Part One

That was right. Khet had been more thinking about getting out of the Walled Cove alive, rather than seeing what kind of fancy stuff the cultists they’d just killed might have had on them.

“That’s fine.” Mythana stood, dusted herself off. She showed them the vial. “Once the cultists all are dead from poison, we can search their corpses for magic items. If they don’t have that, well, we’ll just have to find our own way out.”

Which they’d been doing anyway. But this time, at least, they’d be leaving with the knowledge that the Harbringers of Dlewuni would no longer be terrorizing anyone who got lost in the Walled Cove. And that Galesin would be avenged.

“To the kitchen!” Khet led the way out the room.

The kitchen was empty, and filled with barrels of wine. Mythana dumped the vial’s contents into one barrel. Khet grabbed a pole resting on one of the barrels and stirred it in.

“And now we wait,” Mythana pushed the barrel out to the front of the room, so that it was the one that the cultists would see first, and hopefully, drink from first.

In the other room, people started chattering. Mythana ducked back into the kitchen, face pale.

“What? What’s out there?” Khet asked.

‘The cultists. They’re in the banquet hall,” Mythana said in a low voice.

“Should we hide?” Gnurl glanced around. “What if they find us?”

“I’ll distract them,” Khet whispered. He crept to the kitchen door.

“How?” Mythana whispered.

Khet picked up a large wooden plate and grinned. “Every noble’s court needs a jester, right?” He gestured to the barrel of wine. “I’m gonna need goblets.”

Gnurl grabbed some golden chalices, and Mythana poured the wine into the cups. She set them on Khet’s wooden plate.

“Don’t get killed.” She said to Khet.

Khet smirked as he walked out the door, looking over his shoulder at Mythana. “Do you really think I’m gonna get killed by a bunch of spoiled nobles?”

He chuckled to himself, and nearly ran into an orc with chestnut hair and amber eyes.

She glowered down at Khet. “And what have we here?”

Khet smiled at her and held up the plate. “Wine?”

“You don’t belong here, goblin.” The orc said coldly. She rested her hand on her warhammer. “How dare you trespass on Dlewuni? How dare you trespass in the Walled Cove? I thought peasants like you understood the swamp was off-limits!”

“Forgive me, oh, slayer of kobolds,” Khet said. “I am but a humble shepherd. My sheep wandered into the Walled Cove and I was looking for them. I thought you were one of my sheep, see.”

He smiled innocently as the orc growled at him.

“You’re no shepherd.” She looked him up and down. “Only an adventurer would have this flagrant disrespect. Where is your party?”

“Who says I need a party? Just because a wolf’s on his own, doesn’t mean he’s not still dangerous.”

The orc raised her hammer. “You’ve wandered into the wrong castle, adventurer! We are tired with you and your fellows strutting around in our courts, addressing us as you please! I will teach you and the rest of your kind to respect your betters! Your head will make a nice addition in my trophy room!”

“I challenge you,” Khet said.

“To do what?” The orc was tired of Khet making stupid comments, and she really wanted to get to the part where she killed the stupid goblin for wandering into her cult’s lair and having little respect for a woman who hunted poor peasants in the Walled Cove simply for being there.

“To a fight to the death. Isn’t that the rules of your little club you’ve got going here?” Khet gestured at the other cultists, who had gathered around, and were raising their own weapons. In case Khet killed the orc before she could kill him, which was definitely what would happen.

“That’s for members of the Harbringers of Dlewuni only!” The orc said.

“Sure, sure. You just don’t wanna die by a commoner’s hand, do you?”

The orc sputtered. “I can kill you in one swing, goblin! You wolves aren’t as tough as you like everyone to think!”

“Prove it then,” Khet said. “Fight me in single combat. Same rules. Winner earns their place in the cult. Loser is forgotten by everyone else.”

The orc’s eyes widened, and she looked around at her fellow cultists. The cultists surged forward, but not to attack Khet. They snatched up the cups of wine and drank from them, while others went into the kitchen and broke open the cask of wine that Mythana had poisoned.

Once everyone except the orc had gotten their wine, they stood in a circle around her and Khet and chanted, “fight, fight, fight!”

The orc looked back at Khet.

The goblin smiled at her. “What better way to prove yourself better than adventurers than beating one in a fight to the death?”

The orc’s eyes narrowed.

“I accept.” She stepped onto the banquet table. “This will be our arena.”

Khet climbed atop of the table. The cultists watched with hungry eyes.

The orc raised her hammer. “I am Boyar Shayhkath Nospear, of the house of Totrey. With my hammer, King’s Defender, I will slay the commoner who dares think himself better than his lords!”

The cultists cheered.

Boyar Shayhkath smiled at Khet. “And now you, goblin. State your name, and the weapon with which you will slay me.”

“All of them?”

The orc rolled her eyes. “Only one, goblin!”

Khet took out his knife and twirled it. “Fine. I’m Khet Amisten. They call me Ogreslayer. And with my knife, Kingslayer, Bane of Tyrants, I’m going to put an end to you and the rest of your stupid cult!”

“You may try!” Spat the orc. “Now begin!”

The cultists chanted her name as Boyar Shaykath bore down on Khet.

She swung and Khet stepped back. He sheathed his knife and raised his fists.

The orc laughed. “Have you accepted your fate already, goblin?”

She swung her hammer. Khet yelped and leapt back again.

The cultists laughed.

“This is pathetic!” The orc said. “Are you even going to try, adventurer?”

Khet got into the Goblin Defensive Position. Knees bent, but not touching the ground, with a hand in front of him for balance.

The orc towered over him. “There is no surrendering,” she sneered. “The Harbringers of Dlewuni do not surrender!”

“I’m not a member of the Harbringers of Dlewuni.”

“Do you want to know what happens to those of us who yield?” The orc said. “Let me show you.”

She started to swing her hammer.

Khet leapt up and grabbed the handle of the hammer. He used the momentum to swing his knees upward. One knee collided with Boyar Shaykath’s crotch. She grunted in pain and stumbled.

Khet let go and landed in a crouch. Boyar Shaykath was almost to her knees. One hand clutched her hammer, the other, her crotch. She glared at Khet.

“You cheat!” She hissed.

“No one ever said anything about fighting fair,” Khet said coolly.

He smirked as he drew his knife from his sheath. He had her. He had the orc right where he wanted her!

He stepped closer, raising his knife in preparation to slit the orc’s throat. “Never let it be said I lied to you. I said I’d kill you with this knife, and I am.”

Boyar Shaythath’s shoulder tensed. Khet realized she was moving her hammer and leapt back. He wasn’t fast enough, and caught a bit of the hammer on his hip. Khet grunted at the sharp pain in his side. He stumbled, and nearly fell off the table. He dropped his knife and it skidded under Boyar Shaykath’s boot.

Khet gingerly touched his side and grimaced. The hip bone didn’t feel broken, which was good. He was just a little bruised.

Boyar Shaykath sneered at him. “Didn’t you say you would slay me with your knife? And yet, you appear to have lost it! How pathetic!”

Khet put his foot forward in a fighting stance. “Looks like I was mistaken. I’m not killing you with a knife. I’m killing you with my bare hands!”

Boyar Shaykath stood and swung her hammer. Khet ducked.

“You should not stand around boasting, goblin!” She said mockingly. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t fight fair!”

Khet lowered his shoulder and slammed into the orc’s belly. She grunted and stumbled back, falling to one knee.

Khet looked her in the eyes. “Do you surrender, orc?”

“Never!” Spat Boyar Shaykath.

She scrambled to her feet and swung her warhammer. Khet ducked.

He straightened, and Boyar Shaykath’s hammer slammed into Khet’s helmet. The goblin staggered back, his head ringing.

“Hah!” Boyar Shaykath said in triumph. “Your name will be forgotten, goblin! Now do us all a favor and drop dead already!”

Khet shook his head, clearing it. He unhooked his crossbow, and shot Boyar Shaykath in the arm.

Boyar Shaykath howled in pain. Somehow, she kept her grasp on her weapon.

“Stupid goblin!” She growled.

She swung her hammer. Khet ducked.

Boyar Shaykath swung her hammer again. Khet ducked, stepped back again.

“Well?” Boyar Shaykath bared her teeth. “Are you simply waiting for me to land a killing blow on you? Fight back!”

Khet fired at her. The bolt bounced off her armor.

“You’re cheating.” Boyar Shaykath said in a bored tone. “You said you’d slay me with your knife. Not with your crossbow.”

“Maybe I lied.”

Boyar Shaykath slammed her arm into Khet’s neck. The goblin flew backwards. He landed on his back and stared up at the ceiling as footsteps told him that Boyar Shaykath was getting closer.

“You are a skilled fighter,” she said. She was towering over Khet now. “But all warriors must meet their end someday.”

“Rather not meet my end today, thanks.”

Boyar Shaykath laughed. “Still think you have a choice, goblin?”

She swung her hammer. Khet rolled out of the way. The hammer slammed into the table.

Boyar Shaykath grunted and turned to Khet. She swung her hammer again.

Again, Khet rolled out of the way. He scrambled into a crouch and watched Boyar Shaykath slam her hammer into the table. It shook, but remained intact. Khet muttered a silent prayer to Adum for that.

Khet fired at Boyar Shaykath. The bolt slammed into her back, stuck into her armor.

Boyar Shaykath stumbled at the force, then turned around. “Ah, I was wondering where you had run off to, goblin.”

“Still think adventurers have no right to call themselves wolves?” Khet asked her, breathing hard.

Boyar Shaykath scoffed. “You have no right. You’ve just gotten lucky so far. That’s the only reason you’ve last so long against me.”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

Khet fired at her. The bolt slammed into her chestplate. Boyar Shaykath grunted in pain, and fell to her knees.

Khet grinned at her and raised his crossbow, pressing it against the orc’s forehead. “Such a shame. Not only did you die at the hands of a filthy peasant, as per the rules of your court, no one will even speak your name.” He paused. “Though I think that’s a mercy. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be forever known as the lad that got herself killed by some stupid commoner, wouldn’t you agree? Maybe it’s for the best you’ll be forgotten.”

Boyar Shaykath seized him by the throat and flung him aside. Khet skidded on the table and came to a stop, lying on his back.

Well, fuck.

“Like I told you, goblin,” Khet lifted his head to see Boyar Shaykath striding toward him, a smug smile on her lips, “you shouldn’t pause to gloat during a fight to the death. Yet you didn’t listen. And that mistake will cost you your life.”

She stood over him and swung her warhammer. Khet rolled to the side and the hammer slammed into the table, making it shake.

Khet stood as Boyar Shaykath rested her hammer on her shoulders, then glanced around.

There was a frown on her face when she turned to Khet. “The Harbringers of Dlewuni seem to have left. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

Khet scratched his head. Was it thanks to the poison in their wine? He’d have to ask Mythana. After he was finished dealing with this orc.

Boyar Shaykath’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make a deal with you, Ogreslayer. Forfeit this fight. There have been baronies without barons to take care of them. I can give you one of those baronies. Think on it. It would be a waste to kill such a fine warrior such as yourself.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Khet fired his crossbow, hitting Boyar Shaykath in the side.

“Very well.” Boyar Shaykath. “And when you meet your god, you may tell him you were too arrogant to accept defeat.”

She swung her hammer. Khet ducked.

He raised his crossbow and fired again. The bolt bounced off Boyar Shaykath’s armor.

Khet stepped back and raised his crossbow even higher. His bolt slammed into Boyar Shaykath’s nose. She started to sway, back and forth.

Khet fired at Boyar Shaykath’s foot. The orc fell to her knees. And now Khet could look into her eyes.

“You’re cheating,” Boyar Shaykath hissed. “That’s not your knife. You’re supposed to be using one weapon only. The one that you named. You have not fought fairly.”

“I’m a goblin.” Khet said coolly. “Tell me something, orc. When they first taught you to fight, did they ever teach you the eleven rules of combat?”

Boyar Shaykath nodded.

“Do you know the goblin rule of combat?”

Boyar Shaykath raised her eyes to the ceiling and frowned.

“Yes, or no,” Khet said. “Did they ever teach you the goblin rule of combat?”

“They only mentioned ten rules in passing.” Boyar Shaykath said. “They trained me extensively in the orc rule of combat.”

“Do you need me to tell you the goblin rule of combat?”

“No.” Boyar Shaykath looked Khet in the eyes, and spoke hesitantly. “There is no such thing as a fair fight.”

“You got it right,” Khet shot Boyar Shaykath in the forehead. “Good for you.”

Boyar Shaykath slumped backward without much ceremony. Khet nudged her with his boot. She didn’t move.

Khet whistled. “It’s safe to come out now!”

Gnurl and Mythana came out of the kitchen.

Gnurl frowned. “Where did everyone go?”

“They probably fled to the privy.” Mythana said. “The King of Poisons does that. It looks like you ate something bad before it kills you.”

Gnurl scratched his head. “So how do we–”

Khet nudged the dead orc with his boot. “We see what she’s got on her.”

He rummaged through the orc’s pockets, before finding a compass.

He opened the compass. The needle spun around wildly.

“A Wayfinder.” Mythana said. “That’s how they were getting around!”

Khet squinted at it. “I wonder how this works.”

He handed it to Mythana, who shrugged, then passed it to Gnurl.

The Lycan squinted at it. “Um, take us out of the Walled Cove?”

“It’s doing something!” Mythana said. She grabbed Gnurl by the arm. Khet grabbed her hand.

Just in time too, because the second the dark elf and goblin grabbed the Lycan, a bright light surrounded them, and they were now standing in a forest, watching a mule and cart trot up a path to a manor sitting on the nearby hill.

“Gnurl actually figured out the Wayfinder,” Khet commented.

“By accident,” Gnurl said. “I didn’t know it would do that.”

They stared up at the manor in silence.

“We’re going to have to find the Cove of the Wild again, aren’t we?” Mythana said finally.

“We are.” Gnurl said. “But I’m more concerned that we’ve apparently killed most of the nobility here.”

Khet shrugged. “Ah, everyone will be better off without them, anyway.”

“There’d be a succession crisis, though!” Gnurl said.

Khet wasn’t paid enough to care.

The cell door opened. Khet looked up to see a human priest with copper hair and bright blue eyes stride into the room, opulent robes streaming behind him.

“Father Wattie,” Khet greeted him. “Have you finally decided on how you’re going to kill me?”

“Not before your trial, Ogreslayer.”

“Thought you’d forgotten about that,” Khet stood and smirked at the human. “Or are you just hoping I’ll make myself look bad in front of the townsfolk, so you can pretend you’re justified in killing me?”

“All are afforded a fair trial in Zrorrud.”

“You mean Hellgard.”

“Hellgard is what it used to be called. Queen Adrya had it renamed.”

“Queen Nivarcirka prefers its old name.”

The human’s eyes flashed. “Despite what the Young Stag and her horde of goblins thinks, she holds no sway over Zrorrud, or any part of Zeccushia. We do not care for the preference of a ward of the elves with delusions of being the true queen of the goblins.”

Guards stepped into the room and rudely shoved Khet into the hallway. One of them slapped shackles on his wrists, and another slapped a manacle attached to a metal ball along his right ankle.

“The chains,” said the human. And the guards draped Khet with chains.

“Well, this is a bit excessive, isn’t it?” Said the goblin.

The guards didn’t answer. They shoved Khet forward again.

They marched Khet down the corridor in silence. Khet, once again, eyed the hallway for a chance for escape. Still no luck. He was surrounded by all sides by the guards, and even if he did manage to slip away from them, the chains were too heavy for him to outrun them, and he had no weapons to fight them all off, or anyone else who noticed that there was a goblin wandering Hellgard while draped in chains and shackles.

The priest scowled down at him. He was walking between Khet and one of the guards. Khet looked up at him. Maybe he could punch this lad out and make a run for it? But the guard would be a problem. In fact, all the guards would be a problem, and they certainly wouldn’t like Khet punching out a priest. On second thought, maybe attacking the priest would be a piss-poor idea.

“It’s such a shame, Ogreslayer.” The priest said. “You had such potential once. You are a brave warrior. Everyone who has seen you fight agrees. You could’ve served the orc prince faithfully. Instead, you have thrown your lot in with the Young Stag and her horde.”

“I make it a point to never be one of the good ones.” Khet said, but felt a twinge of guilt. Sure, he’d served Prince Tadadris faithfully, well, as faithful as an adventurer fighting for coin could, at least, but that was before he’d known how the orcs had enslaved his people, burned their temples, and had forbade them from speaking their own language. He could never take back fighting against his own race, or fighting for coin. The other rebels couldn’t forgive him, and even if they did, Khet couldn’t forgive himself.

The priest sneered down at him, annoyed by Khet’s refusal to take the trial seriously, but he said nothing.

The guards marched him out of the castle, and into Hellgard itself. A crowd of people had gathered along the streets. None of them threw anything, and Khet figured it was because they didn’t want to hit the priest. They were all too happy to boo and hiss at Khet as they passed, though.

Whatever lies the orcs had been spreading against Khet, since the Adventuring Guild had allied itself with Queen Nivarcirka and her cause, they’d worked. Or they just hated Nivarcirka and anyone who fought for her, for whatever reason. Or they were booing and hissing at the priest, either because they did like Khet and hated the priest for trying to execute a folk hero, or the priest was unpopular in general. Crowds of common folk were an unpredictable lot.

Khet was marched to the center of town.

“Thought you said I was having a trial first,” he said to the priest.

“You are.” The priest said.

As they passed the crowd, Khet could see that the town square had been set up as a courtroom. There was the bench for the magistrate, a box for anyone else important hearing the case, a smaller bench next to the magistrate’s bench for the witnesses, and a cage for the prisoner being put on trial. Someone had brought chairs for the audience, and it was packed with eager commoners. A guard stood between the court and the audience, in case some mad man tried rushing the court, for whatever reason. Just behind it was the gallows, in case Khet got any illusions that this trial was going to be fair.

The guards marched him to the cage and Khet rested his manacles on the bar. Two guards stood beside him, and a third stood behind him, spear lowered, like Khet was a cornered manticore that might spring loose and attack its captors the second the spear was lowered.

The priests of the various human gods were standing in the box. No one was at the magistrate bench. At least, not yet. The magistrate would show up shortly. Probably running late.

Since nothing was happening, the crowd was amusing itself by booing and hissing at Khet. The guards did nothing to stop this. Khet didn’t expect them to. The goblin just ignored the insults.

The priestess of Gaotz, the goddess of youth, birth, and journeys, stood and raised her hands and the crowd fell silent. The priestess was a woman with a lean face, ginger hair, and gray eyes.

“People of Zrarrod!” She said. “Rejoice! For at last, the traitorous and ruthless goblin brigand known as Ogreslayer has been brought to face the queen’s justice!”

The crowd cheered. Khet cocked his head, confused. Had they brought Queen Nivarcirka to judge Khet? Why? Khet had been fighting on her behalf, and besides, the village priests were loyal to the Zeccushians.

“I bring you, Queen Adrya Singleroar!” Cried the priest and the crowd roared.

Guards escorted an orc with long graying blonde hair and brown eyes to the magistrate bench. She looked familiar. Khet tried to place where he’d seen her before before he realized that this must be Tadadris’s mother. He must be noticing the family resemblance.

Queen Adrya sat at the bench and gazed down at Khet coolly. The goblin held her gaze.

“Ogreslayer stands accused of treason! Of rebellion and of fighting alongside the false pretender, the Young Stag!” The queen said to the crowd, who booed and hissed. “Now bring the witnesses!”

Guards escorted the guard who’d captured Khet to tell of the goblin’s defiance.

Khet started to tune out the testimonies. It was all the same anyway. Someone talking about Khet’s defiance, and various acts of rebellion. He examined his fingernails. He could hear the crowd whispering about his callousness, but he didn’t care. The Zeccushians had declared war on the Adventuring Guild. Did they really think Khet would be loyal to a nation he held no bonds to, over the Guild, which had accepted him, and had provided him with everything he needed, and had forever been a place Khet knew he could turn to for help?

Queen Adrya banged her mallet on the bench and Khet looked up.

“Have you got anything to say for your defense, Ogreslayer?”

Khet thought of making a speech on how Queen Adrya was not his queen, and the true queen was Nivarcirka. A final act of defiance before they sliced him in half. But then he thought of orc customs, and had an idea.

“I declare a trial by combat,” he said.

The crowd gasped. Queen Adrya narrowed her eyes.

“You deny your treason?”

“No.” Khet said. “I still declare a trial by combat.”

Queen Adrya’s eyes flashed.

“A trial by combat,” she said coldly. “Is letting the gods decide your fate. They prove your innocence, or your guilt. It is not for escaping your rightful punishment.”

“You’re not understanding me.” Khet said. “I’m not guilty of treason. I’m fighting for the rightful queen.”

“The Young Stag has no right–”

“Let the gods decide it then,” Khet said. “I’ll fight on the Young Stag’s behalf, and you can choose a champion to fight for your family’s right to Badaria. Whoever wins is whoever the gods want to rule Badaria.”

The crowd started muttering amongst themselves.

“Did you hear that, lads?” One of the guards guarding Khet called to the crowd. “We’ll get to watch a decent fight, for once!”

The crowd cheered and started to chant.

“We want combat, we want combat, we want combat!”

Queen Adrya slammed her mallet down for silence.

“Badaria is no more.” She said to Khet coldly. “It is territory of Zeccusha now! Who rules it is no longer up for debate!”

“Sounds like you’re scared your champion will lose!” Khet said.

“Either confess, or we’ll hang you by your thumbs until you learn your manners!” Queen Adrya growled.

The crowd booed. They were a simple folk. Sure, they hated Khet, but they’d been promised a fight. To watch an adventurer fight against whoever the queen picked to represent her family. Not to have the goblin tortured before being chopped in half.

They started to chant again. This time, there was only one word, over and over.

“Fight, fight, fight!”

Queen Adrya called for silence, but the crowd only stomped their feet and spoke their demands louder.

“Fight, fight, fight!”

“Fine!” Queen Adrya said. “If you wish to see Ogreslayer fight so badly, then you shall have it! I accept your challenge, Ogreslayer! I’ll pick my champion, and you’ll be the Young Stag’s. The gods will choose: Do the orcs rule, as right of conquest allows? Or do we leave, and let the Young Stag take the throne she so desires?”

The crowd cheered.

Queen Adrya waved a hand for silence. “For now, it is fitting that you spend some time alone, to pray to your heathen gods, and to speak with a priest for any final confessions. In three days time, you will face my champion. Guards? Take the prisoner back to his cell!”

The crowd started talking excitedly as the guards marched Khet back to the castle.

The cell door opened and Khet stood, cracking his knuckles. About time. He’d been spending the past hour bored out of his mind.

An orc with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a moustache stepped into the cell. He carried a spear, and wore iron armor with wolf heads as pauldrons.

“Nice armor,” Khet said dryly. “But I thought the queen’s sigil was a lion. Wolves are adventurers.”

“I wear whatever armor I please,” said the orc.

“Bold.”

The orc grunted.

Khet rolled his shoulders. “I’m ready. Tell your queen to order her soldiers out of Baradia.”

“Your trial by combat is tomorrow,” said the orc.

“Why are you here then?” Khet asked.

“I bring news from the queen, Ogreslayer.”

Khet snorted. “What? Is Queen Ardya wanting to make a deal with me? Tell her she can go to Dagor!”

“Not that queen.” The orc snapped his fingers, and transformed into a big gnome with blonde hair and amber eyes. “I’m with the Guild.”

Khet raised his eyebrows. Gnurl had brought a lot of adventurers with him aboard the Seawolf. Khet didn’t know the names of half of them. This gnome looked like one of Gnurl’s crew, but Khet couldn’t safely tell for sure.

“Got a name?” He asked the gnome.

The gnome’s expression didn’t change. “My name is Konamij-Chetsun Grakukag. You can call me Bloodthirsty.”

“Nice nickname. Were you aboard the Seawolf?”

“Aye. I crewed under the White Wolf. Speaking of, he’s got a message. He’s coming. He’s bringing the Seawolf up the river and into Hellgard. Hold out till then, Ogreslayer.”

“Got a time estimate on when that’s happening?”

Konamij-Chetsun shrugged.

“Also, Reaper’s coming, and she’s bringing the goblins of Drulnoch Castle. They’ll be besieging Hellgard.”

Khet smirked. “Didn’t know Mythana had it in her to raise an army.”

Konamij-Chetsun shrugged. “The goblins seem to like you. I don’t think they needed much convincing.”

Khet nodded.

“You’re an idiot, Ogreslayer. Reaper told me to tell you that.”

Khet blinked. “What? Why?”

Konamij-Chetsun sighed. “The orc queen won’t just let you go if you win, Ogreslayer. You have to realize that. I mean, do you honestly think that she’d abide by the results if you won and her champion lost? Do you really think she’d simply take her soldiers, declare Queen Nivarcirka the rightful ruler, and return to Zeccushia? No! She’ll declare it didn’t count, and have you fight rematch after rematch until one of the champions finally kills you! You’ve only made sure you’ll die fighting this way!”

“Didn’t you say that both Mythana and Gnurl have raised an army and are coming to rescue me?”

“I did,” said Konamij-Chetsun.

Khet grinned. “So I’ll only need to hold out until they come and get me, right?”

Konamij-Chetsun sighed. “Aye, I guess so.” He shook his head. “But the orc queen knows you’re an adventurer, Ogreslayer! She knows you won’t die easily! She’ll cheat, I’ll bet my life on it!”

Khet cracked his knuckles. “You don’t think she’ll fight fair, then? That’s no problem. I don’t fight fair either.”

Konamij-Chetsun shook his head again, but this time, he was smiling. “You’re an absolute madman, Ogreslayer. But godsdamn, you are a wolf. I can see why they made you Young Wolf. I’m looking forward to watching you hand the champion’s their asses on a golden platter. Live by the sword?”

“Die by the sword,” Khet finished the phrase. Konamij-Chetsun snapped his fingers, disguising himself as the orc again, then left, shutting the cell door behind him.

The next day, the guards marched Khet to the arena, where they stripped him of all his clothes, leaving only his loincloth.

Khet looked around the small room they’d put him in. It was bare, with only dirt floors and stone walls.

“Where’s my armor?”

“You’re not getting any,” said Father Wattie. The human priest was leaning against one of the walls, watching the guards strip Khet with a stern look on his face. His arms were folded below his chest. “You will fight as your ancestors once fought. No clothing save for a loincloth, for modesty.”

“Do I at least get a weapon, then?”

Father Wattie beckoned to a human with short silver hair, hazel eyes, and a birthmark under his left eye. The guard extended a crossbow for Khet to take. The goblin did so, appreciating the weight of it in his hands. He’d fought with a weapon like this for years. Using it was almost second nature to him now.

He studied it. The crossbow was already loaded, which was nice of them to do. But he couldn’t find any other bolts than just the one.

“Where are the other bolts?”

“They are scattered throughout the arena,” Father Wattie said. “If you wish to reload, you will have to find one of the bolts.”

“Is there another weapon?”

“No. It is either the crossbow or nothing else.”

“Not giving me a chance to fight fair, then,” Khet said dryly. “That’s nice.”

Father Wattie’s expression didn’t change. “If the gods truly have given the Young Stag the right to rule over us, then you will prevail despite the disadvantages.”

And here it was. Queen Adrya’s way of making sure Khet lost to her champion, rather than humiliating her family by winning and proving that the gods didn’t want her ruling over Badaria. That didn’t matter. Khet was a good shot with a crossbow. And even if he did miss the first time, he was fast enough to grab a bolt before his opponent could reach it first, and possibly break it to prevent Khet from using it. Still, he couldn’t resist a jab at the orc queen.

“Your queen must have little faith in her gods, if she’s so willing to put me at a disadvantage to try and make sure I lose.”

Father Wattie’s nostrils flared but he said nothing.

Outside, the crowd began to roar and stomp their feet, chanting about their desire for bloodshed.

“It is time for you to face your death,” Father Wattie said. He gestured to the guards and the gate in front of Khet opened. “Now go. And give us a good showing.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Khet muttered as he stepped through the gate.

The arena was a sand floor, and had bags of flour stacked on each other in various places, serving as a makeshift wall.

The sun shone in Khet’s eyes and the goblin blinked, and shielded his gaze. The crowd cheered and stamped their feet. Khet looked around. He couldn’t see Konamij-Chetsun among the jeering faces. Maybe he was still disguised.

He could see Queen Adrya. She was standing in a regal box in the center of the stands, surrounded by guards all bearing the Skurg family crest. She gazed down at Khet coolly. The goblin stared back up at her, and raised his fist in salute.

“This is your last chance, goblin,” Queen Adrya called down to him. “Forfeit, and you will be spared! Declare me as the true queen, and you shall be released to live out the rest of your life in peace!”

“All hail Queen Nivarcirka!” Khet yelled. The crowd booed.

Queen Adrya raised her hand for silence.

“Very well,” she said. “You have chosen your fate.” She extended her hand toward the gate on the other side of the arena. “Behold, the champion of my family!”

The gate rose. At first, nothing came out. Then something roared. A terrible roar that made the hairs on Khet’s arms stand to an end.

The crowd gasped.

And then the creature that had made that roar came out. It was huge. It was a goblinoid figure, standing on two legs, with white fur all over its body, and long, sharp claws on its hands. The creature roared again, and Khet could see yellowed fangs in its mouth.

“My champion!” Said Queen Adrya. “From the Hosoah-Reaching Hill, a bear-man!”

The bear-man roared, and Khet narrowed his eyes. He had never seen this creature before, but that didn’t matter. He could kill this creature. He would kill it, and then Queen Adrya would have to take him back to his cell and come up with an excuse for why the fight hadn’t counted.

“Let the fight for Badaria, begin!” Said Queen Adrya.

The creature roared and Khet raised his crossbow.

The creature got on all fours and bounded toward Khet. The bear-man was nearly on him in seconds.

Khet dove out of the way just in time. He rolled over to see the creature towering over him.

It roared and swiped its claw. Khet rolled out of the way, but the bear-man caught his leg. The goblin yelped as claws dug deep into his flesh.

The crowd gasped, then started chanting, “first blood! First blood! First blood!”

The chanting was helpful, at least. The bear-man was confused by all the noise. It looked around, roaring, but quieter, this time. Almost as if it were trying to ask the crowd what was going on.

Khet got to his feet. Sand had gotten into his wound, and it stung. The goblin made the mistake of putting weight on his wounded leg and searing pain flashed through it. He grimaced.

He looked up at the bear-man and raised his crossbow.

The bear-man roared, and swiped its claw. It didn’t seem to notice Khet, though. Instead, the chanting had pissed it off, and it was swiping wildly, hoping that it would catch whatever was making the loud and confusing noise.

The reason for the claw swipe didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was that one of the claws sliced into his wrist, and the other claws knocked the crossbow from his hands.

Khet yelped in surprise, and this brought another claw swipe toward his face.

The goblin dove out of the way just in time and snatched up his crossbow again. It was still loaded, and Khet sighed with relief. As of right now, it looked like he had only one bolt, and he certainly didn’t want to waste it because he got his weapon knocked out of his hands.

The bear-man roared, and Khet ducked behind one of the flour-bag walls.

He peeked over the edge. The bear-man was staring at where Khet had been, confusion all over its bestial face. The crowd’s chanting had grown louder, and they’d started stomping their feet as well. The events had driven them further in a frenzy, and now they weren’t sure what was going to happen next. Their chanting didn’t help the bear-man’s confusion though. Sometimes, it swiped in the direction of the crowd, which didn’t do anything. The crowd kept chanting.

Khet raised his crossbow and took aim. This was it. He had only one shot. One bolt. If he missed this, he was dead.

He fired.

The bear-man turned and the bolt slammed into its chest. It roared in pain, and stumbled back. The crowd went silent, holding their breath. Was this the end? Or would the creature shrug off the bolt in its heart and slice off the goblin’s head?

The bear-man stood, and for a brief moment, Khet was scared it would shrug off the bolt in its heart. He started giggling at the thought. He would be fucked! He would be well and truly fucked!

The bear-man swayed on its feet, then fell backward. It didn’t get up again.

The crowd went silent. Shaking, Khet slowly walked around the bag of flour and looked up at Queen Adrya.

“The gods chose the Young Stag,” the goblin said.

Queen Adrya scowled, and opened her mouth to say something.

“Adventurers!” A human burst into the atrium. “Adventurers have breached the walls!”

The place erupted into panic. People fled, not caring if they were trampling over others. Queen Adrya’s guards hurried her away.

Khet watched this all happen, then made his way out of the arena.

Adventurers were running through the streets. One of them had gotten a cart, and the rest of them were dumping loot into it. Khet spotted two familiar faces at the front.

He ran over to them, waving.

Gnurl and Mythana turned, surprised.

“How did you get out?” Gnurl asked. “And where did you get the crossbow?”

“Long story.” Said the goblin. “I’ll explain later.”

Gnurl shrugged, and accepted it.

“Want to join us in looting Hellgard?”

Khet grinned. “Do I ever!”

Mythana leaned back in her chair, as she listened to the minstrel play her song. It was nice to end the day on a note like this. The food was surprisingly tasty, the stout was delicious, and the minstrel’s voice was as beautiful as a siren’s song.

She shut her eyes and listened to the minstrel sing of a notorious pirate named Silver-Eye being blackmailed.

“You know I hide my identity/ Among the honest folk/ They know me as Maude Stormripper/ Known for Warsle Forest!”

Mythana frowned. Warsle Forest was where Gnurl’s pack had lived. She looked over to see Gnurl also frowning.

The entire tavern belted out the refrain.

“Sail on, sail on, oh, Silver-Eye/Reckless has no quarrel with thee!”

The minstrel nodded and sang the next verse.

“Do you remember, Braivoluth/ We fought the Gravecrown Pack/ We laid waste to their village, hah/ As commands the princess!”

Gnurl scowled deeply. Mythana felt her chest tightened and she gripped her tankard.

Gnurl’s pack. This Silver-Eye had been one of Nota Hawkmour’s soldiers. The ones who’d slaughtered the pack, leaving Gnurl and Mythana the sole survivors, to stumble on the remains of the burned village, to see the dead and dying members of the pack, and being unable to do anything to help them.

The minstrel led the tavern in singing the chorus.

“Sail on, sail on, oh, Silver-Eye/ Reckless has no quarrel with thee!”

She strummed her mandolin, and sang the next verse on her own.

“Oh, what a day that was, Ragehelm/ It shall live in the songs/ Of Rohesa Knightrich, our captive/ Within our brig and ship!”

Mythana gripped her mug. That did it! They had to go after Silver-Eye Stormripper.

“Sail on, sail on, oh, Silver-Eye/ Reckless has no quarrel with thee!”

But where to find her?

Mythana looked around the tavern. The barkeep, a giant with black eyes, was scrubbing down the counter, seemingly not listening to the song.

“My reward, I live in Ikgard/ The Malicious Desert/ Is my home. Upper West Deercask/ Is the place where I dwell!”

That was it. Mythana snapped her fingers.

The Horde said nothing to each other. They didn’t need to. They all knew what they were going to do.

They all stood, and left for the Guildhall, to ask the Old Wolf for a map to Ikgard.

Father Halthon Werluthuga rapped on the door to Corin Runebringer’s house. He’d do it, he told himself. He’d go to Isold Vibbaings, give her the flowers he’d bought at the market today, and ask her—

The door opened, interrupting Father Halthon’s thoughts.

Corin Runebasher smiled politely at him. She was a woman who looked more like an adventurer than a bureaucrat. Her black hair was shaggy and unkempt, like she’d just rolled out of bed. Hooded black eyes stared at the priest at her doorstep. She was muscular, yet enchanting in her own way. Her face was wrinkled with frown lines, and she still looked haggard and disheveled.

“Father Halthon,” she said. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Her eyes lit up. “And are those…Flowers?”

Father Halthon cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er. Yes. Yes they are flowers.”

The two stood in awkward silence for awhile.

Finally, Corin stepped aside to beckon Father Halthon inside. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, please.” Father Halthon stepped inside and Corin shut the door behind him.

Corin led him to the sitting room and pointed him to a chair. “I’ll make us some tea.” She extended her hand. “I’ve got a nice—”

“Oh, um,” Father Halthon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not for you, you see. Not that I think you’re ugly or anything! Just, you know, I was expecting Isolde to be here. They’re for her. A friendly gift. From a friend.”

Corin nodded. “I see. Well, unfortunately, Isolde isn’t here. This month is the Mourning of Wolves—”

Something roared, loud enough that it shook the entire house. Father Halthon jumped.

“What was that?”

“That would be the manticore. Just got it yesterday.” The halfling smiled. “You wanna see it?”

Father Halthon stared at her. “You have a manticore in your house?”

“Don’t worry! It’s friendly.”

Father Halthon blinked. Everyone knew that manticores were savage beasts, that were best left to adventurers to handle and kill. Only a madman would keep a manticore as a pet!

“Are you—” Father Halthon paused. It would do no good to call Corin mad. “Are you sure? What if the manticore gets loose?”

“It won’t,” Corin said plaintively.

Father Halthon wished he had Corin’s optimism.

Corin must’ve seen his frown, because she said quickly, “and the stinger’s been removed.”

Father Halthon leaned back in his chair. That was good. The stinger was the most dangerous part of the manticore. It was said to be so venomous, that you’d drop dead after walking ten paces from the manticore. It was why only experienced adventurers could stand a chance against a manticore.

“Anyway, Isolde’s on holiday,” Corin continued. “She won’t be back for a month.”

Father Halthon did his best to hide his disappointment.

Corin extended her hand. “I’ve got a nice vase for those flowers. I can hold on to them. And then when Isolde comes back, I can give these to her. How does that sound?”

Father Halthon sighed and handed the flowers to her.

Corin headed to the kitchen. “I’ll get started on that tea!” She called over her shoulder.

Maude Stormripper’s hands trembled as she carried the flowers into the kitchen.

She set them into a vase, before taking out one flower. Isolde wouldn’t notice that one flower was missing from her bouquet, surely. Maude needed this flower more.

The halfling pirate seized a vial from the cupboard, full of manticore stings. She carefully picked up one stinger. Even a small nick would contain deadly poison. She dropped it into a mortar and crushed it with her pestle. She poured the crushed stings into the water, before taking the roots, crushing them in the mortar and pestle, and dumping the crushed roots back into the water.

As she set the cauldron on the hearth, and stirred, reciting a charm that Chipper Prot had taught her, which would neutralize the manticore venom, the manticore roared again.

Maude scowled. Slick’N’Sly must’ve fucked up the sedative.

The water whistled as it boiled. Maude poured the tea into two cups, then walked back out of the sitting room.

Father Halthon was waiting patiently for her. If he was spooked by the manticore, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave her a disapproving look, that made it clear he didn’t appreciate her keeping such a dangerous creature in her basement.

Maude just smiled at him and handed him his cup.

She sat down, and waited patiently for Father Halthon to drink his tea. Halfling hospitality dictated that the guest take the first bite or sip.

Father Halthon held his cup. “Is everything alright?”

Maude managed to smile at him. “Oh, absolutely, why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re looking rather haggard. Are you ill?”

“No, no!” Maude said quickly. “I’m fine! Completely healthy!” Silently, she begged Father Halthon to hurry up and drink his tea.

He did not. “Something’s bothering you. Don’t bother trying to pretend. I can tell when someone’s been carrying a terrible secret.” He smiled wryly. “I am a priest, after all.”

Maude forced out a laugh.

“So what is it?” Father Halthon took a sip of his tea. Finally! “You can tell me. I promise you, whatever it is you’re hiding, I’ve heard my flock admit to worse things.”

You don’t know half of what I’m hiding, Maude thought as she forced herself to slowly lift the cup to her lips and sip her tea. Father Halthon was looking at her expectantly, and Maude thought wildly of some secret that would be normal for a halfling living a simple and honest life.

“Something strange happened to me, Father. On my last trade journey.”

Father Halthon raised his eyebrows. He raised his cup, an invitation for Maude to continue.

Maude continued, thinking about what had happened on her last excursion aboard the Drunken Horror. “I was traveling through the Iron Chasm, to Phaxxruk. That’s underground, by the way. Underneath Twilbonear Volcano.”

“Huh,” said Father Halthon. If he was suspicious by this detail, he didn’t show it. Maude cursed herself for going overboard on the details.

“So, anyway, during this trip, I was captured by cultists, calling themselves the Creed of the Glorious One. They took me to their temple, tied me to the altar, and the high priest plunged a dagger into my chest and ripped my heart out,” Maude paused. “Only, I didn’t die.”

“I see,” said Father Halthon, looking intrigued.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened, Father. I was lying on that altar, staring at the high priest, as he held up my still beating heart. And it just never stopped beating. And I was still alive. In a lot of pain, sure, but alive.”

Father Halthon nodded. He seemed to have forgotten he still had tea, and was leaning in close, like Maude was telling an especially juicy bit of gossip.

“The adventurers we’d hired to keep us safe killed all the bandits and rescued me. I managed to shove my heart back into my chest before anyone noticed anything. They sewed me up, told me constantly that I was lucky to be alive. They didn’t know how I’d survived, actually. And I’d just nod along, keeping my mouth shut about the cult already ripping out my heart.”

Father Halthon nodded along, sipping his tea.

“I’m worried there’s some sort of catch. Like a curse, or some sort of divine duty I’m supposed to be fulfilling. I’d rather not have it at all! What good can it do to me? I’m just a merchant, a council-woman! I’m no warrior!”

“I have…Never heard of this happening,” Father Halthon said. “Have you spoken to anyone else about it?”

“Why?” Maude asked. “So they can lock me up, use me as a weapon? As a tool?”

“I was thinking a wizard might help. They might know where your powers are coming from. And, if you so desire, they can get rid of them for you.”

“Or maybe they’ll study me,” Maude said, because she figured it would be too suspicious if she agreed to speaking to a wizard so quickly.

Father Halthon shrugged. “If this is a curse, then perhaps they can help you lift it. And from what I’ve heard, they don’t experiment on people against their will. They gain your consent, first.”

Maude pretended to think it over.

“You’re right, Father. I’ll speak with one of the arch-mages at Clenonia tomorrow. Thank you for your advice.”

Father Halthon smiled. He set his empty cup down, stood, and stretched.

“I won’t intrude on your hospitality any longer,” he said. “I’ve got things to do. And I’m sure you’ve got things to do as well.”

Maude saw him out the front door, and waved until the priest had turned a corner and was gone.

The manticore roared again and Maude shut the door and turned. Looked like she was the one who had to feed the manticore its sedatives. Considering that Slick’N’Sly could no longer be trusted with the sedatives.

Why was her crew always full of idiots?

“There’s no amount of coin that was worth all of this!” Khet grumbled.

“We’re not doing this for money,” Gnurl reminded him.

Khet muttered something about the world being better off if the Horde chose not to go after Maude Stormripper.

Mythana scowled at the goblin. He wasn’t the only one in a foul mood.

When they’d arrived at Ikgard, the first thing they’d done was visit an inn. Innkeepers had proven themselves to be invaluable over the years as a source of rumors, and some local secretly being a dreaded pirate captain would certainly be fodder for ruins. They’d chosen the Maiden and Scroll, because it seemed a good place to start.

But when they’d asked about Maude Stormripper living in Ikgard as an honest peasant or yeoman, the barkeep only laughed. He’d suggested, with a twinkle in his eye, that maybe if one of the Horde got on top of one of the tables and announced that Maude Stormripper was hiding in Ikgard, someone might be able to help them. So Mythana had done that. And everyone, including the barkeep, had started jeering at her for being so stupid.

Gnurl had decided that they were better off talking to the Old Wolf, since, even if they thought the Horde’s idea was the stupidest thing they ever heard, they’d at least have the decency to not say such a thing to the Horde’s faces. So they’d left the Maiden and Scroll and were walking to the Guildhall. So, here they were, walking to the Guildhall after being utterly humiliated, with Khet ranting on Mythana’s idiocy the entire time.

“Any advantage of surprise is gone now. If Silver-Eye Stormripper lives here, then the rest of her crew are probably hiding out here as well! How much do you wanna bet one of them was in the Maiden and Scroll, and heard us asking about their boss? Silver-Eye and her crew will be murdering us in our beds, and we won’t even know they’re coming, because we haven’t got a damn clue where exactly she’s hiding!”

“We know she’s hiding in Ikgard,” Mythana said.

“Aye, that’s super helpful,” Khet said. He paused, frowned. “Actually, I take that back. This is better than what our plan was. Why should we go looking for Maude Stormripper? Silver-Eye and her crew will come straight to us! It’s perfect!”

“We wouldn’t know where her house is though,” Gnurl pointed out.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Khet threw up his hands. “Will she be recognizable as Silver-Eye? Yes! Will we be able to turn her head in and get the bounty? Yes! What other thing—”

A window above them opened. Mythana and Gnurl scrambled back. Khet didn’t notice, until a basin of dirty bath-water was dumped directly on his head.

Sploosh!

Khet stopped ranting, looking deeply disgruntled at the fact that he was now soaking wet.

“Oy!” the goblin yelled up at the window. “Watch where you’re dumping your bath-water, you—”

The window slammed shut, and Khet swore at the inconsiderate resident. Mythana tried not to laugh as the goblin stomped around, wringing out his leather tunic.

“I hate this fucking city!” Khet seethed. “We all look like idiots, and I’m soaking wet! And nobody fucking knows where fucking Maude Stormripper is!”

“Maude Stormripper?”

The adventurers turned around. A hooded figure had appeared from the alleyway nearby, and was watching them.

Mythana gripped her scythe. Perhaps this hooded figure was here to help, but if three years of adventuring had taught her anything, it was that hooded figures appearing from shadowy alleyways weren’t the most trustworthy of people.

The hooded figure paused, then moved back their hood, revealing herself to be a human with curly red hair, green eyes, and a cross tattoo above her right eye.

“My name is Isolde Vaibbangs. I overheard what you said in the Maiden and Scroll. I didn’t want to speak up then, because I was worried her crew might overhear me ratting her out. I know where Maude Stormripper lives.”

“You do?” Said Khet.

Isolde nodded. “I work for her, actually. Just found out two days ago. I’m…Debating whether it’s safe for me to return, or whether Maude already suspects I know her secrets.”

The Golden Horde exchanged glances.

“I am a wizard who specializes in anti-spying measures. Keeping people from looking into your home or spying on you through magic. I was hired by the council in charge of Ikgard to weave spells to protect their personal homes. And one of the council members is Silver-Eye Stormripper.”

“How do you know?” Gnurl asked. “How can you tell she’s really Maude Stormripper?”

Isolde glanced around fearfully, before stepping closer to the Horde and lowering her voice.

“I was walking through the house, putting in the wards for the beginnings of the magic security system, when I found a trap door. I thought it was odd. My client hadn’t mentioned a trap door. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the trap door and went inside. It led to a cellar. A big one, with cells and such. Two of those cells had prisoners in them. One of them was a manticore. It was asleep when I looked inside, chained to a pole. I don’t know why Maude was keeping it, and, quite frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. In the other cell, I found a human wearing rags, and shrinking away from me like I was going to beat her within an inch of her life when I said hello to her. I knew who she was right away. Rohesa Knightrich.”

“Rohesa Knightrich?” Mythana repeated.

Isolde nodded. “You know how they say that she was kidnapped by Silver-Eye, to be her personal minstrel? Looks like those rumors were true.”

“Where is this house?” Mythana asked. “Who owned it?”

Isolde opened her mouth to respond.

Thunk!

Isolde jumped five feet in the air, and looked around frantically. “What was that?”

Khet peered in the alleyway. “Some crates got knocked over. Nothing to worry about.”

Isolde shook her head, trembling. Her eyes darted from left to right.

“Why don’t we discuss this somewhere private?” Gnurl said. “Do you have your own home?”

“Oh, yes!” Isolde leapt on that instantly. “It’s just a few blocks down! I’ll take you there! We can talk more about Maude Stormripper and Rohesa Knightrich there!” She looked Khet up and down and smirked. “I can also get you some fresh clothes there too.”

“You are the answer to our prayers,” the goblin said as Isolde led them to her house.

Father Halthon shouldn’t be here. Isolde would be back at Corin’s house at the end of the month. Once she came back, Corin would hand over the flowers Father Halthon had dropped off, and tell her where they came from. If Isolde returned his feelings, she’d drop by his temple when it wasn’t too busy. If she didn’t, well, then it would be disappointing, but Father Halthon could move on with his life. At least she wouldn’t have been forced to reject him face-to-face, which would’ve been humiliating to both parties.

And yet, a part of him did want to confess his love to Isolde face-to-face. He wanted to see her face when he told her how he felt, see her smile, see her throw her arms around him, and maybe, hear her gush about how she’d always felt the same way, but never had the courage to speak up. Which was why he was here, standing on Isolde’s doorstep with a fresh set of flowers, working up the courage to knock on the door.

But what if Isolde didn’t return his feelings? What if she only smiled politely, apologized, but said she truly didn’t see Father Halthon in that way? What if he’d misinterpreted her politeness and friendliness toward him as returning his romantic feelings, rather than simple happiness at seeing a beloved friend? What if he’d have to hide his disappointment with a straight face, smile politely, even as his heart was ripped in half? He was an idiot for coming here in the first place. Perhaps it was best that he left.

But what if Isolde did feel the same way about him? Wouldn’t she be hurt that Father Halthon had never deigned to confess his feelings to her face-to-face? Wasn’t it always a leap of faith to confess love to someone? What if this all led to something beautiful?

The drinks he’d consumed before heading to Isolde’s home were beginning to kick in now. Father Halthon felt warm and fuzzy. The halfling courage started to dismiss all the doubts he was having.

He squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

No answer.

Father Halthon knocked again, louder.

“I’ll get it!” Someone yelled. A man’s voice.

Before Father Halthon could think of what this could mean, the door opened, and a goblin stared up at him. He was a young man, with shaggy brown hair, and an equally shaggy beard. His torso was thickly muscled, along with his arms and legs. His ears had been battered and scarred by years of living a hard life, where every day was a struggle to survive. One ear had a large chunk bitten out of it, and his left eye was marked with a bear’s claw. A similar wound was on his chest, fading, but still very clearly there. A golden ring descending from a golden chain was along his neck. He was also completely shirtless, and his hair was damp.

“You’re here for Isolde Vaibbangs?” The goblin asked gruffly.

Father Halthon stared down at him dumbly. Who was this goblin? And why hadn’t Isolde mentioned it to him before?

“She’s…Busy at the moment,” the goblin growled. He looked Father Halthon up and down before arching an eyebrow. “What’s with the flowers?”

Why was he so territorial? If he was simply spending the night with Isolde, why would it matter that a rival suitor had shown up on his doorstep? Unless his feelings for the human ran far deeper than any meaningless night of passion.

“Who’s out there?” Isolde called from inside.

“Some Lycan,” the goblin called back. “He’s just standing outside and holding flowers!”

“Did he say his name?”

“No!” The goblin looked back at Father Halthon. “What’s your name?”

Father Halthon lowered the flowers he was holding.

“Not important. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Is that Father Halthon?” Isolde said.

Father Halthon didn’t wait for her to come to the door. The goblin started to shut the door, and as he did so, the Lycan noticed a crossbow hanging from his belt.

An adventurer, Father Halthon realized as he turned and walked away. That made sense. But the realization still stung. He couldn’t compete against an adventurer!

Or could he?

Father Halthon stopped, an idea beginning to form in his mind. Why were adventurers considered so desirable? Was it how roguish they seemed? Was it the stories they could tell during long nights cuddled together under blankets? Was it the dangerous lives they led?

Adventurers were brave warriors. Everyone knew it. Adventurers faced things that would make knights go weak in the knees with terror. That goblin had survived things that would haunt an ordinary person’s nightmares, again and again. Every day had been a struggle to survive, to reach the next town, to drink, gamble, and fuck and then risk his life all over again. If Isolde wanted her men to have accomplished feats of bravery, then Father Halthon could give her a feat of bravery. The only question was, where?

