10.68 S

“You never really know someone in our line of work, Selys.”

“Yeah, Grandma? Is this more sage wisdom?”

“Shut it. What I mean is—these cookies are terrible, what happened to the ones from the inn?”

“I bought you cookies, Grandma!”

“I like the ones from the inn.”

“You can’t even tell they’re different! These are fancier, anyways. Frosted and decorated. Erin cheaps out on her recipe.”

“That’s why I can tell. This is all frosting. I want the ones with oatmeal and raisins.”

“Grandma, don’t shred them! I swear—this is how we get rats. In our new Guild? Someone hand me a broom.”

“Nice to see you doing some work. Here I thought you were going to hire a [Cleaner].”

“Just because I think we should have some services doesn’t mean I don’t know how to sweep, Grandma.”

“Missed a spot. There and there. You never really know people, Selys. Not in our line of work.”

“…Is this going somewhere? Is this more sage wisdom about how I need to get out, give away my money, and get back to work?”

“I’m talking about adventuring. Don’t make this all about you, Selys. Yes, as a [Receptionist] or Guildmistress. We never know adventurers. We send them out on assignments we think are safe, and they wind up in a coffin, and that’s on us. We think a Silver-rank team can handle it, and then they’re names on the memorial wall. You recommend a Gold-ranker, and they butcher their teammates over a few minor artifacts.”

“The Tirez Sabres weren’t your fault, Grandma. They forged their papers, bought off that Guildmaster. They had no business in the dungeon.”

A long silence, then. And Tekshia Shivertail gazed straight through Selys. The [Receptionist] bit her lip. She had helped make funeral wreaths for the team. Tekshia had gone to tell their families. Apologize. She shouldn’t have. It only made them angrier.

The entire Guild had been silent for the last few days. Not empty; adventurers showed up, left. But silent. At last, Tekshia went back to rocking in her chair and pretended the moment had never happened.

“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about adventuring, Selys.”

“Okay…we do our best. What else can we do, even if we can’t know anyone?”

Tekshia Shivertail sighed then, that longsuffering sigh of exasperation, as she leaned on her spear, and Selys waited for a thwack against her legs or a sharp comment. But the Guildmistress, the former Gold-rank adventurer, the [Spearmaster], just shook her head.

“We do not know each other, Selys. We make mistakes and do our job; that’s basic. If we couldn’t do that, we wouldn’t be fit to even sweep the streets. But we are part of the adventure. Knowing that we don’t understand the people we’re sending to level or die—that’s the point. Until their tails are against the wall, we don’t know if they’re Bronze-rankers wearing Mithril or Named-rankers. As long as I’ve done this job, I still miss them. That [Necromancer]…I thought he was nothing more than a coward. Look at him now.”

“He’s not all that. Pisces just got lucky. He had the Erin-effect. He’s…”

“Selys Shivertail, he fought his way through a death zone. Made it out of Chandrar and Roshal’s chains with barely more than a few scars.”

“What’s gotten into you today, Grandma? Are those cookies laced with Dreamleaf or something? Hold on, let me check. I’m positive I didn’t mix up my, er, other supplies—”

Thwack.

“Ow!”

“If you had Dreamleaf cookies, you should have given those to me! Brat. You don’t wear jealousy well, Selys. Shivertails don’t, by and large. Your uncle was just as bad.”

“Uncle Zel? I’m not jealous. We never were a thing!”

“Nope. You chose poorly. Rabbit over nose. Don’t throw that at me. I don’t like him. But I can see a fellow adventurer. You don’t know him. I don’t know him. It seems to me, though, that only one of us gets that this is a problem.”

“Okay, Grandma. I’m indulging in your mood. Let me follow your logic. If we can’t know the character of our adventurers, what are we supposed to do? It’s an impossible conundrum.”

“You can’t know them. If we were on the same team, adventured together a month, a year, we’d know each other. But that’s not how it works. That’s why the Guild wants former adventurers who get the job. You should have stuck to Bronze-rank adventuring for more than a month.”

“It wasn’t for me. Look, Grandma, if you really want me to take a few requests, I could buy some gear, get some time in. Is that how I get the vice-Guildmistress role? Because I’ll do it. But if you’re just going to be cryptic and—”

“Selys. The way you do it is—you change the Guild. Sometimes, even if it’s unreasonable, even if they’re pains in your tail, you bend over backwards to cater for one team. And they’ll never thank you. Other times, you have to war with them. Slap them around. Not back down. All the old guard from the north need more of that. No one’s talked back to Deniusth for an age. Remember when he tore in here wanting me to arrest Erin for letting those Silver-rankers go and blacklist her? I had to stab him before he even stopped shouting.”

“You stabbed—”

“He was a brave [Violinist]. Merdon was an amazing [Singer]. The Loud Lad threw himself in front of monsters for his team. Crowdcaller Merdon’s just some washed up has-been without a team who needs him. That’s what I mean. My Guild, the one I knew all my life, theirs…they just let us come up from Bronze-rank to Gold, or beyond, and supported us.”

“…But they should have done what? They didn’t know who you’d be.”

“No. But they were there every adventure. I remember the [Receptionist] who used to sit here. A timid Drake who’d stutter every third word. But he made sure to check we were geared up each and every time. Three times over decades that saved my life—when I forgot to pack enough healing potions, the right countermeasures. An extra bundle of rope. That’s the job, Selys. You bring them in, give them lip, and send them out. You’re almost a good [Receptionist]. That’s all. If you want to ever approach my class…you look at the ones you’ve got. Adventurers. Permanent Bronzers, the Named-ranker who comes in just once, and you don’t know ‘em. But you make something of them. You believe in them.”

“I haven’t seen you doing much of that.”

“No. No, I haven’t. The most I ever did was pay off a few debts for the original Horns. Clear a damn [Necromancer] for adventurer. Enlist a Goblin and Antinium as Bronze-rankers. Two Antinium, actually. Heh. Maybe those will be my finest accomplishments. What a damn thought. This Guild never had many prospects, Selys. We were a comfortable city with nothing going on. Now we need a good [Guildmistress], one with an eye for the future.”

“You mean…?”

“I mean me, obviously. Weren’t you paying attention? I’m going to write up some <Quests>. You figure out what you’re doing with your life.”

Then she turned and hobbled off. Selys bent over the cookie crumbs on the floor, then peeked up.

“Grandma. Grandma, wait. One more question. Grandma?”

She glanced around the empty Guild, closing for the night, and there was no one there. Then she knew she was dreaming, but she put down her broom and went running. Trying to catch a glimpse of those familiar purple scales around every corner.

——

Until she woke up, tears in her eyes. Selys Shivertail was in a new bed. A new town. She didn’t even know where she was. But she sat up, wiping at her eyes, and heard two rats chirping at her anxiously.

Every day was like this. Selys Shivertail didn’t know if she cherished those dreams of her grandmother. They were frequent, even if the image of the old, cantankerous Drake had faded in sharpness.

How long until she was nothing but a faded image? Selys didn’t want to think it could happen, but she didn’t remember her parents’ faces anymore. She’d been a child, of course, but not even the pictures Tekshia had or all her stories kept them sharp. Zel? Selys could still remember his weary, grim expression, his huge shoulders, and the claws that had cut apart every foe of Izril.

…But he wasn’t present. He wasn’t a ghost she carried with her. She hoped Tekshia remained longer. But then Selys slid herself up in the pre-dawn light, still on an Adventurer’s Guild routine. She splashed water from a basin into her face.

Alone but for Rhata and Haldagaz. She picked her rats up as she left another room in another inn behind without a second glance. And added another empty day to the list of things Erin Solstice owed her.

An uncle, a grandmother, a job and city—Selys Shivertail never looked back, not towards Liscor far to the south nor to anyone else. Erin wasn’t looking back. Why should Selys?

The door slammed shut, and the Drake walked forwards, searching for a place she fit, for what she was owed. Something to balance the debts.

After ten minutes, she slammed back into her room. She’d forgotten her bag of holding.

——

It was Selys’ habit, as she wandered from city to city in the north, to leave her inn at dawn, or a bit later if she had a hangover. Then she paid a visit to a few places.

An [Alchemist]’s shop to stock up on Hangover Tonics, any alchemical oddities she liked—each [Alchemist] had a specialty she usually bought—and scale-treatments or self-defense items since she was a young Drake on the road alone. Healing Potions too; if they were under a hundred gold and they looked like they weren’t knockoffs, she bought them.

Then she’d visit the trendiest cafe and buy her way into a seat to try their best item. She’d watch the news on a miniature television-mirror and feed her rats. Then apply at the local Adventurer’s Guild for their highest open position.

The last guaranteed stop in Selys’ day was the Mage’s Guild. She had a Scroll of [Messages], of course, but it was keyed to no one but her Merchant’s Guild representative and several other people who sold her things. Selys would line up at the counter, and every day, she’d ask the same question.

“Any messages for me? Any letters? Personal correspondence only, nothing else.”

She’d make the [Receptionist]-[Mage] on duty sort her inbox, impatiently, and ask if anything was from Liscor. Any friends. She’d try someone new each day.

Drassi. Fellow [Receptionists] from the Adventurer’s Guild, like Maviss. Or the Horns of Hammerad. Or—The Wandering Inn.

The green-scaled Drake with her trendy handbag, fashionable clothing, enchanted rings, and expensive scale-treatments that made her almost shine in the morning light would stand there, a dissatisfied expression creasing the recently-applied lipstick. She’d turn her head, neck spines flexing as her tail thumped the ground, dangling spine-earrings catching the light as gemstones flashed. And she’d grudgingly ask—

“Mrsha? Lyonette du Marquin? Ishkr?”

It was different each day, but Selys never brought up one name. When she got a final negative, she’d turn on her heel and walk away from the counter without another word as Humans glanced at her, bemused, a Drake alone. Then she would march up to another counter at the Mage’s Guild, look at a map, and rent a Wistram Carriage and go onwards. She’d do some reading in the carriage as two rats emerged and read over her shoulder—well, one read, the other did pressups.

Her grandmother said you never really knew someone. Perhaps that was true. She had never really known Selys, just had all these unreasonable expectations of her granddaughter, who could never be her. And Selys supposed, she had never known Tekshia Shivertail the adventurer. Just Guildmistress Tekshia.

On she rode, reading. She had her position in the Adventurer’s Guild, so what she read were accounts. Entries by the Guildmasters or [Receptionists] in logs, which she’d paid to be looked up and sent to her.

Messy scrawls, shorthand notes, the occasional gem when someone had a flair for descriptions, or small first-hand recountings of what had gone down. Two entries in Tales of Adventure and Woe. Even a short story by Krsysl Wordsmith. That last one had shocked Selys; it was dated before his famous Antinium Wars books and long out of print. It had not sold hugely well, but it had been published. The title was: The Torrential Spear, the Hunt for the Marwsh Killer by Krsysl Wordsmith.

The Torrential Spear or the Spear of Torrents. It was a funny name, probably based on Liscor. But Selys Shivertail had never known her grandmother had a title. So she read a long history about a Drake before she had retired to a backwater city where her daughter was raising a newborn baby girl. Riding onwards.

Searching for something to fill her empty, restless days.

——

Empathy was a terrible, necessary thing. It was the creation of civilization, the means by which you founded community. Law and order were what some people thought made nations; they were not. They were merely components of a puzzle. If everyone believed in the law in some kind of empirical, logical way, then they understood law was just there to maintain the façade, the illusion of safety. Such a people would break the law and only obey it if forced.

Empathy made neighbors. It was the reason you helped little old ladies cross the street and grabbed a bucket when you saw smoke coming out of someone’s house. It was a wonderful dagger to the heart. A self-inflicted weakness.

In principle, Calidus Reinhart liked it for anyone but him. He preferred people around him to be caring, thoughtful individuals. But he, personally, didn’t really do empathy. Or sympathy. He was a Reinhart; even before Magnolia’s binding, they hadn’t exactly had a history of caring about anyone else but themselves. It made you weak. And the family attacked weakness, like the vipers they were often compared to. Vipers amongst a bed of roses.

However, he tried now. He gazed down at the mutilated body of the Rank in front of him and pinched under one armpit. Bit his lip hard. Tried to think of something sad. No alcohol in the pantries. Or cellars.

“Tragic. Just appalling. A bright life snuffed out and—handkerchief!”

He dabbed at his eyes, trying to will some moisture up there. Blew his nose on general principle. Calidus gave up on the handkerchief and threw himself on the corpse. Half of it separated; she’d been rather thoroughly minced.

“On her first contract since leaving Chandrar! A child of, what, seventeen? All that potential! And I’ve let her down. Sweet summer’s child, adieu! Oh, lamentations!”

He cradled her cold flesh in one arm, blinking into the light for some more tears. He was doing his best, but at this point, even the Faces of the Assassin’s Guild—including the lovely Losmere—were eying Calidus.

Mildly unnerved. Which told Calidus he was doing something wrong. He stopped trying to wail and sat up after a moment. Brushed at some viscera and blood on his clothing.

“Not working? I felt like I was getting into the sadness there. One should mourn.”

“That is not the way of the Assassin’s Guild, Lord Calidus. Unless you intend to change things?”

He could never tell who said what with their damn masks. Calidus, dry-eyed, got up and paced around the body. He inspected the corpse again. Stabbed enough times her midsection had detached—with his accidental help.

“I’d like some more care and consideration, yes. It’s all part of my plan: don’t be murdered in my sleep when this goes pear-shaped. Which it is looking more and more likely to.”

He glanced around at the dozen or so Faces from the old Guild, all that remained, and blank-faced Ranks from Chandrar. Calidus smiled at Losmere.

“You don’t see it? Ha. Haha. Just me then?”

He knelt over the body and knew his life was on the line. Which did motivate him to some emotion, but he wasn’t a good [Actor], and he didn’t like himself that much. Tears might save his life, but Calidus just sighed. Genius, some called him. He certainly had the class.

[Genius of Sloth]. And he wasn’t purely analytical like Zeomtoril, his [Polymath]. He fancied he understood more of the world than if it were just a Golem’s logical place like Zeomtoril believed. So Calidus knew time was running out.

Still, he couldn’t cry. He just held the dead woman’s face. Her mask had revealed dusky features and freckles, which were paler than the surrounding skin; a fascinating thing. She might have become a feared Face of the Guild or so many things. Dead.

“I weep for the waste. Truly. Let’s all have a toast in her honor. Anyone know her name?”

He glanced around and sighed when it became obvious no one did. Calidus Reinhart toasted her anyways and got blind, stinking drunk. It seemed like the best move, really.

——

They were going to murder him. Calidus knew. He didn’t ask for this, but he could read the room.

Don’t get the Assassin’s Guild running? Old Regis has me murdered.

The Guild’s exposed? Same thing, and Magnolia probably kills me for my involvement.

Fail to keep it orderly and an [Assassin] murders me and takes over.

Fail to balance the Ranks and Faces? Civil war and killed for incompetence.

The only way he lived was the hardest and most narrow path: keep the Guild running and make sure it was a success. Not too much of a success or he was too powerful yadda yadda, but do a good job, in short.

No way out. Calidus had already calculated the odds of him escaping successfully, and at the moment, trying hard was his only option.

Mind you, trying hard for him was a few drunken speeches over the dead woman’s corpse, organizing her burial in a growing graveyard outside his mansion, and then drinking until he stumbled into bed and a delightful memory of—

He turned his head, and Losmere, the Human [Assassin] who seemed to speak and represent the old-guard [Assassins], was still in bed with him. She was highly attractive—to Calidus, at least.

Oh, she had claimed she wasn’t the most attractive woman under the mask, but what was a mask but mystique? Plus, she was exceptionally fit and scarred. She had a lot of knife-wound scars as an [Instructor] who taught Assassins, and there was nothing so alluring as a woman who could kill you.

Calidus’ recent memories were highly complimentary about her, and he smiled as he sat up in bed. She tugged up her cloth mask just enough to offer him a hint of a smile. He reached for a pitcher on a side table, poured himself a drink. Then sighed.

“You don’t seem much pleased given recent events.”

She had a purr to her voice that was so menacing it did wonderful things to the back of his brain, but Calidus’ damn mind overrode his baser instincts. He beamed at her anyways and handed her a cup.

“Oh, just grieving because it’s the last time we’re sleeping together, I fear. I do appreciate the effort, Losmere, and I shall kiss your fingers happily on farewell, but I do find that being slept with out of obligation takes the fun out of life.”

She was very well-trained, but [Assassins] were actually worse with social dissembling than they thought. It came from being good at murder, not talking. Just a hint of hesitation as she lifted the cup to her mouth, and then it stayed there to hide a reaction.

“A bold claim.”

“An accurate one!”

Calidus swung himself out of bed and began hunting for his pants. He didn’t look at her and dared to turn his back to an [Assassin] because he knew she wouldn’t kill him. He didn’t have time to be afraid of things that wouldn’t happen, which gave him that casual, even jaunty air that disconcerted them, he knew.

“What are you basing that on? I was quite—”

“Women don’t share the same bed with me after all is said and done unless they want something, Losmere.”

Another pause.

“You’re basing this purely on that?”

Calidus buttoned up his shirt, then glanced at her blank face. She was annoyed now, but he was casual. He knew he was right and began to elucidate his argument.

“I’m quite fine with it, you know. No hard feelings; I’m usually the result of a quite consensual agreement while we’re all shitfaced, and I like to think I’m good at pleasing my partners even so. But who’d stay in a bed like that? Once they’re done, most lovely ladies see themselves out or, at least, don’t care to sleep next to me. I snore. The bed is not that clean.”

He gave the rumpled sheets a pointed glance, and Losmere hesitated. Calidus kept ticking points off on his fingers.

“Furthermore, even if I assumed we were so enamored as to be laying on each other’s bosoms, you still wouldn’t be lying in bed with me. You are a trained [Assassin]; lying in a bed like that must go against your natural instincts. Third—is this the third point, I forget?—you woke up well before I did. Your tolerance for alcohol—if you even let yourself get drunk—is amazingly high, and a [Warrior] would be up for, what, an hour before me? You had to lie there, the entire time, to bring something up as we basked in the afterglow. No, you want something. You could just ask, you know.”

He sat down on the bed, and she shifted onto her feet, proving she really didn’t enjoy lying there. She sounded annoyed at herself, now.

“I told them I wasn’t good at covert missions. Understand, it wasn’t an attempt to subvert you—”

“Just get on my good side, yes, yes. And I’m inclined to listen, because, again, I need you. I die without you. I’ll take the romance and heartbreak, but go on.”

She stared at him, then shifted.

“This Guild you’re building. Work is…proceeding.”

“It’s not going well, but I’m organizing things. Go on.”

“We of the old Guild simply wish you to ensure we’re remaining as Faces. That the Ranks, these new fodder, aren’t elevated too quickly. And that our positions are protected.”

“You don’t want them challenging you and killing you in your sleep.”

Calidus translated, and she flushed before tugging her mask down and continuing to dress herself.

“We could slaughter them easily! However, if they kept attacking and came in numbers—”

“It’d be a bloodbath. Yes, yes. I’ll enforce your hierarchy. Tell the others I need cooperation, though, Losmere. No hazing the Ranks. No…do you rub their hair and dunk them in a well or something?”

She was silent, and Calidus eyed her. Losmere shrugged.

“We have been known to—test some recruits. Put them up against monsters or have them duel each other.”

“Ah, good old-fashioned hazing, then. None of that. Just do your job, and treat them professionally. No…asserting dominance. Understand?”

He waved a finger at her, and she hesitated.

“The Ranks are unruly. They’re still coming out of their training, and they’ll be obedient, but the cracks are showing, Lord Calidus. Give it a month at most and they’ll start developing personalities again. Within a year, they’ll be far more colorful, and we are inducting non-Chandrarian membership. If you don’t have strong leadership—”

“They’ll kill me or ignore me. I know.”

His eyes shone as he sat there, and she fell silent, her comments running into the Lord of House Reinhart’s too-calm expression. As if he knew everything she’d said. Calidus murmured.

“I’m trying to fix it. Thank you for the lovely illusion.”

She paused by the door, unwarrantedly uncomfortable. Losmere turned.

“For what it’s worth, it was not entirely—unpleasant to be courted.”

He smiled at her.

“High praise.”

He didn’t believe a word she said. The [Assassin] left silently to communicate to the others. Calidus? He just lay on his back a bit before cursing and getting up.

“Fine. Let’s try this damn thing.”

——

“Who killed the Rank?”

He wanted answers. He’d already put a moratorium on the [Assassins] just going out and taking jobs, but it seemed like it wasn’t working. It turned out Calidus was incorrect, though.

It took one of the Faces a while, but he eventually had an answer.

“It was not your family or a request through the Guild’s usual methods, such as they were, Lord Calidus. We have respected your commands while restructuring the Guild.”

“So the Rank just went for a walk?”

Calidus’ sarcastic tone made the Naga visibly stiffen, annoyed, but the [Lord] was more annoyed, so the Naga replied softly.

“This was a special request. Regis Reinhart demanded a spy to investigate…something. Three Ranks went. Two returned the body.”

“Ah, Grandfather. So he’s above the chain of command, I take it?”

“He is Regis Reinhart. The Assassin’s Guild has always listened to him. He is on a shortlist of targets we refuse to take. Three-Color Stalker being another famous example, worldwide.”

The Naga might have been from Baleros, or maybe he’d lived in Izril all his life. Calidus decided to ask.

“Are you from Baleros’ Guilds?”

“…As a Rank, yes.”

“Fascinating. I’d love to know how they do things.”

“Far more…unconventionally than here, Lord Calidus. Local chapters have secret passphrases and ornate rituals. Lizardfolk gangs who leave blood markings, and more formal groups in cities. They war with each other. One Guild in the north and south is far more preferable. And the north owes much to Regis Reinhart, we understand.”

“Despite the Circle of Thorns getting you all mostly killed? Regis is in there too, I’ll wager.”

Silence. The Naga slithered next to Calidus, and the [Lord] spoke.

“Right, well, he’s got the same sway in House Reinhart. No one goes against Grandfather except dear Aunt Magnolia. And he’s put me in a life-or-death situation fixing his mess. So here is my order: no one listens to him. Any request, any request goes through me or I expel you from the Guild and everyone who had knowledge of it. Understand?”

He raised his voice, and the Face hesitated.

“Regis Reinhart—”

“Don’t listen to me, go ahead! Just plunge a dagger into my heart! Go on!”

Calidus whirled and tore open his shirt. He chest-thrust himself at the Naga, who slithered back, recoiling. The Naga snapped, unusually disconcerted.

“What is it with you and offering to let us kill you?”

The [Lord] beamed.

“It’s because you need me. Until you no longer do, my life is the best card to play. You want to stop being hunted? You want a Guild? Grandfather wants it too, so in that case, what I say goes. No one overrules me! Agreed?”

He pointed at the Face, then to a few random shadows in his banquet hall. The Naga’s eyes slid sideways, and he murmured.

“Very well. Lord Regis’ requests are not exactly easy at the best of times. He may be unhappy, however.”

“Let him shout. Now, is my Guild ready?”

Calidus was already tired, but he strode out of his mansion and into the town and saw there was a fresh coat of paint on a building and a lot of rather unhappy people in plain clothes filing in. He beamed as the Naga sighed.

——

A Guild. That was the idea Calidus had had, and it looked like almost any Adventurer’s Guild in existence.

It did, in fact, say ‘Adventurer’s Guild’ on the sign. And the men and women of various species and ages inside lining up to register were also adventurers.

Bronze-rankers, mostly. Calidus himself watched the Naga be issued a Gold-ranker’s card and details. It wasn’t easy just creating someone at Gold-rank, mind you. There was a lot of paperwork to forge, and the other Guilds had their own records and didn’t exactly enjoy someone waltzing up and saying they had their own Gold-rankers, add them to a list.

Named-rankers were impossible to forge into existence without a lot of contacts, though Calidus had done his homework and had seen a ‘Regrika Blackpaw’ had been clearly forged as being Named-rank. But even she’d had to do it like he was doing now.

“When you put him at Gold-rank, pre-date all the records, oh, three years ago. You’re going to want about sixty adventuring entries here. Put them in sloppy shorthand. Then, when the other guilds ask for the file, send it over. Which we shall initiate by having a member complain their records aren’t being shown in another Guild.”

He was talking to the [Receptionist], who was a lovely young woman that had actually been part of the Adventurer’s Guild. Then fired for embezzlement. That’s what her file said, and Calidus didn’t ask how his grandfather had found her.

He suspected the Circle of Thorns or Regis’ ghostly maids were the real paper-pushers behind the scenes. Calidus had demanded a lot to make the Assassin’s Guild function again, and it amused him to think of the dreaded Circle assigning fifty [Secretaries of Darkness] or something to do what he needed.

Every organization needed quality staff. Unfortunately…a [Corrupt Receptionist] wasn’t exactly trustworthy. Which was why the sweating Human woman was very aware she was working for a bunch of undercover [Assassins].

Nothing instilled loyalty like the threat of death. Still…the Guild wasn’t exactly optimal, which was why Calidus was acting as the actual Guildmaster.

The Naga, who was very upset to show his rather handsome features, complete with a red patina of scales like a starburst around his mouth, glared at Calidus.

“This front is unnecessary, Lord Calidus. Our organization works optimally in secret. A more discreet headquarters could have similar organization and less showyness.”

“Yes, it could. But this provides you with a cover.”

“What cover? An adventurer who goes and kills—”

Calidus rolled his eyes.

“Not for you to use your identities! I expect that’s what the mask is for! It provides you cover to move. Or do you think it’s easy just riding around like some kind of baleful shadow at night? People pay attention to shadows! The Unmarked Coach is overtaxed and not reliable, and as for the Guild…we’re sort of low on black carriages after most of them exploded!”

Transportation was an issue, and the [Assassins] hesitated. Calidus went on smoothly.

“The Driver’s Guild may not be that intelligent, but my aunt is. Anyone who wants to pay attention will notice someone using the Overnight Carriages. As for riding into a city—nameless travellers do tend to stand out. What doesn’t stand out is a Bronze-ranker searching for work. You head out, kill a Corusdeer, party in the city for a night, and then after someone has a tragic accident, leave after a week.”

…It wasn’t actually a bad idea. The Faces had taken similar covers before, and the Naga grumbled.

“We do not all need to be adventurers, though. Too many in the same occupation is obvious.”

Calidus slid out from behind the counter and jogged out the door. He popped into a neighboring building and rested his chin on his hands on the counter.

“Fancy a job doing deliveries?”

The Runner’s Guild next door to the Adventurer’s Guild was also very new; this town hadn’t had either. The Naga opened his mouth, and Calidus gave him a level gaze.

“I did mention you had a choice of occupations. You didn’t listen to me.”

The [Assassin] didn’t dignify this with a comment. Calidus leaned over the counter.

“The rest of the staff who worked at your old Guild are coming here to work. We’ll have a jolly little town filled with lowlife scum…and [Assassins]. I don’t envy you having to put up with your neighbors. I never had a very orderly town. Lots of [Drunks], [Gamblers], and [Wastrels]. Something about me just attracts them. We’ll have housing, plumbing, all that sort of thing under the guise of normality.”

“And when someone comes through and realizes it is not normal?”

Calidus’ patient expression became even more friendly.

“They will not. I expect you all to behave like people. I want people, not killing automatons.”

The Face glanced at the Ranks, who were lined up like Golems but clearly listening in. He glared at Calidus.

“We are what we are, said the scorpion to the toad.”

“I always thought that was a stupid story. What kind of scorpion wants to die by stinging a toad midway across the river? Scorpions blend in with the sand and dig. They know how to wait! If Grandfather wants just mindless killers, he’d be better suited to replacing you all with Golems.”

The [Lord] glared back at the Face, and the Naga hesitated. Then Calidus beamed at Losmere and blew her a kiss. He spoke cheerfully.

“One last thing. As proper people, I do expect you to pay your taxes.”

“What?”

“I need an income to fund all this! And it seems to me you all might have hefty incomes.”

He rubbed his hands together, delighted. Calidus strode out of the Guild.

“Let’s get things running! I want to see everyone here take a request today! We need to look the part! The Adventurer’s Guild is open for business!”

He spread his arms, then hesitated. Calidus jogged back into the Guild.

“The Adventurer’s Guild of…what’s this damn town called?”

The terrified [Receptionist] whispered in his ear, and he pulled a face.

“Isbeut? Dead gods. Isbeut. Is it a pun? ‘Is beautiful’, perhaps? Named after some unfortunate…Isbeut. Ugh.”

He slapped the Naga on the back and handed him his adventurer’s card. The Naga glared and waited for this to go bad.

It only took about an hour for Calidus to learn the joys of working customer service in any capacity.

——

Selys Shivertail stormed out of another city. Well, rode out in her magical carriage. Her cheeks were flushed under her scales, and she was ranting. Mostly to herself, but also to her friends.

The two rats, Rhata and Haldagaz, who were staring at her over her handbag where they usually resided…without much sympathy.

“Can you believe that, Haldagaz? Some city. I thought it was worth a chance, but—how dare he tell me I should be working at Liscor!”

The Guildmaster had been friendly enough, until he’d started telling her of course he’d consider her for a [Vice Guildmaster] class—she was so qualified and obviously it was all true! But they didn’t have that much work with all the adventurers leaving and new teams needing to be trained up. If she was so good at her job, why had she left Liscor?

Which Selys hadn’t dignified with a response. And his Guild had been tiny! Only eight Bronze-rank teams, two Silver-ranks who were full time! Obviously Liscor’s had only been a bit bigger, but she wanted better prospects than some rinky-dink nowhere Guild.

Those comments seemed to have annoyed her pet rats. Selys got a nudge from Haldagaz, and she shoved him with one claw, irritably.

“It wasn’t the right fit. I want potential, not a backwater. There’s just no respect for my class or my accomplishments. Really, it’s no wonder I’ve not found anything if all the Guilds are like—ow! Haldagaz! Rhata, he bit me!”

Haldagaz leapt away as Selys yelped, and she gaped at him, aghast. Her lovely little friend never bit her! But he seemed distinctly displeased, and when she turned to Rhata for support, the bulkier grey rat headbutted her hands.

“Don’t give me that! That was a nowhere city! I came to make a mark, not work for a dustball! Look at Ryoka! She worked in Reizmelt, and it’s famous now! The Wind Runner’s city! But it was also…it had a lot of advantages because…”

Selys had bought a local encyclopedia of northern cities, and she hunted through it to validate her point. Reizmelt, filled with opportunity, and, uh—

She slammed the book shut after Haldagaz made a few snide squeaking sounds.

“She was a Courier. I need a good Guild! Maybe the south is better. Yes, next to the New Lands! It’d only take…half a week…if we stay in the carriage to get somewhere nice in the south!”

Both rats rolled over on their backs, indicating what they thought of four days of nonstop carriage travel. Selys’ own butt hurt at the thought, and she curled her tail up.

“One more city. One more city and I’ll seek work in the south. I don’t have time to waste, you two. I just need to find a diamond in the rough.”

The two rats stared up at her so pointedly that Selys stopped studying a map of Izril and the little city nestled in the High Passes. She shoved the book into her bag of holding and picked the two rats up.

“If you’re giving me attitude, you can go rest in my purse. Stop wiggling! Stop—”

They were her pets—well, Calruz’s, but she had fed and taken care of them for a year now! She was in charge, but the two rats seemed to have snapped. They were squeaking, making outraged sounds like they were lecturing Selys, and when she went to put them in time-out, she found that she’d never had trouble with them before.

And she really didn’t know how strong Rhata was. Selys slammed into one wall of the carriage.

“Rhata? Rhata, stop wiggling! Get in the purse or I’ll—how the hell are you so—Rhata!”

There were a few thuds, loud squeaking, and some travellers on the road eyed the rattling carriage until a Drake almost went out the carriage door as it unlatched accidentally. She was fighting a single, very muscular rat whose flying headbutt was too strong for an [Heiress] who didn’t exactly work out.

——

Betrayed by even her rats. Selys Shivertail sat in one corner of the coach as her handbag, bulging as two very angry rats squeaked and fought to break out from the inside, rolled around in the front seats.

Even they don’t like me. I bet Mrsha said something to them. Or maybe they were going feral without a [Beast Tamer] like Elirr. She could drop them off at the inn, then…then…

Selys rolled into the last town she’d chosen just because it was within a day’s ride. An even less likely town than the last one, barely more than an upgraded hamlet. There was some fancy mansion on a hill and a lot of day-drunks.

The [Heiress] eyed the one inn in the town and instantly decided she wasn’t staying there. Another mismanaged little town owned by some incompetent [Lord]. She’d seen that more than once. Good provinces had good nobles like Pellmia of House Quellae. A bad noble and you got this.

“Okay, let’s go to Invrisil. I’ll do some shopping, head to Pallass if Liska doesn’t make a scene, and then we’ll go from there.”

She was programming the magical carriage to do just that when she heard a tearing sound. Then a furious Rhata leapt from the handbag she’d ripped open with her teeth.

“Rhata? Rhata, I did that for your own good! Don’t—aaaaaah!”

Selys jumped out of the carriage and slammed the door in Rhata’s face. She saw the carriage door rattle as the furious rat hit it, then she backed up.

This day couldn’t get any worse. Selys covered her face as she stood in the street. Then peered around to see if anyone had noticed.

A few people glanced at the Drake and shaking carriage, but most seemed keen not to be on the street. Especially where she was. Selys turned, and a huge sign above her read:

Adventurer’s Guild.

She stopped and blinked at the fresh coat of paint. Then at the Runner’s Guild next door. It sounded like there was a fight going on inside.

Great, seedy little town, seedy Guild. Selys recoiled and was edging around the carriage to see if she could hop in the front seat when she saw a man exit the Guild.

He was overweight with blond hair on his head that was unkempt or something—Selys didn’t get hair—and a sauntering walk that seemed to radiate a complete indifference to how anyone saw him. Not a put-upon confidence or swagger, more like a walk that said, ‘was your shin there? Well, my foot was here, what a coincidence!’ He also had expensive clothing that was clearly two-days lived in and rumpled with a wine spill down the collar.

A nobleman, perhaps the owner of this very town. But what struck Selys was his expression. His eyes were green, a familiar green that many of his House had. However, his features were just…blankly calm. When he glanced around, he didn’t seem surprised by anything. But he also looked disappointed.

In himself? In the world? It was a level of cynicism that even Selys Shivertail had to admire. She thought she’d seen the depths of it in a mirror, but this man looked like he might end it all if he found nothing to stop him. Like, say, a generous bottle of wine.

Which, perhaps, was a harsh read of his character. Or not, because he was, at this moment, splashing a full keg of lantern oil around the outskirts of the Adventurer’s Guild. The distinctive fumes of the alchemical liquid stung Selys’ nostrils, and she watched, mouth open, as he poured it down one wall.

Then showered himself with the liquid.

Then lit a match. A match? How did he have—?

“Lord Calidus! Stop!”

A man wearing a servant’s outfit and another woman, scars all over her arms, that Selys thought she recognized came out and tried to wrestle with him, yanking the match out of his hands. Calidus tossed the man down.

“Not now, Dorim, I’m making an executive decision. It turns out I can’t do it after all. Scrub it all; tell Grandfather I tried, but I’d rather self-immolate than settle disputes. Farewell.”

“Lord Calidus, you cannot—he’s serious. Someone help me!”

The woman saw the man light a second match from a little box and shouted inside. A Naga, of all things, emerged, but Calidus just tossed the first match at the keg. It lit, and the Naga grabbed the keg, swearing, and hurled it. Calidus lit a second, and it glowed as he smiled.

“Plan C it is—oh!”

The last exclamation was a shout of surprise, and then Calidus’ legs locked together. He began to keel over as Dorim and Losmere, panting, saw his eyes cross. Then they saw the Drake behind Calidus who had walked over and booted him between the legs as hard as she could.

“You idiot! Are you trying to burn down an Adventurer’s Guild?”

Calidus didn’t respond as he held his family jewels, which were now in great pain. Selys kicked the matchbox away and then whirled.

“Someone get some water! This maniac is trying to burn down the Guild and everyone in it! Hello?”

She dashed inside, and Calidus heard the fighting between the angry Ranks grow louder, then a voice.

“[Listen to Me]! Someone get water and get out of the Guild in case it ignites!”

Hesitation, then a figure bailed out the window. Calidus saw Losmere recoil warily, and as he lay on the ground, agony replacing his desire to burn in a fireball, he saw the door of the magical carriage unlatch and a pair of little rats peer around from the inside.

He had never, ever seen nor imagined a rat could have actual biceps. The [Lord] stared at the rats, then started giggling to himself.

——

Ten minutes later, Selys Shivertail was panting as water washed away the oil. She had four people with stab wounds having first aid applied to them as a [Healer] was sent for, a lot of broken tables and chairs, a staff who seemed paralyzed by fear, and a madman of a [Lord].

…And she had no idea why she was here. Only that this Guild was pure insanity.

“They began stabbing each other over what? A contract? Not the reward for one, but a—a contract?”

“T-to kill a boar, Miss. Yes.”

A terrified [Receptionist] was standing behind the counter. She was quite attractive with reddish-blonde hair all in a fetching ponytail and a fresh uniform on. Something about her didn’t make Selys trust her.

She reminds me of that squirrely [Receptionist] who kept skimming coppers off of bounties a year before Erin showed up. It was just instinct, but Selys believed her; the woman was genuinely rattled.

“So not for the money. For who got the request? Are you that hard up on jobs?”

No response. The rest of the staff were peering at the ground or at Selys out of the corner of their eyes, utterly terrified…except for a white-haired man who was genuinely old. He had wrinkles on his hands—what she could see of them.

He had the oddest gloves in the world. They were finger-gloves, so they only covered the first two knuckles on his hands.

Who wears gloves like those? Selys’ mind supplied the answer after a moment.

[Rogues]. People who don’t like fingerprints showing. Seborn always has gloves on his Human hand.

He responded in a dry tone as he bent over a sheaf of paper, writing calmly.

“The four of them all wanted the same boar-request. Lord Calidus bade them all take a job, and there was a concern there were not enough requests for everyone. Hence when one tried to turn it in first—”

“They went to violence? What are they, mad?”

He just glanced up at her, and his expression was not like Calidus’, bored of life. His was a blank face that she had seen on some [Veterans]. Some killers who applied to be adventurers. She shuddered as the man replied.

“They’re new, Miss. Doubtless someone is grateful for your help. You should now leave. This is not the place for you.”

That annoyed her. Selys hadn’t wanted to stay in this rinky-dink town, but just for that, she drew herself up.

“Someone has to tell the Guildmistress of this place it’s being run to madness! Who’s in charge here?”

“That would be me.”

Lord Calidus Reinhart was holding his groin, but smiling as he eyed her. He appeared the slightest bit curious—then spoke.

“Miss Selys Shivertail, we meet again. What is a young [Heiress] doing touring the north?”

She jumped.

“How did you—?”

He sat down in a chair, groaning, as the very odd adventurers stood outside, listening.

“First Landing, the Lighthouse Bar. I noticed the rats. I didn’t put it together with your name until just now—fascinating. Are those rats magical or just empowered by a Skill?”

“Wh—they’re owned by my friend. One’s intelligent, the other’s strong. How did you—?”

She realized Rhata and Haldagaz were in another man’s hands, eating from a bowl. And drinking some wine? Calidus nodded.

“Put them there, Dorim, there’s a good man. Well, Miss Shivertail, you defused the situation in here quite rapidly. Thank you. But you also prevented me burning myself to death, so I hold that against you. Calidus Reinhart. Lord of these lands and Guildmaster of the Runner’s Guild and Adventurer’s Guild of Isbeut. Right up until I can find another match.”

He held out a hand, and she eyed his hand covering his groin and folded her arms.

“Selys Shivertail, as you well know. [Heiress]. What is a [Lord] doing running an Adventurer’s Guild?”

“I thought it’d be easy.”

“Hah!”

He didn’t take offense to the scoff, but just nodded.

“It turns out dealing with people in any reasonable sense of the word is far too much for me. Nor do the staff have any competency there. The ones too terrified to say anything versus the ‘originals’ who are…?”

He glanced pointedly at the old man, who looked up from his work and bowed, though he was so bowed over it didn’t really do much.

“Lagrisse, Lord Calidus. The policy of the Guild was to let members sort out such matters. Staff getting in the way tended to get killed.”

“Well, there’s a new damn policy in place. Based on respect! Appreciation for hard work! And—argh, it’s hopeless. Match.”

Calidus held out a hand, and no one gave him one. Selys watched the two rats crawl over the table to sniff at him. He eyed them, then her.

“My new Guild is not going well. Nor are my, ah, new adventurers that manageable, Miss Selys.”

“I can see that. You should have told them that if they can’t find work, there will be plenty later! You shouldn’t have them brawling in the first place—stabbing—do you even know them?”

She indicated the very odd, very silent figures lying on the ground and then had a thought. They’re not even crying out. She’d known Gold-rankers who screamed and carried on with a torn hangnail. Selys’ scales began to crawl, but Calidus just beamed at her.

“Not at all! I’m a friend to anyone with drink in hand, but I don’t do people well. Dealing with petty complaints makes me want to die.”

