigalde had a way with words. The woman hesitated, then.

“No. The first Giant who taught us said it was not their ways, but something else. They taught us in honor of a people we would never meet. Old ways that only they remembered. Such is Cenidau, then. Scorned by the southern lands for honoring Giants over [Heroes].”

“Scorned until they invade us and freeze in the summer.”

Styrvi commented, and there was laughter from the rest. Ylawes sat there until he realized it was their turn. So, up rose Anith, walking forwards to speak.

“I am a Beastkin of Baleros, as you see me. A Jackal, of a small tribe whose numbers are less than a thousand. We are a dying species, for each group of us has waned. Beastkin come in all shapes and sizes, from Owl to Bear, from Dog to Cat—and we are reclusive indeed. For we have known war, slavery, and we are not vast enough to create our own Great Company, you see.”

He raised his staff overhead, spreading his arms to declaim boldly, with practice, Ylawes realized.

“Unlike the young species such as Selphids, Stitch-folk, we were here from the beginning. Hundreds of our species with cat faces, pig snouts, feathered wings and manes and scales—so vast we filled Baleros. But we made the mistake of so many species that have passed from this world. We fought each other, made petty wars, while our enemies bided their time and sharpened their fangs. Then our species began dying, and those that were yet vast thought themselves the winners, only to realize in turn, they too would fade and die. And when they howled for help, who came to their defense? Not the dead Beastkin. Only Gnolls. And then we were dozens. Dying…”

Well, this tale was getting dark fast. Insill nibbled at his claws and Rasktooth sat with a kind of weary familiarity—until Anith swept around and caught Ylawes’ eyes. Like a great storyteller, his eyes gleamed.

“As our species lay dying, all but a dozen extinct, there came salvation. A single man, a Dullahan, who restored dead species to life and who gave us a second age, a second chance. The greatest [Beast Master] to ever live. He was Level 85 when he died. His name was Sirriol, the Giver of Thoughts. This is the story we tell of him.”

——

Ylawes had never known that modern Beastkin were a product of a single person, a single class’ power. He listened to Anith’s tale of the [Beast Master] who had been so high-level that cats, dogs, every animal that had flocked to him had been given intelligence, even the power to change their forms. Restoring a dead species to prominence in Baleros.

Then of the struggles that had come after as their protector had died and they had been forced to band together, not infight, and survive. The Beastkin of the present era had established protective clans in Baleros’ northwest, having learned from their follies of old. After that, Thker told the story of his grandmother again, fully, and how she had ended up sleeping in the ice with a polar bear snoring in her ear.

It was too late to tell any more stories that night, so Ylawes slept, lying next to the fire and drifting off, dreaming of a Giant wielding an axe and teaching Cenidau’s people how to fight as he stood long vigil against Seamwalkers.

For that was what Pekona said Cenidau and Drath shared in common. They guarded the world from the horrors that came over the edge. A sacred mission both peoples had accepted.

Seamwalkers.

Where did they come from? Ylawes had never seen one. The world was so vast and bigger than he thought…and he only realized it now. He slept.

——

The Silver Dragon roared, each scale flashing with purifying light. A painful light, even; each scale seemed to reflect Ylawes’ sins, his wrath, envy, greed, and burn it away. He flinched, hands outstretched to shield his face, reaching for a sword, and the Dragon roared again.

“To me! To me! Hear me, you craven cowards who claim rulership over our kind! To me! The [Dancer] is dead, and the world trembles! They have overrun Rhir, and we must fly or die! To me, Dragonlords! If you have any honor, Terrium Archelis Dorishe, Khetieve-Xool, Aitendenske—fly! They’re…”

His voice trailed off, and he seemed to stare past Ylawes, and there was a chittering like a storm. The very world seemed to scuttle forwards. The Silver Dragon’s mouth opened as he rasped.

“They’re unending.”

Then he drew a breath, and Ylawes threw up his arms as the Silver Dragon blew a breath brighter than any light Ylawes had known. He screamed as it burned—

“—Ylawes, Ylawes!”

Someone shook him awake. Ylawes woke up, and Pekona was there—he wasn’t burning. He turned, and everyone was sitting up, staring at him.