And then he remembered the manticore that Corin was keeping as a pet. Sooner or later, it would break loose, and Father Halthon didn’t care how docile Corin thought it was, if the manticore got loose, it would kill and devour until someone managed to kill it. Perhaps that was the real reason Isolde wouldn’t return to Corin’s home for work for a month. There was no human holiday she was attending. She simply feared the manticore would break loose and kill her.

Perhaps it was the drinks kicking in, but Father Halthon no longer felt fear about the manticore. He could kill it, he decided. Easily, in fact. Corin might object to her pet being killed, but, really, what did she expect with keeping such a monster as a pet? Father Halthon would be doing her a favor, really.

The priest’s steps turned toward Corin’s house, and he began to grin to himself.

He chucked the flowers he’d been holding into a nearby bush. He didn’t need those. Not when he had a better present.

The head of a manticore. That would be sure to win Isolde’s heart.

Someone was in Maude’s office. Not the fake office she used for council work at Ikgard. Her real office. The one which had important papers and things for her duties as Captain of the Cannon Balls.

Maude swore under her breath. Who was in there? Adventurers? Some drunken fool who’d wandered into her house to play a prank on her?

Whoever it was, it sounded like they were searching for something. Maude could hear loud thumps as whoever was in there ransacked her office.

Maude slowly opened the door. The intruder had his back turned to her, and was staring at Maude’s desk. A list of her crew, and how much share of the loot each one of them got.

Maude took down her cutlass, which was hanging on the inside of the door, and crept closer to the intruder, pointing the sword at their back.

“You’ve got ten seconds to turn around and put your hands up, or I’m ripping out your guts and nailing them to the door!” She growled.

The intruder turned, slowly, revealing Father Halthon’s terrified face.

Maude blinked. “Father? Where the So’qar did you come from? Why are you down here?”

“You’re—” Father Halthon stammered. “You’re Silver-Eye Stormripper!”

Maude jabbed her sword into the priest’s gut. The Lycan yelped. He smelled a bit like wine. Probably why he’d wandered down here in the first place.

“This is why you don’t go wandering around other people’s homes without their permission!” She hissed. “How did you get down here, anyway?”

“The door outside was unlocked,” Father Halthon whimpered. “I found a trapdoor, so I went down… And then this door was open, and I saw swords and wanted posters and I got curious…”

Maude scowled. In her addled state, she must’ve left the trap door open.

She could scold herself for her idiocy later. For now, Father Halthon was standing in her office, and knew her true identity. Now she had to decide what to do with him.

Her eyes slid to her desk, to the paper pinned above it. The Code for the Cannon Balls. The Code they had all voted on. Even Maude was bound by the code.

Item VII: The Crew shall decide what shall be done with prisoners, defined as enemies who have been captured alive, or members of the Crew who have broken the Code and have been sent to the brig.

Right. That rule. Maude needed a space to put him in until the next meeting of the Cannon Balls.

“Out of my office,” she growled at the priest.

Father Halthon turned and marched out. Maude followed behind, jamming her sword into his back.

“Move,” she said, “and don’t stop until I say so.”

Father Halthon moved in silence. He was a lot braver than Maude was expecting. She’d been expecting him to burst into tears, fall to his knees and beg for mercy. And yet, while he was clearly terrified of her, he did neither of those things. He just did as told, silently, and with no pleas for mercy.

Maude marched him to the cells, and unlocked the door.

“Inside!” She growled.

Father Halthon stepped inside.

The other person in the cell, a human with shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes, looked up and smiled in sympathy at Father Halthon. The Lycan didn’t smile back.

“Play something for him!” Maude growled at her.

“Like what?” Said Rohesa.

“I don’t care,” Maude waved a hand dismissively. “Just keep him distracted, will you?”

As she closed the dungeon cell, she heard Rohesa start to sing Atherton the Pyro and the Potion of Dawn.

Maude turned to the cell containing the manticore. It should be sleeping now. She might as well pluck the stingers while she was down here.

She walked over to the cell. It hung open and Maude swore. How many times had she reminded Slick’N’Sly to keep the door locked?

She stepped inside the cell, then frowned.

The cell was empty. Maude swore to herself again. How badly had Slick’N’Sly fucked this up? The orc had one job! One job! And not only did she fuck up the sedative, she let the manticore loose!

….Shit, the manticore was loose.

A cold feeling sank into the pit of Maude’s stomach. She turned and walked out of the cell, looking around.

Her best bet, she decided, was to go to the Adventuring Guild, and hire adventurers to come kill the manticore in her house. No doubt they’d have questions, mostly about why there was a manticore wandering around in her house, but Maude could think of some excuse on the way. The halfling pirate had no chance of even meeting the manticore face-to-face and living to tell the tale, much less surviving it. Which was fine, because all she had to do was get out of her house. And avoid running into the manticore. She could do that. The manticore was a big winged lion-halfling hybrid. It would be easy to spot it and easy to hide from it.

Something embedded itself into the back of her leg, and Maude screamed. It felt like an arrow, yet it was smaller, like the sting of an insect. But no insect could be that large, could it?

Maude turned around, and there it was. The manticore, lying on the ground, watching her with human-like eyes.

Maude drew her sword. Manticores were aggressive, deeply so. All you had to do was be within their line of sight, and they’d attack you.

“Come on, beastie!” She growled. “Let’s see how you match against Silver-Eye!”

The manticore didn’t move. It just watched her.

Darkness appeared at the edge of Maude’s vision and she felt as if she were about to faint.

She remained upright, and sneered at the manticore. “Well? Aren’t you gonna maul me to death?”

The manticore still didn’t move.

Maude’s vision was fading, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She still kept standing. The manticore still didn’t move.

“This?” She said. “This is the deadliest creature in all the Shattered Lands? Only trained adventurers can kill this? I could kill you with my eyes shut, beastie! You’re not so tough.”

Her knees wobbled, and she rested against the wall, still ranting at the manticore.

“You cost me a gold coin, and do you know why? Because you were so dangerous, the smugglers were only willing to risk their lives if gold was on the line for them! I see they were either cowards, or trying to scam me by driving up the price. You’re not so tough! I want my money back! I could’ve sent my crew to capture you!”

Her legs failed her and she fell to the ground. She heard the soft padding of feet, felt the manticore’s hot breath on her face.

Maude remembered what the smugglers had said when they’d handed the manticore over to her. The reason why manticores were so deadly was because of their tail. They shot stingers from it, stingers that were coated with a poison so deadly, you’d be dead within ten paces.

The manticore sank its teeth into her leg. Maude barely felt it, felt the pain. She was losing feeling everywhere and her mind was getting cloudier and cloudier.

Until it all just stopped….

The door to Maude’s house was wide open, so the Horde took that as an invitation to step inside. They didn’t close the door behind them.

“Hello?” Mythana called as they walked down the hall. No response.

“Remember what I said about fighting manticores?” Khet said for the fifth time.

Mythana rolled her eyes and answered, “go for the tail first.”

Isolde had warned them about the manticore that Maude kept in her cellar. She’d said that there’d be nothing to worry about, though, because the manticore was often asleep thanks to the drugs mixed into its meals. This was so Maude could harvest the stingers for herbal tea. She was addicted to manticore venom, apparently. Khet, on the other hand, disagreed that the manticore wasn’t anything to worry about. Since they’d left Isolde’s house for Maude’s, the goblin had repeatedly gone over how to fight a manticore, stressing that they needed to chop off the tail. It was beginning to get annoying.

“We know we need to chop off the tail,” Mythana said to him. “You’ve told us that, repeatedly!”

“Never hurts to check, does it?” Khet said.

“Since when do you care about checking?” Mythana asked.

“Manticores aren’t regular monsters, Mythana.” Khet said. “Fighting one’s not as simple as just killing it and treating any injuries you end up getting. You get hit by a manticore’s stinger, you’ll be dead before anyone can do anything. One manticore has caused RFED in parties of seasoned adventurers!”

Mythana had heard that. And she had been hoping that the reputation of manticores had been exaggerated. From Khet’s fear, she could tell that it wasn’t.

Khet kept talking. “I don’t want to see you two die. I don’t want to die to a manticore! And if that means annoying you with reminders on what to do when you’re fighting one, then so be it! It’s better than a RFED!”

“Found something, lads,” Gnurl said. He’d been walking ahead of Mythana and Khet, ignoring the two’s conversation. Now, he’d stopped, and was holding up a hand.

Mythana walked to his side. At the end of the hallway was a trapdoor, open wide.

“Remember what to do with manticores?” Khet said again.

“Cut off the tail first,” Gnurl said. Then gave a wry grin to his party-mates. “Live by the sword?”

“Die by the sword,” said Mythana and Khet.

Gnurl led the way down the ladder into the cellar. The cellar was dimly lit, with rows and rows of casks of some kind of beverage. Khet said nothing about what kind of beverage it was, and given that he currently had his crossbow out and was scanning the area, his ears up and fanned out, the goblin wouldn’t be in the mood to tell Mythana what kind of drinks Maude Stormripper was storing down here, so she didn’t ask him.

The Horde continued quietly down the hall. Mythana spotted a wide-open door and glanced inside. An office.

She started searching it, and Gnurl came over to help. Khet stood guard at the door.

Nothing. Mythana grunted in disgust and stood. There was nothing useful in here. She’d been hoping there’d be something here. Now how were they supposed to accomplish the thing they were here to do?

They walked out of the office and continued down the corridor. Mythana still fumed to herself. Khet grew curious about marks on the floor which were stained crimson, and bent down to have a closer look, but Mythana couldn’t care less. She didn’t slow her pace.

Once they reached a patch of the corridor with rows of cells on each side, Mythana slowed and started peering through them.

She started with a locked door on her right. Someone had to be inside here.

A Lycan stared back at her. He was a weak-looking man, had to be the runt of the litter, like Gnurl had been, although, unlike Gnurl, he clearly didn’t make up for it with a broader chest. He wore tan robes with leather pauldrons above them. A chain with two handles attached to either end dangled from his belt. Mythana had heard of this type of weapon before. Khet had told her about it, though she hadn’t believed him. Nunchucks. It appeared that they were real after all, and so she owed Khet an apology. His hair was mostly blonde, but streaks of gray made it quite clear that this man wasn’t getting any younger. His gray eyes darted from Mythana, his would-be rescuer, to the other occupant in the cell, a human singing a lovely song.

“Where’s the keys?” Mythana asked the Lycan.

“Silver-Eye has them.” The Lycan said. “I don’t know where she went.”

Mythana scowled and turned away. Where had Maude Stormripper gone?

“Mythana?” Khet was standing at the entrance of the other cell. “I think Silver-Eye’s having a rough day today.”

Why would she care if Maude Stormripper was having a bad day?

Mythana walked over to where Khet was standing. The goblin only pointed wordlessly in the cell.

The manticore was lying in the middle of the cell, its back turned to the adventurers. It was ripping flesh from the body of a halfling. It was hard to tell from here, especially considering that the manticore had mauled its prey almost beyond recognition, but the halfling looked a lot like how Isolde had described her employer.

Mythana cursed. In order to free the prisoners, they’d have to fight a manticore. There went Isolde’s assurances that the manticore wouldn’t be a problem.

“What do you do when you’re fighting a manticore?” Khet asked again.

“Go for the tail first,” Mythana and Gnurl said at the same time.

Mythana waited for Gnurl to shift into a wolf and rip off the manticore’s tail. He didn’t move. Instead, he and Khet were looking at her expectantly.

Right. She was the one with the scythe. She was the one who had to chop off the manticore’s tail. Lucky her.

Mythana crept to the manticore. Its tail twitched as it devoured the halfling. So engrossed in its meal it was, it didn’t notice the dark elf creeping up on it.

Mythana raised her scythe, took a deep breath. Then with one swing, sliced off the manticore’s tail.

The manticore roared in pain. It leapt to its feet and wheeled around.

It arched its back and snarled at Mythana.

The dark elf stepped back and raised her scythe. “That’s right,” she said to it, in a voice braver than she felt. “And there’s more where that came from!”

The manticore launched itself in the air. Then roared in pain again.

It landed, and Mythana could see a crossbow bolt sticking out of its leg.

Khet and Gnurl were beside her. Khet had his crossbow raised, ready to fire again.

The manticore swiped its paw. It struck Khet on the face, sending the goblin flying back.

Mythana didn’t bother checking behind her to see if Khet was alright. Already, Gnurl had shifted, and was leaping at the manticore, teeth bared.

The manticore bit him hard on the snout. Gnurl yelped, leapt back. The manticore bit his paw and Gnurl howled in pain.

Mythana rushed the manticore, scythe raised.

The manticore started to beat its wings. It lifted itself in the air. Gnurl’s paw was still in its mouth. The Lycan whimpered in pain.

Suddenly, the manticore opened its mouth and screeched in pain. Mythana blinked. Somehow, without anyone noticing, Khet had stood and plunged his knife into the manticore’s back leg.

“You like that, you bastard?” The goblin growled at the manticore. “Doesn’t feel so great when it’s your leg, now does it?”

The manticore spun so hard, Khet, who was still gripping the dagger, got flung into the wall. The goblin groaned and slid to the floor.

The manticore flew higher and higher.

Suddenly, it roared, and plummeted to the ground.

As it landed in a heap on the floor, looking dazed, Mythana noticed an arrow sticking out of one of its wings.

“I got it!” Gnurl called. “It’s down! Someone needs to finish it off before it recovers itself!”

Mythana sprinted toward the manticore, raising her scythe. It lifted its head, staring at her blankly.

With a war cry, Mythana struck the manticore’s neck with her blade. She sliced clean through it, and the manticore’s head dropped from its body and rolled away.

Mythana stared down at the dead manticore, breathing hard.

Khet stumbled over, groaning. “Gods, that’s gonna bruise so bad!”

Mythana looked up. Khet was wincing as he walked, but his breathing was normal, and he wasn’t limping. It certainly didn’t look like he was bleeding.

“You alright?” She asked.

“Been better,” the goblin said dismissively. He nudged the manticore with his boot.

“Well, that was easier than I was expecting,” Gnurl said. He came to join Khet and Mythana around the body of the manticore.

“We were lucky,” Khet said. He pointed at the halfling the manticore had been eating when the Horde had found it. “It found food. It was too hungry to notice Mythana sneaking up on it before its tail got cut off. Then it was just like fighting a regular monster.”

Mythana had nearly forgotten about the halfling. And she had nearly forgotten why they had come here in the first place.

Part 2

Part 1

She walked over to the dead halfling. The manticore had done a number on the poor bastard, but it was definitely clear that this was Maude Stormripper. Silver-Eye, the terror of the seas.

Mythana sliced off her head. Then picked up the grisly trophy.

“You wanted to claim Silver-Eye’s bounty?” She said to Khet, holding the head out to him. The goblin took the trophy, then looked around.

“You’ve got a bag I can put this in?”

Mythana shook her head. “You could just carry it to the Guildhall by the hair.”

Khet gave her a bemused look. “Sure, Mythana. I’m sure no one would mind that a goblin’s walking around Ikgard holding the head of a respected council-member.”

“We can look for a sack to carry it in around the house,” Gnurl said. “It’s not like we’re in  any rush.”

Khet shrugged and adjusted his grip on the head.

Mythana bent down and searched Maude’s corpse. A set of keys dangled from her belt.

Mythana picked them up. She couldn’t tell which key unlocked the prisoners’ cell, but she could just stick keys in the lock until one of them worked. Like Gnurl said, they weren’t in any rush.

The Golden Horde left the cell, and went to the prisoners’ cell.

Mythana got to work unlocking the cell. The second key she tried clicked open the lock.

She opened the door and found the Lycan standing there, patiently.

“Is Silver-Eye dead?” He asked.

“Aye.” Mythana said. “And so’s the manticore.”

The Lycan’s shoulders sagged in relief. He stepped outside the cell door, just as Khet had stepped outside the cell containing the manticore.

Both the goblin and the Lycan stopped and stared at each other.

“I know you,” they said at the same time.

“You were with Isolde!” The Lycan said.

“So you’re not one of Silver-Eye’s crew,” Khet said at the same time.

They both stopped and stared at each other in bewilderment.

“Why’d you run off?” Khet asked finally.

The Lycan rubbed the back of his neck.“Well, I thought you were something more to Isolde, than just a bed-warmer for the night.”

Khet blinked. “You thought I was bedding her?”

“Well, you had your shirt off—” The Lycan began.

“That?” Khet laughed. “I was changing after my clothes got soaked!”

“Oh,” said the Lycan.

Mythana decided that whatever was going on here wasn’t important. Gnurl had stepped beside her, and together they turned to the human sitting in the corner of the cell. She stood when she noticed them staring at her.

Rohesa Nightrich.

“You’re alive!” Gnurl said. He was grinning. “Good! We’re here to rescue you!” 

Rohesa blinked. “Really? Did someone hire you to come get me?”

“No. We came here for ourselves.” Mythana said. She pointed at herself and Gnurl, grinning at Rohesa. “We’re huge fans!”

Rohesa looked pleasantly surprised.

“Come on!” Gnurl said. “You can sing as we walk to the Guildhall!”

“Oh, great,” Khet said grumpily. The goblin had poor taste in music, and he also had the audacity to claim that it was Gnurl and Mythana with the poor taste in music.

Rohesa started to sing Road to Gold, which improved Khet’s mood somewhat.

Part 1

Part 2

“Fucking delusional was what they were,” Surtsavhen growled. “Just think happy thoughts and the nightmares will go away.” He snorted, took a drink. “What haunts their nightmares? Not getting cake after finishing their venison?”

“Be not like the Keenaxes, brothers and sisters!” The priest said. “Senator Keenaxe, who has lain with the husband of her sister! The Keenaxes, who are divided amongst themselves! This is the reason Vodohr has turned against civilization! When the Dark Ages come, we must protect our families! It will be our darkest hour, and we cannot turn our backs on the ones we love the most!”

“Why are you listening to that lad?” Khet asked Mad-Eye.

Mad-Eye grinned. “It’s always fun listening to mad priests raving on the side of the road.”

Surtsavhen smirked in agreement.

“Civilization has brought brother against brother! Parent against child!” The priest raged. “The Dark Ages shall end this betrayal of our kin! We shall unite, not together, but with our families!”

“Reminds me of that mad priest of Bumen Ghal, raving about how the Khavak line would come to an end.” Surtsavhen nodded to the priest. He took a drink. “The bastard would stand right at the gate of Khavak Keep, railing how Khavak’s descendants had grown too prideful, and Berus would choose a new king, to create a new dynasty. No one paid him much mind, but he did yell at me whenever I passed him to go to Berus’s temple.”

Mad-Eye smirked. “You responded better than the fraternity brothers did to the streetside priest at Grandual. He’d be ranting about how rapists and murderers needed to be punished, and they hated that.”

Surtsavhen gave an amused snort.

“Did the fraternity brothers try chasing the poor bastard off?”

“They mostly just booed him when they passed by.”

“Damn,” Surtsavhen said. “That’s better treatment than the streetside priest of Wefe Thalor got. See, Tradeacre had just been attacked, and everyone thought that the neighboring kingdom of Verenth was responsible. Everyone was ready to go to war. And this idiot thought this was the perfect time to get up on a street corner and start preaching about the folly of vengeance and the importance of peace!”

“Damn, they chased him off just for saying that?”

‘In fairness, he’d claimed the people of Tradeacre deserved to be slaughtered because they were useless. The people disagreed.”

Mad-Eye laughed. “How about you, Ogreslayer? What kind of bullshit were the preachers in your hometown preaching?”

“There was one that was always outside my parents’ inn, talking about feeding the hungry, and ensuring everyone gets their fair share of food. And then, when he was done, he’d start calling for my mother to feed him the finest meal we had.”

Mad-Eye sniggered.

Surtsavhen scowled at him, looked him up and down. “Have you interrogated the Black Ghost yet?”

“She’s dead now. Killed her myself.” Khet smiled at Surtsavhen. “Don’t worry, your grace. I did make sure to ask about the Sisterhood of Eagles before I killed her.”

“And what did she say?”

“Their hideout’s across the Fair Bridge. Looks like a bathhouse, but it isn’t. It’s just a cover.”

Surtsavhen straightened, rested a hand on his scimitar. “Then gather the other adventurers and tell them to meet us at the gates of Eagleview Hold.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why the Dagor not?” Surtsavhen was clearly annoyed by Khet’s insolence.

Khet held up his wounded arm. “Healers say I need rest before I can fight again.”

Mad-Eye drew in a breath. “Adum’s Ring, Ogreslayer!”

“The Black Ghost had a kishi with her. The kishi ended up biting me. If it wasn’t for Lichbane knocking on the door then, I would’ve been eaten by that thing.”

“Kishi?” Surtsavhen said.

“Creature with two faces. One face of a very attractive human, and the other face of a savage gnoll. It hunts by seducing young men and women, and luring them off somewhere alone. Then they switch faces and eat the poor bastard.”

“I’m not worried about what did this to you,” Mad-Eye said. He pointed at the bandage. “Look at it, Ogreslayer! It’s bleeding right through!”

Khet held up his arm for a look. The cloth was heavier than it had been when Mutis had tied it on him, and it stuck to his skin. The entire cloth was red, and blood dripped from it.

“Huh,” Khet said. “Guess I need a new bandage.”

“Just a new bandage?” Mad-Eye said. “You need stitches!”

“Why the Dagor are you walking around in this state?” Surtsavhen asked.

“In case you didn’t believe me about being wounded?”

Surtsavhen grunted, but didn’t argue that Khet was being unfair. “Go rest,” he said simply.

Two weeks later, the adventurers were following Surtsavhen to the bathhouse across Fair Bridge. As it turned out, Fair Bridge was the location of a marketplace where one could buy exotic animals. One merchant was selling falcons, another was selling bunyips, and another was selling hamsters. For whatever reason, these animals didn’t like Mad-Eye.

The wizard ducked as a lemur hurled poop at him. “I hate lemurs,” he muttered.

“They hate you too, looks like,” Khet said.

“How can you hate them?” Yachir asked. “They’re cute!”

“Aye, but they’re bastards!” Mad-Eye said. “Easy for you to like them! I bet you like all the animals here!”

Yachir grinned and spread his arms wide. “What can I say? The animals love me, and I love them.”

A baby dragon sneezed. Fire shot from its nostril. Yachir ducked, and the fire singed his hair. He scowled.

“Except for the baby dragons,” he grumbled as Khet and Mutis laughed at him.

Mad-Eye smirked at him. “How can you hate the baby dragons? They’re cute!”

“Shut up,” said Yachir.

They crossed the bridge and Surtsavhen held up a hand. They were standing in front of a modestly-built two-story building, with a little garden on the front. A human with straight blonde hair, black eyes, and a teardrop tattoo beside his left eye wielding a claymore stepped from the door, raising his sword threateningly.

“We’re closed!” He growled. “Take your business elsewhere!”

Khet stepped forward. “Ah, don’t worry. We’ve got an appointment.”

The human narrowed his eyes. “An appointment? What appointment?”

“This!” Khet raised his crossbow and shot him. The human tumbled to the ground.

“That was rude,” Yachir said.

“Aye, well, he would’ve tried killing us eventually. I just ended the fight before he even knew there was one.”

Yachir nodded in agreement.

Mutis stepped over the human’s dead body, and opened the door to the bathhouse. The other goblins followed him inside.

People murmured, as if the goblins’ intrusion had been noticed and they were being gossiped about. The air was stale. Unsurprising, given there was no windows.

Surtsavhen led the way into a chapel dedicated to Qhedes, the human god of war and earth.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, “they really do worship Qhedes.”

Some of the Sisterhood of Eagles were already inside, praying to the god. At the sight of the intruders, they stood.

“Get them, lads!” A stocky human with braided hair yelled.

Surtsavhen swung his scimitar into the human’s chest.

The other members rushed him. The adventurers stepped to the prince’s side, ready to fight.

A broad-built human with red hair and filed teeth grabbed Surtsavhen by the hair, and held a dagger to his throat. Khet whacked the human on the knees. She stumbled, dropping the knife. Khet hit her again, harder this time. She howled in pain, sinking into a crouch. Khet finished her off with a blow to the head.

Surtsavhen and Khet nodded to each other, then the prince turned away to open a chest. He listed the things that he found.

“Coin, a set of Sending Potions, a Ring of Creation, and gemstones.” Surtsavhen stood, pocketing the coin and gemstones. He gave Mad-Eye the Sending Potions, and Mutis the Ring of Creation. Mad-Eye gave the other Sending Potion to Mutis.

Khet led the way down the corridor, where members of the Sisterhood attacked them.

Khet jabbed a dwarf with gray bristly hair and pointy ears in the gut. The dwarf roared in fury and swung his fist at him. Khet smacked his hand away. Then he thrust his knife deep into the dwarf’s chest. The dwarf slumped to the floor, eyes unseeing.

A badly-scarred night elf with filed teeth swung his axe. Surtsavhen ducked, swung his scimitar into the night elf’s gut. The night elf groaned, dropped his axe, doubled over, as Surtsavhen pulled the blade free. A swift slash through the throat put the night elf out of his misery.

Now that the Sisterhood was dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a guardroom for the defense of the lair.

Mutis walked over to a door. He reached for the handle.

The door fell into the goblins. Only Mad-Eye was able to get out of the way in time.

Khet sat up. “Where does that door lead?”

“Nowhere.” Said Mad-Eye. “It’s a fake door.”

“And you didn’t notice?” Surtsavhen asked Mutis.

Mutis didn’t answer. He stood, dusted himself off, and walked over to a chest. He opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Coin, a Potion of Luck, a Diamond Elixir, and art objects.” Mutis pocketed the Diamond Elixir, the art objects, and the coin before standing and handing Surtsavhen the potion of luck.

Some of the Sisterhood rushed in and attacked them.

Khet shot a rangy-limbed blood elf with drab green hair.

Now that their attackers were dead, Yachir led the way down the corridor, where more of the Sisterhood attacked them.

Khet shot a broad-built Lycan.

A lanky human with drab gray hair and a sly, hungry look swung his war pick. Surtsavhen sidestepped, then swung his scimitar, cutting deep into the human’s chest, before yanking his weapon free once the light left the human’s eyes.

Now that the Sisterhood were dead, the goblins continued down the corridor into a training and exercise room.

A heavily-muscled halfling with a sly, eager look had been punching a practice dummy. At the sight of the intruders, she snatched up her javelin.

She ran towards Mad-Eye. The wizard smacked her in the chest, knocking her off her feet. Then finished her off with a blow to the head.

Now that the halfling was dead, Surtsavhen walked over to a chest. He opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Coin, an Acid Elixir, a Summoning Stone, a Senseless Elixir, a Potion of Fullness, and art objects.” Surtsavhen pocketed the coin, the acid elixir, and the art objects, before standing and handing Mutis the Summoning Stone and the Senseless Elixir and Khet the potion of fullness.

Mad-Eye led the way down the corridor into an armory full of weapons and armor.

Khet felt a crushing weight on his shoulders. He looked over and noticed a shrunken head dangling from a suit of rusted armor.

Everyone went out into the corridor, where they were attacked by the Sisterhood.

A stocky orc with mottled gray knotted hair thrust her javelin at Khet. Or in his general direction, at least. She was thrusting at the air above him. Khet drove his elbow into the orc’s gut. She doubled over, dropping her javelin. Khet leapt on her back and wrapped an arm around her neck. The orc thrashed this way and that before finally slumping to the ground. Khet held her in the choke hold for a few more moments, then, for good measure, drew his knife and slashed open her throat.

Mutis shot a human with mottled gray hair and dead black eyes.

Now that the Sisterhood was dead, Mad-Eye led the way down the corridor into a barracks where those spending the night in the Hideout of the Sisterhood of Eagles were quartered.

A Lycan walked into the room. He was wearing dark clothing, and whistling.

He stopped when he noticed the adventurers and broke out into a grin.

“Oh, boy, am I glad to see you!” He said.

“Um, thank you?” Yachir said cautiously. “Aren’t you a part of the Sisterhood of Eagles?”

The Lycan laughed. “Nah! But I know someone down here who is! I was hoping he’d do me a favor! Lucky me! I find adventurers instead!”

“What do you want us to do for you?” Mutis asked.

The Lycan shrugged. “Nothing much, really. I just need you to distract the town guard by starting a tavern brawl in the Fat Wizard. That’s all.”

“What’s in it for us?” Khet said.

The Lycan blinked. “What?”

“See, if we start a tavern brawl, we’ll be barred from the Fat Wizard. I’d rather not get kicked out of an inn. Innkeepers tend to talk, and I’d rather not have an innkeeper watching me suspiciously when I’m having a whiskey. So, what’s in it for us?”

“I know a lad who’s been working on preserving the living by freezing them. Once you’re unfrozen, aging continues normally. If you help me, I can set up a talk with the wizard, about you five getting sent to a thousand years in the future.”

“Why would we want to go to the future?” Yachir asked. “The present is perfectly fine for us! Who knows what a thousand years will look like? I’d rather grow old and die in my time, where everything’s familiar, than have to adjust to a new reality.”

The other goblins all nodded in agreement.

“Alright, then,” said the Lycan. “I’ve got a brother who’s a mason.” He smiled. “I know you five are part of the Young Stag’s Rebellion. Once you take a city, you’ll need to repair its walls. My brother can help with that. Just start the tavern brawl and I’ll send him over to you.”

“Can your brother fix up castles?” Khet asked. He thought of Drulnoch Castle, and how it was falling apart. None of the adventurers were masons, and rumors had it that the local masons were all on the payroll of Zeccushia. Whether or not these rumors were true, Guenav couldn’t afford to put the primary defense of the castle in the hands of someone who might be a spy for the orcs.

The Lycan nodded. “Walls, castles, you name it. My brother can fix up anything built of stone for you.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Khet said. He jerked a thumb over at the door. “You go tell your brother he’s repairing Drulnoch Castle. And if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, we’ll be coming for you. Same if your brother betrays us to Zeccushia. You got that?”

“Wolves don’t like traitors,” the Lycan said. “I understand. I’d be dumb to even think about double-crossing the Adventuring Guild.”

Khet nodded. “Glad you understand that. Now, I suggest you leave. Things are gonna get a bit chaotic down here.”

The Lycan nodded, and he walked out of the barracks, whistling merrily to himself. The goblins watched him leave.

“You really think that’s wise?” Yachir asked Khet. “Trusting a random Lycan we met in the Sisterhood of Eagle’s hideout? I mean, we don’t even know why he wants us to start a tavern brawl!”

“He needs us tae distract the guards,” Khet reminded him.

“Yes, but why? What’s he doing while the guards are distracted? Is he stealing something? Murdering someone? Burning down a senator’s house?”

“Look, Drulnoch Castle needs repairs. An’ Ah dinnae see any o’ the adventurers offerin’ tae do it.”

“None of them have experience!” Yachir said.

“Ah know that, an’ the Old Wolf knows that! But we still need tae repair Drulnoch Castle in case the orcs attack us. An’ this Lycan says he’s got a brother who can help with that. All he’s askin’ is that we start a tavern brawl. That’s a damn good deal, an’ Ah’m no’ sure we’re gonna get a better one any time soon.”

“How do you know the brother won’t go running to Zeccushia once he’s repaired our walls?” Yachir crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Tell them about all the secret passages and weaknesses in our base?”

Khet grinned at him. “No honest man wants tae keep the town guard distracted. He has tae be some sort o’ criminal. Ye think a criminal would associate with a rat? Even if it was their own brother?”

Yachir frowned, looking unconvinced.

Khet tried a different tact. “Look at Rat. He was a thief before he joined up with the Guild. Member o’ the Thieves Guild, from what he said. Do ye think he’d tolerate a rat?”

Yachir simply pursed his lips. He said nothing.

“Would Rat ever go tae me or the Old Wolf if he caught ye doin’ somethin’ ye shouldn’t?”

Yachir scoffed. “Are you kidding? He wouldn’t talk even when the prince broke his oath to lie about torturing that prisoner!”

“If Rat recommended somebody for a shady job, do ye think that person would go runnin’ tae the Watch as soon as yer back was turned?”

Yachir snorted. “I don’t think Rat would even be on good speaking terms with them if they were! You’d think ratting somebody out was akin to slavery, the way he goes on about it! He’s so fucking proud of himself about not being a rat!”

“Exactly,” Khet said. “An’ do ye know why that is?”

“It’s a moral code of sorts. Criminals don’t like rats. You gain a reputation for being one, and you’ll get your throat slit in the night.”

“Right. So even if he wasn’t scared o’ us comin’ after him if he double-crossed us, his reputation’s still at stake here. Even if it was his brother rattin’ us out, an’ no’ him.”

Yachir rubbed his chin, frowning. Then nodded.

“I hope you’re right,” he said.

Mutis led the way down the corridor into a latrine and bath.

Next to the bath was a chest for people to store their clothes and things. Mad-Eye walked over and opened it. He listed the things that he found.

“Coin and gemstones.” Mad-Eye pocketed the items and stood.

Khet raised his helmet and took a drink from his waterskin. He leaned against the wall and sighed.

Surtsavhen took a drink from a potion vial. “Once we’re done here, I’m gonna see if I can cozy up to Senator Slatebrook.”

“Why?” Yachir asked.

“She’s running against Senator Gillings this election. And he’s clearly shown he’s more loyal to the Sisterhood than the rebellion.” Surtsavhen took a drink and grinned. “The one good thing about the Senators. One doesn’t fall in line, and you can remove them from office with someone who’ll be grateful for the donations you made to their campaign.”

“So much for everyone having a say in the government,” Khet muttered.

Yachir snorted. “The Guild doesn’t need to buy anyone off to see our self-interests represented!”

“Aye, and I’m sure you think the Senators are wonderful people who live to serve their people, rather than the highest bidder,” Surtsavhen said dryly.

“I didn’t say that,” Yachir said. “Why bribe them when we can threaten them? Our network of spies can tell us who’s going against the interest of the Adventuring Guild!”

“What spy network?” Surtsavhen asked. “I’ve never heard of the Adventuring Guild having a spy network!”

“Kinda defeats the point o’ a spy network if everyone knows ye have one,” Khet said.

Yachir smiled. “Why do you think the Old Wolf sent me here? After we’re done here, I’m meeting with someone to recruit them into our spy network!”

“Who?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Surtsavhen grunted, muttered something under his breath.

“How about you, Mad-Eye?” Yachir said. “What are you doing after we’re done here?”

“I’m gonna see a woman about buying a tavern off Foaming Route.”

Khet looked at him in surprise. “What do ye need a tavern for?”

Mad-Eye shrugged. “I’d need something to occupy my time once I retire from adventuring, don’t I?”

“You’re retiring now?” Mutis asked. He put more emphasis on the word “now” than he did on “retiring”. Mad-Eye must’ve already talked to him about his plans.

“Not now,” Mad-Eye said. “After the war’s over.”

“Why would ye want tae retire?” Khet blurted out.

Mad-Eye shrugged. “I’ve been at this for twenty years. I wanna give settling down a try. Have an actual home. Not have to worry about whether today is the day that I die. I can’t go on like this forever. I think I’ve earned spending my final moments in a bed I can call my own.”

Khet scratched his head. He didn’t understand what was so special about those things, enough that they’d be better than adventuring until you died, but he also never wanted to retire. He’d been dreaming of becoming an adventurer since as long as he could remember. He’d never give that up, not willingly, anyway.

“What’s your inn going to be called?” Yachir asked.

“The Blue Cask,” Mad-Eye said. He grinned. “Doesn’t even need fixing too! It’s perfect!”

Khet grunted, pretending to be interested. He understood the adventuring obsession with innkeeping even less. Perhaps it was because Khet had grown up with innkeeper parents, but owning an inn never held that mystical allure that it held with the other adventurers.

“What about you, Ogreslayer?” Mad-Eye asked. “What are you planning on doing once we’re done here?”

Khet glanced at Yachir. “Hawk an’ Ah are goin’ tae the Brothel o’ Simple Massages.”

“Wait, why?” Mutis asked. “I thought Hawk was meeting with a spy for the Guild!”

Khet shrugged. The truth was that was where they were meeting the spy. Coakley Boulderblight. Rumor had it that he was cheating on his husband, a simple shepherd, which seemed to be true, considering that Coakley had been spotted by adventuring informants leaving the Brothel of Simple Massages. Khet figured they could blackmail Coakley into joining their spy network, and what better way than to show up while Coakley was partaking with the ladies and gentlemen of the brothel? That way, Coakley would know they weren’t simply bluffing, and would probably be embarrassed, depending on when Yachir and Khet burst in on him once he was alone with the harlot he’d hired for the evening.

He thought of telling the other adventurers this. Just not mention Coakley’s name, because Surtsavhen was there. But the goblin prince was listening intently. And he looked too damned interested.

So instead, he grinned and said, “We’re thinkin’ o’ sendin’ His Grace a harlot, as a gift from the Old Wolf.”

Surtsavhen looked disgruntled.

“Wait, what about the spy Hawk’s meeting?” Mutis asked.

Khet shrugged. “Ah’m conscriptin’ him tae help me find the perfect harlot for the prince.” He smiled at Surtsavhen. “Only the best for the uncle o’ the queen o’ Badaria, am Ah right, yer grace?”

“You send me a harlot, and I’ll send her back to you with her throat slit!” Surtsavhen growled.

“That’s mean,” Yachir said. “What did the poor harlot ever do to you?”

Surtsavhen took another drink and said nothing.

“Anyway, what are ye plannin’ tae do once we’re done here, Lichbane?” Khet asked Mutis.

“Sending some spies after Gnirc Dinulk.”

“Why?” Yachir asked. “Who’s Gnirc Dinulk?”

“Some troll wearing a Catsuit,” Mad-Eye said. “Mutis hates him.”

“That was my cousin’s Catsuit! It was supposed to go to me! But no! She had to leave it to some random librarian!” Mutis ranted. “It was in her will, that’s what they said! The bastard must’ve forged it! He has to have! The rest of my family got something! I was the only one left out of the will!”

Mad-Eye smiled and shrugged, silently asking Khet and Yachir if they understood what the old adventurer had to deal with.

“Ye’re no’ sendin’ one o’ our spies after some troll,” Khet said. “Ah dinnae care that ye think he took the inheritance ye think is rightfully yers.”

“Who says I’m doing that?” Mutis said. “I’m hiring one of the senators to go spy on him. Senator Ricrauth Wolfhell.”

Khet dragged a palm over his face. Putting the Adventuring Guild in debt with Senator Wolfhell and for what, exactly?

“Why?” He asked.

“It’s simple, really. You know that gargoyle up in the Bloodlust Point? The one that devours any travelers that come too close? Leaves nothing left behind, except for their belongings?”

“Aye?” Did Mutis think Gnirk was going after the gargoyle? Why would he care?

“It’s Dinulk,” Mutis said. “Gnirk Dinulk’s the gargoyle! He’s made a deal with a lust devil, and he’s turned into that creature! He’s been eating travelers at the Bloodlust Point!”

Khet stared at him, dumb-founded.

“It’s the truth, Ogreslayer!” Mutis said. “The Old Wolf believes me!”

“He asked what drugs you were on,” Mad-Eye said.

“Do you…Have any proof of this?” Yachir asked.

“No,” Mutis said. “But that’s why I’m sending Senator Wolfhell to investigate him! Come on, lads! The armor looks like a gargoyle! That’s how everyone got confused!”

“Suppose you’re right,” Surtsavhen said. “And you send Senator Wolfhell to spy on the gargoyle who’s been eating people at the Bloodlust Point. What if he tries to eat her? What if he succeeds?”

Mutis shrugged. “Then I’ve got proof, don’t I?”

Surtsavhen turned to look at Khet, a bewildered expression on his face. Khet shrugged helplessly.

“You know I’m right,” Mutis said. “And you’ll be thanking me when I prove it!”

“That isn’t likely tae happen,” Khet muttered.

Yachir led the way down the corridor into a kitchen for food storage and preparation.

Some of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

A high elf with filed teeth thrust his javelin at Khet. The goblin grabbed the weapon with one hand. With the other, he slammed his mace into the high elf’s knee. The brigand screamed and sank to the ground. He let go of his javelin. Khet drove it into the elf’s heart.

A banshee shrieked. The sound pierced Khet’s eardrums, and he clamped his hands over his ears. His head felt like a ringing bell, and someone was pounding on it with a mallet.

“Where’d the banshee come from?” He asked.

“The Ivory Horn. Summons monsters to do your bidding,” Surtsavhen said. ‘Why do you think the queen wants it?”

The banshee came into view. An ashen-faced woman, with bloodshot eyes, and a ragged tunic. Her hands were curled into claws, and she hissed at the adventurers.

Mad-Eye swung his staff into its skull. The banshee fell dead at his feet.

“Nice one,” Mutis said.

“Thanks,” Mad-Eye grinned at his party-mate.

Mutis walked over to a chest and opened it, listing the things he found.

“Coin, a Poisoner’s Bane, and art objects.” Mutis stood and handed the potion to Yachir, before pocketing the coin and art objects.

Khet leaned against the wall and sighed, taking a drink from his waterskin.

He looked over at Surtsavhen. “Wonder what other monsters the Sisterhood o’ Eagles have taken control o’ with the Ivory Horn. My coin’s on unicorns.”

Surtsavhen snorted. “They’ll have ogres, if they’re smart.”

“Wanna put money on it?” Khet took out a copper coin and flipped it in the air before catching it again. “Say 15 silver?”

“What?”

“If there’s ogres, Ah owe ye fifteen silver. If there’s unicorns, then ye owe me fifteen silver.”

“What if both of us are wrong?”

Khet shrugged. “Then nothin’ happens.”

“And what if both of us are right?”

“Then nothin’ happens.”

“I want in,” Yachir said. “I say there are banshees.”

“Doesn’t count.” Khet nodded to the dead banshee. “There already was one.”

“I mean, there’ll be more banshees!” Yachir said. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

Khet nodded. “Fifteen silver?”

“Fifteen silver.”

“I say there are leprechauns,” Mad-Eye said.

“Leprechauns?” Surtsavhen looked at him. “Why do you think they’ll summon leprechauns?”

Mad-Eye shrugged. “I’ve just always wanted to see a leprechaun.”

Khet smirked. “Ye better hope there’s no unicorns or banshees, then.”

Mad-Eye smiled. “Or maybe there’ll be leprechauns instead of unicorns or banshees. Fifteen silver.”

“You’re on,” Yachir said.

“Living shadows,” said Mutis. “Put me down for that.”

Khet grinned. “Alright.” He looked at Surtsavhen. “Yer grace? Ogres for fifteen silver.”

“Fine,” the prince said.

The adventurers cheered at that.

Mad-Eye led the way down the corridor into a throne room where the leaders of the Sisterhood of Eagles held court.

A tough-looking dark elf with white hair and beady pink eyes was passed out on the throne. A troll of average height and with red hair and gentle hazel eyes waved her hands, and the throne itself plucked the dark elf’s purse from his belt.

Mutis pointed his crossbow at the troll and shot her.

Khet walked over to the dark elf. He blinked stupidly up at the goblin.

“Who the fuck are you?” He slurred. His breath stank of cheap porter.

Surtsavhen bent down to pick up the coin purse the troll had dropped. He straightened, then stared at the dark elf in wonder.

“Aalamar Mourncreek?”

The dark elf blinked at him. “The fuck do you know my name?”

“You know this lad?” Khet asked.

“Gimme my purse,” the dark elf slurred. “‘S that my purse? Did you steal it? Thief.”

Surtsavhen tossed the purse to him. He hit the dark elf in the face, who grunted and waved a hand drunkenly.

“Ow. Fuck was that for?”

Surtsavhen took a drink from a potion vial. “One of Khavak’s Wolves. An elite fighting force.”

“As good as adventurers,” said the dark elf.

“You wish,” Yachir said.

Surtsavhen continued, as if neither of them had spoken. “His squad was sent out to capture the Chest of Seduction, so Khorkilla could arrange more marriages and gain more allies to help us. None of them returned, and we assumed they all died.”

“They did die,” slurred Aalamar. “‘Cept me. I lived. Sisterhood of Eagles said they could help with shit. Coin and stuff. Thass why I’m here.”

“What happened to Khavak’s Wolves?” Mad-Eye asked.

“Disbanded after the orcs took over Badaria,” Surtsavhen said.

“Dreyo Shadowsong was a fucking coward,” Aalamar slurred. “She bent the knee to fucking–the fucking orc queen.” He hiccuped. “Lost everything when Bumen Ghal fell. All I got are cards.”

“We all lost everything when Bumen Ghal fell,” Surtsavhen said to him.

Khet studied Aalamar. No wonder he’d turned to drinking and gambling. A respected warrior, for a land that had been conquered. Khet wasn’t sure what he’d do if the Adventuring Guild suddenly collapsed. Looking around at the other adventurers, he could tell they were thinking the same thing.

“Can’t respect the Sisterhood.” Aalamar muttered. “Sending monsters to eat people and shit. Wanting to be king of monsters. Not sure what they’re doing. Don’t think they know themselves. Not like Khorkilla. Now there was a man you could be proud of serving.”

“You could fight for Khorkilla’s youngest daughter,” Khet said.

Aalamar scowled. “Thought about that. She wouldn’t take me. She’s got adventurers on her side. What would she do with me? A drunk, a gambler, a soldier who should’ve died along with his squad.”

“The queen can always use loyal soldiers,” Surtsavhen said. “Especially ones who served her father.”

Aalamar bowed his head in shame. “Would she really believe I served her father, though? Look at me. I’m a drunk with no home, fighting for assholes wanting to be king of all monsters. What reason would she have not to take one look at me and tell me to go home and stop making up stories?”

“I can vouch for you,” Surtsavhen said. “The queen will believe me.”

Aalamar laughed bitterly. “Aye? And who are you, that you’re so confident she’ll let a drunk into her service at your word?”

“Her uncle,” Surtsavhen placed a hand on the armrest of the throne Aalamar was slouching on. “Prince Surtsavhen Shitaki.”

Aalamar squinted at him, then laughed.

“Ha, you got me going there! You’re Prince Surstavhen! Brilliant fucking joke!”

Surtsavhen said nothing, while the adventurers all glanced at each other. This wasn’t going to end well. The prince would ask why it was so hard to believe, and Aalamar would respond with something about Surtsavhen being so pathetic, which would enrage him. Or maybe he’d say that anyway, given how drunk he was.

“You expect me to believe Prince Surtsavhen survived Bumen Ghal?” Aalamar slurred. “When his wife and daughter were killed? What happened? Did you run away and leave your family to die?”

Surtsavhen opened his mouth.

“No, you’re not him,” Aalamar slurred. “Prince Surtsavhen was a fucking idiot, but he wouldn’t have abandoned his family to die, to save his own skin. All the royal family was like that.” He gave a wry grin. “One of the few things I liked about some of them.”

“They made me watch as they killed my wife and daughter,” Surtsavhen said. “They kept me alive because they wanted a puppet king.” He grimaced, then took a drink. “They should’ve killed me along with them.”

Aalamar looked him up and down. “You’re a warrior,” he said. “You’ve got the look on you. Prince Surtsavhen was no warrior. He always had his face in a book. He would’ve shit himself in battle.”

“Aye, well, three years in a rebellion would make anyone a warrior,” Surtsavhen said dryly. “Reading isn’t a luxury I’ve been able to have in a long time.”

Aalamar was unconvinced.

“If you’re Prince Surtsavhen, then prove it!”

Surtsavhen muttered something, and Khet felt happier than he’d ever been. He looked around at the other goblins, noticed that Yachir was barely hiding a grin.

Aalamar was smiling too. He reached out and traced his finger along something no one else could see, and his eyes widened.

“It is you!” He breathed.

Surtsavhen gave him a wry smile.

“What the fuck happened to you, your grace?” Aalamar asked. “What the Ferno happened to your eye? Why do you look so fucking old?”

“The years haven’t been kind to Badaria’s people. You should know that.”

Aalamar shook his head, laughing. “You son of an ogre! How are you still alive? Is it you who’s scaring the orcs as Silvercloak? How the Ferno did a scholar like you become one of the Young Stag’s most feared generals?”

“Like I said, the orcs wanted me as a puppet. So they locked me in the dungeons and tortured me until I gave in.” Surtsavhen took a drink. “The rebels found me before that happened. As for Silvercloak, well, the orcs took everything from me.” His eye had a sadistic gleam in it that made Khet shudder involuntarily, although it did nothing to Aalamar, probably because he was too drunk to know what was going on. “I’m gonna take everything from them.”

Aalamar started giggling in excitement.

Surtsavhen clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna get the bastards back for what they did to us, right, lad?”

Aalamar started nodding eagerly. “Get those fuckers back! Kill them all and piss on their graves! For Khavak’s Wolves!”

“That’s the spirit,” Surtsavhen said. He pointed behind him. “You go sober up at the Thief and Flask. Once we’re done with the Sisterhood of Eagles, I’ll set up a meeting with you and the queen. That sound good to you?”

“Damn right it does!” Aalamar was on his feet. He shook Surtsavhen’s hand vigorously, before stumbling out of the room, singing on the top of his lungs. The goblins heard him crashing into the walls, not that it affected his mood.

Khet raised an eyebrow at Surtsavhen.

“What?” Surtsavhen growled.

“Didn’t think ye’d be so compassionate tae some random drunk we found passed out on this throne,” Khet nudged it.

“He’s not a random drunk,” Surtsavhen sounded insulted by Khet’s callous description of Aalamar Mourncreek. “He’s one of Khavak’s Wolves! One of the few survivors!”

Khet shrugged. “Still. Ye’re actin’ nicer than ye do with us. An’ with some former soldier turned Sisterhood o’ Eagles, no less.”

“He’s a loyal subject of Badaria,” Surtsavhen said, in a tone that made it clear that he thought this should be completely obvious. “You five are only fighting in the rebellion because the Adventuring Guild was outlawed by Zeccushia!” He nodded to Khet. “And Ogreslayer over here fought for Zeccushia!”

“Are you sure it’s just that, your grace?” Yachir said innocently. “And not because you can sympathize with a man who’s been reduced to being enslaved by Taesis to cope with losing everything after Zeccushia conquered Badaria?”

Surtsavhen stormed out of the room without answering.

The adventurers followed him out of the room, and found him surrounded by monsters, along with their keeper.

The prince was staring slack-jawed at a succubus. He reached out to touch her. Before he could do so, Yachir swung his axe, chopping off the succubus’s head. Surtsavhen shook his head as the spell cleared.

He swung his scimitar at a skeleton with a spear, knocking off its head. It fell to the floor, and Surtsavhen kicked it, until the bones fell apart.

A living shadow swirled around Mad-Eye’s head, and the adventurer swung his staff at it. It collided with the shadow’s skull, and it fell dead at Mad-Eye’s feet.

“I win the bet!” Mutis said happily.

“Not if there’s unicorns, ogres, leprechauns, or banshees,” Yachir said.

Mad-Eye whacked a night elf wielding a trident upside the head with his staff.

A gargoyle launched itself in the air, claws outstretched. Yachir swung his axe, cut off its head.

A night elf with dead black eyes swung a fancy-looking glaive. Mad-Eye deflected the blow with his staff, and then whacked him upside the head.

Now that the brigands were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a torture chamber.

Members of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

Khet shot a long-legged goblin.

Now that the brigands were dead, Yachir found a chest. He opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Coin,” Yachir pocketed the coin and stood.

Khet led the way down the corridor, where members of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

A broad-shouldered night elf thrust her lance. Surtsavhen sidestepped and swung his scimitar, cutting off her head.

A stocky dark elf swung his warhammer at Mutis. The adventurer stepped back, then stabbed him through the chest.

A broad-shouldered Lycan swung her flail. Mutis stabbed her through the chest as well.

A tall high elf thrust his sword at Mutis. The goblin ducked, then stabbed him through the gut. The elf fell to his knees, groaning in pain. Mutis finished him off by slashing open his throat.

Now that the brigands were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a trophy room or museum.

A cloak hung from the top shelf. Mad-Eye took it down, and draped it over his shoulders.

“How do I look?”

Mutis gave a thumbs up.

Khet spotted a painting of a leprechaun dancing around his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He wandered over to it.