“Well, this Guild isn’t going to last long without a good manager.”

Selys glanced around, and even the old man, Lagrisse, nodded at that. She gazed at the silent figures and noted the too-blank expressions.

Very fit people. Most adventurers aren’t actually that fit-looking until they hit at least Level 20. They were fast too. Not many can actually stab someone else without being very angry.

And…she just had a sense quite a number of them were over Level 30. Way too many for some no-name Guild she’d never heard of.

A magnificent Guild in some senses. Full of potential, talent, and a lot of knives. And so Selys scooped up her two rats and backtracked to her carriage, smiling hugely.

“—But I wouldn’t like to lecture too much, er, Lord Calidus! I’ll just be on my way! Er, so pleased to meet you—”

She bumped into a Naga as she tried to back out of the Guild, and Calidus smiled at her. He sipped from the cup the two rats had been drinking from.

“I can see the cover of the Guild really doesn’t hold up to scrutiny. You might be right, Qissax.”

The Naga put a hand on Selys’ shoulder, and she froze. His claws pricked her scales at the lightest touch they were so sharp.

“Shall we arrange an accident, Lord Calidus? She is too important to go unnoticed. But a failure of Wistram’s magical spells a province or two over—”

“H-hey. Hold on, I have people who’ll come looking for me. The Wandering Inn—”

Selys’ throat closed as the Naga eyed her, and for a second, his eyes gleamed with that merciless amusement.

“[No False Threats]. No one knows you’re here, do they?”

She couldn’t say a word. The Naga casually put a claw around her throat, and Selys couldn’t breathe. Calidus Reinhart eyed her, chewing on some cheese, and then spoke.

“Qissax—lovely name by the way—are you blind, man? Here comes Lady Fortune herself, with her ample bosom of chaos, and you want to do her a disservice and throw away our gift?”

“Hmm?”

The Naga hesitated, and Calidus leapt to his feet. He spread his arms, embraced Selys, and pulled her out of the Naga’s grasp. Then he lifted her arm in the air.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, Faces! I give you…your new Guildmistress!”

He beamed as every face turned to Selys. She was pale, and her mouth opened to protest before Calidus leaned over.

“Just so you know, they’re all [Assassins], not members of the underworld. And if you run or send a [Message], they’ll kill you exceptionally dead. We’re in this together, Miss Selys. How does lunch sound? My chef does an entirely adequate spread.”

He beamed at her. She made a choking sound and wished, in that moment, that she’d gone south instead of north. She had no excuse for this one, really.

But she still blamed Erin for it.

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart was a practical man. When coincidence served him a solution on a silver platter, he didn’t argue with it.

He just investigated to make sure this was a coincidence, not his aunt’s scheming. Though frankly, he thought this was all far too stupid, even for her.

“Hmm. [Heiress], lost her grandmother, a famous [Spearmaster] and Guildmistress of Liscor, in the Winter Solstice. Public fight with a [Princess]…wait, what?”

He was skimming a report as Qissax, Losmere, and a few Faces sat with him, reviewing his new Guildmistress. She was in the guild, taking stock; not like she had any choice.

He’d laid out the situation to her, and he gave her credit: she understood just what she’d walked into. Actually, she was too calm—he had orders to have her watched and had asked the [Assassins] not to kill her if she ran.

He needed someone to do this job, especially because she’d stopped him from burning himself and the Guild down.

Which had been Plan C, damnit! Calidus had realized how stupid his idea was and had been about to set himself on fire.

He’d calculated that if he was lucky, Zeomtoril could heal him and fake his death. After all, the old [Polymath] knew that if Calidus ever burned himself alive, it was a fakeout. At least, Calidus hoped he remembered the plan.

No doing it all over again; he’d lost his nerve, and living the rest of his life with that kind of burn scar wasn’t that appealing. But Calidus stopped as he read the report. The Assassin’s Guild had lovely reports; that fellow, Lagrisse, was a [Secret Broker]—actually, an employee of the old Guild.

“There’s a [Princess] in Liscor? And no one told me?”

Calidus’ outraged face made the Faces sigh. Qissax tapped the table pointedly.

“All of Izril knows the 6th [Princess] of Calanfer lives in The Wandering Inn, Lord Calidus.”

“Well, I don’t. I’ve had my head in a pillow, a bucket of drink, or some lovely lady’s chest nonstop! How attractive is—oh my. I think I need t—”

Calidus turned the page, then sagged.

“Children. Nevermind. Wait, she’s the one with the beach!”

He brightened up again.

“The Wandering Inn. I beat that lovely [Innkeeper] at chess, didn’t I? Damn her.”

He really was out of the loop in an amazing way. The Faces exchanged glances.

“Do you not pay attention to the news, Lord Calidus?”

“News? I’m all up to date on the New Lands. Channel 1 News. Those two Drakes are about as dry as Grandfather Regis’ back, but listening to them for thirty minutes keeps me up to date. I quite like the other Drake, but I don’t care to know what song the Singer of Terandria is playing next—nor how the war in Reim is actually going.”

Lord Calidus glanced around.

“…I can see I’m among people who prefer the news with some character. Fair, fair. So this Selys genuinely seems to have left due to fighting with her former friends. She’s talented; Liscor had a few nasty events. Well more than a few. Huh.”

He stared at a list of events and began to open up related pages, fascinated. He had no idea it had been that bad over there.

Ironically, Lord Calidus was not the sort of man who liked the television much. Unlike a certain Lord Moltin, Calidus would much rather be drinking, reading a book, or flirting than letting someone else dictate the flow of information to him. He’d had the thought that Wistram was probably spying on him via their scrying orb, so until the television became all-encompassing, he’d only bought a scrying orb to have it installed under a horse’s privy.

So he was one of the few people in Izril who didn’t know—nor really care—about The Wandering Inn. At least, until now. Calidus was muttering.

“Winter Solstice. Winter Solstice? That’s when Aunt Magnolia released us. What the hell does Draugr attack mean? Plural?”

His eyes flicked down the page. Then went back up. He checked the notes, then leaned over.

“Is this accurate? You don’t do hearsay, do you?”

“About what, Lord Calidus?”

He shoved the report over.

“That.”

The Faces read. They exchanged a glance. One of them, a Stitch-woman with a veil over her face, shrugged.

“I heard that happened. There are recordings, Lord Calidus. Incomplete, but that’s what the Five Families claimed occurred. There are doubts among many that the event was completely real, however.”

“Recordings. Of ten thousand Draugr coming down out of nowhere, a super-[Necromancer] and two Bone Giants—get me a [Mage].”

Calidus rose to his feet, and he was fascinated. He gazed around at them. The [Assassins] were doing their ‘too cool to be fazed’ thing, but he wasn’t above that.

“There was an entire war around Liscor, Drakes and Humans fighting side-by-side, and it has not swept the north?”

“It might not have occurred that way, Lord Calidus. Casualties were high, but given the magnitude, one would have expected Liscor to fall. It isn’t the first time the city has had something dramatic happen to it.”

Calidus gazed down at the list of attacks on Liscor again. He whirled.

“I suppose I’m the perfect example of why it’s not the center of all attention—I want confirmation on all of this. Did the Small Queen really storm Invrisil and fight the Assassin’s Guild in the streets?”

This time, Losmere eyed him, legitimately affronted.

“She did. I was there for that. How did you not see it?”

“I don’t really care what happens in Izril. Do you? I don’t care who’s the head of House Terland, who’s sleeping with who, and if the King of Destruction sweeps Chandrar or dies in a ditch. But dead gods—do you have a recording? That’s worth watching. That’s hilarious.”

He grinned until he saw every [Assassin] glaring at him. Calidus sat down.

“I mean, tragic. Yes, yes. Horrific, senseless [Assassin] violence. I’ll take every recording you have and a drink. Popcorn?”

——

Thirty minutes later, Calidus Reinhart wasn’t eating popcorn or even drinking more than water. He’d gotten too depressed.

“Maviola El! Maviola, Lady Firestarter herself!”

He was crying huge, blobby tears onto Qissax’s shoulder. The Naga eyed him as Calidus wept.

“She—she’s so beautiful! She was right there, and I—I never got a chance to flirt with her. In her prime! Dead gods, she’s incredible! Calidus, you fool!”

He ripped his shirt open, and the [Assassins] genuinely had no idea what to say. This man—truly lived a life contrary to everything they believed.

In truth, Calidus was hamming it up a bit to solidify his image in their heads. Better they thought him a silly man than dangerous. And…he gazed down at the orb, then flicked it to the next recording.

“There dies an El in all the true spirit of the Five Families. We poor successors shattered by the Goblin King are less for her absence. Gresaria Wellfar. I always liked her bellowing orders at ships and cursing them like a storm. Damn.”

He sat down, and one of the Faces spoke.

“She was responsible for the Guild of Assassins in First Landing being destroyed. I trust you are not mourning her, Lord Calidus?”

There was an edge in the half-Elf’s tone. He had a scar down one side of his face, a nasty one. As if magic had melted his skin; part of his skull was showing. Calidus glanced up.

“One would have thought a smart [Assassin] wouldn’t have put their Guild in the north’s most powerful city. Gresaria Wellfar switched my behind twice as a child for putting her docks into chaos and danger. I’ll mourn whomever I damn well please.”

The half-Elf’s eyes flashed. He bristled, and Calidus ignored him.

“I’ve said it and I’m getting tired of it: kill me if you’re going to. Otherwise, shut up and let me do what I want.”

There was a sound—Calidus glanced at Losmere.

“If he tries to stab me or whatnot, kill him. Or decide this isn’t working and start searching for a new base and more reasonable Guildmaster.”

She hesitated. Calidus ignored them all without even pretending to pay attention to if they were going to kill him. He had no time for them.

He was…fascinated. Much like Damia, Calidus was drinking in knowledge.

“She killed the Prince of Erribathe. Dead gods.”

“You truly didn’t know?”

“I saw the Terandrians were in danger and the Bloodtear Pirates were mincing them. The scrying orb kept cutting to crying nobility, so I turned it off. What would it have changed? Good for the [Pirates], I thought. But that—”

He stared at the image of a woman knifing Prince Iradoren through the heart. And Calidus leaned forwards.

“…What kind of knife cuts through enchanted armor like that?”

In that sense, he had the Faces’ attention, because Calidus was asking the questions that resonated with them. They went silent, and even the half-Elf blinked as Calidus frowned at another recording.

“Hmm. Winter Solstice. Is that a furry elephant charging Aunt Magnolia? Dead gods, the stones on the woman! And you tossed her for Regis? Nevermind that. Right here. And someone pull up that image of Bird the Hunter shooting Wyverns.”

Both recordings were presented, and the [Assassins] gathered around. Calidus replayed it again on slow.

“Is that swordwork real? How about the impacts on flesh and bone? It’s a massed-melee. I assume it’s hard to fake that much and not have a single mistake. Anyone?”

“It…looks accurate to me. If anything, the blades seem to be bouncing too much. Though given how tough the flesh is—”

“The Wyvern one is real. That’s how eyes deform when arrows hit them.”

The bemused Faces had never had anyone make them play forensic detective. But they knew their craft, and all agreed it looked real to them.

“The Trial of Blades is absolutely real. See those cuts? We had a [Wiremaster] who was able to cut with metal that fine. That’s exactly how it looks when a limb is severed. See the ragged edges on that limb? Poorer blademastery.”

Calidus sat back.

“So it happened.”

He sat there and put Erin’s chess game, which he himself had participated in, with the rest. The [Lord] stood up.

“Compile all the reports. I’ll read the rest later. Let’s say I believe this all happened. Doesn’t Rhaldon deliver through Liscor? I’ll confirm with him. Selys Shivertail is from that city. She was a [Receptionist] at the Adventurer’s Guild during major events. She’s perfect to manage our Guild of Assassins.”

“Lord Calidus, with respect, the Guild used to operate—”

He slammed a fist on the table.

“The Guild does not have any of its systems in place!”

The Faces blinked at him, and he went on, voice steady.

“It has no control over its members. It has no existing membership with loyalty or a high-level Guildmaster who can enforce their will by might. What it has are hundreds of Ranks and new [Assassins] who have no real loyalty to the Guild and who we have no control over. I have been attempting to forge a bond of some kind with them. Because if we do not have that, then that little scuffle over requests? It is going to be that but a hundredfold for all of you.”

He looked the Faces in the eyes.

“Grandfather Regis is out-of-touch. He’s used to people getting things done, so he dumped this problem in my lap. If he fails, he’ll find someone else and do it again. Buy a thousand more Ranks until the Assassin’s Guild is working. He has time. We have only one life, and if I do not have the Ranks’ loyalty, then they’ll murder you all in your sleep for your titles.”

The Faces had been worried about just that. They went still now as Calidus sat.

“Selys Shivertail’s life is on the line. Let’s hope, ladies and gentleman, that she can take charge. So you were objecting to…what, exactly?”

He steepled his fingers, and the Faces peered at each other and then shifted.

“—She should, perhaps, have someone guarding her as well as monitoring her at all times, to begin with, Lord Calidus.”

“Agreed. Let her know you’re backing her up. I’ll make sure she speaks to me about anything needed. And have her take over the Runner’s Guild too; I’m not doing it. Get her lists of all the staff from the old Guild; she’ll need their help. Oh, and Zeomtoril. Nothing like a [Polymath] for making whatever you want in a hurry. Zeomtoril!”

Calidus went striding out of his meeting room, and the old man was not happy to be called out of his workshops.

“First we have these murderers breathing down our necks, now we’re running a Guild? This better not be because you’re sleeping with her, Calidus, or I am leaving!”

The [Lord] beamed at the [Polymath].

“Zeomtoril, they’ll find you in a second, no matter what kind of invisibility-teleportation-anti-detection nonsense you think you’ve got. We’re stuck together, so play nice, do whatever this lovely Drake asks—and I’m not sleeping with her, though it’s a novel concept, thank you for suggesting it—incidentally, did you know about the Winter Solstice?”

Zeomtoril eyed Calidus.

“…The mess down in Liscor or the undead that attacked Rhaldon?”

“Hmm. How accurate to the truth are the rumors?”

“I heard Oswen vanished, and it’s damn well gone.”

“Where was that in the—last question, Zeomtoril. Do you remember our Pyre Initiative plan?”

“Which crazy idea was this?”

Calidus exhaled and patted the man on the shoulder again.

“Good to know.”

He walked off, leaving Zeomtoril to cursing his back. Calidus moved into his study and poured himself a drink—of water. Then he sat at his desk, drawing with the water.

After a while, Dorim poked his head into the study.

“Did you need anything from me, sir?”

“No. Yes. How much do you know about that inn, Dorim? I know you were paying attention. A good [Majordomo] does. Wait, are you a [Majordomo] or did I hallucinate changing your class?”

The man jumped. He bobbed up and down.

“I was your chamberlain, sir. Although I had an [Innkeeper] class as well, um—t-then you changed it.”

“Upgraded. Right. Since you’re staying on until the bitter end, you might as well have a decent class of it. It was just messing with staffing.”

That’s all some classes were. Fulfill the requirements and they popped up, but sometimes if you got cheeky, they didn’t show up or altered. He liked the variances. But to Dorim, it had clearly shaken the man. He’d changed his very nature by a few of Calidus’ thoughts colliding.

It might well be Dorim who understood Calidus the best at the moment. Zeomtoril was still fooled by the act, but the [Majordomo] saw Calidus dipping a finger into the cup at his desk and drawing on the wood. A child’s doodles. But he had once looked over the man’s shoulder and seen the strangest and most intricate of writings soaked into the wood before it had dried away.

Notes for a mind which refused to commit anything even to paper, because paper could be copied by so many Skills. But try getting water from wood in the pattern it had soaked in. Hah!

In that way, Calidus was still a Reinhart, he supposed. The [Lord] kept writing as Dorim waited for instructions or insights into Calidus’ mind, then crept off. And the [Lord] was aware a Face might be watching him, even now, though they’d probably not understand what he was writing since he did it only for himself.

It didn’t matter. He was just…thinking.

He’d known about half of it. Of course, Calidus had known Maviola El had died. His drinking buddies had talked about that and big events in the news. That was how he found most things out, sitting and gossiping and being the last one to be filled in on things. If it mattered, he’d hear it from nobility or commonfolk or be confronted with it.

The same for the cracked moon and Goblin King, even the Winter Solstice. Calidus had known of lots of the pieces, and he’d kept tabs on that inn, mostly to see if the [Innkeeper] was up to something fun. But he had never put it all together like that.

It all connected. You might think it didn’t…but he’d seen more in those stories than even the Winter Solstice.

Belavierr the Stitch Witch lands in Izril. A [Witch] coven forms in the Unseen Empire. Belavierr is chased off by [Ladies]. Thus begins Maviola El’s final days.

The Unseen Emperor was at the Winter Solstice. A known friend of the [Innkeeper], who is a [Witch] and has visited the Unseen Empire.

Belavierr attacked that inn and participated in the Meeting of Tribes—where the Titan of Baleros was.

The Titan of Baleros plays chess with Erin Solstice.

Maviola El went to the inn. Her fire…the fire of that [Innkeeper]…the same Skill?

Chieftain Rags. Goblin Lord Ragathsi. Goblins at the inn.

The Meeting of Tribes. Doombearer child. From the inn. Wind Runner. Ryoka Griffin. Ties back to Magnolia, Tyrion. Ailendamus war?

All of it was connected. The more he worked, the more he realized he could trace almost every major event in the region to…the Horns of Hammerad, the Ruins of Albez, the Haven moving…the <Quests>? The New Lands?

He saw it, then. A gigantic picture that made him wonder what level that [Innkeeper] was. What…

“There is something else. Some other intersection here.”

Calidus peered at names he’d underlined. Joseph. Erin Solstice. Cara O’ Sullivan? Ryoka Griffin. He studied the names, remembered hearing about his aunt acquiring young people. The family had gossiped about it while they were stupid, and Aunt Cecille had made some joke about Magnolia preying on children. Now…Calidus turned.

“Face, Majordomo, whichever one of you is closest, I need an information lookup. Now. Does the family or someone in the Five Families or the Assassin’s Guild know about strange Humans?”

After a second, Dorim poked his head into the study and began to send [Messages] through Calidus’ channels. A Face coincidentally walked in a minute later, and Calidus sat there. A name came to him, since it was being spoken too often, too much. And again he saw it was not just Rhaldon, but everywhere.

“Earthers.”

Then he saw a greater picture, and he would have laughed or wept, but he just sat back, eyes opened wide as a second world collided with his and set his notions tumbling. He sat there, staring at it all. Then he just sighed.

“A shame it seems I’m not on her side. Tell me more.”

Some men were doomed to be the villains of the story.

Calidus hoped he’d just be the buffoon who got to see how it ended.

——

Selys Shivertail had heard of Djinni wishes before. Where you made a wish and the Djinni, spiteful, tried its best to twist it into the worst possible variant. In a way, that was her life.

She had gotten her wish: she was now Guildmistress of an Adventurer’s Guild. Only, it was a front, her ‘adventurers’ were all [Assassins], and if she didn’t do her job right, or told anyone, they’d kill her.

And you know what?

It was fine.

It was! Not ideal, but Selys Shivertail knew she was trapped here, and if she panicked, she would die. The terrified [Corrupt Receptionist], whose name was Pilana, had shown Selys a piece of ground just outside the town in a copse of trees.

There were four mounds of recently dug soil. Four members of staff who’d ran for it or tried to tell someone.

Selys was surprised there were only four. But she supposed people weren’t idiots. Selys had done an inventory of her staff, and most were just…bad.

Dregs, she supposed, that this Lord Calidus had found. Pilana was one of the more competent ones, which sucked. But she’d been a good [Receptionist] in First Landing’s Adventurer Guild—just one who skimmed money off of adventurers’ jobs. Which made her scum.

Selys didn’t know what she’d done to get this job, but she’d also identified Lagrisse as talented; he had worked for the old Assassin’s Guild. She’d told both of them to report to her for her first day on the job.

And you know what? Selys was going to do her damn job, figure out a way to survive, and level. Because that’s how you dealt with Solstice events. Which is what this clearly was, even if she couldn’t figure out how Erin had messed with her this time.

Survive, wait a month or two for Zevara to uncover the Assassin’s Guild, and don’t get stabbed when Valeterisa comes flying down and starts blasting everything with Tier 6 spells. Good plan.

Perhaps that was Selys’ denial, but she had to cling to something. And she could do this. She talked to Rhata and Haldagaz as she laced up some boots she hadn’t worn until now. You needed boots in the Adventurer’s Guild. To stomp on people’s toes and because adventurers tracked in muck.

“I can handle [Assassins], Rhata, Haldagaz. I’m not keen on them, but if this Lord Calidus gives me actual authority, I can run a Guild, even an Assassin’s Guild.”

The two rats were standing on their hindlegs and giving her very dubious looks. They seemed worried—well, Haldagaz did—and he was nibbling on his own tail. But Selys just shook her head at him.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m a practical Drake. Erin would be all precious about them. Remember the Maestro and Symphony? She doesn’t have any give in her. She’s an idiot. Me? [Assassins] have been around way before Erin and her Ultra Moral Inn. They’re a part of our society, north and south! They have rules. There’ll be exceptions, but better rules than anarchy.”

She nodded to herself, thinking out loud.

“I wish I had help, though. Or that I’d actually bought a Djinni, but they’re so damn expensive! And you have to bind them, and I just knew Erin would get on my back about one.”

Wasted opportunities. She shook her head. It wasn’t like she’d ever wanted to get into [Slaves], but magical Djinni were different. A nuance Erin didn’t get. Even if you wanted to let a Djinni out of the bottle, it would kill you. In the same vein…[Assassins]. She could deal with them. They killed people. So did Named-rankers, and she understood you had to hush that up sometimes. Not that she knew if her Grandmother ever had, but this was the reality.

Selys Shivertail opened her closet to find a good outfit for the morning, and a blank-faced Stitch-girl was standing inside. Slightly hunched over to fit, but just…standing there.

She stared at Selys.

Selys stared at the [Assassin].

“Hand me that dress. The one in dark blue.”

The Rank handed Selys the dress. The Drake inspected it. Handed it back.

“No, it doesn’t work. I think the austere grey one. With the inkstains on the hem. Yes, thank you. Hang this one back up.”

She handed the dress back and received the grey dress after a moment. Selys closed the closet, straight-faced, and was rewarded with a blink from the [Assassin] as the doors closed. Selys pretended not to notice.

Yes, she could do this.

——

“Did you put the [Assassins] to watching me, Lord Calidus, or is that just their hobby? Because I object to both, especially if I can find one.”

Selys was rewarded by a blink from the [Lord] as he came to check on her after breakfast. He was all smiles, but she had noted how he looked around the Guild. Checking to see if she was panicking or doing her job. She was doing paperwork, reviewing the names Lagrisse had handed her.

“Oh my, you saw one of them? Tsk, tsk. I did put them on you, but how did you see…?”

Selys held up a claw and showed him one of her many protective rings.

“Anti-invisibility ring.”

“Ah. Well, they’re young. Ranks. Quite new. The Faces you never see.”

“Hmpf. So Named or Gold-rankers versus Bronze-rankers? And my job is to both send them on contracts while maintaining their cover?”

“Yes, exactly. You see, it’s this rather ingenious—”

“It’s going to fail if they’re not actually adventuring. Other adventurers will notice someone walking in and doing a job. The Ranks have all the personality of lemons. Undead lemons. People pay more attention to adventurers than you think. If they’re going to do this, I want the authority to give them orders. And discipline them. Which means protection for me.”

She was again rewarded by Calidus’ hesitation, his eyes flickering. Selys feared he’d object, but he seemed to read ahead of the conversation and beamed.

“So you are doing your job! Splendid! Yes, whatever you need. It’s all very new, and I need my lovely [Assassins] to mind the protocols of the Guild. No challenging each other for a Face’s seat. That results in a lot of blood.”

She tilted her head.

“So how do they advance? How many Faces are there, and how does one win candidacy?”

The Ranks were sitting around the Guild, not doing much of anything. One had come back covered in blood in the morning and tossed down the head of a wolf; they’d done the request to hunt one. It was all wrong, but Selys was focusing on the important part first. At her words, she saw the Ranks go even stiller.

Listening. Calidus paused, and from the way his eyes ruefully flicked to hers, she saw he got it too. A smart man? She hoped so. He cleared his throat as he leaned on her counter.

“Excellent questions. Losmere? How many Faces are there? How does one advance?”

He and Selys waited. After a moment, Calidus sighed.

“Okay, which Face is following me? Name and appearance, please.”

Very reluctantly, someone stepped out of Calidus’ shadow. A Drake—well, Selys thought they were a Drake; their entire face was just a shadow instead of colors or detail.

“Lord Calidus. If I may have a word—”

“No, speak to our Guildmistress. Name?”

“…My nickname is the Creeping Shadow. A Face. If you are asking how many Faces there are in the Assassin’s Guild, the number has always varied. A Face is designated as one by the Guildmaster—”

“Or Guildmistress.”

Selys interrupted, and the Creeping Shadow went silent. She smiled politely at him.

“I’m sorry, you were saying? It is Guildmistress, or has it only been the Guildmaster?”

“The former Guildmaster reigned in their position for eleven years until he was overthrown due to his loyalties to Magnolia Reinhart. Then the current Guildmaster perished in the Guild at First Landing along with—”

“Dead gods, he didn’t even get out? And here I thought the head of the Assassin’s Guild was the highest-levelled.”

“I suppose you don’t outrun Tier 7 Spells.”

Selys and Calidus’ commentary was not helping the Creeping Shadow’s reputation, and the Face was getting…annoyed. Selys felt a queasy moment of fear in her stomach, and the shadows around her and Calidus lengthened. She jabbed a claw at him.

“See? That. That’s what I mean. No using [Fear] or Skills on me. I am the Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild here, and if you want this to work, Lord Calidus, you will give me control.”

Again, the [Lord] eyed her, then nodded and gave the Creeping Shadow the hardest elbow Selys had ever seen. The figure jumped an actual foot in the air.

“You heard her. Stop that. So it sounds like the numbers of Faces vary and it only requires impressing you to be made one. Or, I suppose, me.”

Selys nodded.

“I understand. That’s the way the system worked. Now here’s the way the system is going to work. Pending a complete survey of the number of [Assassins] in the Guild, we will operate on a 1-100 basis. One Face per one hundred members. We may shift the numbers around, but that is for open slots. Otherwise, a Face must be designated by you, Lord Calidus, or myself for outstanding actions. Or levels. Hit Level 40 and you will be considered a Face. Is that good enough to start with? Oh, and a Face will lose their rank if they are inactive too long, fail too many assignments, or the number of Faces exceeds a threshold.”

She knew they were listening. [Assassins], young and old. The Creeping Shadow protested.

“Lord Calidus, one does not remove a Face.”

“One didn’t until now. I agree. No, shut up. If any Faces object, materialize, and you should have spoken before now, instead of doing your annoying silent appearances. We need order. This Drake is giving us that.”

Calidus applauded. No one joined in, so he kept doing it until Selys cleared her throat.

“I have more. A Face is not subject to needing to take requests from the Guild. Everyone else is. A Face has access to premium rooms, gear, the best services of the Guild—we do have services, right?”

The [Lord] tapped a finger to his lips.

“Well, Zeomtoril. And we could get some [Blacksmiths] and dedicated [Alchemists].”

“The Guild has specialists. Some of whom are making their way here, Guildmistress, Lord Calidus.”

Lagrisse brought Selys another stack of papers and murmured. She nodded at him.

“Faces don’t pay for those unless it’s expensive. Faces eat anywhere in the town for free. They can call on Ranks to help them—all the old perks of the job. Agreed?”

“One question, if I may.”

Calidus was propping his chin up on his hands, watching her with a fascinated gleam in his eyes. Even the Creeping Shadow and a few other figures who’d materialized were watching Selys. Perhaps they too felt it.

Organization replacing uncertainty and anarchy. Selys spoke briskly.

“What? Also, I’m going to start calling out names. If yours is called, line up with Miss Pilana here. I’m going to give you your first requests—slaying monsters to establish your cover stories. And I’m going to have to explain how you take and turn in requests. No wolf heads. Skin the wolf or haul it to a [Butcher]’s!”

Drinks. They needed drinks and food. And if she had as much money as she thought, they could afford other amenities. The Ranks…they were like Golems, just standing there.

Or Antinium. Selys had a feeling that was important, essential to her understanding of this group. She turned to Calidus.

“What’s the question?”

“Would you care for a dinner at a restaurant I know after work, Miss Selys? It does a lovely—”

“No. Next!”

Calidus’ face fell. She pointed, and he shuffled off to one side. The Creeping Shadow peered at him, and Calidus winked.

“Respect the Guildmistress. I intend to.”

And Selys Shivertail…got to work.

——

“And who are you?”

“Ribark. Rank #311.”

“Is that…in terms of your entire Guild or something?”

“No. My batch.”

“Ah. Batch. Is that…how are you trained, exactly?”

The gravelly, disused voice of the young Human man paused for a long moment, and Selys tapped a claw on the counter.

“Answer, please. We’re not made of time around here.”

One of the four other Ranks replied for Ribark. A Drake with terrible scars across her face, ripped up scales revealing pink flesh. It hurt Selys to even look at her, but Slashface—an appropriate name—responded.

“They take us and put us in the training pit. We grow up down there. Fast. Learn to fight, to read, to hide, to—fight. If you survive, you’re a Rank. Then we go where we’re paid for.”

“I see. So that’s where most of the Ranks come from. Anyone here, uh, a volunteer?”

Silence in the rest of the Guild until one of the four Ranks raised a hand. A Drowned Girl with a horrible overgrowth of shell around her face and body—Selys eyed her.

“You signed up?”

She had more of an accent and personality, though the young [Assassin] stood very straight.

“Old Guild, ma’am. Street [Beggar]. I joined up, and they gave me training here. Same rules. You wash out, you die.”

“In First Landing? How many [Beggars] do you have? Er, Cirtle?”

Selys was astounded. The Rank just gave her a careful shrug.

“Plenty of people begging with nobles around. Come there to beg, even. Scraps from the Five Families’re better than scraps elsewhere.”

The [Receptionist] nodded slowly.

“I suppose that’s true. Right, well, thank you. Ribark? Here’s your card. Bronze-rank adventurer. [Warrior]. Be sure to use that longsword, not any tricks, if someone’s watching.”

The young Human man had a longsword, which was what she’d based his fake identity around, though her notes on his file said he was actually a [Singlestrike Killer]—a lower-ranked class than [Assassin], apparently. She imagined he swung that sword hard and fast at whatever he wanted dead, and if it wasn’t, he was in trouble.

For that reason, she handed out a second card to Slashface, who was a [Throatcutter Rank], and to the Drowned Girl, who was just a [Trainee Assassin]. The last member of the group was a Stitch-man, also blank-faced, who had a bow. [Poison Archer].

She’d have taken a [Mage] too, but they weren’t as common, and she had to do this a lot. So Selys smiled.

“The four of you are now a team.”

What? The Ranks had been eyeing their cards, shifting, clearly wondering why they had been called together. Selys gave them a thumbs up.

“I said a team. You’re registered as ‘the Mighty Four’. Ugh. Ew. Who came up with that?”

She turned, and Pilana shrank back; Selys had told her to make up team names, but clearly, the woman hadn’t thought they’d be used. It was Slashface who spoke up.

“As an identity, Guildmistress? I understand.”

She put her hands behind her back and stood in parade rest. Selys waved a claw at her.

“As a team, but also for this request to slay a Mothbear. A job which you’re all going to do. Now.”

This time, the Ranks did glance at each other, and she could tell they weren’t happy. But Selys just leaned over the counter.

“If you object, you can ask to form other teams. But you’re working together. I’m told you can do that.”

“Yes, but…”

But why are we doing adventurers’ jobs? Why a team? Selys’ rationale was simple. They had to maintain their cover stories. They had to, well, stop being faceless automatons. Slashface jerked a thumb at Ribark.

“I tried to slit his throat when we were in training. He gave me one of these.”

She indicated the scars on her face. Selys winced.

“Oh, painful. Well, don’t kill each other. That’s against the rules. Kill each other and I’ll have to discipline you.”

That made zero impression until she added, cheerful.

“Which means a Face gets involved. Or Lord Calidus.”

Silence. Selys glanced at them, then pointed.

“One of our staff will talk you through basic adventuring. Off you go. When you’re done, don’t forget to turn in the bounty for your pay. It’s quite generous; there aren’t many adventurers here now they’ve gone to the New Lands. Monsters are a problem. So you can spend it.”

“…On what?”

That question came from Ribark, and she saw the first spark of interest in them. So there were people in there. Selys just imagined it. Raised since children to become killing machines. Like Antinium.

She had a prop ready for this. Selys slowly pulled out a blue milkshake she’d had made up from Lord Calidus’ manor. He had Amentus Wine, so some of that in a milkshake…wasn’t great.

But Selys needed a damn drink already, and she saw them eying the beads of condensation on the milkshake in the warm day.

“Drinks? Food? I’ll have several shops in town where you can spend your money, and restaurants. You could eat a dozen high-class meals off of that Mothbear kill alone! No visiting other towns until you’ve reached a higher level. And you stop being so, uh, noticeable. You earn more privileges. Then we’ll have other things for sale. Better weapons. Enchanters. Gold pays for all of that. You want an artifact, not that longsword?”

She indicated Ribark’s plain steel longsword, and then she saw a gleam in his eyes. Boys loved swords. Selys smiled.

“That’s going to take a lot of gold and better requests. So hop to it! Next!”

She watched the four Ranks eye each other, then one took the request, pointed, and they actually ran out of the Guild so fast she was impressed. She turned, exhaling.

“Okay, give me another group, Pilana. Lagrisse, what are you doing?”

He peered up from handing a piece of paper over to none other than Qissax, the Naga. The Face took the piece of paper, put it down, and nodded.

“In the open?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Naga turned and slithered away without a word. Then Lagrisse came over. The man wore a very blank expression.

“Sending [Assassins] on official business, Guildmistress Selys.”

“Ah, assassinations. Don’t I review those?”

Selys really didn’t want to. Rather to her relief, the man shook his head.

“Lord Calidus has elected to approve all such…requests. I will dispense them to willing members while you maintain the Guild proper.”

“That could work. At least until I get things running.”

Selys agreed blandly. She still had reservations, but she was doing her best, and Lagrisse seemed to notice. He paused, and the careful man, who was apparently a [Deliverer of Secrets]—a fancy underworld class for what Selys strongly suspected was another version of [Informant]-[Receptionist]—hesitated.

“If I may say so, Guildmistress, you are adapting better to this position than one might expect. I had some reservations that Lord Calidus’ plan would bear fruit.”

“And that I’d be dead or try to run off within a day?”

She smiled sweetly at him, and Lagrisse nodded after a moment.

“With all due respect, this is not a job a regular person could handle.”

“Fortunately for you, I worked under Tekshia Shivertail with real adventurers. And I’ve handled the Antinium. There’s not much difference between them and the Ranks.”

That comment made Lagrisse pause, but he nodded again after a second.

“They are singularly focused after coming from Chandrar. Introducing them to vices tends to—acclimatize them. A fact Lord Calidus apparently picked up on his own. Providing them with the services of this town is a good idea.”

“Any other tips?”

He hesitated, and Selys offered him a toothy smile.

“From what Lord Calidus says, we don’t have long until this nightmare scenario falls apart. You might be waiting for a ‘proper’ Guildmaster who’s an [Assassin], but I’ve been counting the Faces, and not many of them seem to be over Level 40. Nor do I think you might like who takes the throne. I’m lower-level, new, but I can make it work. If you support me. Fancy wagering you’ll survive the next big fight?”

That decided the man. He leaned over, and she felt silence engulf her a moment.

“The Assassin’s Guild is always political. Once the Faces don’t think the Ranks will rise up, they’ll fight over the best contracts, take sides. Even if they know there’s punishment, they have tempers and kill each other. The Guildmaster ruled by fear and having the best or majority of Faces on his side. You’ll need to do the same or convince them you’re better left alive.”

Her scales crawled, but Selys just sighed. She stepped out of his Skill, to Lagrisse’s surprise, and spoke, voice natural, but so everyone listening could hear, and she just bet they could hear.

“Politics? Please, I told you, I worked at the Adventurer’s Guild. So long as no one knifes me, I’ll let the best, most clever, or luckiest rise to the top and keep everyone earning gold and levelling. That’s my job.”

Another grin, as fearless as she could manage, and she thought the [Deliverer of Secrets] actually gave her a respectful look.

“Just as you say, Guildmistress.”

Selys Shivertail smiled and cracked her fingers. She could do it! She beckoned for a new group of Ranks as Calidus Reinhart strolled back in to check on the place. She was about to ask him about her pay when she saw eight more of the Ranks walk in.

These had black veils over their face, all-black clothing with a stylized dagger plunging through a rose’s stem written in silver thread on their, well, classic [Assassin]’s outfits. Selys raised her eyebrows as their heads swivelled the room.

“Uniforms? I don’t think that’ll work, Lord Calidus. What happened to the cover stories?”

Lord Calidus frowned at her, then turned to the eight figures. His face went blank, then he threw himself towards a table of Ranks. She blinked and heard a clicking sound. Then a tft.

Something hit her in the chest. Selys blinked down at a feathered dart sticking out of a glowing barrier as one of her rings flashed.

“Oh n—”

A throwing dagger caught her in the shoulder as Lagrisse’s eyes went round. He ducked, and the [Assassins] shot Lord Calidus a second before Losmere appeared and beheaded one. She shouted.

“Enemy [Assassins]!”

Selys really would have liked to get up—but she realized the dagger was poisoned. She lay there as Pilana cowered and screamed, white-faced, and the Guild burst into shouting. Then Selys Shivertail realized that despite her best efforts, she couldn’t deny her job being a tad bit more complicated than she wanted.

——

Calidus Reinhart was awake before he closed his eyes. Sadly, his mind wouldn’t turn off despite the pain, and he really objected to that.

[Genius of Sloth]. He wished he hadn’t lost his ability to turn his mind off with drinks, but since he did have his class, he used his Skills—especially when he was in mortal danger.

[Brilliant Insight (Weekly)]…no, no need for that. [Move Reality Like Chess]? Not applicable yet. [Calculable Insight: Copy Skill (Intellect)]…no. Just [Store Intellect]. Calidus thought of his mind not like a well holding water; that was too boring.

Rather, he imagined it like Zeomtoril’s experiments with gravity. Apparently, everything attracted each other, so intellect was unto an orb in Calidus’ mind. An ever-growing orb that grew and grew—until he reached out and siphoned a bit he had put away.

Not that intellect could be used in the same basic sense of ‘get smarter’. That, too, didn’t make sense to Calidus. Zeomtoril was a smart man, and he gambled his wealth and couldn’t hold down a relationship.

Intellect could make a mind faster. It could let you make inferences and jump to conclusions in less time. Like how higher-class Golems could perform a mental task quicker.

That was what Calidus did now. He called it ‘mind speeding’, where he played out scenarios and ideas in a fraction of the time it would normally take. He used it to beat Zeomtoril at chess. Now?

Why was I shot? Ranks with uniforms on. Can’t have been a rebellion already; the Ranks wouldn’t pay for insignia.

Stupid aesthetic. Like someone’s advertising they’re—

Oh no.

Has to be. In which case, they know about…? Word spreads. Internal spy? Traitor? Or—terrible suspicion—

Grandfather? Calidus thought about it. He concluded he might be right. In which case…he really hoped Selys was alive. What to do about it? Well, for one—

——

“…scrying orb. Need information first. Got to—wonder if I have a shot. Channel 2. Mm. Such a lovely Drake.”

Losmere thought it was a good sign Calidus Reinhart was talking to himself. She’d never actually seen someone talk in their sleep like he was, but as she watched him healing and Zeomtoril, sweating, finish applying the antidote, his wounds closed. She spoke.

“Calidus. Lord Calidus—are you—”

He sat up, eyes closed, and the [Polymath] leapt back with an oath.

“Undead! Und—”

Calidus opened his eyes.

“Oh shut up, Zeomtoril. Losmere! I’m so delighted not to be dead. Is it a rival Guild or just the south’s Guild objecting to us? Or Terandria muscling in?”

She opened her mouth and was reminded of why Lord Calidus had been chosen as Guildmaster.

“You knew?”

He winced as he glanced down at the bandages over his chest that had been keeping him alive before Zeomtoril could apply an antidote and a costly potion.

“No, but it was obvious. Who puts uniforms on an [Assassin]? Someone who wants to advertise they’re back. I think it’s tacky. A dagger stabbing through a rose? Please, it has to be a rival. The only question is who approved and funded them? Is Selys dead? How many did we lose? Also—”

He felt at his chest.

“…So that’s how it feels to be shot in the chest with a crossbow. I can’t say I wanted to know. I’m rather pleased to have so many anti-poison experts around me.”

He got up cheerfully, then his face discolored. Losmere had to grab Calidus to support him. He was weak; she spoke quickly.

“The attackers are dead. Sixty went after various members of the Guild. Faces and you and the Drake. I don’t know if she’s alive—we were chasing down the enemy Ranks—”

Calidus swore as she helped him sit.

