<I am taking a month-long break due to a death in the family and to rest. Read my announcement here—I’ll post a new chapter on October 3rd. Also the 2nd half of this chapter on Tuesday.>

Merr the Storm looked different than Pisces remembered. His nightmares were honest. His waking memories less.

He remembered an attractive Stitch-woman, body sewn up with Silk—even if it was looted and thus a tiny bit inconsistent—dark of hair streaked faintly red with brown skin, like the dunes of the Great Desert when the rising sun caught the sand just right.

In his nightmares, she was gaunt. Not starved; they hadn’t been starved, but humbled, a tired, dirty [Slave] trudging along with the rest of them. Again, his memories of her were different, and they matched the woman who had come to find him.

This was Merr the Storm, a [Bandit Lady] of Chandrar. Her cloth-skin looked even better than before. Not as smooth or like that of a [Lady], but almost…cleaner? The vitality of an adventurer rather than someone who kept their complexion up by illusions or makeup, if that made sense.

She was also heavier than he remembered, in sheer physique, another shock. Stitch-folk truly could change anything they wanted. She still looked and moved fast as she paced around, giving orders to her [Bandits], but she might have outweighed Pisces. Closer to Briganda, another high-level warrior.

The reason for that, too, became plain as Merr strode about the ruins of the bone maze and battlefield where Pisces had thought to meet his end. Some of the [Slavers] had been playing dead after the explosive dustcloud attack. But the [Bandits] were doing, well, cleanup, stabbing each body through the head.

You could survive a stab to the chest, maybe even two or three, hope to drink a healing potion or use a survival Skill. A chop to the neck was fatal, let alone one that destroyed the brain or Lifethread therein. As Merr strode around, a [Slaver] leapt up.

“[Claim Blade]! Don’t move or your leader dies!”

He had Merr’s sword, a scimitar, from its sheath in a second and tried to do the standard thing he’d probably read about in adventure books or had done with friends. Namely, grabbing Merr and putting a blade at her throat so he could back up and grab a horse.

He got the blade. He executed the grab. Whereupon Merr seized his chest, lifted him up, and slammed him flat on the ground.

He broke five ribs before she stomped in his face, and then eight arrows hit the corpse. Merr kicked the body, spat, and shouted.

“Make sure they’re fucking dead. Not bad, though, not bad. I think this is the best muscle fiber bundle I’ve gotten yet. Qshom’s levelling.”

She flexed one arm and half-turned. The [Bandits] cheered their fearless leader, and Merr called out.

“You won’t believe what Bearig looks like. Well, when he’s not wearing your face. Y’do know about that, right? We can’t send [Messages], and I stuck the last scrying orb we found up a bastard’s ass. Hey, you awake, Pisces my boy? Mana-burnt? You look too much the same, you know. Everyone’s gotten a makeover but you. That’s Humans for you. You don’t even have more muscles. Scrawny as can be. Don’t they feed you in Izril?”

Merr talked like she fought and operated. A storm of words, and she went over to prod him. He was swaying a bit—he was exhausted, incredulous.

Relieved. She frowned at him.

“Hey, someone get a good mana potion over here! And anyone with a healing Skill! We got any?”

“I think that was Zamanta, and she ate a crossbow bolt last week, Boss.”

“Damn, well, who’s got a healing potion?”

“Here! Here, Boss Merr!”

Someone came racing over, eagerly waving a potion. Pisces saw a unique-looking [Bandit] wearing silver bells for earrings and with a face painted white—with red lips and even a blue nose—dash over.

He stared.

Sometimes you knew you weren’t dreaming by how stupid the world was. Merr grabbed the potion and eyed it critically.

“What grade is this?”

“Um, high, boss? I took it off a [Mage].”

“Idiot, who are you again? No, wait, I know you. One of the new girls. Chimes? If it’s good, you put it in the loot chest.”

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. If someone thinks you’re hoarding the loot, you get shanked in the night or someone steals it, and then I have to either kill you or break toes. Think!”

A cuff to the head, and Merr grabbed the potion and inspected it. She jerked a thumb at the cringing [Bandit].

“Look at what I’m working with these days. I can’t get any honest [Bandits]. Most are weirdos like this kid. See the face? Former [Performer]. It don’t even come off. But hey, you recruit some, you lose some…”

The [Bandits] around Merr were all female, Pisces realized, wore a hodgepodge of armor, usually light, and were looting the dead. One called at Merr, grinning as she tugged down her facemask to reveal a huge scar across her lips.

“Honest [Bandits] don’t wanna work for Merr the Anti-Slaver, boss! They’re nervous you’ll split them from head-to-groin for dealin’ in them, just like the Scourge.”

“Don’t call me that! It’s Merr the Storm, not—and I’m not one of the [Rebels]. I’m independent!”

Loud jeering from all around turned to yelps when Merr threw the potion meant for Pisces so hard she took one of the [Bandits] off their feet. She called back.

“Shut up, stop whining, and toss it back. Pisces, drink.”

“I’m fine, Merr. I don’t need to waste one. I’m just…it’s good to see you.”

She eyed him, then spun on her heel.

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re going to burst into tears, do it after we’re riding, would you? This lot will eat you alive if you get all sentimental. Hey, lookouts, any sign of reinforcements? Tell me that Djinni’s still leaving.”

She would have strolled off as Chimes glumly scurried the potion over to a lockbox of quality loot, but Pisces caught up with Merr. Now he was coming alive again, the feeling of strange calm leaving him. That had been when he’d been amplifying the death mana in him. A kind of reaching for something he had never…

He’d think on that later. She turned, put a hand out.

“If you hug me, I’ll kneecap you.”

She sounded half-serious, and amused, but Pisces just shook his head.

“Thank you for finding me, Merr. I would be dead without you. I’ve wanted to see you since I left Chandrar. I’m sorry how it happened, and now…I’m back. So, thank you, truly.”

She blinked at him with sable eyes, the rising light of dawn reflected in them, and then they were back there, together. Seeing the Death of Chains depart. Marching along the Glass Straits, fighting to find a path to freedom as Roshal pursued them.

Merr riding off into the distance only to return with reinforcements—

He had not known her long, but she was one of the few people in this world Pisces thought he could call a true friend. A number that had grown exponentially since coming to The Wandering Inn. But of all of the people who bore that dubious distinction—she, Eloque, Bearig, Qshom, Cawe, and Rophir were the only ones he’d befriended without being around Erin Solstice.

His friend.

She reddened faintly as they stood there. Then the wind blew around them, and dust covered her and Pisces. He shielded his face, and she spoke.

“Yeah, well…what am I supposed to say to that, idiot? C’mon, mount up, and let’s ride! Of course I had to come on by. Don’t make a big deal about it.”

She kicked him and stomped off. Pisces just smiled, and then he felt lighter. Truly.

——

Merr’s Bandits, or the Dustbandits as they were known, were highly amused by their leader’s reaction to meeting the Scourge of Roshal. Well, they’d wanted to meet the genuine article for a long time. You heard all the stories, of course.

It was part of Merr’s legend, and a [Bandit Lord] or lady was all reputation. It was sort of, well, like fan clubs in bandit society.

Okay, maybe that was a weird comparison, but Chandrar had lots of [Bandits] due to the wide desert and the literal bandit-kingdom of Savere. In other continents, you had a higher proportion of [Rogues] or so on in your criminal classes. But Chandrar had bandit culture.

Which meant as an aspiring [Bandit], sure, you might strike out on your own with a pointy stick and a dream to hold up an [Emir]—but that tended to mean you ended up as paste on the ground. Smart [Bandits] joined groups.

Many were exclusive, like the Bleakbeaks, who had been a Garuda group who hated…Garuda. Look, the gangs didn’t have to make sense. You found a crew, stuck with it, and if it didn’t work, tried to trade up. ‘Course, you had to offer your new crew something to get them to let you in most times, prove your loyalty.

Everyone who was in this for life knew that you had to be careful with tattoos if you weren’t a Stitch-person. Sure, the first bandit group you could tattoo your arms or a leg. But a cheek? What happened when your gang-for-life split up or the leader got axed? Then you had a giant-ass tattoo of your previous affiliation that you needed to cover up to get into your new one. Some poor loser shows up with sixteen gang-tattoos on their body and they didn’t exactly paint a winning record there.

…The point was that bandits had celebrity culture. Famous gang-leaders attracted people by their deeds, personalities, and of course other factors like how much gold they shared out, what kind of work they did.

But [Bandit] life was often short, hard, and it might be worth a few less silver in your pocket per haul to have a leader that got you or one you could admire. You savvy?

It was why Rasea Zecrew of [Pirate] fame had such a diehard crew. And it was also why Merr had her appeal.

Oh, regular [Bandits] didn’t stick with her much these days. Not enough profits, too much fighting Roshal—and they held a grudge—but she still got recruits, and she drew from the [Slaves] she freed.

She had a good rep in Savere. Sure, don’t cross her on the [Slave] thing, she’d gotten a bit ‘moral’ these days. But that’s still Merr the Fucking Storm. You ever see her blow through a gate after exploding flour dust across every [Guard]’s face? Her having freed herself and riding with Pisces the Scourge had only added to her reputation, really. Plenty of tough types got collared and never came out the same.

So, yes, Merr was popular. Her Dustbandits, the ones who rode in her principal gang with her, sometimes had it rough. They hadn’t liked a daring raid this deep into Nerrhavia’s Fallen. But dead gods, it was worth it to see her blush.

“I ain’t never seen the boss flush. You think she and he were a thing?”

Some of the veterans, who included Dustbandits from before the time Merr had been captured, were riding side-saddle, sometimes two-to-a-mount, and close together to gossip. One group even had dice rattling around on a tray held between two horses. They were good riders; Merr’s entire thing was hit-and-run, speedy assaults.

One of them was Chokin’ Casep, a Human [Dustrider Veteran]—a former Trick Rider of Jecrass, believe it or not. She hated her nickname, but her entire thing was the lengths of rope she carried on her belt and saddle. [Rancher]-style ropes used for corralling loose animals. Only, Casep’s trick was, uh, tossing a loop of rope around your neck and galloping off while she dragged you behind her. It was an effective strategy, but she resented the name.

Another old [Bandit], Scarlips, was grinning. They were all watching as Pisces and Merr rode together, he on his weird skeleton horse, she on a Nightmare, a magical horse that could turn invisible and liked eating meat. A vicious mare she’d nicknamed Toothie.

“Don’t let her hear you say that or she’ll swing on you. You talk to those [Rebels] often, Casep?”

“Bah, they’re too uptight. Can’t get ‘em to trade nothing good, and they got all offended one time—why?”

“Just asking if anyone’s heard rumors back when they were all [Slaves]. She’s never said anything went down, but the boss keeps that kind of thing close to the chest. Never loosens her stitching on personal affairs. Which I respect!”

Everyone nodded; that was just good business. You hated to see a boss sleeping around and getting all entangled. Scarlips went on, pursing said lips.

“Just…can’t think of an hour the last damn week she wasn’t telling us to ride faster to catch him.”

“True, true.”

Such interest. The Dustbandits were thinking. They were thinking this rescue of the Scourge put a target on their backs, even if Nerrhavia’s Fallen wasn’t after the [Necromancer]—yet. Roshal was, and he was crazy; he’d slaughtered hundreds of [Slavers] this week alone.

“So much for the boss sayin’ he wasn’t all that. You saw him facing down that Djinni? And from how many were dead before we got to him—”

“Well, that’s a Goldie for you. Stands to reason.”

“Sure, sure, but did you hear about the sea battle? Or the Crossroads of Izril?”

“They didn’t get to them, that’s a rumor; don’t be spreading lies, Hacksey.”

“Not lies! I have it from a pen pal I write all the time in Izril that they were in the sky itself! Everyone saw it!”

“Your friend’s a [Con Artist], Hacksey.”

“So? They’ve never lied to me a day in my life. Don’t judge people by classes; we’ve been pen pals eleven years—and the Horns were at the Village of the Dead.”

“Stands to reason he can fight. But if we’re placing bets on the boss and him—I heard he slept with the Arbiter Queen.”

“So? You know adventurers. Worse’n [Whores]. Male, female, you mark me, you ever shack up with one, you make sure they’re not carrying something nasty first.”

“All I’m saying is this had better not be drama with the boss. What if he’s sleeping with the Silver Killer?”

“…If he is, he’s probably lost his genitals. Problem solved. What makes you think they’re together? Is it that book you keep reading? You know that’s fiction. The [Writer]’s trash.”

“It’s by Heartslayi, and she’s amazing. I’m just saying I want to settle some questions for the record. Just so when we get to Savere I can tell everyone—”

The Dustbandits knew danger might come to them. But on the other hand—it was hugely entertaining. So things were looking up. Bandit life, bandit mentality.

——

If they were thinking Pisces and Merr were having some heart-to-heart talk or deep romantic exploration of past flames, the Dustbandits were dead wrong.

In fact, they hadn’t said a word for the last five minutes. Pisces was beet red, and Merr was rolling her eyes. She was listening to the voices of her Dustbandits, which were somehow blowing into Pisces and Merr. They eventually cut off, and she grunted.

“[Voices on the Wind]. Idiots never think I can use it on them. Morale’s good. You have to check on it constantly. If you ever lead people—well, you got a taste for it when we were freed, but a full-time group needs you to have a finger on the pulse nonstop. ‘Specially [Bandits]; they just leave when they think something’s bad.”

He didn’t know what to say. She’d shushed him, and then the rumors—Pisces had been all gratitude, feeling solemn even, this massive weight lifting as part of his vow of months past had finally been fulfilled moments before his death by seeing Merr.

But instead of that, he blurted, red-faced.

“I did not sleep with Jecaina, and I do not conduct myself like—like—we did get to the Crossroads, but I didn’t know we were in the sky! Was it that magical road? Vofea told us it was magic! Should I clarify to them for your good reputation?”

He would have ridden back this instant to clear this up, but Merr threw her head back and laughed. Then she reached over and slapped him on the back.

“There’s the fellow I came to rescue. Less of being an adventurer out of stories, more this. Let ‘em yak. It does my reputation good. Mystique. Don’t play it up, mind. Just don’t talk to the underlings about stuff you don’t have to. Dead gods, we’ve too much to say to each other. So you did meet the Arbiter Queen herself? How many [Bandits] is she hanging per day?”

“Er, uh, what? None that I saw. She does have new courts she told me she was building, and she was laying out cities to be rebuilt or restructured with the money King Fetohep gave her—and she has Lawriders—”

Merr was pulling on a lip.

“Yeah, I heard. Bandit world’s all abuzz about Jecrass. So no mass-hangings?”

“No.”

“Hmm, might be worth a shot, then. Y’see, the thing is, you hear Arbiter Queen and you imagine a lot of things. Gallows, headman, guillotine, being tied to a pole and set on fire—Nerrhavia’s Fallen loves that, and it is a bad way to go—so most gangs are avoiding Jecrass. Lawrider…do they have a class?”

Pisces thought they did, and Merr shuddered.

“Anti-crime classes. Gah! Hate them! Shivers those timbers I keep hearing about. Well, I’m not keen on going through Jecrass anyways. There’s good money stealing horses, but they’re always mounted, and I hate fast pursuit. So she really hosted you?”

“Her and King Raelt, yes. They were very hospitable.”

Merr listened as Pisces gave her a garbled account of the events that had led him across Chandrar to find his team. He realized she didn’t know about the rest, but in fact, she even knew about him and Colth coming off the undead ship. She tapped one ear now, knowingly.

“You think I don’t have an ear to the wind, Necrolad? Gossip about you is all but free, and the [Rebels] have no end. So you were there, dueling her with rapiers—yeah, I see how someone says that and you get the wrong impression. She wasn’t interested in you?”

A huge hesitation which made her head snap around.

“Well, I mean—Colth told me after the fact—but I didn’t see the alleged signals he said were out there. And besides, she was a [Queen]—”

Merr started laughing even harder. She clutched at her sides, nearly falling off the Nightmare, whom Pisces realized was laughing at him as well.

“Oh, dead gods! Argh, pop my stitching, this is what I’ve missed! The man loses a chance with a real [Queen]—hey, girls, guess what? This fool missed his shot with the Arbiter Queen and didn’t even know she was flying the freaky flag! Turns out both of ‘em flirt as well as camels!”

Instantly, the Dustbandits started howling with laughter. Pisces spluttered and remembered, too late—

Merr could be hurtful. He went to shove her lightly, and she jostled him.

“How’d you end up so late to Chandrar, eh? The Ice Squirrel washed up faster than you, and the Silver Killer walked, but nooo, you were a week late! Bearig was chewing a hole through leather by the time you showed up!”

He hissed at her, red-faced.

“That wasn’t my—I didn’t know we were supposed to be enchanted! The Death of Magic cast a spell on the driftwood we were on, but I thought a ship would—”

Merr had been laughing. Then she gave him a puzzled grin.

“Oh, pull the other leg, I’ve got spares. The Death of Magic? Please, I know the Arbiter Queen was real, but what, were you romancing her?”

“What? No, she actually cast a spell on the driftwood that Colth and I were on. She—”

Pisces did not mention the fact that Colth was actually in league with the Demons and an agent of one of the Deathless, but Merr only stared at him. She realized he was not joking.

“Wait, you’re not fooling with me? Because if you are, say so now or I’ll hit you, no jokes.”

“No jokes, Merr. On Cawe, that was her—”

Merr drew in a breath. Then she recoiled, glanced around, and waved back the Dustbandits coming over to laugh at Pisces up close. She drew over, hissed at him.

“What?”

——

The Death of Magic was a level far beyond even meeting and failing to romance the Arbiter Queen. Oh, one might sound like the other, but Merr was actually an individual worldly enough to understand that the Death of Magic was at the top of…everything. It was the most rattled Pisces had seen her.

“Zeikhal swallow me ‘n spit me out. You actually…they blocked the scrying spells when she appeared, you know.”

“I know. I’ve seen some of the battle. Hard to follow.”

Most of it had been other ships being boarded or chaos. No one had even mentioned the flying Dragon, though some of Teriarch’s magic and fire had been seen in the chaos. Merr rubbed at her nose.

“Was she…was she as terrifying as they say?”

“I don’t honestly know. It was so much like—like armageddon at the end that she just sort of fit it. I can’t imagine how many spells she was blocking or dodging, but they were firing them at Erin.”

“Your [Innkeeper], yeah. Saw her too. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on her, y’know, after she came back? You did it, I remember thinking. But I never got a good look at her. Me and scrying orbs, we’re like distant lovers. Can’t mix or I get hunted down since we know Wistram sells locations on bandits. But I saw the recording, and I thought…yeah. Yeah, she fits the woman who had you do all that. Flaming hat, knifing Bloodtear Captains like they were rookie [Deckhands]. She okay?”

Pisces’ head bowed, feeling oddly gratified to hear Merr speaking of Erin like that. He wondered how they’d interact if they met. He wished it had happened.

“I…yes?”

“I heard she was in Baleros. With the Titan. Safe enough. Woman took a city in battle.”

“Yes. I—I heard. If that’s her, it’s good she’s safe.”

Merr was glancing ahead; she was following some kind of internal map, taking them in odd directions now and then, perhaps to throw off pursuit, and some of her Dustbandits would fall back then gallop to rejoin or go ahead. Erasing tracks? Scouting? Pisces couldn’t pay attention. Now, she twisted around.

“If that’s her?”

“It doesn’t seem like her. I think it isn’t.”

He had no proof of this. Lyonette, Mrsha, the inn had contacted his team and said all was well, but he’d thought maybe there was a hint of a lie? Ceria wasn’t sure, but she’d said it was all too possible. Pisces only had the Erin he’d seen on the scrying orb for confirmation, but…he felt like it wasn’t her.

Plus, she hadn’t contacted him. She’d sent [Messages] to Ceria and asked about him, but he felt like the real Erin would have done something. Maybe. Maybe it was him, not…he only told Merr this because he felt like he had to.

Like he could tell her anything. Then Pisces worried he was blabbing, but Merr just nodded.

“Interesting. You know her best. And your teammate, Ksmvr. He ain’t here. We don’t know where he is. Did he…”

“He’s alive. Baleros. Lost in the jungles. We’ll find him and Vofea. We just have to finish our business first, but we’re headed there right away.”

Merr exhaled and squared her shoulders.

“Right, well, that makes sense why you came here. Had to grab that Relic-class sword, right? You’d best steer clear of Savere. The Siren still hates the Ice Squirrel for the stunt she pulled. Reckon you want to meet Bearig; his force is slower than mine, but he’ll be moving. Qshom’s with him, and so’s Rophir. Kid talks now, you know? Once in a blue moon. So, once a night. Eloque’s not with either, but you came for ‘em. Just like you said. I miss anything?”

“Um, Yvlon’s friends, but she did rescue them—”

“Seems easy enough to do, the sword aside. At least you’ll find the Empress of Beasts easy; she’s got a real army, even if I think she’s still more fucked than a lone heifer in a bull pen. Getting that sword from her? Good luck. I could get you a [Thief], but—eh, that’ll do. Got anyone else who wants a ticket to Izril? Bearig, Qshom, Rophir, Eloque are the real crew. Few others who turned out good, but those were the ones you wanted, right?”

“And you, Merr.”

She blinked at him, then grinned.

“Me? I’m Merr the Storm, Pisces. A [Bandit Lady]. Look at my gang. We’ve been raiding, I’ve rebuilt the Dustbandits better’n before—I came here to help you, but I’m fine.”

He met her gaze, and Pisces said the things he’d waited so long to say.

“Even so, Merr. I’ll charter a ship to take you and all your Dustbandits to Izril. You, all these [Rebels], and Eloque too. I don’t want any of you where Roshal has power. I want to find Ksmvr and Vofea and get to Erin, but you’re on that list.”

She stared at him, nonplussed, wide-eyed, and then turned her head abruptly.

“Now I know you’re a Gold-ranked adventurer. Too big for your damn britches. You rescuing [Bandit Ladies] because I’m weak? Who’s got a higher level? C’mon, whip yours out and we’ll measure ‘em! You think I wasn’t levelling?”

“Merr, I didn’t mean—don’t kick me! Merr!”

He protested, but she was very nimble in the saddle, and he had to ride away from her as the Nightmare did the same. The Dustbandits watched as Merr cursed at him, and one whispered.

“Hey, anyone got a Skill that lets them talk to Savere? Tell ‘em to open up a betting pool on the Boss and the Scourge.”

“Done and done. On whether they’re a thing or will be?”

“Why not both?”

——

Pisces levelled up in his sleep that night. He did sort of nod off by the end of his ride; it was longer than he thought. Merr wanted to get out of any pursuer’s range, and that included more Djinni.

He was exhausted, but when he woke, he found the Dustbandits already making breakfast. Pisces was not a ‘morning person’, but he’d grown used to it during his raids on Roshal. To his surprise, he didn’t turn into his usual lethargic self in the morning. He felt…

Well, he met with Merr straight off. She was relaxing around a smokeless ‘fire’ that showed him she really had rebuilt her fortunes, because it was bandit-tech.

Namely, magical stones that acted like embers. No smoke, but you could grill anything. Perfect for not being detected. They had a pot that erased scent, anti-scrying charms, lucky talismans, even a loot chest.

“It’s Beithday! Anything in the chest goes to the Siren! She’ll teleport it out via her Skill, so empty your pockets!”

A [Bandit] tasked with making sure the Siren got her cut and the most valuable items were converted to gold was stomping up and down the tents, waking people up. Another was strolling about.

“Anyone got an infected cut or some shit? Shout it out or you’re dead the next time we use a potion, and if we waste one on you, we’ll kill you!”

She daubed anyone with an infection with a bit of orange on their right shoulder. Efficient. Pisces sat down.

“I forgot you’re so good at this.”

He didn’t know many leader-types. Merr kicked him as she chewed on sausage mixed into some grits.

“Shut up.”

“What did I—”

“How the hell do you have six levels on me? I’ve been fighting damn wars with Bearig, and I hit Level 40 last month!”

She was very upset. Merr had been in her mid-thirties before being taken as a slave, and her rise since then had put her on the map of top [Bandits]—but Pisces had been through a few adventures. Merr grumbled as he smiled.

“At least my class is better than yours. [Ladies] always are harder to level.”

“Er, Merr, you’re a [Bandit Lady].”

Another kick.

“A [Lady]’s a damn [Lady] no matter what! You’re just some [Necromancer of Reclaimed Grandeur]. Sounds stupid.”

“I can animate structures!”

“Oh, structures. I’m so afraid. What, are you gonna animate a wall and have it fall on me?”

He glowered until he was handed breakfast, and the hot, fresh food cheered him up instantly. Merr relented.

“Argh, fine. Don’t get sniffy with me. Do you still do that? All the girls want to see; none of ‘em believed that was a thing. I like your undead. Ivery’s a hoot, and I came around to Bearbones. Saw a few more corpses of late, and I see your point. Rotten flesh? Yuck.”

Another thing about Merr was her complete unfazedness when it came to undead. She actually really liked them, and Pisces almost sniffed, saw everyone turn to stare at him, and let out a breath instead. They sighed.

Oh, this was strange. He felt so light, but he did gaze at her.

“I should have animated the [Slavers] I killed, but I was too tired.”

She waved it off.

“Eh, we’d have outrun them.”

“I could have had them run through the night. The undead don’t stop moving, and they can follow me even when I’m asleep.”

She raised one eyebrow at that.

“Oh? Even the zombies can run? Interesting…I’d have probably vetoed the suggestion anyways. A running zombie can be marked or followed, and some of my Skills for speed or stealth only affect the Dustbandits. But hey, we run into any bastards between here and Bearig’s group and we can do that. Though I’d trade ten zombies for one Ghoul. Can you do that? Can you…upgrade undead or mash the low-tier ones into a single good one?”

The thought hadn’t ever really occurred to Pisces, and he hesitated.

“I know some [Necromancers] would keep body piles together to form better undead. One can upgrade them—I’m decent at that with my Skeleton Champions, and I did reclaim most of their bones. But you mean change their actual…species? I’ve never tried.”

You could make Wailing Pits and Crypt Lords out of piles of the dead, but that was just natural undeath. Merr winked.

“Lookit me, lecturing [Necromancers]. I knew you weren’t thinking like a rat bastard without me. Okay, I’ll make sure to keep the corpses more intact. But best case is we never run into anything on our way east. We link up—I’m hoping Bearig’s not gone too far into Nerrhavia’s Fallen searching for us. We can find each other. Then we splinter. If you’re not wanted by Nerrhavia’s Fallen, you catch one of those damn Wistram Carriages back to your team, then we all move to wherever we agree on. We can talk ships and who’s on them when everyone’s there. Damn, forgot Eloque…eh, she won’t be part of the initial meeting, but we’ll send word. Deal?”

Pisces blinked at this plan. Merr drew it out over her own rough map, and she seemed to know approximately where everyone was. It was a good plan, but he shifted.

“I…do want to meet Bearig. And Eloque and the others, Merr. But I’m actually—I need to stay here. Around the city of Halqued.”

She stopped chewing on her food. The Dustbandits glanced up, and Merr leaned forwards.

“So you didn’t just start attacking Roshal at random. I thought you held it together well. [Rebels] wanted you to do more butcherin’, but I thought you knew the score. This was crazy, Pisces. So crazy I wondered if they’d tried to collar you or…what’s in the city? A teammate? A friend?”

Pisces was aware of every eye on him. He replied slowly.

“Just a caravan of [Slaves]. I couldn’t…I can’t fight in the city. I’d be killing Nerrhavia Fallen’s soldiers and guards. But I thought that if I hit caravans around the city, I could—”

Merr sat back, and suddenly she wore a pained expression. The Dustbandits began moving around loudly, but she just gazed at him. Not with incredulity as he’d feared his team might look at him like—excepting Colth—just pain.

“Ah, Necrolad. I forget you left Chandrar. To you, this has got to hurt twice as bad, a wound reopened. You still got that bastard’s scar on your chest?”

Pisces felt at it, and she gazed at him.

“Humans. Rophir’s got his, but even Eloque’s…you can’t save ‘em all.”

“I know that, Merr. I just—”

“You can’t save whomever that is.”

He met her eyes. For a moment, Pisces nearly said something harsh. He bit his tongue, turned his head. Stared at the ground and saw a headless corpse collapsing. Just a few more—

“I know. I know it was madness, and that was before the Djinni found me, Merr. But I’ve already done the worst. I’ve killed every single [Slaver] I could find. Not just caravans. The ones on the road, anyone—I should have done more the moment I landed, but I was afraid. I don’t want to go back to Tyrant’s Rest and get my team in trouble. When I do, I’ll pay the price, but right now, I—we’re here. You’re a [Bandit Lady], right?”

She nodded, warily, eying him. Pisces glanced around and saw, even here, a few marks. Someone with scars on their wrists. A [Bandit] joking with the others who had a mark around her neck or a brand somewhere visible. They glanced at him, and unlike the regular [Bandits], there was something in their gaze that spoke to him.

Like Merr. Like Colth. Something unifying that they could never forget. A hatred, a desire. Pisces whispered.

“But you’re one that frees [Slaves]. You understand.”

She opened her mouth, and he just glanced at her.

“I know you’re not a full [Rebel]. I know Merr the Storm has to do her own thing. That’s what you told me. But you understand, don’t you? Merr, I have to do this. I…”

He was gazing at the map, then around, and he didn’t realize it but it seemed suddenly, to Merr, as if the [Necromancer] were still hungry. Not for breakfast, but he was peering around like someone hunting for something. She sat back as her skin prickled, and she felt her heart pumping.

Agh, damn. She knew she shouldn’t have come here, even though she had to. Just like him—she was going back in time. Then he peered at her, both a memory and a stranger, one changed. But better. More sure of himself, perhaps. Higher-level.

“Merr. I need your help.”

“Doin’ what, exactly?”

Pisces glanced down at the map and saw where they were—far further from Halqued than he could have ever gotten alone, even with the skeleton horse. Merr was a [Bandit Lady] known for speed; her Skills had carried them far, far in the night. He drew a circle with one finger.

“They’ve kept all the caravans away from Halqued. Stopped, but they probably knew where I was, roughly. How many…are around us now, Merr? Or going north to avoid the city?”

They’d have to choose more roads along the Leashed Trails. Predictable ones. Merr gazed at Pisces, then sighed.

“I do this for profit, Pisces. I don’t go beyond certain limits, and you’ve pushed past them. Bearig and his lot are hunted, but even they didn’t dare do what you have. They’re not high-level enough. If we hit more caravans? They sent a Djinni after you.”

“Yes. But there are ways to lose pursuit, aren’t there? Your class is an expert in that. And they’ve hunted you all this time.”

They had to have. Roshal would never forget, and Pisces had thought Emir Yazdil especially would not relent. He’d only been surprised Yazdil hadn’t done anything until now. Merr drummed her fingers on her legs.

“We have them riled up. Every day we stay here—”

“Not long, Merr. Just a day. Two, at most. How many could we hit?”

“My girls don’t fight for nothing, Pisces. You could get me—”

He glanced at them. Over half Merr’s girls were former [Slaves]. Pisces eyed Merr.

