5.

45

Night deepened and turned to day. The dungeon that had rung with the
sounds of battle grew silent. The adventurers, Antinium, and people of
Liscor returned to their city through the magic doors, breaking the exits
behind them. They returned with the captive Gnolls, with a Minotaur in
shackles, and a half-Elf. In triumph. In victory.

And so the Raskghar fled. Broken, they retreated towards their other camps,
unable to do anything but run. They had been beaten, destroyed. And so
badly that they could not even dream of vengeance. They ran, seeking out
their brethren, a shred of hope. But what they found in the darkness was
more despair.

The camps were filled with flickering torchlight and screams. Howls of
Raskghar as they fought and died. And screams. Cave Goblins swarmed
their masters, armed with crude weapons. But they outnumbered the
Raskghar. And they had lost their fear of their masters. And they had
leaders.

Five Hobgoblins fought, leading the Cave Goblins. They charged the
Raskghar. A monster who raged stronger than even the largest Raskghar. A
keen-eyed archer whose arrows struck the Raskghar from hundreds of feet
away. A Hobgoblin whose sword seemed to shine as he cut down his
enemies. The Goblin who sang. And a Hobgoblin who wore a crimson
cloak, a hero.

And the Raskghar fled once more. They howled then, in grief and
desperation. But no one answered. So they ran and ran, broken, not
understanding how all this had come to pass.
All of that passed below as the weary folk returned to Liscor. They knew
nothing of what followed. Why should they? The Raskghar were beaten.
The uprising of the Goblins was a thing of monsters. Unimportant for now.
For now they would rest. The [Innkeeper] slept in her kitchen. A [Princess]
hugged a Gnoll tightly and the Gnoll cub hugged her back as fiercely as she
could as they fell asleep in a warm bed. An Ashfire Bee crawled onto their
heads and lay there, content that all was well in the world.

A weary Watch Captain fell asleep on top of a report on her desk, the ink
splotching her face. A Wall Lord drank a cup of milk rather than alcohol and
toasted the fallen with his people. A half-Giant laid down in the three beds
pushed together and got a night of rest for the first time in days. The
[Strategist] of Liscor sat and feverishly wrote, trying to recall all that he had
witnessed. A Minotaur looked up in his prison cell, his flesh burnt, his body
bleeding. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Countless members of Liscor’s Watch stumbled back into their homes,

some grieving, all exhausted, but relieved. The adventurers slept, dreaming
of treasure and levels. The city rested. Below, the Antinium returned to their
Hive and got on with business as usual.

But in the twilight before dawn, one person moved through Liscor’s rainy
streets. She snuck from house to house, never staying in one place long. But
she moved with the utmost certainty. For her, the pre-dawn morning was the
perfect time. The only time, before Liscor roused and heard the news. She
crept up to one house in the street, silent as a whisper. A family of Gnolls
slept there. They awoke suddenly as they heard a sound at the door.

“What is—”

A female Gnoll mother jerked upright, awakened by an unfamiliar scent at

her door. She had slept lightly, for fear of the Raskghar despite the Watch’s
assurances. She looked for her partner—but he was on night duty on the
walls! She checked for her children. They were still asleep in her room, in
the small home the family shared. She hesitated, then heard the knocking on
the door. It was polite. Loud. Insistent.
Dread seized the mother. She rose, ignoring her state of undress and crept
into the kitchen. She emerged with a wickedly sharp knife. She crept
towards the door. Whoever it was stood right outside. There was another
knock. The Gnoll held her breath. Then she threw open the door—

“Hello Miss Rykhai! Sorry about the early hour! Mind if I come in?”

Drassi beamed at Rykhai. The Gnoll froze, knife in hand. The Drake went
cross-eyed as she stared at it.

“Uh—is this a bad time?”

“Drassi?”

Rykhai stared at Drassi in disbelief. She lowered the knife, her paws
shaking.

“I nearly gutted you! I thought you were a Raskghar! Fool, don’t you know
that the curfew is in effect? Come in, don’t stand in the streets!”

She ushered Drassi in and then slammed the door and locked it. Drassi
looked around. It was very early, but the Drake was decidedly unapologetic.
She rubbed her claws together, beaming, as Rykhai turned to glare at her.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Miss Rykhai. I know your children must be asleep.
And your husband, Tessil, he’s probably on duty, right? It must be so hard
to have someone working the night shift, what with the dungeon and all.
Well, I have good news for you!”

“News that excuses me being woken up and frightened out of my fur, yes?”

The Gnoll folded her arms severely. She liked Drassi, and she was one of
Drassi’s chat-friends as the Drake liked to call her circle of acquaintances.
But this was crossing a line. Drassi grinned.

“Yes, actually! I have good news! Your husband won’t have to work
overtime on the night shifts anymore. Because—are you ready for this? You
might need a seat! The Raskghar were defeated! The Watch and the
adventurers and the Antinium attacked them in their lair and rescued the
Gnolls! All of them!”

For a second Rykhai thought she was still dreaming. She backed up from
Drassi and sat on the family’s worn couch.

“What?”

The Drake beamed. Rykhai’s three Gnoll children woke up muzzily. Like
their mother, their first instinct was unease. But as soon as they smelled
Drassi they were bouncing around the living room. And when they heard
Drassi’s news they immediately howled in relief.

The noise woke up their neighbors. There was a pounding on one of the
walls and from above as Gnolls woke up unhappily, but Rykhai rushed to
her windows and poked her head outside.

“Get down here! The Raskghar are dead!”

She heard several yelps and banging sounds from the other houses nearby
as more people began waking up. The Gnoll turned back to Drassi.

“They are dead? Yes?”

“Most of them. The rest ran. It was a huge battle! Thousands of Raskghar
dead! I heard it all first-hand! I wasn’t there in person, but I was around to
help when they came back through. I saw them bringing magical artifacts
back, and the prisoners! Say, do you have any tea?”

Rykhai blinked. But then she nodded.

“I can put a pot on.”

Drassi smiled gratefully, her tail wagging.

“Thank you so much. I’ve been to three places before this. I don’t want to
be a bother, but my throat is dry. Let me give you a few details before
everyone gets here.”
She followed Rykhai into the kitchen as the young Gnoll cubs swarmed
around her, asking questions which Drassi was only too happy to answer.
The Drake hadn’t slept for over thirty hours, but that didn’t matter. Her
smile only kept widening as more Gnolls swarmed around Rykhai’s locked
door and then flooded into her home, demanding answers. Were the
Raskghar all dead? How had it happened? Were the prisoners well?

To a [Gossip], there was nothing juicier, nothing more delicious than

knowing something this big before everyone else. Drassi grinned as more
Gnolls living on the street threw their shutters open. Soon Rykhai’s living
room was packed and Drassi had a huge audience. Everyone waited for
Drassi to give them the details. After all, they’d never known Drassi to lie
and she was one of the few people who knew what had happened.

Yes, the Council would probably make an announcement with [Criers] and
[Street Runners] later today. But their report would be lacking in details,
whereas Drassi had all the juicy ones. She basked as she began to retell the
entire series of events she’d gotten out of the adventurers and Erin to her
audience.

And when she was done here, she’d visit the next street, and the next…
there were a lot of hours before morning, and even then, she’d still be able
to talk about what had happened to everyone she knew. Which was
everyone.

In this moment Drassi was a [Queen] surrounded by her adoring subjects.

She beamed at the Gnolls who stared at her, dying to know what she knew.
Drassi felt excellent. After all, she was performing a public service.

And she was doing Erin a favor. After all, a [Gossip] could sway the mood
of the public if she was good, and Drassi was an expert. She owed Erin that
much. So the Drake [Barmaid] winked and accepted a cup of hot tea
sweetened with Ashfire Bee honey and settled back in her chair. She cleared
her throat theatrically, and then began.

“I’ll tell you everything as it happened. I heard it all from people who were
there. It was adventurers who saved Liscor. But not just them. It was the
Watch, the Antinium, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and even the army. But they
couldn’t have done it without help from the Goblins. Yes. I’m serious! It
was Goblins who helped save the day. And Erin’s magic door. But wait, I’m
getting ahead of myself. It started like this. And remember, this is all true. I
heard it from Ceria and Erill and the others. They saw everything. When
they first woke up in the Raskghar camp…”

—-

Mrsha had a bad dream. She dreamed that she was lying on the altar. Sticky
blood was on her back and someone was holding her down. And Nokha was
there. She was alive. She had a rock in her hands. It was stained with blood.
And she was coming closer.

The white Gnoll tried to move. But she couldn’t. Nokha grinned at her. She
drew closer. And then she reached into her chest. Her flesh moved and she
pulled out a head. Vakk’s. He stared blankly at Mrsha. Nokha bent over the
bloodstained altar. Her breath was rancid. She stared into Mrsha’s eyes and
whispered.

“We are whole, Mrsha.”

And then Mrsha woke. She thrashed about wildly and felt something
strange. A softness under her. Warmth all around her. And—

Light. And Mrsha looked around and realized she wasn’t in the dungeon.
She was above, in her room in Erin’s inn. And Lyonette was hugging her.
Mrsha’s heart still beat rapidly, though. She looked around, remembering
Nokha’s words.

She shuddered, and then flinched as something moved in the inn. She
crouched until she realized the thing was Apista. The Ashfire Bee flew up
from the windowsill where it had been basking and buzzed gently around
Mrsha’s head. The Gnoll cub looked at it and then realized Lyonette was
holding her. She wiggled free and hopped to the ground.
The movement woke Lyonette of course. The young woman turned over,
stirred, and then sat up. She blinked at her empty arms and then nearly shot
out of bed.

“Mrsha? Where—”

She spotted Mrsha staring up at her. The Gnoll backed up a step at the look
on Lyonette’s face. The [Princess] had an anguished look that turned to
relief. She bent and swept Mrsha up into a tight embrace. Mrsha squeaked.

Lyonette didn’t care. She hugged Mrsha so tightly that the nightmare
vanished. The Gnoll felt warm. And she hugged back, fiercely.

For a while they just stood like that. After a while, Apista landed on
Lyonette’s head. The [Princess] started, and then laughed. She sat down on
her bed with Mrsha in her arms.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I dreamed—”

She broke off, as adults did when they didn’t want to tell the truth. Mrsha
silently squeezed Lyonette. She was here. She was above. She inhaled
Lyonette’s scent and looked out the window. It was light!

A faint light. A grey light. Rain pattered on the window, a gloomy sky
bringing down more water. But it was still light. The dungeon had been
small. But the sky—

“I’m never going to let you out of my sight again. I promise.”

Lyonette shifted her grip on Mrsha. The Gnoll shifted, a tad uncomfortable
until Lyonette supported her with one arm. She didn’t know if she liked that
promise, but in that moment she didn’t care. She looked around and saw
Apista hovering, her antennae waving. There was something different about
her. Mrsha squinted, and then patted Lyonette’s arm and pointed. The
[Princess] looked up and her eyes widened.

“That’s right! I leveled up! And I got a Skill—or rather—Apista?”

She held out her other hand and the Ashfire Bee landed on her hand. It
looked much like normal—that was, until it turned and Mrsha saw its
stinger. Normally, the Ashfire Bee’s stinger was a little barb sticking out of
its backside, barely noticeable. But now Apista’s stinger was bigger. It
looked brighter too, a more crimson tint to it. And it felt…hot. Heat was
radiating from the tip of the stinger. Mrsha’s eyes went round as Apista
fanned her wings, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes on her.

“[Crimson Stinger]. I got the Skill—I didn’t know pets changed with [Beast
Tamers]! I heard that some [Falconers] could have huge hawks, but—”

Lyonette raised Apista up so the bee could walk up her arm and onto her
shoulder. Mrsha stared too. Both she and Lyonette stared at Apista’s
enhanced stinger. Lyonette reached out to touch it and thought better.

“We all leveled up, probably. That’s one good thing that came of all this.
I…I was so worried. I would have gone after you if I could, but all I could
do was wait. It was Erin who rescued you, really.”

Mrsha nodded. Lyonette had said all this yesterday. She remembered
Lyonette facing Nokha. She looked up and licked Lyonette’s face. The
young woman squeezed Mrsha again, and then heard a sound. It was a
rumbling from Mrsha’s stomach.

“Oh. You must be hungry!”

She was. But Mrsha hesitated until she remembered that she was in Erin’s
inn. Then she nodded rapidly. Lyonette smiled.

“Come on.”

She let Mrsha jump to the ground. Mrsha ran to the door, and then paused.
She raced past Lyonette who was looking for her clothes.

Mrsha had leveled up too. And gained a Skill of her own. But that was a
special secret. Mrsha reached under her pillow and pulled something out.
Pisces’ wand. Her wand. She held it very tightly as Lyonette got dressed.
She wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Ever.
“What’s that? Oh—well, I’m sure Pisces won’t mind. Come on.”

Lyonette picked up Mrsha. Rather than let her race downstairs, the
[Princess] carried her down in her arms. Apista flew with her. At first,
Mrsha felt like a stranger in a strange place. But then she smelled
something wonderful coming from below. And when she and Lyonette
reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a familiar face.

Erin Solstice was sitting at a table. She looked up with a smile.

“Mrsha!”

She stood up. Behind her, she’d set a table with a huge number of hot
dishes. She must have heard the two getting up, because there were
steaming eggs, hot bacon, pancakes, warm buns, butter, milk with honey,
sausages—and that was only the food from Erin’s home. There were spicy
Yelets, a fish congee, fruit juice, a salad with dressing sprinkled over it, a
melon sliced into pieces…

Mrsha’s eyes went round at the sight of it all. Lyonette put her on the table.
She and Erin looked at each other for a moment. And then Erin smiled at
Mrsha.

“It’s so great to have you back. We were all worried—I made you a special
breakfast.”

Mrsha climbed hesitantly into her seat. After being in the cell for so long
she could barely believe what lay before her eyes. Her nose hurt a bit from
all the smells. She had eaten food yesterday—but she’d been so hungry and
so much had happened she couldn’t remember what it was. This was her
first real meal. And it was overwhelming.

“Go on.”

Mrsha looked up at Lyonette. The [Princess] smiled and nodded.

“You have the first bite, Mrsha. The [Healer] said you can’t eat too much or
your stomach will do bad things. But you can have a bit of anything you
want, okay Mrsha? And you can have little snacks throughout the day. Take
whatever you want.”

Slowly, almost thinking it was a dream, Mrsha reached out. There was a
plate of poached eggs, wobbly, the edges crisped, and the yolks still gooey
on the inside. Mrsha reached for one, picked it up, and then remembered
she should have used a fork. She looked up guiltily, but neither young
woman chastised her.

The food was hot. And it smelled so good. Mrsha just held the poached egg
a second. She could see and smell the pepper and salt that had been
sprinkled over it, smell the grease from fried bacon that had helped cook the
egg. She could even smell the fact that it was a goose egg, not a chicken’s
egg. Her stomach rumbled. But Mrsha was afraid. She held the egg until
Lyonette and Erin were giving each other worried looks. Then, slowly,
Mrsha bit.

The egg was…an egg. But glorious. The taste hit Mrsha’s tongue. It was
nostalgic and new. It tasted nothing like the dead monster parts in the
dungeon. And then it hit Mrsha. She was here. She was safe. She took
another bite into the poached egg and began crying.

“Oh Mrsha—”

Erin bent down and hugged the Gnoll. Mrsha kept crying, but she started
chewing. And now she was ravenous. She filled her plate, snatching food.
Lyonette had to divide everything she grabbed into portions that wouldn’t
tax Mrsha’s stomach. But she promised, promised the anxious Gnoll.

“Everything will be right here for later. Just eat this much, okay, honey?”

Mrsha did. Lyonette and Erin sat at the table and ate. They didn’t speak.
They just looked at each other.

It was the first meal Erin had had with Lyonette in days. The first meal that
Lyonette had really had, too. The [Princess] realized she was starving and
after a moment, so did Erin. They ate ravenously, until the spread of food
was quite reduced. And then they looked at Mrsha. She sat at the table,
running her paws over the grain of the wood, looking around. She looked…
different.

The dungeon had changed her. Erin closed her eyes. Of course it had. She
had seen the cages and the Raskghar’s camp before the adventurers had
burned it and retreated back through her inn. She had seen Mrsha’s cage.
Normally the Gnoll would be running about. But today she just sat at the
table, looking around as if she’d never seen Erin’s inn before.

Heartbreaking. And yet she was here. Erin felt a bit teary-eyed herself, but
she didn’t give into it. Not just yet. She looked at Lyonette and saw the
younger girl wiping her eyes.

“I guess I cook really well, huh?”

Lyonette laughed. Mrsha looked up, and then her lips moved upwards
awkwardly. She kicked her legs at the table. But she didn’t move.

“Do you want to play, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll looked at Lyonette. Then she seemed to remember that yes, she
did do that. She stood up hesitantly, and looked around. She glanced about
Erin’s common room and sniffed the air. Then she held her paws up. She
made a shape. A ball.

“Oh. Your ball. It’s…”

Erin stood up. So did Lyonette. They looked about, but Mrsha’s ball had
vanished. With all that had gone on, Erin hadn’t thought to keep track of the
ball. And wherever it was, it was gone. Mrsha’s ears drooped as she saw the
consternation on the two’s faces.

“We’ll find it. I’m sure it just rolled somewhere. Why don’t we—why don’t
we all clean up? I can hear someone moving about upstairs. The
adventurers will be coming down.”

It was a lame suggestion, but it worked. The Gnoll and [Barmaid]

automatically began cleaning up. Mrsha kept pausing, but Lyonette moved
automatically. And sure enough, the Horns came down minutes later, as one
group. Erin turned and blinked.

Ceria stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as dumbfounded as

Mrsha. She gazed around and then she saw Mrsha. The Gnoll child had
frozen. She and Ceria’s gazes met. The half-Elf straightened.

“Um. Hello.”

“Hi.”

Erin stared at her friend. Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr stopped on the stairs
behind Ceria. For a moment Erin felt that strangeness, and saw it reflected
on Ceria’s face. Then she heard a cough.

“Could you, ah, move, Springwalker? Before we all perish of starvation?”

Ceria blinked. She looked back and automatically scowled. Then caught
herself. Yvlon glanced at Pisces. But not in annoyance. The [Necromancer]
sniffed, but his eyes—the tension in the room vanished.

“Shut up, Pisces. I’m going.”

The half-Elf walked down the stairs. Ksmvr nodded.

“I believe I am able to function for at least four more days before expiring.
In case anyone was concerned about my food consumption.”

“No, Ksmvr. Eat up.”

Yvlon smiled. She nodded to Erin and looked at Mrsha. She bent and held
out a hand. The Gnoll looked at Yvlon and took it. Yvlon gently shook
Mrsha’s paw.

“I’m glad to see you.”

Mrsha nodded. Then she looked up and saw Pisces. Ksmvr. Ceria again.
They smiled at her. Mrsha stared up at them and her mouth moved. It might
have been a happy expression.
“Alright! Breakfast!”

Erin found a smile of her own. She swept into the kitchen and came out
with plates of food. Like her breakfast, she served the Horns everything she
had. Ceria’s eyes widened. She grabbed a roll, smelled it as her teammates
watched, and then bit.

“Dead gods. Dead gods. I forgot—”

The half-Elf chewed so fast she nearly choked as she tried to swallow. She
grabbed a sausage and stuffed it into her face. Yvlon’s face was amused,
appalled, and happy at the same time.

“Can you at least pretend to use silverware, Ceria?”

“Sorry. This is—this is so good. Tree roots, is this what it tasted like
before?”

“Need a drink?”

“Alcohol?”

Ceria sat up. She stared at the bar. Erin filled her a mug. The half-Elf
washed down her food and sat at the table. Mrsha watched her. The Gnoll
didn’t bounce or beg for snacks. And as the Horns ate in the same silence,
Erin saw Mrsha’s eyes fix on Ceria’s face. The half-Elf pretended not to
notice.

So much had changed. And Erin didn’t know exactly what. In the confused
aftermath of the battle, so much had happened that she’d only gotten the
barest of accounts from Ceria. And she didn’t want to press the half-Elf or
Mrsha. Far from it. But she knew just by looking that more had gone on
than words could say. And Mrsha just sat there.

Lyonette and Erin exchanged a look over Mrsha’s head. Erin looked around.
Her glass windows reflected a rainy day in Liscor, as usual. The rain poured
down. Erin cleared her throat and Mrsha looked around quickly. The
[Innkeeper] smiled at her and pointed.
“It’s not too nice out. But why don’t you take Mrsha into Liscor, Lyonette?
I think what she needs is…a special present.”

“Now?”

Lyonette looked uncertain. But Erin nodded. She stared around the inn and
then nodded to her magic door.

“We should go out. And Mrsha definitely deserves something. Maybe a new
ball? We’ll all go together, how about that?”

The little Gnoll looked up. Her tail began to wag a bit. Lyonette hesitated,
then nodded.

“I’ll get cloaks for all of us. One second!”

“I’ll put out more food. Save some for the Halfseekers, okay?”

Erin hurried into the kitchen. When she came out, the Horns were talking at
last. Ceria sat, looking from face to face.

“So…what did I miss?”

Pisces smirked. Yvlon laughed and ran her hands through her hair. Ksmvr
opened his mandibles.

“To the best of my knowledge, Captain Ceria—”

“We’re all heroes. After all, we participated in the largest dungeon raid in
Liscor’s history. We obtained a bounty on the captured prisoners. And there
are the magical artifacts yet to be divided up. Our team made substantial
gains while you were captive. I suspect we may be able to claim a fair
margin of the spoils.”

Pisces sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Ceria’s lips quirked.

“Ah, right. We’re fighting over all the treasures the Raskghar had? Figures.
How’s that going to work? Hell, how’d you get everyone into the dungeon?
That was…a lot.”
“Miss Erin, of course.”

Ceria glanced over.

“I should have known.”

Erin shook her head as she came over. She put another plate on the table.

“I just came up with the plan. Everyone helped. Antinium, adventurers, the
Watch…and Goblins. I think the Council of Liscor’s putting out the word
right now.”

Ceria looked surprised.

“They didn’t know—oh wait, it was night. Wow. That’s a cause for
celebration if ever I heard one.”

Yvlon nodded. She buttered a piece of toast. She glanced sideways at Ceria.

“There’ll probably be another parade.”

“Probably.”

Erin carefully found another table and put the food down there. She glanced
back at Ceria.

“Going to join in?”

The half-Elf wavered. She looked around her table and then seemed to
remember she was part of her team. The Captain. She shook her head after a
second.

“Nah. We’re…I’m not up for it. If you all want to do it, that’s fine. I just
want to know what they’ll do about—”

Ceria hesitated. She glanced at Mrsha, and then sighed.

“—about Calruz.”
The inn quieted. Mrsha looked up as Lyonette tied the cloak to her neck.
Yvlon put down her fork. Pisces doodled with the grease on his plate.
Ksmvr kept eating bread as he looked around, and then paused uncertainly.

“Right. Him.”

Erin didn’t know what to think. She’d seen Calruz. But the beaten, burned
Minotaur wasn’t at all the one she’d remembered teaching her how to fight.
And she hadn’t seen the monster that had led the Raskghar. Only the
aftermath. Ceria shook her head. She passed a hand across her eyes.

“He’s not well. I don’t know if it was something in the dungeon or the
Raskghar or the water, but I think it wasn’t entirely his fault. Still. That
doesn’t excuse any of it. I just—”

Ceria’s voice trailed off. She looked at her mismatched hands. At last,
Pisces cleared his throat.

“I believe that means, no parade, Miss Solstice.”

That elicited a grin from Erin.

“Right. Thanks, Pisces. Well, we’re going into the city. If you need
anything.”

“I think we’ll stay here. And…talk.”

Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf glanced up and nodded.

“Yeah. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

They left it at that. Erin went over to Mrsha and Lyonette. The Gnoll was
visibly apprehensive as she looked at the magic door. But that was the
point. Erin went over and set the door to Liscor as if nothing was wrong.

“Ready? We’ll all go together. Come on.”

The door opened into a rainy street. Erin stepped forwards first and turned.
Mrsha hesitated at the door’s edge. She looked up. Lyonette smiled
reassuringly down at her. Mrsha wavered, and then put a paw on the rainy
street. She flinched as she felt the wetness, then walked forwards. She
looked up as the rain spattered her face.

“You’re so brave.”

Erin bent and gave Mrsha a wet cuddle. Then she stood. She nodded at
Lyonette and they began to walk through Liscor.

Everything was the same. Everything was not. Erin and Lyonette kept
looking at Mrsha every few seconds. And the Gnoll stared at everything.
She didn’t run about. She was…looking. The three passed by Drakes and
Gnolls on the street. And they were different too.

Liscor had been hushed after the Raskghar attacks. People had barely gone
about, except to work and perform necessary business. They had been quiet,
nervous and angry. But now the word had gone out. The Gnolls and Drakes
stood about in the streets, talking. Some glanced about nervously, until they
caught themselves and realized there was nothing to fear. They stared at
Erin and Lyonette as they passed. And at Mrsha. The Gnolls paused in what
they were doing and looked at the little Gnoll. She stared back. The Gnolls
exchanged glances. Lyonette and Erin watched them warily. They heard
whispers as Mrsha padded past.

“White one.”

“Mrsha child.”

And then, from one Gnoll, a word.

“Doombringer.”

Erin and Lyonette whirled. The Gnoll looked at them and then at Mrsha.
Lyonette’s face went white. She opened her mouth furiously, but the Gnoll’s
expression wasn’t hostile or afraid. He inclined his head at Mrsha. The
Gnoll cub stared at him. Then he bowed his head. The Gnoll turned and
walked past. A Drake blinked at the two and scratched his head. So did
Erin. Lyonette stared with a mixture of anger and confusion at the Gnoll’s
back.

“What was that about?”

Erin looked thoughtfully at Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll stared after the other
Gnoll. Her expression was neither happy nor sad. But it was slightly
content. Erin stared at the Gnoll’s back and nodded.

“I think…we should get moving before we’re all totally drenched. Where’s
the toy store? Left?”

“Straight and then left.”

In time they reached the special store that Erin and Lyonette had found a
while back. It was a Gnoll-run store and it was aimed at children, but
mainly Gnoll children. That was because it was a ball shop. It sold balls.

Small catching balls. Large ones made of leather. Discs for catching. If
there was anything Gnolls shared with dogs, it was their love of games that
allowed them to run about. Mrsha’s ball had come from here. Now the three
pushed inside. A Gnoll at the counter looked up and blinked when he saw
Mrsha. Then he bowed at his counter.

“Greetings. What can I do for you?”

“Hi. We’re looking for a ball for Mrsha. We just wanted to look around. Is it
okay if she touches things? We can pay for anything.”

The Gnoll inclined his head as Mrsha stared up at him.

“Of course. Take your time. We owe a debt to the Mrsha child. Doom of the
Raskghar. Find whatever you might wish, child.”

Lyonette blinked and bit her lip. But Mrsha’s tail began to wag as she
looked around the shop. Lined up on the shelves were a child’s fantasy. At
least, any child who loved to play catch. There were balls of every size and
shape and consistency. Little ones that could be hidden, large ones you
could kick about, even metal ones with shiny surfaces. Mrsha looked at the
adults again, and then wandered down the aisles. She soon lost herself
between the shelves.

“I had no idea there was an entire shop for this stuff.”

Erin whispered to Lyonette. The young woman nodded.

“Krshia told me about it. Apparently Gnolls don’t have many toys when
they move about in their tribes. Games of catch are very important. And
balls are…well, they’re fun.”

“Yeah. I just never heard of personal, custom throwing balls. I mean, we

had dogs at home, but—”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] raised one eyebrow and Erin turned red.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head and smiled.

“Dogs are dogs, yes? They are simple. But a Gnoll finds more joy than a
dog can. They fetch. We throw. But one as young as the Mrsha child would
find enjoyment in both, I think. Do you have any preference? I find that
children are usually unable to choose from my selection.”

Erin stared down the rows of colorful balls. She was at a loss too. This was
no supermarket selection with a bunch of generic, identical toys. Each
object in the shop was hand-made and high quality. She hesitated, trying to
imagine what Mrsha would like. If they found her old ball—

“What about a big bouncy ball? Do you have anything made of rub—of
plas—something that bounces?”

“Hmm. I have a few. Let me bring them out.”

The Gnoll slipped out from behind his counter. He came back with a
selection of balls, mostly leather, some wrapped in hide, and placed them on
the counter. Erin bounced a few, but they were hardly as bouncy as a
basketball.
“Got anything with more bounce? Like, one I could throw on the ground
and bounce off the ceiling?”

The Gnoll frowned.

“You have high standards. Yes, I’ve seen such balls before. Magic ones,
enchanted by [Mages]. Very prized among Gnoll children.”

“Uh—well, are they that rare?”

The Gnoll nodded, with the air of someone who had specialized in the
nuance of ball manufacture all his life.

“I regret that I do not have any such objects in stock. Magic is costly. I
regret that I do not have any specialty goods—you would have to place an
order, yes? But this is a good one for catching and throwing. And these are
good for chewing.”

He held up a ball wrapped in animal hide, and a set of smaller balls that
smelled a bit like animal to Erin. She prodded the leather-wrapped ball and
then the chewable ones.

“Hey, these are squishy!”

“Yes. Not good for throwing. But very young children chew on these.”

Lyonette frowned.

“What if they eat them by mistake?”

The older Gnoll smiled. He was probably the oldest Gnoll Erin had met,
older than Erill and Krshia. His fur was grey, with black splotches.

“It is no danger. They are edible, and not harmful. And it is a lesson for
children if they are swallowed. Because the toy is then gone. Unless it
passes out of them in the same piece, which is not always pleasant, yes?”

Erin laughed. The Gnoll took the chewing toys away.

“But I think young Mrsha is too old for such things. I have other balls. Such
as this one, which is very frictionless. And tough. Note the covering.”

The ball he showed Erin had a delicate wyvern-hide skin, which Mrsha
sniffed with great interest. She touched the smooth surface.

“Ooh. Fancy. And you can see the scales!”

“Laminated. It is very tough, though. Not malleable. While these are

cheaper.”

The Gnoll flicked the throwing ball. Erin studied it. She could see tiny
stitches holding the hide wrap in place. And when she felt it the ball had
some give, but only a little. It was definitely familiar. She frowned at the
Gnoll, struck by a thought.

“Hey. This looks a lot like a…what’s this made of?”

He hesitated.

“That is a trade secret. But I suppose for this one—I could tell you. It is
cork, yes? Hard, but malleable. Not cheap around Liscor, but good for
throwing.”

Erin’s brows shot together. She eyed the ball and looked around. Mrsha was
still wavering, caught by a huge, hollow ball and a small one that glittered,
enchanted by a minor spell of some kind. Erin looked at the ball and tossed
it up and down.

“Hmm. Hmm. Hey Mrsha, get the ball you want. I’ll take five—no, give me
eight of these. Not the expensive ones, but good, quality ones.”

“Of course!”

The Gnoll beamed, happy to make a sale. Lyonette eyed Erin.

“Are those all for Mrsha? And can we afford all of them?”

Erin dug around in her money pouch for a few gold coins. She shrugged.
“I earned a lot of money from the plays. And I get some of the bounty
money for the Gnolls. And I can even put in a claim for some of the magical
items!”

“Really? How does that even work? I know there was Ilvriss’ bounty, but
who gets to say who gets what?”

Erin paused.

“I have no idea. Hey, can I get these in a bag? Lyonette, I just had a great
idea. You stay here and get Mrsha whatever she wants. Or two of what she
wants. Here.”

She dug three gold coins out and handed them to Lyonette. The Gnoll
[Shopkeeper]’s tail wagged in delight as Lyonette stared at the gold coins.

“Erin—!”

“Come back to the inn when you’re ready! I’ll be in Celum if you need
me!”

Erin raced out of the shop. By the time she got back to the Wandering Inn,
the Halfseekers were awake. They were eating ravenously and in good
spirits without reserve. Jelaqua was thumping Moore on the back as Erin
came in.

“Eat up! Don’t be shy, you great big oaf. Erin doesn’t care if you eat all her
eggs! And you need your strength after you nearly got gutted by those damn
Raskghar. Anyone want the sausages? Then take the platter, Moore! I told
you—oh, hey Erin.”

“Jelaqua! Moore! Seborn!”

Erin beamed. The Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers both turned. They
stared as she emptied the hide-wrapped balls onto the table. Jelaqua
pointed.

“What’s that? Toys for Mrsha?”

“Nope! Toys for me! Oh, and eat everything you want, Moore. Hey, I’m
going into Celum now. Can one of you change the door back to Liscor and
check for me in like…thirty minutes?”

The Horns nodded. Ceria was sitting with the others. She looked relaxed,
but tired. Erin strode over to the door and blinked as Yvlon stood up. The
woman scratched at her arms. She was wearing her gauntlets and
vambraces for some reason, despite not having bothered to put on her
breastplate or any other part of her armor.

“I’ll go with you. I could use some sunlight.”

“Sure, thanks! I could use a pair of hands. Remember, let Mrsha and
Lyonette through! I’ll be back soon! Oh, hey Octavia.”

The [Alchemist] looked up as Erin and Yvlon came through. She waved.

“Hey, everyone’s alive over there, right? I didn’t get to ask—”

“They’re all good!”

The Stitch-Girl sighed in relief. Erin spent a few seconds with Octavia, and
then walked out of the shop. Yvlon nodded to the [Alchemist] and walked
with Erin down the street.

It was different in Celum. Sunlight shone down from above, disconcerting

after the pouring rain Erin had just been walking through. She felt her hair
and clothes begin to dry. After a second, she turned and looked at Yvlon.

“So how’s Ceria doing?”

Yvlon looked up at the bright sky. People were passing by in the street.
Humans, giving Yvlon an odd look now and then. People who had no idea
of what had happened. Erin felt like a stranger with Humans all around her.
After a moment, Yvlon shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think she’s okay. She told us what happened.”

“And?”
The woman let out a long breath.

“I…I’m surprised she can recall it. Calruz, the Raskghar—there was
something truly awful down there, Erin. The ritual, Calruz—I don’t know
how Ceria will handle it. I’m surprised she let him live after all that
happened. And Mrsha…”

“That bad?”

“She was there for all of it. She looked okay to me, but I’d stick with her.
Those Raskghar were monsters.”

Erin nodded seriously.

“Well, Lyonette is with her. And I’ll find tons of fun stuff for her to do. I
just had an idea in that vein, which is why we’re out here. Hey, you know
Celum, right? Can you help me find a shop?”

“Really? Well, why am I surprised? What are you looking for?”

“A [Carpenter]. Know any good ones?”

“Hm. Well, the Runner’s Guild would know the best ones in the city. Why
not make a stop there?”

“Good idea.”

They turned left down a street. Yvlon and Erin walked along in silence. Erin
glanced at Yvlon. She hadn’t spoken too often with the woman, but they
knew each other.

“Yvlon?”

“Yes?”

“How bad was it? I can ask Ceria, but—”

The woman looked away. Her face was shadowed when she spoke.
“Bad enough that I had to leave. It was that or ask Ceria why she didn’t kill
Calruz. She let him live. But the things he did, the horrors he let the
Raskghar commit—that was not the Calruz I knew. And there was
something else. Ceria saw the heart of the dungeon. And what lurks in there
—you don’t need to hear about it.”

Erin shivered.

“Maybe I do. But not today.”

Yvlon nodded.

“Not today. I’m just grateful that she’s back. And so is Mrsha. Thank you
for doing this.”

“Hey, it was just—”

“No. It was more than that.”

The woman met Erin’s eyes. Erin hesitated, then nodded silently. That was
all they said for a while. They visited the Runner’s Guild, got directions
from the [Receptionist], and were walking down the street when Erin
thought of something else to ask.

“So…about the treasure. Loot. Whatever. How’s that going to work?”

Yvlon blinked. Then she smiled.

“Right. I nearly forgot! Ilvriss did offer a huge bounty on the Gnolls. What
was it, a thousand gold pieces per prisoner saved? And didn’t he double
that? Plus, we recovered a bunch of artifacts from the Raskghar who were
carrying them. At least twenty, I think. I didn’t see all of them, but everyone
wants one.”

“I bet. So how’s it going to work?”

“I think it’s a lottery. Part of what Ilvriss and Liscor’s Council will do is
assign merit based on who contributed what. The Gold-rank teams get most
credit for all the fighting they did, obviously. But the [Soldiers], the Watch,
Ilvriss himself, everyone gets credit. So do you. A lot of it, I should
imagine.”

“Mhm. I guess.”

“So we’ll all be eligible for some share. But what Ilvriss is going to do is
pay the whole sum for all the prisoners rescued into a pool. And the artifacts
go into the pool as well. Then we make bids on what we want. You can just
ask for gold—or try and claim an artifact. If multiple groups claim the same
thing, I think there’s a random lottery. Or you might get it if you did the
most and you don’t want anything else. It’s complicated. Dungeon raids
usually end up with a lot of fighting over who gets what anyways.”

“Wow. So could I get a magic sword if I wanted it?”

Yvlon grinned ruefully.

“You could try. But I’ll bet all the Gold-ranks will get the artifacts. I’ll be
pleased just to get some gold for our team. We could use it. And the levels
we gained already were treasure enough. We—oh, here we are.”

She stopped. Erin stared at the carpenter’s shop and then pushed her way in.
The shop was run by a master and his apprentices. Erin edged past the
apprentice who came to ask her what she wanted and strode up to the
[Carpenter]. She smiled at him as he looked up with a scowl.

“Hey, I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. You’re a [Carpenter], right? Can I ask how
fast you can carpenter?”

“What?”

He looked irritated. The man had gnarled hands and grey hair. He glared at
his apprentice and Erin, but she was undeterred.

“I have an order I’d like to make. Something custom.”

“I’m busy. If you have an order—”

Erin slapped a gold coin on the table the man was working at. He blinked at
the gold piece. He opened his mouth and Erin dumped a handful on the
table. Yvlon’s eyebrows shot up. The [Carpenter] wavered. He glanced at
Erin and tried to adopt a much more helpful attitude.

“Uh, how can I help, you, Miss?”

“I want you to carve something. It has to be solid. One block of wood. And
it can’t break. It’s not hard to make, but it needs to be good. It’ll look like
this—hey, can I borrow that piece of charcoal? Thanks.”

Erin snatched the [Carpenter]’s drawing stick up and began to sketch on his
piece of parchment. He blinked at her and then frowned at what she was
drawing. He began nodding as she described what she wanted.

“That’s all? And you don’t want anything done with it? A wrap? Hah, that’s
simple. Well, if it’s not engraving…I can get you a rough outline within the
hour, no problem. Smoothing the surface takes a bit of work, but that’s an
easy design. You’re lucky you came to me! My competitors can’t do quick
work, whereas my Skills are far superior.”

He puffed out his chest a bit. Erin raised one eyebrow.

“Really? Well, can you give me a list of your competitors? I’m gonna get
them to make some too. Unless you can make me…six within two hours? I
need an oversized version too. Oh, and one with a custom grip. I’ll pay
extra to get it done quick and good.”

The [Carpenter]’s jaw dropped. He stared at Yvlon, who gave him a curious,
embarrassed, amused look. He looked at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Did I mention that I know Gold-rank adventurers? Say, do you happen to

sell arrow shafts? Because one of my best clients is a guy called Halrac…”

A few minutes later Erin walked out of the [Carpenter]’s shop, whistling.
She looked at Yvlon.
“Okay, we’ll go to one other [Carpenter] shop. The guy had a lot of
apprentices so I think he can fulfill the order. Plus, he looked like he was
going to work really hard.”

Yvlon looked back into the shop, which was a flurry of activity.

“I can imagine. Especially with what you paid him! What was that thing for,
anyways?”

Erin raised her eyebrows mysteriously.

“You’ll see. Now I need to visit a tanner. Or a leatherworker.”

“We can ask about them at the next carpenter’s shop if you want. They tend
to know other people in related businesses. But can I ask why?”

A wide smile was Yvlon’s only answer.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see what I’ve got ready in about two hours. Less, if I
get everything ready. Hey, do you know where I can buy sausages? And I
need more flour to make dough. Uh…how strong are your arms? I might
need you to carry stuff.”

Yvlon flexed her arms as Erin eyed them with sudden concern. The
[Warrior] smiled. Her arms looked bigger for some reason. Had she been
working out?

“Don’t worry about me. But please tell me you’re not going to do
something crazy. I can’t handle anything crazy.”

“Don’t worry! This is fun and good stuff. Besides—if I did do something
crazy, could you even stop me?”

Yvlon paused.

“Yes.”

Erin hesitated.
“Right. You probably could. Well, this isn’t that crazy. Come on!”

—-

When Erin got back to the inn she found Mrsha and Lyonette had returned.
Only, they didn’t have any new balls. And neither of them were smiling.
Mrsha sat by herself, rolling something back and forth.

Her ball. Her worn, scratched little ball. Erin paused, looking questioningly
at Lyonette. She and Yvlon were empty-handed, but Erin had spent a good
deal of coin and she hoped to have things to carry soon enough.

“Did Mrsha not want anything?”

Lyonette was sitting at a table, watching Mrsha with concern in her eyes.
She shook her head. Apista was in her lap and Lyonette was running her
finger down the bee’s back.

“She started crying after you left and she had to decide on a new ball. She
wanted her old one. I think it was too soon to bring her into the city, Erin.”

A bit of reproach entered Lyonette’s tone. Erin’s heart sank. She looked at
Mrsha. The Gnoll was sniffing her ball, holding it. Not really playing. Erin
nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That was my mistake. Uh—is everyone doing good?”

She looked around. The Halfseekers and Horns were still in her inn. Both
had stuffed themselves. They weren’t saying too much. Ceria sat at a table
with Pisces and Ksmvr. She had emptied two mugs. She wasn’t exactly
looking happy either. She kept looking at Mrsha.

The optimistic mood of the morning had somehow gone wrong. Lyonette
glanced at the adventurers and shrugged. Erin saw Seborn talking with
Moore and Jelaqua. She wandered over and heard his slightly echoey voice.
“—It’s negotiations at this point. We could try for that armor, Jelaqua.
But we owe Selys Shivertail a cut of whatever we get.”

“I know, I know. But if we get the armor we can compensate her. And we
do have a strong claim. Hell, maybe we could persuade Ilvriss or the
Flamewardens to help us out if I agree to cancel my contract with Selys.
But having a magical artifact like that we could own—oh, hey Erin.”

Jelaqua looked up. Moore sat up with a groan. He had a hand over his
stomach where he’d been cut last night. The wound had healed, but the
half-Giant still seemed tender. Or he’d stuffed himself. The mountain of
dishes suggested that might be the case.

“Hey guys. I wanted to say thanks again for all you did. Really.”

Jelaqua raised one eyebrow.

“For what? Saving our hides? You gave us a victory. We had no way to beat
the Raskghar. And you—”

Mrsha started and looked up from her ball. Jelaqua broke off guiltily.

“Sorry. What I meant was that we owe you, Erin.”

“Thanks. But you were fighting. I…well, I know you’re probably busy
doing adventurer stuff, but I was hoping I could ask for a small favor.”

The Halfseekers looked at each other. Jelaqua shrugged.

“We’re only discussing business. It’s not like we can do anything now—it’ll
be a week at least before we get to the actual dividing of loot, I bet. Gotta
make sure we all get what we want.”

“Awesome. Then can I ask for you to help me deliver something? I need a
few strong hands. Not you, Moore. I know you’re recovering—”

The half-Giant sat up. He smiled tiredly at Erin.

“I’m fine, Miss Erin. And if it’s lifting you need, I think I’m your half-
Giant.”

He tried to rise, but Jelaqua and Seborn held him down.

“Relax, Moore. We have this.”

“But I—”

“No, no. Sit. Please. Let me get you a drink. You saved Mrsha. I owe you so
much—Lyonette! Can we get the big mug for Moore? Fill it with something
nice! Wine or ale? Something stronger?”

The half-Giant wavered, then collapsed back into his seat. Fatigue, that was
it. He just looked tired.

“I suppose I could do with an ale. From Celum? Do you have any local
brands?”

“I’ll check. Now, I just need four people, probably. I could do it with two,
but—”

“Seborn and I are good. Who are the other two? Yvlon and Ksmvr?”

“I was thinking of making Pisces do it—”

“Hah!”

Erin turned and grinned at Pisces. The [Necromancer] had helped himself to
a drink of his own. He sat next to Ceria.

“I will conjure you a skeleton to do the work if you desire, Erin. But you
won’t get me to move for love or money. Threats of violence may suffice.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“I don’t need skeletons, thanks. They’ll cause a panic. But just give me one
second and I’ll get everything in place. It’s for Mrsha, see.”
Both Mrsha and Lyonette looked up. Lyonette frowned.

“Erin. Mrsha needs some time by herself. I don’t think an outing is right.
Not at all.”

She stared hard at Erin and the young woman felt a bit of pressure on her
shoulders. She blinked. Lyonette’s gaze felt heavy. And then Erin realized.
She was using her aura! She met Lyonette’s gaze. Neither young woman
raised their tone for fear of scaring Mrsha, but Erin silently pushed back
until the pressure had left her shoulders. Jelaqua and Seborn looked from
Lyonette to Erin in silence.

“It’ll be fine, Lyonette. It’s just a little outing.”

“No. Not another one! She just needs to stay here!”

Lyonette raised her voice. Mrsha looked up again. Erin sighed. She walked
forwards, giving Mrsha a reassuring look. She turned away and whispered
to Lyonette.

“I know. Lyonette, I know you’re worried about Mrsha. But believe me. I
know what I’m doing. She doesn’t have to go anywhere right now. Neither
do you. Just wait.”

She met Lyonette’s eyes, trying to be reassuring. The [Princess] glared—

then saw Erin was serious. She looked at Mrsha and sighed.

“Okay. But nothing crazy, okay?”

“Why does everyone think I can only do crazy? This is just…okay, it’s a bit
weird. But just a bit! Ksmvr, Yvlon, can I get you to lift?”

“I am quite proficient at lifting.”

Ksmvr stood up at once. Yvlon nodded.

“Just show us what you need, Erin.”

“Okay. We’ll be back in a few minutes! Don’t worry! It’ll be worth it!”
Ceria, Pisces, Lyonette, and Mrsha watched as the four adventurers plus
Erin walked over to her door. Erin didn’t change the mana stone. She
opened the door and walked through. The people in the inn heard Erin
speaking to Octavia, and then the [Alchemist] raise her voice.

“What? But Erin! I thought we were partners! This is really—did someone

make you an offer? Hold on! Don’t touch it! We can deal! We can make—”

The door closed. The people in the inn looked at each other. Lyonette went
over and gave Mrsha another hug. The Gnoll looked up at her. Lyonette
tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure it’s just Erin being Erin. She said she wasn’t doing anything
crazy.”

She didn’t sound too convinced. But for some reason that uncertainty made
Mrsha feel better. She stared out the rainy window and bounced her ball. All
was the same. All was different. She wished she could play, but she was a
bit—tired. A bit empty.

So was Ceria. The half-Elf sat at her table. She knew Pisces was watching
her, which was why he’d volunteered to stay. That and he loathed physical
exertion. She looked into her mug. She’d told her teammates everything.
Nearly everything. But she couldn’t tell them what it had been like. The
pain, Calruz’s madness. It felt like a nightmare she hadn’t woken up from.
She was free of the dungeon now. The Raskghar were dead or fled. But it
felt—

It felt like she’d brought the dungeon with her. And Ceria was unhappy. So
she and Mrsha sat, a bit lost, as the rain poured down. Part of them was still
in that camp. Part of them still thought this was a dream. It was unreal, too
wonderful, too much after their torment. It was a figment of their
imagination, an illusion.

A fantasy.
—-

“Erin, please! Please! How long have we known each other? Months? It
feels like years! You can’t just throw me under the wagon like this! I have
relatives! I’m an up-and-coming [Alchemist]! I can’t handle rejection!”

Octavia clung to Erin’s waist, despite Erin’s best efforts to get her to let go.
The young woman waved her arms as Yvlon, Ksmvr, Jelaqua, and Seborn
lifted the magic door in Octavia’s shop up. It wasn’t heavy for the four of
them so much as cumbersome. They began to angle it out the door.

“Erin! You’re breaking my heart here! What will it take? Gold? Potions? Be
reasonable! This is business!”

“Octavia, let go! I told you I’m not stealing your door!”

“What am I seeing then? Don’t lie to me, Erin! We’ve invested too much in
this relationship to lie to each other!”

“What relationship? Octavia, let go! It’s just temporary! I said it’s just for
today, okay?”

“Oh. Well, in that case, why didn’t you say so?”

The Stitch-Girl let go. Erin stumbled back as Seborn held the door open for
the door to go through. Erin turned and glared.

“I did say so!”

The [Alchemist] had the grace to blush. She fiddled with her braids and
tugged at the stitches at her neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that. I panicked a bit. Your magic door gets me a lot of
business, you know.”

“Well, it’ll keep giving you business! Now can I go?”

Octavia was standing in front of the door. She started.

“What? Sure, sure. But you are coming back, right? With the door?
Promise?”

“Yes. Please move.”

The Stitch-Girl did. Erin hurried out of her shop. The adventurers were
waiting for her. Jelaqua raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well, that’s one obstacle down. Where are we taking it?”

“Out of the city! North!”

“Gotcha. One, two, three, up—”

The adventurers easily lifted the door. They began walking down the street.
Erin followed them. After a few paces she turned.

“Why are you following me, Octavia?”

The [Alchemist] shrugged.

“No reason. I just…want to see where the door’s going. Is that a crime?”

Erin glared at Octavia.

“Just don’t get in the way!”

“Who, me? I would never. I’m on your side, Erin! Always have been. From
the day we met I thought that we would be the best of friends. Say, where’s
this door going? I could sell you some stamina potions if it’s a long haul.
Not that it’s going to be that long, right? Because the door is coming back
—”

Erin sighed and tried to block out Octavia’s voice. She looked ahead.
Celum was busy and it was coming to midmorning. The people on the
streets turned in surprise when they saw the four adventurers walking down
the street with a door held between them. There were shouts of surprise.
And a few screams.

Of the four adventurers, Yvlon was probably the most normal. But the other
three were Jelaqua, a Selphid, Seborn, one of the rare Drowned Men, and
Ksmvr, who was an Antinium. He’d been in Celum and other Human cities
before, but there were plenty of people who were still shocked to see him.

“Antinium!”

“Dead gods!”

“Wait—there’s two of them! One of them’s half-Antinium!”

The people backed away in horror. Jelaqua, holding her end of the door
with Seborn, began laughing so hard she nearly dropped it. Seborn growled.
The adventurers made their way down the street until they ran into an
obstacle.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, what is this?”

A Human [Guardsman] strode up to the group, looking afraid and indignant.

He pointed a shaking finger at Ksmvr. He hadn’t heard of the Horns of
Hammerad or fear was overriding common sense.

“Antinium are not allowed in the city! And you can’t bring a door down the
street! You’re holding up traffic!”

There were indeed several wagons waiting for the adventurers. Jelaqua
raised one eyebrow.

“Sorry, but this thing’s too bulky for the side of the street, Mister
Guardsman. And Ksmvr’s a friend of ours.”

The Human purpled with fury.

“A friend? He’s an Ant! They don’t have friends! Move this thing out of the
way! Who are you? Some kind of upstart Drake? This is a Human city!
Who are you? An adventurer? I’ll report you to the guild! And what’s
wrong with him? Is he sick? If he is, he’s a danger to everyone on this
street!”

He pointed at Seborn. The Drowned Man had had enough. He let go of his
side of the door and glared at the [Guardsman].

“I’m a Drowned Man. My name is Seborn. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer.

And this is Jelaqua, also Gold-rank. She’s a Selphid.”

The [Guardsman] gulped. He looked at Jelaqua, who gave him a toothy

grin.

“Rookie mistake. It’s the skin. Want me to open up my chest? Oh, wait.
There’s kids watching.”

“Uh—I—Gold-rank?”

“That’s right.”

The officer of the Watch looked around. He realized that everyone was
waiting for him to make a move. He looked at the wagons waiting
impatiently behind the Gold-ranks, at the adventurers, and made a judgment
call.

“Terribly sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. You lot! Back up!
Gold-ranks coming through on business! Give them some room! Do you
need a wagon by any chance?”

“No. Move.”

Seborn grabbed the door and stomped forwards. The watchman stepped
back, face beet red. Erin smothered a grin as she walked with the others.
Jelaqua couldn’t stop laughing as they proceeded down the street. She grew
more somber as they left the poor [Guardsman] behind.

“That happens a lot, actually. More often in Human lands than Drake ones,
if you’ll believe that.”

“Really? Are Drakes less racist than Humans?”

Erin looked curiously at Jelaqua. The Selphid shook her head ruefully.

“Nah. It’s just that in the Drake cities, all the Watch knows your face so
there’s no ‘incidents’. Helps a bit, but it raises other problems. Alright,
through the gates?”

They’d come to the northern gates. Octavia looked at Erin and she nodded.

“Through the gates!”

The [Guardsmen] on duty were wiser than their colleague. They stood aside
and just watched as the adventurers left the city. Erin took the lead, then.
She pointed and the procession brought the door north of the city. It was
about a ten minute walk.

There was nothing too special about the place the adventurers set the door
down. Yvlon glanced about. The area just north of Celum was grassy, and
there was a stand of trees to the left. But it was just a wild meadow Erin had
chosen, really. Nothing too special about it at all. It was nice and open, a
ways away from the road, but she couldn’t see why they were here.

“You sure this is what you want, Erin? There’s not even a wall to lean this
thing up against!”

Jelaqua looked dubiously at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“No, it’s perfect. Plus, the door doesn’t need a wall. We can make one. All
we need is a door frame and a bit of wood for the backboard…darn, I
should have gotten that first.”

“Hey it’s no big deal. We can get it. Gold-ranks, remember? Seborn, let’s go
requisition some nails and hammers and wood.”

“You do it. I’m sick of idiots around here asking if I’m sick. I hate
landlocked idiots who’ve never seen the ocean.”

Jelaqua laughed. She and Ksmvr went back to Celum and came back with
what they needed. Erin hammered a few boards together and Yvlon helped
her pound the door frame into the ground.
“Why are you doing this?”

Octavia was more curious than upset at this point. She held the doorframe
and backing up as Erin and Ksmvr wrestled the door into place. Seborn and
Jelaqua were arguing about whether Drowned People or Selphids got more
flak from the local law enforcement. Erin just grinned.

“You’ll see. Alright, I think we’re in place! Opening the door…now!”

She swung the door open. The wooden backing disappeared and the inn
appeared. Mrsha and Lyonette turned from playing catch and shaded their
eyes.

“What on earth—Erin, where are you?”

“Outside Celum! This is the plan! Hey Ceria, Pisces, you come through
too!”

“What plan?”

Lyonette stared through the door. The sunlight was hitting her eyes and she
was still upset at Erin. She just saw grass. In the distance a wagon rolled
down the road heading north out of Celum. She didn’t see how Mrsha and
Ceria looked up.

“This!”

Erin spread her arms wide. She turned about. Lyonette stared at her,
uncomprehendingly. Then she looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was staring
through the door. At the grass. At the clear blue sky. The wind blew. And
then Lyonette realized.

It was bright in Celum. The sun’s light flooded through the door, bright,
golden light. Lyonette looked around. The inn was dark. A fire burned in the
fireplace and Erin had lanterns and candles when needed, but the rain was
still falling outside. And it was cloudy. Even with the windows unshuttered,
the inn was still drab. Colorless. Like the inside of a prison cell.
Like the dungeon. But in Celum, there was grass. It was spring. A few bugs
leapt through the door, confused by the sudden change in light and
temperature. Lyonette saw a bird flying through the sky.

“Ooh.”

She turned and jumped. Bird was standing behind her.

“Bird! When did you come down?”

“Just now. I sensed birds. I have a Skill for it. May I go through, Miss Erin?
Please?”

“Yeah! Come through! You and everyone else! Come on! I’ll bring some
food through and we can play a game!”

Erin beckoned. Ceria stood up. So did Pisces. They looked at each other.
Ceria blinked a few times.

“It’s so…bright. I’d forgotten what it was like.”

Pisces studied the open door. He nodded at Erin.

“I suppose a moment in the sun would be a pleasant change. Springwalker,

what are you waiting for? Didn’t you say you wanted to sit in the sun with
the Ring of Barkskin on at least once?”

Ceria blinked.

“I did say that. Didn’t I? But Ksmvr has the ring.”

“I would be extremely willing to lend it to you, Captain Ceria. I have

imbibed enough nutrients and I believe additional mass would not be
unduly limiting to your combat prowess.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr. I—yeah, sure.”

The half-Elf stepped hesitantly towards the door. Erin smiled encouragingly
at Mrsha.
“If you want to come through, we can have a picnic, Mrsha. We said we
should do another one, remember? And I have a wonderful new game to
play.”

Mrsha stared into the grassy field. She took a hesitant step forwards and
stopped. She looked back at Lyonette. The young woman looked at her.
Mrsha wavered. She was afraid. But then she looked back. At the light.

Apista buzzed past Mrsha, startling the young Gnoll. The Ashfire Bee flew
into the field and hovered over a flower. Erin laughed. And that laughter
struck something in Mrsha’s heart. She took another step.

“What’s the game?”

Jelaqua stood in the sun, smiling. Moore, who’d been napping at his table,
looked up. The half-Giant smiled.

“A nap in the sun would be nice.”

He stepped past Mrsha. Ceria and Pisces followed him. Erin laughed again.
She moved aside to let Moore go past.

“Oh, the best of games. The greatest game! For someone like Mrsha, at
least. I thought of it when I saw the balls in the shop. They looked exactly
like something from my home. So I made a few purchases. We’ll have a
light lunch and then everything should be ready! I paid for speed.”

Lyonette stepped forwards. Mrsha was on the edge of the door. The Gnoll
stared at the grass inches away from her paws. She looked up at the sky. A
cool wind blew and ruffled Mrsha’s fur. She closed her eyes. She smelled…
growing grass. Insects. Pollen. Soil. Birds. A rabbit nest hidden under the
turf twenty feet to the left. Erin. Jelaqua. Yvlon. Metal. Sweat. A swirl of
strange ingredients from Octavia. And that last scent of all, which reached
into her. The scent that had no part of the dungeon in it. The smell of life, of
growing.

Spring.
She took a step forwards. Her paw sank into the grass. Mrsha looked at it.
She touched the soil. She felt the blades of grass beneath her. She looked up
at Lyonette. The young woman smiled. She wiped her eyes and looked at
Erin. The young woman nodded to her. Lyonette bowed her head slightly.

“And what’s this game, Erin?”

“Oh, it’s a simple one. You have a few balls, a few sticks to hit things with,
a glove to catch with…and you play it in the open. In the sun. It’s called
baseball. I thought we could play. If you want. What do you say, Mrsha?”

Erin crouched. She held out her hand. Mrsha wavered. She stared back at
the inn. It was familiar. But it was also dark. And ahead of her—she stared
up. The sky was bright. Mrsha looked at Erin. She was afraid. Afraid this
was all a dream.

“It’s okay, Mrsha.”

The young woman looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll looked at her, and closed her
eyes. Then, slowly, she stepped forwards.

—-

Yvlon was wrong about one thing. The parade wasn’t in two days. It was
happening right now. In Liscor, the Watch and Embria’s Soldiers and a
detachment of Antinium marched down the street. They followed a stream
of adventurers, who waved as the crowd roared and cheered them. Liscor
celebrated as the rain fell. Relieved Drakes and Gnolls took to the streets.
And at the end of the parade, Wall Lord Ilvriss gave a speech after Watch
Captain Zevara had given an account of all that had passed.

The Drake did not beat about the bush. He stood on a podium, several
[Mages] and a scrying orb recording his every move. The world was
watching. Already, the news of Liscor’s triumph over the Raskghar was
spreading. It was, all things considered, small news. After all, it was just a
group of monsters, nothing more.

To most of the world, Ilvriss’ speech was dismissed, forgettable. They had
already gotten used to the novelty of the scrying orbs and after dozens of
people had tried to emulate Flos’ attention-grabbing stunts, there were far
fewer avid viewers than Ilvriss might have desired.

But that didn’t matter. The Wall Lord spoke for Liscor, who hung on his
every word. He looked at the Gnolls, who stood together. Some grieved for
those sacrificed or dead. Likewise, the Drakes had lost their own. But still
they stood. The Wall Lord’s voice shook with raw emotion as he shouted.

“This was a triumph! Liscor has reclaimed its own! The dungeon and the
Raskghar were no match for the might of adventurers, the resilience of the
Drake and Gnollish spirit!”

The roar from the crowd deafened the falling rain for a second. Ilvriss
raised one fist.

“The dungeon cannot defeat Liscor! Nor can any other foe! They assailed
the walls! They took your family, your friends! And still the walls stand!
Liscor will never fall to invaders! And the brave souls who battled in
Liscor’s name are heroes, each one! Drakes! Gnolls! Humans! Selphid and
Garuda, half-Giant and Drowned Man! Dwarf!”

He paused and muttered an oath.

“And Goblin.”

No one besides Zevara heard that last bit. They were cheering, throwing
things at the adventurers and Watch. Since flowers were hard to obtain, it
was a rain of brightly-colored fish scales that fell, much to the
dissatisfaction of all but the Antinium. But still, it was a triumph. Ilvriss’s
speech was transmitted by the [Mages] to other spots across the continent
and the world.
The leaders of the Drake cities watched. Around the world, those with an
interest in Liscor or had nothing better to do listened to Ilvriss speaking in
the rain. They assessed, listened, and judged. It was politics. And the
adventurers shifted impatiently, wondering when the speech would end and
they could get out of the rain. They had their fill of glory, now they wanted
a hot meal.

Embria’s [Soldiers] stood proud, for once the heroes cheered by their home.
The Watch was more relaxed, relieved that the crisis was over. The
Antinium stared at the cheering faces and felt strange.

So it went. Glory and politics and rain. Liscor celebrated. But in an inn just
a short way away from the city, a young woman and a white Gnoll stepped
through a magical doorway and into Celum. They stepped out of the dark
inn, out of Liscor and the ever-present rain and into the fields outside of
Celum. And Mrsha looked around.

The sun shone down from a blue sky overhead. The grass was soft and the
flowers blooming. The wind blew Mrsha’s fur as she looked up and saw the
sun. It shone bright, a fierce, warm, comforting, brilliant, soft, wondrous,
terrible light. The Gnoll breathed in. She looked around and saw smiling
faces. She looked back at the inn. It was home. But here?

The meadow was empty. In the distance lay Celum, but it was far off. Here
there were no walls in sight. There was no darkness. The air was fresh.
Mrsha looked around. And at long last she smiled. It finally hit her.

She was free.

 5.46

The sky was open. A warm sun shone down on the green grass below. The
air smelled of spring. In the field just outside of Celum, the flowers and
wild grass had been cropped short. A [Shepherd] must have taken his flock
through the meadow not too recently. That also meant there were piles of
poo in places. At least they were dried out.

Not everything was perfect. But it was good. Beautiful, even. Compared to
the rains in Liscor, this was bliss. Compared to the dungeon, this was…
Ceria looked around as she sat on the grass. A wooden ring was on her
finger and the sun felt good as it shone down on her skin. She felt blissful,
content. Full.

“I really like this ring. I feel like a tree.”

Pisces, sitting beside Ceria and fiddling with a pile of yellowed bones,
looked up. The half-Elf ignored the bones as they danced about in midair.
The [Necromancer] peered at Ceria’s Ring of Barkskin.

“Do you in fact feel yourself absorbing sunlight? Or is it just a pleasant

sensation?”

“Hm. It feels warm. And I feel happier in the sun.”

“…Do you have an urge to dig yourself a hole and stand in it? Or imbibe
water through your toes?”

“Shut up, Pisces. Don’t ruin this for me.”

The [Necromancer] huffed and went back to his bones. Ceria smiled. There
was no real rancor in her tone, and Pisces seemed perfectly at ease to play
with his bones. He was making another Bone Horror. The quiet click of
bones didn’t disturb Ceria. She looked up and remembered the dungeon.
The memory was still bitter, the horror real. But as the sunlight warmed her
face, it seemed more distant.

“This is what I needed. Erin was right.”

“You mean, this is what we needed.”

Pisces looked up. Ceria blinked at him, and then nodded. She looked around
and saw the others.

Bird. Jelaqua. Moore. Seborn. Lyonette. Octavia. And Mrsha. They sat or
walked around the meadow, looking around. Half were barefoot. Mrsha
didn’t wear shoes to begin with, but some had taken off their shoes. Just to
feel the grass. After so long in the rain, after so many days in the dungeon,
this was bliss.

Wonderful. Ceria smiled and stretched out in the grass. Something crawled
on her arm. She flicked it at Pisces. He raised a finger and blasted it with
fire. The stink and smoke made Pisces cough. He glared mildly at Ceria.

“That was quite unnecessary.”

“Remember the time we pranked you by dumping a bunch of bugs in your

room?”

“In my fondest recollections. Are you incapable of enjoying yourself except

at my expense?”

“It does make life more fun.”

Pisces sighed. Ceria laughed. She looked around. The meadow really was
beautiful. Ceria didn’t love nature all the time, but this made her remember
the forests of her home in Terandria. With fondness. She stared at the
flowers blooming in the sun, some with white petals, others pink, blue…a
green flower with curious arrow-shaped petals seemed to wave at her as the
wind blew.
A butterfly flew through the air and landed on a dandelion. It perched there
delicately. Then a loud buzzing sound made it take wing. It got three feet
before Apista smacked into it. The butterfly flapped away as the Ashfire
Bee buzzed in a wide circle. Apista possessively landed on the flower and
began to feed on the nectar and pollen.

Ceria sat up a bit and stared at Apista. She glanced at Pisces. The tranquility
of the moment was interrupted somewhat as Apista, buzzing loudly, flew up
and landed on another flower nearby. The sound of her wings beating was
loud. The bee cast about, then charged another group of butterflies. Both
[Mages] watched Apista flying sentinel for a moment. Ceria glanced at
Pisces.

“That’s one angry bug.”

He shrugged.

“I think Ashfire Bees are rather competitive. Or perhaps it is simply this one
that seems to want to monopolize the surrounding area.”

“Lyonette sure can choose them, huh? And is it just me or is Apista…

bigger? Her stinger looks nastier than last time. Do you think they get
bigger?”

“One would hope not.”

Both [Mages] ducked as Apista shot inches over their heads, chasing a
much smaller bee. They watched Apista warily until she disappeared into a
patch of flowers. Then they went back to sitting around. It was the most fun
Ceria wanted to have at the moment. She heard an excited rustling sound
and glanced up just in time to see a white shape flash past her.

“Mrsha, slow down! Watch out, Pisces!”

Pisces looked up and levitated his bones out of the way just in time. Mrsha
leapt and nearly grabbed one with her teeth. He smirked as Mrsha narrowed
her eyes at him. Then the Gnoll seemed to lose interest and dashed over to
the green flower. She sniffed it, seemed to like the scent, and bounded over
to another.

Mrsha was running about, smiling. She ran to each flower, smelling them,
her tail wagging. Lyonette chased after her, laughing. It made Ceria glad to
see. She looked around again.

Everyone was in good spirits. The Halfseekers were sitting together,

basking in the sun. Bird was staring at the sky—he’d already shot six birds,
and Octavia was plucking some flowers and muttering about cheap
ingredients. Erin was in her inn, getting some food together. And Ksmvr
and Yvlon—

“Hey, I think they’re coming back.”

Ceria pointed. Pisces looked up and nodded. Yvlon and Ksmvr were
walking from Celum. It was easy to spot the two—aside from them being
the only two people moving towards them, Yvlon’s vambraces and gauntlets
shone in the light. The woman wore armor nowhere else, but she still
caught the light. Ksmvr was a black and brown shape behind her. Both were
carrying something.

“Got what you wanted?”

“We did. Anyone have any water?”

Ceria looked around. Pisces shook his head. Yvlon shrugged.

“I’ll get it from Erin’s inn. Let me just put this down, first.”

She was holding at least six odd sticks in her arms. Ceria stared at them.
They looked like stirring paddles. Only, they were round and had a thinner
handle. They were made completely out of wood, although the handles had
been wrapped. She eyed the things as Yvlon tossed them down.

“What are those supposed to be?”

Yvlon shrugged. She massaged one shoulder with a gauntleted hand as

Ksmvr laid down more curious objects next to the carved sticks.
“I have no idea. But Erin paid a lot to have them made quick. I think she
called these…‘bats’.”

Ceria stared at the wooden bats. They looked nothing like their namesake.

“Okay. And the leather glove-things?”

They looked like gloves, but with an odd twist. There weren’t individual
fingers on the glove—it was a large, ungainly thing that looked like a
pocket. Ceria had no idea why you’d ever put something like that on your
hand. Yvlon shrugged.

“She called them gloves.”

“Right. Of course she did. Did she say why she wanted them?”

“For that game she mentioned, I think. Is Erin in there?”

Yvlon nodded to the door standing about ten feet away. Ceria nodded. Yvlon
walked over to the magic door and stared inside. The grass ran right up to
the door’s edge, at which point wooden floorboards took over. Yvlon
stepped from Celum’s meadow into the shade of The Wandering Inn. She
blinked as the room grew darker and then stared around Erin’s grand
common room.

“Erin? We’ve got your bats and gloves. Do you have any water?”

“What?”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. She blinked as she saw Yvlon.

“Oh, hey Yvlon! Did you get my bats?”

Ksmvr poked his head through the doorway.

“Yes, Miss Erin. We have acquired your desired objects. Another successful
mission for the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon requests water as our reward.
As do I. Comrade Pisces would like a glass of wine.”
“Sure! Wait—tell Pisces he can’t drink just yet! I’ll be out in one moment! I
just have to put this dough in the oven…”

It took a few minutes for Erin to emerge from the kitchen. When she
walked outside into the meadow she had a tray with a filled pitcher of water
and cups. She raised her voice.

“Hey everyone! Gather around here! I’ve got something to show you! Also:
water!”

She placed the tray on the ground. Everyone looked around and got up to
come over. Pisces sniffed as Ceria offered him a cup of water. The half-Elf
took a sip of the lukewarm water, grimaced, and then raised a hand before
Yvlon could pour herself a cup.

“Let me.”

She pointed at the pitcher and conjured a sphere of ice out of the air. She
tossed it into the pitcher, making a splash. Yvlon eyed the giant ice cube
floating in the water.

“That’s handy. Normally ice is a rare treat.”

“That’s what you get with an ice mage around. You want smaller ice cubes?
I like to chew them.”

“Ooh. I’ll have some!”

Jelaqua Ivirith grinned as she walked over. She nodded appreciatively at

Ceria as the half-Elf conjured ice cubes out of the air and flicked them into
a cup. Seborn took a cup, filled it, drained it, and then sighed.

“Refreshing. No ice, thanks, Ceria. What’s this you have to show us,
Erin?”

“Baseball! You got the bats and gloves? And I have baseballs! Hey Mrsha,
are you having fun?”
Erin bent down as Mrsha raced over. The Gnoll smiled up at Erin as she
grabbed a cup and then ran over to Ceria to get free ice. Lyonette jogged
over, huffing, and stared at the baseball bats, gloves, and balls. She glanced
at Erin.

“Is this the game you were talking about?”

“Yup! Baseball! The perfect game for today! I thought we could sit outside,
play games, eat some food—I’ve got some buns rising in the oven for hot
dogs, popcorn, and there’s sausages since hot dogs aren’t made in Liscor.
That’s probably a good thing. Anyways, we can try baseball or just have
fun!”

Erin beamed. The others looked at each other. Everything sounded good,
especially just sitting in the sun. But…Ceria coughed.

“Erin, would you mind explaining what this baseball thing is?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot that uh…well, it’s a game!”

Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Do tell.”

Ceria smirked as Erin glared at both of them. She picked up a bat and one
of the hide-wrapped balls she’d bought from Liscor.

“It’s a fun game! I told you, people where I come from play it all the time.
Everyone loves it!”

She paused and bit her lip.

“Okay, some people like to play it. I mean, in my country it’s big, but in the
world it’s not that huge a sport compared to…”

She scratched her head. Her audience stared at the young woman
expectantly. Erin coughed.
“It has fans. And it’s easy to play. Okay, wait, let me explain from the start.
Baseball…baseball…”

Erin was at a bit of a loss of how to describe baseball. It wasn’t that she
didn’t know the rules and so forth, it was just that she’d never had to
explain the game in its entirety. She scratched her head as everyone sipped
from their cups.

“I’ve got it! Okay. Baseball is this game. Where you hit balls.”

Ksmvr raised his hand.

“At people?”

“No! Okay, sometimes. Not on purpose. No, you hit balls, and then run
around this…this diamond. It’s not actually a diamond, it’s actually three,
no, four bases. On the ground. You run from base to base while the other
team—there are teams—tries to get the ball you hit and tag you out. And if
you run all the way around and get back where you started, you score!”

Jelaqua glanced up at Moore. The half-Giant was scratching his head.

“And you win? Is that the point of the game?”

“Nope! You get a point! And if you’re tagged, you’re ‘out’. And if you get
three outs, the other team gets to hit the ball. And we change sides like that
like…nine times. Whoever has the highest score wins. Unless there’s a tie.”

“What happens then?”

“Then we play another round until one team has more points than the other.
Both teams get a chance at bat—that means hitting the ball. And if one team
gets more points by the end they win the game. If not, we play another
inning. That’s both teams pitching—throwing the ball—and batting—
hitting the ball.”

Ceria looked at Pisces. He raised both eyebrows and smiled sardonically.

Ksmvr raised his other hand, not having lowered the first one.
“Miss Solstice, what happens if both teams fail to aquire more points?”

“Then we keep playing. Forever. Or until one team can’t play anymore.”

Erin stared at Ksmvr. He nodded.

“Defeat by attrition. Very appropriate.”

“Right. So that’s baseball. Any questions?”

The adventurers, Mrsha, Bird, and Lyonette looked each other. Then they
all raised their hands. Ksmvr raised his third one. Erin sighed.

“Let me try again.”

—-

A few explanations later, Ceria understood baseball. At least, she

understood how the game was played. There was a logic to it—hitting a ball
sounded like fun and the gloves made sense to her now. Still, she had
declined to practice at first. The Halfseekers and Mrsha had volunteered to
take the equipment and hit a few balls. Everyone else was sitting and
watching as Erin coached from the sidelines.

“Okay! Aim for Moore’s glove, Seborn! Not at Jelaqua! Mrsha, you stay in
the outfield! Grab the ball when it goes flying and throw it at Lyonette!”

“Alright! Throw that ball, Seborn!”

Jelaqua grinned as she swung the baseball bat energetically. Moore,

crouching behind her with his hand open—he was holding a tablecloth for a
glove since Erin hadn’t wanted to pay for a glove for his hands—eyed
Jelaqua’s bat with some apprehension.

“Don’t let go of that bat, Jelaqua. And please don’t hit me in the head.”
“Relax! I’ve got this! Throw, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Erin had shown him how to pitch, and the [Rogue]
threw the ball surprisingly fast. Jelaqua swung. Her bat whiffed the air as
the baseball bounced off of Moore’s palm. The half-Giant picked up the ball
between two fingers and threw it clumsily back at Seborn.

“Aw.”

“Strike one!”

Erin waved her arms. Jelaqua looked over.

“What? Am I out already?”

“No, you get two more chances!”

“Got it! Throw me another, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Ceria watched the ball flash past Jelaqua. The
Selphid blinked.

“Hey, not that fast!”

“Too bad. I’m trying to win here.”

Seborn smiled as Moore threw the ball back to him. Jelaqua growled and
swung the bat around. Ceria watched as Seborn wound up and threw the
third ball. This time Jelaqua had the timing down. She stepped forward and
swung.

The crack of bat hitting ball made Mrsha look up. She’d been playing in the
grass impatiently. Her eyes widened as she saw the baseball flying
overhead. She raced after it as Jelaqua looked around.

“Did you see that?”

“Run for first base!”

“Oh, right!”

The Selphid charged towards the ‘base’ Erin had set up, which was a pillow
lying in the grass. Erin waved her arms frantically.

“The bat! Put the bat back!”

“Argh!”

Jelaqua ran back. Mrsha was racing towards Lyonette with the ball in her
mouth. The [Barmaid] waved her hands encouragingly, holding a glove up.

“Throw it, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll cub did. The ball went wide of Lyonette. The young woman
raced after it with Mrsha as Jelaqua ran onto first base. She raised her arms
in celebration.

“I did it!”

“Keep going!”

“Right! Second base!”

Jelaqua ran as Mrsha and Lyonette grabbed the ball and chased after her.
She got all the way to third before they caught up. Then Erin had to explain
how the rest of the game worked again. Jelaqua groaned.

“Wait, so I just stand here?”

“I mean, you can steal, but it’s dangerous. You don’t have to stand here.
This is just to show everyone how the game is played. Let’s have someone
else bat. Moore?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t use one of those bats, Miss Erin.”

The half-Giant smiled apologetically. Erin grinned up at him.

“That’s okay! I got you a special bat! Here—”

She pointed at the oversized baseball bat which was more of a log. Moore
blinked. He picked it up and Jelaqua whistled.

“That’s a stick! You could crack a few heads with that thing, Moore!”

“I’d prefer not to. But playing—hm. Yes. Thank you, Erin.”

Moore smiled gratefully at Erin. He took up position at bat as Jelaqua

grabbed a glove and sat far behind him. Erin returned to her seat next to
Ceria. The half-Elf was still sunbathing. Erin smiled at Ceria.

“What do you think?”

The half-Elf looked up. She had another pillow underneath her head and
she’d been reluctantly looking up to see the action. Now she sat up and
gave Erin a rueful smile.

“Honestly, Erin? It looks incredibly dull.”

“You think so?”

Erin didn’t seem too offended. She took a seat by Ceria as Moore swung his
bat. Slowly. He missed Seborn’s first pitch. Ceria shrugged.

“It’s…well, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s about as fun as chess for me.
Pisces likes chess, but I don’t know if he’ll enjoy this game. At least the
Halfseekers are having fun.”

“Strike two!”

Jelaqua shouted happily at Moore. The half-Giant frowned at her. Their

voices were audible to Ceria and Erin as they sat together.

“Stop yelling at me.”

“It’s part of the game, Moore! Hit the ball already!”

“I can’t see it. It’s hard to swing this bat fast enough, alright?”
“You get one more swing, Moore!”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You got to practice with Seborn.”

“Tough luck! There’s no mercy in baseball!”

“Stop arguing, both of you. We’ll give Moore more swings.”

“Aw, Seborn!”

Erin smiled as she watched the Halfseekers play. Mrsha was lying in the
grass, waiting for another ball as Lyonette yawned at first base. Pisces,
Yvlon, and Ksmvr had also been recruited to stand at second and third base
and in the outfield. They looked around, clearly waiting for something to
happen. Bird and Octavia watched from the sidelines.

“It is sort of boring, isn’t it?”

“You think so too?”

“Eh. I never liked baseball too much when I was back home. My dad used
to take me to a few games, but he wasn’t the hugest fan either. He would
watch the big games and that’s about it.”

“I see. So why are we playing it?”

Erin smiled as she stretched out her legs in the grass. She propped herself
up with her arms and watched as Moore swung again.

“It’s boring. And exciting when someone hits the ball. Mostly, you sit and
watch. In baseball games the audience sits for hours. You can talk to one
another, eat…it’s not filled with action. I thought it was perfect for today.
For everyone. And for Mrsha.”

She pointed at Mrsha. The Gnoll was rolling about on her back as Moore
missed again. Jelaqua was heckling him. Ceria glanced at Mrsha.

“You were right about us needing some sunlight. I’d forgotten we could
just…go to Celum. It’s amazing.”
“All thanks to your door. Without it I couldn’t have done so many things. It
really was the best thing you brought out of Albez. Thank you for giving it
to me, Ceria.”

The half-Elf waved that away.

“You helped us. You gave us coin, brought us together—and you saved me.
Twice. With the door we gave you.”

Erin smiled and looked away.

“Yeah. But I didn’t do too much.”

“You came up with the plan. I heard from Pisces and Yvlon what was
happening while I was below. Everyone was fighting the dungeon, but you
were the one who got the Goblins to find the Raskghar. And you made the
plan. You even got people like Zevara and Ilvriss on board. You saved me,
Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] shook her head.

“It was everyone. I just gave them a chance. I…I’m not proud of what I
did.”

Ceria frowned and sat up a bit more.

“Not proud? Why wouldn’t you be? Erin, you beat the Raskghar! There
were thousands of them and they were killing—”

“I know. I know. It’s just…I guess I’m really good at killing people after
all.”

Erin’s voice was quiet. She was still looking away from Ceria. The half-Elf
paused. Then Erin looked back at her friend. The young woman sat on the
grass, smiling. But there were tears in her eyes. They ran down Erin’s
cheeks as she watched Mrsha run after a foul ball.

“I knew I could, Ceria. I knew that I could figure out a way to kill the
Raskghar. With fire. With water. With monsters or traps. And I did. I’d do it
again. But I don’t like it.”

“It had to be done. The Raskghar were evil. They were sacrificing Gnolls. If
you hadn’t, Mrsha and I would be dead.”

There was no pity in Ceria’s heart or her voice. Erin nodded. She wiped at
her eyes.

“That’s true. It’s all true. But I still did it. I went into their home and killed
them. I made the plan. I knew what would happen.”

Ceria stared at Erin. She couldn’t feel whatever it was Erin felt. Ceria had
been there. She had looked into Nokha’s eyes as the Raskghar devoured the
Gnoll’s hearts. If the Raskghar had been in front of her again, Ceria would
have killed them without a second thought.

“They were monsters.”

“They were. But they were people. I walked into their camp before we
destroyed the entrance. They were monsters. But they had a home. They
were evil, but I still helped kill them.”

“Not all of them. Some got away.”

Ceria didn’t know if she was trying to cheer Erin up. If she was, it wasn’t
working. Erin shrugged. She was smiling and crying a bit as Moore swung
again and missed.

“It doesn’t matter, Ceria. I know it had to be done. And if I had to, I’d do it
again. A thousand times. I just feel bad about it. It’s…something I feel. I
just feel bad. For the people who died. The Antinium Soldiers, the Watch…
Ilvriss’ people. They died because I asked them to. And the Raskghar. We
killed an entire group of people. They were bad people, but still people.”

“I guess so.”

Ceria sat back, troubled. She stared at her skeletal hand. A bug had decided
to crawl between her fingers and she’d smashed it accidentally. There was
no feeling in her bone hand, after all. Absentmindedly, Ceria scrubbed her
hand on the grass.

“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t feel bad at all. Not after what
happened. With Calruz.”

“Yeah. I don’t. I just wish I could have talked him into releasing the Gnolls.
I wish I could have stopped him. But I didn’t. That was my fault.”

The half-Elf shook her head. Erin reached out and grabbed her flesh hand.

“It wasn’t. You did all you could.”

“I didn’t save him. He’s going to be executed. Drake law. I should have
killed him when I had the chance. But I couldn’t. He’s…insane, Erin. He
wasn’t in his right mind. There were bits and pieces of him, but it was all
wrong. That’s the hard part. He cared about Gerial and the others. If he
hadn’t, if he’d just been mad, it would have been easy to—but he cared and
then—I couldn’t stop it.”

Ceria’s voice cracked. She stared at Moore as the half-Giant began arguing
with Jelaqua. Seborn walked over to confer. Erin’s hand squeezed Ceria’s.

“I heard a bit of what happened. I…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Ceria stared ahead. The sun felt less bright as
she whispered.

“It was bad down there, Erin. I told the others about it. But not all of it. I
don’t think I can. I wish—I can still hear them screaming. I know there
were too many Raskghar. I know. But I was the only adventurer down there.
They died and I couldn’t stop them.”

Erin stared at Ceria’s face. The half-Elf shook her head, her hands
trembling.

“Do you want to talk about it? I can listen.”

“No. I—maybe later. But not right now. I just want to sit.”
“Okay.”

Ceria stared past Erin. After a while Erin took her hand away. The half-Elf
wished she hadn’t. She felt tense. Guilty. Alone, despite Erin sitting next to
her. Her failures pierced her over and over until—

Crack.

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had hit the ball. She pointed.

“There! Like that, see?”

Moore stared as Ksmvr and Yvlon looked up. The Antinium and woman
watched the ball land and then remembered they had to run and pick it up.
He turned and glared at Jelaqua.

“Like what? You’re just hitting the ball, Jelaqua. Let me keep trying.”

“Aw, come on!”

The half-Giant took a position at home base again. Ceria watched Seborn
throw a ball and Moore miss. Suddenly, she was back in the present. She
looked around. Erin was watching her. Ceria half-rose. Then she inhaled
and smelled the earth. The grass. She looked up and saw the sun.

Her heart began to beat slowly again. Ceria looked at her hands, and then at
Erin. The young woman smiled. Her eyes were mostly dry, but there was
still moisture in them.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Ceria looked up. The sky was blue. High, high above, a few clouds slowly
moved across the vast sky. The half-Elf closed her eyes and inhaled the
scent of growing life. The sun shone down as Moore finally hit a ball and
Mrsha and Pisces both raced after it. Ceria remembered the dungeon, the
scent of blood. Calruz’s eyes full of madness. The Raskghar devouring the
heart over the lifeless Gnoll. She blinked and found her eyes were watering
as well.
“It really is, isn’t it?”

The two sat together for a while. Just sat. The horrors of the past melted
away from Ceria as she watched Seborn take a place at bat. He swung and
connected with the first ball, ran around the bases until Ksmvr tagged him
out, and then waited at first base as Lyonette took a turn swinging the bat.
The game was boring. Some might have even called it dull. But in this
moment, it was the game Ceria needed. So she stood up.

“Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

Erin looked up.

“You sure?”

Ceria smiled.

“Why not? I could use a bit of exercise. And I can always lie down
afterwards. Are you going to play too?”

“Sure!”

Erin stood up. She smiled at Ceria and then cupped her hands.

“Hey guys! Want to play a real game? With teams?”

The others looked up. They looked at each other and shrugged. Jelaqua
shouted back.

“Sure! Let’s play a bit. Then we can eat!”

The others nodded. They trooped over to home base as Erin walked
forwards with Ceria. The game wasn’t amazing. It wasn’t fantastic or
exciting. It was sort of fun. But that was what they needed. A game of
baseball in the sun.

—-
The first game was simple. It was between the Horns of Hammerad and the
Halfseekers, with Bird, Lyonette, and Mrsha acting as extras for the outfield
team. Octavia watched from the sidelines with a bowl of popcorn as Erin
umpired the game.

“Alright! Game one! We’ll play till one side scores five points, okay?
Jelaqua, you’re up for bat first! Pisces, throw the ball!”

“Don’t let her hit the ball, Pisces! That’s an order!”

Ceria shouted at Pisces from first base. The [Necromancer] sniffed and
awkwardly raised the ball.

“Very well. Allow me to throw a truly unhittable pitch. Like so—”

He threw the ball as fast and hard as he could without warning. It was a
good pitch. But Jelaqua was quicker. The Selphid grinned and swung her
bat.

“Hah!”

The bat cracked as it connected full-force with the ball. Pisces’ eyes
widened and he ducked as the ball flashed by his head. Mrsha and Ksmvr
raced after the ball as Jelaqua raised her bat and cheered. Erin shouted
urgently.

“Don’t cheer yet, Jelaqua! Drop the bat! Okay, now run for first base!
Ksmvr, grab the ball and throw it to Ceria!”

“Captain Ceria!”

Ksmvr threw the ball. Ceria raised her glove, swore as she saw Jelaqua
charging towards the pillow, and tried to grab the ball. She caught it, but
only after Jelaqua had stepped on the pillow. Erin shouted.

“Safe! She’s safe, Ceria! You can’t tag her out!”

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had both claws raised to fend Ceria off.
Both looked slightly disappointed. Jelaqua coughed. Ceria scratched her
head.

“That was it? She touched the pillow and that’s it?”

“Yup. She’s safe. Until the next ball is hit, she can stay there. Or steal a
base.”

“Aha! I knew this game was fun!”

Jelaqua charged towards second base. Ceria swore and ran after her. Erin
shouted at both of them to come back.

“Wait, wait! No stealing in the first game! And you can’t just run all the
way home! I think.”

“Why not?”

“Well—you’d be caught. If we had a full team. Which we don’t, so—no

stealing.”

“Drat. So what do I do?”

Erin pointed back towards home base, where Seborn had the bat and was
waiting patiently. Moore was catcher and sitting cross-legged rather than
crouching since he was large enough to cover the entire base anyways.

“You just stand there. Seborn will swing and if he hits, you run for second
or third, or even home, Jelaqua.”

The Selphid sighed. She scratched a loose scale on her cheek.

“So this is a waiting game?”

“Um. Yeah! But it’s not too long. Hold on. Seborn, let me get out of the
way! Pisces, throw another ball when I say so! Try to not let Seborn hit it
this time!”
Jelaqua and Ceria awkwardly stood together at first base while Erin had
Seborn step up and take a few swings. The Selphid scratched the spines on
the back of her head. Ceria coughed. Jelaqua scratched the spines on the
back of her Drake body. After a moment she spoke out of the corner of her
mouth.

“So. Do you think they’ll let me try out a Raskghar body?”

The half-Elf blinked. Jelaqua grinned sheepishly.

“I mean, I think we brought a few back. Trophies and to show other

adventurers what they look like, you know? I don’t need a new one, but I’d
like to be the first Selphid to try one out, you know? Bragging rights. And
have you seen their muscles?”

“I uh, didn’t get too good a look at them. But that’s actually a good idea.
Raskghar are really strong.”

“I know, right? And if I could get Erin to store a few bodies in her
basement, you know, as insurance—is this getting creepy?”

“Just a little bit. But I get it. You don’t think the bodies will rot in her inn,
right? What about bugs?”

“Well, Selphids have this paste I can get Octavia to make that—”

Crack. Both Ceria and Jelaqua looked up. A ball flew past them and Erin
shouted.

“Run!”

Suddenly Seborn was charging towards them! Pisces and Ksmvr ran for the
ball. Ceria and Jelaqua looked at each other. The Selphid looked around.

“Oh kidney stones, what am I supposed to do again?”

“Run to second base! Ceria, get ready to stop Seborn! Catch the ball!”

“Over here!”
Ceria waved her arms in frustration as Jelaqua took off. Pisces blurred over
to the ball with [Flash Step] and snatched it up. He looked around. But
Seborn was already on first base. The Drowned Man eyed Ceria. And
Jelaqua was rounding second base, headed towards third. Ceria pointed.

“I’ll stop Jelaqua! Pisces, get her!”

The Selphid was laughing as she ran. Pisces charged towards her. Jelaqua
kept her eye on Pisces, but she didn’t see Ceria coming up from the side.
The half-Elf tackled the Selphid, knocking her to the ground.

“Get her, Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was twenty paces away. He threw the ball at Jelaqua as
the Selphid turned and threw Ceria off. The Selphid dodged back as she saw
the ball land at her feet, but then she grinned. She picked the ball up and
threw it at Seborn.

“Get rid of it!”

“On it.”

Seborn turned, hurled the ball in the opposite direction, then charged to
second base as Pisces and Ksmvr ran after the ball again. Ceria tried to slow
Jelaqua as the Selphid tried to follow Seborn. Erin watched, jaw slightly
open as Seborn rounded the bases. Jelaqua was nearly at third base with
Ceria holding onto her waist when Pisces threw a ball and struck her
shoulder.

“Aw, damnit!”

Ceria let go and Jelaqua threw up her hands. Seborn tried to run back to
second, but Ksmvr was there. He caught the ball and chased Seborn as the
Drowned Man ran back to first base. There Seborn stopped. He looked at
Erin and she found her voice.

“Okay! Um. Return back to home base!”

All five players returned to the plate. Seborn looked at Erin as Ceria gave
Pisces and Ksmvr a thumbs-up.

“How’d we do?”

“Well…that was awful. You’re not supposed to tackle players, Ceria! And
Pisces, you can’t hit people with the ball! And if you touch the ball you’re
out! And Ksmvr—you did a good job. Only Ksmvr played according to the
rules!”

Ksmvr straightened up and smiled. The other adventurers scratched their

heads. Ceria shook her head exasperatedly.

“This game has a lot of rules. And it’s hard catching people while they’re
running.”

“That’s why you stand on the bases. The runners can’t score if you block
them, and then you just have to tag them out. You throw the ball between
each other. Look, we’re doing good. I think we just need a few more
players.”

“You think so? We’re a pretty good team by ourselves, right Seborn,
Moore? Right?”

Jelaqua elbowed Seborn. The Drowned Man looked at her.

“Stop elbowing me.”

Erin smiled. She looked to the outfield. Yvlon, Lyonette, and Mrsha were
bored in right field and were playing catch with another ball.

“Look, one more game. But let me just call a few people over first, okay?”

The adventurers shrugged. Ceria nodded.

“Sure. Who did you have in mind?”

“Well…”
—-

The Redfang Hobs sat around in their cave. Around them sat Cave Goblins.
The Hobs were busy at work and not busy at the same time. They were
showing the Cave Goblins how to bandage wounds. Headscratcher winced
as Badarrow sewed up a gash on his arm. The Hob flinched as the tip of the
needle went through his flesh. Badarrow slapped his shoulder and glared at
him.

It was a necessity. The Cave Goblins were wounded. Some were badly hurt.
Those had been healed with the potions the Goblins had, but far more had
injures that could heal with time. And the Goblins wouldn’t waste a potion
on something like that.

With that said, the medical knowledge the Redfangs had was limited to
stitching up bad cuts and making sure nothing got too dirty. That was still
miles ahead of Cave Goblin medical advances, which hadn’t gotten much
past ‘don’t poke an open wound’. So the Goblins watched as Badarrow
demonstrated how to clean and stitch up a cut. He didn’t have to do it twice.
The Goblins remembered and would teach their friends.

The mood in the cave was optimistic, despite the injured Goblins. Despite
the dead. Because they had won their freedom. It was a battle no one cared
about. It had not resulted in the freedom of Gnolls or a half-Elf. It was not a
glorious battle, but many skirmishes. It had freed only Goblins. And who
cared about them?

The Hobs. Each of them was wounded. The worst of their injuries had been
healed, but they still had gashes. It was nothing compared to some of the
pain they’d born, but it did hurt. Still, they would have been celebrating
normally. Except, it was just that…

The door hadn’t opened. The magical door that connected Erin’s inn to the
Goblin cave hadn’t activated since she’d set up the attack on the Raskghar
camp. Of course, the Hobs knew she was alive. The Cave Goblins had
reported everything. And naturally she was busy. Rabbiteater made that
point so many times that the other Hobs threw things at him, forcing him to
hide behind his water cloak.

Erin was probably very busy. It was just that she hadn’t talked to them
today. It wasn’t as if they needed to see her. But there was a feeling in the
back of the Goblin’s minds. It was a ridiculous thought. It ran something
like this.

What if Erin had just used them to beat the Raskghar? And she didn’t need
them anymore? Or maybe—maybe now that all the Goblins were here, she
couldn’t help them anymore? Maybe they were a liability, with so many…
monsters around. Or maybe she’d grown tired of them.

Ridiculous thoughts. Totally at odds with everything they knew of Erin. But
the Hobs couldn’t shake the feeling. So they sat around moodily, bandaging
their injuries. The Cave Goblins didn’t understand why the Hobs were
upset. They were cheerfully sewing each other up when the door opened.

“Guys? Are you—”

The Hobs looked up as one as they heard a voice. Erin Solstice stood in the
doorway and paused when she saw the Goblins. A detail yet to be
mentioned was that there were a lot of Cave Goblins in the enclosed space.
More than last time, even. And they were just the ones Erin could see. She
looked around wide-eyed, and then focused on the Hobs who sprang to their
feet.

“What happened? There are so many Goblins! And—oh my god! What

happened?”

Erin had spotted a huge cut on Numbtongue’s chest. The Hob blinked as
Erin threw up her hands in horror. She dashed back into her inn and the
Hobs saw a little figure appear in the doorway.

Pebblesnatch had been happily sleeping until Erin woke her up. The little
Goblin had been treated to a no-holds-barred breakfast and she’d been
eating it all morning. She paused and all the Cave Goblins stared at her. She
was holding a giant cookie. Pebblesnatch wavered as the Goblins’ eyes
fixed on the treat which gave off a smell they’d never inhaled before. She
looked from face to face, looked at her cookie, and closed the door.

A few seconds later it opened. Erin appeared with a potion box in her
hands.

“What are you doing? Here—”

She moved past Pebblesnatch as the Cave Goblin backed away, clutching
her cookie to her chest so hard that it began to crumble. Erin grabbed
healing potions and thrust them at the Hobs.

“Where did you get those injuries? Oh no—did the Raskghar attack you?
Here, use them! Any Goblin that needs it—”

Shorthilt blinked bemusedly at the healing potion that was thrust into his
hands. He opened his mouth, but Erin was already handing healing potions
out. The Goblins looked at each other. They hesitated. But then
Headscratcher nodded. He uncorked a bottle and carefully splashed some
on his arm. The stitches popped out of his healing flesh. The Cave Goblins
did the same. Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around.

It was a curious thing. The Cave Goblins stared. Some, a portion of them
had seen Erin, tasted her cooking. The others only had rumors to go on.
They had heard of a strange Human that didn’t hurt Goblins. They barely
knew what a Human was, but they had heard she ordered the Hobs around.
And she made good food. And now they saw her, they were shocked.
Because she was so normal. Because she was giving healing potions to
Goblins.

Because she cared. The Cave Goblins stared at Erin. They stared at
Pebblesnatch, who was reluctantly giving out fingernail-sized portions of
her cookie to other Goblins, and at Erin. She was talking with the Hobs and
they were clustered around her. Smiling. As if they liked her. As if—

As if she was a friend. The Goblins listened as Erin spoke.

“—Had no idea. I’m so sorry I didn’t come by earlier, but I was so busy that
I just crashed when everyone was safe. I have food—where did all the
Goblins come from? From below? Ha ha. Very funny. I meant…well, okay,
that makes sense. Do you have enough food? I can…well, I’ll need to see
about buying more. We can deal with that later if you’re good for now. I
was really coming to see if you wanted to uh, play a game. Of baseball.”

The Goblins looked up. The Redfangs looked at each other. Erin hastened to
explain.

“It’s in Celum! In a field right next to the city. It…well, it might be a bit
dangerous if someone panics, but Jelaqua said that you’re probably safe.
And we owe you so much. So…if you want to bring some Goblins over, we
could play a game. There’ll be food. I can’t let all of the Goblins through,
but maybe a few and all of you? I’m sorry, but I can’t bring everyone
through—”

The Goblins stared at the Hobs. They looked at each other as the Redfangs
conferred, glancing around. Then they nodded. The Goblins saw
Headscratcher smiling as Erin tried to explain the game to him. Not about
the game. Just at her. And then the young woman smiled and the smile was
everything. The Hobs turned. Numbtongue gestured.

“Thirty.”

They would take thirty with them. Pebblesnatch instantly sidled back into
the inn. The Cave Goblins stared at her. At the cookie, mostly eaten. At
Erin, the empty box of potions—and her smile. Then they charged towards
the door, fighting tooth-and-nail to be the first ones through.

—-

“I feel so bad.”
Erin confessed to Numbtongue as she closed the door on the disappointed
Goblins. There were hundreds crammed into the cave. And they’d all tried
to get into her inn. A large number had gone through—until the Hobs had
restored order.

It hadn’t been pretty. More than one Goblin probably needed another potion
for their blinding headache as the Hobs had banged heads together and
thrown the rest back through the door. Now, a lucky thirty Cave Goblins
including Pebblesnatch were celebrating in Erin’s inn. The rest were in the
cave. Sulking.

“You’re sure they’ll be alright without you?”

Numbtongue nodded.

“They’ll be fine. We don’t need to leave one of us behind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The Hob didn’t quite meet her eyes. He was holding a big mug of ale and
he was eating a cookie. So were the other Goblins. The luxury of Erin’s inn
and the sweet food was making some of them swoon. Erin eyed the Hob,
but gave in. The Cave Goblins would probably be fine. And she owed the
Hobs. She placed Celum’s mana stone on the door.

“Ready?”

The Goblins nodded. Erin threw open the door. Sunlight made the Goblins
gasp. They looked out into a beautiful grassy field. And beyond it were
adventurers. The Cave Goblins shrank back in terror, but the Redfangs
stood between them and the door and made beckoning noises. They led the
Goblins through.

There were adventurers standing on the grass. They froze when they saw
the Goblins, but relaxed quickly. The others didn’t. A group of Humans,
some dressed in armor, others in bright clothing whirled when the door
opened. When the Goblins came through, they panicked.

“Dead gods! Goblins! Hobs! Sound the alarm!”

“Run for it!”

The members of Celum’s Watch reached for their swords, then began to flee
in a stampede at the sight of five Hobs. The brightly-dressed Humans paled,
but didn’t run. One of them threw up a hand. He raised his voice and
shouted in a surprisingly loud, commanding tone.

“Hold! I say hold, all of you! Turn, guardsmen, turn! These Goblins aren’t
enemies!”

Wesle strode towards Erin. He nodded at the Hobgoblins as the Players of

Celum stared at the Cave Goblins. They weren’t afraid! The Cave Goblins
peered around Rabbiteater’s cloak as the guardsmen of Celum halted in
their panicked flight. He bowed to Erin with a flourish.

“Erin, it’s a delight!”

“Wesle! What brings you out here?”

Erin beamed as she hugged the man. He wasn’t too much taller than her,
and he wasn’t that imposing or huge a man. His lips were clean-shaven and
he wore fairly fancy red tunic and breeches, but that was all. And yet, the
Goblins thought he looked taller than the Humans around him. It was in the
way he carried himself. And the way he moved and spoke. He seemed to
draw the eye. Wesle stroked his upper lip as if he still had his fuzzy
mustache.

“We got word you’d passed through the city. Caused a bit of a commotion.
We thought—we hoped that it was safe to return to your inn. It’s been
terribly quiet without you or your inn to perform in.”

Erin smacked her forehead.

“Of course! I forgot—we won! There was a huge battle, Wesle! The
Raskghar were defeated! We saved the Gnolls! It was incredible! Liscor’s
saved, the Goblins helped, and the Antinium no matter what Ilvriss says—”

“Huge battle? Raskghar? Sounds like a play!”

A short woman strode over. Emme gave the Goblins a glance and then
focused on Erin.

“Is this something we could turn into a play, Miss Erin?”

“Um? Yes?”

“Well then! What are we waiting for? Hey, you lot! Gather over here!
Forget the Goblins—they won’t bite. And if they do, bite back! We’ve got
material for a new play!”

The Players of Celum approached cautiously. Erin turned and beamed at a

Drake and a Human child.

“Jasi! Grev! It’s great to see you all! And you’re all here at the perfect time!
We were having a break after all that’s happened.”

“Hullo, Miss Erin. You’ve got a lot of monster folk behind you. Are all
them new security for your inn?”

Grev stared at the Cave Goblins, who stared back, never having seen a
Human child before. Erin turned.

“What, the Goblins? No, I brought them for the game. Hey Jelaqua! Look,
we’ve got two teams of players!”

The Selphid waved back. She was laughing so hard she could barely stand.
It was the reactions of the Humans that amused her. One of Celum’s
[Guardsmen] followed the Players of Celum, practically hiding behind Jasi.

“Game? What’s all this? Mister Wesle, these Goblins—”

“Security for Miss Erin’s inn. Don’t mind them, Fabial. The rest of you,
take heed! These are Miss Erin’s employees. There’s to be no fighting here!
Besides, there’s a team of Gold-rank adventurers.”

“Exactly!”

Jelaqua walked over, still chuckling. She grinned at Fabial, who looked
alarmed as Moore approached.

“We’ve got this. These Goblins are under control. Hey, Headscratcher.”

She nodded at Badarrow, who ignored her. The Hobs stared around as Erin
tried to explain why the Goblins were here to the Humans. Emme began to
pester Jelaqua for details. Grev stared about and made eye contact with
Mrsha. In the end Erin had to wave her hands and shout.

“Attention! Everyone! Shut up!”

They all quieted. The Players of Celum, adventurers, and Goblins all stared
at Erin. She looked around and smiled.

“Let’s leave the plays and killing each other for later, huh? Today’s not a
work day. We’re just going to relax here. Goblins, Humans, Selphids—”

“Selphid. Unless anyone wants to change my mind?”

“We can do everything later. But for now—does anyone want to play a
game of baseball?”

The crowd paused. They looked at Erin and at each other. Then
Numbtongue raised a hand.

“What’s baseball?”

The Celum [Guardsmen] stared at the Hob in horror.

“It can talk?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

—-

“Baseball is a sport. A game where two teams compete. One team is on the
attack, the other one defends. That’s the basics. Now, we never hurt anyone
else. That’s against the rules. We’re competing to get more points. The way
you do that is to hit a ball…”

Erin lectured the crowd of people in front of her. Cave Goblins, Hobs, and
Humans stared at her. The Players of Celum and Goblins had joined the
others in the meadow. The Watch from Celum had to go back to the city and
try to explain…something. Erin had Seborn and Jelaqua demonstrate as she
spoke.

“—And then, if Jelaqua hits it far enough, it’s a home run. Everyone runs
around the bases and scores! It’s great! What do you think?”

The Players and Goblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Emme smiled.

“It looks as stupid as a play did to me the first time I saw one. So we grab
these bats and start playing? Why not?”

“Awesome! Let’s play a game! We can make teams. Why don’t the Goblins
play a game against the Players of Celum first? The rest of us can correct
things, then we can divide and play with everyone!”

Obediently, the groups divided up. Erin grinned at Jelaqua as the Selphid
began showing the Humans how to use the bat.

“I still think this is boring as watching tar dry.”

Octavia remarked from her seat in the grass. She’d finished three bowls of
popcorn and was eating a fourth. Erin eyed her severely.

“You can go back to Celum. Or pay for that popcorn if you’re bored.”
“Bored? Hey, who’s bored? I love baseball! Go team! Hit those balls!”

Erin rolled her eyes. The Players of Celum seemed excited by the game. As
they lined up, Jasi sidled over to Erin.

“It was a good thing Grev heard you were here. We’ve been cooped up this
last week, what with your inn being too dangerous.”

“Haven’t you been performing?”

“Ah, well…we didn’t think it’d be right. Not with all the other inns
smearing your name. You heard about that, right? We’ve been performing in
the squares, but it’s not the same. Everyone’s been antsy, waiting for you to
finish. This game is just what we need.”

“What everyone needs. Hey, it looks like the Goblins like the game too.
See?”

Jasi stared as Erin pointed. Badarrow was throwing a ball at Numbtongue,

who swung and connected solidly with it. The Cave Goblins ducked as the
ball flew over their heads and then ran after it as Numbtongue shouted.
They seemed nervous, rather than excited to play. But Erin hoped they’d
warm up to the game. Jasi just shook her head.

“More Goblins. And you beat those horrible beasts in the dungeon with
their help? You have to tell us the entire story, Erin.”

“Alright, but later. I just want to have fun today. Hey, Wesle looks great!”

The [Actor] was at bat. And the first ball that Jelaqua threw he hit. Not just
hit—the impact sent the ball flying into the air. Mrsha raced after it. Erin
whistled.

“That’s good form! Did he copy Jelaqua or something?”

Wesle was swinging the bat as if he’d played the game before. Jasi shook
her head. She leaned forwards and whispered.
“He got a Skill! From his class! It’s called [Method Acting]. It means he
actually becomes the person he’s playing! A little bit.”

“What? That’s incredible!”

The Drake smiled.

“It is. But it’s not that powerful. I think we checked it and he’s only as good
as someone with, say, ten levels. So he can copy a [Butcher] and do a
decent job even without training, but it still takes a lot of work to get any
better. If he really copies someone for a while he can get even better.”

“Wow. Hey, that’s a real advantage! Do you have a Skill like that?”

“Not that Skill. But I do have a few new ones. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m
going to play this game. You’d better watch out for Emme, though. She’s
stronger than anyone else in the troupe!”

Sure enough, when it was Emme’s turn to practice she hit the ball farther
than Wesle did, although it took her four tries to connect. Erin watched the
Players bat and catch and field and whistled.

“They’re good! I mean, I guess it’s their acting thing. But—hey, these guys
could play a game against my dad’s team! Back home he had a team in his
neighborhood. They were about this good.”

“And the Goblins?”

Erin stared at the Goblins. They’d finished their practice, but it was a bit…
lopsided. Badarrow had taken up pitching and he could throw a fast ball.
And all the Hobs had hit the ball far. When they hit it. They seemed to
strike out surprisingly often given how coordinated Erin knew them to be.
Still, when they hit it the ball went far. That was the Hobs, though.

The Cave Goblins were barely larger than children and so when they hit the
ball it barely went anywhere. But they seemed quite coordinated, and as
they lined up in the outfield they seemed cheerful. The Goblins kept staring
at the grass and flowers as if they’d never seen them before. Which they
hadn’t.

“I think they’ll be okay. We can always change up the teams. Besides, if the
Players win a game or two maybe some of them won’t be so nervous. Hey
guys! Are you ready to play ball or what?”

“Ready!”

The Humans cheered as they got up to bat. The Goblins looked to Erin and
she waved her arms as she came over.

“I’ll umpire! You all start playing! Remember, hit the ball and run for the
bases! You can steal—oh, just go for it! Who’s up first?”

“Me.”

Wesle strode up to bat. He choked up on the grip of the wooden baseball bat
and took a stance that was surprisingly like the one Erin had copied from
watching professional baseball players on television. The Players cheered
and clapped as the Goblins looked at Badarrow.

The Hob looked at Erin. She smiled at him. Badarrow fingered the baseball
and looked at Wesle. Shorthilt was catching. The Hob looked up as the wind
blew, and then slowly wound up. His arm came up and he threw. The ball
flew towards Shorthilt’s mitt. Wesle grinned, swung—

And the ball dropped. Wesle’s bat passed straight over it. The ball struck the
‘plate’ that was a pillow and Shorthilt snatched it up. He tossed the ball
back at Badarrow. Wesle gaped. So did Erin. Everyone stared at her until
she remembered and raised her arms.

“Uh, strike!”

“What was that throw?”

Jelaqua stared at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking as Wesle stared at him in
astonishment. Erin’s mind raced.
“That was—that was a splitter! Or a forkball? It’s a legal throw, but—
how’d you figure that out, Badarrow?”

The Hob just grinned at Erin. He threw the ball up again and pointed at
Wesle. The [Actor] was clearly disoriented, but he gritted his teeth.

“I get two more tries, right Erin?”

“That’s right. Uh—keep playing!”

The Hob wound up and threw another pitch. Wesle waited. This time he
swung as the ball dropped and clipped it. The ball flew up behind him.

“Foul ball! That’s a strike!”

There was a groan from the Players of Celum. They watched as Badarrow
caught another ball and threw it. This time Wesle swung low and clipped
the ball again, but it was a foul ball.

“Foul ball!”

Wesle hurled the bat to the ground in frustration. Badarrow grinned. Erin
had to call Wesle back.

“You get another swing if it’s a foul ball! Don’t give up!”

“What is with that Hob? How’s he throwing like that?”

Wesle pointed at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking and throwing more
splitters at Shorthilt.

“Well, he is an [Archer]. I guess it comes naturally? Or…”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. She remembered the Hobs striking out against
Badarrow.

“I think he was practicing that pitch! I told you there are multiple ways to
throw the ball. Fastballs, curves, uh, sliders…you just need practice. And
unfortunately, Badarrow’s pretty good. Hey Badarrow! Don’t throw splitters
for game one! It’s not fair!”

Badarrow looked up. He grimaced at Erin, but nodded reluctantly. The next
ball he threw was a curve. This time Wesle connected with it though. The
man was so surprised that he barely got to first base before the Cave
Goblins got the ball. The players cheered, and Jasi went up to bat.

“Fastballs! It’s just game one!”

The Hob pitcher was clearly put upon, but he obliged Erin by tossing a
fastball…nice and slow. Jasi was so surprised she missed the first ball. Erin
slapped her forehead, but Badarrow’s antics had amused the crowd. And
more importantly, the Players of Celum were now competing to get a hit.

Jasi managed to bunt to first, but she got tagged out. Wesle ran to second,
and then all the way to third as Emme smashed a ball straight past
Badarrow. The next actor struck out, and it was Kilkran, the former
[Blacksmith] who took up the bat next.

Badarrow threw a deceptively easy pitch. Kilkran smashed the ball out to
left field. Wesle charged home and scored. The Players cheered as Emme
ran for second. The Cave Goblins had a ball, but they fumbled it getting it
to Numbtongue. Emme ran to third. And then Numbtongue threw.

The ball snapped into Rabbiteater’s glove as Emme was two-thirds of the
way to his base. She turned to run, but the Hob sprinted at her. He tagged
her out instantly.

“Alright! That’s three outs! Switch sides!”

The Players groaned and the ones who hadn’t had a chance to bat groaned
as they put them down. But they seemed pleased. Quite a few slapped
Wesle’s back and they took to the field with good nature. But Erin wasn’t
fooled. Her eyes were on the Goblins as they meekly took up position at
bat. She saw them glancing at each other and making covert signs she could
half-understand.
“Hey Jelaqua. What do you think of the game?”

The Selphid was sitting with the adventurers, taking turns combing Mrsha’s
fur. She looked up from the pampered Gnoll. Her mouth was full of
popcorn. Dipped in fish sauce. Apparently it was better that way, according
to her and Seborn at least. She shrugged.

“Looks fun. The Players can hit the ball. Unlike Moore.”

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Jelaqua?”

“I’m just saying…we should get that Wesle guy on our team. When can we
play?”

“After five points. But the Goblins—well, just watch them, would you?”

“For what?”

“Just watch.”

The adventurers sat up a bit as Erin went back to the game. She looked hard
at Headscratcher. The Hob smiled at her. Innocently. Erin looked at
Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Numbtongue. She narrowed her eyes.
They looked a bit too eager. And she had a funny thought.

“You guys take it easy, okay?”

The Hobs nodded obediently. Headscratcher squared up to bat as Wesle

took the pitcher’s mound, which was in fact, more grass. The [Actor] was
clearly keen to get his own back and he threw a ball into the mitt that Emme
held twice. Both times it dropped. He met Headscratcher’s eyes as Erin
shouted.

“Play ball!”

The first pitch came in hard and fast and dropped. Headscratcher swung and
missed. Wide. The Players laughed as the Hob stared at the ball in Emme’s
mitt. Wesle grinned and threw a second pitch. This one was a fastball and
went right over Headscratcher’s bat. The Humans cheered. Erin just
watched Emme throw the ball back. She saw Headscratcher glance at his
fellow Hobs. They gave him a tiny nod. The Hob turned back as Wesle
wound up for a throw.

The third pitch was a curve. Headscratcher watched it come. He drew back
his bat, took a breath and roared as he swung. The sound shattered the air.
Headscratcher’s red eyes blazed—and he connected.

It sounded like a car backfiring. Erin flinched as she saw the ball disappear.
Wesle ducked and the Players of Celum flinched. The ball flew up, and up
and—Erin’s jaw dropped. She saw the ball fly past Kilkran in the outfield,
and land. The big man stared at the ball, a good eighty paces behind him as
Headscratcher took off. The Hob charged around the bases as Kilkran
belatedly ran after the ball. The Goblins cheered wildly and Headscratcher
slowed as he realized there was no way the Humans would get the ball back
to him. He sauntered back to home base to thunderous cheers.

“Okay. That was a home run.”

Erin stared at the Goblins. So did everyone else. The Redfang Warriors
were grinning as they slapped Headscratcher on the back. And then
Numbtongue took up the bat.

“Move back a bit!”

Wesle’s voice trembled a bit as he ordered the Players back. They

obediently backed up. When he threw the ball, Numbtongue connected on
the first hit. He didn’t hit it nearly as far as Headscratcher, but the Hob
charged down first base so fast he actually managed to get to second before
the bewildered actors managed to get the ball. And then Badarrow was up.
He took one look at the first ball that came his way and let it pass.

“Ball!”

The second one the Hob hit solidly. He got to first and Numbtongue got
onto third. The Players blinked as a Cave Goblin came up next instead of
Shorthilt or Rabbiteater. The little Goblin had trouble lifting the bat. But
when Wesle threw the ball—
“Bunt!”

The Goblin didn’t even try to hit the ball. It just blocked and then ran
towards first base, screaming wildly. Emme and Wesle ran to get the ball,
but that meant Emme was out of place. And then Numbtongue scored. And
the Cave Goblin ran so fast it got to second and Badarrow to third. And then
Shorthilt came up to bat—

“Wow.”

Erin stared as the ball went flying. She stared at the bases. Headscratcher
was on third, a Cave Goblin on first. It wasn’t that it was a different inning.
It was that the Goblins had played through all nine players on their team.
There were two outs, but they’d scored seven times. The Players of Celum
stared as Numbtongue swung. They ran for the ball and threw it desperately
towards Emme. They got Headscratcher out. Barely.

“I uh—that’s game one!”

Erin called it there. The Goblins cheered and ran around the Hobs. The
Players of Celum trooped back to home, panting. They stared at the
Goblins.

“How’d they do that?”

Wesle gasped as he accepted some chilled ice water. He gulped from it,
staring at the Hobs. They were grinning and eying the Humans. Erin sighed,
but there was a smile on her face.

“I think…they planned that. Sorry. But I guess the Players aren’t as good as
Goblins are naturally.”

“I see. That’s humbling. I think…we might be done for a little bit.”

The actor groaned as he massaged his shoulders. Erin nodded

sympathetically.

“Sorry about that. It uh, looked hard but I didn’t want to call it. You take a
break. We’ve got food.”
She pointed to the picnic in the audience. Wesle nodded gratefully. The
Cave Goblins and Hobs occupied the field as the beaten Players left it. They
were playing a game by themselves when Jelaqua stood up.

“Hold it!”

The Goblins looked at her. The Selphid grinned as she walked towards the
pitch.

“Looks like you guys are pretty good. Hey guys, why don’t we take them
on? Adventurers versus Goblins?”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a—”

Erin began nervously, but the other adventurers were already on their feet.
The Horns and Halfseekers strode to the pitch, as did Mrsha and Lyonette.
The Goblins looked at each other and grinned. They took up positions at
bat. Jelaqua grinned at Erin as she walked past. Seborn was already
practicing throwing a curve ball with Moore.

“Hey Erin, you were right. This game is fun. Especially when there’s good
competition. Those Hobs can hit pretty hard. We might have to use our full
strength.”

“Wait, this is just a fun game. Jelaqua—”

“Hey Pisces! You’re in the middle of the outfield! Use [Flash Step]! Ceria,
first base! Can you freeze the ground? Is that against the rules? Ksmvr,
outfield on the right? Lyonette and Mrsha can take third base and the left!”

The Selphid grinned as she pounded a fist into her glove. She strode over to
second base. Erin eyed the Hobs. They were pointing at Lyonette and
Mrsha, clearly telling Headscratcher to hit the ball their way. They huddled
together like…well, like any team, really. Erin looked at the Players of
Celum who were gulping down food.

“Go Horns and Halfseekers! Teach those Goblins a lesson!”

“Five silver on the Goblins!”

“Pass me those popcorn things! Stop hogging them, Emme!”

And suddenly? Suddenly it was a game.

—-

It was wet as Bevussa walked out of Liscor’s gates. Or rather, climbed

down the ladder on Liscor’s walls and began walking across the water
bridge to The Wandering Inn. The water was still high and it was raining in
droves. Of course the Garuda could have flown to the inn, but the water
made her wings heavy and she didn’t know if she’d crash in the water. That
would be embarrassing, so she elected to walk. She’d tried to get to the inn
through the magic door, but it hadn’t opened no matter how long she’d
waited.

She met someone else crossing the bridge towards the inn. Keldrass, leader
of the Flamewardens slowed and waved a claw at Bevussa. He wasn’t
wearing his armor. Like her, he was dressed casually now the crisis in the
dungeon was over. Bevussa jogged up to him.

“Hey Keldrass, you’re going to the inn too?”

“That’s right. What are you going for?”

The Garuda hesitated. But she’d known Keldrass professionally, if not

personally. She glanced around at the rainy landscape and coughed.

“I was actually hoping I could meet the Halfseekers and possibly Griffon
Hunt there and negotiate about the artifacts. You know, who gets what?”

Keldrass nodded.

“That’s why I’m going.”

“Oh—uh, what’s do you—”

“We want the armor.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. She began walking to the inn, watching
her footing as the water splashed over her talons.

“Oh, good. We’re after the invisible bow or the shortsword. Or that staff
that blasts people with wind. Or…we’re open for a lot of the items, actually.
But I want to make sure we have a good chance of claiming what we aim
for, so I need to talk with them. They’ve probably got two of the best claims
of the Gold-rank teams.”

Keldrass grunted.

“We all shed blood. Some of us more than others.”

“True. But you have to admit, they went in hard. Did you see Moore
smashing Raskghar? Or Halrac? That one’s not far from Named
Adventurer.”

“He’s still a ways away. You’ve met the one in Pallass, right?”

“Oh—him? Well, he’s certainly better than Halrac, but he struck me as uh,
not atypical of Named Adventurers.”

“They’re all insane like him. The [Scout]’s not at that level yet.”

“Yet.”

Bevussa let the word hang in the air. Keldrass nodded. The two walked
towards the inn. After a few seconds, the Garuda chuckled. Keldrass looked
at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. But it’s almost like a reflex, coming here. We’ve done it so many
times, and Erin’s inn is so useful. Plus, she’s got so much unique food.
Some of its awful—but it’s always new. I can’t stand the inn we’re staying
at.”
“The Tailless Thief? The innkeeper’s food is good.”

Keldrass looked mildly offended on behalf of Peslas. Bevussa shrugged.

“That’s true. They’re as good as Erin’s in terms of quality. But they’re all
Drake dishes, and I can eat that in Pallass, and far better. Our inns are
superior.”

“No arguments there. But the [Innkeeper]—what’s his name—had a new

dish. Hamburgers. I thought that was original. Quick food, I think he called
it.”

“Yeah, but, apparently the recipe came from Erin.”

“Really?”

Keldrass blinked in surprise. He glanced at the inn coming up ahead of

them. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you doubt it?”

“No. But where did she get it from?”

“Search me. There’s something odd about her. Not that I’m complaining. I
just—hello?”

Bevussa opened the door and called about inside. The inn was empty. But
the first thing that struck the two adventurers was light. They stopped as
bright sunlight shone into the inn. The magic door was open and a blue sky
and grassy field could be seen through it. It was such an odd sight after the
rain that they had to stop in surprise.

“What the—is the door open to Pallass?”

“It can’t be. That takes up too much mana. I thought. Hello?”

Bevussa walked over to the door. She heard cheering as she drew nearer.
She blinked as she stared out into the field. Keldrass stood by her and stared
around.
“Where is this?”

“Oh, hey!”

The two Gold-rank adventurers had been spotted by a group of Humans

lounging on the grass. The Players of Celum waved at them. One of them, a
young boy, jumped to his feet.

“You’re more guests for Miss Erin, ain’t ya?”

The adventurers nodded. Grev grinned.

“Hold on, I’ll get her! She’s umpiring the game. Miss Erin!”

The adventurers stared as he raced out of view. They looked at each other.
Then they stepped through the door. They stared around. Then they heard a
crack. Both ducked reflexively. Then they saw a ball flying through the air
and heard a voice.

“Fly ball! Go, Jelaqua, go!”

They saw a familiar Selphid sprinting across the grass. She was moving
fast, as if she was in danger. But the cheering that came from the crowd of
Humans and Goblins, yes, Goblins was at odds with that idea. So was the
grin on Jelaqua’s face. She rounded a pillow on the grass and dove as the
Hobgoblin on another pillow reached out and caught a ball flying towards
him. There was a cheer and the two saw Erin run forwards, waving her
arms.

“Safe! That was safe!”

She turned as Grev grabbed her shirt. Erin turned and looked surprised to
see Keldrass and Bevussa.

“Bevussa! Uh, Keldram? Oh man, did you walk here? Sorry, we’re closed! I
can get you to Pallass if you need it, but I’m not selling any meals right
now! We’re having a vacation!”
“Uh, no. That’s not why we’re here. We were hoping to find the
Halfseekers. And Griffon Hunt if they’re here.”

“I haven’t seen Griffon Hunt. But the Halfseekers are playing a game!”

Erin indicated Jelaqua as the Selphid waved at Pisces and shouted at him as
he took a position with a long wooden bat.

“We saw. What’s the game called?”

“Baseball! Hold on—Grev, you umpire. I’ll explain.”

It took Erin several minutes to explain the game to the bewildered

adventurers. In that time Pisces bunted the ball Badarrow threw. He didn’t
just run, he blinked across the field using [Flash Step]. The Goblins
scrambled to keep up, but Pisces got to second without being caught.

“Pisces! That’s cheating!”

Erin turned to yell at the [Necromancer]. He yelled back in an aggrieved

tone.

“Why? They can use Skills! Why can’t I use magic?”

“Uh—never mind!”

She turned back and beamed at the adventurers.

“You wanna play?”

“Um—not at the moment.”

Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke. He looked at the Halfseekers.

“They’re busy. I’ll come back later.”

“I uh, I’ll do the same.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, can you let the others know the inn’s closed if they
come calling? Thanks!”

Erin went back to the game. The two Gold-rank adventurers walked back to
the door. They paused as they stepped back into Erin’s inn. On the other
side of the door, the rain was falling through the open door that Bevussa
had forgotten to close. The inn was dark and the skies were grey. Keldrass
glanced back through the door.

“Sunlight. It’s been a long time since I saw that, or so it feels.”

Bevussa looked longingly back as well.

“It’s a nice day out there. Perfect weather for flying.”

“Indeed.”

They looked at each other. Keldrass coughed again. He shifted.

“I told my team I’d be back soon.”

“So did I. We were actually going to get both teams to join us for
negotiations. We felt like Erin’s inn would favor them a bit.”

“Sensible. Well. We should get back.”

“Yeah.”

The two stared back into the field. The sun was warm on Bevussa’s
feathers. And she remembered the drinks and food the Humans were eating.
She wondered what it would be like to swing that bat. It would be nice to
hit something that wasn’t a monster’s skull.

“We did promise to go back.”

Keldrass reminded her. Bevussa looked at him. The Garuda’s hesitated, then
smiled.
“True. But we could always come back. It’s a beautiful day out there, isn’t
it?”

The Drake paused. He looked back out the door. There were more people
coming towards the inn. Adventurers looking to do some negotiating. Relc
and Klbkch, the Antinium clutching the ropes, Ishkr and another Gnoll
coming for their shift…the Drake looked back at the grass. Bevussa nudged
him.

“Wanna decide who goes back to get the others?”

“Sure.”

—-

At first, the City Watch of Celum was bored. It was, after all, an uneventful
day in Celum. There were no monster attacks, no important dignitaries or
caravans or even criminal activity that needed dealing with. That was good
because excitement was often dangerous in their line of work, but dull was
dull. It was a relief to have a bit of excitement.

And to begin with, that was exactly what had happened. A bunch of Gold-
rank adventurers transporting the magic door through the city? It was all too
fun to speculate why and laugh at the unlucky Fabial’s misfortune. They’d
even had a chance to spread the word to the Players of Celum and get a few
autographs. And from their vantage point on the walls, the bored
[Guardsmen] could see the entire troupe head out.

But then the Goblins had appeared. At first the men (there were very few
women in Celum’s City Watch) hadn’t believed it. Then they’d seen their
comrades racing towards them and had been ready to lock the gates. And
then—well, they didn’t know what to think. They’d watched the distant
game of baseball begin with much bemusement. Still, their nervousness had
quickly become fascination with the game, which was fun to watch for men
whose only job was to stand and watch things. But now—

“Hey, look. There are more people coming through that door.”

“I see ‘em. Stop nudging me. Looks like that bird’s back. And a bunch of
others. Looks like Drakes…another damn Antinium. Gnolls?”

“Huh. Liscor must be filled with non-Humans. Crazy city if you ask me. I
don’t see why anyone’d want to live there.”

“Right. Right. Say, there’s a lot of folk coming through. Another pack of
Gnolls. More Drakes…Humans…wait a second.”

“Is that—is that Halrac the Grim?”

“It can’t be!”

“Look at him!”

“I can’t see. You’ve got [Keen Eyes]. Is it—”

“That’s him! And those Drakes—they must be other adventurers! Wait, I

recognize some of the others! That’s Gemhammer! And all those other
Drakes and Gnolls—”

The [Guardsmen] looked at each other.

“They can’t all be adventurers, right?”

“I heard Liscor had a ton of Gold-ranks.”

“Yeah, but—they wouldn’t be here, right? They have things to do.”

“Like Halrac the Grim.”

“Yeah.”
They stared at the distant people flooding through the doorway. A group of
Antinium walked through. They wore paint on their carapaces. Celum’s
Watch stared.

“There’s so many. Why’re they here? For the game?”

“Can’t be. But—there’s Antinium and Goblins. Do you think—should we

raise the alarm?”

“Why? There’s got to be at least eight adventuring teams down there. Do

you think they’d be sitting about if there was any danger?”

“Right. So what do we do? Do you think we should tell someone?”

“Tell them what?”

The men glanced at each other. They stared at the crowd filling the field.
Then they turned and hollered at their comrades on gate duty.

“Hey, you lot! Come up and see this!”

The [Guardsmen] on duty looked up. They walked up the stairs. And as is
the nature of Humans, some of the people on the streets crowded up onto
the walls to see. Soon they were watching the crowd in the distance. Then
the people of Celum were coming out the gates while the [Guardsman] had
to stay on duty. Not because they knew what was going on, but because
they thought something interesting was happening and they wanted in. That
was people for you.

—-

“Baseball.”

Erin stood in front of a crowd. She had a bat in her hands and she was
nervous. Not because she didn’t know what to say—she’d done this
explanation multiple times already. No, it was uh, the size of the crowd that
intimidated her.

Gnolls from Celum. Ishkr had brought a bunch of his friends and Krshia
and Erill had come with their own group. They were all keen for sun as well
as a chance to be outdoors after hiding in the city for so long.

Drakes. Not only adventurers but interested civilians, Relc, Olesm, Selys,
and Drassi. No Embria, Zevara, or Ilvriss—they were busy doing official
things in the city. That was sort of a relief, actually, and there were plenty of
Drakes besides.

Bevussa, Dawil, Falene. The adventurers who’d fought in the dungeon.

Griffon Hunt, Gemhammer, the Pride of Kelia, the Silver Swords…

And Pawn and his Soldiers. And Klbkch. Apparently they hadn’t received
orders to stop guarding Erin’s inn and Klbkch had come with Relc.

And the Humans from Celum. Erin looked at the crowd. She didn’t get
nervous in front of crowds. But this? This was a lot of people. She cleared
her throat and went on.

“Baseball. Right. Well, this is a game. Some call it the greatest game. I
don’t. I like chess. But baseball is a sport. It’s a game that takes nine
people. We’ve got a small demonstration ready, so I’ll run you all through
it. You see, it starts with this. This is called a bat. You don’t hit people with
it…”

Not everyone was here to play baseball. In fact, Erin bet that most of the
people from Liscor were just here to experience the sun. She could
understand. After so long in rainy Liscor, seeing the sun and being able to
walk around in the grass was almost addictive. A good deal of her crowd
elected not to play after hearing her explanation. But a surprising number
did want to try.

“Hey, this looks like fun! I can hit things and not get in trouble for it! Sign
me up!”
Relc was first to grab a bat and stomp onto home plate. Erin pointed
randomly and assigned three Gnolls and five Drakes to the field.

“Just hit the ball, Relc.”

“I’m gonna do more than that. This Goblin guy? He’s not going to get a
single ball past me.”

The Drake locked eyes with Badarrow who was still occupying the
pitcher’s mound. The Hob sneered. Relc was so busy giving him the stink-
eye that he didn’t even see the first splitter. It dropped underneath his bat.
Relc roared in outrage.

“Hey! What was that! That was cheating! Foul ball or whatever!”

“Nope! Sorry, it was within the zone! Try again!”

Relc growled as he swung his bat back and forth. This time Badarrow threw
a curve.

“Strike two!”

“Damn it!”

“Hit the ball, Relc!”

One of the Drakes heckled Relc from the grass where Erin had put out
blankets and food. Relc lifted a finger and Erin saw Lyonette cover Mrsha’s
eyes. Grev just grinned and raised the same finger. The Drake swung the bat
wildly, and then hunkered down. He watched the ball fly at him, dip, and
then hit it with a roar.

“Take that!”

It was Erin who ducked when the bat hit the ball. She’d forgotten how scary
it was to watch baseball up close! Badarrow turned and cursed as the ball
went flying deep behind him. Erin stood up sheepishly as Relc crowed.

“Hah! See that?”

“Homerun! That’s definitely a—”

Erin shouted to the Gnolls and Drakes running after the ball. There was no
way they’d get it. The ball flew as far as when Headscratcher had hit it. It
was high, but far. She saw Ishkr running ahead. The Gnoll was moving fast!
But he still wouldn’t make it. The ball had to be going at least four hundred
feet—

“Move Ishkr! Run!”

Krshia stood up and shouted at Ishkr. Erin’s jaw dropped. The Gnoll had
abandoned his two legs! He bounded along on all fours as the ball fell to
earth. The Gnoll dove. Erin saw him roll. She looked for the ball, and then
saw Ishkr on his feet, holding it aloft.

“He caught it! He actually caught it!”

Erin jumped up and down excitedly. She’d never seen anything like it! Ishkr
ran wildly back to home base as Relc stepped on the pillow, crowing.

“Hah! Best hit ever! Take that you stupid Goblins!”

“Relc, you’re out!”

“What? No I’m not! Did you see how far it went?”

“But Ishkr got the ball!”

“He did? I always hated that guy! Damn, damn, damn—”

Relc stomped off. Erin saw Ishkr return, panting. She looked around. Now
everyone was interested. Baseball was a slow sport, but seeing Relc hit a
homer on his first try and then Ishkr run hundreds of feet to catch it—that
was impressive.

“Hey, can we play a second game over here?”

One of the adventurers called out to Erin. She looked around. They were
trying to set up a second game on the side. They did have enough space for
it. Plenty of space in fact. And they had balls, enough bats…maybe not
enough gloves, but there were always normal gloves. And hands.

“Sure! Why don’t we—okay! Let’s make some teams! We’re going to need
another umpire!”

“I volunt—”

Olesm ‘tripped’ as Drassi rushed forwards. The Drake waved her hands
about as she ran up to Erin.

“Oh, me, me! Please let me do it, Erin!”

“Do you know how the game works?”

“Totally! And I love to talk!”

“In that case, why don’t you be a commentator? And Olesm can be an
umpire. Now, we need teams—”

Olesm got up and gave Drassi a dirty look. He pointed and Erin turned her
head. A team of Gnolls was facing down the Goblins in one section. The
Silver Swords had teamed up with Gemhammer against Griffon Hunt and
The Wings of Pallass on another pitch. And on a third, the Antinium were
lined up silently as the Players of Celum reconsidered their life choices.
Erin hesitated. Then she grinned.

—-

“It’s a wonderful day to be alive, isn’t it Olesm?”

“It would be if someone didn’t keep tripping me, Drassi.”

“I said sorry! But just look at this weather! You can’t get this in Liscor! And
the grass! Isn’t it great?”
“I thought we were supposed to be talking about the game, Drassi.”

“This is commentary, commentary, Olesm! Alright, for our first game we

have the Gnolls versus the Goblins. And—wow, those Hobs are hitting the
ball hard!”

“But the Gnolls are catching the ball. Almost every time.”

“That’s true! Would you look at Krshia go! I didn’t know she was that fast,
especially for an old—I mean, a Gnoll in her prime! Uh oh. I think she
heard me.”

“Gnoll ears are quite sharp. But if I might add a point Drassi—”

“Go ahead, Olesm.”

“—Thank you. The Goblins are quite good. But I would call their team
fairly unbalanced compared to the Gnoll team. The Hobs are extraordinarily
strong, as befits their Silver-rank designation as threats at the very least—”

“Do you have a point here, Olesm? Just say the Hobs are good at hitting
things.”

“—but the Cave Goblins are physically much weaker, leading to a weaker
offense. And the Gnolls are experts at fielding the ball as I believe the term
goes, due to their long practice of similar mechanics.”

“…So you’re saying the Gnolls play catch a lot so they can catch the ball
and the Cave Goblins don’t hit hard.”

“Well, that’s a basic summary—”

“What I’m impressed with is the Goblin’s teamwork. I mean, the Gnolls
play together really well. You can tell they’re giving each other signals by
the way their ears twitch. But the Goblins? They don’t even talk to each
other! They just signal somehow and bam! Cave Goblin steals a base! It’s
like magic!”
“It’s not, in fact. The Goblin system of communication has long been both
verbal and nonverbal. I spoke with Pisces at length about why they might
have evolved this unique form of—”

“Fly ball to right field. Ishkr is going for first base. It looks like Shorthilt’s
fumbled the catch, but he’ll stop Ishkr from going to second. Will he no,
he’s staying put. Krshia Silverfang at bat.”

“—as I was saying, Pisces was referring to—”

“Maybe save it for later? I want to talk about Krshia. Now, look at her
swing. She’s got good form—not as good as that handsome [Actor]. What’s
his name? Wesle. But I think Krshia’s got more muscle than him and she
can probably hit the ball. Gnolls love to play catch. Looks like Badarrow’s
getting ready for a pitch. Too bad curveballs and sliders don’t work on
Gnolls. Hey, don’t step on my foot Olesm! I’m trying to commentate here!”

“But I had a point!”

“It was longwinded! Go on, shoo! Go commentate somewhere else! Can I

get another announcer with me? Selys, get up here? No? Okay then, I’ll do
it myself! Get lost, Olesm!”

Erin heard the sound of fighting from behind her as Olesm and Drassi
fought for the magically-enhanced speaking crystal. The Goblins and
Gnolls were natural baseball players it turned out. One team because they
could run faster than any Human and loved to catch, and the other because
they were naturals at teamwork. On the other hand, in the pitch she was
umpiring…

“Homerun! Again!”

Ylawes’ bat connected with the ball that Halrac had thrown. The [Scout]
wore a displeased expression as the [Knight] rounded the bases. Both his
team and Gemhammer had hit every ball that Halrac had thrown and the
outfield wasn’t good enough to keep up. After he had rounded the bases,
Erin called the teams in.
It was Gemhammer and the Silver Swords at bat, and Griffon Hunt and the
Wings of Pallass on defense. Halrac had been the pitcher. Erin looked
around at the unhappy faces on one side and the smiling ones on the other.

“Okay, I think we have a problem here.”

“Yeah, the problem’s that Halrac can’t pitch!”

“Shut it, Revi.”

The Stitch-Girl glared at Halrac. He looked sourly at Erin.

“Well?”

“Um…she’s sort of right. Halrac, what’s wrong? You’re pitching fast, but
the balls keep getting hit. Can’t you make them curve or something like
Badarrow?”

The [Veteran Scout] looked unhappy at being compared to Badarrow.

“I don’t make my arrows curve. I hit the target.”

“Which is why they keep hitting the ball! All your balls go straight!”

“You want to pitch? Be my guest! I don’t want to play this game.”

Halrac snapped at Revi. She threw up her hands. Bevussa, who’d been
watching all this with mild amusement, raised her talons.

“Hey Erin, we have a problem too.”

“What’s that, Bevussa?”

“We have to run for the ball. But why can’t we fly? We’re the Wings of
Pallass, not the feet.”

Erin tilted her head.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be unfair? I mean, if you can fly…”

“We still need to get the ball. That’s not always easy. And we hate running.
Come on, are there rules against it where you come from?”

“Well…we don’t have many flying people where we come from. It’s uh,
mainly Humans.”

The Oldblood Drakes in Bevussa’s team rolled their eyes.

“Figures. Humans.”

“Hey! It’s not in the rules because it doesn’t happen where I come from!
Fine! Bevussa, your team can fly. Halrac, Revi—”

“I’ll pitch.”

The other adventurers looked around as Typhenous raised his hand. The old
[Mage] grinned and stroked his white beard as Erin stared at him.

“You? But uh—”

“I’m quite hale. And I think I can resolve this. Why not let me try?”

“Suits me.”

Halrac tossed the glove at Typhenous. Erin eyed the old man
apprehensively. He looked as if he’d break an arm throwing the ball too
hard. The other team certainly thought so. Earlia chuckled as she took up
the bat, swinging it hard enough to cut the air. After all, her team was a
bunch of former [Miners] and she swung a warhammer in battle. She
shouted at Typhenous who was inspecting the hide-wrapped ball.

“Get ready to duck, old man!”

He looked up and smiled at her. Erin prayed Typhenous wouldn’t get hit.
She waved as Bevussa and her team took to the air.

“Okay, play ball!”

Typhenous lifted the baseball. He didn’t hold it like a pitcher and Erin saw
that he had no idea how to grip it properly. She was just about to shout at
him when the ball levitated up in his palm. Erin paused. She saw Earlia’s
eyes widen. Typhenous made the ball spin in the air and levitate around his
palm. Then he looked at Earlia and grinned.

“Oh shit.”

The ball drifted up and Typhenous pointed a finger. He spoke.

“[Wind Blast].”

The air around him exploded. Erin felt the wind slam into her as the ball
shot from Typhenous’ finger and struck Revi’s glove. The Stitch-Girl
hurtled backwards with a shout. Earlia stared blankly at the space in front of
her.

“Foul! That’s cheating!”

Erin waved her arms as Revi got up, cursing. Typhenous looked puzzled as
Erin ran up to him. He leaned on his staff.

“Why would it be cheating, Miss Solstice? If a team can fly or use natural
abilities and other players can use Skills, why can I not use a spell, at least
to move the ball around?”

“Well—because—I mean, Skills aren’t—no one can hit that!”

“Hey! I can hit that! Give me a few swings and I’ll nail that thing!”

Earlia shouted as she swung the bat. Erin looked at her, and then at Revi.
The Stitch-Girl was massaging her chest and cursing Typhenous loudly.
Umpire Erin threw up her hands and gave up.

“Fine! But if your catcher can’t catch the ball, then the player can still run!
That’s the new rule, got it?”

“Very well.”
Typhenous nodded politely to Erin. She turned.

“I don’t think Revi can handle that ball. Maybe Halrac or Bevussa—”

“I’ve got this. Give me five minutes with some thread and cotton. Hey,
[Alchemist]! Give me a hand here!”

Revi turned. Erin watched as she and Octavia went together to confer, and
then disappeared into Erin’s inn. In that time Typhenous practiced shooting
balls through the air. They didn’t curve or drop, but they moved so fast that
Erin was sure he’d broken some kind of world record for pitching. She
thought that the other adventurers would complain, but they seemed to
enjoy the challenge.

When Revi came back, Erin took one look at her and didn’t see anything
different. Until she saw Revi’s arms. The [Summoner]’s thin, brown arms
had suddenly gone on a weight-training course with protein supplements in
the course of five minutes. Revi’s arms were muscular. And bigger. The
Stitch-Girl smirked as she took up the catcher’s mitt. She caught Earlia’s
eye.

“What, you’ve never seen this trick? Stich-People are what we make
ourselves. Hey Typhenous, throw me a ball!”

This time Revi caught the ball without being knocked over. Earlia swung
and missed three times, as did her other teammate. Dawil got a hit—the
impact sent the ball soaring high, right into Bevussa’s mitt. The Dwarf
grumbled as he stopped running to first.

“Short legs, flying balls, running to each of the bases—this game wasn’t
made for Dwarves! Hey half-Elf. I’ll catch, you throw. Got it?”

“Can you handle the ball, Dwarf?”

Falene brushed hair out of her face as she took the mound. Dawil grinned.

“Depends on whether you can make that ball fly faster. Come on, hit the
glove! Unless you’ve not got more magic than Typhenous in you?”
The half-Elf smiled coolly at Dawil. She levitated the ball up, flicked her
finger, and sent a burning fastball into Dawil’s mitt. A literally burning
fastball. The heat from the impact and Dawil’s cursing as his glove and
beard caught on fire made Erin flee.

“Foul! That’s illegal, Falene!”

“You damn pointy-eared pyromaniac! I’ll crap in your bag of holding!”

The Dwarf hurled the ball back at Falene. She sniffed, levitated the ball up,
and looked pointedly past Dawil.

“Is this game commencing or not?”

She struck out Bevussa without a problem. And then Typhenous, who had
problems telekinetically wielding the bat. And then Halrac came up to bat.
He watched the first two balls whiz past him and then calmly struck the
third.

The impact made the [Scout] wince, but the ball flew high overhead. It was
a pop fly, but neither Ylawes nor Gemhammer were prepared for it. Halrac
ran to first as Falene looked up—

Then the ball swerved in midair and flew over to tap Halrac in the back.
Again Erin had to yell.

“Foul! Again! You can’t grab the ball with magic, Falene! No arguing!
That’s one step too far!”

The half-Elf sighed as Halrac took first. Next was Revi. She got a hit—
mainly from luck, and the ball went soaring. The Stitch-Girl still groused as
she ran, though.

“Argh! I forgot how heavy these arms are! This is why I don’t wear muscle
that often!”

Erin smiled. The game finally looked like it was going well! And the
audience was loving it. Normal baseball could be fun, but watching Falene
make the ball stop in midair and float back to her, and then argue with Erin
whether that was legal or not? That was fun.

And it wasn’t just one team, either! Gnolls and Goblins and the two
adventuring teams aside, there were other standouts as well. The Antinium
Soldiers were slower than most and they had to use the special bat Erin had
commissioned because of their odd hands, but they were as coordinated as
the Goblins. And when they ran, the Players of Celum got out of the way.
And they seemed to hit a surprising number of balls quite perfectly. And
some of their catches were perfect. Almost…miraculous.

“Yes, I am praying for good fortune.”

Pawn admitted freely to Erin as he sat with a bowl of popcorn by his side.
Yellow Splatters was signing to Purple Smile at bat. Erin stared at Pawn.
The Worker paused.

“Is that illegal?”

“Um. Well, no. I think a lot of fans pray when their team’s playing. I just
never thought it would work. I uh, I think it’s okay since you’re playing.
And the Antinium are sort of at a disadvantage so yeah. But don’t you think
it’s a bit…I dunno, not worth praying for?”

Pawn tilted his head.

“Why would I not pray? Is there some fault for doing so? It is not like
prayer is a limited resource. Is it?”

“No…you know what? I think I’m in the wrong here. Keep on praying!
Good luck!”

The first rounds of games ended with some predictable outcomes. The
Gnolls beat the Goblins, due to superior fielding and the Hobs being the
only ones who could hit far, although it was close. Griffon Hunt and the
Wings of Pallass beat the Silver Swords and Gemhammer in the end. Both
teams had [Mages] for pitchers, but the Wings could catch the balls that
were hit. And the Players lost to the Antinium to no one’s surprise.
“Alright! Change it up! We’ll have new teams out there! Flamewardens get
to play! Oh, and the Horns want a shot at things! Looks like people from
Celum want to play—hey, is this going to be a grudge match between
Liscor and Celum? And the third pitch can be…how about a kid’s game?
Mrsha, Grev, get some teams together!”

The second round of games heated up fast. Literally. Erin wasn’t umpiring
the kid’s game—that was Olesm’s job since Drassi had taken over
announcing.

“—Mrsha up at bat. She’s so cute. You know, she was the one who helped
save the Gnolls in the dungeon? Fact. And, by the way, she likes being
scratched behind the ears. Only, don’t do it unless she asks because that’s
very private for a Gnoll. You know, that reminds me of an encounter I had
with this Gnoll guy back when I was a [Receptionist] working at the
Adventurer’s Guild. Until I got fired that was—oh, look, Mrsha hit the ball
and she’s running! Go Mrsha! She’s going to second base—”

Erin was umpiring the game between the adventuring teams. The
Flamewardens were on one side with some Drakes and the Horns and Vuliel
Drae were competing together, to their mutual displeasure. Meanwhile, the
citizens from Liscor and Celum were trying to outdo each other in a heated
match overseen by Halrac, who was a natural umpire. His keen eyes and
sunny disposition meant that no one argued with him and he could call
every pitch perfectly.

However, it was the shenanigans of both adventuring teams that had Erin
ducking for cover, sometimes literally. She started with Keldrass’ team.

“You can’t set the balls on fire!”

“Why not? It’s just a bit of flame.”

“Yeah, but it could hit someone!”

“That’s what healing potions are for. Besides, that’s a walk, remember? This
is just for…optical advantage.”
“Fine!”

The flaming fastballs that Keldrass served up were one thing. But then
Ceria got the bright idea of trying her own take on it. Her first frozen
fastball shattered into a thousand pieces.

“No shrapnel! No ice balls!”

Ceria looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, Erin.”

She threw a regular ball and one of the Drakes hit it into the air. Ksmvr ran
after it as Pisces used his [Flash Step] to blink after the ball. But he didn’t
get to it first. Ksmvr leapt into the air, so high he looked like he was flying!
He caught the ball and threw it down to Pisces who threw it to first base.
Erin gaped until she remembered Ksmvr had the Ring of Jumping.
Naturally the Flamewardens protested, but Erin overruled them.

“That’s legal! You get to set balls on fire, he can use his ring! And Pisces
can [Flash Step]! No buts!”

It was when the Flamewardens had a pair of runners on first and second that
Erin began coughing. She saw smoke drifting from two of the Oldblood
Drakes and saw Ceria coughing. She waved her arms.

“Stop blowing smoke!”

“It’s part of our ancestry! Don’t be racist, Human!”

“Shut it!”

Besides that, the game really was fun. Neither team was a powerhouse, but
they had their own tricks. It actually took Halrac stomping over to help Erin
with one problem. He pointed at Pisces who was patiently waiting on
second base.

“Foul. Illusion spell!”

The image of Pisces vanished and he appeared, sneaking over to third base.
Erin actually ruled that as legal, and the Drakes began poking Pisces to
make sure he was really there whenever he was on base.

Of course, it wasn’t all just fun. Yvlon accidentally retired one of the Drakes
on the opposite team when she smacked a ball straight into the side of his
head. He had to lie down and Bird of all people was roped into playing. He
did well in that he stood patiently in his position in the outfield, until a fly
ball flew towards him. Then he raised his bow and shot it. Bird caught both
ball and arrow. Erin waved her arms.

“No using weapons!”

But she was enjoying herself. The second round of games ended with a
victory for the Horns mainly due to Pisces’ ability to run faster than anyone
else, a victory for Celum mainly thanks to the Gnolls, and Mrsha’s team’s
victory. That was because of Grev, whose ability to get his team to steal
bases won most of the points.

“You know, there’s a rule that if you hit the ball beyond a fence it’s a home
run no matter what. And I think you can’t keep stealing bases forever, but I
could be wrong on that.”

Erin addressed her teams of players. They stared at her blankly. Relc
grinned.

“So? It’s more fun this way. Hey, let’s play another game! Liscor’s Watch
vs Celum’s Watch!”

That was received well by the Gnolls and Drakes and poorly by Celum’s
Watch. Klbkch, who’d opted not to play, cocked his head and spoke calmly.

“I believe that game would be indefinitely long, Relc?”

“What? Don’t you have faith in us, Klb old buddy?”

“I do. I lack confidence in the opposing team’s ability to ever strike us out.”

“Hah!”
“No, no more sides! We’re all tired and I’m running out of sausage-dogs!”

Erin raised her voice to prevent a fight from breaking out. She took a deep
breath.

“I think what we need…is a championship.”

That got everyone’s attention. Erin pointed at her first pitch, which was
filled with trampled and dirty pillows.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. First, we expand the pitch. We make all the
bases twice as far apart. Maybe even a bit more? Because the ball goes
flying and you lot can run fast. Then, we make two teams. Not of one side
or one adventuring team. Of the best. We take the best eighteen players and
make two teams. Dream teams. And whichever side wins…gets a prize.”

“What’s the prize?”

Erin had no idea. She cast about, and then had it.

“Cake! And ice cream! I’ll make some right after we get back!”

Half of the players hadn’t ever had cake or ice cream or even knew what it
was. But the other half did and that settled it. The next part was arguing
over who would be in each team. Everyone wanted to join in. Jelaqua was
quickly selected, as was Moore, although the poor half-Giant hadn’t hit a
ball in a game yet. Jelaqua betrayed her earlier mockery of Moore by
insisting he be on her team.

“You can be catcher, Moore! We need someone to catch Falene’s balls.

She’s on my team, by the way.”

Yellow Splatters found a place on the opposite team, as did Relc. Pisces was
nominated, as was Ksmvr for his jumping ability, and Bevussa was the only
one of her team who got a spot. Halrac joined much to everyone’s surprise,
as did Dawil despite his grumbling. Ylawes wasn’t picked, much to his
unhappiness. Seborn and Ishkr found themselves on opposite sides and with
a few more picks that Erin didn’t know by name, the teams were formed.
However, there was one spot left and Erin filled it herself.

“Headscratcher gets a place!”

Some of the people from Celum loudly objected, but Erin overruled them.

“He can hit the ball as far as anyone else! He’s on the team! I say so!”

The Hob gave Erin a stunned look. She only smiled and waved at the
Goblins who were sitting far from everyone else. The audience from Celum
grumbled, but they fell silent as the teams took their places. It wasn’t Liscor
vs Celum and it wasn’t adventurers vs Goblins. It was two teams, filled
with all kinds of people working towards a common goal: cake. With extra
frosting.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t sides. Erin could hear betting in the
background and Olesm was conferring with Jelaqua on strategy, perhaps in
exchange for some of the rewards if her team won. Erin also had to
interrupt Octavia, who’d been making a killing selling ‘enhancements’ to
each team.

“No potions! I want a clean game! Don’t make me shut you down! Is
everyone ready?”

Both teams looked up. They nodded at Erin and she turned. The playing
field was occupied by some of the audience who wanted to throw around a
ball. Erin raised her voice.

“Alright, the final game is going to begin! Clear the field or you’ll get hit!
All Mrshas must leave the field at once!”

Mrsha, who had been playing in the grass, looked up. She gazed around,
realized she was the only Mrsha and gloomily left the field. She perked up
when Lyonette offered her a cool drink. Erin was making a small fortune on
food for her audience, although her regulars hadn’t paid. Yet.
“Okay! I will be your umpire! Drassi will commentate! Now, please
welcome our two teams! At bat…uh…Team A!”

The audience cheered as nine players took the field. They were Halrac,
Relc, Yellow Splatters, Bevussa, Falene, Dawil, Ishkr, a Gnoll and Wesle.
The other team, Team B, took to the outfield.

Jelaqua, Seborn, Pisces, Ksmvr, Headscratcher, Moore, Keldrass, and two

Drakes threw balls to each other and shouted good-natured insults at Team
A. They grew still and the audience sat forwards as Erin looked around. The
wind blew and the sky turned orange as Erin raised her hand.

“Play ball!”

—-

It wasn’t a game you’d see on Earth. And perhaps that didn’t make it
baseball. There were a lot of rule violations, arguing over the legality of
hexing your opponents or creating snares out of bone—or just plain
cheating. But Erin thought that was what made the game so great. It wasn’t
baseball. It was magic baseball. And that meant there were only a few dull
moments.

Each time Falene shot a fastball into Dawil’s waiting glove, the audience
groaned. She made just hitting the ball a challenge! And she could make the
ball wiggle around in the air like a snake, even vanish! The only person
who could hit her reliably was Pisces. All he had to do was tap the ball and
take off and he was practically impossible to catch. His [Flash Steps] were
as useful on the offense as defense and only Relc could keep up with him.

But that was the thing. When the Gecko of Liscor hit the ball it flew far.
And he could sprint around the bases so quick that the only way to get him
out was to catch a fly ball. However, he was only one powerhouse on his
team. Team B had Jelaqua and Headscratcher. Even Dawil and Yellow
Splatters could not hit the ball nearly as far as those two.

Erin hadn’t predicted it, but the games quickly became a battle between
excellent defense and offense. Team A had Bevussa’s wings, Ishkr’s
catching ability and Halrac’s eyes. Not to mention Falene’s magic pitches.
On the other side, Team B had Jelaqua, Pisces, Headscratcher, and Seborn.

At first he was the underrated player of Team B. But after the second time
he stole a base, every eye was on him whenever he got onto a plate. It
wasn’t easy. Even when you watched him, Seborn could slip away into the
shadows. And catching him?

“It’s a hit from Jelaqua! Seborn is running, but—oh no, Dawil’s got the ball
and is at home plate! Seborn’s running back, but now Ishkr’s covering third
base!”

Drassi’s tone was excited as Seborn found himself cornered between the
Dwarf and Gnoll. He ran back as Dawil threw the ball to Ishkr, turned back,
found himself menaced by Dawil who had the ball, and wavered. The two
closed in as Seborn stood on the baselines. The Drowned Man dodged back
as Dawil ran at him with the ball, took two steps back, and then flipped over
Dawil’s head. He sprinted down to home base as the crowd roared. Erin was
on her feet.

“Safe! Safe! He never left the lines! That was amazing!”

The baseball game went back and forth. 0-3. 1-3. 7-8. 10-16. The final
inning was 18-18 and everyone on their feet. Halrac’s team was first at bat.
The [Scout] glared at Jelaqua as she tried to walk him. He eyed the ball as
Jelaqua threw it to Moore a good six feet to his right. On the third pitch,
Halrac threw the bat. It smacked the ball out of the air.

Every eye turned to Erin. She gaped for a second and then waved her arms.

“It’s good! Go, go!”

Halrac ran. He slid to first, and a sacrifice fly from Relc put his team on
second base. Their next hitter, Ishkr, struck out. But the game entered the
last round with their team in the lead. And fortune didn’t favor Team B at
first.

Halrac caught Pisces sneaking bases. And Keldrass just couldn’t run fast
enough to get to first base. Jelaqua swore as she hit her way onto second
base. She waited there as the next batter took his position. Moore looked
close to tears as Falene smiled and levitated the baseball up. He had yet to
hit the ball and his team had two outs. He looked sadly at Jelaqua and she
shook her head.

“Just hit the ball, Moore! Get on to first base and Headscratcher will do the
rest!”

Jelaqua shouted at Moore. The half-Giant swung his bat as Falene smiled
and waved. The crowd was cheering.

“Moore! Moore! Moore!”

“Skystrall! Falene! Skystrall!”

“Throw the ball, half-Elf!”

Dawil roared at Falene from behind the safety mask he was wearing, which
was, in fact, a helmet. Falene nodded.

The first ball hit Dawil’s mitt so fast that Erin barely saw it. Any suggestion
of Falene’s taking it easy on Moore vanished as Dawil threw the ball back.
The second ball curved under Moore’s bat. The audience groaned. Moore
shook his head. He looked around, visibly bracing himself for boos. Then
he caught sight of the little white Gnoll sitting in Lyonette’s arms. She
waved at him.

Maybe it was the power of Mrsha’s silent cheering that did it. Maybe it was
Pawn whispering a prayer. Or maybe it was just Moore. But as the third ball
came screaming down the plate, he swung—and connected.
“It hit!”

Erin leapt to her feet. Falene’s eyes went wide. She turned as Dawil threw
down his mitt. Moore stared and then began running. He moved slowly, but
it didn’t matter. The ball flew through the air as if gravity had forgotten
about it. Erin’s jaw dropped as it flew through the air. A hundred feet, two
hundred, four hundred…six hundred? She couldn’t guess. But the ball was
just a speck in the air. No one could catch it.

No one but Bevussa. The Garuda was in the air as the ball flew. She had the
mitt in hand, but she abandoned it as the ball flew. She shot after the ball
like blue lightning. The ball was falling. Bevussa dove towards the ground,
talons outstretched.

“She’s gonna crash!”

Drassi screamed. The ball fell—and Bevussa snatched it out of the air. She
raised the ball as everyone in the field shot to their feet. Erin cheered, and
then saw Moore staring with a melancholy smile at Bevussa. He waved a
hand and turned as the Garuda flew back. And then he saw Jelaqua charging
at him.

“That was amazing!”

The Selphid tackled Moore in a hug. The audience flooded the field. The
game was over, three outs, 19-18. And it had been Moore that hit the losing
shot. But what a hit! The half-Giant found himself at the center of a crowd
that was wise enough not to try and lift him on their backs. He smiled
helplessly as they surged around him, laughing, talking, cheering Bevussa,
the players, and the game.

“What a game.”

Erin stood in the field afterwards. The ground was muddy and broken
feathers from one of her pillows were spread about. Wherever she looked
she saw muddy, dirty people. But smiles. Erin looked around and grinned.
She saw Mrsha riding on Moore’s shoulders, Bevussa drinking from a cup
that never ran dry, and Headscratcher standing among the Goblins as they
surrounded him, cheering their hero. Erin smiled and turned to Ceria. The
half-Elf smiled at her.

“A nice day?”

“A nice day. And a good game.”

The two smiled at each other. Erin held out a hand and Ceria placed
something in it. A baseball. Worn, dirty, the hide cover torn off in one spot.
Erin stared at it.

“Baseball’s sort of fun, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

Erin nodded. She tossed the ball up and down and then shrugged.

“I still like chess better. Hey, you wanna eat dinner?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 5.47 G

Even when he’d left, even on the days when he sat in the sand or snow,
Velan could still remember the humid heat, hear the buzz of insects and feel
the wet soil under his feet. As he swam across the ocean he still remembered
his home.

It was that place that had shaped him. Given him the strength to do what no
other Goblin could. It was there he had learned the truth of war, and gained
the name of Velan the Kind. But it had not been kindness he had first shown,
or been given.

Baleros. The continent was war and death. So much of it that sometimes the
jungles ran red with blood. So much that the warring species, Dullahan,
Gazers, Lizardfolk, Centaurs, and Humans, didn’t have time for Goblins
skulking in the undergrowth. Until the Goblins caused trouble, that was. Or
when a Goblin killed a person.

When that happened they hunted Goblins. They sent adventurers or hired
mercenary companies. Velan didn’t know what had started the first raids on
his tribe, the Clean Grass tribe. But the Bronze-rank adventurers came and
began slaughtering his people. So he fought them. He killed them. And in
response, they sent Silver-rank adventurers. And then Gold-rank teams. And
he killed them.

Velan had learned to make medicines for his tribe out of the plants and
animals of Baleros. Now he created poisons. At first his tribe overwhelmed
the attackers and adventurers, looted their corpses and left their bodies as
warnings.

But the enemy kept coming. And then they sent a company into the jungle.
Velan led Hobs against them and shattered the Screaming Vine company
into pieces. But then they sent four companies. And they slaughtered his
tribe. So he slaughtered them back. And they fought and fought.

He was not known as Velan the Kind then. He was just Velan. And for his
tribe he bathed in blood. Until he grew sick of the slaughter. But they kept
on coming even when he ran. They chased him and turned the jungles to
ash. So he fled. As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done.

And they killed his warriors. They killed his Hobs. They killed his entire
tribe until the broken survivors left. And Velan stood amid the ashes and
wept. He left Baleros then. He flung himself into the ocean and swam, not
caring if he was eaten or drowned. He swam for days. He swam for weeks.
He swam for months. And he did not die. And then—

Rags’ head jerked upright. She heard a blaring horn in the distance. She
looked around. Her Carn Wolf raised its head and looked around nervously.
The Goblins lying on the ground jerked upright. They heard another horn
blare. Rags scrambled to her feet.

“Up! They come! We go!”

She pointed. The Flooded Water goblins got to their feet. They could hear
pounding hoof beats. The Humans were coming. The first [Fireball]
exploded overhead. Rags shouted as Goblins ran around in a panic.

“No run!”

It was a warning shot. But they had to move now. The Goblins quieted at
the sound of her voice. They formed into ranks and began to move. They
left campfires unattended, dropped everything not essential and ran. The
Hobs grabbed supplies and packed the rest onto the wagons. They pushed
the wagons as the exhausted pack animals were spurred into motion. Some
refused to budge. They were left. The Goblins ran.

As they did. As they always had done. Rags grabbed her Carn Wolf’s fur
and hauled herself up. It whined as she patted it on the head. It loped ahead
as the Goblins fled. The Human force was advancing behind them. Not fast
enough to overtake them if the Goblins ran, but if they fell behind—Rags
glanced behind her.

If there were Goblins who fell behind, they would be dead. She saw the
stragglers running to catch up. Some were faltering—but then a huge Hob
snapped an order. He ran back with two dozen Hobs. They grabbed the
smaller Goblins and carried them, running faster than the others despite
their burdens. Pyrite met Rags’ eyes. She nodded.

“Go! Redfangs in front!”

Her tribe ran. Rags rode ahead, her sleep-weary mind trying to work. She
saw her tribe looking up to her. Rags sat up straighter. But she was trying to
remember. What had Velan done then? What had he discovered? They had
killed his tribe. He hadn’t stopped it. And he had become a Goblin King.
What was the solution? Did it lie in memory, or in the past? Rags bowed
her head. She rode on, fleeing.

As she always had.

—-

Day 3

It was a pattern. A…shape. Something. Rags understood that. As she

scarfed down food while riding, her mind focused. She tore hungrily into
the dry bread and bit of horsemeat, watching as the [Cook] Goblin handed
out more food from the back of the wagon.

Her tribe was on the march. Rags jogged away from the wagon, watching it
roll ahead as more Goblins wearily approached the back and then away
with food in their hands. They ate as they moved at a jog. The landscape
slowly moved past as Rags ate and looked around.
Exhausted Goblins. Half-dead animals. Carn Wolves, padding along with
heads bowed. Rags could see Goblins with red war paint trying to feed their
mounts and give them water. They, like Rags, were on foot. The Carn
Wolves were too tired to carry their riders. The few Goblins that were on
the back of the Carn Wolves were small. Children. Rag’s personal wolf bore
a pair of babies held by a female Goblin. Their mother was dead.

The stream of Goblins that moved across the grassy landscape was an army.
Thousands of Goblins armed with crossbows, some carrying pikes, and
hundreds of Hobs. Rags would have considered this a dominant tribe in any
part of Izril. And yet, they were running.

It wasn’t something you could see at first. The Goblins kept moving on
their desperate march without any clear reason at first. But then Rags heard
a horn blow. She looked up and saw the Goblins ahead of her moving left.
Moments later she saw a group of Humans on horseback riding hard at the
forward edge of their tribe. They forced the Goblins to run left, through a
field of dewy grass rather than continue onwards. Rags could see the
[Knights] and soldiers in armor drawing rein with bared blades, ready to
charge any stragglers that came towards them.

No Goblin did. They moved, keeping an eye on the Humans on horseback.

Rags could see one of the Humans, a [Mage] dressed in robes, raising his
fingers to his temple. He was probably communicating with the Humans
following them. The main force.

They were following. Over five thousand Humans on horseback, the small
army that Lord Tyrion Veltras had brought to Laken Godart’s rescue had
dogged the Flooded Waters tribe for the last three days. For three days
they’d pursued Rags and her tribe, forcing them to run or die. Rags had
tried to evade them or find somewhere to hide, but the Humans were
relentless. They were faster than her people and while her tribe
outnumbered them, Rags was under no illusion of what would happen if
they fought.

She’d seen the Humans galloping towards her tribe. She’d counted the
number of Humans in full plate armor, assessed the quality of their
commander. They had [Knights], the same kind of warrior as Lady Bethal’s
Knights of the Petal. And the regular soldiers were disciplined.

Their commander was a Lord. Lord Pellmia, who had powerful Skills that
allowed him to revitalize his forces and move them around even faster than
normal. And they had [Mages]. They’d blown open the gates to the city
with a single spell and Rags guessed that any one of them was equivalent to
Noears, her best spellcaster.

If Rags had to fight an army like that, she would have wanted at least twice
as many Goblins at her back and a thousand more Hobs. The Humans had
too much armor, and too much magic behind them. They could kill Rags’
tribe, overrun them in a series of charges, regardless of the pikes Rags had
at her disposal.

She even knew how she’d do it if she were Lord Pellmia. She’d blast apart
the units of Goblins with pikes from afar then charge her [Knights] in with
hundreds of soldiers following. Split the Goblins apart, shatter their
formations. After that it would be a bloody slaughter. Hobs were strong, but
even they would die to Humans charging on horseback with lances.

But they hadn’t. The Humans had just pursued Rags’ tribe these last few
days. And she had a suspicion that they wouldn’t kill her tribe, not unless
she fought against them. They were driving the Goblins somewhere. Rags
had no map of the area, but she knew they were headed east and south.
Each day, Pellmia’s forces roused the Goblins at the break of dawn and
made them move at a blistering pace across the landscape, avoiding Human
settlements.

Why? Rags didn’t know. She only knew that Lord Tyrion, the Human with
the cold stare who’d effortlessly crushed her tribe, had a plan. She hadn’t
seen him since the first day, but Lord Pellmia had stayed true to his bet.
He’d rapidly found Rags’ tribe and forced them to move or die. And many
had died.

Many. They’d been fighting the Emperor. They’d been winning, despite the
poison, despite the death! They could have won and then escaped, healed
their wounds. Instead they were here, with thousands of Goblins lying dead
behind them and nothing to show for it. That was her fault. Rags closed her
eyes then stumbled. She wind milled her arms and felt someone grab her.

“Chieftain.”

Poisonbite steadied Rags. The smaller Goblin nodded up at her. Poisonbite

looked weary, but she bared her teeth. It wasn’t really a grin. She pointed
ahead.

“Redscar say there water ahead. Creek. Humans see too. We rest?”

Rags looked around. The Humans on horseback had vanished, but she knew
they were constantly keeping pace with her tribe, some moving ahead while
the majority stayed on their heels.

“If they let. Get water skins. Buckets. If we not stop, fill as we go.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite jogged ahead. Rags saw the Goblins part in front of her. Some
glanced back. They’d already heard her order and it was spreading at the
speed of Goblin. Within minutes, even the Goblins at the rear were readying
buckets or flasks and moving faster, hoping to drink enough water before
they had to run again.

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard a loud voice. She looked around and saw a shape riding towards
her. Redscar alone was on his Carn Wolf. He gritted his teeth as he slowed
to meet her. He was guiding his mount one-handed. Rags eyed his shoulder
where he’d been impaled by Tyrion’s lance three days prior. Redscar looked
like he was in pain, but he offered her a hand and swung Rags up despite it.
He turned his Carn Wolf.

“Humans slowing. Can drink water. Rest.”

Rags sighed with relief.

“Good. You rest too.”

“Can scout.”

“Or can rest. Shoulder still healing.”

The scarred Goblin grimaced. He rubbed at his shoulder.

“Had potion.”

Rags poked him in the back of his shoulder. Redscar snarled. She met his
angry glare.

“Not good potion. You rest. Wolf needs too.”

“Thunderfur.”

The Carn Wolf looked up and whined. Rags shrugged. Redscar was
attached to his Carn Wolf, which was larger than all but Garen’s. He cared
more for it than himself, which was why he reluctantly agreed to rest. He’d
been riding ahead, scouting the terrain nonstop these last few days. Rags
thought it was Redscar’s way of atoning for his failure to defeat Tyrion, or
slay the [Emperor]. But it wasn’t his fault. Again, it was hers.

The stream was fast-moving and situated in a prairie filled with yellowed,
tough stalks rather than much grass. The exhausted Goblins flocked towards
it, drinking and filling their containers. There were so many that Rags
actually saw the water level of the stream drop and almost halt for a little
bit. She filled her water flask, drank greedily, and then wiped her mouth.
She looked around and whistled.

Heads turned. Some of the Goblins who’d been overseeing the others
jogged over. Rags’ lieutenants appeared. Quietstab, Poisonbite, Noears, and
Pyrite. They joined Redscar as he poured water over his wolf’s head, letting
the animal shake itself and muttering soothing words. Rags let her officers
drink. She inspected them.

They were all tired. Like her, they’d been moving constantly. And they’d
been supervising the other Goblins, making sure essentials were taken care
of, like the animals being fed or finding wood to cook food with on the
march.

Pyrite looked the most tired. He hadn’t stopped moving since he woke up.
He’d helped carry tired Goblins, push wagons out of ruts in the road, and
helped carry the supplies that the dwindling number of pack animals
couldn’t bear on their own. He sat in the stream, letting the water flow
around his legs and splashed some in his face.

“How long do we rest, Chieftain?”

Noears looked at Rags. His hands were sooty. Despite not fighting against
the Humans, Noears had been at the head of the tribe. He’d been hitting
birds and other animals with lighting, killing them to supplement the
dwindling food supply. Rags shrugged.

“Twenty minutes. Humans follow soon.”

The others nodded tiredly. They sat and drank and one of the Goblins
brought food for Pyrite, who hadn’t eaten. He chomped the food down fast.
Rags bowed her head tiredly. She knew the other Goblins were watching
her. But for a moment she let herself sag.

“What did I do wrong?”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags saw Redscar glance up. Quietstab
looked alarmed.

“Nothing, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite and Noears nodded, although Noears was more hesitant.

Poisonbite scowled.

“Good fights. Was winning. Humans cheat.”

“Chieftain did things right. Nothing wrong.”

The others nodded at that. Pyrite just splashed more water over his face.
Rags shook her head. It had to be something. She looked at Pyrite. He met
her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him—

“Humans coming!”

A warning cry sounded from behind them. Rags whirled. That was too
quick! Lord Pellmia wasn’t an idiot. He knew the Goblins couldn’t keep
moving without rest. But it wasn’t he who was bearing down on the Goblins
from the rear.

“Get moving, you filth!”

A loud, almost exuberant shout echoed from the young man riding towards
them. Around a hundred soldiers were at his back. They rode towards the
Goblins from behind. Rags saw the Goblins getting up. She shot to her feet.

“Move!”

The Goblins scrambled to pack their gear and move. The Humans drew
rein, watching them move with clear distaste. The first ranks of Goblins
surged forwards, wearily prodding the pack animals forward. Rags saw
some of the mules lying down. It was hard to get them to stand up, and the
Goblins had to force them to their feet with sticks. One of the mules tried to
kick, but a nearby Hob grabbed it.

She was wrestling with the mule, trying to get it to move forwards as the
unhappy animal began to whinny. The Goblins were all moving ahead of
her. Rags saw the Humans waiting, but then the young man who seemed to
be leading them decided he was done waiting. He spurred his mount and
rode at the Hob with a shout.

“Lord Gilam, wait!”

One of the riders called out a warning, but the young [Lord] paid him no
heed. He bore down on the Hob who looked up and saw the danger. Rather
than run, she grabbed the club at her side.

“Run!”
Rags was on her feet. She shouted at the Hob, waving her arms. But the
Hob didn’t budge. She’d had enough. The Human on horseback swung his
sword as he charged her. She tried to dodge, but Rags saw the young man’s
blade blur. He cut deep into her shoulder, effortlessly slicing through flesh
and into bone. His sword was enchanted! The Hob groaned. Blood ran from
her shoulder as the young man laughed.

But she was a Hob. And the cocky Human lordling had only wounded her.
The Hob transferred her club to her other hand and raised it. She smashed it
into the young man’s stomach. He yelped. The force of her blow was
mitigated by his armor, but the impact still sent him reeling back. His
warhorse reared, striking the Hob with its hooves. She dodged back and
raised her club. Rags saw the Hob run around the side of the horse. She was
going to knock the Human off! She grabbed his arm as the Human slashed
her. She pulled and he tilted—

“Loose!”

Rags heard the snapping of bowstrings. She saw a flight of arrows shoot
from the Humans on horseback. They feathered the Hob, piercing her from
behind. She staggered. But her hand was still on the Human’s arm. He
swore, cutting at her with his sword. His blows were erratic, but the
enchanted blade finally sheared through the Hob’s arm. She fell and Gilam
rode his horse back. He waved his sword at her nervously until he realized
she was dead.

“Lord Gilam!”

The other Humans rode forwards, surrounding him. They needn’t have
bothered; the Goblins were all running. The wagon lay in place, the pair of
mules tethered to it straining to get away from the blood and the dead Hob.

One of the older Humans was speaking to Gilam.

“Lord Gilam, your father explicitly said to give the Goblins ten more
minutes. Attacking the Goblins goes against Lord Veltras’ orders.”
“Be silent, Kilmet. They’re moving faster now that I showed them what
happens when they lag. And I’ve bagged a Hob. You needn’t have
interfered! I had it nearly dead on my first strike!”

The young man waved his bloody sword. The older man bowed his head.

“It’s my duty to keep you safe.”

“You and my father! I didn’t ride all this way to stay behind the lines,
Kilmet!”

“But this is a war, young lord. And your father—”

Gilam’s face turned red.

“Fine! Enough! I’ll go back since those Goblins are so precious.”

He whirled his mount. The other Humans didn’t quite glare at him as
Kilmet sighed and motioned for an escort to follow his master back. Gilam
rode back, holding his bloody blade aloft. He turned, looking in satisfaction
at the running Goblins and paused.

Rags stood together with the others. She was staring at Gilam. Not running.
Pyrite, Quietstab, Poisonbite, Redscar, and Noears all stared silently at
Gilam. The young man hesitated. Then he gestured at Kilmet angrily.

“Loose some arrows! I want those Goblins moving!”

“Young lord, you know that’s the Goblin—”

“I don’t care! I want—”

Gilam turned back. He stared at the place Rags had been, but only saw
Goblins. They were all moving now, and the chieftain was gone. He glared
at their backs, but then turned and rode away. Kilmet eyed the moving
Goblins and then turned to one of the [Mages].

“Send a message to Lord Pellmia. Inform him the Goblins have begun
moving. We’ll have to follow.”
“Damned idiot. We all need a break, not just the Goblins.”

The [Mage] grumbled as she began sending the spell. She wasn’t a retainer
to Lord Pellmia’s house. Kilmet opened his mouth, but forbade comment.
He watched Gilam riding back and shook his head. It was an inconvenience
Lord Pellmia would not be pleased about, but his affection for his son
meant that Gilam would get away with just a lecture. And it wasn’t as if a
single Hob mattered to whatever plan Lord Tyrion Veltras had, after all. He
let the Hob’s corpse lie and gave orders to untether the mules. That was all
he thought on the matter. It was another dead Goblin.

But Rags remembered. All the Goblins did.

—-

“Twofeather.”

Rags looked up. Pyrite sat around the small campfire. He stared into it,
chewing slowly on the soup he’d been given. He glanced up.

“Her name.”

The dead Hob. Rags nodded. She stirred her soup with her wooden spoon,
appetite low. She forced herself to eat anyways. She had to sleep soon.

It was night. The Goblins lay on a natural stone road, which was where
they’d gotten when the Humans had stopped pursuing them. They hadn’t
even bothered to find a more suitable spot to rest; they’d just collapsed in
exhaustion.

Small cook fires were the only sources of light. Goblins lay around them,
eating and then rolling over and sleeping at once. Rags sat at her fire with
Pyrite. Her legs burned. She didn’t know how far she’d run. With her [Fleet
Foot] Skill, her tribe could move very quickly. But the Humans had pushed
them to their limits even so.
It was the end of the third day. Unlike the previous two nights, Rags hadn’t
called for her lieutenants. She didn’t have another plan that involved
outrunning the Humans or giving them the slip. She just ate and stared into
the fire. After a while she looked up.

“Know her? Twofeather?”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Fought with. Knew. Close-by tribe when I was Chieftain. Good fighter. In
battle against Humans at city, watched back.”

“Why name?”

The Hob touched his pointed ears.

“Wore two feather.”

“Oh. What bird?”

“Duck.”

“Duck?”

“Liked to eat duck.”

“Duck is good.”

“Mhm.”

That was all there was to it. Rags bowed her head. She hadn’t known
Twofeather personally, but the Hob had been part of her tribe. She’d fought
for her, and now she had died for Rags. The small Chieftain stared into the
fire. Pyrite finished his bowl and then looked up. He stared at Rags for a
while. Then spoke.

“What did you do wrong?”

Rags looked up at him. Pyrite shifted his heavy body.

“Others say you did nothing wrong. But you think you did things wrong.
What?”

“Should have run. Shouldn’t have fought.”

The small Goblin shook her head. Pyrite scratched his.

“But Humans attacked first.”

“After we attack army. Should have let be.”

“But were killing Frostfeeder tribe.”

Rags had forgotten about that. She hesitated.

“Okay. Should have run after poison attack.”

“Didn’t know where to run. Humans hunting. You…unconscious.”

Pyrite tapped his head. Rags scowled at him.

“Then run after!”

“But Humans following. Had to take city.”

“Then run then!”

“But Humans—”

Rags threw her bowl at Pyrite. He raised his claw as the dregs of her soup
splashed over him. The two stared at each other in silence. Then Pyrite
began licking the soup off his hand.

“Good soup.”

“Bad soup. Tastes like mule.”

Rags drew her legs to her chest and hugged them. Pyrite watched as his
Chieftain sulked. After a while he lowered his clean hand and began
scraping dried soup off his chest.

“Chieftain did everything she thought was right.”

“She did. Now we run and many die. For nothing.”

The small Goblin spoke into her lap. Pyrite shrugged again.

“Not your fault. Humans attack. Sneaky [Lord]. Lots of armored Humans.
Can’t beat. Inevitable.”

“Could have run.”

“Could have. But didn’t. And Chieftain gave one new thing for all tribe.”

Rags looked up suspiciously.

“What?”

Pyrite tapped his chest.

“Level. Me. Redscar. Others. Level. I get Skill. Chieftain gets two Skills.
And spell.”

“For thousands of dead Goblins.”

Again the Hob shrugged.

“Didn’t say it was good trade.”

Rags stared at him and then laughed. She uncurled from her ball of self-
loathing and stretched out. Pyrite was relieved to see that. He looked
around.

“More soup?”

“No.”
The Hob grunted and stood up. He came back with a bowl for himself. Rags
eyed it. Now she did want soup. Pyrite noticed and got up. He came back
with another bowl and Rags took it with a nod. They ate in silence for a
while. Eventually, Rag spoke.

“[Rapid Reload]. And flashfire spell…spellcraft? ”

“Mm. And [Burning Blades].”

Rags snorted. She reached for the shortsword at her side and drew the
blade. Pyrite saw her lift it up a bit and mutter a word. The blade burst into
flame. Rags waved it around and then rolled her eyes.

“Ooh. Good spell.”

That was sarcasm. Pyrite shrugged, and then nodded. Rags’ new Skills were
common knowledge now. The Goblins had been suitably impressed by her
new levels. And her Skills were good.

[Rapid Reload] was a Skill that affected the entire tribe. With it, her
crossbows and archers could fire even quicker. That was a solid, decent
little Skill by anyone’s standards. Rag’s other Skill, [Flashfire Spellcraft]
was equally useful, if only to Rags. With it, She could manipulate fire,
make it form shapes and use it without needing a specific spell. She could
also do tricks like fire a [Fire Arrow] three times as large as a regular one.

According to Noears, this was one of the first steps a [Mage] took. The
other Goblins had seen it as a sign that their Chieftain was growing in good
ways. They all agreed that [Burning Blades] wasn’t a good spell, though.

The thing was, it was just a spell that set one’s weapons on fire. Not with
magical fire either. Just on fire. The flames were hot and they’d last for a
good three minutes until they went out. Unless the weapon was wooden.
Then the fire would just burn the wood up.

It wasn’t a great spell. It wasn’t even a decent one. Oh, sure, there were
probably some Bronze-rank adventurers out there that thought a spell like
that was useful, but Goblins were practical. Setting your blade on fire just
made it hot to hold. It ruined your night vision and it didn’t really hurt your
foe. What was a flaming blade going to do that a regular one wouldn’t? If
you stabbed someone in the back, a bit of fire wasn’t going to make them
die any quicker. Besides, flaming blades were terrible for sneak attacks.

“Maybe spell has hidden uses.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe…can chase away biting bugs?”

Rags frowned.

“Maybe. That useful. Little bit. But stupid spell. Wanted [Fireball] instead.
Can use this, but only for one thing. Starting campfires.”

“Mm. Is handy.”

The little Goblin raised her bowl threateningly, but Pyrite didn’t budge.
After a while, Rags sat back. She stared up at the stars in the night’s sky.
They were beautiful. She lay back and Pyrite ate his soup silently. Then,
since Rags had only eaten half of hers, he picked up her bowl and began
eating. She didn’t comment.

“I dreamed of him.”

“Who?

“Velan.”

Pyrite froze. He looked up at Rags. She lay on her back, staring at the night
sky.

“Not much. Can’t see much. But looked for clue.”

“And?”

“He attacked other species. They attacked back. Killed his tribe.”
“Hmm.”

“Like this. We attack, we die.”

“Humans not kill us yet.”

Rags looked up and gave Pyrite a withering glance.

“Yet. They have plan. Then we die.”

“Mm. True.”

The two sat there a while longer. After he’d finished with Rags’ bowl,
Pyrite piled the two up. He stared into the fire and then spoke.

“Forty three.”

“What?”

“Killed forty three Humans. In battle. Before other Humans came.”

Rags sat up. She stared at Pyrite. Forty three? By himself? Pyrite glanced at
her. His crimson eyes were tired.

“I was angry. I killed Humans. Tried to kill the armored one. And a half-
Troll. And the pointy-hat Human. Didn’t kill any. So I killed other Humans.
Lots.”

“I didn’t kill any. Emperor got away. Tried to make surrender. Couldn’t.
Was going to kill when others showed up.”

Pyrite looked at Rags. He shifted, poked the fire with a stick and sent sparks
flurrying up.

“Emperor. What was he like?”

Rags closed her eyes.

“He—he strange. He was strange. He had—”

Rags struggled to find the words and then gave up. She showed Pyrite as
she spoke in their tongue to him. The strange man—young!—with closed
eyes. And yet how he seemed to see her. And his smile. The way he laughed
and was sad. And defied peace despite the slaughter both knew it would
bring.

The rest Pyrite knew already. Tyrion’s arrival, Redscar’s injury—that was
the stuff of despair and legends. But Rags had not spoken to anyone of her
meeting with Laken Godart. It hadn’t mattered, but it did matter at the same
time. Pyrite nodded along. He looked at Rags as her shoulders hunched and
her words ran dry.

“He told me he could not make peace. Because I killed his people. He was
sad because he could not. And angry. Sad and angry. Not what I thought.”

“What did you expect?”

Rags paused.

“A monster. Wished he was one.”

Pyrite nodded. That would have made things so much easier.

“Pyrite?”

“Mm?”

He waited. Rags stared at her hands.

“Was killing them wrong? They killed us. We killed them. Was it wrong?”

“Don’t know.”

Pyrite answered honestly. He could still remember the anger. He could still
remember the fury as he faced down the Humans. But he remembered Sir
Kerrig and Welca as well. He didn’t know. He wished he did.

He looked at Rags. She was smaller than she normally seemed. Or maybe
she was just letting her guard down around him. He searched for words to
say that would make his Chieftain stronger, but he had none. Things had
happened. There was no changing it. But it had gone poorly. And it wasn’t
Rags’ fault. But she had been in command. Pyrite understood that.

The Hob sat restlessly. Rags could see him shifting now and then. She felt
tired. Hollow. The weight of her tribe rested on her shoulders. It was…
heavy. But Rags refused to cave in. She refused to give up.

She stared into the fire. It crackled, the wood collapsing and the embers
burning low. But neither she nor Pyrite made any effort to refuel it. They
would have to run again tomorrow, as soon as they rose. Rags stared at her
shortsword.

“Running. Fourth day tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Can’t do forever. Humans bringing us somewhere. But tribe will die before
then. Animals already dying. Ate half of them today.”

“And food. Less to carry.”

“Less to eat.”

“Can’t fix now.”

“No.”

Rags shook her head. She looked at the fire and her sword. She glanced up.
Something. There had to be something. She thought of her memory of
Velan. And like that she had a plan. Another plan. Rags sat up, her eyes
widening. But then she sagged.

It was a bad plan. Or rather, it wouldn’t change things. It might make things
worse, actually. But it was all she had. They could keep running or they
could fight. That was their only option. She didn’t know which would be
better. Running meant they’d slowly die. But she’d fought before. She’d
burned the Human’s lands, killed them, broken an army. And it had been for
nothing.
“Pyrite.”

The Hob looked up. Rags stared at him.

“What?”

“Have a plan.”

His ears perked up.

“Really?”

Rags smiled wearily.

“I am your Chieftain. I always have plan.”

“Will it save tribe? Get rid of Humans?”

The Goblin hesitated and then shook her head.

“No. Not enough. Hurt them. Make them mad. Should do? Or…keep
running?”

Pyrite hesitated. He fell silent and stared into the fire. When he looked up
he shrugged.

“Don’t know, Chieftain. Could make things worse. Could make things
better. Don’t know. But trust you to do right thing.”

“What? Why?”

Rags scowled at Pyrite. All her plans had backfired! She’d gotten her tribe
killed! Pyrite looked at Rags calmly.

“Because Chieftain is smart. Tribe still follows. So Chieftain think and

decide. And we follow. For better or worse, Chieftain Rags. Show us smart
thing. Show us hope.”

“Hope? What hope? There is no hope!”

Rags leapt up. She grabbed at her head as Pyrite looked at her, raising her
voice despite the late hour.

“Goblins die! Tribe is running! Humans chase us! We run—and die—and

run and die! Again and again! Ever since I lead!”

“But we are here. Because of you. Because you had ideas. Because you
didn’t give up.”

“I only did stupid things!”

“But no one else did them.”

Pyrite pointed at Rags. He stood slowly, grunting with effort. He looked

down at Rags. And when he spoke, his voice was measured. Calm.

“When I was alone, I did not know how to lead the tribe. When you woke I
was relieved. You had the plan that beat the Humans. You defeated the
[Emperor]. And when the other Humans came, when they cheated, you
were the one who led us away.”

He pointed at Rags.

“You, Chieftain. We could not do it. Quietstab could not. Poisonbite could
not. Noears could not. Redscar could not. I could not. But you did. You
keep trying. You have plans where we do not. That is why we follow. For
hope. Because you see what we can’t. Show us it again. Show us something
that will surprise everyone.”

He stared down at Rags. The small Goblin blinked up at him, stunned.

Pyrite bowed his head. Then he sat. He lay on his back. He went to sleep
there and then as Rags stood, paralyzed by a strange feeling in her chest.
She stared at Pyrite as the Hob began to snore.

Pyrite trusted her. Even now. Even after—

Rags looked at her hand. Her fingers like claws. Dirty, small. But hers. She
closed them slowly. Then Rags looked around her camp.
Hundreds, thousands of small campfires burned low. Goblins lay around
them, silent shapes, occasionally moving. Thousands. Months ago, Rags
could have never dreamed of so many Goblins, let alone so many under her
command. But they had become hers. They followed her. Trusted her. Rags
looked around.

“Not a good plan. But…”

Show us hope. Rags’ tired shoulders rose. Her back straightened. She
probably couldn’t defeat so many Humans even if she pulled off her plan
perfectly. Maybe, but the odds were small everything would work out that
well. But she thought of the young Human riding back triumphantly with
blood on his sword. Her hand clenched into a fist. She could hurt them,
though.

Oh yes. She could hurt them. Rags turned and looked at the fire. It burned
bright as she lay down. She was so tired. But as she slept she felt better. Not
because she was rested. The ground was hard and rocky. And not because
she was fed. The soup really was bad despite what Pyrite said. No, she felt
better. Because she had to be. She was a Chieftain. And at last, Rags
thought she understood what that meant.

[Chieftain Level 25!]

—-

Day 4

Pyrite was sleeping when the horn blew. He leapt to his feet before he was
even awake. After four days the need to move was already conditioned into
his body. He saw other Goblins scrambling to their feet. Wearily, Pyrite
rubbed his eyes. He felt exhausted despite his sleep. He looked around.

“Move! Humans coming!”

The Hob’s voice made the other Goblins look up. They shook other Goblins
awake, kicking or slapping them to get the tired Goblins up. The camp
roused itself, but Pyrite could sense the weariness in the air. He stumbled as
he tried to make his mind work. Food? No, they had to go now. They could
dish out food on the wagons. But it was so early. They had to get the small
Goblins on wagons and on the back of Carn Wolves, rouse the animals—

Pyrite’s legs buckled a bit as he tried to move forwards. He stared at them,

shocked. He was tired. But he couldn’t fall. If he fell, the tribe would all see
it. And their wavering morale would vanish. He had to stay strong. But he
was so tired. Pyrite yawned as he looked around. Where was Rags? Did she
have orders? Where was—

The weary Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe were so tired that they
didn’t notice the small shape standing on the back of one of the wagons. It
was only when they heard the voice that they looked up. They saw a small
Goblin standing there. She was holding something. A shortsword. It blazed
with fire. The Goblins stared. Rags held the blazing sword aloft. She
shouted.

“Goblins!”

The Goblins and Hobs turned to look at her. Rags ignored the horns blaring.
She had eyes only for her tribe. And they had eyes only for her. Rags was
tired. Her body was sore. But she stood tall. She pointed her sword ahead.

“We move! I am Chieftain! I have a plan! Follow it! Follow me! Redfangs
to me! Hobs, to me! Pikes! Get crossbows! We move!”

She pointed ahead with her sword. It was probably the wrong direction. But
the Goblins stared at her and their weary bodies grew lighter. They moved
faster, shedding sleep.
It wasn’t a Skill. Rags hadn’t taken their fatigue away. But she’d replaced it
with something. As Rags leapt from the back of the wagon and onto her
waiting Carn Wolf, she saw the Goblins staring at her. She sat on the back
of her mount, tall as possible. She had to be there. She had to be seen. The
Goblins watched her. Their Chieftain. And Rags raised her sword.

It burned. A useless flaming spell. But the fire caught the eye. It was no
good for fighting. But it was good for other things. As Rags saw Redfang
Goblins hurrying towards her and Quietstab leading Hobs her way she
smiled. A Chieftain had to be strong. Had to be smart. But most of all, they
had to lead.

“Come. We have big plan.”

“What plan, Chieftain?”

Quietstab grinned up at her. Rags smiled back.

“Big plan. But first we run. Redscar, send riders ahead! I want forest.”

The Redfang Goblins raced ahead as the tribe began to move. Rags kicked
her wolf in the sides and it loped forwards. She could hear the Goblins
beginning to chatter, wondering why she wanted a forest. They sounded
hopeful. They trusted her to do something that would hurt the Humans. And
Rags knew her plan would work. It was just—

Well, it felt familiar. It reminded her of what Velan had done. Rags’ smile
slipped a bit as she rode ahead. Kill the Humans. And they would kill her
people for this. As Goblins do.

As Goblins always did. But what other choice did she have?

“They started it.”

Rags whispered the words and tried to figure out why they sounded wrong.

—-
Lord Pellmia was tired. He rode his warhorse in the center of his command
of riders, yawning and cursing the early hour. Sunlight was beginning to
shine down on the earth and it was too damn bright for his taste. Pellmia
glanced around, for once resenting the way the sunlight bounced off of the
polished helmets and breastplates of the soldiers riding next to him.

He was leading the vanguard of the forces Lord Tyrion had entrusted to
him. Around him he could see men and women surging up and down on
their mounts as they rode after the Goblins. They’d had a later start than the
tribe, but they still had to be up quick so they could follow.

It was a necessity. Yes, Pellmia could send smaller detachments of riders

ahead to ‘guide’ the Goblins in the direction he needed them to go, but the
threat only worked if he could back it up. If he only sent his scouts ahead
and tarried just an hour, the Goblins could easily overwhelm the smaller
groups of riders and make a break for it. And that would be unacceptable.
Pellmia had promised Tyrion he’d be at the meeting spot by the sixth day,
and he’d be damned if he broke that promise.

The problem was that he was tired. So were his men. Three days of
pursuing the Goblins was hard on anyone, and even mounted, it was hard to
keep both horse and riders rested.

“Those damn Goblins.”

Pellmia muttered as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Moving them

wasn’t the same as herding sheep. Not that Lord Pellmia had ever done that.
But this was a trick and a half. The Goblins kept moving ahead of the
Humans and they ran from his soldiers and when his [Mages] lobbed spells
at them, but they were always changing directions slightly. Leading his
forces through terrain that was unfavorable for horses, making things
difficult to keep the encirclement of them.

Pellmia had to keep his [Scouts] moving ahead constantly to make sure they
weren’t headed towards something that would allow them to lose him.
Twice already they’d tried to hide in caves or summit rocky hills. Both
times he’d had to force them to move by sending his forces in. He had to
get them to move at the speed he required, but also keep them alive.

That was the tricky bit. It was one thing to run a quarry to death. But Tyrion
wanted live Goblins, and they were incapable of keeping up a breakneck
pace forever. They needed water, food, rest. Pellmia had tried to give them
the bare minimums, of all three so they didn’t get any ideas. He’d been
proud of the way he moved them along, which was why he’d been so
incensed to hear about Gilam’s skirmish with the Hobs yesterday.

“You were supposed to keep him away from the Goblins, Kilmet.”

Pellmia snapped irritably at his personal retainer and old friend. Kilmet had
been a village boy when Pellmia had been a lad. The two had decades of
friendship between them, to the point that Pellmia sometimes joked that
Kilmet was his second wife. But they were still master and servant when all
was said and done. Kilmet, drinking a weak stamina potion to wake up,
bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, Pellmia. But the boy’s hotheaded and eager for a fight. I can’t
order him to stay back.”

That was true. But Pellmia was grumpy and didn’t want to hear it. His
bones hurt and the thrill of being on campaign had left him after the second
day.

“You should have. He’s only Level 20! A pair of Hobs could dice him up,
armor or not. And he’s not had any practice in battle. One Hob nearly did
for him already! When I was his age…”

“You could wrestle a Hob with one hand and drink two flagons of ale with
the other, all before breakfast. Yes, sire. But Gilam’s been in your shadow
for years. He wants to prove himself.”

Pellmia grimaced. That was true too.

“He can do that without risking his neck. Or going behind my back! I have
to maintain discipline. I can’t do that if my flesh and blood is defying my
orders!”

Kilmet sighed through his nose.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t stop him, Pellmia. I couldn’t stop you
and your son’s not going to take me giving him orders.”

“He should. You’re my right hand!”

Lord Pellmia growled angrily. Kilmet smiled. He had grey streaks in his
hair and his face was wrinkled. He still had a scar down one arm from
where he’d saved Pellmia from a rampaging Corusdeer on a hunt gone
wrong.

“Right hand or not, your son’s chafing at the bit, Pellmia. He needs
freedom. Perhaps it would have been better to let him ride with the other
nobles as escort.”

“And have him pick fights with those hotheads? The last thing I need is for
him to get hurt or kill someone in a duel. Young [Lords] and [Ladies] can’t
be left alone unsupervised.”

“Funny. That’s not what I heard you saying when we were that age. I
distinctly recall you ordering me to help you lose your father’s guards, so
you could have a nighttime rendezvous with a certain Lady Eskaria—”

Pellmia coughed, coloring. Kilmet smiled and the [Lord] laughed after a
while.

“True! Ah, Kilmet! Why couldn’t you have had a son so Gilam could have
what I had in you? Instead—”

Kilmet’s smile vanished. He stared ahead as the [Riders] and [Knights] in

front turned left, following a road.

“It’s just fate, Pell. Your son—he’ll be a good lord. He just needs time.”

“He needs to listen to you.”

Pellmia moved his stallion closer. He didn’t bring up Kilmet’s child again.
He shouldn’t have, [Lord] or not. He’d helped Kilmet bury the poor thing.
Overcome by guilt, Pellmia looked around.

“Where is he now? I’ll scorch his ears off and tell him you’re in command.”

Kilmet coughed.

“He’s with the scouts. Ahead. Too restless to stay with the vanguard. I gave
them strict orders not to let him get close to the Goblins and there’s a pair of
[Knights] in that group. They won’t let him do anything untoward.”

The old [Lord] nodded, relieved.

“Maybe that’s the solution. Put him with the [Knights]. They won’t tolerate
him ordering them about, and they’re solid. Where are the Goblins now?”

“Passing through a forest.”

The old [Manservant] pointed ahead. Pellmia frowned and blinked his eyes.
He rubbed at them angrily.

“Damn. Couldn’t we have forced them to go around?”

“We’d lose an hour or two doing that. It’s not a large forest, but it’s wide.
Our riders won’t lose them, Pell.”

“They’d better not. We’re two days away from the meeting spot and I can’t
imagine Veltras will be late. He offered me three casks of his personal stock
if I made it there on time.”

Kilmet whistled.

“He wants those Goblins there badly, then. Did he say why he’s driving
them with such a fury?”

“No, but anyone with a brain can tell where we’re going. Straight south.
The real question is why he spared so much effort for this group. The
Goblin Lord I can see, but a tribe of less than ten thousand? This group is
tricky, but what was the point? Unless he was more concerned about that
[Emperor] fellow than—”

Pellmia was interrupted by a bout of coughing from Kilmet. The [Lord]

frowned.

“You alright, Kilmet?”

“Fine, sire. It’s just a bit of smoke.”

“Smoke?”

Lord Pellmia stared ahead. And then he saw it. A dark plume of smoke
rising ahead of them. From the forest. He frowned. Then he saw someone
galloping back towards him.

“Lord Pellmia! The Goblins are in the forest! They’ve set part of it aflame!”

“Damn!”

Pellmia cursed and Kilmet signaled the column of riders to swerve out of
the path of the smoke. The [Lord] growled, feeling the stinging in his eyes
worsen despite the fresher air.

“Of course they would do that. That damn little Goblin’s their Chieftain.
Veltras warned me about her. They’re trying to slow us down. It won’t
work. Have five of our [Mages] with water spells ride ahead and douse the
flames. And tell the scouts to move the Goblins faster! We’ll catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia!”

The rider turned her mount and rode ahead faster. Pellmia looked at Kilmet.

“Looks like Gilam will have a bit of excitement. Come on, I don’t want the
Goblins to have time to set more fires. I can’t imagine how they found the
time to set these ones. Do they have spellcasters among them? I only saw
the lightning mage.”

“He probably did the fire setting. Lightning can do that.”

“Yes, but—”

Pellmia paused as he saw the rider galloping back.

“What now?”

“Lord Pellmia! There are more fires starting!”

“Well, put them out—”

“We can’t! There are hundreds! The entire forest is going up! Lord Pellmia,
the Goblins—”

Pellmia saw a black haze coming towards him, he turned his head,
spluttering and coughing as the horses whinnied. The riders slowed. When
Pellmia could see again, he froze.

“Dead gods.”

The single smoke trail had multiplied. Now dozens of areas were bleeding
smoke. As Pellmia watched, he saw a red glow begin to spread between the
trees. Kilmet stared, a wet handkerchief over his mouth.

“Fire. How did they—”

A roar made all the Humans jump. Pellmia saw a shower of sparks fly up
from deeper inside the tree line. The red glow intensified. Now the forest
blazed from a hundred different spots. Smoke was rising everywhere. Lord
Pellmia stared around in horror. How had the Goblins done it? They hadn’t
time to start a fire, let alone gather enough fuel for this!

Then he saw a Goblin amid the trees. It was riding away from them,
holding it’s blade aloft. The blade was steel, but it burned.One of the
[Mages] cried out.

“Enchantment! The Goblins have enchanted blades! That’s [Burning

Blade]!”
Several mounted [Archers] raised their bows, but the Goblin disappeared
before they could loose. Pellmia turned to the [Mages].

“Stop the fire! Summon some rain!”

“We can’t! We’re not [Weather Mages]!”

“Then douse the fire with water!”

The [Mage] raised her hands.

“From where? We can’t conjure enough! The forest is burning! We have to

go around!”

Pellmia nearly tore his mustache off.

“Those Goblins will have nearly an hour’s head start on us! Damn, damn—
fine, turn the column! We have to catch them!”

He whirled his mount, about to use one of his Skills. But Kilmet’s voice
stopped him.

“Pell!”

“What?”

The [Lord] looked back, harried. Kilmet’s face was pale as he stared into
the burning forest.

“Gilam was with the scouts! He hasn’t returned! He must be inside the
forest!”

Lord Pellmia felt the blood drain from his face. He stared into the forest.

“No, he rode out. Didn’t he?”

Kilmet looked at the [Scout]. The woman hesitated, and then shook her
head.
“I’ve not seen any of the riders. They would have exited the forest the
instant they realized it was on fire, but—”

Pellmia didn’t listen to anything else. He charged his warhorse forwards,

ignoring the cries from the others. He rode towards the forest, coughing,
staring into the inferno. Now fire was licking from the treetops. It had yet to
reach the outermost layer, but Pellmia could hear a terrible crackling and
snapping from within.

“Gilam!”

“Pell!”

Kilmet caught his friend before Pellmia could charge into the blaze. Pellmia
swung his fist and Kilmet staggered but held on. The Lord was shouting as
the others caught up.

“Gilam! Where is he?”

“I’m sending a [Message] spell!”

The [Mage] had a finger to her temple. She stared into the fire and then
pointed.

“There! East! They’re inside, trying to get out!”

She galloped her mount to the left. Pellmia followed her, heart pounding
wildly in his chest. He saw her draw rein and back up her mount. The heat
was making the horses shy away from the forest. But then she pointed.

“There! Someone give me a hand! [Wind Blast]!”

She pointed. Another mage cast the same spell and the rush of air cleared
the smoke and fire for a second. Pellmia spotted a distant group of shapes
on horseback racing through the flames.

“Gilam! Clear a path for him!”

The [Mages] looked at each other, but then they began casting water spells.
Pellmia stood up in his stirrups. He and the other riders began shouting,
trying to attract the attention of the scouts. Pellmia could see their heads
turning. He saw the riders turn towards them. And then—

And then they appeared. Dark shapes moved in the burning forest. The
riders halted, and then began to ride the other way. Pellmia stared. Then he
saw them more clearly. Bounding shapes. Goblins on wolfback. And
running behind them, Hobs and smaller Goblins armed with pikes.

The Goblins were moving. They charged through the burning forest,
following the riders. Following Gilam.

“He killed a Hob yesterday.”

Kilmet’s voice was quiet. He was staring into the blaze. A burning branch
fell from one tree, sending sparks flying upwards. The forest was turning
into an inferno that not even magic could put out. Pellmia saw the riders
fleeing. But the Goblins were surrounding them. He pointed with a shaking
hand.

“Forwards! Don’t let them—”

“No! It’s a trap! Don’t let Lord Pellmia enter the forest! Stop him!”

Someone grabbed him as he tried to kick his warhorse forwards. Pellmia

fought the hands. He screamed as true terror flooded his chest. His boy was
in there. He drew his sword and the hands fell back.

“Gilam! Stop! Don’t touch him! Gilam! Gilam!”

—-

Rags stood at the edge of the forest. Her lungs hurt. The smoke half-blinded
her, but the wind was blowing north. Away from her. Behind Rags, her tribe
was moving far away from burning forest. Goblins clutching burning
weapons and sticks put them out and turned to stare at their handiwork.

They were impressed. So was Rags. Her [Burning Blades] spell had worked
even better than she’d thought. Yes, it was terrible for use in battle, but free
fire was free fire. And this—

This was a lot of fire. The forest roared as if it were alive. The fire sounded
like a distant wind, but the burning and breaking trees sounded like thunder.
Rags stared into the orange glow. It looked like death in there.

Good. At least two groups of Humans were caught in the blaze. They’d
followed the Goblins into the forest, tried to stop them from setting fires.
Now they were trapped. Rags could see then fleeing. She’d sent some of her
Redfangs in and Hobs. They’d trapped the Humans. They couldn’t stay long
—the fire would kill everything inside. But the Humans might still get
away. And he was in there. That young Human.

“Chieftain?”

Pyrite stood by her side. Rags looked at him. She nodded.

“Hurt them.”

The Hob nodded. He eyed the fire and looked around.

“Can fight for five minutes. Then probably have burning death.”

Rags nodded.

“Five minutes good. Healing potions ready. Small group goes in. You stay
back in case Humans attack.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags nodded at Pyrite. Then she looked around. The burning light of the
forest was reflected in the eyes of her warriors. Redscar grinned as he
leaned on the back of Thunderfur. Poisonbite and Quietstab were standing
ready. Rags pointed.
“Hobs behind! Redfangs with me! We ride!”

She charged into the forest. Her Carn Wolf howled in fear as Rags crashed
through the flames, but Rags had chosen a spot of the forest that had yet to
be engulfed. She urged her wolf forwards. She had minutes. But the
Humans were in sight. A group of them fought desperately, keeping back
from the flames while the Goblins she’d sent in encircled them.

“Fall back!”

Rags screamed at the Goblins. They looked up and ran as her warriors
streamed past them. The burnt Hobs and Redfangs gave way as more of
their comrades charged the Humans. Rags stared around. There were thirty-
odd riders here. But the one she was looking for—

There. She saw a flash of armor and a panicked figure striking around him.
The Humans had their backs to a wall of fire and the only way out was
through the Goblins.

“They’re turning!”

Redscar snarled as he raced past Rags. She nodded. The Humans had no
choice. They formed a clumsy line and then kicked their mounts forwards.
Rags pointed.

“Forwards!”

Her Goblins screamed as they charged the Humans cut off by flames. Carn
Wolves leapt at horses, making the already frightened animals rear and
throw their riders off. Hobs filled the gaps, dismounting riders, cutting them
down on the ground. Others grabbed the horses, dragging them towards
safety. Rags watched the Goblins and Humans mixing in the confusion. But
she only had eyes for one person. She waited as she saw him spur his mare
past a group of fighting Hobs. Then she pointed.

“There!”
Her Carn Wolf leapt forwards. The young man lashed out, cutting another
Redfang across the chest. He flinched as the Goblin’s sword skated off his
breastplate. He turned—and saw Rags.

The fool had a helmet, but he’d forgotten to lower the visor. Rags saw a
frightened young man’s face between the wrought metal. He was older than
her. But he looked scared, like a child. He flailed at her with his enchanted
sword as she charged him, crossbow in one hand, sword in the other. Rags
drew her Carn Wolf out of range. Gilam tried to follow her, but his mount
reared. A Hob was right in front of it. Quietstab swung a huge stave and the
[Lord] screamed and choked as the cudgel knocked him from the saddle.

He landed hard on the forest floor. He was alive—his armor had blocked
the blow, but now he was on the ground. Quietstab ignored the young man
—he yanked the white mare down as it tried to rear. Quick as a flash he
mounted it and kicked it into motion.

“Stop—”

Gilam croaked as the Hob took off with his horse. He got up clumsily and
looked up as Rags rode towards him. Gilam’s face went pale. He fumbled
for his sword. But he’d dropped his sword. He backed up as Rags stared
down at him.

“You—you—”

Rags ignored his quavering voice. She aimed the crossbow right between
Gilam’s eyes. He turned to run. Her Carn Wolf snarled and leapt. The
impact threw Gilam to the ground. He rolled over weakly and Rags stuck
the crossbow’s tip into his helmet. Yes. Rags remembered Twofeather’s
death. This was the moment. She wondered if she should say something.
This felt so easy. So…she could hear Gilam panting loudly. It sounded like
weeping.

“Gilam!”

Rags looked up. She heard a desperate shout. Someone was riding through
the sea of flames. A man on horseback. Her eyes widened. Lord Pellmia
himself was riding towards them, heedless of the fire that was making his
horse scream. She looked down at Gilam and put the pieces together. This
was his son!

Good. Rags saw the man casting about. Her Goblins were in full retreat.
They had what they came for. The Humans were burning or dead. The
Goblins had their horses and some of their gear. Staying any longer in the
forest would be death. Rags had to follow them. Her finger tightened on the
trigger.

“Father!”

Gilam flailed wildly. Rags’ Carn Wolf stomped on his chest and he gasped.
Somehow, Pellmia heard it. He turned and Rags saw his form freeze.

“Stop!”

She saw the [Lord] riding at them, ignoring the flames that raged around
him. She heard him scream. She had heard that scream before. Desperate.
Helpless. She had heard Goblins weeping and screaming over their friends,
their parents. She had heard Humans screaming the same as she burned
their lands and homes.

Rags held very still. She could see Pellmia stop as he saw what was going
on. The tip of her crossbolt was aimed straight at Gilam’s forehead. Her
finger was on the trigger. Rags met the [Lord]’s eyes. He would see his son
die. That seemed fitting. She’d watched him cut down families when his
forces assaulted the city. This was justice.

“Stop.”

Pellmia’s voice rasped as he held out a hand. Rags didn’t move. Her Carn
Wolf snarled in fear and anger as the fire closed in. Rags felt the tension in
her crossbow’s trigger. One pull and Gilam died. And Pellmia would be
broken.

As she’d broken when she’d seen Relc cutting the heads off her family.
He’d hummed a song as he did it. This was vengeance for that moment. For
Laken Godart. For Tyrion. For all of it. Only, it wasn’t enough. Pellmia
would come for her after she killed his son. Rags would have to evade him.

The small Goblin held still as she considered it. Yes, he’d follow her—or
stay with his son. Either way he’d probably die. But if he followed her
she’d have to lure him back to Pyrite. He was probably good at fighting.
And if she killed him, would the Humans stop or follow? She could hear
them in the forest now, calling his name in desperation.

Loyalty. They’d come after her tribe. But they’d be leaderless. Could she
beat them? Or would it be better to run and hide? Rags hesitated. She could
hear sobbing now. She glanced down in irritation. The young [Lord]
couldn’t even die quietly.

It was hot. Rags stared at Pellmia. His face was white. He stood in the
forest as it turned to embers around him.

“Chieftain!”

A voice. Rags turned. Poisonbite was waiting. She had a group of Goblins
armed with crossbows. They were taking aim at Pellmia. She pointed.

“Hurry and kill! We go! Forest burning! Burning pain death!”

Yes. Rags saw it clearly now. Shoot Gilam. Keep Pellmia back. Aim for his
horse. Her finger tightened on the string. The crossbow’s trigger shifted.
Kill him. And kill the Humans that came after him. Slaughter them. They’d
kill her people otherwise. She had to kill them. Or run.

As Goblins did.

Rags saw a burning farmhouse. She saw a blind man declaring war. She
saw a city burning as her Hobs streamed through the gates. She saw a
Human army fleeing as she cut them down. She saw the Humans cutting
down her tribe from behind. And the pieces fit together. She looked at
Pellmia and saw something strange.
Wetness. The fire burned around him, but the [Lord] was weeping. He
stared at his son. He knew what Rags would do. And he couldn’t stop her.
His hand was raised. His son was weeping too. Rags stared at him. She saw
the whole of her history with Humans in the flickering of the fire between
them.

Kill. Flee. Ambush. Retreat. Revenge. Run. Attack. Defend. It had

happened when Velan lived. And it was happening now. Again and again,
since she had been born. And it would go on—

Forever. Rags stared at Pellmia. Then she looked down at Gilam. He was
silent. He’d given up or passed out. Rags hesitated. Her trigger-finger itched
to pull. But—

She raised her crossbow silently. Her warriors looked at her. Rags glanced
around. Poisonbite was staring. Pellmia had frozen. Rags turned.

“Retreat!”

She turned her Carn Wolf. Poisonbite wavered, but Rags pointed. And the
fire was growing more intense. Rags raced her wolf through the fire,
sensing its fur begin to burn. The Goblins hesitated, but Pellmia kicked his
mount forwards, racing towards his son. They turned and ran after Rags.

—-

He had to be dead. Pellmia tumbled from his saddle, landing hard on the
burning floor. Even the dirt seemed to be burning. He knelt by his son,
lifted the limp head. He had to be dead. That was why the Goblin hadn’t
shot him.

“Gilam. Gilam?”

Gilam’s face was pale. Sweat poured down his face and his eyes were rolled
back in his head. But he was breathing. Pellmia’s breath caught. He touched
Gilam’s face with a trembling hand and saw his son react. Only then did the
world start moving again. Pellmia looked up and heard the urgent voices at
last.

“Pellmia! Lord Pellmia!”

“Here!”

The man cried out hoarsely. He stood up and looked around.

“Here! Dead gods, get over here!”

He saw riders surging towards him in the flame. He heard Kilmet’s voice,
ordering the mages to douse the flames. Pellmia looked around. The fire
was intense. He could see a few shapes running in the distance. Goblins,
fleeing the fire they’d created.

Pellmia stood over his son. He was alone as his cohort fought to get close to
him. He was breathing hard, his armor scorched, his mount burned. He
watched as the Goblins ran out of the forest. The last group ran to the edge
and paused there. The Goblins looked at him. A small Goblin on the back of
a Carn Wolf turned. Rags met Pellmia’s eyes. He stared at her. Then he saw
the Goblins standing behind her.

Hobs. Goblins riding Carn Wolves. Crossbow Goblins. Others armed with
deadly pikes, standing at the forest’s edge. Hundreds of red, glowing eyes
found Pellmia. The Goblins stood at the back of their Chieftain.

In the moment before his escort reached him, Pellmia stood alone, over his
son. The Goblins stared at him. They could have turned back through the
fire. They could have killed the two Humans. But they did not. They turned
and ran after Rags through the smoke as the fire engulfed the forest. Pellmia
stood behind as someone screamed a word and water splashed on the
ground around him, instantly becoming steam. He stood and then bent and
cradled his son in his arms.

“My boy.”
—-

Later that day, Pellmia stood in the temporary camp that had been erected
just outside the burning forest. He held still as the [Healer] gently applied a
healing poultice to his skin.

“The burns are bad, Lord Pellmia. A healing potion won’t cure all the
damage correctly. Something about burns—I’ll apply as much as I can, but
you’ll need me to reapply this twice daily for several days.”

“That’s fine.”

Pellmia ignored the pain. He’d taken worse. He looked at Kilmet. The scar
on the man’s arm stood out as Kilmet coughed. He’d ridden after Pellmia,
helped him get Gilam out of the fire.

“Not as bad as that burn you got from the Corusdeer, eh, Kilmet? Now I
know what it’s like.”

“You could have just asked, sire.”

Kilmet looked up wearily. His grey hair was blackened with soot. The two
older men laughed and the healer shook his head.

“You’re lucky your armor saved you from the worst of the fire, Lord
Pellmia. Or there’d be little to laugh about. If you’ll excuse me, I must see
to the others. And your warhorse. He won’t be fit to ride for days yet.”

Lord Pellmia stopped laughing and nodded soberly.

“Yes, thank you. Is my son well?”

“Up and about. Shall I send him in?”

“Do so.”
The [Healer] left through the flaps of the tent. Pellmia was wincing as he
put his doublet on when Gilam stormed through the tent flaps. He was
already bandaged and poulticed, and his face was crimson with fury.

“Father!”

“Gilam.”

Pellmia turned. He tried to embrace his son, but Gilam stepped back.

“Father, the Goblins stole Olli! And my gear!”

“Did they indeed?”

Lord Pellmia blinked at his son. Gilam nodded. He clenched his hands into
fists.

“That damn Hob and that little Chieftain ambushed me! He rode off on
Olli’s back! My bag of holding was on her, and all the rest of my gear!
Father, give me a hundred [Knights]. I’ll ride into their camp and retrieve
her. And cut down their numbers so they’ll not dare try something like this
again!”

Pellmia blinked at Gilam. He looked at Kilmet who sighed and didn’t meet
his eyes. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“I see. So you survived the fire and you want to get your own back, is that
it?”

“Yes! All I need are a few men—”

“No.”

Gilam paused. His face reddened further. The fire had scorched part of his
hair off and what hadn’t been burned was reddened. He looked like one of
those water bugs that were so highly sought-after. What were they called?
Lobsters, that was it.

“But father, the Goblins attacked us! They nearly killed me!”
“But they didn’t. They let you go. They could have killed you, but they
didn’t.”

“Only because they knew what would happen to them if they did!”

“Most likely.”

Pellmia nodded. He thought of the small Goblin who’d met his eyes. His
hand closed slowly and then unclenched. Pellmia stared down at his burnt
palm. He shook his head.

“They spared you. She did. And I don’t know why. Perhaps it was mercy.
Perhaps it was pragmatism. Either way—”

“Father, Olli—”

Pellmia turned. He looked at his son and Gilam went silent. It had been a
long time since Pellmia had looked at his son like that. Not as his boy, but
as a man looked at another man and gauged his worth. He shook his head.

“Kilmet?”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet straightened expectantly. Pellmia glanced at him.

“Have my son find another horse. He’ll ride with the vanguard tonight.
Under your authority.”

“But father—”

“And if he gainsays you in any way, spank him as you would your own boy.
I have a job to do.”

Gilam made a strangled noise. Kilmet covered a smile as he bowed slightly.

“The Goblins, Lord Pellmia?”

“Yes. We have a duty and I’ve promised Veltras they’d be there. This
changes nothing.”

Pellmia strode out of the tent. He left Gilam behind. Pellmia stared past the
rows of burnt riders towards the forest. It was ash now, ash and smoke. He
mumbled to himself.

“This changes not one thing.”

And yet it did. Pellmia bowed his head and then called for his horse. He
mounted it, ready to hunt the Goblins down. He still had a duty. The little
Goblin Chieftain had not won her freedom. But for the first time, Pellmia
thought of her. How small she was. Was that normal? Or was she someone’s
daughter? Did they have mothers? Fathers?

Pellmia had lived for over sixty years. He had survived both Antinium
Wars, fought the Goblins on his land. He had not seen the Goblin King’s
death, but he had celebrated it. He had known the world with the certainty
of a man his age could have. Now the world began to crumble under his
feet. But he had a duty. He was just no longer certain it was the right one.

—-

Rags sat in her camp, tending to her Carn Wolf. She hadn’t named it like
Redscar had with his. Names were a silly thing to give to an animal that
would probably die in battle. It was bad to get attached. But she still applied
the healing potion gently to its burns.

The Carn Wolf wasn’t happy. It nipped her slightly, expressing its
discontent at the pain. Rags let it, but bonked it on the nose when it tried
again. She turned as a Goblin poked her in the side.

Poisonbite had missed one of her burns, but only just. The other Goblin
frowned at Rags. She still didn’t understand why Rags had let the two
Humans live. Still, her exuberance over the battle in the forest outweighed
her personal issues with Rags.

“Chieftain, have special things. Magic weapons sorted. Also, bag.”

“Bag?”

Rags looked up. She glanced at her Carn Wolf and pointed. Another Goblin
took over tending to it. Rags got up and followed Poisonbite. She found
Quietstab, Noears, and Redscar sorting through the loot they’d captured
from the Humans. A lot of it was just quality steel weapons. There was a
weakly enchanted shield, a hatchet with a throwing enchantment on it…and
a bag of holding. Rags’ eyes widened when she saw Noears drop a large
rock into it and pull it out.

“Good bag. Lots of items can fit.”

“What was in?”

“Food. Gold. Letter. Shared food, tossed gold and letter.”

Noears dismissively pointed to a pile of gold coins. A few Goblin children

were having fun throwing the gold coins around. Pyrite was reading the
letter. Rags walked over to him.

“What say?”

The Hob shrugged.

“‘Lady Cimeca, your face is as radiant as a pear in the full moonlight. I

yearn to stroke it and speak to you of high matters such as romance and a
possible union between our houses. You know my father and yours are close
friends and I am most struck by your wit and humors and loveliness. Please
give me some token to which I may use for remembrance…’”

Rags tilted her head back and forth, frowning. She cut Pyrite off when it
seemed that the letter began to repeat itself, only this time comparing this
Cimeca’s legs to swan’s necks or something.
“What it mean?”

Pyrite considered the letter and shrugged.

“Want to have sex.”

“Oh.”

The Hob crumpled the letter up and tossed it away. Rags went back to the
bag of holding. She stared at it.

“Can use. Put heavy things inside.”

“Yes, Chieftain. What about horses?”

Noears pointed. Rags stared at the restless horses. Of all the things they’d
looted from the Humans, that was perhaps the most valuable. She eyed the
snow-white stallion that was pacing back and forth restlessly and shrugged.

“Put on wagons. Good food and goes fast.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Noears smacked his lips happily. Redscar came over, flipping a sword up
and catching it by the hilt.

“Chieftain, what now? Go this way? Hills. Hard for Humans to follow. Can
lose. Or fight.”

He pointed westwards. Rags looked the way he was pointing and saw a
distant set of hills. She hesitated, and then shook her head.

“No. We rest. Humans coming.”

“Not run?”

Redscar looked crestfallen. Rags nodded.

“Not run. Can’t.”

The Redfang leader grumbled, but he nodded. The Goblins lay about, just
resting, looking at the burnt forest. Rags sat with Pyrite. After a while she
looked at him.

“Didn’t kill Human.”

“Hmm. Why?”

“Other Humans kill us.”

“They do that anyways.”

Rags nodded.

“Yes. But maybe they don’t kill as many this way. Maybe they stop. Maybe
—”

A horn blew. Rags looked up. She waited, and saw a line of riders circle
around the forest. Pyrite looked up as well. The Goblins groaned and got to
their feet.

“Maybe, Chieftain?”

“Maybe I’m wrong.”

Rags grumbled as she got up. Her body hurt. And she had burns now. But as
she prepared to give the order to run, she saw the riders pause. They formed
a line a few hundred meters away. Rags stared at them. She saw a familiar
shape in front. Lord Pellmia stared towards the Goblins. He did not give the
order to attack. Nor did his [Mages] send the customary rain of fireballs to
get the Goblins moving. The horn blew again, but the Humans didn’t
advance.

“Get moving! Humans moving!”

Pyrite called out loudly. The Goblins began packing up. Still, the Humans
didn’t advance. Rags stared at the distant riders. They were giving the
Goblins time. Only a few minutes. After about five had passed the Humans
began moving forwards at a trot. But that was enough. The Goblins began
moving and the Humans followed. The warhorses tethered to wagons
snorted, but pulled the Goblins ahead. And Rags saw the Humans
following. They didn’t press the Goblins like last time. They just followed.

The two Goblins stood together as the Goblins moved past them. They were
tired, but they moved at a good pace nonetheless. The Goblins stared as
they moved. At the little Goblin standing next to the fat Hob. She had not
crushed the Humans. But she had hurt them. She had even spared some for
some reason. She had set a forest ablaze. And she had shown them
something. A plan. Hope.

Rags stood with Pyrite. She turned. She and Pyrite began jogging. He
looked down at her.

“Maybe, Rags?”

“Maybe. Something will change. Or not. Humans still chasing. We still

probably dying. But this is different.”

“What?”

The little Goblin reached up and touched her chest. She looked at Pyrite and
smiled wearily.

“Us.”
 5.48 G

Day 5

The Humans came with the dawn. They blew war horns, waking the
Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe from their sleep. But the Goblins knew
the Humans were coming and so many were already awake. They surged
out of their camp as the Humans appeared in the distance. Only, this time
there were no [Fireballs], no spells or arrows loosed. The Humans let the
Goblins begin their march in peace.

That was something. A very little something, but every Goblin noticed it.
And they debated why. Unlike the last four days, today the Goblins of the
Flooded Waters tribe gossiped as they ran. Some, the smallest or wounded
or most tired, sat on wagons pulled by some very fine looking warhorses.
And they talked.

If it was characteristic of Humans to play power games and for Drakes to

bicker amongst themselves, and for Gnolls to form packs, then chatter was
endemic among Goblins. Not gossip or talk, but chatter.

As Drassi might have put it, gossip was a product of cities, of largely
peaceful populations who had to coexist with each other. Sometimes gossip
was about the most dire of worldly events or politics, but other times it was
mundane, petty. Silly. A social activity that existed to let people relax and
insult neighbor’s cooking behind their backs. But Goblins had no time for
that.

They had no [Gossips], but every Goblin communicated. Not talked. They
were masters of sign language and interpreting body movement and
posture. They relayed information about dangers, opportunities, and so on
as a way to survive. So they chattered about what had happened yesterday.

About Rags. Of course the Goblins had all seen the forest fire. And they
were quite impressed. Rags had turned her [Burning Blades] spell from a
rather useless enchantment into a real and deadly weapon to use against the
Humans. All the Goblins were rather proud about that. That was what you
expected of your Chieftain. They had a smart one. The real issue of
contention was the battle in the forest, though.

Again, it was an impressive battle. Only three Goblins had perished, and
they’d taken down a number of Humans. More importantly, they’d gotten
the horses and equipment. That was a real win. But Poisonbite had openly
shared what she’d seen. Rags had cornered the Human lordling, the one
who’d killed Twofeather. And she hadn’t killed him.

The reaction from the Flooded Waters tribe was mixed. Many Goblins,
especially those in the more militant groups like Tremborag’s former
Goblins and the Redscar Warriors were annoyed. They wanted the Human’s
blood and as much of it as possible. The other Goblins were just confused.
Some wondered if Rags had done it to avoid the Humans getting angrier. If
so, that was a fair decision, but Rags hadn’t said that.

They’d all heard her. And by ‘all’, one Hob had been listening to Rags and
Pyrite talk while he bandaged his arm. But he’d obviously told everyone
else, so it was the same.

Rags had said it wasn’t just about not angering the Humans. She’d said it
was something else.

Maybe. Maybe something will change. And it wasn’t the Humans that
would necessarily change, but the Goblins. That made no sense to the
Flooded Waters tribe as a whole. Several poked their chests, feeling no
different. Why would they need to change? And why would Humans ever,
ever try to stop killing them? Unless there were too many Goblins, the
Humans would always attack.
It was a mystery. Their Chieftain’s mind was strange. Most of the Goblins
had no clue what Rags had meant. And she was prepared for that. As her
tribe began their march on the fifth day, Rags was prepared for angry
Goblins to question her decision. She was prepared for fights as she
watched the Goblins chattering without speaking more than a few words.
Most of her tribe did not understand. But some of them did.

It surprised Rags. She saw a few smaller Goblins and a single Hob push
their way into the conversation, signaling with their hands and arms
dramatically to get the attention of the Goblins around her. They pointed at
Rags and made complicated gestures. The other Goblins turned and
listened.

This is what the few said. Not in words, but in action. In deed. Showing the
other Goblins, patting their stomachs, smacking their lips. They told a story,
a simple message.

Yes, of course the Humans would kill them. Of course they would not
change from a single spared life. Of course they still harried the tribe.

But there were Humans that mattered. There were Humans that changed.
And there was a reason to save some.

They had met her. A destroyer, the one who killed their old Chieftain. But he
had tried to kill her. And when she killed him, she had not killed Goblins.
She gave them food. She had been kind.

There was a reason.

The other Goblins looked askance. They ridiculed the few Goblins, and
then fell silent as another fact was made aware to them. The few Goblins
who argued with the rest and told the story weren’t strong or quick or
exceptional. In fact, they were overwhelmingly mediocre in terms of Goblin
quality. The tribe they had come from was tiny and it only had one Hob.
But it had been the Flooded Waters tribe. The original tribe that Rags had
taken over.

They had known Erin. They had been in her inn. Long ago, or so it seemed
to the Goblins, they had walked fearfully into the inn and seen the
strangeness. The wonder, too. The games of chess, the skeleton who served
drinks. And the smiling [Innkeeper] who served them blue juice and pasta.

It sounded like a fairy tale to the other Goblins. Of course they had heard
rumors of Rags’ past. But this was the first time the stories of Erin Solstice
became public knowledge. Some were fascinated by the tales, others
scornful.

The first Goblin to approach Rags was Noears.

“Is it true?”

Rags glanced at the [Mage]. He was riding Oli, the white mare that had
been taken from Gilam. No one else objected; Noears looked worn from
shooting animals with lightning for rations. But he grinned at Rags and
raised his eyebrows.

“What true?”

“Chieftain knew Human? Good…Human?”

“True.”

Rags shrugged. Noears blinked. He rode back to tell the others. After a
while, Pyrite jogged over.

“Chieftain.”

“Is true.”

The little Goblin sighed and looked ahead as her Carn Wolf paced forwards.
She patted it on the back, feeling its exhaustion. Pyrite shrugged his broad
shoulders.
“Not question. Chieftain, Goblins are tired. Hobs. Bad thing.”

“Oh.”

Rags looked around. Of course her tribe was tired, but Pyrite was pointing
out a new development. Some of her Hobs, who’d been unwavering as they
carried supplies and even other Goblins, were finally reaching the limits of
their stamina. She could see them faltering, grunting with the effort of
keeping up. She frowned.

“Put on wagons. Trade off.”

“Hobs are heavy.”

That was obvious too, but also important. Rags gritted her teeth and glanced
behind her. She could see a group of Humans keeping a wary distance to
her right.

“Can’t slow down. Humans not that kind. Trade off.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite moved away, signaling some of the most exhausted Hobs to take a
break. Then he jogged back.

“So. Kind Human.”

“Yes. Gave name. And helped learn magic.”

“Really?”

Pyrite looked very interested. He peered up at Rags. She nodded absently,

remembering.

“Not her. Pisces. She—taught me chess. Became [Tactician]. Gave me

food.”

“Hm.”
The Hob grunted with clear interest. Rags stared ahead. Oh yes. How
simpler it had seemed then. She’d liked Erin. And hated her too, sometimes.
For being too nice, too naïve. As if making friends would bring back the
dead. But she missed Erin now.

And now—Rags’ head snapped to one side as she saw a ripple in her tribe.
The jogging Goblins parted and she saw something that made her heart
lurch. A fallen Hob. He’d tripped and was too exhausted to get up. He lay
on the ground, panting. Pyrite pointed at him.

“Get to wagon! Keep moving!”

“No.”

Rags leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf. She ran over. The Goblins
parted for her and Rags saw that many stumbled as they moved. They were
more tired than she’d thought. The Hob looked up.

“Chieftain. Leave behind.”

He was breathing hard and his bare chest was covered in sweat. He was a
fat Hob, like Pyrite, but younger. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d collapsed.
Pyrite and several Hobs came over. They wanted to lift the Hob, but Rags
waved them back. She knelt, thinking hard.

They couldn’t keep on like this. This Hob was the first, but the wagons
were already overloaded. Even with the horses they’d acquired, the Goblins
were hitting a wall. But what else could she do? She had the bag of holding,
but Noears had told her that it could not hold living beings. Or if it did, the
people inside would quickly become not living.

All the Goblins had stopped. They watched as Rags knelt by the Hob. They
were waiting for her to have a good idea, Rags knew. Only, she didn’t have
a way to beat sheer exhaustion. She didn’t have a plan.

But she was a Chieftain. And maybe that was enough. No, it had to be
enough.
Rags looked around. The Hob was lying on his back, resigned, unable to
move. He wasn’t prepared for Rags to leap onto his broad stomach. He
grunted and then looked up. Rags was standing on his gut. She looked
around at the Goblins. Tired faces stared back.

“Why are you tired?”

The Goblins looked at each other as Rags shouted. They scratched their
heads. The answer was obvious. Rags pointed behind them.

“Humans chase us for five days! Only five days! Not even throwing
fireballs anymore! Why is hard to run?”

She leapt from the Hob’s stomach and landed on the ground. Rags looked
around and then slapped her chest.

“Follow me! Is not hard!”

She took a few steps forwards and turned. The Hob lying on the ground
stared at her. She gestured at him.

“Up! Why is Hob with big legs slower than small Chieftain?”

“Tired. Carry lots of things.”

He grunted at Rags, almost indignantly. Rags sneered at him.

“Big Hob can’t even walk another step? Can’t even stand?”

The fat Hob glared at Rags. He shifted and sat up as if to prove her wrong.
He pointed at his back.

“Chieftain not carry club.”

Rags saw the Hob had strapped a huge club to his back. It was a monster of
a weapon, the kind you’d use to hunt bears or [Knights] in full armor. It had
to weigh a ton. But Rags just sneered. She struck a pose and pointed to her
shortsword hanging at her side.
“That because Chieftain smart. Uses sword. Sharp. Better than wooden
club. Only good for firewood.”

The Hob huffed as the other Goblins laughed.

“Not if fight Gargoyle.”

“You fight Gargoyle?”

Rags paused. The Hob nodded proudly.

“Not Redfang. But fought one once.”

The other Goblins murmured in appreciation as he showed them a large scar

on his stomach. A few of the Redfangs nodded, acknowledging the deed.
Rags smiled.

“Can kill Gargoyle, but not stand up?”

“Can stand! Not run. Too tired! Heavy club!”

The fat Hob shouted at Rags. She shook her head dismissively. She
switched to the common tongue.

“Only heavy club? In that case, get bag of holding! Noears!”

The [Mage] rode over. Rags pointed at the bag of holding he’d been
entrusted with.

“Take club. Then Hob run. Too lazy otherwise.”

Noears glanced at the Hob. The fat Hob blinked and stared at the bag of
holding. He opened his mouth to protest, then realized he’d been tricked.
Silently, he unfastened the club from his back and handed it to Noears. The
club vanished into the bag of holding.

“Now, up!”
Rags looked at the Hob. He hesitated and then stood with a groan. Rags
smiled. She looked around.

“Other Hobs have heavy weapons? Give to Noears! Give armor, too!”

“But armor for fighting!”

One of the other Redfang Warriors protested. Rags glared at him.

“Where fighting? We run! Come! Humans following! Follow! Not hard!

Chieftain can do it and she smaller and younger than you.”

Rags jogged forwards. The Redfang Warrior flushed as the other Goblins
laughed and shrugged off his armor. He tossed it at Noears as he easily
caught up with Rags. She grinned at him.

“Redfangs supposed to be strong! You ride wolf too much.”

“So does Chieftain.”

“Not today.”

The Redfang Warrior grunted thoughtfully. Rags turned.

“Follow!”

She began to run. Not quickly, but at a lazy jog. The Goblins watched her.
Rags wasn’t moving fast. Not at all. Why, you could sprint three times as
fast easily. Four times as quick if a monster was chasing you. A few of the
children ran after Rags. They waved at the adults. Look! Look, we’re
following Chieftain!

Rags smiled. She moved through her tribe, reaching the front. The Goblins
in front watched as she jogged past them lazily. She waved and then heard a
thumping pair of steps behind her. She turned her head and saw the fat Hob
had caught up.

“Tired!”
He complained loudly, but he was running, matching her shorter strides
with his long ones. Rags laughed at him.

“Chieftain run too fast for you?”

A spark entered the Hob’s eye.

“This fast? Easy. Can run for hour. Without club.”

“Good! Hey! You, follow!”

Rags grinned. Her tribe watched her as the children, the fat Hob, and the
Redfang Warrior jogged after her. They looked at each other.

A female Hob was next. She grinned as she tossed a dented helmet at
Noears. She ran forwards, her long legs easily catching up. A pair of smaller
Goblin females followed her. And then a dozen Goblins. And then
hundreds. And then all of them.

“Follow Chieftain!”

Noears pointed and shouted. He was being besieged from all sides. The
Goblins were throwing armor and heavy weapons at him and the Goblin
[Mage] was swearing as he tried to collect it all. He leapt from the back of
the mare and began to run, stuffing objects into the bag of holding. All the
Goblins were running now. Pyrite grinned as he ran next to Quietstab and a
group of Hobs. They’d found a second wind during the short break. All the
Goblins had.

“This fast is easy! Slow! I swim faster than this!”

Rags shouted at the Goblins behind her. They hooted and some shouted
back insults. After all, Rags had rode this far! What did she know?

But now she was running and all the Goblins could see. Rags hadn’t
abandoned her shortsword or her belt. She declined to give it to Noears.
And she was running faster now. Not too much faster; it was easy to keep
up. So her tribe did.
They spread out behind her, Hobs and Goblins. Most couldn’t even see her;
Rags was so small that she was eclipsed in height even by a lot of regular
Goblins. But they knew she was there. And if she was running, why
couldn’t they? She made it look easy. Because it was. It had to be. So the
Goblins began hopping off wagons and copying the rest. They had the
energy to run for another hour! If it was this fast.

The pack animals and horses grunted in surprise as the Goblins began
abandoning the wagons and running ahead of them. Their burden was
quickly replaced by weapons and gear that couldn’t fit in Noears’ back of
holding. The Goblins divested themselves of everything, from weapons to
armor to clothing in a few cases. And they ran.

Children. Non-warriors. Even some of the wounded hopped off the wagons
and ran. They matched the pace of the Goblins around then, in front and
behind. It wasn’t that they had more energy. They were tired, worn down.
But they were together. And they were following her.

Their Chieftain. The Flooded Waters tribe began to move as one. Their
footsteps became a solid drumming—a hundred feet hit the ground at the
same time, and then a thousand. And the Goblins felt it.

A sense of exhilaration. A primal sense of connection. Together. They

looked at each other and smiled.

They did not laugh or cheer, as Humans might have done. Goblins didn’t
make unnecessary sound. But they did smile. The Goblins ran in silence,
but not silent. They spoke, gesturing at each other with hands, pointing.
Ahead. At her. Telling stories. Creating another.

The tribe ran faster, propelled by something that could not be explained by
the symmetry of muscle or the biology of bodies. Faster, forgetting the
exhaustion or the pain in their legs. Faster, as if they could run forever so
long as that little Goblin led them.

Faster.
—-

Lord Pellmia rode with Kilmet, speaking quietly with one of the [Mages]
who’d been assigned to his command. Her name was Genviere and she was
a personal [Mage] employed by Lord Erill. She’d been placed under
Pellmia’s command but as a [High Mage] who’d graduated from Wistram
she was by no means a subordinate to be ordered around.

There were other [Knights] of course, some of quite high level. And a
[Captain], a [Tactician] assigned to the riding division, and two other lesser
[Lords]…it would have been a good test of any [Lady] or [Hostess]’ Skills
to tell who outranked who. In practice, it was a matter of who had the
highest levels, and that meant Pellmia was only followed by Genviere.

“I understand, Magus Genviere. I do.”

Lord Pellmia inclined his head as he rode with the [Mage] at the head of
their company. They were setting a decent pace. With his [Far Riders] Skill,
even a slow horse could outdistance most horses without any Skills.
However, it wasn’t an excruciatingly fast pace, and their quarry—the
Goblins—could keep ahead of them at a slow jog with their Chieftain’s
Skill. That was the issue, and Genviere had been selected to bring it up with
Lord Pellmia.

“The Goblins are slowing, Lord Pellmia. I realize they’re reaching their
limits from the pace we’ve set, but we must harry them or they’ll continue
to slow or stop. Allow us to harass them.”

“No. Not yet.”

Lord Pellmia saw the woman sigh. She was strikingly beautiful, her face
almost half-Elvish in beauty, her cheekbones high, her features delicate and
sharp in the classic Terandrian vision of attractiveness. But it was an
illusion.
One of the clues Pellmia had was that Genviere bore none of the marks of
travel despite having been camping for five days. The second was that she
was a female [Mage] and they were notorious for using illusion spells. But
Pellmia forbade comment, as mentioning an illusion spell was highly
offensive to most ladies in polite society. Still, this illusion was a good one.
Dead gods, she even smelled fragrant.

“Lord Pellmia, is this in regards to the incident in the forest yesterday?”

Genviere’s spelled features contorted into a deep frown. Pellmia glanced

about. He could see the rest of the riders nearby studiously not listening to
their conversation. He raised his voice so they could hear better.

“Yes. The Goblins spared my boy, Magus Genviere. I owe some a debt. You
might not agree, but they could have killed him. They did not.”

“They killed a number of our own. [Soldiers]. [Knights]. [Scouts]. Not all
by blade, true, but they left the rest to burn in fire. It was not a bloodless
engagement.”

Genviere frowned deeply. Pellmia took a breath and nodded.

“That is true. And I will personally see that the full restitutions are paid to
the fallen. However, this is a matter of personal honor. Do you object to my
command?”

He looked sideways at the [Mage] as she thought. Riding a few paces to the
left, Kilmet looked up as well. If there was any dissention, it would begin
with Genviere. At last, the [High Mage] shook her head. Her glossy, grass-
green hair shimmered as it caught the light. Another big clue, that. Mages
loved making their hair turn outrageous colors. Actually, most young folk
loved that.

“I am no [Soldier], Lord Pellmia. I lent my aid to Lord Tyrion Veltras

because of my ties to Lord Erill and the Goblin Lord’s threat. With that
said, I understand the inevitability of casualties in battle, especially given
our unusual mission. I also recognize gratitude, even towards Goblins, as
amazing as this case is. But we have a duty and I fear that at this pace we
will not reach the rendezvous tomorrow.”

“True.”

Pellmia bowed his head. He had promised Lord Tyrion they would be there,
but the Goblin’s pace had slackened. Without killing the stragglers, they
would slow. He bit the inside of his cheek. At last, he raised his head.

“We’ll see how far they’ve gone by midday. Make no mistake, this is my
responsibility, Magus. If we fail to reach the rendezvous point, I will take
full blame. However, if it is possible to move the Goblins close enough—”

Genviere was nodding politely and Pellmia thought she would agree,
especially if it meant she bore none of the fault. He broke off though.
Someone was riding back towards him. A [Scout], moving fast.

“What now?”

Pellmia cursed inside. If the Goblins had stopped, he would have to get
them moving. But the [Scout] wasn’t bearing that message. He drew up as
the [Lord] and [Mage] turned.

“Lord Pellmia, the Goblins are speeding up.”

“What?”

Pellmia stared at the [Scout]. He spurred his mount and sped forwards. By
the time he crested the slight rise, he could see the Goblins marching ahead
of him. Only, they weren’t marching anymore. They were running.

Not quickly. Not at the full speed a Goblin could go. But it was a decent
jog, and combined with the Skill they were under, they were moving fast.
Pellmia stared at them and then turned to Genviere, who’d ridden up behind
him.

“It seems the issue has resolved itself, Magus Genviere.”

“Indeed. One wonders why.”

Pellmia did too. But the Goblins were moving faster and that was what
mattered. He turned and raised his hand over his head.

“Company, advance! I don’t want those Goblins out of our sight! Tell the
[Scouts] to move the Goblins southeast! Kilmet, my maps!”

As he rode forwards, Pellmia began adjusting their course again. He

accelerated as he conferred with Kilmet and Genviere, moving up to catch
the Goblins. He could see them staring at him and the other riders.

They were five thousand strong. Not nearly as large as some town’s
garrisons, but a fearsome force given their level. The [Knights] rode with
pendants flapping in the wind. The [Soldiers] and officers wore their city’s
insignia proudly. The [Lords] and their [Retainers] laughed as they rode,
resplendent in their colors. They were secure in their knowledge that they
could eradicate the Goblins.

Normally, the sight of Lord Pellmia’s forces would have made the Goblins
shy away. However, this time they didn’t budge from their course. All to the
better, but it was strange. And something happened as Lord Pellmia was
riding and checking the map. He looked up as the paper bounced
awkwardly in Kilmet’s grip and frowned. The Goblins were pulling away.

“Faster! Why is our pace flagging?”

He snapped at the [Knight] in the lead. The woman touched her finger to
her brow.

“Apologies, Lord Pellmia. The Goblins have sped up again.”

“Again? Well…follow them!”

Lord Pellmia glanced back down at his map as his company accelerated as
his mount moved to keep pace. He inspected his map and made quick
calculations. When he looked up again, he frowned. The company wasn’t
moving at a trot anymore. They were actually moving at a quick canter. And
the Goblins were running.
“Are they…racing us?”

One of the [Knights] stared at the Goblins. Lady Welca Caveis, who had
been assigned to Lord Pellmia’s command to help with locating the Goblins
to begin with, stared as the Goblins began to run. One of the [Lords]
laughed uncertainly.

“Stupid Goblins. They’ll never keep that pace! They’ve got to be

exhausted.”

That was true. But Lord Pellmia wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. If
the Goblins wanted to make his life easier—he rode forwards.

“I don’t care why they’re running. Increase our speed! And add more riders
to the flanking patrols. I don’t want them trying something again.”

The Humans rode faster. Now the ground was moving past them fast. Lord
Pellmia tried to calculate how fast they were going. His [Far Rider] Skill
didn’t exactly double a horse’s speed, but it could increase their pace a great
deal. If they were cantering at—what, twelve miles per hour and the Skill
was working on them…how fast were the Goblins going?

“Dead gods. They’re moving quick! Looks like they’ve taken off their
armor and weapons—you can see it in the wagons.”

Kilmet rode next to Pellmia, eying the Goblins. They’d slowed a bit from
the full-out run, but they were jogging fast. And together! They moved as if
they were one unit. The sound of their feet hitting the ground was distant
thunder. Combined with the horses’ hooves, the air was filled with noise.

And the Goblins kept going. At first the Humans laughed and took bets on
when they’d slow. The first hour was jokes. The second confusion. By the
third, the riders were checking their mounts anxiously. Because the
unbelievable was happening.

The horses were getting tired first. They had to carry armored riders,
supplies, and their own armor in the case of the barded warhorses. Before it
hadn’t been an issue because the Goblins tired quicker, but now—
“Do we break, Lord Pellmia?”

One of the [Lieutenants] looked uncertain as the Humans paused to let their
horses drink a bit of water. Pellmia stared at the Goblin tribe running ahead
of him. He could see the little Goblin in front, running with Hobs behind
her.

Lord Pellmia did not like her. She was a murderer, a monster. That she had
saved his boy did not change that. But he could not help admiring the sight.
He shook his head and swung himself off his horse.

“Stop? Are you insane, boy? The Goblins are finally moving! We follow!”

“But the horses—”

Pellmia turned his head and shouted.

“Dismount! We run alongside the horses! Don’t give me that look! Have
none of you been on campaign before? The [Knights] have trained for this!
The rest of you, run and I’ll restore your vigor with [Second Wind] when
needed. Get those horses moving!”

The other riders stared at Pellmia, but the [Knights] and more experienced
[Riders] were already dismounting. Pellmia heard grumbling, mainly from
the inexperienced [Lords] and [Soldiers]. He saw a familiar face among the
discontented. Gilam was arguing with Kilmet. Only today, the aged retainer
was having none of it. He pointed and his voice was a field roar like
Pellmia’s.

“You heard Lord Pellmia! This is no joyride! We move at a trot! Anyone

who can’t keep up can return at their own pace. Move out!”

He suited action to words. Soon the entire group had dismounted and was
running alongside their horses, following the Goblins. Pellmia huffed as he
ran, despite having put his armor in his own bag of holding. He was too old
for this! Kilmet’s face looked set as he kept pace. But then again—he
glanced around. Despite the grey in his and Kilmet’s hair, they were still
doing better than some of the others. Genviere gave Kilmet a long stare as
she tried to run without tripping over her robes.