“Well, find out or we’re in trouble! She’s important, damn it! And Zeomtoril, speaking stone! The one in my rooms, in the black box!”

“I knew it! I’m dead! I should have fled! I’m in a war between [Assassins]—”

The old man wailed until Calidus threw a shoe at him. Then the [Lord] lay there, panting, until Losmere returned to tell him Selys Shivertail was alive.

“She’s swearing a storm, but one of her rings was able to neutralize the poisons.”

“Interesting. I saw one of the Arrowcatch Rings go off, but who carries those and anti-poison rings? Most have a convenience ring like cooling or illusions or something.”

“Apparently, she saw her friend die to poison and invested.”

Calidus felt at his chest again.

“Smart. Or rather, connected. Erin Solstice once more…ah, there’s the speaking stone.”

He flipped open the black box, snagged the expensive speaking stone, and Losmere inhaled sharply. It was a black Bloodonyx with swirling depths and a Truegold holder, and she recognized it. The last Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild had carried it, and it spoke to the man who could command them. It had once been used to contact Magnolia Reinhart. Now…

“Grandfather Regis! Quick question—did you start a second Assassin’s Guild and order them to murder me? Because I really wish you’d had me killed in my sleep!”

Calidus barked into the stone. He paused.

“Oh, he’s not there, is he? Well, I suspect the old bastard’s listening in because he’s just figured out what’s going on and the mistake he’s made. SO IF I AM SHOUTING, GRANDFATHER, I WAS JUST SHOT. AND IF IT IS JUST YOU THERE, MAID THEMEKE, I DO APOLOGIZE, BUT I AM VENTING A CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT OF SPLEEN, ASSUMING I HAVE ANY LEFT.”

He screamed, red-faced, into the speaking stone, and after he inhaled for breath, there was a voice.

“Calidus. Are you in private?”

“GRANDFATHER, YOU ARE AN IDIOT—”

The speaking stone hung up. Calidus stared at it. Then handed it to Zeomtoril.

“Is there an outhouse in use around here? Wait until he picks back up and toss it down there, would you?”

——

Regis Reinhart never apologized. Reinharts were bad at it, but Calidus’ ghostly grandfather probably hadn’t learned how to acknowledge he was wrong before dying. He did own up to what Calidus had already figured out.

“You intimated that you were unable to do your job, Calidus.”

“I have never intimated with any image of you, Grandfather. I shrivel to even imagine you. You thought the best answer to me asking for help was to start a second Guild?”

Calidus was annoyed, mostly because he saw Regis’ line of logic and thought it was flawed. It was classic conman behavior. Why bother with one bad plan when you could organize two?

It made no sense to him. Doubling a bad bet caused twice as many problems, but Regis refused to take anything lying down.

“Do not lecture me, boy. I did not order the other Guildmaster to assassinate you. That was overstepping.”

“Oh, you didn’t expect them to want to eradicate competition? Who is this Guildmaster, anyways?”

“A member of my organization.”

So that meant the Circle of Thorns. Wonderful, he’d appointed some idiot to the post. Calidus wished he’d given a name. Names meant someone was easy to track down and kill, but Regis had clearly realized this was a war.

“I intended to have one Guild in the end. Whoever is triumphant will have both levels and the ferocity Izril requires.”

“Or they’ll just be the biggest bully around. The old ‘survival of the fittest’ rule never made sense to me given the waistline of most [Kings] of Terandria, Grandfather. If you’re washing your hands of me—”

“I am not having you killed.”

Regis sounded a bit stressed, which in his case meant testy. He was probably worried Calidus would start screaming to everyone—he spoke quickly.

“I shall inform your counterpart that you are off-limits. This is a war between your [Assassins]. The same to you; execute the other [Guildmaster] and there shall be consequences.”

“Oh, more than being shot, Grandfather?”

Calidus was all sarcasm and snideness. Regis snapped back.

“I am indulging your injuries, boy. Do not test me.”

“Then give me more than just lip service, Grandf—ugh, I need to choose my words better. Terribly imagery. Oh, is one of your [Maids] laughing?”

Calidus brightened up. He’d tested his humor and wit on making them laugh whenever he had popped down to visit Regis. The old ghost ground his teeth together.

“What do you want? I will humor you.”

“Contact with whomever sells you [Assassins] in Roshal. More funding; if it’s a war where you want two hands fighting each other, then a war you’ll get. Pay me, damnit. Also, my own Guildmistress, Selys Shivertail, off-limits.”

“Who? Very well. Now, level or—”

Calidus walked into the bathroom and peed as noisily as he could. Then he sighed. Wonderful.

——

He didn’t tell Selys it was Regis; it was too much to explain, and the very upset Drake was literally hissing in the [Healer]’s bed. He ordered a healing potion be given to her; it was now more than clear he needed her.

“It’s a rival Assassin’s Guild. The idiot who came up with the concept clearly thought one side would win and absorb the other.”

“Who…has the gold to throw around to fund two Assassin’s Guilds?”

He sighed.

“I know. All that money could have been spent on other delightful things. But there is always money around rich idiots, and the Five Families abound for both. So! We need intelligence on who we’re facing, which Faces they have, and bounties on enemy Ranks. They’ll be attacking our people. Up, up!”

He chivvied Selys out of bed, or tried to, when a grey rat tried to bite him. Calidus caught the rat.

“Oh yes, your pets. Hello there! Have a piece of brie.”

He handed Rhata some cheese, and the white rat squeaked as Calidus put Rhata on Selys’ head. She stared up at him.

“I was just hit by a throwing dagger—”

“You’ll live. We’re all going to die if we don’t win this war. So—up.”

He held out a hand, and she groaned as he helped her stand. Selys hissed as she limped out of the healer’s room. When they entered the Adventurer’s Guild proper, both stopped.

All the Faces and the Ranks were there, waiting for Calidus and Selys. They looked like still shadows, many masked, but—uncertain. Calidus felt it. He smiled tightly.

“Well, we have unity, at least. Nothing like all of us being a target for some good, old-fashioned community.”

Assuming they think we have a shot. He and Selys locked eyes, and she nodded as she grabbed the counter and began giving orders. Calidus stood there as news began coming in, and they pumped informants for intelligence.

He didn’t like what he found.

——

Once you started looking, Lagrisse found the other Assassin’s Guild fast. It wasn’t like they were hiding that well.

“They are calling themselves the Assassins of Izril’s Roses. Here is a list of the Faces they are advertising working for them.”

“Terrible name. What happened to just the ‘Guild’? And advertising? Oh, wonderful, the idiot in charge thinks this is all cloaks and daggers, literally.”

No attempt at hiding. Calidus rubbed at his face. Losmere, who was sitting with them, paled as she read the names.

“They have Windblade? And Mantiz?”

“I take it those are Faces from the old Guild?”

Selys didn’t like how nervous the [Assassin] appeared. Losmere licked her lips.

“Windblade was retired. They must have found him and called him out of hiding. He’s a [Blademaster]. His ability is—”

“To cut the air with his sword, yes, yes. And I assumed Mantiz is some dagger-wielding woman? Judging by your reaction, they’re higher level than you are. Do we have equal membership?”

Losmere seemed quite offended by Calidus and Selys’ unwillingness to treat her like a being of myth. She shifted, hands falling to her own daggers.

“We are all Faces. Those two are simply…strong amongst us, yes.”

“Stronger than you because you’re a trainer. Don’t glare at me, Losmere. And their Ranks?”

“…Same as ours. A second shipment of them must have been paid for, in which case, their training and levels should be the same.”

Losmere had to admit the bad news. Calidus wiped some blood from his cheek.

“I’ll ask about them and call Roshal. Miss Selys?”

“I don’t know how to fight other Ranks. I assume they’re going to just—come here and start killing our members?”

Selys was still rubbing at her shoulder. Losmere nodded tightly.

“When the north and south have warred, it tends to go that way. One finds the base of another and sends in the Ranks and Faces until the other side flees or fights them off. Then they intercept each other. Use informants and gain the loyalty of gangs until one finds another base.”

Bleeding each other dry of members. Only in this case, Calidus’ base had already been found. Selys cursed.

“Well in that case—teams, get over here!”

She began calling them over and giving them orders.

“New jobs. You’re on patrol and anti-assassin duty. Memorize each other’s faces. We’ll do callsigns and ways of identifying each other. But stick to your teams!”

That was the only thing she could think of; keeping the Ranks together instead of individual might mean they had a chance. Selys pointed to the Guild.

“We’ll get you whistles or horns. If you run into enemies, sound the alarm and a Face will defend you. Or get back here, got it?”

“We can’t just stay here and defend. We have to find them and kill their members!”

Losmere objected. Selys gave her a narked glance.

“Unless you have more sources of information, we have no idea where they are, do we?”

She twisted around to ask Calidus, but he had already hurried off. It was Lagrisse who shook his head, and he was troubled.

“We do not. And if I may say so, Guildmistress? I did wonder why not all of my co-workers were here. It felt like far too few had arrived, even given the bases destroyed. If they are working for the other Guild…”

“Are they better than you?”

Lagrisse licked his lips.

“There were senior members in information-gathering and denial, but I don’t know if they survived. If they did, locating their bases might be…difficult. Not many Gangs would want to sell out the Assassin’s Guild, even to a second one. For fear of what might happen.”

Wonderful. Selys drummed her claws on the table. Then she frowned at Lagrisse.

“Wait a second. But this other Guild is very noticeable, yes?”

“Oh yes, they’re advertising their services. Little black cards were found on nobles’ pillows, I gather. The Gangs were made aware that the Assassin’s Guild services were being offered once more.”

Whoever this second Guild was, they didn’t really want secrecy, they wanted to replace the old one in a hurry. Selys thought that was a stupid move; didn’t Lord Tyrion Veltras want them all dead along with a lot of nobles? But if the person in charge thought they had the backing of one of the Five Families or something—she had wondered why Lord Calidus was part of this.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought.

“I might not know how to deal with rival [Assassins], but I’ve been told about Guilds warring with each other before. This second Guild—they’re already taking contracts?”

“A number of high-profile deaths have been reported, Guildmistress. And I observe—some of the orders given to Lord Calidus were also carried out. Not by our members.”

For the first time, Lagrisse showed Selys a list of people to be murdered, and she felt a chill on her scales, because it was such a banal list.

Just names of people and places. A headshot of them, sometimes, or a description.

A [Merchant] in Invrisil. A young man in Thornvale. A…she pushed the papers back, feeling sick. Took a breath.

“Why do they want them dead?”

“The clients do not often say. In this case? I believe debts. This young man won the hand of a [Lady] over other suitors. This [Emperor] is wanted dead by multiple people, and as for the [Princess], the same—”

Selys’ eyes opened. Then she snatched the papers back.

“What?”

Laken Godart and Lyonette du Marquin were on the list. Both were marked with high, high bounties, and Selys’ blood ran cold.

Laken Godart, Riverfarm.

Lyonette du Marquin, Liscor.

She stared up at Lagrisse, and he clarified unhelpfully.

“Lord Calidus was ordered to sabotage the [Princess] as well, but declined to kill her for the attention it would attract. The same for the [Emperor]. He can refuse requests. He, ah, apparently has decided any lady he deems too attractive should not be a target of assassinations.”

Losmere rolled her eyes, but Selys was still having trouble breathing. That didn’t make her feel any better. Even if Calidus didn’t have them on a list, the second Guild—

Wait. Waitwaitwait. She inhaled suddenly, and color flooded back into her cheeks. She grabbed the list.

“Hold on, if this other Guild is taking all the requests, they’re going after everyone here, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Guildmistress.”

Losmere and Lagrisse blinked at Selys as her tail suddenly wagged, and she smiled. Her eyes rose.

“In that case, I have a bounty to post—right now.”

“On who?”

She stabbed a claw onto Lyonette’s face.

“Lyonette du Marquin. Alive.”

Neither man nor woman understood until Selys turned to them.

“Post a bounty right now, Lagrisse, and get me a list of stealthy Ranks or Faces! I want her alive and every [Assassin] who goes after Lyonette—dead.”

“You want us to protect—”

“Isn’t that what [Assassins] do sometimes? Plus, think about it! We know who this other Guild wants to kill. How do we find their members and take them out?”

Losmere began nodding slowly, and Lagrisse’s eyes lit up.

“We have done this against the south before, Guildmistress. Not in recent memory, since Magnolia Reinhart took over and tensions between north and south eased. Not since before the First Antinium War. I’ll have to find the old methods—”

“Do it! But get me counter-bounties—now!”

Selys shouted. She rose to her feet and felt unaccountably relieved. She didn’t want Lyonette dead, or Laken. Lyonette was a Todi-stealing bitch and monstrous woman who shouldn’t be raising Mrsha and was part of the problems of the inn—

But I’m not seeing you dead. I’m doing this because I’m a better person than you are. And because you’d do this for me, I suppose.

Selys took a shaky breath. Then—she grimly began giving orders. Within the day, she began logging the first members of her Guild coming in with wounds—or not at all.

Ranks fighting other Ranks hiding in the forest. Two dead, one who came in, sat down, and had a tourniquet they’d had to tie onto the stump of an arm with their teeth. She sent two squads out to guard Laken.

Neither one came back. Later, Lagrisse delivered a report; no less than forty [Assassins] dead in the Unseen Empire, all slaughtered by Laken Godart’s protectors. Half pecked to death by crows.

She pulled the Ranks back from entering the Unseen Empire and put them on interception instead. And watched them leave and come in. Sent them out and counted who survived.

That—

That was like her old job.

[Experienced Receptionist Level 27!]

[Experienced Receptionist → Vice Guildmistress Level 25!]

[Vice Guildmistress Level 25!]

[Skill – Assign Basic Quests Obtained!]

[Skill – Assign Rare Quests Obtained!]

[Skill – Assign Heroic Quests Obtained!]

[Skill – Conditional Bounty (Quests) Obtained!]

[Skill – Inheritance: Flicker of Talent (Clawfighting) Obtained!]

[Skill – Evasive Flip Obtained!]

[Skill – Enforce Orders Obtained!]

“Vice Guildmistress? Vice?”

She was entirely upset.

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart called Roshal, a novelty. He didn’t know you could just ring them up, but they had a Mage’s Guild, and they transferred him to the Slaver’s Guild where a very polite, nay, sultry woman asked why he was calling.

“Would you like to report a lost [Slave], purchase one, or—”

“Calidus Reinhart calling on behalf of Regis Reinhart.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Calidus Reinhart by the authority of Regis Reinhart.”

“Is this in connection w—”

“Calidus Reinhart, nephew of Regis Reinhart.”

He repeated himself sixteen times, varying the volume and trying accents on until they connected him to the right person. Another smooth-voiced man.

“Lord Reinhart. I understand you have an inquiry into the members of our [Assassin] program?”

“I have a bunch of rival Ranks running around, and I want to know if mine are going to turncoat.”

Calidus didn’t care for all this oily pomp and pseudo-elegance. It was like a bad makeup job over what the Slavers of Roshal were, and he had taken a close enough look. He was not impressed by the man, who responded after a second.

“I have been apprised of the situation, Lord Calidus, and I deeply regret the incident. We, of course, simply cater to our clients who have the authority to purchase from us. It is a very select roster, and any complications of this nature are the result of client-error, not the training—”

“You don’t care. I bet you lot popped champagne when you realized you were going to sell twice as many [Assassins]. If you keep giving me lip, I’ll have you killed.”

A pause.

“Lord Reinhart, I am—”

“You gave me your name, and you work for the Slaver’s Guild. I have hundreds of Ranks. Answer my questions.”

Calidus took a draft of wine. You had to find some perks in a miserable day. After a moment, the man, sounding rather disgruntled, spoke. A touch faster.

“—The Ranks are highly trained in our programs to avoid disobedience. Some may shake their conditioning, which is inevitable in any batch, but they are heavily disinclined to turncoat unless they believe the odds are against them.”

“So no suicide missions. Understood.”

“Well, they are highly motivated. If you have observed their work in Izril, you understand there are quite a number of tasks they can be ordered to perform. Just not ones without any possibility of survival. The more you reward them—”

Less fun, again. Calidus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Right, right. You’ve brainwashed them so well. Hear me applauding?”

“…I don’t hear anything, Lord Calid—”

“I’m asking if there’s a way to motivate them beyond whatever you’ve done to them.”

Right now the two Guilds were fighting each other. Calidus had done a bit of that, organizing the squads Selys had sent into ambushes, giving them advantages in a tactical sense. It was vaguely fun, but he was no commander, and his intelligence didn’t pay off that well.

What he needed was a strategic victory. He waited as the trainer or [Slave Master] considered the question.

“Motivating the Ranks? They will do any job you set them to, Lord Calidus. Motivating them beyond a high bounty, you mean?”

“Yes. Enthusiasm. Commitment to the job! They’re not [Slaves], so I can’t free them. Is there anything? Did you starve them for vegetables when you locked them in a pit and had them kill each other or something with your oh so impressive training regime?”

The other man was getting annoyed, but he tried to sound polite.

“I’m afraid, Lord Calidus, that our Ranks deliver their utmost already. There is no…secret motivating factor I could name. If you would like to buy more, that is surely the best way to overcome a potential adversary.”

Calidus rolled his eyes into his head.

“Wonderful. So your answer after wasting my time is ‘buy more [Assassins]’, the same answer you gave my counterpart.”

“Roshal is neutral in its dealings with—”

“How’s the port? Still dusty?”

Dead silence for a moment.

“Lord Calidus, with all due respect, the trauma inflicted upon Lailight Scintillation is no laughing matter. The Slaver’s Guild is not without redress to customers who—”

“Your customer is old Regis Reinhart. I’m his grandson. The old fogey’s put me in charge of all of this so you’re going to deal with all my comments and smile because no one likes you. That’s why you have to talk to all the clients. If you were good at your job, you’d be training [Assassins]. If you were powerful, you’d make someone else do this. Also, your current training regime and [Slave Masters] are substandard.”

“—subst—”

“I checked your records, and you delivered 433 Ranks in one ‘batch’. Historically, you’ve offered over seven hundred. Your methods are sloppy. I’m going to place another damn order because I have to, but I want you to write this down and report it to your superiors. They are failing my expectations. Which were low! But if you’ve gone from, what, let’s call it a 70% graduation rate to barely 40%? Sloppy. Embarrassing, really. All this time being the premier [Assassin] distributor because Germina’s out of the game and the other nations have lost their production has let standards lapse. They’re not even high-level. All but twenty were under Level 20. It used to be you’d get a few Level 30s in a batch! What am I even paying for?”

Calidus kept ranting into the speaking stone as the man on the other end went silent, and he was trying to work in a few personally hurtful comments as he tried to get someone to look up a few details on anyone whose feelings he could hurt.

Right up until someone interrupted his rant. A new voice took over the speaking stone. Well, there was a voice, an exclamation, then a shout of muffled pain and sobbing and then…Calidus halted, and someone spoke.

“You are, of course, correct. Four hundred? I could care less how many are sent, but under Level 20? Find me who is in charge of the program. Flay them and hang them up as an example.”

Another muffled voice.

“Yes, Lord.”

Calidus paused a second, then spoke.

“Oh good, management. And you would be?”

“Lord Pazeral. I quite agree with your objections, foreign Lord. I shall personally see our next batch of Ranks is acceptable. And throw in a gift or two. I can sense you are a man of exquisite taste.”

“I do love many a lady’s bosoms. And posteriors. Why must one choose?”

Calidus joked, and there was a laugh.

“Quite! I myself share the same opinions. There are men of good humor in this dreary world. Rest assured, I will be fixing matters—”

The ‘fixing’ comment came with a scream and more sobbing. Calidus almost heard this Lord Pazeral pulling the blade out of the man he’d stabbed and plunging it back in. He sighed.

“…Well, I’ll leave you to it. I don’t suppose you offer bulk discounts?”

Lord Pazeral laughed again at that, so Calidus joined in and noticed he didn’t get any damn discounts. Scary masters of Roshal or not—they were all damn salespeople at heart. As in they sold people.

He stomped off and hoped Selys had a better idea for how to resolve things.

As a matter of fact…she did. At least, he thought it was worth a shot since he was going crazy.

——

The reason that Selys Shivertail was going to survive was because she was practical. Not as intelligent, not as charming as some people. She fancied she had decent amounts of all that, but she had to admit, Drassi had more charisma.

Someone like Olesm was a bit smarter, at least at his specialty. Selys could admit that too, for all her ego. But she had a power no one else had: practicality.

She’d always been level-headed. Grounded. From the day she’d seen a confused Human walk in, Selys had liked Erin’s weirdness, fumbling for magic which she had learned how to create, but she’d needed Selys around.

Someone who knew how gravity worked, who understood the rules. Take their first meeting for instance. Erin sometimes liked to tell it, but she always omitted a key detail. She’d talk about how Selys helped her figure things out, taught her a bit about money, gave her advice—but never that a Gnoll adventurer had taken objection to her and chased her out of the Guild.

Selys had, of course, tried to stick up for Erin, but she hadn’t stopped the Bronze-ranker from running Erin off. He’d been looking for someone to push around, and Erin had stunk, apparently.

Selys had bawled the idiot out after, and Tekshia had told the adventurer to knock it off, but that was what Erin seemed to have forgotten. Or just never said. And Selys wasn’t embarrassed about it.

It was just her practicality. You did what you could, but you didn’t take excessive risks unless it mattered. Like Pisces; she’d worked on her grandmother, gotten the [Necromancer] in with the Guild subtly. Erin had tried it with her Goblins, and she had thrown them in the face of Liscor again and again. It still hadn’t worked. True, some could go around the city and not be tossed out, but only because everyone knew she’d be there, throwing acid jars if someone mistreated them.

Nothing changed in any real way. When Erin was gone for good, Goblins wouldn’t be welcome in Liscor anymore. Now, if enough people were convinced to like Goblins over years, maybe…but her method was all wrong. Selys would have put Goblins in trenchcoats and given them hats and illusion spells. The Watch might have known, but that would have solved most issues.

She’d even suggested it to Erin once, and the [Innkeeper] had been upset about having to ‘hide’ Goblins. And you know what? Also fine, at least at the time. Someone had to be the idealist. Selys was the practical one who knew what she could do, when to speak up, and when it was pointless.

She could guard her heart, unlike Erin’s, which bled everywhere especially when someone shot it with crossbow bolts. So that was why Selys was going to survive Calidus’ Assassin’s Guild as [Vice Guildmistress], even with a war between [Assassins].

You know how?

She didn’t let herself care when they died. The Adventurer’s Guild in Isbeut had fake windows that looked open, but let no one actually see inside. A chance visitor would see a small common room staffed by Pilana, but all the real action, and [Assassins], went through the back doors.

The living…and the dead. Apparently, it was standard to collect [Assassin] corpses. Lagrisse explained it to Selys.

“The bodies of fallen [Assassins], even the Ranks, may contain useful items or elements. Their gear, at least, should be recycled. The Guild should not be seen to fail, or at least, leave bodies behind. Bodies can be used in identification or tracking Skills.”

She kept staring down at the bloody Drake with arrows through both eyes. Precision shots. The broken black fletching was horrific—and a message. Someone had shot the Rank on patrol and left them there to show Calidus’ Guild exactly how outmatched they were.

The blood was staining a white linen shroud. Selys tugged the cloth over their face and saw how the broken arrowshafts stood up. Then she forced herself to turn, businesslike, to her staff. The Ranks were milling about, sharpening blades, waiting to go on more adventurer requests or be assigned to counter the enemy [Assassins]. So casual for people at war.

Antinium. You didn’t cry for Soldiers or Workers who died. Oh, sure, you felt bad, but unless it was one you knew…Selys didn’t feel bad. She just folded her arms.

“Elements? What are the Ranks, monsters? We carve them up for parts?”

“Close, Guildmistress. Galas muscle from higher-levels, blood—for toxins or antidotes, given how many of the Ranks gain immunities—and their bones can be used to make undead.”

“Really? Undead?”

Selys’ eyes bounced up and down. Lagrisse nodded. He seemed vaguely amused by this war. He had gone from understanding the odds on them all surviving were now low to a weird acceptance. The other Guild had a lot of staff and powerful former members. Faces. But because of that, he was one of the top dogs in Calidus’ Guild, and he seemed to think the tradeoff was worth it. If they lived.

“We used to have undead we would deploy, like summoned monsters.”

“What happened to them?”

“The Necromancer. I understand he summoned all the undead in the Guild’s vaults and made use of them. He slaughtered a number of Faces sent against him. Eventually, the Guild refused to take requests for him. There are a number of individuals with extant bounties, like the King of Destruction, that only a Face can even access. Or the Guildmaster. Few Faces consider such bounties unless they wish to win gold or prestige.”

“I think Calidus gave me some of those. There’s some retired Archmage south of the High Passes that Magnolia Reinhart wants killed, right?”

The man paused, and the [Deliverer of Secrets]’ fingers twitched.

“I…wouldn’t know about such a bounty. Fascinating. The Guild took it?”

“It’s a lot of gold. I’ll show you my files once this mess is over. Back to the undead. I understand why we stopped. Anti-[Necromancer] sentiment. Let’s start doing that again. Can we?”

Lagrisse thought about it, tilting his head. He never said ‘no’. Just…

“We lack for [Necromancers], Guildmistress. As well as holding areas. We could devote time to the project—”

“Egh. Put it in my long-term projects bin. Everything requires setup.”

“Most functions of the Guild do, sadly. The same for our tamed beasts and even training areas. Losmere is a fine instructor, and the presence of Polymath Zeomtoril has allowed us a decent variety of poisons, but the other Guild seems to have a number of our experts.”

Hence the corpses that kept coming in. Selys glanced at the dead body again; it was being carried by a pale-faced pair of staff towards a cold room with preservation spells.

The fourteenth in three days. No Adventurer’s Guild except one fighting off a literal dungeon or something had this kind of turnover. But they had hundreds of Ranks.

So it was not ideal, but emotionally? Fine. Selys went stalking back to her desk.

“What was this guy—that was a guy, right?—doing away from his squad? I told them to stick together! This is what happens without teamwork!”

She slammed a fist down on the counter, and the Ranks listened to her. They always listened to her, another thing she liked. Bronze-rankers were flighty, annoying—the Ranks obeyed.

Not perfectly. She got the sense that they did some things reluctantly, but her job was to win an edge. So Selys steepled her claws and spoke.

“Put five squads on patrol. No, make it three. Five squads on backup in hiding. Have them build hideouts in the forest in these areas.”

She stabbed several sections of the map so they were spaced out.

“How’s our response time on interception requests?”

Interception requests—her name for countering the other Guild by sending their [Assassins] to murder the killers. Lagrisse hesitated.

“It could be faster, Guildmistress. Ranks are not always present as a squad. They also require horses and supplies—”

“Okay, that’s a priority. Get someone from the Hostler’s Guild and as many darn horses as we can buy! As for food…hmm.”

Selys got up and strode out from behind her desk. She plucked something up as she came. A black card with a golden stamp of color along with her name on it.

A Merchant’s Guild card, the kind few people in this world had. Nigh-unlimited funds thanks to Calidus Reinhart and whomever was ordering him about. Selys smiled.

She liked this. Not the fear of death or being coerced into this, but this? Absolutely.

——

Speak and it would be done. People who listened to her. Even the ability to do stupid things like hand Pilana two rats and tell her to take them to every restaurant in the town.

“Which cook has the best food, you two? And cooks at good speed?”

Rhata had tomato sauce on her nose. She and Haldagaz nibbled at a name on the page, and Selys smiled.

“Itmont’s Eats it is. Sounds like a bad restaurant, but if you two liked it—”

“Guildmistress, are you really trusting rats?”

Pilana was horrified, but Selys flapped a claw at her.

“They’re as smart as some cats I know. And a bee. Also, they’re pickier than you think after so long touring the north. Hire the [Cook]; he delivers to the Adventurer’s Guild. And Runner’s Guild. Put a menu in place and run orders…better yet, just have a Street Runner or one of their apprentice chefs use a bag of holding to deliver the food hot and in bulk. Anyone who finishes a request gets a free meal.”

If the Ranks were like basic Antinium, she thought that would motivate them. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Selys flashed her card at Pilana.

“Also, spin off part of the inner common room and make it plush. Couches, classy tables, upholstery—just one section.”

“Yes, Guildmistress.”

“I’ll do the horses. C’mon, Rhata, Haldagaz.”

They climbed up onto her shoulder, squeaking as she strode off. Haldagaz didn’t seem as happy by all these changes, but Rhata was full and content. And Selys—

——

“What do you mean you can’t get us enough horses?”

“I don’t got any. And holding a dagger to my throat won’t make ‘em appear!”

Like everyone else in Isbeut, the local representative of the Hostler’s Guild understood the [Assassins] were here and in charge. But the sandy-haired teen had a point, so Selys waved at Lagrisse. He withdrew the dagger.

She supposed even the staff of the Guild could kill. Selys smiled at him.

“I’m sure Lagrisse only thought you were being stubborn. Explain it to me?”

She understood the problem at once as the shaken [Horse Handler] told her.

“Horses come and go ‘cause we rent ‘em out. We can blacklist anyone we want and ask for more horses from the major Guilds, but only as many as our town needs. And as much as our stables can hold. How’d it gonna look if I ask for two hundred racers for this place? If they don’t laugh at me, someone’ll ask questions. Then I get killed for doin’ what you want.”

He braced, cringing, as the scary Drake pursed her lips, but Selys just smiled at him.

“Fairly explained, Master…?”

“It’s just Hornbel. Master Azat did a runner when the [Assassins] appeared. Buried him last week.”

“Ah. Well, we’re in the same boat here. I need to get the [Assassins] horses. I’ll pay for the stables to be expanded. But work with me here, Hornbel. How do we get more horses without attracting suspicion?”

“…Buy ‘em?”

“But if not from the Hostler’s Guild—”

The boy shook his head rapidly.

“No, I just mean buy them. Not rent them or have them sent. If Lord Calidus buys horses and lets us use them, it makes sense. Nobles always do crackbrained things like that.”

Selys clicked her claws together. See? And Lagrisse was just going to threaten the boy. You simply needed to talk to people.

“Perfect! Then who’s selling horses that we can make a purchase from?”

The kid and Lagrisse conferred and offered Selys a list. She grimaced as she ran down the locations; Jecrass or another major horsebreeder was too far. Then she paused, tapped a name on the list.

“…This one.”

“You’re sure, Guildmistress? It might attract some attention—”

“I’m sure. I have an instinct for important things. Send for horses from House Walchaís at once. I don’t care if there’s a blockade or whatever’s going on with Magnolia.”

She’d met Bethal Walchaís. The woman had always ridden excellent horses, and she was part of that connection that Selys and most Liscorians had learned to observe. The inn.

She sighed.

It always came back to the inn.

——

Calidus Reinhart was fascinated by The Wandering Inn, which it seemed like he’d just found out about, a year behind everyone else. That and Liscor.

Selys didn’t want to talk about either, but he was her boss…and he insisted.

“Aunt Magnolia’s been trying to kill Bethal for a while now. No idea why; they were best friends. It’s a tricky proposition, Selys.”

“That’s Miss Selys or Guildmistress to you, Lord Calidus. And it’s simple. Her lands are the closest, and if she’s under some kind of embargo, she’ll be desperate for coin. Or do we have four months for a Jecrass shipment?”

Calidus winced.

“My calculations say we’re losing at about a 6% greater attrition rate compared to our rivals. So…no. House Walchaís it is. We need a good cover story, though. Even if her best people aren’t there, Aunt Magnolia is sharp. And [Healers].”

Apparently, they were losing a lot of Ranks to more than just death in combat. Selys frowned.

“They’re pretty good at stitching themselves back up. Remember that one who came in with her leg cut off? She tied off the artery and hopped back in here.”

A Drathian, or someone who’d looked a bit like Ryoka, although she’d been far more petite and not barefoot. Calidus sighed.

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. Um—damn. Poison?”

“Nope. Blood loss. She hopped back on pure adrenaline, lay down, and never got back up. The Ranks do know how to perform basic first aid, but when they’re badly hurt, they need a good [Healer], not some idiot who slaps a poultice on everything. Got one?”

“Can we kidnap the Healer of Tenbault? Or a [Mage] who can cast [Restoration]?”

Calidus shook his head.

“Anyone who can do that is too important to just grab. Damn. Well, add it to your list.”

She scowled at him. Calidus just beamed at Selys.

“I’m quite impressed with your style already, Guildmistress. This Guild is far cozier! And excellent vittles.”

He took another bite from the hamburger that [Cook] Itmont had delivered. The Faces might object, but they had the money for fancier eating. Selys noticed some of the Ranks she had met before, Ribark and his team, chowing down on the burgers.

Actually, it looked like they’d had four. Each. She shouted at them.

“You’d better be resting and not have a job coming up because all that food’s going to either come up or weigh you down!”

They didn’t stop eating, and she shrugged.

“I’m treating this like a Guild. And this lot like they’re people. If you object to me spending gold…”

“No, no, not at all. It’s what I wanted.”

He was a strange [Lord] alright. Selys hadn’t really met any besides Tyrion or maybe Earl Altestiel, but Calidus seemed to enjoy novel things. She snorted, then walked over to a wall where requests were hanging.

Aside from mandatory ones, none of the Ranks exactly jumped at optional requests. Selys eyed one that she’d told Pilana to put up Adventurer’s Guild style.

Interception Quest — Merchant Erill.

A kill-order has been put onto [Merchant Lord] Erill Fienst. Given his personal protections and bodyguards, a Face or a squad of Ranks will have been dispatched to kill him.

Keep Lord Erill alive. His own personal protective artifacts and bodyguards should enable his survival if the initial assassination fails.

Reward: 600 gold coins. See desk for details. Must be taken within week of posting.

A standard request, the kind of which she’d post in Liscor’s Guild. A few oddities, but that was a handsome gold reward.

Handsome…if you weren’t going to have to fight other [Assassins]. In truth, it was a hard damn request, if not Gold-rank by Selys’ standards, a killing request. Like slaying a nest of Crelers, even babies.

She knew the Ranks had seen it. And knew that even the ones on downtime didn’t want to do this. No Face had leapt at the opportunity; they’d barely left the Guild except when ordered.

Scared to die. Funny that [Assassins] were like that. Or if not afraid of their mortality, unwilling to risk it just like that. Selys smiled. She saw Calidus glancing at her and lifted up something.

A hammer. Okay, fine, it was still copying someone. So what? Selys Shivertail concentrated and used the power she deserved.

The power she had longed for. And, frankly, which her friend had never used as well as she should have. Selys pulled the paper off the wall, and then it shimmered. Then she began to hammer onto the billboard, and the Ranks peeked up.

Toc. Toc. Toc.

Three blows, and then Selys Shivertail stood back. She heard Calidus begin to cackle with joy and smiled herself. Because this is what the request, now re-posted, now said.

No.

The <Quest>.

<Rare Interception Quest — Save Erill Fienst!>

Details: A kill-order has been put onto [Merchant Lord] Erill Fienst. Given his personal protections and bodyguards, a Face or a squad of Ranks will have been dispatched to kill him.

Objectives: Keep Lord Erill alive. His own personal protective artifacts and bodyguards should enable his survival if the initial assassination fails.

Quest Reward: 600 gold coins, withdrawal of one (1) Grade C artifact from Guild vaults or restock of five (5) enchanted munitions of Grade C quality. Experience in [Assassin] class.

Conditional Reward: If a Face is present, foiling the assassination attempt or full kill of enemy Ranks will be rewarded by a <Blade> artifact.

There it was. Selys admired the glowing words on the <Quest> she’d posted. Her quest. And her powers.

She’d been so damn envious of Erin, the [Innkeepers], and then her own grandmother and Lyonette, who all had the power she felt like she could use and never did anything with it!

Dead gods, you could be creative! But Tekshia had been ‘traditional’ and hadn’t liked the motivating factors of <Quests> or the unpredictability. Also, Erin had destroyed her Guild with one, so she was probably reluctant to post powerful quests on her walls.

But Selys had gained a Skill, and her eyes glinted.

She’d personally authorized the reward of an artifact from the vaults of the Assassin’s Guild. It was good motivation, and it’d keep the [Assassins] hungry while powering them up.

But the conditional reward? The <Blade> artifact?

She didn’t know what that was. Only that she could post it. The <Quest> was promising rewards that Selys didn’t have herself. Things that might not exist.

And experience.

When she stepped back, Selys knew that the other [Assassins] were eying the piece of paper. More than one had gotten up.

Even Ribark’s team were poking their stomachs, clearly wondering if they could make a day-long ride, full as they were. Selys didn’t move but blocked the view of the board from most of them with her head. She smiled, then pulled down another piece of paper. She raised the hammer, and now there was a stir in the room. She inspected the request, then lifted it, and her hammer touched the nail again.

Toc.

——

<Quests>, food, even horses and healers, which turned out to come from the same location. Selys Shivertail herself ended up going to House Walchaís.

Because the cover story that Calidus needed for a buyer for horses was actually standing in front of him when he gave it a moment’s thought. Who had money, a desire to invest, and a willingness to ignore northern squabbles between the nobility?

Selys Shivertail. She found House Walchaís’ lands eerie.

Not just because an entire Terland force stopped her at the border and practically strip-searched her. When the outraged Drake complained, the bored [Golem Controller] snapped back.

“We have had over a hundred attempts on Lady Walchaís’ life! The Knights of the Petal will conduct the same searches, Miss. And I would advise you not to act suspiciously. House Walchaís is very protective of their [Lady]. Er, [Ladies], now.”

Selys had known…something about Lady Bethal and Magnolia warring after the Winter Solstice, but not about what. Bethal had betrayed everyone?

Well…she did what she did best and put any feelings aside. Pragmatism. She needed those damn horses, so she was prepared to ignore that fact.

However, she was not prepared for just how much the area had changed since Bethal Walchaís’ sister had come back to life. Or the [Lady] herself.

The villages and towns in House Walchaís had felt Lady Magnolia’s wrath. A trade embargo and just the ire of other noble families clearly hurt their finances; there were virtually no visitors as Selys rode into the town. And everyone stared suspiciously at her.

In fact, the first Rose Knight who found Selys nearly stripped her naked again! The pink [Knight] almost had Selys take off her undergarments until she blinked.

“What’s that in your clothing? What—aaaah!”

That was Rhata, who leapt at the [Knight] and nearly got cut in half. However, it saved Selys from further indignation—and once she was in the town, she stared around.

“Ancestors. What is that?”

There was a line of people walking towards what Selys could only describe as some kind of weird ritual-site. She had no words for it except that the raised platform upon which some were placing items, the way they bowed, put their hands together, and lined up?

It reminded her of Erin’s bier. Only there was no body there. Selys’ scales tingled as the Rose Knight who’d ridden in with her explained.

“It is an altar. A shrine to the Goddess. Most of the townsfolk are [Faithful], or more. Welcome to House Walchaís, which has traded its noble honor for faith and miracles.”

She flipped up her visor, revealing a very weary, even grimy face. Selys turned, and the [Knight] glanced at her.

“I will be escorting you throughout your visit, Miss.”

“Me? Really?”

“We have no visitors. Magnolia Reinhart’s servants have attempted to kill Lady Bethal numerous times or tried to lay down poison—I am Dame Welca Caveis.”

The name was somewhat familiar. Selys hesitated.

“Weren’t you at the Winter’s Solstice? Did you and Lady Walchaís…?”

Betray everyone? Welca avoided Selys’ gaze.

“We forswore ourselves. Yes. For Lady Thricia’s life, Lady Bethal swore an oath to the Goddess whose power now runs through our lands. Even if I note her blessings seem few and far between, aside from what classes and these Miracles grant.”

She spat a bit of blackness onto the ground, and Selys’ mouth opened. Welca seemed like she was more angry at Bethal than Selys was, but perhaps it was a ruse. Selys forced a smile.

“I…am just here on business, Dame Welca. I should like to buy a number of horses.”

“Doubtless you will have them; few others wish to do business with us. You will need to speak to someone in the city. This way.”

Selys took a moment to stare at the Humans bowing before the altar. They put things there. A basket of apples. The first finished product from a [Blacksmith]’s forge. A letter. Welca clicked her tongue as she rode a horse which clearly didn’t want to let her ride it.

“This way, Miss Drake. The altars are in every hamlet and village if you should wish to offer something yourself. Nothing comes back.”

“What do they do with the apples and such? Wouldn’t they rot after a few days?”

Selys was familiar with honoring the dead, and you’d come back to take whatever you put out for fear of [Thieves]. She had to do it for both Zel and Tekshia this year, she realized. And her parents. She stopped dead in her tracks, but Welca just unlatched the carriage door.

“Nothing. They vanish when no one’s looking.”

The Drake’s head snapped around, and Welca offered her a grim smile.

“You think it a joke, Miss Drake? It is no joke, nor the classes. We have what it seems only Antinium and this Prophet of God have. There is a power here who Lady Bethal and her people worship. I just said that she never does anything in return. The hand of the Goddess rests on Walchaís’ lands.”

And then she pointed.

“Smog’s coming. If your carriage is not airtight, we must ride around it.”

“Smog? What smog—”

Then Selys saw a billowing cloud of it sweeping ahead of them in the distance. Drifting from far away, and Welca lowered her visor.