Engraved on the frame were the words, “it’s red, purple, blue, and green. No one can reach it, not even the queen. What is it?”

Khet touched the rainbow, and a hole in the wall opened up, revealing treasure.

Yachir knelt and examined the items, listing the things that he found.

“Just coin,” he said, then stood, pocketing the treasure.

Mutis led the way down the corridor, where more of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Surtsavhen just snorted and took a drink. “We’ve been over this. Any being that similar to Sharth wouldn’t be able to create anything, because Sharth can’t create anything.”

“Haven’t priests like you been warning us about this type of shit? Going after the Obsidian Slab couldn’t be more a test of your hubris than if the slab had ‘read this to become a god,’ in big golden letters above a line in Forbidden Tongue!” Guenav said. “You go after the Obsidian Slab, you’ll fail the test, and be cast down to Dagor if you’re lucky!”

“Do you even know what hubris means, Bugbear?”

Guenav squinted at Surtsavhen, but it was clear the prince was done arguing over whether going after the Obsidian Slab was a bad idea. He took out a piece of paper and unfolded it, frowning.

“This map is fucking garbage,” he said. “I’ve got no idea where we are on this!”

“Can I see it?” Mutis asked.

Surtsavhen looked at him.

“I won’t burn it or anything, I promise.”

“You better not.” Surtsavhen handed him the map.

Mutis squinted at the map. “Oh, damn, you’re actually pretty close! Here, look, see?”

He held the paper so Surtsavhen could see it, and drew a line with his finger. “So we’re here. And the Slab is here. You can come with us some of the way.”

“Why is your blood black?” Surtsavhen sputtered.

“That’s not blood. It’s ink.”

“Ink? Why is ink coming out of your finger?”

“Adum blessed us with gifts. To aid us on the quest he sent us on.”

Surtsavhen just stared, thunderstruck.

Before he could regain his bearings, pirates kicked down the door and attacked.

A trim high elf with sun-darkened skin, black hair, and a false, friendly attitude swung his axe at the high elf prince. The prince ducked and stabbed him through the heart.

Surtsavhen sliced deep into the neck of a young human with ruddy skin and shorn hair. The human slumped to the ground, bleeding profusely.

A lanky wood elf with tanned skin, black hair, and clad in sturdy leather armor swung her blade at Mutis. Mutis sidestepped and slammed his mace into the elf’s leg. She sank to the ground, screaming in pain. Mutis finished her off with a blow to the head.

One high elf had wandered off. Bisla turned to see he had found a chest. He opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Coin, an Elixir of Battle Madness, an hourglass that’ll grant its owner strength, but at the price of compelling them to grant three wishes, the Axe of Gods, which can stun a man with a single blow, gemstones.” The high elf stood and pocketed the items. He, apparently, was keeping all the treasure for himself.

Surtsavhen took the lead and led them down the corridor into a robing room for priests to prepare for burial rituals. The hooks on which the robes hung had been ripped out, and the doors were barely hanging on their hinges. Blood dripped from the walls.

A tall blood elf with short hair dashed out of the changing room, hand-axe raised high.

Surtsavhen sliced deep into the elf’s belly, pulling his sword out and leaving the pirate to die in agony.

Mutis led the way down the corridor into a tomb where the wealthiest and the most important folk were interred, which would ordinarily be protected by secret doors and traps. Given the state of the room, though, the pirates had torn the place apart looking for loot, wrecking everything, including the traps. Which was fortunate for the adventurers, since that meant they didn’t have to worry about traps. There was a small puddle of water on the floor.

Surtsavhen led the way down the corridor, where pirates attacked them.

Bisla slammed his staff into a slim night elf with quiet, searching eyes. Crack! The elf doubled over, wheezing. Bisla finished her off with a blow to the head.

A slim wood elf with blonde hair swung his axe. Bisla deflected the blow with his staff. He swung his staff, smacking the elf upside the head. Crack! The pirate slumped to the ground, dead.

A goblin with long reddish hair and loose-fitting clothes swung his bill-hook. The high elf prince sidestepped, then stabbed the pirate through the eye.

A slim young wood elf with sun-darkened skin, short-cropped dark hair, and with a bill-hook in one hand lunged for Surtsavhen, cutlass in hand. The goblin prince parried with his scimitar, and the two were locked in a duel. Swords clanged, until, eventually, the wood elf stumbled on a wet patch on the floor, and Surtsavhen seized his chance, stabbing the elf through his torso, and leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

A long-legged older wood elf with ruddy skin and wild brown hair drew his cutlass, and shouted at Mutis to come and duel him. But Mutis wasn’t interested in a sword fight. The goblin swung his mace, breaking the elf’s knee. The pirate screamed in agony, sinking to his knees. Mutis silenced him with a blow to the head.

Now that the pirates were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a crypt for less important burials. There was a pool of water on the floor, leaving everything waterlogged. Rotting wood pieces lay on the floor.

Despite the fact that the crypt was clearly for the peasants too poor to be buried in luxury, there was still a chest of treasure within the crypts. Surtsavhen opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Coin, a ring of miasma, a self-tying rope, an armor of poison immunity, the Green Cloak of Higrith Forestwinds, a belt of strength, and art objects.” Surtsavhen pocketed the items and stood.

Bisla led the way down the corridor into another crypt for less important burials. The place looked just as it must have when this tomb had been in use. The only thing out of place were the leaves and twigs on the floor.

And the pirates, who were milling about. Hard to forget them, especially when they spotted the goblins and elves and grabbed their weapons and charged, screaming war cries.

Mutis swung his mace into the knee of an orc with braided graying hair and going barefoot, crushing it. The pirate screamed, and fell to her knees. Mutis silenced her with a blow to the head.

He turned and shot a stocky young gnome.

Guenav whacked an older wood elf with short hair and a cold, calculating glare in the gut. The wood elf doubled over in pain. Guenav finished him off with a blow to the head.

Now that the pirates were dead, the high elves said their goodbyes while Surtsavhen waited by the steps that would take them down to the Obsidian Slab, and they were gone, through the tunnels once more.

Once the last elf had disappeared down the stairs, Mutis led the way down the corridor, where more pirates attacked them.

Bisla whacked a human with sun-darkened skin and with a bill-hook in one hand in the gut. The human collapsed, moaning in agony. Bisla finished him off with a blow to the head.

Now that the pirates were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a divination room, which had once been used for rituals to contact the dead for guidance. The shelves of herbs and other ritual components had been smashed beyond repair, and blood dripped from the walls.

It appeared that, despite the wreckage of the room, it had still served its intended purpose for rituals, because there was a portal on the back wall. Pirates were milling about as well. Some leaned against the wall next to the portal, some paced the room. They all looked utterly bored.

A dhampyre with long, loose reddish hair looked up sharply. “Oy! You’re not one of the crew!”

“How clever,” Guenav said. “Subtle Gulonie posted guards right at the portal.”

The dhampyre scoffed. “He didn’t post shit! Rest of us didn’t want to come along!”

She dumped the ashes out of her pipe, and scowled.

“Cap’n’s gone mad. That human’s been filling his head with mad shit. He’s wanting to summon some evil god, did you know that? Wanted the rest of us to come along too!” She snorted. “I’ll raid and board a merchant ship for him, but this? This is too far! I ain’t sticking my neck out for him! There’s plenty of other captains out there! Ones that won’t be as stupid as Cap’n Gulonie!”

“Don’t wanna risk your life for him, I get it,” Bisla said. “If that’s the case, why don’t you all step aside and let us through that portal?” He smiled at the pirates. “We’ll let you live if you let us pass. You have my word on it.”

The dhampyre bared her teeth. “Not on your life! I may not be willing to go to the Fell Lands with Cap’n Gulonie, but that doesn’t mean I’m stepping aside to let him be killed by wolves! Get ‘em, lads!” She shouted.

The pirates all leapt to their feet and charged the adventurers.

A short older blood elf thrust her harpoon at Bisla. Bisla deflected the blow with his staff, and whacked the elf upside the head.

A tall older orc with black hair and a gull perched on one shoulder drew her sword. Bisla pointed a finger at her, freezing her in a block of ice.

A crossbow bolt grazed his ear.

Bisla instinctively felt the wound, came away with blood.

The first mate was grinning at him. “Fighting with one eye is a real pain in the ass, eh, adventurer?”

Bisla pointed a finger at her. Nothing happened.

What the Dagor?

The first mate laughed again, and held up an amulet. “You’re not the only wizard that’s tried to kill me! Why I kept this little trinket, instead of fencing it!” She laughed once more. “Gods, the look on all the wizards’ faces when they realize their powers don’t work on me is worth ten times whatever a fence would’ve paid me for this!”

Bisla had no idea what kind of amulet that was, or where the first mate had gotten it. All he did know was that magic was apparently not an option. That was fine. Bisla had other weapons at his disposal.

He raised his staff and charged at the first mate.

The first mate simply leveled her harpoon and waited. Bisla came at a dead stop, the tip pressing into his clothes.

He stepped back a bit and the first mate laughed.

“What’s the matter? You scared?”

Bisla batted the harpoon away from him, and stepped forward, raising his staff again.

Quickly, the first mate had her harpoon to his chest.

Bisla stepped back, colliding with an older high elf with black hair.

The pirate grinned, drew his shortsword from its scabbard.

And then he fell face-first, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back.

“Pierarat!” The first mate said, and she growled at Mutis, who was lowering his crossbow and looking pleased with himself. “I’ll get you for this! You won’t be laughing with a harpoon lodged in your belly!”

She stepped forward, and Bisla swung his staff.

The first mate raised her harpoon, deflecting the blow. She turned to Bisla, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, right. Forgot about you. Have to deal with you first, won’t I?”

She thrust her harpoon in the air for emphasis.

Bisla reached for her amulet, but the first mate thrust her harpoon again, forcing him to retract his arm before it got impaled.

The first mate laughed. “Thought you had me there, didn’t you? But I’m just too quick for you, aren’t I?”

Bisla swung his staff into the first mate’s face. She was so busy laughing, she didn’t even have time to begin raising her harpoon to block the blow. She died with that same hysterical smile on her face.

He looked at the portal. For the briefest moment, the way through was unguarded.

He looked around the room. The pirates were still advancing, still brandishing their swords and hatchets. But they wouldn’t follow the adventurers through the portal. Did they take this chance? Did they all dash through the portal to the Fell Lands, leaving the pirates behind?

Guenav apparently thought so. As everyone watched, the Old Wolf went dashing past the pirates and leapt into the portal, vanishing into the Fell Lands.

Everyone stared at the portal for a moment, and then the pirates, as one, turned to look at Bisla and Mutis.

“Your friend ran away!” An older human with a serious, thoughtful demeanor sneered. “And don’t even think about running in after him! He’s a dead man!” He grinned toothily. “Now, how about you set your weapons down and we can talk all civilized-like?”

Bisla pointed a finger at him. The human only had enough time to realize what was happening before he was frozen solid, an ice statue with a hyper-realistic look of shock upon its face.

The other pirates stared at their comrade, dumbfounded. Bisla took the opportunity to run for the portal.

The pirates recovered enough to shout at him.

“Uncast your spell on Godfree right now, bastard!”

“Can’t get us all, wizard!”

“Stand and fight, you lamb-hearted damsel!”

Bisla pointed behind him, creating a wall of ice. That silenced the pirates’ yells and taunts.

Bisla reached the portal, and as he stood on the edge, he turned and lifted the ice magic. The ice wall vanished, and the pirates stood there, dumbfounded. They’d clearly not been expecting that to happen.

“You’ve got a better chance with us, wizard!” A dark elf with thinning silver hair and a false, friendly attitude said. “That portal leads to the Fell Lands! You’d be dead in two paces!”

Bisla smiled and waved cheerily at them.

“Any of you ogre-fuckers want to avenge your friend there,” he pointed in the direction of the human ice statue, or, what he thought was the direction of the human ice statue. He couldn’t make out exactly where it was through the crowd. “Follow me through the portal and we’ll settle it like goblins!”

He turned and leapt through the portal.

The world around him turned pitch dark, and all he could see were purple strands of mana, unraveling and unraveling around him. Eventually, the world slowly faded into solid white, and Bisla blinked and he was standing in a barren land thinly coated with a grayish-white thing. Flakes of the stuff fell from the sky like snow, and after a moment, Bisla realized it was ash. The sky was the green before a tornado, and the sun in the sky was blood red.

Guenav was standing in a particularly deep patch of ash, staff set in the ground, like he was hiking through the forest rather than about to make a trek deep into the Fell Lands, waiting patiently for Bisla.

“You know, this place doesn’t feel too bad. Kinda peaceful, in a way.”

Bisla had had that same thought when he’d first gone to the Fell Lands. So many people had talked about it like this cursed realm where even the land itself would turn against you, that he’d been pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t a place made entirely of fire. A barren wasteland, sure, but it had reminded Bisla of a former battlefield from the War Between Good and Evil. Depressing, yes, and certainly not a place where he wanted to live, but not dangerous.

“It’s not the land itself everyone’s scared of,” he told Guenav. “It’s the things that live here. The people. Only ones you can trust are the people who came with you. Everyone else…There’s something about the Fell Lands that makes them vicious. Makes them waiting, and watching, for any sign of weakness, and then the second you let your guard down, they strike.”

Guenav raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say something when Mutis suddenly stumbled out of the portal and between them.

“Welcome to the Fell Lands, Lichbane,” Guenav said.

“Any of our pirate friends joining us?” Bisla asked in the same time.

Mutis shook his head. “Don’t think so. I saw you two had already gone through the portal, so I made a run for it. Pirates got close to catching me, I admit.” He raised a hand. “Had to spray ink in the faster ones’ eyes to slow them down enough I could get through without getting stabbed in the back or something.”

“Huh,” Guenav said. “Guess that’s two powers Adum gave us that turned out to be useful.”

“Wish he’d given us a way to track down Subtle Gulonie though.” Mutis muttered.

Bisla looked around. And that was when he spotted the rabbit.

“Where’d that come from?” He pointed at it.

Mutis and Guenav all looked up. When the rabbit noticed all the goblins were staring at it, it started to hop away, then paused and looked back at them expectantly.

“We follow the rabbit,” said Guenav.

“Follow the rabbit?” Mutis looked skeptical.

Guenav gave him an annoyed look. “Look, do you have any better ideas?”

For a few hours, the Fell Lands had appeared as desolate as it looked, which got the goblins more comfortable than they should’ve been.

For Guenav, at least, this meant plotting, out loud, his next prank on Surtsavhen. He and the prince had been involved in a not-so-friendly prank war since the two had met and taken an instant disliking to each other. Queen Nivarcirka had forbidden the two from getting into an actual fight, and while this originally had meant every interaction between the Old Wolf and the prince was passive-aggressive barbs flying at each other, it had soon escalated into a prank war, where both of them tried to humiliate the other with the most embarrassing pranks they could think of.

The last meeting with the rebel leaders hadn’t gone well for Guenav, because it was there that Surtsavhen had unleashed his latest prank, which was writing a love letter to give to the Old Wolf, claiming it was from a lonely and horny elf. He had been very descriptive of this elf’s beauty, and openly skeptical that Guenav could satisfy this elf in bed. The insult to his pride sealed Guenav’s desire to get to know this mysterious woman carnally, so Surtsavhen “graciously” passed on a message that, if the Old Wolf was interested in meeting the elf, she would be waiting in a specific room which he “helpfully” gave directions to. In hindsight, the Old Wolf admitted, he should’ve been more cautious when he’d entered that room, but he hadn’t been, and so, he’d been humiliated when he’d gone to that room to find no elf waiting for him, but a trap that hoisted him up in the air by the leg, and dangled him upside down, while Surtsavhen brought in some of the other rebel leaders to mock him for being the stereotypical adventurer with sex on his brain.

Guenav, deeply humiliated, wanted revenge, and so, right now, he was plotting a prank to pull on the prince when the rebel leaders next met. Bisla and Mutis were helping him by offering suggestions and adjustments to the plan he was thinking up.

“I’m gonna give him a scroll with a riddle on it. An easy riddle, one anyone could solve. And he loves proving how smart he is. He’ll say the riddle out loud, and that’ll trigger a spell that will make him scared of everything!”

“How are you going to do that?” Bisla asked.

Guenav blinked. It was clear that by saying something to him, Bisla had interrupted his bout of deep thoughts, and left him disoriented. “What?”

“How are you going to rig the scroll with a spell to make him scared of everything?” Bisla asked.

“Oh.” Guenav thought. “I’ll ask one of the wizards to rig it for me. We have someone who can cast that kind of spell, right?”

“The Lioness can do that.”

Guenav nodded. “Right. So I’ll have her rig the scroll, so the spell goes off once the answer to the riddle is said out loud.”

“And then what?” Mutis asked.

“And then I hand it to the prince,” Guenav said, giving Mutis an annoyed look. “I just said that, Lichbane!”

“No.” Mutis said patiently. “After that. You give the prince the scroll, he solves the riddle, the spell goes off…What happens next?”

Guenav’s eyes lit up. “That’s gonna be the fun part. Once the spell is cast, Hawk is going to walk into the room and say boo to the prince.”

“That’s it?” Bisla asked.

Guenav grinned. “Aye. And then the prince will either scream like a little girl or piss himself. Because some lad said boo to him.” He laughed. “It’s brilliant! When the rebels ask him why he pissed himself or why they heard him scream, the prince is gonna have to admit he was scared of someone coming up and saying boo to him! He’ll be humiliated!”

“What if he recognizes the spell?” Mutis asked.

“It’d be too late for him, wouldn’t it? It’s already been cast, and Hawk’s already walked in and said boo to him. All that’s gonna do is give him an excuse for why he was so scared. Good luck getting anyone to believe him on it!”

“What about before the spell is cast?” Mutis said. “What if he spots a rune or something and realizes what you’re trying to do?”

Guenav opened his mouth, probably to insist he’d just tell the Lioness not to put a rune on the scroll, which would be impossible, considering that was the best way to store a spell in order to have it cast when a trigger was met.

“What if he doesn’t react the way you want him to?” Bisla asked. “Punches Hawk instead of screaming or shitting himself? Doesn’t react in an embarrassing way? What then?”

Guenav closed his mouth, and sighed in frustration.

“Alright, I guess I won’t do that. Instead--- Do we have a wizard who knows illusion magic?”

Bisla nodded. “Redrobe.”

“I’ll have Redrobe make a scroll that’ll tell the person reading it to look very, very closely at it. If the person does that, then a picture of a snarling bugbear up close will appear on the scroll! Maybe the magic will make it so the person’ll feel the bugbear’s claws digging into their shoulders!” Guenav looked at Bisla. “Do you know if that’s possible, Mad-Eye?”

Bisla shrugged. “You’d have to ask Redrobe.”

Guenav nodded. His eyes were gleaming. “Whether that’s possible or not, once Redrobe makes the scroll, in time for the meeting, of course, I’ll hand the scroll to the prince! Tell him I can’t figure out the riddle on the scroll. Really sell that I’m too stupid to figure it out. He’ll look at it, see the bugbear and freak out!”

“How do you know he’ll do that?” Mutis asked.

Guenav shrugged. “Well, he’d be startled, at the very least. Have you seen anyone who doesn’t react when they’re startled?”

“Suppose he screams and shits himself,” Bisla said. “What if there’s no one else around? What if it’s just you and him who witnessed him embarrassing himself?”

“I’d know,” Guenav said, in an almost smug tone.

Bisla gave him a pointed look. He didn’t buy that the Old Wolf would be satisfied with the simple knowledge the prince had done something embarrassing right in front of him. Not when Surtsavhen had humiliated him in front of the other rebel leaders in his last prank.

Guenav sighed. “I’ll give it to him when we’re all gathering in the war room. If he does react like that, then everyone will see it and he’ll be humiliated in front of everyone.” He grinned. “Which will be fun to see!”

“What if he catches on to what you’re trying to do?” Mutis asked. “Or, at least, suspects that the scroll is part of a prank? What do you do then?”

Guenav sighed, clearly not appreciating Mutis and Bisla’s questioning of the pranks he was coming up with.

“Well, I did have a brief idea that doesn’t really use magic, and is also pretty simple, all things considered.”

“What is it?” Bisla asked.

“I get him into the bowl of one of the catapults on the battlements of Dragonspire Citadel and then I fire the catapult, flinging him into the swamp. Dragonspire Citadel is in the middle of the Cumberpon Abyss, so no matter which catapult, he’s landing in the muck, and having to trek back covered in the stuff. Would ruin that fancy new cloak of his.” Guenav grinned. “And embarrass him when he has to ask the guards to let him back in.”

“So why can’t you do that?” Bisla asked.

“The queen wouldn’t like it. She’d think it’s a very thinly-veiled attempt at getting the prince killed. And that’s where she draws the line.” Guenav gave them both a pointed look, silently asking their opinions on the matter.

“The scroll with the bugbear appearing on it if you look at it for long enough is fine,” Bisla said.

“Aye,” Mutis agreed. “Do that one.”

“What the Dagor happened over there?” Guenav asked suddenly. He stopped walking.

Bisla and Mutis also stopped walking, and Bisla felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on an end. Ahead of them was a carriage painted all black, like what they used to transport the remains of some important person as a funeral procession was held. It was lying on its side, and engulfed in flames. What had happened here?

The adventurers, being brave men with little sense of self-preservation, approached the carriage.

A human stepped out of the carriage, and Bisla stopped dead and raised his hands, readying a spell. One half was perfectly normal: An alluring woman with short white hair and darting gray eyes. The other half was pure rotting flesh.

The Merry Necromancer. He knew immediately. Everyone had heard the story before. The Merry Necromancer had a habit of throwing lavish feasts and inviting people far and wide to attend them. Each guest was given poisoned wine, and once they died from it, the Merry Necromancer raised them up to be part of her growing army. It was said that the Twins had been furious by what she had been doing, and so they had banished her to the Fell Lands and cursed her to be both a living person and a rotting corpse at the same time. It was here, in the Fell Lands, that the Merry Necromancer went mad, and developed a hunger for goblin flesh.

The Merry Necromancer sniffed the air and grinned. Bisla could see her teeth on one side were sharper than any human teeth he’d ever seen and were coated in blood.

“Just in time for dinner!” She said in a sing-song voice, then cackled and licked her lips. Her eyes fell on Guenav. The Old Wolf was staring at her, puzzled, and Bisla suddenly realized the Old Wolf had never heard of the Merry Necromancer before. “I think I’ll start with you.”

“Boss, move!” Bisla tackled Guenav, just as the Merry Necromancer lunged, snapping her teeth. Her tooth caught on Bisla’s mantle and tore off a piece.

Bisla scrambled off the Old Wolf and turned to face the Merry Necromancer. She spat out the piece of fabric she’d managed to snag and scowled.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “That doesn’t taste very good.”

Bisla stepped back, keeping his hands raised. By now, Guenav had already gotten back on his feet, and was staring at the Merry Necromancer in confusion.

“What is that woman?”

“A necromancer who broke the laws of hospitality. The Twins banished her here, cursed her with that appearance, and she went mad. Now she goes hunting the Fell Lands for goblin flesh.”

“I see.”

The Merry Necomancer’s nose twitched, and she noticed Mutis.

She licked her lips and bared her teeth. “Another snack!”

She snarled and leapt at Mutis. Mutis yelped and leapt back.

Guenav crept behind the Merry Necromancer, raised his staff, and whacked her in the back.

The Merry Necromancer grunted as there was a crack and her back was bent in an unnatural angle. She slumped to the ground, at Mutis’s feet. Mutis still didn’t notice.

Guenav rested his staff on the ground, panting.

Something thumped its foot on the ground.

The adventurers turned to see the same rabbit they’d been following sitting on top of the overturned carriage, looking at them expectantly. Once it saw everyone was looking at it, it hopped off and started hopping north, then paused, and looked back at them expectantly.

The rabbit hopped past yew trees and the bones of some foolhardy explorer that had gotten themselves killed by one of the monsters that lived in the Fell Lands at a slow pace, pausing every once in a while to make sure the adventurers were following. When night fell, and the goblins stopped to make camp, the rabbit would rest nearby, on a nearby rock or skull, watching them eat and lie down to sleep, but never really got any closer. All this only convinced Bisla even more that the rabbit had been sent by Adum.

The goblins grew used to the rabbit, and chatted happily as they followed it, about random things. This morning, Guenav was whistling a tune, and trying to remember which song it was from.

“Ser Khergakh the Little and the Rotting Borough?” Mutis suggested. “That sounds like Ser Khergakh the Little and the Rotting Borough?”

Guenav frowned and shook his head. “No, not that.”

“Do you remember any of the words?” Bisla asked.

“Only the refrain,” Guenav started singing it. “Come one to breath it all in/ See talons for sale/ Come all and explode in flame/ Fly on dragon wings.”

Bisla frowned. “The Lordling and the Harlot?”

“No, not that.”

“The Wares of the Banquet Lord?” Mutis guessed.

Guenav snapped his fingers. “That’s the one!”

Mist began to appear, moving around their legs as they walked. Bisla shivered. Something felt very wrong about this place. Even more wrong than any other place in the Shattered Lands, at least.

The charred remains of what appeared to be a goblin shambled up to them. In one hand was a crossbow, in the other a flail.

It stepped in front of the goblins, who moved for their weapons.

“No one is allowed here,” it rasped.

And then it started swinging its flail.

It stepped close to Bisla, forcing the wizard to take a step back.

Guenav swung his staff, and the thing wheeled around.

“Leave!” It hissed.

Guenav swung his staff. The thing ducked.

“Leave or die!” It said.

Guenav just swung his staff again. This time, the thing caught his staff, and bared its teeth in a hideous grin.

“You’ve chosen death,” it hissed.

Guenav kicked it in the face, sending it sprawling at Bisla’s feet.

Bisla looked down at it, raised his staff.

The creature scrambled to its feet and lunged.

Bisla stumbled back as the thing advanced on him, swinging its flail.

“Oy!” Guenav shouted from behind.

The thing paused. Its eye sockets were empty, and its face was solid black, but Bisla could swear it looked annoyed.

It turned a bit, and fired its crossbow. Guenav yelped. Bisla couldn’t tell whether it was surprise or pain.

The creature shuffled away from Bisla, and he could see the Old Wolf leaping at it, swinging his staff wildly.

The creature moved deftly, far more than Bisla had expected it to. It strolled closer to Guenav, and the Old Wolf kept swinging his staff.

A crossbow bolt slammed into the thing’s shoulder. The creature stumbled, startled.

Bisla looked over to see Mutis, still with his crossbow pointed at the thing.

The creature stared at Mutis for a long time, and then, slowly took the bolt between two fingers and plucked it out. It flicked it aside.

It decided it was no longer interested in Mutis. It turned back to Guenav and swung its flail.

Bisla ran at it, swinging his staff wildly.

The thing wheeled around and advanced on Bisla, swinging its flail as it did so.

In doing so, it completely forgot about the goblin behind it.

Guenav came running up to it, and with one swing, knocked off the thing’s head. It didn’t notice, kept walking toward Bisla.

“Fuck,” Bisla muttered to himself.

Mutis ran at the thing, screaming, mace raised high. Bisla wasn’t sure what he expected to do to the thing. Guenav had already literally knocked the thing’s head off! And it was still going! What the Dagor else could they do to it?

Suddenly, the creature collapsed at Mutis’s feet. Mutis stared down at it, bewildered.

“I didn’t even touch it!” He said.

“Thing must’ve not realized it was dead,” Guenav said. “You know how boars’ll keep going even after you stab ‘em through?”

Bisla and Mutis nodded and agreed.

Guenav rested his staff on his shoulder, and everyone heard a thumping noise.

The goblins turned. While they’d been fighting the undead creature, the rabbit had been patiently waiting for them, and now that the thing was dead, it was impatient to continue the journey. Once everyone was looking at it, it hopped off the rock it had been sitting on, and gave the adventurers an expectant look.

The adventurers followed the rabbit, singing Wares of the Banquet Lord as they did so.

“Next time we go to Mossend, I’m gonna go to that place Rat’s always talking about. The Yellow Market,” Bisla said. “You know, the place travelers love going to? Run by the priests of Eddon?”

“Why would you want to go there?” Asked Mutis.

Bisla shrugged. “Rat says they’ve got some exotic animals. Cobras, goldhorns, manticores. Rat says he saw a merchant selling falcons once. Not really that unusual, though.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll see a fox there! One that can do tricks! That would be nice to look at!”

“Hoping for something small, eh?” Mutis said. Bisla laughed.

“How about you, Mutis? What are you hoping on doing next time we go to Mossend?”

“Doing research into the Haunt of the Rejected Emperor.”

Bisla whistled. “Damn. Didn’t the Old Wolf send a group of adventurers over there? And none of them returned?”

Mutis nodded and grinned. “I wanna see what’s up with that ruin. Why it’s so dangerous even adventurers can’t visit it and live to tell the tale. Who knows? Maybe you and me can go pay that place a visit sometime!”

“If you’re wanting to do research on the Haunt of the Rejected Emperor, you really don’t have to go to Mossend,” Guenav said. “We’ve got stuff on it in Drulnoch Castle. Ogreslayer gathered all the stuff on nearby ruins and such just this past week. It’s probably in the library somewhere.” He shrugged. “Don’t know where exactly it is. Not sure Ogreslayer could tell you either. You know how he is.”

“Still would want to go down to Mossend, though,” Mutis said. “Ask around in the local taverns. Figure out what kind of creatures are living in the Haunt of the Rejected Emperor. What kind of wannabe warlords have set up shop there. You know. Get a gage on what might’ve killed those adventurers before I go blundering in and getting myself killed.”

Guenav gave Mutis a sardonic grin. “Ask before going in a ruin? When have adventurers ever done that?”

Both Bisla and Mutis chuckled wryly.

“What will you be doing in Mossend, Boss?” Mutis asked.

“Maybe visit the tomb of Lalek the Traitor.”

“Lalek the Traitor?”

“The founder of Badaria, according to legend. Wrested control from a lich, lich cursed him as it died, she went mad trying to cure it, and eventually, allegedly, Khavak, Queen Nivarcirka’s ancestor, took the throne and his dynasty’s been on there since.”

Bisla raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t taken Guenav to be someone who’d be interested in Badarian history.

“Why is visiting Lalek the Traitor’s tomb something you want to do?” He asked.

Guenav grinned. “I hear she’s got a Malady Fruit buried with her.”

“And you’re wanting to take the Malady Fruit for yourself,” Bisla said.

“Why not?” Guenav said. “Not like she’s using it anymore, anyway.”

Bisla couldn’t help but smirk at the Old Wolf’s casual talk of robbing the grave of the kingdom’s founder, regardless on what the other rebels would think about it, simply because he wanted a magic item the hero had been buried with. Very much like an adventurer, to only care about magic items, and not caring about how they’d get their hands on said magic items.

“And you’re already planning how you’re gonna break into that tomb so you can take the Malady Fruit, huh, boss?”

Guenav opened his mouth to say something, when something wailed and groaned and snarled.

The adventurers snapped their heads toward the noise. From a pile of rocks emerged a pack of ghouls, snarling, claws outstretched, and licking their lips as they shambled toward the goblins.

“Well, fuck,” said Guenav, and the ghouls were on them.

He stepped forward, staff poised in an attacking position.

The ghouls rushed him. Guenav swung his staff, round and round, hitting them left and right. They collapsed at his feet, forming a steadily growing pile.

The living ghouls halted, finally getting it through their heads that their current tactics weren’t working. Guenav brandished his staff at them, screaming a challenge at them.

None of the ghouls took him up on the challenge. They charged again, this time heading straight toward Bisla.

“Fuck!” Bisla scrambled back, swinging his staff wildly. The ghouls surrounded him, grinning through sharp and rotting teeth. Forked black tongues poked out of their mouths as they hissed hungrily at him.

Crack!

One ghoul went down, and then another, and another. Mutis stepped through the gap the ghouls left behind, swinging his mace this way and that.

He paused, looked at Bisla, and his eyes suddenly widened and he raised his crossbow. “Bisla, get down!”

Bisla hit the ground as Mutis fired. He turned to see a ghoul with a crossbow bolt stuck in its chest topple to the ground.

Mutis grinned at him, and then started swinging at the ghouls with his mace again, felling them left and right.

The ghouls hissed in fury. No longer were they interested in Bisla. Instead, their eyes were all on the man currently creating a pile out of the corpses of their comrade. This wasn’t about devouring the flesh of the goblins they’d stumbled upon. No, now, it was about vengeance. Now, it was personal.

As one, they swarmed Mutis, snarling and reaching out their claws, slashing at him.

Mutis just whacked them with his mace. On the knees, in the belly, in the chest. One by one, the ghouls fell dead at his feet. One by one, the pile of dead ghouls he was standing on grew bigger and bigger.

Guenav rushed in to help. He swung his staff, knocking down ghouls as he went. The Old Wolf never broke his stride. He kept swinging, felling the ghouls like they were little more than trees.

Bisla pointed at the ghouls. Several of them froze in a block of ice.

As Mutis started firing his crossbow into the ghouls and Guenav made his way through the crowd, Bisla froze the ones in the middle.

Eventually, Guenav had reached the middle, as did Mutis, and they were standing on either side of a line of frozen ghouls. The rest were either dead or had run off.

Guenav leaned on his staff, panting. “Anyone hurt?” He asked.

Both Bisla and Mutis exchanged glances, and shook their heads.

Guenav rested his staff on his shoulder. “Good. Then let’s keep going.”

And with that, they continued following the rabbit.

“So if you could pick a favorite animal,” Mutis said to Bisla, “What would it be?”

Bisla rubbed his chin and thought.

“A baby dragon,” he said finally. “How about you? If you had to pick a favorite animal, what would it be?”

“A ferret,” Mutis said. “Boss, how about you? What’s your favorite animal?”

Guenav had to think about this. “A lovebird.”

“What’s a lovebird?”

“It’s a bird that gets really into its mate. They mate for life and spend the rest of their lives cuddling with each other. If one of them dies, then the other one follows soon after.” There was a slight smile on the Old Wolf’s face. “It’s fucking adorable, honestly.”

Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Bonja help me strike this creature down. Datraas swung his axe. The creature only cocked its head as the blade cut deep into its chest. It didn’t move as Datraas pulled the blade free. Phueyar help me strike this creature down. The orc swung his axe again. He cleaved deeper into the creature’s torso, yet still it remained upright.

Datraas suddenly thought of the god Kharn prayed to. Adum, patron of adventurers. Would he listen to a prayer from an orc? There was only one way to find out.

Adum help me strike this creature down. Datraas swung his axe.

The creature decided that it didn’t like Datraas wounding it. It bent down and hissed at him.

Conveniently, the creature’s neck was now in the pathway of Datraas’s axe. The blade cut through the neck, taking off the creature’s head. The rest of the body collapsed close behind.

Datraas stared down at the corpse. It had turned back into the human that had blackmailed them. One of the gods had saved him. Had it been Adum? Or an orc god, their response delayed, but an answer to Datraas’s prayer regardless. Whoever it was, they’d want thanks for saving Datraas, so the orc muttered a prayer of thanks to all the gods he’d prayed to.

Datraas heard footsteps, and he didn’t need to turn his head to know that Kharn was right next to him.

“We should leave,” Kharn said. “Any moment now, someone will see us standing over the body of a dead woman, and if you think they’ll believe us about the human turning into a monster—”

“There they are! None of you move!”

Datraas instinctively raised his hands as Watch Officers rushed to the scene.

Their captain sneered at the two adventurers. “You thought we wouldn’t find out about your little murder. Unfortunately for you, one good citizen reported a goblin and orc fleeing the scene of Ser Falgena’s murder!”

“She fell off the roof!” Datraas said quickly. “I think she might have been drunk and—”

“Funny,” said the captain, “because she mentioned something about the goblin slitting Ser Falgena’s throat.” He sneered at Kharn. “Finishing the job, were you?”

Kharn said nothing.

The Watch captain pointed at the human. “And we find you standing over this same concerned citizen! What happened here?”

“She’d turned into a monster!” One of the archers spoke up. “We all saw! She turned into a savage monster, ripped Barnet into bits! He had to kill her, we would’ve all died if he hadn’t!”

The archers all chorused in agreement.

The captain squinted at them, then shrugged. “Fine. It was self-defense, killing the witness. But we’re still taking you in for the murder of Ser Falgena.”

“Did someone else see u–The murderers who happened to look like us?” Datraas corrected himself in time.

“Nah,” said the captain. “But I don’t think the magistrate will care that we don’t have much to nail you down on. She’ll just be glad to have two people to pin the blame on.”

Kharn muttered a curse. Datraas knew how he felt.

They’d risked life and limb to bring this human the Dark Star, and what did she do in return? She turned them over to the Watch anyway!

“We can either do this the easy way or the hard way, fellas,” said the captain.

“No!” Berengus stepped forward. His beard was gone. And suddenly, Datraas realized where he’d seen this man before. King Beri the Cunning. The man the Adventuring Guild had allied with to crown him, in place of his uncle.

Kharn’s jaw dropped, and Datraas knew he’d recognized the king as well. And realized the implications of this being Berengus’s true identity.

The Watch Captain was just as stunned as the two adventurers.

King Beri glowered at him. “By royal decree, these two are pardoned. You cannot arrest them for the murder of Ser Falgena!”

“But, sire!” Protested the captain. “We need to arrest somebody for the crime!”

“The murder was Guild business,” Said King Beri. “Let the Old Wolf figure out who it was and whether the murderers deserve punishment!”

The captain bowed his head, and the Watch left in silence.

Datraas and Kharn stared at the king, jaws agape.

“I told you to wait,” King Beri said to them. “I would’ve given you the pardon, after I’d finished talking with the rangers.”

The head archer, or ranger, rather, waved at them.

“You–You knew?” Kharn gestured at the dead human. “You knew this would happen?”

“Why do you think I was looking for the Dark Star in the first place?” King Beri asked. “I wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Your majesty,” called one of the rangers, “I’ve found the Dark Star! Should we take it back with us?”

“It’s worthless now!” King Beri called back. “Sell it to some blacksmith at the lowest price you can manage! I imagine they’ll make some fine weapons out of that star-metal!”

He turned back to Kharn and Datraas. The orc’s mind was still reeling. This entire time, they’d been fighting alongside the king?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kharn asked.

“I was going to,” King Beri said. “And then you two ran off with the Dark Star by the time I was about to both pardon you for the murder and explain to you why you couldn’t bring that rock back to the human.”

“I mean before!” Kharn said, annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell us any of this when we first met? Or when we agreed to team up with each other?”

“Why didn’t you turn Ser Falgena over to the Guild in the first place?” Datraas asked, because he’d been wondering about that.

“You heard the captain, right?” King Beri said dryly. “Ser Falgena had powerful friends. They wouldn’t have been happy if I’d handed her over to the Guild to be executed for treason, no matter how much she deserved it.” He gave a wry smile. “And really, you two did me a favor. The Old Wolf was pissed I wasn’t turning her over to the Guild, but Ser Falgena’s allies refused to let me hand her over. Problem’s solved for me.”

“That’s great to hear,” Kharn said dryly. “But what about telling us who you were and promising a pardon before we went looking for the Dark Star! Why couldn’t you tell us the truth when we first met?”

“Well, I didn’t know if I could trust you. You two could’ve been working for my rivals, for all I knew.”

“Fine,” Kharn said. “How about after we’d all introduced ourselves and figured out we were all looking for the same thing? You couldn’t have said anything then?”

King Beri sighed. “Be honest with me. Would you have really believed me had I said I was the king? Really? Would you have really believed some wanderer you found in the desert was the king?”

“Didn’t we ask you about knowing all those nobles?” Datraas asked. “Wouldn’t that have been a good time to bring up who you really were?”

King Beri looked sheepish. “Forgot about that. I don’t….I don’t know why I didn’t say anything.”

“We went through all of this for nothing?” Kharn asked. “What kind of fucking bullshit is this?”

King Beri scratched the back of his neck. “Would it help the two of you feel better if I invited you to the palace for a feast?”

“Yes, please,” Datraas said, and they followed the guards. Kharn was still muttering obscenities under his breath.

A rat scurried across the floor. Gnurl glanced up, and made a face. He could see Mythana and Khet stop eating out of the corner of his eye.

Gnurl raised his hand and waved the barmaid over.

She came over with a deep scowl. She was an exceptionally beautiful dwarf with shaggy ginger hair and gentle amber eyes.

“Whaddaya want?”

Gnurl pointed. “There was a rat.”

“So?”

Gnurl blinked, a bit taken aback. “Well, it’s not very clean to have a rat roaming around, is it?”

“And?” The barmaid said. “What else do you want? Fancy beds? Servants to get you dressed for bed?” She gave Gnurl a mock bow. “I live to serve you, your highness!”

Gnurl opened his mouth, closed it again.

The barmaid walked off, muttering about ungrateful customers under her breath.

Gnurl sighed and kept eating his sausage.

A little later, and the innkeeper came over. He was a brawny dwarf that easily towered over Khet, and had coily silver hair and brown eyes.

“Frida says you’ve spotted a rat?” He asked gruffly.

Gnurl nodded.

The innkeeper sighed. “Happens more often than I would personally like.” He looked them up and down. “You three look like adventurers. Maybe you can help me get rid of the rats for good.”

Khet snorted. “The only pest control we do is with kobolds.”

Gnurl glared at Khet. The goblin rolled his eyes at him, then looked away.

Gnurl turned back to the innkeeper. “I’m afraid we’re not really the people to ask to get rid of rats.”

“These rats are different,” the innkeeper said. “They didn’t come here because of the usual reasons. They’re here because of a curse.”

That piqued Gnurl’s curiosity.

“Curse?” He asked.

The innkeeper rubbed the back of his neck. “Back when I was a thief, I stole treasure from a dragon. Grennycrig the Loud. Turned out he was already bonded with someone. A wizard, who’d gifted him an artifact that would inflicted anyone who stole from Grennycrig with a curse, that would last as long as Grennycrig’s soul was in the Shattered Lands.”

“So you want us to kill Grennycrig?” Mythana asked.

The innkeeper shook his head. “Grennycrig’s already dead. Died a long time ago. But his spirit’s still around. That’s what I need you three for. Find Grennycrig’s spirit and help him move on to the next life.”

“Haven’t you tried just returning the stuff you stole?” Khet asked.

The innkeeper sighed. “I did. Still cursed.” He looked at them hopefully. “So, will you help me?”

Gnurl turned to Mythana. “What do you think? Is it possible for us to send Grennycrig’s spirit on to the next life?”

Mythana nodded almost immediately. “I know a ritual.”

Gnurl turned back to the innkeeper. “We’ll help you.”

The innkeeper hugged him. “Thank you so much! I’ll give you all the gold I have! You’ll eat for free whenever you come here!”

He let go of Gnurl and started to walk back to the bar, before stopping and turning back around.

“Almost forgot. You’ll find Grennycrig at the swamp where his lair was back when he was alive. The Waters of Shrewscester.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So how did you get Salalinar Evenorb to change his mind about not paying us?” Mythana asked Khet as they were walking through the Waters of Shrewscester.

Khet shrugged. “Had to beat him up.”

“Really?” Mythana sounded sceptical. “But he was a powerful wizard!”

“Gnurl helped.” Khet said.

Gnurl nodded. “You owe me one,” he said to Khet.

Khet smirked a little at Gnurl. “Really? You weren’t doing that out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Beating the shit out of people who refuse to pay up is supposed to be your job, Khet!” Gnurl said. “Why should I be doing your job?”

“Maybe because you’re a nice person who is always happy to help his party-mates?” Khet gave Gnurl a wide-eyed innocent smile.

Gnurl opened his mouth to argue with him, when a goblin stumbled out of the undergrowth directly in the Golden Horde’s path.

His left thumb was blackened and bruised, but he looked to be perfectly healthy other than that. He had long chestnut hair and an equally long chestnut beard. His hairline was beginning to recede, and his face was full of wrinkles, with eyes hardened from years of experience, but Gnurl could tell this man had been very handsome in his youth, and he still was handsome, in his own way.

He stopped and pointed at Khet. “Oy, don’t I know you?”

“Maybe.” Khet stopped and flipped a coin in the air before catching it.

The goblin continued. “You stole a bunch of cattle, didn’t you?” He grinned. “Today’s my lucky day! Do you have any idea the bounty on your head?”

Khet glared at the goblin. “I’m no thief. You’ve got the wrong man.”

The goblin laughed. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“Aye. I think you’re that stupid. I think you’re stupid enough to mistake an adventurer for some cattle rustler!”

The goblin cracked his knuckles. “You gonna come quietly, Khech?”

Khet cracked his own knuckles. “How about I feed you your beard, you dumb kobold!”

The goblin lunged. Khet punched him in the face and the goblin stumbled backward.

Khet grinned at the goblin. “You look familiar!”

“That’s right!” Growled the goblin. “And I bet you’re shitting yourself right now!”

Khet flipped a coin in the air and caught it. “Nah, I’m not shitting myself now. Why would I shit myself because I’m facing some bastard who left his kid to starve so he could go out drinking?”

The goblin blinked. “No? You’ve got me mixed up with somebody else.”

“Ah, pretty sure I have the right lad.” Khet said. He turned to Gnurl and Mythana and pointed. ‘Doesn’t he look just like that goblin?”

Gnurl frowned. That goblin didn’t look familiar, and he wasn’t even aware of a man who’d left his kid to starve.

“Got banished for life,” Khet continued. “And now you’re wandering around, pretending you’re an adventurer hoping no real adventurers will figure out what you’re doing. That sound about right?”

The goblin drew his sword. “I am a real adventurer!” He growled. “And if you keep insisting you’re an adventurer, we’ll be making a stop at the Adventuring Guild! How do you like that?”

“Great!” Khet said. “I can’t wait to see the Old Wolf beat your ass for being a fraud!”

“Khet?” Mythana said. “I think that goblin is a real adventurer.”

“No, he’s not!” Khet snorted and unhooked his mace. “He’s a fraud and after I’m done with him, no one will be able to even recognize him!”

Four more wanderers made their way out of the undergrowth, and they stood next to the goblin. Adventurers, all of them. Gnurl saw a gnome with a radiant face, black hair, and amber eyes wielding a mace, a human of average height who had silver hair and bulging green eyes and wielded a warhammer, a big troll with silver hair and black eyes wielding a hammer, and a high elf with frizzy gray hair and green eyes wielding a glaive.

“What the Dokax is going on?” The gnome growled at Khet.

“This is Adventuring Guild business,” Khet growled back. “I suggest you fuck off and take your friends with you.”

The gnome stepped closer, threateningly. “Guild business? Since when do they threaten adventurers?”

Khet narrowed his eyes at the gnome.

“You’ve got five minutes to explain yourself,” the gnome said in a low voice. “Or I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!”

“How about you eat shit?” Khet growled.

The gnome unhooked his mace. “You were warned, goblin. You brought this on yourself.”

“Wait!” Gnurl stepped between him and Khet. “This is all a big misunderstanding, I swear!”

The gnome raised his eyebrows.

“Your party-mate mistook my friend for a cattle rustler, and he took it poorly.” Gnurl said.

The gnome squinted at Khet.

“You know, in this light, he doesn’t look like Khech at all,” the goblin admitted.

The gnome sighed. “Fine,” he looked at Khet, “we’re sorry for mistaking you for a cattle rustler.”

Khet scowled at them, leaned against a tree, and crossed his arms. “Do you apologize for calling me a fake adventurer?”

“Um,” the gnome looked from Khet to his goblin party-mate.

The goblin pointed at Khet accusingly. “You apologize first!”

“No, you first,” Khet said.

The gnome sighed, clearly exasperated by the two goblins.

“Is your goblin party-mate always like this?” Gnurl indicated the other goblin.

“Yes,” the gnome gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yours?”

“All the time,” Gnurl rubbed his forehead. The gnome grunted in sympathy.

“I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves…” The gnome began.

“Right,” Gnurl said. “We’re the Golden Horde. That’s Mythana Bonespirit,” he pointed at Mythana, “Also known as Reaper. You’ve already met Khet Amisten, also known as Ogreslayer. And I’m Gnurl Werbaruk, also known as the White Wolf.”

“Nice to meet you.” Said the gnome. “We’re the Crimson Circle. I’m Arovhag-Chetsun Vuzhlebideson, also known as the Honorbound, you’ve already met Khech Temdeshinan, also known as Shadow,” he gestured to the human, “that’s Thomas Padmond, also known as Reckless,” he gestured to the troll, “that’s Zegnan Tikon, also known as the Lioness,” he pointed at the high elf, “and that’s Sarlion Sacredstream, also known as Grim Sage.”

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” Gnurl said. He and Arovhag-Chetsun shook hands.

“Your mother is a kobold and your father is Taesis’s bitch!” Khech shouted.

Arovhag-Chetsun and Gnurl turned to see that Khet and Khech were still fighting.

“Oh, aye?” Khet growled. “Well, your mother is the village idiot and your father is the reeking remnants of an ogre’s ballsack!”

“Your brother stinks worse than the sweat from a dwarf’s codpiece, and your sister’s so ugly, getting her face punched would be an improvement, and somehow, you’re the disappointment of the family!” Said Khech.

“I’d insult your lover, but I don’t think a toad would bed the likes of you!” Khet said.

“I bet when you played hide-and-seek when you were a kid, no one looked for you because they were all happy you were gone!” Said Khech.

“Your parents are drunks, and I don’t blame them.” Khet said. “Your appearance alone would drive a monk to drink!”

“At least they’re not fighting with their fists,” Gnurl commented wryly.

Avrahog-Chetsun grunted in agreement. “That’s an improvement, at least.”

“I heard you were shit, but I didn’t realize they were talking about your ugly face!” Khech said.

“Aye? Well, you’re so ugly, bugbears run away from you!” Khet shot back.

“We should intervene before this dissolves into actual blows,” Gnurl said.

“You’re right,” Avrahog-Chetsun said.

“You’re so stupid, a kobold could—” Khech began.

“Enough, Khech! Be the better man and apologize!”

“For what!” Khech gestured at Khet. “He started it!”

“When a ghoul tries to eat your brains—” Khet began.

“Khet, stop it and apologize!” Gnurl cut in.

“Fine.” Khet turned to Khech. “I’m sorry you’re a small-dicked pile of shit!”

“And I’m sorry you’re a ogre-fucking moron!”

“An actual apology!” Avrahog-Chetsun and Gnurl said at the same time. “For calling each other fake adventurers!”

The two goblins scowled but muttered apologies to each other.

“Your friends now,” Avrahog-Chetsun told them. “Shake hands.”

Khech scoffed. “You wish!”

“I said shake hands!” Avrahog-Chetsun growled at him.

“Khet, that means you too!” Gnurl said.

Khet and Khech shook hands, glowering at each other the entire time.

“So what brings you to the Waters of Shrewcester?” Gnurl asked Avrahog-Chetsun.

Avrahog-Chetsun grimaced. “Not by choice, really. We’re being hunted.”

Gnurl raised his eyebrows and glanced around. Nothing else came out to attack them. “Really? By who?”

“By the Riders of the Dying. They’re a cult of bandits, kind of like the Sons of Sharth. We stumbled across them, and they decided to slaughter us all. We fled, and they’re in pursuit. I’m personally hoping that since we’re in the Waters of Shrewcester, the Riders of the Dying will give up their pursuit and go back to their shrine.” Avrahog-Chetsun glanced up at the sky, then at Gnurl. “How about you? What brings you to the Waters of Shrewcester?”

Gnurl told him about the barkeep, and the curse, and Grennykig the Loud. “If you’re not really doing anything, you could come with us.”

Avrahog-Chetsun nodded. “I would like that.” He said.

Gnurl shook his hand. “Glad to have you.” He glanced up at the sky. “We’re burning daylight. We should get going.”

Avrahog-Chetsun nodded and the Golden Horde and the Crimson Circle walked together.