“Why’re they doing this, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet gasped a question. Pellmia shook his head, loathe to answer.

“The Chieftain. It must be.”

He stared at the little Goblin leading the others. She was running at the front
of the entire tribe. She hadn’t used a Skill—if she had one she surely would
have used it before. She was just running. But why was that so important?
Pellmia looked around, and then he realized it.

Because it was her. Because she was their Chieftain. He could see his
company moving around him, some running ahead, some behind. Pellmia
thought about running to the head of their group, but thought against it. He
was too old to set that kind of pace and besides, this wasn’t a company of
his soldiers. Many of the men and women here didn’t owe him allegiance.

But her? The small Goblin ran ahead, occasionally turning to shout at her
tribe. And they raised their hands and shouted, following her. Believing in
her. There was something to admire about that. Something to admire, and
fear.

“That’s a leader if ever I saw one Kilmet. A Goblin leading other Goblins.”

“A danger.”

Kilmet agreed. Pellmia saw his old friend’s pallor fading and resolved to
issue stamina potions and use [Second Wind] soon. He nodded curtly.

“Something to watch for. She cannot escape. But I see why Lord Veltras
was so insistent we leave the Chieftain alive. She leads that tribe. Without
her, they’d never have made the journey.”

“True enough.”
That was all Kilmet said. Pellmia kept up his pace, panting as his horse
cantered next to him. He thought it was funny. Somehow, in some strange
way, the Goblins had flipped the nature of things on them. It was he who
was pushing the Goblins. Theirs was the superior force. But somehow,
they’d fallen into the Goblin’s pace.

And he saw that they knew it. The Goblins ran faster. Following their
leader. They didn’t falter, and they ran so hard that in the end it was Pellmia
who was forced to stop them so his people could rest. He couldn’t believe
it. They’d been dead on their feet yesterday. Where was their energy coming
from? How were they doing it?

—-

Day 6

It was her. There was no magic in it. No Skill or things of classes. Perhaps
there was something Goblin about it, but if there was, it was nothing any
Goblin could explain. It was just morale.

Rags ran at the head of the tribe on the second day, before the Humans even
had time to blow their horns. She set the pace and her tribe ran after her.
Children and adults. Hobs and regular Goblins.

They were all tired. Their legs hurt from the pace they’d set yesterday. But
when they saw her back, the Flooded Water tribe couldn’t help but follow.
They found their aches and tired legs disappear as they stared at their
Chieftain.

Onwards! Ever faster! If she led them, they could run forever! Even the
Humans couldn’t keep up. The Goblin’s flagging spirits surged. They
cheered their leader, shouted along with the Redfangs as the warriors roared
and took the lead behind Rags.

The Goblins forgot about the battle with the [Emperor]. They forgot about
the deaths at the city, their pursuers. They forgot about Tremborag and the
danger they were in. They ran as if they’d never stop, across hills and
valleys, fields of grass and through forests. The spring air was cool on their
faces and the sun shone down. The Goblins ran and ran—

And then they stopped. Rags had halted. A group of riders had cut her off
from the front. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe halted, coming out
of their running trance. They saw Lord Pellmia’s riders forming a line in
front of Rags as she stared at them uncertainly. The wagons rolled to a stop.
Rags stared at Lord Pellmia as the Humans ahead of her blew on their
horns, clearly telling the Goblins to halt. She looked around.

Where were they? The ground was filled with bright green stalks and they
were standing almost on a dirt road winding south. A few rocks interrupted
the plant life and she could see a lake far to the east. To the north a distant
mountain sat isolated, and if she looked south she could see the High
Passes, far away as they were. But there was nothing of note.

Except, Lord Pellmia clearly thought there was a reason to stop. His riders
rode in a circle around Rags’ tribe, forcing them into a circle. Then the
[Lord] dismounted. He pointed and his people moved a hundred paces west,
out of bow shot. Then they began setting up camp.

“What are they doing, Chieftain?”

Poisonbite ran over, looking confused. Rags stared at the Humans as they
began setting up tables to eat off of. They were even making a fire! She
frowned.

“Resting. Must be at spot they wanted us to go.”

“Here?”
The female Goblin looked around skeptically. Rags shrugged. She eyed the
landscape again, but she couldn’t see anything. All the way to the north
there was nothing but grasslands. The Humans hadn’t colonized this part of
northern Izril, and the horizon was just a distant black line. She looked
behind her. She could see…a human settlement right on the edge of the
horizon? Or was that just a clump of something else?

“Can’t move. We wait. Get food out! And get weapons! Just in case.”

Rags waved her hands. The Goblins in her tribe sighed. They flopped onto
the grass. Some wandered over to the wagons and began unloading
weapons. Rags saw the [Cooks] getting to work and flopped onto the grass.

There was no fuel for a fire, but Rags had collected enough firewood in the
bag of holding that she could make a few large cook fires. It wasn’t cold
enough for her tribe to need them anyway. So Rags lay in the sun as the
wind blew, cooling the perspiration on her body.

The sun was warm, the sky blue. She felt good. She’d pushed herself hard,
running yesterday. But somehow she’d done it. It was like she couldn’t get
tired, not while she was leading her tribe. She felt…strong. Well, not strong
in terms of arm muscle, but…something like that.

Rags didn’t feel like she needed to figure it out. She felt good, and as a
Goblin brought her one of the first bowls of millet soup seasoned with
lightning-fried fish from a pond and a bit of frog and mealworms and
insects for taste, she was content. Even if the food was ick. Rags glanced
north absently. The sun was warm overhead. But she was a bit warm—it
felt like the heat from one of the bonfires north of her was being blown
downwind.

“Chieftain.”

Predictably, Pyrite appeared. Even more predictably, he’d chosen to

supplement his bowl of soup with food. Some of the growing wheat, still
green, and a colony of ants. Rags stared as Pyrite tossed several white eggs
into his bowl. She grimaced—she hated how they tasted. But Pyrite happily
gulped his food down, then flicked a few of the red ants into his bowl. They
were still clinging to his arm and biting him.

“Stopped.”

“Yes.”

The two Goblins looked at each other. Pyrite’s face was very calm, and he
was eating with his usual placidness. But Rags noticed that the Hobs and
Goblins with pikes had been moved to the edges of the seated Goblins. And
they all had weapons now.

The elation she’d felt drained away slightly. A bit of tension entered Rags’
stomach. This was it. She felt it. So did Pyrite. They were at their
destination. Now, whatever the Humans had planned for them would occur.

She had no idea what it was. She’d imagined they were being herded in this
direction to fight something. Or maybe to a city so they could be executed
for all the Humans to see. But this? This was nowhere. And yet—Rags
glanced at Lord Pellmia. His forces were all in one spot, but they could
easily run the Goblins down in this flat area. He was clearly waiting. For
Tyrion Veltras?

“Good run. Chieftain was Chieftain today and yesterday.”

Pyrite chomped on his food. Rags glanced up at him. She shrugged, feeling
a bit embarrassed.

“Was Chieftain thing to do. Not special. Other Chieftains lead all the time.”

“Yes. But was special because you did it. Smart Chieftain. And strong.
Better than me. Better than Garen. Leader, not just Chieftain.”

The Hob looked calmly at Rags. She flushed at the unexpected compliment.
She glanced around, feeling warm. That stupid fire was hot! Rags shook her
head.

“Still not good enough. Not yet.”

“But learning. But change.”

“True.”

Rags glanced at Lord Pellmia. She could spot Gilam among the tired
Humans. He looked miserable, which made her feel better. She emptied her
bowl—she was hungry!—and stood, stretching. The Goblins of her tribe
watched her. She looked at them and they nodded.

There was something in their gazes that had changed these last few days.
No, these last weeks. She had led them against the Humans, fought off
Bethal’s knights, defeated the [Emperor]. Led them. Pyrite was right. Now,
more than ever, she was their Chieftain. It felt strange. Rags felt large,
despite her small body.

And hot. She glanced about irritably. Had someone dumped all the spices in
one pot again? No—it was the fire. She fanned herself and decided to walk
out of range of the heat. Pyrite noticed.

“Hot?”

“From fire.”

Rags pointed north. Pyrite looked around and frowned.

“Fire? All fires downwind.”

“No. Fire there—”

Rags turned and stopped. Her finger was pointing north, towards the
mountain. But there was no cook fire in front of her. But the heat was real.
The heat and the sense that there was a…a fire nearby.

Slowly, Pyrite stood. He looked around and frowned. He sniffed the air,
checked the direction of the wind. Then he looked at Rags.

“Something, Chieftain.”

“Yes.”
“Something north. I feel too.”

“You do?”

Confused, Rags glanced up at Pyrite. He nodded and squinted north.

“Brightness. Stars. Glowing gem. North.”

That wasn’t what Rags felt. She frowned.

“I feel fire.”

“Fire? No. Bright light. Like in dark tunnels far underground. See light.”

“No, fire. Hey, Redscar!”

Rags turned and waved her hands. Redscar looked up from feeding
Thunderfur. He jogged over. Rags pointed north.

“Feel something? North?”

The Goblin frowned. He cast about, scratched his head, and then paused.
Slowly, he nodded.

“Feels like…mountain. Like High Passes north.”

“High Passes?”

Rags glanced south, towards the actual High Passes, the eternal, gigantic
mountain range. Redscar frowned as he tried to explain.

“Like tall mountain. Like…like stair up and see high mountain. Over
there.”

He pointed. There was a mountain that way. Dwarfhalls Rest. But it was a
lot smaller than any of the mountains of the High Passes. Barely more than
a giant hill, really. Rags glanced around and then realized something.
All the Goblins could sense it. They were eating, chattering, or just lying
down to sleep. But somehow, they were all facing north. And they kept
glancing north, idly, as if looking for something.

And now Rags could feel it for a certainty. There was a burning north of
her. A fire. But she could only see the empty grass, rocks, the road, and the
black horizon line north of her. She frowned.

“Something that way. But what?”

Rags stared north. The wind blew in her hair, and a bit of dirt. She cursed
and wiped her eyes. She was about to order Redscar to send a few riders
north—then she remembered that the Humans would probably stop the
Goblins. She glared at the black horizon line. And then she frowned.

Was the horizon…getting larger? It seemed that way. On the edge of vision,
where the sky and land mixed, the world was black. But the black line was
getting larger. And now the wind was blowing south and Rags felt more grit
blowing into her face. She cursed, turned her head and felt it.

Fire. Her head turned back. And then she saw it. The line was moving. And
it was no line in the sand. It was a bunch of bodies. Bodies wearing black
armor.

Rags looked around. She saw the Humans stirring from their camp. Rags
looked at Redscar and Pyrite. They were still frowning, trying to understand
what they were sensing and feeling. But now Rags was sure. She kicked
Pyrite.

“Hey!”

He looked at her. Rags pointed.

“Get tribe up! Move them!”

“Where?”

Redscar stared at Rags. She was scanning the landscape.

“There! East! Two hundred paces! Hurry!”

“Why?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags cursed.

“Just do! We’re in way! They come!”

“Who? Wh—”

Redscar demanded as Rags ran into her tribe, shouting orders. He stared
back at the strange, moving line of bodies. Then his eyes widened. Not all
the bodies were wearing black. Some were green. And then the distant
shapes made sense.

It wasn’t a line. And it wasn’t one single thing that was coming towards
them. Redscar saw a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand moving
shapes. They were spread across the plains, moving at a run. So many that
they filled the horizon, an unending mass of them.

Goblins.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Lord Pellmia and Kilmet rode their horses east, pursuing Rags’ tribe. They
stared north. They had known what they were supposed to see, but nothing
could have prepared them for the sight.

Goblins. Over a hundred thousand of them were running south. Goblins in

black armor, Goblins without. Thousands of Hobs. Smaller Goblins. All
running. Lord Pellmia felt his breath quicken as the ground seemed to fill
with Goblin bodies.
They were far off. Miles away. But already, Lord Pellmia could hear the
sound of approach. It sounded like distant thunder. He stared north and saw
Kilmet’s face pale. Both men were thinking the same thing.

“I’ve not seen so many Goblins since the Second Antinium War. Pell, there
are so many Goblins—”

“Steady, Kilmet. Steady. Company, we’re abandoning the Goblins! On me!”

The Humans started as Pellmia raised his voice. He kicked his warhorse.
The animal was only too glad to get out of the way. It snorted and Pellmia
calmed it with a hand. He rode east at the head of the company, out of the
way of the Goblin migration. But he couldn’t help looking north with the
others.

So many Goblins. It seemed as if there was no end to them. And Pellmia

couldn’t quiet the shaking of his hands on his reins. He remembered a
similar sight.

Millions of Goblins, following the Goblin King. Each army hundreds of

thousands strong, led by Goblin Lords and Chieftains. Tens of thousands of
Hobs. So many Goblins it seemed as though they could drown Izril in
bodies. And at their head, the Goblin King, howling as he cut a hole
through Humans, half-Elves, Drakes, Gnolls, Selphids and Lizardfolk and
Dullahans and—

“Pell!”

Lord Pellmia heard Kilmet’s voice. He realized he was galloping. He forced

himself to slow and turn. They were out of the way of the Goblins heading
south. But so many. So many!

“They could sack practically every major city with an army this large. We
don’t have walls on most of them. Invrisil would fall! Only First Landing
would survive. That and maybe—”

Kilmet stared at the Goblins. Pellmia shook himself. He had to stay calm.
He looked around.
“They’re coming. Keep an eye on the Goblin tribe we brought. If they make
a break for it, we have to force them towards that lot.”

“And if the Goblins in front decide to charge us?”

Genviere had paused. She was looking pale as she studied the Goblin line
approaching. Pellmia shook himself.

“If that happens, we’ll retreat. But we’re not alone. There should be guides
—there!”

He pointed. Another group was raising a dust storm. A group of riders to the
east and west was moving south, ahead of the Goblins. They were specks in
front of the Goblin horde, but they had to be at least a thousand men strong.
At least! And they were not Goblin. Pellmia gritted his teeth.

“This is all part of the plan. Steady. We’ve nearly completed his task.”

“All of this was his plan?”

Genviere looked at Pellmia. The [Lord] nodded. He scanned the horizon,

not looking at the Goblins now, but for what he knew must be behind them.
Lord Tyrion Veltras. All of this was his plan. He’d done it. This force had to
be the Goblins from Dwarfhalls rest. He’d marched them south, as fast as
Lord Pellmia had run Rags’ tribe. The Goblins of the Great Chieftain of the
Mountain’s tribe. But not just them. The Goblin Lord’s army had been
besieging the mountain. And Lord Tyrion had brought them too. He’d
brought…

All of them.

—-

Rags stared as the horizon was filled with moving bodies. There were more
Goblins than she’d ever seen in her life. And that was only the first rank.
Goblins streamed towards them across the grassland, running down the
road, others through the fields, trampling everything underfoot. Black
armored Goblins ran in front, warriors wearing the iconic black armor of
the Goblin Lord. And behind them?

Goblins. Green bodies, so many that they blended together. Crimson eyes,
distant pinpricks of light at a distance. Rags found herself backing up. The
Goblins were headed straight for them. She looked around and saw her tribe
was transfixed.

“Pack up!”

Rags’ voice made the Goblins start. She shouted above the growing thunder
of the Goblins moving towards them. She waved her arms and pointed.

“Pack! Get wagons moving!”

“Chieftain! Which way?”

Noears looked alarmed as he stared at the Goblins. Rags hesitated. She

stared around and saw Lord Pellmia. His group had retreated far out of the
path of the Goblins. She looked around. If they ran for it—

No, they were still too close. And Rags could see a glittering line of riders
coming from their west. She hesitated, and then pointed south.

“South! Move slow! Pikes to rear!”

The Goblins moved to obey. They loaded the wagons and began to walk.
Slowly. The Goblins with the twenty foot-long pikes ran to the rear. They
didn’t quite aim them at the approaching Goblins, but Rags could sense the
tension.

Was this Goblin force hostile? Why were they marching? Those were the
Goblin Lord’s warriors, weren’t they? And that burning—Rags cast her
glance north again.

It felt like a giant bonfire was moving towards her. She felt like she should
be able to see it, a roaring pillar of flames coming ever closer. It made her
nervous. But the fire wasn’t scary in itself. It actually felt warm. She felt
alive. But she didn’t know why and that was the cause of her fear.

“Chieftain. Lots of Goblins. We fight? We run?”

Quietstab appeared at Rags’ left. She could see Poisonbite marshaling her
group of warriors. Redscar had assembled his Redfangs and was glancing at
the Goblins approaching them. Rags looked around for Pyrite. He was
standing with his Hobs, glancing at her and then behind.

“Can’t run. Don’t want to fight.”

“Good.”

The Hob smiled nervously. Rags saw the Goblins around her shuffling
forwards. She whistled for her Carn Wolf and it bounded over. Rags
mounted and pointed.

“Walk! Walk!”

Her tribe did. They stared back as the first row of Goblins in black armor
finally came within close range. They were running, closer to running than
a jog at any rate. The Goblins moved in a rolling wave, some forging ahead,
others falling behind, but none daring to stop. Such was the momentum that
any Goblin who tripped or fell would surely be trampled by the thousands
behind them.

So many! Rags saw wagons, Hobs loaded with supplies, and pack animals
by the hundreds, just like her tribe. She also saw a good number of Goblins
were mounted. And—her blood chilled for a second—Shield Spiders. Large
ones. Many scuttled ahead, given a wide berth by most of the Goblins, but
some were large enough to ride. Rags saw Goblins in black armor sitting on
their backs.

“Goblins coming!”

“Raise pikes!”
Pyrite bellowed an order. The first row of black Goblins wavered as they
moved towards Rags’ tribe. They were clearly surprised to see more
Goblins. They raised their weapons uncertainly as Rags’ rear line raised
pikes. The Flooded Water tribe halted and the Goblins behind them froze.

They stared at the pikes. Twenty feet long and tipped by metal. The Goblins
that held them were armored in scrap metal and Hobs stood behind them,
armed with steel. Yes, the formation was one that was designed to slaughter
most groups of cavalry, but if the Goblins charged, the pikes would do a
pretty good job at impaling anything, really.

The Goblins in black armor hesitated. They eyed Rags’ forces and made a
snap decision. They broke to the left and right of Rags as their comrades
kept moving, splitting like a parting ocean in front of Rags’ tribe. Rags saw
her Goblins looking around uncertainty, but the Goblins in black armor
gave them a wide berth and made no move to envelop them.

They weren’t here for a fight. Rags felt a pang of relief. She looked back.
More Goblins were following behind them, clearly as shocked to see
another tribe just standing there. They too parted and Rags realized her tribe
was like a rock in the middle of a river. She shouted, getting the attention of
her tribe.

“March! Forwards, slow!”

Her Goblins turned. The ones with pikes shouldered their burden and the
wagons began to move ahead. Slowly. It allowed Rags’ tribe to further enter
the stream of Goblins. Her tribe glanced about, but now some began to
shout and wave at the Goblins passing on either side. The other Goblins
shouted back, and drew a bit closer.

“So many Goblins! From where?”

“From mountain. These are Goblin Lord tribe.”

“Not just them. Chieftain, I see Goblins. Mountain City tribe!”

“Where?”
Rags looked around. Quietstab pointed out a passing Hob he recognized.
Rags hesitated. She’d expected to see the Goblin Lord’s forces, but
Tremborag’s Goblins too? Had the Goblin Lord taken the mountain before
the Humans had chased him away? Or was this…

The Goblin army wasn’t just warriors. There were children and Goblins
who clearly weren’t warriors moving with the rest. They stumbled past
Rags’ tribe, staring with wide eyes at the rested and comparatively healthy
Goblins.

It was a stark contrast. These Goblins looked worn, practically dead on their
feet. Rags watched the first wave of Goblins move past her position and
eyed their speed. They didn’t have [Fleet Foot]. They were moving a lot
slower. But they were still moving at a fast jog. Rags didn’t understand
why, until she glanced behind her and saw the end of the winding Goblin
migration. In the distance, the black line had changed to one of silver.

A glittering wave of [Riders] filled the horizon behind the Goblins.

Thousands, tens of thousands of mounted Humans rode forwards, so many
that Rags quailed to see them. Humans mounted and, Rags heard from the
Goblins shouting at her tribe, countless more behind them. On foot.

“The Humans have made a huge army to crush Goblin Lord! Big army!
Biggest! [Mages] and [Knights]! [Soldiers]! Gold-rank adventurers! And
her! Kingslayer!”

Rags’ heart skipped a beat as she heard Quietstab give a report. Her other
lieutenants looked nervous. Kingslayer. Ellia Arcsinger, the slayer of the
Goblin King. No wonder the Goblin Lord was running.

“Chieftain, what is plan?”

Pyrite looked at Rags. Goblins were streaming past their small tribe. And it
was a small tribe. There were probably twenty…yes twenty Goblins for
every one of Rags’. At least! Rags felt overwhelmed, but she squared her
shoulders.
“What can we do? We march! Keep pace with rest, but don’t let others
come near! Talk more! Redfangs, patrol right. Poisonbite’s warriors left
side! Pyrite takes rear! Quietstab in front with Noears!”

“Yes, Chieftain!”

The other Goblins looked relieved. Rags wished she was certain in the
orders she was giving. She got her wagons moving and sat in the center of
her tribe, looking around restlessly.

None of the other Goblins was making a move on her tribe. But they knew
there were others. Like before, chatter spread throughout the entire force of
Goblins, only on a much larger scale. At first, just the news of another
Goblin tribe was relayed, and then details about the tribe. It was hard to
miss the Redfang Warriors mounted on Carn Wolves, and Rags herself
stood out as the Chieftain. And when that information spread back through
the lines of Goblins—

She first heard it as a roar that went through her bones. The Goblins around
her froze. Then Rags saw the crowd of Goblins to the left part. She saw a
huge shape looming above even the tallest Hobs. A gigantic figure with pale
green skin from sitting in the darkness for so long. A massive, fat face. And
a fat body. Really, all of him was fat. But there was so much.

Tremborag lumbered through the ranks of Goblins, a giant Hob, obscenely

fat. His arms and legs were huge pillars that casually threw Goblins aside.
He approached the Flooded Water tribe and stopped. His crimson eyes
widened in surprise. They swept the ranks of Goblins, narrowing when he
spotted Quietstab and the other Goblins formerly of his tribe. Then they
stopped. He had found Rags.

“You.”

Tremborag’s voice was deep. Loud. He stared at Rags in shock as she

turned her Carn Wolf to face him. The animal growled nervously.
Tremborag’s eyes were wide with shock. Then his expression changed into
a snarl.
“You. Traitor!”

He roared. The Goblins around Rags flinched. Tremborag lumbered

forwards, his hands clenching into fists. And suddenly, his huge body
wasn’t so flabby. Muscles seemed to grow out of fat and his skin tightened.
Tremborag’s round face grew bestial and his teeth and claws lengthened. He
loomed over Rags, moving towards her faster, faster.

“This is your fault you traitor!”

Tremborag howled. The Goblins around him fled as the Great Chieftain of
the Mountain charged. Rags scrabbled for her sword. She saw the Goblins
around her panicking, then heard a voice.

“Pikes!”

Pyrite roared as he pushed forwards. The enchanted battleaxe glowed in his

hands. A group of Hobs charged forwards. Suddenly, there were two dozen
Hobs between her and Tremborag. They hunkered down as Goblins with
pikes charged forwards, screaming wildly. They set themselves and
Tremborag was suddenly facing ten pikes aimed at his chest. His wild
charge slowed. But he did not retreat. He swiped at the pikes, splintering
one and throwing the Goblins holding another. He tried to advance, but
Rags had recovered herself.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins around her started. They raised their crossbows, aiming at
Tremborag. Then the Great Chieftain’s arms tensed. He raised his hands in
front of his face, but his eyes were burning hatred and his jaws were
dripping with saliva. He roared and the Goblins flinched. Rags held up her
hand, seeing Redscar charging left, flanking Tremborag with his warriors.
She locked eyes with Tremborag, wavered—

And the sea of Goblins parted. A Goblin, a Hob on the back of a Carn Wolf,
leapt over the heads of the Goblins. More riders charged out of the chaos.
The Hob on wolf back charged towards Tremborag. He halted as he saw the
confrontation. His gaze swept past Pyrite, found Rags. The Hob’s eyes
widened in recognition.

Garen Redfang stopped and stared at Rags. She stared back. There he was.
Tall and proud, carrying his famous red blade in one hand. He didn’t look as
weary as the other Goblins and he still radiated strength. He was just as she
had remembered him. But she wasn’t.

“Redfang!”

The cry went up from Garen’s right. He turned and Rags saw Redscar and
his warriors appear out of the chaos. The warriors mounted on Carn Wolves
were howling, ready to attack. But they froze as they saw Garen. They
halted as one.

Redfang Warriors. His Redfangs. Only, they were of Rags’ tribe. They had
betrayed him. Rags saw Redscar freeze up as he saw Garen. The true
Chieftain of the Redfang tribe looked at his warriors and then at Rags.

“Rags.”

“Traitor!”

Tremborag spat. His body was halted in mid-transformation. He was raging,

but even in his fury Tremborag was no idiot. He could see how many
Goblins were between him and Rags’ tribe. He might be the biggest and
most deadly Hob, but Rags had hundreds of Hobs, pikes, and crossbows
aimed at his chest. Plus the Redfangs and Noears, who had a ball of
lightning in one claw, ready to loose. Tremborag hesitated.

“I’ll break these pikes. You kill her, Redfang!”

Garen hesitated. He stared at Rags and his hand tightened over his blade.
Rags reached for the crossbow on her back slowly. By her side, Quietstab
and Poisonbite tensed. And then all the Goblins heard a voice.

“Make way! Make way for Goblin Lord! Cease fighting!”

It was a bellow, a surprisingly educated voice. Rags turned her head and
saw another towering figure emerging from the ranks of the Goblins. This
Hob wasn’t as large as Tremborag but he was all muscle, unlike the fat
Great Chieftain. Eater of Spears parted the Goblins around him with his
arms and then turned. A Goblin rode past him. A Goblin riding a horse. Her
head was too large and her teeth were bared. They were silvery and grey,
metallic. Snapjaw rode her mount in a tight circle, scattering the Goblins
even further. And then a third Goblin appeared.

He appeared out of the crowd, seated at first. Only Rags couldn’t see what
he was sitting on so it looked like he was just sitting on the air. Then she
saw a huge black body, scuttling legs. The Goblins flinched as a Shield
Spider, three times as large as a horse, scuttled out of the crowd. It was
massive, a true giant of its kind.

And it was dead. Something or someone had torn the head off it. So what
the Goblin was really riding was a headless corpse. The Shield Spider had
taken grievous injuries in other places, so that part of its body was ripped
open, exposing dark internal organs, rotted and putrid. But still the spider
moved at the will of its master who sat on its back.

The Hob was thinner than Garen, not built as strongly. He was certainly not
fat as Tremborag, and he could almost have passed for a Human if it
weren’t for his green skin and pointed ears. His head turned as Snapjaw and
Eater of Spears flanked him. A group of Hobs in black armor rushed
forwards, putting themselves between the Hob and Tremborag and Garen.
The spider rider saw Rags’ tribe and his eyes widened. He glanced at
Tremborag and pointed.

“Split them.”

His voice was loud and he spoke in the common tongue! The Hobs rushed
forwards at his command without question. Tremborag snarled and
retreated. Garen whirled his wolf and rode back as the black-armored
Goblins formed a line between them and Rags’ tribe. They completely
ignored the pikes and other Hobs at their back. The Goblin stared at
Tremborag.
“Begone.”

“You do not give me orders.”

Tremborag’s voice was barely controlled rage. The Hob ignored him. He
looked at Garen. The Hob looked up with clear hatred in his eyes. Garen
didn’t bother with a response. He just turned and rode back through the
crowd. Rags saw the Goblins he’d brought with him—all with red fangs
painted on their shoulders—turn to follow. Tremborag turned and bulled his
way through the Goblins as well.

The Hob on the spider’s back watched him go. Then he turned. His gaze
swept the Goblins of Rags’ tribe and they shuddered. Partly in fear, partly in
longing. They stared at the Goblin on the spider’s back as if he shone. And
he did. In their minds.

Rags stared too. The Hob’s eyes weren’t crimson like every other Goblin.
They were black, with white pupils. She had never seen any Goblin with
eyes like that. She shuddered. But then the black gaze moved towards her.
Rags steeled herself and didn’t look away. She locked eyes with the Hob
riding the undead spider.

The Goblin Lord stared at Rags and she met his eyes for the longest second
in her life. Then his gaze flicked back. He looked up and frowned. Then the
Goblin Lord pointed.

“The [Mages] have noticed. Clear the area!”

His voice sounded…normal. It wasn’t like a Goblin who’d learned to speak

the common tongue, but like a native speaker’s. It wasn’t guttural or harsh
or deep or…anything. It was just loud. But there was a reverberation to it.
Power in his words. The Goblins around him rushed to obey and Rags saw
her tribe moving away, obeying without thinking. She started as her Carn
Wolf padded back and realized she was moving too! She jerked her Carn
Wolf to a halt and looked up.

Something bright was falling from the sky. Rags stared at it as the Goblin
Lord calmly rode his undead spider back. Rags’ eyes widened as the fiery
thing resolved itself into falling meteors and fireballs, glowing orbs, and a
rain of magical arrows. She turned her head and screamed.

“Run!”

The Goblins around her needed no encouragement. They raced out of the
way as the spells fell. The first meteor struck the earth with a roar and sent
up a plume of earth. Rags felt some of it land around her and heard more
explosions.

The falling spells detonated as they struck the ground. Goblins fled as the
[Mages] unleashed another volley, forcing them to run or die. Rags shouted
for her tribe, trying to keep them together. Somehow, miraculously, they
managed to escape the bombardment intact. The spells rained down for a
minute, but only in the spot where Tremborag had been facing off against
Rags’ forces. The Goblins moved forwards in a mass and Rags found her
tribe caught up in the procession. She shouted, waving her arms, restoring
their ranks.

“Keep moving! March in line! Keep other Goblins back!”

The Hobs reacted slowly to her commands, but they did get the job done in
the end. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe shakily began marching,
but they kept glancing back towards the spot where the Goblin Lord had
been. So did Rags. She started as someone approached her from the side.

Pyrite. The battleaxe was on his shoulder. He stared back towards the
destroyed craters in earth. Fire had spread to a few of the growing plants
and the Goblins running past stomped on the flames before they could
spread. The Hob shook his head as the Humans following the Goblins
loosed another volley of spells and arrows, this time forcing the rear-most
ranks of Goblins to hurry up or die. He glanced up at Rags and spoke
quietly.

“That was Goblin Lord.”

“Yes.”
Rags looked for the Hob, but he had vanished into the mass of Goblins. She
thought she could see Tremborag standing above the others and maybe the
other huge Hob—Eater of Spears. But she wasn’t sure. She turned to Pyrite.

“Goblin Lord.”

“And Tremborag. And Redfang.”

“None died.”

That seemed wrong to Rags. Garen had sworn he would oppose the Goblin
Lord. And Tremborag had seemed just as adamant, for all he was content to
hide in his mountain. Why weren’t they fighting?

The Humans. They were chasing the Goblins. And they were willing to
blast the Goblins apart to keep them moving. It didn’t explain everything,
but it explained enough. Rags glanced ahead. The Goblins were marching.
They’d never really stopped. They looked tired, but Rags was sure they
wouldn’t stop until nightfall.

Everything was different, but some things were the same. Rags took a few
steadying breaths. She didn’t know what was happening. But she could
guess and she knew that she was relatively safe for the moment. She had to
move her tribe. So with that in mind she turned to Pyrite.

“We march again. Pyrite, take rear. Don’t let other Goblins get close.”

The Hob eyed her.

“What you do?”

“Same thing as yesterday.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She gritted her teeth in determination. Pyrite
looked concerned.

“Wise, Chieftain?”

“Can’t stay in back. Get lost or trampled. Hey! Follow!”

Rags waved her arms. The Goblins around her stared. Her tribe looked
shocked as Rags jogged ahead. But then they followed. They broke into a
jog, and then a run. Rags saw the Goblins ahead of them turn and part ways
in surprise. The Flooded Water tribe ran past them, accelerating, faster,
faster.

She had a Skill. Her tribe had a Skill. The other Goblins did not. They
stared as her Goblins zoomed past them, heads held high. They shouted as
they ran. The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe, from the Goblin Lord’s army
looked back in alarm and surprise. They fell back, moved out of the way.

Rags’ tribe surged forwards, moving faster than the rest. The weary Goblins
stared as the small Chieftain running ahead. Their eyes followed her. So did
Garen’s. Tremborag spat as he forced his burning legs to move. And Reiss
stared in curiosity at Rags’ back. She could feel his gaze there, but she
didn’t turn. Rags ran at the head of a hundred thousand Goblins, seeing the
Humans racing ahead of her to guide the Goblins. And she had to wonder
where they were going. And why.

—-

Lord Tyrion Veltras was busy. He stood at the heart of a ring of people, all
of whom wanted to speak to him. [Mages] bearing messages, [Messengers]
with the same, [Scouts], officers with questions or issues that required his
attention, and not least the nobility. There were a number of [Lords] and
[Ladies] and [Servants] who had come on behalf of their masters to speak
with him. Tyrion dealt with it all coldly and calmly.

“Recheck the supplies for spoiled goods. Have the [Quartermaster] in

charge of that section replaced and administer punishment. If necessary,
find more supplies at the next village we pass. Tell Lady Faima that the
soldiers are not hers to order about. If she requires a bath, perhaps she
should seek it in a town and stop following this force. Or she may have her
servants draw it for her. But her personal soldiers are under my command
for the duration of this campaign and I will have her respect that. Sir Niels,
resolve your grudge with Sir Vecle later. I won’t have duels of honor in my
camp. Lord Bhors—”

Lord Pellmia stood at the back of the gathering. He watched as Tyrion

efficiently reduced the number of people circling about him. The nobility he
dealt with brusquely in most cases, while he devoted the most time to
problems concerning the army. It was really a matter of him deciding what
action to take. In most cases, the other [Lords] and officers he’d appointed
could handle the details. Soon, Lord Pellmia could step forwards. He did
not.

It didn’t take Tyrion long to spot him either way. The younger [Lord] waved
aside a [Mage] with a stack of transcribed messages for him.

“I’ll review them in my tent. The rest of you, leave us. Lord Pellmia, I
congratulate you on your efficiency.”

“You’re too kind, Veltras.”

The two men found themselves alone. The evening light shone into
Pellmia’s eyes so he turned sideways. Tyrion had the sun at his back. It was
nearly night. Tyrion’s forces were already camped and the Goblins were
sitting in their own camp. The campfires and distant shapes were still a
huge mass, but Pellmia had grown slightly used to looking at them. He
couldn’t even tell where the tribe he’d been shepherding had gone.

“It seems you’ve won our second bet. I will of course honor it. My stores
are yours to peruse when we return from the campaign. Or if you have a
preference, inform my [Majordomo].”

Tyrion didn’t waste time on small talk. Pellmia inclined his head politely.

“I will. And I thank you, Veltras. But I’m afraid I can take little credit for
the Goblin’s arrival. They moved fast. I have no idea how you managed to
force so many to march this far without a Skill.”
“It’s been a challenge. But hardly an impossible one. Arcsinger’s Skills
have aided with the task. As have the [Mages]. We are on schedule,
however. With your success, we have all the Goblins in the same spot. Now
all that remains is to keep moving them. I intend to reassign the riders under
your command to interception duty. Lord Pellmia, it’s my opinion that you
would be well suited towards the left flank. I have Gralton and several
[Captains] in joint command, but none of them have the right temperament
to take control of the entire wing—”

“Veltras.”

Tyrion broke off. Lord Pellmia cleared his throat. He felt weary and
unhappy, but this needed to be said. He inclined his head to the younger
Lord Tyrion. They had to have, what, twenty years of difference between
them? It felt like a century today. Pellmia kept his voice as formal as he
could as he spoke.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras. I regret to inform you that…I can no longer aid you in
your task. My men are yours. But I have not the stomach for this anymore. I
resign my command.”

Pellmia stood straight as he spoke. He waited for Lord Tyrion to speak. But
the Lord just looked at him. Tyrion stroked his beard, looked Pellmia up
and down, and spoke curtly.

“I heard a report from one of my people. You engaged the Goblins in the
forest. They set a forest fire. Your son was nearly killed.”

Of course he knew. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“They could have killed my boy. They didn’t. I don’t know why, but he
lives. He lives and that—that’s enough. I will be returning to my estates.
With Gilam.”

Tyrion lifted one eyebrow.

“So suddenly? The boy was in danger, but he is a warrior. Or do you mean
to shield him forever?”
“He’s young. And doesn’t understand how close to death he came. He is
young, but a fool. I think…”

Pellmia’s throat closed.

“…I think my legacy is more uncertain than I would have liked to hope. My
son is not the man I hoped he would be. He might be, but I refuse to risk
him any further.”

“I see. However, you need not leave, Lord Pellmia. A man of your level is
hard to come by. I would consider a personal favor if you stayed. This
business with the Goblins—they killed good men and women. There’s little
to thank them for.”

“I know. But they spared my son. The Chieftain did, Veltras. She could have
shot him through the head. She did not. I can’t forget that.”

“And you’d halt your campaign for that?”

Tyrion looked uncomprehending as he shook his head. Pellmia nodded. He

wondered what his peers would say. He wondered what his wife—he shook
his head again.

“I apologize, but my mind is made up.”

This time Lord Tyrion visibly sighed. He drummed his fingers on his
forearm and then looked up.

“I need as many [Lords] as possible. Lord Pellmia, if you won’t take part in
the cavalry’s movements, could I at least persuade you to take charge of the
foot? The infantry are struggling to keep up and your Skills would be
invaluable there.”

That surprised Pellmia. He hesitated.

“But my son—”

“He would be quite safe in the rear. I could station him under the command
of my adjutants. They have some of the younger [Lords] in check.”
Tyrion watched Pellmia’s expression closely. Lord Pellmia grimaced,
rubbed at his face, and then nodded abruptly.

“I accept. Thank you, Lord Tyrion.”

“It is I who should thank you. Regardless of any incidents, you’ve done
what I asked. I would be honored if you joined my table at tonight’s
dinner.”

“I shall. And I shall leave you to your work. Until later, Veltras.”

Lord Pellmia walked back. Tyrion watched the older man go, and then
made a note to inform his people about the change. He glanced at the
Goblins in their camp and shook his head. Lord Pellmia lost his nerve? That
was unthinkable, or it should have been. The man had fought the Goblin
Lord with distinction. Was he that concerned for his son? Or had the Goblin
Chieftain shaken him that much?

For a moment Tyrion wondered, then he put it out of his mind. He beckoned
one of his [Mages] over. She had been screening his conversation with
Pellmia, preventing anyone from listening in. Tyrion spoke curtly as she
approached.

“Jericha, we’re on schedule. Send word to Emperor Godart. Tell him—no,

inquire if he will be able to fulfill his side of the bargain on time. And have
Lord Pellmia take charge of the infantry. Move Yitton Byres and Lord Erill
up to the front. I want the supply wagons moving as fast as they can to
catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mage] stepped back. Tyrion glanced around. He was alone for a
moment. He stared back at the Goblin camp. Over a hundred thousand of
them sat in the darkness, around fires, eating, moving about tiredly. Tyrion
grimaced. He looked up as Jericha returned. Magus Genviere was with her.
She bowed politely and Tyrion nodded.

“Magus Genviere, I appreciate your support of Lord Pellmia.”

“It was mildly eventful. May I take it that the operation was a success?”

“You may. And now that the Goblins are in place…the Chieftains have kept
their tribes together. But they’re no longer needed. We only require the
Goblin Lord.”

“Really.”

Genviere’s eyes flashed with interest. Tyrion nodded. He glanced at Jericha,

who was watching Genviere warily. Between the two, Genviere was the
better [Mage]. But Jericha was more loyal—the [High Mage] worked with
Lord Erill, but she wasn’t his, just an ally of convenience.

An important distinction, that. The tension between the two also probably
came from the fact that Jericha hadn’t studied at Wistram. She’d learned
from the mage’s academy in First Landing. It mattered little to Tyrion as
Jericha was one of the best spellcasters he employed, but it was everything
between [Mages].

At last, Jericha looked at Lord Tyrion.

“The incident on the march seemed to be due to the new Chieftain. Lord
Veltras, it appears that the ah, Great Chieftain and Goblin Lord both took an
interest in this Chieftain.”

Tyrion raised one eyebrow.

“Interesting. In that case, monitor the camp. I won’t tolerate the Goblins
slaughtering each other before I can use them. But if there are tensions, I
want to be aware of them.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mages] bowed. Tyrion turned his attention back to the camp as they
left. He stared at the Goblins in distaste. It would be so easy to attack them.
But not yet. Just a little longer, a little longer…his hand clenched.

He’d been waiting a long time for a chance like this. And he refused to let it
pass him by. So Tyrion waited. Another night fell as the Humans got to
work, monitoring the Goblins, much as things had been the last few nights.
But in the Goblin camp there was chaos. Tyrion thought of Goblins much as
the same people, but you couldn’t suddenly add in a new tribe without
consequences. And given that it was Rags’ tribe, the effects were large
indeed.

—-

Chaos. That was all Rags could see when the Humans finally had the
Goblins halt. There were so many Goblins milling about that she thought
they’d never get anything done. But to her surprise, the Goblins got their
camp ready in good time. Not as quickly as her tribe of course, but faster
than so many Goblins had every right to be.

And oh, it told Rags everything she needed to know. You could summarize
the entire situation in a glance just by looking at the camps at night. The
Humans camped behind the Goblins , the smaller camps encircling the
Goblin’s position and flashes of light from constant patrols—and the Goblin
camp itself. Or rather, the camp of two sides. Three, if you counted Rags’
tribe.

The largest camp was arranged in a tight circle. Large tents were set up, and
Goblins moved in lines, eating, using the latrines, sleeping, and so on. And
not a stone’s throw away was a mess of tents and Goblins sleeping out in
the open. They were cheek-by-jowl next to each other, but the two sides
were clearly sides.

Hobs and armed Goblins stood, at the edge of each camp, glaring at each
other. But they didn’t fight. There was no fighting in either camp, except for
squabbles over food. Rags had been on guard, but none of the Goblins had
tried to start anything with her tribe either.

Strangely, there was peace there, despite the separate factions. The threat of
the Human army made infighting a stupid idea. Plus, the [Mages] would
actively bombard any group of Goblins that fought against each other,
discouraging conflict even more. So the camp was at peace. But there was
an undercurrent, a tension running throughout all the Goblins. They weren’t
one people. They weren’t united.

There were factions. Rags could sense it, a confusing tug-of-war between
the various sides. It was like being trapped in—in a current. Like the ones
Liscor had when it rained. Rags had never seen the ocean, but she had
swum in those waters. They were constantly being sucked downwards,
disappearing into the earth. Every Goblin learned to read the currents when
they dove or be drowned, sucked into some deep crevasse. The camp felt
much like those waters.

The Goblin Lord was obviously the biggest pull. Rags could feel him
nearby, like a bonfire’s heat just out of sight. But the pull from Tremborag
was very strong too. She could even sense Garen’s presence, and some of
the other Chieftains. A lot of them were with Tremborag and they were
holding the Goblin Lord’s pull at a stalemate.

Still, the balance was fraught and ever-changing. As Rags stood in her camp
she could see Goblins scurrying around. Reiss’ war camp was organized,
rows of military tents set up like a Human army. Tremborag’s faction was a
mess by comparison, but very Goblin-like in that regard. Armed Goblins
stood watch on the edges of both camps, but a surprising number of Goblins
went back and forth between camps.

“Lots of Goblins moving between camps. Some come to ours.”

Quietstab’s voice made Rags turn. Their camp was on the edge of the other
two, like a strange new growth. As of yet it wasn’t part of the entire hubbub
so Goblins had yet to readily enter their camp, but Rags could see several
groups looking at her neat setup and cooking Goblins with clear interest.
She pointed to the outskirts of her camp, which was marked by a clear
stretch of grass about four feet wide.

“Keep some Hobs on edges of camp.”

Quietstab nodded. He’d figured out what Rags had.

“Not to let Goblins go?”

Rags turned her head.

“No. To not let them come in.”

The Hob blinked. He looked questioningly at Rags, but she was already
moving past him, waving at Poisonbite. Quietstab scratched his head, but
went to do what Rags had ordered. And she was right.

Before their camp had even been fully erected, the Hobs on the edges of the
camp stopped several groups of Goblins varying in size—one a family of
four, another nearly a hundred strong—from entering the camp. They
seemed confused why they couldn’t enter. Some tried to bribe the Hobs
with food they were carrying or showed willingness to do tasks, but they
were turned away in the end.

It was strange behavior. Definitely odd for Goblins who usually lived and
died by their tribe. But so many competing Chieftains and a Goblin Lord
had created the most unusual of circumstances. Noears summarized it best
as he ate with Rags and her officers. Today’s dinner was horse. Not all
horse, but that was a definite component. Rags felt slightly bad, but the
white mare had broken a leg in the chaos and that was that. Noears nibbled
at his fried meat and gestured at the Goblins still trying to get into the camp.

“Those are not-loyal Goblins. Bounce between factions. Want best food,
most protection. Caught between strong Chieftain. And Goblin Lord.”

“Not loyal. Cowardly. Run to biggest Goblin to hide behind.”

Poisonbite scowled darkly. She’d been wary all day, especially given how
many of Tremborag’s Goblins were marching around her. They’d
recognized their friends in Rags’ tribe and not been happy. Only the ban on
fighting had prevented some unpleasant confrontations.

Redscar nodded. He was feeding his Carn Wolf. He paused as he stared past
the aimless Goblins being blocked by Hobs. A few of the Goblins waiting in
the back looked like warriors. They had red paint on their bodies. He
pointed at them.

“Some are Redfangs. Want to talk. Should let in.”

“Garen’s Redfangs.”

Quietstab corrected Redscar. The other Goblin glowered at him.

“Redfangs are Redfangs. Not like other Goblins.”

He glanced around for support and got only a brief nod from Pyrite, which
was probably only for politeness’ sake. Rags saw Noears gulp down his
meat and then look at her curiously.

“Why not let other Goblins in, Chieftain? Get more food, supplies. And
hands. They help, do things for tribe.”

She grunted irritably.

“And spy. Let none in. Not even Redfangs.”

Redscar looked indignant.

“Goblins do not spy. Redfangs do not.”

“Then talk outside camp. Or will you go to Garen camp?”

Rags looked up and met Redscar’s eyes. The Goblin paused and the others
froze as they stared at him and Rags. Redscar glanced at the other Redfang
Warriors behind him and slowly shook his head.

“We chose you. Chieftain.”

He met Rags’ eyes. She nodded slowly, not apologizing. She had to know.
She glanced back towards her Hobs and then stood up.

“Uh oh. Bad thing.”

The other Goblins looked over and then stood up. A group of Goblins had
gathered outside the edge of the camp. And these ones weren’t opportunistic
Goblins. They were Tremborag’s Goblins. A few of the high-ranking Hobs
and their warriors were facing off with Rags’ Hobs. And both sides were
armed.

“Traitors!”

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe howled and raised their weapons.
They were angry, pointing at their former comrades. One threw a rock at
Poisonbite. The others stepped forwards, brandishing their weapons. There
were a lot of them and they looked ready to attack. Rags instantly snapped
an order.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe didn’t look afraid. They outnumbered
the Goblins around Rags. Then they saw hundreds of Goblins behind Rags
grab crossbows and aim it at them. The Goblins turned and fled back
towards their camp.

“No shoot! Get crossbows behind Hobs! And keep other Goblins back! No
Goblin gets in, no Goblin goes out!”

Rags shouted at the Hobs, who grunted and nodded. Pyrite looked around,
eying the other camps.

“Have to talk sometime, Chieftain.”

“Not now! Not to them. Will talk soon. We wait for him.”

“Him?”

Poisonbite looked confused. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob nodded. Of

course he would be here soon. Tremborag? Possibly not. But Garen
Redfang wasn’t patient. Or afraid of confrontation.

Sure enough, it was only an hour later that Rags heard a commotion again.
This time she didn’t get a chance to get to the front. Garen Redfang ignored
the Hobs standing guard. He rode his Carn Wolf down on a pair of them and
kicked the female in the face while his Carn Wolf knocked over the male.
He rode straight into the camp with his warriors spreading out behind him.
Goblins backed up as Redfang looked around. He bellowed one word that
made both camps go silent for a second.

“Rags!”

And then she was there. Rags strode forwards, unarmed, Pyrite, Redscar,
Quietstab, and Poisonbite at her back. Noears was having violent diarrhea
somewhere else. Garen stared down at Rags. His eyes narrowed.

“You betrayed me.”

Rags sighed. It wasn’t like Goblins did small talk anyways. She looked up
at Garen and raised her voice.

“I betrayed no one. I took my tribe from mountain. It was bad place. Not-
Goblin place!”

Garen snarled. His Carn Wolf growled loudly, and the smaller Carn Wolves
backed away as the alpha wolf bared its teeth.

“You stole my warriors! My Redfangs!”

Rags folded her arms.

“They came with me. Your fault. You let Goblins rape Human women. You
gave tribe to Tremborag. I was your Chieftain. Not him.”

“They were my warriors!”

Garen howled. He had a hand on his sword. The Goblins around him
tensed. But Rags just shook her head. She felt…bad. Not bad as in scared or
upset. Just disappointed. She’d wondered what Garen’s reaction would be.
And it was everything she’d thought. He was just how she remembered. But
she was not.
“You lost them, Redfang. Not me. They followed me because you were
poor Chieftain. Ask Redscar.”

She stepped to one side. Garen turned his burning gaze to the Goblin who
was studying his feet with interest. He growled a word, a note of betrayal.

“Redscar.”

“Garen.”

At last, Redscar looked up at Garen. The two locked eyes. Garen leaned
forwards over his Carn Wolf. Redscar’s own wolf, Thunderfur, slunk over,
growling at Garen’s wolf. The two stared at each other for a long moment.
The Redfang Warriors behind Garen and the ones in Rags’ camp stared
between the two Goblins. At last, Redscar spoke.

“That was not Goblin. You told us.”

“I told you to obey. We fought Goblin Lord! Tremborag’s Goblins are them.
We leave them be. Deal with it!”

Garen shouted at Redscar. The Goblin gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“What about pride? What about Redfangs? We are warriors, not—that!”

He pointed scornfully at Tremborag’s camp. Garen growled.

“You betrayed me. You are not Redfang.”

Redscar’s eyes blazed. He slapped his chest and raised his voice.

“I am Redfang! I led tribe! I fought! What did former Chieftain do? Hide in
mountain? Hurt Human females? Chieftain was coward! Not-Goblin! Rags
was better Chieftain than Garen could be!”

The Redfang Warriors roared. The ones around Garen surged forwards.
Garen unsheathed his blade. His Carn Wolf crouched—and then stopped.
So did Garen. He stared down at the glowing, fiery battleaxe whose edge
was inches away from his Carn Wolf’s nose.
“What?”

“This is an axe.”

Pyrite casually held the battleaxe in front of Garen’s Carn Wolf. The Hob
stared up at Garen. Then he pointed a thumb. Garen turned his head.

Dozens of Goblins with crossbows were aimed at him. And Goblins with
pikes were set up, ready to pincushion Garen and his warriors. Garen
looked around and saw Rags.

“Beat you once. Strategy or not.”

She shrugged.

“Try again. Go on.”

Garen didn’t. He glared around, hand tight on his blade, but slowly
sheathed it. He looked down at Rags in disgust, completely ignoring
Redscar.

“This is your fault. Humans chased from mountain. Goblin Lord here.
Should die.”

“Didn’t look bad to me.”

Rags countered, although that was half a lie. She still shuddered to
remember the Goblin Lord’s unnatural eyes. And she’d seen more undead
lurching around in his army. But Pisces had been a [Necromancer]. And his
Goblins didn’t look any worse for wear than Tremborag’s forces. She glared
up at Garen.

“You told me Goblin Lord was evil. Used undead. Treated Goblins bad.
Was that a lie?”

“He is a slave. He betrayed kind.”

Garen hissed at Rags. He seemed serious. And he was a bad liar. Rags
considered this.
“Didn’t look bad.”

“You know nothing! He is slave! Ask! He raises undead! He has master! He

is not-Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Rags. He pointed to the camp and his voice was loud
enough to be heard by everyone.

“The Goblin Lord is a traitor! He betrayed kind!”

“Like Garen betrayed his tribe?”

Rags stared up innocently at Garen. His eyes bulged. He made a strangled

noise and nearly drew his sword again. At the last moment he caught
himself. He stared at Rags and turned.

“This is not over.”

He turned and rode his Carn Wolf out of her camp. His Redfang Warriors
followed, glaring at their comrades in Rags’ camp. Rags watched Garen
ride back to Tremborag’s faction. She could see the Great Chieftain sitting
there. His face was turned to her, but as she looked over he turned away and
began eating.

“Fun.”

Poisonbite scowled and sheathed her poisoned daggers. She stomped away
now that the threat of violence was done with. Rags just wiped her
forehead. She looked at Redscar, who was scowling at the ground.

“Alright?”

“No.”

He looked up and at Rags. There was pain in his eyes. Rags nodded. She
left Redscar behind as the other Redfangs clustered around him. The other
Goblins dispersed, clearly shaken by the confrontation.
Noears staggered towards Rags, clutching his bottom. She wrinkled her
nose and backed up. The [Mage] gave her a pale grin.

“Chieftain, bad? Fight?”

“Not now. You go poo there.”

Rags pointed back to the latrines. Noears nodded gratefully and shuffled
off. Rags backed away and decided to check the horse meat again. She was
just finishing and wondering if it was time to sleep—after all, they’d be
marching tomorrow—when she heard the sound of Goblins chanting. She
turned.

“Redfang!”

The Goblins in Tremborag’s faction were shouting. Not many of them—

barely a thousand or so. They were shouting one word. Redfang. Rags
didn’t hear Garen’s voice, but the Goblins shouted again and again.

“Redfang! Redfang!”

It was clearly a provocation. Rags saw the warriors in her camp stir. They
formed into their own group and began shouting back.

“Redfang!”

The same word, a different meaning. The Carn Wolves began to howl as
Rags’ Redfang Warriors shouted and stomped. Redscar led them, shouting
angrily at Garen’s warriors. The Goblins fell silent for a second, and then
came back with another chant.

“Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Redfang! Ga-ren!”

The Redfang Warriors in Rags’ camp faltered. They stopped chanting. The
ones in Tremborag’s camp kept shouting Garen’s name until a [Mage] from
the Human camp threw a ball of air that exploded overhead. Then all the
Goblins slept in silence.
Rags lay down and slept uneasily. She didn’t know what to make of Garen.
Or Tremborag. She didn’t feel safe, but she didn’t want to be the first one to
attack. And she could still sense it, practically on top of her now. A roaring
flame. A burning sensation. Fire, bright and beautiful, close enough to
touch. Alluring in the darkness. But—putrid? No, not entirely. But
something foul mixed into the flames. A foul smell that was feeling rather
than scent. Rags wrinkled her nose. But the fire was still glorious. She
raised her head and looked across the camp. She could not see him, but she
knew he was there. And he knew her.

The Goblin Lord.

—-

Day 7

It was the same and not the same. This time the horns blew and [Mages]
blasted sound spells over the Goblin camp. It was definitely a rough start,
but Rags’ tribe was used to the routine now. So were the other Goblins.
They were up and moving, eating on the go before the sun was even risen.

Rags had a system now. She declined to lead her tribe seeing as the Humans
now set the pace. Instead, she had the wagons all set up. Since they were
actually moving slower now, given that the Goblin Lord and Tremborag
both lacked movement Skills, she could burden the wagons a bit more and
let the Hobs lend their strength to the job.

Now her [Cooks] were making food on the wagons’ back. And Rags had set
up a mobile rest room on the wagons so Goblins could do their business
without having to catch up. It was a glorious invention hampered only by
the smelly poo that other Goblins had to avoid. She even had a wagon for
Goblins to sleep on, and she had to assign several Hobs to keep Goblins
from other factions from climbing on.

Her tribe marched at the front of the sea of Goblins. Rags didn’t want to get
near Tremborag or Garen, who were closer to the back. But that put her
closer to the Goblin Lord’s army. And while the black-armored Goblins
gave them space, it was only a matter of time before something happened.

As it turned out, it was Pyrite and Redscar who were at the front when it
occurred. Both were on the right side of Rags’ tribe, talking. Redscar was
disconsolate after his encounter with his former Chieftain, and Pyrite was
lending him an ear. It was mainly Redscar talking and Pyrite offering a
word or two now and then. Or a grunt.

The two were keeping an eye on the ranks of Goblins in black armor. They
saw the shift in the movement of the Goblins and broke off speaking
quickly. Then Pyrite saw the black goblins start to advance and recognized
the huge Hob that pushed his way forwards. Eater of Spears appeared on
the front and Redscar cursed.

“They’re coming.”

“Pikes!”

Pyrite roared. Goblins with pikes rushed forwards, setting themselves up.
All around them, the other Goblins screamed and moved back. Pyrite kept
the Goblins moving, but now there was a wall of pikes between them and
the Goblin Lord’s army. He could see more Goblins moving forwards and
heard Rags calling out orders as she repositioned her forces. And then—

It was like light in the darkness. Like the light of the sky after the time
Pyrite had gotten lost in the caves for two days. The light of gemstones. A
glorious light. A terrible light. A wondrous thing he couldn’t explain.
Glorious—but dark. There was something tainted. But it was beautiful.

Pyrite saw the Goblins in front of him stir. He felt something seize hold of
his heart. He saw the black bodies part. And a Hob rode forwards on the
back of the undead Shield spider.
There he was. His black eyes shone as the Goblins fell back in front of
them. They couldn’t help it. Pyrite and Redscar stared up at the Hob riding
the undead Shield Spider. They felt it too. An urge to move aside.

It was different from Tremborag. He had commanded them to kneel. But

that had been an order. This was different. As Reiss rode forwards, the
Goblins stepped aside, staring at him, not even realizing what they were
doing. They looked up not in fear, but with awe.

Here rode a Goblin Lord. His black gaze swept the Goblins. And not even
Rags’ warriors could meet his eye. They parted for him automatically, the
pikes lowering as the Goblin Lord rode slowly forwards. All but two.
Redscar and Pyrite held their ground, but wavered as the Goblin Lord came
closer.

Redscar’s legs began to move. He reached down and pulled out a dagger.
He stabbed himself in the leg, grunting. Thunderfur whined and Redscar
clung to him. He glared up at the Goblin Lord.

And Pyrite? The Hob looked up and closed his eyes. He felt the Goblin
approaching. That brilliant light grew brighter in his mind and he felt the
urge to obey. Here was something wondrous. Powerful. Greater than him.

But. It was not the first time he had seen that light. And as Pyrite opened his
eyes, he met the Goblin Lord’s eyes. He looked up at the Hob riding the
headless, undead spider and spoke a word.

“Small.”

The Goblin Lord blinked down at him. Behind him rode Snapjaw and Eater
of Spears trudged on his other side. He looked at Pyrite and then decided
he’d heard the Hob wrong. He glanced past Pyrite and tried to ride
forwards.

Pyrite casually lifted the battleaxe. The Goblin Lord stopped and stared
down at him.

“This is an axe.”
Redscar grinned. The Goblin Lord didn’t get the joke. He looked at Pyrite
and then glanced at Eater of Spears. The gigantic Hob stepped forwards. He
and Pyrite appraised each other for a long second. Pyrite wondered if he
could beat Eater of Spears. He did a few calculations that involved him
getting thumped on the head repeatedly, and then heard a voice.

“Pyrite.”

The Hob turned. Rags rode past him. Pyrite lowered his battleaxe. Rags’s
Carn Wolf stepped past him and Eater of Spears moved back. The Goblin
Lord looked down. He and Rags stared at each other as Rags’ warriors and
the Goblin Lord’s army faced each other in silence. Pyrite was ready for
anything. But after a long minute, the Goblin Lord smiled.

“I am Reiss. Goblin Lord. I would know your name, brave Chieftain of the
Flooded Waters tribe.”

Rags blinked. She stared at the Goblin Lord in surprise. Then she raised her
voice.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Why do you come,

Goblin Lord?”

Her question seemed to surprise Reiss. He looked at her.

“Why? Because your tribe shines. Because it is good. Because you and I—”

He touched his chest.

“—are Goblins. We are kin. And I would help you and have you help me.
The Humans pursue us both. But are we enemies?”

He looked at Rags. The smaller Goblin folded her arms.

“Maybe.”

Reiss tilted his head.

“Why do you believe that?”

Rags shrugged.

“You are slave. You hurt own Goblins. You are not real Goblin Lord. Is
what other Goblins say.”

There was a cry of outrage from Snapjaw. The Goblin Lord’s warriors
growled and shouted in protest. Pyrite blinked at the unexpected denial.
And Reiss? He laughed.

It was such a peaceful, happy sound. Reiss laughed and leapt from the back
of his Shield Spider. He landed lightly. Rags stared at him from the back of
his Carn Wolf. Reiss walked forwards and Pyrite tensed, but the Goblin
Lord didn’t attack. He walked next to Rags.

“We must keep moving. The Humans will attack my people if we do not
move.”

He pointed to the rear where the Goblins had halted due to the
confrontation. Rags glanced in that direction and frowned.

“Those are Tremborag Goblins. Not yours.”

“They are Goblins. My people. They should not die.”

Reiss looked at Rags. She blinked and then slowly nodded. She pointed.

“Move out!”

Her tribe began moving. Reiss pointed and his army did the same. Rags
expected him to get back on his Shield Spider, but to her surprise it began to
shuffle back into the line of Goblins. Reiss started walking. He glanced up
at Rags.

“Will you walk with me, Chieftain Rags? My warriors will pull back.
Snapjaw, Eater, return and wait for me.”

“But Reiss—”
Snapjaw protested, but Reiss shook his head. Eater of Spears pulled her
gently back and they disappeared into the crowd. Rags hesitated.

Now would be the time to kill the Goblin Lord. If she were Garen. But she
had real reason to doubt Garen’s words. Especially now. She looked at the
Goblin Lord. Then she shrugged and leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf.

“No walk. Will jog.”

“True.”

Reiss began to jog. Rags ran with him. The two moved ahead as the other
Goblins gave them a wide berth. It was strange. Reiss ran naturally,
breathing steadily. Rags had to run harder to keep up. She didn’t know what
to say to him. He wasn’t like what she expected. She had thought he would
be a monster. But he wasn’t. He had black eyes, but everything else about
him was normal. Friendly, even.

“I don’t hurt my tribe.”

Reiss spoke first. He looked at Rags seriously.

“They fight for me. Die for me. And I lead them. Sometimes poorly. But I
don’t mistreat them.”

Rags shrugged noncommittally.

“You make them undead.”

She pointed to a group of zombies rapidly shuffling to keep up. They were
given a wide berth by other Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“That is true. But I am a [Necromancer]. I raise the dead. The Goblins who
died fight for me. So other, living Goblins won’t die. I would let them rest if
I could, but I cannot. Is that wrong?”

“No.”
Rags conceded the point. This was strange! Reiss actually sounded sad. And
his voice—Rags peered up at his eyes again.

“Are you slave, though?”

This time, Reiss hesitated. He looked at Rags and then glanced behind her.
She knew Garen and Tremborag were behind them. She could vaguely
sense them too. Although they were embers to the Goblin Lord’s fire.

“Who told you that? Garen Redfang? Tremborag?”

“Maybe. Is true?”

“True. And false. I have a master. But…”

“Reiss!”

Rags turned. She heard a shout and the sounds of fighting. She turned and
saw Snapjaw and Eater of Spears crashing back towards them. Pyrite swung
his battleaxe, but too slow. Garen parried the blow and charged towards
Reiss.

His eyes blazed. He swung his blade up as he charged the Goblin Lord.
Reiss had stopped. He watched Garen charge him. His hands turned black
with magic and he pointed.

A bolt of black energy shot from his hands. Garen dodged in his saddle. He
roared and his Carn Wolf leapt. Rags shouted as Garen swung his sword
down, ready to cut. She raised her hand. Reiss and Garen were aiming at
each other—

And Rags blew fire into the Carn Wolf’s snout. The wolf howled and leapt
back. Garen sliced, but he was too far. Reiss shot another bolt of energy at
Garen and the other Hob blocked it.

There was a commotion. Pyrite charged forwards, covering Rags. Redscar

and his Redfangs formed a circle around Rags and Reiss. But then Snapjaw
and Eater of Spears were charging them with the Goblins in armor and
Garen was getting up, murder in his eyes—
“Stop.”

It was Reiss’ voice who halted the violence before it could begin. All the
Goblins paused, even Garen. The Hob looked around as the other Goblins
aimed their weapons at him. Reiss’ voice was cold.

“Garen.”

He looked at Rags and shook his head.

“You knew Garen Redfang, didn’t you? He told you I was evil. Not a
Goblin.”

“Yes.”

Rags looked between Garen and Reiss. Garen Redfang was staring at Reiss
with hatred in his eyes. And when the Goblin Lord looked back, there was
sorrow in his. He shook his head.

“True and not true. He called me a slave. I have a master. But I am no

slave.”

“You are not Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Reiss. He brandished his weapon. Reiss turned, ignoring

him. He looked at Rags, looked at the Goblins standing around. Watching.
Staring.

“Garen hates me. He has a reason. We were once friends. He and I met ten
years ago, when I was a small Goblin. When he first became a Hob. Garen
and I were…the Humans would call us ‘brothers’. We had the same dream.”

Rags’ jaw dropped. The other Goblins stared, becoming waxworks. Garen
froze. Reiss looked back at him.

“We met seven years later. Garen when he had become a Gold-rank
adventurer. I, when I had found my master. You were furious. You told me I
lost my way. You called me not-Goblin. But my dream was the same. Our
dream was the same. I would become a Chieftain. No, a Lord. And you
would be my finest warrior. And give me the greatest weapon to save our
people with.”

Garen was silent. Reiss looked at him. He looked around at his audience,
who were speechless. He looked back at Garen. And then his eyes
narrowed.

“We never spoke after that. But I followed you, Garen. I listened to rumors
of you. I knew you fled, became hunted, settled in the High Passes. That
was why I came to find you. You have it, don’t you? You swore to me you
would find it. And you did. You became a Gold-rank adventurer, searched
the entire continent for years. And you found it. You betrayed the
Halfseekers for it.”

Garen’s eyes burned. He still said nothing, but his grip tightened on his
sword. His other hand was at his belt. Clutching something. Reiss’ voice
was loud in the silence.

“My master searched, but he was not a Goblin so he and his creations could
never find it. And I never told him of the memory.”

“Memory? What memory?”

Rags spoke up. Reiss turned to her. His black eyes shone. It was a beautiful
light. A terrible light. He was hope and dissonance and wonder and
corruption all at once. He was not a Goblin. But he was a Lord. And he
spoke and shook Rags’ entire world.

“The legacy of Velan the Kind. The thing he hid in the High Passes. The
treasure of the Goblin King. And Garen has his key.”

He pointed at Garen. The Hobgoblin stood as all the Goblins stared at him.
Garen looked around, clutching something in his belt. His eyes burned. He
looked at Reiss, looked the Goblin Lord in the eye. For a second he looked
at Rags and she saw a thousand unsaid things there. But then Garen turned
away. He shook his head and said one word.

“No.”
All the Goblins stared at him. They looked at each other. In the end, all
things considered, they could agree on one thing.

Garen Redfang was a terrible liar.

 5.49

It had been a long time since Olesm had sat in his office without being
afraid or stressed out. A long time, and yet a short one. In his head, Olesm
knew that it hadn’t been that long. A bit over a week at most since the
Raskghar had begun attacking in force. But oh, it had felt like months of his
life.

And yet, today he was calm, if a bit nervous. It wasn’t anything too serious
—although, then again, yes it was and Olesm dreaded it—but he’d put
enough days between him and the nights of fear to feel better.

No, it was more than that. He’d faced the Raskghar in the darkness, seen
them broken. He’d helped burn their camps and rescued the Gnolls and
Ceria with his own claws. Olesm paused as he lifted a wet quill above his
parchment.

He’d fought in the dungeon, with Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Watch. He’d
slain a Raskghar—the beast had been wounded by a [Fireball], but Olesm
had been the one to charge it and cut it down as it flayed open his other arm.
He winced and rubbed at his left arm, remembering. They’d won that battle,
though. And afterwards he’d seen the sun.

The clear sky above his head, warm air in his face. Olesm jostled Drassi,
trying to speak into the voice-amplifying gem as he watched the baseball
players running after the ball. He was annoyed, excited—and happy.

It had been several days since that moment. But still Olesm thought back to
it. Especially whenever he glanced out the window. Liscor was wet and
rainy, as usual. But that didn’t bother Olesm. As soon as he was off duty
he’d head to Erin’s inn.
Or…or he could stop by the barracks. Watch Captain—that was to say,
Zevara—had asked if he’d like to have a drink together when they were off
duty. They could surely do that and he did owe her at least a few drinks for
all the hard work they’d done. They could do that. At Erin’s inn.

“All right…nearly done…there! Signed, Olesm Swifttail. Date is…uh…

well, I can always fill that in before filing it. Where’s my wax and seal?”

Olesm hunted around in his desk and then found the wax. He gloomily
heated up some sealing wax while he got his stone stamp ready. He hated
this part, mainly because he was no good at it. The wax always got
everywhere on his desk.

But it was important. Sealing wax on a document prevented it from being

tampered with magically. So Olesm tried to carefully dribble some wax on a
corner of his report and stamp it without making too much of a mess.

He failed.

—-

In the same building, a few rooms away, Wall Lord Ilvriss was hard at work
as well. He was working in the room usually reserved for Liscor’s Council
to meet in. However, it was now effectively his office and war room. As the
largest room in the building that was Liscor’s city hall it was spacious and
could easily seat a dozen Drakes. However, this room was currently filled to
overflowing.

With treasure. Magical artifacts lay on cushions, or were piled neatly

awaiting inspection. Some bore little scraps of parchment that were attached
to them, while artifacts yet to be inspected were clearly marked with red
discs warning against casually touching them.
Ilvriss sat at the meeting table, a large, single-bladed axe lying in front of
him. On Ilvriss’ left was a pile of clean parchment and quill and inkpot. On
his right sat several bulging hemp bags, some of which were open. Bright
gold pieces could be seen inside them. Ilvriss paid the gold no mind. It was
his, after all. He just had it next to him to set the mood. Being surrounded
by priceless treasures made him feel like he was back in Salazsar, in his
home.

At the moment, Ilvriss was carefully inspecting the axe. It was a beautiful
piece, with an engraved metal handle and axe head, the metal seemingly
golden. Seemingly, because the axe was not nearly that heavy. It was clearly
meant for two hands, but Ilvriss could lift it with one and feel the power and
balanced weight favoring the axe head. He murmured as he ran his claws
along the metal.

“Not too heavy. Good speed for blocking. Yes, and the metal’s clearly got
some gold in the alloy. To help with holding the enchantment? The blade on
the axe head…”

He peered at the sharpened edge of the axe. It was a bright green material
and Ilvriss’ first instinct was to call it stone, rather than metal. He touched it
carefully and nodded. He was right. The axe head was jade of all things.
Which made sense if—

He lifted the axe and gripped it tightly with both hands. Ilvriss uttered no
words and performed no visible action, but the axe head began to glow. A
magical light shone from the jade edge and suddenly it projected a huge,
glowing magical blade, easily as long as the axe itself. Ilvriss blinked, and
swung the axe through the air. The magical edge hummed as it cut the air.

“Fascinating. An enlargement spell and projection spell combined into one.

Definitely a [Warrior]’s weapon. Not ah, useful in any confined space, but a
proper [Axe Master] could cut through a horde with this. But why jade? The
cost to enchant it and keep it from breaking seems ludicrously high.”

Ilvriss deactivated the enchantment and put the axe back on the table. He
scooted his chair in, frowning. Maybe it was so someone could activate the
enchantment by will alone? Jade was particularly sensitive to inputs like
that. He looked around on the table and picked something up.

A monocle. Or rather, a magnifying lens. This one was bulky and hardly the
sort of thing Ilvriss would wear in any kind of social setting. But it did have
several lenses that could amplify his vision dramatically, or allow him to
see magic. Ilvriss absently adjusted the lenses until the one he wanted
allowed him to peer at the axe head. He was jotting down a few notes on his
parchment when he heard a tap at the door.

“Enter.”

Ilvriss looked up. He saw two of his staff open the door. The Drakes who
were both his subordinates in battle or assisted him with paperwork—or just
guarded his tail—screened all of Ilvriss’ visitors. They had orders not to let
anyone disturb him, but there was a short list of exceptions. One of them
poked his head nervously into the room.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, might I intrude on you?”

“Ah, Swifttail. Come in. How can I help you?”

The older Drake smiled slightly and nodded. Olesm shuffled into the room,
clutching a sheaf of reports. He coughed politely.

“I won’t take up your time, sir. I was just hoping I could borrow your
personal [Mage], Miss Laskaillia, to send the contents of these reports to
the other cities. I’ve finished my account of Liscor’s victory over the
Raskghar. I wouldn’t ask normally, but the Mage’s Guild is currently
overworked and I’ve been told to submit my reports soonest.”

“I see. I have no objection. May I read the summary myself?”

“Of course.”

Olesm approached and handed Ilvriss a long sheaf of parchment. Ilvriss

covered a sigh as he stretched the parchment out and weighed it down with
his inkpot. No paper. He supposed it was a waste of resources, but in
Salazsar, all the city’s documents were transcribed on paper. It was clearer
and it didn’t roll so. But Liscor probably couldn’t afford that—no, it didn’t
have the trade routes to import paper in the first place. He scanned the
report quickly, nodding a few times. Then paused.

“Quite an interesting account here, Swifttail.”

The [Strategist] ducked his head.

“I uh, wrote the events as I perceived them, Wall Lord Ilvriss. I know it will
be somewhat controversial, but—”

“No, no. It is accurate. However…”

Ilvriss drummed his claws on the table. Then he shrugged. He handed the
report back to Olesm.

“I cannot pretend the other cities will like it. But the truth is the truth. If
they object, tell them I vouch for the contents of the report. Not that they
should question a [Strategist] to begin with.”

He looked pointedly at Olesm. The Drake colored with pride.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed slightly and left the room. Ilvriss turned back to the weapon in
front of him, smiling slightly. Young Olesm really was amusing. To think
he’d been a [Tactician] when Ilvriss first entered the city! And he didn’t
even seem boastful about his accomplishments. There was talent, right
there. Talent and humility, both of which were in short supply.

The Wall Lord bent over the axe again. He began scribbling notes on the
parchment, talking to himself absently. Ilvriss was no [Enchanter], but he
was a [Lord] who specialized in economy as well as war. He had a number
of Skills that made him possibly the best appraiser in Liscor for this sort of
thing.

“Let’s see. This axe belonged to…the Minotaur. Of course. I’d rate it very
strongly. It doesn’t have a dramatic enchantment on it of course, but every
indication is that it will perform well against mid-range artifacts. I’d like to
test the axe head—I can’t help but feel as though the jade edge is meant to
sunder some kind of material or magic barrier. If that’s the case, I would
price it at…hm…”

Ilvriss’ tail curled up absently as he worked. The magical artifacts lay

around him, waiting for his inspection. He had plenty of gold too, ready to
be divided amongst the adventurers. Ilvriss had promised them a small
fortune and he was not one to break his word.

The artifacts would be divided up, as would the gold. But Ilvriss had a
small claim as well. And he intended to walk away with at least one new
artifact for his selection. He smiled as he jotted down a few notes and then
set the axe aside. If there was one thing he loved, it was inspecting
expensive objects.

Ilvriss hummed absently as he worked, so unconsciously that he didn’t

notice it. His adjutants waiting outside didn’t hear him, so the humming was
really heard by no one. But it was significant. Ilvriss’ penchant to hum as he
went about an enjoyable task was a small quirk known only to him and a
few of his closest friends.

Periss had known that. But Ilvriss hadn’t hummed since her death. He
hadn’t smiled much since her death. But for the first time in months, Ilvriss
sat by himself and hummed an aimless little tune. He was not smiling; he
was hard at work. But he was happy.

—-

Olesm sat in a side room, fidgeting nervously. He wasn’t doing anything at

the moment, just waiting for his report to be sent. Ilvriss’ personal [Mage],
an older Drake named Laskaillia, was sending the contents of his report via
[Message] spell to a number of Drake cities. She was in the room next to
his—[Mages] enjoyed privacy when casting the spell, and they needed to
concentrate.

The [Strategist] looked around aimlessly as he sat and waited for the report
to be sent. He had no doubt he needed to wait to answer questions. So while
he waited he thought about Ilvriss’ retinue.

Of course, the Wall Lord had a number of decently high-level Drakes in his
personal employ. Officers who could lead, bodyguards, and a [Mage] of
course. All that made sense. Laskaillia was a retainer of the Gemscale
family, or so Olesm gathered.

Was it important that she was female? Olesm knew it was statistically more
common for [Mages] of the opposite gender to be employed by the nobility.
Why? Something to do with not being threatened by someone of the
opposite gender capable of casting magic? Or was it just a social thing?

Maybe it was just coincidence in this case. Ilvriss wasn’t married and
Laskaillia was old enough to be his senior by at least ten years. She was
probably his minder or something. Strange that an elderly Drake woman
could be walking around battlefields, but then, Olesm knew she could
probably melt his face off. He wondered if it was possible to survive your
face melting. Maybe if—

“Swifttail?”

The door opened. Laskaillia appeared, her grey-blue scales flickering a bit
in the light coming through the rain-spattered windows. Olesm stood at
once.

“Yes?”

“A message for you. They want a correspondence set up. Pass me

[Messages] and I will send them and note their replies here.”

Laskaillia had a floating quill and piece of paper by her side. Olesm
nodded.
“At once. I’m terribly sorry to trouble you…”

“Just be quick. They’re impatient.”

The old Drake cut Olesm off. She gestured and the bit of paper floated into
Olesm’s claws. He sighed as he read it.

Pallass’ [Strategist] receives Liscor’s report. Liscor, say again. Is this a

joke? Please confirm existence of ‘Redfang Goblins’ as real Bronze-rank
adventuring team. Also confirm presence of ‘Goblin friendlies’ in assault on
Raskghar?

Predictable. Olesm sighed and frantically wrote on a piece of parchment.

He’d written the account of the battle as truthfully as he could. That meant
he’d written of the Redfang Goblin’s aid and the way Pebblesnatch and the
Cave Goblins had helped locate and then set a trap for the Raskghar. It all
made sense—if you knew what was going on in Liscor.

The other Walled Cities and Drake settlements had no idea of Erin’s inn,
though. All they knew was that Liscor had defeated the Raskghar menace.
And now with Olesm’s report, they were going to ask a lot of questions.

The conversation that went on between Olesm and the other Drake cities
was a simple dialogue. Written down it was fairly simple to understand, but
that wouldn’t capture the way Olesm had to write down his replies, pass
them to Laskaillia, wait for them to be sent and a reply to be transcribed,
and then read and reply all over again. The process was agonizingly slow,
but again, it looked a lot simpler written down.

Pallass, this is Liscor’s [Strategist]. We confirm reports. Goblins were

present during attack on Raskghar and Goblin team has been confirmed by
Liscor’s adventuring guild. Said Goblins participated in location and
assault on Raskghar camp as well as rescue of Gnoll citizens.

Pallass. Liscor, repeat again?

Zeres has received Liscor’s report. Confirmation of Goblin friendlies and

adventuring team. What the hell is up with your city, Liscor?

Oteslia’s strategists are sending. Zeres, please conform to sending protocol.

Liscor, elaborate on presence of Goblins in dungeon. How were they
tamed?

Liscor. The Goblins were successfully convinced to abandon Raskghar

masters due to presence of auxiliary Human A, noted in the report. Her
possession of Artifact A—also noted—facilitated the defeat of the Raskghar
in no small part.

Zeres. That’s the crazy innkeeper, isn’t it? The one in the moving pictures?

Pallass. Liscor, please send further details regarding spoils of war taken
from Raskghar camps.

Liscor politely declines as the details of the dungeon operation are

classified at the order of Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar.

Oteslia. Hah!

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass requires report as a matter of security due to Liscor connection. The

Assembly of Crafts will send formal request to Liscor’s Council
momentarily. Stand by to receive.

Fissival. Pallass has no claim on the treasure. Stop being greedy little
hatchlings.

Zeres. Fissival, please conform to sending protocol.

Manus is sending. Other cities, please refrain from petty disputes. Liscor,
please confirm dungeon status. Reports indicate inner city. Confirm?

Liscor confirms. Dungeon is still classified as ‘active’ and ‘hostile’. Gold-

rank danger rating remains unchanged despite reduction of Raskghar
threat. Preliminary reports—see summary of Adventurer B’s attached
interview—reports ‘infested’ monsters possibly derived from ancient
Drakes, as well as at least one more boss-class guardian monster and
possibility of major unique enemy known as ‘Mother of Graves’,
classification pending. Further details will be reported as they occur.

Oteslia. Ancestors. Does Liscor have enough adventurers to deal with

dungeon? More should be sent north at once.

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass. Claim to portion of Liscor’s treasure being sent. Liscor, please note
involvement of Pallass’ adventuring population in aid of Liscor. Pallass will
require report within the next hour, subject to immediate action by Pallass.

Salazsar objects to Pallass’ claim.

Oteslia objects to Pallass’ claim.

Fissival objects to Pallass’ claim.

Manus requests list of artifacts recovered—possibility of trade for artifacts

with goods or coin?

Zeres thinks Pallass is a bunch of greedy cowards. But we’ll also trade for
artifacts received.

Liscor. Wall Lord Ilvriss has sealed the contents of acquired artifacts.
They’ll be distributed among contributing adventurers and factions. It’s out
of my claws.

Pallass. Stand by for response.

Salazsar. Leave Liscor’s [Strategist] alone. Congratulations, by the way,
Liscor.

Liscor. Thank you!

Oteslia congratulates Liscor.

Zeres. Please conform to sending protocol. No personal asides, Oteslia,

Salazsar.

Oteslia. Damnit, Zeres, stop being petty. Is that you, Kissi?

Teibault. Liscor, can you send a more detailed analysis of Raskghar with
adventurer analysis?

Liscor will comply as soon as possible. Estimated one day delay due to
adventurer fatigue.

Pallass. Lesser cities will refrain from sending [Message] spells into this
discussion. Liscor’s situation is priority, not for casual interruption.

Teibault. Go eat your tail, Pallass. We have a right to ask questions.

Fissival. Hah!

Zeres supports Teibault. Who’s the idiot sending from Pallass?

Pallass to Zeres. Please lodge formal inquiry and complaint into Zeres
[Strategist]’s conduct.

Zeres. Go boil yourself.

Ssilvem. Sorry, can we get a resend of our report? Our [Mage] forgot to
write down the report. What’s this about Goblins?

Olesm groaned and covered his face as he scribbled down a request for
Laskaillia to resend the report to Ssilvem. He looked at the paper and shook
his head. It was a mess, and in that sense, typical of most joint
conversations between the cities. Olesm sighed as the cities started
bickering with each other. Laskaillia’s brows twitched as she stopped
writing and looked at him.

“It’s all chaos. They’re just insulting each other now. Should we send any
more [Messages]?”

“No, I think the report’s out there. They can make what they want of it. If
they hail you, please tell them I’m off duty. Or dead. Thank you so much,
Miss Laskaillia.”

“Of course.”

She smiled and glanced at something behind Olesm. The [Strategist] sighed
and put away his reports for filing. No doubt he’d have to answer more
questions, but there was no sense waiting now. He turned—and nearly had a
heart attack. Wing Commander Embria was standing right behind him,
peering at the conversation between the cities.

He hadn’t noticed her behind him at all! She’d appeared in silence—despite

the armor she wore! The Wing Commander noticed Olesm jump and
coughed. She stepped back quickly.

“Apologies, Strategist Olesm. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh—that’s quite alright, Wing Commander.”

“Embria, please. You’ve sent the report to the other cities I see. May I have
a copy to send to our High Command?”

“Oh—of course! I’m so sorry. I’ll transcribe one right away!”

Olesm flushed as he stood. He kept forgetting that he should send copies to

Liscor’s army! It wasn’t something he normally did—usually Liscor would
send a batch of all the news to the army in one lump every month, but with
Embria here…
The Wing Commander smiled at Olesm. She was around his height, and
around his age too, come to that. But where Olesm was thin if fairly fit,
Embria was athletic and strong. Her bright red scales were striking and
Olesm had to keep from admiring them.

“Don’t worry about copying the report. If I could prevail on your [Mage] to
send it via [Message] spell?”

“Yes, at once. Who’s the [Strategist] in charge of the army again? Uh—
Zweiltan?”

“That’s correct.”

Olesm sighed with relief and wrote down a note, indicating how Laskaillia
could contact him. The [Mage] nodded and lifted a claw to her temple.
Olesm and Embria stood around awkwardly. He coughed.

“So…how are your men after the battle, Wing Commander Embria? And
uh, how are you doing? I heard you took an injury during the fight.”

Embria smiled at Olesm.

“Barely a scratch. I got cut here—right above the shoulder. But there’s not
even a scar as you can tell. I lost two [Soldiers], but the boys are taking it
well. As for High Command, I just reported my version of events to them.”

“Ah. And their response?”

The Wing Commander hesitated. She took a seat and Olesm did too.

“Mixed. But generally positive. They objected to some aspects of the

operation, but they’re glad that Liscor is safe and that 4th Company
participated in the battle. They send their congratulations to you as well,
Olesm. For making [Strategist].”

“Thank you. I uh, appreciate it.”

The two Drakes sat in silence until Laskaillia looked up.

“I’ve sent the report and it has been received. Will that be all?”

Olesm started. He nodded as he stood.

“Yes, thank you so much. I should be going. I have to file these and uh, then
I’m off duty.”

He swept up the reports. Embria cleared her throat. She didn’t quite look at
Olesm when he glanced at her.

“Hey Olesm…I quite admired your conduct in the battle. You were a good
fighter. Do you want to get a drink later? Because uh—I’m pretty thirsty
and you’re a fine glass of water.”

She pointed with both fingers at Olesm and gave him an uneasy smile.
Olesm stared at Embria with his mouth open. He only managed to close it
when he heard Laskaillia snort. He looked over and saw she was trying not
to guffaw.

“I uh—I—well, that’s very kind of you, Embria. But I uh, have an

appointment with Watch Captain Zevara and I’d hate to keep her—”

Embria’s red cheeks flamed brighter. She waved a claw hurriedly.

“Of course. Forget I said anything.”

“Right. Well, I’ll be going. I’ll uh, see you around. And we could have a
drink. At another time.”

“Sounds good. Um. Thanks.”

Olesm edged out of the room as fast as he could. Embria kept smiling until
she heard him rapidly moving away and then she buried her face in her
claws.

“Damn it, Dad! Why do I ever listen to your advice?”

She sat like that for a moment. Then Laskaillia, forgotten, spoke up.
“That young Olesm is quite an attractive Drake. Not that I think he’ll be
falling for your lines anytime soon, Miss Wing Commander.”

Embria started. She looked up at Laskaillia and flushed even further. She
stood up hastily and made to exit.

“Thank you for your help, Magus Laskaillia. I must be going. To work.”

She was nearly out the door when Laskaillia called after her.

“You flirt as well as your father, my dear. I think he tried a line like that on
me, once. Of course, whether it worked or not is another matter entirely…”

All the color drained from Embria’s face. She stared at Laskaillia, who gave
her a serpentine smile, turned to the door, staggered, and then rushed out to
get herself as drunk as possible.

Laskaillia cackled to herself as she sat back in her chair. Relc had never
flirted with her, but she knew the Gecko of Liscor by reputation. She
cleaned her claws, smiling to herself. Laskaillia had only a few vices in life
at her age, but one of them was tormenting the youth. And as insults went,
that one had been a good one.

—-

Silly things. Happy things. It was because the Raskghar were gone that they
could happen and be laughed at. The City Hall in Liscor felt lighter to the
young woman who slipped inside. She watched Olesm practically run out
of the doors and Embria depart as well. Neither Drake noticed her in their
embarrassment which was unusual—or not, given that she was hiding
behind a door jam and peeking out. She had a feeling she wasn’t supposed
to be here.

Still, the few Drakes at work in the building didn’t slow her and the two
Drakes standing next to the door didn’t stop her from entering. Wall Lord
Ilvriss looked up from the enchanted bow made of some kind of ivory and
sighed loudly as Erin Solstice entered the room.

“You are aware, Human, that Liscor’s city hall is off limits to members of
the general public? And I am a Wall Lord. How did you get in here?”

“They let me in. I told them I wanted to speak with you. And I bribed them
with cookies. Sorry about that.”

Erin smiled unapologetically. As she shut the door, Ilvriss caught both of his
guards eating cookies. They looked guilty as he narrowed his eyes at them.
Erin shut the door and then stared around.

“Wow. There’s an entire armory in here. Hey, is that—”

“Don’t touch that.”

Erin snatched her hand back before she could touch a suit of armor that
looked as though it was made of blue metal and bronze. She stared at
Ilvriss. He sighed and took his eyeglass off.

“What do you want, Solstice?”

“Nothing…I was just checking on you. And Olesm. It’s been a while.
You’re good, right?”

Ilvriss sat back in his chair and folded his arms. Erin gave him a big smile.
She reached for a bag at her side.

“Wanna cookie?”

“Is it sugary?”

“Yes?”

“Then my answer is no. Why are you here?”

“Can’t I be here to give everyone good cheer?”

Ilvriss slowly raised one of his brows. He had no eyebrows, but the effect
was largely the same. Erin put her hands behind her back and studied the
room, taking in the parchment, Ilvriss, and the gold sitting in the bags next
to him.

“You’re busy, I get that. I bet you have a lot of paperwork and I’m sorry for
bothering you. But…I dunno, it feels like we should all be giving thanks for
defeating the Raskghar, don’t you think. And I dunno, celebrating the
teamwork? The joint effort? Goodwill towards Humans and Drakes? And
Goblins?”

The Wall Lord waited. Erin indicated the gold in the bags meaningfully.

“Hint, hint.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds. At last, Erin gave in.

“Can I have some money?”

“Is that all you came here for?”

“Yes! No! Okay, yes. I really could use some gold.”

Ilvriss glanced at Erin as he leaned back in his chair. His tail curled around
his chair leg.

“Is your inn doing that poorly? I was under the impression that your plays
had resumed and that Liscor’s citizenry were frequenting your inn quite
often. The Hubris of the Raskghar is the name of the play, is it not?”

“What? Oh, that. Yeah, we’re filling the inn each night! I’m making tons of
coin! Uh…but I could use more? I did help with the Raskghar, remember?”

“I recall. Why is the need for coin so pressing?”

Erin scuffed at the carpet with one foot.

“Well…I’ve got expenses. The Goblins, you know? They’re sort of an

additional expense. I’ve been trying to feed them at least one meal per day,
but uh, buying that much food is expensive. I can handle it! But I heard you
were giving out money so…”

“The lottery and division of the coin and artifacts will happen later.”

“Oh. Right.”

The young Human woman stared at Ilvriss. She looked around the room
and seemed to be deciding whether to leave or not. Ilvriss stared at her and
then leaned forwards.

“The Goblins are still connected to your inn via that magical door, are they
not?”

“Yup.”

“Something will have to be done about them soon. You are aware of that,
aren’t you?”

“Like what?”

The Wall Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Liscor cannot have a few hundred Goblins nesting close to the city. It is a
security risk and it will kill trade. The Goblin Lord may be on the run, but
until the Humans destroy his army, the Goblins are a legitimate threat.”

Erin sighed. She took a seat across from Ilvriss without being asked.

“I know that. But these Goblins helped us. They saved the Gnolls. Without
them everyone would be dead. You remember that, right?”

“I haven’t forgotten. But that changes none of the facts. The…Hobs under
your command were one thing. But three hundred Goblins—how many of
them are in that cave, incidentally?”

“Dunno.”

“You have no idea? Surely you’ve counted.”

“Well, there are a lot of them, but I didn’t sit and count them one by one.
Why would anyone do that? There’s Goblins. Y’know?”

Erin gave Ilvriss a round-eyed stare. Normally that would be enough to

make Ilvriss snort and dismiss her. However, this time it didn’t work. The
Wall Lord glanced suspiciously at Erin, drumming his claws on the table.

“And you have no idea what their plans are either, I suspect.”

“Nope. I just feed them. That’s my job. Hey, did you know they really like
fish?”

The Drake looked up suspiciously at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Fish with sauce. Have you tried my fish flakes? They’re a big hit. Takes a
lot of oil and eggs and flour, though. Oh, and sauce. Which is why I came
here. For the money.”

“I had gathered.”

Erin had an amazing talent to distract from the conversation at hand. It was
incredible, really. And aggravating. Ilvriss pinched the scales around his
temples with one claw. He would have dearly loved to see what would
happen if he let Erin sit in on one of Salazsar’s meetings between the Wall
Lords and Ladies. Then again…

He closed his eyes for a second. Erin took that moment to breathe a sigh of
relief. Her diversionary tactics had worked. She sat up and gave Ilvriss a
broad smile as he looked up.

“They will have to be dealt with. I am not ungrateful. But Goblins are
monsters.”

He looked seriously at Erin. And her smile faded. She sat up in her chair
and then put one elbow on the table. She leaned forwards, losing her smile
for a second.

“Not all of them. You and I know that. It’s just how they’re seen. But the
five Hobs at my inn—Pebblesnatch—they went into the dungeon and saved
lives. They owed us nothing. They could have run. But they didn’t. They
risked their lives and no one’s given them more than passing thanks. Don’t
forget that.”

Startled, the Wall Lord met Erin’s eyes. She didn’t use her aura, but for a
second, just a second he felt the intensity in her stare. Then Erin sat back
and the mood lightened as if nothing had happened. After a second, Ilvriss
spoke.

“I do not forget. And while it is not expedient for Liscor to acknowledge the
Goblins, I honor my vows. I had intended to send this to you, but since you
insist on interrupting me—here.”

He reached for the bags of coin at his side. He inspected the gold, and then
pushed two of the bags across the table. Erin wavered.

“What’s that?”

“Your share of the bounty. One thousand two hundred and eleven gold
coins. A small sum, but it was decided that would be the reward for the use
of your magic door. And payment for stamina potions and food provided
afterwards. I’ll require the bags of holding back, by the way.”

“Buh—all this is mine?”

Erin’s eyes went round with genuine shock this time as she stared at the two
bags heaped with gold coins. They were lesser bags of holding so they had
a larger depth than their size indicated. Erin poured several gold coins into
the table. Ilvriss nodded. Then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Young Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara have done many calculations. I
oversaw them and agree with the distribution of wealth. Many of the Gold-
rank teams are eligible for one of the magical artifacts—perhaps even two.
The other teams may combine claims or accept a monetary payout.
However, there is an aberration.”

“The…Redfang Goblin team saved quite a large portion of Gnolls. Each

one earns them a reward of two thousand gold coins. They saved thirty
three before the final raid on the dungeon.”

“Thirty three. Then that means—”

Erin’s eyes went wide in genuine shock this time. Ilvriss nodded. He stood
up.

“Normally I would award the coin in full. Or rather, issue a letter of credit if
possible since providing all that coin up front would be tedious. However,
that will not occur. Because the Goblins are not an adventuring team.”

The young woman froze as she placed gold coins back in her bag.

“What do you mean? They’re totally adventurers! Selys did the paperwork
and everything!”

Ilvriss nodded. He took a deep breath and looked at the table.

“They are. But as a new team their paperwork was being processed during
the dungeon attacks. And—sadly—it will appear that they were not
registered until several days after the Raskghar were defeated. Thus,
invalidating their claim for the gold.”

Ilvriss said the last of that in a rush. He waited, staring at his claws for a
second, and then looked up. He saw Erin’s open mouth slowly close. The
young woman stood up slowly. Her face was pale.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not.”

Erin leaned over the table, putting both hands on the glossy wooden
surface.

“That’s a lie. Selys filed the paperwork! Is this—is this some kind of joke?”

“Absolutely not.”
The Drake met her eyes. Erin stared at him, disbelieving, and then slowly
looked around the room.

“Paperwork? That shouldn’t matter. This is—you don’t want to pay the
Goblins, do you? They saved thirty three Gnolls! You’d have to give them
sixty six thousand gold coins and you don’t want to! Well—okay, I
understand that! But give them something—”

“As a matter of fact, I will be paying the full amount I promised to the pool
the adventurers and Liscor may claim from. Money is not an issue.”

Ilvriss’ voice was steely. Erin stared at him.

“Then why—is it because they’re Goblins? Is that it?”

The Wall Lord nodded slightly.

“It would be politically disastrous for a Lord of the Wall to pay Goblins any
kind of sum. Moreover, if their contributions were recognized, the other
adventurers would surely riot. The Goblins have the greatest claim to the
treasure and gold of any group. Thus…well, it is a regrettable accident, but
their status as a Bronze-rank team will be certified by Liscor’s guild on the
morrow.”

For a few seconds Erin couldn’t do anything but stare at Ilvriss. Her vision
went red. She clenched her hands into fists.

“That’s so—I can’t believe—how could you? How dare you? They saved
the Gnolls! They helped fight the Raskghar! They nearly died!”

“I know.”

Ilvriss looked at her calmly. Erin was at a loss for words. She struck the
table, and then tried to flip it, but it was a huge table and she couldn’t budge
it. Erin stormed around it.

“This isn’t right! This isn’t fair! You can’t just take away everything they
deserve!”
The Drake didn’t flinch back as Erin shouted in his face. He folded his
claws together.

“It’s done, Solstice. The decision was not mine alone. Liscor’s Council
voted on the measure. And Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara helped…
clarify the issue legally.”

“Olesm did?”

Erin stared at Ilvriss. She stepped back and looked around. Then she
stormed over to the two bags of gold. Ilvriss saw her lift it up and braced
himself. Erin hefted the bag of gold, and then hesitated. She stared at it.

“A thousand gold pieces. That’s a lot of money. Yeah. But it’s nothing
compared to what they deserve. And this—”

She glanced up at Ilvriss, her eyes narrowed.

“My door helped a lot, but I bet it’s not worth a thousand gold. Is it? Is this
your way of giving me money for the Goblins? A thousand pieces instead of
sixty thousand? Is this right?”

He didn’t answer her. Ilvriss’ tail was curled up. Erin lifted the bag as if to
throw it and then slowly lowered it.

“I’ll take the money. But this isn’t right. And you know it! I thought you
were—I thought you were better than this! More honorable!”

“Human.”

Ilvriss looked steadily at Erin. She turned angrily and stomped to the door,
the bags of money in her hand. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“Human.”

“Don’t—”

Erin whirled, face ready. She was ready to pop. But she paused as Ilvriss
reached down and pulled something up.
The golden axe with the green edge. Ilvriss put it on the table and pushed it
towards her. Erin stared at the axe.

“What’s that for?”

Ilvriss gave Erin a blank look to match her own.

“That’s an axe.”

She opened her mouth, and then glared and hefted the bag of gold like a
shot put. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s a potent magical artifact recovered from the Minotaur. Calruz, I

believe his name is. Unfortunately…I seem to have misplaced it.”

Erin stared at the axe and then at Ilvriss. Slowly, she lowered the bag. Her
arm was getting tired anyways.

“Really? That’s awfully careless of you.”

Ilvriss bristled a bit.

“Well, I wasn’t the one to lose it. I was inventorying the artifacts recovered
and found a discrepancy. And, naturally, I searched quite diligently for the
artifact, but it was nowhere to be found. I naturally suspected a [Thief], but
what high-level rogue would stop at stealing only one magical artifact?
Perhaps it was lost in the recovery process from Liscor. It may well have
sunk into the lake, or remained in the Raskghar camp by accident.”

He stared pointedly at the axe. So did Erin.

“That would suck.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, the weapon was marked as lost. Not to be found

again. And the record of it was—erased.”

Ilvriss carefully picked up a piece of parchment. As Erin watched, he tore it

up. She stared at the axe.
“So this axe—”

“What axe? No weapon that has a magic jade edge which can enlarge itself
into an enchanted blade was ever recovered from the dungeon. The records
show that quite explicitly. This? This is a paperweight. And I don’t have
time for distractions. I have artifacts to sort out. Human, your kind often
deals in trash. Take this out for me as you go, will you? Toss it away
somewhere. Or give it to the Goblins. They enjoy trash, or so I’ve heard.”

Ilvriss pushed the axe across the table to Erin. She stared at it. Then, slowly,
she picked it up.

“Oof.”

The Drake coughed.

“You can put it in the bag of holding. Which I’ll need back, as I said.”

“Aw, I can’t have it?”

“No.”

Erin opened the bag and clumsily tried to put the axe in. To her surprise, the
haft of the axe sank into the bag until only the head was visible. She popped
it into the bag and stared at the plain leather sack.

“That’s a cool magic trick.”

“Indeed. Now, as to the Goblins. It’s regrettable, but they’ll have no

compensation. As is only right. I will brook no objections, Human.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin started, and then stared at him. She looked at
the bag of holding and then Ilvriss. He waited for her to do…something.
But Erin just stared. She grew still and Ilvriss began to feel uncomfortable
as she looked him up and down.

At last, Erin made a sound like a laugh. She shook her head.
“I don’t know if that was nice or not. I think you’re a good person, Ilvriss,
somewhere in there. But there’s still being fair and—well, bending the rules
to do the right thing. There’s a difference.”

She looked at Ilvriss. He felt a spark of anger in his chest, surprising him.

“I do what I have to do for my people. Law and custom can’t be so easily

ignored, Human.”

“No. I guess they can’t. But this? I don’t know if this is fair or just trying to
make you feel better about doing wrong things. It’s not right. I know that.
And I think you do too.”

Erin turned away. Ilvriss half-rose, stung. Then, slowly, he sat. He watched
Erin walk over to the door. She paused there and looked back.

“Still. I guess you did do something. So—here.”

She turned and reached for a small sack at her side. She pulled something
out of it and tossed it at Ilvriss. He caught the object reflexively. He stared
down at it as Erin pulled the door open.

“Human—”

“Bye, Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Erin smiled at Ilvriss. Then she closed the door. The Drake stared down at
what was in his claw. A round, sweet-smelling disc of hardened dough
winked up at him. It was a little cookie, burnt slightly around one edge.
Ilvriss gazed at it. Then he looked at the open door. Erin was gone.

For a while, Ilvriss sat in his chair. He looked around at the room, full of
treasures, and at the place where the bags of gold had sat. Then he looked at
the cookie. He slowly bit into it.

“Bleh. Too sugary.”

Ilvriss put the cookie aside. He stared up at the ceiling, and his tail uncurled
a bit. He didn’t feel good. But he didn’t feel terrible. He felt—
“Wall Lord?”

One of the guards poked his head into the room. Ilvriss glanced up.

“What?”

The Drake ducked his head.

“Apologies, sir. She did attempt to bribe us with those uh—”

“Cookies. I am aware. You did well pretending to be bribed. Keep letting

her in.”

Ilvriss nodded to the Drake. The guards looked relieved and closed the door.
Ilvriss sat back in his chair. What Erin had said repeated in his head.

“Not fair. But what should I do? The rules are there for a reason. Someday
they’ll change. But today and tomorrow—”

He shook himself. Ilvriss leaned forwards again and pulled the parchment
over to him. He went back to the bow, muttering.

“Someday, surely. But for now, fair must be just that. Just a small thing.
Just…”

His eyes wandered back to the cookie. It wasn’t what he wanted. And it
wasn’t that important, obviously. It was a snack. But he didn’t have to have
it. And someone had given it to him. A moment of kindness. Ilvriss closed
his eyes. He thought of Periss. What would she have done? The same as
him, probably. No, she’d have kicked Erin out. But maybe—

The rain pattered down softly. Ilvriss forgot the magical items in front of
him. He leaned back, the cookie in his claws. He didn’t like cookies. But
Periss loved sweet things.

Ilvriss didn’t hum. He wasn’t happily humming anymore. The room was
silent as he sat by himself. But the silence was good. And after a while,
Ilvriss moved. The quiet of the room was broken by a single sound.
Crunch. Ilvriss chewed and swallowed. After a moment, he spoke to
himself.

“You know, this might be quite passable with a bit of milk.”

—-

Erin Solstice walked out of Liscor’s City Hall and looked back at it. She
stared at the rainy façade, and then at the two bulging bags at her side. She
patted them gingerly and then looked around.

“Huh.”

She felt…odd. Not good. Not happy—not after hearing what Liscor had
decided to do. But not entirely bad either. She should have expected that
would happen, honestly. But she hadn’t predicted Ilvriss being—well, not a
jerk. Erin started walking as the rain soaked the cloak on her back.

The sky was grey. The rain fell down. All these things were negative. But
Liscor felt better. Truly, it did. Despite the rain, Drakes and Gnolls walked
the street. And though they looked up and grumbled at the sky, they
sometimes smiled.

The nightmare was over. The Raskghar were defeated. The exhilaration and
palpable relief was gone from the city, the celebrations had passed Erin by.
So what was left wasn’t joy and it wasn’t fear. It was…

Melancholy, perhaps. Not everyone smiled. Because Liscor had not

survived without wounds. Drakes had died. Gnolls had been sacrificed. The
Watch and Embria’s soldiers had died during the battle, as had Antinium.
Adventurers had fallen.

There was grief there. Grief, relief…Erin walked down the streets, looking
from face to face. And the Drakes and Gnolls looked back at her. So much
had happened. So much death and violence. So much sadness.
But there had been happy moments too. Erin closed her eyes as she walked.
What could you say after all of it? The bags of money weighed down her
sides. But that was just gold. She thought of Mrsha, of Ceria. Of the
Goblins. Things had changed. Was it better now? Surely it must be. The
Raskghar had been defeated. The Goblins saved. There were scars, and yet
—

“Excuse me? Miss?”

Erin turned her head. She stopped as pair of Gnolls came up to her. They
were both female, both young. Teens, in fact. They were taller than Erin,
but they looked far too young compared to Krshia and far too old compared
to Mrsha. Erin smiled. She’d never seen Gnoll teenagers before. The two
looked down at Erin. One had dark black fur, the other greyish.

“Hi there. Can I help you?”

The two teens sniffed Erin. The black-furred one looked uncertain, but then
her friend spoke up.

“You’re…Erin Solstice, yes? The [Innkeeper]?”

“That’s me.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Good. We wanted to thank you. Humans shake hands, don’t they? Here.”

The two held out their hands. Erin stared at them and then awkwardly took
both hands at once. The Gnolls shook her hands.

“I’m flattered. But why are you thanking me?”

The two looked surprised. The black-furred one shook herself slightly,
spraying Erin with a few drops.

“Because you saved our friends! You helped defeat the Raskghar! We heard
all about it. We—all the Gnolls—owe you a debt.”
“Liscor does.”

Her friend nodded. Erin turned red as she realized why they were looking at
her so intently.

“Hold on, I didn’t do much! I just helped.”

“But you came up with the plan, yes?”

“No, well, yeah, but—I didn’t do much fighting!”

“But you did convince the Goblins to betray the Raskghar, right? We heard
all about that.”

The two Gnolls nodded. Erin stammered.

“W-well…”

“I didn’t know Humans were that smart.”

“I didn’t know they were that brave. I heard you were just a troublemaker
who kept dangerous monsters at her inn. People called you ‘that crazy
Human’.”

“They did? I mean—who did?”

The two Gnolls looked at each other.

“Um…people. The point is, we’re really grateful. One of our friends was
one of the people you saved. So, thank you. Really.”

“Yes, really. We work at a [Butcher]’s. It isn’t fun.”

The black-furred Gnoll nodded in agreement with her friend.

“Not at all. But come by and we’ll give you good meat. Cheap! Our boss
wants to meet you too. He’s our father.”

“Yeah. Come by. Thank you again. Do we shake hands when we leave?”
The two Gnolls chatted with Erin a bit longer and then left. She waved at
them, bemused and then looked around. Some of the other Drakes and
Gnolls had paused to stare at Erin. A few waved. Some pointed. Erin
blushed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been stopped on the street. Somehow, she’d
become a minor celebrity in Liscor. Or rather, she suspected Drassi had
something to do with it. It wasn’t the first time Erin had been involved in
something big, but this was the first time people came up and thanked her
for doing something. She kept telling them she hadn’t done much, but—

It was embarrassing. But it felt good. Erin walked through the street,
keeping her hood raised. She was still stopped twice more, once by a Gnoll,
and then by a Drake. Trying to keep hidden was no good when you had
neither fur nor scales and no tail. You tended to stand out.

Erin arrived at her destination as she talked with the Drake, a [Tailor] who
walked along with her to Market Street. She was talking with him as she
stopped to wait in front of a stand with a few customers.

“It was really the Goblins. Really.”

“But the adventurers did all the work. The Goblins helped the Raskghar.”

The Drake frowned impatiently. Erin nodded.

“Yeah, but the Goblins helped find the Raskghar camp. And they saved a lot
of the Gnolls.”

“But the Goblins are monsters.”

The Drake pointed that out as if he was saying the sky was raining. It was a
fact. Erin paused.

“Maybe. But they’re not all bad.”

“What about the Goblin Lord? You do realize that the last Antinium War
featured the Goblin King? He nearly destroyed the continent!”
The Drake looked expectantly at Erin. She nodded.

“That’s true. And there are bad Goblins out there. I’m just saying that there
are good Goblins too, you know?”

“Good Goblins.”

The Drake savored the words as if they were new. He shook his head.

“If you say so, then I guess I’ll believe it. Look, I really just wanted to
shake your hand. I knew one of the [Guardsmen] who got killed and—I’m
glad you helped kill those Raskghar bastards. Your inn’s pretty popular, you
know.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah. It’s like this attraction. Everyone knows about the crazy Hum—
I mean, The Wandering Inn. Yeah. Ahem.”

He coughed as Erin gave him a flat look. The [Tailor] looked around.

“I’ll have to visit it sometime. Goblins or…well, I’ll visit. Thanks.”

He waved at Erin and trotted off. Bemused, she turned back to the stall. The
customers in front of her had done their business. A female Gnoll leaned
over the counter and grinned at Erin.

“It seems you’re quite well liked, yes, Erin?”

Erin made a face at Krshia. The Gnoll laughed and beckoned her closer so
Erin could step beneath the stall’s awning.

“People keep coming up to thank me! Or tell me how they know about my
inn. I think it’s my new uh, trait. I really do, Krshia.”

“Hrm. [Local Landmark]. I have heard that buildings can acquire such traits
—or titles, yes? But it is the first time I have known someone with such a
thing. Gnolls do not have many structures, so it is rare for us, yes?”
Krshia tidied up her counter, wiping away water with a cloth. Erin nodded.

“It’s so weird. But good! I really think I’m making a name for myself. And
—well, guess what Krshia? I went to see Ilvriss and you’ll never believe
what happened!”

“He gave you money, yes?”

Erin wavered.

“Well—okay, you might believe it. But listen—”

She began to tell Krshia what had happened in a hushed voice. Erin grew
more indignant as she relayed the conversation about the Goblins. Krshia
nodded as she wiped her counter and then wrung her cloth out. When Erin
had finished she snorted, and then began to laugh.

“And you insulted him? A Wall Lord? You told him he was not fair? To his
face?”

“Yeah.”

Erin watched as Krshia threw back her head to guffaw. She scowled at the
Gnoll.

“Well, he wasn’t being fair! The Goblins deserve more than a crummy
axe!”

Krshia shook her head.

“Erin. You are an amusing friend to have, yes? But also, I think, somewhat
foolish.”

She flicked Erin’s hair with a claw. The Human bristled.

“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

Krshia fixed Erin with one large brown eye.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, he told you why he did what he did, yes? The Goblins
cannot be paid. For a Wall Lord of Salazsar to do the paying? It would be
embarrassing! It would admit that monsters did more work than any
adventurer.”

“But that’s true!”

The [Shopkeeper] shrugged.

“True or not, I would not pay the Goblins a single coin. He is right, yes? It
may not be fair, but he did give you an axe. A magical weapon of great
power, is it not?”

“Yes, but—it’s still not fair. The Goblins probably deserve two artifacts! Or
three!”

Krshia nodded reasonably.

“And if they had them, the other adventurers would riot. Is that better?”

Erin hesitated.

“No, but—”

“But? Will you say that they should not be upset, so it should be done
anyways? Goblins would get nothing if it were not for you, I think. That
they were given anything—a magical weapon­no less is incredible.”

“Yeah. But it’s still not fair.”

Krshia shook her head.

“Fair? Fair is never something that happens. Erin Solstice, you complain of
the Goblins being rewarded. Will you complain that they were not given a
parade? Or praised by all? Look at things less from how they should be and
look at them how they are. Is this not better?”

She waited as Erin bit her lip and mulled this over.
“A little better. Yeah, I guess that’s true. But it could be better.”

She looked down at the bags of money and felt Krshia flick her hair again.
The Gnoll sniffed dismissively.

“But, but, but. You Humans are full of buts and ifs. Look at what you have.
Gold. And treasure. Look around. People come to you and thank you. They
listen to you when you say ‘Goblins are good’! We are grateful. You be
too.”

She looked at Erin seriously. The young woman wavered, and then realized
she was complaining a lot.

“You think I’m being grouchy, don’t you? Or silly.”

“Mm. Perhaps just a bit. But I understand you. And if you understand me—
it is better. Erin. Is today not better than before?”

Erin looked at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] spread her arms wide. Her stall
was smaller than before. It was wet. But…Erin smiled.

“It is. You’re right, Krshia.”

The Gnoll smiled approvingly. And she and Erin stood together in the rain
and the issue of the Goblins passed from Erin’s mind. She stood and chatted
with Krshia as they had done once. Just as before. Everything was the same
and different. Krshia smiled as she and Erin leaned on the counter.

“How is Mrsha?”

“Better. She doesn’t have nightmares every night. Lyonette’s giving her a
tiny bit of faerie flower nectar with her before-bed milk.”

“Mm. That is good. I know Erill and the others have suffered. Perhaps I
could buy some of their nectar for them? Do you have enough to sell?”

“Oh! That’s a great idea! I’ve got enough. I used to have only a few
flowers, but they’ve really been growing of late. I can get a small bottle
together—you don’t need more than a drop, really. No charge for the
others.”

“You are kind. But I think I will pay you a bit so I might charge others. Not
the ones who were rescued, but it would be nice to sell. How is the inn?”

“Busy. We’re putting on The Hubris of the Raskghar every night, and I
think we’ll do The Glass Menagerie next. I’m uh, running out of plays to
give the actors.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose they must make up more stories, then. Is that not how
it goes?”

“Yeah, but there are classics.”

“I see. And the Goblins? They do not cause trouble? You feed them?”

“Pretty much. The Redfangs are in charge and the Cave Goblins…they’re
doing Goblin things. I check in on them, but I’m really busy so I haven’t
seen much. The Redfangs are teaching them a bunch of stuff. Like how to
fish. Speaking of which, I want to buy a lot of food from you. To feed them.
I mean, they can feed themselves, but they really love salt and oil. And
since I have all of this…can you get me a boat of food? I could get some
from Celum, but—”

Krshia practically pulled Erin into her stall. The [Shopkeeper] shook her
head rapidly.

“Celum? Why bother? We have enough food here, yes? And I can have as
many boats visit your inn as needed. How much food did you say you
wanted? I can have it within the hour. Meats, grains, drink, whatever is
needed.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

Erin started placing gold coins on the table as she told Krshia what she
wanted. The Gnoll’s tail wagged as she counted the shiny gold pieces. She
promised Erin she’d have the goods as soon as could be and waved Erin
way.

The young woman smiled as she walked down the street, her bag a bit
lighter. She walked back towards the western gate where a little door had
been placed incongruously against the far wall. A pair of Drakes and three
Gnolls and a Human adventurer were waiting outside it. Erin sidled over
and waited in line.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Drassi waved the waiting guests
through. Erin smiled as Drassi grinned at her and stepped into her inn. The
air was warm and the inn was cozy despite the common room being three
times as large as it should be. People sat at the tables, eating and chatting. A
little white Gnoll sat with a [Princess] at a table as a bee flew around their
heads. Groups of adventurers looked up and a half-Elf waved at Erin. The
young woman walked into her inn, smiling.

She was home.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Ceria stared at the pile of gold on one of Erin’s tables. She looked up at
Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were raised as he levitated coins into a
small tower. He inspected the magical axe lying on the table, and then
glanced to his left. Jelaqua touched the axe head and whistled.

“That’s enchanted alright. I can feel it in my claws. Look—you can feel the
hum.”

“True.”

Halrac touched the axe’s edge with one finger as well. He glanced at Revi
who snorted. The Stitch-Girl poked the axe with a finger.
“Warriors. There’s better ways of testing the magic than how it feels.
Typhenous, tell them.”

The [Mage] looked up. He’d been muttering spells.

“I can’t tell how powerful it is, but it’s certainly worthy of Gold-rank.”

“At least.”

Ceria muttered. She stared at the axe, remembering Calruz swinging it and
cutting down infested. She reached for the handle and hesitated. She looked
up at Erin.

“And he gave you that?”

“Yup. In exchange for not paying the Goblins.”

The adventurers looked at each other. They were crowded around in one of
Erin’s rooms. On the third floor, in fact. Erin had decided against showing
what she’d gotten from Ilvriss to everyone. He did have a point. So she’d
called the adventurers up. The Halfseekers, Horns of Hammerad, and
Griffon Hunt were the only teams she really trusted with this kind of
information. The Silver Swords…well, they weren’t in the inn so it was a
moot point anyways. Erin glanced around.

The room was packed with all the adventurers plus Lyonette and Mrsha.
Moore had to sit outside, but he was glancing in. Mrsha peered over the
table at the enchanted axe. She reached out with one paw and hesitated.

“No touching, Mrsha. It’s very sharp.”

Lyonette gently scolded Mrsha. She was mildly overprotective of the Gnoll
now, but Mrsha bore with it well. She picked up a gold coin instead.

“A thousand gold. That’s…a lot.”

Pisces frowned.
“For an [Innkeeper] of Erin’s level? It’s not unheard of. I’ll wager that the
Level 30 Drake in Liscor—Peslas, I believe—has at least that much on
hand at any given time.”

“You think so, Pisces?”

“It’s not that large a sum. Consider how much Miss Solstice would usually
pay just to renovate her inn without the Antinium assisting her. And given
her contributions—I’d say it is less than she deserves.”

“Well, she only gets credit for her door, not the plan.”

Jelaqua remarked reasonably as she walked a gold coin over her claws.
Seborn nodded. He was leaning against one window, letting everyone else
crowd around the axe.

“It’s as good as they’ll give her. I’m surprised they gave the Goblins
anything. This isn’t worth sixty six thousand gold coins, but they were
never going to get that.”

“I guess.”

Erin made a face. Seborn shrugged.

“That’s politics. They wouldn’t get anything in the north either.

Besides, they probably got lucky getting one artifact guaranteed.
Splitting the treasure never goes fairly no matter how it’s done. Believe
me. I knew [Pirates].”

Jelaqua rolled her eyes as Erin turned and gave Seborn a deeply interested
look.

“Everyone knows that, Seborn. Don’t bore us with another story. Hey, Erin.
Did Ilvriss tell you who’s getting what?”

All the adventurers looked sharply at Erin. She hesitated.

“Well, he said they’d decide in a few days. But nothing’s settled, I think.”
“Damn.”

Halrac cursed. Lyonette glared at him. The [Scout] looked away.

“We haven’t settled anything. Every team wants the best artifacts. I want
that bow—”

“And we want the staff! Come on, Halrac. I could use that wind-blasting
staff. Or one of the wands!”

Revi folded her arms. Jelaqua threw up her arms.

“And I want the armor! But Keldrass is going for the same thing! It’s a
mess. We might only get a bucketful of gold and that would really suck.”

“What’s wrong with gold? You’ll probably get thousands.”

Erin looked at the others, mildly confused. Yvlon shook her head. She
addressed both Erin and Ksmvr, who’d raised his hands, probably with the
same question.

“The thing is, Erin, artifacts go up in value. Gold doesn’t. Plus, an artifact is
hard to acquire since there’s limited numbers of them, especially good ones.
Frankly, paying twice of what an artifact’s worth on the market is a better
idea than just having the gold.”

“Especially Gold-rank items or better. Do you know how rare it is to find a

piece of armor that blocks spells like that thing the Raskghar was wearing?
It’s nearly as good as the Heartflame Breastplate—okay, it’s not, but we’ll
own it and that’s what counts.”

Jelaqua grumbled as she kicked about the room. Erin nodded

understandingly.

“Sounds rough.”

All the adventurers gave Erin glares that were only half mocking. Erin had
seen them arguing with the other teams over drinks, trying to reach a deal
for the last few nights. She could only shrug and gather up the gold coins.
“Lyonette, we’ve got money. But I’m going to feed the Goblins and give
them what they want with some of it, okay? The rest we’ll have to hide. We
should get a safe or something.”

Lyonette nodded.

“Hide it in Bird’s room. Maybe in his bed since he never uses it.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let us make an offer for that axe, would you?”

Revi looked pained as Erin shifted the axe aside. She gestured towards her
belt.

“I don’t know about the other teams, but my summoned warriors could do
with magical gear. And that axe is a Gold-rank weapon…”

Erin shook her head.

“Sorry. This is going to the Goblins. They earned it and they can decide
what to do with it. Speaking of which…Pebblesnatch?”

She raised her voice. The other adventurers turned to the door. They heard
some shuffling and then Moore’s voice.

“Oops. Excuse me.”

The half-Giant moved out of the way. A little Goblin appeared in the
doorway. Pebblesnatch’s belly was round and she was gnawing on some
cheese. She was the only Goblin present in Erin’s inn. The Hobs were in
their cave, managing the other Cave Goblins. But Pebblesnatch had refused
to go with them and for good reason. She was eating nonstop in Erin’s inn,
so much so that Erin was afraid she’d injure her stomach or something.

But the Goblin seemed to be able to eat without issue. She could certainly
afford to put on some pounds. Erin saw Pebblesnatch pause as she stared at
the room full of adventurers and then glance with interest at the axe. Erin
smiled encouragingly at her.
“Hey Pebblesnatch. Can you go downstairs and tell the Hobs I want to
speak with them? It’s nothing important, but I’d like all five of them to see
this.”

The little Goblin nodded. She tucked the cheese under one arm and walked
downstairs. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I swear, that Goblin’s eaten twice her body weight in the last few days. I
envy that. Are you going to make her an employee, Erin? What about the
Hobs? All those Goblins have to go somewhere. Are they going back into
the dungeon or what?”

Everyone looked at Erin. She hesitated.

She’d lied to Ilvriss. She did know how many Goblins were in the cave. The
answer was a lot. And the Redfang Warriors were training them. They’d
already started teaching the Cave Goblins how to fight like they did. As for
plans—Erin had none.

She knew that the Goblins were a problem for Liscor, but she didn’t know
what was going to happen. They could go back into the dungeon, but it was
so dangerous. Then again, if they stayed above, they’d quickly become a
problem as soon as the rains stopped and people started travelling to Liscor.
She wondered if the Redfangs had a plan.

If they did, Erin hadn’t discussed it with them yet. She shook her head at
Jelaqua.

“Nothing yet. But they’re not causing trouble for now. They just fish and
cook all the time. And poke Shield Spiders.”

“You should seal that nest. One of the larger spiders breaks through the wall
and there will be a problem.”

Halrac grumbled. Erin nodded.

“I’ll tell the Hobs that. Speaking of which…”

She turned expectantly to the door. There was a pause, and then someone
shuffled into view. Pawn scratched his antennae as everyone stared at him.
He froze.

“Oh. Hello. I was looking for Bird.”

“Hi Pawn. Look at what I got paid!”

Erin smiled at Pawn, despite him not being five Hobs. The Antinium peered
into the room and nodded.

“That is a lot of gold. I am appropriately envious and happy for you, Miss
Erin.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you think the Antinium will get paid a lot? You guys did
fight with everyone else. Are you trying to get an artifact or gold?”

Pawn paused. He closed his mandibles and lowered them in a frown.

“Paid. Ah, you mean the distribution of wealth. I do not believe the
Antinium were offered anything for our assistance in the battle.”

“What? Why not?”

Erin stared at Pawn. The Worker raised all four arms.

“I believe Wall Lord Ilvriss objected to it. As did Liscor’s Council. And
Wing Commander Embria. It does not matter.”

“But that’s not—”

Erin bit back an echo of what she’d said to Ilvriss. Pawn cocked his head to
one side.

“It truly does not matter, Erin. The Antinium fulfilled our contract with
Liscor. And we obtained what we wanted anyways.”

“Which was?”
Pawn turned to look at Pisces. He hesitated.

“Um…oh my. Look at the rain. I should see Bird.”

He edged back and out of the room. Erin stared at the space where he had
been, mystified. She looked back at Pisces.

“What did they get?”

“One wonders.”

The [Necromancer] tapped his lips thoughtfully, studiously ignoring the

glances his teammates and the other adventurers gave him. He glanced
towards the doorway as he heard some rapid footsteps.

“Ah.”

This time the Redfang Warriors appeared as one, led by Pebblesnatch. The
Cave Goblin pointed them into the room and the Hobs warily entered. They
stared at the gold coins for all of a millisecond and then fixed their gazes on
the axe. Shorthilt whistled. Headscratcher nodded at Jelaqua. The Selphid
grinned as Halrac stepped away from the Hobs and the others edged back to
give them room.

“Hey…Numbtongue?”

Headscratcher looked disappointed. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He looked

questioningly at Erin. She took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, I’ve got some good news. And bad news. You see…I went to
see Ilvriss and…well, he’s not going to pay you for saving the Gnolls. I
mean, not with everything you should get.”

The Hobs stared at Erin. They looked at each other. Badarrow scratched his
head. Rabbiteater frowned. Numbtongue looked at Erin.

“What pay?”

The [Innkeeper] blinked.

“Your…gold. For saving the Gnolls? Two thousand gold pieces? It’s a lot of
money. And you’re not getting it.”

The Hobgoblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Numbtongue turned to

Erin.

“Okay.”

He looked around and noticed everyone was giving him puzzled looks. Erin
wavered.

“Aren’t you upset? I mean, that’s a lot of money! And you’re not getting
any of it! Isn’t that unfair?”

“Sure.”

Numbtongue nodded obligingly. Erin gazed at him. And then she

understood something about Goblins. They really didn’t care. Not about
money. And not about things being unfair. Because, to a Goblin, everything
was usually unfair.

“Well, I got paid some. And I think it’s only right that some of it’s yours.”

The Hobs stared at gold coins on the table. They looked at Erin and back at
the coins. It was as if she’d offered them dirt. Badarrow picked up one coin,
weighed it on a finger, and shrugged. He flicked it into the air and let it
bounce off the table. Erin stared at him and then at the Redfangs who
clearly didn’t care. She tried another tack.

“I can buy you food with it. Or weapons.”

Instantly, all the Hobs looked up with interest. They stared at the coins and
at Erin as if only putting together what the money meant for the first time.
Headscratcher cleared his throat.

“Swords? More?”

He spoke awkwardly and with difficulty. Erin nodded.

“More swords! If you need them. Or other things.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. They immediately huddled together.

Shorthilt looked up.

“Mace? Dagger? Chainmail? Shield?”

“Yeah. Or…food.”

Rabbiteater smacked his lips together appreciatively. But Shorthilt smacked

him on the back of the head. He elbowed the others until they nodded
impatiently. Then the Hob stepped forwards. He stood in front of Erin like a
statesman giving a speech. He looked at Erin and spoke slowly and
carefully.

“Helmets. Coif. Vambraces. Oil. Whetstone. Spear. Glaive. Zweihander.

Scimitar. Bardiche. Buckler. Pauldrons…”

It was like he’d memorized a dictionary of words that only pertained to

weapons and armor. Erin stared at Shorthilt began listing off an armory’s
worth of items. She eventually cut him off.

“You want all that?”

“Some.”

The Hob nodded eagerly. The other Redfang Warriors nodded with varying
degrees of enthusiasm. Rabbiteater grumbled and made it clear that he
wanted some food. But Shorthilt was adamant. Erin wavered.

“Well, I can get you some of that. Some. But the money will also go to
food. For the Goblins?”

The Hobs nodded at that. They looked satisfied, punching each other on the
shoulder good-naturedly. In fact, they looked quite happy. Erin stared at
them, mystified, and then pointed to the axe.

“Ilvriss also gave you that. There’s only one, but it’s all he’s willing to give
you. So…”
The Hobs froze. They stared at the enchanted axe. They looked at Erin.
Numbtongue inhaled sharply.

“For us?”

Erin nodded. The Hobs stared at each other. Then as one they leapt for the
axe.

“Whoa!”

Erin jumped back. The adventurers backed up as the five Goblins all tried to
grab the axe. They fell, punching and kicking each other for it. Erin shouted
and waved her arms for them to stop, but the Hobs didn’t listen. The first to
emerge from the pile was Headscratcher. He pried Shorthilt’s hands off the
axe and lifted it over his head, crowing.

“Mine!”

The Hobs all stared at him. Shorthilt groaned and smacked his forehead on
the floor. Glumly, the other four got up and scuffed at the ground with their
feet. Erin stared.

“Wait, that was it?”

Headscratcher nodded. He swung the axe carefully as the other Hobs glared
at him. Apparently, they’d decided who would get the axe with the simplest
of trials. Ceria looked at her team.

“Wanna try that for our next artifact?”

Yvlon laughed. Pisces just sniffed. The Hobs clustered around

Headscratcher, disappointment forgotten as he let them try the axe. He
looked at Erin and she was surprised to see a bit of moisture in his eyes.
Headscratcher nearly teared up. He kept elbowing Numbtongue until the
Goblin translated.

“Very good. Very good. He says thank you.”

Erin raised her hands.

“I didn’t do much. Look, Headscratcher, aw, don’t cry. I’m glad you like it.
But it’s not what you deserve. You should get two more artifacts. OR gold!”

The Hobs stared at the pile of gold dismissively. They shook their heads.
Numbtongue looked confused. He looked at Erin.

“Why so important? For buying?”

Revi raised her eyebrows. Jelaqua laughed. Erin nodded.

“It’s important! Very important. If you had more, you could buy…tons of
good stuff! All of the others want it.”

The Hobs looked at the adventurers. They nodded. Halrac looked stonily
past the Goblins. Jelaqua scratched her neck and sighed.

“Yeah, it’s important. We might not get anything good. And—hell, it is a bit
depressing.”

“Why’s that?”

Lyonette held Mrsha up. The Gnoll sniffed Jelaqua as the Selphid shrugged.

“It’s nothing. Okay—look. It’s just that we might not get any artifacts. Or if
we do, we get one. And it’s…well, it’s hard after fighting in the dungeon for
so long, you know? After so much…”

She glanced at Griffon Hunt and away. The other adventurers nodded.
Jelaqua spread her arms out.

“Sorry. I know I’m griping. But the other teams will get a share of the loot
and that’s fair. But we—well, we were here first, you know? And we’re not
getting much.”

“Yeah.”

Seborn nodded. Typhenous leaned on his staff.

“We have to agree. It is disappointing. Fair, but disappointing. I have no
doubt we can negotiate for one artifact, but it might not be what we wish.
As for the monetary costs…well, we’ll most likely have to forgo all the
gold for a chance at one artifact.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Erin felt bad as she thought about that. It was true. The Halfseekers and
Griffon Hunt had sacrificed a lot. They’d lost Ulrien. And now they had to
gamble on whether they’d get anything worthwhile.

The Hobs stared thoughtfully at the adventurers. Then they looked at the
gold. Badarrow picked up the gold piece again and looked at it. Then he bit
it. He frowned at the faint teeth marks in the gold piece and showed it to
Rabbiteater. The other Hob bit the coin as well and licked it thoughtfully.
He showed it to Headscratcher who nodded, and true to his name, scratched
his head.

“This is good?”

“Yup. This is what adventurers look for. This and gems and magical
artifacts. And uh…”

Erin looked at the others. Jelaqua shrugged.

“Artwork. Vases, tapestries, old documents, books, magical and

nonmagical. Gilding on the walls…”

“Old maps can be worth a fortune. As well as correspondence. You can

make a fortune on the right letters.”

Revi smiled.

“I heard someone sold a love letter from an old [Archmage] of Wistram to a

Chandrarian [Queen] for ten thousand gold pieces. It was worth more than
the gemstones they found!”

The Hobs stared at her. Then they looked at each other. Headscratcher
wandered over to the table. He picked up the empty bag of holding and
peered into it. He dropped a coin inside and watched as it vanished. Then he
tossed it to Numbtongue. The Hob grunted as he inserted his entire arm into
the bag. He waved it at Erin.

“This thing. Can we take it?”

“Oh, no. Sorry. I have to give it back.”

The Hob nodded.

“We’ll give back. But borrow for little while?”

Erin hesitated.

“Well, sure. Why not? Do you need both?”

The Hobs conferred. They nodded. Numbtongue turned to the others.

“We go. Come back later. You wait.”

He waved vaguely at the room then walked out the door. The adventurers
watched as the Hobs followed him. Ceria frowned.

“Does he mean wait here?”

Revi snorted.

“Bugger that. As Dawil would say. Come on, if they’re coming back I need
a drink to wash the poverty off my tongue. Look, let’s all sit down and
figure out who gets what once and for all.”

“I want that bow. You’re not talking me out of it, Revi.”

Halrac walked past her. Erin looked at Lyonette who shrugged and stared at
the gold coins.

“They took the bags. We’ll have to haul this up by hand.”

“Ooh. Yeah. Well, maybe let’s leave it until they come back.”
The group went downstairs. Erin smiled as she walked into her common
room. It was bustling, but for once she didn’t have much to do. Gnolls and
Drakes circulated the tables, led by Ishkr and Drassi. They served food and
drink and Erin could sit with Lyonette, Mrsha, and the adventurers as they
argued.

Erin poured herself a cup of juice and sat with the others. She tried defusing
the arguments that began to spring up. She was glad none of the other teams
were here. They were probably cooling off. Last night had seen Keldrass
and Jelaqua nearly come to blows. Even good-natured adventurers like
Bevussa and Dawil had gotten annoyed by the arguing.

“All this over artifacts. I’m glad I don’t have a horse in this race.”

Lyonette nodded absently. She was bouncing Mrsha up and down as the
Gnoll hugged her. The two looked happy, content just to sit around.

“I think it’s the bad weather that makes them angrier. This would probably
go a lot more civilly if we had them sit in the sun.”

She glanced at Erin, and the young woman remembered that Lyonette was a
[Princess]. She probably knew about negotiations.

“Why not? We can always rig up a door to the field. And Krshia said she
wants to bring some Gnolls through. Let’s do that if things go south.”

“Or if you see any other teams walk in.”

The two nodded at each other. Erin turned her attention back to the arguing
adventurers. She was just trying to explain to Ksmvr why challenging other
teams to duels over the artifacts wasn’t a good idea—and the other
adventurers were floating it as a legitimate option—when the door opened.

“The Hobgoblins are back! No one panic!”

Drassi shouted as the Redfang Warriors appeared again. They’d been gone
for a good two hours, much to Erin’s surprise. They also looked slightly
dirty and sweaty. Headscratcher waved to Erin and pointed upstairs. She
rose.

“I think he wants us to go upstairs. Hey you guys, can you come too?”

“Fine! It beats arguing about dividing loot!”

Revi threw up her hands and stalked upstairs. Jelaqua and Seborn joined
her, both looking upset while Moore tried to calm them down. Typhenous,
Halrac, Yvlon, and Ksmvr followed them. Erin stared at their backs.

“They’re really upset.”

“It’s hard to negotiate. I don’t think we’ve got much of a claim, but even
we’re tearing our hair out over what we want.”

Ceria paused, looking sympathetically at the Gold-rank adventurers. Pisces

nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“This process does seem designed to involve the most amount of strife
possible. The lottery is designed such that everyone may have a claim
regardless of how small, which will create a great deal of uncertainty, even
for a team with a larger claim like the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt.
Everyone may obtain what they want—but the odds are that at least one
party will exit quite unhappy. As one might expect of the Drakeish way of
dividing spoils.”

Ceria paused as she began to climb the stairs.

“So what you really mean is, it’s a mess, Pisces.”

“Succinctly? Yes?”

“Just say that next time.”

He sniffed. Erin grinned and followed them up the stairs. She found the
Hobs had placed both bags of holding on the table. They also had two large,
bulging sacks next to the table. Erin stared at them. She didn’t know where
the rough hide bags had come from, but they looked positively filthy. She
glanced at the adventurers who were looking annoyed.

“Um, Numbtongue, what’s this? What are the other two bags for?”

“Stuff. For adventurers. Bags of holding too small. Here.”

Numbtongue handed one of the bags of holding to Erin. She stared at it and
then gingerly opened the bag. She peered inside.

“Huh.”

She looked up from the bag and put it on the table quite calmly. The other
adventurers stared at Erin as she went over to the window.

“’Scuse me, Seborn. Hey Moore, come in and shut the door, will you?”

The half-Giant obliged her. Revi complained as he squeezed himself into

the room. Erin was fumbling with the window.

“Come on! It’ll be cramped in here, no offense Moore. And what are you
doing, Erin—”

She yelped as Erin opened the window. Rain blew in. Mrsha raced out of
the way as a shower blasted Erin and Seborn and Ceria, who were closest to
the window. Ceria ran for cover and the other adventurers edged back.

“What the hell, Erin!”

“Just one second. I have something in my eyes.”

Erin let the rain blow into her face. Then she shut the window. She looked
around as water dripped from her face. The others stared at her. Then Erin
walked over to the bag of holding. She opened it again. She glanced into it.

“Huh.”

She looked up at Numbtongue. The Hob was staring at her, mainly because
of the water dripping from Erin’s body. She blinked some out of her eyes.
“Hey Numbtongue, is this real?”

He nodded.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A room below. Cave Goblins showed us where it was. Big collection

spot.”

“Oh. So the Raskghar had a spot where they put all this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

Jelaqua frowned. She tried to see the bag but Erin was blocking it.
Numbtongue nodded.

“Separate room. Too hard to carry everywhere.”

“Right, right. That makes sense. You wouldn’t bring this around. Huh. So…
huh. Wow.”

The other adventures looked at each other. Now they sensed what Erin was
feeling. Pisces stood up straighter. Moore leaned over. Ceria stood on her
tiptoes.

“What’s in the bag, Erin?”

The [Innkeeper] started. She looked around at the curious faces. She looked
at the bag—and then turned it over and emptied it onto the table.

—-

Ceria Springwalker had heard many sounds in her life. Insects crawling all
over each other, the quiet of the forests, the sound of trees rustling. Her
friends screaming as they died. Raskghar howling. The voice of her master
as she bade Ceria goodbye. The sound of laughter. A song in an inn.

Happy sounds, sad sounds. Moments that Ceria would never be able to
unhear, both joyous and terrible. But the sound she heard now was glorious.
It was a high, lofty sound that indicated the shifting of fates, but an earthly
sound. A familiar sound.

It was the chink, the cling and high pitched ringing sound of metal on metal.
The half-Elf saw coins pour out of Erin’s bag of holding, in an unending
stream. Coins, some golden, others faded. Many covered in filth or lichen.
But the gold, oh, the gold shone through. Not just gold too. There was silver
and bronze and other colors of metal, bright and seductive.

And that was only the coins. Other things tumbled from the sack. Bright
gemstones, goblets made of gold, figurines of Drakes, some cracked and
damaged. Necklaces of fine silver string with pearls, large rings with
embedded gemstones, a scepter made of brass but inset with a ring of
diamonds around the top—

The treasure poured from the bag of holding and onto the table. The gold
and jewels and other riches rolled off the table and clattered onto the floor.
The adventurers shouted and stared. Mrsha blocked a rolling emerald the
size of her paw with her leg. Erin held the bag up as the treasures poured
forth. At last, the flow stopped. She stared down at the table heaped with
treasures and looked around. Riches lay on the ground, rolling to a stop.
She looked around, shaking slightly. Everyone else stared at her with bug
eyes.

All except for the Goblins. They grumbled as they kicked aside the gold and
jewels. Rabbiteater stepped on a sharp little Drake statuette made of bright
silver and rubies and cursed. He kicked it aside. Numbtongue complained to
Erin.

“This is hard to pick up! We’re not doing it this time.”

She turned to stare at him.

“This was in the dungeon?”

He nodded.

“In a special room. Raskghar told Cave Goblins to put it there. They collect
lots of it from other rooms in the dungeon. For some reason.”

He shrugged and kicked a pile of gold apart. Erin stared at the coins. Some
of them were filthy, probably from sitting in the dungeon for so long. Other
coins were bloodstained. Mrsha wrinkled her nose as she sniffed a goblet
with a bit of blood on one side.

“And you have another bag of holding filled with this? And—”

She looked at the other two sacks. Rabbiteater nodded. He flexed his arms
to show Erin how hard it had been to carry the non-magical bags.

“Heavy. Glittery stuff heavy.”

“I’d imagine so. This isn’t just gold coins like we use. Some of this—some
of this is pure gold.”

Revi’s hands trembled as she picked up a coin. She scored the soft gold
with a knife, peeling up a sliver of gold. She showed it to Halrac. The
[Scout]’s eyes were wide as he held it up.

“Oh dead gods. Someone tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Jelaqua looked at the treasure on the floor, blinking. She looked around.
The other adventurers looked too stunned for words. She stared at the
jewels lying at her feet.

“This can’t be real. Pinch me, someone.”

Moore did, pinching Jelaqua’s arm. The Selphid paused.

“I didn’t feel that.”

“You’re a Selphid. Of course you didn’t.”

Seborn stepped forwards. He bent and picked up a pair of tongs, which
were made of silver and ivory. He opened and closed them.

“This is a treasure haul. I’ve seen something like this only once. And
that was—storms and salt. This is what the Raskghar had?”

“Of course. Of course they had it. We just didn’t notice it because we
attacked their camp.”

Ceria felt lightheaded. She spoke, feeling something like mirth bubbling up
inside them. She looked at the others, a crazy smile tugging at her face.

“We were so busy attacking the camp that we never thought to—and Calruz
never said—”

Yvlon shook her head.

“He probably didn’t know. The Raskghar might have kept it hidden. And
the Goblins…”

She glanced at the Hobs, who were scratching themselves and looking
pleased at the reaction they’d elicited.

“…they don’t care about treasure.”

“We care about artifacts. Not shiny things. They’re too shiny. Too heavy.
Not useful. Good for adventurer traps, maybe.”

Numbtongue corrected Yvlon. The woman nodded and then stared at the
treasure. Ksmvr glanced around.

“Am I to take it that this is all treasure for us?”

“No, it’s the Goblin’s—”

Erin turned to the Redfangs. They shook their heads.

“Not for us. You take.”

Headscratcher pointed at Erin. She opened her mouth to protest. Pisces cut
her off.

“It’s no good to them, Erin. But in our hands, it can be, ah, delicately spent.
I think this is a gift.”

“Mhm.”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue pointed at the adventuring teams, who

stared at him, faces all as pale as Jelaqua’s.

“For fighting in the dungeon. For killing Raskghar. You did it. We don’t
need it. So it’s yours. You have it. An adventurer’s treasure.”

The other three teams looked at Numbtongue, shocked. Typhenous was

bending down, touching the treasure. He looked up. Revi had a circlet in
her hands.

“For us? Just for us? You’re serious?”

Numbtongue nodded. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We should share it. This is—we should tell the others.”

The others looked at her. Yvlon half-nodded. Pisces frowned. No one else
nodded. Revi looked at Jelaqua.

“I have an alternative idea: no. This is ours. There’s no way I’ll split this.
Can I change your mind?”

The Selphid hesitated. She looked back at Revi and then nodded.

“Yeah. That was a terrible idea. Thanks for talking me out of it.”

“Anytime.”

The others went back to staring at the treasure. Erin felt a bit lightheaded.
She looked at the other bags.
“So that’s all the treasure?”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue kicked one bag.

“All of it. There was a big pile in the room. No artifacts. Raskghar used
those. We took all of it. You take it from us. Only your teams.”

He looked at the others. Revi was nodding repeatedly, as was Typhenous

and Pisces. Halrac frowned.

“Why our teams?”

He looked directly at Badarrow as he said it. The [Sniper] glanced at him

and grinned.

“Helped Goblins. Sometimes.”

That shut Halrac up. Erin looked at the treasure and then at Headscratcher.

“They did do a lot. But—why not the Silver Swords? They fought too.”

Numbtongue looked at his companions. He shrugged.

“We don’t like them.”

“Oh.”

After that came more standing around. The Hobs took a seat as the
adventurers picked up the relics and gold pieces and tried to pile them on
the table. They were almost afraid to open the other bags. Ceria kept
pinching herself and Moore had to sit and breathe slowly with Mrsha in his
arms. They were shocked more than exhilarated.

For the first ten minutes. And then a craze seemed to sweep over them.
Jelaqua opened the second bag of holding, dumped it onto the ground, and
began sorting the coins and jewels and other objects apart. Typhenous knelt
with her, muttering about the cuts of gems and weight. Pisces began arguing
with Seborn about the price of gold. Yvlon and Halrac tried to appraise the
statues and so on and Ksmvr dutifully began adding it all up. In minutes, all
the adventurers were on their knees, counting.

“We need parchment! Something to write this down!”

Pisces feverishly sorted through the gemstones, his face flushed. Ceria
nodded.

“Put—put all the gems on the bed! We’ll count the coins and shove them
into this corner—”

The Hobs watched as the adventurers scrambled to sort the treasure. It was
getting hot in the room so Rabbiteater opened a door. Immediately he was
nearly tackled by Seborn and Typhenous.

“Don’t open the door!”

Instantly, the ecstatic mood changed to paranoia. Moore was instantly

assigned to watch the door and Lyonette and Erin were sent downstairs to
get parchment and a quill and ink and to come right back upstairs. Under no
circumstances was anyone allowed on the same floor. Typhenous and Pisces
began frantically casting ward spells.

“We’ll need to store all this before we can deposit it! The Merchant’s Guild
can hold it—but we’ll need to watch it day and night. If a [Thief] were to
get wind of what we have—”

Revi was summoning her Stitch-Warriors to help sort the treasure. Halrac
nodded.

“We can’t just deposit it in any guild, though. We need the best deal. I know
someone in Invrisil who can change all the gemstones.”

“Right—there’s overheads we need to watch out for. The exchange rate on

sapphires isn’t so good, but if we bank it and wait—”

“How do we split it? Thirds to each of us? What about Erin?”

Ceria knelt amid a pile of treasure. She looked up at Erin. The young
woman backed up as the adventurers stared feverishly at her.

“I’m uh, good. I got paid. You can have the treasure.”

“You mean it? You can’t change your mind!”

Revi stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated, and looked at Lyonette.

Mrsha was staring wide-eyed at the treasure.

“I’m…sure. I didn’t fight in the dungeon.”

“Right. Right. That’s true. We can give you a bit. But all of this? This is for
us.”

Revi went back to the gold, standing over it almost protectively. Erin
looked around. The Hobs were watching with interest. But there was
something almost…scary about the way the adventurers were acting. Erin
wanted no part of it. The three teams sorted the treasure nonstop for an
hour, trying to calculate how much they’d earned. In the end they had a
rough count.

“It could be off—the fluctuating market is always an issue. But assuming

we could average the prices for each item—”

Pisces scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, ignoring the grime on his
hands. Typhenous mumbled as he stared at the parchment with the figures
scrawled on it. Ceria bounced on her feet.

“Well? How much? How much?”

Pisces looked up and gulped.

“A hundred and ten thousand gold pieces? Give or take thirty thousand as a
margin for error.”

“A hundred and ten—”

“Give or take? How much could we get?”

Jelaqua tried to add it up on shaking fingers.

“Per group? That’s….close to fourty thousand for each team! Thirty five
thousand pieces!”

“And that’s assuming we don’t get more for the gems and whatnot. If we
get a good price—”

The adventurers went quiet. They looked at each other. Then Revi laughed
shakily.

“We’re rich. This is—this is a haul.”

The other adventurers nodded. Ceria sat on the ground as filthy gold coins
spilled around her. Ksmvr stared at the treasure.

“So, does this mean our teams have achieved lucrative success, Captain
Ceria? Have we struck it rich?”

“Very rich, Ksmvr.”

Ceria nodded at once. But it was Jelaqua who raised a trembling hand.

“Hold on. This is good, but it’s not everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Ceria stared at the Selphid. Jelaqua took a few deep breaths.,

“Okay. It’s great. If it was one team we’d be…well, thirty five thousand is a
huge amount any way you cut it. But for a Gold-rank team? It’s good. It’s
what we came here for. But if we can get more—”

She looked at Griffon Hunt. Halrac nodded.

“It’s what we came here for.”

“Right. We could do with eighty thousand gold pieces. Now that would be a
real haul even for a Gold-rank team.”
Revi muttered to herself. She raised her hands as she got a dozen glares.

“What? This is great, don’t get me wrong! It puts our team back on the
map. After what happened—”

She looked at Typhenous and Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. He sat on the
bed, then reached down and pulled a topaz away with a grimace.

“After all our setbacks, this will…it’ll fund us for a long time. Get us better
equipment if we need it. Help us get more adventurers.”

“Us too. We’ve had a few thousand gold coins in the bank, but nothing we
could really rub together. This? This is security.”

Jelaqua stared at the mountain of coin. She looked up sharply.

“And we can use this in the lottery.”

The others looked at her in surprise. Halrac sat up and nodded.

“That’s true. We can cede all the money we’ll get, and ask just for an
artifact. And then—”

“—and then we have gold and an artifact. Dead gods. Dead gods.”

Jelaqua rubbed her hands together. Ceria blinked at Halrac.

“You want more? After this?”

She’d hit the limit of all the avarice in her body. But Halrac and the other
Gold-ranks clearly hadn’t. The [Veteran Scout] nodded.

“I want that bow. Before, we were trying to get at least a few thousand gold
pieces to cover the costs of all we’ve spent. But with this, we can aim just
for the artifacts.”

“It’s a miracle. A miracle!”

Revi laughed and lay in a pool of treasure. Seborn had necklaces and
bracelets draped over his arms. He grinned, the light of the gems flashing
across his body. Erin smiled around, caught up in the genuine excitement
this time.

“You did it.”

Yvlon paused. She held a gold coin up and stared at it.

“We did.”

The adventurers quieted. They looked at each other. The Halfseekers, the
Horns, and Griffon Hunt. The elation that had filled them drained away for
a moment. They remembered.

Ulrien. The original Horns of Hammerad. The Silver Spears. All the others.
Ceria stared down at the treasure she held, slightly sick suddenly. It felt like
so long. And she’d done it. She held a fortune, the fortune her team had
dreamed of. And she felt…a bit empty.

“What now?”

Pisces looked at her.

“Now? I suppose we attempt to arm ourselves better for next time.”

“What next time?”

Revi looked at him, puzzled. Pisces frowned.

“The next foray into the dungeon, of course.”

“Why?”

The question stumped the [Necromancer]. Revi looked around. The Stitch-
Girl looked calmer now. She gazed from face to face, ending on Halrac and
Typhenous.
“Why do we have to go back into the dungeon? It’s dangerous. It nearly
killed us more times than I can count. Besides…we did it. This is what we
came here for. Not to conquer the dungeon. For this.”

She gestured at the treasure.

“We did it. A wise adventurer doesn’t keep going in. They take the treasure
and go. We did it, everyone. And as for me? I’m done with the dungeon.”

Everyone stared at her in shock. Then Jelaqua stood up.

“So are we. We got our gold. We don’t have to go back in. We’re going to
have a holiday. We’re going to—we could go anywhere with this. We don’t
have to go back.”

“We don’t?”

Ceria sat still, trying to imagine that. They could just walk away? But the
dungeon—

Would be there. And other teams would try to claim its secrets and
treasures. But they didn’t have to deal with it. Ceria looked at the treasure.
She tried to imagine what twenty five thousand gold pieces could buy.
Could it buy help for an insane Minotaur? A gravestone for the Horns? New
robes? Spellbooks? Could it buy—

She looked up and saw Pisces staring at her. Yvlon and Ksmvr stood
together, waiting. They were looking at Ceria. So were the Halfseekers. And
Griffon Hunt and Erin and Lyonette and Mrsha. Ceria looked around. She
stood up. She felt dizzy. Elated. Almost sick. But then she remembered.

A group of adventurers standing around in the inn. Ceria, Sostrom, Gerial,

Calruz, Hunt…the Horns. A toast. For honor. Ceria blinked—

And she stood in the room filled with treasure. Different faces gazed at her,
worrying, expectant, curious. Ceria looked around. She took a few deep
breaths.

“I think—for now—at least until we’re ready—”

They waited for it. Ceria smiled. Her heart was beating fast. The world
opened up. The dungeon would stay here, but now—

“We’re done with the dungeon!”

The others burst into wild cheers. Jelaqua hugged Pisces and Revi danced
about Moore as the half-Giant high-fived all three of Ksmvr’s hands. Halrac
shook Yvlon’s hands as Seborn and Typhenous slapped each other on the
back. The adventurers laughed and danced and cried.

“We’re done with the dungeon! Done with the dungeon!”

And the Goblins watched it all, amused and confused and happy. And when
Erin had seen enough, she left the room and watched the Hobs file back to
their little cave, nudging each other. Satisfied. They’d given away a fortune,
but they stood straight. Happy.

That was the thing about Goblins. They cared not for gold, or glory, or gods
for that matter. But they cared about what mattered. Warm food, a place to
sleep, a shiny axe, and each other. Erin looked back at the room full of
celebrating adventurers and at the Goblins. She saw things to love about
each side. So she stood on the stairs and called down at the Hobs.

“Hey!”

They looked back up at her. Erin smiled and beckoned.

“Come on. You deserve at least one cake for all that.”

They brightened up. It was the best gift Erin could have given them.

—-

Happy days. Presents that mattered more to different people. The Drakes
were grateful for peace. The Gnolls rejoiced in victory over their ancient
foe. The adventurers looked to the glitter of their wealth. And the Goblins?
The Goblins shared three cakes in their cave and were happy. Which group
was the most happy?

It was the Goblins. They lay about in a sugar-induced coma, the Cave
Goblins experiencing the joy of frosting for the first time in their lives,
smacking their lips. For once they weren’t hungry. The Hobs slept on beds
imported from Erin’s inn, warm and comfortable. And one more thing
happened that night.

A Goblin wearing a cape tossed and turned in his bed. His cape was
magical. Sometimes it was water, or mud, or in one bad case, pee. But
usually it was blood. He’d finally figured out how to make it stick and the
blood cape looked coolest.

Goblins slept around him. They crowded his bed, although none actually
intruded on the warm cotton sheets. But they clustered around this Hob
more than any other.

Not because he was stronger than the rest like Headscratcher, or an expert
shot like Badarrow. He wasn’t nearly as masterful with weapons as
Shorthilt and he couldn’t sing or speak like Numbtongue. In fact, the other
Hobs would have called Rabbiteater slightly unremarkable. So would he.

But that wasn’t what the Cave Goblins saw. That wasn’t what they
remembered. They all remembered a figure standing in the darkness.

A Goblin unsheathed his sword as the Raskghar stirred in their camps. The
Cave Goblins looked up and saw a toothy grin, and a Goblin wearing a red
cape. Rabbiteater pointed at the Raskghar, his crimson cloak swirling
around him. He charged and the Hobs followed, bringing salvation and
hope into the darkness of the dungeon.

They had seen him leading the charge. And he was always smiling, always
kind. The other Hobs were grumpy or bad tempered, or in Headscratcher’s
case, cried too much. But Rabbiteater was nice. And he was learning to
cook from Erin. In their minds, he was clearly the leader. More than a
leader.
He was a hero. And hundreds…thousands…of Cave Goblins slept that night
and believed it. And because they believed, it was true. Only, it was
impossible for Rabbiteater to become a [Hero]. He was missing one thing.
So he got the closest thing to it.

[Level 20 Warrior!]

[Warrior → Champion class!]

[Skill – Champion’s Gear obtained!]

[Skill – Grand Slash obtained!]

[Skill – Valor of Champions obtained!]

Rabbiteater sat up. He blinked and looked down at his body. He stared at
his worn chainmail shirt and slightly dented sword as they began to glow.
Rabbiteater saw the chainmail straighten, shed the rust, and take on a
smooth, almost silky sheen. He drew his sword and saw it glow as the blade
became straight, the edge razor-sharp. He looked around and waved his
arms. All the other Goblins were asleep. So Rabbiteater took a deep breath
and shouted.

—-

Erin Solstice was sleeping in her bed. In the kitchen. On the floor. She was
used to it now and it was comfy. She was sound asleep, but she woke up
when she heard the shouting.

It was coming from the magic door. Erin stumbled over to it and saw the
red mana stone was glowing. Someone had opened the door from the other
side by accident. She stumbled over and heard loud shouts. She cautiously
peeked through the door and saw chaos.

The five Redfang Warriors were running about, shouting. The Cave Goblins
were just as excited. But—wait. Erin tried to make sense of it all.

“Champion! [Champion]!”

Rabbiteater crowed as he ran about, arms raised. His cape fluttered behind
him as the Goblins cheered. But the Hobs weren’t happy. They were
chasing about the Cave Goblins, shouting. They didn’t use words—well,
except for Numbtongue, but Erin got what they were saying.

Why him? The Redfang Warriors were upset. They were happy, well, sort
of, but they were indignant. Why Rabbiteater? After all, Headscratcher was
stronger. Shorthilt was better with a sword! Badarrow never missed a target!
And Numbtongue had a guitar! They argued with the Cave Goblins,
slapping their chests and flexing their muscles. But the Cave Goblins stared
at Rabbiteater who was posing with the cloak on his back.

Their hero. And as the other four Hobs lay back, crestfallen, Erin smiled.
She looked at Rabbiteater, who was smiling ear to pointed ear. She
whispered quietly to herself.

“And Hufflepuff takes the lead.”

Then she closed the door and went to sleep.

 5.50 G

Every species had a way of meeting. Not individually, but in large masses.
For instance, Gnolls had no written law, but they still obeyed tradition quite
scrupulously and they had a number of customs that related to interaction
between two or more tribes.

When two tribes of Gnolls met, there were ceremonies to be observed. The
Chieftains would meet and declare peace—or war. They would exchange
gifts in the case of the former or part for one day in the case of the latter.
Other species might scoff at these particular formalities, but they all had
places of peace, and ways of meeting.

The Centaurs had gathering spots where no weapons were allowed to be

brought, neutral ground where all might walk in peace, criminal and
enemies alike. The Dullahans regarded steam baths as inviolate and would
never sanction an [Assassin] to lie in wait there, or plan a trap of any kind.

[Ladies] had tea parties. Drakes (generally) didn’t fight under white flags,
and even then, it was usually only punching each other in the worst of
cases. Dragons tended not to do battle when one or more of their hoards
were at stake. And Goblins? Well, Goblins had the sit-about.

Infighting between Goblins was rare. Usually one Chieftain would crush
another by force or trickery and that would be that. However, larger battles
and lasting animosity like the war between Garen and Tremborag’s factions
with Reiss’ weren’t unknown.

And while it was unthinkable for them to share a confined space without
one side attacking the other, the peace had been maintained by the Humans.
Thus, the Goblins had declared a hiatus on killing each other and enacted a
rare scene from Goblin tradition, the aforementioned sit-about.
It was simple. Two enemy tribes of Goblins found a big space and sat. One
side faced the other, or in this case, since Rags was present and Garen and
Tremborag were two different Chieftains, they formed into four sides, such
that a square of space lay between them. From overhead it looked more like
a rhombus, but no one was holding the Goblins to exact geometry at the
moment.

A rhombus, with a bit of space between each Chieftain and the Goblin Lord.
Each one sat at an inside corner, facing the others. And here was the curious
thing about the Goblin sit-about; while the tribe of Goblins sat behind their
Chieftain, eating and chattering and passing along what was said in the
center, the actual amount of space that separated Rags from Garen and the
other chieftains was only about five feet in any direction.

There she sat, on the grass. There he sat, five feet away, across a fire.
Behind Garen, his entire tribe—barely more than eight hundred Goblins, all
wearing the red stripes that marked them as ‘his’ Redfangs—sat. Rags
glanced left.

A giant Hobgoblin, a massive blob of fat, chewed noisily on a dead cow’s

haunch. Tremborag glanced down at Rags as he tore meat from bone, his
eyes flashing with clear annoyance and hatred. Five feet separated them, but
such was Tremborag’s size that he could reach out and strike Rags. He did
not, because of the rules. And also because of who sat across from him.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord, sat to Rags’ right. He was cross-legged, with
Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sitting just behind him. He stared at the
crackling fire and glanced up. Rags saw his eyes flick towards her, but
made no move.

The atmosphere was…well, tense was hardly the word for it. Rags had
never been in a sit-about before. She only knew of it from looking back at
other Chieftain’s memories. And what she remembered of the sit-about was
that it usually didn’t end well.

During the sitting it was peaceful. Oh, the close proximity meant that
sometimes Chieftains would shout or throw things at each other, but actual
violence would be so wrong that their tribes would usually revolt rather
than see one of their Chieftains break the peace. So the two Goblins, or in
this case, four, would have to share one meal together, sitting practically
cheek-by-jowl.

The violence was what came after. The sit-about was considered the last
attempt for two tribes to make peace if one Chieftain refused to cede to the
other. If they didn’t find some kind of common ground, then the next day
they usually slaughtered each other. Rags didn’t know if that would happen
here, but she was on edge.

Her entire tribe sat at her back. Pyrite on her left, Redscar on her right.
Poisonbite sat on Pyrite’s left, Noears on Redscar’s right. Quietstab sat
directly behind Rags, chewing on a bit of pan-fried beef. The rest of her
tribe sat behind her lieutenants, chomping down and watching Rags from
behind.

There was a bowl full of chopped and fried beef in front of Rags. Good, hot
food that made her stomach growl. The Goblins had run across a herd of
cattle on the march and so they were dining well tonight. Normally Rags
would have been stuffing her face, but she knew she was being watched.
Every Goblin would assess their Chieftain and the other Chieftain’s
performance, weigh what they said. Thus, every move had to be made with
care.

Rags thought like that for about five minutes. Then she gave up and began
gobbling her beef because she was hungry. The fire crackled as it grew
lower; it had been made right when the sit-about had been declared and no
one had fed it yet. The four Goblins eyed the fire. It was Tremborag who
broke the silence first.

“The fire’s getting low.”

The other three looked at him. All the Goblins looked at Tremborag. Some
nodded. That was a neutral statement, a fact. A good opening. Garen
glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“It’s low.”
He was agreeing with Tremborag. That was good. It meant the two agreed
on something, however small. There were nods all around. Garen growled,
not wanting to be left out.

“Should probably add more wood. Other Goblin should do it.”

His Redfang Warriors smiled decisively as if Garen had pointed out

something no one else had. Rags rolled her eyes and didn’t comment.
Tremborag tore off another chunk of meat. He spoke while chewing.

“Make the nameless child refuel it. She’s better suited to that than leading a
tribe.”

The convivial atmosphere became glacial in a moment. Rags stiffened and

her tribe sat up. Redscar half-rose, his eyes flashing, but Noears and
Quietstab grabbed his shoulders in an instant. Rags had to be the one to
respond. She glanced coolly to her left at Tremborag and replied.

“No.”

The Goblins stirred. Some of them, smaller ones and females, glanced
admiringly at Rags for her confident reply. Tremborag’s eyes only
narrowed. He waited, but Rags went back to eating.

“Why not?”

Rags glanced back up at Tremborag.

“Don’t want to.”

Tremborag smiled mirthlessly. He tapped one huge finger on the ground as

a spark flew from the fire and died in the dirt.

“The fire will go out. Someone must tend to it. Why not you?”

It was a cunning philosophic trap, at least in Goblin terms. Why shouldn’t

Rags refill the fire? But the little Chieftain was equal to the challenge. This
time she looked straight at Tremborag and raised her voice slightly.
“I said no. Big fat Hob deaf as well as stupid?”

Tremborag’s jaw fell open. There was a guffaw from behind Rags and
laughter from other Goblins. The gigantic Hob growled, but nothing could
take away the amusement on Reiss’ face, or the way Garen was clearly
trying not to laugh. Rags smiled to herself, then felt a poke in her side.
Every head turned to Pyrite, who looked troubled as he withdrew the finger.
Rags nodded.

“Sorry. Big fat, ugly Goblin. That better?”

She looked at Pyrite, who grunted with approval. Again, laughter came
from behind Rags and from Reiss’ camp. Tremborag’s face was murderous.
He swung around and the faint, stifled sounds behind him went instantly
silent.

That had been a perfect riposte with Pyrite’s help as verbal duels went.
Rags sat a bit straighter, knowing that if there was a score, she would be
ahead. Tremborag was fuming, but unwilling to try to attack Rags again and
Garen was recovering himself. Reiss chuckled and turned his head.

“Snapjaw.”

Instantly, the Hob with the metal teeth turned and waved a hand. She
shouted.

“Wood!”

One of the Goblins behind her threw a split log. Snapjaw grabbed it and
handed it to Reiss. He pointed at the log and flicked his fingers. The piece
of firewood flew up and landed in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks.
There were murmurs from all sides and Rags saw Noears sit up with
interest. She was staring at Reiss as well, trying to figure out how he’d done
that. Pisces had tried to teach her telekinesis, but she hadn’t mastered it to
that extent. Or at all really.

The fire crackled with the new fuel in place. Garen grunted and pointed.
One of his warriors strode forth and dumped some firewood next to the fire,
adding a few logs. The other Goblins watched. Obviously the fire hadn’t
been the issue. It had just been an opening joust of words and actions. And
Reiss had cleverly found a way to set himself ahead as well.

His trick with the firewood was a display of magic, meant to impress. And
it did. Goblin [Shamans] couldn’t levitate objects, at least not as casually as
[Mages] did. That set Reiss apart and more than a few Goblins were staring
at him now. Tremborag, glaring, rumbled.

“Cute trick.”

His words were meant to be an insult, but Reiss just smiled slightly. He
turned his head and stage-whispered to Snapjaw.

“Better cute than being big, fat, ugly, deaf and stupid.”

She laughed loudly and again, Tremborag turned a mottled shade of red and
green. His huge claws clenched and unclenched. Rags watched him out of
the corner of her eyes as she sipped some water from her cup.

He wasn’t good at this. Tremborag might have a commanding presence, and

he was dangerous, but he had never really suffered challenges to his rule in
the mountain. Thus, he wasn’t as nimble in places where words mattered
more than power, like the sit-about. And Garen was likewise stuck. The
Redfang’s Chieftain was no conversationalist and though he kept sitting
forwards, he missed his chance to jump in time and time again.

Reiss glanced at the two fuming Chieftains, and then at Rags. He tapped his
own bowl and then there was silence again. This time, his face was more
serious as he looked at Rags.

“Why does your tribe fight Tremborag and Garen’s? I hear rumors, but not
why. Chieftain Rags, tell us.”

Rags sat up. Now they came to the real issues. She glanced across the fire at
Garen. His face was stony. Rags shrugged.

“My tribe was Garen’s tribe. He was mine. I beat his tribe.”
There was a rumble of protest from Garen’s side. Rags raised her voice.

“He called me Chieftain! He advised me to go to Tremborag.”

“And you betrayed me!”

Tremborag interrupted. He thrust a huge finger at Rags.

“You were the traitor! I welcomed you into my mountain, offered you food!
And you fled, coward, nameless Goblin! You fled with my treasures, my
people! You are no Chieftain, but a thief! You dared not challenge me so
you fled in the night!”

This time Tremborag’s words caused an commotion among the Goblins

listening. Stealing was one thing, but stealing from a tribe that had
welcomed Rags into their hold? Rags held up a hand, her heart beating
faster.

“I left, yes. But for good reason! Your tribe kidnapped Human women. Did
bad things to them. Sex things. Not-Goblin things.”

The Goblins went silent. Reiss stared at Rags in confusion, then his brows
drew together. He looked at Tremborag with disgust.

“Rape? They captured Human women for…?”

He looked at Rags for confirmation. She nodded. The Goblins behind Reiss
looked at each other, some uncomprehending, others like the ones sitting
next to Eater of Spears, clearly appalled. The Goblins sitting behind Garen
shifted and he stared at his lap, silent. And Tremborag?

He laughed. The Great Chieftain slapped his belly so his flesh rippled and
laughed long and loud, so that every eye fell on him again. He laughed until
tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. He wiped one away and
then looked around. His eyes fell on Rags and he leaned forwards.

“That was what you objected to? That? Yes, we captured Humans. So what?
They are Humans. What does it matter what happens to them?”
His words provoked an uproar from the Goblins behind Rags. Redscar shot
to his feet, as did many of the Redfang warriors. Some of the Goblins in
Reiss’ camp also shouted. But the Goblins sitting behind Tremborag jeered
and shouted back. For a few minutes there was chaos as both sides shouted
at each other. And then Reiss raised his voice.

“Quiet.”

And there was. Rags heard the shouting Goblins go silent as if Reiss had
cast a spell. She stared at him as the Goblin Lord turned to the silent
Goblin. Garen Redfang. Reiss looked at the other Hob, who sat with both
hands on his knees, bare-chested, his scars glowing in the firelight.

“Tremborag says raping and kidnapping Humans is meaningless. Rags says

it is not-Goblin. I say it is wrong. But what do you say, Garen Redfang?
You walked among Humans. Why did you stay when Rags and your
warriors left?”

It was a cutting question. All the Goblins went silent. They fixed on Garen.
He chewed his lip, then looked up.

“It is Tremborag’s tribe. He decides. Deal with it.”

His gaze passed right by Reiss as he stared at Redscar and his warriors,
sitting across the fire. The Redfangs shifted. Redscar clenched his fist in
anguish and shook his head. So did the others.

It was not a good reply. But it was the same one he had made before. Some
of Garen’s warriors looked unhappy with it, but there was nothing more to
say. Reiss just nodded.

“So. That is why your tribes are at odds. I see now.”

He cupped his chin in his hand. Rags stared at him. Reiss’ eyes flicked to
her and to Garen. She stared at him. If the sit-about was just between her,
Garen, and Tremborag it would already be over and they would be
preparing for a battle. But Reiss was the unknown factor here. She looked at
him, and then at Tremborag and Garen.
“Why are you fighting them?”

The other two Chieftains started. Tremborag glanced at Rags, and then his
eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Goblin Lord. Why do you attack your own kind? You talk of fault
when it is you who attacked first! You came to my mountain and besieged
it. You chased us out, brought the Humans here! If you had never marched
north, then all our tribes—Garen’s, mine, and…the child’s…would be at
peace! This is your fault!”

He pointed at Reiss. The Goblins behind Tremborag shouted agreement.

They stared at Reiss with real anger. They had lost their home because of
him. But again, Reiss was calm. He stared at Tremborag and then shook his
head.

“I did not attack first.”

Tremborag snorted in disbelief. His Goblins began shouting. Reiss raised

his voice.

“I did not attack first. I came north seeking allies. I came to your mountain
to seek you out, Tremborag. Your tribe, that I might fight the Humans. And
you laid a trap when we met under peace. You attacked me first.”

His words caused a hush from the Goblins behind Tremborag. The Great
Chieftain hesitated.

“You still came north, bringing attention on my tribe. If you hadn’t—”

“I was not the one who declared war first, Tremborag. Even before I
marched on your mountain, my armies were under attack. I sent many
north. Raiding parties, armies to fight the Humans. And they were attacked.
By Goblins.”

This time Reiss looked at Rags. She bit her lip and glanced at Garen. The
Goblin Lord’s forces. She remembered attacking at least two armies. It had
seemed so obvious at the time, but—was all of this just a
misunderstanding? Reiss held his gaze on Rags and then looked at
Tremborag.

“I had cause, Tremborag. As for you—I am a Goblin Lord. You are a

Chieftain. Great Chieftain, perhaps, but a Chieftain nonetheless. When I
call, would you not at least give me the courtesy of speaking first? No.
Instead, you attacked my people. You killed them.”

Tremborag’s eyes flashed.

“I killed a bare few. You were the one who brought war to my mountain.”

“Yes. For those you killed. For the dead slain by Garen Redfang.”

The Great Chieftain laughed incredulously.

“For a handful of Goblins? Are you a fool?”

Some of his Hobs laughed as well, but the rest did not. Rags did not laugh
and no one behind her laughed either. Wasn’t that what a Chieftain did?
Tremborag’s boisterous laughter died out as he realized all the other
Goblins were just staring. Reiss slowly shook his head. His gaze, when it
met Tremborag’s was dark. This time it seemed like the light retreated from
him as he spoke.

“For one Goblin I would kill you, Tremborag of the Mountain. For one of
my people I would bring ruin to your mountain and shatter your tribe. For
the thousands that have died, I will make you suffer before you go.”

The sitting Goblins were silent. Tremborag’s face went still as he met Reiss’
eyes. Rags was still as she watched Reiss’ face. There was nothing amused
about Reiss now. His pleasant demeanor, his educated speech—she forgot
all about that when she stared at his eyes and saw the little white demons
staring out from behind his pupils. Promising death.

And yet Tremborag did not look away. The Great Chieftain sat, the bones of
half a cow in front of him. Grease and drippings covered his front. He
looked down at Reiss. And then he changed.
Fat changed to muscles. His body contorted. His eyes grew wide and then
sunk slightly into his face. His body shifted, grew. The Goblins edged back
as a monster, a beast of muscle and sinew appeared where Tremborag had
sat. This Goblin was not the fat, laughingly arrogant Great Chieftain of the
Mountain. It was something else. Tremborag looked down at Reiss and his
voice was quiet when he replied.

“I will eat you slowly, little slave.”

Reiss made no reply. The two sat like that for minutes, perhaps as many as
ten while the other Goblins sat around in silence. Rags felt sweat rolling
down her shoulder blades. If any Goblin behind Tremborag or Reiss moved,
she felt like there would be a battle, sit-about or not. She could see Garen
tensed, hand on his blade, looking from face to face. Rags had no idea how
to break the tension. Neither Reiss nor Tremborag were willing to look
away first. The tension filled the air, growing worse by the second until—

Prrt.

Rags’ heart nearly stopped. She heard a loud, muffled fart coming from her
left. She whirled, and saw Pyrite. He paused as every Goblin, Reiss,
Tremborag, Garen, and the tens of thousands of others, looked at him. He
fanned at his behind as Poisonbite choked and threw herself back and
apologetically shrugged.

“Bad beef.”

There was a nervous titter from the Goblins, and then laughter. Tremborag
relaxed and his features shifted back to normal. Reiss smiled and glanced
away. The tension defused—somewhat. Reiss and Tremborag avoided
meeting each other’s eyes, but the lingering threat was still there, just
beneath the surface. Only, the danger of imminent violence had passed.

Thanks to Pyrite. Rags nodded at him as the Hob endured Poisonbite

kicking his side. The Hob smiled at her and kept eating. After a little bit, the
relieved laughter and other Goblins copying Pyrite’s example and letting off
humorous farts quieted down. Rags found herself sitting in silence again,
only this time all eyes were on her and Garen.
Negotiations had failed between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. That was
clear. But the sit-about wasn’t over yet. Garen and Rags had yet to state
their positions and while Garen’s was clear, Rags was still up for debate.
And it was she who decided to ask the burning question once more. Rags
sat up and pointed at Reiss. Every eye turned towards her. The Goblin Lord
looked at Rags. She met his eyes, ignoring the sense of unease his white
pupils and black eyes provoked in her.

“He called you slave. Are you a slave?”

“No. I told you. I have a master. But I do not consider myself a slave.”

“Liar.”

Two voices said the same thing. Tremborag and Garen. They stared at
Reiss. He looked back at them, and they glared. Rags looked from face to
face and waved her arms.

“Stop glare! Explain! Why slave, why not a slave? What master?”

Reiss looked at Rags, and then around at the watching Goblins. He nodded
at Garen and Tremborag.

“They call me a slave because they know my past, Chieftain Rags.”

“And what is past? Explain. Tell. Garen calls you not-Goblin. Why? Who is
master?”

The Goblins sitting behind Reiss were troubled. Snapjaw poked Reiss and
whispered to him, and Eater of Spears leaned down to converse as well.
Reiss listened to his lieutenants, and then shook his head.

“No. Snapjaw. Let them hear the truth.”

The female Hob looked troubled, but she nodded and sat back. Rags was
surprised.

“You tell? Just like that?”

Both Garen and Tremborag looked shocked as well. But Reiss just smiled.
A trace of amusement reentered his gaze. He shrugged.

“It is not a secret. We are Goblins. If you ask, I will tell you my story. You
want to know how I became a Lord? About how I knew Garen Redfang?
You want to know about this?”

He pointed at his black eyes. Rags hesitated and nodded. Reiss sat back. He
looked thoughtfully at the stars.

It was a clear night. The many campfires of the Goblin sit-about blew
smoke into the sky, but you could still see the distant lights high above. To
the north, the massive Human army’s fires were also bright, but above the
sky was peaceful. Soft. Beautiful. Reiss sat with an audience of hundreds of
thousands of Goblins around him. The ones behind Reiss seemed to know
what he would say and sat back, relaxing, willing to hear the story again.
The other Goblins sat, attentive, some wary, but all curious. Garen looked
away and growled for more food. Tremborag spat and called for wine.

After a moment, Reiss began. His words were listened to and passed from
Goblin to Goblin, so even the ones sitting on the very edges of the sit-about
knew what he said.

“Once upon a time, there were two Goblins. One was a Hob. A wanderer
with no tribe. The other was a small Goblin who knew magic. They met by
chance, on a day when the winds and water blew a wyvern from its nest.
The Hob found the small Goblin running, trying to escape the wyvern. He
saved the small Goblin, and with his help, the two Goblins slew the
wyvern.”

The Goblin Lord turned to look at Garen. The Hob sat back, not looking at
him, staring up towards a cloud in the night sky. Rags held her breath. A
wyvern? They’d killed a wyvern? And was Reiss the Goblin with magic?
The Goblin Lord smiled and went on.

“The small Goblin had no name. But he impressed the Hob. They were the
same age, despite one being smaller. And they talked. The Hob wanted to be
a famous warrior. The small Goblin wanted to be a Chieftain and teach all
Goblins magic. They were very different, but they liked each other. So the
small Goblin took the Hob to his tribe. He convinced the Chieftain to let the
Hob stay and the two worked together. They became friends. And after a
while, they were like brothers.”

All of the Redfangs, both on Garen’s side of the fire and Rags’ sat up. They
stared at their leader, their hero with eyes that shone. They had never heard
this story. Garen didn’t deny any of it. Tremborag ate savagely, ears
twitching, but listening. So did the others. Reiss drew a handful of dirt up
and threw it on the fire. As smoke rose, he pointed his finger. And the
smoke twisted into shapes, following his words.

“One day, the small Goblin became a Hob. And it was the best day ever. He
and the other Hob, who called himself ‘Garen’, decided they were strong
enough. So they challenged their Chieftain. And they lost!”

He laughed. The smoke turned into a pair of scrawny Hobs fleeing from an
angry Chieftain and others Goblins chasing them.

“They fled, shamefaced. But they resolved to grow stronger. The problem,
the Goblin with magic said, was that they did not know the world. They had
not fought under the Goblin King. Humans had adventurers. Drakes had
cities with magic walls. How could Goblins surpass them? The Goblin with
magic pondered until Garen told him that he wanted to become an
adventurer. To fight monsters. And then the Goblin with magic had an
idea.”

“To learn.”

“To learn.”

Garen’s voice was an echo of Reiss’. In the sky, the two Hobs stood apart.

“It was not an easy choice. But to grow, to become the great warrior and
Chieftain they wanted to be, they decided to split up. One would go north
and become a famous adventurer in Human lands. The other would study in
Drake cities and become a [Mage] like no other.”
“Just like that?”

The whisper came not from Rags, but from Pyrite. The Hob stared at the
smoke with…a strange look in his eyes. Reiss nodded.

“They were fearless. Overconfident. The two Hobs thought they could do
anything. So the one called Garen made a mask and wore a hood. The
Goblin with magic taught himself an illusion spell. They swore to meet
seven years later at this very spot.”

The two Goblins made of smoke pointed to the ground and then walked
away from each other, waving. Reiss closed his eyes.

“The Goblin with magic did not see Garen for many years. He wandered
Drake cities, sometimes being found out, other times staying for a week, a
month. Learning. Fitting in. He could not go to the larger Drake cities, but
in the smaller ones there was no [Mage] who could see through his spells.
And he began to hear tales of an adventurer in the north, the strangest of
things. A Goblin adventurer. And he worked harder than ever because he
remembered his promise.”

The smoky Goblin sat and read books, reading, talking with Drakes and
Gnolls. Rags was entranced. She stared at Garen’s face. The Hob pretended
not to be paying attention, but he never took his eyes off the smoky shape
that was Reiss. The Goblin Lord paused, and his smile faded.

“And then one day, nearly two years after he had set out on his quest, the
Goblin with magic met a man who brought death. He came to a Drake
village, posing as a [Merchant]. It was a peaceful place, a rare settlement
without walls. The [Merchant] arrived bringing goods, asking for news. He
met the Goblin with magic and stared at him because he saw through the
Goblin’s illusions. But he pretended to be kind.”

A stranger made of smoke with a fake smile appeared, a wagon laden with
goods behind him as the smoky Goblin and Drakes gathered around him.
Rags felt a bit of unease. Even as a figment of smoke, there was something
unsettling about the man’s smile. Reiss’ voice quietly went on.
“That night, the undead attacked. Zombies. Ghouls. Crypt Lords. And
worse. They slaughtered the Drakes. The Goblin with magic fought them as
the kind Drakes died. He would have run, but the man of death cornered
him. He revealed his true face and they fought.”

The smoke spun into a confusing scene. A Hob fought with magic, leaving
smoky trails as he shot spells at a laughing man surrounded by lurching
shapes. Then the smoke drew together. The next scene was of a Goblin
lying on the ground and the man standing over him.

“He lost. That was the first time I met my master. The man of death. The
one who hated Drakes, Gnolls, Human, hated everything. He did not kill me
that day. Instead, he offered me a choice. Serve him in life or serve him in
death. And I chose to live. So I became his apprentice. The one student of
Az’kerash. The Necromancer.”

Every eye was fixed on Reiss. Rags’ breath caught in her chest. Tremborag
stared at Reiss and then crunched down on his bone.

The Necromancer. Rags had known someone powerful had to be Reiss’

master. But this? She looked around and saw shock on Pyrite’s face.
Disbelief on Noears, Quietstab and Poisonbite’s. As for Redscar—he looked
blank.

“Who?”

Quietstab leaned over to whisper. More than a few Goblins were confused.
They did not know the history of Izril. But Rags did. Reiss let the whispers
continue and then spoke.

“Yes, the Necromancer. The one who came from Terandria. He fought in the
Second Antinium War. He battled the Antinium, the Humans, the Drakes.
He even clashed with the Goblin King. He was alive. In hiding. But he had
not lost his hatred. And he saw a chance in the Goblin with magic. A chance
to create a Goblin King of his own. A weapon to strike the living with. That
was his plan.”
Rags’ gaze swung back to Reiss in disbelief. The Goblin Lord looked at her
and smiled crookedly.

“He failed. Or rather, even the Necromancer could not make a King. But his
student did become a Goblin Lord. For five years he studied under
Az’kerash, growing in power until he was stronger than any Chieftain.”

“Not any Chieftain.”

Tremborag drank from a wineskin. Reiss looked up at him.

“No, perhaps not. But stronger than most. Strong enough to fulfill his
master’s plans. It was then that the Goblin with magic went back to fulfill
his promise. He walked to the spot where he had sworn to meet his friend.
His brother.”

The Hob made of smoke reappeared. He looked taller. Older. The smoke
could not capture fine detail, but with every step, it looked like the Hob was
moving faster. He arrived at the meeting place, a hill with a rock and
waving grass and looked around. And another Hob was there, sitting on the
rock. A sword was strapped to his back.

“His brother was waiting for him. He was a famous adventurer, then. So
famous that the Goblin with magic had heard of him even in his master’s
lair. The Gold-rank adventurer who was a Goblin. Garen. Garen Redfang of
the Halfseekers.”

Garen stared at the smoke as the two Goblins embraced and sat down,
laughing and talking. The Hob’s crimson eyes were distant. Reiss looked up
at the smoke and clenched his hands.

“At first they were ecstatic. Both had fulfilled their promise. Both were
alive. Garen wanted the Goblin with magic to join the Halfseekers. The
Goblin with magic wanted something else. He told Garen about his master.
And he showed him what he could do.”

In the air, the Hob with robes pointed. A zombie burst out of the earth,
startling the Hob with a sword. He backed away, sword drawn. The smoky
Goblin with magic pointed at the zombie, waving his hands. The Hob with
the sword shook his head. He leapt forwards and slashed the zombie in half.

“Garen did not accept what the Goblin with magic had done. He called his
brother a traitor. A slave. What Goblin would kneel to a Human, let alone a
[Necromancer]? Goblins could not be slaves. And undead—he hated the
undead.”

In the air above the fire, the two Hobs quarreled.

“They argued. Then fought.”

The Hob with a sword swung at the Hob in robes. Light flashed amid the
smoke and Rags saw the Hob with magic firing spells. The two retreated.

“Garen could not accept that the Goblin with magic had a master. He did
not wish to be part of the Necromancer’s plan—to make a Goblin Lord. He
swore to oppose his friend, his brother, if he ever tried to carry out the
plan.”

“Why?”

Rags stared up at the smoke as the two Hobs stared at each other. She
looked at Garen. The Hob looked up at her. His red blade sat on his knees.

“Because of the undead. Because of him. The Necromancer. Because we are

not slaves. Because of the undead.”

The hate in Garen’s voice was physical. But Rags thought of Pisces and her
heart hurt. She looked at Reiss.

“Just that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes were sad.

“Velan the Kind hated undead. And we are his people still. Garen refused to
listen. He and the Goblin with magic separated. That was the last time they
saw each other for years. The Goblin with magic went back to his master,
heartbroken. In time he would leave and form his own tribe. Become
Chieftain, and then a Lord just as he said. And Garen would go north. He
would be an adventurer for another year until he betrayed his team and
escaped to the High Passes. There he would form the Redfang Tribe and
ride against his brother.”

The smoke showed two Hobs. They looked older and stood apart from each
other. On one side, a Goblin in robes stood with shambling undead and
undead at his back. On the other, a Hob with a sword pointed and Goblins
mounted on wolves rode towards him. Rags felt her heart squeeze as the
two met. Reiss and Garen looked at each other.

“We can still join together, brother. It does not have to end like this.”

“It does.”

Garen stared up at the smoke. He moved suddenly and his sword slashed
the air. The illusory figures made of smoke vanished. Reiss lowered his
hands and shook his head.

“I betrayed no one.”

“You claim that. But you serve the Necromancer. I lived while he destroyed
the Humans in the north. I saw him, once.”

Tremborag spoke up suddenly. He leaned forwards, for once not sneering or

furious. He looked at Reiss, one Goblin to another.

“He is not Human. He was once, but whatever that part was is gone. He is a
monster and he will use you as a pawn.”

Garen nodded. He stood and pointed at Reiss. He had spoken little, but now
his voice was loud. So loud that every Goblin heard it.

“You are a slave. Reiss! You betrayed Goblins! You served the
Necromancer! You are not Goblin. You are a tool! Better to be dead than
join you! Better to die than be undead! Better—”

He stared at the wisps of smoke trailing upwards. Garen’s voice grew quiet.
“—better not to be a traitor. Why did you have to betray us?”

He looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed. He stood as well,

thinner than Garen, his magical robes sweeping about him.

“I betrayed no one! My master offered me a chance and I took it! Yes, he

uses me. But he gave me power. The power to do this.”

Reiss raised his hands. The fire went out. And something rose in its place. A
spire of bone. No—an undead. It was folded up, compacted. But as the
earth shook loose, it unfolded. A creature taller than all but Tremborag. Old,
yellowed bone forming strange arms. It was humanoid, but the bones were
oddly proportioned. Only when Rags saw the head did she realize.

It was a cow. A cow whose bones had been rearranged to make it stand
upright. It towered over Garen as he raised his sword. The Goblins shrank
back. Reiss shouted.

“Look at it! It will fight! It will die at my command! Instead of Goblins!

How can that be so wrong? It’s just—just—”

He looked around. The Goblins of Reiss’ tribe looked at him, fearful. The
others stared at the horror he had brought to life. The Bone Horror’s dark
sockets burned with green light from within. A Goblin child hid behind
Pyrite. Reiss faltered as he saw the terrified eyes. The Bone Horror
collapsed silently onto the ground, amid the embers.

“Redfang called you traitor. He was right.”

Tremborag spoke in the darkness. The Great Chieftain was a shadow as he

stared at Reiss. He pointed at the pile of bones.

“You serve something no different from that. Traitor indeed.”

“You think so?”

Reiss stared at the fire. He pointed and the fire burst back into life. The
bones cracked as the sudden heat engulfed them. The Goblin Lord strode
back to his seat and sat. He reached for his cup of water as Garen sat as
well. Reiss drank and pointed at Garen. His face was twisted by anger and
grief.

“If we’re speaking of traitors. You had a tribe, Garen. Not one of Goblins,
but of adventurers. The Halfseekers were famous in Izril. They championed
all races and they alone let a Hobgoblin enter their ranks. And you betrayed
them. You slaughtered half of them and fled. You are the traitor as much as
I.”

The Goblins turned to look at Garen. The Hob went still. His eyes burned as
he slowly looked up at Reiss and shook his head.

“They were not my tribe. They never believed I was one of them.”

Reiss’ eyes narrowed as he gulped more water.

“But they were yours. They trusted you. And you killed them. For the key.
Do your Redfangs know that? Garen killed his own?”

His Redfangs did. At least, Redscar did. But even his gaze was uncertain.
They must have heard the tale from Garen. But Reiss had thrown that into
doubt. Garen shifted.

“I did everything for Goblins. For Goblins.”

“So did I!”

Reiss nearly stood again, but Eater of Spears patted his shoulder. The
Goblin Lord visibly calmed himself and kept drinking from his cup. Garen
copied him by eating from his bowl of meat. The two of them glared at each
other, looking so alike in that moment that Rags could see them sitting
together, just like they had in the smoke.

At last, Reiss sighed. He tore his gaze away from Garen and looked at Rags.

“So, little Chieftain. That is our story. That is our past. That is why Garen
calls me slave and I do not. I have a master. I will not pretend he thinks of
Goblins as anything but tools. But he will give us power if we fulfill his
wishes. What other option is there?”
“Freedom.”

Garen spoke quietly. Tremborag crunched a bone.

“Pride.”

“So you say.”

Reiss looked back at the other two Chieftains. His gaze fixed on
Tremborag.

“You sat in your mountain, ‘Great Chieftain’. The Goblin King called and
you did not answer. You grew your tribe and it was mighty, yes. But for
what? Are you content to hide from Humans forever? Why have you done
nothing?”

Tremborag tossed aside the cow’s femur.

“You want to know my past? You want to know why I refused Velan? How
I became Great Chieftain? The secret of my strength?”

He flexed one arm and muscle grew out of fat. Reiss nodded. The other
Goblins leaned forwards. Tremborag gazed around.

“No. That story is mine. I am Tremborag of the Mountain and I will reclaim
my home. I bow to no Goblin Lord. You traitors I will hunt down. That is
the only story you need know.”

He pointed at Poisonbite, who jumped. Reiss shook his head. He looked

towards Rags.

“So. The Great Chieftain refuses. Garen refuses. But do you see, Rags?”

“Yes.”

Rags did see. She saw pride in Tremborag, and that burning fury and loss in
Garen as well as Reiss. The two were separate, but they had been—she
hesitated. Rags looked from Garen to Reiss. Her eyes narrowed.
“One question. You two have sex? Lovers?”

Reiss choked on his water. Garen paused as he chewed on his meat. Both
Hobgoblins stared at Rags. Then Garen dumped his bowl of meat onto the
ground and spat out what he was eating. Reiss shook his head.

“No. We were never—no.”

“Oh.”

Rags shrugged. The Goblin Lord’s face was a mix of chagrin and
amusement as he wiped his mouth. Redscar looked amused as well. Garen
did not.

“Fah. That was your question?”

Tremborag eyed Rags as he found another wine flask. Rags shrugged.

“Important question.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Good to know.”

Tremborag snorted and glanced dismissively at Pyrite. His gaze found

Pyrite’s face and then paused. The Great Chieftain frowned and put down
his wine.

“Wait. I recognize the other traitors behind you. But you. Do I…know
you?”

He stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob glanced up. He was breaking up bone and
sucking the marrow out. He shrugged.

“No.”

Tremborag wasn’t convinced. He stared at Pyrite.

“I…do. You were of my tribe once, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Reiss glanced between Pyrite and Tremborag with interest. Garen frowned.
It seemed like a distraction, but Rags could see how Pyrite’s left foot tensed
up as he stared calmly at Tremborag.

“You were in my tribe.”

The Great Chieftain insisted. Pyrite nodded at last.

“Small Goblin. No name.”

“Yes. A worthless little Goblin. But for some reason—”

Tremborag peered at Pyrite. Then his huge eyes widened.

“Now I remember! You were with him all the time. That decrepit old Hob.
Grey…Greybeard! Yes, that was it! That useless fool and you were always
together. Where is that traitor? Dead?”

All the Goblins in Rags’ tribe stirred. They looked at each other and then at
Pyrite. Redscar sat up and stared hard at Pyrite. All of Rags’ lieutenants and
Rags herself remembered. And Reiss sat up too. Snapjaw was poking Eater
of Spears urgently and the huge Hob was nodding. Garen sat bolt-upright,
his eyes widening as he realized who Tremborag was mentioning.

Only Tremborag himself didn’t notice. Pyrite glanced around and seemed to
sigh. He nodded.

“True. I was with Greybeard. But not right name. He had another.”

“Oh yes?”

Tremborag smirked. He opened his wineskin with one claw.

“What was it? Was he an old Chieftain from another tribe? A wanderer who
stole his name like the child? What did he call himself?”

“Greydath of Blades.”
The wineskin slipped from Tremborag’s claws. It landed on the ground,
leaking wine. Tremborag stared at Pyrite.

“Do not lie.”

“No lie.”

Pyrite met Tremborag’s gaze. The Great Chieftain drew himself up to shout,
and then, at last, caught the mood around the camp. The Goblins in his tribe
stared at Reiss’ face, at Rags’ expression, at Garen and the other Hobs.

They knew. Rags remembered the grinning Hob with the grey beard.
Tremborag’s jaw worked soundlessly.

Perhaps if he was Human he might have denied it. But Goblins seldom lied,
let alone to each other. And the truth was written on every face. The Great
Chieftain’s face changed from shock to fury to confusion and a host of other
emotions as he tried to process that information. Then, at last, he croaked.

“Greydath? But he died—”

Pyrite nodded amiably. He fished around in his pile of bones for a new one.
Looking unconcerned at all the eyes on him, he cracked another bone and
hunted for the marrow.

“True. Greydath died in war. Probably like Necromancer. Probably was just
imposter. All he had was rusty greatsword. Didn’t do much. Ate. Slept.
Worked. Cut Griffon in half. Go poo. Talked. Taught me.”

“So that was Greydath who visited my tribe?”

Reiss stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes. He
shrugged at the Goblin Lord, which was incredible in itself.

“Maybe? Old Goblin? Beard? Cackle like this?”

Pyrite made a good attempt at Greydath’s crackling laughter. Reiss

hesitated.
“He spoke to—what did he want? What did he teach you?”

Every eye was fixed on Pyrite. The Hob seemed reluctant to speak. He
looked around, saw Garen’s burning gaze on him, scratched his butt, and
then shrugged again.

“Names of rocks. Edible moss. Good bugs to eat. Bad bugs to eat. How to
poo smart. How to make tweezers for splinters.”

Rags stared at Pyrite slack-jawed. Then her eyes narrowed. His ears were
twitching slightly. She reached over to punch him in the side. The Hob
blocked her fist effortlessly. He paused. Tremborag was glaring at him, as
were the others. Pyrite sighed again.

“How small we are. How strong Humans are. What it means to be

Chieftain. And…stories.”

“Stories?”

Redscar stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob nodded.

“About old Chieftains. Famous Goblin warriors. About Goblin Lords. And
—about a key.”

He looked up, straight at Garen. The Hob froze. His hand clamped to one
side. Every eye turned to him.

The key. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob watched Garen carefully and then
went back to his bone. His ears were still twitching.

He’d diverted the conversation successfully. But while that had fooled the
others, it didn’t fool Rags. Or the other Chieftains or Reiss. All three
glanced back at Pyrite, but now the focus was on Garen. Tremborag
growled furiously at Garen.

“Redfang, you told them about the key?”

“Didn’t tell.”
Garen defended himself. Reiss nodded.

“He didn’t tell us. I already knew. Besides, Garen is simply a bad liar.”

The Redfang’s Chieftain glared, but didn’t deny Reiss’ claim. Tremborag
looked furious as he glanced swiftly at Reiss and at Garen, clearly worried.
The only one in the dark was Rags. She threw a stick on the fire for
attention.

“The key. What is it? Secret to Goblin King treasure? What treasure? How
you know?”

Reiss looked at Rags. Instantly, Tremborag spoke up.

“Don’t tell her. This is a secret for true Chieftains, not mewling pretenders.”

Reiss ignored Tremborag. He glanced at Garen, who was giving him an

unspoken look. Rags thought it was that which made Reiss decide to tell
her.

“It is a memory, Chieftain Rags. A memory I saw. And Garen. When we

were young, we were part of the Ghostly Hand tribe. We could not
remember, but our Chieftain did. And our tribe was large so she looked
back and saw the memories of Velan the Kind. Or rather, the months before
he died.”

The other Goblins stared at Reiss. Rags did too. She had experienced
Velan’s memories, but only in fragments, when he was younger. She had no
idea what had made him go to war. He was so different from the Goblin that
had set fire to Baleros and Izril. Reiss nodded.

“She was curious. So she looked. And she saw a strange thing. The histories
of other species do not record this except in passing. In a book I read—it
was written something like this.”

Reiss closed his eyes and recited from memory.

“‘The Goblin King had rapidly moved south with a small force, entering the
High Passes. There he vanished for eight days.’ That is all that was written
in any account. For eight days the Goblin King vanished, and the Humans
believe it was to clear the High Passes. But Velan did not clear the passes.
Instead he hid something there. His treasure. And he locked it away with a
key. Not just one key, in fact. Two. He gave one to Tallis and kept the other
for himself.”

Keys? Treasure? When had this turned into fairy tale? Rags wanted to
laugh. But then she remembered the key Garen had been so attached to.
And he’d been certain that Tremborag would accept his and Rags’ tribe.
Because of the Goblin Lord? Or because—

Rags glanced quickly at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain did not look
happy. Reiss looked at him and Garen. He pointed at the hand Garen had
clamped over his side.

“There are two. My Chieftain puzzled long over that mystery until she
realized that. That is the second part of the secret. There are two keys that
Velan hid, and his treasure cannot be found without both. Garen found one.
But I wonder, do you know where the other lies?”

He looked at Garen directly, then shifted his glance to Tremborag. The

Great Chieftain tensed up. At last, he spoke one grudging word.

“No. And if we did know, we would never tell you, brat.”

Rags studied Tremborag. But his face was unreadable. So instead she
looked at Garen. So did all the other Goblins. The Hob looked past Reiss’
head into the sky, scowling. His face was one solid grimace, but—his ears
were twitching violently.

“Have no idea.”

Reiss stared at Garen’s ears. Rags stared at Garen’s ears. All the Goblins
present, including Garen’s own warriors stared at the Hob’s trembling ears.
Tremborag uttered an oath.

“I’m going to kill you, Redfang.”

Garen looked confused. He didn’t seem to realize his massive tell. But it
was Reiss who shook his head.

“One key is worthless. As for the other—if it were easy to obtain, you two
would have taken it. But I believe that even with both keys, Velan’s treasure
lies well hidden. Or else Garen would have found it after years of his tribe
living in the High Passes.”

So that was why he settled there. Rags’ eyes widened. She glanced at
Redscar and saw the Goblin’s mouth was agape along with the other
Redfangs. Garen had been searching for the treasure all this time. The Hob
looked extremely upset, but he wisely didn’t say anything else.

For a few minutes all the Goblins were thinking, trying to process all they’d
heard. Then Tremborag spat and sat up.

“So. Keys. Promises between children. Betrayal. None of it changes the

truth. You came to take our tribes. And you brought the Humans! To serve
you is to serve the Necromancer. And why should we do that? Even the
nameless Goblin can see what folly it is.”

His huge finger pointed at Rags and then Reiss. The ‘nameless Goblin’
glared at Tremborag. He wasn’t helping his argument by insulting her. But
Reiss looked calmly at Tremborag.

“I told you, my master cares little for Goblins. But he knows the value of a
Goblin Lord. And I am his apprentice. He would aid me, if only to hinder
the Humans and Drakes.”

“And he will throw you away when you are done. Don’t fool yourself,
brat!”

Tremborag laughed at Reiss. Garen nodded.

“You are a tool. Slave!”

The word seemed to nettle Reiss. He avoided looking at Garen as he stared

at the dying fire.
“A tool. Perhaps. But this tool is not mindless. I choose which orders to
obey. I have disobeyed my master once and I will do it again. He controls
my actions, but he does not control me.”

“A slave’s words.”

“Perhaps.”

Reiss’ voice was a hiss. He stared at Tremborag, his eyes burning. Snapjaw
and Eater of Spears sat up behind him. Reiss calmed.

“But I will be a slave if I must. Because I dream. I dream of a city. You sit
and hide, Tremborag, but I dream of a place where Goblins will be free. I
dream of streets where Goblins walk about without fear. I dream of homes
made by Goblins for Goblins. I dream of a nation. A kingdom of Goblins.”

“A what?”

Tremborag laughed. He upended his wine skin.

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? I did not become a Goblin Lord or sacrifice so much just for my
master. I did not give—”

Reiss passed his hands in front of his black eyes.

“I did not give away what I did for power alone. I gave it for a dream. And
now I am close. Look around you! There are hundreds of thousands of
Goblins here! Enough to conquer all but the largest of cities! If the Humans
were to falter, if you would follow me—”

“You would what, take a city? How long would that last? A week? Until the
adventurers came for you.”

Reiss shook his head.

“I would take it and hold it. Let the people inside go in peace. Negotiate
with the Humans or Drakes—”
“Hah!”

“Quiet!”

Snapjaw leapt to her feet. She glared at Tremborag, hands clenched. She
was quivering with emotion. She spoke for the first time that night.

“Reiss can do it! Make nation! Make us safe!”

“It will never happen. The Humans would turn their own cities to ash rather
than let Goblins hold it.”

Tremborag sneered at Snapjaw. She took a step forwards, but Reiss held up
a hand. He stared at Tremborag.

“It can. If enough Goblins are there. If they are strong enough to make
attacking them impossible. If they make a deal. And if they have an ally.”

The Necromancer. Rags stared at Reiss, her jaw open. That was his plan.
Reiss turned around to the staring Goblins, ignoring Tremborag’s derision.

“It can happen. My master is strong. If I take a place that can be held, he
will support me. And with magic and fortifications, even the greatest of
Human armies would not be able to break into my home. I came north for
the army to make that dream a reality. If the Humans had not attacked the
mountain, I might have taken that.”

“Really?”

Tremborag paused and looked up, eyes glowing. Reiss nodded, meeting
Tremborag’s eyes.

“I would not copy you, Tremborag. I would not hide. I would make peace
with the Humans, give them what they needed for peace—”

“Your head! And all the heads of the Goblins in the mountain! Don’t fool
yourself! Your dream will never come true!”

Tremborag roared in frustration. Reiss was unmoved.

“It can. And it will. Any Goblin who dreams of peace, of a place where a
Human will not burn them out of their caves or kill them for their ears—
that is my dream too. And I will make it. What will you offer them,
Tremborag? The safety of your mountain until it disappears? I have a
dream. You have nothing.”

He looked at Tremborag and then at Garen. Then Reiss turned.

“Dream, my people. Dream. That is why I fight. For a dream. A home.”

The fire was dying behind Reiss. But at his words, the embers glowed one
last time. A plume of smoke shot into the air. And a city formed there. A city
as real as mist, as far from reach as the stars. But a city nonetheless. It hung
in the air, tall houses hidden behind walls. And little Goblins stood in the
streets, walked along the walls. The assembled Goblins looked up and saw
Reiss dream for one glorious second, written in the sky in smoke and dying
sparks.

For a second it took Rags’ breath away. A Goblin nation? A place where
they could be safe? For one moment she tried to imagine it. Walls of stone?
Houses, like the ones Humans and Drakes built? Roads? Goblin…
adventurers?

For one second it was there, a glorious city shining in Rags’ mind. And then
the dream fell apart. Rags began wondering how any nation of Goblins
would survive. Surely the Humans or Drakes or even Gnolls would declare
war. How could they protect themselves? Would they trade? Where would
they make this nation? She shook herself and stared around.

Her tribe was staring upwards. Almost all of them. A few like Noears, were
frowning. Some like Redfang were measuring the cost in blood. But many,
even Quietstab and Poisonbite, were caught up in the vision. Rags
understood that.

A place to be free. A place to be safe. Forever. It was such a tantalizing idea

that it hurt. But only a child would dream of something like that. Every
Goblin who’d lived for even a year knew it was an impossibility. But Reiss
stood in front of that dream and shouted it would be true. And you almost
believed—

Almost. Rags looked to her left and saw a pair of crimson eyes staring at
her. Pyrite too had wrenched his gaze away from the city. He looked at her,
and flicked his eyes to the city. There was longing in his gaze. But like her
he saw the cracks.

And yet, the city of smoke hung in the sky, tantalizing, held there by magic
and the wishes of a hundred thousand Goblins. Until a shape rose. A huge
hand pushed through the city and it vanished. Rags started as Tremborag
waved the smoke away. Every Goblin stared at him, hurt, furious, but the
Great Chieftain paid no heed. He sneered down at Reiss.

“This farce is over. Your dream is just that, Goblin Lord. A dream. It will
never come true. The Humans chase your great army. And your master has
abandoned you. You may fool the child, and you may have a history with
Redfang. But I will never make peace. We run in the same direction because
of the Humans. Because of the Kingslayer. But when there is a chance,
however small—”

He leaned forwards. Rags saw Reiss tense and his warriors grip their
weapons. Tremborag breathed a foul mix of wine and meat fumes into
Reiss’ face.

“—I will kill you, slave. And you, thief, nameless Goblin. You and all the
traitors.”

He looked at Rags. Then he straightened and turned. He lumbered away, out

of the Goblin sit-about. And like that, it was over. Tremborag’s Goblins
hesitated. Some cast last, longing looks towards the fire, or towards Reiss.
But they followed their Chieftain. Reiss stood, watching the Goblins go. He
glanced to his right. At the Hob standing there. The Hob with the sword.
Garen stared at the spot the city had been. Then he looked at Reiss. The
Goblin Lord smiled wearily at him.

“I have not changed, Garen. Have you?”

For a second, Rags saw Garen hesitate. For one second, the two Hobs stared
at each other and the past swirled around them like smoke. But then Garen
shook his head. He drew his sword and pointed it at Reiss’ chest.

“I am Garen Redfang. And you are my enemy.”

He turned away. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes as Garen turned and
whistled. His tribe followed him away. Reiss watched them go, and then
turned to Rags. He said nothing. Just waited.

Rags stared at the fire. It was just dying embers now. Just ash. She looked
around and thought of all she’d seen and heard.

So many stories. None of them were hers. Reiss and Garen had played their
story out, been brothers and then enemies before she’d been born. And
Tremborag—she felt like a stranger. But she was here too. And her tribe
stood behind her, waiting to see what she would say. Rags looked at Reiss.
At last, she shook her head.

“I am not yours. I am not Necromancer’s tool.”

He sighed. The army of black-clad warriors sighed behind him. Snapjaw

gritted her teeth and Eater of Spears shook his head. Rags held up a hand.
She pointed at Garen and Tremborag’s backs.

“I am not yours. But I think they’re stupid. We talk again. Goblins are not
the danger here. Humans are.”

Reiss’ eyes widened. He looked at Rags, then smiled and nodded. She
nodded back carefully. Then she turned. Her lieutenants looked at her. Rags
shrugged.

“We talk.”

Pyrite crooked a smile.

“Talk is good.”
Rags nodded. She smiled and walked back. Her tribe walked with her as she
moved back to her camp. She saw Reiss’ army doing the same. Rags lay
down, her Goblins chattering. She stared up at the stars.

It was strange. For a while she’d forgotten that they were being chased by
the Humans. For a while, she’d felt like this was a story about Reiss and
Garen, of Goblins and their dreams. But then she sat up. She stared at the
Human’s camp to the north.

Perhaps there was a story about Goblins here. But the Humans had their
own goals. And Rags wondered if it involved any Goblins surviving. She
looked to Garen and Tremborag’s camps. They were determined to fight
Reiss to the end. But was he the enemy?

Rags wasn’t so sure anymore. So she rolled over and went to sleep. And in
her dreams she saw a city made of smoke and chased after it. But the fire
always went out no matter how many times she tried to catch it. And yet the
city was still there in her mind. Always, always out of reach.

—-

Day 8

The next day, the Humans roused the Goblins by blasting sound spells
overhead. The Goblins shot out of their beds and were marching within
minutes. The peace and talk of last night felt like a dream, especially once
the Goblins looked back and saw the wave of Humans following them,
promising them death.

But it hadn’t been a dream. And the first effects of the Goblin sit-about
were seen almost immediately. Tremborag and Garen’s forces marched
together, both near the rear of the Goblin procession. Not by choice; it was
just that Rags’ tribe was faster and Reiss’ army was too large to push past.
Normally, Rags would have kept her people moving faster to stay ahead of
Reiss by a comfortable margin.

Not today. Today, Rags raised a hand as her tribe moved ahead of the rest.
Her warriors slowed. Rags hesitated, then pointed.

“Closer.”

She indicated the first rank of Goblins in black armor. Her tribe hesitated,
but then it began to move towards Reiss’ army.

The reaction from the Goblins in black armor was immediate. A ripple went
through the Goblin Lord’s tribe, and Rags half-expected the warriors to
warn her tribe away with weapons or draw back. But then she saw Reiss
himself appear in the sea of Goblins. He pointed and his tribe began to
move towards Rags’.

Both sides halted before they crossed paths. A line of Rags’ warriors
marched side-by-side with Reiss’ armored Goblins. They looked at each
other warily, sizing each other up. Then Rags saw a huge Hob push his way
through the Goblin Lord’s army.

Eater of Spears walked at the head of his warriors, head-and-shoulders

above even the next tallest Hob. His muscular body strode forwards as he
glanced at Rags’ Goblins, who edged away from him. But then a Hob from
Rags’ side strolled forwards, battleaxe propped on one shoulder.

Pyrite took a spot on Eater of Spear’s right. The Hob moved into place as if
he was just looking for a spot in the shade, which the huge Hob
conveniently provided. Pyrite was chewing something. He glanced up at
Eater of Spears and the Hob looked down at Pyrite. The two Hobs nodded
at each other. After a second, Pyrite offered what he was eating to the bigger
Hob.

It was a cluster of roots. Somehow, Pyrite had found some edible roots—or
roots he deemed edible at any rate—and dug them up. He’d washed them,
but hadn’t bothered to do anything else with them. Even the other Goblins
looked askance at the hard roots, but Eater of Spears reached down and
delicately took a few. He popped them into his mouth and began to chew.
He nodded at Pyrite and the fat Hob nodded back.

And like that, the ice broke. Both sides were still wary, but the bolder
Goblins pushed forwards. Poisonbite led her all-female squad into place
behind Pyrite, clearly trying to intimidate the male Goblins. Her unit hooted
and made rude gestures at the Goblins in black armor—until a group of
Goblins riding horses replaced them.

Snapjaw grinned down at Poisonbite, who blinked up at her. The Goblin’s

metal teeth shone in the light as she offered Poisonbite a hand. The smaller
Goblin was deeply distrustful, but then she looked and saw that Snapjaw’s
riders were mostly female. She took the Hob’s hand and was swung up into
the saddle. The two females began chattering, and soon they were quickly
laughing.

Rags watched her tribe begin to mingle with Reiss’. She kept her eyes on
Pyrite and Eater of Spears, but to her surprise, they actually seemed to like
each other.

It made sense. Both were naturally stoic, silent Hobs. And despite Pyrite
being fat and Eater of Spears muscular, they shared a number of interests.
Pyrite was particularly pleased to find a fellow connoisseur of all things
edible in Eater of Spears.

Again, he needn’t have been. Like Pyrite, Eater of Spears understood the
great importance of eating at all times to keep up a proper weight.
Especially if you were a Hob and food was scarce. Surprisingly, he found
that Eater of Spears actually admired Pyrite’s bulk more than his muscles.

“My tribe was not fortunate. We had to fight monsters often. Very tough.
Very little food sometimes. Can’t build fat. All of it turns to this.”

Eater of Spears rumbled as he tapped one straining bicep. Rather than

guttural speech, every word of his was perfectly enunciated and chosen.
Pyrite grunted as he scratched at his belly.
“Can’t eat monsters?”

“They were Stone Starers. Big eyes. Stone skin. Strong arms, but little
meat. Eyes tasted horrible. Partially acidic.”

Pyrite tsked sympathetically.

“Not good for eating. My tribe live in mountains too. Not see Stone
Starers.”

“Your tribe rich. Fat Hobs, pretty stones. Must be good Chieftain. I was
poor Chieftain. Only hit things.”

“Just need to look for good food. Can find lots of food in caves,
underground. Trick is growing some food. Use stream. Make dripping along
roof, plant mushrooms and lichen. Also attracts bugs and animals.”

“Mm. Very smart.”

Eater of Spears listened appreciatively as Pyrite spoke. The two Hobs

ambled along as Snapjaw and Poisonbite laughed with each other. As for
Rags, she held back until she saw Reiss appear on the back of his undead
spider. Then she rode towards him.

The Goblins parted to let her pass. Rags stared at the Goblins in black
armor until her Carn Wolf growled. She looked up and saw the headless
undead Shield Spider crawling ahead of her. She waved.

“Chieftain Rags.”

Reiss bent down to smile at her. His eyes flicked towards the growling Carn
Wolf and then to Rags herself. He nodded.

“Let me dismount. Animals hate undead.”

“Undead smelly.”

Rags commented neutrally. She leapt from her Carn Wolf and patted the
animal, pointing back to her tribe. She and Reiss began to jog on foot, as his
warriors moved back to give them space. Reiss ran easily despite his robes,
watching as Rags jogged to keep up. Her feet hit the ground at the same
time his did, but she seemed to travel further with each step.

“You have a Skill?”

“[Fleet Foot].”

“Ah.”

The two ran for a little bit in silence. Rags kept glancing up at Reiss. She
was wondering what she should say.

Her decision to move her tribe next to Reiss’ didn’t indicate her sudden
trust in the Goblin Lord. She had found the revelation of who his master
was to be more and more troubling the more she thought on it. But Rags
had also observed Tremborag and Garen and on the whole, Reiss was
definitely the more cooperative and reasonable of the three. He hadn’t tried
to kill Rags and it seemed like one of the things Garen hated most about
him was the undead.

So she was giving him a chance. And she thought that Reiss understood
that, because the first thing he did when he began speaking was to bring up
his master again.

“I can contact my master, Az’kerash via spell. But it is possible for him to
look through my eyes, even cast through me. I have been attempting to
contact him for the last few days—ever since the Humans drove us from the
mountain. But he has not responded.”

“He say nothing? Why?”

Rags was astonished. Reiss’ smile was grim.

“Ever since the death of Zel Shivertail, he has contacted me less and less. I
believe he is attempting to create more servants, which is a time-consuming
task. Even for him. He creates unique undead, beings that can think and act
independently.”
Reiss expected Rags not to comprehend, but she nodded instantly.

“Oh. Like Toren.”

“…Who?”

“Talking, thinking skeleton. Works in inn. As [Barmaid].”

Rags saw Reiss stumble. He stared at Rags and poked one finger in his ear.

“What?”

“Tell you later. Your master. If he responds…you trust him to help?”

This time Rags watched Reiss’ face closely, wishing she had a truth
detection spell. However, he was a Goblin and so was she, so the odds of
him being able to lie to her were remote. She noted his hesitation, and then
Reiss shook his head.

“No. I expect him to use me for his own gain. But it is in his interests to
keep me alive. As a…tool, I am valuable. And as his apprentice, I have
worth. If there is anyone to guess at what the Human’s plan is, it will be
him. He may be able to stall Tyrion Veltras somehow.”

“He figure out what plan is? How?”

Reiss shrugged.

“He has informants all over the continent. Across the world, I think. More
than one Drake in a position of power is his ally and there are a number of
Humans he works with too. There is a Human conspiracy that he gives aid
to, though they don’t know it is him—his ability to disguise himself with
magic is second to none. He can even fool Gold-rank adventurers and his
servants can cheat [Detect Truth] spells.”

Rags whistled. She wondered if she could learn an illusion of that

magnitude. If she could enter a city—no, forget that. If she could disguise
her warriors that perfectly, why not turn them into rocks on the ground? Or
make them invisible? Reiss seemed almost apprehensive about his master,
though.

“How much he aids us will depend on his mood. I have no doubt he will
have questions. When he contacts me—he may wish to speak with you or
the other Chieftains. Garen and Tremborag I cannot control, but mention
nothing about the key to him.”

That made complete sense. Rags nodded. Reiss frowned.

“I wonder, though. The Humans have a plan. They have not attacked my
army and they have the numbers to win. They are pushing us south quickly.
I wonder what their goal is?”

Rags shrugged. She’d been brainstorming the same thing. She casually
glanced ahead of them. She could see the mountains looming ever closer
with each day.

“Going to High Passes. Maybe to Liscor?”

“Yes. That seems likely. I had wondered if this Tyrion Veltras wanted us to
attack Invrisil, but we passed the city by without issue. If he intends to force
us past Liscor—it’s raining, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. Wet. Lots of water.”

“That would stop his army. If he intends to take us into the High Passes we
will know. Otherwise…Liscor is as far as he will go.”

That was true. Rags scratched her head. She frowned.

“Maybe he wants us to attack Drakes. Go to their lands. Cause trouble.”

Reiss smiled.

“He may try. But we are not mindless. He cannot force us to attack anyone.
And if we escape his army, I intend to vanish. My goal was to create an
army capable of founding a nation. And if the threat of the Humans
vanishes…”
He glanced back, his eyes seeking out Tremborag and Garen’s forces. Rags
shivered. If the Humans left them alone, it would be a war among Goblins.
And if that was the case, she didn’t know if she trusted Reiss. She pretended
to be nodding when Reiss looked back ahead.

“Good plan. Don’t know, though. Humans strange. Do stupid things.”

“No. I suppose we don’t. But there is someone who might know. Come with
me. I wish to introduce you to someone. As a sign of trust.”

Rags eyed Reiss warily. She didn’t think following him deep into the core
of his army was a good idea. But he seemed to understand that and ordered
the mysterious person brought to them. Rags saw a stir in the crowd of
marching Goblins, and then some rather tall Hobs appeared. They were
blocking someone from sight. They parted as they neared Rags and Reiss,
forming a circle shielding them from view. And in the center of the cluster
was—

The little Chieftain’s jaw dropped. A Drake was marching amid the
Goblins. Her clothes were dirty and she had shackles on the two wings
sprouting from her back, but her arms and legs were free. She looked at
Reiss and then at Rags with deep suspicion.

“Who’s this?”

Reiss motioned Rags to be silent. He nodded to Rags and pointed at the

Drake. She had bright yellow scales and the spines on the back of her head
were clear blue.

“This is Osthia Blackwing. Osthia, this is the Chieftain of the Flooded

Waters tribe. Rags.”

“That’s a Chieftain?”

The Drake peered incredulously at Rags. The little Goblin stared at Osthia.
She looked at Reiss.

“Explain.”
“She was a captive from one of the Drake armies I faced. My master
ordered her slain. I kept her alive for her knowledge of the Necromancer.
Among other things.”

“You did it to defy him. I would have rather you killed me, but I have a duty
to tell others about Az’kerash. Don’t think it means I won’t kill you if I
thought I could get away safely.”

Osthia stared hard at Reiss. The Hobs around their Lord glared, but the
Drake seemed used to it. Rags frowned at her.

“Why not chains? Could run away to Humans.”

Her words made Osthia snort. Reiss smiled.

“Apparently she doesn’t trust the Humans. And it would be hard for her to
run. She is always among Goblins.”

“I don’t intend to run to the Humans, least of all Tyrion Veltras. I’m a
soldier. An officer! I’d be interrogated and then executed. I’d rather wait
and take my chances. We’re heading south each day, after all.”

Osthia folded her arms. She didn’t look a tenth as bad as the prisoners under
Tremborag’s captivity. Indeed, she was jogging along with the other
Goblins without even a hint of fatigue. Still, Rags was uneasy about any
prisoners. She narrowed her eyes at Reiss and watched his and Osthia’s
reaction.

“She prisoner, though. You have sex with her?”

Reiss nearly tripped again. He began to laugh. Osthia turned and gave Rags
an offended look.

“I would rather die. Any Goblin—no, any captor trying to assault a Drake
prisoner had better be prepared to have whatever they cherish most torn off.
Or bitten off.”

She bared her teeth and all of the males around her edged back. Rags
nodded.
“Just checking.”

She glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord stopped chuckling and nodded.

“You are a strange Chieftain. But I respect your beliefs, Chieftain Rags.”

Rags didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like an empty statement,
but Reiss looked anything but insincere when he said it. In the end, she just
shrugged again.

“I am me.”

“So why am I here? To speculate on what Tyrion Veltras is trying to do?”

Osthia interrupted the two Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“Rags is an ally. I want to know what she thinks.”

“And can this…child talk about tactics?”

The Drake soldier eyed Rags. She received a similar look in reply. Rags
jabbed a finger towards her chest.

“I am smart. Are you smart? Can you play chess?”

Osthia stared at Rags. She opened her mouth, and then frowned. Reiss was
frowning too.

“You can play chess? Will you teach me? Osthia refuses to teach me.”

Rags hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d played the game. But
why not? She shrugged and smiled.

“Sure. But first—tell me more about Az’kerash.”

She looked sharply at Reiss. The Goblin Lord hesitated. His gaze moved to
Osthia, who was watching him with unconcealed interest. He nodded
slowly.
“I will tell you all that I can.”

—-

All day Rags marched with Reiss and Osthia. Her tribe moved with the
Goblin Lord’s forces, talking, exchanging ideas, stories—talking. It wasn’t
anything of great consequence. Neither Rags nor Osthia nor Reiss could
make any definitive statements about what the Humans had planned and
nothing monumental came of the other exchanges.

And yet, something did happen. Pyrite and Eater of Spears walked together
in amiable silence for hours, chewing on whatever one or the other found.
Poisonbite only left Snapjaw’s mount when the marching had stopped. And
other Goblins like Noears had struck up conversations with [Mages] and
[Shamans] in the Goblin Lord’s army. Even Quietstab had found a friend in
another Goblin [Rogue].

Only Redscar hadn’t been socializing, and that was because he had been
riding ahead. But the rest of Rags’ tribe had formed a tentative bond with
Reiss’ forces. They pitched their camps a bit closer together that night.

The change was not lost on either Tremborag or Garen. In response, the two
other Chieftains camped practically cheek-by-jowl. There was no thought of
a sit-about tonight. And indeed, as the Goblins began preparing dinner, a
familiar sound began echoing from Garen’s camp.

“Redfang!”

All of the Redfang Goblins in Rags’ camp looked up. The Goblin of
Garen’s tribe were on their feet. They stomped and shouted.

“Redfang!”

It was the same as last time. Rags watched as Redscar and his Redfangs
bristled. They formed up in a group of their own and shouted a reply back.
“Redfang! Redfang!”

A shout of outrage issued from Garen’s camp. They shouted back, but
Redscar and his warriors kept defiantly shouting the same word. Rags saw
the Goblins pause, and then heard another shout.

“Garen!”

The Goblins in her camp went quiet. Instantly, the Goblins took up the
shout.

“Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren!”

It was exactly the same as last time. Rags saw Redscar glancing uncertainly
at her, and then at the lone figure that stood in front of his campfire. The
Goblin with the crimson blade. Garen faced his former warriors as his tribe
screamed his name.

“Chieftain—”

Quietstab looked uncertainly at Rags. She held up a hand.

“Wait. Humans throw spells. Shut up soon.”

Her eyes were on Redscar. Rags could intervene, but this was his former
Chieftain. His decision to make. She saw Redscar turn away from Garen,
clenching his fists. Then he turned. He looked around wildly, and his eyes
found hers. Redscar locked gazes for Rags for a few seconds and then thrust
his hand up in the air. He bellowed a word.

“Rags!”

The other Redfangs jerked in surprise. They stared at Redscar, but then they
turned to each other. There were nods, and then as one they shouted the
same word.

“Rags!”
Rags felt her heart stop. She stared as all the Redfangs began shouting the
word. And then some of the other Goblins took up the chant. Not Redfangs.
Her tribe. They screamed the word, shocking Garen’s tribe into silence.

“Rags! Rags! Rags!”

It wasn’t just the Redfangs. It was all the Goblins. Rags saw Poisonbite
look up, and Pyrite stopped digging in the ground. The Hob stood up and
thrust his fist up. He roared.

“Rags!”

And then it was every voice. Hobs, small Goblins, children, Redfangs.
Quietstab stood in front of Rags, shouting, his face alight with joy.

“Rags!”

The sound eclipsed the chanting from Garen’s camp. His tribe tried to shout
Garen’s name, but they were outnumbered by the Goblins in Rags’ tribe.
Both Tremborag and Reiss’ Goblins turned and watched as Rags’ tribe
chanted her name. Rags stood in the center of her tribe, heart beating
wildly, staring around.

Her. They were chanting her. Redscar looked at her as he raised his fist.
And Garen—he stared at Rags. She couldn’t see his face, framed by the
firelight as it was, but she could feel his shock.

The chanting went on for minutes, until a fireball exploded overhead. Then
the Goblins scattered and everything was silent. But the memory lingered.
Rags stood in the camp as the Goblins looked at her.

Just looked. They didn’t slap her back or cheer her afterwards. They just
nodded and got back to eating or sitting about. But she remembered. And
she stood taller still as she went to sit next to Pyrite. Rags watched him
digging about, hunting for a mole. He didn’t say much and neither did she.
But she felt like a giant. And she was smiling.
That night, the Flooded Waters tribe celebrated. Exactly what it was for
wasn’t said. If they had to put it into words, they might have said it was the
realization of Rags as their true Chieftain, the final acknowledgement of the
Redfangs of who their leader was, or the bittersweet parting of ways with
the past. If they had to put it into words. But some things were better left
unsaid, and the Goblins were just happy.

They ate well and slept. Their camp hugged the Goblin Lord’s, and their
guards were more relaxed. For the first time it felt like they had an ally,
rather than an enemy on all sides. Even with the Humans, that was
something.

Quietstab was particularly happy. He staggered past the sentries at the edge
of Rags’ camp, towards the latrines they shared with Reiss’ forces. Rags had
decided to put them outside of her camp after a few unpleasant incidents
that involved sleepwalking Goblins last night. Quietstab navigated the short
distance on unsteady legs. He was pleasantly sloshed.

Alcohol wasn’t an essential that Rags had kept on their frantic march, but
Noears had the bag of holding and unlike Rags, he had a fine appreciation
for some of the luxuries that Humans enjoyed. So did Quietstab. He’d
followed Rags of course, but he still missed some of the things that
Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe had enjoyed. Like alcohol.

The one downside of course was the need to pee. Quietstab nearly fell into
the first latrines he came to. He wavered unsteadily at the edge, electing to
pee standing up. The latrines were big and he was only missing half the
time. He was so preoccupied with his task that he was quite oblivious to
everything around him. That was until he turned, fumbling with his
loincloth and saw the shape looming above him.

Tremborag stood over Quietstab, a mountain blocking out the night sky. He
had appeared silently. Quietstab’s eyes went wide with terror. He backed up
and nearly slipped into the latrine. He windmilled his arms unsteadily and
Tremborag caught his arm.

“Hello, traitor.”
The gigantic Great Chieftain lifted Quietstab up. The Hob opened his mouth
to shout as he flailed with one arm at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain’s
other hand shot out. He gripped Quietstab’s head and twisted.

Crack. Quietstab’s flailing arms went limp. Tremborag studied the Goblin
for a second. Then he grinned and tossed Quietstab into the latrine. The
Goblin fell into a heap. Tremborag turned. His crimson eyes glowed.

“Suffer, traitors. Suffer, child. I will make you weep before you die. You
and the slave. I am Tremborag. See how I keep my promises.”

Tremborag laughed. He turned and walked back towards his tribe, smiling
for the first time since he’d left his mountain.

And in her camp, sleeping amid the furs and blankets, Rags shot up with a
cry of pain. She clutched her chest as she felt something snapping, the pain,
and then the loss, the emptiness in her chest. She stared around blankly, not
understanding what had happened as the Goblins around her roused, asking
questions. She sat there, weeping, not knowing why.

Not until tomorrow.

—-

And as Tremborag walked back towards his camp and Rags sat amid her
tribe and looked for the source of pain in her heart, someone moved next to
the latrine. A patch of air resolved itself into a shape. Reiss stood frozen,
halfway through doing his own business. He stared into the pit, at the
broken shape that had been a Hob. Slowly, he stared at Tremborag’s
retreating form and looked around for other witnesses.

There were none. Reiss knelt. He stared into the latrine and clenched his
fist. But he made no move to raise the alarm, or retrieve Quietstab. He
spoke softly.
“I’m sorry. But she is my ally now. Tremborag has Garen. I will have your
Chieftain. And I will lead her tribe to a safer place. I promise you.”

He bent his head. Then Reiss turned. He whispered a spell and vanished,
leaving only silence and death behind.
 Interlude – Bird

(This story is on break until January 8th for Patreon readers, and
January 11th for Public readers!)

It was a fated encounter, if you believed in fate. If you didn’t, it was still
fated because Bird was Bird and there were only so many times Erin could
distract him with a plate of hot fried duck, or an egg sunny side up. It so
happened that the fated day in question was when Bevussa Slenderscale had
stopped by Erin’s inn for another round of negotiations with the
Halfseekers.

It wasn’t something the Garuda looked forwards to, so she’d ordered a dark
lager of whatever Erin had on tap to take the edge off. The request had
stumped Erin and she’d gone behind the counter to stare at kegs while
Bevussa waited. The Garuda tapped the table, wondering when Jelaqua
would appear and they could begin haggling. Apparently the Selphid was
out and about Liscor, and Bevussa intended to drink until she came back.

Sparingly. Negotiations between Gold-rank Captains were a tricky affair

and Bevussa needed a clear head, especially since alcohol ran through
Garudas a lot faster than other races. Selphids were champions at digesting
alcohol unfortunately, so Jelaqua could drink all she wanted and only get
drunk if she chose. But Bevussa needed some kind of relief.

“Everyone’s so damn tense about what artifacts they’re going to get. And
how much gold. I’m losing feathers over this, and I’m certain our team’s
actually going to get an artifact.”
Bevussa complained to Erin as she sat at the table. She heard a muffled
voice.

“Uh huh. It’s tough to negotiate?”

“Yes! I don’t know how Jelaqua is so calm about it all of a sudden. Now
she’s playing hard—it’s like she’s not even worried about the gold!
Something’s happened with her. And Griffon Hunt. Do you know anything
about it?”

“About…what?”

“The way Jelaqua’s acting—”

The Garuda raised her voice and then gave up. No one was in the inn at
midday—Erin’s inn still seemed to only have a rush around dinner, when
the Players of Celum stopped by. Or maybe everyone was in Celum,
experiencing the sunshine. She grumbled to herself instead.

“Everyone gets upset! And you can’t argue with Keldrass when he’s pissed
—he just smokes you out! I know Jelaqua’s after the armor, but I was
hoping she’d withdraw her claim on the light-spelled shortsword. Hey, do
you have a lager? I can get another drink if you’re out!”

“Um…I think so! What color is a dark lager supposed to be? Purple?”

“Purple? No, it’ll be dark brown, blackish! Do you have a purple beer back
there?”

“Well, the light’s not so good—maybe?”

“Can I try it?”

“Sure—ow! Hold on, let me get a mug!”

Bevussa sat back as she heard Erin bang about. She glanced towards both
doors surreptitiously, but Jelaqua didn’t magically appear. Bevussa sighed,
drummed her talons on the table, and then turned her head. She saw an
Antinium Worker’s face two inches from her own.
“Hello, I am Bird.”

“Ancestors save me!”

Bevussa shouted and nearly fell out of her chair. She flapped her wings to
keep her balance and heard Erin exclaim.

“What? What’s happening? Ow!”

There was a thump as Erin smacked her head on the bar’s counter. Bevussa
leaned back in her chair. Bird hadn’t moved.

“Hello, I am Bird.”

Bevussa cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

Bird nodded.

“Hello. You are a bird, yes?”

The Garuda stared at him. Then she turned her head.

“Uh, Erin? Your Antinium Worker is saying hi to me. And he’s asking if I’m
a bird.”

“Oh no. Bird!”

Erin shot up from behind the counter. She waved the mug in her hands
frantically.

“Put down the bow! Don’t shoot—oh good.”

Bird turned. The Worker was not holding his bow, as was customary.
Instead he was holding something strange in his hand. Bevussa blinked. All
four of the Worker’s hands were clutching a mess of…

“Goose feathers?”
“Yes. They are goose feathers. Would you trade them with me?”

Bird offered the feathers to Bevussa. She hesitated and reached out to take
one, then stopped. The Garuda looked around, suspecting a prank. Erin on
the other hand knew better and rushed forwards.

“Bird, no! Bevussa, I’m sorry. Let me handle this. Bird, you know what I
said about bothering Bevussa.”

“But I put away my bow.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just—why are you holding feathers?”

“To trade. I am told trading is a perfectly acceptable form of barter. I wish

to trade.”

“But—hold on, are those from the pillows in your room?”

“…Maybe?”

Erin stared at Bird. She scratched her head, stared at the feathers, then
decided to drop the issue. She folded her arms and looked sternly at the
Worker.

“Bird, I know you really like…well, birds. But Bevussa’s busy and you
can’t bother her. Especially about birds.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

Bird physically drooped. His antennae sagged and he turned around and
began to shuffle towards the stairs. Bevussa, who was still completely
confused, felt bad and called out.

“Hold on, Erin. Why can’t uh, Bird speak with me?”

The [Innkeeper] turned. She hesitated as Bird stopped hopefully.

“It’s complicated. Bevussa, I really don’t know how to explain this, but
Bird’s…well, he’s not like the other Antinium.”
“That is correct. I am Bird.”

“Right! And I don’t want to alarm you, but he really like birds. And I
thought that y’know, since you have wings…”

Bevussa laughed lightly.

“Oh come on. It can’t be worse than what I get from Drakes all the time.
Let Bird sit with me. I’ll share a drink with him.”

Erin visibly hesitated. She looked from Bevussa to Bird and the Garuda got
the feeling that Erin was doing some rapid risk-assessment.

“Are you sure? I mean, if you’re willing that’d be great. Bird really wanted
to meet you, but me and Klbkch and Pawn and Belgrade and Anand all
thought—if he says or does anything weird, you can tell him not to. And I’ll
be over here…”

Amused, the Garuda waved Erin back to the bar.

“Sure. Just sort out which barrel has what. Come on, Bird. Sit down.”

“Are you sure? Miss Erin told me not to bother you if you are busy. Are you
busy?”

Bird hesitated as Bevussa drew up a stool. The Garuda frowned as she gave
Erin a quick glance. The [Innkeeper] gave Bevussa a mixture of hand
gesture and facial expressions only a Goblin could interpret. The Gold-rank
adventurer gave up on interpreting it and looked at Bird.

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Good. Then I will bother you.”

Bird sat down instantly in the chair across from Bevussa. He stared at her.
He was still holding the feathers. Bevussa stared at them, and then at Bird.
She coughed.
“So…sorry about that. Nice to meet you. We’ve never formally been
introduced, have we? I’ve seen you around, I mean, but—I’m Bevussa,
Gold-rank, and uh, second-in-command of the Wings of Pallass.”

Bird nodded.

“I am Bird. I am a Worker in the Hive only now I am an Individual. I work

in Miss Erin’s inn.”

“I’ve…noticed. Have you worked here long?”

The Worker shook his head.

“No. I was assigned to Miss Erin’s inn by Revalantor Klbkch as a matter of

security and to protect Miss Erin and to act in a capacity which I am not
allowed to inform you about. I have only been here for a little while, but I
have my own room and a tower to shoot birds from.”

“Birds as in…other birds. Not you, right?”

“That is correct. I am Bird. I hunt birds. With my bow. It is in my room.”

Bevussa blinked. She looked around for Erin and heard swearing as Erin
tried to wrestle with a keg under the counter. Bevussa rubbed at her
forehead and began to understand what Erin had meant.

“Okay, I think I get what you’re saying. Your name is Bird. But you’re a
hunter.”

“That is correct. I am a [Hunter]. I hunt birds.”

“…Why did you name yourself Bird?”

The Worker shrugged.

“I like birds. Should I not name myself Bird?”

“Well, you have to admit it’s confusing.”

“I do?”

Bird tilted his head back and forth. Bevussa stared at him and then turned
and called to Erin.

“Hey, how’s that drink going?”

“I dunno! Do you put wine in kegs? Cause this looks like wine!”

The Garuda debated asking for a glass regardless, then decided that she
wasn’t that desperate. Yet. She turned back to Bird and tried to make sense
of it all.

“You just liked to call yourself Bird, is that it? That’s fair. I guess.”

Bird nodded.

“Yes. But I am also named Bird after Henry Edward Bird, who played chess
and was important. He was a Human who invented the Bird’s Opening and
Bird’s Defense in chess.”

Bevussa put her head on the table.

“I’m so confused.”

She just wanted a drink. Bevussa’s head lay on the table for all of three
seconds, until she felt a very tentative touch on the back of her head. She
looked up immediately and Bird snatched his hand back.

“Don’t touch the feathers.”

“I am sorry. They were very pretty.”

“Yeah, and they’re mine. You don’t see me pulling your antennae.”

“I am sorry.”

Bird looked down at his hands. He seemed to shrink. Bevussa’s fury

instantly cooled off. She stared at Bird.
“Hey, sorry. I just thought you were one of those creepy Drakes who—it’s
okay.”

“But it is not because you said so. I am sorry.”

The Worker stared at his hands. Bevussa looked around helplessly. She was
about to shout at Erin that she really needed her at the table rather than a
drink, and then a few things clicked in her head. Something Erin had
mentioned. She stared back at Bird.

“How old are you, Bird?”

“Oh. I am two. I will be three sometime in the fall.”

Bird brightened up. Bevussa stared at him.

“You’re three?”

“Yes. I am old for a Worker. Most die when they are around two years old.
Due to monsters eating them. We are rotated to the front lines often. I did
not die, and now I am at Miss Erin’s inn, where there are monsters too
sometimes. But I have not died yet, so that is good.”

Bird nodded happily. Bevussa stared at him. Then she sat back in her chair.

“Oh. Oh. And you’re—the Antinium are really—Ancestors, I had no idea!

And—hey, can all Workers speak? Do they all have names?”

She looked at Bird. He shook his head.

“No. Most Workers have no names. If they did, they would be Individual.
And if you ask them and they do not, they would be Aberration.”

“What’s that?”

Bird hesitated.

“That is a very bad thing. Aberrations kill other Workers. They say not-
good things about the Queen and Revalantor Klbkch comes and kills them.
Or Soldiers do.”

“So they’re criminals?”

The Worker hesitated.

“I…do not think so. They are just upset.”

“I see.”

The Garuda tried to square that with what she’d heard of the Antinium.
Aberrations—yes, she’d heard of the Antinium going berserk, but that was
in battle. And you almost never saw Antinium outside of their Hives, and
obviously no one ever went near an Antinium Hive unless you wanted to
die. Except in Liscor, the strange city that had welcomed them. She’d heard
stories—

But Bird seemed alright. Strange as a shaved Gnoll, and half as sane, but for
a two year old, she thought he was doing well. Armed with that knowledge,
Bevussa smiled more comfortably at Bird.

“Okay, so you like birds. You enjoy hunting them?”

And like that Bevussa opened the floodgates. Bird sat up, his multi-faceted
eyes shining.

“Yes. very much. I shoot birds all day. All night too. I have a new bow that
my Queen gave me, and it is very strong. I have shot many birds with it,
only I can only shoot them in Celum because there are not many birds in the
rain. I have been hoping to see water birds which must surely exist, but I
have not seen any yet. I think they may be invisible, and Belgrade tells me
they do not exist, but then Pawn came over and said they may exist, and
Erin said they might as well so I am still looking for them. Have you seen
water birds?”

“Water birds? Do you mean…flying fish? Or—or swimming birds?”

Bird stared at Bevussa.

“There are fish that fly?”

“Yes?”

At this stage Bevussa wasn’t sure of anything in life. She sat back as Bird
tried to describe what the elusive, and, Bevussa realized, probably
imaginary, water birds looked like. She shook her head.

“I’ve never seen a bird made out of water. It sounds like something a
[Mage] would summon.”

“Oh. Do you think I could find one to summon one for me?”

“To do what, exactly?”

Bird looked blankly at Bevussa.

“Shoot it of course. And then eat it.”

“That’s all you want to do?”

“Yes. I like shooting birds. And eating them.”

“But you call yourself Bird.”

“Yes.”

“And you…like birds?”

“Yes. They are my favorite things. I like all birds.”

“Then why—no, wait, I’ve done this before. Okay. You like birds. Hey, I
like birds too. Except for the aggressive types.”

“Aggressive types?”

Bird sat up. Erin screamed as a keg rolled over her foot. Both Bird and
Bevussa looked over, but since it wasn’t anything serious they turned back
to the conversation. Bevussa waved a taloned hand, relieved to be on firmer
ground. Or rather, in clearer skies as the Garuda would say.

“Oh yeah. There are tons of angry birds in the sky. I guess Liscor doesn’t
have many aggressive birds, huh? Oh wait—you do have Razorbeaks, don’t
you?”

“Yes. Erin calls them Dino Birds. They are very big and sit in the grass.”

“I bet they do. And they love to swarm wounded animals and people. Nasty
things, but not too deadly if you’ve got any kind of armor. But other birds…
hm, no, I guess you would be okay up here. Now, around Pallass we’ve got
some nasty fliers.”

“Ooh, like what?”

Bird leaned forwards. Bevussa ticked off species on her talons.

“Aside from the regular birds—that is to say, the ones that don’t have a
taste for meat or can’t shoot lightning? Well, southern Izril has Wyverns,
those are the big ones everyone knows about. Are they birds? Well, they’re
death in the air. One drops on you and you’re dead. But I can see a Wyvern
from miles away and they can’t maneuver at all. No, if I’m in the air I’m
watching out for Vaas Beils.”

“What are they? Are they birds?”

“I mean, if you want to be charitable, yeah. They’re these large freaks with
two sets of beaks—and teeth—that hunt out of clouds. Now, you’d think
they’re divers from how big they are, but they’re not. Instead they scream
with both beaks. It’s awful. It messes with your sense of direction and then
they’re on top of you.”

“Ooh. What do they taste like?”

Bevussa paused.

“I’ve never checked. I tend to stab them and let them drop. But I have tasted
the other bird I have to fight a lot. Starlings.”
“Starlings? What powers do they have?”

Bevussa laughed

“Powers? They’re not monsters. They’re just little black birds. I bet you’ve
seen them! Only, you’ve probably never seen a swarm of them before.”

“A swarm?”

Bird edged closer to the table. Bevussa nodded, grimacing as she ran a talon
down her beak.

“Worst things for any flier to run into. I had a group of Oldblood Drakes—
kids, really, barely able to get off the ground. And we were flying over a
forest when a swarm of starlings took offense. That’s the problem, see.
They’re usually not aggressive, but when there are monsters in the sky,
starlings learn to attack. And this lot went after us. Now, they’re tiny birds
like I said, but there were thousands of them attacking all of us, trying to
smash us on the ground. I barely got the Drakes down before the starlings
took us out of the sky, and I still have scars—hell, one of the Drakes nearly
lost an eye and I got blamed for the entire thing!”

Bevussa grimaced. Bird didn’t pay attention to her, though. He was

dreamily staring off into the distance.

“Thousands.”

“That’s right. And they’re not the only ones. A lot of birds learn to fight
against monsters. Or run. It’s the only way they survive being wiped out.
Ever seen a group of eagles take on a Wyvern? It’s not all about size in the
sky. And believe me, there’s a lot you ground folk never see.”

“Like what?”

“Hah! Where should I start? How much do you have time for?”

Bevussa leaned back flapping her wings dismissively. But Bird edged
closer. He fixed Bevussa with a pleading look.
“Everything. I want to hear everything.”

The Garuda woman stopped. She stared at Bird and saw in his eyes the
purest and deepest interest she’d ever seen. Slowly she sat forwards.

“Well, alright. If you want me to talk about the sky—well, I’m a Garuda but
I was born and raised by Drakes. They’re not good fliers, despite the
Oldblood thing, but I’ve heard stories all my life and my family took me to
the library. And I’ve met Garuda from Chandrar and they’ve got all the
tales.”

“Tales like what?”

“Oh, of the sky of course! Wyverns and local birds aside, there are legends
up there. Birds that hide behind clouds, special ones that only come out
when the rainbows shine! Birds that can go higher than the tallest mountain,
so high up they have to hold their breaths and fly with magic because the
air’s too thin! And yes—even birds that live in the water. Some you have to
fight, but others just…appear.”

“Appear? Like what?”

“Like, okay, there was this story I heard of a Garuda who got lost and found
himself flying over the sea. He had no idea where land was and he was
flying in circles, lower and lower, thinking he was going to fall and drown.
And then he saw the air move and realized that there was something flying
right beneath him! He looked down and saw something flash by. It went by
so fast that he never saw it, but the slipstream dragged him for over ten
miles, back towards the land!”

Bird sat transfixed, staring at Bevussa. He glanced out a window towards

the rainy sky.

“Was it a bird?”

Bevussa nodded.
“Apparently. He swears it was twice as large as he was and had red slashes
on its wings and a white body. And he’s not the only one who’s seen it.
Apparently this bird travels around Chandrar, and there was a time when a
bunch of Wistram Mages came to see if they could capture it. Hah, well,
they didn’t get the attention of that bird, but they did manage to piss off one
of the leviathans of the sky…”

She began talking. Telling Bird stories, some real, some made up, all told to
her during her childhood and as she’d swapped tales as adventurers. It was
strange. Bevussa had never met anyone else on the ground who loved tales
of the sky as she did, but in Bird she found a greater fascination than even
she had.

The Worker practically leaned over the table, drinking in every word she
spoke. And when Bevussa’s throat ran dry, there was Erin at last with a dark
lager and several bruises. Bevussa spoke for minutes, and then nearly two
hours before she had to sit back.

“Whew.”

“And? And? What bird is next?”

Bird bounced excitedly in his chair. Bevussa looked around. Erin was
cleaning up her mess behind the counter. The Garuda coughed. Her mug
was long empty.

“I’m a bit tired, Bird. Maybe let’s hold off on more stories? Hey Erin, can I
get a refill?”

She waved her mug. Erin turned.

“Coming! Damn, where did I put the lager barrel? Uh oh, I’m getting déjà
vu!”

Bird looked crestfallen. Bevussa felt bad, but she told herself not to fall for
the Antinium’s disappointment. That was how he’d gotten the last fifteen
tales out of her.
“I can always tell you a story later, Bird. And I’m sure the other adventurers
have a few tales.”

“But you are an expert.”

“Because I have wings? Well yeah—”

“No, because you are a bird.”

Bevussa paused. She stared at Bird and checked out her blue and green
plumage.

“Well, I guess if you want to be technical about it, Garuda are bird people.
But uh…we’re not birds.”

It was actually a sore point with Bevussa. She’d been teased growing up
and her species as a whole got too many bad bird jokes to count. No Garuda
liked being called a bird. But Bird the Worker only cocked his head.

“But Miss Bevussa, you have wings.”

“Yeah.”

“And you fly.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Does that not make you a bird?”

Bevussa’s eyelid twitched. She took a few breaths.

“There’s more to flying and wings, Bird. Or rather, there’s a difference

between—look, Garuda aren’t birds. We’re people! We’re not birds, just
like a bat isn’t a bird.”

The Antinium digested that for a moment.

“Bats aren’t birds?”

“No!”

“Why not? They have wings. And they fly.”

“Yeah, but—what about the moths?”

“The moth-birds?”

Bevussa stared at Bird. He stared back with purest certainty in his eyes.
Bevussa scrubbed a talon through her feathers and then looked at Erin.

“Make that two lagers, Erin!”

“You got it! I think. It’ll be there eventually!”

“Great.”

Bevussa turned back to Bird, shaking her head. Erin was a good [Innkeeper]
—probably the best one around Liscor, although she’d be in trouble if she
moved to Pallass and ran up against some of the good ones there. Still, she
was friendly, helpful, and she had a magic door. But her knowledge of
alcohol was distressing. She looked at Bird.

“You want anything? It’s my treat.”

“No, I am fine, thank you.”

Bird shook his head. As he did, he shifted and Bevussa saw that he was still
holding all of the goose feathers in his four hands. She had to point at them.

“Are you still holding those? What are they for, anyways?”

“For trading. I thought I could trade them.”

“To who?”

Bird pointed at Bevussa.

“You.”
The Garuda paused.

“For what?”

“Feathers.”