“Lady Magnolia’s gifts.”

——

The smog never touched Selys in the magical Wistram Carriage, but the black soot covered the magical vehicle and left it stained and sooty. The effect on the land was even more pronounced.

Grass was visibly withered and died beneath it. Farms—Selys saw streaked farmland clearly abandoned, a few crops growing where the black ash hadn’t touched, but everything else was just dead. No one was attempting to get rid of it. There was no point, according to Welca.

“It’s some kind of mixture that eats sunlight. One would have to strain the land with water again and again to rid oneself of it. Once they failed to kill Lady Bethal, Magnolia’s people began to blow it across the border. The Terlands can’t stop them. It will clog even their Golems’ eyes and joints.”

“Dead gods. Is Lady Magnolia taking it out on the citizens?”

That didn’t seem like her, but Welca shrugged.

“The citizenry stuck with House Walchaís and Lady Bethal. Most.”

“Why? If she betrayed everyone at Liscor—”

“She did. I was there.”

Then Selys was fidgeting, trying to bite her lip on—calm, pragmatic, don’t engage—but Welca truly seemed bitter. She shrugged.

“We have always loved House Walchaís, even those of us who came simply to join her Knights of the Petal. The last, despairing, passionate lady who fought the Goblin King? How could one not love her and the ever-faithful [Chevalier], and not understand why she would give all to resurrect her sister?”

“S-so her sister’s alive?”

“Oh yes.”

One glance from Welca. She had a cloth mask over her horse’s mouth to avoid a spray from the smog reaching them, but she just rode through it with her visor up. Which was stupid because Selys could hear her coughing several times. But Welca did not look like a happy woman.

“Magnolia Reinhart regards the people as traitors as much as House Walchaís. Starving them is but one way to harm Lady Bethal. Sadly, it does not work well.”

“Sadly…why not?”

“Because faith creates Skills. Observe. We reach the City of Vaisme. Lady Bethal Walchaís’ ancestral home is not far from here.”

The city, the lone one in Walchaís lands, seemed to have fallen on equally hard times given the economic damage that Magnolia could inflict. However, the adaptability of classes and people…Selys stared out the window and saw more strangeness.

“Cursed artifacts. Five farms have died, and five broken homes reveal five black fates. You, visitor, will you buy a curse?”

A woman in black, sooty clothing looked like she’d walked through one of the soot clouds. So did the five lumps of…Selys slowed.

“What are those?”

“A piece of timber from each barn that collapsed. A piece of bone from the best livestock put down as the suneater ash choked their lungs, unable to be butchered. A prayer to the one who returned the dead to life.”

The woman had fashioned a strange amulet, the kind which reminded Selys of Lord Mireden’s projects in Liscor—she’d kept up with home and knew about the odd charms sweeping her city. But unlike them, this one was crude. A piece of bone hooked into charcoal-black wood.

“Did you say cursed? Who would want that?”

The woman lifted one of the hanging curse-artifacts and shook it at Selys. When she smiled, her eyes lit up, and Selys recoiled.

“Why, because it’s a tradeoff, Miss Drake. [Vitality of the Undead]. Each hour you wear it, you’ll have the strength of one with nothing left to lose.”

“And draw closer to that fate yourself, no doubt. Or find your lungs coated with the same ash. It’s a product of House Walchaís, Miss Selys. Cursed artifacts. Tradeoffs. Let’s be on our way.”

“I’ll take two.”

Selys hopped out of the carriage, and Lady Welca faltered and whirled. The woman just took Selys’ gold, and the Drake very deliberately didn’t put it on, but took the hand-written note on how to use it. Welca eyed her.

“Are you an adventurer or collector?”

“I have people who might need it. Are there more?”

“Oh, aye. Plenty more if you want them. Food too.”

This time, Welca led Selys into the city and seemed deliberately trying to not show Selys the best sides of House Walchaís. Certainly, when Selys gave an item of ‘food’ on display a look, she froze.

“W-what is…?”

A [Pumpkin Farmer] had apparently owned one of the farms hit by Magnolia’s smogs. You could grow a specialty crop even out-of-season. However, pumpkins needed sunlight, so he’d lost his entire harvest.

Nevertheless, a pumpkin was on sale. Half of it was rotten, literally shriveled up and almost liquefied it was so nasty; it was sitting on a plate as the [Farmer]’s eldest daughter tried to sell it to Selys.

The other half…rose above the ruined bottom part, and it was semi-translucent. See-through. Black.

“‘Tis a Dead Pumpkin, Miss Visitor. Buy it as a novelty. Or t’eat. It has half the energy of a real pumpkin, but it is all that remains now.”

“A Dead Pumpkin?”

The daughter nodded.

“It died on the vine, and we thought the crop lost until we prayed to the Goddess. She did not bring back the harvest. But a Miracle came in the night. And it was this.”

Ghost food. Or undead food? Selys wasn’t sure it was at all edible, but when she bought one and pulled out a seed from within, it was translucent. Rhata, who feared no pumpkin seeds, even from dead pumpkins, nibbled on it.

The rat’s expression indicated it wasn’t great. However, the [Pumpkin Seller] explained the value simply.

“It won’t rot, Miss.”

“What, ever?”

“Not that we saw, and we left this in the ground until it was so rotted—as you see the other half. It feeds one very little, but it is light—the part resurrected. It feeds House Walchaís, just as our [Knights] keep our [Ladies] safe.”

She bowed to Dame Welca, and the [Knight] just spat again.

“The horses are just damned horses. Let’s have them bought, Miss Drake. I hope you don’t plan on buying too many.”

“Why?”

“Lady Bethal could use the coin.”

——

Insanity. The citizens were all insane. They had taken to wearing black, and those altars were indeed everywhere. Welca commented.

“Some people give half of what they earn to the Goddess. Others pray and pray for her to restore their dead family, friends. I heard one even laid a babe on the altar.”

“Did—did it—?”

“No. And Chevalier Thomast forbade any such sacrifices, but here is House Walchaís, which has seen great miracles. Lady Bethal herself has changed least, despite her new class. She does not deserve a bounty of coin.”

Welca had realized that Selys was rich and planning on buying a lot, and she was getting more hostile, but it was fascinating because she was a [Knight] clearly in service to Lady Bethal! Selys didn’t get it, but since this was no act, she stopped before they reached the Merchant’s Guild.

“Dame Welca. You seem to hold Lady Bethal’s actions at Liscor in great contempt, and you were there. Why, then, do you still serve her if you’re so set against Lady Bethal?”

Dame Welca opened her mouth. Before she could respond, a familiar, airy voice spoke, like barbed thorns hidden under a pleasant flower.

“Why, because she tried that and she saw how well it went. Because she had nowhere else to go, and frankly, because it amused me. But if you’re going to get in the way of business, I’ll have you digging privies, Welca. Or fighting monsters until you meet the Goddess.”

Selys’ scales prickled, and she forced a smile before she turned. She bowed—and there stood Lady Bethal Walchaís.

She was, as always, flanked by Thomast, who stood like a perfect statue, his light brown hair subtly styled, his rapier unsheathed and held to his chest—on guard, even now. He wore an outfit that would have been fit for Terandria’s ballrooms and practice courts alike. In that, Selys’ vague memories were not betrayed.

But the look in his eyes spoke betrayal of many things. Guilt and a haunted disquiet and disgust, perhaps at himself most of all. For he was visibly thinner. Clothing and attire in fine condition, but despite his wife’s best efforts, she could not save the man himself from wearing down.

By contrast, Lady Bethal Walchaís had no visible guilt, nor had she changed. Her blonde hair had flashes of royal Terandrian red in it, and she wore it cropped just over her eyes in the front, short and equally styled, and there was a clasp at her neck with the symbol of her house on it—and red. A dress like a rose, a bloody exterior over black undergarments. She twirled as she stepped forwards, and Welca bowed—slowly.

“Do you like the fashion, Miss? I’ve established it as a new style, given the look of much of House Walchaís of late. I wish I knew which color my divine benefactor prefers, but she hasn’t answered my prayers. So then, all colors or none!”

“Lady Bethal, I’m delighted to meet you.”

“And I am delighted to have someone coming to buy my horses! That is what this is about, isn’t it? My [Business Sense] pressed me to come out.”

Selys nodded, and Lady Bethal was fascinated, eager to sell her horses, and just as quickly horrified to know where they were going.

“To Calidus Reinhart? That slob? He was always younger than us, but I do recall him. Intelligent and annoying. Thomast, did you ever meet him? Do you recall—?”

The [Chevalier] had always been silent before, but now he had been quiet as the grave. His eyes found Selys, unblinking, until he interrupted with a gravelly voice.

“She was at Liscor.”

Selys jumped and froze as Bethal’s head snapped back to her. Instantly, a pair of pink Knights of the Petal drew their blades, but Thomast’s sword was faster. He knocked both down, and Bethal inspected Selys.

“Not at the battlefield, surely—?”

“No. Just a visitor to the inn. Stand down.”

The two bodyguards did, and Selys saw someone inside the Merchant’s Guild relax—and lower a chair. They’d been ready to jump her? They did love the [Lady]. Bethal Walchaís pursed her lips, uncertain, then beamed.

“Well, I regard the inn quite fondly in my memories! To be back there, on that beach…I regret how it ended, I truly do. Do they, ah, still hold a grudge there? I could visit, but for Magnolia’s damned servants. She truly isn’t forgiving me this time, is she, Thomast?”

She turned to Thomast, and he said nothing, which clearly upset Bethal. He was just staring at Selys, and the Drake couldn’t meet his eyes.

Tekshia Shivertail had died when the Draugr came through the gates. She’d died, and it was because the fools outside hadn’t held the battle lines. Because—Selys hadn’t been there. She hadn’t understood the battle in its entirety, but she knew Bethal had betrayed everyone else.

That didn’t mean she was the reason the Draugr made it through the gates. Practical, be practical—Selys forced a smile on her face.

“I’m gravely in need of horses, Lady Bethal, and Lord Calidus is just a business partner at this time. Could I talk numbers?”

“Of course, of course! I would love to do so! And you should ride a few. They’re the finest in Izril! Tell you what, you shall dine with me, and—”

“Bethal. Just sell her the damn horses.”

Thomast interrupted, and Bethal’s face froze, then she was all smiles again.

“Of course, Thomast! Let’s get this done, and speedily too! Two comments in a single outing? It’s a record, I swear. He’s been upset at me, as much as Magnolia, Pryde, and everyone else. To be fair, I understand. I even deserve it! But would you have done differently?”

She turned to Selys, and there, just for a moment, was a single crack in her gaily upbeat personality. A mote of guilt leaking out—but just a crack. She was not that ashamed, Selys realized. The Drake [Heiress] croaked a reply.

“You got your sister back, didn’t you? I—I might have done the same thing.”

Welca turned away abruptly. Thomast stopped staring at Selys and glanced over her shoulder. A rat bit Selys’ fingers in her pocket. And Bethal beamed.

“That’s right. Do you hear that, Thricia? Don’t hide! She’s perfectly safe. No one will ever harm you.”

She called into the Merchant’s Guild…and then Selys’ scales were all a-shiver. A figure moved from behind the protective townsfolk, and Selys saw…a dead woman appear.

A girl. She was just sixteen, and everything that Lady Bethal was—fully grown, confident and mature—was still unrefined and growing in her.

Thricia Walchaís was even gangly, taller than her older sister, with less red and more brown in her hair, and a travelling dress in plainer colors. Her irises bloomed like flowers, orange-yellow marigolds. She walked forwards hesitantly, and flowers bloomed and died behind her, rising and falling from the wooden floorboards.

Selys stared. Lady Bethal threw a hand out.

“This is Thricia, my younger sister, and the [Lady] who shall continue House Walchaís if she ever finds someone worthy of her! Not that I intend to look for her; you should be so much more adventurous, Thricia! Do admire her lovely Skill that causes the flowers and her eyes! I thought the Goddess had made a mistake, but no—it’s her levels.”

“Bethal. What is a Drake doing in the north?”

Thricia’s voice was a whisper. But not a hoarse one like Thomast’s, clearly disused, just one of great discomfort. She put a hand on the hilt of her sword as she eyed Selys.

“She’s a customer, a customer, Thricia. We’re not as hostile with the Drakes anymore—at least, I’m not. Miss Selys, Thricia. Thricia?”

The younger [Lady] inspected Selys, then frowned.

“She has a rat in each pocket. They both seem strong. For rats. She herself is stronger than most. Her aura almost nonexistent. But a seed’s placed there. I wish I had more training. Mine own aura rages. I wish Lady Zanthia would teach me. I want to leave home, Bethal.”

Bethal blinked, and every eye turned to Selys as Rhata and Haldagaz poked their heads out of her pockets. That provoked a genuine expression of astonishment from Thomast. Bethal’s eyes flicked to him hungrily, drinking in the unguarded face as if she were dying of thirst. Then she spoke faster.

“Of course, Thricia! Drake lands! I should have thought of it! As for Zanthia—no. No, I don’t—I shall ask, of course, but she’s always been a harridan, that old woman.”

They were all out-of-sync. Thomast. Bethal. Thricia. Each one had a different emotion, a different reaction to the state of things. Thricia blinked, then rounded on Bethal, and her timidity turned into a shout so fast that Selys recoiled.

The Walchaís temper turned out to be hereditary. But not just that—Thricia snapped in a passable battlefield roar.

“Harridan? Harridan!? How dare you, Bethal!”

“W-what? Thricia, I only meant she’s always pestering and lecturing—”

Bethal drew back in astonishment, and Thricia’s eyes blazed. The flower petals of her eyes opened wider, and then vines were rising around her. Thorny ones blooming with flowers—Selys stepped behind Welca as Thomast held out his sword, but only moving a sprouting vine back from his wife. And Thricia’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Zanthia Okreis, the Tutor of Elegance, taught you, me, and every [Lady] of the Flowers of Izril. She is there. Right there.”

She pointed a finger, and every head turned, but Thricia was pointing at something else. A memory. Her face rose, stricken, and she gazed ahead. The vines around her burst into flame. Wilting. All fashioned purely out of her aura.

“She is the first one to step forwards and tell us what we have to do. The first to leave our safe mansions and walk at him. Her entire family, her sons and father and daughters—then Father tells Mother not to go, but she takes a step forwards. Then the Ultas. The Reinharts are wavering, saying that if we just have a bit longer, Magnolia will use the Crown of Flowers—but the gates will not hold another hour, let alone a day. When the Goblin King howls, she’s the brightest aura. Fighting with the others so he goes after her first.”

She turned, the youngest [Lady], and then Selys remembered who she was supposed to be. Thricia Walchaís. A girl who had died a decade ago. The youngest member of House Walchaís—who all perished in the Sacrifice of Roses.

Every last one but for Bethal. The older [Lady] was frozen, but Thricia’s tears kept falling. She spoke, voice breaking.

“I can see her. I can hear him coming and the howl of Goblins. How dare you, Bethal? How dare you?”

“Thricia. I—I forgot. It’s been over ten years, and—I am sorry. Forgive me.”

Bethal hesitantly walked forwards, trying to embrace her younger sister, but Thricia slashed with an arm, and Bethal backed up.

“Forget? Is ten years really enough time? Can you ever forget that monster?”

“No.”

Bethal whispered, and Thricia shuddered. She wiped at a dripping nose, then peered around. At Selys, blankly.

“It was just yesterday. You’ve yanked me, like a fish from a river, and placed me a decade ahead. Don’t you dare speak poorly of Zanthia or the dead or I’ll pluck out your eyes, Bethal. Just like he ripped mine out. All this—you should have brought Father or Mother back.”

“And left them alone? One half sundered? I could only choose you. You have the longest to live.”

Bethal grasped her sister as Thricia began to claw at her eyes, and the younger [Lady] whirled. Face alight with—

Selys had never actually seen Bethal Walchaís lose an aura clash. But the shower of petals and the air moving hurled Bethal back into Thomast’s arms. Thricia stood, trembling.

“My aura is rampant. My eyes—my levels—gifts for facing the Goblin King. I cannot just enjoy this strange life nor war with Magnolia Reinhart nor bear to see everyone else grown around me or how few flowers remain. Make your deal with Drakes.”

Her eyes flashed hatred at Selys, and Thricia turned.

“I am leaving, Bethal. I throw myself on House Terland’s graces until I can make sense of it all. Terland or Wellfar. Since we are so hated that nowhere else will take us.”

“Thricia!”

Bethal tried to race after her sister as Thricia whirled and began to run. Flowers sprouted from her steps, each one a black rose, and then Bethal Walchaís fell to her knees. Gazing at her sister as Selys Shivertail wished she’d taken tomorrow to visit. It took Bethal a long moment to stand, then she was giving orders.

“Go after her. Bring her back! I don’t trust Magnolia or—or anyone to not harm her! That is an order!”

“Bethal, let her go. She cannot stay safe forever.”

“She will never die again, Thomast! Go!”

Bethal screamed at her [Knights]. They glanced at each other, and one began to run forwards—until Welca Caveis walked forwards. She had a shortsword and shield. Calmly, she slapped the frosted blade across the face of the other [Knight]. Then, when the [Knight] jerked, slammed the edge of her shield against their head.

The unexpected blow didn’t down the enchanted Knight of the Petal. But it did provide an opening; Thricia Walchaís was racing away on horseback before the second [Knight] got around Welca, who had swung at them economically, with no real desire to kill.

Nor great skill, if Selys was a judge. She was just a [Knight]. Strong for her level, but no master or Face. Nevertheless, Welca’s face revealed great satisfaction in thwarting Bethal’s schemes. Right up until the [Lady]’s head snapped around.

“[The Vine that Broke Castles].”

The earth exploded underfoot, and Selys leapt away as a black vine shot up, grabbed Welca, then slammed her into the ground. She made a sound, sword sawing at the vine, and Bethal’s voice thundered.

“Traitor! I offered you mercy and a second life and this is how you repay me? Do you want me to take back Her gifts, Welca? Beg and I might let you live—”

“Unhappy your sister remembers how things should be, milady?”

Welca rasped. Bethal’s response was to hurl her into the wall of the Merchant’s Guild. Then her aura was black thorns in the air, so intense they began to shred even Welca’s pink, enchanted armor.

Levels. They’d all levelled up. Welca twitched as the thorns pinned her along with the aura, until Thomast spoke.

“Bethal, enough. Let her go. Sell your horses and leave Welca alone.”

Bethal froze. She rounded on Thomast, face filled with fury, then spotted Selys.

Selys, who was trying to hide behind her enchanted carriage. Bethal hesitated, then smiled ruefully.

“Ah, Miss Selys. Why don’t we take care of our business first? How many horses was it? I do accept coins or Merchant’s Guild credit.”

When Selys Shivertail produced the little black card, Bethal beamed.

——

The incident in House Walchaís had Selys wanting to leave as fast as possible, and the one upside was this: Bethal needed the gold Selys was putting down.

Bethal haggled hard, but Selys was so rattled she just paid an exorbitant sum for two hundred horses and was riding towards the border as fast as could be.

Clearly, Thricia Walchaís and Bethal and these lands were—mad. Mad with loyalty towards this Goddess, and the one mercy was that her power seemed limited purely towards classes.

But what classes! Selys had a bunch of artifacts made with this divine power, and she reckoned it might give her [Assassins] an edge. But the final clue came when she glanced at the [Knight] lying across from her in the magical carriage.

Hilariously, Welca was still on guard-duty for Selys, and so the Drake had needed help bundling her into the carriage. She was making wheezing sounds.

Ribs broken.

“What possessed you to do that? I thought you were loyal to House Walchaís, for all you complained!”

“I…just don’t want her killed by Magnolia’s servants. We still did…wrong. Thricia is innocent. She doesn’t…get what’s going on. She died a decade ago.”

Welca gasped. Her armor was ruined by the thorns, and she was struggling with it, trying to get the pieces off. Selys shook her head.

“Well, you’re clearly fired. If you objected so much, why did you stay?”

She was angry. Angry at Bethal and being too afraid to talk back to the dangerous lady. Angry at the judgemental look Thomast had given her, that traitor. So she took it out on Welca, but of all people, the [Knight] seemed amused by Selys’ question. She began laughing until she choked, and the wheeze-hiss of her breath filled the air along with the screeching of broken, now unenchanted, metal.

She tore her chestplate off, and Selys froze as Welca Caveis lay there.

“I didn’t stay. I quit the moment we reached House Walchaís. In shame. In disgrace. Sadly…Magnolia Reinhart thought it was too late for that.”

She had clothing on under her armor, but skintight, form-fitting so it didn’t chafe against the padded metal. Welca pulled up her tunic so Selys could see the grey-black scar more clearly. Her heart beat. Selys saw it pulse through the strange scar tissue. The cut that had gone through Welca’s chest had been a killing blow.

Or would have been except for—Welca lay back down weakly.

“There is nowhere to go. My own House forsook me. I am a twice-dead woman. Just like poor Thricia.”

“Magnolia Reinhart had you killed? How did—? How—?”

“Lady Bethal Walchaís found me a step over the border. She prayed for me. [Pale Mending]. The power of House Walchaís is in death, flowers, and faith now. For all the good it does Izril.”

The [Knight] lay there, one of her ribs visibly broken through her translucent skin. Then Selys Shivertail regarded what had become of one of Magnolia Reinhart’s greatest allies. The cost, or perhaps rewards, of treachery.

Her grandmother had died when Kasigna took Liscor’s walls. And the [Lady], one of two traitors at the Winter Solstice…

Welca’s eyes found Selys. Full of guilt and bitterness, and Selys Shivertail met them. Then glanced away, and she said—

“Turn the carriage, would you, Haldagaz? I have a second offer to make Lady Bethal. And, Miss Caveis. Would you like a job?”

——

Selys Shivertail hired House Walchaís’ services as [Healers] for Calidus’ [Assassins]. Their powers were astounding, if not all-encompassing. But Lady Bethal was only too delighted to take Calidus’ coin and not ask too many questions about who Selys intended to send to be given the power of miracles.

It wasn’t as good as Pawn’s healing, but it was beyond any other group in Izril. A huge boon, with the one caveat being they had to send people to House Walchaís—Lady Bethal refused to send her people outside her lands while Magnolia had the blockade running. Even so, Selys Shivertail congratulated herself about that.

Her arrangement didn’t come with the services of Welca Caveis, however. She would have made a fine bodyguard, given her levels. And she had no attachment to Lady Bethal, of course.

However, she rode north after Lady Thricia instead, to serve as the reborn [Lady]’s protector. She had looked Selys in the eye and flatly refused to work for the Drake.

As if she were judging Selys, that traitor.

Selys punched one of the pillows in the magical carriage until her claws hurt. She ignored the two rats sitting in the front seat; they’d had another fight.

None of this was Selys’ fault! She had to do what it took to survive! If she didn’t, she’d end up with her throat cut, dead in a ditch—if she had power, when she had the Assassin’s Guild’s authority and no complications, then Selys could consider settling debts.

I’m not going to end up like Erin, sailing through a sea of magical spells because I can’t bide my time! I’m doing the correct thing! The logical thing!

She was so mad that when Calidus Reinhart met her back in Isbeut with a bouquet of flowers, she took them and began stomping them into the street. He watched her.

“You know, I don’t offer this except to ladies I really like—I could happily offer myself in place of those poor flowers if it makes you feel better. Call it a first date?”

He fluttered his eyes at her, and she gave him a flat look.

“Are you serious? Me? Go date a Face!”

“Sadly, I believe most of them are keen on sleeping to get ahead, and I have strict rules about not doing that!”

He turned up his nose with a huge sigh. Selys opened her mouth, closed it.

“I’m not interested. You’re the scary Guildmaster. Threaten to have me killed to get your way.”

Calidus recoiled.

“Like some kind of rapist entirely typical within my class and noble bloodline? How dare you, Miss! I prefer to win my partner’s affections through that fascinating thing we call respect. There’s so little point, otherwise. You might as well just put some lipstick on a hand; it gets the job done.”

She stomped into the Guild. Selys threw herself into her seat.

“How many have we lost?”

“Th-thirty, Guildmistress. There was another raid.”

“Thirty?”

This was a disaster! Selys clawed at her face.

“Do you mean wounded? Because we have healing the enemy lacks—”

“No, Guildmistress. That’s dead. Wounded are—”

Calidus popped up behind Selys, hands folded behind his back, smile gone. He nodded after Selys finished listening.

“It was their [Bladesmaster]. We must do something about him—and just the fact that they appear to have more Ranks than we do. Or a willingness to commit them to destroy us, at any rate. I do have a plan to throw my opponents into disarray, you know. But it does require a location.”

“Of what, their Guild? Going to blast them with a Tier 7 spell?”

The [Lord] shrugged.

“If I had one, I’d fire it at First Landing instead and claim it was them. No, something that will either get us all killed or place us ahead in a hopefully incontrovertible way. But for that I require a location where they are. Even a single base. But it appears as though they tend to be winning most engagements.”

“Our Ranks need an edge. I’ve done what I can to get them logistics, healing—now they need gear. Got any?”

She snarled at him, and Calidus tapped at his lips.

“My grandfather might have some, but he won’t back a horse he’s not sure will win. I’m afraid—”

“Nevermind, I’ll deal with it. Like I need to deal with everything around here. Because you know what? I’m capable. Someone load up the magical carriage; I’m leaving, and I’ll be back within two days, tops! One should do it…does this card still have money on it?”

She waved the card at Calidus, and he raised his brows.

“I shall make sure it does.”

“Good!”

She stormed out of the Guild. Calidus admired the way her angry tail swept the floor like a broom. He sighed as he leaned against the counter.

“There is nothing quite as attractive as a lovely, intelligent lady who hates your guts. Winning her oh-so-unhappy heart—that’s real romance.”

He commented to Lagrisse. The [Deliverer of Secrets] stopped writing at the desk and glanced at Calidus.

“If I may speak, Guildmaster…”

“Oh, please! I am delighted to hear opinions.”

“I have always found that the most attractive beings to me are the ones eternally out of reach. The glittering blades that leave marks on Izril’s underworld. Faces of Faces.”

Calidus Reinhart paused, then patted Lagrisse on the shoulder.

“I can see you enjoy your job, my friend. I myself went through that era, but one can only claw at the wall so long before they explode—well, I suppose that’s the joy of it. You know, I actually got a letter back from Cognita Truestone one time? I have it framed in my study. I’ll show it to you sometime over drinks.”

Then he strolled out of the Guild as everyone stared at him.

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart wasn’t actually without a plan. He had a backup plan to arm the Ranks and help Selys Shivertail gain that advantage the Guild needed. It was just that Calidus wanted her to do her thing first.

Firstly, because she needed to do this herself or what was the point of her being the Guildmistress for him? Second—he was fascinated by her methods.

Apparently, she had intuited that House Walchaís was important, and not only picked up horses, but their unique artifacts and even healing! And it was because of The Wandering Inn.

Fascinating. Calidus was doing his part, incidentally. He’d set up what he hoped would be a fine move in the game against the rival Assassin’s Guild. But in the meantime, he went and found a member of the Ranks he liked.

She was, of course, female. He couldn’t help it! Plus, there was something about a Gnollish [Assassin] which tickled his fancy. She was lying in a cot, recuperating—they’d send the wounded to House Walchaís after this, but she had just returned from none other than Liscor itself.

“Miss Dirfang! That’s not a typo, is it? Direfang? No? Dirfang it is, delightful. And a splendid job on deterring that Face from killing—who was it?”

“The [Princess].”

Calidus sat at the foot of the bed as the Gnoll rasped. He felt slightly bad for her. Well, none of them had asked for this, but he had to own, missing a good chunk of your face was a rough one.

Sprayed with acid, apparently. A Face had gone after Lyonette du Marquin. They’d failed.

“You have done excellently, Rank Dirfang, and I only regret that our <Quests> weren’t posted when you took the job. Which is why I’ve come to personally reward you.”

“Are we having sex, Guildmaster?”

Calidus slapped his face and pulled his eyelids down.

“Dead gods. No. Only consensual—nevermind that. Listen to me. You did a splendid job. We didn’t know a Face was there, but you thwarted them.”

The Gnoll paused and rasped; he could see her tongue moving in what was left of her mouth.

“Didn’t do much, Guildmaster. Face left. [Knight] was there. And other Face. Fast one; no getting near the inn. Couldn’t even find it.”

Calidus nodded reasonably.

“It was cloaked, so they had to go after the woman when she entered the city. And she had bodyguards who seem to be well and truly competent. I understand that. Nevertheless, you did what was asked of you. And paid for it. We’ll get you a lovely mask fashioned. I think it’ll really enhance the look. Or just keep the, ah, burns. Nothing like that for intimidation value.”

He gave her a thumbs up, and she waited. Calidus sighed.

I really hope they develop some personality soon. He clapped his hands together briskly.

“I am promoting you out of the Ranks. You are a fully-fledged [Assassin] now. Your loyalty, Dirfang, is beyond doubt. You have bled for the Assassin’s Guild. Tonight you will claim Grade C weaponry and armor and a choice of Grade B artifacts from the Guild’s vaults.”

They had a number of items that Regis had either pulled from his personal vaults or salvaged from the Assassin Guild’s own stocks. Dirfang reacted for the first time. He saw her half-rise, despite the bandages covering her face.

“I’m not a Rank?”

“A full list of your new rights and perks will be given to you after this. Reading for while you heal up. Congratulations, Assassin Dirfang.”

He held out a hand, and she stared at it. Then the Gnoll hesitantly took his hand.

“It only took nearly dying once?”

Ah, well, you could understand the whole of her entire history from that comment, the shock and puzzlement on her face. Calidus Reinhart didn’t do the nice thing. He did the thing his brain told him to do and leaned forwards. Her brown eyes focused on him, and he spoke to her.

“In Izril, the rules are different, Dirfang. They’re my rules for my Assassin’s Guild. No one else’s. It’s not just for ‘nearly dying once’. It’s me taking a risk on you. I see your potential, and I want the Assassin’s Guild to thrive. We have a damn war to win, and so I am promoting you so the Ranks see what they can achieve. I want you to keep levelling, to heal up, and someday, if you keep giving me your best and not dying—I’m very keen on that—you’ll be a Face. And that’s what I want. Faces, not corpses. Understand?”

Her eyes focused on his face, and she was utterly confused.

“But I’m not even the best of my batch. There are plenty of people like me.”

Calidus smiled at her because she spoke a language he knew, that of practicality and pragmatism, but he felt like she hadn’t thought about it hard enough.

“That’s true, Dirfang. I could replace you and get the same results by not treating your wounds, throwing ten more Ranks at the problem, and just paying for more, couldn’t I?”

She nodded. That’s what they’d taught her. Calidus shook his head.

“That’s an idiot’s move. It sounds correct, but when you treat the world as expendable, it will do the same to you. Loyalty means something. Roshal doesn’t understand loyalty because to them, it is the click of a collar or crack of a lash. We’re Izrilian. We may be incorrect, and perhaps Roshal is in possession of the optimal methods. But I am operating under what I understand to be true, and as far as I can tell, Izril’s north is a lot bigger than Roshal’s single city. Who matters more? A single Face or a hundred Ranks used well?”

Silence. Calidus squeezed her hand harder, then let go.

“Who can be a Face? Anyone. With training, support—I do believe in that theory. Levels reward every action, every deed! There are [Drunkards] in this world, yes, wastes of space. Do you know what?”

He leapt up and spread his arms.

“Ever met a Level 40 [Drunkard]? I have! Terrifying in what they can do! Every person has a unique set of Skills, even if their class is the same! Somehow, through my bumbling around, drinking myself silly, chasing lovely ladies, I have levelled decently well. So yes, I am promoting you to see what you can do. No matter what, I hope I’ll be entertained, because the goal isn’t purely optimal, by-the-numbers success, Dirfang. If that were so, I’d say we should hire Antinium [Assassins].”

He smiled at his own joke and got a slight nod. She stared at him, and he stood.

He really hoped his pep talk worked and she spread it around. Oh well. He strolled towards the door.

“When you’re ready, inform a member of staff and claim your gear, Dirfang. Oh, and one last thing.”

He flicked a finger at her as a passing Rank dragging himself out of one of the healing rooms slowed. Dirfang froze, and Calidus felt the power there. It ran across the Guild, and the Faces peered up as the [Lord], the [Genius of Sloth], used a Skill he had been given.

“[Move Reality Like Chess]. [Copy Skill (Intellect): Promote the Pawn].”

He had to force that one. Use both Skills because one wasn’t enough. He felt his entire arm shaking, and he knew—he was laughing.

Laughing, because he had wanted to try this. But he didn’t have any pawns—until now. The [Lord] saw the young Gnoll woman half-rising. Alarmed—

Then the Guild flashed, and Selys Shivertail, getting into her magical carriage, spun and glanced around. If that was all, Calidus might have been disappointed.

But since he was currently flying out a window, he decided he was content. He calculated how many bones he was going to break as he tried to pull his legs up—too slow—

Losmere tackled him in midair and arrested his fall. Calidus landed in her arms and beamed up at her shocked face, a slightly dazed expression on his. A piece of glass pinged off his forehead.

“Ow. I’ve never seen a Skill with kickback before. But then—I’ve never tried to copy the Titan of Baleros’ Skills before.”

“You—how did you—? The Titan of Baleros?”

She put him down as Calidus Reinhart sat up stiffly and got to his feet. He waved at Selys and then, holding his back, hobbled into the Guild.

“Someone replace that window. Entertaining as that was, I hope that doesn’t happen every time. Or that the small bastard noticed what I did. Yes. I can copy most intellectual Skills, and so why would I copy anything else? You think I should copy [Recollect Fact]? Please. The beautiful thing about high-level, famous people is that they say their Skills to show off now and then. There’s entire books. Lovely, fascinating books. Has no one ever read them? Just me? It’s not exactly hard to intuit what his Skill does. Using it, now…excuse me, excuse me. I would love to meet Miss Dirfang. And I do hope she has some amazing new class or whatnot.”

He pushed through the Guild, wobbled up the stairs, and poked his face into the half-destroyed room where the [Assassin] was. Calidus took one look at the silver mask of a snarling Gnoll grafted to her face and her sharp-looking outfit, newly upgraded by a Skill.

He gave the astonished Dirfang a second thumbs up.

Then passed out in the middle of the hallway.

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart woke up to find everyone gathered around him, that he’d broken a rib, and that there were even more than physical consequences for stealing the Titan of Baleros’ Skills. Delightful ones.

He struggled upright, mumbled about his chest hurting, and wondered why he’d done what he’d done. Looked at the lovely [Assassin] with a new, alluring face and wondered what Skills she’d gotten.

Then he realized something was wrong. He was…uh…what was the word for it?

“Inebriat…no, indelib…is that a word?”

It took him six minutes, and someone had to find Zeomtoril to come up with the word. He was incapacitated! Mentally impaired! Less smart!

Calidus wandered around with a huge smile on his face, shaking hands, asking about Skills, curious and excited like everyone else—and in need of his ribs being bandaged and some help with that, thank you—but no longer followed around by a clamor of ideas and insights.

He wished it would last forever. Sadly, it lasted for only four hours before he was back to normal. It proved that he was onto something, though. Copying a Skill at merely this level of price? Worth it.

Mind you, it might kill him to do a higher-value Skill, but if it left him dumb as an onion for a month, that was just all upside. A splendid day, even if Regis called that evening to shout at Calidus.

Which you’d assume would be typical, but Reinharts actually liked to go for neglect over direct abuse. Regis hadn’t cared about Calidus one whit until the day Calidus had demonstrated his intellect.

Calidus still regretted it. He’d been young, but still.

“You are killing the [Assassins] meant to be removing the north’s enemies, you buffoon!”

Calidus sat up groggily; he was in the Assassin’s Guild, and someone had swept up all the bits of glass. Someone else handed him a cup of water instantly; Dirfang.

Oho. Loyalty? He smiled at her, then shooed her off. When she took a step back, he sighed.

“Excuse me, Grandfather, staffing. Assassin Dirfang, go enjoy yourself. Me promoting you doesn’t mean you need to attend me as if you were a [Favored Slave].”

Confused, she moved back, and he gave her a thumbs up. She returned it, hesitantly, and Calidus levered himself up.

“Yes, yes, I’m killing the other [Assassins]. Why? Because they’re killing my [Assassins], and that’s strategy, Grandfather. A strategy you’ve forced me into. No, no, shut up. Don’t blame me for taking the most expedient route to victory. You wanted us to counterlevel? That’s how it works.”

Regis snarled in his ear.

“I ordered you to deal with that [Princess] and the Drake! The other Guildmaster was—foolish in trying to have her killed. Though I believe the mission was also to kidnap her ‘daughter’. You could participate in that.”

Calidus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Grandfather, I like to sleep at night.”

“…And?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“You are the Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild. Are you incapable of doing your job?”

Regis’ voice went abruptly calm, and Calidus registered the change as pure danger. Probably Regis wondering if Calidus needed removing altogether. The [Lord] spoke, cheerful.

“There are things I don’t feel like doing, Grandfather, and if you want the superior Guildmaster to run your Guild, you’ll live with that.”

“You’re not doing better than your counterpart.”

“Ha. Haha. How many Faces has he created? Or even full-ranked [Assassins]? Don’t answer that, I don’t care. If you’re going to study our performance based on, what, a month of work and a week of operational activity from my side? You’re an idiot, Grandfather. I will win this war. But let me address your first point.”

Calidus spoke loudly as Regis tried to get a word in edgewise. He truly was dangerous if some of the things Calidus’ mind hypothesized were true, but he was also…family. And family dealt with family in precise ways.

“It appears that you believe the kidnapping of children is under my purview. How about child-assassination?”

“Do you think that’s not a task for an [Assassin]?”

“Fair enough. Baby killing? Good old stab in the cradle?”

A moment of hesitation there, because Calidus knew his grandfather. He was still a Reinhart, a noble. They liked to think they had principles. Calidus leaned on the counter and met Lagrisse’s eyes, using the man as a weathervane to see how the others felt about this.

“Surely a good Guildmaster of Assassins should do that. When you tell me to burn a city to the ground, do I say, ‘yes sir, how hot?’ When you tell me, as a Guildmaster, that you want better killers and to feed them all A’ctelios Salash’s flesh, do I do that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The room went still, and Calidus nodded at Losmere, who was eying him. He spoke with a purr in his voice.

“When you say breach the Minacien Wall, do I agree if I’m your perfect Guildmaster? Or do I, a capable, intelligent individual, draw my line? And which would you rather have, Grandfather? A lickspittle toad who has no direction but the one you draw for him, or one who has rules? The rules you set in motion?”

“You’ve made your point, boy. Enjoy your victory.”

Regis growled back, but there was a hint of admiration there. Calidus exhaled. One small victory for Calidus…he rubbed at his brows.

“Now you’re going to make me do something anyways, aren’t you?”

“I still don’t want that Drake to succeed. Deal with her and him. Occupy their time if nothing else.”

“What am I, your personal [Servant]? Get one of your precious Circle of Thorns to do it!”

Calidus complained. Regis responded after a moment.

“They are…significantly depleted. The rest are either needed for other tasks or insufficient to my needs.”

“Ah, they’re brainless little frogs hopping to your beat. See, this ties back into my first point—”

Regis hung up on him. Calidus sighed, rubbed at his face, then turned and brightened as he had an idea. It flashed into his head, and he beamed.

“Well, that sounds like fun.”

——

Take the [Princess] out. Deal with the Drake. Calidus had an idea. It dovetailed with his personal belief in not killing attractive ladies in case there was even a chance they’d ever meet. But it was also highly funny and fell in line with an event currently occupying Liscor that he’d read in one of the reports.

Namely, the scandal involving Krshia Silverfang and Lism Swifttail. Calidus had been reading a report with some very candid images.

“I can see why they’re together. Nothing like fantastic hate-sex, one assumes. And that Drake—look at that!”

He whistled and tried to show Zeomtoril; the [Polymath] recoiled.

“I am not looking at other men’s genitals!”

“Coward. Anyways, that’s my idea.”

Zeomtoril, arguably one of Calidus’ only friends in this world, gazed at the report, Calidus, and a file on this Wall Lord Ilvriss and Lyonette du Marquin. He tried to figure it out, but even he had noticed how Calidus’ mind was hard to follow.

“Explain it, Calidus.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Look at this Drake. Notice the purple coloration? Very nice, very royal. Iconic. Red hair’s easy on the [Princess]. Now, just parallel that in your head with this incident and recall the brothel I went to?”

“The Lubricated Abyss or whatnot? I don’t—”

Then Zeomtoril’s eyes narrowed, and Calidus beamed at him. The [Polymath] picked up a headshot of Lyonette and tilted it back and forth. Then cast around his neatly-organized workshop with so many inventions.

“Hmm. I was making up some facemud just the other day for your people. That sounds rather interesting.”

Calidus beamed.

“And funny! Let me just call some of my friends—”

——

Calidus knew a lot of sex workers. Sometimes as a client, but then you wanted to know what they were like. Sometimes, that ruined the fun. Sometimes, it got you a drinking buddy like the Gnoll he’d introduced to Damia.