“I can pay them.”

“Hah! You have any idea what a crew like mine runs? We need gold, more than even you’ve got without a Merchant’s Guild.”

“Then you can have the [Slavers]’ gold. I don’t want any. C’mon, Merr. You must loot them and know how much each one has.”

She was hesitating. Merr inspected her fingernails, glanced up at him, cursed, and stood up.

“Those freed [Slaves]—what did you do with ‘em?”

Pisces hung his head.

“I pointed them towards safe places and let them scatter or organize. I couldn’t…I didn’t know where to send them. I should have done more.”

Merr walked in a circle, muttering.

“Yeah, most might not have—no, you get inventive, and more make it than you think. But the smart move is to send ‘em to a hideout. Not your fault; you didn’t know. But we’d have to put them on horses, and we don’t have enough! Then you ride them at a [Rebel] group, but too many? Too easy to spot. I’d have to break up the Dustbandits, call in one of the peripheral bands, make contact with [Rebels] around here, or hire help and do small parties. D’you know how hard that is? And they will be pursued by the Slaver’s Guild.”

Pisces sat there, and he was trembling. Trembling with that same energy of the last few days. It hadn’t left him at all. It had just grown worse, if anything. And he saw it in her too, for all she sat and tried to dismiss it all.

“But you’re a [Bandit Lady]. If anyone can do it, it’s you, Merr. Besides…there won’t be as many pursuers, just scrying spells.”

She stopped gnashing on her cooling breakfast and gave him a look like he was genuinely stupid, full of actual irritation for once.

“How do you reckon that? Did you or did you not walk into an ambush that—”

“There won’t be any pursuers if we get them too.”

She stopped. Pisces sat there, and she shivered.

“We cannot fight that many. We don’t have the numbers, Pisces.”

“Not unless I start animating legions.”

Her eyes were flickering, and Pisces threw in one last thing.

“Doesn’t Roshal arm their retribution forces with enchanted items? I saw your Dustbandits looting the ones after me. Imagine it, Merr.”

He stared around at the group of eighty-some Dustbandits.

“You could have every single Dustbandit armed with an enchanted blade and armor. Every single one of Merr’s Bandits.”

The [Bandit Lady] rubbed at her nose, stared down at the map, then folded her arms. She gazed up at the sky, then cursed as she leapt to her feet.

“You think my crew’s just eighty bandits? This is only the core. I could have four hundred with me in a day’s time—we have plenty of enchanted swords!”

“We could arm all four hundred. If we kill enough [Slavers].”

She studied him, and he held her gaze, lips trembling almost like he was laughing. Madness…but then she put him in a headlock and tousled his hair.

“Argh. That’s damn good logic. I can only give you two days, tops! Dustbandits, get ready.”

There was a whoop, and Pisces’ heart leapt. He hadn’t actually thought she’d go for it, but he looked up at her, and there they were again. As if they hadn’t stopped. Chained together by something other than metal.

So, once more, as if he had never left Chandrar…

The Scourge rode with the Storm.

——

Some people had all the luck. In that however bad their day was, and it could really suck—a terrible boss, annoying co-workers, stepping in poop so bad it slushed into your boots and socks…

You weren’t being kidnapped into slavery or in the middle of a war. That didn’t make it better, of course. Everyone was the [Hero] of their own story, and being told someone else was being stabbed repeatedly didn’t cheer you up unless you really hated their guts.

That was why stories mattered for the people with all the luck. It was an escape. A window out of their world into another one that sucked more—and that was the point. Someone who was hurt worse than you or rising higher. A flying swallow screaming skywards or a falling comet burning its way into the bowels of the earth—

That was what drew the likes of Lord Molen to the television. Oh, he enjoyed the japes and jabs, the silly stuff. Videos of cats doing cat-things, and there were nearly a hundred catalogued cat subspecies, enough for a lifetime of cats. But that alone would sicken him, like a man who only ate ice cream all his life. He craved, at times, something to make him weep or rage. To feel alive, and for the moment, the television of this world was too honest. It delivered just that and needed no manufacturing.

…But why, then, did other men, like Nuvityn, watch television? The King of Myths needed no more grief. He was a man bereaved. A father on a quest of vengeance. A [King]. He, who stood at the height of power any being, mortal or immortal, might ever aspire to…why did he watch the same television as ordinary folk?

Perhaps to understand what they thought. To understand normality, Miihey believed.

Miihey was a half-Elf [Barbarian] of Forem, a tribe in the Kingdom of Myths. He was exceptional in every way. Not only was he over Level 40, but he was a half-Elf with such an uncouth class. He was a member of one of Erribathe’s diverse peoples; Forem were hillfolk, who wrestled bears—and befriended them. A half-Elf so divergent from others that he had set Gaiil-Drome on its head with his very presence.

Miihey was a half-Elf, you see, who lived with Humans as equals. Not ‘among Humans’ as half-Elves were known to condescend to do—with the other members of his tribes. He was just Miihey to them. Yes, he aged slower, but he brawled and talked with them as equals. No respect was given for his age. Forem had learned to treat the children of Elves as the same as all else, the lesson of millennia, and the reward was just creating half-Elves like Miihey. Ones who cared nothing for their age or blood.

It would not make him live long; in fact, Forem half-Elves tended to die pretty young given their penchant for punching a grizzly bear who’d started raiding their food supplies. But it did mean he was grounded. A trusted advisor to even the King of Myths. For who better to speak plainly than the [Barbarian]?

It was more than just lifestyle. Miihey embodied a certain savagery, a wildness and deliberate incivility. He rather resented the fine arts and crafts of ‘better’ folk and the pretentiousness that came along with it. Not that he hated people who were a certain way genuinely. He hated the thought it made you better.

For instance, he had not quibbled much with Calanfer, who played politics as a way to survive and whose folk could be genuine, for all they treated the Eternal Throne like the beacon of all that was good and holy. But Gaiil-Drome was a half-Elven kingdom that thought of themselves as true heirs of their civilization, purveyors of great culture and immortal lifespan.

Miihey’s first action in the Court of Leaves was to fart for four minutes and seventeen seconds. An act so vulgar it knocked out sixteen half-Elves and forced an evacuation of six rooms of the palace.

It had made His Majesty of Erribathe smile, so fulfilled two goals. And who could gainsay that? A barbarian could be cunning.

This was enough about Miihey. He had more depths and ambitions, as any man did, but it seemed to him that this was the King of Myths’ adventure. His story. Whether it would be a tale of vengeance, stained with blood all the way down, or a tale more fitting with Nuvityn, who had never seemed to Miihey to be a [King] fit for such predictable tales—remained to be seen.

Already, the story had diverged from expectations. Miihey had not enjoyed the sea. He had no experience with it and had been seasick for ages—far longer than he’d thought. When everyone had learned of Magus Tserre’s tricks, they had cursed her roundly, but Miihey had laughed about it.

Why not? Oh, many were roused to fury like Andromeda or Voreca, but the unpredictability tickled Miihey’s fancy. He defended himself to the other advisors and the army of ten thousand.

“Should this journey be an easy one? For the death of a son? For the King of Myths to leave home and duty behind? I say—no! From Noelictus to Calanfer, I praise every obstacle before us! If it were so easy to march a week, sail a week, then claim an [Innkeeper]’s head—would that satisfy anyone?”

He stood on a swaying table bolted to the floor and drank down a heady swill of beer; then the ships lurched, and he vomited half it back onto the floor. Even so, Miihey received cheers or his words were not taken as badly as the vomit—the many peoples of Erribathe listened to him. This was important, too; a King of Myths did not rule by authority alone. If he lost one faction, they would simply depart. So too for advisors; haughty Khendroth or mighty Osverthia could project their wills, but Andromeda and Voreca would find themselves leading a quarter of their army if they were not a bit diplomatic.

By these methods, Erribathe endured. So, Miihey was glad to come to land, despite it being the wrong continent. He knew His Majesty was not so happy, but Miihey was a simple man.

——

“Your Majesty, what of it? Do we land or not? Is it blood or not?”

He asked Nuvityn after two days of being on the damned rocking boats. They hadn’t landed yet, and the King of Myths turned a sour glance on Miihey.

“One would think you haven’t participated in the discussions of late, Miihey.”

“I fall asleep when I do, sire. Or go to play with Garban.”

“…The bear. You play with him?”

“He’s only thirteen, sire.”

“He’s a damn Dire Grizzlybear, Miihey. I’ve wrestled boars, and I wouldn’t do half the things you do with him.”

“Well, he doesn’t spoon with strangers, Your Majesty.”

A bark of a laugh. Nuvityn had to throw his head back and let one out, and in that way, Miihey considered himself a fine advisor. Garban was one of the ten thousand soldiers in service to Erribathe. Not one under Level 30. Fair; Garban had no levels, but he’d beaten three of Forem’s folk over Level 30 who’d wanted to come.

Ten thousand men and women. And a bear. Some might say it was a paltry number to go unescorted. Such people had no notion of what it meant when each one was over Level 30. Garban was a fine bear who could rip a man in plate armor apart like a child picked apart a straw dummy. A thousand Garbans wouldn’t be as fearsome as this army.

…A fact that Medain and the Chandrarians knew. Which was why Erribathe had yet to land. Nuvityn was pacing on deck, getting annoyed.

“I do not care if this King of Medain, High King Perric, has an engagement with Khelt. I might wish to see the paradise myself if it were allowed…though my instincts say it is in dire straits. I see…bright lights assailing a throne of gold. A crumbling crown of bone.”

He passed a hand over his eyes and for a moment appeared grieved, despite it being an undead kingdom. Then Nuvityn turned.

“But my folk are hungry. We require resupply, if nothing else. And if Tserre’s damn quest for Ceria Springwalker brings us here, we might as well see if we can find the girl before a mysterious hurricane blows us back ashore!”

That was the problem, aye. Miihey glanced sidelong at the other advisors, and Voreca grimaced.

“Sire, given her actions—”

“Would you have me put her ashore? She’d go directly to Ceria, and we would lose her and Prildor. I might be persuaded to lose a Level 60+ [Mage]…but not Prildor.”

Nuvityn’s mood was foul despite Miihey’s best jokes. And his temper, regardless of being a good [King] and reasonable in many ways, was not that of infinite patience. Like with Ailendamus…Nuvityn snapped.

“I grow tired of diplomacy. Take us ashore. Not to any capital. We disembark and stretch our legs! Resupply the ships and have them follow us.”

“And if the King of Medain takes it as an act of war, sire?”

“He would be a fool to do that with Khelt, the King of Destruction, and Jecrass at his door.”

Nuvityn barked at Andromeda, Iradoren’s former lover. Miihey listened with one ear, scratching at his bare chest. He had never liked Iradoren; the man hadn’t made Forem his friend. He’d had favorites among the many peoples. Nuvityn had none that he cared to express, even if Forem was clearly one of his. But Iradoren had played favorites.

Different men. Best not to disrespect the dead if you were someone of any culture. As Miihey was not, he thought the [Prince] had been foolish. Not deserving of death, but he’d had no one to put him in a headlock and tell him ‘no’. That was why he’d died.

Voreca was no sycophant of Iradoren’s. She was older, steadier, but she loved Nuvityn with that idealism of a girl raised in his shadow. Not like Miihey, who knew you could punch Nuvityn and he’d swear and bleed. She was quieter.

“If King Perric does object, Your Majesty? Or another kingdom sees it as an act of war? The King of Destruction especially?”

Then the King of Myths was silent a moment, and when he spoke, his eyes glinted, and Miihey’s heart thundered.

“Then let them make it upon us.”

Ah, yes. There was a man in pain searching for someone to hurt. Worse still, a man trying to be good, so looking for a reason. Miihey sharpened his axe. Ten thousand of Erribathe’s children would reap a bloody harvest through any nation they clashed with. Perhaps it would be for the best. He didn’t know. He didn’t count such things in grand politics or diplomacy. When the axes fell, they fell. Best to feel good about it in the moment.

——

The sand was such an odd feeling. Miihey lay on it as they disembarked, basking in the warmth. Then grew cold as night fell and rose, swearing, to clad himself in his bear furs. He savored this land, so alien to his sensibilities.

He was happy.

Nuvityn—not. The King of Myths had a thousand things to do.

“Supplies. We shall have some regardless where we sail. Prevail upon our [Captains] for what they need, Andromeda. I trust if gold is needed to soothe them, it will be spent wisely. Voreca, I would know if anyone is dogging us. Solkevoi—”

He named a [Mage] among another of Erribathe’s factions, the Tower’s Folk, who lived in a tower and swore themselves to silent study of magic. She bowed her tattooed head, and Miihey eyed her warily as Nuvityn asked her to scry and use her magics to great effect. Then he turned.

“Miihey—”

The half-Elf waited. King Nuvityn stared at him.

“…I’ve heard cacti are edible.”

“Really, Your Majesty? Then I shall inquire.”

Truly, the King of Myths used his subjects well. He sent Miihey on a task well suited to his capabilities. Namely, hacking apart the nearest cactus he found, then pricking his mouth with the damn thorns. Sucking at the juicy innards, grousing at the taste…

It might seem a stupid thing, but by the time Nuvityn found Miihey five hours later, the half-Elf was sitting with some locals who’d come riding to see this strange army. They had already taught him you could burn the thorns off to feed cattle and that the cacti were good sources of water, if not ones to be relied on to feed an army.

“Hoi, Your Majesty. It tastes more of fruit than you’d think. Too tart for I, too much like a bean, but food enough. Have some.”

He hucked a piece at Nuvityn, who ate it without checking for poison, to Andromeda’s horror. She and the other annoying Khendrothians scrambled to test the stuff, but it had been in Miihey’s hands, and Nuvityn visibly calmed.

“Miihey, you are the last thing between me and insanity at this moment. King Perric’s people are like vultures. The man is both arrogant and afraid; I sense him, even if he has ridden upon Khelt. I do not think him a worthy [King].”

He said this in plain view of Medain’s subjects, saw them, and swore. But Miihey just laughed.

“If he is a rancid turd unto a throne, it will not be the first on any continent.”

“…No. It reminds me why I do not attend social gatherings of monarchs in Terandria. My tongue is lax, Miihey, and I am angry.”

“Because we are so far from Izril?”

Nuvityn sat himself down, greeting the terrified folk of Medain with courtesy and less kingliness than they thought. Truly, then, this King of Medain was some ponce if they had no notion a [King] might break bread with them. Nuvityn did it grandly, like some wanderer bringing riches in, sharing his bounty and partaking of theirs with relish.

Was this not kingliness? Or was it only in riches? Miihey shook his head as Nuvityn chewed, sourly, on more cacti on bread.

“This is good. Chandrar…I have not seen it for over sixty years, and we barely visited a few spaces, Eithelenidrel and I. She wanted to see Claiven Earth and other half-Elven spots. Very impressive—but I didn’t get a chance to see the Glass Straits or Chandrar’s other wilder spots.”

“Time to see them then, Your Majesty? Your will is like the wind; blow hard enough and we follow.”

“I cannot fart hard enough to send all the half-Elves in the Claiven Earth to flight, Miihey. And I think they’re made of sturdier stuff than Gaiil-Drome. Already, they ask if I’ll visit. Politics.”

But Nuvityn did ease. And his great discontent waned…until he spoke to Miihey in confidence. Not private, for everyone eavesdropped on a [King], but their words were only directed at each other.

“In truth, Miihey, I am wroth at only two things. One is Tserre. I knew she was about her own ends, but no man enjoys being a pawn. How she attempts to mend bridges…bah. The second is the King of Destruction.”

Miihey’s pointed ears perked up.

“Has he said aught to you?”

“Not yet. And many kingdoms who fascinate me have. But the man did create an age of war. I wonder…if it would serve the world to make war on him. If we killed but one of his Seven, it might curtail his rise. Though it may see you, me, and our army dead. I think of such things. What better use for a fading King of Myths than to halt a dark legend?”

Ah, now here was a man who feared not his end and longed for it. Miihey’s skin prickled, and he put down his cup as everyone fell silent as if a wind had howled through their ordinary lives. For Medain’s folk, it was acceptable. But Khendroth? Andromeda to look shaken? Miihey spat at their feet. How could they advise Nuvityn if they could not talk to him man-to-man?

“I do not know this King of Destruction fully, King of Myths. It sours my blood to die just to end another continent’s legend. If we have good reason, Forem will die raking his face bloody. But do you know him well enough to commit us to the death?”

Nuvityn’s head bowed.

“…No. He was but a boy in my memories, and I thought sometimes he had the right of it. The man? No, I will judge him, Miihey. Your words are wise.”

“Bah, my words are ‘do not toss us aside like flies’, Your Majesty. If they are wise, you are surrounded by idiots.”

Bristling from Andromeda, and she threw herself down to argue. Miihey paid no mind to her. He kept the King of Myths company, but took from this a great discontent he told his friends and allies of. The King of Myths was not pleased. Best to find him a task or mend bridges with Magus Tserre before he did something rash.

The problem was…Magus Tserre was aware of her follies, but resolved her differences in a way Miihey found laughable. Just not funny.

——

“Your Majesty. Allow me to present your company with a small gift given our sojourn in Chandrar might be…long.”

The next day, Miihey saw Magus Tserre present Nuvityn with a gift. Namely…a kind of fanciful glider. Miihey had hurled himself off the foothills with crude hide kites that let you soar until you crashed, and Miihey had dreamed of asking the Flying Gnoll for a ride on his contraption.

But never had he dreamed of this. Nuvityn eyed the hovering object made of burnished wood and metal that resembled an odd…well, Miihey thought they were wings? But curved downwards, like a strange bird.

“What is this, Magus Tserre?”

“A Sandglider, Your Majesty. It races across the great desert. It would convey any [Scout] or [Ranger] in your army at speeds only matched by a flying carpet.”

An artifact for days of yore. Miihey itched to try it. Nuvityn just folded his arms.

“And you had this in your bag of holding, Magus?”

He was angry at her. But the half-Elf just sat on her walking cottage and blinked as her two chickens pecked around her.

“Oh, no. I created it from memory. I wagered it might fit your fancy? I also have twelve of these.”

She produced twelve jewels as brightly blue as the sea in Miihey’s dreams, not the salty stuff in reality. Nuvityn took them before Andromeda could object.

“And these are…?”

It was Solkevoi who choked and signed her answer. She wrote in the air; her people were sworn to silence.

“Your Majesty, these are Gems of Condensation! They draw water from the air forever; they are a prize to any Chandrarian kingdom!”

Even now, they were forming water in Nuvityn’s hand. He grimaced as he handed them off to Voreca.

“Another creation?”

“If it should prove valuable in any negotiations that would arise, yes, Your Majesty. I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

Tserre’s lined face was smooth and equitable as she spoke. The artifacts she had made were princely gifts, even to a Terandrian Kingdom, if Miihey was a judge. He bet no Archmage of Wistram could be so munificent. The problem was…Nuvityn’s scowl didn’t lessen.

“I take these gifts in the spirit they were delivered, Magus. Thank you. If you will excuse me…I am searching for a route southwards. Jecrass, perhaps, though the damned politics of even meeting the King of Duels are enough for ten men’s headaches.”

He turned brusquely, and Tserre didn’t lose her smile. She floated away as Prildor and her possible-apprentice, Princess Vernoue, hurried after her. No one else liked her enough to stay near, but Miihey lingered. Because one must.

——

“Tserre, are you mad? Nuvityn’s wroth with you. What are you doing?”

Prildor was the only man who had Tserre’s ear besides the King of Myths himself. No one else qualified. Vernoue tried.

“Archmage Tserre, what—aaaah!”

She was promptly teleported six miles out to sea. There was no pointing finger, no spoken spell. Tserre didn’t even glance at her. That was true magic, and Miihey, conscious that he wanted to live as a man, not a goat, listened from a distance. He admired the Thronebearers, though; they leapt into the water, armor and all.

Miihey hoped the [Princess] was levelling from her trials. But Tserre’s next words revealed she didn’t care for Miihey eavesdropping and her odd way of viewing the world.

“I’m aware Nuvityn’s angry, Prildor. I’ve weathered worse. We’re on the same continent as that girl, and that’s what counts. Hm, neither gift shifted him. So we’re at…negative 20.”

“…Negative what?”

Prildor spluttered, and Tserre shrugged.

“I’d call it -20 favorability. It used to be easier to raise it. A good gift gets you, what, five points? I just need to figure out what he likes.”

“You’re…you’re giving His Majesty a score?”

“Everyone’s personality can be broken down into numerical values, Prildor. It doesn’t always work, but it’s a useful way to expedite things. Let’s see. Maybe if I enchant some armor for him? It always annoys me, enchanting, and getting the metal smithed is a pain…”

She was trying to figure out how to ingratiate herself to Nuvityn in such blatant terms that Miihey was impressed.

Here is a monster so old she’s forgotten her graces too. She favored him with a look.

“Here to scold me about my conduct, [Barbarian]?”

“Mm. Not I, Great Magus. Only to say that I should love to know what a +5 gift to Nuvityn is. The image of his dead son forever preserved in a mirror?”

Her lips quirked as Prildor gave Miihey a gaze of horror.

“Forem. I knew your tribe had a funny sense of humor. Not bad. I’m no fool. I’ve done what I must. It only remains to be seen whether I’m followed by an army or just Prildor when I get Ceria.”

So she was driven. Miihey noted this down. Prildor wailed.

“I cannot leave Nuvityn, Tserre! You’ve put my position and his in jeopardy—”

“Oh shut up, Prildor. You know how fast Gold-rankers die, and Ceria’s in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. They eat her kind, and she’s just a teenager at best. You and I will do if we have to. I’ll deal with that circlet, and you can seduce a Djinni.”

“How dare you reduce me down to some—some lecherous half-Elf who sleeps with anyone! I’ll have you know I’ve only had a relationship with two Djinni, and they were astounding, magnificent ladies—”

Miihey would have given all his gold and his enchanted axe to have Prildor tell his tales of love entirely. It surely would have earned him a place in Forem’s small library of tales they deigned to commit to written stone.

But here was the thing, and Tserre seemed to note it.

“…He’s not as easy as other [Kings]. I’ve never served a King of Myths. He doesn’t want artifacts. He has too many. He’s truly angry, isn’t he?”

“He has lost a son, Magus. And you have kept him from vengeance about your own pursuits. If you had begged him, he would have been more gracious. Do you think he is heartless?”

Miihey spoke directly to Tserre, and her cold, sharp eyes found him, then she nodded once. She did not apologize, just turned her head to regard the sea.

“Well, perhaps I did it poorly. I do not…beg, [Barbarian]. How wroth is he?”

“Not enough to expel you, Magus. Not yet. But I think angry enough to go roughshod over other kingdoms.”

“I am in Chandrar. If I must…I will do what I have to, alone. I would prefer not to; I do not know this King of Destruction. Is there a risk of anything worse?”

Miihey met Tserre’s eyes with a smile wide and open.

“Yes, Magus. You may fear that he considers your task unworthy or you untrustworthy. You have met a [King] with principles. Far better had you met a lesser [King].”

She hesitated as a [Princess] in the distance flailed around in an ocean of jellyfish, desperately casting magic to stay unstung and failing. From this, Miihey saw her realize she had erred.

However, it would have also been wrong to say that King Nuvityn was a blind man. Miihey realized it was he who had also misjudged. For Prildor turned from the sight of a flailing [Princess] in the waters to greater things clearly weighing on his mind.

“You never have any tact, Tserre. This is just like the dispute with the garden. You just pick up a house and put it somewhere else, then cast an illusion so everyone can’t tell they’ve moved for thirty years. Miihey is correct; His Majesty isn’t as easy to bully as our neighbors. But while we’re here…”

He leaned on the railing of the ship. Prildor wasn’t armed. He seemed to forget his bow everywhere. He behaved like, well, a civilian a lot of the time. Despite being the [Royal Stockplier] of the entire Kingdom of Myths. But Miihey had noted that despite numerous folk of Erribathe having fallen prey to [Pickpockets] in cities, or scams or pranks, Prildor had yet to even lose money to the [Sailors] in any great amount. And he did gamble.

Now, he was just gazing at the harbor, so far out of sight it strained Miihey’s eyes to make out any details.

“I had wondered if I’d see it, but I suppose the statue’s not in the harbor. Or that’s not the capital. Do you know if it’s a lie?”

Tserre lost her expression of customary irritation as she kept an eye on Vernoue and turned.

“It’s a lie, Prildor. No one bothered casting a spell on the High King while he was performing. But there are no actual accounts of a ceremony, just a few entries any idiot can forge.”

What lie? Miihey took a moment, then remembered. Oh, High King Perric. And the marriage to—

He began to grin, but Prildor wasn’t smiling. He just put one foot on the railings as he leaned forwards.

“Good. But even so, she’s barely…I suppose she’s a bit older, but the Village of the Spring is sure to be in uproar when they hear about it. I wrote them letters explaining.”

“She’s a Gold-rank adventurer. They get entangled. She stole his crown, or the other idiot did. The half-made woman of metal. A real one after all this time. It’s politics, Prildor. I’ll sort it out.”

“I know that. But I did think, when I saw it—well, it would have been hard to catch a Courier’s ship while we were in Izril, but I thought if we were heading from First Landing I could do it. It’d only take half a year, and I could catch His Majesty. Since we’re here—he’s a [King], Tserre.”

“Mm. And?”

“It’s not right. Not to Ceria. She’s just a girl. But he is a [King]. I can’t talk to men like that without borrowing Nuvityn’s name. I feel as though I should disembark. Just in case he were to get ideas.”

“And you’ll do, what, talk to him?”

Prildor gave Tserre an insulted look.

“No. Of course not. I’m not good with words. But if he grabbed Ceria or something—it’d just have to be me. Dead, no doubt.”

Another huge sigh. But then Prildor exhaled, calmly.

“Even so, it would be unacceptable.”

Tserre gave him a second look, and Miihey felt at his arms. It was the youngest half-Elf who spoke up.

“One man dying to no good cause is a fool’s errand, just as I told the King of Myths, Prildor.”

The half-Elf blinked at Miihey as if he’d forgotten he was there and turned away, flushing.

“No, no, you’re right. I’m too old for that kind of thing. Perhaps it’s well His Majesty is here. A steadying influence who can talk to this High King. All I could do is shoot an arrow or two.”

At the High King? Prildor had bigger balls than Miihey thought—until the [Barbarian] considered what an arrow was to Prildor. Then he wondered how Prildor walked around normally. He had heard tale that this Medain had numerous armies of adventurers, fine folk in heavy armor like Voreca’s people.

He imagined a single half-Elf, upset over a [High King] carrying off a young—a child in Prildor’s eyes—[Ice Mage] towards his bedchambers. What might he do?

“Don’t be a fool, Prildor.”

Tserre’s voice was less snappish than usual. She put an arm on his shoulder, and Prildor exhaled.

“Of course I’m not an idiot, Tserre. I’ll just have a word with the High King if we get the chance.”

“Leave it to His Majesty. If he were assaulting Ceria in his palace, things would not be solved by you waving that bow around. She’s up to trouble in a far more complex place than this little kingdom. If it were just her being wed, willingly or not, I could take us off-shore, fire two spells, and be done with it. Nerrhavia’s Fallen has too many damn Djinni. There’s always someone over Level 60 hanging about too.”

Miihey turned from Tserre to Prildor, and the two half-Elves regarded Medain as they spoke carelessly. Medain who was ruled by the mighty High King Perric. A man blessed by luck indeed.

It occurred to Miihey that Nuvityn might be wrathful, but he was loath to lose someone of Tserre’s talents, or Prildor’s, whom he had specifically picked to accompany him. The [Royal Supplier] wore an unhappy expression, and Miihey edged away to tell some of the others that perhaps they should watch him. If only for the sake of High King Perric’s armies.

Forbearance was wisdom to Erribathe’s ruler, clearly. But even so, he had been slighted and his plans thrown into disarray. Nuvityn might make the best of the situation he had. But who could subdue the King of Myths’ wrath?

Not her. Not poor Miihey.

They spent some time thusly as the King of Myths brooded on his actions. He was so wroth he seemed to prefer to build his fury, and no one could alleviate it. Such was the concern of his council that they grew fearful of what might come next.

Until…he appeared.

——

It wasn’t the first day he’d appeared on the news. Or the first moment of someone paying attention to what was going on.

It was just…

Inconsequential, at first. Because, surely, it wasn’t important.

Of course, his was a famous name that ranked in the Top 1000 keywords for recognizable terms in popular culture. Which was crazy when you thought about it.

And Wistram Academy was all about its popularity algorithms. They were riding a wave with the television and popular media, and they were intending to keep on top of it until they got to the top. Archmage Eldavin and his Terras faction had it all figured out, of course.

“First comes scrying orbs. Advertisements. An ‘orb in every home’; well, we don’t have the industry for that. Yet. But then we’ll invent one of these, uh, music players. First, music, then we turn it into an all-in-one device. Phones. Within ten years, we’ll have Wistram Academy in every person’s hands!”

They were stealing from Earth. If there was a route to enslaving an entire world on mass media, why fix a winning formula? Eldavin had plans. But the key was boosting Wistram News Network to the max, and that meant good ratings were key.

They were inventing everything from how to analyze how many people had watched any given broadcast to how to ‘rate’ likeability. Random surveys, marking each scrying orb by watch time—oh, the [Mages] had lots to do.

But what this meant was the industry of television was growing, and certain players, like Drassi, Sir Relz, and Noass, were at the top. But there were new people trying to rise each day, and the quality of television was becoming a concern.

At the start, you could put a cat on a scrying orb and have it roll around or bat at yarn and your audience loved it. These days? The cat had better be a one-eyed kitten abandoned at birth who was experiencing its first magical ball of yarn—ever—and there had better be some good accompanying music.

Entirely disheartening. Some members of Earth, like Rémi Canada, saw this slide into the madness of his world and were trying to fight it, but this was a natural pattern. All of this meant that the things being shown on the news grew increasingly more…spectacular.

Not always pure action! Wars got coverage because they had to, but sometimes you got a [Nobleman] giving away ten thousand gold pieces of wealth. Or—or a Named-ranker caught fighting a monster of truly awe-inspiring proportions.

Silver-rankers virtually never appeared anymore. Gold-rankers had to be extraordinary to get a spot. The age when Liscor fighting Face-Eater Moths was newsworthy was gone. It wasn’t as spontaneous as before. Not as organic.

At the same time…that meant many broadcasts felt ‘fake’ for lack of a better word. What the curators of media decided was vital, like the crowning of a new [King] of Oztera or a noble’s ball, could fall flat on the many cultures who asked why this mattered.

A disconnect between what people wanted you to believe was important and what you felt. And Wistram at the heart of it. Eldavin was ruthless; if something wasn’t getting genuine traction, he fired the [Mage] responsible for the broadcast and blacklisted the organization.

Soon, people would be able to buy time. Soon, there’d be enough channels to have people able to purchase importance—but right now was a unique moment where things had to be genuinely captivating to get on television. It kept dedicated teams of news-people from Pallass to Wistram to every news-network hunting for good footage to air. And those teams were already being used—how culture shifted so fast.