“Feath—”

And then Bevussa realized what Bird meant. She stared at her brilliant
feathers and then looked at the broken and worn feathers he held. She
wanted to laugh. But then she noticed how Bird looked at her feathers.

“You really like my feathers that much?”

“They are beautiful. I would trade all my pillows for one feather.”

Bird stared at Bevussa’s feathers. The Garuda preened a bit. She couldn’t
help it. She hesitated, and then did something she’d never done, even for
the rare Drakes she’d dated.

“I don’t think I need all your feathers, Bird. But I would be willing to trade
one feather for all the ones you’re holding.”

“You would?”

The Antinium looked at Bevussa. She nodded, seeing the shining light in
his gaze. Slowly, Bevussa reached for a stray feather she knew she’d lose
soon. She winced a bit as she plucked it, but then handed it to Bird.

It was slightly bent and not in good shape. But Bird instantly let go of the
feathers in his hands and pushed them towards Bevussa. He reached out
and, with trembling hands, accepted the feather. He held it up and stared at
it. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you like it?”

“It is wonderful.”
That was all Bird said. He held the feather up, staring at it. Bevussa
grinned.

“It’s yours. Think of it as a memento. From one lover of the skies to

another. Keep your other feathers. I uh, don’t want them.”

Bird looked up. He looked at Bevussa and then bowed his head.

“I will treasure it forever.”

And that was the magic of Bird. Bevussa had no doubt he would. She
turned as Erin approached with two tankards in hand.

“What’s that? Oh—Bird, did you ask Bevussa for a feather? Bevussa, you
didn’t have to give it to him!”

“I decided to, don’t worry, Erin.”

Bird protectively covered his feather as Erin sighed and put down the
tankards on the table.

“Thank you for telling Bird all those stories. I’m sorry Jelaqua hasn’t
appeared yet. I think she’s ogling dead Raskghar or something.”

The Garuda coughed and waved a talon.

“It’s no problem. I actually really enjoyed myself. And speaking of which

—”

She’d heard someone coming towards Erin’s regular door outside. Bevussa
turned expectantly and both Bird and Erin looked over. The door opened
and Relc stepped through.

“Hey everyone! I’ve got my day off at last! Anyone got any food?”

“Oh.”

Bevussa sighed. Erin smiled and Bird turned back to his feather. Relc
looked slightly hurt as he wandered over.
“Hey, it’s me!”

“Hi Relc!”

Erin smiled at the Drake. He grinned.

“How’s it going? Hey, is that uh…Bird? And you’re—hey Miss, don’t I

know you?”

The Drake grinned at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer gave him a polite
smile. Relc looked at Bevussa and then at Bird. His eyes widened.

“Hold on. This is the crazy one. And she’s—”

He pulled at Erin’s shoulder as she went to get him a drink. Bevussa

frowned as Bird studied her feather. She could hear Relc whispering loudly
to Erin as he pointed at her and Bird.

“Is that safe? Isn’t he like, y’know—”

Relc tapped the tide of his head. Erin smacked his arm down.

“Don’t be a jerk! He’s just Bird!”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?”

“What’s wrong with you meeting me, Bird?”

Bevussa looked at Bird. The Worker looked up.

“Miss Erin told me I am not allowed to bring my bow when I am around

you. She says that if I hit you, I will be in big trouble forever. I cannot shoot
at any of the Drakes either.”

“Hit us? Why would you—oh. They think you’ll shoot me because I’ve got
wings! Because…I’m a bird? Oh, come on!”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Bevussa smacked her head, then
wondered if Erin and the others were really that racist. Then again—she
glanced at Bird and realized their fears were well founded. The Antinium
nodded.

“You have wings. And you fly. Thus you are a bird. But Erin has explained
to me why I am not supposed to shoot you, so I will not. Unless you want
me to?”

He glanced at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer idly wondered what

would happen if she said yes. It could be funny. Then she recalled the image
of Bird sitting with a dozen dead monsters lying around him, feathered with
arrows. She sat up and looked Bird in the eye very deliberately.

“I would not like you to, Bird. Ever.”

“Okay, Miss Bevussa.”

“Glad we got that straightened out.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. Then she had another thought. She
glanced at Bird and smiled.

“I get the worry, but I can dodge arrows just fine. Even Halrac would have
trouble hitting me on the wing. Anyways, you’re an ant-man. Technically
you should be worried about me.”

Bird paused. He looked confused.

“Why would I worry about you, Miss Bevussa?”

The Garuda smiled.

“Well, I’m a bird. And you’re…an ant.”

“I am not an ant. I am an Antinium.”

“But you have a carapace.”

“Yes. But I am not an ant.”

“But you walk around.”

“Yes, but I am not an ant.”

“Are you sure? Ants walk around and they have carapaces. And just so you
know…I have been known to snack on ants.”

Bird froze. He stared at Bevussa and then looked down at his body. He
seemed to process Bevussa’s statement. Then he glanced at the bird woman
again. Nervously. Bevussa licked the edges of her beak. Bird stared at her
for a long moment and then edged away.

“I am not food.”

“Sure. And I’m not a bird.”

The two looked at each other. Then Bird stood up.

“I must go for reasons I have not come up with yet. Goodbye.”

He scurried towards the stairs, glancing behind him at Bevussa every few
steps. She grinned, and then felt a bit bad.

“I hope I didn’t scare him.”

Erin came over with a mug of her own lager. She tasted it and made a face.

“He’ll be fine. I think it’s a good lesson for Bird. Hey, you gonna drink your
beer? Because I’m not. This stuff tastes bad.”

Bevussa realized both of her drinks were in front of her, as yet untouched.
She shook her head and lifted her mug to her beak.

“He’s not what I expected an Antinium to be. But I like him. He’s a child,
but an adult. It—well, are all of them like him?”

“Not all. But they’re all a bit young and old at the same time.”
Erin stared sadly at Bird as he hurried up the stairs. He was clearly nervous,
but he held the feather like the most precious thing in the world. Like his
bow. The two women watched Bird disappear. Bevussa sat with her mug in
her hands, thinking of the Antinium Wars, of all the Workers that no doubt
lived in the Hives. She glanced at Erin. A hundred things raced through her
mind, questions, statements, very few of which would change anything that
was reality. She opened her mouth to choose one of them—

And a Drake slid into a seat next to Bevussa. Both she and Erin turned as
Relc appeared. The Drake gave Bevussa a huge grin and flexed his arm a
bit as he leaned over. He took a deep breath and then spoke in what he
thought was a seductive tone to Bevussa.

“Hey, baby. Did you drop out of the sky? Because you look like a bird of
paradise to me.”

He winked as he pointed two fingers at Bevussa. The Garuda stared at him,

drink tilted towards her beak. Part of it began dribbling down her front as
she and Erin just stared at Relc. He looked from face to face and then
turned away.

“Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have given all the good lines to Embria.”

He scuffed away. And Bird sat in his room. At first he hid in his fortress of
fluff, but then he was no longer afraid. He sat and grew sleepy, and when he
dreamed, it was not of Bevussa, but of the wondrous birds she’d described
flying through the sky. He dreamed he was flying too, flying with a gigantic
bow and shooting birds as large as clouds. And the green and blue feather
lay beneath Bird’s pillow, the most precious thing in the world.
 5.51 G

Day 9

She knew. Before the sun rose, Rags knew. It was a gaping hole in her
heart, a certainty of loss. It was fury and grief. And tears.

Goblins didn’t cry. It was a waste of water. But despite knowing that,
despite knowing that the Goblins clustered around her were watching their
Chieftain, she couldn’t stop. Nor could she explain the pain in her to her
anxious tribe.

She just knew, that was all. So she told them to search.

The first thing they did was run a check on the patrols. But nothing had
disturbed the camp’s perimeter during the night. So Rags told them to
search for something else. Pyrite, Redscar, Noears, Poisonbite, and the other
Hobs did just that. Dawn was just breaking when they realized someone
was missing.

Quietstab. There was nothing too unusual about that—Quietstab was a

[Rogue] and good at hiding. But he hadn’t turned up and he would have
with the entire camp abuzz with concern. That was when Rags knew.

She knew, but she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. So she told the
others to look for him. She busied herself with getting her camp packed up,
readying her tribe for the day’s march. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The other three tribes were rousing themselves as well. Tremborag’s

Mountain City tribe, Garen’s Redfangs, and of course the army of the
Goblin Lord, Reiss. Rags could see Goblins staring at her camp. They could
tell something was wrong, too. She saw Reiss’ warriors moving to relay that
information to a senior Hob, and Garen’s warriors watching with clear
confusion. But Tremborag’s Goblins were different.

They looked amused as Hobs and Goblins from Rags’ tribe started combing
the camp systematically. They gathered, a vast mass of Goblins, the only
group large enough to rival Reiss’ army, and watched and laughed. As if
they knew something.

Dark fear and suspicion wormed its way into Rags’ stomach. She knew, but
she didn’t want to put the pieces together. Not yet. The tears had stopped by
the time the first [Fireball] exploded overhead. It was time to move.

But Quietstab was still missing. Rags strode around her camp, watching
Reiss’ army take the lead and Garen’s small tribe begin to move as well.
Tremborag’s Goblins were still watching. And her tribe—

“Chieftain, orders?”

Noears looked slightly nervous as he glanced at the line of mounted

Humans beginning to approach from the south. More [Fireballs] were
exploding overhead, warning the Goblins to move or die. Rags knew that
the [Mages] would begin lobbing spells at them in minutes if they didn’t
move. But she knew.

“Not yet. Wait. Find Quietstab.”

The earless Goblin [Mage] hesitated, but he didn’t argue further. Rags saw
her Goblins glancing more and more rapidly at the coming Humans. Now
even Tremborag’s tribe, usually slowest of the four tribes, was moving. The
Humans were yet ten minutes away from reaching the spot where Rags
stood at the speed they were travelling, but they were in range of the
[Mage]’s spells. Any Goblins who got too close to the front line of
advancing riders would die.

And yet, Rags refused to move. She waited, watching the glittering line of
horses and humans draw closer. Her Goblins looked to her nervously. Now
they were alone, a small group of stationary Goblins compared to the mass
of marching Goblins ahead of them.

A spell exploded overhead, making Rags look up. She saw another spell—a
long, sinuous cloud of green smoke—twist over the heads of the Goblins. It
was shaped like a worm, but it had a Dragon’s face. It’s eyes were red and it
roared at the Goblins, although the sound was silent. Below it, the Goblins
backed away.

Poison. Or something close to it. The [Mages] were getting impatient. And
still, Rags didn’t move. She saw her warriors spreading outside her camp,
searching, calling out at each other. And then one group approached the
latrines. And stopped.

Rags saw the ripple go through the searching Goblins without the need for
words. The ones near the latrines waved their arms frantically as the Hob
recoiled, his entire posture displaying shock and horror. And grief. In an
instant, Pyrite was there. He stared down at something and then turned.
Rags was already riding towards him.

“Chieftain.”

He met her halfway. The other Goblins were converging on the spot. But
Pyrite blocked Rags’ Carn Wolf from going any further. She slid from the
saddle, but Pyrite gently blocked her.

“Chieftain.”

“Is Quietstab there?”

Pyrite nodded. He blocked Rags with one huge claw. Rags looked up at
him. Pyrite’s eyes were troubled. She took a breath.

“Bad?”

“Bad.”

“Show me.”
It was not an order. Pyrite hesitated, but then he moved aside. Rags strode
forwards, pushing Goblins aside. Since she was smaller than most, they had
to realize she was pushing them and move aside for her.

Goblins were crowded around the shallow ditch that was the latrines. Hobs,
warriors, all looking down. All silent. Rags pushed a Goblin aside. She
glanced down into the ditch and saw something lying down there. For a
second her eyes didn’t put together the strange form that was lying there. It
wasn’t dirt, or even a bad poo. It was green, twisted. It almost looked like
—

Rags recoiled. She stumbled away, her mind rejecting what it had seen. But
just as quickly, shock became certainty. Rags heard pounding feet. She saw
Poisonbite appear. The Goblin looked down and screamed in horror and
fury. Noears was there, his eyes wide. Pyrite just looked down, his gaze
finding the body that had been a Hob. Redscar rode forwards through the
ranks of Goblins. He took one look and drew his sword.

And Rags knew. She looked down into the pit that held a body. The form
bent, twisted. And the head had been turned around, snapped. But she
recognized the face. Quietstab looked up at her, his expression terrified.
Rags felt the empty spot in her heart.

But she had no time to look longer. She heard a scream and saw the
poisonous serpent was swooping lower. Now she could feel particles of the
gas spell drifting down, burning her eyes and skin. Pyrite blinked upwards
and turned. He didn’t wait for Rags to give an order.

“Run!”

The Goblins around him started. They took one look at the Humans
approaching and realized they were too close. They began to stream away
from the pit, taking one last look. Poisonbite had to be grabbed by Noears.
Redscar saluted the body with his sword, then rode away, shouting at the
Goblins to move.

“Chieftain.”
Pyrite stood next to Rags. He spoke urgently, but she couldn’t take her eyes
off the dead body. She didn’t move, even when Pyrite shook her. Only when
he lifted her up did she react. Pyrite effortlessly heaved Rags up and onto
the back of her Carn Wolf. He poked the wolf in the side and the animal
growled. Pyrite growled back and the Carn Wolf bounded after the Goblins.
Rags almost turned him back. Almost. But she didn’t have the strength to
look at the miserable form lying there.

Quietstab was dead. It had happened so suddenly. As they all slept. It didn’t
seem possible. It didn’t seem right. Yet Rags was certain she knew the
moment he had died. And then the shock gripping her faded. She asked the
second question that was growing louder in her head.

He had died. So someone had killed him. Who?

And she already knew the answer. It was obvious. Rags rode with her head
bowed, hearing more shouts as her tribe began to rush after the others. She
slowly, painfully put together the conclusion in her mind, checking it for
errors. But there were none. She rode at the head of her tribe, passing by her
Goblins, her people. They watched her anxiously. Because now they knew.

And then she looked up and saw him. He was marching in the center of his
tribe, head and shoulders taller than the others. By his side walked his Hob
liutenants, smug, wearing magical weapons and armor. And amid them was
Ulvama, her nearly bare skin painted with symbols. But Rags had only eyes
for Tremborag.

He was watching her. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain was looking at
her, at the Goblins in her tribe, watching as Pyrite ushered them forwards.
And then he looked at Rags as she slowed to stare at him.

Redscar drew up besides Rags. His sword was still bared. He peered at
Tremborag. Yes, it was obvious. Tremborag wasn’t trying to hide it. He
grinned with all his teeth, a massive face consumed with satisfaction and
malicious glee. And then he laughed.

There were tens of thousands of Goblins between him and Rags. An army,
his tribe. Enough Goblins to overwhelm her smaller tribe by sheer numbers.
And there he was, bloated, obscenely gloating. Rags glared at Tremborag.
He laughed at her and then said something. She could not hear him, far
away as they were and with the [Mage] spells roaring behind her. The roar
of her blood in her ears would have drowned it out. But she could read his
lips.

See, child? Do you see?

And she did see. Rags focused on Tremborag. Redscar grabbed her arm,
looking worried. But Rags had no eyes for him. She stared at Tremborag.
And she knew then that she would watch him die, or he would watch her.
And she would write that promise a hundred thousand times in blood if
need be. Rags lowered her head and Redscar relaxed. Then she grabbed her
sword and screamed.

—-

Reiss rode ahead, but he looked behind. At her. The small Goblin who was
somehow a child and adult as any Hob at the same time. Rags, the Chieftain
of the Flooded Waters tribe. He could scarcely believe it. She was only a
child, even by Goblin standards. But she was a Chieftain, and her tribe
impressed him. If she had been born at the same time he and Garen had,
would she have become…?

No, not necessarily. Reiss shook his head. There was more to a Goblin Lord
than just the size of a tribe. But there was something in Rags that hinted at
that potential. It was raw, and she was too young. But Reiss thought he saw
it. It gave him hope, or it had. But today, Reiss was guilty.

He had watched Rags’ tribe moving about in confusion as dawn broke. All
the Goblins had. They could sense the trouble in the Flooded Waters tribe,
even if they didn’t know the reason. But Reiss did. He watched in silent
agony as Rags sent patrols searching her camp, and then as they found the
latrine where Quietstab lay.
It wasn’t hard to understand why none of the other Goblins had spotted him
in the early morning. They had all been asleep, and the pit was hardly a
place where Goblins would investigate normally. But they found him. After
that shock spread through their tribe. Shock and grief.

And rage. Reiss sat on the back of the undead shield spider, watching Rags.
She was fixed on Tremborag. So she’d put together who was responsible.
That wasn’t hard. What came next was important, though. Reiss forced
himself to watch; he couldn’t reveal that he knew what had happened. Not
yet.

Rags was very still as she sat on the back of her Carn Wolf. Reiss could see
her looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain was laughing, surrounded by
his warriors. And why not? It didn’t matter if Rags knew. His tribe was a
sprawling mass of marching Goblins, lacking the discipline of Reiss’ black
armored warriors, but too many to count. And he knew it.

There was another Goblin riding next to Rags. Small, not a Hob, but one of
her lieutenants. Reiss tried to remember his name, but couldn’t. He saw the
Goblin arguing with Rags, pulling at her arm. Reiss watched, a lump
churning in his stomach. But Rags was too still. She lowered her head. And
then she grabbed her sword and tried to charge.

“No. Stop her!”

The Hobs, Reiss’ personal escort, looked up at their lord in confusion. Reiss
forced himself not to move. His claws dug into the palm of his hand as he
watched. The other Goblin—Redscar?—seized Rags before she could
charge at Tremborag. Rags fought him, but he was clearly strong and he
shouted for help.

Hobs grabbed the Carn Wolf and slowed it. The fat Hob who knew too
much, Pyrite, ran forwards. He knocked Rags from the saddle. She fought
him and Redscar, screaming, though she was too far away for Reiss to hear.
Her tribe encircled their Chieftain. And Tremborag and his Goblins watched
the entire thing and laughed.
Reiss lowered his head. He felt sick, but at least Rags wouldn’t charge to
her death. He’d wondered what her reaction would be. And it had been
genuine. Reiss turned in his saddle and looked around.

The other Goblins could hardly miss what had occurred. They were
glancing back at Rags’ tribe, clearly confused. Reiss turned and called,
fighting the nausea.

“Snapjaw!”

One of the Goblins riding ahead of him turned. Snapjaw rode her horse
towards Reiss. He eyed the ground and leapt from the back of his Shield
Spider, landing with a grunt.

“Lord? Trouble?”

Snapjaw looked wary as she peeked at Rags’ tribe. Reiss shrugged. He

glanced back at Rags’ tribe, pretending again not to know.

“Go to the Flooded Water tribe. Ask what is happening.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Snapjaw turned her mount and whistled. Immediately, several of the

Goblins under her command—Goblins who’d mastered horseback riding—
joined her. She raced back towards Rags’ tribe. Reiss knew it would take
her a while to come back. He looked at the mindless Shield Spider, moving
forwards blindly. He didn’t want to ride it and pretend in front of all of his
tribe. So instead he looked around and made eye contact with one of his
Hobs.

“Take me to her.”

The Hob nodded. He poked his companion and conferred. Then he pointed
through the crowd of Goblins. Reiss nodded. He followed the Hob as the
Goblins parted for their Lord.

There was no need for Reiss to say which ‘her’ he meant. The Goblin Lord
walked through the ranks of his tribe, trying to smile at his subjects as they
looked to him for reassurance, strength. He reached for something in his
pocket, hunched his shoulders. He saw a group of burly Hobs part in front
of him. And then he saw her.

Osthia Blackwing was marching in the center of the ranks of Hobs. Her
wings were bound, but both her hands and legs were free. She’d insisted on
it. She’d told Reiss plainly that if she had to sit in a covered wagon all day,
she would bite her tongue off. So he’d let her walk.

“You.”

The Drake looked up and met Reiss’ eyes challengingly, as she did every
time they met. Reiss nodded.

“Me.”

He glanced at the Hobs surrounding them.

“Give us space. Warn me if anyone approaches.”

They nodded and spread out, forming a bubble of space around him and
Osthia. Reiss waited until they were all clear, and then outlined a space in
his mind. He whispered.

“[Silent Air].”

Instantly, the world went quiet. The sounds of the Goblins marching, of
metal touching metal, even the sound of the wind itself—vanished. Reiss
and Osthia walked in a bubble of silence. The Drake looked around and
then at Reiss.

“Worried someone will hear you?”

“Yes.”

The Drake blinked. It was still slightly amusing to Reiss how she reacted
when he told her the truth. But Goblins almost never lied to each other and
Reiss lied only when he had to. The Goblin Lord sighed.
“What’s happening?”

Osthia glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what had occurred with
the Flooded Waters tribe, but she was sharp enough to pick up on the
reactions of the Goblins around her. Reiss even thought she’d picked up a
few words of the Goblin’s dialect. He shook his head.

“Tremborag killed a Hob from Rags’ tribe. Last night. They found the body
this morning.”

The Drake went still as she processed that. Her eyes flicked to Reiss’ face,
and then she craned her neck, trying to see over the Hob’s heads. That was
impossible. Her wings flexed a bit in their constraints.

“I see. Tremborag’s the huge Hob you showed me. And Rags is—the small
one?”

“Yes.”

“What’s she doing about it?”

“Nothing. Yet. She tried to charge his tribe alone when she found out.”

Osthia snorted contemptuously.

“Idiot.”

Reiss ignored that comment. After a moment, the Drake glanced at him.

“Well? What are you going to do? I assume that this Tremborag violated
some kind of Goblin law, didn’t he?”

“It was not good. But there aren’t any ‘laws’ against it. His tribe will
celebrate it and the other tribes will be furious. Especially the Flooded
Waters tribe.”

“Which is…?”

“Rags’ tribe.”
“Ah. So they’ll want revenge. So what will you do? Unless you’re coming
to me for advice.”

The Oldblood Drake glanced sidewise at Reiss. She was his enemy. And
she hated him, but she hated his master more. That made them unlikely
allies; Osthia would help Reiss, if only so that she could survive and escape
when the time was right. Reiss had consulted her for advice, and the Drake
had good ideas, even if she lied to him more often then she told the truth.
Reiss shrugged, knowing she was trying to find out everything she could
from him.

“I will do nothing until Snapjaw comes back and tells me Quietstab is

dead.”

“Why would she do that?”

Reiss turned his head slowly to regard Osthia.

“Because I do not know Quietstab is dead and that Tremborag murdered

him. Rags knows just now. I knew last night.”

The Drake frowned. Her brows snapped together.

“You knew? How?”

For a second Reiss debated not telling Osthia. It was a risk. But he—the
knowledge burned in his gut. He felt guilty, so against his better judgment,
he confessed.

“I watched him die. I could have stopped it. But I did not. Because one
Hob’s death will help me save tens of thousands of lives.”

Osthia’s eyes widened. For a moment she was surprised. But then contempt
replaced surprise. She was not shocked. It was almost a relief. She had no
expectations of Reiss.

“I see. You were there?”

“Invisible. I watched it happen. It was a necessity. It will make Rags’ tribe
and my army allies.”

It was an excuse. And it was the truth. But sometimes it felt like he was
becoming more like his master with each passing day. Reiss closed his eyes
for a second. When he opened them, Osthia was still looking at him with
narrowed eyes.

“I see. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Goblins
betray even their allies, it seems. Just like your race.”

For some reason, that nettled Reiss. He looked over at Osthia.

“My kind does not sacrifice their own. I learned that from Drakes. I studied
your wars. You send a hundred to hold a gap and know they will die. You
kill your own for advantage, just like me. I did not learn such things from
Goblins.”

He regarded Osthia coldly, basking in his anger for a moment. The Drake
bristled, and her manacled wings stirred with anger.

“Drakes—our leaders know when sacrifice is necessary. But that doesn’t

mean—”

“Spare me.”

Reiss turned his head. He heard Osthia inhale and altered his spell. The
world around him grew silent for a minute. Reiss was alone with his
thoughts. He bowed his head.

Quietstab had died in front of him. He had been there, on a nightly errand
when he’d seen Tremborag stalking the Hob. He had watched the
confrontation. The rapid murder had surprised him. But he could have
stopped it. If he had so much as raised his voice or revealed himself,
Tremborag would have retreated. If he had cast a spell—

He hadn’t. Reiss was sure, quite sure, that even his best spell wouldn’t kill
Tremborag outright. He was a [Necromancer] and lacked the raw power of
other [Mage] classes. So he had let Quietstab die because it would benefit
his tribe, convince Rags to ally with him. It was necessary. But it was such
a Human thing to do. Reiss felt the guilt gnawing at him. What was he
doing. Was he really becoming—

He saw a flicker of movement and turned his head. Osthia punched Reiss.
He staggered and saw a Hob roar soundlessly and charge Osthia. The
Goblin Lord raised a claw and dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell.

“Stop!”

The Hob skidded to a halt before he could slam into Osthia. The Drake was
ready. She glared at Reiss as he rubbed his cheek. That had hurt. But it was
no less than he deserved. And he’d forgotten how touchy Drakes could be.

“Leave us.”

The Hob hesitated, and then moved back, giving Osthia the evil eye. Reiss
reapplied his silencing spell and then looked at Osthia.

“Punch me again and I can’t guarantee my Hobs won’t seek revenge.”

The Drake sneered.

“All they do is poke me with sticks. Ignore me again and I’ll hit you
somewhere else.”

“Fine.”

Reiss looked around. He couldn’t see over the top of the tall Hobs he’d
selected to screen Osthia from sight, but he knew that Snapjaw would be
returning any moment with the dire news. Reiss shook his head.

“So you’re going to use this to tie that little Goblin’s tribe to you. What next
after that?”

Osthia looked at Reiss. He glanced at her, and then sighed. His shoulders
felt heavy. But cold certainty filled him.
“He killed her subordinate. So I will help her bring him down. As allies.”

The Drake’s eyes widened. Reiss nodded. It was time. Whatever the
Humans had planned, it would surely mean the end of his tribe. But if he
could face them with combined forces—

Garen was an obstacle, but his tribe was small. Tremborag was the real
threat. If he fell, his tribe would splinter. That was Reiss’ chance. The Great
Chieftain had to die. Somehow.

That reminded Reiss. He fished in his pocket and pulled something out. He
turned and offered it to Osthia. She blinked down at the thing he was
holding.

“Here. I made it at last.”

It was a ring, a white band of wood. It had been carved carefully and it
shone in the daylight. Osthia hesitated. Reiss pushed it at her.

“Take it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Take it. I told you what it does. I didn’t lie.”

The Drake suspiciously took the ring. She turned it over, although Reiss
knew she had no ability to detect magic.

“If you enchanted it with anything but what you said—”

Reiss nearly growled. That was the problem with Drakes. They were touchy
and suspicious.

And kind. Some of them could be—he growled, pushing the memories
back.

“I did not. Put it on or I will make you wear it.”

Osthia glared at him, but she slipped the ring on with ill grace. She blinked
at the ring.

“It’s a perfect fit.”

“Obviously. It was made for you.”

The Goblin Lord sighed. He shook his head as Osthia growled. Maybe he
should have made a necklace. He’d forgotten how touchy Drakes and
Humans were about rings on fingers. Didn’t it mean something when they
put it on a certain finger? Oh well. He dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell a
second time and heard the hubbub around him. Snapjaw must have
returned. The Goblin Lord glanced at Osthia.

“I must go now.”

“Don’t stay on my account.”

Osthia growled. Her face was irritated, but her tail curled up a bit, betraying
her true emotions. Reiss had learned to read Drake’s emotions in their tails.
He pretended to be scratching an itch as he read her body language. She
was lonely. Lonely, bored, and…worried. For him?

Of course not. Reiss nodded.

“I will let you know what happened tonight. Or sooner if Rags wishes to
talk.”

“Yes, yes. Go away.”

The Drake turned her head. Reiss nodded to her and turned. The Hobs
parted before him and closed, creating a wall of black armor. Reiss strode
back through his tribe. Snapjaw was waiting for him, anxiety clearly written
on her face. In response, Reiss quickened his footsteps. But only half of his
mind was on the act. As he moved, he raised his right claw and pressed a
fingertip to his temple.

Master? Are you there?

He heard nothing. As usual. Reiss held the connection open, waiting. But
there was no response. At last, Reiss lowered his hand. He met Snapjaw and
Eater of Spears as they came to him. He became Reiss, the honest Goblin
Lord. He was shocked, enraged, and then concerned. He sent Snapjaw back
to speak with Rags, played his part so well that for a moment he really was
burning with righteous fury. But that faded as Reiss climbed onto the back
of his Shield Spider. Thereafter he sat, half miserable, half calculating as he
studied the other tribes.

All the Goblins were marching. Reiss’ army moved ahead smoothly,
although he could sense the ripples spreading as the Goblins told each other
what had happened. There was shock, anger, sympathy—but generally, the
Goblins just kept marching. They knew there would be battle with
Tremborag’s tribe in time, and Quietstab’s death changed nothing. It had
just happened.

The other tribes reacted differently, though. Garen’s warriors rode ahead of
Tremborag’s forces, back straight with fury and indignation. Some were
arguing, but the ones around Garen Redfang were deathly quiet. Sullen.
They stared at their Chieftain’s back and Reiss could almost hear their
thoughts. Again, the pride and warrior spirit that Garen had taught them
went at odds with their alliance with Tremborag. Some were even glancing
at Rags’ tribe now and then. That was unexpected. And promising.

And Rags’ tribe? Well, they marched fast, catching up with Reiss’ forces.
Their postures were tense, their expressions dark. They were furious. Reiss
saw some pausing to poop in the path of Tremborag’s tribe, but the rest just
kept moving, because there was no other option.

And Tremborag’s tribe marched in the rear, as always. They laughed, in the
best of spirits and their Great Chieftain was loudest of them all. He walked
amid his Goblins, proud to have killed his fellow Goblins. Reiss watched
him, thinking dark thoughts. He promised himself it would be soon. He told
himself that it was necessary. But he still couldn’t forget Quietstab’s gasp
and the sound in the night. Reiss lowered his head.

Some days he wondered if Garen was right. But he had come too far to stop
now. Reiss waited for his moment. He waited and waited and watched
Rags. Waiting for her to see what had to be done.

—-

Tremborag was laughing. His huge voice boomed across the heads of his
tribe as he laughed. He was eating and drinking as he walked. His feet hurt
and he considered using a healing potion. But though the Great Chieftain
normally resented being forced to march with a burning hatred, he was in
good spirits. He chewed on the salted beef and drank wine, feeling some
run onto his chest.

“Look at them run! Cowards! Weaklings!”

He bellowed, pointing at Rags’ tribe. They were moving ahead of his tribe,
marching fast. The Goblins around Tremborag laughed and jeered as well.
They all knew what had happened last night and they were all happy.

Well, most. Some who knew Quietstab hadn’t been pleased. But Tremborag
didn’t care. A traitor was a traitor and ending that wretched Hob’s life had
shown everyone the truth. Sit-abouts? Working together? It was all
meaningless. This was all that mattered. Defeating your enemy. Crushing
them. Hurting them. The slave Goblin Lord, Garen, Rags—they could all
see the truth. Tremborag felt his spirits rise.

“Look at them, running to hide behind the Goblin Lord. They’ll hide in
their camp tonight. Plot and scheme like the—the cowards they are.
Conspire with that slave who pretends to be a Goblin Lord. Pretend to be
friends. Hah!”

Spittle flew from Tremborag’s mouth, spraying the Goblins in front of him.
He could see Ulvama flinching out of the way. His [Chief Shaman] looked
displeased as Tremborag waved her closer. The Hob continued, reaching for
another wine flask as he walked forwards.
“The Goblin Lord will probably take the child’s tribe in. Only, she won’t be
his Chieftain. She’ll be his puppet. He pretends to be concerned with the
good of Goblins. A kingdom? Peace with Humans and Drakes? There is no
peace. There is no working together. There is only killing your enemies.
Redfang should know that. Where is he?”

Tremborag looked around vacantly. Garen’s tribe was marching far ahead of
them and to the left, keeping pace with Reiss’ forces. Tremborag scowled.

“Fool. If he was half the warrior he claimed to be, he would have slain his
traitors already. Ulvama, bring him here. And give me a healing potion.”

The [Shaman] made a face.

“Great Chieftain, Garen Redfang is angry.”

“So?”

“He will not come. And we have only a few hundred healing potions after
—”

Tremborag turned and Ulvama flinched. The Hobs around him drew back
warily.

“Redfang. Healing potion.”

The Great Chieftain’s crimson eyes flashed. Ulvama nodded rapidly. She
beckoned and a Goblin raced over with a healing potion. Tremborag
fumbled with it, watching as a group of Goblins were sent racing ahead to
summon Garen Redfang. He noticed Rags’ tribe had slowed their pace
somewhat.

The small Chieftain had actually tried to charge him. Tremborag had nearly
died of laughter when that happened. If she had tried to attack with her
tribe, he would have been only too happy to rip her apart. Her tribe was a
speck compared to his. Her fancy pikes and crossbows were useless against
his warriors. She’d even deployed her pikes to her rear, as if she was afraid
he’d charge her. That was an amusing idea. Maybe he should try that.
For a second Tremborag contemplated the thought, but he knew that would
be a mistake. Killing Quietstab was one thing, but if it came to a battle,
Reiss and the damned Humans would intervene. But if he could send
Ulvama or one of his stealthier Goblins to pick off another of Rags’
lieutenants…and what could she do about it?

Tremborag was so caught up with the idea that he didn’t notice that Rags’
tribe was slowing even further. Only when he noticed the gap between them
was shortening from a few hundred paces to less than a hundred did he
frown. He saw the back of Rags’ Goblins with pikes marching ahead of
him. Tremborag raised a lazy arm, about to order his tribe to push the
Goblins forwards faster. And then he heard a shout.

The back rank of Rags’ forces turned. The lines of Goblins with pikes
turned to face Tremborag’s oncoming tribe. And then the pikes lowered. A
wall of spikes faced Tremborag’s front ranks. The Goblins froze, and the
ones behind bumped into them. Tremborag halted. His jaw opened. What
was—

“Loose!”

He heard a scream ahead of him. Then he saw a flicker run through the
Goblins behind the ones with pikes. A black hail flew up from the ranks of
Goblin’s tribe, and then fell towards Tremborag’s tribe. He gaped as they
struck the Goblins in front of him. He saw a Hob raise a hand, and then jerk
as one of the black shapes struck him. The Hob blinked down at the
crossbow bolt that had impaled itself through his hand. And then more bolts
were failing, like rain—

Tremborag looked about wildly as he heard Goblins screaming. His tribe

froze in their tracks and his celebrating warriors grabbed for their shields,
tried to back away. All around Tremborag was chaos, confusion. Disbelief.
This couldn’t be happening! But it was.

They were under attack. The first deadly rain of crossbow bolts left
hundreds wounded or dead. But before Tremborag could blink, the Goblins
with crossbows had reloaded and sent another arc of deadly missiles into
the air! Tremborag blinked as more fell around him, and then felt a stinging
pain in his shoulder. He looked down and saw an arrow had penetrated his
shoulder. It had barely gotten through the first layer of his fat, but the pain
woke him up. He gawked at Rags. Then he roared.

“Kill them!”

His warriors flinched and came out of their trance of stupefaction. They
surged across the grass and churned up soil towards Rags’ forces, roaring. A
wave of crossbow bolts cut down the advancing Goblins. And then the
pikes were there. Rags’ pikes charged the first rank of Tremborag’s warriors
and skewered them. The twenty-foot long pikes impaled Goblins, knocked
others off their feet. And what few Goblins made it past the jabbing, deadly
tips found Hobs and Goblin warriors waiting for them. Tremborag saw his
warriors backing away as the second rank met the same fate as the first.
Rags’ pikes advanced, threateningly.

But they didn’t go further than a dozen steps before they suddenly retreated.
The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe planted themselves firmly in the
ground, pikes raised, Hobs fighting or loosing arrows among the smaller
Goblins. And the crossbows fired again, and then again, reloading and
sending hundreds, over a thousand bolts into the air each time. Tremborag
roared in fury.

“Push into them! Cowards! Push!”

He whirled as his Hobs tried to force the Goblins in front of them to charge
into certain death. Tremborag took a huge breath and bellowed.

“Ulvama!”

The [Shaman] was there in an instant. Tremborag pointed.

“Break their pikes!”

The female Hob nodded. She grabbed her staff and strode forwards,
protected by two Hobs with massive tower shields. She raised her staff and
aimed at the front rank of pikes, perhaps to enchant Tremborag’s warriors or
destroy the pikes directly. Either way, she never got the chance to cast. As
she raised her staff, a bolt of lightning shot towards her. Tremborag saw
Ulvama’s eyes widen and she swept her staff up.

The jagged lightning curved up and Ulvama screeched and threw herself to
the ground as the bolt earthed itself just past her. Tremborag saw a Goblin
standing amid Rags’ tribe. He threw another bolt of lightning that blasted
one of the Hobs and sent the smoldering body crumbling to the ground.

“Kill that mage!”

Tremborag roared, but his Goblins were in disarray. They finally managed
to loose arrows of their own, but by that time the Goblin had disappeared.

“Chieftain! What do we do?”

One of Tremborag’s lieutenants screamed at him. The Great Chieftain

snarled and backhanded the Hob. He bellowed so his entire tribe could hear
him.

“Advance! Kill the traitors! Any Goblin who runs I will kill myself!”

Slowly, his warriors advanced. They battled the pikes, pushing forwards
slowly. Tremborag whirled and ordered his archers forwards. Now his
Goblins began exchanging arrows with Rags’ crossbows. And yet, his
advance was stymied once again by his warrior’s pragmatism.

It was one thing to loose arrows back at the other Goblins, but charge into a
wall of pike tips? Tremborag bellowed and struck his Hobs, but even they
couldn’t motivate his warriors to pay the price in blood to take the pikes.
And the Great Chieftain wasn’t willing to stay within range of the
crossbows. Five had already struck him and the lightning mage had sent
two bolts at Tremborag that Ulvama had barely deflected. So Tremborag
took the only other option he could think of.

“Shields up! Archers, kill them!”

Thousands of Goblins with bows raced into place behind Tremborag’s

warriors with shields. They began loosing thousands of arrows. At last,
Tremborag saw Rags’ tribe begin to waver. His tribe didn’t have the
disciplined ranks of crossbows, but they outnumbered Rags’ forces
practically ten to one. Rags’ warriors started falling as arrows showered
them. Slowly, they began to pull back.

“Kill them! Cover them with arrows and slaughter them by the thousand!”

Tremborag was howling with glee. He could see Rags’ tribe faltering as his
massive tribe began to outrange them in the archery duel. The Great
Chieftain was impatient, pacing behind the lines of his stationary Goblin
warriors. He would kill her for this. That child dared to attack him? He’d
break her tribe and send his warriors to claim her. Alive. Garen thought she
was smart? She was a fool. She’d attacked the wrong foe. No matter what
she did, there was no way she could win—

The Great Chieftain felt the heat before the screams. He turned and saw the
gout of flame a moment before the burning wheel of flames engulfed a
group of Goblins at his rear. Tremborag blinked. Then a [Fireball] blasted
apart another section of Goblins, sending burning body parts flying. He saw
a glowing comet smash into his warriors. At the back.

The back? But how had Rags’ tribe done that? Tremborag’s face went slack
for a moment. And then he realized what was happening. Slowly, he looked
up and saw the Humans. They were approaching from the north, a line of
riders. And mages. They were the ones lobbing spells at him, forcing the
Goblins to move. Only, they couldn’t move. And so the Humans had
stopped firing warning shots. Now the spells were striking his tribe.

Tremborag saw a serpent made of poisonous gas descend on his back ranks
as more spells began striking his warriors. He stared at Rags’ tribe,
hunkered down in their path. They were fighting, holding his warriors at
bay, firing their crossbows. And meanwhile, the Humans were blasting
apart Tremborag’s rear.

—-
“That is strategy.”

Reiss eyed the two battling tribes with something akin to awe. Not at the
plan, but the daring of it. The way it worked. Rags’ tribe was holding
Tremborag’s in place, less than ten thousand facing Tremborag’s full army.
They would perish in a moment in a pitched battle. But all they had to do
was stall Tremborag for a few minutes. Already the Humans were blasting
Tremborag’s rearguard apart.

And she’d done it herself. Without speaking to him. Within two hours of
Quietstab being discovered. Was she mad or overconfident? Or—

Reiss’ forces had stopped marching. So had Garen’s. Both tribes were
watching the conflict to the north. Reiss stood with his two top lieutenants,
Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. He turned to them.

“She’s slowing him down. And the Humans are chewing him apart from
behind. They’re willing to kill a few thousand Goblins to force Tremborag
to move.”

Snapjaw looked impressed. Her jaw was open slightly, revealing her
metallic rows of teeth. But Eater of Spears looked worried. He shook his
head and rumbled.

“It is a bad idea. Tremborag has no choice but to advance.”

Snapjaw glanced up at Eater of Spears, surprised he’d said anything. But he

was right. Reiss looked back at the conflict and nodded slowly.

“They’re going to be overrun. Unless they retreat.”

It was true. Despite the pikes, Tremborag’s warriors were pushing forwards,
realizing that there was no safety in staying still. Reiss saw several points in
Rags’ rear opening up. But before Tremborag’s forces could overwhelm her,
he heard a horn blow. Instantly, Rags’ tribe began moving again.

“They’re running!”
Snapjaw’s addition to the commentary was to point out the obvious. The
female Hob hopped up and down, watching anxiously as Rags’ tribe
disengaged. They retreated, running after Reiss and Garen’s forces. Thanks
to Rags’ [Fleet Foot] Skill, they outdistanced Tremborag’s desperate
Goblins.

“They’ll have to run fast. Tremborag will chase.”

Eater of Spears frowned, eying Rags’ tribe. Reiss nodded. If she’d wanted
to anger the Great Chieftain and give him a bloody wound, she’d done it.
But she’d have to run fast. He began calculating her trajectory, wondering if
he should put his tribe between hers and Tremborag’s.

“He has to get free of the Humans, first. No time for fighting.”

“Mm.”

Tremborag’s tribe was moving as more spells rained on them from behind.
They surged forwards, following Rags’ tribe. Reiss saw both groups of
Goblins coming at him like a green wave—and then Rags’ tribe halted
again. They turned, and he saw the small Chieftain raise her sword.

“Is she—”

The Goblins with crossbows raised their weapons and loosed another wave
of bolts. Then they turned and kept running. Tremborag’s forces wavered as
the crossbow bolts landed among them. Some tried to return fire, but they
were still under attack from behind! And the sudden attack had slowed
them. Rags’ tribe ran for another fifty feet with ease. They turned, bent to
reload their crossbows, and fired again.

“Hm. Good plan.”

Eater of Spears grunted approvingly. Reiss just watched. Rags was fighting
on the move! That too wasn’t surprising as a tactic, but—he focused on the
small Goblin. What was she doing? Was she really trying to kill
Tremborag’s entire tribe? She couldn’t. It was impossible. And yet, the
small Goblin turned and waved her sword again and again, and her tribe
continued loosing quarrels. And Tremborag’s Goblins had no choice but to
advance and die or die.

—-

“Loose!”

Rags screamed the word at her warriors. She pointed, and saw the
crossbows rise. Her Goblins cocked their crossbows, slapped bolts into
place, and fired. Then they turned and ran after her as she wheeled her Carn
Wolf and raced forwards.

It was a rhythm, a deadly rhythm that sang in sync with her heart. Stop,
turn, loose, and run again. Rags pointed at Tremborag as his warriors surged
towards her tribe, ignoring the sporadic arrows flying towards her tribe and
screamed.

“Kill him!”

A hundred crossbow strings snapped in agreement. The bolts soared up and

fell around Tremborag. Rags saw him raise a huge hand to shield his face
and roar in fury. She saw a dozen bolts strike him, but none penetrated
deeply. They were too far away, the crossbows were too weak, and he was
too big. But he was hurt. Rags raised her own crossbow and fired.

The arrow shot up and arced toward Tremborag’s face. At the last moment
it snapped in midair. Rags saw a Hob with a staff pointing and recognized
her. Ulvama waved her staff urgently, chanting. Rags growled as she waved
her staff.

The spell the [Shaman] cast made Tremborag and the Goblins around him
flicker and turn hazy. Rags saw multiple Tremborag’s appear and then felt
her eyes slide away as he became a green, indistinct blob. The Goblins with
crossbows around her wavered; it was hard to even look in his direction.
“Move!”

Rags ordered them. Her tribe ran, turned, and loosed. This time they aimed
at Tremborag’s front ranks. More Goblins fell. Rags heard them screaming.
She didn’t care. Her blood was on fire. It was only when she heard a shout
that she looked up and saw the falling fireball.

This was no ordinary fireball, the size of a torso, or even a [Grand Fireball],
which was a ball of roiling flames as tall as a Human in every direction.
This was like a second sun. Rags had seen it once before. It was falling
towards her tribe, almost lazily. Her eyes widened.

“Run, run!”

Her tribe ran, scattering before the fireball could land. When it did, the
explosion kicked Rags in the back and made her Carn Wolf howl in pain.
She looked back, wondering if it was a missed spell. But then she saw more
spells falling from above. The Humans were beginning to lob spells at her
warriors now as well.

“Chieftain! We have to run!”

Redscar pulled up beside Rags. He was staring at the sky. Rags knew he
was right. She turned and waved at her tribe.

“Run fast! Fastest! Don’t look back!”

The Goblins hesitated, but Rags urged them onwards. She kept her eyes on
the sky, and Redscar’s mounted warriors did the same. They screamed
orders and the tribe split to avoid the falling spells. Rags rode with them,
racing ahead. Reiss’ army was on the march and as soon as they drew close
to them, the spells stopped falling. Rags turned and saw Tremborag’s tribe
was running in their wake, also free from attack for the moment.

“Humans saw what we were doing.”

Noears gasped as he jogged over, his face sweaty. Rags nodded. She looked
around and saw her tribe was gasping for air. All of them were tired and
many were hurt. She looked back and saw a trail of bodies behind her. For a
second she felt numb. Then she looked up and saw Tremborag’s tribe.

They were hurt. But he was still there. Rags glamced at the huge Hob who
was running, bellowing at his Goblins to move faster. Then she turned as
she heard a commotion from the front.

“Chieftain! Goblin Lord coming!”

Poisonbite shouted. Rags nodded. She saw Pyrite wearily approaching from
the rear, holding a wounded Goblin and waved at him. The Hob laid the
Goblin with an arrow in his leg on a wagon and strode forwards.

“Rags.”

Reiss rode towards her on his headless, undead Shield Spider with Snapjaw
and Eater of Spears flanking him. He stared at Rags for a moment as if he’d
never seen her before, and then looked at Tremborag’s approaching forces.

“You attacked him.”

“He killed Quietstab.”

“I know.”

Reiss nodded slowly. He looked at Rags.

“But you attacked him.”

She nodded.

“Because he killed Quietstab.”

Reiss stared at her. After a moment he nodded uncertainly. Rags nodded as

well, conscious of the eyes on her. That was all there was to it. He killed
Quietstab and so he had to pay.

“You bloodied him. He won’t forgive that easily.”

“So?”

The question threw Reiss. He glanced at Tremborag’s tribe again, and then
at the Humans.

“So you can’t attack him. The Humans will force you to stop.”

“Stop? Why? This is not stopped. This is waiting.”

Rags glared at Reiss. He opened his mouth, flicking his eyes to her, then to
Pyrite, Redscar, and the others. They all stared at him silently.

They weren’t going to stop. Not until Tremborag was dead. Why would
they stop? He killed Quietstab. One Hob, yes. One Goblin. But he had been
of Rags’ tribes. He had been her subordinate, her trusted aide and
lieutenant, even if he wasn’t the greatest of them. He had been her friend.
And he was dead. So she would kill Tremborag or die trying. It was a
simple as that.

Her tribe understood all of this without Rags having to say it, but Reiss
didn’t seem to. He opened his mouth again and his black eyes fixed on
Rags’ face.

“What will you do?”

“Keep marching, stupid.”

The answer made Reiss frown in vexation and Snapjaw grind her teeth, but
Rags was in no mood to bandy words. She turned and pointed at Pyrite.

“Get wounded in wagons. Ready to march. Use healing potions on bad hurt
—so not die. Not full heal. Get food and ready rear. We march fast, ahead of
Mountain City tribe. Get more bolts for crossbows and get ready.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Another fight, Chieftain?”

“Not now. Tonight. He dies tonight.”

Reiss inhaled sharply. Rags ignored him. She looked around.

“Redscar, Pyrite, Noears. Can you win if fight?”

They hesitated. Poisonbite bristled, but Rags ignored her. Pyrite looked
back at Tremborag. He shrugged.

“Probably not.”

“Chieftain Rags. Are you serious?”

Rags turned and stared at Reiss. The look in her eyes was all the answer she
needed to give. She turned back.

“How many Hobs you need? Or Redfangs?”

Noears glanced at Redscar. The warrior was frowning and checking the
edge of his blade. Noears shrugged.

“Lots. Tremborag is strong. Saw him kill six Hobs in a fight once. When he
gets big, too strong? Need Pyrite to hit hard. Or Redscar stab in eyes?”

The mounted Goblin nodded.

“Good plan.”

Rags nodded slowly.

“Lots of Hobs, then. And get free of others. Poisonbite and I will hold off
others. Have to kill fast. Surprise attack.”

“Chieftain Rags.”

She turned and glared at Reiss. He was staring at her.

“What?”

He hesitated. He looked so…surprised. Why? The instant Rags had known

that Quietstab was dead and Tremborag was to blame she had sworn to kill
him. Why would she wait? For a better moment? For the right time? Those
were Human ideas. Rags would kill Tremborag. And she wouldn’t stop.
Ever.

Reiss finally understood that. Or he realized it was fruitless to argue. His

eyes flickered as he stared at Rags’ tribe, and then glanced at his
lieutenants. Then he stared past Rags at a small group of a few thousand
Goblins, who had watched the conflict without intervening.

Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags and Reiss. The Goblin
Lord pointed at him.

“If you continue to fight, Garen will intervene.”

“Probably.”

Rags gritted her teeth. She was trying to figure out how to catch Tremborag
off-guard tonight. Could it be tonight? Or did they have to wait until he’d
lowered his guard somehow? His tribe would be on alert, but if she could
figure out a way to poison their supplies or take them off-guard somehow—
how could she slow Garen and keep him from intervening?

“If you plan to attack at night, you’d have to cut into Tremborag’s camp and
attack him in the center of his warriors.”

“Only if I have stupid plan.”

Rags muttered under her breath. Reiss paused.

“If you need a distraction, I will help you. My warriors can attack
Tremborag’s tribe from the side while yours cut in. I will help you kill
Tremborag.”

The small Goblin froze in her saddle. Then she looked at Reiss and
narrowed her eyes. The Goblin Lord met her gaze steadily, unblinking.

“Really?”

He nodded.
“Tremborag has no…he is not-Goblin. I will help you. I can stop Garen
myself. As for Tremborag—I can lend you Eater of Spears and some of my
best Hobs and the Draug I have remaining for the battle.”

Rags blinked. Eater of Spears and Hobs and Draug? She remembered some
of the hulking undead she’d seen. If she had those—she glanced at Pyrite,
who raised his eyebrows. Redscar was frowning, but Rags had mastered her
face when she looked back at Reiss and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you. We will fight together.”

“Good. Tremborag must fall, after all.”

Reiss smiled at Rags. She nodded, but didn’t smile. She saw the Goblin
Lord’s eyes shift towards Tremborag. His gaze was cold as he fixed on the
distant Great Chieftain. Rags knew—she thought she knew—that he was
serious about aiding her. Tremborag dying would help Reiss, after all. And
Rags would accept his help. But all the trust she’d had in Reiss was
teetering on the edge of sudden doubt.

Not because she suspected him of lying to her. And not because she thought
he’d betray her. No, it was just because of how surprised he was. Of course
it was insane to attack Tremborag’s tribe. Of course it was strange, suicidal
even. All of his reactions were normal. But while those reactions were
normal, they were what Rags would expect from someone like Erin. Reiss
was acting more like a Human than a Goblin. And that, more than anything,
bothered her.

Rags turned her Carn Wolf and pointed ahead. Tremborag’s tribe was
catching up at last.

“Come. We move. And plan attack.”

“I will ride with you. Snapjaw, lead my army. Eater of Spears, take a
thousand Hobs to the rear of Chieftain Rags’ tribe.”

Reiss immediately snapped at his Goblins. They nodded and disappeared.

Reiss rode next to Rags, looking down at her and clearly wondering how
they should talk with him several feet above her head. Rags ignored him as
her Carn Wolf padded forwards. Her mind was racing, trying to fit Reiss’
forces into a plan that would end with Tremborag’s death with the least
amount of cost.

Because it would cost her. Who would die killing him? Redscar? Noears?
Pyrite? No. Rags’ heart hurt at the very thought. But she also knew she
couldn’t not kill Tremborag. He had killed Quietstab. He had killed her
Goblin. Her friend. For that, she would set everything ablaze and slaughter
his tribe to the last.

Like last time. Like the Humans.

Rags remembered a burning house. She remembered screaming Humans,

the smell of blood, and a blind [Emperor]’s words. And she hesitated. It was
the same and not the same. For a second Rags wavered. But there was only
vengeance and death. That was what she had to do.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags felt something familiar
about what she was doing and felt uneasy. She saw a pattern in her mind, a
pattern that she had seen play out again and again. But it faded as she
looked back and saw him. Tremborag.

Her blood was rage, her heartbeats pain. She looked at him and knew one
truth.

He had to die.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres found Tyrion Veltras standing next to his mount. Yitton
was on foot himself, having left his mount with a [Groom] during the break.
The main company was moving onwards, pursuing the Goblins, but Tyrion
had called a halt to assess the situation in light of the morning’s events.
It was something Yitton would have liked time to think on himself. He
shook his head as he strode towards Tyrion. The man was alone and several
of his aides were keeping a wide space around him. From the way his lips
blurred and the way Yitton couldn’t hear a thing he was saying even as he
approached, he was probably under several anti-spying spells as well.

One of the men assigned to keep everyone back hesitated when he saw Lord
Yitton. But for whatever reason he let Lord Yitton past. That was a curiosity
in itself, but Yitton Byres had accepted that Tyrion Veltras held him in some
esteem. At least enough to let Yitton into the protective spell bubble and
hear Tyrion speaking.

He was conversing with his personal aide, his [Mage], Jericha. Yitton
paused with both hands behind his back. Tyrion glanced at him and gave
him a slight nod of acknowledgement, then returned to speaking with
Jericha.

“And the number of dead?”

“Our [Scouts] estimate it at around eight thousand dead, Lord Veltras.

Mostly from the ah, Great Chieftain’s tribe, although several hundred were
killed in the…Flowing Waters tribe. Mainly from arrows, not the spells cast
by our mages.”

“I see.”

Tyrion grimaced, although Yitton had only the barest inkling of an idea
why. By all rights, eight thousand dead Goblins should be a step in the right
direction. But the man had plans, and if what Lord Erill had told Yitton over
their cups last night was true, then the man would want as many Goblins
alive as possible. If it were true.

Yitton had no intention of asking Tyrion that. He stood patiently with both
legs braced as Tyrion kept talking. The head of the Byres family kept one
ear on the conversation while he thought about what he’d witnessed.
Goblins laying traps for one another. Using formations. That had been a
classic pike wall with crossbows firing over. And then one of the tribes had
used mobile harassing tactics!
It bothered Yitton to see anything like strategy coming out of the Goblins.
But those Chieftains seemed every bit as dangerous as the Goblin Lord.
What he couldn’t understand was what had set them against each other.
Yitton frowned, and then realized that the topic of conversation had shifted
when he hadn’t noticed. Jericha was perusing a piece of parchment in her
hands.

“We’ve received several concerned [Message] spells inquiring about your

grand strategy, Lord Veltras. Nothing that merits a reply, but I have just
received a missive from Lady Magnolia Reinhart, and ah—”

She paled for a second as she read the transcribed [Message]. Lord Tyrion
raised one eyebrow.

“Pass it to me.”

The [Mage] hesitated only for a second before handing the parchment over.
Tyrion read impassively. Yitton saw his eyebrows raise just once. For the
man, it was as good as an exclamation. Tyrion stared at the parchment, then
folded it up and handed to Jericha. She silently burned it in her hands with a
small spell. Tyrion shook his head.

“That was surprisingly direct. Give Reinhart my regards, Jericha. Inform

her—politely—that I will not be swayed from my course. Any attempts she
may make I will counter to the full extent of my ability.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

“Good. I will peruse all the other [Message] spells tonight. And have we
received any [Messages] from the Drakes?”

“Nothing but polite inquiries from the [Strategists] of some of the Walled
Cities, sire.”

“Good.”

Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment and folded his arms. He nodded once,
and opened his eyes.
“Keep me informed of any changes. Now, onto more pressing matters. Lord
Yitton?”

He turned briskly to the other man. Yitton Byres snatched one hand down
from his beard.

“Lord Tyrion, the company is continuing to pursue the Goblins. They’ve

stopped fighting although our [Mages] had to fire more warning spells, but
both tribes are keeping a distance now.”

“Excellent. And?”

Yitton grimaced.

“I’ve consulted with our [Scouts] familiar with Goblins. They’ve given me
their assessment and I agree—those two tribes are about to clash and one of
the Chieftains is going to kill the other by night’s end. I intended to ask if
you wished to separate them to prevent a conflict.”

Tyrion’s brows drew together. He drummed his fingers restlessly against his
side while keeping still. Then he shook his head.

“No. Splitting up the Goblins would only increase the complexity of our
task and make it likely that one tribe would attempt to escape. Did the
[Scouts] have any speculation about why the two tribes began fighting? The
conflict was between—”

He glanced at Jericha. The [Mage] raised her head briefly.

“The Mountain City tribe led by the Grand Chieftain and the raiding tribe
that assaulted Riverfarm, Lord Veltras.”

A spark of interest entered Tyrion’s eyes.

“Yes, I recall that tribe. And that Chieftain. Lord Yitton?”

Yitton hesitated, frowning.

“The [Scouts] drew the conclusion that it was the death of one Hob that
sparked the conflict, Lord Byres. They observed the Flooded Waters tribe
gathering around a dead Goblin that had been hidden in a latrine. The
[Scouts] speculate that he was killed by a member of the other tribe, which
sparked the conflict. Our [Strategists] disagree, however. They believe it
was a conflict over resources, as this Mountain City tribe has consistently
consumed far more of the supplies we’ve placed in their way than the other
tribes.”

“I see. Well, the reason matters not. This fighting will wear down both
sides, especially if the Goblin Lord involves himself. As for the delays—
unacceptable.”

Tyrion shook his head. Yitton waited. Jericha looked up, having sent her
[Message] and frowned.

“Lord Veltras, we may be able to force both tribes to move and camp
separately. It would require our [Mages] to create a neutral zone and
enforce it, but—”

She broke off as Tyrion raised a hand. The [Lord] was staring at nothing,
frowning. Then he looked up.

“No. This may serve our purpose, Jericha. Rather than tire out our [Mages],
I intend to solve the matter directly.”

He turned and looked at his aide.

“Summon the Gold-rank adventurer captains immediately, to meet me at the

front within twenty minutes. Provide them with mounts if they are
marching with the foot.”

Jericha nodded and raised a finger to her temple.

“And Miss Arcsinger?”

A flicker of expression passed across Tyrion’s face, so quickly that Lord

Yitton couldn’t read what emotion it had been. Tyrion shook his head
briskly, his face impassive.

“No. We have an arrangement. Let her continue onwards—I will request her
use of Skills as needed. That will be all. Lord Yitton, I would value your
input if you would ride with me.”

He strode towards his mount and briskly mounted himself. Yitton looked
around, cursing and wishing he’d kept his horse nearby, but it was already
being brought. Tyrion watched as Yitton swung himself into his saddle and
then the two [Lords] were riding quickly to the front. Yitton saw the ground
flash past him as he rode under the aegis of Lord Tyrion’s Skills.

“You have a plan, Lord Tyrion?”

“I do, Lord Yitton. I intend to send the Goblins and our watchers a
message.”

Yitton glanced sharply at Lord Tyrion as the man calmly surged up and
down in his saddle with his horse.

“A message, Lord Tyrion? Of what kind?”

Tyrion looked back at the older man and almost smiled.

“The simplest of messages, Yitton. The kind even Goblins understand.”

—-

“Can’t win with spells. Bad idea.”

Pyrite grunted as he jogged along with Reiss, Rags, and a cluster of the
other high-ranking Goblins in both her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army.
The Hob pretended not to notice the glares both Reiss and Noears gave him.

“Why not? I can weaken Tremborag with death spells.”

“Can try.”

Eater of Spears nodded as he stumped along. Smaller Goblins and Hobs

stared up at him as they ran around him. Both Rags’ tribe and Reiss’ army
were marching far ahead of Tremborag’s tribe, and quickly too. The
Humans had pushed them hard and the Goblins were tired despite it being
just past midmorning.

Rags wasn’t tired. Her mind was buzzing with ideas. The impromptu war
council was deliberating hard about how to attack Tremborag successfully.
She looked at Pyrite.

“Why no spell?”

“Bad idea.”

Pyrite ducked as Snapjaw threw a pebble at him. He rumbled, and

explained as he fished out a speckled blue egg and began to eat it raw, shell
and all. He offered one to Eater of Spear, who took it with a grunt of
satisfaction and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

“Tremborag is old Hob. Very strong. Knows how to fight adventurers. If

[Mage] casts spell, may hurt. Won’t kill. Then Tremborag comes and tears
head off. Very quick.”

He gestured at Noears and mimed the very action. Noears felt at his head,
looking concerned. Reiss frowned.

“I could fight Tremborag myself.”

“Could try.”

Pyrite glanced impassively at Reiss. This time Snapjaw growled and leaned
out of her saddle, ready to punch Pyrite. Poisonbite tugged her back and
Reiss frowned. It was Rags who nodded.

“Too risky. Can’t have one or two. Better to have Reiss fight Garen.”

“Why? Goblin Lord not strong enough?”

Snapjaw challenged Rags angrily. She just shrugged.

“No. Garen too annoying. Reiss stop Garen. That easy. Hard part is get
Tremborag alone. How about—”

She glanced up and frowned. So did the other Goblins. They turned as they
heard a horn blaring behind them. Only, it wasn’t a Goblin horn. It was
coming from the Humans riding behind them.

The difference in sound was minimal, as both Goblins and Humans made
the same instrument. But it was the oddity of the sound that bothered Rags.
She stared as first one horn blew, and then two, then a dozen.

And then a hundred. The advancing line of cavalry stopped as all four
Goblin tribes halted and stared back at the Humans. The flanking parties of
Humans riding to either side of them paused as well. Rags stared as, in the
distance, she saw the lines of Humans part.

“What’s going on?”

Reiss stared hard at the Humans. He looked around and Rags saw his
undead Shield Spider crawl towards them. No one else moved as Reiss
swung himself up into his saddle for a better look. Rags saw the Humans
part. And then someone appeared between the lines of riders. A flash of
golden hair. And a silver bow. Though she was far away, Rags could see the
figure had pointed ears. And when she looked up—

Fear. It ran through the Goblins like a physical thing. They shuddered as
they remembered. Golden hair. A bow. A fallen King.

Elia Arcsinger. Kingslayer. She stood at the head of the ranks of Humans.
And someone else rode up to join her. A man with dark hair, his armor
gleaming. He looked like any other Human in one sense, but Rags
recognized him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] regarded the mass of Goblins ahead of him. Rags
could see Reiss reconsidering his vantage point and swinging himself down
into the safety of the mass of his warriors who surged forwards to put
themselves between him and Elia. But it was not at the Goblin Lord who
Tyrion looked at. His gaze swept past Reiss, past Garen who sat on his Carn
Wolf, teeth bared. He looked at Rags first and she felt a shudder. She
thought that Tyrion was smiling, but she couldn’t see his expression so far
away. And then the [Lord] looked down, at the sprawling tribe of Goblins,
half of whom were sitting, imitating their Chieftain.

Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountains, sat on the ground, footsore,

furious. His skin was healed and the crossbow bolts had been plucked out,
but his gaze was still malevolent fury as he stared at Rags. He ignored
Tyrion Veltras and the Humans, his back a solid mass of contempt. He was
not afraid of them, or so his posture said. So he never saw Elia Arcsinger
raise her bow. He never saw the arrow.

It struck Tremborag in the back. A single arrow, fired hundreds of feet. It

flew straight and true and embedded itself in Tremborag’s flesh, just above
his shoulder. He howled, more from shock then pain, and whirled. His eyes
widened as he saw Elia Arcsinger lower the bow, and his hand reached up,
trying to grab the arrow.

“She shot him?”

Reiss’ voice was incredulous. The arrow had struck the Great Chieftain
precisely, and Rags couldn’t imagine she’d missed. But it hadn’t done more
than wound Tremborag slightly. Frankly, it wasn’t even a good shot if the
half-Elf had been trying to kill him. But as Tremborag yanked the arrow
from his back and stared at the red, dripping point, Rags felt terribly uneasy.
She looked up and saw Elia Arcsinger turn away. And Tyrion Veltras
pointed.

At Tremborag. The Great Chieftain froze, his expression outraged and

confused at once. Another person, a woman, a [Mage], stepped up besides
Tyrion. Rags watched her, feeling her pulse thudding in her ears. She saw
the [Mage] link arms with two others, a woman and a man, and then saw
the fire.

This was how she spun the fireball. Out of air a wisp of fire appeared, a thin
tendril. Then it thickened, curled in on itself and other strand appeared. Like
yarn, it knitted itself together, twisting into a ball of fire, only this ball was
ever-shifting, the cords of flame shifting around together. And the blaze
grew until the fireball was as large as the woman, larger, as large as a horse.
Larger still.

The Goblins watched in silence. Tremborag slowly got to his feet. He stared
at the [Mages], incredulous. Rags stared at him and then at Tyrion. At the
Humans. They were all looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain looked
around. Now the fireball was floating overhead. He backed up a step, his
face written with incredulity.

He did not want to believe. He did not want to know. But it was too late.
The [Mage] let go of the other’s hands and pointed. The [Siege Fireball]
shot forwards, a blazing inferno as bright as the sun. Tremborag turned. He
began to run. The Goblins around him ran too. Rags heard not a word from
them. They just ran, streaming away from the spot. And then the fireball
touched the earth where Tremborag had been, as the Great chieftain tried to
flee. Rags saw a flash—

Then she felt something kick her in the chest. Hot air blasted Rags’ face and
she heard cries as the Goblins were bombarded with light, heat, and sound.
When Rags could see again, she saw Tremborag lying on the ground. He
was alive. He’d dove to avoid the blast. As he got to his feet, shakily, a horn
blew. Rags turned and saw the Humans advancing. Only, it wasn’t a steady
trot.

They were charging. [Mages] standing behind the ranks of Humans on

horseback began throwing spells. Crackling lightning and shards of ice
rained down from the sky, as the earth broke underfoot. Goblins screamed
and ran, but Rags stayed where she was. So did her entire tribe. Because the
onslaught was not aimed at them. The center of the storm, the one figure
that the Humans encircled, cut off from his tribe and threw spells at was the
huge figure, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain.

Tremborag.

He looked around, bellowing in fear and fury. He turned to run, but a line of
[Riders] and [Knights] cut him off. He shouted for his Goblins, but his
warriors who rushed to surround him were blown to pieces, feathered by
arrows, cut down by swords. Tremborag roared. He turned and saw the
watching Goblins, the three tribes who stared at him.

Tremborag went still. His eyes went to Reiss, who stood amid his warriors,
his face impassive, to Garen Redfang, who looked shocked. And then to
Rags, who met his eyes. Tremborag looked back at the Humans who were
attacking his tribe, sending his warriors fleeing further and further away
from their Chieftain. He looked around and saw Tyrion Veltras, riding
towards him. And then he knew.

—-

“They’re going to kill him.”

Reiss breathed the words incredulously as he watched Tremborag’s tribe

disintegrate before his eyes. The Mountain City tribe had scattered in the
face of the first spell. Now they were trying to reform, but the wave of
Humans that crashed into their backs forced them to keep running. Spells
hammered the ground, enforcing the imminent threat of death behind them.
The Goblins turned and ran, but they could hardly ignore the bellowing
voice behind them.

“Warriors to me! Protect your Chieftain! Ulvama! Kerist! Qent! Where are
my Hobs?”

Tremborag shouted, running, thrusting aside Goblins, trying to put anything

and everything behind him and the Humans racing to cut him off. He was
fast, and he barreled through a rider and horse, knocking both aside, though
the impact made Tremborag stagger. He ran forwards, trying to get away.
But the Humans were aimed only at him.

“They are going to kill him.”

Noears stared at the scene with amazement and delight. He and the others
watched as Tremborag’s tribe fled towards them. Rags could see tens of
thousands of Goblins streaming away from Tremborag. Few turned despite
his shouts. And those that did—died.

It wasn’t a fair battle. It wasn’t even a battle. If a Goblin or Hob turned to

strike or cast a spell, a [Knight], a dozen [Knights], would ride down on
them and hack them to shreds. Or a [Lord] would use an artifact, or an
adventurer loose an arrow, or a [Mage] a spell. No matter what Tremborag
said, no matter how he threatened and ordered, he couldn’t force his
Goblins to turn and fight that.

“Stop! Obey me! Turn and fight for your Chieftain! Fight for your tribe!”

Tremborag caught a Goblin warrior who was fleeing. He stared at the

Goblin’s terrified face, and then hurled her at the oncoming Humans. The
Goblin disappeared with a scream beneath the oncoming horses. Tremborag
looked around desperately.

“Ulvama! My Hobs!”

There they were, fleeing ahead of him. Tremborag roared at them and for a
moment they turned. Ulvama with her staff, the Hobs wearing their
precious, looted gear. They looked back at their Great Chieftain as he
labored to run after them. Tremborag raised a claw, calling. Imploring.

And the Humans were behind him. Surrounding him. They formed up at his
back, and on his sides, creating a passage edged by steel. They held their
position there, daring the Goblins to run back. There was a clear path
between them and Tremborag. But if they went back—the Goblins of the
Mountain City tribe stared at the lines of Humans. They looked at death and
death looked back.

Ulvama stared at Tremborag. He looked at her, his face desperate. It was an

expression few of the Goblins in his tribe had seen. They looked at their
Great Chieftain. And then Ulvama turned away.
She was the first. Then one of the Hob lieutenants turned his back. And then
a warrior. And then a child. Tremborag stared as his Goblins turned and
began streaming further away.

All of them. Ulvama, his Hob sub-Chieftains, his warriors—they fled as the
Humans raced past him on horseback. They pursued the Goblins, chasing
them towards the other three tribes that were watching Tremborag. And
then the Great Chieftain was alone. He stared around at the Humans. They
watched him, faces hidden behind visors, mask of hatred. But they didn’t
attack.

More movement. Tremborag started, whirled as the Humans in front of him

parted. He stared in disbelief as the lines of Humans moved aside, giving
him a path towards the Goblins to the south. He looked in disbelief at the
Humans, and then narrowed his eyes. A trick?

No. The Humans drew back, waiting. Tremborag turned as a man in armor
rode up behind him. Lord Tyrion Veltras drew his sword and pointed past
Tremborag, towards the waiting Goblins. The Great Chieftain turned and
saw his tribe staring back at him. Along with the other Goblins. A [Fireball]
exploded over their heads and the Goblins started, began to run. South,
again.

Then Tyrion pointed at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain met his eyes,
snarling, defiant. But Tyrion didn’t order the attack. Instead he raised one
hand and shouted an order.

“Advance at a trot!”

The Humans around him moved. Their horses began to trot forwards, at
Tremborag. The Great Chieftain backed up. He turned, and looked at the
Goblins moving swiftly south. Then he looked at the Humans, advancing
behind him, slowly. And then it became clear.

They wanted him to run. To run until he fell. Tremborag’s claws clenched.
Red fury rose in his eyes and for a second he turned back to the front ranks
of Humans. For a second. Then the fury dimmed. He looked back at his
tribe, so far away in the distance. And he turned and ran.
—-

At first, it was one mile. Rags and her tribe raced across the rocky
landscape until it turned to grass. Then it was two miles. She heard the
scream of spells overhead, saw her tribe start to mix with the other Goblins
running. They couldn’t help it. The Humans drove them onwards faster than
they ever had before. Rags saw the wagons jolting as the animals strained to
keep up, saw Goblins trip, fall, and be trampled or blown to bits.

And then it was five miles. Six? She lost count. The Goblins slowed after a
time. The frantic pace eased. Because the Humans weren’t chasing them.
Not just them. It was the figure in the distance, always a thousand feet or so
behind that they were concerned with.

Tremborag. He ran as hard as he could, his body heaving with effort. He

stumbled and fell and got up, he gasped for air. He ran, but the Goblins
ahead of him were always out of reach. The Humans forced them to keep
away from the Great Chieftain. And he was tiring. Of all the Goblins, he
was the largest. And his footsteps grew ever more slower, his breathing
harder.

He collapsed after the eighth mile of running. The Hob fell to his knees as
the Humans slowed to a snail’s pace behind him. They threw spells over his
head, blew their horns. But he could run no further. Tremborag panted, so
dehydrated that the sweat had stopped rolling off his body. He looked
behind him and saw the Humans approaching slowly, so slowly, at a
leisurely walk.

Like hunters moving in for the kill. Tremborag turned and bared his teeth.

“You damned Humans. You think that this—”

He tried to heave himself up and failed. Tremborag sprawled onto his back.
He stared up at the sky and made a noise. It might have been a growl of
frustration. But it sounded like a sob.

“Like this? Like this? Without my tribe? Those cowards—like this?

Impossible. I cannot die here. Not like this. It should have been—I should
have—”

He scrabbled at the grass and dirt, trying to pull himself up. He stared at the
Goblins, who’d paused to look back at him, no longer hounded by the
Humans. Tremborag stared at his tribe, at the faces in the distance. He tried
to shout, but his lungs were too exhausted.

“Damn you. Cowards! Traitors, every one! I am your Chieftain! I am

Tremborag! I—”

His voice faltered. Tremborag sagged. He stared at the Goblins. They made
no move to help him. They watched, as the Humans drew closer in the
distance.

All except one. She kicked her Carn Wolf forwards, ignoring the warnings
of her tribe. She raced past the Goblins who tried to catch her. A small
Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. Tremborag’s eyes widened as he saw Rags
riding at him.

She had a black crossbow in her hands, a short sword and buckler at her
side. Her eyes blazed as she stopped her Carn Wolf in front of Tremborag.
She raised her crossbow.

“You.”

“Me.”

Rags agreed softly. Tremborag stared at her. Then he pushed himself up. He
sat back and laughed.

“So! The child comes in the moment of my death. Not Redfang or the slave,
but the child. How pathetic. How fitting, isn’t it? For this?”

He waved a claw back at the Humans. Rags narrowed her eyes. She raised
her crossbow and aimed at Tremborag’s chest.
“Didn’t come here to talk.”

“No. You came to kill me before the Humans did.”

Tremborag grinned at Rags, his chest heaving painfully. He tapped his

chest.

“Well? Go on. Shoot me. Kill me! End the Great Chieftain of the Mountain
here, child! End it! I have outlived our last Goblin King! I have built my
tribe, seized the home of Dwarves and seen the rise and fall of legends! End
it with one pathetic little piece of wood and metal. And ride away until it is
your turn. Know the truth.”

Rags raised her crossbow.

“Truth? Truth is that Humans won. You die.”

Tremborag laughed hoarsely. He sat forwards, his shoulder drooping. The

Great Chieftain looked beaten as he shook his head.

“You think so? This—this was never about Humans. This was about
Goblins. About pride. About our destiny.”

The small Goblin paused. Rags had been aiming carefully, choosing her
shot. She stared suspiciously at Tremborag.

“Destiny? What destiny? This is your fault. You lose mountain, fight Reiss.
You run, now Humans kill you for trouble. You die.”

Tremborag chuckled.

“You think so? This started—all of this started with that damned Goblin.
Greydath. You met him. You know what he’s capable of. Do you think he
couldn’t have stopped the Humans? Or—or challenged Reiss to battle? Or
led the tribes? But no, he stayed in my mountain. Hidden. It was only when
you appeared. You and Redfang and the slave. When you came, he had no
more use for me. So—it ends.”

He gestured around aimlessly. Rags frowned.

“Greydath did? How?”

“By doing nothing.”

Tremborag hissed. His chest was fire. He clutched it, trying to breathe more
steadily.

“Do you think—he was just sitting in my mountain, pretending to be

Greybeard—for nothing? No. The world is vast. You think this army is
frightening? I have known greater. Far greater. And our King—even he was
not enough to face it all. See the truth, child. The Goblin Kings are pawns.
Not of Humans or Drakes—but of the Goblin Lords.”

Rags had settled on Tremborag’s nose. Her finger hesitated in the trigger.

“Goblin Lords?”

Tremborag heaved one pain-filled breath, and then another. He sat forwards
as Rags uncertainly moved her Carn Wolf a step forwards, and then back.

“Yes. But not like the slave. Reiss is a lord, but the true ones…why do you
think Greydath sat in my mountain for so long after his King’s death? When
the others died? No—the true Lords—don’t trust them. They are not
Goblin.”

He breathed hard as Rags hesitated. Was Tremborag insane? But he was

speaking urgently now, leaning forwards and despite herself, Rags listened.

“What do you mean?”

Tremborag’s breathing was weaker. He gestured Rags closer, gasping for

air.

“Greydath. The true Lords search for a King. Not because we need one, but
because they can use them. You do not remember. You—Curulac listened
and they used him. Velan did not and he died less than a year after
becoming a King.”

Rags shook her head.

“Curulac? But he lived only hundred days. Curulac of Hundred Days.”

“Hah!”

Tremborag sat back, and laughed once, hoarsely.

“You think that was all he lived? You have not seen his past. He lived
longer than Velan. For years! But when they were done with him, the Lords
—they betrayed him. They turned him against the Humans for a hundred
days of war! That is the fate of kings. But Velan didn’t listen. So they sent
only one of their number with Velan. Greydath of Blades. The other lord
were lesser. Not like Greydath.”

“What?”

None of that made sense. Rags knew of the Second Antinium War, at least,
parts of it. She remembered.

“Other Lords were strong. There was—Tallis. Stormbreaker.”

He had been powerful. But again Tremborag laughed. He scooted forwards,

coughing, looking at Rags. The Humans were drawing closer now. Rags
could see them watching her and him. Her attention wavered between the
riders and Tremborag.

“Tallis? Tallis wasn’t one of them. He could have been. But he rose at the
same time as Velan. He was Velan’s friend. He told me the truth. And I
begged Velan to reconsider. But he didn’t. And the Lords conspired. They
let him die.”

Tremborag’s voice was softer. Rags drew closer, ignoring the warnings
ringing in her mind that she should run before the Humans reached her. She
stared at Tremborag. He had known this? Why didn’t he tell the others? Or
was that why Greydath had been in his mountain for so long? He had
begged—

Tremborag? Beg? Rags wavered. She opened her mouth and realized
Tremborag was right in front of her. Then she saw the Great Chieftain look
up and his eyes flare blood-red.

He lunged. Rags yelped and her Carn Wolf leapt back, barking in surprise.
Tremborag swiped at her and the tips of his claws nearly caught Rags.
Nearly. She felt the wind as they missed her and turned her Carn Wolf. It
leapt back as Tremborag cursed and swiped at her again. But the wolf
bounded back and Rags paused, panting, twenty feet away.

“Damn you!”

Tremborag coughed and roared at her. Rags raised her crossbow in one
trembling claw. Nearly. He’d nearly got her. She stared at Tremborag with
pure hatred.

“You are a stinky wolf poo! Was it a lie? All?”

She waved her free hand angrily. Tremborag was lying on his back, covered
in sweat and dirt. He stared up at the sky. When he spoke, it was angrily.

“A lie? What does it matter?”

He heaved himself up, panting with effort. Tremborag glared at Rags,

ignoring the crossbow aimed at his eye.

“Why do I need to tell you anything? Truth? Lies? I owe you nothing, child!
Why do you need to know my past? I am Tremborag! And you are
worthless. Just like that traitor. Quietstab.”

Rags felt the word strike her like blow to the chest. She reeled, and her eyes
narrowed.

“You are not-Goblin.”

“Am I? Then kill me, nameless child! Shoot me! Or are you afraid?”

Tremborag grinned at Rags. He lowered his voice. The Humans were so

close now. Rags could see their faces, looking at her like Tremborag. Like
monsters. And Tremborag was whispering to her.
“You think Quietstab was loyal? He told me everything about your tribe
before the end. Everything, every scrap he could before he perished, to save
his miserable neck. Should I tell you about how he begged me when he
died? How I made him suffer at the last?”

Rags saw flashes of red. Her finger trembled on the crossbow’s trigger.
Tremborag spread his arms, daring her. He was right there. She could kill
him. It didn’t matter if she died. She just wanted to hurt him for hurting her.
Hurt him and hurt his tribe. And then they would attack her, and she would
kill them, and—

She barely saw Tremborag’s claw sliding into the ground in time. Rags
shouted and pulled the crossbow’s trigger. Her bolt went wide, but
Tremborag jerked and the handful of soil he was about to hurl at her and
Carn Wolf missed. He lunged again, but Rags danced back.

“You—you—”

She shouted at Tremborag, trembling. He just laughed.

“Come on! Strike me! You coward! You traitor with no name!”

He wanted her to kill him. He wanted her to attack. Because if he did, he

could kill her. And Rags would gladly do it. But she could see the future,
not because of a Skill or magic, but just because she knew what would
happen. She would kill Tremborag. Or he would kill her. And then his tribe
would try and kill her, or the Humans would kill him. It didn’t matter who
killed who. Someone else would do more killing.

Just like Riverfarm. Just like the burning. Like the [Emperor]. He killed her
Goblins. So she burned the Humans. And so he sent his army to kill her. It
was what the fate of Goblins. Kill and be killed and kill again.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags’ eyes opened wide. She
looked Tremborag, who was watching her, teeth bared. Then she looked
around. At the Humans, at the watching Goblins. And slapped her forehead.

“Oh. A circle.”
“A what?”

Tremborag blinked at her. Rags stared at him blankly, then looked down at
her crossbow. It wasn’t even reloaded. She absently patted her growling
Carn Wolf on the head and looked around.

“Okay. Going now. Bye.”

“What? No! Come back and finish this!”

Tremborag looked incredulous as Rags turned her mount. He rose up,

managed to get to his feet. He stood straighter and Rags realized he’d been
pretending to be more tired than he was as well! Tremborag’s voice grew
deeper and he shouted at her.

“You coward! Don’t you want to see me dead?”

Rags shrugged. She stowed the crossbow on the holster on her back.

“Humans will do that. I don’t need to.”

“You—is that how you fight? Hiding behind Humans? Running? I

challenge you, Chieftain to Chieftain!”

The huge Hob pounded his chest. But now Rags looked at him and didn’t
feel angry. She shook her head as Tremborag lumbered a few steps towards
her and kicked her Carn Wolf, keeping a distance between him and her. She
spoke slowly and deliberately to Tremborag’s snarling, desperate face.

“Tremborag. You are big. And fat. And stupid. And ugly. And smelly. And
have bad breath.”

He looked at her. Rags met his eyes and for a moment the two Chieftains
just glared at each other. A child riding a wolf and the exhausted Goblin of
the Mountain. For a moment Rags thought she knew Tremborag. Because
she recognized the terrible fear and desperation in his eyes. She looked
away.

“Sorry. Goodbye.”
Rags kicked her Carn Wolf in the side and it bounded away, towards the
Goblins in the distance. Tremborag watched her go. He stared at the distant
shape, a bounding red wolf and green rider. Then he turned.

The Humans had stopped to let him finish his conversation with Rags.
Perhaps they’d been hoping she’d kill him. Humans loved stories like that.
Now they rode forwards. Tremborag saw a group of Humans dismount
from their horses and spread out. He saw glowing armor, grim faces.
Tremborag glanced over his shoulder at Rags.

He wished he could have killed her. The Great Chieftain’s claws clenched
as the Humans spread out. More were dismounting, regular [Soldiers]. And
he could see a winding column behind them, moving fast. The Human’s
infantry, armed with spears, swords. So many of them. An army far too
large for even a Goblin Lord. Or at least, one of Reiss’ caliber.

That struck Tremborag as funny. He laughed and then wheezed as the blood
in his lungs made him cough. He wiped at his mouth and glanced around.
There were two dozen men and women, all armed with magical artifacts
encircling him.

Gold-rank adventurers. Tremborag saw the first, a man with a bow, step
forwards. He looked like any other Human, really. Save for the enchanted
gear, Tremborag wouldn’t have recognized him as different from the others
he’d killed over the years. Even his voice was the same.

“We remember you, Goblin. We owe you death a hundred times over for
our friends. So this will be slow.”

Tremborag sighed. He turned and looked back at Rags. She was still riding
towards his tribe, towards her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army and Garen
Redfang’s warriors. But he thought she was looking at him. The Great
Chieftain of the Mountain stared at Rags and imagined crushing her head
between his claws for a second. Then he felt a sharp pain in his arm.

He looked back. The Human had shot him! Tremborag glanced down at the
arrow. It wasn’t enchanted. Stupid Humans. He plucked the arrows from his
arm.
“Goblin—”

So this was how it ended. Tremborag looked back at the distant Rags,
tuning out the Humans again. He looked at his kind, watching him, and felt
the Goblin Lord, sitting there like a mountain in his mind. But the true
mountain was ahead of Tremborag. He looked over the angry Gold-rank
adventurer’s head at the mountain far off in the distance, so far away.

His home. How far he’d come. Tremborag glanced back at Rags again, and
growled. So the child fled. Fine. But let her see one thing at least. Let her
look. He turned as the Gold-rank adventurer, indignant at being ignored,
raised his bow.

He was ten paces away from Tremborag. Ten Human paces. Or a single
bound for the Hob. Tremborag leapt. The sweaty fat on his body rippled.
Muscles grew and his face contorted. A claw reached out and seized the
Human before he could leap back. Tremborag bent and pulled. The
Human’s head screamed and screamed before it crushed between his
fingers. Tremborag dropped the body and looked around.

Gone was the fat Hob that had stood there moments before. A monster rose,
teeth shining, muscle and flesh rippling. Tremborag’s voice was booming as
he turned to the shocked Humans.

“Slow enough for you, Humans?”

They backed up away from him, and then remembered they were here to
kill him. The Gold-rank adventurers raised their weapons and the [Soldiers]
aimed bows and trained spears on Tremborag. The Great Chieftain of the
Mountains laughed. He spread his arms.

“Let me show you fear.”

Then he leapt. The tip of a spear pierced his stomach. The adventurer
hacked at his arm. Fire faced down his body and light exploded in his eyes.
Tremborag roared and bit the Human in two. He swung his arm and sent
soldiers flying. He pounded a Human with a shield to paste and flung
another screaming into the air. The Gold-rank adventurers swarmed around
him, but they were slow. Their magic was weak. He grabbed them, tore
their arms off. Then they fled. The soldiers attacked Tremborag from all
sides, but their arrows were weak. Their steel bent.

The [Mages] burned him. They struck him with missiles made of light.
Tremborag charged one and felt his body shiver as it struck a barrier. He
broke it and bore the mage to the ground, biting him, tearing him apart. The
soldiers drew back. Tremborag flung the guts at them, roared—

And then saw them pull back. The flames burning him went out. Tremborag
turned, his blood boiling, and saw him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] sat on top of his mount, lance in hand. For a
moment the Great Chieftain hesitated, then he grinned savagely. Better than
the child. He made a mocking bow.

“Greetings, Lord Veltras.”

The move surprised Tyrion. The Human stared at Tremborag as his soldiers
pulled back, forming a ring around Tremborag.

“You know of me, Goblin?”

Tremborag grinned. He was bleeding. But he made his voice mocking.

“Even we wretched Goblins heard of the mighty Tyrion Veltras. And his
fallen wife. Did she trip off the balcony, boy? Or did one of your enemies
push her? And do you fill your bed with another woman or do you sleep
alone?”

His insults struck home. Tyrion’s cold face twisted into fury and the
Humans behind him shuddered. The [Lord] slowly reached up and lowered
his visor. His voice, when he spoke, was barely controlled with fury.

“There is nothing you know of me.”

Tremborag grinned.
“I know how you bleed. Come, boy. Show me how strong Humans are with
your enchanted weapons and magic.”

He spread his arms. Tyrion didn’t wait. He kicked his mount forwards and
sped at Tremborag, lance aimed for his heart. But the Goblin was ready. He
turned and struck like lightning, trying to punch Tyrion off his mount. The
[Lord] raised his shield and the fist met the enchanted metal.

A thunderous impact made the watchers wince. The horse reared and Tyrion
reeled back in his saddle. Tremborag roared as swiped again, but Tyrion
lashed out with his lance.

“[Repel Point]!”

The lance tip struck Tremborag’s raised arm. But instead of sending the
Great Chieftain flying backwards, it was Tyrion’s mount that was thrust
back. The horse reared and danced, but the [Lord] fought it down. He
circled Tremborag, checking himself as the Great Chieftain growled.

“Was that it? Come on, boy. Save your life with another Skill. Did you fail
to save your wife? Or was she a nuisance?”

He expected Tyrion to charge again, but the [Lord] didn’t. Instead, he rode
his mount back towards the edge of the circle. There he turned and set
himself. He was going to charge. Tremborag grinned. He made a fist.

One Skill. One Skill would do it. He waited as Tyrion lowered his lance.
Then the [Lord] charged. He came at Tremborag from the left, his lance
aimed at Tremborag’s shoulder. Before he was in range, Tremborag roared.

“[Great Slash]!”

He cut at Tyrion and his horse with a blow that severed the air. The ground
tore. Tremborag saw Tyrion raise his lance and he heard a calm voice. As
calm as ice.

“[Lightning Hooves].”
And his horse blurred. Tremborag saw it blur around his claw. Tyrion
appeared on his left, circled, charged again.

So quick. Tremborag lashed out once more, but his claws were so slow. And
Tyrion’s lance flickered in his hands. He changed directions as he switched
his grip. Suddenly his horse was galloping right and his lance was aimed—

A cold tip pierced Tremborag’s chest, just above his heart. For a second
Tremborag blinked at it, watching the lance move slowly. So slowly. He
looked up and saw two blazing eyes staring at him through the visor. Then
time returned.

The lance went through his chest, shattering bone and piercing flesh.
Tremborag stumbled. He raised a claw, gasped. The pain was—he tried to
grab Tyrion, but the [Lord] had one hand on the lance. He twisted it and
pulled it from Tremborag’s chest. And the Great Chieftain fell. His knees
struck the ground and he lay on his back.

So quick. It had been just like—just like—like—

—-

“Tremborag. Join me.”

Velan the Kind stood in Tremborag’s throne room. Alone. His Goblin Lords
had left him. His legions of warriors were camped outside Tremborag’s
mountain. That left only Tremborag with Velan, and the Goblin King was
small, barely taller than any other Hob, really.

But it didn’t make Tremborag feel any less small. The Chieftain of the
Mountain City tribe hesitated. He was huge, a giant among Hobs. Or
perhaps something else. Velan had brought other Goblins like him, Goblins
who were more than just Hobgoblins. Hulking creatures of muscle and
teeth, as close to half-Giants as anything else. Like him.
But for all his strength and height, Tremborag felt crushed by the Goblin
King. Velan stood in front of him, looking up and looking down on
Tremborag all at once. He repeated himself.

“Join me, Tremborag.”

“No.”

Tremborag’s voice trembled with the effort of saying it. He had nearly
quailed in the face of the Goblin Lord. To say it to the Goblin King was a
thousand times harder. But he had his reason.

He did not want to die. And he was prepared to grovel or argue to beg or
bribe. But Velan just nodded.

“Very well.”

He turned away. Tremborag gaped at him. Velan looked around the grand
throne room, centuries of neglect and filth turning rich Dwarven work into a
Goblin’s home.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yes. I will not march. I will hide from the Humans. This mountain will be
my home. Forever.”

Again, Tremborag expected Velan to argue, to call him a coward. To say

anything. But all the Goblin King did was smile as if he was pleased.

“Good. Hide here. It will not be many months, before it ends, I think.”

He looked around the throne room again. Tremborag gaped at him. The
question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

“Why are you doing this? What is the reason for this war? What is our
purpose?”

“Purpose?”
Velan turned back to Tremborag. His gaze flickered and Tremborag quailed.
A memory of Velan’s rage made him look to his doors. If he were to be
engulfed in his fury, only the Goblin Lords would be able to calm him. But
Velan did not rage. Instead, he looked up at Tremborag and shrugged. It was
a very Goblin thing to do.

“We have no purpose. This war is not to create or fill any task. Just to end.
Just because must be.”

Tremborag stared at Velan.

“Then why—why fight? You made peace on Baleros. Why fight?”

Velan didn’t answer him. Not at first. The Goblin King looked up at the
ceiling and at Tremborag’s throne. And there was sadness in his eyes.
Sadness, and a regret that haunted Tremborag’s dreams ever after.

“We fulfilled our oaths long ago. We were there when the world betrayed
itself. And we brought death to the world in return. We won that war,
though it cost us all. Our family, our people, our King—all of it was worth
the price. And now, what remains is vengeance.”

“Against what?”

“Everything.”

The Goblin King gazed past Tremborag, straight through him. He touched
his eyes and shook his head. When he looked at Tremborag, dark rage filled
his eyes, a rage so hot that it could burn Dragons.

“Rage consumes me. Stay in your mountain. Let the children hide here. The
children and the next. I have failed. All I can do is plant the seeds for the
next. If you would be one of them, seek these out.”

He turned abruptly and reached for something at his side. He showed

Tremborag the keys. They were ordinary, apparently made of steel. But they
captured the light. Velan looked at them sadly.
“One day there will be a King again. And they will follow in my footsteps.
Forever. Until all Goblins perish or all others do. We cannot help it. We
cannot forget. But maybe next time…”

He trailed off. Velan turned towards the doors and walked away. Tremborag
sat on his throne, feeling small. He half-rose and shouted after Velan.

“What should I do, then? What is my purpose? To hide? To wait? To seek?”

Velan turned at the doors. His eyes captured Tremborag’s and he shook his
head.

“Live, Chieftain of the Mountain. Just—live.”

And then he was gone. Tremborag never saw Velan again, but he
remembered the keys. He remembered the past. And he wondered—

He wondered if Velan had known all along how it would end.

—-

Tyrion Veltras shook blood off of his lance as he slowly rode back.
Cheering filled the air and the Humans raised their weapons and shouted
wildly. The gigantic Goblin lay on the ground, a bloodied mess. Tyrion was
checking his mount and offering his lance to Jericha when the body stirred.

The cheering stopped. Slowly, Tremborag sat up. He blinked down at the
hole in his chest and touched the blood running to the ground like water.
Tyrion paused as Tremborag rose to his feet. The Great Chieftain stared at
the [Lord]. Tyrion spoke calmly.

“You are dead, Goblin.”

Tremborag laughed. He shook his head and bared his teeth at Tyrion. His
voice was hoarse. His face pale. But he stood and opened his claws.
“I am Tremborag. And only I decide when it is time to die.”

Tremborag took a step forwards. Bows twanged and arrows sprouted from
his body from all sides. He laughed as more struck him and Humans rushed
forwards. He turned and brought his claws down, crushing metal and bone.
He raised his arms as a fireball exploded, burning away part of the flesh on
his chest.

“Come, Humans! Come with your armies! Bring your thousands against
me!”

He swept the Humans away. He crushed them with his feet. He bit and
roared as they cut at him.

“I am TREMBORAG! Chieftain of
the Mountains! Come! Show me
death!”
And they tried. They brought steel by the hundreds, piercing his flesh. They
shot arrows into him, seeking his heart. Tremborag rampaged through their
lines, leaving crimson in his wake. Bleeding it.

Fire rained from the skies. They broke the earth. Spears of magic pierced
his flesh. Metal shattered his bones. Tremborag felt none of it. He burned,
cutting, snarling, tearing. And a thought grew in his mind.

Is this what you saw, Velan? Is this the fate of Goblins?

There were so many. Every Human he killed seemed to spawn another one.
But there was one Tremborag was looking for. His eyes were filled with
blood. Then one was gone. But he could see Tyrion Veltras at last. Standing
in front of him, sword drawn. There were…Humans in front of him.
Tremborag strode towards him, ignoring the pain, the shadows that tore
parts of him away.
A little bit further. A little bit. The Human was standing in front of him,
surrounded by steel and spell. But his eyes were only for Tremborag. The
Great Chieftain lurched forwards, teeth bared. He had to do it. Show them
what a Goblin was. What a real Chieftain was.

Show them—show them—

Show who? Tremborag looked around. He couldn’t remember who he was

trying to show. And now he was alone. He couldn’t see anything anymore.
It was all dark.

Why was he here? Tremborag tried to remember. He blundered around. And

then he saw it. Sitting there, just a little bit away. A giant heavy thing.
Something to focus on. A beautiful piece of stone.

His mountain. His small home. Why wasn’t he there? Tremborag belonged
in his home.

He walked forwards, stumbling. The world had gone quiet around him. He
walked towards the mountain, stumbling, falling, getting back up. He was
getting tired and the mountain was so far way. Why had he left it?

He was so tired. Maybe if he had a nap, he’d feel better. Tremborag looked
around. It was so quiet. So dark. So…peaceful. He sat down and closed his
eyes. He’d just sleep a little bit. Until he could wake up. His mountain
wasn’t going anywhere. And Tremborag would return. He would. He had
made his home there. A place to live. He sat, exhausted.

The air was so warm—

—-

At last he stopped. Rags saw the Goblin, the Great Chieftain of the
Mountain, sit down. His back was to them. The bloody, torn figure wasn’t
green anymore. It was black. And it looked nothing like a Goblin. Nothing
like anything, really. Arrows covered Tremborag’s body and mages and
warriors had torn him apart. But still he’d fought.

Now he sat, facing north. Away from the Goblins. Away from the Humans,
who’d just let him walk away. Tremborag sat, what remained of his head
bowed. Facing a small shape on the horizon. A mountain.

He didn’t move. He didn’t stir as the Humans stared at his back. At last, one
of them shot an arrow into his back and another approached and stabbed
him in the back. Tremborag didn’t move.

He was dead. He had been dead for a while. But somehow he had kept
moving. Now he’d stopped. It still took the Humans a long time to believe
it. The bloodied Humans surrounded Tremborag, until one of them climbed
up and removed his head. Then the head was raised with three Humans
holding it and the army cheered raggedly. Desperately, as if to say it was
worth it.

But the blood that stained the grass told a different tale. And the Goblins
who watched saw the Humans turn away after cheering briefly and mourn
their dead. But the Goblins could not enjoy that either.

Because they were weeping. Rags was, at least. She couldn’t see through
the tears. And though she brushed the water away, it kept coming.

It made no sense. Tremborag had been a monster. He had deserved to die.

But she couldn’t help it. She wept, not for him, but for Goblins. And she
saw the same tears in the eyes of her tribe.

Reiss did not weep. Neither did Garen. The two Hobs stood facing each
other, at the head of their tribes. They waited, and eventually the Goblins
realized there was a choice to be made.

The Mountain City tribe had lost their Great Chieftain, but they were intact.
The Humans had spared almost all of them to slay only Tremborag. Now
the tribe looked and saw the two Hobs, standing on either side.
Garen and his Redfang Warriors. And Reiss, the Goblin Lord and his army.
Two kinds of Goblins stood, waiting. The Mountain City tribe looked from
Garen to Reiss as the Hobs waited, expectantly. And then all eyes turned to
Rags.

She wiped tears from her eyes as she stood on the back of her Carn Wolf.
She looked at the Mountain City Goblins, at Ulvama who was weeping too,
at the Hobs who she had tried to kill and the Goblin warriors who wept for
Tremborag. She raised her voice and shouted raggedly, pointing at
Tremborag’s body.

“This is Goblin! This is our end! We kill Humans and they kill us! Drakes
kill us and we kill them. But they come back. Every time. This is how
Goblins die.”

The Goblins looked up at her. Despair made Rags’ throat close up, but she
forced herself to keep going.

“Tremborag was not-Goblin! But he died as Goblins do. As Goblins always

do. But it is not how we have to die.”

They looked at her, disbelieving, but waiting for her to go on. Rags closed
her eyes. She thought of burning houses, of the blind [Emperor], and of
Tremborag. Then she opened them.

“I have seen our past and future. And it is a circle. It goes around and
around. But if Goblins want to live, they cannot go in a circle. They have to
change. They have to—stop.”

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at Rags. Her Flooded Waters
tribe gazed at their Chieftain. Garen’s Redfangs looked up at Rags. And the
Goblin Lord’s army looked at the small Goblin. Reiss’ looked shocked,
Garen incredulous. But slowly, the Goblins moved. The Mountain City tribe
slowly streamed towards Rags.

Not all of them. Maybe just over a half. But while some went to Garen and
some went to Reiss, the rest went to Rags. They spat hatred at the Goblin
Lord and shook their heads and turned away from Garen. And they flocked
around Rags who wept for the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. And the
Goblin Lord turned, furious and shocked and confused at once and saw a
Drake was standing to one side, staring at him.

“Does she mean a cycle?”

Osthia Blackwing pointed at Rags. Reiss nodded. The Drake’s expression

cleared.

“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. Looks like they trust her more than you.”

She paused, smirking at Reiss, then frowned.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“That was what he said.”

Reiss spoke softly. Osthia frowned.

“Who said?”

“Velan the Kind. Before he became the Goblin King. He called it the cycle
that bound all of Goblinkind, of violence and retribution. He tried to break
it.”

The Drake’s eyes went round. She looked at Rags and suddenly her
expression was worried. Wary.

“Do you—do you think she’s like him? Could she have the potential to—
Reiss?”

Reiss didn’t look at Osthia. He’d gone completely still. The Drake looked
back at Rags, then at Reiss. Her nerves turned to anger.

“Well? Is she like Velan? Could she be a Goblin King?”

He didn’t respond. Angrily, Osthia reached out and shook Reiss. And then
he turned his head. His eyes were black and the pupils white, as always. But
someone else gazed out through the white pupils, as if they were a window.
“That child? She is nothing like the previous Goblin King.”

Osthia recoiled. Reiss looked around. Only it wasn’t Reiss who spoke. His
voice was completely different, as was the way he moved. And looked at
her. The person who wore Reiss’ body turned and regarded Osthia coldly.

“I recall you, Drake. I ordered my apprentice to slay you. Another failing.

Another moment of disobedience.”

That voice. Osthia remembered it. She couldn’t forget it. Her claws
tightened into fist. Her tail thrashed.

“Az’ker—”

Reiss’ finger rose. He pointed at her chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

A ripple of darkness shot from his finger and passed straight through
Osthia’s chest. She gasped, and then, soundlessly, collapsed. Az’kerash, or
Reiss, or some mixture of the two, idly kicked her onto her back.

Osthia Blackwing lay on the ground, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Her
mouth was slightly agape. Her face was pale, almost white. Drained of life.
One of her claws—the one with the black ring on it—was clenched into a
fist. Az’kerash, wearing his apprentice’s face, studied the body dismissively
and then looked around.

“I see much has changed since we last communicated, my apprentice. Walk

with me and tell me what has occurred.”

Slowly, jerkily, Reiss began to move. He walked past the Goblins clustered
around Rags, head turning to inspect the fallen form and the Human army.
Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stared at their leader, and the Goblins around
Reiss drew back. Garen turned his head and bared his teeth. He reached for
his sword.
—-

Lord Tyrion Veltras stood in front of the misshapen head that had been
Tremborag. He regarded the shape, wrinkled his nose at the burnt smell of
flesh and turned away.

“Enough. Jericha, allow the soldiers to parade the head about if they wish. I
doubt any of the nobility would care for it as a trophy in its current state.
Now, prepare a short missive to be sent to every city in the north.”

“At once, sire.”

Jericha readied the spell as Tyrion stood surrounded by his army. Tyrion
Veltras waited until she signaled she was ready and spoke curtly.

“The Great Chieftain of the Mountain is dead. He was slain by Human

hands, on Human lands. Let his death be a message to all those who would
threaten Izril. The Goblin Lord is next.”

He nodded to Jericha. And that was it. The [Message] spell was sent to
every Mage’s Guild by magic, and within moments it was speeding to
Drake cities, across the world. The news was distorted as it went from
person to person, even with magic. It captured some of the meaning, lost
some of the nuance. But it was ever the same.

The Great Chieftain is dead.

Tremborag has been slain.

The Great Chieftain of the Mountains is no more.

Tremborag of the Mountain has fallen. The Goblin Lord flees ever onwards.
And the Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest, the Goblin who knew Velan
the Kind, the Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, Tremborag, is gone.

Just like that.

 5.52

Erin Solstice was sleeping, and then she woke up. That was generally how
her life worked. She squirmed about comfortably in the blankets that were
her bed in one corner of the kitchen, and then opened her eyes. Sleepily, she
changed clothes beneath the sheets, grabbing freshly laundered clothes from
the neat pile lying next to her bed. Ishkr was good at washing things.

Next, Erin got up. She looked around, yawned, and then opened a cupboard
for breakfast. Normally, in her world, she would have pulled out a box of
cereal. Or a sugary pop tart. Or, if she was really energetic, she’d go to the
fridge for some eggs or find some bread to toast. But in this world, Erin
reached into the cupboard and pulled out a steak, seared to perfection and
glazed with a bit of butter and sauce. She stared at it and shook her head.

“Nah.”

She put the plate back in the cupboard and peered inside. After a second,
Erin came out with a ham and cheese roll. She licked her lips, and went
over to her oven.

It took Erin seconds to light the fire and find some tongs to warm the roll up
over the fire. Soon it was steaming hot and she juggled it as she bit into the
warm sandwich. She looked around, opened another cupboard that she’d
labeled ‘drinks’, and pulled out a pitcher filled with milk. She filled a cup
as she chewed, and had herself a breakfast on a stool in the kitchen.

Life was good. Erin hummed as she got out more food for breakfast. She’d
been thinking of introducing the wonders of muesli and fruit into the lives
of her guests. It was certainly healthy, but she feared she’d have a riot on
her hands from Ceria, Jelaqua, and Mrsha, who all loved meat. And since
Erin had had a roll, she decided she’d postpone her tyranny via oats for
another day and got out more premade sandwiches and began to toast them
one by one.

The trick to using her [Field of Preservation] Skill was to know if the food
she was making needed to be rewarmed or if it was going to be okay cold.
Because if it needed to be warmed up, it wasn’t a good idea to toast it ahead
of time. Then you’d just burn the bread. Without a microwave and with
only a fire, Erin had learned a lot about which foods could be reheated
without drying out or catching on fire.

The cold sandwiches quickly became hot, delicious meals on a big plate.
Erin carried it out to the living room and heard rustling above her head.
Lyonette and Mrsha were probably getting up about now. Erin smiled and
hummed louder to herself, ready to face the day.

Which reminded her. Erin went over to her magical door and checked the
little wooden bowl filled with mana stones. Green, red, yellow…they shone
different colors as she picked up the red mana stone, ready to open the door
to the Redfang’s cave. It wasn’t hard to figure out which mana stone led to
which location; they were color coordinated after all. But Erin did wish she
could make the magic of her door automatic.

“I guess that’s the difference between a movie and real life. Yep, yep. The
only difference.”

Erin nodded to herself and then grinned. She was about to open the door to
the Redfang’s cave when she remembered that she did occasionally get the
early-morning visitor from Liscor and Celum. And they tended to get
stroppy when she left them waiting at the door in Octavia’s shop or in the
rain for a few minutes…or hours. She wasn’t sure which was worse,
standing in Liscor’s ever-present rains, or having Octavia try to sell you
something as the fumes from her potion shop seared your sinuses.

“Probably Octavia.”

Erin sighed and found the green stone for Liscor. She slapped it on the door,
opened the door, and stared into the wet and dark streets of Liscor just
before dawn. No one there. She shrugged, closed the door, plucked the
green mana stone off and found the blue stone for Celum. She placed it on
the door and then opened it.

A Dragon stared at her through the doorway. His eyes were bright yellow
and his head was taller than she was. His nose was inches from Erin’s face.
She froze.

He was standing in a massive cave. Where was Octavia’s shop? The

question fled Erin’s mind as the Dragon opened his mouth. Red and orange
flames licked around his teeth as he spoke.

“Human girl, do not be afraid. I am—”

“Aaah!”

Erin screamed and punched the Dragon straight in the nose. Instead of
connecting with his scales, her fist passed through the Dragon’s face. Erin
felt her fist connect with something else, though. Something that went
crack. She heard a yelp and a crash.

The Dragon vanished. Erin blinked as Octavia’s shop, cluttered but familiar,
appeared. And lying on the hardwood floor was a man with bright green
hair. He was dressed in colorful blue robes decorated with magical symbols
and mystical monsters like the dragon in gold, and he looked like he was in
his mid-thirties. He was also lying on the ground, clutching a bleeding nose.

“What the heck?”

Erin stared at the man, and then looked around. Octavia’s shop was right
there, as it always was. And sitting behind her counter as Octavia, frozen in
the middle of eating her breakfast—a stale piece of bread with mold
growing on one corner.

“Octavia? What’s going on?”

“You punched the magician.”

The Stich-Girl stared at Erin and then slowly bit into her piece of bread.
Erin stared at her, and then heard a moan from the ground. She looked
down. The [Mage] was getting up.

“E-Eltistiman Verdue, Miss. At your service. I do apologize for the scare.

Ooh…”

He covered his bleeding nose. Erin stared at him.

“You were a Dragon. Why’d you do that?”

He winced.

“I rather hoped it would have impressed you. Scared—but impressed. I had

an entire lineup ready to go, but I didn’t expect you to punch a Dragon in
the nose. I’m terribly sorry. Just let me—”

With one hand covering his bleeding nose he fished in his robes and came
out with a handkerchief. He covered his nose with that and then bowed
slightly to Erin.

“As I said, my name is Eltistiman Verdue. I am a [Magician]. Do I have the

honor of speaking to Miss Erin Solstice, proprietress of The Wandering
Inn?”

“That’s right? You’re a [Magician]? Are you some kind of illusionist? A

performer?”

Erin was starting to regret punching the man in the face. Sort of. What kind
of a person sprang a Dragon on someone in the morning? Well…someone
like Eltistiman, apparently. He nodded, trying to tilt his head back, pose,
and speak all at the same time.

“I do tricks and wonderful illusions for all to see. I heard your inn was a
gathering place for a wonderful new show—by the Players of Celum? I had
hoped to audition to join them as part of the attraction, but I fear my first
attempt was somewhat off-putting. I beg your forgiveness.”

“No, I’m really sorry. I uh, just have a thing about Dragons. Actually, I’m
really sorry I punched you.”
Erin looked around frantically, then called out to Octavia.

“Um, Octavia? Can I buy a healing potion?”

The [Alchemist] brightened. So did Eltistiman. Erin beckoned him into the
inn, flustered, embarrassed, and slightly amused all at once.

“Sorry. Have a seat and a healing potion, on me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“No, really. You said you do illusions? I’m sure the Players would love to
meet you, especially because Pisces has a job. You come over too, Octavia.
And stop eating that bread! Is that the penicillin mold I wanted you to
cultivate?”

“Nah, this one’s a bad batch.”

“Well, stop eating it! Have some breakfast in my inn. I have hot rolls. Come
on—uh, Eltistiman you said? You can eat here. Do you like rolls? And what
kind of illusions can you do?”

Erin beckoned the bemused [Magician] into her inn as Lyonette and Mrsha
appeared at the top of the stairs, the [Princess] holding a sword. They were
soon followed by Jelaqua with a flail, who relaxed as soon as she saw there
was no danger.

Erin sat Eltistiman down as her guests filed down the stairs, a bit early to
breakfast and carrying weapons. The [Magician] apologized as he sat down
for breakfast, and Erin found herself going into the kitchen for more rolls
and some coins for Octavia, who wanted payment in advance.

That was how she started her day. And apart from that, it was fairly
ordinary. For her, that was. For other people, the day began as ordinary but
quickly became quite interesting indeed…

—-
There was a lot Olesm could say about the culture around Drake
[Tacticians] and [Strategists], and the way that Drakes made decisions, both
militarily and politically. If pressed, he might even be able to say something
complimentary. However, for all the chaos and infighting that went on
between the Drake cities, it had to be said that they weren’t all idiots.

When the news of the Goblin Lord’s rout at Dwarfhalls Rest had reached
the south (practically within minutes of it occurring thanks to the wonders
of magic and paid informants), the Drakes had taken note and begun
waiting for news of a pitched battle. But it never came.

Then they heard the Goblins were on the march with the Humans pursuing.
A few suspicions had been raised, but there were countless reasons why
Lord Tyrion’s force might not have chosen to engage just yet and so the
Drakes had kept an earhole open while tending to their business. So a day
had passed, then four days. And then eight.

By the ninth day, it was clear that the Humans were up to something. The
Human army mustered by Tyrion Veltras had been pushing the Goblins at a
breakneck pace, but they had yet to engage in any major clashes. The
[Strategists] took a serious interest and came to a series of rapid
conclusions.

“They’re trying to push the Goblins into our lands.”

Olesm handed out a sheaf of transcribed reports to Zevara, Embria, and

Ilvriss as they sat around a meeting table. All three Drakes sat up at once
and Zevara stopped yawning. She snatched the scroll from Olesm. The
analysis from Zeres’ top [Strategist] had been supported by five other Drake
[Strategists], hence the mass of notes and addendums to the report itself.
Her eyes flicked back and forth rapidly as Embria and Ilvriss read their
reports as well.

The newly minted [Strategist] of Liscor hovered nervously until he realized

he should take a seat. He’d read the contents of the report already and he’d
come to the same conclusion. Tyrion Veltras wasn’t going to fight the
Goblin Lord. He was going to push the entire army straight through the
High Passes or around Liscor so they could cause more havoc in Drake
lands.

“That scaleless, fleshy bastard!”

Embria was the first to react. She hurled the report onto the table and stood
up. She began striding about the conference room, her claws opening and
closing as if she wished she were holding her spear. Ilvriss looked up and
glowered.

“Swifttail, do you concur with this analysis?”

“I do, sir.”

Olesm gulped and sat up straight. He felt comfortable around the other
Drakes normally—okay, he’d avoided sitting in the same room as Embria
after she’d tried to invite him out for drinks and Ilvriss was still a Wall Lord
—but right now he was in his official capacity and this had a direct impact
on the safety of Liscor. He cleared his throat and his tail curled around his
chair leg.

“I um, completely agree with the report. There’s no reason why Tyrion
Veltras wouldn’t have attacked the Goblins already if he was intending to
destroy the army. He outnumbers them both in quality and quantity of his
troops, which is clearly overkill.”

“Clearly.”

Zevara muttered, still reading. Olesm nodded again. His leg jittered under
the table, making the entire table vibrate slightly. He stopped and flushed.

“Sorry. It uh—yes, clearly he could have won at any time. But he delayed
attacking for so long and he’s marched an entire army so far, at great
expense I must add! If you factor in the cost of feeding so many soldiers
and paying them, not to mention taking them away from their posts…”

Ilvriss was nodding.

“Clearly he has a plan. And this is it. In true Human fashion, he intends to
push the threat of the Goblins onto us.”

“It’s sound strategy.”

That came from Embria. The red-scaled Drake looked like she was stepping
on hot coals, but she nodded grudgingly as she went back to sit down. She
looked at the other Drakes as she spoke.

“That Goblin Lord’s already destroyed two armies and taken out a pair of
[Generals]. The Humans can let him rampage across our lands so that we’re
weakened. Maybe they intend to beat us during the annual battle at the
Blood Fields, or maybe this is part of something larger. Either way, the
Goblin Lord is their weapon to do it. They can run him south and claim he
‘got away’.”

“No one would buy that, surely.”

Olesm protested weakly, but Ilvriss shook his head. The Drake ground his
teeth together.

“The excuse would be flimsy, but it would work, politically. We have an

accord with the Humans that prohibits unprovoked assaults onto Drake
sovereignty. So long as they can pretend that they have no direct hand in
what the Goblins do, they can claim they’re upholding the treaties.”

He grimaced. The other Drakes sitting at the table went silent, and then
Zevara spat a lick of flame.

“Politics.”

She rolled up the scroll and tossed it at the table. Then she looked hard at
Olesm. When she spoke, it was with the sharp edge to her tone that she used
in battle. Olesm was relieved to hear it. Ilvriss might be a Wall Lord and
Embria was technically his superior and an officer of Liscor, but Zevara
was the Watch Captain. She held the walls and she was the one who made
the decisions that kept Liscor safe.
“Olesm, you’re convinced the Goblins are headed south. The question I
have for you is this: are they coming through the High Passes, or past
Liscor?”

Olesm frowned and tapped the tips of his claws on the table.

“The report gives it seventy-thirty odds that they’re going through the High
Passes rather than Liscor. The Goblins can probably survive marching
through the base of the High Passes with minimal casualties—well, they’d
probably get at least half across with the Goblin Lord leading them.”

“But you disagree?”

The [Strategist] hesitated. His mind was working hard now.

“I’m considering that they might come through Liscor, yes. And if they do,
we’ll know soon.”

He went over to the map of Izril he’d brought to the table and pointed out
Tyrion’s current position on the map.

“They’re four days away if they keep marching this fast. Maybe five or six
if they hit delays, but four’s my estimate. If it’s the High Passes though,
we’ll know tomorrow. They’ll have to change course and they’ll be there
two days from now.”

Embria eyed the winding gap that marked the only other entrance point
between north and south in the High Passes.

“Assuming they do that, there’s little we can do. They’ll pop out far further
west. But say they come to Liscor.”

She tapped Liscor on the map and pointed out the basin that Liscor lay
roughly in the center of. Embria shook her head.

“It’s foolish to try pushing the Goblins across the water while Liscor is
flooded.”
“If they try to push the Goblins across the water, they’ll die by the tens of
thousands to our archers on the walls and the monsters and fish in the
waters. We can range them, if not with bows, then with spells. And they
won’t have boats. They’ll be sitting ducks!”

Olesm nodded. That was what the [Strategist] from Zeres had written. But
still—he frowned.

“That’s true Wing Commander Embria, but the High Passes are just as
deadly. It might be safer to dare crossing the basin, especially if Rock Crabs
and assaults from Liscor are the only dangers. We have limited arrows and
even if we slew—what, forty thousand? How many arrows can our archers
put out per minute? What if the Goblins travelled around the edge of the
basin? That’s still a huge force if this Goblin Lord can keep it alive. And
more if they link up with the Goblins from the dungeon.”

Embria paused. Ilvriss sat up slightly.

“You think Tyrion Veltras is aware of the Cave Goblin situation and intends
to grow the Goblin Lord’s army?”

Olesm shook his head.

“I doubt he knows, Wall Lord. But it might complicate matters if he finds

them there.”

Ilvriss nodded slowly.

“I have given much thought to the situation. There may be a few thousand
Goblins living in the dungeon still, at least several hundred. Like all of the
monsters that plague Liscor, they must be dealt with.”

Olesm’s stomach did an unhappy belly flop. Ilvriss sighed.

“It is my duty to say they should be eradicated without mercy. But to slay
them outright…it sits ill on my conscience.”

“Yes sir. I completely agree.”

The Goblins had helped save the citizens of Liscor. More than that, Olesm
had gotten to know the Redfang Goblins living in Erin’s inn and he couldn’t
fathom the idea of killing them. Embria clearly didn’t share the same
opinion, however.

“They may have served Liscor once, but they are monsters, Wall Lord. If
you wish to reward them, give them an hour to run and then send the Watch
and my soldiers after them.”

Ilvriss glanced up.

“You think you could rout an army of two thousand Cave Goblins, Wing
Commander Embria? With your 4th Company?”

There were barely more than a hundred soldiers in her company. Olesm
blinked, but Embria nodded confidently.

“Give me a thousand Level 10 [Soldiers] and I could take on an army twice

as large. Against Goblins? Four times. My company and I were deployed to
hold Liscor. If the Goblin Lord comes through Liscor by water, or these
Cave Goblins need to be dealt with, the Watch supplemented by my soldiers
can deal with either issue.”

The red-scaled Drake smiled confidently. Ilvriss nodded slowly and Zevara
frowned, but didn’t object. As for Olesm, he nodded slowly as he did the
calculations. Embria wasn’t lying, or boasting—much.

A hundred of her soldiers plus a thousand members of Liscor’s Watch could

do just what she said. They’d proven it in the dungeon against the
Raskghar; with low-level recruits and part of Liscor’s army, they could take
on threats vastly above their level. All thanks to Embria and her officers.

It was Liscorian strategy—that was to say, a way of forming armies unique

to Liscor. Liscor had an army of a few thousand strong at all times, a small
army given how large the city was. Even smaller Human cities in the north
half as large as Liscor had an army of at least five thousand! But the Watch
was equivalent to any militia, and Liscor’s regular army didn’t need
numbers to win battles. They had a trick, an open secret anyone in the
military could figure out, really. And the secret had to do with classes.

At birth, each citizen of Liscor was formally conscripted into Liscor’s army
with a small ceremony. It was a trivial detail for most, but it was mandated
by law. None of Liscor’s citizens had to join the army, mind you. It was a
formality, but that formality mattered very much for how Liscor’s army
operated. Because it allowed them to promote their soldiers with impunity.

You couldn’t have an unlimited amount of officers in an army. That went

against common sense and military protocol. There was no way you could
have two [Generals] in the same army, obviously. In the same way, higher-
ranking officers required a certain amount of [Soldiers] serving under them
or they couldn’t change classes, even if they were promoted in rank. That
usually posed a slight problem in other armies, but not in Liscor’s army.

Olesm wasn’t sure of the numbers, but if one [Sergeant] was promoted to
command eight soldiers…or sixteen, or even thirty two….there was a finite
number that could be fielded in any army. And smaller armies of a few
thousand would have a few hundred sergeants at most. But if every citizen
of Liscor was technically a soldier…

It was the trick that made Liscor’s army so deadly in small numbers. They
had only a few thousand regulars in the army. But they had so many
[Sergeants], [Captains], [Lieutenants], and even [Wing Commanders] that
they could turn a group of low-level [Soldiers] into an army of war demons.

That was how Liscor fought. They kept an elite core of high-rank officers
and constantly recruited soldiers who would fight under the effects of a
dozen Skills at once. That was why a hundred or so of Embria’s soldiers
and officers could actually turn the tide of battle if they fought with the City
Watch. That was how General Sserys had held the Antinium in the first
Antinium War at Shivering Falls Pass, and it was why Liscor’s army was
famed throughout Izril.

Embria wasn’t wrong to think she could beat an equal or greater force with
help from the Watch, but Olesm knew Liscor’s army wasn’t invincible. It
had suffered defeats like any other force, and the Second Antinium War and
the assault on Liscor by Az’kerash had shown just how weak Liscor’s army
was to an enemy with powerful magical support…

“Olesm? Olesm!”

The Drake jumped. He looked around and realized Zevara was looking at
him. He flushed and sat up.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Watch Captain?”

Zevara ignored his lapse as she tapped the map in front of her.

“So the Goblin Lord will be pushed through the High Passes or go around
Liscor. That’s the contents of the report. What do you believe the reaction
of the other cities will be?”

“Naturally, to ensure the Goblin Lord does not pass into Drake lands and
disappear.”

Ilvriss frowned. Olesm nodded.

“I believe that the Walled Cities will put forward a motion to gather a truly
large suppression army at Pallass. Or Zeres, if the Goblins move through
the High Passes instead of Liscor. They will attempt to meet the Goblins
and force them back to the Human lands in turn—or destroy them where
they were.”

He grimaced, imagining how difficult it would be for all the cities to send
the required number of soldiers to Pallass in time to repel the Goblins.
Zevara just nodded.

“In that case, we can only wait to see what the Humans do. But if they
come to Liscor, I’ll make sure the Goblin Lord’s army turns the waters red.
I’m going to check our ammunition stores and recheck the status of the
enchantments on our walls. Wall Lord Ilvriss has agreed to communicate
with the other cities and Wing Commander Embria will do an inspection of
our walls for weak points, if any. Is there anything else we should be
doing?”
Olesm shook his head.

“No, I’ll ah, continue monitoring the progress of the Humans. I will of
course report to you all when I have any information—”

He got up, trying to gather all the reports. Zevara nodded and turned.
Embria was already striding out of the room. Ilvriss slid his report to
Olesm. The older Drake sighed.

“Another damn complication. It seems like every other week a disaster

strikes Liscor. I should have known this one was coming; trust a Human to
make our lives difficult.”

“Yes sir.”

Olesm couldn’t argue with that. The enmity between Drakes and Humans
was usually nothing pleasant, but he’d grown used to Humans, living so
close to their lands in Liscor. But this Tyrion Veltras was known for his anti-
Drake stance and he’d personally fought against Liscor in the annual battles
in the Blood Fields many times. If anyone could be considered an enemy
among the Humans, it was him. Ilvriss sighed as he put his claws behind his
back and faced the rain-spattered windows.

“I think Watch Captain Zevara is overstating the danger. The Goblins may
pass by our walls, but they’ll be no threat. For once, Liscor may relax.”

Our walls. Olesm noted the words, but all he did was nod.

“Yes, Wall Lord. But I thought I should bring it up given the situation.”

“Oh, of course. We must be informed at all times. You do your job with
commendable attention, Swifttail.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ilvriss smiled fondly at Olesm, as an uncle would to a nephew. Rather like

how Olesm’s uncle Lism would puff up with pride, come to that. It wasn’t a
favorable comparison. The Wall Lord frowned suddenly as Olesm was
rolling his map up securely.
“That reminds me. Young Olesm, I know you’re an acquaintance of Miss
Shivertail. Would you pass the results of the lottery to her or Guildmistress
Tekshia in person? I would send a Street Runner, but I wouldn’t put it past
some adventurers to waylay any messenger in hopes of altering the results.”

Olesm jumped. He stared as Ilvriss pulled out a folded bit of parchment and
proffered it to the [Strategist]. Olesm took it nervously.

“Oh—the lottery’s finished?”

“It was decided by random lots yesterday. Fairly. Most of the teams
acquired some manner of magical artifact or other and the rest will receive
adequate gold as compensation. As will Liscor. Please inform the
adventurers that they may begin picking up their shares here. In an orderly
fashion.”

Ilvriss sighed as if he was already anticipating angry mobs. Olesm nodded.

“I’ll give it to Selys at once, sir.”

“Thank you, Swifttail. Now, I must inform Salazsar. Excuse me.”

Olesm left Ilvriss in the conference room. He stowed the reports and his
map in his office and hurried down the stairs and out of the city hall. He
paused and stared up at the rain as it instantly soaked his scales, but he
didn’t bother going back for his cloak, which he’d forgotten in his office.
Instead, he just tucked the parchment Ilvriss had given him into his
waterproof belt pouch and hurried through the streets, grumbling about the
rain.

“I can’t wait for all this water to stop. When’s it going to end? It has to be
next week at the latest, right?”

The [Strategist]’s aggrieved comments drew little notice from the Drakes
and Gnolls hurrying about on their business in the wet streets. Complaining
about the rain was practically a tradition in Liscor. That and moaning about
clogged sewers or Quillfish. Then again, comments about the sewers had
stopped due to a sudden improvement in the drainage system underneath
Liscor, much to the displeasure of those who liked to groan about such
things.

Olesm paused as a torrent of water from above nearly missed him. He

shook a fist at a Drake who was unapologetically emptying a bucket from a
balcony above, and wondered when he’d see the sun again. Maybe if he
went to Celum after visiting Selys. It would be nice to see clear skies.

Clear skies. Olesm paused as he stared up at the cloudy, rain-sodden skies.

When would Liscor have clear skies? It had to be…how long had it been
raining? A month, now? He paused, and then picked up his pace. But this
time he was staring up at the sky. The rain had to stop soon. Olesm felt that
way as any native of Liscor did. But how soon? When, exactly, would it
change? There was something about that thought that disturbed him greatly.

—-

Day ???

She dreamt she was floating in a sea of clouds. As high up as she could go,
and resting on a cloud as soft as cotton. But then she felt a hideous pain in
her chest. She looked around and realized she was falling. And suddenly
she was bleeding, and she saw a Goblin staring at her with eyes like
crimson fire—

Durene shouted as she woke. She sat up and cried out in pain as whomever
was standing next to her went flying. She heard a shout, and then someone
rushed into the room. Durene was too busy clutching at her chest. It hurt!
But the pain was illusory—as soon as she touched her chest she felt only
rough skin. Raised skin. A scar.

“Durene?”
The half-Troll girl looked up. A young woman with a pointy hat stood in the
doorway.

“Wiskeria? What’s going on? Where are the Goblins? Where—”

Durene tried to swing herself out of bed. She heard an exclamation and
reached down, unthinking. She pulled up a terrified woman dressed in
white. A [Healer]. She had both herbs and healing potions at her belt.
Durene stared and slowly lowered the woman to the ground.

“Where am I?”

“In Riverfarm. You’re safe.”

Wiskeria reassured the young woman as the [Healer] fled out the door. Now
Durene was getting her bearings, she could see that she was in a house. It
looked like…one of the many houses that Laken had ordered built for the
villagers, but wider, more open. Not her cottage. And when she looked
down she saw she was lying in a newly-made bed, made wider and longer
to hold her. She looked around. Bright sunlight was streaming through the
windows.

“Where am I?”

“In a hospital. That’s what Laken called it anyways. It’s a place for the
[Healers] to work. You’re in a private room. In Riverfarm.”

Wiskeria repeated herself slowly. At last her words sank in. Durene stared at
the [Witch]-made-[General].

“What about the battle? There were Goblins. I was—”

Again, she touched her chest. She realized she was bare from the chest up—
the [Healer] must have been tending to her. Durene looked down. Her dark
grey, cracked skin was whole in most places, but there was a red wound on
her chest, right between her breasts. It ran from just below her chin down
nearly to her navel. It was nearly closed, but it was red. Puffy. It hurt.
Durene touched it and felt a flash of pain. She put her head down.
“I got hurt.”

Wiskeria nodded. The [Witch] tugged the hat brim lower on her head.

“You…took a bad injury. We had to evacuate you from the battlefield and
so the didn’t completely heal when we used the healing potion. There were
also complications. If we’d had a better one—”

“It’s fine. It’s not as if it makes me uglier.”

Durene spoke numbly. It was not fine. She ran her fingertips down her
chest, feeling the scar again. Then she looked up sharply.

“But what about the battle? We won, right?”

They had to have won. How else would they be here? Durene remembered
the battle, hearing the soldiers screaming around her as they fought the
Goblins. So many Goblins. It had felt like they were pushing the entire army
back, but Durene had held her ground and swung her club again and again,
trying to hold them back. Until the fat hob with the battleaxe had appeared.
She looked at Wiskeria, hoping. But the [Witch] only looked away.

“We…lost. After you fell, Benoit charged to your rescue. That Chieftain
took him down too. I called a retreat and we ran. The Goblins nearly ran us
all down.”

“All? Did they kill—”

Durene’s heart sank. Wiskeria shook her head hurriedly.

“They didn’t get a chance. Another group of soldiers charged them. A group
of cavalry led by Lord Pellmia. They came here with Tyrion Veltras
himself.”

The name stirred a thought in Durene’s head. Veltras? Wasn’t that one of
the Five Families? She stared at Wiskeria.

“How? I mean, how’d they know to—what happened?”

Wiskeria hesitated, then sat on Durene’s bed. The half-Troll girl found there
were clothes folded near her bed—her clothes from her cottage. She dressed
silently as Wiskeria told her what had happened. First the army from
Riverfarm had been routed, then Lord Pellmia had broken the Goblins in
turn. They’d disappeared, hunting the Goblins while Lord Tyrion himself
had ridden to rescue Riverfarm.

All of that had happened as she slept. It was too much to take in. Durene
put her head in her hands.

“And I was out for all of it?”

Wiskeria nodded.

“You lost so much blood. Even the healing potion wasn’t enough. And the
[Healer] told us that you needed rest, so they put you here. You woke up a
few times, mainly to use the toilet, but you were practically a zombie.”

“How long was I asleep?”

The [Witch] hesitated. Durene raised her voice.

“How long?”

When she spoke loudly, people tended to listen. Wiskeria didn’t pale or
freeze up, but she answered after a second.

“Nearly a week.”

“A week!?”

Again, Durene tried to get out of bed. Wiskeria held up a hand.

“You were practically dead when we brought you to Riverfarm! If you

hadn’t been as tough as you were, I think you would have been dead. Benoit
had armor on and he still nearly died! You took a blow from an enchanted
axe to your chest and survived.”

“But we lost. And I lost. We lost the battle.”

Durene felt completely adrift as she stared at Wiskeria. She saw how the
[Witch] looked down, and a wave of despondency swamped Durene. She
looked around frantically. She had to see him.

“Laken. Where’s Laken?”

Part of her hoped he would be nearby. But Wiskeria didn’t meet Durene’s
eyes.

“He’s not in Riverfarm. He wanted to stay, Durene. He refused to leave

your side, but Tyrion Veltras insisted. So he left. He was here every day
until—”

She yelped as Durene grabbed her. The half-Troll lifted Wiskeria into the air
as easily as a kitten and brought her closer to her face.

“Where is he?”

“He left! He rode out with an escort two days ago! He wanted to stay! But
Tyrion’s messenger gave him no choice! Durene, put me down!”

Durene realized she was shaking Wiskeria. She stopped and let the [Witch]
drop. Wiskeria gasped as Durene took a step back.

“Why?”

The [Witch] shook her head.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is that Laken struck a deal with Lord
Tyrion Veltras. But he wouldn’t tell me or Prost or Rie what it was for. He
had the entire village of Riverfarm working these last few days. Now he’s
gone, and so is Gamel and Tessia and over thirty of the villagers. They’ve
taken—”

Durene didn’t hear the rest. She slowly sat down on the bed. Gone. Laken
was gone, just like in her worst nightmares. And he’d left without her.

She didn’t know what to think. She’d lost. For the first time she’d actually
lost a fight. She remembered the Goblin looking down at her as he swung
the axe. She’d lost.

And Laken was gone. Durene bowed her head. Then, suddenly, she looked
up.

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where are they?”

Wiskeria wavered.

“I don’t know exactly. Durene, you’re in no condition to move just yet. If

you’re thinking of following them, forget it. They had Skills and horses.
They were trying to catch Tyrion Veltras, I think. And if he’s where I think
he is—”

“Just tell me where! In what direction did he go?”

Durene covered her face. She wanted to cry. Nothing was right in the world.
She heard nothing for a moment, and then Wiskeria sat next to Durene. She
put a hand on the Troll girl’s shoulder and Durene felt it trembling. She
looked up and saw the desolation in Wiskeria’s eyes too. They’d failed. The
two sat together for a moment, and then Wiskeria spoke.

“South. They’ve all gone south.”

—-

Olesm stood in the Adventurer’s Guild and felt every eye on his back. He
felt more in danger here than in a room full of zombies. There was nothing
like having a dozen Gold and Silver-rank teams eying you from behind to
get your heart racing. As casually as he could, he leaned over the counter.
“It’s uh, good to see you, Selys.”

“Yeah. What brings you here, Olesm?”

The [Receptionist] looked unusually strained as she smiled back at Olesm.

She was manning the desk in the Adventurer’s Guild as always. But from
what Olesm understood, that was not an enviable task at the moment. All
the adventurers in Liscor had been fighting over who would get what from
the lottery Ilvriss had created. And the fighting wasn’t just verbal. Olesm
could feel suspicious eyes on his back and he was conscious of the slip of
paper in his claws.

Ilvriss hadn’t understated things. Olesm wondered if he’d actually be

jumped if he mentioned that he had the list of who got what in his claws.
So, conscious of eyes on him and the various Skills that the adventurers had
that would aid their senses of sight and hearing, he leaned forwards and
pretended to smile.

“I was actually hoping you could help me, you know, in my capacity as a
[Strategist]? I need some information about Liscor’s weather and your
grandmother’s one of the oldest Drakes I know.”

Selys smiled, but her eyes flicked to the piece of paper Olesm covertly
showed her. She looked at Olesm and her tail twitched slightly. She knew.
But she kept her face straight like the best of [Actors].

“Really? Well, Grandma is old, and apparently she knows a lot about
Liscor. She won’t shut up about how things worked in her day, at any rate.
What do you need to know?”

Olesm shrugged casually.

“Nothing much. I’d just like to know when the rainfall usually stops.”

Selys frowned.

“The rain? I’d say it’s due to stop soon, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but when, exactly? Are there patterns? If Guildmistress Tekshia could
tell me herself, or point me to any books or reports on the subject, I’d be
grateful.”

“Oh, well in that case I can take you to her. Why don’t we go now?”

“Sounds good.”

The two Drakes slid away from the desk and casually walked towards the
stairs, bantering lightly. Olesm saw the Flamewardens, the Wings of
Pallass, and two other Gold-rank teams sitting by the stairs. He could feel
sweat rolling down his scales as the adventurers stared at him.

“Hey, Olesm, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes?”

Olesm and Selys froze as they passed by the not-leader of the Wings of
Pallass, Bevussa. The Garuda smiled at him.

“We met during the battle. And the baseball game. How’s it going?”

“Oh, well. You know how it is. I’m just on business for Liscor.”

“Yeah? You work with Wall Lord Ilvriss, don’t you? Any news about who
got what yet?”

The atmosphere sharpened to a razor’s edge. Olesm saw Keldrass of the

Flamewardens look up, and a Gold-rank Gnoll slowly sniff the air. He tried
to keep his tail from tying itself in knots.

“T-the lottery? I’ve got no idea. Wall Lord Ilvriss is making his decisions. If
I knew anything I’d let you know, sorry. I’m uh, just going with Selys—”

The [Receptionist] tugged Olesm and he stumbled towards the stairs.

Bevussa half-rose as her eyes narrowed, but the two Drakes practically ran
upstairs. Selys pushed Olesm towards the end of the hall where Tekshia’s
office was. Only when they were a few feet from the doors did she finally
slump.
“Ancestors, Olesm! You are the worst liar I’ve ever met! And I’ve talked to
the Antinium!”

“I’m sorry, I panicked!”

Olesm wiped sweat from his brow, then he froze.

“Can they hear us…?”

Selys shook her head.

“No, there’s an anti-eavesdropping spell around Grandma’s office. They

can’t hear a thing. Is that really the list of rewards?”

“That’s right.”

Olesm showed Selys the parchment. She snatched it from him and unfolded
it.

“Hey!”

“Shut up. Let’s see here…oh wow. Griffon Hunt got their first pick, the
bow, the Halfseekers didn’t get their armor, but they did get a mace, the
Wings got a sword and the Flamewardens got the armor—this isn’t good.”

“It’s not?”

Olesm craned his neck to see the neat scrawl. Selys tsked as she read.

“No, but it was going to be bad no matter what. All that fighting—why
couldn’t Ilvriss have hurried up? Well, I guess either way…there’ll be a
huge brawl when the adventurers hear who got what, you mark my words.
Grandmother’s probably going to have to get them to leave the city before
she tells them or something. Otherwise they’ll wreck half the guild.”

The [Strategist] winced.

“Well, that’s none of my business. I’m just the messenger.”

“Right, message received. I’ll get this to Grandma. You can go.”

Selys waved a claw at Olesm. He hesitated.

“Actually, I was serious about the rainfall question.”

“Really?”

“It may be a matter of Liscor’s security.”

“Why? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Let’s just get this over with.
Grandma’s not going to be happy about the Halfseekers, though.”

“Why? Does she favor them?”

“No, but she has a thirty-gold bet they’d get the armor. Hold on. Grandma?”

Selys raised her voice and knocked on the door. Olesm heard a muffled
sound from within, and then jumped as he heard a thump. It sounded like
someone had thrown something heavy against the door. Selys frowned, and
then the door opened and a pair of people spilled out.

“Revi? Yvlon?”

The two women scrambled out of Tekshia’s office as if they were being
chased. They paused and stared at the two Drakes. Revi was smiling more
widely than Olesm had ever seen her, and Yvlon looked pleased. However,
both adventurers quickly shut the door behind them.

“Selys, Olesm, I didn’t realize you were outside.”

Yvlon nodded at the two of them. Revi just kept smiling. It was quite eerie
compared to her usual scowl. Olesm blinked. Selys folded her arms.

“What’s going on? I thought you two were meeting Grandmother on

adventuring business.”

“We were. Just a casual update for Liscor’s guild.”

Revi pointed back to the door. Selys rolled her eyes.

“In that case, why did she throw her spear at you? Don’t lie—I recognize
that thump.”

Yvlon and Revi exchanged a quick glance. The armored woman was the
first to answer.

“Your grandmother’s insane, Selys. She could have hit us!”

“Only if you really made her mad. Sounds like she was trying for it
anyways. What happened?”

“Well…we drew the short straws, so we had to meet her.”

Revi and Yvlon exchanged glances. They didn’t seem too displeased despite
their brush with death. Selys frowned.

“About what?”

Yvlon coughed and Revi shrugged. The two looked too happy. Olesm
narrowed his eyes. Selys made a displeased hissing sound.

“Just tell me, would you? You told my grandmother—she’ll tell me.”

“Oh, but we didn’t tell her—”

“Shush!”

Revi nudged Yvlon. The Stitch-Woman smiled at Selys.

“We can’t give out details, Selys. But you know how adventurers have to
report income to the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Both Selys and Olesm nodded. Adventurers generally owed ten percent of
everything they made to the guild. Normally that was pre-deducted in cases
of requests, but when adventurers found treasure in dungeons they were
required to pay a tax on what they earned, both to the Adventurer’s Guild
and the city if the dungeon was on their lands. Olesm knew Selys would
have to fill out a myriad of forms after the Raskghar’s treasure had been
divided up.

“Everyone knows that. What, did your groups find some more treasure in
the dungeon? If you did, you’ll have to pay up just like everyone.”

The two adventurers grinned giddily. Now Olesm was seriously beginning
to be weirded out. He took a step behind Selys as Revi replied.

“Oh, we know. And normally we’d have to disclose everything. But ah, not
this time. We were just stopping by to let Guildmistress Tekshia know that
our teams—that is, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of
Hammerad—received a huge amount of income. And we’re not paying for
any of it. She was just testing us with truth spells.”

“What? But you have to pay! Grandmother wouldn’t let you two off unless
—that’s illegal!”

Selys stared at Revi and Yvlon. Again, the adventurers shook their heads.

“Not if it’s a gift. Gifts aren’t taxable under the Adventurer Guild’s laws.
And it just so happens that we got a huge ‘gift’ of treasure the Raskghar left
behind. So it’s all ours and we don’t owe the guild a copper coin.”

Revi smirked. Olesm raised a hand timidly.

“But that’s just a technicality. If it was in the dungeon, it’s still acquired
loot. You can’t just claim it’s a gift to be exempt. If you found it—”

“But that’s the thing. We didn’t find it, so it wasn’t adventurer’s loot. We got
it from the Goblins. They had all the treasure. All of it.”

“The Redfang Goblins did? But they’re adventurers too!”

Selys looked astounded. Revi’s smile only grew wider as she shook her
head.

“That’s what we thought. But guess what? Apparently, Erin told us that they
were made a team yesterday. Funny thing, that. I thought they were
supposed to be regular adventurers already, but it sounds like someone
confused the paperwork so they wouldn’t have to give the Goblins any of
the treasure we got.”

Olesm blanched as Selys shot him a quizzical glance. He remembered that

discussion with Ilvriss and Zevara. They’d fudged the paperwork so that the
Redfang Goblins would be exempt from the lottery.

“T-that, how do you know that?”

“Oh, we don’t care. And they don’t either. But that means they were just
random…Goblins until yesterday. And they gave us all the treasure three
days ago. So…guess what?”

Revi assured Olesm. She was still smiling. Slowly, Olesm began to put the
pieces together. He paled.

“You don’t mean—”

“That’s right! Your Guildmistress nearly strangled us, but we checked the
law and we’re in the clear. She can’t claim that’s dungeon treasure, not if
the Goblins had it first and they weren’t adventurers. So all of this is a
private donation by individuals unaffiliated with the Adventurer’s Guild or
Liscor to us. Which means we owe you nothing.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know how much Revi was talking about,
but the huge grin the Stitch-Woman wore and the pleased expression on
Yvlon’s face told him everything. Selys stared at Revi as well. The
[Summoner] wore the evilest, smuggest smile Olesm had seen on any face,
Human, Drake, or otherwise.

“And Grandmother let you live?”

“She nearly got us with that spear. But we’re in the clear. If she wants to
argue, she can try, but we don’t have to tell you what we got. We’ve done
our duty by disclosing the rough amount and we’ve been checked under
truth spell. Now we owe you nothing. See you!”
Revi waved at the two Drakes and then practically bounced down the
corridor. She was actually singing to herself. Yvlon smiled and paused
before following her.

“Sorry, but that’s how it is. It’s…good seeing you two. Keep it a secret,
okay?”

She followed Revi. The two Drakes stared as Yvlon and Revi walked down
the stairs. Slowly, Selys looked at Olesm.

“Grandmother’s going to have a heart attack. If I walk in that room she’s

going to be dead—or about to blow her scales off.”

“And Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Council will have my tail.”

Olesm groaned. He was putting the pieces together now. The Redfang
Goblins—or rather, the Cave Goblins must have known about the
Raskghar’s treasure stash! Of course they wouldn’t have kept it in their
mobile camps! And Revi was exactly right—it wasn’t taxable! By
preventing the Redfang Goblins from earning their reward, Liscor had just
lost…

The [Strategist] was about to smack his head repeatedly into a wall when he
noticed Selys smiling. He looked suspiciously at her.

“What’re you happy about? This is a disaster!”

Selys smirked in a pretty good replica of Revi’s expression.

“For Liscor, and the guild, probably. But did you forget? I’ve been leasing
the Heartflame Breastplate to the Halfseekers. Under our agreement, I get
30% of whatever the Halfseekers make. It’s no scales off my tail.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He opened his mouth to protest, but Selys just
opened the door to Tekshia’s office. She called in cheerfully.

“Hi Grandma! Lower your spear, it’s just me. The adventurers are gone.
Bad news, huh? I’ve got more! Ilvriss finally gave us the lottery results and
there’s going to be a fight! Oh, and Olesm is here with a question for you.
He’s one of the people who helped make it so the Redfang Goblins got
registered at the wrong time, by the way. Olesm?”

She waved at Olesm. The [Strategist] felt his scales go white. He stared at
Selys as he heard a guttural hissing sound coming from inside the office. He
wavered at the door and then he slapped himself and focused. He had to
know about the rains. He stepped inside—

Below the office, the adventurers who weren’t Revi and Yvlon were sitting
together, glaring at each other and speculating about why they looked so
happy. They looked up as one as they heard a shout of terror. They saw
Olesm Swifttail dash downstairs, crash, roll, and spring to his feet and run
out of the Guild’s doors. He was pursued a moment later by an angry old
Drake holding a barbed spear.

Olesm ran frantically and felt Tekshia’s spear graze his shoulder. He ducked
and ran faster as the old Drake hurled obscenities at his back. He resolved
not to go near the Adventurer’s Guild for a month. As Olesm ran, he felt the
immediate, temporary fear of Tekshia’s wrath subside and a truer, deeper
panic set in. Because in between the Guildmistress’ fury and his flight, he’d
learned what he needed to know.

The rains would stop any day now. And when they did—

Well, Liscor would still be safe. In theory. But now Olesm was worried. He
ran straight towards the Watch Barracks to find Zevara. And to warn her of
an impending brawl at the Adventurer’s Guild.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres had lived for over fifty three years. He did not consider
himself a humble man, but he did consider himself somewhat practical. And
he did not think of himself as a good man, a failing often found in
genuinely good men. Or realists. But he had lived as honorably as he could
for over five decades and faced more than his fair share of monsters despite
never having taken up arms as a [Knight].

He thought he had faced enough beasts and creatures of evil in his life. But
the night after Tremborag had fallen, Yitton Byres found himself pouring an
uncharacteristic first, second, and third cup of wine to steady his nerves.
Yitton tossed down the third cup of the strongest and cheapest wine he’d
been able to buy from the [Quartermaster]. It didn’t help.

He could still smell the burning flesh. He could still hear Tremborag’s howl,
a sound that hadn’t ceased even when they tore open his chest and cut him
to the bone. Yitton closed his eyes. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain had
not died, though he had been speared through the heart, though they had
torn him practically to shreds.

“Dead gods. I thought I’d seen the last of such monsters in the Second
Antinium War. How many more beasts like that roam the earth? Hidden in
mountains. Underground?”

His blood chilled at the thought. And it grew colder still to think of one of
his offspring, Ylawes, for instance, facing a beast like that alone. Six Gold-
rank adventurers had died or been maimed in the battle. Six. Yitton was
proud of his son and ranked the Silver Swords highly even among the
continent’s Gold-rank teams. But Tremborag was a monster worthy of a
Named Adventurer.

“Why didn’t Arcsinger bring him down? She didn’t fight. If she had—no,
Veltras had his reasons. And perhaps he would have killed her.”

That was a troubling thought. Yitton hadn’t ever laid eyes on the last Goblin
King; he’d fought to protect his home and faced off against a Goblin
Chieftain and even laid eyes on a Goblin Lord, but he had not seen the
Goblin King. As far as he was concerned, though, Tremborag had been
every bit as terrifying as a Goblin Lord.

“Silver and steel. I should [Message] Ylawes. I haven’t seen him in too
long. And Yvlon—where is she? Ylawes swore he’d bring her back, but I’ve
not heard word from him or her. Are they—”
Yitton was pouring himself another cup when he heard a knock at his tent’s
flap. He turned.

“Enter.”

Lord Erill, one of the richer [Lords] and newly come to his nobility, pushed
himself through the tent. His expression was a mirror of Yitton’s own; pale,
somber. For a camp that had just brought down a Goblin Chieftain, the
mood was terribly quiet. Yitton rose at once, although he found himself
stumbling slightly as the effects of the alcohol hit him. He was not a strong
drinker.

“Lord Erill, greetings.”

“Yitton.”

Erill nodded to him. It was not a slight since Yitton had requested the
informality, but the patriarch of the Byres house couldn’t help but use the
man’s title. Far too many other [Ladies] and [Lords] tended to slight Lord
Erill and Yitton abhorred that kind of disrespect. At the moment however,
Erill shivered as if he’d like nothing more than to be a [Merchant] a
thousand miles from here. He looked at Yitton, opened his mouth and
spotted the pitcher of wine.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Yitton? Wine?”

“Yes. Cheap stuff, though. I’d offer you a drink but it’s practically vinegar.”

“I’d drink that if I could forget today. Will you offer me a glass?”

“Of course.”

Yitton poured Erill a full cup and after a moment of thought, did the same
for himself. Erill drank his cup as fast as Yitton. Some of the color ran back
into his face.

“Dead gods.”

“I warned you.”
The other man shook his head.

“No, crude is what I need. I could use another cup, in fact. Thank you. I still
can’t unsee that monster. I’m no [Warrior], Yitton. I’m not ashamed to say
that I’m still terrified of that beast, headless or not.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Yitton gulped down his wine. He shook his head briskly, feeling the liquid
warm him from within. Erill breathed out slowly.

“To think it took that long to bring him down. When we had archers and
mages and—I thought he was done for when Tyrion ran him through with a
lance, didn’t you? But he survived that. Are they truly heartless, those
Goblins? Or did he have several hearts, like some monsters?”

He looked quizzically at Yitton. The older [Lord] shook his head. He nearly
poured himself a fifth cup and then stopped himself. He still had to ride
tomorrow.

“No. He was dead the moment Veltras struck him. We just didn’t believe it.
And he tore us to pieces before we had the sense to leave him alone.”

“True.”

The two men stood in silence for a while. That was the irony of it. The
soldiers had assaulted Tremborag relentlessly, attacking him from all sides
and they had paid the price in blood. But when they’d drawn back, the
Great Chieftain had seemed to lose track of them. He’d just…walked away.
Northwards. Towards his mountain. And stopped.

“It doesn’t feel like a victory.”

“No. I think we underestimated this Tremborag. It was worth the price to

see him fall, but I can’t call this a triumph. A necessity perhaps, but…no,
not a victory.”

Yitton shook his head. Erill nodded. He tilted his cup up, realized it was
empty, and set it on Yitton’s plain table. It was cheap wood; Yitton hadn’t
brought a bag of holding with him and so his furnishings were part of the
camp’s supply.

“You live simply, Yitton. I’d offer you a spare tent of mine if I thought
you’d take it. But I’ll spare such pleasant negotiations for another night.
Right now I’m remembering why I came here.”

“Not to poison yourself on my wine?”

Erill almost smiled.

“I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, Byres. No. We’re to meet Lord
Tyrion for a late-night repast. I should have gotten you right away, but I got
distracted.”

“Lord Tyrion wants us?”

Yitton was surprised. He set down his cup and strode towards the tent flaps.
Then he checked himself.

“I’m filthy.”

“He won’t mind. We should be there soonest. And I’ve got a Wand of
[Cleansing] somewhere on me—I’ll find it as we walk. Come on; if I can’t
drink in your tent I suppose we’d better meet him.”

“By we, do you mean you and I? Or a gathering of all the nobility?”

Yitton followed Erill out of the tent. The camp was busy as always; torches
and [Light] spells clearly illuminated the area for patrolling sentries. But
there were more people out tonight than usual; Yitton saw more than a few
men and women in the shared camp for officers and the nobility drinking
and sticking together. He understood the urge.

“Not just us, no.”

Lord Erill walked briskly ahead of Yitton, rummaging in a bag of holding at

his side. He turned back and glanced at Yitton.
“Two of our peers have been invited to this very select gathering. Any ideas
who they might be?”

Yitton didn’t have to think.

“Gralton and Lady Ieka.”

“Correct. The same group that went to so boldly challenge Tyrion to his
face. He’s summoned us and apparently has a surprise in store. It’s a smart
move; I doubt the other nobility will whine more than usual since it’s we
four.”

“They won’t? But I’m not—I could understand Tyrion’s mistake, but me?”

Yitton was baffled. He wasn’t an important noble! House Byres probably

earned in a year what Erill’s estates could make in a month. No, a week!
And Yitton was hardly as accomplished a [Lord] as, say, Pellmia. But Erill
just laughed.

“Think on it, Yitton! We’re the best representatives to see whatever Tyrion’s
cooked up! Can’t you understand why?”

“I’m afraid not. Kindly illuminate me.”

Erill shrugged. He found his wand at last and tossed it at Yitton. The [Lord]
carefully ran the wand down his smudged and muddy tunic, blinking as he
saw the wrinkles and stains vanish and the mud slough off. That was a lot of
money just to enchant an entire wand to clean clothes. He carefully handed
it back to Erill. The [Lord] flicked it into his bag of holding and responded.

“Each one of us is important in our own way. Tyrion could have invited two
dozen nobles, or all of us, but he’s chosen to have an intimate gathering.
Less chance of interruptions I suspect, and he has our measure.”

“Go on. Why we four especially?”

“You don’t see it? Gralton’s an excellent fighter and leader, in his own way.
He might be a hothead and smell like wet dogs, but he can evaluate good
strategy when he sees it. Lady Ieka is both a [Mage] and one of the most
powerful [Ladies] I know. My money commands authority, if not respect.”

“And my estates are neither large nor powerful or influential. Where do I fit
in this gathering?”

Erill smiled. It wasn’t the charming smile that Yitton had seen him using in
public. Instead, Erill’s true smile looked sardonic. Not at Yitton, but the
world in general.

“Why, you’re the honest one, Yitton. Every secret gathering needs at least
one honest man. Who would they trust if not you? Gralton? Ieka? Me? Or
take Tyrion at his word? No, but they’d trust Yitton Byres.”

That paused Yitton, but only for a second. He strode forwards to catch up
with Erill.

“I see. I don’t consider myself particularly trustworthy, though. And if it’s

honorable Tyrion wants, he would be better served by a [Knight].”

“Spoken like a trustworthy, honorable sort. Besides, Tyrion seems to like

you. Honorable men must not be something he encounters every day. A
shame he couldn’t find an honorable woman while he was at it, but I
suppose you can’t have everything. Come, Yitton, you understand my
point.”

Yitton did, but he was troubled by the implications on a few levels. He bit
back any response though; he had to admit that he was slightly pleased by
Tyrion Veltras’ trust in him. The man was hard to like on some levels, but
there was much to admire as well.

The two [Lords] walked in silence through the camp, listening to the noise
and horns blowing for the dead, as was the tradition for some cities. Yitton
had been present when the corpses were cremated; some of the adventurers
or ranking officers’ bodies had been preserved for burial in their homelands.
After a while, Erill spoke.
“Still, that Goblin Chieftain…it makes you think that Tyrion really knows
what he’s doing. Sending the Goblins into Drake lands, that is.”

“You think that’s his plan?”

“Something like it. I think he’s realized keeping it secret’s pointless now.
Everyone knows what he’s up to, Drakes and Humans both.”

“That’s true.”

If there was one thing you could say about Izril’s Human nobility, it was
that they employed people who weren’t idiots. And some of the nobility
were fairly intelligent, too. They’d come to the same realization as the
Drake [Strategists] quickly enough when they’d tracked their progress on a
map. By now the entire camp knew what Tyrion Veltras was doing: sending
the Goblin Lord and all the Goblins into Drake lands.

The idea had shocked Yitton the first time it had been suggested. He was no
lover of the Drake people, with all their pride and hotheadedness and
provocations, but he had grown used to the idea of the peace they had
between north and south. True, tempers flared occasionally and then both
races would send an army to fight in the Blood Fields during a preselected
time, but that was different from this. This was tantamount to war, but it
wouldn’t be because of politics.

Few shared his reservations, though. The hostility towards Tyrion’s

mysterious behavior had all but vanished when the nobility learned what he
was intending. In fact, many of the nobles had begun to treat it as if it were
some glorious prank, the height of cunning.

‘A present for the Drakes.’ Yitton Byres had heard others saying it, almost
as a joke. But he wasn’t laughing.

“We don’t know that’s what Tyrion intends.”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough. We’re almost here. Good evening Lady
Ieka, Gralton.”
Erill raised a hand and Yitton saw they’d arrived at Tyrion’s personal tent. It
was certainly large enough to host a gathering, and the two nobles standing
outside the tent looked like they were dressed for the occasion. Each in their
own way.

Lady Ieka wore a semi-translucent gown of enchanted fabric that looked

scandalous at first—until you realized that the outer layer was simply there
to highlight the darker inner blue, so that the transparent outer layer looked
like water moving over a dark ocean, flecked by distant stars. The effect
was beautiful and mesmerizing.

By contrast, Gralton wore his travel gear and he hadn’t bothered to use any
spells. He looked dirty from riding and he seemed as if he could sit down at
a rowdy banquet and begun quaffing at any moment. Both nobles stood far
apart from each other. Gralton sniffed Yitton and Erill.

“You’re late.”

Yitton opened his mouth to apologize, but Erill smoothly cut in.

“Apologies. I delayed in picking up Yitton. I was tempted by the idea of

drowning my thoughts, but then I recalled that we were supposed to be
here, enjoying Lord Tyrion’s social graces, which he is of course known for.
Have we any word of who our mystery guest might be?”

“You mean the one that’s been housed in the finest tents? And the
mysterious influx of commoners? Not a clue. But he’s inside. And it is a
he.”

Lady Ieka raised two perfectly shaped eyebrows. She stood with the three
men in a circle as they spoke. Yitton glanced towards the tent flaps.

“Should we announce ourselves?”

Ieka sighed.

“Don’t bother. He knows we’re here. Tyrion’s kept us waiting until you two
arrived. Childish. And don’t bother knocking. There’s a powerful anti-
detection spell on that tent. He’s taking this seriously, at least.”

“Going to tell us what everyone knows? That we’re giving the Goblins to
the Drakes with a bow on top? Feh. I don’t need to listen to that.”

Gralton spat, which earned him a reproving glance from Erill and Ieka.
Yitton just frowned. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but then
Tyrion’s tent flap opened. Jericha, the personal [Mage] and Tyrion’s aide,
opened the tent flap.

“My lords and ladies, I apologize for the delay. Lord Veltras welcomes you
to a minor repast. Please, enter.”

The nobles exchanged a look and then they entered, Ieka in front, Gralton,
and then Erill and Yitton bringing up the rear. He swallowed the words he
was about to say as he entered the tent and saw the dining table set up with
expensive cutlery and porcelain dishes. There was more than a light repast
set on the table, and six chairs had been set around the table.

If the nobles had listened to Yitton a moment longer, they might not have
been so surprised later on. For Yitton had his own opinion of what was
going on. He was no [Strategist], but he knew Tyrion if by reputation alone.
Simply pushing Goblins into Drake lands? It couldn’t be that simple. And
when he saw the young man standing next to Tyrion, he was certain.

His eyes were closed, so Yitton could not see the color of his pupils, but the
young man was thin, and his hair was flaxen, slightly darkened, and his skin
pale. His clothes were simple, far too plain for any [Lord], even a poor one.
His eyes were closed. They remained closed as the nobles entered the tent
and stared at him. And Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] stood next to the young
man, as if they were equals.

Yitton stared at the youthful stranger. Even Erill was older than him by at
least a decade. He could have passed for a commoner with his garb. And
yet, he had a presence. Yitton saw the young man tilt his head towards the
four nobles. And still he did not open his eyes.

“Lord Tyrion. We’ve come at your request. Who is this?”

Lady Ieka did not waste time. She peered at the stranger, her eyes narrowed
as she flicked her gaze to Tyrion. The [Lord]’s face was impassive as he
indicated a chair.

“I apologize for the delay, Lady Ieka. Please have a seat.”

Then he turned to the young man standing beside him.

“Your Majesty, I present to you Lady Ieka of House Imarris, Lord Gralton
of House Radivaek, Lord Erill of House Fienst, and Lord Yitton of House
Byres. They serve as representatives to the larger gathering of nobility and
are among those I trust to keep the nature of tonight’s conversation secret.”

Ieka froze in the middle of sitting down. Yitton felt his knees quiver. Did
Tyrion just say ‘your Majesty?’ He saw Gralton snort in surprise and Erill’s
eyebrows raise. The merchant [Lord] cast a sharp glance towards the young
man. Yitton saw the closed eyes turn towards him. And still, the stranger
had not opened his eyes. Yitton felt a chill as he recalled a rumor he’d
heard.

A blind man. A foreigner carrying jewels and gold who appeared in Invrisil.
A stranger who had attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart.

The Unseen Emperor.

Yitton stared at the young man. Lord Tyrion nodded. He met Yitton’s eyes
briefly, then looked around the tent. He spoke softly.

“Lady Ieka, gentlemen, I present to you [Emperor] Laken Godart of

Riverfarm. Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

—-

“It’s all part of his plan. Tyrion Veltras, that is. He’s going to take the
Goblins to Liscor. And when he arrives—in a few days—the waters will be
gone.”

Olesm shook as he reached for a mug. He’d ordered alcohol despite it being
only early morning. He needed a drink to steady his nerves. He didn’t know
why he’d dragged Zevara to The Wandering Inn, but something about it
reassured him. And he didn’t want to discuss this in the Watch House, not if
he was wrong.

Zevara drummed her claws on the table, eying Olesm as he sipped from his
mug. It was a dark lager, which Erin seemed quite proud of for some
reason. It tasted normal to Olesm, but Zevara had ordered the same.

“When you asked me out for a drink, I didn’t think we’d be talking about
strategy.”

Olesm looked up sharply. Zevara grinned sheepishly at him. He didn’t smile

back, and the Watch Captain leaned forwards. She coughed.

“Okay, bad joke. Are you sure, Olesm? The waters will recede around
Liscor in four day’s time? Right as he’s getting here?”

The [Strategist] nodded. He saw his claws steady on his mug as the alcohol
went down. He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. It was just—

“He’s timed it perfectly, Zevara. Any day now the rains will stop. And when
they do, Liscor has only a few days before the waters drain. You know how
fast the water levels go down. After that Liscor’s surrounded by mud, but
you can fight in mud. Or lay siege in it.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be then? How can you be certain?”

“Tekshia thinks it’ll be around then. I asked her before she nearly gutted me
and she told me that there is a pattern to when the rains start and stop. It’s
not precise, but you can get within a few days of when it’ll occur. And—it’s
too much of a coincidence. First Tyrion camped his army without moving
and only now he makes his move? He’s timed this, I’ll bet my class on it.”

“Damn.”
Zevara scowled and sat back in her chair. The two Drakes stared at each
other in grim silence—for all of a second. Then they heard Erin breeze past
them.

“Fries! Here’s your fries, Olesm! And for you, Zevara, a bowl of fish
flakes?”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Thanks, Erin.”

Olesm looked around. Erin’s inn wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was doing
good business. The young woman had Gnolls and Drakes and Humans
eating in her inn, a few of which Olesm recognized as regulars.

There were a few new faces like the [Mage] with the gaudy robes sitting at
a table just next to Olesm’s. And was that a Cave Goblin walking in and out
of the kitchen? Olesm spotted Numbtongue sitting at a table, playing on a
guitar. He shook his head and focused back on Zevara.

“The waters will fall. And he’ll march the Goblins straight in here. It’s safer
than the High Passes. And if they’re not swimming, they can run right
around Liscor with minimal casualties. Or there’s a worse option.”

“Go on.”

Zevara’s grip tightened on her mug. Olesm took a deep breath.

“They make the Goblins assault the city.”

He stared at Zevara for a few seconds in grim silence. The Watch Captain
blinked, and then she laughed. She drank from her mug and chewed down a
few fish flakes.

“You had me worried there, Olesm! That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re sure?”
Olesm’s racing heart finally began to slow. Zevara nodded, chewing her
food with good humor.

“There’s no way. Even if a hundred thousand Goblins attacked our walls

tomorrow, we could hold them. This isn’t like the moths. There were
probably at least a hundred thousand of them and they could fly. The Watch
is thousands strong and we have enchantments on our walls, Embria’s
company, Wall Lord Ilvriss…and the Antinium.”

“That’s true, but I was considering the timing and I thought—”

Zevara shook her head. She indicated the fries and Olesm realized he hadn’t
touched his food. He began to eat as she replied.

“No, you’re dead right about the Goblins moving through Liscor. Damn,
they’ll get past with far less casualties this way. But there’s no way they can
take the city. Not even if the Goblin Lord brings his entire force to bear. I’m
certain of it. Don’t worry about that, Olesm.”

The [Strategist] sagged in relief. He’d been running through scenarios in his
head, but if Zevara said so, he could relax. He was about to ask more when
Zevara coughed. She glanced at Olesm and then leaned back in her chair.

“So, how’ve you been lately?”

The change of conversation was as jarring as Olesm could imagine. For a

moment he stared, and then realized what Zevara was doing. He jumped
and remembered that he had asked if she was free. And they were eating at
Erin’s inn.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s been work as usual, you know.”

“We do see a lot of each other.”

“Yeah. And uh, I haven’t had much free time what with the Raskghar and
all the reports.”

“Right. We’re uh, overdue for time off.”

“Yep.”

That line of dialogue died fast. The two Drakes stared at each other. Then
Zevara shifted.

“I heard there was something interesting happening over here the other
day.”

“When is there not?”

“Hah. But I meant this game that Relc played. Apparently it was in Celum?
And it involved hitting a ball and running around in a circle?”

Zevara looked hopelessly at Olesm. He smiled.

“A diamond, actually. It was this fascinating game that Erin introduced us

to. It’s called baseball. I wish you could have been there. You see—”

“Olesm, is that you? I haven’t seen you in—oh.”

The Drake broke off as Zevara was leaning forwards. He turned and
winced. Of all the times…Zevara leaned back and her smile vanished. Ceria
Springwalker paused as she realized what she’d walked into.

“Uh, hello. Ceria.”

“Hey Olesm. Sorry, I didn’t see you were busy.”

Ceria stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain crunched down on a fish flake.

“Don’t mind me, half-Elf. I’m just sitting with a fellow co-worker. Talking
about business. Together.”

“Right. I just wanted to say hi.”

The [Cryomancer] stared cautiously at Zevara, and then turned to Olesm.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yeah. It’s uh, good to see you.”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He was about to leave it at that, when he saw the
man across the table from him raise a hand and throw a bunch of sparks into
the air. They floated upwards, turning into tiny phoenixes which flew about,
flaming birds dancing in every color.

“What’s that?”

Ceria turned. She blinked as she saw the tiny birds and then shrugged.

“Him? That’s Eltistiman Verdue, a [Magician] who just came through from
Celum. He showed up this morning pretending to be a Dragon when Erin
opened the door. She punched his lights out and he’s been performing here
all morning as an apology.”

“Eltisti—who? He got here this morning?”

The half-Elf nodded. She leaned over the table, ignoring Zevara’s irritated
look.

“Yup. He knows a lot of illusion spells. Some of them are pretty impressive.
He and Pisces had a competition this morning. You should have seen it.
Erin’s over the moon about him. I think she likes him. And she’s guilty
about punching him in the face, which was hilarious.”

The half-Elf smiled. But Olesm felt a bit irritated. Not necessarily about
Eltistiman, but about how so much happened around Erin that he never got
to see because of his work.

“Why haven’t I heard about him being here?”

Ceria gave Olesm a flat look.

“Like I said, he arrived this morning. You aren’t here all the time.”

“True. I have work—”

“—Which is very pressing, isn’t it, Olesm?”

Zevara jumped into the conversation. She leaned around Olesm, not quite
nudging Ceria out of the way. The half-Elf glowered at her. Olesm cringed.

He’d had a brief fling with Ceria until she’d essentially prevented him from
joining the Horns of Hammerad. And Zevara had a not-so-subtle interest in
him. It didn’t take a [Strategist] to tell that he shouldn’t be here. But now
Ceria had locked gazes with Zevara.

“It’s a shame he’s so busy. But Olesm’s not on duty right now. Can’t he
chat?”

“He’s discussing private information. With me. I’m sure Olesm will have
plenty of time to talk when he’s free for trivial pursuits.”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that so?”

Zevara breathed out a puff of smoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Olesm was just about to pretend to choke on a fry when salvation appeared
in form of Ksmvr. The Antinium walked over and waved a hand.

“Hello, Olesm. Hello Watch Captain Zevara. Hello, Captain Ceria. May I
join your conversation?”

All three stared at him. Ksmvr looked from face to face and only now
seemed to pick up on the underlying tension.

“Ah. I perceive my presence is unwelcome. Am I being a nuisance? Please

inform me directly when I am and I will take note of my behavior.”

“No, Ksmvr—I mean, yes, Ksmvr—look, I’ll explain it to you over here.
Sorry, Olesm. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ceria hustled Ksmvr off to one side. The Antinium kept asking what he’d
done wrong. Sheepishly, Olesm and Zevara turned back to each other. After
a moment Olesm brought up the only thing he could think of.

“So, about the Redfang Goblins and this huge amount of money the
adventurers have gotten…”

Zevara groaned. She fished around in her bowl for more flakes and found
there were none. She sighed and took a sip of her drink instead.

“There’s not much we can do about it. Those adventurers will raise all kinds
of hell if we try and reverse what’s happened. I want to nail my tail to a
wall but—at least we don’t have to worry about the information leaking.
Imagine the riots we’d have if that got out. This is classified and buried.”

Olesm nodded. Zevara sighed.

“And on the subject of Goblins, did you hear what Ilvriss was suggesting?”

Again, Olesm nodded. This time he traced a pattern on the table.

“It’s…not something I want to consider. They saved those Gnolls, Zevara.”

She tilted her mug up. It was already empty.

“They did. But you know they can’t stay here forever. Maybe—no, maybe
it’s best if they leave with the Goblin Lord. By accident. Or maybe they can
be ‘encouraged’ to leave ahead of time. They’ve got a grace period while
the waters are up, but if the citizens of Liscor see a huge tribe of Goblins
suddenly roaming the plains…”

“Could they stay in the dungeon?”

“If they do, they’re on their own against adventurers.”

“Right.”

The two Drakes sat together. Olesm scrubbed a claw through his spikes.

“It’s really not up to us. There’s only one person who can get them to move.
I can speak to Erin. Drop a few hints.”
“About what?”

Both Drakes jumped and turned around. Erin paused with a bowl of soup in
one hand, and a spoon in the other. She delicately tasted the soup. Olesm
stared at her and felt sweat rolling down his back for the umpteenth time
today.

“Uh, Erin! How long have you been there?”

Erin shrugged.

“I just heard my name so I came over. What’s up?”

Olesm and Zevara exchanged a quick glance. Olesm cleared his throat.

“Nothing…but how’re the Goblins, Erin? Uh, have the Hobs been in your
inn recently? Are they…doing well?”

“They’re doing great, thanks for asking! The Hobs aren’t in my inn so much
—they’re busy with the Cave Goblins. You know, leading them and
teaching them how to survive and stuff. Numbtongue’s over there. Actually,
he’s about to go back to their cave. I just need to give him this soup. I think
it’s done.”

Erin pointed with her spoon at the Hob. She tasted the soup again and
smiled.

“Yup, it’s done. Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!”

She shouted at Numbtongue. The Hob looked up and abandoned his guitar.
He walked over and Olesm saw the same Cave Goblin trot out of the
kitchen with a huge pot in her hands. He stared as she waddled over with it.
The soup was steaming and gave off a fishy, yet enticing aroma.

“This is Pebblesnatch. You remember Pebblesnatch, right, guys?”

“Charmed.”
Zevara spoke flatly as she eyed the soup. Erin offered the bowl to
Numbtongue. He grunted with approval and tasted the soup before nodding
vigorously at Erin. She smiled.

“I’m teaching the Goblins how to cook as well as feeding them meals. It’s
actually sort of fun! You see, they really like to cook and all I have to do is
show them how to make something and they copy me. Sometimes they get
it wrong, but there’s a few promising [Cooks] among them! Pebblesnatch
has been watching me work.”

She patted the small Cave Goblin on the head. Pebblesnatch grunted and
put the pot on the floor. Erin offered her the bowl to sip from as well. She
pointed at it as she spoke to Numbtongue.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it;
Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take
some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat.
And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough
plates?”

The Hob grunted and sighed. Erin began dragging over bags and eventually
the Hob had to drag everything through the magic door into a cave filled
with Goblins. Olesm caught one look of a dozen Goblins swarming
Pebblesnatch, peering into the pot as she hit them with her ladle before the
door closed. Erin walked back into her kitchen as Olesm looked at Zevara.
The Watch Captain shook her head.

“That Gnoll must be making a killing providing so much food for the
Goblins.”

Olesm nodded. He recalled a report that had landed on his desk.

“Apparently someone’s bought enough food to drive up prices in the city.

I’d have spoken to you about it, but since we have access to Celum’s
markets, I didn’t think it was cause for alarm.”

“Oh really? Well, I can handle that.”

Zevara smiled slightly. Then she leaned back in her chair and shouted
towards the kitchen.

“Oi, Human! Buy your food from Celum instead of Liscor! We don’t have
unlimited supplies, you know!”

“Aw! Fine!”

The Watch Captain grinned as she sat back and looked at Olesm.

“Problem solved. Now where were we?”

“Can we talk about Liscor and the Goblins? Er, I mean, the Goblin Lord. I
was going to ask you how certain you are. I hate to keep harping on about
it, but…”

Olesm twiddled his claw thumbs together. Zevara nodded. She sat up
straighter and leaned forwards, lowering her voice.

“It’s not a concern to me because I know our numbers, Olesm. A siege isn’t
easy and there’s no wood around Liscor—at least, not in enough quantities
to help in besieging our city. Our gates are nigh impregnable and even if the
Goblins had siege towers or ladders…the Watch numbers in the thousands.
We have Embria and her soldiers and they’re worth something. So is Ilvriss.
But what really reassures me are the Antinium. Don’t let anyone know I
said that.”

“Really?”

There was a lot Olesm knew as Liscor’s [Strategist], but some things were
still above his pay grade. At least, they had been as a [Tactician]. Zevara
nodded. She lowered her voice even further, although no one was listening.

“Officially, the Antinium have three hundred Soldiers they can bring to our
defense if necessary. Unofficially…we could hold off a hundred thousand
Goblins even if all of them had ladders. We can fill the walls with bodies,
make it practically unclimbable. And the Humans have to know that.”
Olesm whistled. Obviously a single defender could repel multiple attackers,
but Zevara was speaking about hard numbers here.

“So we’re safe?”

She nodded.

“If they want to besiege us, they’ll have to take our walls just like the
Goblins and we won’t fall so quickly. It’s my opinion that you’re right and
the Humans are pushing the Goblins past Liscor, but not attack it. With that
said, keep listening.”

“Will do.”

“Good. Keep me informed.”

Zevara fished in her belt pouch and stood up. She tossed a few coins onto
the table and strode towards the door. Olesm saw her pause there and waver.
After a moment she stomped back over, blushing.

“Sorry, I guess this was a work discussion after all. I’d stay and talk, but I
need to tell Embria and Ilvriss and file a report with what you’ve told me.”

Olesm stood up, flushing with embarrassment.

“Of course. I’m sorry, this was my fault.”

“No, no, it was good. And important. It’s just that—”

“Duty calls. Right. Another time, then?”

“Naturally.”

They stared at each other for a second, and then Zevara turned away. She
strode towards the door, so flustered that she took the bridge to Liscor
rather than the magic door. Olesm sat back in his chair. He looked at his
practically uneaten fries for a second, and then noticed he had an audience.
At some point a furry little Gnoll had crept up to the edge of his table. Now
two big, round eyes stared at him. Olesm turned red.

“What?”

Mrsha stared sympathetically at Olesm. Then she grabbed his fries and
dashed away. He leapt up, outraged, and then flinched as Apista buzzed
over his head, stinger raised.

“My fries!”

He watched Mrsha dash upstairs, resigned, as Apista triumphantly followed

her. Olesm stared down at his nearly empty bowl, and then saw someone
turn towards him. The [Mage] with the fancy robes who’d cast the
illusionary phoenixes raised a mug and saluted Olesm with it.

“She got mine too. Same trick, even. Fearsome things, those giant bees.”

Olesm sat back down, looking sadly at a wimpy fry at the bottom of his
bowl. He raised his mug in turn to the mage.

“Sorry, she’s part of the inn. She’s usually less trouble, but she’s a food
thief. Erin’ll probably replace your food if you complain. My name’s
Olesm.”

The Human smiled. He threw his mug up and Olesm winced, but it
vanished liquid and all. He’d been holding an illusion! He winked at Olesm.

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician], at your service. I was told this inn was the
place to visit if I wanted an interesting time, and I believe it! You wouldn’t
happen to know when the ah, play is starting, would you?”

“Sometime tonight, sorry. Why, are you here for it?”

Eltistiman smiled.

“I’m here to join it, if I can. I was wondering how much time I had. I was
hoping to go to Pallass, actually. This wondrous door can send me there in
an instant, can’t it?”
He indicated the door, which had the glowing red mana stone on it. Olesm
nodded.

“It can do that, but the magic is limited. It can only send two people at a
time.”

“Ah, that is inconvenient. But natural given the distances.”

“Right, but there’s more complications too on Pallass’ side. They don’t just
let you walk through like, uh, Liscor. You’ll have to fill out a request. I’m
sure it will be approved, but it will be at least a day before you can go
through.”

Olesm looked apologetic, but Eltistiman didn’t look too put out.

“Ah, a pity. I’ll inquire about the details later. Thank you for your help, sir.”

He smiled at Olesm and turned back to his table. The [Strategist] sat back
down and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted more fries…no! He stared
at the table, thinking hard.

“Something’s not right here.”

His conversation with Zevara had reassured him on a lot of points. But still,
something didn’t sit right with Olesm. He knew she’d probably run
countless simulations, but he wasn’t reassured. The timing, the way
everything was falling together…was Liscor in danger? The least he could
do was think it out. Olesm sat at the table, pondering hard as his brain ran
through possibility after possibility. After a few minutes he looked up and
called towards the kitchen.

“Hey, can I have another plate of fries?”

“Coming!”

—-
The late meal was elegant despite being held in a war camp. Almost
ridiculously so; Yitton eyed the gilded plates and silver silverware with
deep concern for the priorities of whoever had packed the camp’s supplies.
There was no need for this.

Then again however, it suited the gathering. Emperor Laken Godart sat next
to Lord Tyrion, dining carefully. He was blind. Yitton had met men blinded
in battle and Laken behaved as they did, although there was a surety to his
movements that he had that the men had lacked.

The young man sat stiffly, head slightly tilted towards Tyrion. He moved
slowly, but not randomly, carefully finding his plate and food with knife and
fork. He was able to eat with only a minimal amount of inconvenience. But
his presence disturbed the others. He bothered Yitton too.

“Tyrion, how is it that an…an [Emperor] is sitting among us? Your Majesty,
I hate to be rude, but the presence of any sort of royalty on Izril is unheard
of. Let alone for someone of your station to appear here…”

Ieka glanced between Laken and Tyrion, her face torn between suspicion
and incredulity. Lord Tyrion looked up from his meal—carefully prepared
scallops adorned with so many little toppings that they quite outnumbered
the seafood itself.

“I requested Emperor Godart’s company, Lady Ieka. The need for his
presence will soon be made clear. As for his origins, that remains for his
majesty to reveal. I have not pressed him on the matter.”

“You aren’t curious?”

“I consider the information superfluous. Emperor Laken, would you care

for more wine?”

“No, thank you. My stomach’s still unsettled from the ride from Riverfarm
these last few days. I’ve discovered that I don’t care for horses.”
Laken replied calmly. Yitton tried to remember where Riverfarm was. He
must have been riding nonstop and with powerful Skills to have caught up.
He was about to ask something—Erill had been uncharacteristically silent
—when Gralton interrupted.

“I don’t care for games. Are you an [Emperor] or not, boy? And where the
hell did you come from?”

The table went silent. Laken Godart slowly turned his head in Gralton’s
direction.

“Is that Lord Gralton?”

Tyrion opened his mouth, looking displeased, but Gralton interrupted. The
man had all the manners of a savage.

“That’s me. Izril has no [Emperors]. We have no [Kings]. Where did you
come from so suddenly that not even a she-weasel like Ieka knows of you?”

Yitton held his breath with the table. Ieka narrowed her eyes. Tyrion did not
look inclined to intervene, and so everyone stared at Laken. The young man
calmly speared a scallop.

“That is none of your business, Lord Gralton.”

“What?”

That was the wrong thing to say to Gralton. The man half-rose and uttered a
low growl, like the dogs he raised. The sound made Yitton’s hair stand on
end. Consumed by his class. He eyed Gralton warily, wondering if he
should say something.

But Laken Godart didn’t flinch. He calmly chewed his bite and spoke.

“Heel.”

Yitton’s blood ran cold. The sound Gralton made was all beast now. He rose
from his chair.
“Gralton.”

Erill sounded wary. The [Lord] looked at him and Erill backed up in his
seat. Gralton leaned over the table.

“I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”

“And will you try again tonight?”

Laken’s voice was glacial. He looked towards Lord Gralton in complete

silence, his eyes still closed. Gralton’s eyes narrowed. If the man had a
dog’s ears, Yitton thought they would have been laid flat against the back of
his head. The intensity between the two ratcheted up another notch. Gralton
began to snarl.

Yitton could sense the impending violence in the air. He held his breath, his
body tensed to move. If Gralton leapt, possibly not even Tyrion could save
the [Emperor]. But the air was heavy, and it wasn’t just the threat of
violence that hung there. Yitton felt something heavy pressing down on his
shoulders. And he was not the center of Laken’s focus. The young man sat
in place, head turned towards Gralton. And then he took another bite of the
scallop.

The snarling abruptly abated. Gralton sat back down. Suddenly the wild
look was gone in his eyes. He laughed. Yitton stared, but Gralton roared
with laughter.

“So you are an [Emperor]! At least that is true.”

“As I said.”

Laken Godart smiled coolly. Yitton remembered to breathe as Gralton

grabbed a scallop himself with his bare hands. Only now did he sense the
air lighten. And only now did he place the strange emotion he’d felt coming
from Laken the entire meal.

He seemed irritated. Impatient, as if he did not want to be here. It was such

a simple emotion that it surprised Yitton. For a moment he was like one of
Yitton’s offspring, clearly unhappy about being here. But at the same time
he had faced down Gralton and even now exuded an air of…assurance.
Confidence manifest.

Pride. And it was Laken who put down his fork and turned to Lord Tyrion.

“Thank you for this meal, Lord Tyrion. But I believe your guests and I have
come for the same reason. Would you please explain what your grand aim is
with the Goblins?”

He sat back in his chair. Lord Tyrion inclined his head.

“As you wish, Emperor Godart.”

He was respectful, but Yitton was sure that Tyrion used Laken’s titles out of
a desire to be correct, not out of any sense of deference. And he was just as
sure from reading Laken’s expression that the young Emperor Godart knew
exactly what Tyrion was about to say. Yitton stared at Laken and then
turned his attention to Tyrion.

For all an [Emperor] sat next to him, Tyrion Veltras commanded the room.
He did not speak loudly or make grand gestures. He simply stood and spoke
without wasting time.

“I am aware of the rumors and gossip swirling about in the war camp. And I
am also aware that many of the nobility have deduced the destination to
which we travel. But in the interest of transparency, I intend to share with
you all the full scope of my war plans tonight. Lady Ieka, gentlemen, our
destination is Liscor. And I intend to use the Goblins as a first weapon to
strike against the Drakes.”

A sigh ran around the table from the other nobles. Satisfied, resigned,
dismissive. Yitton looked from face to face at Gralton, Erill, and Ieka. They
didn’t look shocked, or even surprised. He glanced at Tyrion. Erill mused
into his wine glass.

“So the rumors were true. We are indeed fighting a war by proxy with the
Goblins as our instrument.”
“I suppose it is somewhat worth the effort. But all the cloak and dagger
nonsense could have been avoided to save us all distress, Tyrion. Just say
we’re sending the Goblins into Drake lands and we’ll all support you. Well,
most of us.”

Ieka sighed as she lifted a fork to her mouth. Tyrion smiled. Yitton glanced
at Gralton and noticed the man hadn’t made a comment either. Like Yitton,
he was watching Tyrion. It was his eyes. They betrayed the man’s burning
heart.

“I am afraid that you are wrong in that regard, Lord Erill, Lady Ieka. My
aim is not to simply send the Goblin Lord into the south as a marauding
force. Rather, I intend to aim at a specific target. I told you we march to
Liscor. And it is Liscor I intend to take.”

For a moment Yitton was convinced his ears had betrayed him. He half-rose
from his seat. War. Gralton was grinning madly. Ieka and Erill were frozen.
Yitton uttered a strangled sound and Tyrion looked at him.

“Lord Yitton?”

It took Yitton a second to make words come out of his throat.

“Lord Tyrion, you cannot be serious! War has not been declared with the
Drakes! To attack Liscor would be—”

“I do not intend to declare war. Nor do I intend to violate the terms of our
treaty with the Drakes in any way. We will take no direct action against the
city of Liscor. But it will be taken.”

“How?”

Erill leaned over his plate. His eyes were sharp as they studied Tyrion. He
spoke plainly, dispensing with formalities.

“How, Tyrion? The Goblin Lord may be weaker than our army, but he is not
a mindless tool. Goblins are not entirely suicidal. Do you intend to force
him to attack Liscor? I fear he would rather march around the walls and
take his chances fleeing rather than face certain death. Liscor cannot be
taken by an army so quickly, not without preparation. And not while the
waters have risen.”

Tyrion nodded. His eyes flicked amusement towards Erill, though his face
was stoney.

“That is true, Lord Erill. But the waters will fall shortly. By the time we
arrive, Liscor will be assailable.”

“Not by Goblins, and not without an even larger army than the one you
brought! Their walls are enchanted! We’d need dedicated siege mages, not
the ones we’ve brought. And ladders! Siege towers, dozens of them! Erill is
right, an assault is suicide! You might as well kill the Goblin Lord and be
done with it—he’ll never risk an assault!”

Ieka glowered at Tyrion. He shook his head.

“I intend to offer Liscor to the Goblin Lord as a prize, Ieka. By making it a

target easy to take.”

“Impossible. No one can break the walls with magic or with steel. The
Necromancer hurled his undead against the walls and they held. The Goblin
Lord’d never get over before the Drakes reinforce the city. But go on.”

Gralton grinned. Tyrion smiled coldly.

“I happen to have a way to open Liscor’s walls, Gralton.”

“That would be where I come in, wouldn’t it, Lord Tyrion?”

Laken looked up casually. Tyrion nodded.

“Yes, your majesty. As you surmised, your help is essential.”

He began to rise from his seat, but a strangled noise interrupted him. Tyrion
looked to Yitton. The [Lord] was on his feet. He looked around the room,
from Ieka to Erill to Tyrion to Gralton—and then at Jericha. Finally he
looked at Laken, though the young man could not return his gaze.
“Lord Tyrion, everyone. Are you serious? Are you truly contemplating an
attack on a sovereign city? Unprovoked?”

He stared around, but saw no wavering in any of the gazes that came back
to him. Just cold calculation in Erill’s eyes, a burning fever in Gralton’s,
curiosity in Ieka’s. And in Tyrion he saw that burning excitement.

Only Laken Godart didn’t respond with his eyes, because they were closed.
But he shifted slightly, looked down. If he could have met Yitton’s eyes,
what would he have said? Tyrion interrupted Yitton impatiently.

“We are at war with the Drakes, Yitton. We have been for centuries.”

“In name only. Surely this—”

“If the Drakes thought they could push into our lands, they would. Since we
are strong, we have repelled such attempts. But I do not intend to wait until
that day comes. Liscor falls, Yitton. And I would ask that you refrain from
voiceing your objections until I have finished speaking.”

Slowly, Yitton sat. He was trembling. Tyrion waited a beat, and then went
on.

“Yes, Liscor has been my target from the beginning. Ever since I began
mustering this army. I would not have informed any of you of my plans
until the moment was at hand. It is not that I do not trust any of your
personally; I trust no one at all with my plans. But it seems Magnolia
Reinhart is determined to sabotage me regardless of the cost. She has sent a
message informing the Drakes of my plans.”

“Magnolia has?”

Ieka breathed in sharply. Erill stirred and Gralton muttered a word not fit
for polite company. Or any company, really. Tyrion nodded coldly.

“She is determined to keep the false peace in place. So she’s warned the
Drakes.“
“And that’s ruined your plans, hence you telling us? Or must we move
quickly, alter this plan you’ve yet to tell us?”

Erill raised his glass and looked at Tyrion sharply. The [Lord] smiled.

“On the contrary. I’m choosing to tell you all because it’s too late for her to
stop me. Too late for her, or anyone else.”

—-

Erin peered across her inn. So far her day had been pretty normal, aside
from punching Dragons before breakfast. She’d made some soup, hung out
with her friends, scolded Mrsha for stealing food…now she was a bit
worried about Olesm. He’d been muttering to himself for the past hour and
people were beginning to stare at him.

Olesm was sitting at the table, head in his hands, muttering to himself.
Since that was how he tended to behave when he played chess against her,
she didn’t worry too much. But she did make sure he got his fries, and sent
a plate to Eltistiman the [Magician] as well as an apology.

She was about to go over and talk to Olesm when she noticed Jelaqua
coming in from Liscor. She noticed because the Selphid was dripping wet
and holding something behind her. A bulky, cloth-wrapped something.
Seborn was holding the other end. It looked like a body.

It was.

“Jelaqua, what’s that?”

The Selphid turned. She’d clearly been trying to sneak upstairs, but she was
about as good a grave robber as…well…Erin had no frame of reference.
She smiled guiltily at Erin.

“Hey Erin! What’re you talking about?”

“That. What’s that you’re holding?”

Erin pointed at the clearly large, clearly dead body. A furry paw was
sticking out from underneath the cloth.

“Nothing.”

The Selphid tried to hide her end of the covered body behind her. Erin
folded her arms. The Selphid wavered.

“Okay, maybe it’s a dead Raskghar. But its dead, see?”

She poked the body and lifted the cover. Erin recoiled.

“Why are you bringing it into my inn?”

Jelaqua winced.

“I was going to store a few in my room. You know, just in case? Or…I was
thinking we could use the basement. There’s only food down there, and you
don’t have rats. And it’s nice and cool.”

“No. Absolutely—why do you need multiple dead bodies?”

“Spares in case my body gets damaged? To try out? Emergency food

supplies?”

“For fun?”

Seborn raised his end of the Raskghar. Jelaqua and Erin stared at him. The
Drowned Man shrugged.

“That’s what you told me.”

“Seborn!”

“I’m not having dead bodies in my inn. They’ll rot. Okay, maybe they
won’t with the [Field of Preservation] but—rats will eat them! If I had rats.
I—I’m just not having them here! No way!”
Erin raised her hands. Jelaqua nearly dropped the dead Raskghar and held
up her claws imploringly. Seborn swore as he tried to prop the body up.

“Come on, Erin. Please? I never get extra bodies and these ones are so—do
you know how prestigious it is to be the first Selphid to wear a new body?
You won’t notice them at all, I swear! And we’ll pay you.”

“There’s no w—how much?”

The iron wall of refusal Erin had built up turned out to be rusty. She
hesitated and edged over to Jelaqua.

“I mean, okay, I’m pretty rich from all the gold I got from Ilvriss right now.
I can buy a lot of potatoes or…nails…but if you’re giving me money—not
that I’m saying you have lots of money to give or anything—”

The two conferred for a minute. After a little bit, Jelaqua shook Erin’s hand.

“You won’t regret this. They won’t go anywhere, I promise. Unless I’m in
them! Come on, Seborn, we’re taking these guys downstairs!”

“Good. Hurry up. Moore says the other ones are getting drenched in
the rain.”

The Halfseekers stomped down into the basement. Erin looked around
sheepishly. All of her patrons gave her a long stare. She coughed and sidled
over to a table. She leaned on it and then spoke to Eltistiman.

“Sorry about that. That doesn’t happen all the time.”

The [Magician] blinked up at Erin. He opened his mouth to respond, but no

words came out for quite some while. And Olesm still muttering.

“It can’t be that simple. This Tyrion Veltras can’t be that stupid. He had to
know a Goblin Lord’s army couldn’t take Liscor, not with the Antinium and
the Watch and enchanted walls on our side.”

He was doing calculations on a scrap of parchment. Erin had banned him

from using the table. Olesm frowned as he muttered.
“What if they tried linked casting? If they linked every mage they had—
assuming all the Gold-rank adventurers he’s hired, and if you assume…
what, one high-level [Mage] per thousand [Soldiers]…”

He had to consult a [Mage] on that. Unfortunately, only Falene and Pisces

were present. They had been playing an unfriendly game of chess, but the
half-Elf paused to give her opinion on how feasible that would be.

“Linked casting is certainly a powerful technique. However, it requires

immense concentration and discipline on the part of the casters. It cannot be
performed with totally untrained mages—in Wistram, only students of the
fourth year or older would learn to cast together. Of course, any true
graduate of Wistram would know how to perform such a spell.”

She looked pointedly at Pisces. The [Necromancer] rolled his eyes. He

interrupted Falene with a sneer.

“The problem that Falene has yet to point out, Olesm, is that linking does
not allow [Mages] to cast spells they do not already know. They could boost
an existing spell several times over—the classic example is using [Siege
Fireball], which is simply an overcharged version of [Grand Fireball]—but
unless the lead mage knows a Tier 6 spell or higher, the effort is usually
pointless.”

“I get it. So there’s a limit.”

“And unless there’s a truly powerful Gold-rank team—no, they’d be Named

Adventurers. Or you’d know of the [Mage] by name if they were coming
your way.”

Falene nodded grudgingly. That left Olesm with an answer. Of sorts. He

went back to his table and continued calculating.

“Okay, so assuming they don’t have that many powerful spells or Tier 6 is
the absolute limit…they might be able to do that. But we have anti-spell
wards. We could take at least a few hits from a Tier 6 spell, and [Siege
Fireball] wouldn’t be enough to damage our walls. Right? And those
[Mages] are in danger of being killed if they’re in range. It’s not a sensible
idea. We held off the [Necromancer], after all…”

There was no way Tyrion Veltras would try something with so many risks.
And his army wasn’t that mage-heavy. Olesm crossed that idea off his list.
That should have made him relieved, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was
missing some crucial piece of information. Something important that would
put it all together.

And then it came to him. Not as an idea, but as a letter. The door to Celum
opened and someone appeared in the doorway. Olesm paid no notice at
first. He vaguely tuned out Erin exclaiming and greeting a tall Human
[Runner] who Olesm only barely recalled.

“Fals! Why are you here?”

“I’ve got a letter, actually. It came by regular mail. Took a while to get here,
due to a few delays—an idiot sprained his ankle, and it would have taken
several more days, but someone paid more for a faster delivery. So here I
am.”

“Is it for me? Wait, is it from Ryoka?”

“No. It’s to…”

“Olesm?”

The Drake looked up. He saw the Human offering the letter to him. He
blinked at the delicately scented stationary.

“Oh, it’s a fan letter to me. For my chess newspaper. I haven’t run an issue
in a while. I—thank you. I’ve got my seal around here. One second…”

Absentmindedly he gave Fals his personal seal and a tip. The [Runner] left
the letter with him and went to chat with Erin. About Ryoka. Olesm left the
letter on the table for a while as he mentally struggled with the puzzle he
was facing. And then, since he was tired and out of sorts, he opened the
letter.
It was indeed fan mail, or at least, that was how it began. The delicate
cursive made Olesm blink, as did the gold-nibbled edges of the card. It
looked expensive. It even smelled expensive, but then he’d received a lot of
letters from famous [Strategists] and chess fans. Even Niers Astoragon. He
read the letter slowly.

“To Olesm Swifttail of Liscor, I am a deep admirer of your ‘chess

newsletter’ that seems to have spread across much of the continent recently.
I must confess to having only a passing interest in the game, but I am
acquainted with chess and found the games rather fascinating. They are
also, apparently, games of the highest caliber according to a rather grumpy
friend I regularly correspond with. He has since become vaguely interested
in your newsletter and that is quite an accomplishment in itself. I do hope
you will continue releasing the game…hope that you will consider sending
copies north…mhm…”

Olesm scanned the rest of the letter. It seemed like what he regularly got.
He vaguely wondered who was writing this and checked the envelope.
Sometimes the writers sent him gold or trinkets. One time he’d gotten a
clawful of powdered silver. Weird stuff like that. Olesm found nothing else,
but he noticed something on the bottom of the card.

It was a single sentence, underlined and circled repeatedly. It stood out from
the rest of the writing, and it made him freeze. It was a strange sentence,
that didn’t mesh at all with the rest of the letter. But it mattered. It was the
same sentence, word for word, that was sent via Courier to the top
[Strategist] in Zeres, and to other Drake [Strategists] via [Message] spell
and Runner. Three words. But they made Olesm shout and leap up from his
table. He overturned his chair, ran for the door to Liscor and raced out it,
shouting for Zevara. It changed everything.

When Olesm’s wild shouting had died off, Erin unfroze and walked slowly
over to the table. She picked up the card he’d dropped and turned it over.
She skimmed the message until she reached the bottom and saw the
underlined word. Then she frowned.

“He has trebuchets.”

She looked up at the staring customers. Erin stared at the card and then
looked around. She scratched her head.

“Who does?”

—-

“Trebuchets.”

Yitton sat at the table. He tried to picture the word, but he had only seen one
in a book. He’d heard what they could do, of course. They were siege
weapons, designed to take down enemy walls from afar. But none existed in
northern Izril. They were impossible to make unless you were an
[Engineer]. Who would contemplate building such a thing? Who would
know how other than someone who had a class?

An [Emperor], that was who. Laken Godart sat at the table and nodded,
calm as could be. The staring nobility finally remembered to close their
jaws at last.

“You know how to make trebuchets?”

“Of course. I’ve taught my [Engineers] how to make them as well. We had
two when Lord Tyrion rescued Riverfarm. But at his request, we’ve been
working on duplicating them as fast as possible.”

“And now? How many do you have?”

Lord Erill leaned over the table, ignoring the food that smudged his
expensive clothing. Laken paused for a second and then nodded.

“We have thirteen trebuchets, eight of which have been tested. My

[Engineering] team will continue testing the others and constructing more
on the march.”
Tyrion nodded.

“I’ve conscripted every high-level [Carpenter], [Blacksmith], and [Builder]

into working on the trebuchets. I intend to have at least twenty by the time
we arrive at Liscor. If I can contrive, it, forty.”

“Forty—but how many [Engineers] do you have?”

Yitton choked on the thought of so many. Laken just sighed.

“Only a pair for now. But the class doesn’t matter, Lord Yitton. It is not the
class which brings knowledge. It is understanding. And I understand how
trebuchets work. I do not need a Skill or time to experiment; I can order my
people to replicate the design a hundred times. A thousand times, if need
be.”

“And you brought thirteen of them. To besiege Liscor.”

Yitton repeated the words slowly. He tried to remember if he’d heard any
rumors of strange weapons arriving. How big were they? They had to be
massive, surely. Erill frowned.

“Where were they kept? I heard nothing about any trebuchets arriving—”

Ieka laughed softly. She fanned herself, glancing at Tyrion with something
akin to admiration.

“He’s using bags of holding, obviously. You’ve got all the parts stored
neatly away. And ammunition, I shouldn’t wonder. Nothing to see. Or
sabotage. How quickly can they be set up and operated?”

“It will take time, but Emperor Laken assures me that his people can train
others in the operation of the weapons. And with them, taking Liscor
becomes a reality.”

“How?”

It was the same question, but there was urgency in it this time. Now all the
nobles looked at Tyrion, not with incredulity, but wanting to know exactly
how it would be done. Yitton pointed out the obvious with a sick feeling in
his stomach.

“Attacking Liscor will still violate the terms of our peace.”

“Not if the attack was incidental.”

“You mean—an accident?”

“Yes. An unfortunate misunderstanding. Poor aim as our army finally

assaults the Goblin Lord.”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes glittered. He had a cup in his hands. Now he put it down
to speak.

“Our army has been pursuing one purpose and one alone: to slay the Goblin
Lord. He has escaped us for many days, but at last, we will have cornered
him at Liscor. To attack his army, we will deploy trebuchets, a powerful
weapon which will surely be his downfall. Unfortunately, on the day of the
assault, the trebuchets will misfire. And strike Liscor instead.”

Erill shook his head.

“There is absolutely no way the Drakes will accept that.”

“No? Accidents occur. Regardless, the trebuchets will continue firing until
Liscor’s walls are breached. And then, naturally, they will stop. The army
will advance upon the Goblin Lord as is our mission. And the Goblins—”

“—Will storm the city through the breaches. Of course.”

Ieka sat back in her chair. Yitton nearly vomited. That was the plan? That?
A lie barely disguised? Destroy the walls and let the Goblins pour through?
Tyrion was still talking, outlining his plan to the others.

“It is not an offensive action against Liscor. The trebuchets are a terrible
mistake. All the bloodshed and the taking of the city itself would be the
fault of the Goblins. Naturally, once they sack the city, it would have to be
retaken.”
“By a conveniently placed Human army?”

Gralton snorted with amusement. Tyrion nodded.

“If one happened to be nearby.”

“And you think you can take Liscor? Just like that? With trebuchets?”

Ieka eyed Tyrion sardonically, but her hands played with a fork rapidly. She
was excited. Tyrion nodded.

“Trebuchets are a rare weapon, one that Liscor was never designed to
withstand. Magic, yes, but trebuchets? No. They have enchantments on
their walls, but no siege weapons themselves either. Drakes are naturally
possessive and that technology resides solely in the Walled Cities, and
[Engineers] capable of constructing such weapons have been practically
impossible to find—until now.”

“But Liscor was designed to be unassailable. The Necromancer—”

Tyrion held up a hand, forestalling Erill’s argument.

“Liscor’s walls are spelled against magic and physical harm, but how
strongly? A [Mage] will tire, but a trebuchet? How many stones will the
wall endure before the magic runs out? Forty? A hundred? Liscor is no
Walled City. The Necromancer could not take it with his magic, but that
was his arrogance. I place my trust in stones and wood. What is real and
will not evaporate or disappear.”

“And which you can replicate. Clever.”

Ieka gazed at Laken. The [Emperor] didn’t notice her glance. He was
staring ahead. He did not look happy. Tyrion did. He nodded.

“We have the weapons to crack Liscor’s walls, and an expendable army that
will see the city as their only salvation. By the time we reach Liscor, I have
no doubt that the Drakes will be marching a force north from Pallass to
keep the Goblins out of their lands. The Goblin Lord will have no choice
but to assault Liscor and hope he can hold the walls.”
Erill nodded.

“And when he does, Liscor falls. And we take the city. We outnumber the
Goblins. But wouldn’t they know it’s a trap?”

Gralton grunted.

“Better trying to hold a city than fight a Drake army or a Human one out in
the open. And Liscor is what you want, isn’t it, Veltras? That’s what all this
is for. Liscor.”

He looked at Tyrion, not as a rabid dog might, but with sharp cunning in his
eyes. Tyrion smiled in response. He had a map of Izril and he brought it out
now. His fingers traced Liscor and moved ever south, pointing out lines of
attack and defence that all ran through one spot.

“Liscor’s value as a strategic location cannot be understated. In the past, our

armies have traditionally fought in the Blood Fields as a matter of course;
we cannot hope to take and hold Drake Cities further to the south with
Liscor at our backs, able to cut our supply lines in half, so we fight at a
prearranged location with the Drakes. But if we hold Liscor, we may mount
as many southern offensives as need be, at our leisure. The city is
practically impregnable if defended correctly.”

“This is insane. It would be the first prelude to a full-scale war. The Drakes
would never let Liscor fall so easily.”

Yitton felt like he was alone in the room. The others barely glanced at him,
but Erill did look up.

“Yitton has a point, Tyrion. If Magnolia Reinhart has warned the Drakes,
they’ll be marching north as fast as they can. But they don’t have to wait.
They have that magic door. You recall, from the siege of Liscor?”

Lady Ieka snapped her fingers, frustrated.

“Of course! I recall that thing! They could continually reinforce Liscor,
send an army through before we got there! If they do that then—”
“Calm yourselves, that issue has already been accounted for.”

Tyrion’s voice was unperturbed. Erill’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into

his hair as he glanced at Tyrion. The [Lord] did not elaborate.

“I’ve already made a move in that regards. Moreover, I suspect that door
cannot transport legions of soldiers without great cost. But it is another
reason why I intend to take the city. A doorway that would allow us to
reinforce the city or transport an army would be of considerable strategic
importance.”

“Not to mention economic.”

“Of course. Liscor is a gateway city. And in times of peace, it would be

valuable to hold.”

“Lord Tyrion. All of what you’ve said is an open declaration to the Drakes.
If you take Liscor, they will declare war. A true war that will split our
continent in two once more.”

Yitton spoke through numb lips. He stared at Tyrion. How could he have
misjudged the man? But then—he hadn’t. Tyrion had always been aiming at
this. He hadn’t lied to anyone. If he’d done the trickery, it was by hiding his
intent until the last moment. But he’d shot towards his goal. Straight as an
arrow. And just as deadly. Lord Tyrion looked at Yitton, and for a moment
his gaze softened. Perhaps he wanted Yitton to understand, but the Lord
Byres couldn’t. At last, Tyrion shook his head.

“This is not an act of war. This is an unfortunate accident that will lead to
the fall of Liscor. The Goblins will sack the city. And we will clear them
out. We will not violate our treaties; nor will we kill a single Drake.
Naturally, Liscor must be occupied and so our army will rebuild it stronger
and populate it once more.”

Just hearing the way Tyrion phrased it made Yitton feel as though he’d
swallowed muck. He bit his tongue rather than shout, but then he heard
laughter. It was coarse, boisterous, almost mocking. Lord Gralton stood up.
He pointed down at the map and looked Tyrion in the eye, challengingly.
His bloodshot gaze promised death, but his words were surprisingly
measured as he spoke to Tyrion.

“And if the Drakes don’t buy your twisted words? What if they march their
armies north and demand Liscor back at the point of the sword? What if
they take it back by force of arms? What then?”

Tyrion Veltras paused. And then he smiled.

“They can try.”

—-

Olesm stood in the conference room of Liscor’s city hall. He was panting,
out of breath. For a second Ilvriss, Embria, and Zevara stared at him and the
same horror in his chest painted their faces. Then Ilvriss moved. He turned
and roared an order at his aides, who were staring into the meeting room.

“Get me a [Message] spell to the Walled Cities now! I want every report on
Liscor’s rainfall sitting in front of me!”

They ran. Ilvriss swore and grabbed at his scrying orb. Embria’s voice
shook as she looked around.

“I need to find a [Mage]. Now. I must inform the High Command!”

“Them? What can they do?”

Olesm looked incredulously at Embria, but the Wing Commander was

already gone. He turned back to the map that Ilvriss was already pouring
over.

“If they can break our walls, it’s not a question of holding out. If they can
breach the walls, the battle will be swift. How many Drakes can we call up
north? How quickly?”
He turned to Olesm. The [Strategist] measured the distance between Pallass
and Liscor and shook his head. His claws trembled on the table.

“It’s a four day march from the Blood Fields to Liscor! From Pallass—even
with Skills, they won’t make it on time! And that army’s massive! Pallass
can’t field—”

Ilvriss turned away from the map.

“The door, then. How many soldiers can we pull through per day?”

“It can barely hold two—but if we use [Mages]—”

Zevara was staring out a window, at the walls of her city. Her voice was
very distant as she spoke.

“We’ll need thousands to hold the walls if they can create a breach. Are you
sure they have trebuchets? How many? If it’s just a few—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. If they have an [Engineer], they should have
one. Two at best! But if Tyrion has multiple [Engineers] somehow—the
letter said trebuchets.”

“It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t come without enough to do the job.”

Ilvriss slowly sat down at the table. Olesm stared at him. The Wall Lord
looked tired. And grim.

“He’ll break open the walls and let the Goblins come through. Then he’ll
take the city and pretend it was all an accident. The fault of the Goblins.”

“But that’s such an obvious lie.”

Olesm whispered through numb lips. That was the part he hadn’t
understood. Why lie about it? Ilvriss was convinced that was how it would
occur, but why did the Human have to pretend? But the Wall Lord just
shook his head.
“Of course it’s a lie. But it’s a splendid little lie the Humans can shout.
We’ll know its true, and our people will know, but what about Humans who
only hear what Tyrion Veltras says? What about other nations? The lie will
become truth to many. And it’s the lie that will start a war that Tyrion
Veltras wants. It’s…a reason. Humans need reasons to go to war. Even if
they’re lies. They want to believe they’re in the right.”

“Then it’s happening. He’s going to besiege Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s
coming to destroy the city.”

“Yes.”

Ilvriss didn’t move. Olesm looked at him, and then at Zevara. Both Drakes
were very still. And then Zevara turned. She looked older than she had this
morning. Older and tired. But fire burned in her. She spoke it as she turned.

“Someone get me Klbkch. Tell him I need to speak with his Queen now.
Tell him—Liscor may be in mortal danger. Summon the Antinium and
rouse the Watch. Send word to the cities.”

She looked at Olesm and Ilvriss. Both Drakes slowly looked up. Zevara
clenched her claws into fists.

“Tell them. And tell the damn Humans. Tell Tyrion Veltras. Tell the world.
Liscor hasn’t fallen yet.”

—-

The dinner party ended with drinks and a toast, as was custom. Yitton could
have thrown his drink down, but he stood mechanically as Tyrion addressed
the others. The honorable man stood and watched as his peers toasted. And
he knew that he was not an honorable man.

An honorable man would have found a way to stop the bloodbath. An

honorable man would have fought, rather than stood silently. But for all
Yitton feared a war between Drakes and Humans, he had not the courage to
try and stop what was occurring. He knew he could not.

So he stood and listened as Tyrion spoke. The Lord of the Veltras family
smiled, a cold smile while his eyes burned. He looked from face to face as
he raised a wine glass.

“Prepare yourselves accordingly. I will make a formal announcement two

days hence, although I suspect the news will already have been leaked in
some fashion or other. Regardless, it matters not. In four days we will reach
Liscor and the Goblin Lord will begin his siege of the city. In four days,
Liscor falls.”

He drank and the others toasted him. Three [Lords], a [Lady], and an
[Emperor]. Yitton looked at Laken Godart. The young man raised his goblet
but didn’t drink. And though he could not see Yitton, though he was blind,
his head turned slightly towards the [Lord]. And Yitton thought he saw a
similar expression cross Laken’s face. He was an [Emperor]. But in that
moment he and Yitton were the same.

Trapped.

—-

It was another ordinary day. That was how all days were. Ordinary, until
they weren’t. Erin stood outside her inn and stared up at the sky. Normally
she would have been drenched in a moment and water would have pelted
her upturned face. But for the first time in what felt like ages, Erin didn’t
feel the downpour. She felt light and she turned her gaze up to see a bit of
sunshine poking through the dark clouds.

“Oh. The rain’s stopped. That’s wonderful!”

She smiled. The rain had stopped! Maybe it would be only for a moment,
but people had been saying it was about time for the weather to change. She
hoped it would be sunny soon. She couldn’t wait for the summer. She tilted
her head back up, smiling, and then heard it.

A strange echo of the falling rain. A distant patter, a thumping heard far off.
Like a heartbeat. Or drums, heralding war. Erin shook her head and rubbed
at her ears, wondering if there was water caught in her inner ear. After a
moment she shrugged and went back to her inn. That was the last she
thought of the sound.

But he heard it too. The Goblin crouching on a distant hilltop, nearly

invisible in the grass, raised his head and looked northwards. He could
sense the thunder in the distance, growing louder and louder. He looked
back to the inn, and at the closing door and the young woman who
disappeared inside. The old Goblin stroked his grey, tangled beard.

“What do I see? An army of lost children and five who walk Garen
Redfang’s path. What will you do, for all those who play games with Goblin
lives? And who is she?”

Greydath of Blades stared at the inn, and then his gaze twisted north, to a
cave where he sensed the strangeness that had drawn him south. An
unexpected twist to all this. There were some things even a Goblin Lord
couldn’t predict. Well, he would see what it meant soon enough.

He grinned and his eyes burned crimson. Greydath stood up and leapt into
the water. He disappeared with a splash into the murky depths and the fish
swimming around him fled. After a few minutes a dark shape darted closer.
The waters became violent for a second, and then blood began to rise up
like an underwater cloud.

No one noticed. The people of Liscor looked up as the rain stopped, and
they saw something wonderful as Erin went back to her window. The end of
the rains had brought something special to the skies over Liscor. A rainbow.
It shone down from the heavens, a beautiful light that stretched from
mountain to mountain. Erin smiled and hummed to herself as she stood
outside and the sun finally showed itself.
It looked like it might be a beautiful day.
 5.53

Happy. Of course, Goblins had a word for the feeling. They understood
happiness as well as any other race, no matter what other species thought of
them. They had a word for happy and more words for grief and anger than
could be expressed in the limited language of the common tongue. But they
had only one word for happy.

That was because happiness to a Goblin was ever fleeting. It was not a long
term state of being; to them it could not be. They could be happy, but they
were aware that it would never last. Even if a Goblin tribe was strong, or
had hidden from enemies, even if they were safe as safe could be, someday,
they would be found. Someday they would die.

So their word for happiness wasn’t a blanket statement. To a Goblin, happy

was a temporary, fleeting moment of perfection. A moment of paradise in
the darkness. A second where everything was right. Happy was not forever,
and so it was all the more precious because of it.

And the Redfang Goblins were happy. Madly, deliriously happy. So much
so that they expected each day to wake up and for it all to be a dream. But it
wasn’t.

They lived in the Dropclaw bat cave now, which was now free of Dropclaw
bats and filled to the brim with Cave Goblins. In fact, they weren’t just
occupying one cave. After it had become clear that only so many Goblins
could sleep on top of one another before someone died of suffocation, the
Goblins had gone scouting nearby and found more caves.

It wasn’t as if Liscor lacked for caves. Given that the city and the
surrounding area was a basin formed in the center of the High Passes, there
were hundreds of smaller caves that opportunistic monsters or animals
could lair in. And while many had flooded with the rains, there were still
many more that remained above the water line.

In fact, the road north had several good spots to hide out in, although as you
went north and eventually passed by Esthelm, the pass would widen until
you left the mountains behind entirely. The Cave Goblins hadn’t bothered to
go that far; they’d found two other caves with ample elbow room and
settled there. They had to evict the former occupants; a group of very upset
Face Eater Moths who were even more upset when their burgeoning nest
was smashed into oblivion and they themselves became dinner for hungry
Goblins.

And now the Redfang Hobs woke each day with small Goblins around
them. They ate, and then trained. And the Cave Goblins followed them and
learned.

Were they Chieftains? The Hobs had no idea. They felt as though they were
in a sense. They taught the Cave Goblins and gave them orders and there
was no question they were in charge. But none of them had gotten the
[Chieftain] class and they all considered themselves part of Garen’s tribe.
Too, there were five of them and even if Headscratcher was their leader at
times, he was only the first among equals.

They’d discussed the issue multiple times but given up because it was a
headache and besides, it didn’t matter. The Redfangs instead focused their
energy on doing what they did best: training. They hadn’t even meant to
train the other Goblins at first. They just went around their daily routines
until they noticed that there would be hundreds of Cave Goblins watching
them and copying them at any time. And so the Redfang Hobs had begun
teaching the copycats, just like Garen Redfang and the older Hobs had once
trained them in their youths.

Each taught the Cave Goblins according to his strengths. There was no
planning to it; the Redfang Goblins had no idea how to lead a tribe, so they
just did what they’d always done, and the Cave Goblins followed them
about. In that sense there were five mini-tribes, all of whom coexisted
peacefully in the cave and dungeon. Cave Goblins came and went using the
secret passages known only to them.
The Shield Spider’s nest had been carefully altered to make a walkway for
easier passage to and fro from the surface to the dungeon. Sometimes
Goblins still fell, and when they did, the Shield Spiders feasted. But the
invisibility that protected the Goblins hadn’t dissipated with the defeat of
the Raskghar. And now that they were free, more and more looked to the
surface.

To the Hobs. If you were a newcomer Cave Goblin, who’d just made the
long journey to the surface, there were five splendid camps you could
choose from. It was a difficult choice but once the Cave Goblins committed,
they didn’t switch leaders. In that sense it was very much like a separate
tribe, and each one had their nuances.

Those who followed Headscratcher, the [Berserker] with the enchanted axe
and the ability to burst into tears while watching a play in Erin’s inn were
fighters to the core. They trained relentlessly, following the Hob as he
exercised and fighting much like Headscratcher did, creating crude axes out
of stones or using looted weapons in training.

They had the closest bonds and fought like brothers. Or like sisters. Like a
family. The Hob told them stories of his family, the fallen. Bugear, Grunter,
Leftstep…and he trained them as hard as he’d been trained. Harder. So they
would never stand alone.

On the other hand, if you were a Goblin who eschewed simply hitting
things as hard as you could, you went to Shorthilt’s mini-tribe. The Goblins
who flocked to him were warriors as well, but of a different kind. Like the
Hob, they believed in finding the sharpest, most effective weapons to use in
battle and even thought about things like ‘tactics’ and ‘strategy’ in battle.

They were both armorers and weapon smiths. Shorthilt had gotten a small
armory of weapons from Erin and the best Goblins used those. The rest
created a terrifying arsenal out of wood, bone, and rock. With Shorthilt’s
help, they learned that you could put an edge on an entirely wooden axe that
could cut as finely as any metal one. His Goblins trained and worked on
their weapons for all five tribes, although they only used blunt weapons
while sparring. Because no one wanted to lose an arm.
If those two were the frontline warriors factions, the other three Goblins
occupied more useful roles, at least when it didn’t come to the fighting. For
instance, Badarrow’s group was comprised solely of [Archers]. While it was
the smallest of the five factions due to the Hob’s grumpy nature and the
complexities of wielding a bow, Badarrow and his archers did almost all of
the hunting. They could kill fish with their arrows and any bird flying
overhead was soon a pincushion.

In his quest for the perfect arrow, Badarrow and his tribe slowly knocked
down every tree in the area, obsessively fletching and shooting the precious
arrows at targets both night and day. Badarrow could usually be found on
the roof of the Dropclaw bat cave, shooting arrows at targets with his
students. If you were lucky, he’d slip up and you’d catch him smiling.

While Badarrow’s faction was the smallest, the largest by far was the group
of Goblins that followed Rabbiteater. Like the other Goblins, they learned
to fight Redfang style, but that wasn’t the focus of their group. No, instead
they cooked.

Yes, cooked. Rabbiteater spent more time copying Erin’s food and learning
from the master herself than he did training. As such, his Goblins wielded
the ladle and spatula and learned how to debone fish, fry bird meat, and
wash their hands before every meal.

Rabbiteater also taught them how to look for traps, forage for food, weave
nets, and make the most comfortable beds, as befitted a Goblin who had
truly been the jack-of-trades among the five Hobs. Now of course he was a
[Champion], but to his admirers, the ability to produce tasty food and create
dental floss far outweighed mere combat. Rabbiteater’s group was thus
envied and scorned by the other four factions, although no one complained
when it was time to eat.

And the last faction was Numbtongue’s. Unlike the others groups, they
didn’t spend their time copying the Hob’s every action. Rather, they
generally just sat around and listened. And learned.

Numbtongue sat in his cave and played on his guitar. He had an audience;
hundreds of green bodies sat around him. Crimson eyes followed his claws
as he played a song he’d learned from Erin. But no one made a sound. The
Cave Goblins listened as Numbtongue played a classic from Erin’s world.
Or something close to it.

“I don’t know exactly how it goes. But it uh, sounds like this. Doo, doo,
doo, doo, doo, doo…no, that note’s a bit higher. Hey, do you want me to
write this down?”

Of Erin’s many talents, writing sheet music and playing instruments weren’t
one of them. But she could at least hum the melody and Numbtongue would
spend hours recreating the songs. Now he strummed the guitar and brought
a song from her home into this cave. It was a melancholy song if you were
sad. Or a beautiful one if you weren’t.

His guitar sang. Sparks of electricity shot from the chords and danced
across Numbtongue’s fingers as he played. The battered, twice-repaired
guitar echoed in the cave. The bass was deeper than it should be for the size
of the instrument. The notes echoed as Numbtongue sped up, switching to
another song. And his audience listened, captivated.

Curiously, none of the Cave Goblins joined in. They just listened as he
played. When Numbtongue stopped they’d make music. His group had
begun hitting rocks together, making crude drums, and trying to replicate
the guitar without success. They’d kept the other Cave Goblins up at night
with their racket. But when Numbtongue spoke or played, they just listened.

It bothered the Hob, to be honest. Because his Cave Goblins were acting
much like he did around Erin. He had a deep suspicion that they’d listened
to every word he’d said to Erin—and everything the Human said on her
daily visits to the cave. His faction was probably at least semi-fluent by
now, but like Numbtongue, they refrained from speaking except when
excessively poked.

Music, speech, and obviously, fighting. Those were his Cave Goblins. And
they were his. Numbtongue had never felt as protective of a group of
Goblins before. They were like children, although some of the Goblins were
older than he was. But he was a Hob and they looked at him like…like…
Like he’d looked at Garen. As a small Goblin looked at a hero. Someone
who they aspired to be like. That bothered Numbtongue because he knew
he was no Garen. But no matter how many times he tried to shoo the Cave
Goblins away, they kept following him. So in desperation he tried to be the
leader they expected of him.

He should probably show them how to hit things now. Probably. But
Numbtongue played on. His fingers danced along the guitar strings. It was
so unlike the rapid, brutal way of fighting he’d learned. That was an art too,
but a violent one, with sudden starts and stops and blood. This—this was
beautiful.

The cave was dark. Rabbiteater had moved his cooking fires outside
because of all the smoke. But the flashing electricity illuminated the cave
each time Numbtongue played a chord. That was why he was given a
respectful distance by his audience. Numbtongue didn’t know why he’d
gained the [Electric Chords] Skill or, as he’d become a Level 25 Bard,
[Lightning Melody]. Both Skills were clearly related to his class, but why
were they electricity-based?

Erin had speculated that it was because Numbtongue had been playing the
songs she’d taught him on the guitar. Why or how that mattered was a
mystery, but apparently Humans played on guitars that used lightning all
the time in Erin’s home. She’d tried to explain it to Numbtongue, but her
words had made no sense.

No sense, unless you noticed how sometimes Erin would say things about
her home that everyone else paid attention to. Pisces, Ceria, Typhenous…all
the Antinium…they knew something about Erin. And the Hobs knew that
they knew, although they didn’t know what it was they knew. She came
from somewhere far off. Somewhere unlike anywhere in this world.
From…another world? How? And why?

Thoughts like that made Numbtongue’s head hurt so he played another riff
on his guitar. Fine, [Electric Chords] was a good ability to have, even if
using a guitar in combat wasn’t the smartest of life choices. But [Lightning
Melody]? How would that work?
He’d woken up to hear the glorious announcement in his head today. Unlike
the other Hobs, Numbtongue and Rabbiteater had been leveling fast; both
had gained two levels this week alone somehow. It was probably because
they were fulfilling the requirements of their class. Shorthilt, Rabbiteater,
and Badarrow could train, but they didn’t level nearly as fast as they would
fighting monsters. On the other hand, Numbtongue had all the time to play
his guitar in front of an audience. And Rabbiteater…well, he might just be
leveling up by existing.

And now Numbtongue had another Skill. Was [Lightning Melody] a

powerful one? He thought it was. Part of him had been worried he wouldn’t
get any useful Skills for fighting, but his new Skill seemed to indicate he
could summon lightning. Like a [Mage].

But surely it wasn’t that easy, right? Numbtongue frowned and shifted his
grip on the guitar. He shifted up the tempo of his playing and chose a fast-
paced song. If Erin had been present, she would have recognized the tune
Numbtongue was shredding on the guitar.

Fast. Faster. Numbtongue imagined calling the electricity flying from the
tips of his guitar and into the instrument. He could hear Rabbiteater cooking
outside, smell roasting fish. On the roof of the cave Badarrow was shouting
at his students as they fired arrows—

No, focus. Draw in energy into the guitar. Numbtongue’s clawed fingers
flew across the guitar. Electricity shot from his hands, making the nearest
Cave Goblins flinch back. Sweat began to bead on Numbtongue’s forehead.
He reached the climax of his solo and shouted as he raised the guitar up
over his head.

“Hiyah!”

All the Goblins in the room ducked. A few errant sparks of electricity shot
from Numbtongue’s chords and hands, but nothing happened. The Hob
stared at his guitar, and then looked around. His students stared back at him.
Sheepishly, Numbtongue lowered the guitar. He began to strum a gentler
song, coughing in embarrassment. Maybe he needed to sing? He knew all
the words to a lot of the songs Erin had taught him, but it was embarrassing
to do it in front of an audience. Especially if they joined in.

There was still a feeling of tension in the guitar, though. Numbtongue

frowned as he played on. It did feel like the electricity was gathering, but
how was he supposed to unleash it? Maybe he needed this ‘electric guitar’
Erin kept talking about?

The Hob played five more notes and lightning shot down from the sky,
blowing Badarrow off his perch and sending his students fleeing.
Numbtongue looked up when he heard the screams and raced outside with
the others. He paused when he saw Badarrow lying on the ground, weakly
waving his arms and legs and stared at the smoldering crater that marked
the spot where lightning had struck.

“Uh? Uh?”

That was all Badarrow said for a while until the color came back to his face.
When he did finally manage to sit up and got an explanation from the
babbling Goblins around him, he chased Numbtongue about, shouting and
kicking at his back. By the time Badarrow had vented his considerable
pique, Headscratcher had returned with his group. The Hob slowed to a stop
as he ran towards the crowd of Goblins. Sweat was covering his bare chest
and he was naked save for a pair of pants and the enchanted axe on his belt.

He’d taken his group on a run. Headscratcher stared at Numbtongue’s guitar

as they explained what had happened, and then he nodded.

“Sit?”

The four Hobs present looked at each other. They nodded. Numbtongue
looked around.

“One of you find Shorthilt. Tell him we are going to have a war meeting.”

—-
War meeting. This was another thing they were teaching the Cave Goblins,
something the Redfangs had learned from their tribe. The five Hobs sat in
their cave while Goblins crowded around them. Many had to sit outside, but
whatever was said or done was instantly conveyed to them.

Numbtongue shifted uncomfortably as he sat next to Shorthilt and

Rabbiteater. This was an old practice. It was a Redfang tradition after
encountering a tough foe in the High Passes. The entire tribe would sit
together, just like this and come up with a plan to defeat their enemy—or
avoid them. It was just like this, except it wasn’t like this.

Normally Redscar would be…there. Right across from Garen Redfang

himself. The best warriors and Hobs would be sitting in the center, with the
weaker ones slowly radiating outwards. Instead, it was the five Hobs sitting
in the center and all the Cave Goblins watching. It felt different. Wrong.
And yet, it was all the Hobs knew.

Headscratcher opened the war council up by clearing his throat. The Hob
couldn’t speak the common tongue well, so he defaulted to the Goblin’s
tongue and sign language. Only Numbtongue spoke in common for the
benefit of his faction.

“Lightning attack good. Is good Skill. Not hurt Badarrow is good too.”

The other Hobs nodded. Badarrow growled.

“Stupid Skill.”

“Good Skill. Powerful. Like Silver-rank spell. Tier 3.”

Shorthilt shook his head. He nodded at Numbtongue who nodded back.

Badarrow folded his arms and grunted moodily. Rabbiteater grinned.

“Powerful! Can do again? Many times?”

“No!”
All the Hobs reacted when Rabbiteater pointed to the guitar. Numbtongue
shook his head.

“It takes a while to work. The Skill is not…convenient. But I think I can do
it again. It’s probably stronger on cloudy days.”

The Goblins glanced towards the cave entrance. The rainclouds that
haunted Liscor were still pouring. It was definitely a phenomenon of the
weather; in their cave outside of Liscor they often got showers, but only in
the floodplains were the rains ever-present. Headscratcher nodded.

“Is good. Skill good. Could hurt Gargoyles with lightning.”

“Mm.”

The other Hobs nodded. That would be useful. Shorthilt looked around in
his seat at the watching Goblins.

“Gargoyles tough. But new not-tribes strong. Maybe enough to fight in

High Passes?”

The other Redfang Warriors considered the question. They glanced at their
factions, assessing. Of course, they were all regular Goblins and thus a lot
weaker than a tribe with Hobs, but Numbtongue thought that was a
temporary situation at best. Recently, several Cave Goblins in his faction
had begun eating far more than the others. And some were getting…big.

“My warriors strong. Could beat regular Goblins in fight.”

Headscratcher nodded decisively. Shorthilt raised his brows.

“Good. My group could kill Eater Goats. Maybe.”

The two Hobs stared at each other appraisingly. Badarrow rolled his eyes.

“Going to High Passes?”

He interrupted the beginning of an argument. Both Hobs quieted down. At

last, Headscratcher shook his head.
“Good food here. Nice…place.”

The other Hobs nodded in agreement. This was a nice place. And yet—what
came next? They’d agreed on the essentials. Their Goblins were getting
stronger. Numbtongue being able to call down lightning however
sporadically was good. But what came next?

“Fight in dungeon? Hunt down hiding Raskghar? Eat fish? Train?”

Rabbiteater counted down their options. The Hobs nodded. Each option
sounded good. And yet they knew that these were all transitory activities.
Numbtongue was the one to say it.

“When the rains stop, what will we do next? We’re in the middle of the road
and close to the city. And Erin cannot feed us forever.”

The other four looked at him with expressions of resignation and dismay.
Numbtongue felt guilty himself. Why did he have to say it?

None of them wanted to think about what would happen soon. They knew
this wasn’t sustainable; despite Rabbiteater’s faction constantly fishing and
Badarrow’s group bringing in food (and Headscratcher occasionally killing
something while on his runs), Erin was essentially paying to feed all the
Goblins. She was constantly bringing in bags of flour, produce, and so on
through her magic door. And while she claimed she was ‘good for it’ thanks
to the bounty Ilvriss had paid out, Numbtongue was aware of how much she
had to be spending per day.

“It’s a lot of money.”

He hunched his shoulders. Headscratcher nodded slowly. He looked

towards the far end of the cave. There, propped up against the wall, was the
door. While the Cave Goblins had placed bedrolls and supplies practically
everywhere else, the spot around the door was kept clean and no one was
allowed to sleep there. It was like a shrine, although the Goblins had no
understanding of what a shrine was. But they venerated the spot nonetheless
because of where it led.
“Can find more shiny metal in dungeon. Probably.”

“How much?”

Shorthilt wrinkled his nose. The Goblins knew in abstract how much gold
was worth, but they hadn’t placed any value on it. The reaction of the
adventurers had told them what they’d given away, but the Goblins couldn’t
bring themselves to covet the useless, glittering stuff. Headscratcher
frowned.

“Don’t know. Numbtongue find out? Go get food and check?”

He looked carefully at Numbtongue. So did the others. Numbtongue froze.

“Why me?”

The other Hobs rolled their eyes. Only Numbtongue could read, obviously!
Rabbiteater kicked Numbtongue in the side and Badarrow leaned over to
poke him. Numbtongue growled, but in the end nodded.

“Fine. I’ll see what the menu says. Or ask.”

He stood up. The other Goblins moved back as Numbtongue moved to the
door. He glanced back at the other four Hobs as they began to discuss more
training and the idea of hunting something bigger down, like a Rock Crab.
But that was all for show. He knew that Headscratcher’s idea about finding
money to pay Erin with was just that: an idea.

It still didn’t solve the problem. It still didn’t change the fact that there were
too many Goblins and they didn’t know what to do. Numbtongue knew that
and it weighed on him. Soon, very soon, they would have to do something.
He placed his hand on the door and felt the trembling that told him it was
connected. He wished, at times, that he wasn’t the only one who could
speak Erin’s language. Because that meant that someday, perhaps very
soon, he would have to be the one to tell Erin goodbye.

But for today at least…he stepped through the doorway into The Wandering
Inn and inhaled slowly. The air was warm and the inn was bustling. Gnolls
and Drakes waited tables while a smattering of people sat and ate. Humans,
Drakes, Gnolls, all looked up when Numbtongue stepped through the door.
There was a moment of hesitation, but just that. Then they turned back to
their food. No one screamed. No one grabbed a weapon. And Numbtongue
felt safe here.

That was happiness.

—-

“Numbtongue! Are you here for today’s lunch? Sorry, it’s not done just yet.
I’m showing Pebblesnatch how to make it. Mind waiting for a bit? Can I get
you a beer? I have a dark lager.”

“A what?”

“Um…a kind of beer? Here, I’ve marked the keg so I know exactly which
kind it is. Hold on, Ishkr, toss me a clean mug! We’re all out over here!”

Numbtongue blinked as Erin waved energetically at a Gnoll heading out of

the kitchen. He saw Ishkr toss a mug in a lazy arc at Erin. The [Innkeeper]
jumped up for it. And missed.

“Uh oh—”

The Hob snagged the handle of the mug and handed it to Erin. She smiled
sheepishly at him.

“Thanks, Numbtongue.”

“You’re…welcome.”

The Hob felt awkward, but Erin just grinned and filled the mug with the
dark liquid. She handed it to Numbtongue.
“There. Have a taste and let me know how it is. I think it’s awful, to be
honest. But I don’t drink alcohol. [Immunity: Alcohol], you know. I could
disable the Skill of course, but what’s the point of drinking alcohol
anyways? Fruit juice tastes better.”

“Mm.”

Numbtongue sipped from his mug as he leaned against the bar. The dark
lager was indeed not nearly as sweet as an ale or fruit juices, but he thought
Erin was doing it a disservice. It was certainly better than stagnant pond
water or drinking blood. Actually, if that was your standard than a lager was
the greatest drink in the world.

“How’s everyone doing in the caves? Eating enough? Do you need me to go

on another supply run? And by me, I mean getting Ishkr and the guys to do
it?”

Erin stood and chatted with Numbtongue as they looked at her busy inn.
She was busy but not at the same time; there were any number of people
Erin could chat to, and she could cook in her kitchen or help wait tables, but
she didn’t have to do anything. Her inn staff was now large enough to take
on all the roles needed and Lyonette was cooking more and more of the
dishes with Mrsha as a ‘taste tester’.

“They’re…good. I learned to play another song.”

Numbtongue decided not to bring up nearly frying Badarrow with lightning.

Erin smiled.

“Ooh! Which one?”

“The one about fire.”

“You mean, I See Fire? By Ed Sheeran?”

“Mm. Yes, that one. Good song. Relaxing.”

“You should have seen the music video. It was made for The Hobbit, you
know. I really liked those movies, no matter what everyone else said.
They’re so long that I could play chess and just watch them on my laptop…
but you don’t understand what I’m talking about, right?”

“Nope.”

Numbtongue leaned back, mug in hand. He tried not to smile. Erin’s

ramblings were enjoyable to listen to. But he didn’t want to let her know he
enjoyed them. The [Innkeeper] shot him a sidelong glance.

“Okay, I know this is a lot, but I’ve explained electric guitars to you, right?
Well, you see, movies are these things that run on electricity. Sort of.
They’re these pictures that appear on a screen. Like magic. Actually, that’s
the best way to describe all of this. It’s all these magic moving images with
sound that tell stories. And the Hobbit’s about…oh, hey Pawn!”

Erin broke off and waved. Numbtongue looked over and saw that the magic
door had opened to let Pawn and several Soldiers in. Drassi waved them
through and then adjusted the door to Celum. She opened it, checked for
waiting visitors, and then closed the door. Erin had come up with a rotation
system so that no one would be left waiting longer than ten or so minutes in
any location. Now Erin smiled at the rain-soaked Antinium.

“Sorry Numbtongue. I’ll be back. Hey Pawn! How are you doing? And hi
Yellow Splatters, who’s this pink guy?”

The young woman walked over to greet the Antinium Worker and Soldiers.
Numbtongue stayed where he was, sipping his drink and watching. He saw
Erin usher the Antinium over to a seat and call for food. Then she began
pointing back at him. He saw her return.

“Sorry about that! Where were we?”

Numbtongue blinked at Erin. He glanced at the Antinium, who were

alternatively looking at Drassi who was heading towards them with a trio of
steaming bowls of soup and at Erin.

“You aren’t going to stay with them?”

Erin frowned.

“Well, yeah, of course I’ll go back to chat. But I was talking with you. We
don’t see each other anymore; the least we can do is chat for a bit. You want
a snack while we’re chatting?”

“No. Thank you.”

The Hob blinked at Erin. She smiled and took a seat on a bar stool.

“Okay then. Where was I? Movies, that’s right. Let me know if I’m boring
you. Or you want to talk. But the thing about movies is—”

She began telling Numbtongue a strange story about small not-Dwarves

going on a mission to steal treasure from a Dragon. Interspersed with her
commentary, Erin kept interrupting to give Numbtongue context about her
home, about a place called Hollywood and why everyone didn’t like the
movie as much as the original movie, which was about a bunch of small
not-Dwarves going to deliver a ring to a volcano. Numbtongue listened,
grunting where appropriate. He was enjoying himself and couldn’t help
smiling, so he covered it by drinking two lagers in quick succession.

After a few minutes of chatting both Erin and Numbtongue simultaneously

realized they had company. Goblin and Human turned to look at Pawn, who
was silently standing behind the bar. Listening to them.

“Uh, hi Pawn. Is something wrong?”

The Worker shook his head. He glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“No, I am just standing here, Erin. Listening. Please continue.”

Erin wavered. She looked at Pawn and then at Numbtongue.

“Well—okay. But I’m sort of talking to Numbtongue here. It’s not anything
secret but—I’ll come over to talk with you guys soon, okay?”

Pawn nodded. He didn’t budge. Erin looked at him.

“Pawn?”

The Worker folded all four of his arms.

“What? I am standing here. I would not wish to take away time from
Numbtongue. So I will simply stand and listen here until you have time to
join us. Please ignore my presence.”

Erin and Numbtongue exchanged a slow glance.

“Do you want to speak with Lyonette, Pawn?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“She is busy. And I have spoken to her already yesterday. I am perfectly

content not speaking with Lyonette. I will just wait here until you are done,
please.”

His tone was surprisingly hostile. Numbtongue eyed Pawn warily. He’d
never really talked to the Antinium, and the Worker was giving him a long
look. Erin narrowed her eyes as she looked from Pawn to Numbtongue.
And then, suddenly, she blinked.

“Are you…jealous, Pawn?”

“…Maybe.”

The Worker shuffled his feet. Erin gaped at him, and then laughed.

“Why? I’m only talking with Numbtongue!”

Pawn looked down at his feet.

“Yes. But you talk with the Goblins often. And sometimes it feels as though
you speak more with them than with us. Statistically, you spend 271.08%
more time with Goblin individuals as a whole than with Antinium.”

“That’s because I talk to the Hobs when they come over, Pawn. And you
always bring a crowd. Your statistics are a lie!”
Erin threw up her hands, visibly amused and bemused at the same time. She
looked helplessly at Numbtongue.

“I didn’t know the Antinium resented me talking with you guys. Pawn, why
didn’t you say anything? And why are you jealous? It’s not like I don’t
spend lots of time with you all!”

The Worker looked embarrassed. He muttered as he looked down at the

floor.

“It is just that we were the only species you spent time with before they
came. Now there are Goblins and we wonder which group you like more.
Evidence points to the Goblins being the preferred group.”

“What evidence?”

“…Circumstantial evidence? You give them beers.”

“That’s because it’s made of wheat! For the love of—come on,
Numbtongue, Pawn. We’re going to settle this right now.”

Erin marched the two over to the table with the Soldiers and sat them down.
Numbtongue suddenly found himself staring at a bunch of very large
Soldiers who were silently eating from their bowls. The largest of them,
Yellow Splatters, stared silently at Numbtongue. The Hob had the distinct
impression he was being seized up and immediately did the same. He didn’t
like what his brain told him.

“Okay, we’re all sitting together now. Goblins and Antinium, see? No one’s
being left out.”

Erin sighed as she looked from impassive face to face. Pawn sat in his chair,
defiantly sipping from his bowl of soup. The Worker shook his head as he
stared at Numbtongue. He had no eyelids, but his look was definitely a
glare.

“I don’t think we’re alike. There is very little to support your claims, Miss
Erin.”
“Come on, Pawn…at least try.”

The Worker hunched his shoulders at the reprimand in Erin’s voice. At last,
he opened his mandibles grudgingly.

“We play chess. Do you play chess?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Erin had taught some of the Cave Goblins
how to play and Shorthilt had expressed an interest, as had Badarrow, but
the game wasn’t for him.

“No. I play music. On the guitar.”

Pawn nodded. He looked at Erin and folded two of his arms.

“There. The judgment is clear. There is no relationship at all.”

“Pawn…”

The Worker looked huffy but said nothing. But Numbtongue wasn’t gazing
at him. He was staring at Yellow Splatters. The Soldier was just inspecting
him now. And strangely, Numbtongue thought he did share something in
common with the Soldier.

He had heard of the Antinium battling the Raskghar from Erin and
Pebblesnatch. He knew not all of them had survived. And in Yellow
Splatters he sensed a kindred spirit. The Soldier had no lips. He had no
eyelids. He had no nose or eyes that could shed tears. But Numbtongue
sensed that he too was a fellow warrior that had seen the battlefield. So the
Hob hesitated, and then broke his cardinal rule of standoffishness. He
looked at the Soldier—at the other seven Soldiers sitting at the table and
spoke slowly.

“Dying hurts. Friends dying…hurts.”

Pawn and Erin both froze. The Soldiers just looked at Numbtongue. As one,
they lowered their bowls of soup. The Hob nodded.
“You fought Raskghar. We respect that. They killed many, many Goblins.
Soldiers killed many Raskghar. Fought bravely. Respect.”

He tapped a fist against his chest. Yellow Splatters stared at Numbtongue.

Then, suddenly, the Soldier brought up his fist and copied the gesture. His
chitin clicked softly as it met his chest. Pawn gaped.

Numbtongue eyed Yellow Splatters’ bowl. The Soldier hesitated, then

pushed the bowl to him. He heard a gasp from Erin, but didn’t hesitate.
Carefully, Numbtongue raised the bowl and took a sip.

It was good. A hearty fish broth of some kind, made very spicy.
Numbtongue found a chunk of fish and chewed it. He slid the bowl back to
Yellow Splatters and nodded.

“Food is good.”

“It is.”

Pawn spoke quietly. His animosity of earlier was forgotten as he stared

between Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. The Hob and Soldier sat
together. Then Numbtongue smiled. Yellow Splatters’ mandibles moved up
slightly. Erin held her breath. Pawn looked between the two and his entire
posture relaxed. He seemed to sigh, and then raised his voice.

“…Did you say you played music?”

—-

Half an hour later, Erin circled her inn, waiting on tables, talking to Olesm
and Zevara who were quite busy for some reason, and glancing at the table
with the Goblin and Antinium. They were engaged in a conversation that
was as much sign language as verbal communication. They’d been talking
non-stop for a while now, and Erin had to admit, she was a bit lonely.
After they’d broken the ice, Numbtongue and Pawn had begun to talk so
much that she’d barely been able to get a word in. And they’d been so
engrossed that they had barely noticed when she’d left.

“Huh. That’s actually sort of hurtful.”

Erin muttered as she walked into her kitchen. She looked around and saw a
Cave Goblin standing at the stove. Pebblesnatch was stirring the pot with a
big spoon. The Cave Goblin was wearing a big chef’s hat that Erin had
bought for her and an apron. Erin smiled.

“Pebblesnatch, how’s the soup?”

The Goblin looked over and grinned at Erin. She held a clawed thumb up.
Erin went over and smelled the soup.

“Ooh. That’s good. Yeah, we’re ready to send it back. Can you take the pot?
You’re sure? It’s not too heavy? Okay, then.”

She walked back into the inn. Numbtongue was playing guitar at his table,
much to the amazement of the enraptured Antinium. Erin felt bad, but the
soup was hot and she knew the other Goblins got upset if they had to wait.
Reluctantly, Erin raised her voice.

“Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!”

The Hob looked over. He reluctantly abandoned his guitar and came over.
The Antinium stood as well.

“I’m sorry guys, but I’ve got lunch for the other Goblins.”

“We understand. But perhaps we could come back tomorrow? To talk?”

Pawn looked at Numbtongue. The Hob smiled. So did Erin.

“I’m sure the Goblins could join you at any time. But for now—
Pebblesnatch?”
The Cave Goblin trundled out of the kitchen holding the big pot between
two gloves. Erin let her come over and offered Numbtongue a bowl of the
soup.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it;
Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take
some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat.
And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough
plates?”

Numbtongue grunted an affirmative and sighed as Erin began grabbing

things to hand him. He glanced back at the Antinium and saw Pawn wave.
He waved back and then began balancing the mass of objects Erin wanted
him to carry through the door.

“Sorry, I know you wanted to chat, but I remember you telling me how
there was a big fight last time the food was late. If you want to come back, I
can open the door—”

“No. We talked enough. They will come back and we will talk more. With
the others.”

Numbtongue grunted. His arms were trembling a bit despite himself. Did
Erin have to make him carry everything at once? The [Innkeeper] fumbled
with the mana stones in the bowl.

“Okay. I’m really glad you two liked each other. Hold on—the door’s
nearly open. Give my best to the others! Tell them to come through
sometime! Obviously not with all the Goblins but—hey, we should do a
Goblins-only night at the inn sometime!”

“Yes. Good idea. Goodbye.”

Numbtongue edged through the open door. He heard Pebblesnatch follow

him and then he was immediately beset by all sides.

“Food!”
Headscratcher roared as he lifted a sack of flour from Numbtongue’s arms.
He passed it to a group of Cave Goblins who spirited the sack to
Rabbiteater’s waiting cooking team. Pebblesnatch growled and spat and
kicked to keep the other Cave Goblins clear of her bowl.

“You know how to make?”

Rabbiteater looked at Pebblesnatch as she put down the pot in the center of
the room. The Cave Goblin adjusted her hat importantly and nodded. She
marched out of the cave importantly, already screeching orders at the
others. As the one Cave Goblin allowed to stay in Erin’s inn, she was
practically as important as the Hobs.

“What is?”

Shorthilt pointed with interest at the multi-colored soup as other Cave

Goblins jostled for a look. Numbtongue shrugged.

“Minestrone soup. With fish. Also garlic bread. It has garlic in it and
butter.”

The Hob chortled as Numbtongue showed him the buttered bread.

Immediately all six sat down and began dividing the bowls amongst
themselves. Some of the other Cave Goblins fought for a place, but they let
the Hobs fill their bowls and grab the hot bread first before taking their
share.

That was how it worked. Erin brought some freshly-made food for the Hobs
and some of the Cave Goblins and let Pebblesnatch disseminate the recipe
for the rest of the Goblins to cook in a huge batch. The Hobs began eating
greedily, tearing into the bread and dipping it into the soup, trying to both
savor the food and scarf it down at once. As they ate, Numbtongue related
his exchange with the Antinium to his interested audience.

“Good fighters.”

Headscratcher nodded as he chewed a big mouthful. The Hobs practiced

speaking the common tongue with Numbtongue when they could.
Headscratcher smiled when Numbtongue told him the Antinium could read
Goblin sign language almost as well as Goblins. And he smiled wider when
Numbtongue told him about Erin’s fascination with dark lager.

“We get keg? It taste good?”

“I’ll ask at dinner. It’s tasty.”

“How much cost? In coins?”

Numbtongue froze. He swallowed slowly and avoided meeting Shorthilt’s

eyes.

“Um…I forgot to ask.”

The Shorthilt tsked. He reached over and jabbed him in the side. The others
laughed and chucked tomato bits at Numbtongue. Numbtongue yelped and
glared, but endured the Hob’s laughter and ribbing. Rabbiteater sipped from
his bowl and frowned.

“Good. But add more salt?”

“No. You put in your bowl. Stupid.”