They knew he paid well, and when he guaranteed anonymity and offered to triple what they made in a single night, he got plenty of volunteers. He only needed two.

Drake and Human. A young lady around the same age and build as the [Princess], and same for the Drake for the Wall Lord.

The rest was easy.

Well, Calidus didn’t do it, he just connected the dots. Zeomtoril had plenty of dyes and an eye for color. He also had a kind of mud you could apply to your face to make a nose look thicker or adjust skeletal features.

He’d developed it mostly to avoid [Debt Collectors]. Just throw that in a room with a scrying orb and…

It took Losmere a bit longer to figure it out, but the [Assassin] had never thought to blackmail someone with a scrying orb.

“We would do a picture, Lord Calidus. To his family? His own lover? Her kingdom?”

“Bah, Losmere, that’s so old-fashioned. Why bother with that when you can whistle up that handy Wistram News Network and broadcast it all over the place? It’s occurred to me, more than once after Dragonspeaker Luciva issued that obvious statement about truth spells, that the ‘news’ doesn’t properly ensure accuracy on all its reports.”

And this was scandalous. Calidus watched the two actors really get into the role; he’d done some writing of dialogue, but it was mostly a wordless performance after the setup, and they could edit the recording. Just so long as someone confirmed they weren’t messing with the image itself…you had a ‘Lyonette’ and ‘Wall Lord Ilvriss’ in a very scandalous meeting.

Throw it into Liscor, already spinning from one scandal, and he felt like it’d hit the news. Zeomtoril was very proud of his work. He’d only wanted to brew a [Lesser Polymorph] potion to play Ilvriss.

A few minutes later, Calidus told the embarrassed [Mage] to stop recording, ran the memory crystal to the nearest Mage’s Guild, and addressed it to Sir Relz of Pallass.

Getting it into the hands of the broadcasters was actually tricky-fun. He’d written off Drassi, regretfully; she’d never air it. He’d thought maybe to go via another news channel, but they weren’t as popular.

He could have tried Wistram—but they might backtrace the magic, and he didn’t understand the academy’s politics, nor did he want to risk an Archmage or someone using it for their own agenda or sitting on it.

That left Sir Relz or Noass. Simple. Of the two, Calidus had calculated Noass might open it on his regular ‘I Hate Everything’ broadcasts, or he could get it onto a broadcast of the ‘music videos’, but both events would probably have it censored fast. You might think, then, that Sir Relz was harder to get ahold of instead of Noass because he was higher-ranking in Pallass, but the opposite was true.

Lagrisse barely had to do any work with a local Pallassian [Informant] for Calidus to piece together exactly which eligible bachelorettes in Pallass had Sir Relz drooling after them. He picked a lovely Wall Lady that Sir Relz would be amenable to receiving correspondence from and arranged a teleportation to the Mage’s Guild, then a pickup via the Runner’s Guild and delivery under said Wall Lady’s name.

Normally, the Runner’s Guild would identify the requestee first, but again, you just had to pay a local [Informant] for a copy of the woman’s personal Runner’s Seal, and the Guild didn’t bother doing any more checks. In that way, it was easier than faking someone unimportant; the rich and powerful left too many things lying around a bad person could use.

Calidus spent the rest of the day waiting for the evening broadcast. He had it on good authority a certain Sir Relz had accepted a gift delivered to him with alacrity; it wasn’t going to be caught up in any spam mail piles, and he’d probably opened it right away.

It was almost a disappointment, then, when Calidus Reinhart, whose own chest was beating with excitement, turned on the news and then—

“What you are about to see next might disturb viewers. We have edited this recording for decency, but I insist on all minors and those unwilling to view explicit acts to turn the scrying orb off at once. This recording was sent in anonymously and appears to showcase a troubling, nay, scandalous affair. It raises huge questions about security for a Walled City, motivations, bloodlines—once again, this material is highly…lewd. I believe a word I was quoted by a certain Human was ‘pornographic’. Exceptionally so.”

Calidus beamed. Then, before the edited clip of the two actors began—of a [Princess] and Wall Lord meeting in a room, tearing each other’s clothes off and engaging in some rather provocative sex began—he lost his smile.

Walked out of the room. Then poured himself a drink.

That confused the Faces and even Zeomtoril, who was crowing.

“Calidus! Calidus, what are you doing? It’s all over the news! It’s hilarious! You did it, man!”

Regis Reinhart himself was sending Calidus a brief note of approval and a reward—more artifacts for his Assassin’s Guild. Losmere was on her feet with the Faces.

To them, this action was the most uncanny, most scary Calidus Reinhart had been. Even more than promoting a Rank to a higher class—they knew death and violence. But Calidus had, with minimal apparent effort, put something on the news.

Changed the world in that way that made the [Assassins] wary.

Soft power.

However, Calidus just drank, and when he glanced around, he seemed upset. Even…he took a huge gulp of whiskey, then shrugged.

“It worked. The old man’s happy.”

“And?”

Zeomtoril was incredulous, annoyed at the reaction, but Calidus just walked off.

“The rest is predictable. It’ll be a scandal; they’ll both deny it and fan the flames, and they’ll go hot. Salazsar will cause a fuss, and they might even call Wall Lord Ilvriss back; it’ll make a lot of their conservatives lose faith in him. The [Princess] will be entirely embarrassed, and I daresay we’ve ruined her reputation forever. Even with Calanfer spinning this as best they can, it’ll make her a slattern.”

“Right. Just like you predicted. Why aren’t you happy?”

One of the Faces asked, genuinely curious. Calidus just peered around.

“Oh, I am, I suppose. It’s just…I was worried Sir Relz would have a Skill. Would double-check it with the inn, even though I know he resents them and can’t find it. Or that I’d made a mistake or missed a variable. But it went off perfectly. Cheers.”

He lifted the glass, drained half, and put it down, and Zeomtoril sat as Calidus walked off. The [Polymath] folded his arms, and the Faces joined him on the couch.

“Bah, ignore him. He gets like that. A damned genius, and whenever he makes something like that happen, he loses all interest. We ran a scam in a casino one time. Took in sixty thousand gold pieces in one week, and he just quit. Walked off!”

“Why?”

Zeomtoril was the only person who understood Calidus, and he answered the fascinated Faces.

“It’s too easy. He hates it when things go well. He’ll curse a storm up when things blow up in his face, but I think he’s enjoyed having to run this damn Guild more than anything in the last decade. He’d be a monster even among Reinharts, but he loses interest. He stopped playing chess when he realized he was better than most people in the world without trying.”

They watched Calidus wander off. A strange, unconventional Guildmaster for the Assassin’s Guild. An amusing, waddling duck to pit against the killing condor of his counterpart. But in that moment, Losmere wondered if the duck was just so funny and placid because it hadn’t had a reason to try harder.

——

Calidus Reinhart hated how adaptable his darn liver was. It took him a literal bottle of whiskey to become anything like buzzed enough to while the night away.

When he woke up, chugged a hangover cure, and reviewed some notes with Dorim, he found one thing to amuse him: Selys was going to Liscor.

“Do you think she’s fleeing or trying to warn someone, sir?”

Dorim was nervous, but Calidus just laughed.

“She’s getting what we need. Leave her. She knows she’s being followed. I might have fouled what she’s attempting with my own scheme. Well, we’ll just account for that if she fails and not hold it against her. How many denials and scandals have spread from my trick with the Wall Lord and [Princess]…whatsherface?”

He rubbed at his jowls as Dorim consulted his notes.

“Several, Lord Calidus. Would you like me to read them?”

“No, just places and people. Skip the rest.”

Calidus already didn’t care about his victory. It was as Zeomtoril had doubtless told everyone: boring. Dorim began to read.

“Well, a denial from the Eternal Throne about this recording, casting into doubt its authenticity. An interview where an Archmage Viltach acknowledged that even if the recording is legitimate, events could be faked—”

“Doesn’t change the facts. ‘I saw it, therefore I can’t be fooled’. Go on.”

“Denials from Salazsar, House Gemscale, and Walled Families—”

Calidus lifted his fingers and mimed conducting. As if this were an orchestra and he the maestro of scandals. He’d heard that Ulva and Petria Terland had been musically talented, actually. Maybe he’d take the day off, find some accounts and headshots of the two Terland twins, and take some ‘Calidus time’. It probably wouldn’t cheer him up, but it sounded fun in the moment.

Dorim read on.

“Denials from the King of Avel for some reason, Fetohep of Khelt—”

“Good for them.”

“—Pallass’ Sir Relz has issued a full retraction and apology, Lord Xitegen has requested an investigation into the forgery, the Assembly of Crafts has nullified its vote to condemn the indecency—”

Calidus Reinhart blinked. Then his head snapped around. He pointed at Dorim.

“Say what now? Wait, skip to the bottom, they always have a summary—what does it say about public sentiment? [Mood on the Streets]?”

He glanced around, frantic, and finally found a bottle of whiskey he hoped he hadn’t peed into last night. He took a huge gulp, and Dorim read.

“It says that public sentiment is now turning on the recording being a fake, Lord Calid—”

The [Lord] tried his best attempt at a Winebreath Blaster, but it just didn’t work without spontaneity. Damnit, he’d always wanted to do one.

Then he sat there for a moment, eyes flicking, and leapt out of bed. He grabbed Dorim, and his eyes sparkled suddenly. Coming alive again.

“How? Show me.”

——

The point of the sex-recording had been to hit the [Princess] and Wall Lord with something that denials wouldn’t fix.

Denials didn’t change what people had seen. If they hid away, the furor only grew worse. Calidus had seen similar scandals and engineered the recording to linger in the memory. Humiliate.

It’d reflect on Princess Lyonette du Marquin a lot worse than Wall Lord Ilvriss, and no one would trust their account. Even if the entire thing was debunked in a month’s time by Archmage Eldavin himself, ‘questions’ would linger, which meant people refused to switch the viewpoints they’d already convinced themselves were true, even when presented with an abundance of fact.

Even a trained Calanferian [Diplomat] would throw up upon seeing this kind of attack hit them. So—how had the [Princess]…?

She was out in public. Calidus stared at a recording of her, and from the darker streets, it had to be in the evening. Rain and a few streetlamps going up—

Liscor. Evening. This had to be right after the broadcast was going on. His eyes widened.

“Is that…?”

The [Princess] was sitting by herself in a café, some trendy place called ‘Barehoof Kitchens’, in outdoor seating which was a dead giveaway because it was raining and miserable. People were visibly staring at her, pointing, but she seemed utterly natural.

Perfect, [Flawless Acting], really. But even so, this was a stupid move. Anything she did would surely only fan the flames. The scrying spell jostled a bit; amateur recording. Probably someone with a scrying mirror. Calidus watched as her head turned.

“It’s staged.”

“How do you know?”

Zeomtoril was bleary-eyed but curious. Calidus snapped back.

“Because there’s no damn Thronebearer looming over her shoulder. Shut up, Zeomtoril!”

He watched as Lyonette du Marquin spotted who she was waiting for and got up.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss!”

No way. Jaws dropped. Calidus’ own hung open as none other than Wall Lord Ilvriss came striding down the street. He looked a bit windswept. Possibly like a Drake who’d just ridden hell-for-leather to the portal stone to get here. But he raised a hand as she lifted a parasol and stepped into the street.

She was wearing, Calidus realized, a red dress with a low-cut bosom. He admired it, then frowned.

“Wait a second, that’s practically the spitting image of the one we had in our recording—”

The Wall Lord had the same attire. He adjusted a suit as he stepped over. What they said wasn’t audible until the camera-holder scampered forwards with most of the street. Then Calidus picked up on the words.

“—to see you, darling.”

“Er, yes, Lyonette. Delighted to see you after so long. Now the secret’s out, I supposed there’s nothing for it.”

“It’s such a relief!”

Lyonette leaned against Ilvriss, raising one arm and resting her palm against the side of his face, a coquettish move of the sultry [Princess] waiting to be swept off her feet.

Only, that was how she moved. Oh yes, her arm rose, and she placed her palm against the side of Ilvriss’ face and leaned against him while looking up, but here was the thing.

That was an advanced move. Calidus had never seen anyone but an [Escort] do that, and it required timing, grace, a confidence in oneself, and a lot of conditions to pull off just right.

Do it any other way and you’d look like, well, someone awkwardly shoulder-checking Wall Lord Ilvriss, who stumbled, then raising her arm in a very awkward motion and slow-slapping his cheek.

She stared up at him, and Ilvriss did his best to appear entranced by her. Which wasn’t working because the [Princess]’ simmering hot look of carnal lust was hampered by her not really having one.

She did her best. It might have actually been a [Flawless Attempt]. She smoldered up at him, and then awkwardly let her hand drift down to his collar.

“I can’t wait to get you out of that suit. R-rawr.”

Calidus saw a passing Centaur’s face actually try to pucker inwards at ‘rawr’. The Wall Lord’s cheeks bulged, and he cough-laughed so loudly it sounded like an explosion. Lyonette turned bright red and elbowed him. Hard.

“You’re as riveting as always, Lyonette.”

“Riveting being the word you want to use, Ilvriss?”

“Ravishing?”

“I don’t think you know what that—let’s sit down, Ilvriss. Waitress!”

A one-eyed woman with an eyepatch came over as they went to their table. Ilvriss sat down. Lyonette sat in his lap. She straddled one leg. Realized that made her look like a ridiculous, overgrown child, then swung her legs over so she was sitting across his lap. Stared up at him and then at the plates that Chef Imani was putting down, deadpan.

Ilvriss poked a fork into a piece of shrimp.

“Er…here, my love. Keep your strength up for tonight.”

She opened her mouth, and he poked the side of her mouth, and she recoiled. Ilvriss went to fetch a napkin.

“Damn, I’m sorry—”

“You’d better have better aim than that, my dear. Tonight.”

Lyonette was getting annoyed, and at this point, the [Chef] cracked and had to walk away, covering her mouth. Lyonette put an arm around Ilvriss’ shoulder, or tried to. She yelped.

“Sorry. Neck spines.”

“How the hell am I supposed to—there!”

She slung an arm around his neck, and everyone realized that Lyonette was too short. So it more looked like she was putting Wall Lord Ilvriss into a one-armed supplex.

At this point, Calidus Reinhart’s mind told him exactly what she was doing. But he just kept watching. His mind, usually shouting, was just…observing. Blissfully silent. Admiring.

“Well, I can’t wait for tonight. Your dress is just beautiful, Lyonette. I can’t wait to tear it off you. Can’t wait.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss cleared his throat a few times, and Lyonette du Marquin’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re saying it like you don’t believe it, Wall Lord.”

“No, I’d love to ravish you, my sweet [Princess].”

“Not that. The dress.”

The Wall Lord hesitated, then took a bite of his food.

“Looking like a tomato really becomes you. And your skin tone. Lovely choice to put red on red hair. Away the dress shall go, for the good of worldly fashion and my own unbridled lust.”

Lyonette sat up and nearly headbutted him. She squirmed off his lap and gave him an elbow to the chest that looked less-than-accidental, then sat down. She grabbed a cup and drank.

“I didn’t chose the—I think I wear it well.”

“Oh, of course, my dear.”

“You’re hinting I don’t. With your tone.”

“That’s just how I talk. You have your daughter’s eye for fashion.”

Lyonette kicked Wall Lord Ilvriss. He bent over, then she hissed at him.

“And you don’t tear off a dress! Do you know how much this costs?”

“I have full faith a refund is in order, my dear. Weren’t you going to say something nice about me?”

“I admire the rain doing a splendid job of replacing the cologne you applied in adequate amounts.”

The two glared at each other until they glanced around and clearly remembered they were supposed to be flirting. Ilvriss smiled at her. Lyonette bared her teeth. She put a hand out. He put a claw on top of it.

They stared at hand and claw, and at that moment, whatever illusion anyone might have had about the two’s chemistry was being ruined by that most dreadful of things: reality. Lyonette exhaled.

“Listen, you. I do l—like you. With all my heart. Here.”

She got up and tried to fuss with his suit. And that was real—and so was him slapping her hands away.

“With respect, I can fix my own collar.”

“Don’t squirm, dear. It’s ruffled.”

“In which case, I rather think I can fix it. As the person the clothing was made for.”

“You have it ajar.”

“I’d be able to use that window as a mirror if you’d move out of the way.”

He glowered at her, then tried another smile. And Lyonette du Marquin…she’d gone for the sultry face-pat. The daring lap-sit. She made a come-hither motion.

He hesitated. Wait, me? She glared with her eyes, and he looked around at his audience, visibly lost. They stared back, like people watching someone get slowly run over by a wagon. Ilvriss hesitated, thought about it, and then reached for Lyonette’s right hand. He lifted it to his lips, smiling.

She yanked it out of his clawed hand so fast he kissed his own palm. Handed him her left one.

“I, ah, used that one to scrub the restrooms.”

Ilvriss elected not to kiss either hand. At this point, Calidus Reinhart was grinning, but in disbelief.

This is good. This is funny. This…works. But it cannot be all of it. One could easily point to this being staged. It was visibly an act, even if the pieces of truth were there. So how…?

Then there was a voice. A cheerful, loud voice. Someone obliviously interrupting the fake-real scene with the timing of an ox blundering through a ballroom.

“Lyonette! There you are!”

Lyonette twisted around and then froze. She leapt up.

“Pawn, I—”

Calidus Reinhart stiffened. So still he stopped breathing. And his mind began to collide with itself.

No. The file said—she wouldn’t. That would be—

The [Priest] was walking down the street. He lifted one of his four hands as his white robes, the thing that marked him out from other Antinium, shifted around him. Lyonette stood.

“Pawn, this really isn’t a good—are you back? From Khelt? I saw you there. Ilvriss, excuse me—”

“No, please, go ahead. And take your time.”

He was drinking coffee, watching. Utterly calm with the Antinium nearby. Lyonette stood, flustered, and met Pawn in the rain.

“How’d you get back so soon?”

“Faith provides, Lyonette.”

“Oh, don’t start with—I mean—I saw you. You were quite, um, brave.”

The [Princess] began to snap at Pawn, then glanced down at the ground. His mandibles opened.

“I wish I could have done more. The Prophet of God is very powerful. And King Fetohep is—”

“I know. I know you did your best. I’m just glad you made it back.”

“There was a lot of water between here and Chandrar. It was most unpleasant.”

He smiled at her. Lyonette gazed at Pawn, then stared at the water wetting his robes. She started, then dashed back to her table. Snatched up the parasol.

“You’re getting rained on. Here.”

She held the parasol over Pawn’s head. He went to take it with one of his four arms, and she slapped it down.

“Lyonette, it makes no sense for me not to carry the parasol. I have four hands to your two.”

“Pawn—just let me hold it. It’s not about arms.”

“Well, if you are so insistent on being inefficient…”

And then he fell silent. Lyonette looked him up and down. One-handed, she reached out and hugged him. Her arm barely went halfway around his back shell.

“You silly [Priest]. Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I know we’ve been fighting, but you could have died there. A continent away!”

“It was a debt owed. I didn’t want to alarm you. You don’t need more alarm after all that has happened.”

She slapped his arm. It made a loud thwack sound in the rain, and he jerked. She punched his shoulder.

“You fool! You might not visit, and we’re…it doesn’t matter. You will always matter to me. Always. Whatever happens, tell me. Okay? When that thing attacked you, I thought…”

She trailed off. They stood in the rain, and Pawn glanced around. He seemed to spot the crowd and smiled.

“It appears you have a lot of strange watchers, Lyonette. I am not ashamed, but they should be for eavesdropping. And some things of Khelt are secret. Would you allow me to take you out and have a drink? I could tell you what has gone on.”

“A drink? I was going to keep fake-flirting with Ilvriss—”

Lyonette wavered, and the Wall Lord held up his claws.

“No, please. Point made, I feel. If I have any more desire to do so, I’ll find a Rock Crab or something to take your place with the same level of acumen.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Then threw up a middle finger. Pawn just took Lyonette’s arm.

“Lyonette, Wall Lord Ilvriss is a very helpful, considerate person.”

“Most times, Pawn. You clearly haven’t seen any scrying orbs recently, have you? Where, ah, where should we have a drink?”

“Wishdrinks?”

“I could do that. I notice…you were being close with a certain heir to Khelt. She seemed lovely. That’s very good for you, Pawn.”

He slowed and looked down at her. She glanced up at him, and after a moment, Pawn nodded.

“I may have danced. But I do appreciate you teaching me.”

“Oh? Kheltian dances are so slow. But charming. They feel like they have forever. Or used to. I’m learning some dances myself. Perhaps—do you remember the steps?”

She raised a hand, and he clasped it. Then they took a step down the street in an odd, non-perfect move. Antinium and Human, walking like it was a ballroom, trying to keep the parasol up, and both were smiling. Laughing, and Pawn said—

“If I do not, please, remind me.”

And then…someone turned off the scrying spell. Only then did Calidus Reinhart gasp for air and see it. All he said was—

“Beautiful.”

——

There were several levels why it worked. Ser Lormel, serving as Princess Ellet’s personal bodyguard and [Knight-Protector], had to break it down for the [Princess] when Ielane kept failing her for not getting all the nuances.

“It is not just that the [Princess] presented the audience with a truth that overcame the fiction, Princess Ellet. You did very well to notice it. But it was the inclusion of the Antinium at the end.”

“Is he really dating her? Really? I thought that was made up!”

Ellet jumped up and down on her bed, excited, and Lormel coughed.

“I could not say, Your Highness.”

“Ser Lormel, please—”

“That is not the point, Princess. Think on it. Why does it work?”

Ellet’s face screwed up, and she came to the conclusions Calidus had made in moments after some thought.

“Well, because…she looks like she actually cares for him. It’s because it’s a contrast. We see the truth in another way, right?”

Lormel smiled like he would at his own daughter, and her face lit up. He knelt.

“Not just that, Princess Ellet. Consider Drakes. The Walled Cities were wrathful at the idea of Wall Lord Ilvriss ‘selling out’ by sleeping with a Human, even a [Princess]. But what do they think when they see that?”

The young girl’s eyes lit up after some thought.

“They think…oh! That’s why they started denying it! Because if the [Princess] were even, possibly, one-in-a-million-chance seeing an Antinium—”

How could a Drake lose to that? Utterly preposterous. Literally inconceivable a Human would choose a bugman over Wall Lord Ilvriss.

In fact, to even insinuate that was such a huge insult to the Wall Lord in question that Sir Relz had personally issued a retraction. It could not be. Lormel smiled as Ellet puffed out her chest, delighted at reading all this.

And he was careful. Delicate, because he had to keep teaching the [Princess] despite everyone’s desire to maintain her innocence. Because she was still missing a few things, even if she’d mostly got it.

——

For one thing, the ‘accidental’ meeting of Pawn? Fake.

Fake all the way down. Pawn didn’t just happen to walk into Lyonette and Ilvriss like that. Would a [Princess] of Calanfer really be so unguarded like that with him and talk about clearly-private matters?

If you were like Ellet should be in Ielane’s estimation, you’d at least infer all that on first viewing. But if you were actually just…adequate, you’d realize the lie that got even the people who understood the other falsities:

That wasn’t Pawn.

A certain [Priest] was still in Khelt, still in Chandrar because ships didn’t move that fast, currently throwing a fit.

“I never would have said that! Who is that? I never object to her holding the parasol!”

A highly amused Pewerthe was observing him as he gobbled at the scrying orb, and Yellow Splatters had his face in his hands.

It wasn’t about him, as Lyonette would have told him directly. Indeed, she had helped write the lines ‘Pawn’ had spoken.

Once they’d finished their little charade and gone around a corner, Lyonette had stood on her tiptoes and kissed the actor on the cheek. She’d gone to the best one she could find, and it had been a shortlist of two.

In the end, she had to go with Rosencrantz. Because he was part of the staff, and because, well—

His name was literally Rosencrantz from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the Shakespearean characters. Of course he could act!

The other candidate had been Silveran, but Lyonette had bet he might break character to use that ridiculous accent. Rosencrantz shrugged his robes off.

“These are very wet. I do not know how Pawn stands them. I assume that will do it, Miss Lyonette?”

“Adequately, Rosencrantz. We’ll monitor and do something tomorrow if needed. Thank you for playing your part. I owe you a drink at Wishdrinks after all! Something which the real Pawn would never think to do.”

She sighed. She hoped it hadn’t upset him if he’d seen it. Well, she suspected the first video would be more upsetting, fake as it was. She’d meant it. Just—Rosencrantz tilted his head.

“Pawn has never invited you to the hip and very cool establishment that I, myself, have desired to partake of? I gasp.”

She snorted.

“Let’s go see what they have. Liska tells me we’re very popular there.”

They walked off, shaking their heads. Rosencrantz glanced back where Wall Lord Ilvriss was just relaxing after his long ride. He’d taken this entire gambit on faith, and Lyonette really hadn’t hammed it up that much, making their flirting bad. Some of his comments had just been—mean! She sighed, and Rosencrantz spoke after a while.

“Miss Lyonette, why was a fake sex video of you and Wall Lord Ilvriss put out on the news?”

“Oh, who knows, Rosencrantz? According to Rose, it was ‘only a matter of time’. Earthers. So pretentious. I don’t count our enemies, do you?”

“I do it to sleep, Miss Lyonette. It is very soothing.”

——

Just like that, it was done. Calidus Reinhart saw more fallout, but the entire energy had been taken out of his plan.

He sat there afterwards. Thinking.

“They erased it. Destroyed it. Not in a week, not with—they exploded the entire thing. How?”

That was—insane. Either Calanfer had trained one of the best dissemblers in a thousand years, or it was that phenomenon. He considered.

Then—smiled.

Smiled before he went to accept Regis’ grumpy condolences and pretend he was all bummed about it. Smiled in a childish way that made him look more charming than all his lies. Purely delighted.

He wished he’d gone to Liscor. And he wondered why Selys had left.

Now he was more than interested. He began to request more information on what this Wall Lord was doing and sent a few Ranks to monitor the situation.

Purely to kill the opposing Guild, of course.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss walked through Liscor the day after the ‘whatever the heck that was’ sex scandal video. It might be playing in other cities, he didn’t know.

But Liscor had absorbed the chaos, identified it as coming from The Wandering Inn, and ignored it. They had bigger fish to fry.

Such as…Krshia Silverfang. Gnolls were shouting loudly outside her apartment, and Ilvriss winced as he heard some of the things she was being called. ‘Traitor’ being the nicest.

“Alrric always warned me that Gnolls could be dreadful towards each other, but they’re a minority, so I’d never have guessed…”

Well, it’s complicated. No one likes Lism at the inn. I think it’s gross too. That’s why you and Lyonette aren’t very interesting but this is, to Liscorians.

“Fair enough. Politics.”

Ilvriss had a helper for today’s mission. Mrsha. She felt bad about not joining him in the Cowpat Plains, which she still steadfastly refused to return to, so she was helping him acquire what he needed.

Namely…armor for Osthia. Ilvriss had been rattled by her near-death encounter with the undead. He couldn’t lose her, and even if Zail had sent equipment for her squad, be it so terrible of him, but he’d pay for the best for Osthia that no one else could afford.

“For myself as well, frankly. I’m not nearly as well-geared as I’d like to be. Merely Gold-rank because that’s the best money can buy.”

Merely Gold-rank. Wall Lord Ilvriss, do you ever fear you’ve gotten out of touch with ordinary people?

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been in touch with them, Mrsha.”

Touché. They got along well, the two of them. Anyways, people stopping Ilvriss to apologize or ask about the video, the election, this was all background noise. The two were on a mission.

Armor for Osthia. Or gear. Ilvriss could use a weapon or two, and he’d heard there was a Lady Desinee El around? A Kaalblade for Osthia might do well!

——

Lady Desinee El was here. And she had plenty of time for a rich Wall Lord, but she was entirely apologetic.

“Wall Lord, I have just sold my entire line of Kaalblades except for my sample glaive. The, ah, buyer didn’t want that.”

She looked rather pleased at that because she did have taste. Mrsha wrinkled her nose at the ridiculous weapon, and Ilvriss sighed.

“Well, I’d love to inquire about your new line—”

“Absolutely, Wall Lord! I can actually visit you with some samples. They’re being sped down by Courier, but I just sold everything out! Ten minutes ago, in fact.”

“Oh, what a shame. It must have been a large buyer.”

Lady Desinee El wore the smile of a successful saleswoman—that would show her husband, son, and Deilan!

“She was, but I do apologize—let me just ask where you are and I shall swing by! Er, when you say ‘Cowpat Plains’—is there a specific area?”

“Near the one town apparently in the area. Just ask for the damn Drakes.”

They left Desinee as Mrsha insulted the craftsmanship of the Kaalglaive, and Ilvriss opined someone who didn’t want to actually fight anything might find a use for it. So they ventured onwards.

“Acid jars aren’t being sold at the inn anymore? Really?”

Ilvriss was incredulous, but Mrsha rolled her eyes.

You know how it is. You move the inn and there’s not as many Acid Flies anymore. Plus, people aren’t idiots. They stole everything else Erin made; acid jars were just a matter of time. I hear some of them even breed ‘em, or try. Acid Flies are dangerous! It’ll cost ya, but even Erin agrees it’s not worth an Acid Fly Queen attacking. And they’re big, you know.

“Huh. Well, they might not be great against bone, but we also have a toilet problem and—excuse me? What do you mean, ‘sold out’?”

Someone had bought up all the stock at one store. Two hundred and thirty-nine acid jars, each one accounted for. And another store. And—by the time Mrsha and Ilvriss reached the third seller, they exchanged a look. Shrugged.

“Weird. Is this a curse?”

I sure hope not. Okay, let’s go to Pallass.

“Pallass? For what? Master Maughin isn’t a Pelt, no offense to him.”

Ilvriss’ snout wrinkled up, but Mrsha gave him a patient look.

Not metal, dumbass.

“I object to the name-calling, Mrsha. We are friends, aren’t we?”

Sorry. Not metal, you ignoramus. Pallass has another type of armor they have an abundance of—and probably just finished manufacturing given how darn hard it is to work!

Ilvriss thought about it, and then his eyes lit up.

“Of course. Frost Wyvern armor.”

——

Lightweight, frost-resistant—obviously—perfect for a mobile flier like Osthia herself. Strong, hard to manufacture, which was why suits of the armor had been slow to hit Pallass’ markets even long after the Frost Wyvern attack.

And currently—

“You’re kidding me. Sold out?”

The Gnoll representing a [Tanner] was hugely apologetic.

“Wall Lord, you literally just came too late. My buyer swooped in—didn’t even haggle! I’m sorry, but we already signed, and she took out the other finished sets for sale! Gnoll, Drake, every species’ configuration! By the way, if you and that [Princess] aren’t a thing, do you think she’s seeing…?”

You ain’t got a chance, buddy.

Mrsha handed the card to the crestfallen [Tanner], and they stalked out. Ilvriss scratched at his head.

“Okay, no offense Mrsha, but I think we’re cursed.”

I swear I haven’t used my luck powers! I shouldn’t be in the negative!

Mrsha protested as they stood together in the street. They were a bit noticeable, white Doombearer and Wall Lord, but safe with Ser Dalimont running interference with some of Ilvriss’ people. Everyone could stare and point, but the two were used to celebrity. Ilvriss felt bad Mrsha had to be guarded like this at all times, but he growled.

“Okay, I need something for the dig site! Something to reduce injuries and deaths! Think, Mrsha, think!”

Why do I gotta think for you? Hey! I know! Octavia!

Ilvriss wavered.

“Do you think she’d sell Saliss’ potions? Because I’d buy them, no matter what, but he famously doesn’t sell his battle potions on the open market.”

Mrsha began to stride towards the elevators.

Listen, Wall Lord Ilvriss, Octavia’s the one we want. Not Saliss. Think on it. She invented the Yellow Rivers cure. She’s been having her training-arc under Saliss for a year now or something, and she’s stayed at the inn. Whaddya think, she can’t make potions with the best?

Ilvriss’ eyes lit up.

“She might have mold-based unique potions. Ancestors, you’re right!”

They hurried off, high-fiving because this wasn’t something someone could just swoop in and buy. Of course, Mrsha was right.

——

Octavia Cotton had levelled. She had levelled under Saliss. She had levelled for making the Yellow Rivers cure.

Not as fast as she’d thought, but she’d realized that she’d kept levelling as the Yellow Rivers cure was used across the world. Not everyone gave her royalties or credit, but the overseer of levels did.

…And enough attention still came her way. Sometimes, someone would just…send her gold they claimed they owed her for helping with their city or them. The Yellow Rivers mold was being used to cure diseases. She made money.

A lot of money. More than she could have dreamed in Celum, and she had put it right back into being the ultimate apprentice. Saliss’ helper.

Frankly, it was only between making his potions that Octavia could experiment. But that was fine, actually. She was learning from Saliss of Lights himself, the greatest [Alchemist] who was working with seith.

She could wait. And all the little potions she’d made to copy Saliss’ materials—with her own ingredients of course—his Potions of Blast, high-level Potions of Invisibility, poisons, antidotes, a grab-bag of alchemical weapons that would have been able to outfit ten Gold-rank teams to the gills and still be leftover?

She beamed at Ilvriss and Mrsha.

“I just sold it all! Good thinking, Mrsha! I’m glad you lot came to me; I even cut a sweetheart deal, because, well, it was a lot of gold. Even for me!”

Mrsha and Ilvriss’ faces fell. Then grew confused.

Octavia, how is this good? Someone’s been buying all the battle stuff we need!

Octavia blinked at Mrsha and Ilvriss.

“Um. Yeah. She said she was. And I gave her a discount, so you’re covered.”

“Covered? How are we c—”

Ilvriss was confused until he snapped his fingers. Who came through with that much gold and knew to buy all these things? Let alone from Octavia? Desinee, the acid jars, the Wyvern armor, that was coincidence, but he relaxed.

“Lyonette. Of course. Or Nanette, that impish fashion disaster. We’ve been chasing ourselves, Mrsha! Did one of them say they’d be helping out?”

Mrsha slapped her forehead, grinned, and relaxed. Then she frowned, shook her head. But Octavia Cotton just beamed and jerked her thumb into the back of the modest shop that Saliss occasionally opened.

“Hah, you two really are all confused with that weird video. Er, what’s it about? I just heard people talking about it. Sorry, I haven’t been out of the laboratory for ages, and Selys just made me come out to sell my stock. Selys, are you still back there? C’mon, I said I’d package it all up for you! Say hi!”

Mrsha froze. Wall Lord Ilvriss didn’t know what was going on, so he was still smiling when a Drake slowly emerged from the backrooms, stuffing a potion into her bag of holding. She had two helpers, blank-faced Drakes, who strode out of the shop. Ser Dalimont eyed them, and Selys tried to walk straight past Mrsha until the girl held out a paw.

What are you doing, Selys?

“Mrsha. I’m a bit busy. Got to go.”

Selys walked around Mrsha, and the Gnoll spun, and her wand flickered in the air.

You lied to Octavia? Where’d you go? What are you doing with all that stuff? We need it!

Selys swirled at the door as Octavia made a confused sound. Her eyes narrowed, and she spat.

“You need it? The entire world doesn’t revolve around you, Mrsha. Tell your mother—if you ever—see you.”

She slammed the door, and Octavia’s mouth opened.

“Wait, but Selys said it was for you two!”

“She did?”

Ilvriss had a sinking feeling in his stomach, but Mrsha had raced out after Selys. She stood in the street as Ilvriss stepped out of the shop.

Selys doesn’t like us anymore, Ilvriss. She left Liscor behind. Even the Fortress Beavers.

“Damn. Really? Well, it’s an amazing coincidence she beat us to everything. Today of all days!”

Ilvriss didn’t get Mrsha’s anger, or guilt, until he remembered Tekshia Shivertail. Then he and Mrsha stood there. They might have softened, then, or talked about what Selys was owed or wondered why she needed all that.

Then Mrsha the Extremely Suspicious’ eyes narrowed. Look, there were inn-coincidences and then there was…she held up a card slowly.

Ilvriss, are you thinking what I’m thinking? If you’re gonna get super-armor, it’s obviously that Relic-class item that Silveran found while sewer-cleaning.

Ilvriss raised his brows.

“I don’t think Lyonette described it as Relic-class, but Selys wouldn’t know about that. Good idea. Let’s go.”

They walked, rather fast, towards the door leading back to Liscor. On the way, Mrsha stopped to ask if Liska had seen Selys. When they were told they’d just missed her, the two exchanged a glance.

——

“C’mon, Silveran! I’ll buy it! How much?”

“Miss Selys, I do not know what ‘Relic-class’ item I supposedly have. If it is my cleaning spray, I would call it Relic-class cleaning, yes, but—”

When Mrsha and Ilvriss pushed the door open to Silveran’s Cleaners, Selys was grabbing Silveran by the apron he wore. She whirled as they came in, as if she’d known they were on their way.

Rather as if one of her assistants had been using a speaking stone and relaying everything another one of her people had been hearing. Say, as a Wall Lord and Gnoll girl walked the cities.

Ser Dalimont appeared disgusted with himself, but finding an eavesdropper in the crowds wasn’t exactly easy. Ilvriss was disgusted with Selys; this was pretty low even for corporate espionage.

Mrsha…didn’t look at Selys. She just stared at the Drake’s feet and whirled.

Okay, Ilvriss, let’s go.

“Hey! Damnit, that was a ruse, wasn’t it? Don’t blame me for doing the obvious.”

Selys shouted. Ilvriss saw Mrsha push the door open. She wrote in the air.

Sorry for the trouble, Silveran. Inn stuff. This Drake is just trying to snipe our ideas. Probably get some good people killed. We’ve gotta go before she messes more stuff up.

Silveran’s mandibles opened. Selys’ eyes narrowed, and she let go of him. Ilvriss hesitated.

“Mrsha! How dare you say that to me? I helped raise you!”

Mrsha ignored Selys until the Drake was reaching for her shoulder. Then Ser Dalimont barred her path.

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss Mrsha is busy.”

“Out of my way, you overgrown golden thug. Mrsha, I’m talking to you—”

Mrsha didn’t glance at Selys. She only stopped when Dalimont grabbed Selys’ arm and eyed the two helpers who had come up behind her. She turned and wrote.

She’s not worth it, Dalimont. Go away, Selys. You’re doing your thing, clearly. I dunno what you’re doing, and I don’t want to know.

She rubbed at her head.

Could be a lot of things. Some of them good, I guess. And I guess you’re pretty smart to know we’re gonna do cool things. You remembered that much.

She stared at her feet as it rained down on them, and Selys just stood there. Mrsha was talking to her like—

“You have no idea what’s going on with me, Mrsha. Not that any of you even thought to ask. You have no clue where I’ve been, have you?”

Touring the north with Rhata and Haldagaz? They’re not here, are they? Shame, they’re Calruz’s, not yours. Afraid they’ll run off if you brought them? Haldagaz is smarter than you think, Selys.

Mrsha held up a card. Selys was actually speechless for a second. How dare Mrsha say that to her! She’d raised Mrsha!

She didn’t know about the [Palace of Fates]. She hadn’t known about the Goblin King, and even that had been hard to swallow for Selys, who’d bet it was an exaggeration, something close but not quite—she waited for Mrsha to turn around.

“Mrsha? Mrsha, I’m talking to you, little miss! Turn around and don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Mrsha’s head did turn, there. Her glower made Selys’ heart skip a beat.

My mom is the only one who gets to give me orders.

“I’m your aunt.”

The Gnoll wrote slowly and deliberately in the air.

No. Right now, you’re some Drake who decided to steal from Ilvriss and me. All nice and legal. I dunno why, but I’d believe you were doing something important. If you’d come out and met us in Octavia’s shop. Hiding from Ilvriss makes sense. He’s an important guy. Hiding from a kid is just low.

She turned back around and walked off. Selys nearly started shouting then and there, but Wall Lord Ilvriss walked past her.

“Excuse me, Miss Shivertail. I am sorry about the death of your grandmother. I wish I had been there at the funeral, but I was attempting to catch Erin’s ship and didn’t return to Liscor in time.”

He nodded his head to her. Selys stared up at him, eyes around and huge. Then she—

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss had claw marks on his face and decided after a moment to sip the healing potion. Mrsha had said the inn had several and insisted he take more since Osthia hadn’t even had one.

“How did she get that good with her claws?”

“She is Zel Shivertail’s niece, sir. Mrsha, perhaps we should go back to the inn.”

Mrsha was stomping along in the rain, head bowed.

Can’t, Dalimont. Even if I want to, Selys is clearly taking gear. Who knows why? I literally don’t, but if we don’t hurry, she’ll buy out everything! She’s got the gold for it.

Ilvriss, wincing, had to agree. They were deploying secrecy spells now.

“What can we do, Mrsha? I need something! The charms I’ve heard about?”

Mrsha shook her head.

They’re not strong, not yet. Selys got a lot of stuff. Octavia’s potions legitimately might be the biggest win. Damn, damn, damn. It’d have to be…Pelt? But he never takes jobs, even from Erin! We have to try; Selys isn’t an idiot. Even without us, she’s worked with Pelt before, and Hedault.

“Let’s run, then. Hedault over Pelt? He seems more reliable.”

Yep. Fast as we can.

The two took off, Dalimont jogging after them.