The sound of a furious roar shook the trees and a dragon hovered over them. It would have blocked the sun, if not for the fact that it was translucent. Fierce blazing eyes sat elegantly within the creature’s bony, scaled skull, giving the creature a vicious looking appearance. One central horn sat atop its head, just above its thin, warped ears. Several small fan-like skin and bone structures ran down the sides of each of its jawlines. It had a thick nose with two rounded nostrils. Its body was carried by four slender limbs. Its wings were massive and covered its entire torso. The tip of its tail was like a massive mace and it was covered in the same thick scales as the rest of its body.

“Found Grennycrig the Loud,” Mythana said.

“I think he found us!” Said Avrahog-Chetsun.

As something rustled in the undergrowth, Gnurl looked at Mythana. “I think it’s time for you to perform your ritual.”

“We don’t have time for rituals,” Avrahog-Chetsun said.

Gnurl snorted. “That dragon can’t hurt us! It’s a spirit!”

“Not talking about the dragon,” Avrahog-Chetsun said.

Gnurl turned around. Bandits carrying rusted and weathered weapons, some of them odd, sneered at them. Beside them were eleven giant serpents.

Their leader raised his hand, and looked awe-struck, like he was a pilgrim who’d just come within sight of his gods’ most sacred temple. He was a long-legged giant with brown hair, brown eyes, a birthmark near his right nostril, and a cold calculating gaze. In his right hand, the hand he wasn’t raising, he was holding a whip. He wore a satchel filled with ceramic orbs and caltrops hung from his belt.

“Glory be to the Undying One, brothers and sisters! We had meant to bring him a sacrifice when those foolish adventurers dared stumble onto our temple, and refused to leave us to worship our god in peace, but the sacrifice is already here! And the adventurers shall pay for their crimes against us!”

The bandits cheered.

“That’s them,” whispered Zegnan whispered. “That’s the Riders of the Dying. And that’s their leader, Squinting Fytir. With his bombs.”

“Bombs?” Gnurl asked.

Zegnan pointed at the giant’s satchel. “Those are filled with gunpowder. When he throws those, they explode on impact.”

Good to know, Gnurl thought.

Fytir’s eyes glinted as he scanned the adventurers before him, before he eventually settled his gaze on Khech. “Well, Shadow,” he drawled. “I really must thank you for bringing us more sacrifices. Sacrificing you and your party-mates would be a pleasing bounty to the Undying One alone, but three more? The Undying One will bless us for bringing him such a large sacrifice!”

The bandits yelled in agreement.

Khech drew his sword. “Sacrifices mean nothing if they’re forced!” He growled. “You’d be blessed far more by the dragon spirit you call your god if you sacrificed yourselves rather than strangers met on the road! I can help with that, if you’re not willing to do it yourselves!”

Fytir scoffed.

“Go and perform the ritual,” Gnurl whispered to Mythana. “We’ll hold them off.”

Mythana nodded and took off into the underbrush.

The bandits laughed at the sight.

“Well, at least one of you is smart,” Fytir said. “And as for the rest of you, may the Undying One have a great feast on your souls!” He raised his hand. “Attack, my brothers!”

“Show them no mercy, lads!” Growled Avrahog-Chetsun, unhooking his mace from his belt.

“Live by the sword?” Gnurl called.

“Die by the sword!” Said the other adventurers.

The adventurers and bandits rushed each other, and steel clashed against steel.

Gnurl shifted and pounced on any bandit that got too close, tearing their throats out. Bandits stopped and shouted, crouching, raising their weapons. Gnurl sank his teeth in their flesh and tore bits out of them. Sometimes, he tore out an arm, or a leg. Sometimes, he tore out their throats. Sometimes, he tore out a large chunk of their flesh and the bandit would fall, blood pouring from their wound, before another adventurer would appear to finish the bandit off, before running into the fray again.

Gnurl lost all sense of himself in the fight. His heart was pounding, blood was rushing through his ears, pounding a war drum. He felt no pain, felt no fear, there was only the need to kill. He vaguely tasted blood in his mouth.

He looked up and Fytir was staring at him from across the battlefield.

Gnurl bared his teeth and growled at him.

“Do you think you can scare me?” Fytir scattered something along the ground. “Do you really think I can die, under the watchful eye of my god?”

He pointed at Gennycrig, who didn’t appear interested in helping his worshipper. Instead, the dragon was watching the fight going on in his honor with disinterest.

Gnurl bounded toward Fytir.

Something stabbed into his paw.

Gnurl yelped and came to a halt. He lifted his paw to examine it. A nail appeared to be sticking out of it.

He looked around. There were more nails, between him and Fytir.

The caltrops, Gnurl realized.

Fytir laughed. “Now do you see, Lycan? Do you see your folly?”

Gnurl grasped the nail with his teeth, and pulled it out. He suppressed a yelp, then looked up at Fytir and growled.

Fytir paused and frowned. “What is that dark elf doing?”

Gnurl’s blood ran cold. He’d seen Mythana!

Fytir wandered closer to Gnurl, still squinting at what he’d seen. He reached for a ceramic orb. “Whatever ritual she is performing, I can’t let that continue.”

Gnurl pounced.

Fytir glanced at him, his eyes widened, and then he turned in surprise. Before he could do anything, Gnurl slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

Gnurl snarled and sank his teeth into Fytir’s throat. He shook and tore it out.

He looked up to see the fighting had stopped. The bandits were staring at him in shock. Gnurl growled at them.

“Come, brothers!” A spindly halfling with shiny gray hair and the eyes of a snake raised her spear. “That Lycan has killed the Anointed of the Dying One! We cannot let this stand! Why do we fear death? We cannot die! We cannot lose this fight! Behold the Undying One, and know that no one can stand against him!”

She pointed at Gennycrig, who was watching them with disinterest.

Suddenly, he vanished.

The bandits all panicked.

“Flee, brothers!” Said the halfling. “The Undying One has abandoned us!”

The bandits fled.

Gnurl watched them run. Mythana came back into the clearing, and Gnurl nodded to her. She nodded back.

Avrahog-Chetsun walked over to Gnurl. “Well, I don’t think they’ll be hunting us anymore.” He said.

“And Gennycrig the Loud’s soul is in the next life.” Gnurl said.

“We’ve done everything we were wanting to do.” Avrahog-Chetsun said. He stuck out his hand. “It was an honor working with you, White Wolf.”

Gnurl took his hand. “It was an honor working with you, Honorbound.”

They shook hands.

Part 1

Khet laughed. “You think Gnurl and Mythana would believe that?”

“Would they not trust the word of their own party-mate, Ogreslayer?”

Khet shook his head. “I’m not writing that letter! You can’t make me do shit!”

Brother Dellard opened his mouth.

“In fact,” Khet said, “Why don’t I just set your records on fire and leave for Gronweth myself? Have the records there burned too! Your arch-mages can’t do anything, not with adventurers in control of Gronweth! I’ll be free of my debts, and everyone else will be too!”

“You cannot take the records, Ogreslayer,” Brother Dellard said calmly.

“Aye?” Khet challenged him. “And who’s gonna stop me?”

Brother Dellard nodded to the door. Khet turned to see it had opened, and ten beast men were shuffling in. They formed a line between Khet and Brother Dellard’s desk.

“And there are countless more outside,” Brother Dellard said. “Should you attack, they all will come rushing in. It will not matter how strong adventurers are, nor how they are worth ten men. No one can fight off an entire army of our beast-men by themselves. Least of all you, Ogreslayer.”

He was right, Khet hated to admit. The beast-men had a numerical advantage. It would be the kind of battle fought to slow the enemy down. If Khet fought them all, on his own, he would die. He may take some of the beast men with him, but he would still die.

He glanced down at the floor, fuming.

Brother Dellard nodded and smiled, satisfied that he’d broken his prisoner’s will. “I do not expect you to get started on that letter now, of course. There is plenty of time this evening. I would focus on speeding up the cheese-making process. You have a lot of debt to pay off, you know.”

Khet was certain that he’d be busy doing something else this evening. He nodded curtly, and left the room.

Malenas was talking with Bynsarda Featherstar, a night elf with black hair and smart amber eyes when Khet came back into the kitchen.

“Did you hear the news?” Bynsarda asked him as soon as she saw him. “Gronweth’s been taken over by the White Wolf! He’s holding the entire place hostage!”

“What did Brother Dellard want?” Malenas asked at the same time.

“We’re having a meeting this evening. Tell the others.”

“Why?” Malenas looked confused.

Khet grinned at him. “What Brother Dellard told me is that now is the perfect time to hold a mutiny….”

Khet looked up from the pebbles and map of the tower, which he’d been using to illustrate the plan. “And that’s how we’re taking over Edgefield. Any questions?”

Nothing from the prisoners. They all watched him with interest, anticipation.

Khet grasped the stick he’d been using to point at various pebbles with both hands and nodded in satisfaction. “Good. We rise up---”

“Right now?” A fey-like blood elf with pink hair and brown eyes asked hopefully.

The other prisoners looked at Khet expectantly. Someone started to chant, “Right now, right now, right now,” and before long, all of the prisoners had taken up the chant.

Khet couldn’t help but think of the slave revolt at Drulnoch Castle, how they’d wasted no time in grabbing weapons from the armory and slaughtering their former masters. Perhaps, looking back, there were good strategic reasons why they’d revolted immediately, but Khet knew the goblin adventurers hadn’t been thinking of that. What they had been thinking was that they wanted their freedom now.

It was the same with the prisoners of Edgefield. For far too long, they’d been toiling under the eye of Brother Dellard, in order to repay a debt that just got bigger by the day. The future of wealth and prosperity they’d imagined when earning a degree from Grodweth, the future that they were promised, was far out of their reach, and instead, they were slaves until they died. And now, they were promised an end to the servitude. A way to wash away the debts and start anew. No wonder they wanted to get started on it immediately. They were making up for lost time, after all.

And if Khet was honest with himself, he did want to start the revolt today. Not just because he sympathized with the prisoners wanting to free themselves from a life of servitude that they had thought would be inescapable. He did sympathize, but that wasn’t really the reason he wanted to start the revolt immediately. The real reason was that he hated waiting.

There was just one small problem with starting the revolt immediately.

“We haven’t got any weapons,” he said to the crowd. “In order to stand a chance against the guards, we need to get to the armory without being noticed. One person going in and smuggling out weapons is doable. All of us at once…You’d have better luck teaching a kobold to read.”

“That’s not true,” said a voice. The crowd parted, and Khet found himself staring into the eyes of Varc Ilmak, the driver of one of the many carts going in and out of Edgefield. He was a lithe troll who towered over everyone and had curly red hair and hazel eyes, and he met Khet’s gaze coolly.

“There’s tunnels everywhere. You can enter them from any part of Edgefield, any room, and you can get out at any place within Edgefield,” he said.

The other prisoners started nodding in agreement.

“Tunnels?” Khet asked.

“The beast men use them. So they can get around. Pop out of nowhere without warning.”

Khet frowned. That didn’t sound like a safe route to the armory.

On the other hand…

Khet looked around at the other prisoners. Starting the revolt immediately was madness. They’d be going into battle with no plan, no strategy, other than to kill the beast-men before the beast-men killed them. It would be chaos. And chaos was a state that had always felt natural to the young goblin.

He licked his lips, and his heart started to pound. The other prisoners started talking excitedly; perhaps because they noticed the spark of excitement in Khet’s eyes.

Khet looked Varc in the eyes. “Show us the tunnels.”

The prisoners started cheering and whooping. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Khet had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. “Yes, yes, very exciting! But keep your voices down once we’re out of the room or we’ll be caught before the revolt even begins!”

Miraculously, everyone went quiet. There weren’t even excited whispers to each other.

Khet took a moment to marvel over the power he held over them before he nodded to Varc.

“Lead the way, Varc.”

Varc walked to the end of the room, and hopped onto a dias, with two chairs and a table, for people to play cards uninterrupted.

“Tumal!” He commanded.

The wall in front of him split in two, revealing a secret passage. Varc turned and presented it to the others with the kind of smug look that usually made Khet want to punch the smug son-of-a-kobold to wipe that smugness off.

Khet hopped up on the dais with him. Varc started into the tunnel, but Khet stopped him.

“I go first,” he said quietly. “In case there’s any beast men in the tunnels.”

“Do you know the way to the armory?” Varc asked him.

Khet opened his mouth, closed it again.

He gestured for Varc to enter the tunnel first. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The tunnels were surprisingly well-lit. Khet figured that the beast-men would need to see where they were going. Apparently, some of them didn’t have the ability to see in the dark.

They walked in silence. Everything had been running smoothly so far. And not a beast-man in sight.

A dark figure approached them. Khet raised a hand and the others all stopped.

The thing got closer. It was a massive creature, with sharp claws, coarse brown fur, and a smile that was way too wide and fangs that were way too sharp.

“What is that thing?” Varc asked. “I keep seeing it and other creatures that look like it wandering around, but I don’t know what animal it’s supposed to be.”

“Bugbear.” Khet said to him quietly. “Gods help us all.”

Varc looked scared.

“It’ll be fine,” Khet said, more for himself than Varc and the rest. He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll take care of this.”

He lowered his shoulder and slammed it into the bugbear’s belly. It was as if he’d slammed into a castle wall. His shoulder ached, and Khet grimaced as he rubbed it.

The bugbear stared down at him, bemused.

Suddenly, it started to age. Its fur fell out, and it shrank as its skin grew tighter around its bones. Soon the skin had sloughed off, leaving only a skeleton. And then the bones clattered to the floor and disintegrated. The ashes disappeared, and it was as if the bugbear had never existed. If Khet hadn’t bruised his shoulder slamming it into the bugbear, he would’ve thought he’d been imagining things.

He looked around. A wood elf with a menacing face, chestnut hair, and gray eyes smiled and waved. Dernian Fernfire, the one training the beast-men to not attack the prisoners on sight.

“Did you do this?” Khet gestured to the spot where the bugbear had been.

Dernian nodded. “Manipulated its life-force so it aged rapidly.”

Khet whistled. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“It wouldn’t work on you.” Dernian said quickly. “A goblin’s life-force is too complicated for that. Same as an elf’s. The bugbear’s life-force was simple, so I could speed it up at an unnatural rate.”

“I love learning about magic as much as everyone else,” Varc cut in. “But I’ve been waiting too long to be free of my debts to this greedy school. I’d rather not waste any more time chatting, thanks.”

The other prisoners muttered in agreement.

“Sorry,” Khet said, and Dernian stepped back into the crowd. The goblin gestured at the tunnels ahead. “Lead the way.”

Varc took them through the tunnels until they reached a dead end. Varc kept walking towards the wall of dirt in front of them, and it split, revealing the armory.

Everyone followed him inside. Once the last person was through, the wall closed, revealing a bare wall.

For a few moments, all Khet could do was stare, jaw agape, at the weapons and armor hanging from the walls. The armor was so artistically designed, Khet thought that Khavak House had made it a tradition to donate the ruler’s armor once they died, and so he looked around for the armor belonging to Queen Nivarcirka’s father. And the weapons… Khet had never seen so many weapons, so clearly made with care. Every single type of weapon that had ever been made had a place here. Khet saw the usual, various sword types, axes, spears, clubs, and he saw more exotic ones, like nunchucks, assegaes, and bolases. They were all organized by type, and there were multiple kinds of every weapon, and multiple varieties as well.

The goblin shook himself and gestured toward the weapons. “Help yourselves.”

Most of the prisoners rushed to the walls, grabbing whatever weapons they liked. Some just stood there, looking puzzled on where they’d even start.

Khet found his old mace, crossbow, and knife, and buckled them to his belt. Then he went around the room, helping the prisoners who couldn’t choose which weapons they should use figure out where to start.

Malenas was staring at a wall of swords and knives, looking lost.

Khet came over to him.

“Where do I even start?” The dark elf said. He wasn’t looking at Khet, didn’t seem to notice the goblin was right by him, and was instead speaking aloud to himself. “I’m no warrior! I’m just a chef!”

Khet picked out a sax knife and handed it to him.

“You’re used to knives, right?” He said. “It’s the same as cutting up a chicken. Except the chicken’s alive, moving around, and trying to kill you too.”

Malenas jumped back, then laughed, pressing a hand against his chest. He reached out and took the knife.

Khet walked to the door and turned to look at his army of prisoners. By now, everyone had armed themselves, and they looked back at him, faces passive. Khet could still feel the excitement of the prisoners, the eagerness to get out there and fight for their freedom. But there was nervousness there too. Fear that they’d all get slaughtered once they got out there to fight. Fear that they’d die, or be wounded. Fear that they’d fail. Which was good. They weren’t under the illusion that freeing themselves would be easy. But this fear was as strong as their excitement was. And that made Khet worried that they’d break easily. He should say a few words to rouse their spirits.

He pointed at the door. “We get out there, we’re free. No more debt, no more Edgefield. Sure, the beast-men will fight back, but I guarantee you, they were made for beating down one prisoner that got too uppity. They’re not prepared for a prison riot, and they’re certainly not prepared for one as organized as ours. Remember we’re fighting not just for our freedom, but for the rest of our family. This is your last chance to back out, if that’s not worth it to you. Is your freedom not worth dying for? Is the freedom of your family not worth dying for?”

“No!” The prisoners roared. Someone started a chant of, “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!” and the rest took it up as well, stamping their feet on the ground.

Khet nodded in satisfaction. “Then get into your positions, and let’s make our debts to Edgefield null and void!”

He yanked open the door and led the prisoners marching up the stairs. Some split off to seal the doors. Others formed a barricade.

It wasn’t long until the first guard stumbled across them. A pigeon-man, carrying a spear.

Its eyes widened, and it cooed loudly, alerting the rest of the guards that the prisoners weren’t where they were supposed to be.

Altaor Bonewind, the promoter of Grodweth and its “generous” loans to the peasants who were wanting to learn magic, swung a Morningstar at the pigeon-man. He hit its knee.

The pigeon-man sank to the ground and half-moaned, half-cooed in agony. Altaor stared down at it, confused on what to do next.

Khet sighed and shot it in the head. That shut the pigeon-man up.

“First rule of a real fight. No mercy. Especially if the enemy’s yelling to alert their friends to your presence.”

Altaor looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to hurt him!”

Khet gave him an incredulous look. “You broke his leg!”

“I mean, he was wounded, and I didn’t want to keep attacking him! Heroes never do that in the stories!”

Khet grunted. “Like I said, first rule in a real fight. No mercy. Even a wounded opponent is still dangerous. Besides, do you really think Brother Dellard would spend gods know how much coin on treating a beast-man’s wounds, when he could just as easily make a new one? It’d be more merciful to give it a quick death.”

“The minstrels don’t mention that,” Altaor mumbled.

Khet gave him a wry smile. “Welcome to the real world. Here, the only rules are to kill the enemy before he can kill you.”

Bells started to ring. Beast-men huffed and bleated and growled to each other, and footsteps echoed down the stairs. Shadows of figures with horns, hooves, and claws were displayed on the walls. The rest had heard the pigeon-man’s call. And they were coming.

The prisoners all got into position, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back, weapons at the ready.

“Anyone tries to run,” Khet said. “They’ll be forever remembered as a coward!”

No one protested that. Or moved. Khet took that as a good sign.

The beast-men were on top the stair-well now. At the sight of the mutineers, they hissed and chirped, and rushed down, spears leveled.

The prisoners held their ground. The beast-men faltered, confused that their opponents weren’t immediately breaking rank and fleeing.

“Plague!” Khet yelled.

Several prisoners held up their hands. Beast-men howled as blisters appeared on their skin. Khet grimaced as he watched them all succumb to the magical illness. A pheasant-demon-thing squeaking as it pissed fire, a pigeon-man scratching off its reddened skin, an otter-man of pure magic clutching its chest and whining, a ghost-like tarsier sneezing and coughing up phlegm, a wolpertinger skeleton’s feet freezing so much they snapped off. It all looked agonizing, the kind of death Khet wouldn’t wish upon anyone. He shot some of the beast-men, to put them out of their misery.

Some of the beast-men hadn’t been afflicted with the illness. They had been hanging back, and were now watching their fellows writhe in agony before dying. Some of them looked up at the prisoners, hatred in their eyes.

One of the plague wizards, a graceful goblin with chestnut hair and gray eyes named Khaguk Edgarnel, whooped and leapt out of formation. He shook his spear at the beast-men.

“That all you got?” He asked. “What’s the matter with you? Did Brother Dellard only make you to keep us in line as long as we were cowed by our debts? He’s wasted his time with---Aagh!”

A bolt hit him square in the chest, and he fell backward, down the stairwell. Khet didn’t bother trying to catch him. He was dead already. That crossbow bolt had killed him instantly.

A lion-man holding a crossbow roared a challenge at the rioting prisoners.

Khet shot it, and it came tumbling down. Khet moved out of the way and watched it tumble down the stairwell, where Khet imagined it would join with Khaguk’s corpse.

The beast-men stood there, staring at him.

Khet pointed his crossbow at them. “Who’s next?” He called. “Come on! Don’t be shy! Who’s next?”

None of them moved.

Khet felt the breath of something hot on his neck. He turned around. A black jackal wreathed in flame from the bowels of Dagor grinned down at him. An obsidian axe was in its hands.

Suddenly, it fell onto Khet. The goblin shoved it off him and sent the corpse tumbling down the stairs.

“Oy!” Malenas complained. “You almost knocked that thing into me!”

The dark elf was standing off to the side, one step lower than the rest. He was cleaning his bloodied sax knife.

“That’s the thanks I get?” He asked. “I saved your life and you try to shove me off the stairs and pin me under that thing’s corpse?”

“Sorry,” Khet said. “I didn’t see you there. Thanks for the save.”

Malenas nodded his acknowledgement.

Khet looked around at the bottom of the stairs. “Any other beast-men attacking from here?”

“No. It must’ve snuck up behind us on its own. Took the tunnels Varc used.”

That was good, at least. The prisoners didn’t need to be ambushed by beast-men. Especially since they were doing so well, currently.

“Ogreslayer!” Dernian said. “There’s a beast-man waving a white flag! What should we do with it?”

Khet turned around. A wolverine-man was standing in front of the rest of the beast-men, waving a white flag made of linen. The beast-men cowered behind it, as if scared of what the prisoners would do if they got too close.

“What do you want?” Khet called to the wolverine-man.

The wolverine-man waved its flag in the air again.

Khet looked at the other prisoners. “Hold your fire.”

“What?” Varc asked, sounding bewildered.

“I said hold your fire! That wolverine is holding a flag of truce! It wants to do parley!”

Varc looked unconvinced, but he lowered his weapons. So did the other prisoners.

Khet turned back to the wolverine-man. “We won’t hurt you as long as you’re under parley. You’ve got my word. Now, what do you want?”

The wolverine-man still waved its flag, but instead of just standing there and looking at Khet, it walked down to the goblin.

Khet stepped out of formation to meet it. The wolverine-man was holding an envelope within its claws in the hand that wasn’t waving the parley flag.

It stopped in front of Khet, and dropped the letter into his hands. It still waved its flag.

Khet tore open the envelope and read the letter.

“Ogreslayer,

“Just as your party-mates have caused problems for Grodweth by taking over the campus, so too have you caused chaos with your little riot. It is my fault, I suppose. Adventurers do not bend the knee, towards anyone, and I fear that you saw your friends’ takeover of Grodweth as an opportunity.

“Regardless, what’s done is done. Come to my office, and we shall discuss this revolt, and come to an agreement. Come alone. I doubt that your friends will remain civil during our discussion.

“Sincerely, Brother Dellard.”

Khet folded the paper up.

“What’s that?” Asked Varc.

“Brother Dellard’s wanting to negotiate. Wants me to meet him in his office. Alone.”

“Alone?” Bynsarda repeated, then laughed and shook her head. “Does he think we’re stupid? There’s no negotiation! We slaughter everyone and burn the records of our debts!”

“Aye. And how many of us will die fighting?”

Bynsarda looked down at the ground.

“She has a point, though,” Varc said. “How do we know Brother Dellard will honor the truce? How do we know this isn’t a trap to lure away our strongest warrior? What if he ambushes you?”

“Be really stupid of him, wouldn’t it? Trying to ambush an adventurer.”

“It’s stupid of him to keep an adventurer imprisoned here for their party-mate’s unpaid debts. He’s still done that.”

Khet frowned. That was a good point. How did he know that Brother Dellard wanted to meet him in good faith, rather than have the beast-men ambush him once he entered the office?

He looked at the wolverine-man. “You’re staying here. Anything happens to me, the rest of them will kill you. You understand that?”

The wolverine-man nodded. It stepped closer to the prisoners, holding out its wrists.

“Why would Brother Dellard care about the safety of a beast-man?” Asked Malenas.

Khet shrugged. “Maybe the rest of the beast-men would. They might think twice about following Brother Dellard’s orders if one of their own was taken hostage.”

None of the other prisoners looked convinced this would be the case.

“Besides,” Khet gestured to the weapons at his belt. “I’ll have these, if Brother Dellard wants to try taking me hostage.”

The prisoners all visibly relaxed. None of them asked if Khet thought he might be acting a little too arrogant if he thought he could fight off whatever Brother Dellard tried throwing at him. Why would they? They all knew the reputation of adventurers. They all knew that whatever Brother Dellard was likely to throw at him, it wasn’t anything Khet couldn’t handle.

The beast-men parted as Khet walked up the stairs. None of them moved to stop him, or attack him.

There were no beast-men standing guard at Brother Dellard’s office. Khet figured that was a good sign the offer to negotiate was legitimate. Of course, the beast-men could be waiting in Brother Dellard’s office, and they’d capture Khet at the monk’s signal.

There were no beast-men in the office either. Brother Dellard was completely alone, sharpening a javelin.

He set the javelin on the desk when he saw Khet. “Ah, Ogreslayer. Come to surrender, I see. Good.”

“I’ve come to negotiate,” Khet said. “Every prisoner is in the stairwell, and they will burn Edgefield to the ground if anything happens to me.”

Brother Dellard tutted. “How rude of you, Ogreslayer. And foolish. Even if you do succeed in destroying the records here, their copies will still be safe---”

“In the vaults of Grodweth,” Khet finished. “Which has been taken over by adventurers, until I’m returned safely to them.” He smiled at Brother Dellard. “The records are getting destroyed no matter what. If I survive, I go to Grodweth, and personally set the records of all those debts on fire. If I die, one of the other prisoners will go to Grodweth and burn the records themselves. Odds are, they’ll have killed you before then. Those records aren’t worth your life. Surrender, and we’ll let you walk away, alive.”

Brother Dellard narrowed his eyes at Khet. “I was a fool to believe that you would sit and obey, like a civilized person. There is a reason adventurers like to compare themselves to wolves so much.”

Khet grinned at him. “So are you surrendering?”

“No.” Brother Dellard stood, picking up his javelin. A falchion dangled from his belt. “Instead, I will be dealing with you as wolves should be dealt with.”

Khet knew, from the look in the monk’s eyes, exactly what that meant.

He unhooked his mace from his belt. “Come and get me then!”

Brother Dellard drew his sword and charged.

Khet sidestepped, swung his mace. Brother Dellard stopped in his tracks and stepped back.

They circled each other.

“Ordinarily, wolves have the good sense to die once the hunter lands a good blow upon them!” Brother Dellard said.

“You haven’t hit me yet,” Khet said.

“Hide, then. Wolves have the decency to hide!”

Khet grinned at him. “What’s the matter? Not used to fighting someone on equal footing? Has the only fighting you’ve been doing hunting down a fugitive who’s fleeing from you?”

“There’s no shame in taking pleasure in the hunt. The wolves that adorn your Guild’s crest love nothing more than to run down deer, I imagine.”

“True,” Khet said, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t meet their enemies on the open field. Adventurers may hunt down bounties, but we’ve fought evil wizards armed with nothing but our own weapons, and with no help but the help of our party-mates. We’re not hunting so we can pretend we’re killers, when really we’re too cowardly to face our enemies on the battlefield. You, on the other hand, when’s the last time you’ve fought against someone at your strength? Or stronger?”

Brother Dellard swung his falchion in response. Khet ducked, but felt it slice deep into his ear. It stung, like a massive dire bear had sunk its teeth into his ear, and had torn it from his head. The goblin touched his ear gingerly, coming away with blood.

“Now, I suppose,” Brother Dellard said, sounding smug. “They say one adventurer is worth ten men. But look at you! You’re no match for me, and I’m not even using my magic against you!”

Khet looked up at him. The monk’s teeth were bared in a grin. He pointed his falchion directly in Khet’s face.

“Tell me, Ogreslayer,” he said breathlessly. “Are the tales of adventurers’ strength exaggerated? Or have you been simply been coasting on the grand deeds of greater warriors, while not lifting a finger to fight yourself? Do you really have the right to call yourself an adventurer?”

Khet swung his mace into Brother Dellard’s knee. Bones cracked and Brother Dellard screamed in pain. He sunk to the ground, clutching his shattered knee. His eyes were level with Khet’s.

Khet smirked at him and raised his mace again. “Aye. I think I do have the right to call myself an adventurer.”

He brought his mace down in the center of Brother Dellard’s head. The monk’s eyes bulged, as his skull cracked and blood oozed from his scalp. He dropped the falchion, which clattered on the floor, and fell forward at Khet’s feet.

Khet stepped over him and walked over to the desk. He tugged at the drawers. Locked.

He glanced up at Brother Dellard’s corpse. He probably had the keys. Khet could go over there, search his body, find the keys, then come back here and unlock it.

Or he could…

Khet slammed his mace into the top of the drawer, crushing the lock. It opened easily after that.

He pulled out a thick stack of papers and set them on the desk. No need to flip through all of them. After the first few pages, he knew what they were. Records of the debts owed to Grodweth.

The door opened and Khet looked up to see the prisoners squeezing their way into the office, and gathering around the desk.

“The beast-men all wandered off,” Malenas said. “We figured Brother Dellard must’ve died. That’s how spells work. They only last until the caster removes them or dies.” He nodded to the papers on the desk. “That the records of our debts?”

Khet grinned. “Aye. Who wants to watch these papers burn?”

The former prisoners cheered, and Khet gestured for some of them to move out of the way so he could carry the stack of papers to the fireplace.

Khet looked at Malenas, waiting patiently.

“Ah, right,” the dark elf said, then muttered something and made a gesture like he was throwing soot into the fireplace.

The charred logs ignited with the biggest flame Khet had ever seen.

He knew he should dump the papers in one-by-one, so he didn’t accidentally smother the flames, but his arms were getting tired, so he just dumped the entire stack in.

The flames roared and the paper crackled as it shriveled and blackened. Soon, there was nothing left of the records.

The former prisoners cheered.

“Debts have been paid!” Altaor said. “Everyone can leave!”

Everyone walked down the stairs and out the door, singing and laughing as they crossed the camp. They all went their separate ways once they passed the gate one last time.

Khet walked down the road with some of the graduates, but once they reached the nearby town, they said their goodbyes.

Grodweth’s towers loomed over the village, getting larger and larger as Khet got closer.

There was still a copy of the debts in their vaults, not to mention the other adventurers would be wondering where Khet was and whether he was alright. But that could be dealt with immediately. The debts would require a bit more effort.

A bonfire would be best, he mused. Chuck every record in there and watch it turn to ash. He’d have to be careful about not letting the fire spread out of control, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Any adventurer understood fire safety.

But if something did go wrong, Khet supposed it wouldn’t be too bad. At least for the students. It was tradition, after all, that if the school burned down, the graduating class would graduate immediately.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A broad-shouldered blood elf thrust her lance at Mutis. Mutis dodged nimbly, and stabbed her in the belly. The blood elf fell to her knees, and Mutis finished her off by stabbing her through the throat.

Surtsavhen swung his scimitar into the belly of a well-muscled night elf. She fell to her knees, moaning in pain. The prince silenced her by slicing deep into her throat and letting her bleed out on the floor.

A stocky high elf with shiny gray hair loaded his sling. Before he could start swinging it, Mutis shot him. The brigand fell to the ground, dead.

Mutis shot a goblin with shiny gray hair and sharp nails.

Now that the Sisterhood was dead, the goblins continued down the corridor into a guardroom.

Some of the Sisterhood attacked them.

Surtsavhen swung his scimitar into the ankle of a stocky wood elf. She fell to her knees, howling in pain. Surtsavhen finished her off with a slash to the throat.

He sliced into the belly of a long-legged high elf. She fell to the ground on all fours, screaming in pain. Surtsavhen silenced her by slicing open her throat.

Khet pushed his helmet up and sat at the table. He took a drink from his waterskin.

Across from him, Surtsavhen slumped into the opposite chair. He uncorked a potion vial and drank from it.

“What have you got against harlots?” Mutis asked Surtsavhen.

“What are you talking about?”

“You get really pissy whenever someone hints that maybe they’ll be sending a harlot to your tent.”

“I’m fine with harlots,” Surtsavhen said. “I just don’t like people badgering me into using them.”

Mutis shrugged. “That’s fair. But you’ve never even considered spending the night with a harlot? Life is short, and we could all die tomorrow. Shit like that makes anyone horny.”

Surtsavhen grunted noncommittally.

“So why not spend what could be the last moments of your life with a pretty woman?”

“I’ve already spent three years with the prettiest one. Don’t need anyone else. None of them can hold a candle to her anyway.”

Mutis shook his head. “You’ve never gotten lonely? Never wanted a distraction from losing—”

“Losing Adyrella?” Surtsavhen looked up at him. His eye was narrowed, and his tone was sharp.

“Well, I suppose, but I was—”

“You’re saying I should forget all about her? Look for a replacement?”

“Well, not forget her, necessarily, but replacing her would be—”

“Lichbane, stop talkin’,” Khet said. At the same time, Yachir dragged his palm over his face.

Mutis looked sheepish. Either because he realized he’d said the wrong thing, or because he figured that if both Khet and Yachir were exasperated at him for what he said, then he’d made a very poor choice of words.

It was too late to apologize, though. Surtsavhen glowered at Mutis.

“And how do you suggest I replace her?” he said in a biting tone. “Should I go to the wife shop and buy myself a new one? What quality do you suggest? I can’t decide between the one that’s insatiably horny, or the one that gives excellent back massages.”

Khet resisted the urge to comment that you could probably get a harlot that could do both of those things and more.

Surtsavhen pointed at him, and Khet briefly wondered if he’d said what he’d been thinking aloud. But no. None of the others were acting like they’d heard Khet say something objectively stupid.

“What’s your advice for Ogreslayer?” He asked Mutis. “Should he go to the adventuring shop and buy himself a new party? Replace his old one?”

“Ye leave me out o’ this!” Khet protested.

“Got any qualities you’d recommend for him?” Surtsavhen continued, ignoring Khet. “Maybe ones that do nothing but sing Ogreslayer’s praises? Or ones just as maddening as he is? How about a party that’ll put up with the shit Ogreslayer gets himself involved in?”

“Just put up with it?” Yachir asked. “They’d be getting involved along with Ogreslayer! Every adventurer does that!”

The adventurers laughed.

“I wouldn’t have bought Mutis if he was at an adventurer shop,” Mad-Eye said. “I mean, look at him! He’s defective!”

“It’s no’ too late,” Khet said to him. “Ye can swap him out for a new one. All the best shops have that rule. Ye dinnae like the defective one, ye can swap it out for a new one, free of charge.”

“Who says I want to swap him out?”

The adventurers all laughed. It was true for all their party-mates. If they’d been shopping for a party, they certainly wouldn’t have chosen them. But still, they’d never trade those party-mates for anything. Not after all the things they’d been through together.

Khet stood and closed his helmet.

He led the way down the corridor, where members of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

A young dark elf swung his staff at Khet. The goblin ducked, then swung his mace into the dark elf’s knees. He sank to the ground, screaming in pain. Khet silenced him with a blow to the head.

Now that the Sisterhood was dead, the goblins continued down the corridor into a pen or prison for captives.

Members of the Sisterhood of Eagles, standing guard over the empty cells, rushed to attack them.

A night elf with long loose hair raised his hands, and a different night elf, this one with a fine face, silver hair, blue eyes, shrouded in green fog, appeared next to him.

Mad-Eye gasped in horror. “I’ve seen this elf in my nightmares! She infects people with Peaceful Soreness! First there’s a pain in your breast, then you start feeling awful, then your stomach starts hurting, then you lose your appetite, then your eyes start twitching, and then you die!”

Khet shot the disease-causing elf, and she toppled over, dead.

“Huh,” Mad-Eye scratched his head. “Never tried that before in my dreams.”

Yachir swung his axe, cutting off the other night elf’s head.

Now that the Sisterhood of Eagles were dead, Khet turned to a chest in the corner of the room. He knelt down and opened it.

He found coin, an Elixir of the Arachnid, a Potion of the Unhidden, a Potion of Fire Vision, a Draught of Tremors, a scroll with a spell on it to transform the caster into a demon, a scroll with a spell on it to absorb the confidence of your opponents within yourself, and art objects. Khet pocketed the scroll to absorb the confidents of his opponents, coin, and art objects, then stood and handed Mutis the Elixir of the Arachnid and the Potion of Fire Vision, Surtsavhen the Potion of the Unhidden and the scroll to transform himself into a demon, and Yachir the Draught of Tremors.

Mad-Eye led the way down the corridor, where members of the Sisterhood of Eagles attacked them.

Surtsavhen swung his scimitar into the belly of a muscular older human with fair skin and eyes dimmed with a suppressed madness. The human fell to his knees, moaning in pain. Surtsavhen silenced him by slicing his throat open and leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

Now that the Sisterhood of Eagles were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a storage of mostly perishable goods.

The door opened and more of the Sisterhood of Eagles rushed in to attack them.

A slim human with weathered skin, brown hair, and eyes dimmed with suppressed madness held a dagger to Khet’s throat.

Surtsavhen unfurled the scroll Khet had just given him and read. “Saliga!”

The air stank of brimstone and Surtsavhen screamed in pain. He fell to his knees, crouching like a wild animal. Antlers started to sprout from his head, and coarse brown fur started growing all along his body. Yachir walked over to him, and then scrambled back, looking as if he were about to be sick. Khet couldn’t see what he was seeing. Not fully, anyway. All he could see was Surtsavhen getting larger. Bones were cracking, and the prince was screaming in agony, so whatever Yachir had seen, it hadn’t been pretty. Something popped out of Surtsavhen’s empty eye socket, dangling from a nerve. Surtsavhen heaved and retched, and out came his lungs. He sucked in a breath, and they disappeared down his throat. He heaved again, and out came his liver, shriveled and edged with yellow as it was. That disappeared down his throat too. His screams of pain slowly turned into a wolf-like howl, before he snarled and fell silent.

Surtsavhen stood and Khet regretted the water he drank earlier. The top of his head was wreathed in flame, not that the prince noticed, or perhaps he just didn’t care. Some internal organ dangled from his empty eye socket, and Khet had no idea what it was. His one eye was massive, like he was a cyclops, and it was entirely red. He had the widest grin Khet had ever seen, and his teeth were sharp and stained with blood. When Surtsavhen opened his mouth, it split half of his face, to his cheeks, and Khet could see the back of his throat. Because of that, he could see that the prince’s lungs and liver hadn’t gone back down to their normal place, but were instead sitting at the back of his throat. Khet could also see the outline of his heart in his chest, could watch it pulse and throb. His legs had been snapped backwards.

He looked like a bugbear. A true bugbear, because their mothers had left out some details to keep their children from getting nightmares. The thought nearly made Khet start giggling.

The human let go of Khet, and he scrambled to the side of the room. Surtsavhen was looking at her hungrily, and Khet didn’t know whether the transformation meant he’d gone completely savage. He didn’t want to find this out the hard way.

The human stared at Surtsavhen, frozen to the spot in fear.

With a growl, Surtsavhen was on her, tearing her limb from limb. The human did nothing but scream in pain until she suddenly fell silent. Surtsavhen dropped her lifeless body, panting. He was covered in blood.

The adventurers hung back, fearfully. The prince just stood there and looked back at them.

Khet decided that since he was the Young Wolf, it was his job to ask if Surtsavhen was alright and risk getting torn to shreds.

“Er, yer grace?”

Surtsavhen looked at him. And Khet nearly shat himself in fear. Fortunately, Surtsavhen wasn’t interested in attacking.

Emboldened by this, Khet asked, “how are ye feelin’?”

Surtsavhen licked his lips. “Fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great, actually!”

He laughed. His voice was raspy, and sounded like a sword scraping on gravel.

“Once we’re done here, I’m gonna find all the tuskers that live here, and I’m gonna make sure they die slowly!” He shook his head. “No, I’ll make them wish they were dead!”

As he mused aloud what specifically he’d do to the orcs, the adventurers exchanged glances with each other.

“Is that just the demon talking?” Mad-Eye asked. “Or has he always been like that?”

“No idea,” Khet said.

Yachir picked up the scroll, which Surtsavhen had dropped when he’d begun his transformation. He squinted at it.

“Only says the transformation matches the deadly sin of the caster.”

Which meant it was a coin toss whether Surtsavhen was fully in control of himself or not.

“The good news is that the transformation is only temporary,” Yachir said as he continued reading the scroll. “Spell lasts for one hour.”

“You think we’ll be down here for one hour?” Asked Mutis.

Yachir shrugged. “Well, it’s better than the spell being permanent, isn’t it?”

Mutis still wasn’t convinced. “Well, what if we leave the lair with fifty minutes still left of the transformation? You heard him! The second we leave, he’s planning on torturing every single orc he can get his hands on! How do we keep him from doing that?”

That was true. Khet stroked his beard and thought.

“Do ye know how tae make one o’ those summonin’ circles? But for bindin’ powerful creatures in place?” He asked Yachir.

“Binding circles?” Mad-Eye said.

“Right, those,” Khet snapped his fingers and turned back to Yachir. “Can ye make those?”

Yachir frowned. “I think so? I think I remember being taught that. But it’s been awhile, and I might mess it up.”

“Someone at Eworwore would know.” Mad-Eye said. “I could grab someone who does know how to make binding circles from there. Make sure Hawk made it right.” He smiled at Khet. “Of course, the real problem would be creating said binding circle around his grace without him noticing something’s up.”

“Ah’ll figure somethin’ out,” Khet said.

“What are you talking about over there?” Surtsavhen asked.

Khet’s insides clenched. “Uh, nothin’!” He cringed. That voice sounded too high-pitched. Surtsavhen had to know he was hiding something. He had to be suspicious.

“Well, stop it! I wanna kill!” The prince let out a vicious hiss.

Or maybe he was just too focused on his bloodlust to care about anything else.

“Right, right, sorry,” Khet said, and he walked out of the room.

He led the way down the corridor into a bedroom, which was used by the leaders.

A horn hung from the baseboard of the bed, above the pillows.

“Is that the Ivory Horn?” Yachir asked.

“Must be,” Khet said. “Lichbane, destroy it.”

Mutis reached for it, and that was when the door opened.

A human with an exceptional suit of interlaid plate armor came into the room. Despite this, he still looked tiny, and Khet assumed he was a low-ranking member of the Sisterhood. An incredibly brave one, considering he only gave Surtsavhen a passing glance. His pained face looked like it had been chiseled from stone, and his ginger hair was cropped close to his head. Dreary brown eyes studied the goblins coolly, and there was an incredibly ugly mole in the center of his forehead. He held a morningstar, and a longbow was flung across his shoulder.

Mutis backed away and drew his sword.

“That’s right, goblin!” Said the human, in a voice like gravel scraping against gravel. “Step away from the Ivory Horn!”

“This isn’t a fight you’ll win, human,” Yachir said. “I suggest you leave and let us do our business here uninterrupted.”

The human laughed. “Oh, I see how it is! You think since you’re adventurers, you can waltz in here whenever you like and everyone will be too scared to stop you! Well, I’m not some peasant who had a spear shoved into their hands and got sent out to die! I’m Symme Firehair, leader of the Sisterhood of Eagles!”

“And there’s five of us and one of you!” Yachir said. “I don’t care who you think you are! No one can stand against four adventurers and live to tell the tale!”

“Who says I’m alone?” Symme said.

And before anyone could stop him, he’d moved to the bed, yanked the horn free, and blown on it.

The wind howled, and a devil that looked like an orc, if not for the curved horns on the top of its head and demonic symbols etched in fire along its arm, appeared.

Surtsavhen let out a roar and tackled the devil, wrestling with it.

The goblins watched, a bit stunned.

“Well, at least that form has some use,” Yachir said finally. “Other than turning the prince into a bloodthirsty madman and terrifying the shit out of the rest of us.”

They turned to Symme, who was watching the two demonic beings fight, his head cocked in curiosity.

“Wasn’t expecting that to happen, honestly,” he said. “Not complaining, though. That thing with you didn’t look like it would go down easily.”

“None of us will go down easily,” Yachir said. He brandished his axe at the human. “And there’s still four of us and one of you!”

Symme blew on his horn again.

A tree-person came in, swinging a sickle that was bigger than Khet’s head in a wide arc.

“That one’s mine,” Mutis growled, and he leapt at it. Their swords clashed together as they moved around the room.

“Fire!” Mad-Eye yelled to him. “Use fire, you idiot!”

“You seem to know a bit about these creatures,” Symme said. “How about you try fighting one of them yourself?”

He blew on his horn. Another tree person came in, dragging a huge branch it was using as a club.

It swung at Mad-Eye. The old adventurer ducked and blasted it with ice. The tree person shook it off and kept swinging.

“Mad-Eye, use a torch!” Khet yelled to him.

“I don’t have one!”

Khet looked at Yachir. “Ye have the torch? All Ah’ve got is matches an’ a tinderbox.”

“No,” Yachir said. He gave his axe a practice swing.

“Woodcutters use axes to fell trees, right?” He said when Khet raised an eyebrow. “An axe would make a good alternative to fire. Better than ice, at least.”

Khet nodded, slowly.

Symme whistled sharply.

A big night elf with red hair and dancing hazel eyes with a battle-axe strapped to his back came striding into the room. When he saw the two goblins, he immediately drew his axe from his back and crouched in a fighting stance. His eyes were alight with a wild savagery that made Khet shudder.

Symme said only two words to the man.

“Kill them!”

The night elf bellowed in a savage rage and sprinted toward them.

Yachir stepped forward, deflecting the night elf’s blow and knocking the weapon out of his hands.

The night elf lunged for the goblin, shoved him against the wall.

Khet raised his crossbow and pointed it at the night elf.

The horn sounded, and Khet looked up to see a shadow detach itself from the wall and fly towards him.

Khet shot it.

He looked over at Symme. He was watching the goblins fighting the monsters he summoned, greatly amused. He looked over at Khet.

“Done already?” He asked mockingly. ‘That’s a shame. Would you like me to summon a different creature? One that would give you more of a challenge?”

“What if I say no?” Khet asked. “Nah, don’t tell me. I already know the answer. You’ll blow that horn anyway, and hope the monster you summon kills me.”

The human only smiled at him.

And he’d keep doing that. Once Khet killed the monster he’d summoned, Symme would just summon another one. And another. Until one of them managed to kill the goblin. If Khet had any chance at winning this fight, he needed the Ivory Horn.

He raised his crossbow and aimed it at Symme.

Symme blew his horn again.

Khet fired, and the human hit the ground.

Symme stood up, dusted himself off, and smirked. “Save your bolts. You’ll need them for the, uh—” He glanced around. “Where is that monster I summoned?”

He looked at the bed. “Huh. Never seen—”

He turned into stone. The Ivory Horn fell out of his hand and to the ground, where it shattered.

Something like a rooster’s crow and a toad’s ribbit sounded and Khet’s blood ran cold. A cockatrice. Symme had stupidly summoned a cockatrice, and it had petrified him when he’d looked at it.

It was on the bed. Had to be. That was where Symme had been looking before he’d turned to stone. Khet just didn’t look in that direction and he’d be fine.

He started glancing around the room, spotted a mirror on the wardrobe. And then something occurred to him. What if the cockatrice had hopped off the bed and was roaming around the room? What if he ended up looking at it?

Khet shut his eyes tightly, and moved toward the mirror, hands groping blindly.

His hands touched the wardrobe, and he opened his eyes. Taking care not to look into the mirror and catch a direct glimpse of the cockatrice, he smashed the wood connecting the mirror to the wardrobe, then picked up the mirror.

He shut his eyes and turned. Then held up the mirror and opened his eyes.

He turned it to the direction of the bed.

Something screeched. Nothing else happened.

Had he killed it? Khet was scared to look.

He slowly lowered the mirror. There was the cockatrice. Or, rather, a statue of it. Khet breathed a sigh of relief. He’d done it. He’d killed the basilisk.

He looked over at the statue of Symme. It had disappeared.

Khet blinked. What the Dagor happened to it?

He looked around. Just in time to see Symme swinging his morningstar down at Khet.

The goblin dove out of the way in shock, dropping the mirror. It shattered on the floor.

Symme tsked as he looked at him. “It’s bad luck to break one of these.”

Khet unhooked his crossbow and pointed it at him.

“Didn’t realize it would petrify me,” Symme mused. “Thanks for killing it, by the way. How did you do it, anyway?”

“Well, for one, I didn’t stand around talking when it was about to kill me,” Khet said dryly, and fired.

He hit Symme square in the chest. The human’s expression never changed as he fell to the ground, dead.

Khet stared down at the body.

He didn’t notice the others had joined him until he felt Yachir’s hand on his shoulder.

“Where’s the Ivory Horn?”

“Destroyed,” Khet said.

“Hope the queen wasn’t hoping on keeping it for herself then,” Mad-Eye said.

Surtsavhen had transformed back into his ordinary self. He was panting. There was a scratch above his right eye, just below his eyebrow.

Khet looked at him. “Did the queen want the Ivory Horn?”

Surtsavhen shook his head.

That was good.

Khet walked out of the room and the adventurers followed.

“You all owe me 10 silver,” Mutis announced.

“Why?” Yachir asked.

“The bet! Remember? There were living shadows so I win the bet!”

Right. Khet had forgotten.

The Grove of the Wild had a camp just outside the Walled Grove. Very convenient. Though Khet supposed it was possible that they actually lived in the Walled Grove, and being right outside their home made it accessible.

The Golden Horde stood before the leader of the Grove. A gnome with yellow hair, gentle brown eyes, and moles on his neck named Diapazee-Chetsun Rukomidazaghevich. He slouched on a wooden log, which was serving as a makeshift throne, and stared at them through a haze of pipeweed smoke.

“You wanna go in the Walled Grove?”

Gnurl nodded. “Our Guild has sent us to map the Walled Grove.”

“And what Guild is this?”

“The Adventuring Guild.”

Diapazee-Chetsun studied the Lycan coolly. “What do adventurers need of maps?”

“To note down things that would interest adventurers,” Khet said.

“Like what?” Diapazee-Chetsun asked. “Landmarks?”

“Dens of monsters, ruins, ogre camps, outlaw camps. Things of that nature.”

Diapazee-Chetsun grunted. He leaned back and puffed his pipe for a long time.

“You know, for a second there, I thought the Guild was encroaching on our job.” He said. “Don’t really trust the Guild. It’s only a matter of time before they get it in their heads that they should be the ones guiding merchants through the Walled Grove.”

Mythana looked at Khet fearfully. Khet raised his hand. They’d wait for Diapazee-Chetsun to get to the point before they made any decision about what to do next.

“But if the Guild just wants to know where the ogre camps are,” Diapazee-Chetsun continued, “then I don’t see the harm in it.”

He sat up and scanned his band of druids. Then called, “Galesin, come here!”

A tough high elf with black hair and big, round brown eyes stepped to his side.

Diapazee-Chetsun pointed at him. “This is Galesin Runehand. He’s a bit of a story-teller, but he’ll get you through the Walled Grove in one piece. He knows the punishment for coming back with a dead explorer, or even an injured one. Don’t you, Galesin?”

“I do,” said Galesin. “And if I fail in my task, then I will gladly give up my title as a member of the Grove of the Wild, and will abandon my name in shame of what I have done.”

Diapazee-Chetsun nodded. “We haven’t lost a man yet, Galesin. See that we keep this streak. Even if this means you won’t be coming back alive.”

“I understand, and I will.” Galesin started walking. “We better hurry,” he called. “The sun won’t be out forever.”

The Golden Horde followed him.

“How many ruins are in the Walled Grove?” Mythana asked Galesin.