Badarrow slapped Rabbiteater’s claws away from pot. Sighing, the newly-
minted [Champion] added the coarse grains of salt to his bowl. The other
Hobs kicked him silently. Rabbiteater liked things too salty. Headscratcher
filled up his third bowl, smiling with delight.

“Good. Make more!”

His comment was aimed at the cooking team who was already hard at work
gathering water, deboning fish, and so on. The Hobs kept eating, listening
to the loud chattering and Pebblesnatch shouting orders and sometimes
insults at the Goblins as they prepared the meal for the others—until
suddenly, everything went silent outside.

All five Hobs froze in place. The sounds of Goblins cooking and milling
about had cut off abruptly. Something was wrong. Headscratcher set down
his bowl and Numbtongue reached for his sword and guitar. The others
stood up and the Cave Goblins scrambled for their weapons as well. They
stared towards the cave entrance. Had the Goblins spotted something?
Monsters? Or an adventurer? If it was an attack they’d be fleeing inside and
screaming. But what—

Something moved at the mouth of the cave, blocking the sunshine. It was
tall, and moved forwards slowly. Cautiously. The Hobs held still as they
waited. Numbtongue’s claws hovered over the strings of his guitar.
Badarrow slowly put an arrow to his bowstring. And then they saw
whatever it was step into view. All five Redfang Warriors, all the Cave
Goblins, paused.

A Hobgoblin stood in the entrance to their cave. He was tall, as tall as

Headscratcher and lean. His muscle stood out on his bare chest and he
wore only a long-hanging loincloth and belt. His body had many scars and
the Hobgoblin carried a greatsword on his back, a steel blade notched and
dinged in places but still straight as an arrow. But what stood out about him
most was his beard.

It was grey. And long. It ran down onto his chest in a wispy point. It was
slightly matted and dirty from the road. But it was a beard.

The other Goblins stared. They had never seen a Goblin with a beard. Not
the Cave Goblins or even the Redfang Warriors. They had never seem a
Goblin with facial hair of any kind, to begin with. Some had hair, but a
beard? It was so strange.

For a second the Redfang Warriors were amazed. But then they were wary.
They stood up slowly as the Hob stood in the entrance to the cave. He
wasn’t making any dangerous moves, but there was only one thing he could
be.

A wandering Hob. They were rare, but it did happen. Goblins who left their
tribes or were the only remnants of a tribe destroyed would wander about,
looking for new homes. Generally they would be killed or assimilated into
the first tribe willing to have them, but wandering Hobs were different.
Some were outcasts who had challenged their Chieftain and failed. Others
were simply independent by nature and trusted to their own strength to live
alone. In any event, they could be dangerous as they obeyed no Chieftain of
their own. Garen Redfang had been challenged by many wanderers
searching for fame or wanting to control his tribe. Had this one come to
steal the Goblin’s supplies or fight them for leadership?

All eyes fixed on the old Hob, waiting for him to make the first move. He
looked around slowly, not reaching for the greatsword on his back. The Hob
caught sight of the five Redfang Warriors and raised his claws. Slowly, he
reached for his belt and pulled something off it. He tossed the bag towards
the Redfangs Warriors. It landed with a soft thump, scaring away the Cave
Goblins near it. The bag was open slightly and from it leaked a familiar
odor. Numbtongue was closest. He carefully walked over and bent to pick it
up. He opened the bag and pulled out what was inside.

A wheel of goat’s cheese. It was soft, crumbly, and a slice of it had been cut
out. It must have been the old Hob’s food on the road. He was giving it to
them as a peace offering.

It wasn’t a challenge. The Goblins relaxed as one. Numbtongue looked at

Headscratcher. The Hob blinked and realized he was being asked to say
something. So he spoke.

“Old one, come. Eat.”

The bearded Hob had been looking warily at the Hobs, but at the invitation
his face broke into a smile. He walked over and took a seat, bowing his
head and cackling thanks as Numbtongue offered him a bowl. The Cave
Goblins watched the old Hob warily, but they soon picked up on what was
happening.

The Redfangs made room and offered the Hob a seat around the steaming
pot. Numbtongue broke the cheese and placed it in his bowl with some
bread. It went well with the garlic bread. Meanwhile the old Hob was
smiling as he received a bowl of soup loaded to the top and a big heel of
bread.
“Very kind! Chieftain is generous!”

He smiled and bobbed his head to Headscratcher. The Hob blinked, but
didn’t correct Greybeard right away. He hesitated and looked at his
companions, wondering what to say. It was Shorthilt who took the lead this
time.

“Old Hob is wanderer? I Shorthilt.”

“Greybeard. Yes, this old Hob wanders far. You have name? Is good
name.”

He grinned at Shorthilt, showing a few missing teeth. The other Redfangs

introduced themselves. Greybeard nodded to each in turn.

“Did not think tribe would be here! Saw Goblins cooking, came by.
Many days travel! Hungry for good food! This best food!”

He gobbled his soup, smacking his lips loudly. The Redfangs nodded
proudly. This was indeed the best food they’d ever had, bar none. Garen had
kept the tribe fed, well, most of them, but he hadn’t bothered with cooking
much.

“What brings old wanderer down here?”

“I travel far. No tribe. No home. So I go south. Hear of big fight north.

Bad-death north. Many Goblins running from Humans. So I go south.
Hear strange things of Goblins in dungeon. Come here.”

Greybeard explained as he refilled his bowl. He pointed at the soup, still

agog.

“Good food! You make?”

The Redfangs exchanged a quick glance. Numbtongue lied for them.

“Yes.”
It was too hard to explain Erin to another Goblin. Greybeard didn’t seem to
notice the moment of hesitation.

“Amazing! Good-good food! Best tribe food I ever eat! What is this
tribe? Never knew one was here. Thought Flooded Waters tribe was,
but Flooded Waters is gone.”

The Redfangs froze at the mention of Rags’ tribe. They exchanged a quick
glance. What was their tribe? Numbtongue thought quickly.

“This is…Wandering Inn tribe. New tribe. Very new. Many Goblins
come. From dungeon?”

“From dungeon? Where?”

Greydath listened with opened mouth as the Redfangs gave him an abridged
version of events that had led to them taking control. He shook his head.

“Bad not-Gnolls? Big dungeon full of invisible-death? Too much for old
Hob like me. But young Hobs very strong! Very strong!”

He patted Rabbiteater on the shoulder, pointing at the Hob’s cloak which

had transformed into a cloudy soup-cloak. Only, there weren’t any
vegetables or chunks of fish in the cloak, just somewhat opaque broth.
Some of the Cave Goblins were dipping their bowls into it even so.
Rabbiteater preened a bit. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He offered
Greybeard the last of the garlic bread.

“Old one, eat more. We have lots. You give cheese, we feed. Where are
you going? Travelling south? Much rain and water to swim through.
Dangerous fish-monsters too.”

Greybeard accepted the bread gratefully. He tore into it with his good teeth
as he replied.

“Maybe go south. Maybe. Not stay long and eat tribe’s food. Very
generous, but not stay. Not unless…Chieftain needs old Hobs? Can
fight.”
He glanced at Headscratcher quizzically, hope illuminating his craggy
features. Headscratcher hesitated. This time he replied awkwardly.

“Old one is wrong. I not Chieftain. Wandering Inn tribe…have no

Chieftain.”

The other Redfangs looked at Headscratcher. He could have accepted the

role and they wouldn’t have denied it. But Headscratcher clearly felt as they
did. They had no Chieftain, and this wasn’t a tribe. Unless…was Erin…?

The old Hob choked on his garlic bread in surprise. He coughed and spat
out a hunk onto a Cave Goblin, who promptly ate it.

“No Chieftain? How so many Goblins, then? All should run off!”

The Hobs shrugged. That was the mystery, wasn’t it? By all rights they
should have created a Chieftain or disbanded. But perhaps it was the Cave
Goblins being used to multiple Raskghar masters that had kept them
functioning as a tribe without a Chieftain.

“Don’t know. But tribe is good. Has good food. And getting stronger. If
you want to stay…could stay? At least few days.”

Numbtongue looked at the others for support. It was a risk, but the old Hob
seemed friendly and he looked battle-scarred and tired from the road. The
other Redfangs nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. Badarrow glanced towards
the door and raised his eyebrows at Numbtongue.

What about Erin? What about the inn?

Numbtongue made a face, taking care not to let Greybeard see. He flicked
his claws towards the cave’s entrance.

We can keep him in another cave, not show him Erin.

Then he shrugged.

Or show her.
She would probably like the old Hob. Badarrow nodded slowly. Greydath
had missed the entire quick exchange. He looked around and then nodded
rapidly, beaming eagerness.

“Will stay. Will work hard! I know many tricks. Can teach. Maybe help
even strong, young warrior Hobs!”

“Good! Old Hob should sit, though. Is long road. Sit and watch!”

Headscratcher beamed and slapped Greydath on the back. Then he looked

at the other Hobs. They’d eaten their fill and were sitting around in post-
meal content. However, there was a look in Headscratcher’s eyes that
Numbtongue recognized.

“Should show old Goblin and Cave Goblins our tricks! Fight!”

He glanced challengingly at Shorthilt. Instantly, Numbtongue wanted to

slap himself. He realized he’d missed something in the time he’d been
sitting in Erin’s inn. Shorthilt stood up slowly and gave Headscratcher a
slow grin.

“Good idea.”

Resigned, Numbtongue looked over at Rabbiteater and poked him for

confirmation. When the Hob looked over Numbtongue rolled his eyes and
pressed together his forefingers. Rabbiteater sighed and nodded.

That said it all, really. Headscratcher and Shorthilt were friends, but they
were fellow warriors as well. And they were easily the best at physical
combat of the five Redfangs. Badarrow was dangerous too of course, but in
his own way. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt couldn’t be more dissimilar
in how they fought. Shorthilt would use the best weapon he could find and
use it with precise, killing strikes. Headscratcher by contrast favored big,
heavy weapons and battered his opponents down, as befit his [Berserker]
class.

Normally they got along fine, but their recent class changes and the rivalry
between their sub-tribes had ignited their sense of competition. Now they
wanted to prove who was better. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. Was this a
good idea? But then he glanced at Rabbiteater who was stretching and he
had to admit. He was a bit curious.

The Redfang had sparred every day at Erin’s inn and on the road. They
knew the order of strength. It went like this: Shorthilt, Headscratcher,
Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, Badarrow with physical weapons, but Badarrow
was really closer to the top since he could shoot arrows. But now they all
had different classes.

And Rabbiteater was a [Champion]. As the Hobs and Cave Goblins trooped
outside and saw countless Goblins eating in the sun from the boiling pots,
they began changing their gear. Numbtongue unbuckled the precious steel
sword that Erin had bought for him and checked the quality of the leather
armor he was wearing. Headscratcher put on some padding and then a
dented breastplate salvaged from the Raskghar’s armory as well as a
helmet. Badarrow and Shorthilt declined to wear armor to begin with and so
just kept stretching. And Rabbiteater changed into his chainmail.

Greybeard and the Cave Goblins gasped when Rabbiteater put on the rusted
and slightly holey chainmail. As it slid over his shoulders it changed,
growing longer to fit him precisely, and the missing patches closed together.
The chainmail even looked lighter and when Rabbiteater turned, it shone as
if he’d polished it with oil. His sword looked just as beautiful when he
unsheathed it, but when he laid it on the ground it turned back, growing
shorter and developing a slight warp in the blade.

[Champion’s Gear]. Numbtongue eyed Rabbiteater enviously. Meanwhile,

Shorthilt was giving the other Hob the stink eye. One of Rabbiteater’s new
Skills made it so that everything he held became stronger, more durable.
Sharper. It made someone like Shorthilt who coveted the best blades and
religiously maintained his gear envious. And Rabbiteater also had [Grand
Slash].

He’d always been one of the weakest of the Hobs in a fight. But now, was
he better than Numbtongue? He might be. Numbtongue was a [Bard]. But
was he better than Headscratcher? Than Shorthilt? Rabbiteater accepted a
club from one of his followers and Numbtongue watched as the crude wood
grew thicker and visibly sturdier in his hands. Numbtongue turned as his
faction cheered loudly for him, sitting down in a wide ring as the other four
Hobs prepared as well. With his liquid cloak and his enhanced body armor
he looked like…an adventurer.

“Give me an axe. And shield.”

Numbtongue muttered to one of his Goblins. The Cave Goblin scurried off
and came back with a crude stone hatchet and shield made of bark and
wood. Numbtongue nodded. Greybeard called to him as he strode to the
center of the circle.

“No use sharp weapons?”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

Numbtongue shook his head. While the other Hobs had kept the armor they
would use in a real fight, they wouldn’t spar with naked blades. They were
too strong and they could kill or maim each other with an incautious strike.
Badarrow would use arrows without tips and the other Hobs would use
sticks or blunt stone weapons.

“Sparring! We prove who is best fighter!”

Headscratcher called out to Shorthilt, lifting his axe with two hands.
Shorthilt smiled and twirled the long quarterstaff he’d picked out.

“Fine. We fight. Ready?”

Badarrow grunted. He took a position farther back as Rabbiteater grinned,

clearly nervous. He locked eyes with Numbtongue who set himself with his
axe and shield in hand.

“Ready.”

The Redfangs tensed. They stared at each other in silence as their audience
watched with baited breath. There was no one who shouted ‘go’. One
second the Hobs were tensed, the next all five charged as one. Numbtongue
raced towards Rabbiteater. He saw something fly at his head and lifted his
shield, snarling as he blocked one of Badarrow’s missiles. He lifted his axe
as Rabbiteater charged him. He raised his club, ready to strike—

“[Grand Slash]!”

That was all Numbtongue heard for a while. Eventually he landed on his
back and realized he’d fallen down. After some more time he realized that
he really hurt. He got up shakily and saw Rabbiteater was advancing on
Numbtongue, using his cloak as cover. Numbtongue stared at Rabbiteater,
heard the groans of Goblins and cheering and saw Greybeard cackling as he
pointed at Numbtongue. The Hob groaned and lay back down on the
ground.

After some Cave Goblins had dragged him off the field, Numbtongue saw
the rest of the battle play out fairly predictably. Confronted with
Rabbiteater’s cloak, Badarrow couldn’t do much more than retreat from the
Hob. He did manage to hit Rabbiteater a few times, but ultimately went
down to the [Champion]’s club just like Numbtongue.

At the same time Headscratcher and Shorthilt were dueling, trading blows
and dodging back faster and faster, trying to get an edge. Overconfident or
perhaps thinking he could join forces with one or the other, Rabbiteater
charged towards them—

And was promptly laid out flat by a joint attack from both sides. He
stumbled off to one side as the duel between Headscratcher and Shorthilt
got hotter. Headscratcher roared as he swung his axe, forcing Shorthilt to
retreat. He was stronger and faster than he’d ever been! The trouble was
that Shorthilt was too.

And he had a quarterstaff. The weapon gave him reach on Headscratcher,

and an edge. Time and again, Shorthilt would batter the Hob from afar,
keeping a respectable distance or spinning the staff to his Headscratcher
from an unexpected angle. And the more times he struck, the angrier
Headscratcher got. And accordingly, the stronger he became.

The breaking point came when Headscratcher charged Shorthilt, ignoring

the blow that struck him on one shoulder and struck at the other Hob’s chest
with a roar. Shorthilt blocked with his quarterstaff in desperation. The
sturdy wooden shaft splintered as Headscratcher connected—and so did
Headscratcher’s axe. The crude wood couldn’t bear the strain and so both
weapons broke with cracks that sounded like thunderclaps.

“Draw!”

Numbtongue shouted, laughing as Shorthilt backed up. The [Weapon

Expert] grinned, raising his hands, but Headscratcher didn’t. The
[Berserker]’s eyes flashed. He charged Shorthilt with a roar and tackled the
Hob to the ground. Then he sat on Shorthilt’s chest and began pounding at
his face!

“Stop! You win!”

Shorthilt shouted, exasperated and angry. He blocked Headscratcher’s

punches as Numbtongue and Badarrow shouted for him to get off. But
Headscratcher didn’t stop. He roared as he struck Shorthilt repeatedly, and
his punches weren’t for show. The other Redfang Warriors froze up as they
realized he’d lost control.

“Stop! Stop!”

Rabbiteater ran towards Headscratcher. He tackled the bigger Hob, but

Headscratcher threw him off. Badarrow swore and the Cave Goblins
swarmed around Headscratcher, trying to drag him off Shorthilt whose arms
were rapidly failing him. But Headscratcher was lost to his fury.
Numbtongue looked around desperately. What could he do?

“Guitar!”

Rabbiteater scrambled up and threw the guitar at Numbtongue. The [Bard]

caught the instrument, eyes widening. Of course! Music to sooth the savage
beast! He put his claws on the strings, blinked, and then had a better idea.
He charged over to Headscratcher and brought the guitar down on the back
of Headscratcher’s head. He heard a crackle of electricity, a roar of pain,
and then silence.
Slowly, Headscratcher rolled off of Shorthilt. The other Hob sat up slowly,
spitting out blood that ran from his bleeding nose and cut face. He stared at
Headscratcher as the [Berserker] stared at his bloody fists. It wasn’t all
Shorthilt’s blood. He’d cut his skin open with his wild punches.

All the other Goblins stared at Headscratcher as well. They backed away
from him as he looked around. Headscratcher looked desperate, shocked,
and then terribly, terribly guilty. He looked at Numbtongue as blood dripped
down from his hands. Numbtongue didn’t know what to say. But then he
heard someone else speak.

“Now I see. You five are a fragment, aren’t you?”

The voice was unfamiliar. And it was speaking in the common tongue!
Numbtongue whirled around. He saw Greybeard standing behind him. The
old Hobgoblin was grinning. And he’d drawn his greatsword. He gestured
at Headscratcher, at Shorthilt who’d gotten to his feet and was frozen in
using one of the healing potions Erin had given them.

“I dreamed of five not-Chieftains. Of five seeds not grown. And I did not
know why. Now I do. You aren’t independent. You’re copying your tribe.
But what worked when you were lowly warriors isn’t working now. You are
too large to be common Goblins, but you haven’t grown into your new
roles. You are incomplete and so you are fragments. And these lost children
are just like you.”

Greybeard walked forwards. The Goblins around him drew back slowly.
Everything about him was different. The way he walked, the way he spoke
—before he had appeared old, tired, broken down. Now he was confident.
And dangerous. Numbtongue stared at Greybeard in shock. The Hobgoblin
looked at him as if he were a speck and went on.

“Everything about you is awkward. You still move uncomfortably in your

new bodies. And you—you can’t even control your class.”

He pointed at Headscratcher. The Hob jerked. He looked uneasily at

Greybeard.
“Old one. What are…? You are different, Greybeard. How?”

“Not Greybeard. Greydath of Blades.”

The old Goblin shook his head. The name meant nothing to the five
Redfang Warriors. But they shivered when they heard it, as if something in
them did know. Greydath studied the five, staring from face to face.

“Not children. Not slaves. Not traitors. And not cowards either. Fragments?
No. There is a better word for you. I do not know it yet. But you are too
weak. And too content.”

He shook his head, looking annoyed. Numbtongue found his voice at last.
He scowled at Greydath, though every instinct was telling him to back up,
despite the Goblin being out of reach.

“Old one, what are you talking about? Why did you lie to us? We offered
you food. Put down your sword.”

Greydath ignored him. He leaned on the tip of his greatsword and spoke,
almost conversationally.

“I watched you five for a day. Train. Eat. Sleep. Good enough for other
species, but not for Goblins. You are complacent. Lazy. And it is her fault.”

He nodded back towards the cave.

“Who is that Human you speak to? The one who visits your cave? The one
in the inn with the magic door. She is not your master. Is she your friend? A
friend to Goblins? It is because of her you are holding back. You are relying
on her too much.”

He knew about Erin. He had been watching them. Numbtongue felt a thrill
of unease run through him. He looked over and saw Badarrow staring at
Greydath. The Hob slowly backed up and Numbtongue saw he was going
for his quiver of real arrows. Greydath glanced at Badarrow and the Hob
froze. But Greydath just grinned.
“Grab your arrows, archer. But tell me. That Human you love so much—if I
tried to kill her, would you stop me? Would you fight your own kind for
her? Is she your Chieftain? Or is she just convenient? Do you want to bed
her? Or do you want her to turn you into Humans?”

Badarrow froze. His face twisted into a snarl and he lifted the quiver. Quick
as a flash he drew an arrow tipped with steel and aimed it at Greydath.

“Stay away from her.”

Greydath turned his back on Badarrow as if the drawn arrow were nothing
but an empty threat. He looked at the others. Headscratcher and Shorthilt
slowly stepped back. And they too were reaching for their weapons.

“Erin is…good. She is a friend. A friend to Goblins. No one hurts her.”

Shorthilt spoke slowly. He drew his steel sword. Headscratcher nodded. He

had his enchanted axe.

“Put down sword, old one. Go…go away.”

“Or what?”

Greydath’s words were a challenge. And then a sigh. He looked at

Numbtongue as the Hob lifted the guitar. Greydath swung his greatsword
around effortlessly with one hand, scattering the Cave Goblins around him.

“Could you stop me, children? Show me what you five can do.”

“We don’t want to fight.”

Numbtongue wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he was lying.

Greydath had tricked them. He’d eaten their food, pretended to be someone
he was not. Was that Goblin? Surely not! And he had threatened to hurt
Erin. That was unforgivable. But something in Numbtongue told him
fighting was a bad idea. Greydath grinned at him.

“You don’t? But I do.”

He spun and raised his sword. Badarrow’s arrow glanced off his sword and
Shorthilt leapt forwards at the same time as Headscratcher. Greydath
whirled his greatsword as Rabbiteater came from the other side.
Numbtongue was slowest as he charged the Hob with nothing but his guitar
for a club. He saw Greydath blur, and then Headscratcher was lying on the
ground, Shorthilt was stumbling back, and Rabbiteater whuffed as the flat of
the greatsword swung into his ribs, knocking him sideways.

Numbtongue gaped, and then swung as hard as he could. He saw

Greydath’s head blur around the base of his guitar, and then the Hob was
gripping him with a hand like an iron vice.

“A [Bard] does not fight like that, child.”

Then Numbtongue was flying again. He landed and rolled, feeling his back
sting with the impact. When he got up, Greydath was dueling Shorthilt and
Rabbiteater, laughing as they tried to stab him from both sides. He deflected
both blades, dodged an arrow, and then blocked Headscratcher’s slash. His
old greatsword deflected the enchanted axe head with ease.

“Slow, too slow! You think you’re strong because you defeated monsters?
You are weak. Any Gold-rank adventurer would eat you. Show me more,
lost Hobs! Show me strength!”

He brought his sword down and Shorthilt tried to parry. Instead, the
greatsword flattened him. Shorthilt stared up at the sky, dazed, as
Numbtongue ran forwards again. This time Greydath just sent the guitar
spinning from Numbtongue’s grip with a flick of his sword. Headscratcher
bellowed as he swung his axe horizontally at waist-height.

“Duck!”

Numbtongue threw himself flat at the same time as Rabbiteater. The

magical axe cut through the air as Headscratcher roared. Numbtongue felt
the tip pass over his head. He looked up and saw Greydath’s eyes narrow.
The Hob leaned back until his entire body practically touched the ground.
The axe passed straight above his chest. Then Greydath pulled himself
upright. Headscratcher stumbled as the force of the blow carried him off-
balance. He brought the axe back up and Greydath kicked him.

Headscratcher flew. Numbtongue saw the Hob launch off the ground and
into the air, as if he were a bird. He crashed into a group of Goblins heavily.
And Greydath laughed. He turned as another arrow shot at his back and
caught the shaft. Badarrow lowered his bow in disbelief. With one hand,
Greydath cracked the arrow in two.

“You are weak, archer. Weak. Your arrows can kill only by surprise, only by
numbers. All of you are weak. [Champion]? I have seen Goblin
[Champions] and they were legends.”

He spat at Rabbiteater’s feet. Slowly, the Redfang Warriors got up. They
looked at each other, and the same knowledge filled all of their eyes.
Whomever this Greydath was, he was far beyond their level. He wasn’t
taking this seriously at all.

The sinking feeling in Numbtongue’s chest was familiar. It was his instincts
pointing out everything he knew. It told him that they were outmatched. It
felt like Garen Redfang was standing in front of Numbtongue and they were
small Goblins again. But what could they do?

“Stop—”

Numbtongue croaked. Greydath looked at him. Numbtongue raised his

voice.

“Stop. We do not want to fight. There is no reason. No point.”

Greydath’s eyes flashed.

“There is all the reason. You think you are safe, Numbtongue of the
Redfang tribe. But you are not. And until you believe, my work is not done.
You must become more. You and all the Goblins. Even your glorious
Chieftain.”

“Garen?”
Numbtongue’s chest felt tight. Greydath nodded. He smiled wide, showing
his pointed teeth.

“I met your Chieftain. You still think you are from his tribe, aren’t you?
Garen Redfang. I met him and challenged him. We fought.”

“And?”

The five Redfangs stared at Greydath. The Cave Goblins were just
confused. Greydath shrugged casually. Arrogantly.

“He could not best me. I humbled him.”

They wanted not to believe. They wanted to say Greydath was lying. But
the Redfang Warriors couldn’t. For all of Greydath’s earlier deceit,
everything about his body language now told them he was telling the truth.
And they way he’d moved—even Garen couldn’t move like that.

Had he really beaten Garen? Numbtongue felt a fire burning inside him. His
hand tightened on his sword’s hilt this time. Greydath grinned at him.

“Not enough? Fine then. The Human girl.”

“Don’t—”

Headscratcher made a strangled noise. Greydath turned. He stared out

across the basin filled with water at the distant shape of Liscor. And then at
the tiny inn on the hill. The rain had stopped. The Goblins could see the inn
clearly from here. So could Greydath. He looked back at them.

“If I kill her, you would not change. But if I hurt her, would you grow
stronger?”

Numbtongue didn’t realize he’d run forwards. He didn’t hear the scream
until it left his mouth. He swung his sword at Greydath’s head and the
Goblin blocked. He grinned as Numbtongue’s hand quivered, straining and
the sword rang from the impact.
“Better. But not enough. Shall we make a game of it? Chase me, you five.
And you five alone. Scratch me and I won’t hurt her. Fail, and I’ll cut her
once.”

He leapt away as Headscratcher jumped at him with a roar. Greydath ran,

laughing as all five Hobs ran after them. There was no time to plan, no
strategy. Badarrow loosed arrows at the running Hob as the other four ran
after him. Greydath charged to the water’s edge, running twice as fast as his
pursuers. He leapt into the water and began swimming. The Hobs followed.

The water was cold and things darted away as Numbtongue dove in. He
swam hard, not caring if he attracted attention. All of his focus, all of his
being was on catching up to Greydath. But the Hob was fast. He swam
through the water like a fish himself, until suddenly he vanished upwards.
Numbtongue’s head broke the water and he saw Greydath standing on one
of the hills above the water line. The Hob had drawn his greatsword.

“Come! Stop me!”

He was laughing as the five Hobs emerged from the water onto the hill.
They didn’t wait for Greydath to say anything more. They charged with a
roar. This time they went for the kill. They surrounded Greydath, striking
together, aiming for his head, his arms, his legs—desperately trying to cut
him. Just once.

They failed. Greydath was a whirlwind of steel, too quick to catch. He

knocked them back into the water and leapt into the air. Before they could
stop him he was swimming to the next island. The Hobs looked at each
other and then dove in after him. Greydath was waiting by the time they
reached the next hill that stood above the water. Again they fought. And
again he defeated them, untouched by their desperate blades. Again he fled
and again the Hobs pursued. But each time they caught up to him they were
more tired, and each time they drew closer and closer to the inn.

It was a game to him. Numbtongue could hear Greydath laughing. The

weary Hobs swam desperately after him, staggered onto the hill, fought—
and failed. Greydath kicked Numbtongue back into the waters as the Hob
tried to tackle him. He struck Shorthilt with the pommel of his greatsword,
mocked Badarrow by snatching his arrows out of the air. And he laughed as
if this was all some game.

But he was going to hurt her. Hurt Erin. So the Hobs chased him. But now
they knew they couldn’t scratch Greydath. They were growing tired and he
—he looked as fresh as he had when they had first locked blades. He was
closing in on the hill where The Wandering Inn lay now. They were seven
hills away. Six. Five.

Four.

“Stop. We will change. Don’t hurt her.”

Numbtongue gasped as he tried to cut at Greydath’s legs. The old Goblin

grinned and shifted, letting the sword Shorthilt had tossed out of
desperation miss him by inches.

“You say that. But you will not. Not unless you have no choice. You are too
soft otherwise. And she is too bright. You think I do not know what you
feel? You think other Goblins have not met ones like her? But she is not
forever, Numbtongue. She cannot protect you. And worse, you cannot
protect her.”

Greydath’s mocking smile vanished for a second. He looked down at

Numbtongue as the Hob panted, straining to push Greydath’s blade back.

“If you could, I would think twice. But happiness for one Goblin is despair
for all. You must change, boy. And if it means pain, then it must be. That is
why I came here. Hate me. But—”

The old Hobgoblin looked up sharply. He spun, and twisted as an arrow

flashed past him. For a second Numbtongue thought that Badarrow had
somehow gotten the drop on Greydath, but the angle was all wrong! It had
come from above and from the direction of—

The inn? Numbtongue whirled and saw another arrow curve around him.
Greydath frowned and deflected the arrow. He stared towards the inn.
Towards the top of the inn, and the lone figure standing there with bow in
hand.

Bird. The Antinium [Archer] was a faint silhouette at this distance. But as
Numbtongue watched, he was a flicker in the air. A third arrow shot towards
Greydath. The Goblin dodged left, and the arrow curved to catch him.

“Antinium.”

Greydath sliced the arrow in half. He looked around and twisted. Badarrow
cursed as his arrow went wide. Numbtongue stood straighter. He charged
Greydath and Headscratcher lunged up from his hiding place on the far side
of the hill. Greydath knocked them into the water. He grinned.

“Who is she? She has Antinium defending her inn. She’s tamed that one and
you. What is she? Where does she come from?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Shorthilt rose, water dripping from his blade. Another arrow sped from the
inn’s tower. This time Greydath had to dodge Shorthilt’s blade as he cut
Bird’s arrow; he couldn’t dodge them. But still, the old Goblin didn’t seem
concerned. If anything he seemed to relish the challenge.

“Better and better! You five plus the Antinium! Come!”

He dove into the water again. Bird fired an arrow, but somehow Greydath
dodged underwater. Numbtongue stared at the tower. He waved his arms
desperately. Somehow Bird could tell they were fighting Greydath. But he
had to warn Erin!

Unfortunately, his signal didn’t seem to register with Bird. The Antinium
kept loosing arrows at Greydath as the Goblin appeared on another hill. The
Redfang Warriors pursued him, hope desperately rising in their chests.
Maybe if they had Bird’s help, maybe then—

No. It was impossible. On the third hilltop, Greydath stood over the panting
Hobs. He shook his head. They were too exhausted, too beaten to raise
themselves. He blocked the arrow Bird shot at the back of his head
dismissively.

“Look at you. The same as that hollow black thing sitting in the tower. Are
you Goblins? Or just that Human’s…pets?”

“No. We are her…friends.”

Headscratcher levered himself up with one arm. His body was covered in
water, and not just from the lake. He panted hoarsely. He’d swum and
fought non-stop for nearly an hour. So had Numbtongue and the others.
They were at the limits of their endurance. But somehow they found the
strength to rise. Greydath couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t—

“Friends? Humans don’t make friends with Goblins. Do you think you’re
the same as the others? Even Antinium have a place. But we don’t. You
don’t. If it came to you or her other friends, would she choose you?”

Greydath mocked Headscratcher as he parried the other Hob’s slow strike.

Numbtongue rose, his legs shaking with exhaustion and pain.

“She would never hurt us!”

“Then show me you won’t hurt her. Show me you can protect her!”

The old Goblin roared. He swung his sword and Numbtongue tried to block
it. He gritted his teeth as he went tumbling. Again he rose. And Greydath
laughed. Badarrow lifted the last of his arrows and aimed at Greydath’s
side. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater advanced slowly as once.

“Come! Show me you can change! Grow stronger! Reach! Or she suffers!”

They had to fight. The Hobs forgot the pain in their bodies. They charged,
slashing, clawing, desperate, unwilling to give up. Greydath knocked them
down. He mocked them. He was laughing as he dodged arrows from two
directions at once and fought the other four Hobs.

And then the arrow flew from the tower unlike all the rest. Perhaps Bird had
recognized that his arrows weren’t working at last. Maybe he had simply
forgotten he had this particular Skill to begin with. Numbtongue looked up
as he saw the rotating arrowhead speeding at Greydath from behind. The
Goblin Lord was still laughing as he turned. His eyes widened as he
recognized the signature spiral the arrow traced through the air.

[Piercing Shot]. It was a single arrow, loosed at Greydath’s head. He’d been
so busy fighting that he’d given himself virtually no time to dodge. And by
coincidence or design, Bird had aimed it at a single spot.

At Greydath’s left eye. Numbtongue saw the old Goblin freeze. And in that
moment, something struck Numbtongue.

A memory.

Velan charged through the smoke of magical fire. His lungs burned. His
body was blackened, torn by a thousand spells. But still he charged. The
Archmages of Wistram lay before him. The archers from five continents and
mages called from every part of the earth were in his reach. He raised the
sword with a howl as the first rank of archers came into view.

And then he saw her. Golden-hair blowing in the wind, face pale with fear.
Her pointed ears and terrified eyes met his as her arrow left its bowstring.
One arrow among thousands. But this one sped true.

[Piercing Shot]. Velan locked eyes with Elia Arcsinger in the moment of his
death. For a second he looked at her and wavered. And the arrow pierced
his left eye and sank into his brain. The Goblin King fell as the fleeing
archers and mages turned and looked back in disbelief. The Goblin King
died and his death spread across the battlefield in an instant. Dead, dead,
DEAD!

The Goblin King was d—

Numbtongue jerked. The scream of agony left him, a raw, terrible sound
that tore his throat. The memory of the Goblin King’s death tore open a
wound in his heart he didn’t know was there. He saw Greydath jerk as the
arrow shot towards his left eye. So close. The arrow’s tip made contact with
Greydath’s eye—
And he turned his head. The arrow slid past his face and slipped into the
water. Greydath held still. His eyes had gone wide, wide with shock. And
then they burned with rage. He opened his mouth and howled. The rage and
grief beat down on Numbtongue, so loud it seemed no other sound could
exist in the world. Greydath screamed at the sky, with such fury that even
the distant Antinium was frozen by the raw emotion. And then he turned
and hurled his greatsword towards Bird.

The sword flashed through the sky like a javelin, an arrow made of steel.
Bird was hundreds of feet away. The greatsword covered the distance in
less than a second. Numbtongue saw the sword flash towards the tower,
heard a crash, and then saw the tower collapse. He did not see Bird. His
heart stopped dead in his chest.

The tower on top of The Wandering Inn collapsed. Half of it had been blow
away by the impact. What remained cascaded to the ground, sliding off the
rooftop, landing on the earth. Something black fell with it. Something black
landed on the ground and did not move. The Redfang Goblins stared in
horror at the silent figure. Then they looked at Greydath.

The Goblin was panting heavily. He was still untouched, but the fury on his
face was still there. For a moment longer. Then he seemed to come back to
his senses. He stared at the inn and the broken tower, and looked at his
hands. Only now did he seem to realize what he’d done. A look of chagrin
stole over his face.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to—”

Numbtongue heard a scream. Greydath turned. Badarrow lunged at him. He

stabbed, and the arrow he held embedded itself in Greydath’s shoulder. The
Goblin Lord snarled in surprise and shock. His eyes flashed and he
backhanded Badarrow. The [Sniper] spun and dropped, limply rolling down
the hill and into the waters.

“You struck me!”

He stared down at the arrow planted in his shoulder. Greydath plucked it

out and stared at the red, dripping tip. He blinked at the other Redfang
Warriors.

“You managed to strike me.”

“You killed him.”

Numbtongue stared at Greydath. The Goblin hesitated. He seemed as

surprised as Numbtongue by what had just happened. He shook his head
and looked towards the inn. The tower was still collapsing.

“That was a mistake. That was—you struck me. By accident. But you did. I
will—go. But this will do, I think.”

He shook himself. His voice grew firmer.

“You cannot be here. You cannot stay here. Are you Chieftains or just lost
Hobs? You must decide.”

He looked down at the Redfangs. The five. They looked up at him.

Numbtongue shook his head.

“We know.”

Greydath paused. His eyes flicked from Numbtongue, to Badarrow, barely

conscious and supported by Rabbiteater and Shorthilt, and then to
Headscratcher. Numbtongue’s voice quivered.

“We know. We knew we could not stay. We knew it had to change. But why
—why—”

He stared at the broken inn, and then at Greydath.

“Why did you have to take that from us? Why you?”

Greydath hesitated. He stood above the five, and looked old. Old and
weary. For a moment he looked sympathetic.

“Because we are Goblins.”

That was it. Then Greydath turned and dove into the waters. The Redfangs
saw him begin swimming, not towards the inn, but away. As fast as an
arrow himself. He was leaving. His work was done. They stood there and
knew what he meant.

He’d done it. Destroyed what they had here. Because they were Goblins.
And happiness was like a moment in the sun. No matter how long it lasted,
someday the clouds would come again.

The Redfangs looked at each other. They looked at the inn. At the black
shape lying on the ground. For a second they wanted to scream. They
wanted to weep and throw themselves into the water. They wanted to go
back to this morning. But there was no time. It was over.

They ran.

—-

Erin had just gone back into her inn after the rain had stopped. She’d been
thinking of sending someone after Olesm with his letter, not least to find out
what he was so worried about. Maybe that someone should be her? She was
about to ask Lyonette to take over when it happened.

She heard a terrible crash from above. Her inn trembled—Erin felt a
terrible wrenching in her gut, as if something was breaking. And then she
heard the creak of wood, and…the sound of things falling. Erin looked
around wildly as some of her guests cried out in alarm. Lyonette rushed out
of the kitchens and Mrsha howled in alarm. But all of that was background
noise. Erin felt it.

“The roof? What—”

Erin ran up the stairs. First floor, second floor, third—she froze when she
got to the door that led up to the tower. The door was ajar despite her telling
Bird repeatedly to shut it. But the sky had been clear so he must not have
thought it mattered. But where the stairs should have spiraled up there was
nothing.

Just broken wood and sky. The place where the sturdy tower should have
been was just…missing. As Erin watched, a piece of wood fell down the
stairs. For a moment she was paralyzed. Then fear engulfed her.

“Bird?”

He hadn’t been in the tower. He’d been in his room or on the ground floor.
Erin flung open the door to Bird’s room. He wasn’t there. The cubby hole
made of blankets had fallen over from the earthquake. Erin stared at it and
then ran downstairs.

“Bird! Bird!?”

He wasn’t in the common room either. All of the guests were on their feet.
They called out to Erin, but she had no time for them. She ran outside. And
then she saw him.

He was lying on the grass, still wet with rain. Pieces of the tower lay around
him with roof tiles. Bird was lying on his back. He was still clutching his
bow. And he was mostly there.

Something had torn away his left side. Bird’s left arms were missing. His
shoulder was gone, exposing his bleeding chest. He lay on the ground in a
pool of green blood. He wasn’t moving.

“No.”

Erin stared at Bird. She stared at the blood pumping out of his body beat by
beat. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t seeing this.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. Erin heard someone open the door
behind him.

“Erin? What was—”

“Potion.”

Erin heard a rushing in her ears. She saw Lyonette standing in the doorway,
her eyes going to Bird. Widening in shock. The young woman recoiled in
slow motion. Erin was running at her. She threw Lyonette aside and ran into
her inn. She looked around.

Faces staring at her. Eltistiman, Drakes, Wesle, guests. Ishkr coming

towards her. Where?

There. Erin ran, feeling the air drag at her. She thrust people aside, running
for the box of potions. She scrambled through them, searching, then
grabbed the entire crate. Too slow! Erin ran back for the door. Faster, faster
—too slow.

Mrsha ran out behind Erin. She was howling, but Erin couldn’t hear it. The
young woman ran to Bird. She skidded to a stop and fumbled with the
potions. Which one? She’d labeled them, but the words ran together. No,
don’t cry. Erin couldn’t cry. She fumbled with the corks, ripped one out.

“Bird, drink this! Bird!”

He wasn’t moving. No, he was jerking. Erin sloshing the potion onto his
mandibles. She poured it onto his missing side. Parts of his body began to
close. Too slowly. Erin emptied the potion bottle. She reached for another.

“Speak to me! Lyonette, help me! Get more potions! Get Octavia! Get—”

A potion bottle slipped from her hands. Erin’s hands were bloody. She was
trying to stop the bleeding. Why was Bird still bleeding? Why wasn’t the
potion working? Why—

Someone grabbed the potion. White paws. Mrsha tore the cork from the
bottle and poured the healing potion on Bird. His side was closing up. But
he was still bleeding. Erin grabbed another potion. She could see Lyonette
in front of her, screaming at her. Erin tried to listen.
“There’s too much damage! His body can’t heal itself! Stop, Erin, the
potions aren’t working!”

The [Princess] was shaking Erin. The [Innkeeper] realized she’d emptied
four bottles onto Bird. The Worker was shaking. He was—he was alive.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Bird’s voice was weak. Erin hovered over him. Part of the gaping hole in
his body had closed, but Lyonette was right. A significant part of the injury
was just…open. It was refusing to close, as if the magic of the potions
wasn’t enough.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

Erin whispered. She knew that was the important thing. The bleeding.
Lyonette looked around. She tore off her shirt and pressed it to Bird’s side.
The Worker shook and Erin nearly lost control. But then she held Lyonette’s
top there. The cloth was quickly bloody.

“It’s not working. We need to heal it!”

“How?”

“We need—Bird, stay awake! Do you hear me?”

“It hurts, Erin.”

“I know. I know. Just stay with me. Lyonette, Mrsha, someone—”

Erin was trying to think. Bleeding wouldn’t stop. Mrsha was trying to get
Bird to drink. A healing potion? Stamina potion. Would it help? How could
they—

“Who did this? How did it happen?”

No one answered her. Bird lay on the ground. He stared up at Erin. He

spoke slowly and distinctly, so that even her panicking mind processed
what he said.
“I am dying.”

“No.”

Erin tried to deny it. But the proof was there in front of her. Both of his left
arms and his shoulder were gone. Blood was pumping out of his chest. And
she couldn’t stop it. The potions were putting something back in Bird, but
he was losing more by every second. This couldn’t be happening.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

“What do we do?”

Lyonette looked at Erin. The young woman didn’t know. She felt the cloth
dripping. Then she looked up. Liscor sat above them, the stone walls still
wet with rain. Liscor. Rain.

Antinium.

“The Hive. They can save him. We have to get—”

Lyonette stared at Erin as the young woman gabbled. She didn’t

understand! She had to understand! Erin began trying to lift Bird, trying to
cover the wound. But he was ungainly and his body was open—

“Help me!”

Mrsha understood at the same time as Lyonette. They began trying to lift
Bird. But he was heavy. And he was holding onto his bow.

“Bird, let go of the bow. Bird, let go. We need to carry you—someone
help!”

Erin screamed back at her inn. Bird was mumbling to her. Protesting.

“It’s my bow. My bow. I am dying, Erin. It hurts.”

“I know, just hold on! Hold—help!”

She turned and screamed back at the silent figures standing at the door to
her inn. Why weren’t they moving? Erin had never hated anyone more than
the shocked guests in her inn. She saw some of them moving, but too slow.
Erin turned—

And there was Numbtongue. He stumbled out of the waters, pale,

trembling. She stared at him. The Hob looked down at Bird and fell to his
knees.

“No.”

The Hob looked stricken. The other four Redfang Warriors emerged from
the waters. Where had they come from? No—Erin grabbed at Numbtongue,
trying to staunch the bleeding.

“He’s alive! We need to get him to the Hive! Now!”

A flicker of understanding ran through Numbtongue’s eyes. He leapt to his

feet. The other Hobs didn’t waste time. They moved as one, grabbing Bird.
Headscratcher shoved Erin aside and took hold of the bloody wad of cloth.
He pressed mercilessly and Bird made a terrible sound. But he was alive.
And the bleeding stopped.

“Go.”

Shorthilt pointed. The Hobs charged up the hill. Erin ran after them, seeing
Mrsha dart up the stairs. The Hobs knocked aside the guests, ran for the
door. Mrsha was already there, scrambling at the bowl with paws soaked
green with blood. Erin grabbed the mana stone and pressed it against the
door.

Liscor opened in front of her, the streets damp but no longer rainy. The
Hobs stared into the streets. For a second they hesitated and looked back at
Erin. They had never been there. She spoke, her heart tearing out of her
chest.

“Go.”
They ran. Four of the Hobs carried Bird between them. The fifth,
Numbtongue, raced ahead of them through the streets. Erin and Mrsha were
with him. They didn’t know where to go! Erin screamed directions and
Mrsha howled.

She could see people staring at them as they ran. Erin heard voices from
above, almost like she was in a theatre watching herself run while an
audience commented on her every move. She heard an exclamation, then a
shout.

“Goblins in Liscor! Sound the alarm!”

“No, it’s just—”

The [Guardsmen] hesitated. Erin saw figures running along the walls, and
then a horn blow. She didn’t care.

“Klbkch! Tell Klbkch!”

She screamed into the face of a passing Gnoll then ran. Mrsha was howling,
not one long howl but a series of panicked notes. Erin heard answering calls
in the distance. It mattered and didn’t at the same time. All of her energy
was put into running, staying with the Goblins. Numbtongue ran with her,
chest heaving. He looked exhausted. So did the Hobs. But they stayed with
her every step, refusing to slip. Blood dripped in their wake, leaving a trail
on the wet cobblestones.

They were running out of time. Erin couldn’t hear Bird anymore. She
spotted the Hive at last and ran towards it.

“Go there! Find Klbkch!”

The Hobs ran for the entrance. They ran down the sloping entrance and then
stopped. A wall of Soldiers charged out of the tunnel, slamming into the
Hobs. Erin screamed as Bird nearly fell. Numbtongue went sprawling as a
Soldier leapt on him, punching him. She screamed at them.

“Stop! Stop! It’s Bird! Stop!”

She tried to push them. But she wasn’t in her inn. The Soldiers kept
attacking, and the Hobs backed up. They moved back until, suddenly, the
Soldiers froze. They straightened and moved aside.

“Erin!”

A familiar voice snapped. Erin looked up and saw him striding towards her.
Slender, two hands on his swords. Klbkch paused. He was shaking with
fury.

“You cannot take Goblins into the Hive! The Soldiers nearly killed you!
What—”

He froze when he saw Bird. The Antinium was curled up in the arms of the
Goblins. Erin pushed forwards.

“It’s Bird! He was hurt! I don’t know what—the bleeding won’t—we used
potions and—”

“I see. Soldiers, lift Bird.”

Klbkch raised one of his hands and Erin went quiet. The Soldiers gathered
around Bird. They lifted him. One grabbed the bloody bandage, but there
was so little blood flowing from Bird. He didn’t respond as Klbkch bent to
inspect him. The [Guardsman] stared for what felt like forever at Bird, then
he looked up at Erin.

“He has no chance, even if I were to apply a regenerative gel. He has lost
too much blood. His only hope lies with my Queen.”

He turned to the Soldiers.

“Run. Take him to her. Clear the Hive.”

His words seemed to ring. The Soldiers didn’t hesitate. They charged down
the tunnel, disappearing out of view. Erin wanted to run after them, but
Klbkch blocked her with one arm.

“Bird. Will he be okay?”

She wanted Klbkch to say ‘yes’ so badly. But all the Antinium did was
shake his head.

“Erin. My Queen is familiar with Antinium biology. If she wishes to save

Bird, she will. And I believe she will. She has an…attachment to him.”

“But will she—”

“I do not know. He may live. Or he may not.”

“Can you bring him back? What about the Rite?”

Erin clung to that idea. Klbkch hesitated.

“I do not know. Only Prognugators undergo the Rite, and only the strongest.
He must have enough levels and his mind—I do not know, Erin. But tell
me.”

The Antinium looked around and his hands moved to his swords.

“Who injured Bird?”

Erin sagged. She felt like someone had cut her strings. Suddenly, she
couldn’t breathe. Her legs were on fire. She looked down and saw the green
blood on her hands.

“I don’t know. I heard a crash and I—I don’t know what happened.”

“We do.”

A quiet, wretched voice answered for Erin. Klbkch and Erin turned.
Numbtongue stood with the Redfang Goblins. He bowed his head. His face
was shadowed in the tunnel as he spoke.

“It was a Goblin.”

“A Goblin?”
Erin stared at Numbtongue. She felt the bottom drop out of her world.
Klbkch said nothing. He just drew his swords. Erin turned to him, and heard
the shouts from above.

“Erin!”

Olesm was on the surface. Thirty of the City Watch surrounded the tunnel.
Erin saw the Redfangs emerge into the sunlight and freeze. More
[Guardspeople] arrived, training bows and spears on the Hobs. Olesm stood
behind the first rank. His face was pale.

“Olesm—it was Bird—”

The [Strategist] turned as Erin lurched towards him. He held still as Erin
tried to make him listen. At last, he nodded. She didn’t know what she’d
said, but Olesm gently held her.

“Erin, I understand. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—”

He motioned to Klbkch. Erin turned and saw the Antinium had drawn his
swords. The Redfang Goblins stood together, staring at her, staring at the
ground or the sky. Erin caught her breath.

“What—”

“It’s not just the Goblin, Erin. I’m calling a full city-wide alarm.”

Olesm looked at Erin with terrible pain in his eyes. She looked at him and
only now heard the horns blaring a warning. Far too many horns for just six
Goblins. She looked around and saw Gnolls and Drakes looking upwards.
Olesm stared at Erin. He spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating every
word.

“The Goblin Lord is coming to Liscor. He’ll attack the walls. The
Humans…the Humans are going to give him a way to attack our city.”

“What? Olesm, I don’t—”

He went on, slowly.

“As [Strategist] of Liscor, I have no choice. Under military law I am
confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch will be
sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering the
city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

Olesm turned. A Gnoll with a pair of iron manacles approached the Redfang
Goblins. Olesm swallowed as she looked at him. Erin opened her mouth to
say something. Anything. But Olesm went on. He looked at Numbtongue as
the Hob stared at Erin. The Gnoll slowly closed the manacles over
Numbtongue’s wrists. Olesm bowed his head.

“They are under arrest.”

 5.54 (Non-Canon)

(Important: I have REWRITTEN this chapter as this one was not the
one I intended to write. It will be released as the next regular chapter. If
you would like to read this chapter, feel free, but know that it may spoil
some of the events of the actual 5.54 and not all of the events contained
within are canonical. I does have some good parts, though.
Somewhere.)

The problem with Liscor was that no one asked Relc for his opinion before
doing things. That was the sum of Liscor’s issues. That, and nothing else.
Okay, maybe the dungeon. And Rock Crabs. And the rain. And other stuff.
But a lot of it could be improved if they asked Relc about what he thought
about all this!

No one did. Not Captain Zevara, or Olesm, or even Embria. Which was
why Relc had to volunteer his thoughts. It was a public service. The Drake
strolled down the road, twirling his spear and following a group of
[Guardspeople] who’d been called to deal with some emergency or other.
About Goblins? Relc hadn’t been paying attention when he’d heard the
warning go out.

“I just think it’s unfair, you know? All I’m saying is that we deserve free
food now and then!”

Ahead of him, a pair of Senior Guardsmen groaned. They were a Drake and
Gnoll, a classic team up. Like Relc they had become Senior Guardsmen by
merit of their high levels and talent. Unlike Relc, their talents involved
more than hitting things on the head. They were well-respected, did their
jobs efficiently, and both had happy families. Relc hated their tails
sometimes.

“Everyone gets hungry. Everyone needs food. I’m not the only
[Guardsman] to eat while I’m on duty, and everyone gets a free meal
sometimes! Even Klbkch! So why am I the only one who gets chewed out
by Captain Z for it? I’m peckish! Is that so wrong?”

The Gnoll sighed loudly.

“It’s not wrong, Relc.”

“Exactly!”

“—It’s just wrong when you keep hinting that you’d like something to eat.
There’s a difference between a gift and a bribe. You know that.”

“Right, I want a gift.”

“But it’s not a gift if—Jeiss, do you want to say anything?”

The Drake looked at his partner and shook his head.

“Why are you arguing with Relc? Just ignore him. He knows what he did
wrong. Come on, we have to get to this incident on time.”

The Drake swished his tail dismissively and picked up the pace. Relc
debated tripping him up with his spear, but he decided against it.

“Hey! It’s a legitimate problem that—okay, what about all the adventurers,
huh? Why do we have to get called in every time they start a brawl, even
when we’re off-duty? And by we, I mean me. Why am I never given a
break?”

“Because you’re the only one who can brawl with Gold-ranks, idiot.”

“Yeah, but then why don’t I get vacation days each time I’m called in? I
was on my break yesterday!”
The Gnoll, whose name was Beilmark shot Relc a disbelieving glance.

“You were called in for an emergency at the Adventurer’s Guild for a

scuffle, yes? It took less than thirty minutes to sort out and you didn’t file
any paperwork! We had to charge and fine the adventurers. You just showed
up, broke three tables, and left!”

Relc stared back innocently as he jogged after the pair.

“Exactly. So why didn’t I get thirty minutes off today?”

Beilmark groaned and Jeiss shook his head. The two sped up. Relc ran after
them, grumbling under his breath. The [Guardsmen] were following the
sound of whistles being blown, telling them they were needed. Relc wasn’t
sure what the problem was. Goblins? Had one of Erin’s pet Goblins entered
the city? He grunted as he shifted his grip on his spear.

“So, you guys have kids, right?”

This time Beilmark glared over her shoulder. Relc rolled his eyes.

“What? I know you’re female!”

“And I have two children. Whom you have met!”

Beilmark snapped back at Relc. He scratched the back of his spines.

“Yeah…okay, well, so my question is—what do you do with them? For

fun?”

Jeiss and Beilmark exchanged a glance, much like Klbkch and Relc
sometimes did.

“How do you mean?”

“Well…my kid’s in town and we don’t do anything but argue. I keep trying
to give her fatherly advice, but I don’t have much and uh, y’know…I could
use a hand. Klb’s no good for that kind of thing.”
The Senior Guardsmen pair exchanged a long, tired look. Jeiss eventually
spoke up.

“Relc, my oldest kid—Jacs—whose birthday you missed by the way—is

ten.”

“And my oldest is fourteen. Embria is a Wing Commander in the army, yes?

I do not think our advice applies.”

“But you’re the same age as me. I know Beilmark’s older. Hey! Don’t snarl
at me.”

“Yeah, but you had a kid earlier than we did. It’s not the same. Now, would
you shut up and let us get to the emergency on time? Not all of us can run
as fast as you. You should be there by now!”

The Drake glared at Relc. Senior Guardsmen Relc sighed.

“I’m tired from that other fight at the Adventurer’s Guild. You know, the
big fight just now? The one we all had to stop?”

“I don’t recall you doing the paperwork.”

“But I did take out three Gold-ranks! Hah! Besides, we haven’t heard the
whistle blown twice so it’s not an emergency emergency. And aren’t we
having fun talking?”

Jeiss and Beilmark sighed. They tried to run even faster, but it was a futile
effort attempting to get away from Relc. The big Drake easily followed
both [Guards], despite wearing chainmail armor and carrying his spear. If
he needed do, he could lose the armor and even outrun a horse. Heck, he
could probably catch Hawk if he had to! Maybe. With a head start.

The Gecko of Liscor enjoyed his life most of the time. It was peaceful,
despite monster attacks and all the latest craziness with the Raskghar. It
wasn’t like being in the army where every skirmish could be your last. Relc
loved it in Liscor. He loved eating, he loved his job most of the time, and he
loved…this.
But Embria kept telling him to go back to the army. As if he didn’t know
what he’d left behind. He didn’t know how to talk to her. He never had.
Relc opened his mouth to ask Beilmark what, if anything, he could say.
Then he saw the Goblins.

There were five of them. Hobgoblins, not the regular, pesky Goblins.
Instantly Relc became wary. He recognized the Redfang Warriors of course.
They were an official adventuring team now and they were part of Erin’s
inn. But they weren’t supposed to be in Liscor. And they were armed.

“Whoa. Hold up.”

Relc appeared in front of Jeiss, spear held more firmly in his claws. The
Senior Guardsman slowed and for once didn’t complain as Relc peered at
the situation. Five Hobs, surrounded by at least twenty of the Watch. Right
in front of the entrance to the Antinium Hive, which didn’t seem good. And
—Relc’s pulse quickened—there was Erin. And Klbkch.

“What the heck’s going on here?”

The three Senior Guardsmen approached slowly and heard Olesm speaking
loudly to Erin. Relc’s jaw dropped as Olesm’s voice reached them.

“…am confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch

will be sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering
the city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

“Hey, is he serious? He can’t do that, can he?”

He looked at Beilmark. The Gnoll shifted uneasily and gripped the mace
she carried at her side.

“I don’t know. We heard the alert called earlier. Something might be

happening again.”

“What was that about another Hobgoblin? Is that the issue?”

“Hold on, hold on—”

Relc was hopping from foot to foot. Klbkch was right there! And his partner
had drawn his blades, which was not a good sign. But now a Gnoll was
arresting the Hobs! He put a pair of manacles over one of the Hobs—the
one carrying a beat-up guitar. Numbtongue? Relc never paid attention to
their names. Relc exclaimed.

“No way. He really is arresting them! I thought Olesm loved Erin and her
Goblins! Why’s he doing that?”

Jeiss shot Relc a disbelieving look.

“They entered the city. Relc. He can’t let that slide, Human or not. Why is
she here, anyways?”

“Well, yeah, but—hold on.”

All three saw Erin stepping forwards. They could hear her voice quite
plainly.

“No! You can’t do this, Olesm! They were helping me save Bird! They’ve
done nothing wrong!”

The Senior Guardsmen looked at each other.

“Save who?”

“That’s the Antinium who lives on top of Erin’s inn. You know, the one with
the bow?”

“Oh. What happened?”

“I have no idea. But—hold on. What is she—”

Olesm was arguing with Erin, clearly telling her that this wasn’t a debate.
But Erin wasn’t having it. She spread her arms, but the Gnoll with the cuffs
just walked around her. Erin turned as he began to shackle the Hob with the
enchanted axe, and then her eyes narrowed. She spun.

“No.”
Her fist rose. Relc saw Erin throw a punch. Olesm raised his claws and Erin
decked him in the face. All three [Guards] winced as Olesm took a full-
force blow to the face. He yelped and fell. Jeiss shook his head.

“She didn’t just—”

“Your friend’s in for it now, Relc.”

That was definitely true. But Erin wasn’t done yet. As the Gnoll
[Guardsman] turned to her in surprise, Erin whirled.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

This time her punch took the Gnoll in the stomach. He doubled over, folded
up, and curled into a ball of suffering. All three Senior Guardsmen gaped at
Erin. So did the other members of the Watch, and the Hobs. Erin turned.
She raised her fists and looked at the five Hobs.

“Run!”

The Hobs hesitated. Then they scattered. Relc swore and Jeiss and Beilmark
grabbed for their weapons as the Watch shouted in alarm and began chasing
after the five. Relc saw Erin charging a Drake and trying to punch him
before Olesm tackled her to the ground. He tore his eyes away and focused
on the five. They were splitting up, each one running in a different
direction! Relc pointed to one of them that was heading their way. The Hob
held a bow and was loosing arrows as he ran, forcing the other pursuers to
slow and take cover.

“I’ll take the dude with the bow. You guys get the others.”

Jeiss and Beilmark hesitated, but then nodded. They didn’t argue as they ran
past Relc. He walked forwards slowly, twirling his spear. The Hob spotted
him and slowed down.

Now, which one was this? Headscratcher? Numb…toes? Rabbitfeeter? No

—this was Badarrow. The Hob looked around as if trying to find an alley to
run down. Relc just kept advancing slowly. He could catch Badarrow. The
question was if the Hob would fight or run.

Badarrow and Relc locked gazes. The Hob’s reached for an arrow. Relc
grinned and lifted his spear.

“Try it.”

The two froze in place. Relc could see Badarrow performing the warrior’s
internal calculation, assessing Relc’s gear, his level and the Skills he might
have and weighing his odds against that. The Hob’s eyes narrowed, then he
made a disgusted sound.

Slowly, Badarrow released the grip on his arrow. The Hob glared as he
tossed the bow and quiver to the ground.

“Hah! You’re pretty smart.”

Relc gave him a toothy grin. He bent to collect the bow and quiver.
Badarrow twitched as if he’d like to kick Relc in the face and run, but he
was indeed intelligent enough to know what would happen if he did. Hob or
not, he wasn’t a match for Relc, and both Goblin and Drake knew it.

It was true that Relc was a [Guardsman]. But he’d been a [Spearmaster]
back in the army and a [Sergeant] as well. A high-level one. He could fight
Gold-rank adventurers with just his spear and win. Sometimes. For all the
Redfang Warriors were strong, they weren’t that strong.

“Hey, I got one!”

Relc sauntered back to Olesm and a few of the City Watch. They stared at
him as Badarrow trooped over, scowling. Relc indicated the Hob.

“Anyone got a pair of cuffs? I uh, forgot mine back at the barracks.”

Some of the guards groaned, but a young Drake with cuffs came over to
shackle Badarrow, hand and foot. Relc looked over and saw that Erin was
sitting on the ground. Her cheek was scuffed up and she had cuffs on her
hands.
“Uh, hi Erin.”

“Hi Relc.”

“Saw you punch Olesm. Nice hit! Stupid idea, though.”

“Yeah.”

Erin breathed out heavily. She looked at Badarrow as the Hob sat next to
her. Relc shifted uncomfortably.

“So…what’s this all about?”

“Relc!”

The Drake turned. Olesm glared at him. His eye was already getting puffy,
but the [Strategist] seemed on edge for different reasons. He pointed in the
direction one of the other Hobs had run.

“Go after the Goblins!”

“Aw, do I have to? Jeiss and Beilmark can catch them.”

“Don’t argue! Do it!”

Relc glared, but then he sighed and jogged off. Olesm glared after him and
then turned. Erin stared up at him. The Drake met her eyes and then looked
away. He stood, barking orders while Erin sat on the ground. Badarrow
grumbled and tested the iron manacles, pulling at them until someone raised
a spear. Then he just sat.

Slowly, the City Watch returned, with prisoners in tow. Erin’s heart sank as
she saw Relc come back, and the collection of Hobs sitting in chains grew.

One, three, four…Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, and Shorthilt joined

Badarrow, all three having been subdued and manacled hand and foot.
Headscratcher’s nose was bleeding and Shorthilt had several long scratches
on his arm which were dripping a bit of blood. Olesm looked at Jeiss.
“Did they give you trouble, Senior Guardsman?”

The Drake saluted.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the
fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

“What?”

Olesm’s eyes widened. He turned and glared at Relc, who’d come back
with Shorthilt in tow. The Drake raised his claws.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I got this one! Had to tackle him before he got to
Erin’s magic door.”

He pointed at Shorthilt. The Hob glared at Relc. Beilmark nodded

apologetically as she explained.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack.
In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the
battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Erin murmured to herself. Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated
sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the
inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and the Human.”

He didn’t look at Erin. Relc whistled slowly. Some of the City Watch
blinked. But Olesm was already turning to Beilmark.

“I want a patrol to secure The Wandering Inn. Senior Guardsmen and our
best fighters. Take at least two mages! Get them to open the door to Pallass
and tell them I want Watch Captain Venim now. Pallass is already aware of
what’s going on. Move!”

Beilmark nodded and ran with Jeiss down the street. Relc watched them go,
blinking. Something was going on. He just didn’t know what. He looked
awkwardly down at the Human sitting on the ground.

“Hey Erin. Sorry about this. You’re going to jail.”

“Aw.”

Erin sighed. She stood up slowly and gave Relc an imploring look.

“Relc…”

“Sorry. Just doing my job. Don’t try to punch me because I’d have to hit
you. Hold on, we have to check you for weapons. Hey, rookies, one of you
get over and check Erin!”

Relc carefully turned Erin about as a female Gnoll came over. He spoke
reassuringly as the other Hobs stood and were divested of their weapons
too.

“Don’t worry. This is just to make sure you don’t stab each other in jail or
something. And it’s not that bad! We don’t have rats or anything and you
get fed…something. You’ll probably only be there the night.”

“And the Redfangs? And Bird? Relc, can you check on Bird? We took him
to the Hive. He was hurt—bad! Klbkch brought him to the Queen.”

Relc’s eyes widened.

“That must be bad. Old Klb never bothers his Queen unless—what
happened? And where’d Klb go?”
“Back into the Hive. I think—oh, Relc. It was awful. Bird was—”

“Senior Guardsman Relc!”

The Drake stiffened. Olesm was glaring at him.

“Escort the prisoners to the cells and report to the barracks without delay.
Don’t waste time talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Relc saluted smartly. He gave Olesm a toothy grin. And if Relc had said or
done what he was thinking, the [Strategist] would have two black eyes.
Because, fair play to Olesm, Goblins were a threat. But Erin wasn’t. She’d
done more for Liscor than most Senior Guardsman had over their careers.
And if Relc had learned one thing, it was that if Erin was on one side and
you were on the other, you were probably on the wrong side.

They needed her. But she had struck a [Strategist] and directly aided in the
escape of monsters from the Watch. So there was no choice, was there?
Relc sighed. He didn’t want to do this—

“Come on, Erin. We’ll get you to a nice cell.”

He began to steer Erin away. And then he heard it. A faint sound, like a
rapid set of drums. Relc paused. He raised a claw and the other guards
urging the Hobs along stopped obediently.

“Hold on, what’s that? Anyone hear something?”

Relc turned his head and frowned at the entrance to the Antinium Hive.
Olesm turned back, clearly annoyed.

“Senior Guardsman—”

“Shut up, Olesm.”

Relc stared at the Hive. He heard an outraged sound, but he didn’t care.
Slowly, Relc backed away from the entrance to the Hive, tugging Erin out
of the way. The drumming sound was louder now. The City Watch eyed the
entrance to the Hive as well. And then the first Soldier charged out of the
Hive.

“Soldier!”

Relc saw the massive Antinium run out of the Hive’s dirt entrance. The
Antinium was as tall as Relc and even bulkier. His four arms were raised
and he stopped abruptly in front of the surprised Drakes and Gnolls, looking
around. Relc’s heart began to race. He pulled Erin back as more Soldiers
charged out behind the first.

“What the—”

Olesm was staring incredulously. But Relc’s instincts took over. He looked
around and shouted a warning.

“Oh shit. Back up, boys. They’re not playing around!”

The City Watch reacted to the uncharacteristic snap in Relc’s voice.

Instantly they moved back down the street and just in time. Because more
and more Soldiers came flooding out of the entrance. Dozens…then nearly
a hundred. Relc stared at the Soldiers as they formed a solid brown-black
wall in front of him. Soldiers in the streets of Liscor? These weren’t the
Painted Soldiers either. They were regulars and they looked ready for a
fight.

What in the name of the Walled Cities was going on? And then Relc saw a
familiar face. An Antinium unlike any other walked up from the Hive. He
had only two arms, and both were holding silvery blades. Klbkch walked
past the ranks of Soldiers. He paused as he inspected the sudden change that
had occurred—the shackled Goblins and Erin, Olesm’s black eye. His head
turned and he nodded to Relc.

“Relc.”

The Drake managed a smile.

“Hey, Klb. What’s up?”

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch—what is this?”

Olesm stared at the Soldiers in horror. Klbkch’s head turned to Olesm.

“Strategist Olesm, I am not acting in my position as Senior Guardsman

Klbkch, but my role as Revalantor Klbkchhezeim of the Hives. By my
Queen’s command, I have been sent to find and destroy the Hob responsible
for injuring the Individual Worker known as Bird.”

“What? But that’s—Klbkch, you cannot take Soldiers through Liscor!

Please, order them back into the Hive. The City Watch will investigate
whatever happened to Bird. But there’s a larger issue at stake here.”

The [Strategist] looked appalled. He tried to step forwards, but Klbkch

raised his blades and Olesm stopped. Relc held his breath, Klbkch did not
look anything like the amiable Senior Guardsman who normally patrolled
the streets. Olesm gulped and stepped back as Klbkch looked at him.

“No. I am invoking the treaty between Liscor and the Free Antinium,
Strategist Olesm. My Soldiers will move by boat with the Watch’s
assistance and search the floodplains and even the northern and southern
passes. We require transport immediately and Liscor’s full compliance. My
Queen demands vengeance.”

“What? Now? But Klbkch—”

“No. I must speak to Watch Captain Zevara. Soldiers, fall in!”

The Soldiers began to march after Klbkch. Relc saw Olesm tagging after
Klbkch, arguing with him, trying to get him to slow.

“We cannot have the Antinium in the city, not right now! Klbkch, listen to
me! There is a larger situation happening at the moment. I need the
Antinium’s full support, not—”

“My Queen’s orders take priority. Move aside, Olesm.”

Klbkch swung a sword out. Olesm flinched back. Klbkch marched onwards,
the Soldiers beginning to spread out behind him. Relc saw Olesm’s face
twist and his tail lash the ground. The [Strategist] clutched at his head and
then shouted at Klbkch’s back.

“Liscor is going to fall!”

The Antinium halted in their tracks. Relc froze in the act of scratching one
armpit. The City Watch whirled. Erin, the Redfang Hobs, everyone looked
at Olesm. The [Strategist] panted. He looked at Klbkch and spoke in a
trembling voice.

“Liscor is going to fall in four days. Unless we prepare. Unless I do

something about it. I don’t have time for a single Hob. I don’t have time for
Antinium marching through the streets! You can either help me, or I will
arrest you and every single person who gets in my way!”

He shouted the last bit at Klbkch, straight to the Revalantor’s face. Relc
held his breath as Klbkch stared at Olesm. Then, slowly, the Revalantor
sheathed his swords. He nodded, and the Soldiers began to move back
towards their Hive.

“Very well. We are at your disposal, Strategist Olesm. Inform me of the

situation.”

Olesm looked around at all the listening guardsmen, at Relc, Erin, and the
others. He shook his head.

“Not here. Follow me.”

He pointed and took off at a run. Klbkch ran after him. Relc stared after the
two, and then at Erin and the Goblins and his fellow guards. He looked at
his spear, and then at the clear skies.

“Aw hell. I knew today was going to be a bad day.”

—-
The alarm that went out from city to city was immediate. And as always, it
led to a swift response. One by one, the cities began sending [Messages] to
each other. The six-way chat opened as hundreds of other [Messages] were
being sent and urgent clarifications and requests were coming through the
harried Mage’s Guilds in every Drake city on the continent. But these had
highest-priority.

Zeres. We’ve received the alert. Thoughts?

Oteslia. Is Liscor’s [Strategist] certain? They’ve issued a city-wide

emergency. If they’re wrong…

Zeres. We agree with Liscor. The pieces fit. And we received intelligence
from an unknown source claiming the same as Liscor’s [Strategist]. The
Humans have trebuchets.

Oteslia. That’s an unfounded claim.

Zeres. It is, but it fits. And there is evidence.

Fissival is online. Where?

Zeres. There were reports of Humans employing siege weapons in a conflict

with a Goblin war band, but the details were inconsistent and mentioned
the Goblins constructing trebuchets of their own.

Fissival. Ludicrous.

Oteslia. But if the Humans did have trebuchets…

Manus joins the conference. This situation is grim. How did none of us spot
this before now?

Zeres. The Humans played us like scatter-brained hatchlings. That’s all.

Oteslia. Focus. In that case, Liscor is under attack in four days.

Manus. Assuming the water level drops as the [Strategist] indicated. How
can the Humans be certain?

Zeres. They must be. There’s no point otherwise.

Salazsar is present. This is a disaster. We must warn the Humans at once! If

they think they can take the city, it is war.

Oteslia. They’ll just deny the intent. And once they have Liscor…

Fissival. Politics aside, the Humans will attack Liscor. If they can manage it
with the Goblins sacking the city, they will. But I would not trust Tyrion
Veltras to hold back even if the Goblins were defeated. Objections?

Manus. None.

Zeres. We agree with your assessment.

Oteslia. We agree.

Salazsar. Something must be done. We must reinforce. At once!

Oteslia. How? They’re four days away. There’s only one city that can reach
Liscor in time. Pallass must send all its armies north this instant! Or use
that door!

Zeres. Where IS Pallass?

Fissival. We have made Pallass aware of the meeting.

Manus. Are their [Strategists] all asleep or something?

Oteslia. Hold on. Sending urgent request to Pallass to join in.

Zeres. It may be that they’re considering their options.

Salazsar. What options? Liscor must be held.

Zeres. Even with Pallass’ support, the odds of holding the city are low.

Salazar. Not if they send their elites through that magic door.

Manus. And endure a bloodbath? Come on, this is Pallass we’re referring
to. They’re next if Liscor falls. They’re considering whether to send all they
have or…

Fissival. If Liscor falls, the Humans can march armies at us from countless
directions unimpeded.

Manus. We know. But can it be held?

Zeres. Where is Pallass? Oteslia?

Oteslia. Waiting for a response…

Pallass responds. We are aware of the situation and analyzing the

statements Liscor’s [Strategist] have made. They are not yet verifiable.

Zeres. We confirm Liscor’s report.

Oteslia. What is Pallass doing? How many armies and [Generals] can
Pallass send to Liscor?

Pallass. The decision to reinforce Liscor has not yet been decided by the
Assembly of Crafts. Deliberations are ongoing.

Manus. Deliberations? Pallass must send forces through to Liscor now, or

begin marching them north at once!

Fissival. Will Pallass have a force large enough to repel the Humans?
Estimates puts their army at 200,000 or more.

Oteslia. We can have a force of half a million converging on Pallass in ten

days between all the Walled Cities, not including smaller cities. Oteslia’s
armies stand ready.
Zeres. In ten days, the Humans will have Liscor and their own
reinforcements marching south. Zeres to Pallass. Can you hold the city if
the walls are broken?

Pallass. Standby.

Oteslia. Ancestors damn it, Pallass! We need to know how many regiments
you can send through to Liscor! Can your 1st Army reach Liscor in time?
Answer!

Manus. They aren’t responding. They must be weighing the odds.

Fissival. Liscor has a strong City Watch. They can hold the breach, surely.

Oteslia. Against constant bombardments? Perhaps against the Goblin Lord,

but not against them and the Humans.

Salazsar. Tyrion Veltras’ army is not merely 200,000 strong. He brought too
many elites. Our reports showed an unusually high number of [Knights]
and [Lords] and their personal forces in his army.

Manus. Disguised under the pretense of beating the Goblin Lord. Clever.

Oteslia to Pallass. Well, your response?

Pallass. We are prepared to assist Liscor in every meaningful way possible.

Deliberations are ongoing for reinforcement at this moment.

Fissival. Deliberations?

Oteslia. Cowards. Are you being serious?

Pallass. We believe it may be prudent to avoid reinforcement at this moment

to assemble a larger force in the event Liscor falls.

Salazar to Pallass. Are you suggesting we allow Liscor to fall?

Pallass. The Assembly of Crafts is debating. Standby.

Oteslia. Are you spineless cowards, you [REDACTED]?

Pallass to Oteslia. Please refrain from unhelpful rhetoric.

Oteslia. [REDACTED].

Zeres. We…agree with Pallass’ assessment. It may be wiser to avoid conflict

until we have a force capable of taking Liscor.

Salazsar. You cannot be serious.

Fissival. We concur. The loss of Liscor is devastating. But the loss of

Pallass’ forces would be even more so. If this is a trap, it may be designed
to take as many soldiers with it.

Manus. So what should be done?

Zeres. Perhaps it is prudent to discuss contingency plans. In the event of

Liscor’s fall.

Oteslia. They’re not fallen yet.

Fissival. Yet. And it could be beneficial in one sense.

Manus to Fissival. Explain.

Fissival. The effort required to defend Liscor from two armies armed with
siege weapons would result in a bloodbath on Liscor’s side. On the other
hand, the Antinium Hive in Liscor would be bound to aid in its defense…

Zeres. In which case, if Liscor falls there is one less Hive. And if they
successfully repel the defenders, the Hive would be weakened.

Oteslia. What about Liscor’s citizens and soldiers?

Manus. Could Pallass even send enough soldiers through that magic door
or bring enough forces north in time? Four days to march from Pallass to
Liscor would exhaust any army and I doubt they could move more than a
few thousand soldiers through per day.
Zeres. Pallass does have a point.

Oteslia. Have you all gone mad?

Fissival to Oteslia. Pallass is considering a logical response. This is not the

same as the Face-Eater Moth incident. This is an invading army several
hundred thousand strong. The Walled Cities must stand. But other cities,
even ones as important as Liscor, are expendable as the circumstances
dictate.

Salazsar. This is unacceptable. Liscor must not be allowed to fall. Pallass

must send reinforcements immediately!

Oteslia agrees.

Salazsar to Pallass. Does Pallass acknowledge?

Salazsar. Well?

Pallass. Standby.

Manus. Standby.

Zeres. Standby.

Fissival. Standby.

—-

“What’s going on? Senior Guardsman Jeiss, why hasn’t the door been
moved out of the inn?”

Olesm arrived at The Wandering Inn panting and out of breath. Klbkch was
currently with Zevara, being appraised of the situation while Ilvriss kept
repeating the alarm to the other Drake cities. Olesm was sure that there
were hundreds of [Message] spells directed to him that he had to respond
to, but he’d come to The Wandering Inn first.

Wing Commander Embria turned, glaring, and Olesm saw a group of her
soldiers milling about with the City Watch on the hill outside of The
Wandering Inn. Olesm glared balefully at the [Soldiers]—had they caused
this? Then he tried to catch his breath.

He’d had to climb up to the battlements, climb down the ladder and then
run across the water bridge to reach the inn without the magic door. He’d
forgotten how far it was that way! Olesm glared at Jeiss, who saluted him
guiltily.

“Sorry, sir. We were going to remove the door, but we ran into…
complications.”

“Such as?”

The Drake looked miserable and his partner, Beilmark, hunched her
shoulders.

“One of the employees, refuses to give up the door. She claims Liscor has
no authority to remove the door from the inn.”

“Who? Lyonette? Then arrest her!”

Olesm had no time for niceties. The two Senior Guardsmen exchanged a
glance.

“Uh, we tried, sir. But then both adventuring teams objected. As did half the
guests in the inn.”

“The Halfseekers and the Horns?”

They nodded miserably. Olesm nearly tore his neck spines out.

“Then arrest—”
He paused as he eyed the two dozen or so [Guardsmen] and imagined them
trying to arrest Moore. Just Moore, by himself. Olesm paused.

“Okay. I’ll talk to them. Why are Embria’s [Soldiers] here?”

“Sir!”

One of the Drakes stepped forwards and saluted smartly. Olesm

remembered to return the salute after a second. The Drake looked like a
[Captain].

“Wing Commander Embria came by to secure the door and request formal
assistance from Pallass, sir!”

“And why didn’t she move the door to Liscor?”

Olesm’s tail thrashed angrily, but the [Captain] didn’t waver. He looked past
Olesm’s head as he spoke.

“Our [Mage Captain] agrees that this inn is the best location for mass-
transit! The inn is a natural power source.”

“Yes, but—”

The [Strategist] closed his mouth. He did know that Erin’s inn had a lot of
magical power thanks to its Skill. But it was risky leaving the door there!
Still…if it meant avoiding a fight…he gritted his teeth.

“Very well. Senior Guardsman Jeiss, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark?”

“Strategist Olesm?”

“Secure this spot. I want a group of the City Watch posted here—inside the
inn—at all times. No one touches that door. And—ancestors, what did
that?”

Olesm had just spotted the destroyed tower on the roof of the inn. He stared
at the spot until he remembered. Bird. He looked around.
“Put someone on the roof of the inn and make sure we’re clear. In fact, get
Relc over here now.”

“Yes sir!”

The two Senior Guardsmen saluted, looking relieved. The [Captain] wasn’t
so happy.

“Sir, we’re more than capable of holding this position. Wing Commander
Embria—”

Olesm glared at him.

“Someone nearly killed the Antinium standing guard here, [Captain]. A

Hobgoblin, apparently. And this inn attracts trouble like a rotting corpse
attracts acid flies. If you want to assist the Watch, keep your earholes open.
Now, where is Wing Commander Embria?”

“Inside, sir.”

“Good.”

The Drake stomped into the inn. He took one look around and saw the
reason why none of the [Soldiers] or the [Guardsmen] had dared enter the
inn. His name was Moore and he was holding a big staff threateningly over
Olesm’s head. The Drake gulped.

“Oh, it’s just you, Olesm.”

Moore lowered the staff and stepped back. Olesm edged back from him and
looked around. Both the Halfseekers and the Horns of Hammerad were
seated close to the entrance. Ceria smiled and waved at Olesm.

“Olesm! You’re here! Can you help us sort this out? A patrol of your guys
tried to take Erin’s door!”

“Yes! They were supposed to!”

“What?”
The adventurers blinked in shock. Olesm glared at them.

“This is an emergency! We need that door—oh Ancestors damn it, never

mind! It can stay! But move out of the way!”

He strode over to the magic door. Embria was standing in front of it,
arguing with someone on the other side while Lyonette scowled at her a few
feet away. The [Barmaid] looked up and hurried over to Olesm.

“Olesm! Where’s Erin? Is Bird okay? Where are the Goblins? These
[Guardsmen] tried to take the door away—”

“I know, I know! I ordered them to! I need to speak with Embria and
Pallass! This is an emergency!”

Olesm growled at Lyonette. He approached the door and stopped. Embria

was snapping at someone on the other side and now Olesm could see a
Drake [Soldier] dressed in Pallass’ yellow-and-white armor.

“I want to speak with Watch Captain Venim! Where is he? This is a national
emergency! I am Wing Commander Embria and I demand—”

The Drake was shaking his head as Embria bellowed at him. Olesm brushed
Lyonette away and stepped forwards.

“Wing Commander Embria! What’s going on?”

“Olesm!”

Embria turned. She glared at the [Soldier] in front of her.

“I’ve been trying to speak with someone in authority in Pallass for nearly
twenty minutes now! I’ve demanded—requested immediate reinforcements,
but I can’t get an acknowledgement that anyone’s heard my request!”

She glared at the Drake.

“Is Watch Captain Venim or the Assembly of Crafts aware of the issue,
soldier? Respond!”
The Drake winced. He eyed Embria and saluted slowly.

“They are, Wing Commander. But I cannot tell you what their status is. The
Assembly of Crafts is debating—”

“What is there to debate? Send a regiment through already!”

Embria roared at the Drake. Olesm saw the Drake wince, but he held his
ground stubbornly.

“I cannot leave my station, Wing Commander. I told you, the Assembly of

Crafts is considering the issue and Watch Commander Venim is
indisposed.”

His eyes slid sideways and his tail twitched, giving away the lie. Olesm’s
eyes narrowed. He stepped forwards.

“Soldier, I am Olesm Swifttail , chief [Strategist] of Liscor. Do you

acknowledge my rank?”

The Drake gave him a slow look.

“I do, sir.”

Olesm nodded. In certain situations he outranked Embria, for all she was a
Wing Commander. This was one of them. He spoke slowly and clearly.

“In that case, I request immediate contact with Pallass’ [Strategist] or

another civic leader on an issue of national emergency. You are aware that
under Drake military law, denying my request is a treasonous offense?”

Beads of sweat stood out on the Drake [Soldier]’s head. He glanced

sideways at someone neither Olesm nor Embria could see through the
doorway.

“I do, sir. But—”

“That will be all, soldier.”

A voice interrupted the Drake. He visibly sagged and practically ran out of
the way as a Gnoll in robes replaced him. Olesm blinked. A [Senator], one
of the elected officials who ran the Assembly of Crafts, Pallass’ governing
body, entered the door’s view. He smiled with his teeth at Olesm and
Embria.

“Wing Commander, Chief Strategist, my apologies, yes? We have been

deliberating this shocking news about a probable assault on Liscor.”

“It’s not—”

Olesm cut Embria off.

“The attack is coming, senator. [Strategists] from other cities including

Zeres have confirmed the report as urgent. I am requesting immediate
reinforcements from Pallass as per Liscor’s status as a national strategic
interest.”

“Hrr. Yes. We have received your request. All six of them, in fact.”

The Gnoll didn’t appear to be too bothered by the issue. He grinned again,
politely.

“The issue is that Pallass’ Assembly, we have voted, yes? And we think that
Liscor’s announcement is…premature. Not confirmed. We hesitate to call
into question your analysis, but we decline to send our soldiers to reinforce
Liscor on what may be a…misunderstanding, yes?”

“What?”

Olesm and Embria stared at the Gnoll, incredulous. Olesm’s jaw dropped.
The Gnoll looked politely apologetic.

“You see, it would take much effort to send soldiers from Pallass through
the door. And for no good reason, yes? Liscor is not in danger. And if it is—
well, we should wait and see.”

“What?”
This time both Olesm and Embria chorused the word together. Embria
growled, clenching her fists together.

“Senator, if we wait any longer there won’t be any chance of saving Liscor!
Without reinforcements, coming through as fast as possible, we won’t be
able to put enough bodies into Liscor to defend from the Goblin Lord and
the Humans! If we wait another day for full confirmation, let alone more, it
will be too late!”

The Senator nodded slowly.

“Yes, and that would clear matters up nicely, yes? It would save Pallass
from having to waste lives defending a lost cause.”

Embria had been inhaling to shout. Now she choked. Olesm felt a cold pit
settle in his stomach. He stared at the Gnoll in robes. He couldn’t be
suggesting…

“You—you can’t be serious. Senator, this is—you can’t delay. Please, the
other Walled Cities have heard our request. They have to be mobilizing…”

The Gnoll just smiled as Embria began to stumble over her words. He
shook his head and sniffed, his eyes flicking back and forth.

“I am afraid that the other Walled Cities understand the issue as clearly as
you do, Wing Commander. Perhaps even more so, yes? A Goblin Lord’s
army against Liscor. And a Human’s army capable of taking down the
walls. Pallass could sacrifice a hundred thousand—two hundred thousand
of our own [Soldiers] and not hold the city. It would be…more prudent not
to lose such lives in a fruitless endeavor but rather retake the city.”

“Retake it?”

Olesm felt squeezed. The Gnoll nodded. He looked sympathetic.

“It is not an easy decision. But it is a sound one. Strategically, yes?

Naturally Liscor must be held by Drakes and Gnolls, but if it cannot be held
at the moment…”
He shook his head.

“Regardless, it is a troubling situation. There are many civilians in Liscor,

yes? They should be sent to Pallass via the southern roads. Or perhaps it
may be arranged that they can be sent through this door. We will deliberate
and come to a decision later today and inform you of what must be done.
Until then—”

“Wait—”

Embria started for the door, but the Gnoll was quicker. He raised a paw and
gripped the edge of the door. Olesm moved as well. He stared at the Gnoll.
This couldn’t be. This was a betrayal.

This was wrong.

“Senator, if Liscor is under attack, it is an act of treason not to support us.

Your city is bound to aid Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s army and the
Humans…is considerable. But we can hold Liscor, trebuchets or not. The
Antinium have agreed to lend their support. And we have Gold-ranks—”

“Ah, yes. Them. We will require our adventurers back. Soon, I think. But
there is time so long as this door is here. It should not be lost either, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded sagely. He tapped the edge of the door with his paws,
looking unconcerned. Embria had gone pale. Olesm just felt angry. He
glared at the Drake.

“This is treason! You can’t do this! The other cities—”

A paw reached through the doorway and gripped him tightly on one arm.
The Gnoll senator narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth at Olesm. He lost
his friendly smile and spoke in a low, growling voice, so quietly only Olesm
and Embria could hear.

“This is not treason. This is practicality! Speak of this to the other cities and
we will bury your [Message] spell. The Walled Cities know of this decision
and they will not gainsay it.”
Olesm felt a pang of fear. No, they couldn’t have decided that.

“But—”

The Gnoll released him and smiled again, all friendliness. He grabbed the
edge of the door and leaned forwards. His voice was low and lacked any
hint of goodwill as he spoke.

“The Assembly of Crafts has made its decision based on the evidence.
Liscor will fall either way, Strategist Olesm. It is my duty as [Senator] and
the duty of the Assembly of Crafts that when Liscor falls to the Humans, it
does not take our city with it.”

He gave the petrified pair of Drakes another fake smile. Then he closed the
door firmly shut, leaving Olesm and Embria to stare at it as the world began
to crumble under their feet.

—-

The Hive was in chaos. Or at least, it wasn’t functioning properly. Chaos

implied pandemonium, and in truth, the Hive had just…stopped. Workers
and Soldiers stood around aimlessly while others continued on with their
tasks. But the central guiding force that linked the minds of the Free
Antinium and gave them direction had suddenly stopped.

Thus, chaos. At least for the Antinium. Klbkch strode back through the
tunnels, giving orders and trying to manage the Hive and his own thoughts
at the same time. But he was no Queen and his orders had to be processed
verbally and disseminated the same way.

“Resume excavation of the tunnels. Send four hundred Soldiers to the front.
Go to Belgrade and Anand and tell them to assume command of all Soldiers
and Workers in the area. Find me Pawn and order him to do the same in his
section. All Workers and Soldiers not on duty will continue the last task
they were assigned unless the objective has been fulfilled, in which case
they will immediately return to their assigned sleeping areas for break until
further orders. Send forty Workers above to excavate and repair a collapsed
house on Scuffscale Street…”

Workers and Soldiers milled about Klbkch, their confusion fading and a
sense of purpose filling them once more. Klbkch hurried onwards, still
giving out rapid-fire instructions. He could only keep the Hive moving for
so long by himself, though. Even with Belgrade and Anand, the Hive
needed her. The heart and mind of the Hive.

The Queen of the Free Antinium. Her control over the Hive had stopped.
And without her, the Hive was weakened. And this was the wrong time for
weakness of any kind.

Because Liscor was about to be under attack. Klbkch’s heart rate was a
steady beat in his chest, but even he couldn’t help but feel a moment of
apprehension at the news Olesm had given him. The Goblin Lord was
coming here. And the Humans were intending to sack Liscor.

It was war. Politics and official declarations aside, the fact was that two
armies of hundreds of thousands of enemy combatants were about to assail
Liscor. And Bird had nearly been killed by a Hobgoblin. Erin was under
arrest, and Olesm was about to summon aid from Pallass.

And his Queen was occupied. Klbkch left the last of the Workers and
Soldiers behind as he strode down the hallway where no Antinium save for
Garry, himself, and a select group of Soldiers were assigned. He entered the
chambers of his Queen.

And stopped.

The chambers of the Queen of the Free Antinium were large, made
specifically to hold her. They were almost completely empty as well, save
for two tunnels. One was small and led to a kitchen of all things. Garry the
[Cook] was constantly at work there, creating morsels to feed his Queen.
And the other passage led to the Free Queen’s work area, where she could
create and design new versions of the Antinium. It was that door that
Klbkch strode to, but he stopped halfway.

Something was sitting on the ground on one of the walls. Klbkch nearly
drew his swords and ran it through before he remembered. He stared at the
miniature Antinium Queen sitting there with distaste. It was a copy of a
Queen’s body, made to act as a relay between this Hive and the other Hives
at need. A Queen could assume control of it and see through the replica’s
eyes and speak with it. Klbkch kept forgetting it was there.

Because the vessel was the sole link of communication between Liscor’s
Hive and the Grand Queen’s Hive, it could not be removed from the
Queen’s personal chambers. Nor could it be neglected; the body had to be
fed and cared for. So there it sat, staring blankly ahead. Klbkch regarded
the puppet silently for a second.

His Queen had not enjoyed the presence of this communication tool. Not at
all. She did not like the miniature replica staring at her. So she’d consulted
with Klbkch, who had in turn mulled the issue over before coming to a
reasonable solution. He had made a slight adjustment which made the
presence of the puppet more bearable, if…somewhat odd.

Klbkch stared at the puppet. It looked like a Queen, that was to say, a more
insectile creature than any Worker or Soldier. Instead of arms and fingers,
the miniature drone had feelers, six of them. And her posture was more
hunched, her lower abdomen bigger. She looked like any Queen would,
really, save that she was smaller and not bloated from obesity and the pains
of labor like all of the Queens residing in Izril. And there was one other
addition to her that Kblkch had made.

There was a wooden box covering her head. Klbkch stared at the box. He’d
cut holes in it to make sure it didn’t suffocate the puppet, but that was about
it. He wondered if there was a better solution, but if there was, he hadn’t
been able to think of it. And besides, Erin’s idea had worked. After a
fashion.

Klbkch shook himself. Now was not the time for this. He strode towards the
two doors that blocked off the Free Queen’s work area from the rest of the
room. Klbkch found the pull rope, strained to pull the massive doors open,
and slipped inside.

A foreign scent assailed Klbkch the instant he entered the Queen’s

laboratory. The chemical tang to the air was overpowering, as was the
humidity. Much of what the Free Queen needed required the moisture and
so Klbkch passed by waterproof, sealed containers as well as rooms
designed to grow or incubate plants, materials, or…parts the Free Queen
might make use of.

There was no risk of mold or disease—at least not ones not desired by the
Free Queen herself. The Antinium had long known how to create a hostile
environment for things they did not desire, and in its own way, this room
was as sterile as any operating room in Erin’s world.

Klbkch followed the sounds until he found his Queen. She was in a room,
bent over a dirt table and a small body that dripped green. Bird. Klbkch
halted as he saw his Queen work, her body bent over the small shape.
Several smaller shapes surrounded her, moving as the Queen spoke.

“Halt the blood flow from his arteries. Apply the gel there—and there.
Open the second container.”

The Antinium around her moved precisely, applying a gel to Bird’s torso
while another walked over to a sac and collected a bowl of…blood.

It was Antinium blood, green and flowing. But it was not truly blood, not as
Drakes and Humans and other species understood it. Klbkch knew the word
as the Antinium thought of it, but he had no equivalent besides ‘blood’ in
the common tongue. If he had known what to call it, he would have referred
to it as haemolymph, a substance just like blood. For without it, the
Antinium perished.

And Bird was still bleeding. The Queen was slowly applying a gel over his
wounds, closing the bleeding from the gaping hole in his chest, but by all
rights he should have bled out twenty minutes ago. That he hadn’t was due
to the bowl of blood that the mindless drone carried over to his body.
The drone looked like a Worker, except that it had six delicate feelers
instead of arms and it was thinner. It was not designed for combat, but for
precise manipulations. It moved somewhat unsteadily; it had not been
perfected and so it was a crude helper, if somewhat efficient. It was too
much like a proper drone and yet not, so Klbkch ignored it and focused on
the bowl.

Haemolymph slowly poured down from the edge of the bowl and into a…
tube made of a sticky, almost resin-like substance the Antinium could
produce. It was connected to Bird’s chest. Inserted in it, in fact. The Free
Queen had connected the tube to Bird’s bloodstream and the green blood
ran into him.

“Good. Another bowl.”

The Free Queen’s voice was low. She had to be calculating how much Bird
had lost and how much could be safely replenished to him. The drone
walked back over to the sack and siphoned more blood from it. Klbkch’s
eyes turned to the sac. Then he looked away.

Klbkch had once observed that the Free Queen lacked all the instruments of
her craft necessary to alter or produce enzymes and products unique to the
Antinium. All the craft of the Antinium had been lost. But necessity bred
invention, and so the Free Queen had devised a way to procure at least
some of the missing elements herself. For haemolymph, or blood, she had
created the shivering sac the drone collected blood from.

It was alive. And it was Antinium, at least, in biology. It had…a stomach.

And a means to ingest. Excrete. Organs, floating amid the green. But the
rest of the body was just a sac, a bulbous, semi-transparent membrane
designed to contain blood for the Free Queen to use at will. The drone
pressed down and blood oozed from an opening and into the bowl the drone
held. Klbkch could not stare at the thing long so he looked at his feet.

It was an ingenious solution in one sense. Horrific in another. In another

time, the raw components of what made up the Antinium would be distilled,
such that a Queen proficient in weaving together the base materials could
create…anything. They could replace a limb in minutes. Today, his Queen,
the Free Queen could only replenish Bird’s blood and stop the bleeding and
begin the agonizingly slow process of regrowing his limbs.

“The bleeding is almost stopped. Close the blood vessels here…and here.
Then remove the transfusion tube.”

The Free Queen moved her drones delicately as they tended to Bird. At last,
they drew back and Klbkch could see Bird as he lay on the table. The
Worker was unconscious, whether by pain or lack of blood it was unclear.
His left two arms and part of his chest were gone. They’d been torn away
by some incredible force, exposing his innards.

It was a wound that would have killed any Human or Drake and even an
Antinium was not long for this world with such an injury. But the Free
Queen had not allowed Bird to die. She had applied the regenerative gel the
Antinium labored to create in vast quantities, and affixed strange, pulsating
pieces of flesh to Bird’s side. Organs, meant to reroute blood. She’d even
repaired parts of his chitin, binding it together to form a scab of sorts,
covering his open side. Now the Free Queen sat back and clicked her
mandibles softly.

“Done.”

“Will he live?”

Klbkch walked forwards, ignoring the drones who began cleaning up the
blood and tidying up the tools, recycling what could not be cleaned. The
Free Queen turned and Klbkch felt a wave of shock and then fury
emanating from her through their mental link.

“Klbkchhezeim? What are you doing here? I ordered you to find the thing
that attacked Bird and kill it!”

The Free Queen drew herself up and Klbkch sensed her wrath. Just like
when he had brought Bird, dying to her. Klbkch held fast, though the other
drones scurried away out of the Queen’s reach.
“I led the Soldiers to the surface despite my objections, my Queen, and
formally requested Liscor’s aid in hunting down the assailant. However,
Liscor’s [Strategist] informed of a developing situation which threatens
both the Hive and Liscor.”

“Which is?”

“An assault on the city. Thus, I have returned, but the Soldiers will begin
combing the city and the Watch has agreed to send multiple patrols via
boats to investigate the immediate area around Liscor.”

“That is not what I want.”

The Queen’s voice was dangerously low. She drew herself up and pulled
herself towards Klbkch. Her mandibles clicked in front of Klbkch.

“I want the one responsible for injuring Bird dead. Send your Soldiers
across the waters, Klbkch! Use the artifacts or the Waterwalking Potions.
Find the one who did this and kill them.”

“My Queen, using our limited resources would be unwise. Not only would
it alert the Drakes to our preparations, it would—”

“Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim!”

The thunderous voice silenced Klbkch for a second. He held still, looking
into the Queen’s huge face. Klbkch thought quickly and carefully.

“My Queen, this assault on Liscor threatens all the Free Antinium. It may
destroy the Hive if it is not addressed. The situation is dire and I cannot
guarantee that Liscor will survive it.”

That got through to her at last. The Free Queen slowly closed her mandibles
and moved back a bit.

“It is that serious?”

“Yes.”
Klbkch could sense the outrage changing to caution in his Queen. He
waited, hoping she would return to her senses. She had been enraged on
seeing Bird hurt. Bird of all people. Why? It made no sense. But the strange
affection the Queen had suddenly found for Bird had saved the Worker. As
for deploying Soldiers…madness. But now that she was aware of the scope
of the threat, at last some of the Queen’s logic began to override her
emotions.

“Very well, Klbkch. Inform me of the situation.”

Klbkch nodded.

“I was just informed that—”

A feeler silenced him. The Queen gestured at the still Worker lying on the
slab.

“Not here. Bird must rest. Follow.”

She led Klbkch out of the laboratory and back into her central chambers.
Klbkch saw Garry poke his head out of his kitchen anxiously.

“My Queen, is Bird…?”

“He will live, Garry.”

The Free Queen glanced at Garry, another surprise. Klbkch had never seen
her do more than perfunctorily order the Worker about. But now she even
spoke his name. Had Bird changed her so much? And…how?

Klbkch nodded and Garry scurried back into his kitchen. That left the two
alone in the chamber. The Free Queen spoke abruptly.

“What is occurring, Klbkch?”

“War, my Queen. The Goblin Lord is being driven to assault Liscor, by the
Humans. Rather than destroy them, they have turned the Goblins into a
force by which they may assault the city without directly instigating a war.”
For a second the Free Queen froze up, as Klbkch had once Olesm finally
managed to convey the enormity of the situation. Then she looked at
Klbkch and shook her head.

“Impossible. They could never take Liscor. Any assault would fail. You are
overstating the danger, Klbkch.”

The Free Queen spoke flatly. Klbkch shifted.

“I am not. Your assessment is valid my Queen, but the Humans have

prepared a way to weaken Liscor to the extent that the Goblin Lord’s army
could well take the city. They have trebuchets.”

“How?”

“…I am not certain. But somehow they have discovered the means of
constructing such weapons. And Olesm—Liscor’s [Strategist]—believes
they have the numbers to breach even Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins
to assault the city directly.”

Klbkch waited as his Queen slowly sat back, digesting the information. Her
mandibles clicked open and closed as she whispered to herself.

“The Humans have trebuchets? But the Antinium have offered countless
incentives for the plans of such weapons for years without gains. How
could they create them so quickly?”

With help from another world. Klbkch did not speak his theory out loud, but
his hands tightened on the hilts of his swords. It was not impossible. He had
spoken to Ryoka and while she had refused to give him any information, it
was clear that both she and Erin possessed a great deal of knowledge of
technologies that this world lacked. If one of them had joined with the
Human Lord Tyrion Veltras…

Not for the first time, Klbkch wondered if he should have told his Queen
about Erin and Ryoka. But up until this moment he was certain that doing
so would have resulted in their immediate capture and interrogation. And he
had not been willing to do so for that reason. But faced with this disaster,
Klbkch was forced to admit he had underestimated the danger that the
people from the otherworld posed. If the trebuchets were their doing…

“How many volleys would it take to breach Liscor’s walls, Klbkchhezeim?

How many trebuchets do the Humans have?”

“The number is unknown, my Queen, but if the Humans use enchanted

ammunition or have managed to enchant the trebuchets like those present
on the Walled Cities, they would break through quickly. Olesm has
requested our support.”

“To destroy the trebuchets? We have the tunnels. But they are a secret to
Liscor.”

“Yes, but the Goblin Lord’s army far outnumbers that of the forces of
Liscor. And even our numbers, my Queen. If it comes to a battle in the city
—”

“I see. Return above, Klbkch. We must consult with their [Strategist] and
Watch Captain. Liscor must not fall. We have struck a bargain.”

“And the Soldiers? I realize your fury my Queen, but they are in danger on
the waters and complicating the situation.”

Klbkch held his breath. The Free Queen hesitated. Her feelers moved
together angrily.

“I am wroth. But I will recall them if needed. For now.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Relieved, Klbkch sensed her give the order and the Soldiers moving above
start to return to the Hive. He relaxed. Too soon. The Free Queen bent.

“Now go. If Liscor is to be defended, we must ready ourselves to strike at

these siege weapons and sacrifice thousands of Soldiers and Workers to do
so. And if this Hobgoblin that injured Bird is an advance scout of the
Goblin Lord’s army…”
Her voice grew ominous. Klbkch nodded.

“I will ask Liscor’s [Strategist] to make inquiries, my Queen. I will open a

link as soon as I am above—”

“No. That will not be necessary, Klbkchhezeim.”

For a second Klbkch thought the Queen had interrupted him. But her
mandibles had not opened. He stopped and stared at her and saw her head
move in surprise. Both Klbkch and the Free Queen looked around. And then
they heard the voice again.

“It is good that you two are together. I call you two to join a deliberation.
The fact of the Human’s movements has spread to the Hives. It presents an
opportunity. So I, the Grand Queen of the Hives, call all six Hives together.
To decide. To convene. To listen. Join us.”

The voice was deep. Muffled. But unmistakable. Klbkch slowly turned and
saw something moving. The body lying against the wall slowly sat up. The
vacant drone that had been nothing more than chitin and flesh rose, and sat
upright. Its feelers slowly rose and it spoke ponderously, deliberately. Every
word was assessed, every word checked for accuracy and fact. The Grand
Queen of the Antinium spoke through the drone. She turned her head left
and right, speaking once more as Klbkch and the Free Queen stared at her.

“Long has the Free Hive of the Antinium pursued its goals independent of
the other Hives. As was agreed. But the hubris of Humans means that it is
well-placed to enact a gain for the Hives as a whole. Free Queen,
Klbkchhezeim. Are you there?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Klbkch replied instantly. He knelt and the Free Queen hesitated. She gazed
down at the vessel and then slowly bowed her head as well.

“I am here, my Queen. The Free Queen of the Antinium will join the
deliberation.”
“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen folded her feelers together. Then she hesitated. Slowly,
she looked around once more. But she didn’t see a thing. Klbkch and the
Free Queen stared hard at the Grand Queen. She sat with all the authority of
six Hives, the last of the Antinium. And also the box on her head. The
Grand Queen tilted her head back and forth, clearly puzzled. At last she
spoke.

“…Is there something wrong with this receptacle’s visual functions?”

Neither Klbkch nor the Free Queen dared respond. The Grand Queen’s
puppet swiveled its head a few more times and then gave up.

“No matter. The six Hives shall discuss the issue of the impending attack on
Liscor. It appears the Drakes may well give up the city.”

“They will?”

Klbkch was surprised. He looked at his Queen as the Grand Queen nodded.
Her voice was satisfied.

“They regard the cost of defending too high. They plan to retake the city on
their own terms. However, that is not in the interest of the Hives. If the
Drakes will abandon Liscor to the Goblins and Humans, then it may be
possible for the Antinium to take the city and hold it. If the Free Queen is
able, the Antinium will control Liscor after the Humans attack. Or abandon
it.”

The Grand Queen’s voice echoed, making Klbkch’s heart skip and jump. He
stared up at his Queen, and then at the puppet who spoke for the Antinium.
The Grand Queen’s words brought the prelude to war into the Hive. War
and destruction once more. Betrayal. She spoke and Liscor trembled on the
brink. And yet—Klbkch hesitated.

She still had the box on her head and she hadn’t noticed. He wondered how
he was going to be able to get it off without her noticing. That, and the fall
of Liscor concerned him greatly.
Very greatly.
 5.54

Erin stared at Numbtongue. The Hob wore a pair of steel cuffs that had just
been placed on his wrists by a Gnoll [Guardsman]. The Hob looked at her,
and then at the ground. He was wet, sweaty, and looked…beaten. So did the
other Hobs. What had happened? Green blood still dripped from
Headscratcher’s hands where he had held the bandages against Bird’s side.

They were under arrest. Olesm had ordered it. Erin turned to the
[Strategist].

“You can’t do it. It’s wrong.”

“I can and I have to, Erin. Liscor is in danger. Senior Guardsman Klbkch!”

The Antinium had sheathed his swords. He was standing at the entrance to
the Hive with the Soldiers. He turned.

“I am in my position as Revalantor of the Free Antinium, Strategist Olesm.

My Queen rages. She demands the death of whomever injured Bird. As we
speak she struggles to save his life.”

Olesm nodded.

“I understand. I will send the Watch to patrol the waters in full force. But
there is a situation. The Goblin Lord is coming here. Liscor will soon be
under siege. By both the Goblin Lord and Humans.”

“Wait, what?”

Erin exclaimed, but neither Olesm nor Klbkch looked at her. The Antinium
Revalantor went still for a second.
“Explain.”

“I don’t have the time. Watch Captain Zevara has the details. I have to
contact Pallass. Now.”

“I see.”

Klbkch didn’t waste time asking further questions. He turned and the
Soldiers retreated into the Hive. Then Klbkch strode down the street.
Leaving Erin, the Hobgoblins, and Olesm behind.

“Olesm, what’s this about the Goblin Lord? I thought he was defeated! On
the run!”

Erin stared at Olesm. The [Strategist] passed a claw over his eyes.

“I don’t—I don’t have the time to tell you, Erin! I need your door, now.
Guardsmen! Arrest the Hobs and put them in separate cells!”

He turned. Erin ran around Olesm and blocked his way.

“No! Olesm, the Redfangs did nothing wrong! They came here because of
Bird!”

“I know!”

Olesm shouted at Erin. She stepped backwards. The Drake glared at her.

“I know! But the Goblin Lord’s army is about to sweep down on Liscor, a
mysterious Hob just destroyed part of your inn and nearly killed Bird, and
there are hundreds of Cave Goblins living in the dungeon! I do not want
those five causing an incident! And if I send out the Watch with orders to
find and kill a Hob, they will find and kill Hobs. This is for their good, Erin!
Don’t argue; just let me do my job!”

He tried to push Erin aside. But she folded her arms.

“No.”
This time Olesm nearly hissed at her. But Erin wasn’t looking at him. She
was looking at the Hobs. Her friends. Employees and…they’d done nothing
wrong. Nothing. She knew that. Olesm knew that. But still Numbtongue
was in cuffs. Erin closed her eyes. Then she looked at her friend, the Drake
with light blue scales. Olesm. And she clenched her fist slowly and spoke.

“You’re right, Olesm. But you’re wrong. You can’t arrest them. I won’t let
you.”

Olesm sighed. His shoulders drooped and his tail curled up at the tip. He
shook his head.

“You don’t have a choice, Erin. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Erin saw Olesm’s head raise. He blinked as she punched him. The
[Strategist] staggered back and cried out in pain but he didn’t drop. So Erin
kicked him in the stomach. She whirled and the Gnoll [Guardsman] raised
his paws.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

He tried to block her, but Erin’s fist punched right through the Gnoll’s guard
and knocked him flat. The other [Guards] stared at Erin. So did the
Redfangs. Erin turned and shouted at them.

“Run for it, guys!”

The five Hobs hesitated, but then they took off. Headscratcher, Badarrow,
Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, and the manacled Numbtongue each sprinted off in a
different direction. The Watch tried to chase them, but Erin jumped
forwards. She hit a female Drake with another [Minotaur Punch] and knew
she had only two left. She turned, keeping her hands up as the Watch
jumped back.

“Come on, I’ll take you on! Fight me! Hiyah!”

Erin tried to menace them, but the Drakes and Gnolls rushed after the Hobs
instead. Erin threw a fake jab at a Drake close to her, making him duck
back.

Behind you! A bell rang in Erin’s head. She turned—

And Relc was standing in front of her. The Drake waved at Erin. The
[Innkeeper] hesitated, but then she aimed for his chest.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Drake [Spearmaster] raised one claw. He caught her hand. His arms
strained a bit with the recoil, but Relc himself barely moved. He let go as
Erin blinked up at him. The two stared at each other. Then Erin threw
another punch, this time at his stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Relc blocked her fist again. This time he shook his claw.

“Ow. That hurts.”

Before Erin could react he reached out and tapped her on the forehead with
his knuckles. She frowned and tried to swing at him again—

And then found herself lying on the ground. She stared up blankly at the
clear sky. Then someone’s face appeared in her field of vision. It was Relc.
Erin stared up at him dizzily. The Drake scratched the back of his head.

“Hey Erin.”

“Hey Relc.”

“You’re under arrest.”

Erin blinked stupidly up at Relc.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

She lay on the ground for a few minutes. By the time the world stopped
spinning Olesm had gotten to his feet and the Hobs were returning.

In chains. The Watch had caught them. Erin watched in despair as the Hobs
returned. First Badarrow, caught by Relc. Then Headscratcher with a
bloody nose. Shorthilt. Rabbiteater with several bleeding scratches on his
leg. But not Numbtongue.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark. Did they give you trouble?”

Olesm winced as he clutched his stomach. Erin felt bad; she’d kicked him
as hard as she could. The Gnoll who’d caught Rabbiteater shook her head.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the
fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

“What? How?”

Erin looked up. Beilmark looked embarrassed.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack.
In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the
battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the
inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and Erin. I can’t have them running around. And
Erin causes trouble. This is an emergency and I can’t—I don’t want to lose
my breakfast. So take her to a cell.”

He looked back at Erin.

“I’m sorry.”

Olesm didn’t wait for a response. He turned and hurried off. Erin stared
down at her hands. Relc walked over with a pair of metal cuffs. He
shrugged.

“You know, he does have a point.”

Erin stared at Olesm.

“Yeah. That’s fair too.”

Then she looked at the four Hobs sitting around her. They looked at her,
tired, confused. And frightened, though they tried to hide it. Erin smiled
weakly at them.

“I’m sorry.”

And she saw the guilt in their eyes as Relc closed the manacles over her
hands. Then Erin and the Redfang Warriors went to jail.

—-

Klbkch did not waste time. When Olesm told him Liscor was in danger he
made his way to the barracks, listened to a brief summary of events from
Zevara and then spoke four brief words.

“The Antinium will fight.”

There was nothing else to be said. Not to Zevara who was trying to do a
thousand things at once. Klbkch strode back through the streets of Liscor to
his Hive and descended into it. Twice as many Soldiers were on guard near
the entrance. They might not have known what was going on, but they
could sense the tension in Klbkch. The Revalantor walked further into the
Hive.

He felt as though the air was tingling around him. Klbkch’s antennae slowly
moved back and forth. He didn’t grasp at the handles of his swords, but he
was aware they were there as he walked.

War. It had returned to Liscor. Klbkch had not predicted this. The news had
caught him off guard. But now he knew, he felt as through the entire Hive
was humming. Klbkch recalled a distant scene and paused. He remembered
a song, echoing, and for a second he nearly drew his swords.

Goblins and Humans. They were coming in numbers to drown Liscor. And
the city was not ready. The Hive was not ready. But they would fight and
fill the Floodplains with death if they had to.

“Prepare the Hives. Call the Black Tide. The Antinium march.”

Klbkch whispered. Then he forced his hands away from his swords. Not
yet. Klbkch kept moving, but now the air was electric. Workers straightened
and Soldiers turned as he passed. They could feel it. The Soldiers closed
their hands into fists and stood straighter, and the Workers stared at
Klbkch’s back. They could feel it too. But only those around Klbkch. Those
who passed out of his range were cut off. Confused.

The Hive was in disarray. Workers and Soldiers milled about, only half
going about their assigned tasks. The rest were—confused. As if their
mental link with their Queen had been interrupted. As if she were dead.
When Klbkch passed by them, they stared at the Revalantor and then
moved smoothly back to work. But as soon as he passed from view they
grew confused again. Because their Queen was occupied.

Klbkch could feel her presence as he swiftly made his way towards her
chambers. The Grand Queen’s presence filled his mind. He could ‘hear’ her,
sense her emotions and will. She was in turmoil. Then Klbkch did hear her
voice, echoing from her inner chambers.

“Klbkchhezeim!”

He entered her chambers. The Soldiers standing guard were agitated,

standing far away from the entrance to the room. Twitching, half-looking
inside before watching the corridor leading to her rooms. Klbkch didn’t
have to guess why. The scent of Antinium blood—hemolymph—was thick
in the air. And inside the Free Queen’s chambers was a mix of confusion.

Strange Antinium milled about in the center of the room, surrounding a

fallen Worker. The Free Queen of the Antinium herself bent over Bird,
issuing orders as her feelers moved rapidly, scooping up gels and tending to
strange, bulbous sacs filled with green blood and organs. Klbkch stopped,
his mandibles opening with shock as he beheld the scene.

No wonder the Soldiers were agitated. Although they had guarded the
Queen all their lives, they had probably never seen the Drones, the
Antinium with bodies that resembled their Queen, before. They had no arms
or hands, but six feelers with palps and hunched, insectile bodies even more
ant-like than…well, the other Antinium.

The Drones had smaller mandibles than even Workers and they were
physically tiny compared to their brethren. They were not designed for war.
In fact, the nine or so Drones weren’t even properly formed.

They’d been crudely copied from memory, but the Free Queen had yet to
complete their design. As a result, the Drones moved unsteadily, sometimes
jerking as muscle fibers fired improperly. They were unbalanced compared
to the relatively flawless design of Workers and Soldiers, but they were
more precise than the other two types of Antinium at delicate tasks. As such
they were essential here.

Because of Bird. The Worker lay on the ground. Bleeding. The Drones
clustered around him, applying the Antinium’s unique gelatins and
secretions to him. Another tended to a strange tube inserted into Bird’s
chest. As Klbkch watched, he poured a bowl of blood into the tube, and
then trundled over to the semi-translucent sac filled with blood and floating
organs. The sac twitched as the Drone collected more blood from it.

It was alive. The blood sac wasn’t Antinium, though. Klbkch doubted it was
even conscious. It was designed for one purpose: to provide raw materials
for his Queen to harvest. He stared at it for one second, then looked at his
Queen.

“My Queen.”

“More gel! Stop the bleeding! More blood.”

The Free Queen’s voice echoed as she bent over Bird. Her massive form
was hunched, bending possessively over Bird, forcing the Drones to scurry
around her. The Free Queen’s head turned to Klbkch as he approached.

“He is dying.”

“Can you not save him?”

The Queen’s mandibles clicked together harshly.

“I am trying. But his body is torn. Whatever struck him created a

shockwave. His organs are in failure. I am trying, Klbkch. But his internals
are—who did this? Who?”

Klbkch bowed his head. He looked down. Bird was moving slowly,
mandibles opening and closing. He was awake. The Antinium didn’t have
anesthesia or painkillers. Klbkch spoke dispassionately.

“A Hobgoblin, my Queen.”

“Find it. Kill it. Send the Soldiers! All of them!”

“That would not be wise, my Queen. The waters are still risen. And there is
another issue—”

A feeler shot out. The Grand Queen grabbed Klbkch and drew her head
close to his.
“Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim.”

He held still. Klbkch opened his mandibles slowly and spoke cautiously. He
had never seen his Queen like this. Why did she care about Bird so much?
She would not have grown half as agitated to lose a thousand Workers. But
Bird?

“My Queen. Liscor is in danger. I have just been informed that the Humans
are driving the Goblin Lord to Liscor. Not to eradicate it as we had
assumed, but to lead an assault on Liscor.”

The Free Queen froze for a second.

“Impossible. That would be an act of war. Besides, the Humans cannot

breach Liscor’s walls.”

“That is what we believed. But the Strategist of Liscor believes they have
obtained trebuchets.”

“Trebuchets? How?”

“I am unclear. But it is certain that the Humans intend to create a breach in

Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins to sack the city before occupying it
themselves. My Queen, Liscor will be under siege in four days’ time.”

The Queen released Klbkch. She sat back for a second, her antennae
waving frantically. Klbkch stared up at her as the Drones worked
frantically. And then he heard a sound.

“Ow. Ow.”

Both the Free Queen and Klbkch looked down. Bird was lying down, still
oozing blood. His mandibles opened and closed.

“It hurts. I am dying. Ow.”

“Bird.”
The Queen bent over him, the danger to Liscor and the Hive forgotten in an
instant. Klbkch moved closer and a Drone hurried out of the way. Bird’s
head turned.

“It hurts. Revalantor Klbkch? Is that you?”

“Yes, Bird.”

Klbkch looked down at Bird. Dispassionately. He had seen countless

Antinium die before. Bird was one face of millions. Klbkch’s hands
tightened on his sword’s hilts. Just another Worker. But Bird was an
Individual. And he looked so broken lying there. His left side was missing.

What kind of a Goblin could have done this? By throwing a sword? Klbkch
had fought Goblin Chieftains in the Second Antinium War. He had dueled
Goblin Lords. But even the strongest Hobs he’d met there didn’t seem
capable of doing that. Only a few had been that strong. And they had been
—

Klbkch realized Bird was moving slowly. His right side was twitching.
Bird’s mandibles were opening and closing and he was quivering. With
pain? Klbkch searched for something to say.

“Stay alive, Bird. This is an order.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch. I will try.”

“Klbkch. Move back. Bird, do not move. You are torn.”

The Queen’s voice was quiet. Her feelers pressed against Bird’s side,
applying a viscous gel. But the regenerative gel the Antinium used was
insufficient to this injury, as were healing potions. Bird was torn open. And
no matter how desperately the Drones labored, they couldn’t stop the worst
of his bleeding.

In a Human it would be different. In a Drake or Gnoll, too. But Bird had no

arteries, no closed circulatory system. It was impossible to close a vein or
stem the bleeding. All the Queen could do was restore his blood. But so
long as Bird bled—

“Can you save him?”

Klbkch looked up at his Queen. She did not answer. Her feelers were wet
with Bird’s blood. The Free Queen kept moving, directing her Drones, but
Klbkch sensed the answer in her emotions.

She was frantic. She had not been taught to heal like the other Queens
designed solely for that purpose. When she had crossed the ocean and left
Rhir, she had been young. She was neither a Weaver Queen nor a Battle
Queen who could save Antinium wounded on the battlefield. All she knew
of the Antinium was a result of rediscovering it from memory, out of
desperation.

“Do not die, Bird. Hold on. The bleeding will slow.”

“It hurts. It hurts.”

Bird stared at the tube in his chest as a Drone poured more blood into him.
He clicked his mandibles and tried to turn his head.

“I fell. There was a Goblin with a beard. He had a sword. Where is Erin?
She was very upset. I broke her tower. Where is my bow? I must have my
bow. It is mine.”

“Be still.”

The Queen gently pressed down on Bird’s chest. He looked up at her, at

Klbkch.

“I am dying.”

“Yes.”

Klbkch knelt by Bird’s side. He pressed a hand to Bird’s torn flesh and felt
the gel and blood mixing at his touch. He looked up at the Free Queen.
“My Queen—”

“No. He can be saved. He must.”

The Free Queen shook her head. Klbkch stared down at Bird. Then he
looked around.

Drones, hurrying about. The quivering sacs of flesh, the product of secret
experiments. Staring Soldiers. Bird. The Queen searching through her
reagents and catalysts for something. Panicked. Not thinking. Hive in
chaos. Belgrade and Anand in the western area, restoring order. Pawn’s
presence, stabilizing Antinium around him.

Bird dying. Garry standing by the door to his kitchen, staring at them. The
Queen calling for more blood. Klbkch’s swords were by his side. Bird
looking up. Asking for his bow.

Movement in a corner. A shape. A vessel, a body shaped in the image of a

Queen. Holding a mirror. Jerking. Standing. Moving forwards. Speaking. A
face reflected in the magical depths of the mirror. A voice.

“Klbkchhezeim. What passes here?”

Klbkch looked up. Then he turned and knelt.

“My Queen.”

The Antinium around him—stopped. The Free Queen, the Drones, the
Soldiers. Bird. The small version of the Queen looked around. And then she
raised her mirror. And reflected in the depths was a large form. A Queen of
the Antinium stared out from the mirror’s surface. She sat in a grand
chamber, surrounded by Antinium. An azure Antinium with a staff stood by
her side, and Prognugators armed with silvery blades, replicas of Klbkch’s
weapons, surrounded her. The Grand Queen of the Antinium spoke.

“Why does this Worker’s fate concern the Free Queen of the Antinium?
Why are Drones present in Liscor’s Hive? Answer me, Klbkchhezeim of
the Centenium.”
Klbkch felt the Free Queen’s shock ripple through his connection to her, but
he didn’t move. The Grand Queen was here. The vessel she had sent looked
around the chambers, inspecting everything. Seeing through her connection
with it and the magic mirror it held.

“Grand Queen. An Individual of the Hive has been injured by an unknown

assailant. He is—a valuable asset to the Hive.”

“I am?”

“A single Worker? Ah. One of your unique Antinium reported to the Hives.
Very well. And the Drones? We forbade this Hive to experiment with new
forms or create Antinium besides new Workers and Soldiers. Why?”

“A…necessity, Grand Queen. My Queen deemed them essential for the

purposes of enacting the Rite of Anastases when I fell.”

That was a lie. The Drones had been present for nearly six years, hidden in
the Free Queen’s laboratory, defying the Grand Queen’s orders. But the
Grand Queen did not know that. She paused and her feelers rubbed
together.

“We see. Very well. Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen, you are called to speak
with the other five Hives. Abandon this…Worker so that we may speak.”

“No.”

The Free Queen spoke softly. The Grand Queen’s vessel turned and looked
up at her.

“This was not a request.”

Klbkch spoke quickly to prevent his Queen from speaking again. It had
been years since the Grand Queen and his Queen had communicated. And
yet the two had never forgotten their past. A decade had passed since his
Queen had settled in Liscor, but the Antinium never forgot.

“My Queen. This Worker is of great importance to the Hives. If necessary, I

would require that the Hives wait. The importance of this Worker cannot be
understated.”

“Really?”

The Grand Queen froze, her mandibles opening in shock. So did the Free
Queen. Beside her, in the mirror, the blue form of Xrn smiled, raising her
mandibles with delight. The Grand Queen regarded Klbkch for a second. If
the Free Queen had said the same, she would not have listened. But Klbkch
was a Centenium. The last of the ancients. So the Grand Queen slowly
nodded.

“Very well. If Klbkchhezeim speaks of this Worker’s value—what say you,

Queens of the Antinium?”

For a second Klbkch thought she was speaking to the Free Queen. But then
the mirror flickered. The image of the Grand Queen sitting in her Hive
vanished. Another Queen filled it. A smaller Queen, shadowed in a quiet
place, surrounded by shadows. Antinium blending with the darkness. The
only light came from phosphorous moss growing around the room, dimly
giving light. The Queen spoke in the shadows, her words soft.

“If Klbkchhezeim speaks, the Silent Antinium listen.”

Her image flickered. The mirror brightened. Another Queen sat in the light.
She was huge, the largest of the Queens, her body bloated. A ring of steel
stood around her, Antinium covered in metal armor. Tersk stood by his
Queen’s side as she waved a Feeler.

“The Armored Antinium assent. What strengthens the Hives is worthy of

being saved. Preserve the Worker.”

Another flicker. She vanished and a third Queen appeared. Her room was
filled with motion; Antinium with wings flew or ran. This Queen sat in the
center of her Hive, as corridors and tunnels filled her cavern and her
Workers and Soldiers moved in a constant stream. She twitched as Pivr, her
winged Revalantor, brought her a bowl of meat to eat from. Her voice was
quick, impatient.
“If it must be, it must be. Save the Worker but hurry. The Hive must discuss
and the moment is now. Twisted Queen?”

The last Queen appeared in the mirror. And she was unlike the others. A
ruined face and one eye stared at Klbkch and the Free Queen. Repaired
mandibles opened. A voice spoke. The glowing sacs and bodies floating in
liquid in the chamber around the Queen moved uneasily, unaccustomed to
sound or light.

“Agreed.”

One word, and her image flickered and changed back to the Grand Queen.
The large Queen was clearly displeased, but the others had spoken. She
waved a feeler.

“Then it is decided. Save the Worker. Queen of the Silent Antinium, I call
upon you.”

The body holding the mirror jerked. And then it’s mannerisms changed. The
mirror shifted as it crept closer, suddenly less decisive, more reserved. The
Drones moved back as one as the puppet moved forwards. The Silent
Queen stared out of her mirror down at Bird. He looked up at her and
whispered.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

She ignored him. The Silent Queen made the small replica lower the mirror
so she could inspect the wound. She spoke, choosing each word with care.

“His system is severed. The liquid leaks. It must be redirected.”

“I know. But the damage is too great to contain. Each seal I form cannot
contain the blood. If I had false flesh or chitin—”

The Free Queen’s voice was frustrated, and she felt helpless in Klbkch’s
mind. The Silent Queen regarded Bird and then looked around the room.

“Not necessary. Apply a gel of congealed blood-fluid here and here.

Increase the ambient temperature by three degrees. This Worker’s body
temperature is dropping too quickly.”

The Free Queen immediately sent Drones to obey. The Silent Queen
abandoned Bird and moved towards the blood sacs.

“These are containers preserved for blood? Parts?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen spoke. The mirror flickered.

“You were not allowed to create other Antinium! This is unacceptable! A

violation of orders! This—”

The image flickered back to the shadowed Queen. She inspected the living
sacs of organs and then pointed with one feeler.

“There. That is necessary. Splice that organ with the Worker’s injuries.”

The Free Queen’s antennae waved with surprise.

“Would that work?”

The little vessel and the Silent Queen in the mirror nodded as one.

“The Worker design was created uniformly. With flesh and chitin, a seal
may be created.”

She looked up at the Free Queen. For a moment the Queen of the Free
Antinium hesitated, then she moved. She reached out and gripped the sac.
She tore the membrane. Antinium blood splattered. Something died. The
Drones swarmed over the sac, cutting with knives. The Silent Queen crept
back to Bird and oversaw the treatment.

Klbkch watched impassively. This was not like the weaving of old, where a
Queen could replace a limb or body part in minutes. This was crude. But it
worked. The organs replaced the damaged ones in Bird’s body as the
Worker quivered. The membrane and more regenerative gel was packed
into place, creating an oozing mass. And then raw chitin was delicately
placed just so, to cover the rest. It was sealed in place with a different type
of gel meant for sealing wounds.

The bleeding stopped. Bird lay on the ground, surrounded by blood as the
transfusion tube was removed from his chest. He stared up at the Free
Queen and Klbkch as the Silent Queen sat back, her job done. The Drones
moved back, disposing of the rest of the organs and beginning to pack away
the tools and different mixtures they had brought here. Bird opened his
mandibles and spoke.

“That hurt.”

Klbkch stared down at Bird. The Worker stared up at him.

“Am I going to live, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes.”

Bird nodded slowly.

“That is good. I am Bird. Ow. Ow. I am much in pain. Ow. But I am brave.
La, la, I am a brave little Bird…ow.”

He fell silent. Klbkch saw his mandibles open a bit, and wondered if Bird
had passed out…or gone to sleep. The Silent Queen’s image flickered and
another intelligence took control of the body. The Twisted Queen, her
broken body a reflection of Bird’s own, stared down at him. Her feelers
moved slowly towards him and both Klbkch and the Free Queen grew
concerned. But the Twisted Queen did not touch Bird. Instead, she looked at
Klbkch.

“Why. Does it speak? Why is it. Named?”

“It is Individual. You were informed of my success. And you have known of
my designs for the Antinium.”

The Free Queen spoke coldly. The Twisted Queen looked at her and did not
reply. The body jerked. The Grand Queen spoke briskly.
“The success of the Free Antinium is documented. Now the Worker has
been preserved, we are called to more important issues.”

She made the body move back. Klbkch pointed, and the Drones carefully
lifted Bird out of the way. They moved back as the vessel, the Free Queen,
and Klbkch stood in the center of the room. The Grand Queen’s voice
echoed out of the mirror.

“We are called to action, Free Queen. So we gather. The five Queens of the
Hives are present. We deliberate. We call on you to join us.”

The Free Queen hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lowered her head.

“I am a servant of the Antinium, as are we all. What do the Hives call the
Free Antinium for?”

The vessel raised the mirror it held. The view of the Grand Queen splintered
into five parts. The five Queens sat and spoke. Each in their Hive. Each
watching, regarding the others. In unison and apart.

“For war.”

The Armored Queen and her legions standing to attention.

“For planning.”

The shadows moved as the Silent Queen raised her head.

“For excellence bar none.”

The Flying Antinium and their Queen buzzed, their wings beating restlessly.

“For. Change.”

The Twisted Queen sat as things grew and died around her.

“For victory.”
The Grand Queen spoke simply. And her Prognugator, Xrn of the Antinium,
raised her staff and called a map of Izril into the air. Klbkch knelt and his
Queen leaned forwards. And the humming was back in the air. War. The
Free Antinium looked up across their Hive and felt it.

And a little Worker, in pain, lying in a corner of the room turned his head a
tiny bit. Just a bit because everything hurt. He stared at the mirror, the
kneeling Revalantor, and the six Queens gathered for the first time in a
decade. His antennae waved a bout and he looked at the Drones standing
silently around him.

“Excuse me. Who are they?”

—-

While the Queens of the Antinium spoke, another conversation took place
further north. Two others were magically linked, but not by an artifact. One
spoke and then the other did, using the same mouth. They saw through the
same eyes. But they were not the same. One’s voice was Human, male, old
but not decrepit. The other was young, a Goblin’s voice. And the body
walked through the camp, staring at the Goblins, the distant Human forces
who had paused for the death of Tremborag of the Mountain.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord spoke to his master, Az’kerash. Behind him lay a
Drake’s body. Oteslia Blackwing. A group of Goblins scurried forwards and
bore her away. The rest were silent. Snapjaw, Eater of Spears, and the
Goblin Lord’s tribe stood back, watching their leader with unease. They
knew. But for the moment, no one else did.

Rags was busy trying to organize the remainder of Tremborag’s tribe. Garen
Redfang snarled and tended to the few thousand who had decided to join
him. Reiss and Az’kerash watched it all and spoke. The first thing
Az’kerash said was simple.
“Have you leveled since we last spoke, my apprentice?”

Reiss stirred. He blinked, but then realized he shouldn’t have been

surprised. He shook his head slightly.

“No, master.”

“A pity. But you have mastered the art of raising Draugr now?”

“Yes, master. I have.”

“Good.”

A smile passed Reiss’ lips. It was not his own. Az’kerash tapped a finger to
his lips and Reiss did the same.

“In that case, study from the Tome of Greir Rot next. The section on undead
enhancement, I think. Empowering your Draug and lesser undead will
allow them to win battles until you are capable of reaching the next stage of
undead animation.”

“Yes, master.”

“When you have learned those spells, inform me. The next step for a
[Necromancer] at your level would be to amass an army of expendable
corpses supplemented by an elite core of Draug and high-ranking undead.
Or focus on a select group of customized creations. Either way, the
challenge you will face lies not in outnumbering your enemy, but dealing
with warriors and mages who can slay even Draug with ease and survive
most mundane attacks. But as a Goblin Lord, your focus will be different. It
is a curious change, but one that will make you stronger if you survive.”

“Yes, master. What is the solution for dealing with warriors and mages?”

Az’kerash frowned with Reiss’ face.

“Simple to speak of, difficult to achieve. Ideally, you would learn new
spells to supplement your abilities. Or create minions with supreme
offensive abilities. Naturally, either option is difficult to properly work
towards. [Necromancers] struggle to excel against small groups of high-
level foes. It is the weakness of our class which I have long sought to
address. As you know.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss spoke carefully. He was waiting. When he and his master spoke like
this, they could have been any master and apprentice. Az’kerash’s tone was
interested, almost affectionate. When Az’kerash spoke of his passion, of
Necromancy, he sounded like a teacher. But still Reiss waited. And he did
not have to wait long.

“So much for your progress. Now we speak of what has passed since I last
contacted you.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss tensed, though he knew the Necromancer could feel it through their
bond. He couldn’t help it. Az’kerash paused. When he spoke this time, his
voice was cold and dispassionate.

“I am disappointed in you, my apprentice.”

“Yes, master.”

“I gave you an order and trusted you to lead your army after Zel
Shivertail’s defeat. I ordered you to preserve his body. You failed to do so. I
expected you to defeat this Goblin Chieftain of the Mountains and cause
havoc in Human lands. You failed in that mission as well. I find you fleeing
from the Humans instead, your undead army destroyed, with two other
Goblin Chieftains defying your will. This is unacceptable.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss waited. Az’kerash looked about, focusing on the milling Goblins, on

Rags, and then on the distant Humans.

“Tyrion Veltras has gathered a powerful army to him. I see the banners of
multiple [Lords] and [Ladies] of note. And he has enough [Mages] to
humble you a dozen times over, my apprentice.”

“Yes, master. What should we do? What is he doing?”

And where have you been? Reiss didn’t ask that last part out loud. To the
south, he knew, his master was sitting in his castle, surrounded by nothing
but death. Az’kerash, Peril Chandler, the Necromancer of Izril, regarded the
Humans and Goblins for one long minute. Then he smiled and spoke.

“The Humans are using you as a weapon against the Drakes, my apprentice.
They think they can use you to start a war. I suggest…you let them.”

Reiss’ heart began to beat faster. He stared at the Humans. He bit his lower
lip, and hesitated. Then he gritted his teeth.

“Why?”

—-

The Queens debated. The Necromancer spoke with the Goblin Lord. Erin
went to jail. The young woman chattered nervously as she was led down the
stairs to Liscor’s prison. It wasn’t that she was afraid of being beaten and
locked away forever; she’d been treated quite civilly, in fact, especially
since she’d just punched Liscor’s Chief Strategist and several members of
the City Watch.

No one had hit her with sticks. Nor was she dragged along in chains while
her captors hurled insults at her. Instead, she was escorted quite politely,
although there was a heavy escort, and all the [Guards] kept out of arm’s
reach.

Relc hadn’t been allowed to take Erin to prison. He and Olesm and the
other high-level officers of the City Watch had gone straight to Erin’s inn.
To take her door and deal with whatever was happening. Liscor being under
attack. Erin had no idea what it was all about and the [Guardspeople]
around her didn’t tell her anything. She walked down the steps to the
prison, the Hobs following in a line.

“So this is a prison? It’s cleaner than I thought it would be. I’ve never been
to prison, you know. I’ve never even been in trouble with the law. Except
for that one time I got in trouble for throwing snowballs at cars. I didn’t
know it was dangerous! I never did it again. I was a good kid. I think.”

The Drake guiding her grunted. Erin kept chattering, the pit in her stomach
sinking further the lower she went.

“Am I going to be on a watch list? Or will this be on my permanent record?

Do you have records? Wait—am I already on your watch list? Hey, do I
have a file and if I do, can I see it?”

One of the Gnolls behind Erin groaned under her breath. Erin had been
talking nonstop for the last ten minutes they’d been walking. And even the
City Watch’s stoic silence could only take so much. The Drake in front of
her grunted.

“You don’t have a file, Human. Do you think we’re made of parchment? We
just remember your face.”

“Oh, really? So if you saw me next time…”

“We might break your arm by ‘accident’. Or kick you in the face if you
keep causing trouble. Or if you don’t shut up.”

Erin clamped her lips together. She walked down the last of the stairs in
silence, much to everyone’s relief. The Drake stopped by a door, opened it
with a key, and pointed inside. Erin stepped apprehensively into the prison
and looked around.

It was actually pretty nice, as prisons went. Okay, sure, it was clearly a
prison and there were cells, but they were big ones, some clearly meant to
lock up groups while others were smaller. At the far end, a few cells looked
enchanted; the metal bars were semi-translucent or seemed to glow,
suggesting that they were reinforced or magicked in some way. And the
furthest cell didn’t even have bars; the opening was encircled by a double-
layer of tightly-written runes which glowed pale yellow in the dim light.

But the thing that surprised Erin most was…that there weren’t many cells to
begin with. Liscor didn’t believe in having large prison populations.
Troublemakers were fined, ejected from the city…or killed. The patrol of
guards led Erin down the short jail, and she saw several people behind bars.
Drakes, and a few Humans, all who looked like they’d been in some sort of
fight. A pair of Gnolls, one of whom had been very unhappily sick, a
Garuda…

“Bevussa?”

Erin stopped, much to the annoyance of her captors. Bevussa waved at Erin
and smiled weakly from behind the enchanted bars of her cell.

“Hey Erin. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What are you doing here?”

The young woman ignored the Drake who was trying to lead her onwards.
Bevussa grinned sheepishly.

“I uh, got into a fight at the Adventurer’s Guild and punched a few people.
You know, over the lottery? I’m in here for the day. Some of the other Gold-
ranks are too. Keldrass is in the other cell. Say hi to him, would you?”

Erin blinked. The Drake growled at her and she remembered to keep
moving.

“Whoops, sorry about that. Hey Keldrass! Bevussa says hi.”

“Tell her to eat her own tail.”

“Shove yours up your ass, Keldrass! I wasn’t even aiming for you!”

It definitely seemed like Erin had missed something. She kept walking and
noticed they were headed to the back of the enchanted cells. She gulped.
The City Watch wasn’t taking this lightly, for all they were treating her and
the Hobs nice. She turned her head. Four Hobs stared at her back. Erin
whispered quickly.

“Okay guys, look. I’m not sure what’s in there, but I do know how to
survive jail. According to TV. The trick is that the instant we get in there,
we have to find the biggest guy—or girl—and beat them up.”

The Hobs brightened up considerably. They could certainly do that! One of

the female Gnolls looked askance. She glanced at her companions.

“Is she serious? She does know we’re putting them in separate cells, yes?
What kind of prisons do Humans have?”

The others shook their heads. Erin blushed. She reached the end of the
hallway and the Drake pointed.

“In there.”

“Oh. Just me? Uh, thanks for not hitting me or anything.”

Erin gingerly approached the cell. It was fairly spacious—fourteen feet by

fourteen feet, quite unlike the image of cells Erin had seen in her world.

“Hands.”

She jumped, but the Drake only wanted to unlock her shackles. Erin blinked
as he took them off and then pointed. She backed slowly into the cell. The
Drake grunted irritably as he closed and locked her cell door with a magic
key. She thought he’d just leave her there, but to her surprise he looked at
her.

“You’re lucky we owe you one, Human. You helped during the Face-Eater
Moth attack, and with Skinner. And the Raskghar. My kid likes those
hamburgers. Don’t make this a habit.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

The Drake grunted and walked past Erin. She heard more cells opening and
saw Headscratcher entering the cell across from her. Doors closed, the City
Watch marched past her. The Drake paused again in front of Erin’s cell.

“Don’t cause trouble. Don’t shout. You can talk if you want. Odds are
Olesm lets you out in a few hours or tomorrow for hitting him. There will
be a fine. If you’re here long you get fed.”

“Got it.”

He nodded. Erin was left alone. She stared at the faintly glowing bars of her
cell and gingerly touched them. They felt warm, but they didn’t shock her
or explode. She gripped them with both hands and stared out. Two Hobs,
Headscratcher, and Badarrow, were in her line of sight. Rabbiteater and
Shorthilt were presumably locked up on her side of the dungeon.

“So…about my theory of beating up the biggest guy here. Uh, anyone see
him?”

The Hobs dutifully looked around. The cells they were in were largely
uninhabited, even by Gold-rank adventurers. Erin spotted empty cells
around them, and then she looked at the furthest cell, the one guarded by
runes. She saw someone standing there, immobile as a statue. Her heart
leapt and she recoiled.

“Calruz?”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead from behind the barrier to his cell. There
were no bars in front of him, but the air looked…twisted. The runes shone
constantly. Despite that, the Minotaur’s feet were still shackled. Not his
hands—it was hard to put cuffs on someone with only one arm.

He didn’t move at first. The Minotaur was looking forwards, and he’d been
so still that Erin had missed him in the shadows cast from the glowing
runes. He stood at the left side of his cell. He looked…different. Erin had
seen him after the Watch had arrested him. Then Calruz had been burned,
wounded, barely recognizable. Now, he was still recognizable but for
different reasons.
Some of the hair had begun growing on the places Calruz had been burned.
It was uneven, and the Minotaur’s fur was uncombed, dirty. His face was
grimy and the scars on his arms and legs stood out. He looked nothing like
the proud captain of the Horns of Hammerad that Erin had known.

“Uh…Calruz?”

Erin and the Hobs stared at him. The Minotaur did not respond. The
Redfangs eyed him. He was clearly the biggest person in the dungeon by
far. They eyed his bulging muscles then patted their own arms for
reassurance. Erin stared at Calruz and then looked at the Goblins.

“I don’t think we have to beat him up. It’s more like…an option? Don’t
worry about it.”

The Hobs relaxed a bit. Erin stared at them and realized they hadn’t really
gotten the joke from the start. She scratched her head and noticed that they
were still shackled both hand and foot. She searched for something to say,
but she really didn’t have anything.

She’d punched Olesm. Numbtongue had gotten away. Liscor was in danger
again. Only this time it sounded really bad. The Goblin Lord. Erin hesitated,
then sat down. She looked around her cell and decided it did fall behind
prisons from her world in two ways: there was only a bucket in the corner
for a toilet, and there was no bed. Drakes clearly believed that you should
also suffer while in prison. She wondered if there was a torture chamber in
Liscor too. Probably not.

She sat down on the cold stone floor and shivered. Headscratcher was
gingerly pulling at the bars of his cell and Badarrow had already lain down.
Erin stared at them.

“Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to get you into this.”

The Hobs looked at her. Headscratcher looked incredibly guilty, and shook
his head. He pointed slightly up and to the side, mimed shooting an arrow,
made a snarling expression and then a look of shock and tapped his chest
and pointed at Badarrow who nodded. He shook his head twice and then
tapped his chest again before opening his hand and slapping his palm across
his right arm, grimacing. Erin stared at him.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Headscratcher sagged. Erin wished Numbtongue were here. Well, not here,
but the Hob was the only one of the Goblins who was able to fully speak
English, and her understanding of Goblins’ sign language wasn’t nearly
advanced enough to interpret what that had meant. She looked around her
cell again, but there was nothing to really look at. So she talked.

“I think they’ll let us go soon. Tomorrow, like the Drake said. Me, at least. I
didn’t really expect Olesm to arrest me, you know. I mean, I guess after I
punched him, yeah. But…I think he’s trying to protect all of you in his way.
But it’s wrong. You know?”

Headscratcher shrugged. A Goblin’s reply. Erin half-smiled. Then her face

fell.

“Is Bird going to be alright? Klbkch said the Queen could save him. But
can she? It looked bad. Really bad.”

The Hobs looked at each other silently. Erin could read that. They didn’t
think Bird had a chance. But she refused to believe that. The Queen had
brought Klbkch back to life, after all! She could do the same for Bird.
Klbkch had said she would save him if she wished. That meant she would
do it. She would, right?

Hadn’t she given Bird money for his new bow?

Erin felt sick as she remembered Bird bleeding. She looked up, about to ask
Headscratcher what had happened, even if he didn’t make sense, when she
saw Calruz had moved. The Minotaur had turned. He was staring at her
from his cell. Erin jerked and scrambled back. The Minotaur stared at her
with a vacant expression. But then his eyes sharpened.

He moved forwards and the air rippled as he pressed his hand against the
magical wall of his cell. His lips opened and he made a rasping sound. Erin
stared as the Hobs stood up warily and stared at Calruz. The Minotaur made
the sound again, then coughed. He was trying to speak.

“You. I know you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him, heart racing. Calruz looked at her,
blinking. Erin hesitated. She remembered Calruz. She looked down at her
hands and remembered him roaring at her, teaching her how to punch. How
to fight. Back then—

And now. She looked at Calruz and remembered what Ceria had told her,
what Erill had spoken about. Of Mrsha. She thought of the Raskghar and
the bloody stone where Gnolls had died. Calruz blinked at Erin.

“I know you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Erin turned away from Calruz. She couldn’t look at him right now. Not yet.
She sensed Calruz’s eyes on her, but kept her gaze ahead. She stared at
Headscratcher. The Hob stared at Calruz and then looked at Erin. He stared
at her and then spoke.

“Sorry.”

She blinked. The word was rough, and Headscratcher said it awkwardly, but
he had said it. Badarrow opened his eyes. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt came to
the front of their cells, looking at Erin sidelong. She sat behind the glowing
bars of her cell.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“No. Us. Sorry.”

Headscratcher tapped his chest insistently. Erin stared at him and shook her
head.

“It was another Hob, right?”

That was what Numbtongue had shouted at her in the panicked moments.
Headscratcher nodded.

“Bad Hob. Us fight. Sorry.”

“It’s not—”

Erin bowed her head. She listened to the echoing voices in the prison as
other people in the cells spoke quietly as well. She heard her heart beating
altogether too fast, and heard something else. Drum beats in her head. A
warning she hadn’t noticed.

“I think something bad is happening, guys. I think Liscor really is in danger

this time. Do you…think so?”

She looked up at the Hobs, hoping they’d disagree. But they sat or lay on
the ground or in Headscratcher’s case, just stood. The Hob looked at her
and his red eyes glowed in the dim light. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yes. I think is bad. Very bad.”

Erin nodded as well. Her stomach churned and she looked north, past
Badarrow. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was north. She could hear
something coming.

“Yeah. Me too.”

—-

“War. This is an act of war.”

Niers Astoragon strode across the maps in the war room in the citadel that
was his home and the base of the Forgotten Wing company. His students
looked down at him as they poured over the map. Niers stepped over a hill
and nearly walked straight into the High Passes. He grunted and kicked; the
magical projection wavered and he walked through the mountain range,
emerging in the flooded basin that was Liscor.

Illusory water ran around Niers’ boots as he stared down at the city
protruding from the water. Rainclouds hovered around Niers’ stomach,
pouring water down into the basin. The Titan of Baleros frowned and
stroked at his chin irritably. He was growing a beard after going clean-
shaven for a few months and the stubble irritated him.

“It’s not raining in Liscor anymore. Someone adjust the projection and get
these clouds out of here. Keep the water.”

“Yes, sir.”

One of his students moved and delicately tapped something on the map.
The magical rendering of Liscor changed as Marian, a Centaur and one of
Niers’ advanced students, changed the timescale of the map ahead slightly.
The rainclouds vanished and the water levels began to lower.

“Stop. That will do for now.”

Marian took her hand away. Niers stared down at Liscor, now surrounded
by mud and stagnant water in the valleys. He made a face and walked
through the High Passes again.

“I hate magical maps. Where the hell did we put the paper ones? Venaz,
Yerranola, find me a decent map of Liscor instead of this.”

The Minotaur and Selphid wearing a Dullahan’s body moved back from the
table and began checking the maps stored by location on the far wall. Niers
let them work as he kicked his way back through the mountains again.

Magical maps weren’t actually all that bad. They were a hundred times as
expensive as an enchanted sword given the cost to make them, yes, and they
could only depict what the [Mage] who created them knew—hence the
vague, cloud-shrouded tops of the High Passes and other sections of the
map which were featureless—but a single magical map could replace a
hundred paper ones.
The one Niers was using could depict every known location in the world to
great detail. Obviously the trees and grass and so on were just made up, but
the large geographical features were all there. It was worth a fortune in
gold, so much so that a good number of [Kings] wouldn’t have been able to
afford such a map. Niers stomped across it in his boots, grumbling and
kicking at cities and watching them vanish and reappear as he waited for his
students to get him a proper map.

The trouble with magical maps for Niers was height. The High Passes were
as tall as he was, which meant that he couldn’t see everything. He nodded
as Venaz pulled out a map of Izril.

“That one will do. Lay it here.”

“Professor. Let me.”

A scaly claw descended and Niers looked up. Umina, the Lizardfolk girl
and one of his youngest in the advanced class he taught, offered him a
perch. Niers leapt up two feet into the air and landed on Umina’s claw.
Venaz replaced the maps and Niers hopped down.

“Better. Now, as I was saying. War.”

He grabbed a pin and stuck it into the map, marking a spot just north of the
High Passes’ other entrance. Niers pointed to the pin and spoke crisply to
his assembled students. They straightened up, looking both nervous and
intent. They knew this wasn’t a game. Niers had called them into the war
room for a special lesson, and they were all aware of what was happening.

“The Humans are marching on Liscor. They’re driving the Goblins ahead of
them and they intend to take the city using the Goblins as a pretext.
Normally that would be suicide even with the army they’ve brought. Liscor
is a Drake city, which means they’re fortified and their walls are extremely
hard to crack with magic. But somehow, some way, the Humans are
prepared. Tyrion Veltras has trebuchets. You’ve all read the [Message] that
Liscor just sent out. Now, tell me what’s going on and what’s about to
happen.”
He looked at his students. They hesitated, but they knew better than to wait
for him to single one of them out. Wil, one of the Humans of the group,
cleared his throat and lifted a slip of paper.

“Liscor made the first report, Professor, but the analysis was confirmed by
multiple [Strategists] and [Tacticians] within minutes. It appears that
somehow, the Drakes were all aware of the Human’s plans at the same
time.”

“I suppose they all coordinated beforehand? Or have the Drakes learned

telepathy?”

Niers raised one eyebrow. Wil hesitated.

“No, sir. It’s all too quick to be a coincidence. Either the Drakes knew
ahead of time, or, more likely, someone tipped them off. About the
trebuchets, that is.”

“Good.”

Niers nodded and Wil breathed a sigh of relief. The Fraerling looked at
another of his students, a Dullahan holding his head up for a better view.

“Cameral? What are the Drakes saying?”

The Dullahan shifted his head to address Niers directly.

“They’re panicking. There are countless requests coming in for

confirmation, asking for instructions, or outright denying the reports. The
Walled Cities have begun a closed communication and there’s no way of
knowing what they’re saying, but I have every official announcement
they’ve put out.”

“And?”

“They’re not moving yet. Which is unusual. Liscor’s put out an all-call
warning and request for immediate reinforcements, but Pallass has yet to
respond. Given the speed at which Drakes usually handle messages of this
kind, this is unusual. And the other Walled Cities are equally slow to react.
Salazsar’s pledged aid, as has Oteslia, but the other four Walled Cities are…
they’re not replying.”

“And why is that?”

Niers prodded Cameral further. The Dullahan was good at explaining the
situation, but he was reluctant to give out his personal take on the situation,
which was a trait Niers had noticed in many of his Dullahan students. They
regarded being wrong as a failing and so they said nothing, which was even
worse. Cameral wavered, but then someone snorted to his left. Venaz leaned
forwards.

“It means they’re wavering. They think Liscor will fall, so they’re not
replying.”

Niers sighed. Venaz snorted, clearly pleased to have gotten the jump on
Cameral. He had no problems stating his mind.

“Do you have proof, Venaz, or is this a hunch?”

The Minotaur straightened at the reprimand in Niers’ voice.

“I do, sir. Look at this. This is a message from Manus. It disputes Liscor’s
claim and requests confirmation, despite the confirmation from over a
dozen [Strategists]. They know the attack’s coming, but they want to buy
time. Pretend it isn’t so they don’t have to respond right away.”

“And why is that? Surely they’d want to reinforce Liscor right away,
especially Pallass, who we know has a connection to Liscor via that magic
doorway.”

Venaz snorted.

“You’d think so. But as I said, they think Liscor is going to fall. The
Humans surprised them and the Drakes don’t think they can hold Liscor. So
they’re refusing to act, like cowards. See, here’s another [Message]
requesting confirmation.”
A harried Selphid [Maid] in a Lizardman’s body arrived with a basket full
of [Messages] written on slips of paper. Venaz snatched one from the top
and showed it around. Niers nodded.

There was no doubting the contents of the [Message] or that it came from
Fissival this time. While the top-level Drake communications were secret
and thus harder to obtain, general [Message] spells could be copied and
obtained by anyone in the world if they had enough coin. And Niers was
known for treating his networks of informants well for valuable
information, so each [Message] spell sent was being sent not just to their
intended recipients, but also to Niers and everyone else who was paying for
access at the moment.

As such Niers and his students were reading [Message] spells at the same
time as they arrived on Zevara’s desk in Liscor. Faster, probably, since
Niers was paying the [Mages] a lot more than Liscor. Niers let his students
pore over the [Messages] and report their contents for a second, but nothing
noteworthy had arrived yet. He clapped his hands briskly for attention.

“Very well, that’s Venaz’s analysis. But if that’s so, that begs a question: are
the Walled Cities right? Will Liscor fall? Give me your analysis…Marian.”

He looked at the female Centaur. She pawed the floor with a hoof
nervously, but then tossed her long hair and replied confidently.

“I’d think so, sir. Given the fact that two armies are converging on Liscor,
Goblin and Human? Liscor has barely ten thousand defenders if we factor
in the City Watch plus the average amount of citizens who can fight in a
crisis. Yes, they have Gold-ranks, but adventurers are known for fleeing
cities in times of war. And the armies Tyrion Veltras have brought aren’t
ordinary either.”

“They are not.”

Niers nodded appreciatively. He knew he should let Marian explain, but he

couldn’t help himself. Besides, this wasn’t so much of a test of his student’s
ability to see what was going on, as a lesson in war and politics by
observation. He strode back over to the pin and tapped it with his knuckles.
“Two hundred thousand soldiers. That’s a powerful army, but it would
deceive to just count it by numbers as well. Veltras has brought [Knights],
[Mages], and most importantly, a host of [Lords] and [Ladies] and their
personal retinues. That puts this army head-and-shoulders above an army of
the same size comprised mainly of low-level [Militia]. And the Goblin
Lord’s army is certainly no idle force either. If past Goblin Lords are any
example, he would have Hobs by the thousand and powerful [Shamans] of
his own. This one even has an undead army, although reports indicate it was
mostly eradicated. Still, faced with all that, would any of you consider
defending Liscor?”

His students looked at each other, clearly uneasy at the thought of trying to
defend a city with that alone. Umina raised a claw.

“Well, sir, I don’t know if I would, but I’d point out that Liscor does have
an Antinium Hive. Marian forgot to mention it.”

The Centaur blushed and Umina shot her friend an apologetic glance. Niers
nodded.

“Never underestimate the Black Tide. But we know Liscor’s Hive is small
—smaller than the other five older and more established Hives, at least. Do
they have the numbers to supplement Liscor’s garrison? Can the Antinium
defend as well as they attack?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Drakes should defend Liscor no matter the odds!”

Venaz clenched his fists. He ignored the skeptical looks some of the others
shot him and turned to Niers. The Titan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re confident, Venaz. Explain.”

The Minotaur nodded eagerly. He was practically ablaze with energy;

discussion of real-life tactics and strategy got the Minotaur fired up like
nothing else. Eagerly he paced back and forth, pointing to locations on the
map of Izril as Niers stepped back to give him room.
“Liscor is the lynchpin of the Drake defense. Everyone knows it. It’s held
off Humans advances just by being there. An army marches past and it’s cut
off. Supply trains get raided. Liscor rains and cuts off a warfront entirely.
Assaults by sea and attempts to circumnavigate Liscor fail because the
Drakes can always counterattack from that location as well. It’s vital. And if
it falls, the Humans can take the offensive in every war rather than the
defensive one. The Drakes cannot lose this city. It’s worth throwing every
soldier they have into holding it, rather than letting the Humans claim it.”

Venaz spoke with passion, and Niers saw a few of his students nodding
hesitantly. The [Grandmaster Strategist] just sighed internally and scratched
at his growing beard. He looked for the right student to call on and saw
Umina scratching at the colorful frills on her neck uneasily.

“Umina. You have a thought?”

She jumped and blushed.

“I uh—well, I just think that Venaz might be wrong, sir.”

“How?”

The Minotaur turned and stared expectantly at Umina. She turned pale, but
Marian trotted over and stood by her side. Umina seemed to draw strength
from her friend and took a deep breath. Niers nodded as he saw her eyes
focus. She was one of his best students, better than Venaz or Marian or
anyone else when she was confident.

“Well…first of all, I’d point out that Tyrion Veltras has prepared for this
attack. He’s clearly aimed for this from the beginning. No one saw it—
except for you, sir.”

She grinned at Niers, who waved the compliment away. His students
nodded, impressed. Of course the Titan knew. Niers wanted to smack them
all on the back of the heads. Hero worship. Oh, he had to knock that out of
them or they’d never graduate.
“I didn’t predict the trebuchets, Umina. I thought that Tyrion Veltras was
going to bombard the walls down with magic; create a breach for the
Goblins. It would be harder, but he has the [Mages] to do it. Or bring a
bunch of ladders and enough wood for siege towers in bags of holding and
‘accidentally’ let the Goblins have it.”

“Even so, sir. Tyrion Veltras set this up and so he knew the Drakes would
find out sooner or later. If I were him, I’d expect the Drakes to do exactly
what Venaz is suggesting. And if I were him…I’d want that to happen.”

“Explain.”

Niers covered a smile. Umina walked to the map and touched the icon
marking Liscor.

“They send elites. As many soldiers as they can to fill Liscor. I’d send the
Goblins at them—force them to fight or die. Hold the Goblin Lord hostage
maybe? Is that why Elia Arcsinger is—? Either way, I’d get them to attack
first. Weaken the Drakes. But then I’d move in with my army. If the Drakes
send fifty thousand, a hundred thousand of their own to defend the city, all
the better. I’d smash their entire force and weaken both Liscor, Pallass, and
every Drake city that sent soldiers.”

She traced lines from Pallass to Liscor, from smaller cities, her claws
running across the map. She looked at Niers and her eyes were cold.

“Liscor is a trap, sir. And if I can bag as many high-level soldiers in it as I

can, I win even more. I want them to try and hold Liscor. Because if they’re
in the city, they can’t retreat. Drakes don’t run. I’ll slaughter them and break
their spirits in one blow.”

The room was silent. Umina looked up and met Venaz’s eyes for a second,
then looked away. Niers enjoyed the incredulous look on the Minotaur’s
face. Sometimes he forgot that a ‘female’ like Umina could be as ruthless as
he was.

“Well done. It’s not what I would do necessarily, but that is how Tyrion
Veltras thinks. You have a gift for thinking like your opponents, Umina.
Hone that talent. It will serve you well. Well done indeed.”

It was one of Niers’ highest compliments. Umina turned red with pride and
Marian laid a hand on her shoulder in delight. Niers waited a beat, and then
turned to Venaz. The Minotaur looked uncertain, dismayed. Niers walked
down the map, past Liscor and to the northern-most Walled City. Pallass.
He stared up at the Minotaur.

“Umina’s given an excellent example of the dangers of trying to hold

Liscor. However, Venaz’s points cannot be discounted either. But one
statement was incorrect to begin with. You are wrong, Venaz. The Walled
Cities are hesitating, but they haven’t abandoned Liscor just yet. They’re
doing the same thing we are: weighing the odds and deciding if they should
rush to Liscor’s aid or form a larger army and try to take the city back. The
problem is Pallass.”

Venaz’s brows shot together. The Minotaur folded his hands behind his back
as he stared at the Walled City that Niers was tapped with his left foot.

“How so, sir?”

Niers nodded. The Minotaur wasn’t arguing back as he normally did. He

was listening, trying to figure out where he was wrong. Better. He was
learning. Now he just had to understand how other species thought
politically. Niers pointed down at Pallass.

“They’re the ones ideally placed to support Liscor. The problem is their
leadership. They have a democracy, which means their ruling body, the
Assembly of Crafts, has to come to a consensus on what to do. That makes
Pallass historically the slowest of the Walled Cities to react to incidents.”

“Idiots.”

Cameral muttered under his breath. Venaz nodded as well. Umina and
Marian, who both came from democratic societies, shot the two dirty looks.
Niers ignored his students as he went on.
“Say what you will about the system—it leads to stability, but it means
paralysis at times. And the problem is that this is exactly the kind of
situation that has Pallass split on what to do. They’re wavering, arguing,
trying to figure out what to do. But that’s the real crisis. If they wait too
long, the choice will be out of their hands.”

“Claws, Professor.”

“Whatever. Pallass is indecisive. And if they won’t move, the other Walled
Cities will hesitate. The hesitant factions in Pallass can just deadlock the
Assembly and keep the war hawks from sending aid to Liscor until it’s too
late. And I think that’s exactly what Tyrion Veltras is counting on.”

The students murmured with interest. Niers nodded. Do you see? He

wanted to ask them. Tyrion wasn’t fighting just a war on the ground. He
was using the politics of the Drakes against them. He might hate the
Drakes, but he’d studied his enemies well. He knew their climate, their
systems of government—and he knew Goblins as well.

He would have made a fine [Strategist], although Niers would have never
suffered him in a class. He knew Tyrion Veltras. He had met the man.
Tyrion was like a sword. He could employ strategy, cunning, and he could
be devious, but like a sword he could only cut. And he went straight for the
heart.

Niers was about to have two of his students simulate an attack on the city
and propose viable strategies for defense and offense—Wil and Marian
probably, and he’d kick Marian in the ear if she suggested trying to use hit-
and-run skirmishing tactics in the muddy floodplains against the Humans
with their cavalry—when he saw Cameral checking at something in his
hands. He looked up sharply as the Dullahan raised his head for attention.

“Professor! My scrying orb just lit up. Wistram is broadcasting one of their
[Scrying] moving images again! It looks like someone is transmitting the
spell from Pallass!”

Niers’ head snapped up. He grinned.

“Now that’s interesting. Get a large scrying orb set up now. I think we’ll all
want to see this.”

—-

They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were asking for confirmation.

Confirmation! They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were not—

Olesm ran across the water bridge leading from Liscor to The Wandering
Inn. He huffed as he ran and tried to watch the water for Rock Crabs or
larger fish monsters, but he ran as fast as he could, ignoring the disturbance
he was causing in the water. A Quillfish shot a spine at Olesm and he swore,
but he kept running.

Pallass wasn’t responding to his [Messages]. They were wavering. They

think Liscor’s a lost cause. Or they’re hesitating. Or—

He had gotten back to the City Hall and seen Wall Lord Ilvriss arguing with
his fellow nobility in Salazsar as Zevara frantically sent more and more
[Messages] and received noncommittal answers. There had been no door,
and Olesm had been told that Embria had gone with the patrol to The
Wandering Inn to secure the door half an hour ago and not returned. So
Olesm had ran here. He ran up the hill to the inn and saw [Guardsmen],
[Guardswomen], and [Soldiers] milling about on the grass. Olesm gulped
for air and then shouted at the Gnoll wearing a Senior Guardsman’s
insignia.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark! Why isn’t the door in Liscor? Where is

Wing Commander Embria?”

The Gnoll turned.

“Olesm, er, Strategist Olesm, we tried to remove the door, but one of the
[Barmaids] blocked us. And she has uh, adventurer support! Wing
Commander Embria went through the door to request aid from Pallass, but
she hasn’t returned.”

“She did? I’ve got to get her.”

Olesm ran through the doorway, ignoring Beilmark’s warning shout. They
had to get to Pallass, get them to start sending soldiers through! He charged
through the door, saw Moore raising his staff like a headman with an axe,
and froze.

“Moore, don’t! It’s Olesm!”

Lyonette cried out. Moore hesitated. He lowered his staff. Olesm stared at
him and then realized why no one had tried taking the door. He pointed at
Moore with a trembling claw.

“We need—that door is—Erin’s in jail! Bird might die but he might live! I
need to get to Pallass!”

“What?”

The adventurers and Lyonette, all of whom were clustered around the
entrance, stared at Olesm. He ignored Ceria, the Horns, Jelaqua, and Moore
and Mrsha racing about him and charged for the door. It was open. Bright
light streamed through and Pallass’ streets were ahead of him. Olesm ran
through, and felt the door blink out behind him. He whirled and saw only
brick wall.

“Ancestors damn it!”

The door was out of mana! Embria must have depleted it before Olesm!
The door could only take two people after all—wait, was that right? Hadn’t
Hawk, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and Erin all gone through one time? Didn’t that
mean three—?

Loud voices made Olesm turn. He saw a huge crowd of Drakes and Gnolls
gathered down the street. And standing on a wooden platform—Olesm’s
heart sank—was Wing Commander Embria. She was arguing with a
paunchy Gnoll dressed in a [Senator]’s robes, shouting, really. The Gnoll
was smiling, well, fake smiling, and answering back as the crowd jeered
Embria.

Olesm ran for the two of them, cursing inside. As he ran, he passed by a
pair of Drakes who were speaking to a Human in flamboyant clothing who
was holding a scrying orb up in front of him. The two Drakes were
speaking into the scrying orb for some reason. One of them had a monocle.
They sounded…familiar.

“This is Noass and Sir Relz of Pallass, newly made [Commentators] with a
Human [Magician] providing us the [Scrying] spell. We happened to be on
the scene when we met—er, what did you say your name was, sir?”

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician] for hire at your service.”

“That’s right. We are speaking to you from Pallass where, at this moment,
[Strategists] are warning of an attack on Liscor. However, the Assembly of
Crafts has not yet issued an announcement. Senator Errif is speaking to a
crowd and what appears to be a Wing Commander from Liscor of all
people! She arrived through the door—”

“—in rather a huff, Relz, wouldn’t you agree? Rudely storming up to the
[Senator], in that classic Liscorian aggressiveness—”

“—too true, Sir Relz, too true. But Senator Errif has been giving her a piece
of Pallass’ mind! Attack on Liscor? Not likely! Does she have proof?
Should we move an army through that door to Liscor on one [Strategist]’s
say so?”

“There are apparently a lot of [Strategists] supporting this claim, Noass.”

“Indeed, Sir Relz, indeed. But what’s best for Pallass? We have to ask that,
as harsh as it may be. If we look at the odds, this Human [Lord], Tyrion
Veltras, is bringing not only two hundred thousand soldiers, but the Goblin
Lord’s army is being driven before him. Of course, this is all apparently due
to the Human’s inability to catch the Goblins, but if they were to
accidentally assault Liscor—”
Olesm dashed past the two Drakes, ignoring the cry out of outrage from the
one with the monocle. He shouted as he pushed through the crowd.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Let me pass, please, I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

“It looks like we have Liscor’s actual [Strategist] on the scene, Noass—”

“Unprecedented! Can Drakes just walk through from Liscor to Pallass? And
what’s he doing? Looks like he’s joining the Wing Commander. Let’s go in
for a closer look. Make way, please! [Commentators] passing through!”

Olesm fought to get to the stage where Embria was arguing with the Gnoll
[Senator]. He felt the crowd open up—not because of him, but because of
the two Drakes following him! Olesm growled, but dashed up onto the
wooden platform. A [Guardsman] dressed in Pallass’ colors held a spear up
threateningly. Olesm held up his claws.

“I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

The Gnoll didn’t look convinced, but an amused, growling voice spoke
from above.

“Let him up, [Guardsman].”

Olesm scrambled onto the wooden platform and looked around. A sea of
faces stared at him. Suddenly he felt dizzy. He hadn’t thought this through.
Apprehensively he stared at the smiling Gnoll and Embria. The Wing
Commander was red—well, redder in the face and her tail was practically
tied in knots. The Gnoll on the other hand was silky smooth. He growled at
Olesm, his voice magically amplified by a broach on his chest.

“Well, it seems Liscor’s [Strategist] has come, yes? Many folk seem to be
fleeing from their posts in Liscor to come to Pallass to ask for aid.”

“I am—I am asking for aid! Liscor sent a reinforcement request and Pallass
hasn’t answered!”

Olesm gasped, trying to raise his voice loud enough to be heard over the
jeers from the crowd. Errif, the [Senator], raised one paw.
“Please, good people. We have of course heard Liscor’s plea and we take it
seriously. Yet, the [Message] spell we received claims Liscor will be
attacked! But can we truly take that as truth? I received a frenzied report
about Humans plotting to attack Liscor with the aid of Goblins—this is a
serious accusation! It would mean war if true.”

“It is true! The Humans have trebuchets—”

Embria began to shout, but Errif kept speaking, and somehow his words
drowned hers out, though he was quieter. A Skill. Olesm saw him smiling at
the crowd, speaking mockingly.

“They might! Who knows? They might! But to declare a national

emergency and expect soldiers within minutes of calling it? Striding into
Pallass to do so? That is hardly appropriate, yes? Give us a day or two to
verify your reports. If this is true, we can send reinforcements, yes? My
fellow [Senators] in the Assembly of Crafts, the Scalethrift party, don’t
believe Pallass should blindly rush into things.”

“Days? In two days, the Humans will be right on top of us! We don’t have
two days, you furry—”

Whatever Embria had been about to say was cut off by Olesm’s desperate
claw. The crowd roared in outrage and Errif frowned at Embria. He raised
his voice.

“Wing Commander, please, show some respect for Pallass’ systems of

government!”

Pallass’ citizens cheered and some began to throw things at the two Drakes.
Olesm felt a shoe bounce off his back. He stared at Errif. He couldn’t be
serious! Olesm raised his own voice desperately, shouted over the crowd.

“Senator, this is no mistake! We need the support of the Walled Cities now!
If you could send a few thousand [Soldiers] through now—”

Errif frowned at Olesm.

“The Assembly is debating. We will not take action until a vote is called.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Embria demanded. Errif sniffed.

“We are on break. Wing Commander, Liscor’s Strategist, the Assembly of

Crafts has heard your request! We will consider it! But I remind you,
Pallass is not at the beck and call of Liscor. We will have our own
[Strategists] go over your report. And when we are certain, we will do what
is best for Pallass and Liscor!”

He raised his furry arms and got a cheer. Not a huge one; some Drakes and
Gnolls in the crowd looked uneasy, like Sir Relz and Noass. But it didn’t
matter. Errif had said his bit and he was beckoning for Pallass’ City Watch
to remove Embria and Olesm from the stage. Embria swore at the [Guards]
and Olesm felt something rising in him.

They weren’t going to help. They were going to stall like this and then claim
it was too late. Or Errif’s party was, at any rate. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t
right.

Olesm felt something hot in his stomach, searing him from within. He
stared at the pompous Gnoll [Senator] with his paunchy belly and smug,
superior expression. He thought of Liscor, his home, and of the Goblin Lord
and his armies. He thought of trebuchets, of the walls he had stood on for so
many years, of his friends and family, and his duties. He thought of Erin
too. His stomach hurt where Erin had kicked him. And Olesm felt all of the
panic, fear, and anger building in him until he did something completely
uncharacteristic:

He lost his temper.

—-
The image projected across the world from Wistram had shown all of
Errif’s back-and-forth with the Drakes on the stage. Truth be told, it hadn’t
been too gripping, but the reactions of the Drakes and the Gnoll’s
statements were of great interest to anyone following the events in Liscor.
Wistram certainly thought so, or they wouldn’t have broadcast the image
and audio. But it wasn’t exciting.

That was, until the Drake with pale-blue scales who claimed to be Liscor’s
[Strategist] shoved the [Guardsman] trying to remove him from the stage.
Instantly, the Gnoll [Senator] was in front of Olesm, bursting with patriotic
indignation.

“You will not lay your claws on a member of Pallass’ Watch! [Guardsmen],
arrest this—”

“Be silent!”

Olesm screamed in Errif’s face. A thousand scrying orbs around the world
reflected Errif recoiling as a bit of spit struck him on the nose. Olesm turned
and bellowed at the [Guardsmen] now reaching for their weapons.

“Stand down! That is an order!”

He pointed at a Drake with a sword. Errif growled, forgetting his amiable

smile.

“You do not give orders! I am a [Senator] of Pallass, and you are—”

He went ‘ulp’ as Olesm grabbed him by the robes. The Drake shouted in
Errif’s face.

“I said, shut up! That is an order! I outrank you, you stupid furry idiot!”

Errif gaped at him. The crowd gaped at him. Sir Relz and Noass’ jaw
dropped as they hovered in the edge of the scrying orb’s field of vision.
Olesm turned. He shouted at the stunned crowd.

“I am the Strategist of Liscor and my city is in danger! When I give orders,

only a Watch Captain or a [General] can challenge me! I outrank you. I
outrank a Lord of the Wall and the entire damn Assembly of Crafts at this
moment!”

He pointed back at Errif, who was lost for words. In the scrying orb, Sir
Relz stared at Olesm and then seemed to recall that he was supposed to be
commentating. He turned back to the scrying orb with wide eyes.

“That’s Liscor’s [Strategist] claiming he has authority over Pallass!

That’s…I mean, that is how military protocol works. But in another city? Is
that fair? Noass?”

The other Drake jumped. He looked around and seemed at a loss for words.
Then he looked back at Olesm.

“It—it may be, Sir Relz! But hold on! Let’s got a word from the [Strategist]
himself. You there, sir! We’re broadcasting this moment as we speak—no,
we’re sending this live across the world! What do you have to say about the
claims that Liscor is in danger?”

“Wait, what?”

Errif turned pale as he stared into the scrying orb. Olesm gaped at Noass.
He stared into the scrying orb and then seemed to realize what Noass was
saying. His scales nearly turned white with shock for a second, and then he
visibly caught himself.

“I—I—”

“Is Liscor really under attack or is it truly an overblown alert? What if

Liscor, if you are wrong and the city is not in danger? How will you ensure
Pallass doesn’t waste resources and soldiers on Liscor? What if you place
Pallassian lives at risk?”

Noass pressed Olesm, beckoning whomever was holding the scrying orb
forwards. Olesm paled even further, but then his claws balled into fists. He
shouted back down at Noass, suddenly furious.
“You want to talk about risk? While Pallass is debating, an army of Goblins
is marching on Liscor! The other Walled Cities are hesitating! None of them
—no, only Oteslia and Salazsar have responded to a priority distress call! It
is the duty of Walled Cities to immediately respond to threats, and I have
called for aid! Where is it? Why do I have to repeat myself? Liscor is in
danger! If I’m wrong, Pallass wastes time. If Pallass is wrong, Liscor falls.”

Noass hesitated, and Sir Relz raised his monocle.

“But Sir Strategist, if the danger to Liscor is real, then the risk to Pallass’
own is—”

“This is not about danger! This is not about risk!”

Olesm bellowed at Sir Relz and the Drake recoiled. Olesm pointed around
the crowd, shouting louder and louder.

“Liscor is in danger! If we fall, Pallass is next! I don’t want to talk to a

cowardly politician or a bunch of idiots looking at maps! I want [Soldiers]!
Is this a Walled City or a Human slum without discipline?”

The Drakes and Gnolls stared up at Olesm. He whirled and pointed at Errif,
who was clearly trying to interject and not finding a way to do so. He
advanced on the Gnoll, who backed up, looking alarmed.

“This isn’t a matter of politics. This isn’t about whether Liscor will win or
lose a battle. This is about duty. About law! When a city calls for aid, other
cities answer! And if you or anyone else gets in the way of the chain of
command, I. Will. Arrest. You.”

The Drake poked the Gnoll [Senator] repeatedly in the chest, sending the
Gnoll stumbling backwards until he nearly fell off the stage. In the scrying
orb, Olesm turned and stared straight at the viewers. He shouted, his face
flushed, his tail lashing the ground.

“I am the [Strategist] of Liscor and I am calling for reinforcements! Give

me your best or hide behind your walls like cowards but we will be in
Liscor, holding the line! If we have to defend Liscor by ourselves, we will!
True Drakes do not run!”

He paused for breath, panting. The scrying orb swiveled left and right,
revealing a crowd staring up at Olesm in shock. The Drake finally seemed
to come back to his senses, and he turned pale again. He looked around,
then leapt from the stage and tried to push his way through the crowd, back
to the door to Liscor.

It looked a bit like he was running away, but that didn’t matter. Drakes and
Gnolls roared and swarmed around Olesm and Embria while Errif found
himself besieged from all sides by a suddenly angry crowd. The image
jostled as it moved back and forth for a minute. Shoving bodies and
confused shouting was all that was heard and seen. Then the [Mage] won
clear of the crowd and moved back several feet. A disheveled Drake with a
monocle appeared, panting a bit.

“And that was Liscor’s [Strategist]! A terrific appeal to Drake pride, and of
course Pallass’ citizens are in arms at the thought of abandoning a fellow
Drake city in its hour of need! There’s no way we’ll get to the [Strategist]
himself—I seem to have lost Relz—but we’ll try and get a response from
Senator Errif! Human, to me!”

—-

The scrying orb became a jumble of shouting voices and the Drake with the
monocle shouting for people to ‘make way’. It didn’t matter. Niers
Astoragon silently pointed, and the [Diviner] raised a hand. The scrying orb
went dark.

The students looked down at their professor and saw him staring at the
blank orb. The Titan of Baleros had a wide grin on his face, a look of
uncharacteristic delight his students had seldom ever seen. He breathed out
slowly.
“Full marks.”

He whirled and strode away from the scrying orb. Slowly, the other students
came back to the here and now. Venaz clenched a fist, Marian shook herself
in place. Umina looked to Niers.

“Professor, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Full marks! That Drake—that was Olesm Swifttail,
wasn’t it? He may have just saved his city.”

Niers couldn’t stop grinning. He turned and looked at his students. They
stared at him, some half-understanding, others confused. They couldn’t feel
it yet. But Niers could, and he wagered Olesm and a good number of other
people in this world had caught on. The King of Destruction had figured it
out.

It was the scrying orb. The ability to send an image across the world to
everyone with an orb of their own in the moment. It was a sense that Niers
had, that Olesm had picked up on.

The idea of the world stage. Niers paced back and forth.

“That Drake’s done it. Marian, get me every [Message] spell that comes in
the next few minutes. Run! The rest of you—remember that. Remember
this, because this is history. I can feel it. I feel like a new war is beginning.
A war of words, of public opinion! Every city and nation will have to
consider it. It won’t just be [Message] spells, it will be people seeing their
leaders making decisions. What will happen to the Drake chain of command
if their people see them making choices they don’t like? What will happen
to a [King] whose people broadcast his every failing? What—”

“Professor!”

Marian raced back into the room, holding a basket of [Message] spells.
Niers turned.

“Well?”
The Centaur tore through the pieces of paper. The first one made her
exclaim.

“An announcement! Oteslia has deployed its Winged Riders! They say they
can reach Liscor in six days!”

“Six? From across the entire continent?”

Venaz roared in disbelief. He grabbed another piece of paper and his eyes
bugged out.

“Zeres has pledged an army of eighty thousand regular soldiers and five
thousand of their elite Saltscale Wardens!”

“What? But they were just—”

Wil looked stunned, but his friend, Cameral, had caught on. The Dullahan
fixed his head to his shoulders and grabbed another piece of paper.

“Every Drake city just saw that. Do you think they’ll sit still? He called
them out! If they did, their people would riot! If my people saw something
like that—Manus is pledging an army of their own!”

The students grabbed for the basket, exclaiming, reading out report after
report as the cities scrambled over themselves to be the first to send aid to
Liscor. Niers’ smile didn’t vanish—he could imagine that right now, at this
very moment, Tyrion Veltras was not smiling.

At last, the frenzy died down. And Niers’ students turned back to him,
waiting to see what had changed. Niers stepped over the map, looking at the
[Messages]. Thinking.

“This changes much. And nothing at the same time. Liscor will have its
reinforcements, faster than Tyrion Veltras expected. But…”

He looked at Marian. The Centaur nodded.

“Even the fastest armies won’t get there in time. A force from Pallass? Yes.
And they’ll be moving troops through the magic door. But they still need to
hold out.”

“Exactly. And that door is a weak point. If I were that Drake, I’d put my
best soldiers on the door. Or my most expendable ones.”

Niers frowned to himself. He looked at the map of Liscor and didn’t let his
elation cloud his judgment.

“Whether they hold out in time for reinforcements now depends on how
many soldiers they can bring through from Pallass, how strong the Goblin
Lord’s army is…and how far Tyrion Veltras is willing to go. It’s still in his
favor, but…”

Niers shook his head.

“They have a chance. More, if there are other factors I don’t know about.
As it is, I give Liscor a chance.”

He looked down at Liscor. Then his eyes travelled to something else. The
paper map had no fine details on it. The mountains were just mountains and
the city of Liscor was just an illustration. But the map had one thing going
for it the magical one did not: it could be changed by Niers himself.

Liscor was already tiny on the map of Izril, a single city surrounded by
mountains. But Niers had added something nonetheless, marked a spot just
east of the city. A little dot, set just outside of Liscor. It would have looked
like an ink stain or a speck if you didn’t know it was there.

The identity of Niers Astoragon’s mysterious chess partner was unknown,

even to him. But he had [Scryed] his opponent once. And he had not seen
him. Her. It. But Niers had seen the room his chessboard was in for a
moment. And he had remembered it. He couldn’t help it. It hadn’t meant
much; the room could have been any wooden structure anywhere in the
world. But then had come the day of the Face-Eater Moths attack. And
Niers had seen it.

The same inn. The same interior as the one he had seen for a brief second.
And he had known. Niers had conducted a bit of information gathering,
found out the name of the inn. Nothing else; he hadn’t wanted to tip his
hand to anyone that he was curious. But the name of the inn burned in his
mind.

Was his opponent staying there? Had they been moving from the inn on the
road? Or were they…?

For a second Niers stared, and then he pretended to be inspecting Liscor. He

shouldn’t have put the marking there. It was a mistake. Of course, no one
would notice. It was a tiny dot, so small only a Fraerling would notice. Or a
keen-eyed student. Niers looked back up and murmured to himself.

“More than a chance.”

His students watched him, waiting for his conclusion. The Titan of Baleros
had none. He took a seat on a closed ink bottle and shook his head.

“I don’t know how it will turn up. But I am sure of one thing. I’ll bet all my
hats and Venaz’s horns that there’s a lot more we don’t know about. If I
were Tyrion Veltras, I’d watch my back. Everyone in the world knows what
he’s planning. But I wonder if he knows what everyone has in mind?
Because believe me…”

Niers walked over and tapped the bright red pin marking Tyrion Veltras and
the Goblin Lord’s army. He looked around and smiled like a wolf.

“Nothing’s ever this simple.”

—-

The Necromancer smiled as he relayed the last of the [Message] spells to

his apprentice via their mental link. He could sense his apprentice’s
growing sense of unease, but Az’kerash was calm. In his study he stared at
the twisted flesh and bone sitting in front of him. Waiting to be shaped. He
was close, he could feel it. The last iteration of his Chosen had been a
failure, but these would be true masterpieces. Still, there were matters
which required his attention.

“This is an opportunity, my apprentice.”

“I do not see it, master.”

Reiss spoke through their link. The Goblin Lord stared at the Human army
and imagined them coming down on Liscor’s walls. So that was their plan.
They would send the Goblins to attack Liscor, then fall on them once the
city fell. He bared his teeth.

“We will not do it. This plan will fail. Attacking Liscor is certain-death.
Foolish-death. We will let the Drakes battle the Humans and escape—”

“No.”

Az’kerash’ voice was firm. Reiss tried to protest, but an invisible force took
control of his tongue, his vocal chords, his jaw.

“You fail to understand Tyrion Veltras’ will, my apprentice. He will not let
you flee. You think you can outrun his army? He will burn you and
slaughter your tribe to the last rather than let you flee. And it does not
matter if Liscor repels your army. It does not matter how many soldiers
Pallass sends today.”

My apprentice. Reiss bit his tongue. He had a name. A name given to him
by a dying Drake. His name. But he didn’t tell his master. Instead, he tried
to sound innocent, confused.

“It does not?”

“No. They are doomed, regardless of how much they struggle. Even if the
city of Liscor holds off your army, my apprentice, Tyrion Veltras will not be
stopped. He intends to take Liscor and he will take the city regardless of
how many defend it.”

“Then we die. We die if we win, but we die twice over with reinforcements
from Pallass.”
Reiss felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. But then it stopped. A chill
entered him as his master’s energy flowed from him to Reiss, giving him
strength. Reassurance, black, like midnight, ran through Reiss’ veins.

“Pay no attention to the doorway, my apprentice. It will be dealt with

momentarily. Rather, consider Liscor and your fate. Do you think I would
abandon you after all the time I have invested in you?”

Yes. Just like Oom. Just like the others. But Reiss didn’t say that either. He
pushed the words down, daring not even to think them in his head. There
was nowhere safe from his master. Nowhere but the depths of his heart, the
beating soul he clung to. Still clung to. It was the one place Az’kerash could
not look; his master’s heart had ceased beating long ago.

“What can we do, master?”

“Why, let the Humans play their game, my apprentice. Be the pawns in their
trap. Take the city. Kill the Drakes. Slaughter the Antinium in their Hive.”

“But if we do—”

“Your Goblins will die. Yes. And Drakes will die. And the Antinium. And
Tyrion will expect to sweep in and clean up the survivors. But he will not.
Because on the day Liscor falls my apprentice, I will be with you. And I will
raise every soul that falls. Every last one. Drake. Gnoll. Human. Goblin.”

Reiss’ heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“Master? What are you saying?”

A smile flashed across Reiss’ lips that was not his own. His lips moved and
spoke another’s words.

“Exactly what I claimed. On the day you do battle, I will lend my strength to
yours. I will reanimate the fallen and give you warriors to slaughter the
Drakes. They will not be able to defend against that. Imagine it, my
apprentice. Imagine a zombie or Ghoul or Draug rising for each of your
enemies you slay. Every single one, in a city of Liscor’s size. Only the
Antinium will be spared and they will fall against your hordes. With them
you could hold Liscor, could you not?”

“But the Humans—”

Reiss protested, but his mind was racing. How many citizens did Liscor
hold? Ten thousand? No, many more than that. A Walled City held hundreds
of thousands. Did Liscor hold a hundred thousand citizens? More? A
hundred thousand undead plus his army…

“Perhaps you do not think it would be enough?”

Reiss bit his lip. Yes, even with those numbers, they would have to hold
shattered walls. And they would be wounded, tired after fighting an entire
city even if the undead rose. But again the smile flashed across his lips.

“Yes, my apprentice. Tyrion Veltras has an army dangerous enough on its

own. But I promised you I would raise every soul that fell. And that includes
his warriors. And he has brought [Knights]. Adventurers. They will become
lethal undead far stronger than the rest. The strength of the living is
matched by the power of the undead. But if that is not enough, if you
hesitate, I will offer you one more token of victory. My Chosen.”

“Them?”

This time Reiss’ heart did skip another beat. He felt it, and he felt his
master’s joy.

“Yes. Not Kerash. I cannot risk him. But I will give you Bea. I will give you
Venitra. Ijvani has not yet returned to me, but two are enough. Bea will
bring death to the Antinium and Venitra will take Tyrion Veltras’ life. Is that
not enough?”

It was. It was enough. Two of the Chosen. Reiss remembered them fighting.
He had seen Venitra kill. He closed his eyes and remembered them standing
over Zel Shivertail. They had not killed him, but they had come close.
Two. With two, he could—Reiss’ mind raced. Az’kerash spoke with his
lips, forced his eyes open.

“So, my apprentice. Do you still fear Liscor and the plans of the Humans?
Or do you see victory? Because should you take Liscor and hold it, you will
have a city of your own. A place to defend. A home for your kind.”

And there it was. His dream. A shining city on a hill. Reiss’ eyes opened
wide. He stared at the image in his mind. Of all places. Liscor. He imagined
rebuilding the walls. With his master’s power it could be done in a day. And
if he could defeat Tyrion Veltras, could it be possible that the Drakes
would…? If he left some alive, if he…

“Well, my apprentice?”

Reiss stood in place, staring at the Human army. Around him Goblins
milled about, staring at his back. The Goblin Lord slowly turned and they
flinched from his gaze. But he was not looking at them. His eyes found a
Goblin with a crimson blade, who stared at him suspiciously from the back
of a huge wolf. And another—a small Goblin who wept for the Great
Chieftain who had been her enemy.

“Yes, Master. I do not fear the Humans. Give me power and I will take
Liscor for you.”

For him. For Goblins. Reiss heard Az’kerash laugh as if he could hear the
lie. His master spoke one last time, in his head, not with his mouth.

“Then prepare, my apprentice. Prepare and grow your army. Two Chieftains
must kneel and I must strengthen myself for the ordeal to come. But know
that I am with you.”

And then he was gone. Reiss understood the irony of that, but he could still
feel his master’s magic filling him. He clenched a fist and looked up. His
blood hummed. He stared back at the Humans and then began to walk
slowly. And he saw it. A vision of a city filled with Goblins. A safe haven.
Victory. One last battle. Reiss had told Osthia that he had three battles to
win, long ago. Now it was one. All he had to do was take Liscor. With his
master’s help it was possible. More than possible. All he had to do was
gather the last two tribes to him. Reiss paused. After Tremborag’s death, it
should be easy. All he had to do was convince Rags and Garen to kill them
all. All he had to do was wade through the blood of the innocent. Reiss
closed his eyes and touched his heart. He felt it beat, and quiver, then stop
for a moment. It hurt. But it had to be done. For a dream.

One last time.

—-

“We are gathered here for one reason. To discuss Liscor and the plans of
Humans and Drakes.”

The Grand Queen spoke softly. The vessel that reflected her image raised its
feelers and gestured to Klbkch. It tilted the mirror and five faces flashed at
Klbkch for a moment. He stood before her, next to his Queen, the Free
Queen of the Antinium. They listened as the Grand Queen went on,
speaking to all the Hives at once.

“A decade ago, the Hives conferred and it was decided that a Hive would be
established in Liscor. To forge an alliance. To secure a foothold. To allow
the Queen of the Free Antinium to conduct her…theories. Now the situation
has changed. So the Hives are met in conclave here to discuss. I am the
Grand Queen of the Antinium. And we see in the Goblins and schemes of
Humans an opportunity for the Antinium. We see their deaths.”

She looked at the Free Queen. Klbkch could sense his Queen’s resentment,
her tension. And fear, too. For despite their objections to her, contempt,
fury, both Klbkch and the Queen of the Free Antinium looked on the Grand
Queen and knew she spoke for the Hives. They felt her pull, even in Liscor.
“The situation in Liscor has changed. Pallass has agreed to reinforce the
city, as have the other Walled Cities and lesser cities. However, they will
not reach Liscor before the Humans and Goblin Lord. So the city will be
besieged. My Queens, your thoughts?”

The mirror flashed. The body twitched and another presence took over. The
Queens spoke, each one different, each one inhabiting the vessel before
ceding control. They were five-in-one. Each time one of the Queens took
over control of the body it would stiffen, then move as they willed it. Five
voices, all similar, but each different in how the Queens spoke. Each Queen
unique, as were their Hives.

“Unprecedented. The opening of war.”

She sat still, her moving mandibles the only changing thing about her. The
rest of her was still and silent. Watchful, waiting. The Silent Queen.

“Is it certain? Beyond doubt?”

She looked to Klbkch, as if he could answer her. The Silent Queen, weaver
of bodies. She had been chiefly responsible for bringing back Galuc’s form
in the Workers and Soldiers. And she had been the first to create the forms
of old. The Silent Antinium, assassins camouflaged, stalking. The mirror
flickered. The Grand Queen reappeared.

“We have monitored the messages sent between cities. Our Listeners have
conveyed the truth and lies. It is so.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was authoritative. She sat tall, and her feelers
moved slowly, decisively. It seemed as though she counted each word and
weighed it, and her mandibles clicked. Counting, assessing, ever weighing
odds and chance with cold logic.

“Pallass’ decision is of no consequence. The statistics show that the amount

of soldiers they may transport through that door is extremely limited.
Nevertheless, the door presents an unknown variable. An asset. Or
hindrance. But the assault on Liscor is the primary focus.”
Her image changed. Light shone. A Queen stood amid steel as her Soldiers
waited, wearing armor and bearing weapons made of metal.

“If it serves the Antinium, let the Humans fail here. With Liscor’s Hive it is
surely possible to defeat both Goblins and the Humans even with
compromised walls. Can the Flying Antinium not reinforce?”

The words were thoughtful, the body language direct, and faithful. The
Armored Queen’s feelers moved slowly as if slowed by fatigue, but her
posture was respectful, militant. She sat in the light, a bloated body ravaged
by countless births.

Of all the Queens, the Armored Queen had sacrificed the most before they
had rediscovered how to create Antinium without the actual eggs of
Queens. Yet she had never complained, never wavered. If she had broken, it
was only in her faith in the strength of the Antinium during the first war.
She had turned to steel instead. Now it shone, reflecting from the mirror as
she spoke.

“My Prognugator, Tersk, speaks highly of the Free Antinium’s combat

potential. Between their might and that of Liscor’s own, surely the
trebuchets may be destroyed before they can assault the city? And if the city
is breached, the Antinium are more than a match for Goblins.”

“Revalantor Klbkch. Your analysis?”

“We have the means. Our tunnels may assault the Humans regardless of
where they place their trebuchets. They are in range. Although…”

Klbkch spoke quietly. He thought of the tunnels the Antinium had dug in
secret for a purpose just like this.

“Although?”

His Queen looked sharply down at Klbkch. He nodded.

“If the Humans were to place their trebuchets directly over the dungeon, our
tunneling teams would be unable to directly assault them. We would be
forced to burrow around the dungeon’s walls. There would be
complications. But if we are prepared to sacrifice the Soldiers and Workers
necessary, we could destroy the trebuchets regardless of their number. We
have artifacts stockpiled. And Painted Soldiers.”

The vessel turned its head towards Klbkch and the mandibles rose in a
smile. The voice that spoke began quicker, higher-pitched. Overeager.

“Ah yes, your elites. My Revalantor has told me of them. I wish to see their
combat potential. As for reinforcement, the Flying Antinium are able to
make the journey. But we may be spotted. If we use the farthest tunnels, my
Antinium could rally in secret and arrive in Liscor in two days from there.
Simply give the order and I will demonstrate their capabilities. I have many
new warriors who will prove their effectiveness in battle.”

Eager. The Flying Queen’s every move hinted at an excess of energy and
she twitched constantly, her words falling over themselves in their haste to
get out. She was the most radical of the Queens in one sense because she
pursued the most unstable and risky of designs. The Antinium had barely
mastered flight in Rhir and her Antinium lacked the finesse of the old
Weaver Queens.

And yet, her weakness was also a strength. Her Antinium could fly after
their fashion. And the Flying Queen was tireless. Her armies could fill the
skies.

“If the Grand Queen wishes it, I can have an army present at Liscor. We
could break the Humans and slaughter their [Mages] and destroy their
trebuchets. It would be a victory for the Antinium alone. A simple one. Ten
thousand—no, five thousand of my Soldiers alone could halt the Human’s
ambitions.”

“A suicide attack?”

The Armored Queen sounded disapproving. The Flying Queen looked

annoyed as she flicked a feeler. The vessel raised something invisible to its
mandibles as in the mirror, the Flying Queen ate from a bowl.
“A calculated loss. It would be little lost for much gain. And if the Humans
attack anyways…I will send more, then. A proper army to fight and hold
Liscor.”

She was about to say more, but then the mirror changed and the last Queen
spoke. Her body did not move but her cracked mandibles slowly opened
and closed. Her words were more halting than the Antinium’s natural
staccato rhythm.

“The slaughter is. Not beneficial to the. Antinium as a. Whole. What says.
The Grand Queen?”

The Twisted Queen turned her head then. Her missing eye, her broken
expression, all hinted at the pain she had endured. In the First Antinium
War, General Sserys had assaulted a Hive twice. First the Twisted Queen’s
Hive, then the Grand Hive itself. Both times his armies had been broken by
her warriors. And he had died battling one of the Centenium.

Wrymvr the Deathless. Klbkch did not see him in the mirror. That worried
him. So did the Twisted Queen, at times. She alone had sent no delegation
to inspect the Free Antinium. But then, that might have been for the best.
The Flying Antinium, the Armored Antinium, even the Silent Antinium
could be witnessed by other species and only instill fear, terror at best. But
the Twisted Queen’s creations were horror manifest.

“The designs. Of. Humans are not. Important Drakes are not. Important.
The only concern is. The Hives.”

“Yes. The Antinium may hold Liscor. Free Queen, what say you? Can your
Hive withstand the Goblins in battle? The Humans?”

And now it came to the Free Queen. She stirred uneasily. She of all the
Queens had been unmarked by her Hive. She had disagreed with them.
Klbkch remembered. The Free Queen had argued against the creation of
new forms, of researching more dangerous bodies for the Antinium to use.
She had called for only two things: the rediscovery of how to make True
Antinium and the creation of Queens.
Both ideas had been dismissed as impossibilities. The most difficult of
tasks. But both achievements had been what defined the Antinium, what
made them strong. For that reason Klbkch had followed her into exile in
Liscor. Now the Free Queen spoke, uneasily.

“If—if my Hive throws its might against the Goblins and the Human army,
I believe we could hold Liscor. At great cost. If it is the will of the Hives,
we will honor our contract. My Queen?”

“Could your Hive repel the Humans even if the fighting spread into the
city? How many Soldiers are present in your Hive? How many Workers?
How many Painted Soldiers? Estimate their kill-to-death ratio.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was thoughtful. The Free Queen hesitated.
Klbkch whispered numbers up to her and she told the Grand Queen. The
Soldier and Worker counts she knew, but Klbkch had to make up the
statistics involving the Painted Soldiers. Klbkch himself responded to the
question about Liscor’s defense as a whole.

“If it came to a battle in the streets, Grand Queen, I fear the odds would be
against the Hive. The Humans possess a strong, mobile force and [Mages]
capable of wiping the Antinium out in number. Our Painted Soldiers as yet
lack the ability to combat magic users without the advantage of surprise
attacks.”

“A failing only my Flying Antinium has overcome. Which is why my

Soldier’s presence in the city would be invaluable.”

“Or mine. My Antinium will not reach Liscor in time, but perhaps bags of
holding may be sent. Armored, your Soldiers may stand a better chance
against mounted Humans, Free Queen.”

“If Klbkchhezeim is to fight, my Silent Antinium should aid him. It is far,

but if the Flying Antinium are willing to lend transport, I will send my quiet
ones to kill [Mages] in secret.”

“A slaughter is. Inevitable regardless. Of those who join. Why ask, Grand.
Queen?”
The Grand Queen spoke softly, ignoring the other voices.

“Klbkchhezeim. If the Antinium fail to defend the city, what if they

assaulted the Humans from the safety of their Hive?”

Klbkch froze, as did his Queen. If they abandoned the city? He spoke
carefully.

“I believe we would win, my Queen. If…if you are suggesting we cede the
city, it is possible to wipe out any army above. We could collapse
foundations, attack from below. It is more advantageous, but still unlikely.”

“We see. And if you defended, what then? How long could you hold?”

“Months. We have drainage systems in place to prevent flooding and the

Humans would not penetrate more than our outer tunnels with
bombardments. Why?”

The Free Queen spoke sharply. The Grand Queen looked at her.

“The Human Lord, Tyrion Veltras, intends to take Liscor. The odds are not
in Liscor’s favor regardless of reinforcement. However, the Antinium need
not waste combat potential fighting. It is my will that the Hive will abandon
Liscor as soon as the walls are breached. They will close all tunnels, and
hold out as the Humans occupy Liscor.”

Klbkch felt a jolt. His arms tingled. She meant to abandon Liscor? He
stared at the Grand Queen as she went on.

“They will not reveal themselves until the Flying Antinium, the Silent
Antinium, and the Armored Antinium have all positioned armies in
proximity to Liscor via a constructed underground tunnel. Then, all four
armies will retake Liscor.”

She looked around. And then the vessel jerked. The mirror flashed four
times. Shock. Confusion. Excitement. Acceptance. The Queens spoke at
once.

“What purpose is served by this act?”

“Have the Antinium not forged a contract? Will this betrayal be known?”

“So Liscor will become the first city of Antinium?”

“And what role will. The Twisted Antinium serve?”

“Grand Queen—my Queen.”

The Free Queen of the Antinium spoke slowly. Her emotions were in a
whirl. Klbkch stood by her, trying to calm her. The Free Queen looked into
the mirror at the Grand Queen. She struggled for words.

“You are—if Liscor falls, then the goals of the Free Antinium will never be
realized. My Queen, without the Drakes and other species to act as stimuli,
the process of creating individuals—”

“We are aware of the cost to the Free Antinium. However, we deem Liscor
as a strategic asset of greater importance. Moreover, the Humans’ siege of
Liscor provides a reason for the Antinium to seize a city. Thus this plan we
deem as most appropriate. We have consulted with our Prognugator, Xrn,
and she agrees this strategy is most sound.”

Xrn? Klbkch jerked. He couldn’t help it. All five Queens stared at the azure
Antinium. Xrn, the so-called Small Queen, bowed as her eyes swirled with
colors. Green and pink and blue and then a flash of white. Klbkch froze.
The other Queen saw nothing but magic in Xrn’s eyes, but he had seen
those colors before. She was telling him something.

“Xrn, my Prognugator. Speak.”

The Grand Queen lifted Xrn up. The Prognugator bowed.

“My Queens, I deem Liscor’s fall a chance for the Antinium to grow. Not as
conquerors or invaders for once, but as heroes.”

“Heroes?”

The Free Queen stared at the blue Antinium. Xrn nodded.

“My Queen understated some of the nuances of the plan. By all means, let
the Antinium hold the walls. Let them fight. A thousand. Two thousand. Six.
Let them die fighting Goblins and Humans. And when Liscor falls, when
the walls are breached, let them shield the frightened, the innocent. Let
them hold until Liscor flees. Into the Hives.”

“Into the Hives?”

The whisper came from all the other Queens at once. Klbkch felt a thrill as
he understood Xrn’s plan. She nodded.

“Yes. Let them be saved by the Antinium, sheltered. And then, in the
Human’s hour of dark victory, let the Antinium rescue Liscor. Let them
claim it and become the new rulers. Heroes indeed. Heroes twice to Liscor.
And the new stewards of a city. Not a city ruled by Drakes and populated
by Gnolls and Antinium, but a city managed by Antinium in which Gnolls
and Drakes live.”

“They will never accept that. The Drakes will never allow it.”

“No?”

Xrn tilted her head. She looked at the Free Queen and then nodded.

“Perhaps you are correct, Free Queen. Perhaps the plan will fail. The
citizens of Liscor may not trust the Antinium. The Drakes may not accept
the Antinium’s ownership of the city. All plans fail. So I offered a counter
alternative: should the people of Liscor resist, they die. Should the Drakes
try to take Liscor, it will be war. The Twisted Queen and my Grand Queen
will station an army in hiding. If the Drakes assault Liscor, they will attack
them from behind. And the Third Antinium War will begin.”

The room was silent after Xrn had finished. Klbkch remembered to breathe.
He looked at her. She glanced back and the same pattern flashed through
her eyes. Thought-mischief-sadness-hope. She was lying. She did not think
the plan would fail. She wanted a city for the Antinium.
A city where Individuals could be made in number. And Klbkch understood.
Xrn had thought of him. Of Erin and those she had met. She had devised a
plan to save them in a way the Grand Queen would accept. But she had
forgotten one thing.

Klbkch was a [Guardsman]. A Senior Guardsman of Liscor. And he knew

the Drakes better than she did. They would die protecting their homes.
Drakes did not run. The Gnolls would too. They might retreat in the end,
but they would die step by step rather than flee.

Unless they trusted the Antinium. Would they trust them enough to flee into
the Hives? Would they—would Erin? Was this a betrayal or a solution? He
was a Senior Guardsman of Liscor. Zevara would never run. Neither would
Relc. They would die on the walls. But could they be saved? He was a
Revalantor of the Hive. He was Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium. He was
Klbkch the Slayer. He had to—

Klbkch stood there, paralyzed as the Queens debated. As they argued. But
in the end it didn’t matter. One by one, they fell silent. The Grand Queen
spoke.

“It is decided. The Hives will prepare. Workers must be sent. All five Hives
will dig the tunnel as far as possible. Prepare your Soldiers. Free Queen of
the Antinium. Klbkchhezeim.”

Both looked up. The Grand Queen looked at them.

“Prepare the Hive of Liscor for war.”

She vanished from the mirror. The Silent Queen was next.

“Wait, Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen. We will meet for the first time in years.”

The Armored Queen spoke briskly. Tersk was already giving orders.

“All must be done as the Grand Queen wills. My Soldiers will greet yours
soon.”

The Flying Queen rubbed her feelers together, almost giddy.

“At last! Battle! War! A grand trick to play on the Humans and Drakes
alike. My Hive readies itself. Prepare yours too!”

And then only the Twisted Queen was left. She looked at Klbkch, at the
Free Queen and she spoke.

“It is done. Klbkch. Hezeim. Wrymvr sends. His greetings.”

Then she was gone. Klbkch stared into the mirror. He and the Grand Queen
looked at each other. Neither spoke for a long moment. Then the Free
Queen spoke.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You are a Senior Guardsman of Liscor, are you not? I know little of your
titles. Of your life above. I have seen through your gaze but I do not
understand. When you speak of your time above I am jealous. You have met
others whom you speak highly of above. ‘Friends’.”

Klbkch lowered his head.

“I have, my Queen.”

“Could you slay them? Could you let them die? For the plan?”

The Free Queen stared at Klbkch. For a long moment the Revalantor of the
Free Antinium stared at the ground. And then he looked up. His voice was
cold as he opened his mandibles.

“If you ask it of me my Queen, it will be done. Simply give me the order
and I will take Liscor for you.”

“Ah, Klbkch. But would it pain you?”

Klbkch tapped his chest with one finger. The sound was dull. He placed his
hands on his sword and bowed.
“I am Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium before I am anything else. For the
Hives, I would do anything.”

It was the answer the Free Queen sought. She nodded and turned away. Her
voice grew distant as she rose.

“If it must be, Klbkchhezeim, we will take Liscor as required by the Grand
Queen. Even if that means the complete eradication of Liscor’s populace.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The two said nothing else. They stood, feeling cold and alien to the city full
of warm-blooded people above. Cold. And old. And tired. Then they heard a
voice. It did not come from the mirror, or the vessel which had gone limp. It
came from behind them. A weak, warbling voice.

“Who were they?”

Klbkch whirled. The Free Queen exclaimed as she pulled herself over.

“Bird.”

The little Worker was trying to sit up. He was not bleeding, but he could
barely move. He relaxed as the Queen lifted him with two feelers.

“Ow. I am much ow. I heard voices. Not just in my head.”

“You are alive. Are you well? Do you sense your injuries worsening?”

Bird thought about that.

“It hurts.”

“Yes.”

The Grand Queen bent over him. Her mandibles opened and closed and
Klbkch sensed her anger, previously dormant, resurfacing.

“I will kill the one who did this, Bird.”

“Oh. That is good. I am not happy with them either. But I am mostly hurt.
Where is my bow?”

Bird tried to look around and then flinched. Klbkch looked around. The
bow was missing. The Queen fussed over Bird.

“Hold still. You are hurt. You must not move.”

“It hurts. It hurts muchly.”

“Yes. But you will live. You will stay here, Bird. You will stay and be well.”

“I am hurt. I am sad. Bad things happened to me. And to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“She—”

The wrath in the Queen’s voice was foreboding. But the next words that
Bird said silenced her. They chased the thoughts of betrayal and war from
Klbkch’s head for a moment.

“Am I allowed to cry? I would like to cry, please.”

Klbkch froze. The Queen froze. They stared at Bird.

“Cry?”

Bird nodded.

“I would like to. I would have but I did not know if I had permission? May
I have it?”

The Free Queen looked at Klbkch, but he didn’t know what to say. She
looked down at Bird, her antennae waving about wildly.

“But—the Antinium cannot cry.”

“They cannot? Then what will I do?”

Bird looked up, confused. No one could answer him. He looked from face
to face and then seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I am going to cry.”

No one stopped him. Klbkch’s heart raced, though he couldn’t say why. It
was impossible. The Antinium could not cry. It was completely, utterly
impossible. They had not been designed to. The First Queen had not wept,
though her heart had broken a thousand times. Not one of the Centenium
had wept. No Antinium had wept. But then Bird opened his mouth and
began to speak.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaaah. Waaah. Waah. Waaaaaah. Waah.

Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaah. Waaah…”

It was not crying in the way babies cried. It was not a reactionary sound, or
a sob, or a hiccup of pain. Bird just said the word over again.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Wah. Waaah. Waaaah…”

It was insistent, annoying. And Bird did not stop. It sounded nothing like
crying. It sounded like a mockery of it, in fact. Klbkch stared at Bird. At
first he was shocked, then he was furious. He opened his mandibles to tell
Bird to be silent—

And then he realized the truth. Klbkch stopped and stared at Bird. The
sound was annoying. It got on the nerves. Klbkch had listened to babies
wail and not been discomforted. But Bird made the sound and he reacted as
he had seen Drakes and Gnolls grimace. And the sound kept going. A cry
for help. An expression of pain. It was…Bird was…

Crying.

He was crying, though he had no tears to shed. Though the Antinium didn’t
cry. He had learned to cry. And the sound went on and on. The Free Queen
held Bird, staring at him. And then, slowly, she began to cradle him, move
him back and forth.
Klbkch stared. The way the Queen held Bird was familiar. But she had not
learned that from the Antinium. She had seen it in his memories, through
his eyes. She cradled Bird as he cried in her chambers. She bent over him
and Klbkch felt something in her emotions he had never felt before.

He shuddered and took a step back. He stared at Bird, then turned. He had
to go. He had to—Klbkch fled the sound of Bird’s crying and the strange
emotion. He strode back into the Hive, past the staring Garry and Soldiers.
The Hive must be readied. Klbkch knew that.

But no matter how far he went he still heard the sound. It echoed through
the corridors, following him. A sound of sadness and pain as Klbkch strode
through the tunnels of the Hive and began to prepare for war.

—-

Headscratcher sat in his cell. He was miserable. Across from him Erin sat
on the cell, telling the other Hobs a story about the time she’d thrown a
snowball at a ‘car’. A Minotaur stared blankly at him from his cell, looking
lost. Headscratcher tried to listen, but he couldn’t.

They had lied to the Watch. Not by words; they had barely been able to
speak. But by omission. The Watch had questioned them about who had
hurt Bird, about the identity of the mysterious Hob. They had told them
about the beard and greatsword. Not the name.

It was one thing to hate Greydath, and Headscratcher did with all his heart.
But it was another thing to tell the Drakes everything. To kill the other
Goblin, to betray them. And yet, if there was a Goblin worthy of that, it was
him.

Greydath. The name meant something, Headscratcher was sure. Greydath

could not have been just a Hobgoblin wanderer. He had been someone
before; his Skills told that if nothing else. Headscratcher clenched a fist and
felt the helpless rage surging in him. He fought it down. If he went mad
now he would only scare Erin. He could not break free of the cell.

But the anger wouldn’t go away. Greydath. He had done it. He had ruined
everything. The Hobs were in jail. Numbtongue was the only one who was
free. Bird was hurt and Erin had cried. She had wiped away the tears and
now she was smiling, but every now and then her face would turn sad.

And it was all their fault. Headscratcher closed his eyes. Everything was
desolation. But he knew one thing more after having fought Greydath. One
valuable thing.

One thing. He clung to that fact. None of the Hobs had said it, but they had
all realized it.

Badarrow had hurt Greydath. With an arrow. It hadn’t even been shot from
his bow; the Hob had just stabbed him with it. That meant Greydath had no
Skills to enhance his skin. He was just…fast. Skilled beyond belief. But his
injury meant he could be hurt even by an ordinary sword.

He could die. Headscratcher remembered that, because he would not

forgive Greydath. But then he looked up and saw Erin looking at him and
his guilt burned him again.

“Sorry.”

He said it again. Erin paused and her smile wavered. She stopped telling her
story and sat closer to the bars.

“Hey. What happened to Bird wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Was.”

Headscratcher shook his head. he couldn’t explain. Erin stared at him.

“Did you hurt Bird?”

“No.”
“Did the Goblin who hurt Bird do it because you told him to?”

“No!”

“Did you let him hurt Bird?”

“Tried—”

Headscratcher shook his head. Erin nodded.

“Then it’s not your fault. You tried. He was just…a jerk.”

“But—”

“It’s not your fault what other people do, Headscratcher. It’s not your fault
what they do. Only what you do.”

Headscratcher’s eyes stung. Not just because Erin had told him it wasn’t his
fault. Not only because he was relieved. He had feared she would blame
him. Not only because he wished he could rip open his chest to show her
how sorry he was. No, for one other reason.

It’s not your fault for what other people do. She called Goblins people.
Headscratcher wiped his eyes, then looked up at Erin. She stared at him,
trying to smile.

“We have to go. Can’t stay. Bad things coming. Goblin Lord.”

Erin’s smile vanished. Headscratcher fought with the words Numbtongue

had begun teaching him. He wanted to talk to Erin.

“If stay…Drakes mad. We know. Must go. Should—should have—”

“Should have gone already.”

Shorthilt spoke from his cell. Erin looked at him, and then Headscratcher.
She shook her head.

“You’re in jail. You can’t go anywhere, guys.”

The Hobs looked at her. Erin’s tremulous smile vanished.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

She sat there with them in silence. Headscratcher wiped his eyes. At last,
Erin spoke.

“It’s all happening so fast.”

No one replied. The Hobs looked down. The Minotaur stared at Erin from
his cell. Erin looked at the stone floor. Her voice was quiet. Perhaps the
entire prison was listening to her. Perhaps they were alone in the world.

“It’s all happening. And I want it not to. I want time to stop. I want to be
here—even here, forever. I don’t want to know what happens next. Why
can’t things stay the same? Forever?”

She looked up. And there were tears in her eyes. Headscratcher wiped his
arm across his face. Badarrow turned his head away. Shorthilt and
Rabbiteater scrubbed at their eyes.

“At least tonight…at least one more day.”

One more day. They were in jail, separated in cells that smelled a bit like
pee, on hard stone. But they were here. Erin, the Goblins. Headscratcher
had never been happier in his life. Never sadder. He looked up and through
watery eyes, saw a Minotaur close his and sink to the ground.

For one more day, they sat together. Human, Goblins, and the Minotaur.

Waiting, waiting. Waiting for everything to change.

—-
The Necromancer finished plotting and his apprentice thought of death. The
Queens departed and their Hives began to stir. Erin Solstice sat with four
Hobs and they and she said everything they wanted to say. And Olesm sat in
the City Hall, at his office’s desk, pouring over plans.

He had not rested, though the hour was late. Pallassian troops had begun
moving slowly through the door to Liscor, though the cost in mana to the
[Mages] was painfully high, even with the door staying in Erin’s inn to soak
up the ambient magical power. But they were coming.

And Olesm had plans. He’d consulted with Zevara, begun preparing Liscor
for the attack, discussed how to blockade the streets with Ilvriss, even
checked the sewers for the possibilities of collapsing them or laying traps.
He had a thousand and ten things to do, but tonight he was looking at a
book.

Reports, actually. Old ones. Olesm had demanded them from Pallass and
they had been sent. Now he read them feverishly. They were concise,
written after the fact in brief by a Drake not used to lengthy reports. The
actual content of the reports was short, but so many people had added
addendums and other details and insights that it was like reading a book.
But Olesm read each and every word, trying to memorize as much as
possible.

The account he was reading was of a siege. Of a city that had fallen to an
invading army. Only, it hadn’t been Humans who’d taken the city. It had
been Antinium. They’d overrun the city in hours, but the Drakes had
retreated. Into a dungeon of all places. And they had held there for months.

The Drake who had written the report did not glamorize what had
happened. He wrote frankly and unassumingly, at odds with the glorified
notes of all those who had chimed in. He had signed the reports simply.

“Zel Shivertail. [Lieutenant].”

Olesm whispered the words. He looked at the report and then a map of
Liscor’s dungeon. His claws traced the parchment and he thought long and
hard about what might happen if—if.
There were so many things to keep track of. Olesm’s head hurt. He lowered
his head on the desk and fell asleep, though he’d only meant to rest for a
second. He had worked so hard. After the last Pallassian [Soldier] had come
through for the day he’d tried to extract the door to Liscor, but he couldn’t
get Lyonette to budge, and the Horns, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt and the
Silver Swords were all there. So Olesm had given up. Gold-ranks were
better than regular guards, anyways.

But he hadn’t entrusted it to just them. A dozen of Embria’s [Soldiers] and a

[Captain] were standing watch in the inn, as were a group of [Guardsmen].
Sentries on Liscor’s walls were watching the Wandering Inn and no one
was allowed in or out, magic door or otherwise. Olesm had left nothing to
chance. He’d done everything right, in short. Even Relc was there,
grumbling about a lack of free drinks and looking more alert than usual.

No one would be able to get in or out. Unless they had been waiting inside
the inn all night, waiting for this moment. Embria’s [Soldiers] were
standing by the windows, not speaking and glancing with irritation at Relc
as he talked with the other members of the City Watch. One of the
[Soldiers] began to yawn and caught himself. The [Captain] on duty turned
to shout at the [Soldier]—

And all the Drakes toppled to the ground. Relc looked around wildly. He
got to his feet unsteadily and growled.

“Aw, hell—”

He toppled over before he could grab the potion at his belt pouch. The inn
went silent. Not a creature stirred, not even Apista. And then a figure
popped open the trap door to Erin’s basement. He stumbled out, grumbling
about dead Raskghar corpses and walked over to the magic door, staff in
hand. He bent to fumble with the mana stones in the bowl and stopped as
someone else stepped out from the shadows where he had been perfectly
hidden.

Typhenous slowly turned around. The old [Mage]’s beard caught the light
glowing from the tip of his staff. He turned and locked eyes with a smiling
[Magician] who held a wand in his hand.
“Ah. I thought I might be running into someone else.”

“A neat spell. I was impressed that you got even the big Drake. May I ask
what spell it was? Some kind of empowered [Sleep] spell?”

Eltistiman walked forwards, wand held casually in one hand. Typhenous

smiled and tugged his beard as he turned, putting his back to the door.

“Not [Sleep]. A higher-Tier variation on the spell that involves a living

vector. [Mites of Slumber]. A fine spell to use on the unwary. Even Gold-
rank adventurers are not unsusceptible to its effects. Although I imagine
Halrac might have noticed even in his sleep.”

Eltistiman nodded.

“Few prepare against actual living creatures as vectors. I imagine the

soporific effect is only partially magical and partially a magically-induced
sickness?”

Typhenous looked surprised.

“Exactly. It’s a pleasure to meet a fellow mage of the craft, aside from
young Pisces and Falene, who are quite insufferable. Ceria and Moore are
far more pleasant company, although they’re hardly avid students. Merely
practitioners.”

“It is a fine line between mages who study theory and simply cast spells
without understanding the full effects.”

Eltistiman nodded, smiling. He regarded Relc’s sleeping form.

“I’m impressed you got the Drake, again. The mites must have labored hard
to get into his skin.”

Typhenous smiled.

“I didn’t bother with that. I just had him eat some with his food.”

“As one would expect of the Plague Mage, Typhenous.”

Eltistiman nodded politely and Typhenous tipped his own chin. The two
stared at each other. Typhenous sighed and glanced back at the door behind
him.

“I don’t suppose we’ve come here for the same reason?”

Eltistiman smiled ruefully. He stood casually, his wand pointed at the

ground. But the light tone and relaxed posture were betrayed by his
watchful eyes. Typhenous leaned on his staff, eying Eltistiman.

“I’m afraid not. You see, my client would prefer that door stay here. She
sent me here to make sure that it did, and to aid Liscor in any small way I
could. Oh, and also to investigate these ‘plays’ she’s heard about. She’s
quite taken with the idea.”

“I can well imagine. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who hired you?”

The [Magician] waved a finger.

“Ah, you know the rules. Let’s just say a [Lady] with a fine taste in
horticulture hired me.”

Typhenous raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed? That is quite the important employer. Myself, I was hired by the
Smiling Man.”

Eltistiman’s lips quirked.

“Oh, him? Well, I can’t imagine he was pleased by today’s events. Still,
he’d be quite pleased if you completed your mission. Which you will not,
by the way. Cast a spell and I will kill you. Throw your staff down, sir.”

Typhenous eyed Eltistiman. The [Magician] hadn’t even raised his wand.
For a second the air hummed, and then Typhenous sighed. He slowly
lowered his staff. He tossed it to the ground. Eltistiman, who’d tensed,
nodded.
“Thank you, sir. And now, move to the side and retrieve a pair of cuffs from
that Gnoll there. The one with the stripes on her ears. She has a pair of cuffs
for magic users.”

“Well thought out, aren’t you?”

Typhenous grumbled as he slowly walked over, deliberately not making any

sudden moves. Eltistiman was still watching him. He slowly bent and
searched for the cuffs. Eltistiman nodded.

“It does pay to be prepared and I had an inkling my opponent was you.
Those in the business, you know.”

“Yes, yes.”

“What I can’t understand was why you would do this. Surely you owe the
charming young lady who owns this inn more than betrayal.”

Typhenous looked up sharply. He stared coldly up at Eltistiman.

“I owe Erin Solstice a great deal, young man. And I do not forget my
debts.”

The [Magician] frowned. He lifted his wand warily, but Typhenous made no
move.

“Why, then?”

The old Gold-rank adventurer sighed. He bent and looked around the
Gnoll’s waists and finally found the cuffs.

“Simple. For money and the favors I am owed for doing this, of course. I
owe Erin Solstice a great deal, but I owe my team more. You know why?”

“Naturally.”

“Just so.”

Typhenous untangled the cuffs. He smiled at Eltistiman.

“I caused a great deal of trouble for my team. And they didn’t abandon me.
I owe them a lot. This will be my last team, I think. And I’d like to repay
them. And—one more thing.”

“What’s that? Put the cuffs on, by the way. I’m not falling for a trick if you
fake putting them on or throw them at me.”

The old [Mage] sighed as he opened the cuffs.

“Perish the thought. The reason is that if I failed, the Smiling Man and…
others would not stop with just me. You know that. They’d send [Assassins]
next.”

“True. But my employer has a way with [Assassins]. As do I.”

“I suppose so. You wouldn’t care to let me go, by any chance?”

Eltistiman raised his wand for the first time.

“Not a chance. Cuffs on, now.”

He stared at Typhenous. The [Mage] put one hand through the cuffs, but
Eltistiman was on alert now. Typhenous was moving slowly. Something
was up. But he could blast Typhenous in a second. The [Magician]’s eyes
flicked around the room. The basement? No. Typhenous? It would be
suicide unless he had a ring that could block a spell. Was it the staircase?
The door?

And then Eltistiman glanced towards the magic door. It was sitting against
the wall, energy depleted after a day of use. It was closed obviously, and
Pallass’ yellow mana stone had been taken off. But another mana stone had
replaced it. A green, glowing gem. Eltistiman stared at it. And then he
noticed that the door was open a crack—

Eltistiman whirled too late. The door blew open and a man rushed through.
Fast. He leapt across the room, Eltistiman’s wand raised, but the man
knocked him to the ground and his spell went wide. The dark-clothed man
had a cudgel in hand. Eltistiman turned his wand, aiming for his chest—
The man with the cudgel swung into his ribs and then broke the
[Magician]’s fingers on his wand with a series of precise strikes. The
[Mage] jerked, but he still tried to cast the spell. Quick as a flash, the cudgel
danced a rhythm on his head. the [Magician]’s head jerked and he went still.

“Oh dear. I don’t suppose he’s dead. Is he?”

Typhenous tossed the cuffs to the ground. The [Thug] carefully felt at
Eltistiman’s pulse and then laid the [Magician] down. He walked back over
to the door, rapped twice on it, then bent to pick up Typhenous’ staff and
handed it to the [Mage].

“Here, sir. Don’t worry about the wand fellow. He’ll wake up with more
lumps than I’d care to think on, but a healing potion will do him right up.”

“Thank you.”

Typhenous accepted the staff and leaned on it. The man with the cudgel
looked back to the door as it opened. Three more men slipped in, all
wearing dark leather armor concealed by dark cloth. The thing about these
men was that despite the fact that all were [Thugs], they were quite snappily
dressed. Dark cloth and leather didn’t have to look bad, and these four
stood straight and nodded to each other as they stepped into the inn.

They didn’t even bother with masks; instead each wore a ring that would
make anyone who saw their faces forget it in moments after seeing them.
Besides the man with the cudgel, the other three carried a billy club, a
swordbreaker dagger and a sap, and a pair of brass knuckles. No edged
weapons of any kinds except for the dagger, and it wouldn’t be covered in
blood if the men had anything to say about it. They nodded to Typhenous
and the man with the cudgel cleared his throat.

“The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings present their regards, sir. Saw you
had a spot of bother there and was choosing my moment.”

“I noticed. Thank you, sir. And who do we have here?”

The door had opened and five shapes had slipped into the room, almost
unnoticed. Almost, since Typhenous had been looking for them. One of the
masked women turned towards him as the others spread out, bows and
daggers in hand.

“We are the Sisters of Chell. You know why we are here.”

“I do indeed.”

The Brothers clustered around the door as the Sisters inspected the
slumbering Drakes and Gnolls. The man with the cudgel looked at
Typhenous.

“This is the target, sir?”

“Yes. And the mana stones. Here.”

Typhenous pointed to the bowl. The men eyed them and then one of them
pulled out a disguised bag of holding as small as two fingers. He whisked
the stones into the sack.

“Do we have details on how they work? For the client.”

“The green stone leads to Celum. Blue to Liscor. Yellow for Pallass…
there’s a red stone in there as well, but I wouldn’t activate that.”

“Why not?”

Typhenous smiled.

“It leads to a cave full of Goblins. They’re quite friendly to the owner of
this inn.”

“Goblins? Now I know I’ve gone mad.”

The [Thug] shook his head and twirled his cudgel. He looked sharply at
Typhenous.

“Very well. What are our obstacles?”

He didn’t waste time. One of the Sisters of Chell came over as Typhenous
described what he’d seen and heard.

“You’ll encounter sentries watching the inn. They’re armed with bows, but I
doubt Liscor has many of its [Mages] on the walls. They’re exhausted from
casting [Message] spells all day. The waters are placid and draining—you
may run your boat aground on some of the larger hills. Watch out for Rock
Crabs and other fish species.”

“Lovely. And pursuit?”

“If it comes, it will be by boat. There is a Courier in the city, but he doesn’t
engage in combat from what I’ve heard. And there is a Gold-rank Garuda
—”

One of the Sisters mumbled a curse, and a Brother gave her a reproving
glance. Typhenous went on smoothly.

“—but she should be locked in the prison. Oh, and there are several
hundred Goblins camped in a cave along the northern road, but none of
them are Hobs.”

“Well, that’s a relief. We’ll see what occurs as it may. Goblins, you said?
Not a problem, sir, even by the hundreds. We’ve expertise in dealing with
Goblin Tribes. Now, you said you had a boat? Enough for all of us or must
we swim? I apologize that we didn’t inform you of the numbers, but we had
no idea this was going down tonight until word came in.”

The [Thug] looked apologetic. The Sisters rolled their eyes, but said
nothing. Typhenous nodded politely. Each underworld organization had its
quirks, and it had to be said that the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings had
built a reputation on being, well, polite.

The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings and the Sisters of Chell weren’t the
biggest of the underworld groups that worked out of the various cities of
Izril, but the two largest local players in the region by far, certainly. And
they’d clearly brought some of their veteran members for this job.
“It was a trick and a half bringing together enough of the fellows for this
job. And no one warned us there’d be another group sharing our case.”

The [Thug] looked mildly reproachful as he gestured at the Sisters.

“Not my fault. You know how these things go.”

Typhenous raised his hands. The man with the cudgel nodded. He spotted
one of the Sisters bending over a Drake, furtively rummaging around for
valuables. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as another reached for
Eltistiman’s wand.

“Please, ladies. Have some class.”

The Sisters of Chell gave him a look that promised blood, but they
reluctantly abandoned the goods. Two of the men wrestled the door from
the wall and began to move to the actual door to the inn. Typhenous and the
cudgel wielder were finishing their business. A bag of holding passed hands
and Typhenous checked the money. He smiled at the glint of gold and other
items.

“There’s more in the drop off point, but this is our part. Big E sends his
regards.”

The [Thug] touched a finger to his head. Typhenous frowned for the first
time. The man noticed.

“What?”

“You are aware there is an [Emperor] in Izril, now, aren’t you? I assume
you’re referring to our mutual client, but I feel I should check.”

The [Thug] wavered. He glanced at his companions, then he moved

forwards and whispered to Typhenous for a second. At last he nodded.

“What? Really? Okay, fine. Yeah, it’s Erill. One of his, quote unquote,
secret intermediaries gave us the job. Not any newcomer.”
He seemed annoyed by the lapse in professionalism and adjusted his clothes
as he stepped back. The leader of the Sisters of Chell leaned forwards and
hissed.

“Lady Spellcraft gave us our job. I take it there’s no questions of her

identity?”

“None, Ma’am.”

Typhenous nodded. He looked at the [Thug].

“I do apologize. It’s just that you never know…”

The man nodded.

“We’ll bear it in mind for future jobs. Now, about that boat…we will need
it. The report indicated we’d be travelling via boat until we clear Liscor’s
lakes.”

“Outside. Several of them, in fact. The adventurers tie them up. Take which
ever you wish. And once you reach the shore, I take it you have ample
transportation?”

The [Thug] froze. He turned back to Typhenous and scowled, for the first
time visibly upset.

“It’s covered. You know better than to ask questions.”

“I apologize.”

Chastened, Typhenous looked down. The Brothers shifted. One of them

glanced ahead.

“All set?”

“We are clear for now. Go at your ready.”

The Sisters tensed by the door. The [Thug] took his position next to the two
men holding the magic door, nodded, and then thrust open the door. The
men and women shot out of the inn like a flash. Typhenous heard nothing
until, nearly thirty seconds later, someone blew a horn from the top of
Liscor’s walls.

“Ah, and there we go.”

Typhenous sighed. He walked over and closed the door, then walked over to
Eltistiman. He began tugging the [Magician] towards the basement. With
any luck, no one would check for him and the [Magician] would get away.
He did have a rather nice concealment spell. Typhenous wasn’t worried
about reprisals; he had done his job and so had Eltistiman. That was how it
worked, although Typhenous would have to be careful if they ever ran up
against each other again. The young man was quick.

—-

Two boats skimmed across the water as Liscor went into full-alert for the
umpteenth time that month. People on the walls fired arrows, but by the
time more arrived and the enchantments on the wall were ready to be
activated, both boats were long out of range. The Brothers of Serendipitous
Greetings and the Sisters of Chell moved fast; their Skills made the boats
fly across the water. Only when they were well out of range did they slow
and take a stealthier tack.

The rain had abandoned Liscor, which was a pity since that would have
covered their trail perfectly, but the clouds were still lingering and so the
rogues moved in shadows. They were headed north, and a fast wagon was
waiting to take them even further still once they hit land.

None of the men or women talked. They were professionals. They kept an
eye to the waters and to Liscor in case of pursuit—and an eye ahead for
good measure. They were reaching land when they heard a strange sound.

“Hold up. You hear that?”

The [Thug] with the cudgel raised a hand. He turned around in his boat,
seeking the strange melody that was playing across the waters. The Sisters
instantly raised their bows. The sound was coming from ahead of them.
Warily, both boats moved closer to shore. It would be easier to fight on the
ground if it was a fight they were up against. If it was a [Shepherd] of some
kind, well, they’d be unconscious faster than they could blink. Or dead if
the Sisters got to them first.

Nothing moved as the boat with the Brothers drew to shore. The man with
the cudgel leapt out. His skin crawled, though the ground and mountains
ahead of him were dark and unmoving. It all looked like one solid mass at a
distance, which was odd since the [Thug] did have a weak [Cat Eye] skill
that allowed him to make out most things in the dark.

No movement, though. The [Thug] frowned and twirled his cudgel, hearing
his three companions leap to shore as the Sisters paddled to get to ground as
well. He saw a lot of strange shapes on the ground ahead, and wished his
night vision Skill was stronger. He took a wary step forwards. Was that dark
green shape on the rocks mov—

The distant song ended abruptly. The men froze in place. They stood back-
to-back as the Sisters paddled closer. They were better at night-time
scouting. One of the Sisters looked ahead and made a strangled noise.

“What is that? What is—”

Three notes sang on a guitar. The sky opened. A bolt of lightning shot
down. The [Thug] turned, his mouth opening in a scream. The boat with the
Sisters exploded, throwing the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings
forwards.

The man with the cudgel’s ears rang as he tried to get up. He scrambled to
his feet and heard only ringing for a second. But he saw the arrows flying
down. He blocked one with his cudgel then threw himself sideways. If it
hadn’t been for his [Flawless Dodge] Skill, he would have been killed. Two
of his friends went down, clawing at the arrows that pierced them from
head to toe.
“Pilif! Pilif!”

The man with the cudgel looked around. He heard a strangled sound and
saw his friend with the dagger and sap staggering forwards. He had an
arrow in one leg, but he’d survived. The man pointed ahead.

“They’re coming!”

Who? The [Thug] whirled. The ground seemed to explode around him.
Dark, small shapes lunged at him, nearly invisible despite his Skill. Then
they opened their eyes. Red light shone as they howled and attacked.

Goblins. The cudgel spun in the man’s grip as he deflected swords and
daggers and a spear meant for him. Sweat rolled down the [Thug]’s face as
he danced among the Goblins, parrying blows, knocking Goblins down
with strikes. The Goblins were quick. And they were everywhere! They
were just Goblins, but they fought better than most Bronze-ranks. They
swarmed around him and the [Thug] spun. His cudgel flashed and he
walked out of a pile of Goblins, shaking.

“Pilif?”

He looked around for his friend. Goblins were running, retreating back. The
man with the cudgel saw a limp shape. Pilif hadn’t done so well against the
Goblins. He lay on the ground, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

“Dead gods.”

And then the man with the cudgel looked forwards and saw. Really saw for
the first time. The mountainside and pass ahead was dark. He’d mistaken
the uniformity of it all for some strange trick of the light, but that wasn’t the
case. It really was uniform.

They sat or stood on the sloping ground that formed the base of the
mountains flanking the northern road. On rocks, on the cliffs that soon
became nearly unclimbable and hinted at the treacherous heights far above.
They filled every available spot, silent, virtually invisible.
Until they opened their eyes.

Crimson light shone down on the last Brother of Serendipitous Meetings as

the clouds parted, as if mocking him by revealing what he hadn’t seen
before. The [Thug] backed up slowly, then stopped. What was the point of
running? He adjusted his grip on his cudgel and shook his head, casting a
glance back towards the inn he’d left.

“That’s certainly not a few hundred Goblins, you damn mage.”

The Goblins waited in silence as the [Thug] walked forwards slowly. None
of them moved, but then a taller shape stood. A guitar sang like thunder and
a tall Hob leapt to the ground from the rock where he’d been playing.
Moonlight glinted off the base of his guitar and the broken manacles on
each hand. The [Thug] stopped and saluted him with the cudgel.

“Ah, the song player. Kind of you to fetch us a tune, though I don’t care for
the way things worked out. I don’t suppose you take bribes?”

The Hob didn’t move. His eyes regarded the thug and he took a stance.
With his guitar. The Brother of Serendipitous Meetings eyed it, but decided
it would be rude to comment. He sighed as he looked back at his friends
and the smoldering wreckage of the other boat. He looked back at the Hob
and smiled ruefully.

“A pity. If the Gentlemen Callers had taken this case, things wouldn’t have
ended up like this. A true pity.”

He began to hum as he strode back to the bodies. He’d forgotten something.

Completely ungentlemanly of him. A final courtesy. The Goblins let him go
as the Hob slowly advanced. The [Thug] sang a little song under his breath.
It was an old song, and the words were a child’s nursery tune. But the lyrics
were known to all who walked the shadows of Izril.

“The good folk are rising, and we’re off to our beds.

The smart thieves away with the loot and the slow ones are dead.”
He stopped and bent over Pilif and turned the man over. He closed his
friend’s eyes, then did the same for his other two companions. He
straightened, and nodded to the Hobgoblin who’d paused a dozen or so feet
away.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. It was a kindness.”

“Good song.”

Numbtongue nodded. The [Thug] saluted him with his cudgel and smiled.
Like a gentleman, but there was an edge to the smile that could cut.

“Well then sir, shall we get on with it?”

He and Numbtongue stared at each other. Then they charged. The Cave
Goblins watched for a few minutes. Then they stood and walked forwards.

Numbtongue wiped blood off the base of his guitar and checked himself.
His ribs were cracked and he was bleeding from his jaw. He may have lost a
tooth. He looked down and sighed. Then he walked over to the boats. He
stopped and blinked at what lay in the undamaged one.

“Door.”

Erin’s magic door lay there, propped up next to the oars. Numbtongue
stared at it, then he looked at Liscor, ablaze with light. He wondered what
had happened. Then he looked at the Cave Goblins.

They stared at him. Thousands upon thousands. And more waited. All
looking at him. Numbtongue stared at the city in the distance. His friends
were there. Prisoners. His brothers. And Erin was in trouble too, probably.
But they had to go. The Goblin Lord was coming. Bird was hurt. Maybe
dead.

They couldn’t stay. He knew that. Greydath had told them. But what if—
Numbtongue closed his eyes. What if they wanted to stay? They were so
happy here. If they could…
Numbtongue looked over his shoulder. He began to count Cave Goblins,
counting the ones here and the ones below. Adding them up. Wondering if
maybe, maybe…

He looked back at the city. He looked at the door. Numbtongue sat down as
blood ran into the waters. Liscor was in uproar, and the world held its
breath. And somewhere, he was certain, the old Goblin was laughing.

—-

Typhenous knew the hired teams were dead. Or rather, he was counting on
it. There were a lot of Goblins, and Numbtongue had escaped after all. And
while the thugs might have been confident they could dissuade a Goblin
tribe from going after them, the Cave Goblins and Numbtongue would
surely recognize the door.

“A little betrayal.”

He stood over Eltistiman in the basement. The unconscious [Magician] was

groaning, probably from all the broken bones. Typhenous shook his head
and turned. Time to go, before this inn was flooded with people. He walked
back to the ladder and began to climb it.

“And so, you have a way out, Miss Solstice. If it should come to the worst.”

Typhenous grunted as he climbed out of the basement and closed the trap
door. Thus he repaid his debt, twisted though it might be. She would have a
way to run before the end. He walked forwards and studied the empty wall
where the magic door had been. Then he reached in his pocket for
something.

“I should probably leave this behind, hm? Yes, best to dispose of the
evidence.”
The glowing yellow fragments of the mana stone lay in his palm. That was
the irony in it; in a room full of [Rogues] and [Thugs] and other
disreputable classes, no one had noticed him palming the mana stone
attuned to Pallass.

After all, his clients would be furious that the door had been recovered, but
they’d only paid Typhenous to ensure no more reinforcements reached
Liscor. The [Mage] tossed the fragments of the mana stone on the floor and
walked to the door, muttering to himself and casting a concealment spell.

“Hired by Lord Veltras to ensure that no aid comes to Liscor. Hired by

Pallassian [Senators] to do the same. And contracted by a third party of
unknown origin to ensure that the door remains inoperable.”

He shook his head. It was a good time to have loose morals. But as he
opened the door and walked across the surface of the water and Drakes
thundered across the bridge to the inn, he had to think that it was all so silly.
Everyone was looking at Tyrion Veltras, or the Drakes, or so on. But what
everyone forgot was that there was always one rule to plans that you should
believe in.

“Nothing ever happens the way you expect.”

 Interlude – Krshia

Krshia Silverfang knew as she woke up that something was not right in
Liscor. She could feel it, as if her city had a pulse around her. And it was
her city. She had lived in it for ten years and made it her home. From
wandering the plains as most Gnolls did in tribes, she had come to this
place of stone and metal to be a City Gnoll, a term used sometimes with
pity or disdain. Or confusion. But then again, the Gnolls of the city didn’t
see it that way. And Krshia had not abandoned her tribe to come here.

Her city. Krshia frowned as she rolled out of her bed, tossing off the thin
sheets that were barely necessary given the fur covering her body. Her sense
of Liscor wasn’t just intuition. She could hear four times better than a
Human or Drake and it was too quiet in the morning.

Normally there would be sound as people rose in the streets, even at the
early hour. Conversation floating through Krshia’s windows, the sound of
[Guardsmen] chattering on patrol, or at the very least, the sound of children
who didn’t dread the mornings like grumpy adults. But today? Nothing.

No, barely something. Krshia heard footsteps and low voices. Someone was
walking past her apartment. Krshia sniffed—it was a Drake, male, moving
quickly. And she caught a whiff that told her a pair of Gnolls, father and
son, were walking down the street somewhere else. People were up. But
they were quiet. Nervous. She could smell that.

Krshia knew why. It was the news of the Goblin Lord. And the Humans. It
felt like the Goblins had been on the tip of everyone’s tongues for months
now, but the threat had fallen from everyone’s minds as the Goblins passed
by Liscor and became a Human issue. Now?
He was coming. Krshia sat on her bed and shivered, her hair standing up.
They were coming. The Humans were pushing the Goblins towards Liscor
and the city would be under siege in a matter of days. Everyone knew it.
Worse, something had happened during the night. Something bad.

Near midnight yesterday, Krshia had woken up. She’d heard an alarm was
sound on Liscor’s walls, and listened carefully to what they told her. Four
short blasts of a horn, a warning that told everyone that there was danger
spotted. It had woken Krshia from her sleep obviously; you didn’t sleep
through an alarm like that. Maybe some Drakes living in the center of the
city could, but a Gnoll would have to be a particularly deep sleeper to miss
that sound in the night.

Krshia rubbed her face as she recalled sitting with bow and arrows in her
room, debating whether it was wise to go out and find what was going on.
They hadn’t blown the urgent notes that warned of an attack. So she and the
anxious citizens had waited until they heard an all-clear blown not an hour
later. Then they’d gone to sleep.

“But what happened? Was it just a false alarm or something deeper? That is
the question, yes?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wearily shook her head. She’d have to find out.
That was a first priority for the day. Well, that and eating. So she got up,
resenting how her bones creaked and she felt tired. What had happened to
the young female Gnoll who could roll out of bed after four hours and go
hunting with her tribe?

“She rolled out of bed into a patch of nettles too many times.”

Grumbling, Krshia walked out of her bedroom and into the living room.
She lived in a modest apartment, located in a nice, Gnoll-filled street. But
hardly large enough for more than her and perhaps a guest. Krshia had no
partner and so she had chosen this small place. It was a nice one despite
having only four rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen.

The living room was by far the largest as Krshia often had guests over. She
had two couches, a nice sitting table, and various rugs, a few stools, a table
with a few Gnollish decorations—pots, a tapestry on the wall, and an old
hunting bow—and a pile of bandages sitting in a bucket. Krshia stopped
when she saw them, as she did every time. She stared at the bandages and
rubbed at her eyes.

“I should put them away.”

She should. They didn’t belong there. But Krshia didn’t. She looked at the
bandages and sniffed. There was almost no trace of him in the room, but
from the couch she caught the faintest scent. Nostalgia, bitter memory.
Regret. Krshia caught the scent of her deceased nephew, Brunkr, for just a
moment. Then it was gone. She stared at the bandages and shook her head.

“Nephew. Ah, what will I say to your mother when I see her again?”

The bandages didn’t respond. Krshia looked at them and then went into her
small kitchen. And she knew the bandages and bucket would stay another
day.

This is how Krshia the Gnoll started her day. She rattled a tea kettle and
found it still had water in it. Like all citizens of Liscor not wealthy enough
to magically procure their water, Krshia kept a small supply of water in her
home for cooking, washing, and drinking and had to refill it at a well every
day. Or, if it was the rainy season, stick a bucket out the window and wait
for ten seconds.

But the rain had stopped. And it had stopped for good; Krshia couldn’t
smell as much humidity in the air. Normally she would be relieved, but the
entire reason the Humans were coming here was because the rain was
stopping—

“No. Stop worrying, Krshia. You can worry later, but breakfast comes first.”

Krshia tapped her head firmly with one paw. She was no good without food
in her. Or tea. She bent over her stove, adding charcoal and kindling. Krshia
nearly went for her flint and steel when she recalled the little box of
matches. Octavia’s match sparked to life in a moment and Krshia grinned as
she stared at the little flame. She tossed it into her stove and it was soon
burning merrily.

In minutes, the water was hot and Krshia poured herself a cup and found
one of the reusable, dried up balls of herbs and spices that made the strong
Gnoll tea she liked so much. She dipped it into her mug, watching the steam
rise up and blinking a few times, still not quite awake.

Some days she wished she had something stronger than tea. Coffee had yet
to be discovered in her world, if it even existed, but in their infrequent talks
about Erin’s home, the young woman had told Krshia about the stuff.
Somehow, knowing there was a drink that would magically wake Krshia up
(without actually having any magic in it), was worse than living a life in
ignorance of it.

“I must ask her about this coffee soon. She said it is grown from beans. Can
we grow such beans in Liscor? Where might they be found? It would sell
very well, I think. Better than alchemical goods.”

Stamina potions and wake-up tonics did work, but they exacted a different
sort of toll on the body than caffeine. And it was a costly and foolish thing
to become reliant on them. So Krshia sipped her tea and began to make
breakfast. That was even quicker; she got out a jar filled with a thick pork
paste made of rendered fat and pork, spices, milk, and onions. It was known
as silkap, a traditional dish from Gnoll tribes.

It was a Gnollish favorite and Krshia’s go-to when she was in a hurry for
breakfast. The mixture kept for a long time and it went well with most
things. In this case, some sliced bread which Krshia warmed over the stove
for a few seconds. The Gnoll smiled as she looked at the thick loaf of rye
bread. It had risen well and it smelled delicious. The [Baker] she’d bought it
from had several Skills that made his bread wonderful.

The only bread Krshia had seen that was as good was the stuff Erin had
made—it seemed to rise like magic despite the young woman not having
nearly as many Skills. And she hadn’t told Krshia how she’d done it. Yet.
“Lovely bread. Jeicle did good work. And he sold it to me cheap, yes? I
should buy from him more often now that I can get better bread for less.”

Krshia thought of that as she found a knife to spread the pork paste with.
Her new Skills. Her new class, come to that! She was now a [Royal
Shopkeeper]. Her. Krshia. Thanks to Lyonette, she might have been the first
Gnoll in history to have such a class. And it wasn’t just a title to be proud
about either.

As a [Royal Shopkeeper], she now had access to new Skills that no one else
in Liscor would have. For now, Krshia had only two of them: [Imperial
Appraiser], a Skill which had replaced her [Quality Scent] Skill, and
[Silvertouched Wares], which she had earned only a few days ago when
she’d leveled up.

It was an incredible amount of levels and Skills to gain in such a short

amount of time, especially at Krshia’s age. Krshia hadn’t leveled in her
[Shopkeeper] class for over a year. Then her shop had exploded and she’d
been practically destitute. After that…well, she’d struggled, and her levels
had risen accordingly.

“New classes and starting over are keys to leveling, hrm? It is good, though
I would prefer not to have lost all my coin and the spellbooks for a few
levels.”

Still, Krshia had to admit that the new Skills made a huge difference. With
her new ability to tell almost instantly what flaws or hidden traits most
mundane objects had, she could buy only the best for her shop. But it was
[Silvertouched Wares] that really made a difference. Krshia had wondered
what the Skill did until she realized that every time she bought something,
she seemed to get more than what she’d ordered, or better quality.

It was as if Krshia had a single silver coin’s worth more money to spend on
buying…anything.

Thicker cuts of meat. Higher quality nails in bulk shipments. One less
bruise on a piece of fruit, or a garlic bulb plumper than the rest. On every
deal. The silver coin’s bonus was applied to every transaction Krshia
handled, each time, without her having to activate the Skill.

One silver coin wasn’t a lot. But it added up with how much Krshia bought
and sold each day. It probably wasn’t even one silver coin’s worth, honestly.
Maybe it was only a few copper coins to make her goods that much better.
But it was an advantage and in the duels of [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants],
it was a powerful Skill. And unheard of!

A [Merchant] with [Expert Bartering] could leave you penniless…but it was

still possible to just refuse to deal with them if you knew they had that Skill,
or get something out of a deal if you had your wits about you. But this?
This was unavoidable, a passive markup on everything Krshia made.