——

Master Hedault’s shop was closed. Ever since he’d given up the wand to Ryoka in exchange for the obol, he’d not been out much—only to skateboard. He did have an arrangement to use the rooms in Invrisil’s Mage’s Guild as temporary meeting and workrooms. However, he’d soundproofed and locked it magically, and only by hammering on a doorbell he’d installed could they get his attention. When he finally did appear, he snapped.

“Selys sent a very inappropriately-urgent message to me this morning. I informed her of the same thing I told her representative. I have nothing I will show anyone. Yet.”

His eyes glinted, and Mrsha slowed and caught the whiff of—but she had already whirled.

Thanks, Hedault. Don’t trust Selys, she’s being a bad person. We have to run!

The [Enchanter] blinked at the words and then saw Ilvriss dash after Mrsha. He threw his hands up and slammed the door. If Selys had done that this morning, then they were too late. She’d already gotten to—

——

Master Pelt was sitting with his legs up in his folding chair by the forges, despite the heat of the day and the fires. Selys jumped when Mrsha and Ilvriss thundered up, but the Dwarf just stood.

“There you two idiots are. Took you long enough.”

Pelt, don’t sell to Selys if you’ve made an offer, she’s being suspicious!

Mrsha threw up a card, then eyed him.

Oh, you’re not. Ignore that. Damn pre-written cards.

Ilvriss nodded to Pelt.

“Master Pelt, Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

“Yup, the one having sex with Lyonette if all the damn scrying orbs are to be trusted. Eugh. I was forging! Nearly hit my own hand I was laughing so hard.”

Pelt was awfully casual today. He actually pulled up a chair and offered it to Mrsha.

“Found anything yet, Wall Lord? Mrsha, the inn got anything new for me?”

Uh, just aiolis.

“The hell’s that? Nah, nevermind. I’ll check it out. Sit, all of you.”

Selys interrupted, hopping from foot to foot and glancing at Ilvriss.

“Pelt, I have to run, and it’s urgent. We’re good business partners! If you’ve got anything or can make it—”

“Sit, Selys.”

She hesitated, and Pelt glanced at her. When she sat, the Dwarf stroked at his beard. He seemed…different. Or perhaps he’d picked up on the oddity of the moment. Pelt spoke deliberately as Emessa came around with some forged cups and lemon water.

“In a business deal with a master smith, such as me, you don’t run ahead of the competition. Forging isn’t that fast, even for me. You place your offer on the anvil, and the other does the same. Anything less devalues the work.”

Thank goodness for Pelt. Mrsha and Ilvriss relaxed. Selys grew stiffer.

“In that case, Pelt, name your price and I’ll pay more than they will.”

“Just like that?”

The Dwarf’s eyes gleamed for he was not immune to the lure of money. Selys jerked her chin at Mrsha and Ilvriss.

“I’m rich enough, and I hear the dig isn’t going well—I can beat a Wall Lord and the inn’s finances.”

Uh huh. That’s one bet I wouldn’t take right now.

Mrsha slapped the card down. But Pelt just lifted a hand.

“You know, it’s not always about the gold for me.”

Crash. Emessa dropped her tray of water cups, and he glared at her.

“Shut up, apprentice! I know the lot of you. I’m making gold! Let’s just say that I might have room for a project or two. Even a big one. Just depends on who needs it more. And go.”

He sat back, peering at them, and Mrsha and Ilvriss exchanged a look.

One of Ilvriss’ people nearly got smushed by a Bone Dreadnought. Ever heard of one of them? I haven’t. And he nearly got Hunter-Killered by Terland Golems.

“Highly unpleasant, Master Pelt. We are in the market for some armor.”

Ilvriss put in. The [Hammer of a Hundred Metals] whistled.

“Terlands? You’re as dumb as Erin. Dumber since she never ran screaming from one of them. Grandfathers—and you, Selys?”

He instantly ignored Ilvriss and Mrsha with his Pelt-ways, and Selys hesitated.

“I—can’t say. But I could use some armor or weapons. And my need is as urgent as Mrsha and Ilvriss’.”

“Can’t say? I assume I’m forging for you two Drakes as clients, but who does my work go to? I forge for the one who will wield it. Or wear it.”

His voice still had that too-pleasant cadence that had Mrsha’s fur standing on end. But Selys didn’t notice. She snapped, upset, as she glanced at Mrsha.

“Master Pelt, we’re business partners in Solar Cycles! You know I’m good for it, and we have an actual business relationship! Unlike Mrsha or Ilvriss! For the sake of that, please take my order! Ancestors, I’ll—you know what? I’ll give you 5% of my share in our business. How about that?”

She sat back, folded her arms, and smiled. Ilvriss felt uneasy. Solar Cycles was huge money even if they weren’t ever able to keep up with demand. But Mrsha was watching Pelt’s face, and suddenly, she relaxed.

Because the Dwarf just took a sip of water and turned to Mrsha.

“Is this about some other damn idiocy like the [Palace of Fates]? You’re not dragging her into that, are you, Wall Lord? Because here’s my hammer, and if you’d care to lie your head down on the anvil, I’ll give you a swing if you are.”

“No, no, absolutely not. Mrsha doesn’t even want to go near the place I’m digging. No Mrshas allowed.”

Ilvriss held up his claws. Pelt eyed him, then turned to Selys.

“Heard about the [Palace]? Or been back to Solar Cycles? I heard from that, er, Rinli there’s good projects happening. Nothing to do with me—bit interesting, but I hate gears, and they found a useful workaround.”

He nodded at Mrsha, and Selys frowned.

“What palace? No, I wasn’t there, Pelt. Listen—”

Mrsha broke in.

You’re a fan, Pelt? I thought you’d say ‘it ain’t real metal, so it’s all shite! Bugger it!’

He actually grinned at her.

“Why’d I do that, you half-baked chalk beansprout? Anything that doesn’t waste my metals is good. When Kevin makes it work and needs it made of real material, he’ll come begging.”

“Kevin? Pelt, Kevin’s dead.”

Selys interjected, voice suddenly bleak. Pelt just stared at Mrsha, and Selys’ eyes flicked from him to Mrsha.

“He’s—he’s dead. There’s no way. Was he actually—?”

Pelt stood and nodded to his forge.

“Too many eyes out here, and ears. Let’s discuss what you two want inside. I’m not smithing for an army, but I’ll see about something, Wall Lord. It’ll cost you, and I have some requirements, but—”

He was walking past Selys when she reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Master Pelt! Wait, what about my offer? I’ll beat anything they have! Didn’t you hear me about the shares?”

He glanced down at Selys. And still, too-gently, he patted her claw and took it off his arm.

“I heard, Miss Selys Shivertail. And I thank you for reminding me about our business. I don’t know the legal whatsits and don’t care to. But it strikes me that once I make Emessa sit down with Rinli, we’ll figure out a way to work it. Either we buy your contract out or we’ll just stop working together. She can always hire my forge direct, same with Hedault.”

“Wh-what?”

Selys blinked up at him, not entirely trusting her earholes. Then she paled.

“What are you saying? Pelt! You know me!”

She leapt up, and Pelt nodded. He looked her up and down, and now she saw the deliberateness of how he was moving and speaking. Like a slow hammer upon the anvil, but Pelt’s hammer was never slow. Yet he placed it now, just so.

“Yes. Yes I do, Selys. I thought you were just running up in a damn flurry, like Kevin or even Hedault when he has an idea. Until a certain [Knight] there sent Emessa a [Message].”

He jerked at Ser Dalimont, who executed a bow as Pelt continued.

“Then I thought to myself, ‘I should wait to see’. Haste ruins metals. A smith must be sure when he does not know, to not ruin everything. But I do see. We’ve known each other. I’ve liked your harassing, annoying ways as well as Erin. And in truth, I like this grub-stealing, annoying little pest less, even more now she talks.”

He pointed a fat finger at Mrsha, who raised a paw, then lowered it. But Pelt’s voice was increasing in volume ever so slightly. Like the rumble of a volcano.

“It’s one thing to quarrel. Another to lie to me or call on bonds of friendship forged when it gets in the way of another. Did you hear that Wall Lord? Bodyguard of his got stomped on by a Bone something? And a Terland Hunter-Killer?”

Selys’ eyes flicked to Ilvriss.

“That’s—bad, yes. But I need—”

“Bad. Bad? Even we in Deríthal-Vel know about the damn Terland Golems. We helped make them. Killing machines, and I know stories of the bastards coming at us in the mountains, slicing even Adamantium! Now, I’m no warrior. I don’t do charity. But when that girl comes to me and says it’s life or death, give me a weapon, I’ll listen, even if I curse her out! Yet you come here, to my forge and face, and say you can’t say why, only give me a weapon—”

“It’s as life-or-death as Mrsha and Ilvriss’ problems, Pelt!”

Selys shouted, but the Dwarf was getting louder. Face redder.

“Then why didn’t you damn well talk it out and figure out who’s closer to meeting their Ancestors first before running here? You’re not even looking at her. Since I’m no fool with clay between my ears, you don’t even know about the damn [Palace]. I wasn’t there, but you don’t even know. Not about Kevin, not about anything else!”

His voice was shaking the forge now. Selys was backing up, clearly ready to run because Pelt was getting angry. Cut her losses and go. But that last name caught her.

Kevin. She half-spun at the door. Pelt was fury, hammer in hand, and the two bodyguards she had were nervous, hands on their belt-knives, but she stopped.

“Kevin. He’s actually alive? He—”

For a second. Just a second, tears were in her eyes. Relief and joy, and Pelt’s wrath abated, and Mrsha turned. Ilvriss saw Selys faltering. Nearly fall over—

And then her head came up. Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke.

“She did that. Didn’t she? Erin. Is she back? Is it a Skill? Did she bring back Kevin, somehow? And not Tekshia? Did she dare to do that?”

She whirled to Ilvriss, Mrsha, Pelt, and all of them stared at her. Selys’ scales flushed.

“What did she do this time? I should have known she’d only reserve her miracles for her real friends, for—”

Whatever she was about to say next, and she was ranting, eyes widening, nostrils flaring, was mercifully lost to Mrsha. Mercifully, for Pelt walked over to his anvil and struck it.

However he did it, the iron rang like a gong, and everyone recoiled. Selys backed up, claws over her ears, and when Mrsha could hear, Pelt just stood there.

“Get out of my forge. I don’t have time for this. This is why I don’t make friends.”

He sat on the anvil, and Selys opened her mouth. He raised the hammer, and Mrsha felt like the High Passes shook before the weight of that simple mallet. Selys Shivertail gaped at him, then ran.

She was crying. But Pelt, Mrsha, Ilvriss, only stood there. Mrsha hadn’t told Selys she’d died. Or about the terrible, infinite worlds being made or breaking. Maybe it would have changed the Drake’s mind.

Right now, Mrsha didn’t want it to change. After a moment, Pelt beckoned them over.

“Right. Let’s talk business. Better that than anything about what just happened.”

After a while, Mrsha and Ilvriss nodded.

——

Pelt had a surprise for them. And it was this. After Emessa had come back with more water—and told the Watch the earthquake had been an accident—and Mrsha’s heart stopped beating so fast, Pelt hit them with a shock, probably to be kind. In his way.

“I levelled up.”

Ilvriss’ cheeks bulged—and he swallowed the water. Mrsha’s jaw dropped. Pelt nodded.

“Must be catching. Like a damn plague. Well, I’ll take it. I am a [Hammer of a Hundred Metals]. Level 57. It’s secret, obviously. Tell anyone and I’ll break your kneecaps into three pieces.”

He’d once told Erin he’d never reach higher levels! He’d always seemed like he was at the peak of mastery—Mrsha wavered, then exploded.

Pelt! That’s crazy! What did you make?

Surely it had to be something extraordinary! But the Dwarf just hmmed.

“Aside from some magical gear with some flames? Teaching other [Smiths]? Nothing much. Made an Adamantium piece the other day. Just breaking in a forge to smith it. But it’s not been anything made of magical metal.”

“Then how? Simply accumulation over, what, a decade?”

Ilvriss broke in, and Pelt sighed.

“It’s not fun doing guessing games because I don’t respect your knowledge of smithing. I’ll just tell you. Recall that big event on the television? Pawn fighting a bunch of idiots in Chandrar?”

Mrsha’s ears perked up. Ilvriss nodded. Pelt tapped his chest.

“That censer he’s wielding. A few of the other items they carry? I made that. Me. Wasn’t hard in terms of pure craft, though I put my art into it. Wasn’t hard in terms of metal. But it was what was in the metal that counted.”

He stared at his hammer. Twirling it in one hand.

“Substance. Meaning. The thing he had. Forgemaster Taxus, the only Dwarf better’n me. I always swore I’d beat him with purity of metal. Well, I forsook that oath, and I suppose it’s not like I can’t learn. So there it is. I’m learning a new skill.”

He peered up, and Mrsha and Ilvriss exchanged a glance. Ilvriss croaked.

“When you say meaning in metal—”

“Oh, I reckon it’s all around us. In the damn charms that Lord Mireden talks about. The stuff Pawn has. Faith and whatsit. I don’t need it to use it. Not that I’m good at seeing it or moving it. Now I’m thinking back to all that bastard prattled about, and I’m just…searching for a challenge. So. Got any, uh, whatsit to forge? You provide it, I make something.”

Mrsha glanced at Ilvriss again. Ilvriss glanced at her. Both of them looked at Pelt, and the Dwarf paused. He eyed them.

“…You ain’t got any of it, do you?”

No, I’ve got plenty of luck or—witches have it in their hats!

“I’ll just, uh, you know, we might have something at the inn. In Erin’s room?”

Pelt rubbed at his forehead. Sighed. Then Ilvriss had an idea.

“Wait. Would a memorial for the dead with a bunch of painted faces, er, work?”

Ilvriss and Mrsha turned to him, and Ilvriss clarified.

“Not the actual works. I think Osthia would kill me. But perhaps there’s some stuff there?”

Pelt scratched at his beard.

“Stone. Damn hard to work just stone. But he did it.”

Mrsha threw up a paw.

How do you feel about broken pieces of lightning-blades from a [Garden of Sanctuary] where they were planted in the mud by the owner in some awesomely-cool tribute to the fallen?

The Dwarf leaned back in his chair.

“Get it to me, and I’ll work on something. Sword, shield—you have to ‘feel the intent’ to make the thing. Damn bastard’s got me speaking like a [Sage]. Alright. I’m hired. I think I’ll charge you as if it’s made of Adamantium and then double that.”

He beamed and held out a hand to shake. Mrsha almost raised her paw, then nudged Ilvriss.

He really didn’t want to take Pelt’s hand.

——

Okay, magical swords of both surpassing metal and meaning were all very well, but they were only hypotheticals. Ilvriss was very heartened by the arrangement even if he personally feared being murdered by Alrric and his father for how much he might pay.

But they needed something now! He didn’t want to return empty-handed, and partly that was to spite Selys. That had truly made him upset. He understood her anger, he did. Losing a grandmother…

But the way she hadn’t even asked about Mrsha and assumed Erin was behind—and her assumptions about who Erin would choose!

I chose. Not Erin. And if I had a choice, Tekshia would be on that list. Maybe not near the top, but Selys just assumed it was Erin. Assumed everything. I’m not dealing with her. Let’s just do your thing and talk about it later.

Mrsha was the angrier of the two. But she actually was out of ideas as they walked around, upset as she was. Ilvriss looked around.

“Do you have any last inclinations on who to approach?”

Mrsha put her paws in the pockets of her kilt. She glared at the ground and then turned her head.

No. Sorry.

That was alright. Ilvriss felt bad for relying on Mrsha so much. So he did some thinking. They’d been damn well sniped! This was so corporate he felt like a fool, but he hadn’t thought he’d have a rival in Liscor!

Corporate…yes, that was Selys. So he had a thought and then smiled nastily.

“Mrsha? It’s been unpleasant having the shockwool pulled over our eyes. But what if we copied our opponents? It clearly worked, and if we’re decently smart, she might have an idea or two. Wouldn’t she?”

Mrsha’s head snapped up. Then she blinked, and they turned to Dalimont. The Thronebearer gave them an approving look.

——-

Finding Selys Shivertail wasn’t the hardest thing in the world. All they had to do was ask Liska where Selys had gone. Then you just had to trail her through the streets, and Mrsha’s nose, outside of the Cowpat Plains, could work even in a rainy city.

As it so happened, Selys Shivertail did have one final idea of where to go that Mrsha hadn’t thought of, mad as she was. And as it so happened, her absence from the inn had also jeopardized this particular crafter.

Honored Deskie had been polite, but insistent that she know exactly what Selys needed her threads for or that Selys bring someone from the inn if she could not explain. The Drake had been trying to think of someone to bribe or trick into helping her and stomping down the street when she walked past a trio of people.

Wall Lord Ilvriss, Mrsha, and Ser Dalimont walked past Selys into Honored Deskie’s compound. The Drake turned pale under her scales. She began to shout—then just whirled.

“Get me my carriage! We’re going back!”

She stormed off.

——

“You seem upset, Mrsha. I take it that was not a pleasant encounter, that Drake? Here, Wall Lord.”

He ate some silkap as Mrsha sat there, staring at Deskie’s looms. The Gnoll [Magical Spinner] was kindly, if clearly tired. She massaged her back.

“One could wish Inkarr had made an automatic back massager, not just a spinning wheel!”

They got those in Earth, apparently.

“Really? I should have never left the Meeting of Tribes. Ah, well, but I do like my bed and home here. Community is community; the Silverfangs who went north might be stuck to the old ways too much. Then again—I am merely old. So, you have come to me for a wondrous item, one which you do not know about, but you wish me to produce with a wave of my paws.”

She waved her paws, and Ilvriss blushed.

“I apologize, Honored Deskie. It’s just that I have urgent need and not much foresight.”

She popped some bread into her mouth and shrugged.

“Well, I have plenty of foresight and aftersight and not much vigor to run around. So you are in luck, yes? I will sell you a tunic. Hrr. Eighty thousand gold pieces, since we owe Salazsar a boon, and two crates as tall as I am of magical gemstones of my choosing.”

Neither Mrsha nor Ilvriss blinked at the price, which put Honored Deskie out a bit.

“…Are prices truly going up that much?”

“A tunic, Honored Deskie? May I hope it’s magical?”

For answer, Honored Deskie rose and beckoned them over to something. A spool of thread, which Mrsha found quite familiar. She stared at the vivid coloration and recalled the ugliest dress in the world. Erin’s find in a certain shop. Cormeng’s.

A long while back, it seemed. But Honored Deskie had been testing the thread. Only…there hadn’t been so much of it back then, had there? The Gnoll woman smiled.

“It is made of a gemstone. Which one, and the rest of it, I shall not say. Only to announce that I have levelled and answered a challenge thrown across the ages. This thread I call ‘ikarr’-thread. Because I can play the exact same game as that child.”

Her eyes twinkled. Mrsha reached out with a paw, then hesitated and asked permission. Deskie let her touch it, and Mrsha rubbed at it and made a face.

It’s a bit prickly.

Ilvriss had to agree. Deskie herself nodded.

“So it is. Hellish on fur. I have a patch—it’s covered in hairs, you see, because it just rips them out, even when I try to make it fine as can be. I’ll sew a lining on the inside, and even then, it’s better on a Drake because it will be so annoying. A shame. But, on the other hand, it barely breaks.”

Casually, she handed a furry patch to Ilvriss, and he glanced at her. Then asked permission to try and cut it with Ser Dalimont.

——

After ten minutes of watching Ilvriss and Ser Dalimont hack at the piece of cloth in the rain, which was quite amusing, they came in, and Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“A tunic, you said?”

“One imagines it might be quite stabproof. Even impact-proof; it ripples when struck. There’s too much hair on this sample, but I intend to make as much as I can. A tunic will get me a second level, I think, and practice. We’ll take a recording of people trying to cut it apart for advertisement. Then I’ll just sell a bolt of it to Nerrhavia’s Fallen and roll in a pile of gold.”

Deskie waited. Mrsha’s ears perked up, and Ilvriss sat up. A second—

When neither one burst into wild applause, Deskie’s ears flattened.

“Oh come now. I am over Level 50! Surely that merits a gasp?”

“Er, we just spoke with Master Pelt, Honored Deskie, and if our reactions are a tad bit—”

She threw a spindle at Ilvriss’ head she was so annoyed.

——

In the end, Ilvriss organized a semi-permanent contract with Deskie for gems, since every instinct in him was screaming for that, and she told him to send Osthia here so Deskie could take measurements.

“I won’t be able to make much, Wall Lord, and I am sure it has weaknesses—fur being one of them. It may, frankly, be better-used as bindings for armor, not the armor itself, given how expensive it is. But someone should have armor fit for legends, and Deskie the Spinner shall leave that mark. Arrogant as it may be.”

And that was that. Mrsha and Ilvriss high-fived and stood there.

“Magicthread tunic, magic item from Pelt.”

Ilvriss exhaled as he stared up into the rain. Mrsha nodded.

We did great.

After a moment, both of them regarded each other.

“So about Selys—I’m sorry—”

Selys was being crazy. Worse than Numbtongue in a way.

They stood there, and the triumph faded. Ilvriss wiped at his forehead.

“…Some days are like that, Mrsha. It reminds me of my father. Which I know isn’t complimentary, but—shall we get a drink? I’m buying. Wishdrinks?”

He jerked a thumb, and Mrsha thought about it.

Tails and Scales? Rufelt does a mean non-alcoholic cocktail, and his gravity drinks are awesome. Plus, the cooking’s better. Lyonette loves the idea of Wishdrinks because she likes the staff being pretty. She thinks food should come in half-portion sizes.

“I did notice that. You’re right when you’re right, Mrsha. She’s feeding you correctly, isn’t she?”

They trooped off in the rain with Ser Dalimont smacking his lips and thinking of what he’d order. Mrsha nodded.

Nearly starving to death has corrected her weird thing about me being too heavy. You know, I stopped stealing food when she finally fed me more? I actually was hungry.

“Astonishing. I should have a word with her about that. You want me to?”

Eh, she’s a [Princess]. They’re all malnourished. But I tell you what, I am going to slam the first three non-alcoholic cocktails. What a rough one.

They walked off, at least able to talk and joke in each other’s company.

Selys…

Selys went back home. To a Guild of Assassins. And death. It was just good she didn’t care about them, the Ranks. It was a good thing she was practical.

[Vice Guildmistress Level 26!]

[Skill – Organized Armory Obtained!]

——

Selys had banned the Ranks from mentioning anything about Kevin or the inn to Calidus. Not that she thought they even understood the context. Not that they deserved Selys doing that for them. But she was better than they were.

She was angry the entire ride back, which took over two days in Wistram’s carriage. Not that she spent it idle; she channeled her rage into her new job, which was levelling her.

She’d already taken the assets of her Assassin’s Guild and begun allocating them. Obviously, you kept an emergency stash, but Selys had spent large amounts of her own money and Calidus’—nothing like giving the Ranks and Faces some treats to keep them happy, right?

The Drake observed the four Ranks who’d come with her as bodyguards inspecting their new gear. Acid jars, Octavia’s potions, Wyvern armor and Shield Spider chitin shields and even a dagger. They ignored the one made of glossy black material until Selys commented.

“The dagger is as good as steel. It’s made of Shield Spider chitin, and it’s grooved to allow for maximum poison seepage when you stab. The artisan who made it said as much to me; not a tool for anyone but a poison-user.”

Then one of the Ranks took the dagger and added it to her belt. Happy. Like an Antinium with a mop. Happy to have something.

In the same vein, Selys kept giving orders. Casualties today? 14. Yikes. The rival [Blademaster] Face had sliced up another group of Ranks. Selys shook her head, assigned new patrols to investigate reports of enemies and made a few speaking stone calls.

“…Yes. Yes, I want a huge one installed in, uh…Lord Calidus’ estates. Look it up. Selys Shivertail, that’s correct. No, I won’t hold. Look me up. I’m Zel Shivertail’s niece, the owner of the Heartflame Breastplate? Yeah, I thought that would ring a bell. I am serious. And so is he. He’d love a huge installation in his town. Capacity? Let’s call it…three hundred in each section and all the small ones like Pallass has? Okay, tell me the budget. Okay.”

Selys listened. Then she spoke.

“Good, have your people heading out to us—okay. No, I understand it’s the spring. Busy times, yes, yes. Okay, I’ll double the price if we’re first on the list and you do a good job.”

Another pause. She rolled her eyes as she explained.

“We’ll get a contract done at the Merchant’s Guild. Quality work. No mistakes. You mess up, it comes out of your fee because I’m doubling it. You do it fast, without skimping, or I’ll have the Merchant’s Guild on your tail. If you’re honest, take the job. Double. Yes, double. Yes, the Merchant’s Guild would credit it on mine or Calidus’ accounts. Tell you what, you double-check, then get back to me. Forwards any questions to Lagrisse of the Adventurer’s Guild in Isbeut.”

She liked having useful subordinates. And Selys was also used to getting her way, even if her method to that was the application of lots of gold. Plenty of people wanted to rip you off or take your money and do poor work. The solution to that was to have someone else breathing down their necks. Apply more gold, not less, with no avenues for wastage and you eventually weighed down what you wanted with so much gold a quality result was squeezed out due to all the pressure.

This time, the Guildmistress noticed the Ranks eying her, though they pretended to be just inspecting their gear for the umpteenth time after her call.

“Interested? You—name? Go.”

She pointed, and the female Rank bowed her head slightly.

“Chaiste, Guildmistress. A…hot spring?”

“I thought you’d enjoy it. Chandrarians don’t bathe in water often, do they?”

“They do in Lailight Scintillation. Maybe Khelt or a rich place if it’s not on the coast. I have never had a…bath in hot water.”

Selys smiled at the dusky-skinned Human woman.

“Well, you’ll have full access after it’s set up. It’ll take time. Just another amenity. The Faces will have private baths.”

Silence. But the Ranks were changing. After a moment, Chaiste raised a hand.

“Guildmistress, question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Is a private bath…good?”

Selys thought about it and smiled.

“Better than having to share space with someone else? Of course. You can splash around, relax without feeling like you’re needing to be sociable, bring company—we’ll even have some fancy baths. I’ve paid for all of them. Some will have soap magic in them. Huge bubbles, wave action—they’ll be popular, I have no doubt. So Faces will be able to reserve what they want.”

Privilege was power. Another Drake concept—well, universal, really. The Ranks seemed intrigued by this idea, and they sat back, imagining what hot springs would be like. And Selys thought—got you.

“Like your new toys?”

“Yes, Guildmistress. The acid is very potent.”

“Liscorian specialty. This is just the first wave of gear, of course. For our fight with the other Guilds. Going to throw it at them?”

“No, Guildmistress. Ranks dodge.”

“Ah.”

“…It’s good for blades. [Coat Blades]. Or spraying it.”

“Nasty. I can see that being a lot more effective. And the Wyvern armor fits well?”

They really liked that. They kept shifting around in it, testing the mobility of the light, sturdy armor.

“It won’t let a regular blade stab us, Guildmistress.”

“Keeps you alive longer, right? Probably makes you way better than the Ranks the other Guild has. That’s why Lord Calidus and my Guild is the best. Tell your friends—er, the other Ranks. In time, I want this to be standard-gear for all the Ranks.”

More silence, and Selys added slyly.

“So imagine what the Faces get.”

All of them gave her that unsettling, blank-faced stare, but there was a shift in it now. A little bit of eagerness. She imagined it was like having puppy-Crelers or something. Or again, Antinium. Maybe this was how…that woman…felt with her Goblins. Raising them up so they were useful. Yeah.

Selys had been dealt a bad hand, but she was turning it into gold, just like always. She settled back in her carriage and kept giving orders until she rolled into Isbeut. Then she hopped out of the carriage, stretched out her back with a groan, and sauntered into the Adventurer’s Guild.

“I’m back. I brought a bunch of snacks. Here are the ones for the rats, Pilana. Rhata, Haldagaz, it was fun. Too bad you couldn’t come, but I had a giant white rat and a purple one harassing me. Well…productive. Anything new? No, wait, Lagrisse will tell me. Hey, I need hands to unload my carriage! Jump fast—you might get some new gear!”

The Ranks in the Guild stirred as she walked in, and Pilana, manning the desk in the fake Adventurer’s Guild, jumped. Two rats raced about the counters, squeaking insults that Selys ignored. They had little beds and cute little walkways so they could scamper around the Guild, and she’d had holes bored in the walls so they could race about.

Mascots, you see? And the Ranks did get up and begin to unload the carriages. Not just because they were going to do everything Selys wanted, but because they knew her.

When she said ‘new gear’, they listened. Even one of the Faces appeared to inspect the items.

“Guildmistress, nothing new to, um, report. J-just a few wounded adventurers. And we’ve been clearing monster requests like crazy. Some of the other regions have heard and actually sent over some requests. Should I…?”

“Put them up, Pilana.”

That pleased Selys. She strolled through the doors into the real Assassin’s Guild in the back. They were right next to the Runner’s Guild, and Selys had organized it such that the two guilds just met in the back. So the fake Runners and adventurers would be able to report into the real Guild.

It was pretty swanky if Selys said so herself. Lagrisse had described the old Assassin’s Guild like some kind of morbid cult. Black stone, huge themed chambers with shadows and macabre decorations. Timid underlings scurrying about while the [Assassins] moved in concert above them like a flock of ravens, living in the mystique and shadows of ancient stone.

Selys thought all that sounded stupid and hard to clean. She had copied Wishdrinks’ aesthetic. And the Merchant’s Guild.

Carpeted floors, rich wood tables, plenty of seating, a bar run by a very nervous [Bartender], food from the restaurant ready to be served, a lounge, rec rooms, even an ‘outdoor’ patio that was just cunning illusion spells. And the second floor, which was in progress, would be even more exclusive. Faces only. Selys would move her office up there and put the armory and even more good stuff in the top floors.

The Hunter’s Guild of Noelictus did that; Selys stole the design unabashedly, and when she gazed around and saw the organized desks where Lagrisse and his peers were waiting to assign [Assassins] to their targets, she felt proud.

It’s not what you’d approve of, Grandmother, but look, I can run a damn Guild! Selys walked over and leaned on the counter.

“Anything I missed, Lagrisse? Too important for our communication spells?”

They had encrypted [Message] spells which used black vellum—stylish, if sometimes hard on the eyes with the bright, white lettering. He bowed his head.

“Nothing aside from the casualties, Guildmistress. The Blade of Harvests intercepted the Ranks when they were pursuing enemy [Assassins].”

“Yeah, I know. Shame.”

Don’t let it affect you. Selys pushed them out of her thoughts. She was doing the best she could for the Ranks. She nodded to him.

“Try to keep an eye on him. Do we at least have the dossier on who this guy is?”

“Yes, Guildmistress. For your perusal. We have his old records—”

Selys snatched the papers, read idly, and snorted.

“Hapiie Leverleaf? Ancestors, what a name.”

“Likely a cover identity he stuck with, Guildmistress. His level—”

“Yeah, yeah. Level 47 [Blademaster of Harvests]. Perfect for mass-kills, sucks up his enemy’s blood—eugh, why couldn’t we have gotten him? Calidus better have a plan for him. Okay, nevermind all that. I’ve brought equipment. Wyvern armor, acid jars, high-grade potions—the works.”

Lagrisse’s eyes lit up with real interest.

“Truly, Guildmistress? I knew you were at Pallass and Invrisil, but I thought—it is hard to acquire that much material, even with gold. And the New Lands meant it was already scarce.”

She winked at him, ignoring Mrsha’s betrayed face which flashed into her mind.

“I’m good at my job, Lagrisse. Now, I want the Wyvern Armor issued to every Face, then we’ll assign the remaining highest-level Ranks. Save, uh, ten sets for our armory. Acid jars are for everyone, first come, first serve. We can buy more, and I’ve set up a pipeline. Do an inventory of potions, and we’ll probably allocate them the same way.”

“At once, Guildmistress.”

“Excellent. Oh, and if you and any of the staff you like see something you want, write it down and I’ll approve it.”

Lagrisse was dangerous enough himself, and rewarding the staff made them happy. The risks of uncontrollable Ranks were there—Selys smiled as the man paused, then offered her that slice of a smile he was good at.

Ancestors, I’m a genius. She stretched.

“I am tired from my trip. I’ll probably turn in early, then come up with a countermeasure against this damn [Blademaster] and check in with Calidus when I wake unless he wants me this instant. Anything else for me?”

“Nothing, Guildmistress. Here are the outstanding issues the Guild is facing—”

He held up a sheet, and Selys ran down the list. She stopped once and sighed.

“Oh, the wounded Ranks who survived that [Blademaster]. How many are going to make it?”

“His blade was poisoned, Guildmistress, and they’ve all lost limbs or were stabbed internally…one in five chances at most?”

“Are they on the way to House Walchaís?”

“They won’t make the journey before the poison kills them, Guildmistress.”

Selys cursed in annoyance. It wasn’t the first time this issue had come up. Even with Bethal’s [Healers]—who had weird new limits—getting someone to them before they expired was the issue.

“Damn, I want some of those [Healers] here, then! Send a [Message] to Lady Bethal politely asking if she’ll send a trainee or something. Or we kidnap them? So the wounded Ranks are dead?”

Lagrisse was as businesslike as she was.

“They’ll counterlevel and fight the poisons off or be dead by morning, Guildmistress. There is a logic to letting Ranks tough it out. It’s a free level or two if they make it.”

“I guess your Guild does have its ways for a reason. Then I’ll at least talk to them.”

Selys steeled herself. It said there were six casualties who’d survived. At least the Ranks seemed to regard their own deaths like, again, the Antinium or Goblins. She strode towards the infirmary and pushed the doors open. She saw figures lying in beds, one of them a crystal-healing bed purchased at extreme expense.

No access to easy healing potions. Calidus was trying to buy Antinium healing scrolls or get a [Restoration] mage, but they’d probably have to train up an [Assassin]-[Mage] themselves. So this lot had to just suck it up and heal naturally with the cruelty of needle and thread. Maybe they’d find a good [Doctor], but…

Selys didn’t saunter over to the wounded Ranks. She wasn’t heartless. But she approached in a brisk, businesslike manner. It was funny. They sort of respected that.

“Ranks, I know you’re on death’s door. I know you’ve been wounded against a superior Face. For that, the Guild will remember your deeds. If you survive, even crippled, I’ll have a job for you. I don’t toss away loyalty or bravery. So, survive. Level, and we’re going to win this thing. Got it?”

That was her offer to them—not compassion, not Erin’s endless outpouring of sympathy and grief, but just practicality. I will be a better future than you can imagine, if only by contrast.

I am better than Roshal. Selys almost appreciated the slave-nation for lowering the bar so far, and she saw the appeal of their programs. They made it so easy. All she had to do was stop by every bed, touch a shoulder or uninjured body part, and ask their names, and they looked at her like she was some kind of [General of Mercy].

Selys smiled and took a paw. Talking about their bravery. Listening to a rasped comment about not dodging fast enough. An assurance this Rank would be back to work as soon as…

She didn’t feel a thing. They might all be dead tomorrow. The poison had drained their colors. Left them pale, dying shadows with no one to care for them. It was a foolish thing to care for…

She passed by a young man lying there, staring upwards, as bloody bandages covered his midsection. Then Selys turned.

“…Ribark? Is that you?”

The Rank lay there, a hole in his stomach—no, three. Two were shallower, but one had exited through his spine. The [Assassin], who favored a longsword, actually smiled.

“Sorry, Guildmistress. I should have stayed with the team. Just like you said. We had a combination Skill too. The Blade of Harvests stayed back from us.”

“You—you were in the patrol?”

Selys stood there. And she glanced around and didn’t see Slashface or Cirtle or—he was just one [Assassin]. Just one of the Ranks, but she’d made a team with him and the others. For that reason alone, a chance moment, him being one of the first, he stood out. The young man, denuded of his mask and armor, stared at the ceiling.

“He was too fast. Cirtle had [Dangersense], but everyone knows it goes off too slow. I should have stayed with them. Got separated fighting the other Ranks. Then he stabbed me.”

“Where’s your team?”

They weren’t among the wounded. Ribark turned his head.

“Slashface made it, I think. Not sure about anyone else. Jaahns—the Face cut his head off and reanimated him.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Ribark. How are you feeling?”

His breath was coming slowly. His face was so pale, and Selys tried to remember if they had an antidote for this poison—

“I’ll live, Guildmistress. I’ll live and—if I don’t, I wanted to see you. Glad I made it back here.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I sent you out there. We didn’t know he—”

Ribark was smiling upwards. Smiling like a man seeing something Selys could not. A light shining down on him. But for some reason, his eyes were locked on her face. His teeth were gritted together in pain, sweat creasing his sun-darkened skin, and there was dirt on his forehead.

Didn’t anyone even clean him off? But he whispered at her.

“The Wishing Well is dark, Guildmistress. So dark, and we don’t even come from far down. Deeper and you forget there was ever a sky. We were really lucky, us Ranks. Not beautiful enough. Not useful enough to be anything else. It still…wasn’t fun.”

“I—I imagine.”

He nodded once.

“But you made it better. I had a drink three days ago, Guildmistress. A drink and the food that [Cook] sent. That round thing with layers.”

“A—a hamburger?”

“Yes. It was the best thing I ever ate. I was worried it was filled with herbs. So I didn’t eat it. I should’ve eaten one every day until today. I’m—it was—it was free, right?”

He stared up at her, and Selys sat down by his bed. The other Ranks lay there, listening.

“Of course it was. It’s just food.”

“Just food.”

He licked his lips, repeating her words as if they were silly for how novel they were. Selys murmured.

“Hey, listen. We’re, um, getting a hot springs. By the time you’re better, you can use it. It’s probably good for poisons and such.”

“Hot springs.”

Ribark was murmuring dreamily. He gazed up at her face, and Selys grasped his hand.

“You’re not that badly hurt. It’s just a hole in your stomach. I’ve seen Silver-rankers walk that off.”

“I can’t feel my legs, Guildmistress.”

“Well then, forget about your damn legs. I’ll give you a job at the desk! You heard me! I don’t waste talent, and you’re all talented.”

“We’re all flies sent at the rotting meat of our foes. That’s what they say in the Pits.”

Ribark’s voice was dreamy now. And Selys hissed.

“No, you’re not. You’re mine, now, and I don’t waste people. Ribark—”

“It was really fun, Guildmistress. You made it all better. We’ll die for you.”

Selys was blinking too rapidly as Ribark grinned upwards.

“I don’t need dead people. I’m just some Guildmistress, Ribark. I—I’m only throwing Calidus’ gold around. I didn’t do much. I sent you to your death. Don’t thank me for that.”

“Who am I supposed to thank, then? I don’t know who else. It felt better. Lord Calidus is funny. It’s better than the pit. It was all better. Guildmistress?”

He was breathing faster now, and she hoped it was a good thing, but Selys’ claws were gripping his hand so hard his fingers were paler still, yet his face—

“Yeah, Ribark?”

“They made me forget what my mother looked like. But I bet she looked a lot like you. Thank you.”

“Don’t you dare thank me. Don’t you dare. Ribark? Hello? Don’t close your eyes. Don’t—”

Selys saw those eyes close, peaceful, and he relaxed. He lay there until she shook him. Rattling his head around as it lolled, trying to get him to open those eyes, even in discomfort. For him to say anything—

“Guildmistress. Guildmistress—”

Lagrisse pulled her away. She didn’t know when he’d appeared. She shoved at the man, and then he spoke.

“Guildmistress, he’s dead. He needs to be processed before he turns.”

Then she couldn’t deny it any longer. Selys sat on the bed where the Rank had died. Just one of many. Just one who was special because she knew his name. She touched his face, and his skin was still warm. She tried to move those lips. His eyes were closed, but he was still smiling.

She tried to make him stop, because—it was wrong.

“Not for me. Don’t give me that look.”

The Drake staggered upright, and then she saw the other Ranks lying there, on their own deathbeds. They peered up at her, and there were tears in her eyes. Blurring her vision.

The Ranks gazed at the Drake, who wept for them. As no one else had. She turned, staggering around, then fled them.

Because their faces resembled Ribark’s. She stumbled into the Guild. As Ranks and Faces beheld her. Selys leaned on a counter and saw Tekshia Shivertail sitting there, for a second, at an empty desk in front of two solemn rats. The Drake [Heiress] inhaled, then screamed.

“I’m just a damn Guildmistress! I can’t save you. I can’t undo whatever they did to you. I’m going to send you again and again to your deaths. Why the hell are you doing it? Why am I?”

They had no answer for her. The killers of each species, gender, and age sat there, and Selys shouted more.

“I just hate it. Waste. Why do you all have to die? I’m so damn tired of sending you out to die. You go, and then you never come back. How am I—”

She clutched at her chest, as if she were having a heart attack. And she saw a young man with brown hair lifting a rapier. White robes whirling around him as he aimed his blade across a ship in a raging sea.

“How am I supposed to love someone who I know won’t come back some day? How can I love a monster when the world will erase them? Grandmother…why did you quit adventuring to watch over them when you know how much they die?”

Her tears touched the new, polished wood of the counter. Selys glanced around, but there was no one there.

Just a spear leaning against a wall. An empty seat.