“What—what?”

“Lad, you were screaming like someone plucked your eyes out.”

“I told you Pekona had cold feet.”

Insill muttered. Pekona threw a shoe at him.

“I do not!”

“I—I’m sorry. I had a dream. There was a Dragon and…”

And it was so real. Ylawes was panting, drenched in sweat. Falene peered at him.

“You’ve had that dream before, haven’t you? Is something wrong, Ylawes? What’s over there?”

“Over wh—”

Then Ylawes realized his finger was pointing. He stared at it; he was pointing at the wall of a cave, but Evor, Rigalde, all the warriors from Cenidau, were eying him. And Ylawes remembered.

[Knight-Seeker of the Silver Dragon]. His class. And his Skill…

[Legacy: Find the Dragon’s Grave].

The dreams had come again. Ylawes glanced around and knew, then, that they had truly returned to the New Lands. He was pointing north and slightly west. Towards the very same hills he had first gone to.

——

They did not head north. Mostly because west was where they were bound and because Ylawes didn’t feel ready to find any kind of Dragon, living or dead.

However, night terrors aside, both groups found themselves enjoying each other’s company more and more the next day and the day after that. Neither group spontaneously burst into song; it was something that Evor only used when they were truly tired.

“Or else it loses all meaning. So, when you are tired, do the same, eh?”

“I don’t know. That word you shout—what is it?”

Ylawes couldn’t imagine he’d do the same. Evor grinned.

“‘Strength’. That’s all. The word does not matter, just how loud you shout, eh? Ah, and here’s a change!”

They’d come to a river after a half day’s worth of marching. It seemed that this volcanic section was split by another river, and Ylawes was mightily glad to have persuaded Cenidau’s folk to join them, because this river…was long.

Not necessarily deep, though. It seemed to have tons of rocks and debris in it; rapids that led to whitewater. However, it’d still probably be too deep to walk across normally, and even if it was possible to find spots where you weren’t underwater…a boat was just the thing, eh?

“No help for it. We’ll have to ferry everyone across. Many trips. Let’s get started, eh?”

Cenidau’s people were only too willing to ford the river rather than march for days to find a better spot, and they split up, organizing so that they’d take as few as they needed to paddle the longboat across the river and the maximum amount of passengers.

It was still a very, very slow process. Especially because the horses, again, did not do boats or water well. However, Falene had been thinking of this issue and had come up with a rather ingenious solution.

“Floating bags. We tie them around the horses, and they swim for it. I can help secure them, but the flotation devices can just be waterskins or anything else that we can lash to them.”

It made the horses look sort of silly, but they could indeed float and swim on their own. Ylawes watched the first group set out across the river at a relatively calm point and realized it was no easy crossing, for all Evor was composed.

“Damn, that current’s strong, lad.”

The rain was letting up a bit, but the river was still strong enough that it sent the boat and horse downriver over three thousand paces. Evor just grunted.

“We’ll haul it back up the river. It’ll get tiring. You’ll need to row yourself!”

He clapped Ylawes on the shoulder, and the [Knight] nodded.

“We can do that. Just show us how not to capsize the boat.”

——

There was some challenge to it. The narrow longboat was pretty sturdy, but inexperienced passengers—which was everyone but the fourteen warriors—could still make it precarious, and Ylawes was quickly assigned to Styrvi and Thker, who had him and Dasha rowing.

He managed three trips across the river and back, hauling the boat up the river each time, before he got a break, and he sat with Thker, waiting for their turn to come again.

Ylawes’ arms burned, but Styrvi was the one who seemed thoroughly winded. She sat, panting, and he saw Thker’s eyes on her.

“Is she alright? We could trade off—”

“She won’t accept it. Best you not bring it up or you’ll lose your nose. There’s been blood shed on it, in Cenidau. And noses.”

Thker whispered back. Ylawes glanced over and saw Rigalde getting off the boat. She seemed visibly exhausted too, and Evor called out.

“Dawil, Larr, trade places!”

Rigalde appeared ready to argue, then came over to where they were and sat. She was panting, and when she saw Ylawes gazing at her—he tried to glance away, but she just grunted.