She loved it. Krshia hummed as she spread the thick pork paste on a piece
of fresh bread and took a bite. Her mouth was filled with flavor, sharp and
strong from the paste and a warm, chewy goodness from the bread.
Knowing she’d gotten the bread for cheap just added an additional bit of
zest to her meal.

That was how Krshia liked her breakfast. Rich, filling, and meaty. The
Gnoll woman had three more big slices of bread, with as much silkap on it
as she could fit onto each slice. She had two cups of water, and then she
was done with breakfast and feeling a lot more ready for the day.

Gnolls didn’t believe in eating salads for breakfast. It was more than just a
cultural thing. While Humans and half-Elves and…Centaurs all ate more
plant-based diets, Gnolls and Drakes both ate a lot more meat than their
Humans counterparts. They had to. Their ancestors had lived exclusively on
meat diets and while both species had adapted over millennia to eat grains
and fruits and so on, too much of that wasn’t good for them. They needed
meat, hence the emphasis on herding and fishing around Liscor.

It was always a race to stock up Liscor’s food stores. In the spring when
[Shepherds] had to pen up their flocks on the hilltops or go north or south
and when [Farmers] were raising a new group of animals for slaughter,
fishing provided Liscor’s needs. The [Fishers] would haul in prodigious
amounts of lake food, a good portion of which would be stored and
preserved via spell or salt to last Liscor for months. By then, herd animals
would supplement the food needs of Liscor, but if a bad season hit at any
time of the year, meat became a lot more expensive.

Krshia had lived through some bad years when all most Gnoll families
could afford was a bit of meat to go with potatoes or grain. It wasn’t good
for them, or for Drakes. She’d seen too many of her people get bloated and
tired from grain or plant-only diets, but that was what happened when you
lived in a city that could get cut off from the world like Liscor. It was a
trading hub, but the rains dictated when the trading occurred and the goods
that flowed from Humans to Drake lands weren’t usually bulk shipments of
produce. Liscor could be rich in goods, but poor in foodstuffs.

Erin’s magic door would change all that. Now Liscor could import goods if
it had to. Yes, the Merchant’s Guild didn’t like it and Liscor had agreed ‘not
to’, as had Erin. But come the first hunger pangs from lack of meat and
Krshia was sure things would change.

“Of course, we send soldiers through the door now, and that was what many
worried about, wasn’t it? If her door becomes a tool of war, will Erin be
seen as taking sides? How long until someone claims the door from her? Or
will Liscor not give it back?”

Krshia frowned as she put on her clothes over her breast band and loincloth.
She knew Pallassian soldiers had been marching into Liscor yesterday;
she’d seen the yellow armor and it was the talk of the city. How many more
would come through today? And what had the alarm in the night been
about?

Another day, another crisis. Before Krshia went to her shop to set up, she
had to know what had passed in the night. Yesterday had been tense. News
of the attack on Liscor had spread like wildfire. At first the Watch had tried
to contain the news, but too many [Guardsmen] had spoken of it and when
the [Messaged] spells had begun flying across the continent…

Krshia left her apartment, leaving the door unlocked. She had no fear it
would be burgled—she looked up to a neighboring apartment and nodded
slightly. She saw a shape in the windows nod back. Her neighbor, an old
Gnoll [Weaver] was watching her apartment, as were the other Gnolls in the
area.

No [Thief] would get close to her apartment without being spotted and if
they tried to break in, well, if the Watch didn’t get there in time they would
be out of luck. Miss Zailky was old, but she could still point and shoot the
crossbow she owned and her aim was better than Krshia’s.

Reassured her home and the magic book Ryoka had given her was safe,
Krshia began her day by sniffing the air and trying to remember where
she’d find her first informant. She had to know what had passed on the
walls last night and she very much doubted Watch Captain Zevara would
answer her if she strode in and demanded to know what had happened. The
same with Olesm, Wall Lord Ilvriss or the new Wing Commander Embria.
Krshia was an ordinary citizen to them, for all she was important among
Liscor’s Gnolls. She wasn’t Erin.

But she did have access to information. Krshia headed towards the western
gates, where she knew [Guardswomen] would be stationed. The gates were
closed, obviously, to keep the water from flooding the city, but someone
had to be stationed there regardless. Drakes loved their little rules. And as
luck would have it, Krshia saw a furry head in a helmet. Perfect. If a Drake
had been on duty she’d have to have gone to the other three gates, or find
someone on patrol.

“Tkrn.”

The Gnoll on duty jumped guiltily. He’d been leaning on his spear and very
obviously trying to take a nap. He whirled, ears flattening along his head
and tail drooping, probably afraid a Senior Guardswoman or Zevara was
about to chew him out. He saw it was Krshia and groaned.

“Oh, Aunt. I’m uh, on duty, so I cannot talk. If you want to chat, I’m sure I
could talk later, after duty—”

“What happened last night, Tkrn? What were the horns about?”
Krshia did not beat about the bush. She folded her arms and stared at Tkrn.
He was young and had grown up in Liscor. He whined unhappily as he
shifted his grip on his spear.

“Aunt Krshia, Watch Captain Zevara threatened to suspend any

[Guardsman] who talks, and she’s my superior—”

He yelped and flinched as Krshia grabbed one of his ears between her
fingers.

“And I am your aunt, yes? Speak up! What happened, Tkrn? Tell me
quickly, and with no exaggerations?”

The Gnoll winced and looked around, but eventually whispered quickly to
Krshia.

“Someone stole the door in Erin’s inn in the middle of the night!”

“What?”

Krshia let go of Tkrn and recoiled in shock. Someone had taken the door?
Tkrn went on hurriedly.

“It was recovered though! The Watch sent our pursuers and we thought they
would be too late, even with Relc. But then we found the bodies. Humans,
[Rogues] most like, were slaughtered on the road north. By Goblins. And
the door was left behind! We have recovered it and put it in the inn again,
but—Aunt, the thieves broke the connection to Pallass.”

“Explain.”

Tkrn glanced over Krshia’s shoulder and lowered his voice further so that
only the Gnolls could hear.

“I do not know exactly how it works, but I heard Olesm talking to Zevara.
They found a—a broken mana stone. It is this small thing that—”

“I know what it is. What did Olesm say?”

“He said—without the mana stone, Pallass cannot send reinforcements
directly. They will march an army north, but it will most likely not get here
before the Humans and Goblins.”

Tkrn’s ears went flat. Krshia felt a jolt of fear run through her heart. She
looked at Tkrn. The Gnoll stared at her, his tail lowered in fear and then
turned and pretended to be watching the gate. Krshia stepped away from
him and tried to keep her own tail from doing the same.

They’d broken the door’s connection to Pallass? And someone—the

Humans, no doubt—had tried to make off with the door itself! They’d
failed, but without a link to Pallass—that was bad. Beyond bad, in fact.

“What will happen next, Aunt? Olesm and Zevara are at the inn, but they
are worried. What will Liscor do now?”

Tkrn whispered with his back to Krshia. She didn’t know. She looked
around, shaking her head.

“I—I will go to the inn and see what they say. But I must open my shop,
first. People will be hungry and need goods as with every other day. But—I
will not work for too long. I will go to the inn after an hour, and speak with
Lyonette and get Mrsha. I have business with her. Then, I think, we must
call a meeting.”

Tkrn looked over his shoulder at Krshia.

“Oh. The curs—”

“Not cursed!”

Krshia glared at Tkrn, forgetting her fear for a second. The Gnoll flinched.

“But Aunt, the others said—”

She slapped him on the back of the head. Tkrn yelped.

“Do you listen to what other people say instead of thinking all the time,
Tkrn, you fool, you? I am telling you that she is not cursed, and not a
bringer of doom or woe. She is a young child. Nothing more. If I hear you
repeat such nonsense again—”

The Gnoll [Guardsman] yelped and tried to shield himself as Krshia

harangued him for a minute, then watched as she turned and strode away.
He shook his head and watched Krshia striding away. She looked unafraid,
but Tkrn wasn’t reassured. He had smelled the fear on her just as he had on
Olesm and Zevara. And yes, he had orders not to reveal what he’d seen, but
he’d talked to Krshia, hadn’t he? He was sure news was already spreading
throughout the city.

So was Krshia. She strode towards Market Street, her thoughts in a whirl.
Cursed child. Raskghar. Liscor’s dungeon. Goblin Lord. And now the
Human army. It was all so much to deal with. She got to the familiar street
full of street vendors and her small stall. It was already set up, the goods
packed and waiting to be put on display.

The hour was still early, so the night [Guardswoman], a Drake, was just
finishing her shift and being replaced. Normally Market Street would be
filled with [Shopkeepers] and [Vendors] setting up and customers already
stopping by, but the place was practically deserted, of both shopkeepers and
customers. People were hearing the word about what had happened and
staying indoors.

Still, that didn’t mean she had to follow suit. Krshia opened her stall,
sweeping it clean and then placing some goods on the counter, adjusting
one of her displays, checking her sign, and waited. She did not have to wait
long. The first customers who came down the street were habitual early
risers, people desperate for one good or another, or busybodies. Krshia
knew them all and called out to them.

“Miss Ossi, good morning! Care to shop? I will only be open for an hour
this morning, so if you have any orders, place them now, yes? Mister
Vallissil, do you need a healing potion for that cut on your arm? I have a
new shipment from Celum! A Stitchworks classic!”

Hers was the only loud voice on the entire street. Drakes and Gnolls came
over, checking out Krshia’s goods, greeting her warily, asking her about
prices and the news. Especially the news. Krshia spoke as she exchanged
goods for coin or wrote down orders to be fulfilled later.

“Miss Krshia, did you hear about what happened? I woke up with the horns,
but I thought it was nothing. But I heard that something happened to the
magic door. You know, the one in the crazy Human girl’s inn? The
Wandering Inn?”

“I heard the same things. But the door is back, or so I hear.”

The Drake with a cut on his arm shivered as he paid for a weak healing
potion.

“Not in one piece. It was damaged by Human saboteurs. The connection to

Pallass is gone. All the soldiers are cut off and we’re alone.”

The other customers muttered uneasily. One of them, a Drake with a purse
and speckled blue and yellow scales, looked nervous. She glanced over her
shoulder as her tail lashed the ground.

“Maybe it’s time to go. My husband has been talking about it. We’ve lived
here for sixteen years and the Antinium were one thing. You hardly notice
them—well, up till now, and it was reassuring having them here sometimes.
But this? Krshia, this is war.”

“It may be. But leaving the city now is premature, yes?”

Krshia raised her eyebrows disbelievingly while her heart sank. The Drake
shook her head.

“You think so? The Goblins and Humans are days away at best! I thought
we could go through to Pallass if something went wrong or they’d send a
huge army through the door, but now—if we’re going it has to be right
when the waters fall.”

“You don’t mean leave, Miss Ossi. Not Liscor!”

Vallissil turned to the other Drake, looking stunned. The Drake woman
turned her head away.
“I don’t want to abandon the city. But I’ve heard people saying that there’s
no way Liscor will be able to hold out against two armies. And that was
before the connection to Pallass vanished. I have a newborn daughter and a
son. I…this isn’t like the Necromancer. The army’s not here—most of them
—and they have trebuchets.”

“That’s just a rumor—”

“It’s a fact! My husband heard from his friend that our [Strategist] was
talking about it.”

“Who? Olesm Swifttail? He’s young! He doesn’t know—”

The male Drake cut off as another Drake woman leaned around him.

“Does your family have any plans? How’ll you go south?”

Ossi hesitated.

“We don’t know. We’d have to hire a wagon and cross the Floodplains, but
all that mud…”

“It would be safer in numbers. If a lot of us went—not saying we would,

but if we were going, it would be tomorrow or the day after, right? The
waters are lowering.”

“You can’t be serious! Liscor won’t fall—”

“In that case, why did Olesm call for help? Did you hear? He strode into
Pallass and demanded reinforcements!”

“So they’re coming.”

“In time?”

“Leaving with my family would mean abandoning our business and home.
But if it’s that or dying when the Goblins breach the walls—”

“Trebuchets—”
“That damn Human, Tyrion Veltras and his lot—”

Krshia listened to the babble of voices as she did business mechanically,

then just leaned on her counter and listened to people talk. Her heart sank
further. This was the first time she’d heard this kind of discussion. Leaving
Liscor? The people were truly frightened to think of such a thing.

But no wonder. This situation was unprecedented in scale. Monsters were a

fact of life. Undead attacks, the dungeon appearing…all that was something
you lived with. But war? Enemy armies? When those threatened, that was
when you did start counting your coins and looking to the gates. It wasn’t
treachery and it wasn’t cowardice. It was just that people didn’t want to die.

“Honored Krshia.”

One of her customers, a Gnoll, muttered under his breath as the discussion
became a hypothetical ‘what if’ about fleeing from Liscor and where they’d
all go. Krshia glanced up and saw an older male Gnoll looking at her. He
muttered under his breath as he inspected a set of writing quills.

“Honored Beilmark has requested us to call a meeting with all the

representatives. She says the news is urgent.”

Krshia nodded. She leaned forwards and under the pretext of showing the
Gnoll her quills, spoke quietly.

“Does she know anything more than this?”

“She knows numbers and details. The other representatives have agreed.
Honored Elirr has volunteered his home for the meeting.”

“I will go.”

The Gnoll nodded. He would spread the word further and tell others.

“We will meet at Elirr’s shop then, at midday. It is time for it too; many
families are discussing fleeing the city tomorrow when the waters lower.
Just discussing, and not seriously, but if we must come to a decision…”
He glanced over his shoulder. The Drakes were standing and talking. They
weren’t committed. They were finding every reason not to go. Wyvern
attacks, having to pass through the Blood Fields which would be waking
up, leaving everything behind…but they were talking about it. Krshia
nodded.

“I will be there. But I go to The Wandering Inn now. To hear what may be
heard. And to pick up the Mrsha child, yes?”

“Now?”

The Gnoll raised his eyebrows. Krshia shrugged.

“Her abilities must be seen and discussed. It is not as pressing as this attack,
but I have not had the opportunity to find out what she knows until today. If
Honored Elirr is willing, please send him to meet us. It will not take more
than an hour, and he knows…”

She trailed off meaningfully. The Gnoll nodded.

“I will pass the word on. Also—how much for these quills? I need new
ones.”

“Take them. I’m closing shop. Dear customers! Make any final purchase,
because I am closing, and I do not know if I will reopen my shop today,
yes?”

Krshia raised her voice. She closed six more hurried purchases and packed
her coins away in her belt pouch before sweeping her goods back into their
bins and locking them. Krshia took one more look around Market Street
before she left. A few more [Shopkeepers] were open, but they were hardly
doing business.

They were talking with their customers and looked as worried as anyone
else. Krshia shook her head and hurried down the street. Not towards her
apartment, but to the eastern gate. Up to the battlements, and, after speaking
with a [Guardsman] on duty, down one of the ladders and onto a bridge
leading eastern and north. To an inn on a hill.
No rain fell on Krshia as she walked across the bridge and stared down at
the hills and valleys submerged in muddy water. The rains had stopped and
the water level was lowering. It was almost six feet lower now, so the
bridge to Erin’s inn was in fact, an actual bridge now rather than one that
rested just above the waterline. Already Krshia could see mud and bits of
grass dotting the hills where the water level had receded.

“Almost enough to walk on, yes? Almost. But slippery and foul-smelling.
Not good for Gnolls.”

She shook her head, imagining getting that much mud out of her fur. In a
day, perhaps less, the water level would be low enough for everyone to
move about the Floodplains, albeit in the mud. The water would stay in the
valleys for much longer, but in most places it would drain into the earth.

Krshia didn’t know why it was so quick, but she had heard rumors that the
earth under Liscor was porous, and thus allowed great quantities of water to
be sucked down the earth to…somewhere. Where did the water go? And did
the Antinium have anything to do with how fast it drained?

It didn’t matter. Right now it was possible to move from hilltop to hilltop if
you had to. Since Krshia did not have to and since she didn’t relish slipping
by accident and falling into the water where large fish were still plentiful,
she walked across the bridge to The Wandering Inn.

The inn was already crowded when Krshia arrived, and very few of the
people inside were guests. A few adventuring teams were sitting at the
table, but the inn was mainly occupied with the City Watch and Liscor’s
soldiers. They were standing about, some eating, but most looking wary.

Or ashamed. Krshia caught a strong whiff of that from a [Captain] and his
[Soldiers] who were being chewed out by Wing Commander Embria in one
corner of the inn. But her attention went instantly to the magic door, or
where it usually was.

It was there still. Only it looked like it had been moved slightly from where
it had been. A group of Gnolls and Drakes stood in front of it with three
[Mages], all from Liscor’s Mage’s guild, arguing with Pisces and
Typhenous.

Watch Commander Zevara and Olesm were standing around the restored
door, looking grim. Krshia took a seat at a table and listened. There were a
lot of conversations to filter out, but she could hear interesting snippets
from all sides.

“—thick-headed idiots! How did you not resist a [Sleep] spell? How did
you miss the [Mage] who cast it? I should tie rocks to all of your tails and
toss you into the lake for the Rock Crabs to eat! Give me one reason why I
shouldn’t stab you all to death for failing to guard—”

Embria was managing to shout at her soldiers without actually raising her
voice that loud.

“—won’t work. You think it’s simply as easy as restoring a mana stone? If
you are able to cast [Restore], please, be my guest. Oh, and while we are on
the subject, are you proficient in restoring unique magical signatures as
well? Because if the magical coordinates are not perfectly aligned, I would
not step through that doorway and expect to live. But by all means, inform
me why there is a ‘chance’ of restoring this connection.”

Pisces sneered at the red-faced Drake [Mage] as he pointed to the magic

door and a broken yellow mana stone whose shards were lying on the
ground in front of the door. Typhenous was stroking his beard, muttering.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Pisces, as objectionable as he may have

phrased it. I simply cannot think of a way to restore the connection safely.
Not without sending a Runner to form another link. Oh dear, and Hawk
won’t reach Pallass in time, will he? But maybe—no, no—”

“This was a Human action. They came through Celum. But someone had to
let them through and put the inn to sleep. Who?”

Krshia’s head turned. There. Zevara and Olesm were talking. The Watch
Captain’s claws were balled into fists as she stared at the door. Olesm
shifted from foot to foot, his blue scales ghostly pale.
“I don’t know, Watch Captain. It could have been someone hiding in this
inn, or someone who crept around it at night—the spell was high-level
because it got Relc and Embria’s soldiers. It could have been an infiltrator
—”

“—or a traitor.”

“Or that. But there’s no way of knowing.”

Zevara ground her teeth together.

“Could it have been the Goblins? We found the dead Humans just outside
that cave where they’re supposed to be lurking. And our patrol saw them
watching us. If they caused this—”

“None of the Hobs knows magic, Zevara. And they didn’t steal the door.
They stopped the thieves from getting away.”

“They could still have been collaborating—”

Olesm shook his head and his tone grew firmer.

“They let us have it. If they wanted to keep it, I think they could have
hidden it quite easily. They’re not the criminals here, Watch Captain. I’ll
stake my tail on it.”

The two Drakes stared at each other. Zevara slowly nodded. She turned to
the door.

“They’re not going to be able to fix this, are they?”

“No. Pisces doesn’t think so and I’d agree with his assessment, rude though
it may be.”

“Ancestors. What do we do now? Can Pallass get an army here past the
Blood Fields in time?”

“They’ll try, and the other cities are sending soldiers too. But I think that
they’ll get here too late. The siege will have started before any large force
can arrive. If they have Skills, maybe—”

“Can we hold the walls with what we have?”

“Maybe. If the Antinium fight and they have as many Soldiers and Workers
as we think they do—with Pallass’ reinforcements and Embria’s forces—
maybe—maybe—”

Olesm looked nervous. He smelled of fear. Krshia’s heart began to beat

faster. She looked at Olesm and Zevara as the Watch Captain turned away,
grabbing at the spines on the back of her head until she realized people
were watching her and lowered her claws. She raised her voice as Krshia
turned back to her table, pretending to be waving for a drink.

“Fine! Wing Commander Embria, we don’t have a tactical advantage here

anymore. This door…is now a liability. We’ll hire Hawk to get to Pallass if
he can, but if he refuses—I want a guard on this door and no one goes
through to Celum. Get that mana stone and destroy it. Or we’ll confiscate
it.”

“What?”

The adventurers looked up. One of them, Krshia thought her name was
Revi, stood up. The Gnoll saw the teams sitting together—the Horns of
Hammerad, the Silver Swords, Griffon Hunt, and the Halfseekers, but she
wasn’t as firm on the names as she’d like. The Stitch-Woman frowned and
tugged at the strings sewn into her neck.

“Hold on, you can’t do that. We need to use that door.”

“Why?”

Zevara turned, impatient. Revi hesitated.

“Well…we want to use that door. To go to Celum.”

“For what? You can get whatever you need in Liscor. This is a crisis,
Human—I mean, adventurers. There’s already been one sabotage attempt
on Liscor from Celum. I don’t intend for there to be a second.”
“Yeah, but—”

Revi looked back at the other adventurers and hesitated. They exchanged a
glance. Krshia saw Halrac gritting his teeth and glancing at Jelaqua and
Ylawes, both of whom looked grim. Ceria was sitting back in her seat,
staring up at the ceiling. At last, Jelaqua stood up. She gave the room a
weak grin with her Drake body.

“Hey, I know this isn’t the best time and I don’t know how to say this…but
we’re leaving.”

“What?”

Olesm nearly dropped the green mana stone he was holding. Zevara turned.

“You are joking.”

“We’re not.”

Halrac got to his feet, looking unhappy. So did Ylawes. The [Knight]
rubbed at his chin and didn’t look directly at Olesm or Zevara. Ceria
remained seated, but she refused to look at Olesm and Zevara as well.

“It’s not an easy decision. But we’re going to leave Liscor today.”

“Why?”

Olesm stared at Ceria. Jelaqua’s tail waved back and forth on the
floorboards uneasily.

“Look, it’s not personal. We like Liscor and you lot. But this is serious. Two
armies coming down on Liscor? We can’t be part of that fighting. We’re
willing to kill monsters, but we don’t take sides in a war. Especially not a
Human and Drake war.”

“This isn’t a war!”

Zevara snapped at Jelaqua. She pointed out the window at the city.
“Neither the Drakes nor the Humans have declared war formally! The
Humans are driving a Goblin force towards Liscor. If they attack—”

“Then it’s war. Yeah, sorry, but we don’t want to be right after the fact. We
know what’s happening. And so do you.”

The Selphid met Zevara’s gaze. The Watch Captain gritted her teeth. She
looked at Olesm and Embria, clearly searching for help, but both Drakes
looked uncertain. Zevara turned back to Jelaqua and snapped, but Krshia
heard the quiver in her voice.

“Drake law demands that adventurers support a city in times of crisis. I

could conscript you—”

“Not to fight against our people. And this isn’t a war, Watch Captain.”

Ylawes spoke up for the first time. He looked haunted as he turned and
faced the room.

“It is not a just…I cannot understand the reasoning for it, but I have learned
that my father, Yitton Byres, is marching with Tyrion Veltras. Our house has
sent a large force with him. I cannot stay here. Nor can the other teams. We
are going. I am sorry, but this is our decision.”

All eyes turned to Halrac. The [Veteran Scout] just nodded. He looked at
Zevara.

“It’s a war. Sorry, but I won’t shoot soldiers.”

And that was that. Three Gold-rank teams stood in the inn. Krshia could see
Olesm paling, visibly calculating what the loss of three teams would mean.
Zevara just looked from face to face. She gazed at Ceria, but the half-Elf
didn’t look up.

“And the Horns of Hammerad?”

“We need to talk to Erin. But uh, we’re not keen on staying either.”
Ceria mumbled into the table. Krshia saw one of the adventurers sitting
around her move and saw Ksmvr staring at his captain. Zevara looked
around. She seemed lost for a second. Then her brows snapped together.

“Fine. If that’s your decision, I can’t argue against it.”

The adventurers relaxed. Zevara gave them a smile that was all teeth and no
goodwill and then turned. She to Olesm.

“Take the mana stone.”

“Wait, you can’t do that—”

Revi burst out. Zevara whirled.

“I can’t? Guardsmen! Soldiers! Escort Strategist Olesm back to the city and
place the mana stone to Celum in our armory. Wing Commander Embria,
place your best men on watch there. No one goes in or out of Celum by my
order. We’re confiscating the mana stone for the security of Liscor. If you
want to go north, you can walk. And you’d better walk fast before you run
into the Goblin Lord’s army.”

She locked eyes with the Gold-rank captains. Jelaqua, Halrac, and Ylawes
stared as Olesm grabbed the mana stone and backed towards the door.
Krshia hunkered down in her seat. Was there going to be a fight?

There wasn’t. The tension in the inn grew more taut, but the adventurers
weren’t willing to risk a fight. Olesm edged to the door, remembered there
was a magic one behind him, and then fled through that. The Watch
followed after him, as did Embria’s soldiers. Krshia slowly let out a breath.
She saw the adventurers turn to each other as Zevara strode out the door.

“Moth eggs!”

Revi slammed her hands on the table. Halrac grunted and Ylawes sat back
down slowly. Falene, the half-Elf who smelled of floral perfumes, looked
around.

“Well. That went poorly. What should we do now?”

Jelaqua ran a claw down the back of her head.

“We’ll go on foot, then. Or…Gazer’s tits, I don’t know! Go south instead?

It’s been years since we worked in Drake lands.”

“We can’t go south.”

Ylawes and Halrac looked up. Jelaqua eyed them.

“Why not? You’re adventurers, and it beats trying to outrun the Goblin
Lord, right?”

Both Humans opened their mouths and didn’t know what to say. Jelaqua
shook her head.

“Dead gods, we shouldn’t have brought it up! We should have just gone
without telling them—do you think we can go north anyways? What if we
hired that Hawk guy to carry another mana stone to Celum and just teleport
there? Or if we sent one person on horseback—”

The adventurers turned to each other and began to argue loudly. Krshia sat
back in her chair.

“Worse and worse.”

She shook her head. Now the adventurers were fleeing the city. It was as if
they thought Liscor would fall for certain. But wasn’t there a chance?
Wasn’t there a reason to stay? Maybe not for them, but surely—

“Krshia?”

A voice made Krshia sit up. She saw Lyonette hurrying over to her. The
[Barmaid] was wiping her hands on a cloth. She smiled apologetically, but
like Zevara’s smile, it was a facial expression rather than an indication of
any happiness.

“Lyonette. Greetings.”
“Hello Krshia, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but we’re really busy. Erin
was arrested and they haven’t let her out of jail yet. I’ve been managing
everything myself and trying to cook—can I get you anything?”

Krshia looked around. Aside from Drassi, there were no other staff. Or
guests. The adventurers were eating and drinking, but the news of the
impending siege of Liscor had cleared Erin’s inn just as thoroughly as the
Raskghar attacks had.

“I am fine Lyonette, and I did not mind waiting, yes? I only came here to
see if Mrsha would like to join me for a day. As we spoke about last time,
remember?”

Lyonette hesitated.

“Mrsha? Oh, yes. That would be—I have a mountain of dishes from all the
soldiers and Ishkr’s not in. But an entire day?”

“Or a few hours. Mrsha should have lessons and it would be good to get her
out of the inn, yes?”

Lyonette nodded uncertainly and looked over her shoulder. Krshia saw
Mrsha was sitting on the ground. The Gnoll had been playing in a corner of
the inn while the adults talked. She’d been playing with her ball and trying
to get Apista to roll it back to little avail. She looked bored.

“It—it would help. Mrsha’s been cooped up and I can’t take her to Celum.
But Liscor—”

“She would be safe as a house, in my house, yes? If we go out, she will

only help me with my stall. She will not be alone, I promise.”

Krshia smoothly reassured Lyonette. The young woman bit her lip, but then
one of the adventurers—Revi—called for more alcohol as their debate grew
fiercer. That decided her.

“I need to go. Yes, please. And thank you! We’re going to have more guests,
so if you could bring Mrsha back by dinner—if that’s not too much to ask?
Mrsha, honey, would you like to go with Krshia?”

The Gnoll looked up at the sound of her name. She looked at Krshia,
thought, and then nodded eagerly. The Gnoll smiled and stood up. Lyonette
fussed over Mrsha as the Gnoll leapt over and Apista buzzed off to do more
productive things—like fan her wings in front of the fire in the kitchen.

“You do exactly what Krshia says, Mrsha. And don’t go anywhere! I’ll see
you tonight. You don’t have to go. Only if you’re sure. You’re sure?”

Mrsha nodded. She padded around Krshia, sniffing the old Gnoll. Krshia
wondered when Mrsha would stop walking on all fours. But then, she was
young. She bent and rubbed her face against Mrsha’s cheeks.

“I will be fine. Little Mrsha and I will go to my apartment first, I think. And
then perhaps Elirr will join us. It will be productive, yes, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded. Lyonette hesitated again. Then Revi shouted her name.
The [Barmaid] turned, scowled, and bent to hug Mrsha.

“Okay. You have fun. I’ll see you soon! Yes, Revi, I see you! I’m coming!”

She hurried off. Mrsha and Krshia stood together for a second as Lyonette
rushed over to the bar, and then the two exchanged knowing glances. Mrsha
narrowed her eyes and Krshia nodded. She bent and whispered so only
Mrsha could hear.

“It is time, child. You and I—and Elirr—have much to discuss.”

Mrsha nodded, somewhat warily. Krshia nodded and they walked for the
door to Liscor. They all had much to discuss. The Gnolls of Liscor had to
decide what they were going to do. But for now magic came first.

—-
Mrsha and Krshia walked through the streets of Liscor in silence. One,
because Mrsha couldn’t talk and two, because what Krshia wanted to say
was too important to risk being overheard. They made a beeline for Krshia’s
apartment. The Gnoll woman was relieved to finally be alone with Mrsha at
last, or rather, free of Lyonette.

Today was the first day she’d managed to convince Lyonette to allow Mrsha
to go with her alone. The young [Barmaid] had refused to let Mrsha out of
her sight since she had been rescued from the dungeon. No wonder, and it
spoke to how much Lyonette cared, but it had made Krshia nearly tear her
fur out in frustration.

“We will talk there. With snacks. There is much to discuss after the
dungeon. Much…we did not get a chance to say. I know of most of it from
Elirr, but I would see it myself.”

Krshia spoke quietly to Mrsha as they turned down a street. She saw the
Gnoll cub look up apprehensively.

“You are not in trouble, Mrsha.”

That reassured Mrsha, but only slightly. She padded along as Krshia kept
them to the right hand side of the street. Not that there was much foot
traffic. People were talking to each other, and Krshia kept hearing the same
snatches of conversation.

Siege. Pallass. Reinforcements. Magic door. Leaving. Humans. Goblins.

The same words stood out time and time again. Krshia knew she should be
focused on that, but the others had to gather. At midday they would discuss
the issue. Until then—

Krshia sniffed the air at the same time as Mrsha. They turned their heads
and saw a male Gnoll with dark fur and black stripes walking towards them.
Elirr nodded and bared his teeth in a Gnoll’s smile.

“Krshia, Mrsha child. It is good to see you, yes?”

“Elirr. Thank you for coming.”

Krshia smiled and politely smelled Elirr as he did the same to her. Mrsha
padded around Elirr and he bent to rub cheeks.

“I got your message. We are gathering soon, yes? To discuss the situation
with Goblins.”

Krshia nodded. Her smile faded. She began to walk with Elirr as Mrsha
walked ahead of them, sighing and listening to the adults talk.

“I opened my shop for a bit to get the pulse of the city. It is not good, no?
Everyone knows about the door. And they fear the Goblins and Humans
will take Liscor.”

“It is a reasonable fear, no? Two armies…and trebuchets. I have even heard
of some talking of fleeing Liscor and moving south.”

“As have I. I do not think it is wise, though. To abandon everything…”

“But if the alternative is death—”

Mrsha looked back up at Elirr and Krshia in alarm. The two adults fell
silent guiltily. Krshia cleared her throat.

“It is not set in stone. Beilmark called the meeting. She will know the odds.
Let us wait until then, yes?”

Elirr nodded.

“Agreed. We should be focused on young Mrsha. It has been too long since
we saw each other. And it is good to see you well, yes, Mrsha?”

He smiled down at Mrsha. She smiled up at them, but Krshia saw more than
happiness run through the two Gnolls. They had both been prisoners of the
Raskghar. What they had seen—Krshia had heard some of it from the
survivors. But only some. Even the oldest Gnolls hadn’t been able to talk
fully about the ritual.

So much for a child. Krshia bowed her head. Then they came to her
apartment. Both Gnolls followed Mrsha as she bounded up the steps. The
white Gnoll leapt into Krshia’s apartment and jumped onto a couch, happy
to run about.

“Can I offer you tea?”

Elirr shook his head as he took a seat opposite Mrsha. Krshia nodded and
went into the kitchen for some dried crackers and silkap, because it would
have been completely rude not to offer something to eat. She set it on the
table and Mrsha reached for a cracker at once.

“Ah, do not eat too much, Mrsha. There will be more snacks later.”

The little Gnoll gave Krshia a look that clearly said that later was not now,
and why shouldn’t she eat as much as possible? But she reluctantly took
only one cracker and spread the rich paste on top. She munched as Elirr and
Krshia did the same. Politeness done, Elirr looked at Krshia.

“I thought you would have young Mrsha here at once given what we
discovered. Why the delay?”

He spoke politely, but without the deference that Tkrn would have offered
her. In terms of unofficial hierarchy, Elirr and Krshia were close to the same
level. Krshia ducked her head by way of apology.

“I tried, but Lyonette, she was very stubborn and refused to let Mrsha out of
her sight.”

Elirr nodded.

“Understandable. It is good Mrsha has a protector. Well then. Mrsha.”

The Gnoll guiltily froze in the process of reaching for a second cracker.
Elirr and Krshia looked at her. Both adults hesitated. They didn’t really
know how to begin.

“Mrsha, we wished to speak to you alone. Between Gnolls. About the

dungeon. About what happened there.”
The Gnoll’s eyes went wide. Instantly she began to quiver. Krshia rushed to
reassure her.

“We do not want to make you remember. It is what Elirr saw, about your
magic, Mrsha. About the fact that you…can cast magic. Spells.”

Mrsha stopped trembling. She looked at Krshia and Elirr and then looked
guilty. And, like a child, she tried to hide it.

“We know you can cast magic, Mrsha. With a wand.”

The Gnoll squirmed in her chair. Elirr shot an amused glance at Krshia.

“We saw, you, Mrsha. I did. You are not in trouble—”

“Hmf. Although you are in some if what I suspect is true.”

Krshia folded her arms. Elirr growled under his breath and kicked Krshia
gently under the table. Mrsha pretended to be interested in her cracker.

“Mrsha. Can you do magic?”

Reluctantly, the Gnoll looked up. She nodded once. Krshia held her breath.
Elirr just nodded.

“You learned it, didn’t you?”

Another nod. Mrsha shot a quick glance towards Krshia’s bedroom. Elirr
grinned.

“From her book?”

Mrsha avoided looking directly at Krshia. She nodded very slowly. Krshia
scowled. She opened her mouth but received another kick.

“Could you show us? If it is possible?”

The little Gnoll looked up at Elirr. He smiled reassuringly at her and Krshia
tried to wipe the scowl off her face. She wanted to see. Mrsha hesitated, but
then nodded her head. She leapt from the couch, and began to pluck at her
side. Both Elirr and Krshia frowned until Mrsha undid a bit of string and
pulled a wand out of her fur!

“Where was that?”

Krshia was astonished. Mrsha had hidden a wand along her side! She’d tied
it to her with a length of string, and her thick fur had completely
camouflaged the wand! The Gnoll waved it proudly in the air. Krshia gaped
and then frowned.

“Wait. That wand smells of Pisces. And I recall Erin telling me you often
played with it. Is this wand you have taken, you little thief?”

Mrsha’s eyes went round and she shook her head slowly. Krshia folded her
arms and again received a kick in her leg. This time she kicked Elirr back.

“If you are stealing—”

“Come, Krshia, let her show you first!”

Elirr growled, rubbing at his stomach where Krshia had kicked him. He
waved a paw at Mrsha who looked expectantly at him. The Gnoll stared up
at Krshia, then nodded. She pointed her wand at the floorboards in front of
her.

“Wait, what is she doing to my fl—”

Too late. Mrsha jerked the wand up as if she was raising something and
greenery burst from between the floorboards. Krshia leapt back with an
exclamation and Elirr laughed with delight. Green grass, bright and vibrant,
grew between the floorboards, rising upwards, until it formed a bed
between the cracks. Krshia stared, dumbstruck at the grass which Mrsha
leapt over. The Gnoll cub batted a stalk, then plucked it and held it up.
Krshia slowly took the bit of grass and sniffed it.

Grass. It smelled odd. Magical. The scents of Mrsha and Krshia’s floor
stuck to it, but no dirt, no earthy loam. It had been conjured out of nowhere.
“Magic.”

Elirr breathed the words, his eyes shining. Krshia just stared. Magic. A
Gnoll had done magic, and it had not been the magic of [Shamans]. If it had
been, she would have known. Mrsha had waved her wand and…conjured
grass.

“That was your spell? You cast it and you alone? Not the wand?”

She didn’t think so, but she had to ask. Mrsha looked insulted and nodded
her head vigorously. Krshia scratched her neck.

“You can grow…grass? And what else? Do you have another spell,
Mrsha?”

To her great surprise, the Gnoll nodded. Mrsha pointed her wand at the
grass and both Krshia and Elirr stepped back. They saw Mrsha frown in
intense concentration, then wave her wand in a circle. And then—

The grass grew taller. It sprouted up an additional foot into the air and
Krshia heard her floorboards creak as they were forced wider by the
growing stalks. Mrsha proudly peeked through the huge stalks of grass at
the two adults. She walked back and gestured with her paws.

Tada.

Elirr and Krshia waited for the grass to do anything else, but it just sat there.
Krshia scratched her head.

“Anything else?”

Mrsha shook her head. She looked quite proud of herself, but after Krshia’s
awe had faded, she had to question the scope of Mrsha’s powers. She turned
to Elirr.

“She has magic. But she is growing grass with it. I thought you said this
saved all the Gnolls in the dungeon, Elirr.”
The Gnoll chuckled. He bent and plucked one of the huge stems of grass,
then waved it about. Mrsha leapt and caught it, breaking the grass. She
jumped about, flattening the grass and waving her wand as Elirr turned to
Krshia.

“It looks simple, but with it, she freed us from our shackles. With grass. I
will not call it a simple magic. And for a child to cast spells, it is
impressive, yes?”

“Yes…”

Krshia dragged the word out. She stared at the grass growing out of her
floor and found she had to sit. It wasn’t impressive. It was just grass. She
had seen Moore grow huge thorny vines out of the ground and seen him
conjure an armor of thorns for battle. And yet, she found she was shaking as
she reached for a cracker. It was just grass. But Mrsha had done it. A Gnoll
had cast magic as [Mages] did.

“How?”

That was the question both Gnolls had. How and when had Mrsha learned
to cast magic? They probably knew the how, but they wanted to be certain.
Sure enough, Mrsha squirmed guiltily when Krshia brought out the huge
magical tome Ryoka had given her. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down
sternly, noting how Mrsha didn’t seem surprised by the huge, rich magical
tome that was as large as she was, and how she kept looking at it and then
away, clearly plagued by a guilty conscience.

“Mrsha. When I was out on pressing business, did you sneak into my room
and read this book?”

The Gnoll tried to look to Elirr for support, but this time the older Gnoll
wouldn’t give it. She played with her wand as she looked to one side, then
nodded once. Krshia scowled. Mrsha tensed up. Krshia’s arm shot forwards
and Mrsha dove for under the couch, but the Gnoll had expected that. She
came up with Mrsha, yelping and whining as Krshia held her by the ear and
twisted.
“Krshia, do not be so harsh on her. She saved us, and did no harm.”

Elirr protested as Mrsha held very still, for fear of having her ear twisted.
Krshia scowled.

“She knew better than to go among my possessions, Elirr! And if she had
unlocked the trap sealing this box, she would be dead! Do not speak to me
of harm! Mrsha, you knew you should not have touched this.”

The Gnoll nodded rapidly, squirming, trying to get free. Krshia had half a
mind to twist her ear to make her remember, but Elirr had folded his arms
and Mrsha had survived the Raskghar. So, reluctantly, Krshia let go and
Mrsha jumped away to hide behind Elirr.

“There, there. You are not in trouble. Much. Krshia was concerned for your
safety. You should not have touched the book. It was dangerous.”

The old Gnoll comforted Mrsha, who nodded and peeked out at Krshia. The
female Gnoll grumbled as she sat back down, but she opened her paws and
let Mrsha sniff at her to show she had forgiven the child.

“When I was a cub, my ears were not so good. Of course, I would have
known better then to poke my nose into the places of adults, no?”

“Hah!”

Elirr grinned until he realized Krshia had been serious. He coughed and
straightened. The two adults sat in silence for a second as Mrsha, much
relieved now she had confessed, helped herself to another cracker.

“So. The book is real.”

Elirr looked at Krshia. She nodded. Her heart was racing.

“It seems so. We had assumed it was, but this confirms it. I had some
doubts, but no longer.”

She saw Elirr frown, perplexed.

“You checked the authenticity of the artifact, though. Surely you knew it
was a spellbook?”

“Of course we did. We used a scroll to produce magical resonance and this
was the highest—the highest!—that we had ever seen. But without a
[Mage] we could not tell all of what the book contained. We had to simply
but trust what Ryoka said was true until it could be studied by a [Shaman].”

“Or a Gnoll [Mage]. A new class of students.”

Elirr bared his teeth in a grin and Krshia nodded. She stared down at the
tome, the massive spellbook which, according to Ryoka, contained
hundreds or possibly thousands of lower-Tier spells.

“It is our great gift to the tribes. A book which all many learn from, which
we may train [Mages] of our own from. And now we know. We know
Gnolls can learn from it! They can be [Mages].”

She sighed and heard the same sound from Elirr. Relief, exhilaration, hope,
all bubbled through Krshia at once. Then she saw Elirr sit up.

“I wish that Ryoka Griffin were still here. We know this book is valuable
beyond belief, but how much so? Is it a treasure worthy of a Walled City?
Or a national treasure? Or…?”

He trailed off and looked helplessly at Krshia.

“Is it possible to appraise the book further? Beyond what a scroll can tell, I
mean. If you showed it to one of the [Mages] staying at the inn Mrsha stays
at—”

Instantly Krshia shook her head. She placed a paw over the cover of the
spellbook.

“If I showed this to anyone, Pisces, Ceria, Falene…even one as good and
gentle as Moore, I think they would steal it and run, yes? If it is half as
valuable as Ryoka claimed they would all murder for it. And if a place like
Wistram were to know if it—they would do all they could to retrieve such
an artifact. You know the stories.”

“I do. And that is wise. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion.”

Elirr inclined his head. The two Gnolls stared at the book, and then looked
at Mrsha. The Gnoll was licking her lips.

“And yet, Elirr, by accident, a child has learned magic. A child. And not
only did she save our people from the Raskghar, but she did what no Gnoll
of the tribes has done for sixty years. Become a [Mage]. You are a [Mage],
are you not, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub looked up. She hesitated, then nodded. Krshia exhaled. Elirr
glanced down at Mrsha.

“In that case—why not let her read the book, Krshia?”

“What?”

Krshia frowned and Mrsha looked up quickly. Elirr nodded, stroking the
hair running from his chin with his paw.

“It is hardly as if it would hurt her to read more. And she is gifted. Why not
give her the chance to learn more spells? Or tell us what wonders this book
contains?”

The [Shopkeeper] hesitated. But she saw Mrsha sitting up eagerly, and
reluctantly nodded.

“Very well. But we watch her. I have opened this book before and it is a
trial in some senses, Elirr. Not dangerous necessarily, but—Mrsha child,
come here. If you are willing, let us open this book.”

Mrsha was willing. She leapt from her couch to Krshia’s side. The Gnoll
woman gave her a reproving glance, but then let Mrsha open the tome. Elirr
came over to see. All three Gnolls blinked as the book opened and magic,
the very definition of magic, shimmered to life before their eyes.
A page blinked up at Krshia. Symbols seemed to slide together and merge,
different colors, patterns reflecting in them, hidden meanings changing,
offering multiple phrases each second. Krshia stared down at the spell—or
at least, what she assumed to be a spell—for all of eight seconds. Then she
got a headache.

“Dead gods!”

Elirr recoiled, rubbing at his eyes. Mrsha stared down at the page as both
Krshia and Elirr had to look away. A pulsating pain ran from behind
Krshia’s eyes.

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“It strained my eyes! I feel a headache coming on—Krshia, do you have

that tea?”

“Hold on.”

Krshia got up and shook her head. Careful not to stare at the book Mrsha
was still bent over, she went and got her kettle. Her water was cold, but
neither she nor Elirr cared. They drank a cup of tea and felt the world
stabilize around them. Elirr growled.

“That hurt. It was like spinning around in circles for an hour or waking up
after a hangover.”

“That is what happens when non-spellcasters look at spells and try to make
sense of it. I think [Mages] go through this quite often when they learn.”

Krshia massaged her temples. Elirr nodded, then blinked down.

“But look! Mrsha is reading!”

It was true. Unlike the adults, Mrsha hadn’t looked up. She was tracing the
symbols with one paw, as if she were just reading words, albeit extremely
slowly. Krshia shook her head.

“Will wonders ever cease? Mrsha, child. Mrsha?”

She had to call Mrsha’s name several times before the Gnoll looked up, and
when she did, it was reproachfully, as if Krshia had torn her away from
something fascinating. Krshia cleared her throat as Elirr sat next to her,
taking care not to look at the book.

“You can read this, yes?”

Mrsha nodded. She wagged her tail and smiled at the look on the adult’s
faces. Krshia stared at the book and hastily averted her gaze.

“It is a wondrous thing, Mrsha. Truly, for all it was done in secret. You can
read the magic book as a [Mage] would. And you understand the spell?”

Mrsha cocked her head and shook it slowly. Krshia noted her moment of
hesitation though and rephrased the question.

“Ah, you cannot cast it. But you can guess at its effects, yes? What does
that spell do?”

The white Gnoll frowned. She looked down at the book and for a minute
she was lost, running her paw over the first few lines again. Then she
looked up and nodded. She raised her arms, making sure both adults were
looking at her, then flapped her arms and swung them from left to right as
well. Krshia and Elirr stared.

“A…flying spell?”

“It lets you grow wings?”

“It…makes your arms floppy?”

Mrsha looked put out. She shook her head, then flapped her arms harder
and swung them, making faint growling sounds. Then she looked at Krshia
and Elirr expectantly, as if that said it all. The Gnoll adults exchanged a
glance.

“I think it’s an air spell.”

“No, it clearly controls the body. Mrsha?”

The little Gnoll sighed through her nose and shook her head. She
awkwardly propped the book up and pointed to a sliding letter, or what
looked like a single letter. Krshia stared at it and felt the headache coming
back.

“Put it down, Mrsha. Thank you. I do not understand. But then, I am no

[Mage]. Nor do I wish to be. But—if you can read this spell, could you
learn it?”

Mrsha frowned. Slowly, she nodded.

“Is it hard?”

Another nod.

“Difficult? Would it take you days? Weeks? Months?”

Nod, nod, nod, shrug. Elirr and Krshia exchanged a glance.

“But she could learn it. Her, a cub not even full-grown. Not even able to
walk on two legs!”

Mrsha indignantly stood upright. Krshia ignored her. Her leg was shaking,
making the cups on the sitting table rattle. She couldn’t help it.

“Mrsha, could you look through that spellbook for us? And find—a spell?”

Elirr glanced sharply at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] sat forwards.

“Find a powerful spell. No—one that is both practical and powerful. It does
not have to be for war. But find the best one for us. Can you do that?”

Mrsha nodded. She paged through the spellbook, pausing for a few minutes
on each page. Elirr watched her and then offered a suggestion.

“Mrsha, look for a powerful spell that has to do with earth magic.”

Both Krshia and Mrsha looked up at Elirr, confused. The Gnoll explained.
“I hear that spellcasters learn some magics more easily. A thing of
personality, yes? Like how Ceria Springwalker casts primarily ice magic.
Mrsha may be attuned to the magic of nature.”

That made sense. Krshia nodded. If there was an element that belonged to
Gnolls, it would be earth magic, surely. They were a tribal people.

“Earth magic then, let us know when you find one.”

It took Mrsha nearly sixteen minutes, in which time Elirr and Krshia got
some hot tea and just sipped it, watching her. With Elirr and Krshia’s
parameters, Mrsha moved swiftly from page after page until she came to
one and triumphantly slapped her paw on it.

“This spell? Is it good?”

Mrsha frowned as she read the first line, very, very slowly. She looked up
and gave Krshia a nod and shrug that said ‘yes, probably’. She didn’t know
what it did and kept scratching her head, but her posture said quite clearly
that this was a powerful spell of some kind.

“In that case, learn it. Or at least enough to tell us what it does.”

Krshia gently urged the little Gnoll. Mrsha nodded and, tail wagging, bent
over the book. Krshia and Elirr watched her pour over the first letter of the
book for five minutes and then realized it might take her a while. So they
got up, snagged the crackers and silkap and went into the kitchen to talk
quietly. They didn’t bother to keep their voices low; Mrsha was engrossed
in the book and besides, it was now clear that she could hear them wherever
she was, no matter how they whispered.

“Elirr. We have not had a chance to speak privately since you returned from
the dungeon.”

The Gnoll smiled wearily. He leaned on the counter as Krshia offered him
some dried sausage and cheese. He waved it away. He was older than
Krshia, though she was a higher level than he. But he didn’t seem to hold
that difference in age or levels against her, and Krshia respected him. He,
like she would have been called Honored Krshia or Honored Elirr by the
younger Gnolls, a sign of their rank in the community.

“We did not. And in truth, I have been avoiding joining others for dinner or
the requests I have had to socialize, Krshia. I appreciate it, but I do not wish
to recall what happened so strongly.”

Krshia laid a gentle paw on Elirr’s shoulder.

“We would not ask you to.”

“No, but you would ask questions with your eyes, even if your mouths were
silent. It is not something I hold against you. I would be curious too. But
what I have told you is all I can—the others and I try to forget. As does
Mrsha, I think.”

“You still have bad dreams each night?”

Elirr nodded. He had bags under his eyes, though his fur hid it to all but
other Gnolls.

“Nightmares. Jumping at shadows. What else could one expect? I have used
the sleeping potions you obtained from that [Alchemist] you have deals
with and they help. But daytime is sometimes little better than night. I…I
do not know how Mrsha smiles so easily after what she saw. After what that
bitch, Nokha, promised to do.”

He growled softly and Krshia hushed him before they disturbed Mrsha.
Elirr was upset, because he’d used an insult Gnolls regarded as highly
offensive. Comparing any Gnoll to a dog was far worse than using it on a
Drake or Human. Saying something like that to a Dog-tribe Beastkin was
even more inadvisable.

“It is done. The Raskghar are broken.”

Elirr nodded, and then turned to Krshia, his eyes blazing.

“But not dead. Not all. Krshia, they cannot be allowed to sacrifice Gnolls. I
stared into their souls afterwards, and what I saw was terrible and ancient.
We must bring word of this to the other tribes.”

“They know. But they have not acted. Their [Shamans] communicated with
Olesm, and warned of the dangers of the Raskghar, but I think they knew as
little as we.”

“Then what we should know must be pooled and more knowledge found.
Because the awakened Raskghar scare me even in the daylight, Krshia.
They must all be found and killed. And if more colonies hide in the
earth…”

Elirr trailed off. Krshia nodded.

“The meeting of tribes approaches. They will hear your story, I promise.”

The other Gnoll calmed. He breathed more easily, and then looked out of
the kitchen at Mrsha.

“We would have all died there, I think. All or most, sacrificed before you
came if not for her. She allowed most to escape with her strength. After I
called her Doombringer. If she had been a few years older, if we had trusted
her from the start—perhaps she could have freed us all.”

“She is unique.”

Krshia nodded. The two Gnolls stared at Mrsha, her fur as white as snow.
Cursed because of her fur.

“And she knows magic. Because of her fur, do you think? Is that the key?”

“No.”

It couldn’t be. Krshia spoke firmly.

“It is a coincidence, not a requirement to learn magic as [Mages] do. We

know Gnolls can rise to the heights of magical power. In an aeon past, it
was said that Gnolls were counted among the Archmages of Wistram. But
so long and so old were they that no books record their names, and we have
only legends to remember. Names. The Archmage Kishkeria, who created
one of the grand spells of her era, [Seas of the Everflowing Grass]. With it
she saved a continent, but we know not from what or how.”

“Yes. But we do remember her.”

Elirr bowed his head. Both he and Krshia had grown up in the Silverfang
tribe. They had grown up hearing their [Shaman] reciting names of past
Gnoll heroes and their deeds, but many tales were incomplete. Old. Faded.
Krshia sighed.

“We all know recent stories, like that of our greatest of Chieftains, Kerash,
who died a century ago. But older stories? Each time an old [Shaman] or
[Storyteller] dies in an accident or before passing on their memories to their
apprentices, we lose more of the past. Our history should be written down
now, not passed from mouth to mouth.”

She sensed Elirr’s amusement at her suggestion. He glanced sidelong at her.

“If you’d like to bring that up at the meeting of tribes, Honored Krshia, be
my guest. But too many would decry it as replacing tradition.”

Krshia made a rude sound.

“Tradition? Hah! The old [Shamans] are too lazy to write things down and
won’t admit that their stories are full of holes and they don’t know what is
true and what was made up! But we need record, we need books! The
Drakes are stubborn and rigid, but their records allow them to see the past.
We remember fragments.”

“Yes. But our fragments are woven into our culture. There is some merit to
that.”

It was Elirr’s turn to comfort Krshia. She sighed.

“Yes. It is good. But that is why we do not change, Elirr. And we must. We
must.”

For a while the two stood in silence. Then Krshia looked to the living room.
“Let us check on Mrsha.”

The little Gnoll was still sitting over her book when Krshia and Elirr came
back. She was still reading, but something had gone wrong in the time since
they’d left her. Krshia watched as Mrsha’s head bent down, tilted from side
to side, and then flicked up. Mrsha was distracted. The single-minded focus
she’d had earlier was gone.

“Mrsha? Are you having trouble reading the spell?”

The Gnoll adamantly shook her little head. She scrubbed at her face with
her paws, frowned at the book, and then rubbed at her head again. Mrsha
was clearly trying to focus, but her eyes began to glaze over. She shook
herself, stared at the page. This time she went cross-eyed.

Elirr tugged the spellbook towards him and focused on the spell. This time
it took him less than two seconds to look away, swearing under his breath.
He looked at Krshia with mild concern.

“I think it is too hard for her. Mrsha child, enough. Do not strain yourself.”

The Gnoll cub protested, but only feebly as he closed the book. She blinked
a few times and then nearly fell over as if she was dizzy. Elirr was right.
Whatever she’d been reading had stumped her. Krshia made Mrsha sit up
and drink some hot tea, and soon the Gnoll was back to her normal self.

“We know enough. She can read the book. There are many spells, but many
are beyond her. Whether that is because she is too inexperienced, too low-
level, or too young it matters not. The book is genuine. We have our gift
and it is a treasure beyond compare.”

“Hope.”

Elirr agreed simply. Both noticed Mrsha was staring at them in confusion,
and Krshia decided to explain.

“Mrsha, what I am about to tell you is our history, recent. You know that the
tribes have agreed no one is to deal with Wistram? Your Stone Spears tribe
seldom traded near the oceans, but I imagine even Urksh was aware of the
limitation.”

Mrsha nodded. It was a well-known fact. No Gnoll [Merchant] of [Trader]

or caravan would do business with a [Mage] who claimed to represent
Wistram. Those who came from Wistram were fine, but ones who directly
worked for the academy? No. But she did not know why.

“The reason is simple. We hold a grudge against Wistram, a fierce one for
matters of honor and pride. The story is simple. Once, we sent our best to
Wistram, our pride, our most talented [Shaman] who would be the first of
our [Mages]. Who would bridge the gap between our magics and rediscover
the pride of Gnollish spellcraft.”

Krshia closed her eyes. She had just been born when the incident occurred,
but she could still remember the outrage. Elirr nodded, his brows dark with
anger.

“Forty years ago we went to Wistram and we were scorned and insulted
beyond belief. Our representative did not last a year at Wistram before
being expelled, as a failure, as proof that Gnolls were unsuited to become
[Mages]. Ever since no Gnoll had traded with Wistram, and we hold them
in contempt. And since then, no Gnoll has become a [Mage].”

Mrsha sat up, frowning angrily, catching it from the adults. Krshia nodded,
but then sighed.

“That is what all adults know, Mrsha. But the truth is more complex. For
you see, we went to Wistram in the hopes of understanding a strange
phenomenon that has afflicted the tribes for…well, at least a few centuries.
Even before our feud with Wistram, no Gnolls had become [Mages] in the
tribes. All who tried became [Shamans] or…failed. And we do not know
why.”

Elirr nodded. The issue had been discussed at each meeting of the tribes.
Not always hotly, and many tribes did not consider it important, but the
Silverfang tribe did, as did other tribes who looked to the future and saw the
need for [Mages].
“So we have done without [Mages] for a long time. We are not without
magic. Our [Shamans] can rival even great [Mages], but it is a different
class and we know our lack weakens us. That is why we collected
spellbooks for our gift to the tribes, in hopes of creating [Mages]. And then
you came along. You, who can cast magic and read spellbooks. A [Mage].”

He smiled down at Mrsha, who scratched at one ear, clearly uneasy about
something. But neither adult really noticed. Krshia was too preoccupied
with her thoughts. It was wonderful, really. But part of her, a small part,
resented how easy it was for Mrsha to read the spellbook. Why did she have
the knack? When Ryoka had first given Krshia the spellbook, she and others
had spent weeks trying to read it and enduring blistering headaches to no
avail. But Mrsha had taught herself.

It was…it made Krshia feel jealous. The instant she realized what she was
feeling she stomped on the emotions. Her? Jealous of Mrsha? Why? She
had never wanted to become a [Mage]. She had wanted to be a—

Well, maybe that was why. Krshia sighed. She looked down at Mrsha.

“Hope, child. You give us hope. If you can learn magic, maybe we can
understand what makes it impossible for [Mages] to appear in our tribes or
cities. Why is that? When did the last of the Gnoll [Mages] die? And why
did we lose faith in our ability to cast magic?”

Mrsha stared up at Krshia, clearly without an answer. Elirr rumbled as he

thought out loud.

“It is not as if it is impossible, Krshia. I have heard rumors of Gnolls who

cast magic, who are not [Shamans].”

“So have I. But why are they so few? Because of our feud with Wistram?
Because we are unsuited to magic as Wistram said? Because…”

Krshia broke off, shaking her head. It was a mystery, and one she had
pledged to resolve. She patted Mrsha on the head as the young cub leaned
against her, already tired from spellbooks and the grand fate of Gnolls and
magic.
“Ah, Mrsha. Do not worry about it. Just know that you will be important
later on. Have another cracker. As for now—Elirr, we must speak of Liscor.
And that is a conversation that cannot be put off. It is time to go, I think.”

Elirr nodded. He got to his feet with a groan.

“Past time. We have an hour, but I could use time to set up and clear a
space. And my animals need tending to. Will you come with us?”

“Of course. Mrsha, come. We will go to Elirr’s shop. The representatives

will gather there. And we must hear what Beilmark has to say.”

—-

Elirr’s shop was filled with noise when the Gnoll opened his door and
ushered Mrsha and Krshia in. That was because Elirr was a [Beast Trainer].
Not a [Beast Tamer], which was the base version of his class, or a [Beast
Master], which belonged to those who formed steady bonds with a few
chosen animals—or monsters. No, Elirr trained animals.

He ran a pet store. One of five in Liscor and arguably the best. Elirr trained
dogs, cats, and birds, although only small pet birds that would live in cages.
Just as well, because a certain Antinium [Hunter] would have put him out of
business if he’d tried to rear hawks around the city. But mainly, Elirr made
his business selling food for dogs, tending to their hurts, and providing all
the toys and tools needed to raise animals.

Pet ownership was an interesting thing. A very small amount of people

owned pets, mainly due to the costs, the dangers of a pet running afoul of a
monster, and mainly, the challenges of keeping a pet in a city like Liscor.
But there were Gnolls and Drakes who loved animals, and Humans too,
since Elirr’s trained pets sometimes went north. In fact, his war hounds
were more highly sought after than his regular house dogs, but Elirr trained
few of them due to the difficulty.
He had only one war dog in the shop now, along with a plethora of cats,
three smaller breeds of dogs, and a pair of twittering birds. And a crab. All
of them greeted Elirr with various degrees of enthusiasm, save for the war
dog, who barked.

He—it was a he—was a mastiff, a huge hound with clearly defined

muscles. He barked at Mrsha and Krshia, who both regarded the dog with
interest, Elirr sighed and whistled, which made the sounds in his shop quiet,
except for the mastiff.

“Ah, this dog. It gives me a headache, no?”

Elirr sighed as Mrsha wandered up to the dog. It was leashed rather than in
a cage, and Elirr’s shop was very wide as opposed to tall to give his animals
more room. He explained to Krshia as he went about feeding his animals.

“It was because I was kidnapped when I just had him. He and some of the
other animals starved for two days until someone realized they needed to be
fed, and I had just acquired him. So he is wary of me. I have been trying to
give him lessons, but he is afraid of strangers, especially furry ones. He
smelled the death on the Raskghar when they came.”

“I see.”

Krshia looked sympathetically at the mastiff, who was watching Mrsha and
growling. She was not a dog person, but the Silverfang tribe had owned
dogs of their own for hunting. They were wonderfully good and she
remembered racing them as a child. Had the Stone Spears owned dogs?
Mrsha was regarding this one intently.

“A shame. My progress with all the animals has been set back, especially
the cats. They are finicky if I do not feed them.”

Elirr groused as he fed his cats. They meowed loudly, and Krshia sniffed at
them, making them scatter back to their homes. She didn’t mind cats, but
Drakes loved the fussy creatures, probably because they shared many of
their qualities.
“Do you need help setting up, Elirr?”

“If you could bring out some food and chairs—I will help you with the
table.”

The Gnoll [Beast Trainer] looked grateful as Krshia nodded. He circulated

his shop, tending to the animals while Krshia brought out refreshments for
their guests. And all the while, Mrsha was looking at the mastiff. Krshia
didn’t mind until she realized that Mrsha was moving towards the war dog,
into the radius of his leash.

“Mrsha?”

She and Elirr looked up warily. The little Gnoll was approaching the
growling dog, who was clearly nervous. Mrsha stopped in front of him and
puffed herself up, standing on her two legs to stare down at the dog. He
growled and Krshia tensed. She saw Elirr doing likewise.

She knew what Mrsha was doing, but that mastiff was bigger than she was
and a lot stronger. But Mrsha turning her back or flinching would be the
worst thing right now. The little Gnoll stared down at the war dog, refusing
to turn aside. He retreated a bit and she advanced.

Slowly, slowly…she grabbed the dog’s bowl and he made a warning sound.
But Mrsha faced him down and then walked over to a bag filled with food
meant for him. She filled the bowl up a bit, and then came back. The dog
warily moved forwards, but Mrsha held the bowl up. She reached her paw
into it, picked some of the dried meat up, and began to eat it in front of him.
The dog crouched, and then his tail lowered, his ears flattened, and he
surrendered to her authority.

“She did it.”

Elirr breathed out as Mrsha handed the bowl to the dog and he began eating.
He looked at Krshia, his brows raised. She was impressed despite herself.

“It was well done, Elirr? I thought so.”

He nodded, his eyebrows fully raised.

“As did I! I thought about bringing a cub here, but I was terrified of what
might happen if he bit one. But that child is a natural tamer if I saw one. If
she were older, I would expect her to gain her class tonight.”

He smiled at Mrsha, who padded back over, smug as could be. Her
establishing dominance as the pack leader over the mastiff was impressive,
even if she did have a bit of help on her side. Gnolls were naturally good at
commanding dogs, with whom they shared a distant ancestry. But it was
one thing for Elirr to force a dog to submit, and quite another for Mrsha to
do it.

“You are bold, and reckless, perhaps. If you had gotten bit, what would I
say to Lyonette?”

Krshia bent to tickle Mrsha and gently scold her. The Gnoll smiled, not at
all deterred. For all she lived in the inn, she was a Plains Gnoll, pure and
simple. Bold, a member of a tribe. As Krshia had been.

With that excitement out of the way, Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha finished
setting up and got all the animals to vacate the room and go upstairs—into
Elirr’s home. It was just temporary, but they didn’t want the animals to
distract from the meeting. And soon, as the sun reached the midway point
overhead, Gnolls began appearing in the shop.

Everyone knew that the Drake cities of the south were ruled by Drakes.
While it was true that in some cities, members of the ruling body like
Pallassian [Senators] could be Gnolls, it was almost always Drakes who
occupied the Watch Captain posts, filled Council seats, and so on. In some
cities, the Lords and Ladies of the Wall ruled and they were obviously
Drakes.

It was just how it was. The Drakes weren’t about to cede command of their
cities to Gnolls, however many lived there. However, while their rules were
often fair, Drakes and Gnolls were still two separate peoples with separate
cultures and desires. Thus, City Gnolls had formed their own ruling bodies,
unofficial and in secret, but one that dictated how Gnolls behaved in all
Drake cities.

They got together and chose representatives who, in a miniature, secret

council of their own, ruled Gnolls from the shadows. Or rather, from comfy
armchairs and couches with snacks on the table because no one wanted to
squat in an alley and debate for hours on end. It was a different system from
how a tribe functioned.

There could be no [Chieftain], so instead a body of the oldest, wisest, most

experienced or simply highest-level Gnolls would decide on issues that
concerned Gnollkind. Sometimes they would just meet once every few
months to agree that everything was good, grumble about arrogant Drakes
and the foolishness of young Gnolls who had no respect for tradition, and
eat food.

In those times it was more like a social get-together and potluck. But when
something of concern happened—tensions between Drakes and Gnolls rose,
or crime rose, or something like Liscor’s dungeon was found to be nearby
—the Gnollish representatives discussed far more serious things.

One by one, they gathered. In a city as large as Liscor, one Gnoll could
represent several thousand Gnolls. In a city like Pallass, each representative
could represent ten thousand Gnolls who had chosen them from among
their ranks. In this case, eleven Gnolls were present, all of whom were
middle-aged or older, although Elirr was the oldest. They were not
powerfully built [Warriors] or sharp-eyed [Archers]. Half of them had
paunches and only one of them, Beilmark, was in prime condition, although
Krshia liked to think she still had a good figure.

They were the [Butchers], the [Bakers], and the [Chandlers] of the city. The
nature of the class didn’t matter as much as the depth of experience each
Gnoll had. It was about respect. About leadership. It was something you
earned, and weren’t given. Drakes couldn’t understand that, but it was
second nature to Gnolls. As they came in, exchanging greetings with Elirr
and Krshia and bending to smile and say hello to Mrsha, the Gnolls were
friendly, conversational. They were equals here, not enemies squabbling for
political gain.
However, there had to be a first even among equals, and Krshia Silverfang
was that Gnoll. Not only had she led a large portion of the Silverfang tribe
to Liscor ten years ago, which gave her authority over the others, she had
the benefit of a relatively high level and her experience as both a plains and
city Gnoll to speak with.

“Raekea Silversmith. How is your husband? Does his leg still pain him?”

Krshia greeted a Gnoll [Armorer] who was married to the best Drake
[Blacksmith] in the city. The Gnoll grinned at her, her arms patterned with
burns and the hair missing in patches. It was rare for a Gnoll to take up a
metalworking class given the dangers to anyone with fur on their body, but
such rare individuals were always respected for their sacrifice.

“Well, Krshia. He is well, although it pains him. But the ointment you gave
us worked well. I only wish the Raskghar bastard who tried to kidnap me
was back, so I could split his head open a second time. And is this the little
brave Gnoll I have heard so much about? Hello, child.”

Krshia grinned as Raekea bent and scratched Mrsha’s ears. The Gnoll cub
was staring up admiringly at her. Raekea believed in advertising her work,
so she wore an armguard both she and her husband had worked on together,
a classy piece of silver set with amethysts. It covered a large burn Raekea
had received in her past.

“I see the others are mingling. Will you speak with me for a bit?”

The [Royal Shopkeeper] indicated the others, who were standing and
talking while eating Elirr’s food. That was how the meeting went; until a
decision had to be made, the representatives would just talk about business,
the issues of the day, and news. They didn’t do formal meetings since that
was too regimented for their tastes. It was in the small discussion that all the
work got done, such as Krshia’s conversation with Raekea.

The [Armorer] nodded. She sat with Krshia on a pair of worn armchairs that
smelled faintly of cat pee. Krshia chewed on a cold sausage with cheese—
she’d brought it from home since Elirr hated cheese and didn’t have any in
his home—and spoke candidly.
“The news sounds dire. First the attack is announced, and then, not a day
afterwards, spies are sent to sabotage the connection to Pallass. We are cut
off.”

“Yes. It was a shame. And it speaks to the danger we are in.”

Raekea nodded seriously. Below them, Mrsha sat on the ground and happily
ate lunch. Krshia nodded.

“I see Beilmark is here. Did you hear what she had to say?”

The other Gnoll woman grimaced and flexed an arm.

“She thinks we can hold Liscor. She has spoken with Watch Captain Zevara
and heard Olesm’s numbers. With the Antinium, with Pallass’
reinforcements few though they may be, with adventurers…we can hold
long enough for a relief army to arrive.”

“And will it be enough to break the siege?”

“She claims it will. Whether that is so I wonder at, Krshia. I truly do. I am
uneasy with this Goblin Lord and the machinations of Tyrion Veltras. I
know others here and in the city wish to flee.”

“Abandon Liscor? Just like that?”

Raekea met Krshia’s eyes steadily.

“If it is that or death—yes. I have spoken with my husband. He is Liscor-

born, but when he looks at our child…yes, Krshia. We would run to save
him. But I am not ready yet.”

“I see.”

Krshia nodded and thanked Raekea. She stood up and found another Gnoll
to talk to, and then another. She heard the same each time. They weren’t
committed. Not yet. But if it looked like all was lost, if it was this or certain
death…Beilmark and Elirr were the last two she spoke two.
“You must convince them to stay, Krshia. If Gnolls begin deserting Liscor,
if Drakes begin fleeing, then the city is lost.”

Beilmark did not mince words. The Senior Guardswoman was one of the
youngest Gnolls present, but she had earned her place here by her deeds.
She gestured at the others.

“We can convince them to stay. If we do, fewer Drakes will run. And we
need every paw and tail to defend Liscor.”

“And will we defend it with our lives? Will we spill our blood out as the
Goblins and Humans overwhelm us, Beilmark?”

Krshia pressed the younger Gnoll, looking into her eyes. Beilmark shook
her head, meeting Krshia’s gazes steadily.

“I would not kill my people, Krshia. I would run before that. But the danger
to Liscor is more complex than just a game of numbers. Thanks to Olesm,
reinforcements are on the way. They will arrive too late, but if we can hold
—think on this. The Humans have trebuchets. But they cannot batter down
our walls with one or two volleys. It will take time, and our fortifications
are enchanted. Tough. We have to hold. The Goblins are not suicidal. Push
them back, hold them, and a relief army will arrive.”

“It is a gamble.”

“Yes. But one I will take. But it cannot be done if Liscor is half-empty. We
will have to support the defenders, take to the walls. If even a third of all
Gnolls holds a bow—Olesm has more than one strategy. He has spoken of
retreating into the dungeon. And there are the Antinium! Krshia, it can be
done.”

The look in Beilmark’s eyes convinced Krshia that she was serious. But was
she right? Finally, she spoke to Elirr. The Gnoll was quiet as they sipped tea
and sat. Mrsha was curled up, napping.

“So. I think we are split. More in favor of leaving than staying perhaps, but
split five to six. Do you agree?”
“I am.”

Elirr nodded. He was one of the ones who favored leaving more than
staying. Krshia eyed him carefully. Then she came out with it.

“I am of the mind that unless all is lost, we must hold to Liscor as one. And
you?”

The older Gnoll hesitated. He played with his cup, speaking slowly.

“I—I have lived through more than just the Antinium Wars, Krshia. I was
young, but I remember conflicts that left hundreds of thousands dead and
burned cities. Liscor did not fall in those days, but I remember the tribes
going to war and so few returning in the ones that did. I am not saying we
should run. But I am not confident enough to pledge all our lives if it means
death.”

“So that means what?”

Elirr leaned forwards. He spoke so softly only the two of them could hear.

“It means convince me. Convince us. Beilmark will wish to stay regardless,
but the others are afraid. If we are to fight and bleed for Liscor, tell us why.”

He looked at her. And Krshia saw he wanted to stay, but he was afraid of
dying. It was a common fear. So she stood up and looked around.

The other Gnoll representatives were chatting, but they fell silent. They
could sense Krshia had something to say. They gathered around her and
Mrsha woke up. She sleepily crawled into Beilmark’s lap and the
[Guardswoman] held her as Krshia spoke.

“So we have debated. So we have shared information. To those of you who

may not have heard, young Mrsha was tested at my apartment earlier today.
She knows magic. She can read the book. It is genuine and the Silverfang
tribe will present it at the meeting of tribes.”

A sigh ran through the room and Mrsha looked up as everyone stared at her.
Just for a second. Then Krshia spoke again.
“War threatens Liscor. The Humans do not call it that and the Drakes will
not declare it, but when the Goblins assault Liscor, what is a word? It will
come and this time they have brought siege weapons, to at last threaten the
Drake cities. Perhaps even the Walled Cities in time. But it is war that will
start here. Now our only decision is this: do we stay and fight and possibly
die at Liscor, or flee southwards and abandon our homes that we might
live?”

The others nodded. They waited for Krshia to speak. Everything else had
been said, but she had the final voice. Krshia searched for the words, and
they came to her, smoothly, from deep within. She spoke the same words
she had years ago, to her sister on the day she had decided to leave for
Liscor.

“Gnolls have existed since the first record of this world. Throughout
thousands of years we have lived. Not just on Izril. Our people have waned
and risen with each passing era. In the beginning, there were Dragons and
they ruled us cruelly. We died for sport, as animals. But we survived. We
survived the Sunset of Flame. We marched out of bestiality, survived the
long darkness and kept our minds even as the Raskghar split from our
people. We became more than animals and we challenged the Dragons and
brought them down.”

Mrsha sat up as Krshia walked back and forth, speaking from memory. The
way Krshia spoke, the way she gestured, was familiar to her. Krshia was
speaking like a [Shaman], as if she was telling a story from the past. But she
was also speaking to the Gnolls of Liscor, who sat and judged her words in
silence, drinking and eating slowly.

“Our people rose. We were mighty during the Rain of Scales. We fought the
Selphids during the Age of Theft and threw loose the shackles with the rest
of the world. During the Twilight of Magic, our armies joined the others
and overthrew the half-Elven dominion. Again and again, we were
challenged. And each time we lived and prospered. Eras past, the Gnolls
rose and fell and once we were considered a world power among powers.
But now? No more.”

Krshia looked around. Her eyes were sorrowful and her voice grew deeper.
“In the past we roamed Izril, made our homes in every direction. But then
the Humans came and we were forced south. Now the lands our tribes
venture to have been cut in half. And with the Antinium, with Drake cities
and their laws, the places we may walk go further still. And our tribes grow
smaller. Our [Shamans] grow weaker. We reduce in strength. Are Gnolls not
considered barbarians by other races, called as crude and uncivilized as
Garuda?”

It was so. The Gnolls murmured agreement. Krshia nodded. She looked at
Mrsha.

“We are in the age our [Shamans] and [Chieftains] have declared the
Waning World. A time where the legendary heroes of our kind are
memories, and where tradition may hold us back as the rest of the world
advances. Since the last Antinium War, since the Humans came, Gnolls
have retreated rather than pay the cost in blood. We have always moved
rather than stand stubbornly and die as the Drakes and Humans did. But see
what it has cost us?”

She looked around, as if Elirr’s shop was suddenly a cage.

“New lands. That is what we need. New lands to grow unimpeded. Not just
the north. We must spread from continent to continent. But we cannot run.
We cannot abandon what we have to do just that. We must grow and we
must hold. If Liscor falls, the Humans will sweep south. If Liscor falls, we
lose our homes. We have always moved from place to place, but the world
is smaller now. We cannot abandon what we have. So I say to you this: we
must stand here and fight.”

“And if we die, Krshia Silverfang? If the cost comes in the shattered bodies
of your young, our families? Why not simply flee? We have the great gift
meant for the tribes. Why stay and put it at risk?”

That came from a Gnoll with blonde fur who looked up at Krshia. The
Gnoll woman met her eyes. She had not always been a [Shopkeeper].
Mrsha could feel it.
“We could run. And yes, we have a great treasure. It should not be lost. I
propose we hide the book, put it in a bag of holding and hide it so that if
Liscor falls, it may be recovered. We will tell the other tribes where it can
be claimed. But I tell you this, Fashia Splitfur. There is more than just a
single spellbook that defines the worth Liscor has to us.”

Krshia gestured at Elirr’s shop.

“My tribe, the Silverfang tribe, came here ten years back and labored all
this time to build something. More than just a gift for the meeting of tribes.
We founded a place here. Some of you have been here longer. You have
families, homes, businesses. Will we throw it all away so easily?”

No one responded. Krshia looked at them.

“We fight. That is what I say. We fight, and hold onto our homes. If we run
again, we will not stop running until the last Gnoll dies alone in the corner
of the world. We fight. Who will stay with me?”

The Gnolls looked at each other. Beilmark stood up slowly. Then Elirr.
Then Raekea. Slowly, the rest of the Gnolls got to their feet. Some
hesitated, others were reluctant until they saw the others standing. But they
did stand. They were in agreement. Krshia breathed out slowly.

“I didn’t want to give up my shop anyways.”

Raekea grinned around and the others chuckled. They stood more easily
now, though Krshia could practically hear their hearts pounding. It was
done. The Gnolls of Liscor would stay.

“So what next, Krshia?”

Elirr looked at Krshia. It was not the end of their discussion, for all that they
had made a decision.

“If the Drakes begin to run, it will still be disastrous. Can anything be done
about their fear? About the fear in the hearts of many Gnoll families as
well?”
Krshia nodded. She did have a plan. It had come to her when she had
looked at Mrsha and been jealous.

“We do what neither Drakes nor Humans can do. Drakes think they know
unity and order? They form spear walls in battle and stand tail-to-tail. But
only their soldiers, only in war. But Gnolls are one pack, one people. We are
never alone. So let us run about this city of stone and prop it up. If the walls
crack, we will hold them up. With more than just words.”

The other Gnolls blinked. Krshia took a deep breath.

“I propose a gathering of magic. I propose a spell.”

The others immediately looked towards Mrsha. Beilmark, who had been all
the way behind Krshia up till now, protested.

“A gathering is a serious thing, Krshia. If it fails it would shatter spirits.

And the Drakes would notice. They may object. Besides, the most
important issue is who will guide the spell? The child? Surely she is too
young, and this is not something she would know.”

“I know. I will guide the spell. I was apprenticed to be a [Shaman], once. I

can perform it.”

Krshia spoke simply. The other Gnolls blinked. Mrsha, sitting in Beilmark’s
lap, looked at Krshia with wide eyes. The [Shopkeeper] smiled at Mrsha.

“You know magic, Mrsha child. But it is the magic of books and [Mages].
But today, I think, we will show you the magic of Gnolls.”

She turned and looked around the room. Then Krshia cupped her paws
together. Elirr was the first to move. He stood up and walked slowly over to
Krshia. He placed his paws in hers and smiled. The two said nothing, did
nothing Mrsha could see. But then Elirr took his paws away. And then,
shimmering in the midst of Krshia’s cupped grip was a speck of light.

—-
At first it was the tiniest of things. So small that Mrsha almost thought it
was her imagination. But as Krshia went around, touching her hands to each
of the other Gnolls in the room, the spark seemed to pass to each of them,
so all eleven representatives held a tiny glowing…

What was it? Mrsha squinted, but Krshia shooed her away.

“Not yet, Mrsha. I do not know how [Mages] interact with such things.”

She closed her hands and the spark vanished. Mrsha thought it had gone
out, but something told her the Gnoll had just hidden it away from sight. So
had the others. Elirr bent, smiling, and Beilmark straightened her armor.

“I should get back on patrol. I’ll take those of us on duty. Elirr, I suppose
you’ll have to leave your shop, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded.

“Too few will visit me. I will go down the residential streets and visit the
families. Fashia will join me. But I think Raekea and Krshia may stay in
their places.”

“Yes. I will open my stall. Send whomever wishes to argue to me.”

“Or me.”

Beilmark and Krshia nodded. The other Gnolls agreed, discussing things
like where to meet and who would go where. It was confusing to Mrsha.
They had a plan, but she didn’t understand it. They were going to stay in
Liscor, to fight. And they had a plan to…reassure the people? The Gnolls all
agreed it must be done. Then they did a curious thing, something Mrsha
didn’t understand.

They went back to work.

At least, Krshia did. She marched Mrsha back to her stall and briskly
opened up shop. Market street was still mostly empty, and people were
nervously talking rather than buying. But Krshia just stood in her stall and
began calling out to customers, Drakes and Humans alike.

“Hello, my stall is open! Miss Fauscale, I did not see you this morning. Are
you still in need of things to write with?”

An elderly Drake jumped as Krshia waved to her, beaming. She trundled

over.

“Oh, yes, I—I suppose I am in need. But what with this dreadful talk of
Goblins and Human armies, I’m not sure I’m in the right mind to be buying
anything.”

The Drake looked anxious, but Krshia just gave her a big smile.

“Ah, but if not now, then when? You told me you were in need of quills,
yes? I have some cheap ones in stock. Come Mrsha, show Miss Fauscale
the little quills.”

Gingerly, Mrsha reached up and offered the Drake a writing quill, dipped in
ink and bit of parchment. The Drake blinked, but obligingly drew on the
parchment.

“Oh! That is quite nice. These are Quillfish quills, aren’t they?”

Krshia nodded. The thin, sharp quills were the byproducts of Quillfish, the
pesky fish that hunted and scared off predators by firing them. They were
long and thin. Not as easy for the hand to grip as a formal feathered quill,
but the little dip-quills from Quillfish were handy for carrying around and
quite good for scribbling notes. She pointed all this out to Miss Fauscale as
she wrote in a neat, clear script to show her and other customers on the
street.

“Four coppers for a bunch of sixteen. Each one has been boiled, cleaned,
and sharpened. They are good for writing, cleaning teeth, and poking silly
children, yes?”
She mimed poking Mrsha, who was so alarmed that she nearly fell off her
stool. Miss Fausclae stared at Mrsha and her lips quirked into a smile.
Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had bought some quills and
ink and was chatting to Krshia.

Just chatting. The Gnoll beckoned over more Drakes and Gnolls, calling the
ones out by name. She shook hands with a Gnoll who wanted a new roll of
cloth, persuaded a pair of Drake teens to stay and browse, though they
bought nothing, and touched her paws to a Gnoll woman as she passed her a
dried and salted fish to inspect.

Mrsha, sitting by Krshia’s side and helping her out, if only by being cute,
was confused by all of this. She knew Krshia was doing something, but as
far as she could see, the Gnoll was just calling out loudly to people and
chatting them up. She spoke about the Goblins and Humans, reassuring
people, telling them not to go, but only if they brought it up.

And yet, more and more Gnolls kept coming back, anxious and afraid. But
they left with backs straight, smiling and talking about errands they had to
run or things they’d just remembered they should do. How? Why?

Mrsha finally put the pieces together when Watch Captain Zevara walked
down Market Street with a patrol of Drakes and Gnolls behind her. She was
speaking to people, answering questions, trying to reassure them. She
stopped by Krshia’s stall and looked perplexed at the gathering around the
Gnoll. Only a few people were actively shopping, but the Gnoll had
somehow created a huge radius of people who were just standing around
and talking.

“What’s all this, then? Miss Krshia? What are you doing?”

The [Shopkeeper] gave Zevara a pleasant smile.

“Why me? Nothing, Watch Captain. I am simply open for business like
usual. I think it is not good to worry, so I am getting about my day, yes? Are
you on patrol? Could I interest you in a snack for your errands? Walnuts
and honey, perhaps?”
Zevara blinked at her. The Drake looked around, bemused, and Mrsha,
sitting behind the counter saw it at last. That was Krshia’s plan. She was
going to work and doing ordinary things.

That was it. While Liscor’s people had been fretting and talking, Krshia was
calling out to them like normal. She wasn’t pretending things weren’t bad,
but she was doing what she had always done. And that reassured people. It
brought normalcy back into their lives. It calmed them down.

And Zevara saw it too. The Watch Captain leaned on Krshia’s stall and
lowered her voice.

“It seems you’re doing your civic duty, Miss Krshia. Or at least, I’d say that
if calming people down was something we asked of our civilians. May I ask
why you’re being so helpful? Not that I mind.”

Krshia grinned at Zevara.

“Let us say that it is a decision of Gnolls, Watch Captain. We will not flee
the city. And few others will too, I think. When many hearts beat as one,
fear has little place, yes?”

“True enough. But why?”

“It is our home.”

The Gnoll met Zevara’s eyes. The Watch Captain blinked. Then she smiled.

“True enough. Very well. I’ll take a pound of walnuts and those little cups
of honey. Oi, you lazy lot! Get some snacks on me! And no one tell Relc
about this!”

The City Watch cheered and laughed, as did the people around Krshia’s
shop who heard. Mrsha thought Zevara was being very clever, and she
smiled as Krshia began putting little baggies with honey together for the
Drakes and Gnolls to eat from. But then Mrsha saw the curious thing again.

The Drakes took the bags of nuts and cups of honey as they came to them,
but each of the Gnoll [Guardsmen] let Krshia put it into their hands. So that
they touched at one point or another. They did it deliberately, and the looks
in their eyes told Mrsha that they knew…something. They were doing
something. And she imagined the spark in Krshia’s paws and wondered.

The day wore on. Krshia stayed in her stall as Mrsha grew bored. But then
Elirr came by and Mrsha was allowed to walk with him. And she saw he
was doing the same thing as Krshia. Not selling goods, but talking to
people. And touching their hands.

Gnoll after Gnoll, families, single adults, teens. They came up to Elirr, or
went to Krshia, and talked, exchanged greetings, and touched paws. Then
they left. By the time Mrsha came back to Krshia, she saw the Gnoll
shaking hands with a little Gnoll child. And Mrsha knew something was
happening.

Krshia was collecting something. Mrsha felt it. Her fur tingled as she
passed by Krshia. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down at Mrsha as the
Gnoll cub hopped up into the seat next to her. Mrsha stared accusingly at
Krshia’s paws and then at the Gnoll. But Krshia just smiled.

“You are not the only one who knows a bit about magic, Mrsha. I suspect
you have never seen this before, not even in your tribe. Have you?”

Mrsha shook her head. Krshia nodded.

“If your [Shaman] was good, you would not need to see it. But this is no
tribe and we City Gnolls are not true [Shamans]. I am not. But we have our
tricks. Now, see. It is nearly time.”

The sun was setting in the sky, but it seemed like more and more Gnolls
were on the streets. And moving between them, at the center of the odd
tingling pattern now present everywhere in Mrsha’s mind were the eleven
representatives. Faisha, Elirr, Raekea…and leading them was Krshia. Each
one of them held something. And as the sun began to set behind the High
Passes, they stopped hiding it.

A glowing spark of light appeared in Elirr’s paws, startling the Drakes

nearby. He walked towards Krshia, then stopped and looked to Raekea. She
raised her paw and Mrsha saw she was holding another spark of light. They
weren’t the same size, but they both shone brightly. She reached out and
took the light from Elirr. And then the spark in her hands grew. The Drakes
murmured and the Gnolls watched. Mrsha felt her fur standing on end. She
could feel it.

Magic. The Gnolls passed it from paw to paw, a glowing ember of pale
yellow light, growing brighter as it moved from person to person. One, two,
three…each time the light seemed to grow, if not in size, then intensity. And
it clearly became heavier. By the time it reached Beilmark, the strong
Senior Guardswoman staggered, holding it. A dense, bright light almost like
flame, almost like lightning in the center of her paw. She turned to Krshia,
and the [Shopkeeper] began to sweat as she took it.

“Heavy.”

Krshia gasped. She nearly fell and staggered as she held the light in her
paws. She looked up at the fading sky. Beilmark, Elirr, Raekea, and the
others clustered around Krshia, not touching her, but urging her softly.

“Do it, Krshia.”

“Throw it.”

Krshia tried. But though the muscles in her arms strained, she couldn’t lift
the ball. She groaned and her arm seemed to creak as it held the shining
light in her paw. She gasped.

“Too heavy. I cannot. I cannot.”

“You must! You cannot drop it now!”

Elirr urged Krshia. This was a critical moment. Mrsha could sense it. The
Gnolls were growing worried. A Drake [Guardswomen] watching looked
uneasy. No wonder. The light was getting brighter, more intense. Changing
from yellow to gold. But Krshia couldn’t lift it.

“I—can’t—”
Sweat dripped from her brows. She was struggling. It was so heavy! Mrsha
pushed through the circle, staring at Krshia anxiously. It was just light, but
Krshia’s bones seemed to be breaking under the weight of it! Why was it so
heavy?

“Do not let it fall! Do not—”

Beilmark tried to raise Krshia’s arms. So did Raekea, but neither could lift
Krshia’s hands! The other Gnolls tried to pull Krshia up, but they were just
as helpless. Mrsha ran back and forth. If the light fell, she knew, it would go
out. Krshia had to lift it! She raised her paws, desperately pushed at
Krshia’s hands as if that would make a difference—

And the light rose. Krshia stared and the other Gnolls fell back. Mrsha
nearly fell over in shock. Lifting Krshia’s arms had been as simple as…
lifting Krshia’s arms! The light had no weight to it! But then Krshia’s arms
shook with effort. She stared at Mrsha, and then spoke breathlessly.

“Mrsha, child. Can you…?”

She offered the light to Mrsha. The little white Gnoll hesitated, then took it.
The light filled her paws and instantly she felt it surge through her. Magic.
Mrsha’s eyes went wide and Krshia gasped as she lifted it up. Mrsha stared
at the shining light. It wasn’t heavy at all.

It was so warm. It felt like she was amid her tribe as she held it, surrounded
by the people she loved. Mrsha could feel the light surging through her,
giving her strength. Determination. She wanted to swallow the precious
light and let it burn through her forever.

But she didn’t, because she sensed the intention in this magic. It wasn’t
hers. It was made up of so many small parts. It was feeling, emotion. She
looked around.

It was them. The Gnolls of Liscor watched as Mrsha held the ball of light,
as heavy as all of them combined. To her, as light as a feather. Krshia
pointed up.
“Throw it, Mrsha. Throw it into the sky!”

Mrsha looked up. The sky was pale red and fiery. The sun was fading. She
stood up and clumsily aimed overhead. And she threw the light up.

And the fading sun in the sky was replaced by another. Up the light flew, a
small orb growing larger. Growing, shining with a thousand shades of gold
and yellow and white. Up and up, until the light became a star above Liscor.
A bright star that shone down, casting rays upon the startled citizens who
looked up.

And the light was warm. It filled Mrsha with warmth, dispelled the fear and
nervousness in her. Made her feel…confident. It flooded her, and she raised
her arms up to the sky, smiling. And when she looked around, the people
were smiling too.

“What was that?”

The Drake [Guardswoman] demanded, staring up at the sky and then at the
Gnolls. Krshia answered calmly.

“A spell for courage. A spell for hope. [Everdawn’s Radiance].”

“Is it—you don’t have a permit to cast magic like that—what Tier spell is
it?”

The Drake glanced up at the sky and at Krshia, trying not to smile and look
stern. Krshia laughed.

“It is a Tier 1 spell, as [Mages] reckon such things. So low-level that even I,
a former apprentice can cast it, yes?”

“Tier 1? But that’s—”

“A [Shaman]’s spell. And I could not have done it without you. Thank you,
Mrsha.”

Krshia knelt and looked at Mrsha. The little Gnoll cub looked up at her.
Krshia shook her head.
“I do not know why it was so light for you. For me, untrained, it was as
heavy as carrying every Gnoll on my back. But you? Ah, perhaps this is
part of what we seek. Look at this, Mrsha. This is what we made. All of the
Gnolls in the city. A scrap of courage, of bravery from each one. And it
makes this.”

She pointed up at the growing star. Mrsha stared up at it in wonder. Krshia

smiled at it.

“It is a weak spell as [Mages] reckon such things. No good in battle. No

good when hearts are fearful from the Raskghar or grieving for the dead.
But good when one knows a time of strife is coming. It pulls the strength
from within and gives it form. And I think—it is enough.”

Enough. Mrsha looked up. The star hovered overhead. It blazed fiercely for
one minute, then two. For eight minutes it shone and all who saw its light
took something from it. It didn’t erase the fear of what was coming, or add
a new source of courage for those who were worried about the future. But it
reassured them. It reminded them of what mattered, of what was important.
It was bright. And beautiful. And so for eight minutes, Mrsha sat and stared
up and smiled.

—-

Across the city, people looked up. They stopped what they were doing,
checking their supplies of coin, looking at maps, arguing, worrying about
the Goblins and Humans, and stared at the strange light in the sky. It was
reassuring. And as it shone down, they reconsidered their plans made in
fear, in haste. They stopped rushing and thought long and hard about what
they wanted and what would happen next.

Watch Captain Zevara stood on the battlements as the spell burst into life
behind her. She swore, stared at it, and then watched it until it went out.
When it was gone, she looked around and shouted an order.
“Someone get Beilmark!”

The Gnoll Senior Guardswoman came up the stairs a few minutes later.
Zevara glared at her. Beilmark ducked her head, although she didn’t look
the slightest bit abashed.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark.”

“Watch Captain?”

Zevara turned back to stare over the darkening landscape and spoke with
her back turned to the Gnoll.

“Gnolls aren’t as troublesome as Drakes or Humans, Beilmark. Your people

don’t stab each over family heirlooms and you police yourselves. With that
said, I’ve heard tales of other cities and Watch Captains who clash every
day with Gnolls in territorial disputes, racial crimes, and Gnoll politics. But
that’s not been the case in Liscor.”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Beilmark looked straight ahead. Zevara nodded and went on.

“However, every time I think I know your people, they always surprise me.
Every time I think I know magic, it surprises me. When I see that light, I
can understand how Gnolls broke our Walled Cities so long ago.”

“Yes, Watch Captain?”

The Gnoll stared past Zevara, smiling slightly. Zevara smiled too. She
turned around and looked at her city. And she knew that there wouldn’t be
any mass exodus today. Maybe not tomorrow either. She looked at
Beilmark, smiled and nodded.

“It was a nice spell. Do it again without telling me first and I’ll throw you
off this wall. Dismissed.”
—-

Outside The Wandering Inn, the adventurers stared up at the sky as well.
Jelaqua sighed as it went out and looked around.

“I guess we can stay for a few more days. I mean, we can always run south
instead and there’s Mrsha and Erin and Lyonette to worry about. Plus, the
door’s back.”

“I think…yes, I could wait. One more day at least. Until Yvlon decides
where she’ll go.”

Ylawes spoke quietly. Halrac stared up at the place the light had been. He
turned.

“Well, if you’re staying I’ll wait. It’s late anyways.”

The adventurers turned and looked back at the warm inn behind them. For a
second they stared into the open door and remembered all that had
happened there, for good or ill. Then they heard a voice from above.

“You call that magic?”

Pisces stood on the destroyed third floor of the inn and bellowed at Liscor,
looking outraged. He waved his arms furiously.

“It’s just a crude emotional spell! It even relies on a visual component to

work! You call that real magic? You might as well eat a hot meal and take a
warm bath for the same effect! This is why shamanic magic is—”

He yelped and flailed wildly as someone kicked him, nearly sending him
toppling from the roof. Ceria appeared behind him, smiling.

“Shut up, Pisces.”

—-

Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha sat in his shop as he began leading his animals
downstairs. Mrsha helped fill bowls with food as Krshia wearily spoke. The
[Shopkeeper]’s arms ached and she felt worn from holding that much
collective magic for so long. If she’d been a true [Shaman], this would have
been so much easier. But it was done. She looked at Mrsha and spoke
quietly.

“The next few days will be serious. I think we must all do our part to fortify
Liscor and make preparations in case…well, in case all comes to the worst.
I will bring you with me when we bury the book, so you know where it will
go. And if, no when this is resolved, you will come back every week at least
and read from it, yes? If you wish.”

Mrsha looked up and nodded. She chewed on some of the cat’s food, which
earned her a dirty look from a tabby. Krshia smiled. Time for Mrsha to go
back to Lyonette for dinner.

“And perhaps I will teach you what I remember of how [Shamans] do

magic too. Maybe practice it once more myself. It would never be useful for
me, but it would be nice to shock that annoying goat, Lism, in the tail, yes?”

The little Gnoll grinned. Elirr nodded. He leaned over and chuckled as he
filled up the huge mastiff’s bowl.

“Even dogs may learn, so Gnolls too must change, yes?”

The other two nodded. Elirr turned to the war hound, who was patiently
waiting for food for once. The [Beast Trainer] gestured.

“Sit.”

The mastiff blinked up at him. And then the dog rolled over. Elirr sighed,
Krshia snorted, and Mrsha laughed silently.

It was good enough.

 5.55 G

Day 10

On the tenth day, it was three Goblins who made a difference. As the sun
rose, the Humans led by Tyrion Veltras drove the Goblin tribes south once
more. Today was the day that they moved by the entrance to the High
Passes, the home of Garen Redfang’s tribe and one of the most inhospitable
environments for people of any kind to settle. If the Humans were going to
push the Goblins into the pass or trap them there, it would be today.

No one expected them to. Everyone who was anyone knew that they would
be turning and marching along the flatlands, following the mountain range
to the second pass that ran through Liscor instead. And in just three days
they would be at the city and if all went according to the various plans in
motion, Liscor would be under siege.

Everyone knew that. [Spies], [Informants], and [Scouts] were all watching
the movement of the army, relaying each move Tyrion Veltras made to
interested parties. Hundreds of thousands of Drakes were marching north,
some flying or riding at breakneck speed to get to Liscor in time. The
Antinium were digging. Magnolia Reinhart was kicking over tables and
swearing. The Necromancer was meditating. Again, everyone knew.

Except the Goblins. They woke up pretty much as usual. By now some
were even sleeping through the morning’s volley of fireballs and had to be
kicked until they got up. They ate, began to march, and generally trusted
that their leaders would sort things out. When you had death behind you and
no way to escape, there was really nothing else you could do.
However, if you were one of the leaders, life wasn’t that easy. And it was
Pyrite who woke up worrying, which was his wont.

Actually, it wasn’t his wont. He didn’t want to worry at all. Pyrite had lived
a very happy life as a [Mining Chieftain] with his Goldstone Tribe for years
and he had devoted energy and effort into ensuring his life was as stress and
death-free as possible. He’d hidden away from most Humans, cultivated an
interest in rocks, and kept from massacring the occasional Silver or Bronze-
rank team that was sent to slaughter his tribe. Of course, he’d been running
away, but it had been fun while it lasted.

Now though, Pyrite regretted the months he’d spent chipping away at
stones and finding gemstones to give to the children of his tribe. He’d
leveled of course; he had quite a number of Skills, all of which allowed him
to find gemstones, cut and polish them—even find the extremely rare stones
that glowed or had magical auras, the ones infused with mana. Like the
ultra-rare teleporting citrine he’d found just once—

“Stupid.”

Pyrite sighed as he walked along, battleaxe on his shoulder. One of the

smaller Goblins gave him an affronted look, and Pyrite flicked a finger,
indicating that it wasn’t about them. Reassured, the Goblins moved around
him. Pyrite trudged on, feeling the weight of the enchanted fiery battleaxe
on his shoulder.

Yes, he’d leveled, but he’d gotten the wrong Skills and he knew it. If
Greydath were here—he’d—he’d—

Probably laugh and pat Pyrite on the head. He would understand. He’d
never told Pyrite what to do. He’d given the young Goblin a chance, that
was all. And Pyrite had squandered it.

“Pyrite. Chieftain wants to see you.”

A Goblin rode up to Pyrite on a Carn Wolf. Pyrite didn’t have to look to

know it was Redscar. The Hob grunted and looked around. Normally it
would be easy to spot Rags, distinctive as she was, but today was a bit
different. Because today, their small tribe of thousands had…

Pyrite’s forehead wrinkled. What was the word? If you took something and
multiplied it by eleven, what would you call that? Double, triple…what
came after that?

Elevenuple. Pyrite decided that was the word, though it didn’t sound good
to him. Yes, they’d elevenupled yesterday. Tremborag had fallen. His tribe
had split in three parts, and the lion’s share had gone to Rags. Pyrite was
just a bit proud of that.

And worried. There were now thousands of Hobs marching in the Flooded
Waters tribe and regular Goblin warriors who had served Tremborag. Not to
mention Ulvama and a handful of [Shamans]. All of them were new, and all
looked to Rags. And Pyrite didn’t like it one bit.

“Where Chieftain?”

He looked up at Redscar. The smaller Goblin was looking about with much
the same look on his face that Pyrite felt. He had to be wary too; both had
seen the strange Goblin politics of Tremborag’s mountain and the way
treachery and infighting had turned the Goblins there into something else.
He pointed.

“There. We go together. Chieftain wants us.”

By ‘us’, he clearly meant Poisonbite, Noears, as well as himself and Pyrite.

The Hob nodded and began walking in the direction of the small Goblin on
the back of the Carn Wolf. Redscar let his mount pad alongside him and the
other Goblins got out of the way as the two walked forwards. Redscar lay
on the back of his wolf, speaking quietly to Pyrite.

“New Goblins.”

“Mhm.”

“Tremborag’s.”
“Mm.”

“Trouble maybe.”

“Yup.”

Pyrite nodded absently, completely failing to carry his end of the

conversation. He was too busy thinking.

Redscar, now there was a Goblin who’d done the right thing, at least in how
Pyrite understood classes and leveling. Greydath had never been too clear
on the subject no matter how Pyrite asked. Pyrite suspected that Greydath
hadn’t known as much about that subject either—probably because he
didn’t pay attention to any class outside of combat-related ones. But he had
been clear on what made someone strong, and Redscar was an example of
that.

He had only two classes as far as Pyrite knew. [Beast Tamer], and [Raid
Leader]. Both were directly useful to whatever Redscar wanted to do and all
his Skills were highly practical. Pyrite had seen Redscar fighting and short
of Garen Redfang, Reiss, or Eater of Spears, he thought Redscar was the
best fighter among all the Goblins marching here.

If it came to a fight between Pyrite and Redscar, well, Pyrite would win if
he and Redscar both had more or less equal footing. But only the first time,
because Redscar would be caught off guard. And because Pyrite would go
for his wolf, Thunderfur, first.

Anyways, the point was that in terms of potential, Redscar had done
himself all the favors he needed to keep getting stronger. Pyrite was certain
that in time his two classes would merge if Redscar lived long enough. He’d
become a—[Beastraider Leader] or something. Pyrite didn’t know. He was
bad with coming up with names.

But what would Pyrite be? He had a mining class and he wasn’t going to
put that to use any time soon. He had to fight. He had to be strong, and he’d
wasted half his levels and Skills. All he had to show for it was his pouch of
shiny gemstones, which were shiny but—
Pyrite was feeling at the little pouch of gems for one of the magical
gemstones he had left—he’d lost the teleporting citrine years ago—when he
felt someone poke him. He looked up and saw Redscar was glaring and
poking him with the tip of his sheathed sword.

“What? Oh.”

The Hob realized he’d abandoned the conversation. He shrugged

apologetically.

“Mountain City tribe will be trouble. But Chieftain can probably handle.”

“Yes. But needs protect.”

From Reiss? Garen? No—Pyrite realized Redscar meant from Tremborag’s

Goblins stabbing Rags in the back. He scratched at his belly.

“True. But not yet. Tremborag Goblins will wait and see how strong
Chieftain is. Form alliances. Or try. At least a few days before stabbing in
back. Or challenge.”

“Sure?”

Pyrite nodded. Redscar relaxed slightly. He grinned, exposing his teeth.

“You know. You were in tribe once. With Greydath.”

He said the name almost reverentially. Pyrite winced. For someone like
Redscar, meeting Greydath of Blades had to be awe-inspiring. Pyrite
nodded warily.

“Did.”

He did not elaborate, and Redscar didn’t press him, despite clearly wanting
to. The Goblin warrior just nodded and urged his Carn Wolf to keep up.
Pyrite shut his mouth.

Secrets. It was un-Goblinlike to have them. But Pyrite had as many secrets
as he had gemstones. He wished he could tell Redscar everything. And
Rags. Especially Rags. It would make things so much easier.

And why not? It wasn’t like they were grand secrets. It was just that they
were private things. Shameful. Mysterious. Clues that had made Pyrite
doubt Greydath when he’d heard them, had driven him from Tremborag’s
mountain. Knowledge that hurt and made Pyrite wonder whether Velan had
been betrayed. Or whether he and Greydath had known something about
Goblin Kings that no one else did.

It didn’t matter. Not right now. Rags was all that mattered. Pyrite forced
himself back to reality. He looked up as he and Redscar approached their
Chieftain. The little female Goblin was issuing orders as she rode. She was
so small. So young. And yet, she led them. And Pyrite saw in her something
worth following. A leader, or the makings of one worth fighting for. He only
wished he were strong enough to be her second in command.

“Pyrite. Redscar.”

Rags looked up at the two of them and gave her customary put-upon scowl.
She waved at another duo of Goblins, Poisonbite and Noears as they
approached. The five Goblins stood together, and Pyrite realized that he was
the only Hob among them.

Of course, Quietstab had been one of the lieutenants as well. But it was
something, that a tribe this large and this strong could be led by more
regular Goblins than Hobs. Pyrite walked alongside Noears on Rags’ left,
nodding to the Goblin [Mage] and getting a grin in response. Rags muttered
to herself as Poisonbite and Redscar took a position on her right and then
came out with her first grievance.

“Food is low! More Goblins means more eat, and fat Tremborag ate too
much!”

Pyrite nodded. The Goblins who’d flocked to Rags’ tribe had brought their
supplies, but a quick inventory had revealed that they’d stockpiled a lot less
than Rags had. They’d relied on the herds of cattle and supplies the Humans
drove or dropped into their path for food, which wasn’t wise. Rags pointed
at Noears, who was in charge of the bag of holding.
“Noears has problem with Hobs. What?”

The [Mage] frowned.

“The Mountain City Hobs keep asking for a snack, Chieftain.”

“No snack!”

He nodded.

“Said that, Chieftain. But they said—”

He broke off as Rags waved her arms in the air.

“No snacks! Eat when time to eat! If want snack, dig up bugs while
marching or shoot birds! And move in formations! Must practice.”

Redscar nodded.

“Can practice tonight before sleep.”

Poisonbite looked uneasy.

“They not like that. Tremborag Goblins don’t practice. Only if lieutenants
do. Not together.”

“Too bad. They practice or go away. Redscar you and Redfangs in charge of
Mountain City tribe. They march in formation or you—”

Rags mimed smacking the back of a head. Redscar grinned and nodded.
Rags turned to Pyrite.

“Need to figure out how to fight. Big tribe. Different strategy.”

Pyrite nodded. That was Rags. She’d already realized they couldn’t operate
like they used to—holding ground with pikes and using the Redfangs and
Hobs to break enemy lines while the crossbows operated from the back.
Now she had a bunch of Goblins with traditional weapons who weren’t able
to move and conduct her precise tactics. He leaned in.
“Mountain City tribe does know how to fight, Chieftain. But knows
Tremborag way of fighting. You saw. Regular Goblins go in, then Hobs.
Can teach them how to fight Flooded Waters tribe style with same tactics.
Just have to make groups with leaders.”

“Like they have.”

Redscar and the others looked at Pyrite. He nodded.

“But different. Make factions—sword and shield faction, archer faction,

naked Hobgoblin [Shaman] faction—”

Rags snorted and glanced towards Ulvama. The [Shaman] was riding on a
wagon, having refused to walk. Pyrite didn’t know why she’d joined Rags
instead of Garen—the Hob would have never gone to Reiss, he was certain
—but he regarded her as a huge asset, albeit a dangerous one. Rags nodded.

“Good idea. But will work?”

“Appoint strong Goblins as leaders. Choose from old lieutenants for new
ones. Other Goblins fight them instead of you.”

Rags brightened up at the prospect. She looked at Pyrite approvingly and

nodded. Redscar, Noears, and Poisonbite all liked the idea too.

“Good! Will do. Send Tremborag lieutenants here. They compete. I pick.”

Rags cackled, and Pyrite wondered if she’d have an impromptu competition

on the march. It wouldn’t be the worst idea. She pointed around, giving
orders.

“Redscar, go tell Tremborag Goblins. Have Redfangs divide up. Noears, go

to supplies and hit stupid Goblins trying to steal. Poisonbite, go solve
problems over there.”

She waved a claw. The other three Goblins nodded. Poisonbite sighed as
she got what was the worst job in any tribe—being the one the Hobs went
to when they encountered a problem they couldn’t solve. That was how it
worked. Regular Goblins solved a problem or went to a Hob, who in turn
solved it or went to a smarter Hob or a leader like Poisonbite in this case.
And if she couldn’t solve it, it went to Rags.

The others dispersed, leaving only Rags and Pyrite for a moment. And the
hundreds of Goblins marching around them in earshot, but they didn’t
count. Pyrite and Rags glanced at each other. Then both simultaneously
looked across the heads of marching Goblins.

“There.”

Pyrite pointed out two figures, marching on their left and right respectively.
One was a Hob riding a Carn Wolf, leading a much smaller tribe, most of
whom were mounted. Garen Redfang looked furious as he stared at Rags’
suddenly engorged tribe. And on the right rode another Hob, seated on the
back of a headless undead spider. Reiss, the Goblin Lord. His army had
grown as well, but now it was rivaled by Rags’ tribe. He stared ahead, lost
in thought.

“Garen angry.”

Rags smiled gleefully. Pyrite nodded.

“But not cause trouble now. Too small.”

It was odd thinking of the famed leader of the Redfang tribe that way. But
in a very real sense, yesterday had shown that to everyone. Garen hadn’t
inherited Tremborag’s warriors as he’d clearly expected. They’d gone to
Rags instead, and even to Reiss. Because, in a way no Goblin could quite
articulate, for multiple reasons, Garen was wanting as a leader. The Hob
was a mighty warrior, perhaps the strongest of all the Goblins who rode
here. Certainly in physical combat now that Tremborag was dead. But he
could not be a Chieftain like Rags or Reiss. But the Goblin Lord—

Rags’ smile faded as she looked at Reiss. If Garen was not a danger now, at
least in the sense of threatening her tribe, Reiss was a different matter. She
looked at Pyrite.

“Last night. What he do?”

“I don’t know.”

Pyrite stared at Reiss. Last night after Tremborag’s death, the Goblin Lord
had been possessed by something. They’d all seen it. At first it hadn’t been
clear, but as Reiss had begun walking around and looking at the Humans, at
the Goblins here, he’d started talking to himself. Only, one of the voices
that left his mouth wasn’t his own. And his posture, his way of moving, all
of it, had changed.

It might not have been obvious to another species, but to Goblins it had
been apparent that someone else was in Reiss. Talking to the Goblin Lord.
And it had not taken any stretch of the imagination to figure out who. When
they’d realized what was going on, all the Goblins—even Reiss’ own tribe
—had given him a wide berth.

Pyrite remembered Rags wavering over going up to Reiss last night. He’d
talked her out of it, not least because when Garen had found out what was
happening, he’d drawn his sword and stared Reiss down. The Goblin Lord
and Necromancer had both ignored him, though. Pyrite had wondered if
Garen would charge Reiss, but the other Hob had held himself back.

It was wise, too; Pyrite had never felt so ill at ease around another Goblin.
Whatever had been looking out of Reiss’ eyes had been cold and dangerous.
It had been late last night when Reiss had finally stopped talking to himself.
Near the end, his words had gone silent and Pyrite suspected he’d cast a
spell to avoid being overheard. But whatever he’d discussed with his
master, the Necromancer, nothing had come of it so far.

“He said he would ask his master about Humans. About what they do.
Think he knows?”

Rags looked speculatively at Reiss. Pyrite shrugged.

“Could ask. Want me?”

He saw Rags hesitate. Then she shook her head.

“I’ll ask later. After choose new lieutenants. You go ahead lead tribe
forwards.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He wasn’t sure he was relieved or not. He stared again at

Reiss, and then glanced at Garen. Now Tremborag was dead, there were
only three Chieftains left. And while Rags was in a better place than before
—Pyrite didn’t like it. As her second-in-command he felt her position was
precarious. Both from within, with Tremborag’s Goblins, and from the other
two tribes.

“Chieftain.”

Rags paused as she began to ride towards Redfang, who had already
marshaled Tremborag’s old lieutenants and had them moving her way. She
shot a quizzical glance back at Pyrite. He nodded to the approaching
Goblins.

“Tremborag Goblins think like Tremborag did. Respect strength.”

She scowled.

“Will respect me.”

He nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. But need to see tribe is strong. Chieftain is strong.”

A worried look crossed Rags’ face. She was strong, for a Goblin of her age,
but both she and Pyrite knew she was far, far weaker than someone like
Reiss, or Garen. Or even Redscar.

“How can show?”

Pyrite smiled. She didn’t see that she’d already done some of the showing,
in the brief attack against Tremborag’s forces yesterday. He dipped his
head.
“I will, Chieftain. After choose lieutenants, let me.”

Rags studied Pyrite. Then she nodded slowly. He walked away, keeping his
back straight. The enchanted battleaxe felt heavy on his shoulder. That was
right. He had chosen poorly with his classes, his Skills, and he had wasted
too many years of his life. But he could still be her second-in-command. He
could still show Tremborag’s Goblins what they needed to see. And when
he couldn’t, when his mistakes caught up with him—

Well, that was why Redscar was around, wasn’t it? Pyrite moved faster,
striding through the Goblins until he reached the front. And at last, he stared
ahead and saw not the backs of Goblins and Hobgoblins, but the open sky,
the High Passes—

And the Humans.

There was an advance force moving ahead of the Goblins, guiding them and
ensuring that if they made a break for it, they’d be penned in. There were
smaller groups of riders to the left and right as well, acting as guides while
the vast majority of Humans marched behind the Goblins. Pyrite stared
ahead at the Humans, who were leading them on a track right past the High
Passes. He shrugged, sighed, and began to trudge after them.

Rags had ordered him to lead the tribe while she handled matters. It
sounded like a lot of work, but in fact, it was the easiest thing to do out of
all the jobs—assuming nothing came up. In fact, it was easy.

Here was how Pyrite did it. He walked and the tribe followed. The Hob set
an easy pace; thanks to Rags’ Skill, the tribe could fast walk rather than jog
and still move fast enough for the Human’s needs. Every time he moved left
or right, the entire tribe rippled as it changed directions to follow him,
wagons turning, Goblins riding horses moving left, smaller Goblins
changing course, following the Goblins ahead of them.

Pyrite kept walking, undeterred by the importance of his job. He glanced at

Reiss’ army keeping pace with him and saw a tall figure approaching him.
He grinned. Someone had noticed he was in front and was coming to see
him.
Eater of Spears strode towards Pyrite, followed by Reiss’ army. Pyrite
walked left and the two met, both of their tribes walking side-by-side now.
He glanced up at the much taller Hob and grunted. Eater of Spears flicked
his ears and gave Pyrite a pleased grin.

Eater of Spears was slowly striding along and the Goblins in armor were
marching hard to keep up. The huge Hob was the biggest that Pyrite had
ever seen—aside from Tremborag. He looked like someone had carved
muscles out of a green wall and only added a head as an afterthought. But
Eater of Spears was deceptive. Much like Pyrite, actually. Perhaps that was
why the two got along so well.

“Pyrite.”

“Eater of Spears.”

The two nodded at each other. They didn’t need to say much. Both
understood the economy of words, and so they kept their chatter to a
minimum. But they did touch on important topics, delicately saying what
they could without betraying their Chieftains’ trust. Pyrite nodded back
towards Reiss.

“Necromancer?”

“Mhm.”

Eater of Spear looked troubled. Pyrite nodded.

“Happen often?”

“Sometimes. Is good stay away.”

“Dangerous?”

“Mhm. Drake got hit by spell.”

“Not good.”

“Mm. But also good.”

“Really? Necromancer uses Goblins. How good?”

At this point Eater of Spears had to break their nearly monosyllabic rapport.

“Reiss is wise. Necromancer does not know all. He sees, but not everything.
But he tells Reiss what he knows, about the Humans. About their plans.
And now Reiss has his plan.”

Pyrite’s ears perked up. A plan? He didn’t like that. Not one bit. Casually,
he looked at Eater of Spears.

“What kind of plan?”

The Hob looked down at Pyrite and shook his head reluctantly. He was
barehanded, unlike Pyrite who carried an battleaxe. He didn’t need
weapons; Pyrite thought he could kill anything he needed to just by
punching it. If Redscar had to fight Eater of Spears he might lose unless that
enchanted sword he had was capable of slicing through the Hob’s bones. If
Pyrite had to fight…well, he’d want the drop on Eater of Spears. Preferably
from the top of a cliff with a bow and arrow.

“Cannot say. Reiss will say to your Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He’d expected as much. But he silently glanced back

towards Reiss. If he had to fight Reiss, or if Reiss fought Rags…Pyrite
didn’t enjoy playing out life-and-death battles in his head. But as Rags’
second-in-command he had to protect her. Which meant he had to assume
the worst.

He noticed Eater of Spears looking at him and realized he was staring at

Reiss for too long. Pyrite said a few Human curse words inside his head.
He’d fallen for the same trap people usually fell into around him! Never
forget the big Hob isn’t stupid. To cover for his mistake, he fished at his belt
and pulled out a sack. When he opened it, Eater of Spear sniffed. A savory
smell was coming from the bag, the scent of roasted meat. Pyrite pulled an
object out and held it up.

“Want snack?”
Eater of Spears stared down. Pyrite was holding a rat. A dead and roasted
rat. He blinked.

“Where find that?”

“Underground.”

Pyrite grinned. After a second, Eater of Spears laughed.

“Good place for them. You dig?”

“Mhm. Have more. Here.”

Pyrite handed the morsel up to Eater of Spears, who delicately crunched the
morsel whole. The Goblins from both tribes looked jealous, so Pyrite
opened his bag and passed more rats around, much to the delight of all
present. He had over three dozen rats in his sack, many small, but some of a
good size. Pyrite was relieved to get rid of them as they were heavy, but
he’d been saving them for this purpose. He supposed this was one use of his
Skills, a small boon.

That was because for Pyrite, digging was easy. Pyrite had found a nest of
burrowing rats practically right next to him when he’d settled in for a nap.
With his ability to hunt for gemstones, locating their nest and plucking them
out had been easy. The real trick had been finding a [Cook] willing to
accept only two of the rodents in exchange for roasting them. Most wanted
three or four, but Pyrite knew the value of a good rat.

“Mm. Good. I have nothing to give.”

Eater of Spears looked guilty. He tried to object, but Pyrite made him take
three more rats. The former Goldstone Chieftain shrugged.

“Isn’t hard to get rats. Digging easy. Not like rocks. Have to use pickaxe for
that. Very tricky to get.”

“Can’t make?”

Pyrite shook his head.

“Stone ones break too easy. Need iron or steel. Have to take from Humans.
Very hard to sneak.”

“How do it?”

“Get shiny gold rocks. Dump in mining camp. Shout. Let Humans find and
start huge fight. Then grab pickaxes and run.”

He winked and Eater of Spears grinned. Both Hobs laughed and Eater of
Spears slapped his chest, making a thwacking sound that one didn’t
normally expect to come from flesh. Pyrite eyed the Hob. Now those were
muscles. Pyrite was confident of his strength, but sometimes he wished he’d
been able to turn into a pillar of physical might like Eater of Spears or even
Tremborag.

Greydath had told him that Tremborag’s ability to turn into a monster hadn’t
been due to a Skill or class. He’d probably been enhanced by his class, but
his ability was actually part of Goblin heritage, albeit largely unknown. In
fact, Tremborag had been weak according to Greydath, which was why he
couldn’t maintain the transformation. But Eater of Spears was in his prime,
and so he had to be getting close. If Pyrite told him—

No. They were friends, but Pyrite wasn’t sure. The Hob kept his mouth shut
as Eater of Spears finished laughing and spoke.

“My tribe, Rockbreakers Tribe, was not so good as yours. I told you. Not
enough food for…”

He indicated Pyrite’s layers of fat, clearly envious. Pyrite nodded, although

he privately thought that any tribe that could sustain someone of Eater of
Spears’ size had to be doing well. He and Eater of Spears had swapped
stories before. Apparently, before he’d joined Reiss, Eater of Spears had led
a tribe of less than eighty Goblins, almost all Hobs. They’d been the terror
of the cliffs and beaten Wyverns to death for food. Eater of Spears crunched
another rat and went on.

“Anyways. One time, had to get healing potions for bad injury on many
after big fight with Wyverns. So went to Drake city. Small city, but
dangerous. Had to scare away Drakes on walls, but not enough stones.”

“So what did you do?”

Pyrite smiled. Eater of Spears grinned and flex an arm.

“Got dead Wyvern heads. Threw them. Drakes scream and run, and we
climb walls.”

Pyrite chortled. Eater of Spears smiled, and then his face fell, grew somber.

“Had to kill many Drakes after that. Got potions, but Drakes sent army.
Tribe had to flee. Go high up into mountains. Bad things there. Worse than
Wyverns. Over half tribe died.”

The two Hobs felt silent. Pyrite had known similar disasters. He searched
for something to say, and then raised his voice lightly.

“One time, when mining, I found a shiny yellow gem. When I reach for it, it
disappeared. Found it lying on ground behind me. Teleporting magic stone.
I chase after it—”

Eater of Spears brightened a bit as Pyrite told the embellished story of how
he’d nearly died when chasing after the elusive teleportation stone and
figured out a way to stop it from moving about. The two Hobs kept
swapping stories for nearly an hour as they walked, until both spotted
something unusual happening ahead of them.

The High Passes was a gaping rift, a steep incline that quickly became
cliffs, leaving only a valley between two mountains. It was clearly the result
of some fissure in the mountains, perhaps caused by a seismic rift in the
past. Whatever the case, it was narrow, winding and jagged. The Humans
had been steering the Goblins past it without issue—until something came
out of the High Passes for a snack.

“What’s that?”

Eater of Spears pointed at the advance group of Humans. They were

blowing their horns and racing about, clearly fighting something. Pyrite
checked his grip on his battleaxe.

“Don’t know. Redfangs!”

He bellowed and both Garen’s tribe and the Redfang warriors in Rags’ tribe
looked around. Pyrite pointed and a pair of his warriors took off. Not to be
outdone, Garen pointed and a band of his warriors raced ahead as well.
Both Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look and stopped, halting the
progress of the Goblins. It was risky, but they weren’t about to advance
without knowing what was going on.

The scouts came back within minutes. The pair of Redfangs Pyrite had sent
halted in front of the two Hobs. One of them pointed towards the fighting
Humans.

“Eater Goats!”

“Eater Goats?”

Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look, Pyrite’s of concern, and Eater
of Spears’ a blank one. Pyrite knew of the dangerous, all-consuming goats
of the High Passes. He’d killed a few that had wandered into his tribe’s
territory and he knew the goats, while not individually as powerful as say, a
Hob, were more than capable of ripping anything to shreds given enough
numbers. They could eat a Gargoyle and they were without fear.

And there were lots of them. Thousands, in fact. They’d charged into the
Humans from the side, completely ignoring the spells and arrows that had
blown a number of their brethren apart. Now they were engaged and the
Humans were getting the worst of it. Their horses were not at home fighting
enemies that low to the ground, and the Eater Goats could jump and chew
through armor. Plus, they screamed.

The Goblins listened to the report with no lack of satisfaction. At last the
Humans were in trouble! Pyrite was about to suggest to Eater of Spears they
get moving and let the Humans shield them when he heard horns blowing
from behind. He saw the Humans break up and race away.
“That’s bad.”

Eater of Spears grumbled. The Humans were running, and the Eater Goats
were breaking away from their pursuit of the faster horses. They’d just
spotted their second dinner in the form of the Goblin army and they were
charging towards them, never mind that there were only a few thousand
goats and hundreds of thousands of Goblins. To them, that just meant there
was more to eat.

“Goblins!”

Eater of Spears roared and the Goblin Lord’s army turned to face the goats.
Pyrite strode through the ranks of his Goblins as well, and heard a familiar
voice.

“Crossbows and bows front! Big shields forwards! Hobs and warriors
behind! Redfangs to side!”

Rags surged forwards, shouting and pointing. Her tribe set itself up,
preparing for the goats. They were right in the path of the oncoming
monsters. Pyrite took his position behind the line of pikes, thinking fast.
Rags was employing both her old and new Goblins, but she was relying on
a rank of Goblins with tower shields to slow the goats down while the bows
went to work. She screamed an order and the first ranks of crossbows and
bows fired.

A stream of arrows rained down and struck the first wave of goats, eliciting
braying screams. Some fell, but even the ones with arrows sticking out of
their legs and torsos kept running. Rags shouted and another volley fell, and
another. The first rank of Eater Goats struck the Goblins with shields and
bounced back. Some leapt, but were skewered before they landed. The
Eater Goats circled as they tried to find a way into the defensive formation.
They nipped and bit—the Goblins with tower shields held their ground.

“Wait! Wait!”

Rags shouted at the Goblins warriors pushing the goats back. Pyrite saw a
wing of her archers and warriors moving to the left side. She was going to
pin the Eater Goats down and shoot them to death without risking her
warriors. That was a smart move. Someone—Redscar—must have told
Rags how dangerous it was to fight Eater Goats up close.

Pyrite saw it all happening as the Eater Goats began biting through the
shields. Goblins shouted and screamed as they tried to force the goats back.
He knew some of them would fall, but this tactic Rags had come up with
was the safest. Only—Pyrite looked around.

Every eye was on Rags. Tremborag’s former Goblins were assessing her.
They could see she was a genius when it came to strategy, but like Pyrite
had told her, it wasn’t enough. They needed to see strength as well as
intelligence. Pyrite stared at the Eater Goats fighting the Goblins with
shields. Then he groaned.

“My turn.”

The Hobs around him looked confused. Pyrite turned to them and took a
deep breath. He bellowed.

“Hobs!”

They straightened. Pyrite pointed ahead and roared.

“Charge! Shields back! Archers back! Hobs charge behind me! Redfangs
charge!”

The Goblins gaped and Pyrite heard an exclamation from Rags. This was
not part of the plan! But Pyrite was already moving. He charged forwards
and Goblins scattered in front of him. The first rank of shields was folding
as the Eater Goats leapt up, biting, ripping at the wood and metal shields,
Pyrite thrust a terrified Goblin aside and raised his battleaxe.

There were thousands of the goats. They screamed, a hoarse, piercing shriek
magnified from a thousand throats. Pyrite roared and charged at them. The
Eater Goats didn’t expect that.

“Forwards!”
The enchanted battleaxe left Pyrite’s shoulder. He swung it and flame burst
from the edge of the axe. Five Eater Goats leaping for him were caught by
the swing, and the pieces landed around Pyrite. He charged forwards,
kicking a goat head-over-hooves and bringing his axe down on another. The
goat gurgled and Pyrite swept his axe.

“Forwards!”

Hobs charged through the ranks of Goblins behind him. They clashed with
the front rank of Goblins, but Pyrite was still running forwards. Eater Goats
were all around him. They leapt and Pyrite swung his axe. Greydath had
taught him how to use weapons. Swinging with huge strikes would get
Pyrite killed. And it wasn’t necessary—his enchanted axe could cut through
the goats easily. He swung the axe as fast as possible instead, covering the
area ahead of him. High, low, high, low—

It was like he was a farmer with a scythe and the Eater Goats were wheat.
But the wheat moved and bit. Pyrite roared as a goat got past his guard and
tore a chunk off his shoulder. But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, swinging
the axe with one arm as he tore the goat—and more of his flesh—off and
hurled it to the ground. If he stopped they’d swarm him. He could only
move forwards and trust the Hobs to his back, forwards and forwards,
screaming that one order.

“Forwards! FORWARDS!”

Where were the Redfangs? He should have called them up earlier.

Something bit Pyrite on the leg and he kicked, shaking it off. Blood ran
down his arms and he could smell burning, the stench of cooked meat. At
the very least they’d have food. Pyrite saw the goats leaping at him, swung
his axe. He slipped—

And a bounding red wolf leapt and bit the Eater Goat, snatching it out of the
air. The massive wolf, Thunderfur, worried the goat and threw it to one side.
On its back, Redscar turned, his blade flashing. He leaned down and sliced
an Eater Goat across the neck, killing it instantly, then turned and stabbed a
leaping goat through the mouth. Redfangs bounded past him, screaming
war cries and attacking the goats from the side.
“Pyrite!”

Redscar bellowed. Pyrite stood up and raised his axe. He swung it wide and
the goats in front of him vanished. Redscar blinked as Pyrite pointed.

“Attack! Don’t stop attacking!”

He charged forwards and Redscar and the Redfangs were with him. The
Hobs could barely keep up as they scythed through the Eater Goats. Pyrite
kept running, swinging the heavy axe though his arms burned and his chest
hurt. He only stopped when he looked around and realized there was
nothing ahead of him. He looked back and saw the last of the Eater Goats
being finished off behind him.

A red trail marked his passage through the monsters. Pyrite leaned on his
axe, gasping, then remembered. He stood up straight as Redscar rode back
towards him. The [Raid Leader] had an odd look in his eyes as he fished
something from his belt and tossed it at Pyrite.

“Here.”

Pyrite caught it and blinked down at the green healing potion. He looked
down and realized the goats had torn chunks out of his arms, shoulders, and
legs. Absently, he drank the potion and tossed the bottle down.

“How many lost?”

“Few. Eater Goats got surprised. No good when defending. Think they
started to run.”

Redscar grinned. He patted Thunderfur and let the Carn Wolf begin to eat
one of the goat’s corpses in front of him. But he was still looking at Pyrite.
He wiped his blade with one hand.

“That was—good. Impressive. Not like you.”

He nodded to Pyrite. The Hob silently wiped blood from his arms and chest.
He was drenched in it. Pyrite nodded shortly.
“I know. Had to do.”

“Why?”

“To show them.”

Pyrite pointed. The Hobs were panting, while the Redfang warriors of Rags’
tribe were cleaning their weapons or letting their Carn Wolves eat, tending
to their injuries. But the Goblins behind them—the Hobs from Tremborag’s
tribe—they were all staring at Pyrite. At the Hob who’d just cut a hole
through a thousand Eater Goats by himself.

Redscar grinned at Pyrite. He understood. It was only Rags who didn’t. She
rode up to Pyrite, swearing and looking ready to murder him.

“What that? That was not plan! Why attack?”

“Pyrite showing off, Chieftain.”

Redscar grinned and saluted Rags with his sword. She gave him an evil
look and then looked at Pyrite.

“Why?”

Pyrite shrugged tiredly. His arms hurt.

“Have to show them, Chieftain. Show them you are smart, but also strong. I
am second-in-command. Have to be strong. Show them—and show others.”

“Others?”

Rags looked around blankly. Then she noticed the other tribes.

The Eater Goats had split up in their attack. Most had gone for Rags’ tribe,
but two groups had split off and attacked the other two tribes. The last of
them were dying on Reiss’ side now.

The Goblin Lord’s troops had fought the Eater Goats well, although without
half as much flashy tactics or aggression as Rags’ tribe. Eater of Spears was
pounding the Eater Goats flat while the warriors in black armor supported
him. On the other side, Garen’s warriors were already dissecting the Eater
Goats that had attacked them.

“Fast.”

Pyrite murmured. He hadn’t even seen Garen’s tribe fight. Redscar shook
his head.

“They didn’t attack. Garen attacked them when he saw you—”

He mimed Pyrite swinging his axe. Rags and Pyrite both looked confused.

“Why not attack?”

Redscar looked a bit sad. He glanced over at Garen then tapped a streak of
red on his green skin. He had a slash of crimson paint running down his left
cheek.

“Warpaint. Garen tribe has it. Mark of Redfangs. Eater Goats see, they
don’t attack. Know it means death.”

“Really?”

Rags blinked. Pyrite saw Redscar was right—every Goblin in Garen’s tribe
was wearing their signature war paint. Rags frowned, musing.

“Good to know. Could use, maybe.”

Then she looked over at Pyrite and scowled again. She poked one of his
healing wounds and he winced. Redscar chortled as he left them alone to
order the Goblins to butcher the dead goats for food. Rags and Pyrite
looked at each other.

“Took big risk.”

“Yes, Chieftain. But did show them. I think.”

Pyrite felt at his shoulder, pulled out a tooth so the flesh could regrow. He
flicked it to the ground and looked at her.

“Did it work? Did it seem strong?”

He hoped it had, or else he’d taken a big risk for nothing. Rags hesitated,
then smiled.

“Looked like scary monster to me. Scary, big, fat Hob.”

“But not smelly.”

“But not smelly.”

They laughed. Pyrite walked back, noting the difference in the way the
Goblins looked at him. One of the Hobs he recognized, a lieutenant of
Tremborag’s, had been part of the fighting. Pyrite slowed and stared at him.
What was his name?

“Hammersteel?”

The Hob blinked. He nodded slowly. He had a wicked maul and steel
cuirass on his front, as well as a reputation for picking fights.

“Pyrite. Good fight. Knew Flooded Waters tribe was right choice.”

“You think so?”

Pyrite tilted his head quizzically. Hammersteel grinned and spat.

“Think so! Garen not smart, but Chieftain Rags is. Better than traitor lord.
And has strong second! Pyrite with the axe!”

He pointed to the axe and cackled. Pyrite smiled a bit. Hammersteel looked
envious. He made a circumspect gesture.

“I hold?”
Pyrite nodded. Hammersteel approached—and was promptly shoved out of
the way. Ulvama appeared, smiling widely. Pyrite blinked. The [Shaman] of
Tremborag’s tribe wore very little in the way of clothing, and instead had
colorful paint on her skin instead. She smiled seductively at Pyrite as she
kicked Hammersteel, forcing him back.

“Strong Hob. Didn’t know so strong! Good second for Chieftain Rags. I am
Ulvama. You are Pyrite? We should talk. Meet each other.”

She laid a hand on Pyrite’s arm, brushing at the blood and ignoring the flies
buzzing around Pyrite. He noticed the flies though, and resolved to wash
himself as soon as possible. He hated being dirty. Pyrite stared at Ulvama’s
soft touch and grunted.

“We have met before. Long time ago.”

Ulvama’s smile slipped.

“We have?”

“Mhm. Back in Tremborag tribe. I was Goblin. Small. You were small
Goblin too. Apprentice to Chief Shaman. Remember you getting in trouble
for using paints.”

Ulvama’s jaw dropped. Hammersteel cackled with laughter. She turned and
pointed a finger at his groin, and he yelped as the air grew subzero rapidly
and fled. Ulvama turned back to Pyrite. She tilted her head.

“You were Tremborag’s?”

“Yes.”

Pyrite met her eyes. Ulvama hesitated. He could see her thinking. Her
gambit to tie herself to the highest-ranked Goblin in Rags’ tribe wasn’t
going well. But she didn’t give up—mainly because she had no choice.
Noears had been in Tremborag’s tribe so he was well aware of Ulvama’s
ways—and he didn’t get along with Tremborag’s Goblins to begin with. It
was why he’d left and why he was called Noears to begin with. Poisonbite
was female, as was Rags, and neither of them were interested in other
females in a way that would help Ulvama. And Redscar liked male Goblins.
So Ulvama tried again.

“You want sex?”

Goblins didn’t do much subtlety. Ulvama’s first attempt had been as subtle
as it got. Pyrite shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She stared at Pyrite suspiciously. He shrugged.

“Too busy. And don’t like you. You go back to wagons now. We keep
moving.”

He shooed Ulvama away, ignoring her hissing and threats. Pyrite walked
back to the front of his tribe. Eater of Spears was there, rubbing at a chunk
taken out of one bicep. Pyrite nodded and began walking. The tribe
marched after him, hurriedly packing away the meat from the dead goats. It
was just one thing in a day.

But it mattered. Pyrite could sense Eater of Spears looking at him. The Hob
absently swatted a fly trying to lick blood from his skin.

“What?”

“Never saw that before. Strong. Cut goats apart so quick even Garen
Redfang looked scared. Why do it?”

Pyrite paused. He looked around and saw Garen Redfang was staring at
him. He shrugged and looked ahead.

“It was a warning.”

“To Garen? To Tremborag Goblins?”

“To everyone.”

Pyrite looked up at Eater of Spears. The Hob paused. Then he nodded. The
two walked on. Pyrite found his water skin and tried to wipe off the blood
with a little bit of water. Eater of Spears silently offered him his water skin
and Pyrite grunted in thanks. He noticed Eater of Spears hadn’t healed the
bites he’d taken—not that the Eater Goats had been able to do much
damage to his skin.

“Need potion?”

“No. Have, but not waste. Will heal quick.”

The Hob shook his head and tapped a bottle on his belt. He had three
potions, actually. A sign of how important he was. For the first time, Pyrite
noticed that Eater of Spears had a number of objects on his belt. A little
band of feathers, a token of some sort, his own belt pouches, the water skin
—and two glittering hatchets.

“What are those?”

Eater of Spears blinked down at his belt. Then he grinned.

“Throwing axes. Weak enchanted. Sharp. Reiss gave as reward.”

“Any good with axes?”

Pyrite was intrigued. He glanced back at Reiss, and then at Garen, and had
another thought. Another bad idea, or perhaps, a good one. He raised his
eyebrows and Eater of Spears grinned.

“Have Skill. And class! Was a [Thrower] before. Can hit flying Wyverns
with rocks. Don’t level class much anymore, though. But this good for
[Mages]. Threw at fast-fast flying pink thing, but missed.”

Flying pink what? Pyrite decided to ignore that. He pursed his lips, and then
spoke casually.

“I have another class. [Blademaster]. Only Level 3, though.”

“[Blademaster]?”

Eater of Spears’ brows shot up. He looked impressed, as anyone might.

Pyrite shrugged.

“Was taught by Greydath of Blades. You know?”

“I do. He taught you?”

“Yes. But no good with sword. Axes better.”

Pyrite sighed. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get past
Greydath’s ‘basic’ training. Which was still something. He looked
speculatively at Eater of Spears and decided to tell him another secret.

“Trained a bit. Didn’t learn much, but…in fight. I can see when someone is
going to hit. And where, sometimes. Not a Skill. I learned it from
Greydath.”

“Really?”

Eater of Spears was fascinated. His eyes flickered, and Pyrite was sure that
information was going straight to Reiss later. Not necessarily maliciously—
but it was definitely important. The big Hob looked at Pyrite, and the Hob
waited. Wait—wait—

He saw the movement and raised a fist to block as Eater of Spears threw a
fist. The Hob stopped before he hit Pyrite, which was a relief. Pyrite had
known the punch was coming, but blocking it—

Eater of Spears blinked and some of the Goblins who’d been watching and
listening murmured in awe. No doubt they’d pass this on as well. That was
how the Goblin social network functioned. But Pyrite didn’t care about
them. He focused on Eater of Spears and smiled.

“Told you.”

The Hob grinned, delighted. He nearly forgot to keep walking as he stared

at Pyrite.
“How? Can teach?”

“Very hard. Took long time to master, even with Greydath show. All about
muscles. Arm position. Stance. Easy on Eater of Spears because muscles
are easy to see.”

Pyrite smiled and Eater of Spears laughed. The Hob smiled too. And in his
mind, from his glittering treasury of secrets, Pyrite plucked a pair of gems
and offered them up. Two secrets he’d given. And in return, he gained
something back, invisible though it might be.

Trust. Eater of Spears quizzed Pyrite on how the trick worked, and about
Greydath. Pyrite answered politely without going into details, and then
casually pointed at Eater of Spears’ axes when he found a break in the
conversation.

“Greydath taught more than just sword. Like axes. Not Skill, but can throw.
Let me try?”

Eater of Spears hesitated, but then he willingly unhooked an axe and

handed it to Pyrite. The Hob grunted as he lifted the throwing axe. It was
superbly balanced and it felt sharp enough to cut through anything. A gift
indeed. He looked around, spotted a target, and then turned and hurled the
axe. Eater of Spears roared in surprise and Goblins looked up and threw
themselves flat.

Ulvama was sitting in her wagon, growling to herself, when the blade of the
axe embedded itself into the wooden frame next to her. Pyrite winced—he
hadn’t meant to throw it that close. He saw the [Shaman]’s eyes go wide.

Ulvama screeched, leapt away from the quivering axe, and then stared
across the heads of Goblins at Pyrite. She starting screaming insults at him.
Pyrite ignored her as he lowered his hand. He looked around and saw that
every Goblin around him, Reiss’ Goblins and Rags’ tribe, were staring at
him with open mouths. He looked up at Eater of Spears, who was gaping at
him.

“Good at throwing things too. Want to play game?”

The Hob blinked, then he bellowed with laughter and slapped Pyrite on the
back, nearly knocking him over. The axe was returned and Eater of Spears
handed the axe to Pyrite. The two began throwing at objects ahead of them,
aiming at birds, rocks, any target that came to mind.

Pyrite threw economically, Eater of Spears with less accuracy but enough
force to split almost any object in two or shatter stone. It was just as well
the axes were enchanted. So the two Hobs walked together and Pyrite knew
he was at the center of attention. He’d done all he could. He’d prepared, and
sent…a warning. As clear as he could make it.

He just hoped it would be enough.

—-

“[Deathbolt].”

The black light had struck Osthia. She had fallen as it sapped the life, the
very core of energy from her. She lay on the ground, motionless, breathless,
eyes still open wide and mouth slightly agape. The Necromancer studied
her for a moment, then walked off.

It took a while for the Goblins to dare retrieve her body. When they did, she
was loaded onto a wagon with other dead Goblins and animals, to be made
into food for later. After all, they couldn’t waste food. There Osthia lay as
night passed to day, until the wagon was bumping and threatening to knock
her onto the ground.

The Goblin driver was dozing until Snapjaw rode over and snapped an
order. The Hob leapt onto the wagon and found Osthia’s corpse. She eyed
the black ring on Osthia’s claws, bent, tugged it off, and waited.

Nothing happened. Snapjaw scratched her head anxiously. She bent to listen
by Osthia’s mouth and heard no intake of breath. She poked Osthia in the
chest, then poked her in the cheek. Snapjaw gulped, then saw one eye
swivel towards her.

“Do you mind?”

The Hob nearly leapt off the wagon. She lurched back as Osthia sat up,
gasping and coughing. The Drake spat—several dead flies shot out of her
mouth. She looked around, blinked at the sunlight streaming down, and
then turned to Snapjaw.

“What in the name of the Ancestors—how long was I out?”

“Half day.”

Snapjaw shrugged. Osthia gaped.

“Half a day? Your leader told me I’d be recovered in minutes! Do you know
how dangerous it is to keep someone under the [False Death] spell that
long? Why the hell—”

“I forgot.”

The female Hob picked at her teeth with one claw, looking embarrassed.
Osthia inhaled, and spat another fly out.

“You forgot? You forg—”

“Necromancer took long time to go. Long time. So forgot. Remembered

before you got eaten.”

Snapjaw said it as if that righted all wrongs. Osthia balled her claws into a
fist, then looked around.

“He’s gone? Then where’s Reiss?”

The Hob glared at the Drake. She enunciated her words carefully.

“Goblin Lord Reiss is busy. Big thinking after plan.”

“Plan? What plan?”

Osthia looked at Snapjaw. The Hob closed her mouth. Osthia tried to sit up,
but her body refused to obey her.

“What plan? What are the Humans going to do? What is the Necromancer
doing? What is Reiss—”

She was trying to get up. Snapjaw scratched her head, and then brightened.

“Oh! Remember the second thing I was supposed to do.”

“What?”

Osthia turned to glare at her. Snapjaw scooted forwards. She picked up the
black ring, its charge exhausted, and then looked at Osthia. Reiss had come
up with the ring after worrying she might be killed. He was reasonably
certain she could survive a single [Deathbolt]—it killed all those under
Level 30 when Az’kerash used it, and all those under Level 15 when he
used it—which meant it would take multiple casts to kill Osthia. But he
hadn’t wanted to risk it. She didn’t know why he liked the Drake so much,
but orders were orders.

“What second thing?”

The Drake glared at Snapjaw. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“This.”

She brought her head forwards and head-butted Osthia. The Drake’s head
snapped back and she reeled.

“You—”

She tried to spit acid, but Snapjaw struck her in the face with a second
head-butt, then a third. She shook her head as Osthia fell back, unconscious.
Snapjaw looked down at the prone Drake and sighed.

“Reiss says sorry.”

Then she turned to the Goblin driver.

“Put in chains. Hands, feet, mouth. Hobs guard. Don’t let run.”

She hopped off the wagon and onto the back of her waiting horse. Snapjaw
rode away, rubbing her aching head. She headed straight for Reiss, visible
on the back of his shield spider. Snapjaw couldn’t wait for him to tell the
others, so she could tell Poisonbite. It was time. It was finally time. She
grinned, showing all of her metallic, enhanced teeth.

Time for war.

—-

The second Goblin was Reiss. He sat on his Shield Spider and thought. He
thought about tactics, about a city called Liscor, about the undead and the
Chosen of Az’kerash. And most of all, he thought about Garen. He didn’t
look up, lost in thought as he was. When Eater of Spears sent a Goblin to
relay his curious exchanges with Pyrite, Reiss barely took notice, though
the news would have fascinated him another time. When Snapjaw told him
about Osthia, he just looked up.

“Thank you, Snapjaw.”

She grinned at him. Reiss did not smile back. He couldn’t feel happy about
Osthia. But it had to be done and he didn’t have the courage to confront her.
She would not understand. Or worse, she might understand all too well.
Either way, she would have tried to kill him. Because he was going to take
Liscor. Reiss was only afraid—

That he’d have to kill Garen to do it.

Tell them. Force them to kneel, and bring one army to take Liscor. His
master’s last injunction echoed in Reiss’ mind. He knew it had to be done.
His army was strong, but Rags had an army roughly two thirds as large as
his. And Garen? Well, his warriors were few, but they were elite.

How had it happened? Tremborag’s tribe had gone to Rags rather than Reiss
or Garen. It had shocked him, although his conversation with Az’kerash had
put it out of his mind. Now Reiss wondered. He supposed it made sense;
Tremborag’s tribe blamed him for losing their mountain, but why had they
passed over Garen?

It didn’t matter. Both tribes had to ally with him. They didn’t have to be his
—his master was wrong there. Forcing Rags to submit to him would be
close to impossible, and Garen would be truly impossible. They just had to
fight together. He could convince Rags of that when he told her the full
scope of the plan, Reiss was certain.

Garen would be the obstacle. That was why Reiss hesitated to tell him.
When Garen Redfang learned of Az’kerash’s plans, he would oppose them
on principle, regardless of how they made sense. He might even try to kill
Reiss. Or run.

If they fought—if Reiss had to kill him—the Goblin Lord closed his eyes.
They were brothers. Brothers, still, after so long.

“It will not come to that. He will see reason. I just need—to force him to
agree. If Rags agrees, he must.”

They’d surround his tribe. In the night. Give him an ultimatum and force
him to agree. And if he fought, if he resisted—they could capture him.
Alive.

It wasn’t as if his tribe was necessary in the battle. Important, but not
necessary. And it might not come to that. Garen was stubborn, but he wasn’t
a complete idiot.

Reiss told himself that again and again. Then, at last, he decided it was
time. Rags had to know, then Garen. He forced himself not to tremble as he
sat up and directed his Shield Spider to crawl towards Rags’ tribe. It was
time. Time at last! Time for war. Time to take Liscor and find a home.
“Chieftain Rags! Gather your lieutenants. I must speak with you.”

Reiss shouted at the small figure riding on Carn Wolf. He saw Rags’ head
turn, and felt a hush go through both his and her tribe. The Goblins could
tell something was happening, even if most did not know what. He saw
Rags hesitate, then nod. She rode to join him with her four most trusted
lieutenants. Eater of Spears and Snapjaw joined Reiss. He wished the others
were here. But they had died at Invrisil, in battle. So many dead. But the
end was in sight.

“What?”

Rags stared up at Reiss, her eyes narrowed. She knew he had spoken with
Az’kerash. But not about what. The Goblin Lord took a steadying breath.
Garen was watching suspiciously.

“I have spoken with my master. He has discovered the Human’s plans.

What they intend. My master is certain they are moving us to Liscor. Not to
slaughter us there, but to use us. With trebuchets they will tear open
Liscor’s walls. Then, they mean to force us to take the city. And once it has
fallen, rush in and slaughter us to the last.”

The Goblins went silent. Rags’ eyes went wide and Noears uttered a curse.
Redscar turned to look at the Humans, Poisonbite gulped, and Pyrite
narrowed his eyes and glanced at his Chieftain. Fear, sharp and electric ran
through all the Goblins around Reiss. He could feel it, but kept calm. So did
the Goblins in his army, sensing his confidence, drawing resolve from it.

Snapjaw ground her teeth together, almost dancing from foot to foot with
glee and Eater of Spears waited silently. They knew what was coming next.
Rags looked pale as she looked at Reiss.

“Okay. That bad. Necromancer has a plan?”

“Yes. We will take the city and hold it. With his aid. He will resurrect every
warrior that falls in battle. He will provide us with his elite undead warriors,
his Chosen. With them, we will take Liscor, and when the Humans attack,
we will hold it and beat them back.”
Reiss saw the eyes of the Goblins widen around him. Some reacted in
shock, others horror or disbelief. Rags just blinked. Reiss went on, outlining
the plan Az’kerash had given to him.

“Liscor can be taken. It can fall. With your tribe and mine, we can secure
the city. My master can raise walls of bone to hold the breaches, seal the
Humans in when they attack and cut their army in two. Chieftain Rags, join
your Flooded Waters tribe to mine and claim Liscor. Your home. It will be
the first city of Goblins.”

Rags’ eyes flickered. She looked at Reiss, then at Snapjaw’s grin, Eater of
Spears slowly nodding. She looked around at Reiss’ warriors, who were
caught up by his words, and then at her own uncertain tribe, who looked to
the Goblin Lord with apprehension and a bit of—hope. Reiss waited, his
eyes going to Garen. What would he say? What would he do? Would he run
if he heard the news being spread? No, he’d come to say something even if
it was a refusal. Would he—

“No.”

The word was quiet, and so soft Reiss’ thoughts kept going until they got
tangled up on the word. The Goblin Lord blinked. He looked down at Rags.

“What?”

“No. We will not fight.”

Rags folded her arms. Her lieutenants looked at her. Poisonbite in disbelief,
Noears frowning, Redscar uneasily. And Pyrite? The Hob smiled.

“You are not serious.”

Reiss refocused on Rags. She had to be telling a joke. But the little Goblin
just shook her head.

“I told you. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us. We kill
Drakes, Drakes kill us. Adventurers come to kill us, we kill them, so more
come. It never ends. That is the circle of Goblins.”
“Cycle.”

Reiss automatically corrected her. Rags shrugged as if to say the words

were the same. Reiss scrambled to say something.

“I know. But this will break the cycle. Chieftain Rags—taking Liscor will
mean a safe haven for Goblins! If we hold Liscor, no one will be able to
take it. It is one of the most defensive cities on the continent—”

“Mhm. So Humans and Drakes both want it. And not very safe if we can
take it. Sounds like we put big ‘stab me’ sign on back. Not doing it.”

The little Chieftain scratched at one ear. Reiss stared at her.

“You don’t have a choice. The Humans will slaughter all of us to force us to
attack Liscor. Tyrion Veltras wants to take the city.”

“So? Let him. We won’t fight. We will run. Into mountains, maybe. Fight
big battle while other Goblins climb.”

Rags pointed to the mountains. They were high and practically impassable.
Reiss tried to imagine forcing over two hundred thousand Goblins up the
slopes. They’d have to abandon everything while they held the Humans off.

“Impossible.”

“Okay. Then another plan. We go into dungeon. There is cave. Dungeon

is…probably big. Could hold some. Or go around Liscor. Fight Humans
and get away. But not attack city. Bad idea.”

“You will die if you attempt that. Why not take Liscor? Why not fight to
hold it? With all the advantages my master can bring to the battle—”

Reiss stared down at Rags. She scratched her ears, not looking directly at
him or anyone else. Finally, she muttered.

“Don’t want to kill people in Liscor.”

“What?”
This time the question was a chorus. Everyone stared at Rags. Her points
about not fighting had been good, if scattered. But this? Reiss shook his
head, growing angry.

“What has Liscor done for you? Chieftain—the Drakes care nothing for
you! They have killed our people for thousands of years, just like the
Humans!”

“They have. And they are stupid poos. Especially Relc.”

Rags agreed. She sighed, and scrubbed at the back of her head. Then she
looked around. Two tribes stared at Rags, hung on her words. She looked at
Reiss, who was trembling, unable to believe what she was saying. Rags
sighed louder, then raised one claw.

“Okay. This is why. There is a Human there. In Liscor.”

Everyone stared at Rags. She raised her voice as she went on, not speaking
just at Reiss, but to Pyrite, to Redscar and Poisonbite and Noears and all the
others. She spread her arms, speaking to the hundreds of thousands of
Goblins who listened to her.

“Her name is Erin Solstice. And she is good. She lives in Liscor—in a little
inn outside it. And she likes Goblins. She is my…my friend. And no one is
going to kill her.”

“A Human? That’s not—Humans aren’t friends with Goblins.”

Reiss whispered. Rags shook her head.

“That was what I thought! But—she is different. She kills, but only to
defend. She does not attack. And she does not let others attack. She has—
she has a sign by her inn! I have seen it! It says ‘No Killing Goblins’. No
killing Goblins in her inn. She is my friend and she is friends with Antinium
and Drakes and Gnolls. She is good.”

The other Goblins stared at Rags. A friend? A Human as a friend? It

sounded like a joke. Some of Tremborag’s former Goblins began grinning,
but Rags didn’t laugh. She was as serious as could be as she met Reiss’
eyes. And slowly, it dawned on the other Goblins.

She was telling the truth. Because, after all, Goblins didn’t lie. There was a
Human in Liscor who was friends with a Goblin. The murmurs began to
spread. Reiss looked around.

“That is one Human. One Human cannot save you!”

“No.”

Rag agreed readily. She nodded, looking around.

“Don’t expect her to. But she could help. She could do…something.
Anything?”

“Like what?”

Reiss raised his voice. He heard the sarcasm in his tone, the anger. He
couldn’t help it. He pointed down at Rags.

“What could one Human do? What could any Human do?”

She shrugged. It was the most classically Goblin thing she could do. She
looked up at Reiss and smiled.

“Don’t know. But she is my friend. You have your Necromancer. I have
Erin. You have your Human, and I have mine. I will not fight Liscor. I will
run or hide or do whatever it takes. But I will not fight. The destiny of
Goblins is a circle. And it must stop.”

For a second Reiss couldn’t speak. He was lost with fury, indignation at the
stupidity of what Rags was saying. Then he heard a cheer.

Everyone’s head turned. They saw a little Goblin standing on a cart,

cheering and waving. It was alone at first, and then a Hob raised her arms
and bellowed as well. Goblins around them began to cheer too. Reiss stared
as Rags’ tribe began to laugh and shout. They were cheering. Cheering her,
celebrating.
They didn’t want to fight. He looked and saw more Goblins on their feet.
And they were shouting.

“Rags! Rags! Rags!”

Her name. Rags flushed with pride and looked around, puffing her chest
out. Her lieutenants took up the call. Reiss stared around. He saw thousands
of Goblins cheering, and Garen’s tribe staring. Garen Redfang himself sat
on the back of his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags. He was glaring. The Human
army had halted, perhaps wondering what the strange cheering was for.

Rags turned away. Her lieutenants dispersed, and the Goblins moved ahead,
hurrying to keep going before the Humans started throwing spells. Snapjaw
and Eater of Spears stayed back, looking anxiously at Reiss. He didn’t
move. At last, they left too. Reiss sat on his undead spider’s back as the
Goblins flowed past him. And only darkness filled his mind.

A Human for a friend? Breaking the cycle? Running? It was unacceptable.

They had to fight. They had to take Liscor. His master would not accept
anything else. He would not accept anything else. It was right in front of
them. A city. A kingdom! And she was wrong.

Something black was in Reiss’ chest, making his heart beat faster. It was
welling up in him, dark intentions. He looked around and saw his army
marching ahead of him. And Rags’ lieutenants and his people.

They’d all gone back to each other. His tribe and Rags’. His lieutenants and
hers. Snapjaw and Poisonbite were talking to each other, arguing, but
talking, riding on her horse. And Eater of Spears was throwing axes with
Pyrite, speaking. Reiss’ heart hurt.

Eater of Spears spoke with no one as closely as he was speaking with

Pyrite. There were so few Hobs like him, but he had found a kindred spirit
in the fat Hob. And Reiss was going to—

No. They could still walk together and smile. Nothing needed to change. It
was just her. Reiss looked up. At Rags, who was riding along, arguing with
the [Shaman], Ulvama. She was the one who led this tribe. And she was the
one who was wrong.

A home for your kind. His master’s words echoed in Reiss’ mind. It was so
close. He had sacrificed so much for it. And Rags would run? No. No, it
couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. He would not let her.

Slowly, Reiss rode his Shield Spider forwards. This time he was fixated on
Rags. Something dark whispered to him. It sounded like his master, but it
had his voice. Reiss felt pitch blackness spilling forth, beating from his
heart, in his veins, his blood. He was rigid with the horror of what he was
going to do. But he was going to do it anyways.

“Rags.”

This time, when she turned, Rags paused. The Goblins around her paused as
well. They stared back at Reiss’ face and grew silent. Snapjaw looked up.
Eater of Spears paused, pointing out a target for Pyrite to hit. Rags looked
back at Reiss.

“What?”

Reiss was calm. Very calm. And cold. He looked at Rags and then past her,
at the mountains and the sky. Not a few hours past midday. Plenty of time.
He spoke pleasantly, feeling the magic growing in him, running down his
arm.

“Do you remember my dream?”

“About Goblin kingdom? Yes. Silly dream. But nice one.”

Rags nodded. Reiss smiled. He looked down at her.

“It is. But there’s something I didn’t tell you about it. I have that dream
some nights. A dream of a Goblin kingdom, a place where Goblins are safe
and live in peace. But in that dream, the Goblins have no faces.”

“No faces?”
She blinked. He nodded. The magic ran down into his fingers and gathered
there, as thick as sin, as dark as midnight.

“None. I look around in my dream and see no one I recognize. Not Eater of
Spears. Not Snapjaw. Not even me. I look at my reflection and see another
Goblin’s face. Do you know why?”

She held still, looking at him.

“Tell me.”

Reiss smiled sadly.

“It is because for my dream, I would sacrifice anything. Anything and

anyone. I have my dream, and it is worth all the pain in the world to make
real. So I am sorry for this.”

He raised his hand. Rags blinked.

“For wh—”

“[Deathbolt].”

The black energy shot through Reiss’ fingers, coalescing into a line of
energy that sucked away the light. It shot through Rags at point black range.
She swayed, gasping, her face drained of color. She swayed, put a hand on
her saddle.

She was still alive. Reiss had hoped she’d die right away. She kept looking
at him, kept trying to say something. But there was nothing left to say. She
was trying to turn her Carn Wolf, but she was too weak. The Goblins
around her were just staring, shocked by the suddenness of it all. Reiss
raised his fingers and pointed at Rags’ chest. Then he looked up. He heard
something.

A whirring sound. Something tugged at his hand. Reiss blinked and stared
at the silvery axe that softly thunked into the breast of a Hob standing next
to him. The Hob blinked and fell. Reiss stared at the axe. He’d given that to
Eater of Spears. Then he felt an odd sensation. He looked down at his hand.
He couldn’t see it.

It was missing. Reiss stared down at the stump of his hand as blood began
to gush from the severed arteries. He looked around, and saw the Hob. The
second axe passed by his face and Reiss nearly fell from the back of his
undead spider. He blinked and stared at the thrower.

Pyrite. The Hob straightened. He saw Reiss catch himself, saw Rags reeling
backwards and her Carn Wolf bounding backwards in fright, howling. He
looked up and saw Eater of Spears staring at him, face white. Pyrite sighed.

“Told you.”

He reached for his battleaxe. His hands closed around the haft too slow.
Eater of Spears grabbed Pyrite and roared. Pyrite felt something slam into
him and saw the world spinning around him until he slammed into the
ground. Goblins screamed, and both the Flooded Waters tribe and the
Goblin Lord’s army broke ranks and began to fight as everything descended
into chaos.
 5.56 G

Garen Redfang saw the axe spin through the air. He saw the silver flash, the
way Reiss recoiled. And the way the Goblin Lord stared dumbfounded
down at his severed stump of a hand. He didn’t see the second one coming.

“Look up.”

The leader of the Redfang Tribe growled. But he was sitting on his Carn
Wolf, separated by tens of thousands of confused, screaming Goblins. Too
far to shout a warning even if he had been so inclined. And he wasn’t. Reiss
was his enemy. He served the Necromancer.

But still, he couldn’t die like that. Garen saw Reiss look about. The second
whirling axe missed him by what had to be a foot. Garen saw Reiss jerk in
surprise. He stared at the Hob who had thrown the axe and nearly fell from
his seat on the undead spider. Garen looked too.

Pyrite, the former Goldstone Chieftain, the second-in-command of the

Flooded Waters tribe, turned. Garen saw him say something to the huge
muscle-bound Hob, Eater of Spears. He reached for his battleaxe. Too late.
Eater of Spears grabbed him, roaring with fury, and hurled Pyrite through
the crowd of Goblins. Garen watched as Pyrite slammed into the ground.

“Mistake. Should have killed. Snap neck.”

He commented to one of the Redfangs sitting on a Carn Wolf next to him.

The scarred veteran Goblin grimaced and nodded. He was named
Spiderslicer and was Garen’s second. He had been the third-strongest
Redfang in the tribe, but with Redscar’s absence, he was now second. And
he clearly resented it.
Spiderslicer frowned into the mass of panicking Goblins. One of them
wasn’t just staring. Redscar and the traitorous warriors around him had seen
the [Deathbolt] spell and Reiss’ treachery. They were charging towards the
Goblin Lord, but there were thousands of the black-armored Goblins in the
way. Spiderslicer stared at Redscar and looked at Garen. He fingered the
thin, deadly falchion at his side.

“We going in, Chieftain?”

He clearly wanted to settle the old score between him and Redscar. Not
only had the other Goblin beaten him time and time again, but he had
abandoned his tribe for Rags, leaving Spiderslicer eternally second-best.
Garen watched as both the Flooded Waters tribe and Reiss’s army became a
confused melee. He shook his head.

“Not yet. We watch.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Spiderslicer nodded sourly. He relayed Garen’s orders, bellowing at the

other Redfangs milling about. The warriors grunted, but didn’t respond—
Spiderslicer was not Redscar, and lacked the other Goblin’s leadership
qualities.

Garen eyed his Redfangs, sitting and watching with half an eye as both
tribes began attacking each other. His Carn Wolf flicked its ears and
growled, but didn’t move about restlessly. Nor did the Redfangs, for all they
clearly wanted to join the fray. They were disciplined, albeit overeager for a
fight. They hadn’t done any fighting since the siege of Tremborag’s
mountain. A few Eater Goats didn’t count.

But Garen didn’t intend to draw his sword. Not now. He stared at Reiss and
Rags. The small Goblin Chieftain had retreated, swaying, as her Carn Wolf
tried to carry her to safety. The animal was intelligent—it bounded away as
the Goblin Lord’s personal escort of Hobs tried to bring it down, howling
and surrounding their leader. Garen watched Rags clinging to the wolf’s
back. He had given her that wolf after she’d refused the rare, albino pup
he’d offered her.
“Stupid Rags.”

Garen gritted his teeth. He wasn’t riding to her aid. And neither was he
going to try and kill Reiss. There were too many Goblins between him and
the Goblin Lord. Besides—Garen cast an eye to the north. Even Reiss and
the Necromancer weren’t the biggest problem.

The Human army had halted for the Eater Goats attack. They’d been on the
march, but this sudden battle between the Goblins had caught them off-
guard. Garen could see them milling about, waiting for their leader, Tyrion
Veltras, to make a decision.

“Stupid Human [Lord].”

Garen had seen the Human. He’d watched him fight. And—it was hard to
admit—Garen had realized Tyrion was stronger than he was. By just a bit.
He had enchanted gear like an adventurer, and his Skills had overwhelmed
even Tremborag. And he had his army.

So long as he was watching, Garen would stay where he was. Besides, this
battle was to his advantage. Garen turned back to stare at the battlefield.

See. Rags was retreating, shouting at her warriors who were trying to move
into their formations. But the Goblin Lord’s army was besieging them, and
Rags’ tribe was patchwork. Tremborag’s Goblins fought, but without the
discipline and cohesion that made her tribe strong. And all her lieutenants
were too far away from her.

Pyrite was retreating from Eater of Spears. Redscar was fighting, caught in
Reiss’ forces, pressing them back, but mired. Poisonbite was screaming.
She and Snapjaw had been riding together and now she was fighting with
Snapjaw as the Hob’s horse reared in panic. And Reiss was looking down.
For what? His hand?

He could die here. Garen watched, seeing Rags scream and point at the
Goblin Lord. She was weak, pale, but at her command the Goblins with
crossbows around her aimed at her target. The Goblin Lord looked up—
threw himself from the back of the Shield Spider. Hundreds of bolts struck
the undead Shield Spider, which recoiled, but didn’t fall.

Reiss could die here. Rags could kill him. Garen gripped the hilt of his
sword. If Reiss died it was good. If Rags died, he would lead the Goblins
against Reiss. Against the Necromancer.

And if Rags died, he would control her tribe. They wouldn’t go to Reiss.
They hated him. They should have gone to Garen to begin with. Ulvama,
Tremborag’s lieutenants…why had they turned to Rags instead of him?

Garen was angry. Furious. He hated Reiss because he was a traitor, because
he had given his soul to a monster. He hated Rags because she had betrayed
him, because she had taken his tribe and because they had gone to her. He
hated the Humans because they were treacherous. And sometimes he hated
himself.

Why was he here? Why had everything gone wrong? Garen remembered
smiling faces. Laughter. Friends, or people he’d thought were friends.

His team. His first…tribe. The Halfseekers. And then—living in the

mountains. Forming his own tribe, making them strong. It had all been so
simple. And now it wasn’t. Now—Garen stared across the battlefield. He
wanted to act. He was a warrior. But he couldn’t find a place to join in. He
was not on Rags’ side. He was not on Reiss’.

He was alone.

—-

Flying hurt. Landing hurt more. Pyrite wished he’d fallen on his back, or at
the very least, been tossed in a more vertical arc. If he’d been thrown down,
he could have landed on his back, stared dizzily at the sky, and then gotten
up.
Instead, he felt himself strike the ground, roll, cutting his back and
shoulders open as he landed on several armed Goblins. Wearing armor.
Holding weapons. The impact lacerated Pyrite’s flesh. The rolling impact
tore more from him. He didn’t bother staring at the sky—when the world
stopped moving, he stared face-down at a pile of torn-up dirt. Then he
pushed himself up.

“Ow.”

Battleaxe. Where was…? It was still holstered on his back. Pyrite grunted.
He freed it from its sheathe and looked around.

Goblins in black armor stared at him. Eater of Spears had thrown Pyrite into
the ranks of his own army. The Hob blinked. The Goblins uncertainly raised
their weapons. Some of them looked around.

“Kill traitors!”

A Hob—not Pyrite, one of Reiss’ Hobs—bellowed and pointed at Pyrite.

He’d seen the entire thing. But some of the Goblin Lord’s warriors still
hesitated. Half of them hadn’t even seen Reiss’ betrayal. They were
supposed to attack their allies? But a Hob was a Hob, so they began to
approach.

Pyrite grunted. He swung his battleaxe at the nearest three Goblins, putting
his weight behind it. He felt the axe slice through one of the Goblins, and
then another. The third screamed as the blow tore open his chest.

The other Goblins stared in horror at the three. They looked at Pyrite. The
Hob staggered with the force of his swing. Then he swung, backhanded.
More Goblins died. He roared and the Goblins backed up.

Treachery. Pyrite looked around. He could see his tribe fighting now,
skirmishing with Reiss’ army. But where was Rags? Pyrite turned back and
saw the Hob charging at him, sword and shield in hand. He bellowed and
Pyrite swung the tip of his enchanted axe into the dirt. The axe head ignited
as it struck earth and grass and a plume of smoke billowed up. The Hob
recoiled. Pyrite tore up with his axe and the Hob fell back, cut from groin to
chest.

Where was Rags? Pyrite whirled. The smaller Goblins backed up. Pyrite
cast about, saw a familiar giant spider. He charged towards it, bellowing
and swinging his axe. Most of the Goblins before him scattered. But a few
were brave or suicidal. They attacked Pyrite and he cut them down.

Reach. Strength. Speed. Greydath had taught him how to fight. With a
greatsword, with a battleaxe, you could cut down almost anyone before they
got to you. And Pyrite’s was enchanted. Flesh, steel, it didn’t matter. The
weapon bit through both and the flames burned whatever it struck.

Death. Pyrite cut through the ranks of Reiss’ army. Goblins fled or died. He
stared at their faces. They hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t tried to hurt
him. But their leader had betrayed his honor. And so they had to die.

Later, Pyrite would think on what he did. For now—Rags. He looked

around. Where? There.

She was clinging to her Carn Wolf, face pale, but still shouting orders. She
was trying to organize her army in the chaos. And Reiss was on the ground
as his elite Hobs pressed Rags’ warriors back. He was looking for
something. His missing hand. Pyrite bared his teeth. He heard a shout and
turned his head.

“Pyrite! Get to Chieftain!”

Redscar shouted above the chaos. He and Pyrite were separated by about a
thousand Goblins. The Redfangs were attacking from the flanks, driving
Reiss’ warriors back. Without them there, the Goblin Lord’s army would
envelop the Flooded Waters tribe. Redscar pointed and Pyrite nodded. He
began to run—then heard a roar from behind him.

Few things scared Pyrite. He had fought Trolls and other monsters before.
He’d seen Greydath angry and had witnessed Tremborag’s furious beast
form. But as the Hob looked over his shoulder, he added another image to
haunt his nightmares.
Eater of Spears. The Hob sprayed spit as he opened his mouth and
bellowed. His gargantuan body flexed as he ran towards Pyrite. His eyes
were locked on the smaller Hob and his mouth was open. He was coming.
Pyrite stared for a second and then began to run.

“You! YOU!”

Eater of Spears was throwing Goblins aside, charging at him, heedless of

who was in the way. Allies and enemies scattered as the huge Hob came
onwards. Pyrite cast a glance over his shoulder, heart thundering wildly. He
wasn’t going to reach Rags in time. He had to turn and fight. He did not
want to turn and fight. Eater of Spears wouldn’t go down from a single
swing. And if he got his hands on Pyrite, he’d tear Pyrite’s head off this
time, rather than just throw him.

He was coming. Pyrite had to turn. The Hob looked around for something,
anything that would give him an edge. He patted his belt. Healing potions.
His bag of gemstones—could he eat one? No, the magic wouldn’t slow that.
He braced himself, raising his battleaxe. He had to go for a leg and run—

Eater of Spears was flexing his hands, lowering himself for a leaping
charge. Pyrite braced—and saw a row of Goblins run in front of him. He
nearly cut them down, and then realized they weren’t wearing black armor.
Eater of Spears pulled up as, suddenly, he was looking at a row of metal-
tipped pikes. Aiming at his chest.

“Hold ground! Stop big Hob!”

A voice shouted from behind Pyrite. He whirled and saw Noears, pointing
as more Goblins with pikes formed a second layer in front of him and Eater
of Spears. The muscular Hob bellowed in fury and Reiss’ warriors tried to
close in, but more and more of Rags’ Goblins poured forwards, fighting or
setting up a longer line of pikes.

“Noears!”

Pyrite could have hugged the Goblin [Mage]. Noears grinned. He raised a
hand and crackling electricity began to gather in his palm. He pointed at
Rags.

“You go. We stay!”

Pyrite hesitated. Eater of Spears was roaring, knocking aside pikes and
coming onwards. But Noears was drawing more electricity out of the air.
He pointed at Eater of Spears. The Hob was too furious to notice, until he
saw the flash. He stopped, raised his arms—

Noears shot a bolt of lightning and the sound it made as it struck Eater of
Spears made all the Goblins around Pyrite duck. The Goblins with pikes ran
back as Eater of Spears staggered. His flesh was black and charred and his
body jerked as the electricity grounded itself through him. But even that
couldn’t fell the Hob. He stumbled forwards. Noears turned.

“Run, run!”

He pointed as more electricity gathered around his fingers. Pyrite didn’t

hesitate. He ran as Eater of Spears bellowed and Noears shot more
lightning.

Now Rags’ tribe was forming a battle line. Pyrite ran through his allies as
they fought with Reiss’ warriors—Goblins they had just been laughing and
marching with. Newfound friends died and Goblins without weapons on
both sides fled backwards, screaming in fear.

No one had expected this. No one but Reiss. And Pyrite. And even he had
been surprised at the speed of the betrayal. It was unexpected. Not-Goblin.
Surely not even Tremborag would have betrayed his allies so suddenly.
They had joined forces! Doing something like this—it was something a
Human would do. And that was Reiss’ fault. He was too much like his
master.

And look what it caused. Pyrite caught flashes as he ran through the
battlefield, cursing his weight and the battleaxe that slowed him down. He
saw Redscar fighting, trying to hold off the bulk of Reiss’ army before it
could bring its superior numbers to bear. He heard more thunder as Noears
dueled Eater of Spears. And he saw another tragedy play out to his left.
A fallen horse. A Hob with a head that was too large and huge, metal teeth.
Snapjaw. Her mount was dead, stabbed in the sides by poisoned daggers.
And facing her, tears in her eyes, was a small Goblin with a pair of daggers.

Poisonbite had unhorsed Snapjaw. Now the two female Goblins were facing
off, Poisonbite using her female raiders as backup while Snapjaw fought
with her riders.

Tears. Betrayal. Treachery. Someone had to answer for it. And Pyrite knew
who. He reached Reiss, at last and saw a line of Rags’ warriors in their
scrap armor battling with Reiss’ Hobs, who were advancing despite the
crossbow bolts hammering them. And behind them, holding something to
the severed stump of his right arm, was Reiss.

Pyrite slowed, breathing hard. He saw Rags, riding backwards, ordering her
own Hobs forwards to hold the line. He couldn’t hear her voice over the
roar in his ears. All his attention was on Reiss. Rags couldn’t fight him. He
was a Goblin Lord with death magic and she—

What was he doing? Pyrite stared at the thing Reiss was holding. Then he
saw. It was his hand. The severed hand was pressed against Reiss’ bleeding
stump. And the bone was moving. As Pyrite watched, Reiss took his hand
away. The severed hand stayed in place. He’d fused the bone somehow.
And he was uncorking a healing potion, pouring it over the wound and
pressing his hand to the mending bone.

He was reattaching his hand as he ordered his warriors to surround Rags!

Pyrite spared one moment to curse [Necromancers] and healing potions and
then he lifted his battleaxe. He couldn’t feel the weight. He couldn’t feel the
pain from his injuries, or hear anything. All he could focus on was Reiss.
He had to end it here. He had to do it. He ran forwards. He might have been
screaming. He saw Reiss look up and was rewarded by a glimpse of fear in
the Goblin Lord’s black eyes.

“Reiss!”

The Goblin Lord raised his hand as he backed up.

“[Bone Wall]!”

Yellow bones sprang from the ground, knitting together, rising and forming
a pattern, a wall several feet thick that grew up between him and Pyrite. The
Hob roared as he swung his axe.

The enchanted edge of his battleaxe sliced through the bone wall, igniting
the bones. The second blow hacked bone fragments out of the wall, which
quickly began to vanish. Reiss backed up as Pyrite struck the wall a third
time and then rammed the wall. The weakened spots caved in as the entire
assembly of bones cracked. Reiss looked around.

“Hold him back!”

The Hobs turned towards Pyrite. They advanced towards him, trying to
shield themselves as Rags shouted and more crossbows loosed deadly bolts
at them from the side. A Hob fell, a crossbow quarrel in his cheek. Another
groaned as one struck him in the shoulder, penetrating his armor, but came
on regardless. Pyrite buried his axe in his chest and charged at the others.

A Hob in black armor tried to block him, thrusting a spear at Pyrite’s

shoulder. The steel tip pierced the Hob’s flesh, tore skin and drew blood.
Pyrite ignored the wound and brought the battleaxe down, bellowing. The
Hob in black armor’s head disappeared and Pyrite roared again.

“[Deathbolt]!”

Pyrite turned. He saw the black, flickering light shooting at his chest and
raised his battleaxe. The [Deathbolt] glanced off the enchanted battleaxe,
splashing harmlessly against the magicked metal. Reiss lowered his hand.

“How—”

He leapt backwards, nearly falling as Pyrite took a swing at him. Again he

shot a [Deathbolt] and again Pyrite blocked it.

Armor was no good against that magic. Shielding spells would fail. But if
you held a piece of metal out far enough or stood behind a tree, the
[Deathbolt] would dissipate before it reached you. Pyrite charged Reiss,
bodily checking a Hob who tried to seize him. And Reiss retreated.

The Flooded Waters tribe battled the Goblin Lord’s army. Friend versus
friend. Former allies fighting, not knowing why, only that someone had
betrayed the other. It was all chaos and confusion. But like a magnet, the
conflict at the center of both tribes drew attention. Goblins turned.

They saw the Goblin Lord, shooting magic at a Hob with a flaming
battleaxe. They saw him retreating, falling back. Reiss’ warriors faltered.
The Flooded Waters tribe cheered and pressed forwards. It wasn’t Rags,
their Chieftain who advanced. But it was someone they recognized.
Someone they knew. Pyrite roared as he charged the Goblin Lord, and Rags
held the Goblin Lord’s Hobs back. Reiss retreated, running.

Running.

—-

He was losing. Garen stared in disbelief. Reiss was stumbling backwards,

casting his death magic as Pyrite came on. But it was futile. The other Hob
was pausing to block, using his battleaxe as a shield. Garen had no idea you
could block death magic like that. But the enchanted axe was broad and so
long as Pyrite was that close, Reiss was in danger every time Pyrite swung
his axe.

Garen saw Reiss point at the ground. He couldn’t hear Reiss, but he saw
one of the fallen Hobs rise back upwards. It lunged at Pyrite. The Hob
turned and saw the Ghoul. He brought his axe down and split the undead in
two. He whirled—more undead were rising. Reiss frantically backpedalled,
trying to claim any distance, but Pyrite swung his axe and the undead died
just as fast. He advanced and Garen clenched his fists.

“No. Idiot! Make more walls!”

What was Reiss doing? Undead would slow a warrior like Pyrite down for
only moments. At least the bone walls bought time. Why didn’t he order his
undead spider forwards? Headless or not, it could at least block Pyrite!

One of the Redfang warriors glanced at Garen and he gritted his teeth. He
wasn’t Reiss’ ally. He wanted Reiss to lose. Right? Right. But this wasn’t
the Reiss that Garen knew. He was panicking.

Small wonder. Reiss ducked as Pyrite nearly took his head off with a
horizontal slice that took down a Hob. Even with his bodyguards, Reiss was
being pressured. By one Hob! Rags was sending her warriors forwards,
distracting his other warriors, but still—

“Who is he?”

Garen stared at Pyrite. When he’d first met the Goldstone Chieftain, he had
seemed so…ordinary. So normal. Why had he been hiding his true abilities
in his tribe for so long? Why hadn’t he tried to become a powerful
Chieftain? Why was he like—

Greydath? Garen watched Pyrite parry a blow from a Goblin and kick them
in the groin. He wasn’t as strong as Greydath. Or as fast. But he fought a bit
like him. Could he kill Reiss? He was advancing. And then Reiss made a
mistake. As he stepped backwards, throwing bone shards that cut open
Pyrite’s arms and chest, he collided with a Hob engaged in fighting behind
him. Reiss half-turned—and Pyrite lunged.

The Hob swung his battleaxe, shards of bone protruding from his arms. And
Reiss staggered. Garen saw a charred line open on his chest and blood
begin to pour down. Pyrite had been too far away for a fatal cut. But the
Goblin Lord stared at the blood in shock as Pyrite was tackled by two Hobs.
He staggered back, reaching for a potion as Pyrite fought both Hobs off
him. Garen watched Reiss moving back, eyes wide, stumbling.

He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t. He was going to win, Garen was sure.
Even if Pyrite was in range, even if he was a [Warrior] and Reiss was a
[Mage]. Even if—
He was a Goblin Lord. He was Reiss. He couldn’t lose to anyone but Garen.

Could he?

—-

He was bleeding. Reiss felt the searing pain run down his chest. He looked
up and saw him standing there.

“Stop moving.”

Reiss couldn’t obey the words. He forced himself to leap backwards and
duck away, pulling himself with his hands. The Goblin behind him took the
blow. He—she—fell, dead. Reiss had not known whoever it was. But they
had answered his call.

They were dying. For his sake. His brave warriors. And he was running.
Retreating. From a single Hob.

Pyrite strode forwards. Reiss ducked behind a pair of struggling Hobs,

robes covered in mud and watched Pyrite’s head turn. Spells ran through his
mind, one after another. Raise Draug? No. Blindness? He had to touch
Pyrite. Bloodbats? The Hob could probably survive one casting.

He was too close. Each time Reiss tried to get away, Pyrite lunged at him.
And each time he got nearer to ending Reiss for good. He ignored Reiss’
spells. His flesh was lacerated from a spray of bone shards. He’d taken
wounds from Reiss’ bodyguards. Half the skin on his back was torn off from
being thrown by Eater of Spears.

And still he came on. Indomitable. In that moment Reiss hated and admired
Pyrite for everything he was. He was what Goblins could be. He was a
leader.
But Reiss couldn’t die here. He’d sacrificed too much. Too much. He’d
slaughtered innocent Drakes and Gnolls, killed his own kind. For what? For
his dream. And if he let it end here, it would be for nothing.

So Reiss waited, crouched, as Pyrite cast about. Another Hob approached

Pyrite, swinging a mace at his side. Pyrite turned, roared.

“[Power Strike]!”

Reiss felt the impact. And another of his warriors was gone, like that. The
other Hobs were afraid to approach. They could not see him. Reiss could
feel his entire army wavering. They had seen him run.

But what was he supposed to do? Reiss closed his eyes. He had to fight. But
this enemy was—

Undefeatable? Indestructible? Overwhelming? Reiss looked back at Pyrite.

The Hob was roaring, challenging Reiss.

No. He was mortal. But his image called to mind another figure. Not here.
But as Reiss looked at Pyrite, he recalled.

A swell in the fighting opened up a gap behind him. Reiss looked at it. He
could run. Pyrite had lost him. He could run and let the other Goblins bring
him down, or Snapjaw. Or Eater of Spears. But he couldn’t, could he?

“No running. A Lord cannot run from a Goblin.”

But he, Reiss, couldn’t win. Not at this distance. So Reiss could not fight.
Someone else would have to. And Reiss knew who.

Memory. The Goblin Lord turned. He gripped his reattached hand with his
other one and muttered, pulling the mana out of his body. Remember. He
needed to remember. And it was easy. How could he forget?

“[Bone Claws]. [Fortified Body]. [Draug Strength].”

Pyrite heard the spellcasting. He saw Reiss stand. His eyes narrowed and he
braced, but none of the spells were aimed at him. He blinked as the Goblin
Lord stepped forwards. White bone had grown around the tips of Reiss’
fingers, on his hands. Sharp, wicked talons. And Reiss’s body felt stronger.
He was taller, for a moment.

Reiss walked forwards, abandoning his fear. He flexed his claws and
beckoned to Pyrite. The Goblin Lord wore a wide smile despite the blood
running down his chest. Around him, Goblins turned. They saw their Lord
and drew strength from the sight of him.

A Lord had to be strong. A Goblin Lord had to be a hero. Reiss spread his
arms wide and waited for Pyrite. The Hob hesitated, sensing something was
different. But there Reiss was, so Pyrite attacked. He shifted his grip on the
battleaxe, then swung fast and low, aiming for Reiss’ legs. At the last
moment he twisted and cut diagonally up.

Reiss ducked backwards from the blade, then rushed forwards. But Pyrite
had been expecting that. He punched as he let go of the battleaxe with one
hand. The blow was fast. It caught Reiss on the cheek, snapped his head
back.

“Ow.”

It hurt. But it was just a punch. Reiss staggered, then rammed Pyrite. His
claws came up. One slash opened up Pyrite’s chest, a shallow wound. The
second cut across his arm. Both cuts drew blood. Pyrite howled in pain and
surprise and swung again. But his battleaxe was slow. Reiss danced back,
light as a feather. The tip of the axe barely missed his stomach. But it did
miss.

Pyrite felt at his chest. His eyes narrowed and he lashed out with his axe.
Reiss stepped forwards, but the blow was a feint. It came back at him from
the side. Too quick to dodge. So Reiss leapt and Pyrite had to move back or
the claws would take out his throat. He did, and Reiss cut him.

Left, right, left—his claws cut across Pyrite’s chest and arms, shredding
armor, tearing flesh. Pyrite struck at him. Reiss was gone. The Goblin Lord
danced back and grinned. Pyrite stared at him. Reiss beckoned him again.
Blood spattered the ground.
—-

“Who?”

Garen watched Reiss charge Pyrite. He watched the Goblin Lord attack,
and cut Pyrite. One-two, fast slashes that opened up Pyrite’s arms, bled him.
The Hob tried to cut Reiss in half with his battleaxe and received a kick to
the stomach. A heavy one. Reiss punched him, backed up before Pyrite
could cut him, and raised a fist. The Goblins around him roared.

“Chieftain.”

The Redfang warriors looked at Garen, equal parts surprised and uneasy.
They saw it too. Garen shook his head.

“Who is he?”

Reiss faced Pyrite again, not trying to take his distance. And he was
different. The way he fought, the way he moved was different. Garen
watched, blinking, confused. Reiss had always been good at learning. At
copying others. He had even copied Garen’s way of fighting with a sword.
He could do it with anyone. But who was he mimicking now?

—-

Pyrite didn’t know. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t understand. But Reiss
did. His warriors saw it. They roared as Reiss turned and raised a fist.
Bloody claws opened. He pointed at Pyrite. And when he stood, when he
smiled, he was not him.

He was playing a part. Calling a memory into life.

An echo of a giant. A fearless smile. Reiss grabbed Pyrite’s arm as the Hob
tried to bring his axe to bear and caught the other arm. Pyrite tried to kick.
Reiss kicked him back and then head-butted Pyrite. His forehead collided
with Pyrite’s and both Goblins stumbled back. But Reiss kept coming.

How would he do it? He’d never retreat. He’d punch like this, smile here.
He wouldn’t fall back. He’d keep coming until he was dead. Stronger.
Faster. Pyrite stumbled back, on the defensive. His eyes were wide and he
was trying to keep up. But he wasn’t fighting Reiss. He was fighting a
shadow of someone else.

A fearless Drake. A [General of the Line]. A hero of the Antinium Wars.

Tidebreaker.

Zel Shivertail.

Reiss roared as he shoulder-charged Pyrite. He was smaller, but the impact

still pushed Pyrite. He slashed across Pyrite’s chest. The other Hob struck
him. This time the blow made Reiss’ ribs creak. So Reiss hit him back.
Pyrite slid backwards in the mud. He clutched at his battleaxe and stared at
Reiss.

“How?”

The Goblin Lord was breathing hard. Focus. He flexed his claws. His voice
rasped.

“I have had greater enemies than you.”

Pyrite looked at Reiss. Then, slowly, he abandoned his battleaxe. He tossed

it to one side and raised his fists. Then he nodded.

“Probably.”

The two said nothing else. They waited a beat, then came at each other.
Reiss hit Pyrite first. The Hob hit him back and Reiss staggered.

Heavy. Pyrite knocked Reiss back. Without magic, without enchantments.

His fists felt like falling mountains. But Reiss punched back. Pyrite was
strong. As strong as any Goblin that Reiss had met. But he lacked one thing.
He didn’t know—

A blow across the face. Pyrite grabbed Reiss’ neck, tried to twist. The
Goblin Lord roared.

He didn’t know what it meant to be a Lord. He broke Pyrite’s grip. Claws

tearing flesh. Pyrite raised his fists. Reiss was faster. Was it Zel who
punched or him?

The first punch stopped Pyrite in his tracks. The second made the entire
Hob’s body shudder with the impact. The third lifted his feet off the ground.
Reiss felt Pyrite’s ribs break.

The Goblin Lord hurled Pyrite back. The Hob fell and rolled. He tried to get
up. But it was done. Reiss roared and his warriors screamed as they raised
their weapons. The Flooded Waters tribe stared at Pyrite. Rags looked at her
champion, disbelieving.

Pyrite was getting up. He had a small sack in his hands and he was reaching
into it. Reiss whirled. Time to end this.

“You should have stayed down.”

The Hob paused. He looked at Reiss and sighed.

“Can’t.”

Pyrite lurched forwards, raising something to his mouth. A healing potion?

But Reiss had taken a position across from him. The Goblin Lord raised a
finger and aimed at Pyrite’s chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

The magic shot through Pyrite. It left a dark trail in the air, and passed
through Pyrite before dissipating. A line of pitch-black. A moment of death.

Color ran from Pyrite’s face. He gritted his teeth and moved forwards. He
had no axe. He was torn. But he charged Reiss. The Goblin Lord sighed.
“[Deathbolt].”

The second bolt brought Pyrite to his knees. The Goblin Lord stared down
at Pyrite. He heard a scream. He looked up and met Rags’ eyes. She was
riding towards him, aiming a crossbow at his chest. She pulled the trigger.
The bolt went wide. Reiss met her eyes and looked back at Pyrite. The Hob
looked up and met his eyes.

“I am sorry.”

Pyrite gritted his teeth and said nothing. He tried to stand—he pulled at the
ground. But for once his body betrayed him. He slumped, staring up at
Reiss. The Goblin Lord pointed down at him.

“[Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt].”

Four times. Four black streaks of magic shot from Reiss’ fingertip. Pyrite
jerked. Rags screamed. The Hob froze, half-risen. Reiss stared into his eyes.
He watched something drain away. A bright spark, quiet intelligence. A
smile.

“[Deathbolt].”

A final streak of black magic shot through Pyrite, but it didn’t matter. The
Hob was already collapsing. Reiss stepped back, staring. He was sure Pyrite
was dead. Almost completely sure. But still he waited.

The Hob didn’t get up. He lay there, slumped forwards on the ground.
There was no last surge of life. No dying flame. He was gone. Just like that.
And the wail that arose from the Flooded Waters tribe was despair and grief
incarnate.

Gone. Reiss closed his eyes and felt the world grey out around him. He felt
like collapsing. Drained.

No, he had to stand. The Goblin Lord fumbled at his belt. He found a bottle.
A mana potion. He drank from it and wiped his mouth. Then he turned and
aimed at Rags. She was staring at Pyrite in shock. For a moment Reiss’
heart pinched.

“[Bloodbat Swarm].”

Glowing black bats with red eyes shot through the air. They took wings and
arced towards Rags. She jerked. Her crossbow raised. Her Carn Wolf
reared. It bounded back, but the magical bats struck it in the side. Tearing.
Absorbing blood. Rags screamed as the Carn Wolf howled and tried to
shake itself. Reiss’ warriors were running at her. The Goblin Lord aimed at
her chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

—-

The black magic shot across the battlefield. It passed over the heads of
Reiss’ warriors, past the running Hobs. It was a good shot. Reiss had always
been good with spells. But this time he missed. The [Deathbolt] didn’t
strike Rags. It was aimed at her, but the wolf she rode caught it instead. The
Carn Wolf had been howling, throwing off the bloodbats conjured by the
spell, trying to shake them off. Perhaps in desperation it leapt—

And the spell struck it in the side.

The Carn Wolf landed, bleeding weakly. Garen watched it stumble. He saw
Rags slide from the saddle, grabbing at the wolf’s fur as it lay down. It
would have been easy to pretend it had taken the spell meant for her. But it
hadn’t. It curled up and the little Goblin clutched at it. Crying, trying to get
it to rise.

It was useless. The Carn Wolf, the faithful creature that had born Rags since
Garen had given it to her, died. Garen watched as it sank to the ground. The
Hob clenched one hand. Rags had refused to name it. Refused to become a
[Beast Tamer].

She clung to it as it lay on the ground. Garen saw her look up. Reiss’
warriors were charging. Rags’ tribe surged around her, making a stand. But
their spirits were broken. Pyrite was dead. And Rags was—

The two sides met in a roar. Rags disappeared from sight. On his Carn Wolf,
Redscar turned. He roared and his warriors charged towards her. Noears
whirled, standing in front of the kneeling Eater of Spears. Poisonbite looked
around.

“Chieftain!”

Garen waited. He saw Reiss aiming for the same spot he was looking. The
place where Rags had been. Goblins fought in a bloody melee, sliding back
and forth, smaller Goblins fighting Hobs. Hobgoblins gutting each other,
killing their brethren. Seconds passed. A minute. Then both sides fell back,
leaving the dead.

When the clash ended, Goblins lay strewn on the ground by the hundreds,
lying in piles, where they had died. Blood painted the ground. And Rags
was gone.

Garen waited for her to appear. He looked for her at the same time Reiss
did, searching for a small figure among the retreating warriors. On the
ground. But he couldn’t see her. Neither could Reiss.

Neither could her tribe. They all searched for her, breathless. Waiting. But
Rags did not appear. A groan ran through her tribe. They wavered. And then
they broke and ran.

It began with Tremborag’s Goblins. His former tribe broke formation

abandoning their places, shouting.

“Chieftain is dead! Chieftain is dead!”

The other Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe hesitated. But as hundreds,
then thousands, then tens of thousands of Goblins streamed past them, their
nerve left them. They began to run as well.

They’d lost. It wasn’t the first time Garen had seen a tribe break up after
their Chieftain had fallen. But this one—he watched, jaw clenched. The
Goblins were all running now, as Reiss’ army advanced.

Some threw down their weapons and surrendered. Others just turned to flee.
Reiss’ soldiers pursued them, forcing Goblins to submit, join the tribe, or
die. In pockets the fighting still continued, but it went only one way.

“Betrayer! Cowards!”

Redscar’s voice echoed as the former Redfang lieutenant tried to rally the
Goblins to him. He was pulling back. He had no choice. But he had not
surrendered. Garen saw him pointing, shouting orders. His warriors formed
a screen, held back Reiss’ warriors as more of the tribe flocked around him.
That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to either
flee or submit to Reiss. But this wasn’t an ordinary battle between
Chieftains.

“Now.”

Garen kicked his Carn Wolf in the side. The wolf looked up, and then
bounded forwards. Garen heard Spiderslicer shout and his tribe streamed
forwards. Not towards Reiss, but towards the running Goblins.

“Flooded Waters tribe!”

The Goblins screamed and halted as Garen rode towards them. But the
Redfang Chieftain did not draw his blade. He raised a fist as Rags’ shattered
tribe stopped. Staring up at him. Garen shouted.

“Join me! Fight Goblin Lord! Follow!”

Redscar froze. Poisonbite, Noears—the Goblins of Rags’ tribe halted in

place. Tremborag’s former Goblins. All of them stared up at Garen. He
waited. Now they would come. He waited and waited and waited—

And they began to run. Not towards him, but around him. Garen stared in
disbelief.

“Wait—”

Goblins streamed to the left and to the right, avoiding his tribe. His warriors
stared, the Carn Wolves growling uncertainly. Countless thousands of
Goblins ran past Garen, fleeing Reiss’ soldiers. Garen looked for Redscar,
but the other Goblin was shouting orders. Trying to lead Rags’ tribe. Not
going towards him. Poisonbite and Noears were doing the same.

They’d refused him. He was Garen Redfang. But they still turned away.
Garen sat on his Carn Wolf as the Goblins streamed past him. They were
running.

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer’s uncertain voice made Garen look up. He saw Reiss’ soldiers
advancing. And behind them, the Human army. They’d witnessed the
conclusion of the battle and now they were advancing. They weren’t going
to let the Goblins run.

For a moment, Garen felt a surge of despair rise in his chest. Then—
reckless anger replaced it. So that was it? He turned and drew his sword.

“Redfang!”

The bellow made his warriors look up. Some of his former Redfangs, the
ones around Redscar, turned. Garen waved his sword.

“Redfangs, follow! We ride!”

The call was familiar. Urgent. And this time, it worked. Some of his
warriors streamed towards him. But the ones around Redscar did not. The
smaller Goblin looked at Garen and bared his teeth. He pointed and shouted
in fury. Despair.
“Run!”

And so he did. Redscar fled, and Garen looked back towards Reiss’ army as
well. He growled, and then pointed south. He was done with Reiss. Done
with all of this.

He was going home.

—-

They were all running. Reiss staggered to his undead spider, pulled himself
up. He was injured, exhausted. He could barely crawl up the spider’s back,
and there he lay for a moment.

“Reiss!”

A familiar voice below him made Reiss look down. He saw Snapjaw riding
towards him. She was riding a different horse than her beloved grey mare.
Reiss stared down at her.

“Snapjaw. I won.”

It didn’t feel like a victory. Reiss looked about. He could see the entire
battlefield and all he saw were dead Goblins. Dead Goblins, and fleeing
Goblins.

The Flooded Waters tribe was running. They’d refused to join him. The core
of Rags’ tribe, the loyal ones were fleeing south. But the new additions, the
former Tremborag Goblins weren’t as committed.

Some, yes, some of Tremborag’s tribe joined the fleeing Goblins. But more
and more surrendered, joining Reiss’ tribe. And a few just…left. They ran
in every direction, ignoring both the fleeing Goblins heading south and
Reiss’ army. They were truly broken. Gone.
“We won. Big victory! Reiss! You need healing potion. You, get [Healer]!”

Snapjaw was talking urgently to the Hobs around Reiss. The Goblin Lord
shook his head. He stared at the running Goblins. The Flooded Waters tribe,
the real tribe, was still in one piece. They were still moving, running even
without their Chieftain.

Even without her? Reiss’ eyes narrowed. They were moving…fast.

Outdistancing even his mounted warriors, who were being slowed up by all
of Tremborag’s surrendering Goblins. Too fast.

“She’s alive.”

“What?”

Snapjaw was circling his spider with her horse. Reiss looked down at her. It
had to be that.

“Rags! She is still alive. Find her. Kill her.”

The female Hob’s mouth fell open. She looked around.

“Where?”

Reiss didn’t know. He stared at the place Rags had been. Just dead bodies.
But maybe—

“Search dead. Chase the running Goblins! She is out there somewhere. Kill
her!”

“Yes, Lord!”

Snapjaw shot away, riding on her mount and screaming orders. Reiss saw
Eater of Spears, stumbling towards him, chest blackened with the damage
from Noears’ spells, turn. Reiss’ army began to assault the Flooded Waters
tribe from behind. Reiss clenched his jaw. He saw the tribe fleeing. Garen
was running too. He’d left sometime during the battle. Why hadn’t he
joined Rags?
It didn’t matter. Fast as they were, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t getting
away. They had fought a bloody battle against his army, but they had
forgotten they were being watched. As he stared south, he saw a line of
silver charge the green figures from the side. Cutting them off.

Humans.

—-

“Charge the Goblins! Force them back until Lord Veltras can send
reinforcements! [Knights], on me!”

The [Commander] in charge of the advance group raced his mount through
the lines of Goblins. Two thousand riders followed him, cutting down
Goblins, trying to force them back. His was the forward scouting group,
meant to deter the Goblins from advancing too far. The [Commander] had
seen the fleeing Goblins and was trying to stop them until reinforcements
could arrive.

It was a futile effort. The Humans hacked down Goblin after Goblin, but the
panicked mass of running Goblins were too frightened to stop. Some fought
the Humans; the rest just ran around them.

“Stop them!”

Desperately, the [Commander] cut down a fleeing Hob and then speared a
Goblin through the back. The others just ran around his horse which reared,
panicked by all the monsters. The [Commander] turned. Where was his
relief? Lord Veltras had to have seen—

There. More riders were racing to intercept. This group was far larger. They
were on a collision course with the Goblins, [Knights] and [Mages]
standing out. They’d break the Goblins and either wipe them out or force
them back. The [Commander] smiled in relief—and then lost the smile as
he heard a howl. He turned, raising sword and shield in his saddle. A red
blade cut the top of his head off. Garen Redfang bounded past him on his
Carn Wolf’s back. He stabbed a [Knight] through his unenchanted armor
and raised his blade up into the air.

“Redfangs! Kill them!”

The Humans turned as more wolves howled. Goblins on Carn Wolves

screamed and charged them, not part of the fleeing Goblins. The howls
from the Carn Wolves made the untrained horses rear, and Garen led his
warriors through the Humans on horseback, cutting them down and
knocking them from their saddles.

“Grab weapons and move! Follow!”

Garen bellowed at his warriors and led them through the Flooded Waters
tribe. Garen bounded out of the chaos of Goblins on foot and saw his
Redfang tribe struggling to catch up. He looked ahead and saw the second
group of Humans. They were probably six thousand strong? Already they
were casting spells, bombarding the Goblins with [Fireballs]. And they’d
seen Garen tearing apart their friends.

“Kill that Hob!”

An authoritative voice shouted and Garen snarled as both arrows and spells
began targeting his position. He whistled and his Carn Wolf ran in the
direction he pointed. The Humans raced after him, thinking he was heading
south. Garen’s warriors knew better. They raced ahead, pretending to be
making a break for it. Then Garen turned his head.

“Slaughter Humans!”

He pointed right and his entire tribe turned. The surprised Humans had only
a second to react. He could see them waver. Garen’s tribe was about the size
of theirs. Surely he was going to run. After all, they were Humans. They had
[Knights] and [Mages].
They were dead. The Humans on horseback tried to turn, but Garen roared
and his Carn Wolf howled. The poorly-trained horses reared and Garen’s
Redfangs raced forwards, led by Garen himself. He was laughing. Garen
led the howling Goblins straight towards the advance group. He cut down
the first [Mage] he saw, ignoring the man’s scream, and hunted down the
female [Commander], then another [Mage]. Then the [Knights].

The Humans were good, but they weren’t a match for his Redfangs. They
broke up, fleeing back towards the rest of the Humans as Garen turned,
counting his losses. Redfangs looted the dead. Those who’d lost their
mounts paused beside their companions, then joined other riders and rode
doubled-up, or secured a horse. Garen nodded, and then eyed the fleeing
Goblins.

He’d inadvertently given them a chance to flee as well. Not towards the
High Passes or away from the mountains. The Human army was galloping
to both sides, trying to envelop them. There was only one way the Goblins
could go. South, ahead of Reiss’ army. That wasn’t where Garen was
headed. He stared west, towards the High Passes. The gaping fissure in the
mountains called to him.

“Chieftain! We go home?”

Spiderslicer grinned, blood running down his blade. Garen smiled, but he
didn’t order a rush towards the welcoming mountains just yet. He was eying
the Human army. They were mad now. Wings of cavalry were breaking off
to the left and right, around Reiss’ army. They were trying to contain Reiss
and catch up with the running Goblins. Garen wasn’t worried about that. He
was more concerned with the vanguard around Tyrion Veltras. They were
aimed at Garen, and he didn’t know if he could reach the High Passes
before having to turn and fight.

The Carn Wolves were quick, but they couldn’t beat horses on flat ground.
Garen knew that. He was calculating how far to go to the High Passes, to
safety. If he couldn’t get to the passes in time, he’d take his tribe up the
slopes. Carn Wolves could bound up the rocky terrain, while the Humans’
horses couldn’t. They’d have to dodge mage spells though. If they could
make a break for the High Passes…
Garen stared at the gaping fissure in the mountains and his eyes caught
something. A distant speck, no, many specks moving in the mountain range.
His eyes widened and he turned to look back at the Humans and Reiss’
army. They were still cutting down the last of the Flooded Waters tribe that
were fleeing, forcing them to submit or die. Garen looked back at the High
Passes and shook his head.

“No. We outrun. South!”

Spiderslicer’s jaw dropped, but he didn’t question the orders. Garen was
already turning. He pointed south, past the Flooded Waters tribe. He
narrowed his eyes as he saw another group of quicker Humans trying to cut
them off again. They’d have to fight. But not for long.

“We break through. Come! Show the Humans the strength of Redfang
Tribe! Follow me!”

Garen pointed and his tribe rode south. Away from the High Passes. It
wasn’t what Garen wanted, but he could always return, loop past Liscor and
go back to the passes from the southern side, through Drake territory.
Besides, it wasn’t wise to go towards the High Passes at the moment. Even
Garen had battles he wasn’t willing to fight.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres saw the third forward group disappear as the Goblin
riders charged into them. He sucked in his breath, but didn’t dare speak. He
was riding hard, right behind Tyrion Veltras and an inadvertent comment
might cost him his tongue. He did hear curses from those less cautious, and,
yes, a stifled cry of pain as someone bit their tongue while they galloped.

“It’s the smaller Goblin tribe! The one on Carn Wolves! They’ve killed
[Commander] Geim, [Commander] Helica and [Knight Commander] Sir
Meilmen!”
“Unforgivable.”

Lord Tyrion snapped as he stared ahead at the tribe of Goblins. Yitton

couldn’t take his eyes off them either. There had to be less than seven
thousand of them, but they were all mounted, on the monstrous Carn
Wolves or stolen horses. And—they were strong.

The Redfang Tribe was tiny compared to the Goblin Lord’s army. But
they’d cut through three groups of riders nearly equal to their size without
slowing down. And their chieftain was a monster on his own. He’d killed all
three commanders himself.

Yitton Byres had read the reports. He knew who was leading that tribe.
Garen Redfang, a Goblin with the most unusual of pasts. A former Gold-
rank adventurer who’d proven Goblins couldn’t be trusted. Leader of the
Redfang Tribe, a group of notoriety that preyed on travelers from the High
Passes. But not an active danger—one that kept to the mountains and rarely
troubled populated cities. He had dismissed the Hobgoblin as a lesser threat
compared to the Goblin Lord—or Tremborag, the Great Chieftain. And that
had been a mistake.

He had never seen Garen Redfang fight. Neither had Tyrion Veltras. Or any
of the other Humans riding with him. Now their ignorance was costing
them lives.

“Two monsters. Two. First that Great Chieftain, now this one. Have the
Goblins been hiding—”

Yitton heard a voice from ahead. One of the [Strategists]. Tyrion Veltras
turned his head. He glared at Garen Redfang’s distant form.

“Not for long. [Knights], on me! We will pursue and bring down that
Chieftain.”

He clicked his tongue and accelerated. Yitton watched as Tyrion effortlessly

pulled ahead—as if he was riding a legendary Pegasus or magical steed in a
different class from the horses around him. At his words, a shining lance of
[Knights] rode forwards, propelled by the same Skill.
The group that pulled ahead of the main force was about three thousand
strong, give or take several hundred. It was small, but elite. The [Knights]
in Tyrion’s vanguard wore gilded armor, marking their order and allegiance.
They rode ahead, following Tyrion’s back, lances in hand, shields raised.
Their gear was enchanted. Not one of them was below Level 20. Most were
above Level 30.

Even so, this was a mistake. Yitton raised his voice, praying he wouldn’t
bite his tongue.

“Tyrion! Don’t be a fool, man! Let the [Knights] fight that Chieftain! Don’t
risk yourself!”

He was outnumbered two-to-one! The rest of his riders were tangled up

trying to contain the Goblins. Tyrion Veltras glanced back at Yitton and
didn’t respond. Yitton, cursing, tried to catch up, but he had no Skills and
might as well tried to fly. He was looking about for Tyrion’s aide, someone
who could stop the man. He’d taken a risk with Tremborag and he had been
wounded. If Garen Redfang managed to unhorse him or surround him with
his tribe—

“Lord Veltras! Lord Veltras! We’re under attack!”

A panicked voice called out from the left. Yitton saw a [Scout] racing
towards them, trying to catch up. Reluctantly, Tyrion slowed and Yitton
managed to force his mount to catch up.

“Report! Where is the attack?”

Tyrion scanned the Goblin army. So did Yitton. Was the Goblin Lord
attacking? No, he was pulling his Goblins back. He’d won his battle. Was it
Garen? Again, no. He and the other Goblins were just running now. Both
[Lords] looked at the frantic young woman. The [Scout] pointed at the High
Passes.

“It’s not Goblins! It’s them! They’re back! They’re coming down from the
mountains! Tens of thousands of them! I don’t—”
The frantic voice didn’t register with Yitton for a second. He stared blankly
at the High Passes. Who was back? Who was—

Then he saw it. They were racing out of the mouth of the passes. Coming
down the cliffs. Like last time. Only this group was much, much larger. A
wave of brown came out of the High Passes. And as they charged the
Humans and Goblins from the side, they began to scream.

Eater Goats. They ran by the tens of thousands, a group far larger than the
last one. The predators of the mountains had smelled the bloodshed. And
they were coming to eat. In the distance, they took up a warbling shriek that
sounded almost Human—but too wild and horrific at the same time.
Yitton’s mount snorted, eyes wide, and he patted it. Around him horses
reared.

“Lord Veltras—”

“I see them.”

Tyrion Veltras scowled at the Eater Goats. He looked ahead at the fleeing
Goblins. Yitton could almost see him calculating the odds of catching Garen
Redfang. But the Eater Goats were headed towards the last battlefield, and
there were too many of them to fend off without numerous casualties.
Tyrion turned his horse around. Did Yitton hear him curse? Surely not.

“Halt the advance. [Mages], begin bombarding the goats! Pull back the
cavalry to contain the Goblin Lord’s army—let the other tribes flee ahead.
Send word to the infantry, to prepare for combat! Lord Pellmia and Lord
Gralton will attack from the northeastern flank. [Knights], on me. We halt
the advance of these monsters. Anyone without sufficient defensive Skills
or enchanted gear will fall back! Ride!”

The Human army began to pull back. They turned to meet the Eater Goats,
who ignored the numbers and common sense. They took the first charge
from Tyrion Veltras, swarming around him and the nearly impervious
[Knights] on their warhorses, then broke up for easier targets. Some headed
towards the fleeing Goblins, the rest fell upon the Humans and Reiss’s
army.
Eater Goats. The scourge of the mountains. For ten that died, another would
stagger back to the mountains, bloated on meat, ready to breed and
replenish their numbers. Fearless to the point of suicide, they attacked
everything. Everything except for one group of Goblins.

Garen Redfang and his tribe rode past them, as the Eater Goats saw their
red war paint and the Carn Wolves they rode and grudgingly avoided them.
They fell on the fleeing Flooded Waters tribe, on Reiss’ army and Tyrion
Veltras’ force. Only when the Humans began to blow them to shreds, when
the bodies of their kin began to pile up like firewood did the goats break off.
And only because they were more interested in eating their dead.

In the aftermath, Yitton wiped blood off his sword and saw Tyrion Veltras
riding past him, his stallion steaming in the cool air. There was no wiping
blood off of his armor; it was splashed liberally across his greaves, chest
plate, arms—a [Mage] had to wash him and the other [Knights] off with
water.

“It seems the Goblins have gained a lead, Lord Veltras. Should we pursue?”

One of the [Knights], a member of the Order of Clairei Fields, inquired

politely. She was one of the fastest warriors on the field, armor or not. She
pointed at the distant Goblins, who had kept running while fighting. Yitton
eyed them.

They were about a fourth as large as they had been just this morning. The
Goblin Lord had well and truly shattered them, and absorbed the bulk of
their army into his own as a result. What had possessed him? Was it just
more Goblin infighting? Yitton had seen the Goblins react with shock. It
had seemed like—a betrayal. An odd thing to imagine.

“No.”

Tyrion bit off the words as he offered his tired horse a feedbag. He stared at
the Goblins.

“That Redfang tribe has escaped. They may circle around cut your people
off. No, let them run. Our army will spread out as it approaches Liscor and
ensure the Goblins cannot double back. The Goblins will run past Liscor
and head into Drake lands or be dealt with at Liscor. ”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The Clairei Fields [Knight] nodded and turned away. Yitton dismounted and
walked stiffly up to Tyrion.

“Veltras.”

“I don’t appreciate being given orders, Lord Byres. Even well-intentioned

ones.”

Tyrion looked up coldly. Yitton flushed.

“My apologies.”

“Very well. Your disposition?”

Yitton stroked his mustache and glanced back at the Goblin Lord’s army.
They’d remained stationary after the fighting, but he could see them milling
about. Reorganizing. Absorbing the defeated Goblins into their ranks. He
wondered if there was any ill-will. Another odd thought to have.

“I—what do you think that was, Veltras? Silver and steel, I thought the
Goblins were getting along.”

“Apparently not. Either this Goblin Lord decided to consolidate his forces,
or they had a falling out. Either way, their numbers have been reduced, but
we’re left with a single tribe now. No more Chieftains will oppose the
Goblin Lord. The last one—Garen Redfang—ran. And I didn’t spot the
small Chieftain. I suppose she perished.”

“And does that affect your plans?”

Tyrion paused as he stroked his stallion’s head. He looked back at the

Goblins.

“There are enough to serve.”

That was all he said. After a while, Yitton walked away. Tyrion Veltras
stood and counted losses, gave orders for the march to continue
immediately. He didn’t stop.

And neither did Reiss. He couldn’t. He sat on his Shield Spider as the last
of the Goblins joined his army and were absorbed into his warriors. He
looked down at the hand he’d reattached and flexed it slowly. His nerves
sang with phantom pain.

He did not feel good. He felt sick at heart and ill with what he’d done. He
kept remembering Pyrite trying to stand. He had been a good Hob. A good
second-in-command. Loyal.

He was still lying there. So was she. Reiss was certain of it. He could feel
Garen ahead of him, heading south, a burning flame in his mind. And
behind him was another flame, burning even brighter. Reiss looked back.

The battlefield was filled with dead goats and Goblins. Humans too, but
they’d found most of their dead and cremated them. Now they were driving
his tribe onwards. But he could still feel her there.

Behind him. He stared back towards the bloody battlefield where corpses
lay in piles. She was alive. And so long as she was alive, perhaps her tribe
would keep together. But it didn’t matter, did it? So long as she was behind
them, without her wolf, without allies, she’d be helpless.

“I—”

Reiss stared back at the battlefield. He wanted to say something to Rags,

though she couldn’t hear him. Something that would explain everything.
Tell her why it had to be like this. He sat there, staring, as his undead
creation crawled forwards and he drew further and further way.

He never finished his sentence.

—-
She lay among the dead. That was how she’d survived. Wet fur covered her,
almost suffocating her. It was wet and more wetness dripped down from
above.

Blood. Rags lay still, listening to the thunder of marching footsteps die
down. Tens of thousands of Humans on foot had passed by here. The
infantry of the Human army. She’d heard voices—laughter—weeping. They
sounded so familiar. Not like Goblins, but like her.

They were all dead. Rags knew it. She lay beneath her Carn Wolf, the brave
wolf who she’d never named. And she knew the other bodies, the cold
things touching her were dead. Reiss’ warriors. Her own.

Pyrite.

Pyrite. Rags struggled to move. She had to—he couldn’t be dead. He just
couldn’t be. She pushed at the furry body on top of her, tried to worm away.
She kicked—and then felt horribly guilty.

Slowly, painfully, Rags pulled her way out of the dead. She staggered
upright and saw the setting sun. It was orange and sinking below the
horizon. It should have been red. But there was enough around her.

Dead. Goblins stared up at the sky through blank eyes. Hobs lay on the
ground, their armor shattered. And in front of her—Rags stared at her Carn
Wolf. He was far larger than she was. He was curled up, his rust-red fur torn
from where Reiss’ spell had laid into him. Gone.

“Sorry.”

Rags knelt. She looked at the Carn Wolf, at his blank half-open eyes. She
hugged him one last time, stroking the cold, wet fur of her Carn Wolf’s
head. Then she let the body drop and stood up.

“Where?”
She stumbled across the battlefield, staring at faces she thought she
recognized. Where was he? She passed by dead Carn Wolves, a Human
half-eaten by something. Eater Goats? There were small shapes roaming the
battlefield. They took no notice of Rags; they had enough to gorge on.

She found him lying on the ground on his back, staring up at the sky. Pyrite
looked almost peaceful as he lay there. His jaws were closed. The bloody
injures he’d taken still glistened, half-scabbed over. Rags fell to her knees.

“No.”

She’d seen Reiss kill him. [Deathbolt]. That stupid spell. Again and again it
had struck Pyrite, too many times for anyone to survive.

It wasn’t fair. Rags pounded the ground. She couldn’t cry. She wasn’t going
to. She had to be strong. But her tribe was gone. Her wolf was gone. She’d
lost her warriors, her people—

And her friend. Rags felt the first hiccup of pain force its way out her
throat. She gagged, sobbed, and began to cry. It was so childish. So—
useless. It wasn’t Goblin.

But she couldn’t help it. Rags crawled towards Pyrite. She hammered on his
chest.

“Why? Why?”

No one answered her. Rags shouted.

“Why? Why does it—why?”

She buried her head on Pyrite’s chest. He still felt warm. He still felt alive.
She sobbed. And then she heard a sound.

Crunch.

It was loud. A thunderous cracking sound, like grinding gravel but a

thousand times louder. A horrific grinding noise. Rags leapt back. She saw
something move.
Pyrite pursed his lips, turned his head, and spat something onto the ground.
Rags stared as a handful of glittering, bloody fragments landed in the mud.
The Goldstone Chieftain regarded them for a second, then put something
else in his mouth. He began to chew again, and the grinding sound
continued.

“Pyrite?”

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. Rags stared at him. She was
staring at a ghost. Pyrite chewed, and then spat out more of whatever he
was eating.

“Hi.”

She kicked him. Pyrite grunted. He made a sound. Almost as if he were

alive. She poked him in the side and saw blood run from one of his scabbed
over wounds. Pyrite frowned reproachfully.

“That hurt, Chieftain.”

“You’re dead!”

“Wish.”

Pyrite grunted. He fumbled for something, and his head lolled back. He
tried again, but he seemed too weak to even grab for—whatever it was.

“Need another. Give.”

“What?”

Rags was dreaming. She stared at the thing Pyrite wanted. It was a rough,
plain hemp sack. Worn, dirty. Spattered with his blood. She recognized it. It
was Pyrite’s special sack of gemstones.

“You want?”

“Give.”
He repeated the words, faintly, but urgently. Rags delved into the sack and
pulled something out. An emerald as large as a fist. She offered it to Pyrite.
He grunted.

“No. Shiny.”

Shiny? Rags peered into the sack. She saw something flash at her, despite
the lack of light. She reached in and pulled out a glowing bit of blue quartz.
It had…a mote of light that danced inside the crystalline structure. Rags
stared at it. Then she heard Pyrite’s voice.

“Give.”

She looked up. He was dead. She had seen him die. He’d been hit by too
many [Deathbolts]. But then how—? She handed the stone to him and
Pyrite slowly lifted it to his mouth. He opened his jaws and let the glittering
quartz fall into his mouth. Then he began to chew.

The sound he made was horrendous. Even Rags, who had eaten bark and
dirt and bugs, winced. Pyrite chewed and chewed and then turned his head
and spat. Blood and bits of quartz expectorated onto the ground. Rags
stared at the shards. They were bloody. And the mote of light was gone.

“Give another.”

Pyrite’s voice was weak. Rags stared into the sack.

“No more.”

“No more? Bad.”

Pyrite wheezed. He lay there. She realized he was breathing, but faintly. His
face was pale. But he was breathing. Could he really be…?

“How? How are you…”

Rags knelt over Pyrite. Now she remembered her healing potions and
fumbled for them. Pyrite grunted weakly.
“Had stupid idea. Knew [Deathbolt] coming. Tried stupid thing.”

“What? What try?”

Pyrite groaned as Rags dumped a healing potion on his wounds. He must

have used one already, because his wounds had been half-scabbed already.

“Shiny stones. Magic. Put in mouth. Thought could eat magic.”

Shiny stones? Rags remembered. Pyrite had his magic gemstones. She
stared down at him.

“And?”

The Hob blinked reproachfully up at Rags.

“Think it worked. Tell me if I’m dead.”

She stared at him. And then, shakily, she laughed. Rags sat back and began
to laugh. She heard a rumble. Pyrite chuckled. Rags lay on her back and
giggled, then guffawed. She heard Pyrite laughing and the two of them
laughed until it hurt and they were quiet. Then Rags wiped at her eyes. She
kicked Pyrite in the stomach.

“Ow.”

“Don’t do again. Ever.”

“Won’t promise.”

The two sat there. Well, Pyrite lay on his back. Rags wiped at her eyes.
After a while, Pyrite spoke.

“We lost.”

It wasn’t a question. Rags nodded.

“Yes. I…hid. Knew die if showed face. Reiss won. Tribe ran.”
“Okay.”

That was all Pyrite said. All he could say. Rags sat there, and buried her
face in her hands. It was over. Pyrite lived, but her tribe was gone. She
laughed again, but this time with bitter bile.

“I am stupidest, smallest, worst Chieftain ever.”

“And ugly.”

She kicked Pyrite again. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She just
wanted to curl up next to Pyrite and sleep until she was dead. It was really
over.

“All gone. I fail. Reiss wins.”

“Not over.”

Pyrite spoke insistently. Rags looked at him.

“You can’t move. I lost—wolf. Tribe. Crossbow.”

She looked around blankly for it. It was gone. Her beloved black crossbow
was gone too. Somehow that hurt almost as much as the Carn Wolf. Rags
patted her belt.

“And sword. And shield. And everything.”

She looked around the battlefield. Had someone torn it off her? Was it lying
in the mud? It didn’t matter. Rags bowed her head.

“Lost everything. Have nothing.”

“Still have one. Me, Chieftain. Not done yet.”

Rags glared at Pyrite.

“What good is one Goblin? What good is stupid Chieftain without tribe?”
Pyrite was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he sat up. His body
groaned and creaked with the effort. His face was pale as it rose, but he did
rise. He looked at Rags, tired, weary. One foot in death. But he smiled and
when he did, Rags thought the world seemed brighter.

“I’m not stupid. Just fat. Not ugly, either. And Chieftain has no tribe. But
has me. [Magestone Chieftain].”

Her breath caught.

“Magestone…?”

Pyrite nodded. He rummaged in his sack for a gemstone and lifted it up.
The emerald flashed in his fingers. It had been dull, just a pretty bit of rock
when Rags held it. But as Pyrite lifted it, a flicker of light ran between the
faults in the gemstone. A curving trail of energy.

Magic.

Rags stared at the gem. Pyrite smiled, and then groaned. The light went out
and he lay back with a whumph. Rags stood up.

“You not able to walk. I—what can we do? Humans gone. Reiss gone.
Heading to Liscor. No way to catch up.”

“Just rest today. Tomorrow I follow.”

Pyrite groaned. Rags shook her head. He was talking nonsense.

“How?”

“Make sled with Eater Goats?”

The Hob winced before Rags kicked him this time. That was a stupid idea.
As stupid as anything she’d heard. Only someone like—like her would
come up with that. Rags wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted Pyrite to meet
Erin. She wanted—
She bowed her head and sat by Pyrite. She was out of plans. Out of fancy
ideas and schemes. She was alone. But that was the thing about Goblins.
They were never truly alone. Not when there were two.

And then Rags heard crunching in the dirt. She turned and reached for a
sword she didn’t have. She saw dark figures moving towards her. Hobs.
Goblins. Rags scrambled up. Pyrite tried to sit up again and groaned.

“Who is?”

Rags’ voice felt small and quavery. She clenched her fists and reached for
her magic. There were at least two dozen shapes. They held still, just out of
sight. And then one of them, a tall figure with curves, stepped forwards.

Ulvama, her tribal paint smudged, her face dirty, stepped forwards. Hobs
followed her. Goblins who Rags recognized. Not hers. Not her Goblins, but
Tremborag’s. Goblins who had joined her tribe but owed no allegiance to
her. Goblins who’d fled when she’d fallen. They surrounded her and Pyrite.

And more Goblins appeared, those who had hid like Rags, or escaped the
Humans in the fighting. Ulvama stared down at Pyrite. She stared down at
Rags, leaning on her staff. Rags waited for something. Anything. Then,
Ulvama bowed. She bowed low in her skimpy feathered outfit, and the
other Hobs bowed too. Ulvama smiled as Rags blinked at her. There was
mischief in her eyes. Mischief, relief, and something else. A spark that if
Rags didn’t know better, she would have called hope. Ulvama gestured
around at the other Goblins.

“What now, Chieftain?”

—-

It was a time of endings. Numbtongue knew it. He had come so far, from
the little Goblin he’d been. The one sent to kill an [Innkeeper], who had
gotten lost. He had grown. He had lost friends. He had won and lost and
become someone different. And perhaps, yes, perhaps it was time to run
again. To flee.

But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He knew in his heart that Goblins
couldn’t live among people. He knew that the inn was a dream, and that
reality would cut him down in time. But it was a beautiful dream. And she
was beautiful. And he couldn’t run any longer.

He had seen the bright star shining above Liscor. He had felt it give him
strength. A bit of determination. Courage to do what he had to do. So
Numbtongue walked out of the cave. And his followers joined him. The
other Cave Goblins joined him. They flooded out of the cave. They swam
out of the dungeon. They appeared out of holes in the ground, from hiding
places only they knew. And they followed him.

The first person to see anything on the walls was Olesm. He was walking
up and down the walls, muttering to himself and trying to calculate ranges
based on a report he’d obtained from Zeres about the trebuchets they had.
He was trying to figure out if there was time, and eyeing the floodplains.

The water level had fallen so far that only the valleys contained any water
now. That still meant there was a lot of water, but the hilltops were muddy
instead of underwater, and the fish that hadn’t been smart enough to escape
to…wherever they went…were now trapped in the valleys. They’d be
scooped up by Liscor’s fishers for food, or eaten by predators like the Rock
Crabs. Or they’d die when the waters became too stagnant or finally
evaporated.

Right now Liscor was a mud pit. A watery mud pit, which gave Olesm
some hope. The [Mages] would have to dry the land and shore it up or the
recoil from the trebuchets would literally send them flying into pieces.
Maybe they didn’t know about the dangers. It would also slow their
advance. But for each good came an ill. Would the Antinium be able to
tunnel and attack the trebuchets in this water? Klbkch had not been
responding to Olesm or Zevara’s requests to speak. Was something wrong?
Olesm was staring at one spot in particular from the walls. The rift that led
down into the dungeon. That concerned him greatly. Mainly because…it
was one of the few ways down into the dungeon and it was currently
flooded. Of course, there was the main entrance, but that led through a
series of randomized, trapped rooms that hadn’t been cleared. If you were
going to move thousands of people through there, it would be suicide.

But the rift was flooded. And if he wanted to bring people into the dungeon
—hypothetically—it would be impossible with that much water. That only
left the Antinium’s entrance, and what were the odds they’d let anyone into
their Hive? Olesm paced back and forth. Could he get a [Mage] to heat the
water, boil it away, perhaps? Or—what about Erin’s door? Could they drain
the water somehow? Maybe—

Something rose from the watery, muddy waters of the rift. Olesm froze. He
saw a little green head poke out of the water. The rift was miles away, but
Olesm recognized the green skin and distinctive head anywhere.

“A Goblin?”

No, a Cave Goblin. Olesm stared at it, wondering if it had gotten lost or
something. Then he saw another Goblin surface and gasp for breath. And
another. And another. The first Cave Goblin clambered out and tugged its
fellows out of the water. And then more surfaced and began swimming to
land. More and more and more—

Olesm looked around. There were dozens, no, nearly a hundred Cave
Goblins surfacing now, and more heads were popping up by the second.
Was this some kind of evacuation of the dungeon? Was something
happening? Should he tell someone? He looked back at the rift and then his
eye caught another source of movement on the plains.

A Rock Crab. It was scuttling up the side of a hill, quite rapidly. Olesm
blinked. Rock Crabs normally didn’t move that fast unless they were
hunting. But they would have enough to eat in the valleys with the captive
fish. Why was it going so fast? Then he realized the Rock Crab wasn’t
hunting something. It was running.
The first of the Cave Goblins crested the hill. Olesm stared. The little
Goblin had a spear. It raised it over its head and it was joined by another. It
was carrying a bow. A third joined it. Was it holding a lute? And then the
hill filled with Goblins. They surged over it. And then another hill had
Goblins. And another.

Olesm’s vision slowly began to fill with green. He saw them climbing over
other hills, swimming out of the dungeon. Some had swords, others clubs,
or bows, or improvised spears. Some had frying pans and others carried
musical instruments. And there were thousands of them. Each second more
poured over the hills. Olesm backed up.

“Ancestors.”

They spread out, marching up the muddy hillsides around the valleys full of
water. Some peered at the desperate fish swimming in the little lakes.
Others stared up at the city ahead of them, the only structure of stone in the
entire area. They walked ahead slowly, picking their noses, chattering.
Following a tall shape that Olesm recognized. The [Strategist] went running
and the [Guardsmen] on the wall sounded the alarm. Again.

At first Ilvriss didn’t understand the confused message Olesm garbled at

him. Neither did Zevara. Cave Goblins? They reluctantly abandoned their
discussion and came to the walls. Then they saw them.

Cave Goblins. Tens of thousands of them. By Olesm’s count, at least twenty

four thousand, some of them extremely tall. As if they were emerging Hobs.
And at their head stood a Goblin with a guitar. He wore a sword at his side
and he stared up at the battlements of Liscor with narrowed crimson eyes.

Numbtongue. Olesm stood on the battlements with the whole of the City
Watch, all four thousand of them. And the eight hundred-odd soldiers that
had been sent through from Pallass on the first day. And Embria’s hundred
or so 4th Company. They stared down at the army of Goblins, a precursor of
what was to come. Olesm saw Numbtongue raise his guitar overhead. The
Cave Goblins raised their weapons. As one, they roared a word.

“Redfang!”
The word reverberated from the Floodplains. It echoed across Liscor and
made the citizens look up in alarm. It was a call to arms, a cry for justice.

“Redfang!”

Numbtongue howled the word. The Cave Goblins screamed it. They
weren’t running. They weren’t going to leave. This wasn’t Numbtongue’s
home. He didn’t belong here. But—he looked at the inn on the hilltop. But
he wanted to stay. And so he screamed the word again and the Goblins
roared it. Calling for their leaders. For their friends.

For her.

—-

In a prison, sitting behind the bars of her cell, Erin Solstice scratched at one
arm and regarded her meal. It was a good one, all things considered. Well,
for prison food. She’d expected moldy bread and maybe a dead rat or
something. The dead rat obviously being optional if you could kill the ones
in your cell. Instead, she’d gotten a rather decent meal.

She’d have preferred to be let go of course, but no one seemed to have

remembered she was in here. She’d asked the guards who served food about
it, but he’d said there was an incident with the magic door and that Olesm
was busy. So Erin looked at lunch instead. She frowned as her ears picked
up a distant sound and glanced up.

“You guys hear something?”

Badarrow paused as he ate from his tray. He looked around and scowled.

“No.”

Erin waited a beat, and then shrugged.

“Okay. Hey, Headscratcher? I’ll trade you my sausage for your cheese and
crackers. Mine’s too fatty.”

The Hob looked up. He nodded and Erin tossed her sausage at him. She
clumsily caught the cheese and crackers and began to munch on hers as
Badarrow grumbled, sipping from his cup. Erin sighed and stared at the
bars of her cell.

“…I wonder when we’ll get out of here.”

 5.57

So. This was how it went down. None of them had really expected it. Not
like this. Then again, they hadn’t expected to expect. Foresight wasn’t a
huge ability of theirs by and large, at least for the grand things. Small things
—the way a nick in a sword caught in a sheathe and held just too long,
presenting an opening, or where an old rabbit’s nest presented a foothold
that would give at the right moment—they were masters of that. But the
large things they left up to chance.

It was more entertaining that way.

So Rags was dead. Or if not dead, then defeated. Her tribe was broken—
taken by Reiss the Goblin Lord or running south, led by Redscar, a
desperate bunch fleeing death. They’d probably survive. All of them agreed
that Redscar was good enough for that. He had been one of them, once. The
best of them, really. They didn’t know why he’d left, but he had to have
reasons.

Not good ones, but reasons nonetheless. And it was all moot, anyways.
They were leaving too. The Humans were stuck fighting Eater Goats, but
they’d be along shortly. They were headed south, through the only pass in
the mountains. Past Liscor. Nobody really knew what would happen when
they reached the Drake city, but there was a rumor going around that there
would be a fight. That made sense.

There was always a fight. It was just a shame then, that the Redfang Tribe
wouldn’t be part of this one.

They rode. Four thousand of them, or nearly. They’d taken casualties in

their last battle. It happened. But they were larger than they’d been this
morning. Some of the old guard, the first Redfangs who’d abandoned the
tribe for Rags had returned to them. Some of Tremborag’s Goblins too.
They rode horses.

Horses.

The Redfang Tribe laughed about that. The veterans, the originals, clung to
the Carn Wolves as the huge, bounding beasts loped across the ground.
Carn Wolves were tireless, their teeth as large as your hands. Their breath
stank of meat, and their fur was coarse. Rough. Painful to hold, even; it
could turn away a weak thrust from a blade or protect them from arrows
sometimes. But Carn Wolves were playful. Intelligent.

It would be a mistake to think that this pack lived with the Redfang Tribe
bore their riders just because of a Skill or because they’d been
domesticated. They hadn’t.

They were wolves. And unlike dogs, wolves didn’t seek masters. Respect
had to be won. Newborn pups, or older Carn Wolves had to be trained to
follow orders, persuaded through might and kindness to obey. It wasn’t the
same as making pets. The Redfangs had to show they were superior—teach
their companions not to bite or snarl and to listen. And they had to be kind.
That part was easy.

As the Redfangs rode they offered their wolves scraps of meat, patted them,
whispered into their ears. In bad times, a Redfang warrior would offer his
food to his wolf first. Or an arm. After all, you could fight with one arm, but
you couldn’t fight without a friend.

Laughter. One of the Redfangs laughed as his Carn Wolf cleared a boulder
in a single bound, perched there for the briefest of moments, then leapt
again. The other riders whooped and cheered. Laughing. Like a frog! The
other Goblin clinging to the back of the leaping wolf didn’t laugh. He’d
nearly fallen off. And his Carn Wolf was dead. He was not crying so loudly
it hurt to look at him.

Shouts and a thump made the laughter stop. Heads turned. The Redfangs
saw a bloom of magic, like a flower explode behind them. They saw the
petals of gold-green light open up. A beautiful thing. But the brightness
blinded, and whatever the petals touched turned to ash. A burning spell, but
limited. The Redfangs shook their heads. Better to use a [Fireball]. Besides,
the spell missed. They saw a group of Humans on horseback charging out
of the smoke. Wearing armor.

Knights of the Clairei Field. The Redfangs had clashed with them once, and
knew them by their insignia. A stylized stalk of wheat blowing on an open
field, only, the grains on the wheat were sharp like swords. The Clairei
[Knights] wore bright green chest plates with their insignia etched on the
front in silver, and their shoulders, arms, and leggings were bright blue.
Their helmets were the same green, deep and majestic as a deep forest,
gilded with gold.

Showoffs. The Redfangs sneered, but only a bit. The Clairei Knights lost
points for dressing up, but they were fast. Faster than even the bounding
wolves or the Goblins riding horses. They could outrun birds on the wing.
And in a charge, that made them deadly. Worthy foes.

They were coming. Either they hadn’t heard the call to breakaway and face
the goats, or they had ignored it. Either way, they were out for blood. The
Redfangs looked ahead, at the largest wolf running at the front of their tribe.
It was the largest by far, a beast that could easily bear its rider, a full-grown
Hob.

He rode in front. He wore cheap leather armor, scarred by battle, and he

didn’t bother with a helmet. Some of the Redfangs wore far better gear than
he did. But his sword was red, pure rust, and the edges caught the light.
Garen Redfang looked back at the charging [Knights] and spoke.

They didn’t hear it. The wind caught words and tore them away. But they
didn’t need to. They saw the word spread from rider to rider, quick as
thought. The riders broke up. Eighty of the rear-most Redfangs, a dozen
veterans on Carn Wolves and the rest newer recruits on horses. They turned
back to meet the dozen or so [Knights] and the [Mage Knight] riding with
them. The Clairei Knights hesitated as the Redfangs charged them.

Eighty versus twelve? It was an insult. On both sides, as it turned out. The
Humans regarded seven-to-one odds as an insult, especially against
Goblins. Didn’t they have enchanted gear, high levels and a [Mage] on their
side? The Redfangs saw it the same way. Obviously they’d lose one-on-one,
but eighty of them was overkill. Sixty, or even forty would have been fairer
odds. But that was battle for you.

The fight was over quick. The Clairei Knights were good, but they weren’t
used to fighting the Redfangs. They had their lances out—first mistake.
They thought they could hit and run, like they were fighting mindless
monsters or slow, uncoordinated Goblins. The second mistake was trusting
their armor. It was enchanted—but for lightness, not strength. The Clairei
Knights were speedy attackers, skirmishers, not like the Knights of the Petal
or a more heavily-armored group. And the Redfangs were experts at taking
down high-level enemies, even ones who wore fully enchanted armor.

There were ways. More ways if both sides were mounted, actually. Horses
couldn’t wear full armor like Humans. They left too many spots exposed.
Legs, underbellies. Eyes. It was a pity, but you did what you had to in
battle.

Horses reared. Carn Wolves howled. There was very little clashing of metal
and no locking of swords. A few screams. The main Redfang tribe watched.
Goblins died. Humans died.

The Clairei Knights fled. Three galloped away. A fourth stood, dismounted,
guarding the bodies of her friends. She was ready to die. Fifty three Goblins
circled her, some dismounted. One claimed the rearing horse of a fallen
Clairei Knight.

The Human screamed a challenge. The Redfangs waited. They saw the way
she was holding herself. Armor torn in the left side. She’d taken an arrow to
the shoulder point-blank but her armor had held. The mace to the side of her
helmet made her stagger. But still she stood, guarding her friends.

The nine surviving veterans conferred. They nodded to each other, and then
whistled. The other Redfangs turned and moved back. The [Knight] looked
around, bewildered. She set herself for an attack—and none came. The
Redfangs nodded to her and turned away. The Clairei Knight stood there in
disbelief, watching as they raced to catch up with their tribe.
Over two dozen dead Redfangs lay on the ground as the attack group
returned to their tribe. Those who’d lost their mounts were shuffled onto
fresher horses or Carn Wolves, and what bandaging was needed was done
on the march. The wounded horses were left behind.

It was lucky—if you could call it that—that of the three veterans who had
died, their Carn Wolves had died with them. If one had been wounded or
injured beyond a healing potion’s power, their rider would have stayed with
them, tried to hide and catch up later. The odds of them surviving would
have been remote.

The attack group fell into position with the others, tossing a few weapons
from the fallen at those who needed better gear. A healing potion that hadn’t
been used. Scraps of meat cut quickly from a dead horse. No loot from the
Clairei Knights.

No one commented on it, although some of the new Goblins looked

confused. The other Redfangs ignored it and congratulated the victors on
their return. The newbies would get it soon enough.

Obviously the armor and enchanted weapons would have been nice. And
the potions. Not to mention the horsemeat. But the knights had put up a
good fight and the survivor had been defending her comrades. You had to
respect that, sometimes. Other tribes wouldn’t. The Mountain City tribe, the
Goblin Lord’s army, the Flooded Waters tribe—they’d probably all loot the
dead. Kill the [Knight].

Actually, Tremborag’s tribe would kill her. Or capture her, which would be
worse. The other two tribes might kill her, but the Flooded Waters tribe
would probably capture her too, only not in a bad way. Anyways, none of
them would ride away. But that was because they didn’t respect their
opponents.

They didn’t have honor. But the Redfangs did. If you didn’t have honor, if
you didn’t respect the battle and your opponent, what did you have?

The Redfang tribe rode on. Evening was swiftly approaching and the cool
spring winds blew wet moisture into their faces as they rode south. The
High Passes loomed above them, tall mountains casting long shadows. The
Redfang Tribe kept moving, talking sparingly—using hand signs and body
language to communicate. Through the winding pass they would run, past
Esthelm, the last Human city and then to Liscor, where the rains had just
stopped and the floodwaters were still retreating, leaving mud in their wake.

The Redfang tribe did everything on the go, pausing only briefly to rest
their mounts. Everything the Goblins needed to do could be done in the
saddle, or on wolf-back. Eat, talk, sleep, poo—although that was an
advanced technique that was extremely dangerous if you were riding ahead
of others.

And in between the loping stride, the rush of wind and the draining of
adrenaline from their bodies, the Goblins spared a thought for their fallen
brothers and sisters. Mostly brothers—the Redfang tribe was unique in that
it had mainly male Goblins in it. But both genders fought and died equally
in battle, and there had been deaths today, for all the Redfangs had won
every battle they’d fought.

They’d died in the fight to break the Human’s encirclement. More had died
fighting the Clairei Knights and other pursuers just now. The fallen were
remembered in the Redfang’s way. But no tears were shed, and the deaths
were accepted. Not celebrated. And there was mourning. But it was to be
expected. Deaths happened. The Redfangs knew they would die in one
battle or another.

Fight well as you go. That was the Redfang Tribe. They were the strongest
warriors. The quickest, too. It was actually strange—they accepted only the
best warriors into their tribe. Regular Goblins as well as Hobs. In fact, Hobs
were actually rarer in the tribe because they had to be able to ride these
days, and there were some types of Hobs, like Pyrite, for whom no horse
would bear their weight.

That was a change from the old days. Before, the Redfangs had been both
riders and infantry. But ever since the betrayal, the split, Garen had made
theirs a fully-mounted force that could fight on the ground if need be, but
prioritized movement.
The split had changed a lot of things. It had been the hardest challenge the
Redfang tribe had ever faced. Harder than their first war against the Eater
Goats until they’d managed to imprint a kind of truce into the goat’s minds.
More strenuous than fighting Gargoyles, or even the other horrors lurking at
the bottom of the High Passes. More deadly than going above? No—but it
had taken just as many of their number without a single blade being drawn.

Rags or Garen. Garen or Rags. He’d submitted to her, let her become
Chieftain, but everyone knew he’d thrown the battle. He’d tested her, and
the Redfangs knew she was a…better leader. At least, in areas not relating
to battle. She was good at strategy, keeping the wolves fed—Garen was a
warrior and his skills in every other area were beyond lacking. And they
had made her their Chieftain. They owed her loyalty, so that even if it meant
leaving Garen, it was right. Because she was a Chieftain?

No. Yes. The Redfangs were still reluctant to talk about that. They’d stayed
because they couldn’t leave the tribe, even if parts of them had thought that
was the right thing to do. Redscar and all the ones who’d seen it that way
had left. But they’d stayed.

All the things that had gone before had been …not good. Messy.
Abandoning their new Chieftain, Rags, having to sit in Tremborag’s
mountain while his Goblins disgraced themselves, running from the
Humans—all of that wasn’t good. The Redfangs didn’t talk about it. They
didn’t like to think on it, really. But they stayed because they’d made their
choice. And of course, there was their Chieftain.

Who could replace him? No one Goblin was his equal. Not Tremborag, not
the Goblin Lord, not Rags—not even Greydath of Blades. He was their
hero. He defined the tribe. They couldn’t leave him. When he called, they
answered. They were his warriors, and the Redfangs didn’t desert their own.
Not the first. Not the one who had forged them, given him their name to
shout, to be proud of.

The Hobgoblin who had been a Gold-rank adventurer.

The brother of the Goblin Lord.

Garen Redfang.

—-

After another twenty minutes more of riding, Garen called a halt. It was
time to change things up, especially if he wanted to pass by Liscor tonight.
His tribe came to a standstill as they circled around him, Goblins jumping
off of Carn Wolves. Those with horses had to do more work; temporarily
unsaddling their mounts and rubbing them down. There wasn’t much grass
about—the area around the High Passes grew rockier the further in you
went. So dried hay was broken out and the horse handlers munched on a
few stalks while their affronted mounts quickly ate the rest.

Garen’s Carn Wolf lolled on the ground, panting lightly. It wasn’t winded
from the run, but some of the other wolves were younger, had less wind.
Garen understood that. He knew his tribe’s ability to move, how much they
could fight, and what kind of enemies they could take on most easily. He
knew war. Little else but that, but it was enough.

He was Garen Redfang. Leader of the Redfang tribe. Former Gold-rank

adventurer. And he had been betrayed.

Again. The taste was bitter in Garen’s mouth, like bile. He remembered the
Goblins staring up at him, Redscar looking towards Garen. Turning away.

It had happened again. First in the mountain, then after Tremborag’s death.
And then today. And before that—and before that too—

Garen’s life was a litany of betrayals. Of false friends. The memories were
still with him. They surged in times like these, and he let them pass through
his head as he squatted, offering his wolf a handful of meat scraps. It ate
them greedily, licking his hand. Garen smiled and scratched his wolf behind
the ears. You could trust a Carn Wolf. They were ferocious and if they
didn’t respect you they’d kill you. But loyalty, once won, was never lost.
His wolf wouldn’t leave Garen.

Everyone else would. That was what Garen had learned over the years. You
couldn’t really trust anyone. Not your fellow Goblins, and certainly not
other species. Not even your own tribe, apparently. Redscar, his right hand,
had left him. Another lesson.

“Chieftain?”

Garen looked up. He saw his new second, Spiderslicer, walking towards
him. Garen nodded and stood up.

“Time, Chieftain?”

Garen nodded. He grunted.

“Time. Get treasure. Pile.”

The other Redfangs looked up. The new recruits didn’t understand what
was going on, but they followed along willingly. They didn’t have to be
told; they’d learn by watching. The Redfangs congregated around Garen.
They tossed items on the ground at his feet. A sword snatched from a
Human’s hand, a potion bottle ripped from a belt. Magic rings, armor, and
so on. The spoils of war. Each Goblin did it. There were a lot of them, so it
took a while, but soon there was a pile of every object they’d snatched in
the latest battles.

Garen looked down at the pile when it was done. He squatted down and
pushed items back and forth. He’d seen most of what had been dropped,
and he knew he only wanted a new potion. He found a strong healing
potion, or what seemed like one and tested it. He grunted and corked the
bottle after one swig.

“Bleh. Mana potion.”

He tried again with another. The Redfangs nudged each other, pointing out
what they’d taken, laughing at their leader’s expression. The second potion
was a healing potion and the third surprised Garen.

“Ironhide Potion.”

He blinked down at the bottle of greyish liquid which tasted like metal and
looked like sludge. Garen stowed it on his belt at once and stood up. He
nodded at the others, indicating that it was their turn. He had no need of
other weapons besides his sword and he hadn’t seen any lightweight
enchanted armor that would fit him.

Spiderslicer went next. He looked through the items, found a potion like
Garen, and stood up with it. The other veterans, the oldest Redfangs who
rode Carn Wolves had had been fighting with Garen for years followed him
in a group. They found rings they were willing to try on as an experiment,
potions, and a magic buckler. Then came the newer Goblins, who took
armor and weapons. The last ones, the recruits who had joined today, got to
argue over what was left at the end.

Garen watched the new Goblins pick up weapons and test them out. They
looked surprised; there was still good iron and steel weapons left over, and
bits of armor for them. They needn’t have been, though.

This was how the Redfangs divided loot. Garen had first pick, and then the
more experienced Goblins. They usually took potions unless there was
something really good that had been found. And they left weapons, even
good ones, for Goblins who needed it. Not all of Garen’s warriors had
enchanted weapons—only a few, really. But all of the ones who’d ridden
with him for a few years wore steel and carried as much gear as any Silver-
rank adventurer.

The Redfangs equipped the last of their weapons, replacing damaged

bucklers, spears, swords, and other pieces of gear too badly damaged to
mend, and stood up. What was left they let lie. It was a haul for another
tribe or anyone who chanced upon the collection on the ground. But the
Redfangs wouldn’t carry it. They had secondary weapons, spare blades, but
they didn’t carry anything else. They moved and travelled light. And neither
would they hoard their new artifacts and potions either. In the next big
battle, they’d use up most of their potions.
The Redfang tribe had no motto. But if they did have one, it would
probably be the opposite of ‘be prepared’. They used everything they had
right away. Anything for an edge. You won the battle in front of you and let
everything else work itself out. Beyond that, you just trusted that the next
fight would be coming soon.

That was how it worked. The Redfangs followed Garen into battle and
didn’t sweat the rest. They trusted him to lead them to bigger opponents.
After all, he was Garen Redfang. He had made them into what they were.

Warriors. Elites of the Goblin world. You could see it if you looked. The
Goblins sitting around Garen, the original Redfangs, were head-and-
shoulders apart from the new ones. Tremborag’s Goblins, the new recruits
gained in the mountain and on the road—they were good. The best in the
mountain, probably. They could probably boast any number of kills and
some of them even had weakly enchanted gear, a mark of their status. But
they weren’t Redfangs. And it showed.

Muscles, a honed body beyond regular Goblin warriors. Economy of

movement. A fearless walk. And coordination in battle. Redfangs trained in
their off time, where regular Goblin warriors just lazed about. Even now, as
Garen walked about, stretching his legs, he saw the new warriors talking
with the old ones. About the last battle, about tactics. Learning. Watching
the veterans stretch, swap stories, laugh. In time, they’d become reflections
of the best. If they lived long enough, that was.