A story of a Drake’s tail swishing across the frozen cobblestones.

An adventurer.

Just like the [General]. Just like the [Innkeeper], the [Necromancer], and everyone else she couldn’t follow. The [Heiress] lay there, weeping, until a tentative [Assassin] went to check on the woman.

“Guildmistress?”

Slashface had another scar across her mangled expression. She stood alone, a Rank, an [Assassin], but no longer one of the silent killers fresh-made.

She stood like a woman who had lost something that mattered. The last survivor of her team. Lost. Seeking answers in Selys’ tear-stricken face. The Drake’s head rose. And she saw it.

Just once. She inhaled, and a dreadful power filled Selys’ limbs. She spoke to Slashface.

“He killed your team. That bastard. Your brothers and sisters. You’re an adventurer.”

“No, Guildmistress. I’m—I’m just an [Assassin].”

Selys gazed into Slashface’s troubled eyes, then around at the others. Losmere, the Faces, the Ranks, watching her. She croaked.

“So what? You were part of a team. You’re part of a Guild. It has to matter. Even if you’re Ranks and Faces. Even if you’re [Assassins]. It has to matter, because you’re a Guild. Or else nothing matters and we’re all expendable.”

But we are. The young Rank was about to say it, but Selys heaved herself up, and Slashface saw in Selys’ gaze the same thing that Ribark had clung to.

Not to her.

Not to me. Selys stumbled towards her office. She wrote, blood cold, limbs trembling, and then cast around.

“H-hammer.”

Someone gave it to her. She went over to the billboard she’d put up for assassination requests. And she began to hammer something into the board. There was no toc of great power. Just the thundering of her own hurt heart.

The [Assassins] watched, and Selys felt like she was driving a nail into Izril’s beating chest. And she screamed, just once.

For her grandmother. For her uncle. For the dead she had waved onwards and sent to their demises with a smile. So many teams. For Ribark and his friends who no one would mourn.

Only his Guild. That was the kind of place she had to lead. Or it was nothing at all. So, Selys Shivertail struck the final nail in the piece of paper, and this is what it said:

<Asssassination Target: The Blade of Harvests.>

Description: The Blademaster of Harvests, alias ‘Hapiie Leverleaf’, has slain our own. He has taken up his blade against the Assassin’s Guild of Izril. To all those who belong to the true Assassin’s Guild of the north—slay him. There is no quarter to give to those who kill us. No one to avenge us but our own.

Reward: One level in [Assassin] class. You shall be named a Face of the Assassin’s Guild.

And below that, a second quest.

<Rare Quest — The False Guild Dies From Within>

Description: There is only one Guild of Assassins in the north. Only one will survive. Give me the names of a base. The headquarters. Employees. Give it to me, and I will offer you a new life.

I am Guildmistress of the true Assassin’s Guild of the north. I shall grant any Rank or Face amnesty who forswears that Guild. They will throw you into a thresher without remorse. I shall never let you go.

Reward: Amnesty for traitors to the false Assassin’s Guild for information rendered. Scalable bounty on quality of information rewarded. I cannot lie in a <Quest>. I will grant absolution to all but those who have spilled our blood without end.

The <Quests> went out. Not around the world, and not even widespread. Just to those who could hear it. [Informants], [Secret Brokers], [Fences], who froze in their work as a voice spoke and delivered unto them the first <Quest> only they could hear.

A challenge. A mad Drake woman’s offer. A statement that echoed in the silence of Calidus Reinhart’s rooms as he read the <Quest>.

Then the [Lord] sat back and laughed. He had a splendid evil laugh because he had practiced it for fun. He giggled and howled with mirth. Because, for the first time—

He knew he’d win this stupid war.

——

There was something entirely alluring about a genuine, good woman. That might be relative to you, but Calidus certainly felt it in his loins.

Possibly his heart, if he had one in anything beyond the physical sense. Certainly, the Ranks and Faces felt something when looking upon their Guildmistress, even if they refused to admit it.

But Calidus—he was glad that the next day, Selys Shivertail didn’t appear recovered. She was red-eyed and had baggy darker rings around her eyes, much like Humans. A sign of ill sleep.

It was good. She didn’t seem well. Her hard façade had flaked away, revealing a bleeding heart, and you know what? It was damn refreshing to the [Lord] of House Reinhart and the hired killers.

Someone had to care, or what were they indeed? The [Lord] cleared his throat as he stood in front of the counter.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had someone suck your neck spines? I’m told by Drakes it’s a fascinating experience.”

Selys Shivertail stared at Calidus. Lagrisse seemed ready to eject the [Lord]. Calidus eyed Selys and consulted a Skill.

“No? I’m just saying in times of grief—okay, okay, don’t poke me.”

Even the Ranks were getting antsy, which told Calidus that Selys had won their trust. He held up his hands, smiling as Selys glowered at him.

“I have two announcements to make. Firstly, I am recruiting a number of candidates. This is in excess of the Ranks I have ordered from Chandrar.”

“Recruiting. What, locally? We barely have any [Trainers], let alone facilities for them.”

Selys croaked with a huge frown. Calidus smiled hugely.

“I know. This is my initiative, Guildmistress. I just require your time to vet any candidates for, ah, immediate candidacy into the Ranks. I’ll send for you. The others I’ll take care of.”

“I don’t think we should trust—”

“Ah, ah! I’m in charge. Now, the second piece of news.”

Calidus was relieved Selys didn’t have the energy to argue with him at the moment. She was gathering it, but he undercut her with the second piece of news.

“I have a location on the Blademaster of Harvests.”

Selys went still. So did the other [Assassins]. She stared at him.

“How?”

“I utilized my own connections. I do have favors among them, and some have further connections. He’s not exactly well-hidden, anyways. A half-Elf who had to be in range of Isbeut within the last few days with a showy sword? Someone bought a brothel out for one man—they do pay attention to that.”

That was Calidus. Friend of sex workers. It paid off more than you thought. He slid something over the counter.

“He won’t be alone, you know.”

“I know. Going to stop me?”

“Are you going to do something that will put my Assassin’s Guild in danger and possibly escalate this little war beyond any reasonable measures?”

He raised his brows, and Selys turned away.

“This is my Guild. Our own have been slaughtered. What do you think? If you want to stop me, remove me.”

Go ahead and try. Her eyes flashed defiance at Calidus, and she didn’t understand why the [Lord] beamed so hard. She really was a beautiful force. He swept her a bow everyone else thought was probably ironic, but the [Lord] just stepped aside.

“Milady Shivertail, it has seemed to me that the Guild of Assassins, famous and historically laden as they were, lacked for style when they were destroyed. A Guild should have style, not just history on its side. Let me see yours, I pray you.”

She gave him a blank look, then slammed a fist down on the counter.

“Lagrisse, Pilana, get me every [Assassin] in the region!”

She stormed forwards, and the [Lord] turned to watch her go. He eyed her swishing tail, then a rat bit him on the arm.

“Ow. Hey! I would never be so indecorous as to kiss or romance her without her approval. I can tell the difference, you know.”

He picked Haldagaz up and admonished the rat. The rat eyed him along with Lagrisse as the man hurried out from behind his counter. Calidus huffed.

“I told you all, it’s no fun any other way. We must have laws and decency. Or the rest is just…empty.”

He smiled like a reflection of the void itself. Until his eyes lit up and he sidled off to get to his own work. He only came back once to tell Lagrisse to take a recording.

——

The Blade of Harvests was a half-Elf who went by the name of Hapiie, and he looked like he was in his mid-fifties.

So guess how old he was. He had outlasted other Faces, other Ranks, even iterations of the Assassin’s Guild by virtue of this one fact: age.

When they burned, or when [Assassins] were in danger, he went to ground. Two decades of taking on a fake profession was nothing to him; he had endured centuries in the real world by virtue of his deadly bladesmanship.

Waiting.

Waiting for one thing. Not just survival. Not ‘retirement’; that was a joke. No [Assassin] ever left their craft behind. They were soaked in it. The Blademaster of Harvests had waited for the one thing he desired: status.

He wanted to be the greatest Face of the Assassin’s Guild. The one who stood at the top of that pecking order. But the Blade of Harvests knew how deadly and difficult it was to reach that apex.

Talent would not be enough. You had to be lucky, talented, and so many more things to stay on top for more than a second. For instance, you needed a vacuum where all the old Faces were dead or in hiding. Then, if you stood near the top of the others in levels, you’d be so vital that the Guildmaster would throw all the Guild’s resources behind you.

That was how you took the top and stayed there.

That was how you hit Level 50 without killing yourself in their job. Already he’d been furnished with over a hundred Drathian pills and armed in magical gear that was close to Relic-class. He had a hundred Ranks at his command, and because he was so vital, the Blade of Harvests reckoned it would be at least four years before anyone was even allowed to challenge his throne.

Level 50 was no dream with the new Guild’s ambitions. When he hit that…he could do whatever he wanted. The Blade of Harvests was only gratified it had taken a hundred and sixty years of waiting to get to this position. He’d been prepared to wait far longer.

In that sense, he was a true [Assassin]. One prepared to wait and let glory and immediate gain pass him by for his real objectives. This current rival Guild was not difficult.

Oh, there were a few Faces of note in the guild serving Lord Calidus, but his was more aggressive, readier to use the Ranks, and richer. His Guildmaster was a secretive man, newly elevated to nobility. A member of the Circle of Thorns in service to Regis Reinhart, no matter how much he tried to pretend he was his own man. He was even…changed.

The Blade of Harvests didn’t care if the man was part-monster and drank the blood of innocents like a Vampire. He just cared that the man was powerful. And how not? He was apparently highly-placed in this new Circle of Thorns. And not just any noble; he owned nothing less than the Unmarked Carriage.

This was an ambitious man, and one who needed a champion. Thus, the Blade of Harvests, Hapiie, had an accord.

…Though he wanted a new name. Thirty years he’d been ‘Hapiie Leverleaf’, and it annoyed him whenever someone snorted at his name. The half-Elf had even noticed the workers at the brothel seemed amused at the name.

So he’d killed three of them. He walked out of the bloodstained brothel and strode out of the town. He’d have the matter settled.

That was the power of being the first of Faces. No one would sneer at him anymore. No more worrying about being a ‘mere’ Face and suffering the challenge of an upstart. The Blade of Harvests was leaving the town, the two-sided greatsword on his shoulder.

It was slightly curved, but had two edges and a broad blade. An insane weapon for anyone without Skills to use, but he could swing it faster than belief. His name was because he could harvest lives like a [Farmer] did wheat. In fact, the half-Elf was strolling through a field outside the town, filled with Yellats instead of wheat.

Less thematic to his name, but he was about to unbutton his pants and take a piss when he realized that the escort of Ranks he was used to wasn’t present. The Blade of Harvests was mildly drunk from his libations at the brothel, but he felt that prickle down his spine and reached for a Scroll of Teleportation.

He yanked it out as he spoke; it was keyed to the Assassin’s Guild.

“Ranks, to me.”

Four squads appeared, leaping out of the brushes and his shadow. He nearly cut one down as they approached too fast. Only four?

There should have been six. The Ranks assembled around him, and the Blade of Harvests casually unfurled the scroll. It was pre-set. It’d take less than ten seconds to activate. No foolishness from him.

“Where are the others?”

“Not reporting, sir.”

A Rank whispered. The Blade of Harvests shrugged, then triggered the scroll.

“Make your way back to the Guild with utmost paranoia. If you engage the enemy, slaughter them. Do not allow yourselves to be tailed.”

He doubted any of them would make it if this was a trap. The Ranks hesitated, perhaps knowing this too, but the Blade of Harvests didn’t care. They were Ranks.

He felt the magic in the teleportation scroll activating as he waited, blade ready for the arrow or stab. For surely they were after him.

It never came. The Blade of Harvests smirked as he touched the Scroll of Teleportation. The magic flashed, and he—

Felt the teleportation magic trying to divide him in half. Rip him apart like a Giant would rip apart a little doll of cloth. The half-Elf’s eyes were growing round in the milliseconds of the magic activ—

[Anti-magic Slash]. He cut the scroll in twain and whirled away as it detonated. Three of the Ranks were too slow and vanished into the vortex it created. The Blade of Harvests leapt away, then steadied himself.

“This is the Blade of Harvests. I am under attack. Someone has compromised my teleportation spells. Send reinforcements. Now.”

He raised a speaking stone, spoke into it, and received a response.

“Zeomtoril’s little gadgets do work. I was going to kill him if it failed. Excellent.”

Instantly, the Blade of Harvests flicked the little speaking stone away and cut it in half. Just in case it was trapped. He had not recognized the female Drake’s voice on the other end.

“Form up.”

He snapped, and the Ranks shifted around him. Now, the half-Elf was unsettled. Someone had both intercepted his teleportation scroll and…?

“Show yourself. I am the Blade of Harvests, First of Faces of the Assassin’s Guild. Which Face has come to challenge me?”

He drew his sword and let it rest on his shoulder, casual, showy, but braced to swing it now, eyes sweeping across the Yellat field, the spiky green tufts of their leaves waving in the night’s breeze. Moths buzzing around, the blue moon shining…

Then a rustle. Shadows stepped forwards, emerging out of the darkness, and the Blade of Harvests saw a hundred Ranks appear in a circle around them. The itching on his back grew worse.

Trapped. Someone must have known where I was. But a hundred Ranks…he could cleave through them without trouble. Sacrifice his own Ranks and pick them off. It was the Faces—

There.

A figure stepped forwards, and the Blade of Harvests inspected them, then relaxed instantly. Almost laughed.

“Losmere. You’ve come for my head?”

Was she mad? The [Trainer] was just that—a [Trainer]. A washed-up Face who’d been decent in her prime, but was now just an instructor to new Faces. Barely Level 30+. He’d mince her in a second.

Unless she had company? But this was a duel among Faces, surely. The Blade of Harvests saw someone else standing next to Losmere.

A Drake who didn’t seem like a warrior at all. Her posture was bad. She wasn’t fit. And yet—

Selys Shivertail stared down at the Blade of Harvests. And she pointed.

“There you are, Blademaster of Harvests. I am Selys Shivertail, Guildmistress of the Assassin’s Guild of Izril’s north. I have put a <Quest> on your head.”

She—what? The half-Elf jerked slightly, and his eyes narrowed. A bounty on him?

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t like that one bit. The Ranks shifted, and he glanced around.

“What <Quest>? Show me—”

One handed him something. He snatched the paper, backhanded the Rank, and threw the paper down.

His name? She’d put his name out—!? The Guildmaster of this imposter Assassin’s Guild. They’d found out who she was, of course.

Selys Shivertail. Was she mad? The Blade of Harvests would kill her and Losmere. He began to walk forwards, lifting his sword off his shoulder.

[Clear the Field]. Then—[The Reaper’s Scythe]. If that didn’t kill Losmere and everyone present, he’d improvise. The Blade of Harvests ignored the Drake, incensed and ready to kill—until that prickling sensation down his spine grew worse. And he halted, overcome with a sudden…feeling.

Because the Drake, Selys, had raised her hand. She beckoned.

“—this is no challenge, Blade of Harvests. You’ve killed our members. Now, we’ve come for you. Everyone, show yourselves.”

Everyone? What did that m—

The Blade of Harvests felt the air rustling, and he spun. His greatsword swung around him, into a guard stance. And he felt, for the first moment, the urge to excrete. The sinking, twisting panic in his stomach.

He was not a gifted stealth master. And he hadn’t realized that Skills were keeping more hidden. Overlapping.

A second wave of Ranks stepped out of the shadows. A hundred more, filling the gaps around the Blademaster of Harvests. His skin thrilled with horror.

I’ll have to break out and run. Run and trust that I can cut—

The third wave of Ranks emerged, and then the Blade of Harvests froze. When the fourth appeared, he thought it had to be an illusion. Because that would be—

Everyone.

He’d heard this rival Assassin’s Guild had a single shipment of [Assassins] from Chandrar. With casualties, they’d put the numbers at four hundred at max. Mostly Ranks. And they were all…

Here.

Ranks. Faces. He stopped counting at ten—they were lined up with the Ranks, silent figures surrounding the Blademaster of Harvests. Worse, he realized the ground was ever-so-slightly elevated. Just enough to create a depression. Ideal to avoid friendly fire if they attacked as one from a distance.

“What is this? An audience for a challenge?”

The half-Elf tried a laugh, eyes flicking back to Losmere. But the Guildmistress, Selys, just shook her head.

“A duel? What are you, eleven? That might be how the old Guild did it, but not ours. This is no duel. This is an assassination. An execution.”

All for him? He was the Face of Faces, but—the Blade of Harvests snarled. He pointed his blade at Losmere, who lifted her daggers warily.

“Is that it? You don’t have a Face who can stand against me, so you’re attempting to drown me in bodies? You aren’t my equals—none of you Faces are!”

None of them moved. Again, Selys spoke for them.

“Maybe not. But who cares? We’re not lone [Assassins]. This is a Guild. And a Guild fights and dies together. Teams. Assassin’s Guild—this is the Blade of Harvests, who has killed you Ranks and Faces alike. Show him how you feel about that.”

“I’ll face your b—”

The Blade of Harvests was trying to guess how many Faces he could take to buy time when he saw the Ranks shift. Then he was flatfooted, incredulous.

They weren’t going to—this was a challenge. He was a F—

The Ranks and Faces threw in a single motion. Almost all of them had a throwing weapon of some kind.

Throwing daggers, spiked stars, bolas, just the flash of a wand, or the thunk of a crossbow firing—individually, it would be silent.

Together, it was a storm breaking. The Blade of Harvests screamed. His sword came up—

——

The half-Elf stumbled, and Selys Shivertail counted.

“That looks like twelve wounds.”

Her face didn’t change. But internally, she felt almost disappointed. She had been told he was a Face of Faces. Then again, maybe he was.

But he hadn’t been good at detection, and even if he’d been, what, Redscar, could that Goblin have handled four hundred professionals striking at him at once?

He had [Whirl My Blade] or something that let him deflect weapons. But again, how many? They’d overwhelmed his Skill, and despite his attempt to dodge—

He was bleeding. The half-Elf had made it, and his Skill had, amazingly, let the Ranks around him survive. About…half. The Blade of Harvest’s deflection Skills had saved them. His voice was shaky now.

“Do you th—”

“Again.”

The Ranks and Faces threw, and there was a faint scream. The thunder became silence, the ping of blades. A soft cry—

One of the Ranks fell, beheaded. The Blade of Harvests had parried—again—and taken more wounds. In doing so, he’d killed three of his people. And the Ranks had still survived.

Nine of them.

They were gathered around the Blade of Harvests, and Selys was really impressed. How the hell had they survived—

Ah. She saw one of them shake something out and realized they had survived the most expedient way possible: they’d grabbed their comrades, living or dead, and used them as shields. The dead [Assassins] were pincushioned with metal.

Now, there was a silence as the Ranks and Faces turned to Selys. They had the same thought as she did.

This was so easy. The Blade of Harvests? No match for four hundred [Assassins], even lower-level than he was. It was just bringing them all to bear that was so hard. But together, who could stand against them?

Only Saliss of Lights. And funnily enough, the Blade of Harvests invoked the same name as he sank to one knee.

“Only Saliss of Lights. Only that. Level 50 is so…hard. We never had many of that caliber, even before the waste of the Antinium Wars. Hitting it—too hard for us, Guildmistress. Or we can die by the biting of gnats. Like this.”

He put his blade down. He was bleeding badly, Selys saw. A throwing dagger buried up to its hilt in his shoulder, but the old half-Elf barely flinched.

“I swear myself to the true Assassin’s Guild of Izril. I will sign in blood, if you have a contract.”

Oh, so that’s what he was doing. Selys had been confused and worried he was up to some kind of super-Skill. She tilted her head.

“Ah. You think my offer to turn sides applied to you. Funny. I worded it specifically.”

The Blade of Harvests hesitated, and she sighed. No one read carefully.

“I only offered amnesty to those who hadn’t spilled our blood like you. You’re a dead man.”

“—I’m the Blade of Harvests. A [Blademaster]. You need me.”

The half-Elf was staring at her. Selys’ blood was cold. She thought of Ribark.

“Maybe we do. Another Assassin’s Guild could have taken you. Not mine. You killed my Ranks. Ready—”

The Ranks and Faces around her drew blades. The Blademaster of Harvests’ hand grabbed his blade tightly.

“You can’t slaughter me so easily. I will cut your lines in twain. My deathblows will not leave enough of you to stand against the other Guild, and they outnumber and outmatch you! Be sensible—”

He wanted to live.

He was just a man.

Selys Shivertail gazed down at the Blademaster of Harvests and whispered.

“No wonder you never made Level 50. True myths die defying impossible odds. My grandmother would spit on your tail, idiot. Ag—”

The Blademaster of Harvests leapt up with a howl, and she jerked back, stepping behind Losmere as he began to charge. A high-level warrior died hard.

The Blade of Harvests aimed his greatsword like a rapier, targeting the Guildmistress to end her, if no one else. He raced forwards in all of a tenth of a second, then stumbled and twisted around.

“You—”

He slashed and cut the Rank behind him in half, from top to toe. But the figure had already buried their blade in his back. Another hamstrung the Blade of Harvests. His sword took another head off on the backstroke. But they were on top of—

Selys held a claw up as she poked her head out of cover.

“Huh. Hold—”

The Ranks. His ranks were swarming the Blade of Harvests. He lashed around, swinging his blade, but he had already been hurt, and they had covered him in stab-wounds.

Eleven—nineteen—twenty-seven? Several had gone straight into his brain. Sharp, poisoned blades piercing his body until he just…collapsed. But his arm had kept swinging even after he himself was dead.

Selys Shivertail walked forwards when the Blade of Harvests finally stopped moving. She was greeted by a trio of Ranks, one of them holding their arm.

None were unbloodied; they’d been nearly shredded by the storm of attacks, then they’d killed the Face in that desperate melee.

Why? Well, it was obvious.

They knelt. Selys eyed the blood spurting from one of the arm sockets of the wounded Ranks.

“I take it you lot want amnesty?”

The three wounded Ranks regarded each other. One of them spoke as he—she?—wobbled and placed their arm before her like an offering.

“And the position of Face, Guildmistress.”

Oh, wow. They had read the <Quest> despite it being posted earlier today. Selys’ lips quirked despite herself. She watched the Rank bleeding out, then reached out and tugged down their mask.

“Huh.”

A Drake stared up at her, his eyes narrowed, face pale with bloodloss. Selys patted the kid on the head.

“Someone tourniquet that arm before he dies, and keep the arm. We might be able to re-attach it. Welcome to the real Assassin’s Guild, kid. Well, the three of you are Faces. I didn’t think about multiple…bah, we’ll figure that part out later. Okay, pack it up!”

She strode out of the field as the [Assassins] approached the dead Blade of Harvests. Selys Shivertail breathed in, out, and spoke half to herself as much as the others.

“We’re a Guild now. Do or die—we’re a damn Guild, and this is what it means. When this is all over, I’m throwing us a party in a hot springs. Drinks and baths. That’s how you do it in Liscor.”

She looked around and saw Slashface and Losmere watching her. Selys reached out, and they supported her on the walk back to the carriage.

“That’s how you do it. Right, Grandmother?”

——

Calidus Reinhart was told that the Blade of Harvests had been killed with zero casualties on their side and three new recruits. He promptly found a bottle of champagne, popped it, and began bathing in the stuff.

Some of the Faces watched him as he danced around, clothing and carpet getting sodden in the downpour.

“You seem to think this has won the war, Lord Calidus. We just executed their best Face. The other Assassin’s Guild will come at us with everything, now.”

Losmere remarked sourly. She was polishing a dagger, having just completed a training session with the Ranks. It sounded…painful, but Calidus noted she seemed a bit more lively and talkative. He stopped dancing in champagne and offered it to her.

“I rather thought you’d all join me. Or wasn’t that half-Elf threatening to cut all of you Faces up, Losmere, Qissax?”

The two Faces he knew hesitated and joined Calidus, trying to appear cool and collected, which was their mask for all their real emotions, he was sure. It had half-fooled him at first. Now, he just understood they had all been born with Ressa’s poker face. They were just people. Sad, really.

“The Blade of Harvests being dispatched so easily is…commendable, Lord Calidus. It just does not seem time to celebrate.”

“Bah, Qissax, you simply don’t see it. I never was worried about the war itself. Oh, sure, we might win or lose, but I needed a Guildmistress once I realized I wasn’t doing it. And Selys is a talented individual—she is worth more than any six Faces! Before you get offended, it is because she is the Guild.”

Calidus was beaming, relieved. He’d seen it in her tears and how she’d taken the fight to the other Guild for the dead Ranks. He drank the champagne, then spat it out.

“Eugh, this is all bubbles. Anyways, the point is—she cares about you all. Ranks and Faces. More than I could. She can cry for you killers and, I think, won your respect. You might be too impassive to admit it, but who here wouldn’t leap into bed with her if she so much as wagged her tail?”

He peered around, and no one contradicted him. Which was probably just [Assassin] stoicism, but Calidus decided to believe it proved his point.

“They will come for us, Lord Calidus. If we bring four hundred Ranks to a single engagement, they will do likewise. Do you want to see [Assassins] in mass-combat?”

“Yes, actually.”

Calidus took pity on Losmere. He patted her on the shoulder.

“—But I don’t intend on wasting you all just for the fun of it. I will win this war, Losmere, Qissax. A Reinhart’s word on it. I’m not sure it’ll work, but I’m estimating it will—and the uncertainty is lovely.”

He beamed at them, delighted by the fact that he might not survive his plans if they failed. So he had to do his best. He had to run an experiment, do some prep work—oh, and figure out a routine.

But before all that, he threw out his arms.

“We have a new Guildmistress! Celebrate that if anything, you all! Or tell me—did you see a future for the Assassin’s Guild before this? Or just desperate flailing to ‘be’ the Assassin’s Guild? I think she has a future, and that is something to trust.”

They regarded him, and then Losmere took the bottle from Lord Calidus and drank a sip. She made a face, and Calidus laughed. He thought—

Dead gods, but this was sort of fun. It was one thing to set up a project or organization, another to make something that he actually thought might matter or last.

They had a 50% chance of making it. All down to a coin-flip on one thing working, really. Everyone’s efforts came down to that. But Calidus didn’t tell them that. Then he went to make Selys’ life more difficult.

——

Selys didn’t feel better after executing the Blade of Harvests. A bit calmer, maybe, but never better.

You didn’t, according to her Grandmother. So she just continued on. She assigned the Blade of Harvest’s weapon to a Face, elevated the turncoat Ranks to Faces—and two were promptly unseated by challenges she allowed.

Not killed. There was no one really of Face quality among the Ranks yet, but they were levelling fast. If they survived a year, they’d have Faces and the foundation of a true Assassin’s Guild.

If they lived.

She felt shaky, now that the white-hot rage had left her. Empty. She had just organized a murder, a real assassination, and taken part in it herself. She was truly part of the Assassin’s Guild now.

She’d lost herself. Ribark dying like that had…not broken her. But pierced the gates she’d put around her heart. Let the floodwaters pour into her city. It was bitter, painful. But necessary.

Ancestors, but she couldn’t care about them. She knew what she’d been pressganged into, and she couldn’t care.

But they were just kids. Selys sat in her Guild, afterwards, and saw the Ranks talking. Many of them were actually very cheerful. Why not? They’d just eliminated a huge opponent, gotten vengeance, and two new Faces were elevated from their number.

We get to live for another day. Hooray.

“My version of the Antinium. Just like that bitch. No. That…Human? Egh. That sounds racist. That woman.”

“Guildmistress?”

Slashface limped over. She was still healing, but she’d lived. Ribark was dead. Selys turned to her. There was another mercy for her conscience: Cirtle was alive too. The Drowned Girl had been sent to House Walchaís for healing. Now, she walked over, and she and Slashface presented themselves to Selys.

“Your team’s dead. How’re you two feeling?”

“Relieved, Guildmistress. You took vengeance for us. Thank you.”

Cirtle answered, running her Human hand over her side. Apparently, she’d been gouged down to the bones—but since it hadn’t been the Blade of Harvest’s poisoned blades, she’d been mended with phantom flesh or something. Slashface had more scars, and her answer was revealing.

“I’m disappointed our squad was wiped out. We synergized well, Guildmistress. Will we be assigned new squadmates?”

Cirtle shifted subtly, and Slashface glanced sideways, then added with a twist of the lips.

“I’m sorry Ribark died. He was a good—friend.”

She said the word so uncomprehendingly that Selys’ smile was bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you liked him. I know you’re Ranks.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Slashface straightened and, after a moment, added awkwardly.

“He did fight to protect the squad. They don’t teach us that in the Wishing Well.”

Selys put her head back in her hands.

“Ancestors, stop. The Wishing Well, where you’re trained, right? Where they take kids and make killing weapons out of them? I don’t want to know. I’m tired of caring. I was doing so well.”

What a strange [Guildmistress] they’d found. The two Ranks glanced at each other as the [Assassins] watched her. Selys wiped her eyes once.

“Emotions make you weak. Especially in this line of business, I’ll wager. Even in my old job, you had to be a bastard. My grandmother was never good at it. She always cared, but a good [Guildmistress] can send the right team at the job. Even if they don’t come back. To win this war, I have to do that. To not be killed for being weak, I have to do that!”

She spoke to the pure logic they understood. The [Assassins] nodded. And yet…what captivated them was the fact that she was so flawed, this Drake.

A pair of rats squeaked at Selys. One raced up a chair and leapt onto the table. Rhata curled a tail around Selys’ claw, and the Drake held her in her claws. Haldagaz was shyer. He sat there, and she gazed at him. Then saw a handkerchief tied around his neck like a little cape. She took it and laughed. Then she peered around.

“The thing about that theory is that it only works if everyone else is a heartless, thoughtless monster. And no one is. You know what? My grandmother was far from perfect. She was petty, made mistakes. And her Guild was never important until the end. But people respected her. Guildmasters all the way to First Landing knew her name. Maybe, in another world you can be a heartless monster and win. Not this one.”

She stood up on the table, Rhata and Haldagaz on her shoulders like little angels. Selys looked around the guild of bemused shadows. And her voice quivered, but she called out to them.

“Golems don’t earn levels. You level because you care. So—damnit. I care a bit. You two had better not die, Slashface, Cirtle! If you do, I’ll cry for you. Then I’ll wipe my cheeks and move on. A level higher. Or has a Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild ever really levelled? You just choose the best killer, don’t you? You idiots. You need an administrator, not another blade! Kill me if you think I’m useless. But if you can’t see my strength, then this Guild will die twice!”

She was unknowingly echoing Calidus’s threat. Unlike him…she saw Slashface and Cirtle glance at each other. New and old. One could remember the old Assassin’s Guild. The other had come from the origin of Assassin’s Guild, the pure hell of Chandrar’s sands and fount of shadowed blades.

Both bowed to Selys.

“As you will it, Guildmistress.”

Selys smiled waterily and wiped at her eyes. She turned.

“Good. I’m going to make this place the best damn Guild in the world. My ambition has no limits. That’s the difference between me and her. Less than I thought. But we’ll settle our debts someday.”

For now, she sat back, and then scowled as she had a stupid, inane thought.

“I’m really copying some of the things the Antinium did—but don’t tell me you’d want pets too.”

She returned, and Cirtle blinked at her. Slashface tilted her head, and it was Losmere who appeared, sitting on top of a table. She sat and casually glanced at Selys.

“We don’t have pets.”

“Phew.”

“…But we had a trained warbear. Animal tools to kill with. [Beast Tamer Assassins]. Dropbats. The evil cat species. I wouldn’t oppose a few.”

Selys just sighed. Then she got up and got back to work.

——

A Guildmistress with a heart. Calidus was still chuckling about it. He’d even had Selys’ speech written down, and he was having it framed.

Because it was correct. That was the thing he liked about challenging hidebound tradition. Sometimes you found it mattered. And sometimes you found a path forwards that no one had considered, that made everything better.

Things should be better. Calidus didn’t really care about the past unless it was lootable. That was why this Assassin’s Guild was so ironic to him. He wasn’t sure he would have revitalized it if he’d had all the power and choice.

“But it is needed.”

He was so inspired by Selys that he was actually doing work. Well, he’d been doing work and making plans, but that was all high-level, win-this-war-and-survive stuff. Since he had a plan…he did other kinds of work he hoped to soon push onto Selys’ plate.

One piece of work was reviewing assassination requests. Regis had sent the first ones over, but he was as adverse to work as Calidus, so he’d given Calidus the tools to receive the Guild’s clients and jobs.

Most of it was silly, gauche stuff. Leave a note in a tree stump after performing a stupid ritual every full moon. Or hand the right person a note and it’d go through channels to get to him. Calidus wasn’t in the mood to take many killing jobs on right now. The other Guild was probably monopolizing and monitoring such channels and trying to make themselves the de facto Guild in that way.

More fools, they. But he still read the requests and, more importantly, marked who they were from. Because the Guild should exist.

It was a counterbalance to the south’s power. It was a check on foreign powers, all that claptrap. It was also a counterbalance on the people who wanted it back.

The nobility. Even the Five Families had to watch their backs with the Assassin’s Guild around. Obviously, killing a member of the Five Families could lead to the kind of backlash that had broken the Guild.

“Who thought this was ever easy? The Guild has always had to walk a tightrope between powers. If they thought they could get away with not doing that, then they were complacent and failing.”

Calidus muttered. Here was the final way in which the Guild mattered that Regis didn’t think about, or the Five Families. Calidus put a request from one of the Wellfars away—already, they were coming to him, wanting what they’d destroyed. Then he picked up a note that was badly damaged. Re-scribed. It had come through far less well-established channels. But it made him stop and think.

It was a kill-request for…two [Knights] of the Clairei Fields. And two other ‘Vampire Hunters’. Calidus checked his notes.

“Hm. They’re still on about that? Getting worse, rather. How many can there be? And do I take it?”

The pay was good. Surprisingly good given what had been put down. He drummed his fingers on the desk, then placed it and two other notes in the ‘approved’ pile. Burned the rest.

The point of the Assassin’s Guild was to oblige all parties. Low and high. Because the low could rise, and you wanted them to remember you favorably. And because…this was bloody, messy work, and he imagined hauling a few bodies to be strung up and a sign posted on their corpse wouldn’t be fun for the Ranks. Especially in the rain.

—But if the Guild didn’t exist, then people took it into their own hands. Nothing scared the nobility more than commoners learning how to do things themselves. Calidus rubbed at his face as he rang a bell for Dorim.

“But Vampires? Really? The most alluring thing about Gnolls aside from the ears, fur, their lovely growling voices, and—you know what, one of the alluring things about Gnolls and Drakes is those canines. You look at that and you want to murder them? I get the whole parasitism or whatever the other bit is.”

He stood up, shaking his head, and made a note for Dorim to find him some reading material so he could be up-to-date. Calidus finished his thought.

“But trying to wipe out a species? Sure, it works sometimes. It goes so well, wiping out a bloodline to the last child or driving a people to desperation.”

He poured himself a drink. Was he the only sane man around here?

Did no one read stories? Ah, well. He had a thought.

“Now that we’ve killed the Blade of Harvests, we’re definitely winning. Can’t lose now.”

He was laughing to himself when Dorim came in.

——

The worrying thing was that after killing the Blademaster of Harvests, the best Face in the rival Guild, there was no response.

Not one.

Ominous. Selys really didn’t like that. She had Lagrisse searching for the enemy, and she did have the location of several bases the other Guild used from the turncoats.

But since they were almost definitely trapped as the enemy would know that she knew that they were there…Selys did nothing. She told everyone to train, tripled the patrols, and took in more turncoats.

They came, by the ones and twos, mostly, Ranks and even a Face. Coming for her <Quest>.

She didn’t trust them of course, but the Assassin’s Guild had blood contracts and ways of ensuring loyalty. And it seemed like the Ranks had come for a simple, even silly, reason.

“We heard your Ranks survive. Get…equipment. We want to live.”

The Drake [Assassin] with one arm was eying a prosthetic limb being attached to his shoulder as Selys sat with him. He was a Rank, who had no name, so she’d given him one.

“That’s it, Libak?”

He shrugged blankly.

“We were told it. So when we saw an opportunity…”

Selys eyed him. She’d given him a name sort of like Ribark. It didn’t mean he was her kid or anything. She just—well, she was here, now. Rhata and Haldagaz had stopped trying to bite her and begun scurrying around being helpful. As if they’d realized she actually meant it, a bit.

Doing this job. Selys leaned over and wiped at his face with a handkerchief; he had soot all over from killing and burning a Garbichug. While wounded, no less. If they ever managed to win this war, there would be a lot of very useful adventurers in the north. They’d be a net good.

If they lived.

“How’s that, Libak? Someone tells me that in your place and I’d assume it was propaganda, a lie meant to make me switch sides. What had you convinced?”

He nodded to her.

“We would have thought that, Guildmistress. Except that it didn’t come from another Rank. The Djinni told us that. The Unmarked Coach’s driver.”

“Oh? Why’s that matter?”

He shifted, as if surprised she didn’t know.

“Djinni lie to their masters. They tell the truth to other [Slaves], sometimes. She might have been telling the truth. Fifty-fifty chance.”

And a 50% chance of being told the truth and managing to turncoat successfully was better than the Guild he’d come from. It was pure logic, as the Ranks saw it. Selys patted Libak on the head.

“Well, stay loyal and I’ll give you that chance, Libak.”

“Yes, Guildmistress. Got any work for me?”

“No. Heal up. If you want to be useful, check on our hot springs guys, but don’t intimidate, just…I’ve got work to do.”

She hopped up as the [Limb Doctor] finished sewing the arm onto Libak and had him test it out. Waiting for the counterattack. Bed made. No matter what Calidus said, Selys thought she’d earned a death-sentence from posting that <Quest>.

Well, she’d taken the bet. This was her Erin-moment, then, only without a stupid speech or miracles. Selys just had to count on her wits, the [Assassins]. And Lord Calidus.

She wished she didn’t have to count on him. He did not inspire confidence.

——

He was no idiot. She had to assume Calidus was actually as smart as Zeomtoril and others claimed. Selys got a sort of Olesm vibe from Calidus, but without the lack of confidence and way more raunchiness. His ability to project weird chaos-energy was sort of Erin.

And he’d beaten Erin in a chess game.

Remember that. So he had to know this was where the other Guild came in for blood. What did Calidus do in the week they had before it got bad?

He recruited new [Assassins], which sounded great.

It was a bad idea. Here was why it was a bad idea: Selys Shivertail stood in a room with a [Rapist].

She had never met one before. Not one with the class. Oh, she’d heard about people being exiled from Liscor for bad crimes. Tekshia had once taken a Silver-ranker out back and broken his bones so badly he’d never been able to fight again.

But the class?

He was a Human man with a shadow of a beard on his face and somewhat unpatched clothes, but he covered the holes well, and he had on some kind of cologne, actually. He smiled, and he actually had a charming expression—for a Human.

But her files on him said what he was, and even if Selys hadn’t had the class written in red by Lagrisse’s hand, she would have known something was off from the way he regarded her.

Everyone stared at everyone. Selys was used to adventurers who’d eye you up, check out your chest and tail. But this man’s eyes would flick to her chest, groin, tail, or face, then away.

Like someone assessing. He’d smile when she noticed and pretend to be casual. He…made her scales itch. If she were alone in this room, she’d have armed her wand and been ready to draw it and put a bolt through his head, because he would not give her a second chance and be innocent as a Sariant Lamb until he showed her what he really was.

That was what her instincts told her. But Lord Calidus was beaming, and one of the Ranks stood in the corner of the room, still as a shadow.

So the [Rapist], Jourteben Rabeis, just licked his lips and smiled, even as his eyes flicked towards her. And Selys thought—

Him? She’d rather the Ranks. The Ranks were a kind of innocent for all they murdered. This man didn’t deserve to be an [Assassin].

So why was Calidus recruiting him?

“Level 22. Good prospects, I think, Guildmistress. Very good at, uh, sneaking around and such. You understand that revealing the Guild’s nature means death?”

“Oh, yessir, Guildmaster. I swear.”

Jourteben started as Calidus broke the silence and bowed his head. He looked nervous as he glanced at the male [Assassin]—he had no idea the Rank was lower-level than he was. Calidus beamed and clapped him on the back.

“Well, excellent! We’ll have you sign a contract in blood. Just a standard boil-your-ichor-in-your-veins-if-you-betray-us contract. Then we’ll have a lengthy training period, but as I said, you have potential, my friend.”

Yes, but for what? Selys’ lips were compressed as the [Rapist] glanced at her, then forced a smile.

“This contract, Lord Calidus. Do I need to sign exactly that or can I negotiate—?”

Calidus was all smiles. But there was an edge to his tone that Selys had never heard before as he leaned over, a bit too close.

“We are not some Guild, Master Rabeis. We are the Assassin’s Guild, and you came to us because you were desperate for a new life, a second chance. If you would like to refuse…”

“No, no, sir. Absolutely not.”

Calidus beamed and leaned back.

“Excellent! Then you’ll go through that door to sign—and do mind our Guildmistress. She’ll have you drawn and quartered if she doesn’t like your attitude once you’re a full member of the Guild.”