That was why it wasn’t surprising he hadn’t been featured despite the news coming out. It was, after all…

Just Pisces. More than one person had reviewed the tidbits and seen summaries.

‘Bane of Roshal killing [Slavers]. Possibly him? Numerous caravans destroyed. People attacked on the roads.’

They looked at that briefing, did a bit of research, and concluded maybe this was real. But…so what?

The Horns of Hammerad were good for generating attention. People liked them. The Silver Killer of Chandrar? Amazing broadcast. Bloody, captivating—and she was so weird. You had her father, who was denouncing anything improper, which you could juxtapose with Yvlon Byres tearing through the Coliseum of Monarchs…great stuff.

But Pisces Jealnet? First, he was a [Necromancer]. Second? He was the Bane of Roshal. Or was it Scourge? Already, it was a headache to deal with the dual titles, and he was just killing slavers.

So what? He was sort of doing the thing he was named after. To someone like a [Television Producer], it felt banal. Played out. Why bother showing him when they could show…a new species? Something from the New Lands?

And that was why they were young still. These executives didn’t have an understanding of narratives. You see, people knew Pisces. The Horns weren’t just famous, they were liked. People might want to know what Pisces was doing. Morality?

No one considered the morality. Except a few individuals. Like, again, Rémi Canada, who might not have had access to Wistram News Network, but who had a certain power of his own. He was the first one to insist that it get a broadcast on Nerrhavia’s Wonders, the local broadcast channel.

It might not be Lundas, but Rémi was willing to take the risk and override his editor’s objections that this was in bad taste. He knew…stories.

The other person who had a relationship with Pisces, however fleeting, was in just as prominent a position. Drassi Tewing followed her instincts, and she had Channel 2. She was allowed to take risks, and they generally paid off. Channel 1 with Sir Relz and Noass got to do ‘big news’, but that meant she often found gems they’d overlooked.

Like the recordings. They came, she understood, via recordings of the caravans, who had been monitored. Anti-scrying spells meant you couldn’t tell where Pisces was, but you could get aerial footage of the caravans and see the attacks. A few were from the ground; people with Wistram Scrying Devices that had recording functions.

Drassi thought about it for ten minutes, then took a gamble on the thing that had brought her this far.

“Play it. I don’t care how many disclaimers we have to run. I’ll get on and apologize to our Chandrarian viewers if I have to—play it. Either I’m blind and heartless or you idiots don’t see…”

She leaned over the scrying orb and stared down.

“…I don’t even care if it’s him. That’s the story. Play it, and if I’m wrong, I’ll retire tomorrow. But I’m not wrong.”

She wasn’t so far gone into her class that she didn’t remember what it was like to be a regular Drake. And that young man…Drassi’s eyes stung, and she wished Selys were here to say something to him.

He seemed so alone. She wished she’d asked him. Interviewed him. All she could do was order the recording played.

So that was how it happened. At first, it was just a single broadcast on Channel 6 of Nerrhavia’s Wonders, and Channel 2 aired a single short feature segment on a certain [Necromancer] at 19:30—a late night broadcast that ran twenty minutes.

But they were paying attention to the analytics, you see. When both channels saw a spike in viewer retention, letters to the studio, they did the obvious thing and featured another clip. Then devoted more time to…

Then they dug a bit and realized there was political drama here. The images kept coming in, and they were graphic. Rémi began to run his unaired piece on what had happened to Pisces, and Drassi thought of the adventurer who had come home and the rumors she’d heard and…

Then they felt it. A building momentum. An obsession grabbing the chat rooms, the audience who began tuning in no matter the hour. Demanding explanations. As ever.

As if they should have ever doubted him. So what if he was a [Necromancer]? He was one of the Horns of Hammerad. And this…

This is how it reached the bored, irate King of Myths, who was half-watching a scrying orb as he rode across Medain, pondering his next course of action. Magus Tserre’s eyes as she glanced over and heard a name she’d decided to flag as important.

“—ladies and gentlemen. I think—I think this is a confirmed event happening now. I am Drassi Tewing, and I encourage anyone under the age of, uh, sixteen to look away now! I cannot confirm this is the genuine article, but this is breaking news—a raid on another [Slaver] caravan of Roshal. That’s…Pisces. That’s him. And [Bandits]? Ancestors.”

Nuvityn’s head turned, and he knew that name. A teammate of Ceria Springwalker’s? He was annoyed, then saw it.

A tiny image reflected in a scrying orb as Drassi Tewing commented in a corner. It was an aerial view: a caravan racing across a road, leaving a visible trail of dust. Moving figures coming from the sides and rear.

Classic [Raider] ambush. Nuvityn had known war, and the enfolding attack didn’t surprise him. It was neat, tidy; mounted riders and undead flanking the—

Undead?

Then his eyes focused on the Skeleton Champions riding undead horses. Rampaging towards the wagons, ignoring arrow fire. Screaming [Bandits]. Desperate Stitch-folk faces locked in horror as the scrying spell zoomed in.

But ahead of them all a pair of figures. A young, Human man with a shock of brown hair riding forwards. Firing black bolts of magic from his offhand as he rode with a Stitch-woman whirling her scimitar around.

They came down on the caravan, and Nuvityn saw blood drawn. A beheaded woman—his eyes flashed for a second.

Murder. Then he heard what the Drake was saying. He recognized the sigil painted in red on the side of the wagons.

A band of people being hurried off the wagons. Linked by chains as the undead and [Raiders]…Nuvityn stopped. Then he strode for the scrying orb to see more clearly. And it was so tiny. An open mouth on the [Necromancer]’s face. Undead, the horrific monsters, bounding forward and slaying the living.

But only until you paid attention. Then you saw him. Pisces Jealnet lifting that rapier high. Swinging it at…

“Roshal?”

He continued to cut through them. Scything down [Slavers] like chaff. There was blood and gore, but Nuvityn’s eyes were fixed on that symbol. And he knew it.

“One of Ceria’s teammates. He’s slaughtering the Slavers of Roshal. I never cared for them. But they have a lot of power on Chandrar’s sands.”

Prildor was speaking, glancing around carefully. Nuvityn just murmured.

“They do. He must be mad.”

Roshal was a world power. He allowed none of them in Erribathe, but other kingdoms traded with them despite any influence he could exert. To kill their people in the open—madness. This was a slaughter. Actions befitting a common brigand, not a Gold-rank adventurer. And he was a [Necromancer]. A hated class. Nuvityn remembered when it had been celebrated.

Nuvityn was watching the young man riding into the center of the [Slavers], swinging that sword like a madman. [Slaves] being freed as a [Raider] slashed at their collars and chains.

“Your Majesty. If you wished to ride and—”

He held up a hand, and there was silence. Nuvityn, the irritable King of Myths, just leaned on the horse’s saddle, forgetting his wroth mood. Searching that desperate little figure for a trace of something else. Greed, cowardice, self-servitude. He just saw the [Necromancer] finally break free of the melee, his white robes shedding crimson.

Riding forwards. Chasing the [Slavers] until he turned and saw the collared men and women. Children.

They took children too. The King of Myths saw the [Necromancer] dismount. Fall to one knee; blood was running down his side, and the [Bandit Lady] was striding over to him. But he was reaching out. A key in his shaking hands he’d taken from a dead man.

Nuvityn said nothing at all. He just gazed down, watching, until the scrying orb turned into an ad. Then he turned his head.

“Has this been going on…long? Find me more recordings.”

That was all. He mounted his stallion and kept riding. But a few minutes later, when Voreca rode next to him, presenting a second scrying orb, his head turned. The grieving father, the King of Myths who rode for vengeance and justice…

Watched.

He was not the only one. And there was the blessing for hungry eyes.

If they had not noticed him before…

Pisces Jealnet had not stopped. He had a wealth of content to deliver, really.

——

Merr was bad for Pisces, he knew. Not because she was a [Bandit Lady] or nefarious, but because she knew him. And she made the impossible—possible.

They rode on the caravans he could never have caught nor found. Like a storm, yes.

They came over the ridgeline, and he ordered the undead forwards. Came down, forgetting everything when he saw that sigil. Just that roaring in his ears. That urgent desire in his chest. Terrible, terrible glory as he swung the rapier up and down.

Monster.

It was so easy. Merr the [Bandit Lady] was better at strategy than Pisces; she used his undead like expendable fodder, sending them in before screening their advance with [Bandits] and Skills. It meant he could just…listen to her instructions and fight.

Easier.

He’d figured it out when they’d been freed, though his ego had taken a second to realize it. Merr was a better leader. Now, Pisces was grateful. He could trust her with figuring out when to escape, who to hit, the plan of attack.

All he had to do was…

——

“[Deathbolt].”

The [Necromancer] saw the enemy [Slaver] dodge the bolt, but that opening left her on the backstep. Which meant when he lunged—he ran her through the side. It was not a killing blow, for all the blood ran over his hands. He heard a gasp and backstepped out of the return slash. The stumbling [Axewoman] swung furiously to keep him back.

But he was circling on the ground, and she was now bleeding. Advantage: Pisces. The clash of swords rang around him. Screaming. The undead assailing the living.

Pisces and his opponent existed in a bubble of their own. He was not blind to potential ambush or other combatants, but he focused on her. And she was wavering. Favoring her wounded side. Bleeding.

She went for a healing potion, and that was her mistake. He gave her no time to heal.

A slash at her neck which she ducked, potion at her lips as she drank, backpedalling. She was gulping the liquid when she saw his free hand pointing, below his sword.

[Deathbolt].

He fired it twice through her chest, and she fell over. Potion spilling until he grabbed the bottle.

Such were his duels. They were not honorable, not practiced as he’d been taught. But they were no less official for all that. Any hesitation and he was dead. But he punished them.

If you account only for my sword, [Deathbolt] will strike you. If you dodge that, you fall to my sword. Few foes could face both a [Duelist] and a [Necromancer]’s attacks.

But there were some…

——

“Pisces!”

Merr found him after the third raid. He was sitting on the ground, admiring the blade in his arm.

“The bastard got you—healer!”

She roared, and he murmured.

“He couldn’t get through my Stalker armor. He was going for my armpit. It would have worked—but he overcommitted. Silver-bell.”

The dead man was no [Slaver], at least, not one that wore Roshal’s armor. He looked like a hired [Mercenary]. A [Guard], maybe. He’d been good. They’d traded wounds, but Pisces had drawn the fight to a swifter conclusion than his opponent deserved.

“Stupid—you went for trades? You have the other bugger take it up the ass and never let them get a chance to do you the same way!”

She was scolding him; Pisces grinned weakly. He liked her colorful euphemisms.

“I knew…my armor was better than his. It wasn’t mannerly.”

“Forget mannerly. You’re alive. Hey, healer, I said! Get those [Slaves] moving, and let’s ride! Strip the carts!”

Merr was covered in sweat and grime and blood. She appeared—harried. And why not? They had been fighting all day.

Even for a seasoned group like the Dustbandits, three engagements in a day was insane. But they’d been in range of three caravans with Merr’s movement Skills. Pisces saw Merr extending a hand.

“Pisces, m’boy, you have to get up and—”

He rose to his feet without her hand. She recoiled, and Pisces’ head turned. He drank the rest of the healing potion.

“I know. Enemies?”

He looked around and saw no one.

They were all dead.

——

Merr the Storm thought about making a crack about Pisces’ bathing habits. They didn’t seem, uh, improved since last she’d known him.

He wasn’t using [Cleanse], and he’d been roughing it in the sand for over a week at least. To be fair, the sand helped a lot. It clung to the dried blood, and he did scrub the worst of the gore off. But he was starting to smell a bit like the corpses he created. In Chandrar, again, they didn’t rot badly. And he had no bathing equipment.

But dead gods. She knew her Dustbandits were giving him the same side-eye she was. He was breathing in and out as he finished a healing potion, rapier stowed at his side, undead rising, and he was controlling them. But like this you could see a man, blinking, a Human with messy hair you could rib.

Not so five minutes ago. Merr leaned over.

“Hey, Chokin’ Casep. You know movement Skills. That [Flash Step] trick…you ever seen a man run down someone on horseback with it?”

The former Trick Rider spat.

“Only th’ once.”

“Ah, right, then it’s normal?”

“Didn’t say that, boss. A Silver-bell [Duelist] did it one time. Tried t’say he’d beat us all in a footrace. Ended up breaking every toe on his right foot fifty yards in.”

“Heh. But he caught you?”

Casep finished looting a corpse. A dead [Slaver] stared up at Merr, face twisted in rage. She spat onto the face.

The dead [Slaver] sat up. Merr shouted, punched the zombie flat, then realized it was Pisces. She swore as everyone laughed. Then ducked her wrath. But Merr’s eyes were on the cut that almost made the zombie headless.

Pisces didn’t have an enchanted sword. His was sharp, but Merr had increased her muscle mass, and she was a [Bandit Lady] with an enchanted scimitar. You had to be mighty pissed to swing that hard with a regular blade. Her eyes stole around, counting.

“…nine…ten…right, how’d you see it then, Casep?”

The [Dustrider] was watching Pisces too. Trying to place the man here who jumped and flushed when Chimes snuck up on him with a laugh to the face of the [Necromancer] riding down on…

“Oh, that. That was His Majesty of Jecrass. He had the same Skill and heard about the [Duelist] cursin’ us out. So he had us race him. Gave us a head start, and when we were laughin’, he caught us. Went back and told the [Duelist] to practice his Skills like the blade. The Trickriders always had an inkling he was more’n he let on. But he said it’s not easy.”

“And that was a Skill, not a spell you’ve got to cast, eh?”

How hard was it to cast, what, a Tier 2 spell fifteen times in quick succession without hitting a rock in a fight? Merr didn’t know. But there was a new wariness to the Dustbandits around Pisces. Now they saw the truth behind the name.

But that wasn’t all he was. If it was, Merr wouldn’t have come out this far. She rose from her haunches and waited. Where…where…?

Ah, there it was again. She saw the [Necromancer] toss the empty vial down, finger-comb sand out of his hair, and then turn. Then he found them.

A group of Dustbandits weren’t doing the fun things like looting the dead or patching wounds. A grumpy band of twenty were talking to over four dozen people being unchained.

[Slaves]. They were standing together with that disbelieving expression of people encountering extreme violence. Civilians. No one over forty here, couple of children—Merr spat at a dead [Slaver] again.

Debtor’s run. This lot scooped up entire households. Roshal loved this trick in kingdoms that didn’t have laws against family being held responsible for debts. Even friends and cosigners on a loan. So many tricks to get you in their grasp…

The [Dustbandit] in charge of this mob was speaking loudly and impatiently. Scarlips was glaring at the sun starting to set in the sky. Three caravans and they were tired, but her work had only begun.

“Right, listen up. You’re all free people now—congratulations. But fair warning, soon as we get clear of here, those chains might go back on.”

The [Slaves] froze, and Scarlips snapped.

“As cover. They won’t be enchanted, but we’ve gotta pretend you lot are [Slaves]. We don’t have enough horses to get mounted. There’s a group of folk who’ll help you find a place to go. Leave the region, find new identities, whatever. But until we get there, we’re avoiding Roshal, and that means what I say goes. Anyone who tries to tattle on us is a traitor, and we shoot them dead. Got it?”

Her social graces were poor, but Scarlips had done this run many a time. It was not a fun task for the Dustbandits. It didn’t pay well, and getting rid of a slow-moving group like this while dodging the law was hard.

Merr would have to sweeten them with something nice afterwards. But, eh, what she was doing sort of worked. Being kind got you tears and arguments. Scarlips had the chastened [Slaves] bowing and nodding to her.

Still, there were tears. Merr turned her head as someone burst into hysterical sobbing. Faint questions—Scarlips snapped back.

“No, you’re not being resold; do you not see—we’re the Dustbandits, we don’t take [Slaves]! You’re free. Go celebrate later, but shut up and get ready to march hard! Damn, we’ve got brats too…”

Some of the kids were crying. That’d be a problem on the road, so Scarlips just shouted for someone to find a Calming Tonic. Chimes tried; the silly rookie began to juggle daggers and nearly speared herself through the hand. Merr snorted. No wonder she’d never made it as a [Performer].

Then Pisces walked into the conversation, and Scarlips fell silent. It was not the first time they’d done this; he’d seen Merr’s methods and told her how he’d just sent off the other [Slaves] with a prayer and naught else. But now…

“I’m sorry, Lady Bandit. I’ll get them silent. Children—children, hush.”

One of the men was trying to shut up a pair of Stitch-children with all the tact of a distant uncle, not actual parenthood. But Pisces just gazed down and held something out.

“Here.”

He offered a Stitch-boy and Stitch-girl a pair of objects. One was a handkerchief, fairly clean, for the tears and snot running down their faces. The other was a keyring taken from one of the dead [Guards]. They looked up at him and flinched.

“The Scourge.”

He paused, hearing the title, but he didn’t recoil or laugh it off as he did with Merr and her [Bandits]. Instead, Pisces knelt like a strange wading bird, white robes puddling around him. The only pristine part of him.

“That’s what they call me. You two are free. You all are. I cannot go with you; I’m sorry. But this woman will take you somewhere safe.”

He nodded at Scarlips, who hesitated and gave everyone an unconvincing smile. Many of the [Slaves] drew back, but the Stitch-boy took the key and turned it over.

“Sometimes they trick us. Giving us keys and seeing if we try to get free. They whipped the last man to death for it.”

His hair was black like charcoal, and he gave Pisces a wary look before his eyes darted to the dead [Slavers]. Pisces sat back on his heels.

“I see. This is no dream. What’s your name, young man?”

“Ultri.”

Pisces nodded. His gaze stole skywards, and Merr knew what he was seeing. Then he turned.

“Is this your sister?”

“Nah. She’s just a friend…our dads knew each other. Stupid idiots went together on a loan.”

The boy would have spat, but then he just turned away. Pisces glanced around.

“Where are…?”

“My dad got sold. Hers tried to escape.”

This was why you never asked questions of [Slaves] until you were good and damn ready for a cry. Merr tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Pisces was new to this. But she still listened. And what the [Necromancer] said was—

“I’m sorry.”

“Could—could you free him, Bane?”

“I don’t think I can. Not if he’s in a city.”

“Aye, well, it’s his own fault, and we’re freed. Nevrece, he’s the Bane. Stop crying. It’s probably not a trick.”

Probably. There was a pause, hiccupping, and Pisces spoke again.

“Scarlips, how are you going to take the [Slaves] to freedom?”

“Eh, well, we’re out of horses this time. Putting them in wagons is probably best. Short of an inspection, no one notices. We’ll have to rip off any tracking spells, but we’re decent at that. And we can spot a checkpoint. If we had more camels—well, we had to shoot them down.”

“Would undead camels work? Zombies would look normal at a distance. These…”

A gasp. Cries, and Merr opened one eye and saw more undead. Truly, necromancy had a tool for every situation and it was always reanimating a body. Scarlips sucked at her teeth.

“That might work. If they don’t go rogue we can run ‘em nonstop, eh?”

“I’ll lose control if they go out of range, but we could escort you? And I’ll bind them so they obey even when I’m away. They’ll lose their speed…”

They were conferring logistics. Merr was going to tell Pisces not to bother; her Skills worked on her Dustbandits in a certain radius. But then Pisces heard a whisper.

“Is it a dream?”

The girl, Nevrece, was gazing at Pisces. She flinched and hid behind her friend, and they both peered at the ground when he and Scarlips turned. But there was that doubt.

The little lad was being tough, Merr knew. Ultri, the other [Slaves] listening, all had seen the fighting. It probably wasn’t a trick.

But you didn’t really believe you were free. You expected the collars to come back, to be punished for defiance. Even wanted it, if they had you long enough. Merr had spoken to enough [Rebels] and freed [Slaves] to get that. And Pisces had to know it.

He sat down this time.

“I wish I could prove it to you. I wish I could promise it’s over and no one will ever come after you again. If there are more pursuers, if Roshal sends anyone on these roads, they won’t make it to you. That I can promise.”

Merr stirred. Madness. A caravan was one thing, and these had been prepared, if outnumbered and outlevelled. A force on the roads?

He’s making promises I don’t think I want to keep. But she said nothing. The [Necromancer] was ruffling his hair again, and Ultri spoke back.

“It’s a good dream, Bane. Even if I wake up tomorrow, it’ll be good enough for a long time. It’s the third time you came for me, y’know. This time feels realest of all.”

Then he smiled, or tried to, but his lips started to tremble. He swiped at his face, even punched his side, but the mask broke a bit; his eyes grew wet and shining, and he began to hiccup. Pisces’ face then wasn’t the silly [Necromancer] or the Bane of Roshal. Just a man in pain.

He looked around, to Merr, who was not going to insert herself into this conversation for a Relic-class item, to the other Dustbandits, who pretended to be busy adjusting boots, buckles—they were women who killed people, not dealt in emotional vulnerability—

And the [Slaves] who stared at him like a dream, painful and uncertain. Then Pisces closed his eyes and seemed to think of something else. He turned, questing around, and peered north. North, past the setting sun, and he smiled.

“Maybe that would do. I have a way to prove it’s not a dream, Ultri. Or as close as I can get.”

Please don’t pinch him. Merr glanced over, and the boy compressed trembling lips. He saw Pisces raise his hand and put forefinger and middle finger together like one of Erin’s silly gestures. He aimed at a forty-five degree angle, skywards. Then Pisces paused and glanced at the children, then at Merr.

She knew what he was going to do a second before he did it. Of course—[Mages] and their damn magic.

She envied that.

Then the Bane of Roshal fired a rainbow from the tip of his finger. A comet that arced up and shot skywards, glowing with all the colors burned into their memories.

It shone over the [Slaves]. Had the Dustbandits’ heads rise as one. Merr saw the falling Djinni in her memories and sighed.

“Great. Now everyone for a dozen miles can see us, Necrolad.”

…But she let him do it. Because that, of so many things, was proof, wasn’t it? The children gazed at the one symbol that Roshal wouldn’t dare copy. Those [Slavers] who avoided even rain showers caught by the sun like it was the world’s deadliest poison.

Pisces sat under it, his white robes changed to prismatic colors. He looked down at Ultri and Nevrece and, wordlessly, the boy handed the key back to Pisces. He bent to unlock their collars.

“Never again.”

That’s when the little lad hugged him. He threw his arms around Pisces and buried his face in the [Necromancer]’s robes, shoulders shaking. Pisces patted him on the back awkwardly, and then the girl grabbed him, and the children and the [Slaves] were clustering around. Thanking him. Gazing up at…

“So that’s the fellow you met, Merr.”

Chokin’ Casep broke Merr out of her trance. She turned and nodded to her Dustbandits. Now they were beginning to get it.

“That’s him. Instincts of a master duelist. Heart like a Sariant Lamb, however they tried to scar it. Nose as weak as a desert bloom.”

Her lips parted in a grin as she pushed herself up to shout at Pisces that he only had a few more minutes of hugs. Despite her weariness, yes.

Yes, that’s what she’d come to see. And what Pisces didn’t know as he picked up the boy and went to find a wagon for them to ride to freedom was…well, that was what mattered more than the violence.

More than the lives he took. This was the moment that captured the eye and any good and reasonable person who could place themselves in the shoes of another. What he didn’t know, of course, was that they were still watching.

Everyone.

——

That’s why the King of Myths kept watching until he stopped riding, and his army halted behind him. He was a man who had lived for two centuries, and he knew why he approved of the first part.

But the second was a reminder, far fresher than memory. It was not just Nuvityn, King of Erribathe, either.

——

Gazi of Reim hadn’t blinked for…at least ten minutes. Or moved. She was covered in blood herself, having been fighting along the fortress frontlines with her cracked armor. She had only retreated for a bowl of noodles in the Drathian style.

They were cold, still rolled up around her chopsticks. Trey Atwood, nursing mana burns from his duels with enemy [Mages], was watching her.

Everyone was out of the corner of their eyes. But the member of the King of Destruction’s Seven said nothing.

The same [Necromancer] she had once tried to kidnap, that adventurer who had crossed her path twice…her eye was fixed on him longer than it ever had been before. She gazed at him like she had looked no one else save for the King of Destruction himself.

A [Necromancer] standing under a rainbow.

“Gazi?”

Trey woke her from her trance. When she looked up, wordlessly, she seemed to notice the food in her hands. She put the bowl aside and beckoned him over.

“A foolish action. They will hunt him. No, they are already. He jeopardizes his team’s position in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Even Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s [Queen] must heed Roshal’s influence. He is far less cautious than I thought.”

She said all that, but her main eye kept focusing on the scrying orb. Trey spoke quietly.

“He seems pretty much like the last time we met. First he draws on Flos, then his team flies on a carpet out of Hraace…”

“Roshal is not to be made enemy lightly. He knows this more than anyone. A former [Slave] would.”

She rubbed at the gorget around her neck, and Trey remembered she had once been a [Slave] herself before Flos had bought and freed her. Trey talked a big game, and he believed what he said about slavery.

But Trey Atwood had never felt it. He almost envied Pisces his ability to captivate Gazi’s eyes. Even now, the Gazer was watching the [Necromancer].

“He is a much greater fool than I took him for. Of them all…I thought the [Innkeeper] was a fool to charm His Majesty. I paid no attention to the half-Elf. And he only had a single spell, I thought. My eyes are not perfect.”

Gazi sat there on the little bench, then peered around. A war was occurring behind her.

“Allow me a break. I will return to battle momentarily.”

“Of course, Lady Pathseeker.”

The [Soldiers] rose and bowed. She kept sitting, and her eyes gazed into the scrying orb, tracing the magic that was following Pisces Jealnet.

A scrying spell from Wistram. And perhaps Gazi fancied she could see the spells tracing back to Wistram itself. Flitting across the world…no, that was still far beyond her. But she wondered if she saw this, felt this—

Who else? Then her eyes were roaming to Trey, to a few other [Soldiers] who paused to gaze at Pisces. Searching for the same spark that lit her eyes. She rose suddenly.

“Where is His Majesty? Amerys?”

She wanted to show them. And then Gazi was asking about that silly thing she’d never asked about. The…what were they called? Chatrooms? She who had never cared for the applause or condemnation of nations was just hungry.

Hungry to know she was not alone. Even gleeful, for as she walked towards the King of Destruction…

He could not ignore this.

No one could.

——

Drassi Tewing just sat there on the scrying orb, letting it play. She had an expression that Gazi would recognize and which baffled some of her audience.

Selys Shivertail had frozen in the Assassin’s Guild. Calidus Reinhart was wiggling like a fish on a hook, having found another funny expression in his best [Guildmistress] to savor.

But what Selys saw on Drassi’s face was rarer than most people expected. And it was just…

Approval.

The former [Gossip] smiled at everyone. She always had a kind word to say, even if she hated your guts, and could fill any awkward moment with a fortress’ worth of verbal masonry. But she was rarely silent.

She just rested her chin on her claws, tapping the scales on the side of her cheek. Not quite smiling. But that approval…

“I’m not sure if we’re friends. We don’t know each other that well. He’s more like the friend of a friend. But I wish I’d gotten to know him better. That’s the Gold-rank adventurer I’m proud to say I’ve met.”

A little banner was moving underneath the image of Pisces as Drassi sat in the corner of the screen, a box in a box. It was a news-ticker running advertisements, clarifications, and a disclaimer.

Breaking: Scourge of Roshal attacks [Slavers], live coverage. Viewer discretion is advised. Channel 2 News does not condone the behavior of any individuals or sanction breaking the rule of law or murder…

Drassi paused, then leaned forwards and stared at the little banner. As if she had suddenly leaned through the television frame and—

[Television: Fourth Wall Awareness]. She scared half her viewers to death as she eyed the ticker tape and then sat back, sighing.

“Oh, yes, he’s breaking the rules and all that. Sorry, folks. Level 40+ famous journalist. Comes with being on the news every day. He’s going against Nerrhavia Fallen’s sovereign laws and Roshal’s…and in the spirit of journalism, I would like to point out that he was made a [Slave] for a technicality. I have never received a proper explanation as to why he was made a [Slave].”

Her eyes glinted.

“Believe me, I have asked. So yes, he’s murdering people. Freeing children. Highly illegal. This may be my Izrilian cultural bias. I’m sure I’ll get letters from our audience. But while we’re here, on my channel…”

She sat back. Went back to watching him.

“…I’m so proud of him.”

——

Five words triggered a panic in Lailight Scintillation. Where, yes, thousands of [Slave Masters] rushed to send in angry letters to Channel 2 news the moment they heard that.

It reached even the Slave Lords of Roshal, and all five of them paid attention to the broadcast, albeit to different levels.

Shaullile sighed like a woman overworked and made a few notes.

Emir Yazdil had been watching for days, coiled up with his favorite [Slaves], his eyes both amorous and frustrated. A serpent waiting to strike.

Andra grimaced as she felt the gears she endeavored to oil snagging on a grain of sand. Twitched as her half-dead body tried to correct her beloved machine of a nation, oiling it with blood and gold.

Thatalocian turned away, counting the numbers and smiling as they led him back to that number again. Erin Solstice. He had warned them all.

And Pazeral? The laziest of the [Slave Lords] focused on Pisces’ face, and he arose from his bed and indulgences in wrath and fury. Magic tore the air as he focused on the [Necromancer]. Not that he recalled Pisces personally. But he saw the same enemy he always had. Just wearing a different face. He raged as he gave orders.

——

—And the broadcast was spreading. Pisces didn’t know that. He was glancing skywards, knowing there were [Scrying] spells, but urgently talking to Merr.

“Merr, we still have plenty of daylight. If there are reprisal forces from Roshal on the roads—”

“Pisces, we’ve taken out three caravans. We’re not Golems! We’ve bled for this. Let it lie!”

She was tired. He was reminded she’d ridden nonstop to get here, and this pace…the Dustbandits were seasoned veterans, but three running battles? Even a [Soldier] of Reim would have looked askance at more.

Probably. Yet he was arguing.

“This is our window, Merr. If you’d just—”

She hissed at him as they argued in front of the Dustbandits.

“Listen to me, Pisces. You don’t know the business of raiding or how much attention we’re drawing. The moment I lead us into a bad engagement, my girls die, and that’s on me.”

She jabbed a thumb at her chest, and the Dustbandits nodded; they were very worried about just that. Pisces glanced around and sensed the mood was against him.

I could go on alone. But…he stopped, and his mind seemed to unfocus from its target for a second. He studied Merr, thoughts racing, then stepped back. Nodded.

“You’re right. I do trust you, Merr. This has been your war—I left Chandrar, and I don’t know how this works. Not only did you come all this way out here, but I’m putting you in danger.”

She fixed him with one grumpy eye.

“I can hear the ‘but’ louder than a horsefly crawling into my ear to lay eggs in my brain. I’ve said my piece. I ain’t changing it, Necrosniffer. I’m tired. You might be full of righteous anger, but it wears off. I ain’t keeping up. And if I’m not keeping up, none of my girls are.”

“I can do it, boss! I’m good for—ow!”