They made Garen proud. The Redfangs were his tribe. His family, the ones
who he trusted. Never mind the ones who’d left. He’d taken them and
changed them from weak Goblins into warriors. He’d given them pride,
strength. And most importantly, brotherhood.

One of the Goblins caught Garen’s eye as he walked around the sitting
warriors. He spotted a younger Goblin, a full Redfang, but newer. He was
clutching something.

The severed stump of his left hand. The skin was nearly healed—a healing
potion had been used, but it couldn’t regrow what was lost. The Goblin
looked up as Garen paused.
“Chieftain.”

“Furgatherer.”

Garen looked down at him. The young Goblin nodded. He bared his teeth as
Garen squatted down. The Chieftain looked at his hand.

“Lost?”

“[Knight] cut off, Chieftain. Bad block. Sorry.”

Furgatherer looked down at his hand. One of the other Redfangs punched
him softly in the shoulder. Garen looked at the young Goblin. Furgatherer
was trying to keep a strong face up, but anyone could tell he was upset. His
Carn Wolf padded around him, too upset to rest, licking him.

“You left handed?”

“Was, Chieftain.”

That explained it. Furgatherer gave Garen an anguished look. He’d lost his
dominant hand. Fear was in his eyes. Fear of being useless. Crippled. Garen
thought for a second, then reached out. He plucked Furgatherer’s mace
from his belt.

“Try right hand.”

The young Goblin took the mace awkwardly. Garen made him swing at
him. Furgatherer adjusted his grip, attacked fast and hard, but awkwardly.
Garen blocked the blocks with his sword as the other Redfangs turned to
look.

“Slow! Faster! Hit high low, faster!”

He spun, dodging a blow to the face, and kicked. Furgatherer stumbled

back, wincing. Garen let him charge back towards him and blocked a strike
to his chest, groin, arm—he knocked the mace down and Furgatherer
stopped, panting. He looked up at Garen, afraid. And his Chieftain smiled.
“Good! Not bad for right hand.”

The other Redfangs called out encouragement as well. Furgatherer flushed,

and then his face fell. He gestured at his missing left hand.

“But Chieftain—can’t fight on left.”

“So?”

Garen challenged him. He kicked at Furgatherer’s left side, dismissively.

“Can’t fight on left? Fight on right! Let others fight on left! Find partner.
Doesn’t matter.”

Furgatherer nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

“But if weak—”

He got no further. Garen punched him lightly on the shoulder. He roared,

loud enough for everyone to hear.

“If weak? If weak, get stronger! Other Goblins guard left! Doesn’t matter!
Redfangs don’t fight alone!”

He turned. The other Redfangs knew the cue and raised their weapons.
They shouted, and Furgatherer looked up. More Goblins came around him,
critiquing his stance, the way he held his mace.

“Wear buckler. Tie to arm. Can still block.”

One of the older Redfangs, a female Hob, advised Furgatherer. She winked
at Garen, who nodded as Furgatherer found himself supported. He turned
away, reassured the younger Goblin wouldn’t do something stupid like get
himself killed on purpose or run away. The other Redfangs grinned at the
sight as Furgatherer sat among his peers.

Redfangs don’t fight alone. It was what made them strong. They didn’t
abandon their own. It was what Garen had taught them. The Chieftain’s
own smile lasted for a few more seconds. Then his mood grew dark again.
He’d taught them that. So why had Redscar left? He’d never gotten a
chance to ask him. Why had he and so many of the others abandoned
Garen, after all he’d done for them? That was like last time.

Annoyed, but determined not to show it, Garen walked back over to his
Carn Wolf and lay down. Just for a few minutes. He turned his face towards
the fur of his wolf. They’d have to go soon. This was only a short break.
And then they’d go…to Liscor, right? There weren’t many other options,
not with the Humans behind them. And what about after there? Which way?

The memory stole over Garen, too fast to stop.

“Which way?”

“Hmm?”

Garen looked up. He heard a male voice, unfamiliar for a second. Then he
remembered and recognized it was Jelaqua who was speaking to him.

“Garen? Which way now? North? South? West? East? Pick a direction,
would you? I’m out of ideas and Seborn keeps bugging me about which way
we’re headed.”

Garen turned. He blinked at Jelaqua as she grinned at him, her pale face
Human, at least for now. She pointed down at the map. Her fingers were
hairy. She wore a male Human’s body, big and burly. She wasn’t
comfortable in it. Neither was he, but he edged over anyways and stared at
the map.

Jelaqua didn’t often ask him for advice. Well, she did, but he seldom gave it.
As the newest member of the Halfseekers, he felt out of place still, even
though he’d been with them for a year already. He shrugged, a tad
uncomfortably.

“What about others?”

“Oh, you know what Halassia and Ukrina always want. Go south, as if
we’d find more work around the Walled Cities. Moore’s still moping over
that girl, and Keilam’s snoring away upstairs. I’d get Seborn to pick a spot,
but he keeps telling me it’s my choice. Jerk. So uh, why don’t you pick a
good spot?”

Jelaqua’s finger slid across the map, tapping spots as she talked
conversationally.

“We could go to Invrisil. Always work over there. Or hey—why don’t we

head towards Celum? They dug up some treasure in Albez. Or the bug
caverns? I hate that place, but heck, I’m sure it’s not fully explored. Just
pick a spot and I’ll pretend it was my idea, okay, Garen?”

“Garen?”

The Hobgoblin opened his eyes. For a second he didn’t know where he was.
Then he recognized Spiderslicer staring at him. He sat up as the past faded
away.

“What?”

“Which way, Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer looked a bit uncomfortable asking. Garen spotted several

Redfangs behind him glancing their way and then pretending to be
chattering. So they’d gotten Spiderslicer to ask the question on everyone’s
minds. He rubbed his face, trying to erase the past. But it was impossible.
He heard an echo.

“Crawling caverns sound good.”

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain shook himself.

“Nothing. We go south. Past Liscor.”

The other Redfangs stirred. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Not going to High Passes, Chieftain?”

“Yes. But going other way. Past Liscor. Down south into Drake lands. West,
back through High Passes from other side.”

Garen grunted as he sketched a quick map. They’d have to go through

Liscor and loop a long ways around to get to the other side of the High
Passes. Spiderslicer made a face.

“Long trip.”

“Better than fighting hungry Eater Goats and Humans. Too many. Too much
slaughter.”

Spiderslicer grimaced and nodded. All that slaughter had called the Eater
Goats down from the High Passes. They’d be ravening, and might even
attack the Redfang tribe, red stripes or not.

“And after that, Chieftain?”

“After that?”

Garen gave Spiderslicer a blank look. He shrugged.

“After that—we’re in High Passes. We’ll fight. Train. Push Gargoyles out
of territory. Expand up, maybe. Find more Carn Wolves instead of horses.
Normal stuff.”

That was all Garen wanted. A return to normality. He saw Spiderslicer nod,
but hesitantly.

“What?”

The Goblin squirmed. He looked back at the others and they waved him on,
clearly saying ‘get on with it’. That was Spiderslicer’s trouble. He was an
excellent warrior, but he was no Redscar, brave with words as well as battle.
Spiderslicer muttered to himself, and then looked at Garen.

“Chieftain—we not fighting Goblin Lord? Or Humans?”

“No.”
Garen scowled. He looked around and raised his voice a little louder, so all
could hear.

“Too risky. Too many Goblins. Too many stupid Humans.”

The others nodded. It was suicide, even for Redfangs to fight that many.
Still—they looked at Spiderslicer. He hesitated.

“Could have fought with Flooded Waters tribe, Chieftain. Reiss—Goblin

Lord—was exposed.”

They could have cut towards him. Garen knew that. His scowl deepened.

“Yes, but—too risky. No way out. No. Let Reiss fight. Don’t need to waste
lives.”

Some of the Redfangs nodded, but most looked confused. Risky? That
wasn’t what Garen would normally say, and both they and he knew it.
Garen growled. Spiderslicer eyed him, but the peer pressure was too great
for him to drop it.

“So Chieftain. We go back. Then we fight Gargoyles. Get more wolves.

And…use key?”

He gestured obliquely to Garen’s side. Instantly, the chieftain clamped a

hand to the small key he carried on him at all times. Spiderslicer sat back on
his heels. Garen tried not to glare at him. He trusted Spiderslicer. He was
just asking. He forced himself to respond normally.

“Not yet. Other one missing.”

“Okay. We get?”

“Not yet. Later. I—I’ll come up with plan. Later.”

Garen growled. Spiderslicer nodded. He seemed to sense Garen’s patience

was at an end and looked back towards the others.

“Okay, Chieftain. Past Liscor. We ride soon?”

“Yes. Get ready.”

Garen watched the Goblin move back. He saw him exchange looks, not
quite glance back at him, and begin a rapid and furtive conversation with
the others. Garen didn’t need to know what they said. They were probably
debating his words.

They could sense it too. Garen didn’t know what he’d do after he got back
home. The High Passes always had something to fight, something to do.
But he didn’t have any plans beyond surviving there. He just knew he was
done. Done with Rags and Reiss and the Humans. Done with betrayal. After
all, what reason did he have to stay? It wasn’t his battle. It wasn’t his war.
Reiss could die fighting for his master. Garen didn’t care anymore.

He was going home.

—-

Olesm had seen armies passing by Liscor. Human ones, going to battle in
the Blood Fields. Recently he had seen the Goblin Lord’s army, a vast host
passing in the darkness. And he had seen Skinner’s undead—the hordes of
Face-Eater Moths. Each time he’d been cowed by the numbers, but he had
trusted Liscor’s walls to hold.

However, today he felt uneasy for a reason that had nothing to do with
numbers. The army of Cave Goblins spread out in front of him, twenty four
thousand strong. Enough Goblins to cover the muddy hills. They were
spread out, camped on the wet Floodplains. Some were fishing from the
water. Others were milling about, kicking mud at each other. A few were
trying to spar. But the rest were motionless.

They were staring at the city. Thousands of Goblins, just standing or sitting.
Staring. Olesm recognized the Hobgoblin leading them. Numbtongue.
“What are they doing now, Olesm?”

He turned. Wing Commander Embria was standing on the walls next to

him. She was staring at the Cave Goblins. She could see as well as he
could, but he stated the obvious for both their sakes.

“Nothing yet, Wing Commander. They’ve stopped chanting, but I expect

they’ll start up in a few minutes.”

The Cave Goblins were indeed silent. But that wouldn’t last. For the last
thirty minutes, they’d been chanting. A single name.

Redfang. They would shout it as one, scream it at Liscor’s walls, and then
go silent. But it would start up again, Olesm knew. He looked around.

The battlements were occupied. Full, in fact. The City Watch manned the
walls with bows, Gnolls and Drakes ready to unleash volley after volley.
But not just them. Embria’s 4th Company also held the walls, and Olesm
saw four of her [Captains] taking posts along the wall. And spread out
between Watch and Liscor’s army were other [Soldiers] in yellow armor.
Pallassian troops, the ones brought through the door before it had been
sabotaged. And if Olesm looked over his shoulder—

He looked and wished he hadn’t. A crowd of faces, furry and scaled, looked
up at him. Liscor’s citizens had gathered by the eastern wall, and they were
staring up at Olesm’s back. They’d heard the chanting of course, and you’d
have to be blind as a Dropclaw Bat to miss the Goblin army camped outside
the walls. There had been panic at first—people had thought it was the
Goblin Lord’s army. But Zevara had restored order and now everyone was
watching. Wary and silent.

“Could you take the Hob out with a spell? Would that disperse them, do you
think?”

Olesm looked up. Embria was eying the set of key-scrolls that triggered the
enchantments on Liscor’s walls. He covered them with one claw.
“I don’t have perfect accuracy, Wing Commander. And I don’t think that
would be wise. The Goblins might disperse if Numbtongue dies. Or they
might rush the city all at once.”

“Hrmph. I see.”

Embria looked disgruntled, but she dropped it. Privately, Olesm doubted the
Cave Goblins would do something as stupid as attack the walls, but he was
sure, absolutely sure that blasting Numbtongue was not in Liscor’s interests.
He drummed his claws on the stone battlements and then heard a voice.

“Watch Commander on the walls! Wall Lord on the walls!”

He turned. Zevara and Ilvriss were striding up the battlements. The Gnoll
who’d called them out, as per military rules, stepped aside. The two made a
beeline for Olesm and Embria.

“Wing Commander. Olesm. What’s the situation?”

“Unchanged, Watch Captain.”

Olesm eyed Zevara. She looked tired, grumpy, and sleep-deprived. Not
much different than usual, really, but she looked even more stressed than
normal. Ilvriss looked better—but even he seemed at a loss as he stared
down at the Cave Goblins.

“The citizenry have calmed down. We’re not in danger of a panic any
longer. I have also reassured the Walled Cities that were alerted by those
scatterbrained idiots in the Mage’s Guild that we were under siege.”

Ilvriss grumbled as he adjusted his armor. He was wearing a blood red

cloak made of what appeared to be liquid. Olesm eyed it, but forbade
comment. Ilvriss turned to him.

“So. The Cave Goblins have left the dungeon. And there are quite a bit
more of them than any of us expected. I take it this is related to the four
Hobgoblins in Liscor’s dungeon? And Miss Solstice, no doubt?”

Olesm winced.
“Yes, sir. I uh, think they’re angry. I didn’t know it would lead to this, I
truly didn’t. If I had known—”

Ilvriss shook his head.

“The fact that one of them got away is distressing, but it was the right move
to make. We could hardly have Hobgoblins running about, especially in
light of the Antinium Queen’s wrath. Not to mention this mysterious
bearded one in your report. My only concern now is this situation. How do
we resolve it? Thoughts?”

He looked at Zevara and Embria. The two female Drakes were silent.
Zevara was thinking. Embria looked at her, and then stood straighter.

“Give me command of the Pallassian forces and a thousand of the Watch

and I can rout the Goblins, Wall Lord. With fire from the walls and spell
artillery, we can easily defeat the Goblins.”

“What? No!”

Olesm’s jaw fell in horror. His tail curled up as Embria glanced sideways at
him. If Embria slaughtered the Goblins, Erin would never talk to him again.
Ilvriss also looked concerned, but for different reasons.

“You think you could achieve a victory with just two thousand soldiers and
your 4th Company, Wing Commander Embria?”

The fiery Drake nodded. She folded her claws behind her back.

“I told you we could take on a regular army twice our size, Wall Lord
Ilvriss. These Goblins lack Hobs—fully grown ones at any rate. With
archery support and at least two of Liscor’s wall spells it would be easy to
take them down in droves.”

“But that’s not a good idea. Respectfully, Wing Commander, Wall Lord.”

Olesm hopped from one foot to another in his urgency. Ilvriss looked at
him.
“How so, Swifttail.”

Embria looked annoyed as well. Perhaps she thought he was disputing her
abilities. Olesm tried to explain as fast as he could.

“I have no doubt that Wing Commander Embria could achieve a victory.

But it would cost hundreds of casualties, at least. Casualties Liscor cannot
afford. Moreover, Wing Commander Embria would rout the enemy. That
doesn’t mean the same thing as obliterating the Cave Goblins.”

“True. It would be impossible to slaughter them all.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin with a claw. Olesm nodded frantically.

“—and while that works with regular armies, it just means the Goblins
would go to ground and hide. And if they do, then they’ll heal up and pop
out when the Goblin Lord’s army gets here. So then we’ll have a bunch of
angry Cave Goblins—”

“—as well as the Goblin Lord and the Humans to deal with. Indeed. I don’t
suppose you could encircle and obliterate the entire tribe, Wing
Commander?”

Ilvriss sighed. Embria looked unhappy.

“No, Wall Lord. That would be impossible, I’m afraid. Or, as Strategist
Olesm said, not without excessive casualties. I could take down that Hob in
a lightning strike though…”

“Indeed. But that’s not the issue, is it? I doubt the Cave Goblins will
disperse from the loss of one Chieftain—if that Goblin even is the
Chieftain. There are five of them. We need to drive them off somehow
without incurring losses to the city. Perhaps it would be possible to—”

Embria and Ilvriss began to debate. Olesm watched them anxiously. He saw
Zevara look up from her study of the Cave Goblins. She glanced at him and
lowered her voice.

“That’s the Hob at Erin’s inn, right, Olesm?”

“Yes.”

“The one with the guitar?”

“Numbtongue.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“At a guess? His friends back.”

Zevara grunted. Olesm’s tail twitched nervously. This was all his fault.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have arrested them.”

“I would have. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“But maybe if—”

Olesm’s next words were cut off. He saw Numbtongue raise his guitar out
of the corner of his eye and his body was already wincing before the roar of
noise came up from the Cave Goblins.

“Redfang!”

It was one word, a roar of sound. Zevara recoiled and both Ilvriss and
Embria reached instinctively for their weapons. The City Watch half-raised
their bows, then forced themselves to hold. Numbtongue raised his arms
and the word rolled across the Floodplains again.

“Redfang.”

This time the cadence was different. Zevara frowned and turned towards the
others.

“They’ve been shouting that all this time?”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm watched Numbtongue lower his guitar, his stomach churning. Zevara
frowned. Her own tail was very still, but Olesm could see it slightly
squirming. She had to be holding it still so she wouldn’t alarm anyone else.

“I see. Then it seems to me, Wall Lord, Wing Commander, that the Cave
Goblins want a parley.”

“Parley?”

The other Drakes looked astonished. And affronted. Zevara nodded.

“They haven’t assaulted the city and that isn’t an aggressive formation.
They’re out of bow range and all they’ve been doing is chanting a name.
The name of the Redfang Goblins, in fact. We have four Hobs in lockup.
They’re the leaders of this tribe. Or allies. Or something.”

“So, what? We should release them under duress? Unacceptable.”

Ilvriss snapped. Olesm hesitated.

“Well…I did arrest them on a technicality. They were Goblins in the city,
which is illegal, but they were helping Erin—”

“And they’re Goblins. You’re not suggesting we accede to their demands,

surely, Watch Captain?”

Embria stared at Zevara. The older Drake glared at her.

“And what would you propose? An assault? This is an army we do not need
right now. The Hobs staying at Erin’s inn are reasonable—for Goblins, or so
I’ve been given to understand.”

She shot a quick glance at Olesm, who nodded slowly. Zevara shrugged.

“In that case, what do we have to lose by giving them what they want?”

“But if we return their leaders—”

Zevara brusquely interrupted Embria. She addressed Ilvriss, who was
staring down at the Goblins with narrowed eyes.

“Four Hobs won’t make a difference in the battle for Liscor. Twenty
thousand Goblins might. I propose we make a deal with them. If we can
force them to retreat south, towards the Blood Fields in exchange for letting
the other Hobs go—”

“We’d keep them from reinforcing the Goblin Lord. A sound idea, Watch
Captain.”

Ilvriss spoke slowly. He looked up, at Olesm, Zevara, and Embria.

“As options go, I think that is the best one in front of us. Unless you have
any better suggestions, Wing Commander? Strategist Olesm?”

Neither one did, although Embria looked upset. Ilvriss nodded.

“In that case, I would agree to Watch Captain Zevara’s proposal. It is

unprecedented—but it seems precedent is damned around Liscor in any
case. I have only one objection, though.”

“Which is?”

Zevara looked sharply at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord frowned.

“We do not negotiate with monsters. It is beneath us as a species.”

Olesm groaned internally. Zevara opened her mouth, but Ilvriss forestalled
her. He raised a claw, and then looked around.

“Someone get the Human.”

—-
After a few more minutes of rest, Garen ordered his tribe to keep moving.
They had to cover ground fast—not because they were afraid of the Goblin
Lord or the Humans catching up, but because Garen wanted to outrun his
nagging thoughts. So the Redfangs took a different strategy. Rather than
gallop on wolf or horseback the entire way, they jumped off their mounts
and began running alongside them.

It was a trick mounted units had used throughout the ages. The Redfangs
kept up a quick pace, letting the wolves and horses take up a slow gait, for
them. And when the Goblins tired, they leapt on the backs of their wolves,
resting until they were able to run again. It paced both rider and mount. The
only thing faster would be if Garen had multiple Skills that could enhance
his tribe’s speed all the time, like Rags. Or if they had enough stamina and
healing potions to run at full-sprint all day and night.

They did not. And it didn’t matter anyways, because their progress was
lightning-fast compared to the slow pace they’d taken while on the march
with the armies on foot. In no time, they were running down the wide pass.
Sparse trees and grass mixed with the rugged terrain. There was little of
worth here, although there were a few mining spots in the area, and space
enough for grazing or limited agriculture. Some people had thought it was
worth settling, because quick enough, Spiderslicer called out to Garen.

“City approaching!”

The scouts had spotted the sole city in the pass before it opened into the
Floodplains and Liscor. Garen saw the distant city as he passed by a bend in
the mountainous pass. He spoke a word.

“Esthelm.”

“Thought it got smashed.”

One of the Hobs commented. Garen shrugged. He’d heard the same. But the
city was standing and populated. There was damage along its walls, but it
looked repaired, and the walls were sturdy. And now that he looked twice,
there were a lot of Humans on the walls.
“[Archers]!”

A Redfang shouted a warning. The Humans had spotted their tribe and a
few were loosing arrows even now. They fell far short of the approaching
Redfang tribe, but it was enough to make Garen eye Esthelm twice. The
city was small, but its defenders looked ready for a fight. They must have
retaken the city. By the laws of leveling and classes, that meant they would
be tougher than before. Not a city he would assault if he had a choice. And
he didn’t need to anyways.

“Go around city. Ignore it.”

“Watch out for arrows.”

One of the older Hobs instructed the others. He looked to Garen, his one
good eye flashing at his Chieftain out of a scarred face.

“Chieftain, what to do if Humans shoot arrows?”

“Hmm?”

Garen turned his head. He looked for the grizzled Hobgoblin’s face, and
saw a Drake grinning at him instead.

Her scales were blackened, as if by soot. Many were missing, so her burnt
flesh stood out instead. On a Drake, it was a disturbing sight, but her entire
body was like that. Burned, ashy. Scarred by her nature. She was of the
Oldblood, but cursed by it. Fire burned within her and unlike the Drakes
who could breathe flame, it had ravaged her. She was an outcast among
Drakes, a Scorchling, rumored to be cursed or tainted. But those were only
rumors. To Garen, she was his friend.

Halassia Evergleam smiled as she thought about his question. She shrugged
lightly and tapped the wand at her side.

“Shoot arrows at you? Don’t worry about it. If they try, I’ll block the
arrows with a spell.”

“And I’ll swat them down, don’t worry about it!”

Another Drake, also female but broad-shouldered, laughed and slapped her
chest. She was a full Drake, but she was an outcast in a different way. For
different reasons. Ukrina had been exiled from Drake society for what she
was known for, rather than her looks. She was a Turnscale, a word Garen
didn’t quite understand. But it qualified her for the Halfseekers, who
accepted anyone who was outcast from society.

The two Drakes nodded. Garen turned and saw Jelaqua, riding ahead of
them and wearing a Gnoll’s body, turn.

“You still worried, Garen? Relax! You say this every time we visit a new
city.”

The others laughed. Garen hunched his shoulders.

“Went to this one before. Got caught.”

“Well, you didn’t kill anyone, did you? No? Then relax. It’s best to relax on
trips, yes? Relax, take a nap…do we have to work today?”

A purring voice from Garen’s left made him look. Keilam, the group’s third
[Mage] if you counted Moore—who doubled as a front-line fighter—draped
himself over his disgruntled mare. He was half-Gnoll, half Cat-tribe
Beastkin. He had inherited his feline ancestry, but there was enough Gnoll
to make him both sinuous and strong. Too barbarian for the Cat-tribe, and
too strange for Gnoll tribes. Wit and laziness came to him in equal
measures.

“Could still shoot arrows.”

Garen wasn’t convinced. Seborn shrugged. Moore stroked his chin, looking
worried. He had to walk; there wasn’t a horse large enough for him. Garen
was walking too, in solidarity. He hated riding horses anyways. They bit.

“I know the feeling. Some villages would shoot arrows at me. They thought
I was an Ogre or a Troll. Can you believe it? Me, a Troll?”

“I can believe it.”

An amused voice from Moore’s right made the half-Giant look down,
crestfallen. The half-Elf walking with him laughed up at him. Thornst, a
half-Elf from Terandria and the newest Halfseeker, grinned up at Moore.

“It’s not an insult, friend Moore. But you must admit, you’re a startling
sight to anyone who’s not seen a half-Giant before. They’ll panic, and when
they panic, the first monster that fits comes to mind.”

“I suppose so. It’s hurtful, though. But at least they hesitate. I can’t imagine
what it would be like to—”

Moore broke off and eyed Garen. The Hobgoblin pretended not to notice.
Halassia cleared her throat, shedding an ashy scale.

“Just stay behind us, Garen. Let me do the talking. We’re a Gold-rank team.
If they want to start a fight with the Adventurer’s Guilds, let them.”

“That’s right! Here’s to Gold-rank! I knew we’d make it! Let’s have another
party!”

Keilam waved a paw. The other Halfseekers grinned. Seborn just sighed.

“Some of us were Gold-ranks before we joined the team. It’s just that
we’re a certified team, now. It was going to happen.”

“Yeah, but there’s always time for another drink.”

Jelaqua grinned and slapped Seborn on the back. The Drowned Man
glared, but Jelaqua just laughed.

“Come on, everyone! To the city! And if Garen gets shot, we’ll buy him a
round. Watch for arrows, now!”

Garen grumbled as the others laughed. But he followed them, not as

worried as he normally was. After all, for his team he’d gladly take an
arrow, or a dozen—

Reality came back in a moment. Garen stared at the Hobgoblin with the
missing eye for a moment, and then came to his senses. It was like the
Chieftain’s memories, but stronger! He realized he’d been staring too long.
The others were looking at him. Garen raised his voice.

“Ignore arrows. Don’t shoot. Keep out of range. Get moving.”

He turned back and kept riding. Why was this happening? It didn’t happen
often in the High Passes. But these flashes of memory had been growing
stronger day after day. At first it had just been moments, or replayed
conversations. But now—

He’d never heard of another Chieftain remembering their own life like this.
But he knew some of them, like Rags, had dreams or visions of past
Goblins, uncontrollable ones. Sometimes it was need, or seeing a familiar
scene that brought it on. In Garen’s case…it was nostalgia. Unresolved
business.

Some days he wanted to ask them why. Why it had gone down like it had.
But the dead were dead and the living—impossible. Garen had been a
Halfseeker once. No more.

Reiss had called him a traitor. So had Greydath. But that was all wrong.
What had happened was—Garen closed his eyes.

No. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. He’d left it behind. He’d become a
Chieftain, gone back to his kind. He’d leave it behind him. Rags too. And
Reiss. Go back to the mountains. Forget. Garen urged his Carn Wolf to go
faster. But the memories kept coming back and back. Growing stronger. He
didn’t know why.

—-

In the end, three of them went to get Erin. Embria stayed on the walls just
in case. Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss walked together.
“Getting her to deal with the Goblins will be a hassle. But then again, I’d
expect nothing less.”

“Will she be willing to help is my question.”

Zevara muttered. She glanced at Olesm. The [Strategist] shrugged.

“I think—she does care about Liscor. But she cares about the Goblins. So…
I don’t know what to say.”

“If she cares about the Goblins she will tell them to move. Need we do
anything else besides release them?”

Ilvriss strode ahead of them, towards Liscor’s dungeon. Olesm coughed and
eyed the red cloak on Ilvriss’ back meaningfully.

“We might have to return their possessions, Wall Lord. Weapons and armor
at least.”

“What? Oh.”

The Wall Lord of Salazsar took a moment to figure out what Olesm meant.
He stopped and put a claw on the flowing cloak.

“But it would be a crime to—you don’t suppose I could provide a different

cloak in exchange? No?”

Zevara and Olesm exchanged a glance.

“That cloak’s not that valuable, surely, Wall Lord? It’s one of a few artifacts
the Goblins have. That damn bell, the axe that I have never seen before, that
cloak—it’s just a liquid cloak, right?”

“Liquid cloak? It’s not a—Great Ancestors. Have neither of you any
understanding of what this is? This is a Cloak of Plenty! It’s an incredibly
valuable artifact! Far more expensive than an axe!”

Ilvriss brandished the cloak at the two Drakes. Zevara raised her brows and
Olesm restrained the urge to whistle.
“A Cloak of Plenty? Are you serious, Wall Lord?”

He nodded.

“I tested it myself. It can replicate mundane liquids. Nothing magical or

complex mixtures, which rules out alchemical liquids, but with it you could
provision a thirsty army with water, or create a nourishing broth. Or supply
[Mages] with blood or other liquid reagents. Of course, that’s hardly the
only function of such a cloak. I would have it for myself.”

“How do you mean?”

Olesm couldn’t see Ilvriss needing a fresh supply of water, which was the
standard use for objects of plenty. He’d heard of cornucopias that dispensed
free food each day, which was a boon to armies and adventurers alike.
Although if you ate too much of the enchanted food alone, you’d eventually
grow sick. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s wine, Swifttail. Wine. There are fine vintages—incredibly fine ones—
that have no magical component to them at all. In fact, non-magical wines
are preferable to magical ones. When did the custom of adding magic to
every dish arise? As if that guarantees better taste—anyways, I digress.
With a single drop of a quality vintage, I could serve my guests the most
delicate bouquets at my estates each night without it costing a copper
penny. Even I would consider that a windfall in saved coin, although of
course I’d have to keep the cloak secret…”

He broke off, clearing his throat. Olesm and Zevara exchanged a glance.
That was Wall Lords for you. Ilvriss stroked the cloak.

“I suppose I must give it up?”

“I don’t think the Goblins care to trade, Wall Lord. Although I can ask Erin
if she’d be willing to intercede—I thought the cloak kept changing
properties, though. Wouldn’t that be inconvenient?”

Ilvriss looked mildly insulted.

“Changing properties? Oh, you mean if it comes in contact with another
liquid. That isn’t an issue, Olesm. Willpower is enough to fix the cloak into
whatever property I wish. In this case wine.”

He raised a fold of the liquid wine cloak. Olesm blinked.

“Have you been sampling that cloak all day, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss looked mildly abashed.

“Not me. I’m not drinking—I had my subordinates test the quality of the
cloak. Along with the [Innkeeper] in my inn and a number of interested
patrons. I believe they’re all asleep at the moment. The changing nature of
the cloak was not an issue. I knew what I wanted.”

“Really. In my talk with Erin, as uh, translator, she said the cloak kept
changing and the Hob who owned it—Rabbiteater—couldn’t get it to stop.”

“The flaw of being open-minded, one supposes. Curiosity will inevitably

lead to change. Ah well, if we must give it to the Goblins…I’ll ask about it
later. Dealing with this issue takes priority.”

The Wall Lord ignored the look Zevara and Olesm gave each other and
undid the claps of the cloak. He reluctantly handed it to Olesm and kept
walking.

A few [Guards] met them at the prison, along with the rest of the
Hobgoblin’s gear. Zevara eyed the collection of weapons and armor.

“Put it in a holding spot. We’re not letting them go just yet. How’s the
Human?”

The Drake on duty grimaced.

“Good, Watch Captain. Although we had to shut her up several times last
night and this morning. She kept trying to get the other prisoners to sing.”

“And?”
“She succeeded.”

Zevara stared at the Drake. Olesm sighed. That said it all, really.

“Anything else?”

“No, Watch Captain. Nothing from the Hobs. Or the Minotaur. The Gold-
ranks are clamoring to be let out, though.”

Zevara grimaced.

“I bet they are. Release the overnight prisoners then, with a warning. We’ll
see to the Human ourselves.”

The [Guardsman] nodded. He handed Zevara a key and followed them into
the prison. The three Drakes walked down the line of cells as those with
menial offenses were let go, provided they’d paid their fines. They walked
down to the major holding cells and Olesm froze as he saw a tall, horned
figure standing silently in his cell. Ilvriss stared at the Minotaur who stared
blankly at them and looked away.

“Scum.”

The Drakes turned to a cell just before Calruz. Four Hobs sat or stood in
their cells, watching the Drakes warily. A young woman lay on a cot. She’d
been standing, talking to the others, but she’d scrambled into her bed. She
stared up at the ceiling, hands folded behind her head, as Zevara paused
before the cage. She didn’t look up. The Watch Captain eyed Erin Solstice
and looked at Olesm. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Erin?”

She didn’t respond. Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain made a
face. Was Erin upset? She hadn’t been here more than a single night. Olesm
called out to her.

“Erin, we’re going to let you go. You’ve uh, served your sentence and
there’s a situation we might need your help with.”
“I can’t go back.”

Erin spoke slowly, not looking away from the ceiling. Olesm paused.

“Excuse me?”

He saw Erin’s head slowly turn towards him. The young woman spoke in a
slow, monotone voice.

“I can’t go back, Olesm. I’ve been in here too long. Prison’s changed me,
man. I’ve seen things. How can I return to the outside world?”

The Drakes stared at her. Olesm scratched the back of his head.

“This is an act, right? You’re doing something like those plays again.”

Erin stared at the ceiling.

“…No?”

Olesm sighed.

“Erin, this is an emergency. We don’t have time for—any of this!”

Erin blinked. She sat up a bit and eyed Olesm.

“It is? Okay, just a few more.”

To Olesm’s consternation, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s funny. I was an honest [Innkeeper] before all of this. I had to go to

prison to become a [Criminal]. [Thug]. Whatever. This is a [Thug]’s life,
y’know?”

Zevara slammed the cell door open.

“Get. Out.”

“Aw, fine.”
Erin swung herself up. She walked over, stretching. Then she blinked at
Ilvriss.

“Hey, Wall Lord. Hey, Zevara. Olesm. How’s the eye? Are you letting me
and the Redfangs out? Or just me?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss glanced severely at the watching
Hobs.

“That remains to be seen. For now, you will come with us. There’s a
situation that has arisen that—strangely—we believe only you can resolve.”

“Really? Me? Well, okay then. Let’s go. Hey guys, I’ll be back soon! Don’t
worry, I’ll get you out of here, even if I have to bake a cake! If I do—don’t
eat the entire thing, got it?”

Erin waved at the Hobs. They waved back. She smiled at them as she left
the prison, and then looked at Olesm. She didn’t smile then.

“So what’s the problem?”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He couldn’t look Erin in the eye. He’d been—upset
—yesterday. And maybe he’d made some rash decisions. But she had hit
him. However, Olesm was certain that he wasn’t going to be receiving an
apology any time soon.

“You’ll see. Follow us, and keep up.”

—-

It wasn’t that Erin resented being in jail for so long. Okay, she resented it a
bit. It was already past midday and quickly becoming evening and she was
sick of staring at the stone walls of her cell. Walking through the streets of
Liscor did feel great by comparison. Maybe there was something to going
to prison after all that gave you a new lease on life.
Anyways, Erin wasn’t about to hold a grudge. At least, not right now.
Something was up, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it had to do with
Goblins. Or that it was serious. Drakes and Gnolls were doing that
‘standing in the streets’ thing that meant something was occurring that city
life couldn’t work around. And they were coming up to Zevara and Ilvriss,
or trying to.

“Keep moving! Watch business! Clear the streets!”

Zevara barked orders and her [Guardspeople] headed off anyone trying to
get to her. The people of Liscor stared at her. And at Ilvriss. And Olesm.
And at Erin. She could hear them whispering, and caught fragments of what
was being said.

“—Watch Captain and Wall Lord. And the Strategist—”

“—the Human. You know, the one who runs The Wandering Inn? The one
with—”

“—friends to Goblins. Think she’ll—”

“—Goblin Lord camped right outside—”

Erin looked around nervously.

“So uh, what exactly is going on?”

“You’ll see.”

Ilvriss glanced impassively back at Erin. The Drakes led her up to the
eastern wall, past a large gathering of people. And Erin did see, then. She
stared at the Goblins, thousands of Goblins standing on the hilltops. She
listened to the roar as they shouted the Redfang’s battle cry. She blinked.

“Huh. That’s a lot of Goblins.”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblins. Her eyes found Numbtongue. She looked
around at the grim Drakes, the wary Gnolls.
“So what did you want me to do, again?”

“Get them to leave. Speak to that Goblin. Tell them we will only release the
Hobs once they march south. Fifty miles, perhaps. We’ll release the
prisoners then.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin stared at him. She looked at Numbtongue,
brave Numbtongue holding his guitar aloft like a banner. He still had the
manacles attached to his arms, the cuffs at least.

“And then what? They just leave?”

“If they return to the Floodplains we’ll bombard them. They cannot remain
here when the Goblin Lord arrives.”

Zevara’s eyes were hard as she stared at the Goblins. She glanced at Erin.

“You need to make them understand that.”

“I see.”

Erin looked at Olesm. He looked uneasy and kept glancing at her. She
gazed at Embria, who was watching her warily, and then looked back at the
Goblins.

It can’t be this way forever. Erin had said something like that to
Headscratcher in jail. And yet, when she looked at Numbtongue, at the
Cave Goblins—her heart hurt. They’d done no wrong. No wrong, if you
understood that they had been slaves to the Raskghar before that. And now
they were marching on Liscor, peacefully, all for Numbtongue’s friends.

“Okay.”

“You’ll do it? In that case—”

Zevara turned, relieved. Erin shook her head.

“No. Take me back to jail.”

She held out her hands. The Drakes froze.

“Wait, what?”

Erin looked at Olesm.

“I can’t deal with them. And I can’t get them to go. So…take me back to
jail. I hear we’re getting beef stew for dinner.”

“You cannot do that.”

Zevara stared at Erin. The young woman smiled, a bit mockingly.

“Oh yeah? Why not? I’m not cooperating. What’re you gonna do, arrest me
twice?”

“We could kick you off this wall for aiding the enemy.”

Embria offered. Ilvriss quieted her with a look. He stared at Erin and then
sighed.

“What do you want, then?”

Erin smiled.

“You’re willing to talk instead of give ultimatums?”

“If there is no other choice…my patience is limited, however. As are the

concessions I’m willing to make. The Goblins leaving is paramount. Tell
me your demands.”

Ilvriss looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“In that case, give the Redfangs back their gear and get ready to let them
go. And let me negotiate with Numbtongue. On my own terms.”

“You’ll get them to leave? Really?”

Olesm looked at Erin. She hesitated.

“I think so. He’s not an idiot. But you have to let the Redfangs go. I’m
positive Numbtongue won’t budge unless we do.”

A grinding sound came from Embria. She did not like this plan, any more
than the others did.

“And if we refuse? If we attack the Goblins or don’t release our hostages?”

Erin shrugged. She stared at Embria without blinking.

“If you kill them, or hurt them or refuse to let them go? I guess he’ll stay
put. Without hurting anyone or doing much more than this. Horrible, right?
He probably won’t hurt me or attack my inn. But I’ll bet you that when the
Goblin Lord arrives, Numbtongue will join right up. So there you are.”

She waited. Ilvriss looked disgusted and resigned by turns. Zevara just
nodded.

“We’ll get the Hobgoblins out of prison. We have some terms of our own.”

She outlined them succinctly. Erin shrugged.

“I’ll tell him that. Now, if you could let me get back to my inn? And give
me a key for Numbtongue’s shackles. Oh, and get me a new guitar. His is
broken.”

—-

Erin climbed down a ladder down to the muddy Floodplains. She still
couldn’t leave the city via the gates—not because of the water, but because
of the Goblin ‘threat’. She grimaced as her feet landed in the mud.

“Ew. Squishy.”
At least the bridge to her inn was still there. The valleys were still flooded
and Erin could make out dark shapes swimming in the murky waters. She
crossed her bridge, trying not to slip on the wooden slats as she clung to the
damp ropes. Her inn was farther away than she remembered it being—then
again, she’d been used to the magic door so she’d forgotten it was a ten
minute walk.

For some reason the magic door hadn’t connected to Liscor no matter how
long Erin had waited. So she made the journey on foot, key in hand. Zevara
had refused to get Erin a guitar and she hadn’t let Erin go buy one either.
Erin was nearly at her inn when the door flew open and someone rushed
out. Several someones, in fact.

“Mrsha, no, don’t jump—”

Erin yelped and nearly tumbled down the hill as Mrsha leapt at her. Her feet
skidded in the mud and Erin nearly fell butt-first into the mud. She was only
saved by Lyonette grabbing her. The two girls skidded halfway down the
hill, then saved themselves.

“Erin! You’re back! Are you okay?”

“I’m good! Mrsha, you’re covered in mud! Let’s get to the inn!”

Erin shepherded the muddy Mrsha up the hill and entered the inn. Lyonette
was speaking rapidly the entire time.

“You’ve seen the Goblins, right? Numbtongue is leading them! And there
was an attack on the inn while you were away, Erin! Someone stole the
door!”

“I heard. Olesm told me some of it. And we got the door back?”

“Yes! But the mana stone that connects us to Pallass is—”

“—gone. Which puts Liscor up poo creek without a paddle.”

Erin succinctly summarized the situation. She stared around her inn as
Mrsha went to roll on some white towels. She saw heads turn.
“Erin?”

Her inn was full. Not of her regular clientele, but adventurers. The Horns,
Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords…even teams like Bevussa’s Wings of
Pallass were there, sitting together. It seemed as though all the teams in
Liscor had congregated in Erin’s inn—they were the only ones willing to
leave the city with the Goblins so nearby.

“Erin! How was jail? Wait—how’s Bird? Lyonette asked at the Hive and
they only said that he was alive!”

Ceria stood up. Pisces sniffed as he passed by Mrsha.

“It seems we’re both fellow victims of incarceration now. Has your sojourn
in prison kept you from noticing the obvious, Erin? There are quite a
number of Goblins roaming the Floodplains.”

Erin laughed as her friends greeted her.

“Hi Ceria, hi Pisces. Yvlon, Ksmvr. Hey Halrac, Revi—yes, I saw the
Goblins, Pisces. I’m actually supposed to do something about them.
Bevussa! I just saw you and Keldrass in jail!”

The Garuda raised a mug and Keldrass nodded to her. Both teams were
sitting far apart and giving each other the stink-eye now and then. It had
been a brawl between a number of adventuring teams in the guild that had
landed them in prison.

“What are you going to do, Erin?”

The young woman paused. She was wiping away some mud with a towel—
not that it would matter since she was going right back out in the thick of it.
She scratched her head and shrugged.

“Talk to him. That’s all. I think it’ll be fine. But I need to go now, before
Zevara burns my inn down. I’ll be back in a moment to talk with you all.”

The adventurers exchanged a glance. Ceria cleared her throat.

“Need an escort? We have some things we need to tell you, Erin.”

“We’d be honored.”

Ylawes sat up. Erin frowned. She glanced around her inn and noticed a
conspicuous absence. And Lyonette was giving Erin a meaningful look.

“No…I think I’m good, Ceria, Ylawes. Adventurers make Goblins uneasy.
I’ll go and be back soon. Lyonette, can you walk with me part of the way?
Just for a few minutes. Not you, Mrsha. You have to stay.”

The Gnoll cub didn’t like that, but Yvlon picked her up and even squirming
as hard as she could, Mrsha couldn’t get free. She whined as Lyonette and
Erin left the inn. They walked down the hill and Erin grimaced.

“Ew. There’s a path, but it’s mud.”

Indeed, to get to where the Goblins were standing, Erin would have to go
up and down the hills, which meant walking through the mud and
occasionally through knee-deep water. If she slipped, Erin would tumble to
the bottom of the hill—which meant a reintroduction to water if the valley
was deep.

“There are boots and a special type of stick they use to walk around in. Do
you want me to try and get one?”

“No. I’ll walk. It’s a big mess and I can’t delay.”

Erin sighed. She and Lyonette began to slip their way down a hill and up
the first one. As they walked, Erin talked.

“So who stole the door? Any ideas?”

“No one knows. But some people came through it, from Celum. That’s why
Olesm confiscated the mana stone leading there. None of the adventurers
were happy. Also, this isn’t proof, but the night the door was stolen, that
[Magician]—Eltistiman—he vanished.”

“What? But I liked him.”

Erin’s face fell. Lyonette pursed her lips.

“He might be innocent. Or a victim.”

“You think so?”

“No. And neither does Olesm. There’s a bounty on his head.”

“Damn.”

Erin cursed. It felt wholly insufficient to the moment. She glared at nothing,
remembering the smiling, charming illusion-mage.

“Eltistiman Verdue. I’m gonna remember his…face. Not the name. If I see
that guy again, he’s gonna get what for. Okay, what’s the next problem?”

Lyonette glanced back at the inn.

“The door to Celum’s out. And so is the door to Pallass. All the adventurers
are stuck in Liscor and they want out.”

“Oh, is that why they’re all at my inn?”

“Yes. They won’t say as much to Watch Captain Zevara—much less Wall
Lord Ilvriss—but I think that even the Pallassian adventurers don’t want to
stay and fight. They all want to leave.”

“Makes sense. But Liscor will be under attack. And my door’s outta juice.
So what’s their plan?”

Lyonette glanced around again. But there was no one nearby. Just the
watchers on Liscor, the adventurers following their slow progress in the
mud—and the Goblins on the nearby hills. They were staring at Erin and
Lyonette, although not with hostility. So many watchers. It made Erin’s
shoulders itch. The [Princess] whispered to her, keeping a wary eye on the
Cave Goblins.

“They still want to use your door. They’re trying to leave Liscor, Erin.
They’re going north. Towards Celum.”
“Who is?”

“All of the adventurers!”

“You’re kidding. And Olesm is okay with that?”

“He doesn’t know! They’re taking a door with them with a new mana stone
embedded in it. I objected—so did Typhenous and Dawil and Ceria. They
wanted you to weigh in before they started this. But the other teams said
they had to go now, or at least get started.”

“Oh boy. That’s not good.”

Erin’s stomach, already a bit seasick from all the churning, began to make
gastric butter. Lyonette nodded.

“Remember how you got here from Celum? They’re doing the same thing
—but in reverse. They’re trading it off, going back through the door so only
one team has to carry it each time. They’re going to try and get to Esthelm
and hire horses—or a wagon to move faster—by tonight. They think they
can get out of the pass before the Goblin Lord’s army arrives.”

“Wonderful. At least it’s a tried and true method. And how far are they?”

“Jelaqua’s team was the first shift, and they left this morning. I think they’re
nearing the edge of the Floodplains by foot. It’s slow progress right now,
but soon—Erin, what are we going to do?”

“Tell Olesm. Or maybe not. I dunno. Liscor needs to be defended, but the
adventurers don’t want to fight. I’ll think about it. Right now I have to deal
with the Cave Goblins. You want to go back?”

“I’ll stick with you.”

Lyonette squared her shoulders. Erin smiled at her. The two climbed a hill.
And then they saw the Cave Goblins spread out ahead of them.

It was a strange sight. Goblins sat about on hilltops, twenty odd thousand of
them scattered in different spots. Some were cooking or sitting around the
fires, others fishing, or just…going about the task of living. Erin saw some
of them diving around the rift to the dungeon and hauling stuff up. The
Cave Goblins were everywhere.

“Holy smokes. I knew there were more than I thought, but this many?”

Erin blinked at the Goblins. Lyonette shook her head in wonder.

“There are so many. How are they feeding themselves? There’s no way the
food you were giving them was enough!”

“I think they had food from the dungeon. And—oh wow. Yeah, they have
food. Just not good food. Look at that.”

Erin pointed. She’d spotted the Cave Goblins bringing up something from
the underwater rift to the dungeon. Lyonette saw what they were lugging
across the muddy floodplains to a waiting fire. She put a hand over her
mouth.

“Is that—”

“Uh huh. That’s a dead, giant caterpillar. A dead caterpillar with hair.
They’re sautéing it.”

Lyonette turned green. Erin felt her stomach lurch.

“Well, I guess monsters from the dungeon are like…half of their food
supply. I did wonder what all that salt and oil was being used for. And
they’ve got fish here, cooking equipment…”

Pleasantly, the only smells the two girls were inhaling were coming from a
nearby cook fire, where some Goblins were frying up muddy fish they’d
scooped from the valley-lakes. Erin stared at them, to get the image of
Goblins sawing chunks off the caterpillar out of her head.

“I’m going in. You stay put, Lyonette. Or go back. That caterpillar’s gonna
smell soon.”

“What does Zevara want you to do?”

Lyonette called after Erin as the [Innkeeper] began to walk down the hill.
Erin didn’t respond.

What did Zevara want her to do? What did Ilvriss and Olesm want? Well,
they wanted her to wave her hands and make the Goblins go away. They
were about to fight a war. A war. And Erin was going to be caught up in it.

It didn’t feel quite real. Erin had trouble taking it seriously. War was coming
to Liscor? Actual armies and a siege? She couldn’t imagine it. She’d never
seen an army—well, the Goblin Lord maybe—but the idea of a bunch of
Humans, her people, coming to attack Liscor? It was too much to imagine.

Erin thought of Magnolia and her incredible mansion. She remembered the
landscape flashing by as she rode with Reynold. Hundreds of miles of land
she’d never set foot on. An entire world and politics and people she knew
nothing about. Liscor was her home. She’d only gone to Pallass, and even
then, she’d barely explored the city. All she knew was this one place.

In some ways, Erin knew so little of this world for all the time she’d been in
it. She wished Ryoka were here, to give her some perspective. She wished
she knew more of what to do. But as she walked down the hill and the Cave
Goblin’s heads turned, she knew there was no one who could give her
advice. She saw a ripple go through the Cave Goblins, and then a tall figure
appeared at the top of a hill. Erin stared up and smiled.

“Numbtongue.”

He walked down the hill towards her, his eyes wide. She smiled up at him
as Cave Goblins poured over the sides of the hills. They watched as Erin
and Numbtongue met. The Hobgoblin [Bard] and Human girl stared at each
other. Then Erin smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Numbtongue was oddly shy. Erin smiled. She reached out and hugged him.
A susurration ran through the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue froze, and then
patted Erin on the shoulder. Erin stared at his hands. The shackles had been
broken—snapped by a bunch of impacts by the looks of it. She dug in her
pocket.

“I’ve got a key for those cuffs. Let’s go find somewhere dry to sit, okay?”

The two found a dry spot to sit. Next to a fire, actually. The Cave Goblins
had found some kind of fuel supply—made it, rather. Erin saw dried grass
pellets being tossed into fires along with the precious and scarce wood. She
asked Numbtongue about it.

“They dragged it from the pass.”

He pointed north. Erin’s blinked.

“That’s far! And they carried all that wood here?”

He shrugged.

“Lots of wood is easy to carry. If you have lots of hands.”

“That’s true.”

They sat together in silence for a bit. A small Goblin with a huge chef’s hat
came by and offered Erin some roast fish. To be polite, Erin nibbled it and
found it was actually really good.

“Thanks, Pebblesnatch. You’ve outdone yourself!”

The Cave Goblin beamed with pride. She adjusted her hat and walked off
self-importantly. Numbtongue watched Erin spit out a fish bone. At last, he
came out with it.

“Are they alive? Is Bird alive?”

“Yes, and yes. They’re both fine. Bird’s in the Hive. Klbkch won’t say how
he’s doing, but he made it. And the Redfangs are in prison. I was with them
just now and they’re fine.”
Numbtongue breathed out slowly. He relaxed, and some of the tension in
him that had been there all day slowly eased. Erin looked at him.

“You did a lot while I was in jail, huh?”

“Yes. I did not know what to do. So I did—”

Numbtongue waved a claw at the Cave Goblins. Erin looked at them. Some
were carrying weapons. Others were even sparring, practicing fighting in
the mud. Some were cooks and some—

“Are they making guitars?”

She pointed. Numbtongue glanced at a group of Goblins energetically

carving at a piece of wood and fumbling with pieces of string.

“Maybe. Will Liscor let my…will they let the Hobgoblins go?”

“Yes. I think so. But it’s tricky. You scared them, Numbtongue. You know
what’s happening, right?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged again.

“The Goblin Lord is coming. Humans are forcing him to attack Liscor. A
big war is coming. Dangerous. For Drakes, for Gnolls…for Humans too.”

“That’s about it. How do you know about what’s going on?”

Erin was impressed. Numbtongue didn’t look that surprised by what was
happening. He tapped one ear.

“People talk in the inn all the time. No one pays attention to listening
Goblins. Even big Hobs.”

“Huh. Okay. So…what is your tribe going to do?”

“If they let the others go—”

“They will.”
“—then we will go south. No point staying here. It would be a pointless-
death. Against Humans. Against the Goblin Lord.”

Erin glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“You wouldn’t join up with him?”

He bared his teeth.

“No. He is our tribe’s enemy.”

“But you don’t know where your tribe is.”

Numbtongue hesitated. He bowed his head.

“No. Don’t even know if Chieftain is alive. I think she is. But I don’t
know.”

Erin was tempted to ask who his Chieftain was. She’d never gotten a
chance to talk. In fact, this was the most Numbtongue had ever said to her
without being coaxed. She thought about what he’d said.

“Okay. So you’re going south.”

“Yes. We’ll take Cave Goblins south. Go west, towards High Passes. That is
home. Maybe our tribe went back. Maybe—we know how to live there.”

“That’s a long way away.”

“Yes.”

Numbtongue looked towards Liscor, and then past it. He looked at Erin.

“Liscor will let my brothers go?”

Erin smiled.

“If they don’t, you’ll stay here. And that would be bad for them. They think
you might join the Goblin Lord. So yeah, they’ll let Headscratcher and the
others go.”

“Good.”

Numbtongue nodded a few times. Then he hesitated. He looked at Erin.

“The Human army is coming. The Goblin Lord is coming. They’ll kill a
city and start a war. Will you stay? Will you run? We can protect you.”

The question caught Erin off-guard. She hesitated.

“I—I’m not going. Not yet. But I don’t want to leave you guys. I was
thinking—I’ll send a magic doorway with you. How about that? That way,
you can stay at my inn.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. I heard how you protected my inn. And got the door back.
Thank you for that.”

Erin smiled at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked abashed. He waved a

claw.

“We saw the door. Saw Humans—[Rogues]. Ambushed them. It wasn’t a

fair fight.”

“Well, that’s the best kind of fight. And I was in jail the entire time. It’s not
actually that bad in there. But I got out early because you showed up.”

“Sorry?”

Erin laughed. Numbtongue smiled, and for a second the two sat together.
Erin had so many things she wanted to say, or ask, or do. But she thought of
the adventurers marching north and knew she couldn’t. Regretfully, she
stood up.

“They’ll let the other guys go now. Zevara says she’ll do it as a sign of
goodwill—but if you’re not gone by night, she’ll start bombarding you with
spells. So…I guess that’s sorta nice. For her.”
“For her. We’ll leave as soon as I see the others.”

Numbtongue agreed. He stood up with Erin and looked towards Liscor. She
saw movement on the battlements and waved her hands. That meant ‘yes’,
or so she’d agreed with Zevara. Numbtongue stood beside her. He hesitated.

“Is it a good idea? Going away? We—I feel like it’s running away.”

Erin frowned. She looked at Numbtongue.

“But this isn’t your battle. It’s a silly Human thing. And a Drake thing, I
guess. The Goblin Lord’s a Goblin, yeah, but he’s not your problem.”

For a long time the Hobgoblin hesitated. He looked at Erin. He opened and
closed his mouth and then whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, but you’re—”

He didn’t get to finish. Erin jumped up excitedly.

“Hey. There they come! Look, look!”

Numbtongue’s head snapped around. He saw four shapes appear on the

battlements. The Cave Goblins leapt to their feet. The figures were tiny, but
familiar. Numbtongue watched as a rope ladder was lowered, and the
people on the wall exchanged brief words with the Hobgoblins. Then,
slowly, they began to descend.

“There they are! I told you! Headscratcher and Badarrow and—whoa!

Where’s everyone going?”

The Cave Goblins charged across the muddy plains as one. On the walls,
the Drakes readied themselves, but the Goblins weren’t headed towards
them. They swarmed towards the four figures that walked towards them.
The Redfang Warriors were surrounded in an instant. Numbtongue and Erin
stood together. Erin was smiling. Numbtongue couldn’t contain his grin
either. She turned to him.
“Well, that’s that. You guys should start going south. But stop by my inn—I
need to get a door and a mana stone. Or—can you bring the one from your
cave? I’ll get in contact with you tonight, but I have this thing with
adventurers…”

He looked at her. There were so many things Numbtongue wanted to say.

And do. Not least of which was hug her again, but he was too embarrassed.
But if he could talk to her—he hesitated.

“You’re going?”

She smiled at him. A kind smile, a happy one. The kind that lit you up from
your toes to the top of your head.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. But it’s okay! I’ve got a magic door. We’ll see each
other tonight. Just get somewhere safe. You and the Cave Goblins shouldn’t
get mixed up in all this mess.”

“What about you?”

She was already marching down the hill, back towards her inn.
Numbtongue could see his friends, his companions, running towards him.
He saw Erin turn. Heard her call out.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet.”

And then she was gone. Erin took two steps, slipped, and cursed as she
slipped and fell down the side of a hill. Numbtongue listened to her
swearing a blue streak, and then turned. His four brothers came towards
him, surrounded by a tribe. Only, they weren’t Chieftains. Not proper ones.
And they had no purpose or place. Except here. Numbtongue narrowed his
eyes. He stared back at Erin. At her inn. And at Liscor.

Well then. It was time to speak with Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and
Rabbiteater. And really figure out what they were going to do next.

—-
The Redfang tribe was rounding the last bend in the pass leading to Liscor.
They could already smell the moisture ahead of them, the mud and
evaporating water in the air. Their Carn Wolves panted, and Garen
wondered if they’d have to swim across the Floodplains. Probably not. Rags
had said it would drain around now. Was that why the Humans were driving
Reiss’ army this way? What was their plan?

Not that he cared. Not that it mattered. It was just that if Reiss was going to
die, Garen would like to know. He was going to fail, obviously. His master
was deranged and a monster. Reiss would never realize his stupid dream.
He might have, with Garen’s help. With his help, Garen could have defeated
any enemy. But he’d betrayed Garen.

Just like the others. Just like—

They came up across one another as the Redfang Tribe raced past a cave set
into the side of a mountain. Strangely, it looked like there were Goblins
around here, and the Redfangs had paused to investigate. They were
heading inside the cave, noting the archery targets and deforestation of the
area—sure signs of a growing tribe—when one of the sentries whistled.

Travellers on the road. Three!

Garen relaxed. Three travellers—no matter who they were—weren’t a

match for his warriors. Still, he decided to check them out himself, in case it
was three [Mages] or something dangerous. He rode his Carn Wolf down
the road and saw a strange sight.

Three people were headed up the road, talking to each other, laughing. They
weren’t your run-of-the-mill wanderers either. One was huge, a man, but a
giant as well, easily eight feet tall, possibly nine. He wore patchwork
clothing, smaller strips sewn together to fit his frame. He walked with a
staff in hand, and under his arm he carried a wooden door of all things.
Inset in the door’s frame was a glowing white stone.
Beside him walked two smaller folk, but both just as unique. One was a
Drake, or at least, appeared to be a Drake on first glance. Her scales were
too pale, and no blood flowed beneath her skin. She was dead. Or at least,
her body was. She carried a flail on her shoulder, but wore only light leather
armor.

The last was a man who seemed to blend with the shadows, even in the
light. He wore dark clothing and half his body was carapace, his left hand a
crab’s claw as opposed to his hand. His face, his leg—his left side looked
like it had merged with some kind of crustacean from the ocean. And
indeed, it was from there that he had come. He seldom laughed, but he did
smile, if you looked for it.

The three were adventurers. And they had been walking for a while to judge
by the mud stains on their clothing. Nevertheless, they were in good humor.
They walked easily. Until they saw the Goblins, that was.

The Redfang Tribe spread out in front of the cave made the adventurers
freeze. But rather than scream, flee, or panic, they moved at once, setting
themselves together and preparing for combat. Their leader, the Selphid,
shouted for the half-Giant to send a [Message] spell. The Redfangs roused
themselves, sensing a fight. They looked to their leader, waiting for the
order to attack.

But it didn’t come. Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, frozen. He stared
at the three adventurers. They were here. As if his mind had called them
into existence. Or perhaps they had called to him. Almost exactly as he
remembered them. And as the three adventurers looked around, weighing
the odds, bracing themselves for the worst, they looked up and saw him.

All three froze. Garen stared into Jelaqua’s eyes as she went limp with
shock. At Moore, who froze, door half-raised like a shield. At Seborn, who
gripped his daggers and uttered an oath. At his friends. And he saw hatred—
and the knowledge of what he’d done. The blood—

The blood was on his hands. It ran from the tabletop, dripped onto the floor.
Blood. It splashed across the rest of the room as well. The private sitting
area the Halfseekers had requested to divide up their loot was painted with
it.

Blood. So little of it was Garen’s own. It dripped from the bodies. Four of
them. Garen looked around. Slumped shapes. Twisted expressions, caught
in their final moments. And then one of the bodies moved and he realized
she was still alive.

“You—you’re just—”

Halassia Evergleam croaked, blood running around her bloody scales. For
once they weren’t ashy or black. Red and black mixed as she tried to raise
the wand, not realizing that her clawed hand was severed. Torn flesh and
bone stared at Garen as he looked down at her.

“They’re all—all dead.”

Dead. Yes. Garen looked around. Keilam lay in a pool of his blood, dead
before he’d been able to chant a spell. Thornst was fallen, bow in hand.
Like Keilam he’d not been able to attack in the brief moments before his
death. Ukrina’s body lay in the center of the room, surrounded by
destruction. She hadn’t fallen half as easily. And she had fought until her
body was nothing but tatters.

The last was Halassia. He’d thought he killed her in the first moments, but
she’d survived. The Scorchling gurgled, and blood ran from her mouth. She
looked at Garen, and the hate in her made him flinch.

“We never should have taken you in. Never. We shouldn’t have trusted you.
You can’t trust—they’ll get you for this. You. Traitor. I hope you and every
last one of your kind burns in—”

She raised her stump of a hand and Garen saw a flash of magic. He moved
unconsciously, reflexively. The crimson blade he had named Redfang buried
itself in Halassia’s chest. She jerked once, fell still. And then it was over.

Garen stood in the room, surrounded by his friends, his companions. Blood
ran over the treasure they’d worked so hard to acquire that day. It ran over
the key he held in his trembling left hand. He stared down at his bloody
blade, the key, and then at his team. Four out of the seven people he trusted
more than anything in his life. Dead. By his hand.

Garen screamed, then. He screamed and screamed, until his throat was raw.
Then he ran, key in hand. He fled the city, ignoring the Humans who
panicked at the sight of him, covered in blood. He ran and ran, knowing
there was no way back. But it wasn’t his fault. He had been betrayed. He
had done the killing but it wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t his—

“Hey. Is that who I think it is?”

Jelaqua spoke dreamily. She looked at Moore and Seborn and shook herself.
The other two were staring. Jelaqua stared at the Hobgoblin sitting astride
the Carn Wolf. She blinked. Rubbed at one eye. Then she looked up.

“I’ve gotta be dreaming. Moore. Moore. Hit me!”

The half-Giant blinked. He looked down and swatted Jelaqua across the
back of the head. The watching Goblins heard a tremendous thud, slightly
hollow. Jelaqua fell over. When she got up, there was a dent in the back of
her head. She felt at it and grinned.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not dreaming. That’s Garen.”

The name made the other two start. Seborn straightened. Moore ground his
staff into the ground.

“Here? After we looked for so long?”

“Yeah. And here I thought we’d have to go into the High Passes with an
army one day. And here he is. Funny coincidence, that.”

Jelaqua smiled. She looked at the other two.

“You up for this? Moore, you might wanna cancel that [Message].”
“Right.”

The half-Giant put a finger to his temple. He let the door fall onto the
ground with a soft thump. Seborn eyed the watching Goblins. The Redfangs
hadn’t moved from their spot. They were looking at Garen and at the
adventurers, waiting, but growing more and more confused by the second.
And Garen was just watching, his eyes flicking from face to face.

“Seborn.”

“Jelaqua.”

The two turned to each other. They shook hands. Then Moore lowered his
fingers from his temple. He breathed out raggedly.

“I told them. It’s done. Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

Jelaqua slapped Moore on the arm. Seborn touched the half-Giant’s elbow.
The three walked forwards. Jelaqua smiling. Moore’s eyes on Garen’s face.
Seborn reaching for the daggers at his sides.

“Hey Garen. Long time no see!”

Jelaqua called out cheerfully. Garen started. He looked down as the Selphid
walked towards him. The Goblins and Carn Wolves growled warningly, but
the Gold-rank adventurers had no eyes for them. The four thousand Goblins
could have been dust to Jelaqua. She looked up at Garen and smiled.

His former captain. His former friends. They spread out, adopting an old
formation. Only, there were five empty spaces. So it wasn’t a formation, but
a memory. A calling. Jelaqua beamed up at Garen as she gripped the flail
with both hands. For a moment she was the Jelaqua he remembered. She
spoke softly, her eyes meeting Garen’s.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

Then she screamed and leapt for him. Seborn drew his blades and Moore
bellowed. It was a sound that made the howling Carn Wolves fall silent, that
sent a cold jolt of fear through Garen’s heart. A sound as loud as grief, a cry
torn by years of anguish, of hatred and rage. Jelaqua took up the cry and
Seborn charged, silent. They came for him, with all the fury in the world.

Old friends. Garen drew his sword. Familiar faces. Friends for life. The flail
whirled towards his head. Twin daggers sought his heart. His family. A staff
fell towards his head like thunder.

The Halfseekers.

Together at last.
 5.58

They came for him. Three of them. Old friends. They charged forwards,
howling, ghosts from his past, aiming at him through thousands of Goblins.
For a second Garen was frozen, staring into each face. Then he reacted. He
drew his sword and time slowed.

In battle, time always felt elongated to Garen. It wasn’t that he didn’t move
as quickly, but his mind outpaced his body. He turned his Carn Wolf as the
three came at him and saw his tribe react. Like him, they had been caught
off-guard by the Halfseekers’ attack. But only for a moment. As they saw
the Gold-rank adventurers going for their Chieftain, they moved to
intercept, to bring the three down.

Just like Garen had taught them. In fact, his entire tribe had been forged,
trained for this very moment. Garen had dreamed of a day when his past
would catch up to him. He had imagined an army of adventurers, a war in
the High Passes. Instead he fought in a quiet bend in the road, next to a
cave, just north of Liscor. It changed nothing. The three didn’t so much as
hesitate, though they had to know the odds.

They didn’t stop.

The first was Jelaqua. She ran ahead, so fast that she was running past Carn
Wolves and Goblins on horseback as they turned to catch her. Her legs
moved at a pace few creatures could match, Skills or not. She was wearing
a Drake’s body, the skin dead and pale. But Garen knew her by the two-
handed flail she whirled around her, and the look in her eye.

A Goblin raced at her, falchion raised. Spiderslicer slashed down at Jelaqua

and she twisted. The whirling flail struck Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf and
nearly struck the Goblin in the face as Spiderslicer pulled back. He cursed
—the other Goblins were caught by the spinning flail and screamed in pain.
Jelaqua kept running. She was already rampaging, forcing her body beyond
its normal limits.

“Garen!”

She screamed his name. The Hob turned in his saddle. He was urging his
Carn Wolf away, further behind his warriors. He couldn’t afford to fight her.
Jelaqua was—she had been his Captain. When she was using a fresh body
and rampaging, she was stronger and quicker than he was. Or, she had been.
Her flail could strike from any angle. She’d stop him, and let the other two
catch up for the kill.

“Archers!”

The word came not from Garen’s mouth, but from Spiderslicer. The Goblin
raced around Jelaqua, pointing at her. Goblins grabbed bows, and a Hob
lifted his spear. Jelaqua ignored the threat. She crashed into a pair of riders
who charged at her with stolen lances and downed both in a moment. Their
horses collapsed, screaming. Jelaqua knocked one aside, looking for Garen
—

And a spear struck her in the back. It passed through her leather armor and
embedded itself in her right shoulder blade. The force made Jelaqua stagger.
The Redfang warriors shouted in triumph and moved forwards to finish her
off.

“No, back!”

He bellowed at them too late. They came at her, eight of them from every
direction. Jelaqua turned, and her flail spun.

Death. Garen heard the sickening thumps, saw his warriors fall. Jelaqua
turned and the Redfangs faltered. The spear stuck out of her back, but she
did not bleed. She looked around and Garen and Jelaqua both saw the other
two faltering. Goblins were intercepting both. Jelaqua cursed.

“You two! Go! I’ll cover you!”

She ran back. The Redfang Warriors heard her of course, and moved to
intercept. They were contemptuous, still. There were thousands of them,
and they’d fought and killed Gold-rank adventurers before. What could one
warrior do?

Everything. Nothing. Garen was looking for a spot to make a stand. He saw
Jelaqua leap, bring down two warriors as her flail tore at the air. She landed
and the other two ran past her. The other Redfangs were slowed by the zone
threatened by Jelaqua’s spinning flail. They hesitated, realizing how
suicidal it would be to charge. So instead they raised their bows and shot
her.

Arrows snapped and spun as Jelaqua’s whirling flail caught some mid-
flight. But she couldn’t strike them all down. Again, Jelaqua staggered as
arrows struck her from all sides. One struck her in the cheek and the
Redfang Goblins roared. Again they surged forwards. Jelaqua crushed the
first wave and the second without slowing. The Redfang Warriors backed
up, wide-eyed. An arrow struck Jelaqua in the chest and she didn’t slow.
And then they realized.

She didn’t bleed.

Garen saw his tribe slow, bottlenecked by the Selphid. It wasn’t that they
couldn’t run past her or around her, but she dominated the field. Redfangs
didn’t run from a fight. But they had never fought a Selphid before. Jelaqua
turned, the spear sticking out of her back. The spear splintered as the
whirling flail struck the haft. The tip of the spear twisted in Jelaqua’s back.
She turned and the Redfang tribe saw no fear in her eyes, no pain.

“Go! I’ll hold them here!”

She called at her companions. But it was a futile boast. Garen saw it. The
other two were still far from him and Jelaqua couldn’t hold his warriors.
Not alone. He dared to relax. He’d ridden around the perimeter of his tribe
rather than charge in. Against any other adventurers he would have. But
them? He met the burning gaze that hid behind Jelaqua’s body. The
intelligence that lived in the dead body, Jelaqua’s true form, stared back.
Not them. Not her. He would let his warriors bring them down. Garen
relaxed. He stared down at the strange thing they’d dropped. A door, lying
on the grass. Strange. It was just a…door. As if someone had yanked it off
its hinges. Garen frowned down at it. Why would they be carrying…?

Then he saw the white, glowing stone set in the door brighten. The door
moved. It swung over in the grass. Garen’s Carn Wolf leapt back. He saw
another place appear where grass should be. He stared down, into a room
that looked like an inn—and then he saw something blue charging at him.
The feathered adventurer leapt and Garen saw her dive forwards, and then
she was flying up through the door and into the sky.

“Wings of Pallass! On me!”

Bevussa shrieked and the other three Drakes flew through the door. They
shot up into the air and faltered—they had run through the door, but
because it was on the ground, they had shot straight up. They turned and the
Redfangs looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of these strangers.
But then Spiderslicer pointed and bows raised. Goblins drew back, aiming
for the fliers.

The Wings of Pallass didn’t hesitate. As their leader shouted, they dove, and
the arrows missed. They slashed down, striking, and four Goblins fell,
struck from behind and above. The Wings of Pallass flew up again as more
arrows flew, choosing another target as the Redfang tribe scattered, trying
to adjust to this new foe. Garen snarled. He urged his Carn Wolf towards
the door—

And then there was fire.

Another figure jumped out—a Drake wearing full-body plate armor. He

spat blue fire and the Goblins retreated, Carn Wolves howling and bounding
away to roll on the ground. More Drakes ran out of the door, leaping up and
them stumbling, finding themselves oriented differently. The first group was
like the Drake, and breathed fire. The next was a Human in armor. A half-
Elf who began throwing spells, a Dwarf who climbed out of the door and
pushed himself up.
Adventurers. They were coming from the open door, from another place!
Garen roared and pointed at it.

“Break the door!”

His warriors moved to obey. They charged the adventurers. Garen turned.
His Carn Wolf howled, and Garen swatted at the fire that had ignited part of
its coat. He heard a voice coming from the open door as he backed away
from it, eying the adventurers, looking for a weak spot. The Drakes in
armor were tough, forming a wall. The [Knight] and Dwarf both wore
heavy armor, but that half-Elf—

“Move the door! Move the fucking door! We’re jumping out the wrong
way!”

Revi screamed as she and Griffon Hunt waited on the other side. Halrac was
standing at the door as Dawil and Yvlon wrestled it upright. The [Scout]’s
hand shot up and he snatched an arrow aimed at Typhenous out of the air.
Revi ducked as the Redfangs began shooting arrows through the doorway.

“Get clear! Get the civilians outside or upstairs! And get the other teams!
Tell Erin—”

Garen saw more adventurers gathered behind the team in the doorway. He
snarled. A portal door? Well then, he’d break the door and cut the
adventurers off. He pointed forwards, uttered a command. His Carn Wolf
whoofed, and turned its head. Garen felt a prickle on his spine and turned as
a shadow blocked the setting sun. His heart skipped a beat.

A huge head covered in thorns blocked the light. A body wreathed in an

armor of vines reached out. Garen’s huge Carn Wolf, the largest of its kind,
snapped and bit. The colossus swatted it aside, knocking Garen from the
saddle. His staff swung—the Redfangs trying to charge him flew like
broken toys.

There he stood. He’d simply run through the lines of Garen’s tribe. His eyes
shone with the magic of the green. But he didn’t use magic. He just swung
again, and Garen had to roll away or die as the staff thudded into the ground
where he had been. He looked up, at the half-Giant who claimed the sky.

“Moore.”

A fist punched down at him. Garen dodged left, cutting at the hand.
Moore’s [Armor of Thorns] spell took most of the cut, but Garen’s crimson
blade sheared through the thick vines. But Moore’s skin was barely cut.
[Barkskin]. Garen twisted. He saw a staff swinging at him, and ducked
rather than block. It whistled over his head. Moore let go of his staff as
Garen charged forwards, trying to get past the half-Giant. He grabbed at
Garen, bellowing.

“You! How could you? How dare you? They were your friends! We were
your friends!”

Garen didn’t reply. He cut at Moore’s legs. He had to bring Moore down,
get behind his warriors. Or else finish him.

Finish him? Garen hesitated. The half-Giant did not. One hand shot out.
Garen reflexively stabbed at it. This time his strike was good.

The tip of his sword pierced Moore’s palm, with almost no resistance.
Garen stared in horror at the splintered bone and flesh. He heard Moore
scream. He tried to pull the blade out—then caught himself and began to
twist. But the hand never stopped. It closed around Garen and he felt the
thorns and vines dig into his flesh. Something squeezed him, grinding his
bones and flesh together. Moore raised him up.

“Thornst! Keilam! Ukrina! Hallassia! Do you remember them?”

He slammed Garen into the ground, and Garen’s entire world went black for
a moment. The Goblin woke up staring at Moore. The half-Giant’s fist was
raised. Garen blinked at it.

“Nice punch.”
He and Moore stood together in the bar. Or rather, what remained of it. The
brief bar fight had carried them halfway out into the street, but given the
wrecked walls of the bar, that meant they could still stare back inside. Two
adventuring teams lay slumped over as the horrified bar owner stared
around at the destruction.

The half-Giant groaned and massaged his knuckles. Garen grinned up at

him. Moore looked a bit reproachful as he shook his head.

“Don’t say that. I regret it, Garen. Truly. That man shouldn’t have drawn
steel on you, but this?”

He gestured to the devastation. Garen eyed it and wondered if it would

mean they’d have to leave the city. Again. He hoped they wouldn’t have to
pay for the damages; the City Watch would surely want someone to pay, but
they were too afraid to approach right now. He could see them hanging
back, calling for reinforcements.

“He started it. Captain will agree.”

Moore sighed. He ran one huge hand through his hair worriedly, as he
often did when he was around Garen. Or Jelaqua. Or Ukrina.

“It’s not about who started what, Garen. We’re all adventurers. We should
be working together, not fighting over issues like species. If we could show
them that not all Goblins are monsters—”

He broke off, sadly shaking his head. Garen looked up at Moore, blinking.
He didn’t often understand the half-Giant. Moore was a walking
contradiction. He hated fighting, but he had just thrown a Gold-rank
adventurer through a wall. He spoke of peace, but he slew monsters for a
living. Garen didn’t know what to make of Moore. But he couldn’t help but
like the half-Giant, for all he had been with the Halfseekers only four
months. Moore was a gentle soul. He grinned and looked up.

“Want to kick them?”

“Honestly, Garen…”
The half-Giant’s fist fell downwards. Garen raised his arms, crossing them,
trying to block. Moore roared a word.

“Murderer.”

The fist crushed Garen against the ground, a hammer blow that made the
earth shake. The impact drove the breath from Garen’s body. He lay there,
and saw Moore raising a foot. The half-Giant’s face was twisted in fury.
Garen had only seen him like that—like that—

Move. Garen rolled and Moore’s foot missed him. The Hobgoblin grabbed
his sword and stood. Without breath. He sucked in air and then cut Moore’s
hand as it reached for him again. This time, Garen stabbed into Moore’s
arm. The half-Giant screamed and Garen leapt away.

“Come back!”

Moore charged after him. But more Redfang warriors raced around him.
The half-Giant turned as someone thrust a spear at his side. He snapped the
haft, grabbed the Goblin, and squeezed. Moore grabbed a Carn Wolf and
hurled it over the heads of the other Redfang warriors. The other Redfangs
hung back, out of reach. But they did not fall back. They surrounded
Moore, and reached for a different weapon.

Rope. The first noose missed Moore, and then the second. But a pair of
Redfang veterans clotheslined him and another snared his arm. More ropes
flew and Moore roared as the Carn Wolves and horses strained to drag him
down. The Redfangs shouted and dug in. They had fought Gargoyles in the
passes. They knew how to bring giants down. But this one spoke.

“Garen!”

He kept coming, dragging horses and wolves out of place, ignoring the
arrows and blades that cut him from all sides. He bellowed, with enough
fury to make even the Carn Wolves back up. He never looked away from
Garen. The Hobgoblin staggered away from him, drinking a healing potion
and reaching for the Ironhide bottle. He drank it down in one gulp and
looked for his wolf. The adventurers were fighting his tribe, holding a
position around the door. Garen stared at them, saw one of the Drakes point
directly at him.

“Burn left! Aim for that Chieftain! On me!”

Keldrass and his Flamewardens took aim at Garen. As one they inhaled and
opened their mouths. They were poised to obliterate everything in front of
them. They commanded destructive power worthy of any Gold-rank team.
But Garen sneered at them. As Keldrass opened his mouth, a Redfang
warrior with a crossbow pulled the trigger. A crossbow bolt shot towards the
Drake’s mouth.

Other archers loosed at the same time. Keldrass’ eyes went wide. He turned
his head. The crossbow bolt struck the side of his helmet instead. Keldrass
staggered, swore. The other Flamewardens raised their shields or covered
their faces, unable to breathe.

“Ancestors!”

They hunched behind their shields, unable to use their flaming breath.
Garen turned away dismissively. He saw the [Knight] fighting three
Redfangs at once, bellowing.

“Falene! Buy us an opening! Dawil, with me!”

“I’m trying! But—”

The half-Elf turned and her lips moved wordlessly. Another [Force Wall]
rose as the last failed. The Redfang tribe was mercilessly assaulting the
adventurers, giving them no quarter to press their attack. Ylawes stared
incredulously at Spiderslicer as the Goblin held him back with two
veterans.

“Impossible.”

“They’re elites! Pull back, lad!”

Dawil swung his hammer and shielded his face with one arm as an
alchemist’s potion exploded, showering him with flaming liquid. The
Redfang Goblins were using potions and alchemist weapons as well!
Another flew towards Keldrass’ group, and an arrow shot it, making the
Tripvine Bag explode harmlessly in the air.

“Hold the line.”

Halrac nocked another arrow, loosed it, and then took cover behind the wall
of stone that Typhenous had raised. Revi’s summoned warriors held another
gap, and another adventuring team came through the door. But even the
teams trying to pass through the door had to come in slowly—the Redfangs
were assaulting the door relentlessly.

It was their battle to lose. Garen knew that. But his eyes were scanning the
milling Goblins, moving past the struggling Moore. The half-Giant was as
obvious as the sun. But he never attacked where you expected it. He was
silent. Relentless. Garen had always admired that about him. The
Hobgoblin turned. He saw a black shadow flash, heard a Goblin shout.

A dark figure leapt over the heads of the warriors riding Carn Wolves. He
flipped and landed in a gap. His crab arm moved at the same time as his left
one, stabbing left and right. Into a horse’s side and a Goblin’s chest. The
enchanted blades seared and chilled at the same time. He slid under the
surprised Redfang warriors who tried to cut at him, leapt forwards and
vanished between the press of bodies. And then he was there, thrusting at
Garen’s stomach.

Seborn.

Garen deflected the first dagger that went for his stomach. He swung at
Seborn’s chest, but the Drowned Man wasn’t there any longer. He had leapt
and vanished, his body half-turning to shadows. Or smoke. It was an
illusion. Garen whirled, and caught the second dagger thrusting for his face.
A terrible cold chilled him—his left arm went numb for a second. But
Garen felt the pain as soon as the dagger left it. Seborn’s slash opened up
Garen’s arm. If not for the Ironhide Potion, it might have cut a tendon.

The [Rogue] danced back as Garen whirled his blade at his chest. Garen
was too quick for Seborn to dodge fully—the enchanted blade nicked his
own magical leather armor. The two enchantments clashed and Garen’s
sword won, shearing through the leather and drawing blood. Just a scratch
above the chest. The Drowned Man and Hobgoblin stared at each other.
Seborn raised his blades and advanced. Garen—hesitated.

Garen was a [Warrior] and Seborn was a [Rogue]. Broadly speaking, it was
impossible for Seborn to win a battle head-on. He and Garen were roughly
the same level. It was insane for him to challenge Garen like this. But
Seborn had never been afraid. And he left no opening for Garen to exploit
as he came at Garen, blades whirling.

Left, right, head, knee. Stomach, side—Seborn’s daggers flashed, leaving

glowing orange and blue trails in the air. He never stopped stabbing, cutting
at Garen’s body, ignoring his own safety. That was what saved him. If he’d
given Garen a single opening—

Instead he cut. Garen felt small slashes opening across his body. Light cuts,
but they burned or froze him by degrees. He growled.

“Not—”

This time he used a Skill. [Frenzy Cuts]. Garen hacked, feeling his blade
grow lighter, move faster, strike harder for a brief instant. The sword left
red afterimages in the air. Each cut sought Seborn, but the Drowned Man
dodged each one. He danced back, leaning, dodging, becoming shadow and
mist.

[Shadowsteps]. [Blur Leap]. [Cat’s Evasion]. And then it was his turn.
Garen saw Seborn feint left, then come close. The two were so close
Seborn’s shoulder was at Garen’s chest. The Drowned Man looked up and
met Garen’s gaze.

“[Flurry Blades].”

Fire and ice. Garen howled as the blades pierced his stomach and chest. He
felt the tips strike a dozen times, seeking his heart. But too shallow—just—
Garen stumbled back, slashing at Seborn. Reaching for a potion. The
Drowned Man didn’t want to let him use it. He narrowed his eyes.
Vanished.

[Rearward Cut]. Garen felt Seborn appear at his back. He lurched forwards,
feeling the blades tear open his back. It didn’t matter. He drank the potion
as Seborn cursed. The enchanted wounds refused to heal quickly. But they
did begin to heal. Lucky. If Seborn had had his old blade—

“It’s worth buying.”

Seborn showed Garen the dagger. The Hobgoblin eyed the sickly green edge
of his new dagger skeptically.

“Lots of money. Why not other dagger?”

The Drowned Man sighed. He and Garen had been arguing over blades for
the last half-hour, and the [Blacksmith] was clearly growing impatient.
Still, Seborn explained patiently. He was very patient. He didn’t speak
much, but when it came to his opinion, he was as impossible to shift as the
ocean he hailed from.

“It’s an acid enchantment, Garen. A weak one, I know, but it’s all I can
afford. I have one blade enchanted with [Frostbite] already.”

“Could buy two new blades. Very fiery. See?”

Garen pointed out the longer, and decidedly more menacing daggers, both
of which were enchanted with a higher-grade spell. Seborn nodded.

“I could. And if I was a warrior, I might. But I’m a [Rogue]. Acid works
best. A thousand cuts that grow worse is better than a cheap fire spell.
Anyone with an eye for fighting knows that, which is why this is worth
twice as much as a regular blade. I saved up for this.”

He gestured to the acid dagger, which the [Blacksmith] had indeed priced
much higher than the other daggers. The Drake grunted, which was a mark
of approval. Garen still wasn’t convinced.
“Why all other daggers enchanted with other spells, then? Why not all
acid?”

“Because it’s harder? That’s what I’ve heard. And [Enchanters] get to
decide what they spell a blade with. Maybe the metal isn’t good for acid.
Maybe they need something else. They probably think fire spells are more
attractive anyways. Just let me buy this.”

Seborn watched as Garen grumbled and folded his arm, but the Hobgoblin
didn’t object. The two often talked or argued, but it was a difference of
opinion on how to do things. Garen liked hitting things and Seborn was the
cold voice of reason in the group. And yet—Seborn flashed one of his rare
smiles as he made his purchase.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a while. If we get another big payout, I can
change my other blade to lightning.”

“Why lightning?”

“Paralyzes, makes the muscles weak.”

Garen grunted.

“This blade is better. One strong enchantment is best.”

He tapped his own sword. Seborn smiled.

“Goblin’s logic. Isn’t two better than one, then?”

He showed Garen his two daggers. The Hobgoblin scowled, and Seborn
laughed—

If he’d had his old blade, it would be over. Garen turned. White flames
burst from his blade. Redfang glowed as Seborn cursed and backed up. He
knew what was coming.

“Redfang.”
Garen whispered. His blade turned transparent. Seborn leapt, shielding
himself—but Garen’s slash went through his enchanted armor. It cut down
the Drowned Man’s side, laid open his flesh, sawed through the carapace
that was his monster half, his aquatic self. Again, Seborn tried to block with
his daggers, but it was futile. Garen’s blade could pass through lesser
enchantments, cut even the thickest hides.

Blood. Seborn staggered. Like Garen, he reached for a potion, breaking the
vial across his wounds before Garen could stop him. He stood up, panting.
Garen waited for him.

It was over. Seborn had used two of his Skills. He hadn’t downed Garen,
and the Redfang Warriors had caught up. The Drowned Man looked around
as Goblins dismounted rather than try and fight him from above where he
could dodge and disappear. He bared his teeth.

“Come on. Come on, traitor!”

He leapt at Garen. The Hob pivoted, taking another slice from the flaming
blade across his chest. He kicked Seborn back. The other Redfang warriors
closed in, attacking Seborn from all sides. The Drowned Man spun,
slashing, cursing.

“Alive. Alive!”

Garen bellowed at his warriors. He saw them adjust, slightly. Garen didn’t
know why he’d said it. But he could afford to say it. The battle was going
his way.

The Wings of Pallass dove and struck, again and again. Like hawks, they
circled before finding unwary targets and striking. Or at least, they had for a
minute. But the next time they dove, they had a surprise waiting for them.
One of the Redfang warriors riding a Carn Wolf rode at the diving Drakes
and Garuda. He shouted and his Carn Wolf leapt. The Redfang Warrior
jumped from the back of his mount and caught one of the fliers. The Drake,
Zassil, shouted in panic as the Redfang Warrior began stabbing at him,
grabbing at his wings, trying to bring him down.
“Ancestors preserve us! Get off! Get—”

Bevussa grabbed the Redfang warrior and hurled him off. Zassil flapped
higher and Bevussa shouted.

“Watch out!”

More Goblins were leaping, using their Carn Wolves as launching pads.
Each time the Wings of Pallass dove, dozens of Goblins leapt for them, and
more shot arrows, trying to intercept them on the wing. And now the
adventurers were being pressed from all sides on the ground as well.

Moore was wrapped up in ropes. Seborn was downed. Garen walked

forwards, feeling his wounds healing slowly. His Carn Wolf padded towards
him. He reached for it, and stopped.

The adventurers still fought around their door. And the winged adventurers
held the skies, posing a threat from above. But everywhere else the
Redfangs were present. They filled the pass. They blocked every path
towards Garen with their bodies. Despite that, she was there.

Arrows feathered her body like spores. Broken spears and swords and
daggers torn out of their owner’s hands were still embedded in her flesh.
She was damaged beyond any living creature’s ability to survive. But her
body was dead. And she was still moving, coming towards him.

Jelaqua Ivirith.

Garen stopped. He turned, and his Carn Wolf backed up. It couldn’t help it.
It smelled Jelaqua’s dead body. And it saw her wounds. But she did not fall.
And that terrified the animal, just as it frightened the Redfang warriors.

They surrounded her, every line in their bodies radiating uncertainty. Fear.
The Redfang tribe had fought the horrors of the High Passes. They had
fought creatures that looked like them, braved Creler invasions—even
brought down the seemingly immortal colossi of stone and ice. But they had
never met someone like her.
“Hey Garen.”

She grinned bloodlessly at him. Garen hesitated. Jelaqua was walking

towards him. Just walking. But her body—he raised his blade.

“You can’t win.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it, you coward.”

Jelaqua rasped. She raised her flail as the other Redfangs drew back,
trusting their Chieftain to win. Expecting him to. Garen wanted to be
anywhere else in the world. Seborn’s blood still dripped from his blade. He
and Jelaqua looked at each other.

“I trusted you.”

That was all she said. The knife twisted in Garen’s heart. Jelaqua ran at him
and he raised his blade—

“Drop it, Goblin.”

Keilam pointed his wand at Garen. The Hob hesitated, his steel sword
raised. The dead Eater Goat’s blood ran from his sword. It had been an
easy kill, and one Garen was confident in doing. He’d earned his bounty—
or so he’d thought. But he hadn’t expected company, and so his mask and
hood had come loose during the battle. And they had seen.

Six adventurers. A huge, terrifying creature that looked like an oversized

Human. A half man, half…crab? A Drake whose scales looked burnt, a
regular Drake, at least, seemingly, and a Gnoll who looked like a cat. And
—Garen’s eyes flicked to the last figure. A Human woman, or so she looked
at first glance. But her skin was too pale. She looked dead. But it was she
who stopped Keilam, the half-Gnoll, half-Cat, before he could cast a spell.

“Hold it, Keilam. See that? He’s an adventurer. Same as us. Bronze-rank.”

“No way. That’s a Goblin, Jelaqua!”

The half-Gnoll exclaimed. Jelaqua, the dead woman, ignored him. She
studied Garen as the Hobgoblin backed up. He was ready to fight—or run.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been discovered. But she didn’t seem hostile,
just curious, and amused. Jelaqua eyed Garen.

“So this is the ‘terrifying monster’ everyone’s been talking about, huh? The
scourge of local villages. Slayer of innocent sheep and cows everywhere?”

“Why would a Hob pretend to be an adventurer just to prey on livestock?”

The Drake with the ashy scales asked curiously. Jelaqua rolled her eyes.

“Not him, Halassia. That dead goat-thing. I think he got to the monster
before we did.”

“Oh.”

The adventurers stared at the dead goat. Garen heard them whispering
amongst themselves.

“It really killed the monster? It’s…an adventurer?”

“But it’s a Goblin!”

“Now, now, Ukrina. Let’s not judge by appearances.”

“By—Moore! That is a Goblin!”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua spoke calmly. She looked at Garen and he thought she could see
everything that had led to this point. Him struggling to learn how to speak,
figuring out how to disguise himself, give excuses, learn Human customs.
Entering cities, being found out, running, pretending—trying so hard to fit
in, to learn—all of the long months he’d endured were laid out in a glance.
As if she could stare into his soul. As if she knew what it was like.

“Nice kill. What’s your name, friend?”

Garen started. He stared at Jelaqua and backed up a step. He saw the other
adventurers tensing, but Jelaqua just smiled.

“The name’s Jelaqua Ivirith. I lead a team of Silver-rank adventurers. Well,

we’re Silver-rank on this continent, but two of us are already Gold-ranks
and Moore’d be Gold-rank too if they ever gave him a fair test.”

She waited, but Garen didn’t speak. The Human’s language came hard to
him, not like his brother. He could still barely read. Jelaqua didn’t seem to
mind, though. She looked around, and seemed to come to a quick decision.

“We’re a band of misfits. And we could always use a new member.”

“What? Jelaqua, are you insane?”

One of the Drakes, the normal-looking one, exclaimed. But the strange
woman just turned to argue with her. Garen watched her face, her ready
smile. Then he heard the shriek and turned. His heart sank. He’d forgotten
about the others! He hadn’t time to poison the first Eater Goat’s corpse.
Jelaqua looked up sharply as more Eater Goats emerged, scenting their
comrade’s blood.

“Aha! Knew it. It had to be a pack. Hold on, strange Goblin guy.
Halfseekers, to arms!”

They fought, then, as the Eater Goats came from all sides. As stupid and
suicidal as their kind, but deadly. Garen finished them off, making sure each
was dead. Eater Goats could survive incredible amounts of damage and
heal fast. All they needed was food and a mate and they’d repopulate
rapidly. He stood, wiping his steel sword, when Jelaqua came over to him.
He froze again, but she just grinned at him.

“What’s your name, stranger? If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. But I’d
rather know who fought by my side.”

He looked into her eyes, then. And he saw that her body was dead, but
something lived in her. Garen hesitated, then took a chance. He held out a
gloved hand, as he had seen Humans do.
“Garen.”

She took his hand and grinned. And that was how he became a Halfseeker,
an adventurer in truth. And in time he would lose his mask, walk openly as
a Goblin and she and the others would pit themselves against the
Adventurer’s Guild and other adventurers for him. For that he would follow
her for years, into battle, trying to be her greatest warrior. Because he owed
her nothing less.

Yes, it was that smile which had captivated him. That look. The age in her
voice, the feeling that she understood him despite their many differences.
She was the Captain of the Halfseekers, someone he looked up to. Admired.
The only being in the world that Garen had ever called his—his—

Chieftain—

He ran her through. Jelaqua’s flail struck his shoulder. Garen heard a
crunch, but if it was a fractured bone, it wasn’t a strong one. He tore up
with the blade and Jelaqua caught it.

“Not yet. Not yet!”

She kicked, and Garen felt his sword twist out of his grip. Seborn’s blood.
He stumbled back. She was still strong. Jelaqua tore the sword from her
stomach and tossed it behind her. She’d dropped her flail. But she still came
at him. Garen grabbed her arms as they went for his neck.

Strong. Unbelievably strong! Jelaqua cursed as her arms slowly moved

towards Garen’s neck. He tried to hold her off, but even now, even now she
was stronger.

“Tell me why. Tell me why!”

He couldn’t answer. Jelaqua’s claws were around his throat, squeezing,

talons digging into his flesh. He saw Redfangs shouting, striking at
Jelaqua’s back, but she ignored the blows. She was squeezing, and it was all
Garen could do to push at her arms. He pushed her claws off of him, and the
two were deadlocked for a moment. But he was growing tired.
His arms trembled—and then he felt something tear in Jelaqua’s body. The
Selphid’s right arm suddenly lost all its strength. She cursed as Garen began
striking her chest, frantically, trying to tear open her wounds and expose her
true body. She leaned forwards—

And she bit him. The Drake’s teeth tore at Garen’s skin and he roared and
threw her off. Jelaqua fell back, and Garen struck her in the chest with his
foot. She sat back.

“Sword!”

Garen bellowed and a Goblin tossed his blade at him. Jelaqua looked up,
bitterly.

“Just like the others, eh?”

He stabbed her in the chest. Jelaqua fell back. Not dead. She tried to move
and Garen stabbed her again and again, aiming for her stomach, her heart.
He knew she was in there. It was hard, very hard to kill a Selphid with a
blade. But he could incapacitate her body. At last, Jelaqua lay still. She
stared up at him and her mouth opened.

“Damn it.”

That was all. Garen turned, shaking, coughing. The battle was over. The
Halfseekers were down. And the adventurers were in full retreat.

“Fall back. I said, fall back! Revi, buy us a window! Typhenous, webs!”

Halrac bellowed at the others. Keldrass stumbled towards the door, bearing
one of his wounded teammates to safety. Garen saw the [Scout] shout into
the door as more of the summoned warriors and a giant Face-Eater Moth
held back the advancing Redfangs. They were moving slowly, pushing the
adventurers back rather than risk losing their numbers. Wisely as it turned
out.

“Get those undead through the door, now!”

Garen didn’t believe his ears for a second. Then he saw the first shape of
yellowed bone duck through the doorway and unfold. A grinning bear’s
skull looked down at him. Three of them. The Redfang Goblins backed up
as a three-headed Bone Horror, nearly as tall as Moore, moved forwards,
swinging multiple whip-arms of bone and striking at everything in range.
The Redfangs bared their teeth, but didn’t retreat.

Undead, half-Giant, monster, adventurer. It didn’t matter. They could kill

anything. They reached for their ropes, but this time added hooks, snaring
the Bone Horror as it tried to advance. A cry went up from the Goblins at
the front.

“Hobs!”

Two of them rode forwards on huge warhorses. The first Hob had a
warhammer, the second a mace. As the other Redfangs snared the Bone
Horrors with their hooks, the Hobs began smashing the creature to pieces,
raining blows on the joints and hammering at the skull.

“Dead gods damn it! Retreat! Retreat!”

Halrac moved back towards the door. The Silver Swords were running
back, blood running down Ylawes’ head, Falene half-dragging Dawil, who
was roaring, trying to extinguish the flaming oil burning his face and armor.
Ylawes half-turned at the door and shouted. Someone came through it.
Several someones.

“Erin! What are you doing? Get back—”

He grabbed for her. Too late. A young woman ran past him. The Redfangs
in front saw her running at them and raised their weapons, eying her
dubiously. Spiderslicer lifted his falchion and aimed for her head, waiting
for a trap. He saw the young woman look up, and then another figure ran
forwards. They’d come from the door too. Spiderslicer turned, poised to
strike—

And froze when he saw a Hobgoblin’s face. The Hob lifted his axe,
protecting the young woman. The jade edge and golden axe gleamed, and
the Hobgoblin’s muscles stood out as he swung, forcing the other Redfang
warriors back.

A foreign Goblin? Why was he on the Human’s side? Spiderslicer snarled in

surprise, raising his weapon. But—no! This Hob had the war paint of the
Redfang tribe on his body! He stared, hesitating, as the young woman raced
past him. The Hob looked up. His face was unfamiliar, and Spiderslicer
knew almost every Goblin in the Redfang tribe. But the war paint was a
pattern, unique to him. Spiderslicer’s eyes widened.

“Headscratcher?”

The Hob looked up at him.

“Spiderslicer?”

The two gaped at each other. Then, Spiderslicer saw another Goblin he half-
recognized run past. Was that Badarrow? Numbtongue, with a strange
stringed instrument in his hand? Shorthilt—that had to be Shorthilt with the
gleaming sword. And…who was that Goblin with the shining armor and the
glistening red cloak?

Hobs. They were all Hobs. Spiderslicer faltered, so amazed he forgot about
the Human for a second. But then he realized: they were shielding her! The
young woman ran through the tribe of Redfangs, who turned, ready to cut
her down. But each time her guardians were in the way.

The five Hobgoblins blocked them, shielding her with their bodies,
shouting at the others. And the Goblins of the Redfang tribe recognized
their own, and hesitated for that crucial second. The young woman ran
forwards, towards the Selphid.

“Jelaqua!”

She skidded to a halt and knelt by the Selphid, wide-eyed. Jelaqua blinked
up at her.
“Erin? What the hell are you doing—get away! Run! Moore told you to
go!”

Erin ignored her. She knelt, hesitating, then grabbed Jelaqua’s nearly
destroyed arm. She looked at the other Hobs desperately.

“Come on, come on. Someone help me lift—”

She was trying to pull Jelaqua up. The Selphid was shouting at her to go.
That was when Erin turned and saw him. And he saw her.

Garen Redfang couldn’t have missed the strange sight, or the Hobs. He
hadn’t recognized them as Spiderslicer had—he was focused on the Human.
She looked familiar. A distant part of Garen told him he had seen her, but he
was too focused on what she was doing. She was trying to drag Jelaqua to
the door. Unacceptable. He snarled and advanced on her.

“Run, Erin.”

Jelaqua turned her head towards Garen. The young woman hesitated. The
Selphid slowly sat up.

“Get away from her, you bastard.”

Garen stared at her, and then lifted his blade. Jelaqua lunged. For the third
time, Garen ran her through. This time he aimed for the Selphid’s stomach
and pinned her to the ground, impaling her onto the dirt. She grabbed his
sword with both claws. Garen growled, let go of the hilt. He saw the Human
girl raise a fist.

“[Minotaur P—”

He stood up and struck her in the chest, twice. The Human stumbled back,
choking. Garen paused. He’d expected her to be a Gold-rank of some kind,
perhaps a high-level [Brawler] or a [Mage]. But she was too slow to be a
Gold-rank adventurer. Silver-rank? She had no armor. She raised a fist
again.

“[M—”
This time he hit her in the jaw and felt her teeth break. The Human fell
back, making a pained sound. Garen advanced, kicking her in the chest. She
tried to dodge. He saw that. But she was far, far slower than he was. He
looked for his sword, then just aimed for her neck. He raised a hand and
someone grabbed it. Garen twisted, outraged, and saw a Hobgoblin staring
at him. An unfamiliar face. The Hob howled and grabbed Garen’s other arm
as the Chieftain tried to punch him.

The strength! Garen roared as the unknown Hob lifted him up and then
hurled him to the ground. He rolled as a foot stomped, nearly striking him
in the chest, and got up. He caught a punch and staggered. The Hob was as
strong as he was! He looked into two familiar eyes and received a head butt
that made his head ring.

Garen shook his head, shoved the Hob back, and heard a shout. The
Redfang warriors all around him had finally decided these strangers were
not their allies, for all they wore their colors. They trained their weapons on
the Hob and his allies, who froze. The Hob who’d struck Garen panted as
the Chieftain shook his head to clear the stars. Garen clenched one fist,
stared at the strange Hob, and then, at last, his eyes went to the war paint.
He froze.

All the Redfang warriors not pressing the last of the adventurers into the
doorway stared at their Chieftain. They saw his eyes go wide, his ears
twitch, and then visibly jerk in shock. They waited, eyes on the strange
Hobs as Garen peered at the one who’d struck him. The Chieftain of the
Redfang tribe blinked.

“Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher jumped. He looked at Garen, half-afraid, but still burning

with fury. Garen felt at his bruised forehead and remembered the strength
with which he’d been thrown. He stared at Headscratcher and the others,
who he recognized as well by their war paint. One of them, the one with
chainmail, had a lot of his war paint obscured, but the rest were familiar
from other clues.
Badarrow, Numbtongue, Shorthilt. And the last had to be one of the others
he’d sent out, so long ago. Garen remembered. He looked from face to face.
And then, to the surprise of his tribe, he laughed.

It was a joyous, amazed, relieved, happy sound. Garen laughed. He rose,

laughing with delight and gripped Headscratcher by the arms, slapping him
on the shoulder. The confused Hob looked at him, but Garen’s joy needed
no reciprocation.

“Headscratcher! So long! And now a Hob! So much stronger! How?”

He looked at the other Redfangs.

“Put weapons down! It is Headscratcher! Badarrow! Numbtongue,

Shorthilt! And…Rabbiteater?”

The other Redfangs blinked. They stared and more recognized their lost
comrades. They exclaimed, and Garen greeted the others, no less exuberant.
They blinked, and then smiled shyly. Here was their Chieftain. Their hero.
And the rest of their tribe gathered around them. Until Garen noticed the
young woman.

She had gotten up. She was trying to pull Jelaqua away. He snarled and
turned on her. A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Kill—”

“No!”

Headscratcher grabbed Garen. So did Numbtongue, and Shorthilt. Garen

froze, and the Redfangs did likewise. Numbtongue looked around,
desperately.

“No. Chieftain—let her go.”

Spiderslicer gripped his falchion, eyes narrowing. No one laid hands on

their Chieftain. Garen stared at Headscratcher. He looked down at the
Human girl, who abandoned the Selphid and turned. She gave him a look
without fear and raised a hand, made a fist. The Goblins waited as Garen
looked back at the five Hobs. He hesitated, and then looked at the young
woman.

“Go.”

She hesitated. She looked down at Jelaqua, and the Selphid croaked at her.

“Don’t be stupid. Run. I’ll—settle my tab later.”

The young woman hesitated. For a long second, Garen thought she’d stay.
But then she ran, stumbling towards the door. She half-collapsed by it and
the [Scout] dragged her through. Garen barked an order as the Redfangs
loosed arrows at him.

“Leave adventurers!”

The hail of projectiles stopped. The door closed. The Hob with the
warhammer strode forwards and brought it down. The doorway splintered,
and it was done. The Wings of Pallass flew south, and the Redfangs were
left with their wounded and dead.

And the adventurers. There were three of them. The Halfseekers, bound and
bleeding. And…the five Hobgoblins.

And a lot of Cave Goblins. They came north as Garen looked around,
smiling once more. He blinked in astonishment at them as they stared in
awe at this strange and powerful tribe. He listened to a garbled explanation
from Numbtongue, and smiled and shook his head. He laughed—

And then he saw them looking at him. Moore. Seborn. Jelaqua. They sat
under guard, bleeding, captive. But their eyes never left him. They looked
just like he remembered—except for Jelaqua. But she was the same, if not
in body. They were what he had dreamed of, what he had feared in his
nightmares.

Garen’s smile faded. He turned away as memory became reality. The past
had caught up and it was time. To put an end to it for good.
—-

They were the Redfang tribe. Where they were didn’t really matter. It was
who they were that mattered, how they fought. They had fought another
battle and won. There was glory and that. But death, too. There was always
death.

Many Redfangs had died fighting the adventurers. Over a hundred, and
most to the Halfseekers. The adventurers at the door had been contained
fairly well—it was only the half-Elf [Mage]’s spells and the [Scout] and his
cursed enchanted arrows who had done a lot of damage. And the Garuda
had killed a half dozen.

Too many. It was to be expected when one fought Gold-ranks, but it hurt.
The Redfangs mourned their dead, even as they became food or were
stripped of their gear. But unlike other Goblins, they had a different sort of
culture. As the dead were laid to rest, Redfangs, the closest friends of the
fallen, would bend down and collect blood from the fallen. Barring that,
they would cut themselves and add markings to their body.

A stripe of blood on a cheek. An added bit of blood on an arm, or ear. The

location didn’t matter, or the length of the marking. But the blood would
stay. And when it faded, it would be replaced by paint. Forever. So long as
the Redfang in question had access to war paints, he or she would decorate
their body with their individual set of markings.

And they would never forget where they were, even if circumstances
dictated that they be clean, or prohibited them from using their war paints.
The red stripes would always be there. Reminders of failure. Of the fallen.
It was a promise not to fail next time.

The new Redfangs earned their first stripes that day. It was a mark of shame
and honor. They had survived a battle. The veterans had red paint all over
their body. But they did not revel in the markings, like the young Goblins. It
was a symbol, that was all. It made them unique. Stronger.
Five Hobgoblins sat in the center of the Redfang tribe. Unlike the others,
they didn’t need to bandage their wounds or tend to their mounts. They
hadn’t fought. Rather, they’d come through the magic door as soon as
they’d heard what was going on. The Redfang Warriors—that was to say,
the five Hobgoblins who stayed at Erin’s inn—sat uneasily, just across from
their Chieftain. Or their former Chieftain?

Garen Redfang grinned at them, not put out one bit that Headscratcher had
attacked him. He had even let Erin go. He was…just as they’d remembered.
Larger than life. Glorious. And his famous blade hung by his side. He
couldn’t stop looking at the five. Garen faced them, and deliberately did not
look behind him. He didn’t listen to the three adventurers, who had been
unceremoniously carried to the same spot and were under heavy guard.

Jelaqua could barely move and the broken weapons in her body protruded
from her flesh. Seborn’s bleeding had stopped, but Moore was still injured
from dozens upon dozens of wounds. Their voices were low.

“Can’t move my right arm. Ripped almost all my muscle fibers there. I’m
torn up everywhere else too.”

“I’m bleeding, but I managed to heal up before they got me. I don’t
have any weapons. They found all of my daggers.”

“Moore…?”

“He needs a healing potion.”

The half-Giant was breathing laboriously. Jelaqua looked up. She bit her
lip.

“Think we’ll get him to let us use one before he axes us?”

Seborn stared at Garen’s back.

“Don’t count on it. If you can give me an opening—”

“Forget it. He’s expecting it. Let’s just…wait. Damn it. It’ll be over soon.”
“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I had the best shot. Damn arm gave out. I should have—”

Garen ignored them. He looked around instead, focusing on the Goblins

who were sitting just outside the circle of his Redfang tribe. They were
curious. Small, many of them smaller than even the average Goblin. They
had greyer skin, but besides that they were identical to regular Goblins. He
spotted what looked like emerging Hobgoblins among them. But what
really stood out was their numbers.

The Cave Goblins of the dungeon sat, watching the Redfangs with awe.
They had followed their five leaders north, not bothering with the door but
streaming across the Floodplains, much to the horror of the Drakes in
Liscor.

Garen didn’t know all the details, of what had happened to have so many
Cave Goblins following his warriors, but he had gotten the details, at least a
broad outline from Numbtongue. Pressed, the Hobgoblin had given a quick
summary and Garen had gotten the basics.

So, his warriors had gone into a dungeon and liberated the Cave Goblins
there? They’d fought strange primordial Gnolls—Raskghar—and
triumphed. They’d become Hobs, all of them. Hobs!

He could remember them before they’d left. Tiny, regular-sized Goblins.

Good warriors, some of his best, but infantry. Not his prized Carn Wolf
[Riders] and not his few Hobs. Garen’s heart hurt. He remembered he’d
sent Grunter to lead them, Grunter and seven more. He’d asked, but the
silence had been enough of an answer.

Thirteen had left, five remained. As outcomes went, that was good for
Goblins. And they were Hobs.

Garen couldn’t get over that fact. Hobgoblins only emerged as a result of
great strength or triumph. Each of the Redfangs had a unique class. The
other members of his tribe were glancing at them in awe, especially after
they’d heard what their classes were.
“[Berserker]. [Weapon Master]. [Sniper]. [Bard]. And [Champion]!”

Garen spoke loudly, looking from face to face with overwhelming pride.
Each of the Redfangs ducked their heads. Garen looked at Rabbiteater last,
twice as amazed. Rabbiteater—now there was a shock. He was a good
fighter, decent at most things, but a [Champion]? Those who knew him
were beside themselves with surprise.

“And these…Cave Goblins? You taught them how to fight?”

“Small bit, Chieftain.”

Shorthilt answered for the others. He played with his sword, an action that
was familiar to Garen, but with a different body. Shorthilt gestured and
Garen saw a group of Goblins with sharp weapons raise them over their
heads and cheer.

“Taught to fight like Redfangs. By a Redfang.”

Spiderslicer grumbled, seemingly unsure if this was a good thing or a bad

thing. But Garen knew it was a good thing. He looked at the Cave Goblins.

Twenty thousand new Redfangs. That was what they were. Twenty
thousand warriors—or the makings of them. He couldn’t help smiling.

“Tell me what happened. From the start. Not a summary. Tell me—all of
it!”

He urged Headscratcher. The Goblin was bashful, embarrassed. He looked

at the others and then hesitated. He had smiled with pure joy to see Garen,
but now he was concerned.

“Chieft…”

He trailed off. Garen waited, smiling. Headscratcher looked at him. What

was it? He looked so worried. And then Headscratcher said it.

“Where is Chieftain? Where is Rags?”

Garen—froze. So did the other Redfangs. For a beat Garen stared at
Headscratcher, wondering what had possessed him to ask that? Chieftain?
He was Chieftain! Why would Headscratcher—

He hadn’t been here. He didn’t know. None of them did. The rest of the tribe
realized that and sat still, an army of statues. The five Hobs looked around,
confused. They focused on Garen and he realized he had to say something.
He spoke haltingly.

“Rags is…gone. Maybe dead. Her tribe split from Redfangs. Betrayed us.”

“Betrayed? How?”

The five reacted in shock. The other Redfangs avoided looking at them.
Garen ignored the question as well.

“They did. And then they were attacked by Reiss—by the Goblin Lord. He
betrayed them, too. Rags disappeared in fighting. May be dead. Rest of her
tribe is broken. Fleeing this way. We left too.”

The five stared at Garen, jaws agape, full of horror. They began to ask
questions all at once, but Garen didn’t want to answer them. He shook his
head, then raised his voice.

“No. No! It is in the past! They betrayed us. Rags is gone. The Redfang are
the Redfangs. Same as before.”

Badarrow stared at Garen. The Chieftain avoided his gaze. It was true. He
turned, seeking another topic. Three pairs of eyes stared at him. He froze.

“Chieftain. Who are they? Should we kill?”

Spiderslicer stared at the Halfseekers with hatred in his eyes. He fingered

the handle of the falchion. The other Redfangs murmured agreement.
Headscratcher and the other four Hobs looked uneasy. Rabbiteater opened
his mouth and the others elbowed him quickly. Garen ignored that and
shook his head slowly.

“I will deal with them. Myself.”

“Chieftain knows them?”

Garen nodded slowly. He couldn’t avoid it after all. He got up and looked at
the Halfseekers.

“Yes. I do know them. And so do you.”

The Redfang tribe looked at each other. He couldn’t mean—they had all
heard the old stories. They turned as one and focused on the Halfseekers
and Garen walked over to them. He studied each face. Moore tried to sit up
and groaned as blood ran from his wounds.

“They are my old team. The Halfseekers. Half Freaks. A Gold-rank team.
The ones who betrayed me.”

An awed silence fell over the Redfang tribe. They stared at the Halfseekers,
not with anger, but with amazement now. Garen’s original team. They all
knew the story—or a version of the tale. They had heard how his team
betrayed him, how he had retreated, formed a tribe in the High Passes. But
to see them in real life was different. Garen stared down at his old
comrades, and then heard a strangled laugh.

“We betrayed you? You damn liar.”

Jelaqua sat up. Her eyes focused unsteadily on Garen, one drifting slightly.
But her voice was strong. Furious.

“You betrayed us. Don’t lie!”

The accusation made Garen freeze in place. He felt a hot flash of shame,
and then fury go through him. He snapped back at Jelaqua.

“I did not! The others did!”

“Liar.”

The voice came from Moore. He hauled himself upright. The Redfangs
guarding him stirred uneasily. The half-Giant’s voice rose. He boomed, and
the Redfangs instinctively flinched as he shouted Garen.
“You lie! You killed them! In cold blood! You murderer! You—”

He tried to break the ropes holding him, but failed. He sat back, face white
as a sheet. Garen looked away from him. He clenched his claw into a fist.

“I did not betray. They did.”

“Liar.”

This time Garen whirled and nearly kicked Seborn. The Drowned Man
looked up at him. His voice echoed, quieter than the other two. But it was
no less furious.

“We know what we saw. You ran, and we’ve been waiting for this day
for years. If you had any courage you’d fight me. Give me a dagger,
Garen. And we’ll end this.”

“No. You are my prisoners. I beat you.”

Garen clenched his fists. Seborn looked away.

“With numbers. Coward.”

The Redfangs rumbled. Garen roared.

“I am not a coward!”

He strode up to Seborn and grabbed the [Rogue]. Quick as a flash, Seborn

lunged at him. He’d untied himself! Garen saw the claw go for his throat,
threw Seborn back. The Redfangs tackled him. There was a brief scuffle,
then Seborn was back in his bindings, worse for the wear.

“You are the coward. You—”

Garen was still breathing heavily. Seborn looked up at him, speaking

around a bloody lip.

“No less than you deserve. Team killer.”

“Monster.”

The whisper came from Moore. Garen howled in fury.

“I am not! They were! They were!”

He strode back and forth, trembling, unable to speak straight. His tribe
watched, uncertain. They had never seen their Chieftain like this. They
watched, and so did the Cave Goblins. They were all witness to the
argument. But they had not been there.

Jelaqua looked up at Garen, silent, letting him vent his fury at the other two.
She tugged at her bindings, but her right arm was torn. And Garen was
quick. She looked around for anything, but there were hundreds of eyes on
her. And yet—Jelaqua looked straight at Numbtongue, at Headscratcher.

They were watching her. All five of the Redfangs. Uncertainly, nervously
eying their Chieftain, whom they’d just reunited with. Or was he their
Chieftain? Jelaqua’s eyes narrowed slightly. She looked up as Garen
rounded on Moore and spoke, her dead voice rasping, the broken body she
was wearing slowly deteriorating every time she moved.

“You’re a filthy liar, Garen. Do your tribe know you’ve been lying to them
all this time? Or have you told them your story of what happened?”

He turned on her, full of wrath. Just like she remembered in some ways.
The same face, the same body. But not the same person. Selphids counted
personality more than physical appearance, and this Garen was nothing like
the one Jelaqua knew. He was uncontrolled, raging. Guilty.

“I told them the truth! The truth! I was betrayed!”

“Oh yeah? That’s not how we remember it. And we were there. Right,
Moore? Seborn? You guys remember what went down.”

Jelaqua looked sideways at Moore and Seborn, hoping they’d understand

what she wanted. The other two looked at her and caught on. As always.
They glanced around, and abandoned their fury for one second. Seborn
nodded.

“I remember. So does Moore.”

“In my dreams. Every night.”

The half-Giant rasped. Blood ran from his hand, his side. Jelaqua was
worried. He’d bleed out soon. But Garen wasn’t about to heal him. So the
Selphid spoke as quickly as she could. She looked up at Garen and raised
her voice so everyone, all the Goblins both Redfang and Cave Goblin,
could hear.

“Tell me, Garen. Did you tell your tribe what happened before we
‘betrayed’ you? Did you give them all the details? Because I remember that
night very well. We’d just cleared that damn cavern. Gone deeper than
anyone had ever gone before. Past the roaches and the other crawling
monsters. Into the heart of the caves. I thought we’d die when we fought the
things down there, but somehow our team made it out, in one piece no
less.”

She looked around. The Redfang warriors were staring at her, listening to
her words. Jelaqua nodded. Of course, they’d listen to any story about their
Chieftain. She looked at Garen, and saw the Hob had stopped raging. Cold
memory flickered in his eyes, the same one in Jelaqua’s own mind as she
went on.

“Of course there were costs. We’d blown all our healing potions—and we
took over a hundred bottles—wasted more alchemist brews than I could
count. My body was almost destroyed, Seborn had broken one of his
enchanted daggers, and Moore was throwing up all the bugs he ate.”

“I was sick. I remember being in my room until Seborn came to get me.”

Moore spoke guiltily. Seborn nodded.

“I was speaking to a [Blacksmith]. Jelaqua was the first to return.”

The Selphid shifted. She had perfect control over her body. But she still
wanted to shake, to clench her hands.

“That’s right. I got back, in a new body. And I found the inn was
surrounded by [Guards], and blood and corpses where my team should have
been. I thought it was an attack at first. Or—or one of our enemies had
hired an assassin. Or worse, the items we’d recovered had been cursed. But
it was none of those things. The [Innkeeper] told us that he’d seen a Goblin
running out of our private rooms with a bloody sword. And then he’d found
the bodies.”

Garen was silent. Jelaqua shook her head as Moore bit back a sound.

“Seborn came running as soon as he heard and got Moore. We had to figure
out what had happened. None of us wanted to believe it. But there were eye
witnesses and nothing else could have happened. None of the items were
cursed. They were all there, except for one small thing you’d taken. So we
figured it out.”

Moore interrupted. He looked up at Garen, eyes wet.

“You killed them. You killed them and stole that key and ran. In cold blood.
With no warning.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stood there, face pale. Jelaqua spoke quietly.

“You filthy traitor. We welcomed you into our team. We fought with you,
side-by-side for years. And you killed your friends in a moment. For what?
A key? We would have given it to you!”

“I did not betray.”

Garen repeated the words like a mantra. Jelaqua spat. She looked at the
other Redfangs.

“False words, Garen. Do they know what you did? Did you tell them? Or
are they just tools for you to throw away, like we were?”
The Goblins stirred. Garen started, and then stared down at Jelaqua. He
seemed to realize what she was doing at last. A note of heat entered his
tone.

“They are not! They are my tribe! I did not betray my team! I—it was not
like that. It did not happen that way. I was betrayed.”

“Liar!”

The word came from all three Halfseekers. Garen recoiled, and then he
shouted back.

“You were not there! You did not hear! Only I was there!”

“Then tell us! What happened?”

Jelaqua hurled it at Garen. She strained against the ropes, not needing to
act. Garen hesitated. He looked from face to face. And then he nodded. He
looked around, at the watching Redfangs. At Spiderslicer, at the five
returned warriors. He raised his voice.

“You want to know? Fine. This is what happened. This. This is how I was
betrayed.”

The Halfseekers stared up at Garen. He saw them exchange glances, strain

against their bindings, and then, slowly, relax.

For a second their anger faded, and Garen saw a burning hole. A yearning to
know. He turned away. The memories rose in him, until he could remember
the smell of the room, how he’d felt, even the smallest details, like the way
his heart started to jump as they unpacked the treasure and he knew he was
right.

Garen’s voice was hollow in his ears. He looked at Jelaqua. She had not
been a female Drake, then. She had been a male Human, a castoff body, the
only one she’d been able to find.

“Do you remember that day? Before the adventurer?”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes. She spoke hollowly, replaying the memories in her
own mind as they flashed before Garen’s eyes.

“Back then, I remember it was you that told us there was treasure at the
bottom of the roach caverns. Other adventurers had cleared the caverns
before, but given up. The place was—is—disgusting. No one ever wanted
to go near the place. But you insisted. You told us you were certain. And
when I asked, you said you’d learned it from another Goblin. A Chieftain. I
remember thinking it was curious how a Goblin would know about the
treasure, but I didn’t ask then.”

Seborn nodded.

“We thought we knew the depths, but you kept insisting we go deeper.
Farther down. You could drown amid the insects down there. But those
were only the ones who lived near the surface. The ones who ate the
roaches and other bugs lived deeper. And we had to fight through
them.”

The Selphid’s voice was soft. Now all three—all four were in a sort of
trance. The Goblins listened as the Halfseekers recalled that day and night.
Jelaqua stared at another sight, and Garen heard the clicking, moving
sounds, the shouting of voices, crunching.

“Walls of vines while we recovered. Halassia and Keilam had to burn us a

path. If we hadn’t been at our best, we would have been overwhelmed. And
when we got to the bottom and those things began crawling towards us—
Seborn nearly died grabbing the chest. But he tossed it into the bag of
holding and we ran for it.”

“We had the treasure.”

Garen spoke quietly. Jelaqua smiled without mirth.

“We did. We checked the treasure the moment we got out of the cave. Good
stuff, but we decided to unpack it at the inn. We headed for the nearest city.
Celebrating. We were happy.”

“We were.”

Moore hunched over. He looked up, his voice hollow.

“I remember I was so happy that day. For all I was as sick as a dog. And it
was all thanks to you, Garen. A Goblin’s tipoff. A fortune, or at least, we
hoped. It was a fortune, a small one at least. It paid for the funerals. For
money to the families of Thornst, Keilam, and Halassia. Ukrina’s kin
wanted nothing to do with her.”

“We left you in a private room we’d rented. That was the last time we
were together.”

Yes. Garen closed his eyes. He looked up—

And dodged. Just in time. Moore spewed onto the table again. Halassia
made a horrified sound and Jelaqua groaned.

“Aw, Moore!”

“Sorry.”

The half-Giant wiped his mouth. Something crawled out of what he’d puked
up and the half-Giant was immediately sick again. All of the adventurers
had swallowed bugs in the caverns, but he’d been the biggest target. Garen
patted him on the back as Ukrina went for another bucket and cloths. The
[Innkeeper] had not been happy about them trooping into his inn covered in
filth and insects, but they’d paid him enough. Well, probably enough.

“I think Moore’s done in, guys. And my body’s shot.”

Jelaqua looked tired. She gestured at her body—with her left arm. She’d left
the right one behind, and her current body was not only bitten in a
thousand places, but—infested. Moore avoided looking at her as he wiped
his mouth. He looked pale and green. Garen silently plucked a wiggling bug
off of Moore’s ear and popped it into his mouth.
“Ew, Garen!”

Halassia covered her eyes. Moore looked at Garen and then covered his
mouth. Ukrina sighed.

“Moore, please don’t throw up, or that [Innkeeper] will kick us out. At least
he’s giving us enough soap and water and hot towels.”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“They’d better, with what we’re paying them. Moore, get yourself to your
room. And uh, let’s get him a few basins. And a cleansing spell?”

“I’ll do it. I need to see if my dagger can be repaired.”

Seborn volunteered, lifting the broken acid dagger he’d sacrificed to

distract one of the insects at the bottom of the caverns. Jelaqua nodded.

“Then I’ll haul myself off to the local crypt. I think the [Gravedigger] told
me they’ve got a body that’s not too rotten…anything’s better than this. You
lot think you can hold down the fort?”

Thornst, the half-Elf and newest member of their group, looked up

hopefully. He was the oldest among them save for Jelaqua, but he acted like
the youngest at times, younger than even Garen.

“If we can check the treasure—”

“Be our guests. But no fighting over the items until I get back, okay, kids?”

“Deal.”

Ukrina rubbed her claws together in delight. Keilam, who had stayed out of
range of Moore’s vomiting, leapt to the ground as the other three departed.
He peered at the moldy, worn treasure chest that had been sitting at the
bottom of the caverns. Garen eyed another bug that crawled from the edge
of the chest, but decided he was full. Keilam prowled around the chest.

“Tell me what we got. If there’s a spellbook, I’d like—”

“No dibs, Keilam! Jelaqua just said! Hold on, let’s open it. Garen, do you
want to do the honors? You did give us the lead on this one.”

Halassia smiled at Garen. Her dark, ashy scales were flaking off, and red,
distressed skin, showed in placed where her scales had fallen off. But it was
a familiar sight and Garen admired his teammate. He nodded, heart
pounding.

“I will. It was good secret, right?”

“Right!”

The others chorused. Ukrina laughed. She slapped Garen on the back.

“A Goblin’s secrets! Every team should have a Goblin in it, right Garen?
What other treasures does your kind know about? I should have been
shaking down Goblins left and right instead of—uh, never mind.”

She trailed off awkwardly. Garen just shook his head.

“Goblins have few secrets. Just…a few. This one, and some others. But this
is important. Think so, anyways.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. He was afraid, terribly afraid that he was

wrong. But if he was right—his claws trembled as he reached for the lid of
the chest. The others held their breaths. They’d done a quick inventory
already, but this was different. Garen opened the chest and they sighed as a
glitter shone from within.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Keilam prowled around the chest, reaching into it. Halassia slapped his
paws away.

“Hands off! Let Garen pull them out.”

“Should we be careful of traps?”

Thornst asked the question a bit too late. Halassia shook her head.
“Seborn checked it already. Besides, it would have gone off when he
grabbed it anyways, right? Go on, Garen.”

The Hobgoblin nodded and began pulling items out. Ukrina whistled as he
lifted a large, golden yellow orb, translucent and set on a small bronze
stand.

“Looks like a scrying orb. Nice size. And this—this is a fine set of
gemstones.”

She eyed the handful of sparkling gems Garen pulled out. The next item
made Keilam reach for it and earn another swat. His tail wagged back and
forth as he peered at a studded silver gauntlet, shaped for a Drake’s claws
rather than a Human’s hand.

“A gauntlet! I wonder what its enchantment is? And look, a wand! I call
it!”

“Keilam! I told you no!”

Halassia sprayed a bit of water from the tip of her staff at Keilam. The half-
Gnoll yowled and backed up, raising his paws. Halassia sighed, but then
her face burst into a smile as Garen kept pulling out item after item.

“Would you look at this? Potions and gems and magical artifacts! We’re
rich! This is twice as good as the treasure we got in Meribeth’s Sanctum!”

The others nodded. Halassia paused, a frown crossing her face.

“An odd collection, though. All of this stuff’s expensive, but who just packs
this randomly into a chest? And leaves it at the bottom of a cavern full of
bugs?”

Garen had reached the bottom of the chest. His breath caught as, at last, he
found what he was looking for. He answered Halassia with a trembling
voice.

“A distraction. Small treasure. Reward for getting chest. But this—”

He reached into the chest and came up with something. A small key, iron, or
so it seemed. The other Halfseekers stared at it, perplexed.

“What? Are you serious, Garen? There’s no way that this is a distraction.
You’re telling me that’s the treasure? How did you know about it?”

Ukrina looked skeptically at the key. Keilam’s ears perked up. Halassia
blinked and Thornst leaned forwards.

“What’s that key for, Garen? What does it unlock? Is this another Goblin
secret?”

Garen smiled at them. He hesitated, and looked down at the key. This was
it. Every part of him knew it was the key. It was the same as the one he had
seen in his memories. But should he tell them?

Yes. Every part of him said yes. Garen had debated this very question for
months now, ever since he had taken a leave of absence from the
Halfseekers and discovered his brother had given his soul away. But now
even that memory couldn’t dampen his spirits.

Yes, tell them! His brother was wrong. His strange master couldn’t be
trusted. Undead couldn’t be trusted. But Garen knew his team. He looked
around and held the key up proudly. It shone dully in the light. It looked just
like iron, and it didn’t seem enchanted, not on first inspection. But Garen
felt the power in it. He looked at the others, practically trembling with joy.

“This is the true treasure. The one I knew of. It was hidden in caverns. Rest
of the treasure is a distraction a…”

“Decoy?”

Halassia offered. Garen nodded.

“Yes. Decoy. But this. This is valuable. It is—it is the key of the Goblin
King.”

The others felt silent. Their eyes went wide. Fixed on Garen and the key. He
looked around, smiling at them. His friends. He waved the key.
“This is his key. I know it from memory. All Goblins who remember do. This
is Velan’s key. One of two. And it unlocks a great, great treasure in the High
Passes. The treasure of Goblins. Our hope. Our legacy. Will you help me
find it?”

He waited for them to say yes. To smile and congratulate him. To agree. He
waited, and waited. But that was not what they said. Instead, they broke
Garen’s heart.

—-

“The key of the Goblin King.”

Garen held it up. The little iron key was dull, worn. Small. But it had never
broken, and he could still feel the power within. The Halfseekers, the living
ones, stared at him.

“And that was it? You killed them for that?”

Jelaqua whispered through bloodless lips. Garen jerked. He twisted and

looked at her.

“No! I told them what it was! I told you—”

“And then what? It makes no sense! Did you try and keep the key and they
stopped you? Did you ask for it? We didn’t even divide the loot yet! Why
did you steal it and run?”

Jelaqua cried out, frustrated. Garen clenched the key in his fist, feeling the
teeth dig into his palm.

“I did not steal it! You didn’t listen! I told them exactly what I told you! I
told them everything! I told them this key was the key of Velan. One of two!
And it unlocked a greater treasure.”
Garen stared down at the key. Such a precious thing. Such a terrible weight.
He had debated throwing it away a thousand times. It was a reminder. He
put it in the pouch at his belt, closed it, looked around. His tribe stared at
him. The Halfseekers stared at him. Did they not see it yet? Garen spoke
quietly.

“I told them. Our hope. A treasure for my kind. The only thing Goblins have
ever been left besides death. I thought they would be happy. But they
weren’t. They tried to take the key from me. They said I should never have
it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Garen didn’t look up. He stared down at his hands.

“That was what Halassia said. She looked at me. And Ukrina told me to
give her the key or bleed. But Halassia said—she said—”

He swallowed. The words came back to him, burning, unforgettable. Garen

looked up and stared into her eyes as she pointed a wand at his chest.

“This cannot be. And this can never be, Garen. I am sorry, but your species
is too dangerous. Too monstrous. The world must never have another
Goblin King, not if we can prevent it. Give me the key.”

He looked around, and there was silence. No one spoke. Garen stared at
Jelaqua, at Seborn, at Moore. He looked around at his warriors, at the Cave
Goblins, and then stared back years at Halassia’s face. He stared and stared,
until a strangled, halting voice spoke. Moore looked up, shaking his head in
denial.

“No, no. Halassia wouldn’t try to attack you. She wouldn’t do that. She was
gentle. She would never—”

“She did.”
“She couldn’t! She would never threaten one of her teammates. You lie,
Garen. She wouldn’t do—”

“I am not lying!”

Garen bellowed at Moore. The half-Giant opened his mouth. Jelaqua

interrupted him quietly.

“I think she might have, Moore.”

He made a small noise. Jelaqua looked up at him, her expression bleak. She
looked at Garen, shook her head.

“She said that? Exactly? Word for word?”

He nodded. Jelaqua closed her eyes.

“Halassia. She shouldn’t have—and Ukrina would—those idiots always did

love their cities, even if they were outcast. They should have waited for me
to…”

She trailed off. Moore looked at Jelaqua and then seemed to fold in on
himself. The two sat there, and Garen felt a surge of—what?
Vindictiveness? Triumph? Relief? It didn’t make him feel better. But then
Seborn looked up.

“So what?”

The other two looked at him. Garen did too. Seborn shook his head. His
eyes were cold. Unchanged. He looked at Jelaqua, then straight at Garen.

“So what? This changes nothing. They tried to take the key from you.
You were the one who struck first. I saw their bodies. You stabbed the
other three before they could so much as move. Only Ukrina fought.”

“I was…”

Garen remembered that moment. He remembered Ukrina pressing him,

Halassia insisting. Reaching for the key. Reaching for hope. And the way
their expressions changed. He remembered the sword in his hand, making a
decision—

“It was not my fault.”

“Wrong.”

Garen shook. He looked at Seborn, at Jelaqua, and at Moore. He whipped

his head back and forth.

“Wrong? Wrong? I did nothing wrong! They threatened me! They denied
me! To my face! I told them all, the greatest Goblin secrets, and they told
me I was wrong. They threatened to kill me.”

“To stop a Goblin King? Absolutely.”

Seborn nodded. Garen shouted at him.

“But I am not a King! I was a teammate! Part of—part of the tribe! A

Halfseeker! It was not my fault! I fought with others for years! I gave all to
team! But I was betrayed. Again. And again.”

He turned away from the Halfseekers, looked past his tribe. They stared at
him, still, silent. Garen spoke, bitterly.

“I have always been betrayed. Before, I would have been my brother’s

champion. Strongest warrior in a tribe. But I was betrayed. And then, I
would have been part of my team, become Named Adventurer. Found the
Goblin King’s treasure, shared it if it could be shared. But I was betrayed.
And then I would have fought with Rags as Chieftain. But she betrayed me.
Redscar betrayed me and others. And then Tremborag’s tribe betrayed.
Reiss betrayed. It is all betrayal. All of you. I did nothing wrong.”

He looked around, pointing at the Halfseekers, at each face in turn. Garen

waited for them to acknowledged their guilt, to agree, at last. Now the truth
had come out. But they didn’t. They looked at each other. Each face was
different. There was pain, regret, and shaken beliefs. But Jelaqua still shook
her head. She looked back at Garen.
“But you killed them.”

Garen’s stomach turned over. The Selphid looked at him from behind the
dead eyes, and her tone was bitter.

“You keep saying you were betrayed. And they did wrong, Garen. I can’t
deny that. They shouldn’t have threatened their teammate. Not like that.
But. You. Killed. Them. And that we do not forgive.”

She glanced down at her claws. Then she gazed up at him and her eyes were
cold again.

“This changes nothing. Let us go and give us our weapons, Garen. We’ll
finish this here in front of your precious tribe.”

He felt as if he’d been punched. Garen looked at Jelaqua. She shook her
head.

“Traitor.”

The word struck him like a rock. Garen rocked back on his heels and saw a
huge head lift. Moore hunched his broad shoulders. His voice was low,
pained. He stared at Garen with grief and helpless anger. Regret.

“Traitor.”

There was no pity in Seborn’s eyes. He sat, motionless, his eyes burning.
He spoke, his echoing voice a condemnation, a promise.

“Traitor.”

The Halfseekers stared at him. And Garen knew then that he would never
hear anything else from them. Ever. They would never look at him
differently. That knowledge was the bitterest poison on his tongue. He
turned away from them.

“Fine. That is what you call me.”

He looked up. At his warriors, at Spiderslicer. Garen waved a claw.

“Kill them.”

Spiderslicer hesitated. He looked around. The other Redfangs looked from

him to Garen, uncertain. Garen raised his voice, impatiently, hearing it
break and hating that weakness.

“Kill them!”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Mechanically, Spiderslicer stood. He drew his falchion, and walked

forwards slowly. The other Redfangs looked at Garen. They had heard
everything. They had heard his betrayal, and seen how his comrades, his old
team refused to understand. Refused to listen. So why did they look at him
with such horror? Garen tried to look away, but they were all around him.
Why, why—

“Chieftain Garen!”

A voice spoke up. A body rose. Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way.

The shorter Goblin stared up at him. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Move, Headscratcher.”

Headscratcher didn’t budge. He spread his arms wide and looked at Garen.

“Chieftain Garen. Question.”

“Ask.”

Garen looked up. The sun had set. The stars were coming out. A cool wind
blew on his face. He just wanted it to be done with. The Halfseekers could
die. Then he could forget at last and go…go to the High Passes. Leave this
place and never come back. Headscratcher’s voice was insistent as he
blocked Spiderslicer. The smaller Goblin hesitated, and then decided to stay
put.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders to us. Redfangs sent on mission. To kill

Human. Innkeeper.”
“I did. And you did. So what?”

Rags didn’t know about that. Garen stared blankly at the rising moon. He
heard a noise from one of the Halfseekers. Moore? Headscratcher lowered
his voice.

“Didn’t.”

“What?”

Garen turned. He glared at Headscratcher. The Hob hunched his shoulders.

“Didn’t. Met innkeeper. She was nice.”

Rabbiteater nodded. He spoke up, his voice trembling slightly.

“She is good. Very good!”

“And has name.”

Shorthilt glanced up. Numbtongue nodded.

“Erin Solstice.”

“I told you to kill her.”

Garen’s voice was low. Furious. He glared at the Hobs and then realized the
young woman he’d hit had been her. He’d wiped her from his mind,
assuming she was dead. Garen thrust a finger at the Hobs, who flinched as
one.

“You failed! Disobeyed orders!”

“Bad orders. And we tried.”

Badarrow met Garen’s eyes. The other Redfangs nodded. They spoke all
together. Headscratcher was first. He summed up the entirety of the
problem in four words.
“Got orders. Got lost.”

The other Redfangs groaned. They understood that. Garen held his tongue.
Rabbiteater nodded quickly.

“Innkeeper left Celum. Couldn’t find trail. Many days walk.”

He gestured wildly, and Garen remembered that neither Grunter nor any of
the warriors he’d sent had tracking Skills or classes. The other Redfangs
nodded. Numbtongue spoke, his voice clear, as fluent as any Human. When
had he begun talking so much? He used to refuse to speak so much as a
word…

“We searched for her, and ran into a raiding party sent by the Goblin Lord.
We found a city—Esthelm—”

He faltered at the magnitude of what had happened next. Shorthilt shook his
head.

“Undead. City destroyed. Many Humans. Panic death. Goblin Lord forces
come back, big fight, three sides…”

He spread his arms, trying to encompass the magnitude of what had

happened. Then he looked at Badarrow. The [Sniper] cradled his bow and
rasped.

“Grunter died. Orangepoo died. Leftstep died. Patchhelm died. Justrust

died. Rocksoup died…”

The words were deafening. The Redfang tribe sat still. The five Hobs
looked at each other. And then they began to tell their tale from the
beginning. In whole, not just in parts.

Each one told a part of the story, gesturing, faltering, falling silent. Then
another would take up the momentum, telling it to their audience, to Garen.

A skeleton with purple eyes. A [Knight] in shining armor. A girl who was a
monster and a person. A battle for the city. Leaving the fallen. Wandering.
Hiding. The Eater Goats. A village in danger, and the young woman who
offered them food. Eating, becoming welcome. Becoming security, seeing
plays, defending the inn. Fighting Raskghar, going into the dungeon.
Leading the Cave Goblins. Fighting the strange Hob. Being arrested.

They had gone through so much. Garen listened with awe, surprise, and
pride. He couldn’t help it. The Hobs had gone through a story of their own,
as much as he had—more than he had when he was just starting out. And
they had come through it together. When they finished, the other Redfangs
looked at them as they looked at him when he told their own tales. The five
Redfang warriors stood together, proud, tired, looking up at him.

Their Chieftain. Only, there was something different in their eyes. Chieftain
Garen, they’d called him. Not just Chieftain. Headscratcher spoke at last.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders. But…”

He looked at the others. They nodded, giving him support. Headscratcher

looked up and took a deep breath.

“Bad orders, Chieftain Garen. Rags was Chieftain, so old Chieftain’s orders
not good. Rags liked innkeeper. Erin Solstice is good. Can’t kill her.”

“I see.”

That was all Garen said. He stared numbly down at the Redfangs. So they
couldn’t kill her. Did they even realize why? It wasn’t just that she was
good. He wondered. They were so young. Did they know they loved her?
As much as any Goblin could love a Human. He had loved someone, once.
As much as a Goblin could love a Drake.

What a bitter poison. Garen shook his head. He tried to think of something
to say, and just gave up. He looked at the five and couldn’t find it in his
heart to chastise them.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t kill her.”

The five relaxed. Garen pointed at Spiderslicer, who’d sat down to listen.
“But Halfseekers. They die. And then we go south. All of us. Cave Goblins,
old Redfangs and new—we go south. Past Liscor, back to High Passes.”

Spiderslicer slowly got up. Headscratcher stiffened. Again, he shook his

head.

“No, Chieftain.”

Garen frowned.

“Why not?”

Headscratcher struggled for words. He flushed, conscious he was in front of

his peers, some of them Goblins who were far older than he was. And his
Chieftain. He gestured, speaking slowly.

“If Goblin Lord is coming, Redfangs should fight! That what Chieftain
Garen said to Rags, said to us! If Chieftain Rags is alive—should go to her.
Chieftain is still Chieftain. Can’t abandon her. Would be not-Goblin.”

The Redfangs stirred. They looked at Headscratcher, ashamed,

embarrassed, but no one said a word. Rags was Chieftain. And they had
betrayed her.

That was true. You couldn’t deny that. Yes, Garen had usurped Rags’
authority. He had—done a Human thing. Pretended to be part of her tribe,
then not listened to her orders. Gone behind her back. That was not a
Goblin thing. And yes, she had left Tremborag’s mountain, betrayed him.
But that was her betrayal. They had still abandoned her.

Betrayal, and betrayal again. Garen was angry. It was all that seemed to
happen to him. He snapped down at Headscratcher.

“That was different! Rags was—not strong! Not enough! She could not be
Chieftain! She was too weak! Who could lead the Redfangs but me?”

No one answered. Obviously, only Garen could be their Chieftain. There

was no Goblin that could match him. No one could replace him, or defeat
him. And yet, Headscratcher looked up steadily.
“That true, Chieftain Garen. But Rags was still true Chieftain. She was
smart.”

Garen opened his mouth. He looked around, and the Redfang tribe gazed
down at Headscratcher, ready to shout agreement. But for some reason the
words didn’t come out. The five Hobs, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater,
Numbtongue, Badarrow, and Shorthilt, looked around, their eyes steady.
Confident that what they were saying was true, was right.

They had not been here for Tremborag, or the betrayal at the mountain.
They had not witnessed the Human army bearing down on them, or felt the
fear of seeing the Kingslayer staring down at them. They had not seen
Tremborag fall, or Rags’ new tribe. Or Reiss’ betrayal. They had not seen…
anything.

And they remembered a different time. A time when their tribe had been
under Rags’ command, however tenuous. The other Redfang goblins shifted
uneasily. How could you explain all that had passed to bring them here?

“Enough.”

Garen croaked the words. He waved a claw.

“Just—enough. Rags is gone. Maybe dead. Won’t get to her tribe. Reiss
defeated her. Too far, too many Humans and Reiss’ army in the way. We go.
Kill Halfseekers.”

It sounded like a plea. Garen’s sword weighed at his side. He could do it

himself, in an instant. But he couldn’t—no, he had given an order. But still
Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The smaller Goblin raised his
weapon threateningly, but this time Numbtongue blocked him, guitar in
hand. He looked around, his words loud, authoritative.

“No. The Halfseekers are her friends. If they die, she will be sad. They
fought with us. They were your tribe.”

He pointed at Garen. The Chieftain felt a thrill of outrage and something

else. The other Hobs nodded. Shorthilt polished his sword.
“Can’t kill own tribe.”

“They are traitors!”

Garen couldn’t believe he was arguing with them. He strode forwards,

pointing at Headscratcher, who began to back up and then caught himself.
Garen shouted at Headscratcher.

“I am your Chieftain! You do not argue! You obey!”

Headscratcher’s knees shook. But he refused to step back. He looked Garen

in the eye, and Garen saw all their history together. He had taught
Headscratcher how to fight. He had shown him how to work with his tribe
to bring down larger foes. He had given Headscratcher everything that
made him what he was. And Headscratcher saw the same thing. But still, he
shook his head.

“Only Chieftain can give orders. And true Chieftain is Rags. Not you.
Garen.”

You could have dropped a pin and heard the sound as the tribe stared at
Headscratcher in silence. Garen’s hand closed over the hilt of his sword.

“Traitor.”

Headscratcher flinched. Garen looked at Spiderslicer, and the Goblin looked

around. Redfang warriors got to their feet, uncertainly. Garen began to
unsheathe his sword, waiting for Headscratcher to take back his words.
Then he heard a sound.

Rustling. He turned his head and saw the sea of grey-green bodies get to
their feet. Twenty thousand Cave Goblins stood up. Their crimson eyes
gleamed as they hoisted weapons into the air. The Redfangs turned, warily.

“Sit.”

Garen turned and growled an order. The Cave Goblins rippled and some
began to sit at the authority in his tone. But they didn’t. He was a Chieftain,
the only [Chieftain] present. But somehow, the Cave Goblins stood. They
had overthrown their masters once. They stared down at the Redfang tribe,
who stared back without fear.

They were Redfangs, and the Cave Goblins, for all there were five times as
many, were far weaker. If it was a battle, the Redfangs would take to their
mounts and ride forth until the last one was dead. But still—they looked at
Garen, their Chieftain, and hesitated. It was in the air. Headscratcher looked
Garen in the eye. He was afraid, terribly afraid. But he still barred Garen’s
way.

“Can’t let you kill Halfseekers. Can’t let them die. Won’t go.”

“Then leave.”

Garen hissed at him. He just wanted Headscratcher out of his sight. But the
Hob refused to budge. He shook his head.

“I am Redfang. We are Redfang. They are Redfang.”

He touched his chest, gestured at his four friends, and pointed at the Cave
Goblins. They echoed the word, a whisper twenty thousand times.

“Redfang.”

Headscratcher nodded. He closed his eyes, and then looked at the others.
They nodded too. Garen didn’t understand. Not until Headscratcher reached
for his axe. He drew the precious, enchanted blade, and pointed it at
Garen’s chest. He spoke softly, but in words every member of the Redfang
tribe heard.

“Garen Redfang. I challenge you for Chieftain of Redfang tribe.”

For a moment all was still. Then Garen laughed. He threw his head back
and laughed, surprising everyone present. Headscratcher looked at him
uncertainly. Then Garen moved, in one motion, he drew his sword and
pointed Redfang, the fabled blade at Headscratcher’s throat. The
[Berserker] froze.
“You cannot challenge me. You are dead. Too weak! Too young! Bow! Or
die!”

Garen shouted at Headscratcher. The young Hob wavered, but refused to

budge. Garen’s grip tightened—and then Numbtongue stepped forwards.
He brought his guitar down on the flat of Garen’s blade, knocking it down.
The Chieftain stared at him. Numbtongue spoke, his voice echoing.

“I challenge you too.”

A blade slid from its scabbard. Garen turned his head and saw Rabbiteater
draw his blade. The [Champion] held his sword up, pointing at Garen’s
chest. His crimson cloak—liquid wine, a fine vintage—rippled behind him.
He spoke, his voice quavering, his sword arm steady.

“I challenge.”

Another blade. This one barely whispered as it was unsheathed. Shorthilt

held the sword in one hand, and a parrying dagger in the other. He smiled.

“Challenge.”

Badarrow calmly nocked an arrow and aimed it at Garen’s throat.

“Me too.”

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe was frozen in place. Headscratcher
looked around and then smiled.

“We challenge you, Chieftain. All of us.”

They stood there, weapons bared, five of them. In the center of a ring of
warriors. Garen stared from face to face. And then he sighed. He dropped
his sword. It landed tip-first in the ground and slid into the earth like butter.
The other Redfangs stared at it. Headscratcher blinked down at the blade.
Garen grabbed his axe hand, threw him to the ground, and leapt at the
others with a roar.
—-

This is what Spiderslicer saw. He stood with the other Redfang warriors of
the tribe, in a circle of bodies. Carn Wolves prowled restlessly and the
horses shuffled, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The Cave Goblins
stood and watched. And in the center of the ring, a challenge was fought.

It was without blades. Garen Redfang had dropped his, and he gave the
other five Hobs no chance to use their weapons. Shorthilt’s sword went
flying as he kicked it out of the Hob’s hand. He kicked Rabbiteater in the
groin, threw Badarrow over his shoulder as the arrow went astray, and
blocked Numbtongue’s guitar with one arm. He threw a punch and
Numbtongue fell backwards, bleeding.

Perhaps there was mercy in it. But Spiderslicer saw Garen’s eyes. They
were wide with fury. He caught Headscratcher as the younger Goblin
rushed at him and kneed him in the chest, punched him twice, and then
turned and backhanded Shorthilt. He wasn’t doing this to be kind. He could
have killed all five Hobs in a moment. But he was making them submit.
They would surrender to him. Or Garen would kill them with his bare
hands.

It wasn’t a fair fight. Not even with their new classes. Not even five against
one. Headscratcher roared as he swung at Garen. The two were as strong as
each other, but Garen was faster, more experienced. He dodged the swings
and struck as Headscratcher was mid-punch. The Hob collapsed and Garen
turned and kicked. Rabbiteater choked as the blow drove into his stomach.
He folded over and Garen kicked dirt into Badarrow’s face. He brought his
hands down on the Hobgoblin’s back.

Flawless. Spiderslicer had seen Garen fight and knew he was beyond his
abilities. Beyond Redscar, or anyone else. Garen stood over the battered
Redfangs. He wasn’t breathing hard. He spoke one harsh word.

“Obey.”
They lay on the ground, coughing. Rabbiteater was spewing, and
Numbtongue might have a broken nose. Headscratcher had lost a tooth. He
was flat on his back. He looked up, past Garen, and mumbled something.

Garen walked over to him. He stared down at Headscratcher. Spiderslicer

edged closer. He heard a whisper, a cough, and then Headscratcher’s voice.

“She hugged me.”

Garen stared down at him.

“What?”

Headscratcher didn’t respond. He pushed himself up, and Numbtongue sat

up. He spat blood and growled.

“I played music.”

He rose. Shorthilt got up, shaking his head. He wiped blood from his nose.

“Every night, I sleep and feel safe. I smile. She gave me this.”

He patted the sheathed sword at his side and stood. Garen looked at him in
disbelief. Badarrow rolled over. Badarrow, who wouldn’t pick up a sword if
he could shoot a bow, made a fist.

“I met a friend who hunts for birds.”

He rose. Rabbiteater looked around. He wiped his mouth and looked at

Garen, and then past him, at the Cave Goblins.

“They call me [Champion].”

They stood with light shining from their eyes. Garen looked from face to
face. He shook his head and made an inarticulate sound. He lashed out and
Headscratcher reeled back. The fight continued, but this time it was savage.

Shorthilt had trained with other Redfang warriors and with Garen. He had
been battered, bloodied a hundred times. Broken bones. But this time Garen
showed no mercy. He struck the Redfangs, knocking them down, hitting
them hard enough to fracture their bones. Spiderslicer watched him snap
one of Headscratcher’s fingers like that. He saw the Hob stumble, then
throw a punch, broken finger or not.

Garen kicked him down. But Badarrow was next. He swung for Garen,
ignoring the two punches he received. The third downed him. Shorthilt and
Numbtongue jumped forwards and were knocked flat as Garen hurled
Numbtongue into Shorthilt. And then Rabbiteater raised his hands. He
threw a punch and Garen countered. He threw another punch and received a
blow to the face.

He staggered. But he refused to fall. Garen lashed out. He struck

Rabbiteater six times in the chest, face, groin. But Rabbiteater kept
swinging. He struck Garen’s chest, took a punch in the ribs. He blocked a
fist that went for his right shoulder, punched, sidestepped a kick. Garen
blinked and Rabbiteater hit him in the stomach.

Rabbiteater. Spiderslicer remembered a little Goblin. He saw a [Champion].

The two traded blows for another second. Garen swept Rabbiteater’s legs
out from under him and stomped. Rabbiteater’s ribs did break, then.

Headscratcher lunged at Garen from the side. The two went down,
punching, grappling. Garen threw Headscratcher off him. He got up and
received a punch from Badarrow. Shorthilt kicked him in the back. Garen
seized the leg, gripped Shorthilt by an ankle and threw him into Badarrow.
The blow sent both Hobgoblins down. The Redfang tribe winced as they
saw the two writhing.

Numbtongue. The Goblin was on his feet. He lifted his guitar and struck.
Garen blocked with one arm. Lightning flashed from the strings of the
guitar and Garen recoiled. Numbtongue held up his guitar and Garen leapt.
He kicked Numbtongue in the chin, snapping his head back. Down
Numbtongue fell, like a rock. Garen landed, and Headscratcher was
waiting.

One punch. The [Berserker] roared and caught Garen with a blow that lifted
the Chieftain’s feet off the ground. He swung again and Garen hit him back.
Headscratcher choked but didn’t fall. He swung and Garen knocked him
down. The Chieftain turned, panting.

And Rabbiteater got off the ground. Numbtongue was shaking his head.
Rabbiteater pulled him up. Shorthilt and Badarrow were getting up too.
Garen turned. He knocked all of them down, but it wasn’t enough.

Again and again. Spiderslicer thought that each time one of the Redfangs
fell it had to be the last time. They had broken bones now, and blood ran
from their ears, noses. But still they rose, supporting each other, leaning on
each other’s shoulders. Each time they were struck down, they stood up,
battered, broken, but still rising.

It was an impossible foe. There was no way they could beat Garen Redfang.
No way. But they took the fight to him, attacking as one. As a team. Garen
was a blur, fighting them all at once. But it wasn’t Garen that Spiderslicer
and the other Redfangs were looking at now.

It was them. They refused to fall.

It was the essence, the quintessential thing that defined the Redfang Tribe.
Spiderslicer felt his eyes sting as he saw the five Redfangs fighting,
bleeding. Garen hammered them down, kicked them, beat them as they
struggled to land a single blow, two blows—

“Submit or die!”

Garen howled it at them. He stood over Headscratcher as the Hob knelt, too
weak to stand. But the Hob still swung at Garen’s legs. A weak blow. Garen
struck him and then turned. He strode over to the crimson blade lodged in
the ground and drew it.

A groan ran around the circle. It was unconscious. Garen advanced on

Headscratcher, kicking Rabbiteater as the Hob lunged at him. He pointed
the blade down at Headscratcher.

“Surrender.”
“No.”

Headscratcher looked up. He reached for an axe he didn’t have. Garen

hesitated. He looked down and shook his head. He raised his blade.

To kill Headscratcher. His own tribe. Spiderslicer howled and it felt like
every Redfang howled with him. The tale of the Halfseekers’ betrayal
played in his mind again. His own tribe! Headscratcher looked up, baring
his teeth, waiting. The other four were trying to get up, but they couldn’t.
He couldn’t die. Spiderslicer saw Garen swing down, but no one was going
to stop him. He couldn’t—

The rust-red blade fell. A sword swept up to stop it. The blade deflected the
enchanted sword, swept it away. Spiderslicer stared at the sword. It was
thin, a razor’s edge of a blade. A falchion, in fact.

He looked around. He was standing in front of Headscratcher. It was his

hand that held the weapon. His falchion rang with the impact. Spiderslicer
reflexively checked it to make sure the thin blade hadn’t bent—and then he
realized what he’d done. He looked around. Redfang warriors stared at him.
Garen looked down.

“Spiderslicer. What are you doing?”

Spiderslicer quivered. He looked up. He tried to move, to back away and

leave Headscratcher. But he couldn’t help it. He trembled as he lifted his
falchion. But a part of him screamed the words. He looked up at his
Chieftain.

“Redfangs don’t fight alone.”

Garen stared down at him. The color drained from his face. He took a step
back, and then what Spiderslicer said hit him. He closed his eyes and then
looked at Spiderslicer. Bitter anger flared in his gaze.

“Traitor.”
Spiderslicer recoiled from the words. They tore at him, hot barbs reaching
for his heart. They were the same words that Garen had spoken when
Redscar and the others had left. And they cut no less deep.

The Goblin’s eyes blurred with tears. Spiderslicer looked up at his idol, his
Chieftain. The hero who had taught him how to fight, had shown him how
to believe in himself, believe he was strong. But that had been when
Spiderslicer was young. Now he looked up and just saw a lost Goblin, who
did the same things. He was strong, but he did not have a vision like Reiss.
He was not confident of himself like Tremborag had been. He did not offer
hope, like Rags.

“Sorry, Chieftain.”

And he meant it. With every fiber of his being. But still, he raised the
falchion. Garen looked down at him. He looked at Headscratcher, at
Rabbiteater, at Numbtongue and Shorthilt and Badarrow.

“Traitor. You are a traitor. All of you are.”

All six Goblins looked up at him. They shook their heads. Slowly. Sadly.
How did he not see? Headscratcher was the one who said it.

“No, Chieftain. You are.”

Garen swung his sword. Spiderslicer raised his blade as he threw himself at
Headscratcher. The two fell. Spiderslicer felt his sword sunder as Garen’s
blade sheared through the steel. He got up and stared at the hilt of his
sword. Garen pointed his sword at Spiderslicer’s chest. Then another
Goblin stepped forwards.

The Hob who carried the warhammer stepped forwards. She looked down
at Garen and shook her head. He turned towards her. On the Hob’s left,
another Goblin drew a dirk. A pair of Goblin twins pulled cleavers from
their waistbands. They gathered behind Spiderslicer. Garen stopped.

A veteran warrior made a sound of outrage. He moved behind Garen, his

spear aimed at the Hob with the warhammer. But then another Goblin
moved. He raised a halberd and joined the others behind Spiderslicer and
Headscratcher. And another Goblin joined them. And another.

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe slowly stood. They drew their
weapons and walked past him. They formed a line, a mass. Thousands of
Goblins stood, weapons drawn, forming a wall between him and
Headscratcher and Spiderslicer. Some were weeping. Others were dry-eyed
but shaking, holding their weapons so hard their hands began to bleed. But
none of them looked away. They met his eyes, and there was nothing but
grief there.

But they stood. Some of the Redfangs didn’t join the ones around
Headscratcher. They stood at Garen’s back. But so few. Less than a hundred
stood around Garen. Less than a hundred. They stared at their friends with
shock in their eyes. It was a mirror of Garen’s own expression.

A Hob struggled to his feet, supported by Spiderslicer. Headscratcher

coughed. He looked at Garen and his eye ran with blood and water.

“Chieft—”

Headscratcher fell silent. The Redfangs stared at Garen. He looked around,

and his expression was hurt. Lost.

“You are my tribe.”

They didn’t answer him. They were his tribe. His. He had made them, given
them everything. But still, he was wrong. He had been wrong. He had
abandoned his first tribe, abandoned his brother and Rags. It was true. They
had betrayed him. But he had betrayed them too. That was the great tragedy.

Sometimes your sisters and brothers struck at you. Sometimes they broke
your heart. But he had shed blood first. He had given up on them. And
Redfangs did not do that. He had taught them better. So they stood in
opposition to him. Meeting his eyes until it became too much for him to
bear.
Slowly, Garen began to back up. He stumbled on the uneven ground, no
longer surefooted. He looked around and walked towards his Carn Wolf.
The great wolf had watched all that had passed, anxious and confused. It
had seen Garen sparring, but this was different. It lowered its head, nuzzling
Garen. He stood with it as the few Redfangs that had joined him went to
their mounts.

Garen began to walk away. Slowly, as if he was in a dream. He looked back

once, and then twice. No one moved. Garen’s Carn Wolf whined, slinking
over to Garen to lick at his master’s bloody cuts. The Hobgoblin Chieftain
kept looking back. Spiderslicer could barely see him. Hot water ran down
his face, though it wasn’t raining.

The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe was halfway down the road when
someone called out.

“Stop.”

He turned back. Hope in his eyes. But it faded as he saw who was walking
towards him. Cave Goblins and Redfangs parted as three figures walked
forwards. Jelaqua’s body was torn. Moore clutched at his side, partially
healed by a potion. Seborn drew his reclaimed blades.

“We’re not done with you, Garen. Stop.”

He looked back at them, and now he seemed ready to run. But he held his
ground and turned, sword in hand. The Halfseekers walked towards him,
leaving a trail behind them.

“No.”

Numbtongue moved to block them. The Halfseekers didn’t stop. The

Hobgoblin tugged at Jelaqua. She stumbled unsteadily. Her innards were
visible through her wounds and something orange and fluid pulsed through
her organs.

“You’ll die.”
The Hobgoblin looked from face to face. Jelaqua looked at him once. Then
she shook her head.

“We swore an oath. We cannot forgive him. Move or die.”

And because they were his team, his tribe, and because they understood, the
Redfangs parted. They couldn’t stop it. They could only bear witness.
Garen waited, his eyes fixed on his friends. The Goblins stood back as the
four figures stopped for a moment. Maybe they said something. But it was
too late, after all. Years too late.

The Redfang tribe bore witness to the end. They stood in the middle of the
road and watched as the tale of the Halfseekers drew to its close.

It was not raining. It should have been. The skies should have been dark and
cloudy, and the wind should have blown and made the ground shiver and
lurch. It should have been dark. But it wasn’t. The skies were starry, and it
was a pleasant spring night.

They watched the end. Garen stood over a Drake. She was slumped, unable
to move, staring up at him. A half-Giant lay on the grass, clutching at his
side. Wet entrails glistened in the starlight. A Drowned Man lay, gasping,
reaching for his daggers. Drowning in his blood.

A sword as red as rust, as sharp as memory, swung down. The Drake’s head
rolled and her body slumped. The Hobgoblin turned. He looked at the three,
as the half-Giant tried to move and failed. Then he climbed onto the Carn
Wolf that waited for him.

Less than a hundred Goblins waited for the Hobgoblin as he slowly rode
away from the cave. He rode slowly, then faster than faster. The few
gathered around him as he headed north. Back. Perhaps to death. Or to
something else. Perhaps he just couldn’t ride past them all, or there was
nothing left for him to the south. But they saw him go, and knew he was
going.

Their Chieftain. The one who defined them. Going. Going. But what hurt
most was the flash of crimson that kept appearing in the distance, even
when he was a distant shape. It meant little until you remembered that a
Goblin’s eyes were crimson. Until you thought of Garen, riding faster and
faster as the wind blew across his face. But always the crimson light shone
towards the Redfangs gathered there. It meant one thing that hurt most of
all.

He kept looking back.

—-

“Hold. Hold still!”

Pisces trembled as, in The Wandering Inn, he bent over Erin. The
[Innkeeper] was half-conscious. Bleeding from her mouth. Pisces was
working as quickly as he could, but he dared not apply a healing potion.
Not until her teeth were mended.

They weren’t bones, but a [Necromancer] could manipulate any natural part
of the body in theory. But it was a thousand times harder to do that to a
living person and Pisces was sweating. He’d already fixed broken bones
and helped stave the worst of the injuries off.

The inn was bloody. Adventurers lay on the ground, wounded by arrows.
Some, like Dawil, were burned, and others had been rushed to Liscor for a
[Healer]. Pisces’ hand shook as he tried to mend Erin’s teeth. If only he had
the broken fragments.

“It’s not enough. I can’t do it without excess material. If I try to mend it—
I’ll make the teeth as fragile as glass. Enough. Enough. I’ll send my undead
through the doorway.”

He strode towards the magic door. Erin half-lurched up, but it was Ceria
who caught Pisces.
“Don’t be an idiot! A bunch of Gold-rank teams just got torn apart! Sit
down and figure something else out! If you can’t fix Erin’s teeth, let her use
a potion!”

Pisces clenched his hands, but some of what Ceria was saying got through
to him. He stalked back over to the doorway. Bevussa was lying on a table,
an arrow that had gone through her side lying in front of her. She looked at
the door.

A red gemstone was set in the door. It was open to the Redfang’s cave. It
was practically right next to where the fighting had been. Despite the
smashed door the Halfseekers had been carrying, they could go back to the
spot. But no one had dared open the door.

And yet, Erin had insisted on keeping it open. If the Redfangs, their
Redfangs needed a way out, it was there. So the door was set. But closed.
And every adventurer was keeping an eye on the door. Halrac had an
enchanted arrow nocked and he was sitting, facing the door’s entrance.

“I’ll—try and fix your teeth. It would be possible if I mixed teeth from
another skull, but adding a foreign substance to a living body seldom works
well. Still, if it’s just a…a cap on your teeth…I have bear teeth…”

Pisces muttered to himself. Erin murmured something and spat some blood.
Mrsha offered her a cloth and Erin wiped at her mouth.

“Not a normal tribe. That wasn’t normal. I’ve only heard of Goblins riding
wolves in stories. That had to be the Redfang tribe. But I never expected—”

Keldrass was muttering to himself. The other adventurers were groaning, or

whispering, but making very little noise. It felt like a vigil. A wake. The
Halfseekers had been gone. And the odds of them coming back were
shrinking by the moment.

But no one wanted to say it. Pisces was bending over Erin, mending her
teeth by attaching shaped enamel to her broken teeth and cursing the blood
when the door crashed open. Halrac stood in a flash as everyone spun. He
drew the arrow to his cheek and froze.
“Help.”

A figure stood in the doorway. A bleeding shape. Moore staggered into the
room, but something was wrong. He moved awkwardly, in jerking motions.
And he was holding something. A dark shape, bleeding.

“Seborn.”

“Help him.”

Moore whispered. He placed the Drowned Man on a table. Seborn jerked.

Blood was spilling from his mouth. Pisces fought off the paralysis and
rushed over to him.

“Healing potion—”

Bevussa was there before him.

“His lungs are shot. Someone suck out the blood—”

“Me! [Vacuum Sphere]!”

Falene knocked both aside. Seborn choked as blood rushed out of his lungs,
funneling up into a swirling vortex in the air. Pisces grabbed for a healing
potion. Bevussa snared it and poured it down Seborn’s throat. He choked.

“Get him upright—”

“Dead gods, his wounds!”

“Someone help Moore!”

Lyonette shouted. Pisces turned. He saw the half-Giant swaying. Then his
eyes went to Moore’s side. He saw entrails spilling out of a cut in his side.
Pisces swore. There was no blood coming from the wound. Moore was—he
had to be—

“Body. Need a body. She needs a body.”

Moore gasped at the others. He looked around. Two voices seemed to come
from his mouth. Both were his voice, but one was—different. A different
inflection. Pisces froze. His eyes went to Moore’s side as his mind
connected the dots. Surely not—

“Moore, you’re dying. The blood—”

“Stopped. I stopped it. It’s fine. She needs a body.”

The half-Giant looked around. He sagged to the ground. Pisces stared at

him.

“A body? Where would we find a host for—”

“Basement. It’s the basement.”

He turned. Erin staggered to her feet. Her partially fixed teeth moved
around her bloody mouth. She looked at the others.

“Raskghar in the basement. Get one. Hurry.”

For a moment no one moved, then Yvlon got up.

“Ylawes.”

They ran to the trapdoor. Moore was sitting on the ground, surrounded by
other Gold-rank adventurers. They tried to pack his insides back into his
body before applying the healing potion. All the while, the second voice
whispered to them, telling them what was wrong. Moore’s eyes were rolling
back in his head.

“Here!”

Yvlon came out of the basement, dragging a huge body behind her. Pisces’
heart jumped as he saw a Raskghar’s head and Ceria swore. But Moore
lurched over to it. He bent, exposing his open side towards the body.

“Don’t look. Don’t look!”

At first the others didn’t know what he meant. Pisces did, and he watched in
horror and fascination as something slithered out of Moore’s open wound.
The half-Giant groaned and passed out, but the orange, semi-liquid…thing
flowed towards the Raskghar’s body.

Yvlon and Ylawes backed up as it crawled down the creature’s mouth. The
other adventurers watched in horror. The Raskghar began to jerk, and then a
voice began to speak from its mouth, though the gaping muzzle never so
much as twitched.

“You didn’t see. Didn’t see it.”

The voice was confused. Female. It didn’t sound like a voice that came
from lips. The Raskghar kept twitching as the thing—the Selphid began
invading its nervous system. The adventurers looked at each other.

“What didn’t we see?”

Ceria looked around in confusion. The voice—Jelaqua, whispered again.

“They’ll kill us for it. Didn’t happen. You didn’t see. Please.”

Bevussa looked around. The Garuda understood, and she spoke decisively.

“We saw nothing. No one will tell anything.”

Pisces nodded. The others began to understand, at least in part. Jelaqua was
talking about how she’d entered Moore’s body. To invade a living host,
willing or not, was the height of Selphid sin.

The Selphid had almost gained control of the Raskghar’s body. It began
sitting up, raising its arms, blinking, as if going through a test. It was
unnatural to see. But for all the precision, it seemed like the controller was
—damaged. How could she not be? She kept whispering, forgetting to use
the Raskghar’s vocal chords and lungs.

“I didn’t break the rule. I didn’t—”

“What happened? Are the Goblins still there?”

“What about Headscratcher?”

Halrac and Erin pressed Jelaqua. The Raskghar’s head turned and stared
blankly at them.

“Garen. It was Garen. His tribe. Others alive.”

“Garen?”

The name evoked confusion in some of the other adventurers. Pisces felt his
heart skip a beat. Dawil, his face burned, sat up from his cot.

“That was their old teammate, wasn’t it? I heard about a Goblin Chieftain
that no adventuring team had managed to bring down. But he was supposed
to be in the High Passes.”

Jelaqua didn’t respond. Halrac looked at the body, then at Seborn and
Moore. He stared at the door.

“What in the name of the Five Families happened?”

Erin shook her head. She looked back at the Halfseekers. They were all
breathing, but just. She stared at the door, closed again.

“I don’t know. But I think—I think something happened with the Redfangs.
I mean, Headscratcher and the others. And Garen. They swore to kill him.”

“By the looks of it, he killed them.”

Revi commented softly. A strangled laugh rose from the Raskghar. All of
the adventurers jerked as Jelaqua finally spoke with the Raskghar’s
growling voice,

“He couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

Erin bent down towards her. Jelaqua looked up at her. She laughed again,
weakly. Hysterically.
“He couldn’t kill us. He tried, but he didn’t. Who beheads a Selphid?”

She laughed, and then tears began seeping from the Raskghar’s eyes. Not
water; the Raskghar’s body was dead. But a thin, yellow substance, like a
mucus. Erin drew back. Jelaqua kept laughing, a weird giggling sound like
a hyena’s laugh.

She was laughing and crying in the Raskghar’s body. It was a strange,
unnatural sight and sound. But the sobs that quickly usurped the laughter
and the tears were all too familiar.

The adventurers sat and stood in silence. Erin looked around. She was
bloody, battered, and the others were hurt as well. She ran her tongue over
her broken teeth and winced. She shook her head. For once, no witty quotes
came to mind. She just sat down and put her head in her hands.

“I need a drink.”

—-

The Redfangs stood outside the cave. Four thousand of them and twenty
thousand Cave Goblins. They looked at the five swollen and bruised
Hobgoblins among them. They had splints and were keeping still, most of
them. Even the best healing potions didn’t go so far.

Garen Redfang was gone. And with his absence, a void had opened up in
the tribe. After all, no one Goblin could equal Garen Redfang.

And that was the problem. It had been a problem even when Rags was
there, and Reiss. But the Redfangs had realized there was a solution.

No one could replace him. That was a fact. But five? Headscratcher,
Shorthilt, Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater sat together. And the
Redfangs looked at them. Headscratcher spoke slowly, around a swollen
mouth.
“We are Redfangs. We were, and are. And will be. Garen is gone, but he
was not us. We were, are, us.”

There was nothing else to say. The Redfangs sat there, as night fell.
Wondering what they would be tomorrow.

—-

So night fell. The Redfangs and Cave Goblins sat, talking, debating. Erin
Solstice and the adventurers lay in their inn, not understanding all of what
had gone on. And Garen Redfang rode away, haunted by regret, words
echoing in his mind. Those were their concerns.

The issues of a small Human city just north of Liscor was more immediate.
Esthelm, the city that had fallen and then reclaimed its honor, was in a state
of high alert. They’d reported the Redfang tribe riding past their walls. Now
they locked their gates, and put everyone they could fit on their walls. They
sent a [Message] spell to all the cities, a dire warning.

The Goblin Lord’s army was coming. They were within range of Esthelm’s
walls. The news sparked alarm through all the cities, who had expected the
Goblin Lord to arrive days later.

Only, it wasn’t the Goblin Lord’s army. They were close behind, but this
band of Goblins had outrun them. It was an army large enough to fool
Esthelm, but it was not Reiss’ Goblins.

Instead, it was a tribe. Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears led the broken,
bloody Flooded Waters tribe south, running ahead of death, despairing.
Their Chieftain was missing. Alive, but lost to them. In her absence, they
ran south, past Esthelm, continually on the move, fleeing the traitorous
Goblin Lord who was slowly following behind them with the Humans.
They were despairing, hurt, betrayed. Most were half-dead from running all
day and all night, but they dared not stop lest the Humans on horseback
caught up. In their desperation they’d outpaced even horses, not stopping to
sleep or rest or eat. It felt like the end of all things, and all the Goblins could
do was keep moving, one step after another, late into the night until they
collapsed of exhaustion and woke, only to feel the same fear again. They
ran and ran, without purpose or hope.

On the eleventh day, they reached Liscor.

 5.59

She had to get ready. Erin Solstice woke up on the eleventh day with that
thought echoing in her mind. She didn’t know how she knew, or why, but
she knew she had to get ready. They were coming. Whoever they were. So
Erin opened her eyes, half-sat up—

And decided she could use a few more minutes of sleep.

—-

“Morning, Lyonette.”

By the time Erin got up for the second time, it was mid-morning,
uncharacteristically late. The [Innkeeper] pulled herself upright in time to
see Lyonette carefully pulling out a plate of pre-made pasta covered with
bolognese out of a cupboard. Since that was completely natural, Erin
ignored it at once and focused on the young woman. Lyonette jumped, and
then turned guiltily.

“Morning, Erin. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. I was getting up.”

Erin yawned and stretched. She felt awful. Tired, lethargic, and sore. As if
she’d spent a day lifting rocks and then having said rocks dropped on her
back. She wondered why—usually she was able to get up no matter the
early hour. Her [Lesser Endurance] Skill meant that she could keep ticking
on less sleep. But not today. Erin remembered the events of last night and
unconsciously ran her tongue across her teeth. She frowned as her tongue
encountered nothing but smooth enamel.

“How’re the teeth?”

Lyonette put the room-temperature pasta next to the stove’s lit fire to warm
it up. Erin shrugged and her belly rumbled.

“Good. They feel different. I think so, but then again it could be in my
mind. They feel like they should be different, you know?”

“I’d imagine so. Pisces used bear teeth, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“Do they taste or seem…?”

Erin shrugged.

“Not bearish to me. But I keep feeling like they should be. I’m just amazed
he fixed them, really.”

She ran her tongue over the caps Pisces had made to fix three of her
partially broken teeth and winced. Her tongue was sore from doing that a
hundred plus times. But the teeth were good.

“He should be a dentist.”

“A what?”

“Someone who fixes teeth.”

“Ah.”

Erin rummaged around in her nest that occupied one side of the kitchen.
She saw Lyonette taking some utensils out of a drawer and opened a
cupboard by her side. It contained Erin’s clothes. The [Princess] kept her
back turned as Erin quickly changed clothes under her blankets. Too late,
Erin remembered she should have asked if anyone was working this
morning.

“Is, uh, Ishkr—”

“Drassi’s here.”

“Oh. Good.”

Erin breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she had more than just a few
employees, the kitchen was filled with at least one person more often than
not. And there had been a few incidents. Erin began stuffing her bedding
into another cupboard as Lyonette checked the pasta’s temperature. She
shook her head and then looked at Erin.

“You should really stay in a room, you know. There are some rooms
available, even if the Hobgoblins come back. And Mrsha and I could share
the room if you wanted to. There’s plenty of space. Mrsha does steal your
blankets, though.”

“I should. I know.”

Erin made a face. She’d had the same conversation with Lyonette. It was
just that—she sighed as she hunted around for her toothbrush. Which
cupboard was that? Oh, right. It was the drawer. Erin pulled it out and
grabbed the jar of toothpaste Octavia had made up.

“It’s just that I have so much to do, you know? And changing rooms is more
work than I want to do.”

“Says the [Innkeeper] who just lost some of her teeth confronting a Goblin
Chieftain and got twenty thousand Cave Goblins to run off.”

Erin grimaced as she applied some toothpaste to her toothbrush. It was a

very astringent substance that Octavia sold, but it did make Erin’s teeth feel
clean.

“They were supposed to go south. I have no idea what happened. Or if

they’re coming back.”
Lyonette glanced out of the kitchen and Erin knew she was looking towards
the magic door. Her face wasn’t apprehensive, but there was a note of
tension in her voice.

“Do you think the Goblins would come here? I mean, if they’re still
hostile.”

Erin paused.

“If they do, we’re running into Liscor. The door’s set up. But Numbtongue
and the others—they’re not back. And Jelaqua said they did something. The
old Chieftain ran off. Garen. If they come back—we’ll see.”

Lyonette nodded. The two waited while Erin scrubbed at her teeth, then
decided she had to spit and wash her mouth. She got up as Lyonette took
the plate of hot pasta away from the fire. The smell made Erin’s stomach
grumble. But…pasta? She pointed at the spaghetti, which had been
seasoned with sauce, sliced sausage, and just a little bit of spicy peppers.

“Whof fhat for?”

She tried not to spit all over the plate. Lyonette stared at Erin’s mouth and
the toothbrush sticking out.

“Dawil ordered it.”

“Fo? Fhe Filver Fwords fhare here?”

Lyonette opened her mouth and then gave up. Erin walked outside into the
common room and thus began her day.

“Erin!”

A number of voices greeted Erin as she walked towards the door of her inn.
The [Innkeeper] stopped and the people waiting for her saw her turn
towards them. A bit of toothpaste was dribbling down her mouth. Despite
the myriad and pressing issues that demanded her attention, all those
present agreed that she should attend to business first. So Erin stumbled out
of her inn and went to the outhouse.
There were three, now. And each one was set far enough apart so as not to
carry smells or worse, sounds to the other stall. Unless someone was having
a really bad day. That was an important design decision, which had required
the outhouses to be moved when Erin had first discovered the issue. The
third stall was huge, big enough to accommodate Moore. It was also the
nicest, so Erin sat in that after knocking to make sure no one was inside.

“Toilet bowl, toilet bowl. This is…nicer than a toilet bowl, actually.”

Erin sat on the polished hardwood, having spat and washed out her mouth
already. Her feet were a bit wet from the walk to the outhouse, but the grass
had only been dewy, as opposed to rain-slicked and muddy. The rain had
stopped. Now, the air was humid, muggy, and foggy. Erin liked it not one
bit; nor did she like the way a lot of the hills had turned to mostly mud and
water gathered in the valleys. But it still beat buckets of rain dumping from
the sky.

That was why the outhouse had a roof. And it was better than a bathroom, at
least in some senses. The wood was just as smooth as porcelain, but it
didn’t get as chilly. As for the…other concerns, Erin did have a type of
toilet paper at her disposal. The main issue was flushing, or lack of it.

If plumbing had been invented, it was too costly and too unknown in Liscor
for Erin to obtain. So the outhouse was an outhouse, which meant that it
accumulated rather than moved waste. Erin had originally solved the issue
of acquisition by making Toren pour acid into the pit below the outhouse,
handily vaporizing the problem. But since he was gone, she’d had to resort
to other measures. She still used acid, though.

Octavia had a wonderful mixture that dissolved undesirable objects slowly.

It was enough to keep the outhouses from needing to be emptied, and a lot
of fresh-smelling herbs did the rest of the job. Erin looked at the bundle of
herbs that Lyonette had placed just the other day. Not having to tend to the
outhouse herself was another perk of being the boss.

Now, what did the evolving and dynamic nature of Erin’s restroom facilities
have to do with today or recent events? Nothing. But Erin sat on the toilet
for a good while. She had a feeling she was going to be busy if the faces
that had been waiting for her were any indication. And she wanted to delay
work as long as possible. She managed to hold out five minutes before she
decided to go back. After all, she was mostly responsible and over half the
people waiting on her were her friends.

And they were coming. Erin’s head turned north. She stared at the place
where the mountain ranges parted to let travellers come through the pass. It
was slightly obscured by a tall hill, but she saw no signs of movement. Yet.
She shook her head and walked back to her inn.

“Erin!”

The first person to hurry up to Erin was Olesm. She smiled at him, and her
face fell as she looked at Zevara. Erin threw a mock salute as she walked
over to their table. The Drake Watch Captain eyed her.

“Human.”

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. What’s up?”

“Where are the Goblins now? What do you know about their status? Will
they attack the city? I’ve heard the report from the Gold-rank teams.
Ignoring the fact that they were carrying one of your magical doorways
north for now, explain to me how twenty thousand Cave Goblins and this
new tribe aren’t a threat?”

Erin blinked at Zevara. Not even a hello. The Watch Captain looked
anxious, if her swishing tail was anything to go by. Erin sat down and
waved at Drassi.

“Hey Drassi, can I have some of our scrambled eggs?”

She waited until she got a wave and a smile from Drassi. Then she looked at
Zevara.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know, and I think they’re not a threat.
Jelaqua said the old Chieftain ran away.”
“Garen Redfang. A traitorous former Gold-rank adventurer who slaughtered
four of his former teammates. And nearly did for the other three. How is his
absence supposed to reassure me?”

“Well, he’s not leading his tribe. Ooh, thanks Drassi.”

Erin picked up a fork. Zevara eyed her as if she’d gladly grab the fork and
poke it into Erin’s eye.

“His tribe is still there. Or we assume so. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, but Headscratcher and the others are with them. They’re nice.”

The two Drakes exchanged a look as Erin began eating breakfast. Olesm
coughed.

“So you’re saying we should hope that they move on, Erin?”

“Hm. Yeah?”

Erin looked up. The Drakes stared at her, one with wrath, the other
appalled. The [Innkeeper] shrugged.

“Look, what other choice is there? What do you expect me to do about it?
Open the door to the Goblin cave and solve everything myself?”

Zevara and Olesm didn’t meet Erin’s eyes, which told her that was exactly
what they’d hoped she’d do. The young woman scowled.

“Tempting as that is, I don’t know those particular Goblins. And I don’t
want to get my brains punched out again. Did you hear that I lost some
teeth? Do they look weird to you?”

She showed them her teeth. Zevara sighed.

“They’re fine. Hearing about that was the only amusing news I’ve gotten all
day. It was about time someone kicked your teeth in, with how many fights
you seem to escape unscathed.”
“I let other people hit things for me. And I’m good at ducking.”

Erin scowled. But Zevara was right. She hadn’t processed her one-sided
punching bag experience, but the memory of trying to fight that muscular
Goblin guy stuck with her. She rubbed at her mouth. It had been terrifying,
trying to get past all the Goblins with only the five Redfangs shielding her.

But it had to be done. Jelaqua and the Halfseekers had been in danger. But
she’d nearly died herself. If it happened again—could she risk her life like
that? Was it smart? Was she an idiot? Erin sighed. She barely noticed
Zevara getting up.

“If the Goblins come back to the city, Miss Solstice—”

“I’ll try and talk to them. But I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not
opening that door to their cave until I know. Sorry.”

Zevara nodded. She strode off as Olesm sighed.

“I should get going too. I’d stay and talk, but—we’re at full alert. It’s nice
seeing you, uh, Erin.”

He stood up awkwardly. Erin blinked up at him.

“Hey Olesm. How’re the defenses going?”

The Drake [Strategist] hesitated. He averted his gaze.

“I can’t say. Military secrets, Erin. We’re…doing good. We got

reinforcements from Pallass and we’ve found homes for them. And uh,
we’re meeting with Klbkch, checking the walls—it will be fine.”

The tone in his voice and his posture—not to mention his curled up tail—
told Erin that was a dead lie. She stared at him and nodded.

“Okay, I won’t keep you.”

Olesm turned to go. Erin raised her voice.

“Olesm!”

He looked back at her. Erin smiled with more upbeat emotion than she
actually felt.

“We’re uh, cool with the me punching you and you throwing me in jail,
right?”

For a second Olesm stared, and then he grinned.

“We are. If you’re okay with it?”

“I liked prison food. And it’s a nice place when you get to know your
cellmates.”

He grinned. Erin kept her smile until Olesm had hurried to the magic door
and left. Then she sighed. She turned her head.

“Next!”

Someone else was already coming up to her. Dawil. The Dwarf slid into the
vacant seat. He had a half-finished plate of pasta with him and was slurping
down some noodles. The sauce got into his beard—well, part of his beard.

A good bit of hair was burnt off of Dawil’s face. His eyebrows, part of the
hair on his head—and a lot of his beard. The sight of his chin and face was
terribly disconcerting. Erin stared at Dawil, and then averted her gaze. The
Dwarf sighed.

“Go on, look. And have a laugh, why don’t you. That bastard Pisces was
laughing all day about it and the damned half-Elf—mine, not Ceria—
wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Dawil shrugged. He scratched at his missing spots, where thick stubble was
already growing. His voice held a note of complaint. Well, more like a
symphony of complaints.
“It’s cold. But the healing potion did the burns right. I drank a hair-growing
tonic, but it’ll be a week before my beard’s halfway decent. It’s not a
problem compared to the shite we’re in, but it’s embarrassing more than
anything else. But I didn’t come here to talk about hair to you, girl. We’re
all in trouble, so I need to speak on behalf of the adventurers in Liscor. This
is good pasta, by the way. Needs more meat, though.”

“I can have Lyonette cut up a steak if you want. Or some pork? A sausage?”

“Next time, maybe.”

Dawil slurped down more noodles as Erin finished her eggs. He wiped his
mouth with a napkin—Erin used the back of her hand. The Dwarf was
actually quite fastidious as he cleaned his beard. He even had his own
utensils he packed into a small case—silver and gold filigree forks were a
new concept to Erin. The Dwarf leaned back in his chair and looked up at
Erin.

“Now, let me be blunt since no one’s said it. And you were in jail. We’re
leaving Liscor. The Silver Swords, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt—and
your Horns too, I imagine. Us and a good number of other Gold-rank teams,
though I can’t speak for all in Pallass.”

Erin frowned.

“Okay. I heard about that from Lyonette. The Halfseekers were taking a
door north, right?”

“Correct. They were trying to get to Celum so we had a route out, since
those Drakes confiscated the mana stone. It would have worked too, but for
those Goblins. Now we’re caught between a hammer and an anvil, because
there’s a tribe of Goblins north of us that can kick the crap out of six Gold-
rank teams without breaking a sweat.”

Dawil scowled. He drummed his fingers on the table, reached for his pasta,
and then swatted a white paw aside.

“Not today, you thieving little mole rat!”

Mrsha scampered as Dawil roared under the table. His roar sent her flying
and the Dwarf looked quite pleased with himself as he turned back to Erin.

“Fun little brat. Where was I? Oh yeah, we can’t go north anymore. Which
is a problem because going south takes us longer to get to civilization. And
it takes us past the Blood Fields and it is active in the spring. But there’s no
choice, so we’re headed south. With another magic door anchor thing.”

“Oh. Do you need to get a mana stone?”

Erin looked at the door. Dawil waved a hand and coughed, looking
embarrassed.

“Thing is…we’ve already got one. It’s the orange stone, see? Already in the
bowl. I’ve been getting your [Barmaid] to check it every half-hour. The
Flamewardens are lugging the door south and they’ll trade off soon. We
would have told you, but we decided they needed to go right this morning.”

“I see. So what’s the problem?”

It all sounded good to Erin. Well, not the Gold-rank teams fleeing Liscor,
but if it was that or fight and maybe die, what choice was there? She hadn’t
decided what to do either. She could take refuge in the city easily enough,
but…the scope of both threats just hadn’t really sunk in for Erin. Having a
second escape route would be good, though. Dawil shrugged
uncomfortably.

“Nothing. In theory. But we wanted to let you know seeing as you had the
door. However, if that fire breathing Watch Captain asks…don’t tell her
we’re planning to leave. She’d try and stop us and we’re not willing to die
here.”

He waited, perhaps expecting Erin to object. She just doodled on her plate
with a finger. Then Erin looked up.

“Do you think Liscor will fall?”

Dawil sighed.
“Honestly, lass? Can I call you lass? Sorry. I’m thirty eight, and Humans
feel so young to me. You’ve barely lived through any of the big wars, have
you?”

“None of Izril’s. A few started where I came from. Not sure if they really
ended.”

Dawil raised an eyebrow and Erin kept her poker face up. She wasn’t sure
what he knew, but Dawil was someone she trusted. More than Pisces or
Olesm, about something like this, even. He struck her as honorable, more so
than Falene or Ylawes in his own way. The Dwarf shrugged.

“Right. Well, it’s a bad scene. I’ve never been sitting in a besieged city, but
I’ve seen the aftermath and heard the stories. Flying limbs, people getting
slaughtered, and so forth. War is messy. And adventurers get killed in wars.
We’re big targets because we can do a lot of damage, but we hunt monsters,
not armies. Get it?”

“…Maybe? Could you explain that?”

The Dwarf nodded. He looked around and waved a hand.

“Ale?”

“Got it!”

Drassi passed by their table. Dawil blinked as an ale appeared in front of

him. The Drake winked at Erin and passed her a cup of milk. Erin stared.

“Wait, how did you know—”

“[Server’s Prescience]! I got a Skill the other day! Isn’t it cool?”

Erin stared down at her drink.

“Very cool.”

“Hah! Now there’s a Skill worth having! Almost as good as the battlefield
edition.”
Dawil drained a quarter of his mug, wiped his mouth, and then sighed.

“Okay. Wars. It’s an easy concept. I think you’ll get it better than the lad—I
mean, my team captain. He’s a bit thick between the ears when it comes to
things like this. Not exactly a tactical mind, if you know what I’m saying.
Neither is the half-Elf, for all she’s Wistram. ‘Swhy I have to come up with
the plans.”

He tapped the side of his head. Erin grinned, tickled.

“You, Dawil?”

“How else do you think we survived this long? Someone’s got to be the
voice of reason and it’s not those two. Anyways…”

He heaved a sigh.

“Wars. One last time. Adventurers have armor, or we hit fast enough so
we’re not in danger. Say we’re hunting a Chimera. Or some other monster.
We can take them on—hell, we can take on a nest. A small Goblin tribe?
Doable. But in large numbers, armor fails. Take my armor for instance. It’s
steel, Dwarf-forged and strong. I can fight in it and guard my face. But in
yesterday’s scrap? There are too many arrows flying and damn Goblins
with fire paste in jars. And in a war—”

“You can’t defend yourself from all sides.”

“Exactly. We’re too fragile. Knew you’d get it. I know there’s a bunch of
Gold-ranks with Tyrion Veltras’ army. But I’ll bet my beard—what’s left of
it—that they’re under contract to only fight if he needs something taken and
stay well clear of the main battle. Besides, it’s bad to get wrapped up in
politics. Ylawes’ father is marching with the Humans…look, the point is
that we don’t want to die. We think Liscor will fall. So when the army
arrives, we’ll be going. And if you want, we’ll escort you to Pallass. You
and anyone you care to bring.”

Dawil eyed Erin over the top of his mug. She hesitated. Rather than address
his statement directly, she twiddled her thumbs.
“When will you be going?”

“On the day we see the army roll in. Or sooner. But we’ll carry the door as
far as we can before then. We’ll still be at least a day or two out from the
nearest city, but—ah, lass. When we go, it will be quick. Make up your
mind before then.”

Dawil and Erin sat together in silence. Erin stared at the table. For some
reason, Dawil’s words put the urgency of Liscor’s siege closer to home than
anything else. She looked at him.

“If you thought there was a chance—there are the Antinium. And the
Drakes are sending an army. Is there any way…?”

The Dwarf’s eyes were brown, deep and soft as earthy loam, and sad. He
shook his head.

“There may be an army of Antinium. And the Drakes may get here in time
to break the siege. The Humans may be stumped or they may win. But the
cost will be blood, Erin. We won’t pay the price.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

Erin sat at the table, feeling tired and helpless. Dawil nodded. He got up,
walked over, and patted Erin on the shoulder.

“I’ll be here all day. The other teams will. We’re watching your door—and
the inn—so don’t worry about someone making off with the door like last
time. If you have any questions, ask.”

He wandered off to his table. Erin looked around and saw Bevussa sitting at
a table, along with Nailren and a few Gnolls, and Falene. They were talking
to each other, relaxing. And watching her. They turned as Dawil wandered
over to them. Erin heard his voice clearly as she turned back to her drink.

“You lot are about as inconspicuous as a bunch of farting Dragons! She’s

not stopping us, so settle down. And you can stop listening in, you pointy-
eared git! I know you’re casting a listening spell when you get that
constipated look on your face.”

The young woman leaned on her arms. She stared at the empty chair ahead
of her as a third body slid into the seat. This time it was Mrsha. The little
Gnoll stared up at Erin, wagging her tail.

“Hey Mrsha. How are you doing?”

The Gnoll raised a paw with the thumb up. Erin smiled at her.

“That’s good. Hey, do you want to play catch?”

The Gnoll cub smiled. Erin slid out of her seat as Mrsha ran to get her ball.
She raced over and tossed it at Erin. The young woman caught it, tossed it
back, and the two moved down the long common room. Erin’s [Grand
Theatre] Skill was in effect, but there weren’t nearly enough people to fill
the vast space. Mrsha and Erin cleared some tables and chairs and began to
play catch. Just for a while.

“Erin.”

Ceria came over after a few minutes. She watched as Mrsha scampered
after a ball and Erin turned to her. The half-Elf had her hands in her
pockets. She watched as Mrsha threw the ball back, clumsily. She raised a
finger and the ball swung towards Erin. The [Innkeeper] caught it and threw
it back.

“Hey Ceria. What’s up?”

The half-Elf looked unhappy.

“It’s uh, about the door. I’ve been talking with the others.”

“You’re going?”

“Are you? We don’t want to leave without you, but—what are you going to
do, Erin?”
Erin turned. The two stared at each other, Ceria unhappy, and Erin
uncertain. They looked at each other until Mrsha’s ball bounced off the side
of Erin’s head.

So it went. Ceria wasn’t the last person to talk to Erin either. After the
young woman had talked to her, there came Pisces, to offer unsolicited
advice which Erin listened to. Krshia, to play with Mrsha, talk about Erin’s
door, and about commitments and not to ask Erin so loudly that it hurt.
Selys stopped in to check with Erin how she was doing and stare at the door
for a second. A few Drakes and Gnolls came by to inquire about her door.

Her door, and the Goblins. And what Erin thought. The trouble was, Erin
wasn’t thinking. She was deliberately not thinking of what was coming.
Because if she did, she’d have to make a choice. Stay or go. Risk dying or
leave. Which was better. Which was right? Erin didn’t know. But she kept
looking north. She was talking with Jelaqua at midday when it happened.

“How’s the body?”

The Selphid was sitting at a table. By this point the inn was getting more
business, and Ishkr and two more Gnolls had come by to help work the
tables. They stared at Jelaqua and kept clear of her. Because the Selphid
was wearing the Raskghar’s body.

It was disturbing to Erin. The Raskghar looked bestial, compared to the

Gnolls. It had a more hunched posture, a bigger body, and thicker fur. But
the main change was the eyes. The Raskghar had been savage with a spark
of intelligence. Now, there was a sharp intelligence looking out of the dead
pupils. Somehow, that was even more uncanny. Jelaqua raised a paw and
scratched at her neck.

“Fine. It’s a good body, actually.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Lots of muscle fiber, great condition—a few pests, but they were
mostly dead and I got rid of the rest. My main complaint is that this body’s
a bit too bulky for my tastes, but hell, the nose works wonders. The only
thing is that I can’t go in Liscor without causing a panic. I nearly got
stabbed by a Gnoll [Guardsman]—and that was just at the gate.”

“You are wearing a Raskghar’s body.”

“Yup. But there’s a shortage of other bodies, so what can you do?”

Jelaqua spread her paws in a Human shrug. Erin stared at her and the
Selphid grinned weakly, another very disturbing sight.

“Sorry. I’m a bit mixed up after yesterday. I…took a few hits to my body.”

“I saw.”

“No, I mean my real body.”

“Oh. Is it bad? Did you heal up?”

Jelaqua hesitated.

“It’s not quite that simple. But yeah, I’m doing okay. I think. Look, about
last night. You really can’t tell anyone—anything. Not that it happened,
okay?”

“What happened?”

The Selphid eyed Erin and nodded.

“It’s just really important, okay, Erin? Really important.”

“I got it. Lips sealed. About nothing.”

The Gold-rank adventurer nodded, but she was clearly still uneasy. She
scratched at her neck again. Erin wondered if one of the pests had been
fleas. She saw Mrsha staring at Jelaqua as she slunk around Lyonette, who
was giving Jelaqua much the same look.

“Jelaqua. I wonder if it would be a good idea for you to say hi to Ishkr and
Mrsha. Maybe that would make them feel better. Or would it make them
feel worse?”

The Selphid grimaced.

“It can’t hurt. Showing them it’s me rather than my body usually helps. I
had the same problem with bodies I got from executed criminals. I’ll have a
word later.”

“Thanks. Uh—how’s Moore and Seborn?”

The Raskghar’s expression softened in a way that was true to Jelaqua. She
looked towards the stairs.

“Resting. Moore’s too weak to get out of bed—or eat anything other than
liquids. Thanks for all the soup.”

“No problem. What about Seborn?”

“He’s better. He just lost blood. But he’s not talking to me. I think he’s
angry about what happened.”

“At you?”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“At himself. For letting Garen get away. He was right in front of us. But we
choked up. And he spared us.”

Erin stared at Jelaqua.

“And how do you feel?”

The Selphid smiled with the Raskghar’s mouth.

“Me? It’s over and done with. Garen lost his tribe. They told him to his face
he was a traitor and he ran off. I’m alive, and so is Moore and Seborn. And
we know a bit more of—of what happened that day. It’s all we can ask for,
Erin.”
She kept smiling as Erin studied her. She was lying. But she did it with a
smile, and Erin felt like pushing Jelaqua would be the worst of ideas. So she
let it drop.

“You just let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Sure thing. I’ll just have a few drinks, reassure the Gnolls, and check on
the others.”

Jelaqua smiled. Erin smiled too, and tried to ignore the sense of roiling
emotions she was getting from the Selphid. If anyone was close to
exploding…she made a note to keep Jelaqua away from Relc if he stopped
by. Or Pisces. Or Revi. Erin stood up to accompany Jelaqua in case any of
the Gnolls freaked out—or she did—

And then it happened. Erin’s head turned to the right. She stared straight
towards the north wall and she felt a tingle go down her spine. They were
coming. And they were coming here. It wasn’t a bad sense, not like it had
been whenever her [Dangersense] went off. No, it was more like a certainty
at the back of her mind. They were coming, and they were tired and hungry
and desperate.

Erin hadn’t known who they were in the morning, but now she was certain.
And as they came across the Floodplains and Liscor sounded the alarm,
Erin stood on the ruined roof of her inn where Bird’s watchtower had been
and saw them pour across the muddy hills and valleys like a green wave.

Goblins.

—-

At first it was the Cave Goblins and Redfangs. The mounted warriors rode
ahead of the Cave Goblins, a small army of elite warriors followed by the
hordes of grey-green Goblins. That was enough to get Olesm’s heart
pounding. But when he saw the second Goblin force emerging from the
pass leading north, his heart began trying to dig its way out of his chest.

“It’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

“It can’t be! They’re too early! They’re too early!”

Olesm screamed at Embria, who had raised the alarm the instant she’d
spotted the second Goblin force. It was vast; it dwarfed the Cave Goblin
force by a good margin. Olesm tried to count how many Goblins were
present. Forty thousand? Fifty? Sixty? It was too small to be the Goblin
Lord’s army—not unless they’d taken massive casualties since they’d last
been spotted. And yet, it was far too large to be just any random tribe. He
watched as they spread across the Floodplains.

“What am I seeing, Olesm?”

Zevara stood on the walls minutes later, breathing hard and looking at the
approaching Goblins. Olesm’s heart was trying to escape via his mouth at
this point, but he kept his voice as level as possible as he replied. He wished
it didn’t wobble so, though. Everyone was listening.

“In a word, Watch Captain? Dissidents. Or rebels. That’s probably a better

word for it?”

“Rebels?”

Both Embria and Zevara looked at him. Ilvriss, who’d just made it to the
walls—since a Wall Lord didn’t run unless the city was under attack—
stared sharply at Olesm.

“That’s right. Dissidents. Reports from Esthelm claimed the Goblin Lord’s
army was moving past them. They were erroneous, but it does match
another piece of information we received from an informant in the Human
army. They reported a battle between the Goblins—apparently some kind of
inter-tribal dispute. The Goblin Lord absorbed a good deal of the defeated
tribe, but the rest of them fled and managed to get ahead of the Humans.
They’re coming through Liscor because they have nowhere else to go.”
“Caught between an axe and the headman’s block, huh?”

Embria narrowed her eyes. Olesm nodded.

“But still dangerous. They’re not allied with the Cave Goblins or the tribe
that fought the adventurers yesterday. See how they’re running ahead of this
tribe? They may be at odds.”

“So will we see a battle between them? Or will they move past our walls?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Olesm. He peered at the Goblins, twisting the

Ring of Sight on his claws, picking out Goblins and staring at them.

“I don’t know, Watch Captain. The Goblins look exhausted. Half are falling
down the hills. They may just stay here until the Human army arrives.”

“In which case they’re another variable that might go against us. Can we
get rid of them?”

Zevara frowned, folding her arms and eying the Goblins.

“With what? A few well-placed spells from the wall? If that lot wants, it
could shower us with arrows. I’d say avoid conflict.”

“How do we get rid of them, then?”

“We wait. They may just camp here for a day or two and then keep
moving.”

Embria shifted from foot to foot. She eyed the Goblins. They were still
approaching Liscor.

“If that’s the case, why aren’t they keeping clear of Liscor? They know this
is a Drake city. Aren’t they wary of us?”

“They outnumber the Watch many times over.”

“Still. They keep coming. Should we be ready for an attack?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss stared at the Goblins, and then
shook his head.

“No. I think they’re coming for a different reason.”

He stared down from the walls, at a much closer landmark. Zevara closed
her eyes as she followed his gaze.

“Her. It’s always her, isn’t it?”

Olesm shook his head. He murmured as he watched the Goblins draw

closer. Yes, they were moving to one spot.

“Not always. But when it comes to Goblins, I think she’s…special.”

The other three looked at him. Embria folded her arms, exasperated.

“Then what do we do? What can we do?”

She was impatient. But Olesm just stared onwards. He shrugged, feeling
tired. Drakes were a people of law and action. Discipline. But it occurred to
him that they weren’t good at being helpless. He looked at Embria and said
the one word that she didn’t want to hear.

“Watch.”

—-

The Flooded Waters tribe walked across the muddy hills. They fell down
valleys, crawled up the hills, and some lay where they had fallen, too tired
to move. They were…fading. Faded, rather.

At the end of their tether. And afraid. They had seen the Redfangs and the
foreign, strange Goblin tribe moving ahead of them and they didn’t know
what to expect. They were worried too, because the Redfangs were headed
in the same direction they were. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t quite know
why, but they sensed their destinations were the same.

It wasn’t that Redscar was leading them that way on purpose, or that he’d
said anything like it. But like the other Goblins, Redscar was moving
towards the city. Or—to something just ahead of it. Despite the danger of
the city, despite their exhaustion, the tribe kept moving. It was just a bit
further ahead. They could feel it.

It was a strange sensation. Something none of them had quite felt before. A
feeling—like they had felt from Chieftains and Reiss, but different at the
same time. Alien. But entirely pleasant. It was a feeling that ahead of them
lay safety. It was a beacon in their heads. Ahead of them was a friend.

But what a thought! Friend? Safety? Those were completely foreign

concepts to Goblins. And yet, the feeling was a certainty. So the Goblins
kept moving. It wasn’t just that instinct in their head that propelled them
forwards either. Something else kept them going.

It was a rumor. Something their Chieftain had said. A memory, or perhaps a

promise: a vision of an inn on a hill. A name.

Erin Solstice. And as they kept going, the distant building on the hill
became a symbol to them. A symbol that Goblins had never associated with
a building before. But it was a familiar concept to other races.

After all, it was an inn. A gathering place for the weary, for travellers, for
the hungry or tired. Only, to Goblins an inn was death—or a place to target
unwary victims. Not a place for their kind. And yet, this inn was different.

Still, they hesitated when they saw the Redfangs had gathered around the
hill. They were a stone’s throw away from the city and the walls were
ablaze with torches. Redscar drew up, patting his weary Carn Wolf. He eyed
the Redfangs, and the strange grey Goblins. They stared at him. He couldn’t
see Garen among them and he sensed something had changed, though he
didn’t know what. Then he saw the Redfangs move.
To the left, and to the right. Goblins shifted out of the way, opening a path
for him. Redscar narrowed his eyes. He looked at Poisonbite and Noears,
both trudging wearily after him. The Goblins looked up at him and both
looked as tired as he felt. Redscar hesitated and looked behind him.

A sea of Goblins stretched behind him, slowly moving forwards. They were
all flowing to this spot. Redscar hesitated. But they had come so far. What
was the point of turning back now? He dismounted from Thunderfur and
patted the Carn Wolf.

“Stay.”

He looked at Poisonbite and Noears. The two looked at him and Redscar
pointed.

“I go. If don’t come back…”

He trailed off. If he didn’t come back, what then? The two waited, but
Redscar had nothing else to say. He turned and began trudging up the hill.
The Redfangs stared at him. So did the strange grey Goblins. Redscar kept
his vision ahead as he walked up the hill. He knew the rest of his tribe—of
Rags’ tribe—was gathering behind him, watching him progress.

Redscar’s legs burned. He was so tired. He’d let other Goblins ride
Thunderfur until now. He tried not to fall as he climbed the muddy slope,
avoiding the water pooling in the valley next to him. He could see shapes
moving in the water. Fish? He was hungry. Hungry, but so tired he could
sleep right then and there.

Something moved behind him. Redscar turned, and saw Thunderfur

padding up the hill. The Carn Wolf growled softly. Redscar looked at him.
He’d told Thunderfur to stay. But the Carn Wolf was good at ignoring
commands Redscar didn’t mean. The Goblin smiled and together, the two
kept walking.

Up the hill, onto wet grass that hadn’t been killed by the flooding waters.
Redscar saw the inn rise above him. Tall. Wide. The windows were open
and the shutters—shutters on the outside?—were thrown open. Yellow light
spilled from within. The Goblin hesitated, then.

It was an inn. It was just like the ones he’d seen in other cities. A Human
building, or a Drake’s. Not meant for Goblins. And yet, the door called to
him. Redscar trudged over to it, heart pounding.

He was afraid. Afraid in a way that had nothing to do with fear of battle. He
had come so far. He had lost his Chieftain, failed her. The tribe had been
broken. And this—this was just an inn. Redscar bowed his head. What
could an inn do for his tribe? He almost turned away, and Thunderfur
nudged him. The Carn Wolf could smell something inside it wanted. It
whined pleadingly and Redscar looked back.

He still might have turned back. He still would have walked away, rather
than be disappointed. It was just an inn. But as the setting sun shone down
on the inn, Redscar saw something. He stared, and his eyes narrowed as he
tried to make sense of what he saw. It took him a while, because he was a
poor reader. But then he blinked. And laughed.

The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe saw Redscar laugh. They saw him
step back, and wave, urging them forwards.

Poisonbite and Noears were first up the hill. They staggered up the slope,
wondering what Redscar had seen. They too hesitated as they saw the inn, a
symbol of civilization, a place they could never enter. Perhaps at this point
they might have wavered. But then they saw it too.

It was the sign that hung proudly on the door. Right in front, hanging on a
nail freshly hammered into the wood. The lettering had been enlarged and
underlined by a steady hand, and the sign hung at head height for the
shorter Goblins. It was a simple message, but it changed everything. Noears
read the name of the inn and the sign out loud for the others.

The Wandering Inn.

That was the name of the inn. And on the door, the sign.
No killing Goblins.

And so they entered the inn.

—-

Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears stepped into the inn. They felt warm air
rush over their faces and hesitated. The scent of cooked food hung in the air
and the inn was bright. Their eyes were first drawn to the warm bright
fireplace, then the candles lighting up the tables, freshly placed, only
beginning to drip with wax. They stared at the rug placed just in front of the
door. Noears shuffled his feet. Redscar tried to block Thunderfur from
poking his head through the door.

The three Goblins plus one Carn Wolf kept still, looking about the inn.
Their eyes picked out only tables and chairs at first. And then—movement.
They froze as they saw one table was occupied.

A group of six Goblins, five Hobs and one smaller Goblin, sat at a table.
They had mugs and plates with food on them. Poisonbite gaped, but
Redscar’s eyes narrowed.

“Redfangs.”

There was no mistaking the war paint on their bodies. The Redfangs turned
to look at him, and Redscar tensed. He recognized one of them. The other
five were hauntingly familiar in some way, but the regular-sized Goblin
who tensed was one of Redscar’s old comrades.

Spiderslicer began to stand up at his table, but one of the Hobs grabbed him
and forced him down. The smaller Goblin glared up at the Hob, but he kept
sitting. The Hob offered him something. A bit of meat on a stick? Redscar’s
stomach rumbled and Thunderfur sniffed. The sound seemed to draw
attention to them, because at that moment, someone exited a door across
from them.

A young woman walked out of the inn’s kitchen. She was holding a pot
with a wooden spoon’s handle sticking out of it, and something was
steaming and giving off a very inviting smell. All three Goblin’s stomachs
rumbled. But it was the Human they looked at. She stopped and blinked as
she saw them standing there.

“Well hello there. I wondered when someone else would stop by. One
second, please!”

The Flooded Waters tribe Goblins stared as the young woman flashed them
a smile and then went over to the table. She put the pot down in front of the
Hobs and Spiderslicer, all of whom sat up. Spiderslicer kept trying to glare
at Redscar, but his attention was drawn to the pot. The young woman’s
voice was audible quite clearly in the very large—and very empty—
common room.

“Soup du jour. That’s French, by the way. It means ‘soup of the day’, which
in this case is borscht. That’s egg, sausage, bacon, butter…it’s sour and I’ve
got some bread warming by the stove, so don’t eat it right off. And it’s hot,
so be careful, got it? Badarrow, I’m trusting you to serve.”

She handed the bowls to Badarrow, who grumbled and took the stack and
began serving soup in the bowls. Noears’ stomach rumbled plaintively. The
young woman turned towards them. She walked over as Poisonbite backed
up, hands on the hilts of her daggers. Redscar put a hand out, warning her to
keep her blades sheathed. Thunderfur sniffed and made a low rumbling
sound. The young woman stopped. She eyed the huge Carn Wolf, who was
as tall as she was.

“Is that wolf trained? If it’s going to pee in my inn, it has to stay outside.”

She looked at Thunderfur and then at Redscar. The Goblin stared at her. The
young woman put her hands on her hips after she got no response. Her
mouth twitched, then she frowned.
“Well?”

Thunderfur didn’t care for her tone. He growled and the young woman’s
eyes flicked towards him.

“Sit.”

For a second the three Goblins felt the air grow heavy around them. But the
[Innkeeper]’s attention hadn’t been focused on them. Thunderfur whined,
then sat down. It stared at the young woman and its head lowered
submissively. The young woman smiled and then looked at Redscar, who
was open-mouthed.

“I guess that’s a good start. Hey, why are you all standing around? Here,
take a seat. Do you have a preference?”

She indicated the tables. The Goblins stared at her, and then edged
forwards. They sat at a table, staring at the other Goblins, and at the young
woman. She nodded, pleased.

“Alright. Now, can I get you anything? We’ve got soup de jour. Or du jour,
whatever the right one is—hot bread, pasta, steaks, and I’ve got specialty
treats like pizza, hamburger, and even a cake. Tons of food—but no menu.
Just tell me if you want a meat dish or what sounds good. I’ve also got a lot
of drinks. We have wines, water, milk, honey milk, a dark lager, this orange
beer I haven’t tried yet, Flamebreath Whiskey—very hot stuff, so watch out
—apple juice, soft and hard cider…”

She rattled off a list of drinks as the Goblins stared up at her. The
[Innkeeper] paused.

“…but if you’re not certain, we can start you with some soup and milk. And
bread. With butter, obviously. How about that?”

It was a dream. The three felt certain they were in a shared dream, or in
some other reality where up was sideways and nothing was real. They
nodded silently. Thunderfur whuffed, and the young woman eyed him.
“And I’ll get you some raw meat for your doggy.”

Doggy. Redscar opened his mouth, but the young woman was already
moving into the kitchen. The three Goblins stared as they heard her clatter
about in there, and then looked at the Redfangs. The Hobs were eating
already, and chattering to Spiderslicer, gesturing around the room. Redscar
leaned over to Noears and Poisonbite. The three looked at each other, lost
for words. Then Redscar poked Noears. The Goblin yelped as Redscar’s
claw poked his side. Redscar pinched himself and found that it hurt.

“Hey, is your dog okay with raw meat? They can eat that, right? Or is
cooked meat worse? Tell you what—we’ll give him this steak for starters,
okay?”

The Goblins started. The Human was back! And she had a steak.
Thunderfur got up and Redscar grabbed his fur to keep him still. The Carn
Wolf wagged his tail as the young woman approached. She eyed its open
jaws and large, large teeth.

“Oh my what large teeth you have, doggy. Sit.”

Thunderfur sat. The young woman offered him a steak and Thunderfur
drooled onto Redscar’s hand.

“Here. You can give it to him. I don’t have a plate that’s not pottery, so he’ll
have to eat it off the floor. Don’t worry, it’s so clean you could eat your
dinner off it. The tables too.”

Redscar blinked at the cooked steak and took hold of it with one hand. It
was warm. And it smelled so good he wanted to bite it himself. But since
the young woman was already coming back with another pot and bowls, he
offered it to Thunderfur. The Carn Wolf practically tore the meat from his
master’s hands and began to scarf it down.

“How do you feed those things without running out of food? Never mind.
Here’s the borscht! And bread.”
A bowl appeared in front of each of the Goblins. And the young woman
began ladling hot soup into each bowl. She put a loaf of bread on the table,
and some soft butter and a blunt knife. The Goblins stared at the bread,
round-eyed. The young woman smiled as she filled Noears’ bowl and stood
back. There was silence. The Goblins didn’t move.

They knew how this worked. Now was the time when they would reach for
bowls and find they were lying in a ditch, half-starved and delirious. It had
happened before. This wasn’t happening. This was a happy dream and so
they didn’t move, trying to prolong the moment. They waited for ten
seconds, and then twenty as Thunderfur savaged the steak and Redscar felt
his stomach begin to try and stage a takeover from his belly. It was a dream.
Right up until the young woman coughed.

“It’s getting cold.”

They looked at her. She smiled at them.

“Are you worried about the cost? No charge. It’s on the house tonight.”

She gave them a broad grin, and her eyes twinkled. The Goblins looked at
each other. Then, slowly, Noears reached for the bread. It was pre-sliced
into generous portions and puffy. It smelled fresh, not like the bread they
found in adventurer’s rations, or the stale stuff they sometimes looted. It
was soft. And Noears’ claws trembled as he brought it to his mouth and bit.

He chewed, slowly. Poisonbite and Redscar watched him. Noears’ eyes

rolled up in his head and they thought he was having a seizure. But no—he
was just chewing. And chewing. And then he bit and chewed again. Every
line in his body told them he was enjoying himself.

That settled it. Redscar picked up another piece of bread and discovered
something else. It was warm. The bread squished in his claw and,
trembling, he brought it to his mouth. He opened his mouth, bit, and the
world changed. He began to chew the bread, slowly, and then with
increasing speed as his salivary glands, already prepped, began working
overtime.
He had never tasted fresh bread before. Poisonbite looked at Redscar’s face,
and then at Noears, and then took things a step further. Awkwardly, she
spread some of the butter on the bread and began to eat it. And the wonders
continued.

The young woman watched the Goblins eating the bread. They finished one
piece, and reached for another. She smiled.

“I make good bread, huh? Try it with the soup, though.”

They jumped and looked at her. She indicated the bowls and then they
realized that yes, they had soup! They tried that.

Sour. Warm! Complex flavors! None of them bad! Redscar had never tasted
the like, even when he’d eaten horse stew or Eater Goats. This wasn’t just
meat and water with a few extras thrown in. Even Rags’ filling soup wasn’t
half as good. This was—this was cuisine. He began to eat, and only
remembered to dip his bread and try that when he saw Noears doing it.
Another taste. Another experience!

Thunderfur watched his master eating, trying to scarf the food and make it
last forever at the same time. He whined, licking his chops, and the young
woman found another steak for him to gobble. The Goblins ate, chewing
their way through one bowl, before halting for a moment. Their stomachs
felt full given how much they normally ate, but they wanted more. And
there was a pot. The young woman waited.

“Help yourselves.”

They looked at her. She indicated the pot. The Goblins peered into it, and
then at her. The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“We don’t do table serving here. Sorry. You’ll have to fill your bowls
yourself. We do refill mugs. Want more milk?”

She indicated the mugs of yet-untouched white stuff, which none of the
Goblins had quite been certain of. Redscar sipped from the strange
substance and his jaw dropped. He saw the young woman’s eyes twinkle
again, and her lips twitch. This time, Redscar recognized it. She was
suppressing a smile.

“Well? Any good? I’ve got more, you know. If your friends can behave,
there’s enough for a crowd. Not all of them by far, but my inn’s open for
business.”

She glanced towards the door. The Flooded Waters Goblins stared at her,
and then realized she was talking about the others. The others. They stared
at the full pot, realizing they’d been stuffing themselves while the rest of
their tribe was waiting outside. Redscar got up slowly. He looked at
Spiderslicer, and understood in a flash that the other Redfang leader had
been invited for the same reason. He looked at the young woman. She
folded her arms, regarding him.

“Are you the Chieftain? My name is Erin. Erin Solstice. I run this inn and
I’m happy to feed you all. If you’re not here to cause trouble. I’m assured
by my regulars—”

She nodded to the five Hobs, one of whom waved a hand. Poisonbite
looked stunned.

“—that you’re actually good folk. But I had to be sure. How about it? No
trouble? Food? Do we have a deal?”

She looked down at Redscar. Not by much; Redscar was tall for an ordinary
Goblin and she wasn’t the tallest Human in the world. He hesitated. Erin
Solstice. She was nothing like he imagined or what Rags had said. But—her
casual tone, as if she was speaking to another Human. The hint of a smile
on her face, the twinkle in her eye that said she was laughing inside. And
the sign. He looked at Noears and Poisonbite. And he dared to believe this
was reality.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Erin jumped. She actually jumped. She stared at Redscar as he took a step
back. Her eyes widened.
“You can talk? Wait, you can speak English?”

English? The Goblins didn’t know about that. But Redscar nodded.

“Can talk.”

“Me too.”

Noears raised a hand. Poisonbite nodded. Erin blinked.

“Wait—but I thought only Numbtongue—wow. Okay. Uh—hi. Pleased to

meet you. I’m Erin. You knew that.”

She held out a hand. Redscar stared at it. He slowly took it and Erin
squeezed his hand. He squeezed back gingerly.

“Redscar.”

“Redscar? Hey, that’s like Redfang, isn’t it? Are you one of them? Wait—
Numbtongue explained it to me. I’m going to get your name mixed up,
aren’t I? Sorry in advance! And you are?”

Erin turned to Noears. The [Mage] blinked up at her, unusually shy.

“I am Noears.”

The young woman stared at the ragged flesh around both earholes.

“Noears? Well that’s—uh—well, that’s very accurate. Literal names,

Goblins. Yep. And who’s your female friend?”

“I Poisonbite.”

The female Goblin bared her teeth challengingly at Erin. The young woman
smiled.

“Poisonbite? Are your bites poisonous? Hah! I kid.”

Her smile made Poisonbite narrow her eyes. The Goblin reached for her
sheathes and Redscar and Noears tensed.

“No. This.”

She drew her blades. Erin took a step back as Redscar grabbed Poisonbite’s
arms. The [Innkeeper] eyed the coated daggers and Poisonbite.

“I see. Well, keep your daggers sheathed, Poisonbite. And no fighting in my

inn. No fighting, no attacking anyone else, no bad names, and no wolves
peeing or doing the other thing in my inn. None of you do that either, got it?
I have outhouses. If we can agree on that—you can stay at my inn.”

The three Goblins looked at each other. They looked at Erin. They had a
thousand questions, a thousand things to say. And perhaps she saw it,
because she just smiled. They had come a long way. A long way, and
despaired. The journey had ground them down. But at last, at long last, it
felt like they had arrived somewhere.

A little inn on a hill. Redscar took Erin’s hand again and Poisonbite stowed
her daggers. The young woman smiled as Noears went to the door and
began to shout.

“One last thing. The Redfangs want to come through, so you’ll be sharing
the inn with them. Like I said: no fighting. And you may have a few more
guests.”

Redscar blinked, but nodded. Erin watched him, and then nodded too. She
walked over to the far wall and Redscar saw another door, set against the
wall. He frowned. Wait, but there hadn’t been another door on the outside
of the inn. So what—

Erin opened the door. Redscar saw another place appear in the doorway. A
city, with the sun setting behind it. He stared. The sun was at the wrong
angle! He stared out of the window in the inn. And then he saw them.

A half-Elf. Humans. Drakes. A huge furry monster—and Gnolls. A small

white one that hid behind a bird-woman with blue feathers. They stared at
the Goblins, at Thunderfur. And at Erin Solstice. She smiled and raised her
voice, beckoning them in.

“Hey, everyone! You can come back through! But only if you’re cool with
Goblins.”

The people standing in the city—in Liscor—hesitated. Some of them turned

away. Others backed up. But then a young woman came through. She tied
her hair back, and turned to the white Gnoll.

“You stay here, Mrsha. You can stay at Krshia’s place. Drassi, Ishkr? Let’s
get to work.”

She walked through the doorway. A Gnoll, several Gnolls, and a few Drakes
joined her. Some of them stared at the Goblins and one of the Gnolls
sniffed, but the Drake just walked into the kitchen. And then a half-Elf
followed them. And a young man in robes who sniffed the air much like
Thunderfur.

“I trust you have suitable victuals for tonight, Erin? May I inquire as to
tonight’s course?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Soup, Pisces. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough even with the Goblins.
Although you’re paying. Krshia! I’m going to need as much food as I can
get on short notice.”

“You’ll never feed them all.”

A haughty, dark-skinned [Mage] walked past the Human called Pisces. She
had stitching running around her neck and arms. Erin nodded.

“Of course not. But I think they can feed themselves. At least, I hope so.
There’s fish in the Floodplains—Relc told me you can just fish them out.
But I’ll feed who I can. Who else is coming through?”

And they came. One after another. Adventurers, civilians, Drakes and
Gnolls and Humans. They came into the inn, staring at the Goblins who
began trickling through the doors. Some were uncomfortable. Others calm
but wary. A few were openly at ease and they were the oddest of all.

But they came, and the Goblins from both the Redfang and Flooded Waters
tribe who entered fell under the same aegis as the people from Liscor. They
were enemies, possibly mortal ones. But in the inn, on this night, and with
her there, there was peace. And so the night continued as Redscar sat and
more food appeared. The strangest night he had ever lived through.

The best.

—-

“Well, that’s that.”

Olesm stared at the door as the Horns of Hammerad walked through, and
then the Silver Swords, following Lyonette and Drassi and the others.
Mrsha circled Krshia, looking unhappy as the Gnoll shook her head,
looking appalled and delighted by the amount of food Erin wanted. Olesm
turned to the others gathered in front of the magic doorway. Bevussa looked
appalled.

“So Erin’s just going to feed the Goblins? There are tens of thousands
outside!”

The [Strategist] grinned weakly. He looked at the door and spotted Embria
and Zevara staring at it. He tried to move towards the door and failed.

“That’s Erin for you. And we can go through, if we’re willing to dine in
company, it sounds like fun. Anyone going?”

“Are you serious? They’re Goblins.”

Keldrass spat a few wisps of flame. He stared at the door, fists clenched. He
looked around.
“We’re about to be under siege from the Goblin Lord and the Humans and
she’s letting them in! We just fought with Goblins! Killed them!”

“Did you expect anything else from her, Keldrass? And yeah, we killed
them. They tore us up. If they’re not holding a grudge, I won’t. Not against
them, at any rate.”

Jelaqua rolled her eyes. She looked at the half-Giant clutching his side.

“Moore, you want to go through? We can stay somewhere else or go to our

rooms if—”

“I’m going through.”

The half-Giant shook his head and walked through the door. Keldrass made
a sound of fury.

“This is an outrage. If we weren’t—”

He broke off, eying Olesm. The [Strategist] looked suspiciously at Keldrass

and the Drake cleared his throat.

“—That is, I refuse to enter that inn. And Erin Solstice is courting arrest or
worse by letting the Goblins into her establishment, even if it is outside of
Liscor’s jurisdiction! The doorway is connected to the city!”

“True. We need to close it off once everyone’s through. But it’s not that big
of a risk.”

Olesm nodded to Zevara, Embria, and the small army of soldiers and
guardsmen gathered around the doorway. The odds of the Goblins forcing
their way into the city was remote at this moment. Keldrass growled and
Embria frowned.

“Still, isn’t this a good chance to…?”

She subtly indicated the door with a nod of her head. Olesm’s stomach
twisted up. Zevara frowned.
“You think all of the Goblin’s leaders are in one spot?”

“Maybe. Watch Captain, this is an opportunity. If you want to risk it…”

The two Drakes looked at each other. Zevara gritted her teeth.

“Maybe we should check first. Send reconnaissance. Olesm, you’re on good

terms with Erin. Go through, check the Goblins.”

“I can’t, Watch Captain.”

Olesm shuffled his feet miserably. Zevara looked at him and her brows
snapped together.

“That was an order, Olesm. I know you have personal feelings, but—”

“It’s not that, Zevara. I can’t go through that door. Can you?”

The Watch Captain stared at Olesm. Then she stared at the doorway. Olesm
heard Embria snort.

“What are you talking about? Of course we…”

She trailed off. The crowd gathered around the door looked at each other.
They began to realize what Olesm had picked up on. Zevara stared at her
feet.

“I can’t walk towards the door.”

“Me neither.”

“Or me.”

Olesm confirmed it. None of the [Soldiers] or [Guards] or adventurers like

Keldrass could enter the inn. There were a few exceptions. Bevussa walked
forwards, frowning.

“I’m fine. Look, see?”

She walked through the door, walked back, and then opened and closed the
door a few times. Pisces appeared in the doorframe after the third time.

“You’re letting the cool air in. Please refrain from doing that.”

He shut the door. The others stared at the shut door. Aside from Bevussa,
Mrsha, and Krshia, none of the others could open it. The real question they
began debating was why.

“It has to be her aura skill. Erin told me she had one. And she’s using it
now, I think. The door’s her property and you heard what she said. Only
Goblins and people who can be civil to Goblins are allowed inside.”

Miserably, Olesm stared at the door. He bet they could overcome the
effects, but it would be detrimental to anyone going through. They’d have
to fight just to stay in the inn. Embria scowled.

“Only Goblins? That’s racist.”

“Speciesist, you mean.”

“It’s ridiculous! She’s using an aura skill against us? And it’s not—I’m a
Wing Commander—I can’t be held back by this!”

She took a step forwards and stopped. Olesm tried to do the same and
barely got his foot to move towards the door.

It wasn’t so much of a physical barrier as Olesm strongly not wanting to put

his hand on the door handle and swing it open. It wasn’t that he couldn’t—
he just didn’t want to. And because that was the case, there was no fighting
the emotion unless Olesm concentrated on why he didn’t want to go in. And
even then, it was like fighting to keep his eyes open when he was
exhausted; if he wavered once, he stepped backwards.

“That is a powerful amount of concentration. Impressive for an [Innkeeper].

No, it would be impressive for a [Lord] below Level 30.”

A quiet voice made Olesm turn. Ilvriss was studying the inn. The
[Strategist] looked at him.
“Can you enter the inn, Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

“Of course.”

Ilvriss looked affronted.

“I can enter the inn. If I choose to. And I could repel the effects of her aura
around me. The question is whether or not it is tactically viable.”

He strode forwards and opened the door, unimpeded by whatever was

happening. He took one look inside the inn and shut the door.

“I see.”

The others waited as Ilvriss stood there, pondering for a second. Then the
Wall Lord shook his head.

“Leave them. There’s no point to interference. If the Goblins leave

tomorrow morning all will be satisfactory.”

“And if they don’t, Wall Lord?”

Embria looked angry as she walked forwards, clearly determined to prove a

point. She opened the door with effort and stared inside, narrow-eyed.
Ilvriss’ voice grew cold.

“My understanding is that Goblins elect new Chieftains if the old ones fall,
Wing Commander. Moreover, fighting with Miss Solstice’s aura impeding
most of us would be dangerous. If the Goblins are here tomorrow—then we
take steps. But as Strategist Olesm has said—what real choice do we have?
Let us trust to Erin Solstice’s unique brand of…”

He trailed off. There was no word for it. Ilvriss turned. Zevara stared at the
doorway, and then turned.

“Get someone with a scroll of [Fireball] and put up some temporary

barricades. Just in case. If a Goblin comes through, blast the door and seal
it. Otherwise…leave them.”
She strode off. So did Embria, swearing a blue streak much like her father.
Olesm watched them go. He stared back at the inn and tried to walk towards
the door. But he couldn’t. Shamefaced, he turned away. The inn blazed as
he climbed the walls and sat there, staring down at them. Below, the army
of Goblins was mingling, campfires going up.

Tomorrow they would be an issue. But tonight was for them. They sat
around her inn, eating, mingling, flowing in and out of the building. The
one place in the world they knew they would be safe. For one night.

—-

At first she asked no questions. She just marshaled her staff. Gnolls,
Drakes, a young Human girl like herself. She sent them in and out of the
kitchen as bodies filled chairs, serving drinks, bringing out food. Then she
addressed the larger problem.

“There’s a lotta Goblins out there. Redfang—I mean, Redscar. Do your

people have enough food for them? What about you, Spiderbite?”

“Spiderslicer.”

Numbtongue corrected Erin. The two Redfangs exchanged a look, which

turned into a staring contest. Redscar put his hand on the hilt of his sword
and answered slowly.

“Have food. Supplies. But hungry. Use more.”

He didn’t know how much food Erin’s inn held, but even if it was packed
from floor to rafters, it wouldn’t be enough. Erin nodded.

“Spiderslicer?”

The Goblin kept glaring at Redscar. By now Redscar had heard the news.
Garen was gone. He’d been overthrown by the strange five Hobs. He
couldn’t help but think he knew them. But that didn’t matter to Spiderslicer.
His grudge against Redscar was personal. The Goblin grunted.

“Have food.”

“Okay then.”

Erin stepped between the two. She looked at both, and then at one of the
Hobs.

“If there’s not enough food, then we’ll just have to make more.
Rabbiteater!”

Redscar jumped. Rabbiteater? He stared as one of the Hobs stood up. But
Rabbiteater was a small Goblin! And this Hob who stood up looked—
impressive. He had a cloak made of liquid and his armor looked pristine. He
looked like…well, an adventurer. He had been filling a goblet from his
cloak, and the liquid looked like blood. Or wine. He walked over as Erin
waved at him.

“Rabbiteater, get Pebblesnatch and your people to grab all the fish they can
out of the water. Watch out for Rock Crabs—tell them to make a fillet.
Something simple. As for here, I’ve got a lot of food. The Goblins can come
in and out.”

She directed Rabbiteater and the Hob nodded and walked out of the inn.
Redscar stared at his back and then looked at the other. No. It couldn’t be.
But then—he stared at their war paint, remembering the group of warriors
that Garen had sent out of the tribe. His eyes widened.

“Headscratcher?”

One of the Hobs looked up. He stared at Redscar, and then got up slowly.

“Redscar?”

The two met. Erin came back from a quick conference with Pebblesnatch
and her fancy chef’s hat to see Redscar surrounded by the other Redfangs,
sans Spiderslicer, laughing in delight. She watched as the former Redfang
second-in-command reunited with his old subordinates.

It was a lot of backslapping and quick Goblin chatter that Erin couldn’t
follow, but the body language was good. The five clearly knew Redscar and
held him in some esteem. For his part, the smaller Goblin looked surprised
and then happy to see them. What she couldn’t understand was his
relationship with the scowling Goblin called Spiderslicer. They were both
Redfangs, but there was some serious beef between them. Numbtongue had
to explain it in the end.

“Redfangs. We are all Redfangs. Redscar’s warriors and Spiderslicer’s. But

our tribe split. They left with Rags. And they went with Garen, our old
Chieftain.”

“Wow. They went with Rags over that Garen guy? And wait—that means
those two are enemies?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Spiderslicer was walking towards Redscar,

hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No. Yes. Not enemies. Redfangs are always Redfangs. Now we are all on
the same side. We all…left Garen.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Spiderslicer was the third-best fighter in all of the Redfang tribe.”

“Okay.”

“And Redscar is second-best in all of Redfang tribe. Or was until he left.”

“Oh. Now I get it.”

Erin wanted to roll her eyes as Spiderslicer snapped something and the
other Redfangs fell silent. The Goblins who’d entered Erin’s inn grew quiet
as the two Goblins stared each other down. Redscar put a hand on his
sword’s hilt and Erin felt motivated to interject.
“Hey! I said no fighting!”

The two Goblins looked at her. Redscar looked at Spiderslicer, who

growled something. The two looked at each other in tense silence, and then
Redscar jerked his head. They began walking for the door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Redscar paused to look at Erin.

“No fighting. In inn. So going out.”

Erin’s mouth opened, but Numbtongue grabbed her and whispered urgently
to her.

“Will fight anyways. Has to fight. Redfangs have to know who is best.”

“Yeah, but they’ll kill each other!”

“No. They won’t use their own swords. Spiderslicer broke his falchion and
Redscar has an enchanted blade. It won’t be fair, so they’ll use other
weapons.”

“Well that’s a relief—”

“They’ll use ordinary swords instead.”

“What?”

The fight went down on a hill close to Erin’s inn. She stood outside the inn
with a crowd of adventurers. And Goblins. They stood there, eating and
watching as the two Goblins stood in a circle of Redfang warriors. The two
were using steel blades, shortswords of identical length. Unenchanted, as
Numbtongue had said. But they were sharp and metal.

“They’re going to kill each other.”

Erin put her hands on her head. Earlia, who was snacking on some french
fries, shook her head.
“Nah, not if they have healing potions. Sparring can be lethal, but it’s not
bad if there’s potions nearby. The real injuries happen when you sever a
limb or poke out an eye. Or crush bones. But experts can usually avoid that.
Hey, anyone care for a bet?”

Heads turned. Pisces drifted over.

“I could back a few wagers. What’re the odds?”

“Redscar will win. Second-best.”

Headscratcher folded his arms. Shorthilt shook his head dismissively.

“Not certain. Redscar is best on Thunderfur. Riding. But Spiderslicer fights

best on ground.”

“Spiderslicer doesn’t have falchion.”

Rabbiteater pointed that fact out. The other Redfangs nodded. Revi, staring
down at the commotion, looked around.

“The one with the spider name looks good to me. Put two gold pieces on
him, Pisces.”

“Oh come now, Revi. Surely you can stand a larger bet. Fifty gold on the
spider fellow, young Pisces. How much will that earn me?”

Typhenous chuckled. Pisces looked up as the other adventurers whistled.

“I’ll give you even odds on both sides for the moment. Any takers?”

A clamor of voices arose and Pisces began to take money or vocal bets from
other sides. Erin looked disgusted as some of the Goblins began to offer
Pisces bits of food as well, or coins of their own. Then she saw a dour
looking face appear at Pisces’ back. Erin drifted closer just in time to hear
Halrac speak to Pisces.

“Two hundred gold on the one with the scar.”

Pisces paused. He glanced at Halrac, and immediately adjusted the odds to
favor Redscar. Erin slapped her forehead. The [Scout] met her eyes and
shrugged.

The fight went down independent of the betting around The Wandering Inn.
Spiderslicer and Redscar advanced slowly. They didn’t touch weapons or
nod to each other. They just waited a beat, and then tried to stab each other
to death. Or at least, that was what Erin made of it. She couldn’t watch the
entire thing; every time they leaned back and avoided a close cut or worse,
cut each other, she had to cover her eyes. They were indeed careful—but
only to avoid killing each other. Blood soon ran in the mud and Erin heard
the shouts from outside.

It was over in minutes, which was a surprise to everyone who’d expected a

quick match. Both Goblins trooped into the inn, having healed their
wounds. Spiderslicer followed Redscar into the inn and sat at the same table
as the scarred Goblin. He seemed…calmer now. Erin eyed both Goblins but
couldn’t tell who’d won at a glance.

“Well?”

She walked over to a table of adventurers. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt.

Halrac was drinking and counting the coins that Pisces had sullenly paid out
—the [Necromancer] had taken a loss thanks to the big bet—and the others
were animatedly discussing the fight. Bevussa looked up.

“Those Goblins are good!”

“Beyond good, I’d say. They actually look like they know swordsmanship.
They’re better than almost all the Silver-rank adventurers I see practicing.
Some of the Gold-rank ones, too.”

Earlia grumbled into her mug. She looked disgruntled, almost uneasy.
Pisces nodded, sniffing knowledgably.

“Their form is impeccable. The one called Redscar is clearly better than
Spiderslicer, but both had superior posture, timing, and a modicum of grace.
It was certainly a battle worth watching.”
“From Goblins.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Halrac admonished the other adventurers. Typhenous, who was sadly

drinking from his mug, looked up at Halrac.

“You’re keen-eyed, Halrac. Share your insights with us. How would you
rate them on a purely technical level against someone of say, Ylawes’
caliber?”

He glanced slyly at the [Knight], who was sitting stiffly at a table and
looking at the Goblins around him. Yvlon was sitting across from her
brother, clearly displeased. But the two were talking. Halrac eyed Ylawes.
He grunted.

“No comment.”

“Oh come on, Halrac.”

“I don’t gossip about my peers. Especially if what I say will get back to
them and ruffle feathers.”

“Hold on, you don’t mean—”

The adventurers and Goblins sat forwards at the table. Halrac folded his
arms. Erin rolled her eyes. She passed by their table and circulated the
room.

A dozen conversations were happening in different spots at once. Erin saw

Noears sitting at another table near the magic door, clearly studying it,
Hobgoblins bickering over food with smaller Goblins—and adventurers,
cautiously eating and watching them. But she wasn’t interested in them. She
found one Goblin sitting with a group of female Goblins—at least, they all
looked female to Erin.

Poisonbite looked up suspiciously as Erin grabbed a chair and scooted over.

The young woman stared up at a large Hob with a helmet still on her head.
The Hob stared down at Erin. She smiled.
“Hi.”

Then Erin looked at Poisonbite. The small Goblin stared up at her.

“What?”

“I’m told you know Rags.”

All the female Goblins stared hard at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Hey, I’m not trying to start anything. But I knew her. Before she became
your Chieftain. I think. She used to stay at this inn. She was…a friend.”

The Goblins kept staring. Poisonbite looked at the others.

‘You knew Chieftain?”

“A little bit. But she never spoke. I don’t think she knew how. And she
definitely didn’t have a big tribe. Heck, at first I don’t think she had a tribe.
She was just…Rags. How did she end up leading such a huge army?”

Erin’s question provoked a minor furor among the Goblins. Poisonbite hit
the table with the butt of her knife and glared.

“Not army. Tribe. Flooded Waters tribe.”

“Sorry. But can you tell me about her? What was she like? How is she
doing? Is she…okay? I heard she was missing.”

“Chieftain is alive.”

Poisonbite said it instantly. She glared at Erin as if hinting otherwise was

tantamount to treason. She raised her voice.

“Chieftain is smart! Cunning! She rebelled from Tremborag of the

Mountain. Fought [Emperor]! Defeated pink-death [Knights]! Spoke to
him. Greybeard!”

“Greybeard.”
The other Goblins nodded conspiratorially and stared at Erin. She looked
around blankly.

“Rags did all that? Rags?”

“Yes. She is our Chieftain. Worthy. You should know.”

Poisonbite sneered down at Erin. The young woman nodded.

“I should. So tell me.”

The smaller Goblin hesitated. She looked uncertain. Then the Hob with the
helmet spoke. She rumbled and Erin jumped.

“First Chieftain was in Flooded Waters tribe. First fight other tribes. Had
crossbows. Very smart. Very deadly. Shoot in head very dead.”

The other Goblins nodded. The Hob fell silent, drank from her mug, and
folded her arms. She was clearly done. Another Goblin took up the story.
She had a very clear tone. Some of the Goblins were clearly very good at
English, or rather, the common tongue, and others were not.

“Chieftain fought many tribes. Garen Redfang himself came to fight

Chieftain. Fought. Won. Chased Chieftain and fought and fought. But then
Chieftain lured into Shield Spider trap. Garen Redfang submit. Then
Chieftain fight other tribes! Redfangs and Flooded Waters tribe, too strong!
But Goblin Lord coming. So go north. Fight Goldstone Chieftain tribe. Get
Pyrite—Goldstone Chieftain.”

“Pyrite.”

The others murmured his name. Erin looked around.

“Who was he?”

The female Goblins stared at Erin. They tried to explain. Erin tried to listen.
It was a confusing story, made harder by poor grammar and an unreliable
narrative structure. But Erin kept listening. The Goblins argued over the
details, threw food at each other, but kept telling the story. And they kept
looking at Erin, although the [Innkeeper] didn’t know why. But it was the
expression on her face as they told her more of Rags, of her triumphs and
failures.

She was smiling.

—-

Noears sat amid some of the [Mages] and adventurers. Or rather, he sat at a
table and they sat at their tables near him and stared at him. They couldn’t
help it. Ceria wished she’d joined Pisces at his table, even if it meant
listening to him sniff. He had a cold. Anything would be better than this.

“So I uh, won my axe during that competition. Dead drunk, you know.
Woke up with a splitting headache and the [Axe Champion] class. Never
been able to get rid of it, for all I use a hammer. Damn class. I mean, the
Skill’s nice, but it’s the wrong specialization. Maybe I should pick up an
axe, but it’s just not my thing. So I’m screwed two ways.”

Dawil finished his story as he spoke to Falene, Ylawes, Yvlon, Ceria, and
Ksmvr. The other adventurers nodded without much enthusiasm. Only
Ksmvr seemed animated.

“That is a very poignant story illuminating the dangers of inebriation, friend

Dawil. May I ask what Skills your class gives you? I am attempting to
ascertain which class will be of most use to my team.”

“Ah, well, if it’s Skills you want to talk, you’d do worse than following
Ylawes’ example. He’s always blocking things with his shield. Or his face.
[Knights] are a good class. Better than most [Warrior] classes. Right, lad?”

Dawil raised his voice and slapped Ylawes on the back. The [Knight]
lurched and slopped some of his drink on the table. He looked around.

“What? I’m sorry, Dawil. I was distracted.”

Ksmvr nodded knowingly.

“Yes. You were staring hard at the Goblin without ears for quite some time.
So was everyone else. May I ask what the issue is? Is he horribly disfigured
or is this a mark of some kind of sexual attractiveness I am not aware of?”

The entire table went silent. Noears looked around and the other Goblins at
his table—including Badarrow—looked up. They stared at the adventurers
and Noears raised his voice.

“Black thing asks about this?”

He tapped his ears. Ksmvr nodded politely as Ceria tried to kick him under
the table.

“Ow. Yes, I am Ksmvr. I am an Antinium and a member of the Horns of

Hammerad. Ow. Captain Ceria, you are kicking me. May I ask about your
missing ears? My companions clearly wish to, but have not broached the
subject. I wish to ask so we may continue our discussion unimpeded.”

He stared at Noears. The [Mage] grinned and shot a spark from one finger
to the other. Electricity danced along one claw as he stood up. The
adventurers looked as he moved over, ushering a Goblin out of his seat.
Noears tilted his head to show them the missing ears.

“Ksmvr Antinium wants to know why ears are missing? Other adventurers
know. You don’t?”

“I have no idea. Ow.”

Noears grinned. He looked from face to face. Ceria couldn’t meet his eyes.
Noears tapped the side of his head again.

“Answer is bounty. Adventurers get paid for Goblin ears. Two copper coins
for Goblin ears. Good money, right?”

He grinned at the others. Ylawes stared ahead. Dawil looked into his mug
and then drank. He uttered an oath. Ceria closed her eyes, remembering.
Yes. It was good money, especially if you were starting out. If you got a
request to hunt Goblins—or if you met some on the road, you could earn a
few silver pieces easy. A request to subjugate a tribe? You added the ears
onto whatever money you made. And you never thought twice about it after
the first few times. You never—

None of the other adventurers would say anything. But it was Falene who
looked around and felt the need to justify things. She pursed her lips and
spoke, avoiding looking at Noears.

“It may be distasteful, but the practice of placing bounties has historically
been a key motivator in culling problematic populations. Rural
Adventurer’s Guilds lack access to truth spells, so the practice of collecting
trophies is necessary, however—”

“Dead gods, Falene!”

Dawil slammed his mug down on the table. Ceria jumped. The Dwarf
looked up as Falene fell silent. Her face was slightly paler than usual. Dawil
glared at her, and then at Noears.

“Yes. We know. It’s a thing adventurers do, lad. We kill Goblins and Shield
Spiders and other monsters and don’t think twice about it. I didn’t until I
came here. Then I started imagining every Goblin I ever killed. I’m sorry
for it. But sometimes the Goblins were bastards. Other times…”

He looked away, and at a group of Redfang warriors. They were sitting,

eating, looking around, in good spirits. Only, now and then, Ceria had
caught one of them looking towards the Silver Swords, or Bevussa, or one
of the other teams that had fought them. Just for a moment. But Erin’s
peace held. Dawil shook his head.

“We fought Goblins on the road not a day ago and they’re sitting here
without so much as blaming us. I don’t know what to make of that, but I’d
defend myself and my team again. But the ears—I can’t excuse the ears.”

The others fell silent. Ksmvr looked from face to face and then at Noears.
The Goblin [Mage] shrugged.
“Adventurers kill. Goblins kill. But next time make sure Goblin is dead. Or
Goblins grows up and does this.”

He pointed a finger. A miniature bolt of lightning crackled up past Ksmvr’s

antennae. Falene pursed her lips but said nothing. Ylawes looked down at
Noears.

“I am sorry for your loss, sir. But enemies are enemies. I am aware that
there are good examples of your species—once my team encountered a
group of—of noble Goblins in a city besieged by their kind and the undead.
But can you speak to the depredations others of your kind cause? What
other options is there but to make war against Goblins who kill or steal?”

“Silver and steel, Ylawes!”

Yvlon glared at her brother. He returned her look, sitting stiffly in his chair.
Noears cackled.

“No, good point! Good point! Fair is fair. Goblins do wrong, get killed. So.
Here.”

He slapped something on the table in front of Ylawes. The [Knight]

blinked.

“What is this?”

Two filthy gold coins lay on the table. Noears grinned at him.

“Anyone who wants coins cuts off your ears. Don’t have to die either. Free
coin! Fair is fair.”

He cackled and lightning flickered from the tips of his claws. Falene eyed
Noears as Ylawes flushed. Yvlon bit her lip and Ceria saw she was trying
not to laugh. Ksmvr eyed Ylawes.

“Monetarily, would it make sense to—”

“Shut up, Ksmvr.”

Dawil chortled. The mood at the table relaxed a tiny bit, odd as that seemed.
Falene indicated Noears’ claws circumspectly.

“Mister…Noears. Are you a [Aeromancer]?”

“What?”

Noears stared at the half-Elf. Falene hesitated.

“A [Lightning Mage]?”

“Oh! Yes!”

The Goblin grinned. He shot more sparks of electricity, blackening the

table. A few struck Ylawes’ armor and Yvlon’s gauntlets. Both winced.
Dawil, who’d sensibly gone without his armor, swore and threw a piece of
bread at Noears anyways.

“Cut that out, you no-eared bastard!”

Ceria sucked in her breath, but the Goblins at Noears’ table including him
laughed. It was a genuine laugh, and Noears relented. He nodded at Falene,
who’d deflected a few of the sparks meant for her.

“Lightning mage! Yes! Practiced with spells. Can shoot lightning.”

Falene shook her head, looking unhappily surprised.

“Fascinating. It was speculated that a Goblin could learn magic, but one of
your level is…unprecedented. However, your control of mana is wildly
inefficient. And the spells are twisted.”

“Yep. Look better that way.”

Noears agreed happily. Falene sighed.

“I don’t suppose there are any Goblins with a more complete grasp of
magic? General magic? Not just a single school?”
Noears looked blankly at the [Battle Mage]. He scratched at his head.

“What, like stupid magic? Lifting rocks and things?”

Ceria snorted some ale out of her nose. Falene gave her a long look as the
younger half-Elf wiped her nose. Ceria ignored her. She hesitated and
looked at Noears, then raised her mug.

“Hey. You do lightning magic? I’m an [Ice Mage].”

Noears brightened. He looked inquiringly at Ceria and she raised her hand.
The Goblins oohed as Ceria coated her hand and arm in a layer of ice, her
new spell. Noears responded by making a little ball of electricity which he
shot at Ceria. She deflected it with her ice-covered hand. Falene sighed
loudly.

“Elementalists.”

—-

At another table, no laughter of any kind was going on, and the tension was
of a different kind. Moore sat gingerly at the table—on the ground since
there were no chairs built for his weight. He was surrounded by pillows that
supported his back and allowed him to lean back a bit. He was eating
gingerly. The other two sitting at his table, Jelaqua and Seborn, ate very
little, but they’d been drinking into their cups.

“I can’t believe those Redfangs don’t hold a grudge. We killed a lot of

them.”

Jelaqua spoke quietly after a few minutes of silence. Moore looked up.

“I asked Erin about it. She said they’re not happy, but apparently it was
because they were fighting under Garen. His problems aren’t the tribe’s
problems. So they let it go. They’re quite stoic about some things. It is
surprising.”

“I don’t know how they do it.”

Jelaqua stared into her mug. The sight of a huge Raskghar hunched over
was eerie, but the other two had learned to look beyond form. Seborn
grunted.

“I don’t think they are. I think they just know that there’s nothing to be
gained from starting a fight right now.”

He looked at a group of Redfangs. They all turned back in their chairs.

Seborn nodded to himself.

“They’ll eat. But they’re memorizing our faces.”

“Let them.”

Jelaqua stared at her mostly untouched plate. She pushed it back and looked
at the other two. Only now, a few hours into the night, did she finally bring
up the topic they’d danced around.

“So. What he said.”

“I don’t believe it. How could Halassia do that? She always believed in the
best of us.”

“She was a Drake, Moore.”

“They cast her out of their city. They called her cursed!”

The half-Giant looked distressed as he shifted, trying to sit upright. Jelaqua

put a paw on his leg.

“Keep still. Healer’s orders.”

Reluctantly, he did. Seborn stared ahead.

“It doesn’t matter if they hated her. She was a patriot. So was Ukrina in
her own way. They loved their cities. And they lived through the Second
Antinium War, Moore. They grew up with that devastation. What do
you think they would have done if they met Ksmvr? Remember how we
never stopped at Liscor when we went from north to south?”

“Yeah. We’d take a ship and do guard duty instead, never mind how boring
it was.”

“Even so.”

Moore looked down at his bowl. Jelaqua sighed.

“He might have been lying.”

“Do you think he was?”

“What, Garen? No. He’s a terrible liar. He might have exaggerated, or

twisted what happened, but I can imagine it.”

The Selphid fell silent. She traced on the table.

“It was Ukrina and Halassia, definitely. They’re Drakes. The Goblin King
matters to them. To the others too, but you know Keilam wouldn’t say
anything outright. And Thornst was new. He’d be keeping quiet. So it was
them.”

“Why did they provoke him? Why not wait? He was offering the
information. Why did they push him that far? Surely they did. Or was it
him?”

Moore whispered. Seborn shook his head.

“I don’t know. They were right, though.”

The other two looked at him. Moore’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

“How can you say that, Seborn?”

The Drowned Man looked up.

“What? It’s a Goblin King. If I was with them, I would agree. One
cannot reappear again.”

“Of course, but that’s not—”

Seborn gritted his teeth.

“Garen was in the wrong. He attacked them.”

“But if they were threatening to hurt him—”

“He. Attacked. Them. I remember what I saw. It was murder.”

“Seborn. Enough.”

Jelaqua interrupted him. The Drowned Man sat back, simmering. He sipped
from the hard spirits in his mug, then drank down the water in another
tankard. Drowned People had to watch out for dehydration on land, and that
went double when drinking. Jelaqua waited until both he and Moore had
relaxed a bit to go on.

“They should have waited for the rest of us. Regardless of anything else,
they should have waited.”

No one had anything to say to that. Moore looked down and put his bowl on
the table, no longer hungry. Seborn kept drinking. Jelaqua thought. At last,
her lips twitched. The two looked at her, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was
bitter. Jelaqua looked up at the two of them.

“It doesn’t matter what we would have done. But think of it this way,
Seborn. Even if we all agreed that the Goblin King’s treasure was too
dangerous to give to the Goblins—what is it? Is it just a magic weapon or is
it something else? We’d have to find out, and bring Garen with us,
probably. Especially if the treasure is something only a Goblin could find.”

“True. So what?”
Jelaqua shook her head.

“We’d have gone to get it and decided afterwards what to do. It would have
probably taken multiple Gold-rank teams and maybe even Named
Adventurers. The High Passes. Dead gods. But we would have gone
looking for it. That’s what Ukrina and Halassia didn’t understand. Either
way…”

Moore went pale. Seborn stared at Jelaqua for a long moment. Then he
cursed and looked around.

“I need another drink. Drassi!”

He waved a hand. The Drake saw it and nodded. Seborn waited, but instead
of his drink, someone else wandered over. All three Halfseekers froze as a
Goblin with a scar on his face walked over. He sat at their table without
asking and looked at them.

“Redscar. Second to Garen. Second strongest in Redfang tribe.”

It was an introduction, however curt. Redscar eyed the Halfseekers, and

Jelaqua knew that he knew how many Goblins from his tribe they’d killed.
She eyed the enchanted sword at his side and remembered the flails in her
room. Seborn shifted and she knew he was checking the positions of his
daggers. Moore reached out.

“Seborn.”

“Not here to fight.”

Redscar looked at Seborn as he said that. The [Rogue] stopped.

“What do you want?”

The Goblin waited as Drassi came by with another mug and took Seborn’s
old one. He looked at the two of them.

“Garen. He talked about old team to me.”

The Halfseekers looked up sharply. Moore tried to sit up again.

“He did?”

“Sometimes. When drank. Very few times.”

“What did he say?”

Jelaqua looked at Redscar. The Goblin shrugged.

“Sometimes said about how strong. Or one of them. Cunning [Rogue].

Strong [Green Mage]. Brave Captain. Drake made of ash who was
beautiful. Sometimes curse and throw things. Sometimes old stories.”

He gestured, indicating the others. The Halfseekers were silent. Redscar

looked at them.

“Heard from Spiderslicer what did. Traitor. Betray tribe.”

“We were a team. Not a tribe.”

Redscar shrugged as if to say ‘same thing’. He looked at Jelaqua, then

Seborn, and then Moore. He hesitated, then came out with it.

“Was he good? Good teammate? Good…adventurer? Before?”

The three looked at him. Jelaqua saw a bit of anxiety in Redscar’s eyes. And
it wasn’t about the Goblins they’d killed. It was about something simpler.
His question. He was asking—was Garen a good teammate? Had he told the
truth? Was anything true?

It would be so easy to crush those fragile hopes. To tell the truth, but in such
a way that Garen became a monster completely in the eyes of his tribe. And
part of Jelaqua wanted to. She saw Moore hesitate and close his mouth.
Seborn was stirring. She met his eyes and said not a word. The Drowned
Man opened his mouth. He hesitated, looked at Redscar, and shook his
head.
“Was he a good adventurer? He was a terrible one. He betrayed his
team. He could barely read. He got us into more trouble than any of our
other teammates just by walking around the city.”

Redscar sagged a bit in his chair. Seborn went on, bitterly.

“Adventurers started fights with him, he got arrested, started panics—

if he’d started any of it himself we’d have kicked him out from the
start. But he never did. And he was strong. Aside from Jelaqua, he was
the best in the group. When he found that enchanted blade, he became
our front line.”

Jelaqua looked up. She saw Moore’s head raise. Seborn made a disgusted
sound.

“Bastard. I nearly lost an arm twice thanks to him and I had a rope
around my neck one time. We were nearly lynched.”

He looked at his teammates. Jelaqua slowly smiled. The Selphid looked at

Moore, and then at Redscar, who’d glanced back up. She tried to remember,
and surprisingly, the memory came into her head without hurting as hard. It
still hurt like a needle to the chest, but Jelaqua spoke anyways.

“That’s true. Garen had a knack for trouble. But he was hardly as bad as
Ukrina, was he? The number of times she got in trouble for her tail tickling
the wrong young woman—remember the time we nearly got killed by that
angry [Lord]? Lord Tourants or whatever he was called? Garen wasn’t with
us—mainly because we were afraid he would get executed if he wandered
around in plain sight.”

Moore nodded.

“There was a bounty on Goblins, and we couldn’t convince anyone even

though Garen was Silver-rank at the time. So he was hiding in the forest
with Halassia waiting for us to come back. When he learned we were being
held prisoner he attacked the prison with her. People were screaming about
a Goblin army when it was him and a few illusion spells.”
The other two snorted. They’d nearly forgotten that detail. Redscar scooted
closer, listening as Jelaqua fished for another memory.

“Remember the time he got tricked and paid that [Wagon Driver] in gold
instead of silver? He got so mad when he found out he tore up half the city.”

“Or the time when he tried to beat a Minotaur in a fist fight?”

The Halfseekers laughed. They began telling stories. It hurt each time they
brought up Garen’s name, much less Halassia, Ukrina, Thornst, or
Keilam’s. And it hurt worst of all to remember a happy moment when
everything was going well. It hurt because it was a good memory, poisoned
by what had happened. It felt to Jelaqua like all their memories had been
infected with it.

A slow, bitter poison. It hurt, coming out. But as Jelaqua spoke, the poison
did drip away, leaving the wounds clearer at last. Not entirely, but some.
Jelaqua paused in the middle of a tale about Garen, a flying boot, and a
battle with a Creler nest, and stopped.

“He was our friend. Our comrade in arms. I wish I could have stopped him.
He was our friend, but there’s no forgiveness. Some things you forgive. But
other things you can’t.”

The other two nodded. Redscar nodded as well. He looked at his arm,
where a bit of red paint was beginning to flake away. He picked at it.

“Bad friend. Bad teammate. Bad Chieftain. But good one, sometimes.”

And that was it. The Halfseekers nodded and began telling stories without a
second beat. So did Redscar, and some of the other Redfang warriors. Garen
had betrayed their trust. He couldn’t be forgiven and that couldn’t be
forgotten, no matter how much time passed. Neither the Halfseekers nor his
tribe could bury the past.

But they had liked him.

—-

Goblins cycled in and out of the inn. A few, the lucky few, stayed. The
Redfang five, Headscratcher and company, Redscar, Spiderslicer, Noears,
and Poisonbite. But the others came and went, eating a meal, pausing to
listen, to look around, or to point out Erin to each other, to listen to her
shout obscenities as she lost a game of chess on her magic chessboard or try
to teach someone how to play. They came and went, offering other Goblins
a chance to see.

The myth was true. The legend was real. And the inn was safe. For a little
bit. The Goblins were relaxed, more at ease than they had been in a long
time. But they were still watchful. It was ingrained in the psyche. So they
noticed the dark shapes marching out of the darkness and over the hills.

Of course, they’d come under the hills first. Goblins shouted in alarm and
backed up. Many didn’t recognize the strangers, but they didn’t need to
know the Antinium to be wary. They raced towards the inn as Pawn and a
group of Painted Soldiers walked out of the darkness. The [Acolyte] swung
a censer and the Painted Soldiers walked ahead of him. But something was
strange.

“They are Antinium. Not a threat. They are guests of the inn.”

Numbtongue insisted as Redscar stared down at the Antinium. The Goblin

looked extremely doubtful, but he whistled and the Redscar warriors backed
up and quieted their growling Carn Wolves. The Goblins drew back, and
Erin, who’d come to see, peered down at the Antinium.

“They didn’t come through Liscor. I wonder why?”

“They probably don’t want to walk through the barricades. But there’s still
water down there. Aren’t they nervous? They could slip and fall.”

Ceria appeared at Erin’s side. The young woman peered down.

“No, they’ve got a light and Pawn’s taking a good path. But—is that a
lantern he’s swinging?”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“No. That’s not a lantern. That’s a…what is that? It’s that burning thing you
had him make.”

“His censer. It’s glowing.”

Erin breathed softly. The censer was indeed glowing. It was a soft yellow
light, and it had seemed exactly like a lantern at first. But the light was too
pure and it never wavered. The Antinium shook it and it lit up the area in
front of him as he and the Painted Solders—eleven or so—walked towards
the inn, past the staring Goblins.

“An enchantment? It has to be an artifact. Did they get it spelled somehow?

But who would—no. Wait.”

Ceria’s voice faltered. She stared down at Pawn. Erin heard her gulp.

“Ceria? What is it?”

“There’s no magic. I can’t see it coming from the lantern.”

“What?”

Erin looked down. The censer was glowing, just like a light spell. Only, it
wasn’t like a light spell, was it? The censer was glowing, not an orb of light.
And Antinium couldn’t cast magic. At least, Pawn couldn’t. Ceria looked
pale.

“How is he doing that? How—”

“I think it’s faith.”

“What?”
The Goblins looked at Erin. She nodded and stared at Pawn. She could hear
it now. A faint click. The Painted Soldiers were marching rhythmically. And
every ninth step, their mandibles would click together.

Click.

It was a hypnotic, gentle procession up the hill. And the light reminded her
of…well, it reminded her of something. Erin stood with her noisy inn
behind her and watched Pawn approaching. She whispered.

“Faith made manifest.”

“Then it is not faith, is it?”

Ceria looked suspiciously at Erin. The young woman turned.

“No. I suppose it’s not. In that case, I guess you’d call it…religion.”

The half-Elf opened her mouth to tell Erin the gods were dead. But then she
looked down and realized there were no gods there. Just the Antinium. And
the censer, humble though it was, small though it was, glowed. Any Tier 0
spell could do the same, and make light just as bright or brighter. But it
wasn’t magic. And that made Ceria wonder.

—-

“Attention everyone! These are Antinium! They’re guests! No one scream

or stab them! Thank you!”

Erin clapped her hands together. The Goblins looked up, stared at the
Antinium, and kept stuffing their faces.

“Thank you, Erin.”

Pawn leaned his censer on a stick against a table as the Soldiers sat in the
provided chairs. Erin saw Lyonette coming over with some hot, gluten-free
food and smiled.

“It’s great to see you, Pawn.”

“And you, Erin. And you too, Lyonette. I wished to come tonight when I
heard what was occurring. Will you please help me feed my Soldiers? I
wish to speak with the Goblins.”

The Worker nodded to the Soldiers who were staring at the borscht and then
looked around. He spotted the Goblin he was looking for quickly and
walked over.

“Numbtongue. I have returned with Purple Smile. Yellow Splatters was

forced to remain in the Hive, as it is tactically unsound to bring both
[Sergeants] in case we were attacked and killed. Shall we resume our chat?”

Numbtongue grinned. He looked at the curious Soldier who was waving

with three of his four hands while one of them grasped a special mug
designed for him. Purple Smile raised his mandibles and Numbtongue
waved over some of the curious Goblins. The Antinium and Goblins mixed,
cautiously at first, and then with ease as they found that they could actually
understand each other through sign language as much as words. Erin
blinked, mystified.

“I thought they only met once. Since when did they become friends?”

Bevussa shrugged as she passed by Erin.

“A lot goes by that we don’t know about. Do you have any more beer, Erin?
We’re all out.”

“Aw!”

The Goblins and Antinium sat together. Numbtongue pointed at Pawn’s

censer. The Antinium admired the Redfang’s war paint. They were quite
similar, for all they were different. And then Erin turned from a
conversation and shouted the words that made the entire inn look up.

“Hey you lot! Lyonette tells me you can dance! Is that true?”

—-

“Fascinating.”

Pisces stood by the door with a drink in hand. Wine, unfortified and
delicate. Taken from Rabbiteater’s cloak of all places. He supposed the
location didn’t matter since the quality of the wine was a fine vintage, but
he couldn’t help but feel that it cheapened the entire experience a bit. Well,
free wine was free wine. He drank and looked at Ceria, Falene and
Typhenous, who’d both gathered around Noears. The Goblin was flicking
balls of lightning up which exploded harmlessly. But that wasn’t what had
prompted Pisces’ rare outburst of admiration.

It was the floating orbs of multicolored lights that Noears had conjured with
a single [Light] spell. Pisces admired the colors—the Goblin had an eye for
pleasing aesthetics—and then looked at the other [Mages].

“You can see the spell was clearly boosted by the ambient mana. In fact, all
of our magics tonight are. If you see—”

He flicked his fingers and his wine glass turned upside down. But the wine
within remained perfectly still, controlled by the telekinesis. Pisces lifted it
to his lips and drank, letting gravity take over.

“You see? That would be far more difficult normally, especially as I am not
well-versed in telekinetic magic. But the ambient mana in Erin’s inn is
charged.”

“It hasn’t been until now. Why is that?”

Ceria frowned at the glowing light spell. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I do recall Miss Lyonette mentioning a similar phenomenon. But why

would it only occur now after so long? Unless…”

All the [Mages] looked to the magic door. Pisces stroked his chin.

“When was the last time the door wasn’t teleporting someone to Celum
every night? Or Pallass? How much mana does it take to send someone a
hundred miles in a second?”

“We have been using the door today—”

“Only to go back and forth between Liscor. And the teams taking the door
south. But Nailren’s team is only, what, twenty miles south of here? Thirty
at most.”

“So the door isn’t consuming as much mana! Of course! Imagine the drain
—how much magic is Erin’s inn producing normally, do you think?”

“Enough to make that spell possible.”

Ceria eyed Falene and Moore. The two were sitting together and the half-
Elf had conjured a floating procession of plates to move past Moore’s head
while he sat back. Thus he could eat without having to sit up and she could
keep talking without having to look up at him.

Pisces waved that away.

“That is a spell fueled by Miss Skystrall’s magic. A product of ability. But

that [Light] spell was overcharged. I wonder, how much power could you
draw without the door present?”

“Wanna try? Blow up rocks?”

Noears grinned and shot a few tiny lightning bolts from his fingers. Pisces
sniffed.
“Tempting, but I think that would be considered an act of aggression from
Liscor at the moment. But I do wonder if we could—”

He was discussing spells with the others when he heard a sound break
through the general hubbub. Goblins turned their heads as a Hobgoblin with
a guitar struck a chord. Numbtongue played a riff, and then modulated the
tone. Instead of the crackling electric chords, he played something much
softer.

Another sound joined him. A Cave Goblin on a pair of improvised drums. A

pair of Goblins blew into flutes they’d carved out of wood. A third had a
kind of violin. Pisces’ jaw dropped.

Cave Goblins took their places as a young woman waved a stick,

mimicking a conductor without in fact lending anything to the performance.
Numbtongue ignored her as he plucked at his guitar. The Cave Goblins
played. Their instruments were crude. But the sounds they made were pure.
After all, they’d listened to Numbtongue and he knew what the other
musical instruments should look and sound like, at least in theory.

The sound they made as a whole was discordant at first. The Cave Goblins
hadn’t played in symphony and this song was new. But they were Goblins.
Cooperation was in their blood, and in time, they had a song going that
was…close.

It sounded vaguely like something Pisces would hear in a ballroom in

Terandria, albeit with a faster tune, more bass and drums, and a good deal
more mistakes. But the resemblance was uncanny. He stared at the Goblins.
And then he got the shock of his life.

The Painted Soldiers had turned at the sound of the music. They had stood
up as one. Now they stepped into the middle of the common room, which
had been cleared of tables and chairs. Pisces watched them a tad bit
apprehensively. He wasn’t sure what they’d do. What he was not prepared
for was to see two of the Soldiers lock hands and begin to dance.

Not just dance. They began to step in pairs, in a classic ballroom waltz.
Across the room, Halrac nearly choked on his drink as the Antinium slowly
walked down the long [Grand Theatre], towards the dais at the back of the
room. They turned stepped, turned—their steps were perfectly in synch.
Memorized, coordinated. As only the Antinium could do.

The Antinium—and a [Princess]. Lyonette spun past the Soldiers, Pawn

holding her hand gingerly. Pisces rubbed at his eyes and stared down into
his mug as Typhenous went to sit down and landed on the floor. Everyone
watched as the song played on and the Antinium danced. For a minute, two,
the Antinium moved to the sound of the playing Goblins. And then the
music changed.

“Okay, Numbtongue! Hit it! Better When I’m Dancing! This is my song!”

Erin jumped into the middle of the dance floor. The music changed, picking
up in tempo. It took a distinctly un-ballroom-like melody. Pisces saw Erin
stop, and then began shuffling her feet. She winked.

“I learned this one from Charlie Brown.”

She began to dance, in a way that had nothing to do with memorized steps
or patterns. It was individual, cheerful, and completely embarrassing. Pisces
saw Revi snort, and the Goblins exchanged glances, unsure if this was
comedy or something serious. Erin just laughed. She beckoned.

“Come on!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then a Goblin pushed her way through
the crowd. Pebblesnatch looked around importantly, then handed her prized
chef’s hat off to another Goblin. She began to copy Erin. The young woman
laughed. The two began to dance, and then another Goblin came forwards.
He struck a pose and that was it.

The dance floor began to fill. The Antinium Soldiers watched, then began to
copy Erin. Pisces watched, dribbling wine onto the floor. Ceria laughed and
laughed and then grabbed Pisces’ hand.

“Come on! You’ve seen Erin dance, Pisces! And they’re playing all of the
songs on Ryoka’s music thing! How did Erin teach Numbtongue that?”
“No, absolutely not—”

Pisces raised his hands. But then Ksmvr was there.

“Comrade Pisces, will you dance with me?”

Ksmvr didn’t seem to understand the traditional gender pairing that went
along with such things. Pisces was trying to explain it to him as Typhenous
tried to muffle his laughter with his beard. That was when Erin grabbed his
hand and towed the old man into the dance.

Bright music. The Goblins standing outside the inn waiting for their turn
stared through the windows. They looked at each other, and then shouted
for the others to see. And the dancing spread. After all, Goblins were
thieves. And stealing music and footwork was considerably more easy than
food. All they had to do was watch.

—-

A pair of blonde figures sat at a table as Erin led the Goblins through the
evolution of dancing throughout the ages. She had to describe some of it,
not being capable of advanced moves like breakdancing, moonwalking, or
anything past the electric slide, really. But it was a sight to see Antinium
Soldiers doing that.

Yvlon had to wrench her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight. She looked
at her brother and blew a bit of hair out of her face. Somehow, Ylawes was
capable of ignoring even the most wondrous of sights. He frowned at her as
he drank from a small cup, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“It’s dangerous, Yvlon. All the adventuring teams are going south. They
intend to go through Drake lands, but we’re Human. If it does come to war,
we’d be in danger. I had another idea, though. If we go north, we’d run right
into the Goblin Lord’s army.”
“That’s your idea?”

Her sarcastic tone made her brother grimace.

“Just wait, Yv. Yes, the Goblin Lord would be marching towards us, but
Lord Veltras is pursuing his army. I doubt he’d let us come to harm. And
our father is marching with him.”

Yvlon folded her arms.

“So you want to run to Tyrion Veltras. Just in time to participate in the
attack on Liscor?”

“He wouldn’t demand that—”

“No? You’re a Gold-rank team, Ylawes. He’ll conscript you.”

The [Knight] paused.

“Perhaps we could talk him into negotiating instead. Or at the very least,
ensure that the battle is merciful to the defeated if—”

“Dead gods, Ylawes! He’s going to sack Liscor with the Goblins! You think
he’ll be merciful when—”

Ylawes signaled frantically as the aforementioned Goblins looked around.

Yvlon lowered her voice.

“You think this is right? No! He’s going to start a war and we’re on the
wrong side. Father was an idiot for supporting him.”

“Don’t talk about our father that way.”

Yvlon’s older brother frowned angrily. Yvlon clenched one fist.

“Shouldn’t I? He’ll be part of the bloodshed, Ylawes.”

That made him hesitate. Ylawes took another drink from his cup.
“He is part of the army. He must cooperate or be seen as dishonorable. You
can see the integrity in his decision—”

Yvlon tossed the contents of her mug at Ylawes. He dodged it and an

unhappy Goblin shook a fist at both of them. Yvlon snapped.

“You’re unbelievable. Integrity? Father threw out centuries of our family’s

friendship with the Reinharts. You want to talk about honor, Ylawes?”

He held still, face red, but looking serious.

“No one is perfect, Yvlon. We try. I have seen a lot which has changed my
mind, but the facts cannot themselves change. Liscor will be under siege
and I think you and I both know it will fall. Please think on what I’ve said.
If not for yourself, then for your team.”

“Ksmvr’s Antinium.”

“But he is your team. And if you convinced Erin to go with you—”

“What about Selys? Mrsha? The others? Will you take them all as prisoners,
Ylawes?”

The [Knight] shook his head.

“I could order you to go. I am your brother and I outrank you.”

Yvlon raised her middle finger. Ylawes sat up straight with shock.

“Shove this up your ass, Ylawes. I’m not a [Knight] and adventurers don’t
follow military command. That’s Drakes you’re thinking of. And I’m not
your little sister. I’m a member of the Horns and I refuse to—”

“Alright Gangnam style! Follow me, everyone!”

Yvlon and Ylawes both looked left. They stared as Erin pranced across the
room, doing a dance the armored woman could only describe as a horse
prancing crossed with a wagon driver flapping his reins. Yvlon stared as
Erin crossed the inn, singing a nonsensical song and dancing that ridiculous
dance. Ylawes watched with open mouth as Erin showed the other Goblins
how to do it.

The entire inn came to a standstill as they watched Erin lead the Goblins,
Drassi (and a few of the Antinium) across the floor doing the iconic dance.
Dawil laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair and couldn’t stand up for
a good three minutes.

“What in the name of silver was…”

Ylawes shook his head, coming out of his trance. He looked at his sister and
saw her getting up.

“Yvlon! Where are you going? We haven’t finished this discussion.”

“I’m going to try that dance.”

“That?”

Ylawes looked aghast. Yvlon smiled.

“Why not? And the answer is no, Ylawes.”

“This isn’t over.”

The [Knight] vowed as he got up. Yvlon stared at him. Then she turned her
head.

“You can’t force me to change my mind, Ylawes. I’m with my team.”

She walked off. Ylawes saw her tap Ceria on the shoulder and try to drag
the half-Elf onto the dance floor. Embarrassment hated company, but it
couldn’t do without. He sat back down.

“I can’t force you to change your mind, but I promised I’d keep you safe.”

The [Knight] muttered to himself. He watched Yvlon and then shook his
head. They called this dancing? It was…well, he might have given it a shot.
If there weren’t so many witnesses. Or if Dawil wasn’t watching. The
Dwarf still hadn’t stopped laughing.

—-

As all things happened, it ended. Goblins fell asleep. In piles. Outside.

Adventurers went to their beds. Erin stumbled about, trying not to step on
bodies. And the adventurers looked at each other, deep into their cups. Not a
little bit drunk, but still high on the remnants of the party.

A party. When all that had happened and was going to happen was in the
air, they’d had a party. Ceria rubbed at her head. It was an Erin thing. But
somehow, it was fitting. There had been a truce. She went from table to
table, trying to find where her teammates had passed out. She found Ksmvr
lying under a chair, moaning about water as some dripped from a cup onto
his head. She decided he was fine. Then she looked for Yvlon. She found
Pisces instead.

The [Necromancer] was sitting at a table, wine cup in hand. He was

murmuring to himself. Ceria went to take the cup away. Pisces let her. She
lifted him up.

“Come on, Pisces. To your bed. I can’t carry Ksmvr without Yvlon, but
you’re light enough.”

“I resent that…Springwalker. I was deep—immersed in my thoughts.

Creating art, if you must know. A reflection of this moment. In celebration.”

Pisces’ breath was full of wine. Ceria, none too steady herself, dragged him
to the steps, avoiding a sleeping Hob.

“Oh yeah? Tell me another one.”

“If you insist. It is an opus of sorts, however unpolished. Ahem.”

Pisces cleared his throat. Ceria turned to tell him she didn’t want to hear,
but it was too late. He began speaking softly. And perhaps it was her
inebriation, but the poem was quiet and pleasing to the ear in the silence
punctuated by soft footsteps and snores.

“What madness, what fright!

A terrible, glorious sight!

When traitor fled and Goblins rode

And came to rest, here on nowhere’s road

A strange thing happened; an inn they stayed

Where Antinium danced and Goblins played

Oh, how I wish I’d stayed

But too quick the night stole by

And I,

Had to bid the day goodbye

On this, a springtime

Miraculous night.”

He broke off, swaying, and Ceria stopped. She looked at him.

“That wasn’t half bad.”

“You think so? Ah, but I knew so.”

Pisces grinned blearily at her. Ceria rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes. Don’t let it go to your head. Who did you steal that from?”

“As a matter of fact…”

The two went up the stairs, arguing quietly. The last of the Goblins fell
asleep now that the noisy Humans were gone. They slept where they’d
fallen, full to bursting, filled with alcohol, and, strangest of all, feeling safe.

Safe. What a word. They were camped beneath a Drake city with the Goblin
Lord and Humans hot on their heels. But…tonight had been a reprieve. A
special moment. For a little bit, for one night in their lives, Goblins had
been people and people weren’t any better than Goblins.

It was indeed a miracle. Or perhaps a changing of opinions.

A much quieter Human listened to Ceria and Pisces go upstairs. Erin

Solstice looked around at the slumbering Goblins. It would be a problem
tomorrow. It might be a problem in two hours, when the sun rose. She
didn’t know what to do. Still. It wasn’t as if dancing or drinking could solve
the real crisis ahead of her. And yet, she couldn’t regret tonight. It was
needed.

One good night. Erin walked into her kitchen. She lay down and sighed.
She dreaded tomorrow and hoped it would never come. But she knew it
would. But at least tonight, she savored forever and let the night stretch on
into one eternal, immortal moment.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 37!]

 Interlude – Pebblesnatch and
Garry

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You double promise?”

“I…will promise twice if that matters. Which it does not.”

“Erin told me double promises are better than single promises. Like
crossing one’s heart or making a promise with a pinkie.”

“I see. We do not have…pinkies. Our hands are not pink. Nor do our hearts
cross, generally. But I promise.”

“Oh. Good.”

Bird relaxed. Garry stared down at him and cleared his throat, which
sounded like a bunch of rapid clicks. He looked down at the immobile
Worker. Bird was missing limbs. Missing part of his body, really. He lay
propped up by a few pillows. His partially demolished left side was covered
in a green substance that the Antinium used to heal wounds. Garry stared at
the pillows.

“Where did you get those? And what are they?”

“These? This is my fortress of fluff. Erin gave it to me when I got my room

in her inn. When she heard I would be staying here, she sent them to me.”
There were a hundred things Garry could ask. He opened his mandibles,
and hesitated. He glanced sideways up at the Queen of the Free Antinium.
She was staring at him, too. Garry hesitated, but he had to know.

“…What do the pillows do?”

“They are for lying on. And they are very soft. See?”

Bird fluffed a pillow. Garry stared at it. Words could not express his desire
to touch the partially gel-covered, fluffy pillow. But then the Free Queen
spoke.

“Garry.”

He stiffened, nervous and afraid. The Free Queen had been far kinder to
him of late. She had even learned his name. But she still terrified him. He
wondered why Bird was not afraid of her, then realized the question was an
answer. Bird was Bird. Garry looked up.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Do not delay. I have granted you this ‘time off’ for you to go to the inn
with the other Antinium. The Worker…Pawn, I believe. But you are to
bring me back the choicest morsels. Speak with Bird later.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Chastened, Garry lowered his head. He scuttled from the Queen’s chambers
as Bird called out to him.

“Ask Erin if she will send me a bird!”

—-
Oh joyous day. Or night, rather. Garry scuttled through the Hive, following
the streams of Workers and Soldiers, barely able to contain his excitement.
Time off! He hadn’t had time off in…ever. Since he had been assigned to
the Queen’s chambers to cook for her, he had worked and slept. Worked and
slept.

It was necessary of course; he was the only [Chef] in the Hive. What other
Antinium did to produce the nutritious paste the Antinium ate couldn’t be
called cooking, even charitably. But it meant Garry had worked while the
other Workers had visited Erin. He hadn’t. And that was distressing.

But after much daring, and more importantly, after Bird had taken up
residence in the Queen’s chambers, Garry had plucked up the nerve to ask.
And perhaps it was Bird talking about the food Erin made, or the way he
distracted the Queen with his stories and songs, but she had granted his
request.

Garry had never been happier in his life. No—wait. He had been just as
happy the first time he’d eaten Erin’s cooking, and played chess with her.
Now, he hoped to do the same. Garry hurried towards the barracks where
Pawn had his growing unit of Painted Soldiers and now, Individual
Workers. None of them were quite like Anand, Belgrade, or Pawn—
certainly not like Bird—but some of the Workers resembled the ones Garry
had known.

Knight, Calabrian, Milner-Barry, and all the others…they had lived with
their names for less than an hour. They had died fighting Skinner and the
undead. But Garry never forgot.

Garry reached the barracks and hurried inside. He was overjoyed. He could
learn from Erin at last! He was a Level 17 [Cook], and had leveled
exponentially fast. But of late, he’d felt like he was slowing down. After all,
he had learned which recipes suited his Queen and he just mass-produced
what she wanted most. He had no inspiration. And he had no one to learn
from. But Erin was the best at everything. He could eat her cooking and
learn. Maybe she would even teach him?
Such dreams kept Garry awake when he should be sleeping. And now they
would be realized. Garry walked into the barracks and saw Yellow Splatters
supervising some Soldiers reading books. He saw Klbkch, speaking with
Belgrade and Anand around some kind of table with a map on it. But no
Pawn. Garry hesitated, then hurried over to the Revalantor and two
[Tacticians]. There he waited.

It was a fact that Garry was the most timid of the five Individual Workers.
Even Belgrade was more decisive. All of the other Workers were leaders in
some capacity. Well, Bird didn’t lead, but he was an outlier to any data set
you made. But Garry worked alone and he preferred isolation. As such, he
waited around Klbkch until the Revalantor looked up. And when he did,
Garry flinched.

“What is it?”

“Revalantor Klbkch, I have come to accompany Pawn to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“You have?”

The two-armed Antinium stared blankly at Garry. The Worker nodded,

looking around.

“My Queen gave me permission.”

“She did? Well, I was not informed and neither was Pawn. He has already
departed.”

“What?”

Garry’s heart sank. Klbkch half-turned back to the map. It was of Liscor
and both Anand and Belgrade were staring hard at it. The Revalantor spoke
distractedly.

“They have left, and the Floodplains are crawling with Goblins. It is
inadvisable to leave the Hive. I only permitted Pawn to leave to scout the
inn and Erin’s condition. Your presence is unneeded.”

“But—but—”
Garry felt something sinking in his stomach. He stared at Klbkch. The
Antinium stared at the map. At last, he sighed.

“If you wish to go, you may attempt to find Pawn before he exits the Hive.
He was leaving through the hidden auxiliary tunnel located near the inn.”

“I—I will.”

Garry turned and practically ran out of the barracks. No one watched him
go. Only Anand, Belgrade, and Klbkch even knew his name. Garry was
alone. More alone than the others. But they didn’t matter because she knew
his name. And she would be there. He had to go. Even if Pawn had already
left. He had to go.

—-

An inn full of marvels. Food, the likes of which they had never seen. Peace
between the Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs. Cave Goblins! And,
most miraculous of all, adventurers that weren’t trying to kill them.
Honestly, the Goblins camped around The Wandering Inn could have done
without that last bit, but they’d take anything they could get.

And right now, they were living a dream they didn’t know they had.
Goblins waited in a huge queue outside the inn, looking up at the bright
windows, and seeing Goblins entering and leaving every minute. The
Goblins who left did so reluctantly, but did so with bellies full of good food.
In fact, the reason they left was purely altruistic; they did it so other Goblins
could enter and sit and watch. And also so they could tell those waiting
outside what they had seen and heard.

An [Innkeeper] playing chess with a Dwarf, a half-Elf, and Noears!

Redscar, Spiderslicer, and some adventurers debating who would win a
battle. Alcohol, being rolled out by the keg. A talkative Drake who would
give you anything you asked for to eat! And what food! What taste!
It was enough to make any Goblin who heard of it salivate, although the
actual taste of the food in Erin’s inn was unimaginable, no matter how the
Goblins outside tried to convey it. It was literally something they had no
reference for.

After all, while a Goblin might have in their possession flour and water and
salt and spices and so on, rarely did they go to the effort of cooking such
ingredients together. They had no kitchens, and even if they stole Human
food, it was almost always on the road and thus rations or stale. And if you
raided a home, or attacked a caravan? You scarfed down food that was
sometimes bloody over the dead. This was different. This was…clean.

But not all the Goblins could eat the wonderful food. In fact, most would
just have to imagine, or share scraps taken from the inn. The majority of the
Goblins, tens of thousands of them, had to eat food. And feeding a host this
large was proving to be a challenge. Not insurmountable, but a challenge
nonetheless.

Both tribes and the Cave Goblins had their supplies of food. The Redfangs
had rations, though they were few since they moved fast. They also had to
feed their Carn Wolves, which was an issue. Horses happily ate grass,
which even the Goblins didn’t like to eat usually. On the other hand, the
Flooded Waters tribe had left their wagons and most of their foodstuffs in
their panicked flight from Reiss’ army. As such, they had scraps. And the
Cave Goblins?

They were rich. In monster parts. The Cave Goblins had an innumerable
supply of the weaker sorts of monsters they’d killed in the dungeon. After
all, even without their Raskghar overlords, they could still wipe out some of
the monsters. Like the giant, vile caterpillars which hatched into horrible
killing machines in time. There were dozens of the bloated bodies, only
slightly rotten, wet and muddy from being hauled out of the dungeon. And
dead Face-Eater moths, a few mangled Raskghar bodies badly decomposed,
dead Goblins…

In situations like these, a dead pig would be the height of fine cuisine. The
Goblins could eat, but they wouldn’t be happy. They were resigned to it,
though. Right up until the doors of the inn on the hill opened and she strode
forth.

Pebblesnatch. The Goblins looked up as she descended the hill. Not because
she was a Hob, or particularly impressive by herself. Pebblesnatch was a
scrawny, young Cave Goblin. But it was what sat on her head that drew the
eye.

The hat. It was a big, white, chef’s hat. Of such things were legends born.
And it was Pebblesnatch herself who shouted, who called the Cave Goblins
who were part of Rabbiteater’s faction to order. She pointed at the lakes in
the valleys and screamed.

“Cook!”

And then there were fish. Fish, and salt from the supplies the Cave Goblins
owned. Fat in the form of oil, sizzling as the [Cooks] grilled the meat, and
of course, salt, turning the roast fish into something that much better. No
acid though; the acid flies weren’t in season yet. But there were other
ingredients too.

Bits of bread, cheese, sauces—all of it was the product of the Cave Goblin’s
experience with cooking and Erin’s donations to their tribe. The Flooded
Waters tribe and the Redfangs stared and began to smell something actually
pleasant fill the air. Their stomachs growled and they smiled.

“Cook! Fry! Stir! Whip! Bake!”

At first, Pebblesnatch marshaled the [Cooks] of all three tribes with

unquestioned authority. After all, she had been appointed by the [Innkeeper]
herself and she wore the hat. She directed the Goblins to make cooking fires
on the tops of hills and the raw ingredients were sent up to them, to be
prepared as each Goblin knew best. Pebblesnatch’s authority was
unquestioned. That was when the problems started.

“Bad! Bad food!”

Pebblesnatch shouted at a Hobgoblin stirring a stew of caterpillar parts and
onions, seasoned with some fish heads. Obviously the eyeballs had been
plucked out and served separately. The Goblins stared as she harangued the
poor [Stirrer] in question. True, he was a low-level cook, not even at the
[Cook] class—which happened when a Goblin got to Level 10—but he was
doing his best. The caterpillar soup looked halfway edible, but halfway
wasn’t good enough for Pebblesnatch. She grabbed a big wooden spoon and
smacked the cauldron with it.

“Bad!”

The Hob looked askance. He offered the little Goblin a spoon to taste and
Pebblesnatch did so. The soup came right back at the Hob as she spat it out.
Her body language told the hungry Goblins waiting for their food
everything.

Ridiculous! Pebblesnatch brought down her spoon like the wrath of cuisine
itself on the Hob. Since she couldn’t reach his head, she smacked him on
the arm instead. She half-gestured, half shouted in Goblin a series of insults
too foul for actual transcription as she pointed at the pot. Translated, it
meant something like ‘you should eat it, poop it out, and then serve it
because it would taste better that way!’

The Hob turned beet red. He glared at Pebblesnatch, but his height,
familiarity with the broadsword, and age meant nothing. She kicked his
cauldron, and hopped away, cursing. The next [Cook] she came across fared
no better.

He was a Cave Goblin and unlike the Hob [Stirrer], he had obtained the
[Cook] class the instant he’d gotten it, thanks to lessons from Erin Solstice
himself. But his fried fish was a bit burnt owing to him having to hold the
frying pan over the fire. Pebblesnatch slapped the fish away when it was
offered to her.

“Not raw! Not raw!”

What kind of a Goblin wanted burnt fish? Raw was better! The [Cook]
should have lightly grilled the fish, rather than wasting its potential by
burning it! The dismayed Goblin tried to object that some Goblins liked
uncooked food, and got a smack across his head with the spoon.

“You bad! And you bad! All you bad!”

Pebblesnatch turned in place, shouting at the other cooks. They weren’t up

to her high standards and thus she was merciless in her critiques,
overturning cooking stations, smacking hands, and spitting. The hungry
Goblins watched. And then began to get annoyed.

The little Goblin with the hat was overstaying her welcome. Everything
getting in order was fair play, but they wanted to eat! Never mind her
standards for cooking, which, since they were based on the food she ate at
Erin’s inn, were very unrealistic. If things had continued, perhaps
Pebblesnatch might have ended her night crammed in an unused cauldron
or sent fleeing by an angry mob armed with ladles. But it was not to be.
Because he appeared.

“Oh no. Oh no. I am lost. And I think I am dead.”

Garry hurried through the Goblin camp, flinching as Goblins turned and
exclaimed at the sight of him. He was making for the inn, but he was alone.
Pawn had already left the Hive and Garry, in his desperation, had followed
him. No one had told him about the Goblins. Or rather, how many there
were.

The Antinium’s progress was halted as a group of wary Redfangs rode

towards him. After all, there were still monsters about and Redfangs never
let their guards down. They eyed him, remembering the other Antinium.
Garry raised all four hands and trembled like egg-larvae jelly.

“Please don’t kill me! I am a [Cook]. I am not food! Or an enemy. I am

trying to go to Miss Erin. I mean no harm. Please?”

The Goblins looked at each other. They lowered their weapons, much to
Garry’s relief, but then a thought seemed to strike them. They turned and
one shouted something. Garry froze. Then he saw her at the same time she
saw him.
Pebblesnatch froze when she saw the Antinium Worker and heard what he
was. A [Cook]! And Garry saw her hat and knew. She had to be a [Chef]!
The two locked gazes. And the other Goblins all had a thought.

When two cooks enter, only one can leave. When a critic critiqued, they had
better be able to back up their words. They looked at each other and then
began to shout.

“Cook! Cook! Cook!”

“Oh no. What is happening?”

Garry looked around, terrified. He raised his hands as the Goblins

surrounded him, but they did not tear him limb from limb. Instead, they
grabbed both him and the Goblin [Chef] and towed them over. A few other
Goblins appeared, a Hobgoblin, a Redfang Warrior, and two Cave Goblins.
They took their places as Goblins dragged over firewood and began to start
fires. And then Garry realized what was happening.

It was a cooking competition. The first Antinium-Goblin competition in the

history of the world. Pebblesnatch shouted insults at the jeering Goblins as
they egged her on. Garry stared at the inn. Of course. To him, it all made
sense. They were competing for the right to enter Erin’s inn. How could he,
a worthless low-level [Cook] ever be worth her time? He bowed his head,
then stared as the Goblins tossed frying pans, knives, and other cooking
utensils onto the grass. No. He had to win. He had to prove himself.

The cooking competition had a few rules which were obvious to everyone
but Garry. The contestants had thirty minutes to cook, access to any utensils
they needed, and help from other Goblins if they needed hands to kill or
carry things. But they had to make something out of the food provided.
Fish, monster parts—it couldn’t be a dish made solely of ingredients from
Erin’s inn. It had to be Goblin cooking. And with that knowledge, the
contestants ran into the night.

Garry looked around as all the Goblins ran off. He stared about as he sensed
the eyes of the Goblin audience fall on him. He stared at them.
“Um. What am I supposed to be doing? Are we starting? Oh dear.”

Pebblesnatch ran down the hill, keeping one hand on her hat. A
competition? She was determined to win. She shouted insults at Goblins in
her way, looking for the best thing to cook. She passed by the dead
caterpillars at once. They were rotten, stinky, and tasted awful. She knew;
she’d eaten enough over her lifetime.

No, what Pebblesnatch wanted was fish. Fresh fish! The other contestants
were already grabbing fish out of the lakes. One of the Cave Goblins had
some Quillfish—an excellent pick for taste, but it took time to get rid of the
quills and they were small. The Goblin judges, a panel of Hobs and regular
Goblins from all three tribes, looked askance, clearly wondering if the
prospective [Cook] had enough time to prepare a meal for all eighteen of
them. Naturally, there were eighteen judges. If you couldn’t cook in large
portions, what was the point?

The second Cave Goblin had paused and came up with a lucky find.
Razorbeak eggs! He raised them triumphantly to a roar from the audience.
One of the Flooded Water tribe Hobs nodded authoritatively. His body
language conveyed that fried eggs—or an egg drop soup—would be far
more pleasing to the palate than just fried fish alone. Pebblesnatch growled
as the Cave Goblin scurried past her, eggs in hand. She debated tripping
him, but then saw something that made her heart sink.

The Redfang Warrior and the Hob had joined forces to kill a Lurkersnatch
fish with several other audience members. The huge, black, octopus-like
creature died hard, but the Hob was already hacking bits of it off. That had
to be good food! How would Pebblesnatch ever outdo that? She looked
around. The competition was stiff. Everyone except for the stupid
Antinium. He was staring at the caterpillars and poking one to make sure it
was dead.

Originality! Creativity! Fresh ingredients! Pebblesnatch clutched at her

head, trying to figure out what to make. Time was running out! She was just
about to get her audience to grab some fish for her when she saw it. A
moving shape. A huge rock, crawling across the Floodplains, sneaking up
towards her from the side. A Rock Crab.
Pebblesnatch’s face lit up. She pointed and screamed. The Goblins turned.
The Rock Crab hesitated. There was a lot of food on the Floodplains. Of
course, it had been buffet season ever since the rains had started. All of the
other Rock Crabs were mating, having gorged themselves, but this Rock
Crab was a bit hungry. It scuttled closer to the many morsels of food before
it had a thought. It was a lot of food out there. A lot of food that began to
surround it. The Rock Crab clicked uncertainly and backed up. The food
grinned as one, and their eyes gleamed red.

—-

“Oh my.”

Garry was cutting pieces of half-rotten caterpillar away when he saw the
Goblins swarm the Rock Crab. To be fair, it never really had a chance. It
was outnumbered, and, for once, outgunned. Unlike how the Flooded
Waters tribe usually hunted Rock Crabs—getting under the shell and killing
it at great cost—the Redfangs were big-game hunters and experts on
tackling dangerous prey.

They roped the Rock Crab, forced it out of its shell, and sliced it to bits.
And the little Goblin with the hat stood proudly over the dead Rock Crab as
its blue blood dyed the ground and began to shout orders. Garry backed up
as the Goblin audience dragged something up the hill.

“What are they doing? And where is the seasoning? Oh no. There aren’t any
good utensils here. Um. Do I have to use this fire? I normally have an
oven…”

He looked around. The Hob who was spit-roasting chunks of Lurkersnatch

fish shrugged at him. Garry scrambled for pots and pans while the Rock
Crab’s shell was planted in the ground. Upside down. The giant, hollow
shell was huge. And as Goblins piled wood around it, the awestruck judges
understood.
Pebblesnatch was going to make soup in the shell! Had such madness, such
audacity ever been contemplated? The Goblins were agog as Pebblesnatch
began tossing in parts of the Rock Crab. She filled the bloody mess with
water and started a fire. And then the real cooking began.

“Frying pan, frying pan…”

Garry was worriedly coating the slabs of caterpillar with a marinade. He

tossed it in a pot as he grabbed a loaf of stale bread for some reason. One of
the watching judges opined that stale bread was good, but not at this level
of cooking. The audience agreed in general; they weren’t really paying
attention. All eyes were on Pebblesnatch.

The Rock Crab’s shell was huge and unlike metal, it didn’t convey heat as
well. Given the rapidly winding down clock, this was an issue, and the
Redfang cook smirked as he began his own soup. But Pebblesnatch just
kept adding fuel, and then shouted a word. The Goblins watching gasped as
bubbles began rising from the blue soup with crab parts in it.

[Quick Boiling]! Pebblesnatch had a Skill! The other [Cooks] looked up

and began using their own Skills. The Cave Goblin with Quillfish was
ripping out spines bare-handed, ignoring the points. He had [Glove Grip].
The Hob meanwhile was perfecting his roasted Lurkersnatch kebabs with a
handy [Extra Spice] Skill, which gave him an additional spice to work with
when cooking.

As one judge explained to the audience, it wasn’t so much that the Hob
magically conjured up more spices from nothing, but that he always seemed
to find an extra something to add to his repertoire. Where other Goblins
found salt, he would find a bit of pepper in a pouch lumped at the bottom of
the cooking sack. If they had all kinds of ingredients, he’d trip over a bit of
nutmeg on the way to the bathroom.

And right now, the spice was adding heat. Literally. The Hob’s dish was
spicy hot while the Cave Goblin with the eggs was indeed making an egg-
and-fish soup. Garry was panicking.

“Um. Okay. I can do this.”

The Worker coated a sizzling piece of pan-seared caterpillar with dried
bread crumbs and a bit of egg the Cave Goblin cook had given him in a
moment of pity. Then, to the audience’s horror, he turned one of the hot
pans upside down and pressed the bottom to the mixture! What was he
doing? Garry pressed the pan flat as the judges groaned and shook their
heads. And Pebblesnatch crowed atop her boiling shell of Rock Crab soup.
Because she’d won, right?

The Rock Crab’s blue blood turned the mixture a dark color. The water
bubbled hot, and the Rock Crab’s meat was boiling nicely. Pebblesnatch
threw in a bag of salt, pepper, a lot of butter, some fish meat, the Gnollish
sauce, and, as a special extra, some carrots. She proudly scooped up bowls
of her soup and rushed them over to the judges’ table with the others. Hot
and ready!

Garry was the last to arrive. The [Cook] timidly put his dishes in the last
position. The panel of eighteen judges sniffed the air, smiling and rubbing
their rumbling bellies. Then the judging began.

The first to be presented was the Goblin with the Quillfish. He’d done a
classic chop-and-fry, trusting to the little fish’s taste to carry the day with
salt and butter. It went down very well among the judges, although…the
portions were a bit too small. The Cave Goblin’s face fell and he shuffled
his feet. The Quillfish’s de-quilling process had indeed taken its toll.
However, it was a strong start.

The next Goblin to present his food was the Redfang Warrior. He offered
the judges bowls of his Lurkersnatch Fish soup, but before he could serve it,
one of the tentacles in his bowl latched onto the face of a judge! It took a
minute for the other judges to pry the severed tentacle off the face of the
judge. And after that, despite the soup tasting quite good, the result was
unanimous. Food that fought back wasn’t worthy of the coveted title of
‘Good Cook’. The Redfang Warrior walked back to his tribe, heartbroken.

Next, the second Cave Goblin. His fish-and-egg soup was tasty—but it was
far, far too fishy and not enough eggy! One of the Hobs reduced the Cave
Goblin to tears with a single claw, pointing out the miniscule bit of egg in
his bowl. What good was a special ingredient if you couldn’t taste it?
Pebblesnatch rubbed her claws together, delighted. So far the field hadn’t
been full of strong contestants. But her face fell as the Hob walked forwards
with his kebab Lurkersnatch and other fish bits. The judges poked the bits
of tentacle, but it was well and truly cooked this time. They bit into the dish
and shouted.

Literally. The dish was spicy hot! The Hob beamed as the Goblins shouted
and scarfed down the food, shouting for water. His entry was the best, no
question about it. Although…it might have been a bit too spicy. Not every
judge was a fan of burning tongues. Still, it was enough to make both he
and Pebblesnatch eye each other as she pushed her heaping bowls full of
Rock Crab soup forwards.

The judges looked at each other, murmuring and appreciating the unique
blue color of the soup, and the floating bits of Rock Crab meat in its shell.
They sipped at the soup, pried the meat out of the shells and chewed it
down, and swallowed. The audience held its breath and Pebblesnatch
straightened expectantly. The judges looked at their soup, looked at her—

And shook their heads. Pebblesnatch gasped along with the crowd. But the
judges made their verdict clear. Pebblesnatch’s soup was…barely edible.
Which, to be fair, was decent Goblin cooking. But by the standards of this
competition, it was the worst entry so far! Even worse than the tentacle
attack soup!

Her faults were many and varied. Firstly, the Rock Crab’s blood did not
taste good in the water. Secondly, the fact that Pebblesnatch hadn’t removed
the meat from the Rock Crab’s shell made the cooking uneven, as did the
use of the shell itself. It hadn’t even been cleaned of dirt! Which, to be fair,
was a nitpick. And lastly, her extra ingredients hadn’t exactly added any
unique flair to the soup.

Pebblesnatch’s knees buckled and she sat down as the Hob raised his arms
to wild cheers from the crowd. He stepped forwards, looming over the
small Goblin, when everyone realized there was one last dish to be served.
Garry’s. The Antinium Worker looked around, petrified as the judges
dubiously regarded his dish and sampled it. And then—
He won. Obviously. It wasn’t even close. The eighteen Goblins found on
their plates a pan-fried, marinated piece of caterpillar flesh, breaded in an
egg-and-stale-bread mixture. The outer breaded part had been crisped in a
style Erin could have called ‘panini’. Garry had intentionally used the pan
to sear the dry bread crumbs, creating a crisp exterior.

Meanwhile, the caterpillar had been pan-fried and covered in a garlic-and-

fish sauce that was strong, but not overpowering. The heat of the food made
each bite the judges took hot and fresh, and best of all the caterpillar didn’t
taste like caterpillar.

It was a triumph. And of course Garry was equal to the task. He explained
to the dumbfounded judges that it was a dish he’d made before.

“I uh, make many dishes for my Queen. Out of monsters that are killed. So
I knew how to make the caterpillar dish. I would have added Face-Eater
Moth eggs too, but I ran out of time. Um. Can I go now?”

The Goblins licked their plates, looked at each other, and nodded as one.
Garry jumped as the Goblins around him burst into cheers and began
duplicating his dish while the other contestants went up to him to slap him
on the back. Goblins weren’t big on handshakes. The Worker was
completely confused—and then Pebblesnatch walked forwards. The other
Goblins fell silent and watched as, with trembling claws, she held the big
chef’s hat out to Garry. He looked at it slowly, and took the hat.

“You good.”

Pebblesnatch pointed at Garry with tears in her eyes. The Worker watched
as she turned and walked away. He stared at the Goblins who were cheering
him and looked at the inn.

“…What just happened?”

—-
Erin Solstice was watching Dawil competing in what was perhaps the most
entertaining drinking competition she’d ever watched and scowling about
her lost game of chess when she saw the Antinium duck into the inn. He
was wearing a huge floofy hat, only slightly stained by blue Rock Crab
blood. The sound of wild cheering precipitated his entrance. Erin got to her
feet.

“Garry?”

The Worker jumped. He looked at Erin and his newfound confidence

vanished in an instant. He stepped back as Erin strode over to him,
beaming.

“Hello Miss Erin. I am terribly sorry if I’m bothering you, but I won the
competition, so I was allowed to come here. I did not go with Pawn, but my
Queen said it was alright. I can go if—”

He froze as Erin gave him a huge hug. The [Innkeeper] beamed at Garry.

“Don’t be silly, Garry! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on in! How’s my
favorite Worker doing? Pawn didn’t say you were coming! Where’d you get
that hat? Pebblesnatch has one just like it, you know.”

“Well…”

Garry found himself swept into the inn. He sat at a table as Erin sat with
him, calling for food. In short order he had a bowl of borscht in front of
him, a mug of cider, and Erin was giving him her undivided attention. She
laughed as he told her how he’d gotten here.

“Oh, Garry! You don’t have to win a competition! That was just
Pebblesnatch and the other Goblins being…well, I’d have wanted to watch
that! Not judge it, though. I don’t eat caterpillars. But you did a great job by
the sounds of it!”

The Worker shook his head.

“I am not nearly as good as you, Miss Erin—”

“Erin. Say it with me, Garry.”

“…Erin. I actually came to see if you would teach me your recipes. If you
are willing. I have so much to learn.”

Erin looked shocked.

“Of course! I always have time for you! Any time! In fact, how about now?
I can show you how to make some of my dishes—I’m running out of pre-
prepared food anyways. You and me, Garry! Master [Chef] and apprentice!”

She rose and beckoned Garry to the kitchen. He rose in a daze and followed
her. All of his dreams were coming true! He was so happy, he didn’t even
notice Pawn sitting at a table across from them. The Worker looked around
as Ceria rattled some dice in a cup and Pisces bet three silver coins. Pawn
looked at Purple Smile.

“Her favorite Worker?”

—-

“So, you say you’re a bad cook.”

“Yes. I am quite inferior to you. I know I may never catch up, but I hope
you will share with me your recipes and much experience.”

“Right. I uh, well, the thing is, Garry—I’m an [Innkeeper]. And you’re a
[Cook]. My abilities are sorta in cooking, but I do a lot of other things.”

“Yes, you play chess too. You have many Skills.”

“Uh huh. But that means I’m not as—as focused as you, Garry. I don’t have
as many Skills in the same area. And maybe I’m actually not that good.”
“Surely not!”

“No—I think I just realized that now. I was never much of a cook back
home. I microwaved a lot and boiled water, mostly. And uh—you just
reminded me why I’m not actually that good.”

“I did?”

Garry looked incredulously at Erin. She nodded. Their entire conversation

had been punctuated by a single, repetitive sound. That of pure,
unadulterated skill.

Chopchopchopchopchopchopchop—Erin stared as Garry’s knife flashed

across the board, dicing the onions in moments. His other two hands
weren’t idle either; they were busy peeling another onion, then sprinkling
the chopped onions on the sauce-covered pizza. He sprinkled the toppings
around in a perfect pattern, added cheese, and inserted the pizza into the
little oven in a flash. Garry looked at Erin and she blinked.

“I taught you how to make a pizza a minute ago. Verbally. And you just
made one.”

“I am sure it is not as good as yours, Erin.”

“No—I am. Garry, I think you’re better than I am. Really, I do.”

The [Cook] was shocked.

“I cannot be! Otherwise, who else would I look up to?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Someone else? Garry, you’re better than you think you are! No wonder
you won the competition single—I mean, four-handedly. I want to hire you!
I would if your Queen wouldn’t tear my head off.”

Garry held very still.

“Really?”
“Really, really.”

Erin smiled at Garry and the Worker’s heart and mind lit up. She leaned
against the counter and shook her head.

“You know, you’re so good, I should ask you for help. Tell you what.
Instead of me teaching you, why don’t we cook together? We haven’t talked
in…forever. And I can tell you about all the things I can’t make while we
make the things I can. Okay?”

“I would like nothing more in the world.”

Garry spoke truthfully. Erin smiled. She stood up, took a spot next to Garry,
and began making another pizza. He helped her, cutting, offering
ingredients, and listening as Erin began to ramble. To chat.

“So, there’s this pasta soup called ramen, but it doesn’t actually taste like
regular pastas. I used to have instant ramen, which is really unhealthy, but I
tried the real stuff once, and let me tell you, it’s good. Still probably
unhealthy, though. I was trying to make it, but I have no idea what the
ingredients could be, aside from pork cutlet which is one of the toppings.
Say, have you had a hamburger? It’s great, but there is this bread
component that makes it hard to serve to Antinium.”

“What if we replaced the bread with another substitute? There is a sweet

potato that I can make a type of bread out of.”

“Garry, I could kiss you! Hold on—don’t run away! You have to show me
right now. Drassi! I need potatoes! Sweet ones! Now, where was I?”

“You were talking about other foods.”

“Right! Hey, if you can fix hamburgers, then I need to get you on Asian
cooking! There’s ramen, sushi…a lot of these dishes involve rice, which
isn’t sold around here. Heck, it might not even exist! But anyways, I was
also trying to make pumpkin pie, but while I know pumpkins and I know
pie, putting the two together isn’t something I ever saw someone do. And
I’ve also been working on recreating the turducken for Relc…”
Erin chattered as Garry listened, his four hands moving constantly. He
cooked and she cooked, and it was the same as usual. The same, but
different. Because he wasn’t alone. The Drake called Drassi came by to
shout at Erin that she had no idea where she could get sweet potatoes at this
hour. A few Carn Wolves came by to beg for food, which Erin and Garry
fed them. Pawn appeared to seek assurance that Erin did not, in fact, have
favorites. Dawil came by and passed out in the kitchen, drunk as a skunk.
Erin assured Garry skunks could get quite inebriated.

And the night passed too fast. The Goblins ate happily in the inn and
outside. The adventurers laughed and talked and the Goblins spoke as
equals briefly. Embria and Relc stood and talked on the battlements of
Liscor. But such stories do not revolve around cooking. And in the end, it
was cooking that mattered in this moment.

Pebblesnatch stood outside the inn, by her huge shell-pot of Rock Crab
soup. She was humbled. Goblins were eating Garry’s dish and the other
ones presented. Hers too, but only because they were hungry and it was
there. She had let her arrogance get ahead of her, become a critic before
learning how to cook well herself.

She glumly sipped from her bowl of Rock Crab blood stew and then
brightened. You know, it really wasn’t that bad. All it needed was a pinch
more salt. And maybe some pig lard. And pig. And an egg?

—-

And then Garry went home. He arrived in the Queen’s chamber of the Hive,
delirious with happiness, tired, and pulling a small cart behind him. Bird
tried to sit up as he and his Queen turned.

“Garry, you promised to bring me back food. And the Queen. Was it a lie?”
He looked at Garry, betrayed since he couldn’t see the cart from where he
was propped up. Garry shook his head.

“I did not lie, Bird. My Queen, as promised, here is your food. I have pizza,
sweet potato hamburgers, and cake!”

“Well done, Garry.”

The Queen rumbled approvingly, her mandibles opening as she regarded the
prizes Garry had brought back with her. Bird looked at the frosted cake and
clicked his mandibles together happily.

“Ah. The cake is not a lie. And it is cake. And very tasty. Even though it
makes my stomach hurt.”

“You must not have the cake, Bird. It is filled with gluten, which you cannot
eat. So Erin has told me.”

Garry spoke sharply to Bird. The Worker looked hurt.

“But I wish to! And I want to. I will cry if I cannot have any. And if I
cannot, the Queen cannot.”

“I can.”

The Free Queen bent to peer at the sugary treat. She regarded it, wondering
if they came in bigger portions as she addressed Bird and Garry.

“Chemical imbalances were allowed to exist in the recreation and

modification of Galuc’s form as a necessity. Such imperfections do not
extend to Queens. Give me the cake.”

Garry gave her the cake. The Queen lifted it up, until she heard Bird make a
small wailing sound. She hesitated, and then broke off a tiny bit of the cake.

“He may have one small piece. You will share it. Here.”

She lowered the piece. Garry caught it, and fished a fork out from the cart.
The Queen needed no forks, but it was enough for Bird. He opened his
mandibles and Garry fed him a piece.

“Aah. Mm. Sweet. Give me another.”

“Very well.”

Garry looked up as the Queen discovered sugar in its concentrated form for
the first time. He looked around the chamber and realized he was back. He
had left the inn. Erin was far away again. All too soon. But somehow, he
felt better, as if he’d carried the warm food and happy moment out of the
inn and into the Hive. So he sat, feeding Bird and himself morsels of cake
while the Queen gobbled down her food.

And everyone was happy. Until tomorrow, that was. But for one night—

They were happy.

 5.60

They ran. Through the night, following their leader. Past rocks and around
forests. Splashing across a shallow ford in a lake. Pausing only to drink and
rub the sides of their horses. Drink stamina potions, offer the rest to their
mounts. Run alongside them. Fly.

It was as if they were one creature at times, Drake and beast. Until they
separated. Their horses galloped through the night, riderless as they flew
overhead. Then the two were together again.

Miles flashed past, counted in millions of blades of grass, the slowly

looming mountains in the distance, far-off Drake cities. And then, at last, a
huge city whose walls rose towards the sky.

Pallass. They knew they were close, then. But their horses were weary. So
were they. Their journey passed along roads mostly, but they had gone
through the wilderness. Fought Wyverns off. And they had been travelling
nonstop for days, ever since they had set out. But still, they kept on.
Stopping would be unforgivable now.

So it was that they came across the Drakes marching north from Pallass and
several smaller cities. A column of infantry following the armored Drake
cavalry looked up as they heard the racing hoof beats. The sentries called a
warning and then shouted relief signals on top of each other. The [Sergeant]
in charge of Pallass’ 7th Armored Division looked up and saw them. His
eyes widened.

There were about four hundred of them. A small number compared to the
legions Pallass had sent and the other Drake forces heading north. But they
were the fastest. And such was their fame that the [Sergeant] instantly
recognized their battle standard—that of Oteslia, a city with a huge tree in
the background—and their armor. Bright green and white, armor meant to
catch the sun and reflect it.

He shouted as the [Soldiers] looked up. The riders were headed straight for
them. If they didn’t stop, they’d crash right into the center of the marching
Drake column.

“Oteslia’s Winged Riders! Make way! Make w—”

Too late. The [Sergeant] flinched as the first rider rode straight at him. He
saw the Drake riding in front shout a command. And then the horse leapt.
The Drake ducked, but the horse cleared his head by a good meter. There
were shouts—the other Winged Riders had leapt as well, straight over the
Drakes marching past them. They avoided those holding pikes or spears and
landed on the other side. Still galloping.

“Ancestors!”

The Pallassian [Sergeant] stared as the Winged Riders kept racing north,
turning to follow the road ahead. He stared as his [Captain], riding a much
slower horse, raced up to him.

“Sergeant! Were those—”

“Winged Riders, sir! From Oteslia!”

The [Sergeant] couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He’d
heard Oteslia had deployed its armies and the Winged Riders, but this was
the first time he’d ever seen them. Honestly, Oteslia was known as the
weakest of the Walled Cities when it came to pure military strength. But the
Winged Riders were an iconic group. He stared at the already distant
Drakes and saw their wings.

Oldblood. They were all Oldblood Drakes capable of flying. Oteslia placed
almost all of its Oldblood Drakes into elite units, much like Pallass did. But
they focused on their Winged Rider companies primarily, ensuring their
numbers were always strong. But that was only part of what made them so
elite.
“They made it here? Already? They had to have been running day and
night!”

The [Captain] exclaimed. The [Sergeant] half-nodded, but he was scanning

the sky rather than paying attention. The Winged Riders were a group of
old, famous for their incredible mobility. But in the past, they had been
known for something else. And while the breeding stock was incredibly
limited, it was still tradition for at least one rider in each company to be
riding…

There. His eyes picked it out. Flying overhead, a flash. The [Sergeant]
pointed and Drakes looked up. They saw a brown shape. Wings beating
hard. No—two pairs of wings. A Drake’s, and the creature the rider rode. A
horse with wings.

A Pegasus.

“Ancestors. I thought they had all died out.”

“Not so. They live in Oteslia. The last of their breed.”

The [Captain] and [Sergeant] stood together in awe, watching the Pegasus
fly northwards, following the Winged Riders. Perhaps only an Oldblood
Drake could fly on such a creature’s back; certainly the [Sergeant] wouldn’t
risk trying it, not without a Featherfall Potion at least.

“We’d better keep moving. Liscor’s days away.”

The [Captain] reminded the [Sergeant]. The Drake nodded and shouted at
the soldiers to keep moving. One Drake reported an attack—falling crap
from above. It was the subject of much humor from the weary Drakes. They
too had been marching late into the night each day. They kept one eye on
the sky, watching the distant horses and Pegasus. And the Winged Riders
rode on.

They might arrive in time. But as the weary Drakes of Pallass picked up
their pace, they knew, soldiers and officers both, that their force wouldn’t
make it. The Human and Goblin Lord’s armies would get to Liscor first. If
they hurried, they could be there after the siege had started. The real
question was how long Liscor could hold. How long. They kept moving
until at last they were allowed to camp. And sleep. But come dawn they
marched again, with stamina potions in addition to their rations.

And so dawned the twelfth day.

Day 12

I wake up. My bed is simple, but warm. I shift in the sheets, feeling the
high-quality cotton move around me. The bed is raised to keep off the floor
of the tent I am sleeping in. And it’s made of wood—the mattress is stuffed.
Exorbitant? Surely. Impractical? Only if you don’t have a bag of holding. I
can feel light on my face, but not see it. I sigh, but quietly. I am not alone.

My name is Laken Godart. [Emperor] for my sins. And I think…yes, I think

they are rather great sins. I sit in my tent on the dawn of the twelfth day
since leaving my domain. Since Riverfarm. Since meeting the Goblin
Chieftain named Rags. Since being betrayed by someone and being rescued
by Tyrion Veltras.

Funny. It feels longer. By now I’m accustomed to riding on horseback,

although I’m not comfortable at all with it. I’ve grown used to the company
of the [Lords] and [Ladies] and [Knights] and so on that ride with Tyrion
Veltras, and hearing the thunderous sound of thousands of animals moving
at once. And I’ve gotten used to being blind again.

It was terrifying at first. I had to leave Riverfarm, ostensibly to oversee the

engineering team that would man and build the trebuchets. Moreover, I
think it was a political move from Tyrion, perhaps to hobble me. Or to put
pressure on someone else. Magnolia Reinhart? His allies?

It seems to have worked in any case. I witnessed—in my limited way—the

way he drove the Goblins south. How he slew Tremborag. And his plans to
take Liscor. All of it without seeing a thing.

My [Emperor]’s senses are gone. I own none of the land I ride over, nor can
I claim it. Thus, I can only hear and feel the horse beneath me. Smell blood,
feces, the changing air.

Blood. I heard the Great Chieftain of the Mountain die. I heard something
shrieking—Eater Goats. That was barely yesterday. I shudder as I sit up. It’s
just past dawn. I turn my head towards the other figure in my tent.

“Gamel.”

My bodyguard, manservant, [Knight], and perhaps, friend, springs to his

feet. I sense him turn towards me. I can sense the stubble on his chin, the
way he grasps at a tray, even sense the sword in its sheathe at his side. The
calluses on his palms—he’s been practicing with the other [Knights] when
not accompanying me.

As I said, my [Emperor] senses are cut off while I ride. But in this tent that
Tyrion Veltras gave me, with a few of the hand-carved totems from Jelov, I
can ‘see’ in this small space. It’s one of my few comforts.

Jelov. Durene. Wiskeria. Prost. They all seem so far away right now. I
clench my hands as Gamel approaches me. I rub at my face and sense him
stop.

“Your majesty? Will you have breakfast?”

“Yes. Thank you, Gamel.”

I swing myself out of bed. I’m dressed; I didn’t bother to undress last night.
I sit as Gamel offers the tray to me on a little table. By now I’m so used to
him being here that I don’t even mind eating while he watches. Much.

“You’ve had breakfast?”

“Yes, sire. I woke up and trained, then had breakfast and came here. I
apologize for my smell.”
I shake my head as I pick at my food. What’s today’s meal? Some kind of
lamb, potatoes…Yellats? Spicy, crunchy—oh, and a gelatin of some sort. A
treat, and again, not what you’d expect from people on the moves. Bags of
holding and [Chefs] employed by the nobility see to the higher-quality
meals, which I’m lucky enough to receive. Still, I’ve heard some of the
nobility complaining about the rough fare. I chew, swallow, and speak
quietly.

“Don’t worry about the smell, Gamel. It’s hardly worse than the horses. But
don’t push yourself. Did you get that cut on your leg in sparring?”

He jumps. It still surprises the other villages of Riverfarm that I can tell
what’s happened to them. Again, only in this tent. He pauses.

“It’s just a scratch, sire. One of the [Knights] struck and I missed the timing
to block.”

I frown.

“Was it intentional? The other [Knight], I mean.”

Gamel’s hesitation this time makes me worry. He is a [Knight]. I made him

one myself. But—he isn’t of noble birth. In fact, he was a [Farmer] until a
few weeks ago. He was no [Warrior] and up until now he barely had any
training with a sword. By contrast, the [Knights] who rode to Lord Tyrion’s
call are the best of the best. Some of them resent Gamel’s class.

“I am well treated by most, your majesty. Some of the Clairei Fields Order
have been teaching me personally.”

It’s not an answer, but I don’t push. I sigh and cut up the lamb.

“I see. Well then, inform me if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sire.”

I eat in silence, leaving the jello or whatever it is on the side. I’m in no

mood for it and my stomach hurts if it’s too full when I ride. Besides…I
push my tray back.
“Have the jello if you want, Gamel. Or share it with Tessia. How is she?
And the others?”

“Good, sire.”

Gamel takes the tray and steps back. He places it to the side and comes
back with a fresh set of clothes before I can ask. He’s really become adept
at managing my needs. I listen as he speaks with his back to me. Neither he
nor I are at the level where he’ll be dressing me, thanks.

“Tessia and the others are—well, Lord Veltras has them hard at work each
night. Working with them—I mean, the [Mages], sire. Constructing
additional trebuchets, calibrating the old ones—teaching the [Soldiers] how
to man them.”

“Do you think they’re trying to figure out how they’re made?”

Gamel shrugs uneasily. That was a worry of mine.

“I think not, your majesty. Some of the nobles have looked, and a number
of other folk, but they don’t quite understand the way the trebuchets work.
They see the arms, but when Tessia speaks of physics and balance and
ratios, even the [Mages] go cross-eyed.”

He says that a bit smugly. I just nod. Lazy. Even the best of the people
Tyrion brings over lack more than a rudimentary understanding of math.
Some of them might be able to build a trebuchet, but why apply yourself if
it’s not your class? It’s that kind of thinking that…

I trail off. It doesn’t matter.

“So the trebuchets will be ready? We’re closing in on Liscor by all

accounts.”

“Yes, Emperor. We’re very close. I don’t have a map, but one of the local
[Soldiers] told me that we’re close to Esthelm. And it’s only a stone’s throw
away from Liscor. We may reach the city tomorrow.”

“As soon as that?”

“We’ve been moving faster to catch the Goblins that left the Goblin Lord’s
army.”

“Ah yes. Them.”

I sit quietly. Yesterday—or was it the day before? The Goblin Lord turned
on his own. From my position I could only hear the [Scouts] giving Tyrion
reports. And hear the fighting at a distance, of course. Tyrion let the Goblins
tear each other apart until one side began to flee. I think…the Goblin Lord
killed the Chieftain opposing him. And I think, based on what was said, that
it was the little Goblin he killed.

Rags. Her tribe fled. Tyrion would have forced them back or slaughtered
them, but our army was attacked by Eater Goats by the tens of thousands.
They came down from the mountains. Naturally I witnessed none of this as
well. It’s terrifying, hearing the shrieks those goats made, being ordered to
move and hearing the sounds of fighting and not knowing what is going on.

Being helpless, in short. I’m out of my depth here. And the Goblins…

“The Goblin Lord will be attacking Liscor, then. And brave Tyrion Veltras
will swoop in to save the day. Oh, hurray.”

Gamel catches the sarcasm in my tone. He hesitates.

“Isn’t that good, sire? I mean, it will be war with the Drakes, but the Goblin
Lord will be dead at least.”

How casually he says that! War with another species. Intercontinental strife!
I’ve talked to enough people to know how big this is. If Liscor, this gateway
between north and south falls, it will be war, regardless of the Goblin
excuse. Not to mention…I shake my head.

“War isn’t a good idea, Gamel. It seldom is, if ever. As for the Goblins, I
very much fear that we are doing a terrible thing.”

The worst. I feel my shoulders ache. I have had time now. Time and
perspective to think on what happened. And now that I have, I can sense the
weight of my sin. Gamel doesn’t understand.

“They are monsters, Emperor.”

“Yes. And we treated them as such. We—I—ordered Wiskeria to attack

them. To use poison gas. Tyrion marched them hundreds of miles. And
soon, they will be killed to the last to start a war. There are historical
precedents for this, Gamel. And it makes me think that we’re on the wrong
side of history.”

I have done a terrible thing, I think. And I am about to be part of something

just as bad. Or worse. But how can I get out of it? No way has presented
itself. Tyrion is in charge here and I lack authority and power. Oh, I feel
foolish.

Durene.

Gamel clears his throat. He hates it when I talk like this. The one argument
we’ve ever had was when I said this was a mistake for the first time. Now,
he dances around the subject.

“On the wrong side of history…isn’t that something for people with quills
to decide, later, your majesty? [Scribes] and [Historians] and such? Why
would their opinion matter?”

I shake my head. There’s so much I have to teach Gamel. Gamel and all the
others. Things I have to remember. Morality and more.

“Gamel, it’s said that history is written by the victors. You understand?
Whoever wins writes history. The Goblins’ side of things never gets brought
up. And tragedy, the crimes committed by others…they tend to be
overlooked when glorifying the past. But a record will remain, especially if
I have anything to say about it.”

“Yes, sire.”

That’s code for ‘I don’t understand’, or perhaps ‘I don’t agree, but I’m not
going to say so’. Or maybe ‘you’re an idiot’. I don’t care. I stretch. There’s
already sounds coming from outside the tent. People getting ready. I still
have an hour before I need to get up, though. The [Mages] will be getting
the Goblins moving, but since I’m not in the advance group—being a
poorer rider—I’ll be moving with the main body more slowly.

“Well, let’s get ready for the road. I want to ride with Lady Ieka today,
Gamel. Please send a message to her and ask if she’s willing—”

I break off talking sharply. Gamel notices and turns towards the tent flaps.
My senses extend just around the tent, but it’s enough to give me a warning.
I hear a knock on the canvas flaps, and catch a whiff of a distinct smell.
What’s this? I frown.

“Enter, Gralton.”

Outside I sense the man hesitate. Then Lord Gralton enters the tent. The
infamous, hot-tempered dog lord steps into the tent and I smell the odor of
dog on him. I sense him as well; a huge, imposing man. Gamel steps
forwards, bowing, and I sense him only slightly shifting to get his sword’s
hilt closer to his hand. He’s wary. And he should be.

Gralton. Of the [Lords] and [Ladies] in the camp, he’s one of the most
powerful. The most unpredictable as well. He was one of the first people I
was introduced to when I first arrived. And now he’s come here. That’s…
unexpected. I haven’t said two words to him since the first night I arrived.
To the other nobility, yes. But not to Gralton. While they tested and prodded
at me, asking where I was from and trying to curry favor and weigh my
influence, he just watched. And now…

“Can I help you, Gralton? Or are you going to keep sniffing me?”

I turn my head towards Gralton. The man narrows his eyes. But then he
grunts.

“I’ve been looking for you. Emperor.”

The title is sardonic when he says it. I raise one eyebrow, refusing to be
riled. Gralton will have to try harder than that. Besides, I had my first
measure of the man and I know how to deal with him.

“Really? You’ll have to elaborate. And please stop looming over my

manservant. Gamel, let Lord Gralton pass. I believe we have an
understanding.”

“We do?”

Gralton steps forwards. I don’t bother to look at him. I can sense him, and it
bothers people when I don’t pretend like I have eyes. I stare somewhere to
the left of his navel and shrug.

“Let’s see if you recall. Heel.”

I hear Gamel suck in his breath. Gralton freezes. For a second I sense his
arms tense, and then he laughs. He takes a seat on the ground of the tent
since there are no chairs.

“You’re brave, I’ll grant you. And if you weren’t an [Emperor] or half as
brave, you’d pay for that. But since you and I understand each other—I
didn’t come here to socialize. I came here to ask what you’re doing.”

“I see. Are you referring to the attack on Liscor, my presence in the camp,
or something else?”

“All three. I want to know if you’re for this thing. War with the Drakes.”

Now that’s interesting. I cover a frown.

“Getting cold feet, Gralton? We’re all committed to this attack. Lord Tyrion
has made it clear he’s expecting no dissidence.”

I hear a snort and pray Gralton won’t spit.

“He says that. But I’m my own man. I followed him because I thought we’d
be killing Goblins. Now we’re starting a war and you appear. I want to
know if this is all one big plan you and Veltras came up with. And if it’s not
—I want to know what comes next.”
“You think I know? I am far from home myself, Gralton. And I’m not
partial to war. It tends to leave all sides poorer. And as I’m sure you know,
war never goes the way anyone expects. Just look at history.”

The man pauses.

“We’ve fought a lot of wars. Which one are you talking about, exactly? The
Antinium Wars? Ones from wherever the hell you come from?”

I raise my eyebrows. By this point little verbal snares barely trip me up.

“Does it matter? Any war. Any great war, rather. It will be catastrophic.
Tyrion may win or he may not, but wars always spell death and
destruction.”

“So why are you supporting him?”

“Because I enjoy the scenery? Why are you?”

He laughs at my response. But—I can sense his eyes on me. And the way he
sits, alert, and from his posture, I get a sense. Gralton’s not as simple as he
lets on. He’s bestial in some ways, but if it’s dog-like, it’s savage instinct
that he has, not mindless aggression. He came here for a reason, and not to
state the obvious.

“War’s war. We’ve never been fully at peace with the Drakes. They attack
us, we attack them. I don’t care. If it’s a fight, I’ll take part in it. But it’s the
politics I hate. If you sleep with the wrong people, you end up with knives
in your back. Better to be in battle than face that.”

“Hmm.”

What is he saying? I frown, buying time. And then I sense someone else
approaching the tent. I pause.

“We have another visitor. Gamel?”

He’s already at the tent flaps. I hear him halt whoever’s outside. I frown. I
know that figure. And I know that voice.
“Your majesty? Lord Yitton Byres wishes to speak privately with you.”

Yitton? I sense Gralton shift to look past Gamel. Then he looks at me. I can
sense him grin. He knew Yitton was coming.

Instinct. I nod at Gamel and he moves back.

“Very well, let him through. He can join our impromptu meeting.”

A man steps into my tent. He pauses when he sees Gralton sitting on the
floor. For my part, I study Yitton in my mind.

An older man. Fit for his age, but not rich. He has a sword at his waist and
chainmail. Mustache, beard…but it’s his reputation and my understanding
of him that stands out in my head. The other nobles regard Yitton as inferior
to them in many ways, a small [Lord], albeit with ancient holdings. But he’s
someone that’s allowed into Tyrion Veltras’ most personal meetings. An
honorable man, by all accounts.

And currently, haunted by something. Yitton takes a step into the tent and I
incline my head.

“Emperor Laken.”

“Lord Yitton. What brings you here?”

The man hesitates. He glances sideways at Gralton, who just nods a

greeting.

“I had hoped to speak with you privately, your…your majesty. Would you
grant me an audience?”

“I would. Gamel, please guard the tent. As for you, Gralton—I rather
suspect you’d like to stay. Which you may, unless Lord Byres objects?”

The [Lord] of the Byres House hesitates and looks at Gralton again.
Something unspoken passes between them and he nods hesitantly.
“It’s…not that secret of a matter. By all means. Excuse me, Lord Gralton.
My issue is urgent. I wouldn’t bring this up, but I have nowhere else to turn.
Tyrion is not open to reason, and—”

And no one’s sticking their necks out for you. I nod.

“Go on.”

Yitton takes a deep breath.

“It’s my son. And my daughter. I think they may be in Liscor.”

I sit straighter. Gralton doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this. He must
already have known. But I didn’t. And that’s not good.

“Are you sure?”

He shakes his head.

“I do not know. Liscor’s Mage’s Guild is refusing all [Message] spells not
from a Drake city. But my daughter was last sighted at the city. She and her
team ran into an—an incident. I was informed she survived and joined a
new team, and that my son went to check on her. But neither has sent me a
[Message] spell and I fear they may be trapped in the city. Or worse, as
prisoners.”

“And we are about to assault said city, which is inhabited by Drakes.”

“Yes.”

Yitton said the word heavily. I nod. That said it all, really. I heard that
Yitton was against attacking Liscor from the start. It’s not a position anyone
else in the camp has taken. But his sense of honor plus the fact that he
might be putting his children in danger, well, it paints a picture.

A terrible one, because I can’t help him. But Lord Gralton and Yitton are
both looking at me, and I sense I’m being tested. By Gralton. I think Yitton
is genuinely at the end of his rope. But why Gralton? Does he want to see
what I’ll do?
No, no, Gralton is too straightforward for that. Then, is he hoping I’ll help
Yitton? Or perhaps—

I turn my head towards the two, more to buy time than anything else. Let’s
see. We have an [Emperor], me. An unknown quantity. Lord Gralton, who
hates trickery and is about as sociable and charming as a rotting pig’s
carcass. But is powerful. And Yitton Byres, one of those rare honorable men
people keep talking about. I’m not sure how honorable he really is if push
comes to shove, but I think he’s a man who tries to be good.

Ah. I think Gralton sees what I see. An opportunity. I lace my hands

together and lean forwards.

“I see. I understand your predicament, Lord Byres. Unfortunately, I doubt if

anyone could persuade Lord Tyrion to halt the attack, for any reason. Nor
do I have the…power to rescue your offspring if it turns out they are indeed
in Liscor.”

Yitton’s shoulders fall. Not that I think he was expecting any other answer.
He’s desperate.

“I see. My apologies, Emperor Godart, Gralton.”

He turns to go. I raise my voice.

“Lord Yitton, that doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to help. And, I think, neither
is Gralton. If there is a way to rescue your children, whether by ransom or
some other means, let’s discuss it.”

The man turns, hope on his face. I turn my head towards Gralton and sense
him bare his teeth in a savage grin.

“Is there something that might be done?”

“Perhaps.”

I temper expectations. I don’t know, honestly. But the point isn’t to make
outlandish statements. I look towards the tent opening and raise my voice.
“Gamel! Find two chairs for Lord Gralton and Lord Yitton, please. I think
we’ll be here until we’re ready to ride. And perhaps while we’re riding
we’ll speak further. Until then—Lord Yitton, please have a seat on the floor.
I’d offer you my bed, but then I’d have to do the same to Gralton and I
prefer life without fleas.”

The man barks a laugh. Yitton looks askance as he takes a seat on the floor.
I sit and look at the two. It’s not just about Yitton’s son and daughter. It’s
about forging connections. Choose your allies wisely. And unless I’m
wrong, I’d guess that Lord Gralton’s made his choice faster than the other
nobles. Faster than Lady Ieka who makes me nervous, Lord Erill who’s a
bit too cunning, or the others.

“I don’t know what the future will hold, much less the attack on Liscor. But
I do know that when the pieces are in the air, we can only make plans and
hope they go well. You don’t know where your children are, Lord Yitton.”

“I know where two are. But the other two…”

Yitton trails off. I shake my head.

“If and when, gentlemen. If and then. If they are in Liscor and if we attack,
what will occur?”

“They’ll be taken prisoner. Or killed.”

Gralton speaks bluntly. Lord Yitton puts his head in his hands. I turn my
head reprovingly towards Gralton.

“Very well. But perhaps we can forestall that? With an offer of a ransom,
perhaps. Or a guarantee? Do Drakes honor the rules of war? And what will
your children do, Lord Yitton? I heard that they’re…adventurers?”

“Yes. Yvlon’s Silver-rank. And Ylawes is Gold-rank. His team is strong, but
he couldn’t take on a city.”

“But he could protect his sister? Don’t give up hope, Lord Yitton. What
would he do? And how might we aid him, if it comes to that. Lord Gralton,
I’m sure you’d be willing to help. As allies.”

“Perhaps.”

The man growls. Yitton looks up. He glances towards me and Gralton as if
he’s only now figuring out what’s going on. Perhaps honorable men are just
rather slow on the uptake when it comes to intrigue. He hesitates, and then
he nods and sits a bit straighter. He doesn’t seem that much more hopeful,
but he’s trying.

“If Ylawes is in the city, he knows what’s coming. And the only reason he
would stay is—he’s a [Knight], and he champions causes. But he wouldn’t
risk a war unless Yvlon were there. He won’t abandon her. So he’d be trying
to find them a way out. North, towards us, unless he’s wary of the Goblin
Lord.”

“Would he go south?”

“He’s Human. And he’d run into all the Drakes heading towards Liscor. No.
No, he’d go north. And if he were trying to escape…”

Yitton grips his hands together worriedly as he talks. I listen with Gralton as
Gamel reappears with some chairs. We talk, forging the beginnings of what
might be friendship, an alliance of convenience, or something else. And I
invest my time and energy into helping Yitton do something for his son and
daughter. What else can I do? I can’t stop the war. I can’t change Tyrion
Veltras’ mind. I have very little power. But perhaps—I sense Gralton
looking at me.

Perhaps I have an ally. A smart one who conceals his true intentions behind
a façade that’s half-real. And who’s decisive enough to take sides rather
than choose the strongest person to hide behind. Maybe Gralton’s a betting
man. Maybe I look like a likely dark horse to him. There are worse allies to
have than him and Lord Yitton Byres. I nod at Gralton.

A smart man. He still smells like wet dog, though. Then I turn my attention
back to Lord Yitton. If his son really is in Liscor, I pray he won’t do
anything stupid. For his father, if nothing else.
—-

“We’re going.”

Yvlon looked up at her brother. He was dressed in full armor and had his
shield on one hand. His hand was hovering around his sword’s hilt as he
stared down at her and looked around the inn. The other Gold-rank teams
stared at him and Dawil and Falene, standing behind Ylawes. The Dwarf
hefted his hammer and the half-Elf shifted her staff. Yvlon glanced at
Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr. Then she looked up at her brother.

“What?”

“We’re going, Yvlon. Now. Grab your gear and get ready. We’re leaving
Liscor and going north. Any team who wishes to join us—or anyone in the
inn—is welcome to come, but we are going now. Before Liscor is
attacked.”

The [Knight]’s jaw was set. Yvlon leaned back in her chair as Ceria rubbed
one eye and stared down at her eggs. She looked towards Erin and Lyonette.

The inn was barely open this morning. And signs of last night’s festivities
were still scattered around the inn. Empty mugs, plates that had yet to be
washed, a passed-out Goblin lying under a table…Yvlon shook her head.

“It’s too early for this. Lyonette! Can I get some water?”

She waved her mug. Ylawes frowned at her.

“This isn’t a joke, Yv.”

“I’m not saying it is. And I’m not going, Ylawes. I’m staying with my
team.”

Yvlon looked back up at Ylawes, scowling. Her brother grimaced.

“So you’ve said. But your captain doesn’t seem capable of making up her
mind.”

“Hey, I’m just—”

Ceria protested weakly. Yvlon stood up.

“We’re going with Erin. We’re not leaving her behind.”

“I’m making up my mind too!”

Erin shouted from the kitchen. Ylawes looked at her and shook his head.

“I understand that, and it is a noble cause, Yvlon. But be realistic: Liscor is

about to be attacked, and when it is, both you and I will be in grave danger.
Our only chance is to go north now. Persuade your captain, bring Miss
Solstice and the others.”

“I have a name you know, it’s Ceria—”

“Why don’t you go and let us decide what we’re doing, Ylawes? If we go
north, we’ll go north. But we’ll do it with our team. You can leave.”

Yvlon folded her arms. She wasn’t wearing her armor, but her metal
armguards and gauntlets were more or less permanent fixtures now. They
covered the…modifications Pisces had done to her arms. And the damage.

“I won’t leave without you.”

The [Knight] snapped, his brows crossing with vexation. Yvlon sighed.

“I’m not a child, Ylawes!”

“But you are my sister. If father learned that I abandoned you—”

“This isn’t about what our father would say! And what I do isn’t your
problem, Ylawes.”
“It is. I can’t let you risk your life any further. We’re going and you are
coming with us. This isn’t a discussion.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Yvlon stared at Ylawes’ face, exasperated and annoyed. It was always like
this. He was always in charge and she was sick of it. She stared past Ylawes
at his teammates.

“I’m not budging. I’m a grown woman and an adventurer in my own right.
You don’t give me orders, even if you are Gold-rank. Just go, Ylawes. What
does your team think of this? Falene? Dawil?”

The half-Elf shrugged her slim shoulders.

“I follow my team captain, Miss Byres. And I happen to agree that you and
your team are being quite foolish. It falls to us to keep the less-experienced
out of harm’s way.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Yvlon looked at Dawil. The Dwarf hesitated.

“I can’t say I’m pleased, lass. But your brother has a point. There’s a fine
line between stubbornness and suicide and you’re pushing both. Why not
leave?”

Because it would mean being saved by Ylawes. Yvlon scowled. She didn’t
want to say it, but that was why. And because Erin wasn’t going. That too.
But mainly the first part.

“It’s my choice. I’m a Horn of Hammerad and we aren’t budging.”

She looked at Ylawes. The [Knight] blew out his cheeks, and looked
around. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Gemhammer—the other teams of
adventurers who were waiting in Erin’s inn, taking turns moving the door
further south—stared at him. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“This discussion is over. Yvlon, if you won’t see reason, we’ll have to take
you by force. Come on—”
He reached for her arm. Yvlon backed up.

“Don’t, Ylawes.”

“Be reasonable. Don’t make me force you.”

“You? I’m not six, anymore, Ylawes. You can’t pick me up and carry me.”

“If I have to, I will.”

Again, Ylawes grabbed at Yvlon’s arm. This time he seized the metal
vambrace. Yvlon gritted her teeth. She pulled, but Ylawes was strong.

“Let go.”

“Don’t resist. Your arms are fragile.”

“Then let go.”

Yvlon yanked, and Ylawes nearly stumbled. He let go, afraid of damaging
her arms. Yvlon felt fine. She backed up as Ylawes looked at Ceria.

“Please talk some sense to her.”

The half-Elf got up slowly. So did Pisces and Ksmvr. Ceria looked uneasy,
but her expression firmed as she looked at Yvlon.

“We’re not going yet, Ylawes. And Yvlon’s one of us. If she doesn’t want to
go, you have to respect that.”

“He is doing this for her own good, Ceria. I’ve pointed out the obvious to
you as well. Why won’t you heed reason? We are both half-Elves—”

Falene scowled at Ceria. The [Ice Mage] rolled her eyes.

“And that makes us kin, right? Forget it. You can go, but if you try to take
Yvlon, we’ll—”

“What, stop us?”

The tone of Falene’s voice was frankly disbelieving. Yvlon felt a surge of
adrenaline and anger as the [Battlemage] looked from her to Ceria. Pisces
folded his arms.

“You would do well to reconsider any threat, Miss Skystrall.”

“Yes. We are completely and legally able to defend ourselves with lethal
force. I think.”

Ksmvr nodded. Dawil raised a hand.

“Hold on, you two. Falene and Ylawes aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes we are, Dawil. Ylawes, take your sister. I have had enough of
arguing.”

“And I’ve had enough of you two trying to order us around.”

Yvlon reached for her sword. Ylawes stared at her and his hand went to his
hilt.

“Don’t be a fool, Yvlon!”

“Then back off.”

“I can’t. Why are you being so stubborn when I’m just trying to help you?”

“I. Don’t. Want. Your Help! I never have!”

Yvlon snapped at Ylawes. She drew her sword, or tried to. The blade was
half-way out of the sheathe when Falene pointed a finger at her.

“[Binding Cords – Iron]. Ylawes, take her!”

A series of thin metal cords erupted from her fingertip and wrapped around
Yvlon. The [Wounded Warrior] shouted in outrage and fell back, struggling.
Ylawes stepped forwards and a wall of ice sprang up.

“Don’t do this—”
Ceria warned Ylawes, but Falene pointed her staff again. The ice shattered
as something struck it and Ceria stumbled back. Pisces made a noise of
outrage. He lifted his hands and flames burst from them, aimed at Falene.
Ylawes surged to block them and the flames burned harmlessly around his
shield.

“Is it combat, then? Should I aim to incapacitate or kill, Captain Ceria?”

Ksmvr drew his shortsword raised his dagger. Falene bound him with the
cords spell as well.

“Stop! Stop, you featherbrained nitwit!”

Dawil roared at Falene. He shoulder-charged the [Mage] as Ceria raised

another ice wall. Yvlon was struggling as Ylawes bent to grab her. She tried
to kick him, and he tried to pull her up, but he had miscalculated how heavy
she was—and how hard it was to drag an uncooperative person single-
handedly. Pisces drew his rapier and Ylawes turned towards him. The
[Knight] drew his sword and Yvlon shouted.

“Ylawes, don’t!”

Pisces and Ylawes faced off as Ceria aimed her wand at the struggling
Dawil and Falene, who were shouting at each other. Ylawes narrowed his
eyes and Pisces lowered his posture. The two hesitated—and an arrow
embedded itself on the table next to them. Both dodged back and turned.

Halrac lowered his bow. The other adventurers were on their feet. Ylawes
turned to them, and then twisted. He blocked a whirling frying pan and the
cast iron pan clattered to the ground. Erin lowered her hands.

“Darn. That never works anymore.”

“Don’t interfere.”

Ylawes snapped at Halrac. The [Scout] aimed his bow at the [Knight]’s
chest.
“That’s not your decision to make. Let your sister go, Ylawes. She’s an
adventurer and so are you. You don’t get to order her, family or not.”

“That’s precisely why—”

Ylawes’ face flushed. Bevussa folded her wing-arms, looking annoyed.

“I’ve seen enough too. This may be a family matter, but it’s turned into a
Gold-rank team fighting a Silver-rank one. Enough. Falene, put down your
staff. Cast a spell and we’ll all attack you. This is stupid and pointless.”

The other adventurers nodded. Typhenous pointed his staff at Falene. The
half-Elf hesitated and lowered her staff reluctantly. She glared, and then
doubled over. Dawil had kicked her hard in the shins. The Dwarf looked at
his two teammates and shook his head.

“You idiots. I told you they’d never go. Listen to the other Gold-ranks.”

“I can’t just—”

Ylawes swore as Dawil kicked him in the shins, hard enough to go through
the metal armor. The Dwarf glared up at him.

“You want to carry your sister off like a damsel in distress? It didn’t work
the first time you tried it, and it won’t work now. If you want to give it a
shot, I’ll scrape you off the floor when the other Gold-ranks paste you to it.
Otherwise we’re done here. Idiots.”

He stomped away. Ylawes stared at Dawil, his teeth set, and then looked
around. He stared at Yvlon.

“Sister, please think about this.”

“I have. I’m not going, Ylawes.”

Yvlon folded her arms. Ceria hesitated, looking at Ylawes. The [Knight]
breathed in and out, slowly, trying to keep calm.

“Then what will you do? If Liscor falls—”

“I’ll go with my team. If Liscor falls, we’ll take Erin south.”

“But the Drakes—”

“Are not your concern. We’ll survive, Ylawes. But I’m not going to follow
you.”

“I see.”

The [Knight] looked pained. And hurt. Yvlon’s own chest stung a bit as he
straightened. He had come all this way for her. But she’d never asked him
to. He turned and looked around again, then at Yvlon. Then, at last, he
shook his head.

“I thought—”

He never finished the sentence. Ylawes just turned and walked out of the
inn. Falene looked at Ceria. Pisces made a few rude gestures.

“Remember we offered you a chance. We are leaving Liscor.”

She swept after Ylawes. Dawil was last. The Dwarf tugged on his beard,
looking close to swearing. He stared at his teammates as they walked out
the door, then looked around. His voice was somber as he spoke.

“I’m sorry about that, friends. But it seems like we’re going.”

“North?”

Halrac queried Dawil. The Dwarf nodded.

“North. We’ll try to avoid the Goblin Lord. But we’re leaving the city
today, unless my teammates have other plans. It’s been a pleasure.”

“It has.”

Bevussa nodded at him. Revi waved a hand hesitantly. Yvlon, the iron cords
disappearing as Falene’s spell ended, sat up. She looked at Dawil. The
Dwarf looked tiredly at her.
“Wait, you’re going? Just like that?”

Erin stared at the Dwarf. Dawil shrugged and smiled ruefully.

“I’d like to say goodbye. But those idiots are storming off. Hey, wait for
me!”

He turned and roared out of the door. Then he looked over his shoulder.
There seemed like so much more he wanted to say. But the Dwarf just
turned.

“Farewell. Let’s all meet again someday.”

And then he was gone. Yvlon stared at the door. She stood up slowly.

“He’s going? Just like that?”

“Did you want him to stay?”

Pisces sat at a table and watched as Ksmvr sat up. The Antinium looked
around and sheathed his weapons, looking ashamed.

“I have been of no use. I am worthless.”

He sat down too. Ceria closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

“Damn. Are you sure it’s for the best, Yvlon?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to go with Ylawes anyways. He was always like that,
giving me orders. It was just—”

“Just?”

The others looked at her. Yvlon shook her head. Her eyes went to the closed
door.

“It was just that he came all this way and did so much for me. Because he
was worried. And I never said thank you for that.”
The others looked at her. Yvlon wanted to run to the door. But she held still.
One of the adventurers who’d watched everything unfold uttered a curse.

“Humans.”

Yvlon glared at him. The Drake met her gaze and looked away. Erin stared
about.

“Well, that sucked.”

No one argued with that. The adventurers sat in silence as Lyonette brought
Yvlon some water. Then the door opened. Yvlon looked up. Was it Ylawes,
back again?

No. It was Olesm, Zevara, and a host of the City Watch. The adventurers
froze as Zevara stepped into the inn through the magic doorway. The Watch
Captain looked around.

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. Can I get you an—”

The Watch Captain forestalled Erin with a claw. She looked about the inn,
and Yvlon saw her focus on the sleeping Goblin on the floor. She nodded to
one of the [Guardsmen].

“Secure the door.”

A few of the Drakes and Gnolls moved to the door. The adventurers
watched, growing more and more nervous. Then Yvlon saw a pair of
[Guardsmen] she recognized walk through. Klbkch and Relc took up
positions by the door. And another pair of Senior Guards walked through as
well.

“What’s this about, Watch Captain?”

Keldrass stood up. He eyed Zevara. The female Drake looked at him and
spoke.

“We know you’re trying to leave Liscor.”

The adventurers paused. Olesm cleared his throat.

“By Drake military law, all adventurers in or around Liscor must come to
the city’s defense in times of crisis. Dereliction of duty is a treasonous
offense.”

“You can’t conscript us. This is a war. We’re not part of it!”

Revi folded her arms. Zevara glanced at her and shook her head. She
addressed the Drake teams from Pallass.

“This is not an option. You must stay in Liscor. The city needs your strength
to hold the line. As Watch Captain, I order you to remain in the city. And to
ensure that is so, I am confiscating the door. As we should have done from
the start.”

She gestured. A pair of Gnolls grabbed the magic doorway. Erin stared.

“You can’t do that.”

Zevara looked at Erin.

“I can and must. This is a matter of security—”

“Hold on. You’re not taking that door.”

Halrac pointed at the doorway. Zevara turned and the Watch braced
themselves.

“Stand down.”

“You stand down.”

Revi glared as she cracked her knuckles, not quite pointing her wand at
Olesm’s feet. The Drake gulped. Zevara didn’t blink.

“We are taking the door. If you try and stop us, we will—”
“Do what? Arrest us? There are thousands of Goblins between the inn and
Liscor. And us. You’ll never make it.”

Zevara looked at Revi, and then past her at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked
blank, and then backed up a step.

“Hold on…”

The adventurers looked at each other as the City Watch edged towards the
door. Halrac cursed as he slowly drew an arrow. Zevara waited, daring them
to make the first move. Olesm gulped. Relc and Klbkch, who’d set
themselves up near Zevara, were braced. Relc was chanting under his
breath.

“Bar fight! Bar fight! Bar fight!”

No one else said a word. The stalemate drew out and out, until the
adventurers and the City Watch heard pounding footsteps. Then Ilvriss
hurtled out of the door.

—-

Some days he forgot what Periss’ face looked like. It was unbelievable, but
so. Some days he forgot the sound of her voice. Already, memory was
failing him. But he had sworn an oath. And he remembered the drink Erin
had given him. Part of him wanted to taste it again, to sink into the past. But
he recognized magic and he understood the addiction of drugs.

Later, perhaps, he could inquire. But not now. Now, he was needed and
more than ever. A Wall Lord did not run from his duty. He ran to his duty
and embraced it. Ilvriss had not touched a drop of alcohol since that day.
Nor had he succumbed to despair, even in these dark hours. And neither had
Liscor. If it fell, it fell with dignity. And he would remind them of that.
Ilvriss had begun running when he’d heard of Zevara’s plan to take the door
back. Of course, Swifttail had understood the issue. It was obvious, really.
The adventurers were fleeing the city by hook or crook and if they could
not go north, they would go south. But why hadn’t Zevara stopped to think
about what she was doing? If they fought—

Dignity. Ilvriss charged through the magic door, tripped as the uneven
cobblestones turned to wooden floorboards, and nearly crashed into a table.
Only wind milling arms saved him. He steadied himself, brushed his clothes
off, and turned. The Watch and adventurers stared. At him. At his chest.
Because Ilvriss wore the Heartflame Breastplate. It glowed, not yet burning,
but shining with golden-red light. Ilvriss looked around, drawing strength
from the warmth of the artifact.

“Watch Captain, hold. Adventurers. Hold. This will not come to bloodshed.
The first person to strike, I will personally cut down.”

“Hold on, isn’t that—”

Erin’s forehead wrinkled. Ilvriss ignored her. He straightened and took a

deep breath. The adventurers were staring at the door. One of them, the
Human with a surly expression, gestured at it with his bow.

“That door isn’t leaving the inn.”

“On the contrary, it must. It is a security risk if this inn should fall. And it
will, if the Goblin Lord’s army attacks Liscor. We will take it into the city
and place it in the city hall.”

“Not before we leave.”

The Gold-rank [Scout] looked ready for a fight. The other adventurers less
so. The Drake-led groups were especially nervous. Attacking a Watch
Captain was already trouble. A Wall Lord? Ilvriss capitalized on the
uncertainty.

“I said hold. Listen to my proposal before you take action. Watch Captain,
Strategist Olesm, you two as well. I agree that this door must go to Liscor.
Left in the inn, it would be in danger of falling into the Human’s hands. But
by the same token, it cannot be overlooked as a means of escape from
Liscor. I propose to let the adventurers use it to leave Liscor.”

“What?”

Zevara’s shout of outrage was forestalled by Ilvriss’ raised claw. He kept his
eyes on Halrac, Bevussa, Keldrass, and the others. The Gold-rank captains
were staring uncertainly at Ilvriss. He nodded.

“I am aware of the dangers. And I do not ask your teams to die for the city.”

The adventurers relaxed a bit. Ilvriss narrowed his eyes.

“However, I demand that you fight. I demand that you stay until the cause is
lost. Your teams will not leave Liscor until the walls fall and the battle is
unwinnable. You will stay and join Liscor’s defenders. The door will remain
in the heart of the city, as an escape route.”

“But that’s—”

The adventures looked at each other uneasily. Ilvriss saw them weighing the
odds. Fighting would be deadly and dangerous. If they had to hold until the
siege was unavoidably lost—Ilvriss looked sideways as he heard a polite
cough.

“And if we declined this honor, Wall Lord? Some of our teams are allied
with the Human cities, or at least determined not to bear arms against our
kind. What prevents us from leaving now?”

Typhenous, the elderly Human [Mage] inquired politely, his eyes flicking
towards the door. Ilvriss grinned mirthlessly.

“Does honor and duty not compel you, Human?”

“Not sufficiently, no.”

The Drake nodded.

“Well then, here is another reason. You will be going south, into Drake
lands. You could try your luck heading north—if you don’t run into the
Goblin Lord’s army and perish. But if you go south, you will run straight
into reinforcements from every Drake city on the continent. And I will have
told all of them of your treachery.”

Typhenous’ polite smile melted off his face. Ilvriss looked around. Now he
had every eye on him.

“Until the day of the siege, until I take my last breath and the last [Mage]
falls—if I see any of your teams flee, I will send a [Message] spell to every
city. You will be wanted in any place that Drakes draw breath as traitors.
Consider that. I offer you the chance to fight and retreat honorably. Run
with your tails between your legs and the world will know of it.”

The inn stood frozen as Ilvriss turned from face to face. Halrac met the Wall
Lord’s eyes.

“I don’t fight my own people, Wall Lord.”

“Should I then consider you an enemy?”

Ilvriss laid a claw on his sword hilt. The Watch tensed. Halrac’s eyes flicked
to Ilvriss, to the door, and then to his team. Typhenous looked pale, and
Revi wide-eyed and nervous. At last, the [Scout] lowered his bow.

“If it comes to a battle, I won’t fight. I don’t kill Humans.”

He paused and looked at Zevara.

“But. I am an adventurer. If it’s Goblins, I’ll hold the walls.”

Zevara glanced at Ilvriss and the Wall Lord nodded.

“That is acceptable. Now, Miss Solstice, please talk to the Goblins outside
of the inn so we may carry the door into the city. Unless you object? I
would suggest that you bring your people inside the walls soon.”

“I—but—okay, but—is it necessary? Can’t they go? Is it—”

The young woman looked at Ilvriss uncertainly. And she was young, for all
she was so much different from any other Human he’d met. She looked at
Ilvriss and he saw the real question in her eyes.

Was this happening? Was it really happening? He nodded. Yes. He wanted

to say it. Yes, girl. Yes, child. It was. The adventurers braced themselves.
They understood. Some had lived through it, and the others could imagine
it. But Erin Solstice could not. She had never seen a battle of this magnitude
and she couldn’t grasp at the implications, even now. But Ilvriss could. He
braced himself, feeling the tingle running down his spine.

It was war.

—-

“Remember, only kill Goblins and Humans. Do not kill the Drakes unless
ordered. Other targets will be specified as friendly or enemies. When the
battle begins, the Free Queen, Klbkch, and I will lead. Your Queen’s
commands are superseded by our own. Is that clear?”

Xrn, the Small Queen stood on a small platform of earth and looked down.
Fourteen Prognugators and one Revalantor looked up at her. They were the
representatives of three Hives. The Flying Antinium, the Silent Antinium,
and the Armored Antinium.

Tersk stood shoulder-to-shoulder with three of his fellow Prognugators,

who wore the thick steel armor that marked their Soldiers. Pivr flexed his
wings with his four Prognugators. A pair of shadowy, camouflaged shapes
marked the two Silent Antinium leaders. The rest were regular
Prognugators, who looked like regular Workers but bore silvery blades.
Copies of the Slayer himself. They had come from the Grand Hive to lead
Workers and Soldiers into battle.
As had she. The Small Queen’s eyes shone with multiple colors, red for
battle excitement, blue in anticipation, bright yellow and white for hope.
She looked down on the Prognugators and then past them. At the army of
Antinium standing in the tunnel.

They had come. From the interconnecting tunnels in the Hive, the Queens
had sent their Soldiers, their prized warriors. An army of steel-bound
Soldiers from the Armored Hive, ready to do battle with weapons forged for
them. A flying horde of warrior types who moved about restlessly, fanning
their green wings. A few giant Antinium stood out among them, hunched,
beetle-like forms with rending mandibles. War machines.

And lastly, the fewest in number but just as deadly, the Silent Antinium.
Camouflaged assassins who blended with their surroundings. Their arms
were scything blades capable of cutting metal. Three Hive’s worth of
warriors, and more arriving by the day.

Not just Soldiers either, but Workers. All three Hives had sent their own to
dig the vast tunnel north to Liscor. The effort was monumental; not only did
they have to dig the tunnel large enough to transport an army swiftly, but
they had to make sure the roof wouldn’t collapse thousands of tons of dirt
on their heads. And they had to do it quickly and in secret.

Tens of thousands of Workers moved behind Xrn, excavating stone and dirt.
More Soldiers stood at the ready, prepared to fight anything that attacked
the digging Workers. Already they’d had to do battle with a number of
subterranean monsters. This project was not easy.

But it was proceeding on time. When Liscor fell and the city’s people
retreated into the Hive of the Free Antinium, an army would be there, ready
to take back the city from the Humans. They could do it. And if the Drakes
or Humans tried to seize the city again—

That would be a task for the Twisted Antinium and the Grand Hive’s forces.
Tersk shivered. He had seen a few of the Twisted Antinium gathering as
well, preparing to intercept the Drake armies. They were—different. While
each Hive of the Antinium was varied, the creations of the Twisted Queen
were disturbing. They had been kept away from the other Hives, because to
look upon some of them was to become Aberration for a number of Soldiers
and Workers. They bothered Tersk and he could not fathom why. They were
all Antinium. Weren’t they?

Whatever the case, the army was here. Tersk watched as Xrn’s head turned
left and right, regarding the Prognugators.

“Remember. You come not as invaders, but liberators. Heroes. This battle is
the first of many. But with it, the Antinium shall truly have a city of their
own.”

The Prognugators looked up at her, and Tersk felt their confusion. Why did
it matter? What use was a city to the Antinium? He knew. And he saw Xrn’s
eyes turn to him and felt the shock run through him. Yes, he knew. He
thought of the strange city, and of the things he had learned there. It was
worth sacrificing tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of
Antinium to have it. To become…something more.

Tersk looked back at the silent rows of Soldiers in gleaming armor. The
pride of his Hive. They waited, and Tersk waited as well. He would soon be
there. He thought of Pawn and wondered if the Worker was as excited as he
was. At last, they would pit their might against the Humans. The Antinium
had been preparing for this day since before Tersk had been born. He
couldn’t wait. He couldn’t…

—-

“No. No, wait. It is too soon. What do you mean?”

Pawn grabbed desperately at Anand’s arm. The other Worker turned to him.
The [Tactician] clicked his mandibles together.

“Pawn, I have said too much. Just bear in mind what I said. Prepare your
unit for combat.”
“You have not said enough! Why was I not informed? What do you mean,
our role will not be to hold Liscor? What will we be doing? Will Erin—”

Pawn broke off. Anand was shaking his head.

“Revalantor Klbkch has forbidden me from speaking of it. I know my role,

but he believes you might—complicate the issue. When the time comes,
you will lead the Painted Soldiers into battle. That is all. Pawn, I cannot say
more.”

Anand looked guilty. Pawn stared at him. He had orders. But he had to say
more, orders or not. He opened his mandibles.

“All of the Painted soldiers?”

“All of them.”

Anand nodded. He looked past Pawn, at the Soldiers who filled the
barracks. There were a lot more than the odd three hundred or so that Pawn
had started with. They had tripled their numbers, and now Painted Soldiers
and Workers filled the expanded barracks. But many were new. The old
ones, the veterans who had enough levels to truly show for it, stood
teaching the other Soldiers how to be…[Soldiers]. They read books, they
sat, they ate snacks. They were.

The thought of taking them into combat—a war—was horrifying. Pawn had
already been struggling with the thought of Liscor falling under attack, but
from what Anand said, the Antinium wouldn’t just be holding the walls.
They would be doing something else. And Pawn was afraid they were going
to betray their allies.

“Are we going to leave them to die? Selys? Mrsha? Lyonette? Erin?”

Anand hesitated.

“I have been issued with orders to keep them safe. If possible.”

“If possible.”
Pawn echoed the words. Anand nodded. He looked back at Pawn.

“Pawn—I cannot say all of what will happen. But the plan is good. And
Erin will most likely survive.”

“You cannot guarantee it, though.”

“No.”

The two Workers looked at each other. Pawn shook his head.

“So I am to wait? To lead my Painted Soldiers into battle when the order
comes and not know what happens?”

“That is correct. That is what we’ve always done, Pawn.”

“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. It wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Anand hesitated,

and then turned away.

“It is all we can do.”

He walked away. Pawn watched him go. He turned to look at the Soldiers
and Workers, at Yellow Splatters, Purple Smile—and he shook his head.

“No. There must be more.”

But he didn’t know what that was. So Pawn bent his head, clasped his hands
together, and began to pray. For a miracle, for knowledge. For anything. He
listened, his heart beating, but he heard nothing.

—-

“Lord Veltras. Another [Message] for you. From our informant.”

“I’ll hear it.”

Tyrion Veltras rode at the head of his army. He watched as the Goblins ran
ahead of him. A vast host. Enough to take a city. And that wasn’t even
counting the army of Humans that marched behind him. He turned his head
as his aide, Jericha spoke crisply, reciting the [Message] spell verbatim.

“The portal door is now in Liscor’s possession. It is connected to a

passageway south of the city. The Gold-rank teams will fight in Liscor and
flee through it if the city is lost with civilians.”

“Or to reinforce the city through the door. Dragons take it all!”

Tyrion Veltras’ brows snapped together. He felt a surge of frustration.

“That [Mage] assured us the door would be inoperable!”

“He probably expected to flee through it and didn’t consider the fact that
the recovery effort would fail—or that the city would seize the door after
the connection to Pallass had been lost.”

Jericha frowned. Tyrion just clenched a gauntleted fist. Lord Erill and Lady
Ieka had provided the criminal element. He had been against it—a force of
[Knights] could have seized the door—but against his better judgment he
had allowed the covert operation. And see what had happened.

“Can the informant do anything?”

“He reports not, Lord Veltras.”

“Very well. Liscor may be reinforced, but the numbers will be low. And the
presence of an escape route may work in our favor. The adventurers and
other elements of the city will flee through it.”

Tyrion grimly adjusted his plans, thinking through how the door could be
used against them. They had to seize it. Jericha cleared her throat.

“There are two other missives that may require your attention personally,
Lord Veltras.”
“Speak.”

“The first is from Lady Reinhart—”

“Ignore it. I told you, I am not in the mood to bandy words with her.”

The [Mage] nodded quickly. She licked her lips nervously, an usual gesture.

“I understand that Lord Veltras. But this latest [Message] is—is not like the
others.”

“How so?”

Tyrion looked back at Jericha. Magnolia had been sending him messages
nonstop, urging him to halt his campaign, to turn back or take a different
tact. Ever since she had learned what he was doing. She was resourceful, he
would give her that. But he could not be swayed. All of her power lay in
influence, gold, and political power. He had direct military might and there
was nothing she could do to stop him.

Or so he’d thought. But the look on Jericha’s face told him that his
unflappable aide had been disturbed. She spoke slowly.

“This latest [Message] was—addressed to me, Lord Veltras. Magnolia

Reinhart mentioned me by name and issued a…warning if it was not
delivered. The contents are quite extraordinary.”

The scion of the Veltras House tensed. If Magnolia threatened Jericha or his
servants—he forced himself not to give into emotion.

“Repeat it, then.”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. The message from Magnolia Reinhart, omitting the
introduction to me, reads as follows: ‘To Tyrion. I see you are set on your
course, despite my warnings and urgings to the contrary. It seems you have
placed your faith in war. I, however, think you are a fool of the highest
caliber. Your plan will not succeed. Do not force my hand, or I will take
steps both you and I will come to regret to stop you. Sincerely, Magnolia
Reinhart.’”
A silence followed Jericha’s words. The [Mage] looked at Tyrion. He
frowned.

“Take steps…there is no way she could halt this army. Is she intending to
provide more aide to the Drakes?”

“She already leaked the information of the trebuchets to them. It is hard to

imagine what she could do.”

“Assassins, perhaps. Double the night sentries and keep a close eye on the
food. Aside from that—ignore her messages. But report any ones of similar
quality to me.”

Tyrion saw Jericha nod. He put Magnolia out of his mind. He could not be
stopped. Not by her or anyone. Liscor burned in his mind. It had to be
taken. He would see victory in his lifetime or put the wheels in motion to
end this millennia-long war for dominance with the Drakes. He would have
vengeance.

A final time Jericha interrupted Tyrion.

“Lord Veltras. You have a message from your estates. Ullim reports that
your sons are growing restless. They are inquiring about your absence and
growing unruly.”

For a second, all thoughts of war and plans vanished from Tyrion’s mind.
He twisted in his saddle. Ullim was his [Majordomo]. Tyrion had entrusted
the welfare of his sons, Hethon and Sammial to him. They were boys, too
young to even become squires. Well, Hethon was not, but he wasn’t of the
right temperament for that life. And Sammial was too wild, yet.

“What is Ullim doing? I told him to keep the boys in care.”

Jericha ducked her head.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. But the issue isn’t—if you’ll permit me to speak freely, I
believe it is that the two are simply lonely. The boys miss their father.
That’s all.”
Tyrion stared at Jericha until she flushed and looked down. He blinked.
When he had grown up, his father had been dead. Dead and buried, a
casualty of the plots of the Reinharts. And the two were…? He felt a
moment of regret and wished their mother was there. She would have
known what to do. She would have been there. But she too was dead.

And that had led him here, in part. Tyrion turned forwards, forcing himself
to put the past out of his head.

“Tell them I am on campaign. They should know what that means. If all
goes well at Liscor, I may have time to return. I will attempt to make time.
That is…all.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

There was a pause as Jericha relayed the message. Tyrion stared ahead at
the Goblins as he rode. He tried to keep thinking of Liscor, keep replaying
the battle and its innumerable permutations in his head. But he was
distracted, now. By Magnolia, damn her, and his sons. He couldn’t help but
wonder what she was doing. She was a thorn in his back. Some day he
would have to pluck the thorny branch from which she grew. Burn the
Reinhart estates to the ground. But they were a dangerous, difficult weed
and she was the worst. Why didn’t she see the danger of the Drakes? Why
was she opposed to him?

Lonely. Tyrion bowed his head for a second. Then he forced himself up. He
couldn’t waver now. And Magnolia couldn’t stop him. No matter what she
did.

—-

“Well, he hasn’t responded. So I suppose it’s come to this. Ressa, prepare

my riding dress, will you? It’s time to put our plan into action. Oh dear. No
one will be happy about this. Tyrion least of all.”
Magnolia Reinhart sighed as she sat in her parlor with a group of [Ladies],
all of whom could be considered her closest friends. They sat with her,
sipping from tea or sampling biscuits. Noblewomen all, each a fair flower
of the realm. As dangerous as any [Lord] in their own right.

They were Lady Bethal Walchaís, fiery and beautiful. Lady Zanthia, old,
tough as steel and demanding. Lady Pryde, for whom the name was as
fitting as it was insufficient. Lady Wuvren, of whom the [Bards] had once
sang songs about. And still did. It was said that an Archmage had drowned
himself after being rejected. It had actually only been a [Star Sorcerer] of
course, but you know how people exaggerated such things.

Those [Ladies] and a few others. Magnolia Reinhart’s inner circle. The
people she trusted explicitly. Her army, in truth. Tyrion Veltras had his
forces and they could raze a city in a day. Magnolia Reinhart could move
mountains with hers.

Hypothetical mountains. Mountains of stubbornness, fear, and self-interest.

The [Ladies] could alter the fate of the continent through politics and
words. And it was for that reason Magnolia had gathered them. Although
the Lady Reinhart feared that words wouldn’t be enough this time. It was
time for action, and terrible action at that.

“My friends. It seems Lord Tyrion has declined to speak with me yet again.
Or even snap back. He is set in his course, and so we must be set in ours.
The time is upon us. Before we leave, have you any objections to my plan?”

The [Ladies] looked up. Lady Zanthia pursed her lips and Bethal tilted her
head back. It was Wuvren who spoke up first.

“You do know that he will never forgive you, Magnolia? Even if your
attempt fails? You’ll risk the enmity of the entire north, for what? To stop
him from seizing Liscor?”

“In order to stop a war, I’d gladly make enemies of my peers, Lady Wuvren.
I only ask whether you are ready for such a task. It must be done. If we
enter another war of centuries, we will fall to ruin.”
Magnolia looked at Wuvren. The [Lady] nodded.

“I suppose it is, at that. Well, I will do my part, though it may be a mistake.”

That was enough for Magnolia. She turned.

“Lady Zanthia, you had a thought?”

“Only that we may all be dead ere a few months pass. But I acceded to your
leadership and I won’t speak against it. But when you strike, do it at the
right moment.”

The old woman fixed Magnolia with a gaze that even the [Lady] had a hard
time meeting. Magnolia resisted the push of Zanthia’s will and smiled. It
was always a test with her.

“Of course. I will wait for the opportune moment. As one must. But we
must neither be too slow nor too quick.”

“A [Lady] is never early, or so the saying goes.”

Bethal laughed lightly. Magnolia smiled as some of the other [Ladies]

sighed and rolled their eyes. They would have taken Bethal’s presence more
easily if Thomast had been there, but husbands, bodyguards, and everyone
except for Ressa had been barred from this most august of meetings.

“Yes, Lady Bethal, I have heard the saying too. But I’m afraid that while a
[Lady] is never early, she is quite often late. Let it not be so this time. Do
let me know if you run into complications. As for the rest—we have a day
to move into position. Reynold will take you to your destinations.”

The [Ladies] nodded. They stood up, smoothing dresses, chattering lightly.
And their eyes flashed brightly. They were no strangers to hard decisions, or
war if it came to that. They had lived through multiple wars. Lady Zanthia
had lived through more than a dozen. And they were ready to do what it
took to stop another one.

But the cost. Oh, the cost. Magnolia closed her eyes as they left. This would
be a problem. Damn Tyrion. He had forced her hand. But it could not be
war with the Drakes. Better to throw all of the north into chaos, first. Better
that. She sighed—and realized she wasn’t alone.

Ressa was there of course. She was always there. But Lady Bethal had
remained on the couch. She looked up at Lady Magnolia.

“Magnolia, explain something to me.”

“If you insist, Bethal. What is it?”

The Lady Walchaís studied a sugary biscuit and made a face. She stood up
slowly and looked at the map that Magnolia had provided the others—
marked in several spots, purely as a conversational topic.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras is certainly going after the Drakes with a passion. Is it
just that he hates them? As a people, I mean. Or is it something else? I feel
as though I should know, but I don’t pay attention to the affairs of the realm
as much as the others.”

“You don’t pay attention to anything but your husband, Bethal.”

The woman flashed a grin at Magnolia.

“True! So what was it? I feel like it was related to his wife.”

“It was.”

“Ah. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Luckily.”

Ressa muttered as she cleared the table. Magnolia stomped on her foot, or
tried to. Ressa dodged. Bethal paid no attention to the two of them.

“Yes. I met her once. I can see why you wouldn’t want her around. But you
didn’t have anything to do with her death, did you? It was—a fall. But there
was something suspicious about it. Was it—”
“Yes, Bethal. It was the Drakes. Or a Drake [Assassin]. Lord Tyrion found
the dead body of a Drake and his wife. A tragic scene. I believe Sammial,
his youngest, was not six years old when it happened.”

“Oh! So it was recent?”

Magnolia sighed. Sometimes she wanted to smack Bethal across the back of
the head. But that would start a fight and Bethal was quite adept with
knives.

“I have no doubt you received an invitation, Bethal. Yes, it was recent. I

think Tyrion Veltras always had designs on taking the fight to the Drakes.
But since his wife’s death—yes.”

“And how does he know it was the Drakes who killed her?”

“Because the [Assassin] was hired by them.”

“And how does he—”

“Because I told him, Bethal.”

The woman turned. Magnolia met her eyes, and her voice was cold. Ressa
looked up.

“I told him. When he rode into my estates and begged the one favor he has
ever asked of me, I told him who sent the [Assassin]. I told him the truth
and made sure of it myself. That Drake was sent by the Walled Cities. Hired
in Zeres, funded by their money, agreed upon by the other Walled Cities. It
was them.”

“Oh.”

That was all Bethal said. She looked away, and Magnolia shook her head
and sipped from her sugary tea. Regrets. It was a bitter taste on her tongue,
for all the sugar. See what the truth did. See how mistakes added up? Oh,
how she wished she could turn back time. But it was done.

“So that’s the reason? All of it? Or have I missed something else?”
Bethal stared at the map. Magnolia shook her head bitterly.

“No, you have it right. For his wife, he would wage war on an entire
species. For one death, he would burn all of them in fire.”

The Lady Walchaís shook her head.

“It seems natural to me. If Thomast died I would find his killer and make
them suffer for all eternity. If a Drake sent by the Walled Cities killed him
—I would do exactly the same.”

She looked back, smiling, at Magnolia, but the look in her eyes reflected
that promise. Magnolia sighed and Ressa shook her head.

“You two are alike in that, Bethal. But mark my words: I will not allow war.
I will not allow Tyrion to drag down this continent for his own selfish
reasons. He alone does not control the fate of Izril. And I have at least one
trick up my sleeves to stop him.”

“Well, since I am part of that trick, I’d better tell Thomast.”

Bethal sighed lightly. She turned and nodded to Ressa.

“It’s been fun, Ressa. Until we next meet.”

She walked from the room. Magnolia stood there, sipping from her tea cup.
Then she raised it.

“Throw that and I will be upset.”

Ressa spoke behind her. Magnolia lowered the tea cup and looked at her
[Maid].

“This is an unfortunate situation, Ressa. It will be messy. Even with this, he

might go forwards. And if it happens that way—”

“War?”

“Oh, terrible war.”

Magnolia sighed. She looked down into the dregs of her cup, at the sugar
and tea gathered there. Then she shook her head.

“I hope Erin Solstice is alright. She lives right next to the city, doesn’t she?
Funny, I’d heard of her attempts to protect Goblins. And now an army is
marching on her. If only she had more time, perhaps she could have made a
difference. But I fear that this isn’t a matter of Goblins any longer.”

“You think she could have made a difference?”

“Perhaps she has. Perhaps. Time will tell. The Antinium, Goblins, Liscor,
she may make a difference there. But in a war, what can one person do?”

Magnolia turned to Ressa. The [Maid] raised one eyebrow. She tapped
Magnolia lightly on the chest and looked pointedly at her.

“Everything?”

And the Lady Reinhart smiled, a touch sadly.

“Not alone.”

—-

Rags walked alone. Not alone in the sense of physical presences; she was
surrounded by several hundred Goblins. Hobs, regular warriors, Pyrite, and
Ulvama. But alone in the sense of her tribe. She could feel them south of
her. But they were far distant and she was too far behind.

They were marching towards the High Passes. Towards Liscor. The
mountains loomed ahead of them and the Goblins were footsore and weary.
They’d barely paused since they’d begun walking this morning. Only today
had Pyrite recovered enough to move. Until now they’d had to drag him on
a makeshift sled and that had been excruciatingly slow.
The big Hob was moving now of his own volition, but his face was pale. At
first, he hadn’t been able to even sit up. And his heart had kept starting and
stopping until Ulvama had cast a charm on him. The [Deathbolt] spell had
sapped Pyrite’s energy even with the magic stones he’d eaten. Now he
could walk, but he was weak.

“Chieftain, we going there?”

One of Tremborag’s former lieutenants pointed. Rags squinted at the pass

opening up ahead of them and nodded. That way led to Liscor. Ahead of
them, she could see a vast host marching towards it. The Goblins eyed the
Human army apprehensively. They were behind the Humans, trying to catch
up. None of them were quite clear on why, except for Rags and Pyrite.

“Can’t catch tribe. Why go that way?”

Ulvama grumbled as she stared at the Human army. She was tired and
unaccustomed to walking and not afraid to say it. For Rags’ part, her
gratitude on seeing Ulvama had long worn thin. The small Goblin glared at
the [Shaman].

“Must go to tribe. Must get to Liscor!”

“But why?”

“Find Erin. Stab Reiss. Get to tribe.”

It was all Rags could think of. Ulvama sighed, but didn’t argue. Rags was
Chieftain, and strangely, none of Tremborag’s Goblins questioned it. Pyrite
muttered something and both female Goblins looked at him.

“What you say?”

“Chieftain, what happens when get there? Fight Reiss? Run?”

“Don’t know. Just keep walking.”

Pyrite grunted. Ulvama looked scornfully at the huge Hob.

“Pyrite is slow. Could go faster without him.”

She seemed to be holding a grudge. Rags poked her in the side and Ulvama
yelped. The little Goblin glared.

“Going fast enough. Pyrite weak.”

“Can he fight?”

The [Shaman] looked challengingly at Pyrite. The other warriors marching

behind them looked at each other. The Hob who’d been entrusted with
Pyrite’s axe shook his head. They didn’t question whether Pyrite could
fight. He’d cut down so many of Reiss’ warriors that they’d been too afraid
to even loot his body.

For his part, Pyrite just looked at Ulvama and shrugged, though it cost him
to do so.

“Am tired. When fighting starts, I will have energy.”

That was all. Ulvama nodded reluctantly. She cast her eye to the sky and the
bright, spring day. It didn’t feel like a day for war. She raised her fingers
and pointed.

“[Sky’s Blessing].”

Rags looked up as Ulvama’s fingers and skin paint glowed. Suddenly, the
air felt fresh and invigorating, and it felt like she was marching with the
wind at her back. She stared at Ulvama, and then at Pyrite. The [Shaman]
looked away from both of them.

“March faster, stupid Hob.”

Pyrite smiled. So did Rags. The Goblins walked on. Rags tried not to think
about what would happen when they got to Liscor. She told herself she’d
deal with it when it came, but the truth was she was too late. Reiss had won.
Whatever would happen would happen without her there. And she feared
the worst.
To take her mind off of that, she looked at Pyrite. At Ulvama. They were
both Tremborag’s Goblins, at least, they had been at one time or another.
She looked at Pyrite.

“When did you leave Tremborag mountain?”

He blinked. For a second she thought he’d avoid the question, like he
sometimes did, but the big Goblin just sighed. The time for secrets had long
since passed. Now he just looked embarrassed and tired.

“Long time ago. Very young Goblin. I was…five? Had a fight with
Greybeard. Greydath. Decided to leave. Start my own tribe. Become strong.
Become Goblin Lord.”

The other Goblins gaped at him. Pyrite shrugged, flushing a bit.

“Stupid. Young and stupid. Thought it would be easy. So I made tribe. Made
big tribe.”

“Goldstone Tribe?”

Rags was confused. Pyrite shook his head.

“No. Other tribe. Called it—uh—Mountain Fierce Warriors Tribe.”

He looked ashamed. Rags stared at him and Ulvama sniggered. Pyrite

scratched at the back of his head.

“Didn’t work well.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again.

“Had Hobs. Trained warriors. Had thousands of regular Goblins. But—

stood out. Picked too many fights. Humans came. Destroyed tribe. Nearly
died. Learned…learned Chieftain is not as good as Goblin Lord. Not nearly.
So gave up. Became wanderer. Formed other tribe eventually.”
“But didn’t try to become Lord?”

“No. Not again.”

Pyrite shook his head heavily. He looked at Rags.

“Too much. Greydath—Reiss—Lords are too much.”

Overwhelming. Rags remembered what Greydath had said. Reiss had

beaten Pyrite, even though he was a [Mage]. And Greydath—she nodded
soberly.

“Much. But good to try.”

She heard a snort from Ulvama. The [Shaman] glared at her.

“Don’t need Goblin Lords! Why do stupid Goblin Lords and males fight all
the time? Garen, Reiss, Greydath—stupid! Should just live in tribe.”

“Like Tremborag?”

Rags sneered. But Ulvama did not. She looked longingly back north.
Tremborag’s mountain wasn’t even in view, but the other Goblins did too.

“Stupid.”

The little Chieftain informed Ulvama. She got a glare in return.

“How do you know? That was our tribe. You didn’t know it.”

“Saw enough. You did bad things.”

“So what? They did bad things to us.”

Ulvama snapped at Rags. She took a deep breath.

“You don’t know. You don’t know me. We were happy there. Sex, food—
we had what we wanted. Tremborag was great Chieftain. Humans deserve
pain. We do bad things to them? I am Human and Goblin.”
“You mean, parents were…”

Rags stared at Ulvama. The Goblin glared at her.

“Mother was Goblin.”

“Oh.”

The other Goblins stared at her. Pyrite just sighed. Rags searched for a
comeback. There wasn’t one, really. But it still didn’t change the things
Tremborag’s tribe had done. It changed nothing—but it explained
everything. She shook her head.

“Still. Still.”

“You don’t know.”

Ulvama looked down at the ground. Rags glared.

“I do. My parents die too. Big Drake—Relc—kill them. Cut off heads. For
present.”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags told the story of how she had thrown
rocks at Erin, trying to get some food. And then how the Drake had hunted
her parents down, leaving only her alive. And then—

“—And then, he give to Erin. To her. But she didn’t like.”

“Didn’t like the present?”

Pyrite and Ulvama stared at her. Rags nodded. The two looked at each
other, and then they and the other Goblins all burst out laughing. They
roared with laughter, and Rags did too. They had to laugh at that story. It
was laugh or cry. Or curl up and stop moving.

They went onwards. Following the Humans, telling stories. Tragic stories,
happy ones. The happy ones were so rare, but Rags had more than her fair
share. At one point she caught Ulvama looking at her. It was strange, but
she and the [Shaman] did get along. True, Ulvama flirted outrageously with
Pyrite in ways even Rags could pick up on, but they were…alike. In ways
that Rags hadn’t known until now. It was actually pleasant to walk with her.
She wasn’t an enemy.

“What?”

“When you said Goblins live in circles, what did you mean?”

The little Goblin scratched her head uncomfortably.

“What I said. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us.
Repeat. Bad thing. Can’t keep doing.”

Tremborag’s Goblins exchanged glances and nodded, losing their cheer.

They had seen the end of their circle in Tremborag. And yet—Ulvama
shook her head.

“But what do we do? If Humans kill Goblins, what can we do? What other
way is there? We run and die? We fight and run? We are hunted always.”

“I know. But there must be other way. There must. Or circle always comes
around.”

Rags insisted. She didn’t have the answer, but she knew it was true. After a
second, Ulvama nodded.

“So Chieftain is looking for something else? Something that is not circle?”

“Yes. Like square.”

“Or triangle?”

A Hob suggested. Another smacked him on the shoulder.

“Squiggly thing better.”

“How about line?”

Rags grinned, and she caught Pyrite smiling. They looked at each other,
walking along, and for a second they forgot they were marching after the
Humans, after Reiss, that they had lost their tribe. Then they heard a howl
and looked ahead.

Someone was coming. The Goblins froze. Was it Humans? No, that was a
Redfang howl! Rags’ heart beat faster. She looked up and waved her arms
as she saw a group riding hard towards them. They were headed past them,
towards the High Passes! Had some Redfangs survived? She shouted and
the other Goblins shouted as well. The distant riders spotted them and
adjusted their course. Rags was grinning and so was Pyrite—

Until they saw who was leading the Redfangs. The Goblins froze and
Ulvama screamed a warning. The Hobs and Goblins moved in front of
Rags, grabbing at weapons. Pyrite tried to lift his battleaxe. But on the
forward rider came. He was leading barely more than a dozen battered
Redfangs. They had cut their way north past the Humans somehow. But
though he was accompanied by only a fraction of his tribe, though he
looked haggard and lost, there was still no mistaking him.

Garen Redfang drew up in front of Rags, his Carn Wolf panting. He stared
down at the tense group of Goblins. And his eyes found Rags. The
Redfang’s Chieftain stared blankly at Rags. Then he nodded.

“Hey.”

—-

He had lost his tribe. He had been rejected by his warriors, old and new. He
had confronted his team. And now he had nothing left. Garen Redfang
stood with Rags as his warriors, exhausted and wounded, just lay down on
the ground. They had ridden through magefire and hails of arrows. But
somehow, incredibly, Garen had survived. Rags looked at the burns and
fresh wounds on his body and wondered if he’d been trying to kill himself.
If he had, he’d failed.

The two stood together. Pyrite and Ulvama watched Rags anxiously and
stared suspiciously at Garen, but the Redfang Chieftain didn’t offer Rags
any harm. He stood, looking blank and tired. Diminished. Rags stood with
him, listening as Garen spoke of what had happened.

“So you go to High Passes?”

“Maybe.”

Garen stared past Rags. His Carn Wolf was lapping at some water being
poured out of a flask. It was injured, but it had carried Garen all this way.
Rags stared at the wolf as well and shook her head. She looked at Garen.

“You lost tribe.”

“Yes.”

He hunched his shoulders. Rags pointed towards Liscor.

“You betrayed team.”

“Yes.”

The Hob bowed his head.

“You betrayed me. And Reiss.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Garen closed his eyes. Rags stared up at him and then sighed.

“You are stupid.”

She saw one crimson eye open a crack and glare indignantly down at Rags.
The little Goblin was unperturbed.
“You are. Stupid. And bad traitor. Bad Chieftain. Bad brother. Bad
everything.”

“Can’t do anything about it.”

Garen gritted his teeth. Rags kicked him. This time Garen roared and made
a fist. The Goblins tensed.

“Do you want fight?”

“No!”

Rags glared up at Garen. He relaxed slightly, but he was still furious.

“Then what?”

“Why are you running away? Why always running?”

Rags stared at Garen. He looked confused.

“Tribe rejected me. Nowhere to go. Halfseekers will kill me.”

“Yes. So why running? Why run?”

“Because nothing to stay for.”

“Except tribe. Except old team.”

Garen opened his mouth. Rags shook her head. She had it now. She looked
at Garen.

“You betray. Always betray, you say. But it was you. You betray and betray.
And then run away. But that is the problem.”

She pointed back, towards Liscor. Garen followed her finger. Rags spoke
quietly.

“When you betray, you should stay.”

“And do what?”

“Fix things. Try. Be loyal. Be good.”

Garen looked back the way Rags was pointing. He looked at her. For a
moment he hesitated and she hoped—but then he shook his head.

“Too late. Far too late to make things better.”

He walked towards his Carn Wolf. It whined as it got up. Rags shouted at
Garen’s back.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

She saw Garen look back once. And hesitate. But then he got on his Carn
Wolf and rode away. North, and west. Towards the High Passes. Rags
scuffed at the ground as he rode with the last of his Redfangs.

“Darn.”

She was really hoping he’d give her a ride.

—-

Goblins ran. Humans retreated. Adventurers fled the city, or prepared to.
But Drakes didn’t run. That was what they said, anyways. But Relc had
been part of more than one withdrawal and it looked like running to him.
General Sserys’ iconic line was just that, a line. Drakes ran all the time.
Relc Grasstongue just wished that were an option here.

He marched up the stairs to the battlements of Liscor’s western wall.

Normally Relc didn’t make the climb unless he had to, but today he was
looking for someone. She wasn’t hard to spot. Embria’s red scales stood
out, even among the other Drakes. She was beautifully striking. Much like
her mother, although her mother had pink scales. Just went to show that
Embria got the best of both her parents. Her looks from her mother, and her
talent with the spear from her father.

It was all he had to give, really.

Relc walked towards Embria. Normally he avoided his daughter. He had the
feeling she was disappointed in him. It was a hunch, made stronger by all
the times she said he was a disappointment to his face. Besides, whenever
they spoke it always went back to the army. She wanted him to reenlist and
Relc wouldn’t. Not again, not ever. He was sick of war. And he wished it
hadn’t come to Liscor.

He heard Embria speaking as he approached. She was using a rare artifact, a

gem with the ability to communicate her words to a speaker across the
world. It was limited in magical power and it broke when it was out—plus
the distance mattered, so he guessed this was an important call. No guesses
to who it was with. Relc edged over and Embria looked up, glaring at him
to be silent. He nodded and she spoke into the stone.

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. We will do our part. I swear it by the walls…yes, sir.
Wing Commander Embria, out.”

She lowered the mana stone. Relc noticed it was beginning to disintegrate.
It was nearly out of mana. He coughed as Embria lowered the stone.

“You talked to High Command?”

“I just had a conversation with them, yes.”

Embria turned to face her father, her posture straight, her face severe. She
stood tall, as if to make up for the lack in height. Relc slouched to
accommodate her, which only made things worse.

“So what’s the plan? Are they sending a huge army to rescue us? Come
charging up north with the others?”

“Don’t be stupid. They’re on contract. They can’t move if they wanted to.
And they were too far away to get here no matter if they’d started right
when we learned what was going on.”

Embria shook her head. Her tail angrily lashed the ground and Relc avoided
it. He followed her as she marched down the walls.

“Right, right. Well, it was worth a shot. So what did they tell you?”

“To do my duty.”

“Which is?”

“Classified. If you were part of the army, I could tell you.”

Embria shot a glance at Relc and he sighed.

“I’ll pass. It’s probably just ‘hold the walls’. ‘Drakes don’t run’. ‘Liscor
stands in the face of adversity.’ How’s that?”

She hesitated, which made Relc think he’d gotten it close. There wasn’t
really much that High Command could tell her, anyways. Embria turned
away.

“I’m going to do my duty, father. I wish you’d do yours.”

That stung. Relc glared at his daughter’s back.

“I’m a [Guardsman]. When the time comes, I’ll be up on the walls, same as
you.”

Zevara would see to that. Relc imagined fighting with the damn trebuchets
throwing rocks. Humans with siege weapons! It was bad enough that they
knew how to throw magic. Now they could toss rocks? It was the end of the
world.

“You should be a [Soldier].”

“Kid, let’s not do this—”

“No. You should be!”

Embria spun and poked a claw into Relc’s chest. He paused, and saw a
[Guardswoman] patrolling towards him swing around smartly and walk the
other way. Embria stared up at Relc, and he remembered a little Drake
begging for war stories and asking about her mother. When had that look of
admiration turned to contempt? Right before she’d enlisted in the army, that
was when. All those years ago. Embria glared up at Relc and he tried to
meet her eyes.

“You were a hero, dad. You were one of the greatest [Sergeants] we had.
Everyone told me that you were the one they called on to hunt down enemy
commanders. You were so good they awarded you a weapon worthy of a
commander and gave you a name!”

“Yeah, well, it’s an okay spear. And the name’s not that great—it’s actually
sort of an insult—”

Embria ignored Relc’s mumbling.

“Why don’t you want to join the army? Is it because you’re afraid?”

“Of dying? Sure.”

“What about your fellow soldiers?”

Relc shook his head.

“Those guys? They’re great. But what’s the point of fighting, kid? To win a
war? To earn Liscor money and make the High Command proud? For what?
I fought in the Second Antinium War because the Goblin King was about to
destroy everything. I fought the Antinium for the same reason. But fighting
other Drakes? What’s the point?”

“What about Humans?”

“What about them?”

Embria ground her teeth together. She hissed at Relc.

“Don’t play dumb! They’re coming to destroy Liscor.”

He folded his arms.

“Right. And where’s our army? Down south around Oteslia, that’s where.
Who’s defending the city? A hundred of our soldiers and thousands of the
Watch. Including—guess who?”

He jabbed a thumb at his chest. Embria flushed.

“If they’d known—”

“You said it. They didn’t. The army’s not a glorious defender of the Drakes,
kid. It never was, even when old Sserys was in charge. It was a mercenary
army. One of the best, sure, but just mercenaries. I don’t regret leaving it.
And I’m not going back, so can we drop it? Just tell me why you wanted to
see me, and I’ll get out of your spines.”

Embria stared at Relc. Then she turned away.

“Fine. It’s just a matter of courtesy. Here.”

She fished in her belt pouch and pulled something out. Relc blinked as a
folded envelope appeared in front of him. He accepted it gingerly.

“What’s this?”

“You have to know what it is. You haven’t been away from the army long
enough to—you can’t have forgotten. We’re about to go to war. Get it?”

Embria glared at him. Relc just looked blank. His daughter ground her teeth
together.

“It’s a will.”

“A—”

Relc’s stomach dropped. He stared down at the letter and saw it as

addressed to him. Embria nodded curtly.
“It details my possessions go to you in the event of my death. I—had to
update it. The other soldiers have filed their wills as well. It’s standard
practice to send them back on the eve of a big battle.”

“I know.”

Relc spoke mechanically. He stared down at the letter, recognizing the neat
handwriting. He began to open the letter and Embria snatched it back.

“Don’t open it! It’s in the event of my death!”

“Oh, right. Sorry, kid. I won’t open it unless you uh, die.”

She handed him the letter back. Relc stared at Embria. She looked at him
and then threw a salute.

“I have to get back to my duty, Sergeant Relc. Until we meet again.”

“Sure. I mean, yes, Wing Commander.”

Relc threw a salute of his own. He watched Embria turn and march away.
Her back straight, her posture proud and unwavering as she snapped at a
slouching [Guardswoman] to stand up. For a second Relc wished she’d turn
around, if only to insult him some more. Then he looked down at the letter
and opened it. He read what was inside and looked up.

—-

Erin Solstice was polishing the counter of her bar. She did it mechanically,
noting how quiet the inn was. The adventurers had followed Ilvriss, Zevara,
and the others out of the inn in the morning. They’d been assigned to
defend the walls or parts of the city and had decided to check out the spots
while continuing to move the door further south. Just in case.
In case of what wasn’t said, but the implication was Liscor falling and
everyone dying. Erin tried to imagine it. She looked around her inn and then
down at the clean counter. What was she doing? What was the point? If this
inn would be rubble—and it would be if the Humans starting lobbing rocks
at the city or the Goblin Lord’s army came this way—what was the point?

She should run. Run, and get Lyonette and Mrsha. And Krshia, only, the
Gnoll had said she was going to stay and fight. So was Selys. The
[Receptionist] had told Erin she wasn’t leaving.

“Grandma’s not budging, and if she’s staying, I’d better stay with her to
make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. Besides, reinforcements are on the way,
right?”

Reinforcements are on the way. Liscor will hold. Everyone Erin had talked
to said something like that. The city wouldn’t fall and the Goblins and
Humans wouldn’t take it. Because…well, because it couldn’t happen. They
didn’t talk about numbers or the odds. In fact, they quite deliberately
avoided mentioning those crucial details. But Erin had heard Olesm talking
and she knew what the score was.

It was quiet. So quiet, that Erin could hear the voices outside. It was just a
few voices, but they were loud. Shouting, even. She recognized a few of
them and went over to the window.

Numbtongue was standing on a hill next to Headscratcher and Shorthilt. He

was speaking loudly to one of the new Goblins. Redscar? Yeah. They were
debating something. The Goblins were talking, all of the leaders. The five
Redfangs were part of that group, as were Noears, Poisonbite, Spiderslicer,
and Redscar. And they were deciding something. Every Goblin in the
Floodplains was gathered around them. Erin was sure, fairly sure, that they
were deciding what to do now.

Run or stay. Or hide in the dungeon, maybe. It wasn’t an easy choice. There
was a limited amount of space for an army this large, but they were
outnumbered by the Goblin Lord’s force and the Humans. The Drakes were
heading north, and the dungeon was…the dungeon. No good answers. Erin
saw Numbtongue finish speaking and then Redscar reply. The Goblins
outside hung on every word.

“What’re you going do, huh?”

She looked out the window and then heard a sound. Erin turned and saw
Mrsha staring at her. The little Gnoll had come through the door from
Liscor before it had been carried off. She’d leapt through, not wanting to be
apart from Lyonette despite the Goblins. And now she was stuck in the inn,
until Erin went into Liscor. She stared up at Erin. And so did a little Goblin
with a big hat.

Pebblesnatch was in Erin’s inn, peeking out from the kitchen. She’d
recovered her prized hat, which had somehow ended up on Garry’s head
last night. Unlike the others, she hadn’t gone outside. She was…afraid.
She’d stayed in Erin’s warm kitchen and the young woman had let her. She
could understand Pebblesnatch’s fear. The Goblin and Gnoll looked at each
other warily, and Erin saw Apista buzzing around the flowers.

No Lyonette. She was in Liscor getting some food since the Goblins had
cleaned Erin out of everything. It was expensive; food was at a premium
due to the impending siege. Still, Erin had money to burn. There were no
Horns or Halfseekers. They were in the city. It was just Erin, and an army of
Goblins outside.

“What’s going to happen?”

Erin asked the question out loud, but no one responded. She heard a sound
from outside and turned. The door opened. To Erin’s surprise, Relc ducked
into the inn. He grinned at her and waved.

“Hey! Lots of Goblins out there, am I right? Scary bastards. Whoops,

there’s one here too. Hey, I’m not here to pick a fight.”

He raised his claws as Pebblesnatch backed up. Erin stared at Relc. Why
was he here?

“Why are you here, Relc? I thought you hated Goblins.”

“Yeah, I’m still not keen on them. But I uh, was in the neighborhood. On a
walk, y’know, and I thought I’d come by.”

The [Guardsman] grinned at Erin unconvincingly. She raised an eyebrow.

“A walk, huh? Well, can I get you a drink?”

“Ooh, yeah! I forgot you have drinks! I’ll have—”

“Here.”

Erin poured him an ale. Relc blinked at it but drank it down willingly. He
sighed.

“That hits the spot. Remember when you didn’t have any alcohol? Instead
you had that blue, sweet stuff. Those were the days.”

“They were.”

Erin leaned over the counter. Relc grinned at her and waved at Mrsha. The
little Gnoll didn’t know him well enough to come over. He relaxed, the
picture of sloth, but Erin detected something else from Relc today. She
looked casually at him.

“So why did you come here?”

“Me? Well, like I said, I was in the area…”

Relc avoided Erin’s gaze. He was playing with something. A letter, opened
and folded up again. Erin eyed it.

“Okay. Well, can I help you with anything else? Food?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Now that was surprising. Erin blinked at Relc. He just smiled at her. He
stared out the window.
“Lots of Goblins. That reminds me of old times too, right? Except there’s
more of them.”

“Yeah.”

Erin said the word with finality. Relc’s grin slipped.

“Right. I’ve uh—look, it’s not that I think this is your fault.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The young woman picked up the dust rag and swabbed the counter. Relc
coughed.

“It’s just that you tend to do weird things—and I was thinking—well, it’s
sort of like the Face-Eater Moth attack. Or Skinner. Or that time you
rescued Ceria from the dungeon and then we all got our tails kicked by that
jerk, Gazi. And you poked her in the eye. A Named Adventurer. I mean, it’s
sort of like that, right?”

“I guess?”

Erin looked blankly at Relc. Why was he bringing up the past? The painful
past, come to that. Relc hesitated.

“So the Goblin Lord’s coming here. And the Humans. Damn Humans. Hate
them. Ugly fleshbags, am I right?”

He grinned at Erin. She frowned.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t like the fact that they’re coming to Liscor either. Or
the Goblin Lord. He sounds like a jerk.”

“Exactly! So…can you do anything?”

“About what?”

“This.”
Relc waved a hand in the air. He looked at Erin.

“You know. Something. Do your Erin thing. Make things work out right.
Can you…can you help?”

He looked at Erin and lost the air of false cheer he’d come in with. Erin
stared at Relc and slowly shook her head.

“I can’t—I mean, there’s nothing I can think of. That’s an army. I don’t—I
don’t know what anyone can do.”

Relc’s face fell.

“Right. Of course not. It’s just that I thought—well, hey, it’ll work out,
right? Drakes don’t run. The walls stand and all that. You’ll be fine. I’ll be
fine. You should come into the city, though. No telling what’ll happen
when…when…”

He lapsed into silence. Erin nodded. The two stood there for a while. Relc
finished one mug, and then another. Erin listened to the Goblins arguing
outside.

“You sure there’s nothing?”

Relc looked up at Erin at the last. Hopefully, questioningly, searching for

something. Anything. But Erin didn’t have anything. She shook her head.
And soon after that, he left. Erin was left staring out the window. At the
Goblins.

—-

“When you breach the walls, I will teleport my Chosen into the battle. They
must not be seen by witnesses. I will time it so they arrive within minutes of
you taking the walls. Use them against the Antinium, Bea especially. Venitra
will be suited to ambush attacks when Tyrion tries to capture the walls. As
for Ijvani—she has yet to respond. Never mind. I will send some other
undead instead. Wraiths, perhaps.”

Reiss stared blankly ahead as he rode his undead shield spider. He was
approaching the pass leading to Liscor. His army, his tribe, marched around
him. In silence. They watched their leader as he spoke to his master, a
figure unseen. But that didn’t matter. They read his body language, listened
to his voice.

“Yes, master.”

“Another thing. I have a…student who is currently residing in Liscor. He

and I have exchanged brief communications. I would see him survive the
battle.”

“A student?”

An image flashed into Reiss’ mind. The Goblin Lord’s heart beat faster at
the sight. His master’s will wrote itself into his mind.

“Keep him alive if possible. He is promising.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss stared at the image, burning it into his memory. Another rival.
Another doomed soul. He felt a pang of fear. His master used and discarded
potential candidates constantly, whenever he found someone who attracted
his attention. Perhaps Az’kerash sensed it, because his mental tone grew
reassuring.

“He is skilled. Adaptive and sharp, for all he is a beginner in the craft. A
touch too arrogant and his ideas are foolish. However, that is one failing in
a gifted mind. But make no mistake. Seize Liscor and you will be first of my
students, my faithful apprentice.”

“Yes, master. I will take the city.”

“Good. Then I will contact you when the moment is upon us. Prepare
yourself, my apprentice.”
And then he was gone. Reiss sat back and looked around. His tribe looked
at him. He was the Goblin Lord, and they were his people. Only, they were
not the same in his mind as they had been a few days ago.

Some of them weren’t his. They were…Rags’. Tremborag’s Goblins. He

had taken them. He had betrayed Rags. He had killed Pyrite.

It had to be done. But it was so not-Goblin that the echoes of the betrayal
lingered on. The Goblins moved as Reiss directed them, but more like
undead than Goblins. They were…silent.

“Snapjaw.”

Reiss sent the order for his lieutenant. He had to tell her about his master’s
new plans, or the adjustments, rather. In truth, Reiss just wanted someone to
talk to. He saw Snapjaw ride slowly towards him. Not as quickly as she
usually did. And when she appeared, the metal-toothed Goblin was hesitant.

“Snapjaw, why are you hesitating?”

Reiss looked at her. The female Hob gulped.

“Is it you?”

The question rocked Reiss back in his seat. He stared at Snapjaw and she
colored. But the question lingered on. Is it you? It is really you, Reiss? Or is
it the Necromancer, using you as a puppet?

Up till now, Reiss had been sure it was him. Despite everything. His
master’s voice was just a mental connection. The being that was Reiss was
undiluted. But he remembered the moment when he had struck Rags with a
spell and wondered. Was it him? Was this desire to take Liscor him? Or was
it his mind being influenced.

“It’s me.”

He said it out loud, to reassure Snapjaw as much as himself. It had to be

him. He had sacrificed so much, this desire meant more than anything. It
was…he shook his head.
Osthia had spoken to him. Tied up, gagged so she couldn’t spit. But she had
tried. She had begged him in the moment when they’d spoken.

“Don’t do this. Please.”

He couldn’t answer her. Reiss bowed his head. He felt haunted. By betrayal,
by doubt. The shining city in his dreams seemed dark and the road ahead
long. But nearly. They were nearly there. He looked at Snapjaw.

“Are you with me?”

“Yes, Lord.”

She said it automatically. But she did not say his name. And Reiss
wondered. He wondered as he stared down at his reattached hand. At the
headless Shield Spider, rotting. At the silent Goblins, marching. And he
knew he would have his answer tomorrow. Come what may. There was
bitter relief in that, at least.

—-

And then it was done. Erin stood outside her inn and saw the decision as it
was made. She saw Headscratcher look down, Redscar sigh, and
Spiderslicer turn away. Noears looked mildly relieved, and Poisonbite
looked like she didn’t know what to think. She waited for one of the
Redfangs to tell her. In the end, Headscratcher did it.

“We go.”

He pointed south. Erin nodded. That was it. The Goblins had debated, and
they had chosen. By the slimmest of margins, they had decided not to stay
or hide or fight. It was a practical choice.

“Should fight. Goblin Lord coming. Goblin Lord betrayed. Should fight.”
Redscar growled as he stomped past them. Erin looked at him, and then at
Headscratcher.

“You’re all leaving?”

“Now. Tonight.”

Headscratcher nodded. He looked at Erin and gestured to the inn.

“Will bring door. When get back, can come visit? Or teleport? If run from
city in door, we find and protect.”

The awkward gallantry made Erin smile. She put a hand on Headscratcher’s
arm and squeezed.

“Thank you. But you guys just find somewhere safe, okay? There are
Drakes heading north. Don’t get attacked.”

“We won’t.”

Headscratcher nodded. He and Erin looked at each other. It was time for
goodbyes. She hugged him without a word and he hesitated, then hugged
her back. The other Goblins came over and Erin said goodbye to each one.

“Take care. Get a new guitar.”

“Don’t drink too much from that wine cloak, Rabbiteater. It’s bad for your
teeth. I think.”

“Don’t sharpen your sword too much. There’s more to life than swords, you
know. Like…maces? I dunno.”

“Good shooting. I’ll say hi to Bird for you.”

The five Redfangs shook Erin’s hands, or hugged her, or spoke a few
words. Erin wanted to say a lot more. And she would. They weren’t going
right now. But it felt too rushed. Too inadequate. She walked back into her
inn as the Goblins began organizing, packing up.
They were going. And at least she was at peace with that.

“Good. It’s good. This isn’t their fight. This isn’t their problem.”

Erin spoke to herself in her empty inn. She stared out the window, and then
looked north. The empty Floodplains waited. Soon they would be filled
with Goblins and Humans and death. Still, she couldn’t picture the war
entirely. It couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.

And she wouldn’t let it happen. Erin’s hands slowly tightened into fists. She
stared out the window and felt something rising in her.

“It can’t go down like this. I won’t let it. Goblin Lord? Humans? Why can’t
we talk about it? Why can’t we stop? It could happen. It might happen.
Someone has to try.”

Even if it was a risk. Even if it meant dying. Erin turned. She looked around
blankly, and then ran upstairs. She came down with a bed sheet.

“Darn. I’m going to need thread, a pole—can I get Selys to stitch for me?
Heck, I’ll do it myself if I have to. What do I say? What do I do? What if
they shoot me?”

For a second she paused and stared down at her hands. Erin closed her eyes
and breathed out slowly.

“Someone has to try.”

She began to work. And perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps one person could
change nothing. But when everything teetered on the brink, one person’s
actions did matter. One [Innkeeper], perhaps. Or the little Gnoll and Goblin
who watched from the shadows. And who had heard…

Everything. And that night things happened. People marched and plotted
and things got into line just so. More or less how it was expected to happen,
but with some key differences no one expected. And the next day…

The Goblin Lord’s army arrived in Liscor.

 5.61

(Due to the next chapter being delayed, 5.62 will come out on Saturday,
March 2nd.)

He rode on through the night. The wind cooled the blood spattering his
body. It soothed the burning wounds he’d taken, and the sweat. The land
passed by him, grass turning to dirt, to inhospitable stone. Garen rode
towards the High Passes.

They were always there, in the distance. If you looked, you could see them.
A speck at first, if you were very far away. But they would grow until they
were closer and closer, keep growing until it seemed like they were too
large.

For the High Passes, the mountains of Izril had never been climbed. No one
had ever returned from them, had ever climbed to the summit. Then again,
perhaps some brave souls had made the journey. But it was not one they had
come back from.

He had climbed the mountains. Garen was sure of it. The Goblin King had
gone there, to plant his great treasure. His secret left for his people. Why?
And what was it? Garen didn’t know. But the idea had fixed in his head
since he had heard it spoken from the mouth of the Ghostly Hand Chieftain.
Beyond the clouds, in a place uncharted, lay the greatest treasure of
Goblins.

And yet tonight, he saw only clouds. Only dark mountains. Garen rode with
the last of his tribe. The last warriors who had stayed with him. Under a
hundred had left with him and broken north. Eight now remained. Eight.
Enough to start a tribe with.

Only—Garen slowed, and his loyal Carn Wolf panted. He stared ahead at
the dark mountains, beyond which lurked the passes, the home of the
Redfangs, a place where even he tread lightly. He stared ahead and saw
nothing.

Nothing. No vision for the future. No idea of what would come next. No
tribe. How would he restart the Redfang tribe? Even Goblins feared the
High Passes. Would he stay there? What would he do beyond surviving?
Garen had no idea. He looked back, over his shoulder, and saw a small
group of Goblins in the distance. They were headed south. To Liscor. And,
in Garen’s heart, he knew, to war.

He could feel it in the air, like a physical thing. Or maybe it was his tribe he
felt. They were gathered there, at Liscor. And they would fight, be it the
army of Reiss, the Humans, or the Drakes. They would fight and die and so
would Headscratcher, the other four Redfangs, the Cave Goblins…

And her, Rags. Garen stared at the small figure. She would fight. She could
have run. In fact, she should. She was cut off from her tribe, defeated by
Reiss, and an entire army of Humans lay between her and her people. She
should run. But she still went.

And Reiss would be there. His brother, slave to the dark thing that called
itself his master. And he would destroy Liscor or die there.

They would be there too. The Halfseekers. His team. Garen stared back, and
then shook his head. Rags’ words still lingered in his mind.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

But what could he do? Garen shook his head and looked back towards the
High Passes. But no matter how long he stared, he saw no future there. And
if he turned his head back he saw…everything. Everything he had ever
hated and loved and cared for.
Everything.

Garen realized he’d come to a stop. He heard panting and looked down. His
Carn Wolf was tired. Garen had pushed both his wolf and himself hard
these last few hours. He scratched his wolf between the ears and heard it
growl softly. It, or rather, he, was a good Carn Wolf. He would have been an
alpha of his pack had he not been tamed.

He had no name, despite being Garen’s companion over two years. That
was because Carn Wolves often fell in battle, the same as their riders. Garen
had buried four wolves before this one. So he had stopped naming them. If
you didn’t grow too attached, people couldn’t betray you by dying. Or
leaving.

Garen rubbed his Carn Wolf, and then noticed something. Movement. The
Redfang Warriors who’d kept pace with him, his loyal eight, were talking
amongst themselves, looking back. And then they turned. Garen sat up.

“What are you doing? Keep moving.”

He began to urge his Carn Wolf forwards. But one of the Redfangs, a
veteran who’d been with Garen for six years, shook his head. He had
watched dozens of his friends fall in battle an hour ago, and the stripes of
red war paint were still drying on his body. He looked at Garen.

“No, Chieftain. We go back.”

“Back?”

Garen stared at the warrior. He saw the others nod. A lance of pain shot
through his heart, to join the other wounds.

“You betray me too? After all…”

He gestured back at the road they’d followed. The warrior—his name was
Starstarer, wasn’t it? Not a proper warriors’ nickname, but he had chosen it
nonetheless. Starstarer shook his head again.

“Chieftain, Redfangs ride to war. All of them. We go too.”

“But you left them. They betrayed you.”

Garen’s voice sounded plaintive in his ears. His Carn Wolf whined and the
other wolves sniffed the air and growled uneasily. Starstarer nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. They did.”

“So why—”

The Redfangs looked at each other. As one, they shrugged. It was a Goblin
expression. Starstarer looked at his Chieftain, and there was regret and grief
and something else in his eyes.

“Because they are Redfangs. They are we, Chieftain. And we do not ride
alone. If brothers and sisters go to battle, we must go back. Sorry.”

Sorry. It was the first time Garen had heard anyone apologize to him while
betraying his trust. The Chieftain, the Gold-rank adventurer, the Hobgoblin,
stared as the Redfangs began to ride backwards, south, chasing Rags and
her group. Now he was alone. He shouted at them in despair.

“So you leave too! You and all the others! Who taught you to betray? Who
told you other Goblins were more important than Chieftain? Than me?”

Starstarer paused. He looked back at Garen and pointed.

“You, Chieftain.”

Garen stopped. Starstarer and the other seven began to ride faster and faster.
Their Carn Wolves howled and Garen’s own wolf whined. It wanted to go
back, but Garen wouldn’t let it. He turned to look back at the High Passes.

“All gone. All gone. I am betrayed.”

The words were carried away by the wind. I am betrayed. They came back
to him.

I betray them.
It wasn’t what he wanted to admit. Garen struggled, but the events of
yesterday, of all his conversations, crystalized in his head. The words
whispered around him as the wind blew.

I betray them. I betray their expectations. I betray, not them. And then I run
away.

“Stop it.”

He whispered. But the wind couldn’t be fought. Garen looked back. His
entire world lay south of him. And nothing but darkness and regret ahead.
Why was he going this way? Why didn’t he go back?

Because…he was afraid. How could he make up for what he’d done, even if
he tried? The moment he’d struck at Halassia, in his rage and despair, the
instant he had attacked Reiss and struck Headscratcher—they were
moments he couldn’t take back. Time could not be undone. What could he
do?

There was only one thing Garen could think of. One thing he was good at,
really. Garen looked down at his most prized possession. His sword. It hung
at his side, red as rust, still sticky with blood. He drew it, held it out. His
Carn Wolf tilted its head up and licked it. It whined as its tongue touched
the edge and was cut.

“Stupid.”

Garen scolded his Carn Wolf. He rubbed its head again, and looked south.
Then he sighed. He clicked his tongue and urged his Carn Wolf around. He
stared south.

“I can do one thing.”

And one thing only. Garen shook his head. Then he shrugged, as Starstarer
had done, and laughed. It was a short laugh, bitter, tired, but also relieved.
Garen couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed. But once it had started,
he couldn’t stop. His Carn Wolf pricked up its ears. Surprised by the odd
sound coming from its master, it began to lope forwards, and then run as
Garen urged it to go faster. Its tongue lolled out and it panted. Now it was
happy, running in the cool night, following its pack.

The Redfang Warriors were following Starstarer, debating how to get back
to their tribe. They agreed they would follow Rags, ask for her forgiveness.
She was their old Chieftain. And if she didn’t take them…they’d try the
mountains. If they climbed high enough, they could go around the Humans.
It would take a long time, but it could be done. They were talking about
how they should greet Rags, when they heard the laughter. They turned
their heads.

They saw Garen bearing down on them, sword in hand. They heard his
laughter and feared. The Redfangs turned, grabbing at their weapons. They
braced, expecting the worst, but Garen just rode through them. The former
Chieftain of the Redfangs stared down at the smaller Goblins. They looked
up at him, uncertain and wary. He pointed.

“Why are you waiting? Faster! Go faster! Redfangs don’t ride slow.”

They looked up at him. Garen stared down at them and for a moment they
saw straight through him. Into his beating heart, his bare soul full of guilt.
And the difference, the way he sat. The calmness in him. Garen bowed his
head to Starstarer.

“I was wrong.”

That was all. Garen said no more, but began to ride on. He was bad at
apologies, too, as it turned out. But it was enough. Starstarer looked around.
The Redfangs exchanged glances and grinned. They shouted as they urged
their Carn Wolves after Garen, whooping and cheering. It had taken a while,
and cost them much. But it had happened at last.

Their old Chieftain was back.

Garen rode across the grasslands at breakneck speed. He moved south, and
soon he was upon the small group of Goblins. They cried out in shock and
turned. Garen stopped in front of the small Goblin as the large, fat Hob and
the attractive [Shaman] barred his way. He looked down at the small
Goblin, the small Chieftain, and the wary way she stared up at him.

“What you want?”

Garen hesitated. He looked down at Rags and a thousand things crept up on

his tongue. A thousand things unsaid. And for once, he said them.

“Sorry.”

Sorry. It felt good to say. Garen looked at Rags, and her eyes widened a bit.
She blinked at Garen, and then smiled. It was good to see. Garen gave her a
grin, and jerked his head.

“Want a ride?”

She blinked up at him. Garen saw the other Goblins staring at him with
suspicion, but then the Hob, Pyrite, raised one hand.

“Sure.”

Garen’s Carn Wolf blinked in alarm. So did Garen. Rags laughed, and that
night Garen found himself running for once, alongside his Carn Wolf. The
other Redfangs ran too, as six of them dragged Pyrite on a sled, and another
carried Rags and Ulvama together. Garen laughed and laughed as he raced
south with the Goblins. South, hoping, praying, that he wasn’t too late.

He had something he had to do.

—-

On the thirteenth day, Erin woke up and felt the drum beats echoing in her
mind. Her [Dangersense] thundered at her, and she knew why. She got up,
dressed, and stared out the window. The Floodplains were quiet. Empty,
save for all the mud, and stagnant water. And the Goblins. But they were
packing up, moving south.

“Good.”

Erin stared north, across the hills and valleys towards the road leading to
Esthelm. It was deserted. She nodded. So she had time. A bit.

“Breakfast.”

There wasn’t much left in the pantry. Lyonette had bought just enough for a
few meals. Erin made do. She greeted Lyonette and Mrsha as they came
down the stairs with a heaping plate full of waffles and the last of the
Ashfire Bee honey. Lyonette blinked and Mrsha sniffed the air.

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“And it’s for everyone, so share, Mrsha. I thought today would be a waffle
day. Let’s eat up.”

Erin smiled at the two of them. She heard adventurers bumping around
upstairs and what sounded like Pisces swearing as he ran into something.
She gestured at the table as she looked towards the window. Lyonette did
too.

“Do you think…?”

She glanced down at Mrsha, who was oblivious and eager to eat. Erin stared
out the window and nodded.

“Let’s have breakfast. And then…I’ll lock up.”

She sat down as Lyonette, Mrsha, Apista, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of
Hammerad came downstairs. They greeted each other warily. Ceria stared
out the window. Those without [Dangersense] picked up on the mood. But
they held their tongues. They smiled and talked about inconsequential
things instead. They had one last meal together in the peace of the inn.
And then the drum beats began echoing across the Floodplains. The drum
beats. And the first of the Goblin Lord’s army began pouring into the valley.

—-

Pebblesnatch saw them first. She was in the old cave, the one that lead to
the dungeon. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was not, and she knew
it. But she couldn’t help it. She’d come back for the door.

The door. The red mana stone glinted in the wooden door that had provided
the Goblins with a way to The Wandering Inn. They hadn’t taken it with
them, and so it still sat in the cave. Pebblesnatch stared up at it.

She knew it was useless. The Drakes had taken the door and they wouldn’t
ever open it to this cave. But it was a reminder of all that was good. It was a
treasure, the only kind that Pebblesnatch knew. As valuable as food and a
safe place to sleep. So she had to come back for it. Pebblesnatch went over
to the door and wrestled it away from the wall.

It was hard. The door was a slab of wood and Pebblesnatch was tiny. She
eventually managed to throw it on its side, and then she had to prize the
mana stone from the wood. She chipped at the door with a little stone
dagger, avoiding the mana stone. She nearly had it out when she heard the
drums.

Pebblesnatch froze. She heard the first boom of the war drums echo through
the cave, and then another. The beat rolled across the passes. It made her
shiver. Pebblesnatch forgot the mana stone. She crept towards the entrance
to the cave and froze.

There were Goblins. Only, they weren’t her tribe. These Goblins marched in
ranks. They wore armor tarred black with resin, and they marched in
silence. They were as unnatural to Pebblesnatch as monsters. She shivered
as she looked at them. No Goblins marched in ranks! And what was that
which walked and shambled past them? Pebblesnatch went white with fear.

The undead. Thousands of them, fallen Goblins, reanimated Eater Goats,

moved in a separate column. The dead and the living kept away from each
other, but they moved with one purpose. Pebblesnatch froze in the entrance
to the cave. So many. They filled the pass, moving shoulder-to-shoulder so
some passed within feet of the cave’s entrance. And they kept coming.
More and more of them. Thousands. Tens of thousands. More.

The little Cave Goblin quaked in fear. She hid, praying they wouldn’t go
into the cave. And the Goblin army didn’t. Any other tribe would have
checked the cave, but this one was under command. They marched on, and
then Pebblesnatch heard the thunder of hooves. She peeked out again and
this time didn’t even bother to stare. One look at the countless Humans
riding on horses and the ones marching on foot, bearing arms, was enough
to send her hiding again.

The second army was even larger than the first. And both began moving
across the Floodplains. Pebblesnatch stayed where she was, terrified. The
little red mana stone was clutched in her claws as she peeked outside. Now
she was stuck. Pebblesnatch went back to the cave and wondered if she
could get through the dungeon, but when she heard the clicking and agitated
sounds coming past the walled-off section she froze.

The Shield Spiders, who were quite invisible to her, were angry. They’d
heard the drums and movement and were agitated. Pebblesnatch backed up
and hid in the cave. She hid and quaked. She shouldn’t have come here. She
shouldn’t! She was separated from the others. And she was stuck here.

Pebblesnatch was afraid. So she hid and tried to make herself as small as
possible. The chef’s hat made a pillow as Pebblesnatch curled up. Waiting.
She heard the sounds of the drums, and marching, and then silence. And
then she heard thunder and war.

—-
“The Goblins have moved away from the inn. They’re heading south. Small
mercy for that.”

Ilvriss studied the map and sighed. One less problem. He spoke into the
small scrying orb he held in one claw. The figure on the other side spoke
tersely.

“It will help, but the real problem is how long you can hold out for. They’re
early.”

“Yes.”

That was all Ilvriss said. He didn’t need to go to the battlements to see, or
even listen to the reports coming into the war room he’d set up. He’d seen
the Goblin Lord’s army, and behind it, the Human one. They were here.

In thirteen days. Even faster than anticipated.

“Tyrion Veltras is nothing if not punctual. How soon may we have

reinforcements?”

The hesitation on the other end was all the answer Ilvriss needed, really.
The head [Strategist] of Salazsar checked his reports.

“The…the nearest group is the Winged Riders of Oteslia. They might arrive
by nightfall, but they’ve been moving nonstop. They’ll be half-dead—if
they had a day to rest—”

“And the next? Are there any armies? At all?”

“A—a local force of cities plus Pallass’ main force is set to arrive. If they
march through the night, they could be here in two days. Secondary forces
are moving behind them and should trickle in the next three days, which is
when Manus predicts their force will arrive. If all goes well, Salazsar,
Zeres, and Fissival could all converge a day after that, but it depends on
luck as much as anything.”
“So two days.”

“At least. Pallass’ army can’t…they’d be able to provide relief, but until
Manus and the other armies get here—can Liscor hold for two days? Five?”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

It would either be a matter of hours, or days. Ilvriss didn’t know which. No

one did.

“They have trebuchets. But if we can hold the gaps, we might make it. Then
it will be attrition. First the Goblin Lord, then the Humans. They’ll be fresh
so we’ll face two waves.”

“If Liscor falls—it will be war. The Walled Cities will declare it at once.
Liscor falling will not stand.”

The choice of words was darkly amusing to Ilvriss. He stared at the scrying
orb.

“Hasn’t it always been war with the Humans?”

The Drake on the other end hesitated.

“Yes. I suppose so. But this will be all-out war. And we haven’t had that
in…Ancestors. Decades, at least. At least half a century. A full-scale war?
It’s not something we want, to be honest. Not right now. The Antinium
complicate matters. Those damn bugs. We can’t even have a proper war
without looking over our tails to make sure we don’t fight on two fronts.
They changed everything.”

“Yes. They did.”

Ilvriss moved over to the window of the war room. From the third floor of
Liscor’s city hall, he could see the eastern wall. It was filled with bodies.
Drakes, Gnolls, a few adventurers…and Antinium. Over two thousand
Soldiers stood on the walls, and four thousand more held the streets, along
with a few hundred Workers armed with bows. The Hive had committed a
majority of its forces, or so Klbkch had claimed. Those not present were
preparing to assault the trebuchets.

“I will inform you of any changes at once. But keep the lines clear. We have
visuals—one of the Gold-rank adventurer [Mages], Falene, has agreed to
transmit everything she sees from the walls. I trust you have another orb to
view the battle from?”

“We’re broadcasting it as we speak, Wall Lord. The entire world is

watching.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll see the Human’s treachery for what it is.”

“Perhaps. But Lord Tyrion’s army has no such visuals. He must have
banned any [Mages] in his army from casting the spell.”

More pretense. It would be easier to deny what was going on. Ilvriss
grunted.

“The truth will out.”

There was silence from the other end. Then the Drake spoke.

“You could leave the city, Wall Lord. There is the door set up. You could
flee.”

Ilvriss looked at the scrying orb. His grip tightened.

“No, I could not. I am a Wall Lord. I could not run.”

“…I suppose you couldn’t. Well then. Ancestors protect you, Ilvriss.”

“Thank you.”

Ilvriss lowered the orb. He stood at the table and felt warm and cold. Cold,
because he knew what was coming. Warm because—his eyes went down to
the shining breastplate on his chest. The Heartflame Breastplate glowed. It
did not burn—but he would activate the enchantment soon. To give those
who saw it hope. He wore the legendary armor, the pride of his people on
his chest. He hoped he would be worthy of it.

“This must not fall into their hands. Not again.”

Ilvriss murmured to himself. He straightened, and looked up as the door

flew open. A panting Street Runner, a Gnoll, spoke, ignoring decorum.

“Wall Lord! Watch Captain Zevara wants you on the walls! The army’s
getting closer and—”

“I’m on my way.”

Ilvriss strode for the door. He left the scrying orb behind, and the war table.
There would be time for strategy when battle was joined. Right now, he was
waiting. They were coming closer.

—-

“Predictions? Thoughts?”

Niers stood at his table, or rather, on a platform over it. He stared down at
the three-dimensional, magical map of Liscor and looked around. His
students stood with him, pieces in hand. They were ready to recreate the
battle as it happened and they had the scrying orb placed right next to the
map. Niers could look through the eyes of the [Mage] casting the spell and
hear what was going on the other side, plain as day. Right now he was
hearing a lot of swearing and conversation between the adventurers.

“Holy hells. Is that—how many are there, do you think?”

“A lot of them. That’s what. You seeing all this, sharp ears? Want to get a
better look for all the people watching?”

The [Mage] casting the spell shifted.

“Be silent, Dawil. They can hear everything you say.”

“Can you turn down the sound on that thing until we need to hear what’s
going on?”

One of the students obeyed. They had to cast a spell to reduce the sounds
coming from the scrying orb. Niers grunted. You needed a spell to activate
even the best orbs, and you needed more spells to tune them. Anyone with
magic could cast the spells if you learned them, but it was inconvenient.
Why couldn’t there be a…a knob or something to change the volume? Well,
that was magic for you.

“The Goblin Lord’s army is approaching the city. It’s larger than we’d
anticipated. Closer to…a hundred and sixty thousand Goblins. But Tyrion
Veltras’ army dwarfs them, with respect to Dwarves. Can Liscor survive the
onslaught? Venaz?”

“It depends on how well their trebuchets work. If they’re any good, they’ll
take down the walls, even enchanted ones, within the hour. But I don’t trust
Human [Engineers]. Minotaur ones would do the job, but these? They
might not even take down the walls in a day.”

The Minotaur frowned at the image of the Human army, barely visible and
still streaming into the valley. There was no sign of the trebuchets, but Niers
didn’t expect them to appear until they were closer.

“True. That’s one concern. But in terms of numbers alone, they outnumber
Liscor’s defenders by a score. If it comes to breached walls—and it will—
how well will they hold? Marian?”

The Centaur trotted back and forth restlessly. She hated battles like this.

“If—if they can plug the breaches, they could push the Humans and
Goblins back. Again, it depends on how fast the walls go down, but they
have Antinium in the city. They’re excellent builders. If I were the
[Strategist], I’d have teams ready to fill any gaps. The main thing is to
create choke points. Again, it’s all down to how quickly the walls fall.”
She eyed Niers nervously, perhaps worried that she’d given the same
answer as Venaz. But it was the only answer you could give wasn’t it? Niers
cursed himself. Why was he nervous?

“Correct. I suppose we’ll have to wait.”

He paced back and forth, staring at the orb and at the map. It was just
another battle. And yet—he wondered if his opponent had fled. If he or she
or it was in Liscor. Were they Olesm Swifttail? No, absolutely not. But were
they there? The chess set had moved last night. But that meant…nothing.
He forced himself to stand still. Wait. He had done this dance a thousand
times and he wasn’t even fighting this battle. Wait…his heart grew calmer.

“Professor. There’s something from the orb.”

Niers looked up. He saw the viewpoint shift. The student fumbled with the
spell and Niers heard the last of what was being said. It came from the
Dwarf standing in front of the half-Elf. The one called Dawil.

“What in the name of beard oil is she doing? They have to leave!”

“I don’t know. Haven’t they seen the army?”

The view had shifted as the half-Elf controlling the spell looked away from
the advancing army. Down towards an inn. The inn. Niers’ heart jumped.
The two adventurers were joined by a third voice, out of sight, male.

“They must have seen the army. They’ll be here soon, Falene, Dawil. Don’t
worry.”

“If you say so, lad. But they’re taking their sweet time about it. If I were
them, I’d be running.”

“They’ll be here. If they aren’t, we’ll get them.”

“Sooner, rather than later?”

“Give them at least five minutes.”

Niers frowned at the inn. He saw the viewpoint shift a bit as someone on
the walls shouted at the adventurers. The perspective shifted, panning past
rows of silent Soldier Antinium and [Guards]. One of Niers’ students, Wil,
shuddered as he saw the Antinium.

“Hey Falene! Are you broadcasting your image? Look over here!”

A Human with a warhammer raised it over her head. She waved her other
hand.

“My name is Earlia, and I’m the captain of Gemhammer, a Silver-rank

team. If anyone wants a powerhouse melee team who can—”

The viewpoint shifted back to the inn as the shouting continued. Niers’ lips
quirked into a smile. He distinctly heard the half-Elf mutter.

“Idiots. We’re at war and they’re showing off.”

Dawil sighed.

“They’ve never seen a war before. Let them have their fun. And hey, while I
have the ears of the world, if there are any eligible Dwarf women—or
ladies of any persuasion—”

The sound abruptly cut off, and Niers guessed that the half-Elf had muted
her own spell somehow. He stroked his beard and smiled.

“That was a smart move, announcing their names.”

The tiny Fraerling commented. The other students looked at him. Umina
hesitated.

“They uh, sounded like fools to me, sir. And that’s hardly a good
endorsement for their team.”

“True. But the name of ‘Gemhammer’ was just spread across the world in a
single moment. To everyone listening. There are monarchs, [Generals], and
even adventuring teams of renown that can’t boast of the same.”
His students looked at each other. Niers just smiled.

“The world stage. Remember it. And remember this. All of this—”

He waved at the map and scrying orb.

“—will change the world you’ll live in. Soon. As quick as lightning. If
Liscor falls, even Balerosian companies might be hired on.”

“Will they fall, Professor? How do you think the battle will go?”

All the students looked at Niers. He knew at least one of them was probably
transmitting or recording his words to send to those interested. Such was the
nature of fame. But the little [Strategist] just shrugged. The Titan stared
down at the scrying orb and spoke quietly as the Goblin Lord’s army poured
across the Floodplains, slowly, towards Liscor. He could hear drum beats
echoing across the plains.

“I wouldn’t care to wager. Not yet. Let’s just wait.”

He shifted from foot to foot. Waiting was hard. It felt like he’d been waiting
a long time. But it was nearly, nearly—

—-

“Time.”

The Free Queen spoke the words and knew it was true. Xrn and her army of
three Hives was in place. Her Hive was secured. The army of expendable
Soldiers was above and another force prepared to assault the Humans—and
fail. She could hear Klbkch speaking in her mind. He was on the walls,
addressing the Drake who called herself Watch Captain. And the Drake
Wall Lord.
“Our Antinium are committed, Wall Lord Ilvriss. However, we have run
into complications.”

The Queen whispered the words aloud, repeating Klbkch verbatim for the
sake of the Workers gathered in the room. Belgrade, Anand, Pawn, and Bird
were all present. Bird lay next to the Free Queen, immobile, while Belgrade
and Anand poured over their maps, ready to direct the Antinium. Pawn
hovered about the table, nervous. Even Garry was listening, peeking his
head out of the kitchen.

“Explain.”

Ilvriss’ voice was terse. Angry. The Free Queen could sense Klbkch facing
him, cool and collected above. His words were steady as he replied.

“The water has yet to drain from the ground. As such, the Antinium are
fighting to move through the muddy terrain. It will be far more difficult to
assault the trebuchets. Regrettably, we have already taken hundreds of
casualties simply tunneling towards the Human army.”

The Queen heard a curse from the Drakes. In the Hive, Bird looked up.

“We did? Will we not destroy the trebuchets?”

The Free Queen bent her head affectionately.

“No, Bird. That was never our design. The Antinium will fail to destroy
more than one or two trebuchets on purpose. But we must lie to the Drakes
in order to show good faith.”

“Oh. So we did not lose hundreds of Workers already?”

The Queen shook her head, amused.

“Of course we did.”

All the Workers looked up at her.

“But—”
“It was necessary. The Wall Lord uses truth detection spells. All the Drakes
do when conversing with Klbkchhezeim. So he speaks only in truths. We
are more than capable of moving through wet earth if we must, and we can
vent water. But for this illusion—we sacrificed what we had to in order to
make true his words.”

She waved her feeler at the dirt ceiling. Bird stared up at the Queen. She
looked down at him, and then remembered what he was. She hastened to
reassure him.

“Of course, you would never be one of the Workers chosen for such a
purpose, Bird. That would be a waste. Nor would the Individual Workers be
used either. The others were simply Workers. Expendable.”

The Workers didn’t respond. Bird just looked up at the Queen. His voice
was very small.

“I see.”

The Free Queen could hear Klbkch discussing more matters with the
Drakes, but nothing of consequence. She sat back, tense, too impatient to
even eat.

“We will not see battle joined for a while. The Soldiers above are
expendable, though Anand and Belgrade will ensure their losses are
minimal.”

Another female voice spoke up. The Free Queen turned and saw the other
five Queens, five in one, and their vessel, holding the mirror up. The other
Workers watched the mirrored Queens carefully. The Grand Queen’s voice
was impatient.

“Klbkchhezeim insisted on sending more of a force than was necessary to

defend Liscor. More than I projected for.”

“A necessary ruse. If Klbkchhezeim believes it so, we must trust him.”

“So it appears. However, will the Hive lack for defense?”

“No.”

The Free Queen answered shortly, before the Flying Queen and Twisted
Queen could voice their opinions as well. They were merely watchers, and
noisy ones at that. She bent down to Bird, ignoring the voices coming from
the Queens.

“We have time. When the Hive must be defended and Liscor’s citizens
moved into it, the other Worker…Pawn…will take charge of the Painted
Soldiers and other Antinium and lead them into the Hive. Until then, we
wait. So then Bird, will you sing for me? For us?”

The little Worker looked up. He stared at the Queen and shook his head.

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I am worried. And I am sad. And I am worried and sad for Erin.”

“Erin.”

The Worker called Pawn made a strangled sound. He had only been
informed of the Hive’s plans in the last hour. He stared at the map.

“What if she’s in danger?”

“She will retreat to the city. It is only logical. And our Soldiers have orders
to guard her person. So long as she is away from the walls, neither the
trebuchet fire nor Goblins or Humans will threaten her until the evacuation
is called.”

Belgrade reassured Pawn. Anand nodded.

“We will have Soldiers protecting her, Pawn. And Yellow Splatters and
Purple Smile are ready to deploy if needed. She will be fine—we can even
carry her into the Hive early if need be. She is quite safe in Liscor, right, my
Queen?”
He looked up at the Free Queen. She hesitated.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

The Workers looked up as one. Bird tried to sit up.

“Where is Erin? She has left her inn? Right? Right?”

“She…will soon. Klbkch is asking about that. She will be in Liscor

momentarily. Probably.”

The Workers stared up at the Free Queen. She stared through Klbkch’s eyes.
He was looking at the inn. And he wasn’t worried…but he wasn’t entirely
calm either. The Goblin Lord’s army was drawing nearer.

—-

“Let’s go! Everybody out! Don’t wait—get what you need and move!”

Jelaqua roared at the adventurers. Her team and the Horns were packed and
ready to go. They had been already; the bags of holding with their treasure
from the dungeon was in Seborn’s possession, they had their gear on them
and their possessions—the instant the Goblin Lord’s army had appeared
they were ready to move. But as luck would have it, the Flooded Waters
tribe had still been milling about the inn and slowly moving south, past the
city.

Since they were dragging their heels, the people in the inn hadn’t wanted to
try and make their way through the crowd. Now they were feeling a tiny bit
panicked. The Goblins were still far distant, half-an-hour away from the inn
at their marching speed, but the sight of the muddy valley slowly filling
with bodies was not a fun sight.

Added to the problem was a recent delay. Lyonette had insisted that they
bring the faerie flowers in their soil beds, and so the adventurers were
trying to unhook them from the walls. Mrsha was sitting, holding a buzzing
Apista in her paws by the door. Jelaqua swore as Moore tried to unhook a
flower bed.

“Just leave the damn thing, Moore! We can always grow more flowers, but
not more heads!”

“Says the Selphid. We have time, Jelaqua.”

The half-Giant was calmer than Jelaqua was. She was remembering battles
in Baleros and not happy. At this range they could still be hit by a long-
range spell, if there was a high-level [Mage] among the Goblins. There
probably wasn’t, but every instinct from her time in her home continent said
to leave now.

“Everyone done? You have the damn flowers? Okay, go, go, go!”

She thrust open the doors. Moore followed her out, protectively shielding
Lyonette and Mrsha. Pisces and Yvlon were hot on their heels, and Seborn
and Ksmvr were next. Ceria stood in the inn, heart pounding, and waved at
Erin.

“Erin? Are you ready? We have to go!”

“Just a minute!”

The [Innkeeper] called from the kitchen. She hadn’t been nearly as
panicked as the others, which Ceria could respect, but she was taking too
long. Ceria paced back over to the kitchen.

“Erin? I know we have time, but we should be in Liscor now! come on!”

“I’m nearly there! I just need to get something!”

“Can I help?”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“No, just go ahead! I’ll be right on your heels!”

“I can’t go without you!”

Ceria protested, even though she wanted to go right now. But Erin was
calm. She stepped out of the kitchen and faced her friend.

“Look, Ceria, Liscor’s right there. It’s just a jog and I can climb up a ladder
in no time. Give me a minute and go ahead without me. I just need to grab
—uh, something.”

The half-Elf hesitated. Erin was being cagey, but she was making sense.

“You’ll be right along? You’re sure you don’t need help?”

“Absolutely. I just need to uh, lock the doors. And make sure the windows
are bolted. I’ll be fine, Ceria. Look, if I’m not out in five minutes, come get
me, okay?”

“Sure. But you will be out!”

“Absolutely!”

The young woman smiled. Ceria tried to as well, but her heart was racing
too fast. She nodded.

“Okay then. But hurry up!”

She left the inn. The Horns were waiting for her by the city as Ceria ran
over.

“Where’s Erin?”

Pisces stared at Ceria. The half-Elf pointed back at the inn.

“She said she was getting something?”

“What, pray?”

“I don’t—look, she’ll be along! Let’s get up the ladder, though! One of us

can get her if we really need to, but the less people scrambling up near the
end, the better!”

That made sense. The Horns began climbing the ladders that had been
thrown down for them. Moore, who’d had to create his own vine ladder to
support his weight, was the last to arrive on the walls. Ceria felt a hand pull
her up and stared at a familiar face.

“Dawil? What are you doing here?”

She exclaimed as the Dwarf hauled her up with surprising strength in his
smaller body. He grinned and slapped her on the lower back.

“Ah, that’s for our glorious leader to explain.”

“Ylawes?”

Yvlon stared at her brother as he pulled her up with a grunt. She came over
the wall and the [Knight] nodded to her.

“Yvlon.”

“You said you were going!”

“I did say that.”

Ylawes looked half-ashamed as he shook his head. he hesitated, and then

sighed.

“I—had a change of heart. Yvlon, I can’t force you to do anything. But as

your brother, as family, I won’t abandon you. If you’re staying until Liscor
is lost or holds—I will too. And you can’t stop me from making that
choice.”

He looked firmly at Yvlon. Dawil smiled. Ceria did too. Yvlon looked at her
brother, and slowly nodded.

“I—thank you, Ylawes. For everything.”

“Oi! If you’re done with the touching reunion, move out of the way!
Falene’s broadcasting!”

A voice snapped at the adventurers. Ceria turned and saw Revi sitting next
to Typhenous on some chairs. Halrac was standing at the battlements, bow
in hand. The adventurers glanced at Falene, who was deftly ignoring all of
them, and hurried over.

“Everyone up?”

“Moore’s having trouble climbing. Hey Lyonette! Get Mrsha off the walls!”

“We’re going to Krshia’s house! Tell Erin to meet us there!”

The young woman called out. Ceria nodded. Revi scanned the press of
bodies as one of the Drake [Guardswomen] shouted for hands to haul
Moore up.

“Where’s Erin?”

“She’s—coming. She’s just grabbing something.”

Halrac turned. He glared at Ceria.

“You left her behind?”

“She’s coming! The Goblins are at least twenty minutes away, even if they
were running!”

“True. Okay, let’s go over places. Ceria, you need to speak to Olesm. He
doesn’t want your team on the walls because you’re not ranged. You get to
sit in the city with the Flamewardens and the others, lucky you. Go talk to
him, he’s over there.”

Revi pointed. Ceria nodded.

“Just as soon as Erin gets up. Is she out of the inn yet?”
She went back to the walls. Halrac stared down at the muddy ground. Ceria
could hear reports coming in.

“Goblins—uh—neutral Goblins are still moving around the city! Slow

pacing!”

“Just keep an eye on them!”

“Where’s Erin?”

“In the inn. I haven’t seen her leave it yet.”

Halrac stared down at the inn, a frown on his face. So did Ceria.

“I could go back down and see—”

“I’ll go if anyone has to. I am the swiftest.”

Pisces volunteered, sniffing. Halrac just frowned.

“What did you say she was doing?”

“Uh—”

Ceria’s heart was pounding and she couldn’t make it stop. She saw Olesm
and Zevara, Ilvriss, and Klbkch coming towards them. The [Strategist]
raised his voice and called out to them.

“Everyone on the walls? Ceria, where’s Erin?”

“In the inn!”

“She’s not out?”

“No, but she told me—”

Ceria tried to explain. She stopped as she remembered how calm Erin had
been, even with the Goblin Lord’s army bearing down on them. Slowly,
Ceria turned and stared across the Floodplains.
There they were. Over a hundred thousand Goblins, marching towards the
city. An army of green and black. The Goblins marched in ranks, the undead
shambling ahead of them. Straight towards Liscor. As if they knew what
was expected of them. And behind, the Human army spread out.

“Watch Captain! Wall Lord! We have a hail from the Humans! A [Message]
spell!”

“Report it.”

Ilvriss snapped at the Drake [Mage]. The Drake spoke up loudly enough for
all to hear.

“They’re—they’re sending an apology, Wall Lord!”

“An apology?”

Zevara looked incredulous. The [Mage] nodded.

“They’re saying that they, uh, regret that their pursuit of the Goblin Lord
has carried them this far. They’re attempting to engage the Goblins now, but
will respect Liscor’s authority if we wish to initiate combat first.”

A roar of indignation went up across the wall. Zevara’s tail slapped the
ground.

“Who sent that, Tyrion Veltras? That insolent bastard.”

“Send a counter-message. Inform them that we will allow them first

opportunity at the Goblins. And ask what their plan of attack is.”

Ilvriss calmly replied. The [Mage] did so and came back instantly.

“They say they’ll engage the Goblins at distance, Wall Lord. With a number
of new weapons.”

“Trebuchets?”

“Yes, sir.”
Ilvriss looked directly at Falene and spoke slowly.

“Tell the Humans that under no circumstances will we allow the use of such
weapons around Liscor. For fear of…incidental fire.”

“I’ve said so, sir. But the Humans—they’re politely stating that they don’t
wish to take ‘unnecessary casualties’. They’re assuring me that no mistakes
will occur.”

A silence fell over the walls. Ilvriss nodded.

“Well then. We’ll see how good their word is, won’t we?”

Zevara spat over the battlements. Ceria looked from Ilvriss’ grim face, to
Klbkch’s unreadable one. Ksmvr edged away from Klbkch and Olesm
stared around.

“Well—well then, I suppose it’s time.”

Time, yes. The song and dance was over. Ceria stared at the Goblins. So did
the others.

“What’s taking Erin?”

“I’m going to get her—”

Pisces spoke at the same time as Jelaqua, Halrac, and Bevussa. The
adventurers looked at each other, and then Ceria pointed.

“There she is!”

Relief filled the half-Elf as she saw the door to the inn open at last. Erin
came out, holding something bundled in her arm. And what looked like a
quarterstaff. Ceria blinked as Erin fumbled with her burden and tried to lock
the door. She heard a few curious voices behind her.

“What’s she holding?”

“Someone get a ladder!”

“Took her sweet time, didn’t she? Well, that’s just like her. Humans in
general, really—”

“It would be like her to fall, begin drowning in one of the valleys and have
us go rescue her, wouldn’t it?”

“Can she swim?”

“Did she bring a bed sheet? What, is she expecting to sleep through the
siege?”

“Someone’s got to. Or did you think we’d man the walls all day?”

“Looks like she’s got a quarterstaff as well. What’s she doing with the—
wait. Where is she going?”

The people on the wall stared. Erin was fumbling with the bed sheet and
pole. And she was walking. Around her inn. Not towards Liscor. Ceria’s
heart began to beat faster.

“Uh—maybe she’s going to the outhouse?”

“With the Goblins approaching?”

“Hell, I could pee off the walls.”

“Just pee?”

“She’s—not going to the outhouse.”

They stared. Erin was walking past the outhouses. Around the inn, down the
hill. Away from Liscor. And she was still fumbling with the bed sheet. She
was trying to insert the pole into it. Ceria’s mouth went dry.

“What’s Erin doing? Where is she going?”

The others looked at each other. Moore craned his head uncertainly.

“She’s heading towards the Goblins.”

“Is she insane?”

The question was entirely rhetorical. But even for Erin this was—her
audience was frozen in place. Spellbound by something that wasn’t a spell,
but pure madness. Erin was going towards the Goblins. And now she had
the pole on the ground and was running the sheet down it. And—Ceria
squinted. It looked peculiar. Familiar. The bed sheet was white, and the pole
was quite, quite long. And as Erin hoisted it over her head, it looked just
like—

“Oh no. Oh no.”

Ceria took a step back. The others took a moment to see what she was
seeing, then Halrac swore.

“Someone get down there and stop her!”

“She can’t be doing that! No!”

Olesm clutched at his neck spines. Ilvriss’ jaw fell open. Falene just stared
and the world stared too. Pisces looked down at Erin, and his eyes were
wide.

“Is that—”

Ksmvr appeared and stared past Pisces. He nodded.

“It appears Miss Erin has a flag. A white flag. I believe she is going towards
the Goblins in order to negotiate.”

“What, our surrender?”

The others stared at Ksmvr. Then Klbkch turned and snapped.

“Someone stop her. Now.”

Ceria lurched into motion at the command in his tone. She saw Bevussa
spread her wings as Pisces put one leg over the battlements. Revi conjured
one of her summoned warriors and the wall sprang to life. Then someone
blew a horn.

It came from behind them. Ceria’s heart nearly came out of her mouth.
Zevara snapped around.

“What the hell was that? Report! Are we under attack?”

“Is it reinforcements?”

Olesm whirled around. A [Guardsman] was sprinting towards them. He

skidded to a stop.

“Watch Captain! It’s the southern wall! They said the Goblins—the other
Goblins—they’ve changed course!”

Zevara stared at the Gnoll in horror.

“They’re doing what?”

—-

“Spread out. Send word to Lord Pellmia and Lord Gralton. I want the left
and right wings to advance two hundred feet. We will encircle the Goblins
from behind. If they deviate from the city, bombard them with spells. The
instant we open a gap, Miss Arcsinger will employ her Skill and pull them
towards the city. Inform [Emperor] Laken that I want the first volley to land
on the eastern gates.”

Lord Tyrion snapped orders as his army deployed around him. The ranks of
infantry took positions behind the riders, whose horses were pawing at the
muddy ground nervously. Still—the [Riders] weren’t even mounted yet.
They soothed their beasts and the officers in charge allowed the soldiers to
stand casually. They knew their turn wouldn’t come yet.
Everyone knew the plan. But only Tyrion could execute it. He saw the left
and right wings moving forwards smoothly, filling the valley until the mud
and grass turned into steep inclines. The Goblin Lord had no way to retreat.

“The Drakes are hailing us, sir. They want assurances that your trebuchets
will not hit the city. We’ve received threats from Zeres, Oteslia—now
Manus as well—”

“Lady Reinhart is issuing you a direct message, Lord Veltras. She offers
you one last chance to—”

“—congratulations from King Theil of Terandria. He wishes us the best of

luck—”

“—at least one [Mage] transmitting the battle from the walls of Liscor.
Wistram is picking up the spell despite our requests to have the broadcast
stopped. Do you wish to—”

Voices surrounded Tyrion, all begging his attention. But he was looking
towards Liscor. There it sat. A large city, a Drake city. There were larger and
more fortified cities, but Liscor was key. Strategic. Within its walls were
nearly a hundred thousand souls and it had withstood the Necromancer, the
Antinium, and any number of Human armies over the years. But none of
them had what Tyrion did. Trebuchets, weapons of war that did not rely on
magic, and Goblins. They were marching ahead of Tyrion.

“Strange. They’re not trying to move around the city.”

“Perhaps they’re resigned to their fates. Or perhaps they knew what’s

coming.”

The [Strategists] debated quietly to Tyrion’s left. He saw something buzzing

past them, a green, flying insect.

“Watch yourselves. There are acid flies in the air. This is their season for
breeding.”
The two men recoiled. One swatted at the acid fly, swore, and Tyrion
sighed.

“Healing potion. Jericha, the progress on the trebuchets?”

“Nearly complete, sir. [Emperor] Laken is oversee—I mean, commanding

the [Engineers]. We have the ammunition ready too.”

Tyrion turned his head. He saw massive chunks of stone, shaped into
projectiles, being dragged into place. They had been quarried and hauled
from the High Passes, and there was enough of them to besiege Liscor day
and night. But he didn’t intend to sit around.

“Have the enchantments held?”

Jericha nodded.

“Yes, sir. Lady Ieka assures me that the first enchantments are all at full
strength. We have unenchanted stones for the first two volleys. We can
begin ranging shots on your order.”

“Hold, then. Wait for my signal. And keep an eye on the ground. Have our
Gold-rank teams ready.”

“Yes, sire.”

Tyrion could feel the vibration in the air. He rode forwards a bit, staring at
Liscor. The Goblins were approaching cautiously. They might now be in
range of a shot from a particularly experienced [Archer], or from Liscor’s
enchanted walls, but not from regular bows. The Goblin Lord had to be
getting as close as possible so he’d spend as little time being hit from
Liscor’s walls before he was at the city. Tyrion stared at the mass of
Goblins. Yes, they’d gone straight for the city. He’d expected to have to pin
them between his mages and archers, funnel them towards Liscor. But there
they were, marching along neatly.

“You are aware of what is happening, aren’t you?”

Perhaps the Goblin Lord was counting on holding the city. It didn’t matter.
It all suited Tyrion’s plans. He saw them advancing, and nodded.

“Move up two hundred feet. And then inform [Emperor] Laken to wait for
my command.”

The army advanced another two hundred feet. They gave the Goblins a
good gap, but they were well within range of Tyrion’s [Mages] and the
trebuchets and only minutes away if his cavalry charged. But none of
Tyrion’s forces were near enough to be targeted by Liscor. Tyrion nodded.

Now would be the time. He turned to Jericha, and heard a raw voice. A man
galloped towards him, sword in hand. Tyrion saw Jericha raise a wand and
point at Yitton Byres’ chest.

“Jericha, hold!”

She stopped. Yitton halted in front of Tyrion. His face was a mask of both
terror and pain. He raised his sword and Tyrion subdued the urge to reach
for his own sword.

“Lord Byres. What is the meaning of this?”

“My children.”

Yitton Byres gestured to the city behind Tyrion. A few of Tyrion’s escorts
moved to surround him, but Tyrion motioned them back.

“They are in Liscor?”

Yitton nodded.

“Both Ylawes and Yvlon. I know it! Tyrion, you cannot allow them to—you
must hold off the attack, give them time. Let me ransom my children, or
petition Liscor to let any noncombatants go! I beg of you!”

“Ridiculous.”

Jericha stiffened in outrage. Tyrion shook his head.

“Lord Yitton, I cannot oblige your request for two reasons. Firstly, time is
of the essence and I do not intend Liscor time to stall. Secondly—I remind
you that this is not an assault. Yet. The Goblin Lord’s army is our target, not
Liscor. To claim or insinuate otherwise openly would be problematic.”

“Do not lie, Tyrion!”

Yitton shouted. The man pointed his blade at Tyrion’s chest and Jericha’s
wand glowed with energy. Yitton took no notice. His face was pale.

“I thought you were a better man than this. Don’t stoop to subterfuge. You
know what you are doing.”

The words stung Tyrion a bit. He shifted on his horse’s saddle.

“Very well. It is an assault, Byres. But what would you have me do? Call it
off? For two people?”

Yitton shook his head. He looked at Tyrion and there were tears in his eyes.

“My children are there, Tyrion. What would you do for them? Please.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras paused.

“I know. And I am sorry, Lord Yitton. But some things require sacrifice. If it
were my own children—”

He paused for a long time and stared at Yitton’s face.

“—It must be done.”

“Then I am sorry too. Because I cannot let you do this.”

Lord Yitton’s grip tightened on his sword. He urged his horse forwards with
a shout. Jericha lifted her wand.

“Alive.”
Tyrion turned his head. He saw the flash out of the corner of his eye, heard
Yitton cry out. Several [Knights] rushed forwards and restrained the [Lord]
as he half-tumbled from his saddle, his armor glowing where Jericha’s spell
had struck him.

“Escort Lord Byres behind the lines. Keep him there. And assure him that if
I can save his children, I will. Jericha, my thanks.”

“At your service, Lord Veltras.”

The two sat on their mounts as Lord Yitton was taken away. Tyrion heard
him shouting, but he tuned the man’s voice out. He stared at Liscor. Now
would be the time. Tyrion raised a hand—

“Lord Veltras!”

A [Scout] galloped towards him. This time Tyrion’s brows creased in

annoyance.

“What now?”

“Lord Veltras, there’s—a complication. Someone’s raised a white flag!”

“In Liscor?”

Tyrion’s jaw nearly dropped. The [Scout] shook his head. He pointed back
across the Floodplains.

“No, sire. It’s—it’s a Human! A young woman—she’s approaching the

Goblin Lord’s army with a white flag! And she’s shouting for a temporary
truce!”

Tyrion stared at the man. His eyes bored into the [Scout]’s head. Then,
slowly, as the entire army hung on his word, Tyrion raised one hand, and
felt at his right ear. He cupped his hand.

“What?”
—-

“All is in readiness. Take the walls and my force will teleport in. Hold the
city for thirty minutes. Once the dead begin rising, you will be able to
entrap Tyrion Veltras’ cavalry within the walls.”

Az’kerash’s voice whispered to Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. His
eyes were fixed on Liscor. The Goblins in his army held still, nervous,
staring at the city that would be their home.

There it was. A city on a hill. Only—something was wrong. The hill was
muddy. There was water on the ground, and the city looked smaller and less
grand than in his dreams. And Reiss could see figures on the walls. Drakes,
Gnolls, even a half-Giant. It wasn’t like his dream at all. It was too real.

But his master was in his head. And Reiss was a captive. Or—no. Not just a
captive. A slave. Was Greydath right? Was Garen? Reiss was afraid. He
stared at Liscor and heard the whisper again.

“As soon as a gap opens, push your Goblins towards it. Send the undead
first. They will explode in the gaps. Whittle down Liscor’s defenders. This
battle is yours to lose.”

It wasn’t his, though. Tendons stood down on Reiss’ neck. He was him. He
was Reiss. Wasn’t he? Was it Reiss who thought this, or a Goblin who
thought he was Reiss?

Zel Shivertail had given him that name. His master did not know it. That
part was real. Reiss clung to that fact. His army slowed. Now they were just
out of range of Liscor’s walls. Someone panicked on the walls and shot an
arrow. It landed just short of the Goblins.

“Wait.”

Reiss croaked an order. His Goblins looked up at him uncertainly. They

waited. Were they his slaves? No. They were loyal. Or was it just because
he was a Goblin Lord? Did they have a choice?

“Tyrion Veltras will begin the assault soon. Soon.”

His master’s tone was gleeful. Reiss could sense his excitement, his elation.
To Az’kerash, it was a victory, excitement. He did not measure lives like
Reiss did. He was—happy.

“Wait.”

Reiss held up a hand. The Goblins looked up at him. The Goblin Lord had
spotted something. He pointed ahead. A distant figure was approaching
them. It had stopped on a hill. It was holding something. Reiss and his
master stared. He stared at a distant figure he had never seen before. A
Human, young and female. Holding something in her hands. She waved it.
The Necromancer’s voice was incredulous.

“Is that—”

“A flag.”

Reiss spoke the words softly. He stared at the white flag. And his stomach
lurched. Then he heard the voice. And the distant figure waved the flag.
And seemed to be speaking to him.

—-

As Tyrion Veltras rode forwards, cupping one ear. As Reiss and Az’kerash
stared through the same eyes. Under the gazes of the horrified defenders of
Liscor. Watched by the world through a half-Elf’s eyes. And to the listening
Goblins, Drakes, Humans, Antinium, and all the rest. She shouted.

“Peace! I want a truce! Parley! Parley! Cease-fire!”

Erin Solstice waved the flag over her head, trying to make the bed sheet that
was the flag wave in the non-existent breeze. She wished she’d chosen a
smaller pole. The flag was heavy and her arms were already hurting. But
she kept waving the flag. The Goblin Lord’s army had stopped and behind
it, she could see the Human one. Distant ranks of warriors dressed in armor
glinted at her.

Humans. Her people. More of them than she’d ever seen in one place in this
world. Gathered for war. But it couldn’t be war. It shouldn’t be. The Goblins
weren’t evil! And Liscor wasn’t a bad place! Erin didn’t know the history
that had brought the Humans—led by this Tyrion Veltras—here. She didn’t
care. She only knew what her heart told her. And it had led her here.

“Hey! Don’t attack! Let’s talk it out! Talk! Give peace a chance! War, is it
really any good? Let’s talk about this!”

Erin shouted with her [Loud Voice] Skill. Her words bounced off Liscor’s
walls, echoed across the Floodplains. It sounded awful to Erin. She didn’t
have a speech. But she kept shouting, waving her flag. Her knees were
shaking.

There were so many Goblins. And these ones were dressed in black armor.
They carried terrible weapons and—if there ever was an evil army, it would
be them. Their crimson eyes fixed on Erin. Like green demons. But that
wasn’t them. This wasn’t them. Erin had to believe it.

“Peace! Say it with me! Peace! That’s all we want! Peace! Peace! Please?
Peace!”

—-

“Peace!”

“I don’t believe it. She’s going to die.”

Zevara covered her eyes. Ilvriss stared down at Erin. He agreed.

“She isn’t serious. Does she think that Tyrion Veltras will listen to her after
coming all this way? That the Goblin Lord will?”

He shook his head. It was a foolish dream. But he kept his eyes on her. And
he heard a voice.

“Wall Lord! Wall Lord!”

He glanced over. The [Mage] was staring at him.

“What?”

“The Walled Cities. Wall Lord, they’re asking who that is. Everyone can
hear her, sir.”

“They can?”

Ilvriss looked at Falene. The half-Elf was staring at Erin. So was everyone
else. Erin’s voice echoed distantly towards them.

“Hey, can you even hear me? Someone wave if you can! I want a truce! Uh,
an armistice? Parley! Is that only pirates?”

—-

“Ridiculous. Who is that?”

Half of the students in the room were dying of laughter. The other half were
just staring and shaking their heads. Venaz was slapping the table hard
enough to make it shake. But Niers Astoragon was just staring.

“Her.”
He knew her. He had seen her in the battle for Liscor. And he—yes, he
remembered her then too. Her voice echoed back to him. Peace. She was
shouting for it, waving her flag at the Goblins. And they were just staring at
her.

Niers’ heart hurt. He looked at the scrying orb, and then away.

“Professor?”

Umina wasn’t laughing. She looked at the Titan. He glanced at her.

“Umina?”

“Would that work? Ever?”

The Titan stared back at the young woman. She was shouting as loudly as
she could. He could hear her voice crack.

“Come on! We can work together! Goblins aren’t evil. They aren’t bad! It
doesn’t have to be like this!”

“No.”

The Fraerling shook his head. He looked around at the laughing students
and at Venaz, who was still guffawing. Niers picked up the nearest object—
a tiny mug—and threw it at Venaz. It hit the Minotaur in the eye and he
roared in pain.

“No.”

Niers looked back at Umina. His gaze was sad and suddenly, old. He
gestured at the scrying orb.

“It would never work, Umina. But it isn’t something to mock, either.”

“It should work.”

The Lizardgirl spoke quietly. Niers nodded. He bowed his head.

“Perhaps—”

He waited. But in his heart he knew. The young woman waved her flag.

—-

“Peace?”

The words were repeated with derision among the nobility. They stared at
the distant figure. To them, her voice was so tiny that they had to have it
repeated back to them. But the content had gotten through. Some crazed girl
was shouting for peace. Tyrion exchanged a look with Jericha.

“She’s right in front of the Goblin Lord’s army, sire. And she is a resident of
Liscor—from the Face-Eater moth attack. Should we send a rider to grab
her?”

“No.”

Tyrion shook his head. He stared past Jericha, past the Goblin Lord’s army.
He couldn’t even see the young woman. Nor could he imagine it. Peace?
With the Goblins? With the Drakes? He shook his head again.

“Ignore her. She’s…”

He trailed off. What was she? Deluded? Insane?

“Wrong.”

That was the only word for it. Tyrion looked back at Jericha. He looked
away. If this was some kind of stalling tactic, or strange ploy, it was
completely useless. It had bought seconds, and for what? No one was
listening. The girl’s words were…pointless.
—-

“Goblins are not evil.”

Reiss whispered the words. He heard them again, from the young woman.
She shouted them at the army of Goblins. At him.

“I know you can hear me! Hey! Let’s talk! Don’t fight! We’re not enemies! I
know you can be good. Just listen! Okay?”

He stared at her. She was just one Human. One, like the others. But she
called to him. In his mind, he could sense those Goblins who were
Chieftains. He could tell Rags was behind him. And Garen. He could even
sense distant powers, far-off presences that might be Goblin Lords as well.
But he had never felt something like this.

He could sense her. Not as a similar presence to a chieftain but as an…

instinct. Something in him that told him that ahead of him was…safety. A
friend. And Reiss wasn’t the only one. The Goblins in his army stared at
Erin. And they felt the same certainty.

There she stood. She waved the flag and told them to stop. Reiss listened,
but the voice in his head was dismissive.

“A foolish attempt. Why would anyone conceive—ignore fools like that, my

apprentice. That girl is not too far from a zombie in terms of intellect. And
why she would assume…do I know her?”

“Who is she?”

Reiss stared at the girl. He heard a name in his mind. A memory. Rags
speaking of someone, a friend.

Erin Solstice. And for a second, Reiss wanted to go forwards. He wanted to

raise a flag of his own and go over to Erin. To talk. He hesitated. His
master’s voice was impatient. But the young woman—Reiss began to urge
his Shield Spider forwards. If—
—-

“Peace! Rah, rah, peace!”

Erin was running out of things to say. But the Goblin Lord’s army hadn’t
moved. She hoped. She smiled and tried to shout the optimism in her chest
out to the world.

“We can work things out! We can do this! Yes we can! Truce! Let’s
negotiate I have an inn! Parley! Par—”

—-

“Fire.”

Tyrion spoke the words calmly. He heard the word repeat itself and then the
sound of the trebuchets swinging up. The groan of ropes. And then the
sounds stopped. In utter silence he and a hundred thousand Humans looked
up.

A massive projectile, a chunk of stone rounded for flight, soared through

the air. It flew high, high into the sky. It was joined by over two dozen other
stones. From his seat, Laken Godart turned his head up and listened. He
heard only the sounds of the trebuchet counterweights swinging. He did not
hear the stones flying. Only, distantly, the thump of one landing. And then a
crack as one struck Liscor’s walls.

The first stone struck Liscor’s walls near the base, creating a sound like
gravel and thunder. The rest thudded into the ground in front of the city,
raising huge plumes of mud and water. Erin ducked as the defenders of the
city took cover. The Goblins, Reiss included, turned to stare at Tyrion
Veltras’ army. The silence overtook the Floodplains. And it was deafening.

“No.”

Erin stared at the distant Human army. She thought she saw the trebuchets.
They were slowly being cranked back. And indeed, they were.

Tyrion Veltras watched as the teams of [Laborers] and [Soldiers] struggled

to fit another block under a trebuchet’s arm. Tessia, the [Engineer], shouted
orders as they did, and each team of Riverfarm [Builders] and [Engineers]
shouted, trying to ascertain where their shots had landed, adjusting for the
next one.

“Prepare the next ranging volley on my mark. Repeat my instructions to

aim for the gates. Select three trebuchets for misdirection. And send a
[Message] spell.”

Tyrion spoke calmly. He waited, watching the people swarm around the
trebuchets and then, suddenly, back away. He saw the [Engineers]
confirming readiness and wondered if there was a way to make it faster.
With Skills, with experience—how fast could they work?

This time the volley of stones was placed around Liscor. One soared over
the walls. The rest struck the wall, most landing near the base rather than
the top. Tyrion smiled. And then they began loading the enchanted
ammunition onto the third volley.

—-

“Take cover!”

Zevara screamed at those below as she saw the stone flying too high. She
ducked reflexively and saw a boulder half again as tall as she was pass over
her head and to the left. It fell into the city and the crash as it landed was
tremendous. But by that point the rest of the boulders were smashing
against Liscor’s walls. She felt the vibrations, heard the shouting.

“Report!”

“The walls are holding!”

Olesm peeked over the battlements. The stones had smashed against
Liscor’s enchanted walls and left no marks. No—that wasn’t true. The
debris from the rock were plastered against the wall, leaving chalky
imprints. Were there micro fractures? Zevara wanted to believe there
weren’t.

“Was anyone hurt by the one that landed in the city?”

“I don’t think so. We evacuated the houses and our ground forces are too
close to the walls. Here—watch out, they’re reloading!”

Olesm shouted at the others. They took cover. One of the adventurers,
Halrac, drew an arrow. His bow was practically invisible—it was
translucent unless you stared carefully and made the outline out in the air. It
looked like he was just holding an arrow, but he aimed it at the sky.

“Can we shoot those things down?”

“I’ll try.”

The [Scout] snapped at Zevara. Ilvriss, who’d held his ground during the
second volley, charged towards them.

“Zevara! I’m heading back to the city to coordinate the defenses!”

“I know. Go!”

Zevara whirled. Ilvriss took off. If the walls fell, one leader had to be
behind the front lines. She turned back to the Human army.

“Olesm! Can we blast the trebuchets from here? Or use the enchantment
spells to block the missiles?”
“We’re out of range of the trebuchets, but I can try hitting the stones. But
the spells don’t aim well and if I miss—”

They’d exhaust the limited spells they could use. Zevara cursed.

“Don’t bother.”

“Watch Captain! We’re getting a [Message] from the Humans!”

“What? Why?”

“They’re—they’re sending another apology.”

This time the Drake [Mage] didn’t bother to ask for permission. He raised
his claw to his temple.

“They’re saying—misfire. It was a misfire. The Humans regret the accident.

They’re warning us to watch out for ‘stray missiles’. Should I respond?”

Zevara uttered a series of curses and the [Mage] raised a claw to his temple.

“They’re saying another volley is incoming, adjusting their aim—”

“Duck!”

This time the stones flew differently. And when they struck the walls, the
sound they made was far, far different. One huge stone struck the walls and
exploded into a ball of fire, sending searing jets of flame everywhere.
Another just blasted to pieces, sending shrapnel up. A third made a
thumping sound and fell to earth, completely undamaged. That strike made
the walls vibrate.

“Enchanted munitions!”

Olesm cried out. Zevara grabbed the wall for support.

“Is everyone—”
She flinched as a spark of light erupted in the Floodplains. A missile had
landed near the Goblins and exploded in radiance. Two more enchanted
stones landed around the Goblins, who recoiled. One landed among a group
of the Goblin Lord’s army and crushed two dozen Goblins before rolling to
a stop.

“What in the name of—”

“The Humans report a connection with the Goblin Lord’s army. They said
they’re correcting their aim again!”

“They’re taunting us.”

Zevara stared at the distant army. She looked at the three stones that had
barely grazed the Goblin Lord’s army, and then at the still-burning
fragments of stone scattered at the base of the walls. And then she heard a
terrible sound. A cry of alarm from the eastern gates.

“Damage on the gates!”

The Watch Captain froze. Olesm stared down and shouted for clarification.
Word came back in moments—the gates were dented. Not broken, but the
metal had bowed in from one of the shots.

“They’re trying to bring down our gates.”

Zevara stood on the walls, staring at the gates. They were the weak point of
the walls. Like the stone, they were spelled, but the hinges could be broken.
And the Humans were aiming for them. She saw the soldiers scrambling to
reload the trebuchets and turned.

“Klbkch!”

The Antinium hadn’t ducked when the trebuchets had fired. He made his
way over to her. Zevara shouted, thought it was quiet.

“Where are the Antinium? Take down the trebuchets!”

“They are moving, Watch Captain. Wait.”

She had to. Zevara stood helplessly as Klbkch waited by her side. Her eyes
were fixed on the distant trebuchets. She saw their arms reset, saw another
boulder being dragged into place—

And then, suddenly, movement. The ground erupted and black bodies
spilled out. Zevara heard the cry go up.

“Antinium!”

They were attacking! The black bodies poured out of a hole close to one of
the trebuchets. The Soldiers charged one, and the people manning the
device fled. The surprised Humans fell back as the Antinium swarmed the
trebuchet. They began tearing at it, hammering on the wood, trying to bring
it down.

“Burn it! Do they have fire?”

“They are armed with a few alchemical weapons—”

Klbkch broke off. One of the Soldiers had struck the first trebuchet with
something. Zevara saw a blossom of fire. Soldiers fell back, some burnt, as
the trebuchet began to go up in flames. She heard a cry of celebration as the
Soldiers streamed towards the other trebuchets. Another fell, the
counterweight striking the ground as a Soldier climbed up and ripped a bolt
out. A third splintered as its frame was broken. The Watch was cheering—

And then Zevara saw a hail of arrows cut down the Antinium. A [Fireball]
blew a knot of Soldiers apart. At a distance she could see adventurers and
Human [Soldiers] advancing under the cover of mage fire. The Soldiers
turned to this new threat, but they were surrounded. Cut off. They made for
a fourth trebuchet and another spell blew them to bits.

“No—”

Zevara watched in horror as more Antinium poured out of the hole, and
then other tunnels appeared. But the element of surprise was gone, and the
Humans had been waiting. The Antinium burst out of the ground and were
cut down in moments. Zevara saw them making for the trebuchets—and
failing to scratch the huge devices.

“The Antinium are falling back.”

Klbkch announced calmly as the last of the black bodies fell. Zevara turned
to him.

“You can’t! The trebuchets—”

“—are too well guarded. We have lost too many Soldiers attempting to do
more damage. More would simply waste lives the Hive does not have. I am
sorry.”

The Drake looked back. The Humans were destroying the Antinium bodies,
sealing the tunnels and blasting the fleeing Antinium. The trebuchets were
still there, most untouched by the fighting. Out of two dozen odd
trebuchets, the Antinium had gotten a seventh of them.

“No.”

But there was nothing to be done. Klbkch and Zevara turned as the Drake
[Mage] spoke.

“The Humans report—accidental contact with an Antinium patrol. They

regret to inform—no survivors.”

“Then it’s over. We can’t destroy them.”

Zevara sank down. Klbkch nodded. He was so cold. So calm, even for him.
Zevara stared at the Antinium.

“We must hold the walls.”

That was all he said. The impossible. Zevara looked back. She saw the
trebuchets loading, and knew they would keep firing. Minute after minute,
hour by hour. Day after day. She closed her eyes. Then she turned to the
[Guardsmen] and adventurers.
“Prepare yourselves!”

They looked up. Zevara drew her sword. She pointed down at the Goblins,
who had watched as the boulder struck the city. Only a few missiles landed
around them, and even then they rarely struck even an outside formation.
Zevara stared down at the Goblins and shook her head.

“They’re coming.”

Across the wall, the Drakes and Gnolls drew their weapons. The
adventurers armed themselves. The Goblin Lord’s army was beginning to
march. They surged forwards across the Floodplains.

“She is still there.”

Klbkch stared down at Erin. She was still shouting, still waving her flag. He
turned to Zevara.

“We must rescue her.”

“How?”

Zevara stared at Klbkch. He had shown no emotion when the Antinium had
died by the hundreds. But now he looked—worried. Klbkch had no answer.
And the Goblin Lord’s army was coming.

Like an army of green and black. A horde came at Liscor’s walls as more
and more cracks appeared. The walls were coming down. Piece by piece,
but it was happening. Each time an enchanted boulder struck the wall, it
chipped or fractured the stone.

And the gates were already being forced open. The metal had bent inwards
rather than completely failing, but the tears in the metal were already wide
enough to let someone squeeze through. And more and more boulders fell
every few minutes.

“Fill those gaps! I don’t care if you have to knock down every house in the
city, just do it!”
Zevara screamed at the Workers and [Builders] below. She could see
Embria mustering her [Soldiers] and the Pallassian reinforcements around
the gates. Bracing. But there were so many Goblins. And as they came they
began a chant.

“Goblin.”

It was one word. But it came from countless throats. The Goblins said it
once, and then again, a rolling chant.

“Goblin.”
And then it was a roar. They shouted it and it was thunder.

“Goblin!”
A sound to drown all others. A scream. They were coming. Zevara looked
across the walls and saw Relc spinning his spear, Tkrn and a knot of Gnolls
setting themselves, Falene pulling herself upright. And onwards the Goblins
came, towards that small figure on a hill.

Erin.

“They’re moving.”

Klbkch stared across the Floodplains. Zevara was about to tell him that was
obvious, until her eyes saw what he did. She looked back and saw them.

—-

“Stop, stop shooting!”

Erin screamed at the distant army of Humans. And then at the Goblin
Lord’s army. She heard the booming of their drums, and the chant.

“Goblin.”
It deafened her. How could one word contain so much anger? But it was
what they were. Hated, despised, hunted. That was Goblin. And the army in
front of her embodied that. They came towards Liscor, rolling across the
hills and valleys. Erin lifted her flag, but it was so heavy.

“Would you just—stop? Please?”

Her voice faltered. Erin sank down, leaning on the pole. It was no use. She
bent her head. She could stop nothing. Do nothing. She had been useless
from the start. Who would stop for a flag? Who would put down their arms
for peace?

No one. That was the truth. Not Humans, not Drakes, nor Goblins. None of
them would stop. And in that sense it truly was useless. Except, perhaps for
another kind of Goblin. The Goblins who watched and saw a person they
recognized. Some had known her for a night. Others for a while. Perhaps, as
Erin had thought, a single night made no difference. But a night could make
all the difference.

Someone climbed the hill next to Erin. A foot trod through mud, and a
stranger grasped the flag. Erin opened her eyes. Her gaze swam with tears,
and she saw a figure standing over her. He was green, taller than her, and
red war paint crossed his arms, his cheeks. His ears were pointed, and his
eyes crimson, dark as blood. When he smiled, his teeth were pointed. And
yet, he was beautiful in his own way. And he was no stranger. He was her
friend.

Headscratcher lifted the flag from Erin’s loose grip. He lifted it over his
head, high into the sky. A white flag. A symbol. He grinned down at Erin
and she blinked the tears away.

“Nice flag.”
For a moment Erin couldn’t speak. She looked up at Headscratcher. He
waved the flag, the sunlight flashing off the golden axe at his side, the
armor he wore, and the flag. She blinked at him, and then pointed
accusingly at his chest.

“I thought you were leaving!”

Headscratcher paused. He looked down at Erin and shrugged.

“Was going to. But then saw this.”

He pointed at the flag. Erin looked at it. She sniffled.

“Well, it didn’t do anything. You should run. We should both run.”

“Why?”

The Hob looked confused. He scratched his head, which suited his name.
Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Because of them!”

The army had halted in its tracks. Headscratcher stared at the army and
shrugged.

“Could. But could stay. Could fight. That what we talked about. Goblin
Lord. Bad Goblin. Could fight him. All of us.”

“But you didn’t. You chose to run.”

Erin looked at Headscratcher. He smiled again.

“We did. But then saw you. Heard you stay. So we changed minds.”

“Who did?”

“We did.”

“Who—”
And then Erin saw someone else climbing the hill out of the corner of her
eye. She turned and saw a familiar Goblin carrying a guitar walk past her.
Numbtongue grabbed the flag with Headscratcher. He looked down at Erin.

“Hi.”

“Numbtongue?”

Not just him. A pair of Goblins walked past Erin. Shorthilt and Badarrow.
The two stepped into place. Badarrow checked his bow and then grabbed
part of the pole. So did Shorthilt.

“But I thought—you were a—”

“Sneaky Goblins.”

Shorthilt winked at Erin. And a fifth Goblin trudged up the hill. He wore
chainmail that shone in the light. His cloak of wine billowed in an
imaginary wind. And he smiled when he saw Erin’s face.

“Rabbiteater.”

“Saw flag.”

The Hob bent down and offered Erin a hand. Dazed, she took it, and the
Hob hauled her up. He walked forwards towards the flag and put a hand on
it. The five Hobs lifted the flag into the air. Erin stared at them.

“You guys came back? Why?”

Headscratcher shrugged.

“Heard you were going to fight. Heard you were going to stay.”

“I—yeah, but, no, but—who told you that?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue answered at the same time as
Rabbiteater.
“Somebody.”

“Pebblesnatch.”

Numbtongue scowled. He kicked Rabbiteater in the shins. Rabbiteater

swore. Erin looked at them.

“She told you I was going to fight? I wasn’t. I—I was trying to stop the
fighting. Not start more!”

Headscratcher looked confused. He pointed up at the white banner.

“But you have flag.”

“Yes! A white flag!”

“Right. Nice color. But turn red very quick.”

“That’s not—”

Erin stared at the flag. Then she looked at Headscratcher and the others. She
took a deep breath.

“Headscratcher, white flags aren’t the same as other flags. They don’t mean
it’s time for war. They’re a sign of peace. You don’t fight under them.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Headscratcher’s jaw dropped. He

looked at the flag, and then Erin, and then back again.

“Oh.”

“Oops.”

Badarrow agreed. He seemed amused, because he slapped Shorthilt on the

shoulder and chortled. The other Hob grinned. Erin looked at them. The
five laughed. They’d made a mistake! They laughed and grinned as if they
knew some giant joke.
“What’s so funny? We should run! It’s all over. The Goblin Lord’s going to
attack and we’re going to die.”

“Really?”

Headscratcher looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“There’s no hope. There’s too many of them.”

Shorthilt cast a dismissive glance at the Goblin army.

“Not that many.”

“Yes, that many! How are you going to try and fight them? There are six of
us and a million of them!”

“More than six.”

“No, Numbtongue, not more than—”

Erin stopped. She looked suspiciously at Numbtongue. Then at the other

Redfangs. They were all laughing, grinning at something. Behind Erin. She
slowly looked at them and then felt a tingling on the back of her neck.

“Wait. Was it just you who came back?”

“No.”

“How many, then? How many decided to turn around?”

The question stumped the Goblins. Rabbiteater started counting. Badarrow

shrugged. Numbtongue and Shorthilt exchanged amused glances. And
Headscratcher smiled. He let go of the flag and walked over to Erin.
Slowly, he turned her around.

“All of us.”

And there they were. They walked up the hills, across valleys. Small
Goblins. Hobs. Warriors riding Carn Wolves and horses. Goblins of the
Flooded Waters tribe. Cave Goblins. Young and old. Tall and short. Not one
single tribe, but three. And they moved together.

The Goblins streamed past Liscor. Past the startled defenders who braced
themselves. They returned, laughing and pointing. Up at her. At the flag. At
the five Hobs who stood around it. And they waved at her. They knew her
name. The Goblins marched in front of Liscor, ignoring the falling stones.
They formed a wall in front of the Goblin Lord’s forces. An army.

“What…”

Erin was lost for words. She saw familiar faces among the Goblins.
Redscar, riding proudly ahead of an army of Redfangs, old and new.
Poisonbite, marshaling both male and female Goblins. Noears, surrounded
by the Goblin magic-users. Spiderslicer, raising a sword over his head.
Countless faces, all looking up at her.

“We came back. Don’t tell them for wrong flag.”

Headscratcher beamed at Erin. She turned to him, full of elation and

despair.

“But you’ll die!”

“Might.”

He shook his head. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army. They were all
staring, confronted by this strange sight. Reiss held still, uncertain. He
recognized the Redfang tribe. And Rags’ Goblins. But who were the strange
grey Goblins? Where was their Chieftain? The five Hobs?

“This isn’t your fight! You don’t have to be here!”

“No. It is.”

Numbtongue stepped forwards, leaving the other three with the flag. He
pointed at the Goblin Lord, and then at Liscor. Zevara stared down at the
army with Klbkch. The walls of her city were beginning to crumble. No
army of Drakes could save Liscor. All were too far away. But an army had
appeared. It was not one she would have ever looked for. But it was there.
And she prayed, without knowing how and with no one in mind. She hoped
for salvation.

And there it was. Numbtongue smiled as he looked at Liscor.

“Not our city. Nor our people. And Humans—we don’t care what they do.
But you stayed. So we stay. The Goblin Lord is ours. And he is wrong.”

“Not Goblin.”

Badarrow let go of the flag. That was all he said, but it was condemnation
and judgment itself. The others nodded. Erin looked from face to face.

“But what are you doing? Are you going to fight?”

“We followed you. Thought you were going to fight.”

Shorthilt gave the flag to Rabbiteater. The Hob stared at his friend as
Shorthilt went over to Erin. The reserved Goblin drew his sword. It shone
as he pointed at the silent army. Past it, at Tyrion. The [Lord] of the Veltras
family stared. Jericha dropped her wand.

“Where did that army come from?”

If you hadn’t been there, you’d never know. If you hadn’t seen it, how could
you tell? Across the world, eyes locked on a Goblin army, conjured from
the ground. Was it there to join with the Goblin Lord? Was it another ploy
of Tyrion Veltras? Something the Drakes had cooked up? Niers Astoragon’s
eyes locked on the young woman. She was gesturing, shouting at Shorthilt.

“But you’ll die!”

“We are Goblins. We die.”

Shorthilt shrugged fatalistically. Erin slapped his shoulder and he winced.

Headscratcher punched Shorthilt in the back and the Hob turned. He
pointed.
“Goblin Lord is bad. Liscor is—okay. And you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him and then looked around. The Goblins
looked up at her.

“Me? What about me?”

Shorthilt tilted his head.

“Do you want to fight? If yes—we fight.”

He gestured with his sword. The young woman looked at him.

“Just like that?”

“Mhm.”

Erin stood on the hill. She looked down at the army in front of her, and then
turned. The Goblin Lord’s army lay before her. Uncertain. Even the
trebuchets had stopped firing.

“But it’s too much to ask. How could anyone ask that? Why would you do
it?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Rabbiteater, who’d been struggling with the
flag, gave up and threw it down the hill. He stomped over. Erin looked at
him as the [Champion] shook out his shoulders and gave the others a dirty
look. Then he gazed at Erin. He beamed.

“We like you.”

She waited. But that was it. Rabbiteater had said his piece. He stood with
the others, grinning happily at Erin. They were all smiling. They looked so
at peace. But her knees shook. Erin looked at them. She looked at the
Goblin Lord.

“If you fight—”

You die. She’d said it enough times. And they knew. The knowledge was
reflected in their eyes. It was the same truth all the Goblins waiting had in
their eyes. You didn’t need to tell Goblins about death. But still, they
waited. Erin wiped at her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. How could she
ask? How could anyone ask that? She looked back.

At Liscor. At the city. It looked smaller, now. Cracked. Fire burned in one
spot. The people on the walls stared down at her. Erin saw faces she
recognized. She thought of her friends. Selys, Krshia, Mrsha. She looked at
her inn. And then she looked ahead.

The Goblin Lord’s army was advancing slowly. Their drum beat rolled and
they chanted. But it was uncertainly. Erin stared at them. She looked past
them at the army bearing down on Liscor. They’d raze the city. Bring it low.
And that was something she’d tried to stop. With words. And now someone
had come. Under the banner of peace, they’d gathered. But it was for her.
And to her they looked. Erin looked at the five Redfangs. Her voice
trembled.

“Hey. Can I ask you a favor? A big one?”

They nodded. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and

Rabbiteater waited. Erin took a deep breath.

“I, this—it’s not your fight. Not really. And it’s so much. How could anyone
ask? But—but this is my—my home. Those are my friends.”

Erin pointed back at Liscor. She was crying again.

“They won’t run. This is their home too. If they die—they’re my friends.
You know? And you are too. All of you. I love you all so much.”

She looked from face to face. The Hobs smiled, waiting. Erin gestured at
the army in front of her.

“I don’t know this Goblin Lord. I don’t know Tyrion Veltras. But they
sound like jerks. If I—if I try and stop them, will you help me? Please?”
She looked at them, despairingly. Her eyes were red. And her cheeks were
still wet. Tears dripped down her chin, along with some snot. She wiped her
nose. The Hobs looked at her. Erin Solstice was the most beautiful person
they had known. Human or Goblin. And she had asked them for a favor.

The five Redfangs looked at each other. Seriously. They glanced from face
to face, nudging each other, checking their gear, their armor. Then they put
their hands on Headscratcher’s shoulders. They nodded to him and he
moved.

Headscratcher walked past Erin. He stood on the edge of the hilltop, so that
all the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins of Liscor’s
dungeon, and the Redfangs could see him. They waited. Headscratcher
drew the axe from his side. He raised it over his head and the weapon
caught the light. The Goblins sighed. And then as one, they shouted.

It was a roar to drown out the chanting of Reiss’ army. It echoed and shook
the walls of Liscor. A single word, magnified. An answer to a question.

Yes.
And then they ran. They charged up the hill. First Redscar, passing Erin in a
breeze of fur and laughter. Spiderslicer, cursing, hot on his heels. Noears,
whooping with excitement. Poisonbite, scowling and smiling. Hobs Erin
recognized. Cave Goblins. They joined her. And Reiss looked up at the
Human and saw the army. The Goblins shouted as they raised their
weapons. They stood around Erin, looking up at her, forming a wall in front
of her.

The Flooded Waters tribe with their pikes in front. Archers behind.
Redfangs to the left. Cave Goblins to the right. How many? They were
probably only a third of Reiss’ army. But they held their ground. Then they
advanced.

“What’s going on?”

Laken looked around as the confused shouting grew louder. He stood up
and Gamel tried to explain.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zevara stood on the walls. Klbkch gaped, his mandibles parted, as below,
the Workers and Queens began to panic. Pawn stood up and ran. He ran to
Yellow Splatters and the waiting Painted soldiers.

“It’s her. Please, you have to help her.”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn in confusion. But the other Soldiers looked
up. There could be only one her.

“Am I dreaming? Who is she? It has to be her! Who is she?”

Niers was laughing and crying. He stood up as his students stood,

dumbfounded. Venaz stared at his teacher.

“What are they doing? They’re all Goblins.”

“No. They’re not.”

Umina shook her head. She turned.

“Professor, what happens now?”

“We have to go after her! Let go of me!”

Ceria struggled in Moore’s grip. The adventurers were lined up on the

walls. Halrac lifted his bow uncertainly.

“It’s suicide! We can’t!”

Revi was pale. She pointed with a shaking finger down at Erin.

“She’s insane. She can’t be doing this!”

“But she is.”

Seborn stared down at the distant figure. She was surrounded by Goblins.
But they were moving. All of them. They were moving away from Liscor.
Towards the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Impossible.”

Lord Tyrion stated the word flatly. As if it could change reality. He watched
the second Goblin army led by the young woman begin to accelerate. They
were running across the Floodplains, and the Goblins were dug in.

“My lord? What do we do?”

Jericha looked up at Tyrion. But he had no answer. He just kept staring.

“Master?”

Reiss stared at his kin. They were coming. All of them. And there was no
betrayal this time. No double cross. They were just coming. Against him.
He heard a strangled sound in his head.

“Crush them. My apprentice, crush these—these interlopers! Kill that girl!

Take Liscor!”

The same words. But without the same authority. The voice in his head was
panicking. Reiss, the Goblin Lord stared ahead. He closed his eyes, and
then opened them. But that didn’t change things. He saw the Goblins
running, shouting, and…laughing. It was an alien sight to him. But he had
orders.

A part of Reiss that was real screamed at his real self to stop. But the slave
in him, the part that obeyed was in control. So he pointed, a puppet dancing
on the strings.

“Charge! Kill them all!”

His Goblins looked at Reiss. Charge? They hesitated. Some began to

advance. Eater of Spears shouted a challenge and Snapjaw raised her sword.
But there was no momentum. Reiss’ army froze as the Goblins of the
Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfang Goblins, the Cave Goblins—
No. The Goblins of Liscor. The Goblins who followed the Human girl
running with them. The Goblins who shared one thing in common. An inn.
What would they call themselves, this new tribe? This temporary alliance?

Solstice Goblins, perhaps. Yes. They charged down the last hill, shouting.
The first rank of pikes charged forwards, and the front rank of Reiss’
warriors began to back up. The mindless undead lurched ahead. But it
didn’t matter.

The first wave of the Solstice Goblins broke through Reiss’ army. They
charged ahead, aiming at the Goblin Lord. A screaming horde. They’d never
win. They couldn’t win. But no one had told them that. Headscratcher,
Badarrow, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt ran ahead of the rest.
They aimed at the Goblin Lord, five brothers. And they were laughing.
Laughing with the others, fit to burst. And then fighting. Falling.

Laughing.
 5.62

The world was watching. Below Liscor, an army of Humans was gathered.
A force ready to sweep south, to break the walls of the Drake city. And in
front of them were Goblins. A people described as monsters. They had
come here, not of their own volition. They had been herded. Driven like
cattle.

Manipulated.

This was not their grand struggle. They were tools in other people’s games,
a means to the end. In that sense they were worthless. But see. It was an
army of Goblins that gave Tyrion Veltras the pretext to besiege Liscor. It
was they who threatened the city.

And it was the second army of Goblins who rose to defend it. They were an
army of fragments. Three tribes, each hailing from a different place. Each
with different leaders. But they ran together as they surged across the
Floodplains. Down into the valleys, up hills, towards the Goblin Lord’s
army.

Reiss shouted and his army moved to intercept the charging Goblins. His
force spread out, over a hundred thousand Goblins, moving to ensnare the
far smaller force. They would win. How could they not? There were three
Goblins in Reiss’ army for every one of his enemies.

And yet—the army of Goblins didn’t slow down. They didn’t waver.
Because they were running, chasing a young woman across the Floodplains.
Following her.

Erin Solstice’s heart was in her mouth. She was breathless. Her body was
filled with nervous energy. She wanted to throw up, run away, and hide. A
wall of night was marching at her. Black armor. Green skin. Red eyes. The
Goblin Lord’s army was marching, roaring. But Erin ran on. Because of
them.

Five Hobgoblins ran behind Erin. And behind them, Cave Goblins. Redfang
Warriors howling, ready for battle. The Flooded Waters tribe. They had
come back for her. And they had charged for her. Just for her. For a hot
meal, a place to be safe.

A smile. And they would fight and die too. How could Erin ever ask them to
charge alone? So she ran. And as the Goblins ran around her, past her, Erin
could see them. Green faces. Pointed ears. Sharp teeth. Crimson eyes. A
monster’s face.

But they were so beautiful. A people she had come to love. And they looked
back at her, smiling. Then they looked ahead and raised their weapons. Erin
felt her breath burning in her lungs as she climbed a hill. She had a frying
pan in one hand, a knife in the other. She nearly slipped in the mud. Then
she was on the top of the hill, looking down.

A sea of black-armored Goblins stared up at her. Undead lurched forwards.

Erin stared down. And then she saw the Goblins raise bows.

“Watch out!”

The Goblins were already raising their shields. Erin raised her frying pan,
as if it was a shield, then she realized the Goblins were still running. Even
those without protection. The Goblin Lord’s archers loosed the first hail of
arrows. And Erin ran beneath the dark rain and heard Goblins begin to die.

Screams of pain and terror. Shouts as Goblins were hit and slid in the muck.
Cries of anger. And then the sound of more bows nocking. Loosing. A
second wave of arrows flew as Erin ran down the hill. More Goblins fell.
Erin didn’t see them, but she heard them. She would have turned. She
would have gone back. She had potions on her belt, alchemical weapons
from Octavia to defend herself. She had not left her inn unprepared. But it
wasn’t behind her where the battle lay.
It was right in front of her.

The first rank of Goblins stood shoulder-to-shoulder, braced. They were in

formation. They leveled their weapons at the first rank of Goblins charging
at them. Erin was a dozen paces behind them. She saw five Hobgoblins
running ahead of the rest.

Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Numbtongue. Even Badarrow, for all

that he carried a bow. They had outdistanced her and the other Goblins.
Now they charged forwards, screaming. The Goblin Lord’s army waited for
them, loosing arrows, shouting. They were confident. Bitterly resolved.
They had Reiss on their side. A Goblin Lord. And what did these Goblins
have?

A wall of black steel. Erin saw Headscratcher roar. He sprinted faster than
the rest, his mouth opening wide. A [Berserker] howled and he raised his
golden axe. The jade edge gleamed. Reiss’ Goblins looked up at him. They
saw the axe’s edge shine, and then grow. The magical edge grew three times
in length. The Goblins shouted in horror. An enchantment? But only
Chieftains had weapons that powerful.

Chieftains. Or adventurers. Then Headscratcher swung the axe. The black-

armored Goblins raised their shields. The magical axe sheared through the
metal. It cut bone and flesh. The first rank of Goblins disappeared. The
Goblins standing behind their friends recoiled as Headscratcher’s first blow
made a dozen Goblins vanish. And then he was among them. They looked
up into blazing eyes and saw the axe swinging towards them.

Forwards. Headscratcher opened a gap by himself. The other four Redfangs

followed, moving to his left and right, keeping clear of his wide swings.
Five versus an army.

Goblins were all around them. Thrusting with spears, screaming in terror as
Headscratcher charged forwards. But so many. They tried to overwhelm the
other four, get at Headscratcher’s back. He was only one Chieftain, after all.
A Hob thrust smaller Goblins aside. He swung a club as tall as he was at
Shorthilt. The [Weapon Expert] turned and his sword flashed.
The edge sliced through the haft of the club. The Hob blinked. Shorthilt
pirouetted and his second swing took the Hob’s head off. The Goblins
backed away as Shorthilt advanced. His sword was not enchanted, but it cut
like magic. He aimed at the weak points in a Goblin’s armor, the gap
between shield and chest. His teeth were bared and he fought with a
precision lesser Goblin [Warriors] had never seen. And by his side was a
Hobgoblin who wielded nothing but a guitar.

Numbtongue cracked a Goblin’s head with the base of his guitar. Then he
spun and intercepted a sword cut from another Hob. The bigger Goblin
gaped as the guitar didn’t break. Electricity ran from the strings of the
guitar. The [Bard] roared and heaved. The enemy Hobgoblin stumbled back
and Numbtongue clubbed him alongside the head. Lightning flashed and
the Hob roared.

“Redfang!”

His voice was booming. Reiss’ Goblins stared up at him. It was a word to
inspire fear. The name of that most famous tribe. And the other four took it
up.

“Redfang.”

Badarrow had stopped behind the others. He raised his bow and shot a
Goblin trying to stab Headscratcher in the back. He aimed left and shot
another Goblin through the head. Then a Hob. The bigger Goblin was
wearing a helmet, but the tip of the arrow shot through his eyehole. The
[Sniper] spun and another Goblin fell. His hands moved constantly,
grabbing more arrows from the quiver. Then he reached for something at
his side.

A bell, bronze and blue metal. The clapper was muffled. The bell was
attached to a special arrow. Badarrow lifted it to his bow and aimed past the
Goblins. He pulled the bit of wax stifling the bell from ringing and aimed
past Headscratcher, at the Goblins ahead of them. He drew back, loosed.

The bell flew up. The arrow curved in a long arc and fell among the
[Archers] shooting at Erin and the other Goblins. It landed among the
Goblins, a single arrow that didn’t even hit one of them. But as the bell
struck the ground, it rang once.

Pain. The bell tolled not with sound, but with pain and agony. Goblins fell
to the ground, screaming, their ears bleeding. The bell rolled and chimed
again. The Goblins around it howled, convulsing. All those who heard the
noise shuddered. Those closest to it were paralyzed by pain. And it was into
that gap the Redfangs charged.

Four. Headscratcher cut down Goblins ahead of him, ignoring the wounds
he took. Shorthilt and Numbtongue took the left side and Badarrow covered
their backs. But it was the fifth Hobgoblin who caught the eye. He had the
right to himself. Reiss’ Goblins surged towards him, but they hesitated as
one.

Because of how he looked. This Goblin stood tall. His armor seemed to
glow. It was pristine, the chainmail perfectly kept. His blade was sharp as
could be. But what really stood out was his cloak. Rabbiteater’s cloak was
an ever flowing, deep red, almost violet color. And it was not cloth, but
liquid. The Hobgoblin swept the cape around him as he advanced. Goblins
were loosing arrows at him, but they sank into the cloak, losing all
momentum. Rabbiteater took three strides, and then the first of Reiss’
Goblins were ahead of him. They looked up as Rabbiteater grinned. They
swung their weapons and the Hobgoblin swung his sword.

The line of Goblins exploded. Goblins fell from the sky, cut in half. Armor
rent. Blown back by a single strike. [Grand Slash]. Rabbiteater
straightened. He stabbed into the next rank of Goblins as they backed up,
screaming. What was he? Who was he? This Hobgoblin wasn’t a Chieftain.
But he was no ordinary Hob either. He was dressed like an adventurer. And
he fought like a hero.

A [Champion].

Reiss’ warriors faltered. But the Hobs shouted and they advanced. It was
only five! Only five Hobs! They could be overwhelmed, killed! That was
when the first rank of Cave Goblins cleared the hill.
The Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the strange, pale, grey-skinned Goblins
coming at them. They hesitated. What were these strange Goblins? They
poured forwards, a horde without Hobs. They followed the Redfangs into
the breach. And they howled as they came on. The black-armored Goblins
set themselves. They were warriors! They wouldn’t lose to—

The first wave of Cave Goblins crashed against the shielded warriors. They
fought savagely. The next wave overwhelmed Reiss’ warriors. And the third
and fourth and fifth—the Goblin Lord’s soldiers fell back in disarray. They
locked blades with screaming Goblins. And lost. Hobs cut down Cave
Goblins and were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And not just numbers.
The ferocity of the Cave Goblins terrified.

They fought like the five did. With all of Headscratcher’s fury. As precisely
as Shorthilt, like Rabbiteater. Miniature champions. And they knew no fear.
Hobs backed up as Cave Goblins leapt at them. They were Hobs! But the
Cave Goblins had fought Raskghar.

The first contact with Reiss’ army sent a shockwave back through the entire
force. The Cave Goblins, led by the five Redfangs poured forwards. At their
front was Headscratcher. He couldn’t be stopped. His enchanted axe swung
again and again, cutting down Hobs while his Cave Goblins followed him,
keeping the [Berserker] safe. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater went left and right,
Rabbiteater’s overwhelming horde and Shorthilt’s adept fighters opening
the gap in Reiss’ army wider. Numbtongue and Badarrow held the line.

“Impossible. What kind of Goblins are those? Some kind of subspecies?

Where did they come from? Liscor’s dungeon?”

Az’kerash whispered, his voice an echo in his apprentice’s mind. But Reiss
couldn’t answer his master. He was directing his army, giving them orders.

“Hold the lines! Snapjaw, take your riders around! Hit them from the side!
Eater of Spears, kill those Hobs!”

His warriors reacted to Reiss’ orders. They moved forwards, trying to

envelop the Cave Goblins. But more Goblins were coming. The Flooded
Waters tribe. The Redfangs. Reiss turned towards them, calculating.
“Ignore the riders. They number only four thousand at most. Focus on those
grey Goblins. Wipe them out. I will begin raising them as undead. With
them—”

“Master! Shut up!”

Reiss roared. In his castle, Az’kerash stepped back, affronted. His waiting
Chosen, Venitra, Kerash, and Bea, raised their heads. The ranks of silent
undead waiting to be teleported did not move.

“Insolence!”

The three Chosen flinched as the Necromancer uttered the words aloud. He
directed his will. But his apprentice wasn’t listening. Reiss was focused on
the young woman who was caught up in the fighting. The Cave Goblins
screened her and she had yet to enter the fray. She was shielding her head
with a frying pan, shouting. He pointed at her and his warriors shouted,
surging at her position. The five Redfangs and the Cave Goblins defended
her, refusing to let any of his warriors get near. But it was her Reiss wanted.
Her. He had to kill her.

—-

It all revolved around her. Niers stared through the scrying orb at the distant
figure. The half-Elf controlling the spell was magnifying her vision, but the
battle was still far away. Partially obscured by the valleys. But clear
enough. The Fraerling could see the young woman, surrounded by the small
Goblins with grey skin.

Cave Goblins, apparently. From the dungeon. He could hear people

shouting on the walls around the half-Elf. A woman in armor was pointing
down at the fighting.

“Is she mad? She’ll be killed! We have to go after her!”

“No! You’ll be killed!”

A man in armor, her older brother, stopped her. The young woman with
blonde hair turned on him, but another half-Elf raised a skeletal hand.

“Ylawes is right, Yvlon.”

“Ceria!”

That came from both Yvlon and a young man in white robes. The half-Elf
turned.

“Don’t be stupid, Pisces! What can we do?”

“But—”

Pisces’ face was white. He looked to an Antinium with three arms. The
insect-man nodded, but hesitantly.

“Captain Ceria is right. If we participate, I believe our team will perish. But
if we do not fight…Miss Solstice will die.”

He fell silent. The adventurers stared at the fighting. The half-Elf shook her
head.

“What is she doing? She’s going to die.”

“We have to do something.”

“What? What can we—”

Niers tore his attention away from the scrying orb. He looked around. The
war room was silent, unlike the shouting and thump of stones hitting
Liscor’s walls. His students were bent over the map. They were creating a
projection of the battle. He looked down and saw the Goblin Lord’s army,
trying to envelop the other Goblins. There were so many of them. Niers
hesitated. Then he looked up.

“Well?”
His students jumped. They’d been so engrossed they’d forgotten why they
were here. They looked at each other. Then Wil spoke up.

“Who is that? Who is that Human girl? Where did those Goblins come
from?”

The young man pointed at the scrying orb. Niers shook his head.

“Pointless questions. This is a battle, Wil. Ask later! You’re [Strategists]!

Tell me how the battle’s changed.”

“It’s all changed. The Goblins could damage the Goblin Lord’s army. It will
delay the siege. But not for long. That army can’t defeat the Goblin Lord’s
army purely by numbers. But they can—”

Umina was running her claws across the board. Her eyes flickered as she
stared at the scrying orb and adjusted the positioning of Reiss’ left flank.
She looked up at Niers.

“They can aim for the Goblin Lord, though.”

Niers nodded.

“Exactly.”

It was their only hope, and he thought the Goblins knew it. The Cave
Goblins were driving straight for the Goblin Lord. But there were far too
many. And yet—Niers stared at the map. The second group of Goblins was
closing in.

They hadn’t charged wildly forwards. They were moving in formation. The
Flooded Waters tribe ran, each unit of Goblins spaced out, maneuvering to
the left and right of the Cave Goblins. Redscar led them, directing the
Goblins to spread out. And they were the largest group besides the Goblin
Lord’s army. A fourth as large perhaps, but—Niers pointed.

“Those Goblins are about to make contact. Cameral!”

The Dullahan snapped to attention. He lifted his head up and stared.

“They’re using pikes! In a charge? That’s foolish!”

Niers saw Marian look up and snap without waiting for him to call on her.

“No, it’s tactics. Watch!”

The students and Niers stared at the scrying orb. Rags’ tribe rushed towards
the Goblin Lord’s army. The pikes were indeed in front. They were anti-
cavalry weapons. But Niers had seen them used like this before. He knew
what to expect. The Goblins with black armor were braced, shields raised.
But they faltered as Rags’ army came at them, screaming fury. Because
what were they supposed to do?

Twenty-foot long pikes of wood, tipped with steel. That was what was
aimed at them, a wall of pikes. There was no way for Reiss’ warriors to hit
the pike Goblins of Rags’ army. They could only brace as the pikes rammed
into them. And then came warriors behind the pikes, Hobs who tore into the
wounded lines. And behind them crossbows fired constantly while Rags’
elite Redfangs charged into gaps.

It was precise. Orchestrated. Beautiful tactics. Niers had never seen Goblins
using strategy like that. Not since the Second Antinium War. Not from a
Chieftain.

“Dead gods.”

Marian murmured as she watched the Goblin Lord’s ranks buckle. Unlike
the Cave Goblins, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t propelled by the five
Redfangs or momentum alone. They dug in and advanced, supporting the
pikes, pushing forwards.

“Analysis. Venaz! How is that group’s strategy compared to the Goblin

Lord’s army?”

“Goblin scum. Goblins don’t have strategy, sir.”

The Minotaur looked affronted. He folded his arms. And then he winced as
Niers looked up. The Minotaur bit his lip and hesitated.
“—But their tactics are superior. The pikes, the crossbows—they’re
reloading quickly. There must be an army-wide Skill at work. This army
looks defensive. But the pikes, the crossbows—they can take a powerful
offensive. Look, the Goblin Lord’s forces are falling back. They might have
more armor, but it’s not helping.”

His voice was grudging, but his analysis was on point. The Goblin Lord’s
force was indeed being pushed back by the second charge. And yet—Niers
looked up.

“Yerranola.”

The Selphid took one look at the board and replied in her male, Human
body. She wore the body of a sixty year-old man, but she spoke like a
young woman.

“Both smaller tribes are fully engaged. But the lines are drawn. The Goblin
Lord’s shifting his army to surround them. They won’t go further except—
the riders, sir.”

“Yes.”

Niers pointed. All of his students looked. The Redfangs hadn’t engaged yet.
They had circled the battle, and were approaching from the side. The
Goblin Lord wasn’t blind. Reiss had moved a wing of his army out to block
the Redfangs.

“They’re going to hit the Goblin Lord’s army from the side. If they could
break through, they’ll shatter his lines, cut off parts of his army and
reinforce the others. But there’s four thousand riders and at least twenty
thousand infantry in the way.”

The Selphid counted the numbers at a glance. She traced her claw across
the map.

“If they can break through in a charge—”

“Impossible.”
Venaz asserted. Marian looked up.

“Centaurs could do it.”

“But Goblins?”

“Those aren’t any Goblins. That’s the Redfang tribe.”

Wil consulted a piece of paper on which he’d scribbled notes. Niers just
nodded. He watched the Redfangs riding across the battlefield. The half-Elf,
Falene, had a sense of the battle too. She was staring at them.

Four thousand Goblins, riding Carn Wolves or horses. A paltry number

compared to the other sides engaged in battle. But these Goblins were
different. Niers didn’t need his Skills to tell him that. He could feel it.

On they rode. The Redfangs laughed and grinned, ready for battle. They
roared as they came. They had been waiting for this moment. The mountain
hadn’t been enough. Garen had trained them, and the warriors who had
joined him in Tremborag’s mountain. They had lived and bled and fought
for this moment.

“Redfang!”

The roar issued from four thousand mouths. The Goblins standing in their
way looked up and their eyes were wide with fear. Redfang. They braced.

“Redfang!”
Spiderslicer led the charge. His shortsword swung down as his Carn Wolf
leapt. He dodged a spear mid-jump and cut down the Hob holding it. His
Redfangs followed him. They didn’t stop as they rode through Goblins,
cutting, blocking, dodging.

“Dead gods.”

Yerranola stared down at the map. The unit marking the Redfangs kept
going. They charged through the Goblins sent to block them and cut straight
towards the Cave Goblins. There they turned.

“They’re cutting back out!”

“Those are Centaur tactics.”

Marian watched as the Redfangs charged in and then secured an exit. They
were already looping, to strike at the Goblin Lord from another spot. Niers
found himself following the riders with his eyes.

“What power. They could do it! If they keep harrying—”

Wil was perched over the table, nearly blocking Niers’ view of the scrying
orb. Venaz yanked him back.

“Ridiculous. It’s one mobile force. The Goblin Lord has his riders as well.
Look, they’re moving to intercept.”

“They’ll lose. Those are elites, Venaz. They can do it.”

“There are too many.”

“It’s not enough.”

Umina agreed. Niers looked up sharply. The Lizardgirl was staring at the
map. The Goblin Lord’s warriors were faltering. The charges had caught
them off-guard. But Umina had seen what the others hadn’t. She pointed.

“They could do it. Maybe. But he’s sending his lieutenants in. And—look at
that.”

She pointed at the scrying orb. In the distance, Niers saw pale bodies
moving. A separate force, slowly lurching towards the Goblin’s side. And
more. Across the battlefield, more bodies stood up. Bloody corpses that had
just fallen.

The undead were rising.

—-

“Undead!”

Poisonbite heard the shout. She looked up and around. She saw Redscar
pointing and turned. Her female warriors had been engaging Reiss’ warriors
from the pikes, darting in and stabbing with poisoned blades before pulling
back. Now they turned and saw a new threat.

The undead. A group of zombies, several thousand strong, was coming their
way. And Ghouls. Poisonbite bared her teeth. Not good. The undead were
immune to her warrior’s poison. She looked around.

“Noears!”

The Goblin [Mage] had charged with her. But he was nowhere to be seen.
Poisonbite cursed him and turned. She screamed and the pikes turned to
face the undead. They surged down the slope and crashed into the undead.

Ghouls leapt and were skewered. Zombies were impaled dozens of times.
The undead had no self-preservation. But that was also a problem. They
didn’t die even when impaled. They kept going, walking onto the pikes.
They had to be hacked apart or the brains had to be destroyed! And Reiss’
warriors were still fighting.

“Hobs kill undead! We fight!”

Poisonbite pointed forwards. The Hobs under her command strode towards
the undead. Poisonbite grimly held the line. Her daggers flashed and a Hob
screamed as he tried to get past the weakened line of warriors. He stumbled
back as Poisonbite cut him twice more and then dodged back. He swung at
her, but the poison was already doing its job. Poisonbite moved backwards,
applying a new coat to her blades as the Hobgoblin slowly weakened. He
tried to keep fighting, but only two minutes later he was stumbling.
A Goblin ran him through. Poisonbite moved forwards, aiming for another
Hob, and then stopped.

The poisoned Hob was moving. He was standing up. How? Poisonbite
stared at him. Was the poison not working? Did he have a healing potion?

No. She stared at him. The Hob’s mouth was open. His eyes were wide.
And he was dead. A bit of froth and blood ran from his mouth as he forgot
his sword and swung clumsily at the Goblins around him.

A zombie. But so soon? He’d barely died. Poisonbite saw the Goblins
trying to bring the Hob down a second time, cursing. She looked around.

There. A Goblin died as a female Hob ran him through with a pitchfork. But
the instant his corpse hit the ground, it was sitting up. The Hob stomped,
cursing, as the zombie tried to claw its way free of the tines pinning its
body down.

They were rising. The dead. Not just Reiss’ warriors. But the dead on both
sides. One of Poisonbite’s warriors fell, struck by an arrow. She rose and
proceeded to bite the Goblin next to her.

“Undead! All dead rising!”

Poisonbite screamed. The Goblins looked around. They stared at the

undead. More and more were getting up. For every warrior they killed, for
every Goblin they lost—an undead was spawned.

“No.”

Poisonbite backed up. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. But it was
happening. She could see Goblins dressed in robes and holding wands,
staffs, now. They were stationed behind Reiss’ troops, reanimating the dead.
So was Reiss. Between him and his [Necromancers] and [Shamans], they
were resurrecting…

Everyone.
—-

“Watch for undead! Guard backs! Kill and then chop off heads!”

Redscar roared as he fought on another front. He could see the Cave

Goblins faltering. Headscratcher and the others had found the same trap
waiting for him that he had. Redscar cursed as the Hob he’d killed lurched
up, bright light shining from its eyes.

Ghoul. It was faster in death than the Hob had been in life. But not cleverer.
Thunderfur knocked it down and Redscar leaned out of his saddle to run the
Hob through the head. his enchanted blade easily sheared through the bone
and the Ghoul died. Redscar turned and the Goblins around him fell back.
His frost blade had cut down every Goblin who’d been in Redscar’s way.
The undead couldn’t slow Redscar. But they had doubled the Goblins that
his warriors had to cut through to get to Reiss.

Even the Redfangs and Spiderslicer had slowed. So many undead! They
were all coming to life now. Redscar snarled as he saw Reiss and his
[Necromancers] casting magic. They had to be stopped. But how? Some of
the [Mages] had set up a barrier and the arrows Badarrow’s Goblins were
loosing at them were just bouncing off. As for Reiss—

He had to die. They had to cut to him and kill him. But everywhere the
Solstice Goblins had slowed. Their first charge had run out of steam. The
undead and Reiss’ troops were pushing them back. It was just numbers. And
then Redscar saw them.

Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. Reiss’ lieutenants. His last remaining

lieutenants, rather. It was an irony. For all Reiss’ warriors, his best officers,
the ones who inspired, who defined his army were dead. Zel Shivertail had
slain them and with them gone, his warriors lacked the fire to engage
Redscar, Poisonbite, and the five Redfangs where they led. But the last two
of Reiss’ warriors were still present. And now they were coming.
Snapjaw rode at the head of what had to be at least fifteen thousand Goblins
on horseback. She charged at the Redfangs, her teeth bared, sword drawn.
Spiderslicer rode to meet her and the Redfangs howled with him. They were
fearless. They met Snapjaw’s warriors in a fury of rearing horses and
terrible collisions. Carn Wolves and horses went down alike.

They were stronger than Snapjaw’s forces. Redscar saw more of Snapjaw’s
warriors going down each second. But she had the numbers on the
Redfangs. And she—

She was strong. Snapjaw cut to the left and right, fighting Redfang warriors.
She was as good as they were and her armor and sword were enchanted.
But that wasn’t what made her strong. No. It was as Spiderslicer cut
towards her that Redscar remembered. Snapjaw wasn’t a [Warrior]. She was
—

The female Hobgoblin blocked Spiderslicer’s sword. He cut, cursing the

lack of his falchion. She dodged the sword as her horse reared, hooves
striking at Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf. Spiderslicer took the opportunity. He
lunged, sword aimed at Snapjaw’s throat. The Hobgoblin opened her mouth
—

And bit. Spiderslicer recoiled as the metal teeth closed on his sword. He
heard a crack as the poorly-tempered steel snapped. Snapjaw crunched the
metal and spat. Spiderslicer stared at her and then leapt back. He cursed and
a Redfang Hob took his place. The warrior rushed at Snapjaw, swinging a
battleaxe. Snapjaw stared at him and then opened her mouth wide. Wide—

Her jaw dislocated. Her overly large head seemed to grow bigger. The Hob
flinched. And Snapjaw bit. Spiderslicer and Redscar stared at what
remained of the Hob as it slid from the saddle. The horse shrieked and fled
as Snapjaw chewed.

That shouldn’t have been possible. But she had done it. The Redfangs’
assault slowed as more of Snapjaw’s riders forced their way forwards. And
Snapjaw led them. Spiderslicer had to retreat, calling for another sword.
And while her warriors held the Redfangs back—
Eater of Spears was headed for the Cave Goblins. Redscar saw him, a
towering giant above the rest. He was leading a wave of Hobs through the
smaller Goblins of Reiss’ army. His tribe. Redscar looked around. He was
too far. He had to command Rags’ tribe. But one Goblin could stop him.

“Where is Noears?”

The Goblins looked around. No one could answer. Redscar turned,

swearing. He began to ride forwards, but it was too late.

—-

The first roar of contact had been terrifying. The first minute Erin had
thought she would die. But the press of Goblins pushing forwards, the
sounds of screams and the clash of metal—all of it was at a distance. Erin
had been outpaced by the Cave Goblins and the Redfangs. She was stuck
amid them as more and more pushed forwards. And they weren’t inclined to
let Erin past.

“Headscratcher! Numbtongue! Where are you?”

Erin screamed above the din. Her frying pan was raised like a shield to
ward off falling arrows. She was taller than all the Cave Goblins, but she
still couldn’t make out the Redfangs amid the fighting. It was chaos.

Green bodies struggled with other figures. Goblins fought in ever-shifting

lines, retreating, charging. Erin couldn’t tell how they were identifying
friend and foe. The black armor? She tried to push forwards, but the Cave
Goblins actively resisted her.

“Let me go!”

Erin shouted at them. She had to fight! To protect—

She was no warrior. Erin knew that. But she had asked them to come. So
she moved forwards, ignoring the press trying to keep her back. If she could
do something, anything—she had potions.

“Is anyone hurt? I have healing potions!”

It was no use. Erin’s voice was lost amid the fighting. She couldn’t tell
where she was, how the battle was going—until she heard the screaming.

The battle lines abruptly opened up in front of her. Cave Goblins moved
back, screaming. Erin didn’t understand why. Not until she saw the way the
Goblins in front of them awkwardly shambled forwards. Her blood chilled
as she recognized the light in their dead eyes.

Undead. The Goblin Lord was raising the undead. And the zombies were
rising from every corpse on the ground. Cave Goblins fought the undead
and Reiss’ warriors both, but their own were being turned to dead. Erin
stared as a Cave Goblin fell not fifteen paces ahead of her and then got up
and faced its former allies. She saw a Hobgoblin charge past the zombie,
shove it aside, and bring down a huge maul on the head of a Cave Goblin.

He was wearing black armor. He roared, and undead and more Goblins in
black armored poured past him. The Cave Goblins cried out and tried to
fight back. But—these were Numbtongue’s warriors! Some didn’t even
have proper weapons. They were musicians.

The Hob scythed forwards with his maul, bashing bodies aside. Erin stared
at him and then realized he was getting closer. And she was walking
towards him.

The Hob turned to Erin. He roared, pointing at her. Erin raised the frying
pan. She threw it. The Hob blinked as the frying pan flew at his face. He
raised a gauntleted hand and knocked it down. He laughed—

And the kitchen knife struck him in the eye. Hilt first. But Erin had thrown
it hard as she could. The Hob screamed and covered one eye. He swung the
maul one-handed. Erin backed up. She reached for something at her belt.
The Hob raised his maul.
And Erin threw a Pepper Potion vial in his other good eye. The Hob
screamed. Erin yanked another knife from her belt and charged. The Hob
was flailing about. She raised a fist and aimed at his unarmored stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Hob folded over. Erin slashed up and cut at the Hob’s throat. He tried
to block her. Her knife slashed across his fingers, cutting deep. He screamed
and bled. Hot blood splattered Erin’s arm, her right cheek. The Hob tried to
swing his maul, blinded. Erin stabbed.

The knife went between his fingers and into the Hobgoblin’s throat. The
Goblin gurgled. He knocked Erin flat with a swing, but his arm had no force
behind it. Still, Erin went tumbling. She cut herself lightly with the knife as
she fell and scrambled up. She looked for the Hob—

And found he was on his knees. He was trying to stop the blood flowing
from his cut throat. He gurgled, blinded. Erin stared down at him.

The Goblin died there. He was the second Goblin she’d killed. Erin stared
at his body as the Cave Goblins rushed past her, seizing the moment of
weakness. She stood there, staring at the Hobgoblin’s body until a Cave
Goblin screamed at her. Then she realized the Hobgoblin was getting up.

“Oh no.”

Erin had a second frying pan at her belt. She grabbed it and began hitting
the Hob on the head. Cave Goblins joined her. Erin hammered at the Hob’s
head. It began deforming. She felt something crack and a Cave Goblin
bashed the Hob’s brains in. Erin stumbled back as the zombie stopped
moving for good. She tried to throw up.

But then she was fighting. It was automatic. Erin had a knife in one hand,
the frying pan in the other. Zombies were attacking with Goblins. And Erin
was in the first line of Cave Goblins. She was no warrior. But as Calruz had
told her, she had talent.
Throw the pan. It bounced off the head of a Goblin warrior in black armor,
stunning him. The knife followed, and a Goblin screamed as it appeared on
her leather armor, just above the shoulder. Erin yanked a potion from her
belt.

“Down.”

The Cave Goblins around her ducked. Erin threw the bottle over the heads
of the Goblins and heard Goblins screaming. The fiery pot of burning oil
burst and coated undead and Goblins in flame. Erin reached for another
object and came up with a Tripvine bag.

She didn’t have many weapons, but she had enough. Vines burst forwards,
ensnaring the undead and a few Cave Goblins. Erin ran forwards. She had a
club from somewhere. A fallen Goblin? She cracked a zombie’s head and
tripped another one.

Fighting. She was little better than a Cave Goblin. But she had reach.
Potions. Alchemist’s weapons. And the Cave Goblins fought to protect her.
Erin didn’t know when she stumbled back to catch her breath. But she was
wounded. Someone had cut her across the belly. It hurt. She drank half a
healing potion and looked around.

“Here.”

A Cave Goblin clutching at his nearly sawn-off arm looked up. Erin bent.
The world spun. She bit the inside of her lip and offered him the potion. He
let her pour it on his arm. Erin stood up.

“We have to keep fighting. Follow me.”

She ran. This time the Cave Goblins followed her. All of them. They
charged past Erin. The Goblin Lord’s army was trying to hold a hill. Erin
threw a smoke bag and blinded the Goblins on the other side of the hill,
then charged up the slope. She had to see. Wasn’t that the point?

Cave Goblins grappled with Goblins in black armor. Erin punched a Goblin
and struck another with the spiked mace she held. She lashed out at another
and turned.

Now she saw. Billowing smoke from the alchemist bag cleared. She saw the
Goblin Lord’s army fighting on the hills, loosing showers of arrows.
Undead and Goblins fighting. Rag’s tribe was holding them back. But
where—

There. The Redfangs were ahead of her. Headscratcher was leading the way,
roaring. He was still pushing forwards, despite the wounds on his body.
Shorthilt was following him. Numbtongue had pulled back—it was his tribe
that Erin was fighting with. Rabbiteater was to the right, holding the Goblin
Lord back. Badarrow was camped on another hill. She saw his archers
loosing arrows, shooting down the Goblin Lord’s warriors trying to attack
them from the side, then another volley of arrows shot towards the Goblin
Lord’s troops.

“We’re losing.”

Erin didn’t need to be a [Strategist] to see it. She stared at the lines of
Goblins. They were losing. There were too many of the Goblin Lord’s
warriors. And the undead! The undead were practically numberless. So long
as they kept rising—Erin squinted at a coven of Goblin [Mages]. They were
hiding on a hill far distant, out of even Badarrow’s range.

“Someone has to kill those [Necromancers]. Pisces told me—the undead

will attack everyone if they die! Tell Badarrow!”

She shouted. The Cave Goblins looked at her. One of them turned and
shouted. Erin saw the message flicker back to Badarrow in less than a
minute. The Hobgoblin turned. He saw Erin and nodded. He aimed and
pointed.

His Cave Goblins turned. They drew back and loosed as one. Badarrow’s
arrow flew with a hail of others. The [Mages] turned. They saw the deadly
arrows falling towards them and didn’t flinch. Erin saw a shimmer in the air
and the arrows snapped and bounced off something.

“Shields.”
Badarrow loosed another arrow. This one didn’t arc. It went straight across
from his hill towards the [Necromancer]. The shield protecting the Goblin
mages must not have been able to block it. One of them spun and fell. The
other [Shamans] backed up and one raised another barrier. Badarrow shot
arrow after arrow, but they bounced off the new shield. He turned and
directed his archer’s fire at the Goblin Warriors now assailing his hill.

“Someone has to take them out.”

Erin stared at the mages. They weren’t all just [Necromancers]. Some were
hurling fire, or casting clouds of noxious gas at the Flooded Waters tribe
and the Redfangs. Erin eyed the distance between them and her.

“Shorthilt.”

She was about to shout for him. Then she looked around. Something—
someone was roaring. So loudly that it carried even over the raging sound
of battle. Erin’s head turned.

And then she saw him. A huge Hobgoblin, at least nine feet tall. Maybe
even taller. His body looked like a mass of muscles. And he was leading a
group of Hobgoblins, all larger than normal. Straight towards
Headscratcher.

“Headscratcher!”

The Redfang [Berserker] didn’t hear Erin’s warning. But he couldn’t have
missed Eater of Spears. The Hobgoblin punched his way through a rank of
Cave Goblins who swarmed around him. He kicked and they disappeared.

“You.”

Eater of Spears pointed. Headscratcher bared his teeth. he roared and

charged. His enchanted axe swung. The glowing, expanded edge cut
through the air in a wild swing. Eater of Spears leaned back. Headscratcher
tried to bring his axe back. In that moment Eater of Spears punched.
Headscratcher landed. He didn’t remember flying. He tried to get up and
realized he was on his back. His arms and legs flailed. He stood up, looked
for his axe.

It was missing. Headscratcher got up groggily. Eater of Spears was walking

towards him. His Hobs was cutting down the Cave Goblins around
Headscratcher. His Cave Goblins. Eater of Spears grabbed a warhammer
one of his warriors handed him and swept it in an arc. Cave Goblins went
flying, broken, and shattered. A copy of Headscratcher’s assault.

“No.”

Headscratcher got up. He roared, and charged Eater of Spears barehanded.

The Hobgoblin raised a fist. Headscratcher ducked and felt the blow snap
his ear. He ignored the pain and struck.

One blow. Two. The fury in Headscratcher burned. He struck Eater of

Spears in the stomach. Five times, six times. The Hobgoblin grunted. He
bent slightly. Headscratcher struck him and felt the huge Hobgoblins ribs
creak. He swung—

Eater of Spear’s uppercut cracked half of Headscratcher’s ribs. Broke

others. The Hob doubled over. The huge Hobgoblin stomped on him and
then kicked. Headscratcher tumbled. Eater of Spears advanced on him as
the Cave Goblins tried to shield Headscratcher. He waded through them,
barely noticing their blades as they cut at his legs and lower body.

“Stop.”

The muscle-bound Hobgoblin turned as he bent for Headscratcher. He saw

a young woman standing with an army of Cave Goblins. She pointed and
they charged Eater of Spears’ Hobs, holding them back. Eater of Spears
stared at Erin and then he reached for his belt. She threw what she was
holding.

A bottle, glowing bright yellow. The alchemical weapon flew towards Eater
of Spears’ head. His eyes went wide. The Hobgoblin leaned to the left and
the bottle flew past him.
“What?”

Erin stared up at him. Eater of Spears calmly drew the throwing axe from
his belt.

“[Unerring Throw]? Nice Skill. Perfect shot. Only works if I hold still.”

He lifted the throwing axe. Erin’s eyes went wide. She dove. Eater of
Spears took aim—

And an arrow sprouted from his chest. He barely flinched. But it made his
throw go wide. A Cave Goblin died instead of the young woman. Eater of
Spears looked up and raised a forearm. Badarrow’s second arrow sprouted
from his arm.

“Nice shots.”

Eater of Spears grabbed the second axe from his belt, calmly ignoring the
arrows, most of which broke without even penetrating his skin. He turned
towards Erin and raised the second axe.

Someone tackled him. Eater of Spears grunted and took a step back. He
looked down. It was Headscratcher. The Hob howled as he pushed. Eater of
Spears tried to kick him, but the Hob was strong. Eater of Spears chopped
down with his axe and Headscratcher lurched left. Eater of Spears kicked
him down again.

Another arrow struck his arm. Eater of Spears growled. He lowered his arm,
turned his head. Where—

There. Erin Solstice stood poised, arm cocked back. The bag flew into the
air. Eater of Spears sighed. He dodged and the Tripvine Bag exploded
harmlessly somewhere behind him.

“I told you.”

He raised his axe. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. You did.”

Eater of Spears’ arm drew back. He aimed at Erin, expecting her to dodge.
But she was still. Why was—

Below him, a little Cave Goblin threw the vial it was holding straight up.
Eater of Spears saw it coming and his head jerked back. But the little bottle
was uncorked. And the concentrated Pepper Potion flew up his nose. Into
his eyes.

Eater of Spears screamed. Erin saw his hands go up and claw at his face.
The Hob, who had ignored swords and arrows without so much as
flinching, howled and clawed at his face. The Cave Goblin scrambled back
as Eater of Spears flailed wildly with the axe in his hand.

“Got him! Headscratcher!”

The [Innkeeper] turned and looked for her friend. The Hob was getting up.
Headscratcher downed the healing potion, and stood up. A Cave Goblin
held something up. His axe. He turned towards Eater of Spears. The giant
was still roaring. Headscratcher activated the enchantment on his axe. He
burst towards Eater of Spears with a roar—

And Eater of Spears charged.

He ran straight ahead, straight towards Erin. Headscratcher swung at him

and the axe bit into Eater of Spears’ side, but the giant was moving too fast.
Eater of Spears came up the hill and Erin dove.

“Run!”

The Cave Goblins scrambled out of the way. But Eater of Spears kept
going. He ran up the hills, swinging his arms, sending Cave Goblins flying.
He kept going, tripping, falling down the hill, standing up, running
forwards.

Straight into the Flooded Waters tribe. The Goblins saw Eater of Spears
coming and turned. They raised their pikes, set themselves. Erin watched
Eater of Spears crash into the pikes. The metal tips dug into his flesh—
And the pikes splintered. The Goblins holding them were thrown back.
Eater of Spears threw them aside. He bashed in a Hob’s skull with one
flailing fist, struck at the Goblins with the throwing axe in his hand. On he
went. The Goblins in front of him ran out of the way or died.

“Oh my god!”

Erin shouted. Eater of Spears just kept going! He could barely see, but it
didn’t matter. He ran straight through Rag’s tribe, sending Goblins flying.
They couldn’t kill him!

But they had bought a reprieve. Shakily, Erin turned. Headscratcher was
bent, clutching his ribs.

“Headscratcher.”

“Go! Go back!”

Headscratcher shouted at Erin. He waved his axe and she stopped. Then she
realized. They were too close to the fighting with Eater of Spears’ warriors.
Headscratcher wanted her to go back. To be safe.

“No!”

Erin shouted at Headscratcher. He waved his axe at her.

“Go. Please?”

“No.”

The young woman shook her head. She looked around. The Cave Goblins
were rallying on her. Headscratcher’s group, Numbtongue’s…they were
following her.

“I can’t go. We have to stop them! The mages!”

Erin pointed at the hill. The undead were still rising. And they were truly
pushing back the Solstice Goblins now. Headscratcher nodded. He pointed
and the Cave Goblins streamed towards the hill. He ran ahead of Erin,
swinging his axe.

But there was a wall of Goblins between them and the hilltop where the
mages stood. Reiss’ Hobs barred the path, and what was worse, Draug. Erin
saw the first huge undead Hobgoblin crushing bodies like grapes and even
Headscratcher had to slow to battle them.

“Keep going! We have to keep going!”

Erin shouted as she hunted at her belt for another potion. Another of
Octavia’s weapons. Anything. But she didn’t have any more tricks. And the
Goblins—

They were aiming at her and Headscratcher now. One threw a [Fireball] and
it sent Cave Goblins flying. Another shot what looked like poison gas from
his wand. Erin covered her mouth and screamed at the Cave Goblins to run.
But they were fighting undead, who didn’t even notice. They didn’t need to
breathe or see.

It was impossible. They’d never make it. But they had to. They had to. Erin
stared at the Goblin [Mages]. They were aiming again. Someone had to do
something.

“Someone—”

And then the skies flashed. Erin saw the light. She heard the roar. The
hilltop with the [Mages] vanished. Erin stumbled backwards as noise and
light burst, deafening and blinding her. She couldn’t hear anything for a
while. When she could see again she looked up.

The [Mages] were gone. A few were trying to get up, but over half had been
charred. The rest had been sent flying. By what? Erin saw another flash.

Lightning. She looked around and saw another bolt blast into the ranks of
the Goblin Lord’s forces. Goblins and Hobs went flying. And then another
bolt of lightning fell. And another.
“Who? What?”

Erin scrambled onto a hilltop to see. Who was casting the magic? Who—
and then she saw.

On a distant hilltop. Far, far from the battle he stood. His arms were raised.
The sky was dark and clouds gathered above his head. Bursts of electricity
shot from his raised hands. They arced upwards and lightning flashed down.
The Goblin [Mage] laughed as he pointed and lightning struck.

Noears stood on the roof of Erin’s inn, on the shattered third floor where
Bird’s tower had been. He stood alone. And each bolt of lightning he called
down from the heavens was minutes apart. But the force in each one was
overwhelming. It was lightning magic. Pure lightning, not conjured from
his hands. But how was he doing it?

“The inn.”

Erin stared at her inn. She could feel it. Dimly, at the back of her mind. Her
inn was where Noears stood. Empty. Abandoned. It had been deserted,
stripped of everything. Adventurers. Guests. And her magic door.

The magic door that could teleport someone a hundred miles away to
Celum, or even further, to Pallass. A magic door fueled by the mana from
her inn. Only, it wasn’t there. And now, all the mana normally used by the
magic door, all the power was his.

“Noears!”

The [Mage] couldn’t see her. He was pointed at the sky. Another bolt of
lightning arced down. Straight towards the Goblin Lord. Reiss looked up
and raised a hand.

A spire of bone caught the lightning, exploding just over Reiss’ head. He
turned and pointed.

“[Deathbolt].”
The black magic sped across the battlefield. But even Reiss’ aim was
insufficient. Noears laughed as the spell went wide of him by twenty feet.
His arms trembled as they rose.

“More! More lightning!”

His arms tingled. Noears shot more electricity towards the sky. Charging
the air. He had to keep the lightning falling. But it was so hard. And he was
so far away. Sweat streamed down his face. Each time he called a bolt of
lightning down, even with the excess mana, he felt his heart stopping and
skipping beats. The pain—

He had to do it. Another bolt arced down from the heavens. It blew apart
Reiss’ warriors. But it had missed its target—Snapjaw and her riders.
Noears stumbled. His vision greyed. He pointed at the sky. He had to keep
casting. Empty mana bottles lay at his feet. He had charged the air. He had
to bring down more lightning. Had to—

A bolt of lightning fell from the skies. It landed among a group of Hobs.
Noears lowered his hand and stared. He hadn’t called that one. What was—

He heard a song. It echoed across the hills. Noears looked and saw him.

He stood on top of a hill, surrounded by the others. Cave Goblins, holding

instruments. They played with him, following his melody. The sound
shouldn’t have carried across the battlefield. But it did. The Hob played on
his guitar and electricity danced across the chords. He played and the
lightning flashed down.

Once. Twice. Numbtongue ignored the fighting around him. Reiss’ warriors
tried to swarm up the hill and his Goblins held them back. The Hob played
and called the lightning. His Goblins played with them, a song of thunder.

Noears grinned. He raised his burning arms to the sky and electricity shot
from his fingers. It arced into the clouds and came down. It was undirected
until Numbtongue gave it form. Noears poured all the mana in his body, all
of his power into the sky.
“Rain it down! Bring him down!”

He screamed to Numbtongue. And though he was too far away, he knew

Numbtongue understood. Lightning flashed down across the Goblin Lord’s
army. Reiss looked up as more lightning fell.

“What is that? A Goblin [Bard]? They don’t exist. How? How are they
doing this? Destroy them already.”

Az’kerash’s voice shook. Spires of bone rose upwards, catching the falling
lightning. But the cost of defending against the lightning meant less of the
Necromancer’s power could go towards the undead. The ceaseless stream of
bodies began to slow.

But still. It didn’t matter. Reiss looked across the battlefield and saw the
Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins, even the Redfangs were stuck.
They were struggling, but they still couldn’t advance. They had slowed.
And like flies in a spider’s web, they were caught.

—-

“Just by numbers.”

Zevara stood on her walls. The Watch Captain stared at the fighting
Goblins, feeling sick. She looked up as more stones fell towards her walls.

“Cover!”

She sheltered herself, feeling the thud of impacts. Hearing a

[Guardswoman] cry out in agony and then go silent. But the majority of the
stones hadn’t even hit her walls. They were all clustered on one spot.

“The eastern gates are falling.”

Zevara got up. She stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor hadn’t bothered to
duck. He was standing on the walls with the Soldiers, watching the battle.
He hadn’t looked away once.

“I know.”

That was all Zevara said. The metal was folding, bending inwards. A few
more hits—one direct one—and it might completely fall inwards. And the
stone was—cracked. The walls might come down.

The walls of Liscor. How could it happen? The Humans were using
enchanted munitions, true. And they had been volleying endlessly since the
battle began. But still.

“It won’t be the same. Now they have siege weapons, they’ll be able to take
Liscor. The other cities.”

Zevara stared at the Human army. Klbkch didn’t turn his head.

“The Goblin Lord is winning.”

“Yes.”

The Watch Captain wrenched her gaze away from the Human army. She
had a bitter taste in her mouth as she stared at the Solstice Goblins. If they
had managed to take him out—but they could delay him. Weaken his army,
at least.

“So many undead. How powerful is that Goblin Lord?”

“Powerful. As strong as the ones who rode with Velan.”

The words chilled Zevara. But Klbkch would know. She stared at the army
of Goblins.

“They’re not going to make it. They’re surrounded.”

“They must. She is there.”

“They can’t, Klbkch. They need—something. They can’t do it. Not alone.”

Zevara looked around helplessly. The [Guardsmen] of Liscor, the

adventurers stared at Zevara. They gazed out across the Floodplains,
towards the fighting Goblins.

Not one of them moved. Halrac gritted his teeth as he stared at Erin.
Typhenous bowed his head. Below, in the Hive of the Free Antinium, the
Free Queen listened through Klbkch.

“They are going to lose.”

“No.”

Belgrade spoke involuntarily. He shuddered as the Free Queen and the

puppet used by the five Queens looked at him. The Grand Queen’s voice
was imperious.

“Why not? This is the desired outcome. These Goblins were not projected
as part of the plan.”

“But Erin is there.”

“So? What is an Erin and why does it matter? The Human?”

Belgrade ignored the Grand Queen. He stared down at the map, longing to
be above. If he could be there. If he could go—he looked despairingly at
Anand. The other [Tactician]’s head was bowed. But his gaze was not
despairing as he looked up.

“It is not over yet.”

Belgrade stared down at the map. It was over to him. There was no way the
Solstice Goblins, Erin’s side could win.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is her. Erin. Belgrade, it is not over yet.”

The [Tactician] reached out and gripped Belgrade’s shoulders with one of
his four arms.

“Believe.”

The two Workers stared at each other. And then Belgrade looked at the map.
He closed his mandibles and looked up. Then his head turned.

“Where’s Pawn?”

—-

“Please.”

Pawn stood with Yellow Splatters. They were positioned near the entrance
to the Hive. The public entrance, that was. The Painted Soldiers were
stationed there, ready to fight the rear-guard action when Liscor fell. They
were waiting. Waiting for the city to fall.

But the Worker stood with them. Pawn clutched his censer tied to his
walking stick in his four hands. He looked up at Yellow Splatters. The
[Sergeant] stood with Purple Smile, at the head of the Painted Soldiers.
Yellow Splatters’ arms were crossed.

“She is out there. She is leading the Goblins. They’re fighting. For her. Erin
is out there. She needs our help. The Goblin Lord will win. He will—he
will kill her. Please.”

Yellow Splatters did not move. The big Soldier hadn’t moved. Even after
Pawn had explained what was going on. It was not that he didn’t care. He
was listening, as hard as he ever had to Pawn’s please. But he was
conflicted.

The Goblins were fighting. Erin Solstice was among them. She was trying
to defend Liscor. And because she was there, Pawn had come to him. To
Yellow Splatters and the Painted Soldiers. To beg them to defy Klbkch and
their Queen. To fight a battle against the Goblin Lord, against the Grand
Queen’s orders.

All for Erin. Pawn had asked them to fight, and because they were Soldiers,
die. For her. But how could Yellow Splatters ever agree?

It was not their fight. Yellow Splatters looked down the line of Painted
Soldiers. It was not their battle. Moreover, it was not a situation where the
Antinium would survive. There were hundreds of thousands of Goblins.
The Painted Soldiers were six hundred strong, and of that number, only two
hundred were ‘old’. They had levels, but they were all under Level 20.

They couldn’t win. They would die, and for what? Friendship? A warm
meal? A…smile?

It wasn’t enough. How could you weigh the lives of the Antinium like that?
Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn. He didn’t have to explain any of it. Pawn
knew. The Worker bowed his head. He had tried for half-an-hour to reason
with Yellow Splatters. To no avail. The other Soldiers were restless, but
they followed Yellow Splatters in this.

“Please.”

It wasn’t enough. Yellow Splatters didn’t move. He stared down at Pawn.

The Worker clutched at his censer. He sought for words, spoke in a
trembling voice.

“I know. I know how much I’m asking. I know it’s just one person. I know
she’s not Antinium. I know. Even if the Goblins are our—our friends. Even
then, I know what it would cost. But Erin…”

He broke off, shaking his head. The Painted Soldiers were all listening.
They stood straight, motionless, waiting for orders. But they listened like
Yellow Splatters. They judged. They decided, where they had obeyed. It
was a terrifying thing.

The Worker went on. He spoke to Yellow Splatters, his voice numb.
“It’s her. She made me, me. I owe her everything. We do. If she dies…if she
dies, what purpose have I? She told me of faith. She played chess with me.
She was kind when no one else was. If she dies—how could I live? How
could I continue?”

The Soldiers stirred. Yellow Splatters hesitated. Pawn looked up at him. The
Antinium did not cry, but there was no need for tears. All Yellow Splatters
had to do was look in his eyes.

“I have no right to ask it of you. But I am no Soldier. And you are. I beg
you. All of you. There is no good reason I can give. Only that she must not
die. Please. She gave me everything.”

He bowed his head. Spent. Pawn sank to his knees. He was empty.
Helpless. He wished he could fight. But alone he was useless. As useless as
he had ever been.

He began to curl up. And a part of him wept inside, though he had never
known tears. Pawn sank lower and lower. Until a hand reached down.
Yellow Splatters gripped Pawn by the shoulders. The Worker looked up.

The Soldier stood above him. An impassive face. Tearing mandibles. A deep
gaze. Yellow Splatters turned. The bright splats of paint on his body caught
the light. He looked down the ranks of Painted Soldiers as Pawn slowly
rose.

Slowly Yellow Splatters stepped forwards. The Painted Soldiers waited. He

raised one finger. Pointed down the line of Soldiers. The meaning was clear.

One hundred.

The Painted Soldiers held still. They waited, and for a second Pawn
despaired. He feared none would volunteer. But then a hundred moved.

A hundred Soldiers. They were the not the hundred closest to Yellow
Splatters. They stepped out of line, in pairs, alone, in large groups.
Seemingly at random. But as Pawn looked down the line for Soldiers, at the
hundred chosen, he understood.
They were the first. The ones who had heard Pawn’s stories, the ones who
had survived the mass suicide. The oldest. None of them were more than
three years old.

Yellow Splatters nodded. He turned, and the Soldiers stepped into line
behind him. Purple Smile moved. He looked uncertainly at Yellow
Splatters. The [Sergeant] nodded to him. Purple Smile nodded slowly.

That was all. Pawn stared at the Soldiers. Yellow Splatters began to walk.
They followed him, abandoning their posts. Disobeying direct orders from
their Queen. The Hive.

Going to battle.

Words could not express what Yellow Splatters was feeling. He walked,
feeling death in the air. Death, sadness, determination, a giddy excitement at
betraying his hive. But strangely, no regret. He marched ahead, through the
Hive, until he realized someone was following him. He halted and the
Painted Soldiers stopped with him. He stared at Pawn and held an arm out.
The Worker stopped, and placed one of his hands on Yellow Splatter’s arm.

“I’m going with you.”

Shock. The other Soldiers stared. Yellow Splatters shook his head.
Unacceptable. Pawn was…everything. He had brought the Painted Soldiers
freedom. Without him—he was to them what Erin was to him. But Pawn
refused to be moved.

“You can’t stop me. You’ll need my prayers. It might help. And I can shout
to Erin.”

It made sense. But Yellow Splatters refused to budge. He blocked Pawn’s

way. The Worker looked into the [Sergeant]’s eyes.

“I can’t ask you to do this without going as well.”

But if you die—

Yellow Splatters wanted to speak. More than anything, in that moment he
wanted to say something. But he had no words. And as he thought them, he
realized what he was saying. It was what Pawn had said.

Slowly, the [Sergeant] turned. The Painted Soldiers stared at his back, but
Yellow Splatters just kept marching. Slowly, Pawn fell in beside him. The
two walked in silence. But Yellow Splatters was happy to have Pawn.
Happy. Afraid. He felt alive.

This was how the Painted Soldiers went.

They marched through the dark tunnels, past Workers and other Soldiers
who turned to watch. Each Soldier was alone with their thoughts, and each
was together. They followed Yellow Splatters, followed Pawn upwards, out
of the secret tunnels.

To death. But the Soldiers thought little of that. They had been asked and
they had answered. Instead, as the ground sloped upwards, the Soldiers
looked up. Bright light shone on their faces, and they smiled, then. Even if
the smile was only in their hearts.

It was good to see the sky.

—-

They were losing the battle. Laken listened to the reports coming to his
position with a sinking heart. He could only imagine the battle. He could
hear distant sounds, the sound of thunder. And around him, the thumping of
trebuchets. But nothing else. He bowed his head.

A young woman leading Goblins. An army opposing the Goblin Lord. Here
he was. There was good and evil here. Perhaps not right and wrong, but a
choice to be made. He looked up.

“Gamel.”
He felt a touch at his arm. Gamel stood by his [Emperor]. Laken tilted his
head towards the sky. He could hear only screams. Death. But he thought he
knew what had to be done.

“Get me Tessia. Now.”

Gamel ran. Laken stayed where he was. He kept listening. Lord Tyrion was
aiming for the gates. He wanted them down and the walls breached by the
time the Goblin Lord was finished. The Cave Goblins were dying. The
other tribes were being pushed back. They were losing. There was no hope.

—-

“No.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She had arrived too late. Too late. She stood on
the cliff, at the edge of the Floodplains. She had come so far. So far, at such
speed. But it was too late.

The battle was underway. And even so far away, Rags could see. Her tribe
was losing. They were fighting with the Redfangs, with the strange grey
Goblins. But they were outnumbered, retreating. And Reiss kept advancing.
Even the lightning wasn’t slowing his forces.

“Chieftain. What do we do?”

Rags turned. She saw a few hundred of Tremborag’s Goblins, eight

Redfangs, Pyrite, Ulvama, and Garen looking to her. Garen was holding his
crimson blade. His teeth were bared and his Carn Wolf was growling. But
the Hobgoblin had a grip on his wolf’s mouth, preventing it from howling.

Because of the Humans. Their army was in front of the Goblins. A vast
host, infantry, trebuchets, [Mages], and cavalry. They were spread out—
Tyrion’s riders in front, the trebuchets in the middle and infantry
surrounding them at the back. Rags could see tens of thousands of
[Soldiers] in ranks. Waiting to move in.

They were between her and her tribe. There was no way they’d be able to
get around them. Garen shifted.

“Could run past. Me and Redfangs.”

“No. You die. And we die.”

Rags shook her head. Garen had barely slipped past them once, and that
was with a hundred of his warriors in the cover of night. When they were on
the move? Now? They would be dead before they even cleared the
trebuchets. She stared at her tribe.

“Have to do something. Have to.”

“Chieftain. We can fight. Cause distraction.”

One of Tremborag’s Hobs offered. Pyrite shook his head.

“Not big enough distraction. Need one to occupy army. Especially—him.”

He pointed at Tyrion Veltras. The Hob was staring at the battle. He had hold
of his battleaxe and he was strong enough to lift it. He was restless. They all
were. But Rags couldn’t figure out what to do.

How? How could she save her tribe? She burned to race towards them. But
that was death. Rags bowed her head. By the time they went around the
cliffs, it would be too late by hours. Could they really cause a distraction?
With what? Ulvama’s spells? She had nothing strong enough? What if—

Memory. Something tugged at Rags’ mind. A thought. She looked around

and recalled something.

Long ago. A skeleton racing out of a cliff. Enchanted armor. Crossbows.

Dropclaw bats. A bunch of cursed amulets. And—

A cave. Rags looked up. She stared around and then saw it.
“There.”

Her Goblins stared. They looked at a little cave set into the stone. Rags
pointed at it.

“What is it?”

“Cave. Leads to dungeon.”

Rags explained to Garen and Pyrite. Her heart was racing. She had no idea
if the dungeon led towards Liscor. But maybe—

Garen’s eyes were troubled. The Hobgoblin shifted restlessly.

“Dungeon is very dangerous. Without [Rogue], will die to traps.”

“What about Chieftain good with rocks? What other choice is there?”

Pyrite questioned the Redfang Chieftain. Garen eyed him, but said nothing.
Rags leapt down the cliff.

“Go!”

The Goblins entered the cave cautiously. They looked up for Dropclaw bats,
but there were none. They must have all flown off. Rags led the way. She
was desperate, still despairing inside. They’d never make it. How long
would it take them to find a way through the dungeon? But if—

She paused as she entered the main cave and looked around. Something was
wrong. Someone had been living here. There were scorch marks on the
ground, trash. Signs of habitation.

“A tribe lived here? Or old trash from your tribe?”

Garen frowned around the cave. Rags shook her head.

“Huh. New.”
Pyrite bent down and sniffed at some leftover charcoal. He straightened,
frowning about, and then his keen eyes narrowed.

“There.”

He pointed. There was a sound. Rags turned. Garen’s Carn Wolf growled
and the Hobgoblin pointed.

“Goblin.”

A little Goblin flinched and cowered against the rocks. She’d hid herself by
a plank of wood. Rags blinked. Garen’s wolf growled, but the Hobgoblin
held it still. Rags looked at Pyrite. The Goblin was very small, barely more
than a child. And her skin was…grey.

“Me?”

“No, me.”

Rags put out an arm and stopped Pyrite. She approached the Cave Goblin
slowly. The little Goblin cowered. She was holding something red in her
hands. And she’d been lying on something. It looked like a dirty, white…
hat?

“Hello?”

Rags halted as the Cave Goblin flinched away from her. The Chieftain of
the Flooded Waters tribe blinked down at Pebblesnatch. The little Goblin
looked up. Rags was barely taller than her.

“I am Rags. Flooded Waters tribe Chieftain. Who you?”

The Cave Goblin froze with panic. But then she gabbled her name. Rags
frowned.

“Why you alone? You live here? Where other Goblins? Tribe?”

Pebblesnatch was too afraid to speak. Rags squatted by her, trying to

demand answers, but the little Goblin was petrified. She kept staring at
Garen and his Carn Wolf for some reason.

“Take too long. Want me to charm her?”

Ulvama grumbled. Pyrite stared at the [Shaman] disapprovingly. Garen

stared at Ulvama’s chest. The female Hob glared at them.

“With spell.”

“Oh.”

The Hobs shook their heads. Rags glared and pointed.

“Out!”

The others left to watch the battle and figure something else out. Rags
stayed. Garen did too. He was checking out the dungeon, frowning into it.

“Dungeon was cleared. Looks like statues gone.”

“Why?”

Rags was astonished. She went to look. There was a strange wall where
there hadn’t been before, and a bit of it had been broken down. The statues
were all gone—smashed, if the rubble was any indication. She stared
around. And then, only then, did Pebblesnatch move.

The little Goblin crept up behind Rags and Garen. The two turned to look at
her and she flinched and nearly fled. But she raised a trembling claw. She
had the red mana stone in one hand, her chef’s hat in the other. She was
afraid. But she looked at Garen. At his Carn Wolf. At the war paint that was
so familiar. And she spoke a word.

“Redfang?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags opened her mouth, and looked at
Garen. He nodded. He tapped his chest.

“Redfang.”
Pebblesnatch stared up at him. She had seen Garen fight Headscratcher,
seen him flee. But she had witnessed the Humans, seen the Goblin Lord.
And she knew her tribe was dying. She looked to Rags. And then she began
to speak. Rags demanded answers.

“What is beyond wall? Is there way through dungeon? Fast way?”

No. No fast way. Or safe way, either. Pebblesnatch bowed her head. She
was nearly in tears as she told Rags about the Raskghar, about the dungeon
and the invisible much-death in the room beyond. About the secret
entrances and exits, and the flooded rift. If they could go through the many
trap rooms, maybe—

Rags listened, heart racing, mind blurring with fear and thoughts and
impatience. And then everything crystallized. She latched onto something
Pebblesnatch had said and stared at the Cave Goblin. Garen looked at her,
suddenly alert. Rags stared at the wall. At the dungeon and what lay
beyond. And then she turned.

“Get Pyrite. Hurry.”

—-

They were running. The Free Queen saw it through Klbkch’s eyes. She
relayed the news quietly. Calmly. She felt his distress. But she kept it out of
her tone.

“The Goblins are falling back. Losing ground.”

“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen and her puppet rubbed their feelers together. Her tone
was smug. For that reason alone the Free Queen wished the Goblins and
Erin Solstice would win. But it was impossible. How could they win? She
felt Klbkch’s grip tightening on his swords and urged him silently not to
move.

And then she felt it. So did Klbkch. The Revalantor slowly looked up.

“What is that?”

“What?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Klbkch. Both he and the Free Queen ignored the
Watch Captain. They stared to the left. Towards an entrance into the Flood
Plains only they knew. And then—

The Free Queen’s breath caught as she saw the first bodies leaving her
Hive. She felt them. A hundred and two. A Worker holding a censer. A
[Sergeant], larger than any other Soldier. And a hundred of the Painted
Soldiers.

“What? What is going on?”

“The Painted Soldiers. They have left their positions. And so has Pawn.”

The Free Queen and Klbkch spoke the same words. Their voices were one.

“They are going to try and save Erin.”

“What?”

Zevara stared at the dark Antinium. Her eyes widened. The Grand Queen
lurched upwards, alarmed.

“That is not part of the plan! Why did you order this, Free Queen?”

“I did not. They disobeyed me.”

The Free Queen spoke quietly. The five Queens went still.

“Aberration?”
“No.”

“What, then?”

The Free Queen didn’t answer. Belgrade and Anand looked up. Bird tried to
sit up.

“Pawn is going? With the colorful Soldiers?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen watched them march. She felt them in her mind. Both she
and Klbkch watched them go. And they thought as one.

“Unacceptable. Unacceptable. Order them back. Recover them. The Hive

cannot lose an asset. The battle must be lost. Do you hear me? Free Queen?
Free Queen?”

The puppet was raising its voice and the Grand Queen spoke sharply
through her scrying mirror. The Free Queen glanced towards her. And in
that moment she made her decision. She bent down low, towards the puppet
and opened her mandibles. The little copy of the Queen bent back. The Free
Queen spoke one word.

“What?”

The Antinium in the chamber stared. The little Queen and the Grand Queen
hesitated.

“What do you mean, what? I gave you orders. Carry them out.”

The Free Queen stared. She tilted her head from side to side and then shook
her head.

“I did not hear that. Can you speak again? Louder? Your connection is
breaking up, my Queen. I am afraid I cannot hear your orders. Hello?”

“What is the meaning of this? I said—can you hear me?”

“I can.”

“My audio reception is perfect.”

“Is something the matter? Why can the Free Queen not hear us?”

“I. Wonder why.”

“I cannot hear anything, my Queen.”

The Free Queen repeated herself loudly over the babble of voices. She
looked at the Workers. Belgrade and Anand shot each other quick glances.
Anand nodded.

“I believe the, uh, vessel has malfunctioned. As has the scrying glass. I am
quite deaf to the Grand Queen’s orders. I cannot hear a thing.”

“Nor me.”

Belgrade nodded, his antennae waving about wildly. The Grand Queen
spluttered. The Free Queen smiled.

“I hear nothing. Do you, Bird?”

The little Worker looked up at the Free Queen. His voice was small, but
distinct. He looked towards the ceiling. Towards the marching Soldiers.

“I hear laughter. They’re laughing. And so are you.”

The elation in the Free Queen turned to surprise. Shock. She stared down at
Bird, tuning out the Grand Queen. Had he just—

The Free Queen kept looking at Bird. Her mandibles opened, and then her
head turned. Her attention snapped back to Klbkch. Above, she saw the
reaction to the Painted Soldiers play out, on the walls, on the battlefield,
and across the world.
—-

“What in the name of love are those things?”

“Send word to Lord Veltras! The Antinium are on the march!”

“It’s only a hundred! Only—”

The Human army stared as the Antinium emerged seemingly from the
ground. Tyrion Veltras stared as the Painted Antinium marched forwards,
across the Floodplains.

“Jericha. What are those Antinium? A new variant?”

“They’re—we sighted them around Liscor previously but—we have no

knowledge of them, Lord Veltras. They’re…new.”

“New?”

Tyrion stared at the Soldiers. They looked just like ordinary Soldiers. But
the paint on their bodies. That was different. On any other species, he would
dismiss it as decoration. But the Antinium had no decoration.

“There are only a hundred of them.”

“But are they going to reinforce the Goblins? Attack both sides? What?”

“We should ready a defense. Just in case. Attack them from afar, even. If
they close—”

Tyrion turned to the arguing [Strategists].

“No. We hold back. Watch them.”

His words were unnecessary. Everyone was watching the strange new
Antinium. Tyrion turned back to the battle. It was just a hundred. They
couldn’t do a thing. He knew that intellectually. But for the first time since
this battle had begun he began to grow vaguely uneasy.

And on they came.

—-

“Is that Pawn?”

Ceria stared down at the Antinium from the walls. She recognized the
Worker. The other adventurers craned over the battlements, keeping a
watchful eye out for more falling stones.

“It is Pawn! What is he doing? Has everyone gone mad?”

“Pawn, get back here!”

Jelaqua bellowed at the Worker. But if he heard, he never slowed. He was

marching with the others. Ceria vaguely recognized Yellow Splatters. She
turned to Ksmvr to ask what they were doing. And stopped. Ksmvr was
staring down at the Painted Soldiers. And he looked far away.

“Ksmvr? Ksmvr?”

The former Prognugator didn’t turn. He opened his mandibles slowly.

“Yes, Ceria?”

“What are Pawn and the Soldiers doing? They’re not fighting, are they?”

“They are.”

“But they’ll die!”

“Yes.”
The Antinium looked up. His mandible opened and he straightened. He
looked down at the Painted Antinium as the Drakes and Gnolls looked
down. The adventurers stood together. Ksmvr’s nodded.

“That is what they are doing. Dying.”

—-

At first the Goblins didn’t notice them. They were harrying the retreating
Solstice Goblins, pressing them back. It wasn’t easy. The Flooded Waters
tribe was dug in. The Redfangs fought like demons. And the Cave Goblins
refused to buckle. But by numbers they were losing. Eater of Spears was
cutting back. Snapjaw was attacking from the flanks, skirmishing with the
Redfangs. And Reiss had created a shield of bone spires. Now he was
directing the undead to attack.

So it was little wonder that the Antinium weren’t spotted by the Goblins on
either side at first. There were only a hundred. But they were different.

They marched in ranks of five abreast, Yellow Splatters and Pawn in the
lead. Each Soldier’s body was marked by paint. Each was unique.

A flower drawn in black paint with white petals. Raindrops, the first ever
seen. A series of numbers without reason. Words painted in every color that
had meaning only to the Soldier who’d drawn it.

Their march was steady. Quick. And as they marched, they listened. The
Goblins were ahead of them. But it was not on them the Painted Soldiers
focused. It was on the Worker who marched at their head. Pawn swung the
censer, his voice loud. The censer burned cinnamon. The sweet smoke
drifted across the Soldiers.

Time seemed slow to him. Despite the urgency of their pace, Pawn felt like
each moment was forever. Was this Erin’s [Immortal Moment]? His words
echoed in his mind, across the Soldiers.

“We are going to war. We are going to fight, though this is not our battle.”

Click.

The Soldier’s mandibles snapped together as one. Pawn heard the sound
reverberate through his soul. He went on. His voice was shaking.

“We pray not for victory. We pray only that we might live. That we survive.
That Erin lives. That our friends live.”

Click.

The Goblin Lord’s army had seen them now. Reiss turned on the back of his
Shield Spider. His master uttered the first curse word he had spoken in three
years. Reiss stared, and then pointed.

Goblins in black armor moved to set themselves against the Antinium. They
stared uneasily at the insect-people. But [Archers] were already moving. A
thousand Goblins set themselves in place. Enough. The Painted Soldiers’
pace never wavered. Pawn continued, staring at the Goblins as they slowly
took positions. They were so far away, still.

“There are no gods for us to pray to. None that will listen to the Antinium.
None that will care. We are alone. But we are still Antinium.”

Click.

“So. Pray not to gods, but believe in each other. Fight, and survive. Believe
that Heaven awaits. Arrows shall pierce our bodies. Steel rend our chitin.
We will bleed and perish. But believe. We may fall, but we will find Heaven
afterwards. Even if it only exists in our minds. And know that you will be
remembered forever.”

Click. Now the Goblins were ready. A ripple went through their ranks. They
were raising bows, aiming. A Goblin [Mage] conjured fire. Pawn’s grip
tightened on his staff. He shouted the last words, or perhaps they shouted
themselves.
“For so long as one Antinium lives, we shall never be forgotten.”

Click.

There was no signal. No command. The Painted Soldiers saw the Goblins
draw back. Their pace quickened. The march turned into a run. Then a
sprint. The Goblins aimed. They loosed as one. Pawn was running. He
raised his staff up. The censer released smoke. And the arrows flew.

The Painted Soldiers charged. The Goblins were hundreds of paces away
yet. But the arrows were falling. Like rain. They landed among the Soldiers,
hundreds of them. First one volley, then another. The Goblin Lord’s archers
never stopped firing. But the Soldiers ran on. They had no shields to protect
them. Only an invisible thing.

Faith.

Believe. Believe they would survive to meet the Goblins. The first arrow
struck a Soldier on the shoulder. It did not pierce far, but the tip cut past the
shell of the Soldier. Blood ran down his chest. Still he ran.

Arrows fell among the Soldiers. They touched them. The Antinium bled.
But none fell.

Perhaps it was a miracle. The arrows seemed to be missing. Or maybe it

was the mud, the fighting. Poor visibility, a chance gust of wind.

The Goblins stared. They had expected a few Soldiers to fall. But the
arrows were missing. And the Soldiers were drawing closer. The front rank
of Hobs shifted uneasily. The Soldiers were as big as they were. And the
one in front was bigger than the rest, or so it seemed. But they were Hobs.
They held their ground. And the Antinium ran faster.

Pawn was in front. He didn’t know if he was screaming. He didn’t realize

he’d outdistanced the others, even Yellow Splatters. He ran at the front rank
of Goblins and then realized. He didn’t have a weapon!
The first Hobgoblin in black armor was turning, eyes wide. He had never
seen the Antinium before. Pawn started to slow. The Hobgoblin had a mace.
It raised it to strike at the Worker. Yellow Splatters charged past Pawn. His
first fist struck the Hob across the face. The second grabbed the mace hand.
Two more blows struck the Hob and the Goblin fell.

Pawn saw the Goblins turn. One struck at Yellow Splatters with a sword.
The Soldier punched and the Goblin fell back, his face broken. A Soldier
crashed into the Goblins next to Pawn. Another leapt. The Hobs looked up
and a Soldier landed, crushing one with a knee. And ninety eight more
charged past the rest.

It shouldn’t have mattered. They were only a hundred. A hundred bodies. A

hundred fragile souls, nothing more. But they didn’t stop. The Painted
Soldiers overran the first rank of Goblins, then the second. They didn’t stop.

“Go!”

Pawn screamed. The Goblins fell back. It could speak? The Worker ran
with the Soldiers. They crashed into a wave of Goblins armed with spears.
The metal broke on their bodies. It pierced them. It didn’t matter. They
didn’t so much as slow. They had one thought in their minds.

Further. A Soldier reeled back, a spear stabbed through his guts. He looked
down at the spear as the Goblin holding it twisted. The Soldier punched
down and the spear broke. He grabbed the terrified the Goblin and broke its
neck. Then he ran on.

Arrows flew down from above. The Goblin Lord was shooting at his own
warriors! The Antinium looked up. One of them was struck half a dozen
times. He bled. The raindrops on his body became green with his blood.
And he did not stop.

The Soldier with raindrops ran on, ignoring the arrows protruding from his
body. His fellows joined them. They had yet to fall. They would not fall.

On. There was nothing to hold them back. The Goblins began to flee in the
face of the Antinium. They screamed and turned. Swords didn’t hurt them!
They bled, but they didn’t die!

“Hold your positions! There are only a hundred!”

Reiss bellowed. But the Goblins were afraid. The Soldiers charged on, a
wedge now. Led by Yellow Splatters. And Pawn. The Worker ran through
Goblins, forging ahead. Towards Erin. Towards the Goblin Lord. He
whirled his staff and struck a Goblin with the censer. With his other hand he
struck another Goblin with a mace he’d picked up.

It wasn’t enough. They’d never make it. The Soldiers were taking injuries.
And they were beginning to slow. Pawn saw one fall. The one with
numbers. But the others kept moving. They’d never get to the Goblin Lord.

But they didn’t stop. They overran formations, charged past the stunned
Solstice Goblins.

Onwards.

The Goblin Lord’s lines began to break.

—-

“Madness.”

Tyrion whispered. The Goblins were retreating. The Antinium were

smashing through their lines. It was a suicide charge. But somehow, the
Soldiers weren’t dying.

“Do they have some kind of special armor? How are they still moving?
What kind of Antinium is this?”

Jericha stared at the Antinium. Her face was pale. The Soldiers should not
be doing this. Even Antinium had limits. But not this group. And the
Solstice Goblins were rallying around the Soldiers. Redscar pointed and his
Redfangs raced after the Painted Soldiers. Lightning flashed down ahead of
them, clearing a path. Numbtongue roared and Yellow Splatters looked up.
The Goblins surged after the Antinium.

This was the spear they needed. The five Redfangs charged again. The
momentum was again against the Goblin Lord.

But he had his army. He could still win. He just needed to slow them.
Tyrion gritted his teeth. He looked around.

“Jericha!”

His aide blinked. She looked at Tyrion and then colored.

“My lord?”

“Tell the Gold-rank teams to deploy their [Archers]. Take down the Goblin
leaders.”

The [Mage]’s eyes widened. She nodded and shouted orders. Tyrion saw the
message race across the lines of his soldiers, to the group of irregular
adventurers. They were behind the lines of cavalry. They had no intention
of participating in the mass-combat. But at Tyrion’s orders the teams with
high-level [Archers] came forward.

“He wants us to hit the Goblin leaders? From here?”

One of the Gold-rank captains exclaimed with dismay. Another, a man

named Jackal, turned to the [Messenger].

“Which ones are we hitting? The Goblin Lord’s?”

“No, the Goblins defending Liscor.”

“Damn.”

Jackal swore. He looked at his team. The only other adventurer with a bow,
their [Ranger], looked unhappy.
“Jack, what’s the point of this? You saw that girl. Are we supposed to shoot
her, too?”

“Only the Goblins. Lord Veltras was very specific about that.”

The [Messenger] interjected unhelpfully. Jackal gave him a long look. The
Gold-rank adventurer shook his head. He selected an arrow and put it to his
shortbow. The odds of him hitting one of the Goblins from here was remote,
but the other adventurers might have a shot.

“We’ve got orders. Tyrion wants those Goblins to lose. So…let’s support
that Goblin Lord. Sight on those Hobs. That one on the hill with the bow.”

Reluctantly, the other adventurers took aim. They sighted on Badarrow,

who was loosing arrow after arrow. Jackal’s grip tightened on his arrow.

“[Farseeker Arrows]. [Double Arrow].”

He could hear the other adventurers using similar Skills. Jackal drew back.
He could see the Antinium pushing forwards. He gritted his teeth. And then
he looked up. Something bright flashed in the sky.

“Dead gods! Take cover!”

Jackal pointed up, screamed and threw himself sideways. The other
adventurers didn’t bother looking. They dove. And then they saw what
Jackal had.

The arrow that flew down out of the sky was glowing, its tip sparking with
electricity. An enchanted arrow. It detonated as it struck the earth in front of
Jackal’s team. The men and women cried out as the lightning earthed itself,
mostly harmlessly.

“My arm!”

“It got my armor!”

“Who shot that? A Goblin?”

The Humans milled about in a panic. Someone blew an alarm, but the
adventurers were more concerned with the attack. Jackal pulled himself up.
The [Ranger] grabbed his arm.

“That didn’t come from the Goblins. Jack! It came from the walls?”

“A Drake shot that?”

Jackal stared at Liscor. It was far too far away for anyone but a Level 30
[Archer] to hit them from. And an enchanted arrow? His eyes widened. He
saw a figure standing on the battlements.

“Five families save me. That’s Halrac. He shot that arrow!”

The adventurers looked up. Some of them uttered oaths. Jackal looked at
his companions uneasily.

“Is he—”

“He’s covering the Goblins.”

“He can’t do that!”

Another Gold-rank captain exclaimed. Her face was pale. She raised her
bow.

“There’s one of him! He can’t stop us from—”

A second arrow blasted a hole in the dirt in front of her. The adventurer
recoiled. Jackal stared at the walls. The distant shape drew another arrow.
Jackal looked at his team. Slowly, he lowered his bow. The [Messenger]
stared incredulously at him.

“What are you doing? Lord Veltras ordered you to attack the Goblins!”

“Yeah. I don’t think so. You want to take them out, get your [Archers].
Halrac’s got the angle on us and he uses enchanted arrows. And he’s got a
new bow. Get the Kingslayer to do it.”
“She’s not—”

The [Messenger] clamped his lips shut. Jackal eyed him, but the man was
already riding back. The Gold-rank teams stared as another arrow flew from
the wall. But it wasn’t aimed at them. And then they saw more flashes of
light.

“What are they doing?”

“They can’t be—”

“They’re supporting the Goblins.”

Jackal was surprised there was no warble in his voice. He stared at the
walls. Halrac was loosing arrow after arrow into the Goblin Lord’s army.
And he wasn’t the only one.

—-

The first arrow blew a cluster of Goblins to bits. The second one was aimed
directly at Reiss. He barely saw it. A wall of bone rose in front of him and
the arrow nearly shattered the wall of bone. Reiss stared. Someone was
shooting arrows at him! And then he saw a glowing ball of light falling
from the sky.

A star. It shone with beautiful blue light, surrounded by a nimbus of blue

energy. And it landed and bloomed. Goblins died as the first comet struck
the earth. And then the second.

“[Valmira’s Comets].”

Typhenous stood on the walls. He pointed and another comet fell to earth.
By his side, Halrac loosed another arrow. The distance was incredible, but
the [Scout] had calculated each shot. And he had a bow capable of making
it.
To Zevara, it looked as though Halrac was holding nothing but air. Until she
turned her head slightly and saw the invisible bow refracted slightly across
the light. The arrows Halrac were firing were visible enough—until the
[Scout] paused and drew another arrow out of the air. It was transparent and
practically invisible. He aimed, fired. Reiss snarled as an arrow streaked
past him. Only his master’s warning had saved him from the stealthed
arrow.

“They’re covering the Goblins?”

“And the Antinium. Watch Captain, other adventurers are attacking as

well!”

A [Guardswoman] shouted at Zevara. She turned and saw one of the other
Gold-rank teams loosing arrows as well. Other mages capable of hitting the
Goblins at this range were casting spells. Ceria and Pisces were trying to
figure out a spell capable of hitting the Goblins.

“Should I tell them to hold their fire?”

“No—no, I—”

Zevara hesitated. She looked back at the Goblin Lord. The Antinium were
going for him. The Redfangs were cutting their own way through. This was
it. She hesitated. They had a chance. If they—

A bright nova shot from the walls of Liscor. Zevara gaped as a massive ball
of fire shot down towards the Goblin Lord’s army. Reiss’ warriors looked
up, screamed, and vanished. Reiss shielded his eyes and stared. That had
come from Liscor’s walls.

“Olesm!”

The [Strategist] had been using Liscor’s enchantments to shoot down

trebuchet stones. He turned as Zevara ran over to him. He raised one claw
as the smoldering scroll turned to dust.

“What was—”
“Tactical shot, Watch Captain.”

Zevara stared at Olesm. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed. She hesitated.

“I see. Refrain from further shots. Unless you’re sure you can get that
bastard. Focus on hitting those damn rocks!”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm saluted with one claw. He narrowed his eyes and turned back to
watching the skies. So did Zevara. The next wave of boulders would be
coming. She waited, tensed, ready to call out alarm. She saw the trebuchets
firing, braced, saw where they would land…

“What the—?”

—-

Tyrion saw the boulders arc into the air. He saw them land. He stared as a
dozen boulders crashed into the back of the Goblin Lord’s army. He roared.

“What was that!?”

Jericha was already racing towards the trebuchets. She came back, panting.

“It was Emperor Laken, Lord Veltras!”

“He ordered that?”

“No, sire. He claims they misfired, sir.”

“Mis—”

Tyrion nearly choked on his own words. He nearly turned and rode towards
the blind [Emperor] and caught himself just in time. He pointed at Jericha.
“Aim at Liscor! Tell that damned—ensure there are no more mistakes. Go!”

Jericha nodded and fled. Tyrion turned back to the battle. He was apoplectic
with rage. His [Strategists] had gone silent. It shouldn’t have happened. But
he could see it. So could anyone with an eye. Zevara, Olesm—even the
blind [Emperor] must have sensed it.

The laughing Titan of Baleros saw it. He watched as the Antinium carved
their way left of the Goblin Lord, drawing his forces away. As the
adventurers bombarded the Goblin Lord’s forces. The lightning, the chance
‘misfire’ by the trebuchets—it broke the neat lines of the Goblin Lord’s
army. Distracted him. All of it conspired for one thing, one moment that
could be exploited, where the waves of warriors between the Goblins and
the Goblin Lord drew back. It gave them what they needed.

An opening.

—-

And they came. Reiss tried to stop them. He saw his lieutenants trying to do
the same. But Snapjaw was blocked by the trebuchet’s boulders and
Redscar rode down on her. Eater of Spears was being targeted by the
[Scout] with the magical arrows. And the Antinium had pressed too far into
his lines. They were falling. But they had given them a gap. And into that
gap they came.

Cave Goblins. A young woman. She led them, rallied them and forced the
lines open. And the five charged ahead. Headscratcher. Numbtongue.
Shorthilt. Badarrow. And Rabbiteater.

They were wounded. Tired. But they didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
There were only Reiss’ Hobgoblin bodyguards between them and the
Goblin Lord. Headscratcher led the way. His axe shone as he cut down
Hobs, swinging, clearing a path. And the world watched as he came on.
Ilvriss stared down at the scrying orb. He saw the Hobgoblin swinging,
Shorthilt leaping forwards to cut an enemy down as Headscratcher swung
again. The magical weapon cut the air, taking down three Hobs at once.

“Nice axe. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

The Wall Lord clenched his claws into a fist. He saw Badarrow shoot a
Goblin at point-blank range, and Rabbiteater dash past him. The Hob
caught a blast of fire inside the liquid cloak.

“Waste of a good vintage. Go, you damn Goblins! Go!”

Numbtongue sang as he charged, swinging his guitar. In his seat at the table,
Blackmage stood up.

“Go, guitar Goblin!”

Reiss turned. He pointed, and black magic coalesced around his finger.

“[Deathbolt]!”

The five Hobs saw the spell coming and avoided it. Flos laughed as he sat
at his table, peering at the scrying orb.

“You can’t hit warriors with that spell! They’re going to reach him.”

“She did it.”

Gazi smiled. Her main eye was closed. Trey stared at Erin Solstice. So did
Teres.

“That’s her?”

Erin was shouting. She raised a frying pan and threw it. The dented,
battered pan flew through the air and nearly reached Reiss. But Erin was
too tired so it just landed a few dozen feet short of him. The Blighted King
shook his head.

“Pointless.”
He turned away from the scrying orb and waved his hand, dismissing it.
The other nobility hesitated, then clustered around the orb. On came the
five Redfangs. And then they were there.

Distant specks. Even in the scrying orb they were tiny. Falene stared at the
Redfangs, trying not to blink. She saw them scale the hill, fighting past the
last of the Hobs. And then they were there.

He waited for them. Reiss had dismounted from his Shield Spider. He stood
tall, black magic swirling into a long sword. Death magic. A blade of
darkness. In his other hand he conjured shards of bone. The Goblin Lord
waited for the five of them.

They had never met. But it didn’t matter. They were Redfangs. And he was
the Goblin Lord. They didn’t say much. Reiss saw them spread out as the
Cave Goblins bought their heroes time.

“I am a Goblin Lord. Reiss. Why are you defying me?”

That was all he asked them. And the Redfangs shrugged. Headscratcher
smiled.

“Because.”

They took their spots. Headscratcher in front, Shorthilt to the side.

Badarrow took aim. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater came at the Goblin Lord
from behind.

They fought. Reiss swung the magical blade. He shot bone darts, conjured a
wall of bone. The undead rose, bursting from the ground. The Redfangs
dodged and struck at him.

Armor of bones. Claws of bone. Reiss caught Headscratcher’s axe by the

handle and threw the Hob. He shouted. He was a Goblin Lord! They were
just Hobs!

He couldn’t be felled. Not by them! That was the difference between a

Goblin Lord and a mere Chieftain. He had done what no other Goblin
could. That was what it meant to be him. Reiss slashed and opened up
Numbtongue’s chest. The Hobgoblin retreated, drinking a healing potion.

An arrow struck Reiss in the side. He staggered, pointed. Rabbiteater was

blown back by an explosion of air. Shorthilt found a Draug locked onto his
leg. It bit and tore at him as he cut it down. Headscratcher brought his axe
down and Reiss conjured a shield of bone to protect him. The axe bit
through the bone and Reiss stumbled back.

“I am Reiss!”

He spun and slashed Badarrow across the chest. The Hob grunted but
managed to kick Reiss anyways. Headscratcher shoulder-charged the
Goblin Lord. Reiss roared and threw him.

Strength. Skill. Speed. The five Hobs attacked again. Reiss defended
himself from all sides. He was stronger than they were. He was beyond any
Goblin.

Any one Goblin. But there were five. And it was enough. Reiss stumbled
backwards as another arrow struck his leg. Shorthilt cut him across the back
and Reiss struck at him. And then Rabbiteater slashed down and
Headscratcher cut at him from the side. The Goblin Lord blocked one with
spell, the other with his hand. And Numbtongue struck him across the face.

He fell. The Solstice Goblins roared. Reiss struggled to get up.

Headscratcher charged him. And the Goblin Lord looked up. His black eyes
widened. The white pupils contracted.

“Always. You always disappoint me, my apprentice.”

A voice spoke. Headscratcher blinked. He hesitated, and that was what

saved his life.

Reiss’ body jerked. A hand rose and a voice spoke. But it was not Reiss’.

“[Mass Silent Sickle].”

Cutting blades filled the air. Headscratcher’s eyes widened. Rabbiteater
threw himself forwards. The liquid cape exploded as the blades lacerated
the liquid, cut into his armor. The [Champion] fell back, bleeding as the
Goblin Lord rose. But he was not Reiss any longer.

Az’kerash turned. He wore a Goblin’s face. A different body from his own.
But it was he who spoke. He who regarded the five Redfangs with
contempt. Frustration.

“Five Hobs. An army of three tribes. Antinium. How dare you interfere? My
apprentice fails me time and again. So it falls to me to do what must be
done.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Who was this? Every instinct in them
cried out that it was not Reiss. And moreover—the way the stranger moved
made them nervous. He looked from face to face and then gestured.

“I have little interest in wasting power. This will be enough for the likes of
you.”

He raised one hand. The Redfangs braced. The ground shifted. Bone rose
from the ground, white, pure ivory. It formed into a blade and a handle,
curving, forming a guard, a mesh. The Necromancer drew a pure white
rapier from the earth and passed his hand over it.

“[Bone Rapier]. [Bloodcaller’s Curse].”

The blade turned red. The Redfangs watched as the Necromancer lifted the
blade. Reiss’ body was injured, but it moved fluidly. Az’kerash smiled
thinly.

“It has been long since I last took up arms. This will be enough. Come, you
—”

He broke off. His rapier snapped up and he slashed the arrow in half. The
Necromancer stared at Badarrow. The Hobgoblin blinked. The
Necromancer lunged.
“Watch out!”

Shorthilt slashed. Az’kerash pulled back smoothly. Badarrow stumbled. He

stared at the wound in his shoulder. A deep hole had been drilled in his arm.
Az’kerash retreated back, slashing. Shorthilt grunted as the blade opened up
cuts along his arms. He deflected one, ducked back.

“I am out of practice.”

That was all Az’kerash said. The Hobs looked at each other. Badarrow
scrambled for a potion. Shorthilt did the same. The Hobs drank as
Az’kerash watched, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. The Redfangs
waited. Shorthilt felt at his injures and froze.

The cuts weren’t healing, even with a potion. Badarrow stared at his
wounded shoulder. The Necromancer nodded.

“A fool relies on alchemical tricks. So, Goblins. Show me what my

apprentice failed to defeat.”

He raised his rapier. The five Redfangs looked at each other.

They could have run. They could have fled.

But they couldn’t have. Not really. They spread out, setting themselves.
Headscratcher’s axe glowed. The Necromancer regarded it idly.

“A simple enchantment. Without form.”

He stepped back. Headscratcher roared and swung. The Necromancer let

the tip of the magical blade pass by his chest. He turned. Numbtongue,
Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater leapt at him.

“Why a guitar?”

Az’kerash slashed across Numbtongue’s chest. He stepped, and blurred out

of the way of an arrow.

“[Flash Step].”
He cut across Rabbiteater’s back, twice. The Necromancer frowned as his
blade cut through the cloak but barely penetrated the armor.

“A Skill?”

He turned. Shorthilt’s sword curved towards his chest, then down towards
his arm.

“Lacking.”

The rapier snapped down. The blade deflected Shorthilt’s attack

perfunctorily. Headscratcher charged again. This time he bled.

The five Redfangs attacked as one. The Necromancer wove in between

them, using [Flash Step], but no other spells. His blade lanced out,
deflecting blows, attacking. The Redfangs stumbled, bleeding.

The Necromancer was toying with them. He didn’t go for deadly strikes.
Not at first. He let them attack him. Because it was meaningless. All of it.
Headscratcher’s ferocity, the fearlessness, even the strength of the others
was meaningless to him.

It was not speed, nor strength, or any ability granted to him by his class. It
was simply skill. Skill, and experience. The truth dawned on the Goblins as
the Necromancer waited for their next attack, calm, eyes as old as centuries,
black as midnight.

It was just…time. Time. Not just ten years of training. Or even forty. But
centuries. Az’kerash had fought, practiced, and lived through centuries of
battle. Every attack they could conceive of, he had seen done. He knew the
limits of form and which motion followed the next.

On the hill, the Necromancer danced. It was an immortal dance. A waltz

known only to masters, to those who had studied. The Necromancer was
tracing a pattern with each step, following an unseen meter as he traced his
steps, thrust, dodged, and parried.
It was a thing of beauty. The height of skill. Az’kerash had studied a way of
fighting that turned swordplay into a science. Art. And Goblins had none.

They were warriors, but self-taught. Trained by a warrior who relied on

simplicity, economical movements. There was perfection in that. But no
patterns. Headscratcher bled, and blood dripped down the haft of his axe.
Onto the ground. Badarrow drew an arrow and hesitated.

“Well?”

Az’kerash mocked them. He smiled. The five Redfangs looked at each

other. He was a master. And they couldn’t match him. But one of them
stepped forwards, nonetheless. It was Shorthilt. The Goblin held his sword
with both hands. He moved calmly, advancing, his stance set. And
Az’kerash paused. Uncertainly.

Here came Shorthilt. Quiet Shorthilt. Shorthilt, who loved weapons. Who
thought about how to cut with the most minimal of effort, how to strike in a
way an opponent would never expect. A Hobgoblin, a warrior who studied
weapons like poets studied love.

He walked slowly towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer paused, then

lunged. A blow aimed at Shorthilt’s heart. The Goblin parried and spun. He
cut, and Az’kerash was already gone. The Necromancer scored a cut down
Shorthilt’s back. The Hobgoblin didn’t waver, though his blood spattered
the ground. He struck out and Az’kerash went for his throat. But Shorthilt
was already pulling back. His feint turned into a block. Again, Az’kerash
cut him. But the Necromancer was no longer smiling.

Shorthilt breathed evenly. He watched Az’kerash, his blade changing

positions, he couldn’t keep up with the Necromancer. He was ten, no,
twenty steps behind Az’kerash in the dance. But he did know the dance.

And he was not alone. The other four Redfangs waited. Then they came
forwards. They did not know the dance. But they knew their brother. And
they attacked alongside him.
Rabbiteater and Numbtongue. Badarrow and Headscratcher. In tandem,
alone, all together. The Necromancer spun back. But Shorthilt was moving
with him and he could see where Az’kerash would be. The five Redfangs
followed Az’kerash, blades cutting air. Stepping forwards, blocking his
path.

Around them the Hobgoblins, Az’kerash’s warriors, and the Cave Goblins
looked up. They saw their leaders fighting. But—it was not Reiss. The
Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the stranger wearing Reiss’ body. Saw his
frustration. That look of immortal, confused annoyance.

“Why? Why?”

Az’kerash snapped. His blade lanced out. This time Headscratcher deflected
the blade. Shorthilt lunged. His sword crossed past the Necromancer’s face.
He swept the blade sideways and Az’kerash stepped back. He raised a
Goblin’s claw at the same time as, hundreds of miles away the
Necromancer raised his real hand and touched his face. He stared down at
the blood on Reiss’ claws. He looked at Shorthilt and the Goblin smiled.

The Necromancer’s eyes blazed. He heard a laugh, from the Redfangs. And
an echo of that from his apprentice. He closed his eyes and raised his hand.

“Enough.”

The Hobs leapt at him. Az’kerash pointed.

“[Sightless Winds].”

The skies turned black. A wind howled. Color and light were obscured as a
wind blew. Darkness surrounded the Redfang Warriors. Erin looked up. She
lowered the shortsword in her hand and stared up. The spell blew around
the hill for all of six seconds. And then it was gone. And there he stood.

The Necromancer stood with rapier raised. A smile crossed his face.
Headscratcher stood in front of him, axe raised. The Hob stared into
Az’kerash’s eyes. He strained. But his arms betrayed him. Headscratcher
stumbled back, and Az’kerash withdrew the rapier.
Blood spattered the ground. Headscratcher looked down at the hole in his
chest, just below his heart. He sank to his knees. Erin screamed. She ran for
the hill.

“Better.”

Az’kerash turned. Shorthilt leapt at him. The Necromancer spun away and
cut Shorthilt’s stomach open. He slashed his arm back and the [Weapon
Master] fell. His ribs gaped open as Shorthilt slashed at Az’kerash.
Rabbiteater screamed and shielded Shorthilt. He dragged his friend away as
Badarrow loosed arrow after arrow. Numbtongue charged Az’kerash, but
Badarrow tackled him. The Necromancer walked away from them. He
ignored Headscratcher and raised his hand.

“Time to end this farce.”

He pointed down. The Antinium were fighting below him. A few dozen
wounded bodies, bright with paint. The Necromancer’s lip curled.

“[Mass Stone Lances].”

Spires of rock rose from the ground. They levitated upwards around Reiss’
body and shot down. Yellow Splatters looked up. He saw the first spear
aimed at Pawn and threw himself forwards.

The first javelin of stone stopped halfway through Yellow Splatters. The
second passed through the Soldier with raindrops. The other Soldiers turned
and the spell blasted them apart. The Goblins in black armor, the undead, all
were consumed by the thunderous onslaught. Pawn fell to his knees,
grabbing for Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] reached up for him.

“No, no!”

The Goblins fled around them. The Necromancer turned his hand left. He
flicked his hand, and a bolt of lightning curved around him. He looked
across the battlefield at the Goblins. Reiss’ warriors and the Solstice
Goblins. They looked up at him, and despair filled both. Az’kerash spoke
with Reiss’ voice.
“Kill the Goblins! Slaughter the traitors! I, your Lord, command you!”

Reiss’ tribe looked up. They felt the order run through them. Wrong. All
wrong. But they moved nonetheless. They surrounded the Cave Goblins,
the Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfangs. The Cave Goblins struggled to hold
and fell. Rags’ tribe fell back as the undead rose and attacked from all sides.
The Redfangs tried to charge Az’kerash, but they were scattered.

“At last.”

Az’kerash shook his head. He stared down at the slaughter, ignoring the
Hobgoblins behind him. He half-turned as a young woman ran up the slope.

“Headscratcher?”

Erin fell to her knees. The other four Redfangs were carrying him
backwards. Az’kerash pointed and a spray of bone shards sent them
tumbling down the hill. Erin ran forwards. A limp body rolled towards her.

“Headscratcher!”

He was lying face-down. Erin rolled him over. Headscratcher’s face was
muddy. He blinked up at her. Blood ran from the wound above his heart. He
gripped at her hand. Erin grabbed for a healing potion. But it didn’t close
the wound. She splashed it over him, and then another.

“Headscratcher! Headscratcher, stay with me!”

The Hobgoblin smiled. He blinked slowly, his crimson eyes leaking water.
Erin bent over him, tears falling. Headscratcher smiled. He opened his
mouth and whispered. Erin lowered her head.

“What?”

The Hobgoblin began to whisper. Erin heard him cough. She waited. And
then she looked down.

“Headscratcher?”
She saw two open crimson eyes. A smile, parted lips. But the words never
came. Erin looked up. The Necromancer turned to look back at her. The
Goblins looked up and heard her scream.

And they screamed. The Goblin Lord. The brothers who reached out for
their lost heart. And the Goblin who rode forwards. A howl burst from his
lips. The betrayer. The traitor. Too late. As he watched his son fall. Garen
Redfang screamed and rode forwards. And behind him rode Rags.

—-

“Sire! We’re under attack!”

Tyrion turned his gaze away from the Goblin Lord. He frowned at Jericha.

“What? By whom?”

“Monsters!”

The [Lord] twisted in his saddle. He heard the cry go up. He saw the
Goblins riding Carn Wolves and his eyes narrowed. But then more
[Soldiers] screamed.

“Spiders! Spiders to the rear!”

“Spiders?”

Tyrion was incredulous. He looked back, towards the High Passes. And
then his eyes widened. He saw the first Shield Spider scuttling forwards.
One, followed by tens of thousands. Hundreds. They poured out of a cave,
an opening in the rock face. Only, the cave had been widened. The rocks
had been cleared, a tunnel formed. The Shield Spiders had done the rest.
They crashed out of the dungeon, past a broken wall. A nest of them.

Shield Spiders.
They were creatures of the dungeon. A nest grown for who knew how long.
A trap, in truth. And they had been walled off. Contained. But the passage
of so many armies had woken them. Made them restless. But they were still
trapped. Until a Chieftain who knew rocks had broken the walls. Then they
had been released. They poured out of the dungeon, a ravening horde.

The Goblins they ignored completely. They were, after all, both creatures of
the dungeon and thus quite invisible to the spiders. But the Humans? The
Humans were prey. The Shield Spiders raced across the Floodplains as
Rags, Garen, and the Redfangs rode ahead of them. Behind them Pyrite,
and Tremborag’s Goblins ran, screaming in fury. The Humans turned to
meet them, but the Shield Spiders fell on them.

“Kill the spiders! On me! Guard the trebuchets!”

Tyrion roared. He rode forwards as his army struggled to turn. The Goblins
raced past him. The Shield Spiders tore into the soldiers. Some were as
large as houses. Others even bigger, but they struggled to get out of the
dungeon. But those that poured out were already large enough. And a
dancing Goblin standing on a cliff cackled and pointed her staff down at
them.

“Grow, grow and go faster! Get angrier!”

Ulvama shouted. The Spiders below her began to grow and they raced
ahead of the others. Frenzied, they tore everything in their wake to bits.
Ulvama laughed and cast another spell. A few Hobs and warriors guarded
her as the [Shaman] cast her spells, already prepared to run for it.
Pebblesnatch threw a rock.

Tyrion Veltras roared as he charged a Shield Spider. They were overrunning

the rear. One reared up and smashed at a trebuchet, enraged beyond reason.
Another charged forwards and stopped. A young man stood in its way. He
raised his hand.

“Halt.”

The Shield Spiders in front of Laken Godart froze. He pointed.

“Begone.”

They hesitated, then flowed away from him. The fleeing Humans turned.
Laken Godart raised his voice. His voice rallied the soldiers.

“Stand and fight!”

A wall of bodies formed. Tyrion Veltras charged past them. Lord Pellmia
cursed as he rode forwards. His son was in the rear! Lady Ieka narrowed her
eyes and conjured a flurry of spectral arrows. She aimed up at the laughing
[Shaman] who ducked behind a stone for cover.

The Humans turned and fought. Lord Gralton and his dogs raced into the
fray, the mastiffs tearing, biting. The Shield Spider’s rush halted there. But
they were only a distraction. The Goblins raced past them.

“Necromancer!”

Garen screamed. He rode straight towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer

was staring at the Shield Spiders with unconcealed confusion. His eyes
flicked down towards Garen and dismissed him. He pointed and a
[Deathbolt] shot down at Garen. The Chieftain cut straight through the
magic spell. He screamed. And the Goblins heard him. Redfang Warriors
looked up.

“Redfang!”

It was a universal cry. But it came from a voice they had known. The
wounded Redfangs looked up. And then a second voice joined it. A young
Goblin rode past them. She raced through the fleeing Goblins and raised her
sword. A small Goblin shouted.

“To me! Rally! Rally!”

Her tribe looked up. Rags waved her sword. She rode her Carn Wolf past
the undead, shouting. Flaming arrows burst from her claws and struck
zombies and Draug. Redscar turned. He pointed. And the cry went up.

“Rags! Rags!”
“Chieftain!”

The Flooded Waters tribe took up the shout. Hobs raised their weapons.
They streamed towards her. Redscar urged Thunderfur towards his
Chieftain. He bellowed at the others.

“Rally!”

The Goblins looked up. They raced towards their Chieftain, abandoning
their positions, fighting. There was no strategy. Just her. Rags raced at the
head of a wave of Goblins. She was laughing, weeping. She pointed at
Az’kerash and her tribe howled. They charged after her.

“That Goblin was dead!”

Az’kerash snapped in fury. He pointed as a spear of stone shot towards

Rags. Her eyes widened. A lightning bolt blew the [Stone Lance] to bits.
Az’kerash turned. Noears unleashed lightning bolt after lightning bolt. The
Necromancer pointed, and lightning curved around him.

“Ridiculous. One Goblin can change nothing! Stop laughing!”

He turned. The Goblins were chanting a name.

“Redfang!”

A word. An idea. A hero. Az’kerash’s lip curled. He saw the Hobgoblin

riding at him and pointed.

“Stop that Goblin!”

Reiss’ army moved, forming a wall tens of thousands of Goblins deep.

Garen drove into them, heedless of the spears stabbing towards him. His
eyes were locked on Az’kerash. The Necromancer pointed a finger at him.
And then another flash of red caught his eye.

Another Redfang warrior plunged towards Garen. A single Goblin charged

into the army, following his Chieftain. And then another. The Redfang tribe
raced towards their former Chieftain.
He had betrayed them. He had left them. All that was true. He was not their
Chieftain. But he had led them. And in this moment that was all they
needed. The Redfangs charged, and they broke through the black-armored
Goblins. Fighting, falling, his name on their lips.

Perhaps they could have been stopped. Snapjaw rode towards Garen. But
she was a touch too slow. They passed her, sweeping into the undead,
fighting to get clear. The Redfangs roared as they found the strength for one
last charge. For him.

Garen Redfang. He rode at their head, a final, bloody red spear. Spiderslicer
raced after his Chieftain, grinning. The Necromancer faced the Goblin at
last. Garen’s eyes locked on his.

“Fall, you arrogant Goblin.”

He raised his hands and bone spires shot from the ground. Walls of ivory
burst from the ground. Stone tipped projectiles shot from the sky. The
Redfangs charged through them, as Carn Wolves and Goblins fell left and
right. The Goblins and undead tried to block their way. But the Redfangs
kept coming. They shielded their Chieftain from the spells. Carn Wolves
fell. Redfang Warriors fell. Garen kept riding, his Carn Wolf stumbling. The
Hobgoblin’s body bled as the spells tore at him.

But he was nearly there. Az’kerash snarled. He pointed.

“[Deathbolt]! [Deathbolt]! Die, damn you!”

The first bolt caught Garen’s Carn Wolf. The wolf, who had never been
named, stumbled. Garen clung to it as it fell. He looked down and the Carn
Wolf fell beneath him. The Hobgoblin paused once, and then leapt. He ran
towards Az’kerash.

The second [Deathbolt] came for Garen. He was caught, unable to run. So
he cut the spell in two. Az’kerash roared in fury. He pointed and a spray of
razor-sharp bones sprayed down.
There was no way to dodge it. Garen shielded his face. But a Goblin rode in
front of him. Spiderslicer blocked the spray of projectiles the only way he
knew how. He fell, limply. Garen reached for him. And then he kept
running.

A Hob cut him from the side. A Draug slashed him. Garen stumbled.
Arrows rained down around him. A spire of bone burst from the ground. He
dodged it, stumbling. He stumbled onto the top of the hill and the
Necromancer stared down at him.

“You. He knows you.”

“Yes.”

Garen reached for a healing potion. He found none. His arm ran with blood.
He shrugged and raised his sword. The Necromancer stared down at him.
Then he looked past Garen. The Redfang Chieftain half-turned. The hill
was swarming with the undead and Reiss’ warriors.

“Kill him.”

The Goblins hesitated. But the undead didn’t. They came towards Garen.
And four Hobgoblins blocked them. Shorthilt, his body cold, his stomach
and chest torn open. Rabbiteater, supporting him, holding a magical axe.
Badarrow, tears streaming from his eyes. Numbtongue. He stood over the
body of the Hobgoblin and the young woman kneeling over him.

Az’kerash had no words. His fury was expressed by a single movement. He

lunged. Garen dodged, and the tip of the bone blade scored a cut down his
cheek. He slashed and Az’kerash stepped back. The Necromancer pointed.

“[Bone Spr—]”

He jerked back as Garen’s blade slashed at his hand. The Hobgoblin

stepped forwards and the Necromancer backed up. He blurred backwards,
raised his hand—
And ducked. Garen was already leaping, cutting for the place Az’kerash’s
head had been. Once more the Necromancer tried to take his distance. Once
more Garen followed him.

He wasn’t quick enough. Reiss’ body was worn down. Or perhaps Garen
was too fast. The Necromancer backed up, and Garen advanced. Below
him, the undead swarmed around the hill. The four Redfangs were fighting.
And Erin was on her feet. She swung at a Ghoul, trying to keep it away
from Headscratcher’s body. The monster lunged at her—

And a flaming crossbow bolt thunked into the side of its head. Erin
stumbled back. She looked up and saw her savior. A little Goblin riding a
Carn Wolf. She was followed by an army of weary Goblins. They surged
past her. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Rags!?”

It was her. The little Goblin pointed past Erin, at the four Redfangs. Then
she turned.

“Erin! Get back! We fight! Garen fights that thing!”

She pointed up at the hill at Garen and the Necromancer. The young woman
gaped up at her.

“You can talk?”

“Yes!”

Rags grinned. Erin looked up at her. There were a thousand things to say.

But there was no time. The two began to fight the undead swarming up the
hill. The Goblin Lord’s warriors advanced slowly, but they had not the will
to fight. They watched as the Hobgoblin with the famous name and blade
confronted the Necromancer.

Garen Redfang. He limped, favoring his right foot. Az’kerash moved fluidly
from form to form, his rapier glowing. He ignored Reiss’ wounds. His gaze
was contemptuous.
“You can never win. Why do you Goblins strive so? This has been
completely, utterly, pointless.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stared at Reiss. Straight into his eyes. He bared his
teeth.

“My brother. Let go of him.”

The Necromancer’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your brother? Hah. He is my apprentice. Mine.”

“No. He is free. Let him go.”

“You cannot break my link with him. Any more than you could hope to
defeat me.”

It was true. Garen looked up and saw the thing looking through Reiss’ eyes.
The Necromancer. A being of centuries. He had faced Velan the Kind. He
was…a monster wearing Reiss’ flesh. Still, the Hobgoblin raised his blade.

“I’ll try.”

Garen tensed. Az’kerash sneered. But he stepped back. With one hand he
held the rapier of bone. The other glowed, fingers twisting, preparing a
spell. The Necromancer saluted Garen with his rapier, in a fashion that had
passed from the world a century ago.

“Very well, let’s end it. And his hopes. Come, Goblin child.”

Garen leapt. The Necromancer struck, with both spell and blade. Below, the
Goblins watched. Erin turned and saw the battle.

It was not one for stories. There was no whirling of blades, or long duel like
the Redfangs had shared. It was over in a second.

The two had their measure of each other. Az’kerash had experience, a
powerful body, and magic. Garen was wounded in a dozen places. But it
was the Chieftain of the Redfang tribe who saw through the Necromancer.
The spray of razor-sharp stones tore the air, shrapnel that Garen avoided by
throwing himself right. Az’kerash stepped into that opening, in a single
lunge. He stabbed into Garen’s chest, and the howl that burst from his lips
was Reiss’ voice, despairing. Garen jerked as the blade pierced his chest.
But he only grinned. His arm swept down and he cut Az’kerash’s arm off at
the elbow.

The two staggered back from each other. Garen stumbled and sat. And
Az’kerash screamed. He staggered back, and in his castle, the Necromancer
clutched at his hand. His true body was unharmed, but he shrieked, feeling
the pain of it. His Chosen looked up in horror at their master as he cried out.
And the link broke.

Reiss sank to the ground, clutching at the stump of his arm. He stared at the
fallen arm. And then he looked up. A Hobgoblin sat in front of him, pulling
the rapier from his chest. Garen touched the hole in his chest and his breath
caught. He looked at it and then laughed.

He laughed as blood streamed from his chest. He gazed up at the Goblin

Lord as Reiss looked down at him. The eyes were still black and white. But
they were his brother’s eyes. The Necromancer had no tears to shed. Reiss
stared down at Garen. The Hobgoblin smiled.

“Hi, brother.”

“Garen. Why did you come back?”

Reiss stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain went to shrug. Then he shook
his head.

“Thought I’d do right thing. Shouldn’t have run. Shouldn’t have abandoned.
You. Team. Tribe. Rags. Should have stayed.”

He labored to sit up. Reiss stared at him. The Goblin Lord stumbled.

“Garen—”

“Brother. It’s over.”

Garen’s head lolled back. He grinned bleakly and Reiss looked around.

The undead had fallen. Rags’ warriors held the hill. They stood, wounded.
Exhausted. But Reiss’ army surrounded them. Yet the black-armored
Goblins made no move to take the hill. They stared up at their Goblin Lord.
The Redfangs held their ground, a fraction of their number. Redscar wept as
he stood over Spiderslicer.

Dead. So many dead. And for what? Reiss turned to look at the city in the
distance. Liscor was cracked. The walls were broken. The eastern gate lay
open. He saw Drakes and Gnolls lining the walls. Watching. Reiss stared at
the city and saw just that.

A city. It did not shine. It was not beautiful. It was a thing of stone and
mortar. Of magic, yes, but only magic. Not dreams. He stared at the city and
realized it did not hold what he wanted.

He looked down. His arm bled onto the ground. He heard his master’s
voice, raging at him. He looked at Garen. Reiss felt so tired.

“What are we doing? Garen. Brother. What did we do? I do?”

“Stupid things. Bad things.”

Garen’s eyes brimmed with tears. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes. Slowly,
he reached down. His left hand shook as it reached down. Garen raised his
right arm. He coughed and blood ran from his chest. Reiss slowly pulled
him up. The two stood together. They wept. And embraced. And they were
dying. Reiss looked at Garen.

“Brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

Garen leaned on Reiss. He gripped Reiss tightly. The two stood there.
Below them, the Goblin Lord’s army sighed. They lowered their weapons.
They looked down. Rags stared up at Garen and Erin’s eyes overflowed
with tears. It was over. The Goblins stood still.
And Tyrion Veltras pointed at the Goblins.

“Charge.”

—-

War horns blew. The Goblins looked up. The Humans were riding. The
Shield Spiders lay dead. Their entrance from the dungeon was collapsed
and the rest were torn to pieces, impaled, destroyed by magic. Tyrion
Veltras shouted orders as he rode forwards.

“Archers, loose at will! Mages, target the Goblins! Full bombardment to the
left and right flanks! Cut them off! Cavalry on me!”

“Sire? That’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

Jericha rode with him. She looked up at her [Lord]. Tyrion Veltras’ face was
a mask of fury. He pointed at the Goblin Lord. He had seen enough.

“You heard me. All forces, charge! Drive the Goblins into Liscor or kill
them all! I came here to kill a Goblin Lord. He falls.”

He raced forwards. The Humans on horseback thundered after him. Reiss

and Garen turned. Rags looked up and saw the silver army sweeping
towards them. A glorious host. Humans. Erin raised her head.

“No! Please. No.”

—-

“No.”
Reiss repeated the words. His gaze found Tyrion. The [Lord] was leading
the charge. Garen stared at the army.

“We have to run.”

“Where?”

Reiss turned, despairingly. Garen looked around. The mountains were so far
away. They would never make it. But—there. He pointed.

“The city. We run for the city!”

Liscor was close enough. Reiss stared at it.

“Liscor.”

He turned. The Goblins were staring, transfixed by the death coming their
way. Reiss shouted desperately. He saw heads turn. His Goblins. Rags and
her tribe. Reiss pointed.

“The city! Go to the city! Run!”

The Goblins looked up at him. They turned as one and began to run. It
didn’t matter whose side they were on. They ran. Reiss turned to Garen,
desperately.

“We must get to the city. Hold off the Humans until then.”

Yes, we must.

Reiss froze. The voice in his head. Was it his? But there was no time. Garen
clutched at his chest. Reiss stared at him.

“Healing potion.”

He had one. Garen took it. He drank from the bottle. But the cursed wound
wasn’t closing. He touched the wound at his chest. The Chieftain’s smile
was bitter.
“Garen—”

Reiss reached for him and realized his arm was still missing. Garen offered
him the bottle. His eyes were very tired.

“I will stop Humans. You got to the city.”

Yes.

Again, Reiss heard the voice. He stared at Garen. The Chieftain raised his
blade. He stopped as Reiss held out an arm.

“No.”

Garen looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord shook his head. He straightened,
ignoring the little voice inside his head. He closed his eyes and listened to
his heart instead.

“No. I will stop the Humans. You go to the city. Bring them inside. Save
them.”

He looked at Garen. The Hobgoblin’s eyes widened. He met Reiss’ gaze

and the Goblin Lord saw his eyes flicker a second in doubt. Reiss smiled
and nodded.

“Go, brother.”

For a second Garen wavered. Then he reached out. Reiss took his hand. The
two held each other, and the moment was all too brief and as long as
forever. Then Garen turned.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Not for long.”

Reiss called after him. Garen laughed. The two parted. Garen ran down the
hill, blade held aloft. Reiss turned to face the Humans. He called the undead
Shield Spider to him. The dead, rotting monstrosity crawled over. Reiss
stared at the headless, mindless thing. Then he shook his head and climbed
up. He nearly fell as he clung to its back. Then, slowly, he began to ride
down the hill. Towards the Humans. Buying time. And behind him, his
people ran for Liscor.

—-

It was over. But it wasn’t over. Zevara saw Tyrion charging and knew what
he was doing. She screamed down at the soldiers on the ground.

“Seal the gates!”

The eastern wall was breached. The gates had been torn open. The wall was
crumbling. Two more breaches had opened up. Enough space for the
Goblins to flood into the gaps. If they entered the city, if the Humans did,
Liscor would fall. Workers and Drakes and Gnolls swarmed around the
entrance, trying to haul wood and stone into place. But so slowly.

The Goblins were running. Tyrion Veltras was coming across the
Floodplains, a blur of speed crossing the hills and valley like lightning.
They fled from him towards the only place that could offer safety.

Liscor.

Zevara saw them coming. She saw the Cave Goblins, the Redfangs, the
very Goblins who’d fought for Liscor among the Goblin Lord’s forces. And
she wavered.

“They’re coming for the city!”

A cry went up across the walls. Zevara looked down the battlements. The
adventurers were staring. The army of Goblins swept towards them.

“Archers. Aim for the first rank of Goblins!”

Zevara’s voice was strangled. She saw Drakes and Gnolls look up. They
slowly took aim. Olesm turned. He shouted in horror at Zevara.

“What are you doing? Those are the Redfangs! They fought for us!”

He ran towards Zevara. She knocked him back, pointing at the Goblin
horde.

“They cannot enter the city. This is what Tyrion Veltras wants!”

“But they fought for us—”

“And the Goblin Lord’s army is right behind them! If they get into the city
—”

Zevara choked on the possibility. Olesm stared at her, his scales white.

“Zevara—”

“Move aside! Tell the archers to loose the instant the Goblins get within
range! Form a spear wall at the gates! Block them! I said block the gates!”

Zevara roared as she raced down the steps. She saw the Workers and
[Builders] struggling to put a palisade in place. But it was too little. They
were dragging chunks of stone from the broken wall over, trying to fill the
gap. But there was not enough time.

“Watch Captain.”

Embria sat atop her horse at the bottom of the gates. She saluted Zevara
with her spear. The Watch Captain looked up at her.

“Embria. The Goblins.”

“I can see.”

The Wing Commander stared at the desperate Goblins. She shook her head.
“Block the gates. I’ll stop them from entering the city. Don’t go after us.
Hold the Humans out.”

“What? Are you mad?”

Embria didn’t answer her. The Wing Commander turned. Her small
company of [Soldiers] stood at the gates. Behind them were a thousand of
Pallass’ [Soldiers]. They looked up as Embria rode past them.

“Drakes! Prepare to sortie! We need to hold the Goblins back from the city.
Don’t falter! Soldiers of Pallass, on me! 4th Company of Liscor, on my tail!
[Captains], give your orders!”

She rode forwards. Zevara stared at her back.

“You’ll die!”

The Drake turned. Her face was pale.

“I have orders. Keep Liscor safe.”

A voice shouted from above. Zevara looked up. Relc. He shouted down at
his daughter.

“Embria!”

The young Drake raised her spear. She fastened the helmet to her head and
pointed her spear ahead. The [Soldiers] tensed. The [Captains] roared as
they advanced. Embria moved forwards at a trot.

“[Daring Charge]! [Piercing Arms]!”

“[Shieldwall Formation!]”

“[First Strikes]! [Formation: Accelerate]!”

“[Bravehearts]! [Reckless Charge]! [Minute of Iron]!”

The Skills overlapped with each other. The Drakes forgot their fear. They
streamed out the gates, following Embria. The Wing Commander was
breathing heavily. The Goblins were streaming towards her. She quickened
her pace. The horse began to run. Then gallop.

“[Blades of Glory]. For Liscor! Charge!”

The Drakes and Gnolls followed her with a roar. Zevara saw the Workers
drag a boulder in front of the gate. She heard a cry from above. Relc stared
as his daughter rode straight at the Goblins.

They saw her coming. And they wavered. But fear drove them on. The
Goblins ran for Liscor as Embria’s thousand Drakes surged towards them.

“I told you I could rout two thousand Goblins with a thousand [Soldiers].
How about this?”

Embria muttered to herself. She saw the first volley of arrows fly from the
walls. Light flashed from the walls. Someone was activating the
enchantments, one after another. Magic blasted the Goblins apart. Embria
raced forwards. Her spear swung down and she stabbed the first Goblin.
The line of Drakes crashed into the fleeing Goblins. And the Goblins began
to die.

—-

“What is that Drake [Commander] doing? She’s left the city!”

Umina cried out in horror. Niers stared down at the projection.

“She’s trying to push them back.”

Marian was white with horror. The Centaur’s eyes were fixed on the red
Drake leading the thousand-odd [Soldiers] forwards. She turned to Niers.
“It’s suicide! She’ll be overrun! And if not by the Goblins, she’s exposed to
the Humans—”

“That’s their way. If she can hold the Goblins back, Liscor can repair the
walls. ”

Venaz stared down at the image in the scrying orb. Every Drake and Gnoll
on the wall was firing arrows at the oncoming Goblins. Half of the
adventurers were not. The [Strategist], Olesm Swifttail, had made his
choice. His claws shook as he unrolled the trigger scrolls. He blasted the
Goblins apart, aiming for the black-clad Goblins. But Goblins died either
way.

Below, Embria held the line. The Goblins surged towards her, but the ranks
of fresh Drakes and the Skills of her company cut them down. Drakes with
glowing blades sliced down rank after rank of wounded Goblins. And the
Wing Commander spun, her spear slashing in every direction.

And from the other side, the Human army met the rear of the fleeing
Goblins. Tyrion Veltras led his cavalry through the Goblins from behind.
His [Mages] began bombarding them from behind. They cast spells into the
air. The trebuchets fired. It wasn’t meant to harry the Goblins anymore.
They had come to finish everything.

—-

Everything. The Goblins looked up. Magic and arrows flew down from the
sky from both sides. A sea of Humans came at them from one side, and on
the other, the Drakes held the gates to their city. The Goblins turned in
despair, searching for a way out.

But there was none. On both sides came death. The death of deaths.
Unavoidable. Inescapable. From the ground, from every side. The Goblins
cried out. Look. Look up.
The sky is falling.

Rags turned, screaming for the Goblins to follow her. She rode towards
Liscor. But the city was death. She looked behind her and saw death. Where
could they go? Garen struggled. He fought his way towards the Drakes. He
stumbled. Bled. He was lost among the Goblins.

And Reiss rode towards the Humans. Some of his warriors stayed with him.
They marched with their Goblin Lord, though he had not asked them to.
The rest fled. Reiss rode towards the silver line of Humans, watching as
Tyrion Veltras’ sword flashed again and again. He never slowed. And his
eyes were on Reiss.

The Goblin Lord bled. He didn’t care. He didn’t bother drinking a potion,
though the voice in his head urged him to, told him to turn and run. It didn’t
matter.

It was crumbling. His dream. It felt like he was waking up. Reiss saw the
silver wave of Humans racing forwards and leading the spear’s tip was him.
Tyrion Veltras.

“You.”

If there was anyone to hate, it was him. Him. Reiss leaned forwards. He
called for magic. And found some. A dark magic. Not his own. But it would
do. He reached for it and called forth a blade made of death. It swirled
around his left arm, came into being. Death. Let it at least take him.

He shouted a challenge. The Shield Spider lurched forwards, dying. Reiss

raised his arm and lifted the magical blade. He rode forwards as his
warriors ran with him, shouting.

The Humans were aimed at him. Tyrion’s lance was steady as he surged on
his steed. Reiss aimed at him. He hated Tyrion Veltras. Hated him for
causing all this?

Causing all this? Reiss didn’t know. His vision was blurry. He thought of
him. His brother. That damn Goblin. Garen Redfang.
His brother. Why was he angry at Garen? He was grateful. Furious. Why
did he hate Tyrion Veltras? He was just a Human. The one he should hate
was right here. Inside him.

A slave to the end. Reiss felt the voice calling at him. He resented it. He
wanted to be free. But he hadn’t been. Garen had been right. Garen was
wrong.

There he was. The Human was aimed at him, bent low on his stallion. His
lance tip was aimed at Reiss. Swing. Cut him down. Do it. Don’t fail me.
Don’t fail us.

The Goblin Lord aimed. He drew his hand back and the deathly blade
swung. He shouted as he charged. But it wasn’t Tyrion that Reiss was
thinking of.

Look at him! Strike! Kill him! Cut him down with magic, end him. Slay him.

It would be so easy to obey. But Reiss didn’t. He saw Tyrion charging him
and his head turned. He wrenched it around, looked back. The Goblin
Lord’s mouth opened. He shouted, defying. For an instant. Free.

“Brother—”

The lance pierced Reiss’ chest. Lord Tyrion’s thrust opened a hole in Reiss’
left shoulder, and then pierced through. A hole opened in the Goblin Lord’s
chest, exposing his ribs, tearing away his shoulder, his severed arm.

Snapjaw screamed. Eater of Spears stopped and howled. Reiss jerked. The
Goblin Lord spun, trying to cut at Tyrion as the [Lord] raced past. He
slipped, and the voice in his head cried out in fury. Reiss grinned. And then
he fell. And his army broke.

—-
Garen heard the cry. He felt it, in his heart. But he never looked back. He
pushed his way through the Goblins. Towards the city. He had to get them
there. He had to do it. He had promised.

A line of Drakes and Gnolls held the place in front of the city. They spread
out in front of the gates and breaches in the walls. Barely more than a
thousand. But they fought with a dozen Skills strengthening them. They cut
down the wounded Goblins. The warriors barely had time to raise their
blades before the Drakes impaled them. Arrows flew down from above.

Death. Garen wanted to rage up at the walls. But he had no strength for it.
So he ran forwards. The Goblins ahead of him died. But the line of Drakes
was wavering.

If they could break it. If they could get one Goblin through. Then maybe—
Garen raised his blade. When had it grown so heavy? The rust-covered
blade was wet. With Reiss’ blood. Garen stared at it. Then he staggered.
Something had struck him.

He looked up. A Drake with a halberd stared down at him. Garen turned.
The Drake spoke.

“Garen Redfang. Goblin [Chieftain]. Soldiers, pull back.”

The other Drakes and Gnolls fell back. The [Captain] raised his halberd.
Three more joined him. They surrounded Garen. The Hob turned.

“Come.”

He struck at them. The Drake with the halberd blocked, grunting. Garen
turned, cut at the next [Captain]. They blocked him. Cut him from all sides.
Garen stumbled.

He was so weak! Why couldn’t he—he swung and the Drake with the
halberd effortlessly parried the blow. He stabbed back and Garen reeled.

“We have him.”

“Don’t let your guards down.”

“Together—”

The Drakes snapped orders. Garen saw them moving out of the corner of
his eye. He swung at them. Impacts from the other side. Garen stumbled.
He couldn’t fall down.

Not yet. He had promised Reiss. He had promised. Not yet! He roared, but
the Drakes just laughed at him. They came at him. Four on one.

Easy. Tremborag could do it. He had fought. Why couldn’t Garen? It was
just a hole in his chest. Holes. He stumbled. The blade was heavy in his
hands. So heavy. Garen turned. The [Captain] with the halberd swung at his
head.

He was Garen. Garen.

“Redfang!”

Yes. That was it. Garen’s head rose. He lifted the sword. It weighed as
much as a mountain. But he swung it. Fast. The [Captain] gaped as Garen’s
blade sheared through the haft of his halberd. He tried to back away. But
Garen swung again.

Faster. This time as quick as when he’d cut Halassia. When he’d betrayed
his friends. The Drake fell, headless. The other [Captains] cried out. They
leapt at him.

As quick as he’d been when he’d cut his brother. Garen stabbed a Drake
through the chest. He spun and the two remaining [Captains] fell back.
Garen advanced on them. He roared the word and heard the cry. Who was
shouting it?

He was. Garen swung his sword again. The third [Captain] fell. The Gnolls
and Drakes backed up. Garen advanced. The city was so close. All he had to
do was kill them. And he’d fulfill his promise.

“Goblin. Turn and face me.”

Garen looked left. A Drake with fiery red scales bore down on him, spear in
hand. She was beautiful. But Halassia had been more beautiful still. Garen
raised his sword. Embria met him in a single charge.

He cut her horse in half. She struck him in the chest. But Garen was already
dead. So it didn’t matter. The Drake went down. Garen slashed at her, but
she was quick. She met him, spear blurring.

Like that, and that, and that. Garen’s blade rang as he struck at her. The
Wing Commander’s eyes were wide. She fell back, as he swung his sword.
Faster. And faster still. She slipped in the mud and he cut her across the
stomach.

She screamed and fell to one knee. Garen raised his sword and heard a
shout. He turned and saw a Drake running at him. He had green scales and
he was ugly. He had a spear as well. And he was quick.

As fast as Garen. The Hobgoblin grinned. Relc leapt and his spear thrust
three times. Garen parried each blade and swung. Relc blocked the blade
and stood over his daughter. The [Spearmaster] lanced out and Garen felt
him strike his chest.

He was quick! When had Garen fought someone like this? Really fought?
Greydath? Didn’t count. Look at him. Garen struck and Relc’s knees
buckled as he blocked. Hard. As hard as Moore had hit him.

Harder. As hard as Headscratcher. Relc backed up. He stabbed again. Garen

let him. The two traded blows and Relc bled. Garen had stopped bleeding.

He thought he was grinning. He couldn’t see anymore. But he had

promised. So Garen fought, feeling his arms shaking with each impact. He
felt something strike his chest. Then he couldn’t feel his arms.

He was having fun. And he was doing it. He tried to speak, but he’d
forgotten how. Garen tried to say it, but he thought it instead.

Do you see it, brother? I’m doing it. I’m fighting. We’re fighting together.
Just like we promised.
It was true. He knew it had to be. Somewhere, Reiss was fighting. And so
was Garen. On the same side. At last.

Hey, brother. Reiss.

He was so sorry about all of it. But he’d done his best, hadn’t he? Garen
swung and looked around. Where was he? Where was he? He looked back.

I’m so sorry. Are you—

The spear went through Garen’s chest a final time. The Hobgoblin stopped.
He didn’t move. Relc pulled the spear out. He stumbled, clutched at his arm
and stared. Garen slowly fell back. He was still looking over his shoulder.
Grinning.

The [Spearmaster], the former [Sergeant]—the [Guardsman] stared down at

the fallen Goblin. He gasped for breath. Around him, the Goblins stared at
the fallen figure. They looked at the Drakes. They turned.

Arrows flew past Relc. He saw magic blowing Goblins apart. He heard the
screaming. Saw the Humans charging. The Goblins were dying by the
thousands now. Embria was clutching at her stomach. Trying to drink a
healing potion. Relc looked around and saw the thin line of Drakes. Killing
Goblins. The enemy. The [Sergeant] raised his spear and shouted.

“Fall back! Hold the gates!”

“No—don’t—”

Embria tried to get up. She was trying to go forwards. But the Goblins were
broken. Relc saw them streaming away from Liscor. One of them, a Goblin
with a scar on his face, stopped. His Carn Wolf crouched over Garen’s
body. Relc looked up at the Goblin as he stared down at the [Sergeant]. He
backed away, dragging his daughter to safety. Redscar dismounted and
stood over his Chieftain’s body. Relc turned and screamed the words.

“Fall back!”
The other Drakes obeyed. They fell back around the gates. And the Goblins
fled. Not towards Liscor. Not out of the valley.

Towards the mountains. South.

—-

“Two. Bring down the last one.”

Tyrion aimed his lance away from the fallen Hobgoblin. He pointed. Ahead
of him was a running Goblin. She was on foot, urging the Goblins in a new
direction.

Towards the mountains. That was their only salvation. The Goblins had to
climb. Climb and climb until they were out of range of the horses. But the
distance was far too far. And Tyrion was charging after them. The [Lord]
coldly followed, running down Goblins. His eyes were locked on Rags.

The broken Goblins saw the Human [Lord] coming. They looked up. Reiss’
Goblins. Redfangs. Cave Goblins. And they looked towards her.

“Save her! Save Chieftain!”

Someone shouted it. Save her. Save one of them. At least one of them. Save
hope. The Goblins tried to bar Tyrion’s way. But they couldn’t so much as
slow him down. He galloped past Hobgoblins, letting the warriors behind
him run the Goblins down. He pointed and the [Mages] sent fire racing
ahead of him. Rags ran through spells as they targeted her position. A
Human [Mage] on horseback took aim at her with a wand.

Lightning blasted him from his saddle. Tyrion saw a flicker and raised his
shield. He reeled in his saddle. A Goblin [Mage] cackled.

Noears stood on the roof of The Wandering Inn. He laughed as he shot

lightning down at the Humans. The wind blew around him as he called
lightning down again and again. He aimed at the [Lord]. At the Human
[Mages] with their wands and robes and conceit. He burned them, and
looked up as a hundred glowing spells arced towards the inn. He spread his
arms and the lightning flashed a last time.

The magic destroyed the third floor of the inn. It left nothing behind. Tyrion
rode on. Closer. He saw a gigantic Hobgoblin charging at him.

“Take him.”

Eater of Spears threw the second axe. Jericha blocked the axe with a shield
of magic. The Hob swung at Tyrion, but the [Lord] rode past him. Eater of
Spears’ arm struck a Human from the saddle. The rest rode past him. Others
stopped. The Hobgoblin roared as arrows struck him from all sides. He
reeled as a [Fireball] burst on his chest and then howled. He charged. But
the little Humans fled from him.

They struck him from all sides. Aiming for his legs. His eyes. Eater of
Spears tried to catch them. But they raced around him. He turned and a
spell burned away his face. Still he stood. He kept moving, trying to catch
one. Until at last he stopped. Snapjaw watched her friend die as she raced
after Rags. She tried to fling herself at the Humans, but her warriors
stopped her.

“Her.”

And Snapjaw rode with tears in her eyes.

This is how they died.

—-

Rags turned. She saw Tyrion coming at her. Goblins flung themselves at
Tyrion. He didn’t turn. He was nearly on her. Nearly—
“Watch out! Drakes attacking from the left side!”

The voice came from the left. It was panicked and the rider’s reaction was
instinctual. Tyrion shifted right instantly, turning in an arc that curved
leftwards, looking for the attack. Where were they? Why had the Drakes
advanced this far? They were aiming for his head. Where were they? Where
were—

There was no one. Tyrion’s gaze found only Goblins. And then the source
of the voice.

Numbtongue stood to one side. A broken guitar lay at his feet. He laughed
at Tyrion as the [Lord] pointed. He picked up a sword and charged. A spear
ran him through. He kept laughing as he swung his sword and cut the rider
down. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath. The Humans kept going.
He touched his guitar and played a chord.

Lightning flashed down from the sky.

—-

The mountains. They were so far away. Rabbiteater clutched Shorthilt,

dragging his friend. Shorthilt’s blood ran onto the ground. The wounds
Az’kerash had given him hadn’t closed. He bled. But Rabbiteater refused to
let go.

“Come. Hurry! Move!”

Rabbiteater swore at his friend. Shorthilt looked back. The Humans were
following Rags. But the second wave of riders was coming for them. He
looked up. Rabbiteater gritted his teeth and tried to run, but his feet slipped
on the ground.

“Go.”
Shorthilt looked at his friend. Rabbiteater shook his head. His cheeks ran
with tears. Shorthilt looked down. His beloved sword was broken. But he
had something else.

An axe. The jade edge dripped with his blood. Shorthilt lifted it.

“Take.”

Rabbiteater stopped. Shorthilt pushed at his chest.

“No.”

The [Champion] looked at Shorthilt. The Hobgoblin bled. He held the axe
out.

“Take. Run!”

Rabbiteater hesitated. Shorthilt screamed the word.

“Run! Run!”

His blood ran onto the ground. It touched Rabbiteater’s cloak and the cloak
turned red. Shorthilt looked at his friend and Rabbiteater took the axe. He
turned and ran as the Humans chased him. Shorthilt smiled. He turned and
began walking back. He found a chipped sword on the ground. A claymore,
in fact.

It was muddy. The edge was dull. Shorthilt stumbled forwards. The Humans
lowered their lances and charged him.

He cut them down. His sword cut metal. It cut bone. It cut all things.
Shorthilt walked forwards and then turned back. He raised his hand and fell.

—-
“Yellow Splatters? Rain? Counting? Where are you?”

Pawn walked through the bodies. His censer-stick overturned bodies. The
Worker pulled at corpses. Not seeing the Humans coming towards him. Not
caring about the sea of horses that drove past him. Goblins fled around him,
but Pawn paid them no mind. The Worker wandered past a running Hob. He
called out.

“Where are you all?”

His voice was lost. Forlorn. The Worker stumbled. He searched ground.
Spells fell around him. Pawn’s left antennae was broken. Two of his arms
hung limp. But he kept searching. He cried out.

“Please tell me!”

But there was no answer. The Worker fell to his knees. He stared down. A
Soldier stared up at him, what remained of his head looking blankly up at
the sky. Pawn curled up.

“No. Don’t go. Please! Someone. Anyone. One of you has to be alive. One
of you…”

He looked around. The Painted Soldiers lay around him. The

Necromancer’s spell had torn the earth. Pawn saw parts. But nothing
moved. He cried out.

“Please! Please. Don’t—don’t—”

He dug in the earth, scrabbling, begging.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

Another body appeared in the dirt. Faded yellow paint stared up at him. A
large body lay where it had fallen, arms still spread. Protecting him. As they
all had. Pawn bent.

“No.”
He clutched Yellow Splatters to him and looked up. The Humans rode at
him. They saw the Worker and didn’t swerve. Pawn stared up at the sky. He
screamed. And the horses reared. They galloped past him.

And the wave of riders parted down the middle. The Humans fought their
horses. Spells rained down around Pawn. But he kept screaming. And the
sea of Humans rode past him, on either side. He held Yellow Splatters and
the Painted Soldiers lay around him. No one touched Pawn. He knelt on the
ground until they passed. And he sat among his people. They were all—all
—

—-

All gone. On a hill, a Goblin with a bow shot again and again. His fingers
bled and the ground exploded around him. Badarrow stood over
Headscratcher and Erin. The army ignored the girl, but they came at him.
They wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

Until she was dead.

Rags kept running. She couldn’t stop. She had failed them all. But they
were dying for her. All she could do was run. He wouldn’t stop. Even if she
died. So she’d never give him her life. She looked back and saw him racing
towards her.

The mountain was in front of her. The slope turned from grass to stones.
Rags scrambled up, following the Goblins fleeing upwards. But not enough.
It was still, not enough. The Humans followed them up the slopes. She
sobbed. Rags scrambled past a pair of Goblins who were sitting down,
holding each other. They screamed at a Redfang who’d turned to keep
running. She passed by a sitting Hob. He held a battleaxe in his hand.

Rags’ head turned. She saw Pyrite looking back at her. Then he stood. The
Hob walked past Rags and barred the way. She turned to scream at him.
“Chieftain.”

He pointed past her. Up the mountain. Rags turned to go back. A Hobgoblin

seized her. They dragged her upwards. Snapjaw ignored Rags screaming as
she rode upwards. Tyrion bared his teeth. He raced at her. And the Hob
walked forwards.

The blazing battleaxe lit up the dark slopes. Pyrite stood in front of the
Humans, in front of Tyrion. He waited; a guardian of the place between life
and death. Behind him fled hope. She called his name. He smiled.

The [Lord] was riding at him. He didn’t slow.

“Arrogant.”

That was all Pyrite said. He watched the Goblins flow past him and looked
up. The sun was setting.

“How red, how red.”

But it wasn’t time for poetry. Pyrite gazed at the sky and thought. He
completely ignored the [Lord] charging at him. At last, he nodded.

“It was fun. I wish I were stronger. I wish…”

He looked down. Tyrion aimed at Pyrite. And the Hob lifted his battleaxe.
He came down with a roar that shook the mountain.

The lance pierced his stomach. Pyrite slammed against the rocks. Tyrion
Veltras paused as he withdrew the lance. The Hob gasped. He reached up.
Coldly, Tyrion drew his sword and ran him through a second time. Pyrite
stood up. Tyrion cut at his shoulder. The Hob lifted the battleaxe and
swung.

Tyrion’s stallion died. The [Lord] slid from the saddle. He struck Pyrite
twice more, cutting deep. The Hob swung. Tyrion Veltras blocked with his
shield. A third time he ran Pyrite through.

“Die, damn you.”

“Not yet.”

Pyrite grabbed Tyrion. He lifted the [Lord] up and hurled him down the
mountain. The [Lord] bounced. The Hobgoblin grinned. Then he saw the
[Mage] aiming at him. The [Knights] ran him through. Pyrite laughed
louder at the looks on their faces.

“Fat.”

Lightning struck him. Pyrite’s heart stopped. But the lightning was weak.
Barely an echo of Noears. He looked down at Jericha. She paled as Pyrite
roared with laughter. The lightning stopped.

“What are you?”

“Goblin.”

He swung his battleaxe. They died. The magic burnt him. Steel pierced his
chest. Pyrite fell to one knee. He looked back and heard a cry. A little
Goblin reached for him. Pyrite smiled.

“Chieftain.”

She was far above them. So far she was out of reach. Pyrite sat back. He
reached down for a snack. And he closed his eyes.

Tyrion Veltras reached the Hobgoblin too late. The [Lord] stared down and
slowly sheathed his sword. He looked up and saw Goblins climbing into the
mountains.

“My lord?”

Jericha looked at him. Tyrion stared down at his stallion.

“Enough. If the [Mages] don’t kill them, let them go. We aren’t done. Get
me a fresh mount and turn the army. Liscor remains.”

He turned. Jericha looked back. The Hob smiled at the sky.

—-

The last of the Goblins fled or died. Those that remained waited for death or
fought in knots, separated, surrounded by Humans. One of them was
Redscar.

He rode with the last of the Redfangs. The Humans surrounded him.
Redscar turned, his blades flashing. Thunderfur biting. Goblins died around
him. They joined the dead. Countless thousands.

He fought in a slowly-tightening circle of space. Redfangs fought with him,

many on the ground. Carn Wolves howled as they leapt at screaming horses.
But with each second Goblins fell. Still, Redscar fought.

He was covered in wounds. His war paint was covered by blood. His
healing potions had been expended long ago. And his friends, his family,
were dying. They covered the ground, overwhelmed by numbers. The
Humans were circling, riders charging, infantry hacking at the riders. But
they could not bring Redscar down.

Thunderfur leapt forwards, howling, Redscar struck to the left and right,
forcing the Humans back. He cut spears meant for him or Thunderfur,
parried blades, his arms a blur. The [Archers] and [Mages] dared not target
him as he locked blades with the warriors around him.

They fell. Redscar killed them like flies. His blades cut through their armor.
He brought [Knights] down. He killed [Mages]. They could not kill him. He
turned, two swords in his claws.

In one claw he held the sword enchanted with frost, blood mixing with ice.
In the other he held a crimson blade, as red as rust.

Redfang. The rust-red blade bit again and again. And each time, Redscar
howled a name. A name few of the Humans recognized. But they feared it.
The onslaught slowed, from awe as much as anything else. The Humans
held back, staring. Redscar turned, screaming. They held back, too afraid to
approach.

He was one Goblin. One Goblin, not even a Hob. But they could not bring
him down.

“Pull back.”

A man rode towards the circle of warriors. They moved backwards and
Redfang paused. The warrior on horseback stared at the Goblin. Those who
knew him waited. Another man raised his voice.

“Sir Vumat. Allow us to—”

“No.”

“Then let us finish him off at range! If we—”

“No.”

The [Knight] turned his head. He looked back at Redscar. The Goblin
leaned over his Carn Wolf. Sir Vumat stared at Redfang and slowly lowered
the visor on his helmet.

“If that Goblin lives, he will one day be a threat as great as Garen Redfang.”

Slowly, he rode forwards. Redscar bared his teeth. The [Knight] saluted
him.

“I am Sir Vumat. I have come for your head Goblin, dishonorable as it may
be to face you wounded. I will slay you here.”

Redscar locked eyes with the [Knight].

“Try.”

They rode at each other. Sir Vumat’s sword flashed. His armor shone.
Redscar and Thunderfur howled. Their audience watched.
Four times the two warriors closed. Four times they struck at each other.
Then Sir Vumat’s stallion reared, screaming, as Thunderfur’s jaws closed
around its unguarded throat. The [Knight] fell from his saddle, his armor
torn by Redscar’s blades. He lay still on the ground. Already dead.

Redscar turned. He raised his swords, challenging another to come

forwards.

No one dared. But then arrows began flying. A [Mage] targeted Redscar and
he felt a sharp pain tear at his right ear as he dodged. He pointed and
Thunderfur leapt.

All he wanted was death. But Redscar felt her running. He looked back and
saw the distant shapes fleeing towards the mountain. He stared and
whispered.

“Chieftain.”

He turned and rode. The last of the Redfangs followed him. Redscar found
a Goblin fighting with a dagger, his bow broken. He bent and grabbed
Badarrow. The Hob fought him. He had been standing over a body. Redscar
dragged him away. He left the young woman behind. She was still there,
covering the Hob as Redscar fled the field, tears falling like rain.

—-

“Lord Veltras, the Goblins have fled or perished.”

Jericha stated the obvious. Tyrion could see nothing living on the
Floodplains. Nothing but humanity. He passed by the Goblin corpses. He
stared towards the hill where the Goblin Lord had perished. He frowned.

“The Goblin Lord’s body. I don’t see it. Ensure he is dead. As well as the
other one.”
“I will locate their corpses.”

“Good.”

Tyrion Veltras kept staring at the hill. He saw a kneeling figure. A young
woman shielded a Hobgoblin’s body. His army had avoided her, as had
Tyrion himself. She was, after all, Human.

“My lord?”

“It’s nothing. Aim towards Liscor.”

The words shocked those around Tyrion.

“But the Goblins are dead!”

“So? This changes nothing. Prepare to charge the gates. Tell the trebuchets
to launch a single volley. Jericha, a [Siege Fireball]. Destroy those
barricades. On my signal.”

Tyrion took a fresh lance. He studied the gates.

“Ready the charge.”

“My lord.”

“What is it?”

Tyrion glanced to one side. Jericha’s voice quavered.

“I—I’ve just received something. A [Message]. From—”

“There is nothing she can say to stop me.”

“Nothing?”

Tyrion whirled. The air opened up in front of him. A smiling face filled the
open space. Magnolia Reinhart stared past Tyrion for a second, and then her
eyes fixed on him.
“Oh, good. The projection spell worked. Ressa, hold the artifact steady.
Hello, Tyrion.”

“Begone, Reinhart!”

Tyrion slashed his lance through the air. The magical spell wavered but
didn’t vanish. Magnolia smiled deeper. Her eyes looked past Tyrion at the
battlefield. The look in her eyes deepened.

“I see I was too late. Well, I have enough time for this.”

“Whatever you have to say—”

“Be silent, Tyrion. And listen to me. I warned you. I gave you every chance.
So this is my ultimatum. Turn back. Leave with the Goblin Lord’s head.”

“And if not? You cannot stop me.”

Magnolia paused. She was filling the image in the screen. But quite
deliberately. Jericha trembled as she stared at something past Magnolia.
Tyrion stared, but he couldn’t make it out. What was she hiding? The
[Lady] sighed.

“No. I suppose I can’t. But I can ensure one thing. If you go through with
this, you may take Liscor. And if you do, I will promise you one thing: you
will have nothing to come back to.”

“What does that—”

Tyrion’s breath caught as Magnolia moved out of the way. He saw a keep
behind her. An old, rather austere structure. Nothing like her estates. But
large enough to be called a palace by some. A fortress, moreover.
Defensive. A home he knew well.

The Veltras estates. His family home. And Magnolia stood not a hundred
feet in front of it. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were anyone else. The
keep was a citadel. But she was there.
And she was not alone. The projection jostled as Ressa placed whatever
was keeping the recording still on something and stepped forwards. She
stood behind her mistress as Magnolia smiled. They stood together. Just the
two of them.

“A lovely home.”

That was all Magnolia said. Tyrion’s grip turned white on his lance.

“You dare. If you dare—I will personally ride on you and—”

“Do what? Cross a thousand miles in a moment? No, Tyrion. Be silent.”

And he was. Magnolia looked at him.

“You could never imagine I’d do this. That is why you are a fool. A damned
fool, Tyrion.”

“You have no honor. Not a shred of morality. I warn you—”

The [Lord]’s voice shook. Magnolia gazed at him.

“Well?”

“I will not be blackmailed. Not by you or anyone.”

Tyrion heard Jericha gasp. Magnolia’s right eye twitched. She stared hard at
Tyrion.

“Really.”

“Touch them and—”

“It is your choice.”

“I will not be stopped.”

Something cold had replaced the Lord of the Veltras family. He spoke with
icy calm. And he leveled his lance at Magnolia.
“Know that you will die. I swear it on my family name.”

“And I swear by my family that I will do what I promise.”

Magnolia stared at Tyrion. He hesitated. Fear crept into his heart, for all he
tried to tell himself she was lying. But she wouldn’t. Not her.

“Lady Reinhart. You cannot—”

“Be silent, Jericha.”

The woman fell still. Magnolia regarded Tyrion. And then she slowly shook
her head.

“Tyrion Veltras. You will turn around. Or everything you fear most will
come to pass. But should that not sway you, if that is not enough—”

“What else could you do?”

Magnolia looked at Tyrion. As if she couldn’t believe he’d ask. She smiled,
and it was a colder smile than Tyrion had ever seen before.

“To you? Nothing. However, I thought I’d remind our peers what they’re
fighting for.”

Slowly, Tyrion looked around. And he realized that there were more
projections hanging in the air. Images. Of [Ladies]. Lady Bethal, smiling,
surrounded by her [Chevalier] and husband, Thomast. Her Rose Knights.
Chattering to a pale Lady Ieka.

Lady Wuvren. Sipping tea and talking to an older woman in front of Lord
Erill. The [Merchant Lord]’s lips were tight. His eyes were locked on his
mother. She was looking from him to Wuvren, uncomprehending.

Lady Zanthia. Her house’s retainers stood at her back as she spoke to Lord
Pellmia. The [Lord] was white. He stared past her at his city.

Tyrion looked around the battlefield. Not all the [Lords] and [Ladies] had
the floating images projected to them. In fact, no more than a dozen had
received the message. But it was enough. They looked to Tyrion, faces pale.
Desperate. Unbelieving.

“Well?”

Magnolia waited. Tyrion looked back at her.

“This is war.”

“I thought it was already war with the Drakes. Or will you fight on two
fronts at once?”

The mocking smile. Tyrion turned from her.

“Jericha. Cut the connection.”

“Lord Veltras?”

“Wait for my order.”

“Tyrion—”

Magnolia’s voice cut off abruptly. Lord Tyrion took a few deep breaths. He
tried to calm himself. And then he slowly turned in his saddle.

The others looked at him. Lord Erill, Ieka, his aide, Jericha. An army,
waiting, soaked in the blood of Goblins.

Tyrion’s head turned past the image of Magnolia. He looked to Liscor, walls
cracked, gates partially blocked. In that moment, Tyrion Veltras’ eyes were
cold. He glanced at his allies, soldiers, at Liscor, and at Magnolia.
Weighing. Calculating.

The city of Liscor watched, not understanding what was happening. But
word was already spreading. The world held its breath as, but for Tyrion
Veltras, history would change. The [Lord] looked at Liscor and closed his
eyes. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned.

“Forwards.”
The world froze. Jericha opened her mouth. Tyrion looked at her.

“We march past Liscor. To the Blood Fields.”

The nobility stared at Tyrion in shock. He turned.

“Send a [Message] to the Drakes. The Goblin Lord is dead. However, I,

Tyrion Veltras, challenge the Drakes. Meet me at the Blood Fields in six
days. Let their armies face ours or forfeit.”

Jericha raised a shaking hand to her head. Erill exhaled, his hands shaking.
Ieka stared at Tyrion.

“All of us?”

“No. The nobility will leave. Those who do not wish to do battle. We leave
the trebuchets. Half the foot. We ride. Move.”

Tyrion snapped. He rode forwards. Shocked, uncomprehending, the army

hesitated. But then the first rank of riders rode after Tyrion.

Liscor watched. The Drakes and Gnolls stood on the walls, weapons ready.
But the army of Humans passed by them. They marched away from the city,
across the muddy Floodplains. South. To battle in the most traditional of
ways. Spellbound, the Drakes stared as Tyrion Veltras’ army broke up, some
groups milling about, heading north. They watched as the Humans collected
what few dead they had, as they quit the field.

And then wild cheers burst from Liscor’s walls. They shouted for joy as the
Walled Cities scrambled, redirecting their armies. But the Drakes and
Gnolls and Liscor celebrated. Somehow they were saved. They laughed and
cried and hugged each other.

And the Goblins lay outside the walls.

—-
He was dead. Reiss pulled himself up. The left side of his body was
missing. His heart was gone. But he still stood. He heard a voice. There was
always a voice. But at least now he recognized it.

Reiss.

It called his name. Somehow it knew his name. But it didn’t matter. The
voice urged Reiss up, filled him with life.

My apprentice. Kill Tyrion Veltras. End his life. I will give you strength. Go
to him and I will ensure his death. Go and—

“No.”

Reiss shook his head. He stood amid the dead. Forgotten. The voice raged
at him. But Reiss ignored it.

“No, master. No more.”

There was nothing left. She was gone. He could feel her going higher, ever
distant. Her, and so few of them. Reiss wept, but no tears flowed from his
cheeks. He staggered forwards as the voice cursed him. His master
abandoned Reiss at last and the Goblin Lord laughed.

A hollow sound. He walked forwards, looking at the dead. He fell to his

knees and waited to join them. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He was so tired. It would be over soon. But he was tired. Reiss looked
around. And he saw it. Sitting on a hill. The Goblin Lord turned and began
walking towards it. A good place to wait to die.

—-
Erin Solstice knelt over Headscratcher and saw the army of Humans
leaving. She saw them pass by Liscor. She didn’t know why. She held a
limp body in her arms. She wanted it to move. More than anything. She
wanted them to get up. She wanted time to stop. She wanted to be undone.

They were gone. All of them. Some were alive. More were dead. She had
seen them die. And she couldn’t stop it. They had run right past her. Ignored
her. She’d been helpless, but they’d spared her.

She couldn’t even save one of them. Not one. She had led them to this. All
to this. Erin cradled Headscratcher in her arms. And then she stood up. She
couldn’t help it. She had to—had to—

It wasn’t real. Erin walked away in a daze. All of this wasn’t real. She was
going to wake up and find out this was all a dream. The Goblin Lord hadn’t
come yet. This was all a dream.

She was dead. She would wake up. Let this be a dream. Please. Oh, please.

But it wasn’t. And more tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t know where
she was going. Mechanically, she walked back, tripping, falling, sobbing.
She walked towards her inn. The third floor was destroyed, but the rest was
intact. The door was ajar. Erin walked inside and stopped.

A Goblin met a young woman in the inn. She was weeping. Her clothes
were bloody.

He was dying. He was already dead. But some part of him held death back.
He sat at a table, slumped over. He turned his head as Erin stopped. She
stared at him. A—face stared back.

Perhaps he had been handsome once. Perhaps his smile had once been
reassuring. His eyes might have terrified. He might have inspired hope, or
confidence, or hatred. But now he was just dead. She stared at the Goblin.

“You’re him.”

He took a breath.
“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Erin looked around.

“You’re dead.”

“Almost.”

It was a dream. In a trance, Erin walked forwards. She poked at his side.
The Goblin didn’t wince.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Just to sit here. Until it ends.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Erin took a seat across from him. The Goblin stared at her. He was taller
than her, but not as tall as he’d seemed. He looked tired.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. You…speak well.”

“Yes. I learned to long ago.”

The two stared at each other. Erin trembled.

“Tell me this is a dream.”

“I wish it were.”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook.

“Why did you do it?”

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an answer. Erin punched at him. Something broke. The Goblin

Lord’s head lolled back. And then forwards. His voice was quiet when he
spoke. Sad.

“I never wanted this. I only wanted my people to be safe. For there to be a

place—one place in this world—where Goblins could live. One place.”

Erin didn’t respond. She buried her head in her hands. Reiss looked around.
His eyes reflected nothing but death. He whispered.

“I never wanted this. But I wanted this. I wanted to take something from
them. Everyone who had taken from me. I wanted—to hurt them.”

“It’s not right. They did nothing wrong.”

“Didn’t they? They lived while my people died. That’s enough.”

“It’s not the same. They didn’t know.”

“They kill Goblins for sport. For money. Like rats. Monsters.”

“I know. I know. And I hate them for it.”

Erin whispered. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“You hate them as I do.”

“I do. But I’m one of them.”

“So. What do you do? Do you kill them? Or are you on their side?”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook her head.

“I—I don’t. How could I? But I don’t kill Goblins either. I—there’s a sign.”
“A sign?”

She got up to show him. The Goblin Lord read it. And he laughed. He
laughed and laughed, wheezing until there was no air in his lungs.

“And this works?”

“No. I don’t think it ever works. But I keep it up. And I give Goblins food. I
—I tried to keep them safe. And they died for me.”

“That is what we do. It was not your fault. It was their choice. And his fault.
And mine.”

The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. He looked at Erin. She was curled up in
her chair.

“I asked them to fight.”

“They would have anyways. They loved you, I think.”

“I wish they hated me.”

“How could they? You fed them. You gave them—things. You cared. They
followed you. I wish I had seen it.”

“It was beautiful.”

Erin closed her eyes. The dead Goblin smiled. Then the smile vanished.

“If only I had seen it. If only I had been there. I wish I had met you long
ago. If I had—”

He broke off. Erin looked up. Blood had stopped running from his wound
long ago. Erin could see his lungs inflating slowly. Bone and flesh lay
exposed. But Reiss refused to die.

“This isn’t our world. We’re just monsters. Why? We didn’t ask…we didn’t
want to be. Why us?”
The Goblin Lord spoke bitterly. He looked past Erin.

“From the start we were made like this. Enemies. From the very start. That
was what he said. Why us? Was it punishment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just…by design. Maybe you’re characters in a

game. Maybe that’s where I am. Maybe this is all a dream.”

“A game?”

Reiss looked at Erin. She stared blankly past him.

“Like chess. Pieces on a board.”

He turned. The Goblin Lord saw the chess board on the table. He stood up.

“Chess. A game?”

He walked over to the magical chessboard. Erin nodded. Reiss looked down
at the board. He stared at the pawns. The pieces.

He tried to break it. But it was the wrong board. Reiss’ smashed it against
the table. He struck it, tried to tear it apart. The magical chessboard refused
to break. The Goblin Lord’s grip weakened. The chessboard tumbled to the
ground, and he laughed hysterically. Bitterly.

“Not so simple. I tried. Goblin Lords have tried. Kings have tried. We all
fail. And we die. Look—”

He turned. Erin saw the light in his eyes fading. Reiss stumbled back to her.

“I tried. I did it all for them. I think I forgot.”

He looked at her. She looked up at him. He was so sad. She hated him.
More than anything in the world. But he was crying. He had no tears left,
but he was weeping. Reiss sank onto the table. Erin stood with him. The
Goblin Lord’s one arm rose. He looked up at her.

“Someday Goblins will know peace. Surely?”

“I—yes.”

“Yes.”

He smiled. But it was a lost smile. Reiss stared past Erin. He had never told
her his name.

“Someday. Someday…”

That was all he said. His arm fell back limply. Erin stared down at him.
Slowly, she closed his eyes. And then she picked him up.

He was too light. Erin walked with him outside. She stared as the Humans
rode towards her. The Drakes. Her friends. They met warily, staring at each
other. Enemies. But they stared at her. At the body she held. And then it was
truly over.

—-

There were words. Questions. Erin answered none of them. She stood,
blankly, until they went away.

She let them have the head. It was what they wanted. But she kept the body.
Goblins didn’t really believe in burial, anyways. They ate their dead, when
they had to. But he had been like a Human. So she buried him.

There was nowhere to do it around her inn. So Erin found a place amid the
dead, where a spell had blown away dirt. She laid him there and covered his
body with dirt. Then she found the others.

Some people helped her. Erin made them go away. She found them—some
of them. One of them. She buried them and stood up.

Ghosts walked around her. Erin walked back to her inn. It was quiet. She
lay down in the kitchen. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Her
eyes closed. And she heard a voice.

[Conditions Met: Warrior → General Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]

[General Class Obtained!]

[General Level 6!]

[Skill – Inspiring Words obtained!]

[Skill – All-or-Nothing Charge obtained!]

[Skill – Crossc—]

“Shut up!”

[Level Ups Cancelled]

The voice went away. Erin covered her eyes. And outside her inn, past
Liscor, an army marched.

Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe it was a story. A book. And if it was, it was
an epic about Tyrion Veltras and his failed attempt to seize Liscor. Or
perhaps it was a tale of the Drakes and their valiant defense of their home.
Possibly the narrative wasn’t about either. It might have been a saga about
Magnolia Reinhart. Or someone else.

But it was not about Goblins. And like the side characters, the forgotten
villains and fodder of every story, they died and were forgotten. That was
how the world worked. The faceless monsters died and the heroes got on
with their lives. Already the world waited for the outcome of Tyrion’s
challenge to the Drakes at the Bloodfields. They moved on. In between the
tale of the Human’s pyrrhic victory at Liscor and the next battle, there
wasn’t so much as a gap.

No one asked what happened to the Goblins. No one cared. No one wrote
their story. After all, what did it matter? Who would weep for a Goblin?

The answer was a young woman. She lay on the floor of her inn and shook.
She sobbed and cried all the tears in the world. It wasn’t enough.

Her name was Erin Solstice.

 Interlude – Thereafter

(The Wandering Inn is on break until March 18th for Patreon readers
and March 23rd for public readers.)

She had watched him die. Poisonbite scrambled up the mountain. Her hands
were scratched and bloody. She was hurt. Her wounds burned. But she was
alive.

It was no blessing. Poisonbite’s eyes ran. She could still smell the stench of
burning flesh, the death in the air. It rose upwards. Far below, the basin, the
Floodplains of Liscor was filled with the dead.

Goblin dead. Few others. They had been cut down like a [Farmer] harvested
grain. Poisonbite had fled the fighting. She had hid, and been overlooked by
the Humans as they charged past her. She had hid, as she always did. To
live. To survive. But no part of Poisonbite could rejoice.

Noears was gone. He had not fled. She had witnessed his end. Seen him
conjure lightning from the skies. For a second he had shone brighter than all
the Humans. And for that they had ended him.

Why? Poisonbite gasped, wiping at her eyes. Why hadn’t he run? He might
have lived. But he had stayed there. And his sacrifice had meant something.
More Goblins had escaped because of him. Because of him, she was there.

Poisonbite could feel her. She scrambled higher, heading up a rocky slope
full of loose boulders. She had climbed for over two hours, but still the
mountains loomed overhead. Taller than imagination. But she was close.
The little Goblin stopped as she crested the edge of the slope. She saw dark
shapes. Rocks. And Goblins. They sat or stood so still that they appeared to
be part of the mountainside. Only the crimson glow from their eyes
betrayed them.

Goblins. Poisonbite looked around. There were so few of them. Cave

Goblins. Goblins she knew from her tribe. Tremborag’s former warriors. A
handful of Redfangs. And Goblins in black armor. Poisonbite stared at
them, but she did not reach for her dagger. She had lost her other one in the
fighting.

Poison had failed her. Steel had failed her. As it had failed all the Goblins
here. They had died like flies before the Humans. Where a vast army had
been were now thousands. And though some Goblins climbed as Poisonbite
had done, they were few. The last of them were here. And she was up
ahead.

Slowly, painfully, Poisonbite staggered forwards. The Goblins watched her

pass. She heard a voice ahead of her. Saw a gathering. Hobs and Goblins
stood around a little Goblin kneeling on the ground. She was weeping.
Goblins did not cry. But she did. Rags screamed. Poisonbite approached
slowly. And she saw tears. Tears and missing faces.

—-

They were all gone. Rags shook with the pain of it. They were dead. Garen.
Reiss. Noears. Pyrite. Her tribe. His tribe. Everyone. Everyone was—

Snapjaw had carried her up the mountain. The female Hob stood to one
side. She was dry-eyed, but empty. She had watched Eater of Spears die,
and Reiss. A few others stood around Rags. She knew some of them. Others
had been enemies. But there was no fighting here. The Goblins who wore
black armor, who had fought under Reiss, were devastated. They did not
look up. They did not move.
Devastation. How had it come to this? They had fought for Liscor. She had
seen them. But she had been too late. They had fought and it was all
meaningless. Rags still saw him riding at her. Tyrion Veltras. An army of
Humans. It had all been for nothing.

Rags choked on the knowledge. She screamed and wailed, though her throat
was torn. The other Goblins watched and listened. No sound was enough
for Rags’ grief. She only looked up when she sensed the others.

They came to her. First Poisonbite, who would not talk. She sat and curled
up, covering her face. But she was not the last. Rags turned and saw them.

He walked up the slopes, followed by Cave Goblins. His armor was torn.
He was wounded. Yet, still he shone. The axe he carried was gold and jade.
The cloak he wore billowed red, the color of blood. He walked through the
other Goblins and stopped before Rags. She looked up. She had never seen
this Hobgoblin in her life. But he saluted her.

“Chieftain.”

“Who are you?”

Rags whispered. The Hobgoblin bowed his head.

“Rabbiteater. Redfang.”

The name told her everything. Rags got up and looked at Rabbiteater. He
returned her look. She did not know his story. She did not know why he
looked like an adventurer, or why the Cave Goblins followed him. But he
had lost his friends. He was…one of them.

He joined the gathering. Snapjaw looked up and Rabbiteater returned the

look. The two Hobs stared at each other and then away.

“Who?”

Rabbiteater looked at Rags.

“Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Numbtongue. Badarrow.”

The names meant nothing to Rags. But they were part of the countless
thousands she had heard. She nodded. Rabbiteater sat down and buried his
face in his hands.

The last of them came with the rider. Only he did not ride his Carn Wolf. He
urged the injured animal up the slopes. Pushing, pulling. Trying to support
its weight. Rags turned as Redscar crested the slope. She looked at him,
wide-eyed.

“Redscar?”

Rabbiteater looked up. He saw the Hobgoblin lying on the back of the
injured Thunderfur and sprang up with a sharp cry. He ran, sobbing, and
Badarrow looked up. The two Hobs embraced as Redscar walked towards
Rags. The Goblins stared. Because in Redscar’s hands was a blade.

A rust-red sword, made redder with dried blood. A magical weapon with a
name.

Redfang. Garen’s blade. Rags stared at Redscar. Then she looked to the
other Hob. Badarrow stood, painfully, supporting his side. He leaned on
Rabbiteater and stumbled over to Rags.

“Chieftain. I, Badarrow.”

That was all he said. Rags looked at him.

“Others? Headscratcher? Numbtongue? Shorthilt?”

“All dead.”

Badarrow did not cry. His fingers still bled. Torn from his bowstring.
Redscar did not weep either. He sat down. And his wounds dripped like
tears.

“Healing potion.”

He was dying. Rags whispered. Then she shouted. One of the last healing
potions was found. The Goblins who had followed Redscar up the slopes
helped tend to Thunderfur. They looked at Redscar with awe. The Goblin
was silent.

Poisonbite. Snapjaw. Rabbiteater. Badarrow. And Redscar. Five. All that

remained. Five.

Rags waited. She hoped Ulvama would be there. She had hoped that Pyrite
—but he was gone. All who had lived had come here. And this was all that
remained.

She looked around. The Goblins did not meet her gaze. They were empty.
Shattered. They had all seen death. But this was too much. Too much. Some
Goblins just curled up. Others, like Hobs, were sitting still. They would not
move. They wanted to die.

So the Goblins mourned. In silence. In pain. The spring air was cold on the
slopes of the mountain. The night dark, just before dawn. Rags cried. She
cried every tear she had. It was not enough. And she wondered what the
point was of continuing on. She saw a Redfang warrior reach for his dagger
and look at it.

Perhaps that was what he had been waiting for. On a rocky ledge higher up
the slope, a shape stirred. Two eyes opened and red light shone from them.
The figure stood and laughed.

As one, the Goblins looked up. They saw a tall figure, half-naked, leap
down towards them. On his back he carried a rusted weapon as tall as he
was. A notched greatsword. And he had a beard, grey. He laughed as he
appeared above Rags.

Greybeard. Greydath of Blades. The Goblin Lord looked down at the

Goblins. His grin was wide. His eyes shone. Rags looked up at him. She
was not surprised. She was beyond surprise. She had only grief in her.
Grief, and anger.

“You.”

“Me.”
Greydath agreed. He leapt down and stood in front of Rags. There was no
apology in his eyes. He looked around at the others, clearly counting. Then
he shrugged.

It was that shrug which made the fury in Rags rise, loud enough to drown
the sorrow. She saw Snapjaw stir. Saw Rabbiteater and Badarrow look up
with sudden, furious recognition. Redscar pointed.

“You. You are Goblin Lord.”

“I am.”

He did not deny it. Greydath watched as the Goblins stirred. They looked at
him. But they felt nothing. Rags sensed nothing from the Hobgoblin. It was
as if he were a ghost. Not a Goblin. Certainly not a Goblin Lord.

“You saw it all.”

Redscar looked at Greydath. It was not a question. Greydath nodded.

“I saw it.”

“You did nothing?”

Rags whispered. Greydath glanced at her.

“Should I?”

The small Goblin had no answer for that. She just stared. But another
Hobgoblin moved. Snapjaw drew her sword. She pointed it at Greydath.

“You! You let him die!”

“Reiss?”

Greydath shrugged. It was too much. Snapjaw lunged, sword swinging.

Greydath moved. His arm blurred and he blocked Snapjaw’s blade with his
greatsword. The sound rang in the night. Snapjaw staggered back. Greydath
turned. Rabbiteater had the magical axe in his hands. He was staring at
Greydath with hatred. So was Badarrow. The Goblin had an arrow pointed
at Greydath’s chest.

“You coward. You did nothing! You let him die! He was Goblin Lord! Like
you!”

Snapjaw screamed. She tried to bite at Greydath, but he dodged her. The
Goblin Lord threw Snapjaw back. He was still smiling.

“So? He fought.”

“Garen died.”

Redscar’s voice was quiet. He lifted Redfang and Greydath’s eyes flicked to
him. The other Goblins were getting up. The Goblin Lord looked calmly at
the three Redfangs.

“He chose to. He could have run. He was a traitor. Reiss, a slave. What of
it?”

The words made the Goblins furious. They slowly advanced and Greydath
waited. His smile was mocking. Designed to infuriate. But Rags did not
draw the shortsword at her side. She looked at Greydath’s face.

“Pyrite is dead. You taught him.”

For a second she saw Greydath’s smile flicker. But then the Goblin Lord
turned to her.

“So what? He was a Hobgoblin. One Hobgoblin.”

“It doesn’t matter to you that he died?”

Greydath tilted his head back and forth. He stared past Rags, into the dark
sky. Then he shook his head.

“Goblins die.”
That was it. It was too much. Poisonbite leapt at the same time the
Redfangs swung. Greydath spun. All four Goblins stumbled back. He
laughed at them.

“Is that all? Is that all you can do? This is why they died. Because you are
weak. And you. You failed them all. You could stop nothing. Just run.”

Greydath pointed at Rags. She felt the words go through her. She stared at
Greydath. Hurt and pain and anger welled up and her. And then it vanished.
She felt a calm cold settle over her. A certainty. She looked into Greydath’s
eyes and saw none of the mockery in his voice. Slowly, Rags shook her
head.

“Why are you doing this?”

The Goblin Lord hesitated. Then he shrugged.

“To tell you that you are weak. To make you angry.”

“Is that why you waited? To tell me this?”

Rags asked him. Greydath shook his head.

“Not you. You think I waited for you? No. I waited here. Waited. Watched.
For whomever came. For you. Or Garen. Or Reiss or Tremborag. Or even
—”

He glanced at Rabbiteater and Badarrow. The Hobgoblins exchanged a

glance. Rags looked at the Goblin Lord. The question burned in her heart.
All the Goblins felt it and she gave voice to it.

“Why?”

At first Greydath did not respond. Rags pressed him.

“Why? Why did you watch? Why did you not help? Why did you do
nothing? You are a Goblin Lord. Stronger than anyone else! Why did you
let them die? Why?”
“Because it is meaningless. Because it had to be so.”

The Goblins stirred. Their fury rose. But Greydath was unmoved. He
looked around at them. There was no contempt in his gaze. Just age. Tired
age. It made them pause. The Goblin Lord raised his voice as he turned to
face them all.

“Goblins die. You think you are alone? That this moment is unique? It
happens everywhere. A thousand thousand times. In every part of the world.
Year by year. Day by day. Goblins die. Chieftains die. Tribes die. Lords
die.”

He lifted his greatsword. The battered weapon was just iron. It was bent and
chipped. Notched. But when Greydath held it, it shone. The Goblin Lord
swung the blade and the air tore. He stared at the blade and he shook his
head. Then he planted the greatsword in the ground.

“This sword is useless. I am useless. Goblins cannot be saved by me. Or

even a hundred of me. We wait for only one thing. A Goblin King.”

The Goblins listened. Greydath stepped back from his blade, spreading his
clawed hands wide. He looked at Rags.

“You ask why I waited? Why I did nothing? Because it did not matter who
came. It did not matter if no one came. If I brought you to this place. If I
helped, it would be meaningless. I can only watch.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not enough.”

He pointed at Rags. Greydath turned and his finger found every Goblin.
They flinched back from him. His eyes burned.

“You are weak. You must be stronger. So suffer. Die. Struggle. But grow. I
search the world for Goblins who can rise. Beyond Lords. Beyond all
others. I test them, goad them. But never help. A true King must rise alone.”
Rags felt a chill. So that was it. That was the reason he’d sought her out.
Not just her, but every Goblin of note. But—she stared at Greydath. For a
second she thought she felt him standing before her. Then he was gone
again. Not a Goblin Lord. But he had been. Why had he given it up?

“Tremborag said you betrayed Velan. Is that true?”

The Hobgoblin turned. He hesitated a second time, but guilt never crossed
his face. Just…sadness. And that age. How old was he? Greydath shook his
head.

“No. Velan chose his death.”

“Why?”

If he had answers, Greydath refused to give them. That too was why he had
come. To make her question. To make her wonder. It did nothing to heal the
pain in Rags’ heart. Greydath shook his head.

“If you want to know, look back. Find it yourself. Garen searched. And so
did Reiss. They found something of the past.”

“The key. The treasure of Velan the Kind.”

Snapjaw whispered. Greydath nodded. He pointed up, towards the invisible

summit of the mountain, high, high above. Clouds obscured sight. But Rags
still looked up. A vast mountain, stretching up as if it could go on forever.
Greydath grinned.

“It is surely there! High above. Claim it if you will. The treasure of the
Goblin King. Seek the other key. The two will unlock his gift. If you claim
it, perhaps you will be strong enough to follow. Perhaps not. But it is
waiting. You have the key. Garen’s will. It is your decision to follow his
footsteps. To succeed where he did not.”

He pointed at Rags and she felt a jolt as every Goblin looked towards her.
But the brief moment of…it was replaced by despair in a moment. Rags
laughed and the Goblin Lord looked puzzled. Rags laughed, with wild
hysteria.

“Key? What is the point? Garen didn’t know where other was! How can we
find?”

Greydath blinked as Rags’ despair. But then his grin returned.

“Search! Struggle! Or die. It matters not. Someday, a Goblin King will rise
again. And until that day comes, I will search and wait.”

He turned away from Rags. And it was to all Goblins he spoke now. The
former Goblin Lord spread his arms. His body was scarred from tens of
thousands of battles. He had lived longer than all of them put together,
surely. His words reverberated in their ears. In their souls.

“Grow. Despair. Rage! It matters not what you are! A coward, a traitor, a
slave—all these things are what is Goblin! Be what you are. But grow!”

Greydath’s eyes found all of them. He looked from face to face, burning
with a passion that Rags couldn’t name.

“Find the truth. It is at the beginning. And only Goblin Kings know of it.”

They stared at him. Greydath held their gaze for another second, then
lowered his arms. He was done. He turned back to Rags.

“You will not see me, child. Not until you take another step.”

“Good. I hate you.”

That was all Rags said. She did not like Greydath. She did not trust him.
But—she had to admit—the pain in her chest had vanished for a moment.
Now it returned, biting. Greydath saw it. He looked straight through Rags,
as if he had seen someone like her a million times. But he said nothing
more.

He walked past Redscar. Past Rabbiteater, Badarrow, through Tremborag’s

Goblins. Past staring Cave Goblins. He left his greatsword behind.
Greydath stood on the edge of the slope. He looked back once and grinned.

“Grow. And never forget.”

How could they? The Goblins stared at his back. The Goblin Lord bent.
Then he jumped. He hurled himself down the mountain, a tremendous jump
that carried him down the rocky slope, onto a distant rock hundreds of feet
down. His feet struck the rock and Greydath leapt, propelling himself faster.

He leapt again, launching himself down the mountain. Going faster. He was
laughing. Greydath laughed as he fled. Rags listened to it echoing back up
towards her. The funny thing about laughter was that it sounded like
sobbing, sometimes.

And then he was gone. Leaving the Goblins alone with nothing but the
dead. Rags looked around. She tried to find that grief once more, but in
truth, she was just numb. So many had died. It felt wrong, but after a while
she couldn’t even grieve.

“Pyrite.”

Rags felt something in her mourn. But Greydath’s words had created
something else in her. An urge. To keep living. Why had he died? It was to
save her. Why had Noears fallen? To protect his tribe. How could she die
and let them down?

Garen. Reiss. Rags would mourn them again and again, later. And she
would not forget them. But—she looked around.

There they were. Goblins of every kind. Staring at her. Right at her. Rags
felt the weight of their gazes and nearly stumbled. She saw someone turn to
her.

“Chieftain.”

Rabbiteater bowed his head. Snapjaw knelt. Redscar and Poisonbite

approached. Badarrow waited.

“Me?”
Rags asked it as she looked at the others. At Redscar. At Snapjaw. After so
much, they still looked to her? Redscar nodded. He half-smiled. Pain ran
through him and her. But he still smiled.

“Who else could be Chieftain?”

Rags looked around. At Redscar. At the two Redfangs, Rabbiteater and

Badarrow. At Snapjaw. Poisonbite. She shook her head. And then she stood
tall.

The little Goblin climbed onto a rock. She stood in front of the Goblins.
Thousands. They had lost their tribes. Their leaders. Their family and
friends. The Humans had shattered them. The Drakes had pushed them
away. They had been used again. Used and killed.

But still, they were here. And the living were here thanks to the dead. They
looked up at the small Goblin. She took a breath of the cold air and looked
past them. The sky was lightening. Dawn was not far away. Rags closed her
eyes. Then she drew her sword. The Goblins below her did the same.

Their weapons were heavy. Blood stained. But as they raised them, flames
burst into life. Their weapons ignited, and the fire burned in the darkness.
Candles for the fallen. Rags held her flaming blade aloft and looked at
them. Her people. She shouted down at them.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Chieftain of the

Redfangs! Chieftain of Reiss’ Goblins! Chieftain of the Cave Goblins!
Great Chieftain of the Mountain! Follow me.”

And they did. The Goblins limped after the small Goblin. They supported
each other. They wept and mourned, but they did follow. Their eyes fixed
on the small Goblin’s back. Was she a bit taller than before? Surely. A tiny
bit. She seemed taller. Still a child. But taller.

She walked ahead of them as the sun rose. It was cold. And she was so
tired. But still Rags walked. The light shone down on her body and she
shaded her eyes. And she led them forwards.
Into tomorrow.

—-

They found him as dawn shone down on the battlefield. Only when Tyrion
Veltras’ army had left the Floodplains did the gates of Liscor open. Oh,
some Humans still remained on the field, but the army had gone. That left
only the Goblin dead.

And the Antinium. They lay in a neat row. A hundred and one bodies.
Fragments, really. The Painted Soldiers had died as Antinium do. Hard.
They had fought to the last. He knelt before them as they approached him.

“Pawn? Pawn!”

Lyonette rushed towards the Worker. He was motionless. She called out and
the other searching Antinium made a beeline towards him. Belgrade, Anand
—and Klbkch. The Revalantor was riding a horse of all things. He
dismounted and the horse shifted uneasily. But it was too well-trained to
move.

“Pawn. Are you—are you okay?”

The Worker didn’t move. He knelt in front of the Painted Soldiers. In front
of a Soldier with yellow spatters of paint.

“They’re all dead.”

“They fought well.”

That was all Klbkch said as he dismounted. Lyonette looked up, her eyes
flashing, but Klbkch just strode past her. He surveyed the dead as Anand
and Belgrade approached. They had an escort of Painted Soldiers. They
stopped in front of the bodies.
“All of them?”

Belgrade stared at the fallen. Anand shook his head.

“It was statistically unlikely they would survive. The fact that Pawn did is
nothing short of a—”

He broke off. Pawn hadn’t moved. His antennae was broken. He was
broken. Klbkch stared down at him. Then he glanced at the body.

“Yellow Splatters is dead.”

Pawn jerked. Lyonette glared up at Klbkch.

“Be quiet! Can’t you be kind? Can’t you be sorry for them? Pawn just lost
—”

“They were under his command. Pawn led them. They fell. They fulfilled
their duties.”

Klbkch stared coldly at Lyonette. He looked across the Painted Soldiers,

living and dead.

“This is why the Antinium exist. Why Soldiers exist. To fight and die. How
should I speak of them?”

“With compassion.”

The young woman met the Revalantor’s eyes. Klbkch hesitated. Then he
shook his head.

“What good would that do?”

Lyonette opened her mouth, but Klbkch was already turning. He bent down
and inspected Yellow Splatter’s body.

“Slain by a spell.”

“He died protecting me.”

Pawn whispered. Lyonette hugged him. Klbkch looked back at Pawn.

“Yellow Splatters was unique. His talents were commendable. Belgrade.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

The Worker shot to panicked attention. Klbkch pointed at Yellow Splatter’s

body.

“Recover his remains. Bring them to the Hive. I will petition the Queen to
perform the Rite of Anastases on his corpse. Yellow Splatters may be
revived.”

“What?”

Lyonette stared at Klbkch, uncomprehending. But the other Workers looked

up. So did the Soldiers. They stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor nodded
coolly.

“The odds of success are low. Yellow Splatters may not have the levels to
be resurrected. I suspect he does, but we will see. It may even be possible to
give him a more fitting body. Perhaps a voice. The Queen will—”

“No.”

The word was quiet. It came from Pawn. The [Acolyte] looked up. He did
not weep. The look in his eyes silenced even Klbkch for a moment. The
Revalantor turned to face him.

“Explain yourself, Pawn.”

“No. You won’t revive him.”

Pawn moved forwards to stand between Klbkch and Yellow Splatters. He

spread his good arms, protecting the fallen [Sergeant]. Pawn stared at
Klbkch, and at the other Antinium.

“He’s in a better place. Why would you want to bring him back?”
“He is needed.”

Klbkch’s mandibles closed together, a tad uncertainly. Pawn shook his head.

“He’s free. Leave him be.”

He faced down Klbkch. The Revalantor wavered, then he turned.

“Decide as you will. But be swift. He must be brought to the Hive soon or
any chance of resurrecting him will be gone. I must go.”

“Where?”

Lyonette was incredulous. She stared around the battlefield. At the dead.
They littered the ground. So many that she felt sick. But Klbkch walked
past and over the dead as if they were invisible to him. The horse whickered
as Klbkch mounted it. The [Guardsman] and Revalantor looked down at
Lyonette.

“I have my duties.”

He wheeled the horse southwards. Lyonette watched him begin to canter

down the hill. Pawn turned.

“And that’s it? They died and that is all you’ll say?”

Klbkch didn’t turn. Pawn shouted at his back.

“What was the point? Why was it only us? What was this for?”

His voice broke. He fell to his knees. Lyonette bent as the other Antinium
surrounded him.

“Pawn. Pawn, it’s going to be okay.”

Lies. Pawn looked up and Lyonette blinked back tears.

“She’s alive, Pawn. You saved Erin. You did save her.”
“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. The Antinium shifted restlessly. But Pawn paid no
mind. He looked back at the dead as Lyonette tried and failed to haul him to
his feet.

“What can I do? What can I say? To the others?”

He gave the other Painted Soldiers an agonized look. They stared down at
their brethren, silent. Unreadable. But not emotionless. Lyonette looked at
the silent Antinium. She brushed tears from her eyes. Didn’t they know?
She raised her voice and the Antinium looked at her.

“They were heroes. Obviously! Tell them that!”

Pawn looked at her.

“Heroes?”

“Yes. What else could they be? Tell them that. They were heroes. And
you’ll never forget them.”

Lyonette blinked. Water ran down her cheeks. Pawn stared at the tears. And
then he looked at the dead. Slowly, he stood.

“Never. We will never forget.”

The Soldiers looked at him. The Worker stood taller. Never, ever. So long as
one Antinium lived. Never. Lyonette could not read the emotions running
through the Antinium. She turned her head, stared towards a hill with an inn
and a shattered roof.

“Come on, Pawn. We’re going home.”

The Worker looked at her. Slowly, Lyonette pulled and guided him towards
the hill. The Antinium surrounded their dead. Belgrade stared down at
Yellow Splatters. He looked at Anand, but the other [Tactician] had no
words. Slowly, the two Workers looked back. The Painted Soldiers stood
around Yellow Splatters. They gazed silently at the fallen [Sergeant] and
realized the choice was theirs. Theirs alone.

They made their decision.

—-

Osthia watched the Antinium go. She knelt by the body of a fallen horse,
ignoring the stink and the mud and blood that clung to her scales. She had
smeared mud onto her body. And she had waited for the Antinium to go.

It was agonizing. Osthia wanted nothing more than to get up and fly past
them. But she dared not. That was Klbkch the Slayer she had just seen. And
she had recognized the strange Antinium from the battle. They were the
enemies of her people.

As were the Humans. Osthia looked around and then dared to crawl a bit
further. She was on the lookout; Tyrion Veltras’ army may have left, but a
good number of his nobles had split from his army and any one of them
could be her doom. She could not be caught.

She had crawled past bodies already rotting, past glowing green flies,
through the mud. All to avoid the attention of the Humans. Even now, she
hesitated. She had to make it to the city. But her wings were bound. Reiss
had kept her under guard until his lines had broken.

She had watched him die. Osthia still wasn’t sure what she thought about it.
She knew what had possessed him in his last moments. That dark presence
lurking behind his eyes.

Az’kerash. Liscor had to know. Her people had to know. Osthia gritted her
teeth. There was at least two miles between her and Liscor. But she had not
the strength to keep crawling, nor the patience. She had to risk it all. She
got up slowly and began to run.
At first her weary legs betrayed her. But as she ran, stumbling, Osthia found
her pace. She ran past and over Goblin bodies. So many. Osthia had seen
battlefields before. But this had been a slaughter at the end. She stared at
black bodies lying in piles.

They had been the Goblin Lord’s forces. Her enemy. They had killed her
uncle and Garusa and so many of her comrades. They deserved death for
that alone. But Osthia couldn’t find any victorious glee in her. She only felt
numb.

They had died fleeing the Humans. Running away. It hadn’t been a battle.
There wasn’t honor in this. But they were Goblins. Just Goblins—

Osthia tripped. She windmilled her arms and her manacled wings flapped
uselessly. The Drake caught herself, and stared at the city. She was so close!
She sprinted towards it. If she could just get in range of the walls—

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Who was that? Osthia turned.

Someone was coming. Approaching her at speed, on a horse. A Human?

Osthia didn’t bother to look. She put her head down and pumped her arms.
She had to get to the city! If they spotted her, noticed she’d been a prisoner
—

They had to know. Drakes, not Humans. Az’kerash had been Human. This
might be a plot. The Walled Cities had to know! Osthia tried to outrun
whomever was chasing her, but they were faster and she was exhausted.

Closer now. But too far away. Osthia waved her arms desperately. Liscor
was just in front of her. She cried out, her voice raw and unused.

“Help! Someone deliver a message to Pallass! It’s—”

The rider bore down on her. Osthia spun, ready to make a final stand. She
had a sword looted from the dead. But it was no Human who rode the horse,
or Klbkch. It was a Drake. He drew up and Osthia gaped up at him.

“You’re—”
His scales were dark red, no, closer to purple. He wore a breastplate that
blazed with gold and fire that Osthia recognized. But it was his face that
spoke to her.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

He blinked. But Osthia knew him. A Wall Lord of Salazsar? What was he
doing here?

“Who are you? Identify yourself. Are you a captive?”

He eyed her suspiciously. Osthia’s bindings gave her away. The Drake
nodded, and then remembered to salute.

“I am. Wall Lord—sir! I was a prisoner of the Goblin Lord!”

“Goblins don’t take prisoners.”

Osthia blinked.

“This one did. But—sir, I have critical news! It must reach the Walled
Cities! Now!”

She stumbled over her words. She had to say it.

“It’s the Necromancer. It’s Az’kerash. He’s alive! He—”

Ilvriss jerked in his saddle, but not with the pure shock Osthia had expected.
Instead, he swung himself to the ground and practically leapt at Osthia. His
claw covered her mouth. She jerked in surprise.

“Wall Lord—”

He muffled her. Ilvriss stared around, but no one was nearby. He ignored
the female Drake’s protests and hissed at her.

“Quiet! I know.”
She went still, her eyes wide. Ilvriss glanced around again, and then
straightened. He stared long and hard at Osthia.

“This Goblin Lord had ties to the Necromancer?”

“He was his apprentice. He—”

Osthia struggled to describe all she’d witnessed. Reiss’ subservience, his

resentment, the reasons he’d followed the Necromancer. She couldn’t. But
Ilvriss just nodded.

“You must have valuable intelligence. I will hear it. But not here. We’re too
exposed. Follow me. What’s your rank and name, soldier?”

He offered Osthia a claw. She stared at him, and then swung herself up into
the saddle. The horse grunted.

“Osthia. Osthia Blackwing, [Captain]. Pallass’ 5th Oldblood Winged

Division. Wall Lord—”

“Say nothing.”

“But—”

The Drake gave her a long look. Ilvriss shook his head.

“This secret is our only advantage. We will make him pay. I swear it. But
we must trap him. Come.”

He urged the horse into a trot, heading back towards Liscor. Osthia saw
more Drakes racing to join him. They’d been—combing the dead. The
undead, rather. For signs of the Necromancer? She stared at Ilvriss’ back.
And then she remembered to ride to avoid falling off. She was exhausted,
grieving, though she didn’t know why. But she burned with vengeance.

She would not forget him, ever. And the Necromancer would pay. She
swore it. The Drakes rode away from the battlefield, towards the city. They
passed another figure, who picked his way across the dead, slowly, stick in
hand.
—-

“Is this hell?”

I don’t know. I have always imagined hell, if it exists, as a place of

suffering. A place of torment, as you would imagine. Screaming, pure
agony distilled into an experience. But perhaps hell is quiet.

If it is, I walk through it. My cane taps the mud. Every few feet I run into
something. A body. Sometimes my cane taps on armor, other times flesh. If
I were anywhere else I would be confused, unsettled by the strange forms
lying around me. But I know what has passed here. And I am sick.

Everything is so…quiet. I can hear practically nothing. Nothing but my

heartbeat. There are distant sounds. Galloping hooves, sometimes voices.
The buzzing of flies. But around me nothing but silence. The dead lie in
droves. Invisible to the blind man.

But I can feel them. Soft shapes, hard metal. They’re lying everywhere. I
can’t imagine how many. I know there was a battle here, but I can see none
of it. I wish my senses as an emperor extended to this place. I wish I could
know the extent of my failure. My unforgivable…

Dead. Just like that. And the smell. I gag, but my nose has already gotten
somewhat accustomed to the smell. It will only grow worse as time passes.
And, I’m told, the dead will begin rising. I shouldn’t be here. But I can’t
help it. I have to know. I have to know.

“Emperor. Your majesty!”

A voice calls out to me. Gamel. He’s been following me. I ignore him. I
nearly trip over an arm. Bent down to touch clammy flesh. The body’s
warming. I shudder.

“What have I done?”

“Sire, please—”

A hand reaches for me. I knock it away. Walk forwards. I’m deaf to the
voice that implores me to move back, to rest. I’ve been walking through the
night and into the day. Searching for something to make sense of it all.

How could I? I didn’t realize this would be the result. Could I have done
anything differently? There must be consequences for this. There must—I
thought they were monsters.

“Laken!”

Gamel grabs me. I start.

“Gamel?”

His voice is hoarse.

“Laken—sire. You must rest. Let me take you away. Lord Yitton and Lord
Gralton—”

“Let them wait. Gamel, I have to be here. I have to witness this. How many
are there around me?”

I cannot see them. But I know they are there. Gamel hesitates.

“A—score, sire. Many bodies. Please—”

“Thousands? Tens of thousands?”

“I cannot count them all. Your majesty—”

I’m shaking. I push Gamel back and stumble forwards. Where am I? I don’t
know. I move forwards, tapping with my stick. Then the tip of it strikes
something and something makes a sound. I freeze and Gamel draws in his
breath.

“Emperor! Stand back! One of them is alive!”

He draws his sword. I hear it unsheathed, hear the laugh from below. I hold
out a trembling hand.

“Gamel, hold.”

“­Sire!”

“Hold. This Goblin. Is it hurt? Is it trying to attack me?”

There’s a pause. Gamel gulps.

“It—should be dead, sire. Somehow, it’s breathing. And it’s looking at

you.”

“I see. You there. I apologize, but I can’t see you. I’m quite blind, you see.”

I sense something in front of me. Cautiously I tap forwards and hear a faint
sound. Breathing. And—a voice? My heart skips a beat.

“Can you talk?”

“Your m—”

“Back up, Gamel.”

I bend my head to listen. A low voice. Weak. But the words are perfectly
understandable. If I were not told—no, if I forget all of what’s passed—I
could believe I was listening to another Human being lying on the ground.

Maybe this is just a strange dream. Or a trick. But I cannot help but believe.
I listen, as the Goblin speaks. And I shake my head.

“I’m sorry.”

I hear a faint laugh. Scorn. The Goblin has every right to it. What good are
my words? He—it is a he—is dying. I kneel down in the muck. I hear a
sound from Gamel, but I ignore it.
One Goblin. He sounds so Human. I open my eyes, blindly, as if that could
help me see him. I wish I could. I wish—and then I have a thought. I bow
my head over the Goblin. He could sit up and kill me. I think he could. But
he lies there, too tired to add to the dead. And I speak to him.

“I’m—I couldn’t stop any of this. It was out of my control. I can’t change
their minds. I can’t do anything for anyone else. Or for you. I shouldn’t. But
I want to cheat. The world should not be like this.”

The Goblin gurgles a response. A question. I pass my hand over my eyes.

They shut. My eyelids are too tired to keep them open.

“If you are willing, Goblin. Believe. You need not be loyal to me. But if you
will it—”

I bend my head down and whisper.

“Live.”

I hear a gasp. The intake of breath. And I sense something beneath me

move. That’s all. I straighten and turn. I sense a figure hurrying towards me,
hear the jingle of Gamel’s chainmail.

“Your majesty? Are you alright?”

“I am. But—get a healing potion, Gamel. Leave it there.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

I walk away. I hear Gamel hesitate, then fumble at his belt. I don’t wait to
see what happens. I don’t wait to see if the Goblin survives. That’s all I can
do for him. In fact, there’s nothing I can do here. I can only remember this
moment. Never forget it.

“Take me back, Gamel. Take me back.”

He does just that. I slowly walk across the battlefield. Up hills, avoiding
valleys. It feels much the same to me. But I stop when I hear a familiar
voice.

“Your majesty. What were you searching for?”

“Sin, Lord Yitton. Sin, and guilt. Evidence of it, at any rate. Did you make
contact with your children?”

“I did. My daughter does not wish to see me. And I was informed that it
would be dangerous to approach Liscor at the moment.”

“But they’re well?”

Lord Yitton hesitates.

“Yes, Emperor Godart. I believe so.”

“That’s good. One good thing, at least. I’m done here, Lord Byres. I intend
to return home. Will you join me? Lord Gralton’s forces will be coming
with, I think.”

“Yes. I…spoke with Lord Gralton.”

Yitton Byres shifts. He was surprised that Gralton didn’t go with Tyrion. So
was everyone else. But Gralton decided staying with me and Yitton was
better than going to fight the Drakes. I nod.

“His company will be welcome. As would conversation on the road. And

the escort. I’m afraid my people aren’t warriors. And I’m rather stranded.
But I’ll happily travel with you, if you don’t mind the slower pace due to
the prisoners.”

“I—would be delighted to travel with you, your majesty. However,

regarding the prisoners you claimed. The soldiers are talking. They’re quite
upset. Would you consider—”

“If you’re asking me to let them go or kill them, the answer is no, Yitton.
Mark my words. If anyone harms them, soldier or noble or adventurer, they
will pay. Spread the word.”

“…I understand.”

Do you? I wonder. But I don’t want to talk, not now. There’s time enough
on the road to speak of morality to Yitton. Gralton too. I walk slowly
towards the horse Gamel has saddled. And as I do, I hear shuffling. Sounds
to my left. A smell not of horse or Human.

But Goblin.

—-

The train of prisoners was small. Barely a few hundred. But they had been
captured, found among the dead. And for all they were monsters, they had
been forbidden from being harmed. By the Human who never opened his
eyes. He was the blind emperor. Some of the Goblins knew and feared him.
Others just hated.

Being alive was little comfort to them. They waited, not sure of what the
future held. But it could surely be little worse than the present. The Goblins
sat together. And one of them had a hat.

Pebblesnatch curled up, tears running down her face. She clung to the
muddy chef’s hat. She wept, and wept unceasingly. By her side, a female
Hobgoblin stroked the top of her head.

Ulvama was injured. But she had survived capture and the battle. That was
little consolation to her. The [Shaman] stared hatred at Laken. At him and
every Human she saw.

Both Goblins looked up as they heard Laken Godart speaking. He was

talking to the man named Yitton Byres and another man who smelled like
dogs.
“North, Yitton, Gralton. I’ll beg your help until we reach my estates. North.
And the Goblins come with us.”

The Goblins looked up as the Humans crowded around them. They were
forced up, forced to march. Some resisted. Some wanted to fight and die
rather than march again. But the [Emperor] forced them to move. He
claimed them as his own and they were spared. But for what, they didn’t
know. They could only cling to life. While the dead waited behind them.

—-

A hundred thousand corpses or more. Fields of the dead out of reach. A

fallen apprentice. The death of Garen Redfang. And the end of Tyrion
Veltras’ plans. The end of his plans as well.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, walked past the waiting undead. Ghostly

wraiths, huge walker zombies, undead knights. And his Chosen. They stood
where he had ordered them, ready to be mass-teleported. It had been a day,
but the undead didn’t grow bored. But his Chosen, Venitra, Bea, and
Kerash, were restless.

And afraid. Their master was furious. He raged. He had screamed. They had
never seen him thus. Now he paced back and forth, fuming.

“Disaster. What has passed here?”

No one answered. Az’kerash whirled. He stared past them, clutching at his

hand. The same hand that had been severed on Reiss’ body when Garen
struck. The Necromancer’s body was wholly intact and pale, but the pain
was still there, a memory. He grimaced.

“Of consequence? Nothing. What a perfect waste of my time and energy.

My apprentice died without returning anything of merit to me. Useless.”
The word made Venitra flinch. Bea stared past her creator as he strode past
her. Speaking to himself.

“A few Drake armies and a Human one. Paltry destruction, and for what?
Only Zel Shivertail’s death was of importance.”

He paused. And a look of satisfaction flickered across Az’kerash’s face.

“At least he is dead. In that sense, my investment paid enough dividends.

But had Liscor fallen—”

The undead watched their master anxiously. Az’kerash’s anger blazed hot—
then, suddenly, after half a day of fury—it suddenly went cold. All the
wrath drained out of the [Necromancer] and he stood calm and
dispassionate. The living lost significance for him.

“He is dead. And it matters little now, I suppose. A lesson in foolishness. A

waste of effort. Little more. Kerash.”

The undead Gnoll stood straighter.

“Master? Do we go into combat?”

Az’kerash shook his head.

“You are not needed. This—distraction at Liscor has cost me enough time
and energy. I have work to do. The next generation awaits. Kerash, return to
your duties. I will begin work once more. Prepare my materials. And bring
me mana potions and—scales. Drake scales, I think. And chitin. Antinium-
harvested. Or spiders if there are not enough.”

“Yes, Master. It will be done.”

The Chosen turned. The undead were already moving away. Az’kerash let
them go, ignoring Venitra and Bea. He had barely paid attention to Kerash.
In times past he had interacted often with his prized creations, his Chosen.
But they had failed him and so they were dust, tools to be used and
discarded. And they knew it.
So too did Reiss pass from Az’kerash’s mind. He turned his attention
towards the future, and a new creation. Something that would last. That
would not disappoint. The Necromancer’s mind fragmented, each piece
taking a new challenge to think on. If he had any thoughts to spare, it was
only to think of another possible apprentice, and to be irritated at the failure
of his last one. But it didn’t matter.

Az’kerash repeated the thought to himself. He pushed his defeat from his
mind. He dismissed what had passed. The future awaited. And what had he
lost? What had happened at Liscor?

“Nothing. Nothing of consequence at all.”

The world remained the same. Az’kerash summoned his magic to him and
began to work. The Goblins, his apprentice—the defense of Liscor itself—
meant little. After all, what had changed? The Humans made war with
Drakes and each other. The Drakes squabbled. There was no change to this
world.

—-

Beneath the earth, the Antinium were restless. Hundreds of thousands of

Soldiers and Workers shifted uneasily. They waited in the tunnel they had
built from the northern-most of the Hives towards Liscor. It was a grand
project that had taken five Hive’s worth of Workers tunneling around the
clock. Even so, it had only barely been completed in time.

All had been in order. Three Hives had sent their finest into the tunnel,
towards the city of Liscor. They had waited there, as Workers continued
tunneling. When the time came, the plan was to have them exit the tunnel
and march on Liscor at best speed. They could reach the city within a day of
nonstop marching. Two at the most.
That was the plan. The Queens had hatched it together and their Hives had
obeyed. But their plans had fallen to ruin. Because Liscor had not fallen.
The Goblin Lord had been broken at the city and Tyrion Veltras’ aim of
attacking halted by Human machinations. And the Queens were…
displeased.

“Order.”

Xrn’s voice cut through the tunnel. The Armored Antinium, shifting in their
armor, the Silent Antinium, restlessly pacing back and forth, and the beating
wings of the Flying Antinium halted. They looked up as Xrn stood above
them.

The staff shone in her hands. Her eyes blazed. With fiery orange-red of
annoyance, the green of surprise, and a steely grey determination. It was
that last which called to Tersk, Prognugator of the Armored Antinium. He
held still, though the raging voice in his mind made him want to strike out
randomly. He called up at Xrn.

“Prognugator Xrn, my Queen—”

The azure Antinium gazed down at Tersk and shook her head.

“Ignore her. The Queens are furious. Their orders are not to be trusted. Hold
your positions until we receive proper orders.”

Pivr fanned his wings.

“But my Queen—”

“I am in charge here. Not the Flying Queen. The Grand Queen has
appointed me herself and I speak for her, especially when her judgment
fails. Hold.”

Xrn’s voice made the Antinium grow still. It restored order and Tersk felt
the balance in him reassert himself. He stood still, waiting. Xrn shook her
head.
“We will have to collapse the tunnel. Pull the Workers and Soldiers back.
All this effort. There truly is no predicting other species. Alas.”

She stared bitterly up towards the ramp that had been built to carry the army
out of the ground. Sunlight shone down into the Hive. Tersk noticed some
of his Soldiers and even one of his fellow Prognugators staring at it. Some
had never seen sunlight. Pivr, whose Flying Antinium were allowed onto
the surface to practice flying, had bragged about being in the sun. But no
matter how many times Tersk saw it, he always thought—

Hoof beats. Tersk stiffened as he heard the sound echoing towards the
tunnel. The other Antinium heard it too. All of them froze. Workers,
Soldiers, Prognugators, all stared towards the entrance. Xrn’s eyes flashed
bright yellow in warning, caution. She held up a hand and raised her staff.

Someone had found the entrance to the tunnel. Someone riding a horse.
They would have to die if they came closer. The Antinium were in violation
of their treaty, far, far outside the zone they were allowed to operate in.
They would have to kill the wanderer.

“If they flee, my Soldiers—”

Pivr shut up as Xrn stared at him. The Centenium slowly moved towards
the entrance of the tunnel. Her staff had stopped shining, casting most of the
tunnel into darkness. She aimed at the entrance, the lights in her eyes
turning to blackness. Tersk waited as whomever was above seemed to
dismount from the horse. They were approaching, their footsteps crunching
the earth above. And then—

“Xrn. Hold.”

An Antinium appeared in the entrance to the tunnel. Xrn froze. Her staff
had shone bright pink-red for a moment. But at the sight of Klbkch, she
lowered her staff and the magic shimmered out.

“Klbkchhezeim?”
The other Antinium stared as the Slayer walked down the ramp. Tersk felt a
surge of something in his chest. He had met Klbkch, but the name, and the
knowledge still made him more alert. The Slayer. And his was not the only
reaction.

The Flying Antinium’s wings fanned unconsciously as one. They shifted,

eternally restless. The Armored Antinium were more subdued. But it was
the Silent Antinium’s reaction that was most significant. They crept closer,
fixed on Klbkch. The hunched Soldiers of the Silent Antinium,
camouflaged, stared at him. After all, he was…

“Klbkch. Why have you come here? We know of what happened at Liscor.
There is no point to our presence.”

Xrn was speaking with Klbkch. The Revalantor of the Free Antinium, the
one who was meant to guide their Hive towards its destiny, turned his head.
He stared at the army of Antinium.

“No. They will not be needed. But this tunnel must remain. My Queen has
sent me here to ensure it is not destroyed.”

“Not destroyed?”

Xrn opened her mandibles in surprise. Klbkch nodded. He stepped past her
and raised his voice, addressing all the Antinium.

“The Workers will continue the tunneling. The Free Antinium will dig from
their end as well. We will complete the tunnel. Not to be used as a staging
ground for an assault, but to connect the Free Hive to the others.”

“You mean—build an underground route? But there are hundreds of miles

yet to be constructed! We only built this much of the tunnel to prepare for
an assault. To link all six Hives would take—”

Klbkch turned to Xrn.

“What? Effort? Workers? We have enough. And time as well. The Antinium
lack none of these things. It has only been desire that prevented such
activity until now. But that ceases. The Hives will be connected.”

Several colors flashed through Xrn’s eyes at once.

“The Grand Queen has not given her permission for this project. She will
surely object.”

“That is her choice, yes. But my Queen has spoken. And her will be done. I
have decided as well.”

Klbkch faced forwards.

“The tunnel will be expanded. The Hives linked, the passages guarded. The
six Hives will be open to each other at last. So proclaims the Free Queen of
the Antinium.”

The Soldiers shifted. It was the same as gasping aloud. Tersk didn’t know
how to process this information. But the Workers just streamed past Klbkch,
and got to work. Tersk saw Xrn’s mandibles opening and closing as her
eyes changed color. Blue, doubt. Yellow, caution. And then—a bright white
light. Green and pink.

She smiled. Klbkch nodded.

“We shall have to hide the presence of the tunnel. Workers, seal the
entrance after my departure. Xrn. We should speak.”

“Indeed we should. Klbkch.”

He strode up the ramp. Xrn followed him. The Antinium looked up into the
sun. Tersk saw Workers move forwards and the light slowly disappeared.
But he remembered. And he remembered a city. An inn. He wondered if he
would see Pawn again. And he thought that if he did, nothing would ever be
the same.

That was probably a good thing.

—-

Liscor was quiet the day after the battle. The relieved celebrations had
given way to a strange silence. After all, the city had not been attacked. But
a battle had taken place. And there were dead.

Goblin dead. Perhaps it didn’t matter. But the Drakes and Gnolls of the city
couldn’t forget that it was Goblins who had been driven to besiege Liscor,
and Goblins who had defended it. Both had died. And that meant…

Nothing. To some, nothing. To others, everything. But perhaps the effects

were most greatly felt outside of Liscor. In an inn on a hill.

The day after the battle, The Wandering Inn was closed. The shutters
locked. It was barred to all visitors, and indeed, most who would have gone
to the inn couldn’t even find the willpower to try. The [Innkeeper] did not
want visitors.

So her guests stayed away. Even the regulars. They found other things to
do. Other people to visit.

And in Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur in a magic cell heard voices. It had been
quiet. It was almost always quiet where he stood. His gaze was blank. But
his ears twitched as he heard voices, coming closer.

“You have as long as you want. But try to bribe me one more time and I will
arrest you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes. I apologize. Look, it’s just that in Human cities—”

Someone spat.

“Pah. Go on.”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead. He didn’t respond to any words or

stimuli most of the time. He barely ate any food. But the second voice.
Something in it called to him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him. But as a
shorter, slimmer figure walked forwards he slowly looked down.

A half-Elf stood in front of Calruz’s cell. Her robes were magical. One of
her hands was nothing but bone. She looked up at him. The Minotaur
slowly returned the gaze.

“Hello, Calruz. It’s been a while.”

He said nothing. Ceria Springwalker frowned.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m coming to visit you at last, you giant jackass. I wasn’t
sure if I should, but—hello?”

Calruz didn’t respond. The Minotaur’s gaze was slightly unfocused. Ceria
frowned. She walked back and forth and the eyes slowly tracked her.

“Can you hear me? Are you…”

She hesitated. A thousand things seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. She
said none of them. Ceria folded her arms?

“Do you even remember what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

The half-Elf jumped. She stared at Calruz. The Minotaur’s eyes focused on
her.

“I know you.”

“I hoped you would. You’re—what you did—”

Ceria struggled for words. Calruz spoke again.

“Below. She’s still there.”

The [Ice Mage] froze.

“Who? Nokha?”

Again, the Minotaur didn’t respond directly to the question. He looked

straight through Ceria.

“I can hear her. You shouldn’t have taken me out. She knows. She’s waiting
for you to let her out.”

“Who? Who’s ‘she’? Did she do this to you? Where is she?”

Slowly, Ceria approached the walls of the cell. She stared at Calruz. The
Minotaur stared blankly at her for a minute, then two. And then something
changed. He blinked.

“Ceria?”

This time he looked at her. And recoiled. He was surprised to see her. Ceria
backed up, clearly uneasy.

“Calruz? What were you talking about? Who’s ‘she’?”

“Who?”

The Minotaur stared blankly at her. Ceria looked around. Calruz shook his
head.

“Sometimes I feel like…what did I say? What have I done?”

“I—”

The half-Elf had been prepared for something. Not for this. She took
another step backwards, looking down the prison. Calruz stepped forwards.
He placed a hand on the magical barrier.

“I remember it. All of it. What I did. I went mad. Springwalker, you have to
believe me.”

Ceria caught herself. She glared back at Calruz, biting her lip, clenching a
fist.
“I believe you’re mad. You—you turned into a monster.”

“I know. I must be punished. But part of it—I didn’t intend for it. I started
losing myself. You have to believe me.”

The Minotaur spoke urgently. His hands trembled on the walls of his cell.
Ceria eyed him.

“I do. I do, Calruz.”

“Please tell them that. Please. I never intended this. Tell them. Make them
know.”

“They’ll never forgive you, Calruz. I don’t think I can—”

“I don’t want that. Death is my only salvation. I’ll settle my debts that
way.”

The Minotaur never blinked. Ceria froze.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s nothing less than I deserve. You and I both know that. Tell them I’ll
accept whatever punishment. The Gnolls—they deserve justice. Whatever it
takes. Tell them. Please.”

“Oh, Calruz—”

Ceria went over to the cell. She bowed her head and put her hand against
the magical barrier of the cell. Calruz stared at her.

“I’ve lost my honor.”

“Calruz—”

Her voice broke. Ceria leaned against the wall of the cell, her shoulders
shaking. It was then that Pisces decided to stop listening. He straightened
and turned his head. The undead mouse collapsed.
“Well?”

Yvlon stared at him. She and Ksmvr were waiting outside the dungeon.
Pisces blinked.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t pretend. What are they saying?”

“I stopped listening.”

Yvlon jabbed Pisces in the side. He yelped.

“I did!”

The armored woman eyed him, but eventually nodded.

“What do you think she’s going to do?”

“Beyond saying goodbye? I have no idea. She may wish to…stay for the
trial.”

“I can’t blame her, can you?”

“Captain Ceria is blameless in the guilt of former-Captain Calruz, surely.”

Ksmvr looked anxiously between Pisces and Yvlon. The [Necromancer]

nodded.

“Oh, undoubtedly. Yvlon is merely referring to Ceria’s perceived guilt. If

she wishes to stay, well, I am sure we can find work here.”

“And after the trial?”

Pisces shrugged. He stared towards the walls of Liscor.

“I imagine we find work.”

“Just like that?”

“It is our function.”

Ksmvr put in unhelpfully. Pisces just shook his head.

“What would you have me say, Byres? Some grand proclamation about our
future? We obtained…success in the dungeon. Ceria, perhaps, closure. But
this siege, the Goblins…it has made one thing abundantly clear to me. And
one thing alone.”

“Go on?”

“Stronger. We must be stronger, all of us.”

Pisces looked at Ksmvr and Yvlon. He touched at his robes, and

remembered the army of the undead. The Goblins. The helplessness of the
adventurers on the walls, save for a few. He shook his head.

“Stronger.”

Yvlon echoed the word. She felt at her reinforced arms and nodded.

“I can get behind that idea. We need to be Gold-rank. To improve. To

become…”

She trailed off. Like Pisces, she stared towards the walls. Ksmvr looked as
well. His voice was anxious.

“What will we become? Comrade Pisces? Yvlon?”

The two looked at each other. Yvlon smiled and Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“Why, whatever is worthy, Ksmvr. Something greater. Something new.”

“Together.”

Yvlon put her hand out. Pisces hesitated, then placed his hand delicately on
hers. Ksmvr put two of his hands on the pile. The Horns of Hammerad at
looked at each other.
“Together.”

—-

In Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur and half-Elf talked. In the dungeon, the

monsters crawled. They bred and fought and slept. It was…emptier. There
were still monsters aplenty, but some had left. Goblins, for one. The Shield
Spiders had retreated, their mad rampage on the surface having reduced
their numbers considerably.

None of that mattered to the dark figure that skulked through the darkness.
Toren, the undead skeleton hummed to himself as he dragged another body
into the dungeon. Or rather, imagined humming to himself. He was a
skeleton after all, and he couldn’t talk.

What he could do was drag things. In this case, he was dragging a dead
body. A Human [Pikewoman] who’d been slain in the field. And half of a
horse. It was a heavy burden, but Toren didn’t get tired. He did hurry
though; the smell of fresh meat would attract scavengers. He’d left a few
bodies out to distract them, but if he tarried too long he’d have to abandon
his prize.

It was a winding route Toren took, around traps, through secret passages.
But at last he reached a spot that he knew very well. He had claimed it. A
mockery of an inn had been set up. And beyond it, a door had been placed
at the far end of the hall. The door was closed. Toren perked up as he
dragged the dead body towards it.

He was in a good mood. The skeleton had been in high spirits for the last
few weeks, actually. To him, all the events that had passed recently were
nothing but good news. First the adventurers had come by and killed a lot of
monsters. Then all the annoying Raskghar died. And now?
An army of the dead. Dead Goblins, all about. Some humans and animals
too. And there was Toren. Toren, who was in need of the dead.

The adventurers and the people of Liscor had done a good job of cleaning
up their dead, but all the rest were just lying there. Fresh for the taking. And
since Toren knew that any body could become a zombie or Ghoul if you did
things right, he’d collected the bodies nonstop.

The door at the end of the hallway was shut, so Toren let go of his burden to
open the door. He dragged the dead woman’s body and the horse’s half into
the door and found a place for them. The dead were piled up. Not exactly
neatly, but Toren knew where each one was. He wiped his skeletal hands on
the dead horse, and then couldn’t help it. He turned to count.

One, two, three, four…thousand…

The dead bodies filled the amphitheater Toren had found. An obscene mass-
grave. Only to the living, though. To Toren, it was possibility. It was death,
raw and untapped. And he had amassed the collection all by himself.

A skeleton could do a lot if it spent all day and night just carrying dead
bodies around. Toren grinned. And then he checked something at his side. A
mask. It hung loosely, ready to be put on. Toren hesitated.

The mask called to him. But no adventurers had come into the dungeon for
a while. They would come in time. And when they did she would grow
louder. But until then, he, Toren was in charge. And he intended to make
full use of his time.

The dead bodies lay in piles. Some were already stirring. The dead were
rising. Toren carefully shut the door. Soon, there would be more undead.
And he knew that they would grow stronger in death, especially with so
many dead bodies. He had wondered what would happen if he could
harness that power. The dungeon was full of monsters. Full of enemies.
Alone, Toren could only run. But with an army?

The skeleton didn’t cackle because again, that was a thing that required
lungs. But he was good at grinning. And he did just that. He grinned and
squatted by the door. Waiting. And the dead lay. And began to rise.

—-

Jelaqua noticed the first zombie get up as she prepared the pyre. She
glanced at it.

“We should burn the rest of the bodies.”

Seborn and Moore glanced at her. The Selphid amended her statement.

“Not us. But the city should. Hells, isn’t there a suppression company for
hire on Izril? They’d already be here if this were Baleros.”

“Different continent, Jelaqua.”

“I guess. But Liscor will be swimming in undead if they don’t do something

soon.”

“More work for adventurers.”

“It’s just—”

Jelaqua sighed and shook her head. She stared down at the wood as Moore
poured oil on the branches. Here was one less undead to worry about. The
half-Giant paused as he splashed oil on the body in the center of the pyre.

“Are you sure, Jelaqua?”

He looked at her. The Selphid hesitated. She looked down at the body.
Garen Redfang stared up at her. He had no right to look as happy as he did
in death. Not with his chest filled with holes. He had taken two dozen stabs
from Relc’s spear before he’d fallen. And before that—
Jelaqua traced the hole in his chest. Just above his heart. It was a clean
strike. She wouldn’t have imagined anyone could hit him like that. Even a
Goblin Lord.

“You know, guys, Selphids love dead bodies like this.”

The Selphid spoke quietly. Moore and Seborn looked up at her. They knew
most of what Jelaqua meant, but they let her say it anyways. The Selphid,
wearing the Raskghar’s body, spoke quietly.

“Among my people, the bodies of warriors over Level 30 are worth their
weight in gold. More, really. Something happens to people as they level.
They change. Even in death, bodies like that are as strong as steel. They
don’t break. I’ve seen it happen. People moving long after their hearts have
stopped. After they’ve taken wounds that would kill them.”

Seborn grunted. He stared down at Garen and shook his head.

“Treasure to the Selphids. He was a traitor, regardless of how he died.”

“But he came back.”

Moore hunched over his staff. He didn’t weep. None of the Halfseekers did.
But neither did he look away from Garen. Seborn looked away. Jelaqua
nodded.

“He did. But he was a traitor, Moore. By all rights I should claim his body.
Or leave it to rot. That’s what Selphids do.”

“To your enemies?”

“No. And not to our friends, either. To the useless. That’s the biggest sign of
contempt.”

The other two Halfseekers looked at her.

“Well?”
Jelaqua bent over Garen. She stared down at him. At the slight smile on his
face. And she thought of all he was. All he had been. Traitor. Murderer.
Friend. Companion.

“Good night, Garen.”

The Selphid stepped back. She lit a torch and tossed it on the pyre. The
soaked wood went up in seconds. The Halfseekers watched as the wood
blazed. Smoke began rising. The body burned and the three watched until it
was nothing but ash.

No one said a word. Not until the pyre was smoldering embers. Then
Jelaqua turned.

“He’s gone.”

That was all she said. Moore cleared his throat.

“Do you think the key…?”

He glanced at the pyre. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I checked. He didn’t have it on him. Or in him. He must have given it to

someone. Or it was lost in the fighting.”

“Do you think it was true, what he said? About the Goblin King’s treasure?”

Moore stared at the ash. Jelaqua shook her head.

“If it was true, if there is a treasure up there…”

She looked up. The High Passes stretched up overhead. The Halfseekers
looked up and took in the enormity of the mountains. So high. None of
them spoke. Then Seborn sighed.

“It doesn’t matter. The key’s gone. If we found it—”

Then what? They didn’t have answers for that either. The three stood
around, not sure of what to say or do. They were…uncertain. Until someone
broke the silence.

It was Moore. The half-Giant stood in front of the pyre and looked down.
His hands reached out and lightly grasped the shoulders of his two
remaining comrades. The other Halfseekers looked up at him. The half-
Giant’s voice was quiet as he spoke.

“Time. Time stopped. For us and for him, I think. Ever since that day we
were shattered. And so was he. We searched and lived, but we couldn’t
really rebuild. We couldn’t move on. Now we can. Garen is dead. We have
fulfilled our oaths.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

Jelaqua tried to smile. Moore did not.

“We can move on. We can dream of the future again, Jelaqua.”

“Some of us have obligations. Debts.”

Seborn spoke quietly. Jelaqua nodded.

“Thinking of quitting, Seborn?”

“I don’t know.”

The Drowned Man folded his arms. Jelaqua nodded. She stared into the
ashes.

“I’m tired. But I can’t just turn my back now, can I? I think…one more
adventure? One more try?”

She looked up. Seborn hesitated. Moore nodded.

“One more time.”

“There’s only three of us.”

“For now.”
Jelaqua smiled tiredly.

“Maybe we’ll meet someone on the road. Maybe they’ll come to us. Or we
to them. It’ll happen. The only question is what we should do until then.”

“Seek fame? Settle grudges? Earn money?”

“Maybe. Do you remember our old motto, Jelaqua? Perhaps that should be
our goal.”

Moore rumbled. Jelaqua blinked up at him. And then she guffawed.

“Oh, come on, Moore. That?”

She punched the half-Giant in the side. Moore sighed. Jelaqua turned. She
cast the pyre one last look. Seborn walked with her.

“Let’s go.”

The three began walking away. The last of the embers began to die out.
They had no words for Garen. He had betrayed them. But still, he had been
a Halfseeker. And the Halfseekers had…a motto of sorts. A saying. A goal.

The Halfseekers. The Half Freaks. Those who belong nowhere but here.
Adventurers for hire. People, really.

Searching for a home.

—-

“So, was it worth it?”

Magnolia Reinhart looked up from her cup of tea. Lady Bethal, Lady
Wuvren, Lady Zanthia, and the women whom Magnolia Reinhart trusted
most implicitly sat around her. They were in Magnolia’s mansion. They had
left, and they had come back. And the world was changed now.

“I can’t say, Bethal. Not yet. But I believe it was worth the attempt.”

The woman calmly stirred a few more sugar cubes into her tea. The aged
Lady Zanthia grimaced and pointedly sipped her dark tea that had no sugar
at all in it. Bethal didn’t give up, however. The [Lady] eyed Magnolia.

“You threatened Tyrion to his face. With the only thing that would make
him back down. Would you have done it, if he attacked Liscor? Killed the
boys?”

The other [Ladies] glanced up at Magnolia. The Lady Reinhart pursed her
lips. Only Bethal could be that indelicate in company. Well, Bethal, and
Zanthia.

“It was a threat.”

“And?”

The other [Lady] met Magnolia’s eyes. The woman in the pink dress
paused. Her eyes flickered, and then met Bethal’s gaze impassively.

“I’m known for keeping my promises, Bethal.”

The [Ladies] waited for more, but that was it. Magnolia sipped her tea. At
last Lady Wuvren sighed delicately.

“So you are. I however wonder if it was wise to repeat the threat to the
other nobility. That will have even greater consequences.”

“It was necessary to force Tyrion to back up. That young man never backs
up if he thinks he has a chance of victory. You have to slap him with the
truth before he’ll see it.”

Lady Zanthia growled around her tea. Magnolia nodded.

“It was inevitable.”

“And necessary?”

Bethal caught the sugar cube Magnolia tossed at her. She added it to her tea
cup.

“I know it was to prevent the conflict with the Drakes from starting, but was
that preferable to this? It seems like we’ve only created a larger mess from
all this business with the Goblin Lord, don’t you agree?”

The [Ladies] exchanged glances. Zanthia muttered something about the

follies of youth, loud enough to be heard by all.

“No one wins a war, Bethal. And this was a war, make no mistake. We only
stopped it from being a larger one. But no one wins in a situation like this.”

Magnolia sighed.

“On the contrary. It’s quite possible to win. It just so happens that we lost
this one.”

“So the Drakes won? I hardly imagine they’d agree with that.”

One of the other [Ladies] raised her eyebrows. Magnolia shook her head.

“That wasn’t what I was referring to, Lady Asca. Humans? Drakes? No. I
rather imagine Izril lost as a whole.”

The women looked to her. Magnolia sipped from her teacup, her face grave.

“The most famous Drake [General], Zel Shivertail, is dead. The world is
poorer for his absence, not least because he was a better man than most men
I have met. The Drakes have lost him, many of their soldiers battling the
Goblin Lord, and are now wary of Human aggression once more. As for the
north—we spent time and effort fielding an army that did very little. The
Goblin Lord razed a number of settlements. And now we are at peace.”

“And in this peace you’ve won, we’ll spill as much blood in a civil war
between the nobility. Was this really worth the cost, Magnolia?”
Zanthia glanced up. Magnolia Reinhart drummed her fingers on her arm
rest.

“I will acknowledge the cost. However…I cannot but believe the decision
was correct. Moreover, it has resulted in some unusual gains. Ressa? Please
show Lady Zanthia the correspondence we just received.”

A [Maid] moved in the background of the conversation. Lady Zanthia found

a letter being offered to her. She frowned, fished out a monocle, and read
the letter. She grunted loudly.

“I see.”

“What is it?”

Lady Wuvren leaned over to see. Zanthia shoved the letter in her face.
Magnolia explained to the other listeners.

“The letter comes from one of the Walled Cities. And a certain member of
the nobility. It would be unwise to name names. And in truth, the letter says
very little of consequence. There are more perhapses and maybes than I
could count, nothing of substance. But it leaves the door open for an
invitation in the future.”

“An invitation?”

“To the Walled Cities. Perhaps to a soirée or gathering.”

“No Human noble has been invited to a Walled City in—”

Bethal broke off. Magnolia nodded.

“Exactly.”

“And all this came from opposing Tyrion’s plans? But the Drakes have to
have known your stance, Magnolia. Why all of this now?”

One of the younger ladies looked confused. Magnolia sighed slightly.

“There’s a limit to what one can prove with words. But with this? I have
rather indelicately put my finger down on the side of peace between Drakes
and Humans, and like-minded individuals have taken note.”

“So. You make gains. But remember the cost.”

Zanthia kept her gaze on Magnolia’s face. The Lady Reinhart nodded.

“I am well aware of the cost. After all, we are the nobility of Izril. And we
do not forgive.”

“Or forget. Any of us.”

—-

It was just politics. Lord Erill knew that. Which was why what he had
chosen to do was a reply in kind. Less than a day had passed since
Magnolia Reinhart had forced Tyrion Veltras to back down. What most
people didn’t mention was how she’d done it.

With threats. With an open invitation to violence. Lord Erill was a

[Merchant] before he was a [Lord]. He was used to underhanded business,
even shady deals and other…unpleasantness. But even he had been shocked
by the open threat he’d received.

Accede or die. That was Magnolia Reinhart. And the threat hadn’t just come
to him, but the other nobility. But the image he had received had been
meant for his eyes alone. His mother. Lord Erill’s blood burned at the
thought. He was no warrior. He had come at Tyrion Veltras’ request and lent
coin and his warriors to the cause, but he didn’t take to the battlefield. In the
same way, he would never reply to Magnolia with steel. Or even an open
threat. She was too powerful for that.

But there were ways and ways. Lord Erill knocked on the tent flap. He
waited for the response and pushed his way in.
“I have something for you. And your friends.”

The [Lord] didn’t beat about the bush. He cut to the chase. He placed a bag
of holding on the table as the occupant of the tent looked up. Erill spoke
quickly, trying to conceal the nervousness in his chest. Magnolia was one
thing. But this group was another. But Magnolia had made her choice. And
so had he.

“I want no part of your…organization. And as far as you and I are

concerned, I was never here. This is a one-time offer.”

“Which is?”

“Gold. Gems. Other goods that can be exchanged. Two hundred thousand
gold pieces’ worth in total. Consider it my repayment to Magnolia Reinhart.
I want her to know nothing of this. And I owe you and the Circle nothing.
This is a donation. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly.”

Lady Ieka reclined in her chair. Lord Erill nodded to her.

“Then I bid you good day. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

He turned and walked out of the tent. Lady Ieka eyed the bag of holding.
She stared at Lord Erill’s back and smiled. The [Merchant Lord] hurried
away, his task done. He wanted nothing to do with the Circle of Thorns, and
the less he knew of them, the better. But he had not been the only visitor to
Lady Ieka’s tent. And some had stayed longer.

“Dear me, Magnolia. You do have a talent for making enemies.”

Lady Ieka reached into the bag of holding and drew out a pair of coins. She
flicked them up and the gold flew into the air. Lady Ieka waved the
smoking pipe she held and the coins turned into butterflies. They landed,
fluttering their wings of gold. Ieka smiled.

“The Circle of Thorns will remember this.”

—-

“You know they’ll all be coming for you. You’ve made more enemies and
some of the third parties will take their side.”

Ressa stood with Magnolia after the tea conference had finished. Magnolia
was watching Reynold ferry her trusted inner circle back to their estates.
They’d all be under guard after this. And she had no doubt reprisals were
coming.

“I know, Ressa.”

The [Maid]’s look made it clear how doubtful Magnolia’s knowledge really
was.

“This was really better than a war?”

Magnolia sighed. She turned from the window and looked at her oldest
friend.

“I talked it over with the old man, Ressa. On one of his talkative days. And
a number of [Strategists]. They had Tyrion moving south and establishing a
defensive line. He would get far enough for sizeable gains, but this would
be the prelude to a long, long war. It would merely place the north at an
advantage. And in the meantime—he wouldn’t even get to Pallass before
the Antinium did something. Or our pale friend.”

“Something has to be done about him sooner or later. Why not force his
hand?”

Ressa pointed out that fact. Magnolia shook her head.

“Not yet, Ressa. Not yet. Before we can take either the Necromancer or the
Antinium off the board, I need to be sure we’d win. And I’m not. I want to
take care of him without forcing a war. Because he’ll just run if he’s
unprepared. He needs to die.”

“The bounty you placed isn’t drawing the people you wanted.”

“Give it time. News spreads slowly in some circles. And if that doesn’t
work, I’ll try something else. But I think this was for the best. The Drakes
can’t afford a war and neither can we.”

“So it’s just backstabbing and poison. Kidnapping, ransoms, plotting…dark

shadows lurking in doorways…”

Magnolia forced a smile onto her face.

“That’s why I keep you around, after all. Besides, it’s good to lure our
enemies out into the open, isn’t it?”

“By striking the beehive?”

“Hush. What choice did I have?”

Ressa was pointedly silent. Magnolia turned. She walked towards her pink
couch and ran her hand along the embroidered fabric.

“It couldn’t be allowed, Ressa. That was all there was to it.”

“If you can live with the consequences…”

“I can.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll prepare the staff for war.”

Ressa vanished. Magnolia sighed. She whispered after Ressa’s back.

“Oh, don’t do that. Far better to prepare them for peace. After all, war is a
constant. But in peace…things change.”

She looked back out the window. And she felt the world turning again.
Shifting. Again and again, on the smallest of things.
—-

He stood on his desk, checking his notes, writing orders, calculating. A

thousand things were on his mind, each more pressing than the last.

Painted Antinium. The ramifications of Magnolia Reinhart’s actions. Even

the reemergence of the famed ‘Gecko of Liscor’. All these variables were in
play. And that was only the Izrilian angle. There were matters in Baleros to
attend to. Niers Astoragon scribbled notes as he checked the tally of the
Forgotten Wing’s forces across Baleros. He was adding up numbers,
checking their monetary reserves. And doing figures all the while.

If you had a head for such things, or experience, you could see that Niers
was planning on a lot of investments. Spending capital. And you only did
that for a few reasons.

“Going somewhere?”

Niers jumped. He stared back up at Foliana. The [Rogue] had appeared

behind him as she liked to do. The tiny [Strategist] glared.

“Not yet.”

“But soon. You asked Peclir Im about travelling. What’s all this for?”

The Titan hunched his shoulders.

“It’s just a short trip. And if I can ensure that our company is prepared in the
meanwhile—I can accelerate the training of a few of my students, reach out
to some of our old graduates and other companies.”

“Make the company stronger so you can leave it? Hmm.”

“Just for a little trip. But you know it’s best to be prepared…”
Niers trailed off. Foliana eyed him.

“Mm. Where will you go?”

“That’s—”

“Bet it’s Izril. Bet it’s Liscor.”

“Shut up. And keep that to yourself.”

“You really want to visit, don’t you?”

Niers ignored her. He stared at the list of figures, speaking to himself.

“Just a little bit. And then I’ll be ready.”

Foliana watched him work. She vanished after a while. Niers didn’t know if
she’d left or was just hiding. He stared at the numbers, and then glanced at
something to his right.

It had been hard to get the [Diviner] to capture a single image from the
scrying orb, even with these ‘movies’ that Wistram was selling. But it had
been done. And now Niers had an image on his desk. It was somewhat
blurred by distance. And you couldn’t make out features. But it was
nevertheless an image of her. Niers stared at the young woman waving the
flag. He stopped work and stared at it.

“Was that you?”

The figure didn’t answer. But Niers didn’t care. He wanted to know. And
soon—soonish—he might find out. He just had to work in the meanwhile.
Soon, some day—

—-
“It was her.”

In another part of the world, a pair of crowned heads conferred. A loyal

servant of the throne waited. The voices were regal, by virtue of station if
nothing else. They argued.

She was of the opinion that it could be a mistake, or worse, a trap. He was
of a different mind.

“It was her. You saw it.”

“I did.”

Both stared at the pool in front of them. Unlike a scrying mirror, the pool
was enchanted water. It had reflected the battle at Liscor for its interested
audience up till now. It was really more of entertainment than anything else.
They had no stakes in the fate of Izril, directly or otherwise. This had been a
pleasant diversion. Or it had been right up until they’d seen her.

Possibly no one else had noticed. After all, she hadn’t been on screen long.
And she was certainly not part of the larger narrative. But to them, she had
stood out. As the half-Elf casting the scrying spell had been watching,
before the battle had started, they had seen her.

For a second the young woman had been in sight. Climbing up the walls,
carrying a little white Gnoll. It was uncharacteristic of her, as was her
humble attire. But her face, her voice—that was unmistakable.

“Make sure it’s her first.”

The man with the crown spoke sharply to the waiting servant of the throne.
The man bowed, crisply.

“I will make the arrangements, your Majesty.”

“Good. Bring her back. Her kingdom has need of her.”

The man stared into the enchanted pool. Her image was gone. But Lyonette
du Marquin still stared back up at her father. He sat back on his throne.
Wondering where she had been.

—-

A different [King] sat on a different throne. His was far grander. And his
name was far more important. As monarchs went, he was known throughout
the world. Derided perhaps, but known.

The Blighted King sat, listening to his steward, advisor, and personal mage,
Nereshal, speaking. The [Chronomancer]’s words were crisp, and he did not
waste time. Nevertheless, Nereshal could not hide his unease.

“Several of the [Mages] are protesting the—the scope of the second ritual,
Your Majesty.”

“Do they? Why?”

The Blighted King looked up. Nereshal licked his lips.

“They speak of cost for little gain. Such a ritual might cripple the next
generation of the kingdom. And yet—”

“Rhir’s population can sustain ten times the cost if needed.”

The cold voice made Nereshal sweat.

“Yes, sire. But some—”

“They are uncomfortable. It is not a question of cost.”

The Blighted King looked at his advisor. Nereshal nodded silently. The man
on the throne turned his head and shook it slightly.

“You saw the recording as we did, Nereshal. The Antinium. Our old
enemies gain in strength. They evolve. Meanwhile, the Demons have
planted spies in my kingdom. Spies and traitors. What use is a sword if it is
not wielded, Nereshal?”

“None.”

“Well then. It must be done.”

“But if those summoned are weak—”

A hand halted the protest. The Blighted King stared ahead. He spoke
slowly, reluctantly.

“We erred. The chosen ones are weak. Timid. Children instead of warriors,
heroes of prophecy. But they grow with guidance. Too much protection, but
it is necessary. We will treat them as the smallest of flower buds, to be
raised with care this time. And their comrades will aid in that process. It
will be the salvation Rhir seeks. So we have spoken.”

“It will be done. And those who are protesting…?”

“They will obey or be dealt with. Inform them of our will, Nereshal.”

“By your leave.”

The man retreated. The Blighted King sat alone on his throne. As he did, he
spared a thought for the cost. But what cost could be greater than the one
the Demons exacted on Rhir year by year? And what was promised was
worth more than…anything. He had spoken to the children from another
world. And they had given him such dreams that even his nightmares were
soothed.

Weapons that rained death from the sky. Steel and fire. He dreamed of it.
Weapons to end this war with the Demons once and for all. Weapons to
purify Rhir.

Someone had left a window open in the throne room. A gust blew inwards
and the man on the throne caught a whiff of it. The air smelled of rot and
death. The smell of home. The Blighted King sighed and dreamed of the
day when there would be only spring.
—-

It was a spring day when the [City Crier] shouted the news to a crowd
gathered in one of the northern cities of Izril. Humans and a few non-
Humans gathered to hear what had happened in the south. They had no
scrying orbs, and didn’t pay for the latest news by [Message] spell. So they
listened. The man who stood on the lip of the fountain shouted the news
clearly for all to hear. After all, he earned his coin from delivering the news.
A little hat sat at his feet. Mostly copper coins sat in it.

“News from Liscor! The Goblin Lord’s army has been defeated! Lord
Tyrion Veltras has struck a great victory and now heads south to the Blood
Fields to challenge the Drakes! The battle went thusly: first, Lord Veltras
besieged the Goblins with weapons from afar! He hurled gigantic stones by
means of a great and powerful new weapon—trebuchets! With their aid, the
Goblins were broken. Then, as they fell to infighting, Lord Veltras himself
led a charge…”

The gathered crowd listened as the [Crier] elaborated on the heroic battle,
embellishing a few details, making up the rest. After all, his class demanded
he tell the news, but it didn’t demand accuracy or even truth. And it was in
his best interests to make Tyrion Veltras stand out in a good light as
possible. He was paid for that as well.

The splendid rendition of Liscor’s battle as it happened, with cowardly

Goblins and noble Humans riding to the aid of the ungrateful Drakes went
on for some while. Most of the people in the square had work to do and
drifted in and out. That suited the [Crier] because he could repeat the tale
multiple times, changing it slightly each time for the benefit of his
audience.

On one of his retellings he got a welcome surprise. Someone tossed a silver

coin into his hat. He looked up and shouted his thanks. He got no reply. A
City Runner jogged past him. She’d only stopped to listen for a few
minutes.

“Letter delivery? Put it over there.”

The [Receptionist] at the local Runner’s Guild looked up and spotted the
bag of letters the Runner was holding. She didn’t bother asking about the
run or the contents—this was one of the bulk letter deliveries the guild
received once or more times per day. It was a direct route and sometimes
contained mail from cities hundreds of miles away. Letters travelled down
the main road and stopped at city to city, making the round from City
Runner to City Runner.

The [Receptionist] didn’t worry that the young woman with the bag was
new. You didn’t trust something like this to a green Runner. She accepted
the letters, counting them quickly, and then tallied them up, gave the
Runner a seal, and pointed her towards the board.

“Are you heading back to Reizmelt? We’ve got two deliveries that could go
right now. Or, if you could do a rush delivery, we’ve a contract that needs to
get to Malmerra by dawn tomorrow…”

The City Runner paused by the board. She took one of the contracts to
Reizmelt and the [Receptionist] had the package by the time she returned.
She handed it to the Runner with the instructions.

“Be careful. It’s fragile.”

The warning was heeded as the package was carefully stowed in a bag of
holding. The [Receptionist] eyed the bag appreciatively. That was good
stuff for a City Runner. She frowned. Something about this young woman
seemed familiar, and it wasn’t just her rather unique appearance.

“Hold on. I know you, don’t I? You’re her! The girl who made a name for
herself doing that spice delivery two weeks back? Don’t they call you…?”

She tried to strike up a conversation, but the City Runner couldn’t stay to
chat. She was already moving. The [Receptionist] sighed. But she knew
she’d see that particular Runner again. Everyone went everywhere in this
business, after all.

Back out of the city the young woman ran. She ran unconsciously, her stride
long, passing by wagons, riders, and foot traffic. Some cursed her, others
laughed as they pointed at her feet. Some knew her and shouted at her. She
waved but didn’t stop.

And then she was out of the city. There the road opened up. The spring air
blew, and the cool wind was at the Runner’s back. She ran across the grassy
landscape, along the dirt road.

A City Runner. She was quick. But still, [Riders] passed her on the road.
Carriages sped by. She was no Courier. She had seen them running. Some,
the fastest, were just blurs or afterimages. Others were slower, but they
were so well-defended that trying to take their deliveries from them would
be suicide.

She was neither that quick nor that famous. But the road she took was well-
travelled, and so there was no danger—unless you counted stepping in
horse crap. It meant she wouldn’t be paid as much, as her delivery wasn’t
that difficult or time-constrained, but it suited her just fine.

And the wind blew at her back. The [Wagon Drivers] and [Guards] walking
with their caravans grumbled as the spring wind blew into their faces. The
City Runner ran past them, and they pointed her out. The wind changed
back as she passed.

Reizmelt was a small city, but a good one for a Runner. It lay between a lot
of cities, so the odds were you’d pass by here for a delivery. It wasn’t where
you went for the best deliveries, but as a place to rest it worked. The Runner
slowed as she approached the gates. She jogged into the city and checked
her destination. She headed to a residential district and several minutes later
she was done. A Runner’s Seal lay in her pouch, ready to be exchanged for
a few coins.

But not today. The evening sky was drawing in, and the City Runner was
tired. So she jogged further into the city. She passed out of the permanent
homes and into a place where the transitory went. Inns, brothels, taverns, all
littered the streets. The Runner slowed further as she passed by an opening
in the city, a square of space for vendors and people to mingle.

In a plaza, a [Fist Fighter] plied his trade. The young woman stopped to
watch as he stood in a small ring, lined by nothing but twine. He was bare-
chested despite the cool air and his hands were wrapped with leather,
making them thicker, rounder. He rang a little bell and called out, attracting
attention.

A crowd gathered around him. The young man shouted a time-worn slogan.

“Challenge me! A gold coin to the one who can knock me down and keep
me down! Five silver to fight! If you’re standing in five minutes, the gold
coin is yours!”

The word ‘gold’ attracted more than a few people over. One of the men, a
passing [Farmer], inquired about the prize. The [Fist Fighter], a young man
with a twice-broken nose and a boxer’s ears, replied.

“Five silver coins if you’ve a [Warrior] class of any kind. A gold coin if you
win. Two silver if you’ve no classes in combat.”

The [Farmer]’s eyes lit up. He handed the young man a pair of silver coins
and entered the ring to the shouts and cheers of his fellows. The City
Runner watched and saw the [Farmer] had more than his fair share of
muscles. And the young man was smaller than he was by a good deal. Still,
the boxer waited, undaunted.

The [Farmer] took a few practice swings as the [Fist Fighter] waited. Then
he nodded and someone rang the bell. The fight began as the young man
tipped over a wooden hourglass.

On the [Farmer] came and his swings were fast and wild. The [Fist Fighter]
danced in the area, dodging and weaving, blocking what could be blocked.
And when the swings missed he lashed out. His leather-covered fists sent
the [Farmer] reeling back. One and two and again. The young man took no
hits and the [Farmer] fell down after a minute.
The audience groaned and cheered. Another man scrambled up. He was a
tough, a bouncer. He offered five silver to the cheers and entered the ring.
The [Fist Fighter] had no time to rest. Nor did he need it. Two minutes later,
the bouncer stumbled out of the ring. His companions mocked him, but
none of them dared to enter. But they weren’t the only takers by far.

So the boxer beckoned and they came. Mostly men, but a female challenger
sometimes came by on the rare day. First the brave or foolish stepped up
and were carried out. But then the serious fighters came by. Those who
waited for the [Fist Fighter] to tire or thought they knew his game.

And he beat them all. Soon, the little cup by the ring had silver coins
aplenty. And the young man was covered in sweat. He was about to scoop
up his cup when a new challenger stepped into the ring.

“Boy. I’m an adventurer in a Gold-rank team. What will I have to wager for
a gold coin?”

A man with steel armor and an enchanted shield and a steel mace strutted
forwards. His team stood behind him. They laughed as the [Fist Fighter]
sized up his opponent. The crowd jeered and dared the young man to take
the fight. The City Runner watched.

And the boxer looked up and calmly replied as he wiped sweat from his
brow.

“Five silver, sir.”

The adventurer went red. His team laughed, and the man took his armor off.
He was scarred and his muscles bulged. The crowd oohed and went silent.
The [Fist Fighter] raised his gloves and went still.

They started with the bell. The [Fist Fighter] wasted no time. He charged
and his fists flashed.

First once. Then twice, he struck the adventurer with blows that made the
audience wince. The big man stumbled and cursed. He swung, but the
young man danced around him. Punching, jabbing. He struck again. But the
adventurer, who was part of a Gold-ranked team, was ready.

“[Flurry of Blows]!”

And his punches were quick. The [Fist Fighter] stumbled as the first punch
lifted him off his feet. How many pounds lay between the two? The City
Runner counted, and saw the next blow take the boxer in the stomach. The
young man stumbled and received a punch to the back of the head.

Down he went. The adventurer nearly kicked at him until he was reminded
that was against the rules. He waited as the boxer rose. When he raised his
hands, the adventurer rushed forwards with a yell.

The crowd shouted and moaned as the [Fist Fighter] tried to weave and
block. But this time he was outmatched. Twice he went down and twice he
rose. The big adventurer knocked him down a third time and there the boxer
stayed. Not because of a count. If he’d had the strength he would have risen
a dozen more times. The Runner had seen it done.

The adventurer who had boasted walked out of the ring, nose bloody,
bruised, but gloating. He stopped and took his prize: a gold coin, or in this
case, twenty silver coins from the cup. He walked away, laughing with his
team goading him for taking the hits in the first place. The boxer lay on his
back, staring up at the sky as the crowd departed.

The young woman approached then. She saw the [Fist Fighter] trying to
open a small bottle filled with a weak healing potion. But his hands were
clumsy with the gloves. So she took it for him and offered him the bottle.

Silently, the [Fist Fighter] drank. He looked at the Runner and nodded to
her. She nodded back. After a while he was able to move again.

Coin gone, bloodied, he sat up. The Runner waited, but the boxer was done
for the day. He shook his head. She left him there to clean up and collect
what remained of his day’s earnings. And she went to the inn both were
residents of.
The Huntress’ Haven was ill-named. Not because it wasn’t a haven for
anyone who liked hunting; the place was a haven for adventurers and their
ilk. But only because the [Innkeeper] was a man, more like a bear himself.
He waited the tables himself and turned as the City Runner pushed into the
building. He roared at her.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Wind Runner, back from another delivery! You
want food? I’ve got a meat stew boiling.”

The young woman nodded. She waited for him to get a bowl and eyed the
simmering cauldron over the fire. The [Innkeeper] ladled some of his soup
into the generous bowl. It was thick, with heavy chunks of meat.

There were a few unspoken rules for eating in this inn. Mostly it had to do
with the stew, which was pretty much a standard for dinner.

You didn’t ask which kind of meat was in the stew. The [Innkeeper] was a
former adventurer and he hunted down most of what went into his kitchen.
It was always edible, fresh, and non-poisonous. Cheap, too. Taste was not a
guarantee.

The City Runner took the bowl with thanks and walked across the room.
The inn wasn’t too occupied despite the dinner hour, which the [Innkeeper]
noticed with a scowl. Nevertheless, his regulars ate at their tables.

One of them was a girl who sat at the back. A teen, really. Younger than the
boxer, who came in, bruised and bloody to mockery from the [Innkeeper],
who had told him again and again not to fight adventurers. The City Runner
paid no attention and glanced at the girl.

She was shivering. And hunched over her hot food. The young woman was
wrapped in thick layers of clothing despite it being spring and her hair was
jet black.

She ate furtively, close to the bowl, in small bites. If you looked closely, and
she was unguarded, you’d see she had pronounced canines. Not that she
ever smiled or showed you her teeth if she could help it.
The Runner didn’t look. She took the hot bowl and went up the stairs to her
room. The inn was old and the floorboards creaked. She found her room,
second to the last, and went in. She placed the bowl on the side table next to
her bed and looked around.

The wind blew. A small breeze, filled with the scents of the mystery stew,
dust, and the smell of the inn. In her small room, Ryoka Griffin let the gust
blow the hair around her face. Then she opened the window.

The wind flew from her inn and into the night sky. Ryoka sat in the open
window, and lifted the bowl of soup up. She dipped a spoon and tasted. The
wind blew in a small tornado, swirling her soup. The young woman smiled
and the wind lifted her hair.

“So the Goblin Lord’s gone.”

She looked out across the city. Night was falling. Ryoka ate slowly,
savoring the hot meal. The wind didn’t bother her. It was comforting. She
closed her eyes, picking apart the story she’d heard from half a dozen
[Criers]. Battle. A rout. Tyrion Veltras challenging the Drakes. Goblins
fighting Goblins? But Liscor still stood.

“Good thing I wasn’t there to make it worse.”

That was all Ryoka said. She put the empty bowl to one side and perched on
the inn.

“Trebuchets.”

A howl filled the air as a sudden gale rattled the tiles on the inn’s roof.
Below, the [Innkeeper] struck the floorboards and shouted for Ryoka to
keep it down. The wind subsided to a breeze.

“Sorry.”

Ryoka stared across the dark landscape. The air was cool. The wind swirled
around her, soothing. The young woman closed her eyes and thought of her
friends. Then she opened her eyes. Her past lay behind her. A white Gnoll.
A smiling young [Innkeeper]. Shattered ice.

The dark night air was still. But still the wind blew around Ryoka Griffin.
She stared up and smelled the earth. The flowering world. And she sighed.
Ryoka stared into the night and whispered.

“It’s going to be a beautiful spring.”

End of Volume 5.

Author’s Note:

Another volume ends. This one was the longest. The longest and, perhaps,
the hardest. Certainly the longest.

I have mixed feeling about how it ended. As I wrote many times, I wanted
to end the Goblin war arc in this volume. Honestly, I thought we’d be done
at the end of Volume 4. So much for predictions.

But really, I do have regrets. Some of them are just in how I wrote some
chapters, or how I built up plotlines. I made some places too long, didn’t
focus on other details. I think…this is the first major war I’ve ever written.
It will not be the last.

It’s funny. Each author has their own way of telling stories. Of talking about
battle and conflict and loss. I have my own style. I read all the comments
talking about how the characters, Goblins especially, seemed to slip out of
trouble at the last moment. And honestly? The final battle had always been
planned like that.

It’s about expectation. This is a story about fantasy. Magic. Another world.
People don’t die as senselessly as they do in our life. Sometimes they do.
Other times they lived charmed lives. But war brings death. And characters
die.

This chapter ended with despair, with sadness. And it was meant to. I
believe a good story has happy moments. Wonderfully inspiring moments.
But also sadness. Otherwise how would it reflect life? To me, a great story
inspires emotion. Happiness, anger, grief, annoyance…the only failing
comes from a scene that doesn’t convey those feelings as strongly as it
should.

Did I do a good job? I hope so. And I’ll keep doing my best. And, for
anyone worried, after this volume won’t be another war. We will have
peace, and all that entails. At last, the Goblin Lord’s arc is done. I can focus
on all the stories I’ve neglected. And yes, Ryoka Griffin. Not wholly on one
place or another. But I can branch out. The writing doesn’t need to be as
constrained. More calm, magical moments waited I’m excited about the
future.

But I will take a break. I always take a break at the end of each volume.
This time I’m taking 2 weeks off. I feel a bit guilty about that, but only a
bit.

I pushed very hard in Volume 5. I wrote chapters that were upwards of

20,000 words in one sitting. My hands and, I think, my mind, are very tired.
So tired I can’t really feel it. So I need two weeks. In truth I’ll just have one
week off; I have a project I need to finish that will take a week to complete.
So, two weeks. On Monday, the 18th, I’ll be back with the first chapter of
Volume 6. I’m sorry about the delay, but I think I’ll be ready to write my
best then.

Thanks so much for reading Volume 5. I hope you enjoyed it, ups and
downs, good parts and bad. I’ll see you soon. After a bit of a rest. I think we
could all use one. Waiting for spring,
–pirateaba