“Noticed…we’re not holding our own…Captain Ylawes?”

“I didn’t think that at all, Rigalde.”

She shook her head. Styrvi tried to get up.

“I can row. I was born for this, not some Dwarf and Gnoll—”

“Sit down, Styrvi. You don’t have the strength…neither do I. They were right. Right and wrong, back home.”

The younger woman lowered her head and seemed thoroughly miserable. Ylawes had to ask.

“Er, is it…is it a difference in classes, maybe? Do they get more endurance Skills and you all have different skillsets?”

He hadn’t seen Rigalde or Styrvi using as many Skills as Thker or Evor. At this, Styrvi barked a hollow laugh and turned away. Rigalde wore a pained smile.

“It is different classes, but it wasn’t always like this, Ylawes Byres. It’s a secret of sorts in Cenidau, but it won’t hurt to tell you; the nation knows, and if the world does not, it’s because few have our class.”

“No one else cares. We’re the ones cursed. Why us?”

Styrvi burst out. Thker began rebraiding his beard, and Ylawes blinked.

“What happened?”

Rigalde took another drink of water.

“The Winter Solstice. Something happened, then. We don’t know what. Only that every single [Shieldmaiden] in Cenidau, the world over—Styrvi, myself—young and old, highest to lowest-level, we all lost our class. It was turned into something else. [Shield Maid].”

“A joke.”

Styrvi moaned, and Thker studied his boots. Ylawes felt like someone had kicked him.

Briganda.

Winter Solstice.

Halrac.

It always went back to The Wandering Inn. He didn’t even know how, not fully. Only that he knew, when Rigalde told him of the woes that had countless warriors in Cenidau reconsidering their futures, it was all tied up with the inn. The battle at the Floodplains.

An entire class changed. Just like how Oswen had vanished.

Casualties of someone else’s war.

——

“Some think it’s a sign. I’ve read the Book of Levels; I barely thought of it, and now there are some who say women were never meant to war. [Shield Maid] should mean we go back to our homes.”

“After we finished breaking bones, we started arguing. Our class…[Shieldmaiden] was strong. It let us fight and voyage. [Shield Maid] is worse. It has some defensive Skills. But it is not as close to [Warrior] as before. Cleaning Skills, utility-Skills—we’re weaker.”

Rigalde and Styrvi told Ylawes of their problems as they sat and watched the boat crossing in the rain. He rested there, unsure of what to say. He didn’t know it was the inn’s doing, only that his instincts screamed it was how this had happened. More importantly, he didn’t know what had caused this.

“Why did you come to the New Lands, if there were such worries? I imagine some people might have tried to…dissuade you from going.”

Rigalde nodded, and her eyes slid to Evor.

“We didn’t ask. We went. It’s why we took longships and didn’t go with the others. This is for us as much as to see the New Lands. We want to prove we can continue. Or find a way our classes can.”

So they were challenging the New Lands with classes not meant for this kind of thing. Ylawes swallowed. Small wonder they couldn’t make the same speed as before.

“Surely you have Skills that make up for what you lost?”

“Oh, some. But not the ones I bled for. For instance, see how shiny our armor is?”

Rigalde slapped her armor, and Ylawes realized it was very bright, especially for people who’d been in the rain and mud for days. He’d put it down to the animal fat and good maintenance, but Rigalde snorted.

“[Unit: Tailor-Fresh Attire]. We’ll be rustless and our armor polished when we’re all gutted by the next monster. Styrvi, tell him one of your best Skills.”

She nudged Styrvi, and the [Shield Maid] was silent until she snapped.

“[Steelcloth Sheets], alright!? I can make a tablecloth so damn hard it blocks arrows—and it’s why I wear this!”

She pointed to her cloak, which, Ylawes realized, was just a simple cotton sheet stolen from, well, a bed. It became a cloak as hard as any Gold-rank adventurer’s gear, but it wasn’t…Styrvi stared at the ground.

“I used to have [Lesser Strength]. [Greater Endurance]. [Marrowstrike]. [Longpull Oars]. Now what am I good for?”