Chimes raised one hand, and the others threw rocks and dirt at her. Laughter, and Pisces smiled along. He hesitated, then slapped Merr on the back. She almost threw an elbow at him.

“Sorry. But that is funny, Merr. You crossed into Nerrhavia’s Fallen and how far to get to me?”

She wasn’t falling for it.

“I’m not falling for that trick. I’m a [Bandit], not some Gold-ranker who rode across Izril in that Crossroads of Izril. You’re used to a team of Level 40s. Drop it.”

He frowned, and Pisces went pacing away from Merr. The Dustbandits were mounted in a rough circle, eying him. A few jeered or shrugged, but he glanced at them, then went striding back to her.

“It’s true, Merr. We crossed from the Great Plains to the western shore in mere days. We went across the entire New Lands faster than anyone but a Courier. That was a function of the Crossroads, though.”

He did that? Dead gods. The Dustbandits shifted. If it was bragging—well, damnit, it was hard to argue about that. But Pisces wasn’t done. There was a twinkle in his eyes, a faint mischief there.

“That was because we had to get to Erin. It was the second-hardest journey in my entire life. But when we crossed the Glass Straits, fleeing Emir Yazdil? Fighting our way through every [Slaver] caravan we came across? Raiding the Glass Bazaar without weapons or more than a handful of [Bandits] and the [Slaves]? You were there, Merr. That was worse, wasn’t it?”

She wanted to glare. But her heart did leap, and Merr kicked the ground.

“Right, I suppose it was. No fancy magic, just those damn monsters shooting eye-lasers and, what, one Skeleton Lord with a rock? Damned hellish. I don’t want to do it again. So—”

Pisces was nodding, and he cut her off with a smile.

“So that’s why I take your point, Merr. You’re tired. But I also know that Merr the Storm takes it easy. She’s a [Bandit], after all. Merr don’t work hard. Merr don’t wipe before she shits. Er, something like that?”

He vaguely recalled her Merr-isms. Several Dustbandits began choking on their masks, and Merr herself started laughing, then took a swipe at him.

“You idiot, that’s not what I—well, exactly. I take it easy.”

“We’d have reached Izril’s coast in half the time if we were with you.”

“Yeah, well—I have movement Skills. Reckon I’d like to see this Crossroads, anyways.”

“I’m sure you’d thrive. If you wanted to, you could do another hundred—no, two hundred miles in a day. If you had to. I am aware we’re tired. But what makes for a better story, Merr? The woman who took down three caravans in a day? Or four? Five? How much is a level worth, do you think?”

She was staring at him. Grinding her teeth, trying not to appear happy. The Dustbandits were glancing at their fearless leader being talked up by the Scourge of Roshal. Merr rolled her eyes. Feinted a kick at Pisces. Mouthed ‘I know what you’re doing’—stared at the sky.

Then at his earnest grey-green eyes. He was smiling. Merr ground her teeth together more, then snapped.

“Argh. We could at least scout around for—girls, get ready to ride!”

She swung herself into her saddle, rolling her eyes ostentatiously. She jerked a thumb at Pisces.

“The new girl’s having her first rampage. You know how it is. Casep, get me a [Scouting Report] on anything around us! Holta, query Savere for intelligence on what the Guild is doing—”

The Dustbandits were eying Pisces. He just got back into a saddle, happy. They knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing. But, well, it worked.

Like a certain [Innkeeper] complimenting you to your face. Same with a pot of curry to the eyes. Just because you saw it coming didn’t mean it wasn’t effective.

And it was in the blood, now. This madness, this crazy—how far could they go? [Bandits] were adrenaline-junkies, just like adventurers. They lived for the feeling of riding past any limits.

“He’s gonna get us all killed.”

Casep grumbled, and Merr heard her. The [Bandit Lord] rode past her.

“Not on my watch. But you wanna talk him down? Go ahead, Casep.”

The [Dustbandit] glanced over her shoulder, then spurred her mount forwards.

“Hey, no one wants to live forever, boss. Uglier faces than that have gotten me killed. Like yours.”

Then they were riding forwards. A shouting storm—

They weren’t stopping.

——

It was a long day. Merr fought hard on multiple fronts. Fighting, well, that was tricky enough. Roshal knew she was coming, but there was only so much prep they could do against her Dustbandits and Pisces’ undead.

Even so, calculating who to hit, and how, was the easy part. The harder, harder part was breaking Pisces out of the shell he was encased in.

He had been half-dead, a man staring down his end, when she’d found him. Glorious enough, but even after rest, his eyes would be focused on the horizon or locked on his next quarry. She’d seen that expression on plenty of faces, both [Bandit] and [Rebels].

Who’d argue it wasn’t deserved? Not her. But she still set to the task of unearthing the man instead of just riding with the Scourge.

“Pisces m’boy. Have a bite of this wrap. The girls all take turns making food, and some of them ain’t shit. Good?”

She tossed a delicacy of the Dustbandits at Pisces and nearly beaned him off his undead horse. He fumbled the burrito and inspected it. It was a simple recipe with infinite variations: a bit of hot meat, sauce, and your filling of choice.

In bad times, it was Yellat with salt. But Merr didn’t allow that kind of thing; empty stomachs lowered [Bandit] morale like nothing else. She’d broken out the good vittles and had the [Bandits] who were best at cooking put on lunch duty.

Purple, sticky rice with little bright green herbs chopped into the mix, along with some rich Izrilian beef, drizzled with a honey sauce, and all stuffed together with peppers in a custom Ashwheat wrap that had bits of cheese baked into it.

“…Who made this?”

Scarlips rubbed her nose self-importantly.

“My own tortillas. Not bad, ain’t it? We looted the rice from a caravan carrying Drathian goods a while back, and the beef’s straight from your continent. Th’ good stuff. All you gotta do is keep ‘em toasting next to a heat source and it’s fresh, even when riding.”

They watched as Pisces took one bite of Scarlips’ Custom Wrap, and his face lit up slightly. He took another bite; he seemed famished. Merr watched him chew, then snagged it back.

“Hey!”

She took a huge bite herself.

“Gulping down a good wrap’s a crime, Pisces. Good, though?”

“I could use one myself.”

She beamed at him.

“Excellent! Then you’re up.”

“I’m what?”

——

They stopped for a moment between the raids, even setting up a little work station. And gave Pisces one of those silly cook hats so his hair wouldn’t get in the food. Very important. Then the Dustbandits sat back and watched him argue with Merr.

“Merr, we have to keep moving—”

“Dustbandits don’t ride on empty stomachs, Pisces. Plus, we need to vanish at least a second or they know where we’re going. And we’re out of wraps. You used to say you could cook. Well, c’mon. If we don’t like it, we’ll throw it back at you.”

He turned and saw dozens of hungry [Bandits] waiting for him to impress them. Pisces eyed the tortilla wraps, some of which were exclusive to one [Bandit] or another. He peered at the food, then did a slow circuit.

“This is a lot of food…!”

Merr had [Perfect Preservation: Loot]. Another reason she was so highly sought-after among gang leaders. It meant she could steal some prime ribs six months ago and have some for a food of choice now. Several of the [Bandits] sauntered forwards, ready to save the food if Pisces mucked it up, but after a moment, he looked around.

“There was that heating stone. Do you have pans?”

She had an entire field kitchen. Soon, Pisces began dicing up some fish. He wasn’t…bad with a knife, actually.

He managed to debone two fish with very careful movements until one of the [Bandits] with dagger Skills came over to help. Pisces had her cube the fish and marinate them in a bowl—he’d taken an unpopular sauce from a jar, sniffed it, and his eyes had lit up.

“Ugh, this might be shit after all.”

Someone kicked Casep as she complained. The [Necromancer] had stopped staring like one of his undead. In fact, one of his Skeleton Champions ended up meekly stirring a pot of rice grains. With the hat.

“I was thinkin’ a wrap, Pisces. Fish don’t do…eh, I’ll bite. You ever take cooking classes?”

Merr herself wasn’t a bad [Cook], and she talked with Pisces as he concentrated.

“I’ve observed a lot. And there was a [Chef], Imani, who taught some classes. Especially to Erin. Lasica too. Erin used to have me debone fish sometimes. She had trauma from cutting her palm open.”

“Hah! What’s with the sauce, though? It’s damned sour.”

“It’s a fish paste. I think it’s from Liscor? Gnolls make it all over.”

Pisces’ concept was simple, but he thought it’d work. Instead of trying to beat the Dustbandits at their own game, and they were masters of this, he was making something Imani had once served in Erin’s inn.

Namely, a burrito with a thin wrap of crisped lettuce and batter that crunched pleasantly, filled with rice, fish, vegetables, and topped off with a sauce of choice.

“It’s like a damned sushi, but big enough to eat!”

Merr grunted as he offered the first one to her. She dipped it judiciously in the sauce, took a bite, then slapped him on the back.

“Hey, it’s not shit!”

“I thought it was well done, actually, given you gave me no prep—”

“It’s average. You think you’re hot shit because you have a new idea? Hey, Casep, get down here and start using Skills like you run your mouth!”

Chokin’ Casep sauntered down and quickly identified two parts where she could use the two cooking Skills she had: [Splendid Marinade] and [Makin’ It Almost as Good as the Rest].

The Dustbandits quickly came up with an assembly line for Pisces’ sushi-burrito and handed him one that tasted noticeably better than what he’d made. He would have sulked, but they were complimenting the food, even agreeing to add it to their rotations.

He won some points as well when it came to cleaning up; they didn’t have many dishes, but there were still cutting boards and the like. He just cast [Cleanse] and whereupon set off an argument.

“See, boss? See? It’s so handy. If you’d just buy us one of them familiars or somethin’ to clean with—”

“Shut it! I’m not paying for a damn cleaning spell! It takes five seconds with soap and water! Someone break out a mat. I’m full!”

There were limits to Merr the Storm’s generosity. She didn’t like arcane familiars, which were fragile, expensive, and probably spied on you. Pisces was about to ask if they had wasted enough time here when he saw a Dustbandit pull a long mat out, toss it on the sand, and…

——

Sixty-plus [Bandits] lay on mats in the sand under a little cloth canopy that cut the sunlight from burning them. The desert’s heat was intense around midday, and they were full. But the mats were enchanted with cooling spells. Not all; Merr had the nicest one, so the Dustbandits crowded around her. They…

Siestaed. They just flopped down, closed their eyes, and napped off their meal and tiredness. Curled up, lay on top of each other—like dozens of cats.

Pisces Jealnet lay, arms crossed, in the center of the horde as Merr rested a leg on top of Scarlips’ stomach. She was snoring softly. He stared skywards.

After an indeterminable amount of time, someone poked him. He shifted—but it wasn’t time to get up. Instead, it was Scarlips. She was silently ruffling a deck of used cards. His head rose as she pointed to him, then two other [Bandits] who’d rolled over. Chimes, Scarlips, Pisces, and another [Bandit] took a hand of cards. Played silently. The heat from above was warm, but the cool air blowing from the mats cut the hot sands. Pisces did feel himself getting drowsy after two hands.

He was nodding off when Merr shouted.

“Okay, back to work!”

He almost complained until he remembered that was the point—Pisces staggered up as the mats vanished, and the Dustbandits rode.

——

Another group—[Traders] carrying [Slaves]. They might not have been Roshal this time, but Pisces didn’t care. However, he took more note of the looting.

Merr was a [Bandit], in the end, and he had promised her a reward for helping him. Not just her; her Dustbandits were stuffing coin and valuables into their pockets as they broke open crates, hauling everything away from the wagon.

They’d been very sparing of the valuables in the fighting. Nor did they fight; they just grabbed and ran.

Only afterwards did they pause to divide up what they’d gotten. There was a complex share-system where younger [Bandits] got less loot, but everyone got a fair portion. No hiding the best away. A lot went to the Loot Box for the Siren of Savere, anyways.

Merr grabbed a bracelet she fancied from one of the chests and grunted.

“You want anything, Pisces?”

“No, I’m fine, Merr.”

Pisces wasn’t sure if the looting troubled him. He’d hung out with people who broke the law many a time before coming to The Wandering Inn, but he’d been a relatively upstanding adventurer after that. This would have made him a pariah of the Merchant’s Guild. But it was Merr.

She jerked a thumb at the road, still in chaos from their attack.

“If it wasn’t [Slavers], we’d run off the idiots instead of killing them. [Merchants] are like golden geese. Don’t kill ‘em, just steal their eggs. Okay, this haul’s done. Reckon we can hit a few more caravans on the road. Just [Slavers], mind. See if any have [Slaves], girls!”

The Dustbandits whooped and set to with more alacrity. Also, it wasn’t very hard to find more [Merchants] with [Slaves]; they were rich enough to have them, and they didn’t have to pay a [Slave].

——

Between three caravans and the other targets they passed on the road, there quickly came a point where the Dustbandits were so saturated with loot they’d have to hide it, teleport it to Savere, or just stop raiding. Pisces was worried, but Merr simply threw up a hand.

“Looks like we’re full up. What we need now is…a nice, honest [Merchant] or [Trader]. Pisces, y’mind finding one for us?”

She glanced skyward, and one of the birds that Pisces had animated from days prior was circling overhead. He was still using his undead, albeit more experimentally than before.

Because of how fast Merr’s Dustbandits moved, even Ghouls had trouble keeping up. Pisces still animated the zombies and had them run, but they became a slower, secondary group that Merr used to distract from where they were, or linked up with to hit a target.

His real undead fighting force was now the thirteen Skeleton Champions, each of whom was mounted on a zombified horse. Added to that were two Bone Horrors, both of whom were customized for speed. The Ghouls were supplemental, but the real experimentation was in the undead animals.

The horses had custom bone-plating that Pisces had added, even protrusions of bone like lances. The Skeleton Champions would charge them into the fighting before leaping off. The zombie horses feared nothing, so they acted as weird [Lancers]; they’d slam into an enemy, impale them with bones, then back off, circle around, and do it again.

Same for the sky. The zombies had rapidly deteriorated with wear and tear, and some were closer to bone, now. Pisces had tried to animate one of the bird’s skeletons and give it six wings, thinking it’d help it catch more air.

The flapping, six-winged skeleton bird actually flew. He had to make a kind of invisible ‘mesh’ of death mana that replaced the feathers it had lost. But it flew like a drunken [Storm Sailor]. Merr had laughed for ten minutes seeing it try to flap around.

It glided nonstop, though. Merr shaded her eyes.

“What’s Silly Sixwings got for old Merr, eh?”

“Please stop naming them.”

However, Pisces sighed and cast around. Merr wanted a [Trader] or [Merchant]? One not carrying [Slaves]…

Most had either heard or sensed the raids happening down the road and so were pulling off the roads or moving away at speed. Pisces spotted several larger ones, and Merr took her Dustbandits towards them. But he noticed one trio and blinked.

“Wait, I know this group…”

Merr cocked her head with interest.

“If it’s a [Trader], any’ll do. Bigger’s not always best. Take us in. Girls? No eyes. Go deal with the big [Merchant] Pisces saw that way.”

The Dustbandits streamed rightwards. That left Pisces and Merr, who vanished as they activated [Invisibility] spells to dodge whatever scrying spells were searching for them. And he rode and quickly saw a familiar trio, swearing and trying to push their wagon out of the pothole in the ground…

——

“Hurry! Hurry, you idiots!”

Trader Hexata was exhorting her two older brothers who labored with their family’s pack mule to free their wagon. She’d heard there were [Bandits] on the road, and they’d gone off it to hide. They just had to go on a day-trip to make some coin. They’d done the right thing, or so they’d thought. But now they were sitting in the open!

They were almost free of the divot in the sand when someone coughed behind Hexata, and her stomach dropped.

“This lot? They’d be dead if a Level 6 [Raider] with a broken dagger jumped ‘em.”

“They helped me. Trader Hexata—”

She screamed, whirled, and Pisces lifted his hands. The Scourge! And—she went white as Merr the Storm, one of the [Bandit Lords] of Savere, appeared behind her.

“I—I—I swear we haven’t anything of value! Just curios, oh great and munificent [Bandits]! Spare us!”

She dropped to her knees as her brothers froze. One thought about going for his shortsword; Merr half-turned her head, and they threw up their hands. But the [Bandit Lady] was amused and chuckled.

“I don’t knock down [Traders]. Not worth my time. Today’s your lucky day, Trader Hexata. My lad Pisces here and I are looking to make a deal.”

Ah, one that involved me giving you everything I have? Hexata’s face turned waxy. She told herself the story of meeting Pisces the Scourge was worth this…bad turn, so long as they were allowed to keep their wagon. They had money in the Merchant’s Guild and she had a few other bets—Pisces looked worried.

“Merr, what do you mean…?”

The [Bandit Lady] strode forwards, then slapped something down as she pulled an entire crate out of her bag of holding. Then another. Then—she felt at her back.

“Argh, this shit is heavy! Pisces, help me!”

Six crates that Trader Hexata recognized as belonging to the Merchant’s Guild of Chandrar, with their seals still intact no less, sat in front of Hexata. One had bolts of silk that made her eyes bug out. Another? Gemstones from Salazsar…

The richest loot that Merr had found. The [Bandit Lady] rubbed her hands as the three [Traders] stared at more wealth than they’d ever made in their life.

“I’ve just acquired some goods to sell. As a businesswoman myself, I’d love to offer them to you at splendid rates.”

“I—I am honored, Merr the Storm. But I can’t, um, afford this?”

Hexata squeaked. She didn’t have enough gold to cover this, even with all her merchandise! Worse—her brothers paled as they realized what Merr wanted.

If they ended up with a bunch of stolen loot from the Merchant’s Guild, they wouldn’t just be expelled from the Guild, they’d be flayed alive and—Pisces was whispering to Merr, having the same thought. But Merr was beaming.

“Nonsense! Normally, I’d give this lot something cheaper, but any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Necrolad. Here. For you and you and you…damn, I need more cards.”

She handed three black cards out, and Hexata blinked as little words appeared on them. It said…

City of Cheklam — Andos, Weaverstreet.

City of Halqued — Labroi, The Cutting Edge.

Town of Jivs…

It was a list of local cities and towns. The clearly magical card—Hexata had seen [Merchants] with the same. But this?

“What is this, Lady Merr?”

“Just a card that lets you talk to someone who’ll offload the goods. Can’t have you doin’ it through open markets. And just in case you were wonderin’ how, you obviously don’t bring this into the city. Sometimes you can get it past the [Guards], but that’s a fool’s game. Leave your wagon outside, nip on in, and have a word. They take it, they slide you your cut, and that’s that.”

Smugglers. Pisces’ mouth was open, and he closed it along with Hexata and her siblings.

“You, uh, do this often, Merr?”

She sighed at him.

“Pisces, Pisces. Loot is heavy. Plus, the Merchant’s Guild isn’t dumb. The bigger [Merchants]? They just turn the crates back over to the Guild in exchange for a fee. The one my girls are talking to will get us a cut. Less than we like, sometimes—so we go back and raid ‘em or just don’t work with them again. But Trader Hexata can get better rates if she sells this on the market. Heck, if I like her, I’ll sell her more goods myself!”

She winked and turned.

“It don’t hurt a [Trader] to get in with the black markets, either.”

Wait, this card would let her talk to underworld dealers? Hexata’s eyes went round as she realized this might be a list of…

This was huge. Hugely dangerous if she gave away the card and they realized she’d put the market in danger; they had to have plenty of precautions. Probably a network devoted to monitoring local law enforcement and switching up who was listed on the card. Merr chuckled as she re-mounted her horse.

“Izril’s probably just as good at this. Maybe not as direct, but d’you think we’re all idiots? Say something reassuring to the nice [Trader], Pisces. I’m gonna check on my girls. Ten minutes! I’m feeling generous with all these profits.”

She rode off, laughing to herself, and Pisces offered Hexata a weak smile. She stared down at the fortune in front of her. One of her brothers fainted into the other’s arms.

Even if they only got 5% of what this was worth in exchange for smuggling it…Pisces half-turned to Merr, and his eyes lit up as they hadn’t in all the times Hexata had spoken to him before.

“I’m sorry about this, Hexata. Merr may have put you to some risky business, but I hope it is to everyone’s profit. She is good about that.”

“Not at all, Scourge. You look happier.”

That was all she managed. His head turned back to her, and he pointed at himself, confused. Happier? They spoke for a moment, and she still saw his eyes roaming the distance. Still saw the Scourge as he mounted his horse when Merr the Storm rode back to him. But when he nodded to her and they rode…

“Are they lovers, d’you think?”

Her eldest brother whispered as the Dustbandits rode after them, whooping and cheering. Hexata stomped on his foot, and he swore, hopping up and down, but then she sighed.

“I hope so. He looks better.”

This was not on the scrying orb she went back to watching when they’d passed. Watching and seeing his exploits. But to Hexata, that moment mattered most of all.

——

Many people saw Pisces Jealnet’s ride as more channels picked up the broadcast, and the popularity didn’t end. Accordingly, Wistram’s algorithm told them to make the broadcast a priority, and other news stations copied them. That might be one explanation for why Pisces’ face re-appeared on television hour after hour.

Or as Mrsha the Watcher could have told you, or Lord Molen…some things were just important and should be watched.

Many notable people watched the broadcast. From Fraerlings to the King of Bows to…

——

Ailendamus’ Court of Masks was in an uproar over the latest developments with the [Necromancer]. Full arguments that spilled out of the actual masked section into open conversation.

Because Ailendamus’ nobility were split.

“Look at him now! Fencer Padurn is lamentably correct for once. This proves why refusing to embrace him was such a correct decision.”

One of the [Ministers] of Ailendamus was shaking his head over the wanton slaughter. His opponent was someone who didn’t normally participate in the policymaking of Ailendamus.

Crown Princess Ozena Zessoprical did not enjoy the politics of court life, having grown up around it. She was a favorite at the magical academies, where she studied magic—and swordplay—and she was not allowed to become an adventurer like Princess Telleis or Duchess Greina.

But this was clearly interesting to her. So she was having a heated conversation.

“It may be unlawful, but it’s slavery, Goldcat! Ailendamus does not hold with slavery, does it?”

“Er, Your Highness, we’re out of the Court of Masks—”

She tore off her mask, embarrassed.

“Ahem. What I meant was that he was freeing children!”

“Yes…and I would be remiss not to point out that I favor the freedom of any child from—from—but it is the law, Your Highness. He is riding with common [Bandits]! That is the crux of the matter. Baron Regalius, your thoughts?”

Regalius was conflicted himself, but he was highly invigorated by all this conversation. It wasn’t all nuance, of course. Some younger people just loved adventurers, and Pisces Jealnet riding across Chandrar hacking down enemies appealed to a certain youthful rebellion. He was, after all, all scandal.

And Regalius had heard from a little bird that a certain [Princess] had gotten in trouble just the other day for trying to teach a class on basic necromancy…rebellion was a terrible thing in the young. Any time they did something their parents and elders didn’t expect or like, rebellion.

Regalius’ perspective, well, was that he’d been young once, and he’d rather like to not be set in stone when the young took power. But his personal views on this divide?

He played politics for once, deferring the question with a [Smooth Sidestep]. A combat Skill that you could parlay into social circumstances if you were quite good.

“I’m troubled by the legality question myself, Minister Freshaud. Obviously, one cannot deny the optics are good. Freeing children?”

“Embracing the Death of Chains? Madness! Baron, have you lost your mind?”

A noblewoman exploded at that. Regalius waved a finger at her.

“Extenuating circumstances, Lady Hiterto. We must remember he was unjustly made a [Slave]—”

“So the Drake alleges—”

“—A complex situation. But I think you will find Minister Sophridel has collected data showing Ailendamus’ populace has definitively positive feelings, even now. I bow to his data. Yet I hold the legal entanglements up as a greatly valid concern, especially for Ailendamus to embrace. Who better to address this than our guests from House Shoel?”

He pivoted and threw the conversation towards another group. The people around him turned and moved as Baron Regalius smiled at the grateful [Battle Princess], who went striding over to a unique set of guests.

The judges of House Shoel were common enough, even if they didn’t care for prolonged conversation. There were a few of the younger members as well as older members like Lady Shierxun, still wearing white bands of mourning for the…events at sea. They’d been absent for not wanting to answer questions about that.

But today seemed to be an exception in many ways. For here was none other than Lord Uziel, Lady Maxtria, and Lord Galletil.

Three of the fairer members of House Shoel? Regalius hoped they were on the mend; they were certainly spritely enough even in their wheelchairs. One was actually standing and eating with good humor as a young man with darker, greyer skin supported him and tried to get him to rest.

“Judges, lords and ladies of House Shoel—have you kept up with the news at all?”

Minister Freshaud introduced the conversation, and it appeared it had already been a topic of debate. Because one of the Lucifen, Oelvix, twisted his lips. He was very young, twenty-two, but he spoke with great poise.

“A debate we ourselves have engaged in to great amusement, Minister. My fair cousins see it one way, though the eloquence of their arguments leave something to be desired. Nevertheless, I support their position.”

He nodded at Lord Uziel, whose eyes were sharp.

“Some things are simple, young Oelvix. I see a crying child, I object.”

Regalius smiled. People often forgot how sharp and canny the brighter half of House Shoel could be. They might be direct, cheerful folk, but when they wanted to be, they were as dangerous with words as the blades they could use.

“Yes, Lord Uziel, one cannot help but feel that element, but is it making us lose sight of the forest for the trees?”

“…In that we should not care about the safety or wellbeing of children for grander things, Minister? Do tell.”

That was Lady Maxtria. The Minister cast around for help and got it from Lady Hiterto, who turned to the judges.

“Legally, this adventurer has broken the law by slaying [Slavers]. If we are a nation of laws, should this not be clear-cut?”

Her attempt to end the discussion on stable ground resulted in a split. Lady Shierxun frowned.

“You have my broad support, Lady Hiterto. I fear the young disagree—”

She broke off as Oelvix spoke up, sharply and with a frown.

“You mischaracterize this as an argument split along age, Lady Shierxun. A lamentable predisposition I trust does not carry into your adjudication of law.”

Her brows twitched together.

“My position is that this young man is knowingly breaking the law. Prima facia, that is undeniable. Your rebuttal in front of the royal court, I trust, will be satisfactory and not based on emotion, Oelvix?”

He brushed back his hair, haughty as could be.

“Not at all. I argue three points. Firstly, our independent investigation of Pisces Jealnet’s imprisonment by Roshal suggests they took him captive as a trespasser when he landed after the Scroll of [Greater Teleport]. A ludicrous claim given he apparently landed outside of a city’s property. The allegation was made that it belonged to a local landowner—never listed—providing the pretext. I believe this is a baldfaced lie to obscure the truth, that he was a known Gold-rank adventurer and the [Slavers] took his unconsciousness to imprison him for their own gain. He would have faced a light fine, at best, in any other circumstance.”

Oh, he had done his research. Even Shierxun nodded at this.

“This action does account for his bias and previous pattern of behavior. It is not an excuse for current events.”

Another nod from the young man.

“This is merely relevant background, Aunt. To your actual claim, I would argue it thusly in court: there is precedent. I cite the Rights of Citizenry, Article 8, Subparagraph 5. Also, the Knightly Provisions with our three Knight-Orders, the Conduct of Law and Justice. In brief, we acknowledge that there are circumstances in which citizens—or [Knights], as a fine example—may take actions that are unlawful, but necessary as a course of action because to follow the law would create a greater injustice.”

“Those codes are usually applied for wartime insubordination, Judge Oelvix.”

Regalius barely remembered the sections, but he’d pulled out a book of law he had in his bag of holding and rifled through it. The Lucifen appeared mildly startled, and all turned to Regalius with faint approval.

“It may be a technicality with very little legal precedent, Lord Regalius, but I would argue it is not unsupported. This may be a less-recorded example, but there is a strong precedent for [Knights] to take up arms against a local noble, or even a crown—to halt a perceived injustice. Ailendamus has enshrined that likelihood into our judicial system as an acknowledged possibility.”

The listeners were fascinated. They probably hadn’t known the law existed, but another Lucifen sneered back.

“You are quoting popular sentiment of events ex post facto. There is no legal precedent for this!”

“Yes, because Terandria’s history of adjudication is limited to the crown or local nobility in almost every kingdom but ours! What I am stating is that the case exists—”

“And if we encourage such a belief, it would lead to rampant disregard for the law. That we have acknowledged exceptions exist does not make your argument work. Chandrar’s [Slave] laws lie at the heart of their culture. There is no ‘exception’ in this case.”

Oelvix’s head lowered as his face darkened, then cleared. He turned smoothly.

“Then I cede my third point to Lord Uziel and our cousins. Which is that the law that Nerrhavia’s Fallen and Roshal hold to be justice is, in fact, incorrect and abhorrent. Which is Ailendamus’ official position. Do we judge this adventurer on their laws or ours?”

Ooh. Then every head turned back to the Agelum, and however fast and sharp the Lucifen might be with each other, they hesitated before crossing blades with their fair cousins. But then they glanced at each other and swung into it with a certain delight.

They did love to war, after all. Lord Cilrephrix bowed to Lord Uziel.

“I am sure I take your point about simple morality already, Lord Uziel. You would have us throw out our respect for other nations before a single child?”

“Yes, Cilrephrix.”

The young Lucifen rolled his eyes at the others.

“Mm. And compromise our relationship with Chandrar’s largest nation?”

“You seem to think a nation should have no backbone. Loving an adventurer would not let two reasonable nations fight overlong, surely.”

Uziel’s voice was cheerful, and a titter arose from this. The laughter had Cilrephrix flushing. He snapped back.

“Yet the law is broken. Say what you will about our own perception of any injustices committed—and House Shoel has not ruled on slavery itself—what say you to whether this young man is in the right? What gives him the right to trample on other nations’ laws? His singular ego and morality?”

His eyes flashed in defense of the law, which could be cruel, inflexible, and existed to hold up nations. Even if he was not winning the popular argument in Regalius’ mind, you had to admire the integrity of one of House Shoel’s judges. Many were nodding or waiting, and Uziel thought for a long moment.

He sat back in his wheelchair, before his multi-pupiled eyes focused on Cilrephrix with that unnerving intensity. Not calm, but conviction. A raging conviction like cold fire that had Regalius shivering. He realized that Lord Uziel was far from calm; his enchanted wheelchair’s armrests creaked as he pushed himself up with enough strength to crack the tiles at his feet.

“Morality, yes. One man’s morality clashes with the laws of a continent. And it must win. Morality means nothing if it is not defended. The moment a [Knight] fails to shield the innocent, regardless of the rules or pressures upon them, they are no [Knight]. Our failed Crusaders on Chandrar’s shores were lucky to have been routed by the King of Khelt. Or do you think our [Knights] would walk past a child being lashed as a [Slave] and keep their class?”

The rebuttal struck many present, including Regalius, who wondered what the leaders of the Knight-Orders would have to say about this if pressed. Well, they’d find out, because people were running to drag them into this conversation.

Nor was it the final word on the matter, because House Shoel was fast and came back with a rebuttal within moments. But it left everyone talking. Voices raised and arguing…and Regalius thought that there was something to this.