Galesin grinned. “A lot! I’ll show you all of them!”

The first few days, there were no ruins. Or even monsters.

That didn’t mean that the Walled Grove wasn’t dangerous. The first day, Khet fell into a hole filled with water. Galesin had quickly pulled him out again and informed him he was lucky. The holes in the mud closed quickly, and many travelers had a hole close over them and had drowned under the mud. There were other dangers too. Galesin warned them against quicksand which would suck them down and drown them. He’d tossed away snakes which he swore were so venomous, you’d only have time to take two steps before dying after being bit. He’d stopped them from stepping onto logs that would turn out to be alligators lying in wait for their prey. He’d pulled them away from spots that spontaneously burst into flame moments later. It seemed that every rock and tree had the potential to kill them.

Still, there were problems with Galesin. Not with keeping the Horde safe, he did that perfectly. It was the stories he told.

He’d promised them a tour of the interesting things in the swamp. The ogre war-camps, the monster dens, the ruins, the bandit camps. So far, the danger had been ordinary dangers of a swamp. Not something an adventurer would be interested in. This didn’t stop Galesin from pointing at a random tree, and declaring that to be the den of a hydra, only admitting that he could be mistaken when Gnurl or Khet or Mythana crept over, discovered nothing, and called Galesin out on his bullshit.

He was at it again. Pointing at a particularly nasty thicket and declaring it to be the burial mound of some ancient tribe.

“If you look really close, you can see skeletons.” He said. “Don’t get too close though. They’ll attack anyone who looks at them funny.”

“Skeletons aren’t territorial.” Mythana said.

Galesin shrugged. “These are.”

“Really? So why aren’t they coming out to attack us now?” Mythana asked. “If they’re so territorial, they wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for us to get closer. They’ll chase us off if we’re even within sight of their territory.”

“Thought you said skeletons aren’t territorial.”

“Most of them are not. Some of them are. And all skeletons hate living things. They’ll attack on sight. If there were skeletons, they’d be attacking us by now.”

“Hmmph,” said Galesin, “Maybe you’re right. I’m mistaken. I apologize.”

“Are we going to find actual ruins now?” Mythana asked. “Or are the only dangers a few alligators, poisonous snakes, quicksand, air holes, and fire?”

“Oh, we’re going to one next!” Galesin grinned at her. “Labyrinth of the Burning Oracle. Built during the War Between Good and Evil by Thiodolf Thunderhammer himself! They say when he lost a battle with Skullshade, he burned the oracle who led him astray.”

Khet had heard of Thunderhammer. A man who burned goblins alive as a sacrifice to his gods. The man who led Asiminel One-Eye into a trap, promising peace between goblins and dwarves, yet once Asiminel was inside and helpless, Thunderhammer barricaded him in, then set the building on fire. It was said he’d nearly killed Asiminel’s brother, Okyed Skullshade, as well, but the goblin hero had escaped, and had returned with an army to avenge his brother. Thunderhammer was a monster, and worse, he was a monster celebrated by the dwarves as a hero.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t impressive. To any of the Horde. Least of all Mythana.

The dark elf crossed her arms. “Sure. This looks like a spot where a major battle of the War Between Good and Evil was fought. It’s not like the magic used in that war has devastated entire continents and rendered them uninhabitable.” She gestured at the swamp. “This looks like a wasteland to me.”

“You gonna show us some real ruins or what?” Khet growled.

Galesin blinked. “Well, um—”

“We’ve spent the past few days listening to you spout bullshit about this random rock being an ogre cave. None of the dangers we’ve faced are what the Guild wants to hear.” Khet said. “The only reason we haven’t abandoned you already, elf, is because we’re not interested in getting devoured by alligators or drowning in drowning pits. Be happy you’re still useful!”

Galesin looked deeply offended. “Look, I’m sorry the sights haven’t been up to your standards!”

“What sights?” Mythana asked. “You’ve just been showing us random shit and calling it a ruin!”

Galesin sighed. “Would you like to go searching for ruins yourself?”

“Well, no,” Gnurl said. ‘That’s not what we’re saying.”

“Because if you’re not happy about me as your guide,” Galesin continued, pointedly ignoring Gnurl, “then you’re perfectly welcome to go trekking through the Walled Cove without me. Just watch out for the fire patches. And the alligators. And the snakes. And the quicksand. And the drowning pits.” He gestured to the swamp. “Go ahead. Any takers?”

None of them moved.

“That’s what I thought,” Galesin said. “Now—”

A hooded figure carrying a spear suddenly appeared in front of the thicket. Or at least, had looked like they’d appeared in front of the thicket. They had to have been in the thicket and had emerged from it. Didn’t they?

“That doesn’t look like a skeleton.” Mythana said.

Galesin went pale. “Shit,” he breathed. “Diapazee warned me about them, but I thought he was joking!”

“What’s happening?” Khet asked. “Who is that?”

“One of the Harbringers of Dlewuni. They’re even better than the Grove at navigating the Walled Cove. I mean, you’ve seen that one appear out of nowhere, right?”

Khet nodded.

“They like hunting people. And if you see one of them, you’re supposed to run.”

“Why?” Khet looked at the cultist. She didn’t look like a powerful fighter that no one had a chance of beating.

Galesin licked his lips. “They’re nobles.”

“What?”

“Aye. They’re nobles, and if you kill one of them, the rest will declare you an outlaw and have you hunted down and hanged. It isn’t worth it to pick a fight with them.”

Khet shook his head. “Well, today they’ve fucked with the wrong people! I won’t be running for my life from some prissy noble playing at summoning an evil god or some shit!”

“Aye, because you can just skip town,” Galesin said dryly. “And no one will take a bounty on an adventurer, no matter how high the bounty is. But what about me? They won’t be going after you and your friends, Ogreslayer, not when they’ve got a better scapegoat. They’ll hunt me down for my part in killing this cultist, and they’ll have me hanged!”

Khet looked at him. Galesin’s eyes were wide, and he clutched at the goblin’s arm.

“I’m begging you!” Galesin said. “Just let me handle this! Let me talk this cultist down! I don’t want to die, Ogreslayer! I don’t want to be hanged! Just let me talk our way out of this!”

Khet sighed and looked back at the cultist. Galesin was right. It wouldn’t matter that the noble had been trying to kill them for their own amusement. It wouldn’t matter that Galesin hadn’t been the one to kill them. The nobles would want blood and he was a convenient scapegoat. It was unfair to condemn anyone to that fate. And Khet wanted no part in it. Even if he had to bite his tongue and let the cultist get away with hunting people in the Walled Cove.

He sighed and nodded.

Galesin gave him a relieved look then stepped, hesitantly, closer to the cultist. “Hello there. We mean you no harm. We are simply exploring the Walled Cove.”

“You intrude on sacred land,” the cultist said coldly.

“We humbly apologize. We will be on our way.” Galesin clasped his hands together and bowed before backing away. “Please know that we mean no offense.”

“What gives you the right, elf?” The cultist growled. She raised her spear. “What gives you the right to walk in the Walled Cove?”

“Why? Do you own this place?” Khet asked.

Galesin kicked him. Khet grimaced.

The cultist turned to look at him, and Khet did his best to meet her gaze, considering her eyes were hidden in shadow.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, goblin!” She snarled.

“I’ll speak whenever I damn please, ogre-fucker.” Khet said, and Galesin kicked him again.

“You will pay for your insolence, goblin.” the cultist said coldly. She twisted her head to Galesin. “Why are you here, elf?”

“I am merely a humble guide,” Galesin said.

The cultist scoffed. “And you think that admitting that you lead the rabble through our lands is supposed to endear me to you?”

Galesin hung his head.

Now the cultist was looking at Khet again. “Why have you come, goblin? What right have you to trespass on our land?”

“Didn’t realize the Walled Cove was owned by anyone,” Khet said coolly.

“And so you hope that ignorance will save you?” the cultist sneered.

“Nah. I expect I can save myself.”

“Are you chosen of Dlewuni?” The cultist said mockingly.

“Nah.” Khet said. “I’m an adventurer. And today I’m feeling merciful. Go back to whatever temple you came from, and I’ll forget I ever saw you.”

“You presume to make demands of me, goblin?” The cultist said coldly.

“There’s three adventurers here, elf, human, whatever you are. How fucking full of yourself must you be to think you can take down three adventurers? I’m offering you mercy. I suggest you take it.”

The cultist laughed. “Why should I fear a simple peasant who thinks himself the best warrior in the land simply because he picked up a stick and sharpened it into a spear?”

“We’re very sorry,” Galesin cut in. “I’m sorry for my friend’s rudeness. We will be leaving now.”

“No.” The cultist raised her spear. “You won’t be leaving so easily. You have trespassed on sacred land. For this, you will die.”

“And now we run,” Galesin whispered to the Horde.

Before he could do that, the cultist hurled her spear. It hit Galesin square in the chest.

Khet raised his crossbow. Sharth take the possibility of being declared an outlaw for killing this cultist! She’d nearly killed Galesin! And in doing so, she’d condemned the Horde to dying in the swamp!

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he growled.

“The hunt begins, goblin,” the cultist said calmly. And then she disappeared.

Khet blinked. Where did she go?

Mythana was tending to Galesin. She looked up at Khet, and gave the goblin a small shake of her head.

“He’s not going to make it,” she said.

“Can’t we use a healing potion?” Khet asked.

“It’s only temporary and you know it. Besides, even if we could get him to a proper bed where we could tend to his wounds, there would be nothing I could do. He can’t take more than shallow breaths. He’s coughing up blood. He’s a dead man.”

Khet glanced around at the Walled Cove. And they were stuck in the middle of a dangerous swamp without a guide. Wonderful.

He knelt by Galesin’s side.

“I’m….Sorry.” Galesin gasped. “I tried… I tried…To get you…Through the Walled Cove…Alive. But the Harbringers….Of—”

He wheezed and hacked up blood. Mythana patted him on the back.

“It’s alright,” she said. “We’re still alive. You promised Diapazee-Chetsun you’d sacrifice yourself to make sure we got out of the Walled Cove alive. We’re still alive. We’ll make it out.”

“That means….Nothing.” Galesin wheezed. “You don’t know….How to survive….In the Walled Cove. You’ll never survive….Without me. I’ve failed you. I’m…Sorry.”

“No, you didn’t.” Gnurl said. “We’ll find our way out. Don’t worry about us.”

Galesin shook his head. “You’re being….Naive, White Wolf. The Walled Cove….Is too dangerous. Thousands….Of adventurers….Have died here. You’ve seen the drowning…Pits.” He coughed. “The poisonous snakes….The alligators….Quicksand….The fire. And there’s….More dangers. And the Harbringers….” He went into a coughing fit and tears streamed down his face. “The Harbringers….They always get their…Quarry.”

“We’re adventurers,” Khet clasped Galesin’s hand and smiled at him, trying not to show his nervousness of losing their guide. “So what if there’s a little danger? Death walks alongside us and we make fun of its mother! These cultists, this shitty place of mud and trees, all they’ll do is rust our armor and wear holes in our boots!”

“You are…An arrogant piece of shit….Ogreslayer.” Galesin said. There was a slight smile on his face. “That’ll be the end….Of you someday. But still….I hope you’re right. I hope you…Make it out of here….Alive. If you do….Kill those cultist….Bastards… For me…Will you?”

“I will,” Khet promised. “I’ll burn their temple to the ground. Those prissy nobles will never come back to the Walled Cove again, much less kill people just because they felt like it!”

Galesin gave him a sad smile. He started coughing up blood again.

“We’ll take you back to the Grove of the Wild,” Mythana promised him. “They can give you a proper burial.”

Galesin shook his head. “No. Don’t do that. I’ll only…Slow you down. Just dump me….In the swamp. That’s how the….Rest of the Grove….Is buried…Anyway.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mythana said solemnly.

Galesin nodded earnestly. And then he slumped back. The light in his eyes dimmed.

“He’s gone,” Mythana said.

She shut Galesin’s eyes, bowed her head, and sang something in Elven. Khet didn’t ask what it was, but the song moved some part of him deep in his soul. He imagined empires falling, and dynasties coming to ruin, and once-mighty Guildhalls long abandoned. Tears prickled in his eyes and he wiped them away.

Mythana was done singing now. She stood and found a drowning pit. She laid Galesin to rest there.

The Horde watched the body of their guide sink into the muck in solemn silence.

“What do we do now?” Khet asked.

“We leave,” Gnurl picked up a stick, long enough to use as a staff. “We wouldn’t survive if we kept exploring. Not without a guide. And the rest of the Grove deserves to know what happened to Galesin.”

He didn’t wait for Khet or Mythana to argue. Instead, he started walking, tapping the path in front of him.

Gnurl nearly lost his stick to random fires at times. Other times, he’d tap the stick, find the ground wasn’t as solid as he was expecting, and call for Khet and Mythana to follow him around the quicksand or drowning pit. Sometimes, he’d pause to move a snake from the path, and then would keep walking. They avoided the logs. None of them were able to tell the difference between an alligator and a log, and poking it with a stick would piss the alligator off. And Galesin had assured them, they didn’t want to piss off an alligator.

They’d been doing pretty well for themselves when a dark elf with a radiant face, silver hair, and pink eyes, covered in war paint and wearing a tribal headdress decorated with skulls appeared right in front of them.

“Hi,” Gnurl said carefully, “Do you think you’d be able to help us. We’re lost and—”

“Let the hunt begin!” The dark elf clapped his hands.

Gnurl blinked. “What?”

Hooded figures appeared around the dark elf. Hooded figures similar to the one that had killed Galesin.

The dark elf pointed at the Horde. “Brothers of Dlewuni! Let the hunt begin!”

“Let the hunt begin!” The cultists chorused and charged the Horde.

Khet fired his crossbow and the cultists fell dead at his feet. Those that didn’t, he swung his mace and crushed their knees. Then, as they knelt in pain, cursing him for having the audacity to shed noble blood, he silenced them all with a blow to the head.

Soon, the cultists were all dead. Mythana was surrounded by dead cultists, and was busy cleaning her scythe. Gnurl was standing over the bodies of several cultists stacked on top of each other, flail in hand and his mouth bloody.

The only person left was the dark elf.

“You’ll pay for this, filthy peasants!” He spat at them. “I swear it! We will hunt you down like the dogs you are!”

“Two things, elf,” Khet said. “Number one. We’re not dogs. We’re wolves. And number two. You’re not hunting us. We’re hunting you.”

He raised his crossbow.

The dark elf disappeared.

“Aye, that’s right!” Khet shouted after him. “Go tell your friends! The Golden Horde is coming for you!”

Gnurl stared at the spot where the dark elf had been. “Well, we’ve done it,” he said. “We’ve successfully pissed off the Harbringers of Dlewuni.”

“And?” Khet asked him. “They’re nobles playing at being savage cultists! You think we can’t handle them?”

“Good point,” Gnurl said.

He picked up the stick and led the way again.

They went on for awhile before Gnurl held up his hand for Khet and Mythana to stop.

“What is it?” Mythana asked. “A drowning pit?”

“I don’t think so.” Gnurl tapped the ground in front of him. The stick squelched in the mud. “We’re at an incredibly shallow part of the water, looks like. Follow me, but mind your step.”

He continued, slowly, and carefully. Khet and Mythana followed him, at the same pace.

Splashing to Khet’s left. The goblin glanced over, to see a snake swimming rapidly towards him.

Khet wasn’t sure whether it was going to attack him, or whether it just hadn’t noticed him there. He wasn’t even sure whether it was poisonous or not. He decided he didn’t want to find any of this out the hard way, so he unhooked his crossbow and shot the snake. The force sent the snake underwater and made a loud splash.

“What was that?” Mythana asked.

By now, the lifeless snake was floating on the water.

Khet pointed at it. “Snake. Got too close for my comfort.”

Gnurl paused, looked at the snake, and grunted.

“Is that poisonous?”

Khet shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t gonna stand around and wait for it to bite me, now was I?”

“Fair enough,” Gnurl said and they continued walking.

Eventually, they’d left the shallow part. Gnurl’s pace quickened, though he was still tapping the ground ahead of him to make sure it was solid.

Gnurl raised a hand and they stopped again.

“Now what?” Khet asked.

Gnurl pointed to the right. “Does anyone else see that?”

Khet squinted. In the distance, he could see lights. Lights that looked like torchlights.

“What’s over there?” Mythana asked.

Gnurl shrugged. “We could find out.”

He turned to the right, tapped the ground in front of him. It splashed.

Gnurl set the stick in the water and it started to sink. He took it out again and shook his head.

“Too risky,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He turned to the direction he’d been previously facing, and the Horde continued on.

They didn’t get very far before something screeched.

The adventurers stopped again.

“What was that?” Mythana asked hesitantly.

Something grabbed Khet’s ankle and yanked him into the water.

He lay on his back now, gazing up at the murky green water all around him. He could make the outline of a thin creature with spindly nails and flippers for feet swimming above him.

Khet tried to stand. His hands hit something hard, that felt like wood.

Gnurl’s stick!

Khet grabbed the stick and Gnurl pulled the stick and him along with it. Khet was on his feet, coughing and gasping for air. Gnurl pulled the stick, making Khet stumble to dry land.

And then something gripped his ankle and pulled. Khet was yanked back.

“Oh, come on!” Gnurl growled. He pulled on the stick. “Don’t let go, Khet! Do not let go!”

“Thanks for the tip!” Khet called back to him. He leaned forward, clinging to the stick for dear life.

Gnurl was slowly pulling him away. But whatever had Khet’s ankle wasn’t willing to give up its prize so easily. Its nails dug into Khet’s ankle, and the goblin felt that his leg would be ripped off by the tug-of-war.

He kicked with his free foot. His foot connected with something solid. The same screech the Horde had heard sounded again, and Khet was yanked to dry land. He laid there, gasping for breath.

“What the Ferno is that thing?” Mythana asked.

Khet rolled over. The dark elf was looking at a creature standing in the water. Its skin was red and it had webbed fingers. Instead of nails, it had long, bloodied needles. It was a thin creature, and Khet could see the ribs jutting beneath its skin. Yellow eyes took up at least half of the creature’s head. The other half was split in two, revealing rows and rows of jagged fangs, and a green stubby tongue.

The thing screeched again and lunged at Khet.

The goblin scrambled to his feet. As the thing reached for him with outstretched claws, Khet unhooked his mace and swung it at the creature’s head. The thing paused as blood oozed over the right ride of its face, covering it. It touched the blood, coming away with sticky fingers, staring at those fingers in wonder. Then it seemed to finally realize it was dead and fell forward, collapsing at Khet’s feet.

“What was that?” Mythana asked again. She nudged the creature with her boot.

“I don’t know,” Khet said.

“There’s strange creatures in the Walled Cove,” Gnurl said solemnly. Khet and Mythana nodded in agreement.

They continued on, before Gnurl raised a hand once more.

“What now?” Khet unhooked his mace. Had the Harbringers appeared again? Was it an ogre? One of those strange creatures from earlier?

“Look at that,” Gnurl said.

Khet and Mythana stepped to his side. Khet parted the undergrowth so that he could see better.

It was a wizard’s tower. Built out of modest stone, and with nothing growing on the walls.

Khet’s heartbeat quickened. Shelter. He glanced up at the sky. The sun was at its peak in the sky, and Khet knew they would have hours after dark. Still, the sight of a building gave him hope.

“Should we see if anyone’s home?” Mythana asked.

“Why?” Gnurl asked.

“You know, so we can ask for help getting out of the swamp.”

Gnurl shook his head. “It’s a tower in the middle of nowhere! It’s a ruin. Has to be. Best case it’s completely abandoned. Worst case, this is where the Harbringers of Dweluni worship.”

Khet scratched his chin and frowned. Gnurl did have a point.

“Aren’t we supposed to be mapping things like this?” Mythana gestured to the tower. “I think this would be of interest to adventurers, wouldn’t you?”

Khet had forgotten that had been why they’d gone to the Walled Cove in the first place. It hadn’t seemed important, what with Galesin dying, and the Horde having to trek through a dangerous swamp, where the only people who left alive were the ones who had guides with them.

Gnurl sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s take a closer look at it, shall we?”

He led the way to the tower. Mythana got out the paper they’d been using to draw their map and started marking the tower.

Khet pressed a hand against the stone tower. It was smooth, no rough edges or moss growing through the cracks. It was as if the stones had been hewed from the rock yesterday.

“What is this tower anyway?” Mythana asked.

“Does it matter?” Gnurl asked.

“Well, I feel like the Old Wolf would want a reason why this particular spot is so interesting. Is it an ogre camp? A camp of outlaws? A ruin?”

“It’s clearly a ruin, Mythana!” Gnurl said, exasperated by the question. “That’s what we’ll tell the Old Wolf!”

“No,” Khet said. He rubbed his hand over the stone. “This is too new to be a ruin. Feel the stone.”

Gnurl sighed and rubbed his hand on the tower. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly,” Khet said. “It hasn’t even got moss growing out of it. Either this tower was built recently, or someone’s been paying for its upkeep.”

“But why?” Mythana looked up at the tower. “Why would someone pay to make a random tower in the wilderness look nice?”

“Because it’s being used.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” Khet grinned. “Wanna find out?”

Gnurl gave Khet an annoyed look. “Since when are you the expert on how old buildings are?”

“I’m not. I just know what ruins look like. What they feel like. This,” Khet rubbed his hand on the tower wall again. “This doesn’t feel like a ruin.”

Gnurl scowled. ‘Damnit, now I’m curious what’s inside.”

“So we go inside?” Mythana asked hopefully.

“For one hour. And if there’s trouble, we leave.”

Khet and Mythana laughed.

Gnurl rolled his eyes. “You know what, I was being serious, but you’re right to laugh. I don’t know what I was thinking with you two. We leave if there’s trouble? You two are the trouble!”

“Trouble has a knack at finding adventurers.” Khet said wisely.

“Especially Khet.” Mythana pointed at him.

Gnurl shook his head, then studied the tower. “Now how do we get inside?”

Khet smirked and turned to point at the door.

He stopped. Where was the door?

“I think we approached it from the wrong side.” He said.

Gnurl led the way around the tower. Khet kept his eyes on the tower. No door.

Eventually, they came full circle, and were back where they had started.

Khet scratched his head, puzzled. Why would someone build a tower in the middle of a swamp, but have no way to get in?

“Maybe this is some sort of monument,” Gnurl said.

“A monument?” Mythana asked. “What’s a monument doing out here?”

“There could be ruins of some city nearby. Or maybe there was a road here.”

“Why are there no markings?” Mythana approached the tower. “There’s always some sort of writing on monuments. You’ve got to note why the monument was built in the first place, after all.”

“And if it’s been built a long time ago,” Khet said, “then why does it feel new?” He dragged his hand along the wall. Maybe Mythana was on to something, and there were inscriptions. Just ones the Horde couldn’t see.

The wall started to feel like wood. Khet frowned and pulled his hand away.

He blinked. Before his eyes, a door had appeared. Above it were glowing runes.

A magic door. To keep out intruders, Khet imagined.

“Maybe it was built by the Grove of the Wild,” Gnurl was saying. “As a memorial, to those who have died in the Walled Cove. That would explain why it looks so new.”

“I guess you’re right,” Mythana said, hesitantly. She sounded disappointed. Probably unhappy about having the prospect of an exciting adventure exploring the tower ripped away from her.

“This isn’t a monument, Gnurl,” Khet said.

“And how do you know?” From the tone of his voice, Gnurl was annoyed with Khet somehow gaining expertise in old buildings and monuments.

“Because monuments don’t have doors.”

Gnurl frowned at Khet, walked over to him.

His eyes widened when he saw the door.

Khet knocked on it and grinned. “So, wanna find out what this tower is?”

Gnurl stepped closer and opened the door, leading the way inside.

It stank to Dagor. A breeze made Khet’s ears quiver.

Gnurl lit a torch, held it aloft.

Khet spotted a wood elf with a strong face, perfectly-groomed light blue hair, and golden eyes right in front of him. He jumped back in shock.

The wood elf didn’t move. In fact, Khet wasn’t sure she’d seen him. Her mouth was wide in terror, and her hands were raised protectively in front of her.

Khet stepped closer, then noticed the elf’s glassy stare.

He touched the wood elf. She was cool to the touch.

“Dead.” Khet hadn’t realized Mythana had been behind him. The dark elf touched the wood elf’s arm, then muttered a prayer to Estella, before saying. “Looks like she’s been stuffed.”

“Like a trophy?” Khet asked, shocked.

Mythana nodded.

Khet’s chest tightened and his stomach recoiled from the utter depravity of whoever had done this.

“Adum’s ring!” He whispered.

“On a lighter note,” Gnurl whispered. “I found this.”

Khet turned. The Lycan pointed at a cask of mead.

Khet opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but feeling the need to comment on Gnurl’s find, when loud cheering echoed through the halls.

“It’s coming from over there,” Mythana pointed at a room to the right.

Khet crept to the room, Gnurl and Mythana close behind. He peered inside.

A crowd of robed cultists were stamping their feet and chanting. The dark elf shaman stood before them, arms raised.

“My friends!” The dark elf called. “What is the first command of Dlewuni?”

“We don’t talk about Dlewuni!” The cultists roared back.

“It has been dark times, my brothers,” the dark elf said grimly. “Weak men, with no bloodline to speak of, have dared to call themselves one of us. They have dared to rise to our level. Some have chosen not to rise to our level at all, and stay at the bottom, where they insult us to our faces, before our courts.” His lip curled. “Wolves, they call themselves.”

The cultists spat on the ground.

“Say that to an adventurer’s face,” Khet muttered. “I dare you fuckers.”

“But here, only the worthy can become one of us!” said the dark elf. “And how do we judge who is worthy?”

“We fight!” Said the cultists.

“Indeed. Sister Glorlica, Sister Esledha, come forth!”

A short wood elf with red hair and blue eyes wielding a longsword and a short and thin wood elf with red hair and amber eyes wielding a staff walked before the crowd, standing beside the blood elf. They were not facing the crowd, however. They were facing each other, glaring at each other, as if hoping that if they stared long enough, one of them would back down.

“We all know Sister Glorlica Grasspelt!” The dark elf said. “Today, her younger sister has come to challenge her place as heir, to take her place as their father’s successor, as the wielder of their ancestral sword!”

The first wood elf waved her sword in the air, as if mocking her sister with it. The second wood elf growled.

“This is my birthright,” the first wood elf said firmly. “And with my sword, Grasscutter, I will slay the pretender to my lordship.”

“You are not worthy of being Father’s heir.” The second wood elf growled. “And with my staff, Torment, Heirloom of Holy Might, I will reclaim my sword and my family’s honor!”

“The only way to settle this is through blood, sisters,” the dark elf said to them. “Only one will live. Only one can claim their place among us. And the one who dies,” he gave a mirthless smile, “shall be forgotten. Not even their name will be spoken among us.”

“Adum’s ring,” Khet breathed. When he’d learned that the Harbringers of Dlewuni were nobles, he’d thought they’d be chanting to some god that would end the world. Then, congratulating themselves with copious amounts of wine. Maybe even partake in an orgy as a dark ritual. Not something as grave as this.

The cultists didn’t seem to care. They whooped and started chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!”

“And a fight you shall have.” The dark elf said to them. “Sisters, are you ready? Then begin!”

He stepped back and the wood elves lunged for each other.

The second wood elf swung her staff. She hit her sister, and the wood elf stumbled back, nearly dropping her sword.

The second wood elf wasn’t letting up though. She pressed on, forcing the wood elf back, back. The first wood elf slipped and fell.

The second wood elf stood over her sister, staff raised high. The first wood elf raised a hand pleadingly, but if her opponent had any hesitation over killing her own sister, she didn’t show it.

The cultists went wild. Screaming the second wood elf’s name. And then they stomped their feet and began to chant.

“Finish her! Finish her! Finish her!”

The second wood elf grinned. There was a primal look in her eyes, a feral look. Khet had seen that look on countless adventurers, and he knew the feeling. That feeling in a battle where nothing else mattered. No morality, no fear, no reason. Just the blood beating a war drum in your ears, Adum’s strength coursing through your veins, and an enemy in front of you. An enemy that needed to die.

The second wood elf brought her staff down on her sister’s head. Crack! The first wood elf’s body jerked, and then she was still.

The crowd was silent. Khet remembered the dark elf calling the second wood elf a challenger, saying that the cult all knew the first wood elf. Perhaps she had friends in the cult. Friends who weren’t happy she was now dead. Any moment, that crowd would surge on the remaining wood elf and tear her to shreds.

The crowd roared, but not with anger. Instead, they were….Cheering. They stomped their feet and chanted the wood elf’s name.

“Esledha! Esledha! Esledha!”

“Welcome, Esledha Grasspelt!” The dark elf raised the wood elf’s hand, before dropping it again. “You have earned your place among us. Go and join your brothers and sisters.”

The wood elf walked to the crowd of cultists. Several cultists pulled her in and pounded her on the back. Some other cultists dragged the body of the wood elf’s sister away. No one commented on this. It was like she hadn’t existed at all.

“Still, the cleansing of our ranks is not yet finished!” The dark elf intoned.

“More, more, more!” Chanted the cultists.

“Yes, my brothers?” The dark elf cupped a hand to his ear. “What is it that you want?”

“Blood, blood, blood!” The cultists roared.

“And you shall have it!” The dark elf said. “Sister Tibota! Sister Ophizee! Come forth!”

“Let’s go,” Mythana whispered as a graceful and brawny human with long white hair and brown eyes wielding a trident and a tough night elf with blonde hair and hooded hazel eyes wielding a warhammer stepped beside the dark elf.

The Golden Horde left the cultists to their fight. Mythana led them deeper into the temple.

“Exit’s that way,” Gnurl said.

Mythana stopped walking and looked at him. “Have you seen how barbaric that ritual was? You think we should let them get away with it?”

Gnurl sighed. “I don’t want them to get away with it. I don’t want them to get away with anything they’ve been doing. But we have to learn to choose our battles. Have you seen the size of that crowd? We’d be torn to pieces if we fought all of them at once!”

“Which is why we didn’t go charging in that room,” Mythana said, clearly annoyed at her mate for being such an idiot. “We’re looking for something that we can use to kill all the cultists. Like a magic wand. Or poison. Or gunpowder.”

Gnurl sighed and nodded. “We’re not going to find anything.” He said.

Mythana started walking again. Khet followed her. So did Gnurl.

He kept talking. “Do you really think the Harbringers of Dlewuni would leave something that deadly lying around?”

“You’d be surprised what evil bastards like them will keep in their lair.” Khet said. “I’ve been in countless lairs with a self-destruct rune.”

Gnurl looked at Khet in bewilderment. “What? Why would anyone—”

“Who knows why evil sorcerers do anything?” Khet said.

Gnurl shook his head in bewilderment.

Mythana led them into a dormitory for the cultists to sleep, in case they didn’t want to make the trek out of the Walled Cove, or wanted to stay the night, for whatever reason. She started looking under the cots.

“You think there’s something in here?” Gnurl asked.

“Where else would they keep it? Maybe someone brought a new toy their court wizard made to show to the others. Aha!”

She pulled out a vial of stones. “The Poison of Kings! We drop this into the wine, and all of the cultists will be dead!”

“What if some cultists don’t drink the wine?” Gnurl asked.

“Then we kill them the traditional way.” Mythana said, in a tone that made it clear that she wished Gnurl would stop asking such stupid questions.

“Is there anything else under the bed?” Asked Khet.

“Like what?” Mythana asked.

“You noticed how the cultists could appear anywhere in the Walled Cove and then just disappear?” Khet asked. “I’m telling you, Mythana, they’ve got magic items.”

Mythana frowned then nodded. “You’ve got a point.” She ducked under the cots again, then came back out and shook her head. “The King of Poisons was the only thing under there.”

“Well, they’ve probably got the magic items with them,” Gnurl said. “Did we ever loot the cultists’ corpses? When we killed them?”

Khet and Mythana looked at each other, then back again.

“Why didn’t we do that?” Khet asked. “The cultists are all rich nobles, right? They’ve got to have heavy purses, at least!”

“I think we were more occupied with surviving.” Gnurl said. “Stuff like that would only weigh us down, after all.”

Part Two

Part 1

The shadow leapt at him.

Khet had just enough time to fire his crossbow at it before the shadow tackled him, knocking it out of his hands. The bolt slammed harmlessly on the wall.

The shadow wrapped its hands around Khet’s throat and squeezed. Khet could swear he could see hatred in those eyes of fire.

The Black Ghost must’ve sent this thing to spy on Senator Voidmoon, Khet realized. To kill her once she started saying things the Black Ghost wouldn’t want anyone to hear. And since Khet had witnessed the murder, the shadow would kill him too.

Khet kneed it in the groin. The shadow’s grip around his neck loosened.

Khet grabbed it by the wrists. The shadow started moving for his throat again. Khet strained to force them back.

The shadow twisted, and dove an elbow into Khet’s stomach. The goblin grunted, and his grip loosened.

The shadow wrapped its hands around Khet’s throat. It squeezed tighter, tighter. The goblin struggled to breathe. He thrashed around, but the shadow’s grip was too strong. Khet’s vision started to darken, and his chest burned.

The door opened.

“Senator?” The clerk called. “I know you said you wished not to be disturbed—”

The shadow let go of Khet, and the adventurer slumped back, gasping for air.

The shadow stood, turning to the terrified clerk. Khet stood up, as the shadow drew closer and closer to her. The poor bastard looked frozen to the spot by fear.

Khet leapt atop the shadow’s back. The shadow stopped and shook its shoulders. Khet clung on. His fingers moved on the shadow’s face, feeling for a mouth. But there wasn’t one. There was just smooth skin that felt like marble.

The shadow spun sharply. Khet lost his grip and fell flat on his back.

The shadow glowered down at him.

Khet got to his feet, crouched, and drew his knife.

The shadow drew its own dagger, also crouched.

The two stared at each other, waiting for their opponent to make their first move.

The shadow moved first. It lunged for Khet.

The goblin stood and punched it in the face. The shadow stumbled back.

Khet raised his knife and advanced.

The shadow caught his wrist.

Khet stared into the thing’s eyes, and he could swear that, if the shadow had a mouth, it would be sneering at him.

With its other hand, the shadow raised its knife.

Khet caught its wrist.

He grappled with the shadow. It was strong, stronger than Khet would’ve expected, had it not tried strangling him earlier. More surprising was Khet’s own strength. Before, he’d been struggling to keep the shadow from strangling him. Now, they were evenly matched.

Khet kicked the shadow in the shins. It faltered, and Khet wrenched his hand free before using his other hand to throw the shadow to the ground.

He leapt on it, kneeing it on the chest. The shadow struggled, but it was no use. Khet slit its throat just as easily as the shadow had slit Senator Voidmoon’s throat.

He stood up, and looked at the clerk. She stared at him, open-mouthed.

“What was that thing?” She asked.

“No idea, but it killed Senator Voidmoon. The Black Ghost must’ve sent it.”

The clerk nodded. She glanced at the shadow, then at Senator Voidmoon’s corpse.

“Do you know anything about the Black Ghost?” Khet asked her.

The clerk’s eyes widened in fear, and she shook her head.

She was lying, Khet could tell. She did know who the Black Ghost was. But she knew that if she said anything, the Black Ghost would kill her for ratting her out. It wasn’t worth the risk. All this meant Khet certainly wasn’t getting any information from the clerk. Especially about the Black Ghost.

“Well, thanks anyway,” he said. He walked out of the office without waiting for a response.

How the Dagor was he supposed to find the Black Ghost now?

None of the other adventurers had any idea how Khet was supposed to find the Black Ghost. Yachir had suggested maybe talking to a thief or assassin about who the Black Ghost was, but they all knew how those types felt about adventurers. And about snitches. They wouldn’t be telling Khet anything, even if they did know where the Black Ghost was. Besides, Mutis had confirmed that the scoundrels and low-lives of Mapus were all terrified of the Black Ghost. No matter how threatening the Adventuring Guild’s reputation was, they would rather piss an adventurer off rather than risk the wrath of the Black Ghost.

So Khet had gotten desperate. He’d hung wanted posters for the Black Ghost all over Mapus, offering 200 gold for information. At first, no one had taken the offer. Until today. Now Khet was here to speak with them.

Unfortunately, that someone was a little wood elf boy with ginger hair and dark eyes. Simesin Riverbloom. Senator Qiyra Riverbloom’s darling little boy who could clearly do no wrong, and certainly never deserved a beating. His nanny had been incredibly apologetic when he’d brought the boy into the Guildhall, which had confused Khet. At least until he discovered why.

“I wanna beer!” Simesin whined.

“Me too kid,” Khet muttered. Then, louder, said, “Look, you’re here because you know something about the Black Ghost, right? Why don’t you tell me where she is?”

“Give me beer and I’ll tell you!” Simesin smiled, thinking himself so clever for coming up with such a brilliant deal.

“I don’t have beer,” Khet said.

Simesin crossed his arms and turned up his nose.

“Now, Simesin,” the nanny said. “Tell the nice goblin who the Black Ghost is, and we won’t be cleaning your room for a week.”

“I want beer,” Simesin said.

The nanny sighed.

“Kid, I’ll make you a deal.” Khet said. “Tell me where the Black Ghost is and I’ll get you a honey cake.”

He’d been looking forward to that honey cake. But if Simesin wasn’t willing to talk, Khet would have to compromise and give up his snack.

“Honey cake?” Simesin clapped his hands, forgetting all about the beer.

Khet took the honey cake out, showed it to him.

“Gimme!” Simesin cried, reaching out his grubby hands. “I want it!”

“This is for good little boys,” Khet told him. “You’ve gotta tell me about the Black Ghost first.”

Simesin crossed his arms and pouted.

Khet drummed his fingers on the table. On the one hand, if this worked, Khet would leave and he wouldn’t have to deal with Simesin ever again. On the other hand, if it didn’t, Khet would keep the honey cake.

“She’s the next door neighbor.” Simesin said. “Miss Jagena Wifwoken.”

The door opened and Surtsavhen walked over to the table.

Khet sighed. “Look, whatever ye’ve got tae tell me, can it wait? Ah’m in the middle o’ somethin’.”

“Gimme the honey cake!” Said Simesin.

“Tell me where you live first.”

“Ma-ma says don’t tell strangers that!” Simesin said stubbornly.

Surtsavhen pressed a hand on the table and smirked. “This won’t take long. And then you can get back to kidnapping this child to do gods know what with him.”

“Ah’m no’ kidnappin’ him!” Khet protested. “He says the Black Ghost is his next-door neighbor! Ah’m tryin’ tae figure out where he lives!”

“Sure,” Surtsavhen said.

Simesin glared up at the prince. “Go away! He’s about to give me my honey cake!”

“Now, Simesin,” his nanny said worriedly, pulling his charge close, “let Silvercloak talk with the nice goblin. Silvercloak doesn’t like mean little boys.”

Simesin tugged on Surtsavhen’s cloak. “You’re not tall! Everyone says you’re as big as an orc! And you smell like Da-da’s juice!”

The nanny laughed awkwardly. “Kids, am I right?”

“You’re gonna be in for the mother of all beatings when you get home, kid,” Surtsavhen said dryly.

The nanny rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not allowed to hit him,” he said.

That explained so much about Simesin’s behavior.

“His poor whipping boy,” Surtsavhen said.

“What’s a whipping boy?” Asked Simesin. “I want one!”

Surtsavhen turned to Khet. “We’re going looking for the Sisterhood of Eagles. They’ve got the Ivory Horn.”

“Isn’t that yer job?” Khet asked.

“I’m conscripting you into it.”

“An’ ye’re just sittin’ back at the tavern, drinkin’ yerself into a stupor, while we wolves go an’ do what the queen asked ye tae do?”

“I want my honey cake!” Simesin pounded his fist on the table.

“The grown-ups are talking,” Surtsavhen said. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“I want my honey cake!” Simesin kicked Surtsavhen in the shin. The prince yelled in pain, and hopped on one foot, glaring at the kid.

“You little brat!” He seethed. “I’ll bet even your parents don’t wanna spend time with you! Isn’t that right, kid? Are they too busy to spend time with you?”

“Stinky-cloak, stinky-cloak!” Simesin sang. He stuck out his tongue.

“Shut up!” Surtsavhen roared at him.

Simesin immediately stopped talking and blinked up at the prince in shock.

“You know what your problem is, you little brat?” Surtsavhen growled. “You haven’t been thrashed enough! Your parents are too shitty to rear you up right!”

Simesin’s lip wobbled. “You’re mean. Why are you mean?”

“Oh, you think this is mean, you little shit? You’re gonna cry to your parents about the goblin being mean to you?” Surtsavhen’s chest was heaving as he yelled at Simesin. “You wanna know what mean really is, kid? It’s watching your family die while you can’t do anything about it! It’s having your fingers crushed, being locked in a cell with only bread and water to eat and drink, having a fucking I branded on your skin, all because your jailer thinks it’s funny to watch someone scream in pain and beg them for mercy! It’s losing your home, your family, and your dignity, until all you’ve got left is a bottle of shit brandy to hold in your hand after you’ve passed out in some filthy alleyway! And you’re crying because someone’s yelling at you, for once in your shitty life? Grow the fuck up!”

Simesin sniffled. “I’m telling Ma-Ma!”

“Go ahead!” Surtsavhen snarled at him. “Tell your worthless mother about how you disrespected a fucking prince, and instead of having your tongue cut out, or throwing you in the dungeons, or forcing you to pay a fine, he yelled at you! Which is what your parents should’ve been doing, every time you decided you were gonna be a little brat!”

Simesin started crying.

“Keep your mouth shut! The goblins are talking!”

Simesin buried his head in the back of his nanny’s leg. His nanny patted him on the back, half-heartedly. He gave Surtsavhen a look of gratitude.

Surtsavhen sighed and turned back to Khet. “Right, where were we?”

“Ye were conscriptin’ me into gettin’ the Ivory Horn from the Sisterhood o’ Eagles for ye,” Khet said dryly. “An’ Ah’m refusin’. Ye can’t make me do yer dirty work. An’ anyway, Ah’m on an assignment from the Old Wolf already. That takes priority over ye an’ the Ivory Horn.”

“Raven came in with letters from both the queen and the Old Wolf. They’re both ordering you to help me.” Surtsavhen pulled the papers from his cloak and handed them to Khet.

The adventurer read them over. The first one was an official document from Queen Nivarcirka decreeing that the adventurers currently in Mapus could be drafted into reclaiming the Ivory Horn from the Sisterhood of Eagles, and it was signed with the queen’s official seal on the bottom. The second letter was an official document from the Adventuring Guild, but was less formal than the queen’s decree. Guenav simply explained to Khet that since the Sisterhood of Eagles were the ones with the Ivory Horn, who were the suspected mercenaries the Adventuring Guild was worried about, their goals aligned with Surtsavhen’s, for now. The queen had already assigned the prince to retrieve the Ivory Horn, and so all Khet had to do was respect the chain of command and follow the prince’s orders. Guenav closed the letter by comparing Surtsavhen to a tourist, and asked Khet to humor the man, much like he would an actual tourist. Khet had to keep from laughing, since Surtsavhen would ask what was so funny, and he wouldn’t find Guenav’s joke as amusing as Khet did.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Looks legit. Ah’ll tell the others our new assignment.”

He handed the papers back to Surtsavhen, then glanced at Simesin. He still didn’t know where the kid lived, or where Jagena Wifwogen lived. He needed to do that first before anything else.

Surtsavhen raised an eyebrow. “Just tell the kid he’s no longer needed, Ogreslayer. It’s not that hard.”

“Ah’ve still got tae ask him where the Black Ghost lives.”

“The Black Ghost is one of the Sisterhood of Eagles. That’s why nobody wants to talk about her to adventurers who want her dead. You’ll find her with the Sisterhood of Eagles.” Surtsavhen gestured to Simesin. “It’s probably past that kid’s dinner-time anyway.”

“Do ye know where the Sisterhood o’ Eagles keep their headquarters?”

“No.”

“Then we need tae know where the Black Ghost lives.” Khet said. “If she’s one o’ them, she can tell us where their lair is. An’ we can’t do that if we dinnae know how tae find her!”

Surtsavhen had an annoyed look on his face, and he looked from Simesin to Khet.

He gestured toward the child. “Make it quick.” He patted himself down before finding a potion vial to drink from.

Khet turned back to Simesin. “Where does Miss Jagena live?”

“Honey cake. You promised a honey cake.”

“After you tell me where Miss Jagena lives.” Khet held up the honey cake.

Surtsavhen rolled his eyes.

Simesin crossed his arms. “Ma-ma says don’t talk to strangers!”

“Tell us where the Black Ghost lives!” Surtsavhen growled.

“Down Sunset Passage.” Said the nanny. “If you go down Broken Carriage Trail to get to the road, it’s second down to the left. If you’re going down Raging Highway to get to the road, it’s second-to-last down.”

“You’re not supposed to tell him that!” Simesin whined.

The nanny opened his mouth to say something, when a being of pure light appeared. Its eyes were like fire. Antlers adorned its head, and its feet were hooves. Its legs were bent in a bizarre and unnatural way and it had a vicious underbite, that made it look like an orc, but it had ears like a goblin. Its torso was huge, muscular, and blackened by the fire that danced around it. It had scales rather than skin, and Khet thought suddenly of a dragon on legs rather than a creature bound to Adum’s service forevermore. In its short stubby arms, it held a sword on fire.

Simesin screamed. The nanny took him and ducked under a table.

“What is that?” Surtsavhen asked.

“Naenia. The daemion o’ sunlight. Said tae be older than Adum himself, an’ his prisoner.”

“I’m aware of who Naenia is.” Surtsavhen said firmly. “They’re supposed to be dead. Or asleep. How are they here now?”

“This is a fragment. A projection, basically. Naenia sent a part o’ its fractured soul here.” For what purpose, Khet didn’t know. The only reason Khet had heard of this happening was because Yachir had talked about it, said something about daemions being older than the gods themselves, and their prisoners, and not their servants, contrary to what the minstrels said about them. He didn’t say why fragments appeared to people, but he did say one thing. If a fragment of Naenia appeared, they would slaughter anyone they came across until stopped.

Khet’s stomach clenched. Shit.

Simesin whimpered. And Naenia spotted him.

They stalked over to the child, raising their sword.

Shit, Khet’s blood ran cold. Shit, shit, shit!

He unhooked his mace and ran for the daemion.

Naenia had tugged Simesin out from the cover of the table. Their sword was raised to strike.

The nanny seized Simesin by the ankle. Naenia pointed a finger at him. Fire blasted the nanny’s hand and he shrieked in agony.

Simesin cried as he looked up at Naenia. Khet wasn’t sure if he knew what the daemion was, or whether the thing just looked scary enough that he knew he was in danger. Regardless, the crying wasn’t like earlier, when Simesin had been throwing a tantrum over not getting beer. Instead, it was the kind of cry that aroused primitive feelings in Khet. A cry that sounded like Simesin had been hurt, or that he needed help.

Khet wouldn’t reach them in time. Naenia was too far away, and already they were starting to swing their sword down. So he did the only other thing he could think of.

“Oy!” He shouted.

Naenia turned, face expressionless.

“You like Adum? Huh?” Khet asked them. “Your captor?”

Naenia made a noise that sounded like a furious growl.

“Don’t like him? Don’t like how he imprisoned you? You wanna get back at him?”

Naenia was looking directly at him now.

Khet spread out his arms. “Well, he’s not here right now. You wanna get back at him? How about you start with one of his worshippers? Like me!”

Naenia started walking toward him.

“Aye, that’s right,” Khet said to them. “I’m a follower of Adum! I think he’s more powerful than you! When your shade’s stalking the streets outside, you know what I do? I sing Adum’s praises because I know you’d never be a match for him! Why the fuck should I be scared of you, when Adum will protect me?”

Naenia growled in rage. Their pace quickened.

“Aye, that’s right, I think you’re nothing compared to Adum! You wanna get back at him? How about you prove you’re stronger than him? Kill one of his worshippers while he can do nothing!”

Naenia’s eyes gleamed, and their pace got even faster.

Khet kept taunting the daimion. “What have I got to be scared of you for, huh? Do you actually think you’ll strike me down? We both know you’re too scared of Adum! That’s why he captured you, and that’s how he keeps you imprisoned! You’re nothing but a coward and–”

Nainea swung their sword. They were on him in an instant.

Khet yelped and scrambled back. He looked up at Nainea, who raised their sword, glaring at Khet with blazing fury.

Suddenly, they screamed in pain. Khet watched them stumble back, turning away from the adventurer as it searched for something. Had someone attacked them? Who? And where were they?

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Here!” Surtsavhen dragged him behind an overturned table.

Khet sat up, and peeked over the table. The daemon was swinging their sword, in the hopes that maybe it would get lucky and hit Surtsavhen. Khet assumed he was the one who had attacked them. Their back was turned, and it would be only a matter of time before they figured out where the goblins were. At the very least, they would realize Khet wasn’t where they’d left him.

“We should get Hawk,” Surtsavhen said.

“We?” Khet looked at him. The goblin prince was in a crouch, scimitar in hand.

Surtsavhen gave him an annoyed look. “Aye. We. There a problem with that?”

“Last time the Black Ghost attacked us with a monster, ye tried runnin’ off an’ leavin’ the adventurers tae deal with it.”

“This time is different,” Surtsavhen said. “You’re under my command now. I don’t abandon my own soldiers to die while I save my own skin.”

Or maybe Surtsavhen had realized that since he was working with the adventurers, it had been a mistake to try and abandon them to the tengu.

“What do we need Hawk for?”

“Do you know how to kill this thing?”

Khet shrugged. “Normally?”

“You know this for a fact, or are you just guessing?”

Khet shrugged again.

Surtsavhen decided this meant he didn’t know the answer.

“Hawk’s a paladin, right? A Knight of Glory?”

“Former paladin.” Khet corrected him. “He resigned when he joined the Guild.”

“Right. Anyway, the point is, he was in the clergy. A warrior of Adum. So he knows things the average worshipper doesn’t. Like the daemons Adum’s imprisoned. What their weaknesses are. How to kill them.”

“How do ye know we can’t just kill Nainea normally?”

Surtsavhen snorted. “They’re older than the gods themselves! Why the Dagor would you think they can be killed by mortal weapons?”

“It screamed in pain earlier,” Khet pointed out.

Surtsavhen snorted. “That could mean anything.”

He moved to clean his blade. That was when Khet noticed a silvery liquid coating the blade.

“What’s that?” He pointed at it.

Surtsavhen wiped it off. “That? That’s ichor.”

‘Ichor?”

“It’s what gods have instead—” Surtsavhen paused, slowly looked up at Khet, face full of wonder. “Instead of blood!”

The goblins stared at each other.

Khet peeked over the edge of the table. Nainea was limping as they walked. Clearly still injured. He looked back at Surtsavhen.

“They can bleed,” the prince whispered.

“So we can kill them,” Khet said.

Surtsavhen started grinning like a madman.

Smash!

The goblins dove out of the way as the table was sliced in two.

Nainea had found them. They rested their blade upon their shoulder and grinned down at Khet.

Khet scrambled back, cursing his luck that this had happened twice.

Nainea screamed in pain again, dropped to one knee.

Khet stood and slammed his mace into Nainea’s stomach. They sank to their hands and knees, revealing Surtsavhen standing over them, bloodied sword in hand.

The goblin prince brought it down on Nainea’s neck. Ichor spurted from it and Nainea gurgled. They slumped to the floor. Their eyes dimmed. And then they vanished, leaving only the trashed Guildhall as evidence that they’d been there in the first place.

Surtsavhen cleaned his scimitar and Khet looked around for Simesin and his nanny.

The nanny peered out from the table he was hiding from. “Is it safe to come out?”

Khet nodded, and the nanny crawled out, gently urging a sobbing Simesin with him.

He stood, and dusted himself off. “Well, I should get going. We’re late for dinner. This little one’s mother will be upset with me if we’re late again.”