Thker drained his water flask.

“I’d trust you with my back over any southerner any day, Styrvi. Even if you lost every single Skill.”

“Some days, I wish that had happened. Then I’d be able to start again. I can’t even level the same.”

Rigalde nodded. She turned to Ylawes.

“I’ve taken [Drummer] as a class, and I’m levelling that. We’ve done well enough, but that’s why we didn’t fight the Landsharks. We would have, but…Evor can’t count on us the same way. We don’t know our Skills, and we don’t have the training to be [Maids].”

She shrugged as the boat came back. Ylawes didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry’ sounded wholly inconsequential to what they were going through.

In silence, the group got into the boat for one of the last trips across. Thker was playing with his things, not sure what to say to his companions. Rigalde had clearly been a famous [Shieldmaiden] until losing her class. Now…

Thker was mixing up some flour dough with that yeast, shielding the precious stuff from the rain with his own cloak, when a rush of water struck the boat. He cinched both dough bag and yeast bag fast, but when he went to tuck them away, he smacked the bag of yeast instead.

“Giant’s blood—”

It went into the water, and Thker swore. He stood up as the boat rocked, and Ylawes saw the little bag floating, bobbing in the river.

“My yeast!”

“Thker, don’t be a fool. Just let it go—”

Rigalde warned him, but the [Shieldson] hesitated, then swore.

“It’s my treasure, hold on—”

He leapt into the water with a splash, and Styrvi swore.

“You idiot! Wait, it’s not cold.”

“He jumped in, armor and all!”

Styrvi and Rigalde chorused.

“He can swim. But he’s still a fool. Thker, get back here!”

He was paddling after the bobbling bag of yeast as people on the other side shouted at him. Evor was roaring at Thker, and Ylawes was trying to get the boat to go after the man as Rigalde and he heaved. Then he heard a shout.

“I’ve got it!”

Falene yanked the bag of yeast out of the water as Thker tried to pursue it; it had been going far faster than he could swim. She pulled it over to her, and he relaxed as a cheer went up, then turned his head sheepishly.

Rigalde rolled her eyes.

“Fool! Get over here, now!”

He was paddling back, protesting that how was he supposed to know Falene could do that, when Dasha leaned over the side of the boat.

“Uh, Ylawes? Something’s in the water. Something big—”

Styrvi turned, and Ylawes saw a long shape moving towards Thker. Something was indeed in the water, and the horses, if not the boat, had attracted—

“Thker! Monster!”

“What? Where? Wh—”

The gigantic reptile burst out of the water, and its long snout opened and bit down on Thker’s shoulder. The alligator and man vanished in the depths, and the river became a churning mess as Styrvi shouted.

“Thker!”

Rigalde had a throwing axe drawn, but she was staring into the water.

“I can’t see. Get me closer! Don’t get in there, there could be m—”

She was shouting at the others, and Ylawes heard that last bit a second too late. Because he was already leaping into the water. He saw Rigalde’s alarmed expression—then it was cold, silent, and deep.

No matter what Styrvi thought, it was freezing to Ylawes, and the water filled his armor at once. He was leaden, and he could barely see in the churning, but he saw the crocodile thrashing around as it tried to drag Thker under.

Ylawes drew his sword and tried to shout.

[Knight’s Challenge]! He had no breath in the water, and his sword was so slow as he swished it at Thker. The man was struggling, trying to slam his axe against the jaws over his shoulder, which were in turn scraping at his armor. They were thrashing around so much Ylawes couldn’t get close—so he grabbed the tail of the huge crocodile, which had to be at least twelve feet long, and began to stab!

His sword, again, was leaden as the water made every motion slow, dreamlike. However, the crocodile did not like being grabbed and began to thrash harder. His sword tip struck its thick hide, and Ylawes heaved, trying to pierce the scales.

Was it working? He thought was stabbing a bit, but he couldn’t see blood. His lungs were burning, Thker was thrashing slower, and it was so damn cold…

So cold.

Beyond the river’s cold, in fact. Ylawes stared as the crocodile’s thrashing slowed, and he saw something in the water.