Once more, it was an argument about Pisces Jealnet, a [Necromancer]. Excuse me, a damn [Necromancer], but in this case…

He might have won more allies on the basis of this framing. More than one person who’d consign any [Necromancer] to the gallows hesitated to take a side against him.

On they argued, through the night. And he did not stop. Twice more, everyone halted to watch the scrying orb glow with battle, and then the conversation grew twice as heated. Only when it was late at night did it go silent. Then they were just…

Waiting for dawn.

——

Six Dustbandits were dead by the end of the day.

Only six. Given how much they’d fought, it was a testament to Merr’s abilities. The undead went in, and the [Bandits] avoided scenarios that would get them hurt or killed, just like Pisces had.

Even so, they died. Pisces didn’t know them. They had all been junior members of the gang. Not Chimes; she’d made it and was preparing to take the final batch of [Slaves] away with Chokin’ Casep.

It was just fourteen this time. They’d hit a group of [Trackers] and [Hunters] trying to pursue Scarlips’ team. They’d been moving fast, trying to avoid Merr’s group, but they’d been geared for battle. Two of the Dustbandits had gone down to enchanted arrows in the melee.

The tracking party’s [Slaves] had been specialists meant to both fight and use their Skills. They could all ride off to find this group of [Rebels] that Merr seemed to know.

“Well, it’s not all one group.”

“There’s enough of them out there to have multiple organizations?”

Merr snorted lightly.

“You think we were the first, Pisces? Dodging Roshal has been a tale old as they are. It gets easier and harder. To tell the truth, now’s probably a bad time to be a [Rebel].”

“Because of Yazdil?”

She was watching as the [Bandits] poured something out from a keg. Drinks. They had none of their dead with them; the [Bandits] had left the women as they fell, only stopping to grab anything valuable they had. Even to Pisces, it was macabre. But that was how they lived.

Once you were dead, you were gone. There was nothing to mourn, physically. But this…they were toasting the dead. A thing common to gangs across the world, he’d learned. Merr spoke as the cups came around.

“Not just him. Those new [Slave Lords] are all dangerous, I’ve heard. Everything they touch gets more efficient. So your response force is a tick faster. Higher level [Guards], that sort of thing. Yazdil was already a problem; he loves his high-level [Slaves].”

“I know.”

Pisces felt at his own neck remembering the insane bids on him. Merr grunted.

“Time was, Roshal’d throw a Djinni, and that’s bad enough. You saw that. But you can survive, and Djinni aren’t exactly motivated. Yazdil, though, he sends agents. Spies. Finds a cell, infiltrates more, sweeps everyone up under the rug, and Roshal loves former [Slaves].”

This was not the conversation to have right now, but she was just staring ahead. She took a cup, and Pisces was offered one too. He waited as Merr spoke.

“They’ve been after Bearig and his lot, but to tell the truth, I think I was the bigger target. A [Bandit Lord] is more dangerous than even the man posing as you. A more valuable target, at least.”

“Have you had attempts on your life…?”

“Oh, aye. [Assassins]. Most are easy to deal with. [Bandits] can sniff out a traitor more easily than you think. And we’re of the gangs; we know how to deal with ambushes, most traps. The Faces are nasty. You know them?”

“I haven’t run into any myself, but Erin fought the Assassin’s Guild in Izril. We fought lesser [Assassins] only, though, and it was an open battle, not them trying to ambush or poison us.”

Another shift. Friends of the dead [Bandits] were giving speeches. Chimes, the younger ones, some with tears, but most just telling a joke, an anecdote, and those with them would drink. But the rest, like Casep, Pisces, Merr, just waited in the darkness. It was late and they’d eaten, but they were exhausted, and the chill of Chandrar was upon them. Merr whispered.

“Well, Chandrar’s where they came from. The Faces here mean something. Not to say the ones of Izril weren’t bad. But a Face of Chandrar isn’t…they have a reputation to uphold, Pisces. You know? I’ve heard not a one’s under Level 50.”

Now he shivered well and truly.

“They can’t…have that many.”

“Nope, even for a Guild that goes across Chandrar. But that’s why they’re a Face, eh? It takes some doing to have one of them on you. Wouldn’t surprise me if they had—ten?”

“Ten? The King of Destruction’s Seven aren’t all over Level 50!”

“He’s got vassals that high-level. Gazi’s the exception. It’s Roshal, Pisces. You think they’re some joke? The Blighted Kingdom could field fifty over Level 50, I’ll bet. Probably.”

Pisces thought about that. A kingdom at war with the Demons…and he knew how strong the Deaths were, even if only two of them had levels.

“So that’s the might of world powers.”

It was bitter he had to put Roshal in that category. Merr just nodded.

“Yep, well, I think one of them’s on me. Or you. It was a rumor I got from the Siren a while back. I communicate with her now and then. We have a trick, y’see. Can’t do speaking stones. Can’t do [Messages]. Losing those idiots was a trick and a half.”

She nodded at the sky; they’d dodged the final scrying spells after a lot of zig-zag riding and even a few duststorms to hide where they were going. Manually scrying a position to bypass anti-scrying spells was hard, but doable. Pisces gazed at Merr.

“So how do you…?”

“How would any cunning fellow do it? You tell me.”

He thought about it, frowning. Merr smiled.

“Nah, we don’t have time for that. It’s dead drops. The same trick I use to give her the tithe. She takes our artifacts, removes trackers and curses, turns it into gold. Takes her damn cut as [Bandit Queen], but provides me with recruits, magic, information. It appears in the chest. And she can drop a speaking stone. Temporary, warded long enough for us to chat.”

“Very smart. Is—I’ve heard Savere’s a bandit nation, and Revine is a [Bandit Queen]?”

Merr waved a hand.

“Sort of. One step down from the real thing. Revine’s just a monarch who’s a bandit. So…[Bandit Queen]. But there’s an actual [King of Bandits] or [King of Pirates]—the real deal. They’d rule everything. It’s a legend among our class. Nigh impossible to create. I might be high-enough level, and Maresar was, but there’s not enough of us to turn Revine into a true [Queen of Banditkind] or whatever the fuck her name would be. Same for the sea. You’d need seven, eight [Pirate Ladies], and maybe Rasea counts, but I doubt she has the exact class. It’s very complex. Revine’s made her kingdom, and that took a lot of doing. But we’re not exactly world-class.”

“Yet.”

That made her grin. That huge, satisfied grin of someone who wanted to be recognized for what she was. Then Merr went back to gazing out into the night.

“…Revine didn’t know much. Only that it was probably a Face. They’ve got a title, of sorts. It’s probably not their full title, but they were known as…the Ringer.”

She waggled her eyebrows at Pisces, and he hesitated. Almost sipped from his cup.

“Is this like, uh, how you make fun of Mars with her title? Because it doesn’t sound—”

“Nah, I was so mad. The Ringer? C’mon. It’s probably code or something, but does that mean they’re, like, the one who you send in to seal the deal? That kind of ‘ringer’? Or is it like giant bells?”

“One assumes that would be noticeable.”

Merr chuckled, then went serious.

“Anyways, just so you know. If they’re in the area, they might come after you.”

Pisces hung his head. That twist of fear in his guts…he wondered if his team was safe. And Merr noticed. She slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, you did what you had to do. Don’t worry, your team’s not stupid. Nor are we. Think I’d let you talk me into more attacks if it was suicide? You lose people in every fight. As for your team…Casep. You said you pulled a memory crystal of something earlier, right? Show it.”

Casep turned from the people, waiting for the speeches to be over. She proffered a crystal and spoke.

“[Recorded Vision: Playback].”

It wasn’t the best quality, but it was of a scrying orb. Pisces saw none other than Ceria Springwalker, Colth, and…he blinked.

“That’s my team. What are they doing with—me?”

Pisces Jealnet was sniffing as he and the Horns of Hammerad marched towards a rather imposing swirl of moving sands. Merr grinned.

“That’s a Sandworm.”

It erupted out of the ground moments later, and Ceria went skating away as Colth opened fire with a shortbow. ‘Pisces’ went running, even [Flash Stepping] forward and swung his sword at the Sandworm when it lunged. The fight sped up as Casep hit a few buttons—Pisces was watching himself. The false Pisces was good with a sword, but he had a feeling…

Then Ceria was there, ruffling Pisces’ hair and speaking to a [Mage] interviewing her.

“Yeah, the real Ice Squirrel’s here, and the real Pisces, too. Don’t mistake that schnozz anywhere! It’s all fake, television stuff these days. You know illusion spells exist? First poor Archmage Amerys falls for it, now this. Dead gods, you Stitch-folk can wear anyone’s face! Or did all those other Banes and Scourges not clue you in?”

She laughed hugely, and Pisces felt his chest tighten and ease at the same time.

“So that’s what she was doing.”

“Nice act; who’s playing you? Can’t be the Silver Killer. She wasn’t showing her face.”

Casep nudged Pisces, and he frowned.

“I think it’s…Prince Zenol.”

“The [Prince]?”

They were all amused, but it made sense to Pisces. The fake him was nimble and used that rapier well. He’d even cast [Flash Step] and [Deathbolt] in the battle.

“I bet Ceria and Colth found scrolls of the spells; he’s around my height, and Elena could do his makeup.”

“Who? Ain’t no way a Human can change skin or faces that well.”

Merr refused to believe it. But either way, it was enough. Plausible deniability. Pisces exhaled, then Casep covered her memory crystal.

“Boss, your turn.”

Then Merr strode forwards, and Pisces listened to that old refrain. The [Bandit Lady] did not give a long speech. Just one that seemed timeless.

“They weren’t [Bandits] to shake cities. Nor did we ride with ‘em long. So what? They were ours. They might have been. So raise a glass, all of you! Raise it, and drink to what might have been. If you’re going to cry, cry. We’ll miss ‘em. Next time, we’ll give the bastards what they deserve. But their killers are dead and lie with them. That’s enough for the likes of us. Here’s to our girls…”

She never glanced at Pisces, but he felt the eyes of the Dustbandits on him. They’d died for him, and Pisces drank the burning drink down and coughed, wiping at his mouth.

He didn’t give a speech, then. That was not appropriate.

It came out of him later. Merr’s Dustbandits stayed up, tending to injuries, drinking into the night. He wanted to keep attacking Roshal, but the deaths, the exhaustion, had driven some of the glamor from this.

Merr hadn’t sugarcoated it. She’d told him that if he wanted them to join him tomorrow, he had to give them a reason. Be it gold or levels or…

He sat there, near the flameless embers as they warmed him, and he spoke.

“It’s just one girl. A Drake girl, eight years old or so, in that city. Halqued. I couldn’t do anything. Everyone was holding me back, and I knew it would be true suicide to do it.”

Casep lingered with the [Slaves], drinking before she hit the road. Chimes leaned out of her saddle, listening and nearly falling out, and Casep’s voice was acerbic.

“So you chose to hang yourself instead of takin’ the axe?”

A murmur, not entirely agreement, but the women focused on Pisces, and Merr’s face was unreadable as she lounged across from him. Just listening. Pisces peeked around, and he clenched his hands on some sand.

“I know it’s nonsensical, Casep. But when I looked at her—Lleta—I saw Mrsha. Or Visma. They’re kids from my city, Liscor. And if it had been them…I couldn’t walk away. But neither could I do—anything.”

His voice broke slightly, and Casep spat and glanced away. But Pisces regained his composure after a second.

“I’m just a coward.”

A Dustbandit with dyed blue hair sitting next to Pisces stopped drinking and rubbed a finger in one ear before checking her drink. Pisces nodded at her.

“I am. Truly, a coward after all I’ve done and whatever they call me. Gold-rank adventurer? If I wasn’t, I would climb those walls and set her free. No matter what came between me and her.”

His rapier’s hilt sat there, a worn piece of metal as eyes fell to it. Pisces shook his head.

“…But I didn’t. Because my friends would be put in danger. My team—I couldn’t do that. And yet, at the same time, they will not stop. That girl is innocent, and they took her, just like me.”

His voice rose, not to a shout, but he was gazing away from them. Towards that distant city. Then Pisces regarded the Dustbandits.

“I am not blind to what I’m doing. I just snapped. It feels righteous. I only hope, when this is over, that Roshal only comes to kill me. My team is innocent. That’s why I’m doing this. Caught between the thing I should do and what I know will destroy everything.”

Casep was leaning against her horse. She was doing something, one of the [Bandits] assigned to her escort duty realized.

She had memory crystals she could fill with her [Captured Vision], which allowed her to create free recordings. Perfect for a scout in any role, or someone casing a caravan or spot for a break-in or raid. She was doing that now.

“Hey, Casep, what’s that for?”

Casep whispered back.

“Shurrup. I’m just recordin’ it.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t see Ksmvr of Chandrar doin’ the rounds? It’s still the most popular ‘movie’-thing. You think this might not be worth something?”

Good point. The [Bandits] fell silent. Pisces went on, unaware anyone was saving this for posterity.

“I’m a coward indeed, because I want to live. When this is over, I do want to go back home and…not die. That’s the cowardice. I can’t do this until I die. There’s a city where it rains all spring and floods. Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, Antinium—you have to see it to believe it. I want to take you there, Merr. To see the Floodplains and have you say something funny about it. I want to bring everyone there.”

The [Bandit Lady] stirred, and he smiled at her like Pisces. An expression she might have never seen on his face, except once. The man he was in another continent leaking forth from the Scourge. Then Pisces looked around.

“Chandrar is beautiful too. Grand and majestic. So harsh and unforgiving as well. The Great Desert is terrifying. Yet it has so much magic. I think I could love this place except for Roshal. But for that and I could truly enjoy my time here. I cannot sleep because of that harbor and what I’ve been through. I know it sounds judgemental, but for that one thing…”

He trailed off, then someone spoke. Another Dustbandit, an older woman, was re-bandaging an arrow wound on one arm. She was a Garuda and flightless; her wing-feathers had been clipped when her clan expelled her. She met Pisces’ gaze directly.

“Not badly said. But tell me, Adventurer, [Necromancer]. What will you do when you find your home or elsewhere is just as bad as our land? When the Walled Cities do something as foul, if not to you, then someone you love?”

Pisces returned her gaze, then he gazed up at the glorious stars. Then he nodded.

“Ride towards it, I hope.”

A pause, then he smiled for reasons no one could understand. Pisces kept staring up at the stars.

“Yes. No matter what it is, I hope I will not flee it. However, even if I look away or halt, it doesn’t matter. For I know she’ll pull me onwards and make me see.”

Aha. A sigh seemed to run through all present. As if a great puzzle made by a master had finally been solved by the critical piece. The Garuda glanced at Pisces.

“Who’s that? Your lover?”

Pisces gave her such a blank look. As if he had no idea what she was talking about. Then he smiled.

“No. My [Innkeeper].”

Such an odd answer it provoked a hundred questions. Thence he sat there, and after a while, Chokin’ Casep finished recording and tossed the memory crystal to a friend.

“Put that in the loot chest and discreetly find someone that might be worth somethin’ to. Shame I’ve gotta ride out. Or I’d have to shoot my shot with him. Bad as Barelle the Bard, that one.”

Then she was gone, riding into the darkness, and chuckling. Pisces? He just smiled as he talked about home. Utterly oblivious to why they found him captivating. That was, in the end, part of his strange charm.

——

The next day brought a lot of changes to the world. In the night, dozens of ships set sail, though the journey was treacherous. Some said impossible.

But what was a ship to do but brave the journey? Nevermind if they crashed and sunk—better to have sailed for wild adventure and that distant horizon than not at all.

Aye, and this was a harder journey than most, and the wars at sea were fierce. But the fleet burned gloriously.

Merr was amazed, in fact, how oblivious Pisces was to all of it. He even remarked as much to her the next morning.

“Your Dustbandits are very friendly, Merr. More of that cultural divide between us and Izril.”

“Ah, you’re finally awake. You think so?”

Her face was utterly straight as she watched him eating breakfast. He nodded.

“Half of your gang wanted to get in a steam tent with me; I realized how filthy I was, so I used [Cleanse] since it was so late. I also received a number of offers to stay warm at night. By, ah, sharing bedrolls.”

Not a twitch. Not a glimmer of a smile or a moment of self-analysis. One of the [Dustbandits] was pouring tea over her hand and staring at him. Merr took a bite of breakfast.

“That’s us Chandrarians, open to sharing everything. You didn’t take them up on it?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Well, it’s my foreign sensibilities. I’m just a bit of a weaker traveller. No offense given, I hope.”

“None at all, Pisces m’boy. None at all. You ever want to hop into the sheets together, you say the word, and you’ll have plenty of volunteers. Let me know if you want to give it a go with me.”

He thought about that.

“Maybe that would get me used to the idea. I’ll consider it, Merr.”

Merr the Storm watched a [Bandit] begin choking to death behind Pisces. She nodded at him.

“Anytime.”

——

You see, that conversation did make Pisces feel better. He’d been searching Merr’s face to see if she was laughing at him or he had it wrong, but he concluded it had been an actual offer of sociability, not…romance.

Because he’d been thinking Colth was going to laugh at him if he made the same mistake again, and he had been picking up on a certain amorousness to the proposals. However, then Pisces had thought about it logically.

Was there a Dustbandit who might be open to a certain assignation, even while on the trail? Naturally, but that many?

No, no. It was obviously a prank, which wasn’t a problem so long as he didn’t fall for it. But the offers had been so genuinely worded he had to assume it was actually cultural. Because if your ego was extreme, you might assume, what, four ladies might be into you at one time?

But that many? Pisces’ ego was not Perric-sized enough to assume that. Merr had just confirmed it. He wiped at his brows, relieved he’d been honest about this one and gotten ahead of it.

——

That was the funny part about the morning, and yes, one of the [Bandits] did get that on a recording crystal. It would later become legend, and Pisces would see that recording in his nightmares.

But then it got…less funny.

Very quickly.

Merr was not sold on a second day of rides despite Pisces’ increased popularity with her gang. She was checking her news sources, making plans, when Scarlips returned.

“Hey, boss, we got our band to safety. No problems. But, eh, uh, you calm?”

“Who the fuck asks if I’m calm?”

“Just siddown, boss.”

“I’m on horseback.”

“I know, but maybe get off and sit down? I, uh—”

Scarlips was very nervous, and she kept glancing at Pisces. Merr slid off her saddle and walked over to confer with Scarlips as the woman showed her something. Another recording crystal; [Bandits] loved them for the ways they avoided scrying orbs. The Singer of Terandria was huge among them despite Revine’s grudge against her, apparently.

After five minutes, Merr came striding over to Pisces.

“Hey, Necrolad, we’re hitting Roshal like we’re a [Pimp] and they owe us money. Dustbandits, we ride!”

She set a pace so fast that Pisces was astonished. She didn’t even know where they were—and Pisces saw more and more [Dustbandits] getting mad.

As they rode with Scarlips. They glanced at him, began swearing—he tried to ride back, but Scarlips instantly rode away from him.

“Merr, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Something on the scrying orbs. It’s televised. Don’t worry about it. Hey, get me a target! I know they’re in hiding—find me someone to stab!”

Merr shouted, and Pisces glanced at her. Then at the recording crystal.

“Merr…what is it? Is it my team? Yvlon? Was there an assassination attempt? On—on the inn?”

He began to get worried. Merr avoided his gaze.

“Nah. Not that.”

Then was it good news…? No. One look at her face and Pisces knew it was something bad. But what—? She gave curt orders, and they rode in silence before she twitched her head.

“It won’t do you any good to see it. Listen. Someone in Roshal hates you. You knew they’d do something. Well, I’ve never…no, I’ve seen rumors spread. But that’s low.”

“What?”

Merr chose her words carefully.

“You know how Bearig, the other [Rebels], use your face like a shield? They pretend it’s you so they, or their families, are not targeted?”

Pisces began to get a bad feeling. Merr stared ahead.

“Yes. What? Did they—?”

His mind jumped ahead, and she nodded once.

“It’s just someone with your face. Not even a great likeness. Doin’, well, depraved things to [Slaves].”

“…What things?”

He felt cold. Merr refused to answer. She just clicked her tongue, and the Nightmare rode harder, leaving a trail of flames on the ground where its hooves touched.

“Scarlips said that there were already denials occurring on the scrying orb. Your team, others—just ride, Pisces. They want to start shit? They’ll get it.”

Pisces was silent as he thought and imagined what someone from Roshal would do to…his mind jerked away from the possibilities. He didn’t go to Scarlips and ask to see. The answer was plain in the Dustbandit’s sudden silence and the pace Merr set.

He rode as the flames of fury burned hotter today. But what he didn’t realize was that the recording that Roshal had broadcast was worse than he could imagine.

So foul that it provoked that thing they seldom ran into.

Consequences.

——

Shaullile, the [Slave Lord] in charge of communications and Roshal’s image, was not as upset as Pazeral thought. He had expected her to be.

He was in fine good humor, laughing all morning about the revenge he’d orchestrated. It was not hard. If that adventurer thought to hide behind the most basic lies, well, another man could hire an actor and find some [Slaves].

None of them had even died. He was only disappointed the imagery hadn’t been broadcast worldwide. It had been censored, apparently, for ‘disturbing content’, and the broadcasters refused to even read a full description of what had occurred.

You could do worse. And he was already planning a sequel; more than one [Slave Master] had spoken to him about how amusing it was.

Pazeral’s one thought had been that Shaullile, that picky child born to one of the more recent eras, would throw a fit. She was always talking about Roshal’s image and what to do—it annoyed him endlessly.

He was the oldest of Roshal. He had well and truly dragged this Pisces’ name into the muck. No one would hear his name without associating it with—well, again, sequels.

It was the [Slave Lord]’s good mood that had him feasting with his favorite [Slaves] and laughing as he waited for the television-thing to turn on Pisces. He was eating as he broke his fast in fine form…which turned into puzzlement and silence as the opposite occurred.

Archmage Eldavin appeared in between broadcasts of that morning’s footage—well, recaps of it. He looked straight into the camera and spoke.

“I am Archmage Eldavin of Wistram. On behalf of the academy, I would like to state our findings. Firstly, the recorded image of ‘Pisces Jealnet’ engaging in heinous actions with several [Slaves] was indeed sent from Lailight Scintillation. Moreover, despite his appearance, I believe that this was not the actual Gold-rank Adventurer, and in fact a Stitch-man wearing a facemask to look like him. I personally denounce such vileness, and I have ordered a full moratorium on any information sent from Roshal. Wistram Academy is pondering other actions of censure.”

“He what?”

Pazeral leapt to his feet in a rage, overturning a tray of delights. This fool hadn’t said a word before—!

Wistram. Wistram. In Pazeral’s mind, it was a foolish community of exiles, not some grand ‘academy’. He was swearing oaths, demanding Roshal censure him, when another person appeared on the scrying orb.

“Is this damn thing on? Hello, yes, yes, I’m the King of Bows of Avel. I realize I’m not part of this affair, but I’m sending this thing in—what? We’re live? Well, anyways.”

A [King] sat on a throne. And he seemed angry, but most [Kings] were just uppity men before being collared. Pazeral recognized the bow, though. Itreimedes spoke.

“I saw those…images. And I’m aware there’s some adventurer breaking laws in Chandrar, freeing [Slaves]. Well, if that’s what’s happening to them, I see why. Now, someone in my court is going to say something about me ‘not getting political’. Well?”

He turned, and the Court of Avel, known for hurling things at him when they disagreed, were silent. The King of Bows blinked, then went on. He waved a shaking finger around.

“That…who’s responsible for that? I want them to stand trial for—you know what, just line them up and I’ll take the shot from here. All of this? It feels like someone’s taking a Gold-rank Adventurer’s name and smearing it through the mud. That’s a concern for the Adventurer’s Guild worldwide, isn’t it? If anyone can just impersonate someone and do that with—”

He was beginning to shout, growing redder-faced, before he went quiet. The [King] sat back on his throne, and then he mused for a moment.

“No, I’ve said my piece. Avel condemns any falsity, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m not even sure if Adventurer Pisces is in Chandrar. Is that what Roshal gets up to? We don’t trade with them, but no ship passes by Avel, for what that’s worth. Or it’ll see how well it dodges the Bow of Avel.”

He made a gesture, and the image cut off. Then Pazeral was still furious. Wistram, Avel, so what? Then—the image flickered again, and someone from one of the Walled Cities appeared. And he began to realize, perhaps…

He’d gone too far. It was when the Blighted Kingdom offered a condemnation of the broadcast that Pazeral’s good humor became uncertainty. Just for a moment.

“As if you don’t do worse with your own children behind closed doors.”

He snarled. But this wasn’t his era, was it? They were all polite and refined. That Terandrian [Slave Lord] had been closer to Pazeral’s nature but incautious. A fool. Pazeral swiped a hand out.

“Someone find me Shaullile. Ask her what’s going on. Doesn’t she have a Skill?”

For answer, one of his favorite [Slaves] purred in his ear.

“She already knows, Lord Pazeral. This is from her.”

The Jinn felt the kiss of metal as he tore around, reaching for his blade. He was fast, high-level—he beheaded the [Slave], but he still took the stab below the ribs, and it burned. Poison.

He was howling in the next moment, but it wasn’t meant to kill. The [Slave Lord] writhed on the ground, screaming for vengeance as he received how Shaullile felt about the situation. What he knew, though, despite his fury, was that she was a cautious woman.

If she ordered him stabbed—the others had allowed it.

——

Killing Pazeral was too extreme for his actions, Shaullile knew. They couldn’t lose him, but he had to learn a lesson. Which was never, ever do this again.

She sat in her tower and didn’t watch the scrying orb. It’d be too bitter.

“My Skill only works so long as you don’t break the cover, fool.”

The ghost wearing a Drake’s body didn’t want to calculate how much damage he’d done to her nation in a single action. Pazeral was an idiot who didn’t get diplomacy like this. He was used to his era.

In this one? Some things crossed the line, and then every nation, even ones who were allies like the Blighted Kingdom, had to stab you or be shown to be the odd ones out.

It had been…bad. No way to cover up that from any angle. Pazeral had done a splendid job of reminding people why they didn’t like slavery.

She hoped the poison really hurt.

“Idiot.”

Then she rose to try and mend bridges with the Serpentine Matriarch, and that was going to suck.

——

Baron Regalius watched as Ceria Springwalker blew down the doors of a Slaver’s Guild in Tyrant’s Rest and started firing spells inside. The Horns of Hammerad were reacting to the broadcast, well, like any team who’d just had a teammate being accused of that.

It said something how much one recording could change things. Like Ksmvr of Chandrar, only more dramatically—few voices in the Court of Masks wanted to take umbrage with Pisces Jealnet today.

An investigation was being launched on top of the extant investigation, but [Court Mages] had already assured His Majesty Itorin II that it was almost certainly a fake as Wistram had stated. Regalius was taking a drink to forget what he’d seen, despite the early hour.

It didn’t work, but he wondered how Roshal was that idiotic. Emir Yazdil was said to be a cunning man. That new power he’d heard about? Well…he glanced over and heard a calm voice.

“It appears sentiment has changed regarding Adventurer Jealnet. I do remind you all, though, he is still breaking the law.”

You had to admire someone who refused to change convictions. Lady Shierxun ignored the outraged looks and arguments and drove back to her point.

“The actions of Roshal reflect upon them. I simply remind you all that the crux of my argument was about his actions pertaining to the law. New evidence against Roshal has emerged, but I have made a judgement based on observable facts. He has broken the law. That is still criminal.”

“Until the law changes, you mean, Lady Shierxun.”

Regalius called out, and the woman turned and favored him with a slight smile. She bowed her head.

“Exactly, Baron. Thank you for understanding my point.”

He inclined his head and, that explosion defused, went on with his conversation. But dead gods—Regalius muttered.

“I miss Viscount Visophecin.”

He was a bit easier to speak with than some members of his family. But so went court life, and they were, at this moment, more focused on this one distant adventurer than the simmering war with the Dawn Concordat or anything else. That was people for you.

Unfortunately, it was not the blow to damn Roshal’s reputation forever, or even for long. Baron Regalius was a man who practiced soft power in class and studied it. His brother had always respected the role of diplomacy, but never understood it well.

But it could do so much. Even bend truth. Regalius had another scrying orb which he was glancing at. It had a broadcast that he was enjoying watching far less.

Nation after nation were lining up to condemn Roshal. It was a bad moment for the nation—but only for a moment. Within half an hour of the King of Bow’s angry speech, Lailight Scintillation had issued a condemnation of the video through the Mage’s Guild and every news network that would have them on.

That video? Unacceptable. It wasn’t sanctioned by the Masters of Roshal, their decision-making body, the Slaver’s Guild—anyone, really.

This abhorrent action was the product of a diseased mind. One which does not even belong to our great nation proper, but was meant to slander our good name and the laws and codes which protect all [Slaves].

A vigorously upset spokesperson was defending himself on air to anyone who would listen. He was righteously angry.

“This was not an action of Roshal! As a representative of the Slaver’s Guild, I condemn this. In fact, I believe the [Executioner] is almost ready. We have not caught the main perpetrator, but the actor in the videos, the [Mage] who sent this abhorrence under our name—”

The broadcast from Roshal cut to a platform just before the harbor waters. A crowd was gathered as a trio of figures were being led to a stained block. The image switched back to the representative for Roshal. He smiled as Baron Regalius’ stomach turned. He watched a figure with an axe stride forwards, raise it, and—

Dead gods, they were fast. Regalius glanced away after a moment and wondered if those really had been the actual perpetrators.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Roshal denounced the recording, and that was enough. The Blighted Kingdom maintained its condemnation of Roshal; the Archmage of Memories refused to broadcast the apology on Wistram News Network, but the furore of voices slowed.

It was harder to shout at Roshal when the nation claimed they were also victim to false narratives. Risky to point the finger—

“A damnably good play.”

It soured Regalius so much he had to take another drink of wine, feeling much like the dregs of it were in his throat. He reminded himself that the damage was still done on their side. It had still left an impact. When he gazed around Ailendamus’ courts, the mood was well and truly on the side of Pisces Jealnet.

A week ago, this would have been unthinkable even had I put every scrap of influence and Skill behind him. Between Pisces’ father and Roshal…Regalius sat back. He’d rather not overplay his hand, then. Just wait until one man could step upon the balance-beam and sway it all.

Why, Regalius almost looked forwards to the next raid, but when it came, it wasn’t what he expected.

——

A problem for Pisces and Merr. Not the reaction to the fake video about him. Pisces didn’t get a great image of the local populace’s perspective, but Stitch-folk weren’t idiots. Some might see or hear it and fall for it, but the fact that the ‘Scourge’ had already been known to be in multiple places at once was helping.

Rather, the opposite was true. Because every eye was on him, they kept being intercepted. Not just by scrying spells, but by the biggest problem of all:

Observers.

Merr was riding her Dustbandits hard, but even then, one of Wistram’s Magical Carriages still caught up.

“Adventurer Pisces! Is that you? I’m broadcasting—I’m trying to broadcast—hey, is it you? Just say so if—”

One of the [Dustbandits] pointed.

“[Wheelbreaker Stone]!”