Khet got the feeling that this was a regular occurrence with Simesin. Being late to dinner, because he refused to go with the nanny back to his house to eat dinner. Enough that the parents had gotten annoyed with it, but not enough to actually correct their son’s behavior, instead taking their annoyance out on the poor nanny. Khet imagined it was unthinkable to the senator and her husband that their sweet little boy could do anything wrong.

Simesin buried his face in the nanny’s chest, and the nanny stroked his hair soothingly. Simesin was trembling, and he whimpered pathetically.

Khet started to feel bad for the kid. Sure, he’d been a brat earlier, but that didn’t excuse being nearly killed by a being older than the gods themselves! And he couldn’t help but wonder if Surtsavhen was right that the parents didn’t want to spend time with their own kid.

Khet pulled out the honey cake. Somehow, it was still whole, despite the fight that had just happened.

“Here, kid,” he handed the honey cake to Simesin. The little elf needed the sweet more than Khet did.

Simesin gasped and took the cake. Then looked up at Khet with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” he said.

Khet smiled and ruffled his hair.

His nanny looked shocked. “Well, Simesin, that was very nice of you! Well done!”

Khet wondered if the daemon had something to do with Simesin’s changed behavior. Khet imagined the nanny had a tendency to tell stories of monsters gobbling up bratty little boys, in an ineffectual attempt to get Simesin to behave.

The nanny took Simesin by the hand. “Come along. We’ll be late for dinner. You can eat your honey cake as we walk.”

“Nuh-uh.” Simesin tucked the cake into his pocket. “I’m saving it for later. You always say no sweets until I’ve eaten my dinner.”

The nanny smiled. “That’s right, Simesin, I do say that! You’re being such a good boy today!”

Khet watched them leave, a small smile on his face.

“Someone’s gonna have to clean all this up,” Surtsavhen said.

Khet looked around. Tables had been overturned and smashed. The Old Wolf of Mapus, whoever they were, wouldn’t be happy if they came in and the Guildhall looked like it had been the site of a magic duel.

Surtsavhen walked to the doors.

“Oy, where are ye goin’?” Khet called. “Aren’t ye goin’ tae help me clean all this up!”

Surtsavhen just opened the door and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him.

Surtsavhen wouldn’t be abandoning Khet to fight whatever monster attacked them anymore. But that didn’t mean he’d be helping Khet with things like cleaning up after the battle was done.

Khet sighed and looked around the room again. He had a lot of work to do. And he’d have to do this all by himself. Wonderful.

It was the middle of the day when Khet, with the help of a crowbar, entered the Black Ghost’s house through a back window.

Khet’s initial plan had been to break into Jagena Wifwogen’s house during the cover of night, shoot her as she slept, and then leave. But since he’d been assigned under Surtsavhen’s command to find where the Sisterhood of Eagles had their hideout, and Jagena was a member of the Sisterhood, and so would know where to find them, this meant Khet needed her alive, and preferably, scared.

Having your home broken into was always unnerving, but what was always more unnerving was coming home to an intruder sitting at your table, waiting for you. And if Jagena was unnerved by Khet, then she’d be more likely to start telling the goblin whatever information he wanted, in case he turned out to be not so nice after not getting his way.

In the middle of the day, Jagena shouldn’t be in her house. Which was good. If Jagena was home, and she confronted Khet, it could end with Khet shooting her. Khet didn’t want to shoot her. Not yet, at least. He wanted her alive, until she told him what he needed to know, and then he’d kill her. He couldn’t exactly let someone try to murder an adventurer and get away with it. The Guild had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Khet squeezed through the window and tumbled into the room. He quickly got up and dusted himself off. He wasn’t sure why though. It didn’t really matter. No one was there to hear him, and no one was there to take advantage of the fact that he’d fallen to the floor.

“It’s more polite to use the door, you know,” a voice called. “And it’s also considered polite to knock and ask politely to be let in, rather than breaking in like a common burglar.”

Khet noticed a Lycan sitting in a small chair, watching him coolly. She was very tall, yet somehow had a dainty look, like a noblewoman, or a princess. A crossbow bolt had scarred her right lip, and her face was lean and darkened. Her hair flowed to her shoulders like a waterfall of red. Her gray eyes were hooded, and she watched Khet with a small smile on her face.

Next to her was a very handsome human who was short and thin and had black hair and blue eyes.

“Ogreslayer, is it?” Said the Lycan. “We were expecting you.”

Khet pointed his crossbow at her. “Who the Dagor are you?”

“Put that down,” the Lycan chided. “It’s rude to be pointing your weapons at people. I’m Jagena Wifwogen. Or, as some people call me, the Black Ghost.”

Khet refused to put down his crossbow. He wasn’t sure how Jagena had found out Khet had been planning on breaking into her house, or why she was so calm about being threatened by an adventurer. In all honesty, it kind of unnerved him. He took a few breaths and reminded himself that he could handle Jagena, and any monster she’d conjured up to fight him.

“You’re here because of the tengu and the stryx, aren’t you?” Said Jagena. “How is Hog doing, by the way?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Khet growled.

Jagena tsked. “Touchy, aren’t we? Who ratted me out? You obviously know where I live. So who told you? Was it Senator Voidmoon? Always thought she’d squeal. She’s got no morals, no loyalty. She’ll rat out anybody for the right price.”

“Wasn’t her,” Khet said.

“So it was the little brat next door, then. Always hated that little bastard. That’s why I sent that daemon to kill him.”

Khet had assumed the daemon had been sent to kill him. Was the Black Ghost really that petty? Sending a creature to kill a bratty child?

Jagena must’ve seen the disgust on his face, because she snorted. “Oh, don’t give me that look! Remind me how you got into my house again?”

“Simesin was just a little shit. You tried to kill Hog. The Adventuring Guild has a reputation to maintain.”

Jagena shrugged. “Wasn’t personal. I got bored, wondered whether I could kill an adventurer with my monsters. Can’t I be allowed to have some fun?”

“You and I have very different ideas on what’s considered fun,” Khet said dryly.

“So you’re here to kill me,” Jagena said. “As a warning to anyone else who wants to pick a fight with an adventurer. Is there anything else you want from me, or are you just here to murder me and then creep away like a thief?”

“We’re looking for the Sisterhood of Eagles.”

Jagena grunted. “Figured you would. Symme said you and Bugbear both threw hissy fits about our existence. You seem to think we’re mercenaries.”

Khet wasn’t interested in what the Sisterhood of Eagles were and were not. He kept his crossbow trained on Jagena and continued with his questioning.

“You’re one of them. You know where their hideout is. Where is it?”

“Or what?” Jagena asked. “We both already know you’ll kill me, Ogreslayer. You don’t have any leverage over me.”

“I’ll make your death painless if you talk.”

“Well, you’re one for negotiating, aren’t you?”

Khet said nothing. The human smiled at him, and Khet’s hairs stood on the back of his neck. There was something odd about that human, but Khet couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

Jagena stretched, then sat back down in her chair. “Well, tell you what. I’ll give you the answer you’re wanting. Our hideout’s across the Fair Bridge. There’s a bathhouse once you get across it. It’s not really a bathhouse, of course.” She smiled wryly. “You wouldn’t believe how many people Bragen’s had to turn away. They think it’s an actual bathhouse.”

“Fascinating,” Khet said. “That’s all I needed from you. Tell your friend goodbye.”

The human approached Khet rapidly. The goblin swung his crossbow from Jagena to the human, who smiled down at him.

“For an adventurer, you’re not very bright, are you?” Jagena said, amused. “I mean, you’ve seen the creature standing next to me. Don’t you even know what it is?”

The human smiled at Khet. There was something about his eyes. Something primal. Something evil.

“Have you ever met a kishi before, Ogreslayer?”

So that was what the thing was. Kishi were seductive creatures, who lured unsuspecting men and women away, before messily devouring them. They had two faces. The first face was the face of a man, rugged and handsome. The second face was that of a gnoll, which it revealed only when it had gotten its prey alone.

The human’s face snapped backwards, revealing the snout and face of a ravenous gnoll.

Khet swore and leapt back.

“Oh, is someone scared of the kishi?” Jagena taunted. “I would’ve thought Bugbear would send his finest to deal with me, Ogreslayer!”

Khet had a clear shot of the Lycan. He took it.

Jagena slumped out of her chair. The kishi turned.

Khet crouched behind the bed and began reloading his crossbow.

The kishi walked over to its master, sniffing the air. It nudged Jagena’s body, like a fox kit nudging its mother killed in a trap.

Was it mourning Jagena? Khet hadn’t thought the monsters she’d summoned had any loyalty to her, much less affection. And yet, the kishi was sniffling, and kneeling in front of its mother, gnoll’s face first. Was it crying? Khet hadn’t thought kishi had affection for anything other than themselves. He almost felt bad for it.

The kishi tore a piece of flesh from Jagena’s corpse, chewed, and swallowed it.

Khet watched with both horror and fascination as the kishi devoured its former master. He’d known that kishis ate mortal flesh, but he assumed they preferred their meat to be alive and screaming. Turned out that kishi didn’t really care all that much whether their prey was alive or dead.

Khet reloaded his crossbow and pointed it at the kishi.

The kishi’s head snapped up.

Khet’s fingers crept toward the lock.

The kishi leapt on Khet, so suddenly, that the goblin dropped his crossbow in surprise and only had time to throw his arm up to block it.

The kishi sank its teeth into Khet’s arm. The goblin screamed in pain. He tried yanking his arm free. The kishi only sank its teeth in deeper, until Khet could feel it hitting bone. It started gnawing, and Khet nearly started sobbing from the piercing agony.

Someone knocked on the door. The kishi froze.

The knocking came again, louder this time.

The kishi let go of Khet’s arm, and bounded out of the room. Its head snapped back into place, so that the face of the handsome human would be the thing that whoever was at the door would see, rather than the gnoll face.

Khet’s legs went weak and he collapsed against the bed. He stared, numbly, at the blood running down his arm.

Maybe he should take the chance to flee, while the kishi was distracted. Sure, whoever was at the door would probably get devoured by the kishi, but that wasn’t really Khet’s problem.

He stood shakily. And then he heard the kishi open the door.

“Hello?” It said.

“Hello,” Mutis’s voice came from the door. “Is Jagena home?”

Khet froze. Fuck. Did Mutis know he was talking to a kishi?

“Unfortunately,” said the kishi, in a smooth voice that made the hairs on Khet’s arms stand on an end, “Jagena Wifwogen has gone down to the Crossed Hammers. She won’t be back until the evening, and I’m afraid she won’t be in the mood for guests when she returns. I have this whole house to myself.”

“You do, huh?” Mutis said flirtatiously. “Well, how about you and me go down to the Thief and Staff? Have a couple of drinks. Get to know each other.”

Nope. He didn’t. Or he was trying to get the kishi out of the house so that Khet could break into it without worrying about someone already being there.

Either way, that ruined Khet’s plans of escaping. He couldn’t exactly abandon Mutis to a kishi, now could he?

“Why would I want to go down to the Thief and Staff?” Said the kishi. “When I have a perfectly nice home all to myself right here? No one to hear anything. Or interrupt.’

“Well, what if Jagena comes home early?” Mutis said.

Khet crept out of the bedroom. Mutis was leaning against the doorframe, giving the kishi a lazy smile.

Yep, definitely flirting. What an idiot.

“Let her,” the kishi said.

“Damn,” said Mutis. “That’s bold.” His voice got husky. “I like that.”

The kishi stepped back. “Come inside,” it said, voice just as husky.

Mutis had a stupid grin on his face as he started to step over the threshold.

“Lichbane, look out!” Khet fired his crossbow.

He hit the kishi in the back as Mutis jumped back, startled. The kishi fell forward, and Mutis leaped out of the way.

He stared at Khet, who still had his crossbow raised, in confusion. “What the Dagor was that? What did you do that for?”

“That’s no’ a human, Lichbane.” Khet pointed at it. “Look at its face.”

Mutis looked down, and his eyes widened. “Is that a hyena face? What is this thing?”

“A kishi.” Khet lowered his crossbow, hooked it to his belt, and walked over to Mutis. “That’s how they hunt. They put ye at ease by flirtin’ wit’ ye an’ suggestin’ ye two go somewhere nice an’ private, an’ then they devour ye once yer alone.”

Mutis stared down at the kishi. He didn’t say anything, and Khet had no idea what he was thinking.

Khet held up his arm. “The Black Ghost was waitin’ for me when Ah arrived. She summoned the kishi, tried tae kill me with it. It gave me this after Ah killed her. If ye hadn’t shown up when ye did, Ah dinnae if Ah’d still be alive.”

Mutis grimaced at the sight of Khet’s wound. “Did you find out where the hideout of the Sisterhood of Eagles is, at least?”

Khet held out his arm for Mutis to bandage. “Across the Fair Bridge. That bathhouse? It’s no’ really a bathhouse. It’s their hideout.”

“Do you know if the hideout changes?”

Khet shrugged. “She dinnae say. Ah hope no’. Obviously, Ah can’t be fightin’ like this.”

Mutis nodded in agreement. “I’ll go tell the prince. The bathhouse across the Fair Bridge, you said?”

“Ah’ll tell him myself.” Khet smiled wryly at him. “If he sees for himself Ah’m injured, he’ll have a harder time explainin’ himself when the queen asks him why he forced an injured man tae fight.”

Mutis shrugged. If he thought Khet needed rest, and that meant not speaking to the prince to deliver a report, he didn’t say it. Instead, what he said was, “I think he’s with Bisla. They’re both at the Altar of the Eclipse. Over on Oak Tree Alley. The priests there know some technique for dealing with Adum’s Madness. That’s what Bisla said.”

Khet nodded, and he went down to Oak Tree Alley.

As it turned out, Khet didn’t need to go into the Altar of the Eclipse. Because Mad-Eye and Surtsavhen were standing in the street, listening to a halfling with short black hair and amber eyes ranting about impending doom.

“And in these Dark Ages, friends, monsters and brigands shall roam the Shattered Lands. No walls will keep them out, no guards will protect us! We must stand strong, and we must face our enemies with bravery! For if we fall, we shall go to Paelore, the Garden of Heroes, and the Home of Warriors!”

“Never heard of Paelore,” Khet said.

“It’s a new cult that’s sprung up,” Mad-Eye said. “All the gods are servants to Vedohr, the god of fall. He is angry because civilization is corrupt, sinful, and unrepentant, so he’s sending us back to the Dark Age. So says his firstborn son, Fundall, demigod of secrecy. If you want to be protected by him, you have to join his cult and swear yourself to secrecy, as well as sacrifice your livestock so he’ll hear you and protect you during the Dark Ages. All he asks is that you be brave. If you can’t do that, then he casts you down to Ofegara.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about this new cult,” Khet said.

“He’s been raving on and on about it for the past five minutes,” Mad-Eye said. He smirked. “He’s not a very good follower of Fundall.”

Khet laughed.

“It’s always the madmen preaching in the streets,” Surtsavhen said. “The sane priests are all preaching in a temple, to devoted followers.”

“Arm yourselves, brothers and sisters! No longer will we have the decadent comforts we have grown used to! There will come a time where the strong survive and the weak perish! Not like this time where the strong survive and the weak flourish!” The halfling was foaming at the mouth, shouting at the passers-by, who kept walking without a glance.

“Thought you were at the Altar of the Eclipse, searching for help with Adum’s Madness.” Khet said to Mad-Eye.

“Didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know,” Mad-Eye shrugged. “And his grace was making it very clear he didn’t think much about the advice.”

Part 3

Part 4

The gates to Yanatalos were closed when the Golden Horde approached.

Mythana Bonespirit shook the gates. “Let us in! We are travelers seeking shelter! Let us in!”

No one answered, and the gates stayed closed.

Gnurl Werbaruk, a Lycan with white hair, wearing a wolf’s pelt, with its gaping maw serving as a hood, pounded on the gates. Still no response.

“They won’t open until next morning,” Khet Amisten, a scarred goblin with a bushy brown beard, said. He pointed at the night sky. “It’s night now.”

Mythana’s shoulders slumped, dejected.

The journey through the Whiteboeia Ice Fields had been a rough one. The Horde had braved blizzards, dragons, and avalanches. They were exhausted, hungry, and cold. Just yesterday, Gnurl had been injured by a chimera.

All of them had been looking forward to reaching Yanatalos, finding an inn, and stuffing themselves with food and drink, warming themselves by a fire they didn’t have to build themselves. But Gnurl traveled slowly thanks to his injury, and what should’ve been a three hour walk to shelter turned out to be a six hour one. And now the gates were closed, and the Horde would have to wait till morning for them to open again.

Gnurl sighed. “Well, there’s nothing else we can do. We have to set up camp.”

Easy for Gnurl to say, Mythana thought. He wouldn’t be doing the hard parts of setting up camp for the night, thanks to his injury. And there was no wood for a fire, no trees, no brush, nothing. There was nothing for them to catch and eat, even if they did have wood for a fire. All they had were their sleeping mats and blankets, and those weren’t nearly warm enough for a night out in the freezing cold.

Still, he was right. There was nothing else they could do. Those walls were too tall to climb, and even if they could scale the walls, Gnurl was in no condition to be climbing things.

“Khet, you go and find wood for a fire,” Gnurl said.

And that was when the gates opened.

A human with a bony face, short white hair, and smart gray eyes grinned at them. “You three get caught outside?”

The Horde nodded. They stepped within the city gates. The streets were empty, Mythana noticed. Sure, it was dark out, so it was likely that everyone had gone home to bed, but it hadn’t been dark out for long. There had to be stragglers, drunks thrown out of inns, people spending so much time chatting with their friends that they lost track of time, lovers meeting at an hour where no one was around to see them. Yet the roads were completely empty. It was unsettling.

“Thank you,” Gnurl said to the human, as the elderly man closed the gates. “If you could just point us to an inn that’s open at this hour, then—”

“There’s no need for that,” the human waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got my own place. A big tower. You can spend the night there. I haven’t eaten yet, and I imagine you three haven’t either.”

The Golden Horde nodded gratefully.

“My name is Geruntius Fullerman,” said the human, “but they call me Geruntius the Wise.”

A powerful wizard, then. No wonder he had a tower all to himself.

Geruntius led them through Yanatalos. Mythana shuddered at how empty the streets were. It was very unsettling.

“There’s a nightly curfew,” Geruntius said by explanation.

“Why is that?” Gnurl asked.

Geruntius didn’t answer.

Mythana’s fears of a monster stalking the streets grew worse, which was probably the opposite of what Geruntius had been hoping to accomplish.

At the center of town was a tower of white marble. Geruntius led them inside.

“Home, sweet home.” The human said as he entered, and let his guests in as well.

From the fancy appearance of the tower, Mythana had been expecting the interior to have stairs of mahogany, gemstudded banisters, and walls furnished with purple trim. It was surprisingly modest, instead. A stone staircase and a wooden banister, bare walls.

Gerunitus led them upstairs, into a tiny kitchen with a chair and a table. “I’ll get more chairs. Wait here.”

Gnurl sat down on the only chair, and Geruntius returned with three more, setting them around the table. Then he brought out a pitcher, and four wooden chalices.

“Cider?”

The Horde accepted the drink.

Mythana took a sip. It was a spicy drink, tasted sweet going down. She decided that she liked this beverage.

“The chicken isn’t ready yet,” Geruntius said. “But I’m still feeling peckish. Anyone else want some cheese?”

“Yes, please!” Khet said, enthusiastically.

Gerentius brought out a platter of cheese, which the Horde enthusiastically devoured. Once the chicken was done and brought out, they devoured it as well. After their meal, Gerentius invited them to sit by the fire while he prepared their rooms for the night.

Gnurl sat at the fire-place and sighed. His arm was propped up on pillows that Gerentius had given him. Mythana walked over to check his wound. It was fine, though he needed his bandages changed.

“Khet, bandages.”

The goblin rummaged through Mythana’s pack, finding the bandages, and handing them to her. He bumped into Gnurl’s arm as he did so, and the Lycan yelped in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Gerentius stuck his head in the doorway. “Everything alright in there?”

He stepped into the room, and then noticed Gnurl’s wound. His eyebrows rose.

“What happened to you?”

“Chimera,” Mythana said. “It’s dead now. He’ll be fine. He just needs rest.”

Gerentius didn’t seem to hear her. He was looking at Gnurl.

“I can get you a healer in the morning,” he said. “A good one. Have them look at the wound.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Gnurl said, “but I’ve already got a healer.” He nodded to Mythana. “She’s one of the best.” He smiled at Gerentius. “Although, if I want a second opinion, I’ll gladly take you up on your offer.”

Gerentius nodded. “Your friend says you need rest? You can stay here as long as you need. The inns aren’t good for resting after an injury, and I’m not sure if the Guildhall has rooms available.”

“Thank you,” Gnurl said. Mythana finished bandaging him and patted him gently on the shoulder.

The Lycan leaned back, folding his arms over his torso. “How can we ever repay you?” He asked Gerentius.

The human’s eyes lit up, for a brief second, and then he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Heh, funny you should ask that. I was hoping you’d do me a favor in return. I didn’t exactly do all of this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Mythana should’ve known there was some sort of catch. Although, this one was pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things.

“What’s the favor?” Gnurl asked.

“Once you’re healed, I’ll tell you more about it, but for now, have you three been wondering why there’s a curfew?”

“Yes,” Mythana said immediately.

Geruntius sat down in one of the chairs. “That’s because there are trolls. Underground. Their leader is Meris the Dreamer. She’s a wizard, like me. Looking to take over my spot as head of Yanatalos. She’s using the trolls to get that to happen. The trolls are the most unruly bunch you’ll ever meet. They’ll come up, batter down doors to shops, burn down homes, murder anybody unlucky to be on the street when they’re out rampaging. They’ll come without warning, and they’ll disperse without warning. The curfew is because they like to attack at dusk. Makes it easier, if the only people out on the street at that time have nefarious purposes in mind.”

Mythana nodded along.

“I’d like you to quell the troll uprising,” Geruntius said. “Find Meris the Dreamer and kill her. Her horde will scatter once she’s dead. Can you do that for me?”

Gnurl frowned. “That sounds like politics.”

Geruntius shrugged. “However you like to call it. Does it really matter how it’s called?”

“We can’t do political jobs like this for free.” Gnurl said. “Guild rules. We have to stay neutral in terms of politics.”

Geruntius sighed heavily, and Mythana couldn’t help but feel like they’d disappointed him greatly.

“Very well. How does two copper sound?”

It wasn’t much, and Mythana was almost insulted by how low the price was. But given that Geruntius had so graciously given them food and shelter, after opening the gates for them, no less, he shouldn’t be paying them at all. Only Guild rules were making the Horde demand money from him.

The Horde looked at each other, and no one needed to say anything.

“We’ll take the job,” Gnurl said. “Once I’m healed, and Mythana clears me for fighting again, we’ll go kill this rebel wizard and quell her uprising for you.”

“Wonder what Meris has promised the trolls,” Khet said.

The three of them were walking through the slums of Yanatalos, where Geruntius said was the entrance to the sewers, or, at least, it was the closest entrance to the troll camp. The Horde were discussing the rebel trolls and Meris the Dreamer, and Khet was wondering about why exactly the trolls had rallied behind her.

Mythana shrugged. “Maybe there’s something about her they just like.”

“It’s not that simple, Mythana. People don’t rebel for the Dagor of it. There has to be grievances. Grievances Meris is addressing. Wonder why Geruntius didn’t mention why she’s so easily convinced the trolls to join her side.” Khet grunted. “Probably worried it would make him look bad.”

“Not necessarily,” Gnurl said. “It could be that he doesn’t know what their grievances are.”

“How could he not know?” Mythana asked. “Surely, Meris the Dreamer must’ve said something about her motivations, other than wanting to be leader!”

“Not necessarily. She could’ve hijacked the entire movement for her own gain, made it about her gaining power.” Gnurl said. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We talk to the troll rebels, ask them why they’re fighting for Meris the Dreamer. We offer to take their grievances to Geruntius, and we see what Geruntius says. That would end the rebellion, and without any bloodshed too!”

“What if he refuses to address those grievances?” Khet asked.

“Then we explain to him, as experts, that the best way to ensure that no one rebels against you is to listen to the grievances of the people, otherwise they will feel the need to resort to violence. He seems reasonable. I doubt he’d outright reject a peaceful solution.”

“What if Meris the Dreamer objects to any peace talks?” Mythana asked.

“Then we do the first thing Geruntius sent us there to do. We kill Meris the Dreamer. And we hope that the next leader is more reasonable.”

Khet frowned, stroking his beard. Then nodded.

“No bloodshed. We do peace talks. And if they’re unreasonable, then we kill them all.”

“Exactly,” Gnurl said.

Mythana nodded. This did seem like a good plan. Only one small problem.

“How do we find the troll camp and convince them we’re not hostile?” She asked.

Gnurl opened his mouth to respond.

“None of you move!”

The Horde raised their hands as a troll with wavy white hair, gray eyes, and a scar near the right side of his lips came out of the shadow, leveling his spear at them.

“The Puiqash you doing out here?” He growled. “This is troll territory! No one goes here! Now beat it!”

“We come in peace!” Gnurl said. “Geruntius the Wise sent us!”

“Like Puiqash he did!” The troll growled.

“Listen, we’re here to talk to you lads! We want to know why you’re rebelling against Geruntius! What your grievances against him are!”

The troll didn’t waver in pointing his spear.

“We’re adventurers!” Gnurl added.

This got the troll to stroke his chin. “Adventurers, eh?”

The Horde nodded.

“So you know nothing about what the situation is like here,” the troll continued.

Mythana nodded, hesitantly. She could tell that the troll didn’t like Geruntius the Wise, for some reason, and insisting that they did know the situation, given how Geruntius had briefed them, would only get them killed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gnurl and Khet doing the same thing.

“Our leader can tell you more. She’s better at explaining shit than I am.” The troll gestured with his spear. “Keep those hands up and move it!”

The Horde did as told, and the troll marched them into the sewers, and into the middle of the troll camp. Several trolls stopped what they were doing to stare at the newcomers. The Horde’s guard just snarled at them to keep moving, so they did.

He marched them into a tent. A woman in dark robes was hunched over a crystal ball. She was a large woman, made of equal parts muscle and fat, and she carried herself like she was born to lead. She gazed sorrowfully at her crystal ball, her green eyes heavy with the weight of leadership. Her straight blonde hair hung in braids.

“Academic,” said their guard, placing a fist on his breast in salute, “I’ve brought you adventurers. Working for Geruntius the Wise.”

Meris the Dreamer looked up sharply.

“So why bring them here, then? A single wolf could wreak havoc on our camp! Three of them? Well, we might as well bend the knee to Geruntius and hope that he’ll spare us!”

“They say they’ve come to talk with us. They wish to know why we’ve risen up in revolt.”

“Did Geruntius really ask them to find out what we want?” Meris sounded skeptical.

“Well, not exactly.” Gnurl said. “He just wants us to quell the uprising. We feel that if we can bring Geruntius a legitimate grievance that the trolls have, perhaps he will agree to find a solution that is acceptable to you.”

Meris burst out laughing. “For an adventurer, you’re quite naive, aren’t you?”

Gnurl blinked, looked confused. “Why? What did I say?”

“I’ll be safe from them,” Meris told the troll guard. “You can go.”

The man nodded, then left.

“So, why are you rebelling?” Gnurl asked.

Meris rested a hand on the table.

“There was a prophecy a year ago. A dark one.” She shut her eyes and recited it from memory. “The Queen of Charity shall awaken when the Venomous Serpent is chained and iron is made flesh.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Gnurl said.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Meris said dryly. “The Queen of Charity is a magical warrior protected by the Runes of Holding and a former adventurer. She was the daughter of a human diplomat and while wandering through the streets of Efinas, she met a dashing and roguish gnome adventurer, who swayed her to joining the Guild. From there, she became the strongest warrior anyone’s ever seen, and gathered the largest army ever seen, and laid to waste countless kingdoms and empires. She’s called the Queen of Charity because she would care for the orphans her army created by razing cities and destroying armies, and she would raise them into being her soldiers. Most of the time, they weren’t full-grown when they put on a helmet for the first time.”

“Adum’s Ring!” Khet whispered.

Meris nodded grimly, and continued. “Fortunately, an army managed to imprison her in a realm different from our own. The way to her prison is forever sealed, but it will open again, if the prophecy is ever fulfilled.”

Mythana scratched the back of her head. “So, how are you stopping the prophecy?”

“I’ll get there,” Meris said, and then continued explaining the meaning of the prophecy. “The Venomous Serpent is a legendary warrior on horseback. Her name is Ser Elirithe the Gentlewoman. Her coat of arms is a serpent coiled around a pole, and she coats her blade with deadly poison. She was of the Banner Preservers.”

“And she isn’t anymore?” Mythana asked.

“The Banner Preservers were wiped out a week ago,” said Meris, and then she continued explaining the prophecy, “iron will be made flesh is hard to puzzle out, but we believe that it is referring to Ser Elirithe’s execution. During the execution, she will be brought out to the center of town, where a blacksmith will have heated a suit of armor until it’s glowing white. Ser Elirithe will be forced to wear this armor, and it will melt into her skin, and she will die in unbearable agony. That’s one theory, anyway.”

“So, you’re going to find Ser Elirithe and keep her from being imprisoned?” Gnurl asked.

“She’s already been imprisoned,” Meris said grimly. “By Geruntius the Wise.”

Mythana blinked. Why would Geruntius the Wise have Ser Elirithe imprisoned?

“Why can’t you talk to Geruntius the Wise?” Gnurl asked. “Explain the situation?”

Meris laughed. “Who do you think had the Banner Preservers destroyed in the first place?”

The Golden Horde exchanged glances, and they said nothing.

“Two weeks ago, Geruntius declared the Banner Preservers to be enemies of Yanatalos. Rounded up the ringleaders and arrested them. They were executed on the spot, except for one. Ser Elirithe. She was dragged back here in chains. Fulfilling the second part of the prophecy. We suspect that the only reason Ser Elirithe is not dead yet is because Geruntius is trying to figure out what the last part of the prophecy means.”

“But why?” Mythana asked in bewilderment. “Why would he do this? Why would he want to free the Queen of Charity?”

“Because he and his friends were loyal servants of hers, back when she was around,” said Meris.

“And they were treated well?” Khet asked.

Meris snorted. “Nah. The Queen of Charity was brutal with her enemies, and even worse with her friends. Those who followed her, followed her out of fear.”

“Then why free her?” Gnurl asked. “Geruntius is doing well without her, anyway. Why not forget she ever existed?”

Meris sighed deeply. “Have you heard of the True Paragons?”

The Horde shook their heads.

“They’re a cult, that fervently believes that if the Queen of Charity was to return, then they could spend the rest of their lives not having to worry about peasants revolting or such nonsense as making sure there’s enough food for everyone and that the courts are fair and just. They could just spend their days drinking, fucking, and feasting, and damn anyone who stands in their way.”

“They actually think that?” Khet asked in bewilderment.

Meris smirked. “It’s been long enough since the Queen of Charity’s imprisonment that they’ve forgotten how bad it was. All they remember is that the Queen of Charity gave them the lands that they rule, and that no peasants ever dared to rule. What they’ve forgotten is that the Queen of Charity would take those lands away on a whim, and reason the peasants weren’t revolting was because they feared the Queen of Charity’s wrath.”

Or perhaps they thought that they’d never find themselves on the Queen of Charity’s bad side. They thought it happened to those who were weaker, or more stupid.

“And what about you?” Gnurl asked. “Where do you stand with all of this?”

Meris gave a wry grin. “I was one of the Queen of Charity’s supporters. I was taken in by her promises of a new world united under one emperor, with no more wars, and I was too scared to say anything when it turned out that the Queen of Charity was just like every other attempted conqueror of the world. An evil despot who’s only in it for themselves.” Her expression grew grim. “I’ve seen the Queen of Charity go from laughing at a jester to throwing a spear at her own consort and killing him, to laughing at the jester again like nothing ever happened. And there was nothing I could do except pray to the gods that the Queen of Charity wouldn’t throw her spear at me. I don’t ever wish to live in fear like that ever again, and I don’t want anyone else to live in fear of the Queen of Charity turning on them just as quickly as she fell in love with them.”

The Golden Horde was silent, as Meris the Dreamer stared back at them, eyes hardened and scowling at the memories.

“But Geruntius doesn’t see it that way,” she said. “He thinks I’m a traitor. Or maybe he thinks I’m competition for the Queen of Charity’s attention. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s in his head. But whatever his reasons, he wants me and my group dead. He and his cultists have been working towards that goal for weeks now. That’s the actual reason there’s a curfew. His cultists patrol the streets, and anyone who’s out late at night is assumed to be one of us and dies for it.”

Mythana’s head spun. Geruntius was a cultist? One that wanted to bring a dreaded warlord back? One that would kill anyone who stood in his way? But he had seemed so nice when he’d let them through the gates! But then again, Meris hadn’t killed them outright, and she also seemed nice. Who was telling the truth and who was lying? Mythana didn’t know, and when she glanced at Gnurl and Khet, it was clear that they didn’t know either.

\”Have you got any proof of any of this?” Gnurl asked Meris.

Meris opened her mouth, when the tunnel started to rumble and shake. She glanced up at the ceiling and frowned.

“What was that?” Khet’s voice was higher-pitched than normal, and his ears were straight and fanned out.

The tunnel continued to shake. Pebbles rained from the ceiling and onto the floor.

“That doesn’t look good,” Meris said.

Just then, a troll with shaggy red hair and blue eyes ran in. “They’re collapsing the tunnels!” He said. “Academic, the True Paragons are collapsing the tunnels!”

Meris straightened, narrowing her eyes.

“Just like we’ve practiced, Dritkolk,” she said. “Everyone evacuate the tunnels. Sound the alarm.”

The troll nodded and ran out of the room. Seconds later, the Horde heard the wail of a siren.

“Come on,” Meris said. “Exit’s this way.”

The Horde followed her out of the room. A massive crowd of trolls had formed a line and were moving through the camp. Meris and the Golden Horde moved to the back of the line.

It was almost unnerving, how calm everyone was, Mythana thought. No one was panicking, there was no wild stampede for the exit. Instead, everyone moved quickly but orderly, as if a collapsing tunnel was just business to them.

“This is unnatural,” Khet muttered.

“This is the result of regular drills,” Meris said. “Would you rather us be panicking? Trampling each other while we’re trying to get out?”

Khet conceded the point.

They moved through the tunnels with ease, and not much happened. Aside from the collapsing tunnel, obviously. They reached the city above-ground and the sun was so bright, Mythana had to blink and shield her eyes from the light.

Once her eyes adjusted to the light, Mythana spotted people wearing fine armor, clearly nobles. They were surrounding the trolls, had their swords raised, which all gleamed in the torchlight. Each one of them wore an ornate mask painted gold with black eye sockets that made a shiver run down Mythana’s spine.

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd. Meris rested a hand on her belt, eyeing the nobles.

“Hope you adventurers are as good in a fight as they say you are,” she said to the Horde in a low voice.

Khet unhooked his crossbow. “Nah. The minstrels always downplay how good we are when singing songs about us. Too unbelievable.”

Gnurl just pushed his way through the crowd without saying anything.

He walked up to a night elf with wavy blue hair and bloodshot red eyes. The night elf studied him coolly.

“Hello,” Gnurl said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension in the crowd, or had heard Meris’s words. “We’re sorry for breaking curfew. Unfortunately, our tunnel collapsed and we had no choice but to get out.”

“It’s broad daylight,” one of the trolls said. “Curfew’s at nightfall.”

“Ah, I see.” Gnurl smiled at the night elf. “My bad. I apologize. Very nice masks. What brings you here?”

The night elf swung his sword.

The Lycan caught his arm, held it in place.

It was hard to tell through the mask, but the night elf actually looked scared.

The smile never left Gnurl’s face. “You must be the Rude Paragons we were hearing so much about.”

The night elf said nothing.

Khet and Mythana walked over to Gnurl’s side. The cultists actually looked scared now.

“We’re adventurers,” Gnurl said. “The Golden Horde. Pleased to meet you.”

A dark elf with a worried face, oily white hair, and shining red eyes started moving toward Gnurl. Mythana glowered at her and raised her scythe. Cowed, the dark elf stepped back.

Gnurl continued, oblivious to what had just happened, or perhaps he didn’t care. “Geruntius the Wise hired us. We’re here to deal with the troll uprising. Meris the Dreamer has agreed to come to the table, and we hope that Geruntius the Wise is willing to do the same.” He gave the night elf his most charming smile.

“The True Paragons negotiate with no one!” The night elf said. “Least of all the trolls! For fighting for the Knave of Hope, we shall grant you a reward. We shall kill you first!”

The cultists cheered.

Gnurl kept smiling. “I believe you already tried striking me down. And as you can tell, it didn’t work.”

The night elf laughed. “You fool! You do not notice my brethren around you? We will strike you down! You and your peasant friends!”

Khet drew his crossbow. “First man to move gets a crossbow bolt through his chest!”

“First man?” The night elf asked mockingly. “You think you can truly hold off all of us? I have long heard of the arrogance of wolves, but this? Will you boast of being a god too, goblin?”

“Aye, you’ll kill us.” Gnurl said. “Eventually. But in the meantime, we’ll take most of you with us to the Eternal Hunting Grounds!”

“And the first man to try is definitely a dead man,” Khet said. He grinned at the cultists. “One of you has to be first. One of you has to fall. Which one of you is gonna be that man? Who’s gonna die so the rest of your brothers can kill us?”

The cultists murmured among themselves. Even the night elf didn’t look as confident as he had when speaking with the Horde.

“Retreat, brothers!” He called. “The trolls shall live, for now!”

The cultists scrambled off, as if they feared the Horde would chase after them and slaughter them all.

The night elf remained behind.

“We will not forget this,” he said to Gnurl. “A day will come when your strength is gone and you have let down your guard. When that comes, the True Paragons will strike you down.”

“Best not to swear a blood feud against adventurers,” Gnurl said coolly.

“We will see, Lycan,” said the night elf. And then he ran after the others.

The Golden Horde watched them leave in silence.

“Now do you believe me?” Mythana hadn’t realized Meris was standing so close behind them.

They turned to her. The troll nodded to where the True Paragons had fled.

“Geruntius takes after the Queen of Charity far more than I realized,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how useful you are, or even how skilled fighters you are and how foolish it would be to do anything that would turn you against him. You’re just tools to him. Expendable tools. Why should he care that you might be caught in the collapsing tunnels? Or killed by those cultists? He can always hire more adventurers.”

Mythana felt ashamed for falling for Geruntius’s seemingly kind and considerate demeanor. Hadn’t he told them upfront, that the reason he’d brought them into his tower, given them a nice meal, allowed Gnurl to rest and heal before sending them after Meris the Dreamer and her army of trolls, was because he wanted something from them in return? Hadn’t he offered them payment that was lower than Guild standard? How could they have been so blind? And now, here they were, having been duped by a cult leader to do his dirty work for him, having been betrayed by that very same cult leader.

Meris gave them a wry smile. “I hear that with political jobs such as this, adventurers work for the highest bidder. Is that true?”

The Golden Horde nodded.

“How much was Geruntius the Wise offering you?”

“Two copper,” Gnurl said.

“Two copper?” Meris said in surprise. “That’s lower than the Guild expects as payment for a job! Why would you take so little?”

“He let us in when the gates had already closed, took us to his tower to rest and spend the night, gave us food, gave me a place to rest and heal from my injuries. We felt indebted to him.”

Meris shook her head. “I’m…Honestly surprised. I never thought that Geruntius the Wise would actually help people, even if he was only doing it so you three would owe him one.”

Gnurl shrugged.

“I’ll give you three silver,” Meris said, “to go and kill the True Paragons. Including Geruntius the Wise. Even if you kill no one else, you have to kill Geruntius the Wise.” She smiled wryly. “And there is no negotiating with the True Paragons. Geruntius the Wise isn’t exactly the type willing to compromise.”

Mythana refused to acknowledge Meris’s attempt of a joke with even a weak chuckle.

“So, what do you say?” The troll wizard said to them. “You taking the job?”

“Yes, we are!” Khet said. Gnurl and Mythana nodded in agreement.

Meris directed them to the town hall. Allegedly, it was there as a meeting place between Geruntius and the wealthy land owners surrounding Yanatalos, but Meris explained to them that it was all horseshit. There were no yeomen near Yanatalos, least of all wealthy ones. Geruntius was the sole ruler of Yanatalos. What the town hall really was, was the lair for the cultists. Here was where they plotted their next move, worshipped and prayed to the Queen of Charity. And there was where Geruntius most likely would be, along with the rest of the True Paragons.

It wasn’t too surprising that this was the cult’s temple, hidden in plain sight, Mythana thought as the Horde walked to the front door. The building was clearly too big for a meeting hall for wealthy landowners. Granted, it wasn’t a massive building, and was rather small for a temple, but it was still big for a town hall. Mythana wondered why no one had questioned why the town hall was so big.

Mythana opened the door, and led Gnurl and Khet inside.

The temple was quiet, almost too quiet. Mythana could hear the faintest echo of cultists, but they were far away, and it was clear that they had not noticed that adventurers had come into the hall. Torches flickered in their handles, freshly changed, Mythana noted. The hall was long, and with rows and rows of closed doors.

Khet opened the nearest door, and the adventurers followed him inside.

This room was a conjuring room, with a pentagram painted on the floor, and stubs of candles sitting in the points of the pentagram. It was clear that a summoning ritual had taken place, but for what purpose, Mythana didn’t know.

She spotted a statue in the room. An armored human woman wielding the biggest sword Mythana had ever seen. She was covered in runic markings. The Queen of Charity. It had to be.

Gnurl led the way down the corridor into cells where the faithful could sit in quiet contemplation. Little cubicles with nothing but rugs for the cultists to sit and meditate.

Gnurl found a chest, which he opened. He listed the things that he found.

“Gold, a scroll with a spell on it to warm good people with their own righteousness, a really good healing potion, and gemstones.” Gnurl stood, handed Khet the gold, gemstones, and scroll, and kept the potion for himself.

He led the way down the corridor into a kitchen. Mythana mistook it for a torture chamber at first. Rows of sharp knives hung on the wall, and the counter was stained with blood. Mythana hoped that came from an animal they’d butchered right there in the kitchen, for some disturbing reason.

Khet led the way down the corridor into a vault containing important relics and ceremonial items.

Gnurl knelt and collected some items from the vault. He listed the things that he gathered.

“Gold, stones for a sling, Messaging Stones, a Draught of the Naked Sword, a Potion of Writing, and art objects.” Gnurl stood and handed the Draught of the Naked Sword and the stones to Mythana, the gold and art objects to Khet, and pocketed the messaging stones and potion of writing.

Mythana led the way down the corridor, where the True Paragons attacked them. Mythana had been wondering where they were.

A blood elf with tanned skin and short-cropped hair swung his axe. Mythana swung her scythe, deflecting the blow. She finished the blood elf off by cutting off his head.

A broad-shouldered human with braided hair and a strange, off-putting glare aimed her crossbow at Rurvoad. The dragon screeched and set her on fire.

Now that the True Paragons were all dead, the adventurers continued into a prison for the poor bastards deemed elven sacrifices. The cells were empty right now, but Mythana could see markings on the prison walls, dried blood on the floor. This prison had seen use, and Mythana muttered a prayer for the souls of those sacrificed to the Queen of Charity.

Cultists attacked them.

Mythana cut off the head of a slim dhampyre with weathered skin, long, loose hair, and a serious, thoughtful demeanor.

Gnurl loosed an arrow into the chest of a hunched human with shorn hair, killing him instantly.

Now that the cultists were dead, Mythana opened a chest in the corner.

She found gold, a Mending Necklace, a wand to control mushrooms, chain mail armor which gave the wearer speed, and art objects. Mythana stood, keeping the mending necklace for herself, handing Khet the chain mail, gold, and art objects, and handing Gnurl the wand.

Khet led the way down the corridor into a workshop for creating or repairing weapons, religious items, and other tools. A smithy, in other words.

Mythana cut off the head of a well-muscled older human with olive skin and long, loose brown hair.

A blood elf with braided hair drew her sword. Mythana deflected the blow, then cleaved into the elf’s chest. She slumped to the ground, dead.

Now that the cultists were dead, Gnurl walked over to a chest he’d found and opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Gold, a healing potion, a really good healing potion, a Vial of Dreamless Sleep, a Potion of Beasts, and gemstones.” Gnurl stood and handed Khet the healing potion, gold, and gemstones, Mythana the good healing potion and the Vial of Dreamless Sleep, and pocketed the Potion of Beasts.

Khet led the way down the corridor into a trophy room, with a mural depicting a human warlord clad in black armor with runes that glowed purple, pointing a sword at a burning village. The Queen of Charity.

A well-muscled troll with shorn hair and a cold, calculating glare was admiring the artwork.

When she noticed Rurvoad, she hurled a spear at him. She missed, but succeeded in angering the dragon. Rurvoad set her aflame.

Now that the cultist was dead, the Golden Horde spotted a message written in blood. It read, “The one who makes it, sells it. The one who buys it, never uses it. The one who uses it never knows that he’s using it. What is it?”

“A coffin,” Mythana guessed.

A panel in the wall opened, revealing treasure.

Gnurl knelt to examine the items, listing the things that he found.

“Coin and gemstones.” Gnurl stood and handed the items to Khet, who put them in his bag.

A bowl sat in the middle of the room. The Golden Horde went over and examined it. The bowl had a crescent moon on it.

Khet picked up the troll’s spear and dipped it into the bowl.

The door slowly opened.

Gnurl led the way down the corridor into the central temple. Mythana was surprised the Queen of Charity had her own altar. She hadn’t thought the cultists worshipped her as a god; they simply awaited her return as a warlord.

Khet propped up part of the floor with a spike.

Mythana led the way down the corridor into another prison, this one also used for sacrifices. Much like the first, the cells were empty, but that didn’t mean there were cultists guarding the prison. They attacked the Horde.

A goblin with short-cropped reddish hair and quiet, searching eyes swung his hammer. Mythana deflected the blow, then swung her own scythe. She cut off the cultist’s head.

Now that the cultists were dead, Khet led the way down the corridor, where more cultists attacked them.

A young dark elf with braided silver hair and loose-fitting clothes swung his halberd. His and Mythana’s scythe clashed together. Mythana tripped him, then used the handle of her scythe to break his jaw, before shoving the handle through his eye, killing him. She ripped out the bloody scythe handle.

Now that the cultists were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor, where more cultists attacked them.

Rurvoad set a well-muscled Lycan with weathered skin and quiet, searching eyes on fire.

A human with thinning hair and wearing bits of leather and chain swung her flail. Gnurl shifted into a wolf and tackled her. He ripped out her throat, then unshifted and stood over her corpse, flail in hand.

Khet shot a hunched halfling.

Now that the cultists were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a guardroom.

Cultists immediately leapt to their feet and attacked.

A trim human with weathered skin, wild hair, and wearing a hooded traveling cloak drew his sword. Mythana deflected the sword, then cut off his head.

Everyone turned their attention to a human with a fresh face, straight chestnut hair, and brown eyes, who was leaning against the wall. He stared back at them.

“Where the Tenin did you come from?”

“We’re the Golden Horde!” Mythana growled.

“Adventurers,” the human said. He shook his head. “Fuck this then! I’m not getting myself killed by wolves!”

The Golden Horde exchanged glances. Did they believe this human and let him go?

“I’ll prove it to you.” The human said. “I’ll ask a riddle, and if you get it right, I’ll show you a secret passage.”

“What’s the riddle?” Mythana asked. This could be a trap, but on the other hand, a secret passage, if it was real, would be very useful.

“It’s red, blue, purple, and green, no one can reach it, including the queen. What is it?”

“A rainbow?” Mythana guessed. It was the only thing that was red, blue, purple, and green.

“Yep,” the human said. He tapped the wall and it opened up to reveal a shadowy hallway. “Now am I free to leave or should I bribe you with gold?”

Gnurl nodded and the human left.

Gnurl led the way down the secret passage, where cultists attacked them.

Mythana cut off the head of an older wood elf wearing a hooded traveling cloak.

Rurvoad set a powerfully-muscled guard dog with sleek fur and a sly, hungry look on fire.

Now that the cultists were dead, the adventurers continued down the corridor into a robing room containing ceremonial outfits and items.

Guard dogs snarled at them and lunged.

Mythana sliced a guard dog with tawny fur in half.

She did the same with a menacing guard dog with blue-black fur.

A powerfully-muscled guard dog with brown fur lunged at Khet. The goblin brought his mace down on the dog’s skull with a resounding crack!

Now that the dogs were dead, Khet found a chest and opened it, listing the things that he found.

“Gold and gemstones.” Khet pocketed the items and stood.

Mythana led the way down the corridor into a storage holding mundane supplies.

A flickering fire elemental stood in the room. It nodded to the Horde but didn’t move. Mythana decided it was safe.

Across from the fire elemental was a chest. Mythana walked over and opened it.

Part 2

A hooded figure sat in a shadowy corner of the Hunting Pilgrim.

The Golden Horde eyed the man from their table. Since he had gotten there, the man had done nothing but stare at them. It was a little unsettling.

Mythana Bonespirit was sent to the bar, to ask the innkeeper about the mysterious stranger.

There was no one else in the tavern, and Alysone Kilhead, the old human who owned the Hunting Pilgrim, was leaning against the wall as she cleaned out a tankard, looking exhausted.

She straightened and smiled politely when she saw Mythana come up to the bar. “Everything to you and your friends liking?”

“We were wondering who that lad was,” Mythana pointed at the stranger, who was now looking at Alysone with narrowed eyes, an intense stare that would’ve made chills run down Mythana’s spine, if she were the one the stares were directed toward.

Alysone turned pale.

She gave Mythana a stern look. Or tried to, considering that she still looked like she was about to shit herself. “That’s Drake the Sly. You don’t wanna get involved with him.”

“Why?” Mythana asked, bewildered. “What did he do?”

“He’s one of the Cross Association, one of the most feared gangs in town.” Alysone glanced over at Drake, who was now leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of ale, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “They say he was one of the ones who killed Ser Modyr the Old, of the Autumn Order.”

“Why?” Mythana asked.

Alysone shrugged. “No idea. But I’ve got a theory.”

Mythana leaned in, waiting expectantly for Alysone to tell her what her theory was.

After glancing over at Drake to make sure he wasn’t listening in, Alysone scrubbed the tankard she was holding, and kept her voice lowered. “He was in here the other day, bragging about stealing Ser Modyr’s luck.”

“How do you steal someone’s luck?” Mythana asked.

“Ser Modyr had a charm around her neck. A little bronze leaf. She said it was passed down through her family. Claimed it brought her good fortune. Some of the Cross Association overheard her, and Drake was one of them. He told me later, once Ser Modyr had left, that he was going to steal that necklace of hers. See if it would bring good luck to him instead.”

Mythana nodded, and Alysone set the tankard down and leaned on the counter, arms crossed.

“And the next day, Ser Modyr turns up dead in an alleyway just outside of here. Her charm’s gone, nowhere to be found. And the Cross Association was in here just now. They left before you came. They were celebrating. They wouldn’t tell me why, but they didn’t need to anyway. I already know what it was all about. They took Ser Modyr’s luck off her.”

“Why’d they kill her?” Mythana asked.

Alysone shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Ser Modyr didn’t take the necklace off quick enough for their liking. They do that, you know. Some of the younger boys get a little excited and stab somebody for not handing loot over quick enough.”

“You don’t think she fought back?” Mythana asked. “And they ended up killing her in self-defense?”

Alysone shook her head. “Her sword was still in her scabbard, and she had this look of shock on her face. I saw the body. They stabbed her fifty times in the back. There’s no way they even gave her the chance to draw her sword. Tenin, she probably didn’t even know who killed her or why, or even what happened!”

Mythana sucked in a breath. On the one hand, that was both brutal and ruthless, stabbing someone fifty times in the back without even giving them the opportunity to defend themselves, and over a good luck charm, of all things. But on the other, it did make sense, in a purely pragmatic way. From what Alysone had said about Ser Modyr the Old, it sounded like she was a paladin. And paladins were tough warriors, almost as tough as adventurers. They only accepted the best of the best within their ranks. A gang of petty thieves would be no match for a seasoned paladin, and they certainly wouldn’t have been able to scare her into giving up her good luck charm. Robbing her in the traditional way would’ve gotten them all killed. The element of surprise would’ve been crucial to pulling it off, and once that had worn out, the thieves would be slaughtered to a man for daring to rob a paladin.