Was that…frost running up his blade? His Gravesword was piercing the crocodile’s hide, and when Ylawes stabbed again, the animal stopped thrashing. Its jaws didn’t loosen, but it hung in the water as Ylawes thrust the blade deeper into its side. Thker was trying to kick his legs, but the animal was on him. Ylawes let go of his sword.

We’re drowning down here. We have to get up.

He began kicking for the surface, trying to haul both animal and man up. But it was a lot deeper than he thought. The river was sweeping him away, and he—

He needed to take a breath. The drowning [Knight] felt his jaws begin to open as he convulsed. And then—

Evor splashed down next to him in a shower of bubbles, along with Insill, another warrior, and Dawil. They had weapons drawn, but when he saw the dead crocodile, Dawil just slow-motion ran over and heaved Thker up, standing on the riverbed. Insill grabbed one arm of Thker, kicking, and Evor seized the crocodile’s body and Ylawes—

They burst out of the water, and Ylawes gasped for air. Sound resumed, and he heard shouting.

“There they are! Ylawes, get to shore!”

“Is Thker there?”

“Get to shore! More of the things are coming!”

Ylawes’ head spun, and he saw everyone on the bank and the boat coming their way. He began kicking; there was [Light], he realized. Falene had fired a [Light] spell right above them all, and it let him see into the water.

Thker was gasping in the group fighting to get to shore, face pale, blood running from his arm, and Insill was sawing at the croc’s teeth.

“Damn, it’s too tight—”

“Just drag them ashore! Hurry!”

Evor pointed, and more crocodiles were moving at alarming speed their way. However, this time, the [Hearthguard Leader] barked.

“[Intimidating Shout].”

He put his head under the water, and the exclamation that reverberated in the water made the animals flinch back. That bought them time; Ylawes had just found the riverbank’s edge when he sensed another crocodile coming up. He spun—and a throwing hatchet thunked into the crocodile’s head as it tried to open its mouth.

Rigalde leapt onto the shore and joined the crowd hauling everyone ashore. Ylawes stumbled onto the ground, then lay on his back as he panted for air. After a moment, he croaked.

“My sword. Did I lose my—”

“Here!”

Pekona had grabbed it. Ylawes saw Thker puking water out, Dawil cursing as he sloshed ashore, Evor telling everyone to get back from the water if those things came on land—and then Thker rasped.

“Did you get my yeast?”

Falene had the bag of yeast. Thker smiled right before Styrvi stomped on his stomach, and he threw up more water. Ylawes Byres sat there a second, then had a thought.

“I remember where I’ve heard of it before; I think Erin eats yeast on popcorn.”

Thker’s head rose, and he gave Ylawes a bug-eyed look.

“Yeast? On popcorn? That’s disgusting.”

——

The end result of that little adventure was the salvation of Thker’s good bread, a waterlogged, sheepish, but fine [Shieldson], and a dead crocodile.

Thker was mostly just bruised; the crocodile hadn’t managed to bite through his armor, and the few dents it had caused vanished as Styrvi fixed him up.

“[Restore Apparel]. Paugh. Hold still. [Quick Stitching]!”

“Aurgh, less quick, less pain!”

Evor had decided to make camp after that incident, and he’d gone riding off on a horse to find a good site. He announced it was not far; a forest, actually, not caves this time.

“We’ll need to secure it. At least we have food this time.”

“What f—oh.”

The dead crocodile was very dead and very cold, apparently. Rasktooth was poking it.

“It all frozen up. Probably tasty. Probably. Your sword do good job killing things, Captain.”

“Yes. I can see why your team follows you, Captain Ylawes. On behalf of my people, I thank you.”

Rigalde had not managed to recover her hatchet from the waters, but she sat, smiling in relief—and guilt. She gestured at Thker.

“I was too slow to jump in. I wondered if without my levels…bah. It was a brave thing you did.”

“And stupid!”

Falene was furious at Ylawes for taking that risk, especially because he might have drowned in his armor, but Rigalde just smiled.

“We have a saying in the north. Better to be a brave idiot than a clever coward. You can be highborn, cunning, and all the rest, but no warrior will follow someone like that into battle if they won’t go first. I’ve seen idiots with not a lick of sense in their heads lead armies because they’ll run in first. You can’t buy that. Your fool’s not bad.”