The magical carriage hit a stone—and kept going. The [Dustbandit] swore until Merr came alongside the carriage and drew her sword. Then the wheel exploded in mana, and the person leaning out the window nearly fell out with a scream.

“Wait! I—”

“Keep riding!”

Merr shouted, but the problem was that that magical carriage was one amongst many. Pisces glanced up and a group of Garuda were descending.

“That’s him! I’m Reporter Jil! I’m—”

One of the Dustbandits nearly shot the overzealous Garuda out of the air before Merr snapped.

“That’s it—[Call the Storm]! We ride!”

That broke off some pursuit, but their followers were on the roads, trying to get to Pisces. And you know what?

That made it really hard to maintain plausible deniability. Especially since everyone was analyzing footage to prove if Pisces was the real thing.

——

“Dead gods damnit! Those bastards in Roshal might have shot themselves, but they’ve still made it too hard to attack anyone without puttin’ your face on the scrying orb! And you need some cover or the Queen’ll have to deal with you.”

Pisces wasn’t sure what Yisame thought, but he agreed as they sat in sand-tents under a dune; the excited ‘reporters’ were racing around trying to find them. He shifted.

“We don’t have to hit Roshal, Merr. This might be—”

“Hell to that! There’s a watering station where Roshal drinks from along their Leashed Trails! We blow that in, they won’t have a guaranteed rest-spot for a hundred miles!”

They’d gone northwards, and this was where Nerrhavia’s Fallen began to border a smaller desert. Pisces glanced at her.

“That’s more than I’d normally risk…”

“It’s independent. We can tear it up, at least their people. But there’s dozens of fools waiting to see us do just that.”

The Slaver’s Guild was, rather cleverly, using the excited Pisces-fans as a shield. He tried to stretch out in the tent as sand pressed down on them. His undead had buried themselves too, and he was worried one chance breeze would reveal the lot of them.

“Well, what do we do?”

“I’m thinking. Maybe…”

Merr’s eyes flickered. Then she smiled, once, as she glanced at him.

“Maybe we give ‘em what they want, eh? If it’s the Scourge they’re after and everyone’s using your face…let’s give them the Scourge. But not just one of them.”

He blinked at her, and she reached into her bag of holding and pulled something out. Pisces recoiled as she waved a cloth face at him. It was meant to be sewn onto your features, and didn’t look as lifelike as when it attached to skin, but—

“Merr! Why do you have that?”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“What? You knew we were doing this. You think Bearig was the only one who…hold on, you gotta change up your fabric a bit. Otherwise, it looks really stupid or off. I mean it’s still really funny. Hey, girls! Who’s got a Scourge-face? Put it on!”

Laughter from the other tents. Pisces’ mouth fell open.

——

It was not like looking into a mirror. When Merr the Storm emerged from her tent, for one thing she was still brawnier than Pisces. Different skin tone—this Pisces was noticeably darker-skinned, but not like he had a tan.

Also—Merr hadn’t changed her body that much. This Pisces had breasts and feminine curves. Yet the part that threw him, left him speechless, was…it sort of fit.

Stitch-folk were geniuses of appearance. They took the image of Pisces and adapted his face to match bodies. It wasn’t like them wearing a mask with his face on it—it was too natural.

No less than eighteen different Pisceses, more than half female, were laughing at him. Nudging each other or trying to out-Pisces each other, sniffing, flourishing with rapiers…Merr-Pisces winked at him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or your reflection. Pisces m’boy, how’s this for a distraction? If we all go together, who’s to say who’s who, eh?”

“Genius, boss.”

Scarlips was grinning, and Merr kicked at her.

“Shut up. I don’t need sycophancy when I know I’m right. Okay, get ready to ride! Is Casep not reported in? We could use the muscle for this one. It’s gonna get heavy.”

The Dustbandits cheered; they were angry on Pisces’ behalf and ready for a fight. However, Merr saw Pisces was still staring at her, and his face was so genuinely disconcerted she hesitated.

“Oi, Necrolad. You okay? You look sick.”

“Told you the breakfast sausage was off.”

Scarlips put in, and Pisces jerked.

“I—no, Merr. It’s fine. I—I knew Bearig was doing that. It’s just strange.”

His face. She blinked at him, and it was like himself in the mirror, only more feminine, and—he turned away.

“Hey, what’s the problem? Sick of your own look?”

She came over to give him a one-armed hug, but he retreated. Brushed off her arm.

“It’s f—I need a moment, Merr. I think I’m a bit disoriented. I know it’s my face, and it’s just to keep away from Roshal, but…”

He felt unwell. Vaguely nauseous. Merr was about to say something snarky when she peered at him, then turned.

“Hey, scissors. One second—”

She put her old face back on and then towed him to the side. Pisces was rubbing at his stomach.

“I didn’t think that’d bother you after all we’ve done.”

“It’s not. I just—I don’t know, it feels uncomfortable.”

It felt very uncomfortable seeing people joking around with his face. Imagining…whatever had been on the broadcast. Like Erin.

“It’s a good idea, Merr. I just don’t—I had a moment of worry for a second. What if it becomes a trend and people don’t realize who I am? Especially if there’s the television.”

What if the Pisces they got to know wasn’t him? Merr blinked at the Human man, trying to understand. She saw him shiver, and an expression of guilt passed over her face.

“Ah. I don’t know if I fully get it. I’m…we’re Stitch-folk, Pisces. Used to swapping faces or even changing what we look like entirely. You only know me as Merr; you’d have thought I was a different person as a kid. There’s Alterkinds, but even with regular Stitch-folk, I just stitched myself like a man for six years when I was first riding as a [Bandit]. Thought that was better before I realized I just wanted the respect I thought having a second sword between the legs gave me.”

That made Pisces’ head spin a bit more. He rasped.

“I don’t…I know that, Merr. I don’t begrudge Bearig. I’m just concerned…”

She patted him on the shoulders.

“Yeah, well, you think that we only do this for you? Plenty of people probably have fun with someone else’s face in bed. Imposters trying to pass themselves off as someone more important—it’s an entire thing in Stitch-folk culture. You truly never visited us long or you’d have seen it. It’s as easy as changing clothes for us…which is why we envy you Humans and other species.”

That was an unexpected turn to the conversation. It gave Pisces something to focus on, and he blinked at her.

“How so? You can appear as beautiful as you want, Merr. Do you know how many Human women would kill to roll out of bed like you?”

She elbowed him.

“Hey, stop flirting, I’m being serious.”

“I wasn’t—”

Merr the Storm just shook her head and regarded a little mirror she used to fix her stitching. She eyed her features and laughed.

“Any Cotton woman in the world can look this good. D’you know how worthless it is to look like this when anyone can copy a shape of the nose? Whereas your face—that’s set. That’s why it’s more valuable, Pisces. Everything from that weird sniffer to the color of your hair—”

She ruffled it and sighed.

“You’ve got an identity. Us Stitch-folk long to be someone who’s more than how we’re sewn up. Like a Torreb. That’s probably why Bearig came up with the idea. Because you’re more of a thing to rally around than he thought he was.”

“But Bearig’s inspiring. He’s the one who…”

The [Bandit Lady] turned her head as she rose.

“I know. But that’s the insecurity that comes of someone who can change. If it can all vanish with the snip of scissors, is it real? I suppose we didn’t think on how it feels for someone to take the only identity you’ve got. Sorry, Pisces.”

She ducked her head, and he realized she was bowing to him. It wasn’t a familiar gesture on Merr, and Pisces rose too.

“You didn’t…all’s forgiven, Merr. I was just rattled. I want to do this. Your plan’s good. Just thank you for understanding.”

She eyed him, then hugged him again with both arms.

“Argh, you could punch me, but I suppose that’s not your way. Good! Then I’ll tell the girls not to get feisty with each other with your face on. After you shot all of ‘em down last night, I bet one or two—”

He was so open-mouthed she hesitated.

“Eh, just pretend you didn’t understand that like the rest and we’ll be golden.”

“Wait, those were actually proposals?”

She stared at him. A few [Dustbandits] turned. They stared at him too. Toothie the Nightmare stopped munching on feed and stared at Pisces.

You had to admit, it did get his mind off the Pisces-face thing.

——

Merr laughed for nearly two hours straight. She nearly fell off her horse from lack of oxygen. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was her horse laughing too.

And the Dustbandits.

And many of them offering to correct Pisces’ misapprehensions. Which meant he was not entertaining any offers because everyone was laughing at him.

Pisces thought he heard skeleton jaws rattling along at one point, but when he glared, the Skeleton Champions were jogging along, straight-faced. Just his imagination, then.

There was only one saving grace in all of this, which was that it got him over the weird uncanny valley of people wearing his face. He was sure he didn’t make that expression when he guffawed—which was all they were doing.

Okay, two saving graces: when Merr paused to gulp air, she finally told him where Eloque was.

“I’ve got t’ tell her about this. I miss that damn lizard!”

“Where is she, Merr?”

Pisces had feared, from the way he’d heard Bearig and the others talking, that she was…not captive, surely, or they’d have said. But Merr just pulled out her stomach.

“This hurts so bad—get me another so I can keep laughing! Eloque’s just not with the [Rebels]. You couldn’t tear Rophir away from Bearig with mithril chain, for all the danger. And Qshom’s levelled. He made my thread, actually. [Freedom’s String]. He’s become so valuable that any Stitch-person would hire him and treat him like a Named-rank.”

That [Tailor] had become so high-level he could make unique string? Pisces’ heart leapt, and Merr nodded.

“Counterlevelling against Roshal…Bearig’s going to be our level soon, if he hasn’t spiked again. He’s a real monster in combat. Turns out a lot of [Cook] Skills work well in combat. [Cut to the Bone]?”

She shuddered, and Pisces winced. Then focused hungrily.

“Eloque. Where is she? Did she try to go home?”

Merr waved a hand.

“Nah. Too far, and she didn’t know where…if anyone’ll join you, it’s her. But remember how her scales were all sewn up?”

Igheriz’s work. Pisces’ jaw clenched, and she winked at him.

“Don’t ruin our good looks, Pisces. No, she wanted to do something, but she never fancied herself as natural at fighting as Bearig. And when we were gettin’ out of Pomle, she knew we needed allies, more than I or the [Rebels] could provide. So guess where she went?”

Pisces couldn’t think. Where did a [Slave] go to get support in Chandrar of all places? Some…anti-Roshal kingdom? Jecrass was a good example of a kingdom that Roshal didn’t like, and he doubted King Raelt could do more than turn his head.

Then he had it.

“Wait, did she join Pomle? Tiqr?”

An approving eye from Merr.

“Almost. She weighed both options, but neither nation exactly hates us, eh? The Strongest fought his damn war all because of [Slaves], so who’s she going to convince? Plus, she was worried about that Salii hatin’ her because she was Lizardfolk. Tiqr makes sense, but she might as well ride with Bearig since she’s no warrior. Nope. She’s doing that thing all the kids hate.”

Pisces had utterly no idea what Merr was talking about until the [Bandit Lady] leaned over and winked.

“Monking.”

——

Eloque had joined a monastery. It was the craziest thing Pisces could imagine until Merr gave it context.

“Not the Monks of Sottheim. They’re weird even for [Monks]. No, she found some nice place around the Great Desert. You get lots of [Monks] in isolation, and most don’t care for Roshal. Vows of poverty and all that. She wanted to make sure she was plenty tough, and who’s better than them?”

A [Monk] was akin to a [Martial Artist]; take away their weapons and most were trained to still be plenty dangerous. It made lots of sense to Pisces. He wondered if a [Monk] could literally rip enchanted manacles off their body.

Merr nodded.

“You get it. Not just that: she’s been working on the monastery she was sent to. Telling them her story and seeing if they’ll help. The Monks of…eh, what’s their name?”

“Galam?”

Pisces threw out the one [Monk] order he knew, and Merr snorted.

“That’s from that guy with the Stargnoll. Nice try. They’re the Monks of Abrein or something like that. Hand-to-hand monsters. Galam uses staffs, and Sottheim uses weapons too. She sends us news now and then. Well, it’s always some fussy [Monk] who wanders towards us for a month and delivers a bunch of Yellats they grew and letters. It’s helped her work on her, y’know…”

“Body? Class?”

“Trauma. The rest too, but they actually found [Thought Healers] for her. Hah! Imagine getting help for being made a [Slave]!”

They laughed about that for a second. Then Pisces sighed.

“I’m glad. I hope we can meet.”

“Don’t worry, Bearig sent news the moment you landed. She’s just far off. We’ll see her. Maybe not right away. But you’re not gonna go until you see her, right?”

“Of course not.”

Merr leaned over the saddle and smiled.

“The Monks of Abrein didn’t take a Vow of Not Seeing Shit, as far as I remember. She might have already seen all of this. So how about we give her something to remember, eh?”

The [Necromancer] smiled. Then he made a fist and extended it. He bumped fists with the female Pisces, who grinned as she drew a scimitar. They both wound a roll of cloth around their faces because the wind was blowing.

A storm was billowing upwards around the sand as [Riders] on horseback whooped…then they were going over the dune. And the storm—it raced behind them, threatening to overtake the first riders.

Before that, the [Slavers] manning the waystation got a good look at him.

Pisces Jealnet. The Scourge of Roshal was riding, swords raised.

All…nineteen of him. They pointed as the civilians waiting to see him raised their scrying devices and froze, uncertain.

He was coming. How did you know which…?

The first [Deathbolt] took a sentry out of one of the watchtowers. Then the storm was blowing over the [Riders], giving them cover as voices rose into screams, and the storm howled. But before that—

A glowing comet flashed over the oasis. Motes of color falling, and the [Slavers] screamed as they tried to bar the gates.

[Spell – Illusory Comet Learned!]

——

One last person saw the Bane of Roshal belatedly. But it took him time to punch through the mana-drain effect across the New Lands, and he hadn’t been paying attention.

Az’kerash was busy. Not entirely content; he was discovering too many flaws in his Chosen for his complete satisfaction. But they were levelling, and his accumulation of the newest resource he’d discovered would advance his attempt at forming a true army of undeath. There were limits to any [Necromancer], constraints based on how many bodies you had, your magical acumen…

This would solve at least one problem.

The only reason he checked the news was to keep up-to-date on magical innovations. The duel between Archmages had been very, very important, for example.

Automated magic. He required that. It would necessitate him waiting for the magic to spread, then capturing a spellbook or a caster. Of such things did the Necromancer of Terandria plan.

He would have ignored the news of the day except for the fact that two dozen spells kept alerting him to the Pisces Jealnet story.

“Troublesome.”

The Necromancer realized that this was a flaw from when he had been overly sentimental. When he had allowed his Human self free reign, before he had corrected his personality. Perril Chandler had been…overly obsessed with the young man he had seen himself in.

Az’kerash saw nothing to love in the image of Pisces. He was one [Necromancer] who knew Az’kerash’s identity. Trustworthy in that he had not revealed it, but a Level 30 [Necromancer] was useless.

…Level 40?

Hm. As useful as the Goblin Lord experiment had been, then. Far from optimal, and currently in…Chandrar? Part of Az’kerash’s mind found this interesting, but only mildly so. The Necromancer did not care as he sorted through a hundred different images of the adventurer, except to note that a [Necromancer] attaining such fame had not occurred since he had been alive.

He imagined it would hurt another man’s heart with some…emotion. He felt nothing as he dismissed the backlog of data. Useless, trivial, a waste of his t—

Then he stared at something and halted the playback. Conjured the image into the space in front of him.

“Master?”

The mines were dark. And deep. They were digging for treasure…Az’kerash whispered.

“Are those…invisible Skeleton Champions?”

He had a lot of recordings of Pisces. Not just what Wistram had broadcast. A while ago, Perril Chandler had realized that Pisces’ anti-scrying spells meant he would miss most of what the Horns did again. So he’d developed a custom-spell specifically tuned to Pisces’ personal enchantments. He’d wasted about seventeen days straight on it.

That was how Az’kerash saw one of Pisces’ raids on the [Slaver] caravans. He cared nothing for [Slavers], of course. Everything would die. But that spellcasting…

“Four concurrent [Invisibility] spells plus a self-spell on a caster. They keep reappearing…the Skeleton Champions are amply armored.”

Decent. They’d be a mainstay in his army, though he’d make Skeleton Knights, who were better-armored. But…Az’kerash isolated other images.

He came across the Bone Horror that Pisces had made and began to dismiss it.

“Ineffective design. Capable of only raking attacks and a multi-headed yawning bite…wait. The legs. Hmm. Designed to instill fear in equine species.”

There was a book which he recalled, belatedly, giving Pisces about optimal bone configuration to instill fear in other species. The familiarity of certain patterns while diverging provoked an instinctual terror-based response.

And the Bone Horror was quick. Az’kerash watched another image and saw the [Necromancer] charging up a ramp of bone to fire the laser-guided [Deathbolt] at…

“Ijvani. Do you use any targeting spells or Skills for your magic?”

“…Ijvani is dead, Master.”

After a moment, Az’kerash turned his head, and that hurt him. He paused, then nodded at another of the Chosen.

“Yes. What of you?”

The new mage of his Chosen bowed her head, or tried to. But she was not as humanoid as Ijvani had been. Far more mobile. She…skittered as she replied.

“My aim has sometimes suffered, Master. I have cast [Homing Spell], but that requires…”

“Try this.”

He demonstrated the concept and watched as the Chosen replicated it after some effort. Strange. He didn’t use the technique at all; there were other ways to correct a spell. But then Az’kerash stood there, watching for a while.

A [Necromancer] who scythed down the living like the chaff they were, then raised a horde. Az’kerash whispered as he gazed at the scrying spell.

“Yes. Yes…you do understand. Perhaps he was right in this.”

He smiled as he saw the young [Necromancer] riding on that steed of undeath. Then developed a puzzled expression and felt at his own lips. Az’kerash touched his chest.

“—Nothing. It is a logical conclusion to celebrate an ally.”

That was all. Reassured, he turned and saw Devail studying the image of Pisces. Another duelist with a rapier. Devail spoke.

“Master. Is he one to learn from?”

“He is not as proficient with the blade. Nor does he have your advantages, Devail. He is not a Gold-bell duelist, the enemy you aspire to surpass in all ways.”

Az’kerash nodded at Pisces, whose swordplay he could critique, even if that had always been the realm of Perril Chandler. He turned away, interest satisfied, and Devail murmured.

“His bell is beautiful.”

“You will take a better one, Devail.”

“Yes, Master. But you did not answer my question.”

Az’kerash regarded Devail blankly before he glanced at Pisces.

“He does not know the next step. Any foe above Level 50 will destroy him, and he has no offensive might. He is no Named-rank adventurer.”

“Yes, Master. But could he be?”

Az’kerash opened his mouth and stared at Pisces. Then he closed it and went back to digging. In the silence, Devail sat and watched the scrying spell that Az’kerash had left open.

——

Nineteen Pisces Jealnets came through the gate of the Waystation Zigot, each one armed with a blade. Some with rapiers, others with daggers—each swinging like madmen.

They tore through the [Slavers] so fast that they were fleeing street-by-street as the furious Scourges advanced. Blood spattering the ground, screaming [Slavers] pleading for mercy.

At this point, a ‘censored for viewer discretion’ image played over the recording, and Sir Relz sat back in his chair.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is Sir Relz from Channel 1 News, joined by Noass.”

The two nodded at each other as Sir Relz sat behind the desk, and Noass, the disgraced [News Anchor] who’d won his way back to prominence, chinked mugs with Relz. They both said ‘#1 News’ on them.

The boys were back together. The dream team commentators. And what a topical piece but…Relz spoke to the cameras.

“A lot has been said on the Pisces Jealnet story. Roshal has issued a retraction of the video, of course—”

“Highly upsetting, Sir Relz; did you see it?”

“Not fully, Noass. Did you?”

The Drake rubbed at his face.

“Yes, and I’d love to have a memory-erasing potion. Does Saliss of Lights or Xif make them?”

Relz shuffled his papers carefully.

“Indeed, well, I have it from a spokesperson of Roshal that it was not sanctioned by the city, but the actions of a private individual—and we have heard copious condemnations by world powers. They’re still coming in. I believe our newsbanner is listing them?”

Both Drakes nodded, and Sir Relz went on.

“Nevertheless, the question arises…if that is Adventurer Pisces, and there are certainly a lot of questions given how many attacked this waystation…is it an ethical matter? The Adventurer’s Guild has taken his side, as has public sentiment in places, but we’ve had callers decrying his actions. Chandrarians don’t feel safe! While our esteemed colleague in Channel 2 begs to differ, I think she’s rather biased.”

An image of Drassi popped up, mid-coverage, and the two Drakes chuckled…until Drassi’s head rotated.

“—and I was s—I heard that.”

She leaned out of her frame and stared down at them.

“Well, well, well. Looks like I get to enact violence today after all. You two badmouthing Pisces? Where’s my brick? I’m gonna—”

They cut the image of her, and Noass adjusted his tweed vest; Sir Relz had on a suit and his monocle today, yellow and fire-red respectively.

“Terrifying how she does that. That’s levels for you, eh, Sir Relz?”

“Indeed, Noass, and if we are disturbed, rest assured we’ll try to be professional. Again, unlike some [Journalists]—”

The staff in the background were already preparing for an interruption, barricading the doors. Again, the Drakes chinked mugs, and Sir Relz leaned forwards.

“Candidly, Noass, I’m troubled by all this. Roshal has not, ah, covered itself in glory. They’ve made a rather strong argument for why they’re under attack.”

Noass nodded.

“Hard to ignore the fact that Adventurer Pisces was illegally taken as a [Slave]—I feel comfortable enough saying that!”

“Risky, Noass, risky; there’s been no adjudication. I think the Arbiter Queen wishes to litigate the matter, but some people have suggested she’s biased from her relationship with Adventurer Pisces…I digress.”

Relz steepled his claws together. Glanced meaningfully at the audience.

“Roshal has some individuals of truly deplorable action and morality. This is undeniable. However, I would hesitate to paint any one nation with a brush of one color, wouldn’t you, Noass?”

Noass frowned. He opened his mouth, peered at Pisces, then tilted his head slightly.

“I’m not sure I’m following, Sir Relz. Do you mean some of these [Slavers] aren’t the ones who took Adventurer Pisces hostage? Because yes, of course.”

“Absolutely. But I want to be more broad than even that. What I mean is…”

Sir Relz smoothed his neck spines and sighed.

“It’s a different culture, one that I don’t ascribe to, Noass, and the same could be said of most Pallassians, I assume. At the same time, I’ve met individuals from Chandrar and shared a cordial meal or conversation together. I didn’t press them on whether they owned [Slaves], and I found most quite agreeable. Some not, like any section of people. I’m just asking if this anti-[Slaver] rhetoric is alienating an entire continent’s worth of people.”

“Hmm. But not everyone in Chandrar are fans of [Slavers], Sir Relz. We had plenty of callers who were fans of Pisces’ alleged actions, even from Nerrhavia’s Fallen. He’s something of an icon.”

Sir Relz frowned at this and glanced at the doors where a certain loud voice was being raised, and a few members of staff appeared worried.

“Ah, that’s our unwanted guest. What I mean, though, Noass, is that this is a cultural issue, clearly. It’s a vast world, and if we all had the same beliefs and values, it would be mighty boring, wouldn’t it? Should we, from our literal armchairs, condemn this practice we have no context for?”

He frowned at Noass, and the other Drake sat back in his seat. Thinking with an equally troubled frown. Sir Relz took a long sip from his cup of purified water.

“I think we should perhaps wait to pass criticism or excuse a lot of deaths as acceptable, don’t you, Noass? Let alone condemning one of Chandrar’s biggest, if not the biggest, economies.”

He smiled at his friend as he sat back in his chair, and Noass adjusted his own positioning on the custom Drake seat designed not to let your neck spines catch on the back. He stared at Relz, then glanced at the cameras, then leaned forwards.

“—No, I think we’re above that, Sir Relz. Slavery, I mean. I don’t need to try it to know I object morally to it. And I’d say you’re above defending that like a coward.”

Sir Relz’s smile halted with his cup, raised halfway to his lips. The two Drakes eyed each other in dead silence as the cameras kept rolling.

——

“Let me in! I’m gonna rip both their tails off! Listen, I want you to screen me from the rest of the staff while I have it out with them—”

Drassi was prepared for a fight. Channel 1 and Channel 2 staff were pushing at each other in the hallways. Even with separate studios, the two fought so often that there were guards, but she was high-level, and she had a brick she kept in her desk she was inserting into a sock just for this purpose.

Her best [Reporters] and [Journalists] were ready to go, and Drassi finally caught sight of the desk where Channel 1 was broadcasting from. She saw Noass, Sir Relz, drew a breath to shout—

Then saw the two Drakes were sitting up in their chairs, hurling objects at each other. Noass clocked Sir Relz with his mug before the other Drake threw his monocle, his clipboard, then his chair—

Drassi halted, mid-shout, and gaped as the two Drakes kept throwing things. She backed up a step. Closed the doors as the Channel 1 news team turned. Then she went back to her desk.

“Er, sorry about that folks. Where was I?”

——

Ten minutes of peak entertainment later, Noass was gone. Sir Relz had a black eye and was missing his monocle. His neck spines, which had been combed down to look like hair, were askew, but he was pretending all was well.

“Apologies for that, gentlemen, ladies. Now I, ah, I think we’ll take a small intermission to restore order…we’re going now to Padurn Jealnet to comment on this entire issue with his son. Fencer Padurn? Your thoughts?”

He was prepared to duck out of frame and simply let the Human talk—and resume his shouting match—when Padurn Jealnet appeared on the scrying orb.

People began instantly trying to change channel. He had Wistram’s first negative ratings score for a guest on television. But since he was topical, they all waited a moment to hear something stupid.

Padurn Jealnet was staring at a scrying orb clearly showing the image of the raid on the waystation. His face was pinched. Nostrils flaring. Eyes wide with disapproval.

“Sir, this appears to be an attack on the [Slavers] of Roshal in broad daylight with your son’s face. Would you call this a lawless act, assuming it was your son?”

Sir Relz gave the man an intro, and Padurn snapped instantly. Too damn fast, like the [Fencer] he was. Relz cursed as he found a comb…

“I would. This is murder, an assault on a foreign nation.”

“If it were your son, then, would you condemn it?”

Padurn appeared confused by the question. Then he focused on the scrying orb. He lifted it closer to the camera, and it was frozen on a shot of the nineteen Pisceses attacking the [Slaver]. He pointed to one of them in the lower-left corner, with a rapier, one of six.

“Yes. I would and do. That’s him. The others are wearing disguises, but half have breasts…Stitch-folk. This is Pisces. I am sure of it.”

He peered around. Sir Relz, the camera team in Ailendamus interviewing him, everyone had frozen. Padurn raised one eyebrow.

“Was this in doubt? I can testify to law enforcement if—”

His next words were cut off, because at this moment, Princess Ozena of Ailendamus tried to execute a flying knee to Padurn’s face.

Which he dodged. The broadcast cut off and Sir Relz was left there with his comb tangled in his neck spines a second before Drassi nearly pulled herself through the screen to scream at him.

But that was the news, eh?

Who said it had no consequences.

——

That was the final raid that Pisces and Merr participated in. Not just because a [Message] came from Nerrhavia’s Fallen within ten minutes of Padurn’s broadcast going out.

No…

He stood on the ground, avoiding the red sand, and there was the familiar death magic in the air. But it felt wrong to him. He didn’t take the power. Didn’t animate any of the bodies.

He told death to let them rest. Merr finished kneeling by the body. She put it next to the head sitting on the pile of rocks. But she didn’t bury Casep. Just stripped her of her armor, her blades, her bag of holding, and turned.

“We’ll pour a drink for her later. Dustbandits, get ready to move.”

“Casep…”

Scarlips kept staring at the head of the woman sitting on the pile of rocks. Blood hadn’t stained the stones. She had already been dead when someone removed her head.

A message. The other [Dustbandits] were all dead too. Pisces peered around. He’d known some of them, like the one called Chimes…but Casep had been the one he’d known well.

All dead.

The [Slaves]…they’d been meant to check in after dropping them off. But they’d never reported in, so Merr had sent someone to look for them, and the cell of [Rebels] here. They’d found this.

“It’s a slaughter inside, boss. They’re all dead. Or…”

Merr looked up as a grim [Bandit] emerged from the hidden cave along the rocky pass. It was remote, and unless you knew to look, you’d just assume no one lived here. Let alone find the hidden entrance. How had they discovered Casep? Had she been tailed or…?

“No bodies of [Slavers]? No [Slaves]?”

“No, boss. So they were re-captured or…”

Disposed of somewhere else. Merr spat and wiped her mouth.

“We don’t know how many Casep took out, then. Damnit. She knew to cut her losses and ride, and they were on horseback. Was the cell dead and they were just waitin’ here…?”

She shook herself. Seemed to come awake.

“We can’t waste time speculating. We’re in danger. Ride.”

They were on their horses, and Pisces glanced back at the dead Dustbandits.

“Should we—”

“They’re not our comrades. Just cloth and flesh and bone. Ride!”

He kept peeking back at the woman’s head. Casep’s face gave nothing away. Her teeth were bared in a death-rictus, grim, as if she saw her death coming. He wished he knew how to ask her…

I’m not high-level enough. If only I could do that, like Numbtongue. What a poor [Necromancer] I am. He whispered, and Merr turned her head.

“Let ‘em lie, Pisces. Just…”

“I will. I’m making sure they don’t rise.”

She eyed him, then dipped her head.

“Thanks.”

——

They drank for Casep and the others. It was such a bitter taste on Pisces’ tongue this time, worse than the last. The hardest part of all was no one having words for him.

“It could have happened to anyone. I blame the Ringer or—fuck. Whatever that bastard’s called!”

Merr punched a rock where they were camped. She strode off. Pisces would have gone after her. To…apologize?

I wanted this. I knew what I was doing, and her people are paying the price. The Dustbandits watched him, and he spoke.

“I am sorry. I wanted it to be only upon me. Ancestors, it was all ever for me. I did it all for none but I. The Drakes sing that. I…I wish it worked that way.”

Scarlips spoke after a long moment.

“She was laughin’ at you before she left. That’s worth a lot to [Bandits]. Could have been something else entirely. There’s nothing to say, Pisces, unless you want to go for a tumble. Reckon that’d cheer someone up.”

He just studied her.

“Even after I’ve killed so many of you?”

Scarlips grinned, then, with a [Bandit]’s cold mirth.

“We’re all dead women when a nation catches us. A poisonous flower smells sweetest of all, kid. [Bandits] die chasing dreams. Go on, then. Just ask yourself how far you want to lead the boss. Where she goes, we go.”

In that moment, they sounded like Pisces’ team, and that hurt, because he missed them. And he realized Merr really did have a—a crew.

How far would he ask her to go? He thought about that. Pisces was glad to have the choice taken out of his hands. Because he received a [Message] spell that blared into his mind, ending his journey.

The Great Sage of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, Etrikah: Pisces Jealnet, by order of Her Majesty, Queen Yisame Beziin, Ruler of the Freed Cloths of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, you are to refrain from any action against the Nation of Roshal, the Slavers of Lailight Scintillation, the Slaver’s Guild, their property or associates thereof at once.