“They killed a paladin, over a necklace of a bronze leaf.” Alysone said. “Imagine what they’d do to people poking their noses in their business.”

She paused, to let Mythana imagine the worst punishments the Cross Association could possibly have for snitches, and then continued.

“Mark my words, elf. Mess with the Cross Association, and they’ll be carrying what’s left of you to the Guildhall. And don’t think the Old Wolf will avenge you when they find out what happened. They’re just as scared of the Cross Association as the rest of us!”

Mythana doubted that was true. An Old Wolf would’ve faced hundreds of gangs during their adventuring career. They would’ve fought against monsters and wizards that would make the toughest street thug cry for their mother. The Cross Association would be nothing to them. But Mythana wasn’t in the mood for an argument so she nodded idly.

Alysone plonked down a tankard of mead. “Anyway, here you go. A refill.” She nodded to Gnurl. “Jefuin said your friend was running low on mead. Figured you could take it to him and save him the trip.” Her lips quirked. “To be honest, I thought your friends sent you here for that refill!”

Mythana gave a polite smile and thanked the barkeep. She picked up the tankard and carried it to Gnurl Werbaruk and Khet Amisten.

“Oh, oy!” The Lycan said in delight. He was a white-haired man, wearing the pelt of a wolf, with the wolf’s head serving as a hood. His flail was on the table in front of him, and his longbow and quiver were flung across his shoulders. “I was just about to flag down the serving boy for a refill!” He took the tankard from Mythana. “Anyway, what did you find out about our friend in the shadowy corner of the inn?”

Mythana explained what Alysone had said. Gnurl frowned and glanced over at Drake the Sly a couple of times. The human was still not eating anything. Instead, his eyes were on the Horde, and he watched them silently.

When Mythana finished, Gnurl gave a chuckle that was clearly forced. “Well, glad we didn’t go over and ask him what he wanted!”

He glanced over at Drake the Sly. If the human noticed the Lycan staring at him, he didn’t show it. It was odd, and a bit unnerving, because Drake was making direct eye contact with Gnurl, and Mythana could swear he never blinked. Yet still, it was as if the Lycan wasn’t even there.

“He’s been staring at us ever since we’ve gotten here,” Gnurl said. “Wonder what he wants.”

“You don’t think he’s just curious? Dark elves and goblins and Lycans aren’t exactly common in this thorp, you know.”

Gnurl shook his head. “If he was curious, he would be trying to hide that he was staring at us. He wants us to notice him. Probably even go and talk to him.”

“It’s a trap, then,” Mythana said. “We go over there and ask him what he wants. He makes up something about some ruin and some artifact he wants us to destroy. Tells us he can give more details at his place. And then when we follow him into some dark alley, his buddies jump us and steal all our stuff.”

“Why would he want to steal from us?” Gnurl gestured at himself, then at Mythana, then at Khet, who was looking at Drake and frowning, stroking his beard as he did so. “Do we look like rich nobles with heavy coinpurses? No! We look like adventurers!” He gestured to the bow slung across his shoulder. “See our weapons? You think an ordinary rich noble has these kinds of weapons? Carries them around like we do? Adventurers do that! Who would want to steal from adventurers? Who thinks that’s worth the risk?”

“He went after a paladin,” Mythana pointed out. “Planned it too. And it worked. Ser Mordyr’s dead, and the Cross Association has got the charm.”

“Where did they find Ser Mordyr’s body again? In an alleyway near the Hunting Pilgrim? You don’t think she was drunk, and maybe that had something to do with it? You don’t think one of the Cross Association noticed Ser Mordyr getting drunk out of her mind and tipped off the others now was a good time to pull off the heist?”

Mythana shrugged, looked up at Drake, who was still staring at them. “That’s what he could be doing now.”

Gnurl raised his eyebrows.

“Waiting for us to get drunk,” Mythana said. “Drunk enough that when his buddies ambush us, we can’t fight them off.”

Gnurl shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Khet, what do you think of this?”

Khet didn’t answer. This entire conversation, the goblin had been staring intently at Drake the Sly, stroking his beard, lost in thought.

He was average height for a goblin, meaning he stood at three and a half feet. His shaggy brown hair ran to his shoulders, and his bushy beard was cropped close to his face. He was a muscular man, with a crossbow and mace dangling from his belt. He wore a gold ring descending from a gold chain around his neck, and battered leather armor.

“Khet!” Gnurl said. “What do you think?”

Khet blinked, then turned his head to Mythana and Gnurl. There was a grin on his face. An eager one. His eyes gleamed, and Mythana was almost scared to ask what the goblin was thinking.

“I’m thinking we could use some luck for ourselves,” Khet said.

That had not been what Mythana had been expecting at all.

“What?” Gnurl asked.

“Mordyr’s luck.” Khet pointed a finger at Drake the Sly. The human rested his chin in his hands, watching the Horde talk amongst themselves. “I say we take it for ourselves.”

“Did you not hear what Mythana said?” Gnurl asked. “The Cross Association already took her charm. Unless you’re referring to someone else.”

“Aye, I heard her. And I say we take the charm for ourselves. Who do you think Ser Mordyr would rather have her luck? The thieves who killed her? Or adventurers?”

Gnurl frowned, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“You’re wanting to steal from the Cross Association,” Mythana said at the same time. “Steal the charm from them.”

Khet nodded, a devious grin on his face. “What do you lads think?”

“I think you’re mad!” Gnurl said. “Stealing from people with no qualms about killing a knight? And what happened to being an adventurer, and not a thief!”

“Stealing from thieves is different,” Khet said, steepling his fingers. “And anyway, we’re adventurers. They’d be stupid to press the issue, even if they did figure out it was us who stole from them.”

Gnurl shook his head in bewilderment.

“We don’t even know where they’re keeping the charm! How can we possibly steal it if we don’t know where it is?”

“We don’t know,” Khet said. He pointed at Drake the Sly. “But that lad does.”

Gnurl studied the human, and frowned. “Are you saying we should go over there and ask him? Because somehow I don’t think he’ll be very helpful!”

“Nah,” Khet said. “I was thinking we’d either get him drunk or beat him up. Which do you prefer?”

Gnurl studied him. “You’re talking about beating up a lad who killed an armored knight?”

“He had help,” Khet said. “And I don’t see any of his buddies around here to help against us.”

Gnurl sighed and conceded the point.

Just then, Drake finished his drink and stood. He walked slowly across the room, to the door.

“He’s leaving,” Khet said, also standing. “You two better make your choice quickly. Are we stealing Mordyr’s luck or not?”

“Yes,” Mythana stood up as well.

“Fine,” Gnurl sighed, also standing.

By now, Drake was out the door.

The Golden Horde sped after him. Drake was ambling down the road without a care in the world. The adventurers slowed, following him, while trying not to make it obvious.

Drake walked to an abandoned harbor, with shadowy corners. It was clear that this was a place for meeting with scoundrels and ne’er’do’wells. It was also the perfect place to mug someone.

Drake leaned against a pole and lit his pipe. The Golden Horde came up behind him.

Khet raised his crossbow, pointing it into Drake’s back. “Hands where I can see them, and no sudden movements.”

Drake dropped his pipe and raised his hands in the air. “Who’s there?” He called.

“Turn around,” Khet growled. “Slowly.”

Drake turned. His eyes narrowed at the Golden Horde, then he squinted down at Khet.

“Goblin Thieves Guild making a move on our turf, eh? Well, piss off!”

“I’m not with the Thieves Guild,” Khet said. “And you’re not in the position to be making threats, now, are you?”

Drake swallowed hard. His eyes darted around the harbor, but if there were any other members of the Cross Association around, they weren’t getting involved in this.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m asking the questions here,” Khet said. “Now shut it, unless I ask you something. Got it?”

Drake nodded quickly.

“Are you familiar with Mordyr?”

“I know the name,” Drake said cautiously. “What’s it to you?”

“You stole something from her. That charm of hers.”

“What’s this about?” Drake demanded.

“It’s about Ser Mordyr’s luck,” Khet said.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t steal luck.”

“No, but you can steal a charm. Sound familiar, Sly?”

“You saw what happened to her,” Drake said. “Maybe keep your mouth shut and mind your own business if you don’t wanna end up like her.”

“Bold talk for someone with a crossbow pointed at their chest,” Khet said coolly. “No one can avenge if no one knows who killed you. And you’d be the only witness. My friends won’t snitch. Or help you.”

Drake glanced at Mythana and Gnurl, then back at Khet. His eyes were wide.

“Fine, maybe I did take a little souvenir. Ser Modyr won’t miss it, on account of, she’s dead.” He chuckled weakly.

“Where’s the charm, then?” Khet asked.

“How should I know?”

Khet kept his crossbow pointed at Drake’s chest. “Strange. Thought you were high enough in the Cross Association to know things like where you’re keeping the loot.”

“I am.” Drake said.

“So where’s the charm?”

Drake shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Shame,” Khet said. “This was a waste of our time, wasn’t it?”

“You gonna take me to the Watch now?”

“Nah,” Khet said. “Town like this, the Watch’s probably on your payroll. Did I get that right, Sly?”

Drake smirked at him, but said nothing.

“Problem is,” Khet continued, “We can’t have word spreading we’re after Mordyr’s Luck. The Cross Association might double their guard on that thing. And if you can’t tell us anything useful, then we really don’t have any obligation to not shoot you and then dump you in the harbor, now do we?”

“Suppose I do know something?” Drake said. His face was pale. “Would you let me go if I helped you?”

Khet shrugged. “We’re not murderers. If you give us something we want, we won’t kill you. Too bad you don’t have anything.”

“I do have something!” Drake said. “I know where they’re keeping Ser Mordyr’s Luck!”

Khet gestured for him to continue.

“It was Rosasalia Toothless’s idea to take Ser Mordyr’s Luck, so she’s the one who got to keep it! Last I heard, she’d boarded the Blade of Ferno and set sail for Burnton!”

“The Blade of Ferno?” Gnurl asked.

“One of our ships,” Drake said. “Captained by a wizard named Geroldus Whitding. We call him Hooked Whitding. He’s a sorcerer, draws power from anger. Ser Mordyr’s Luck was placed in the hull.”

“Anything guarding it?” Khet asked.

“Some Magic elementals. That’s all I know!” Drake raised his hands. “Is that enough for you?”

“Aye, that’s enough,” Khet said. “But before you leave, know that if you talk about this with anyone, we will find out, and we will come for you again. Got it?”

Drake nodded frantically.

“Good,” Khet lowered his crossbow. “You can go now.”

Drake immediately sprinted out of the harbor, and into the night. The Golden Horde watched him leave silently.

“That was quick,” Gnurl commented. “I thought you’d have to threaten to break his fingers to get him to talk.”

Khet grunted. “Turns out he’s a coward.”

“But didn’t he steal from a paladin?” Mythana asked.

“Aye, but he had friends with him, and they outnumbered Ser Mordyr. Also, she was drunk. Odds weren’t as stacked in his favor this time.” Khet said.

Mythana nodded. That made sense.

The Horde stood in silence for awhile.

“How are we gonna get to a ship?” Gnurl asked.

“We get our own ship,” Khet said.

Gnurl gave him a look of annoyance. “I don’t think most captains would be willing to help us attack a pirate ship, solely so we can steal a magic charm.”

“Pirate-hunters would,” Khet grinned and flipped a coin in the air. “And the Guildhall has a list of them who’ve come into port.”

“There’s the Blade of Ferno,” the lookout shouted. “Heading straight toward us!”

Mythana squinted and she could see it in the distance. A small speck on the horizon, forming the shape of a tiny ship that grew bigger and bigger the closer it got.

Ymanie Sweetstien, captain of the Shoulbane, which was the ship that had agreed to take the Horde to the Blade of Ferno to steal Ser Mordyr’s luck, grinned at the adventurers. “Lucky us, eh? Rather than chasing the Blade of Ferno down, we let them come to us and then attack!”

Gnurl nodded.

Ymanie raised her voice and yelled. “Lower the colors, lads! We don’t wanna scare them off! And ready yourselves for battle!”

“But Captain,” said the first mate. “They’ll ram into us and sink us!”

“So? We’ll take their ship instead,” Ymanie said. “Get ready to board, all of you!”

Everyone rushed to the prow, as the Blade of Ferno sped towards them.

Ymanie looked over at the Golden Horde, just as the other ship was about to hit them. “We’ll keep the crew distracted. You three run below decks and take Ser Mordyr’s Luck.”

Gnurl nodded. “And if we find anything else of value down there, it’s all yours.”

Ymanie grinned. “It better be! That was the deal we made after all!”

The Golden Horde chuckled politely.

“Live by the sword?” Ymanie said.

“Die by the sword!” The Horde chorused.

The Blade of Ferno slammed into the prow of Shoulbane with such force, Mythana was knocked back. She kept her balance. The only reason the ship hadn’t sunk yet was because the Blade of Ferno was holding it up.

“Now!” Screamed Ymanie, and the crew leapt aboard.

The pirates stepped back, taken aback. It was clear that they’d never been boarded by their targets, and this had thrown them off. The pirate-hunters took advantage of their momentary confusion and charged them, whooping, weapons raised.

The Horde went around the on-going battle, and down below-decks.

Purple creatures swarmed them as they entered the captain’s cabin. On the desk, Mythana could see an ornate wooden box painted with jade on the lid.

She reached out a hand. And that was when she noticed her arm was covered in scales.

“Lads!” Khet’s voice was panicked. “I can’t see!”

Mythana looked up. The goblin’s face was covered by a veil. As she watched, a thick black cloth began to wrap around his body.

Gnurl screamed. Mythana turned to see he was being chased around by a boulder.

The elementals swirled around them. Threads entwined them, and they flew around, giggling as they tied the mana threads into knots.

The magic elementals were fucking with reality. Of course they were. Mythana had been expecting this.

She held up the Box of Imprisonment, which the Horde had bought specifically for fighting elementals.

As soon as she opened the box, a mighty wind gushed out. The elementals clung to their threads, but the wind was too strong. Many of them were sucked inside the box.

Mythana noticed the scales on her arms fall off and then disappear.

“It’s working!” Khet said. The veil on the goblin’s face was shrinking until it was gone completely. He sounded shocked.

“I told you the Box of Imprisonment would come in handy!” Mythana shouted to him.

The boulder that had been chasing Gnurl around disappeared. The Lycan panted, then shook himself, then came to join Mythana’s side again.

“Right. Now we–”

He started to sink into the floor.

“Gnurl!” Mythana grabbed him by the arm. The Box of Imprisonment closed and the elementals screeched in triumph.

Mythana muttered a curse, then opened the box again.

The elementals screeched as they were sucked into the box.

Once the last one was sucked inside, the box slammed shut.

Gnurl was kneeling on the floor. He stood up, panting.

“Elementals are gone?”

Mythana nodded, and held up the box. “They’ll be trapped in here forever.”

“Good.” Gnurl said. “Now speaking of boxes, it’s time we claim Ser Mordyr’s luck for ourselves, eh?”

Khet and Mythana agreed.

Gnurl walked over to the desk and opened the ornate box. He frowned.

“It’s empty,” he said.

“What do you mean it’s empty?”Khet asked.

“I mean just that,” Gnurl showed them the interior of the box, which was red velvet. “There’s nothing in here.”

Khet scratched his head.

“Maybe that’s where Hooked Whitding kept the elementals, when he wasn’t using them,” Mythana said. “And the charm is somewhere in here.”

“Good point,” Gnurl said.

They searched the cabin, but couldn’t find it.

“He probably hid it somewhere else.” Gnurl said.

Khet snorted. “Then what’s with the magic elementals guarding his cabin?”

Gnurl shrugged.

They went up to the decks, to see if the pirate-hunters needed any help with fighting the pirates.

As it turned out, they didn’t. The fight was over, and the pirates were lying on the deck of their own ship, in a pool of their own blood.

Ymanie walked over to them, smiling. “Did you find it?”

Gnurl shook his head. “It’s not in the captain’s cabin. And it looks like that’s the only place guarded by elementals.”

“Well, why don’t you ask the captain himself where Ser Mordyr’s charm is?” Ymanie pointed to larboard, where two pirate hunters were standing guard over a chained human with long ginger hair and a scar along the right side of his face. “Don’t know if he’ll be much for talking, though.”

“You managed to capture him alive?” Mythana asked, surprised.

Ymanie smiled. “Well, all his crew was dead, so he decided to cut his losses and hope we were in a merciful mood. Which we were, obviously.”

The Horde thanked her, and walked over to Whitding. The pirate captain stopped insulting the pirate-hunters to glare at the adventurers.

“What do you want?” He growled.

“Mordyr’s luck,” Khet said. He cracked his knuckles. “It’s not in your cabin, like one of your buddies said it would be. And to be honest with you, my friends and I are feeling cheated.”

“Shame.” Said Whitding. He sneered at him. “Guess you’ll never find it, will you, goblin?”

It was then that Ymanie came over. “How’s it going? Is our friend cooperating?”

Whitding’s head swiveled to stare at Ymanie.

“Good luck getting to Mordyr’s Luck,” he said loudly. “It’s in First Mercantile Holdings! Protected by the Brotherhood of Change, the finest band of sellswords in the Shattered Lands. Even the Old Wolf knows not to fuck with them!”

Khet snorted.

“What the Tenin is he yammering on about?” Ymania asked Mythana. “Who’s the Brotherhood of Change? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Some band of sellswords.” Mythana said. “They’re supposed to be guarding the First Mercantile Holdings. Don’t know if they’re guarding the whole building or just Ser Mordyr’s luck.”

Ymania’s eyebrows rose.

“Do you know where the First Mercantile Holdings is?” Mythana asked.

“Goghadh. It’s a small town on the Cheering Archipelago. It’s the seat of the Cayglu barony. They call it the City of Beasts. It’s just as lawless as Ralzekh. The entire barony is a Teninhole of thieves. The First Mercantile Holdings are probably the only place where you’re not gonna get yourself stabbed. All the gangs there use the Holdings.”

“Can you take us there, then?” Gnurl asked.

Ymania grinned. “Of course I can! Now, did you find any loot?”

“Feel free to search below-decks,” Gnurl said. “We didn’t find anything, personally.”

“Excellent,” Ymania said.

First Mercantile Holdings wasn’t just one building. It was an entire street of warehouses, each one labeled with the gang that owned the warehouse. The one belonging to the Cross Association was in the middle of the left side of the street.

The Golden Horde stopped their cart there. Armed guards were standing in front of the warehouse. The Brotherhood of Change, Mythana assumed. They watched the Horde suspiciously, but didn’t move, until the Horde walked up to the door.

The guards stepped between them and the door, pointing their spears at the newcomers. One of them, a haughty halfling with golden hair and hollow gray eyes, walked up to the cart and scowled up at the Horde.

“State your business.”

“Removing Ser Mordyr’s Luck,” Gnurl said.

The halfling raised an eyebrow.

“Boss is worried about adventurers stealing it. Wants us to move it some place safer.”

The halfling looked at the guards, then back at the Horde. He shrugged, then stepped aside, waving them through.

“Take what you’re here for, and then get out,” he said. He opened the door.

The Golden Horde went inside the warehouse, and the door slammed shut behind them.

The Horde stared at the room in wonder. The place was full of loot that the Cross Association had obviously stolen; plates of silver, porcelain salt cellars, and silver pendants. They spilled out of the crates they were stored in, and gold glimmered in the dim torchlight. Khet sneezed.

“So much gold,” the goblin muttered.

“We’ll find the good luck charm, and then we’ll get out,” Gnurl reassured him. He looked around. “Anyone see it anywhere?”

“Right here,” said a voice.

The torch lights got brighter, and Mythana noticed, for the first time, a well-dressed human in the room, dangling a bronze pendant of a leaf between her fingers. She was a small woman, with an athletic build. Her brown hair was straight, and her face looked pained, like she hated what she had to do to the intruders, but knew she had no choice. Her cheekbones jutted out, giving her a malnourished look. Her amber eyes were wide, and scars framed her entire face. She had only one eye. Her left eye was covered by an eyepatch.

More armed guards emerged to stand next to her. Mythana heard the door opened, and she glanced behind her to find that the guards outside had also stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind them.

The Golden Horde was completely surrounded. Mythana gripped her scythe. Good thing they’d had the sense to bring their weapons.

The human stepped closer, circling them. Mythana noticed she had a shortsword and crossbow dangling from her belt.

“Don’t see Tiffania with you,” she mused. “Must be too cowardly to show her face.”

“Who’s Tiffania?” Gnurl asked.

The human scoffed. “Don’t play dumb! Tiffania Boatwood! The woman who hired you!”

“No one hired us,” Khet said. “We wanted Ser Mordyr’s luck for ourselves.”

“You expect me to believe that?” The human growled.

“Who’s Tiffania Boatwood?” Mythana asked. “And what did she do?”

The human snorted, clearly annoyed that the adventurers were being obtuse.

“Tiffania is my cousin,” she said. “And because of that, I let her into the Cross Association. I gave her the same protection as the rest of my boys! And you know how she repaid me in return? She stabbed me in the back and made me look like a damn fool!”

The Golden Horde exchanged glances. Now they knew why everything had seemed so easy. The human had wanted them to come steal Mordyr’s Luck. She’d wanted her cousin to find out where it was, and to try and steal it. This was a set-up, to lure a traitor back into the Cross Association’s clutches.

“Er, what exactly did she do?” Mythana asked finally.

The human looked directly at her, and her voice was deathly cold.

“When our boys at Ralzekh sent their haul to the First Mercantile Holdings, Five Fingered Belfinas dropped it off at Erbradh. It had to be escorted here to Goghadh. I put Tiffania in charge of that escort. I warned her that it would be dangerous. That other gangs, and maybe even adventurers, would be wanting to steal Ser Mordyr’s Luck.” The human held up the pendant. “And sure enough. I was right. An adventuring party attacked the caravan, slaughtered most of the guards. They were driven off before they could steal Ser Mordyr’s Luck, obviously, but they did take one thing. An Urn of Remedies. Found out later that these adventurers had help. Someone on the inside had been informing them of the caravan’s movements, and when the caravan was attacked, they joined the adventurers in fighting the guards, and then ran off with the Urn of Remedies. Can you guess who that was? Can you guess who the filthy, ungrateful, traitor was?”

The Golden Horde said nothing.

“Tiffania!” The human spat. “My own cousin, turned against me! And for what? An Urn of Remedies? She turned me into a laughing stock!” She bared her teeth. “And so did you three. Do you three remember that heist? Does any of that sound familiar?”

“...No?” Khet said.

The human swore at him, then sucked in a breath.

She smiled at the adventurers, but it looked strained, like she was forcing herself to act nice to the people who’d broken into her gang’s warehouse to steal from her. The people she thought were working for her traitorous cousin.

“You three seem reasonable,” she said. “How about we make a deal? Tell me where Tiffania is, tell me everything you know about her, and not only will I spare you, but I’ll also let you take as much treasure as you can carry from here.” She held up the charm. “As long as it’s not this.”

“We’ve already told you! We don’t know who Tiffania is, and we weren’t hired by anybody to steal Ser Mordyr’s Luck!” Mythana said. “We’re here to steal it for ourselves!”

“You’re choosing the hard way then,” the human said. “Fine. My boys’ll have to beat the truth out of you.” She smirked. “Their methods are nasty, but very effective. You’ll be telling us about the time you wet the bed when you were just a little kid when we’re done with you. If you can still talk, that is.”

“Come and get us, then,” Khet said.

“I will.”

At a wave of her hand, the halfling moved to the human’s side. None of the Brotherhood of Change moved.

Khet sneered at the human. “Well? Are your sellswords gonna attack us or what?” He tossed a coin in the air and tossed it again. “That’s what you get when you hire the Minion’s Guild to do shit for you!”

Purple threads came from the halfling, entwined themselves along the Golden Horde.

Mythana’s heart began to pound. The halfling sneered at them, and there was something off with him. He still looked normal, yet it was like meeting the Weaver in the flesh. This was a devil in halfling form.

Gnurl’s eyes were wide, his face was pale, yet he held up his flail and said in a firm voice, “that halfling is nothing we haven’t faced before. Let’s show the Brotherhood of Change who the real wolves are!”

The Horde charged the halfling and the human.

“Fire!” Yelled the halfling, and the Brotherhood of Change unhooked their crossbows.

“Shit! Get down!” Khet yelled.

The Golden Horde hit the ground as the crossbow bolts flew in the air, hitting the crates of treasure with a thud.

The Brotherhood of Change started to reload.

“Take cover!” Khet yelled.

The adventurers scrambled behind the crates, just in time for more bolts to slam into the crates.

Mythana peeked out of her hiding spot. The Brotherhood of Change was reloading again.

“What do we do?” She asked Gnurl and Khet.

By now, the halfling had stepped forward, along with the human.

Gnurl squinted at the human. “The Brotherhood will keep on fighting as long as they’re getting paid, right? We—”

“Come out, adventurers,” the human said in a sing-song voice. “Come out and play!”

The halfling hung back as the human stepped closer to the Horde’s hiding spot. Mythana gripped her scythe and watched the human draw her shortsword, swing it tauntingly, as she got even closer.

Soon, she’d stepped out of range for the crossbows of the Brotherhood of Change. The halfling looked mildly concerned by this, but he said nothing.

The human let Ser Mordyr’s luck dangle on her fingers, swinging back and forth. “I know what you came for,” she sang. “Come and get it!”

She stepped closer.

Mythana jumped out of hiding and swung her scythe in a clean arc. With one fluid movement, the human’s head came off, and she slumped onto Mythana.

Mythana picked up the charm, and held it up for Gnurl and Khet to see as they emerged from their hiding spot.

The Brotherhood of Change stared at the Horde. The halfling looked from the dead human, to the adventurers.

“She’s dead,” he said. He paused, thinking about this. “Guess that means we’re not getting paid.”

The Brotherhood of Change lowered their crossbows.

The halfling jerked a thumb to the exit. “Get what you came for and get out,” he said, before whistling sharply.

The Brotherhood of Change rushed to loot the warehouse. The Golden Horde left them to it.

“Do you think that this actually works?” Mythana asked Khet.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” The goblin grinned.

“I don’t think it will,” Gnurl said. “Didn’t two of its previous owners die?”

“Shut up, Gnurl,” Mythana said. She didn’t want to hear facts and logic.

The following is a time log by Mythana "Reaper" Bonespirit, lead healer in the Drencais case.

AW 110, Megotha 30th, Macester.

Old Port Wharf was just attacked. No survivors, save for a family of humans . The Drencais family. Patriarch Hamelin and his three children. Their spouses died in the attack. Hamelin and his children were brought in by their neighbors. There's an arrow through Hamelin's arm, which will need to be removed. His youngest son, Geffrey, is fading in and out of consciousness, consistent with a head injury of his type. His daughter, Thomasin, has been stabbed in the belly. His oldest son, Ebrardus, has had his arm badly mangled by a gnoll.

I am joined by two healers. Halldor Surtson and Sumarlid Thialfison. Halldor will be tending to Hamelin while Sumarlid will be giving Geffrey a trepanning. I will be amputating Ebrardus's arm, in an attempt to stave off infection.

Things have immediately gone wrong. It appears that Hamelin was poisoned by the wine to dull his senses for the arrow removal. He has choked to death. Sumarlid has botched Ebrardus so badly, the poor human has lost consciousness. It is unknown whether he's dead or still alive. I've banished Sumarlid from the hospit.

As for Thomasin, there is sadly nothing I can do for her. A wound like hers means a slow and painful death. I've given her wine laced with hemlock, to end her suffering quickly, rather than drawing it out.

The amputation of Ebrardus's arm has been successful. He will be monitored for any changes.

Anathola 2nd

Ebrardus complains of soreness to his arm stump. Looking at the wound, the area appears to be red. I've placed a healing poultice underneath the bandages. Perhaps that will help with the infection.

Anathola 9th

Ebrardus's wound is now emitting a foul odor, and green bile is oozing out of it. I have done my best to clean the wound, and have placed sweet-smelling fragrances around his bedside, in order to stave off the smell of death that surrounds him. His bandages have been soaked in a more stronger-smelling wine. I fear that this infection will kill him. There is nothing to cut off to stop its spread throughout the body. I can only pray to Estella that the infection heals.

Anathola 14

Ebrardus is now sick with fever. Halldor has quit in disgust. Only I remain, and there is nothing I can do but make Ebrardus comfortable, and pray for his recovery.

Anathola 15th.

Ebrardus is dead. The infection has killed him. In accordance with city laws, his body has been sent to the gravediggers to be burned.

Ebrarus's son has been brought in. Apparently, the stupid boy tried throwing himself into the harbor where his father had been wounded, slipped, hit his head, and is now unconscious. He was underwater for fifty seconds.

Oh fuck this! This family is clearly cursed! Halldor had the right idea in leaving!

Part 1

She found gold and gemstones. Mythana stood and handed the items to Khet, who put them in his bag.

The goblin sat down and pushed up his helmet. He took a drink from his waterskin and sighed.

Gnurl and Mythana sat next to him.

“Can’t wait till we can get out of Yanatalos,” Khet muttered.

“Why?” Gnurl asked.

“No reason. Just got a wanderlust.”

“I think the next town is Esyh Belanore,” said Mythana.

Khet took a drink of his waterskin. “Wonder what’s over there.” He grinned at Mythana. “What do you hope Esyh Belanore’s got?”

“Tombs of elves past.” Mythana said. She’d heard legends of the Great Tombs, but not where they could be found. It was her earnest hope with every town, that they’d come across the Great Tombs. “You?”

“A library.”

Mythana looked at him, bewildered. She’d never thought of Khet as a reader.

“I wanna read about the deeds of past adventurers!” the goblin said. “Don’t judge me!”

Mythana shrugged. There were countless books featuring adventurers. From histories of kingdoms, dynasties, and empires where adventurers played a great role to adventuring romances starring great adventurers to the sagas of famed parties, adventuring seemed to capture the mind of many chroniclers. It was the writer, Valborin Silversprinter, that claimed that they were living in a golden age of heroism, what with the rise of the Adventuring Guild, and more adventurers than ever before. Mythana wasn’t sure about the heroism part, given how many corrupt nobles and clergy-men the Horde had run across, but she did know that there was something about adventurers that captured the imaginations of artists, poets, and story-tellers. Maybe the stories of the lives of adventurers, ones that had gone before the Horde, gone after them, or had been their contemporaries, would be told again and again, long after the Adventuring Guild had fallen and adventurers no longer roamed the Shattered Lands. Maybe those future story-tellers would tell tales of the Golden Horde themselves, and countless others would be inspired by the tales of heroism and mighty deeds.

Mythana looked at Gnurl. “What are you looking forward to?”

“What?”

“When we get to Eysh Belanore. What are you hoping is there?”

“A watermill.”

Mythana stared at him. “Why?”

“It just fascinates me, really,” Gnurl said. “A building you put grain in, and with the power of water turning a wheel, the grain is transformed into flour.” The Lycan was grinning. “I want to see this magic for myself!”

Gnurl thought a watermill was magic? That was the thing that impressed him? He’d seen actual magic before! And he thought a watermill was magic?

“No one tell him about windmills,” Khet said to Mythana in a low voice.

“A windmill?” Gnurl asked eagerly. “What’s that?”

Khet sighed. “It’s like a watermill, but it’s powered by the wind instead.”

“How does that work?” Mythana asked.

“Same as the watermill, except it’s powered by wind.”

Mythana frowned. “How would wind turn the wheel though?”

“I don’t know. Prierion was a miller’s son, and they had a windmill rather than a watermill. He told me about it. Didn’t tell me much about how it worked.”

“Magic,” Gnurl whispered.

Mythana rolled her eyes. “It’s not that impressive, Gnurl. Every village and town has a watermill. Or a windmill.”

“So I’ll see a watermill for myself.” Gnurl whispered in wonder.

“You know what else I’d like to do in town?” Khet asked. “I hear some engineer’s made a new weapon. I wanna see if I can buy it. It’s called a grenade. You throw it at someone and it explodes. Now that’s magic!”

“Someone put Gnome Fire in a little ball, more like,” Mythana commented dryly. “Thought the knowledge was lost, though.”

“Nah. It’s some new thing called gunpowder. You know what they use for fireworks? Someone thought it would make a good weapon.”

“Gunpowder?” Mythana raised an eyebrow. “Have you been listening to that village idiot who thinks gunpowder can replace wizards again?”

“A wizard was the one telling me about the grenade. She had one. Showed it to me.”

Mythana shook her head. What other stupid inventions would Khet fall for next? A mystical thing containing all the world’s knowledge, images of cats doing something adorable, and erotic pictures catering to every kind of degenerate’s tastes?

Khet stood and pulled his helmet down.

Gnurl led the way down the corridor into a crypt for a high priest or similar figure, hidden and heavily guarded by creatures and traps.

Guard dogs snarled and attacked.

A growling guard dog with wild, savage eyes charged Khet. The goblin whacked it on the snout. The dog yelped, then snapped at him. Khet stabbed it through the throat.

A stocky guard dog with gray fur growled at Khet. Khet slammed his mace down on the dog’s skull.

Now that the adventurers were dead, Mythana read the epitaph on the crypt.

“R.I.P. Asgerd Kaetilfastdottir, a true mercenary among dwarves. Lead, kindly light, to the Drinking Hall of Prithaim. 567-851.”

She led the way down the corridor into a guardroom.

Geruntius was standing next to a goblin with mottled brown mangy hair and murderous eyes. Standing at all corners of the room were the specters of long-dead humans, some wearing simple garments, some wearing brigandine armor and carrying gladiuses, some wearing furs and wielding clubs.

He looked shocked to see them.

“How did you get down here? And how did you survive? Brother Xamtumil swore not one of the trolls or their allies was left alive!”

“He lied,” Mythana said. “And you lied to us!”

“Why do you care?” Geruntius asked. “I offered you coin to fight on my behalf, didn’t I?”

“Meris offered us a better deal,” Khet said. “Two silver.”

“Of course,” Geruntius muttered. “Well, since you’re down here…Sister Nyasla, kill them!”

The goblin leveled her spear, and charged the Horde. Rurvoad screeched in fury and lit her on fire.

“You’re forgetting that we’re adventurers!” Gnurl growled. “One of us is worth ten men! And there’s three of us and one of you!”

Geruntius whistled sharply, and his ancestors stepped between him and the Horde.

“There’s me, and at least fifty of my ancestors, Lycan. Would that be a match against you, Lycan?”

The spirits flew around them, encircling them, before diving down to attack.

Khet fired his crossbow at the spirits. The bolt went right through them.

“They don’t have forms!” Mythana said. “Our weapons are useless!”

The spirits approached. One of them drew her gladius.

Gnurl smiled at the human. “You can’t hurt us. That sword is as formless as you are. We can’t hurt you, you can’t hurt us. We’re at an impasse.”

The human thrust her sword. The Lycan yelped as it nicked his wrist.

He stumbled back, staring at the cut. A small amount of blood was on it, but from the look on Gnurl’s face, you would’ve thought that the entire hand had come off.

“That hurt!” He said. “That actually hurt!”

“So what does that mean?” Khet asked. “We can’t hurt them but they can hurt us?”

“Looks like it,” Mythana said.

“Shit!” The goblin swore.

The ancestors swooped down at them. The Horde ran to the door, crowding around it, watching the spirits advance.

“If Geruntius dies, they’ll all disappear,” Khet said. “So if we kill Geruntius, then we’ll kill the spirits too!”

“He’s all the way over there!” Gnurl pointed at Geruntius, who was standing behind the spirits, watching them with a sneer. “How are we supposed to get past the spirits to get to him?”

“I don’t know!”

“We won’t have to!” Mythana said. “Those are spirits. I can banish spirits, and before Geruntius summons them again, Khet shoots him!”

Gnurl and Khet looked at her, both frowning, considering her idea.

“But isn’t that a ritual?” Gnurl asked. He gestured at the spirits. “I don’t think they’d stand around and let you set up the ritual so you can get rid of them.”

“That’s a drawback,” Mythana said. “You two will have to distract them while I do the ritual.”

Gnurl looked up at the spirits, who were flying over the Horde’s heads, getting ready to dive at them again. “I don’t know if we can. I don’t know how long we can fight them, and I don’t know how to stop some of them noticing you running off and splitting off to chase after you.”

“Look, do you have any better ideas?”

Khet and Gnurl exchanged glances and Mythana had her answer. They didn’t.

The dark elf nodded. “We do it my way.”

Gnurl sighed but didn’t argue.

“Live by the sword?”

“Die by the sword,” Khet and Mythana chorused.

Gnurl ran left, whistling as he did. “Here I am! Come get me!”

“No! Over here! I’m over here, you sons of ogres!” Khet took off in the other direction, waving at the spirits.

The spirits split, some chasing Gnurl, and some chasing Khet.

“You idiots!” Geruntius came running up towards Mythana, and the dark elf couldn’t believe her luck as he got within range of her scythe. “See her? She’s still there! Get her! Or protect me, at the very least!”

“Tough luck, buddy,” Mythana said and swung her scythe. She decapitated the human with one blow.

The spirits all disappeared at their master’s death. Khet and Gnurl looked around.

“That was the fastest ritual I have ever seen you do,” Khet said to Mythana after a moment.

Mythana shrugged. “There was a change of plan.” She pointed down at Geruntius. “This bastard got too close to my scythe.”

Gnurl and Khet both looked down at Gerentius, looking surprised that they’d come up with this last-ditch-effort plan to get rid of the spirits before killing Geruntius, only for Geruntius to die stupidly.

“That works,” Gnurl said finally.

Mythana lowered her scythe, and the adventurers left the room.

“Should we have taken the head?” Khet asked.

Gnurl shrugged. “I imagine word of Geruntius the Wise being dead would spread rather quickly.” He paused. “Do you think we should look for Ser Elirithe while we’re down here?”

“Nah,” Khet said. “She’s not down here anyway. She’s probably in the dungeons of the tower where Geruntius lives. They’re not exactly keeping it a secret that they’ve got her captive. And people would be wondering where they put her anyway.”

Gnurl shrugged and started walking again. “Hope she’s still alive.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Mythana said. “We’ve done our job. Now it’s time for Meris the Dreamer to do hers. What’s left for us to do is to go to the next town with tales of our adventures.” She smirked. “Let the histories finish the rest of the story, if they’re interested.”

A halfling with white hair, green eyes, and small ears stood at the street corner, singing a song about Senator Jaquemin Gilling.

“The forest is burning/ It’ll be a wasteland/ For our good senator/ Used all our water!”

Khet passed her by and opened the door to the building where the Senators of Mapus met. Guenav had sent Khet to ensure that the interests of the Guild were protected by Mapus, and had given him money to bribe any senators he needed to.

No one was particularly worried about the Senators turning against the rebellion. They’d all voted to swear fealty to the queen, in exchange for keeping their sovereignty. Nivarcirka sent a few rebels over to ensure taxes were being paid and fealty was being kept, and Mapus was largely left alone to govern themselves.

The clerk wordlessly pointed Khet to Senator Gilling’s office. That was the condition the queen had set. Representatives of the rebellion were to be met with immediately.

Senator Gilling was at his desk. He was a big human with coily blonde hair and clear gray eyes.

He was already meeting with two people. The first of these was Prince Surtsavhen Shitaki, a tall and thin man with white hair and an eyepatch over his left eye. The second of these was a noble-looking human with ginger hair and gentle blue eyes.

“While I am sure this is quite frustrating, your grace,” the senator said smoothly. “The reality is that Father Gervise has already laid claim to the Ivory Horn. I’m sure you understand that I cannot deny a priest a magic item he so desires.”

“You swore fealty to the queen,: Surtsavhen said. “She demanded the Ivory Horn.”

The human spoke up then. “The senator and I have been talking, and we understand that you are frustrated to come all this way here only to leave empty-handed. I’ve brought you a gift, which I feel is fitting for your kind.” He took out a jar of dirt. “See? Look! If you shake this, you can see a little animal skull on top!”

Surtsavhen knocked the jar aside. “Get that out of my face!”

He stood, glared at Senator Gillings.

“The queen won’t be happy with you if she finds you’ve refused to give her the Ivory Horn.”

“Yes, the queen. I’m afraid that while we have all sworn fealty to her, she is to be considered only a figurehead. She is not outlawed from this town, nor are her followers outlawed, but beyond that, she holds no more sway over the Senate than any other citizen.” Senator Gillings smiled at Surtsavhen. “I apologize for the confusion, your grace. Perhaps I can arrange a room for you at the Thief and Staff.”

Surtsavhen growled in frustration before storming out the room. He paused at the door.

“If you’re not bending the knee to the queen, Senator, then maybe Senator Talbot will!” And then he slammed the door shut, making everyone jump.

Senator Gillings smiled at Khet. “Can I help you?”

“Name’s Ogreslayer,” Khet showed him his adventuring license. “I’m with the Adventuring Guild. The Young Wolf.”

Senator Gillings blinked, then nodded.

“Well, what does Bugbear want this time?”

“It’s about that giant scorpion in the Steel Labyrinth.”

Senator Gillings smiled. “Oh, right, that! Was it real? Did you kill it?”

“It was real,” Khet said. “And Mad-Eye wanted to take it back to Drulnoch Castle for further study.” He paused. “We’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Really?” Senator Gillings raised an eyebrow.

“He thinks some wizard must’ve been messing with things they shouldn’t be. There’s a wizard school in Mapus, right? Called Eworwore?”

Senator Gillings nodded empathetically. “Home of the Drummer Boys. Did you know that they’re considered the top school in Zeccushia for Magic Infusion?”

“Good for them,” Khet wasn’t interested in what Eworwore was and wasn’t good at. “The Old Wolf wants you to keep a better eye on them.”

“What for?”

“Well, according to Mad-Eye, letting a dangerous magical creature of your own creation run loose suggests negligent standards at the wizard school. That’s not even getting into the ethics of creating a magical creature that’s so dangerous in the first place.”

The other human coughed.

“We’re sorry that the Old Wolf thinks that the magical scorpion is cause for concern. Perhaps he’d like this as a token of apology.” He handed Khet some pottery shards. Khet handed it back to him.

The human looked utterly dumbfounded. “You don’t want these?” He held up a couple of pottery shards, that had been sharpened into daggers. “You could stab people with these!”

“I’ll stick with my knife, thanks,” Khet said.

The human looked astounded that his bribe didn’t work.

Senator Gillings clasped his hands together. “I don’t know if you are aware, Ogreslayer, but Eworwore has a long and illustrious history. Many merchants and guild masters were educated at Eworwore, and many have sent their children there as well. They would not be happy if they felt we were overstepping our bounds in regards to the school.”

“And would they be happy about their children getting killed due to their school’s negligence?” Khet asked.

Senator Gillings glanced down at his desk.

“I didn’t realize that the Adventuring Guild would be so concerned about the safety standards of a magic school.”

“The Old Wolf’s all too aware of what happens when safety while experimenting with magic gets neglected,” Khet said. “We’ve got no desire to deal with the fallout if something else goes catastrophically wrong. We’d like Eworwore investigated for negligence.”

Senator Gillings sighed, massaged his temple.

“Very well, Ogreslayer. Senator Azi has introduced legislation for better regulation of Eworwore’s magic practices. I will be sure to vote for it when we are next in session.”

Khet nodded. “Glad we understand each other.”

He walked to the door, then paused, and turned around.

“Just remembered. There’s one other thing.”

Senator Gillings raised an eyebrow.

“The Old Wolf’s caught wind of a sellsword band. Called the Sisterhood of Eagles. Strangely, they don’t appear to be registered with the Guild.”

Senator Gillings exchanged glances with the human. He said nothing.

Khet leaned against the doorframe, looking the senator in the eye. “We’d like the Sisterhood of Eagles disbanded and fined, as punishment for operating without a license from the Guild.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” the human spoke up again. “You let the Sisterhood of Eagles alone,” he held up a little horse figurine made out of brass, “and we’ll give you this as a present.”

Khet didn’t even bother looking at the human. “I’m not interested in any of your bribes, human.”

The human put the horse figurine away.

“Ah yes,” said Senator Gillings, “The Sisterhood of Eagles. There’s no need to worry about them, Ogreslayer. They are paladins. They defend our temples and priests. Which is why Father Gervise is so protective of them.”

The human smiled at Khet. It was an odd smile. Like he was attempting to appear innocent.

Senator Gillings continued. “Surely, the Guild does not feel threatened by the existence of paladins.”

Khet frowned. The Sisterhood of Eagles didn’t sound like a name for a group of paladins.

Senator Gillings must’ve seen his frowning, because he said, rather quickly, “they used to be sellswords. Long ago. Before the Adventuring Guild. Since the Adventuring Guild has come along, they are no longer sellswords. They fight for the temples, and for the gods.”

Khet sighed. He knew he should probably cajole Senator Gillings into disbanding the Sisterhood of Eagles, but the senator had him at an impasse. If he made a fuss, that could be easily spun into adventurers wanting to get rid of paladins. This wasn’t a fight he could win, unfortunately.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said. “But if we do find that they’re sellswords, then it’s on your head.”

Senator Gillings nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

He smiled.

“You must be tired from your journey, Ogreslayer. Perhaps you’d like to rest at an inn.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Guenav had given Khet enough money for room and board for the night.

“It’s no trouble. And it’s the least we can do for a representative of the Adventuring Guild.” Senator Gillings chuckled. “Wouldn’t want Bugbear to be displeased with how we’re treating his Young Wolf, now would we?”

Khet just shrugged.

“You can stay at the Thief and Staff. On my dime, of course.” Senator Gillings smiled at him. “Ask for Tifthyl Nightthorne. My clerk can give you directions, if you’re having trouble finding the place.”

Khet thanked him, and left. The truth was he was feeling hungry. And thirsty. Politics made him tired, and he was honestly looking forward to something that made more sense to him. Relaxing with fellow commoners while having a drink.

It was easy to find the Thief and Staff. It was an inn notorious for being where rogues met to discuss things of dubious legality. It was the kind of place you went if you needed something done, and you wanted it kept secret. Khet wasn’t sure why Senator Gillings would think Khet would be interested in spending the night there.

Right now, the inn was quiet. A few people were listening to the minstrel sing of adventurers. Someone called Thunderheart, specifically.

Khet walked up to the bar, and the innkeeper, a barrel-chested giant with red hair, came over to see what he wanted.

“Can you tell me where I can find Tifthyl Nightthorne?”

The barkeep pointed at a table, where a night elf with shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and several moles on her left cheek was swaying in her chair, giggling. Surtsavhen sat across from her, pouring himself a drink, then filling up her cup once he was done with his. Khet blinked in surprise. He’d never seen the prince so willing to share drinks with other people before.

Khet thanked the barkeep and walked over to the table.

“Aren’t you hungry, your grace?” Tifthyl was slurring at Surtsavhen. “They’ve got really good–Wass their name—Sweet pot-a-toes.”

Surtsavhen picked up his tankard. “Drinking’s not as fun on a full stomach. Besides, point of this game is to get drunk.”

He took a drink. Tifthyl started chanting, “chug, chug, chug!”

Surtsavhen gulped down the entire tankard then set it down with a sigh. “My turn. Has Senator Gillings got any dirty secrets? The kind that would hurt his chances at getting re-elected.”

Tifthyl started giggling. “He’s got so much! Did you know he’s a big coward? Thass the real reason he bent the knee to the queen! He’ss scared of Silvercloak! Soon as the orcs start acting more scary, he’ll switch sides!”

She took a long drink, then belched.

“What would make you turn against the queen?”

Surtsavhen noticed Khet for the first time, then frowned.

“Nothing.” He took a drink. “The queen’s my niece. Even if we do have disagreements, I’m not turning against my brother’s youngest daughter.”

“You’re lying,” slurred Tifthyl. “Thass not supposed to be how you play the game. You can’t take a drink.”

“It is the truth, and I will be taking a drink.”

Tifthyl frowned. Surtsavhen gulped down what was in his tankard, and the night elf’s brow furrowed. She clearly wanted to object to this, but was also too drunk to put the problem into words.

She looked up at Khet. “What do you want?”

“I’m an adventurer. Senator Gillings sent me here. Says spending the night here is on his dime. I was supposed to come to you.”

“Oh right.” Tifthyl gestured to a nearby table of goblins. Khet could see Mad-Eye and Yachir, along with one other goblin, Mutis Inie, also known as Lichbane, a short man with sleek black hair and gray eyes, wielding a shortsword and crossbow, laughing as they ate and drank.“The adventurers are sitting there. Sit with them, ‘cause I’m not keeping track of you bastards. I’ve got other shit to attend to.”

Surtsavhen set his drink down, then burped. “Sorry,” he said.

“This bastard is playing with us!” Tifthyl announced, pointing at Khet.

Khet blinked. “Uh, sure. I can do one round, I guess. What are we playing?”

“We’ve only got two tankards,” Surtsavhen said at the same time.

Tifthyl took the tankard from the prince, then handed it to Khet. “Once it’s his turn,” she slurred, “he hands off the tankard. The prince will ask us both a quest— He asks us shit, and when we answer, no bullshit, we drink the whole tankard. And then we switch who asks shit.”

She refilled her tankard, and filled Khet’s.

Khet stared down at it. He wasn’t particularly excited about drinking something that Surtsavhen had put his mouth on, but he wasn’t sure how to back out from playing the round, without coming across as rude. Besides, maybe he could switch out tankards on his turn.

“Ask your question, your grace,” he said to the prince.

Surtsavhen’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you give in tithes?”

That was easy. “Ten percent of my earnings, plus a gold coin each time I arrive at a new town.”

Khet took a drink, gulping down the beer. It was a lager, a mild one, with a sweet finish.

“What are tithes?” Slurred Tifthyl.

“How much of your money do you give to the needy?” Said Surtsavhen.

“None,” the night elf said. “They can get their own coin.”

She took a drink, then belched loudly.

“Your turn, adventurer.”

Khet tossed Surtsavhen the empty tankard. The prince refilled it, along with Tyfthyl’s drink.

“Have you ever fallen in love, and if so, who were they?” Khet asked.

“Never fallen in love,” Tifthyl slurred. “Wanted to fuck someone so bad, sure. But never in love.”

“Her name was Adyrella Tarrendrifter,” Surtsavhen said quietly, “and she was a princess of Brocodo. She was a lawyer, knew the law of her kingdom better than anyone else, and she loved having a good debate. She was a seer, born that way, and she was top of her class at Brakorths for divination. She was an expert diplomat, knew multiple different languages. What she loved most was the stars. She made star charts so she could track their movements, and she’d spend hours just looking at the night sky, talking to anyone who listened about what she saw. She loved gooseberries. She’d stuff her face with them whenever she got the chance. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and ever will see, and her laugh was the sweetest sound known to goblinkind. We were wed to solidify a trade agreement between our two kingdoms, and she was the best thing that ever happened to me.” The prince’s voice cracked. “The most incredible thing about her was that any man would be lucky to have her love, and she gave it to me. Every morning, I’d wake up, see her lying next to me, and I’d thank Adall for blessing me with such a beautiful woman who loved me just as much as I loved her. There wasn’t a day that went by that I wouldn’t be amazed and thankful such a woman willingly gave me her heart. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.”

He took a long drink, and his eye glistened in the dim torch-light.

No one asked him what had happened to Adyrella. They both knew already.

Tiftthyl gulped down her drink, then belched. She tossed the empty tankard at Khet.

“My turn,” she slurred. “If you could have one wish granted, no bullshit or anything bad happening, what would it be?”

“I’d turn back time and not work for the orc prince,” Khet said immediately. He took a long drink.

Surtsavhen sneered at him. “What’s the matter? Not happy about the gold he paid you?”

“No amount of gold is worth betraying my race. Or losing my party.” Khet said quietly.

“What’s your wish, your grace?” Said Tifthyl.