Falene sniffed.

“Well, your fool seems quite capable. Sometimes, I’d trade a bit of bravery for a bit less fool.”

Ylawes flushed as he sat there, and Rasktooth grinned. It was Insill who piped up, slapping Ylawes on the back with a squelching sound.

“That’s why we like Captain Ylawes, alright! If we’re all drowning in the water, I know he’ll be drowning right next to us!”

As ringing endorsements went, it wasn’t exactly what Ylawes wanted, but he just held his tongue and privately tried to suggest to Rasktooth that he was fine with just bread. Thker had plenty for him for saving his life. Unfortunately, Rasktooth had decided to give Ylawes the prime cut of crocodile.

It was…alright. Very gamey and tasted like fish and chicken combined. The freezing effect hadn’t done it much good. On the plus side, there was so much of it everyone got a big portion.

Yum.

——

Then the rains stopped. And six rainbows split the sky, shimmering into wide arcs that had no ending on the ground, but crisscrossed the horizon for all of a day.

Ylawes Byres stopped and stared upwards until a buzzing cloud of midges arose—and Falene promptly hit them with a cloud spell. They continued.

Cenidau’s warriors, singing, marching with the Silver Swords as they crossed from the river into the grasslands once more and, at last, began to see signs of life. A bounding gazelle with bright blue markings that leapt out of the way of Larr’s arrow and a thrown spear.

A flock of little birds who burst into the air and scolded like a cloud of upset mosquitos until Rasktooth winged one, and the entire flock burst into chaos, fleeing in every direction.

The stars under a vibrant, deep blue sky, and fireflies flitting around their fire, dancing under the moons.

Stories. Rasktooth had been a bit sad when he asked Pekona, wistfully, about Drath. The place that had so many with his class that he would never go to.

“I guess them young masters is all over, hey? Arrogant people with big nose lifted, throwing their money around? Is I gonna be like that? Is that what Drath like?”

Pekona had looked astonished and sat him on her lap, shaking her head. Infinitypear had instantly tried to sit on Pekona’s lap, but being far too big for that, had been upset.

That was how Ylawes found the Antinium perching on his lap as they listened to Pekona’s story, Cenidau warriors as fascinated as everyone else.

“That? That’s not Drath, Rasktooth. I just…complain like that, because it’s my home. There are many beautiful things about Drath. Sometimes, I forget myself.”

“Oh, like how I talk about Raskghar and the dungeon having evil worms and Facestealer and not about the good parts.”

“Um. Yes?”

“There no good parts. You go on.”

Pekona laughed, and then stared past Rasktooth, at a place only she could see. She was massaging his scalp with her hand, and he lay back, meditating or just listening.

“Drath has many beautiful things. They have trees that blow pink cherry petals in the spring and fall. They’re…very annoying to sweep up.”

“You not doing a good job of this.”

“Shh. They’re annoying until you go up to the cliffs where there are thousands of them and sit beneath them. Then it’s like a snowstorm without snow. They drift across the world until it’s all pink and white. And there are koi fish.”

“Oh. I know them. They in Erin’s—”

“Shh, brother. You are interrupting the story!”

Infinitypear hopped up and down, then turned to Ylawes.

“Captain, your lap is very much less pleasant than Pekona’s.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to fix this issue?”

Infinitypear stared at Ylawes’ face, then swivelled around as Pekona giggled.

“Koi fish, yes. But big ones. They were fed too much by one of our [Emperors], so there are koi fish so big they can eat ships. They circle one of the harbors, but they never eat anyone…or they spit them out if they do. Because Drath was once bigger, there are wonders there. Even among cultivators.”

Her voice grew low.

“There is a place in the cities where everyone walks a strange way. It looks like some long, vast maze. Only, they all flow towards a center, each person walking the path that forms a pattern you can only see from above. To disrupt the pattern is a crime. They channel their very energy, the flow of things, into a hanging needle at the center of the pattern. Each day, it drops a single drop down. A hundred drops will condense until it makes a single pill that the [Emperor] himself awards to a chosen subject.”