The man stood up and shuffled towards the door. He glanced at Selys once, smiled, and bowed.

“I’m very respectful to proper authority, Guildmistress, no matter what my record says. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Selys was searching for something to say back that wasn’t true—because the true statement she wanted to say to the Rank was ‘kill him’. But Lord Calidus was there, and the [Lord] tapped the side of his nose.

“Ah, my friend, don’t be so coy. The perks of the job do accrue with status. Become a Face and you can do what you want. Within reason. Let that be motivation for you passing the training.”

For a second, Jourteben’s face went blank. Then he smiled. The door closed behind him, and only when it clicked did Selys lean over.

“That man is the third most disgusting Human I have met today, Lord Calidus. And because that’s saying something, you’ll explain what you’re doing or I’ll shove this entire clipboard somewhere you won’t find titillating.”

She was beyond upset. Lord Calidus stroked his chin.

“I quite understand, Guildmistress. But rest assured, I intend to use them as, well, pure fodder. Below Ranks. You are simply here, as I said, to pick someone out of the trash.”

“I’ve found no one.”

“Then that’s fine. Just allow me my insanity. They won’t be under your control.”

“You’d better have them watched.”

Selys hissed at him. He’d been interviewing and recruiting the kind of filth she had a hard time believing existed.

[Murderer]. [Rapist]. [Kidnapper]. Not just bad classes.

Crimson classes. Blood classes. The worst of the worst. The kind of people that an underworld gang would take one look at and say ‘hey, we have standards’.

She didn’t know how Lord Calidus had even found them! But the underworld networks could provide you with such people, from literal jails, if necessary. If you paid for them.

“Why is this worth our time? The other Guild—”

“My plan, Selys.”

“And if I tell you they will not be part of my Guild? That the Ranks are upstanding people compared to this scum and I will be dead before I treat any one of them with respect?”

Her tail thrashed the ground, and Lord Calidus smiled politely.

“That’s fine. I have a plan. Next!”

Selys ran through more candidates. It was thoroughly unpleasant. Neither she nor Calidus wanted to hear excuses; the man actually just wanted to know if they’d agree or not. Almost all did. The others were escorted through a second door—into what Selys strongly suspected was a shallow grave.

That was the door she’d prefer they all went through. She was almost about to tell Calidus to do whatever he was up to for the lot when the first candidate appeared who she decided to give a second chance.

“Name?”

“E-Estia Hepleaf.”

“Class?”

Selys was checking it off against her clipboard.

“[M-Murderer].”

“And how did you achieve your class, Miss Hepleaf? From—oh. Celum.”

Then Selys looked up and saw a different candidate than she was used to. She locked eyes with, well, a woman. A Human woman, barely more than nineteen, with faded scratch-marks on her cheeks, a rather unkempt look, bad clothing…

A [Murderer]. But not one that looked at Selys as if she were next. The woman shuddered, then spoke almost dreamily.

“I killed my husband. Th-they told me I tried to kill the Watch, but I don’t remember. I woke up in jail, and there were—I was in jail, and I met the Horns of Hammerad. Me! No one believes me. I swear I met them, though. Before they became famous.”

“I…see.”

Selys and Calidus exchanged a glance. He was eating popcorn and spoke.

“Miss Estia, we have a lot of applicants to get through. We’re not here to pass judgement on, uh, your class. Why did you decide to take our offer and join the Assassin’s Guild?”

The woman jumped and seemed to focus.

“I—no one wanted to hire me afterwards. Because they knew. They knew I had the class. It’s in my head. Red. I’m good at killing, now. B-better. But I don’t! I’m good and honest, only no one wants me. Not my family. My husband’s—they tried to kill me. In revenge. I had to kill them. The Watch knew it was self-defense! But they locked me up again. And then I couldn’t find work.”

“You didn’t want to become an adventurer?”

That was one of the few options Selys could see for the woman. Estia gave her a blank look.

“Me? Kill monsters? I’m not brave. I just killed my husband. I just—decided to kill him when I’d had enough. It was hard. He kept fighting back even when I beat him to death. Then everyone judged me, even though he broke every vow towards me. Ruined our marriage, ruined my life. There’s no work for me. Lord Xitegen gives food to anyone who’ll clean a Golem. But I’m tired of that. I was going to join a gang, but they didn’t want me. Thought I was soft.”

Her voice changed, and Selys’ scales itched. Whomever had thought Estia wasn’t worth recruiting…well, she didn’t seem like stable material anyways. However—

“You killed your husband because he beat you?”

Estia calmed herself, then smiled sweetly.

“Yes! And I helped the Horns of Hammerad. No one believes me. I did! I…I think I’d be good at the job, Lord Calidus.”

The [Lord] stopped shovelling down popcorn and eyed Selys. She hesitated.

“I…might have room for you in my Guild, Miss Estia. No one kills except when I say so, understand.”

“Of course, um, Guildmistress—”

“You’re a damned woman, Estia. [Assassins] don’t have long futures. If someone finds out who you are, you’re dead. You understand that, right?”

Selys asked, and she saw Estia’s innocent smile blank out again. And then she whispered.

“I know. It’s not the life I would have chosen, but the class is red. It drips in my head. What else am I supposed to be? Use me. I’m good at this, apparently. Show me what I am.”

Madness oozing from her desperate tone. She appeared malnourished. The Rank was eying her with more attentiveness than most of the others, even the [Rapist], but Selys Shivertail just locked eyes with Estia.

“Control yourself, Rank Estia. I’m going to mark you down for training. If you pass, you’ll be one of my [Assassins]. Then you’ll get a chance to start over. And if you survive, I’ll make sure you have a life you deserve. But you win it by surviving and being useful, got it?”

The [Murderer] hesitated, then calmed down. She smiled, trying to look sweet and innocent despite her trembling.

“Y-yes, Guildmistress! Where do I—?”

“Through the door on the left. Sign there, and then we’ll take you to Selys’ Guild.”

Calidus jerked his head. They watched as Estia left, and then he leaned over to Selys.

“You thought she was highly attractive too, right?”

She stared at him.

“She’s the only person I’ve even thought could make the Ranks, and she’s still weaker than they are, even if she has [Murderer] Skills.”

He shrugged.

“One Rank is still worth a few hours’ effort, Miss Selys. But I agree, one among fifty-five so far. Besides, I’ve always been fascinated by ‘red’ classes and what they do. Having her in our Guild will assuage that curiosity. Next!”

Selys growled at him as the door opened. In the end, she took two applicants.

Out of over four hundred. The rest she’d not trust with a sponge, let alone a knife at her back. Calidus wanted to double their numbers with high-level redline classes?

Insanity. She needed to get the Guild in order well before that if that was his plan. The Ranks could…deal with any new members he decided were finished training. And they’d be loyal to her, Selys decided.

——

Calidus Reinhart finished his recruiting drive and had the new red [Assassins] in training in a separate location he personally assigned Losmere and some Faces to. They were not happy, but Calidus did it without Selys’ help since she was highly resistant.

It took time and effort, and that allowed him to finish his tests. He reviewed the information the turncoats were delivering to Selys.

The other Guild was sprawling, and most importantly, Calidus now knew his rival Guildmaster was a problem.

“The owner of the Unmarked Coach himself? Damn, Grandfather clearly placed his trust in his most capable flunkie.”

Calidus didn’t like this other fellow, whose name he didn’t even know. It spoke to someone well placed in the old Circle of Thorns and the underworld. A powerful, experienced man versus Calidus.

He was probably outlevelled. Possibly at a 2:1 ratio. Selys was doing her best, but Calidus sat in his office. He played with something on his desk.

A black jar he had bought at great expense from Liscor. He was still more fascinated by The Wandering Inn and all that business than his Guild, to be honest. Selys was doing good work, but the rival Guild…

…They’d come soon enough. Lord Calidus Reinhart toyed with the jar, then opened it. Sniffed, once and wrinkled his nose at the odd smell and texture assaulting his senses. He poured it into a cup and oohed.

“So ominous. So…where have you been all my life, you darling woman?”

He decided to anthropomorphize the drink instantly. As if she were some sultry Antinium woman oozing out of the jar. Which didn’t sound appealing but he’d just gotten a sketch of this Bird the Huntress, and dead gods, it worked for him.

Calidus Reinhart admired the Rxlvn and re-read the warnings from the seller who had told him how dead he could kill himself if he took too much of it. He kissed the liquid.

“Who said the Black Tide gave Izril nothing? Zeomtoril? Zeomtoril, my friend. I have a drink to make our acquaintance!”

Calidus swept up a speaking stone and called his best friend to his office, where they cooed over the drink, admired her lines, poured each other sample cups, and tried to cut it with lesser alcohols because she was about to drown them in oblivion.

And he loved it. He, the Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild, sat there with the ultimate distraction at the worst moment, and his intelligent brain knew that perhaps this was a terrible mistake. Perhaps someone had even known he’d hired a Courier to send the drink to him and might wait for his inattentiveness if he took this stuff, which would send even his mind into another dimension.

He wavered, just once, as Zeomtoril tossed back the first cup. But Calidus Reinhart? He looked around.

“I hate it here.”

He knocked back the Rxlvn, and the world—

—went—

—out.

——

In the way of things, Calidus’ mind pieced together events after they had happened. Fragments of memory recovered from an alcoholic soup of consciousness.

Dancing on top of Selys’ counters naked. Trying to windmill his genitals and impress some of the Ranks, who gave him the flattest looks possible.

Backstroking across the hot springs as the workers were trying to fill it up. Somehow, incredibly, charming the Drake [Forewoman] into bed until she leapt out since he was so inebriated nothing functioned.

Running around in a circle with Zeomtoril, singing, because the [Polymath] fancied the world was an illusion and if they managed to do all that, they’d pierce the veil.

Trying to cast magic with Haldagaz while lying on the floor.

Twirling in place as Qissax burst into his rooms and snarled.

“The Assassin’s Guild is under attack, Lord Calidus! They’ve come for—”

Oh wait. That last part was what he’d been waiting for, right? Calidus’ mind saw his memory of himself stop twirling and raise a drunk hand.

“Arm holster. You know, this was great. Having the most fun, Qissax.”

“Sober up and prepare to flee! They’re attacking the Guild, but they’ll hit the mansion n—what?”

The Naga was snarling, searching for de-toxins to use on the drunk [Lord]. Until he saw something strapped to the inside of Calidus’ left hand. He stared, tore the Potion of Sobriety free, and—

——

Calidus Reinhart coughed, then spewed. He threw up for half a minute in a nonstop stream, gagged, then held up a finger.

Dead gods, that was unpleasant. The Rxlvn had such a nasty effect he took a second hit of the potion. Wonderful, though.

“Phew. Are they here at last? I was having such fun.”

“The Assassin’s Guild has come. There are hundreds of Ranks and Faces assaulting—”

Qissax was wounded. His scales were burnt, and Calidus heard screams and explosions from outside. He walked to a window—he was in his office—and stared outside.

Fire in his town. The Assassin’s Guild was under siege. He saw something explode on the roof of the Guild, sending shingles flying, but the enchanted wood underneath…Calidus turned.

“Is Selys Shivertail alive?”

“She’s retreated inside and is holding the Guild with the Ranks. But we are outnumbered—”

“Yes, yes. Shut up, Qissax. Guard my office. I’m supposed to be off-limits, but my rival probably wants me dead. I would. If Zeomtoril’s still drunk, drag him in here. I need fifteen minutes. Then we can all die.”

Lord Calidus Reinhart walked over to his desk and sat down. He checked his clothing, then shrugged. He pulled open a drawer and put the contents on his desk. Qissax was ready to shout, but the Face saw Lord Calidus place the oddest assortment on the desk.

He had:

-A button-up white shirt with House Reinhart’s sigil in green on the silk breast.

-A new pair of pants.

-Underwear, briefs.

-A piece of paper with several lines underlined, written large.

-A scrying orb.

Last of all, a high-grade [Message] scroll of some kind. Calidus began writing in it as he ripped his shirt off and started unbuckling his belt.

“Go on, Qissax.”

“What are you—”

“Busy. That’s what.”

Busy? He’d been drunk an entire week, making a nuisance of himself, completely out-of-his-mind as Selys had been bracing for the counterattack and fighting off the first incursions! But now the [Lord] was just humming under his breath.

Qissax wavered, then went slithering through the mansion, securing the [Majordomo], the cowering [Polymath], and returned to Lord Calidus’ quarters, which were the safest and most reinforced parts of the mansion.

The [Lord] was re-dressed and speaking into a stone.

“Yes, right now. I’m about to die. I can see them outside the window. Here!”

He held up the scrying orb.

“Yes, I thought you could see through the scrying orb. I want Sir Relz, not that delightfully alluring Miss Drassi. You heard me! I’m weeping tears of blood here, but I insist on Channel 1 News! Okay, five minutes. Hurry up or I might be disemboweled or some such.”

He sat back in his chair, adjusted his clothing in a little hand-mirror—not to look better, but to actually open one button on his collar so he appeared more slovenly, and then he turned.

“Everyone out. Not a word spoken. Oh good, you’re alive, Zeomtoril. I think mixing your potions with the Rxlvn would probably kill us but for our Skill-livers.”

“C-Calidus, tell me you have an escape route! We’re dead!”

Zeomtoril was wailing. He was dead white, and Calidus smiled at his friend.

“They knocked out the teleportation spells in the area, didn’t they? I told you that your escape routes never work, Zeomtoril. Just give me ten minutes, Qissax. No, wait, fifteen, given I have a five minute-hold…it’ll be fine.”

He stood at the windows, watching as the Adventurer’s Guild took more fire. A black shape leapt down off a roof, and a dozen crossbow bolts feathered the enemy [Assassin]. Calidus just stood there, and when he turned to the uncomprehending staff, [Assassin], and [Polymath], he breathed in and out.

Then they beheld him truly. The mad [Genius], whose eyes flashed and who grinned with all the delight in the world.

“Don’t you feel alive? This is wonderful!”

He threw open the windows, vomited out of them again, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he turned and picked up the scrying orb.

——

Calidus Reinhart was some kind of madness even Erin hadn’t hit yet. He had vomit on his right arm’s sleeve. Discoloring his fine silk shirt—but it was already sweat-soaked and soot-marked.

Selys half-watched him as she loaded a crossbow. The inner Guild was filled with silence—except for the discharges of crossbows or the thwhap of bowstrings.

The [Assassins] fought around her, holding this place, with utter silence. Even the wounded. Pilana was the only member of staff who had been crying, and even she had a wand she’d been firing through the barricade gaps.

They were all dead. The other Guild had come in force to end this, and Selys knew it. But she watched Calidus because…they needed a miracle. Rhata and Haldagaz were in a cage behind her, squeaking. Once they came through the barricades, she’d make them run. No one killed rats.

They had time. None of the Ranks wanted to die; the moment one appeared in a firing zone, they were killed. But the explosions shaking the walls would cave the Guild’s walls in eventually. So Selys waited.

Calidus Reinhart, though…

What was he up to?

He was on Channel 1 News. Sir Relz had cut his broadcast to accept an emergency news story. And he was staring at Lord Calidus with the same confusion as the rest of the world.

“Lord—Calidus Reinhart?”

“That’s right! Winner of the Chess Tournament against the Grandmaster of Scales! Lord Calidus Reinhart! That’s C-A-L-I-D—I forget the rest! I must have the attention of the news! I say, am I on the news? I don’t see me there!”

The man’s voice was high-pitched and nervous. He was waving around a scrying orb with Sir Relz’s face on it. The Drake coughed.

“Lord Calidus, you are on the news. Live!”

“I don’t see—”

“There’s a five-minute delay, Lord Calidus!”

“Dead gods, really?”

“Yes, Lord Calidus! You indicated this was an emergency. We were just covering the war between two Terandrian kingdoms! May I ask what this is about?”

Lord Calidus’ shaken expression became one of dumbstruck incredulity. Then there was a boom, and he flinched.

“Aiiieee! That’s right, I called you because I’m under attack! It’s all my aunt’s fault! I recant my words! I swear! I’ll be good! Just don’t kill me! I’m under attack—from [Assassins]!”

“…What did he just say?”

Slashface stopped aiming a bow past Selys. The [Vice Guildmistress] narrowed her eyes as she rose. Was he…?

——

Regis Reinhart could drink mixtures fit for undead. Which meant he was capable of performing a Ghostly Winebreath Blaster.

He didn’t do that, much to the maids’ disappointment. It came all out of his nose instead.

“That brat—what is he—? Wait, is he under attack? That fool! I told him Calidus was off-limits!”

The war between the two Assassin’s Guilds hadn’t bothered Regis, but this did. Calidus was on the news, visibly terrified, and if there were rival [Assasssins] outside his window—Regis spun.

“If he speaks—”

He dies. The Faces knew that. Everyone knew that. The Assassin’s Guild would come to light in time, that was inevitable. But revealing who was part of it, who was masterminding it—

Regis’ ghostly heart began to beat faster in anxiety.

If he reveals me, then it will be truly problematic. Magnolia is not that much a fool. I will have him murdered horribly.

He began giving orders.

——

Qissax was listening, a blade in the Naga’s hand. If Calidus Reinhart spoke, he had a five-minute window to murder the [Lord] and cut the connection with Wistram.

Plenty of time.

The Face did not want to do that. He felt sure he’d be murdered with the other Guild attacking regardless of his loyalty. But Calidus could not reveal them.

Was the [Lord] just tossing it all to the winds as it collapsed around him? Surely not. He was smarter than that. So what—

The Naga was hesitating, appraising the situation as he was given orders from multiple sides. And now people were watching.

——

The Reinharts, eying the black sheep of the family who had made it to the news before them.

What had Calidus Reinhart gotten himself into?

Confused viewers, who vaguely recalled the [Lord] as the winner of the chess tournament.

But this was the first time Calidus had been spotlighted on the news. What did they see?

A slovenly [Lord], face white with fear, vomit on one sleeve. A drunk, a slob, a fool of a [Lord] screaming.

“It’s all Aunt Magnolia’s fault!”

“Sir, sir! Lord Calidus, calm down and explain what’s going on, please! Excuse me, viewers, this is Channel 1, and we have a [Lord] Calidus of House Reinhart, one of the Five Families claiming—what?”

“Claiming? Claiming? I’m claiming nothing! I’m under attack! The Assassin’s Guild of Izril is after me!”

Calidus sprayed spittle and panic into the scrying orb, and more than one person sighed. Oh, that was it.

He’d just signed his death sentence. Sir Relz’s monocle popped.

“The—what? Did I just hear you right, Lord Calidus? The Assassin’s Guild is destroyed, or do you mean the south’s—”

Calidus Reinhart had the expression of a man at the end of his rope, because he was. He stood on the precipice of life-and-death, and it gave him the strength of a madman. He shouted at Sir Relz.

“You bumbling Drake buffoon! You one-eyed hack of the Cyclops! You inbred lizard-spawn of Baleros! Can’t you hear me? Where’s Drassi? I’d lick her toe-claws for free. Anyone with a shred of intelligence instead of you!”

“I—what—toe claws—?”

No one had ever heard a newscaster insulted like that before. But Calidus’ face was crimson. His eyes were rolling, and he seized his silk button up shirt.

“They’re after me! The Assassin’s Guild isn’t dead, you fool! They’re back! They’re baaaaaaaaaaack! I tear my shirt—you tear your shirt, right? Argh!”

He ripped open his silk shirt, popping the pearl buttons off. They went pinging as Calius ripped his shirt apart, exposing a bunch of chest hair and fleshy skin.

Selys’ mouth was open along with who knew how many television-watchers. A [Lord] of the Five Families, ripping his shirt open in front of the horrified, dumbstruck Sir Relz?

A button pinged off the scrying orb, and Sir Relz flinched. Calidus waved his hands, and his voice went higher-pitched. He grabbed at his breasts, leapt up, slapped the side of his face.

“They’re coming after me, you buffoon of a Drake! All because I’ve been so open about my support for Aunt Magnolia! My hatred of the Assassin’s Guild! My undeniable sexual appeal!”

“You’re saying they’re after you because you supported—you’ve been anti—your what?”

Sir Relz, the poor Drake, couldn’t keep up. But Calidus Reinhart just kept going, shouting.

“I’ve been condemning the [Assassins] since the moment I heard about the Circle of Thorns! Everyone knows it! Now they’ve come to silence me! Aunt Magnolia, I throw myself at your feet! Save me! Saaaave me!”

He waved his arms at the camera, screaming, then swung it around and showed them his town in flames. The image revealed black-clad [Assassins] attacking, the flames—before it swung back to his face.

“I admit it, I talked a big game until it was my turn! I’ve soiled my pants twice in fear! Is that what you want to hear? Someone do something! House Veltras! House Wellfar! Send Named-rank adventurers! Send the army!”

What was going on? The innocent audience being shown the unfiltered Calidus experience was probably in a different kind of horror than Selys, Regis, and Qissax. But they realized…something was off. Calidus was speaking the truth, but a version of it—the Drake [Guildmistress]’ eyes swung around.

“What is he up to? We’re still damn dead.”

But she kept watching. Sir Relz was connecting the dots.

“So the Assassin’s Guild hasn’t been destroyed, and they’re after—you? Why you?”

“Because I’ve been so hostile against them? The Circle of Thorns? Ptuy! I spit on them!”

Calidus spat on his arm, then stared at the spittle. So did everyone else. Then the [Lord] looked around and cowered. He grabbed the scrying orb and hid under the desk. Everyone could virtually see up his nose and through his pores as he whispered.

“Or it’s, uh, my indiscretions.”

“Your indiscretions, Lord Calidus? I don’t follow—”

“My romantic assignations, Sir Relz! My bedpartners! The lovely ladies I have romanced, sir! Don’t be crude! I should have known I’d made enemies. There was that Wellfar [Lady]. Well, the last five. The Named Adventureress. One does not bed Elia Arcsinger without consequences! Or Lady Wuvren! Or half the Wall Ladies—you suck one tail and all the Wall Lords want you dead!”

Sir Relz’s scales colored. His mouth was open.

“Did you just say—Wellfar—Wall Ladies—”

——

Elia Arcsinger?

The Wandering Inn’s staff were watching the funny television broadcast when Elia Arcsinger caught that stray. She went completely still as Calescent poked his head out of the kitchen.

“I have never met—no, wait, I recall that name. Was he the one who sent both me and every female member of my team, including my daughter—that is a lie.”

She grew actually angry as she jabbed a finger at the scrying orb. But Calidus wasn’t done.

——

“M-maybe it was Lady Zanthia? It’s true, I propositioned her just last year!”

“Lady Zanthia? Isn’t she extremely elderly? With respect—”

“Don’t pretend she’s not a ravishing woman, man! What kind of blue-blooded man wouldn’t dream of it? Was it Cognita? I repent, Lady Truestone! The [Assassins] are here! Or are you denying I’ve a dagger to my throat?”

Calidus shouted at Sir Relz, and the Drake [News Anchor] was fighting for sanity in a sea of chaos.

“No, I see it, Lord Calidus—is that your Adventurer’s Guild under attack?”

Calidus was bare-chested, and he hefted the scrying orb up as he pointed out the window.

“Yes! My brave adventurers. My town—the [Assassins] are killing everyone! Oh, help. Help. Lord Tyrion Veltras, the Assassin’s Guild is still here, and they’re reformed. Izril, save me! Aunt Magnolia—”

He turned his face, and his desperate fear reflected across Izril. Then it seemed like Sir Relz finally grappled past Lord Calidus’ entertaining façade and found the truth.

Wait, the Assassin’s Guild was still around?

——

Lord Etril Wellfar had been steeling himself for another censure by the Admiralty and another attempt to strip him of command of the Pride of the Wellfar, especially after nearly losing it to Alchemist Irurx.

He’d been arguing with his family about the need to take a more active role in Izril’s affairs all year. Fighting with those who wanted to pretend things could be back to normal.

The [Lord] standing in his family’s estates, on the rocking docks, turned his head as the nobles of House Wellfar saw the same Guild that had slain the Guildmistress of Harbors in First Landing reappear.

Black-clad [Assassins]. Etril Wellfar’s blood boiled, and he turned.

“Have the Pride ready to sail!”

“Etril, they’re inland and too far for—”

He nearly kicked the [Lady of Waves] out of the way.

“My mother’s killers live! To arms and damn you and the Krakens and the seas themselves! Wellfar, to me!”

——

His was not the only response. Magnolia Reinhart was studying Calidus Reinhart with narrowed eyes—but she was the only one.

House Veltras was in uproar as the smaller branch families saw the same threat that had nearly killed Sammial and Hethon, Lord Tyrion’s children, threatening another member of the Five Families.

Their blood boiled, and Lord Calidus was screaming, weeping.

“My people. My people—but I know them, Sir Relz. T-Thornvale. There, I’ve said it. Damn you all!”

He howled out the window, and some of the [Assassins] stopped, staring up at him. What was that madman doing? Calidus shut the window and barred it with his back. He was whitefaced, and Sir Relz was whispering.

“Lord Calidus, Thornvale? What—?”

“It’s where one of their bases is. I found it out. Don’t ask me how—the Assassin’s Guild is rebuilding. Thornvale, Reizmelt, they have bases in both places! If I’m dying, I’ll go out fighting! Take this and that—”

He made fists and threw a few punches, and when something cracked off the windows, the [Lord] threw up his hands.

“I repent! Oh, dead gods! Spare me!”

Back under the desk he dove. But his head poked up, and he spoke as his head rose, like a little Giant’s, voice resonant and carrying.

“The Assassin’s Guild is back. I will not be silenced! I, Lord Calidus Reinhart, am placing a bounty on every damn [Assassin] in the north! Five hundred—no, fifty gold a head! I’m forming—yes, I’m forming the Guild of Anti-Assassins! Killers who kill the hired killers! Izril forever! You can’t silence me! Izril! Iz-ril! Iz-ril!”

He jumped out of hiding and began waving a flag of House Reinhart around wildly. And Sir Relz just stared at the man until he had the sense to pivot to aerial scrying spells and…

——

Selys Shivertail actually laughed as she heard the barricades on the front breaking. The sounds of the attack were re-doubling, and she laughed at that silly, genius [Lord].

“Ancestors, he really is a genius! That might work—”

Might.

The other [Assassins] didn’t get it, but that’s because they had no political instincts. Selys sagged against her counter and explained it to the others.

“Don’t you see? He’s put the Five Families against the other Guild. He’s revealed them—but kept us hidden. He’s going to claim we’re the Guild of Anti-Assassins. The other Guild—they don’t have cover stories.”

They were dead men and women walking if anyone took a hard look at them, and House Veltras, House Wellfar, dead gods, they had so many enemies—the assassins were going to be slaughtered.

Some would escape, but Calidus had just put a giant crosshair on everyone in the north. Without revealing he was the other Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild.

It was genius. A kind of Erin genius that even she hadn’t pulled off. Selys laughed more.

“There’s just…one problem, Calidus. You can get away with it. I bet you can even not get killed for spilling the truth and beating your enemies. But we’re still here.”

Surrounded. Under siege by an enemy Guild with nothing left to lose. If they got out, they could rebuild. Pose as anti-Assassins, even claim they were hiring former [Assassins] and legitimize themselves.

Masterstroke.

…They weren’t getting out of this. Selys had no back door exit. Someone had turned off the teleportation magic around here. She stood in the Guild as it shook, and the Ranks and Faces turned to her.

The Guildmistress bared her teeth. She stood, and the two rats leapt onto her shoulders as she lifted the crossbow.

“Members of my guild…you haven’t been with me long. But you’re still mine. That’s a Drake’s selfishness. We are the Assassin’s Guild of Izril. Fight through them—and whoever survives, you are the Assassin’s Guild. Keep going. That’s all. Keep—”

She had a vision, for a second, of a quartet of broken people.

[Necromancer]. [Cryomancer]. [Wounded Warrior]. Antinium [Skirmisher]. Selys’ head turned, and she gazed across the faceless killers.

“Keep going. No matter what. And one day, you’ll be something so beautiful we don’t have words for it. Get ready. Ready—”

The barricades were cracking. She saw Calidus Reinhart collapse onto a desk as Sir Relz was commentating from above, watching as the Adventurer’s Guild was being broken into. A mob of black-clad figures from above.

This was it. We’re going to make it. I’m going to survive, no matter what. Selys lifted the crossbow with shaking claws.

If she told herself that, she could be less afraid. She touched Haldagaz’s head. Rhata’s as the rat snarled.

“Run, you two. Please?”

The rats didn’t run. Death before dishonor.

Selys Shivertail wiped at her eyes and began to chuckle again. She slid down the counter as Lagrisse drew a long pair of stiletto daggers. Slashface and three dozen Ranks were shielding Selys with their bodies. Loyalty for a woman who offered them a scrap of kindness. The Drake’s laugher grew higher-pitched as the first crack appeared in the final barricades.

The Faces took aim, and Selys dragged her crossbow up as the first [Assassin] breached the gap. Arrows and bolts erased the figure from existence, but there were a hundred more, and she whispered—

“Erin? I’m really sorry.”

The crossbow thunked in her claws. She saw an [Innkeeper] lying in the grass and tried to smile like that. Her claw worked the lever as the first [Assassin] breached the maelstrom of fire. An arm raised to throw. Falling—and then another, throwing a dart that took down another Rank.

More and more and—

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart smashed the scrying orb with a fist and dragged himself up. Then he laughed.

He howled with wit. Cackling, a gleeful hyena’s cackle fit for a madman.

They were coming.

House Wellfar like the tides. Veltras galloping in wrath. Even Terland Golems, El’s mercenaries, and his family, marching to save this silly [Lord].

But not the brave [Guildmistress] in her Guild. Not the Ranks nor Faces. Calidus saw Qissax turning to him with the blankness of a man who had learned his own value was nothing at all.

Calidus laughed in his face. He giggled in destiny’s smug countenance and held himself up on the desk. Couldn’t support his own weight, so he sank. A choking, madman’s mirth.

He forced this out of his lungs, the last trick. The last part of the plan. Lord Calidus Reinhart concentrated and summoned to him all his will.

All his desire for victory. A madman’s strength.

I shall not lose this. Not while I love it so.

He forced against the world’s order. Pushed until the blood vessels in his nose burst as easily as a soap bubble. Kept pushing until he was allowed to say the words that mattered.

The only words that mattered here and now.

The [Lord] whispered the words.

“[Move Reality Like Chess]. [Copy Skill (Intellect): Brigade: Castling the Pieces].”

His breath caught in his lungs. His heart stopped. He felt the world flash, but he held onto it. A perfect plan. Until he felt the world move—

Then he lay there on his desk until Zeomtoril rushed into the room and reactivated his heart with a shock spell. Grinning.

——

The [Rapist] had a name, and he appreciated if people used it.

Jourteben Rabeis. Not that it was his real name. He’d made it up, and his Skill, [Untraceable Assailant], had fooled even the Assassin’s Guild.

Good, very good. The man had big plans for the future. He didn’t appreciate the training, which was cruel and harsh even by his standards, but he’d realized one of his instructors was female and put her on a list.

The list was very long, and he liked to sort it by most-actionable targets to long-term goals. It helped him level. Once he had training and the position of the Assassin’s Guild…he’d have everything.

From a man no one would hire, and whom many wanted dead, to a powerful member of the greatest Guild. Jourteben was happy.

He was only annoyed that Lord Calidus had him sitting in some warehouse or something miles and miles away from the actual Guild. A secret training place, naturally, though one with a lot of food and more defenses than Jourteben had thought.

Well, it just proved he was valuable, and he’d learned that the Guild was in conflict with a rival one. Perhaps he’d change sides. The man smiled, thinking on how to use his Skills and abilities to best take advantage of the situat—

Pop.

The world shifted around him. One second he was sitting in a chair in the warehouse, in the vast, secured rooms in lovely shade, the next, he was sitting behind a desk. Staring down at an empty cage and little spinning wheel.

He felt…sick. Disoriented. He heard someone retch and saw a man he knew, a [Murderer], vomit straight onto the floor. Jourteben himself felt woozy.

“What’s going—?”

Someone croaked, but he was already going for the doors. Get out. Escape. He didn’t know what had happened, but his instincts were very good. His [Advanced Dangersense] was—

Boom. One of the walls opened, and the [Rapist] went deaf. Smoke billowed in, and then—he raised his hands and saw a black-clad figure leap into the room.

“Oh, good. It’s us. We’re new recruits.”

Jourteben began to say. Then he saw the figure whirl something up and throw. It was some kind of bladed—multi-spiked—it went into a man’s chest next to him and kept spinning. The lacerating blades were red with gore and sprayed the [Rapist] in the face with blood, and the man it had struck began to scream. Or tried to—it was more of a wheeze as air left his punctured lungs.

“Wait. Wait, we’re on the same—”

The [Rapist] was trying to slink away, down under the counter, but he saw more figures streaming in. A huge Minotaur wearing a black mask had stormed into the room. Someone tried to slash at him, another new recruit—he just brought something up. A battering-ram device which he pressed against a forehead—

Boom. A lever exploded forwards and blew out the contents of the figure’s head. The [Assassins] were charging the room and now—now—

Why, Jourteben felt like he’d been tricked. He fumbled for a blade as he pressed himself against the floor, hunting for a hidden trap door. A crevice, anything. But the [Assassins] were streaming forwards, slaughtering everyone, and when he looked up—

He saw a figure crawling over the ceiling above him. A lovely woman. The man added her to his list—right up until the Selphid dropped on him. Then he realized she had a Wand of Acid Spray, and he began to struggle as she put it up one nostril, and after that—

Well, mostly what he thought was pain.

Until the end.

——

Lord Calidus Reinhart wept at the funeral for his people. He sobbed. He wailed. He threw himself on the ground and gathered the ashes into his arms.

Because he was on television. At some point, Selys Shivertail had to pull him back and help him up, and he promptly threw his arms around her and tried to kiss her.

She stomped on his foot. But she let him have a hug, because he had produced a miracle.

The Drake and a number of ‘new recruits’ to Calidus’ Guild of Anti-Assassins were standing at the funeral for the Adventurer’s Guild of Isbeut and many of the town’s citizens.

Hundreds of men and some women, murdered horribly. It brought a tear to the eye. Calidus himself had survived, miraculously, due to the Five Families converging on him, but he had sworn vengeance.

Down with the Guild of Assassins! He, Calidus, was spearheading a new Guild! A just one! He had galvanized support against the Guild of Assassins while it was flagging.

Why, Lord Etril Wellfar had himself erased the Thornvale base of the Guild of Assassins after confirming it had been trapped to hell and back and even had a few [Assassins] inside.

They were still here.

Dead gods, what a thought. Selys Shivertail glanced at the members of her new Guild, and they gave her the most innocent looks they could muster. She just smiled.

The man was a genius. He’d said his grandfather was not pleased, but Calidus had, in a single move, made it very hard to remove him without a lot of suspicion and put his enemy in check.

Not checkmate…but Selys had decided he was worth working for after all. She sighed as she rubbed at her neck spines.

“My hot springs. I just had the groundwork done.”

“We’ll have new hot springs made. And a brothel. One with Golems. You know, I’ve been accepting donations for the construction of my new Guild and town? And some people are actually donating?”

Calidus Reinhart stood there, blowing his nose, and Selys Shivertail just shook her head at him.

“I suppose it’s good, getting your name out there. You are mentioning that Selys Shivertail is your Guildmistress, right?”

She wanted it to be known. Calidus nodded at her.

“Oh yes, the redoubtable Selys Shivertail. Ready for her step into the future. Upstanding. And free this Lundas for a meal at a fancy restaurant…?”

She laughed and handed him a white rat.

“Take Haldagaz. He seems to like you.”

She walked off, and Calidus eyed the rat squeaking in his hands.

“Ah, well, good enough to start with. Come, my friend. We shall dine on the finest vittles in the restaurant I booked in great, if foolish, expectations!”

Calidus marched off, a smile crossing his face. Life was fun after all. Haldagaz agreed. This man might not be really honorable, and Selys might be…still lost in her way.

But she cared about something, like the Ranks she was walking among, giving little pep talks to, memorizing their names. Just so it’d hurt more if they went and died on her.

The rat chirped and then began to read a menu over Lord Calidus’ shoulder. So this was the Assassin’s Guild. He might not know much, but Haldagaz was a rat of honor.

He’d help Selys as much as he could, because someone should. But Haldagaz was mightily curious about who was pulling Calidus’ strings. The man was a careful, clever [Lord]—but everyone let their guards down about rats. Haldagaz would abide until he knew where honor should strike.

Just as Calruz had taught him. Then the [Lord] winked at the rat.

“And while we’re at it, we should introduce you to some lovely mice ladies in First Landing, eh? I know one pet store that sells them.”

What now? Haldagaz the Incorruptible stared at Calidus, and the [Lord] spread his arms and twirled around as he walked forwards.

“Life feels more entertaining at last! Wait, what was that Wall Lord doing in the south?”

Eh, he figured he deserved another shot of Rxlvn. It’d probably keep till tomorrow. Calidus strode onwards, beaming.

[Class Consolidation: Vice Guildmistress → Guildmistress of Northern Blades!]

[Guildmistress of Northern Blades Level 28!]

[Skill – Guild: Spidergrip Mobility Obtained!]

[Skill – Aura of Revelations Obtained!]

[Skill – Dodge Sneak Attack (Daily) Obtained!]

[Skill – Headquarters: The Weaponmaster’s Armory Obtained!]

[Genius of Sloth Level 28!]

[Skill – Wastrel’s Charm Obtained!]

[Skill – Drunken Mana Well Obtained!]

[Skill – Alter Enchantment (Temporary) Obtained!]

[Skill – Alter Contract (Temporary) Obtained!]

——

Niers Astoragon felt at the back of his neck.

“There it is again. Not a hallucination. Still nothing on the detection matrix or whatever you put up? Some things are beyond Fraerling tech, then.”

Iuncuta Eirnos eyed him balefully, but the Titan was pensive. Distracted.

“Feels like [Castling the Pieces]. That’s…not good. Find out who that was. [Strategist] on duty—get me every major and minor event involving movement of troops in the world today. I doubt it was that obvious. Just log every bit of news, and I’ll go over it.”

He tapped his foot for a second, then went back to conducting a battle. But he knew what he’d felt. It could be he was wrong, or even if he wasn’t, there was obviously nuance involved. Respect a kid playing with a Skill, but be careful who you stole from.

However, mostly, Niers just hoped it wasn’t too far away. Foliana wasn’t in great condition, and he needed her here. He’d hate to have to send her to Drath or something. The Titan just hoped whoever it was tried that a third time on him. He felt like now he’d sense it coming.

Author’s Note:

If you hadn’t heard, the Vault of Foreseen Inncentives is open! Also if you hadn’t heard, I’m on break again, and the Ilvriss arc continues, but I am confident, now, that it’s three chapters left, tops (so assume it’s like 7 chapters). They might be bigass chapters, but some of them feel…strong.

This is a huge arc, and perhaps, upon feedback, you will say it took too long, but I think it moves forwards plots in a huge way, and I hope you have enjoyed them.

Even Selys. Poor Selys. She has had a chance to be a lot of things. Someone who actually had a chance with Pisces. An adventurer in her own right. A business magnate and leader in Liscor. I think we understand why she turned to hating the inn, even if she was there from the start.

It doesn’t mean she’s right or even easy to read, but her path is taking her to a weird place. Everything with Calidus is weird. Still, that might be where peace is. Learning that not only Erin can bring weirdness. And Calidus isn’t a great guy.

That’s all I have to say about Calidus for the moment.

Back to talking about the Inncentives. I have a number of rewards I encourage you to check out, some of which are limited while quantities last, including this:

Do you want my signature? Claim a reward now. That is my advice to a reader who really, really wants a signature from me, for some reason. I can’t even guarantee my signature will look cool. I’ll try, but handwriting is not my thing. The rest of the bookplate makes up for my signature, I feel.

…But it is there. And I do hope it matters to you. Despite the mice problems (I haven’t seen the buggers in any traps, but I’m gonna check for the poos regularly), I think things are going well. It feels like things are moving personally and professionally. Even if it’s not perfect, I feel optimistic at times.

Even if the state of the world gets me down or I have setbacks. We must hold onto good moments. So I’ll take that break even if I sometimes feel guilty about needing it, and come out swinging.

Ah!

I just realized one last thing. That poll. The readers are being soooo clever about trying to balance the votes 50-50 for the ‘Persua’ chapter. Some might think I’ll reward them and do both. I don’t want to encourage bad behavior, and if people just split every poll option that’s not really—well, it’s impressive.

If it goes 50-50, I think I’ll write a Numbtongue chapter. Call that incentive or anti-incentive, but I think I can write it now. I know it matters and he’s been wandering around, but sometimes I’m missing a piece so I hold off. I think I found it the other day. Ready to write. Keen to write, but resting. Going to watch the last episode of The Amazing Digital Circus. Nervous it might not be good enough or might make me mad because I enjoyed parts of the series a lot. We’ll see if I post some angry rant.

Look out for the ending of the Ilvriss arc. It’s gonna be big, like indoor plumbing. If you want to give back to the story, pre-ordering really helps and it means a lot. Thanks,

—pirateaba

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