Any actions unprovoked will incur the full wrath of the Crown and its servants. You will furthermore cooperate with the agents of the Crown sent to retrieve you.

When he broke the news to Merr, she just exhaled.

“That’s that. Your father gave her no way out. It’s politics. I sort of get it; Revine’s like that too. She can lie and pretend she don’t know until someone calls it to her face.”

She was more understanding than he’d thought. When Pisces began to apologize, she changed subjects.

“Guess we’ll make sure you’re heading back then…scarper. Some piece of work, your old man, huh? Mine just abandoned me.”

“He’s…managed to become a problem despite how far I’ve gone.”

Pisces muttered, and Merr nodded.

“If he ever vacations in Chandrar, I’ll ensure a camel shits in whatever he eats. Bandit’s promise.”

They said nothing, and she turned.

“I know it’s weird of me to defend her, but…that [Queen] really was letting you go wild. Hand’s tied, though.”

He nodded. It was kind of Yisame. He knew how much trouble he’d caused. It was just…

Over.

——

The Dustbandits were aware a scrying spell had located them, but they just rode Pisces down the main road. People stared, yet Merr was speaking to him.

“Shame Bearig and the others didn’t make it, but they had to be careful. Don’t worry about us.”

“What if the Ringer or…”

He was worried for her, but she smiled tensely.

“The first thing we’re gonna do is ride, Pisces. It’s hard to catch pure speed, and believe me, no one’s going to figure out where we’re going with my Skills. I might be out of range for a good damn while, but…hey, you gave them a bloody nose.”

Barely that. Suddenly, the caravans he’d destroyed, all the fighting, felt hollow against such a vast and sprawling organization. It really had just been for his own ego. It hadn’t saved the person he’d meant it to.

Just bought her a few days at most. Pisces hung his head, but Merr embraced him with one arm as a fast-moving carriage shot down the road towards them.

“Wonder who they sent. Listen, I’m glad to do that. It meant something to the ones we saved. And you haven’t changed. Well, you have, but only in good ways. Cawe, she’d be proud.”

He gazed at her and hugged her impulsively. Pisces usually didn’t squeeze anyone in a hug, but he gripped her tightly.

“Merr…”

“Hey, c’mon, your team’s out there. I’m just the [Bandit Lady].”

“I wish you were with us.”

That one comment made Merr’s face twist up. She hesitated, glanced at Scarlips, and then gently patted him on the shoulders.

“Nah. You just feel that way because I’ve been on my best behavior. Go on.”

He backed up a step, but his eyes were on her as the carriage doors opened. The Dustbandits muttered.

“Back it up, those’re adventurers…”

“Fuck, royal escort. There’s a [Prince] there. Not the adventurer—”

Shouts; the carriage must have had a royal escort like last time. The Dustbandits were riding, but Pisces whispered.

“I have a message from Cawe.”

But he only thought he’d had courage to share it when they were together. Merr’s eyes widened, and she searched his face, then gripped his arm.

“Then share it when we’re pouring out one—together. I ain’t playing messenger with that. This isn’t over, Nerrhavia’s Fallen! Dustbandits—ride!”

She turned her horse and began galloping. Pisces almost smiled; she sounded like some storybook villain for a second. His eyes never left her as she rode into the storm. Then he didn’t turn his head as a haughty voice spoke.

“Filthy [Bandits]. That one was pretending at being Silk. Ah, Bane of Roshal! You live up to your name! I am Prince Weith of House Dabrei, and with me is Princess Lithic, Prince Yosoc—we are here, by will of the [Queen], to escort you back to Tyrant’s Rest. I have been interested in meeting you.”

“Hello, charmed. Do forgive me, I’m still longing for the blood of enemies. Some call me the Scourge of Roshal, but it’s actually the Bane of Roshal. The truth is I’d rather just murder every [Slaver] in Chandrar.”

Pisces muttered without turning his head away from Merr. Prince Weith laughed, a touch uncertain.

“A-ha! Haha! Well, I can see your dandruff is up. Humans, so fascinating. Come, come, I’m sure once we wash the blood off—eugh, he does smell of it. And to ride in such company…perhaps a break in the city? We’ve even brought a fellow Gold-rank team to avoid unpleasantries—not that we needed them!”

More laughter and agreement from the royal escort. Pisces assumed murdering them got you in a lot of trouble. He thought of the [Prince] that Yvlon had threatened to kill…three was probably enough to get him a super-speedy execution.

Back to Tyrant’s Rest. I can do no more. The heavy logic fell on him as he turned…but something clicked in his head.

The team sent to…?

A suspicion crossed his mind a moment before figures left the carriage from the other doors, avoiding the royal escort of three royals and their numerous bodyguards. Pisces blinked—and saw a hesitant hand wave at him.

Captain Leo, Kusal, and Lareceina, the members of Wildcard, were eying Pisces like he was a stranger. They arrayed themselves, almost like they were expecting him to fight.

Prince Weith was like a shorter, less dangerous version of Zenol, though he clearly fancied he was just as good a warrior. He might be, if all the artifacts on his body did the fighting for him. His bodyguard had a more realistic expectation of how a fight with Pisces might go and were tensed, hands hovering near their blades.

But Pisces just focused on Wildcard, not the other two royals. He nodded at Lareceina, who inspected him as she flicked a glowing marble of magic up and down. She shrugged at him, and he tried to smile.

——

Wildcard being the team sent to grab him made it all a tiny bit better. Captain Leo was up front as he shook Pisces’ hand—after all the royals had done so first.

“We’re being paid to bring you back to Tyrant’s Rest, Pisces. No fuss.”

Sorry. Kusal mouthed, but Pisces got it. Lareceina was far more direct.

“Your actions against Roshal—or at least, this last, confirmed action after so much uncertainty—has set the Court of Silks on its head. As a lawful adventurer, I condemn your attacks on Roshal, Adventurer Pisces. I trust you won’t cause any trouble?”

He almost smiled at her, but managed to turn it into a surly grunt. Prince Weith forced a laugh.

“Ha-ha! Enough baiting the Scourge. Adventurer Pisces, you needn’t ride with this Gold-rank team. They’re competent enough, but less entertaining than you. I did not come all this way to listen to adventurers argue.”

It was a bit weird. It became clear that the two [Princes] and [Princess] weren’t actually part of Yisame’s escort. Or to be more accurate, they’d added themselves to her authority, but they were a power in themselves.

“Your Highnesses, we could depart at once if—”

“No. The Scourge smells a bit poignant, and my legs hurt from the ride. We shall have some time in the city, then leave.”

Leonardo shot a look at Pisces, and the [Necromancer] realized there was a great irony about to occur. By ‘the city’, Prince Weith meant the closest one. Princess Lithic glanced at Pisces with great interest and leaned over.

“It should be amusing. They were quite scared of you, Scourge.”

That was how he found himself rolling back into the city of Halqued, which went silent as he passed by. The carriage door was open to let Pisces see the people and vice versa—because they had insisted. The royals laughed like it was some huge game, and to them, it was.

“Sorry, Pisces. They forced themselves into the trip, and they can sort of do what they want so long as they don’t go directly against Queen Yisame. Offending them would be really bad.”

Leo whispered to Pisces as Prince Yosoc lifted a hand and got an instant wave of applause and cheering, unprompted. Pisces was reminded of his conversation with Yvlon about commonfolk…

He just sat there, hoping not to see that girl in the crowd. And wanting to find her.

Lleta.

Had she been sold despite everything…? He barely paid attention to the gossip in court. Only one thing caught his ear.

“Yvlon’s not been seen?”

“Oh, an hour or two. But she vanished, and no one’s seen her since. Resting?”

Weith spoke airily, but for a moment, his expression became calculating. Princess Lithic flicked a hand-fan out and cooled the entire carriage in a moment.

“If she is taken ill, perhaps she might only have an ‘hour or two’ for quite some time. Months, perhaps. A year or more, I have heard.”

Pisces stared at her as she chuckled, and Prince Yosoc appeared mildly apprehensive; he sat furthest from Pisces in the carriage, behind Wildcard. The [Necromancer] spoke softly.

“You mean if she’s magically ill.”

Lithic’s fan didn’t waver as it idly moved back and forth.

“Did I say that, Adventurer? My, you Izrilians are direct.”

“I get it from the Silver Killer. So we’re departing?”

“In a moment, in a moment. I should rather like to hear of your ride across this region. How many [Slavers] did you kill? Not that I approve.”

Prince Weith was excited until Pisces replied calmly.

“What ride, Your Highness? I killed no one. I was simply lost until Her Majesty sent me that [Message].”

“Even if I didn’t have [Detect Truth] spells, I would call that a lie, sir. I shan’t spill secrets, my royal word on it! We must socialize—after some food. Refreshments? But first, a bath.”

Pisces realized he did sort of stink of sweat and blood and corpse. Everyone else was sitting as far as possible from him, and he sighed.

“I could cast [Cleanse].”

“What, like some barbarous [Mage]? We shall have a bath drawn up and repast, then ride back in the night. Drinks, yes! Yosoc?”

“I wouldn’t mind refreshments with the Scourge. ‘Twould be a tale.”

Yosoc, Lithic, and Weith were here to soak up the fame. Wildcard tried not to visibly sigh, and Kusal mimed putting two fingers to his temples when no one was watching. Pisces said nothing; this was the least of what he’d known was coming.

Humor them. He was no Yvlon. He just kept staring out onto the street. Being here…he wished they’d taken him to any other city. Any other one.

——

The irony of ironies was that the very same mansion he’d first stayed at with the Horns had been re-opened to his company. Pisces took a bath and watched the water turn interesting colors. He scrubbed with all the soaps until whatever pungency he had was probably gone, or at least, less pressing.

He would have taken as much time as he dared, but he’d rather leave, so he scrubbed fast. Unfortunately…not fast enough.

“Adventurer Pisces? It’s Lareceina. Do you have a moment?”

He paused in toweling himself.

“I’m not clothed.”

“Okay.”

She thrust the door open, and he promptly turned invisible. She squinted.

“I can sort of see you there. The magic makes you visible, but it’s not as obvious as I thought…can you hold that spell?”

“Please leave.”

She closed the door and cast a spell that made his ears pop instead. Pisces frowned as she turned. Then she spoke.

“Purely between us adventurers…I went to the Slaver’s Guild just now. They were quite worried about you and relieved we were taking you away. No one has entered or left Halqued since you began your attacks.”

“Speaking as adventurers, I believe you’re mistaken about who did what. I was attending weddings.”

Her lips quirked.

“Yes, quite. I did ask, and no [Slaves] have left the city.”

His heart leapt in his chest. Right before Lareceina stared down at her fingers and twiddled her thumbs.

“However, there’s no Drake girl in their rosters. I was in the market for a [Slave]. She appears to have been sold to a [Slave Trainer] who raises prospective [Slaves] in the city.”

Pisces re-appeared, and Lareceina jumped; he was not where she thought he was. His robes were mostly on, and he stood there, adjusting them.

“I see.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

She peered at him, face very deliberately blank, and he ruffled his wet hair. Pisces avoided her eyes.

“I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to know. I was wrong, then.”

After a second, Lareceina ducked her head, and Pisces turned away.

“No—I appreciate you checking. Thank you.”

——

Perhaps the royals realized Pisces was not in the mood for sociability when he emerged from the bathroom, because they traded a look as he came downstairs.

“Do you wear the same clothing, Scourge?”

“I think this is clean enough…yes. Should I change?”

Weith sniffed the air and shrugged.

“It doesn’t reek, and it fits. Just a strange life to wear the same clothing day in, day out. Ah, adventurers. Where to, then?”

“A restaurant? We could set out for Tyrant’s Rest if you wanted.”

There were enough refreshments on the table to have fed everyone, but the two [Princes] and [Princess] scoffed instantly.

“Without repast and conversation? Unthinkable! Come, take your pick of the city. The finest restaurants…or perhaps another establishment? Say the word and we shall attend it together.”

Ah, so they wanted to be seen in public with the Scourge of Roshal. Kusal rolled his eyes and, unfortunately, made the mistake of many people. Because the Nerrhavia’s Fallen royals might be haughty and powerful, but it didn’t mean they were stupid.

Prince Weith’s brows snapped together.

“You shall not attend, adventurer.”

“Your Highness, I apologize for Kusal, but we are hired to escort Pisces back to Tyrant’s Rest—”

Leonardo intervened with a strained smile, but Prince Weith’s hand stole to his side, where he carried a curved shortsword.

“Are you implying my [Bodyguards] or myself need your help, adventurer? You are only here by courtesy to our cousin, Queen Yisame!”

“I—did not imply that at all, sire.”

“Good, then I take little offense. You both may stay behind. And the [Mage] if she has a comment?”

Wildcard’s two members bristled, and Lareceina bowed.

“I would defer to whatever His Highness wishes, Prince Weith.”

He relaxed a bit.

“Good. Then I permit your presence, since some concessions to a Gold-rank team must be made. Now, Adventurer Pisces, where to?”

He clicked his fingers, and servants brought a map of the city with every notable eatery circled. Pisces stared at the valuable map being defaced in bright red ink. He eyed Lareceina out of the corner of his eye.

Definitely good Yvlon wasn’t here. At the same time, he wished she were so Weith could speak to her like he’d just done to Leo.

Maybe the Yvlon method was truly egalitarian and ahead of its time and Pisces hadn’t realized it. He really did miss her. Ceria and Colth too, but Yvlon would have gotten a lot of this. She would have liked Merr, Pisces bet.

Since it was Pisces the Sniffmaster of Dead Slavers and not the Silver Killer, he tried to be a bit more…accommodating. Charming. Even if he felt like repeatedly kicking Prince Weith in the groin until the man had to change genitals.

He still felt like doing violence. More than before, actually.

Not good, not at all. Pisces thought as he studied the map. His eyes narrowed.

“What would be appropriate for members of your station, Your Highnesses? I’m afraid I haven’t been in Nerrhavia’s Fallen long enough to know.”

That pleased them, and Princess Lithic clicked her fingers.

“A good answer. You are more capable than the Killer. As I knew. Naturally, a restaurant doesn’t suit us.”

“Naturally.”

“A Midnight’s Society of some kind is far more appropriate given our ages.”

Pisces had no idea what that was, and Princess Lithic frowned, perplexed.

“Do they have none in Izril? Ah, perhaps they come by another term. An Open Lodge? A Nightspot?”

There was a mutter from Leo.

“Oh, a nightclub.”

“Ugh, what a terrible name. Is that some kind of weapon a [Blackguard] might use? What we are referring to is an establishment that caters to those of a younger age who wish to move about, dance, and have time for both music and socialization and food!”

“And who can do more than one at a time.”

Yosoc murmured, and they laughed. Pisces had an image of Wishdrinks—which he assumed pretty much fit the bill. Drinks and a more casual atmosphere, though he doubted the royals were going to be as casual as Selys and her friends.

Even so, he understood. From the way Weith smiled and shifted, there was more to this than mere games. The [Prince] added after a moment.

“The nightspot might have [Slaves], and it shall have entertainment, collared or not. I trust the Scourge can hold back his bloody nature with us?”

It was not really a question, but perhaps the [Prince] wanted to see Pisces lose it. The [Necromancer] reminded himself to not Yvlon instantly. He smiled at Weith.

“We’ll see, Your Highness.”

For a second, Weith appeared uncertain before throwing his head back and laughing uproariously. When no one but his bodyguards joined in, he scowled.

“Well, if you have a preference, state it. Otherwise, we’ll choose the best of…eugh.”

He ran his eyes down another list of nightclubs in the city. Clearly, it was below any standard he held, but Pisces just blinked at the list and had a thought.

“Do you have another list I could read?”

Rather to their surprise, he conferred with a servant who nervously found a little directory with a Skill, and Pisces checked it and then the list of popular establishments. He found a name he recognized, confirmed it was right, and pointed to it.

Mystified, Prince Weith read the name.

“The Djinni’s Hour? Whatever suits your fancy, Scourge. There’s naught remarkable about it.”

“Call it the name. I’ve run into two Djinni, now, who’ve wanted to kill me.”

That drew their attention at once, and they began asking about the encounter with Seemutor that they somehow knew about. Their escorts moved ahead, clearing the road and demanding service at this place they definitely didn’t have reservations for.

When Captain Leo and Kusal went to join them, they were reminded they’d stay here. Leo threw up his hands.

“Lareceina, call us if you need a hand with—anything.”

“We are perfectly capable by ourselves, Captain!”

Weith shot back, and Leo glanced at Pisces. He nodded after a moment.

“Of course you are, sire. Have fun.”

——

Pisces had never been to The Djinni’s Hour, and it was somewhat decrepit on the outside. A very old building laid on stone so ancient it had clearly been rebuilt ages ago. Most cities tended to go like that, buildings staying up until they were condemned and a new one being made on the rubble of the first.

Nor was it that fancy—by royal standards. Pisces blinked into the room filled with magical light spells to give it a dimmer atmosphere shot through by bright illumination spells for the stage where performers would dance or sing—there was even a haze in the air like a Djinni’s body.

It was roughly semicircular with an area to dance on the left side and more tables and booths on the right, the stage being in the center and back. The kitchens were equipped for any meals you could want, though a bar seemed to be the real draw for people.

The instant the royals entered, conversation stopped, and they were announced—loudly. There was bowing, applause, and they were given a booth in the center of the room where Pisces was sat.

In view of everyone else. But rather than shoo everyone away, the younger Stitch-folk were allowed to come by. Well, the Silks—the Cottons were instantly thrust backwards. The Hemp serving staff, if there were any, also vanished.

No one but the finest cloths to join the royals, who were a step above Silk. They wanted the attention, but didn’t want the company.

By now, Pisces had formulated a few hypotheses about what the royals wanted from him and how this conversation might go. His simplest guess was that they were simply bored and wanted him to entertain them.

However, they might also be trying to use him or feel him out for their games in court. Another possibility was that they wanted to get him riled up to humiliate Yisame or endanger her—or they just wanted the prestige of saying they had met the Scourge and hung out with him after his rampage.

Pisces didn’t really care, only developed a few plans about how to deal with problems. He didn’t want to be here.

This nightclub or nightspot might have been fun if he were in Liscor, with friends. Not with strangers. Lareceina was the only person whose company he even tolerated, but she was playing up the ‘I am against killing [Slavers] card’.

There was a pop song playing in the background, too, not so loud they were deafened, but loud. Only a silencing spell on the booth made it possible to talk coherently, and Pisces saw [Dancers] performing on stage.

Stitch-women and Stitch-men with not a lot on doing quite provocative things with bright bits of cloth. Some had collars and chains.

Prince Yosoc started staring and only stopped when Prince Weith lifted a hand.

“Bah, too carnal for my tastes. Other performers, now.”

He clapped his hands, and the [Dancers] instantly left the stage. No one objected, and he leaned forwards. The Silk audience and royals were all intent on Pisces.

“Unless you came here for such things. There are more refined places, even for youth.”

“This will do, Prince Weith. Are you hungry?”

Pisces had been reading a menu, and he was hungry-ish. Not really, but he knew his body needed it. He ordered a burger and wondered if it would be like Erin’s. Funny it had come all this way…it was listed under ‘New Foods’.

Weith waved a hand.

“Hm? No, I’m full.”

Pisces nearly cracked the lacquered menu of wood in half. Princess Lithic laughed.

“Drinks, then! Let’s have a round of Firebreath Whiskey in honor of our Izrilian adventurer. Then something actually palatable. Djinni’s Tears.”

Pisces checked the bottles, and there was a high markup on the cheap Drake drink—but that was nothing compared to one of the most pricey bottles on the menu. From the way Lareceina winced, she was aware this was a hundred-gold bottle coming around.

“Gah, it burns!”

Weith almost spat out his Firebreath Whiskey drink, and Pisces pretended to take a shot, grimacing, then went to water. Same with the Djinni’s Tears.

Only Prince Yosoc even got the Firebreath Whiskey down; Princess Lithic coughed, and Lareceina pretended to spill her cup.

“Drake swill, eh? Now…let us talk, Pisces. I give you leave to use my name without titles. The same for you, uh, Lareceina. I know you have met Prince Zenol abroad, and we cannot be less sociable than he, eh? Especially not for such a famous adventurer.”

“Am I so famous at the moment, Prince Weith?”

“At this moment? You might be more famous than Torreb. I have said his name to travellers from other continents, and they have not known him. But you—everyone saw your attacks on the [Slavers]. Come, come, tell us why you did it then and there. And no lies! I am generous, but I grow impatient with all this prevarication.”

Weith waved a finger at Pisces as he took more of the Djinni’s Tears and some of the appetizers for the table. Bits of it were genuinely delicious-looking. There were little shells of wheat or some other bread filled with meat and spices.

Flatbreads and colorful dips—some of which were clearly magical. A noble’s version of common fare. Lareceina kept trying to put some floating dip on a cracker. Pisces wasn’t that hungry, but he made a show of eating and drinking while not really touching much.

Especially not the liquor. They refilled his cup often, watching to make sure it was being refilled, but Pisces was a Wistram graduate.

He didn’t try for sleight-of-hand to toss it or let it dribble down his front. Rather, he used the simplest trick he had: he cast [Cleanse] every time he pretended to take a drink. Lareceina probably noticed, but he doubted the royals or bodyguards could tell what he was casting, even if they noticed the reduced spell. Unlike the regular [Cleanse] spell, Pisces could mitigate his mana usage to vanish only a mouthful’s worth. Training paying off.

My personal dimension is going to be filthy again. A small price to pay. Pisces tried to engage the [Prince] and pretend to loosen up a bit.

“I doubt I could tell many stories unlike the first, Prince Weith. I could recount a hypothetical raid on a [Slaver] caravan once. The rest is more a matter of tactics.”

“Ah, so killing a man is like killing any other? Is that bravado or humility?”

Pisces hadn’t been disarmed of his rapier, a sign of the royal’s confidence. He didn’t reach for it, but felt it in his hand, the shock of striking flesh and bone.

“I would say just honesty, Your Highness. If, hypothetically, I had done all you thought, it would feel the same.”

Again, there was that pause. Longer, this time. The nobles and people watching the booth peered at each other. One of the [Bodyguards] had a hand on a blade and kept watching Pisces. After a moment, Prince Weith forced a laugh.

“See, this. This. Named-rankers will not speak so to me, though they are often so interesting…but it is hard to talk to them. You know, I envied Prince Zenol. I thought him a fool, having to go adventuring given how his poor house had no real prospects. Do you know his story?”

“His father was killed in battle, and his house fell on harder times. I only knew him briefly.”

Princess Lithic broke in.

“His father was a gifted warrior. Not a diplomat. It plays well in some circles, but not the Court of Silks. A shame; Prince Zenol has made his mark as an adventurer, though.”

Her words made Prince Yosoc and Weith bristle and check their blades. Weith snapped.

“Yes, well, somewhat. House Isphel is not beyond trouble, and House Quarein is a dangerous foe, however the Silver Killer has humiliated that idiot. We would be fine allies of Zenol. If we chose to be. But there are a hundred [Princes] and [Princesses] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. How not with such a vast nation?”

“Does having so many royal classes devalue your status, Your Highness?”

—And there came Lareceina with an unexpected jab from the side. Prince Weith froze up, clearly uncertain how offended to be, but Princess Lithic replied smoothly.

“Say rather that we are a sign of greatness in this nation, and a [Princess] is still a [Princess], is she not?”

Everyone agreed at once. Lareceina ducked her head and sat back; Pisces spoke.

“So you aspire to be an adventurer like Zenol, Prince Weith? Is that why you came to meet me?”

The [Prince] was restless. He ordered a dessert from the menu, glancing around in irritation; the bar rushed more drinks out, and a backup performer was coming out on the stage. He snapped back.

“Honestly, Scourge? I meant to save you from yourself as courtesy! To bridge this foolishness—I would not see you dead, and dead you will be in a week if you continue this madness. Cousin Yisame has done much for you, I am not sure you know, in forbearing her wrath. But I intend to broker sense!”

That surprised Pisces, genuinely. Princess Lithic covered a smile with her fan.

“Myself, I am here to get a measure of the Scourge as well and see if he might serve my House’s interests. Yosoc, what about you?”

He was the most shy of the trio, and maybe a bit intoxicated already—he was wiping at his brows. He failed to meet Pisces’ eyes twice as he muttered.

“I…just wanted to meet the Scourge. It may be the Horns of Hammerad can serve my House’s interests, yes.”

Weith waved a finger at Pisces.

“There, you see? Curiosity for all, but we are royals of the Court of Silks; we lie, of course.”

“Of course. I am flattered, naturally, Weith. I do not discount a Nerrhavia’s Fallen [Prince]’s help. Ksmvr would be dead—and many good adventurers—but for Prince Zenol. Yvlon too, perhaps, when she fought Beton Doomguard. You could do anything conceivable.”

That pleased Weith, and he leapt up, striding about the booth excitedly as he took down another shot of his drink.

“This pleases me and annoys me. Zenol…I admit, my own heart leapt when I saw him fighting in the Village of the Dead. But he is just—a lesser [Prince]. I am far above him, not that I expect Izrilians to understand rank. However, look at my cloth!”

He flung out a tawny arm, and Pisces eyed the literally tawny color. Not just the skin tone, but something truly between yellow, orange, and brown. The color of an owl’s feathers, but oddly…luminescent?

“What cloth is this, Prince Weith?”

“Copperheart. Ah, it may sound common to you, but it is of the magical cloths. Strong enough to withstand a steel blade slashing without harm. Zenol is Silk. I am not.”

The Silk-folk in the audience were probably rich for Halqued. But Prince Weith’s words made them sigh with a longing that told Pisces this was a rich fabric. Princess Lithic leaned forwards.

“I am Night’s Sigh cloth. Which has little as remarkable for durability. But it is prized for its ability to regulate temperature and delicacy—the weave is ten times tighter than silk. My brain was woven of it.”

Another murmur. No wonder she felt sharpest of the lot. Pisces wondered what kind of advantages you got from making a brain out of better cloth.

Yosoc lifted a hand.

“I’m Reithread. It’s…good.”

Everyone eyed him and realized he might not actually know what his cloth did. Weith turned to Pisces.

“You’re Human and thus not expected to know this, Adventurer Pisces. But here you sit with three of the most powerful young folk in Nerrhavia’s Fallen.”

“Four.”

The [Prince] glanced around, blinking, and Pisces pointed at Lareceina.

“Her team matched mine in combat.”

The [Compression Mage] blushed slightly, and Weith waved a hand.

“Ah, yes…but we are interested in you. I wish nothing ill of your team, despite how you treated a fellow [Prince]. I never liked Esceit. The Silver Killer? Fascinating, even if I would not shake her hand. But you—you are not said to be a fool. You knew when you struck at Roshal you were damning yourself, and perhaps your team, to execution or enslavement, did you not?”

Then every eye turned to Pisces. He stared past Prince Weith at a dancer who didn’t seem any less provocative; she came onto stage in a colorful dress, then promptly took her top off.

He really had to stop staring at breasts. Pisces thought of Merr and averted his gaze.

“Perhaps. But nevertheless, I allegedly did these things. What of it, Prince Weith?”

The [Prince]’s eyes gleamed, and they all watched him, bodyguards, Silks, Lareceina.

“You are a man who is Named-rank in popularity, if not yet level or deed. Are you a madman, then? What drives the Scourge?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The story should be known enough.”

“I want you to tell it.”

Pisces hesitated, cup lifted to his lips. He put it down and shrugged. Then he began to speak.

——

The Necromancer was a strange one. The Djinni’s Hour was on its head—not just because three royals had visited, but because the Scourge who had terrorized the city’s roads was here.

He was a bit disappointing, though. Yes, that was the word for it.

They kept probing him, the royals, the audience, seeking that hint of madness that Torreb and any great name had. Nor were they idiots, for all they were nobles.

The three members of royalty knew high-levels. If, say, they’d had Orjin of Pomle in here and he’d refused anything rich, going to practice standing on one leg in a corner—well, he might be unsociable, but he would be entertaining.

High-levels were all erratic. The fun was in figuring out who they were. The rest could be politics, but Pisces? He was polite enough and played decently with the light verbal sparring. But he wasn’t…anything.

He wasn’t crazy like the Silver Killer, who had you checking you knew the fastest way out a window, or the spirit of mischief like the Ice Squirrel, or just amazingly talented and knowledgeable like Colthei, who was, if boring, still Named-ranker material.

Was this all this man was? A bit of cleverness, a talent with the sword, and a unique class? If so, the Stitch-folk would be mightily let down.

Because such a man was fodder in a nation as filled with talent as this. What even Lareceina, who did not care for these situations, but studied them like a class, had picked up was this:

The worst thing Pisces could be was boring, right now. Unfortunately, he wasn’t giving them anything to work with.

He kept his summary of his enslavement light, sparing any juicy tidbits. When he finished with the chance meeting of the Death of Chains, there was a sigh. Princess Lithic ordered more cocktails as she took a Potion of Sobering to keep going. She poured Prince Yosoc one; he seemed to be holding his liquor badly.

Or maybe he was just bored. Prince Weith was shaking his head.

“Perhaps it’s well I came here.”

He got up, stretching his legs again. What a waste if this was all this was. But he’d done his good deed for the year and turned.

“You, Pisces, have a reason to your anger. I say this. I would be wroth beyond ages if anyone enslaved me. My fury would know no end, and Roshal would tremble for it. Is this not so and fair?”

Everyone nodded at this. Then the [Prince] waggled a finger.

“But—as that stuffy Drake said on the television, one [Slaver] is not all Roshal. This anger you have, you must relent enough to exist in our nation without forcing Yisame’s hand. You had done well until now. What changed?”

“I suppose my team left me and I lost my leash.”

Pisces muttered. For a second, Weith hesitated, and Yosoc sat up a bit.

“What are you, their dog? Their [Slave]?”

“Whatever you care to call it, [Prince]. Perhaps I misspeak at times. Consenting adults can use leashes, or so I’ve heard.”

Princess Lithic spat her drank across three members of the audience and coughed. That had Weith laughing, and he grew more animated. Pisces just kept staring at his drinks.

“Hah! But I shall not be distracted from my point. You would war against Roshal had you no fear for them or of the crown, yes?”

“In the interest of not giving a definitive—hypothetically, let’s say I would.”

Pisces picked up another fry, played with it, and put it on his plate. Weith nodded, then paced around again.

“But I tell you that if not more than, eh, a tenth of Nerrhavia’s Fallen owns a [Slave], then almost every single person interacts with one or is served indirectly by one. It is part of our economy. You would remove something that brings in more gold than the spice trade! I am not always interested, but this I understand. The same with the King of Destruction’s armies. They exist purely on that gold. He could win a hundred battles and starve for only taking weapons and armor.”

Pisces nodded.

“The economic argument isn’t lost on me, Prince Weith. The next thing you will say is that it is what you believe, I suppose. And I should respect that?”