“What it taste like?”

She pulled at one ear.

“I don’t know, silly. But there are feasts in the palace, and if you were rich enough to go to the cities, you could eat a thousand thousand new things, each day, and never run out. Little blue shrimp, invisible octopi that you stain with sauce to see, spicy red…what’s the leaf thing Dasha hates?”

“Cabbage.”

“That. On crackling, oil beds of pork, and if you’re lucky, you’ll find a woman with fox ears who begs for your tofu.”

“…Do I have to give her my tofus?”

“Yes, it’s very good luck. Or so they say. I think they just want tofu. They’re older than half-Elves and can cast great magic.”

“Hah! I’ve heard of these ‘ki-tsu-ne’, and personally, I think they’re just a Beastkin tribe that—”

Someone shoved a piece of crocodile into Falene’s mouth to shut her up, and Pekona went on, painting an image of Drath, full of great mythical objects and broken dreams from the dawn of time. A vast, vast place now reduced to islands. Resplendent in beauty until a Seamwalker arises and it becomes blood and determination.

“Someday, I’ll take you there.”

“And pay for my tofus?”

“Yes, and them.”

“I’d like to visit that myself.”

Ylawes murmured, and he realized he wanted to with all his heart. To see this land Pekona described, even if it was not always so beautiful as that, and he had to deal with a young master doing…whatever they did. He wanted to see a world beyond Izril’s shores.

How short his journeys seemed when he regarded Evor and the Cenidau folk who’d come a continent away for the New Lands. Ylawes stared up at the sky and sat as Evor began to tell the story of his uncle, who’d gone to Drath with a bag of gold and come away without his bag of gold, or his sword, but a son.

For a while, as it happened, again and again, the misery ended. Ylawes found he once again was enjoying the New Lands.

This time…

The feeling didn’t vanish at once. So the Silver Swords stayed in the company of the Cenidau warriors until they reached a place in the grasslands that other caravans were headed to. A gathering spot that just popped out when Rasktooth used a spyglass.

The first settlement in the New Lands that Ylawes had ever seen. A place called Woll’s Waystation. Who should he meet there but a Gnoll, riding west after visiting an inn. And there came a Goblin that Ylawes knew—another one, rather, flying south after witnessing miracles and tragedy alike.

Last of all, bringing along his own sorry company, eyes fixed on the horizon and adventure, just like all of them, came the [Gunslinger].

Author’s Note:

I liked writing about Cenidau’s people. I hope you enjoyed them too; it is a hard thing to gauge much less write about peoples who vaguely resemble our cultures. Because that’s certainly an aspect of what Cenidau is. But they’re not Vikings, even if I knew enough to try and copy that culture.

They’re their own people, who are indeed based on stories and ideas taken from other worlds by literal Giants. So I do hope you enjoy them teaching the Silver Swords how they survive the wilds.

Next comes the [Gunslinger], and then we’ll get to poll chapters or other places, but I thought a New Lands arc wouldn’t go amiss, and I hope you agree. The chapters are being cut up to allow me a backlog; I am a bit tired with the book launch and everything going on behind the scenes, so having this backlog now built up is very, very nice.

It’s a busy time of late for me, personally. I’ve had some electrical problems and had to sort that out—it’s mostly resolved, and thankfully, no dead computers from power surging. I still thank the readers who suggested that was the cause a year or two ago.

As for the book launch? No word yet on sales which makes me nervous, but I continue to appreciate people talking about buying a book or just hyped on it. Busy is the name of my game. Also losing weight I guess. Health, home, heck, I’m busy working!

…Well, it’s not all stress. There’s a game called Windrose that’s like Valheim but pirates (if  you don’t play videogames ignore this, it’s gibberish), and I have been playing nonstop in my free time. Because I, pirateaba, like games about pirates. Who knew, right? I’m feeling a bit healthier because I caught myself last week and stopped writing like crazy. Backlogs help, and hopefully I’ll charge up for some really great chapters—soon.

Thanks for reading, and wait for the [Gunslinger]. First impressions from stream-readers seemed positive!

—pirateaba

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