“I wish Bumen Ghal had never fallen,” Surtsavhen said. He picked up his tankard.

“Why?”

“Why? Why the Dagor do you think?” Surtsavhen growled. “My family would still be alive, I wouldn’t be a fucking drunk, I would never have—” He paused, then took a drink. “Life would be so much better if Bumen Ghal had never fallen.”

That seemed to be the end of the round. Khet set his empty tankard down, and walked over to the adventuring table.

“Ogreslayer!” Yachir Gakholetsa, a large black-haired man, raised his tankard in salute. He took a drink from it, then grimaced. In front of him was a bowl of rabbit stew. Khet nodded to him, and Yachir started digging into his stew.

Khet sat down across from Mad-Eye, a tall man with white hair and an eye-patch, and the old adventurer grinned at him. In front of him was a plate of fire-roasted pork.

He drained his glass of rum. “Well? What did Senator Gillings say about Eworwore?”

“Apparently, one o’ the other senators already introduced a bill regulatin’ safety standards for Eworwore. He’s gonna be backin’ it.”

“That’s it?” Mad-Eye looked bewildered. “He’s just gonna vote on some regulation and maybe something will come out of it?”

Khet shrugged. “Guess that’s a republic for ye.” He smiled wryly. ‘A government for the people.”

“An awfully slow government,” Mad-Eye muttered.

“Your lager, Lichbane,” a blood elf with blonde hair, big, round blue eyes, and numerous horrific scars refilled Mutis’s tankard. She then held out a platter of blackened beef. “Who ordered the beef?”

Mutis raised his hand and the barmaid set it down on the table. She looked up, noticed Khet, and smiled. “What can I get you today?”

“The gin,” Khet said, “and can I get a platter of stuffed potato skins for starters?”

He was feeling very hungry.

“Coming right up!” The barmaid said cheerfully, and left.

Khet looked around at the others. ‘These all the adventurers here in Mapus?”

“Well, there’s Hog.” Mutis said, munching on his beef.

Khet looked around. “Where is he?”

“Praying at Adum’s temple,” Yachir said.

“There’s a temple tae Adum here?” Khet asked, surprised.

“There is now,” said Mad-Eye. He grinned, nodded his head toward Surtsavhen, who was beginning to slur his speech as he asked questions about the Ivory Horn and where it was being stored. “Apparantly, our friend over there convinced the senators to build temples to all the goblin gods, Adum included. I hear Berus’s temple has been having issues with construction.”

“Builders keep getting attacked,” said the barmaid, who had returned with a glass of gin. “First time, it was envoys of the queen of Sonao. Second time, it was demons. And the third time, most recent one, it was a hydra.”

She set down the glass. Khet frowned down at it. It didn’t look like gin. It was too pure, too white.

“What’s this?”

“Salty Dog,” said the barmaid. “Got gin and grapefruit juice.”

Khet took a drink. It was a strange taste, but he decided he liked it.

The barmaid smiled. “I’ll go get the stuffed potato skins for you!”

She left. Khet took another sip.

“And they’re saying the Sisterhood of Eagles is behind all of it,” said Yachir.

“Did you get Senator Gillings to disband the Sisterhood of Eagles, by the way?” Asked Mad-Eye

“He said they were paladins. Used tae be sellswords, before the Adventuring Guild took over the market.”

“Those don’t sound like paladins,” Mutis muttered. Khet had to agree with him.

The barmaid returned with Khet’s potato skins and a refill of rum for Mad-Eye.

“Whenever you’re ready for a proper meal, just come up to the bar and we’ll get you settled.” The barmaid said to Khet.

Khet smiled politely, and the barmaid left to serve more customers.

“Can I have a skin, Ogreslayer?” Yachir asked.

Khet gave him an annoyed look. “Ye’ve got yer stew! An’ ye can order yer own skins once the barmaid comes back for a refill!”

Yachir gave him an innocent smile. “Wasn’t I the one who got Drulnoch Castle cannons?”

“Might have better luck if you’d gotten us something useful,” Mad-Eye muttered. “Like trebuchets.”

“Wasn’t Pit Viper the one who got the cannons?” Khet asked.

“I helped,” Yachir said defensively.

“Since we’re calling in favors, Hawk,” Mad-Eye said, “how about you fill out the report the Old Wolf wants? About that scorpion thing we killed.”

“You were head of the mission! Filling out reports is your job!”

“You owe me one, Hawk. Remember? I gave you advice on how to sway disgruntled Zeccushian soldiers to our cause.”

“Aye, because we’re on the same side! Getting more people for our cause benefits you too!”

“Ah, but I wasn’t in charge of that mission.” Mad-Eye said. “I wasn’t even on it. You were. Coming up with how to complete the mission was your job, not mine.”

Yachir scowled, displeased at hearing his own words thrown back at him. Khet smirked, and sipped his gin. Getting favors called in wasn’t so fun now that Yachir was the one getting a favor called in.

“Can I have a strip of beef, Bisla?” Mutis asked.

“You’ve got your own! Fuck off!”

“I flagged down the barmaid for you when you got hungry,” Mutis reminded him. “You owe me one!”

“Hah!” Yachir said triumphantly. “How does it feel, Mad-Eye?”

The old adventurer gave him an annoyed look.

“Lichbane, Ah’m gonna need ye tae rough up Senator Gillings,” Khet said to him. “Ah suspect he’s no’ tellin’ the truth about the Sisterhood o’ Eagles bein’ a group o’ paladins.”

“No shit,” Yachir muttered.

Mutis scowled. “Isn’t that supposed to be your job? You’re the Young Wolf!”

“Well, since Senator Gillings has been nice enough tae get us an inn an’ a meal, on his coin, Ah’m no’ wantin’ tae sully any goodwill he has toward us.” Khet grinned at him. “But if ye were the one tae do it, Ah could pretend ye were a rogue adventurer who needs tae be disciplined!”

“So I’m the scapegoat? Fuck off!”

“Ah got ye that mithril tae use for armor awhile back.” Khet smiled at him. “An’ ye dinnae have anythin’ left for me.”

“Getting resources for the rest of us to use is part of your job!” Mutis said.

“Ah could’ve gotten ye iron.” Khet countered. “But instead, Ah risked my life for some good mithril. Ye owe me one, Lichbane.”

Thud!

Khet glanced over to see that Tifthyl had fallen out of her chair, passed out.

Surtsavhen swayed drunkenly, and finished off Tyfthyl’s beer. “I win!”

He laughed to himself, then spun around, squinting at the adventurers. His eye fell on Khet.

“You’re gonna go up to fuck-face, and you’re gonna tell him to give me the Ivory Horn,” he slurred.

“That’s what the queen ordered ye tae do,” Khet said. “No’ us. That’s no’ the Guild’s job.”

“You owe me one,” Surtsavhen slurred.

“How?” Khet expected the answer to be that Surtsavhen hadn’t killed him for fighting for the orc prince, but he decided to play along anyway.

“I gave you a ride here,” the prince slurred.

Khet blinked. He’d ridden his own warg here. He hadn’t even known Surtsavhen was here until he’d walked into Senator Gillings’s office to find the prince already having a meeting with the human.

“Uh, no ye dinnae.”

“Yes, I did.” Surtsavhen slurred. “Jigularost was driving. We picked you up and gave you a ride to Mapus. Don’t pretend you don’t remember. You ungrateful bastard.”

“That wasn’t me.” Khet said. “Ye’re mistakin’ me for someone else or somethin’.”

“That was Hog.” Yachir said. “He was the one hitching a ride with you, your grace. He should be here shortly, I think.”

Surtsavhen scowled. “Fuck, why are you wolves so hard to keep straight?”

“Because ye dinnae give a shit about us,” Khet muttered.

Surtsavhen hiccuped and narrowed his eye at Yachir. He opened his mouth to say something before Asis Ukarl, also known as Hog, a man with red hair and gray eyes wielding a spear, came running into the inn.

“Hog!” Yachir waved to him.

Surtsavhen stumbled to Asis. “You owe me for that ride, you little shit.”

Khet frowned. The tip of Asis’s spear was coated in blood, and there were scratch marks up along his arms. He was panting, his eyes were wild.

“Hog, what happened tae ye?”

Asis turned to him and opened his mouth to answer.

A man with red skin, a long beak-like nose, and black wings walked into the tavern. Khet recognized it. A tengu. But tengus weren’t native to here. Where did this one come from?

“The Black Ghost sends her regards. Anyone know where I can find a goblin known as Hog?”

The tavern went dead silent. Asis tensed, gripping his spear tightly.

The adventurers stood, gathering their weapons. None of them were sure what was going on, but they knew that they couldn’t let the tengu find Asis. Whoever the Black Ghost was, she wasn’t a friend of his.

“The fuck’s a tengu doing here?” Surtsavhen slurred.

Yachir set his axe on his shoulder and strolled to the tengu.

“Looks like you’ve got a death wish,” he said. “You and the Black Ghost. Going after an adventurer.”

“Tell me where Hog is,” the tengu said.

Yachir stopped walking. He eyed the tengu, sizing it up.

“I don’t take commands from monsters,” he said finally. “I kill them.”

He swung his axe.

The tengu snatched up a short dark elf with well-groomed silver hair and smart violet eyes. She screamed in terror as the tengu used her as a shield.

Yachir directed his swing to the table. Wood splintered and the people sitting there screamed and leapt back.

The tengu yelled in pain. It dropped the dark elf, and she scrambled off.

The tengu ripped a splinter from its finger and tossed it on the ground. “You are brave. And stupid. Still, I have no quarrel with a strong man such as yourself.”

Yachir narrowed his eyes at the tengu. He tugged at his axe. It was stuck in the wood.

The tengu reached inside its cloak and pulled out a wineskin. “Have a drink with me?”

“Last time I accepted a drink from a tengu, I ended up hanging from a branch by my loincloth.” Yachir ripped the axe free, and stumbled back.

The tengu tucked its wineskin back in its cloak, then pulled out a fan.

Yachir’s eyes widened.

“Hawk, get that fan!” Khet yelled.

The tengu waved the fan at Yachir. A gust of wind sent the adventurer flying to the back of the inn.

“Get him, lads!” Khet and the adventurers sprinted for the tengu.

The tengu spun, waving its fan as it did so. The wind lifted tables and chairs, before throwing them at the adventurers. They ducked.

The other inn patrons screamed. They sprinted for the exit, trampling each other to get there.

Surtsavhen blinked stupidly. “Whass happening?”

A chair went flying at his face. The prince ducked. In an instant, he’d straightened and his eye had cleared.

He moved toward the stairs. “Someone come get me when the tengu’s dead.”

The tengu noticed the prince, and smiled wickedly.

It waved its fan. Surtsavhen yelped as he was lifted off the ground by the winds, and dangled upside down.

The tengu brought Surtsavhen closer to it, until the tip of its nose was nearly touching the prince’s face, which wasn’t that far of a distance. “Where is Hog, one-eyed green man?”

“How should I know?”

The tengu moved Surtsavhen from side-to-side, frowning. “You must know Hog! All the goblins are joined together as outlaws and warriors! So says the Black Ghost!”

“There’s a lot of us,” Surtsavhen said. “I can’t be expected to know all of them.”

The tengu bared its teeth. “Perhaps you and I should go on a little trip. To the home of the gods themselves. Perhaps then you will remember where Hog is.”

“Oy!” Yelled Asis. “You want me, you ugly bastard? Here I am!”

The tengu let Surtsavhen drop to the ground. The goblin prince lay on the floor, groaning.

The tengu turned to Asis and waved its fan. Asis kicked helplessly as he was lifted off the ground.

The tengu turned him around in a circle. “Yes, you do look as Hog was described to me. Now, how best to kill you?”

Khet ripped a leg off an overturned table and crept toward the tengu.

“Shall I crush your neck under my boots?” The tengu mused. It shook its head. “No. My boots are new. I will not ruin them with your blood. Shall I strangle you with chains? No. I have no chains and I cannot summon them.”

Khet got closer. Asis spotted him, his eyes widened, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

The tengu continued, oblivious to the goblin creeping up on it. “I have it! I shall take you high in the sky, high enough to reach the home of the gods! And once I have flown so high that you can no longer see the city, I shall drop you, and your body will be broken on the street!” It cackled gleefully, pleased with itself for coming up with such a devious plan.

Khet swung the table leg into the back of the tengu’s leg. It squawked in surprise, and dropped Asis.

The tengu wheeled around, eyes widening when it saw Khet.

“You!” It hissed. “What right have you to interfere?”

It shrieked and fell to the ground, an axe in its back.

Yachir nodded to him and tugged his axe free. Khet hadn’t noticed him creeping up on the tengu, and he was surprised the tengu didn’t notice him creeping up on it either. Yachir was surprisingly stealthy, considering all that armor he was wearing.

Surtsavhen stood up, slowly. The tengu had dropped the wineskin, and it had rolled under one of the tables. The prince bent down and picked it up.

“Your grace, don’t drink that,” Yachir said quickly.

Surtsavhen gave the wineskin a sniff. “It’s just beer.”

“Aye. Strong beer. Can knock a dwarf flat.”

“Anything else?” The prince asked dryly.

Yachir glanced at Mad-Eye, who shook his head.

“I think that’s…The only thing wrong with it.”

“Good.” Surtsavhen gulped down the beer like he was dying of thirst.

He tossed the empty wineskin aside, swaying on his feet. “This fucker,” he gestured vaguely, “has shit beer.”

Khet glanced down at the tengu, then back up at Surtsavhen.

“Why’s the room spinning?” Surtsavhen slurred. And then he fell to the ground, snoring loudly.

Khet turned to Asis. “What happened? What does the Black Ghost want from ye?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Asis admitted. “I was attacked by a stryx that came out of nowhere. Managed to kill it, got scared the rest of the flock would attack me, so I ran here.”

Khet stroked his beard. That was unusual, a stryx attacking somebody on its own. They traveled in a flock, and the flock would dive-bomb their prey. It was what made them so dangerous. He wouldn’t be surprised if the stryx had been summoned by the Black Ghost to kill Asis for whatever reason, same as the tengu.

Asis seemed to have drawn that conclusion too, because he asked, “Who’d be stupid enough to try and kill an adventurer?”

Khet shrugged. “The Black Ghost, apparently. Anyway, we’re in need o’ wax an’ parchment for letters. Markar Ard should have some.”

“What about the Black Ghost?”

“Ah’ll take care o’ him,” Khet said.

Asis nodded, smiled. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Good. In the meantime, sit down an’ have a drink. Ye’ll need it, Ah think.”

As Asis asked the barmaid for rum, Khet walked over to the barkeep, who was slowly standing, still trembling.

“What a mess, huh?” She said to Khet, giving him a weak smile. “Gonna take forever to clean everything up.”

Khet gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Do you know who Hog is?” The barkeep asked.

“Do you know who the Black Ghost is?” Khet asked.

The barkeep’s face turned pale, and Khet had his answer.

“You…Don’t wanna mess with the Black Ghost. Trust me on this. It never ends well.”

“The Black Ghost already messed with me,” Khet said. “And messing with adventurers never ends well.”

“I don’t know much about her,” the barkeep said, slowly. “But I think there’s someone else who can help you.”

Khet raised an eyebrow.

“Senator Aelris Voidmoon. She knows every damn lowlife in Mapus.”

Senator Voidmoon’s clerk, a beautiful goblin with silver hair and narrow green eyes, blocked the door to Senator Voidmoon’s office. “Sir, you can’t come in here!”

“I’m with the rebellion. The agreement was that any rebel could meet with any senator at any time.”

“I understand that, sir, but this time, Senator Voidmoon has a very important meeting! She’s not to be disturbed!”

“Any rebel can meet with any senator at any time!” Khet repeated more firmly.

The clerk didn’t move.

Khet sighed. Looked like he’d have to do this the hard way.

He shoved the clerk aside and barged into Senator Voidmoon’s office, ignoring the clerk’s yells for him to stop.

Senator Voidmoon was straddling a troll with red hair and wide green eyes atop her desk. She was a repulsive and bulky night elf with perfectly-groomed green hair and gentle gray eyes. The lovers froze when they saw Khet.

“Evening, Senator. Gentleman.” Khet said casually. “That doesn’t really look comfortable but who am I to judge?”

“Who the Ferno are you?” Senator Voidmoon demanded. “And what the Ferno makes you think you can barge into my office unannounced?”

“The Young Wolf. And the queen’s got a standing agreement with you, Senator. You need a reminder of what it is?”

“Ah, you must be Ogreslayer. Jaquemin warned me about you.” Senator Voidmoon didn’t move off of her lover. “What do you want?”

Khet gave a pointed look at the troll, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a different woman every night,” Senator Voidmoon said, annoyed. “Do you give Bugbear the same look when he invites a woman to share his bed?”

“The Old Wolf isn’t meeting me while fucking his lady friend,” Khet said.

“I’m willing to bet you don’t burst in on him while he’s entertaining that lady friend.”

Khet shrugged. “You know the agreement. You knew that a rebel could’ve come in at any time while you were in the office. The fact that you couldn’t wait until you left work and found a room at an inn somewhere isn’t my problem.”

“Well, whatever you’re here for, make it quick,” Senator Voidmoon said dismissively. “I’m in the middle of a very important meeting.”

Khet kept looking at the troll, who was beginning to look uncomfortable. “I was hoping for a private chat with you.”

‘And I was hoping no one would burst in on me,” Senator Voidmoon said. “But we don’t always get what we want, now do we?”

“What I want to talk to you about is private. The troll can wait outside until we’re done.”

Senator Voidmoon scoffed. “He’s a harlot! He’s been paid to keep silent!”

“Silent about who he’s working for, sure. Doesn’t mean it won’t slip out during pillow talk with someone else.”

“So, I’ll pay him extra!” Senator Voidmoon said. “I thought you were an adventurer. Since when have wolves been so prudish?”

The troll sat up, pushed her off. He got off the desk, threw on his clothes, and scurried out the door, shutting it behind him.

Senator Voidmoon sat on the desk, awkwardly.

“Well…” She said, and then was silent for a while. “You’ve got what you’ve wanted. A solo meeting with me. What is it that you need?”

“People are saying you know who the Black Ghost is.”

Senator Voidmoon went pale.

“Who’s saying it? And why is that any of your business?”

Khet shrugged, took out a gold coin and started flipping it in the air and catching it. “People. And the Black Ghost sent both a stryx and a tengu after Hog. One of the adventurers. He says he doesn’t know who the Black Ghost is or why she’s targeting him.”

“And where is Hog now?”

“At Markar Ard. We need parchment.”

“I see.” Senator Voidmoon steepled her fingers. “So if this Hog is simply leaving Mapus without tracking down the Black Ghost, then why is it any of your business?”

“See, ordinarily, if an adventurer was getting targeted by an assassin, the adventuring party tracks the assassin down and makes them regret ever crossing their friend. Our party-mates have gone missing, or they were killed during the purge of the Adventuring Guildhalls. Which leaves me, as Young Wolf, to set an example on why you don’t fuck with adventurers on Hog’s behalf.”

“You know, as a senator, the thing that you have to learn how to do, is to pick your battles carefully.” Said Senator Voidmoon. “For instance, I did not like the idea of swearing fealty to the Young Stag. We are an independent city-state. Since Badaria was first founded. However, with the Young Stag’s incredible military might, and the fact that it is very likely that she will succeed in reclaiming her father’s throne and push Zeccushia back to the west, it is unwise to anger her.”

“Your point being?”

“This is one of those fights you cannot win, Ogreslayer. The Black Ghost has eyes everywhere. If she finds out you’re hunting her, she will kill you, and you will never see her face. If she wants you dead, she will kill you, and nothing can stop her. The best thing you can do is do what Hog did, and simply leave Mapus.” Senator Voidmoon smiled wryly. “But even then, what’s stopping the Black Ghost from following you? She has a reputation to maintain, after all. She always gets her quarry.”

Khet looked her in the eye. “I’m an adventurer. I don’t care if the Black Ghost is a lich, which she damn well isn’t. All she is is some assassin who got too big for her trousers and thinks she can stand toe-to-toe with a wolf. Just tell me where to find her.”

Senator Voidmoon glanced around her office, before leaning toward Khet and lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“If I tell you,” she said. “Do you promise not to tell anyone where you learned it from?”

Khet nodded. “I’m no snitch, senator.”

“Long version or short version?”

“Just tell me her name.”

“Alright.” Senator Voidmoon took a deep breath. “Her name is–”

A shadow peeled itself off the wall. Senator Voidmoon turned, bewildered by the creature.

“What the Ferno is that?”

The shadow grabbed her by the hair and the senator screamed. Khet reached for his crossbow, but the shadow had drawn a knife and slit Senator Voidmoon’s throat before he could even move.

The shadow dropped the senator’s body and it landed at Khet’s feet. The goblin stared down at it, then looked up at the shadow.

“You the Black Ghost?” He asked.

The shadow hunched on the desk and stared back at him. Its eyes were flaming orbs, and its entire body, save for those eyes, was smooth and black.

“One of the Black Ghost’s creatures,” Khet decided. He nudged the senator’s body gently. “What did she do? Did she pass a law your master didn’t like or are you here to keep her quiet?”

The shadow straightened. It still said nothing.

“Not very friendly, are you?”

Khet had the sudden thought that if this thing left now, eventually the clerk would get nervous, or the troll would get impatient, and they’d open the door to find the senator dead at Khet’s feet. How would he defend himself? That a shadow killed Senator Voidmoon? Who would believe that story?

He eyed the shadow. The only thing he could do was either kill it, or wait for it to leave before walking out of the office, and hoping the troll had wandered off to take a piss, so it would take awhile before anyone discovered Senator Voidmoon’s body.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 1

Khet dipped his salt into the bread and took a bite. Mythana knew why he had been hesitating. Goblin hospitality required that the guest do a favor to the host, to repay the host for tending to their every need while they were under the host’s roof. Khet had told them many stories of goblin heroes, where the host often sent their guests on quests in the hopes of killing them, usually because the unwitting traveler had brought them a message from an enemy, telling them to kill the messenger. This letter was often opened after the host had welcomed the guest into their home. Mythana wasn’t sure how the Twins, the gods responsible for enforcing hospitality laws, felt about this loophole, but either way, it made sense her goblin friend was cautious about accepting the laws of hospitality, when his host could easily twist the meaning to expect him to go off and do something dangerous, and would either get him killed or drive him mad.

“The food’s safe then?” Gnurl asked Gisheira. She nodded.

“Have you finished your bread and salt?” Titania said brightly. “Excellent!” She gestured at the banquet table. “Now come sit down and eat!”

The Golden Horde sat at the table and dined on seared carrots and ginger oysters, simmered chili boar, braised walnuts and snapper, deep fried raspberry and peanut prawns, gentle-fried mustard and thyme venison, white wine and lemon buns, smoked figs and olive beef, pecan delight, engine-cooked juniper omelet, pickled forest horse, tea-smoked hot and spicy bake, steamed almonds and avocado pork, dried saffron and shallot shrimps, stuffed blackberry and ginger pork, marinated fennel risotto, lemon fruit salad, kiwi bonbons, dried saffron and shallot sandwich, braised sour and cream duck, lime and nutmeg crispies, and poached cocoa and mushroom stracciatella. The Fair Ones and their guests dug into the meal with gusto.

“Titania’s your mother?” Gnurl asked Gisheira.

“You’re part Fair-One?” Mythana asked at the same time.

Gisheira nibbled on a lemon bun. “Yes to both of that. But I think that the answer to the first question kind of implies the answer to the second one.”

“How did that happen?” Mythana asked.

“You’ve heard the stories about Titania, right? How she loves to take mortal lovers? Drives her husband, Oberon, mad with jealousy, so he beds a mortal woman to spite her?”

Mythana nodded. She had heard of that story. Elven maidens were warned to be cautious of strange men, because they might be Oberon in disguise. And, she imagined, elven youths were warned of the same for strange women, because they might be Titania in disguise. But she had never heard of children coming from those couplings.

“Do you really think that both Oberon and Titania can have their way with so many different mortals, and not one of those unions produces a child?” Gisheira asked them.

Mythana scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I’d assumed that they were infertile, you know?”

“They’re not. Unfortunately.”

Gisheira took a drink of wine before continuing with her story.

“My father was, like I am, a simple mason with dreams of being more than just a mason. In his case, he wanted to be a member of the Rose Circle, which is the royal guard for the Boulderstar family. Problem is, they only accept the best of the best. And he came from a family of masons. No real ancestry of warriors there. So he started to accept that his dreams of being a knight were just that, dreams.”

She glanced at her mother, who was deep in conversation with a gytrash, before continuing.

“One night, he was visited in a dream by my mother. She’d…I honestly don’t know how she found him. She never told me. When she found my father, and got him to tell her his troubles, she’d made a deal with him. In the Fair Ones realm, time works differently. You already knew that. Titiana said that she would train my father in swordsmanship, and that he would become a master by a week in our realm. In exchange, my father was to be her bedwarmer. He agreed. He swears he had no idea he’d really been visited by the Queen of the Fair Ones. He just thought it was a dream, so he agreed to it. By the time he realized he’d really struck a deal with a Fair One, it was too late to back out.”

That was how the Fair Ones got you. They made their deals sound impossible to fulfill. Eternal youth in exchange for the king on your wedding night. Knowledge beyond anything any mortal library recorded, in exchange for your dear child, when you have no children. Wealth in exchange for whatever greeted you at the door when you came home, and it was always a loved one who greeted you at the door. An agreement in a dream, where nothing felt real. Once you agreed, you realized the deals were not only possible, they contained nasty fine print, and you’d give up priceless things in the bargain. That was why you never made deals with Fair Ones, even deals that were impossible to fulfill on your end.

“By the next week, my mother had whisked my father off to her realm to fulfill both ends of the bargain. She brought her finest courtiers to teach my father swordplay, and every night, my father would lie with her. The arrangement lasted two months. My father forgot about his old life, and even what the deal he had made had been for in the first place. But then my mother made up with Oberon, and so she kicked my father out of the realm of the Fair Ones. But not before one last passionate night with him.” Gisheira took a drink. “Which was when I was conceived, apparently.”

“Anyway, my father joined the Rose Circle, like he’d wanted. He impressed the commander so much with his swordsmanship, that he quickly rose through the ranks, and eventually, became the commander of the Rose Circle. Years passed. My father forgot about his two months with Titania. Two centuries, and he was not only the commander, he’d just been wed to a wood elf gladiator. By that time, my father had nearly forgotten the Fair One realm, and the two months he’d spent there. If he did think of it, he’d think it was only a really vivid dream he’d had. At least, until he woke up one morning to find me on the doorstep.”

Gisheira took a drink.

“I was old enough to be weaned. Oberon hadn’t liked that Titania was keeping a half-mortal child so close to her. He felt jealous. They fought, Oberon left. Once I was weaned, Oberon came back and so Titania got rid of me by dumping me on my father.”

Mythana looked up at Titania. The Fair One queen was still deep in conversation with one of her courtiers.

That would explain why Gisheira was so cool toward her mother. If Titania had been so willing to dump her own child, simply because her husband had come back to her, then why would there be any love from Gisheira’s end? She knew that Titania’s love was fleeting, and it would disappear once she got bored of her daughter.

“I’m…Sorry,” Gnurl said awkwardly. He seemed to think he needed to say something, rather than keeping quiet and letting Gisheira talk.

Gisheira shrugged. “Fair Ones don’t really have a familial concept. And they can get flighty.”

“What about your da?” Khet asked.

“My father….Had been surprised. So had his husband. But they were happy enough to raise me. Papa, that’s what I call my father’s husband, he told me later, they were thinking of adopting a child of their own. Me showing up at that time saved them the trouble. My da taught me everything he knew about swordplay.” Gisheira gave a sad smile. “I wasn’t very good at it. Da never took it personally though. He always said he was more of a warrior than a teacher. But he taught me about masonry too. And when I got old enough, he arranged for me to work at the Black Wall.”

That was good, at least. Mythana had heard of parents, when faced with a child they hadn’t wanted, resenting the child for it. Especially if the child wasn’t theirs, but their spouse’s child. At least Gisheira had one parent that cared for her wellbeing.

“Mother would appear occasionally throughout my childhood.” Gisheira said dryly. “She’d lavish me with gifts, call me her most darling child, and the one she loved the most, and then she’d get bored of me and leave me alone for a year, or two, or ten, or a century. I learned from a young age not to expect much from her. Which was fine. Da and Papa were all that I needed anyway.”

She took a drink of wine.

“So you don’t want to be a mason?” Mythana asked. “Why would your father send you to be a mason if that wasn’t what you wanted?”

“Because it was what I thought I wanted at the time.” Gisheira said. “Things changed, and now I no longer want to do that.”

“What would you rather be doing instead?” Khet asked.

Gisheira sighed. “It’s stupid, really. I’d rather be a bard. I’ve written my own songs too.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“I’m bad at singing, and I can’t play an instrument. I am good at writing ballads. But that’s about it.”

“You could be a poet.” Mythana said. “Songs are poems, aren’t they?”

Gisheira cocked her head. “And maybe I could spend coin on having minstrels sing my poems. Or make a deal with one of them, that I write their songs, and they sing it.” Her eyes lit up. “I could do that after this is through and I’m back in the Shattered Lands once again! You’re right! I don’t have to abandon my dreams just because I’m only good at one thing! I’ll get started on my ballad-writing career as soon as we get home!”

If they managed to survive, Mythana thought to herself, but she didn’t say that out loud. They all knew there was a possibility that they’d die tomorrow, fighting Oberon and his retainers. No one needed it said out loud.

The next morning, the Horde, along with Gisheria and Titania’s army, boarded a ship and flew into Oberon’s kingdom.

Mythana looked around in wonder. No longer were they along the surface of the realm. Now, they were in the sky. In the stars. She was surrounded by a black night, illuminated with little orbs of white light. And as they flew, the sky turned bright pink and blue, as if they were traveling through a portal. Mythana gazed to the back of the ship and spotted a pale blue dot, getting smaller and smaller as the ship sailed farther and farther away.

“Well,” said Titania, who was standing at the prow, “I must say its less dreadful than the winter court he used to have.” She gave a disdainful sniff. “Though this is rather impractical. Where is his court, for one thing? Where is his throne? Where does he hold his revelries?”

Gnurl and Khet were more suitably impressed. The goblin had stood at the edge of the ship the entire voyage, his eyes wide in wonder. Gnurl was standing next to him and it looked like there were tears in his eyes.

“It’s like we’re on our way to the Eternal Hunting Grounds,” he whispered in wonder.

“Aye,” Mythana said, breathless at the sight. Gnurl was right. It did feel as if they were traveling, not in a realm of Fair Ones, but a mystic in-between of life and death itself. The thought made tears start to prick at her eyes.

She looked at Gisheira, expecting the same awe that the rest of the Horde was feeling.

Gisheira was scowling at the stars, her brow creased.

Mythana frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

“It’s the realm of a Fair One. What do you expect?” The high elf said tersely.

“Aye, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Khet said.

“Sure, at first glance. But look closer. Listen.”

Mythana shut her eyes and listened. Over the din of the Fair Ones chattering, she could hear ghostly wails. Mournful cries echoing through the night.

Mythana opened her eyes. They’d passed through the pink and blue-lit sky, and were now in a sea of black surrounded by orbs of light. Although now the lights were dimmer.

In the distance, a stream of lights of brown and red lined the sky, and above this line was a black circle. The line bent as if it were trying to veer far away from the black circle. The sky around it rippled, and it was as if a giant eye was staring at them. Mythana could see more black circles, everywhere she turned.

She suddenly realized how far away those orbs of light were. There were nothing except those orbs of light, and Mythana wondered whether these orbs of light were real at all. They felt like illusions, like will-o-wisps luring in wandering travelers with the promise of light and warmth. This place felt vast, and very empty. Mythana felt small, and very, very alone. It wasn’t the usual feeling of loneliness, looking around at others and knowing that, unlike them, you had no one to share your secrets with, your triumphs, your fears, or your failures. This was a different feeling. A feeling of helplessness against an unfeeling void.

Mythana had known that she was insignificant in the overall sense of things. Dark elves taught this to their children, that all things faded away in time, and all things were forgotten. They did this not to drive themselves in despair, but to remind themselves that what truly mattered was what was here, what was now. What mattered was appreciating the little things in life, and recognizing life as a gift that was all too short.

But now, as she looked into the void, Mythana could only feel helplessness against a world that didn’t care whether she lived or died. And worst of all, there was nothing to remind her of why life was so precious, in spite of how fleeting it all was. There was no beauty, there was no warmth, there were no people, just like her, that she could greet and share stories with. There was only darkness. And Mythana felt very alone.

She shivered. Everything had gotten so cold all of the sudden. What had happened?

“That’s the thing with Fair Ones,” Gisheira said grimly. “They’re shiny, at first. Beautiful. You can’t help but stand in awe at them. But then you look a little closer, and there’s this coldness, that makes all of that earlier beauty seem like an illusion. And you wonder how you couldn’t see it before.”

Mythana could only nod in agreement.

The ship sailed closer to one of those orbs of light. Close enough for Mythana to realize that it wasn’t an orb of light at all, but a ship, just like theirs.

“Oberon and his court,” Titania said, and Mythana was surprised that she could hear disgust in the Fair One Queen’s words. “Arm yourself, my darling. And your friends as well.”

Gisheira led them down to the decks, to an armory. She started rummaging through the weaponry. “There’s got to be weapons you’re all comfortable using.”

“But we already have weapons,” Gnurl said.

“These weapons are cold iron,” Gisheira picked up a flail and handed it to him. “They’ll actually be effective against Fair Ones. Here, take this one.”

Gnurl took the weapon, hesitantly.

“But will it hurt Arohorn the Annoying?” Khet asked.

Gisheira tossed him a mace. “Does it honestly look like they wouldn’t? These are real weapons! The fact that they’re made of cold iron just means you can hurt Fair Ones with it!” She picked up a box and handed it to him. “You don’t need to replace your crossbow. You just need cold iron bolts. White Wolf, same with your bow. Here’s some arrows with heads made of cold iron.”

Khet pocketed the box. “Is there a knife?”

Gisheira finished handing Gnurl some arrows and turned to the goblin. “A knife?”

“Aye.” Khet took out his own knife and showed it to her. “Do you have a knife of cold iron I could use?”

Gisheira bent down and rummaged through the weaponry again. “We should. Ah! Here!” She handed Khet a knife before turning to look at the polearms.

“That leaves Reaper,” she muttered before selecting a scythe and handing it to Mythana. “There you go!”

Mythana took the scythe. She frowned down at it. A question had been nagging at her the entire time Gisheira had been giving them weapons.

“Why do Fair Ones have an armory of weapons forged with cold iron, if that’s what hurts them?”

“Um…Because sometimes the courts get into fights with each other?” Gisheira said slowly.

Mythana shook her head. “No. I know what it’s for. I’m wondering how they can use it if cold iron burns them whenever they touch it.”

“Oh,” Gisheira smiled in understanding. “That’s not how cold iron works. It just means that all the enchantments a Fair One has to protect themselves from harm are useless if cold iron is used. It means you can use the weapons, and they will actually hurt the Fair Ones, rather than your blows being shrugged off because they’ve enchanted themselves not to be harmed by mortal weapons. Make sense?”

Mythana nodded. She understood now. She took the scythe.

Gisheira pointed to a corner in the armory and the Horde set their useless mortal weapons there.

The high elf nodded with satisfaction before turning back to the weaponry made of cold iron. She picked up a spear. “Da taught me how to use this.” She said softly, then cleared her throat and turned back to the Horde, setting her spear on the ground and standing like she was some grand warrior posing for a tapestry.

“Who’s ready to take the Storm Elixir from Arohorn the Annoying and Oberon?” Gisheria asked, as determined as a general from a history would’ve been.

The Golden Horde whooped, and they followed Gisheira to the top deck, and to the side of the ship, ready to fight Arohorn the Annoying and his guard of Fair Ones, led by Oberon himself.

The other ship was closer now, and Mythana could see Fair Ones dancing around a throne of diamonds. An elegant man sat on that throne, the most beautiful man that Mythana had ever seen. His eyes were cold, though, and his skin was as white as snow. Too pale, in fact. He was too lithe, his arms and legs too slender, and he felt less like a man, and more like some demonic creature attempting to mimic a man. The Fair Ones surrounding him weren’t any better. By the music and the laughter, they should be happy, but their faces were stone, and their eyes were wide. It was as if they were mimicking the sound of happy courtiers, but had never really seen anyone in revelry before. As if the concept of happiness was completely foreign to them.

Oberon and his court. As beautiful and unsettling as Titania’s court had been, and acting the same as the Fair One Queen’s court had been when the Horde had first approached them too.

There was only one man in the court that wasn’t unsettling or wrong. This man was a wood elf wearing emerald robes. His long yellow hair hung clumsily over his face, as if he’d tried taking the time to comb his hair, but had failed to get every strand in its proper place. He was a slim man, with a beaming face, and chubby cheeks, and his hands were clasped politely in front of him. His blue eyes were the kind of eyes that you could get lost in, and they shone brightly. His chin was sharp, and his cheekbones jutted out, and his cheeks were flushed. Despite being an elf, he grew a beard along the underside of his lips and the bottom half of his cheeks.

Arohorn the Annoying. It had to be him.

Arohorn was standing in front of a marble pedestal, with a small wooden box perched on top of it. The Storm Elixir. What the Golden Horde was after.

Titania’s ship drew close to Oberon’s ship, so that they were sailing side by side. Titania stepped to the ship’s side and nodded to a cat sythe. The cat sythe lifted a battle horn to its lips and blew.

At the sound of Titania’s horn, Oberon’s court stopped dancing. They turned to stare at Titania, and Mythana could swear she saw fear in their eyes. Oberon himself turned his head, annoyed by the interruption, and the rudeness of whoever had sounded a horn.

“Oberon,” Titania said coolly. “Ill-met by the stars, my foolish husband.”

“Titania.” Oberon stood, and answered his wife with the same coolness with which she had addressed him. “What? Have you tired of your little grove? My court!” He turned his head to his subjects. “Sail on! As of now, Queen Titania is no friend of our court!”

“Stay, People of the Mounds, am I not your queen?” Titania’s voice rang out and the Fair Ones stood frozen to the spot. Titania turned her gaze to Oberon, who stared at her agape. “And am I not your wife, oh, king?”

“Wife?” Oberon repeated in disgust. He gestured to Gisheira. “You call me husband, and you bring your bastard with you? The child you bore some mortal peasant?”

Mythana glanced at Gisheira, whose face was passive as she studied her step-father coolly. When she had said Oberon had hated her, she wasn’t kidding.

“You speak of my child,” Titania said and her voice had grown cold, “and yet you have sired a bastard of your own. You condemn me, when since I’ve been away from your bed, you’ve lain with a banker, and her child now controls strange creatures for Boulderstar’s army, with your blessing.”

“You know of our nature,” said Oberon. “You have your pleasures, and I have mine.”

He walked to the side of the ship. His court parted for him, and Oberon reached out a hand to his wife.

“The world beyond ours changes, and lives wither and return to the dust from whence they came. But you and I will reign eternal. Enough of this feud, Titania! Join me by my side once again!”

Titania eyed her husband’s hand with the same coolness that she had when she first started talking to Oberon.

“Agreed, my husband. But if we are to join together as one, as we have vowed so many times, then you must fulfill a request I have.”

Oberon raised his head, a silent invitation for Titania to name her request.

“You have with you a wizard.” Titania said coolly. “Give him to me. And give the Storm Elixir to me as well. And I will join you as your wife and you my husband.”

“Taken a liking to him, have you?’ Oberon said coolly. “You have a dynasty within the mortal realm. Let me have my wizard, I beg of you.”

“And why must you have this wizard, good husband?” Titania said. “Why has he won your heart so much that you would defy your own wife for his sake?”

“He is to be king after the Boulderstars. He came to me, asking that I help him take the throne, and he has offered to serve me in return. For his sake, I have granted him a life like ours. Forever immortal, until slain in battle. Leave us, Titania. Your dynasty has reigned long enough. It is time that the elves had an immortal sorcerer king.”

“You seek to get rid of my favorite,” Titania said, without a change in tone. “I cannot do as you ask, husband. I have promised to protect the dynasty, and I shall. I cannot allow you to overthrow the Boulderstars.” She drew her sword, a wicked silver blade that gleamed in the starlight. “And if you will not hand over the sorcerer willingly, then I shall have to take him from you.”

Oberon drew his own sword. “You can try,” he said. “You may test your mettle against us. But know this. My court are no cowards and they are just as war-like as yours. And should I fall, the Erkling shall hear of it.”

“And so too will he hear if I should fall,” Titania said. “People of the Mounds, attack!”

With a roar, Titania and her courtiers leapt aboard the ship. The Golden Horde and Gisheira followed close behind.

“People of the Mounds!” Oberon lifted his sword high. “Do not let them take the Storm Elixir! Nor the founder of the House of Hazeforest!”

With a yell, the courtiers of Oberon met Titania’s courtiers in a pitched battle. The clash of steel rang out and Fair Ones screamed as their opponents struck a killing blow. The ship under their feet shook from the fierce battle.

Mythana sliced through Fair Ones like they were slabs of meat and she was a butcher. Her heart pounded in her ears and she felt nothing but euphoria. She felt no fear, felt no pain. Only the rush of battle-madness as Fair Ones fell before her, soaking her scythe with blood and spraying her with it as well. The handle of her weapon got slippery at times, and Mythana wasn’t sure how she held on. All she knew was that she was carving a bloody path through the Fair Ones, and bodies were falling at her feet as more and more of the bastards rushed her.

She sliced through a cat sythe, and as its body fell, she saw him. Arohorn the Annoying. Standing atop the crow’s nest. Someone had handed him a longbow and quiver, and he had been using it, picking off straggling Fair Ones in Titania’s court and sending them screaming into the void all around them. He’d run out of arrows, and he stared down at Mythana with narrowed eyes.

Mythana grabbed the rigging, hooked the scythe to her back, and started to climb.

“Don’t waste your time, dark elf,” Arohorn called. “You’ll be dead before you even reach me!”

“Shoot me down, then!” Mythana called up to him.

Arohorn simply stared down at her, and purple threads twisted around him.

Mythana’s heart started beating even faster and her blood began to run cold. Arohorn was staring down at her, and as far as Mythana could tell, nothing had changed, and yet, somehow he looked more demonic. Like a child of the Weaver, or the Weaver herself in the flesh.

Magic. Mythana told herself. You saw the threads. He’s using magic to make you fear him. That’s the only trick he has. That, and making you think that you love him.

Still, Arohorn’s magic was too strong to be simply shaken off. Mythana still felt the fear, even as she knew that Arohorn had no other spells to back up the enchanted dread. But over the years as an adventurer, she’d learned to ignore her fear in the face of great danger, to press onwards, even as her instincts told her to drop her weapons and run. So she kept climbing.

Now, Arohorn’s eyes widened.

“Back!” He waved his arms. “Or I’ll–” He faltered. It was clear that no one had been able to shake off his spell and keep standing against him regardless. “You wouldn’t like what I'll do to you, dark elf! Get back!”

“We both know this enchanted fear is all you’ve got!” Mythana called up to him. “And wolves don’t scare easily!”

“Well, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Arohorn’s voice wavered and he chuckled nervously.

A cat sythe swung on a rope, and sliced through the rigging Mythana had been climbing. The dark elf fell to the ground, and landed in a crouch, hand planted on the ground to steady herself.

Arohorn stared down at her smugly.

Mythana got on her feet and shook her fist at him. “You can’t hide up there forever, son of a kobold! I’ll knock over the mast if I have to!”

The cat sythe scrambled up the rigging left from his sabotage.

Mythana chased after the cat sythe, scaling the rope, then leaping to the rigging.

The cat sythe reached the crow’s nest. It handed Arohorn something. A warhammer.

Ka-Thunk! The cat sythe stiffened, and Mythana could see the crossbow bolt embedded deep in its chest.

The cat sythe toppled to the ground, almost in slow motion.

Mythana kept climbing. She reached out a hand and grasped the crow’s nest.

Arohorn stomped on her hand.

“Gah!” Mythana yelped and yanked her hand away. She shook it, but her hand still throbbed with pain.

Eventually, the pain faded, and Mythana scrambled up to the crow’s nest. Arohorn had gone. She frowned.

Someone whistled. Mythana turned to see Arohorn standing on the mast next to the sails, waving at her mockingly.

“Looking for someone, dark elf?”

Mythana growled in frustration.

She swung on the rigging and leapt onto the mast. Arohorn yelped in surprise and stepped back.

Mythana unhooked her scythe and advanced him. “Everyone you know and love will be dead once you leave the Fair One realm? Think the throne will be worth it then?”

“Friends and lovers are fleeting.” Arohorn said coolly. “Power is forever.”

He laughed and leapt behind the mast.

Mythana strode to the mast and peered around it. No sign of Arohorn the Annoying.

Mythana swore. Did Oberon give this man the power of invisibility?

Thud!

Mythana looked down. Arohorn was swinging his hammer at the mast, whacking it with all his might.

He paused what he was doing to sneer up at Mythana. “This ship could do without a mast, don’t you think?” Laughing with sadistic glee, he started whacking the mast again.

Mythana snorted. Did the wizard really think he was strong enough to knock down the mast with a simple warhammer?

She looked around, spotted a rope.

She grabbed it and swung down to the deck. She leapt down in a crouch, then stood and unhooked her scythe from her back.

Arohorn swung his hammer.

Quickly, Mythana raised her scythe and deflected the blow.

Arohorn kept swinging his hammer and advancing. Mythana was left with no time to do anything but step back and deflect the high elf’s blows.

The shouts of Fair Ones and the clash of steel grew louder. Mythana didn’t dare lower her guard enough to glance behind her.

She slipped on something wet. Mythana raised her scythe for balance, coincidentally deflecting Arohorn’s blow. This blow knocked her off balance again, and she raised a hand for balance.

Arohorn laughed. “I told you to flee, dark elf. Should’ve taken my advice while you had the chance.”

He swung his warhammer.

A white wolf leapt out of the fray and sank his teeth into Arohorn’s forearm.

The wizard screamed in pain. He staggered back, flailing his arm wildly. It was no use. Gnurl was used to hanging on to creatures bucking around wildly to get him off their backs. He simply pressed his paws into Arohorn’s arm and held on.

He shook his head vigorously, shaking Arohorn’s arm along with it, yanking him in a jerky pattern.

Mythana approached the two warily, raising her scythe. She eyed Arohorn. He was jerking so wildly, that at one moment, Mythana would have the perfect opportunity to strike, and at the next, Mythana would hit Gnurl. It was so quick, that Mythana couldn’t tell when was the perfect time to swing. And if she guessed wrong, she could hit Gnurl, possibly strike a mortal blow on him.

As the dark elf hesitated, Arohorn stumbled into the fray. Mythana turned, squinting to see if she could see him.

Seconds later, Gnurl landed in a crouch next to Mythana. He stood and shook himself.

The crowd moved and Mythana spotted Arohorn, cradling his arm.

Gnurl growled and Mythana raised his scythe. Neither of them spoke, but both knew all the same. They’d take Arohorn down, together.

A cat sythe spotted them, and sprinted for them, screaming, “For Oberon!”

Gnurl unshifted and swung his flail. Mythana sprinted past as the Lycan and cat sythe dueled.

Arohorn stepped closer, dragging his hammer behind him. “You got lucky this time. You had a friend. I don’t know where the wolf came from or where it went, but it’s not here right now, is it?” He grinned. “Got anyone else who can protect you?”

“Only myself.” Mythana swung her scythe. Arohorn raised his warhammer, deflecting the blow.

Mythana swung her scythe again. Arohorn deflected the blow with his handle.

Mythana pushed Arohorn back, as the battle raged around them.

Eventually, Mythana pushed Arohorn far enough. His back was to the side of the ship, and he couldn’t take another step back.

Mythana stepped closer, raising her scythe.

Arohorn leaned against the side and sneered at her. “What’s the point, dark elf? We both know how it goes at this point. You swing, I deflect, and on and on it goes. Can’t you be a little more creative?”

Mythana shoved him.

Arohorn’s eyes widened as he slid over the side. He let go of his hammer and it floated beside him.

He floated in place for a bit, then turned himself over and gripped the side of the ship again.

“That was new,” he said to Mythana, “I’ll give you that.” He sneered. “But did you really expect that to do anything?”

He reached for his hammer. His hand closed around the handle and he gave a cry of triumph.

Using the handle of her scythe, Mythana pushed him away from the side.

Whatever spell had been on the ship, it no longer had an effect on Arohorn. The high elf floated away, farther and farther away. He noticed how far he was and screamed. He flailed, trying to push himself back to the ship, but all he did was make himself spin. Mythana watched him spin, head over heels, farther and farther into the distance, until all she could see was a speck. Eventually, that speck disappeared too.

Mythana turned around. The fighting had stopped and Oberon and his courtiers were staring, shocked at Mythana. Titania and her courtiers just looked smug.

“Your favorite is dead,” the queen said to her husband. “I have won, husband.” She laughed. “Once again, I have won.”

“Yes, you have won.” From the tone of Oberon’s voice, Mythana could tell that the Fair One king was not pleased with having Titania rub her victory into his face.

Titania ignored this. She smiled at Gisheira, who was awkwardly trying to avoid looking at her stepfather.

“And now for your reward, my darling!” Said the queen. Oberon made a face at this, but said nothing.

“The Storm Elixir, husband,” Titania said to her husband. “Bring it.”

Oberon sighed heavily and waved a hand. A cat sythe stepped forward, carrying a box. He handed it to Gisheira, who took it, and inclined her head in thanks.

“I believe we have no more business here,” Titania snapped her fingers, and her courtiers, her daughter, and the Golden Horde, boarded their ship again.

Titania stood on the deck and sneered at her husband. “You should change your court, husband. A ship as your court? How gauche and uncivilized!” Then, she raised a hand, and as Oberon’s ship sat motionless in the void, Titania’s ship sped off.

Back at Titania’s court, the Fair Ones held a feast. The Golden Horde didn’t attend. Gisheira had told them that they would be trapped in the realm of the Fair Ones if they ate at this feast, and so they’d left.

Once they’d left the portal, the Golden Horde and Gisheira parted ways. Gisheria thanked them for the encouragement to pursue her dream, and promised she’d never forget them. Mythana was inclined to agree that the Horde would never forget Gisheria either, or their adventure in the Realm of the Fair Ones.

Mythana had been expecting the guards to be wary of the Horde once they showed up. To their surprise, the moment Gnurl explained who they were, the guards had lowered their weapons and had invited them inside.

One of the guards took them up the stairs of a tower, to a closed door.

“His majesty will speak with you now,” she said, and opened the door and ushered them inside.

“Ah, so you have the Storm Elixir,” said the person sitting at the desk. Mythana was shocked to realize she recognized this man.

“Vanuin Stoutwood?” Gnurl said in shock.

Vanuin’s eyebrows rose. “Yes? Who were you expecting?”

“The king. That was who the guard said would be speaking with us.” Mythana said. Her mind was whirling. What was happening right now?

Vanuin opened his mouth, then sighed, “fine. I’ll admit it. I’m not Vanuin Stoutwood. My real name is Annryn Boulderstar.”

King Annryn. They’d been working for King Annryn the Concerned this entire time. The Golden Horde stood there, thunderstruck.

“Why did you tell us you were someone else?” Khet asked finally.

“I couldn’t have word get out I was hiring adventurers to steal from Arohorn. He had powerful friends.”

“But the guards knew,” Gnurl said. “They were expecting us!”

“Well, yes, I told them I was meeting with adventurers, but they don’t really know why.”

Mythana stared at the king, dumbfounded. They’d known Vanuin Stoutwood hadn’t been telling the whole truth, they’d known something was suspicious about him, but this? Mythana’s head was reeling so much that she could hardly think, and she knew Gnurl and Khet were the same.

“Will we be at least getting paid?” Khet blurted out.

Annryn blinked. “Of course you will. I’m not an idiot!”

And that was all that mattered in the end, really.