“Bah, am I that much a fool? Listen—I am telling you Roshal is no Sariant Lamb. You have pushed them, and a Djinni is the least of what they have. Yes, they have done you a great disservice. How many have you killed? A thousand? Time to make some peace. Time to let them make amends. Or have you not thought to let them try?”

Pisces raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“What, let them pay a blood debt? You think that will solve it?”

“No, I am no fool. Not enough to allow for you to be nice. But to part ways without you dead and Roshal bled? Surely. This is just politics as even Esceit can play. Better yet, why not let them sell you [Slaves], eh?”

This time, the Scourge froze over, but Weith waved a finger.

“Ah, ah. Don’t rage at me yet, Scourge. Hear me out. You escaped Roshal with a few [Slaves], eh? Some might still be out there, like Merr the Storm.”

“…Perhaps.”

“Then why not let this be a solution? Let one go to Roshal, even I. And say to them, ‘we shall never be friends. Cross me and I shall kill you. Walk in front of me and I shall spit on your shadow. But we are quits if you make it right’. Then have them sell you, eh, Merr the Storm and whomever else was in your party. And two dozen more for good measure.”

Prince Weith clicked his fingers, and even Lareceina sat up. Pisces blinked at him.

“After all this? You think Roshal would simply do that?”

“They are a nation of [Merchants]. Better to pay off the lion than have to hunt it. And in this analogy, they have wronged the lion, and well they know it. It is bad business what they did. You think they want to be castigated day after day on television? But that is sense, is it not?”

Even the Scourge nodded after a moment. Which did not make him more interesting…but he sat forwards.

“And then we would stop.”

“It would save your life, your team’s lives, and the other [Slaves] who will know no peace from here till the edges of the world from their [Assassins]. And more. You could choose, eh, Izrilians. Drakes or Gnolls or what have you.”

Then Pisces flinched. Prince Weith appeared mightily satisfied and nodded around so that all marked that he had made the Scourge of Roshal blink. His voice became more energetic.

“You might free them, then. Which I expect you would. But I would say to you, Scourge, if you could take such actions as I think any reasonable man could do—then I would invite you around Nerrhavia’s Fallen. To friends of mine, or just acquaintances, that you might see those who ‘hold chains’ are not your foes. Just people.”

The young man froze over, and then there was that hint of…not a [Dangersense]. Princess Lithic sighed, disappointed.

The Silver Killer would set off a [Dangersense]. Pisces just paused. She turned and began studying the dancer on stage, who was quite good, nimble, flexible. Too lewd—Lithic twiddled her fingers to indicate she wanted another, or at least a male dancer for parity.

When she turned back, Pisces was arguing politely.

“It would appear that in time, I will be quite receptive to slavery.”

“Pisces, Pisces…do I argue like a [Sage] to say it is all good? No! Perhaps it is ill, perhaps it makes one unkinder to their fellow cloth. Perhaps. But when you pass by my schoolteacher on the street, she, who labored as the Hero of Zethe never did to ensure I understood the world—you would not see a heinous slavemaster!”

Prince Weith clapped a hand to his chest, tears coming to his eyes. He shook his head.

“Nor was she that rich! This may astound all to hear it, but she is, in fact…Cotton. Because I chased every Silk tutor away. She might have never had a [Slave], but I gifted her with some when I came of age, for her great service. She treats them like family, I am told. Would you cut her down, Scourge? A woman in her sixties, whose hands have wielded a baking pin on dough at worst?”

His argument was good. Even if the discussion were boring enough to have Lithic yawning like Yosoc. She saw Pisces think about it. Then he heaved a huge sigh.

“Perhaps.”

The [Prince] of House Dabrei was nodding along, preparing his next point, when his head stopped bobbing. He turned to peer at Pisces.

“Ah, I suspect you misworded that too. My schoolteacher? An unarmed lady who has never mistreated her [Slaves] or any other? Perhaps you’d kill…her?”

The [Necromancer]’s gaze was partially obscured by the haze in the club. He lifted his cup to his lips.

“I try to be a reasonable person, Prince. But I cannot promise what I do not know.”

“…It would be of great concern if you killed innocent women passing down the street.”

“Yes. Which is why I am called the Scourge. When it comes to Roshal, I can be—unreasonable. Greatly so. Or did you think I was unaware of the consequences when I rode on that first caravan?”

The three royals sat back up, and the bored Silks and Cottons who’d been listening peered at each other again. The script they had been playing was suddenly not matching the words coming out of Pisces’ mouth.

Prince Weith leaned forward, despite his anger in defense of his dear old schoolteacher. Who may or may not exist. Who knew? Lithic thought it might be a true story.

“Aha, anger I understand. Is it because you are the [Necromancer], so feared in Izril? Perhaps it is because I am made of cloth, but I find undead that rot distasteful, skeletons a bit off—but I do not fear your class. The Necromancer never came here. You were expelled from Wistram and your kingdom. Are you just a…[Rebel] at heart?”

Pisces glanced up at the ceiling. At the dancer, at the [Prince], and shook his head.

“No. I thought I was. In truth, I was quite a bitter young man about two years ago, Prince Weith. I confess, I didn’t take accountability for the things I’d done. By the time I came to Liscor, there was a part of me that yearned to be hated just that bit more. To have no hand reach out for me. Then…then, a little part of me wanted to reach that lowest point. Because then I could follow in his footsteps and forsake my humanity and mortality itself. Then I could be like Az’kerash.”

It was a given, of course, that someone was trying to record this conversation for posterity, and gossip was flying as fast as Skills were thrown. But suddenly, the bored attention was riveted. Lareceina spoke.

“You did not do that, Pisces. What changed?”

“I found a place I was accepted. A boring answer for a boring man.”

He smiled at her, and this time, no one fell for it. Princess Lithic’s mind ran and came up blank, so she nudged Yosoc. He looked around, then blurted out.

“Well, I didn’t come to persuade you to like slavery. I meant what I said; I just wanted to meet you. To like you, perhaps. But I’m not so obsessed I want to lick the Silver Killer’s metal foot like my brother—”

His brother wants to what? Yosoc went on as he threw even Pisces for a loop.

“—I just want to know what went through your head when you drew on the King of Destruction.”

Silence. Pisces blinked at Yosoc and saw two earnest eyes as Yosoc yawned. Even the dancer on stage paused to listen in, and his lips quirked self-deprecatingly.

He’ll say, ‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ Princess Lithic predicted.

“I suppose I thought I could take him. Until I came to my senses. I assumed Yvlon had Mars, and Ceria might get Amerys. So I was hoping Colth would get Orthenon, Takhatres, and Gazi.”

Dead silence—then the table exploded into laughter. Incredulous laughter. Weith slapped the table, and Yosoc gave Pisces a smile, almost disappointed. He thought Pisces was humoring him.

“Truly, Adventurer?”

The [Necromancer] smiled faintly as he lifted the cup he never drank from.

“Just a flash of ego. Maybe not. But I thought I had to try. Yvlon was going to, and he was not going to relent on a matter we were arguing over.”

“You were going to force the King of Destruction’s hand?”

“I had to try. Just like I had to sail an undead ship at the [Slavers] of Roshal and fight the Bloodtear Pirates. Or ride on that caravan. I had to kill the Adult Creler threatening my team, and I had to go into the Village of the Dead. My life is full of objectionable un-choices. So you see, Prince Weith, we tend to disagree on why things happen.”

The [Prince] frowned at Pisces.

“You are…eh, what’s the word? Semanticing. You have a choice in each case, you just claim not to.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t have a choice. I assure you. If I weren’t to do any of that, I wouldn’t be the Pisces that was allowed into an establishment far nicer than this. Oh, they might let me in at the door, but I’m sure the real door wouldn’t let me in. And I’d kick myself out in time.”

He was drawing in some spilled drink on the table. Princess Lithic laughed.

“You’re such a moral figure, then, Adventurer. How…amusing. Life must be so easy to plot if you follow such a compass.”

How sad. It made him predictable. Pisces shrugged.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you, Princess? But I am always amazed at where it takes me. I used to sneer at a fellow I thought was straight as an arrow and sharp as a brick. Ylawes Byres, a man of convictions. But though we disagree on what is right, I admire how hard it must be to live like that. He has not lived a boring life, either. I am told Stitch-folk change everything about them—that they envy us for having identities. It must be worse to be able to shift one’s priorities, to compromise, and never have an anchor to hold you steady.”

Princess Lithic took genuine offense to that. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but Prince Yosoc’s laughter forestalled an outburst.

“Hah! I like that. Well, well. I have never hated you for killing [Slavers] of Roshal. It may be insanity, but you are closer to that than not.”

He sat back, smiling, as if he were suddenly satisfied. The other two—increasingly not. Princess Lithic’s smile was a touch venomous, now.

“You seem to imply we are living lies in fear of, what, Roshal?”

“It might not be fear, Your Highness. Just a healthy respect for fundamental forces of your economy. After all, the [Slave] trade is Nerrhavia Fallen’s most valuable pillar. You would be foolish not to acknowledge this.”

Lareceina was polite, and got two glares as Pisces agreed. There was danger in Prince Weith’s voice as he replied.

“Yet it seems close to being called a coward, even so. If I had true disagreements with slavery, I would, of course, act as I thought most moral. But I have not heard one. Nor seen one. Is it better to just put a man to death? Jail him for life? I do not find these things more moral. Death is an abhorrence, but perhaps a [Necromancer] fails to see it that way?”

Pisces twiddled a finger as he stared past the two incensed royals.

“I believe I have been too rude and erred in my communication. Perhaps if we relaxed? The, ah, floorshow is quite adept.”

It was a lithe and colorful woman in big, baggy trousers, a patchwork of colors with obvious stitching. Topless, yes, revealing brown skin, and her breasts were pierced with ornaments that caught the light.

It was very distracting. But what made her entertaining even for Nerrhavia’s Fallen, who might be used to your usual [Sultry Dancer], was that this one had a theme. The pants were, uh…weird. But then you looked at her hat with that starfish design and the little bells on them and you got it.

Ah, nude dancing clown. Pisces shook his head.

“It must be a trend or something.”

Prince Weith took one look behind him and growled.

“I don’t believe I care to ‘simmer down’, as perhaps you meant, Adventurer. Give me a reason I should favor your Izrilian beliefs. Or is it Terandria, Ailendamus, you harken to?”

Pisces re-focused on the angry Stitch-man, and he thought. Then he gave Weith a nod.

“I don’t believe I could best you in an argument on the morality of slavery, Prince Weith. If you have not heard one already…I would love to be so gifted, but I fear I cannot bring justice to the feelings in my heart.”

He sighed, and the [Prince] was dangerously close to popping a blood vessel, magical cloth-skin or not.

“Then you recant your words? Because the only other way to read it is an insult. Though we have been cordial, I warn you, I cannot stand that to my honor.”

“Nor I.”

The [Princess] put in, shifting her fan to reveal that it was actually a series of cunningly-designed stiletto daggers she could hurl. That made her [Bodyguards] begin to really sweat behind her. They were trying to figure a way out of this.

Setting fire to one of themselves, perhaps, and claiming it was an assassination attempt. They were drawing lots when Pisces leaned forwards. And there it was now, a faint smile on his lips. A bit like he was mocking them. Or found something hilarious only he could see. That little sneer that had used to make an [Innkeeper] want to commit pan-based violence.

“Ah, once again, I misspeak. I have clearly left out a point by omission. Forgive me.”

“Elucidate us then.”

It had better be really good. Lareceina was housing fries like they were made of air out of nerves. She was keenly aware that two more royal enemies would not be good—and that was if they all parted ways in this club without an incident.

But Pisces had, in Lareceina’s opinion, just locked himself out of the one argument he could make against [Slavery]: the moral argument where she thought he had the most weight.

However, the [Necromancer] had a plan. It had begun before he’d even walked into this club. He had been in the city of Halqued long enough to get some intelligence about the city.

Nothing like a local would have…but he had made use of it in conjunction with an idea he’d had. And in the course of their conversation, he’d led the two into his logical argument. Plus, when he’d been doodling on the table just now, he’d been drawing a spell sigil.

A simple spell circle, the kind that enabled death magic. Nothing like the Death’s Door he’d made. Even so, one of the [Bodyguards] had spotted it and told their [Princess] it was there.

She focused on it now, fingers tensing on her fan, prepared to kick back and activate barrier spells. Pisces’ eyes flicked to her. He held up a hand.

“I’d like to cast a spell, if I may, to illustrate my point. Don’t worry. It’s potentially alarming—not hostile to anyone present. I swear.”

“We have truth spells. Nor are we cowards, are we, Lithic?”

Weith glanced at her, and she bit her lip. She did not like this. But pride was a trap, as Pisces well knew. So she had to hold still as Pisces’ eyes began to glow faintly.

That was a lot of magic. A…lot. A few alarms cut through the music in the background; The Djinni’s Hour was an upscale place, after all. But the royals were just waiting, and Pisces was using the spell sigil as a focus.

What was he doing? If he was animating a giant undead, did that count as ‘not hostile to anyone present’ so long as it wasn’t hostile when it animated?

When your life was hanging on a question like that, you really wished you’d worded your statement to the Djinni better. Yosoc was just grinning as he sat back, eyes heavy-lidded. Pisces began talking.

“For the sake of argument, Prince Weith, let me concede that I cannot rid Chandrar of slavery. That my team, my friends, will be in jeopardy if I continue my actions. I think this is fair; I have inconvenienced them. I am a bit mad, I think. Angry and driven insane by experiences I think you do not understand.”

Weith drew breath, and Pisces gazed at him. The [Prince] subsided into his chair, and Pisces went on.

“However, let me also concede that there is no good and pragmatic reason to do what makes me the Scourge. Also, for the sake of our conversation and my respect for your royal name—let me concede that there is no moral argument I could utter that can sway you. I am not in possession of the words.”

He smiled ruefully and went on.

“I concede there are innocent people who hold [Slaves]. I shall even concede there are good, admirable, and just people who hold [Slaves] in this world we argue over. Whether or not that is true, for the sake of our argument, I concede it. And I shall also concede that the powers of Roshal, including Emir Yazdil, did not know I was illegally taken as a [Slave].”

“…I am fairly certain he would have known the truth. You needn’t concede falsehoods.”

The hair was rising on Princess Lithic’s skin, and she tried to make a joke of things, but she was trembling slightly. No, wait. She wasn’t. The table was. Weith had lost his expression of surety. Now, he was searching for those windows.

Too late. Too late. They’d forgotten he was the Silver Killer’s teammate, and fun fact—there were no windows where you could easily bail out The Djinni’s Hour. They were locked and bolted to keep the haze effect in, as well as the noise and ambiance.

The people watching the Scourge talking to the royals were edging for the door. A young Stitch-man tried the handle—then his hand leapt away.

“Hey, open it! Just in case—”

The Cotton Stitch-girl, very grateful for her being too unimportant to listen in the front row suddenly, hissed at him. But he just turned.

“The—the door’s shaking.”

He had them trapped in the building. A [Bodyguard] was sweating into her helmet. She was taking aim at him from the side with a wrist-mounted crossbow, and there were twenty men and women armed with artifacts.

She didn’t want to die here. She spoke out loud.

“Oh, what a long day. Full of overwrought emotions. A humble servant such as I longs to but go home to my younger brother, who relies on me for sustenance and home. It would be a terrible tragedy if I were to die and leave him without either.”

Pisces, Lithic, Weith, Lareceina, and the people in the club glanced at her. Another [Bodyguard] broke in.

“It is difficult indeed to care for two grandparents and one’s entire family—”

Pisces started laughing. He chuckled with such genuine good humor it made the bowels clench around him. Then he opened one eye.

“I don’t intend to kill anyone here. Prince Weith. I simply conceded all that because I do not need these arguments. A simple trick of sophistry I learned at Wistram. Surely, you realize there is one more that trumps all such arguments.”

“I cannot think of it. Tell me, but do not mock me.”

Weith had gone still. He was a pampered [Prince], a rich fool, perhaps. But not entirely a coward. He waited until Pisces pointed. Straight at him.

[Deathbolt]. Princess Lithic was waiting to hear that word next, which she predicted would be Pisces’ reply. Which went to show that her analytical mind might not have been always the most…rationally good at anticipating the future.

Instead, Pisces spoke as the trembling engulfed the building. They were all frozen now. Stomachs lurching as if being pulled downwards. What was going on?

“Halqued is an interesting city. I’m a bit of an amateur historian, but this city, because it is not the richest, has many old relics of a different age. It was built, like Tyrant’s Rest, on the bones of a terrible empire.”

“The Immortal Empire. Nerrhavia, the Undying Tyrant.”

Lithic whispered that, and every Stitch-folk felt at their stitching, which trembled. It was almost sacrosanct to say her name without a curse, but Pisces nodded.

“She kept [Slaves] too. She had so many. That is not the argument you think it is.”

She whispered to him, and again, he nodded.

“No. Of course not. But she herself is predated by another time. One I am sure you know as well. The first era, where Stitch-folk became a people. They were not. At first, they were Golems. It was Elucina, whom Roshal mocks, the Rebel of String, who won your independence.”

Now there was a sensation in the back of Lithic’s mind. She could see what he was driving at, but she was spellbound.

The walls. The magic was in the walls. Lareceina’s head was whipping back and forth. It was—she had never seen spellcasting like this. But the [Necromancer] just winked at her.

“The Immortal Tyrant first rose to power in an era of great discontent. When Stitch-folk were enslaved, as had gone on in the past. No one would argue she was a terrible [Tyrant]. But the moment that she seized was the mistreatment of the cloth folk. And under her reign, the cloths were equal. Equal to all be made [Slaves], of course, but…it was only when her reign became too abhorrent that people rose up against her. A shackled people against a master.”

“You are equating the bonds of nations to the chains of a class.”

Weith spoke, head turning. And now he was looking down. Pisces was grinning.

“Maybe it is not fair. But in my case, Prince Weith, I was a man who didn’t know about [Slaves]. I would have told you I felt some sympathy for them. I might have helped had I the chance, but it was only when I became one that I cared. That is my selfishness. My privilege as a Human who never came to Chandrar. I wish I had known more, done more, before this, but I did not understand. But you?”

“Your Highness. The nightspot. The building.”

One of Prince Weith’s people was outside, securing the doors in case of trouble. They rasped, and he snapped back.

“I shall not flee, fool! Enter if you are so afeared for my safety!”

“Your Highness, it’s not that. The building—it’s rising.”

Then Weith leapt up, and he realized the sinking feeling in his stomach was literal. The entire nightclub was rising out of the ground.

Rising on the bones of foundations older than the building. Coming out of the earth, bit by bit, like—like a zombie.

As if architecture was a body you could animate. And the walls! The paintings on the walls were shaking. The wood cladding was trembling, falling away and revealing something older. Behind it—stone. A façade so old it had been thousands of years since—

Pisces’ eyes were locked on the walls as he poured his magic into the spell.

[Monumental Animation]. [Unearth the Tombs].

Then he felt the building finally rise to its old height. In the street, people were screaming, pointing—Lareceina’s team were staring at the building risen in the distance. But the [Mage] herself was just gazing around.

Death mana. He had drawn all he had and put it into this place. Now, the building discarded its old appearance like dead skin. The walls shed plaster and wood and revealed ancient stone.

Not crude stonework, either, but something ornate. Metal tiles, partially restored, missing in places, like an undead’s flesh, but whole enough to reveal what had been there.

A beautiful building of stone and metal meant to last generations. What had it been? Some great office? A museum like the one where Pisces had seen a list of old buildings like this one where the foundations had been re-paved? Or a nightclub?

He pointed, and the [Prince] turned. Then he saw the figure standing at the wall behind him. It was just as Pisces had hoped from the museum.

It looked like a grinning Stitch-person. Their gender was unclear, and they were androgynous. No…perhaps they literally were without one. Because they were in the middle of being woven.

Fabric, depicted in excruciating detail, was being combined into an upraised arm. Not just silk; Pisces saw the deliberate patterns he associated with yarn, knitting. What seemed like reeds being spun upwards into the flesh of an arm.

It was a gigantic mural. The Stitch-person was…breathtaking. They filled the entire wall of the club, which had once been half again as tall as the current nightclub. There was even color, but Pisces’ magic was not perfect; it was just glimmers of vivid paint.

A Stitch-folk made of a dozen types of fabric and colors, smiling at the viewer. Not Silk. Nor Hemp. Nor one thing. Each piece of their body seemed important. Soft silk and tough and sturdy reed-hemp, layered in places, or mixed together.

A kind of Stitch-person unlike any that existed in this world today. Pisces stared up at them, and it was what he’d hoped to see. But the next image, on the other wall, was what he’d gambled on. Because it was the same Stitch-person reenacting the story of their people. They had on a strange pair of shackles. They seemed to go into them, like a puppet’s strings. Through their back, looping around their limbs.

A [Puppetmaster]’s creations. It made Pisces unsettled to see it. But the Stitch-person—was cutting the threads apart. Ripping them out. Yes, there. He spoke as Prince Weith gazed up.

“I am just a single Human in a war that has been going on for aeons. I am ignorant, and this is not my home. But you, Prince Weith? Rebellion is in your thread.”

He stood up and drew his sword. The [Bodyguards] jerked, but none of them shot him. Which was very good; Pisces planted the sword’s tip on the table as showily as he could.

“They call me the Scourge of Roshal. I do not deserve the title. The ‘Scourge’ is nothing more than anyone who longs to be free. I will not endanger my team. But nor will I compromise what I believe in. Let those who hold chains beware.”

His head turned around the room, and there was a strangled shout. It sounded, to Lareceina, like someone trying not to cheer. She was shaking in her chair, trying her utmost to be silent.

Because she could not be the first person to jump up and shout agreement, of course. She had to be the adventurer of Wildcard who objected to him. Once the cheering began—

The nightclub was thrumming with emotion and magic. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were shining, and he was breathing hard. He’d spent so much power to animate this building, but this display of magic unlike anything they had ever seen, his words—

They were winning the Stitch-folk over. Especially the young ones filling this building. Even the royalty were hesitating, swept up.

Princess Lithic could not meet the eyes of the Stitch-person on the walls. Every time she tried to come up with a sniping argument to undercut Pisces, she looked up, and it was like her very Lifethread was vibrating.

Maybe it was in their cloth. Some kind of memory that called to them throughout time and space. The voice of the first [Rebel of String] calling an entire species to fight for what they had not been given.

A terror to anyone of Roshal who could hear Pisces. A [Necromancer] far more dangerous than one who merely animated horrors. Anyone could make a killing machine. But he could animate thoughts.

Was it perfect? No, of course not. But he was swinging the nightclub around. Certainly, Prince Weith had nothing he felt able to say. He was just gazing up at the walls. Feeling at his skin, as if longing to know what that other body felt like.

Wiping at his eyes.

Pisces had the Cottons who stood by the doors, staring down at the drop between the entrance and the street. The Silks, who saw him, then, the Scourge. Prince Weith, Princess Lithic, Lareceina, Prince Yosoc—

Prince Yosoc was lying, head lolling back against the padded booth. His mouth was open, and he was breathing, but he was utterly passed out.

Pisces paused when his eyes flicked to the [Prince].

Odd. He hadn’t drunk that much. And he’d been excited to see Pisces. You’d think if even that failed, even Yvlon Byres herself would have opened an eye to see him resurrecting a building, sleeping sickness or not. The man’s bodyguards clearly agreed, because one was covertly shaking the [Prince].

“Your Highness. Your Highness?”

He…wasn’t waking up. Lithic broke off mouthing at Pisces and frowned.

“What? Is he that sleep deprived?”

“No, Your Highness. I don’t know what—”

“It cannot be a spell. Or poison. Is he allergic? Check, fool!”

The [Bodyguards] broke out of their trance, and Weith looked over. Lareceina’s head turned, and Lithic went on.

“It couldn’t be spell or poison; no [Prince] or [Princess] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen who is old enough to crawl goes around without protections against either. Even the sleeping sickness your enemies used on the Silver Killer wouldn’t work on him… ”

…So why was the [Prince] out? Pisces stared at the man and remembered Yosoc taking down the Firebreath Whiskey that had come around. He was the only man who had. He lifted the pitcher, and a [Bodyguard] hesitated.

“He’s asleep, Your Highness…”

“You cannot be immune to poisons, Princess Lithic.”

Pisces frowned, and the young woman waved a hand at him.

“I merely mean that our charms and protection spells would detect anything, Scourge. In this nation? It would have to be a master’s work to pass undetected…”

Then she went silent. And she too eyed the pitcher. Pisces felt a crawl on his back suddenly. And he was conscious how he’d used up so much mana just now—which didn’t matter, of course. He was safe in this city. Yisame wasn’t angry at him.

She wasn’t angry at him. She’d even sent Wildcard to protect him.

Two of whom weren’t here.

——

Merr the Storm was riding hard to lose pursuers or the Face who was after her. She was not happy. Having to say goodbye to Pisces like that left her angry.

So this was not a great time to get a dead drop from Revine containing a speaking stone. But the [Bandit Queen] collected her loot chests at random, when she felt like it, and the moment a [Bandit] passed the speaking stone to her, Merr growled.

“Revine, I’m not in the mood for chatter.”

“Well then, I’ll keep this short. Don’t speak back to me, Merr. I’m the one processing all this gear and keeping your Dustbandits out of trouble remotely.”

Merr bit back an oath. It was like a pissing match between her and Revine sometimes, and the woman didn’t even have a cucumber but she acted like hers was smaller. Not that you could get her to admit that.

“Fine, Your Exalted Majesty. What’s so urgent? You’ve got a fortune in Roshal’s goods; don’t tell me it ain’t worth nothing. And I want some of that to gear my people.”

“You’ll get it. Do you think I’m going to argue procedure? Shut up. I have a question for you. When did you start hiring capable members for your Dustbandits? You’re supposed to report it to me.”

Merr rolled her eyes.

“For the love of—it’s just Pisces! Have you not seen us tearing Roshal a second hole?”

A pause. Revine was probably mad about the Ice Squirrel; it was no secret she was itching for payback. But her voice was suddenly introspective.

“Really. Is he…truly that high-level?”

“He’s been throwing Skeleton Champions at problems like I have Dustbandits. I saw him take down a Silver-bell duelist in thirty seconds.”

Merr smiled despite herself, and Revine snapped back, as unpredictable as a winter storm.

“Not that, fool! He’s higher-level than even Colthei if what you’re saying is right!”

“Higher-level than the Named-ranker? I’ve never met him—no, he’s in my range.”

“Forties, then. That’s not who I meant. Who’s the other one?”

“Other one? What other—”

Then Merr got that bad feeling. The itch you got when you realized it was too quiet around the watering hole or the shadow you’d thought was just a natural one was moving oddly. She swallowed.

“Wait, I’ve not hired anyone high-level, Revine. If anything, we lost one of my best girls. That bastard got them. The Ringer. Took out an entire [Rebel] cell and our group.”

“…The who?”

“The—”

Merr nearly shouted as she swung an arm out. The Dustbandits slowed, confused; she waved an arm, and she was taking them around in a circle. But they had been riding since they’d parted ways with Pisces, and it was dark. They were so far away, but—her heart was pounding.

“The Ringer, Revine. You sent the warning about the Face, the one that was after us?”

“Oh, them. That stupid alias. The Guild loves playing word-games. I sent you the full file on them. Didn’t you get it last dead-drop? I know it was in your box, Merr. Ask your people! It’s not the Ringer, they’re called the ‘Jester’. And they…like to…”

Revine’s mouth seemed to catch up with her words at the same time as Merr put something together. She started galloping, shouting at the Dustbandits. But she was far too far away.

Far too far. If she’d been with Pisces, they’d be two high-level people with a gang of [Bandits] around at all times. Even a Face would hate those odds. Same for a [Necromancer] with a horde of undead.

But if he had neither horde nor [Bandits]? Then you waited for an opening. Hadn’t Pisces said—hadn’t he commented on that stupid new girl? He’d said—

——

“…There are a lot of odd performers around Nerrhavia’s Fallen. [Fools]. What’s that class Ryoka hates? [Clowns].”

Pisces spoke softly, just to himself, and Lareceina blinked at him. Princess Lithic glanced up; Weith was testing the unconscious Yosoc with his ring. But Pisces was just gazing at the drugged [Prince].

“What, Adventurer Pisces? [Fools]?”

“Yes, colorful clothing. Weird hats, painted faces?”

The [Princess] frowned at him.

“I don’t recall there being a surge in such individuals. That sounds like a Terandrian fancy.”

“Huh. But I swear I’ve seen tons of them.”

Pisces could count the number of times, in fact. It was just there, in the background, but the first time…he muttered.

“The first time was at the Adventurer’s Guild in Tyrant’s Rest. There was a young woman, a Silver-ranker there. Then after the Tomb of Yad’thuv, there was a performer. Right after Ceria made fun of Lareceina.”

“I remember that. She was topless, and you stared at her breasts, then vanished.”

Lareceina spoke slowly. Pisces nodded.

“I’m self-conscious about…they’re highly distracting. And they were pierced, I recall. Then I ran across a Slave-Adventurer. A [Clown]. She wanted to join me, but I said no. And then there was Chimes.”

A new [Bandit] with face-paint. Funny. Not funny at all, when you thought that. Pisces’ gaze slowly rose, and the last familiar face was on stage, shaking their hips.

Side to side, holding little colorful pom poms, which she juggled. Face painted white despite her familiar brown skin. Topless—but right now, he wasn’t focused on that. It was her clothing, which was like the iconic eye-sear of the [Fool]. The unfunny costume of the [Clown]. But perhaps a bit different?

The key was the hat. The jingling bells, why, they rang.

They rang, or should have, when she moved. But these were silent. And they were each one bright as silver, Pisces realized. A strange little silver bell, a bit too small you might say.

A [Jester] should have big clangalang bells. But these? Tiny. You could fit one on a smaller object. Like the hilt of a rapier. There were eight on her hat. And then he stared at her chest.

Well, she was waggling her breasts at him. Smiling as every head turned. And he stared at her nipples, which were pierced. A choice indeed. But when you got past that…he stared at what was hanging from each nipple.

A golden bell. Then he looked up, and she smiled and blew a kiss at him.

“Hello, Scourge.”

The Jester of the Assassin’s Guild bowed as he took hold of his rapier. Out of magic, without Wildcard or his team. Pisces exhaled.

“Wonderful.”

Author’s Note:

There was a period where I stayed away from cliffhangers. I stopped putting them down because chapters were so all-encompassing. But to write a shorter chapter, one must stand on the cliff’s edge.

Hey, it’s me. I’m taking a break until the 3rd of October…but I wouldn’t let you wait that long. This chapter is being split into two parts because it’s so long, but I will edit and have the 2nd half out on Tuesday.

It’s taken great effort, and I am not my usual self, but I think it’s a good chapter. Just in need of a bit more time. So just wait. Read my announcement if you need clarity, and…well, I’m going to rest.

But after the action and the chaos and the sniffing lie dead. Did you recognize the hints? I kept it subtle, but she was always there. Never trust the clown, the fool, or the jester. Wish me luck and energy, and Pisces victory. See you Tuesday.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter